#twisting the scriptures | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitchlessdino · 2 days ago

Text

scream : the death of a nympho (m)

Pairing: ghostface!seungcheol x ghostface!wonwoo x afab!reader

Genre: horror, scream au, smut

Word count: 6.8k

rating: rated R for ROUGH FUCKING SEX (probably the meanest i've ever written anyone)

tags: THIS IS COMICAL BUT VERY DARK FIC, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. CONTENT MAY NOT SUIT MOST READERS. Morally black woncheol with no redemption arc, VIOLENCE IMAGERY (stabbing, physical fights), mentions of knives, Mentions of blood, Mentions of alcohol, humiliation, degradation kink, name calling sexually and none sexually (bitch, slut, cum bottle, ECT), manhandling, slapping kink, deep throating, face fucking, double bjs, cum swallowing, unprotected sex

Summary: This worn-out little town has seen its fair share of bloodshed, but now there are two new Ghostfaces in town—and their eyes are set on you. Someone who craves intimacy just as much as they enjoy sinking their daggers into something.

author note: thank you @highvern for being a great betaread, they got some giggles in so i hope you guys get to as well! This idea was initially requested and offered by @smileysuh and I hope you enjoy the journey babes!!!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys

The town has witnessed its fair share of bloodshed, with pages upon pages of stories about murders staining its history since its settlement. Transplants from the past couple of decades knew of the Ghostface murders, had experienced their horrors, and were relieved to finally learn the identities of what they believed to be the only culprits, known by the nicknames BL and SM. What they didn’t seem to grasp was that there was a lineage—a deep-rooted legacy that would take the eradication of many Ghostfaces to completely sever.

One that has yet to happen. But now there was another problem.

With nothing left but their dread, the townies embraced twisted ways of coping. They chased oblivion in reckless sex and drugs, feeding a festering culture of heightening promiscuity and sexual deviants to businesses catering to their darkest urges. But this decay only primed the ground for blood, making it easier to spill.

The Ghostfaces, known privately among themselves as the Spirituals, saw it as their duty to cleanse the town. In their eyes, there was no room for the filth that seemed to taint their almost perfect town, and so they took matters into their own hands, delivering judgment on their own terms.

Seungcheol took after his father, who was currently detained after being caught serving judgment to the town’s notorious transplant mayor, infamous for his monthly group-sex gatherings. Now, as the head of the Spirituals, Seungcheol was determined to continue following his father’s creed, not once forgetting the scripture carved into him as a child.

Whereas Wonwoo took after his mother, a caretaker of many children within their society's education system who had fallen in sacrifice for the greater good. Now the right-hand man to the leader of the Spirituals, once a soldier and now captain to many of its followers, he knew nothing but how to uphold and worship the Spirituals' beliefs.

They were a duo not to be reckoned with—the youngest in history to hold the highest possible ranks, and the most effective at slaying the vermin of the town. Unmatched to even their predecessors. If they wanted something to happen, they knew just how to do it.

Their targets had a history of overlooking them, their spry bodies and youthful faces seeming harmless to anyone they encountered—until their daggers found the light under a bright moon. They killed victim after victim, and were careful to not have a single clue that could be traced back to them or the society. It was the perfect ruse, ideal for victims like you.

Fresh-faced and eager to start your next chapter, you arrived in town for college and had stayed ever since. You’d dated here and there, with more than the occasional fling—so the thought of the murders never really intimidated you. As an aspiring journalist, you found the town’s dark history more fascinating than frightening. To you, it was just material for dark bedtime stories. Yet, while many who had survived the horrors saw them as more than history or folklore, those who had evaded them were a lot like you—they saw nothing to panic over, just a few rotten apples already put behind bars.

But you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been tempted to test some of the theories. Almost eager, you found yourself wanting to investigate the current-day Ghostface rumors, wondering if they might be linked to the recent disappearances.

You pondered even now, nursing your third glass of red wine, the deep red hue swirling in the glass, mesmerizing under the effects of a light buzz that calmed your body. You and the bartenders of the high end Diamond Club, Hansol and Chan, had gotten acquainted in your time here—perhaps more than necessary—so they had a good idea of your usuals, whether it was your drink of choice or preferred form of entertainment.

“Red wine tonight, I see,” Chan flirtatiously engaged, wiping down whiskey glasses.

