WARNINGS: I8+ mdni. unsafe p in v sex, creampie, CNC (consensual non-con), somnophilia, consent pre-established to have his way with you and contraceptive pre-established.
See also: Corey CNC, Scrapyard, master list
Lately, Corey is being careful because Joan is losing it. He keeps having to go home early after work, and you barely get any alone time. You have to come to the scrapyard to see him. He thinks this will just be temporary, but it’s driving him crazy. He might try not to show it, but it is. The last straw is when he doesn't get to see you on your birthday because when you go by the scrapyard he’s out on a tow job. He gets to spend such little time with you that for weeks there hasn’t been an opportunity to take you forcefully the way you want.
Well tonight, he’s gonna give it to you, come what may from Joan if he gets caught. He waits until the middle of the night, hours after Joan has gone to sleep. He puts on jeans and a white t-shirt and sneaks out the back door. He walks over an hour to your apartment, and by the time he gets there, he’s sweaty. He catches his breath for a moment outside your door. He’s going to give you something really special.
For the first time, he uses the key you gave him to your apartment. He takes his shoes off before coming inside. Then he creeps into the bedroom where you’re sleeping like an angel on your stomach with just a light sheet covering you. You’re so patient with him. He doesn’t know why you put up with the way things are with him. In his mid twenties and his mom still has such a grip on him.
It’s a warm night and the ceiling fan is on a high enough speed that it’s fluffing his curls. He takes off his jeans and kneels by the side of your bed. He slowly pulls down the sheet and you don’t wake up. You’re wearing a silk nightgown with no underwear. It’s ridden up, and your leg is hiked up, so he can see a peek of his warm, juicy prize
He gets hard watching you sleep. He takes off his briefs, realizing he should’ve brought lube. He gathers saliva in his mouth, lets it drop onto his fingers, then smears it on the tip of his fat dick and slowly strokes himself. He does this a couple more times, heart racing. Then he gets on the bed, slow and careful, straddling one of your legs. He spits on his fingers and reaches down to find your clit. You moan in your sleep, making his cock twitch. He nudges your thighs apart and moves from straddling one leg to being in between them, his chest nearly resting against your back, bracing himself with one forearm. He notches the fat head of his cock at your entrance and you begin to stir.
—-
You wake up when a massive hand covers your mouth. You whimper in confusion, and he whispers, “Shhhh.” Then his deep, gruff voice chides darkly, “Think I’d forget?” As you wake up, you recognize the smell of Corey’s cologne and sweat and feel the fullness of the tip of his cock nudging your entrance. His chest is against your back.
“Corey,” his hand muffles your whimper.
“Shhhh,” he repeats, then takes his hand away. Then he shoves his cock into you with a groan.
You gasp, and he stays inside while you adjust, your body rapidly lubricating you. “Yeah,” he says all deep and gravelly as he retreats, then he slams into you and bottoms out with a moan.
It’s been so long, you nearly forgot what it felt like having him take you. He feels so snug inside you. His hips settle into a moderate pace. He breathes loudly and grunts as he buries himself inside you. “Thought about—ugh–thought about this all day,” he rumbles. You begin to push up to get in all fours and he forces you back down with his hand on your back. “Nah,” he says. “I got this.” His thrusts become more powerful and you whimper, feeling tension swell deep inside you. “Nnng,” he grunts and begins to rails into you at a punishing pace. You can only imagine how hot he looks, big thighs flexing, hair bouncing, probably biting his lip.
“Fuck, ohh, fuck,” he sighs. “Ugghh, take it.”
You moan on the cusp of your climax and he lowers his head. His plush lips brush the shell of your ear as he warns in a gravelly murmur, “You betta come right fuckin’ now baby.”
His voice is enough to put you over the edge. “Corey,” you moan as the pleasure seizes you. You moan unrestrained as wave after wave grips you. You sigh “ohhh, Corey,” unrestrained.
“Ah, fuck,” he sighs, then slams to the hilt and erupts with a groan. He slowly thrusts once more, “Mmmm,” as his release fills you, extending your waning orgasm. He moans as he finishes.
Then collapses onto you. He kisses your neck and whispers, “happy birthday, baby.”
He settles in with you and kisses you, falling asleep with you.
—----------
Thank you for reading!
Corey tag list: @wolvesandvampires @ethanhoewke, @slutforstabbings @rebelliousstories
“You’re sorry you didn’t recognize me?” He smiles disturbingly. His voice gives you butterflies between your legs and takes you right back to that motel room two years ago. His throat bobs as he takes another sip from the tiny-looking bottle.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t text you back," you add.
You accidentally break Corey's heart pre-Michael. After his killing spree, he comes back. Smut with both Coreys.
After his manslaughter trial, Corey took a bus out of Haddonfield one weekend to get away from it all, and he ended up where you live. It's barely a scattering of a town, but it has a truck stop and a bus stop, so it gets enough traffic to have a motel and bar, which are in the same parking lot. You work at the bar.
The night you met, he was already at the bar when you clocked in. The first thing you noticed was his enormous hand dwarfing his drink, making it look like an airplane bottle. There was something so hot about his knuckles and the way he held the bottle. He caught you looking and smiled shyly. That's when you started noticing his beautiful face. His strong nose. The pain behind his glasses. There was an intensity about him, too. All his gloom and cowering.
Corey didn't really drink much of his beer. He mostly played with the label. You offered to get him something else, and he asked for chocolate milk. You thought he was joking, but when you giggled, he looked at you earnestly with big dairy cow eyes magnified by his glasses. Your heart melted. When you said you didn't have any chocolate milk, he was dejected. "Yeah, I figured."
When you saw that sad look in his eyes, you suddenly recognized him. He was much hotter and bigger in person than he was on the news. Face to face with him, there was no doubt in your mind that Jeremy's death was an accident. You felt awful for Corey. You just wanted to give him a hug. You took him under your wing.
You offered to make him a mudslide on the house instead of chocolate milk. You promised he'd like it. You made it with extra chocolate syrup, and he loved it. He perked up. It was a slow night, so you chatted with him. Got to know him a little bit. You egged him on to take an oatmeal cookie shot with you, not realizing he was a total lightweight. It really didn't take more than that before he was giggling and slurring, flirting with you one minute, then getting emotional the next. He never talked about the accident, but he talked about his home life and it didn't sound good. He played early Modest Mouse on the jukebox. You didn't let him leave your sight. His drunkenness was your doing, after all.
-
He had a room at the motel. When you got off work, you walked him back there to make sure he was safe. He invited you in, and you thought you'd stay just long enough to let him get settled. He didn't ask in a seductive way. It was somewhere between lonely and friendly. You were enjoying his company, anyway. But when he started removing his multiple layers of clothing and you saw what was underneath, there was no going back for you. Holy shit, he was solid. He took off his henley, revealing thick arms and strong pecs. And he kept stripping, too. No inhibitions.
While you were quietly distracted by his body, his mood darkened a little. He laid down on the bed and said he never wanted to go back home. His lip was quivering. By that point, he was in just his briefs and glasses, with a plaid blanket he brought from home draped haphazardly across half his body. You told him you understood and offered to make him lunch at the bar the next day if he wanted to talk more about it. He asked you not to leave.
You put Ghost Adventurers quietly on the TV and laid on the bed with him. There was something pathetic about him being in underwear and glasses and you being fully dressed. So when spread out his blanket and invited you under it, you took off your pants first. Then, you cozied up to him and stroked his hair comfortingly as he nuzzled into the hollow of your neck.
He looked at you affectionately and you kissed him on the head. Then, he lifted his head and looked at you longingly, and you kissed him on the mouth. You held him and kissed him, and he kissed you, as you half-watched the show. Soon enough, you were kissing more than watching. You abandoned the show completely as you made out and things heated up. He kissed you like you were an oasis in the desert. You probably were.
You nestled a leg between his meaty thighs and palmed his chest. His body took your breath away. A hardness in his briefs started poking your thigh. By the time you grabbed his cock, he was rock hard and whimpering for you. The moment you held his naked girth in your hand, you gasped softly as butterflies swarmed in your chest and core. You badly, badly needed him.
“I want to be with you,” he whispered. “I want you so bad.” He moaned and whimpered as you moved the skin on his thick shaft.
You couldn't think it through. You couldn't think at all. All your blood had rushed somewhere else.
Corey fumbled at your bra. There was something on his face, like he could hardly believe it was happening. He struck you as almost virginal. You took the lead and put a condom on him, then mounted him. He let out a low, breathy groan as you sank onto his impressive cock with a moan of your own. It felt so right, filling yourself with his cock. It was the perfect stretch. You rode him and his hips lifted into you desperately. You leaned into him for friction as you rolled into him. His massive hands held your thighs and he'd say things in his low, sexy voice like "You feel so good" and "God, you're beautiful."
He came pretty fast, but you were close. You finished yourself off and he was eager to help and learn. You fell asleep in bed with him.
-
You woke up before dawn with Corey spooning you, his arms holding you tight, both of you nude. His morning wood was upright and dug into your lower back and crack until you gently shifted it between your thighs. He rutted against your slick seam in his sleep. Before long, you were desperate for a second round. You put his huge hand on your hard nipple and traced the veins from his wrist to his fingers.
You were too desperate to be smart, but at least you were on the pill. As soon as he stirred awake and kissed your neck, you reached down between your legs and guided his cock just inside you. The moan that erupted from his mouth set you on fire. Your whole body felt like it could burst at any moment. He buried himself inside you, holding your breast, breathing heavily in your ear. He kissed your neck, moaning, sighing, rolling his hips, filling you with his thick, hard cock, lasting longer this time. As soon as you came, he pulled out, then you felt his hot cum on the small of your back.
You cuddled for a while after that and fell back asleep. When you next woke up, sticky with his cum between you, you rolled over and faced Corey. He was affectionate, looking deep into your eyes, stroking your hair, telling you how much he liked you. You kept thinking, he hardly knew you. You didn't know if he would like you as much if he did. Those days, you didn't want to let anyone get close enough to find out. You had gone through a rough patch of your own and your self worth hadn't yet recovered.
-
You went home to shower before work and you brought a bottle of chocolate milk back to the bar with you. You knew Corey would come for lunch and hoped it would cheer him up if he was feeling blue again. When you gave him the chocolate milk that you brought just for him. . . he looked at you like he was in love with you. That moment gave you more than an inkling you were leading him on. You didn't mean to – you really liked him – you were just afraid and dealing with your own issues at the time.
Your affection for him began to get drowned out by discomfort. Your kindness alone might not have been construed as anything more than that. But you fucked him twice . . . And you wondered if you were his first. Every nice gesture after that would only bond him to you more.
Corey stayed at the bar all day, not really drinking much. While you were busy, he poorly played pool and darts. When it was slow, he talked to you, but it wasn't the same fun, casual banter you enjoyed the night before. There was a puppy dog vibe, like you owned him and he was lost without you. That scared you because you didn't want to hurt him more than he'd already been hurt in the past year. You didn't want to get his hopes up for something more and have the whole thing become another disappointment.
You shut down and told him you had to go somewhere after work. As much as your body wanted to go back to his motel room, your gut was telling you that you didn't have the capacity to nurture him the way he needed. He was clearly upset when he left but tried not to show it. He said he was going back to Haddonfield but hoped to see you again. There must have been hell to pay when he got back, from what he shared with you about his mother.
-
After he went back to Haddonfield, he texted you piningly as if you were dating. He was trying to make plans for when to see each other again. He even mused about getting a job in your town. You told him you weren't ready for a relationship and needed to spend some time alone.
He tried to convince you. Eventually, he left you alone, but you always wondered if he'd be back one day. You actually missed him. You thought about him over the next year or two as you got yourself together. He was a good guy. You started to realize maybe you shouldn't have sabotaged yourself. You were as worthy and deserving of love as anyone else. But it was too late, you thought.
