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#final girl danny
slashthrashandcrash · 1 month
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You know you want to.
girl he'll respawn anyways who cares lmao
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scvrmqueen · 1 year
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His Final Girl - Danny Johnson
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Pairing: Danny Johnson / Ghost Face x Reader
Warnings: Violence, stabbing, blood, gore, trauma
Premise: You survive a brutal encounter with the Ghost Face. After revealing himself as Jed Olsen, your former coworker, Roseville is finally free from the killer’s grasp. Little do they know his work is far from over - and he doesn’t leave survivors. 
AN: Hi y’all! So pleased to introduce my first Danny Johnson piece. This was loosely inspired by the song The Perfect Girl by Mareux. Please like / comment / reblog if you enjoy, your interactions keep me writing! 
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They tell you it's a miracle - a true blessing to have survived. To be a final girl.
Final girl. At least that's what the articles have painted you as, no one dared utter the blood-soaked moniker to your face. You became headline news, a gruesome tale reminiscent of the finest slasher movies. "Ghost Face Unmasked," the Roseville Gazette headline read, "Killer Disappears Leaving Only Surviving Victim."
You clenched the newspaper tighter, head swimming as the droning tone of your heart monitor continued to climb. His mask taunted you from the front page and the fresh wounds littering your abdomen throbbed incessantly at the sight.
Five stab wounds to the abdomen - those had been his killing blows. A jagged slice on your throat just beneath your chin. That scar had been incidental, a result of your futile struggling against his unyielding hold. Whispers of astonishment floated around the hospital, shocked that an otherwise meticulous killer completely missed your jugular vein and carotid artery. They didn't understand that it was a calculated move on his part.
"Can't have you bleeding out on me yet, doll face. We haven't even gotten to the good part yet."
You shivered at the memory, fingertips ghosting the gauze on your neck.
Prior to his deliberate unmasking, the Ghost Face was more ghoul than man. He was transcendental, a horrific concept derived from the most sinister ghost stories. He was the dread that permeated moonless evenings, spreading paranoia like wildfire in the inky depths of Roseville. He was the smooth, sultry whispers that promised death and suffering over static-laden phone lines.
But just as Ghost Face had been an entity, Jed Olsen had been just a man. A charming, carefully crafted persona - all effortless grins and placating quips. Roseville adored Jed, hanging off his every word as if the city would collapse without him. Perhaps that was why his enthusiastic interest in the Roseville murders - in Ghost Face - had been overlooked.
Unlike the rest of the Chronicle staff, something about Jed's amiable disposition perturbed you. His wide smiles never quite extended to to his eyes. Those chocolate irises always seemed to conceal something sinister, a darkness that you couldn't quite grasp.
Once when Jed was still shiny and new, before the murders, you had mentioned your strange observation to a coworker. You were met with eyerolls and condescending coos that Jed practically embodied good old American values.
If only you had trusted your instinct.
You had kept Jed at arms length until you couldn't. After the first handful of victims sent the city into a frenzy, the chief editor informed you that the star headliner required some assistance. Evidently, Jed had requested you as a partner specifically. After all, your previous coverage of the Night Stalker conviction had earned you the reputation of an excellent profiler at the Chronicle. 
The phone calls began shortly after your first article with Jed was published. Unlike his other victims who expired within a week, your game of cat and mouse had been dragged out over the span of several months.
“Oh, I like you, kitten,” he had said, his dark low chuckle still echoing in the recesses of your mind. “Let’s see how feisty you still are when I spill those pretty guts.” 
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You were a shell of your former self when you returned to work. Though medically cleared, your coworkers seemed to share the sentiment that your recovery was too expedited. 
“You know, Y/n, you can take more time,” your editor had quietly advised, voice barely raised above a whisper as if his words would shatter your fragile existence. “No one will blame you if you’re not ready.” 
Fuck that. Fuck Jed Olsen. You’d be damned if he took this away from you. 
