#yandere scream x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blindmagdalena · 7 months ago

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Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile.

You dressed up for him.

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second. “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair.

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that.

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work.

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again.

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively.

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat.

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground.

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight.

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear.

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him.

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.”

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done.

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous.

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now.

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

#heavy breathing #icb i actually did it #tysm to everyone who let me scream and cry at them about this fic as i wrestled nonstop with it #homelander x you #homelander x reader #x reader #homelander fanfiction #yandere x reader #my writing

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tearsof-scarlet · 1 month ago

Text

run run run - ethan landry

Pairing: Ethan Landry x female! reader

Warning: I wanted to make this more spooky/creepy than romantic. Therefore, Ethan can be pretty creepy in some parts, also yandere (?) This is your warning!

TW: Gore, blood, swearing and slight mention of childhood issues (one sentence)

Summary: You have been noticing Ethan’s eyes on you whenever you are with him and your friends. As the college semester progresses, and ghost face’s murder count goes up you can’t help but notice Ethan’s strange demeanour and his interest in becoming closer to you.

note: offically 1st october yay! spooky season so i thought this was fitting

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to come to a party tonight?” you shouted at Mindy over the bass, your voice tight with unease. “This completely breaks your own horror movie rules, doesn’t it?”

Mindy laughed, the sound tinny and distant over the noise of the party. “Oh, come on, relax, ____. There’s like a hundred people here. We’re totally safe.” She shoved a red plastic cup into your hand, the liquid inside sloshing with something strong and biting.

She glanced at you, her smile fading when she saw the look on your face—your wide, nervous eyes darting toward the dark corners of the house, your shoulders tense, like you were waiting for something to happen. Something bad.

Mindy sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch warm but uncomfortably heavy. “Hey, I get it. You’ve been stressed out with school… and everything else.” Her voice lowered, almost like she didn’t want to say it out loud. “But tonight, we need to have fun. We won’t leave each other’s sight, okay? Promise.”

Her words hovered in the air like a faint breath, barely pushing away the gnawing unease coiling in your stomach. Still, you nodded, the fight draining from you. She was right, in a way. You’d been on edge for weeks now, barely sleeping, barely leaving your dorm. The murders had done that to everyone.

Three students. Brutally killed. The last one… she had lived in your hall. You could still hear the screams echoing in your mind, as if they were happening right now. That night had changed everything. You’d run out of your room, heart pounding, only to find her crumpled on the pavement, her blood spilling thick and dark onto the cold concrete. The smell of iron had filled the air, and the sound… the slow, wet drip of her blood as it pooled beneath her still body—it had frozen you in place.

The campus police had come too late. They always came too late.

Now, you locked yourself in your room, only leaving for class. Yet here you were, standing in the middle of a frat house, surrounded by pounding bass and laughter that felt too loud, too hollow, like everyone was trying to drown out the looming terror. You took a deep breath, raised your cup in a half-hearted toast to Mindy, and gulped down the drink.

After a few more, you began to loosen up, the alcohol dulling the edge of your fear. You danced with your friends, feeling the beat pulse through your body. For a moment, you let yourself forget—forget the screams, the blood, the shadow that seemed to hang over the campus like a curse. You were having fun again.

But after a while, the room grew stifling, the sweat slicking your skin. You tapped Tara on the shoulder. “I’m gonna get some air!” you shouted over the music.

Tara glanced at you, her brow furrowing. “You want me to come with?”

You followed her gaze to Chad, who stood behind her, their hands almost touching as they danced. They’d been pining for each other for months now, and you didn’t want to interrupt. “No, I’m fine,” you assured her, forcing a smile. “I won’t go far.”

Sliding through the packed bodies, you finally pushed through the door and stepped outside. The cold night air hit you hard, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering. The muted thump of the bass from inside faded into the background as you stared out into the darkness.

You pulled out your phone, squinting at the screen as a message from Sam lit up. She was checking in on Tara, as usual. As you tapped out a reply, you heard it—the faint rustling of bushes nearby. Your heart skipped. You froze, staring into the dark.

The bushes shuddered again, a sharp, unnatural sound that sliced through the stillness. Your grip tightened on your phone. “Hello?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, swallowed by the heavy silence around you.

Nothing. The stillness pressed in, suffocating. Your fingers fumbled for the flashlight on your phone, the screen blurring as your hands shook. Just as you were about to turn it on, you felt it—a hand, cold and sudden, on your shoulder.

You spun around, your scream strangled in your throat as you staggered back, slamming into the wall behind you. A tall figure loomed before you, the dim streetlight casting long, sharp shadows over their face.

“Hey! Whoa, ____! It’s just me!”

Your breath came in ragged gasps as the figure stepped closer, their features sliding into focus. It was Ethan. His hands were raised in a placating gesture, but his presence was too sudden, too close.

“Ethan…” you breathed, still trying to calm the rapid pounding in your chest. Your eyes swept over him, your mind working through the fog of panic. Ethan was Chad’s roommate, the quiet guy from econ. He seemed harmless. Quiet. Almost forgettable.

He tilted his head, his lips curving into an awkward smile. “Yeah, uh… we have econ together, remember?” His voice sounded normal, but there was something off. Something that didn’t quite fit.

You nodded slowly, but your body remained tense. Something about the way he stood there, just outside the reach of the streetlight, sent a prickling sensation crawling up your spine.

“Sorry,” you muttered, trying to laugh it off, though your voice sounded thin, hollow. “I guess I was… lost in my own world.”

Ethan chuckled softly, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking past you to the house, then back to the dark bushes. “Yeah… I called your name a couple of times, but you didn’t hear me.”

His words lingered in the air, thick with something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced at the bushes again, where the noise had come from. They were still now, but the uneasy feeling gnawed at the back of your mind.

And Ethan just stood there, watching you.

You chuckled nervously, glancing at Ethan. “I didn’t see you inside the party. Where were you?”

Ethan blinked, as if caught off guard by the question. “Oh, I actually just got here,” he explained, his voice calm but oddly flat.

You quickly checked your phone—12:45 a.m. It was late, too late to just be arriving. A strange unease curled in your gut. Something about it felt… off. Most people were already wasted by now, or had left.

“You’re a bit late, don’t you think?” you said with a forced laugh, trying to break the awkward silence hanging between you. “Why didn’t you come with Chad?”

There was a pause. Ethan’s eyes flickered, almost imperceptibly, down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “I had to finish Mr. Smith’s econ assignment. It took longer than I thought,” he said, too quickly. His tone was casual, but there was something in the way he said it that felt rehearsed, like he’d been waiting for you to ask.

Before you could press him about it, he cut you off, his voice light but a little too eager. “So, what are you doing out here all alone?”

“I just needed some air,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “The alcohol… it’s kind of hitting me.”

Ethan’s eyes stayed locked on you, and you noticed he’d moved closer, almost without you realizing. There was barely a foot between you now, his presence looming, the subtle scent of something you couldn’t place filling the space. “I didn’t really think of you as the drinking type,” he said softly, his voice barely louder than the hum of the distant party. “I never see you at these things.”

He was closer now—too close. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the way his shadow seemed to stretch longer, darker, in the dim light. You swallowed, your throat dry. “Yeah, it’s not really my scene,” you said with a weak smile, your attempt at humor faltering. “Mindy dragged me here. I think she just wanted to… you know… get laid.”

You forced a laugh, but it felt strange, hollow, like the words were getting caught in the thick tension around you. Ethan didn’t laugh. He just watched you, his eyes gleaming in the faint light from the streetlamp, his lips curling into something that almost looked like a smile—but there was no warmth in it.

“Yeah… I bet she did,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur, as he tilted his head slightly. The movement was slow, deliberate, like he was studying you. You tried to take a step back, but your back was already against the wall, the cold bricks pressing into your skin through your clothes.

You noticed then how quiet it had gotten. The bass from inside the house was still thumping, but it felt distant, muted, like you were trapped in a bubble, cut off from everything. The air felt heavier now, like it was pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Ethan’s gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable. “Funny how we’ve never really talked before, huh? Not until now.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. There was something unsettling in the way he said it, something that made your pulse quicken, your instincts screaming at you to run. But his body blocked your path, his presence too large, too close. And as he stood there, smiling that strange, empty smile, you realized that despite the noise, the people, the lights—you were completely alone with him.

Ethan's gaze lingered on you, his smile too controlled, too deliberate. “You know,” he continued, his voice low, almost conspiratorial, “I’ve always noticed you in class. You’ve got this… quiet thing going on. It’s kind of mysterious.”

The compliment landed wrong, like a piece of shattered glass, sharp and cutting. You tried to force a smile, but the tension was becoming suffocating. You shifted, desperate to break the eye contact, to shake off the eerie feeling gnawing at your nerves.

“Uh, thanks… I guess?” you mumbled, trying to sound casual. The words felt flimsy, weak, like they were getting lost in the fog of the darkened street.

Ethan stepped closer, his breath warm on your skin now, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “It’s nice to see you outside of that classroom. I think we’d get along well… outside of school, you know?”

Maybe it was because you both never talked but you didn’t realise how handsome Ethan was. Your face flushed at his words. Your stomach twisted as your pulse quickened.

Before you could respond, the door burst open with a loud creak, and Mindy stumbled out, giggling. “Oh, there you are!” she slurred, her voice way too loud in the eerie quiet. She didn’t notice the tension clinging to the air between you and Ethan.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she hiccuped, making her way over, nearly tripping over her own feet. “I think I’m ready to go home. You coming?” She leaned heavily on you, the smell of alcohol strong on her breath as she swayed, oblivious to the way Ethan’s expression had shifted, the smile slipping from his face, replaced by something cold and unreadable.

Your heart raced, relief flooding through you as you felt the weight of her body against yours. “Yeah, let’s go,” you said quickly, forcing a smile as you gently peeled yourself away from Ethan’s proximity. “It’s getting late.”

Ethan’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile returning but now strained, his eyes darker. “Leaving already?” he asked, his voice casual, but something sharp lurked beneath it. “I thought we were just starting to have fun.”

Mindy snorted, completely unaware of the tension. “Oh please, fun can wait until tomorrow! I’m totally wasted.”

You gave Ethan a tight smile, your heart still pounding. “Yeah, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” you echoed, though the last thing you wanted was to see him again.

He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, just watched as you turned away with Mindy. The chill in the air felt sharper now, like icy fingers brushing against your skin. As you walked away, you could feel his eyes boring into your back, the weight of his stare following you down the dark street.

And just before you crossed the threshold of the house, Mindy tugging you inside, you risked one last glance over your shoulder.

Ethan was still standing there, his figure barely visible in the shadows, his smile gone. His eyes gleamed under the streetlamp, locked on you, unblinking, as if he were watching and waiting for something only he knew was coming.

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache, the dull throb of a hangover pulsing behind your eyes. The room spun slightly as you blinked into the dim light, trying to piece together fragments of the night before. Mindy was sprawled next to you on the couch, still out cold, her hair a mess, and her phone clutched loosely in her hand. The sound of muffled voices drifted from outside your apartment door, but you were too groggy to make sense of them.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your temples and groaning. The room felt too quiet, too still, after the chaos of the party. For a moment, everything seemed normal, and you almost let yourself forget the creeping sense of dread that had followed you all night.

Just as you were about to lie back down, the door burst open, and Sam, Tara, and Chad hurried in, their faces pale and grim. Tara looked especially shaken, her hands trembling as she pushed her hair out of her face.

“What the hell—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat when you saw their expressions.

Sam, always the calm one, stepped forward, her eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that sent a chill down your spine. “You heard what happened last night, right?”

You frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Chad closed the door behind them, his face unusually somber. “There was another murder,” he said, his voice low. “Just a block from the party. They found a student—his throat was slashed.”

Your stomach dropped. You glanced at Mindy, who was starting to stir, but her groggy movements felt far away as the weight of Chad’s words settled over you.

“What?” you whispered, feeling the blood drain from your face. “Who—who was it?”

Sam swallowed; her voice carefully controlled. “Noah. From your economics class.”

The world seemed to tilt as the name hit you like a punch to the gut. Noah. You blinked, trying to process what they were telling you. Noah, the funny guy from class, the one you used to crush on. The guy you hadn’t thought about in months, suddenly gone.

You stared at them; your mouth dry. “Noah? But I—” You trailed off, your mind racing. Noah. You’d passed him in the halls, seen him during class, always on the edges of your thoughts but never close enough to matter. And now… now he was dead?

“When?” Mindy mumbled groggily, finally waking up, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. “What’s going on?”

Tara bit her lip, her eyes filled with worry. “Last night. Before we left the party. It happened not far from where you guys were. It could’ve been one of us.”

You shivered, flashes of last night coming back in fragmented images. The party. The alcohol. The darkness outside. And Ethan… standing there under the streetlamp, watching you with that strange, lingering look. But none of you suspected him. Why would you? Ethan was quiet, awkward even. Harmless. You hadn’t even really thought about him when you left the party, your mind too occupied with getting Mindy home and crashing for the night.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “I… I didn’t even hear anything,” you stammered. “We were right there.”

Chad crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “None of us did. It must’ve happened after the party started dying down.”

Sam stepped closer, her expression grim. “You knew him, right? Noah?”

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy with the weight of the name. “Yeah… we had econ together. We weren’t close or anything, but… I used to have a crush on him. A long time ago.”

Tara sighed, her voice soft with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, ____. This is messed up. First the other murders, and now this? What if the killer is still around? What if they’re targeting more people?”

You bit your lip, the knot of fear tightening in your chest. The thought of the killer being that close… of someone hunting students like prey, sent a shiver down your spine. Noah’s face flashed in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder—had he been scared? Had he known what was coming?

“I… I need a minute,” you muttered, standing abruptly. Sam reached out as if to stop you, but you pulled away, your thoughts swirling too fast to keep up. “I just need some air, okay?”

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your bag and slipped out the door. The cool hallway air hit your skin, but it didn’t do much to calm your racing mind. The echoes of the conversation, of another person’s death, followed you down the stairs and into the street. The bustling campus felt distant, as if everything had slowed, the reality of another murder dragging you into a fog of anxiety.

The library was where you ended up, the one place that had always helped you focus. The quiet, the smell of old books, the heavy silence — it usually worked like a balm for your nerves. But not today. You slid into one of the back study booths, pulled out your econ notes, and stared blankly at the words. Your mind was far from the pages in front of you.

The quiet in the library should have been comforting, but it was almost too quiet. The silence was thick, unsettling. Every creak of a chair or shuffle of papers seemed amplified, and you kept glancing up, half-expecting someone to be watching you.

You shook your head, trying to shove the creeping paranoia aside. You had to keep it together, for your sake and for your friends’. With a campus killer still out there, you had to be on guard.

But then, the sound of footsteps broke through the quiet, slow and deliberate, heading in your direction. You looked up, and there, standing just a few feet from your booth, was Ethan.

His expression was cautious, his eyes scanning the empty tables around you before settling on yours. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost too soft for the silence of the library.

Your stomach clenched, the eerie feeling from last night creeping back. You hadn’t seen him at the party after that strange conversation outside, and now here he was, showing up again when you were alone.

“Hey,” you said, forcing a tight smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Ethan shrugged, his hands shoved into his pockets as he shifted on his feet. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to catch up on some work. Thought I’d check in on you, though… I heard about Noah. It's messed up.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as your eyes flicked back to your notes. “Yeah, it is. I can’t believe it.”

He didn’t sit down, but he leaned slightly against the edge of the table, his eyes never leaving you. “Were you guys close?”

You shook your head. “Not really… we had classes together. That’s it.”

Ethan’s face was hard to read, his concern genuine, but there was something off, something that didn’t sit right. Maybe it was just the paranoia creeping in again, but the fact that he was here, now, of all places, unsettled you.

“I mean,” you continued, “it’s just… I don’t know, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” You tried to focus on your notes, but his presence made it impossible to concentrate.

“I get it,” Ethan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It's scary. A lot of people are on edge right now. I guess you were pretty close to where it happened, too.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the memory of last night flashing in your mind — the way Ethan had appeared out of nowhere under the streetlamp. “Yeah… I guess we were.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze a little too intense, lingering on your face. “You sure you’re okay? You look… tense.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the lie slipping out before you could think. “Just a lot to process.”

Ethan frowned, his eyes flicking to your hands, which were gripping your pen a little too tightly. “If you ever need to talk… I’m around.”

