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#American horror slasher
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bloodsoakedtooth · 2 years
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"Oh my god he's fucking crazy" i say, while smiling and giggling like a teen girl who just got her first crush
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peachyfuck18 · 1 year
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Horror icons + girly media
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Did I slay
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dewberryobssesed · 5 months
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Tricks and Treats
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Tate Langdon x Female Reader Smut
Warnings: Roleplay (kinda), p in v, Lots of Kissing, Blood, I think that's about it!
Word Count: 3097
A/n: This is kind of weird huh? Hi! I'm back for a bit. Sorry for the inactivity, life's a bit hectic right now but I wanted to get at least something out for Halloween. My writing's a bit rusty so be warned, this might turn out to be actual shit. Idk we'll find out I guess. Anyhow, I really hope you enjoy!
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The cool chill of Hallows' Eve creeps up your damp skin, towel loosely hanging around your body doing absolutely nothing to protect you from the icy breeze in your room. You didn't mind. If anything, it only amplified your excitement for tonight. You hummed as you sauntered over to the white dress and matching wings hanging on your dresser; an angel costume—sweet, simple and entirely last minute. Trick or treating was your favourite part of Halloween, and the chill of your room only served to be a preview for the cool autumn breeze swirling outside. 
Your lips twisted into a sickly sweet smile as you slipped the dress on, loving the way it felt on your body, and you couldn't help but wonder just how much your boyfriend would love it. Your usually shy and introverted boyfriend truly fell into his element each time Halloween rolled around. You knew he loved it when you dressed up—regardless of how revealing, put together or fancy the costume was—you knew this because he showed you just how much each and every time. Maybe it's the borderline roleplay aspect of it, you guess, as you slip on your footwear and move on to painting your face just like an angel would. Only, an angel probably wouldn't be looking to get fucked whilst doing so.
Speaking of said boyfriend, it had been a while since you heard from him, which was slightly concerning. The last time you talked to him was before you hopped into your shower and let him know that you would call him back after you were fully ready. You shrugged the concern away. Perhaps he was just waiting for you to call back. If not, then maybe he has a surprise for you—he did seem especially eager over the phone. And considering how much more outgoing he becomes during October, the latter is way more likely. The idea has your entire being buzzing with anticipation, so much so that you're barely able to apply your rosy lipstick without smudging it. 
After you've finally finished, you give yourself a once over in your vanity mirror, tussling and playing with your hair until it sits just right. Satisfied and slightly turned on, you reach for your phone. You flip your phone open ready to dial his number before you're interrupted by a call.
"An unknown number? Strange…" You mutter to yourself before tossing the phone aside and waiting for the way-too-loud ringtone to shut up. Once it does, you grab hold of the device again, trying to get back on track. However, you're interrupted again and then a third time. This time, you pick up because there's probably something wrong if this person keeps trying to contact you. 
"Hello?" you ask, trying to sound as cheerful and unbothered as you can.
No response.
You try again, this time dragging the 'o' out, "Hello? Anyone there?"
No response, though now, you can hear breathing on the other end. It's a heavy type of breathing, almost panting that sounds ghostly. 
"Alright, I have no idea which one of you assholes is trying to scare me? It's not funny. Go bother someone else." You end the call and immediately go back to your original task. And since no one can ever let you do anything peacefully, you're interrupted, again.
"Listen, asshole. I told you to-" 
You're cut off before you can start berating the person on the other end.
"Hello, Sunshine." It's an eerie voice, one you've never heard before. The best way you can describe it is that it's textured and has a hint of something so familiar, but you just can't place your finger on it. You completely forget why you were annoyed in the first place. There's something scary about the voice that has your vocal cords caving in on themselves. A timid 'hi' is all you can muster out. 
"Oh, don't go all shy on me now. Just a second ago, you were all fired up." Your throat dries at the sound of your name, and you go completely silent. 
There's a hum and humourless chuckle at the end of the line, although nothing about what just happened is humorous. 
The man continues, "Okay, since you don't seem to want to talk, how about we play a game- get you to open up? I'll ask, and you answer. Sound simple enough for you, Sunshine?" There's that sense of familiarity back in his tone, and you still can't quite place it. You don't give the guy a verbal answer. Too terrified to string a coherent response along, you dumbly nod instead. It's an idiotic move; it's not like the guy can see you-
"Good."