So here you sat, poised at your desk, alert eyes carefully scanning the outline of your latest article. Your coworkers had long since departed, an eerie silence coating the office as the natural light dissipated from your cubicle. Despite your can of mace and pocket knife, a staple of your wardrobe these days, you never felt safe alone anymore. But you couldn’t go home now. You had a deadline to meet, and you worked better without the sympathetic glances of your peers weighing you down. 
And yes, you were aware that working late in the desolate building wasn’t the best decision. In your defense, it had been a month since the incident. What paranoia lingered in your chest was quietly sated by the reminder that Jed was gone. If he wanted to finish you off, correct his unusually sloppy execution, he would have done so by now - your survival was headline news for Christ’s sake. 
Still, you recalled the note he left at his desk following the attack: Don’t worry, I’m not done. 
I’m not done. 
I’m not - 
The shrill ring of your desk phone swept you from your apprehensive trance. There was that familiar sense of dread. It coated your tongue and lingered on your lips, stinging your wounds and clutching your rapidly beating heart. 
It’s just a phone, you reminded yourself, it’s not him. 
Taking a moment to regulate your breathing, your hand paused over the white receiver. You could let it go to voicemail, you reasoned. The small defiant fire that still raged within you, the flame that refused to be snuffed, argued that he would win if fear controlled your every action. 
“Hello?” You answered, sounding more tremulous than you cared for. A familiar static responded. Attempting to compose yourself and appear unaffected, you asked a bit more firmly, “Hello, may I help you?” 
“Hiya, Y/n.” Click. You slammed the phone down, nearly hyperventilating. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. The authorities had expressed with finite certainty that Jed had skipped town, a hypothesis only further confirmed by his pattern of sporadic relocations. 
When the phone sounded once more, you were determined to ignore it. Sure, it would infuriate him, but if death was knocking at your door, you refused to play his sick game of cat and mouse. Still, a growing rage melded into the tendrils of fear curling around you - a wrathful affliction that accumulated venom in your throat. 
“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” You spat. The phrase ‘seeing red’ suddenly made perfect sense, as if your fury had extinguished your survival instincts. 
A mirthful chuckle followed in response. Before he could retort further, you ground out through clenched teeth: “We’ve played this little game before, Jed. Couldn’t think of something more original?” 
“Oh, dollface,” he sighed, “keep talking like that and I might just reconsider slicing you from chest to sternum.” 
Your breath hitched, an involuntary reaction at the memory of his steel blade. Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he added, “Ah, who am I kidding. Leaving survivors isn’t really my style, Y/n.” 
“Guess you’re not as good as you thought,” you sneered, determined to give him a taste of his own twisted medicine. Experience reminded you that Ghost Face was protective of his meticulously designed reputation - he had to be taken seriously, feared like the boogymen before him. If he was going to get under your skin, then you would be damned if you didn’t do the same. 
“Oh, I think you’ve felt just how good I can be, kitten,” he hissed, voice dripping with a suggestive venom. “Maybe I should refresh your memory? Remind you of just who you were screaming under, begging-”
“Fuck you.” Your interruption lacked the bite you intended, dimmed by the hot tears cumulating over your flushed cheeks. “Fuck you, you psychotic piece of shit,” you rasped, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. 
He groaned - groaned, and the sound churned the pit of your stomach. “So mean, kitten, and after all we’ve been through together.” The spiteful remark you prepared died on your tongue as he continued, “but try as you might to wound me, not even you can ruin my good mood tonight, Y/n. Because I get to watch that pretty blood spill again, I get to hear those delicious little cries of terror again.” 
“Oh, and Y/n?” His voice dipped impossibly lower, his words caressing your ear and sending waves of chills through your body. “It’s Danny, not Jed. Be a good girl and scream that for me while I’m gutting you like a fish.” 
Ice coursed through your veins as the dial tone wailed in your ear. There was no time to spare contemplating the harrowing Deja vu that washed over you. Danny hanging up only meant one thing - 
He’s here. 
But this time, you were prepared. You moved to dial the authorities, reasoning that you could remain put and hold Danny off until their arrival. The police station was only ten minutes away. And if you didn’t bleed out in 30 minutes previously, ten minutes was child’s play. 
