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toxicanonymity · 1 year

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Rock Bottom Ch 6: Rock Hard

3.1k | Corey x Y/N, Corey x Y/N x Michael x Corey x Y/N | NSFW

Summary: They just can't help themselves 🥵

She turns off the flashlight and slowly holsters it along with her gun. She takes a deep breath, mesmerized by Corey's disheveled, aroused state.

Rock Bottom Index - All Chapters

Check out the art by @cordelium from Ch 5. commissions please don't repost their work without permission.

@ethanhoewke @kuromi2005 @rebel-blue @wolvesandvampires

18+ MDNI

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Corey watches (Y/N) survey the scene and prays she arrived alone.

Seeing her in uniform takes him back to 2019 when she felt him up at the courthouse. Corey now suspects that before she met Michael, she didn't desperately crave criminal cock. He wonders if she was miserable like him or had a good life. He wonders what her first time with Michael was like. He can still taste Michael's cock in his mouth, and his jaw is pleasantly sore.

Her flashlight illuminates Dr. Mathis on the ground. She kicks him to make sure he's dead - probably not Sheriff's Office protocol. She bends down and puts her fingers on the doctor's pulse through the dry-cleaning bag. Corey quietly stands up, but stays doubled over, holding his bloody hand and pressing his wrist into his stiff, aching shaft.

She's still looking at the doctor, inspecting the scene curiously. Her hand goes to her radio.

"He was a bad guy," Corey interrupts. His voice is even lower and more gravely than usual.

She stands and whips around toward him. "Cunningham, is that you?" Her light shines on him.

She touches her radio and says, "False alarm." It beeps. She comes closer and starts to ask, "What are you-" when she looks through the glass sliding door to the bedroom and sees Deb, the nurse, pinned to the wall.

Her eyes widen and she steps closer to the sliding door. "He was here." She turns to face Corey more directly. He raises an arm to shield his eyes from the light and she lowers it. The light falls down his blue sweater and lands on his unbuttoned pants. Her eyebrows shoot up, intrigued.

She turns off the flashlight and slowly holsters it along with her gun. She takes a deep breath, mesmerized by Corey's disheveled, aroused state. The look on her face says his cock is the only thing in the world that matters right now. He follows her gaze to the swell in his briefs peeking out from his unbuttoned pants.

She approaches and stands right up against him. He doesn't budge. She grabs his ass. Her uniform pants glide smoothly against his engorged briefs while her belt digs into his hip bones. Corey begins to breathe heavier. Before he knows it, his hands are unbuttoning her uniform top. And she lets him. No hesitation this time.

Corey pauses and meets her eyes. "Yeah, he was here," he tells her. "And you don't know Michael as well as you think."

"Why's that," she asks quietly in his ear, uninterested. She pulls him against her and grinds into him. He swells harder and she exhales with a soft moan.

"I sucked his cock," Corey says.

She laughs into his neck and her breath is warm on his skin. Corey sniffs.

She pulls back to look at him, and her smile fades when she sees his watery eyes.

"Holy shit." For a moment, she looks like she's seen a ghost, but one she'd like to fuck.

"Yeah," Corey says. "It was. . ." His lip trembles.

"Yeah," she says softly, looking into his eyes.

She looks at him warmly and touches his cheek. There's a hint of sympathy but mostly wonder. She closes her eyes and kisses his lips. When she looks at him again, her eyes are wild. She licks her lips and takes a deep breath. She walks Corey up against the glass door.

She breathes heavily, looks back and forth between his eyes, cradles his head with one hand, and kisses him desperately, like she wants to suck something out of him.

She reaches into his briefs.

"God," she says half into his mouth when she feels his naked girth.

He thrusts into her hand. He's still painfully hard and her soft skin feels so good. She pulls his cock out and steps back enough to marvel at it, then lowers herself to her knees. She admires it head on then wraps her lips around it. She takes it halfway into her mouth and sucks. A pang of pleasure shoots through his gut. After only a moment, she stops to lustily admire it again. She licks it up and down and massages it slowly in her hand as it weeps. She sucks up his pre-cum and starts to take him into her mouth again, then stops.

"No," she says, her brow furrowing as she thumbs the swollen head. "I need you inside me."

Corey inhales deeply.

Her face is flushed and her chest heaves under her unbuttoned uniform. "Right now," she says to his cock, then looks up at Corey before standing. She grabs a tool from her belt and pries open the glass door. She holds it open for Corey and unbuckles her belt with the other hand.

Corey undresses then sits at the foot of the bed, massive erection throbbing in one hand against his abdomen.

Her cheeks grow even rosier as she admires the pool of blood under Michael's artwork while pulling off her boots. She puts the gun on the bed and lets the weight of her belt and holster send her pants to the floor with a thud. She takes the radio off, turns it down, and throws it in the pile.

She walks up between Corey's knees. He lets go of his cock and she grabs it while he pulls down her soaked underwear, then feels her with his thick fingers.

Corey wants her so bad his face hurts, but he feels guilty about last time. "Are you sure?" He asks.

"God, yes," she says, and the breath in her voice leaves no doubt that she means it.

She spreads her knees wide to straddle Corey’s broad frame on the bed. "You're right. I guess I don't know him."

Corey swallows.

"He wants you alive," she adds.

She grabs his cock and massages her clit with it, breathing heavily.

"You really sucked him off," she says, shaking her head. "That's so fucking hot." She looks like she means it.

She positions his swollen tip for entry. Corey's brow furrows. He wets his lips as his large hands knead her hips.

"Are you sure?" She asks.

Between heavy breaths, he manages to say, "I'd die happy."

Her wet heat begins to engulf the head of his cock. He groans and pulls her hips down.

Her tight cunt sinks onto him and she gasps as her insides make way for his girth. Corey thrusts his hips up and she moans. She feels so hot, so wet, so snug. He can feel every ridge of her walls. She begins to rise up and he pulls her down harder. His breath hitches as he bottoms out. They grind their hips in rhythm.

Red and blue lights flash in the fog outside and Corey's heart jumps into his throat. He freezes and his large hands force her still on his cock.

"Is back-up coming?" He asks her.

She doesn't even look. Her eyes are barely open. "We're good, just fuck me," she begs, rolling her hips into him.

Corey wants nothing more than to do just that, but lights are definitely flashing outside.

"A car's here," he insists. She turns to look but the light cuts off before she can see it.

She sighs and reaches for the gun. "Leave the look-out to me, okay? Fuck me, then we’ll get out of here."

She rises halfway up his cock then sinks back down with a moan and starts rolling into him again. She puts her wrists behind his head, holding the gun in one hand and fingering his curls with the other as she rides him. Corey lets her, but he's hesitant. Law enforcement is definitely on the property.

"Fuck me like you mean it," she demands. She takes his chin in her hand. "Now." She's not asking.

She pauses to rip off her undershirt and bra. Then she starts moving her hips again, her eyes drifting from the window to the artwork. She takes a deep breath and begins riding him full-throttle, moaning.

It feels too good. Corey closes his eyes and they kiss sloppily – So much for the look-out. He kneads her asscheeks and already feels like he could come any second.

