Genre: Smut, but, like…dark. Angsty scary horror smut. It’s AHS, after all.
Rating: R. NC-17. No little ones allowed!!!!!
Summary: After an especially bad panic attack, there’s really only one thing you can think of that can bring you back to normal. And so you draw in a steadying breath, look your lover square in his face, and ask, “How would you kill me?”
Warnings/Notes: This has been rattling around the inside of me head since the start of the month but I’m only just now getting around to finishing it. There’s talk of murder in here, and blood, and suicide, but the sex is consensual and non-coerced, at least? If you can get through American Horror Story you’ll probably be fine.
You were choking.
The walls closed in until they crushed
you. There was no escape, no air, no hope. Your heart pounded in your
chest like a creature trying to escape a cage. It was too fast. Any
minute now it would explode, filling your chest with blood and shreds
of tissue, and you would assuredly die. Already there was a lead
weight on your chest, caving it in, crushing you. You couldn’t sit up
straight, couldn’t draw a breath, couldn’t stop the choking sobs.
You were the only one in the room, but you could feel every foul
presence in the hotel bearing down on you. Each one licked its lips
and bared its teeth and stretched out its grasping claws towards you.
My Type is Homicidal 