Maladaptive Daydreaming Central

20, Back from the dead

[whoreforhorror]

Welcome!

[Masterlist]

Requests are: Open (might be slow)

Current requests: 1

Current anons: 🦌🌧

(If an emoji/signature for an Anon is already in use, please don’t use that one!)

Characters I write for:

(Characters with an * next to them are ones that I’m more excited to write for)

Slashers:

Bo Sinclair *

Vincent Sinclair

Rusty Nail *

Michael Myers

Billy Loomis and Stu Macher (Poly or separate)

Bubba Sawyer

Jason Voorhees

Brahms Heelshire

Hannibal Lecter

Asa Emory *

Otis Driftwood

Jesse Cromeans *

(Please be patient! I work full time and go to college!)

[whoreforhorror]

Savior complex Pt. 1 (Billy Loomis X Reader X Stu Macher)

You weren’t close friends. Not really, anyway.

You’d sat next to them in class once, back when you’d been forced into a group project. Billy and Stu were the only ones without a group, and you quickly learned why—you ended up doing basically the entire thing on your own while they goofed off. To Billy’s credit, he did just enough that you didn’t report him to the teacher. Stu made you laugh once, but you weren’t even sure if he meant to. The moment the project ended, it was back to strangers. You were vaguely aware of them, as you were of every other person you’d been forced to work with.

They, on the other hand, were very aware of you. Whether you noticed or not, they lingered. Just in the periphery. It became a habit of Billy’s to trail you through the hallways like a shadow. Stu, being much louder than his counterpart, would shout to you from time to time across the quad. It earned little more than a passive, mostly subconscious nod from you. He was like that with everyone, after all.

Like last night, and the night before that, you were home alone once again. You weren’t entirely sure your parents even lived at your house anymore, given how infrequently you saw them. Decked out in a massively oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, you found yourself standing in front of the microwave, heating up whatever was quick and cheap from the gas station.

Halfway through, the microwave died with a sad chime. Everything else in the house—the appliances, the TV, the digital clocks, and then the lights—followed in rapid procession. You froze in an instant, long enough to feel your stomach twist into uncertain knots. The power wasn’t prone to cutting out randomly. In fact, in all your time living here, it had only failed under the pressure of two particularly nasty storms. But tonight? It was clear, dark, and silent outside.

The air was still, like the house itself was holding its breath alongside you. The dead silence made your ears ring—so loud you nearly missed the creak of a floorboard not even twenty feet behind you. You spun around just fast enough to see him sprinting at you.

Ghostface.

Just like on the news. Draped in black, bone-white mask, and a gleaming hunting knife that caught the moonlight like it wanted to be seen.

You ran on instinct, trying and failing to pry the front door open. You didn’t have even a second to question why. You were already halfway to the stairs, hammering one foot after the other upward. Your fuzzy socks betrayed you—your foot slipped, flew out from under you.

In a blink, your head was on the ground. A distinctly copper taste coated your tongue. Ghostface was on top of you just as fast, knife raised.

And then, just as suddenly, he flew off of you.

A loud thud cracked through the suffocating silence as Ghostface slammed to the ground, another body wrestling on top of him. The fight was loud. Violent. There was yelling, and a scuffle—the knife skittered across the floor, far out of reach.

You shut your eyes tight, trying to quiet the screaming in your ears, the spinning in your vision, the stabbing pain in your skull. In the moment your eyes were closed, the struggle ended.

Ghostface was gone.

And crouched in front of you was none other than Billy Loomis.

“Are you okay?? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Billy placed a hand under your jaw, tilting your head to inspect where it had smacked against the stair. His fingers brushed the side of your scalp, and you flinched. Not bleeding—but definitely bruised.

“Billy? What—where—?” You had to take a breath, gather your thoughts before anything coherent came out. “Why are you here? Where did he go? How did you know that—?”

“Easy, easy,” Billy said softly, backing up just a little. “I was walking down the street when I saw your house go dark. I was just about to knock when I heard you at the front door, then saw you take off up the stairs. I saw him behind you, knew I had to get in. There was an open window—the same one I’m guessing he came and went through.”

Everything after that was a blur. Cops. Questions. Your parents swearing they’d never leave you alone again. The officers grilled you on why Billy was there. You knew what he said, but you didn’t think they’d believe it. Everyone at Woodsboro High knew the cops already had eyes on him. So you lied.

“We were studying,” you said. “We have the same chemistry class, and—” The cops cut you off with more questions. Less interested in class and more in the killer.

The important part is—they bought it.

Billy drove you home after the cops cleared you and the paramedics ruled out a concussion. Shock was their final diagnosis. You were inclined to agree. Billy walked you inside, helped you onto the couch. He offered to stay. You didn’t say yes, but you didn’t say no either.

The house was quiet again. You stared at the wall, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes unfocused. Billy watched you like you were something fragile. He offered you water. You didn’t take it.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured. “He’s gone. I won’t let him come near you.”

“Yeah,” was all you could manage. And even then, it was barely a whisper. You didn’t see it—but you could feel him roll his eyes.

The silence returned, heavy and oppressive. You shifted slightly, uncomfortable on the couch. It was too stiff. Your skin too cold. Your hoodie did nothing to help. The humming alertness in your nerves hadn’t dulled, not even slightly. Your hands still trembled in your lap.

Then—a knock.

Three of them. Quick succession. Not loud. Not frantic. Measured. Too soft to be a cop following up. Too calm to be a reporter sniffing for a quote. Billy was already on his feet before your brain had caught up.

“I’ll get it,” he said easily, hopping over the back of the couch.

“You’re not even supposed to be here, Billy, you can’t just—” But he had the door open before you could even finish. Stu stood on the porch like he belonged there. Slouched against the frame, grinning ear to ear.

“Hey, cutie,” he said, voice syrupy. “Heard you had a hell of a night.”

“What are you doing here?” Even in your rattled state, you managed to sound as exasperated as you felt. Stu just shrugged, waltzing in like he’d been here a hundred times before.

“What, I can’t check up on a friend? Billy said—” Click. The front door’s lock. “—you got roughed up, and I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Your mouth opened to argue, but no words came out. Billy said? When would Billy have had time to talk to Stu? You’d been with him nonstop since the incident. Your eyes snapped to Billy, who had returned from the front door. He leaned on the couch behind you, draping one arm casually across your shoulder. Stu flopped down beside you, tossing his crossed legs into your lap like this was any other Tuesday.

“We’re just worried about you, is all,” Billy murmured into your ear, tone silk-soft. Almost a purr. “After everything… you really shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“You… should both go. I… I can’t. Not after everything.” Your voice was barely above a murmur. Neither of them moved. Stu didn’t even bother to fake concern. He just laughed—low and soft.

“Oh, come on now. You don’t want us to leave. What if he comes back, huh? I doubt he’d let you live a second time.” He said it with just a little too much certainty. Your eyes flicked to him, but before you could speak, Billy gently took your chin and guided your face back toward him.

“Don’t pretend like you want us gone, sweetheart. You don’t want to be alone again. Vulnerable. Afraid.” Stu doesn’t take his eyes off you while Billy speaks. His legs are still sprawled lazily across your lap, like this is his couch, like you’re his armrest. His smile is too wide, but his eyes are sharp now—cutting through you. Watching. Billy hasn’t moved his hand from your jaw.

You can feel his thumb brush over the edge of your cheekbone in a slow, almost absentminded arc. It should be comforting. It isn’t. Not really. But your skin prickles under the contact anyway. The air between the three of you starts to shift—less like static, more like something coiled and ready to snap. You swallow hard.

“Why are you really here?” you ask, your voice quieter now. Not accusing. Not exactly. Billy leans in just enough for his breath to skim your ear.

“Maybe we were worried about you,” he says. “Maybe we didn’t like the idea of you being scared and alone.”

Stu hums low in his throat. “Or maybe we just didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting to you first.” That draws your eyes back to him.

“To me?”

His grin deepens. “Yeah. You.” Billy shifts behind you. His arm brushes yours as he sits down beside you this time, close enough for your knees to touch. His hand rests on your thigh—not quite possessive, but grounding. You don’t move it.

“You’ve always been kind of interesting,” Billy says, tone casual, like he’s talking about the weather. “Even when you pretended not to notice us.”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

Stu snorts. “Sure you weren’t.” There’s a pause—just long enough for you to notice how warm the room feels, how close they’ve drawn in. You feel like prey, but you don’t run.

“Why now?” you ask. Billy’s eyes meet yours. Cold, unreadable.

“Because now you’re listening.” Your pulse jumps.

Stu leans in next, grinning like he knows something you don’t. “And we figured you might be ready for the truth.” You don’t ask what that truth is. You don’t think you want the answer—not yet. Billy brushes a strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering just a little too long.

“You’re not afraid of us,” he says. “Not really.”

You hesitate. “Should I be?”

“Probably,” Stu answers.

“But we’d never hurt you,” Billy murmurs, and it sounds almost honest. Almost. His hand curls against your jaw again, tilting your face toward him. “We like you too much.” Stu shifts, swinging his legs off of you, by your side in a swift motion. He leans into you with a grin. “Besides,” he drawls, “how could we ever hurt our alibi? We need you.”

“Alibi?” You shoot Billy a look, your voice sharp with confusion. “What are you talking about?” Billy’s smile turns patient. Almost patronizing.

“You know the cops have been hounding me for weeks now. And you, my darling…” He turns your face more firmly to meet his gaze—dead-on, unblinking. “You just cleared me of all suspicion. I wasn’t expecting you to lie for me.” His smile deepens. “Truly, that was the cherry on top. You’re a natural.”

You feel your breath catch. “What are you saying?”

“How could I be Ghostface if you and I were in the same room when it happened, hmm?” Your mouth opens—for a moment, no sound comes out.

“Why would you…” You swallow hard. “Billy. You’re not—”

“Oh, but I am,” he says, voice dipping into something low and wicked. “Meet Ghostface One and Two, sweetheart.” 

Your head snaps toward Stu—he’s already holding up the mask, mockingly poised in front of his face. One gloved finger taps the chin of the skull-white visage. You jolt back, panic flaring, but Billy’s hand doesn’t let you move. It stays firm, grounding, like an anchor—or a shackle. Stu laughs. Full-bodied, wild. He tosses the mask aside, like it’s a party trick.  “We owe you a little appreciation, darling. You did us a big favor.” Stu comments, still cackling. Your breath catches.

“No,” you whisper. “No, you’re lying.” Billy’s expression doesn’t change.

“If I were lying,” he says calmly, “would you still be sitting here?”

You shake your head. “You saved me. You—he had the knife—”

“You think it’s that hard to stage a fight?” Stu cuts in, grinning. “God, you’re cute.” You pull away from Billy’s hand. This time, he lets you.

“You used me,” you say, voice breaking on the words. “You planned this. The break-in. The timing. All of it.”

“Not all of it,” Billy says. “The lying part? That was a surprise. But a welcome one.”

Your hands start to tremble again. You push up from the couch on instinct, needing distance, needing air, but your knees buckle from the lingering adrenaline. You catch yourself on the edge of the coffee table.

Stu’s beside you before you can move. “Careful, princess. That head’s still ringing, huh? You hit it pretty hard.” Another laugh.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap, shoving him back—he stumbles, but it’s theatrical. He’s laughing before he even regains balance.

“I knew she had claws,” Stu grins. Billy rises slower. Methodical. Controlled.

“You can scream if you want to,” he says, voice almost soft. “Your neighbors won’t hear you. But I don’t think you will.”

Your heart pounds like a drum against your ribs. “What do you want from me?”

Billy doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, eyes locked on yours—not a threat, not a taunt. Just steady. Focused.

“We want you to stop pretending you don’t already know.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” he cuts in. “You noticed the glances. The way we lingered. You liked it. You just didn’t know what to do with it.” You don’t deny it. Not fast enough.

Stu moves again, behind you this time. Not touching—but close enough that you feel the pull. “You ever wonder why we picked your house?” he says, breath ghosting over your shoulder. “Why we wanted you to be the one we saved?”

“You could’ve killed me.”

“But we didn’t,” Billy says.

“We wouldn’t,” Stu adds.

