I posted 150 times in 2021
139 posts reblogged (93%)
For every post I created, I reblogged 12.6 posts.
#echoes of the outsiders - 18 posts
#american mary - 16 posts
#vincent sinclair - 15 posts
#michael myers - 13 posts
#house of a thousand corpses - 13 posts
Longest Tag: 54 characters
#the only manga i've read from beginning to last update
A reader getting the upper hand on bo and boutta beat the shit outta him before deciding to teach this dumbass how to life instead
Thanks I wanted scream-queen but it's taken 😂 I like this one better now though
Reader gets the upper hand on Bo
TW: light torture, threats, Bo is a bit of a masochist.
Things had gone sour quite fast. Whoever that Bo Sinclair guy was, he was more than the shamelessly flirty but respectful persona he put up when they arrived to the town. Being a hitchhiker meant taking quite a few risks, but she hadn't been expecting a serial killer, no, those were the kind of risks people who hitchhiked joked and told exaggerated stories about, stories people claimed were real but were actually just an urban legend at most, vaguely based on events that took place decades ago on the other end of the country.
This wasn't an urban legend. This was very very real.
The hitchhiker, that's what the folk she came with'd called her when Bo asked. Besides her, there were two ladies and two guys, none of them seemed to know much about her other than she needed a ride to some place that was close to where they were headed. He caught her looking his way once, and shot her one of his most charming smiles, being faced with a look that was almost judgemental before she turned back to looking around.
Her indifference got his attention more than the other two's flirty attempts at getting him to stop glancing her way and their boyfriends's glares could. It was why he'd decided to go after her first, lock her away and save her for last. That was his first mistake.
Catching them off guard was easy, people's first mistake when they arrived to Ambrose was not thinking much of Bo, and he made them regret that. The hitchhiker followed him into the basement with annoyed resignation, and by the time she realized just in how much trouble she was, he'd used the moment of realization to tackle her and get her cuffed to his chair. He left her there, going after the others so that Vincent wouldn't have all the fun.
Two kills and two unsuccessful chases later, Bo retuned to the basement, finding the door open and the chair empty.
"Damn that bitch," he cursed through gritted teeth. Something hard collided with the back of his head before he could turn around and realize he'd fallen into a trap.
When he opened his eyes, Bo's head was throbbing, it took him a minute to realize he was strapped down to his own chair, and as soon as he did, he began to trash and scream, much like he used to do when he was a child with parents who didn't know nor care to learn how to properly deal with his bursts of emotion. His chest heaved as he glared to the side, spotting the hitchhiker leaning against the wall, watching him as she held onto her own thumb in a way that confused him until a snap noise made him realize that's how she'd broken free: she dislocated her thumb and was now putting it back in place.
"That look tells me this hasn't happened to you before," she hummed, pushing herself away from the wall and stepping towards him. "Rookie mistake, should have at least knocked me out."
"I don't hit ladies," Bo spoke, making another attempt at breaking free. "But I'll make an exception just for you."
She snorted, the noise only made Bo's blood boil. He considered dislocating his own thumb to break free, but didn't quite dare to do it, he'd dislocated it once as a child, while his father was trying to place him on the high chair, and he still remembered how much it'd hurt despite how young he'd been. It wasn't something he wished to repeat anytime soon.
He straight up tried to bite her hand when it moved towards his face, but her fingers went to a spot over his ear, fingers digging into an injury made when she hit him, making him curse through gritted teeth and struggle against the straps.
"Look at me," she demanded, grabbing a handful of his hair and making Bo tilt his head back to meet her eyes. "How many of you are out there?"
"Fuck you," Bo growled and once again cursed when her knuckles pressed hard against the injury on his scalp. "Just me, damn it!"
"Bullshit," she spoke, her tone calm yet stern in a way that made Bo's heart race. "You wouldn't be so confident about taking out five people if it was just you." her hand once again dug onto his injury before she let go of his hair, the now bloody bands sticking to his head.
"What are you, an expert?" he questioned, struggling and being met only with the chair's rattling as he watched her move to where his tools were.