****************
Present Day : November 2022
You’re closing the bar tonight. It’s slow, with just a couple of regulars slumped over the bar exchanging occasional words. Given the recent carnage in nearby Haddonfield, people haven't been going out as much. There might as well be a curfew. Some people still don't believe Michael is dead. Others speculate about him having a partner still at large. The regulars have been walking you to your car every night just in case.
You’re restocking the liquor and eavesdropping on the latest gossip between the regulars when a burly, dark shape walks in alone. He sits down at the bar and orders a beer. You give it to him without fully meeting his eyes and don’t recognize him until you see those hands dwarfing the bottle and do a double take. Sure enough, he has the same pinky ring. No glasses or jacket. Blue button-up shirt with the collar popped. Blue khakis. His hair is dark, and his curls are wild. His face is banged up. A fresh cut bridges his nose. He’s muscular, imposing. His presence is intimidating. He's like a different man.
You realize you’re staring. “Corey,” you say. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”
There’s a long moment of silence, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. He looks at the bottle in his hand and takes a sip.
“You’re sorry you didn’t recognize me?” He smiles disturbingly. His voice gives you butterflies between your legs and takes you right back to that motel room two years ago. His throat bobs as he takes another sip from the tiny-looking bottle.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t text you back," you add.
“Yeah,” he says, raising a brow. He holds eye contact and his jaw clenches. "You know, you also took something from me." Your heart sinks. His virginity? You always suspected it.
“I shouldn't have," you say.
"Oh, you regret it?" He challenges you. You're squirming, and he seems to be enjoying it.
"Of course not. Just, I wasn’t in a place where I could handle–"
"-me," he sighs.
"I'm sorry.”
He shrugs. "Apology accepted,” he says unconvincingly. “What place are you in now?”
"Um, good question." You look around and decide not to answer. His erect collar catches your eye again, drawing attention to his facial injuries. God, he looks hot.
He smirks as he notices you checking him out.
“You look good,” you say, wiping the bar with a rag. “I’ll be back.” You pour the regulars a round. Corey keeps his eyes on you like a hawk. You’re wearing a skirt and fishnet stockings – better tips that way.
When you come back, you ask Corey what brings him into town. He tells you he’s on his way out of the area for good. "And I'm taking you with me," he adds matter-of-factly.
You're stunned. Your lips part but you don't know how to react.
He rolls his eyes and adds, "If you want, of course."
You ask him what he’s going to do. He looks around and answers obtusely, “Maybe I’ll practice my pool game.” His gravelly voice really does something to you. Your butterflies aren't fading, they're multiplying.
You get the triangle of pool balls from under the bar and hand it to him, forcing a smile. His large hand wraps around yours as he takes it and there’s a spark between you. He holds your gaze then walks back to the billiards. He racks the balls and rolls up his sleeves. You forget to blink. He must have put on at least 15 kg of muscle, and he was already built before. He grabs a cue stick off the wall and comes around the table so his ass is facing you. He bends over and looks back at you before he takes the break shot. You look away and start cleaning the counter again, but your eyes keep returning to him.
-
You bring him his drink and he thanks you.
You linger and ask,“How'd you get so good?"
He looks you up and down and shrugs. “Grab a cue. I’ll show you.”
You look at the bar and it’s still those regulars. You know they’ll be there until closing. You grab a stick off the wall.
Corey crosses his toned arms and says, “Show me what you’ve got.” His eyes are dark. Part of you finds his presence unnerving, but the warm, wet part of you is grateful for the excuse to bend over in front of him.
You lean over the pool table and Corey crowds you. You don't mind the cliche when he gets all the way up against you to show you how it’s done. He puts both his huge hands over yours. His hands are as scratched up as his face. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his body leans into yours.
He says, "First lesson." A hardness swells against your skirt, then his lips brush your ear. “Don’t start something you can't finish,” he whispers. You swallow. His hand on yours takes the shot, and a ball rolls into a pocket.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you begin to stand upright. You turn your head and try to turn your body, but he has you pinned to the table.
“Or someone will have to finish it for you,” he adds, then his lips barely brush the skin below your ear. Your ass subtly pushes back into him before you can stop it. He takes the cue and places the stick on the table. His massive hands feel up the sides of your thighs, sliding up under your skirt. His breath is hot on your cheek as he grinds his arousal into you. Your breath hitches and all your blood rushes to your loins. He gives you space to turn around.
“Closing time, right?,” Corey says, looking at the clock behind you. He reaches around you and picks up the bottle to take a sip of his beer.
Your heart flutters.“Yeah, it’s just a few minutes-”
He slams his empty bottle down and walks over to the jukebox and puts on Nine Inch Nails.
You straighten your skirt and compose yourself to go close out the regulars.
One of them asks if you’re good and you say yes. He yells over to Corey telling him to walk you to your car.
Corey gives him a thumbs up and a smile that sends a chill down your spine. The regulars leave.
Your face is warm as you look at Corey and come back out from behind the bar.
“Should I go?” He booms from the billiards table over the music. The last thing you want is for him to leave. You know you shouldn’t let him stick his crazy in you, but you’re thinking with the wrong head.
“It's okay. I still have some clean-up,” you say. You wipe down the other end of the bar as he plays pool. You start stacking chairs on top of tables, and you get to the one that’s closest to him. You watch him with your heart racing. You're getting wetter and wetter as he clears all the balls and puts the cue sticks back on the wall.
He leans his ass and both hands against the pool table and crosses his ankles. His jaw clenches.
"Here's the deal. I'll leave if you want. But if I stay. . . you're really mine this time." He looks you dead in the eye.
You don't say anything. You step closer and start to grab the empty bottle beside him, but before you touch it, he intercepts you with a large, veiny hand on your wrist. He brings your hand to the bulge in his pants and his lips part as he stares at you darkly. Your palm meets the hardness in his pants, and it sends a tingling rush through your body. The cut on the bridge of his nose intensifies the darkness of his gaze.
“So, what's it going to be?” Corey asks. The vein on his neck bulges.
You swallow. You can’t form words. You remember to blink, and your eyelashes flutter.
He lets go of your hand, but you leave it on his pants. He subtly thrusts into your palm and your fingers involuntarily cradle his girth. You find your body gravitating closer. His eyes look back and forth between yours. Your eyelids are getting heavy as you look back at him.
He presses you for an answer. "Should I leave?"
Your eyes close and you take a deep breath. “No,” you whisper.
“Are you sure?” He lightly strokes your temple with his thumb as he searches your eyes. “Because once you're mine, I’m not letting go.” His dark eyes smile.
This is bad. You know better. You know *so much* better. Tell him to leave. Tell him to never come back. You beg your legs to walk away, but they don’t.
His face gets closer, and his hands come to your hips. His nose brushes yours and your mouth hungrily accepts his perfect lips. He swells harder into your hand. His lips move from your mouth to your neck, and he kisses, then licks, then marks you as though to illustrate his point.
-
He steps out from between you and the pool table and your hand falls empty as he gets behind you again like he was earlier with the cue stick. He grinds his thick arousal into you and his hands rove your thighs. He lifts up your skirt so the bulge of his pants is against your stockings and he sighs. His khakis are smooth and soft and his bulge is hard and warm. You're absolutely aching for him.
It doesn't help that the song “Closer" is starting to play. Your primitive self is taking over.
"You should give in," he says in a low voice. "But I'm not going to make you. Say the word and I'm gone"
For a moment, he allows a couple of inches of space between your ass and his pants, and you ache for him closer again.
"Don't go," your cock-blind mouth whispers.
He closes the gap and chews on the nape of your neck as he grinds into you. One of his hands comes between the two of you. His large knuckles graze your ass. You hear his zipper, and a wave of arousal floods your body.
"Really? Think you can handle it?" He asks.
He's not talking about his cock, but it's the only thing on your mind. You barely nod.
After a few seconds of rustling, his warm, stiff arousal smashes into the nook at the bottom of your ass, his skin on your skin through the soft diamonds of your stockings. Corey's arm hooks around you and nestles between your breasts as his large hand wraps around your neck as he inhales the crown of your head. His huge fingers apply light pressure to your neck and his forearm flexes, making your knees weak with desire. He could probably strangle you with that one big hand. You don't flinch. The pressure intensifies briefly before abruptly turning into a caress. Then, he sucks the hell out of your neck. The pain puckers your nipples, and goosebumps prickle across your body.
His other hand slides around your waist, under your shirt, under your bra, and cups your breast, palming your hard nipple while he grinds his hardness into your ass and kisses the nape of your neck. He crosses both hands in front of you and you let him take off your shirt. Then, he expertly removes your bra. He gropes your breasts and stomach and breathes heavily into your ear, his hardness thickening against you.
-
He turns you around to face him. His chest rises and falls as he looks at you. His hard girth presses into your front. He hikes your skirt up all the way over your ass, wraps his arms around you, and grabs your ass with both of his hands. One hand slides down your crack, the heel of his palm pressing down on your stockings between your cheeks, then creeps between your legs. Two of his thick digits run lightly - unbearably lightly - over your clit, then he slips them inside the soaked crotch of your stockings and your ample wetness meets his meaty fingers.
"Fuck," he says. Your hips roll into him and tension coils tightly in your core. His other hand massages you from the front. You're engulfed by both his large hands, one from the back and one from the front. Meanwhile, his nose drags across your neck and shoulder inhaling your scent.
The thick fingers from each hand meet at a single diamond hole in the stockings, and he rips them wide open. Your thighs tremble. You want him so bad, he can take you anywhere he wants.
You practically jump up onto the pool table and lift your knees as he spreads them. One huge hand on the small of your back steadies you there while his other hand holds his hard cock. He looks down at himself then up at you as he thumbs the tip where precum is beading.
"Last chance to back out," he whispers gruffly with a snarl. Your legs wrap around him before you can think. You can't speak. You just barely shake your head no.
He drags his swollen tip along your dripping cunt and leaves it nestled at your entrance. Both his hands come behind you and he teases your warm, wet hole with short thrusts. Not even the head is fully penetrating you. The tension deep inside you coils tighter and warmer. Your whole body is dizzy with need for him.
"You really want it that bad," he breathes, looking at you with black eyes. "Bad enough to give up everything."
Warmth rushes your face. You nod and your eyes water at your lack of restraint. The swollen head of his cock begins to breach your entrance. The stretch makes you gasp. You don’t remember it being like this. He plunges into you, parting your insides, filling you to the brim. His hips rock into you, fucking you slowly and smoothly at first, but soon he begins to bury himself inside you more forcefully. The coil in your core pulses and threatens to spring you open.
Each thrust fills you with something you can't even describe. You've never felt anything like this, not even when you fucked him before. Your whole body feels electrified. An energy you don't understand is pouring out of him and into you as your bodies become one. His cock makes you physically complete. You start to miss it even while it's still inside you. The thought of even an inch of air between you stings your eyes. You never want to be apart.
He feels so fucking good, and the way he glides so firm and full inside you, the way he holds you, it's all so perfect. You think, why not? Why not go with him? His pace quickens with his arms tight around you, using the edge of the pool table for balance as he thrusts into you.
He grunts softly into your ear, and you know you can’t hold off much longer. "Fuck, you feel good," he growls. "You were made for me." The sound of his voice sends you. You moan as the rush floods your body in waves. You flutter around his cock and his big hands grip your ass. He pulls you even tighter into him and grunts with each of your contractions. He erupts inside you in enormous pulses, filling you up with his hot seed.
As he catches his breath, he takes your hands in his and closes his eyes. When he opens his eyes, they're watery. "I've wanted this for so long," he says. "I thought about you so much." His arms engulf you as you sit on the table.
“Meet Your Master” starts playing.