“Tonight called for something sweet, a little treat for working so damn hard,” You replied, finishing the last bit in your glass. “Where’d Hansol go? He had just serviced me.”

“Just getting something from the back, probably more of your wine.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, setting the wine glass down politely in front of him. “You both do know me so well. I don’t suppose there’s room for me to check back there too.”

“No can do today, beautiful,” Hansol said, emerging from the backroom as he rolled up his sleeves. “We’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning, so we need to be on our A-game.” He threw an arm around Chan, signaling caution to his coworker, then regretfully scanned your attire.

Hansol’s gaze traced over the perfect lines and curves of your dress as he tightened his grip on Chan’s shoulder, both of them watching as you patted your lips against your napkin, leaving a kiss stain in mauve-red lipstick. He knew soon enough he’d regret his responsible decision-making. “But we’ll be sure we’ll leave a slot available for you after.”

Hansol turned toward Chan, looking for reassurance as the other man held the middle seam of his pants. “Right, Chan?”

“R-right,” the other bartender responded with a tinge of disappointment.

You softly pouted. “Okay. Another time. I’ll let you guys get back to work.”

The prospects tonight were slim, but not impossible. There were group gatherings and couples, but no one alone like you—that made it more challenging, and you loved a good challenge. You turned away from the bar on your stool, twirling your freshly topped-off glass from a new bottle, and scanned the room for another late-night treat.

In the corner, you spotted a diamond in the rough—a pair of men who couldn’t seem to tear their eyes off you, each idly toying with the dark liquor in their glasses. You flashed them a sly grin before turning away just enough to keep them in your peripheral vision, watching as they drank you in. They smiled back, one darkly handsome man to the next, their gazes unmistakably intrigued.

“Isn’t that a beaut,” Seungcheol muttered under his breath, hiding it under his glass drenched in bourbon.

“They are,” Wonwoo agreed. “Their reputation precedes them. We complete our duty tonight.”

Before Wonwoo could stand to approach you, Seungcheol tugged him back down, something more than authority in his gaze. “Hold on, brother. What’s the rush? It’s not every day we come across a sacrifice as…delectable as this one. I say we take our time.”

“But, sir… Seungcheol,” Wonwoo corrected himself, remembering they were in a public setting. “We shouldn’t leave any evidence.”

“And we’ll make sure of that.” Seungcheol grinned at his capable, steadfast captain. “Besides, I saw the way you looked at them. Don’t pretend you didn’t, soldier.”

Wonwoo had looked at you—perhaps longer than he should have. Sinful deviant or not, he could understand why others found it impossible to resist you. You were a vision to behold, a captivating stain on the town he might have allowed to linger under different circumstances. But there were no exceptions in the scripture. You would meet the same fate as everyone else they’d killed.

“Nonetheless, we have demands to meet… Seungcheol.” Wonwoo’s tone was even, but his eyes held a flicker of impatience.

The elder man sighed, swirling his drink with a slow, deliberate motion. “Sure taking advantage of my given name, aren’t you…Wonwoo?” He raised a brow, an amused glint in his gaze, though his words held an edge.

“We must stay focused, even if the distraction is so… distracting,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady but his gaze briefly drifting to you before snapping back.

Seungcheol smiled cunningly, leaning back in his chair as he let his eyes settle on you. “All I’m saying is, why not reward ourselves with a taste of their mercy? Give them a final moment of sin before they see the flames of the inferno where they belong.”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. “And would we not be sinning too, brother?”

Seungcheol’s smile faded, and he leaned forward his captain in arms, voice low and commanding. “You dare question my judgment?”

A silence hung heavy between them before Wonwoo let out a resigned sigh. “We need our affairs in order,” he murmured, his tone weary yet resolute.

Seungcheol scoffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened. “Fine. We’ll do it your way,” he conceded.

They adjusted their jackets, sharing a brief, knowing glance before rising from their seats and approaching you with a leisurely stride, intrigue glinting beneath their composed expressions. Seungcheol met your eyes first, flashing that boyish dimple—the one that had gotten them out of more than a few tight spots.

“Mind if we join you?” he asked, his tone smooth, and inviting, but with an edge that hinted at something far less innocent.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip as you gave a slight nod. “Both of you?”

“If that doesn’t intimidate you,” Wonwoo replied with a polite smile, the bar light catching his glasses and casting a faint glare that concealed the depths of his true intentions.

“Not at all. Sit.”

