"... just a guy"

Kyle carefully slinks into your shared bed despite the fact the pain meds in your system keep you sleeping like a log. You don't stir when he pulls your sleeping pants and boxers down, but Kyle coos softly when your cock twitches from a simple touch; just goes to show even unconscious you want him.

He lays chaste but loving kisses along your exposed skin, careful where blotches of red stain your bandages as he settles between your legs. He takes your soft cock into his mouth and just lets you rest against his tongue, warmth flooding his heart when his soft massage of your thighs makes you throb inside him. He watches your chest carefully and stays warming you until your breathing levels out again, your body relaxing even further.

He moves his tongue slowly and takes his time to relearn all your sensitive spots, each swipe of his tongue making you grow harder and harder until he can trace the veins along your cock. His mouth vibrates with a groan when a bead of pre seeps from your head and he savors the taste like it's honey, the scent and taste of you forcing him to push two fingers into himself to settle the heat in his belly. The combined sound of his lips slurping and sucking on your cock and his cunt wetly squelching as he roughly stretches himself has him clenching hard on his fingers.

He lets go of your cock when you finally get rock hard in his mouth, laying a final kiss to the tip before he straddles you. He's careful not to jostle your stitches when you can barely breathe without pulling them, bracing a hand next to your head as he uses his slick fingers to lube you up further.

Taking hold of your cock head he resists taking you balls deep and slowly eases himself down until the tip pops inside him. He breathes out slowly, lashes fluttering as you groan in your sleep. His cunt flutters around your hard shaft as he slides down, treasuring every inch as it spreads him so wonderfully. "So big for me," He's breathless when he finally settles on your thighs, hole clenching around you as his body tries desperately to adjust to your size, pain and pleasure mingling along his spine.

Your breathing picks up when he starts moving, thighs tensing to slowly rise and fall back on your cock. Kyle places a hand on his stomach and just the idea of it growing large, of being gravid with your kid, has his body moving on it's own, so lost in his little fantasy he doesn't notice you waking up.

"Kyle?" You breathe out and Gaz knows the moment you register where your cock is when your hips do a little twitch upwards.

"Mornin' love." He breathes out, leaning in to sweetly kiss your eyelids; he hopes you and the baby will have matching eyes.

"What are you doing?" You grind your teeth, eyes closing as the pleasure of his tight hot heat washes over you. You pant, gripping his thighs as he continues to ride you.

"Shhh, let me have this, yeah?" He kisses you softly, grinding his hips so your cock tip brushes against his cervix, heart fluttering when you moan unabashedly.

It takes you a little while to notice that there's no separation between your cock and his gummy walls like there usually is, "Are you on the pill?" You ask, but you don't attempt to stop him, too exhausted and sleepy to do anything but be a living dildo for him.

"Yeah." The lie slips so easily from his lips he doesn't even think about it, increasing his pace so his asscheeks clap against your thighs and drive you both closer to orgasm. "Please, mate, love, need you-" He grabs your hand and places it on his stomach, pressing down until you can feel yourself through his skin. "-right here."

The desperate look in his eyes has you nodding quickly, bucking your hips upwards and your cock twitching when he moans so sweetly. "Want me to put a baby in you, huh?" You slur, even with the arousal and pain meds clouding your mind you notice how your words make him speed up. "You want to be a mommy Kyle?"

You don't expect your words to make him gush slick. "Fuck, yes, yes, yes-" He braces against your shoulders, slamming his hips down to meet your thrusts, whimpering softly then your thumb comes down to rub his clit. "-yes, please, love, need- need your cum."

You both tumble into orgasm soon after, his hips pressing flush to yours so your cum has a direct path into his womb and thighs tensing as if you'd try to pull him off. He's panting, mind a buzz with pleasure as he can feel your cum slosh inside him when he presses against his stomach.

Your head lolls back against the pillow, eyes closing as post-orgasmic bliss threatens to pull you back into the land of dreams. Overstimulation cuts through the fog of sleep as Kyle moves, but instead of getting off he just starts slowly riding you again, small little grinds of his hips making you harden despite just cuming.