A noise outside startles him.

"It's nothing," she says, incapable of caring about anything but his cock inside her. She keeps riding him. A rush of pleasure shoots from his balls, through his chest, to his throat. His ass clenches and he erupts inside her, his strong arms wrapping around her back. He buries his mouth in her neck to keep from making noise. She moans quietly with each pulse of his enormous load. When his balls are empty, Corey slows to a halt. Any other time, he'd be committed to making her come.

"No, no, no, PLEASE don't stop," she begs. She's practically crying.

Corey feels bad. She's already such a hot mess, how long could it possibly take her to come? What's more, if he's honest with himself, he feels so much safer with her walls around his cock, even in this hazardous situation. He hopes she'll finish quickly.

"Yeah," he pants. "Just a sec." Her hips move and his large hands still her.

She twitches around him and he groans from the overstimulation, but a loud crash cuts him off. Corey reflexively tightens his arms around her. They sit frozen on the bed.

There's a scuffle, a man groans, and something clatters to the ground.

Corey starts to whisper, “should we-”

"Shhh. Don't move," she says.

They stay perfectly still for what feels like five minutes. His cock twitches inside her and her nipples harden against his pecs.

They hear footsteps. She lets Corey's cock slide out and slowly leans back to peer across the room. His hands on her hips keep her from falling off him. The blood rushes to his pounding heart and head. Both of them stay frozen, looking toward the sound.

The footsteps resume and get closer, heavier.

A shadow appears.

Then a shape.

It's Michael Myers.

***

Michael enters the room with a knife in one hand and something else in the other. He stops to observe the scene, sniffing the air like an animal. Corey should be afraid, but he feels a rush of life and arousal.

Michael approaches the bed from the side, with Corey and (Y/N) both frozen on the foot of the bed, breathing heavily. She's still straddling Corey.

Michael observes them like one of his art installations, then tosses two Sheriff's Office badges onto the bed next to them. Michael stares at the badges, then at them, as though to say, "you're welcome."

His boots thud as he slowly steps to the foot of the bed to stand in front of them. She begins to dismount Corey, but Michael stops her with the flat of his knife on the nape of her neck. Her nipples pucker. Corey keeps his arms around her and watches Michael. There's a prominent bulge in Michael’s suit.

Michael breathes deeply and slowly. He begins to unzip his own jumpsuit. She hears the zipper and looks at Corey with her eyes wide. Corey’s cock rapidly hardens against her clit, and her eyes close with a gasp. Corey can’t tell if she’s scared or excited until she rubs herself against Corey's cock. She’s so warm and slick. Even wetter than before.

Corey swells back to full mast with a shudder. He doesn’t dare move. He glues his eyes to Michael's unzipped uniform. Michael’s breath gets louder and his monster cock falls out. It almost seems to glisten.

Corey is still sitting there with (Y/N) straddling his lap. Michael steps forward and spreads his feet to either side of Corey’s, looming over them. Michael’s large hand on her back pushes both of them down. Corey lies flat while she hugs him with all fours.

Michael huffs, bends his knees, and his hand presses down on the small of her back. He lets his cock fall between her legs and graze Corey’s balls, sending a shockwave through Corey. Michael slickens himself with their combined mess, then aligns himself, holds her down, and plunges into her ass.

Her eyes go wide, her mouth falls open, and she grunts as she’s propelled forward, wetly dragging up Corey’s shaft. She reaches down and nestles Corey's tip in her front door and he gasps.

Michael retreats slightly, then he pulls her back hard onto both of them and she groans. Her cunt is so tight on Corey’s cock with Michael in her ass. Through her thin membrane, Corey feels Michael's every groove and vein right up against his own. It's unlike anything he's ever felt before or even knew he could feel. He rests his hands on her back and gazes into the holes of the mask, taking it all in.

Michael puts his hands down on the bed. He pulls back, then thrusts into her harder, and Corey feels every inch of his monster cock push by. Michael hovers over them, his mask making eye contact with Corey. Corey starts fucking her warm, wet cunt in sync with Michael's rhythm. Corey pulls back while Michael pushes in.

Their bodies drift back toward the headboard. The mattress sinks under Michael’s weight as he kneels on the bed, straddling Corey’s legs, and they keep fucking. With every thrust into her, Michael’s cock firmly strokes Corey’s, and every time, a pang of pleasure shoots through Corey’s ass.

Corey thought his wildest dream was to fuck Michael, but he never could have imagined the intimacy of this moment, feeling the rock-hard silhouette of Michael's cock drag against his own, hot and wet, their balls meeting, the mask gazing down at him.

Their three bodies blur together in synchronicity. Corey grunts and Michael breathes. She groans and wails as she’s fucked by both killers at the same time. They continue pounding her, their shafts sliding against each other through her thin wall.

Michael audibly grunts, making Corey’s balls jerk. Corey doesn’t want to finish yet, but the next time the shape drags against him, it’s too late. Corey pulsates powerfully as he comes. Michael keeps fucking her, rubbing against Corey's cock, slapping into his slowly emptying balls. Corey groans at the overstimulation.

Her walls contract and she moans into Corey's neck. Michael doesn’t let up. The rhythm of his hard, veiny length keeps Corey coming longer than he ever has. Corey groans loudly and she wails. They sound like wild animals as they come together while Michael remains relentless.

Corey tries to kiss her but Michael grabs both her wrists, pulling her chest up and away. He holds her arms out. Her breasts quake as she finishes coming. Then, her head bows in exhaustion and she silently cries, tears falling onto Corey. She and Michael look like an obscene crucifix. As her convulsions fade, he lets her collapse onto Corey.

Michael pulls out, still absurdly erect, but Corey stays inside her. Safe, comfortable, protected.

***

Corey is just beginning to catch his breath when his legs are forced open by Michael kneeling between them. His whole body erupts in goosebumps. Michael drags his cock through the frothy blend trickling down Corey's balls, then his wet tip probes Corey’s entrance. Corey is instantly rock hard again inside (Y/N). She whimpers and stays wrapped around Corey’s body, enrobing his hard cock. Michael’s arms wrap around Corey’s thighs.

Michael yanks Corey back on his wet cock, breaching the tight, virgin ring of muscle. Corey hears his own groan echo through the house before he can fully process that this is really happening. Michael plunges into him again. When the swollen tip hits Corey’s prostate, Corey feels like God is physically touching his soul. His eyes sting with tears.

Michael's powerful thrusts into Corey propel (Y/N) up Corey’s cock, then she sinks back down as Michael retreats. The three of them move as one machine with Michael as the engine. Corey feels something building deep inside him.

She moans into Corey's neck and the flat of her teeth press into his skin as Michael’s rhythm bounces her on Corey’s cock. Corey’s prostate throbs harder and harder. He's never been this hard, and he can hear it in her whimpers.

Her tight, wet cunt massages his cock while Michael destroys his hole and rearranges his insides. Michael shows no signs of fatigue. The pressure builds more and more and Corey savors every second.