Your throat tightens. “You can’t expect me to be okay with this.”

Billy reaches out slowly, brushes a thumb under your eye. “We don’t want you to be okay. We want you to understand.”

“Understand what?” you breathe.

“That you’re ours now.” There’s a long silence.

Something inside you coils, ready to snap. Your mind screams to run, to fight, to do something—but your body stays frozen. And worse? Part of you wants to believe him. Wants to believe them. Because the truth is, ever since the encounter—ever since the lights went out and the door refused to open—nothing has felt as real as this moment. Not the police, not your parents’ concerned stares, not the fluorescent interrogation lights.

Just this. Them. The space between you and the question you’re terrified to answer.

You should resist. You should scream.

Instead, you whisper, “Then show me. Show me that you won’t hurt me.”

Billy’s smile curves slow and sharp, like a match catching fire.

Stu exhales a low, delighted laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” That’s all the confirmation they need. They’re on you in an instant.

Stu grabs you by the neck, your breath hitching sharply as his lips crash against yours—soft, but greedy in their movements, like he’s been starving for this. His grip is firm, bordering on possessive.

Billy is just as fast. His hands start at your hips, grounding you, then slip beneath your hoodie—fingers tracing up your sides with practiced ease, dragging goosebumps in their wake.

END OF PART ONE~ Comment/repost if you want more! :)

@aghostlywhisper @stanseventeen

[whoreforhorror]

HEY GUYYYYS IM BACKKKKK

How do we feel about me writing again?

[aghostlywhisper]

FUCK YEAHHHH

GOOD!! I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!

[whoreforhorror]

Lemme cook 😮‍💨

[whoreforhorror]

HEY GUYYYYS IM BACKKKKK

How do we feel about me writing again?

[whoreforhorror]

Kinktober Day Four: Bondage with Bo Sinclair

In everything he did, Bo tried to learn in depth. There was no halfway hobby; if he tried something, he'd learn how to do it until he was an absolute expert. He wanted to know everything. No. He needed to know everything about anything he did. So it wasn't a surprise that these sessions wound up being hours long. You knew what you were signing up for when you both decided to dive headlong into bondage and shibari. 

You're kneeling on the ground, ankles bound to your thighs in a frog tie, with Bo behind you, kneeling on one knee with a long length of a soft red rope. He had your arms behind your back, working on a Hojojutsu Capture tie. He'd always liked art, but Vincent had been the "artistic brother" of the three: Bo, Vincent, and Lester. He may not be terribly gifted with making sculptures or paintings or drawings, but this. This was Bo's art. Rope and knots, binding limb to limb, winding and binding and tying with elegant techniques and a sharp eye. 

He took his time and gave the knots and you his complete attention. It was a way for him to unwind after a group of visitors came through for slaughter, or after a car he'd been working on for ages still refused to run. These sessions also served as a sort of quality time for the two of you. No brothers, no visitors, no outside distractions. The door was locked, an oldies country station played softly in the background, and Bo mumbled along to the radio as he wound the ropes ever intricately around your body and limbs, your mind's attention wrapped up in him much the same. 

It was equal parts sexual and loving. Did you both have the most mindblowing sex round after round while you were bound or suspended or otherwise encaptured by his ties? Yes. But it wasn't just that. It was a display of care, a display of affection, a display of comfort, and of trust. By participating, both of you were telling the other that you trusted them to not harm you, and that you knew everything would be alright. You trusted each other completely and you showed that trust through binds and ties. 

"How's that feel, darlin'?" Bo's warm breath fanned against the back of your neck softly, his gaze going from the knots to your face, looking at you over your shoulder. You looked back at him with a soft smile. 

"Good. Everything feels secure, nothing too tight." You speak back to him. Bo smiles at you and presses a kiss to your lips.

"I'm glad. God, you look stunning like this, doll. Wish I could show you off to everyone but you, like this... all mine. No one else gets to see ya like this." Bo speaks lowly in your ear, a cocky grin plastered on his face. "I've got something new for you." He stands and walks to your guys' shared dresser, shuffling through the top drawer where you both kept your ropes and toys and everything else related to intimacy. 

Bo pulls out another length of rope and a vibrating hibachi wand. He comes back to you, eyes with a certain look of excitement and maybe just a bit of sadism as he kneels in front of you. 

Fem:

Quickly and with an expert hand, Bo ties the wand to the inside of your thigh, the head of the wand resting upon your clit. He takes your chin in one hand, tilting your head upwards and kissing you once more while grinning down at you. 

"Such a good girl. Sittin' all pretty like that. Just for me, huh?" Bo speaks with his lips just barely off yours, close enough that they graze yours a couple of times as he speaks. Then, without warning, he turns the vibrator on, on its lowest setting.

Your breath hitches as you moan lowly. He chuckles, that deep, raspy chuckle again. Once more, he. returns to the drawer, pulling out an open-mouth gag. It's the kind that has a metal rig but it open in the middle. Coming back to you once more, he brings his hand back to your chin and tilts your head backward again so you're looking up at him once more.

"Open wide, sweets." His thumb belonging to the hand on your chin brushes your lower lip, emphasizing what he wants from you. You open, hopeless against his commands, mind fuzzy from the attention. 

 He places the gag between your teeth, securing the straps behind your head. He stays standing in front of your kneeling form, looking down at you in your submissive, helpless state. 

The vibrator continues on your clit, a low buzz not strong enough to work you up terribly but enough to hold your attention and shoot dull pleasure through your body. Bo, one hand still on your chin, unlatches and removes his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants as his hand moves upwards a little, stroking your cheek now. You could feel your mouth watering as you maintained eye contact with him. 

"Atta girl. You know it by now. Keep your eyes on me or I'll make you regret it." He leans down to be at eye-level with you. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" You shake your head in response. Truth be told you certainly wouldn't mind but his punishments were hard and often spanned two or three days. 

Straightening back up, Bo pulls his dick from the confines of his boxers, cock standing at attention right at eye level. He lines up to your mouth that's being held open by the gag, tapping his tip a few times against your tongue before pushing into your mouth, past your lips and the gag and down the back of your throat. You gag a bit but you're growing used to this, your gag reflex suppressing as your throat adjusts to the presence and intrusion of his dick. 

You moan at the familiar feeling, taking him in deep until his balls graze the metal ring of the gag. At the same time, he bumps up the vibrator to the second of three levels, a medium and fairly strong buzz against your clit that makes your hips jerk forward. Your body reflexively tugs at the knots and ropes Bo had littered your skin with, a moan is pulled from your throat and muffled by his cock as he starts to push in and out at a fairly rapid pace. A deep, rumbling growl escapes him.

A deep "Fuuuuck" follows up Bo's moan, mixing with the intoxicating and all-consuming pleasure being delivered by the vibrator and his dick thrusting in and out, in and out. Your hands flex and clench and try to grab onto anything, aimlessly and pointlessly. His ties hold strong and there's nowhere for your straying limbs to go.

His thrusts pick up speed as his groans and impassioned swearing continue and grow more frequent. He bumps up the vibrator again, to the highest speed now. Your own moans, while muffled grow louder, stronger, more continuous and numerous. Pleasure and lust completely overtake your mind. You keep eye contact with him, though it's difficult as your eyes involuntarily flutter and your eyes try and roll to the back of your head against your will. 

He can see your struggle and chuckles through his moans, deeply enjoying your conflict. A string of drool descends your chin, dripping onto your chest. Your spit, your drool, they serve as a lubricant for his cock that Bo's thrusting down your throat at a rapid rate. 

Your legs jerk involuntarily as your abdominal muscles and arms tense, your breath coming out of your nose in short, strained huffs. The vibrator tied to your leg, resting on your clit, soldiers on, unstopping and unfeeling as you grow ever closer. 

Bo buries his dick deep into your throat, as deep as he can go, balls pressing up against the gag keeping your throat open. His cum shoots down your throat as he lets out a deep groan, laced with his rich Southern accent. At the same time, your whole body tenses and stills and your vision goes white with stars. You cum and you cum hard, your breath coming stopping entirely for the moment. Bo stays deep down your throat as you cum, letting you come down before he turns the vibrator off and pulls out from your throat. A bit of his seed meets your tongue, salty and absolutely addictive.

He tucks himself back into his boxers before crouching down and taking the gag away from your mouth, freeing your jaw. He kisses you before he speaks.

"So good, so damned perfect for me darlin'," Then he goes back in and kisses you again, going for longer now. It's a kiss that you return, riddled with passion and lust from both ends. Only after nearly a minute and a half does he pull back, kneeling with you and working diligently and gently to untie each length of rope from around your limbs. 

"How about a bath, hmm? We can use them fancy salts that you got." His smile shines with a true, pure, and deep love for you. He helps you to your feet, knowing that kneeling for as long as you had has most likely numbed your legs by now. Going even further, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you off to share a bath to loosen your muscles.

Masc:

Quickly and with an expert hand, Bo ties the wand to the inside of your thigh, the head of the wand resting on the underside of your dick, right where the base ends and your balls begin. He takes your chin in one hand, tilting your head upwards and kissing you once more while grinning down at you. 

"Such a good boy. Sittin' all pretty like that. Just for me, huh?" Bo speaks with his lips just barely off yours, close enough that they graze yours a couple of times as he speaks. Then, without warning, he turns the vibrator on, on its lowest setting.

Your breath hitches as you moan lowly. He chuckles, that deep, raspy chuckle again. Once more, he. returns to the drawer, pulling out an open-mouth gag. It's the kind that has a metal rig but it open in the middle. Coming back to you once more, he brings his hand back to your chin and tilts your head backward again so you're looking up at him once more.

"Open wide, sweets." His thumb belonging to the hand on your chin brushes your lower lip, emphasizing what he wants from you. You open, hopeless against his commands, mind fuzzy from the attention. 

 He places the gag between your teeth, securing the straps behind your head. He stays standing in front of your kneeling form, looking down at you in your submissive, helpless state. 

The vibrator continues on the conjunction of your balls and member, a low buzz not strong enough to work you up terribly but enough to hold your attention and shoot dull pleasure through your body. Bo, one hand still on your chin, unlatches and removes his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants as his hand moves upwards a little, stroking your cheek now. You could feel your mouth watering as you maintained eye contact with him. 

"Atta boy. You know it by now. Keep your eyes on me or I'll make you regret it." He leans down to be at eye-level with you. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" You shake your head in response. Truth be told, you certainly wouldn't mind but his punishments were hard and often spanned two or three days. 

Straightening back up, Bo pulls his dick from the confines of his boxers, cock standing at attention right at eye level. He lines up to your mouth that's being held open by the gag, tapping his tip a few times against your tongue before pushing into your mouth, past your lips and the gag and down the back of your throat. You gag a bit but you're growing used to this, your gag reflex suppressing as your throat adjusts to the presence and intrusion of his dick. 

You moan at the familiar feeling, taking him in deep until his balls graze the metal ring of the gag. At the same time, he bumps up the vibrator to the second of three levels, a medium, fairly strong buzz against your cock that makes your hips jerk forward. Your body reflexively tugs at the knots and ropes Bo had littered your skin with, a moan is pulled from your throat and muffled by his cock as he starts to push in and out at a fairly rapid pace. A deep, rumbling growl escapes him.

A deep "Fuuuuck" follows up Bo's moan, mixing with the intoxicating and all-consuming pleasure being delivered by the vibrator and his dick thrusting in and out, in and out. Your hands flex and clench and try to grab onto anything, aimlessly and pointlessly. His ties hold strong and there's nowhere for your straying limbs to go.

His thrusts pick up speed as his groans and impassioned swearing continue and grow more frequent. He bumps up the vibrator again, to the highest speed now. Your own moans, while muffled grow louder, stronger, more continuous and numerous. Pleasure and lust completely overtake your mind. You keep eye contact with him, though it's difficult as your eyes involuntarily flutter and your eyes try and roll to the back of your head against your will. 

He can see your struggle and chuckles through his moans, deeply enjoying your conflict. A string of drool descends your chin, dripping onto your chest. Your spit, your drool, they serve as a lubricant for his cock that Bo's thrusting down your throat at a rapid rate. 