"Kyle, what?" You suck in a breath, overstimulation turning to pleasure but even then it's getting harder to stay awake when your body's so ehausted.

You feel his hand on your cheek, his lips softly kissing all around your face. "Shhhh love," He murmurs against your brow, kissing each eyelid and trailing down to the tip of your nose. "Go back to sleep, I promise I'll be quick." Pecking your nose he meets your lips in a lazy kiss.

The phone rang loudly, almost looking as if it were going to shake from its position on the wall, when a hand with rough and calloused fingers reached for it; almost middle aged, Sergeant John MacTavish was wearing a light beige knitted jumper and a pair of light blue denim jeans, his mohawk dyed blonde thanks to losing a bet with Captain John Price just three weeks earlier.

He was home on leave for the time being, and wondered who would call at such a time.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” an unknown voice. Maybe it was the wrong number.

John thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Yes.”

“Who is this?” The stranger asked, almost curious in nature.

“Who are you trying to reach?” John asked bluntly, pursing his lips slightly.

“What number is this?”

“What number are you trying to reach?” He asked, sighing heavily.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you have the wrong number,” John huffed, about to put the phone down.

“Do I?”

“It happens,” John replied, rolling his eyes. “Take it easy.”

He put down the phone with a click to make sure that the call had ended; maybe it was just some neighbourhood children pulling a prank, or just someone trying to reach a friend. He didn’t really care either way as he put a tinfoil dish of popcorn on the stove and started humming to himself.

He didn’t think much of the interaction that had just happened, more than anything just wanting to get on with his evening; he had not been home in so long, and he had missed it.

The slightly affluent, middle class house in a nice and snug suburban neighbourhood; white wallpaper and white tiles adorning all the walls, light grey laminate flooring. Chairs and a table made from actual oak, along with fashionably made matching drawers and white countertops.

A sleek black stove that sat atop a sparkling black oven. A light grey two seater sofa and a large television in the living room. It was a nice, large house and by all means showed off exactly what John earned with his military career.

The portable landline in the kitchen rang loudly, making John groan with discontent as he picked it up to answer it, doing his best to keep an eye on the popcorn.

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry,” the unknown voice was back, deep and gruff. “I guess I dialled the wrong number.”

“So why did you do it again?” John huffed, nearly losing his temper as he clenched his jaw.

“To apologise,” the voice soothed.

“You’re forgiven,” John grumbled, rolling his eyes and doing his best not to immediately slam the phone down. “Bye, now.”

“Wait, wait,” the voice sounded desperate. “Don’t hang up.”

John went to look outside the patio, humming at the pitch dark of the garden for a moment; he hoped that the hedgehog house he had built a few summers back was still standing, and was optimistic that it would have drawn a few of the animals in.

“What?” John sighed.

“I wanna talk to you for a second.”

“There’s about nine hundred fuckin’ numbers in this postcode alone,” John pointed out with a harsh bite. “Go fuckin’ bother one of them an’ quit ruinin’ me night.”

This time, he really did slam the phone down, shaking his head in disbelief as he walked over to the popcorn; he gave it a firm shake to make sure that everything was cooking evenly, and knew it would not take long.

The tinfoil was already starting to bubble and force itself upwards. He was just about to head upstairs to get his pyjamas on, when the phone rang again.

“Tae fuck d’you want?!”

“Why don’t you talk to me?”

“Who the fuck is this?” John demanded to know, a scowl upon his lips.

“You tell me your name,” the unknown caller purred. “I’ll tell you mine.”

Rolling his eyes, John went back to his popcorn as he resigned himself to having to talk to the caller. “I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

“What’s that noise?”

He smiled. Maybe it was just someone in the neighbourhood who was lonely; maybe it was the old boy down the street who had lost his wife recently and really was just looking for someone to talk to. “Am making popcorn.”

“You’re making popcorn?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I only eat popcorn at the cinema,” the voice sounded a lot more innocent this time. It probably was just the lonely old man.

“I’m getting ready to watch a few films,” John hummed in return.

“Really?” They sounded quite pleased. “What?”

