volomori-notdead

[volomori-notdead]

Ghostface x OC

[eng is not my native language! if you notice some mistakes — feel free to text me about them.]

[warnings: around 1,6k words. horny danny, horny oc. they’re kinda insane. killing and stuff. blood, sperm, dirt and such. small letters.]

[abraxas is the pseudonym of the original character. she’s a killer, just like danny.]

striking cold steel on the back of one of the survivors, a heart-rending moan of pain rang out around the misty forest. the guy fell face down on the dirty ground and, in a senseless attempt to save his skin, began to crawl forward, naively believing that this would somehow help him. the animal instinct of self-preservation. his shaking hands, rapid and loud breathing full of fright caressed his ears and made him smile a little to himself. a ridiculous and pathetic sight.

placing a foot in black berets, dirty after running on the wet ground, on the guy's ankle, the killer slowly wiped the knife on a “borrowed” leather glove, getting rid of the crimson blood on the metal. holding the knife slightly up, she examined the weapon and with a deft, practiced movement turned it over into a more comfortable grip, and then lowered her hand back down, looking at the guy in pain with a mocking expression on his face. 

the black pupils dilated, causing the brown irises to disappear almost without a trace, while the feeling of adrenaline continued to spread pleasantly throughout the body, causing the face to turn slightly pink in a feeling of some kind of ecstasy, from which the whole body practically shuddered. 

the feeling of euphoria caused her slightly bloodstained face to break into a wide smile, causing goosebumps to run through the emaciated male body. he continued to stare at her through tears, seemed to be on the verge of roaring and was now biting his dry lips, drowning out his own screams.

shouting won't help. no "savior" is running to his aid. he was a mouse who ran through the maze until he was exhausted, because there was simply no way out.

the moon shone brightly behind the girl's head, forming a kind of murderous halo, while raven-colored hair fell over her face, giving her an even more eerily attractive, almost angelic appearance. 

the woman bent slightly over him, continuing to press on his ankle with her shin. skirt revealed slender legs and tights with a pattern that gave her gloomy image a touch of play, confirming that the insanely happy face was sincere. 

she is abraxas. 

she is the judge in this game, who does not hide her knife behind her back, but on the contrary, with great pleasure, plunges it into the throat of another victim, without taking her dark and wide-open eyes away from the face in pain, while her lips trembled slightly because of the undisguised fun. 

her soft hands are up to the elbows in blood, which cannot be wiped off even with carbonic acid. killing victims over and over again, she took great pleasure in striking blow after blow, until her body and mind ached with the desire to repeat it again and again until someone else's still living flesh finally became a rotting torn piece of meat, which would be useful except for stray dogs who greedily stab their fangs into the once human body in order to starve animal hunger.

the guy was making dry wheezes, an expression full of horror and pain was frozen on his face. and cold tears remained in his wide-open eyes. the guy's body had stopped moving and was now gradually acquiring a cadaverous hue. is whole face and body were smeared with dirt, and a mixture of blood, saliva and damp earth remained on his parted thin lips. the broken glasses were lying next to the former owner. she pressed the heavy shoe on her ankle one last time until it made a nasty crunch, and then scraped the sole of it in disgust. 

woman adjusted her hair with a grin and ran the knife down her back one last time, starting from the neck and all the way to the coccyx. clothes now looked more like a leaky rag and stank of blood and sweat. the point of the blade sliced through the spine, getting rid of the skin cell that never left. with her fingers, she opened the autopsy site, without taking her eyes off the bones of the spine and the flowing blood. 

the click of the camera. 

first. 

second. 

abraxas only turned her head slightly in the direction of the sound, continuing to tear the skin and tendons, placing the knife next to the dead man's face — now he looks with empty eyes directly at what killed him. 

she knew who was taking the photos. and she didn't mind a bit. 

the blood got under the nails and began to eat into someone else's leather glove. wreaths began to appear on the tense arm.

picking up the knife, she plunged it into the neck with all her might. there was a slight crunch. the killer continued to press hard on the handle, planting it deeper, tearing the larynx and spine, wanting to chain the dead man directly to the ground.

when the handle didn't go any further, she slowly stood up, inspecting her work and lightly dusted off her hands. it was useless, but it had already become a so-called habit. 

with her head slightly tilted to the side, she practically did not blink at the work she had created with her own hands: a bloody picture that would make any sane person sick. but in this place, everything was already too abnormal.

