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slasherscream · 4 days

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Crazy Ass Girls Gang ft. killing the reader’s rapist

warnings: yandere behavior, subject matter is rape/sexual assault, gore warning in some parts - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

TIFFANY VALENTINE:

Tiffany knows something happened to you. Call it woman's intuition. Maybe just call it true love. Or obsession. Whatever it is she can sense a hole in you. A gaping pit of misery that you try and hide. Try and fight against.

Tiffany tries to help, when you let her. Most of the time you don't. Instead of admitting to being so depressed you can’t move or eat, you'll feign physical illness. You pretend you're crying because some part of your body hurts. Tiffany knows better. Knows it’s something in your soul itself. Aching.

Tiffany let's it go on for as long as she can stomach it. The relationship was still so new. You'd just moved in together. Just finished pulling your separate lives into one. Picking out the throw pillows, what color to paint the walls. Argued playfully over bedding and mattress firmness. Is it too early to push?

She watches you at the breakfast table, on the really bad days, eating mechanically, no joy in your movement or behind your eyes. She doesn't want there to be anything between you. Any secrets. Any distance. If you're hurting she wants you to lean on her. To need her as much as she needs you. To know she’ll catch you, no matter what it is she’ll catch you. It’s enough to leave her in tears every time you put on that awful fake smile.

She wakes one night, blinking into the darkness. For a moment, she's not sure what woke her. Moonlight streams in from the window. The sound of the fan whirring across the room. Her eyes begin to drift shut again when she hears a muffled sob come from the bathroom. Her hand falls to your side of the bed, instinctively. She closes her eyes when she realizes how cold your side has gone. How long ago did you wake up? How quickly did you decide to crawl from bed and hide from her again? Always hiding.

It's too much, now. You crying alone in the bathroom in the middle of the night is too much. She throws open the door and takes you into her arms, cooing softly, own eyes watering at the way you go limp against her so quickly. Here she'd been trying to give you space and what you needed was her affection, her tenderness, the whole time.

"What's wrong, huh, baby-doll? You gonna tell your Tiffany what's wrong now? Please?" She whispers against your hair, kissing the crown of your head.

You haven't said the words out loud in so long but you're tired of fighting the demons, and the nightmares, and the misery, all on your own. You've held it in so tightly since you met her. As if you'd taint her just by saying the words. But you love her, and you just want to stop hiding.

When you tell her she goes still. For just a second. Her arms tighten around you like a vice. She begins to rock you gently, cooing reassurances in your ear. She tells you to let everything out and you do. Now that you know she’ll still love you. That she’ll still be here for the aftermath. You can’t stop yourself.

By the end you feel exorcized. Alive. Softened and made new by the level of tenderness Tiffany had shown you. She gathers you from the floor of the bathroom, wipes both of your tears away and kisses you gently. She tucks you back into bed and asks only one more question:

“What was their name again, sugar bear?” You don’t hesitate to tell her. It warms her heart the way you curl into her side without anymore hesitation. The space between you gone now.

You sleep deeply that night. You wake up to an empty bed and are surprised. Usually, no matter how late you sleep in Tiffany is still wrapped around you. Just as much a night owl as you, early mornings are rare.

You pass by the laundry room, notice that the washer and dryer are both going. You thought you did all the laundry a few days ago. You peek into the washer and notice how red the water is. Tiffany must have been attacked by the creative spirit, gotten messy using some paint.

You hope she didn’t use acrylics this time, the stains never come out.

You walk through the house calling for your girlfriend. No answer. You step out onto the back porch and there she is. Bathed in the early afternoon sun. Your whole body relaxes when you see her in the garden, bent over, planting a whole new row of flowers. She’s absolutely covered in dirt. You smile, feeling happier than you have in ages. You rush out to join her in the sunlight and throw your arms around her.

“I love you, Tiff.” You cover her face in kisses, ignoring the dirt.

“I love you too, baby-doll. I love you more than anything.” Tiffany kisses you back, sweet and passionate. Playfully, she spins you to lay beneath her and revels in the sound of your carefree, shrill laughter.

She hopes they can hear you, just barely, through the layers of dirt she buried them in. With their last breath she hopes they hear your laughter and realize they didn’t break you.