Something explodes deep within Corey, sending several pulsing waves through his body before his cock erupts again. He groans as the most intense rush overwhelms him and he pulsates enormously inside her. She cries out and contracts around him. She bites his neck and moans into him.

Michael twitches inside Corey and inhales sharply. Michael grunts, then softly groans as his cock pumps violently into Corey, and Corey keeps coming.

There’s a whole galaxy flowing between them, with Michael’s unfathomable load emptying into Corey and Corey’s into her. Michael stays still and quiet as he finishes, while she and Corey writhe and moan into each other.

Michael pulls out and drops Corey’s legs, then zips up. He stands by the bed and picks up his knife, gripping the handle, blade-down. For a moment, Corey thinks this might be the end of his life. But Michael observes them for a few seconds, then walks out.

***

Corey quietly sobs. A week ago, he had nothing and no idea what he wanted. He was too tired to dare to dream. Michael plucked him from the edge of death and gave him new life, purpose, and want. And now he's made Corey's dreams come true, and more.

Corey is euphoric. Life makes sense. He's struck by the interconnectedness of everything and everyone and every little moment. For the first time, he's glad Jeremy Allen died that night. He's glad he was bullied and tormented for three years. He's happy to be the psycho. He's proud to be Haddonfield's other Boogeyman. Because all of that brought him to this moment right here.

(Y/N) gently coaxes Corey into leaving. First, they strip the bed and take the linens. There are two dead cops - one in the kitchen, one outside. The one outside is face down in the pool in a giant cloud of red.

He makes her swear not to burn, dump, or even wash the linens. He wants to keep them forever. She's obviously just pacifying his post-coital psychosis when she agrees, but he still appreciates it.

She calls the scene in to dispatch as if she had the wrong address before. Then, Corey leaves on his motorcycle. He clenches his ass as he rides, wanting to keep Michael's seed inside as long as possible.

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ghostofaboy · 5 months

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Rock Bottom - Benny

Summary: Frankie is spiraling after Tom’s death. Drugs lead to some unhealthy friendships, and too ashamed to reach out to his former teammates for help, Frankie is drawn into a world he’s afraid he can’t get out of.

After settling into his new life Frankie gets a chance to catch up with Benny.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morale/Original Male Characters Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only Word count: 1927 Chapter: 21/?

Warnings: Talk of sex and prostitution, mentions of PTSD, mentions of drug use

Note: This is a fic with gay and bi characters. Please make sure you read the tags/warnings. Header by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Part 20 / Part 1 / Masterpost

After a few weeks, Frankie had started to settle into his strange new routine. While working two jobs was tiring, it was certainly filling up his savings account, which he knew he’d need later down the road if he wanted to get joint custody of Sofia. And finally, he’d spoken to Will about the Vets Rehab program and was now officially on the waiting list. At the assessment appointment, he’d been told the waiting time was two months. Will, who had come with him, had cursed under his breath at Frankie’s side at that, but honestly, Frankie was grateful to have been accepted. Two months wasn’t too long, and considering the waiting lists for other programs, Frankie knew it could have been a hell of a lot longer.

After the initial flurry of sex during the first weekend, Tilly had only used his services once more since. He’d wanted a quick blow job before he left for a business meeting the following Saturday, and after covering Frankie’s face in come, that had been that. After that day, Frankie had spent the rest of the weekend and the one after taking stock of the garage and working on the cars. The only downside of the past few weeks was that things with Tyler had slowed somewhat after he had started his job with Tilly, but thankfully, they had not completely stalled.

This week had been going by slowly. The repair shop was practically empty, with only a few regular clients to keep them all busy. The unfortunate reality was that there wasn’t enough work for them all. So that morning, Malcolm had called a team meeting to ask for volunteers to go home for the rest of the week. Frankie had immediately put his hand up.

The way he figured it, he was going to be leaving the shop at the end of next week anyway and had no right to take money out of the pockets of any of the other guys. Plus, with his job at Tilly’s, he had more money than he’d had in years. As he gathered his things, he could hear the others still grumbling as Malcolm asked for one more volunteer before heading back to his truck.

It was only Wednesday, and Tilly wouldn’t be expecting him again until Saturday, which left Frankie with more free time than he’d had in almost a year. Sitting in his truck, he knew exactly who he wanted to see and, pulling out his phone, immediately started to text Tyler. After some thought, he composed what he thought sounded like a good enough message. To the point, sincere, and hopefully not too needy.

[Hey, I know things have been a little weird with us since I took the job with Tilly. I’m off for the rest of the week and was hoping to see you. Frankie x]

Pressing send, Frankie dropped the phone down onto the passenger seat next to him. Now what? Tyler might not even reply, might not want to see him, might not… Gripping the steering wheel, Frankie took a long, deep breath in. The last thing he needed to do right now was spiral.

His head was getting clearer, but he still wasn’t sleeping too well. His body was exhausted, and he often felt like he could sleep for days. But no matter how tired he was, Frankie found himself sleeping in bursts, interrupted by bouts of nausea and the increasingly frequent nightmare. Vivid, awful dreams of Tom covered in blood. In the dreams, sometimes Tom was alive, following them through the mountains with his head half gone. He was angry at them, screaming at Pope or Frankie about their failures. Other times, Tom was just the first to die, and Frankie would watch as each of his friends was taken from him by unseen enemies.

But the worst dreams were about something terrible happening to Sofia because of him. Frankie’s mind had managed to conjure up horrific scenario after horrific scenario, covering every possible way his tiny little girl could come to harm.

After a few minutes of focusing on his breathing, Frankie felt a little better. His phone sat silently on the seat next to him, with no reply yet from Tyler. Resisting the urge to pick it up, Frankie started his truck and set off. He didn’t really want to sit at home and stew, the thought of being alone right now didn’t seem like a good idea. Then again, just heading over to Tyler’s trailer also might not be well received. And as much as Frankie wanted to see him, he also knew he needed to give Tyler space.

After that initial weekend at Tilly’s, Tyler had come around to his place just as they had arranged, but the atmosphere was tense. Tyler had admitted his jealousy and discomfort, while acknowledging that he felt like a hypocrite because of it. In the end, they’d watched a movie before Tyler left for the night. Since then, they’d seen each other a handful of times. Each time was getting easier, edging closer to the normalcy they’d once had.

Stopping at a red light, Frankie ran over the options in his mind. Home would drive him stir-crazy and let him dwell on bad shit. Tyler’s wasn’t an option just yet. Then it hit him. Benny. He knew the gym Benny was training at and that he’d be there every day. With a destination in mind, Frankie felt his shoulders relax a little as he set off toward the gym.

Benny was based in a new gym converted from an old factory. From the outside, it didn’t look like much, a little shabby even. But as Frankie made his way through the front door, he was met with a clean and modern gym set-up. The young guy at the front desk looked up when Frankie approached.

“Hi.” He smiled, setting down his notepad. “You lookin’ to join?”

“I’m just looking for Ben Miller.” Frankie shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m an old friend and-”

“Wait.” The young guy’s smile grew. “Are you Catfish?”