"I thought about you, too," you say into his chest.
"No," he says confidently. He slowly adds, "You have no idea how much I've thought about you. How many times and ways." He kisses your head then your lips, and the kiss becomes passionate. He pulls back and looks at you, reading your face like a book. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "You've been mine all along." He strokes your hair. "And I won't ever let you go again."
Your stomach turns a little, but he kisses you hard, and it drowns out the doubt for now.
His eyes darken to black, and his voice deepens. "Because if I can't have you, no one will."
Corey was holding out on you. He didn’t seem like a prude – far from it. His entire presence gushed sexual energy, from the look behind his eyes to the way he sat. But he seemed to like control. It was almost as if he enjoyed depriving you, or maybe he wanted you to beg. He asked you what you really wanted for your birthday, but you were too shy to say it out loud.
Corey tag list: @ethanhoewke @kuromi2005 @rebel-blue @wolvesandvampires. Comment here to get on a tag list (say Corey, Michael, or both). Thx for gif @hiraethedits .
18+ MDNI; choking, unsafe (post-Michael)
- - -
You’ve been seeing Corey for weeks. When you first met, you were at the diner and got stood up by a friend. He was sitting at the bar. You watched his forearms and strong jaw flex as he ate a sandwich. You didn’t think he could see you watching him, but you forgot about the mirror at the back of the bar. He got up and you pretended not to notice him coming your way, until he sat down at your table uninvited. Neither of you said anything for a few seconds. He watched you curiously. He had an air of darkness and a twinkle in his eye.
A moment later, two bottled drinks were delivered, one for each of you. You couldn’t stop staring at how his hand dwarfed his beer bottle. You watched the tendon on his thick neck move as he talked and the vein on his wrist bulge as he fiddled with a napkin. He noticed you noticing, too. He seemed entertained by your interest in his body. It wasn’t just his body, though. He had these wild curls that dangled near his eyes as he looked up darkly at you and smiled. He had cuts and bruises he said were from boxing.
Over the next few weeks, you started dating. You went to see a movie and he wore glasses. Hot as fuck. He held your hand and you purred like a kitten. He caressed the inside of your elbow, and the shockwave through your body almost killed you. He kissed you when you said goodnight, and you never wanted anyone as bad as you wanted him.
You had him over one night to watch Netflix. He was surprisingly restrained. You were obviously so hot for him, and he knew it. But all you did was kiss. He wouldn’t escalate beyond that, and when you tried to advance things, he would smirk and kind of dodge you. Then, he saId he had to go. This happened on more than one occasion. You were miffed but determined.
Corey was holding out on you. He didn’t seem like a prude – far from it. His entire presence gushed sexual energy from the look behind his eyes to the way he sat. But he seemed to like control. It was almost as if he enjoyed depriving you. Or maybe he wanted you to beg.
He asked you what you really wanted for your birthday, but you were too shy to tell him.
-
Birthday Night
It’s your birthday and Corey is coming over. There’s only one thing you want from him, and you’re afraid he might not give it to you. When he shows up empty-handed, you start to get your hopes up. Surely he won't give you nothing. You're certain he already knows what you want.
Corey has new facial and knuckle injuries, so he's looking extra hot. He's also wearing his glasses. He's freshly showered and smells like pine and musk. He's wearing dark jeans, a navy button-up, and a navy corduroy jacket with the collar up. You're wearing leggings and a sweater. You take his jacket and drape it over the back of a chair.
You make popcorn and Corey gets it out of the microwave. His hand makes it look like one of those small 100 calorie bags even though it's full-sized. He opens it just a tiny bit at the top, turns the bag upside down and shakes it so the unpopped kernels fall out. You watch his knuckles and thick fingers as he shakes the bag. He follows your lusty gaze to his hand and smiles. You want that hand between your legs, and he knows it. When he grabs a handful of popcorn, he gets salt in one of the cuts on the back of his hand. He sucks his knuckle and watches your pupils dilate, flashing his eyebrows when he's done.
-
You watch a movie together on the couch and snuggle into him. He's sitting upright, manspreading with his feet on the floor, and you're leaning into him from the side with your legs on the couch with his arm around you. He strokes your hair and kisses you a few times and as the movie goes on, your head ends up on his lap. Your head isn't directly on his cock - You can't physically see or feel it, but you feel its heat radiating toward your face and it's almost too much. At the end of the movie, you sit up and share a long, steamy kiss.
Corey asks in a low seductive voice, "Did you decide what you want for your birthday?" The sparkle in his eye is all you need to proceed.
"Yeah," you say, getting up on your knees. His face brightens in anticipation and his large hands find the small of your back.
"I want you," you say. His eyes smile in satisfaction and he gently pulls you into him. A tingling rush floods your body. He's still manspreading, so you bring one of your knees between his legs. You hover there, then bring your face almost to his and he takes your face in both hands and kisses you. His tongue parts your lips. As the kiss heats up, you lower your throbbing heat down on his huge thigh, seeking friction. His massive hands gently knead your ass as you grind into him and your kiss becomes sloppy. Your heart races. His thigh feels so good between your legs, but you want more.
"Is this all you want?" He asks.
"No." Your face heats up. But for the moment, you continue riding his thigh as you search his face. You can tell he’s turned on. Your knee nudges the crotch of his pants and his hips start to move ever so slightly. After getting denied several times over the past few weeks, you’re hesitant to grab him.
Corey gently lifts your sweater off and you’re left with a bra and thin tank top. You pull your bra off through the sleeves, hoping to tempt him into ravishing you. He eyes your nipples and breathes deeply.
"I'll give you anything you ask for," Corey says. “Birthday girl,” he adds seductively. A shudder runs through you and your nipples harden. He bites his lip when he sees this, but stays composed.
“Anything?” you ask. He nods and looks down at you dragging your moistening leggings along his thigh.
“Oh yeah," he nods. “Anything you ask for,” he adds. Oh, God. You’re going to have to come out with it.
You look him dead in the eye and say, “I want your cock.” He flashes his eyebrows then takes your hand and puts it on the hard bulge in his jeans and your temples feel weak. He’s hard. So thick. His hips rock into your hand and he further hardens as he unbuttons and unzips himself. You tilt your hips forward for more friction with his thigh. You're absolutely throbbing.
“All yours,” he says, nodding down toward the requested organ. You fold both sides of the zipper down and reach into his underwear, your hand appreciatively freeing his stiff member. It’s so smooth and warm and at full mast. You massage his hard cock, your whole body humming, begging you for more. You keep moving on his thigh, soaking through your leggings.
His cock weeps into your hand. Your breath is heavy and so is his. But aside from gently rolling his hips into your hand, Corey doesn’t do anything else. He seems to enjoy watching you be overcome by your need for him and his fat, hard cock.
“Is this all you want for your birthday?” He asks, fully aware that it’s not.
“I want you inside me,” you breathe. He bites his lip and his girthy fingers immediately curl into the waistband of your leggings. You rise up on your knees and help him remove them, then he pulls down his own jeans and briefs and you break contact to help pull them off. His face is flushed, but his movements are still measured.
There’s something so hot about him sitting there naked from the waist down with his glasses and facial injuries, making you practically beg for his cock.
Corey outstretches his massive hands, welcoming you into his lap. You climb onto him and your slippery seam meets his warm, stiff shaft. His hands on your ass move you up and down against him, then you tilt your hips and catch the tip of his cock with your entrance. You can hardly believe this is finally happening. It happens in slow motion.
You begin to sink onto his girth and it's the most delicious stretch. His eyes darken. His lips part and his head falls back, his sexy Adam's apple thrusting forward. You sink further onto him and his hips rise, closing the gap. You’ve never felt more complete than with his cock finally inside you. God, he feels so good. You feel him twitch. He breathes deeply but stays remarkably still. Your hips begin to move, but his strong hands on your thighs force you to be still. He gives you a cautionary look and your eyes widen, curious what he’s going to do.
You try again to ride him and his eyes darken to black. His massive hand wraps around your throat. His strong fingers dig into your neck before your whimper makes it out of your mouth. He looks back and forth between your eyes and wets his lips.
He growls, “Was there something else you wanted, birthday girl?”
Pressure is building in your face. Your eyes water. You can’t speak, but you try to nod.
He relaxes his hand, but keeps it around your throat, tilting his head curiously, waiting for you to say it.
You gasp for air. “Fuck, yes,” you breathe, “I want you to fuck me.”
FINALLY, he grabs your ass with both hands and holds you down on his cock. His ass flexes, pushing himself up into you. He tilts his hips down only slightly, then back up with a vengeance, sinking you down even further on his cock. Your clit meets his body just right. He feels so fucking good.
He allows you to roll your hips into him. A pulsing pressure builds in your core as your lips meet and you kiss ferally as you ride him. He tears your tank top off and devours your breasts. He sucks and marks your neck. He manhandles you on his cock, controlling everything from the rhythm to the depth. It feels better than you could have imagined.
You feel yourself getting close, and he feels it too. Your brow furrows and the motion of his hips intensifies. He closes the gap between you, and his hands on your hips make your clit rub into him while his cock pounds just the right spot inside.
The pressure in your core bursts and you see stars, tensing then reaching a stuttering release, clenching around his cock every few seconds, moving slower but harder into him.
His cock pulses. Air fills his cheeks then he exhales through his puckered mouth and his head falls back as he groans and slams you down onto him, erupting inside you. His hips jut up into you and he pulsates violently, emptying his balls.
You both finish coming and catch your breath. You collapse into him and rest your head on his shoulder, feeling his chest rise and fall under you, studying his beautiful neck. He loosely hugs you into him and strokes your hair.
Smut → Beefcake Action → Smut. You hook up with meowmeow!Corey AND dark!Corey
You have never seen anything hotter than Corey Cunningham’s hefty, imposing figure in a form-fitting jumpsuit, standing feet spread, collar erect, holding Michael’s mask against a beefy thigh. The jumpsuit accentuates the natural bulge of his crotch, too. His gaze is almost seductive, an effect enhanced by his wicked half-smirk.
This picks up where Corey from the Yard pt. 1 left off, but you can read it as a one-shot. @cordelium and @ethanhoewke ordered extra beef with this bloodbath.
18+ Explicit Sexual Content. Canon-Typical (and Canon) Violence
--------
You sleep hard and wake up disoriented. There’s a shape pressing into your thigh. It’s a familiar shape, but you can’t place it right away. Warm and firm. Organic. You know it’s a shape you like a lot but hadn’t felt in a very long time. It swells into you. You begin to throb between your legs.
Oh.
There’s a weight draped across your waist, and a soft and steady breath on your throat, and a head of curly hair in the hollow of your neck, and it’s all coming back to you. It's really been that long for you. You didn’t recognize the silhouette of a nice, hard cock.
Corey’s wood, clad in your own flannel PJs, feels even more solid than it looked last night. You still haven’t touched it or even seen him touch it. He came anyway.
You bring your nose to his hair and inhale his musk and your shampoo. There’s something about feeling your own clothes on his beefy body, smelling your own fragrance in his curls. It's sexy, and in a way, you feel like you're already becoming one with him.
You can still feel your nipples puckering against his hulkish back, and later, his face diving hungrily between your legs. You're getting wet. But then, rudely, the less pleasant details come back to you, and your heart breaks for him. He had such a rough night, you feel like you should let him sleep forever. He’ll wake up in a strange bed, in your PJs, with no phone, and likely a lot of physical pain. Emotional, too.
You pull your head back to admire him. The cut on his nose accentuates its perfect shape. If you had to custom order a pair of lips to please you, nothing you imagined could have come close. He's devastatingly hot. You wonder if you ever would have known the true extent of it if not for last night. You'd like to think it was only going to be a matter of time before you'd wake up one morning like this. Your thoughts return to the bath, then drying his hair.