Your legs jerk involuntarily as your abdominal muscles and arms tense, your breath coming out of your nose in short, strained huffs. The vibrator is tied to your leg, resting against your dick, soldiers on, unstopping and unfeeling as you grow ever closer. 

Bo buries his dick deep into your throat, as deep as he can go, balls pressing up against the gag keeping your throat open. His cum shoots down your throat as he lets out a deep groan, laced with his rich Southern accent. At the same time, your whole body tenses and stills and your vision goes white with stars. You cum and you cum hard, your breath coming stopping entirely for the moment. Bo stays deep down your throat as you cum, letting you come down before he turns the vibrator off and pulls out from your throat. A bit of his seed meets your tongue, salty and absolutely addictive.

He tucks himself back into his boxers before crouching down and taking the gag away from your mouth, freeing your jaw. He kisses you before he speaks.

"So good, so damned perfect for me darlin'," Then he goes back in and kisses you again, going for longer now. It's a kiss that you return, riddled with passion and lust from both ends. Only after nearly a minute and a half does he pull back, kneeling with you and working diligently and gently to untie each length of rope from around your limbs. 

"How about a bath, hmm? We can use them fancy salts that you got." His smile shines with a true, pure, and deep love for you. He helps you to your feet, knowing that kneeling for as long as you had has most likely numbed your legs by now. Going even further, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you off to share a bath to loosen your muscles.

[whoreforhorror]

I was wondering if I could offer you a new slasher to appreciate. His name is Dominic Craven and he’s from The Dare. He’s very underrated and I highly recommend the movie. I hope you enjoy.

Oh my god I love you so much Anon! I can’t tell you how stoked I was to get a movie recommendation!

I just finished the movie and I really liked it! Without looking at what the reviews on the movie are (I find it spoils my enjoyment a lot) I’d say it’s a really solid movie in the same realm of saw and the collector! And I could not stop staring at Dominic’s arms ohhh my goddd!!

I definitely recommend the movie for folk who like the collector and saw. I will say, it’s heavy on the gore and torture so folks that aren’t into the more gorehouse type films probably won’t like it as much.

Thank you again so much for the recommendation, I definitely agree it’s under rated and I really enjoyed the movie!

[whoreforhorror]

Kinktober Day Three: Knifeplay with Michael Myers

Day Three: Knife Play with Michael Myers

Being with Michael was never dull. There was always some quirk or trait that you'd only find in him. Of course, being as infamous as he was, you knew of his activities. The murders certainly weren't hidden from you, but he kept it away from the house upon your request. Still, there's a voice in the back of your head that worried, just a teeny bit, that he would change his mind one day and turn his blade on you. 

He'd never been hostile to you while you two were in the relationship, and he'd been cautious to reassure you that the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. So, as you lay on the bed exposed to him, with his body atop yours in nothing but the mask, the hot and heavy atmosphere came to a startled halt for you when Michael brought out the very knife he uses for killing his victims. Maybe this was it, and he'd decided you weren't right, that he didn't want you anymore. 

"Michael... what... what are you doing?" You could hardly get the words out, your eyes locked on the knife as a lump formed in your throat. He didn't say anything back, of course, but he held the knife in a forward grip, different from the reverse grip he used with most of his victims. Micheal brings his free hand to your face, stroking your cheek gently. It was a gentle gesture that served to calm your nerves but confuse you at the same time.

He wouldn't do such a thing if he intended to kill you, so... what was this? He brings the knife to the other cheek, touching the flat side of the knife to your skin, the cold metal feeling like a burn on account of your rising anxiety. He just keeps it there for a little bit, stroking your cheek, and caressing your jaw as the knife is held gently to you. Then, his hand moves lower, brushing down your neck, to your shoulders then your chest.

Fem:

He brings his free hand to your breast, touching and caressing, moving to your erect nipple which he takes between his thumb and pointer finger. He pinches it just a bit, holding it like that before twisting it as well. He was gentle enough that it wasn't unbearably painful but it sent a jolt through your system and you let out a noise halfway between a moan and whine of discomfort.

Still, the knife rests flat against your cheek, but his actions otherwise continue with the intimacy and sexual nature. It was different, it was confusing... It was kind of hot. The thought that he could end your life right here and now, but chose to continue elsewise... to be completely at his mercy without the power to defend yourself if you wanted to. You almost hated to admit it but it was getting to you and you could feel your inner thighs becoming slick with your desire and arousal. 

His hand leaves your breast and trails even further down now, down your stomach, and further yet. He spreads your lower lips and guides his cock into you. It was a stretch, it always was given his girth and length, but a pleasant one. As his dick finds home in you, another moan escapes from between your lips. He goes slow and gentle at first.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

As he pumps slowly, he moves the knife, letting the tip drag across your skin and leave the lightest scratch. He trails the knife down your throat and to your breasts, moving to hold the knife directly over your heart. His thrusts start to get just a little faster but stay slow overall. With the knife, he makes the shape of a heart over your actual heart, the knife leaving a thin cut in the shape. Blood bubbles out the cut but it’s not deep enough to run. His free thumb moves to brush over the wound and you can hear the change in his breath. It grows heavier, more shallow. His thrusts get a bit faster again, going at a decent pace now. You can feel his tip deep enough that it brushes up against your cervix.

He brings the knife back up, to your throat this time. His thrusts pause as he looks at you, at where his knife sits pretty right where your vocal chords are. Then, his thrusting picks up speed tenfold. Michael starts plowing into you, thrusting into you like a jackhammer at full speed as his dick starts driving your mind numb with pleasure. The knife stays to your throat, the only thing that’s keeping you grounded in reality and keeping you from going entirely cock drunk. Over and over and over again he goes as deep as he can, as fast as he can. 

Your thighs clench around his waist, pulling him deep into you as you cum, clenching around his cock. Your body goes slack post-release but Micheal isn’t done yet. He flips you onto your stomach, and he’s so quick you can’t tell if he even pulled out as he flips you over. Either way, he's plowing back into you as if nothing had changed. Michael’s hand not holding the knife goes to your chin, pulling your head up and back, making your back arch and exposing your throat where the knife remains.

He pumps harder, deeper, faster if that’s even possible. Michael’s hips start to sputter and lose their rhythm. Breaths of his puff out, heavy from exertion, and what you wouldn’t give to see his face in this moment. The knife digs into your throat just a little, opening a thin, shallow cut as he cums deep inside you, his muscles tensing and his hips coming to a halt. 

He pulls out, taking the knife from your throat and putting it to the side. He flops down onto the bed as you roll over to face him, the two of you holding each other, not caring of the sweat that coats your bodies. As Michael pulls the blankets over the two of you, he lifts his mask just enough to plant a kiss on your throat, right where his knife sat.

Masc:

His hand trails to one of your erect nipples which he takes between his thumb and pointer finger. He pinches it just a bit, holding it like that before twisting it as well. He was gentle enough that it wasn't unbearably painful but it sent a jolt through your system and you let out a noise halfway between a moan and whine of discomfort.

Still, the knife rests flat against your cheek, but his actions otherwise continue with the intimacy and sexual nature. It was different, it was confusing... It was kind of hot. The thought that he could end your life right here and now, but chose to continue elsewise... to be completely at his mercy without the power to defend yourself if you wanted to. You almost hated to admit it but it was getting to you and you could feel your inner thighs becoming slick with your desire and arousal. 

His hand leaves your chest and trails even further down now, down your stomach, and further yet. He spreads you open and guides his cock into you. It was a stretch, it always was given his girth and length, but a pleasant one. As his dick finds home in you, another moan escapes from between your lips. He goes slow and gentle at first.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

As he pumps slowly, he moves the knife, letting the tip drag across your skin and leave the lightest scratch. He trails the knife down your throat and to your chest, moving to hold the knife directly over your heart. His thrusts start to get just a little faster but stay slow overall. With the knife, he makes the shape of a heart over your actual heart, the knife leaving a thin cut in the shape. Blood bubbles out the cut but it’s not deep enough to run. His free thumb moves to brush over the wound and you can hear the change in his breath. It grows heavier, more shallow. His thrusts get a bit faster again, going at a decent pace now. You can feel his tip deep enough that it brushing deep within you.

He brings the knife back up, to your throat this time. His thrusts pause as he looks at you, at where his knife sits pretty right where your adam's apple is. Then, his thrusting picks up speed tenfold. Michael starts plowing into you, thrusting into you like a jackhammer at full speed as his dick starts driving your mind numb with pleasure. His free hand moves to your cock, stroking and twisting in time with his trusts, driving you absolutly mad with exstacy. The knife stays to your throat, the only thing that’s keeping you grounded in reality and keeping you from going entirely cock drunk. Over and over and over again he goes as deep as he can, as fast as he can, hand stroking you at the exact same pace to match.

Your thighs clench around his waist, pulling him deep into you as you cum, clenching around his cock. Your body goes slack post-release but Micheal isn’t done yet. He flips you onto your stomach, and he’s so quick you can’t tell if he even pulled out as he flips you over. Either way, he's plowing back into you as if nothing had changed. Michael’s hand not holding the knife goes to your chin, pulling your head up and back, making your back arch and exposing your throat where the knife remains.

He pumps harder, deeper, faster if that’s even possible. Michael’s hips start to sputter and lose their rhythm. Breaths of his puff out, heavy from exertion, and what you wouldn’t give to see his face in this moment. The knife digs into your throat just a little, opening a thin, shallow cut as he cums deep inside you, his muscles tensing and his hips coming to a halt. 

He pulls out, taking the knife from your throat and putting it to the side. He flops down onto the bed as you roll over to face him, the two of you holding each other, not caring of the sweat that coats your bodies. As Michael pulls the blankets over the two of you, he lifts his mask just enough to plant a kiss on your throat, right where his knife sat.

[whoreforhorror]

Kinktober Day Two: Sensory Deprivation with Hannibal Lector

Hannibal was the one who'd brought it up. He was curious to see the effects of sensory deprivation on a person up close, and you, his darling partner, were the perfect subject. He'd gotten everything all layed out and you were starting to suspect he's more excited about this than he's letting on. He'd spent literal weeks researching blindfolds and noise-canceling headphones and gloves and restraints. He'd looked relentlessly, only settling on the nicest silk blindfold and additional silk to bind you with. He found the absolute best noise-canceling headphones, ones that would work both with music and without. He'd done enough research that he'd even found gloves for you to wear too, so that you couldn't feel a thing with your own hands, of your own fruition. 

He'd made a whole night of it too, making an elaborate brunch that he delivered to you in bed, taking you shopping, and then taking you out for an incredibly expensive dinner, both of you dressed to the nines. After the day of pampering, he leads you to your shared bed, pushing you backward gently so that you're sitting on the edge. 

Hannibal grabs the silk red blindfold, kissing you as he slips the blindfold over your eyes and typing it behind your head. He kisses you once more, a quick but loving kiss to remind you he's there, and pulls back some. You can just slightly feel him moving away by the shifting of the bed. 

"Can you see, my love?" Hannibal says in a voice just above a whisper. Opening your eyes to look, and all you can see is the deep, nearly blood-red. The silk is smooth and cool against your skin and you can feel your eyelashes brushing against the material. 

"No, not a thing." You can practically hear the grin form on his face as you speak. 

"Good" He replies simply and comes back to you, placing the headphones on your head, over your ears. The world goes silent as he does so, you can't hear, you can't see. Already, your senses are heightened. Your smell, your sense of touch, you felt on edge and honestly a bit anxious for what's to come. It's one thing to imagine but to be sat here, deprived of the basic senses you'd grown so accustomed to using... it's an erotic, sensual type of fear, one that you can quickly feel yourself getting addicted to. Especially with Hannibal. 

His hands move to rest on either side of your face, each on your jaw, pulling you forward a bit and making your head tilt up just a little. He kisses you once more. A much longer kiss, filled with love and passion. Another reminder that he's still here and that you're in good hands, at least for now. 

When he pulls back, it's a long stretch of nothing. It was probably only a couple of minutes but it felt like ages, an eternity stretching on as you waited without sight or sound for Hannibal to do something, anything that you can feel. The time stretches on and on, so when you feel his hand back on your shoulder, you jolt with surprise as your breath hiches softly. 