It was as she reached for the pliers that he saw something familiar on her arm, a tattoo of a geometric butterfly in different shades of blue. He remembered finding a newspaper in one of their previous victims' car showing that exact same tattoo as an identifying mark for a criminal that'd escaped prison. It then clicked in Bo's mind that he might have met his match.
"Well shit, darlin'," he snorted. "and here I thought you were just some chick."
"Oh, I am," she hummed, moving over and taking a hold of his hand, placing the pliers over the first knuckle. "Just some chick that will start cutting fingers unless you start being honest."
Bo glared at her, the look in his eyes almost challenging him to try. He would kill her if she did– hell, he didn't even believe she would dare; he was the deranged one, the one that made people scared. But now, as he stared into the eyes of someone who looked at him with the same look of superiority he often looked down at his victims with, he wondered if this is what they felt. There was panic as the pliers began squeezing down on his knuckle, harder and harder each passing moment; and there was something else, something stirring in his lower belly.
"Okay, wait," he breathed out, his gasp turning into a sigh of relief when she paused. The pressure of the pliers was so far enough to make him thing there'd be a bruise. "It's me and my brothers. Two of 'em."
She stared at him like she could read him mind, or was trying to, and that stirring in his lower belly turned into a tightness in his pants that he hoped she wouldn't notice.
61 notes • Posted 2021-09-26 04:03:51 GMT
Vincent and a soulmate au holy sheeeeeit
Vincent Sinclair x Reader (GN pronouns)
You were alone when you got to Ambrose, a long walk after a falling out with the group of people you'd hitchhiked with. Coincidentally, their car was parked just outside the mechanic shop, with none of them in sight. You figured they'd had some issue and they were off doing whatever it was they were doing, after how they'd left you to walk, you didn't really care.
All the stores in town were closed, it didn't surprise you because it was the afternoon and small towns tend to be really vacant when it's nap time. This town was certainly small, to the point you questioned if it could really be called a town or if it was more of a village. While walking around, you ended up deciding to check out the Wax House.
The door was open so you let yourself in. After all, it's an attraction, people are supposed to go in and check it out otherwise it isn't profitable for whoever was showing their art there. The sculptures were uncanny, but you had to admit this Vincent guy had talent, you couldn't help but feel watched, but you blamed it on all the way-too-realistic statues. Little did you know that you were actually being watched.
Vincent knew the moment his eyes landed on you, and he hated it. He hated you, he hated himself, he hated the sudden throbbing and tightness inside his chest. He didn't want a soulmate, he didn't need one. Who could possibly want him when his face looked the way it did? Surely not someone who looked like you, no one normal could love him. That's why only his brothers loved him.
He cut the chase short, going straight to making an attempt on your life. Before you could even fully process what was going on, he was on you, a calloused hand to your throat and a knife hovering over your heart, but he couldn't do it, his knuckles were white from his grip on the knife and his hand was shaking, his pulse never failed him like this when it came to killing, wielding a knife was as natural as wielding any of his sculpting tools. He'd just met you and you were already ruining him.
You apologized, thinking you were trespassing, and he moved off you like just touching you hurt him. You moved away from him until your back touched the back of the wax couch, and he stated —or more like glared— at you, while you stared at him in a mix of fear and realization.
He couldn't kill you, but he also couldn't bear the thought of letting his brother do it or letting you go, of losing the person that he was made for and who was made for him.
Looks like you're stuck together now. Shit, what would he do with you?
67 notes • Posted 2021-10-13 23:11:56 GMT
yautja x reader. sfw/soft!! maybe some cuddles that involve a dreaming yautja and getting kicked off the bed. 🤣 thank youuuuuu 💕💕💕❤️🔥❤️🔥
Yautja dreams are made of this
Jungle Hunter x reader (GN pronouns)
There were a lot of things you learned about the yautja you'd once known as Jungle Hunter. For starters, his real name was impossible for a human mouth to pronounce, but he liked being called Wiin: a name given to him by the locals, referencing a once human now monstrous creature known for its chaotic behavior. He'd spent decades in the Guatemalan jungle, hunting whoever was brave or stupid enough to not only enter his territory, but challenge him; but he was nowhere near old, and he liked to leave that clear with displays of his strength and youthfulness.
One thing you never expected to learn about Wiin was that he had quite vivid dreams.