You’re turned all the way on. You push your ass down into your bed as hard as you can, and your cunt clenches around nothing. He stirs and grinds himself into you, then blinks awake. His brow furrows and his body tenses. His long eyelashes squint. Then, he looks up at you. His lips barely move, but you see his eyes smile. His head gently but heavily lands on your shoulder and his chin reaches to softly bring his lips to your neck.
You should say something, you think. You should ask him how he's feeling. No, you decide, it can wait. Preserving this moment might be more valuable to both of you. It might be the only nice moment he has for the rest of the day or week. You want to make it your business to change that.
You stroke his curls and feel his cock pulse against you. He doesn't move his hips. Maybe he's shy. You turn onto your side, interlacing your fingers with the thick digits still draped across your waist. You push your ass into him, and he instantly pushes back with his warm, stiff manhood. Your core stirs with butterflies.
There he is.
Your underwear has ridden up, and you already feel a spot of wet, soft flannel against your bare skin. Your cunt rapidly moistens as desire floods your core. Your hand, still laced with his meaty fingers, moves your breast. He traces it lightly with his expansive palm, feeling your nipple harden against his calloused skin. He thrusts his arousal against you. His palm flattens your breast against your chest and his thick fingers gently press into your plush flesh.
Grinding his clothed arousal into your crack, his hips become rhythmic but slow, and he kisses the nape of your neck. You ache with a maddening desire to be filled by him. You want to tell him, but not out loud. You lightly trace your thumb down your side and bring your panties with it, lifting your top knee to slip one leg out, then the other. You feel the wetness of your panties against your inner thighs as you slide them off.
You push your soft, bare ass into him. His breath becomes ragged and his wood hardens even more under the flannel. He slowly grinds into you, massages your breasts wantingly, and raises his head to kiss and suck the side of your neck. You can't stand it anymore. You touch yourself.
His large hand lightly drags from your breast down your stomach. You slightly part your knees, making way for several meaty digits to disappear between your legs. His thick wrist brushes against yours as you withdraw your hand. You're so wet, you can feel your slick against your inner thighs.
You're both breathing heavily. His slick fingers gently rub you, a bit hesitant at first, then with dedication. Your hand reaches behind you and claws needily at his, your, flannel waistband. He abides and hastily pulls down the PJs. The hard velvet of his shaft and head hit the top of your crack, pointing up toward your back.
You want him elsewhere. You arch your back, tilting your hips so your cunt is more accessible from the back. His large, sculpted hand follows your cunt back between your legs. You briefly move your ass slightly away from him, releasing his hard cock forward so its head meets your wet, warm inner thighs. You push your ass back into his groin and his rock-hard member slides against your wet folds until the swollen head meets your sensitive bud, where two thick fingers are waiting.
You roll your hips to maximize contact between his cock and the apex of your folds as he thrusts against you, gradually harder and faster. His cock and fingers slide against you from both directions in an overwhelming, alternating pattern. You feel your climax coming and reach back to hold his curly head. He responds by softly biting your neck and planting a wet kiss. He shudders and his breath cools the saliva, sending a chill down your spine and hardening your nipples.
This is the hottest, wettest "dry" sex you've ever had. His hard cock sliding against your slickness feels better than you could have imagined. The pleasure in your core begins to flow into your entire body, then explode. With each burst of your climax, your ass juts into him hard.
His breath quickens and his cock flinches, then he begins to erupt against you, slowing his rhythm. Each emphatic pump sends hot cum between your legs, coating your inner thighs and folds as his cockhead slowly rubs it into every crevice.
"Sorry," he says. You hate that he would sell himself short after the orchestral performance you just experienced.
"Are you kidding?" You rotate so you can make eye contact. "That was incredible."
He flushes and smiles, averting his gaze then meeting yours again. Facing him, you hook your leg over his and pull his body closer. You search each other's eyes as you catch your breath. His massive hand caresses your back and he kisses you on the lips tenderly. You play with his hair.
Both of you quietly bask in the afterglow. You kiss him softly and sweetly on the cheek, then on the nose. He doesn't exactly smile a lot, but his eyes are filled with affection. He sighs and nuzzles his soft hair into your neck.
As you twirl his hair loosely around your fingers you ask, "How do you feel this morning?" He brings his head back to look at you. A thick, dark ringlet of hair hangs in the middle of his forehead and he searches your eyes.
"Perfect," he laughs silently and his Adam's apple moves. He kisses your neck sweetly.
“Mmm,” you smile. "All around?"
After a moment of silence you pull back to look him in the eyes again. Something has changed. He's pensive. "Yeah. . . I’m okay." He asks what time it is. You don't want to know. You don't want it to end.
But, it's after 9 a.m. and Corey is late for work. You don't have any pants to offer him, but he has his jumpsuit and a few things in his locker at Prevo. He just needs to borrow a dry shirt if possible for the walk across the scrapyard. His figure is so hulking that you really don’t have anything warm that would fit him, other than an ugly Christmas sweater that you wear as a dress with leggings. It’s an actual ugly sweater from a thrift store. Probably made in the 90s. Not an intentionally tacky one from Spencer’s.
He happily puts it on and tells you he can bring it back during lunch. You ask for his number, and he blushes and grins. You give him a long kiss goodbye.
-
You’re late to work too and have to skip lunch. You text Corey to let him know, and he responds “no worries. later 😘” Your heart flutters.
You know Prevo doesn’t close until 8 because you can hear the gate close from your bedroom when your window is open. These are some of the last days to enjoy the brisk weather before it turns bitter in Illinois. You meet a friend for dinner and crack your car windows on the way there. You’re almost late - The stoplight nearest to Prevo always takes forever.
You don’t tell your friend about Corey just yet. You know how it sounds. Hot exonerated killer sketchily shows up at your door at 3 AM with his face and clothes all fucked up and makes you come twice. Your mind keeps drifting to the band kids. You must protect Corey at all costs.
You make sure you leave in time to get home before Prevo closes. The light takes forever, and you keep looking at your clock. As you’re waiting for it to turn green, you notice a convertible full of obnoxious teenagers excitedly talking, then arguing about something.
You do a double take. One of them is wearing a band uniform and another is twirling a drumstick. Your heart jumps. You crack your window. The one in the uniform says, “D’UH not here, not when they’re fucking open. God, Margot.”
“Truth,” the one with the drumstick says. The light turns green. “Let’s blow out of here.”
You’re certain these are the kids who threw Corey off the bridge. Your breath is fast and heavy. You suck your upper lip under your bottom teeth and bite down as you think. You want to follow these losers and do something, but you don’t know what, and there are four of them.
You know it’s a bad idea, but your body takes over. Your body feels a lot of things for Corey, and one of them is protectiveness. You can’t stop yourself from following the band kids. They go to a diner full of people. You sit in the parking lot for a few minutes thinking about what you could possibly do, then you look at the clock. Shit.
When you get home, the sweater is laid neatly on the back of one of your plastic patio chairs. You check your phone and see a missed call. His text says. “Sorry, I’ve gotta run home. Thanks again.” Your heart drops. You almost feel like you’re going to cry.
Your response is irrational. You don’t know what you expected. Why does he have to run home, you wonder. You wonder if he’s going to ghost you. It couldn't be possible. He was so vulnerable with you last night, and this morning was so special. You couldn’t have been imagining it. You pray it’s not post-nut clarity.
You wonder if it’s one of those things where someone realizes they were too vulnerable and feel exposed and back off a bit, but they really just need a little more reassurance that you’re a safe person. You text him back “So sorry I missed you [frown][heartbreak]. See you in the yard tomorrow?”
Three dots hop on the chat screen and stop and start for what feels like five minutes but is probably less than one. He responds, “Yes, definitely.” No emoji, but you feel relieved. He adds, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” Your heart swells.
You ask how he’s feeling, and he claims he’s not even sore.
-
Later, you’re lying in bed in yoga pants and an old t-shirt scrolling Tumblr and hear some commotion coming from Prevo. They closed hours ago. This seems bad. You open your window and wrap your blanket tighter as the cool air rushes in. You hear teenage voices but can’t make out the words until you hear his name : “COOORRREEY. COOORREEEY!”
A pit forms in your stomach. You throw on a jacket and boots. It’s too cold to be wearing no bra, but you don’t have time. You try to slow your heart rate as you briskly exit your backyard through a hole in the Prevo fence. You can't. You jog past the rows of old, undriveable cars. There’s a heavy fog in the air.
As you approach the garage, you hear “Billy, get the car!” Followed by the loud clicking and clinking of a large chain unrolling.
In the floodlight you see the convertible from a distance. A skinny guy with a mullet, presumably Billy, is about to get in. Closer to the garage, a brawny shape stands still and watches. You would recognize that beef anywhere. You get butterflies. His thighs and bulked up ass, the way his strong core is framed by thick arms and shoulders, and that thick, strong neck.
That neck. There’s actually something off about his neck. As your eyes move upward, you notice the collar is fully upturned. That’s hot, but also, is his head longer? No curly hair? Is this seriously not Corey? How could two bodies this perfect possibly exist in Haddonfield?
“Corey?” you whisper. He doesn’t respond or face you at first. If he heard you, he seems to want to leave you out of it. He rotates just enough for you to see Michael Myers’s mask. What is going on? He turns and walks away from the light, toward the parked cars. The gait confirms it is in fact Corey, wearing Michael’s mask. You can’t help but admire the way his jumpsuit hugs him as he walks. He’s wound up. His back is hulking. He disappears into the shadows.
The kids bicker with each other. One of them is in the convertible and the others are waiting near the garage. Seemingly out of thin air, Corey approaches the convertible. You hurry to get a better view. Billy doesn’t see him coming. Corey's back muscles stretch his jumpsuit as he leans over Billy. His expansive palm comes behind Billy's head, and his other hand engulfs the kid's fist, which is holding a drumstick. With a swift burst of muscle, Corey makes Billy impale himself in the eyeball. His head droops onto the steering wheel.
“Billy, move the car!” the ringleader says. He waits for a moment, then jogs toward the car.
Your hand floats up to cover your mouth. Corey has disappeared back into the shadows. You turn around looking for him, and–you gasp–he’s right behind you, sturdy as ever, holding a shotgun. Your heart is in your throat. Michael’s mask is pulled up over his face. Dark curls peek out from his hairline. His muscular neck fills almost the entire breadth of the upturned collar.
“BILLY IS DEAD!” the ringleader says in the distance.
You don’t have any words for Corey. Or even thoughts, for that matter, beyond the incoherently impure ones simmering in your core. “Wait here,” he says in a low and husky voice, eyeing the Prevo tow truck. “They’re not getting out of here,” he declares under his breath. His biceps stretch his sleeves as he hands you the long gun.
You put the strap across your chest without hesitation and adjust to the unexpected weight of the shotgun. You watch him climb into the Prevo tow truck, and somehow your only thought is, damn, the cake on that man.
You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You just saw someone get murdered. You correct yourself: You just saw a shitty menace to society get taken out.
The ringleader bangs on the office door, then goes inside. Corey starts the truck and the headlights reveal two panicked girls. The brake lights illuminate you in red, and you walk out from behind it. Your heart is racing. You must protect Corey at all costs. It’s been less than 24 hours since he showed up at your door, and it already feels like you’re a part of him, and he’s a part of you.
“Hey! Hey, you!” One of the girls yells at you. “Help!!!! HELP US!” The tow truck starts moving and they both run for the fence.
The ringleader rushes past you, stumbling, heading for the truck with a long gun. “Come on,” he says. In his eyes, it’s everyone against Michael, as usual in Haddonfield. You follow behind him.
Corey plows the truck through the locked exit, then screeches to a halt, pinning one of the girls to the ground under the fencing. The other girl screams, “MARGOT!” Margot is stuck under a mess of broken chain link and barbed wire.