Wait. What? What?! Can he see you? If your heart was beating in your chest at an inhumane speed before, it has completely flat-lined by now.
The new spike of adrenaline and fear—ironically—gives you enough courage to ask the question now dangerously looming in the air.
"Can you see me?" You can't help the terror that slips out with your words as you whip your head towards the window in your room. Your curtains are completely drawn open. Fuck.
"I guess this game isn't simple enough for you, is it?" he teases but blesses you with an answer anyhow, "but yes, I can. I really enjoyed the show you gave me earlier. You can feel the colour drain from your face, and as much as you want to rush over and pull your curtains shut, you can't. You're rooted into place like a century-year-old tree, and all you can do is stare and try to search for a figure standing outside. 
"Tell me, has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?" You can practically feel his voice fall a notch deeper over the flimsy phone as you grip onto it for dear life. Regardless of how much you hate it, you can feel your face heat up as well. You hate how he can probably see how flustered you are now. 
"Yes."
"Who?" is his next question, and at this point, you wish you had asked him to give you an exact number of how many questions he was going to ask.
With a shaky voice, you reply, "My boyfriend."
"Boyfriend, huh?" Just like before, you can practically feel his sadistic grin over the phone. It's as if his face is pressed up against your ear instead of the damn phone, a hot smirk searing into your skin. You hate how the thought makes you feel, how it sends shivers up your spine and straight past your stomach. 
"Does he treat you well? Worship you like he should?" You're convinced that some ghost just raised the thermostat in your room because it feels like you're on fire. Maybe you are on fire; this is probably some screwed-up fever dream. You most likely pricked your finger while getting ready and went into a deep sleep like Sleeping Beauty or something of the sort because the way you feel right now can not be real. 
"Are you going to answer my question, or do I have to get in there and make you?" 
"Yes! Yes- he, uh he does…" embarrassed, your voice morphs into a mere whisper, "worship me like he should." For a brief moment, your eyes divert from the window and move down to your glittery shoes. Your fingers play with the silky material of your dress to try and fail at distracting you.
You're utterly ashamed and embarrassed—you can't believe that you admitted that to a complete stranger, one who's actively stalking you right now. There's a whole other layer of shame building on you like a second skin because you're way too aroused, given the situation. You can feel the way it seeps out of you and sticks to your panties. You loathe the way you involuntarily squeezed your thighs shut every time the stranger spoke. You have a boyfriend for crying out loud, one that you absolutely adore; you should not be feeling this way at all about someone else. Someone you don't even know! While mulling over your inner turmoil, you almost miss the sound of leaves shuffling and a pleased hum. Almost.
Your head snaps back up, eyes darting to the window, and there you see it, or rather, him. Your body is moving on its own, carrying you closer and closer to the mirror until you can see your own breath fog up the glass. There he is. Dressed in all black, thick boots, what appear to be black jeans, a black shirt and a jacket that you would secretly love to get a closer look at. However, none of that is scary in and of itself. No. It's that mask he's wearing—a stretched-out ghostly white face tilted to the side and staring right up at you. Despite the fact that the eyes are big black ovals, you can feel his gaze pierce into you, pinning you against the window and commanding you to stare right back. He's haunting.
The logical part of you is screaming to pull your curtains shut and dial the authorities before you wind up dead in your bedroom. The other more curious part of you wants to stay and observe the way the moonlight shines off the metal wrapped around his fingers and the blond strands poking out from under the mask.
Thankfully, you finally listen to the former. 
Dropping your phone in the process, it takes you two swift motions to get your curtains to completely cover your window. Granted, the task probably wasn't as difficult as it felt. You clutch the fabric shut for a minute or two before curiosity gets the better of you, and you're peeking out. To your disappointment, there's no one there anymore. Quickly, you scramble to pick your phone back up and press it against your ear once more. 
"You really should make a habit of checking if you locked your doors."
"Where are you?" your voice is panicked and rushed as you frantically start pacing around your room.
"New game." his voice is now dangerous and needy, no longer playful and teasing, "You hide. I seek."
"What happens if you find me?"