It was one of those nights where he'd appeared in your room, tired but content in a way that left it clear he'd been successful in a hunt– in case the spine the dropped on your bathroom's sink wasn't enough proof of that. He hadn't said much, just pulled you to the bed and nuzzled you until, sooner than later, he was snoring. It was not at all a cute snore, but you'd already gotten used to the noise, and you weren't tired yet, so you didn't mind continuing with what you'd been doing before his arrival on a now horizontal position.
That is until the snoring turned to rumbling, and the rumbling into growling. His legs moved, his knees bumping against your ass in a quite insistent way, for a moment, you considered the possibility that he was awake and playing some kind of prank on you, but upon turning in his arms to lie on your back, you saw that he was fast asleep, his eyes squeezed shut and mandibles tight but twitching against each other.
Then he threw his left knee back, body tensing in a way that gave you just enough of a warning on what was about to happen for you to shake your way out of his grasp and avoid the knee that kicked in your direction full force by a mere inch, hitting the air where your ribs had just been.
"Wiin!" you called out, and he startled awake, holding his arm up and then staring down at his forearm, caught off guard by the sight of himself unarmed. "You almost kicked the shit out of me!"
He stared up at you. Wiin couldn't speak any human language without his mask, he'd been trying to learn, but had only managed a few words so far. But the look in his eyes was a clearly apologetic one as he shifted, holding himself up with one hand while holding the other out to you.
You hesitated only for a moment before taking his hand, but instead of letting him pull you back to bed, you pulled him to get up.
"How about we clean your trophy and you tell me about your hunt?" you offered, and he seemed thrilled by the idea, pulling you by the hand the rest of the way to the bathroom like a child with something to show to someone they admired.
You hoped having something to do and talking about his day would calm him down enough for you to not end up getting kicked into next week in your sleep. Though you had to admit, up until that point, the growling and clicking had been quite adorable. You doubted he'd appreciate you calling him anything other than fierce, but hey, he couldn't be offended by your thoughts if you didn't share them with him.
The look of confusion on his face as he watched you grin at the memory was just as adorable.
142 notes • Posted 2021-10-06 00:59:02 GMT
Something with our humble provider man?
Maybe the reader is with a group of victims and runs to him for protection from Hoyt even though Tommy is the one with the chainsaw because something about big chainsaw man protecting me does things
Running to Thomas for protection
Thomas Hewitt x Reader (GN pronouns)
They say that there's nothing better than a roadtrip to solidify friendships. You were doubting the truthfulness of that statement even before you and your group ran into the family of cannibals. It all started innocent enough, a tire giving in to the scorching heat of the Texan road and popping in the middle of nowhere, hours spent sweating in the car or walking around nearby until a sheriff's department car pulled up and the Sheriff inside offered to take you and your friends to his home to spend the night because nothing was open that late in the evening.
The car was left behind, because no one had driven past besides the sheriff in those hours you and your friends spent stranded, so what were the chances someone would drive and would want anything to do with the car? That had been the sheriff's reasoning, and it'd been pretty convincing to a group of young folk on the brink of heat stroke.
It was an about twenty minutes long drove to the rundown farm that you wouldn't have guessed was inhabited if it wasn't for the man driving you calling it his "home sweet home". You and two of your friends had travelled in the back of the police car while your friend Ethan rode shotgun. Ethan didn't make it far. Almost as soon as he got off the car and went to open the door for you and your friends, a gunshot broke the silence and blood —Ethan's blood— splattered the window.
Everything went to hell after that. Your memory a haze from the rush after rush of adrenaline that coursed through you. Your body aching from each moment of struggling to break free of one of the family members's hold and of being chased around as soon as you'd succeed at that.
Sheriff Hoyt had it out for you, you weren't exactly sure what it was that you'd done or said during the drive there that made him single you out, but one thing was for sure: he had it out for you and wouldn't stop at anything.
Or well, perhaps someone could stop him.
You'd once again narrowly escaped the sheriff impersonator, rushing down a hall only to stop halfway because at the other end was the man you'd heard the family call Tommy, a tall, hulking man wearing a mask made of some previous victim's face, holding a chainsaw like it weighed nothing and revving it once, twice, grunting in frustration at how it wouldn't turn on while glaring at you.