In the driver's seat, Corey’s massive hand obscures the front of Michael’s mask as he pulls it over his face ceremoniously. He steps down off the truck and his large boot crunches the gravel with a thud. He has a huge wrench that looks standard-sized in his enormous, masculine hand. My god, his knuckles. You hear metal slide against calloused skin as he lets gravity ready the weapon.
The girl who isn’t trapped says “Terry! Margot is stuck!”
Terry answers, “Stacey, NO! Behind you!” She starts to turn.
Behind Stacey, Corey flexes his sculpted forearm, and with little apparent effort, swings the weighty wrench, striking her across the face, knocking her out cold to the ground. When he crouches down, you hear another impact: the squish of skin and crack of bone. With Billy dead, Margot trapped, and Stacey unconscious at best, he starts walking around to your side of the truck to face Terry, the ringleader, the master of puppets. Corey's huge boots land heavily on the ground with every step.
He stops and stands in the headlights of the truck, looking at Terry and you. He removes Michael’s mask so Terry will know who did it. You have never seen anything hotter than Corey Cunningham’s hefty, imposing figure in a form-fitting jumpsuit, standing feet spread, collar erect, holding Michael’s mask against a beefy thigh. The jumpsuit accentuates the natural bulge of his crotch, too. His eyes sparkle in the headlights. His gaze is almost seductive, an effect enhanced by his wicked half-smirk. Arousal stirs angrily in your core. You’re twitching with want.
You’re not sure what Corey’s plan is. He’s not holding a weapon. That wild curl you love hangs in the middle of his forehead. You feel utterly feral with need for him. You stand behind Terry as he nervously raises his shotgun.
As soon as Terry aims at Corey, finger on the trigger, you raise your shotgun butt-down, to take him out with a blow to the temple. On his way to the ground, Terry pulls the trigger. You hear the bullet hit flesh and your heart drops. You look immediately at Corey. He isn't hurt, that’s all that matters. Under the truck, blood pools around Stacey.
You pound Terry again for good measure, then train the barrel on him as Corey walks toward you. Corey stops and looks at Margot. She screams and thrashes under the fence. “Stacey! Please!” She seems to think there’s hope for her friend.
“Nice work,” Corey says, checking you out. His deep, gruff voice has never sounded hotter. You could swear he’s aroused. You know the tone. You want to jump his bones. He adds, “I’ve got him. Go check Stacey.”
You jog around the end of the collapsed fence toward Stacey. As you round the corner, a ragged piece of wire scrapes against your quad, then somehow catches on your inner thigh, ripping the fabric of your foolish yoga pants. Your skin feels hot under the sharp metal, but you don’t stop until you reach Stacey. She’s dead beyond a shadow of a doubt. The night air is cold against your inner thigh, and you look down. Irregular drops of blood have begun to bead in a dotted line.
Corey puts the masks back on and steps onto the bed of the truck to grab a large canister with a hose. “All good,” you confirm. He adjusts the crotch of his jumpsuit and his weight drops from the truck to the ground, landing with a loud thud and crunch of gravel.
Under the truck, you see one of Terry’s arms stir, and you begin jogging back to Terry, holding the shotgun like you’re ready to shoot. Terry blinks awake to the barrel of your shotgun staring him right between the eyes. He coughs weakly. Corey arrives and meets Terry on the ground, setting the canister down with a clink.
Corey sits back on his haunches, and his jumpsuit tightens over his thick knees and quads. He spreads his knees and lands all his weight on Terry's stomach and upper thighs. Terry groans as the considerable weight digs into him.
Corey twists two squeaky knobs on the canister and the valve begins to hiss with gas. He holds the hose in one large hand, and the nozzle with another. He looks up at you and you watch the bulge in his jumpsuit move ever so slightly. He pulls the hose hard against his crotch. He leans into Terry and aims a tapered nozzle at his stupid face, readying his girthy fingers on the metal trigger handle. He tightens his strong fist around the metal trigger, setting Terry’s face ablaze. You watch the horror of Terry’s flaming face for a moment, unaffected. Your gaze quickly returns to Corey’s wide, sculpted hands holding the hose against his lap. You want those hands all over you.
Margot cries. Corey releases the trigger handle and drops the hose. His expansive hands brace himself on his knees as he stands up. You shamelessly watch his glutes flex and stretch the fabric of his jumpsuit. You have never felt this level of visceral, physical longing. You must have him as soon as possible.
Corey’s whole body pumps as he raises a giant, heavy boot above Margot’s face. He holds the boot in the air and you admire his bulging hamstrings. Margo yells through the fence that he’s just a psycho and Terry was right. He brings his boot down hard against the fence. The fencing cross-hatches the plush of her face like a waffle iron.
Corey looks at Margot. You hear him breathe. It's like he's thinking about what she said. Without a word, he walks back to the driver’s side of the truck and gets in. Your heart sinks. You can’t believe he’s leaving. Panic sets in.
“Corey, wait!” you plead. He floors the gas and you chase after him, “COREY!” You shrug off the jacket as you run.
The truck accelerates violently to run Margot over, then stops. A wave of relief washes over you as you catch up. You get it: I'll show you "psycho." You don’t care what he’s going to do, you want to do it with him.
-
Corey opens the truck door and your hand grabs the doorframe, stopping him in his tracks. He's still wearing Michael's mask and is about to get out of the extra large, worn leather seat. You take one huge step into the truck, and before Corey can stand, you’re straddling him, face to face with Michael's mask.
Looking into Corey’s darkened eyes, you feel like you’re in Michael's lap, too, which is hot. But Corey is who you desperately need right now. You reach into his stiff, upturned collar to caress his thick neck and lift the bottom rubber edge. Then, his large hand removes the mask by the face. He shakes his hair. Two wild curls bounce down, damp with sweat, and his eyes hungrily search your face. His masculine features glisten with humidity. His collar is still up.
"Hey," he says lowly. "Come here."
He pulls you close and your crotch meets the ample hardness of his jumpsuit. Both of you inhale deeply through the nose as your lips meet passionately and he drops the mask to feel you with both palms. The satisfaction of finally touching each other again is exceeded only by the desperation to be even closer. Your hips grind needily into Corey and his large hands find your thighs.
His thumb catches on the torn fabric of your pants and his face pulls back. He looks from your eyes to your thigh and back, scanning your whole form. You must be a vision. His thumb drags along your scrape, smearing what's left of the red beads. He takes it between his lips and sucks your blood off his calloused skin. Next, he reaches inside the hole of the fabric with both thumbs and rips it open across the crotch. Cool air hits your skin, but heat is building in your core.
With your wet mess of a cunt exposed, his large hands immediately pull you into him, and the girth of his jumpsuit swells against your clit. Your head falls back with a soft moan, and his lips and teeth latch onto your neck. You frantically unzip him. Even before the jumpsuit is fully open, your other hand reaches in to grab his stiff, swollen member.
When the zipper is down, he yanks your body closer, abruptly, like a reflex. He shudders as your wet, pleading cunt presses hard against his naked shaft. Your clit throbs and your hips buck all on their own. You put your hands around his neck, resting your arms on his plough-horse shoulders. His large hands move your body, rubbing your cunt against his cock. The motion of his wet, rock-hard shaft against your throbbing clit brings you to the brink of climax.
He lifts you up just slightly higher so the swollen, weeping head of his cock slides down from the apex of your folds. You tilt your hips to catch it with your cunt.
His cockhead is nestled against your entrance. You are so close to being complete. It's quite a stretch as it begins to part your folds.
You badly need him inside you, but you’re so close to coming that your cunt is too clenched to take all of him right away. You bob up and down in short pulses on the head of his cock, desperate to take more. His face looks pained, like you’re edging him. He can’t stop his hips from rising to meet you. You take more of his shaft with each pulse.
He tilts his head all the way back, jutting his slutty Adam’s apple into the air. He brings a large thumb to your throbbing clit and has you seeing stars within seconds. Your cunt clenches desperately around the fat head of his cock, and you come, sliding a little more down his cock between every pulsation, the intensity of the pleasure overriding any pain from the girth.
Your walls strangle his cock with every wave. He gasps, moans, and marvels at you with dark, glassy eyes as you finish and your body yields to him entirely. Finally his whole cock is inside you. Half a centimeter more in either direction would have been too much.
Your aftershocks squeeze his stiff member and he lightly rocks his hips into yours. His pupils have overtaken his irises. A large palm comes to your breast. Your nipples are rock hard against your worn out t-shirt.
He feels so good. You want him inside you forever. He seems to look at you like he wants that, too. He hungrily presses his lips into yours, followed by his tongue. His hands are all over you. He devours your mouth, then your neck, then your chest. Your faces come together again and you kiss ferally as the rhythm gradually accelerates and his cock thrusts harder into you. His arms wrap around you tightly.
“Fuck,” he says gruffly. He’s close. His body consumes yours desperately. His brows furrow. He sighs loudly and his cock pulsates. He pulls you down hard and you feel him erupt inside you as he moans your name.
“Fuck,” you gasp, “Corey,” you moan and start to come again. Another burst from him coats your walls. “Oh, god, Corey.” Your cunt clenches around his cock for dear life as it empties.
Your eyelids are heavy, and your body is in another dimension where it’s just you and Corey. You breathe and moan into each other’s mouths. It's overwhelming. You’re on the verge of tears as you both finish.
You rest your foreheads together and breathe.
“Come with me,” he pants, pulling his head back to look into your eyes. He's still inside you.
“Where,” you ask, even though the answer is yes regardless.
His eyes search yours. “Everywhere,” he says.
You nod. Your thumb brushes his sopping wet forehead and nudges that wild curl. It bounces back. He kisses you deeply.
After a long moment, you slide off him and his cock springs out, enrobed in a white frothy blend. Your pants are a wet, sticky mess. The crotch is totally destroyed. It’s pretty hot, but you're also glad your house is close.
“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he says, looking around and starting to zip himself up, but not all the way.
To be fair, you’re sitting in a murder weapon that’s parked on a crime scene.
-------
I don't tend to write condoms into grisly dick but please have safe sex.
I recently have been informed of Corey Cunningham's existence, and I love how you write him. Is there any chance you'll be writing more for him this Halloween season?
Hello, long time reader! Thank you for reading and for the kind words. My voice kink loves Corey... I'll rewatch the movie and see if I get inspired.
Something for everyone! Pt. 1: Beefcake Corey pumps iron. Pt. 2: Corey & Michael kill Mulaney. Michael on Corey. Pt. 3: Michael fucks (Y/N). Corey can't contain himself.
Rock Bottom Index - All Chapters
If you don't want gifs, you might wanna read on AO3. Throw me kudos for being a slut while you're at it & subscribe to get the next chapter a lil early.
Outside (Y/N)’s house, Corey walks around to the backyard. He bends down to pick up his heavy wrench from the dying grass. The cold metal slides and clinks into place as he moves. He imagines what it would have been like to kill the sad sack if Michael hadn't gotten to him first.
He goes to collect his backpack and sees a shape in the woods. His heart skips a beat. It feels like Michael is close. The shape walks in the opposite direction.
Corey gets on his motorcycle. His huge hands make it look like a toy bike from certain angles. He cranks the gas with a twist of his thick wrist. It’s a cold ride, and his large knuckles turn red and white.
Instead of going home, he rides to the Allen family’s abandoned mansion. He keeps some things hidden there for whenever he needs to get away from Joan. He puts on clean underclothes and takes a nap before work.
His day goes by in a haze of want. His clothes are clean, but he can still feel the essence of Michael and (Y/N) enrobing his cock.
-
At work, he's distracted and lets the hood of a Buick slam on his masculine hand. It doesn’t hurt, but the shock of it makes him yell. Ronald is worried about him - he's barely been coming home lately.