JORDAN LI:

You weren’t answering your phone. Not their calls. Not their texts. It was enough to have them shrugging on their jacket and stomping out of their dorm into the cool night air.

They’d had a bad feeling about letting you go out alone tonight. You always partied together. Usually with Jordan’s friends, who had become yours. Jordan hated the old group you used to run with. Disloyal. Stupid. Selfish. Now she wishes you’d at least taken one of those fake groupies. At least then you wouldn’t be alone.

She walks through the party, a brick wall, shoving people aside as she calls your name. Anxiety prickles the skin at the back of her neck. She jogs up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She throws open door after door, music from the party too loud to even fucking think.

Jordan’s angrier by the second, wondering if something happened to you. She hopes you just lost your phone. If someone stole it she’ll break their fucking jaw.

The last door in the hallway, she sees two bodies on the floor, one moving against the other in the dim light. She rolls her eyes about to slam the door shut and go look for you in the kitchen again. As she goes to close the door she stops dead when she hears a whimper from the floor. The tiniest noise of pain, a drowsy “stop”. The scene looks different now.

She steps into the room, forgetting about you for one second, heart pounding in her ears. Jordan pulls the person on top off by their hair, hard enough to hurt. When she sees it’s Rufus she let’s out a laugh of anger and blasts him across the room with her power. Hard enough that he leaves a dent in the wall.

Jordan turns to the person on the ground, hoping the short distance between them and Rufus will make his fucking pheromone bullshit wear off.

“Are you-” Her blood stops. It’s you, on the floor. Your outfit torn and ripped. Tears are running down your cheeks but your eyes still have that drugged shimmer that might as well be that walking roofie’s calling card.

“Jordan?” You mumble from the floor, dazed and confused.

Rufus makes a sound from across the room, getting to his feet. Jordan stops breathing as she turns. They make eye contact. Fear in one pair. Anger so strong it’s inhuman, in the other.

Jordan’s across the room in an instant. Her fist breaks his jaw with the first blow. Everything after that is a blur. She comes back to herself when she feels a stabbing pain shoot through her fist and she pulls her hand away with a hiss. Bone fragment cutting into her hand.

The haze of the rage falls away and Jordan realizes how wet she feels. She looks down at her clothes. Sees how soaked in blood they are. Then her eyes fall to the mess she’s left on the floor. She almost throws up. Shakes her hands and feels brain matter slide off of them.

She thinks, what the fuck did I just do? What the fuck did I just do?

“Jordan?” You call from across the room, sounding less drugged.

She looks over at you and tears burn her eyes. Numb, she climbs off the body and rushes to you, looking you over. The tears fall when she sees the bruises, the small cuts. You must’ve fought him, even through the haze of his powers. You’ve always been a fucking fighter. She should have fucking been here. She doesn’t want to touch you with the blood on her hands but you don’t give her a choice, falling into her arms sobbing. She forces back her own. This is her fault. You’re the only one who deserves to cry.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” Jordan mumbles, hands shaking as they leave bloody smears across your skin. What else can she say?

NANCY DOWNS:

Secret keeping doesn’t work with Nancy. No matter how small of a secret, or a lie, she can sniff it out. Furthermore she hates when you lie. About anything. You should always tell each other the truth. You're one soul in two separate bodies, as far as Nancy is concerned.

Even before she did the spell to bind you to one another permanently.

Because of the magic she can feel what you’re hiding now. She had a suspicion before. But now she knows. Now she fucking knows. She’s furious, and heartbroken, and she knows.

You still try and hide it, though. As if you can hide anything from the other half of your fucking soul.

“Enough, Y/N.” She spits at you one night, when you’re trying so hard not to think about it. Not to feel.

She doesn’t know why you’re blocking her out. Not letting her feel it with you. Whatever you suffered. Whatever harm that befell you it would be avenged times three if you just let her in.

Nancy’s magic has always been stronger. She was being kind before. Hoping you would come to her on your own. She sees now that you need to be encouraged. She’s still gentle, somehow, as she invades the sanctity of your mind. For one instant your consciousness is her consciousness, and you’re both one being, sharing every thought and feeling.