“Yeah?” Frankie cocked his head, a little confused.

“Oh man!” The guy stood up and made his way around the desk. “Ben talks about you all the time! It’s so cool to meet you! Come on, I’ll take you through.”

Frankie couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he was led through to the main gym and to the back of the large workout area. Men glanced up as he passed, some frowning at his jeans and obvious lack of gym clothes. Frankie blushed as a fit, younger man shimmering with sweat winked at him. Finally, at the very back, Frankie could see a group of men standing and chatting next to a couple of punchbags. And there, in the middle, throwing his head back as he laughed, was Benny.

Frankie’s heart skipped a beat. Even after all this time, even knowing that Benny would never be interested in him, Frankie couldn’t help admiring his friend. Benny was laughing and talking with his friends or trainers, topless in just a set of baggy shorts. Sweat clung to his toned body, making him glisten in the artificial light. Benny turned as head as Frankie approached and his smile grew.

“Fish!”

In a flash, Benny’s sweaty arms were wrapped around Frankie, his face buried in Frankie’s neck, and suddenly everything seemed right in the world. For a few moments, Frankie let Benny just hold him, before Benny eventually stepped away.

“What are you doing here, man!” Benny slapped his shoulder playfully. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Work’s slow, so I’ve got the day off.” Frankie smiled. “Thought I’d come and check up on you.”

“I’m almost done here.” Benny gestured to his trainer behind him. “You ok to wait, then we can go get some lunch?”

“Perfect.”

A couple of hours later, Frankie’s cheeks ached from smiling. It felt so good to spend time with Benny. It felt like old times. Benny told the same crappy jokes, and Frankie laughed at Benny’s terrible Spanish. It was like South America had never happened.

They ate lunch before heading back to Benny’s apartment and sat talking about Benny’s fighting. As the hours passed, Frankie could feel the tension leaving him. He needed this. He needed his old squad. He’d spent far too long in this new world created of his own mistakes, and this afternoon felt like a return to normalcy.

“So…” Benny licked his lips before taking a sip of his tea. “Work is slow?”

“Yeah.” Frankie nodded, blowing on his own drink to cool it. “Only a few regular jobs, not enough for all of us, so Malc asked for volunteers to take the week off.”

“And you volunteered?”

“Yeah.” Frankie cocked his head at Benny. “Why?”

“And you can afford to do that?” Benny was looking at him strangely over his steaming drink.

“Yeah, I can afford it.” Frankie frowned. This conversation had taken a strange turn and he wasn’t sure he liked the way Benny was looking at him. “What’s this about Ben?”

“Have you been working with that new friend? What was his name? Tyler? The streamer?” Benny took another sip. He was keeping his tone light, but Frankie knew this was an interrogation. Benny was digging.

“No.” Frankie answered honestly. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to do any video with Tyler. Pausing for a moment he weighed his options, before answered making sure to keep his tone equally as light. “I took a private mechanic job. I’m working it on the weekends until I finish my notice at Malc’s place. Ben…” Frankie set his drink down, leaning forward in his seat. “Ben, what is this about? Why does this feel like an interrogation?”

“I’m just worried that’s all.” Benny let out a long sigh. “You’ve only just got clean again and…”

“And?”

“And, a buddy of mine said he saw you a few weeks back.” Benny looked uncomfortable, his cheeks growing redder as he searched for the right words. “You were, um, it was at Cutler’s and… he said he saw…”

As Benny trailed off and Frankie could feel his face beginning to burn with shame. Cutler’s was a dive bar Gavin had taken him to a few times. He’d blow guys in the dimly lit parking lot and sometime get fucked around the back of the place. The last time was around five weeks ago and Frankie had sucked three cocks in the parking lot while Gavin chatted and sold coke.

“And your friend saw me blowing some guys?” Frankie let his head drop, peeking up at Benny from under the brim of his cap. “Is that what you were gonna say?”

“Yeah.” Benny slumped down in his chair, looking at Frankie with those goddam big sad eyes. “He said, fuck, he said that you had a pimp.”

“Fuck.” Frankie could feel his hands shaking as he reached up to take his cap off. Throwing the Standard Oil cap down onto his knee, Frankie heard himself speaking before his brain had a chance to catch up. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. But… that’s over now. I’m clean now, I swear. It’s… all that… I… I don’t have a pimp now.”

“Fuck Fish.” Benny looked heartbroken, and Frankie had to force himself not to bolt out the door. “Fuck. How did you… how did that start?”

“You really wanna know?” Frankie could feel the tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

“Tell me everything.”

#frankie morales #frankie 'catfish' morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x male character #frankie morales x original male character(s)#rock bottom fic

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decarbry · 2 months

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#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #aizawa shouta #Aizawa fan art #eraserhead #so my favorite take on Aizawa's life post-UA is where he just. continues to spiral #after they graduate he continues to pull away from Hizashi and Nem until they hardly ever hear from him. it's like pulling teeth getting hi #on the phone and impossible to see in person. working himself to death in the underground hero world and making pennies #sometimes so deep in it that he has bouts of houselessness but refuses to ask anyone for help. for YEARS.#so when his friends finally pry themselves an opening they find him at rock bottom and are the only real reason he gets pulled out of it at #all to become the Aizawa we know in canon #he spends the next few years after leaving UA and prior to joining an agency as a self-described terrible friend and all he's good for is #being an underground hero so he runs himself down to do so #I love fics that focus on this era it's so good #they get Dark but that's how I like em #more of that please #and all of my Aizawa art adheres to this telling of his past #even in the Yabureme AU #(but not Immolation AU lmao)

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tomriddleswearjar · 11 months

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wanted to try a slightly different style than usual, I've been watching some 80s anime recently and I always love the colors and fluffy hair :o so heres a younger Harry since I'm reading Chamber of Secrets rn ✌️

#harry potter #harry potter fanart #hp fanart #my art #i leave the face of the earth for months and then come back when im at my rock bottom #aka rereading all of harry potter and working on fics i havent updated in years 💀#i hope yall are doing good and living ur best lives 😩👌💖

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z-lagorio · 1 year

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Sometimes babygirl is a 35 year-old man <3 Strawberry Kerry, as requested by my moots! :)

#he can take a break from rock n roll as a treat #the strawberry bandana is a detail that was mentioned in my fic #naturally i had to draw it #hes a bottom your honor #kerry eurodyne #cyberpunk kerry #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk fanart #fanart #art #artists on tumblr #commissions open

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dayligthltos · 5 months

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Doll.

Chapter: 1/1

Words: 1,052

Harry just went to accompany one of his friends to see a small band, he never thought he would end up against an alley wall while the band's lead singer is between his legs.

"Fuck me Louis, I'm not that delicate." "No, you're just a doll who likes to have a cock in her pretty pussy, you want me to fuck you, I'm going to."

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effervescentluminescence · 1 year

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Things are rough for Edward Teach, a.k.a. Blackbeard. Everything had been going so well after he met Stede Bonnet, a fancy and extremely handsome gentleman pirate, who everyone assumed would be Ed’s narrative foil. However, to everyone’s surprise, Edward is actually the protagonist in an anachronistic 18th century swashbuckling romantic comedy, so Stede and Edward fall in love!