“Just some shite horror film I found,” he admitted with a soft laugh.

“D’you like horror films?”

“Some are alright,” John mused. “Some are just bullshit, though… I mean, why is the killer always mentally ill? It’s like, y’know, they’re tryin’ to tell us that people with mental illness are all killers, when they really ain’t.”

“What’s your favourite horror film?”

John thought about it for a moment, deciding to sit at the kitchen counter so that he could try and see if any hedgehogs scampered around in the garden. “I dunno.”

“You have to have a favourite, surely.”

“Erm, Halloween. You know, the one with the guy with the white mask who just sorta walks around and stalks the babysitters. What's yours?”

“Guess.”

“Let me guess,” John smiled to himself. “Nightmare On Elm Street?”

“Is that the one where the cunt had finger swords?”

John dared to bark out a soft laugh as he shook his head. “Oh, aye… Fred.”

“That’s right,” the stranger purred. “Freddy Krueger - I liked that one. Proper scary.”

“Wouldn’t go that far,” John scoffed. “The first was alrigh’, but the rest? Bunch of shite.”

“So,” the stranger hummed. “You got a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Significant other?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” He laughed.. “You tryin’ to get in my trousers?”

“Maybe… do you have anyone?”

“Nah.”

“You never told me your name.”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“You got a nice few hedgehog houses out here,” the stranger hummed. “Don’t you?”

“What?”

“I said I saw some hedgehogs.”

“That ain’t what you said,” John growled. “I gotta go.”

“Don’t hang up on me,” the stranger warned.

John slammed the phone down, shaking his head before going to the door again; he couldn’t see anything, but given how fucking dark it was, he couldn’t say that he was at all surprised.

He clenched his jaw, maybe the stranger was just fucking with him and had walked past his back garden a few times and realised he had hedgehog homes.

Yeah, that was it. That was all it was. He tried to shrug it off, until the phone rang again; clenching his jaw, Soap growled as he picked it up.

“Listen here, ya fuckin’ cunt-”

“No! You listen here you absolute wet wipe!” The stranger snapped. “You hang up on me again and I’ll fuckin’ gut you like a fish! Do you fucking understand?!”

“What kinda bullshit is this?”

“It’s just a little game,” the stranger mused. “That’s all.”

John hummed, shaking his head. “Whaddya want, mate?”

“To see,” the stranger paused, as if grinning. “What your insides look like.”

The doorbell rang, and John shouted from his place near the door. “Who’s there?!”

“Don’t you know not to say who’s there?” The stranger asked. “Don’t you pay attention to films? You’ll get yourself killed.”

John rolled his eyes. Fuck this. “You’ve had your fun, matey - now, please, go onto bonny street and jog the fuck on. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else, I’ll get my boyfriend here,” John snapped. “He’s big, he’s SAS, and he’ll fuckin’ kick your teeth in!”

“I thought you didn’t have anybody.”

“I lied!” John growled. “He’s gonna be here any second!”

“Sure he will… I’m so scared I can’t even hold my cigarette.”

“You best fuck off,” John warned. “He really will kick your ass!”

“His name wouldn’t happen to be Benjamin, now, would it?”

John’s grip on the phone faltered, his hands starting to shake slightly. “How’d you know?”

He nearly dropped the phone as he turned the light on, letting out a scream the second the white light shone through the garden; tied to an old patio chair that John had intended to throw away fucking years ago, was Benjamin himself. Otter.

His head was bleeding, duct tape around his mouth sticky with something red and thick. He was screaming, although it was muttered, and he was still in uniform. John went to grab the other landline.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Where are you?!”

“Why don’t you guess?” The stranger chuckled. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“Please,” John whimpered out, swallowing thickly. “Don’t hurt him…”

“Now,” the stranger seemed so fucking smug. “That all depends on you, Soap… I wanna play a game, just a little fun one.”

“No… please… please… just let him go…”

“Ooh, no can do!” The stranger laughed. “C’mon, it won’t take long… just turn off the light… good boy.”

John growled softly under his breath, swallowing thickly, audibly.

“Here’s the rules,” the stranger purred. “I ask a question, and if you get it right - your pretty little Otter lives.”