You forced another smile. “Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate it.”

But even as the words left your mouth, a part of you screamed to get away. Something was wrong, but you couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the fact that Noah had just been murdered, or maybe it was the way Ethan kept showing up, always just on the edge of things.

Before he could say anything else, you packed up your notes. “I should get going,” you said, standing abruptly. “Got a lot of studying to do.”

“Wait,” Ethan said quickly as you turned to leave. “Let me walk you home. I don’t think it’s safe to be out here alone right now.”

You hesitated for a moment, a part of you wanting to refuse out of stubbornness, but the darkness outside felt heavy, and the unease gnawing at your gut pushed you to accept. “Okay,” you replied, trying to sound casual. “That’d be… nice.”

As you stepped out of the library, the chill in the air was sharper than before. You pulled your jacket tighter around you, glancing sideways at Ethan, who fell into step beside you. The shadows from the trees danced eerily in the dim streetlights, and a part of you felt relieved to have him there.

“I can’t believe another student was murdered,” you said, trying to break the silence. “It’s terrifying. I didn’t think it would hit this close to home.”

Ethan nodded, his expression somber. “I know. It’s crazy to think we were all just at that party, and now…” He trailed off, and you could sense the weight of the situation hanging over both of you.

As you walked, you started to relax a little, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease with each step. Ethan smiled faintly. “It’s strange how quickly things can change, isn’t it? One moment, you’re just living your life, and the next, it’s like the ground gets pulled out from under you.”

You glanced at him, surprised by how relatable he was being. “Yeah, exactly. It makes you realize how fragile everything is.”

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the distant laughter from the campus and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. It felt oddly comforting to share this moment, and you found yourself more at ease with him than before.

As you approached your apartment building, Ethan turned to you, his expression earnest. “You know, if you ever need someone to walk you home or just… hang out, you can text me. I don’t mind being your personal escort.” He chuckled lightly, and the warmth in his tone made you smile.

“Really?” you asked, surprised by the offer. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to put you out or anything.”

Ethan shrugged, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. “It’s not a problem at all. I’d feel better knowing you’re safe. Besides, it gives me an excuse to hang out with you more.”

There was a brief pause, and you could feel your heart flutter slightly at his words. “Okay, I’ll take you up on that. It’s nice to know I have someone to walk with.”

He pulled out his phone and quickly punched in a number, then handed it to you. “Here, just in case. Text me if you need anything. I mean it.”

You took the phone, your fingers brushing against his as you typed in your number. A small thrill coursed through you, but the tension in the back of your mind was still there, whispering caution. “Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Just stay safe, alright? I’ll be around.”

You nodded, watching as he walked away, a strange mix of comfort and unease settling in your stomach. The night felt darker now, but somehow less lonely with the thought that you had someone looking out for you. Yet the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right lingered in the air, a shadow that refused to be ignored.

As you entered your apartment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that while Ethan might seem harmless, the world outside was anything but. You locked the door behind you and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath, reminding yourself to stay alert. With a killer still on the loose, it was more important than ever to watch your back.

The silence in your apartment felt heavy as you settled onto the couch, trying to shake off the remnants of the day. Mindy had gone out with Anika, leaving you alone, and while a part of you relished the quiet, another part was restless. The unsettling news about Noah echoed in your mind, refusing to fade into the background.

Just as you reached for the TV remote, your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen, surprised to see an unknown number. Hesitating for a moment, you answered. “Hello?”

“Hello, ____” a voice purred, low and taunting. Your stomach dropped as you recognized the sinister tone that sent shivers down your spine.

“Who is this?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear creeping in.

“You don’t know who I am?” the voice teased, dripping with menace. “I just wanted to check in on you. Heard you were scared. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. In fact, I’m going to enjoy ripping your skin apart.”

The threat hung in the air like a dark cloud, your heart racing. “You think you can scare me? You’re pathetic,” you shot back, surprising yourself with your own bravado. “How about you actually do something and come get me.”

“Me do something?” the voice on the other end laughed, “I saw you standing there watching that poor girl bleed out. Didn’t really look like you were doing much to help her, hm?”

The hand holding your phone began to shake bringing up the memory. “You fucking asshole.” You swore as your voice shook.

A pause followed, and the voice chuckled softly. “I love it when you play tough. It makes this even more exciting.”

“Show your face you fucking coward!”

Just then, the door to Mindy’s room creaked open, and your heart stopped. Out burst a figure clad in a Ghostface costume, the mask reflecting the dim light of the room, a glint of a knife in hand. Panic surged as you realized that you hadn’t checked that room all day.

Without thinking, you bolted from the couch, instinct taking over as you lunged for the nearest kitchen chair. The figure rushed at you, the blade aimed right for your gut, but you were faster. You swung the chair hard, knocking him off balance. Although he missed your stomach, it didn’t stop the blade from slicing your cheek as he stumbled.

You screamed feeling the blood dripping down your face, adrenaline pushing you to fight back.

The assailant stumbled back, momentarily caught off guard. You seized the opportunity and swung the chair again, this time connecting with his shoulder, making him grunt in surprise.

Despite his height and strength, you were determined. You could see the flash of annoyance beneath the mask, and that fuelled your fight. He lunged again, but you ducked just in time, the blade slicing through the air where you’d just been standing. You grabbed a nearby knife from the counter, holding it defensively in front of you.

The Ghostface figure paused, seeming to weigh his options. Slowly he lifted his voice changer “You’re braver than I thought,” he said, the amusement in his voice clear even through the mask.

He ran cornering you in the kitchen, grabbing your wrist and attempting to twist the knife from your grasp. You fought against his grip, adrenaline surging as you twisted your body and kicked him in the knee. He staggered back, the knife slipping from your hand but not before you landed another blow against his side.

You heard him growl under the mask, but there was a hint of surprise in his voice. You were stronger than he had anticipated.

You quickly glanced around, searching for anything to help you. The phone! You needed to call for help. You darted toward the living room, but he was right on your heels.

With every ounce of determination, you turned to face him again, prepared to fight.

He lunged again, and you barely managed to sidestep, shoving him hard enough to send him crashing to the floor. The knife clattered away, its metallic sound echoing in the silence of the apartment. Your heart raced as you scrambled to grab it, but before you could reach it, you felt a grip around your ankle, yanking you back down to the floor with a brutal thud. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you gasped, struggling to catch your breath as you looked over.

Ghostface was rising from the ground, his silhouette dark and menacing. Panic surged through you as you reached for the knife again, your fingertips just grazing its handle. If only you could stretch a little further. But before you could grasp it, a heavy black leather boot crushed down on your hand, eliciting a shriek of agony from your lips. The masked figure loomed over you, his eyes locked onto yours as he snatched the knife from the floor, a glimmer of triumph flashing in the dim light.

He straddled you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, leaving you utterly helpless. The ghostly mask was a mere breath away, its hollow eyes boring into your soul. Terror coursed through you, your body writhing beneath him as exhaustion threatened to pull you under.

With a sickening gentleness, he brushed a hand along the open gash on your cheek, spreading the blood across your skin like a twisted artist painting his masterpiece. You cringed, disgust and fear mingling in your gut, as he raised the knife, the blade catching the light and reflecting it back at you in a wicked flash.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he traced the knife down your jawline, then across your chest, the cold steel drawing dangerously close to your heart. Just as he lifted the knife above his head, preparing to plunge it down, a thunderous banging erupted from the front door, drowning the room in chaos. Keys jangled, and frantic voices shouted your name, echoing through the apartment.

Ghostface froze, the knife suspended in the air, his breath coming in sharp, angry huffs as he glanced toward the noise. You could almost feel the anger radiating off him, the momentary distraction breaking his focus. His eyes narrowed as he weighed his options, the dark mask hiding a tempest of rage and frustration beneath.

The eyes of his masks bore into you, a sinister promise lingering in the air that he would return to finish you off. Slowly, he backed away, the blade still glinting ominously in his grasp, leaving you gasping for breath on the floor, the taste of fear lingering on your tongue. You could only watch as he melted into the shadows, knowing he would return.

Before you could respond, he darted towards Mindy’s room, you heard the sound of the killer throwing the window open just as you heard the pounding of footsteps outside your door.

You stood there, heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. The reality of what just happened crashed down on you, but you weren’t going to let fear consume you. You had fought back, and you were still standing.

As the door burst open and Mindy, Anika, and a couple of campus security officers rushed in, you turned to them still on the ground, shaking but resolute. “Oh my god ____!” Mindy yelled. “Are you alright?”

“Did you really have to leave your window open?” You half joked to her closing your eyes about to pass out from exhaustion.

The night was far from over, but you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t going to let fear control you. You would fight back, no matter the cost.

The next morning, the sunlight barely broke through the curtains, casting a muted glow in your apartment. The events of last night played on a loop in your mind, the terror still fresh as you wrapped yourself in a blanket, sitting on the couch with trembling hands.

A knock on the door startled you, and your heart raced again. Cautiously, you got up and peeked through the peephole. Relief washed over you when you saw Ethan standing there, a box of donuts in his hands, looking slightly dishevelled but earnest.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door. “Hey,” you greeted, trying to mask your unease with a half-smile.

“Hey! I brought you some donuts,” he said, lifting the box in a gesture of goodwill. “Thought you might need some comfort food after… everything.”

You stepped aside to let him in, the warmth of his presence both comforting and disquieting. As he settled on the kitchen island, you could feel the tension still lingering in the air between you. Ethan opened the box, revealing an array of sugary treats. “I figured these would help brighten your day,” he said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing a donut but not really feeling like eating. “It’s really sweet of you.”

He took a bite of a donut, flashing a smile, but the moment felt strained. You could sense his concern, but all you could think about was the adrenaline and fear still coursing through your veins from last night. Finally, the unease bubbled to the surface, and you cut through the pleasantries. “Where were you last night, Ethan?”

His expression changed instantly, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something unreadable. “What do you mean?” he asked, brow furrowing slightly.

“I just… I didn’t see you. I thought maybe you were around,” you said, your voice trembling a little, unsure of where this was heading.

A shadow passed over his face, and he leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t think it was me that attacked you, do you?”

The question hung in the air, thick and suffocating. You could feel your heart race again, the way he said it made you question everything. “I—” you stammered, but the thought had already taken root in your mind. You couldn’t help but make note of Ethan next to the kitchen knives.

“I mean, I was just worried about you,” he continued, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a hint of defensiveness. “I didn’t know what was happening until Chad called me.”

“Right, but…” you hesitated, searching his face for any signs of deceit. “You know I was attacked, and it just feels… strange that you’re here right after it happened.”

Ethan’s expression hardened, the playful demeanour falling away completely. “Strange? Because I care about you?” His tone had shifted, and the tension in the room was palpable, wrapping around you like a rope.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words and the implications behind them. “I just… I don’t know who to trust right now,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan held your gaze, his eyes piercing as if trying to gauge your sincerity. “I would never hurt you,” he said firmly, the conviction in his voice sending chills down your spine. “You know that, right?”

You wanted to believe him, but the events of last night played back in your mind, and the uncertainty clawed at your insides. “It’s just hard to feel safe,” you replied, dropping your gaze to the floor, the donuts forgotten between you.

He reached out, placing a hand on your knee, and you flinched at the sudden contact, your body still on high alert. “I get it. I do. But I’m here for you, and I promise I’ll help you feel safe,” he said, the earnestness returning to his voice.

As you looked up at him, the doubt still lingered, swirling in the back of your mind. You wanted to trust him, but fear was a powerful force, twisting your thoughts and making you question everything, even the intentions of those closest to you.

Ethan's gaze softened as he searched your eyes, the tension in the room slowly ebbing. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in,” he began, his voice low and steady. “But there’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve wanted to say for a long time.”

Your heart raced, anticipation and fear swirling within you. “What is it?” you asked, your breath hitching slightly.

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. “I’ve always liked you,” he confessed, his tone sincere. “Since the first time we met in class, I thought you were amazing. Smart, funny... just… you.”

The admission caught you off guard, a rush of emotions flooding through you. “Ethan, I—” you started, but he quickly cut you off.

“Please, let me finish,” he urged, his intensity making you feel exposed and vulnerable. “When I heard about what happened, I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. I was scared, and I realized how much I care about you. I didn’t want to admit it before, but now… with everything happening, it feels wrong not to.”

Your mind raced as his words hung in the air. You’d always found Ethan intriguing, his easy charm and confidence drawing you in. But now, faced with the reality of the threat that loomed over you, emotions were tangled in a chaotic mess.

“I appreciate you saying that,” you replied, your voice trembling. “But right now, I’m just trying to process everything. It’s hard to think about… feelings when I’m just trying to stay alive.”

“I get that,” he said, his expression shifting to one of understanding. “But I want to help you. If it means being there for you, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m not just saying this because of what happened last night; I genuinely want to be part of your life.”

You felt your defences waver as you looked into his eyes, seeing a sincerity that calmed some of the fear gripping you. “And what if it was you?” you asked quietly, still grappling with your thoughts. “What if you’re just saying this now to—”

“Shh,” he interrupted softly, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. “I promise you, it wasn’t me. I couldn’t hurt you, not now, not ever. Please believe that.” His grip was firm, a grounding force amidst the chaos in your mind.

As the weight of his words settled, you found a flicker of comfort in his touch. “I want to believe you, Ethan. It’s just… everything feels so twisted right now. I need time.”

“Take all the time you need,” he assured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles soothingly. “But I’ll be here. Whenever you need someone to talk to, or even if you just want company, I’ll be here.”

You nodded slowly, grateful for his support but still wary. The confession lingered between you, adding complexity to your relationship in a time of crisis. “Thanks for the donuts, by the way,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “They might be exactly what I need right now.”

A small smile broke through his serious facade. “Just trying to make sure you’re taken care of,” he replied, his voice warmer now.

You both shared a brief laugh, the tension in the air easing slightly, but beneath it all, the fear remained—a reminder that danger still lurked outside your door. As you sat there, hand in hand, you knew that while you were still scared, you had someone willing to stand by you through the darkness.

As the silence stretched between you, the air thick with unspoken emotions, you both locked eyes, a magnetic pull drawing you closer. Ethan’s gaze flickered over your face, pausing at your lips, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Without thinking, you both lunged toward each other, colliding in a rush of warmth and urgency. The kiss was electric, igniting a spark that sent a thrill coursing through you. You could taste the sweetness of the donuts on his lips, mingling with the desperation of the moment. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the connection as your bodies pressed together.

You melted into him, the chaos of the night before fading into the background. This was a moment of escape, a breath of fresh air amidst the horror. His lips moved against yours with a passion that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It felt as though everything around you had vanished, leaving only the two of you in this intimate bubble.

Ethan pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breaths mingling in the shared space between you. “Wow,” he whispered, a mix of surprise and delight dancing in his eyes. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, your heart racing. The heat of the kiss lingered on your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile. “But it felt… right.”

“Yeah, it really did.” He searched your face, his expression earnest. “I just want you to know, whatever happens next, I’m here for you. Not just because of… everything going on, but because I want to be.”

You nodded, feeling a rush of affection for him. “I appreciate that, Ethan. I really do.” The weight of his words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you felt a sense of safety in his presence.

Before you could say more, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, breaking the moment. Your heart sank slightly, the reality of the situation crashing back in. “I think Mindy and Anika are back,” you said, glancing toward the door.

Ethan nodded, the momentary intimacy still hanging in the air as he pulled back, his hands reluctantly leaving your waist. “Let’s talk more later?” he suggested, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Definitely,” you replied, feeling a rush of warmth. You could sense that this was just the beginning, and despite the lingering fear, a spark of hope flickered in your chest.

Just then, the door swung open, and Mindy entered, her face a mix of concern and relief. “Hey, you two! I hope we’re not interrupting anything too serious…” She trailed off, a teasing smile forming as she glanced between you and Ethan.

You exchanged a quick, sheepish look with Ethan, the reality of the moment settling in. “Just… talking,” you said, trying to play it cool.

Mindy raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced but willing to let it slide. “Well, good. Because we need to figure out what our next steps are. We can’t let that creep get away with what he did.”

Ethan nodded, his demeanour shifting back to seriousness. “Absolutely. We need to come up with a plan to keep everyone safe.”

As you shifted back to the reality of the situation, you couldn’t shake the warmth of the kiss and the promise of what was to come. You were still scared, but you weren’t alone anymore.