"Get back 'ere you piece of shit!" Hoyt called out behind you.
The anger in his voice was enough to trigger your legs into motion again, desperation winning over logic as you ran towards the man with the chainsaw, not with the intention of attacking, but with a brewing plan that might as well be the death of you– not like you had much choice anyway, considering the other option was dying by Hout's hand. At least this Tommy guy wanted to kill you and not other disgusting things.
You ducked under his arms when he stopped revving the chainsaw to try and get a hold of you. But instead of continuing your way down the hallway, you stood behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your self against his side when his hand grabbed your shirt and tried to pull you away.
"Help me," you begged, looking up at the masked man with teary, desperate eyes as you clung to him like a scared child to someone they trusted. "Please, help me."
Thomas's eyes were wide under the mask he wore, lips parted into a surprised exhale as he tried to make sense of this situation, make sense of you. Pretty little things like you didn't go to him for protection, they went and hid behind the conventionally attractive guys that had also been unlucky enough to end up falling into the Hewitt's trap. But you– you'd chosen him.
"Atta boy!" Hoyt exclaimed, staring at you like a wold eyeing its next meal. "Hand 'em over, Tommy, I'll teach this bastard some fuckin' respect."
His hand on your back tensed, grabbing a fistful of your shirt, and for a moment you thought he was going to yank you away and push you towards Hoyt, but instead, Thomas pushed you back, further away from the fake cop, with a growl that came from somewhere deep in his chest.
It felt unreal, you were certain that this was an hallucination and you would wake up still tied in that hellish butchery with your friends being bled out like pigs and the only reason why you hadn't joined them yet being that the Hewitts didn't have enough hooks. It felt even more unreal when Thomas got a hold of the back of your neck, making you walk in the opposite direction while Hoyt stomped after the both of you, being called off by Luda.
"Leave my boy alone, Charlie!" the woman called out. "Y'all never let 'im pick first. Go do somethin' useful!"
You didn't get to hear Hoyt —or Charlie, whatever his name was—'s response to that because you were led through a heavy metal door and down to a basement that somehow looked even more terrifying than the butchery. Thomas's hand didn't leave the back of your neck until he forced you to sit on a chair, his hands coming to your face and touching it all over, two fingers forcing your mouth open and checking inside like a veterinarian inspecting the health of cattle.
"Tommy," you spoke when his fingers left your mouth, your heart hammering inside your chest as you tried to think of a way to not end up as this people's next meal. "Tommy, please."
Once again, you caught him off guard. He pushed you just hard enough to have you stumbling off the chair, and you stepped away the rest of the way until your back touched the wall. Thomas stared at you with an intensity that made you want to run and at the same time made your legs feel weak, then he turned to his work table, beginning the process of getting things ready for his next craft.
His gaze suddenly snapped back towards you over his shoulder. Staring at you then at a vinyl player closer to you than it was to him, you didn't need to be told twice, moving slowly towards the device and playing one of the records on, setting the needle on a random song because, truth be told, it was hard to see what you were doing. Your shoulders sagged with relief when it began to play an old tune and he let out a content hum.
God, what did you get yourself into?
180 notes • Posted 2021-10-10 06:46:14 GMT
Thomas hewitt eating you out a little different than normal ;)
I mean, his normal is cannibalism so I'll assume this means in a sexy way.
Leatherface eating you out
Thomas Hewitt x AFAB reader
You'd learned many things from your time with the Hewitts: like not to question anything about Luda Mae's cooking unless you want to be told a limb of yours will end up in her next dish —an empty threat because Thomas would never allow it, but a thread nonetheless—, and to never go anywhere near Charlie for way too many reasons to count, but the one thing that stuck was that Thomas stressed very easily; and the one thing he learned while with you was that he had the perfect way of de-stressing right between your legs.
It wasn't hard to tell when he's stressed, he'd walk into the room you two shared and stare at you, switching glances from you to the bed if you weren't on it already. This time around, he caught you reading some book Luda Mae gave you, the title something along the lines of "Cooking for your family", her not-so-subtle way of telling you that she wanted grandchildren. Yet another thing that stressed Thomas out, the constant pressure to make the family bigger. But he didn't have to worry about that with you, you'd both agreed it was not the time for that.