And they did, boxing either side of you, each exuding an intoxicating mix of decadence, spice, and something darkly earthy. The scent was almost hypnotic, stiffening the hairs on your neck.

Every glance, every subtle movement, spoke of a carefully restrained danger, like a coiled snake waiting to wrap around its unknowing prey. Their intensity crackled in the air around you, unsettling yet somehow magnetic. Something about this pair was dangerous on belief and your gut was screaming it loud, but instead of listening, you were anchoring yourself in place, wanting to find out just what it is you should be afraid of.

“I’m Seungcheol, and my colleague here is Wonwoo. And you are?” The dimpled man asked.

As you introduced yourself, both men let your name roll off their tongues, savoring each syllable as if committing it to memory. Wonwoo angled his body toward you, his gaze intent. “That’s quite nice to say,” he murmured, repeating your name slowly, watching closely to see how you reacted to the sound of it on his lips.

“What brings you both here?” you asked, subtly crossing your legs with a teasing smile. “Date night?”

Both men chuckled, clearly amused by how effortlessly they’d caught your attention. “Something like that,” Seungcheol replied, leaning in just slightly. “We’re just looking for a nightcap before calling it a night. Came straight from the office.”

You raised a brow, laughing softly. “It’s 10 p.m. You both work this late? And turn in this early?”

“Well,” Wonwoo countered, a strategic smile on his face, “we never said how long we’d be here… or how brief our nightcap might be.”

You hummed, sipping your wine as you eyed them over the rim of your glass. “You two really do everything together.”

“Yes,” they answered in perfect unison.

“Everything together?” you pressed, a playful edge in your voice.

“Yes,” they replied again, this time with a hint of menace that made the word linger in the air just a moment too long.

The longer you stayed in their presence, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about their composed demeanor didn’t sit right. Call it survivor’s intuition, but something was off. Still—“I suppose neither of you has time for anything else tonight?” you asked a slight challenge in your tone. “A way to truly acquaint ourselves before the night ends.”

“That does sound interesting,” Wonwoo mused, pretending to consider, his gaze never leaving you.

“And what better way to end the night than with a new…friend?” Seungcheol added, his smile sharp as he leaned in.

It was almost too easy. One moment, you were at the club, indulging in a reckless amount of wine courtesy of these fine gentlemen, the night unfolding in a haze of alcohol and sultry gazes. The next, you found yourself in their penthouse, entangled in a kiss with Seungcheol as Wonwoo was tearing off your clothes, the world outside suddenly distant and irrelevant.

You could feel the warmth of the man’s breath against the back of your neck. His spectacles brushed lightly against your skin as he leaned in, the metal sending a subtle shiver down your spine as you counted the beats of his pants. He explored your body with reckless abandon, uttering your name under every tender kiss.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol was evidently impatient, his lips quickly latching onto yours in a frenzy. He wasted no time tracing the surface area of your mouth, as if time were ticking and he knew that sooner or later, it would run out. “By gods, you are something else.”

He pressed up against your body, only the thin layer of your lingerie to protect you as you began to undress him, the concaves and curves of his body scorching under your fingertips. Your moans muffled under Seungcheol’s lips as Wonwoo's moans muffled under your skin, the tautness of their body sandwiching you into a sweltering trap.

“You both have no idea how much I needed this,” you panted, hands roaming in Seungcheol’s hair as his lips latched around your tits.

Wonwoo softly scoffed, loud enough to hear but soft enough to be dismissed. “On the contrary, you don’t know how badly we needed you.”

You mewled under the sounds of his false pretenses and squealed when they brought you naked over the sofa. Seungcheol took a moment to admire your vulnerability, caressing along your sides, spreading your legs so he may position himself between them, and just behind you stood Wonwoo. Impatient for something else entirely, procured a knife from under the couch, just where he had left it.

Seconds before the spectacle man lifted it up, deciding to plunge it through your shoulder, chest, or even throat, Seungcheol stood up. “Just a moment, darling,” his eyes flickered over to the armed captain in caution, frozen with the hunter’s knife inches above you, “Me and my buddy got to do one last thing before we proceed. Wait for us patiently?”

“All right��don’t keep me waiting too long,” you purred, a slow smile curling on your lips, your heavy-lidded gaze smoldering with anticipation.