John crouched behind the sofa, expecting something to be thrown through the door. “Fine! Fine, you cunt! I’ll play - but only if he lives!”

“Good boy, I knew you’d come around,” the stranger chuckled softly. “First question - name the killed in Red Dragon.”

“Francis Dolarhyde!” John yelped helplessly.

“Good boy!” The stranger purred. “Next question, same category… name Hannibal Lecter’s first victim.”

“Mischa!” John howled. “It was Mischa Lecter!”

“Wrong!” The stranger snapped. “The Nazis killed Mischa and fed her to him! His first victim was Paul Momund, the racist butcher!”

“No! No, it was Mischa!” John protested. “I watched it dozens of times! It was Mischa!”

“If you watched it dozens of times then you would know that Hannibal never touched his sister!” The stranger barked. “But, lucky for you - there’s a bonus round! Poor Otter, though? He’s out.”

“No,” John weakly muttered, running towards the back door just in time. “Please, no.”

John’s screams were loud enough to wake the dead as he gazed at the sight outside; Benjamin’s stomach was sliced open, his head sitting on his lap and his cheeks missing. Bitten out.

By instinct alone, John ran outside, shaking his head in disbelief as he looked over Benjamin’s body. The blood seeping onto his hands and making the phone slip when he picked it up again.

“You fucking cunt!” John howled. “You fucking bastard!”

“Final question, Soap.”

“No!”

“Do you wanna fucking end up like your boyfriend?!” The stranger didn’t wait for him to answer, already knowing. “What door am I at?”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“There’s two doors to your house, Soap,” they explained, “there’s the back door, where your boyfriend has so beautifully brought to life a scene from Hannibal Rising, and the front door… where… am… I?”

John didn’t dare to hesitate, grabbing the knife from the kitchen counter and steadying himself by the back door; even now, he could feel his training begin to kick in as he tried to hide himself as well as he could.

He worked out that the stranger would likely be at the front door, but when he began heading towards it, there was an almighty crash as the chair that Benjamin was in came thudding through, spraying the clear sharp shards everywhere, one landing in Soap’s arm as he desperately tried to make his way to an escape.

Without thinking, John headed through the new hole, running straight for the corner of the garden with all the speed and strength that he could muster, dropping the phone in the process.

But he was caught by a black leather glove, taking control of his wrist and easily overpowering him; John looked up, his light grey eyes meeting large, black, eyes upon a ghostly white mask.

John screamed, hoping it would at least catch them off guard.

But they brandished their own knife, and slowly cut along his forearm, forcing him to drop his knife and watch as it clattered to the floor. John tried to wriggle through, but the stranger grabbed his neck, and forced him down onto the ground.

Straddling his waist as they used one hand to strangle him as he slowly lost the will and the urge to fight back.

A flash of silver. A deep cut across the flesh of his chest, staining his light jumper so easily.

With ease, the stranger grabbed his leg, and began to drag him away, towards the tree; a rope was already hanging from one of the old and withered branches. All they had to do was hang it around his neck; with his final gasp of breath, John raised his hand, and grabbed the mask, his weak eyes growing slightly wide.

“You…”

The stranger nodded, grinning at him. “Me.”

The stranger hoisted John’s body up, slipping the noose around his neck before beating his stomach with the knife until his entrails spilled out; grabbing the bloodied mask, they hummed, admiring their handiwork for a moment before leaving again.

Home time.

Inside the dusty old garage, the fridge was open, and the wooden steps leading into it were silent despite their age and the recent windy weather; although muffled, it was clear to hear the guests in the next room over.

Simon Riley was late, as always, this time he blamed traffic instead of his significant other who he was bringing with him.

Kyle Gaz Garrick was sitting on the sofa with Farah Karim and Alex Killer, watching an old repeat of Friday the 13th on the television in the living room; they all called out in unison when the protagonists made a fatal mistake.

Inside the garage, though, Captain John Price - a handsome man for his age, grey littering his beard, moustache, mutton chops and hair - was rooting through the old fridge for the drinks that he had bought. Nothing fancy, just some off-brand lemonade and a few energy drinks.