Ed goes on a journey of personal growth, becoming the most open and emotionally available that he’s ever been. Unfortunately, Izzy Hands, Blackbeard’s first mate and not-so-good friend, decides to get involved. As it turns out, Izzy is not only an antagonist but is also the physical manifestation of toxic masculinity and homophobia as it relates to colonialist imperialism!

As Ed navigates his first heartbreak, he finds caring and encouragement from his new crew, who allow him to work through his emotions in a healthy way. But behind Izzy is the power of hundreds of years of repression of indigenous ways of being, so with one push, Edward is back to where he started. Except now, he has no hope that life could ever provide him joy.

At least Edward, even at rock bottom, would never let the physical manifestation of toxic masculinity pound him in the butt, no matter how handsome the actor who plays him is.

This tale is 0 words because it's literally just the show.

#ofmd #chuck tingle you inspire me #edward teach #izzy hands #unlike lucius i am not a visual artist #i spent a ridiculous amount of time making this graphic please let one other person appreciate it #there's a pun in there somewhere about rock bottom and pounding but i can't quite get there #my fic #pinned bc it’s really one of my favorite things I’ve ever made ever

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actual-changeling · 6 months

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i LOVE all the tags and comments and replies about how badly my writing hurts everyone. it's amazing. it feeds my soul.

i just feel compelled to add? reveal? that everything you have seen so far has barely scratched the surface of the angst i'm theoretically capable of. dead nightingales was probably the deepest scratch yet but we have years until season 3.

prepare for suffering because i don't think i'm going anywhere at this point. <3

#alex yells at the void #good omens #ineffable husbands #i have twenty years of childhood trauma to fuel my angst writing with #one day i will write a fic where i just straight up kill them both or smth #just to truly experience rock bottom

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the-ninja-legacy-whip · 9 months

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How will turning into a ghost affect Cole and his powers? Will it mess with his attunement? Also, if you're okay with answering it, how will that affect Jesse?

Well I was gonna answer this like a normal person but then ya went and mentioned Jesse—

. . .

"Careful there, Jess." Though he speaks with a tilted smile, no amount of pleasantry can mask the misery that bleeds from Cole's tone. "Or I'll start to think you're more upset about this than I am."

Jesse swallows a hiccup as he shoots Cole a look from across the room, not appreciating the stab at levity when prickling glitter trails down his cheeks the same way his tears do. He's been sobbing uncontrollably ever since the news was less-than-delicately dropped on him. Only now, being alone with Cole in the aftershock of the chaos, forced to face this new reality, does Jesse finally start to come to grips with it all.

But, a surprise of the cruelest flavor makes it all the harder to swallow.

And it's not that Cole hasn't had his own share of wallowing over the situation either—but his crying was just louder, hollow, hauntingly tormented, and dry. Only a mere echo of what he was once capable of.

Now, any tears he could've shed—were it still possible—would have killed him in more ways than one.

Cole stares at his boyfriend and yearns, wanting nothing more than to thread his fingers through Jesse's stupidly soft hair and soothe him until the pain of the situation becomes numb enough to bear. He wants to hold other boy tight and let their arms mingle with one another. Wants to hold his gentle face, wants to press kisses to his cheeks, wants to lean against him as they share headphones over a handpicked playlist, wants just to touch him one more time; to keep with him the memory of something he hadn't realized was so fragile.

And he knows from the look at the edge of Jesse's gaze that he longs for the same thing too.

Cole swallows around the lump in his throat. Of course, that would be a sensation he'd get to keep—not anything he'd actually want.

"It...it might not be forever. I'm not dead, just...cursed. We could find a way to break it somehow," Cole tries again, attempting to be positive for the both of them. Although 'cursed' and 'dead' are pretty much synonyms to him at this point. Jesse doesn't need to know that though. "And Master Wu said there's...ways I can make this work for me, y'know? And even if I am cursed like this forever...we know it's possible to at least become corporeal enough to be somewhat normal, thanks to Harleigh. Maybe one day, we won't even notice the difference!"

Jesse swipes a sleeve across his eyes, gazing at Cole but also through him at the same time. His stomach churns at how Cole seems to disappear even in his vision—and keeps slipping through his fingers—but he stamps his roiling feelings down. He's...just going to have to get used to this. Baby steps.

"...on that note, I've been wondering...What...um, what does it...feel like? To...be a ghost?" Jesse asks in a desperate bid to understand, and in lieu of anything else to say, though his voice is raw from screaming in horror for days on end. Cole wilts with every forced out word. "Is that...okay to ask?"

Cole curls his fists against the blanket of the bed he sits upon; the fabric remains undisturbed beneath him. The overwhelming sensation of nothing when there should be something wracks through him and steals away a breath he doesn't have.

He doesn't think there's anything that could describe the sheer ache that notion leaves him with.

"...not everything feels like something else." Cole withers when glitter trickles from the corners of Jesse's eyes again. But Jesse remains patiently listening. "...but, if I had to say...it's...mostly like...being in a fog."

Jesse's head tilts curiously. "A...fog...?"

"...Yeah." Cole gnaws his lip as he strings his thoughts together. "Like I'm mostly here, but not really. Like I can see something in the distance thought a mist, but not a clear picture. Like sometimes, people speak at me, and their voices are garbled like I'm underwater. And every motion I make is like trying to push through a cloud...and the feel of the cloud is featherlight, barely there, brushing against my hands, just a...wisp. But then I know in my heart—or what remains of it—that there should be...something more."

Cole lifts a translucent hand that yields neither the warmth nor strength he's become accustomed to. There's some sensation; something akin to a dulled static. But it's a far cry to the subtle earth-made vibrations he could once pick up on instinct.

The Element of Earth still thrums just beneath his "skin"—no curse could ever take that away from him. The earth is always shifting, even in the subtlest of ways, and he's still in sync with that much. In the slow erosion of a cliff at the seaside, in the tumbling of the sands of a beach, in the crumbling of a foundation when it finally gives way, in the spinning of the world as time marches on, in the throes of an aftershock of a earthquake...all of that he can still sense with his soul.

And yet, when it comes to his powers, the disconnect is immense—he'd describe it like a chasm suddenly cleaving his elemental connection, but even that would still yield contact with the Earth. No, this is more like the ground is slipping away from him—he's falling in reverse, going upwards, drifting farther and farther away, with nothing to tether him down—nothing to keep him grounded—

His body is no longer solid. There is no longer a foundation for Earth to be supported by.

He's never felt less attuned.

"And, overall..." Cole wraps up his thoughts, pulling his knees up to his chest. He shakes, longing for something he can anchor onto other than himself. "Everything feels...lacking. And I feel...very empty."

Pulling out of his puddle of self-pity, Cole chances a glance at Jesse. Everything in him seizes up upon witnessing Jesse openly crying again. It's not as broken and utterly devastated as before. Now, though...he cries not for what's been lost, but what he can no longer have.