She sees it. Feels it. Lives what you lived, in that single moment. She pulls herself out of your mind, eyes hauntingly empty. They meet yours, register you, and fill with tears slowly. You reach out, in sync and Nancy pulls you to her. You can’t tell apart the sounds of your voices as you start to scream and sob.

You pass out, eventually. Either from exhaustion or a spell Nancy placed on you. You wake in your shared bed to her standing over you, covered in blood. A knife in one hand, something meaty and dripping in the other. When your eyes adjust fully to the moonlight you realize it’s a human heart.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You're safe now. You’ll always be safe, with me. You understand?” Nancy coos, petting your face with the hand holding the knife. It cuts you. You start to cry and you’re not sure if it’s from relief.

JENNIFER CHECK:

You come home from the party you attended quietly. You open the door without a sound. Kick off your shoes. Put down your bag. You’ve shut yourself into the bathroom before she can even ask how it went. Immediately, her hackles are up. Irritation and concern. You know she hates being ignored. You never ignore her. You didn’t even say hello.

Jennifer knocks on the bathroom door, trying to keep her voice playful as she asks what your deal is. You don’t respond. The sound of running water is the only thing she can hear. She pounds on the door, getting nervous.

Then she picks up the smell of prey. You smell like prey. Dried sweat perfumes your skin, the sweetest smelling kind, that only one emotion causes: primal fear. The faintest whiff of blood and tears.

She breaks down the door. You don’t even notice. Don’t even look away from the mirror. You just go on trying to wipe the blood from your face. Your lip is busted. Hair a tangled mess. Scrapes along your cheek and neck, collarbone. Your clothes are a mess too. Rips and tears in fabric that was pristine a few hours ago.

“Baby?” Jennifer says again, feeling sick. Still nothing.

She reaches out to touch you, gently. You come alive, jolting away from her with a scream. It’s the type of fear she’s heard a thousand times. Right before she rips out an organ or a throat.

It’s the breaking of a dam and you fall to the ground, sobbing, still trying to wipe away at your skin. Any bit of skin you can reach. Jennifer tries to wrestle the rag from you. You’re being too rough, you're only human. You’re so breakable. You fight against her, sobs getting louder.

“Baby stop fighting me!” Jennifer begs, uncharacteristically. Between your sobs she makes out the words of you needing to clean yourself and her eyes fill with tears. She didn’t know she was capable of tears still.

“Stop.” Jennifer commands, voice going inhuman, harmonic. You go still, entranced by the full force of her power. Jennifer feels the tears falling down her cheeks. Watches your own tears cut bloody, miserable lines down your face.

She takes the rag and gently wipes at your cuts. She peels away your ruined clothes. Starts the bath and places you inside it. Every time her hold on your mind starts to wane, and that animal fear of harm kicks back in, she speaks to you. She doesn’t let the control slip until your body stops secreting that awful smell of terror.

“Who did this, baby?” She asks quietly, trying not to focus on the haunted look on your face.

You don’t answer her. She swallows.

“That’s okay, baby. I’ve got the scent anyways.” She tucks you into bed, orders you into a dreamless sleep that you couldn’t hope to fight off.

She doesn’t come back home until the morning. The blood beneath her fingernails makes her itch. The smell of the monster she killed is putrid in her nose. She showers under water so hot it singes even her skin. When she crawls into bed beside you, before she falls asleep, she thinks about how hungry she is. She curls her entire body around yours.

She hadn’t been able to stomach even the thought of eating your fucking rapist.

CARRIE WHITE:

You’d just moved into this house together. It was a nice enough neighborhood. Cozy. Nothing too big or expensive. The dorms at university had been too loud and hectic for Carrie. For this semester you’d decided you needed to build a life together.

She’d never been happier than she was while painting the walls with you. Picking out lamps, and blankets, and a shoe rack. She remembers the way she’d used telekinesis to haul the heavy couch inside while the two of you held your hands underneath and pretended to carry it. The elderly neighbors all watching from their porches with dropped jaws. When you took one hand away to wave at them Carrie had to rush you both inside before she actually dropped the couch from laughing.

