#slasher!141

[frudoo]

I need the 141 as a group of slashers. Their shared wife gets harassed at the store and tells them when she gets home?

Might send more asks for slasher 141 if that's okay

You can ALWAYS send me slasher!141 ideas are you joking?!

Warnings: Mentions of sexual harassment (NOT by the 141), typical mentions of weapons and violence. Fem!Reader.

It’s pouring down freezing rain, the cold seemingly nudging past your skin and settling itself into your bones. Your hands shake as you fumble with your keys, letting out a defeated wail when you miss the lock for the fifth fucking time. Throwing your keys in your purse, you settle for knocking, then calling out that it’s just you. You’d rather not have one of your lovers answering the door with a machete to your throat. They always have had a flair for the dramatic. 

     It’s John who answers the door. Immediately he takes in your shivering figure and his bushy eyebrows furrow with concern. Scanning the vast land of the farm and finding nothing that could be perceived as a threat, he gently takes the purse from your hands. Strong arms hustle you inside and he kicks the door shut, working quickly to get you out of your sopping wet clothes. 

     “Darlin’, what happened? Why’re you cryin’?” John asks softly, hanging your coat on the rack—he can tell it’s bad by the way you flinch just from the question. 

     Simon, Johnny, and Kyle trail into the living room to greet you, but when they see your state, it’s like you can feel the tension in the air, ready to snap like a weathered rubber band. Simon comes to scoop you up, uncaring of the drenched clothes you still have on, and carries you up the stairs. He jerks his head to signal that everyone else should follow him. 

     While Kyle runs you a bath, John finishes undressing you, tossing your clothing into the hamper with a wet plop. You’re still shivering, tears streaming down your chilly cheeks, and it breaks their hearts. John cups your face in his big, warm hands, crystal blue eyes scanning for injuries or any reason you might be so spooked. 

     “You gonna answer my question, sweetheart? What’s happened?” 

     His voice is soothing, and you lean into the comfort of his touch. He always has been the best at calming you down, rich gravel filling your ears until you remember how cherished you are in his eyes. In all of their eyes. 

     “T-there was a man,” you stutter, head whipping around violently with your fist raised when Johnny wraps an arm around your waist to help you into the bath. “No!”

     “Hey, hey, jus’ me, hen,” Johnny’s eyes widen as he throws his hands up in surrender, backing away to avoid getting hit. 

     “I’m sorry,” you weep, covering your face with your trembling hands as Johnny tries again, this time successful in getting you settled into the warm water. 

     “Wha’ did he do?” Simon’s raspy voice sounds from the corner of the room, eerily calm. “Wha’ did tha’ fucker do?” 

     “The man… I-I was at the store to get groceries, but there was- he… he grabbed my ass and my tits and f-followed me out to the car. I drove away really fast so he couldn’t come after me, but… I’m sorry, I didn’t get the groceries.”

     “Oh, sweetheart,” Kyle frowns, gently reaching out to grab a hold of one of your hands. “The fuckin’ groceries are the least of our concerns.”

     You nod noncommittally, sniffling and just barely squeezing Kyle’s hand to let him know you appreciate the gesture. John’s jaw is clenched tight, and you can practically hear the rage brewing in his brain. Such a sweet thing traumatized by some stupid fuck who wanted his hands full of their soft, perfect girl. He wants—needs—to make him pay. John turns on his heel and just about rushes through the door, but your gentle voice stops him in his tracks.

     “John? Please stay,” you beg so, so prettily, pouty lips still swollen from how hard you’d been crying, and John’s far too weak a man to deny you. 

     Hesitantly, the captain trails back inside the bathroom, giving the other three a curt nod. They understand instantly, and Simon is cracking his knuckles so loud you’re almost sure the city can hear it. 

     “Bring the bastard back alive,” John commands, and faster than you can blink, Kyle, Simon, and Johnny are out the door.

     “I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes focused on the ripple of the bathwater when you submerge your hands.

     John shakes his head, tilting your chin up so that you look him in the eye. He leans forward and nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours, a silent question. When you nod he leans in to kiss you long and slow, pressing his forehead against yours as the two of you stop to catch a breath.

     “No need to be sorry, sweet girl. You’ll get a turn on him soon enough.”

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Slasher!Soap x Suicidal!Reader

For some reason he's back and acting sweeter than ever. You don't know what to make of it. Maybe this time you could convince him to finish what he started.

Slasher Masterlist

Warning: MDNI dark themes, dead dove, suicidal ideation, pred/prey dynamic, mention of murder and attempted murder, horny thoughts, dub-con behaviour, crude and objectifying language, harassment and torture, manipulation, lying, non-con elements, mention of fingering and giving head, fear mongering, roughhousing, taunting and baiting, threats of violence, threats of sexual violence, sorry if I missed any.

“Oh…” you halt your steps.

“What's wrong Dove?”

“You're trying to fix me,” the realisation suddenly hits you as the man holding your hand halts abruptly at your jarring words.

“What Dove?” Soap lets go of your hand so he can turn and face you fully. His glacier eyes pierce into your inquisitive ones but remain uncomfortably neutral. You could no longer see the crinkle of laughter in his eyes.