Seungcheol steered Wonwoo into a separate room, shutting the door behind them with a quiet finality. He fixed his subordinate with a piercing glare, the urge to drive him to his knees simmering just beneath the surface. “Tell me, soldier—what do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s not ‘soldier’ anymore, sir,” Wonwoo muttered, his voice tense. “I’m doing what we’re supposed to. We can’t indulge in this…” he hesitated, searching for the word, “…depravity. It only complicates the operation.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, his figure casting a shadow over Wonwoo as he instinctively leaned back, nearly cowering under the weight of his leader’s stare. “So you doubt our abilities, is that it?” he demanded, his voice low and venomous. “It’s been a minute since I took on my bitchbreaker on for a ride and you of all people are deciding to be a nuisance. If you’re so certain we can’t balance pleasure and duty, perhaps you should step aside—so I, your capable and trusted leader, can finish the job without you repeatedly defying me.”

He turned to leave, his movements sharp with frustration, but before he could take a full step, Wonwoo’s hand shot out, gripping his bicep tightly. The hold was firm, almost defiant, and Seungcheol could feel the strength behind it—a mix of resolve and the fear of regret that held Wonwoo back. Their eyes met, and in Wonwoo’s gaze was a fierce determination, teetering on the edge between loyalty and a barely restrained desire.

“I’ll follow orders,” Wonwoo said, his tone unwavering. “Your orders. I won’t question you again, sir.”

Seungcheol gave a smug smile, brushing off his right-hand man’s grip before leading him out of the room.

When they returned, they found you still lounging on the couch, but now holding something you hadn’t had before—something stark white and blinding, something that didn’t belong to you and should’ve gone unnoticed.

“Boo!” you laughed, lifting the Ghostface mask to your face with a playful grin as the rest of you was still nude, offering an enragingly tantalizing image.

Wonwoo’s voice nearly boomed as he tried to keep his rage in check, suppressing another sensation that fought him to break out. “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes flashed a sign of panic, quickly narrowing at you. Had they been caught? Exposed? You were already a risky target, and now you were making things a lot more complicated.

You pulled the mask off with a casual smile, unfazed by the shift in Wonwoo’s demeanor, which was colder than it was moments before. “Sorry for snooping; I couldn’t resist.”

Seungcheol’s calm voice cut through the tension. “Where’d you find that?”

You held the mask in your hands, inspecting it from front to back, not fearing the consequences. “Under the coffee table,” you said, turning it over, admiring the attention to detail. “It looks really real.”

Seungcheol stepped forward, his presence looming as his eyes flickered over from the mask to you, its captor, with an intensity that bordered on possessive. “It is real. We believe it belonged to one of the original Ghostfaces...As historians, we collect these kinds of things.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ooh,” you grinned, your lips curling in slight admiration.

Seungcheol studied you for a moment, his arms crossed in calculated intrigue. “You’re not scared?” His voice dropped slightly in defense. “Why?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know… I just find it more interesting than scary. And maybe kind of sexy… I don’t know.”

Wonwoo couldn’t hide his disbelief. His voice came out sharp, almost incredulous. “Sexy… you find centuries of bloodshed and thousands of lost lives sexy?”

You paused, your fingers tracing the edge of the mask. “Okay, well not that—the mask! I know it’s tied to awful, disgusting, horrific events, but…” You brought it up to your face, tilting it as you peered through the narrow slits, your voice trailing off in their signature tone of voice that the articles quote were ‘shrill and cunning.’. “There’s something about it that’s...captivating. Like, what kinds of things did they do, and why this mask? What makes it so...iconic?”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened for a split second, a flicker of something realization passing through them, but he said nothing. Instead, he watched you with a calm amusement, his lips curling into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

“Really?” Wonwoo’s voice cut through the silence, laced with disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he processed what you had just said, a quiet judgment simmering beneath his calm exterior. “You really think that is sexy?” His words hung in the air, thick with the implication that he couldn’t fathom how anyone could glorify such an image.

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment, his thoughts clearly racing. Yeah, I’m the one doing the killing, he thought, but they were sacrifices—an entirely different kind of thing. They were meant for the greater cause, something you could never understand. He had been the one to offer the death, to carry out the act, and yet you—you—were somehow making it seem like some kind of twisted, romanticized thrill.

He glanced at Seungcheol, whose only response was a raised eyebrow. The corners of his lips curved into that unsettlingly knowing smile, the kind that signaled anything but anger.

