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yanderedbdimagines · 1 year

Note

Oh I saw the ask about the lock locker with the reader inside can you do it with the other killers The Doctor The Legion The Ghostface The Trickster of your choice ^^ like they got a chance to kidnap there darling but the entity lock the locker the darling is in to spite/punish them

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I like writing about this request a bit too much to only chose one of them, so I chose them all. >:D For the Legion I chose Julie Kostenko.

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WARNING: Mentions of torture! Blood, gore, cussing, etc. Very descriptive.

The Doctor

‘Damn it,’ is all you could think in complete and utter frustration as you found yourself locked within the locker on the main floor of the Huntress’s cabin. Just as you swore that the Doctor’s ran past you, you tried to get out and sneak out the way he just came through from, but the doors just wouldn’t give in.

What makes the matter worse is that you’re the only one left. Your heart pounds in your chest as you fully realize that you are completely at the mercy of one of the most sadistic killers in the realm.

As if sensing your fear, the Doctor's fluorescent eyes peer down through the slats in the locker's door. You can feel his gaze burning into you, and a shiver runs down your spine. You try to stay quiet, but the static in the air only grows stronger, indicating that he knows that you’re in there. As result, your skin’s being prickled by the crackling air that found its way inside of your little space. It’s highly uncomfortable as a continuous tingling sensation, which borderlines to a humming pain, is affecting nearly every patch of your skin.

Suddenly, the Doctor's twisted laughter fills the air, and you realize that he has been toying with you all along. Your stomach churns with fear and anger at the realization that you have played right into his hands.

You fall back against the wall with a defeated sob before sliding downward, your heart haven jumped up into a frenzy and with your lungs already gasping aloud since of a sudden shortage of air due to an ever larger amount of fear jolting through your veins- aware that he could open the doors at any second.

You’re getting sick and you feel like you’re about to puke all over yourself. You can already imagine various scenarios in which he’s already torturing you to death. Very slowly flaying off your skin and precisely trimming through the flesh underneath in order to pick apart your nerves, nails pulled off before traded in by electrodes, skin around your head skinned wide open for better access to your skull before that’s broken wide open… You’ve involuntarily seen short snippets of the videos in the Lery’s memorial institute during few of the trials you’ve ran so far, haven showed you what he’s capable of.

One other method springs out to you the most; how he’s about to fry your brains out in the most painful way possible. His way of how he prefers to kill nearly each and every survivor. Quick, but very, very painful. The survivors who died this way can only remember that it hurt like hell, but they can’t fully remember how hellish it was after they were resurrected by the Entity shortly after. Obviously, you don’t want to find this out yourself, but it seems like this is about to be your first time.

You proceed to close your eyes and cradle your own body as pure panic consumes you from the inside out… But…

“Oh?~” The killer hums.

You dare to open your eyes again, only to see him turn away from you.

You listen closely to the fading footsteps before slowly standing up as the prickle of the skin disappears along with it. Peering out through the roster, the Doctor is nowhere in sight.

You swallow. He must be trying to give you this false sense of security. For all you know, he may be staring at the locker right now and waiting for the moment where you may end up succeeding to leave the locker.

Decided, you stay put. And just as you started to question if you should make a mad dash for it after all after a few minutes has passed by, something dark twisted and swerved around your body.

From just outside of the room, the Doctor witnessed how the Entity took you, and he could already imagine where to.

He sighs deeply before chuckling to himself.

Herman had hoped for this to be the moment to bring you back to his territory and have you all to himself, but the moment he pulled at the handle of the locker, he already knew that he wasn’t even allowed to. This was confirmed just a few minutes after as he closely watched and waited of what would happen; also yearning for the moment if you did get out just so that he could catch you off guard and kidnap you by force.

Still…

Maybe he’s not allowed to have you right now, but the Doctor will do everything in his power to be allowed to have you in the near future.

The Ghostface

You find yourself huddled in the cramped confines of the red locker, your heart pounding in your chest as you hear Ghostface’s raspy breathing just inches away. You had been separated from one of your teammates during the chase, and had to duck into the nearest hiding spot which you could find after you swore you’d lost him. But now, you’re trapped, with no way out and no one to help you- made evident by an intrusive thought that barged through your mind of how you somehow know that they've left through the gates.

The other survivor just went up and abandoned you.

Ghostface's voice suddenly crackles through the locker's vents, startling you out of your thoughts. "Hey there, little bird," he says in his signature distorted voice. "What are you doing hiding in there? Come out and talk to me."

You stay silent, hoping he'll give up and fuck off. “Shit. Now that’s just rude. Staying quiet like that.” But Ghostface is persistent, and he keeps talking; "You know you can't stay in there forever," he says. "Why not come out? I promise I won't ruffle your feathers too badly."

You can feel the panic rising in your chest as his words sink in. You know that if you stay in the locker too long, the Entity might jump in. But the thought of facing Ghostface, with his razor-sharp knife and twisted mind, is almost too much to bear as well.

As the minutes tick by, Ghostface grows increasingly agitated, his breathing becoming more erratic and his words more desperate. "Fuck! Come on, come on, come on," he mutters under his breath. "Why won't you come out? The clock's ticking, sweetheart."

You grip your head. And for a fleeting second, you start to think it actually may be better to face his blade than to feel a spider's leg puncture through your stomach. The killer senses this, and he tries to speak again- perhaps one last attempt to get you to come out.

A low groan suddenly rattles through the air and interrupts him, a sound similar to that of a sinking ship. Only one source is capable of making such a noise.

A thick black mist begins to seep into the locker, swirling around you in thick tendrils. He suddenly screams in anger, haven seen the occurrence the second he looked down. “NO! Don’t you fucking do this to me!” A loud bang follows- indicating that the killer’s rammed his body against the doors as a desperate attempt to get inside.

You suddenly find yourself back at the campfire not long after, surrounded by the other survivors. Jake is there, looking concerned, as he asks you what happened.

You try to explain what happened in the locker, but your words come out jumbled and incoherent. All you can remember is the feeling of being trapped, the sound of Ghostface's voice, and the overwhelming sense of relief when the mist swept you away.

As the other survivors comfort you, you can't help but wonder what would have happened if you had stayed in the locker a moment longer. Would Ghostface have managed to coax you out, or would the Entity have intervened regardless?

One thing is for certain: the horrors of the Fog are not to be underestimated. Including the unpredictable kind as the Ghostface’s just showed to you.

The Legion(Julie Kostenko)

“I’m not here to kill you.” You hear from the other side of the wooden surface.

You take a deep breath and steady yourself, trying to push away the fear that threatens to consume you. You glance at Julie through the narrow slits in the locker door, trying to read her body language. She seems sincere, but you can't be sure for as long as she’s donning that signature mask of hers. “Listen; I know you’re very scared right now, but I mean it when I say that I don’t want to hurt you.”

She's saying that now because she can't get inside. Still...

You considering Julie's words carefully. It's true that she hasn't harmed you, but that doesn't necessarily mean you can trust her. The Legion is known for their cruelty and unpredictable behavior, after all.

“Please, know that I'm not like the others. I don't enjoy hurting people anymore. I just...I just want to be understood, you know? I mean, have I ever hurt you as of late?"

She’s right. To date, she’s basically the only killer who hasn’t, and there has to be a good reason why the Entity has locked you in here because of that.

But at the same time, this could also be a ruse. After all, it’s a stone-cold fact that she’s a killer, and you simply do not know what it is that she’s trying to pull here. For all you know, she’s been playing around with you all along and simply wants to kill you once you’d set a foot outside- mocking you in one of the most twisted of ways just so that she could tell it in full detail to the other Legion members later on.

"Why should I believe you?" you ask, your voice coming out in a shaky whisper.

Julie sighs, leaning against the locker from the other side. "I get it. You don't trust me. And I don't blame you. But you have to understand, we're not like the others. We're not just mindless killers. We have a code."

"A code?" you repeat, incredulous.

Julie nods. "Yeah. A code. We stick together. We don't hurt each other. And we don't kill for fun. Only when we have to. Only when the Entity forces us to."

You consider her words, weighing them against everything you've seen in the Fog. The Legion has always seemed different from the other killers. More... human, in a way. But that doesn't mean you're ready to let your guard down just yet. Not for as long as you remember how they killed any other survivor during a trial, especially the way Julie did.

"I appreciate that you're trying to reassure me," you say finally, your voice shaky, but obviously tainted by semi-sarcasm. "But I don't trust you. And I don’t think I’ll ever will."

There's a long moment of silence, and you can hear Julie pacing outside the locker as if she’s morphed into a starving animal. You hold your breath, waiting for what's next.

But suddenly, something cold swiftly crept up your legs, and you hear a surprised gasp, the sound of a knife falling to the ground before distinct clattering of someone repeatedly pulling against the doors infiltrates your sense of sound.

You feel the familiar sensation of being transported away by the Entity's power as everything shortly goes black.

You blink, disoriented, as you find yourself standing at the campfire.

Julie is obviously nowhere in sight, and you can't help but wonder what might have happened if you had trusted her and stepped out of the locker. But for now, all you can do is try to stay alive and hope that you'll eventually make it out of this seemingly never-ending nightmare.

The Trickster

Yun-Jin Lee had told you and the other survivors everything she knew about the Trickster when she was the newest one to arrive in the Fog. A tradition held so that each and every survivor could make plans and mental preparations in case they’d face him for the very first time- making sure the chance would be as low as possible that they’d ever get caught off guard by one of the newest killers.

Yun-Jin had described each of the Trickster's inhumane killings, displaying his unique style of general torture method.

You had listened intently, taking in every word and committing each detail to memory. You didn't want to be caught off guard by the Trickster, not like the way some of the other survivors already had been.

In exchange, all of you filled her in about the other killers roaming the Fog.

Her words replay over and over again as you found yourself shivering underneath the yellow gaze of the killer in question, separated only by the locked doors of the infamous red locker, and all that preparation seemed to be for nothing.

Your breath catches in your throat as he starts to talk to you with a very thick Korean accent coating each and every word; “The things I’d do to have your undivided attention on me like this more often. The things I’d do now to have this moment last forever. The things I’d do for you. The things I’d do to you.” He chuckles dryly. “Sadly, the Entity has already decided that I’m only allowed to have so very little of you.”

He presses his forehead against the roster, his eyes never wavering from yours. It almost reminds you of a kid trying to be as close to their favorite zoo animal for as far as the fence would allow them. A creepy and downright murderous kid…

"Say my name," he demands suddenly, his tone firm and unwavering. “Say it. I know you’re aware of what my name is.”

You freeze, unsure of how to respond. A braggart laugh flees him- clearly crazy and psychotic in content. "Silence? Shame, but I'll find a way to get you to say my name once I've dragged you back to my place. Now that I think of it, when do you plan to get out of there?” He tilts his head as his almond-shaped eyes narrow in feigned amusement. “Soon, I hope?"

You try to push the fear down, but it's overwhelming. You are trapped, with no way out. You pray that the other survivors will come to your rescue, but deep down you know that it is unlikely. The Entity apparently has its own rules, and it wasn't always on your side.

You are quickly proven wrong as a sudden cold encircled your body, shadows soon overtaking most of your vision.

You feel something flutter on top of you the moment the darkness enveloped you in its cold embrace completely. At the campfire, you realized that it was a signed photograph of him that he has slid inside at the last possible second.

You couldn't help but shiver at the memory of the Trickster's twisted charm as you instantly chuck it into the fire. Yun-Jin Lee had warned you about him, but nothing could have prepared you for the sickening thrill that he brought to the Fog.