"I just wanna hold your hand and comfort you so bad," Jesse confesses in a weep. "And I can't."

"...heh, yeah. Master knows I could use it right about now," Cole agrees. Even his voice is inconsolably trembling now. His heart clenches. "And I'm also dying to kiss you senseless, but ha, that's even less of a no-go. Cuz, y'know—"

It's an attempt at a joke—albeit a very true joke—that only sends Jesse deeper into a sobbing fit. And Cole can do nothing but watch it happen—watch as he's the cause for Jesse's continued turmoil. He can't even lend a shoulder for him to cry on, for there technically is no shoulder to offer, and Jesse's tears would prove to be lethal anyway.

He may not be able to feel much, but he certainly can feel how much pain he's causing for Jesse. He...can't do this to Jesse. He can't keep doing this to Jesse. He can't burden him like this, as much as he craves Jesse's comfort otherwise.

"Why do these things keep happening to you?! Why can't you—we—be blissfully happy for two seconds?!" Jesse trades his tears for a fit of protesting frustration. Cole lets out a weary, humorless chuckle in response.

"Hey, I told you I was hard to love. Just...maybe not this hard." Cole fights for it, but he can't keep the plastered smile on his face. Horror flashes across Jesse's; Cole's voice starts to crack. "But maybe...I mean–you deserve...better than a ghost, y'know. Better than a wisp of a person, in any case...not that I was all that great even before 'dying', ahahaaa...still can't believe you would've wanted me, heh..."

Jesse's blood runs cold. "Cole. Cole. C-Cole, no don't do that—"

Cole presses on. "But if this, y'know...changes anything between us—changes how you feel about me, then I...I-I would understand if you...it would be okay if...if y-you wanted to lea—"

Jesse jumps to his feet and claps, punctuated by a sound that fills the room and drives away the rest of Cole's tirade. Jesse's expression is pinched as he draws a ruby red rose from his sleeve, tilting it gingerly in Cole's direction.

"And I told you, I'll love you regardless." It's the most resolute Jesse's sounded in days. Cole can feel the imitation of his heart skipping a beat. "So, come what may...I'm going to be here for you. I'm going to be at your side, if you'll have me. Unfortunately, you can't get rid of me so easily, darling. Not even death itself could drive me away from you!"

"...jeeeeeez, so dramatic." A lightness flows through Cole and he eagerly chases the high of it. Jesse smirks in spite of himself. "But, it is one of your many adoring qualities."

Scoffing, Jesse presses a kiss to one of the petals of the rose. He spins it twice between his fingers, the blessed petal now facing towards Cole.

"It's going to...take some time to adjust to this. But we'll work together on it, just like with everything else. You're right, and we will figure something out. This...doesn't have to be the end of the world."

Cole leans forward now, matching his lips to the petal presented to him. He may not be able to feel the delicacy of the flower, but the Jesse's sentiment he receives in full force.

"I couldn't agree more, sweetheart."

And, just maybe, Cole doesn't feel quite as empty as he thought.

#in short he loses a lot of his powers (including Earth Punch/Lava Arms)#his attunement hits rock bottom #and jesse takes it as well as you'd expect (Not Well At All)#ninjago #the lego ninjago movie #tlnm #legacyverse #the ninja legacy whip #cole brookstone #oc: jesse marvell #aftershockshipping #oc x canon #cole x oc #fic tag #works of mine #fics of mine #book 7 #making fanfiction of my fanfiction

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rist-ix · 3 months

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omg just read ch 17!! heart palpitations not even joking. I had to drink a glass of water and just stare at a wall for a few minutes lol. do you think you'll do intimate scenes like the one where Valtor is drunk or even smut after this?

thank you for updating🩶

BWAHAHAHAHHAHAHA.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA✨HA✨

Girl. Now is when the smut STARTS.

#asks #fic: to be hunted to be haunted #I’m using girl gender neutrally here for dramatic emphasis #srsly tho this is where shit gets good. I can’t go from rock bottom straight to climax #I gotta let u think you’re safe first #lull u into a sense of security #so now you are getting everything you ever wanted condensed into like 2-3 chapters. hehe.

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

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Rock Bottom Ch 2 - The Prey

3.2k Words (20k overall): Corey observes Michael from a distance, then strikes out on his own to make a kill, only for Michael to take all the action in more than one way, while Corey watches. Reader gets railed.

Michael Myers x Reader; Corey thirsting for Michael

She manages to free her legs to either side of Michael. They're spread wide. Her feet are even farther from reaching the floor now. Michael closes the small gap between them with a thrust, and she groans. Corey can't see the knife, but he waits for the life to leave her eyes. It doesn't yet. It doesn't seem to at all. Michael is playing with his prey again, Corey thinks.

Rock Bottom Index / Other Chapters

EXPLICIT 18+ MINORS DNI variety of depravity including possible r*pe

Corey pulls up the hood of his sweatshirt and tries not to make a splash as he crosses a creek bed. It’s dusk, and he’s in a neighborhood not far from where he first encountered Michael earlier this week. Corey had emerged from the sewer changed and wanting more. He found a small amount of relief in the shower afterwards, and with Allyson later that night, but a different need remains unmet. A deeper void needs filling.

Michael’s lair is close to Prevo Auto Yard where Corey works. He doesn’t know it, but Ronald used to give leftover takeout to the vagabond Corey killed. That’s how close Michael’s lair is. After work, Corey watched from the overpass as Michael left the drain, then Corey followed him on foot. He’s been tracking Michael for an hour now. The darker it gets, the more trouble Corey has keeping up, and it’s not because Michael is fast.

Michael is like a cat. He slinks, he stalks, he watches, he seems to teleport small distances, making no noise at all. He’s solitary. He feeds. He plays with his prey. He naps, for years at a time. He seems to be drawn to people who don’t show interest in him at all, people who don’t see him coming.

Michael hasn't attacked anyone tonight, but he may be casing houses for new victims. Corey isn’t sure yet how Michael chooses his prey. He feels like he knows Michael intimately, but that’s only in a cosmic, metaphysical way. Most of Corey’s practical knowledge about Michael is based on news reports and rumors, just like everyone else. Based on that, most of the victims don’t seem to deserve it. There must be something to learn from watching Michael in his element.

Corey looks around 360° and sees Michael nowhere. He spends another few minutes trying to locate him then resigns himself to calling it a night. If Michael has noticed Corey on his tail, he may be getting ready to kill him, but the prospect of Michael popping out from behind a bush and attacking him excites Corey more than it scares him. Nothing scares Corey now.

A crash comes from the one-story house closest to Corey, and a light turns on inside. Corey ducks behind a tree to watch. He expects to see Michael bringing his knife down on an unsuspecting stranger. What he sees is a man and woman arguing. It's a huge window. Michael is nowhere in sight. The man wears a t-shirt that was once white, ripped jeans, and an unfastened belt. The woman is in a button shirt and underwear. She throws something at the man. Another crash. When the man turns around, he’s holding a pistol.