“You're trying to fix me,” you reiterate as you look at him incredulously. “You're trying to make me happy so you'd get a kick out of killing someone who wants to live.” You say it almost to yourself rather than at him.

Everything made sense now. You were so confused as to why he had showed up again. Or why he was in your apartment taking care of you while you studied for your last exam. Or why he was fussing so much about the food you were eating. You weren't going to lie being taken care of felt good but it felt disingenuous coming from him. Especially when you knew all about heinous acts he had committed. You wonder why you brushed past that so easily. He was too deceptive for his own good. It was easy to get lost in conversations when talking to him.

After the last incident you didn't think he'd want to come back to finish the job. Especially not when you had seen that expression on his face. Looking at him now you see his smile turn into a cold one as he picks at the cotton candy he bought you. You get a flash of his unnaturally sharp canines as the sugary goodness melts on his tongue. The same tongue that was lapping at your folds just a couple hours ago.

“Well there's no fun in killing the dead hen. Ah’ve told ye that already,” He circles you like a predator in the almost empty parking lot of this carnival. It was late and the rides were closed up and the remaining people were leaving in droves. It wasn't long until it was only the two of you left. Seeing no reason to put a front up anymore you also let your mask slip. Soap watches your lips turn down into a frown as your eyes take on the same dead expression you had when he had his hands first wrapped around your throat.

“I'm afraid you're wasting your time if you think you of all people could ‘fix’ me. I've long given up on getting better and you should too…” There's an awkward silence that follows your statement. Neither of you knowing what to say next.

“But if you want me to act the part of an unwilling participant in this game of yours I'll happily oblige.” You try not to come across as overly desperate, you know it would take the fun out of it for him. Soap pretends to contemplate your words as he finishes the last of your cotton candy while licking his fingers clean. Like a pervert he puts on a show for you. Much like when he had made you pass out from orgasms on the night he returned. Maybe if you hadn't refused to sleep he wouldn't have fingered you so hard that day. But it was no use dwelling on that right now. He does whatever he wants; it's not like you have much power to stop him.

“Ah don't appreciate being told what to do nor do ah appreciate being given a mercy kill to soothe my hunger. We do this on my terms or we don't do it at all…” Soap cocks his head to the side as he puts on his charming smile. The very same one that all of his previous victims likely succumbed to. Everyone except you it seems.

“And besides ah haven't met a single person who hasn't fallen for my charms and looks, ye just need to give it time.” You lose the softness in your voice as you go to speak again, your desperation bleeding through your frustration.

“Oh your upset you got played…” you watch his expression harden at your words but his condescending smile returns not a second later. Though he doesn't say anything. He probably knew you were baiting him to get a reaction. You press on though not willing to back down so easily.

“What? Can't get the job done just because things didn't go your way? How childish..and here I thought you were such a renowned killer with all the deaths you bragged about…maybe I thought too highly of you…” Soaps smile slips as your words cut into his ego, his eyes narrowed in like a snake getting ready to strike.

Good, your tactics were working. You continue trying to rile him up in hopes of getting what you want today.

“Why don't we go our separate ways? You go find your perfect victim and I'll go find someone who can keep their word.” You don't bother waiting for an answer as you begin to walk away from him. If he wanted to play cat and mouse you could play cat and mouse.

Maybe you were playing a bit too well for Soaps liking though. You don't see that he had balled his fists until you turn to put the final nail in the coffin. “If you have any killer friends send them my way, maybe then I could experience what true terror is like.”

Something snaps in Soap's mind because the second you try to leave again he has your arms pinned behind your back and face pushed against his car door. He sees you trying to suppress a smile and it pisses him off even more. Just the thought of his brothers in arms having a go at you had his blood boiling. You were his kill not theirs. His prey, his toy, his to do whatever he pleased with. He needed to teach you your place.

If you were trying to piss him off you definitely succeeded in doing so. But he wasn't going to give in to your whims so easily. If you wanted to die so badly you were going to have to work for it. He wouldn't give you the satisfaction of winning. Definitely not at his own game.

“Ye think you're so smart do ye? Ye think getting me mad is enough for me to slit your throat? Think again, Dove. Ye aren't escaping me so easily. Ye want to play? Fine, let's play.” Soap twists your arms to the point where you think he was really going to break it just to get his point across. You bite back a yelp just to anger him more. But your body involuntarily shivers from the pain shooting up your arms. Just as quickly as it started it ends with him pushing you in the direction of the forest. Turning around to face him you watch as he crouches down to remove a blade from his socks.

“This is what ye wanted, Dove? Ye wanted tae be chased down like the pathetic whore ye are?” You watch him twirl the large knife in his hands as he stands watching you underneath the street light. The shadows the light casts obscure his face making his expressions unreadable. He looks like the devil incarnate. A monster ready to mutilate you. It's strange because before you weren't so afraid but with the way the situation was unfolding your body was getting you ready to run. A built in mechanism for survival. One you wish you could override.

“Ye think ye can put up an act as believable as a real thing? Ye think you can produce the same thrill for me with yer fake screams? Fine then. Run. Run like ye fucking mean it. Because one of two things is about tae happen tae ye.”

