𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟏𝟏 - 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘
pairing - beta (twd) x female reader
song is based on friday the 13th
summary: a couple sneaks into the infamous, long-abandoned camp crystal lake for a thrill. the boyfriend laughs off the legends, until the hulking, masked beta appears out of the dark. what follows is a brutal, blood-stained collision of lust and violence, sex tangled with death, dominance, and the unholy thrill of corruption.
warnings: violence, murder, gore, blood, rough sex, choking, breath play, SIZE KINK (bro is 6 ft 4) corruption, machete use, public-ish sex, dark fic ahead guyssss
The sign was half-rotted when you passed it. CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE. The letters barely clung to the wood, paint peeled away by rain and time.
Your boyfriend laughed when you hesitated “Babe, it’s just a story. Jason’s not real” You forced a smile “Yeah. Sure”
He tugged you through the trees, flashlight beam cutting across the fog. The lake came into view first, black water glimmering under the moonlight, still as glass. Somewhere in the distance, a loon cried. Or maybe it wasn’t a bird.
You shivered “It’s colder than I thought”
“Come on” he said, wrapping an arm around you, pressing his lips to your neck “Let’s make it worth the trip”
You giggled, half nervous, half something else. He dragged you toward one of the old cabins, the door hanging crooked on its hinges. Dust, wood rot, the faint scent of rain on metal. Inside, the air was heavy, stale. You could hear your heartbeat echo in the silence.
He pushed you against a wall, hands already fumbling with your jacket “Scared?”
You smirked “Not yet”
And that’s when the door creaked open.
A shape filled the doorway, tall, broad, backlit by the moon. You froze, thinking it was a shadow at first. But shadows don’t breathe like that. Slow, measured. Mechanical.
“Who’s there?” your boyfriend barked, stepping forward, chest puffed out like he wasn’t shaking “This place is private property, man!”
The shape didn’t answer. It just moved.
You didn’t scream. You just stared. Then you smiled.
A breathy, giddy, almost orgasmic sound tore from your lips the second your boyfriend’s skull met stone. The wet crack echoed like thunder through the trees. He twitched once. Twice. Then nothing but the drip-drip-drip of blood spilling down the old cabin steps like syrup, thick and red and beautiful.
His scream had cut off halfway, interrupted by the machete cleaving into his spine. Beta stood over the body, chest heaving like a rabid beast freshly unchained, machete glistening with gore. The moon cast a halo around him, silvering the mess, like some sick blessing.
You licked your lips.
“I told you he was slow” you cooed, voice thick with sugar and sin.
Beta didn’t say a word. Just turned his head slowly, mask cocked in that eerie, silent way he did when he was waiting, watching. Assessing your reaction. But there was no fear in your eyes. No horror. Only hunger.
Barefoot, you stepped into the blood, The smell was coppery and alive, clinging to your skin as you reached him. Pressed your hand flat to his chest, his shirt still warm, damp with sweat and crimson splatter.
“Good job, baby” you whispered, nails scraping lightly over his ribs.
That was all it took.
He lunged.
You slammed into the wall with a thud, the air punching out of your lungs as his weight pinned you in place. The mask shoved up just enough to reveal his mouth, hot, breathless, wild. He kissed you like violence, teeth clashing, his tongue tasting of blood and conquest. One gloved hand snatched your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make your knees buckle and your pulse stutter.
“You wanted him dead” Beta rasped, voice low and raw, like gravel dragged across your skin “Just so I could fuck you while his blood’s still warm, huh?”
You grinned, wicked and unrepentant “Took you long enough”
Then came the ripping.
Clothes torn like paper. Panties shredded. His hands were rough, uncaring, yanking your legs around his waist like he’d waited too long to taste you. He didn’t waste a second, slammed into your cunt with one brutal thrust, drawing a choked cry from your throat as your back scraped against the splintering wall.
The same wall your ex once tried to finger you against. Pathetic.
“Filthy little traitor” Beta snarled into your ear, each word punctuated by a punishing thrust. “You planned this. You’re no victim. You wanted this”
You nodded desperately, fingers clawing at his jacket, nails dragging through blood and leather and muscle. “Yes, fuck, yes, I wanted it. Wanted you”
He growled deep in his throat, hand slipping up to grip your jaw. Forcing your gaze to his. That cold, dark mask loomed just inches from your face, catching the moonlight. Blood was still wet on his knuckles, some of it yours now, smeared on your cheek where he touched you.
“You like that blood on your face?” he murmured, breath hot and heavy “Knowing it’s his?”
“Fuck yes” you hissed “Fucking ruin me with it. Kill for me again”
That broke him.
He fucked you harder, faster, his grunts feral as his hips pounded into yours. The wall groaned behind you. The whole damn cabin felt like it might fall down around you, and you wanted it to. You wanted to be wrecked in every way possible, broken open, filled up with the chaos he brought.
When your orgasm hit, it wasn’t soft or sweet. It was violent. Blinding. Your vision blurred as your body spasmed around him, hand clawing his back, cunt milking him desperately.
He followed with a vicious snarl, slamming deep as his cock twitched and spilled inside you, hot and messy and claiming.
And no, he didn’t pull out.
Of course not.
You were already his.
Blood-soaked. Bruised. Smiling.
And fuck, you’d do it all again.
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