Hannibal's hand slides down from your shoulder to your hand, taking it gently and guiding you to stand and walk a few paces forward, away from the bed. There's a short stretch of nothingness before he takes your hand again, pressing a kiss to the palm, then the inside of your wrist. His actions cause butterflies to flutter in your stomach as it flips, flustering you enough that you barely even notice as he slips the soft gloves onto your hands. You reach forward to touch him, but he grabs you gently by the wrist, bringing your arm behind your back and proceeding to do the same with the other. 

You feel the smooth, cool fabric on your arms, the silk restraints. He winds the material around and between your arms, tying them close together, tight but not restricting the blood flow. As his touch leaves you once more, you test the restraints just a bit, trying to pull them apart or twist and wriggle out. The restraints hold strong, your arms aren't going to be freed until Hannibal wants them to be.

Hannibal's hands make their way back to you once more, holding your face as if he were holding a precious Fabergé egg, his thumbs rubbing your cheeks gently as he holds you. His lips find their way back to yours, a moth to a flame, kissing you with a passion that grows from loving to fervored and hungry. He walks you backward, step by step, his lips never leaving yours until you hit the bed with the back of your legs, falling backward, a short gasp escaping you. The mattress cushions your fall, leaving you lying on your back, legs hanging off the bed at the knees, blinded, deafened, and bound.

Fem:

Hannibal's hands find themselves on your knees, spreading your legs a fair degree. His lips land on the inside of your knee, pressing a gentle kiss there too. One of his hands glides upwards, fingers hooking the bottom of your skirt and pulling it upward. The air hits your legs as your skirt moves up your lower thighs, up your upper thighs, up until it's just barely covering what it needs. Hannibal's lips trail up, following the hem of your skirt and peppering your inner thigh with short kisses. The butterflies in your stomach feel like a raging storm at this point, and your breath shortens as your face flushes.

Then, his touches disappear entirely. No kisses, no hand on the knees, no hand pulling up your skirt. You're left, lying on the bed with your skirt pushed up high enough that your panties peek out from beneath, the air brushing past your legs, reminding you of just how exposed and vulnerable you are right now. He's gone for several minutes now.

Sitting back, he's in an armchair in the bedroom, notepad and pencil in hand, observing you closely and taking notes. Every twitch, every change in breath, every single thing you do he takes notes on. Beyond taking notes, you can certainly count on him making sketch after sketch of these moments as he commits them to memory.

The longer he takes, the more you start to test the restraints and the heavier your breath grows, the anxiety and tension building and building, blooming into a combination of fear of the unknown and arousal from the lack of control or knowledge you have in the situation.

It takes seventeen minutes for Hannibal to stand from his chair. You're left in the dark, literally and metaphorically, unaware of where he is or what he's doing. He could be long gone from the room, he could be observing, he could be anything else under the sun.

A hand on your exposed thigh causes you to jump again, the long stretch of nothing leaving you on edge. His hand trails higher and higher, pushing your skirt fully up to your hips and pulling your panties to the side. You can feel the warmth of his breath before he presses a kiss onto your clit. He wastes no time starting to lick and suck, eating you out like you're his last meal.

Pleasure courses through your entire body, making you moan and writhe, the loss of your senses heightening every little touch of Hannibal's. You'd reach for his hair if your arms weren't bound. Your own pleasured moans and groans echo in your mind, the only thing you can hear. You've got no way of knowing how loud or quiet you're being either, adding a layer of freedom to the experience. Something so raw and unfiltered about not knowing or caring how you sounded, how you looked. 

One of Hannibal's hands slid up to your stomach, the other hooking across your hips to hold you down as he continued to eat you out. His tongue circles and zig-zags and licks in straight lines, each and every movement feeling like the only thing you've ever felt and the only thing you'll ever feel, and it's fucking mindblowing.

Your thighs and stomach start to clench involuntarily and your back arches off the mattress. Hannibal only buries his head deeper between your thighs, sucking and licking with more fervor than he had thus far. Your climax makes you see stars behind the silk blindfold. 

Your body falls slack onto the bed as Hannibal moves away from you again. Your dress's skirt is pulled back down to cover you properly, and Hannibal's lips are back on yours, kissing you once more with slow, gentle passion this time. You can taste your cum on his lips and it only serves to drive you crazier, wanting him to never stop. It was addicting. He was addicting.

Hannibal sits you up just enough to take the gloves and binding silks off your arms, gently laying you back onto the mattress as he gives you yet another peck on the lips. He takes the headphones off next, followed by the blindfold. Once everything is off, he gives you a charming smile.

"Hello again, my darling." 

Masc:

Hannibal's hands find themselves on your knees, spreading your legs a fair degree. His lips land on the inside of your knee, pressing a gentle kiss there too. One of his hands glides upwards, fingers around your belt, pulling it loose and unbuttoning the dress slacks you'd worn out. He pulls them off you gently, the air hitting your legs as your lower half is left in your boxers. Hannibal's lips trail upwards, peppering your inner thigh with short kisses. The butterflies in your stomach feel like a raging storm at this point, and your breath shortens as your face flushes.

Then, his touches disappear entirely. No kisses, no hand on the knees, no hands roaming your thighs. You're left, lying on the bed in your boxers, the air brushing past your legs, reminding you of just how exposed and vulnerable you are right now. He's gone for several minutes now.

Sitting back, he's in an armchair in the bedroom, notepad and pencil in hand, observing you closely and taking notes. Every twitch, every change in breath, every single thing you do he takes notes on. Beyond taking notes, you can certainly count on him making sketch after sketch of these moments as he commits them to memory.

The longer he takes, the more you start to test the restraints and the heavier your breath grows, the anxiety and tension building and building, blooming into a combination of fear of the unknown and arousal from the lack of control or knowledge you have in the situation. Your dick strains against your boxers with anticipation, practically begging to be released.

It takes seventeen minutes for Hannibal to stand from his chair. You're left in the dark, literally and metaphorically, unaware of where he is or what he's doing. He could be long gone from the room, he could be observing, he could be anything else under the sun.

A hand on your exposed thigh causes you to jump again, the long stretch of nothing leaving you on edge. His hand trails higher and higher, going to the opening of your boxers and pulling your cock free from its confines. You can feel the warmth of his breath before he presses a kiss to the underside of your shaft, just above your balls. He wastes no time running his tongue up it, wrapping his hand around and pumping before kissing your tip and taking you in his mouth fully. 

Pleasure courses through your entire body, making you moan and writhe, the loss of your senses heightening every little touch and lick of Hannibal's, the warmth of his mouth quickly becoming an addiction. You'd reach for his hair if your arms weren't bound. Your own pleasured moans and groans echo in your mind, the only thing you can hear. You've got no way of knowing how loud or quiet you're being either, adding a layer of freedom to the experience. Something so raw and unfiltered about not knowing or caring how you sounded, how you looked. 

One of Hannibal's hands slid up to your stomach, the other hooking across your hips to hold you down as his head bobs up and down, tongue running up the underside and him occasionally pulling back entirely to pump and stroke you with his hand. Each and every movement feels like the only thing you've ever felt and the only thing you'll ever feel, and it's fucking mindblowing.

Your thighs and stomach start to clench involuntarily and your back arches off the mattress. Hannibal only takes you in deeper, sucking and licking with more fervor than he had thus far. Your climax makes you see stars behind the silk blindfold as you cum down his throat.

Your body falls slack onto the bed as Hannibal moves away from you again. Your boxers are slid back on to give you a bit of decency, and Hannibal's lips are back on yours, kissing you once more with slow, gentle passion this time. You can taste your cum on his lips and it only serves to drive you crazier, wanting him to never stop. It was addicting. He was addicting.

Hannibal sits you up just enough to take the gloves and binding silks off your arms, gently laying you back onto the mattress as he gives you yet another peck on the lips. He takes the headphones off next, followed by the blindfold. Once everything is off, he gives you a charming smile.

"Hello again, my darling."

[whoreforhorror]

Kinktober Day One: Hunter/Prey with Asa Emory (The Collector)

He had cameras everywhere, and he knew every corner, nook, cranny, and speck of dust that moved about in his bastardized hotel. So when you proposed your idea to him, that he try and chase you down while you ran, he'd almost laughed. There was no way you were getting away from him. You knew it, he knew it. Still, his held-back laughter morphs into a grin under his mask as he runs the idea through his head. He liked this.

Oh, he liked this.

He took the liberty of disarming his dangerous traps, the ones that could hurt or kill you. After all, he couldn't let his little bug get injured or squashed before he got to have his real fun. At eight p.m. on the dot, the door to your room unlocked, and the game was on. 

You got fifteen minutes to run before Asa left his control room and came after you. Taking off running, your goal was to get to the exit and out of the hotel before he caught you. Did you know where that was from the room? No. Still, you ran, choosing directions at random, guided only by your intuition and luck. 

Your heart was already pounding, even before you took off running. The thought of Asa coming after you, his six-foot form charging ever closer as you tried to beat him at his own game, his eventual capture of you, and just what he'd do to you after. It all went to your head, sending adrenaline through your system and making you unimaginably turned on. Asa accepting the proposal was like Christmas day, and you were going to take full advantage of this and make him want it over and over and over.

The halls split into countless other hallways, sharp turns and left or right splits making the place a jumbled nightmare to try and remember as meaningless doors fly past. You were still on the upper floor, having not found any sign of stairs yet when a loud beep sounded through the halls. Fifteen minutes had flown past far faster than you'd thought and Asa was on the hunt. What floor his command center was on was just as much a mystery as what side of the building it was on, meaning you could have just a few halls or the entire building between you two.

Your mind was wrapping itself up in where Asa was, taking your mind off of processing the halls you ran in and out of, meaning you hadn't even seen the tripwire before you were flat on the ground, stomach first. Instinct forces your muscles to clench and your eyes to squeeze shut as you roll to the side. A loud metal slam makes your eyes shoot open, landing on a metal cage that'd fallen. The first of many traps that were left active that, while they wouldn't harm you, would mean you were stuck in place until Asa came and got you.

You were stunned as you just lay on your side, on the ground, staring at the metal cage as you panted from exertion. The sound of heavy, rapid footsteps is the thing that breaks your attention and snaps your brain back into action, and you're on your feet and running again. Asa was on the same floor and he'd definitely heard the smashing sound of the cage hitting the floor, maybe even the sound of you hitting the ground and the air being forced from your lungs if he was close enough.

More halls, more sharp turns, and the sound of your heart practically breaking your ribs with the force it's pounding in your chest serve as the only consistencies throughout the first floor of the building. You're running so quick you almost run clean past the stairwell door. Stumbling to slow down enough, you grab the handle and yank the door open, sprinting down the stairs two at a time. When you round the landing onto the second cluster of stairs, you catch a glimpse of all-black clothing and the signature black mask he wears as he hunts down his victims. Asa is just a flight of stairs behind and flying down them. 

The instinctive yell of surprise worms a way out of you as you scramble for the door to the next, lower floor. Your breath picks up as you take off sprinting down the next floor's halls. They feel more narrow, the turns tighter and the layout less and less sensical, but you can't tell if it's the adrenaline or a genuine layout change. The loud, pounding footsteps behind you ring out in your head, consuming far more of your mind than they had any right to.

It's all your mind can truly focus on. The fleeting doors and the confusing layout were fickle in their grasp of your attention, but the footsteps, the slamming of Asa's feet as he races to catch you, to grab you and slam you down and take his reward. That's the only thing that truly stuck with you. You start to feel less and less like a person running from another person, and more like a rabbit running away from a wolf chasing after its dinner. The fear is delicious, not just to you but to Asa as well. 

His legs are longer than yours, his endurance and speed more fine-tuned and practiced than yours. His whole life revolves around finding his victims and hunting them down. A little bug like you, unafraid of losing their life and running for the sake of the chase, he'd have no problem with you. He gains on you, inch by inch, as you turn more suddenly, push your legs to go just a little faster with a stride that's just a little longer. 

You can hear the stomping getting closer, louder. His breath fans over the back of your neck but you can hardly tell if it's really him or a figment of your imagination brought on by the fight or flight instinct.