"I'll be sure to make you scream." And just like that, he hangs up. You panic. You have no idea what the actual fuck he meant by that.
There's no place to hide in your room except for your closet. So that's where you go. There's no point in going out of your room because he's probably already inside your house, trying to look for your roommate—who thankfully left beforehand—and murder her before he comes after you. Your closet feels extra stuffy and crammed up because the burning desire in your core is trying to rival the sheer fear coursing through your veins. It's frustrating, and you just want the world to stop for a moment so you can straighten out your feelings and then finally think of a proper solution. Unfortunately, the world does not seem to want to help you out. In fact, it ends up doing the opposite, and soon enough, you can hear your bedroom door squeak open.
It’s a torturous, slow movement of the door as you hear heavy boots tread in. Your heart springs back to life and thuds so hard against your chest that you fear that he might hear you. Even then, it’s hard to hold back a gasp when the footsteps tread closer and closer towards your closet. You feel like an animal. Prey being hunted and killed for sport, for fun. The anticipation is exhausting. Yet the adrenaline is addicting. 
Slowly, he creaks the closet door open and you’ve been found. Your heart skips a beat as you’re now face to face with the mask; it’s truly more terrifying up close. Your chest is heaving while your heart skips too many beats for it to be considered healthy. To any unknowing onlooker, it would look like you just had sex with the guy, and honestly, you can’t deny that it doesn’t feel like it, except for the fact that instincts keep telling you to run and escape before it’s too late. And then your senses kick into overdrive as you try to slip past him, but it’s no use because in a matter of seconds he manages to grab onto your dress and push you down on your bed. 
You immediately start to thrash and squirm against him, all while screaming until he clamps a hand down onto your lips.
“Caught you.” His voice is different. It's less textured, no less terrifying or dark, but most of all, it sounds more familiar. Every single retort and threat you were going to yell out dies on your tongue. You know this voice. Recognising the realisation in your eyes, he lets his hand drop down to your waist. A ghost of his name forms on your tongue, but you’re not able to address him until you tug his mask off.
“Tate.” His name sounds breathy and divine as it slips out. A shit-eating grin is plastered on his face as his free hand comes to rest on the side of your face. His thumb glides over your bottom lip.
“Surprise, Sunshine.” His voice manages to make you painfully aware of the sticky mess in between your thighs, even though you want to yell at him for scaring the shit out of you. 
“Did you like the surprise? Thought we should try something different this time.” Even with the provocative tone of his voice, you could sense the fear of rejection behind it. This was still the same Tate that unashamedly adored it when you praised him, regardless of his assertiveness during this particular situation. You hum and nod your head in approval. You want nothing more than to kiss him right now, to drown in the unforgiving sea that is Tate Langdon until he’s the only one who can pull you back out. 
Observant as ever, he smashes his lips down on yours and entrances you in a ruthless and needy display of emotion. You’re lost in the clash of his lips against yours as he steals your oxygen only to replace it with poisonous desire. You barely notice his fingers trailing up your dress if it weren’t for his hands feeling like lava against your skin, marks and tainting every spot he touches. Your own try to push away the jacket he has on so you can feel him better, and you whine until he eventually helps you shrug it off, his eagerness matching yours. The garment is on the floor within seconds with his belt and your heels following suit until his lips are back on yours. 
His hands finally make it to the lacy material of your underwear, pushing the garment away until he has full access to your dripping cunt. You would be embarrassed by the amount of slick that's running down your thighs and onto his slender fingers if it weren't for the way his lips strayed from your own and down to your neck. You couldn't help but preen at the way the usual soft kisses on your skin were replaced by a slow and harsh drag of teeth. He nips and sucks at the supple skin until it's swirling with red while his hot breath hits the crook of your neck. It's enough to make you go insane. 
Though, it's nothing compared to the fiery feeling of his fingers gliding against your folds. Tate's fingers expertly rub along your cunt, all the while dodging your sensitive bud—teasing you just enough to have you whimpering and squirming against the bed. His hips grind onto your thigh in tandem with his strokes and you lose it when a moan slips past his lips and vibrates against your throat.
