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sematarygirls · 2 months ago

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SLASHER!RAFE x FINALGIRL!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ dubcon, unprotected p in v, knife play, choking, hair pulling, degradation, one use of the word daddy, blood, murder, gore

NOTES .ᐟ everyone ignore how i change my post layouts every five seconds, but i went kind of out of my comfort zone and decided to put my nasty little fantasies to paper with this one, so i hope yall freaks enjoy.

♱ ‘‘ we all go a little mad sometimes ’’

The sounds of your heavy breathing seemed to echo off the walls of the empty wooden cabin. A loose floorboard underneath you dug painfully into your ribs, but you didn't dare move an inch, your eyes trained on the door and ears perked up as you kept yourself alert for any signs of life. Every creak of the old cabin and whistle of the wind outside had you biting back a gasp as hot, salty tears ran down your cheeks.

Your lip was trembling, heart beating so loud in your chest that you were afraid it would give away your position hidden away under one of the rickety beds. Flashes of the gruesome scene beyond the four wooden walls that were currently giving you some semblance of safety filled the darkness everytime your eyes fluttered shut.

Blood. Blood everywhere. With the amount of blood you'd seen and the eerie quiet that had settled over the camp, only the wind and the crickets to keep you company, you were almost positive that everyone else was dead.

You found yourself grateful that the campers had all gone home that morning, spared from the wrath of the axe-wielding maniac that had beheaded, dismembered, gutted, and disfigured all your coworkers. You could still see the face of your boss, the head counselor, in your mind, lifeless, sunken eyes staring past you and ghostly pale skin practically reflecting in the moonlight.

You didn't have time to ponder whether the unrecognizable corpse a few feet away belonged to the disembodied head before you because a pitched, sadistic whistling started up. You weren't sure what direction it had come from as it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. Running and hiding seemed to be the best course of action, so you took off, trying to focus on what was ahead of you and not the massacre that was all around you.

That was when you slipped into the cabin and scrambled under the bed, your heavy breathing—a mix of physical exertion and pure horror—reverberating off the walls. A twig snapping outside had you clamping your hand over your mouth, a small squeak falling from your lips as you screwed your eyes shut in an attempt to will the murderer away from your location.

A few tense moments passed with your eyes shut tight and not another sound to be heard. Your ears strained to pick up anything besides the wind whipping through the trees and the ironically lively sounds of insects chirping but still, nothing.

You let out an internal sigh of relief, your eyes fluttering open and sweeping the floor in front of you for feet, thankfully finding none. "Boo," a voice suddenly whispered, making your eyes widen. A blood-curdling scream tore from your throat as a hand clamped down on your ankle, pulling you forcefully out from under the bed. You clawed at the floor and kicked at him, but your attempts to fight off the larger, stronger man were futile.

When he had pulled you all the way out of the hiding place that had lulled you into a false sense of security, you quickly turned over to face him, bracing yourself up on your hands as your chest heaved and eyes widened with fear.

You found yourself slightly taken aback as your gaze landed on the handsome, blood-spattered face before you. You'd more or less expected a middle-aged hillbilly with missing teeth and a crazed look in his eyes. Instead, you were face to face with a wicked smirk and cold blue eyes that glared down at you, glinting sinisterly in the dim, warm lighting. He had forgone his axe, the polished blade of a knife clutched in his hand, catching the light.

"Gotcha," he said lowly, his voice taking on a distinctly menacing and warning tone, as if daring you to try and run from him. His tall frame towered over you, even as he crouched down to be level with you, the sharp scent of the blood coating his white button up making your nose scrunch in disgust.

"Please," you begged weakly, crawling backward until your back hit the wooden bedframe of the bed you'd just sought refuge under. He seemed unfazed by your attempts to scurry away from him, simply leaning closer and bringing the knife up to brush a strand of hair away from your face in a gesture that was deceptively gentle.

"Shh, it's okay," he cooed, his voice dripping with false comfort and a twisted amusement. He lightly ran the knife down your cheek, making you stiffen, not wanting to move an inch and risk the blade dipping into your skin. "Are you scared?" He asked, stopping the cold steel of the knife underneath your chin and using it to tilt your head up a little bit, forcing you to look at him.

His icy blue eyes bored into yours as he waited for your answer. You couldn't form a sentence, simply staring up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Your mind was whirling with thoughts, most presently not wanting to die, but just beyond that, you registered the damp feeling between your legs that had you wondering if you had truly lost your mind. You were face to face with a man who had brutally murdered atleast a dozen people and was presently covered in their blood, and you were turned on?