And then, nothing. The footsteps stop dead as Asa suddenly stops chasing after you. It sets off alarm bells in your mind but you're more focused on using this to your advantage and getting distance between the two of you. You reach for the door in front of you and wrench on the handle but it doesn't move. Locked. The door on the wall to your left. Locked. To the right. Locked. You'd run yourself right into a dead end and Asa stood about ten feet back, down the hall and the only way to go. You don't feel like the rabbit running from the wolf now. You feel like a rabbit that's been backed into a trap with nothing to look at and nowhere to go but the wolf. You freeze, staring at him, your mind racing a million miles a minute to come up with any possible solution to get out of this. You'd only made it down one floor, with at least another floor to go if not two or three more. You're nowhere near the exit, and you wanted to give him a run for his money; a sentiment that was proving way harder than you'd originally thought. 

Your eyes fall to the little bit of space by his legs, either side of him, the biggest opening between him and the hallway walls. You hardly think about it, you don't have time, and you run right back towards him, ducking down and twisting to slip past him. Your head gets past him, shoulders too before he shows any signs of reacting.

But for as fast as you are, he's faster. His gloved hand shoots around your waist and he grabs your shoulder with the other hand, grabbing you from behind and using the momentum to turn and slam you up against the wall. You struggle, trying to push off the wall or worm out of his grip to no avail. He moves his hand on your shoulder so that his forearm goes across both your shoulder blades, and he leans his weight on that arm to keep you pinned. His head comes to be just next to yours, mouth centimeters from your ear as he breathes, somewhat heavy and ragged but nowhere near the exhaustion in your breath.

"Little bug." Asa says lowly in your ear "Did you really think you'd get far? Truly?"

You couldn't come up with much to say back. You wanted to be smart, you wanted to be clever and say you had a plan, but you didn't. You knew you wouldn't escape and you didn't want to. You knew that, and you'd brought this up, and it'd gone just the way you wanted. And you were sweaty, panting, and horribly horny. His firm forearm across the backs of your shoulders, his tight grip on your waist, this body pressing up against yours to hold you up against the wall. It's all so much, fear and adrenaline rushing through you in waves. Your pupils dilate, your knees grow weak, and a lump forms in your throat.

"Didn't think so." Asa's hand moves from your waist now to your chin, forcing your head to the side and making you look at him as he says lowly "You, my bug, my prize. I deserve my reward for capturing you. You, my finest specimen." 

Words escape you still and your breath comes out in pants from the exertion, the only thing you can manage to do is let out a soft, rather pathetic whimper and give a nod as you keep eye contact with him. His hand leaves your chin as he whispers "Look away from me and I'll really give you a reason to run." His gloved hand trails back down, around your waist, and to the waistband of your pants, fingers resting just under the waistband.

Fem:

"Be a good girl and stay still" Asa says, lips grazing against your ear. He lets up the pressure from his forearm on your shoulders, hand going to your stomach, fingers hooking the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up as his hand trails up to your chest. He pulls you back, off the wall but still pressed up against his back. He brings the bundled bottom of your shirt to your lips and speaks again. 

"Hold." He says it short, with no room for argument. It's absolutely a command to be followed and you do, talking the fabric between your teeth as his hand comes back down to rest on your stomach, keeping you against him. The cold air of the hotel fanning over your breasts and stomach, spreading goosebumps across your sweat-covered skin.

His hand in your waistband pushed in further, fingers just barely brushing over your clit over top of your panties. Your stomach tenses as you bite down harder on the fabric and a moan wracks you.

His fingers ghost over your clit, around it, with no pressure at all. He's teasing you, just barely touching you knowing it would drive you crazy and it does. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, breath heavy not from the running anymore but from the arousal and desire taking over your senses. He's the only thing that exists, his voice, his touch, his predatory and commanding posture and hold. He continues to tease, grazing and circling but not giving you what you want. 

It's only when your whines and whimpers grow and you start to twitch and writhe in desperation that he moves his fingers directly onto your clit, separated by the thin, soaked fabric of your panties, rubbing slowly and increasing his pace in a gradual but unhurried manner. The pleasure that courses through you makes you writhe and moan louder and louder. Asa's hand moves again from your stomach to your throat now, holding with enough pressure to hold you still but not enough to restrict your breathing. 

You want more, want to feel him bend you over and slam inside you, but you can't verbalize it because of the shirt in your mouth. His fingers work magic, applying pressure that's just right with practiced, fine-tuned, and rapid movements. Your brain goes fuzzy as your muscles tense in pulses. You get closer and closer, Asa's hand on your neck moving one more to hold your chin and make sure you stay looking at him as you climax.

Your whole body tenses entirely as your vision goes white. You're breath stops entirely for a moment before it resumes, coming out in short pants now as you come down from your high, going slack in Asa's hold. He brings his hand out from your pants and takes your shirt gently from your mouth, covering you once more. Letting you go gently, he helps you down gently so you're sat on the ground. He stands above you now, adjusting his gloves.

"Make it further next time and just maybe I'll give you more, little bug." He turns and walks off without another word or another glance, leaving you there to recover. Several clicks sound off around you, the traps now rearmed. All of them.

Shit.

Masc:

"Be a good boy and stay still" Asa says, lips grazing against your ear. He lets up the pressure from his forearm on your shoulders, hand going to your stomach, fingers hooking the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up as his hand trails up to your chest. He pulls you back, off the wall but still pressed up against his back. He brings the bundled bottom of your shirt to your lips and speaks again. 

"Hold." He says it short, with no room for argument. It's absolutely a command to be followed and you do, talking the fabric between your teeth as his hand comes back down to rest on your stomach, keeping you against him. The cold air of the hotel fanning over your chest and stomach, spreading goosebumps across your sweat-covered skin.

His hand in your waistband pushed in further, rubbing with barely any pressure over your hardened cock. Your stomach tenses as you bite down harder on the fabric and a moan wracks you.

He keeps up with the soft, barely there grazes and caresses, intentionally not giving you enough to give you real pleasure, intending to drive you crazy and it does. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, breath heavy not from the running anymore but from the arousal and desire taking over your senses. He's the only thing that exists, his voice, his touch, his predatory and commanding posture and hold. He continues to tease, grazing and circling but not giving you what you want. 

It's only when your whines and whimpers grow and you start to twitch and writhe in desperation that his touches grow firmer gloved hand wrapping around your dick, separated by the fabric of your pre-cum soaked underwear, his rubbing slowly and increasing his pace in a gradual but unhurried manner. The pleasure that courses through you makes you writhe and moan louder and louder. Asa's hand moves again from your stomach to your throat now, holding with enough pressure to hold you still but not enough to restrict your breathing. 

You want more, want to feel him bend you over and slam inside you, but you can't verbalize it because of the shirt in your mouth. His hand works magic, applying pressure that's just right with practiced, fine-tuned, and rapid movements and twists. Your brain goes fuzzy as your muscles tense in pulses. You get closer and closer, Asa's hand on your neck moving one more to hold your chin and make sure you stay looking at him as reach your peak and cum, pants and underwear still on. 

Your whole body tenses entirely as your vision goes white. You're breath stops entirely for a moment before it resumes, coming out in short pants now as you come down from your high, going slack in Asa's hold. He brings his hand out from your pants and takes your shirt gently from your mouth, covering you once more. Letting you go gently, he helps you down gently so you're sat on the ground. He stands above you now, adjusting his gloves.

"Make it further next time and just maybe I'll give you more, little bug." He turns and walks off without another word or another glance, leaving you there to recover. Several clicks sound off around you, the traps now rearmed. All of them.

Shit.

[whoreforhorror]

So, I literally have no motivation and am just not in a great place right now. I can barely get out of bed for work and showers are exhausting.

Have a repost from my AO3

Movie Intervention (Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher)

Summary: You’ve been working yourself too hard at school and haven’t given the boys the attention they need, so they take things into their own hands.

It was a bad habit to fall into, you knew that. Still, there wasn’t much you could do about it. Between actually having to go to school, the homework you got after, and work, your day was jam-packed. There weren’t enough hours in the day, so you had to free your hours at night. This means that you were here again, gearing up for another late late-night study session. Physics specifically had been kicking your ass and you had to ace this next test or you were certain you’d be doomed to repeat the class. For the sake of your long-term sanity, you couldn’t let that happen.

Several times now, you’d had to cancel on your friends. You still saw them at school, and Randy at work as well, but it wasn’t the same as actually hanging out or partying. You’d had to turn down numerous invitations to sleep over at Tatum’s with Sydney and gossip. You’d had to miss Stu’s parties and miss movie nights with him and Billy. You couldn’t really indulge Randy in his usual rants at work, as well. You missed them all, especially Billy and Stu.

You cared deeply about the both of them, more so than the others in your group. You weren’t sure if they noticed or returned the sentiment, and you weren’t really sure what to call it. Maybe a crush, but it felt more comfortable than that. It would definitely be too early to call it love, too. Every time you had to turn them down, to hear the disappointment over the phone or see the looks of yet another letdown in person, it felt like someone stacked another ten-pound plate on your chest. Sooner or later, if this continued, you just might crack under the pressure.

It was nearly eleven at night now, not too late yet but you could be assured that most of Woodsboro was fast asleep by now. Knowing that was, perhaps, even more isolating than your room which you’d spent the better part of two weeks in. The desk in your room had felt more like a prison as you studied. To avoid distractions, you turned off the lights in your room and used solely the little desk lamp in the corner as you worked. It was less burning the midnight oil and more someone set the entire pot of oil on fire and poked a hole in it so that it was both burning too fast and spilling out the bottom. You were, in this moment and for the past two weeks, a fiery ball of leaking oil.

Time stretched on and your back ached. Your wrist, fingers, neck, and shoulders ached with it. Your… well your everything seemed to hurt. “It’s not even that late…” talking out loud to yourself was the only way your thoughts could be coherent at all. “I’ve stayed up way later than this. I can do this.” You could repeat a similar sentiment to yourself all you wanted, scream it at the top of your lungs and say it with all the passion your heart could hold but it wouldn’t stop the words on the pages from blurring and doubling. Nothing you looked at could stay still and you took another gulp of your half-filled energy drink (the fourth of the night and sixth of the day) which only served to prove just as unhelpful. You could feel your mind start to spiral into nonsensical half-thoughts and abstract concepts you didn’t have the energy to define.

A knock at your front door pulled your brain from its spiral and shot adrenaline through your body, enough to be able to pull yourself from your chair and drag yourself to the door. You opened it to be greeted by Stu, with his fist in the space where the door had just been, and Billy who had popcorn and a tape in hand. They seemed, at first, surprised that you answered at all, then taken aback at your disheveled, sleep-deprived appearance.

“Hey, buddy!” Stu was the first to speak up. “We missed ya’ so we thought we’d drop by. If you can’t come to movie night, we’ll bring it to you!” You weren’t quite sure what to say for a few very long seconds.

“Oh… I’m sorry guys. I can’t- I mean, I’d love to and I wish we could but I’ve got to study. Maybe some other time?” You could hear the exhaustion in your voice, much to your displeasure. You sounded worse than you thought. It hurt to have to turn them away, especially when they had gone out of their way to come to you with everything needed, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

“We’re not taking no for an answer,” Billy spoke up.

“Yeah, no can do, man! I mean, we’re already here and your down here as well! It’d be more work to go allllll the way back upstairs.” He chimed in and pushed past you as he spoke. Billy followed suit.

“Guys…” you sighed out.

“Shut it.” Billy cut you off before you could finish your thought. He grabbed hold of your arm, pulling you fast enough that you could just barely shut the front door before you were much too far away. You were too tired to physically resist.

The two made their way to your living room, dragging you along with them. Billy was first to set on the couch, pulling you to sit in the middle so he was on your left. He opened the pre-made popcorn he had with him and offered you some. You were too tired to chew, if that even made sense. Either way, you shook your head. You were quickly losing any energy you had left and verbally responding to anything took far too much effort that you didn’t have.