#dbd x reader #dbd #the trickster #the doctor #dead by daylight #reader #yandere #insert #the legion #the ghostface #scream #julie kostenko #ji woon hak #herman carter #danny johnson #jed olsen

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anxiousnerdwritings · 2 years

Text

Hey Sweetcheeks,

You should really double check your locks before heading out or going to bed. You never know who may just find their way inside and all the terrible things they could get up to once they do. You can’t ever be too safe, ya’know? I mean what would you have done if it was anyone else other than me? If anything you should feel real lucky that you’ve got me keeping an eye out for you. I wouldn’t do this for just anybody. You gotta be real special for me to put my neck out on the line for ya’ and you just so happen to be special enough.

It’s not too bad though, I do get some benefit from it after all. I get to see your cute vulnerable face here and there, especially while you’re sleeping. A few snapshots while I’m at it. Not to mention I also get to take a stroll around your home but don’t worry I leave everything in its place and haven’t taken anything. At least nothing you’d notice or miss.

Anyhoo, I’ll be on my way. It’ll probably be awhile until the next time I pop by so until then don’t miss me too much! And I’ll try not to miss you too much either. But that’ll be real hard for me, you’re just far too irresistible to be away from for too long. Try not to get too lonely without me either. I at least have some souvenirs of yours to tide me over until I come back for another visit.

Xoxoxox Hugs and Kisses,

Your Secret Admirer ;p <3

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skylarsblue · 2 years

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Hi could you do the slashers with a yandere s/o who also happens to kinda brutally kill people? Thanks 😊

(This is the ask where I wrote like, 500 words, and then it deleted itself. The audacity. Also, fun fact, when I redid this it refused to save. So I had to go through and copy/paste everything. I barely managed to do it all before the site crashed again. I might do more of these later on, but for now, I'm only gonna do four of them.) Trigger Warning; Descriptions of murder, blood, & gore, kidnapping(mentioned), stalking(implied) Unhealthy relationships and an unstable (Gender Neutral) Y/N. Barely proofread.

Ghostface; Danny 'Jed Olsen' Johnson (A sweet-faced & doting lover; A House Spouse)

Danny had been stressed out of his mind. More so than usual. Combinations of his day job and his "passion project" were intense enough most days, tiring but manageable for his twisted mind. Though recently, a new variable had made it increasingly more difficult. Trying to keep his hobby a secret was easy when he wasn't close to anyone, being overly cynical and critical of others made it easy to keep himself socially isolated. Keeping appearances without risk. However, conflict arose when he met someone he genuinely enjoyed the company of. You.

Danny had managed to go years without this kind of outcome. And yet, here he was, straining himself more than usual to try and keep face. All you had done was move across the street. He'd done his usual sleuthing, played his All-American mask, charmed his way into your home. It was meant to be the same thing as before. Yet somehow, against all kinds of barriers and obstacles, you'd wormed his way into his psyche and stuck there. He knew he was fucked when his thoughts would drift off in the middle of writing articles. Especially when his beloved cat decided you were good enough to like. Months of late-night talks on his lawn chairs or inviting him over for coffee and something you had baked. He mentally berated himself for liking your cooking so much. He'd even opened up to you slightly. Complaining about the woman who wouldn't take no for an answer at his job, how it gave him headaches. The way you portrayed yourself would work so well with Jed. Polite, a bit playful, helpful. It almost made Danny jealous, of himself no less. It felt ridiculous and added a tremendous amount of strife to keep you from seeing anything incriminating. He found himself exhausted as he parked in front of his house, rolling his neck, allowing it to crack loudly. The brunet huffed and took a quick glance at your home. He stopped when he noted something…off. Danny knew your schedule to a T, even if it was a bit sporadic sometimes. The typical times you woke up, what you tended to have for breakfast, hell, he knew how you did your laundry. So seeing all the lights off, curtains drawn so tightly, it sent his nerves alight. Curiosity mingling with…worry? "God, I'm pathetic." Danny huffed as he made his way over to your home. He knew every exit, every lock, every shaky window. Your front door being locked didn't deter him at all. It felt odd doing this in his work clothes, however. With skill and practice, he jumped over your small fence and approached the side door that lead into the garage. Its lock was old and rusty, easy to jiggle out of place. The man let himself in. There wasn't a sound he could discern, no TV or kitchen noises. He shook off the idea that he was concerned for you and chalked it up to only being perplexed by the sudden change in your behavior. Even spaced steps lead him to the door that went from the garage to the main portion of your home, as he walked in silently, he could faintly pick out your humming. He carefully stepped down the hallway toward the sound, seemingly from the kitchen. The closer he got the more he could smell the heavy, chemical scent of bleach and peroxide. Turning a corner revealed the only light on in your home was the small light above your sink. One you essentially never used. For once, Danny showed a bit of apprehension as he went to the doorway to your kitchen. His breath hitched at the sight. A half-cleaned scene of carnage. Blood stained the tile and a few spots on the wall. Some spots were pink and streaked, clearly wiped over. Two bottles of bleach sat on your counter. Where he often had morning discussions with you. Caramel brown eyes looked to the corner where a body lay on trash bags. His coworker, the one he'd complained about. Stabbed so many times her torso barely resembled a body anymore. He tore his eyes from the corpse and finally looked at you. Sat on the floor, pleasantly humming a song he'd shown you from a high school mixtape, back turned to him. Wiping up a plethora of blood from your floor. Dressed in one of the aprons he, almost shamefully, had fantasized you in with nothing underneath.

It took you going to dip the rag in a blood-water bucket for you to notice him. There wasn't a moment of fear or panic. He watched you gasp and then smile sweetly, standing up. "Jed! I didn't know you were coming. I would've cleaned up faster." You said, stepping closer with an aura of peace & joy. Danny looked down at your face. Blown out pupils, a gentle gaze, he could practically hear your pulse. He glanced at the body in the corner. "Oh, right." You speaking made him look back to you. "I know you complained about her, and she was already upsetting me, so I figured I could get rid of her. You already work so hard. She shouldn't be making it any worse." Your explanation was affectionate. As if you'd done him a service… And indeed you had.

"So that's why you were busy today…" Danny smiled, allowing himself to tuck you closer by the waist. He felt bubbling pride at the way you didn't hesitate to melt. "You did a wonderful job, you know that? How about I help you clean up?" He asked softly.

"Then I can reward you."

Leatherface; Thomas Hewitt (A rough-edged soft-souled partner. A protector.)

The Hewitt family was always seen as odd in the tiny town of Fuller. Luda Mae was known as a hardass and Monty certainly seemed a bit off his rocker. Charlie was seen as a jack-ass, pretty rightfully so. But the member of that family that was most rumored about, most insulted, and most disputed? Thomas Hewitt. The baby pulled out of the trash. Luda swore he was her son and would go through hell to defend him. Anyone in Fuller who knew who Thomas was had an opinion, just about every single one of them was negative. It seemed that it was just his existence to be called ugly and stupid for the rest of his life. It got a bit better when he was pulled from school at age fourteen, but the rare time that the family needed to head into town, he could hear the muttering. However, unbeknownst to Thomas, for the longest time, there was one resident who didn't view him that way. Even when you never approached him, your opinion had never changed. You'd viewed Thomas from afar for the longest time. Usually in class when you two were younger. It crushed you when he suddenly stopped showing up. You hadn't forgotten him once despite having yet to see him again. He often plagued your thoughts, even now as a young adult, working for your family. It was easier to do than trying to get a job anywhere else. Cleaning the little shop run by your father now took up a large portion of your time. The world seemed pretty dull. Keeping to yourself and day dreaming about the boy you'd never had the confidence to approach as a child.

And then, like the heavens opened up to hear you, a somewhat familiar woman wandered into the store. Ms.Hewitt. You didn't approach her right away, simply listening to her discuss what she needed from your father. You winced when your father demanded more money. Followed by Luda asking for a favor, it was all the money she had. "I'll cover the rest." You said, setting the broom against the service counter. Luda Mae blinked in awe at the sudden act of kindness and you brushed off your father's arguments. "Just give this woman the food crates, pa. It's not like they're sellin' extra well anyway." You retorted, setting some money in the register before turning to get the cart that held said crates from the back. Luda Mae found herself smiling, though it wasn't very wide, it wasn't any less genuine. "So, how we gettin' these into your truck, Ms.Hewitt?" You asked as you dragged the cart out the door. "Oh, I brought my boy Tommy. He can handle it." She explained. Unbeknownst to her, your heart began to soar.

It was then that you watched the long-lost muse to your dreams get out of the truck. He'd grown so much. At least 6'4" now, if not taller. You swallowed as you watched him saunter over, a mask covering his face. He took only a second to glance at your face before he looked down, almost ashamed. "Well, he seems like he can handle the heavy lifting, that's for sure." You commented almost playfully. It made Thomas's attention flick for a moment. "That he can." Luda replied. Finally, after years, you managed to look Thomas in the eye and give him a smile. Something you used to be so fearful of. "Nice to see you doin' well, Tommy. Missed you when ya left school." You were confident he wouldn't really remember you. Even if he had noticed the quiet kid at the back of the class, your newfound confidence almost made you seem like a new person. Still, you felt the words needed to be said.

That day made such a difference. Luda remembered you and anytime she had to make a run to town, with Thomas or not, she'd make sure to clue you in on the family happenings. News about Thomas especially. Never before had someone regarded her son with such kindness, and she was intending to try and keep it. Naturally, word got around Fuller, and you became subject to some public ridicule. Much to your father's annoyance. He took his reputation very seriously, so hearing you had been heading out to the Hewitt house didn't go over well. But, as an adult, he couldn't force you anywhere. You remained there even when Fuller's population began dwindling. Staying in the tiny house about a mile from the Hewitt home despite your family's arguing.

And when the meat plant went out of business, Thomas and Luda were insistent that "Hoyt's" idea stay in the family. That not a word of it reached you. Lest you see Thomas as a monster like everyone else. Charlie & Monty didn't care for you. Harshly opinionated and far from submissive, but Luda refused to get rid of the only person that regarded her precious Tommy with such adoration. And then one day, you showed up unexpectedly, with some canned produce you felt they could use. Staying longer than the family wanted you to. You were about to ask where Thomas was when rapid footsteps and a scream resounded from the basement. Naturally, you turned to look. A bloodied woman arising from the steps and the rev of a chainsaw. Luda felt her heart sink at what you seeing this meant, Hoyt silently rejoiced that this meant he could get rid of you. Thomas was caught off guard by the sight of you, and it gave the fleeing woman ample time to jab him in the thigh with a screwdriver.

"Damnit boy! Pay attention!" Hoyt demanded as the girl went running again. There was nothing in the way of the front door, nearly home free. Bleeding, panicked, but all she had to do was run. She'd be home free.

The sound of something swinging, a blade colliding with bone and tissue, a choking-bubbling sound, and the dripping of blood on wood floor. The house fell oddly silent as the Hewitt family looked at you. Holding an axe grabbed off the wall, the rusted blade implanted deep in the woman's skull, face rather blank. You glanced up at Thomas, then his thigh. With a gasp, you let the body drop and rushed over, disregarding the blood on his hands and the chainsaw he held. "Tommy! Goodness, that's got to hurt like hell! Here, sit down, we need to get that out and disinfected. I don't want you gettin' sick." You insisted, gently pushing him to sit in a dining room chair. Not leaving any time for the family to process what they'd watched you do as you doted over Thomas. Said man however watched you with wide eyes, some of it shock, but so much of it adoration. He'd been so afraid that you'd flee from him if you ever saw what he was doing. Yet you didn't hesitate to keep his family safe and care for him. You pecked his cheek as you got the first aid kit, his breath stuttered in response. "If you're gonna be gettin' your food this way, you're gonna need to be more careful, Tommy. I don't want to see a single drifter put their dirty hands on you again." You said as you held his face tenderly. Whether Monty or Hoyt liked it, you were very clearly staying.