“Either one, ye make it believable enough that Ah decide tae kill you. Or two, Ah take ye on the forest floor and fuck every single one of your slutty little holes for wasting. my. fucking. time.” The malice in his voice alone has your nerves buzzing with anxiety. Fear and possibly something else pools in the pit of your stomach. Your body screams at you to run, to get away, to find safety, to hide before he rips you apart with his teeth. The other half tells you it wants to get caught…That it wants him.

Your brain screams at you as his low hum of laughter erupts at your perplexed expression. It screams at you telling you he's going to tear your flesh from your bones for everyone to see. Despite wanting to die, your brain and body work against you. Run. Hairs stand on the back of your neck as you take a shaky step back. Run. You watch him change his stance getting ready to chase. Run! “Ye're going tae wish Ah never found ye Dove”

“Run.” He whispers, and you do, you bolt….

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

[lunarw0rks]

slasher!graves 🩸 in honor of spooky season !!! w/c; 2.7k

warning(s): implied violence/gore, drugging, fem!reader

endless crop fields surrounded the dirt path, crunching under the tires audibly, overbearing the hum of the pickup's old speakers. as soon as you crossed county lines, only the two local stations played: gospel or vintage country. any tuning of the knob, and it was buzzing static.

mellow country music it is. preferable to a pastor lecturing you about the ins and outs of hell. don't worry father, i'm already there. or i've made it halfway to purgatory — east Texas backroads.

though, you don't need the faceless pastor; the decaying signs along the way are enough. hell is real, God bless, repent — every single one rusted, scratched, peeled in some way.

limitless, barren farmland; half-murky swamp the further east you go.

who's feeding the lumps of livestock you see grazing? what about the herding dogs that lay by rickety fences and intently watch your car pass? if it weren't for the occasional passing truck, you'd assume no one inhabited this county at all.

your pupils retract, blinded by the sun glaring off the hood. vibrant hues of orange and yellow, that would otherwise be soothing if you hadn't been in the driver's seat so long. for once, the lack of traffic and straight and narrow is a blessing, otherwise, you surely would've caused a collision.

the blinding sunset fades over time, indicating that you drove through golden hour instead of lying back and enjoying it. though, the thought of pulling over in this area sounded like a painful ordeal.

from straight, unpaved roads to skinny windy ones with taller grass on the border. as the sky darkens, the foliage is surely full of critters, snakes, and spiders that would crawl and tickle your flesh the second you stepped foot. the thought alone makes you shiver against the leather seats.

as the tires climb a particularly steep hill, the engine sputters, as if hacking and choking from the exertion. please don't let it happen here, is all you can think. the vintage pickup creaks and moans the further along you go — but thankfully doesn't let you down. it's any wonder you've made it this far in your trip.

your fingers reach across the seat, peeling back the page of your guide. the map you snagged at the first — and only — rest stop in the area. a few pages, tainted with coffee and grime, aside from hints of its original eggshell stain. the booklet is rough in texture but still partially legible, so you decided to take what you can get.

besides, once you finished up in the bathroom, bought water, and felt the judgment of the locals, you weren't in a position to ask for a clean map. and the geriatric clerk, brandishing a crucifix and eyes so blue they could pass for pearl, staring at you with grief.

for what, you couldn't wager. your unsaved soul?

your unwise decision to stop there? at least you can agree with the latter.

at last, your finger skimmed the section of road you were supposed to be cruising on. a straight one, like you had been on before. not the thin, windy dirt you're nearly stuck in — which doesn't exist on the map. either you're trespassing in some form, or you really have gotten lost in purgatory.

muttering a curse, you twist and turn your heads in hopes of finding an opening. somewhere, anywhere to turn the truck around and get back on your intended route.

once you spot the first opening, you turn into it. the truck travels down the short path, mud squishing underneath the overworked tires.

up ahead, the first residence you've seen that wasn't moldy or collapsed. three floors, milky paneling, original windows older than two of your lifetimes, and steps sure to give you splinters and creaks under the slightest movement.

from the outside, it's... average.

only slightly unsettling at best, which was a major improvement from the rest of town. frankly, it was shocking there wasn't a higher fence around the perimeter. you imagine this property being prime pickings for bandits and adventurous country teens.

after taking in its appearance for a few moments, you begin to reverse, now feeling the most resistance in the entire trip. the harder you push your foot down on the gas pedal, the deeper the back tires go into the thick mud.

the engine sputtered louder, beginning to spit out smoke from under the hood. considering your efforts, all you'd successfully done was splatter mud on the windows and kill the engine, hopefully not permanently.

you slumped forward and lightly smacked your head against the rim of the steering wheel, cursing yourself for literally ending up deeper in the mud.

through the cracked window of the truck, the windchimes sounded, reminding you of your only way out. raising your head, you laid eyes on the white farmhouse again, taking in its mystifying essence. the decor rustled in the gentle breeze, as did the fuzzy white clusters blowing off the cottonwood trees.