Corey is assigned scrap duty for the rest of the day. He heads behind the shop to their secondary scrapyard with a clipboard. He trudges through a sea of cars, most of them with no tires, parked on white granite rocks that gleam and blind him and crunch under his boots. Hoods are open, doors are off. A lot of models are from the 90s or 00s but some are older. He updates the part inventory as he walks. It’s boring.
Corey prefers challenging manual labor to tedious paperwork. Being a mechanic lets him use his engineering knowledge and curiosity while getting to touch and explore and fix things. He’s very good with his hands, and his hands are made for the job.
Doing inventory is mind-numbing. He has too much pent up energy and has to pass the time. At the back of the scrapyard, there's a bumper leaning against a 90s Saturn. He puts his clipboard down on the seat of a picnic table in the shade and takes his sleeves off, tying them around his waist. His nipples say it's too cold for this, but he doesn't feel it.
He hauls the bumper on his sculpted shoulder with one massive hand bracing it. He mounts the table, ass-first and his thighs and groin press up into the fabric of his jumpsuit as he scoots back and stretches out into place. He lays back and rests the car part on his sturdy chest. He spreads his thick fingers to get a good grip, then bench presses it.
His stamina is impressive and it takes a minute to even feel the burn. It starts in his hard pecs and spreads to his thick arms. As the bumper grows heavier, he breathes harder, winces, and his feet start to move. His white undershirt rides up and he can feel the air on his lower abs and V. He pauses at the top to steady his arms and breathe, his cheeks puffing out with air. He does a few more reps and discards the bumper.
His biceps bulge out of his white sleeves. The sleeves have ridden up to show his paler skin. He takes a rest then grabs a tire. The veins in his hands pump.
He firmly plants his feet in the gravel and sticks his glutes out for proper form. He holds the tire in front, bracing it with his large hands on each side, his hard triceps flexing. His empty jumpsuit sleeves loosen around his hips as he squats, but the pants are held up by his ass. His quads burn as he digs his boots into ground for leverage and continues squatting.
From the shop, he hears, "Corey! Lunch is here!" He sets down the tire with a thud and lets it roll away. It comes to rest against a Ford Bronco.
Corey pulls on his sleeves and goes to the office. He devours a footlong meatball sub, holding it with both hands, bracing his elbows on the break room table, his forearms flexing, mouth full, jaw and Adam's Apple moving with each bite.
He spends the rest of his break in the garage. He sits with his big legs spread, an elbow braced against his knee and curls a heavy tool box with just three fingers because the handle isn't big enough. He squints with every bulge of his bicep as he pumps, until he realizes his glasses are fogged and his armpits are damp all the way down the sides of his jumpsuit.
After lunch, at the back of the scrapyard, he does lunges, holding a tire. He lunge-walks down a row of cars, turns the corner and comes back through another row. His jumpsuit strains at the seat each time he comes down. He keeps going until he feels his lower back sticking to his jumpsuit with cold sweat, potentially drawing attention to his prominent glutes.
His face is hot. His curls are damp and matted to his forehead. A bead of sweat rolls down his thick, tan neck. He catches his breath and picks up the clipboard again.
-
After work, Corey goes home and instantly regrets it. A few days ago when he didn't come home, Joan was beside herself. This time, she's unhinged. Her northern accent intensifies into a monologue that doesn't end until Corey leaves.
"Who's been taking advantage of my baby boy?! Who?! I can smell her on you, Corey. She doesn't love you! You know none of them care about you, Corey. You're handsome. You're sensitive. They should be so lucky. Your mother loves you, Corey! Come home to your mother! What's happening to my baby boy?!"
His deep, gruff voice interrupts her painful whine. "I'M FINE, MA," is all he says.
"OH MY GOD, COREY, YOUR NECK!"
Corey opens the fridge.
"OH, COREY, I'm so sorry. Let me go buy you some chocolate milk! I’ll be right back, you stay right here." She grabs her wallet and nods to herself like that’s going to fix everything. Then she remembers, "Oh, you know what? Do you want some custard? There's some custard in the fridge!" She puts her arms on his hulking back and arms.
So now boys who keep secrets get custard. Too little too late. “No thanks, Ma.” She grabs her keys off the wall, distressed.
Corey goes upstairs to wash. He plugs the drain and turns on the water. He looks in the mirror as the bath fills. His jumpsuit hugs his broad shoulders and chest. He peels it off, followed by his soaked undershirt. His muscles are still pumped up. His neck is still red from Michael choking him.
His large fingers graze the marks on his neck. It turns him on, but he's saving himself, and he can't relax with Joan like this. (Y/N) hadn't even mentioned his neck. She must have known. His eyes well up as her essence fades away in the bath. Being inside her felt like being sucked by an angel. They’ve barely explored each other. The things they could do.
When Corey pulls the plug to drain the bath, Joan yells right outside the door, "COREY?! Are you alright?!"
“I’M FINE, MA,” he says again. He changes into jeans and a button-up shirt. The stairs rumble as he lets his weight carry him down.
"I've gotta go, Ma." Joan grabs him and forcefully kisses him on the lips as he leaves. It's like she's afraid it's the last time she'll see him. Maybe it will be, he thinks.
-
Corey picks Allyson up on his motorcycle. Her small arms wrap around his ample torso. Part of him would rather feel Michael’s bulky arms, just to know what it’s like to feel small.
Corey didn’t have a dad growing up. By the time Joan met Ronald, Corey was becoming a man. It was all handshakes and pats on the back, an occasional brief hug if he needed one. He’s never known the true embrace of a man’s strong arms.
Being close to Allyson reminds Corey of what he likes so much about her. She has the energy of someone who has lived through hell. She's experienced Michael Myers in spree killer mode. It's clear she came away changed in some way. She must have a dark streak, Corey knows it. He just has to tease it out. The tinder is there. He just needs to light the match.
Allyson's arms feel good around him. He wants to have her as his own, but he also wants to feel understood. It’s not possible for Allyson to understand him the way (Y/N) does. The way he thinks Michael might. If Corey can tempt Allyson onto the dark path, she’ll understand. Then he can have it both ways - someone of his own, and someone who understands.
He longs to bring Allyson over, but the notion also feels dangerous for Michael, and therefore Corey, thanks to Laurie Strode. Laurie is Michael's most dangerous predator.
-
At the diner, Corey pretends to study the menu, but he always gets a cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake. What he's really doing is weighing his options with Allyson.
Aside from the threat of Laurie, monogamy is Corey's other point of hesitation. He assumes Allyson would expect it. A few days ago, he would have expected it. He would have embraced it, loved it. It was his natural inclination. But now, he doesn't know if he can help himself.
It's not just Michael that he wants to stay open to. The idea of not being with (Y/N) again is physically painful. He's thinking about her more than he expected. Corey still wants Michael to own him – if that's what it takes. But Corey loves pussy, too. Why can't he have it all?
Corey wasn’t like this before, or if he was, he didn’t realize it. He certainly didn’t act on it. This uninhibited appetite all started with Michael's hands around his neck.
When Corey first met (Y/N) in 2019, that was almost a year after the botched transfer from Smith’s Grove, so she already knew Michael. Michael already knew her. For all Corey knows, she was a choir girl before Michael let her survive.
Corey decides he'll give Allyson a tour of the dark path, and whether she stays on it is up to her. He starts by baring his soul as they eat. He shares enough of his darkness to intrigue her and be truly vulnerable. His dark eyes fill with genuine tears.
He devours his burger, grease dripping down both of his strong, sculpted hands. He listens to Allyson, and she seems to feel the same. He sinks his teeth into the despair that underpins her story. Haddonfield has chewed them up and spit them out. As he slurps the last of his chocolate milkshake, things seem to be coming together.
They each have their own reasons, but it seems like he and Allyson want the same thing, in principle: to burn it all down. Destroy the town that destroyed them. She may not realize what this looks like to Corey, but it’ll come with time. He’ll make a bad girl out of her.
-
When Doug Mulaney tries to start some shit at the diner, Corey knows what he has to do, but he’s tempted to take him on man-to-man right there.
Corey’s always been equipped to handle himself, but there was a terrible irony. Before the accident, he never really needed to defend himself. Afterwards, he did, but he couldn’t risk appearing aggressive or even capable of harm.
Post-accident, he would cower all the time, and when he got bullied or roughed up, he’d take it like a punching bag. He was afraid of hurting anyone. It would feel bad and also be the talk of the town. Things would get even worse for him.
Physically though, he was always more than capable. God gave him a sturdy frame, and on top of that, he works out.
For as long as he can remember, he's been starting his morning with push-ups just to feel the burn in his pecs, then he flips over and brings his fingers to his curly hair and does crunches.
He has a pull-up bar on his bedroom door. He can watch an entire episode of the Regular Show while doing pull-ups and chin-ups. He doesn’t even keep count.
He likes to feel his shoulders and triceps harden; his biceps and forearms bulge. He bends his knees and crosses his ankles behind himself to fit in the door frame. Then, for a different burn in his ample thighs, he brings his legs in front.
He spends his downtime working out, and sometimes he doesn't even realize he's doing it. It feels good and it's an escape.
Doug Mulaney, on the other hand, looks like he probably sits in his patrol car all day. While Mulaney is eating donuts and writing tickets, Corey spends his work day lifting heavy objects and using industrial sized tools. His hands and arms are so powerful that he can lift a tire overhand, palm-down, like a tote bag. Doug needs a gun to protect himself. Pussy.
Corey could absolutely take Doug Mulaney one-on-one, but he has to resist. He’s been looking for prey to bring Michael, and he found it.
He drops Allyson off at home. They share a steamy kiss that makes Corey hard. She’s obviously keen to get him into bed, but Corey is too focused. Another dose of the warm and fuzzy hormones will help bring her over where she needs to be, but not right now.
Ch 4 Part 2
Mulaney makes it too easy by tailing Corey on his way home. It will take no effort at all to bait him into the lair. At the very least, Corey will get to watch Michael even closer. If Corey is really lucky, maybe he'll get the (Y/N) treatment - pinned to the wall by Michael's most precious weapon.
Corey is still trying to wrap his head around Michael as a sexual entity. If the kill is what turns him on, Corey needs to be the closest person in vicinity when he kills. He parks his bike under the overpass.
Corey baits Mulaney through the encampment and toward the drain and visualizes what the kill will be like. He reflects on Michael’s last kill - the one he witnessed - and realizes Michael never even stabbed the guy. It was boss the way he strangled him with the floor lamp, but when he finished him off from arm’s length with a single slash, Michael almost looked bored.
Watching Michael kill was exhilarating, but watching him really come to life and stab someone, blood splattering on Corey’s neck – the thought of it hardens him more. With Corey bringing the prey, surely Michael will let him participate in the kill.
Mulaney follows Corey through the sewer, into the cavern, searching with his flashlight and taunting Corey out loud. The bright light lands on devious Corey.
Michael emerges from the shadows but doesn’t pounce. He looks feeble, almost confused, like Corey is interrupting his nap. Or maybe, he's letting Corey take the lead.
Corey has never felt so alive as he prepares to slash with Michael. He weakens and disorients Mulaney, incurring only a bloody nose and mouth in the process. He’s tempted to go all-in, but it's Michael’s turn. Michael moves slowly. Corey can’t wait to see him work.
Michael’s shrunken posture makes Corey look even larger. He urges, "Get up, get up, GET UP!" Michael pulls a rusted knife from the wall and Corey's body tingles with anticipation from his nipples to his groin. "Show me how," he says. "I need you to show me!" There are so many things he wants Michael to show him.
Michael swings. Mulaney stumbles back against Corey's broad chest. They fall to the ground, Mulaney’s weight spread across Corey’s sturdy body. Michael lunges toward them. Corey curls his big arms under Mulaney's, which are thin in comparison. He braces for impact, breathing heavily as he watches the Shape’s every move.