Seungcheol retrieved the mask from your fingertips, put it towards him, and shielded his facial features. “So if I wear it like this,” He stuck out a hand to grab you, tugging you by the waist and gliding his hand over your sides, “and touch you like this…”

His palms cupped the underside of your ass, digits digging into your flesh roughly, releasing a sharp breath from you. His body, gloriously exposed, was firm and warm, so inviting you couldn’t help but throw your arms over his shoulders to press against his waist. You stared into the eyes of the mask, stomach-churning at the increase of stimuli and you almost heard yourself growl under your breath. “I don’t think I could resist you.”

Seungcheol removed the mask, holding it in one hand and tightening his grip on you with the other. “You’re a weird little thing, are you,” he asked, narrowing his eyes, voice rich and dark.

“I’ve always wanted deep throat the cock of someone wearing one,” you blatantly confessed, your bottom lip caught in your teeth.

Seungcheol quirked a brow, interest piquing before tossing the mask in Wonwoo’s direction, who caught it flawlessly, looking back at it in concerned confusion. “Wear it,” said the fellow conspirer, “Make our little guest dreams come true while I enjoy the show.”

Wonwoo didn’t argue, and against his better judgment followed his leader’s orders, securing the mask on his face as he bared his nether region, regrettably taut and aroused. As soon as Seungcheol released you, you fell to your knees, gazing up at the Ghostface mask before drawing your gaze down to Wonwoo’s cock that stood on its own, full of life.

Beneath that mask, Wonwoo held on to his uncertainty, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to the image of your lips wrapped around him. It was about all he could think about since being aware of you, other than killing you that is. Even as you beckoned him closer, with your knees on the ground of where the blood he’s shed–the bodies he’s slaughtered–he couldn’t help but think about how to dispose of you. How to get rid of your stain next. But the moment your lips reach the tip of his cock, his worries and schemes seemed to fade away, vanishing even faster as your pace quickened so eagerly.

Your hands palmed over his waist, and the lust in your eyes was insatiable, making a man—even Wonwoo—wonder how that pretty little mouth could take so much cock. He groaned, grabbing you by the crown of your head, and pushing you closer as he started to thrust, gradually adjusting to the tight, warm press of your mouth. “Oh fuck,” his voice gave out, muffled by the mask.

He winced as he felt himself hit your throat, swallowing as he heard you gag on his cock—trying to fit all of him and he broke out in a hidden smile, and if he was being honest, he hasn't held a smile like it in a long time.

Why, Wonwoo hadn’t realized how long he’s had a good fucking like this. Ever since he took on as captain, sex was a thing of the past, something not even in the back of his mind, but you. Oh, you. You awoke something that should’ve stayed dormant. Years of training and discipline are suddenly out the window. And now he’s had a taste, he was going to ruin you until you didn’t even have the energy to breathe.

His hand locked between your tendrils, shoving your head impatiently. “Little toy that knows how to play. That’s rare.”

One hand found the underside of your chin, bringing your face up to gaze upon his, and watched as the mask on his face tilted in curiosity. Vice gripping that head of yours, he used your throat, letting his length slide down inside you. “Aren’t you a little slut? Just fucking wet having my cock down your throat, are you? Don’t try to deny it. I don't have to see or feel it. I can smell it.”

You confirmed with a strugged nod, salvia dribbling down your chin as tears began to burn your eyes.

Wonwoo let out a staggered breath, hitching another in his throat with a groan as felt your face touch the base of his cock, holding you in place and hearing you breathe with immense difficulty l. He pulled himself out of you, dragging you by your head, watching you cough on the ground, strings of your salvia ruining the floor and stretching from your cheeks. “You’re such a try-hard, taking my cock when I hear you practically gasping for air.”

He bent down to level with you, the mask staring back at you menacingly, so realistically. “What? You’re not gonna beg for more?”

“I will, I will,” you assured, a blubbering mess, gasping while the tightness in your throat failed to bother you like it should’ve.

“Is that right?” Wonwoo chuckled, squeezing your cheeks in a rough grip. “You gonna beg for me to fuck your face? Huh?” He inhaled your gasps, body convulsing. His voice was gravelly and stinging with repulsion. “Cockbreath.”

You whined, pleading: “Please, I want to feel it deep, deep inside me, Mr. Ghostface. Give me your cock.”

“Then let me hear how much you want it.”

Your mouth parted, fumbling for the right words, struggling to release them from your strained throat, the sound coming out rough and raspy. “I want your cock shoved in my throat. I want to feel it from one end and out the other. I live for you cock. I’d die on your cock. Please just stick in my throat and don’t stop please.”