"God- fuck- Tate. Please stop, stop teasing," you whine, hands tugging at his scratchy trousers in hopes of pulling him towards your needy core. Your whines are met with an amused chuckle.
"What? You want more?"
"Yes- please, I can't-" your pleas are cut off by a withdrawal of his fingers from your core as they instead pull your hands down to the button of his jeans. You can feel the slick coating his fingers while they slide against your own, but it's too late to be embarrassed about it. All you can think about is the fire in your lungs and the fact that his trousers are still on. It takes you a while to pop the button and unzip them—much to your frustration—but as soon as you do, they're off in an instant, chucked and pushed down to the hardwood floor. Meanwhile, he managed to push your dress up enough to get a firm grip on your waist. Throughout all of this, his kisses persist. Despite being softer, they move from the underside of your jaw all the way to the corner of your lips. You moan when he takes your bottom lip in between his teeth, piercing the supple skin and making you taste the metallic blood that follows. 
You're so lost in the taste that you barely register the stretch of him pushing himself inside you until he's harshly rocking into you. The feeling is divine—the press of his body against yours, the pleasure and pain from his thrusts and the way a groan will slip past his mouth and into yours—it's addictive and has you moaning and clawing at the crumpled sheets around you. You're reaching the edge of a familiar high faster than usual, and your hands grasp around, looking for something, anything to tether you to reality before you slip off.
Your hand thrashed against the sheets and finally caught onto something smooth and light. You looked down to see the ghostly white mask, and everything came crashing down. Your nails scraped against the plastic, and incoherent babbles fell from your lips as you drowned in euphoria. Just as you began to relish in the feeling, Tate’s thrusts stopped completely, and he pulled out only to sit down beside you.
“Wait, what? What‘re you doing?” your mind is hazy, and even stringing along this simple question felt like a chore. Mischievous brown eyes stare at you, and it isn’t until now that you realise just how much messy hair and swollen lips suit him. In one simple tug, he’s pulling you down the bed and onto your knees in front of him. 
“Oh, come on, sunshine. I gave you a treat. Don’t deserve one in return?”
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supercoolncollected · 12 days
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Who will survive and what will be left of them?
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slushpuppi · 8 months
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THE WAY PATRICK BATEMAN WOULD...
A Patrick bateman smutty headcannon list
Warnings; American psycho but he's rlly hot. Dub con. He's mean.
Enjoy!
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Patrick bateman would be the kind to force you to video tape yourself masturbating with one of the toys he gifted you, he makes a tape of it just so he could watch it for later.
He's the kind to hate fuck you after you both get into a argument.
Loves to pull hair, bite, smack, and spit. He doesn't care for aftercare. He makes you clean yourself up while he looks at himself on the mirror
Patrick likes to take advantage of you everywhere and anywhere.
He loves to degrade you and humiliate you in bed.
Patrick buys you expensive lingerie just for him to cut it up and make u feel bad!
He likes to guilt trip and manipulate you into having sex with him. He proudly talks about how you are in bed with his co workers
He tries his best to make you cry everytime
Loves to bring a weapon with him to a hook up.
Patrick likes whenever you scream and moan out his name whenever he's fucking into you.
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bosinclairsgff · 8 months
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Slasher's reacting to their s/o on their period
Yeahhhhh I just felt like writing about it because I am in fact on my period, anywho! Enjoy :)
Includes: Bo Sinclair, Corey Cunningham, Patrick Bateman and The Grabber
Warnings: Mention of kidnap, implied nudity and just some of them being mean..
Bo Sinclair
Bo woke up to you saying his name and shaking him softly. You had just started your period and you had bled through your underwear onto the sheets. At first, he was a little annoyed that it had gotten on the sheets but then he looked at how bad you felt and calmed down.
He would still be an asshole, but he would be a nicer asshole.
I think he would offer taking a shower with you to help wash you off so you would feel better.
If you asked him to buy pads, he would say yes but REALLY complain about it and be a bit pissed off. When he gets to the store and sees how many different types there are he gets STRESSED. He would grab you a random one and hope it's the right one.
If you asked him to buy tampons he would make some weird joke about using them. He would buy them for you though, still annoyed. Again he wouldn't know if there is a right size to get or what. So just be thankful for whatever you get.