against the unforgiving summer elements, the outmoded residence stood still — as if the stoic constant stuck in the middle of a brewing summer storm.

motionless and deathlike; if a tornado dipped down through the dusky clouds, you were mildly convinced the residence would be the only structure left standing.

as it stands, your options are either to sit in the truck and sulk or take a gamble and knock on the old farmer's door. deciding on the latter, you step out, not bothering to shut the car door behind you, in case you're met with a cliché shotgun barrel for trespassing.

the rickety porch creaked under your weight when you stepped up, occupied with examining its every detail. there were the chimes you heard. some were standard, high-pitched jingles — others made from small animal bones were dull clicks — all suspended with twine.

aside from the roadkill and rocking chair, there were few signs of life in terms of decor. through the windowpanes, you were only met with pearly, lace curtains blocking any view inside.

caving, you raise your fist to the door. it's slathered in the same blanched paint as the rest of the exterior, only riddled with indents and scratches from age. three small knocks against the wood, and you're hoping whoever's behind it won't lead with hostility.

the house settles and croaks from inside, its joints as noisy as the deck you’re standing on. eventually, the door opens. behind it, the owner reveals himself; and it’s not the stereotypical image of an old man with overalls and a noisy coonhound at his side.

your prediction couldn’t have been more inaccurate.

“how can i help you, ma'am?” the voice speaks, oozing a subtle regional twang. casually, he leans against one side of the doorway, blue eyes sweeping you up and down.

younger than expected, and clean despite the gritty environment he lives in. his blond locks are carefully groomed and swept, and an aroma of musk and cedarwood permeates from him.

"i don't mean to be a bother," you stammer a bit, then motion behind you. the man's demeanor remains unbothered by the intrusion. "my truck is stuck in the mud, and i was wondering if you could get it... unstuck?"

he hollows his cheeks as if taking a few moments to consider your request.

but Graves already decided the moment he saw you. with a click of his tongue, a rumble rises through his chest, "no bother in askin' for help, is there? why didn't you just say so?" a faction of a smile spreads on his lips, easing the tension in your shoulders.

you return the break in tension with a small chuckle, biting back the urge to start twiddling your thumbs. he glances at the truck, "i'll pull her out for you. keys in the ignition for me?"

you nod, and he steps out of his relaxed pose. "i would really appreciate that. thank you, sir."

but instead of stepping out toward the vehicle, he moves to the side and flicks his head. "don't mind waiting inside, do you? 'sides, young lady like you shouldn't be shivering."

you really were helpless, or at least, that's how it felt.

the desire to reject is futile and forgotten. before you knew it, you stepped inside and followed him. the entryway was quaint with only a coat rack and mat, and open to the kitchen. the gray and white tiles were patterned like a checkerboard, blended with natural wood cabinets that matched the original wood everywhere else.

in the middle, a circular dining table with two chairs, brandishing hack marks — some fresh, some old. with a scrape, he pulled out a chair for you, and you settled on it.

rather than asking first, he went straight to the vintage refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher. he reached into the ice bucket and dropped a handful of cubes into two glasses, then tipped the pitcher and filled them with lemonade.

you stopped watching when he turned, instead setting your attention on the decor. it was as average as the exterior; a country kitchen that was slightly rough around the edges. Graves slid the glass in front of you, then set his own on the opposite side, sitting instead of heading straight outside to deal with the truck.

he sighed when he sat down again, holding onto the glass but not sipping from it. for a few moments, there was silence between you; a studying stare making you feel like you were in a fishbowl. swallowing dryly, you raised the glass and took a sip from it.

lemonade, a partial punch of citrus, coaxed by tons of added sugar. you let out a polite mhm and smiled, hoping to let your courtesy break the silence again.

"gets awful lonesome out here, don't it?" the man finally spoke, and you took another gulp to pass the time. "can't say i mind the company. not a lot of tourists in these parts, i guess."

you nodded in agreement, eyes darting toward the ticking clock behind his head, "i'm sure it does." you really should be back on the road by now.

he must've noticed your eagerness, because he gave his knee a slap and sat up, "here i am, talkin' your ear off again. should only take a few minutes if you don't mind waiting here."

his footsteps retreated back down the hall, leaving you in silence except for the ticking, which now sounded louder. you glanced down at the glass and swirled it around, deciding it best to finish your drink off before you left the man's seemingly good graces.

once the front door opened and closed, you took a better look around at the kitchen. the knickknacks along the wall, and the dusty china in one of the cabinets.

further along, you skimmed past the doors leading to the rest of the home. the l-shaped staircase came down to the kitchen, steep and rickety. adjacent, was a door similar to the one in the foyer.

when curiosity got the better of you, you stood up and crept over. pressing your ear against it, you heard no one behind it; not even the drone of a television.

you wrapped a hand around the knob and twisted it, pushing the door open. it led to a sitting room of sorts, or perhaps the only living room in the farmhouse. an old-fashioned wood fireplace in the corner, a brown couch against the wall facing the back windows, and the box TV posed on an end table.

the windows had the same sheer, white curtains as the kitchen, blowing gently from the breeze outside. custom shelves covered the other wall, filled to the brim with outlandish decor.