Wonwoo looked down at you, surprised with the spew coming out of your mouth but went with it, shoving himself swiftly back in you, the sensation of your throat welcoming him like it never left. “I better see you swallow every inch,” he warned, his voice thick with malice. “If you so much as breathe, I’ll give you more than enough reason not to,” a smile laced with dark amusement edging his tone.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol watched as he promised, laying aloof back on the sofa with cock in hand and reveling in the sheer desperation from your voice as he stroked his cock to the pace of Wonwoo’s thrusts.

As the reigning leader of the Spirituals, he was accustomed to having others do his bidding, just as his father had planned. But through his experience in leadership, he discovered he preferred being directly involved. Very involved. And it was moments like this that confirmed it.

“Good little cocksleeve, ain’t they?” Seungcheol commented, licking his lips.

“They certainly know how to make use of themselves,” Wonwoo drawled, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed your efforts, taking him with as much excitement as you initially came with.

Seungcheol started getting up, standing beside his partner in crime with a growing cock firmly in his grasp. He cast his gaze down at you, his presence domineering and intimidating, yet all the more mesmerizing. Seungcheol scoffed as soon as your eyes flickered in his direction, and his hands found themself in your hair. “I wonder how they’d take two cocks. How does that sound?”

Seungcheol helped release you from Wonwoo’s clutches and invited you into his as he met your eye level. “Can two cocks,” He produced another Ghostface mask, lifting it to his face, “fuck that pretty mouth full? There’s only one right answer.”

“Yes,” you managed to answer, your voice trembling, tears streaking down your face as you exhale, your flushed cheeks betraying the weight of your words. “Always.”

“Exactly what I was looking for.”

Kneeling between them, you held them both in either hand and traveled down both their lengths. Each Ghostface was more wicked than the other as you shoved a cock down your throat, Seungcheol’s groan following in response. Your tongue dragged along its underside, mouth stretching to adjust its size and familiarizing with your throat just as Wonwoo’s had, and the familiar sting of your tears had caused another stream of heat down your cheeks.

“You dirty little slut, so this is the kind of treatment my partner here has been getting,” Seungcheol took you by the hair, and slammed you against the base before pulling you back to only reach the head, another fit of coughing to ensue. “You better work five times as hard if you want to please me too.”

You nodded, each stroke to either of their cocks deliberate and purposeful, the masked individuals looming in front of you anticipating your next move. Taking Seungcheol back in your mouth, you sucked all around his circumstances, memorizing the veins of his shaft to then do the same with Wonwoo, batting your eyes back at him, your mouth parted wide letting both exit and enter on your own accord.

It was then either tip breached one another, both of your hands rubbing against each other at once that you heard something so delicious in their voices, so real and so pure. And before you could truly savor it, both of them pried your mouth part, either cock rubbing against either inside of your mouth, stretching your cheeks, as they unevenly thrust into your mouth.

It looked like it hurt, and either man was glad for it because, in its own sick way, it was another form of punishment, catering to them would only guarantee your ultimate demise and proving to them once and for all how necessary their roles really were.

Still, they enjoyed it—hell, they were euphoric seeing you put so much effort into such an ordeal, but not more impressed than about how it felt. Each twist of your wrist aimed to pump ego in their lengths, the dampness of your slobber stretching from your chin to their shafts creating a path of viscous filth, and the tension building in their manhoods that never seemed to fade as they attempted to bury themselves inside of your face.

It was momentous, and Wonwoo, who was initially concerned, was elated to reap more of the benefits just as much as his leader.

They shoved you off as soon as one of them was close, landing you on the sofa, flushed with a thin layer of sweat. Wonwoo, lifting the mask slightly above his face, let his lips run down your body, the hard, cold of plastic the mask chill on your body, while his teeth were nipping your torso and soft growls hummed against your skin. Startled, you yelped as he tugged your legs toward him, his cock position almost perfect at your warm entrance before he inserted himself, not wasting time by giving you a warning.

You mewled at the sensation, his rock-hard length plunging against your moist, plush walls. You instinctively gripped his arms for support, his ruts definable sharp, guttural, and primal. He loomed over you, mask still in place, but the shadow cast over his face in combination with just the barest hint of his mouth exposed showed a twisted smile of lunacy, dangerous beyond recognition.