Stu grabbed a large, fuzzy blanket from somewhere in your living room, spreading it out to cover both you and Billy, with enough extra to cover himself when he sat down as well. Billy tossed him the tape to get the movie started. You knew from the music as the movie began that they had chosen Halloween. It was a movie you had watched a thousand times, hundreds of those times being with Billy and Stu. You knew the movie like the back of your hand by now, and you were sure they knew that. They’d purposely chosen a movie you’d seen before so you could sleep without worrying about missing anything.

It dawned on you as Stu sat down on the couch right next to you on your right, covering himself with the blanket and putting his arm around your shoulder, that the boys, perhaps, felt the same closeness to you as you did to them. Certainly, they hadn’t done this for anyone else in the group. Not Randy, not Sydney, and not Tatum, even though the girls were dating Billy and Stu, respectively. It was enough to pull a smile on your lips; the first in weeks. You felt Billy put his arm around your waist and rest his hand on your thigh, pulling you into him just slightly but allowing you to stay in Stu’s arm as well. The two passed the popcorn back and forth between each other as they, or really Stu for the most part, rambled on about different cinematic techniques the movie used and the landmarks the movie had made, all while you put your head on Stu’s shoulder. Your eyelids grew heavy and each time you blinked, you found yourself wanting to open them less and less.

You fell asleep like that, with your head on Stu’s shoulder as he rambled on about the movie, in the hold of your two favorite people in Woodsboro. And, as you drifted off, you decided there was nowhere else you’d rather be. Your hearing was the last to go as you faded out.

“Stu, shut the fuck up. You’re going to wake them up.”

“Am not!”

“Stu.”

“Fine, whatever man.” A pause. “G’night sweets.”

“Yeah, sleep well, babe.”

…And you were out.

[whoreforhorror]

reaction of poly! ghostface (billy and stu) when some douchebag catcalled reader infront of them but reader told them that it's fine coz, she's used to it at this point.

(It sucks that women really just got used to being catcalled, so unfair)

I’ve definitely been there before. I’m afab so yeah, it’s tough out here. Fuck cat-callers.

Poly! Ghostface when their S/O gets cat-called:

Billy and Stu had gone ahead of you to wait in Stu’s car as you ran into the video store to return a movie. They were blasting music and chatting with each other, Stu turning to look back at the store and quickly turning down the music.

“What’s up ma-” Stu sushed Billy before he could finish speaking, and pointed to the entrance of the store which you had just walked out of, and also at the man leaning against the wall of the video store, calling out to you.

“Hey there baby, how’s it goin’?” You ignored the man as you walked back to the car, noticing Stu pointing in your direction and Billy looking your way as well. “Awww, don’t be like that sweetheart. A smile would look real good on you.” 

Billy made a move to get out of the car, eyes trained on you and only pausing when you shook your head at him. Closing the distance between you and the car, you gave him a kiss on the forehead and hopped over the side of the convertible into the back seat, giving Stu a kiss on the cheek as you settled in.

“Ready guys?” You smiled at your boys who, in turn, were staring at you with a blend of rage and confusion on your faces. “What?” You wanted them to say something. It was weird to sit in the car in silence, with Billy and Stu staring at you.

“What was that?” Stu was the first to speak up.

“What…? Oh, the guy outside the store? That’s nothing, it’s cool. Can we head out now?” Sure, you can admit that the guy made you violently uncomfortable but it was basically an everyday occurrence. You couldn’t send your boyfriends to fight every man that catcalled you because they’d never run out of people to go after. It was easier to just ignore it altogether.

“That’s nothing? Like hell that’s nothing! “ Billy’s silence had given way to outrage.

“It’s normal. It happens every day. Can we just go now?” Their insistence that this was a big deal was starting to piss you off. You wanted to leave and move on with your day.

“Yeah, sure. Fine. Let's go, Stu.” Billy turned the music back up, Stu jerking his head around to look at him like he had two heads. Billy shot him a look and repeated “Let’s go. Stu.” Stu’s face shifted into an expression you couldn’t decipher before he pulled out of the parking lot and drove off.

Billy and Stu dropped you off at your place later that night, saying they’d pick you up again in a bit but had something they needed to do first. 

The next morning, the news of a new Woodsburgh victim was spread across every newspaper and news station. You thought he looked familiar but the man was mutilated so far beyond recognition that you couldn’t really tell. At least Billy and Stu were extra sweet to you that morning, assuring you that they’d protect you from anyone who wanted to hurt you.

[whoreforhorror]

Can i ask for poly! billy & stu having an s/o that's been killed infront of them?? i've been finding some angsty poly ghostface lately >.<

Did I cry while writing this? Maybe. I’m very much a person who has to have a happy ending so this was super sad to write. Thank you for letting my break my own heart, Anon. Hope you enjoy!

Poly! Ghostface when their S/O is killed in front of them:

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. You were supposed to have stayed hidden until they were done. The three of you were going to watch movies after. Your whole afternoon was going to be so fun but now… that couldn’t happen now.

You were hidden in an upstairs bedroom as Billy and Stu took care of four victims. It was supposed to be a pretty quick endeavor before your date. The victims had gotten a bit too close to figuring out Ghostface’s identity for comfort and had to be dealt with.

One of the four had slipped upstairs without the boys seeing and had found you while attempting to hide. You were the perfect leverage piece. They grabbed you by the neck of your shirt and drug you out of the closet. It crossed your mind to scream for the two but settled on yelling at the victim because you couldn’t risk exposing your boyfriends. 

Stu was the first to hear you screaming for someone to get off. He let out a rushed “Shit.” before sprinting up the stairs. Billy watched him, confused. He drug the blade through the second half of his third victim’s stomach and dropped the crying, gurgling person to listen closely. He too heard your yelling and took off up the stairs like Stu had. 

The door was locked when Stu reached the upstairs bedroom, so he started running full speed at the door and slamming his shoulder into it. The door cracked and bent but ultimately wasn’t close to giving in. Billy reached the door soon after, grabbing Stu by the shoulder and pushing him out of the way so he could kick the door just under the lock, breaking the lock and door handle, and giving the boys access to you and the last victim.

The boys barged into the room and froze, seeing the victim standing behind your body like it was a shield, a knife to your throat. They were manic, laughing, and beginning to ramble about how they had “finally won” and how Billy and Stu had “killed their friends, so now it was time for a little karma.”

Stu’s throat was shut tight, and he could feel the implication of tears causing his eyes to burn. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go down. Billy felt his shoulders tighten and square up as he readjusted his grip on his own knife. “They don’t have anything to do with this. Let them go.”

The victim laughed at that. “Neither did my friends but here we are.” The blade dug into your throat as they applied more pressure. The urge to squirm and fight your way out was incredibly strong, overwhelmingly so. Billy and Stu were a few feet away, and you wanted nothing more than to be in their arms and forget this had ever happened. 

You wanted a hug. You wanted to lay on their laps while watching that movie, Stu playing with your hair while Billy ran his hand up and down your leg. You wanted to see Stu crane his head down to give you that goofy smile when one of his favorite parts of a movie was coming up. You wanted to hear Billy rambling on about the killer’s technique or how something should have gone. As you thought of that, you almost wanted to laugh. Billy would be so upset if this were a movie. He’d go on about the million ways in which this situation could have been avoided or what you could do to get out, but your mind was drawing blanks as to a solution

“Guys? I- I’m scared.” The shaky, raspiness of your voice surprised you. You wanted a glass of water. The victim adjusted their grip on you, making the blade dig impossibly more into your throat and causing a small cut to form as they laughed at your fear.

“Awww, isn’t that a shame? You’re scared? Imagine how I felt.” The victim wasn’t budging as the boys turned to look at each other, masks hiding their expressions and doing nothing to soothe you. You wanted to know what they were thinking, if they were planning something or had a way to get you out. The silent, screaming masks gave away nothing.

Stu was in full panic mode, opening and closing his fist because he couldn’t think of another outlet for his anxiety and adrenaline. He couldn’t lose you. His love for you was bordering on obsession. He NEEDS you around him or he’d lose his mind. He loved Billy too but they were both incredibly incomplete without you and they both knew it.

Billy ran a thousand scenarios and options in his head, coming up with nothing clever or thought out that could help. He’d seen a hundred movies with this scenario and nothing had ever worked. He shifted his feet, readjusting his stance and knife, launching himself at you and the victim. He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose you. He COULDN’T lose you.

The victim reacted, dragging the blade heavy and firm across your neck from one artery to the other before shoving you into Billy who caught you on instinct. Stu broke out of his frozen panic and jumped at the victim, stabbing him over and over and over and over. The face, the throat, the chest, the stomach, nowhere was safe from Stu as his panic flickered into rage.

Pain blossomed and throbbed in your throat as tears welled up in your eyes and your hands shot up in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. You fell to the ground in Billy’s arms, him coming down with you. His hands joined yours on your throat, your blood still pouring out. You tried to talk, to call out to Billy and tell him that everything's going to be ok. You wanted to tell him you were going to be fine and the three of you would find a way to fix this. You couldn’t say any of that, and it hurt your soul more than the cut on your throat could ever.

Stu joined the two of you, on his knees next to Billy and yanked the mask off himself and Billy, finally letting you see their faces. You wish you hadn’t. The boys were panicking. For the first time since you’d known them, they looked truly panicked, Stu’s class-clown act and Billy’s tough guy persona seemed miles away in the moment and you nearly couldn’t believe these were the same boys you knew, the same boys you’re dating.

The room around you was getting cold quickly, and you were so tired. It wasn’t a good sign and you knew it. While you hadn’t died before, you knew that this is what it felt like. You were going to die and you couldn’t help but let a smile fill your expression. Sure, you were going to die but it was in the arms of the two people you loved more than the world itself. You’d give up anything to be with them at any moment and, of all the ways your time could come to an end, being with the boys, your boys made it hurt just a little less.

Your weight shifted forward and Billy held you in his lap. “I’m so, so sorry. It should have been us. It should have been me. I’m so sorry, love. Please forgive me, forgive us. We’re so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Billy repeated this like a mantra.

Stu was in a similar state. “No. No no no no no no no. Please, I need you, baby. We can make it, it’s going to be alright. We’re going to get you patched up then we’ll watch a movie. We’ll even let you pick this time, no complaints. You just have to stay with us. Please, please please please stay with us.”

You couldn’t speak, but the room was growing so dark. Your eyelids were so heavy and you couldn’t stay up for much longer. You took your hands off your throat. They weren’t helping much anyway. Stu moved almost instantly to replace where your hands had just been with his own, panic and questions flashing across his face in rapid succession.

You put a bloodied hand on the side of each boys’ face, stroking their cheek with your thumb just slightly. You leaned your head forward, resting your forehead on Billy’s pulling Stu with all the strength you could muster so he’d join his forehead with yours as well. 

You coughed and gurgled, clearing your throat the best you could. You couldn’t make yourself stay awake any longer. “B- Billy… Stu… I love you” A fit of coughing took over for a minute. “I love you b- both an- and I forgive you.” It had taken the last of your strength. Your eyelids shut, relief washing over you as the pain was washed out with adrenaline, pain finally giving out to euphoria.

“No. Stop. No no no. Stay with us. Please, please stay with us. No no no no no No No NO NO NO!” Stu was nearly screaming now. Billy, on the other hand, said nothing as he sobbed openly and loudly. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him cry so freely. You think it might have been when his mom left but you weren’t too sure. Everything was foggy and distant, the boys sounding an eternity away and growing further until… nothing.

You went slack in the boys’ hold, the both of them falling silent. Your body slumped and fell, resting in Billy’s lap. “Baby…?” Stu spoke in barely a whisper, calling out to you. “Love?” His hands were on your throat and on your shoulder, shaking your body slightly. “Wake up baby, please.” Another shake. “Please, please wake up, please, please, please, please, please. When you didn’t respond, Stu through himself forward and held you in a tight hug as he sobbed into your slack shoulder.

Any other time, you’d hold him close. You’d tell him it was alright and that you were always here for him. How could you be so cruel and lie to him? Just come back. He needs you. They need you. Both of them will never be complete again without you.