you first stepped closer to the window, seeing his figure outside. there was your truck, still in the same position you'd left it; the door still cracked, and its tires were embedded in mud. and the man, a distance away and moving toward the red barn in the distance — a more powerful, agile stride than he'd shown with you.

thinking nothing of it, you occupied your boredom with snooping. the shelves were what caught your attention, so that's where you ended up.

standing in front of them, you scanned through every item, growing more unsettled the longer you ogled. first, it was ancestral photos old enough to be in black and white, eerie but not abnormal. then, on the second shelf, the appeared uncanny.

quaint, mason jars and teeth.

fangs from coyotes and bobcats alike, mixed with bloodied molars that only could be pried from human mouths. the sight was akin to a gnarly car wreck, causing your morbid curiosity to overtake your sense of danger.

you glanced out the window again, seeing the barn door cracked open, indicating he was still occupied. crouching down, you examined the lowest shelf. the only clutter visible was VHS tapes, thick books, and small chests and boxes.

you took the first one that caught your eye, undoing the clasps and opening the velvety chest. newspaper clippings and passages alike, and a mini-Bible lay in the mess of words.

shaking your head, you set it aside and grabbed one of the tiny boxes, taking off the lid. your blood flow went icy, and your fingers trembled as you set the lid aside and continued processing.

possessions; watches, necklaces, wedding bands, and choppy strands of all hair types. when you noticed the hair, you gasped and ejected the box from your grip.

they weren't belongings; they were trophies.

the front door creaks from across the house, then slams shut again. you scramble to put the lids back on and pinch your finger in one of the latches, reflexively dropping it. all its contents clatter against the wood floor, compromising your cover.

"find somethin' you like?"

his voice appears behind you, effectively sending you into a startle. graves glances at the mess below you, still maintaining an eerie stillness about him.

frantically shaking your head, you begin to feel sweat cake your hairline. you ball your fists and go clammy, taking steps back, "this is my fault— i shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me." he remains untouched by your apprehensive shift, only worsening your instinct to run.

but he doesn't lunge or creep closer; all he does is linger by the shelves.

despite how dry your throat is, you gather saliva and gulp tensely, "i should get going. long trip ahead." that's hopeless; you know he didn't move the truck. you would've heard an engine. how far could you make it on foot?

your words come out sluggishly as if your brain is working at half speed. you peer down, stepping around every morbid souvenir — though all you do is stumble, rather than make any distance.

"won't be necessary, sweetheart." his voice echoes, stance unchanging while he observes your struggle.

you grasp at one of the walls, lids drooping as your feet drag. the lemonade he never once put his mouth on, laced with some sort of sedative. it all hit you too late; too late to retch it up or bolt down the hall ahead of him.

eventually, he steps closer, watching as you make an 'attempt' to swat him away. all you do is whack your hand at the air, thoroughly wasting more of your dwindling energy. instead of words, all that comes out are slurs or whimpers of intense turmoil.

your view of the doorway tilts and twists, turning blurred and doubled the further you stagger. a swirl of nausea erupts in your stomach, causing your knees to buckle. your head collides with the edge of the coffee table, leaving you stunned.

as the tranquilizer pumps through you, the drowsiness is indomitable. you roll onto your back and cough, lying at his feet. with the last of your remaining lucidity, you tug on his jean leg, as if in one last ditch effort to get to your feet again.

despite his opportunity to kick away your pleas, Graves stands idle, his neck craned down to watch every moment of it, a sick rendition of his favorite hobby. the most noticeable sensation — the tender skin of your temple throbs from the impact, until any and all discomfort fades away.

eyelids weighed with bricks flutter shut, squirming limbs cease, and the heave of your chest slows into gentle waves of slumber.

"atta' girl."

‧˚₊ divider cred. - cafekitsune ‧₊˚⊹

[pupcor3]

So Slasher!Price is hot, but polySlashers!141 × reader is even hotter.

Y/n gets captured in a small group of victims they hunt down, but is the only potential victim to give them a run for their money in their boss run of a blood bath. Obvs, they become obsessed with them and want to convince y/n to join them!🔪🖤

Omg looks like we all know what the next thing I'm writing...

[rodolfoparras]

We seen slasher or killer Ghost and yada yada but I got something new. Killer Price who's nothing but a needy bottom that wants to get out muscled by his newest victim and just get fucking pounded into oblivion or until he feels his prostate literally beating like a second heart.

Hope you have a great day/night!🖤

-🦆

Wait I did not know there was a slashes or killer ghost au but I’ll gladly hear more about killer price? Bc now I’m thinking about old man price running a practically abandoned hotel where he lures in tourists and kills them and maybe he sets his eyes on you thinking there’s not a thought up there in your pretty little head but maybe he stumbles into your room as you’re walking out the shower and you got a towel around your waist water dripping down your body and you got this bashful smile on your face like ��did you need anything sir?” And fuck if he doesn’t use that opportunity to be throughly fucked , riding your dick with a knife pressed to your throat and you’re like kinky aren’t you? And he almost barks out how stupid you are but it feels so good being fucked by your cock he doesn’t even get a word out

[the-faceless-bride]

So, I do all my writing on my phone. But I plan to get a laptop soon. And I honestly think writing on a laptop would not only work better, but would make me want to write more, does anyone else get this?