The man corners the woman in the kitchen and puts the barrel of the gun against her throat where it meets her jaw. She grabs a bottle from the stove, smashes it on his head, and expertly disarms him. She's pointing the pistol at him now. Corey recognizes her - It’s her. She picks up a pair of jeans from the floor and pulls them on with one hand. She leaves, slamming the door behind her. A thick, dark liquid trickles down one side of the man's head and he winces.

She's a Haddonfield Sheriff’s Deputy, or at least she used to be. Squad cars could be on their way right now. Corey disappears into the night.

2019

The first time Corey met her, it was Summer 2019. Corey was working at Prevo saving up for college. It wasn’t unusual for a law enforcement officer to stop by Prevo. Criminals use scrap yards for unsavory purposes, like ditching a getaway car, or worse, disappearing someone’s ride after disappearing them . She came into Prevo that day tracking a warrant.

While Ronald fetched something in the office, she wandered into the garage where Corey was working. She leaned against the truck he was fixing. He was getting ready to weld, so he warned her, “Uh, you should probably go back in the office. It’s not safe.” He gave her a shy, apologetic smile, and put his welder helmet down.

She moved closer instead of moving away. Uncomfortably close. Corey relented and pulled the welder’s helmet back up over his curls and waited.

“I like your jumpsuit,” she said as she sized him up. Corey was built solid. His unassuming posture made it easy to miss sometimes, but not to her.

“Heh, it’s just, uh, the uniform. We all have it,” Corey nervously chuckled. He took his glasses from his jumpsuit pocket and put them on, pressing them up into place with a brief little smile, then blinking. He looked down at her nametag. She must have thought he was looking at her chest. She seemed excited.

“Mmm,” she reacted. “Same here. Our uniforms aren’t as practical though,” and unbuttoned her top two buttons. She was wearing a thin undershirt, so the gesture wasn't completely obscene. “Not a lot of room to stretch.” She clasped her arms behind her butt and jutted her chest out, tossing her head to the ceiling. She met Corey's eyes again. “You look like you could do just about anything in yours.”

“Heh,” Corey blushed, looked around, and adjusted his glasses. She glanced at his crotch and he reflexively covered himself with the dirty rag in his hand. She didn’t see his growing bulge, but she knew. She winked.

Ronald returned from the office and cleared his throat judgmentally, "Deputy." Corey didn't have any business getting mixed up with a woman like that. Joan would have Ronald’s head.

She rolled her eyes, then smiled at Corey one last time. " Corey . Bye, Corey." She turned to Ronald, noticed the security tape in his hand, and squealed. "You're the best, Ron!"

"Heh, bye," Corey mumbled to no one, smiling. She was smoking hot and had a nice ass. He wiped his hands with the oil rag. Corey sensed she would forget about him by the end of the day, whereas he would think about this for weeks.

A few months later, around the time of Jeremy Allen's accident, she was stationed at the courthouse in pre-trial security screening. When Corey was arrested, he spent a week in jail. Two deputies, Hawkins and Mulaney, escorted him to the courthouse in the back of a squad car for his arraignment. Hawkins seemed to feel for Corey and treated him nice. "Shackles, Mulaney? He's just a kid."

Mulaney was a prick. "Protocol. Take it up with the Sheriff, old man."

They entered the courthouse through the inmate tunnel and approached the high-security screening station. Hawkins put his hand on Corey's back. "It's okay, son," nudging him toward the metal detector and body scanner. It was heavy duty enough to scan body cavities, but they still did pat downs.

She and a male deputy were both standing behind the body scanner wearing latex gloves. They always make sure there's a woman available in case a female inmate needs a pat down. Corey recognized her and blushed. "Aggravated Manslaughter," Mulaney proudly informed her. She raised her eyebrows and motioned come hither to Corey with both hands. "I know you," she said softly. "Arms out, hands facing down."

She started with his fingers, dragging her hands along the tops of his arms, in toward his neck. She gave his biceps a little squeeze and whispered, "Oh, hello." Corey gulped. Then the underside of his arms, starting with his broad palms. It was uncomfortably intimate, but Corey savored what might have been the last time he'd feel a woman's touch for years. She rounded the corners of his armpits and ran her hands down his sides. Corey shuddered. She stepped closer and said "I like this one even better," giving his prison garb jumpsuit a tug. She did remember.

She popped a squat as she ran her hands down Corey's hefty thighs all the way to his ankles. She hooked her hands around his ankles and did the backs of his calves and hamstrings on the way back up. Corey was getting hard, but she was blocking anyone else's view with her head, then body, as she stood up.

Her hands approached the apex of Corey's back legs. Her male counterpart smirked and looked the other way, clasping his gloved hands behind his back like a soldier and adjusting his posture. She gave Corey's ass a quick squeeze with both hands. The chub in his groin thickened. She looked down and kicked his foot lightly, "Spread 'em."

"Alright, we're on a schedule," Hawkins said, shaking his head.

"Tell you what lady," Mulaney piped in. "I've been bad . You've got my number. Heh heh."

"Dream on, Doug." She squatted down again and finished up by frisking Corey's inner and outer legs, bottom to top. When she got to his crotch, she seemed to like what she saw. She stood up, leaned a thigh into his hardness, and brought her lips to his ear. "Good luck." She rotated his shoulders and Corey shuffled his feet to face the courtroom. She sent him out with a pat on the butt.

Her male counterpart glanced down at Corey's jumpsuit. He said, "hey man, no sharp objects," and laughed with Mulaney as they high-fived. Corey was beet red. A boner joke, how original.

Behind Mulaney and Hawkins, another pair of deputies escorted an inmate through security. The inmate eagerly approached her and extended his arms. The deputy laughed, "Shopliftng? Ha, fat chance." She stood with her arms crossed and nodded toward the male deputy. Shoplifters didn't interest her.

Present Day

It's been two days since Corey met Michael. He wakes up with clarity: The man who was roughing her up would be the perfect victim if he's not already dead. Corey thinks about it while he works on a station wagon. Knives are kind of Michael's thing. He considers taking a wrench from the shop. Corey doesn't stop by the sewer after work. He wants to do this on his own and prove himself. He puts the wrench in his backpack with his scarecrow mask and rides his motorcycle back to the neighborhood. He turns off his headlight and idles. There’s an old red truck in the driveway. No patrol car.

Corey parks his bike on the next street and creeps through the woods. It’s dusk. He sets his backpack down against a tree and watches through the window. The scene is illuminated by a brass floor lamp that stands between the den and modest kitchen. There's a hall behind the lamp. The man is wearing an A-line tank, sitting in a recliner that has seen better days. He's eating a TV dinner. The glow of the television illuminates the stains on his shirt. No one’s going to miss this guy.

Corey leans down, without taking his eyes off the window. He removes the scarecrow mask from his bag. He stands up. “Pull a gun on a woman?” Corey thinks under his breath. “Do it again. Fuckin' coward.” It sounds tough in his Northern accent. There’s something about guns Corey doesn’t respect. He and Michael have that in common.