The Shape; Michael Myers (A childhood friend, loyal follower. An Accomplice)

When you arrived in Haddonfield as a kid, the last thing you wanted to do was make friends as your parents so insisted. You'd moved so much and every time you were always rejected by your peers. Then your mother forced you to meet the neighbor's son. A small blond boy, only a year older, with blue eyes so dark they resembled the ocean's abyss. He was offputting and quite frankly rude. Always so blunt the few times he'd spoken. Yet somehow, the universe seemed to shove you two together more and more. Much to your dismay, you found you had far more in common with the boy than you had with anyone else. So you allowed yourself to tolerate him.

Then, with things like bullies, your mother's pressure to live up to her standards, and then your father's growing absence? He seemed to be the only thing stable enough to keep you above water. Finding it easier to cling to him, despite his growing behaviors that clearly caused concern. Overlooking things like pictures of dead animals and ultimately the admission he'd thought of killing someone. It broke you apart the Halloween he finally decided to do it. Having him dragged away from you in a cop's car, sanctioned away from society for over a decade. Not once would your mother allow you to find him, even forced you to leave Haddonfield's safety. The first town you ever genuinely settled in.

Michael's presence remained a key fixture in your life well into adulthood. Never straying from the idea that he'd come back to you. Leading you back to Haddonfield, leading a bland life, a lonesome one. Why bother knowing anyone else when they weren't him?

And then Halloween came once again. Immediately followed by bloodshed, life broadcasts of new bodies being found, the ramblings of a doctor swearing he knew who was behind it all. You'd been out at the time. Leaving a job's late shift, weaving past giddy children on the sidewalk. You loved Halloween and it always ached to experience it alone again. It was when you turned to take a shortcut that you felt the weight of a stare fall on your shoulders. One so oddly familiar and distinct. Turning revealed an impossibly tall man, broad shoulders, dressed in a stained mechanic's suit and a white mask. A bloodied knife in his hands. Fight or flight arose, steadying yourself to run, only for something particular to catch your eye. His knife. A large switchblade with a decorated handle, blue and black. One that used to settle in the hands of your best friend. "Michael?" You uttered under your breath.

He staggered when you unconsciously rose your bracelet. As if to rest if he'd remember it. And it worked, he didn't kill you. Though he certainly wasn't the Michael he was when you were kids, it didn't matter in the slightest. Despite every change, enough stayed the same to ignite the flame in your chest. You snuck him into your home, patched up wounds, and scrubbed away evidence. Managing to keep him safe under your roof even as he continued his rampage. You knew fully what he was doing. You didn't care. Not when you, out of all the people he'd killed mercilessly, you were the one allowed to wash his hair. Make him food, clean his suit, sharpen his knife. He allowed you to see his unmasked face, lean into his side with a movie playing, see the faint playful side that he swore he lost long ago.

But he was on the run, and with the continued homicides, people were bound to go poking around. One of them being a rather snoopy neighbor, a man who'd shown interest in your aloof nature. Mysterious, as he called it. He was pushy and never seemed to take a hint or a no. Hence how why he ended up in your house, allowing himself in despite your attempt to stop him at the door. Ruining a perfect night with Michael.

"You need to leave." You insisted again, gritted teeth and burning anger. "Oh relax, I'm just checking in on you! There's been a maniac going around stabbing people, you live all alone. Don't you want someone around to protect you?" It was more a statement than a genuine question. You clenched your fists and ground your teeth together. Anxiety high. Michael was still in the house, if this idiot saw him, it could mean the end of your peaceful moments with the man you'd built a life around. "I don't need anything from you. Get out." You repeated. Your neighbor scoffed a little laugh. Turning around casually. "Man, it's almost like you want to get murdered..." His voice trailed off and his shoulders tensed as his gaze fell on the Shape. Standing at the end of the hall. Mask and all. Your blood pressure rose with your adrenaline as the realization settled over your neighbor. It all went so quickly. Michael took a step forward and your neighbor turned to run. You did the same, but not for the same reason. The fool neared the front door only to be stopped by what you held in your hand. Having cut him off via using your kitchen. His throat landed right into a sharpened blade kept on the counter from dinner. Your heartbeat filled your ears as life left the man's body, sliding off the knife and falling back on the floor, face now permanently locked in a state of fear. You stood with shaky breaths and a tight grip on the knife. Slowly rising your gaze to look at Michael who stood in front of you, taking in what you'd just done. There was no guilt. He watched you take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Mikey, can you get rid of him? Far from here? I can't have the cops seeing anything like this near you..." You asked, voice a saccharine whisper. Michael raised his chin slightly before stepping forward. Like the man weighed nothing, he picked the corpse up and hoisted it over his shoulder. Your posture relaxed and you graced him with a smile. "I'll have brownies for you when you get back." This didn't change anything. He'd still have a safe place with you. No one would take him, not again. Not ever again.

The Problem Child; Bo Sinclair (An unassuming face, sadistic urges. An Actor.)

Out of all three Sinclairs, Beauregard was the one that left the most for his own wants. Lester had to leave for his job daily, but it was rare to catch him strolling through the neighboring cities just to enjoy himself. And of course, Vincent never left. Bo liked to stay in Ambrose but every once in and while it got stuffy. So heading off to a bar or small diner was what he usually did. A small moment to himself to enjoy himself. It was there that he met you. A new bartender at a small biker bar. With a shiny smile and a good sense of humor, he didn't see any reason he couldn't indulge in a bit of conversation with you. Turning up his charm and dusting away his secretive sadism. Of course, he was a little surprised when one day you wandered into town. He didn't notice until you entered his shop. He left the garage and saw you perched up on the counter, flipping through a magazine he knew he had hidden in his truck. Then again, he bought it in an average corner store, you could've just bought one of the same copy. You glanced up and gave him a smile. "Pleasure seein' you again, stranger. How's business been?" You asked charmingly. You didn't allow him to answer though. "Pretty slow probably, last person to come by was two weeks ago, yeah?" Bo blinked at the comment. It was true, but how you'd known that was beyond him. He shook it off as a fluke. "Yeah, you need somethin' done, sweetheart?" He questioned. You nodded. "Oil check and a new set of front tires. Weirdest thing happened, looks like someone jabbed at them. Crazy huh?" You replied. Bo swallowed and nodded. He mumbled something about you bringing your car around, a bit of a struggle with such low air in the back tires but you managed fine. Bo went into raising your car. He wasn't entirely sure why he was keeping up like he was actually going to fix your car. You were alone, it would've been easy to just deal with you now. Though, he supposed it wouldn't hurt keeping you alive a little longer. You were good with conversation. So, you made yourself comfortable seated on one of the tables in his garage. You kept up a conversation while flipping through that magazine, little mutterings about things that had been happening since he last showed up at the bar. As Bo went to take off your tires, propping the car up off the ground, you began speaking about the wax museum.

"It's really impressive, yeah? The entire building is wax. Not to mention in this heat? Your brother's got to be stressed trying to maintain it." You said. Bo paused and his shoulders tensed. He glanced behind him. "Pardon?" He asked, a suspicious glare falling over his face. You looked up from the crinkled pages with a calm smile. "Vincent's his name yeah? You two make quite the impressive duo, really. Gotta say though. I think your methods are a bit more favorable. Maybe that's just the gun though. Y'all been hurtin' for bases though. You can't seem to keep'em, huh? Just last week you had this pretty lil' red head so close to comin' home with ya." Your jovial tone and calm smile sent Bo on edge. Something rather difficult to do. His fist clenched around the X-wrench he held, patiently waiting for you to finish so he could just...whack you? Probably a poor plan but it was the best he had. "Honestly, I was surprised. But can't say I wasn't a lil' happy when she marched her happy ass away from you. Playin' hard to get and all? Annoying, right? Especially when I'm sure your brother could use her as a, hm, maybe a nun in the church? Or do you think she'd fit better as a cashier in the boutique?" You leaned forward a bit. Bo's eyebrow raised and his grip on the tool loosened a bit. Now more curious than on edge. You hummed at his lack of verbal response. Just then, a sound signaled from the back of your car, making Bo's gaze snap to it. He then glanced back at you with shock. You merely shrugged. "Eh, I'm sure you two can figure it out." Bo didn't respond to you as he popped the trunk. Barely conscious and bound, the redhead he'd failed to lure back to town. He looked back at you again as you picked up the magazine. "Oh, and by the way? The lock on your truck is a bit shotty on the back left door. Might wanna work on that." You added cheekily. After a moment to process everything that had just been laid out, Bo gave a little amused huff. He shut the trunk of your car and shook his head. "Darlin', you seem a bit off your rocker." He spoke. "Crazy even." You threw your hands up in mock surrender. "Only for you, big guy.~" The edge to your tone made his blood burn. He sighed and adjusted his hat. "Well if that's the case, maybe I can talk my brother into keepin' ya. After all, you've been a big help" He smirked at the way your pupils expanded. Bo was a playboy, he'd been able to charm just about anyone he wanted. But the crazier the person, the more fun it was.

#slasher x reader #slasher memes #slasher #slasher community #dead by daylight ghost #ghostface #dead by daylight ghostface #danny jed olsen johnson #bo sinclair #house of wax #michael myers #halloween #thomas hewitt #texas chainsaw massacre #dead by daylight #slasher fucker #yandere #rob zombie michael myers

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yandereloveraw · 4 months

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Do not be fooled by Xanny's violently protective and sadistic tendencies. This man is a complete bottom that will crumble under your mere touch. If caught by you, he will not put up a fight. He'll be begging to please you instead. I highly recommend tying him up to your bed and using whatever toys you have available on him. You could also leave and return to him still being a writhing, pleading mess, which is a very nice sight.

#my oc #my oc x reader #my oc x y/n #dbd ghostface #danny johnson #yandere werewolf oc #male bottom #oc headcanons #oc facts #minors please dni #ageless blogs pls dni #Imagine him crying from how much pleasure he's receiving from you awww #He'll be crying because of the fact that you noticed him too

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l0sercat · 11 months

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First poll!! Very important!!

#yandere #x reader #yandere alphabet #hxh chrollo #kuzuryu keiichi #loki laufeyson #chromeskull #jason todd #bertholdt hoover #bertholdt fubar #gyutaro #hermes #jack the ripper record of ragnarok #dbd danny johnson #Ghostface

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lukabitch · 1 year

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#dbd #dead by daylight x male reader #dbd x male reader #dbd ghostface #yandere dbd #danny jed olsen johnson #danny johnson #jed olsen #dbd ghostface x male reader #danny johnson x male reader #danny johnson x reader #dbd x reader #dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader

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hestiviea · 1 year

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check out my A03 fic the honey mask

#albert wesker x reader #michael myers x reader #herman carter x reader #danny johnson dbd x reader #danny johnson x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #evan macmillan #pyramid head x reader #dbd killers x reader #dwight x reader #yandere ghostface x reader #albert wesker #max thompson jr #leon s kennedy x reader

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dominantslasherking · 1 year

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Danny Johnson/Jed Olsen With Dominant S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+.

Backstory: Danny is getting possessive once these idiotic copycat killers try to come after his man--(you) (Danny can travel through the entity realm and ours whenever he has free time btw.)

"What's your favorite scary movie?" The voice on the other end was loud and clear, and also used a voice modulator...this was the 3rd time this week. You hung up.

This all was happening because your boyfriend being the goofy ass he was involved you in one of his murder games, and to get you off the 'hook' or whatever Danny made the media believe you are a survivor that got away from the infamous ghostface killer.

And now obviously Danny's little stupid fan boys are trying to 'finish what he started' But no it wasn't Danny who dealt with them, it was you, I mean you dealt with these little copycats with ease.

Danny couldn't protect you even if he insisted on it, he had to still do the games in the entity's realm with the other slashers. But you were fine, you didn't need his help.

The phone continued to ring on end, and every time it would stop it just started to go back to ringing, you can tell the copycat on the other end was extremely annoyed, you didn't doubt he was already in your house.