Billy cried over you, his tears falling on your blood-stained cheeks and mixing to form pink streaks that fell to the floor. At some point they’d both grown silent, retreating into their thoughts as they couldn’t physically cry anymore. They had to leave, they both knew it. They could both hear the sirens growing closer. Stu looked up at Billy, both confirming to the other that they had to go and leave you here. Billy took off the necklace they had given you when they’d first asked you to date them. It was a simple silver chain with a little VHS charm and a Michael Myers mask charm. He moved you off of himself gently, leaning over to give you one last kiss on your lips as he tucked the necklace away. He grabbed the masks as Stu kissed your forehead and then your lips.

They left out the window as the sirens approached the house. You were left to be discovered, another victim of the Woodsboro killer. It was their last kill. Soon after, the boys entered the Woodsboro police station and turned themselves in, finding themselves on the electric chair after a death sentence was handed down by a judge.

Billy kissed the necklace and, with final words, said that he hoped he would see you on the other side, and that he hoped you truly forgave him. Stu kissed your same necklace, using his final words to declare his love for you, in life and in death. Then, a strong shock took each boy out.

[whoreforhorror]

Hi! I don't know if you're taking requests currently, but If you are, can you please write Headcanons for slashers with a GN S/O who has anxiety and really likes physical affection? (With Rusty Nail and Bo Sinclair feel free to add if you want to :)

I love your work and hope you're doing well,

PhantomCat

Hello! Sorry this took a while to come out. It’s a bit shorter than others I’ve written as well but I hope you still like it! I’m also super happy you asked for Rusty as well! My boy needs more love!

S/O with anxiety that likes physical affection

Bo Sinclair:

Both Bo and Ambrose have a hit-or-miss effect on your anxiety. I’m on hand, living in Ambrose means you don’t have to deal with a lot of the stressors you do in regular day-to-day life. On the other hand, the anxiety that comes with knowing what happens to visitors, along with the pressure of knowing the three brothers HAVE to like you because there is literally nobody else around is just about enough to negate any relief from any anxiety that you might get.

Then there’s also you worrying about Bo when he’s out dealing with ‘visitors’. You originally hadn’t been worried about him, but that was before he came home one night with an arrow through his shoulder. No, you couldn’t stop worrying about whether or not he was alright and how much trouble the visitors may or may not be. Bo tried to help by coming home at the same time every night (something he had started doing but made no mention of, so he wouldn’t look “soft”) but he couldn’t always adhere to that.

When he does finally come home, it’s always your first order of business to help him patch up his wounds, lest he gets an infection. Then, as soon as he’s held together, it’s off to either the couch or bed to cuddle. It helps calm your anxieties as well as his. You both worried you might come home only to never see the other again (for different reasons but still) and holding each other close as a reminder that they’re still with you is something invaluable in y’all’s relationship.

Bo pretends like he doesn’t also like physical affection but he can only hide it for so long and you can’t play the fool much longer than that. He also likes to take advantage of your love of physical affection by giving or taking it away based on your behavior. More simply, Bo is Pavloving you with physical affection to act more often in a way that he likes. Manipulative? Maybe. Fully intentional? Probably not. Does it work? You bet your ass it does.

He’ll rub your head or hold you by your waist when you do something he particularly enjoys or he’ll keep to himself as a sort of silent reprimand. He really enjoys resting his hand on your head though. He finds it comforting, you find it very comforting. It’s a win-win.

Rusty Nail:

Do. Not. Tell. Him. You. Like. Physical. Affection. This man will tease you day in and day out about it, giving you a taste of what you want before pulling away completely.​​​​ This man loves to toy with you more than just about anything else in the world.

When you ride with him, sometimes you’ll get tired of sitting in the seat and move to the floor so you could stretch out a bit. He’ll rest his hand on your head, petting your hair or your cheek and only moving to shift gears. You just look so beautiful sitting down there.

If you’ve been extra good, he might have you sit in his lap while parked at rest stops. He loves to see your reactions when he pulls you onto himself and it gives him the biggest ego boost.

He found out about your anxiety in one of two ways. 

The first scenario is when he had to go on a trip without you and you had worried yourself sick while he was gone. When he came home after a week, any onlooker would have thought he’d been declared missing for three years. 

The second scenario comes in after the two of you had a little argument while on the road. It was nothing major, just the byproduct of two people being in the same small space for days. Still, while night hit and the two of you set up camp to sleep, he was caught off guard by you asking him if he was going to desert you in the motel or ‘dispose of you’. You’d gotten so worked up about it that you’d lost sight of how minor the argument was, and he could nearly hear you hyperventilating.

In either scenario, his solution is to cuddle until you fall asleep. He’ll hold you close and reassure you that he’s ok, you’re ok, he’s not going to leave you, and he couldn’t hate you even if he tried. 

If you ever encounter someone who purposefully causes your anxiety to flare up, rest assured their skull will be quickly meeting the front end of his truck and they’ll merge into the road. Or, in simpler terms, he’s going to torment them and then run them over. You can join in if you want!

[whoreforhorror]

So Random but how about a s/o who really likes fruity smelling (or even tasting) chapsticks

With Bo, Vincent and Brahms as always :3

Literally just have to say also you’re writing is amazing as always like everything I just love it! I’m so obsessed. Like I don’t think I could ever not compliment how amazing your writing is literally

This took literally so long and I am so, incredibly sorry for that. I’ve been super busy. I hate to keep anyone waiting, but especially you, Sketchy. Also, this is shorter than others I’ve written but I didn’t have a whole lot to write about this. I loved the prompt anyways, as usual and it was such a nice little tidbit to think about! Thanks always for your compliments, and I hope you enjoy!

Bo, Vincent, and Brahms with an S/O who wears fruity chapstick

Bo Sinclair:

This man will never be normal about it. The horniest man on the planet and he’ll make sure you know it. He uses your chapstick as an excuse to make out with you to “figure out what flavor it is” and he’s SoOoOo bad at telling flavor from flavor.

He’ll put your chapstick on you and kiss you just because, then say that it’s messed up and he has to do it again. 

He’d get a perfume with the same smell as your chapstick and will spray it when he misses you. From here on out, the fruit, its smell, and everything pertaining to the fruit will remind him of you.

He’s absolutely intoxicated when you walk by and he catches a faint whiff of your chapstick. He obsesses over it and swears that he can get high off of it. He’ll smell it and immediately turn to seek you out.

Vincent Sinclair:

Assuming you wear one flavor of chapstick regularly, he’ll fully notice if you suddenly change the flavor. Whether it’s because of the smell or the taste, he’ll know. 

He’ll draw whatever fruit you regularly wear. He’ll also probably have a bowl of that fruit as well, just because. It’s his new favorite snack. He’ll also feed them to you if he can. Also just because.

He’s definitely going to pull the “can I have some chapstick” and then kiss you move. He’ll do this occasionally and if you ever just hand him a tube (knowing what he really wants), he’s going to be incredibly sad and assume that you’re mad at him for some reason.

Please don’t let him think you’re mad at him 🙁 Give him many kisses as compensation, to make him happy again.

Brahms Heelshire:

You will both be wearing fruity chapstick from now on. If you have a regular flavor, you both do now. If you wear a different flavor of chapstick each day? You both do, now! Seriously, Brahms will want to wear whatever chapstick you wear.

He’s definitely going to do it secretly at first. You’ll have to find out on your own that he’s doing it. He’s going to be so embarrassed. Like, seriously, he will fully hide away from you until he knows you don’t think he’s some sort of creep. He’ll want to have each other apply the others’ chapstick in the morning once he knows you’re cool with it.

He’ll throw a fit if you decide not to wear the same flavor as him anymore. He’ll throw a tantrum and destroy half of the house. There are two ways and two ways only to fix this. 1.) Take off whatever flavor you’re wearing and put on the same one he is or 2.) You two make out and mix flavors 🙂

[whoreforhorror]

hello! t’was i! the previous anon who requested billy x obsessed reader, back again :))

so if it’s not too much trouble 🤭, billy / stu x fem!reader (or gn) who’s like. super shy? kind of blend’s in with their dark hair and etc so often scared billy and stu when they just find them laying around somewhere, reading or smth ::3

if you can’t do it dw!! if u can, thank you!!!!!!! 🫶

This took so long for me to sit down and write, and I am so so SO sorry for that. I really like this prompt, and thank you for requesting again! I hate to make you late that long and I hope I didn’t make you think I didn’t want to write for you. Also, hope you like it!

Poly! Billy Loomis and Stu Macher with a shy S/O who’s quiet and blends into the environment

Billy and Stu didn’t even know who you were until there was a group project assigned in a class the three of you shared. Groups of three had to make a presentation based on a book, and you were the only person left to pick when the boys needed another group member.

In the back of their minds, they were just a little shocked they hadn’t seen you or heard anything about you until this point. Between the both of them, they figured they’d talked to everyone at least once. You seemed to prove them wrong.

Billy made the executive decision to do a project based on Carrie by Steven King because they’d already seen the movie and how different could it really be? Stu invited you to his place to work on the project with him and Billy, and from that point on they never left you alone.

Stu LOVES pointing you out randomly to bring attention to you, partially because he genuinely thinks you could be friends with a lot of people if you’d let them notice you and also because he likes seeing you get flustered when everyone’s attention is suddenly on you.

Billy won’t admit it but he really likes that you’re quiet because that means he can occupy more of your attention and be closer to you than he might normally be. He also thinks it’s funny to see you get flustered when Stu brings attention to you but will ultimately defend you if he deems that Stu is dragging it out too long.

As you start to hang around the boys more, they start to become aware of how unintentionally silent you can be. You can lay on Stu’s couch, reading while the two are off in another room and you’ll scare the absolute shit out of the two when they come back to the living room and you suddenly chime into the conversation. That, or, one of them will go to the garage to get more beer and you’ll come out to ask them a question, only to startle them and cause them to drop the bottles. They’ve started keeping score of who gets scared by you more often. (It’s Stu, by a lot.)

They’ll both joke about attaching a bell to you to let them know where you are. As your relationship progresses, it starts to become… less of a joke. The boys talk it over and decide to buy you a choker with a little bell on it like a cat’s collar. You best believe they’ll make you wear it every moment the three of you are in private. Wear it in public and the boys will get both very happy that their mild obsession with you seems to be reciprocated and very, VERY teasing. 

Stu and Billy are watching a movie alone one night when Stu turns to Billy and asks “What if they joined us? Like, as Ghostface?”Billy is ready to shoot the idea down but thinks back to every time you’ve been able to get the jump on the two of them. Even as observant as Billy was, he would often forget you were sitting or laying down somewhere. You blended into your surrounding and didn’t draw any attention to yourself. You knew how to be invisible.

They’d think about it for a loooong time. They need to know with 100% certainty that you’ll accept before they even think of proposing the idea to you and revealing their attachment to the Woodsboro murders.

When they do tell you and you do accept, they wonder how they had done it without you before. You were absolutely perfect for stalking their next victim and breaking into their house to let the boys in. They still did most of the real dirty work but would hand a kill to you every now and again to see you in real action.

It also becomes a bit of entertainment for you to see if you can startle them while on the hunt. Is it a bad idea? Maybe. Could you get stabbed because they’re ready to kill and you’re aiming to scare them? Probably. Do you really care? Not at all. The boys hate it every time but still get a laugh out of it, presuming it’s not actually putting them or the kill at risk.

For Billy, your being able to sneak up on him both in and out of Ghostface attire gives him a reason to improve. It gives him something to be better at. He sees it as a weakness that he needs to fix before someone else finds out and takes advantage of it.

For Stu, he sees it as a source of pride more than anything. Look at his partner, able to sneak up on the terrors of Woodsboro without even having to try. His precious darling is so amazing and skilled and awesome!

[whoreforhorror]

Hey there! :) can I request Hannibal lecter with a reader that has powers like 11 from stranger things?

Ok, I’m going to be fully honest and admit that I’ve never seen Stranger Things. I asked a friend who has so I think I have a rough idea of what 11 can do but this may be a VERY loose interpretation.

From what I understand, 11 can use telekinesis if they cannel their anger/extreme emotions (but it uses a lot of energy and physically weakens them) and can sense where people are when in sensory deprivation (which I’m also guessing uses a lot of energy?) so that’s what I’m going to go with.