"Everything alright?" you asked, watching him as his shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh, his feet dragging as he walked in and closed the door behind himself. There was a light click that told you he'd locked it too. Which he only did when he didn't want anyone to interrupt whatever he was planning to do.
You left the book aside, it wasn't an engaging read anyway, and watched him get one knee on the bed, towering over you and placing a hand on your chest before he slowly, gently, began pushing you down to lie down. This was his way of asking if you were in the mood, leaving his intentions clear but giving you time to tell him no before your back touched the mattress. You shifted to lie down faster, and that was all the permission he needed before he rested a hand over your neck, keeping you pinned to the bed as he dragged his masked face down your clothed torso, pushing your shirt out of the way with his free hand to nuzzle his forehead against the softness of your belly. Gentleness was put on hold as he took your pants off, your underwear soon to follow.
He stared down at your sex, dragging one thick finger between your folds and letting out a heated groan when he felt the dampness gathering there.
His hand on your neck left you with no choice but to stare at the ceiling, Thomas didn't like you seeing his face without the mask, no matter how much you reassured him that he was perfect just the way he was. But he couldn't do what he wanted to do with his mask on, so he'd found another way, his hulking size allowing him to hold you by the throat while his mouth was busy down south. You only knew his mask came off when you head it hit the mattress beside you. Thomas's free hand held your right thigh, his head coming to rest on your left thigh as he began lazily licking, sending small jolts of electricity up your spine.
Thomas always started slow, but it never lasted long, once the scent and taste of you overwhelmed his senses, it was like a switch was flipped.
"Tommy," you moaned when his tongue went deeper, his nose pressed right against the hard bud of nerves, breathing you in like he wanted to memorize your scent– as if he hadn't already.
His ministrations were always thorough, but this time it was like a man starving, like he thought he'd never get to taste you again and wanted to make the last time the most memorable of all. He was a man on death row and you were his carefully picked last meal. His grip on your neck tightened when your chin touched the back of his palm in an attempt to look at him, the growl he let out making you throw your head back and cry out in pleasure, back arching off the bed as your toes curled.
The mattress sank when he shifted, lying on his chest between your legs as your legs were placed over his shoulders, framing his face, and his free hand joined his tongue in pleasuring you. Two thick fingers massaged you before slipping in, speeding your thighs, soaked walls for his tongue to further explore.
Your heels dug onto his shoulder blades as you tried to grind your hips against his eager mouth, but he was not that eager for this to end. Thomas growled, going back to slowly licking at your folds until it was left clear that you had to stay still and let him do the work if you wanted to come. So your strategy changed, your hand went to his hair, stroking his scalp as you moaned.
"You're so good to me, Tommy," you praised, a smile pulling at your lips as you heard the way his breath caught in his throat. "So damn good for me."
The springs of the mattress creaked when he began to move his hips against them, seeking a friction that went in tandem with the way he stimulated you. It didn't take much praising before he was back to eating you out like a man starved, your thighs shaking as they squeezed his head to keep him there. He didn't seem to mind, if anything, the louder creaking of the old springs told you he liked it.
The family'll hear, you thought in a brief moment of clarity as you felt the cooling pleasure in your lower belly tighten, threatening to unravel any moment now. But it was a short lived thought, followed by a careless: fuck it, as Thomas's tongue drove you to climax.
You moaned his name as you came. But his licking didn't stop, or course not, he wasn't done yet. Eating you out was a means to an end, this was his reward. He licked you clean, didn't stop until your hand came to push his face away due to the overstimulation becoming too much. Your chest rose and fell as you panted, hearing his own labored breaths before he licked his fingers in a way that sounded so obscene you almost looked, but you'd promised him to respect his one boundary, and you wouldn't break his trust.
It wasn't until you heard him strap his leather mask back into place that you stopped pretending the humidity stains on the ceiling were interesting and looked at him, watching the way he knelt at the bed's feet, adjusting himself in his pants to try and be comfortable.
"Come here," you breathed, voice still hoarse from your orgasm. "It's my turn."
280 notes • Posted 2021-09-26 20:04:31 GMT
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