You heard rustling behind you, a smirk got to your face as you suddenly turned around, and grabbed the copycat's neck your other hand grabbing his wrist where he held the knife up high.

"L-e-t go!" The copycat growled slightly, as you easily held him in place, tightening your grip on his wrist, making him drop his knife. You took a little time to admire his outfit, it was cheap and he probably got it at a nearby costume shop.

you stared at him with your sharp [Eye color] letting out a small laugh at the pathetic nature of the copycat, he didn't come close, not even a little bit to the real thing, I mean if Danny was in the position you knew he would make some type of sexual joke.

Suddenly you heard a strange swirling sound behind you. The feeling of someone hugging you close from behind caused you to drop the copycat.

"Hey~ Babe, I missed you so---" Danny paused, his masked eyes tilting towards the cheap knockoff version of his suit sitting on the floor and turning his way, the copycat took off his mask eagerly and spoke in shock.

"Oh god, oh crap, I'm a big fan, holy shit I-" The copy cat couldn't say a word more, as Danny had registered that this stupid knockoff little bitch was in his boyfriend's house?!

Danny couldn't help but laugh so loud that it would send shivers down anyone's spine. "Are you serious? Are you fucking with me?" Danny paused letting go of his boyfriend as he stopped hugging you..

"My boyfriend, in my boyfriend's house---!! MY--[Your Name] touching you?" Danny dove toward the copycat, brutally stabbing, over and over and over.

You couldn't help but think, that all that blood on the floor would be a bitch to clean up, at least it wasn't on your carpet...

Danny slowly rose up, his entire body twitching slightly from unhinged rage plus psychotic tendencies. Danny could be heard taking in deep breaths before facing you with a seemingly calm demeanor.

"Hey babe? You wanna move to my place?" Danny's demeanor took a whole switch as he was now acting adorable and a bit whiny very needy.

"Please? I promise I'll let you claim me all over in my house~" Danny lightly purred sliding his knife back into his outfit.

#slasher x reader #slasher imagines #slasher x you #slasher x male reader #yandere danny johnson #yandere ghostface #danny johnson x male reader #yandere danny johnson x male reader #danny johnson x you #slashers x you #slashers x male reader #scream x male reader #dead by daylight x male reader #yandere ghostface x reader #yandere ghostface x male reader

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aceviscontiswife · 1 year

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hi!! If you're taking requests I was wondering if you could write about Ghostface x (preferably male) killer!reader who is basically a yandere for him and Ghostface finds out because a survivor was crying to the others because reader tortured them for "stealing their man" aka just getting "too close". It would be nice if there was smut but even just ghosties reaction would be fine :)

You're Mine || Danny Johnson

I really enjoyed this! I've never written anything yandere (or male x male) so I apologize for any mistakes I might've made. I hope you enjoy, I had so much fun writing this! P.S., k/n = killer name

Amab! reader. Warnings: killer!reader, sub!Danny, dom!reader, face-fucking,fucking against a tree, spit as lube, fingering, yandere reader, reader is VERY possessive, marking, names such as pet, baby, sweetheart, etc.

"It was...terrifying..." Came quietly from a very distressed Renato, who was trying his best to focus on repairing the generator whilst he spoke. Even while crouched behind the corner of killer shack, eavesdropping on the survivors, Danny could tell Renato was crying. It took all of his strength to stay quiet, to not burst out laughing at the scene before him.

"Why didn't he just kill you? The k/n's never had a problem with killing me..." Danny's brow raises at the mention of your name. You were ruthless, efficient, and scaringly handsome. Danny had no shame in admitting that he liked you, that the mere thought of you had his body heating up. Danny could kill the survivors later, for now, Danny was stuck listening to Renato retell his encounter with you.

"He said I- I was too close to Danny..? I don't know any survivors named Danny..." Renato's voice was shaky, almost inaudible, but Danny had heard him loud and clear. Beneath his mask, Danny was grinning wildly. It was as if his deepest, darkest desires were coming to life right before his eyes. It only got better when Meg, who had been listening to Renato the entire time, stopped repairing the generator and looked at Renato with a look of sheer terror.

"Renato... Danny is Ghostface... k/n was talking about Ghostface." Danny bites his lip to hold back a groan as a wave of arousal spreads through his body. He would definitely be confronting you about this later.

Renato and Meg seemingly abandon the generator, now staring at each other, frozen in fear. "He... I- The things he did to me... All because I.. It doesn't make any sense..." Renato could barely form words, fidgeting with his hands as a tear rolls down his cheek. Meg stood in silence, but the look on her face told Danny everything he needed to know. He was satisfied with what he had learned about you, and steps out from behind his hiding spot, chuckling.

"It doesn't have to make sense." Danny mocks, reveling in the sheer terror that Renato felt as Danny began walking towards him with his bloodied knife pointed towards the survivor. Once he killed this team, he'd be sure to pay you a visit.

----

"Why are you doing this to me?!" Cries out Kate, blood gushing out of a nasty looking gash on her forehead. It was quite the sight to see, especially since Kate had it coming to her. "You know why." You had caught wind that Kate had been seen trying to suck up to Danny, and it set you off. Danny was yours, not hers. Who does Kate think she is, messing with your man? You'd make sure she learned, though. Just like you taught Renato.

"I-I just wanted hatch!" You scoff, rolling your eyes as you look down at Kate, a twisted smirk on your face. "You should've been better, then." Kate's eyes go wide as you bring your knife up again, and she begins to all but beg for her mercy. "Please- Don't hurt me! I-I just wanted to escape!" You ignore her, taking a step closer to her. Your knife was stained with Kate's blood, but that wasn't enough for you. A psychotic... disgusting...whore like Kate deserved to suffer, and you were going to make sure she did.

Kate's screams fill the room as you get to work. You would say the sounds of her choking on her own blood was music to your ears, but nothing could beat the husky voice that belonged to Danny. Speaking of, you were going to find him just as soon as you were done settling this, and make sure once and for all that no one messed with your love ever. again.

---

Danny's quiet, near silent footsteps echo throughout the woods, his cloak rustling in the wind as he made his way to your shack. Little did he know, you were headed straight for him, still covered in Kate's blood with your knife now discarded. You could hardly think, your mind overflowing with rage and possessiveness.

When you came into Danny's view, he could immediately sense something was up. You'd never looked like...this. A part of him thought you looked hot as fuck, and the other part was scared of you. You were absolutely drenched in blood, stopping mere inches from Danny. You look down at Danny, and right as he begins to speak, you shoot into action. You rip off his mask and smash your lips against his in a possessive, steamy kiss.

Danny moans into the kiss, and that only sets you off even more. A wave of pride courses through you. You were causing Danny to make such sweet sounds... you. No one else. Danny's hands bury themselves in your hair, tugging lightly. Only separating from Danny's lips to take a breath, you push him back against a tree, your hands trailing down his arms and grabbing his wrists.

“Fuck… Happy to see me?” Danny chuckles, separating from the kiss to catch his breath. You don’t respond, pressing him against the tree even harder. Danny groans softly, his cock twitching as he begins to get hard. “What- What brought this on…?” His voice was strained, his eyes half-lidded as he spoke.

“Survivors don’t know their fucking place. You’re mine. No one else owns you—Fuck… only me. I’m gonna make sure everyone knows that.” Danny can’t help but moan at your words, now fully erect as his dick strained uncomfortably against his pants. He leans his head back against the tree, his eyes closing. “Please…” Danny’s voice was soft; this was a side of him you had never seen before, and it only made you want to keep going. Like Danny, you were near desperate to free your member from the confines of your clothes. You wanted to fuck him senseless right here, against the tree, where you could easily be caught if someone were to walk through here.

“Please what? Use your words, Danny…” You let go of his wrists, taking a step back and crossing your arms. The knowing grin on your face was driving Danny wild and you knew it.

“Please… fuck- Please just fuck me already.” Your brow raises, you were surprised by Danny’s bluntness. You chuckle quietly, shaking your head. “Was that a demand?” Your voice was low, and you take a small step towards Danny, looking down at him. You could see his obvious bulge, and you were certain he could see yours as well. “You listen to me, sweetheart, not the other way around.”

Danny nods, shocked by his own submissiveness. His gaze travels from your face to your chest, and finally to the growing bulge in your pants. You weren’t going to be small, that much was obvious. “S-Sorry…” You can’t help but laugh as Danny apologizes, a feeling of pride rushing through you. He was completely at your command. Danny fucking Johnson was submitting to you.

“That’s alright, Danny… but I’m still gonna have to teach you who’s in charge.” You pause for a moment, bringing a hand up to Danny’s face and cupping his jaw. Your other hand began to undo your belt as you spoke again. “I want you to suck my fucking dick, got it? Be a good little pet and get on your knees, now.”

Your words sent a shiver down Danny’s spine, and he followed your command almost instantly. He drops to his knees, his eyes going wide as you remove your pants, kicking them aside. Your member strained against your boxers, and it wasn’t long until your boxers joined your pants. Danny stared at your now exposed cock, glancing up at you with wide eyes.

“Take as much as you can. I wanna see you choke on my dick.” Danny nods, wrapping a shaky hand around the base of your cock. You groan softly as Danny presses a kiss to your tip, licking off the precum dripping down your dick. “Stop teasing.” You command, bringing a hand down and grabbing a fistful of Danny’s hair.

Danny takes your tip into his mouth, not breaking eye contact with you as he begins to bob his head slowly. “What did I-“ You shove Danny’s head down harshly, forcing him to take a majority of your length. “Fucking. Tell. You?” Your hips jerk, a groan escaping your lips as you feel Danny gag and choke on your cock. His nails are digging into your thighs, his eyes screwing shut as tears welled in them.

You were relentless, your loud moans and grunts filling the dark forest as you fucked Danny’s face. “God— yes… Your mouth feels so good, baby.” Danny moans at your words, tears rolling down his cheeks as the tip of your dick hit the back of your throat with each of your thrusts. He’d never been with anyone like you before… he was loving this new experience more than he wanted to admit. Danny bobs his head faster, taking you as deep as he possibly could.

“Fuck- you just want me to cum in your mouth, don’t you? You wanna feel my hot cum in your mouth, hmm?” Danny’s eyes snap open, and he meets your gaze with a pleading look in his eyes. You knew exactly what he wanted… which is why you pulled out of his mouth, chuckling as Danny coughed and panted for breath. He whines, his brows furrowing as the lustful hue in his eyes switches to one of confusion.

“Oh, baby… I’m gonna cum in your ass first. I gotta let everyone know who you belong to, don’t I?” You hold out your hand, offering to help Danny stand up. He takes your hand, and as soon as he’s standing, you turn him around and press him against the tree. “Fuck—!” Danny curses, but you shush him by placing your finger against his lips. “Quiet. Save that pretty voice for when you’re screaming my name.” Danny looks back at you, moaning softly as you begin to undo his pants.

“Look at you… moaning so sweetly and I haven’t even touched you yet.” You rest your head on Danny’s shoulder, undoing his pants and letting them pool around his ankles. “Do you want me to touch you, babe? Do you want me to fuck you?” You ask, pressing your lips against Danny’s neck. “Yes… god yes, Y/n…” You chuckle at his answer, your fingertips trailing over his clothed erection. Danny squirms under your touch, bracing himself against the tree with his hands. “Please…”

You slip a hand under his boxers, gathering some precum off of the tip of his cock. Danny hisses, moaning quietly. You slip your hand out of his boxers, bringing your fingers to your mouth and sucking the precum off of them. Your free hand pulls down Danny’s boxers, wrapping around his dick as soon as it was free from his boxers. Danny moans loudly, his head falling back against your shoulder.

"You sound so pretty... all of this, just for me."