Wonwoo was rough, hurting you in a way you’ve never been fucked before, but it made it all the more pleasure and Wonwoo knew it more than you thought. Seungcheol joined your side, squeezing himself between you and the couch as he propped his cock towards your mouth, slapping it against your cheek. “Open the fuck wide,” he said in a gnarly rasp through his mask.

As you opened, he seized you by your chin, slapping the cushion of your cheek where it already stung, before slapping the shaft of his cock on your tongue. You looked up at him, panting in excited gasps before he filled your mouth, then emptied it, and then filled your mouth again. His free hand claimed your breasts, ruthlessly squeezing them, pinching at your peaks, before ultimately slapping them, every action you could only swallow at. At almost every end, you were filled to the brim, hung in the balance of their mercy, and not once could you open your eyes without seeing stars.

“Can’t fucking stand it, what’s a fucking slut like you think you deserves our cocks for,” Wonwoo slapped the underside of your thigh, the sting of it ringing in your ears.

Seungcheol chuckled, fingers threading through your hair, pulling your head back to see the glisten in your eyes, how they beg without saying so, or how they water in delight. “One would be lucky to be so fortunate. You’ll thank us later and it won’t just be with gratitude, it’ll be a plea for more.”

Wonwoo, almost as blinded with lust as either you or Seungcheol, gave a deep heart laugh as he folded your legs back towards you, feeling him bottoming inside you and hitting a spot that shot you up in space. At this point you were immobile of making conscious decisions that didn’t have to do with sex, deducing you to only something they could use—something they could fuck until they were sick of you.

You’d muffle something around Seungcheol’s cock, whether it be their names, or calling them Ghostface, it didn’t matter. It was as if the world outside this room didn’t exist and none of them cared for it to exist. Just them and you, and the sound of raw, unbridled sex. Succumbing to their primal urge to unleash pent-up tension and energy—and how effortlessly they did so.

Wonwoo felt his stomach seize, his abdomen tightening as the involuntary contractions slowed his pace, the warmth starting to overcome him, and his low groans took power over his voice as he doubled over. His cum up and out of him in thick ribbons up your path, the twitching of your orgasm quickening in response to his warmth. Simultaneously, Seungcheol filled your mouth, expanding your cheeks, and he gently stroked your throat, “Swallow every fucking bit of it, you fucking cumbottle.”

Your eyes fluttered, pushing the cum down your pipes as he still stood in your mouth, feeling it slide down with a heavy swallow, and you opened your mouth wide to show just how thorough you are.

Seungcheol finally peeled the mask from his face, revealing flushed pink on his cheeks and damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, making him an undeniably captivating sight—nothing short of a perfect reward.

Wonwoo followed, his presence marked by a familiar mirage, his smile shifting into a Duchenne grin—a smile that sparkled in a way most didn’t, reaching his eyes and revealing just how genuine it truly was. Underestimating the relief that consumed him. “Finally,” he gasped out.

He stood up, towering over your frame, his shadow falling over you. “Nothing short of our expectations,” he complimented before pressing a kiss to your lips, explosive and electric, foreshadowing how it’d be the last.

He started to retrieve the additional knife from under the couch, its steely presence finally making a comeback, and you managed to catch the glint of it peering at you at a lower glance. Jumping into action, your feet aimed for his gut, throwing Wonwoo off base as the knife scattered on the ground and crashing him hard into the glass coffee table behind him.

“Fuck!” Wonwoo shouted, pain pricking him at all sides of his body, blood gushing from the holes from which the glass had penetrated. “You bitch!”

“Like I was going to let that happen,” you spat, recovering from your fatigue.

Seungcheol pinned his arms behind you, an evil smile visible in your peripheral. “And you think I’d let you damage my property like that?” He hissed.

Before Seungcheol could avenge his comrade, you head-butted him from the back of your skull, momentarily blinding him as he clutched his face in agony. “Fuck! Holy fuck! My fucking face! You broke my fucking face!” He growled from the depths of his gut as you backed off of him. “I’m gonna enjoy fucking killing you.”

“God fuck, you knew! Didn’t you, you stupid bitch?” Wonwoo started inching closer to you, the knife a good distance away from him. “You knew who we were and came up here anyway. To what? Get one good fuck? Are you that stupid?”