You gathered in the living room, the atmosphere tense but charged with a newfound determination. Ethan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, while Mindy paced in front of the group, her eyes alight with purpose. Sam and Tara exchanged anxious glances, while Chad fiddled nervously with his phone. Sam stood at the center, ready to take charge.

“Okay, listen up,” Sam said, raising her voice to draw everyone’s attention. “We need a plan. We can’t let Ghostface get to any of us again.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “If we stick together, we have a better chance of trapping him. We can’t let him pick us off one by one.”

Chad nodded eagerly. “Yeah, if we can lure him out somehow, we can catch him off guard. I mean, he’s just a person, right? We can take him. Sam found a place we can use as a base. It’s an old house out in the woods. We can fortify it and use it as a safe zone.”

Ethan straightened; his expression serious. Mindy raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “An occupied home? You’re sure it’s safe?”

Sam nodded. “I did some research. It’s been vacant for a while, and it’s far enough away from campus that we can keep a low profile. We can set up defenses and make a plan to draw Ghostface in.”

Tara chimed in, her voice steady. “I like it. We can set up cameras, make sure we know when he’s around. We can create distractions if he tries to sneak up on us.”

You felt a flicker of hope as the group rallied around the idea. Everyone was on board, and for the first time since the attack, you felt a sense of unity. You exchanged a glance with Ethan, and he gave you a reassuring nod.

“Let’s gather what we need,” Sam continued, her voice firm. “We’ll head to the house, set up defenses, and then we can discuss how we want to draw him out. This ends tonight.”

As the group began to disperse, you felt a rush of adrenaline. The fear was still there, lurking just beneath the surface, but with your friends by your side, you felt like you could face anything.

“Hey,” Ethan said, catching your arm before you left the room. “Are you okay? I mean… after everything.”

You smiled softly, grateful for his concern. “I’m hanging in there. But I’ll be better once we put a stop to this.”

He grinned, the tension easing between you. “Good. We’ll figure this out together.”

As the others gathered supplies and made plans, you felt a mix of anxiety and determination. This was your chance to take control, to reclaim your life and confront the horror that had invaded your world.

Later that evening, you all piled into a couple of cars, the air thick with a sense of urgency. As you drove away from campus, the shadows of the trees loomed ominously, but you felt a spark of hope lighting the way. You were no longer just running scared — you were ready to fight back.

When you finally arrived at the house, its dark silhouette against the night sky sent a chill down your spine. But you reminded yourself of the goal. Inside, you would find a way to take down Ghostface once and for all.

As you stepped inside, the creaky floorboards groaned beneath your feet, and you shared a nervous glance with the group. This was it. Time to prepare. Time to take a stand.

The atmosphere inside the old house was tense as you all set up makeshift defences. Knives were scattered across surfaces, each of you staying close to one another, forming a protective circle. The flickering lights cast unsettling shadows on the walls, heightening the feeling of unease.

As you went through your makeshift plans, Mindy suddenly paused, her eyes narrowing. “Did anyone else hear that?” she asked, her voice low and cautious.

Everyone fell silent, straining to listen. The faint creak of the floorboards echoed from the other side of the house, sending a shiver down your spine. Sam exchanged worried glances with the group, her brows furrowed in concern. “We need to split up and check it out,” she decided, though you could hear the reluctance in her tone.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tara interjected; her voice tinged with anxiety. “What if it’s Ghostface?”

“We’ll be careful,” Sam reassured, her voice steady. “We can cover more ground this way. Just keep your phones on and stay in contact.”

Reluctantly, you all agreed. You formed smaller groups to search the house, your heart racing as you and Ethan ended up together, the two of you making your way to a secluded area of the building that seemed to grow darker with each step.

“Great,” you muttered, trying to shake off the unease. “Just the two of us in the creepy part of the house.”

Ethan smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “At least we have knives,” he said, gesturing to the weapon in your hand. But as you glanced at him, his demeanor shifted. The playfulness faded, replaced by something darker.

“So… who do you think Ghostface is?” he asked, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “I mean, do you have any suspects?”

You felt a chill run down your spine. His gaze was intense, studying you as if trying to gauge your reaction. “I don’t know,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “Could be anyone, right?”

Ethan stepped closer, invading your personal space, and the mood shifted again. “But what if it’s someone we know?” His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see a hint of something unsettling in them. “What if it’s someone we trust?”

You shifted uncomfortably, the walls of the secluded area feeling like they were closing in on you. “Ethan, this isn’t really the time for this kind of talk,” you said, your heart racing.

He didn’t step back, though; instead, he leaned in a little closer. “I just want to make sure you’re safe, you know? There’s a lot at stake here. I mean, do you really think any of us are safe?”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you took a step back, trying to maintain your composure. “I think we’ll be fine as long as we stick together. That’s what we agreed on.”

He tilted his head slightly, a strange smile curling on his lips. “Together, sure. But what if we’re not safe even in a group? What if Ghostface is just waiting for the right moment to pick us off?”

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten. “I don’t want to think about that, Ethan. We need to stay focused on finding him.”

Ethan chuckled softly, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something menacing lurking beneath the surface. “You’re right. Focus is key. But just remember…” He leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Trust can be a dangerous game.”

Before you could respond, a loud crash echoed through the house, followed by frantic shouts from the others. Panic surged through you as adrenaline spiked, drowning out Ethan’s unsettling presence.

“Ethan, we need to go!” you urged, moving toward the sound of your friends’ voices. But he hesitated, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“Are you sure you want to?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his tone.

You didn’t have time for this. “Yes! Come on!” you shouted, your heart racing as you bolted toward the noise, the weight of uncertainty and dread settling heavily in your chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong, and you needed to get back to the others before it was too late.

Ethan’s hand clasped around yours as you both sprinted toward the sounds of your friends, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Each footstep echoed in the dimly lit halls, your heart racing with a mix of fear and determination.

“What did you hear?” you asked breathlessly, glancing back at him as you approached the living room where the others had gathered.

Chad looked up, his expression tense. “It sounded like something fell over. But now it’s… silent.”

You exchanged worried glances with Sam, Mindy, and Tara. “Shouldn’t we check it out?” you asked, a sense of foreboding creeping into your thoughts.

Ethan and Chad nodded at each other, an unspoken agreement passing between them. “We’ll go check the basement,” Ethan said, determination etched on his face. “You girls stay here. Just keep an eye out.”

As the two of them headed toward the basement door, you felt a mix of relief and anxiety wash over you. You turned to the girls, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Okay, we need to come up with a plan in case Ghostface shows up again.”

But just as you began to strategize, the sudden shrill ring of a phone cut through the stillness of the house, causing everyone to jump. You instinctively checked your pockets, and a sinking feeling filled your stomach when you realized it was your phone ringing.

“Oh no,” you whispered, the colour draining from your face as the familiar number flashed on the screen—an unknown caller.

“Don’t answer it!” Tara urged, but your hand moved almost instinctively to accept the call, your curiosity mingling with dread.

“Hello?” you managed, your voice shaky.

A chilling laugh echoed through the speaker, and you felt your blood run cold. “Poor ____,” Ghostface taunted, his voice dripping with malice. “I bet you think you’re really smart, thinking you and your friends can outsmart me.”

The tension in the room grew thick as Sam mouthed to you to keep him talking. The other girls glanced nervously around the room, ready to react at the slightest indication of danger.

“Why are you calling me?” you said, trying to sound braver than you felt. “What do you want?”

“Want?” he echoed mockingly. “I want you to feel that delicious thrill of fear. You should be grateful; I’m giving you a front-row seat to your own demise.”

Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “You won’t get away with this,” you said, attempting to sound strong. “We’re going to stop you.”

“Is that so?” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? Your little friends are scattered, and soon they won’t know what hit them. You’re all alone now.”

Your heart raced as you took a step back, feeling trapped in this conversation. The thought of being alone in this vast, dark house made your skin crawl. “You’re wrong. I’m not alone. My friends are here, and they’ll come for me.”

“Come for you?” he laughed, a chilling sound that echoed through the line. “By the time they realize what’s really happening, it’ll be too late. They’re too busy playing their little games.”

As his words sunk in, your grip on the phone tightened. “What do you mean?” you asked, forcing yourself to stay engaged, though every instinct told you to hang up and run.

“Just that… your little heroes in the basement might find something they weren’t expecting. It’s always the last place you look, isn’t it?”

Your breath hitched at his words, realization dawning. You had to warn Ethan and Chad. “What did you do?” you demanded, feeling a mix of anger and fear bubbling within you.

“Let’s just say, your friends are in for a surprise. Tick tock, ____.”

You stared at the phone in shock, your heart racing, the ringing in your ears mingling with the chilling echo of Ghostface’s laughter still haunting you. “No… no…” you whispered, dread coiling tightly around your chest as the weight of panic settled in like a dark fog.

“What did he say?” Tara urged, stepping closer, her eyes wide with concern and fear.

“He’s messing with Ethan and Chad. We have to find them now!” you cried, urgency flooding your voice as you turned toward the basement door, dread gnawing at your gut.

“No, ____! You have to stay here and keep him talking,” Sam insisted, her voice sharp and firm, cutting through your panic.

You shook your head, the thought of having to endure another second of his taunts twisting like a knife in your heart. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can!” Mindy said, gripping your shoulders tightly, her gaze steady yet filled with urgency. “We’ll go check the basement. We have to make sure they’re safe.”

The tears you’d been holding back slipped down your cheeks, and you nodded reluctantly, understanding the weight of their decision. The thought of being alone, trapped in the dark, sent shivers down your spine, but the fear for Ethan and Chad pushed you to comply.

All three of them shared a final, encouraging look before rushing down the basement stairs, their voices echoing as they called out for Chad and Ethan. Your heart raced as you watched them disappear, the basement door swinging wide open—a sliver of safety in the enveloping darkness.

Now you were alone in the decaying house, the silence swallowing you whole, only the distant laughter of Ghostface echoing in your mind.

Taking a shaky breath, you steadied yourself and held the phone tightly, the weight of the ghostly presence looming over you. You needed to keep him engaged, to buy your friends time, but the thought of his voice on the line sent chills crawling up your spine.

“Hello?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with fear.

“Poor ____,” he crooned, the mockery in his tone sending a shiver of revulsion through you. “All alone now? Your precious friends can’t help you anymore.”

A surge of anger ignited within you, forcing you to push through the terror. “What do you want?” you spat, your voice trembling but fierce.

“I want you to feel that delicious thrill of fear, the kind that makes your heart race and your blood run cold. You’re all so naïve, thinking you can outsmart me.” His laughter bubbled through the line, sinister and echoing.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lied, trying to mask the tremor in your voice, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“Is that so?” he teased, a dark amusement lurking in his words. “I can hear it in your voice. Your heart is pounding, and soon it will be pounding even faster.”

The oppressive silence of the house pressed in on you, each creak of the floorboards amplifying your dread. You could almost feel his presence lurking in the shadows, waiting, watching. You scanned all around the room listening for any noise.

“Where are they?” you demanded, forcing yourself to sound braver. “What have you done?”

“Where are they?” he echoed, mockingly. “Maybe they’re just playing hide and seek. Or maybe they’ve found a new game… one that ends with a little more blood.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization washed over you. “You won’t get away with this,” you hissed, desperation creeping into your words.

“Get away?” he laughed, the sound echoing around you like a haunting melody. “Oh, darling, I’m just getting started.”

As his mocking words echoed in your ears, the sudden sound of the basement door slamming shut jolted you into a state of pure terror. “No!” you screamed, instinctively moving toward the now locked door, panic surging through your veins. You pounded your fists against it, desperate to break it down.

“Take a step closer and I’ll kill them all,” Ghostface hissed, his voice cold and menacing.

“Please, don’t!” you pleaded, fear clawing at your throat. The realization of your friends being in danger wrapped around you like a snake, squeezing the air from your lungs.

He continued to taunt you, relishing in your desperation. “They’re so busy playing their little games, they won’t even know what hit them. You should have stayed quiet, ____.”

Each word dripped with malice, but as the panic began to simmer, a seething anger replaced your fear. “I swear to God I’ll kill you myself, you piece of shit!” you shouted, your voice filled with raw defiance.

In that moment, the door behind you swung open, and before you could react, Ghostface lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you. He lifted you effortlessly, pulling you away from the door, his grip like iron.

You struggled violently, twisting and turning, trying to break free from his grasp. “Let go of me!” you screamed, kicking and thrashing, but he held you tight, a sickening grin hidden beneath the mask.

Then you heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn, the metal whispering against the air, much larger than the knives you and your friends had brought. Your heart raced as he moved the knife toward your chest, the cold steel glinting ominously in the dim light.

Summoning every ounce of strength and adrenaline you could muster, you grabbed his wrist with both hands, forcing it away from your body. The blade grazed your skin, but you pushed with all your might, breaking his hold for just a moment.

In a last desperate attempt, you threw your head back, feeling the satisfying crunch of your skull meeting his face. He let out a surprised grunt and dropped you, the sudden release sending you tumbling to the floor.

You didn’t hesitate. You scrambled to your feet and bolted for the open door, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you raced down the hallway, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

You glanced back just in time to see Ghostface regaining his composure, fury etched into his movements as he lunged after you. The mask hid his expression, but you could feel the rage emanating from him like a dark cloud, fuelling your determination to escape.

You sprinted through the narrow corridors of the decaying house, fear pushing you forward as you sought an exit, a way to warn your friends, to regroup. The walls seemed to close in around you, shadows shifting and whispering, but you focused on the way ahead.

You could hear him gaining on you, the sound of his heavy boots thudding against the floor reverberating in your ears.

You were glancing around for any sign of your friends. The air felt thick with tension, and every shadow seemed to stretch ominously. “Sam! Mindy! Tara!” you shouted, your voice echoing as you scanned the room for any familiar faces.

There was no answer, just the haunting silence of the empty house. Panic surged anew as you realized you might be all alone against him, but you couldn’t let fear take control. You had to find a weapon, something to defend yourself with.

Spotting a heavy lamp in the corner, you dashed toward it. As you were about to grab it Ghostface busted to the room. The mask reflected the dim light, a twisted visage of intent and malice.

Instead of rushing toward you, Ghostface stood still, the blade hanging loosely at his side as he stared at you with a twisted tilt of his head. The silence stretched between you, the only sound being the frantic rhythm of your own breathing. Every instinct screamed for you to run, but the terror of the moment froze you in place, your heart pounding in your chest as acceptance of your fate slowly crept in.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision. “Who are you?” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling as you stared into the void of the mask, trying to find any sign of humanity within.

After what felt like an eternity, he slowly reached for the mask, pulling it back to reveal his face. Your heart plummeted as you focused on the boyish charm and familiar brown locks of hair. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. It was Ethan Landry all along. The biggest grin you’d ever seen spread across his face, a twisted mix of joy and madness.

“Ethan?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, disbelief coursing through you.

“You know, ____ You should really know when to trust your instincts,�� he said, a dark smirk playing on his lips. “Like sometimes I wasn’t even trying to hide it!”

You felt like you were going to be sick. You couldn’t bare to look at him. His words sent a shiver down your spine as the truth settled over you like a suffocating blanket. “You… you were in on this?” You felt the bile rise in your throat, anger mixing with confusion. “All this time, you were playing us? With me?”

Ethan stepped closer, the playful grin still plastered across his face, but the glint in his eyes was anything but friendly. “Oh, it was so easy.” He gestured around the room, the knife gleaming in his hand. “The trust you all had in me, it made this so much more fun. You have no idea how satisfying it is to watch you scramble for answers, to see you run in circles while I orchestrated everything from the shadows.”

“You killed people, Ethan. Innocent people. Why?” you gasped, your voice trembling with a mix of horror and disbelief.

Ethan sneered at you, his expression morphing into something darker. “Why did I do all this?” He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of any real humor. “Maybe I don’t have a reason. Maybe I’m just a psychopath who wanted to slash the necks of anyone who crossed my path. Maybe I have some fucked-up childhood that twisted me into this.” Continuing his rant, the air thick with tension. He finally paused taking a large step towards me pointing his knife at me.

“Or maybe it’s because the girl I loved for two years never took the time to know anything about me but my fucking name.”

His words struck you like a physical blow, your heart sinking at the weight of his confession. Ethan liked you all these years and never told you. Confusion and betrayal flooded your mind as you furrowed your brows, struggling to process the revelation. “But you never said anything” you stated, your voice shaking.