That was the plan until the phone line went dead, promptly followed by the office lights cutting out. 
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Well, Danny certainly hadn’t lost his flare for the dramatic. 
Fight or flight was a fickle thing. You had always been more inclined toward flight, reasoning that overpowering a killer who had managed to subdue men twice your size wasn’t feasible. Remaining in your cubicle awaiting a gruesome fate was out of the question, you had to at least attempt an escape. 
More knowledgeable after your first brush with the reaper, you knew Danny was out there, poised with that gleaning hunting blade. Concealing the canister of mace in your palm, you stepped out into the darkness.
Death didn’t frighten you anymore, you decided. If anything, death would be a reprieve from the horror he afflicted. Still, you were starved for revenge, determined to tear into Ghost Face just as he had you. Any hope for survival was minimal at best. But if you were going down, well, you would drag Danny to hell with you. 
“Come on, Danny,” you cooed, impressed with the smooth, taunting lilt of your voice. “Come fucking get me.” As you approached the entrance to the stairwell, eyes flittering around each shadowed corner, an inky figure emerged. He nearly would have blended into the night if not for the white of the phantom mask. 
Panic briefly seized your chest, though you remained rooted to the linoleum tiles. His head tilted, a mocking wave greeting you as his other gloved hand raised the signature knife. You were certain a gleeful grin was concealed beneath that damned mask. 
“Hi honey, I’m home.” You were briefly jostled by the lack of his voice modulator, taking a moment to soak in the previously comforting voice of Jed - no, Danny. 
There was no one coming to save you this time. The devastating realization nearly strangled you, burned your lungs with a vicious rancor. Danny stepped forward slowly, as if testing to see if you would flee. He was close enough that you could smell the thick leather of his gloves muddled with the coppery waft of previous victims. 
Cautiously, you raised the hand not preoccupied with pepper spray, extending it toward his mask. Further closing the already miniscule distance, your hand grasped at his hood, tugging it down when he made no move to stop you. Holding your breath, you pulled off his mask. A tense silence permeated the air as your gaze scanned his sharp features, heart fluttering at the reveal of those dark, hooded eyes and crimson lips. 
“Why?” You asked, voice barely a whisper. He cocked a perfectly manicured brow, chocolate orbs piercing through you. His face twisted into an expression that reminded you of a lion prepared to devour its prey - a sort of ravenous hunger that made your scars pulse. 
“Because I can,” he responded simply, as if that were all the justification required. You didn’t flinch as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing you impossibly closer. He towered above you, head dipping lower so his breath could ghost along your jaw. 
“Because you’re mine.” As if possessed by the intensity of his confession, you didn’t struggle as his lips claimed your own. A guttural moan vibrated through his chest, hips digging into you. The slow ache building in your core prompted you to contemplate that perhaps if things had been different, if you weren’t the final girl of this story, you would willingly follow Danny to the depths of hell. 
Your reverie was interrupted by cool metal piercing the scar tissue of your abdomen. Blinding pain enveloped your senses, a strangled gasp escaping you as those crimson lips continued their bruising course. He allowed you a brief reprieve if only to lower you gently to the cool tile, moving to straddle your waist. The blade retracted before slowly digging in, once again targeting a previous wound. You couldn’t prevent the tormented scream that slipped from you. 
“That’s it, kitten. Let it out, let it all out.” He was taking it slow, dragging out your torture as if punishment for surviving. His knife remained embedded in your stomach, the sting becoming unbearable as a strained giggle tumbled from your lips. Danny’s eyes briefly widened before narrowing, his hand moving to the twist the blade. Hysterical laughter bubbled within you, hand clutching around the mace he had yet to notice. 
“See you in hell, Danny,” you chortled, teeth stained with blood. Sporting the psychotic expression, crimson smeared on your torso and lips, Danny couldn’t help but acknowledge that you had never looked lovelier. His amusement quickly faded as you raised the canister, releasing the toxin into his uncovered eyes. 