Corey Cunningham
Corey had taken you out for a ride and you guys were having so much fun. But when the ride as over and you stood up to get off, he noticed a small blood stain on your pants. You were so embarrassed, but he assured you it was totally fine, that its normal and nothing to be embarrassed about. He gave would give you his jacket to wear around your waist.
He would be so sweet about it and would buy you all the chocolate in the world.
Corey would run you a nice bath then when you got out, he would cuddle and watch your favorite movie.
If you asked him to grab you pads, he would say yes but internally panic. He wouldn't know which brand to buy, or if it had to be a certain size. I think you'd get a text of a picture of the isle asking you to tell him which one to buy. Same thing with tampons.
Patrick Bateman
You were sitting in his bed just talking about your day when you stood up to use the bathroom. Once you got up, he sees blood on your panties and on the sheets. He. Was. Pissed. Patrick would defently yell at you for getting blood on his sheets. He would say something like "don't you know when you're going to start your period? You should be prepared. You have made such a fucking mess".
He would make you take a shower while he changed the sheets. Then he would ask if you even had the things you need.
He would you out and grab you whatever you choose to you and be really mad about it.
When he gets back to the apartment he would toss the pads in the bathroom and not say a word to you for the rest of the night.
The Grabber
He's not used to being around people who have periods so he would be so awkward.
One morning while giving you your breakfast he noticed you weren't eating, and you looked like you were in discomfort. He would ask once wrong and shyly you told him you had started your period. He would freeze. The Grabber hadn't even planned to keep you for this long so now that you had started your period, he had no idea what to do.
He would ask you if you needed anything or if you could just stuff toilet paper in your panties and that would do. When you explained it's better to have pads or tampons, he tried to not cringe while talking about it. This stuff made him so uncomfortable.
The Grabber would tell you he would be back in 30 minutes, and he was going to get you pads. Of course, he had no idea what to buy.
One of the older ladies working their noticed how long he had been standing there staring at all the pads. So, she helped him get what she thought would be best. His face was bright red the whole time talking to her.
Once he gets home, he would go downstairs with a few wet paper towels so you could clean up the best you could. No, he would not give you privacy and would watch you.
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munster0us · 11 months
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There’s just something about this lil guy…
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y3strr · 6 months
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me in my perfect world if my delusions were real
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bateman-whore · 5 months
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He’s a ten but he’s utterly insane…
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pankhearst · 6 months
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I spent way too long on this
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psychotic-star-girl · 5 months
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Dinner at the Hewitt's be like:
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doomh3ad · 2 years
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hi! could you please write dumbification with patrick bateman and a sub fem reader? thank you so much!
THIS IS SO HOT THANK YOU SO SORRY IT TOOK AGES
patrick bateman + dumbification with a sub!fem!reader (nsfw under cut)
-oh my god is he the guy to come to for this. patrick LIVES for degrading people, knowing how above it all he is, thriving on his wealth and power. he's a clever guy, he didn't just buy his way to the top of his company, and you just love that, don't you, baby? compared to him, you're just a sweet little dumb thing he keeps around for fun. you're so cute, thinking you can compete with him, converse with him on his level; patrick will show you exactly why you can't.
-he'll fuck you stupid - no, stupider. the only thing that patrick will allow you to say is his name, screaming in ecstasy, unable to concentrate on anything but how good he's making you feel. by the time you're on your third orgasm in an hour, 'patrick' and 'please' are the only words you know, and he wouldn't have it any other way. his smile of delight and quiet praises have you glowing.
-he can be nice to his precious angel if he wants to be. you don't need to do anything for yourself, patrick can take care of it. you don't even need to work, or do anything difficult. no, you don't even need to do that, sweetheart, he'll do it for you. he knows best. the mean side to patrick only comes out when you want something rougher, when you want him to degrade you and tell you how he'll never leave you because abandoning you to take care of yourself would be too cruel. he's here now, darling, don't stress: you're too pretty to be thinking this hard.
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cherrypearlsx · 1 month
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I need him (fictional character)
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SUMMARY: Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees return to terrorize the teenagers of Elm Street. Only this time, they're out to get each other, too.
Every single penny of mod Sus' money goes to Jason, GET HIS ASS MY BOY.
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