Gonna be me ^^^

[n1ght0f-nyx]

big man with big tits.

[typeobby]

Hi Sweet🖤

could I get something Ghostface!Alex Keller x f!reader?

Along the lines of she knows what/who Alex is so she asks to have the experience of being chased by him randomly. You can make it nsfw if you do that.

Feel free to change this according to how you're inspired though, there's no rush either.

××

A CHASE

warnings: muder, gore?, sight nsfw, non cannon

ft: slasher!alex keller x f!reader (even tho i mostly used ‘you)

notes: HIHIHI yesyes ofcc 😭 also thank u sm for being my first request i forgot to put horror characters as who i also write for lmao my writing can b a little iffy at times so lmk if theres anything i needa improve on xx

You were always a fan of alexs work, the way he drove that knife so smoothly into their skin, the way he would always hide from the police, the way he was so sneaky, all of it. You couldn’t help but be amazed.

You were in your tiny shared kitchen scrubbing the shit out of his killing knife, running your fingers across the sharp blade. You couldnt help but feel the heat arise to your cheeks, and your legs.

Alex would come out the bathroom, his hair wet, his normal blue eyes still chased with thrill from his last hunt, his toned muscle and skin mesmerising in this state. You couldnt help the words to come flying out your mouth

“Alex, darling?” you would ask with shaky moist hands “i-i your work, can you” fuck how do i say this “can you chase me tonight, knife and all” you would splutter out not thinking about what you were saying.

Alex would freeze right in his tracks looking at you like you were crazy but also, in awe?

“Dove, do you really want me to?” he would move closer to your, grabbing your waist with his worked out hands, his breath hot against your neck. You would quickly nod your head hoping he would get the message, luckily he did.

“alright sweetheart get ready, and we’ll meet at the park” he would whisper in your ear seductively grabbing his knife as tracing it on the kitchen counter before leaving.

(ONTO THE GOOD SHITTT)

You were hiding behind a tree trying to get best out of view, holy shit this was scary but fucking hell how much this turned you on. You could hear his footsteps coming closer and closer his heavy boots thumbing, you had to cover your mouth with your hands to shush your breathing

“bunny, bunny, bunny where are you?” he would sigh his knife tracing over some trees leaving a mark. In all your might you fought the urge to jump out and let him take you whole, but you didnt. Lost in thought he found you.

“awe how cute, hiding behind a tree, classic” he would move closer to you pointing his butchers knife high, ready to stab, ready to wound.

As it was norma instinct, the adrenaline would rush in causing you to jump out of ur position and run, sprint. The cold brisk air with your heavy panting was eutrophic. Having your loving, dangerous boyfriend chase after you like he did his victims. He was right behind your arse. One small wrong move and you were done. It was muddy and bumpy a easy way to fuck up, it was dark also so thats even worse. You would turn your head to see how far he was, he was life 3ft away. fuckfuckfuckfuck

Suddenly a large chopped down tree stump was in your way while u were distracted causing you to trip over and leaving a deep graze your knee, a trickle off blood running down your knee, you would turn around to find Alex right behind you. His knife right against your neck. The cold metal digging slightly into your skin, his spare hand cupping both your cheeks squeezing tightly. His tounge swiftly licking the blood from your neck.

“We all know what happens to bunnys when they get found”

[kittenfrostt]

gonna be doing some slasher and cod characters for the spicy nsfw alphabet ,, request a character if you want to see a specific one! my pinned post included the characters i will do from those two genres/fandoms.

or if you want a full fic i’ll take requests as well <3 just got hella brain rot for these boys

[frudoo]

How would slasher! 141 react to a reader who isn’t a fan of violence but goes absolutely HAM when one of the victims escapes and injured her boyfriends? (I know the guys are good at what they do but let’s just pretend lol)

maybe she’s dirty from doing chores outside and the victim assumes that she’s an escapee as well, says something about ‘stabbing that fucker with his own knife’ and she just sees red because this piece of shit hurt her boys and she CANNOT let that stand.

Without even thinking, she starts absolutely wailing on this person, punching, kicking, etc. She's got blood on her clothes and shes breathing heavily when the boys finally make their way outside.

how would they react? 😳

This AU has me tweakin I swear

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Explicit gore. Emetophobia.

You gently pick up the little rabbit and giggle, pressing a kiss to its fur before sending it off somewhere else that isn’t your vegetable garden. The pesky things have been terrorizing your poor crops, and while it’s a nuisance, you just can’t stay mad at the little fellas, let alone ask your boys to get rid of the problem. There’s a rustling in the bush next to you and you suspect it’s another bunny looking for a tasty meal, but before you can go investigate, a loud scream coming from the barn startles you.

     Typically, you’re able to drown out the sounds of your husbands’ victims—it freaks you out to hear a person in so much pain, no matter how badly they deserve it. But this is not a victim’s scream. You know that scream. It’s the same one you hear any time he stubs his toe or gets a cramp in bed. That’s Simon’s scream. Immediately you’re on alert, standing from your knees and starting towards the barn.