there are no sane people here.

spft wet sounds began to be heard from the bushes. her audience adhered to the rhythm set by the hand. 

deciding not to go directly and help out a colleague in the workshop in his dirty business, she just stared at those very bushes next to the hut. the black cape is slightly thrown over to the side, revealing a tense, erect organ, along which a man's left hand was walking up and down.

rapid breathing could be heard through his mask. he wasn't hiding anymore—he wanted, wanted her to see him. 

for her to look at him. 

in his right hand he still held the camera, which he pointed at abraxas and then at his crotch. 

the killer is ready to bet his hand that under this damn mask he hides his grin: animal, lustful and terribly sexy. 

the girl stood up a little straighter, not approaching. running her gaze from the mask and back to the hard dick, she ran her bloody hand to the neckline of her skirt and began to bare her leg a little more, reaching almost to the thigh. silk fabric slowly lifted, the black lace of the neckline began to absorb someone else's blood, and the dark deep eyes continued to stare at him. 

another, already familiar grin began to appear on her lipstick-painted lips, but more arrogant and lustful. a slight blush appeared on her cheeks, which is a sign of pure, drug-like attraction. 

they didn't say anything, but her languid gaze and silent lips clearly read: 

"you're a complete pervert, danny." 

the hand, with protruding veins, continued to twist. with his right hand, the guy took another photo of the girl, this time focusing on gradually exposing her hips. he wanted to rip off that skirt and those fucking tights right now. 

the guy threw his head back, making a low, guttural moan, without stopping the work with his hand. he put the camera next to him and in one slightly nervous movement, took off his mask, covering the camera with it.

his short dark hair stuck in places to his sweating forehead, his black eyes were slightly closed, and on his salivating lips was the same grin, exposing an even row of sharp teeth.

abraxas watched his every move, recording in memory his every sigh, moan and twitch of his penis. 

girl tilted her head up a little, lifting her chin and now looking straight into his eyes. his left hand, with his glove on it, began to move lazily, but dirty, from the neckline to his hips, to his waist and chest.

danny also watched her every move, trying to figure out which he wanted more: cum or slit her throat. 

his hand began to move faster as girl ran a bloody glove over her neck, squeezing slightly, as if fulfilling one of the wet dreams of a former journalist.

she tilted her head back slightly, without breaking eye contact, and ran her right hand over her skirt, lifting it up more, exposing her legs in nylon tights — black lace underwear.

her hand slowly crept to the inside of her thigh, dangerously approaching the underwear, but not reaching it, lightly stroking the skin of her leg through the tights, which had already begun to rub slightly unpleasantly. 

she let out a small moan, wanting to bring her teasing to its peak. and she knew it would work. 

the guy, somewhat tightening his grip on the penis, began to move his hand faster, and then broke their silence, saying:

"you're just as perverted as I am, abraxas."

danny laughed a little, and then let out another louder, but still the same bass moan, which involuntarily sent goosebumps down the girl's body. she only smiled at him in response to these words. 

a white liquid began to flow from the tip of his dick, staining the guy's hands and black pants. but he just continued to breathe heavily and make soft moans, gradually getting rid of the boner. 

abraxas just watched it all with a thin smile crimson from lipstick. removing her hand from her neck, she adjusted her skirt and slowly began to walk towards danny, saying nothing. 

standing close enough to him, she took off a bloody and mud-stained glove from her hand and deliberately threw it in the man's face, saying:

"it’s a little dirty, but I don't think you mind, right?" 

danny tilted his head slightly to the side, looking at her sideways. he laughed a little, without removing his hand from his cock: 

"you should be more careful with other people's things."

he raised an eyebrow slightly, and then grabbed abraxas by the ankle with a palm stained with sperm and began to run up it, either wiping the lubricant on it, or wanting to tease her in return. not sparing the woman's skin, johnson made every effort to make his grip painful — so that his finger marks would remain on it. on the man's arm, blue veins began to appear even more strongly, resembling an abraxas spider web, from the sticky tentacles of which she could not get out (and did not want to).

the girl did not react to the pain in any way and only blushed slightly more. she liked it. 

bending down, she pressed her painted lips to his neck, digging into it, wanting to leave her mark on him. the lipstick stained her skin while the sweet smell of sweat that was on her tongue hit her nose. one moment and the pleasure turns to pain — she bites him with all the force that she has, not feeling sorry for him as much as he does for her. the salty taste of sweat began to mix with the blood.  