He took a step closer, the knife gleaming menacingly in his hand. All he had to do was reach out and the knife could easy bury into your stomach. “I always had a thing for you _____. So pretty and naïve. You were so busy with your perfect little life, your perfect little friends, that you never noticed me. I was always there, lurking in the background, waiting for my chance.” The anger in his voice was palpable, each word laced with bitterness. “And when I realized how easy it was to manipulate you all, I couldn’t resist. It was a rush like no other.”

Your heart raced as you processed his twisted proposal, his words wrapping around your mind like a noose. “So what are you going to do? Kill everyone?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear creeping into your chest.

Ethan sneered at you, his expression darkening. “Not everyone, princess,” he replied, his voice low and menacing. He traced the blade of his knife across the stitches on your cheek, the sharp metal sending a chill down your spine. “See, I’ve always loved you, and I can feel you like me too. Don’t try to deny it, ____.”

You flinched at his touch, the intimacy of the gesture feeling like a betrayal to your own senses. “You’re insane!” you gasped, trying to pull away from him, but he held you firmly in place.

“If you come with me, nobody has to die,” he continued, his tone shifting, becoming almost persuasive. “We can go somewhere far away. Just me and you.” His hands cupped your cheeks, brushing away your tears with a gentleness that felt horrifyingly out of place. “I can give you a perfect life. Just say yes.”

A surge of revulsion coursed through you, mixing with the grief and confusion swirling in your heart. “A perfect life?” you echoed, incredulity spilling from your lips. “You think this is love? You think dragging me into your madness is the answer?”

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made you want to look away. “It doesn’t have to be this way, ____,” he whispered, a trace of desperation lacing his words. “I can protect you from everyone who’s ever hurt you. All I need is your trust.”

You felt your heart hammering against your ribcage, the gravity of his words weighing heavily on you. “Trust?” you replied, incredulous. “You’ve murdered people, Ethan! How could I ever trust you?”

A flicker of anger crossed his face, but it quickly transformed into something more sorrowful. “You don’t understand. You never have. I did this for us! To show you what true passion looks like, to free us from the shackles of normalcy.” He brushed your tears away with his thumb, and you recoiled at his touch. “Can’t you see? We’re meant to be together!”

Your mind raced, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmare. “This isn’t love! This is obsession!” you shouted, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’re deluding yourself if you think I could ever be with someone who does this!”

His expression hardened, the mask of charm slipping away, revealing the raw intensity of his twisted mind. “You’ll see. You’re just scared now, but once you’re free of those pathetic friends, you’ll understand.” He stepped back, holding the knife threateningly. “Say yes, and we can escape this together.”

You felt the weight of the knife’s threat looming over you, and a part of you wanted to cry, to scream. But another part of you—deep down—was ignited with a fierce resolve.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded, forcing a shaky smile in response to his expectant gaze. Ethan’s smile widened, a spark of excitement igniting in his eyes as he took a breath, his enthusiasm palpable. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I need to hear you say it back. Say you love me.”

With as much sincerity as you could muster, you forced the words out, “I love you, Ethan.”

You watched as his eyes glistened, emotion swelling within him. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his voice tender, almost vulnerable.

Without warning, he pressed his lips against yours, and you felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat. Fighting every instinct to push him away, you placed one hand gently on his chest, trying to connect despite the revulsion gnawing at your insides. The moment stretching out as you struggled to accept the twisted affection he was offering. As he deepened the kiss, your other hand snaked around your back.

When he finally pulled away, his cheeks were flushed with a mix of excitement and something darker. “Time to go,” he said, his expression a blend of eagerness and anticipation.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yes, time to go,” you repeated, hoping to buy yourself a moment longer.

Before he could react, adrenaline surged through you. In one swift motion, you grabbed the heavy lamp beside you and slammed it into the side of his head. The loud crash of glass echoed through the room, accompanied by Ethan’s startled yell, jolting your body into action.

He fell to the floor, agony etched across his face, momentarily stunned. Without hesitation, you yanked the knife from his weakened grasp, the cold steel feeling heavy in your hand. Channelling your rage and fear, you straddled him, pinning him down as you watched his face covered in deep red blood and glass shards.

Ethan’s eyes, once filled with twisted affection, now reflected shock and confusion as he realized the tables had turned. This time you were on top of him, and he was below you. As he opened his mouth to speak, you didn’t give him the chance. With a fierce resolve, you plunged the knife down into the center of his chest, feeling the resistance of flesh and bone.

His breath caught in his throat, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as he stared up at you in disbelief. You could see the flicker of life dimming in his eyes, the realization of his fate settling in. In that moment, the weight of your actions bore down on you, a mix of horror and relief flooding your senses. You had fought back, and you wouldn’t let him take you down with him. As his body went limp beneath you, you felt a surge of strength, knowing you did it. You had survived. It was over.

As you caught your breath you stared down at Ethan. A very charming young man who maybe you could have seen being with. Swallowing you brushed his curls away from his face. Why you did this, you do not know.

Before you could do anything else you heard the sound of the basement door being bashed open. Breaking from your thoughts, you jumped up and ran to the door, your heart racing as the panic-laden voices of your friends flooded your ears.

“____!” Mindy yelled, urgency threading through her words. “It is Ethan! He stabbed Chad, but he’s going to be okay!”

“Relax!” you told everyone, your exhaustion weighing heavily on you. “He’s gone. He’s in that room.”

Sam nodded, determination etched on her face as she made her way toward the room where Ethan lay. Mindy and Tara rushed to surround you, enveloping you in a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” Tara asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” you replied, the relief washing over you like a soothing wave. “Now that everything is over.”

Suddenly, you heard Sam’s voice ringing out, filled with confusion and urgency. “____, there’s no one here!”

Time seemed to freeze as an icy chill gripped your veins. You immediately raised yourself up and sprinted to the room where you had left him. The sight that greeted you made your heart plummet. What should have been the aftermath of a struggle was now nothing more than a splatter of blood and shattered glass on the floor.

Your stomach churned, but instead of panic, a weary sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your shoulders, your mind racing with disbelief. “He won’t be back,” you told Sam, trying to project strength even as doubt crept in.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Yes, not when I’m here,” you asserted, conviction igniting a flame within you. With that, you turned and walked out of the building, leaving behind the remnants of the nightmare that had just unfolded.

Outside, the cold night air filled your lungs, and you took a moment to ground yourself, closing your eyes and letting the world come back into focus. Mindy and Tara walked beside you, their hands clasped tightly, a silent support system as you processed the chaos that had just occurred.

“We need to get Chad to the hospital,” Mindy said, glancing at you with a mix of concern and determination.

“Right,” you replied, your voice steadying. “Let’s do that.”

As you made your way to the car, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you felt a weight lifting off your shoulders. You had fought back. You had survived. But the echoes of the night would linger in your mind for a long time.

As everyone jumped into the car, you felt an unsettling rumble echoing behind you, sending a shiver down your spine. The sound crept through the night air, emerging from the dense shadows of the bushes nearby. Heart pounding, you turned to stare into the darkness, instinctively holding your breath as dread clawed at your throat.

Mindy, her voice laced with concern, broke the tense silence. “_____, is everything okay?”

You paused, your heart racing in your chest, the rumbling growing louder, thrumming like a heartbeat in the stillness of the night. The shadows seemed to writhe, and for a moment, it felt as if they were alive, watching, waiting. The panic surged within you, threatening to spill over as uncertainty filled the air.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you forced yourself to turn away from the darkness. “Yes,” you stated, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your facade. You mustered a small smile, one that felt more like a mask than genuine reassurance and slipped into the car.

In the car, as you sped toward the hospital, you looked at your friends, their faces illuminated by the dashboard lights. You felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over you, and in that moment, you realized that despite the darkness that had nearly consumed you, you made it out.

Freedom, you whispered in your mind, a desperate prayer more than a thought. But deep down, your pulse quickened, knowing the truth—he would come back. He always did. His presence lingered in every shadow, a predator waiting, watching. No matter how far you ran, how many locks you turned, he was out there.

But this time, you would be ready—and he would regret ever coming back.

#scream #ethan landry #ghostface #scream 6 #ghostface x reader #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry smut #ethan landry yandere #ethan kirsch #scream smut

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famwhy · 1 year ago

Text

"You always were too smart..."

"...for your own good."

Scream 1996

Yandere! Billy Loomis X F!Reader

Synopsis: The Woodsboro massacre was a case that had been announced to be closed as soon as it was opened. The answer was obvious, right? There were two witnesses after all. Mr Prescott snapped, killed a bunch of kids, then shot himself in the head as a result of the nearing anniversary of his wife's death—two of your close friends confirmed it. Why, then, did you feel the need to meddle? Why couldn't you just mind your own goddamn business?!

Warnings: Mentions of death, Gore, Manipulation, Threat/Violence

"It just doesn't make any sense!"

None of it did. The witnesses, the evidence, the murders—it was just too big of a headache to deal with.

You didn't know why you were still doing it; still looking into this case even in the depths of midnight. It was closed, the chief said so himself—your two best friends were there, they saw what happened and recalled the events as such, their stories had even been perfectly aligned...

...almost too perfectly.

It was dumb—and you were probably being paranoid but—nothing felt right. If this was all Sidney's dad's doing then... why kill Casey Becker and Steve Orth? What did they have to do with him? You would've understood if they had attended Stu's party and were just caught in the crossfire but that wasn't the case, they were killed before the massacre—days before, in fact. Why? Why target them?

And—why would a murderer, who made sure all of his victims were dead, stab both Billy and Stu just perfectly so that he missed their vitals and didn't dig deep enough for them to actually be able to die of blood loss?—or, at least, not for a long while. Wouldn't he want to also make sure they were dead before offing himself?

The weapon too—why the hell did you only find a gun at the scene of the crime when there was evidence of a knife being used as well? If he didn't care enough to dispose of the gun he used to kill himself and others, why dispose of the knife?

None of it added up. None of it was making any sense.

"Fuck!"

Frustration coursed through you, crawling through your skin to visibly cause the bulging of your veins and urge your brows down further than ever before. The deep bags under your eyes weren't doing you any wonders either.

You were struggling and it showed.

Papers sat haphazardly strewn across the desk in front of you, each one depicting different inked up versions of the crime scene—from the body of Tatum Riley hanging by the driveway door, to the very gun that brought about the end of the accused 'murderer' himself. To the normal civilian, it would be hard to stomach—to you, it was just another Tuesday.

Except, this Tuesday seemed to really want to bash your head in.

With another aggravated huff through your lips, your hand shot out to the messy pile before sifting through it, trying to find something—anything—that would satisfy this god-awful itch in the back of your mind.

Then—a creak.

Your eyes shot up, muscles tensing as you scanned the shadows leaking through the corners of the room for the cause of the noise. One hand kept hovering above the sheets and the other slowly inched towards the drawer beneath you, fingers steadily winding around the knob before—

"Kid, what are you doing here?"

The flick of a switch came with the familiar voice that asked you that question; a voice that instantly caused your optics to widen and your back to suddenly go from lax to rigid as you clumsily fumbled around in your seat. "Sheriff!"

He grunted, voice gruff as he continued, "It's almost one, you have school tomorrow, why the hell are you still here?"

You parted your lips—ready to respond—when he squinted and scanned the desk, opening his own mouth to speak again before you could.

"Are those all from the casefile of the Woodsboro Massacre? Kid, that case is solved. It's done. The hell are you doing still in the station this late with those files?"

Your lips tugged down as your gaze trailed his own. "It just... it doesn't feel right, chief."

When he didn't respond, you chose to keep going.

"I mean, why would he kill his own daughter? I was close with Sid, I knew her and I knew how much her dad adored her—"

"That's the thing with psychos, Y/N, they—"

"He isn't just a psycho though!" That came out unnecessarily loud, and the chief seemed to think so too with the way his brow rose pointedly as soon as the words fell out, "Sorry, I... this case has been killing me all night. It just... it doesn't line up. If he really did snap, why target Casey Becker and Steve Orth days before the anniversary of his wife's death? Why specifically them? And why leave Billy and Stu with non-lethal wounds before killing himself?

"I know I should be grateful that they're still alive considering they're my best friends and all..." you continued, tone solemn, "and I am! I really am! I just... I can't help but find this all too strange."

And as you hung your head down, your ears soon perked up to the sound of several more creaks slowly growing louder as they made their way over to your seated form.

Then, a warmth blanketed your shoulder, causing your head to tilt up and your eyes to meet with a pair that seemed to slowly soften the longer you spent looking at them.

"Look, kid, you're a genius. That's why you work at this station. That's what you worked hard to prove to everyone here. Every cop in this town respects you—including me. If you say you think something's up with this case, then I believe you."

Your eyes lit up.

"Just... promise me you won't stay up this late investigating it. You can come down to the station as soon as school is over tomorrow but let me give you a ride home today."

You could do nothing but nod vigorously, too elated to form words as of that current moment. The nodding was enough though, and soon, you found yourself situated in the chief's car, buildings passing by in a flurry of colours as he drove over the bumps of the rocky road beneath you, gaze focused ahead.

With the incessant chatter of the radio echoing in the background, you almost couldn't hear your own thoughts. But, they were there. And they were just as unyielding in their fight for your attention.

Your skin crawled at the thought of Billy's expression if he ever found out about your doubt in his eye-witness account. Stu could brush it off easily but Billy... he was troubled, to say the least. He had a lot going on and you were one of the only people he trusted enough to share it all with; so to hear that you found him suspicious in any way would... well, it would crush him.

But, justice was justice. You pursued being a detective because it needed someone to deliver it with an iron fist. If that meant having to doubt the words of someone close to you then so be it. You worked so hard to get to where you were, you would be sure to honour it wholeheartedly.

"Here we are, kid." You blinked, turning to the officer beside you. "Get some rest, alright? See you tomorrow."

With a nod, you stepped out of the vehicle, and it didn't move an inch until you made it inside the house—staying there for a couple more seconds after the door closed before the wheels turned again as he started off once more.

And you didn't know if it was just because he was gone—his presence always being able to make you feel so much more safe than you did on a daily basis—but... a sudden chill ran down your spine, pricking your skin with a feeling you couldn't quite place your finger on but an unsettling one nonetheless.

You didn't quite get enough sleep that night.

But then again, when did you ever? Perhaps your paranoia was at an all time high because of insomnia—but, you digressed.

Besides, it was a new day and you had just arrived at school. You should focus—

—that was a lot easier said than done, though. Almost mindlessly staring into your open locker, you let your thoughts drift to the nefarious case for the umpteenth time.

Stop it, Y/N. Save it for the station.

With a sigh, you slammed the door shut and almost jumped when you caught view of what seemed to suddenly appear by your side.

There, stood one of the very boys your mind couldn't seem to hold off on thinking about recently—leaning against the locker with his defined arms crossed over his chest and his parted bangs falling over his face to frame it perfectly, basically forcing you to notice the way his lips were slightly twitched up as he gazed back at you.

"Billy," you whispered.

"Y/N," he responded, lips twitching up just a bit more, "I was wondering if you wanted to come over later? Watch a movie with me? I was gonna watch with Stu but then his family had that last minute trip thing."

Instantly, you were brought back to your conversation with the chief yesterday and your gaze drifted off to the side as you spoke—albeit a bit hesitantly—"I don't know... I should really get down to the station..."

He frowned at that, one arm unfolding to reach for your own, landing on your bicep before his fingertips slowly trailed down, ghosting over the exposed skin to send tingles down your spine as his palm finally found yours, fingers interweaving not too long after.

"C'mon, you spend so much time at the station now—it's like you're more hung up on this case than me. I barely ever get to see you. I miss my favourite girl."

That was true. Not the part about him barely seeing you (well, that was true too but—), the part about you being more hung up on the case than him—and he was actually there in person. It had only been a few days but Billy and Stu had seemed to move on just fine—which was strange considering the fact that, y'know, both of their girlfriends were dead.

Maybe, if you said yes, you'd be able to ask some specific questions to Billy; see if he was hiding any details from you.

"Okay," slowly, you nodded, "Yeah, sure, I'll come over."

At that, his lids fell halfway down his eyes before he purred out—voice borderline seductive—"Perfect."

To any girl who was none the wiser, that would send pleasant shivers down their spine—the shivers running down your spine, though, were anything but pleasant.

The rest of the school day breezed by and all you could find yourself thinking about was the case and Billy—he was practically living rent-free in your head. Even as he showed up at your last class—leaning against the wall in that way that just screamed Billy Loomis—you found yourself too stuck in your thoughts about him to be able to pay attention to the real him.