     Instead of seeing your husband rush out, seeking medical aid or some kind of comfort, a random man covered in dirt and blood comes stumbling outside, looking terrified. You recognize him as the guy Simon, the big, unbreakable brick wall of a man, had even said wasn’t an easy one to catch. When the man sees you also covered in muck, he laughs like he’s just won the lottery, relieved. He rushes up to you, grabbing your hand and trying to pull you towards the fields, no doubt to look for some kind of escape. 

     “C’mon, we- we gotta get outta here. Now! We have time- fuck, lady, come on! I stabbed that fucker with his own knife, so we have time,” he rambles, digging his filthy nails into your skin to get a better grip.

     His words seem to make your heart stop beating in your chest. So that’s why Simon was screaming in pain. Your Simon, your sweet baby, one of your protectors, hurt by an inferior piece of meat. A special brand of scum. You’re scratching at his face before you even realize it. 

     “Wha- bitch! Stop! I’m trying to save you, lady!” Any other time, you’re sure a man like him could have easily overpowered you, but you feel fucking invincible right now, kicking the backs of his knees until he falls.

     You pounce on his back and trap him on the ground, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his head back just to smash it into the dirt. He’s screaming in agony and you’re sure his nose is broken, but you can’t stop. He hurt one of your boys, and if you know anything about the pieces of shit your husbands get rid of, you’re positive nobody is going to miss the one struggling beneath your weight. You bash his head into the ground over and over—his nose is completely crushed and his teeth are busted, but you just keep going and going and going until your arms are finally tired and you’re heaving with effort.

     When you climb off of him, you see just how much blood has tainted the grass, and you feel nauseous. The man is no longer screaming, not even grunting or moaning, and you know you’ve killed him. You roll him over just to make sure, and the sight of his mangled face makes you lean forward to vomit. You end up tripping over one of his untied shoelaces and falling right on top of his body. Sobbing, you scramble away, screaming when your back hits something solid.

     “Hey, hey, it’s just me, darlin’. Just me,” John coos, helping you up and pulling you into a tight hug.

     “I-I di- I didn’t mean to,” you weep, blood and bile still sour on your tongue. “H-he… he stabbed Simon, and- and I-”

     “Okay, sweetheart, it’s fine. I’ve got you now, yeah? Deep breaths, baby, breathe with me,” John instructs, cupping your sticky cheeks in his palms and forcing you to look at him.

     Distantly, you see Johnny rushing towards the barn and Kyle dragging the man’s body out of sight, but John makes you focus on him. Only once you’re calm, sniffling instead of hyperventilating, does he explain what’s going on. 

     “Kyle’s cleanin’, and Johnny’s gettin’ Simon all patched up. He’s gonna be okay, baby. You were so brave for us, sweet girl. Do you hear me? I'm so proud of you. We all are.” 

     You nod, but you need to see Simon, make sure that he’s really okay. Make sure your efforts weren’t in vain, that the blood on your hands wasn’t shed pointlessly.

     “I wanna see him,” you hiccup, and John nods, turning you around so you can watch as Johnny helps him walk out of the barn.

     You let out a sob of relief, rushing towards the pair and wrapping your arms around Simon, who grunts in pain. You gasp and move to pull away, but Simon just holds you tighter, letting you take as much comfort as you need from him.

     “I love you,” you murmur, and he smiles.

     “I love you more, perfect girl.”

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Slasher!Soap

Slasher!Soap x Passively Suicidal Female Reader

AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

I wonder how Slasher!Soap would deal with a passively suicidal victim. I'm just having fun with this concept. I'm happy to do specific scenarios but please read blog rules before sending in asks. Inspired by @ghouljams drabble.

Where it started

Aftermath

Before the chase

The chase

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

[panboiiibish]

I need some good long fics to read i^i all the good shit is like a chap or two long, I'm not complaining they are amazing but dam dude I just wanna huddle up in my blanket nest and just read all day long T×T

[callsign-songbird]

OK ok ok, my mind is churning with an AU

So, we know Charlie's wonderful slasher Simon AU, right? Well, I just finished the second scream movie and BOY do I have thoughts for my own vaiernt of the Slasher Simon AU.

College.

Sports.

Murder.

Of course, not for any convoluted reason like Micky or Ms. Lumen, no. Just because Simon had a rough upbringing, and it's one of the only ways he knows how to releive stress. Besides, he's always found knives and firearms fascinating, especially his KBAR and his Snake Eye. The first time was an accident, the second time felt good, and after that? After that was just... Ghost.

They can go to an rotc specializing college (idk if those exist, but it's 4 am, I'll finesse the details later) ANYWAY they can be split up by Dorms!! Like, dorm TF141, and K0RT4C.