“You fucking, bitch!” Taking advantage of his temporary blindness, you gripped the handle of the blade, tearing it out of you with an animalistic scream. Before he could recover, you plunged the blade into Danny’s chest. It took the remainder of your strength to push through the taut muscle, your opposite hand clutching the back of his shoulder to lodge it further in. 
Twin crimson streaks pooled on his lips, a harsh cough spewing the liquid over your face. Ripping the knife from his heart with renewed ferocity, you rolled Danny off you, reveling in the way he slipped to the floor beside you. Blood descended freely from the wound, staining his suit and dripping languidly to the ground below. 
He laughed, the sound fading into a gurgle as blood pooled in his lungs. Unable to move from your spot, you turned your head to bask in the gory scene. Danny was already staring at you, lips upturned in a twisted grin as his hand reached for your own. 
“I always knew you would be my final girl, Y/n.” You smiled, real, genuine, pride swelling in your chest as you lay bleeding out. You did it. Though you would die for this victory, you relished in the knowledge that it would not be in vain. 
You prepared for the ebony tendrils of death to consume you, welcoming the endless expanse of eternal slumber. As your eyes fluttered, consciousness fading, a thick fog enveloped the office. It creeped steadily toward you, wrapping around you and Danny in a suffocating haze. 
You gripped his hand tighter, heaving your final breath. Unprepared for the inevitable realization that your story with Danny was far from over. 
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I love the concept of Banshee!Danny like what a vibe! An immaculate aesthetic! I need a horror movie style fic where the A-listers do dumb shit in the woods and start getting hunted for sport
Then they stumble on Danny being a whole ass cryptid in human form, wailing in warning and trying to save them and they think HE’S going to try to kill them tho they can’t agree if Danny is possessed or if he’s gone Carrie
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cadelinhadomiranha · 1 year
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Sam loves gardening
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She's holding the death flowers
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And mourning flowers (at least thats waht pinterest told, im not a flower girl)
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I know her dress dosent make sense but I just wanted do draw a pretty dress
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anaflcres · 3 months
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ana & sonny this fandom doesn’t deserve you </3
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t0xic-sludge · 9 months
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Dp reboot, but it has an episode where Danny and his friends buy a cheesy horror movie from like the 90s or something and have to try and escape all while being chased by a slasher
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krikeymate · 11 months
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So I was thinking the other day, and I remembered that one of the only things we know about Christina Carpenter is that she travels for work.
I also happened to remember that New York is one of the most popular destinations for people to travel to for business.
I don't think Christina would actively seek out Sam and Tara if she were in New York, and vice versa. But this is also the Carpenters we're talking about, and with Sam and Tara's luck it's almost a guarantee that they would run each other.
Tara runs into her first. At a bar. We're 5-6 months post-6 and Sam's working a last-minute night shift. Tara's not been sleeping well the past few days, a resurgence of nightmares that she's keeping hidden, triggered by the release of a book on the attacks. Not Gale this time, she actually tried to get it blocked, just a rookie police officer who had the fortune to be involved in all the crime scenes. He's making bank on their misfortune.
She needed a drink, and to not be alone. She thought about calling Chad or Mindy, but they're back home for spring break and they've been having a good time, she doesn't want to spoil their mood. She thought about knocking on Danny's door, but couldn't bring herself to do it, it felt too weird. Running to her sister's boyfriend who she barely knows because she's lonely? That's pathetic. Gale, Kirby, Sidney? They're Sam's friends and support system really, and Sam deserves something that's just hers.
So here she is, drinking alone at a bar, when she meets eyes with a very familiar woman across the room. Oh you have got to be kidding me.
Her mother is here. In New York. Drinking. Right Here, Right Now. What are the chances? Tara looks away and hopes she didn't- nope, she's coming over, she saw me. Fuck.
"Darling," she croons. Oh, we're at that level of drunk are we, the part where she pretends she loves me.
"What are you doing here?" Tara doesn't even bother greeting her, her words are sharp and short.