And he noticed.

"Y/N? You good?"

You blinked, tilting your head to his form as he walked beside you, the light breeze blowing slightly against his beautiful brown locks. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He frowned, reaching the hand that had been brushing against your own this whole time further towards you before asking, "You sure?"

Lightly, and as subtly as you could, you pulled your hand away. "Yeah, I'm sure."

He tilted his head down towards where your hands would've met and you watched as his lips pulled taut, expression almost appearing... blank as he stared at the empty space before his gaze flitted back up and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, muttering out a gruff 'okay' as he did so.

The rest of the walk to his house was silent—the wind and mindless chatter of other teenagers being the only thing your ears could pick up on.

And as you made it to his door, your heart constricted a little—thoughts wandering back to the look on his face after you rejected his seek for touch. Billy wasn't usually a physical person, at least, not with anyone but you and his now-dead girlfriend.

Though, even with Sid, his touch seemed a little more tense and uncertain than with you. You noticed the way he barely hesitated to hold you; the way he almost seemed relieved when he did finally get to feel you—be it against him or just your presence in the room.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he had a crush on you. But he had a girlfriend already—one he asked out, no less—so that couldn't be the case. The only explanation was that he really valued you as a friend. And that thought pricked you so much more than it should've.

Perhaps... perhaps you were being too paranoid with your thinking. The case was done. Over. You should just lay it to rest before you ended up really hurting one of your best friends.

Yeah... yeah. You'd do just that. You were going to enjoy this day with Billy. No more getting caught up in cases that were already solved. Nope. It was time to be there for your best friend.

With that thought in mind, you reached out your hand, slowly intertwining your fingers with the tall boy's own as he opened the doors of his home—pausing for a moment to glance back at you with wide eyes before his lips stretched up more than you had ever seen before and he tugged on your arm.

It was the littlest of force but it was sudden enough to send you tumbling into his chest as his arms engulfed you wholy; entirely. You could practically feel that familiar sense of relief radiating off his form and you couldn't help the laugh that echoed off yours.

"God, I missed you," he mumbled into your hair and a small, gentle smile graced your lips.

"I missed you too."

You stood there for a few more moments, basking in each others presence for just a little longer before you decided to pull away—albeit being met with a little resistance from Billy's end but, you were eventually successful.

"Alright, c'mon, you big sap, let's go in and watch your favourite scary movie."

He grinned at that, instantly moving to grab your hand again as he led you to his room—rushing through the clear, monotone halls before he arrived at his wooden door and opened it with a wide swing of his arm.

Soon, you found yourself seated on his bed, feet kicking back and forth as you awaited his presence. He had gone to go retrieve the VHS containing his movie from the ground floor so it was just you sat in the confines of the room riddled to the brim with horror posters from all sorts of media.

For a jock, he sure was a nerd.

One particular thing stood out to you, though—a small, rectangular bit of paper clipped to a string. It illustrated a smaller version of both yourself and Billy, stood beside each other with large grins on your faces—carefree and bright in their nature; loving and tender.

He still had that?

Unable to stop yourself, you moved to get a closer look—

—only to almost stumble when your foot caught the edge of something that certainly wasn't the ground.

A box—dull and beaten up. It was made up purely of cardboard which definitely wasn't doing it any wonders when it came to durability, that was for sure. The brown colour was quite unsightly to look at and the way some parts seemed almost... maroon was strange, to say the least.

Ever the investigator, you almost couldn't help the way your fingers naturally curved around the lid, slowly lifting the rough material up before shifting it to the side just in time to catch a familiar mask staring right back at you.

Mouth opened wide in an endless scream as soulless black eyes glared into your form—the sharp silver of a cutting blade coated in crimson laying beside it. It was almost too much to process at once.

And as you picked up the leather notepad sat beneath the dark robe under the mask, the gears slowly started turning in your head.

Flicking through the pages only further solidified your conclusion.

That mask belonged to Ghostface. That knife laying next to it was coated in blood. Unless there was some other murder that happened between now and the massacre, this was definitely the missing evidence from the crime scene.

And it was all in Billy Loomis' room.

You had an inkling, but this... this was on a whole other level.

The notebook detailed different ways to rid yourself of evidence when committing a murder, each one being linked back to a particular horror movie—even going as far as to have quotes obsessively scribbled near them with timestamps and everything. It was insane.

But, by far, the craziest thing was that Billy—your Billy—committed all of this. And if Billy was in on it, then so was Stu.

They both had murdered your whole friendship group that night.

Your fingers shook as you slowly stood up, legs barely able to hold your weight with how weak that realisation rendered you. It was like a bucket of ice cold water had been splashed onto you, drenching you from head to toe with the cruelty of the world.

Then—a click.

Slowly, you turned, book slipping from between your fingers as your eyes landed on the figure at the doorway.

Instantly, your hands shot up.

Billy stood there—expression blank as his eyes seemed almost... lifeless—with one hand raised and fingers wrapped around a black L-shaped object.

Your muscles grew tense. "Billy..."

"Stu's a fucking idiot," scoffed he, "I told him to burn all that stuff but he insisted we keep it as some sort of memento mori—something to remember our success with."

He took a step forward. You took a step back.

"But let's be honest, Y/N, you would've found out eventually, right?" As he spoke, your gaze stayed trained onto the gun, watching as he flailed it around—pupils shaking and hysteria slowly but surely clouding his eyes. "You always were too smart for your own good."

Your heart was beating ten miles a minute, practically playing drums in your ears with how loud it was as you continued to back away. "Billy, put the gun down."

"Y'know, Stu wanted to kill you... but I said no. Wanna know why?" He was now grinning from ear-to-ear. "'Cause I love you. I always have. Even as I was fucking that stupid whore Sidney that night, all I could think of was you."

You were running out of room to move back to. "Billy..."

"There! I confessed!" He suddenly rose his volume, and you winced a little. "Isn't that what you want?! A confession?! There's your fucking confession, Y/N!"

Getting kind of sick of all the ignoring, you spat back, "You know damn well that isn't the type of confession I want!"

"Well, maybe if your hadn't been such a snooping whore I wouldn't have to give you it!"

Here. There. Everywhere. He kept pointing that thing around so carelessly while his finger stayed hovering over the trigger, just one jerk away from a misfire; one jerk away from your possible end.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I promise."

"Billy! Be careful with that damn thing!"

A slam.

"You know, Y/N, I wouldn't even have to use this if you minded your own goddamn business!"

Your back hit the wall, and the barrel was now pointing directly. at. you.

"So pretty for me," he whispered, voice having mellowed out so suddenly—so dementedly—you almost couldn't believe your ears as he closed in on you, practically pressing his body right up against yours, "My pretty girl."

The barrel of the gun was directly under your chin now, being used to tilt your head and lock your gaze with his own, crazed one.

"Such a clever girl, aren't you, dollface?" His praises came out steadily, voice low and husky as he continued to coo, "My clever little detective."

And as the world went black around you, you caught one more voice enter the room.

"Took ya long enough."

#x reader #female reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere male x female reader #yandere male #scream 1996 #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x y/n #yandere billy loomis #yandere billy loomis x reader #scream x you #scream x reader #scream 1996 x reader #ghostface x reader

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nicestgirlonline · 1 year ago

Text

Let Me Hear You Scream

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT AHEAD! 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI! language, threatening situations, DUB CON, horror elements

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: It’s the 90s so you actually answer the phone when you’re watching movies

a/n: Happy Halloween yall!!!! Still working on other projects but really wanted to get something out for Halloween! This was for @witchywithwhiskey’s Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon! the prompts I picked were Scream and “I’m your boyfriend now” Hope you all enjoy!!!! Thanks for reading, I’d love your feedback! Reblogs and comments are love <3

1993. A sleepy suburban town, where nothing exciting ever happens. Friday night.

Your friends were all going out to Wanda’s party, but you were stuck housesitting for your aunt. Your mom had promised you would house sit weeks ago, so you couldn’t get off the hook. It was a big empty house, more rooms than your aunt could ever need. Most were filled up with storage and dust bunnies.

You tried to make the best of the boring night-in. You rented some Meg Ryan movies with plans to completely veg out. You ordered an extra large pizza with all of your favorite toppings and raided your aunts pantry for snacks.

You glanced down at your shirt and saw red. Pizza sauce! Blooming red circle right in the center of your cream sweater. You let out a huff of frustration. Some Friday night.

You changed into comfy nightwear--a baby blue cotton gown that brushed the very top of your knees, along with a pair of fluffy bunny slippers for good measure. You settled back down in front of the TV.

RING. RING. RING.

You picked up the phone, squeezing it between your ear and shoulder as you carried your snacks over to the kitchen.

“Hello,” you used your best fake customer service voice. Your aunt had asked you to take down any messages. She must have a new boyfriend she was hoping would call. You wait for a response but all you can hear is low breaths through the receiver. “Hello?” You try again

“Is this Sidney?” The voice was weirdly distorted and hard to place. It was deep, clearly a man’s voice.

“Sorry, wrong number dude.” You hung up before he could let another word out. You set the phone down by the cradle and go back to making your snacks. You got out the big popcorn bowl.

The phone rang out again. “Hello?” You answered. You really hadn’t expected to be fielding this many phone calls.

“Hey. Did I call you earlier?” It was the same strange voice. You blew some air through your lips, how annoying.

“Sidney’s not here. Have a good night--”

“Aw man. She must have given me a fake number. I don’t mean to bother you over and over tonight.” He sighed, sounding very apologetic.

“No worries. Have a good night.”

“Wait, wait. I like the sound of your voice.”

You paused. Was it totally weird to just chat with this guy? Yeah. But what harm could it be? You felt a bit of a flutter in your stomach. You never had talked to a stranger over the phone like this. It felt clandestine! You decided to go with it.

“Better than Sidney’s?” You asked, trying to make your voice sound as flirty as possible. You heard him hum approval.

“Much better than…let’s not talk about her. What are you doing tonight?” There was something very familiar about his voice. There was a crackle and static that made it so you couldn’t quite make it out. It must be a shitty connection.

“I was having a movie night. I’m making some snacks right now.” You started to curl the phone cord around your finger.

“What are you watching, Pumpkin? Something scary?”

“No way. I hate scary movies.”

“Especially not when you’re alone right?”

“Uh - um - I’m not alone. Actually.” You lied. How did he know you were alone? Was he just guessing?

“Scary movies are always scarier when you’re all alone, in a big empty house, that’s in the middle of nowhere,” he continued.

A shiver went down your spine. That was a bit too accurate. But there's no way he could possibly know where you were. It was a phone call!

“I just don’t like them. It's either some creepy slasher stabbing some big boobed blonde through her white t-shirt or a ghost that's a metaphor for trauma. No thank you,” you sighed.

“I think you’re being a little hard on them. Maybe if you watched them with a guy to cling to you’d like them more. Do you have a boyfriend?”

There it was. Obviously the alone comment was him trying to set the mood.

“Why do you want to know? Already over Sidney?” You teased him.

“Answer the question.” He was very serious. You didn’t like the tone he had.

“Yes, I do. Are you going to hang up?” You lied again, trying to call his bluff.

“You don’t have a boyfriend. What are you wearing? Something cute and virginal? What about your underwear?” You pulled the phone away from your ear in shock. You were officially too skeeved out. This wasn’t some poor guy who got slipped a fake number. He was a weirdo!

“Ok perv, I’m over this. Bye.”

“I wouldn’t hang up Y/N.” His voice was suddenly hostile. He spat each syllable out filled with hatred. Your blood ran cold. Your heart started to race. How would he possibly know your name?

“Is this a prank? Not very funny. Is this you Tony?” Your voice shook with fear.

“Who’s Tony? That your boyfriend?” He snarled.

“This is a really bad joke. Did someone put you up to this? Scott? Knock it off now!”

“Jesus you’ve got a lot of men in your life. Are you trying to make me jealous or something? I don’t like sharing.”

“I’m serious, this is a bad joke, so just give it up already.” You cried out, you looked around, making sure you were still totally alone.

“I don’t give up so easily. Do you, Pumpkin? Do you give it up to any guy who looks in your direction? I bet you do, you slut. That's why you're talking to a guy you don’t know while you’re all alone.”

“I’m hanging up, I already told you I’m not alone. My boyfriend is here! He’s big and he plays football. S-so don’t call back ok?” You tried to sound as forceful as possible but your lips wobbled and you tripped over your words.

“Pumpkin, you’re lying to me. You’re all alone in that big house in the middle of nowhere, wearing that skanky nightgown. I can see your nipples poking through this whole time. You’re so turned on by a psycho on the phone, huh?”

You let out a scream. You slammed the phone down, hanging it up. You started to spin a circle looking at all the windows, trying to see if you could see somebody watching you. You ran to the front door to make sure they were locked. You went window by window locking them and shutting the curtains. You took a chair from the kitchen and dragged it in front of the door, jamming it beneath the door knob.

RING RING RING RING

You looked around, trying to remember where all of the doors were in the house. You spun around running to the kitchen entrance. You double checked the lock and put the chain on the door. You slid down the door with your back pressing against it trying to catch your breath.

This wasn’t real. This had to be some fucked up prank. The guys were all too hyped up for Halloween and wanted to get a scare out of you. The ringing stopped and you heard the voicemail click, your aunt's outgoing message began to play.

“You screening your calls, skank? You’re gonna die, you little whore! I’m gonna see what your insides look like --” You picked up the phone just to end the message and slammed it back down. As you scampered away it fell down, swinging from the cord. You take off up the stairs, stumbling up the stairs.

You dash into the guest room you had been staying in. You quickly locked the door. Your hands were shaking still. How was this happening?

The window started to jiggle. You could hear the groaning old wood start to slide. With nothing better to arm yourself with you grabbed a pillow and started to wildly smack the intruder with all you could.

“Whoa whoa whoa, it’s me -- it’s me!” Bucky Barnes, your classmate, was gripping the window sill, flabbergasted from the pillow. You hadn’t even had time to register who it was before you attacked.

“Bucky? What the fuck are you doing here?” You demanded. This proved to you it had to be some kind of a prank. Why else would Bucky Barnes, the moody guy from your film class be climbing up to your room.

“Well, when you said you were busy tonight I thought I could just surprise you? Like a grand romantic gesture or something? Can you um, let me in? It's actually kind of cold.” He was shivering out there. He looked so earnest it tugged on your heart just a bit.

You motioned for him to come in. He heaved his body up, awkwardly crawling through the tight window then falling to the ground. He sprang back up quickly, smiling at you.

“Is this a prank? Are you in on this with the other guys or something?” You crossed your arms.

“Um, other guys? Are there other guys here? I thought I was being original.” He peered around you as if to look for them. You rolled your eyes.

“The phone calls Bucky. I’m not joking around.”

“What phone calls? I’ve been driving all night to get here from campus, then shimmying up some ivy. Haven’t exactly had any time to stop at a payphone. You know what. This was a bad idea, I can see that, I’ll just leave.” He sheepishly put his hands in his pockets as he crouched down to leave the way he came.

“No, no wait!” You grabbed him, keeping him from going outside. If it wasn’t Bucky then there was still a psycho out there! “I don’t know what's going on, but this weird guy kept calling me, and he was watching me! Like I think he was outside the house or something.”

“Calm down, calm down. I was just outside. There's nobody out there. It was probably just a prank call.”

He started to rub your back with slow soothing circles. It was intimate in a way you weren’t used to from Bucky. He was the quiet one, never really hung out unless Steve was around. His palm pressed into your lower back, holding you closer to him. His other hand cupped the back of your head, guiding you into the crook of his neck.

“You’re getting so worked up. Maybe you should just lie down.” He shushed you as you tried desperately to explain it wasn’t a prank call. He guided the two of you down to the bed. He laid down next to you.

“Bucky…why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you, I thought you knew…isn’t it obvious how I feel about you?”

Your head was spinning. Bucky liked you? He barely even talked to you! When he casually asked if you were going to Wanda’s party you assumed it was just small talk. He had grunted and left the second you told him you were busy.

“I think I should call the cops about this--”

“I’m here aren’t I? I’ll keep you safe.” His lips connected with yours silencing you from responding. His kiss was eager, but still so gentle. He slowly moved his lips against yours, basking in the taste of you. He took his time and slowly you could feel his tongue ghosts against your bottom lip, looking for entrance.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, the shock, or maybe Bucky was just an extremely good kisser, but you quickly fell under the spell of the kiss. You let yourself get lost kissing him, trying to forget the phone call prankster that had been terrorizing you.