They were all on edge, after the recent murder of one of their own - John Soap MacTavish - but it was understandable that they would be; that’s why they had all gathered at Price’s sprawling and large home in the countryside outside of Liverpool - safety in numbers, and all that.

A few tools fell, and Price immediately pressed his back against the fridge, scowling; he had forgotten to lock the cat door that he had installed.

There were so many left abandoned outdoors, he converted his garage into a little safe haven for them to come and go as they pleased - yet when he had guests over, he always locked it.

With a sigh of relief, he watched the cat scramble away and run through the door, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Bollocks! Easy, John, you’re alright,” he told himself, putting his hand to his chest. “Fuckin’ cats.”

He grabbed the drinks he had promised the others, although when he reached it, he found that it had been locked; furrowing his brows, he figured that maybe Gaz or Farah had locked it in order to keep everybody safe - after all, Price did say to keep all the doors and windows locked.

He was glad that they actually paid attention to what he had said, but he wasn’t exactly happy to be locked in his own garage.

“Fuck… oi! You fucking bellends! I’m still in here!”

Carefully, so as not to shake them, Price set the drinks down on his workbench, and went to turn the light on; it didn’t work, even though he had only replaced the bulbs two weeks ago. He frowned. Maybe it was a blown fuse.

He figured it was nothing huge, so he flicked the switch to lift the garage door, and headed towards it; the drinks could wait, he could grab them when he unlocked the garage door again once he was inside the house.

It was slowly opening, rutting and spluttering as it did so, but then it suddenly slammed down in front of him.

Sighing, Price pinched the bridge of his nose. “I fucking thought I fixed that… for fuck’s sake!”

He turned around, about to head for the switch again, when he saw a tall figure in a black robe, donned in a white mask. Price rolled his eyes as he scoffed.

“Oh, bugger off, Gaz!” He was trying not to smile.

The killer shook their head, silent as they dropped their head slightly.

“Cute, very cute,” Price chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “But what’s this from? Jason Takes Liverpool?”

The killer didn’t even move.

“Lose the getup, lad,” he told him sternly. “Halloween ain’t for another year. You missed it, and you look like a knob.”

The killer shook their head again.

“Oh, alright, I get it,” Price laughed, grinning. “You wanna play serial killer?”

The killer nodded.

“I’m guessing you want me to be the innocent bloke that gets stabbed?”

Another nod.

“Alright, let’s see…” Price clapped his hands once before humming to himself. “Fuck no Mr. Ghostface don’t kill me I want to be in the sequel! How’s that?”

A curt nod.

“Alright, playtime’s over,” he told them with a soft laugh. “C’mon, cut the shit, we should get back to the others - they’re probably thirstier than a skunk on a Tuesday.”

The killer planted their hand against the doorframe, blocking it.

“What the fuck are you doing, Gaz?”

Grabbing his arm, the killer brandished their stained knife, and slashed his wrist across the fine skin with ease; recoiling, Price furrowed his brows.

“What the fuck?!”

He backed away quickly, opening the freezer of the fridge so that it slammed into the killer’s crotch, making them grunt and double over for a moment; he grabbed some old glass bottles that he had intended to turn into lights, and hurled them at the killer as hard as he could.

“Cunt!”

He ran to the door in the garage, but only managed to get his head through, his shoulders trapped by the narrow angles as he grunted and growled, struggling and kicking his legs; he could feel the floor beneath him fading away, and snarled out a few choice phrases as he struggled even more.

Feeling pressure slowly sink onto his neck. A harsh crack echoed throughout the garage, and the killer gave his leg a firm tug before letting themselves into the house through the door.

They were quick, discarding the clothes in the cupboard but keeping the mask in their back pocket before escaping out into the back garden. Immediately, you ran up to them, and hugged them tightly as you grinned.

“How’d you do?”

“Pretty well,” Ghost agreed with a smile, nodding as he put his arm around your shoulders. “I did miss your voice, though.”

You laughed, leaning into him as you put your hand on his chest for a moment. “It’s a shame you’re not covered in blood this time.”