Michael wields the old rusted knife like a dagger. He raises the blade then plunges it into Mulaney's chest. Corey feels the tense body relax into dead weight in his arms. Corey breathes heavily and rapidly, spellbound. He doesn't take his eyes off Michael as the blood drains from their prey. Michael yanks out the knife, splattering blood across Corey's face. His arousal swells.
Something comes over Michael. He tenses and adjusts his grip on the knife. The black holes of the mask seem to look into Corey like the first time they met. Corey understands.
He braces Mulaney against his chest, and Michael thrusts the blade into him again. And again. Corey's eyes follow the blade. He savors the vantage point of Michael shafting into him. It has the same energy as Michael’s final thrusts into (Y/N). Every time Michael plunges the blade into Mulaney, Corey's solar plexus shoots rays of pleasure into his whole body. He could not imagine a more erotic experience.
Michael takes one step back and slowly stands up straight. Corey lets go of Mulaney and the dead weight slumps to the ground. Corey's jeans tighten with desire. His ass tingles. His chest heaves and he wipes saliva and blood from the corners of his mouth as he watches Michael. Corey's cock is throbbing.
Michael rolls his shoulders back and seems to reach an even darker frequency. Corey's eyes gravitate to Michael's crotch, which appears to bulge, just as Corey expected. It's not just his crotch, though. His muscles appear to pump, too.
Michael's arms and shoulders flex and he begins to quiver with energy. The tired old man from moments ago is a distant memory. Corey takes in Michael's entire form. His sculpted arms are visible through his sleeves. The stabbing has reanimated his truest self.
Corey aches to be filled. There's a space deep in his core that can only be filled by Michael. He flattens his massive hand against his clothed erection and winces while he waits for Michael's next move. The base of his shaft contracts and a wave of pleasure blooms deep in his core. He's afraid he might come in his pants, but he's not ready.
The last time Corey was in the sewer, the mask penetrated his eyes. Michael injected something intangible and indescribable into him that day. Corey, who was on the verge of disappearing, was transformed instead. Now he’s dying for Michael to penetrate him deeper. Turn him darker, freer. He can almost feel it happening.
Michael turns his head slightly. The fingers of his free hand twitch. Corey tries not to take his eyes off Michael as he begins to unfasten his own belt, thrusting into his own wide wrist as he does it. He's so hard.
Michael steps closer. His breath is loud behind the mask. He raises the knife. Corey reflexively scrambles to his feet and backs away until his back is flat against the wall. His unbuttoned jeans are held up only by the excruciating swell in his briefs. Michael raises the knife to Corey's sculpted throat and closes the distance between them.
Michael presses the side of the cold metal blade against Corey's thick neck, from his Adam's Apple to his jaw. It’s angled upward, with Michael’s large, leathered hand near Corey’s ear. The blade follows the hickey-like bruises from Michael's fingers. Michael takes a final step, and his foot is between Corey's feet.
Michael's sturdy thigh presses into Corey’s rock-hard, pulsating arousal. Corey can't help but thrust against him. Michael presses the knife harder against Corey’s throat, making him cough.
Corey feels something move against the bottom right edge of his abs. He's overcome with arousal to realize it’s Michael's cock, straining the leg of his jumpsuit, spanning from Corey’s lower abs to his thigh. It's thick and hard, like a warm lead pipe. Corey thrusts his aching bulge into Michael's thigh and Michael further presses the blade.
Corey feels a sharp pang of pleasure in his taint. He dares to grind his hip into Michael's engorged length, but Michael presses his own hip swiftly and firmly against Corey so he can no longer move. Corey is aching for relief. If he hadn't come so much in the past day or so, he's certain the sight of Michael's bulging jumpsuit would have made him come already.
Michael shows no signs of wanting his own release. Maybe it’s true what she said, that Michael loves pussy, but that doesn’t mean anything, because so does Corey. And what’s more, here’s Michael pressing an enormous erection into Corey’s body.
Corey tries again to press his body into Michael’s arousal. He wants to feel its warmth, feel it move. Michael’s hardness grows and his body stiffens further. Corey tilts his pelvis in a few small pulses to create friction and stimulate himself. His pre-cum soaks through Michael's jumpsuit.
A car horn blares outside. Michael looks down and away then relaxes the knife slightly, but keeps it against Corey’s skin. With the knife relaxed, Corey gasps and catches his breath.
Michael steps back, separating his jumpsuit from Corey's jeans and observes the wet spots on both of them. Then Michael looks away slightly. Something is distracting him. He sniffs the air.
-
Dread sets in. What was Corey thinking? Michael let him live and was letting him get close. He trusted Corey, and Corey betrayed him. He must know it. Michael growls almost imperceptibly, as though in agreement, and steps back into him.
Corey feels the blade of the knife rotate and dig in beneath his jaw. Michael could kill him with the flick of his wrist, but he holds it steady. Then, the sharp blade begins to drag slowly, very slowly, but lightly, along Corey's jaw. Corey feels a hot, thin line of blood separate into multiple narrow streams and stream down his neck. This is real.
Corey pleads "no, no, no, not yet" and grinds into Michael’s hard-on as though to show what he can offer. He wants to become one with Michael before he dies.
Michael pauses.
A knock on the drain pipe echoes through the cavern. Michael jerks the blade, slicing Corey's neck as he flings the knife across the cave. Blood oozes out of the slit. It's more than a trickle but doesn't gush. It missed the jugular.
(Y/N)’s voice echoes through the drain pipe. “Are you in there?”
Michael releases him. Without looking back, Michael walks with a purposeful, upright stride to the drainage pipe, then drops to his knees and gets in. It’s the first time he’s seen Michael on his knees, which does something to him. Michael’s lumberjack body fills the drain more than Corey’s, despite Corey’s broad, muscular stature.
Corey suddenly feels cold and unclothed without Michael against him. He listens to the echo of huge, heavy knees on the metal as Michael exits the drain.
Ch 4 Part 3
Rather than follow Michael out of the drain, Corey quickly fastens his belt and tiptoes across the cavern. He hides in a crevasse. Water plinks down from the ceiling. His hard-on is still raging. He’s so high on the kill that he wonders if he’s dead. He can’t believe how well this night has gone, even with blood running down his neck.
Corey killed with Michael. He awakened a higher energy in Michael. It’s nothing compared to the transformation Michael gave Corey, but returning the favor to some small degree makes Corey feel even closer to Michael. Michael not only choked him tonight, but sliced him. Then, astoundingly, pressed his warm, lethal cock against his body.
Corey was lucky. Michael may not have sensed his betrayal after all. The sense of relief dissuades him from pressing his luck any further tonight. He shouldn’t have gotten greedy. He can always see if things escalate next time. Before things go south, he needs to leave.
-
Corey can’t exit through the main pipe or he might run into them. He doesn’t know what (Y/N) would do or say. He’s almost more afraid of her reaction than Michael’s. If she can’t play it cool, Michael will know.
Corey surveys the dark cave for any sign of another exit and makes his way down the main hall, pressing his wrist against his zipper against his aching want. He considers stopping to jerk off but doesn’t.
He walks quietly but briskly to the end of the cave. He approaches the area with Mulaney on the ground. It looks like a dead end, but once he’s all the way at the wall, a very faint, dusty beam of light catches his eye to the right. He goes through the crevasse with the soft blue light, and sees that it’s a grate up above, not an exit.
Moonlight shines down through the squares above, illuminating a round room. There’s a fire pit and a huge, iron spit in the middle. Bones are stacked up around the edge of the room. It’s like a catacomb. Many of them look old, almost dry, but a few look fresh with bits of tendon clinging onto them. Corey walks around the perimeter. There’s a bone saw against the rock wall and a tin of matchbooks.
He approaches the middle of the room. The fire pit is round and made of smooth, pale stones. The spit has scraps of burned meat stuck to it. Corey steps closer. It smells like barbecue. He looks down into the fire pit. Those aren’t rocks, they’re human skulls. The blood drains from Corey’s face. His heart races and he stumbles backwards but catches himself. This is Michael’s Ossuary and Grill.
Thumping and dragging noises begin to echo from the drain pipe. The thumps are irregular. A faint light begins to bounce around the cave. Corey scrambles to find somewhere to hide as the thumps get louder. He finds a nook between the ossuary and another room in the cavern. He can still see into the ossuary. He hopes the ossuary can’t see into him. The echoing thumps stop.
The artificial light brightens. Footsteps start, and the light moves in rhythm with the steps. There are two sets of footsteps. She asks, “Should I call it in?” Silence. Footsteps. Her voice is getting closer. “Okay. Hey, it’s okay. I just wish I knew who killed Nelson.” The vagabond, Corey realizes. He’s lying dead with a flashlight right outside the tent. That was part of his trap for Mulaney.
The lighter footsteps stop. “Wait, there’s already someone here,” she says. Corey’s heart races and he holds his breath. He can’t see them. He doesn’t know how she knows. Maybe she heard him breathing. Shoes scuff the ground and there’s a rustling sound.
“DOUG MULANEY? Jesus Christ, Michael.” Michael never stops walking. “I don’t even know what to say.” Corey exhales. The lighter footsteps quicken to catch up. "Did he find you?" They're very close.
Corey can see two shapes enter the ossuary, the huge one carrying another figure over its shoulder. Michael's breath is audible. There's a rustling and a loud thump. Duct tape rips off loudly, echoing through the cavern. Corey tries not to look, lest their light catch the reflection of his eyes. The light turns off.
He hears the snap of a match and the wind of a flame. A whoosh followed by crackling. The ossuary is gradually illuminated with a warm, flickering, orange light. It’s quiet for a minute. Too quiet for Corey to move. The warmth of the fire barely reaches Corey but is welcome. The room starts to smell like barbecue.
***
(Y/N) is sitting on the ground against the wall, catching her breath. Out of view, there’s a drag of metal on rock, probably the bone saw. She groans in disgust. "Yeah, think you’ve got this,” she says. “I should get going.”
The saw clatters to the ground. Heavy footsteps cross the room. Michael bends down and grabs her by the throat, then drops to his knees in front of her. He still towers over her, even with his knees spread over her legs. He doesn’t pick her up. Instead, he uses his other hand to jerk her toward him. With the hand around her throat, he forces her back onto the ground.
She chokes as he drags her closer, by the throat. Her torso comes to a stop between Michael’s knees. She manages to sit up on her elbows. She reaches out hesitantly, like she’s trying to catch a wild animal. Michael lets her touch his chest. His grip loosens and she gasps for air.
He sits back on his gargantuan haunches, which puts his clothed erection against her yoga pants. She gasps and looks straight ahead. The blood drains from her face. She reaches for his crotch as if her eyes deceive her. She runs her hand down the fabric, feeling his entire length. It must be the size of her forearm.
“Holy shit,” she says. Corey wonders if he's responsible for Michael's enhanced arousal. Blood rushes to his groin.
Michael cages her to the ground and yanks down her yoga pants. She looks apprehensive. She reaches for Michael’s chest. His hand snatches hers and brings it just below his upturned collar.
He slowly pulls down his zipper with her little hand. Corey's heart races. She tries to stop it but is no match for his strength. He grabs the sides of his upturned collar and thrusts his massive chest forward. The collar and jumpsuit fall back and a more precise silhouette of his back and arms emerge. He lets the long sleeves hang to his sides.
The firelight isn’t great, and the angle isn’t perfect, but from what Corey can see, Michael wears a dark, almost too-small t-shirt. His muscles are utterly unreasonable. His arms are the size of her thighs.
Corey looks around frantically but doesn’t find a better view. He desperately wants to see everything, but this is also his best chance to escape.