"Please, Y/n... I need you.." Danny's voice was quiet, but the lust and yearning behind it was evident. He looked so desperate, his hips jerking up into your hand... You couldn't keep him waiting any longer, could you? You pull away from Danny, spitting on your middle and index fingers and pressing them against his hole. "You ready?" Danny nods in response, gasping as your fingers slide into him. "Fuck-- Y/n-!" You gave Danny a moment to adjust to the feeling of your fingers before you began to move them, stretching him out so he could take you easier.

"God- I need you, Y/n! I can take you, just- Please!" You laugh at Danny's words, but you can't ignore the shiver they send down your spine, or the way your dick twitches as a delicious moan escapes his lips. You pull your fingers out of him, pressing the tip of your member against his hole.

"Beg for it." Your command was simple, as well as the breaking point for Danny. "Please, Y/n! I need you to fuck me- I wanna be yours-! Fuck, I need to be- AHH~!" You cut Danny off as you suddenly slide into him, groaning as Danny yells out, his back arching as you set a fast pace, giving him little time to adjust. The forest was filled with the sounds of Danny's moans and skin slapping skin, and you were sure someone had to be onto what you were doing by now.

"If- hah, if someone catches us... I'm gonna break their fucking legs so they can't run and force them to watch me cum in your tight little ass. You- You'd like that, hmm?" Danny nods frantically, unable to form words. You bring a hand to wrap around Danny's member, jerking him off as you thrust into him.

"Gonna mark you up- your pretty neck is gonna be covered with my marks." You pant out, trailing kisses down Danny's neck until you reach his sweet spot, suddenly biting down onto his flesh. Danny moans, his nails digging into the tree so deeply that they were bleeding. The sight was enough to elicit a groan from you as you began to leave marks on Danny's neck, all the way to his collarbone.

"Fuck- Just like that, Y/n-!" Danny already felt so close. He was overwhelmed by all of the pleasure, his eyes screwed shut as he took you. You could tell Danny was close, and if you were being honest, you were too. "Gonna make you mine- Mine." You push deeper, Danny moaning out as your tip hits his prostate. It was getting harder and harder to hold off his orgasm, you could tell simply from the way his cock twitched in your hand that he needed to cum.

"Oh my god- Y/n- I'm gonna cum! Please- don't stop!" You chuckle, keeping up your brutal pace. "Cum with me, Danny." You jerk Danny's cock harder, pushing him to his peak. Danny finishes with a scream of your name, his cum spurting out and onto the tree. You follow behind shortly after Danny, your teeth sinking into his shoulder as your hot cum fills him. "Fuck, Danny... So good." You pant, slowly pumping your cock into him a few more times before pulling out.

You watch as your cum drips out of his ass, a satisfied grin on your face as you gather some on your finger and push it back into Danny, causing him to yelp and squirm against your touch.

"You're mine, Danny. All mine."

#dead by daylight #danny johnson #ghostface dbd #ghostface x reader #dbd smut #ghostface x y/n #ghostface #danny johnson dbd #danny johnson smut #ghostface smut

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apollodarling-writes · 4 months

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yan! dbd ghostface (danny johnson) headcanons

cws: yandere themes, danny is a perv, non-consensual picture taking, stalking obv, slight nsfw themes but danny is just a freak, danny is a sadist, gore, danny makes out with your wounds, obsessive! danny, possessive! danny,

— yan! ghostface whose eye you catch in your first trial. you who are wide eyed, disoriented, and hyper-aware of your surroundings make easy prey.

— yan! ghostface who stalks you for awhile before approaching you, using your disbelief and naivety against you.

— yan! ghostface who explains your situation, portraying himself as a fellow survivor and guides you through the motions of the match before pressing his blade to your throat.

— yan! ghostface who smirks beneath his mask, watching as your eyes widen with fear and betrayal. he feels himself become aroused as your pretty optics glisten with tears, groaning as you beg for him to let you go.

— yan! ghostface who is stunned by a flashlight, feeling you wriggle free from his grip and sprint off like a frightened bunny.

— yan! ghostface who you are wary of in each match. he singles you out and taunts you, describing each horrific thing he’ll do to you once he gets his hands on you, finding that this little obsession of his is growing by the day.

— yan! ghostface who begins thinking about you even outside of trials. it started as wondering what he would do to you next, turning into lustful daydreams and palming himself at the thought of you.

— yan! ghostface who snaps polaroids of you while you do mundane things. assembling a medkit or toolbox, finding materials for offerings, talking to your fellow survivors…

— yan! ghostface who loathes the sight of you smiling at the others in the survivor camp. you belong to him. that smile of yours is reserved for him. your laugh is reserved for him.

— yan! ghostface who slowly feels those lustful feelings of his grow into something deeper. he finds himself thinking less and less about ways to kill you, and more about ways he could make you smile.

— yan! ghostface who, in your next trial with him, brings you the body of each survivor, dropping it in front of you much like a cat would gift its owner a dead mouse.

— yan! ghostface who corners you, sitting on your stomach and wrapping his fingers around your throat. he swiftly snaps a polaroid of this beautiful sight, crazed ramblings about how you’ve caught his attention leaving his lips.

— yan! ghostface who is amused at how quickly you’ve gained his interest, his favorite pastimes stalking you and leaving just enough of a trace for you to know he was there.

— yan! ghostface who finds it incredibly romantic to hold your hand while you bleed out beneath him, his mask lifted to show off the frenzied look in his eyes, blood dripping from his chin and onto your paling features.

— yan! ghostface who looooves to makeout with your stab wounds. he’s always sure to leave you for last, finding motivation in the fact that if he rids the trial of all other survivors, he can spend as much time with you as he pleases.

— yan! ghostface who coos at you as you beg for him to let you go… or to just end it already. a frown tugging at his lips as he feels his heart pang with the slightest of remorse. he quickly covers it up with a mocking sneer, telling you that you should be proud to bear his love in such a way. no one’s ever had it but you.

— yan! ghostface who singles out each person you talk to in their next trial with him, mercilessly slaughtering them as he tells them to stay the fuck away from you.

— yan! ghostface who somehow convinces the entity to let you spend some time with him on a random day, designating it as your new birthday. he’ll watch with interest as your shaky fingers grip the rusted fork, shoving the mediocre cake down your throat. he’s never seen a better sight.

— yan! ghostface who loooves everything about you <33

327 notes · View notes

butterbabyflapjack · 2 years

Text

ch. 2

Warning Tags (⚠️): darkfic, canon-typical violence, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, stalking, blood and injury, bondage, bloodplay, manipulation, yandere, kidnapping, b&e, let’s hope the cops find you, knifeplay, coerced and non-consensual explicit sexual content, forced oral sex, throat fucking, rough sex, banter, dub-con / non-con, death threats, teasing, Ghostface is a funny silly murder man, Oh yeah and he wants to fucking kill you, dead dove: do not eat

You’ve been kidnapped by some sick fuck in a mask who goes by Ghostface. Tied with a pretty little bow and strung upside-down in a place you don’t recognize; where your newest, psychotic bestie intends to have oodles of bloody fun with you.

And as far as toxic obsessions go, you unfortunately may be more than just some random fling.

Wherein you slowly unravel Danny, and he slowly unravels you.

The flash of a camera awakes you; singes through your eyelids and forces you to wince your eyes open, one hazy blink at a time.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Danny Johnson x fem!reader

NOW PLAYING >> CHAPTER TWO , total run-time: 8570 words

>> theatre one : tumblr chapter directory

>> theatre two : ao3

tags (💜): @thequeenofsimpin, @samsaurwrites, @whimsyvixen

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Author Notes: Whimsyvixen created the amazing artwork for this chapter! ♡ (and yes, if you didn’t know already, all her art’s amazing! – tumblr, twitter, ao3)

Panic doesn’t quite come close to the fear prickling over you; to the dread that eyeless, ghost-faced stare scrapes across your bones.

And amidst your worn-down wriggling – your statocic, shallow breaths – the last threads of your sanity urge you to be calm. To stay fucking calm, despite the fact that it’s getting harder and harder to think with your pulse throttling your brain. Despite how you’re strung up like wounded quarry, the man who hunted you lying in wait for when you’ll bleed.

Terror has a way of trying to rationalize the irrational, and in its grasp you’re left trying to convince yourself that this is all a joke, that you must be dreaming.

You hadn’t realized you’d been chanting as much aloud.

“Jokes are usually between friends,” the man in the ghost mask muses, cutting your breathy antics short as you stare, torn back to reality by his silky voice, by the way his height towers over you. “A gag between pals,” he continues. “They’re usually funny, too.”

He hums so lightly you almost don’t hear it, as if he’s softly smiling behind his mask as he trails a finger along the underside of your jaw, following along its curve in idled leisure.

“Do you think this is funny?”

You can’t respond. And he’s so, so silent as he waits for your reply. A void of sound, as slowly he slides the flat edge of his knife along your skin, smooth over that trail of goosebumps his touch just inspired.

“Do I sound like a pal to you?”

The air seems to flex around the hush that leaves you in, like he expects you to fill it. Like he expects you to answer him. And yet, even disoriented and terror-lashed as you are, you don’t want to give into him.

This psycho wants an answer? Well, you want cut down from this fucking meat hook.

Yes, you’re terrified. But still, some part of you is seething.

This guy can go fuck himself..!

Still, under the circumstances – which are far from ideal, by the way… it’s like he knows you can’t resist him for long. Can’t deny him what he wants you to do. What he wants you to say. And you can’t. You only manage to keep your teeth ground shut for so long against giving him his answer, and you’re too afraid to be cheeky about it.

“No,” is your eventual, unwilling admission as your body gently sways there, the skin of your ankles burning where those ropes hold your weight up, reluctance sticking to your tongue.

He hums lowly to himself as he watches you. Undecipherable behind his mask. Not saying anything for at time.

“And as for you dreaming, well…” His blade falls off your jawline, and his thumb replaces it. Sliding smoothly along the stinging knife wound he’d gifted you, with you sucking back a sharp breath of pain as he drags across it nice and slow. “Dreams don’t usually hurt this good…”

His disguise does nothing to hide the way his low voice curls like a predator’s, listlessly unspooling the innards of some helpless prey, toying ruby strands along fiendish fingers.

It’s enough to weep fear down your spine, and struggling against devolving into panic, you demand with all the fervency you can muster, “Wh-who are you?”

He sounds to subtly smirk. “I think you asked that one already.”

Lifting his blade again, he lightly drags its tip along the panicked thump-thump-thump of your rabbit-trapped pulse. Seemingly admiring the way it dances for him. “Maybe I don’t wanna give you my name yet,” he says. “Maybe I’m shy.”

You hate how he seems to adore your fear, but you can’t exactly help giving it to him. Tremors and whimpered breaths keep bleeding out of your bare, bound body the longer he lets gravity slowly ravish you. The longer his blade and devilry teases you.

“Please…” you hinge to his mask, hovering over you like a toying phantom. Your eyes owlish, panicked, imploring. Begging. “Please, please just let me go.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he wonders. Amused, as desperation avalanches out of you.

“B-but I don’t even know who you are!” you stammer in hope of convincing him. “I don’t know anything, I don’t want to know anything - just–” Your pleas hesitate beneath the sound of his low, throated chuckle, but you force yourself to waver onward despite it, “–j-just - please, I won’t tell anyone about this - please, let me go, I’ll do anything–”

His knife tip freezes against your pulse, before falling away entirely.

“Anything…?”

That definitely seems to have his attention. And his lowered chuckle curls around you some more at the way you bite back in groveling, like there’s anything funny about it; the deep sound knocking around his chest.

“Baby,” he croons, pinching your chin like you’re some silly, cherub-cheeked child. And though you wince at the sting of it, you can’t seem to pull away. Frozen by even his smallest of touches. “Anything? Really? Tsk tsk… I had no idea you were so cliché.”