“Of course, I didn’t fucking know! But I had a gut feeling,” you panted.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol taunted, eye swollen, cheeks and forehead red as he procured a knife from between the couch cushions. “Where that gut feeling take you? Besides getting them rearranged, that is?”

Wonwoo scoffed, finally finding the strength to get up. “Dumb slut like them didn’t get that far. Just good for a fuck.” He spat on the ground blood, gritting his teeth.

Your gaze flickered from one to the other, bare fisted, preparing for the worst. “Why don’t you test that theory then, boys?”

“Fucking gladly,” Seungcheol agreed, voice falling several octaves.

They bolted towards you in blind fury, grasping at you like straw and swinging a knife in your direction, barely nicking you. When Wonwoo ran at you from one end, Seungcheol came at you from the other, attempting to corner you. Determination oozing in their gazes, piercing through your very being, the mirage of the devil’s on both of their unsettlingly handsome faces.

“Nowhere to run now, you little bitch.” Wonwoo screeched venomously.

Seungcheol twirled the knife between his fingers, a grin stretching from ear to ear. “This is where you start crying. Or begging for mercy? It doesn’t matter like it won’t matter where or what we stab you with next.”

You slid underneath their swinging arms, the knife briefly slicing, forearm and you gasped in response, stumbling backward. Feeling cornered. You slowly backed away, searching for an escape, but by luck, you find something in your purse instead, abandoned on the ground just out of your assailants’ sight. “You fuckers aren’t gonna get away with shit by the way. You should be careful where you leave your things around here.”

They both laugh at you condescendingly, not an ounce of doubt in their eyes. “No one is believing your bluffs, darling. Just come over nice and slowly. We’ll only stab you 20 times each,” Seungcheol feignedly reassured.

Thinking you were defenseless, they charged at you at full speed—until you lifted what you’d hidden behind your cowering figure. A burst of pepper spray erupted from the canister into their eyes, and the sound of grown men screaming from the tops of their lungs, like terrified final girls, seared itself into every wrinkle of your brain.

”You stupid slut! Pepper spray? Seriously?”

”First you swell up my face, then fucking blind me? You’re in for a real one, cum guzzling little shit.”

Seizing your chance, you delivered a final kick, shoving Wonwoo in Seungcheol’s direction, sending them into an unexpected embrace. In the haze of pain, Wonwoo's eyes shot open, the piercing ache in his chest telling him everything he needed to know about what had just happened. “S-Seungcheol…what the fuck…”

As he stared into his comrade's eyes, Seungcheol’s eyes grew wide in realization, and looked down at the knife he held in his hand, now plunged into their chest. The leader followed him as he collapsed, taking the longest moment to register the events leading up to this as Wonwoo’s eyes began to drift close. Gripping his brethren’s shoulders with the anger of a million suns, Seungcheol bared his teeth, voice singing in regret. “You…I’M GOING TO CHOP AND FEED THEM TO MY PET SHARKS, YOU TRAMP.”

He turned to face you swiftly—too swiftly—because as soon as he did, his neck met the blade, slicing from one side to the other until you plunged it deeper, twisting it down his throat before pulling it out. Fury lingered in his eyes, barely alive, as he began to spit up blood, several drops landing on your face and body. Moments later, he collapsed beside his partner, his eyes dulling as the life slowly drained from his face and body.

You collapsed to your side, shakily reaching for the phone in your bag and dialing the authorities. “H-hello…I just killed two men that attempted to kill me…I think I know the address.”

Once you hung up, you summoned the courage to flip your phone to camera mode to capture the evidence, gasping for breath, ensuring yourself of the life left in you. As soon as you did, a gravelly voice cut through the silence. Its owner raised the knife that had once been lodged in his chest, charging at you with bloodshot, deranged eyes. “DIE, FREAK, DIE!”

You managed a quick, well-aimed strike where the sun doesn’t shine, slowing him down just enough. As he stumbled, you seized the knife you’d stolen from Seungcheol’s throat and plunged it into his head, again, and again, and again, screaming at the top of your lungs until he finally collapsed to the floor.

With trembling hands, you struggled to hold the phone steady to capture the scene. Blood streaked down your forearms, and your sniffles provided the only soundtrack to the aftermath.

You’d done it—you’d finally done it. It only took a hundred tries and countless hours of risk, but it happened. You had become the one–if not the only–true survivor of the town’s Ghostface murders. If this didn’t launch your career, you weren’t sure what would.

You just had hoped they wouldn’t come with backup.

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