Michael's expansive back and empty sleeves obstruct the view of his crotch, but his back in itself is a vision, even under the dark t-shirt. He yanks the rest of her pants off and nudges her legs open with a giant knee, making space for himself.
Finally, Corey catches a glimpse of that monster cock. It’s commanding. Michael lowers himself over her before he can see it in more detail. She moans at the feeling of his naked girth hard against her. She rolls her hips. She must be so wet. But as Michael begins to position himself for entry, she begs, “please," she squirms, "it’s too much.”
Corey reaches for his pants and palms himself desperately with his massive hand. He shifts slightly toward the exit of his nook just in time to see her back arch as Michael shoves himself into her. She groans loudly and his enormous hand grabs her throat. His hulking muscles move gracefully under his shirt as he begins to fuck her. Corey can’t pull himself away.
Michael pushes slowly at first, like he’s letting her accommodate his even larger-than-usual size. She cries and paws at his chest. Every thrust is so powerful. Her legs are spread wide with her knees up. Michael never takes off his mask.
Her face hotly twists in pain. He persists. With time, her cries turn into soft moans and occasional gasps. She reaches up to his chest as she stares into the mask holes. His large hand swallows hers. They’re both sweating by the fireside as Michael's hips powerfully meet hers again and again.
Corey tries to ground himself. If he has any hope of moving things forward, he must make it out of this cave tonight. He backs away slowly. His arousal aches terribly, but he can’t indulge it, not right now. He needs his wits about him.
Michael just barely grunts, and it stops Corey in his tracks. It’s the hottest sound he never thought he’d hear. He steps back to where he was. He has to watch, come what may. He makes himself a deal. He can stay a few minutes if he doesn’t touch himself. Corey wants Michael, but he also wants to be Michael inside of her.
Michael grabs her hips and pulls her into him harder. Her feet come into the air and wrap loosely around him. Her legs are so small against Michael’s body. His rhythm quickens and he leans down closer.
Michael’s arms glisten and bulge out of his short sleeves. His strong forearms slide under her. With an emphatic thrust, he pulls her against him and scoops her up. He sits back on his haunches and holds her tight against himself. He grips her by the waist with her legs draped over his hips and continues to pound into her cunt.
He moves her rhythmically against his lap, jamming her down around his cock every time he thrusts. Her feet stick out behind him and bounce in the air each time she comes down on his shaft. She gasps throatily. Michael’s hands dwarf her. She looks like a doll getting bounced around. Michael breathes heavily and wraps his arms tighter.
Corey wants to fuck her like that. He also wants Michael to wrap his arms around him like that. He feels pre-cum seeping into his jeans. His cock twitches desperately.
Michael moves his hands to her ass and she hangs on around his broad neck, her arms grazing the bottom of his mask. He pulls back his speed, fucking her slower but with just as much power and pipe. After a minute, he slides his hands up her sides to her armpits. His thumbs cross her nipples, palms engulfing her breasts. He brings her down hard on his cock and Michael Myers audibly moans.
It’s too much for Corey. He brings his wrist down to his pants, unsure if he’s trying to stop it or get it over with. At the slightest friction, his cock empties itself in dramatic pulses. It feels like it happens in slow motion. A small gasp escapes his mouth.
She looks in Corey’s direction and her eyes widen just as he steps out of view. Michael keeps fucking her, unaware. Corey's heart pounds. His briefs feel full and warm.
-
It’s a challenge for Corey to move quietly. He's a big, burly guy. Every step he takes is heavy. He tries his best to silently slink toward the drain pipe. Sounds of animalistic fucking echoing through the cavern, masking his footsteps.
He hears breathing. Groaning. Rubber soles squeaking against wet rock. Fabric scraping the ground. She wails, he grunts.
Corey reaches the pipe and gently crawls into it. He goes very slowly, one big knee at a time, his large, filthy hands spread out in front of him. His knuckles are white. Moonlight is visible ahead. In the distance, behind him, he hears a whine, a choke, a slap, and a scream.
Then, he hears traffic from the overpass and feels cool, fresh air against his face. Just a little further and he steps out of the tunnel and collects himself. He uses his massive palms to brush off his knees. He jogs out of view of the drain. He sees the red truck, and has the passing urge to get inside and wait for (Y/N). But after such a close call, he's committed to not sabotaging himself, at least for now. She'll be sore anyway.
wearing Michael's mask in bed with Corey (short one shot)
1.3k | corey cunningham x fem!reader | 18+
Inspired by this post 🥵🥵🥵 @hall0ween-twn @mrkis @ethanhoewke. boyfriend!corey
As Corey approaches, his eyes sparkle and an electric heat radiates between you. He looks back and forth between the eye holes. He wets his lips, and his eyes darken even more. His large hand slowly reaches for the mask and cups the rubber jaw.
18+ Explicit
Corey leaves home in athletic shorts and a hoodie to run an errand. You were already horny, but the way he’s dressed turns you all the way on. His ass looks even finer than usual. His shorts have a little slit at the bottom of each side for ease of movement, but his bulging thighs stretch each slit into more of a wide-open mouth. He better be ready to get it on when he comes back. He has to know what it does to you when he walks around with all that ass.
You freshen up and wait for him on the bed in nothing but your panties. He's gone for what feels like forever. You think about last night when you wore his mask while you rode him. He came so hard and it was hot as hell.
When Corey gets back, he greets you with a kiss and you pull him onto you, kissing him wantingly. You feel him harden against you and it gives your whole body butterflies. You take off his hoodie and his shirt comes with it. He kisses your neck and chest and grinds his shorts into you. His expansive hands scan your body and his thick digits pull your panties down as he continues to pepper you with kisses that intensify. He kisses his way down your body and kneels between your legs.
You take Michael's mask out from under the pillow. You pull the rubber shell over your head, slowly so it doesn't catch on your hair. It smells faintly musty in a dangerous way that reminds you who actually wore it. It gives you a shiver and your nipples harden. You feel powerful in the mask, like you could do anything. Your breath and heartbeat echoe in your ears.
You watch Corey through the eye holes. The rubber frames him like a curtain and he’s center-stage on his knees, eager to please you. He hooks his arms under your thighs and digs in. His magnificent nose nudges your clit rhythmically and the warm tingle spreads to your ass and your thighs. The mask catches your moan and it sounds crisp in your ears, but based on your experience when Corey wears a mask, you know you must sound muffled to him.
Corey looks up and does a double take. As he takes in the image of you wearing the Shape's mask, his gaze grows lustier and bores through the eye holes. His face flushes. His eyes darken as they travel down your body then back up to the mask. His voice is gruff and low as he mutters, "Fuck," and begins to prowl toward you on the bed.
As Corey approaches, his eyes sparkle and an electric heat radiates between you. He looks back and forth between the eye holes. He wets his lips and his eyes darken even more. His large hand slowly reaches for the mask and cups the rubber jaw.
His eyes close as his face comes to your neck. He inhales deeply with his nose against the rubber and shudders as he exhales with a throaty sigh and palms your hard nipple. He kisses your neck at the bottom edge of the mask, slow and hard, then needily. His hardness brushes your thigh. His top teeth press down on the rubber as he licks and sucks your neck and the mask. His heavy breathing echoes in your ears as his lips creeps under the rubber edge. He moans between breaths as his large hand roves over your breasts.
He aligns his hips with yours and rolls his arousal against your warmth. Through his soft shorts, finallt you can feel his solid girth just where you want it. God, he's SO fucking hard. He grinds into you again.
"Wow," you whisper, earning a series of stronger thrusts as he kisses the other side of your neck. There’s a fluttering ache between your legs. When Corey pulls back to admire you again, you eagerly pull his shorts down and he kicks them off. His cock is truly a vision. Your hand wraps around his girth, and he's harder than ever before. He's harder than you knew was possible. He throbs into your hand.
Your knees open wide and your bare feet on his ass urge him into you. He lays his fat, hard cock against your skin, and your mouth forms an O under the mask and you let out a soft moan and Corey whimpers at the muffled sound of your pleasure. His warm, velvet shaft slides against your slickness as he looks down at the Shape.
You caress his neck with both hands and he shudders and somehow swells even harder. His cock is impossibly stiff and swollen as it glides against you, like its core is made of steel. If his face is any indication, he's painfully engorged. You’re so fucking wet, and thank god. Otherwise there would be no hope of taking that girth.
"Fuck, you're so hot," he growls as he looks at you through the eye holes. He slides his hard girth against you again, then the swollen head nudges your entrance. You can't stand to be empty for another second. You dig your heels into his ass, begging him. Your eyelids are pinching shut under the eye holes. God, how you need him.
The big, swollen tip of his cock pushes into you, and your breath hitches. He looks at you through the mask for a moment, takes a shaky breath, then impales you with his full staff in one powerful thrust, parting your insides like the red sea with a deep groan. It takes your breath away with a jolt of pain quickly overtaken by a wave of pleasure.
"Corey," you whimper into the mask.
He eases back then pushes again, slower but just as hard. Your breathing echoes loudly in your own ears as a warm knot intensifies in your abdomen. Sweat beads on your face, but you keep the mask on. He fucks you hard and slow. Every time Corey buries his length in you is better than the last.
Your muffled whimpers continue and he picks up his pace. The knot tightens in your core. His black eyes lock with yours and his whole body trembles as he pounds into youz locking eyes with the mask. Your eyes water and you gasp for air, the suction drawing the rubber to your lips for just a moment. You exhale and turn your head to breathe. The mask is loose enough that it doesn’t come with you - The Shape keeps staring back at Corey.
He twitches inside you, which sends you over the edge. You arch your back and writhe under him. You groan and your body clenches and spasms around his cock in wave after wave of pleasure.
Corey says "Fuck," and closes his eyes for just a moment. His eyes water when they open to look back at you, at the mask, and he pulsates powerfully inside you, extending your climax.
He pumps you full of the biggest load you can imagine. Every time you think he must be done, there’s another pump, and every time he pumps is another burst of pleasure for you. Corey’s head lowers to rest against the forehead of the mask and pulsates one more time inside you.
His balls are empty. Your body relaxes and relief washes over you. You stroke his hair and enjoy aftershocks with him still inside you. When Corey lifts his head, you pull the mask off your head, and the cool air hits your face. It's like your first time tasting air.
Corey kisses you deeply. Then, is fingers run over the mask in your hand as he nuzzles his curls into your neck and says, “You're the best thing that ever happened to me."
-
Note: I thought about scrapping this and going with Corey POV but didn't want it to go to waste in case it's hot to anyone 😅 stay tuned to Rock Bottom, I'm sure Corey will get up to something similar in his POV w/ (Y/N). prob less domestic lol.
General note - I don't think i've tried writing slasher POV in a "slasher x You" yet, but I will try it some other time . . .
yn going on a picnic with corey and they watch the sunset
yes she brought homemade pasta
(Y/N) has barely seen or heard from Corey in the past few days, but they already planned a date and he's a man of his word. So she makes homemade pasta, packs the picnic, and nervously watches the clock as 5:00 comes and goes. She worries that he's ghosting her, but then she hears his motorcycle, to her relief. When she opens the door, her heart races. Corey's face and neck are littered in injuries and his eyes are nearly black. Hot asf but concerning.
"Oh my god, what happened to you?" She asks, ushering him inside. He says he got jumped. She says, "lets talk about it on the way so we don't miss the sunset." They don't talk about it. They set up the picnic just in time. The pasta is delicious and the sunset is beautiful, but they eat in silence.
As the sun fades, she relaxes into Corey's large arms, but he feels absent. He stares into the distance with a haunted gaze. She looks at him and he kisses her on the head. She reaches up to lightly caress his bruised neck, and he finally speaks again. "Michael," he says, and swallows. A smile creeps across half his face. "That's what happened." He hardens against her and they kiss.