Laswell could be the headmistress, or Vice President

Price would totally be the golden boy dorm leader. He has to make sure that the boys under his jurisdiction stay safe and abide by dorm rules. He totally acts like the father of the group and always gets mistaken for a teacher (although, he does tutor students who fall behind, even if they aren't in his dorm)

Gaz could be the clumsy right-hand man who always has the scoop around campus (Golden retriever boy) always wears a baseball cap or letterman jacket, sometimes both.) He's the little brother of the group, definitely. Not to the point where he is baby, but definitely to the point where the others help him out a bit more and tend to give him advice (whether it's warranted or not) and he totally looks up to Price.

Soap is a study abroad student from Scotland who takes his studies almost as serious as his Rugby. A total Jock, but not the sleazy kind, the kind that takes a drunk girl home and writes her a note explaining what happened while leaving a bucket by her bed and some pedialite on the bedside (because not everyone can drink like him) going with the brother theme, Soap is TOTALLY the older brother, you can't tell me I'm wrong. I totally headcannon that he grew up in a stable household with three younger sisters, so he's just used to being the big brother.

Simon would (obviously) be the Ghostface. The scream movies are really good at keeping you guessing who the killers are, so it really wouldn't be obvious at all. He's buff from sports and the time he spends either at the gym or training in martial arts for his expected military career, of course he still likes dark humor and really bad jokes, and has a penchant for skull themed clothes, going as far as to wear a skull-print balaclava in winter. (Soap has declared himself as Simon's best friend. Simon won't admit it, but it's true.) Keeping up with the brothers theme, Simon is DEFINITELY a middle child. Quiet, reserved, brooding, tries to keep to himself so people tend to overlook him. Middle child all the way in this dorm dynamic. (Though, being a murder isn't exactly his LIFE, more of a hobby to let off steam, so it isn't really the focal point of the AU so much as college shenanigans)

And Roach (Because in my AU roach is alive and well) if the dorm is a family, then Roach is the pet, or the Wine uncle who occasionally shows up at 3 in the morning to steal snacks. Roach is the dorm party animal, always up to trouble, always has a drink, everyone loves him, and he always seems to know everything about everyone on campus. But he's also a feral gremlin who says and does weird things (like taking naps in the ceiling on lunch) all the time, so half the time no one takes him seriously. Odd and feral as he may be, he's still part of the dorm, and everyone treats him as such.

I still have to think about the K0RT4K dormmates and their dynamic, as well as the Ghosts squad, but oh my gosh, let me know if you want any more, and please send asks if you're interested! Though, I'll probably be drabbling more about it anyway, lol

[pupcor3]

Oh no...

Slasher!ghost x reader

Warnings: blood, axe , description of blood

You were in the forest looking for bones because you wanted to be one of those girls on Pinterest, like with the bone corset so here you were bones..lord..

Until you heard a scream you stopped walking and waited for the scream again... Another one you runner to where the scream was happening and you saw a lady you turned on your flashlight and..she had a axe on her it was bleeding.. Really bad, you wanted to throw up at the sight of it..

"look behind you.." The lady said in a raspy voice you were so scared but you turned around and saw a big burly man with a skeleton type mask you put that flashlight on him and he had blood all over him..and it was new.

"Okay..." you said and then took off running dropping your flashlight you kept on running and running, you almost tried on a twig you saw your house and ran inside of it and then locked the door you were breathing heavily, you almost felt like passing out but you didn't, you were still here you calmed down... You felt like you have seen that mask before wait.. Was that your neighbor Simon Riley?!

[the-faceless-bride]

Hello my ghosts, Goblins and Ghouls it is I your undead bride!!!!

And I have been so empty of motivation, I went through my asks. All 233 of them. Answered some but not all, and those are now gone. I'm so sorry to anyone who was hoping for me to write for them, but I was feeling no inspiration to write for them what so ever and seeing them just sit I'm my inbox was very upsetting.

So I've decided to start anew, I will be opening my asks on certain time periods from now on.

I've updated my masterslist, and I will let you know know if you want fics. My current fixations are in pink, but FallOut Cooper Howard/The Goul and COD 141 asks will absolutely be done first.

If not just giving some ideas for blurbs or just talking to me is always welcome!

Goodbye for now, my darlings, till death do is part. 🩷💐

[skmhlml]

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕

─────────────

Rules

⚠️ No children x Reader, nor robots that act ‘mature’ but still are kids. If they are cannonly children then they are.

⚠️ No 🍇 or abusive/toxic relationship headcannon (unless it’s yandere) or oneshots, stop being delousnal and get some help, he anit the one.

⚠️Gurl if the post says 🔞 and you anit 18+ then don’t check it out, be hormonal somewhere else.

⚠️ if you have any questions don’t be scared to ask.

🎀✿❀✾♒︎ヾ(￣ー￣)X(^∇^)ゞ

Request

🩷 one shots

🩷 Headcannons

🩷 Drabbles

🩷 Smut

🩷 Fluff

🩷 Scenarios

🩷 Platonic

🦋♡(´ε｀ )♡🫵🇺🇸?🇪🇸?🙂🏃🏳️‍🌈

Fandoms & more

💙 Call of duty modern warfare

💙 Adventure time

💙 Walten Files

💙 Helluva boss

💙 Puppet combo

💙 Slashers

💙 Person/celebrity/character

💙 Type!Boyfriend

💙 Stardew Valley