Unsure of what to say, of whether he wants you to keep on begging, or whether he’s actually annoyed by you offering something so stupid or if he’s just toying with you, your throat closes around actually responding. And in heedful silence, your captor studies those expressions wracking across your features. Seeming more and more… displeased, to your rising trepidation. The humor slowly slipping free of his resonant voice.

“I don’t like not knowing things about you, puppy,” he breathes at last. “It’s really not my style…” He rolls his broad shoulders once against the tension battling to consume him, the leather of him audibly twisting. “None of this is. Not really. I don’t keep pets. They’re really not my thing. But I couldn’t just… let you get away.”

Like a violent shift in tide, as if the moon’s been plucked from the sky, he’s suddenly not so fond of teasing. And something far more volatile boils beneath his blackness, strangled beneath his skin, like it’s fighting him – until you can actually hear his gloves twisting against the hilt of his blade. Can see the dense, muscled bridge of his shoulders tensing, holding him back from however that darkness seeks to satisfy itself. To sate itself, it seems, with you. And with his knife still in hand, he snaps up your jaw to make you look at him, so sharply you yelp.

“You did this,” he growls, the eyelets of his mask burning like onyx flame. “You. Did. This. And I really don’t like you ruining my plans.”

You can’t so much as blink, terrified by the way his temper seems to know you. Seems to blame you. Seems to covet, to burn, to long to punish you.

“I can’t decide, I can’t decide,” he murmurs, seemingly to himself, nearly rambling, “but… for now… I had to keep you.”

His grip nearly bruises as you struggle not to whimper in panic or pain. Unable to look away as he watches you rigidly. Until, at last – with a low, long, stiff breath – he tosses your face aside. And just as his mercurial wrath so suddenly consumed him, it seems all at once to ease from off the heavy line of his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he muses, sing-songed once again. And though he sounds to smile, there’s grit to it, and his grip on your jaw remains vice-like in ensuring he holds every atom of your attention. “We’re gonna have some fucking fun getting to know each other. But where are my manners–” an apologetic hand graces his chest, while his other gives your face a slight squeeze, “–I interrupted your pathetic groveling, didn’t I? You were rambling on and on about something, something… what was it… ah,” he grins, his theatrics slipping away, “that’s right. You were saying that you’d do ~anything~ if I let you go…”

He’s all cruelly sly coquetry, and if you thought you couldn’t regret any fiercer offering an unhinged psychopath something so undoubtedly stupid, you’re proven wrong then. Especially when his grip on your jaw shifts, and he trails his thumb along your lower lip, tantalizingly slow. Eying the way your softness drags for him.

“I could do a hell of a whole lot with anything, sweetheart.”

Any kind of rational thought flees your mind like mice from a kitchen fire, and all that’s left behind are the aches wracking your strung up body and your anxious, inner chanting of: shit, shit, shit-!

It’s like he knows those thoughts inside your head. Like he revels in them. And after a moment more of admiring your rising apprehension, he muses gently, “But I’m a nice guy… So I’ll consider your offer. And I won’t even ask for much.”

Some sickly, recoiling part of you already suspects what he wants before he even says it.

“All I want is for you to open up wide for me,” he muses; so kind as to open your mouth for you already. Pushing apart your lips and sliding his thumb in despite how you try to squeeze your lips shut to prevent him. It doesn’t matter, and you don’t dare to bite him as he languidly strokes your tongue with the flat of his leathered thumb, far back enough that you can’t help but gag around him.

He thrums at the sound of your strained gags and whimpers; at the slick, warm feel of your mouth. The purr of him starved.

“Just open up like a good pet, so I can fuck this pretty mouth and snug little throat of yours…” he says. Teasing, yet grated by lust. “That’s all.” Chuckling as you struggle not to gag with those long, rough strokes of his thumb; like he wants you to choke for him.

“How does that sound, cupcake?” he wonders, and there’s no way he doesn’t know you can’t respond with his thumb massaging the edge of your throat. “That whet your appetite? You hungry for Ghostie?”

A fit of coughing overtakes you as he drags his spit-slicked thumb back out of your mouth, streaking wetness along your lips as he watches the way they slaver and shine.

“Words, sweetie,” he reprimands archly. “Tell me how much you want it. How much you wanna whore yourself for freedom.” He seems to smile. “Beg. And I might just let you.”

With your pulse hammering in your ears, it’s difficult to fathom whether or not you should be begging. Whether you should just give in already and give this psycho whatever he wants.

You don’t want to. You really don’t want to. But as acquiescence dances hesitantly on your tongue, your apprehension stops you from actually saying anything. Because beyond your fear of whatever else this psycho might do to you should you refuse him… what he’s asking for…

It shouldn’t be a difficult decision, should it? Your life might literally hang in the balance, just like all the rest of you. But you’ve never been throat-fucked before. Not ever. Let alone by some guy with a knife while strung upside-down from a fucking meat hook. And for whatever reason, some part of you doubts he’ll gently ease you into it.

It’s almost too much for your overcooked mind to even consider, your thoughts themselves recoiling. So you almost don’t believe you’re hearing yourself as, reluctantly, you waver, “Will… will you let me go, if I…”

You try, and fail, to swallow. Just as you try, and fail, to finish that sentence.

He hums in speculation, the deep sound vibrating in his chest. And as contemplation holds him, his thumb trails slowly off your lips. His hold on you slipping away entirely.

“I dunno,” he idles, casually. Like this is some kind of business deal he can’t be bothered to bring toward any sort of conclusion.

“I could fuck you either way.” His tone takes an edge. “You know, now that I really think about it…”

Carelessly, he shrugs, fingers treading round his knife-hilt. “Nah, forget it. Why would I trade you shit? It’s not much of a deal, really.”

With athletic ease, he sinks into a crouch before you, knees jutting wide. His right-side-up mask staring you straight in your upside-down face as you blink back your startlement at just how swiftly he can actually move.

“I could just fuck you and leave you here, and there’s not a goddamn thing you could do about it,” he says. “Wouldn’t even have to kill you myself. Gravity’d do it for me.” He watches your expression, before chuffing. Giving your nose a playful little boop with a gloved finger. “But I wouldn’t do that, sweetpea – I’m more of an up-close-and-personal type’uh guy when it comes to gutting the ladies.”

Studying you a moment longer, his low breath holds a hidden smile; his ghost-faced mask mere inches away from how you struggle against dizziness to keep his gaze. Before he rises fluidly to his full height once more, soundless as a shadow.

“Then again… well, shit.”

Conflicted, he turns away from where you’re hanging. Pacing back and forth a few steps whilst rubbing the back of his darkly cowled head. “I suck at making these tough decisions,” he mutters himself, almost like you aren’t even there. “I could just slice you open right now. But that’s not very romantic…”

His pacing pauses, and he tosses you a musing, sidelong look. Mask gently tilted. “But… then again… it might be fun to have you willing. Eagerly swallowing me down like a good fucking slut.” Slowly, he seems to grin. “At least at first.”

Fear feels to have frayed you, to have tugged you toward a precipice of being recklessly bold, and without thinking you actually scoff up at him as you hang there.

“Yeah, that might be a nice change of pace for you,” your sarcasm mutters. “I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of willing participants in whatever the hell this is you sick, fuck-ugly freak.”

Your glower catches on the way his black-leathered hands twitch at his sides, the grip on his dagger shifting. Though as you glance up to his face again, his mask is a guise you cannot decipher, especially while buried in inflexible silence. And almost immediately, you bite your lips closed in regret for having said anything.

Gods, you’re such an idiot.

Yeah, your sanity berates, let’s egg on the unhinged psycho. You know, the one who kidnapped you, the one eying you with the giant fucking knife – great survival instincts.

So much silence fills that stained, decrepit room. Thick enough to suffocate anyone within it. With Ghostface leaving you to dangle there in uncertainty, wriggling your painfully prickling toes, fretting more and more over what he might do because you couldn’t keep your big mouth closed.

“That’s not very nice,” he eventually breathes. Tapping the flat edge of his blade against his thigh, like he wants to drag your attention toward it. Like your gaze isn’t hinged enough to the glint of its metal already. “Especially for someone who wants to be on my good side. And just so we’re on the same page, pumpkin–” his boots scuff the pavement as he steps back toward you, with you recoiling as you hang in place, very much failing to get away. “You do wanna be on my fucking good side.”

When he reaches out for you, you flinch and twist your face away as if he might take a stranglehold of your face again. But he simply taps between your breasts with two fingers. Casually nudging your sternum so that your whole body sways from the hook he’s strung you on; even the smallest motion further disorienting you.

“Pretty or no,” he says, “whatever happens to you in here, whatever doesn’t…” You can almost feel his grin curling. “It’s all up to me.”

Grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank your swinging body back to stillness, you choke back a gasp as he roughly steers your face up into looking at him, his ghostlike features swimming. “And you think I’ll let you go with a few measly tongue tricks?” A few, lazy headshakes motion through the fog to chastise you, as gradually your vision clears. “God, you really are dumb…”

“It was your idea,” you blearily contest, to which he fucking giggles.

“Well can you really blame me?” he simpers, coy as a kittycat. Though his mischievous delight is as short lived as a matchstick dying in the dark.

“Sure,” his voice grates along your skin, asphalt on silk. His fingers knotting tighter in your hair, while his other hand draws his blade-tip down from your navel; the point of it raking a raised, rosy line across your skin. “I want to fuck you. I wanna fuck you until every inch of you’s raw from screaming for me. I want you to sob, and beg, and bleed.” Loosing your hair, his knife slipping off you, he dots your nose affectionately with every word that follows. “All. My. Ideas. Fun ones, too.”

Straightening his posture, he taps his plastic chin, black eyeholes staring down at you. Contemplating, as a lax, graveled hum rumbles through him. And lowly he says, “But letting you loose wasn’t. I’m failing to see where I benefit. You get where I’m coming from, right sugarbear?

His antics really aren’t helping with how difficult it is to keep untangling your thoughts from your hammering pulse. But he seems pleased as punch to taunt you with freedom before ripping all hope of it away. Toying until you’re a scrambled, desperate thing for him. And what was once revolting to even think about pales in comparison to him rejecting the offer. To him leaving you strung up here to die like this; or, worse yet, to fuck you like this anyway and then ‘gut you up-close-and-personal’ like he seems more than raring to do.

Cold sweat leaks up along your naked spine, sparks of panic trailed behind it.

You’re going to have to be smarter than mindlessly begging or needlessly pissing this guy off if you mean to escape all this. And you definitely mean to escape this fucking psycho. So, swallowing the anxiety lodged in your throat, you will yourself to sound braver than you actually feel. Forcing a coquettish inflection you hope will sway him, or at the very least amuse him long enough to let you keep living.

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

That seems to temp his attention. His head tilting just so as he peers down at you.

“Oh?”

Blinking past a flurry of wooziness, you force yourself to meet his blackened gaze. “My tongue tricks - they’re… they’re really good ones.”

A lie - you have no idea what you’re doing. And, fuck - you didn’t mean to let your voice tremble like that. But really… how hard can letting him use you be? I mean, it’s like he said… right? You just… ‘open up wide’, and… and…

Fuck, what the hell are you doing?! You shouldn’t be negotiating anything with him, especially not some fucked up, BDSM blowjob. Yet at the same time, what choice do you really have? You’re not exactly bountiful with fucking options here.

His silence washes over you. Buries you. Though his black eyes never seem to leave yours.

“Cocky,” he eventually purrs, honey-dark with delight. And though he’s oddly gentle about it, you still flinch as he reaches out for you again, carding gloved fingers through your weightless hair. Admiring. Studying. Contemplating.

For a moment, he simply strokes you like the pet he claims you to be, and it’s like your lungs are glass. Like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Alright,” he breathes at last, and you actually tremble beneath his touch as pent-up anxiety and relief wring from your nerves. And you hate how his fingers pause within your hair, for just a second, before teasing along your scalp again. How he seems to revel in his every effect on you.