Hannibal with an S/O who has powers like 11 from Stranger Things

Hannibal is going to have so. many. tests for you to do. He wants to know as much as possible. Is there a maximum weight? Can you move liquids? How far away can you sense people? Can you control your telekinesis at all or is it entirely random? Is there something different in your physical/neurological structure that gives you these abilities? He’s curious by nature and you’re definitely going to face the brunt of his inquisitiveness.

The longer you are in a relationship with him, the more he’ll care about the negative side effects of using your ability. To him, it comes down to whether or not the knowledge gained is worth the damage to your body or y’all’s relationship. 

Hannibal is going to try and use his knowledge of psychology to better your control of your abilities. When he learned about your abilities you could only use the telekinetic portion when under immense stress. He wants you to be able to use your abilities while calm and focused. 

He’ll have you move an orange from one side of the counter to the other, and then back. Rinse and repeat. He wants to build up your ability to both stay calm and use telekinesis in ways that typically require fine motor skills. He knows you’ve reached his goal when you can make an entire meal without a mistake. That’s his big telekinetic test.

He’ll have you find someone while in sensory deprivation and will slowly, session by session, introduce different distractors until you can find someone any time of day in any location. If you’re really against it, he’s going to convince you that it’s for the betterment of your quality of life and to help ensure you’ll be happy in life.

That isn’t entirely untrue as time goes on. In the start, he wanted to be able to use you to get new meals and achieve much more impressive feats under the Chesapeake Ripper title. As time goes on and he grows more and more attached to you, he genuinely wants you to be able to control your abilities so that they don’t rule your life. 

He’ll also grow more cautious of your side effects as time goes on, especially if they compound into more serious issues. He’s a doctor. He knows what can come if the body is weak for an extended amount of time. Illnesses, bruises and broken bones, depression, and more. He’ll make sure after every session that you are cared for properly. Food, water, rest, anything you need, he’ll make it happen if it speeds up your recovery. 

He, no matter how long you’re both together, sees great use of your abilities in regard to the Chesapeake Ripper. Things can be moved, strung up, balanced, and organized in ways he would never be able to achieve on his own. He’ll invite you into the world of his art, his masterpieces. He’s giving you a very rare gift. The ability to see him and know his work from his perspective. To be him, in a way. Not many get that opportunity.

[whoreforhorror]

Hellooooo! I’m back again 😗

Can I do a request where the s/o has a hard time sleeping so they kinda just walk around the house or sit somewhere else that isn’t the bedroom until they feel tired. They try not to wake the slashers (hence the being in another room) but the slashers obviously wake up and comfort the reader and eventually get them to sleep.

As always, Bo, Vince, and Brahms 🫡

Thank you so much, you’re amazing in every way.

Hello again, Sketchy! Glad to hear from you again! I know I said this with the first request you sent me but this one is also SO ME! Actually, I write everything in this sort of mode when its 12pm-4am and I can’t sleep. I had an absolute blast writing this! I think you’ll really like this one and it might just be my favorite that I’ve written for you!

Bo, Vincent, and Brahms with an S/O who wanders/sits around when they can’t sleep

Bo Sinclair:

You had promised yourself that tonight you were going to make yourself lay in bed and wait for sleep to come, yet here you were now. Bo had been asleep for half an hour before you’d gotten up and moved into the living room. It was like this every night, nearly. Sleep didn’t come easy so you’d move to sit in the living room until you felt you were about to pass out. 

You spent the time reading, catching up on things that you hadn’t gotten to in the day, or just generally lazing around and thinking about anything that came to mind. Music was also a close companion to you in these late hours. In general, you figured that moving to the living room would spare Bo from having to deal with any of it. He worked hard during the day and was bone tired by the time he laid down in bed. It wouldn’t be fair to keep him up with your… Insomnia? Anxiety? Restlessness. 

You’d walk around if you weren’t worried about Vincent in the basement. He needed his sleep for his creativity. This particular night, you sat staring at a blank tv and thinking about nothing in particular. Sleep felt closer than it had two hours ago when you’d first gotten out of bed, but still much too far away to think you’d be asleep any time soon.

You’d been sort of spacing off in thought when you heard the stairs creak, alerting you that Bo had woken up. You turned your head to greet him as he reached the main floor and you swear you saw him jump just a bit when you spoke and asked why he was up. He said he was looking for you. A hint of guilt rose up the back of your throat knowing that he was up late because of you.

He shuffled over to join you on the couch, sleep seemingly doubling down on Bo to make up for your restlessness. He slung an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him as he moved your head to rest on him. His voice was gruff, evidence that he hadn’t been up for long, as he asked why you were up. When you told him you couldn’t sleep, he gave a low hum in response. After a few long moments of silence, he spoke back up to ask how often this happened. To your reply of ‘often’ he hummed again.

The two of you sat like that for a long while, in the dark and in silence. The stillness of it all, mixed with the warmth Bo was radiating seemed to make your eyelids heavy and your thoughts slow. You were only half conscious by the time he shuffled the both of you, him laying down with you on top of him, your head on his chest as his arms rested on your back as if to make sure you stayed there. As if you wanted to be anywhere else in this moment. 

Your breathing got slower, deeper as your blinks grew longer and longer. One of Bo’s hands left its position on your back to pet your hair. You were out before you knew it, sleeping deeper than you had in weeks. Bo was better than any glass of warm milk or blanket straight from the dryer could ever be. 

By the time you wake up, the sun has risen and Bo has left the couch. You had a blanket over you and pulled up to your chin. You would have thought you’d imagined the whole night if it weren’t for the faint smell of Bo that still lingered on your clothes and the couch below you. 

After that night, Bo held you a little closer in bed. He stayed up a little later to see how tired you were, and would ask more often how you slept in the morning. It didn’t always fix your restlessness, but you didn’t leave bed quite as often and that was progress.

Vincent Sinclair:

Vincent is a really, REALLY light sleeper so it’s basically impossible to do anything but lay in bed with your thoughts or the sketchbook Vincent gifted you a while back, if you remembered to put it somewhere you can reach it. Sitting with your thoughts or drawing/writing in your sketchbook are really your only two options.

Vince also stays up really late, so for you to be up later than him is quite the achievement. Still, insomnia is no match for the late-night habits of an artist. You’ve been awake for about an hour since he fell asleep, and you were starting to get restless. Before him, you’d move to a different room if you were going to sit. Beds made you toss and turn in discomfort, but Vince already got so little sleep as it is, so you’d made the decision to bear through it.

Until you couldn’t. You just couldn’t take laying down and tossing around in bed. You had to sit up and do something, ANYTHING besides lay there. Just as you thought, the instant you sit up, Vince is awake and looking at you. You had to explain why you were up, being unable to sleep and feeling trapped just laying down. He gets it, he really does. Before you, he’d had the same issues.

Vincent sits up and takes a second to wake up a bit more before standing up and turning to help you up as well. You looked at him with confusion but took his hand regardless. He guided you out of the basement, motioning for you to be quiet and pointing upstairs to remind you that Bo was sleeping in the house as well. You felt like two delinquent teens trying to sneak out of the house without your parents noticing. Vince gave you an extra sweater of his and you both set out walking.

You held his hand, swinging it back and forth as you both strolled through town. The cicadas and other wildlife were loud, using their restlessness to make a song unique to the nights in the south. It was peaceful, if a bit chilly. Your eyes were up at the stars and the moon that hung in the air as if it had been painted there. Vincent must have noticed because he took a quick turn, deviating from the town roads and leading you into one of the abandoned houses.

You both went up the stairs and then out of a window in one of the bedrooms, climbing a ledge before finally settling down on the roof of one of the taller houses in town. There was already a blanket and some small art supplies in a box, indicating that Vince comes here often. It wouldn’t have surprised you if he did, knowing how much he loved the quiet and knowing how loud Bo could be in the house.

You were curled into Vince’s side as he laid on his back, getting a small sketchbook out of the little box and flipping through the pages. He’d drawn different parts of the night sky and marked out different constellations. He held the book up to the sky, matching the drawing to the location it held then pointing to the name of the constellations on the bottom of the page. Stargazing.

This when on for a while, and you realized occasionally that you weren’t paying attention. Your eyes were unfocused and your ears seemed to stop listening to the surrounding drone of the night. Vince caught on and set the book back into the box, closing it before moving to hold you. You were softly asleep soon after that.

When you woke up, you were back in the basement. It was sometime in the late morning and Vince was working on his newest sculpture while you laid firmly tucked into bed. His attention shifted to you as you sat up and rubbed your eyes. When you asked him how you’d gotten back, he’d signed that he’d carried you back home after you fell asleep. He also pointed to the glass of water he’d gotten you for when you woke up.

Stars and stargazing became a lot more of a symbol for the two of you after that night, leading Vince to get you a star necklace and nicknamed you 'his stars'. The two of you would have dates on that roof from time to time, and Vince had started planning to propose to you on that same roof when the time was right.

Brahms Heelshire:

The Heelshire manor was huge. There were rooms upon rooms upon rooms that were rarely or never used. It made for great wandering when you found yourself wide awake once again late at night. Maybe one day you’d even have the place mapped out in your mind. At the rate you wandered at night, it might only take you a couple of weeks. Sometimes, you’d think of different situations to keep your mind entertained. You were an old victorian ghost, haunting your old homestead centuries after your tragic death. You were a spy, sneaking into the house of a grand tzar to gather intel and maybe a few valuables for the road. Every night it was something new. Only one thing really had to be kept in mind. You HAD to be silent.

Brahms was a light sleeper at the best of times, so it’s a miracle that you could get out of bed to walk around at all. At this hour, squeaky floorboards, stairs, and doors were your worst enemy, and in a house as old as the Heelshire place? It was quite the task to avoid them. 

This night, in particular, you were wandering around the upper floors, seeing the different bedrooms and such as you went down the halls. Your mind was off somewhere else. You were an adventurer looking for the stolen diamond, a pirate hunting down the X on their map, a nanny with a possible case of insomnia, and a very large house calling your name. 

You were so far off in thought, in fact, that you’d forgotten that the particular door you were about to open had a particularly loud set of hinges. The resounding creak that came from them sure seemed to remind you, drawing your attention back to now as it echoed down the halls. You froze. The house was quiet at any given moment, being that it was just you and Brahms, but at night it was like a cool blanket settled over the place, muffling any noise from outdoors and sucking away any sounds of the heater or water running through pipes that you’d normally hear. 

You continued to stand, stock-still as you listened for any sign of Brahms. He’d surely throw a fit if he woke up to find that you weren’t in bed with him. Sure, he could sleep for days, but only if you were with him. If you’re not in his arms, he’s just as good at catching sleep as you are, which is to say it would completely evade him. Without sleep, he grew grumpy and short-tempered which would surely wind up in a fit. It was just better not to wake him up and alert him to your absence.

Any home of that went down the drain as you heard a high-pitched childish voice call out your name in confusion behind you, scaring you to death and back as you whipped around to see Brahms standing not too far away down the hall. He’d been absolutely silent in sneaking up behind you so quickly. You prepared yourself for some sort of whining or meltdown, apologizing softly for waking him up and explaining that you were just walking around because you couldn’t sleep. 

You suggested he go back to bed. He’d responded in the same childish voice “sleep with me.” and you could only get out his name in a sigh before he grabbed your hand, tightly but not forcefully, and started walking in the direction of the room you two shared. He wouldn’t take any version of no for an answer. It was frustrating, sure, but you knew in the back of your mind that he was doing it because he cared.

He lays down, bringing you with him and cuddling you in such a way that you were both on your sides, facing each other in a loose hug with Brahms’ leg thrown over your hips. You couldn’t go anywhere if you tried. After a moment, when you’re both settled and comfortable, Brahms starts humming softly. Not in his high-pitched, childish voice. No, he was humming in his low, natural voice, one of his favorite classical songs you’d often play while reading to him. It couldn’t have been more than three minutes before you were waking up the next morning.

Brahms learns, after this incident, that you’ll relax from just about anything if he hums to you. Angry? Humming. Stressed out? Humming. Crying? Humming. It’s his go-to cure and it works 90% of the time.