"Can't a mother just come to see her daughter?" The statement is insincere, dripping with falseness. A million things sit on the tip of Tara's tongue, you have two daughters, remember?; you're not a mother; you're parked out at a bar despite knowing where we live; you're not here for us and I know it. In the end she says nothing, downing the remains of her drink and slipping off the barstool.
As she walks away she hears her mother call out to her. "You've always been ungrateful, you can't even spare 5 minutes for your mother?" Tara returns home feeling worse than before.
~
Sam's doing the grocery shopping when she spots her across the aisle. She's staring at the wine like it holds the secrets to the universe. Maybe it does, maybe that's why she's always spent so much time at the bottom of a bottle. Then Sam snaps out of it and remembers she's in New York, not Woodsboro, and that her mother should not be here. She quickly turns and collides with another shopper. She mutters apologies and hopes she escaped notice. She did not.
"Samantha."
You've gotta be kidding me.
Her mother approaches, and Sam sighs, letting out a weary "hello mom, what are you doing here?" Christina tuts, displeased with her words, as usual.
"So rude. Tara was the same. She's really developed an attitude since you came back, she used to be such a good girl." Sam does her best to keep her face blank, to not react to her words. Tara hasn't mentioned anything about their mother recently, let alone speaking to her, then again, she hasn't mentioned much of anything at all. She's been spending spring break moping around the apartment, something that just 6 months ago would have been a relief, for Sam to know where she was all the time. Now it's a concern.
She ignores the dig at herself, but won't let the slight against her sister go uncontested. "Tara is a wonderful person and if she had an attitude with you, I'm sure it was for a good reason."
Her mother scoffs. "Yes, you would say that, wouldn't you. So, aren't you going to invite me around? I would like to see where my wayward daughters are squatting these days."
Sam has the strong urge to tell her mother to fuck off, but bites her tongue instead. She speaks in as polite a tone as possible, "another time maybe. I've got a lot of things to do today."
Christina glances down at the grocery cart, eyes roving over the contents. She hums, picking up the carton of ice cream. "This is what you're feeding your sister is it? No wonder she's getting fat."
Sam snatches it back from her hands and throws it back down into the cart. She snarls out a "goodbye mother" and stalks off before she gives in to the urge to start throwing punches.
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myfriendtheghost · 2 months
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had a GVF dream last night and naturally in my dream I had to log onto tumblr and tell everyone about my experience
so here I am fulfilling the prophecy
#I miss them 😔#I dreamt that I went all the way to LA to see one of their shows at a small outdoor venue#very intimate and there was no pit !!! It was GA but no pit !!! CHAIRS#and the venue accommodated for my visual disability and let me in early so for the first time in my life I had a good view at a GVF show LOL#Jake was wearing the dragon suit from DIG#I think Sam was wearing his original DIG suit too? it was also black#Danny was wearing his Starcatcher outfit#and Josh was wearing a new jumpsuit that was white and BEJEWELED FROM HEAD TO TOE#it was sooo sparkly and pretty#so then they played a song and it was a cover (I don’t remember what song) and I was like well that’s kinda weird#and then oomf showed up and talked through the ENTIRE SECOND SONG (also a cover that I don’t remember)#and I was like well if he keeps doing this after the second song then I’m gonna tell him to be quiet#BUT THEN THEY LEFT AFTER THE SECOND SONG AND I WAS LIKE 🧍🏻‍♀️#but then I was like … well that’s the best view I’ve ever had seeing GVF so at least there’s that#anyway I haven’t listened to the boys in a hot minute but I might have to jam out on the way to church idk!#after that I had a different dream that I flew to Texas with my friend and I wanted to go to the American Girl store so I did and he left me#behind and got another flight without me KDHSJSKA ?!????#I had a lot of random and vivid dreams last night lmao#anywho…. love yall miss yall !!!!#life is finally calming down a bit but my depression is also starting to rear its ugly head again so WOMP#u win some u lose some
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beastking-golion · 1 year
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FHR SPOILERS
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I avoided to Argent’s romance because I didn’t think I’d like it but I finally played it and I was so wrong I was so wrong, she is so girly pop murder fiend “I have morals but only sometimes” ass kicking nanovore-made cupcake eating god princess
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jatcv · 2 months
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I’m happy to check the votes…. first with the boys name, Danny is “officially approved”
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as for the girls name, we might do a revoting, for “Final”
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slashthrashandcrash · 20 days
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Meg and her boyfriend that she says doesn't bite but actually bites really hard
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they-bite · 1 year
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surely someone's done this but i haven't seen it yet so
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bisexual-horror-fan · 8 months
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"Spare Me." Danny Boy/The Axeman X FEM! AFAB! Reader.