You went to class together. Cooked and cleaned side by side. Carrie tailoring clothes for money and you tutoring. It was good. Life was good. After years of suffering, you were her heaven on Earth.

Carrie came home from grocery shopping, humming quietly to herself. She knew you were home but didn’t call out for you. You’d told her you were tutoring someone this afternoon. Some of the subjects required a lot of focus, especially if you were already struggling with the material. She’d brought extra snacks in case they were hungry.

She set the groceries down in the kitchen and walked into the living room. She froze in her tracks. You were there, and there was your student, on top of you. You locked eyes with Carrie, over their shoulder. They were holding you down. You’d been gagged to keep you from screaming. So the neighbors wouldn’t hear.

They were assaulting you in your own home. In the home you shared with her. Her vision whited out.

She came to with your hands gently shaking her awake. She screamed when she saw you. You were covered in blood. In gore, and chunks of flesh. The sight alone brought back such horrible memories she turned over and threw up. You held her hair back, as if the blood on your hands was less awful than vomit.

She tried to look…. To see what she’d done. But you won’t let her look past you. You’re sobbing and still trying to protect her. Even though she hadn’t protected you. Her whole world. Her angel, that God sent her, and she’d let you be defiled. She’d failed you.

You fall apart in each other’s arms, trying to ignore the headless body a few feet away.

GINGER FITZGERALD:

You’d thought she’d under-reacted, when you told her. ‘She’s being unusually calm’ was your exact thought. But you were so tired, after years of holding in the dark secret. You were just relieved to have her acceptance, without hesitation, without disgust.

She asked no questions that could leave you wondering about anything. On whether or not she thinks it’s your fault. If she thinks you should’ve fought back harder. If she thinks you’re weak. Tainted. Dirty. She says all the perfect words, everything you’ve ever needed to hear. She held you close and whispered them, and kissed you the same as always.

She treats you no differently. You let yourself soften in the reality of a devotion that only Ginger can give.

But you knew she was under-reacting.

You walk into your living room a week later and see Ginger sitting on the couch, your rapist beaten within an inch of their life, bound and gagged at her feet. Her face lights up when she sees you. She grins like a wolf, canines sharper than usual.

She stomps on their head as she skips to greet you, grabbing you by the hips. She ignores your gaping mouth when she kisses your cheek affectionately, “Brought you a little gift, baby.”

“I almost just killed them, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted-”

“Wanted to what, Ging?” You cut her off, breathless, eyes glued to that hauntingly familiar face.

“Wanted the chance to make them suffer, before they die.” Ginger whispers, staring at you so lovingly you almost start to cry.

You tug her into your arms and laugh wetly when she starts to purr. You can see the way her tail wags beneath her skirt. She’s always so eager to please.

“I don’t know if I can do that, Ginger.” You admit into the skin of her neck.

“Sure you can.” Ginger coos, taking you by the hands and leading you over to the shivering body on the ground. “I’ll show you how.”

She takes off the gag so you can hear the screams better.

#i need me a freak like this adjkl

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slasherscream · 8 days

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Crazy Ass Boys Gang ft. reader being possessive

warnings: toxic behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

kevin khatchadourian: Kevin is really like *raise eyebrow emoji* cause like… aside from you, he straight up hates everyone he’s ever met or known. He doesn’t understand your jealousy whatsoever. It’s the most genuinely confused he’s ever been. Kevin is strikingly good looking, and when he puts on his facade of normality it’s a convincing show. But you’re the only one who’s ever seen him authentically. Exactly as he is. He assumes the jealousy is a symptom of personal insecurity. In his own way he tries to comfort you. Why would I want to fuck them when I don’t even want to hear them talk? / They look like a computer generated idea of an attractive person. What’s there to actually look at? / Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else so confident in their nonexistent intelligence. / - His put downs of whoever you were jealous of are so brutal they bring you right back to earth. There’s no logic to being jealous over Kevin. He’s only ever been interested in you.