Corey uses one hand to place the mask on his face and the other to position the elastic in his curly hair. Next, he removes a hefty, two-foot wrench from his bag and stands up straight, enjoying the weight of it in his hand. He lets it drop to his side and the wrench extends itself with a satisfying clink.

Corey strides slightly uphill toward the house. He doesn't make much of an effort to hide, but there's no light in the yard, and the idiot is absorbed in the tv. The man is laughing with a shitfaced grin, chewing with his mouth open, until he seems to see something in the yard. The douchebag puts down his fork and slowly finishes chewing, squinting out the window. Corey ducks out of his line of vision, still making his way up the hill with his eye on the kitchen door.

The douchebag begins to stand. Crumbs fall off his shirt. Behind him, a shape emerges in the hall. The imposing silhouette could only be Michael Myers. The man doesn't see Michael. He's still squinting into the yard, and standing not quite upright. Michael steps forward. His mechanic suit is like Corey's, but the collar is upturned and his arm muscles are visible through the fabric. Corey's jaw drops and his briefs tighten. Michael stands with his arms to his sides, not holding a weapon. His fingers twitch.

Corey is torn between walking faster to claim his kill and just watching Michael work. Michael doesn’t give him much of a choice. He grabs the brass floor lamp with both hands and disassembles it in one swift motion. The lampshade rips against the wall with a crash and its light flickers out. The man sees Michael's reflection and looks around like a helpless animal. His eyes bulge.

The lamp rod is in two hollow parts with a wire in between, like long, brass nunchucks. Michael wraps the middle cord around the guy's neck, brings the rods together and twists them like a tourniquet with one massive hand, holding the man up by his belt with the other as he flails. Corey drops the wrench into the grass and rushes closer to the window.

The man is grasping at the cord with both hands and tries to make eye contact with Corey, as if the grown man in a scarecrow mask will save him. The TV continues to illuminate his dirty shirt in pale colors. Michael releases the man's belt and wraps his arm like an anaconda around the man's torso to stop his flailing. The man's movements slow down. He's not dead, but he's weakened. Michael loosens his grip and discards the lamp. Playing with his prey. The man gags and coughs, trying to catch his breath.

Michael stands still again, feet spread. He wiggles his fingers almost imperceptibly, then stops. His physique is one to behold. His lower jumpsuit is tight on his thigh muscles and crotch. Does the thrill of the kill turn him on, or is Michael just packing ? Corey feels movement in his own jumpsuit and adjusts the crotch.

Michael seems to see Corey out the window. Corey wonders if Michael would let him kill the guy, and bangs the window. He side-skips toward the kitchen door to let himself in, curls bouncing. Michael crosses the kitchen in two long strides, his boots heavy on the linoleum. He locks the kitchen door without looking at Corey, opens a drawer by the sink, and removes a knife. He returns to the living room in no hurry at all.

"Hey!" Corey protests. He jumps back over to the window and bangs on it. Michael ignores him and stands there with the knife. The man has grabbed a shotgun from the wall. Michael push-kicks it away, unphased. His work boots break the man's fingers and send the shotgun crashing into the TV. Sparks shoot from the TV as it dies. The man holds his limp fingers in his good hand and sobs as smoke comes from the TV. He's drooling.

With an effortless swing of the knife, Michael finishes him off from arm's length. The douchebag raises both hands to his throat and gurgles. Blood trickles over his mangled fingers. He drops to his knees. As life leaves his eyes, he looks at Corey, then falls forward onto his face, out of view.

Corey's disappointment at being locked out of the house quickly turns to elation and arousal. Watching Michael kill was more satisfying than he could have imagined. He had a front row seat to an apex predator in its natural habitat. That was worth more than killing the guy himself. Michael killed him so much better than Corey could dream to. It was art. Michael is so much bigger, more powerful, more equipped . Corey is turned on by his own inferiority, but also wants to learn.

Michael stands there breathing and waits. Corey bangs again on the window. Now that it's over, he wants in. Even if Michael chokes him. Especially if Michael chokes him. Below the window, Corey palms himself through his jumpsuit. A wet spot appears. His brow furrows and he breathes heavily, and looks back up at Michael. Corey's breath fogs the window. Corey is painfully engorged, the wet spot growing at the front of his jumpsuit. He must relieve himself. He fumbles frantically with his zipper and reaches inside. He begins to stroke himself. Michael's mask tilts, watching him.

A shadow moves behind Michael. Michael side-steps out of the way and turns his head toward the hall, waiting. His fingers twitch. There's someone else in the house.

The female deputy emerges from the shadows. Her eyes fall on Corey's mask and she screams. Michael whips around and grabs her by the throat, slamming her against the wall. Her scream turns into a whimpering cough. Michael effortlessly lifts her off the ground, dragging her up the wall. She kicks and thrashes, and her arms disappear behind his chest.

Michael reaches between her and himself. A knife clatters to the ground with barely any blood on it. She groans loudly. Her strength doesn’t seem to fade. Michael is so much bigger than her. He seems to take up the whole hall. He jabs his body into her again. And again. She screams, and Michael covers her mouth. A picture frame falls off the wall behind her.

With a single step and pivot, Michael flips her to the other wall, her legs wrapping around him. Michael presses his body into her. Corey removes his mask and takes in the view. Michael's sculpted ass flexes rhythmically. Around his waist, the jumpsuit looks looser than Corey expects.

Michael's jumpsuit is unzipped . He's not killing her. He's fucking her. Michael Myers fucks, and Corey has a front seat view. Corey pumps himself furiously. Michael continues thrusting into her, faster and faster. His upper back muscles flex intricately under his jumpsuit.

She moans and squirms. Michael pins both her arms above her head and quickens his pace. The screams and groans run together into one long cry. Corey breathes heavily, desperately milking his engorged cock. His eyelids are heavy. He blinks hard and forces his them open, not wanting to miss a second.

Michael finally slows down. He thrusts her into the wall three more times, much harder and slower, then holds perfectly still, his monster cock still pinning her to the wall. He steps back and she slides down unceremoniously into a heap on the ground. Corey climaxes with a groan, and Michael's head whips to the window. Michael slowly zips his jumpsuit and stands there breathing.

Michael looks down at her and tilts his head. She's wearing a button-up shirt, which is open. Threads stick out where buttons are missing. The bottom of her skirt is up at her belly button. Her underwear is in tatters. Her chest is heaving. She doesn't try to escape.

Michael leaves her alive and slams the door on his way out. Corey catches his breath and zips up his suit in a daze. It's unclear if Michael is a rapist or if she is a conspirator, but the scene gives Corey an idea. He'll bring Michael his prey.

If you like it, drop me a comment or kudos (you don't have to log in) on AO3 - the dopamine makes me write more lol. You can also subscribe to get alerted about new chapters.

#halloween ends #michael myers fanfic #michael myers x reader #michael myers smut #corey cunningham smut #corey cunningham x michael myers #corey cunningham x reader #slasher fucker #micheal myers #ao3 works #ao3 fanfic #rock bottom fic #rock bottom ch 2 #toxicanonymity oc #toxicanonymity ☠️#love2cuck #tw rape #tw noncon #rock bottom fic ☠️

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