Eyeing you for a moment, Ghost took a look around, and redirected you towards the bottom of the garden. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” you licked your lips, breath hitching at the mere thought. “I fucking love it when you get covered in blood, you know that.”

“Do you want me to wear the mask this time?” He asked, and when you asked him to, he grinned. “I thought so…”

You were more than ready and willing, dropping to your knees the second that he stopped walking; already eagerly holding onto his belt as you let out a shaky sigh. “C’mon, Simon, please?”

“Hang on,” he chuckled, slipping the mask back on. He fumbled with his belt, taking another quick look around before pushing down his trousers and boxers. “Go on, then, baby, show me how much you like it.”

You immediately jumped at the chance, taking his cock in your hand and stroking it as you nuzzled into it; huffing the thick scent and looking up at him with your best puppy dog eyes. “Like this?”

“Fuck,” Ghost growled softly, resisting the urge to grab the back of your neck and force his cock down your throat. “You’re so good to me.”

You smiled, peppering his cock with kisses from the tip to the base before wrapping your lips around the tip and licking his slit. “Can I keep going?”

“Don’t stop until I tell you to,” he demanded, waiting for you to slowly start taking him in your mouth before he pushed down on the back of your neck, bucking his hips quickly.

Fucking your mouth as hard and as fast as he could until he could feel your tears slowly dripping onto his skin; he couldn’t resist it, tilting his head back and groaning softly as he closed his eyes in bliss and kept using your mouth like his own personal little fucktoy.

You gagged when he hit the back of your throat too many times, but you didn’t stop, and you didn’t tap his thigh twice either so he knew that he could keep going; roughly he pushed you away from his cock, and groaned softly as he looked at you on his knees for him.

“I need to fuck you,” Ghost growled. “Now.”

You grinned, nodding eagerly as you got on your hands and knees; you allowed him to help you push down your trousers and underwear, baring your ass so eagerly. “Please, Mister Ghostface. Fuck me.”

Ghost softly groaned, giving his cock a few good firm strokes before he lined himself up; it was so fucking painful, the girth of his cock stretching your ass out and making you whimper as you gripped the ground so harshly that your knuckles audibly clicked.

Ghost paused only for a moment before grabbing your hips as hard as he could, his fingernails easily breaking the skin slightly; he didn’t wait for much longer, pistoning into you until you fell flat on your stomach, begging for him to keep going between thick and needy breaths.

He was pounding into you, rutting and caring for little else but his own pleasure; but you needed it, you needed every inch and every single droplet that he had to offer.

When he grabbed your throat, leaning over you with his phone in his hand, you moaned so loudly that he had to take his hand from your throat in order to slap it onto your mouth.

“Smile for the camera,” he whispered in your ear, grinning when you made direct eye contact with it just as he pressed the screen to take the picture.

He put the phone back into his pocket, and pressed one hand against the back of your neck, the other keeping your hip ever so propped up as he fucked you so hard that you could feel yourself moving with every thrust; whimpering every time he nearly pulled out and needing him to fill you with every inch and every droplet all the same.

Fuck. He was so rough, so hard, and when you felt him put more pressure on your neck, you couldn't help but to moan so loudly that it was almost a scream.

He was fucking filling you, and you knew that wouldn't last with how he wasn't even fucking you, he was using you; treating you like little more than a fleshlight.

“Ghostface!” You whimpered so softly. “I'm gonna- fuck! I'm close!”

“Wait for me to cum,” Ghost demanded, picking up his pace and getting both faster and rougher with you. As much as he could be, like he was chasing something that he desperately desired. Needed. Craved.

But fuck, when your ass started to clench around him, he couldn't stop it, his movements sloppy and his voice rough as he continued to demand everything of you.

The worst part was that you were eager to give it, even though you did miss the feeling of blood dripping onto you, the thick scent of copper and the taste of it on your tongue when you so lovingly lapped it from the flesh of his chest.

Even thinking about it was driving you over the edge.

Yet, when Ghost came in you, you could only whimper and push back against him.

“Breed me!” You cried softly. “Please, Ghostface, please, breed me!”