billy loomis: Billy likes to play stupid games. Little does he know he’s gonna start winning stupid prizes, if he keeps fucking around. Honestly, he would never cheat on you… but he loves to piss you off. Leaning too close to other people. Whispering in someone’s ear. Not pushing someone off him when they get handsy with him. It’s all only ever when you’re watching him though. Eyes burning into the back of his head. He’s only doing it for show. To get to you. He loves how angry you get. The way it warps your face. It’s downright scary. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. It drives him wild to know you’re just as caught up in him as he is with you. He’d kill anyone that touched you. Anyone that overstepped their place. When you drag him out of yet another one of Stu’s parties, fingers digging into his wrist, he wonders if you would ever do the same.

josh washington: Doesn’t make you jealous on purpose to piss you off, but is often making you jealous on accident. He’s obsessed with you, everyone knows that. From family to classmates, it’s easy to tell Josh thinks you hung the moon. But he’s just so… friendly, charming. He’s got a magnetic pull. People are constantly chasing after him. Touching him, distracting him, flirting with him. He picks up on it quickly, and casually let’s people down, but some people are insistent on overstepping boundaries. That’s when you come in. You’ve snatched people’s hands off him before. “Who do you think you’re groping?” You snap. Josh can’t stop himself from laughing. He thinks you’re hot when you’re angry. You always embarrass the people who flirt with him because they’re also always not listening when he says the word “no”. “Why am I supposed to be nice? They’re being an asshole!” no matter what you say Josh teases you.

stu macher: Another one who is making you jealous on purpose. He also has a lot of natural charisma and we know he’s a party animal. Not one party can pass by without him trying to piss you off and succeeding. Thinks it’s funny when you make a scene. Everyone around you is averting their eyes as you stare Stu down. “Babe, I was just messing around!” ol’ toxic headass. He wouldn’t cheat on you at all, he’s obsessed with you. He just likes the proof that you’re just as obsessed with him. Threaten to break up with him and he’ll suddenly know how to act. He’s still a little naturally flirty, but if you give him a look after you’ve made the threat, he’ll stop.

jason dean/jd: Doesn’t give other people the time of day, so you’re more possessive than jealous. He doesn’t give you anything to be jealous over. He’s very distant with other people. At best, he can be cordial. Usually he is not doing his best. Still, you see the way people’s eyes follow him. He might be a societal black sheep, his energy a big neon sign that shouts “DANGER! KEEP AWAY!”, but danger can be alluring. So you hang off his arm. You wear his coat. You glare when people look too long. You interrupt conversations started by infatuated third parties. It’s a thrill for JD. Every time you puff up your chest and step a little closer to him it makes him smile. Not smirk, smile. Being possessive over him is his preferred love language.

nathan prescott: Swings back and forth on finding it annoying and finding it nice. On one hand Nathan hates to be controlled, and what are you doing if not trying to control him, his actions? You suck your teeth when he texts Victoria back while you watch a movie together. You glare at him when he laughs at a joke one of his “friends” made about someone’s tits. You go nuclear over wanting to spend time with him and finding out he has plans with someone else. But you love him. He can see it on your face right before the anger takes over. That flash of insecurity and doubt. It’s the thing that softens him. The reason he bites his tongue, and tries not to react with his own fiery temper. It’s a fear you both share. They’re nicer than me. More attractive. Funnier. More talented. No baggage. All of it adding up to the big question “why are you even with me when there’s better out there?” It’s a flaw the two of you share. He’s just as jealous as you. Just as insecure. The two of you have to practice grace whenever you drive each other to the edge. You’re birds of a feather, after-all.

sebastian valmont: Has an awful reputation so he tries not to be flirtatious with anyone. Is definitely not making you jealous on purpose. He’s a natural flirt but he’s scared you’ll see it as genuine interest in someone. Also, he’s cheated on plenty of people before you. Almost everyone, really. But none of them mattered to him. He thought of them as games more than he thought of them as people. Still, he knows that people are constantly trying to turn you against him. They whisper to you behind his back. Warn you away from him. It would get to anyone, eventually. When you first begin to display bouts of jealously Sebastian does his best to reassure you. “I’m different now. I’m with you now, and I never want to be with anyone else. I’m yours. You don’t have to fight for me.” Can’t find the jealously attractive, or relish in it because he’s worried about how emotionally draining it must be for you. It’s nice to be wanted but you don’t have to want him, you have him.

#i love toxic readers so fucking much

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