Okay! SO! I wasn’t expecting to do this tonight but fuck it. In the movie Final Girl (2015) there is this character, Danny Boy or The Axeman, and fuck it. I like him. I always wanted to do a oneshot of him and I re-watched the movie last night and so I did it! Here it is! Some straight up porn with very little preamble. You don’t need to know the movie, not really. Let’s just go off, hm?
Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.1K. Danny Boy/The Axeman X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Chase. Predator Prey. Threat Of Violence. Mentions Of Murder And Gore. Fuck To Survive. Hair Pulling. Rough Treatment. Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Sloppy Blow Job. Grinding. Gagging. Choking. Praise. Pet Names. Dirty Talk. Teasing. Taunting. Cum Eating. 
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It was a stupid fucking idea. Agreeing to go hang out in the woods with four guys, all alone, and why? Because you had a pathetic fucking crush on one of them and would take any flimsy excuse to spend time with him. You were sure that if you declined the invitation it would look poorly on you and you wanted to think you were fun, so you agreed. Besides, spending time with his friends, showing investment? It would score you some major points.
You show up in the colour of dress that was asked, the boys come around dressed to the nines themselves you all pile into the car and are taken to this point in the woods. Couches and chairs around a game of truth or dare started but it quickly led to this.
Turns out you were asked out here for entertainment of a different kind, they were going to hunt you. 
Your heels were forgotten quickly, you didn’t bother with them, ran barefoot through the woods until your lungs burn and your legs ache. You found a hiding spot, you thought maybe you could be quiet and outlast but sadly, he proved you wrong, he found you. 
It is dark, it is cold, there is no wind and you have your back to a tree trunk, crouched down and listening, trying to see if you could determine where any of them were. You’d heard screaming and calls of your name a while ago, but nothing as of late. So when the axe comes down, lodges in the wood next to your head, it feels like your heart is about to beat out of your chest, you scream, hands up and he laughs. He rips the axe out of the wood and flips it around in his hands before he puts it metal side down, he leans against the wooden end casually.
“There you are lil darlin’! I was actually worried for a minute there you’d made a clean getaway!” 
How does he do that? He’d been running through the woods and didn’t look like he broke a sweat, not a hair out of place, the manic mischief in his eyes, the cock of his head and that fucking smile. 
“Why are you doing this, Danny?” You asked quietly and he hums, “Oh you know, I get bored so easily and this is just fun, that’s all.” 
“That is what this is about? You having fun?” You asked in disbelief. “Hunting girls for sport and killing them is fun?” 
“It’s the besssst.” He sighed, the look shifts to fond, his eyes wander and you know he is recounting God knows how many memories of other nights like this one. How many people as he killed? How much blood spilled in these woods with this axe? You are in the same boat, could meet that same fate if you aren't careful and cunning.
The idea strikes. He wants to have fun, that is the most important thing, so you need to offer up something else that is fun and maybe you can save your own life, maybe he will spare you. 
“What if I have another game in mind?” You asked and he pouts, “But we are already playing a game right now. It’d be rude to cut this one short before it’s done, before we get to the best part.” 
You swallow hard, gain some composure and say, “Yeah, well, we can come back to this one, let’s just uhm, pause it for a minute for this other one. It’s really fun, I promise.”
He stares you down. The silence is a heavy and oppressive blanket weighing on you. Fear curls in your gut, your hair is standing on end, goosebumps are raised everywhere and he finally speaks, “You’re so adamant it’s adorable.”