Fear was still racking through your body, but Bucky felt safe. You tangled your hands in his hair bringing him closer. His hand slowly traced up and down your leg. Both his hands grasped your legs, essentially pinning you down. You felt a cool air waft over your thighs as his fingers gently crept beneath your nightgown.

He cupped you over your underwear, grabbing the elastic and letting it snap back against your skin. You finally broke free of the kiss to gasp. He sat back on his ankles, his hand still toying with your panties.

“Bucky, I--”

“Shhh it's ok. I’m here to save the day. No one's gonna hurt you while I’m around.” He pushed aside your panties and started to slowly circle your clit. You whined as he circles you again and again, the pleasure rushing through you and pushing every thought of terror out of your brain.

He pressed his thumb against your clit and dipped his fingers inside of you. He curled his fingers, dragging more moans out of you. As he fucked you with his fingers, you tilted your hips up for more delicious friction.

“That's it my brave girl, Bucky’s here for you,” he murmured above you. He spoke with such hard conviction. His eyes were intensely boring into yours, nearly unblinking. He was no longer softly in the throws of passion. He was a man on a mission.

He kept pumping his fingers, he brought his other hand up from your leg to palm himself through his jeans. He groaned as he adjusted himself and went back to work on you. His other hand circling around your inner thigh, moving your leg up to his shoulder.

“Bucky, please, please,” you babbled as the pleasure began to mount and mount. It was nearly unbearable as you chased your release, grinding your hips up and down on his hand, riding his fingers towards that sweet relief.

“Yes, you’re doing so well, you’re perfect.” He brought his lips to your neck and began to suck at your sensitive spot. You let out a cry of pleasure as your climax flowed over you. You clamped your legs together, biting down on your lip as another cry came out.

You took a moment to catch your breath, Bucky was still nibbling on your neck. You grabbed his face and brought his lips back to yours. He eagerly responded, his lips enveloping yours.

You grabbed the underwear that you were still wearing and rolled it down your body to fling them off. You sat up and grabbed at Bucky until you found his belt. You fumbled, trying to unbuckle it. Bucky's hands quickly found yours and he brought them together, kissing both your palms. He unbuckled the belt on his own. Removing it without ceremony or flourish. He then yanked his jeans and underwear down.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

“I want you so badly, Bucky,” you moaned.

He let out a strangled gasp that turned to laughter. You tilted your head at the reaction. He didn’t sound exactly happy, it was more sinister.

“I just have waited so long to hear you say that to me. I’m so happy right now,” he nearly giggled. He giddily took off his jacket, tossing it to the ground.

“Keep me distracted Bucky, ok?” You asked as you hitch your nightgown up to your waist.

“Oh yes, anything for you, Pumpkin.” He had a devilish smirk on his face as he pressed his lips to your navel, slowly kissing his way up. He grabbed your nightgown and finished taking it off. Tossed it to the side with the pile of his clothes.

He made his way up your abdomen before groping your chest with a satisfied hiss. He squeezed you roughly, making you squeak. He latched his lips onto your breast. You let out a gasp as he lightly bit down. He tended thoroughly to each breast, his wicked tongue teasing at your pebbled nipples until you were a moaning puddle.

He grasped his cock, stroking it a few times before guiding it to your folds. He brushed the head of his cock up and down your cunt, teasing it out. He pressed his forehead against yours.

“You really mean it, right? You want me?” he asked desperately.

“Yes --” Before another word could escape your lips, he entered you. His whole body shivered. He thrust the tip of his head in, easing in and out until he was fully sheathed inside of you. You moaned as the stretch burned in pleasure and pain.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he moaned, the pace he had set was blistering. You gripped his shoulders to keep yourself anchored as he hammered into you. “You’re so tight, so tight fuuuck me.”

He thrust over and over, using the heel of his hand to keep working at your clit. You scratched your hands down his back as his pumps kept hitting the perfect spot. It was torturous pleasure as he kept working up and down your clit, not giving you a moment of respite.

You came again, your body seizing up as you cried out and then falling limp, boneless back down to the bed. Bucky grabbed your hips, pulling your lower body off the bed as he raced for his own release. The slapping sounds of your bodies filled the room along with his deep, gutural breaths.

“Yes, yes, you’re mine, you’re mine, I finally have you, finally, finally…” he babbled as he slowed his pace as he fucked out his climax.

XXX

You curled next to Bucky in the big fluffy guest bed. Both of you were happily satisfied. All thoughts of strangers on the phone were gone from your head. Now it was filled with what just happened.

Hooking up with Bucky? You’d never considered it before. You weren’t sure why, he was so very cute, you thought as you gazed at his face. His eyes were dreamily staring back at you, that big smile had not left his face yet.

“So if you want to like, hang out, I have snacks and movies. We can go curl up on the couch and just completely let our brains rot.” You traced tiny circles on his chest, feeling pretty confident he’d want to stick around.

“I’d be down for a little romcom night, as long as you’re there.” He affectionately tapped your nose.

“Good because that's all I’ve got!”

The two of you got back into a semblance of your outfits, you pulled your nightgown back on, and Bucky pulled on his boxers and the white undershirt he was wearing. You snagged his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. He hummed his approval and kissed you on the cheek.

You grabbed him by the hand and pulled him along down the stairs.

“You can go grab the popcorn, I’ll put the tapes in.” You directed Bucky towards the kitchen as you made your way towards the living room.

You pass the chairs jammed in front of the doors, and you remember your panic.

You shuddered--what a mean prank to pull. What kind of psycho talks to people like that?

You slipped your arms into Bucky's jacket to wrap yourself in it. It smelled sharp and sweet from his body wash and cologne blending together. You stuck your hands in the pockets, only to feel something heavy and tube shaped. You pulled it out, curious, turning it over in your hands a few times to investigate.

It was a long cylindrical looking microphone. You assumed it was some sort of film equipment, but why would Bucky bring that along?

“Hello?” You spoke into the mic. But instead of your own voice, the same distorted, crackling voice from the phone came out.

You dropped it. It was like a hot iron in your hand.

You realized Bucky must have heard you too. Your head snapped towards the kitchen. He was walking slowly towards you, a huge chef’s knife from the kitchen was now in his hands.

“Bucky what the hell is this?” You asked, slowly backing away from him.

“I…can explain.” His grip on the knife tightened and he raised his hands in the air as if in surender, never slowing his pace towards you.

“No, I think you need to leave.” You covered your body with your arms, trying not to trip over the furniture.

“No, no, no you’re misunderstanding --” He was getting closer to you, he reached his arms out to try and grab you.

“Leave me alone!” You screamed out as you broke into a run. You made a mad dash to the front door. Bucky was close behind you.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” He cried out as you fumbled with all the locks. Your hands were shaking, you tried to remove the chain from the door but it wasn’t moving fast enough.

Bucky's arm wrapped around your waist and yanked your body into his. His hard bulge poked at your ass.

“No!!” you cried out as you started to thrash around. You quickly stilled as the sharp point of the knife began to dig into your throat.

“Let’s calm down ok. I think you’re getting too worked up again.”

“B-Bucky, just say that it’s a prank. This was all a big prank. I won’t tell anyone. Just put the knife down please.” You try desperately to reason with him. He lets out an unamused grunt.

He began to drag you away from the door. You strained your neck as far as you could to keep the pressure from the knife as minimal as possible.

“You weren’t supposed to find out. Now it’s all ruined. Fuck. Fuuuck!” He growled. Clearly enraged he started to grapple you down to the floor.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You whimpered, tears oozing from the corners of your eyes. Rolling down your cheeks in huge streaks.

“You don’t get it. You never noticed me. All I wanted was for you to notice me. I just had to grease the wheels a little bit, put on a show to make you see…that I’m the guy for you.” He looked crazed. He moved the knife from your neck to your cheek. He caressed it against your cheeks like a lover's hand.

“Bucky please…put down the knife.”

“You’re misunderstanding me, you’re trying to run away! That’s why I have the knife because you need to listen to me. You always listen to the guy with the biggest tool in the room huh? You thought I was Tony. Does he call you up at night a lot or something? Huh?!”

You were just whimpering as he ranted above you. The blunt side of the knife was pressed against your cheek, the shiny metal reflecting into your eyes.

“Well you don’t have to worry about him anymore.” The look in Bucky’s eyes was primal, like he was no longer a man. The charming smile from before was now warped and too large, his lips curling to show his teeth and gums.

“You’re scaring me. Please don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you? I would never.” He said, not moving the knife from your face. “I’m your boyfriend now. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you again.”

He brought the knife down from your cheek slowly, the sharp tip dragging down your neck. He began to slice the top button off your nightgown.

“Now, you made such beautiful noises for me before. Let me hear you scream, Pumpkin.”

#horrormoviehoeathon #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #scream au #dark!bucky #dark!bucky x reader #yandere bucky barnes #let me hear you scream #halloween fics #witchywithwhiskey #one shot #marvel fanfiction #buck barnes fanfic #ghostface bucky barnes #banner by cafekitsune

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yuniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie · 5 months ago

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Yandere Billy and Stu (4/4)

“Y/N!!”

“Get off of her-Shit!” Randy cursed, firing the gun a loud bang casted causing the shorter one to yell loudly, clutching a bleeding shoulder.

You felt the dizziness, “Randy!” I regained back to my senses, instinctively hands clutching the grass beneath, pulling your figure off to run to Randy.

The male fired at the other, leaving both lying down, “Come on! Get in the car-we have to go!” He held your hand, you whimpered. “Shit-“ he cursed, noticing your fucked up ankle.

“Can’t walk.” I breathed, stating the obvious. Randy nodded quickly. Shoving the gun into his backpocket he lifted you.

“I can’t find the others. I know they might be dead but we have to get out of here.” Randy started the car. Eyes frantic, “You need a doctor,” He saw your dazed like eyes,

He reached out, “We can reach, i called the police.” The male looked at y/n reassuringly, his hand intertwined tighter with her dainty one, she was breathing irregular.

Reaching back into your home, Randy rushed you in, the door began to burst down. “Shit theyre back!” Randy exclaimed.

Y/n used the wall to hold herself. Her eyes widening, “Randy!” She cried as the taller figure tackled him. The knife plunged without a second thought into Randy’s neck, making the poor male choke on his own blood,

You gasped when arms went around you, it was the shorter one. “Goddamnit Stu-Took your sorry ass long enough!” The modulator was gone, her eyes welled with tears. “Sorry man.” Stu flocked over to him, but your face filled with almost heartbreak. They were here all along,

“Why?” She couldn’t help but break into yet, another cry. “Why what, doll?” Billy, she hated that name coming from him. Y/n knew he was that sick bastard all along, “Why did you kill them? Sidney? Tatum? Dwight? And randy..they didn’t deserve this—“ “Sidney is a whore like her mother was.” Billy exclaimed, his hands clasping yours tightly, one hand reaching up to take off his mask, Stu Adjacent doing the same. You sniffled, backing into the counter behind you, Stu kneeled infront of you just beside Billy. “Isn’t it obvious? We love you baby.” Stu made a pout at you, mocking your sad expression. His thumb going under your eye. Wiping a soft tear. “Randy was a fool to even touch you,” Billy crooned at you,

It all didn’t make sense. “Why did you kill them? Why don’t you just kill me already?!” She broke, “Why do you hate me?”

Stu’s face went completely blank. Billy just froze completely. His hand held your cheek, “Why would i ever hate you, dollface?” He ran his hand up and down your face. “I’m suprised the police aren’t here.” Billy looked over at Stu, “What?” He asked irritatedly at why Stu was making such a face.

“The chloroform. Billy,” Billy’s jaw dropped a bit in realization, her eyes widened and anxiety bubbled back into her, struggling. “It’s all okay, Y/N.” Stu pressed the rag over her nose, tears ran down her face as she saw thwm.

The police had arrived too late. The only evidence ever found was Randy’s dead body yet, the window left ajar. No one was found.

You were missing.

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liliesdiary · 11 months ago

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Please don't kill me, Mr Ghostface!

Ghostface x Doll

cw: cnc, knife play, doll, blood play, vile, choking, brutal sex, dubcon, dacryphilia, fear kink, threats of death, kidnapping, opposite end of the knife in your cunt

You can imagine any male ghostface character for this daydream <3 (making a part two soon, comment if you wanna be tagged)

word count: 600+

Daydreaming about ghostface holding you down in a dark alley as he skull fucks you, not letting you catch your breath or fight back. He tied a pink ribbon around your pretty throat, strangling you as he slams your head into the wall, making you whimper and cry as he continues to fuck your throat with a knife to your collarbone.

You whimper as the masked man presses the blade down on your collarbone, making you bleed. “Bleed for me, my little plaything.”

You cry as he continues to press the blade along your collarbone, staining your pink dress. His thrusts were brutal as he fucked your throat, you tried to stay still like a pretty doll but you couldn't help but cry and squirm. You wanted to be his perfect little plaything. You knew he was a vile man yet you were on your knees letting this stranger violate your body in a dark alleyway.

“Good girl.” he says as he looks at the blood, his dick twitched at the sight of his pretty doll bleeding and crying for him. He was a sick man but you were sicker.

He then came down your throat, his grip tightening around your skull, making sure you swallow his cum. You let out a pathetic cry, making him chuckle and tighten his grip on your skull even more. He finally lets go of your skull, you gasp and cry as you collapse onto the ground, covered in your own blood.

He smiles at your pathetic body, “I’m taking you home with me doll.” He then grabs your ass roughly and bends you over. He looks at your pink lace panties and cuts them off with his blade stained with your blood.

“Please, don't kill me mr ghostface!” You cry out.

He lets out a deep chuckle that sends shivers down your spine, “if you're not a good little doll for me I might have to kill you. So be a good little doll for me and behave, I want to play with you for a bit longer.”

You let out a whimper as he starts to use the opposite end of the blade to tease your wet hole. You squirmed and gasp. He lets out a small chuckle and continues despite your obvious discomfort and fear of the blade cutting you down there.

The fact that ghostface, the serial killer that has killed and mutilated your classmates is bending you over and fucking you with his knife makes you feel so nasty yet you couldn't help but be so fucking wet. You moan and bounce on the opposite end of the blade that has ended so many lives and he only gets more turned on by the sight.

The scene that unfolds in front of him turns him on even more, “Fuck, you're so needy baby doll. I can't take it anymore.” He takes the knife away from you and replaces his hard cock there instead. You moan and whimper as he roughly jams in it, not wasting any time and pounding your wet pussy. He holds the knife to your throat again and moans vile things to you.

“Such a good fucking doll for me. You're getting fucked by a fucking serial killer and your dripping all over my cock.”

His words made your cunt throb and your eyes fill with tears, you wanted to tell him to stop but you were just lying to yourself. He slapped your face and continued to fuck your delicate body.

The sounds of his dick penetrating your wet cunt filled the dark alleyway. Your legs started to shake as he pounded into you and strangled you with that pretty pink ribbon around your throat.

“I'm gonna take you home and make you my personal sex doll.”

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the-grimm-writer · 1 year ago

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Hii i love your page and i was wondering... imagine billy loomis stalking you and you find yourself in a haunting adeline situation. Being chased around by him in a house of mirrors. If you don't know what i am talking about, please search "haunting adeline house of mirror". i promis you, you won't be disappointed. ANYWAYS LOVE YOU❤

I love that book so much 😭 now I wanna reread it ughh. It's one of my favorites!! And the sequel Hunting Adeline killed me, i still haven't recovered from the first half of that book :( I love you too!! 💕

Sorry this took so long! But this is perfect for Halloween <3

Warnings: Dub-con, fear play, forced orgasm, lots of reflections, some praising, fem reader

It was dead silent in the house of mirrors. Outside, you could hear the high-pitched screeches of fear followed by cheerful laughter as people ran in and out of the haunted house. It was a busy night at your local haunted carnival. Even pushing midnight, when they were supposed to be closing.

“Hello?” Your stomach dropped when you were greeted with silence. Was this part of the experience, or was someone playing some prank on you?

The deeper you walked, the more eerie everything felt. It was getting quiet and dark, seeing your warped reflections made you pause, carefully looking past yourself and trying to get any details of your surroundings.

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw something behind you. A flash passed in the corner of your eye, and you jumped, immediately turning, trying to find what it was.