from the bite, the killer's hand dug deeper into the leg, now scratching it with short nails through tights somewhere in the thigh area. danny shushed a little, grinning even harder and while the other hand reached for the dark hair, grabbing it and slowly but forcefully pushing abraxas away from his neck. 

the jet-black curls stuck to her face created another dirty image in danny's eyes, filled with shamelessness, lust and self-will, from which rotten flesh grazes a kilometer away, mixed with tobacco smoke and women's perfume. the whole image was complemented by a trace of dried blood of the survivor, which now covered the soft skin with a crust like a cherry on a sickly sweet cake, leaving a disgusting taste of cheap cream in the mouth.

[volomori-notdead]

the reader must serve cunt regardless of gender or lack of it

[volomori-notdead]

if he wanted to (brutally murder me as an act of love and passion) he would

[volomori-notdead]

The Trickster x reader

(less than 1k words. one-shot: ‘you’, blood, a bit horny and dark?)

(i am not english native speaker, so sorry in advance if there any mistakes)

another trial. your hair, soaked with cold sweat, stuck to your face while you tried to hold your breath so as not to make a sound. you held on to the walls of the locker with your shaking hands, hoping that he would pass by.

"hush, hush. i must hold on, i must hold on," you were saying to yourself like a mantra, trying to fight for life and convince yourself that everything will be okay. even if you knew, that it won’t.

well… hope dies last, right?—

from the locker, you could hear heavy footsteps running somewhere nearby, as if approaching. a familiar humming was heard. your heart started beating faster, you froze, as if trying to merge with the locker. make it look like there's no one in it, expect fancy Trickster’s knives.

but the humming stopped. so are the steps.

“hmm?”

the man’s deep and soft voice said more to himself, while standing beside the locker where you were. even if you didn’t see, you could have sworn there was a smile on his face.

you're holding your breath. how many times have you done this already? your heart started beating even faster, ready to jump straight out of your chest. this beating seemed so loud to you, as if it would be absolutely audible to other survivors at the difficult end of the map.

the locker swayed a little as if killer was checking to see if anyone was in it, which almost make you bit your tongue from the usual animal fear that you always feel in this place.

the doors opened abruptly, loudly and you pressed into the back wall of the locker, staring straight at the killer. the same light pink hair, slightly disheveled from running, and crazy golden-yellow eyes that look straight into the soul. you were right: he was smiling.

“ohh~ found you!~”

The Trickster’s face spread even wider in a smile, revealing a sharp snow-white grin that incredibly suited him. you clearly understood why he had such a huge fan base.

he hit his bat next to your head, but instead of lifting you onto his shoulder, he just brought it closer to your face, feeding off your fear like a vampire. he was enjoying how scared you were and couldn't help but chuckle.

taking a step forward, he was approaching your face and you already began to feel his heavy, hot breath on your skin.

he lightly touched his lips to the skin of your neck and slightly went down and walked them to your ear. Trickster was covered in the blood of your teammates, which you could perfectly smell from his skin and coat, but you couldn't go against yourself. you blushed, holding your breath.

he was playing with you.

he pressed you against the wall of the locker and one of his hands went down to your waist, as if holding you in place. men's hands slightly squeezed your skin, when his lips goes straight to your earlobe.

you felt his loud breath and it makes you shiver. from fear. and from excitement.

his hand reaches right up to your neck and squeezes it. you could feel his hand holding you tightly, making your breathing become deeper and heavier. killer’s lips were still at your ear and you could hear him humming something to you again. the voice became lower, a little rougher and deeper, which only made you froze once again. you didn’t move even at inch, but your face became even more red.

what The Trickster, of course, noticed. you heard a laugh again.

“ohh! did i make you blush, sweetheart?~”

he get closed to your earlobe and you felt how his tongue slightly lick it, after which you felt small pain. he bite you and it almost make you moan.

another laugh. Trickster enjoys your reactions on the fullest.

“darling, you’re supposed to fear me, if you haven’t forgotten.”

you swallowed and remain silent, not moving. The Trickster was looking right at your red ears and cheek. he let out a low groan in your ear and said the last thing before pulling you out of the locker,

“It's time to get out, dear. I want to see how your pretty face show pure fear again.”

he throw you over his shoulder and carry you straight to the hook. and you knew completely well: you’ll have to show him the fear that he desires.