Ghost grinned behind the mask, pinning you down and continuing to fuck you as he filled you up so eagerly; he could hear the squelch as he continued to fuck it into you, reaching around and palming at your crotch to push you further and further.

Everything went white. A slight ringing in your ears as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your mouth open and drool slipping from the corner.

Your grip on the ground grew tight once more, knuckles clicking audibly and harshly as you panted his name so desperately and with such awful need.

Ghost didn't stop until you had cum twice, only daring to pull out once he was sure that you were close to collapsing; bliss on your face, he eagerly smacked your ass, and chuckled darkly as he stood up.

“C'mon,” he growled lowly. “There's three of them inside, we can take them.”

You whimpered, taking a moment to steady yourself before you slowly got up, able to feel how stuffed you were as you moaned softly and grinned. “Kiss me.”

Ghost was all too eager to do so, grabbing the back of your neck harshly as he pulled you in for a breathy, open mouthed, kiss. “You're so good for me, you know… you take Gaz. I'll take Alex. We’ll get Farah together.”

You nodded, fixing yourself up before heading over to where you had left your costume; you allowed Ghost to go before you, knowing that he would find a way to split the group left in the house somehow.

As you were getting kitted up, you could see Ghost doing the same inside, and blew him a sweet kiss before you pulled your mask on.

Giddy, you allowed him to split the group by setting a fire in the kitchen; Gaz ran outside, right into your tracks. You were quick, pouncing on him and plunging the knife into his back. All the breath left his body as he tried to grasp, falling down and going limp almost immediately.

You smiled, giving him a firm kick to make sure he was dead before you ran into the house.

Ghost had Alex on the floor, and had slashed him very well; his thighs were all cut up, his arm was split into two down the middle, his scalp was missing.

Yet Ghost was still going, carving and slashing without a single care until he saw you and nodded.

You found Farah hiding in the bedroom, and grabbed her arm roughly as you brought her down into the kitchen; Ghost had killed the fire, and helped you to corner her against the counter.

“What the fuck do you want?! Who the fuck are you?!”

“Surprise,” you grinned as you removed the mask, leaning into Ghost's side.

“Evening, Farah,” Ghost chuckled, removing his own.

She looked between both of you, her mouth agape. “Why?”

“We figured it was the best way,” you hummed with a shrug.

“We were bored,” Ghost explained, putting his arm over your shoulders, “there wasn't really much for us when we were on leave.”

“But you were our family!” She cried, tears streaming down her face.

“No!” You snapped. “Soap, Gaz and Price were family! We were left out!”

Ghost nodded in agreement. “Besides, who needs a motive nowadays?”

“You two have watched far too many films,” she said quietly.

“Well,” you hummed. “That's the thing, innit? There's always been serial killers, but films? A great source of inspiration.”

“It's just a shame,” Ghost added. “They always blame it on people with mental illness - schizophrenia. Psychosis. But that's not the people doing it.”

“Absolutely not,” you agreed. “The only thing that makes you a killer, is wanting to kill.”

“But, unfortunately for you,” Ghost brandished his knife and grinned. “We've gotta kill you.”

“Me and Simon will be the only ones who survived a horrible, bloody massacre,” you grinned. “We managed to escape.”

“Like fuck you did!”

You both turned around, seeing Gaz brandishing a gun as he steadied himself against the door. He didn't even hesitate, pulling the trigger twice. Two bodies thumped to the ground, holes in between their eyes.

“I thought they'd never shut up,” Farah breathed out, immediately running over to Gaz and holding him tightly. “Are you alright?”

Gaz slumped down, sitting against the doorframe. “Yeah, yeah, I think so… fuck, that hurt…”

“They got Alex…” she whispered. “My brother…”

Gaz frowned, holding her hand as tightly as he could. “It's alright… we're still alive.”

“I need to call someone,” she pressed.

“I already covered it,” he groaned softly. “I saw Price…”

Slowly, Farah sat beside him, and rested her head against his shoulder as she gave his hand a small squeeze; she sniffled, but as much as she would miss her brother, she knew that she at least had Gaz there.