Something was off. You felt it the moment you walked in and the actor at the front shut the door. It was never so dark before, and you weren't used to being alone, feeling like your reflection was taunting you, trying to trick you into believing something was there that wasn't.

The more you walked around, the more it felt like your reflection was beginning to warp. Different shapes and sizes making your head spin. You stopped walking for a moment, taking a deep breath. Your heart sped up when you saw the flash of black again, making you yelp and jump back.

It was just part of the experience you signed up for, right? What's the point of a haunt if it didn't scare you? You were scared and excited.

Looking at one of your reflections, you tried reassuring yourself. This was always your favorite thing, so why were you suddenly feeling so paranoid? Like someone was chasing after you, toying with you.

A scream left your lips as you saw someone standing behind you. A man with tan skin, brown hair, and a white shirt most people would think was covered in fake blood, but you knew too well it was real.

A rough hand slammed against your mouth. His arm slid around you and locked you in place, hot breath hitting the shell of your ear as he leaned in close to you.

"Did you miss me, (Y/n)?"

Your blood ran cold, heart pounding in your chest as you looked in the mirror that disfigured your reflections, looking right at him.

He was the last person you expected to see - the last person that you wanted to see.

You shook your head, struggling against him, which just made him smirk, his dark brown eyes cold and taunting as he looked down at him.

"I don't like it when you lie to me, you know." His hand that wasn't keeping you pinned against him slowly trailed down your body. "Why else would you be at a silly little haunted house? I'm trying to get scared by fake killers when you have a real one right here."

"It's a tradition." You said back once he uncovered his mouth, voice trembling as his hand slowly moved down and wrapped around your throat. "I go every year."

Halloween was once your favorite time of year. Thrilled to go to haunted houses in your area that provided that rush of fear and excitement in a safe environment.

But then one the Ghostface killers barged into your life, changing you for the worst. And even when you denied it, both of you knew a weak jumpscare wasn't enough to keep you satisfied anymore.

“You know, you told me once you wanted to experience what it’s like be in a horror movie, didn't you?" He chuckled, keeping you pressed against his chest. "I know you, (Y/n), better than you know yourself."

No, you never wanted your darkest fantasies to come to light. You never imagined that someone would find out about them. Much less a psychopathic killer like him.

You should hate him, fight against him, scream for help like any sane woman would. Yet you found yourself rubbing your thighs together as his stalker kept you close to him. Even if you do hate him, he always found a way to make your body respond to him.

Chills ran down your spine, your body shaking with fear but you couldn't deny the wave of desire that shook through your core as you watched in the mirrors him lean in to you so he could press his lips against your ear. "I'm here to fill those fantasies for you. I always have been." He pulled his hand away from your mouth so you could speak.

"Billy." You shakily said his name, finally speaking up. "I thought you were dead, or you were hiding somewhere." You felt so foolish now, thinking that would stop him from getting to you. You tried to force yourself to go back to normal by being here. One of your biggest mistakes.

"You know nothing could keep me away from you, sweetheart." He said, teasing you as he pulled the hem of your shirt up before he unclipped your bra.

You stayed stiff as he pulled off your shirt. Even when you turned and tried to move away, your reflections taunted you, forced to watch as he stripped you of more than just your clothes.

"Did you miss me that much, (Y/n)?" He chuckled. "Try to replace all those feelings I gave ya? I was only gone for a few weeks, I told you I was just tying up some loose ends then I'd be back for you."

How could you forget your personal stalker? The infamous masked killer that took extra pleasure in torturing and terrorizing you in multiple different ways.

"No!" You bit out, trying to maintain your tough act for as long as you could.

A whimper left your throat, refusing to admit or deny it. Of course you had those fantasies. Wasn't it normal? It wasn't bad if it just remained a fantasy.

“Look at yourself, (Y/n). Look at us. This is who we are." You shivered as his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. "Those weak little haunted houses weren't made for us. You need the real deal."

You almost screamed as he yanked your hair back hard, forcing you to stare at your reflections. "Admit it." He demanded, his eyes connecting with yours through the wavy mirror.

"I..." You took a deep, shaky breath. "I need you, Billy."

He smirked at this. "Are you scared (Y/n)?" You whined, nodding your head as his other hand slipped into your pants, rubbing your pussy against your underwear, making him chuckle as he felt the wetspot that was already there. "Yeah, I can tell. You're fuckin terrified."

Roughly, he yanked your pants and underwear down, never once breaking his intense gaze on you as he did the same for himself. The sound of his pants unzipping ringing in your ears.

"Mine." He hissed as he lined himself up with you, making you scream as he started roughly thrusting into your tight hole without a moments hesitation. "All fucking mine."

You cried out as his cock slammed into you, his hand gripping your hair tight, forcing your back to arch back, never breaking eye contact through the mirrors until you looked back down.

After a minute you slowly started adjusting to his roughness, a broken moan leaving your lips as he hit the spot you knew you were most sensitive at. Pain and pleasure twisting together, how it always felt being with Billy.

Billy's grunts filled your ears, making you look at him in the mirrors as he held onto you like you were about to disappear from his sight. Your breasts bouncing as he continued to fuck you, the sound of skin slapping against naked skin continued to fill your ears.

"Still so tight for me." He chuckled against you, pushing into your cunt deep. "My pretty little slut."

Shame went through you, unable to stop the small moans that left your lips while he pounded into you. "Billy!" You yelped as he turned your head to the side and slammed his lips against yours.

He kissed you with an overwhelming passion, his tongue slipping into your mouth to take complete control. You weakly kissed him back, unable to keep up with him until he pulled away, letting you take deep shaky breaths as his cock stayed buried inside you.

Your small gasps against his lips caused him to growl softly, his speed increasing as he pounded into you almost with a primal, animalistic desire.

"I'm never letting you go again." He said softly as his hips jerked against yours, keeping your body pressed against his, his breath hitting your cheek. "Now cum." He growled as your pussy throbbed around him, his free hand slapping your ass hard before roughly rubbing your clit.

You whined a bit, clenching your fists together since you had nothing to hold onto as he pounded into you until your eyes started crossing.

"Too - too fast!" You whined out, biting your bottom lip hard as you felt the familiar pressure building up.

His grip on your hair tightened, his pace increasing in response as he grunted. "That's not what I said. Now be a good girl and do as I say."

"I'll see you when you get home, (Y/n)." He chuckled, kissing the top of your head before you collapsed, slowly walking out of the house of mirrors. Finally leaving you alone. Just for a little bit more, at least.

You whimpered, nearly forgetting everything as you screamed out, tears burning in your eyes as you felt yourself cumming hard, flooding his cock with your juices.

Billy swore, but you didn't hear him as you shook against him, body filled with a pleasure only he was able to twist out of you. And you knew he was getting closer by the way he held onto you, throwing his head back.

He slammed into you one more time before he finally stopped, letting out a satisfied groan as thick, hot cum filled you up. Your legs were shaky from your own orgasm, unable to keep yourself up as he finally let go of your hair and pulled himself out of your leaky pussy.

You laid there panting, body sweaty as your twisted reflections surrounded you, replaying what had just happened like a rewinded tape.

Slowly, you forced yourself to stand up and pull your clothes back on, the twisted mirrors never failing to remind you. You were just as sick as him.

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reareaotaku · 1 year ago

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Sleeping Beauty

Day 14 of Kinktober: Somnophilia Pairings: Yandere! Billy Loomis x Reader Tw: NSFW, Non-Con

You shouldn't have left your window unlocked. You looked so innocent and pure asleep. He just wanted to get a shirt back, but his mind went else where when seeing you only wearing a shirt. The exact shirt he was coming to get. It was rather hot in your room, so he understood why you weren't wearing much clothes.

The bed dipped as he kneeled on it. He scooted closer to you, towering over you. He looked down at you; You looked so peaceful. He wanted to take that from you.

He kissed your cheek, lifting up your -well technically his- shirt, lightly grazing your skin. He could feel the ghostbumps on your skin and your body shiver. You were wearing lace panties, so you must have wanted this. Yes, he reassured himself, you wanted this. If you didn't, you wouldn't be so pretty and wet for him.

He pulled down your panties, before leaning down to your panties and lightly licking you. He felt you shiver, but you did not awake. He pushed a finger inside, fiddling around, as he sucks on your pussy.

You lightly groan, but still no stirring. He pulls out his finger, kissing your pussy lightly, before sucking on it like a vacuum. He unbuckles his belt, before pulling out his cock through his boxer's hole. He plays with the tip, before lightly stroking himself.

When he gets wet, he finally pushes himself inside of you. He groans at the feeling, his eyes rolling back. He slowly thrust inside of you, before deciding to pick up the pace.

"Ugh. Uh. Ugh. Fuck, fuck, fuccckk, fuck." He was glad you weren't awake, so you couldn't hear his whiny moans. The last thing needed was you to tease him.

He could feel his stomach twist and his thrusts got sloppier as he got closer to his climax. He quickened his pace, the bed shaking and slamming into the wall. He was surprised you hadn't awoke, but nothing could stop him now, he was too close.

Finally, he came undone with a loud, pornographic moan. He lightly groaned, his cum filling you up. He pulled out, watching his cum leaking from you, before smirking.

He didn't really need the shirt, you could keep it if you liked it so much.

#yandere scream #scream x reader #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #billy x reader #billy loomis x you #billy loomis imagine #yandere x reader #yandere billy loomis #yandere billy x reader #yandere billy loomis x reader #yandere imagines #yandere slasher x reader #yandere slasher #slasher x reader #horror x reader #yandere horror #horror imagines #kinktober

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prettybabybaby · 2 years ago

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dark!ethan taking his anger out on you after the apartment killings?

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

content: dubcon/noncon, dark!ethan landry, fem!reader

¡ scream masterlist !

“they don’t trust me,” ethan says, jaw clenched and eyes closed. his hold on your wrist is painful, keeping your wrists pinned to the pillow beneath your head.

“e,” you whimper, tears skipping down your face, “slow down.”

his pace is brutal, fueled by the anger of being doubted. he was on edge, straight faced and tense as he pushed his way into your bedroom. you tried to be understanding, sliding into bed with him to calm and comfort him and yourself after such a traumatic night but he seemed to have other plans, none of which involved your comfort or pleasure.

he treated you like a doll, painfully shoving your thighs apart with his, pushing himself into you without the usual caring preparation. the first pumps were dry and agonizing, leaving you trembling as he persisted anyway, leaning up to dribble spit where your bodies met. you lifted your arms, trying to scoot upwards and create some sort of distance but he hadn’t let you, instead he wrapped his hands around your wrists and held them in the position they are in now.

“I’ve done nothing to deserve this,” he lightly shook his head, “nothing. fuck, you’re so tight.” he connected your lips, tongue forcing its way into your mouth, “you trust me, don’t you? you know I’d never hurt anyone, right baby?”

your glassy eyes stared up at him and you couldn’t bring yourself to agree. he pursed his lips, an extra harsh thrust taking the air from your lungs, “right?”

#tw dubcon #tw noncon #ethan landry (belle's version)#dark!ethan #dark!ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry smut #yandere ethan landry #scream ethan #scream six ethan #yandere!ethan landry #scream six smut #scream vi smut #scream vi #scream six #ethan landry

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kaylinlmfao · 11 months ago

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i hate you! but oh how i love you

type of piece: imagine, drabble, oneshot, series

type(s) of writing: smut, fluff, angst, dark, suggestive

warning(s): mentions of sexual stuff but no actual smut in this part, teasing,, murder, violence, gore, this is mostly just plot

pairings(s): dark!dom!ethan landry x sub!fem!reader

A/N: here is a special, dark fic for a treat for me and for you guys. keep the requesting coming! I love this request, more like this one please! thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy! this is part 1 (no smut just plot)

if i wrote an ethan x fem fanfiction and kinda combined the elements of my oneshots and put them into an actual book would y'all read it? (on wattpad)

just a couple of different things from the movie in this fic. sam, tara, kirby, and chad all die. so do quinn and bailey. all killed by ethan. ethan survives and we'll see where it goes from there.

"ok, ew. get a room you two." you say to tara and chad, accidentally walking in on them kissing. "how about you get a room? we already have one. this room." tara tells you, laughing. she knows you're excited for her. she's liked chad for as long as you can remember. your smile fades as you look behind her. "TARA MOVE!" you shout as the masked killer drives a knife into tara's back. she lets out a cry of pain as chad begins dodging and fighting the killer. "oh my god, tara." you run over to help her up off the floor. "it's ok. it's ok" you try to reassure yourself. you lift tara off the floor, slinging her arm over your shoulder as you try to get her to the door.

"chad! come on" you shout as he kicks the ghostface hard, then rushing over to help you with tara. you swing open the door. "oh my god!" tara shouts. you scream as you see sam barrel through the door. she looks at the three of you in shock before chad starts rushing us to go. "come on, go go go." he ushers us through the door as i glance back at the figure, struggling to get up from their place on the ground. "it's kirby! she's the killer!" sam exclaims as you all are running through the theater. "no shit!" chad runs over to the door you came in before being stopped. "it's locked. come on." "so we're trapped?" you ask, full of fear. this isn't your first rodeo with ghostface, oh no, but you always feel a huge wave of fear when seeing the mask. whether you see a person wearing the mask on the street, or seeing an actual killer wearing it, it brings back bad memories of your ex girlfriend.,

"kirby made this whole theater a kill box. for us." sam voices. tara spins and points upwards. "hey, what about that? there's an exit door. maybe it leads to the roof or something?" she asks, breathless. "there's only one way to find out. let's go." chad orders, grabbing tara's hand. i grip sam's hand as we turn to run. suddenly, another masked ghostface comes out from behind the curtain, swinging their knife. with an extra hard swing, one of the mannequin heads goes flying. "beheadings!" chad shouts, tackling the killer. "chad!" you shout, pointing to the camera behind him as sam rushes to help tara. "smile for the camera motherfucker" chad exclaims, swinging the camera, the figure on the floor flying back from the force of the blow

you push the movie curtain past you quickly, running through. "over there!' tara points as ghostface comes barreling from somewhere behind you. you take the lead, running down the narrow hallway, just trying to get away. another masked killer appears on the opposite end of the hall. now, you're all blocked in from both sides. before chad turns and throws the camera he's still holding at the pursuer behind you. "get fucked!" he shouts. you run into the room you began in, chad pulling the popcorn machine down in front of the figure rushing after you all. the killer swings his knife at chad, aiming to slice and dice. sam and tara each grab one of it's arms, pulling the person back. you subtlety turn, looking for the metal baseball bat you brought for protection. bingo. you grab it from where you leaned it against the wall while talking to chad and tara.

you take the bat in your hands, shout a loud battle cry, and swing at the masked figure, hard. they go flying to the floor with a loud cry of pain. it's a female. now more proof that it's kirby. tara pulls her foot back, crying out from the strain on her wound, and kicks the masked person on the floor, hard. "holy shit tara. brutal" you say, grabbing her and sam, backing up as chad picks up a glass machine off of the counter. "you hit them with a baseball bat" sam counters as chad fixes to throw the glass on the ghostface writhing in pain on the floor. you chuckle with pride. "i know." you see something behind chad that makes you scream in fear. "chad!" you cry, trying to warn him. you're too late, and you watch as the killer drives their knife into you're best friend's side. "no!" you and tara shout in unison. sam holds tara back, gripping your arm at the same time.

the other killer stands and they begin stabbing chad, over and over. you're on the verge of breaking down, again. deja vu. and your boyfriend ethan and mindy still haven't shown yet. you hope and pray that everyone survives this as you turn, unable to watch the scene in front of you, but knowing that there is nothing you can do to help chad. "run" he mouths to you, smiling sadly, blood flowing freely from his mouth and the other wounds on his torso. his body falls to the floor, and the two masked killers wipe their knifes in one swift motion. you run with tara and sam, vision blinded by tears. you cry out in surprise as another ghostface emerges from behind the curtain. the masked killer from before appears on the other side, shaking and waving their knife at you.