"I asked you a fucking question," he said, drawing you from your thoughts. His chiseled jaw clenched as he pressed the knife ever so slightly into your skin, the tip of the blade nicking your neck and making a small whimper fall from your lips. He leaned closer, his breath fanning over your face. "Are you scared?" He repeated, his tone making it clear that he expected an answer when he asked you a question.

"Y-yes," you replied, your voice trembling as you felt a warm, sticky droplet of blood slip down your neck from the small cut he had made and into your shirt, right through the valley of your breasts.

"Good," he hummed, a twisted smile slowly spreading across his face. Your breath hitched as you felt the blade begin to move again, dipping lower and lower, following the trail of blood on your skin. "Bet you'd do whatever I told you to, yeah?"

You nodded, probably a little too quickly. Deep down, some sick part of you wanted this, wanted him to touch you and defile you in ways that would have your mother clutching her pearls. Fear was one motivator. Of course you wanted to get out of this alive and were willing to do whatever it took, but as much as you wanted to convince yourself it was, you knew it wasn't the only reason you would bend to the handsome stranger's will.

He grinned wickedly, grabbing your throat with his free hand and pulling you up into a standing position. The tip of the knife pressed firmly against your sternum, his fingers flexing around the column of your throat—his grip unyielding but not quite painful—as he stood there for a moment, just staring at you.

His calculating gaze swept over your face, taking in every little detail before slipping down. A glint of satisfaction flickered across his face as he saw the cut on your skin, following the blood trail down into your little tank top. He subconsciously licked his lips at the view, the thin material of your shirt and your little shorts not leaving much to the imagination. You shuddered under his intense stare, feeling suddenly very exposed as he shamelessly checked you out.

His eyes lingered on your chest, the rise and fall of your breasts clearly visible as it heaved with your quick, shallow breaths—whether from fear or anticipation, you were still trying to decipher. His face twisted into a smug expression, clearly noting the effect he was having on you.

He slowly, tauntingly, dragged the blade up from your sternum to your collarbone before pulling it back down in the same tantalizing manner. His gaze seemed to pierce your soul, watching in amusement as you squirmed uncomfortably in his grasp.

Before you could register what was happening, a loud clatter abruptly echoed throughout the room, making you jump and gasp softly in a mix of surprise and fear. Your eyes widened a fraction as you felt his calloused fingers slip under your shirt, dancing along your bare skin.

Your gaze darted to the source of the noise, the knife laying discarded on the floor a few feet away. "Uh, uh, uh," he reprimanded, his grip on your throat tightening, his thumb applying just enough pressure to make you feel the threat of being cut off from air. "Don't look over there. Look at me."

Your eyes met his again, his pupils dilated, the pools of black giving him an even more menacing look as he glared at you with a hardened stare. "Don't try anything stupid," he warned lowly, his fingertips digging into the delicate flesh of your neck. "I don't want to have to kill you. I'd be a shame for such a pretty face to go to waste."

His hand left your throat, sliding to the back of your head and curling his long fingers into your hair. Yanking your head back and exposing the column of your neck further, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?"

"Uh-Uh huh," you managed, unable to nod due to the harsh, painful grip he had on your hair. His hot breath fanning against your skin seemed to go right to your aching core, making you mentally curse yourself for whatever Freudian concept had you attracted to a man who was probably going to murder you before the night was over.

"Hm? What was that?" He taunted you, giving your hair another tug that had you letting out a small "ah" in pain. "Gonna have to speak up. Use your words."

"Yes," you whimpered, giving him the verbal affirmation he wanted to hear. His cruel and violent behavior really shouldn't have been turning you on as much as it was, but something about him was downright intoxicating, making you latch helplessly onto every word he said.

"Good," he grinned darkly, rewarding you by letting go of your hair before both of his large, strong hands settled on your waist. In one swift movement, he spun you around so your back was facing him. He kept his left hand on your hip, fingertips digging harshly into your skin as the other hand splayed along your stomach over your top.

You swallowed hard, looking forward out the window. It was so dark outside, the light from the room casting a glare on the glass that allowed you to see your reflection and by association, the man behind you. He leaned down, his breath hot against your neck as his tall frame dwarfed your smaller one.

His fingertips dipped into your shorts without warning, making you gasp softly as you felt the pads of his fingers run along your glistening folds. "Dirty fuckin' girl," he whispered into your ear, and you could hear the sick satisfaction in his voice. "You like me roughing you up, huh? You want me to hurt you."

He pulled his fingers back, leaving you feeling strangely disappointed. Your slick transfered from his fingers to your skin as he carefully pulled out, trailing his fingers alone your stomach before curling them into the waistband of your shorts and tugging down, letting them fall to the floor.