Standing up straight again he says with a shrug and a grin, “Alright, I can’t say no to you!”
Shit, it worked? “Really?” 
There is that winning smile plastered on his face, he nods, “Really. You’ve convinced me. So what’s this other game you got in mind?”
It did not take much convincing. Particularly when you suggested he could still have the axe involved. 
You are trying your best not to gag too much while on your knees for him, your hands are on his hips, fingers digging gently into creamy skin, able to feel the bones underneath as his hand is in your hair, rocking forward into your eager mouth. Drool is slipping out of your lips, running down your chin, some stray drops have landed on your chest, your tongue flat against the underside of his shaft, you suck deeply and his fingers thread and twist in your locks, he pulls and says harshly, “Look up at me.”
You do so, eyes peek open and look up to see him, his tie is undone, his jacket is off and rested on a stump behind him, pants down and open, suspenders hanging free. 
He is sweating now, a few pieces of his hair had gotten loose, teeth gritted and bared, a harsh inhale escapes him as you push him in deeper, swallowing around the head of his dick. He groans as you repeat the action and once more before he pulls on your hair even harder, fucking forward into your mouth, forcing himself deeper still. His balls are pressed to your chin, he grinds deeply and grunts, “Don’t stop moving those pretty little hips honey.” 
That axe of his was involved, but how was it being utilised? He set it up before you'd gotten to work. He took his weapon of choice and brought it down with great force so the sharp metal was implanted in the ground. It rests now underneath you, he has it placed so the long wooden handle is at a good forty five degree angle, perfect for you to grind on while you suck him off and that is just what he wanted you to do.
A shaky nod, you bob your head up and down, taking him almost totally out before driving him back in as you start to move your hips once more. You are grinding on the polished wood, dragging your soaked and slick cunt along it, you were still clad in the silky underwear you’d put on that night hoping he’d be the one taking them off you. The pleasure sparks, this is filthy, you are in the open night air, any one of his other murderous friends could happen upon you, find him literally balls deep in your throat while you are humping his murder weapon that has caused how many other women in your position to fall. 
It feels much better than it should. You are shivering and not from the temperature outside. “There you go, gooood job.” 
He breaks eye contact, his head tips back, his hand in your hair helping to lead you as you pleasure him, “Fuck, you are right, this is some real fun.” 
The praise as well as him cursing makes you moan against his shaft. You are a wreck, you are being sloppy but he doesn’t seem to mind, seems to like how he is ruining you, getting off on it.
Your breathing is strained and laboured through your nose and he is quick to point that out, “Hard to breath hon?”
Before you can have any kind of response his hand that isn’t in your hair comes down, he pinches your nose, plugs it effectively and starts aggressively fucking into your mouth, deeply, down your throat and you can’t breathe. “Grind it out, don’t you dare fucking stop if you ever wanna breathe again.” 
His voice is strained with pleasure and you listen, your focus is divided in two places, the first one is to stop yourself from gagging and the second is put into frantically working your hips. The pleasure spikes, the sensation jolts up your spine, one of your hands leave his hips and instead lock on the axe’s handle, you rock harder, moaning weakly around him. Your eyes are half lidded and hazy with lust, the lack of air is clouding your mind, your head heavy, you feel drenched, it is staining your thighs and all over the wood. Your clit is throbbing, you find yourself rocketing towards the edge and you whimper.
He asks breathlessly, “Are you close?”
A nod so small he might not have noticed it if he wasn’t stuffed down your throat, he’d slowed, was fucking deep still, hard, but not quickly, he is drawing it out. He holds your nose for a moment more, your vision is getting spotty around the edges, your hand on his hip pushes weakly and he finally lets go. You suck down a deep breath through your nose, greedily gulping down air. His hips had slowed but yours had not, he could see how pleading your gaze was, “Awe I know, you’re welcome. I coulda killed you right there before you got the chance to cum but I’m gonna be nice. How generous am I, huh?”