“Let’s see what your talented tongue can do.”

Unweaving his fingers from your hair, the tip of his hunting knife replaces that touch so gentle, ghosting along your hairline as you struggle not to pull away from the steel of it, afraid if you wince he might cut you. Shuddering as his other hand smooths up along your hip, pawing at your softness. “And if you manage to impress me like a well behaved, topsy-turvy little pet…” The blunt of his steel taps your cheek; an unspoken reminder to keep on looking at him. “Fuck it. I’ll let you loose.”

His tone’s as edged as his knife. But still, a tiny bloom of hope takes root within that ceaseless pit of dread inside your stomach. Hesitance leading your words as you question, “You… you will?”

He hums with a faceless smile, hidden as always behind his screaming mask.

“Cross my heart,” his hand slides off your hip, as slowly he signs across his chest, “hope to die.”

You can do nothing but stare as he releases you. Twisted up inside, desperate and throttled by nerves. That anxious knot in your gut pulling tighter as you watch him brush aside the length of his heavy coat with the back of a languid hand, thumbing open a tactical holster strapped to one thigh, easing his knife in with practiced deftness.

The fact he’s so well-versed with that knife only further unnerves you.

The sound of his belt buckle unlatching echoes with finality. The slide of his zipper spelling your undoing. And suddenly this is far too real – notions and actuality clashing violently in your head, spiking your already rapid heart rate until you fear your ribs might break.

“I-I…” you stammer. Staring. Wide-eyed. Completely fucking terrified. “I… I… I-I…”

His fluid motions ignore you. The back of one glove brushing the tip of your nose as he hooks a thumb into his loosened waistband, slowly dragging his pants and boxers down.

“I… I’m…”

Off they slide. Down the ridge of one hip, and then the other.

“I’m… n-not…”

“Not what?” he wonders lowly, and you don’t dare tell him. Don’t dare to vocalize, I’m not ready for this, I lied, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Don’t dare to tempt whatever else might be the alternative.

One of his leather bracers grazes your cheek as he works his pants down below the curve of his ass, carved muscle sliding into view. The firm V of his abdomen leading your apprehensive gaze downward, following a trail of sparse hair trailed beneath his navel. His warm, bittersweet musk, rough with notes of cheap cologne and leather, breathed across your senses.

You’ve never heard whatever-the- fuck sound you make when he drags out his semi-hard erection, stroking its girth in one lazy fist, but it’s like some dying, terrified animal snuffed out in your throat. Because his fucking dick is the biggest you’ve ever fucking seen, and even half-mast it’s already more than enough to choke you.

Yeah, you’ve definitely gotten yourself in way too deep with this.

For a second you forget he’s even standing there, stroking his inhuman cock mere inches before your bewildered, terrorized face. Until his hoarse chuckling at whatever your expression betrays snaps you out of it, and you stare past that veined pillar in his fist to the ghost of his face towering far above it. That halo of light behind his cowl making him appear like some sort of shadow risen from hell.

“Are you waiting for an invitation, or…” his mask angles to look down at you. To watch as, unthinking, you bite your lips fiercely closed. “Baby, don’t tell me you don’t want this cock in your mouth…” he broods whilst eyeing you, “you were so damn eager a second ago.”

When still you hesitate – attempting to somehow, through the force of your panicking mind alone, create a black hole for yourself to slip away in, his tone lowers to a husky growl.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

He’s lost of patience. And worried what that might bring you, you try to do as he says. Truly. But your jaw won’t budge. Like it knows you’ve bitten off far more than you’re ready for.

“I can reward you for playing nice,” he muses amidst your turmoil. “Or I can find a creative way to punish you for wasting my time.”

It’s enough to stab through your apprehension. And, slowly, your lips nervously part for him.

He’s not exactly timid in smearing the swollen head of his cock along your lips, a dewy bead of precum slicking across them as you whimper like a cornered animal.

His other hand comes to grip the back of your head as he uses your lips to massage him. “Wider than that,” he purrs. “C’mon, I thought you were trying to impress me with that tongue of yours.” His voice leaks with honey the longer you resist him. More and more as you try to twist away, though his grip in your hair won’t let you. “You do want me to let you loose, don’t you?” he wonders lightly. “Hm… Maybe you changed your mind…”

Too overwhelmed to speak, too terrified to disobey, you merely try not to whimper as you finally give in, doing exactly what he wants. Opening your mouth for him. Feeling far too vulnerable. Only to flinch back against the hand cradling the back of your head and almost accidentally bite him as he slips a few gloved fingers into your mouth, firm along your tongue, the tang of leather overpowering.

You gag on instinct, though he shushes you.

“Hey, hey, shhh,” he cooes lowly. Stroking the slick, reluctant muscle of your tongue. “I just wanna feel that pretty tongue you’re so braggish about. Come on.” Slowly, his hand in your hair guides your lips further down the length of his fingers. “Give my fingers a taste…”

Nerves sparking like cut wires, you eventually force the warmth of your mouth to close in around him, working your tongue to wet his fingers as they curl and massage and stroke you. Sucking him as deep into your mouth as you can without gagging around him, which admittedly isn’t very far, but it’s still more than you’re used to and you really don’t wanna die right now.

He purrs like a prowling beast, so low it verges on a growl. The black chasms of his eyelets fixed to the way your cheeks hollow.

“Mmnh…” he hums, mesmerized for a moment by the way your tongue weaves around him. “Maybe you’re not all talk…”

There’s an almost pacifying effect to sucking his slowly stroking fingers. And you gasp down a sloppy breath as he slides them out from your mouth, trying to ignore how your head is spinning. Watching as he teases up and down his cock with the hand you’ve wet for him, while his other fist knots tighter in your hair, coaxing your lips closer.

“Go on,” he murmurs, steering your mouth to the rosy, swollen head of him. “Have a taste.”

The black chasms of his eyelets seem fixated to the way you force your tongue out. To the way you hesitantly lick up a rivulet of precum glistening along his head, the bittersweet taste of him tinting your tongue. And his breath hitches behind his mask at the way he drags his cock across your opened mouth for a moment, watching the way your tongue and lips shine, how their plush gives beneath his girthy weight.

He lets out a low, sawtooth sigh as you force your tongue to lave over the swollen head of him again; wincing at the bitter, masculine taste. And even though you don’t like it, even though you hate it and you definitely hate him – for some perverse, unthinkable reason… the heavy feel of him against your tongue makes your belly tighten.

“That’s it,” he breathes, and an uncomfortable, provocative flare lights up between your thighs. His fleeting praise prickling heat throughout you. “Don’t be shy.”

His fingers shift in your hair, and you almost think he’s going to force your mouth deeper – though he relaxes somewhat, groaning instead as you suck a few taut, veiny inches into your mouth, cheeks hollowing as his cock twitches against your tongue.

“Fuck, baby–”

Lust and longing make his voice thick, make him sound that much less cocky, and you hate how your body responds to it. Tightness and heat mounting in the base of your spine.

You tell yourself it’s because of how disoriented you are. Because of how much you hate him.

His grip in your hair coaxes you to keep going, his breathing going rough against the inside of his mask. A shudder rippling through the cords of muscle hidden along his forearms while you worship his cock like you’re lapping up summer-warmed cream off the cone. Hoping it's enough to appease him. That he won’t shove the rest of his girth down your throat.

You're really not sure you could take it.

Though any semblance of that hope shatters the very second every instinct you have, or should have, suddenly decides to betray you. Every shred of supposed sanity you possess slipping free from you entirely. Because for some fucked up reason you absolutely refuse to think about, him using you like this is somehow turning you on. And as your arms shift uncomfortably behind your back, tugging against the ropes that tie them while your wrenched-back shoulders ache, a small, breathy moan vibrates up your chest and through the way he guides your lips along his cock.

You blink in surprise at your own outburst as he continues fucking your mouth. Woozy, unable to think straight, hanging upside-down like this – that’s why you sound like that. Your wires are fucking crossed. That’s it – every other possibility is forcibly shoved from your overwrought mind. And the bastard actually laughs as you burn up with embarrassment, suddenly trying to spit his cock from your mouth so you can think, so you can rationalize, so you can breathe, though his grip won’t let you. His hold in your hair keeping you bobbing halfway along his length just as you had been.

"What was that?” he teases, working your wet lips up and down him as he fucks your blushing face. And your hands tighten into fists behind your back and you try not to moan again.

Beneath his lust, he chuckles low and sonorous, before murmuring, “You almost seem like you like this…"

Grabbing a firmer fistful of your hair, he pulls you down his cock until you gag. His length kissing the back of your throat every time he drags your mouth along him, and still you haven't taken all of him inside. "You don't mind if I take the reins, do you baby?" he questions over the sound of you choking for breath, strained tears springing like pearls to wet your lashes. "Not that you aren’t doing a hell of a job, but… fuck, your mouth just feels real fuckin’ good.”

Each time he guides your lips rougher around him, he drags himself deeper and deeper down your throat, and though your neck muscles tense reflexively against his size there’s nothing you can do about him using you, your mouth, and your throat however the hell he wants.

“I can't promise to be gentle," he breathes, more and more rasply as you’re forced to strain and gag and swallow more of him down, "but I think you're gonna like it anyway."

Strained tears stream up your cheeks as he fucks into your mouth more gruffly, though he doesn’t force himself past those tightest muscles constricting in the back of your throat.

"Don't give up on me now,” he toys thickly, seeming to revel in the way your wet lips stretch around him. A shudder running bodily through him at the feel of your wet, warm whimpers, wrapped so snug around his length. “You were doing so well a second ago…” His fingers grip harsher in your hair. “C’mon, open your throat… be a good girl for me…"

Despite being barely able to breathe, his voice sends waves of terrible heat curling through your veins. And convincing yourself you don’t have a choice, you fight against every instinct you have to try and relax your throat like he wants you to. Sliding your tongue along his cock as you stick it out of your mouth for him, giving him more room with which to fuck you.

He groans as he thrusts in deeper, rutting into the motion of him dragging your mouth up and down his cock. And your wrists and ankles twist against their binds, thighs squirming as he bottoms out inside your throat, holding your face flush against his taut groin for a moment to savor the tight, slick feel of you struggling to swallow him down, your throat flexing and gagging in waves. The way he makes you helpless, makes you his, making you mewl and whimper along his cock despite yourself, your insides sticky and twisted and hot.

What the fuck is wrong with you?!

“There’s a good girl….” he purrs, and all your worries melt. His fingertips stroking your scalp as you swallow the full length of him down, throat straining each time he thrusts deep into your drooling mouth, dragging your lips to the base of him with every assault. “That’s it… Fuck… Just like that…”

You can’t seem to help your breathy moans spilling around him as your vision swirls from lack of oxygen, and his responding groans send jolts of unwanted pleasure between your strung-up legs as he continues fucking into your throat, pumping harder and faster and deeper. His gruff and barely audible, “Ohh, fuck–” making your cunt clench around nothing, desperate to be filled by him just like your throat is.

You’re too fargone to question it any longer. Too disoriented to fight what some part of you might want.

“So fucking tight,” he growls as you struggle not to gag. “Keep going baby, keep – fuck – keep swallowing me down,” he demands, dragging your mouth more roughly around him, thrusting against your tongue faster. “Just like that. I’m gonna cum right down your fucking throat. Swallow me up like a good girl, kitten. Every last drop.”

And whether because he’s forcing you to, or because some twisted piece of you might like this, you gulp him down like the good fucking girl he wants you to be as his cock surges harder and throbs against your tongue, your face dragged into his groin as he bucks more urgently inside your mouth.

His climax tears through him with a hoarse, jagged moan. Hot cum spurting deep down your throat in pulsing waves as his fingers tighten in your hair, cock spasming as you drink him all down.