"Onto the bed," He breathed hotly against your skin before shoving you forward with enough force to send you stumbling toward the bed in front of you. You braced yourself on your hands and knees as you fell forward, unknowingly getting yourself exactly where he wanted you. He positioned himself behind you, gripping your hips tightly.

One of his hands slid up your spine, roughly gripping your hair again and pushing your face forcefully into the pillows below, making you yelp softly in surprise. "Don't you fuckin' move," he warned you, his voice dripping with dark promise of what would happen if you did as he pulled back.

You heard him fiddling with his belt before a loud clank resounded through the room, indicating it had found a home on the floor along with the forgotten knife. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest as you waited in anticipation—a sick eagerness setting your body abuzz.

One hand came back to your waist, the other gripping the base of his throbbing length. He guided himself to your covered entrance, using his thick head to push the flimsy lace of your panties aside. You gasped into the pillows, your hips instinctively pushing back against him as he ran his tip along your wet folds, being deceptively gentle despite his true intentions.

With a brutal thrust, he sheathed himself inside you, his length stretching your walls in a manner that was both painful and sinfully delicious as he groaned in satisfaction. He paused for a moment, savoring the feel of being buried in your tight, wet heat before beginning to move, each thrust sending your body crashing against the bed.

The old, rickety wood screeched with each brutal thrust that he delivered into you. You were a mess of moans and whines, muffled by the pillows beneath you that smelled faintly of mothballs. He trailed a hand up your back once again, mirroring his previous actions of curled it into your hair to keep you pressed firmly into the mattress beneath you.

"You like that, huh?" He mocked you, finding a perverted pleasure in how eager you were for him to fuck you senseless. "What kind of sick whore lets a murderer fuck her, hm?" He hummed, tugging on the strands of your hair that were wrapped around his long fingers as he continued to deliver rough thrusts into your poor cunt, his hard length abusing your cervix as he chased his own high.

You cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain, his grip on your hip bruising as he forcefully pulled your body back to meet his thrusts. "That's it," he cooed derisively, not letting up the slightest bit. "Lay there and take it like a good girl." His hot and cold act—one minute praising you and the next demeaning you—had your head spinning in a way that wasn't unwelcome.

Your body jolted as he unexpectedly slid his hand down, his calloused fingertips rubbing tight, quick circles on your swollen clit. Your hands fisted into the bedsheets, body tensing as the combination of sensations overwhelmed you.

"Fuck, look at you," he groaned as he watched you writhe beneath him, his fingers merciless on the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. "You gonna cum for me, baby?" He purred condescendingly

He increased the pressure, his touch unyielding as he felt your body growing taut beneath him, your breath hitching. "That's right, come for daddy," he taunted, his voice dripping with menace as he brought the hand in your hair down to grip your hip for leverage.

Your body seized up as the coil inside you finally snapped, pleasure crashing over you in intense waves. A strangled cry tore from your throat into the pillows, your cunt clenching rhythmically around him as he continued to pound into you, chasing his own high.

Feeling your walls tighten around him sent him over the edge, gripping your hips tightly as he pushed himself deep into you. He let out a low groan, his head falling pack in ecstacy as he painted your walls with his release.

Your body slumped against the bed as he slowly pulled out, your chest heaving from exertion. Your mind was in a daze, briefly forgetting that the man with you could kill you at any moment.

You hesitantly turned over, propping yourself on your elbows, watching him tuck himself back into his pants and retrieve his belt and knife from their place on the floor. You regarded him warily, watching every move cautiously to make sure that he wasn't going to approach you and slit your throat now that he had taken what he wanted.

He looked up, eyes meeting yours and glinting with a sinister light as he took in your sweaty appearance, your hair sticking wildly in all directions, a few strands clinging to your forehead. He lifted the knife, pointing it at you—a clear threat. "You tell the cops or anyone else that I was here, and I'll fuckin' find you, hear?"

Your eyes widened slightly as your brain tried to process the words he'd just said. When they finally did register in your mind, you nodded frantically, showing him that you understood. He was leaving you alive. You were going to make it home. He studied you for a moment longer, his brows furrowing ever so slightly like he was mulling over something in his mind.

Finally, he gave you a small nod, his face a mask of indifference as he left without another word—like he didn't just kill a shit ton of people and then fuck you senseless. You simply watched him leave in disbelief. You didn't really expect for him to actually let you live, but you were eternally grateful that he had.

You let out a long sigh of relief as soon as his footsteps faded into the night, letting your elbows give out from under you. Your back hit the mattress and you stared up at the ceiling, trying to put together a plausible story for why you were the last one standing after the brutal massacre and why you hadn't the faintest clue who could have done such a horrible thing.

this one goes out to my babygirl @starkeysprincess

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