sam reaches down and picks up three bricks, handing one to tara and offering one to you. with a shake of your head, you decline. "i've got this" you say, readying your bat to begin swinging. you, tara, and sam form a triangle, tara and yourself gripping hands, sobbing. "ready?" sam asks as tara lets out a cry. "i need you both to be ready? ready?" she repeats. you nod, reaching for her hand, closing the circle. your holding onto sam and tara's hands for dear life, watching as the two sisters reach for the others hand. "deja vu" you whisper. "look at me" sam orders you and tara. "ready?" you glance at sam, then at tara. you may not be blood, but these are your sisters. "im ready" tara tells her. they both look at you. "ready as ill ever be" you say with a smirk, slinging your bat over your shoulder. "come on motherfucker!" tara screams, baiting the masked figure behind you.

suddenly, a loud gunshot sounds from behind you and you see kirby emerge from behind the movie curtain. "it's ok." she attempts to calm the three of you. "stay the fuck back!" sam shouts. "we know it's you kirby." tara tells her. "no! one of them knocked me out." she says, breathless and panting. "kirby stop! get away from the girls" detective bailey orders, pointing his gun at her. kirby mirrors his motions, pointing her gun at him too. "what are you doing?" kirby questions. "did you kill quinn? did you kill my daughter?!" bailey asks, distraught. "jesus christ! whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him. he's probably the killer." a ghostface appears behind the detective. "behind you!" kirby shouts, trying to warn him. two gunshots are fired and kirby falls to the ground. "holy shit." you say, shocked. "great job" bailey praises the ghostface standing behind him. "oh fuck this fucking shit. you cheap fuck!" you scream, staring at kirby's body in shock.

another ghostface emerges from behind detective bailey. "both of you" "you?" tara asks, still in shock. "yeah, of course me. frankly, i expected more from the two of you after what you did to us." "what do you mean us?" the one on bailey's left pulls her mask off. "quinn?" (i know i changed the order but it fits my idea better) sam asks in shock. "hey roomies. you didn't see that one coming did you?" "yeah, because you died!" "kinda didn't though. it was a good way to get off the suspect list. stab gale weathers, stab mindy on the train, that sort of thing." "yeah, and i just made sure i was first on the scene so i could switch her body out with a fresh one. little fake blood, a prosthetic. you'd be surprised with what a grieving father can get away with" you jump a little, pumping your fist. "i fucking knew it! i knew it! i told you guys that she wasn't dead, but you didn't believe me! i told you, i said she wasn't dead. the blood on her walls was fake. I FUCKING KNEW IT!" "so who's the other one?" "mindy?" you ask, breath caught in your throat.

the mask was pulled off and your legs buckled at seeing your beloved boyfriend, ethan. you fell to your knees, feeling the rush of emotions that you felt a year ago come back to you. ethan looks at you with a deranged look in his eyes. "mindy was right. it was easy to juke the roommate lottery. all i had to meet you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha, literally named chad. fuck, it felt good to kill him!" ethan continued speaking but you tuned him out. you couldn't stand to hear his voice or look at his face. you couldn't do this again. you just couldn't. the emotions were flooding you, the feelings overwhelming. you stared down at the floor, tears dripping onto the floor. feelings of hopelessness, sadness, betrayal all coursed through your veins. but soon they were all covered with a thick blanket of rage. red hot rage.

you stood, reminding yourself to stay strong. staring at the ground, tears still slipping down your cheeks. "i got stu macher's mask. he was my favorite." quinn says. "nice. that's number three, and that's number two." he pulls a ghostface mask from within his jacket. "which leaves, your sister's" he says pointing at you. "who's your sister?" tara whispers. "jill roberts" you whisper, still looking at the floor in shame. "this is what we've been counting down to, y/n. i'm gonna need you to put it on." bailey looks at you, holding the mask out to you. so broken. "fuck you!" you hear sam yell on behalf of you. ethan swings and slices open sam's upper arm. "ok! ok! im taking it, jesus. you psychopath" you glare at the boy you once thought you loved. you take the mask in your hands and stare down ashamed at it. you feel someone slip behind you to come stand in front of you. you know it's ethan. you know. he grips your chin, pulling your chin up to point your gaze at him. "oh princess. there's nothing to be ashamed of." he stares deep into your eyes, noticing how cold they are. you've never looked at him like this before.

but it's ok. he has a plan. and eventually, you'll get over it and understand. and you'll be his, though you have been since the day he saw you for the first time. he backs up to stand next to his father and sister. you were still staring at the mask that you held. suddenly, you heard commotion from behind you and saw the fight begin. but you couldn't. you couldn't fight. you didn't have it in you. quinn and bailey vs sam and tara. it wasn't a fair fight, that's for sure. sam and tara didn't have any weapons. you could help them a little bit but then you needed to find a way out of this stupid theater. you ran over to kirby and saw that she was still conscious, but barely. "i'm gonna need this. ill go get help. i promise" you whisper softly. kirby looks at you hard for a moment, and you share a moment of understanding before she slipped into unconsciousness.

you turn, feeling eyes on you. ethan. he isn't helping his father or sister. it's as though his only focus is you. his stare is scaring you, and though you'd never admit it, causing a heat to rush down to your core. damn him. you hate him. you do. but, oh. how you love him. (see what i did there lol?) you walk towards tara and sam, crying out when you feel someone coming up behind you, grabbing you by your throat and yanking you against their upper body. "fuck you, ethan!" you yell, drawing the attention from both your family and his. "but sweetheart, we already did that. i love to to do it again though." he whispers, kissing your neck softly. you bring your elbow forward and elbowing him hard, taking ethan by surprise and giving you just enough to to slip out of his grasp. "sam!" you shout, getting her attention from quinn advancing on her.

"catch" you bring your hand back and throw kirby's gun. for a split second, you think she won't catch it. it will slip from her grasp and everything will go downhill from there. and so it does. the gun slips and falls down to the ground, where you try to grab it. but a tall, 6'2 figure stands in your way. you're on your knees and he's standing in front of you. you're eye level with his bulge. you remember this position all too well. and judging by the smirk on ethan's face, he remembers it pretty well too. he opens his mouth to speak, probably to say something that will infuriate you further. "oh just shut up! oh my god, you bent, twisted motherfucker!" you yell, standing quickly.

your breath catches in your throat as you realize how close you are to ethan. the height difference between the two of you was causing you to be eye level with his chest. you could see his muscles in his chest as he took a deep breath. you feel his fingers lifting your chin, so gentle, like you were glass and ethan was afraid to put the slightest crack on you. your eyes meet ethan's and you almost whimper. ethan's gaze on you is nothing like he's ever looked at you like before. full of lust, looking at you like he was going to devour you. "ethan" you breathe, so quiet, so soft. you quickly snapped out of the trance he had you in and dove, grabbing the gun off the ground and pointing it at ethan.

ethan began slowly walking towards you. "put the gun down princess." he says it as he normally would, but you feel mocked and teased. "you better back the fuck up unless you want a bullet in between your eyes, princess." you mock him, quickly walking backwards until your back is met with a hard surface. ethan continues walking towards you until there is only a enough space to put the gun against his chest in between the two of you. he glances down at it and then back at you as he speaks. "oh? don't talk like that. we both know you wouldn't be able to pull the trigger, sweet girl" you blush at the nickname and you know he sees.

"go ahead, pull the trigger." you freeze up as he move closer to the point where you have to move the gun, the butt pressing painfully against your chest. you hear the commotion going on in the background, but with the way ethan is standing above you with a bloody hands, it's making you dizzy and you feel like you're gonna pass out. you feel your head empty just as he somehow always caused it to do. it takes an extreme amount effort to get your head straight, telling yourself that this isn't ethan. it isn't the ethan you fell in love with, at least.

you swallow. "fuck you." you whisper, feeling the burning tension between the both of you. ethan chuckles as his expression turns to one of even deeper lust. you feel his hot breath on your face as you get angrier at the slick forming in your panties. "fuck you." "i hate you so much. i hate you for doing this to me and for breaking my fucking heart. i wish–" you stop at as ethan begins to speak. "what do you want, sweetheart? keep fucking talking, slut. keep trying to convince me you hate me." his gaze drifts to your lips. "i hate you" you sob. you're interrupted by the feeling of your mouths crashing together in a rough, lustfilled kiss. and, to your own surprise, you don't fight it. you can't bring yourself to shove him away. the sexual tension between the two of you had gone to the point of being unbearable, and the harsh way his lips move against yours and the way his tongue probes into your mouth makes you light headed.

ethan pulls away and looks at your lust filled, scared expression. "that's what i thought. you still want me, even i killed all your friends." you shake your head with a whimper, tears running down your cheeks. "i don't want you." you whisper. "oh my pretty girl. so confused, aren't you? don't you remember you cockdrunk and sobbing after i fucked you just last night?" he brings his lips to your ears, whispering. "when you couldn't say anything at all? all you could do was cry and beg me to stop touching your sensitive cunt and your puffy little clit? and i know you want to do it again. dirty little whore. my dirty little whore."

'i don't want you" you say, more trying to convince yourself than trying to convince ethan. he laughs, glancing down at your tear streaked face and big doe eyes. "ok, little one. ok" you wiped your tears quickly and shoved him off of you, turning and running down the nearest hallway. "you don't have to run, you know. I'm gonna catch you no matter how fast you are." you hear. ethan’s voice is cold and irritated as he stalks towards the hallway you just turned into. you're distracted as you trip over a gap in the hardwood floor and come crashing to the floor, and then, the sound of his steps hurrying up to meet you fill your heart with even more fear. your heart is already racing from the adrenaline of trying to escape the psychopath that you once called your boyfriend. The bloody tip of his knife rounds the corner before he does, and it's enough to fuel your desire to get up and stumble around the nearest corner, into a bathroom.

you slam the door behind you with the force of your body against it, and attempt to fumble with the lock for a split second before running to grab the nearest object, a marble vase to try and buy you a few seconds. It's not even seconds until he's turning the knob, trying to get in. the door rattling the entire room suddenly and your heart hitting the floor as he speaks. "open the door, my love. i won't hurt you as long as you behave." you're not allowed even a second opportunity to look for a way out, to even consider the option of jumping out the second story window on to the concrete below, or just hide and pray for mercy. Because three loud, earth-shattering crashes of his shoulder meeting the hardwood door splinters it almost immediately after the third hit, and you're so close to the door that one of those shards flies and slices open the heel of your hand–and now, instead of using those few precious moments to come up with a plan to get away, you're crying and grabbing your wrist in pain, blood gushing from the wound and splattering all over the white tile floor.

the pain derails your whole train of thought, your vision blurring with tears as you fall back and shake with shock, leaving a trail of crimson blood on the tile behind that leads straight to you. one more crash of ethan's shoulder against the door does the trick, and ethan has successfully crushed a hole in the bathroom door, his arm reaching through to unlock it so it only takes a quick kick to open. "man, you made me break the door. this is probably pretty valuable" his eyes turn to you, bright and brown and angry. "and you cut your wrist." ethan reaches out for you, and doesn't stop when you flinch away from him. you have nowhere else to go, no way out, what are you gonna do? you're aren't a threat to anyone but yourself. you're a helpless little thing, and when ethan does grab you, he's gripping your wrists so hard you're already begging him to stop and let go. "why don't you beg me not to kill you, princess?" he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face, behind your ear to whisper it directly into your ear–his voice makes you shiver, like it's a cold breeze in the across your neck. "i'm kinda considering it. you're pissing me off. you won't stop running away from me"

"what now? why are you looking at me like that?" he moves away from you to meet your eyes, but the fear is clear in yours–you watched him help murder your best friends, your family. what does he think you are? happy? no, you're petrified. "i'm so scared…" "scared? I'm scaring you?" You nod your head in the most pathetic fashion, with a quivering lip to top it off. ethan isn't just scary. A horror movie is scary, a bump in the night is scary. ethan, he's utterly terrifying.

"Then why are you soaking wet?" His question stops your mind in it's tracks, confusion etched on your face, but your stuttering and stammering stops short when you feel his big hand brush your thigh. you jerk away from him on instinct, but his harsh grip on your hurt arm keeps you flush against him, and you're forced to stand and shiver as his fingers fly under your skirt and they come to cup your pussy over your panties. he rubs a teasing thumb into what should be a random spot, but he knows where your clit is from past experience and knows how to press so firmly and hard to make you squeal. even your body is betraying you right now, and that strip of soft fabric between your legs is completely soaked for him to enjoy to the fullest. "you want this. you want me, huh? so bad that you're soaked" you shake your head no violently, too wound up to open your mouth because you know the words won't come out the way you want them to.

"yeah, that's it. you want me to fuck your brains out. you just want my attention. that's why you're running from me. you want me to catch you." "No!" you sob, trying to push him away again. ethan ignores your outburst and the shove you try to give him to get him off, ethan yanks you harder against him for you to feel how hard he is beneath the ghostface costume he's wearing, and for his fingers to prod you even rougher as he blindly searches for a way into your panties. "I don't want you ethan!" "You do!" He barks back, the growl of his voice sending an unwanted cold shiver up your spine. now he's found a way in, his fingertips brushing your folds before losing any gentle or tenderness they might have had and pushing their way inside. He's big, brutal, fingers working in to spread you out and shucking all that wet slick into his palm. his lips meet your cheek, hot and soft, and he has you hooked. nothing but him

you feel his breath hot and shaky on your ear. He doesn't seem to care you're up on your tiptoes, gasps of pain and pleasure dying in your throat, because he's got his fingers so fucking deep. ethan is preoccupied, you know as much by the absent strokes against your clit with his thumb, moving in no specific direction. "so pretty like this. blood on your face, crying for me." ethan pulls away suddenly, cheek still sticky with blood you wish was fake. it's on you too, smeared down your jaw like a smudge of scarlet paint, and his hands are covered in it too, that he's rubbing it into you for his own pride and sick pleasure. while he looks you in the eyes, he doesn't move his fingers from inside you, nor shows any expression aside from a deep, dark lust over his brown eyes that betrays the terror that a true psychopath could bestow.

"Your body is mine. this pretty pussy is mine. You're all mine." He mutters below his breath, spreading his fingers inside you to watch you gasp and your eyelids flutter as they fill with tears. you let out a loud cry as you coat ethan's fingers with your cum. as you come down from your high, you think about how wrong this is. your friends, they would want you to get out. they would want you to get to the hospital and tell mindy and gale before ethan got there first. "get away from me" you say, shoving ethan away hard. "but i don't want to. i want you to ride me and milk my cock until you're crying" he says it so innocently, it infuriates you to no end. "shut the fuck up!" he opens his mouth again to probably say something even dirtier, but you don't let him. maybe it's time to take a different approach. "you really want my pussy to clench around you? to milk you dry while i cry and scream your name? you want me to jump on your fucking dick until i can't think?" you ask him in a sultry tone.

he groans loudly. "fuck yeah, princess. i do. and i fucking will every single thing you just said right here, in every damn room in this fucking theater. you'll be so fucked out and overstimulated you'll be begging me to stop." "oh?" you tilt your head, looking at him. this is it. he moves towards you slowly, away from the destroyed door. "well ethan. let's do it then." you feel his big hand on the back of your neck as he slams your lips onto his. you quickly bring your knee straight up, nailing him in the dick. "well, you can't do any of those things if i cut your fucking dick off, can you?" your mood changed so fast you couldn't even regulate it. it was like you had an alternate, darker personality. just like ethan. you look at him, a deranged and feral look in your eyes. ethan wasn't scared. he was turned on. and now, he was pissed as fuck and in pain. he wanted to pound you until you cried, remind you who could make you feel so small so quickly. you stomp hard on ethan's foot as he cried out in pain. "you wanna know my secret? it wasn't sam who sliced up your brother. it was me. after he fucking groomed my girlfriend." that part was not true either. it was also not true when people said you were just like your sister. but he doesn't need to know that. ethan almost came in his pants. you were so hot when you were feral, though it was acting and he knew it.

you turned and ran out the door while he was distracted. you needed to get help. some of your friends could be alive. "man, i should get an oscar. that was some amazing acting if i do say so myself" but before you could find an exit, someone pulled you back. it wasn't ethan, it was kirby. she was still on the floor, barely conscious. she grabbed your ankle and you leaned down slowly. "im going to get help. it's ok." you attempt to reassure her. "get out of here. there is an exit behind the back hallway. there's a room behind there. it's soundproof, it's what they used for filming and editing. there is door that leads outside. go" she struggled to finish speaking before she passed out again. you followed her instructions, turning past chad and bolting towards the door. you're running fast, and you speed around a corner. next thing you know, you run into a hard chest and you're sprawled out on your back. sharp curses leave your mouth as you stare up at ethan. "fuck me" you curse. ethan smirks. "that's the plan, princess."

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