“Fuck,” he grits, the eyelets of his mask fixed to the way your throat bobs over and over as you suck and swallow everything he gives you, with you moaning and whining for more, reduced to nothing but disastrous need.

You’re at last able to choke back a haggard breath as he finally slides his wet, semi-hard cock from your abused throat; cum trailing like strings of sugar glass from your puffy, gasping lips.

"Fuck," he moans again, admiring the slavering, panting mess he's made of you. He runs his thumb along the spittle and cum coating your lower lip, as if admiring the way it marks you, the way it claims you. "That was fucking good, baby," he breathes, smearing himself further into you, and you have to remind yourself that you hate this, to convince yourself not to suck the fluid off of his thumb. “So fucking good.”

Still massaging your lips, his other hand slowly unweaves from your hair, tugging his pants back up, not bothering to immediately cinch them closed as they instead hang loose about his hips. The metallic clink of his belt buckle biting through your mutual, unsteady breathing. And not a second later he’s thumbed up the guard of his knife, taking its hilt and bringing the blunt of cold steel to kiss your hipbone.

With a slice that shears across your skin, so close yet not quite cutting, the snap of fabric and elastic echoes throughout the room, and your panties are suddenly wrenched off of you, with you gasping and twisting your thighs tighter together against the sudden, vulnerable chill left behind. And before you can even think to protest, Ghostface has one strong arm wrapped around your waist, tucking his blade away at his thigh and holding you as easily as if you weighed nothing; finally relieving that rope-burned aching that’s made your feet and ankles go numb. Though before you can feel too grateful for it, your face slams against his groin as he hugs your limp body more snugly to him, and you sputter against his opened zipper as you feel the muscle of him shifting, feel him grabbing for something from one of many cargo pockets.

Glancing blearily upward, you wince against the fluorescent light above his dark, cowled outline, blinking until you see his free arm angling a camera high above you both, poised for the perfect fucking selfie. And when you balk in alarm and try to twist away, not exactly feeling up for a fucking photo op, he gives your body a rough, punishing shake that has you hanging limp and obedient for him again.

“Say cheese,” he simpers, as his arm wrapped around your middle flashes a peace sign up at the lens. The click and flash of that awful moment being captured forever rending you momentarily blind, firelight branded across your vision.

He doesn’t wait for your eyes to adjust before he’s wielding his knife again, and those ropes cinching off circulation around your ankles are abruptly slit clean through – his hold on your waist keeping you from tumbling directly down to the hard, littered floor beneath. Though, once again, before you can feel too grateful for it, your psycho prince-charming lets you fall out of his grip like a sack of old potatoes, with you unable to catch yourself with how your arms are still tied behind your back.

You collapse in a rough, awkward pile on the floor; pain shooting through the shoulder that catches you.

Groaning weakly, you curl into the fetal position amongst the dust and filth as your head gradually stops ringing. And when your captor’s visage swirls into clarity once more above you, you see him standing like a black cloud. Like a phantom-faced tower. Holding your sliced panties to the slitted nose of his mask.

“Mmmmn…” he thrums, twisting wet fabric betweenst gloved fingers. “Positively drenched… You’re such a whore for Ghostie, aren’t you?”

Revulsion rises like vicious bile; disgust with him, with yourself, burning through whatever tightness still pulses through your core, as with vehemence you sputter, “N-no! I… I–!”

He inhales the scent of your underwear deeply through his mask again, exhaling with a starved, “Sweetness doesn’t lie.”

Your insides pull into uncomfortable knots, with you struggling to clamor, “Give them back you fucking bastard!”

“You know, I think I’ll take them as a little souvenir, but thanks for the suggestion," he muses whilst tucking your sliced and soaked panties away. The eyes of his mask never leaving you. "And before you get your lack of panties into any more of a twist, don’t worry – I’ll stop by your place to nab you some more tonight. Don't want you suffering without panties.” You don’t have to see his face to know he’s rolling his eyes. “Spare key’s under that cute little froggy planter nestled on the balustrade, yeah?”

Walking a bit away from the meat hook he’d so lovingly left you on, he kicks a metal bucket at where you’re currently crumpled, with you wincing and shirking away from it like a stricken dog.

“Commodities for the princess. See how much I spoil you?”

Bare heels digging into filthy concrete, you lift yourself up enough to kick and scramble away from him as best as you can, until your back and bound arms press flat against the wall behind you. Your knees tucking tightly to your chest - your bare, trembling legs the only shield you have against him.

“C-can I at least have my clothes….?” you waver pitifully, hating yourself for the way you sound. “Where are the rest of my clothes?” Every emotion you have is run ragged, leaving you some nauseating cocktail of pissed off, fearful, and far too desperate.

Your captor stares. Unreadable. That pale, silent scream scarred forever on his face. But even if you can’t get a read on his expression, the eventual, leathered flex of his dense shoulders strikes you as less than amused.

“Spoiled. Rotten."

Coming toward you, you choke back a shriek whilst attempting to kick further away from him along the floor, even with the wall pressed flush at your back – and he grabs you by the throat to stop you from scuttling too far away, yanking you roughly back toward him. Shoving your face down into your lap so harshly you can’t breathe as he reaches behind you for something. And you hear the rattle of metal against concrete as he grabs a length of chain from somewhere off the ground nearby; what you barely manage to glimpse of it shining much more vibrantly than anything else you've seen in this rusted, god-awful place.

You can’t see how, but you know he attaches it to the tether of your forearms wrenched behind your back, and the air is pushed from your lungs again with how carelessly he moves you about. Tying your chain to the nearest metal beam like you’re some kind of dog he doesn’t want straying.

"Listen here, princess," he says over the clashing of chain; and after giving your bonds and metallic leash a good tug to make sure they're solid – that you aren't going anywhere – he grabs your jaw and jerks your face up to his, leaning down to breathing beside your ear, the plastic of his mask and heat of his words skimming over you. "Just because I cut you down doesn’t mean I’m giving you whatever you want. I much prefer you like this, for the time being. Bare. Pathetic. Adorably helpless. Fuck, you really are cute."

His grip tightens until you whimper in pain, feeling like his fingerprints might bruise. His mask brushing more against your skin as you hear him suck down the scent of your hair. "And here’s the important part–” he growls against your ear, “–it really doesn’t fucking matter what you want. So be a little more grateful and shut the hell up."

Tossing your face aside, he leaves you slouched against the wall as he rises once more to loom over you. "Plus, c’mon… I couldn’t exactly leave you in what you were wearing, could I?” You can hear his cheshire grin. “Be hard to tie you up in all that.”

As you glower up at his ghostly face, a mirthful scoff escapes him at whatever vitriol twists your expression. “Don’t give me that look – I didn’t get rid of it. It’s still around. Who knows, we might even play dress up with it later. It’d look better painted red, anyway. How about that, hm? You’d like that, right puppy?”

You have no fucking idea why he keeps referring to your clothes as an ‘it’, beyond that his playful inflection weaves through you an unknown trepidation. And as he watches incomprehension rise across your face, slowly overwriting more and more of your anger, you can almost feel his lengthening smile settling in on you, hidden away behind his mask.

“Wait…”

Suddenly, he sounds much more amused.

You really, really don’t like that.

“...Don’t tell me you don’t remember yesterday?”

It only takes a split second for your whole body to tense against answering him. To resist admitting to him and, even moreso, to yourself, that… no. No, you don’t seem to have a fucking clue about whatever happened to you right before you woke up in this nightmare.

Panic floods through you at the realization, overwriting all of your senses, though you fight not to show it, not wanting to give this bastard any more reason to be amused. But after your stiff, rebellious silence drags on several seconds too long, he can’t seem to stop himself from laughing, anyway.

“You don’t…?” he wonders, with an undercurrent electrified by joy. “Not where I found you..? Not what you were wearing..?” You can hear his sharpened grin, edged sharp enough to slice. “Nothing at all?”

God, he’s like an elated, murderous puppydog.

“What about the day before that?” he wonders slyly. “Hm?”

“Fuck you!” you spit at him, fighting against the waves of anxiety fighting to overtake you. Because no matter how you claw at your brain, trying to wring it free of even a drop of memory, you can’t seem to remember what happened to you yesterday. And, worse still… some sickly writhing piece of you feels like you might not even be able to recall the past few days; though, under the circumstances, you’d really have no way of knowing.

For all you know, your memory could simply be missing a single hour…

Or a single day…

Or a single week…

It’s all a disorienting blur. And the fact that you really have no idea just how much time’s gone blank for you is absolutely, overwhelmingly terrifying.

Ghostface cackles while he watches your inner turmoil, feigning sympathy as he cooes, “Oh, baby…”

He slips out his camera again and snaps another pic of you before you have time to recoil away from it.

“Here’s a new memory for you,” he croons as you blink away the flash, and even through disorienting fear you’re somehow able to glower up at him like a sodden, bristling alley cat. Wishing you could bore holes through his head with the heat of your glare alone as his mask tilts to one side, admiring the photo of you half-naked and chained, cowering and captured on screen. “Remember that time you didn’t remember anything?”

“You’re psychotic!” you bite at him, hoping to insult him, to hurt him as much as he’s hurt you; though he simply hums with a slow and steady grin. Hidden, as always, behind his ghost-faced mask.

“Better watch that mouth,” he cautions idly. “I don’t pander to brats. Though I'm finding I really don’t mind teaching you how to behave.” He chuckles lowly to himself as you force yourself to keep on glaring, no matter how tremulously. "And if those sweet little sounds you were trying so hard to hide with my cock buried down your throat are any indication…" his tone carries an artful grin, “you probably won’t mind either.”

Sliding his camera back inside his pocket, he grants you a small shrug. “But alright. You caught me – I admit it. Knocking you out wasn’t an exact science.” Lifting a hand, he waggles a few fingers as if dispelling all of your many problems. “But I’m sure the drugs’ll wear off sometime, and you’ll get your precious memory back.” Behind the mask, he sounds to smirk. “Probably. And if not, well… I’m happy to paint you a new set of memories. Better ones.” His hand drops, his tone dragged with it. “Ones with me.”

With that, he saunters away, with you tensing in alarm that you’re apparently being left here – being left wherever the hell this is he’s decided on leaving you, without clothes or food or water or even your most recent memories. And as you twist against your chains as if to try and follow after him, you’re quick to cry out in his wake, “You said you’d let me go!”

“You’re a really bad listener.”

He pauses at the doorway, turning to watch you over one broad, black shoulder. One hand listlessly tapping along the doorframe beside him, like he’s being forced to impatiently coddle you while having much more important things to do. “I said I'd let you loose if your tongue impressed me. Which it did.” To your chagrin, he sounds to smirk. “It very much did. But I never said I'd let you go. No, you're stuck with me, sweetheart.” His voice flexes possessively. “Mine, for as long as I please.”

His fingers cease to tap the longer he watches you watching him, with you caught somewhere between spiteful and pleading.

“Don't worry,” he says. “You won’t miss me for long. I'll be back real soon to keep you company, honeybear. But if you wanna practice your operatics in the meantime – you know…” he gestures, listless, noncommittal, “maybe call for help a little, beg for someone – anyone – to please, please, help you, save you!” His hand drops again to his side as he continues with a devil’s amusement, “Long story short, feel free to scream your fucking lungs out. No one will hear you.”

Turning away again, something catches his attention enough to make him pause a moment more. Before he glances back to add, “Well, no one who can help, anyway. But it'll definitely give my cameras a show.”

Without wasting another glance, he ignores your screams of protests that he come back. That he let you go. That he’s a sick, twisted, demented bastard.

Meanwhile he saunters out into some sort of hallway you can’t see from the leash he’s left you on, strolling without a care in the world, broad shoulders lax and weightless. The rockslide of him chuckling to himself echoing about the walls as he does, along with his sing-song, parting afterthought:

“Nighty night, tiger.”

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