He cooed it in a condescending tone, saying it teasingly, as if you should be sincerely grateful he hasn’t murdered you yet, not before you had the chance to get off on this instrument of violence. 
“You better hurry up though. I’m close too.” You could tell, he was pulsing on your tongue and you were so, so close. You grip the wooden handle tighter, grind harder, the feeling running through you was intense, you feel delirious with pleasure, a warning hum around him as you are on the very edge. “C’mon I wanna see it, get there, cum on it.” 
The verbal encouragement wasn’t needed but it does help, does make you tip over. Your thighs tremble, you gush, your panties were plastered to you, totally stuck to every fold and contour of your cunt as you find your bliss on smooth wood. You moan loudly, he picks up the pace again, taking advantage of your weakened state, abusing you while you are mid orgasm, he is really giving it to you again. He fucks harder, it’s brutal, you gag yet again and he praises you, voice shaking and loud, “Good girl, there you go.”
You whine and the come down takes a while, you don’t stop, stuttering rolls of your hips drawing out your orgasm, the aftershocks making your body jerk. You gag, fresh spit spills over your chin and he doesn’t pull your hair, his hand pets over you softly instead, “Oh ju-just a liiittle longer, almos' there sweetheart.” 
The praise doesn’t stop there, “So fuck-ing good for me, taking it so well, gonna swallow, fuck, every damn drop-” 
His sentence is cut off with a groan, a final push of his hips, he holds deep and he cums. You do as he thought you would, you swallow over and over, taking every bit of him without issue, welcoming him and managing to choke all of it down. 
He takes his time. He sits in your mouth, enjoys the warmth and the wetness for over a minute as his breathing begins to even out. Slowly he pulls out with a hiss and then you can truly breathe properly. He is totally untangled from you, hands off. 
You let yourself sit back, no longer resting your throbbing slit against the axe, you take a deep breath, eyes falling closed. You had to admit, that was really, really fucking fun game. You think you made a good impression, you think you might have saved yourself. 
Listening to him hum is relaxing even though you can't place the tune, your eyes open back up, he is getting dressed again, fixing his pants back up, shouldering his suspenders, tucking his shirt in. He picks up his jacket and slips it back on, adjusts it and you ask, voice thick from the rough treatment he gave, “Good time?”
“Oh sugar, it was unforgettable.” He sighs and then comes closer once more, his hand grips the end of the axe and he jerks it up out of the ground.
He cradles it in both hands, he tilts it and you wonder what he is doing for a second until it hits, he is looking at the slick you left behind, seeing how your juice catches in the moon and starlight. You weren’t expecting this but maybe you should have. He leans down, his pink tongue darts out and presses to the handle, he licks up the length of it, midway up he meets your gaze, his stare boring into yours as his tongue reaches what he was craving, tastes the mess you left behind. He lets out a pornographic moan, he keeps going, licks over the metal too, you’d made so much it had spilled that far down, he is uncaring over the dirt there as well, much too caught up. 
He stands straight again, licks his lips as he looks down at the axe and he sighs, his hand that isn’t still holding the axe pushes his hair back, “Fuck, you taste good.” 
Looking back down at you, he props the axe on his shoulder, his opposite hand comes down and palms himself through his dress pants, “I wanna keep playin’, I think I got another round in me.”
Eyes wide, you would be fine with that, with fucking him, but you can't cut in before he says, “Only after another round of the first game of course. You make it through that and we can play your game again, sound fair?”
It takes too long for it to register in your lust hazed mind. Your legs were asleep from how long you were on your knees, you are freezing cold, he expects you to get up on your still shaky legs and run through the woods again for your life? Without thought it leaves your mouth, “Wait, what?” 
Both of his hands grip the axe handle, something in his eyes hardens, gearing up to swing and he says, “Unpause.” 
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lovemayble · 3 months
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why is uncle richard kinda 👀
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I will pay insurmountable amounts of pure cash to get a Great Gatsby dead on main au (Nick/Gatsby style, ofc)
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mollificen · 1 year
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Not enough people are talking about them
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