Psychotic Love [AHS Character x Reader]

6. Blood Moon Rising

**A/N**
I seriously cannot believe I'm almost done with these. It hurts my heart, but just know: season 10 is coming VERY soon, and as soon as the whole season's been released you can BET I'm writing another chapter based on his newest character. I had no idea that you guys would like these as much as you do, and I've really gotten out of my comfort zone. I thank you guys from the bottom of my cold little heart for sticking with me and adding the story to your lists and voting. It means more to me than you could ever know. <3 Please don't forget to vote, comment, & follow! ♥️ Now, without further ado, chapter six!
**DISCLAIMER**
This chapter is written in a timeline where Rory and Audrey never got married (we don't stan cheaters over here), that way no one's toes are stepped on and no Raudrey fans come for me :P
-Kayla

The last thing you remember is lying down for the night. The digital clock on your bedside table glowed neon as you dry swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, the flatscreen on your dresser broadcasting a rerun of My Roanoke Nightmare, one of those cheesy "based on a true story" reality shows that has been overly dramatized and made unbelievable.
          As you slowly slip down into unconsciousness, you suddenly find yourself standing in front a dingy off-white two story farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, its dilapidated frame barely supporting itself. Confusion sweeps over you and you blink rapidly. Where the hell am I? You take a few cautious steps forward, twigs snapping beneath your sneakers, nervous laughter bubbling up your throat as realization takes hold.
          "This isn't possible. The Roanoke house? What the fuck is going on?"
          "You're dreaming, obviously. What did you think?" a feminine voice answers in your ear, its English accent soft and amused. The unexpected company frightens you and you let out a sharp yelp, turning on your heel. A woman with short blonde hair stands before you, annoyance plastered over her angular features. "What, did you think you'd magically teleported to North Carolina?" Her laugh is anything but jovial as she adjusts her ruffled button-up blouse.
          She looks strangely familiar and it takes only a moment before you place her.
          "Audrey Tindall? But—aren't you dead? Everyone from the show died here."
          She rolls her eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. It's a dream." Audrey turns toward the house, a look of disgust blazing in the depths of her honey brown eyes. "We've been stuck here for far too long, you know. Day after day, rotting away in this hellhole. It makes me sick." Reluctantly, as though being beckoned by an unseeable force, she grudges toward the structure, mouth scrunching up in a grimace.
"Wait!" You call, jogging a bit to catch up to her. "You didn't die in the house. You were shot on the grounds, right? Besides, if this is a dream, that means this is all a figment of my imagination and none of it really exists."
Audrey scoffs but remains silent. The heavy wooden door creaks open as you climb the front stairs and a tall, dark man awaits the two of you.
          "We were wondering when you would get here." He says simply, moving aside to let you enter. Matt? Appraising him suspiciously, you hurry into the house, goosebumps rising all over your clammy flesh. Dream or not, you had to admit that there whole situation felt disturbingly real. You could feel the draft wafting through the house, the faint smell of juniper and mint filling your senses.
          "Who all is here?" You ask, voice shaking more than you'd like. Matt and Audrey share a look you cannot read. "You tell me," he replies.
          A commotion from upstairs startles you, the loud thumping of footsteps heavy against the aging wood, and you whip your head toward the stairs.
          "What the hell was that!?" You shriek. Silence echoes in your eardrums, and you turn back toward the pair for answers. Gone. Heart pumping wildly in your chest, you begin your ascent to the second floor.
          "If this was a horror movie, you'd be doing the exact thing you always berate the actors for doing," You chose yourself. "Being stupid and following the noise instead of getting the hell out of dodge."
          Once at the top you take a second and listen, unsure of which room the thumping came from, but there was nothing. Cicadas begin their serenade, a sound you typically find annoying, but tonight seems fitting.
Thump.
          Matt and Shelby's room resides to the left of the bathroom; you make your way on quiet feet to the doorway, the necessary sunlight fading as the sun dips beyond the horizon. Feeling along the wall for a switch, you finally find it and flick it upwards, the room filling with warm yellow light. Nothing looks as though it had been touched: the bed was neatly made, the décor was in its proper place. You turn to exit the room but a flash of shiny black on the floor catches your eye. There, almost hidden behind the duvet hanging off the bed, lies a small black smartphone.
Like the ones they had on the show, your brain muses. Without hesitation you bend and grab it. The screen has a long crack from the upper earpiece/front camera down the middle and veering off to the left, the area around it splintered. You wait for the phone to boot up and go directly to the camera gallery. If you remember correctly, Sidney, the show's producer, disabled every function on the phone except for the camera so not only would the audience get the cameraman and hidden camera perspectives, but the actors' as well.
          There were only four items in the gallery—two photos and two videos. You open the photos first: the first photo pictured Audrey and Shelby standing side by side in the foyer, polite smiles pasted on their faces. The women looked nothing alike in your opinion, but both were beautiful, Audrey with her chic girly fashion sense and Shelby with here leaning more toward the bohemian-esque. You swipe your thumb to the left, bringing up the second photo. Audrey and her castmate Rory, The actor who played Philippe Mott on the show. Just looking at the picture made your pulse quicken. Rory, with his shaggy red hair, deep brown eyes, the adorable dimples and tiny freckle on the tip of his nose... You feel your cheeks heat and quickly swipe once more.
          You press the triangle play button on the screen and the video starts, Matt and Shelby's backs in view of the camera. "Did you really have to fuck him, Shelby? Him, of all people? He looks just like me!"
          "I told you I was sorry, Matt. It meant absolutely nothing. My heart was breaking and he was there... Look, I know what I did was terrible, okay? But you and I... we're meant to be. Don't you see that?"
          Matt turns to Shelby, anger and sadness radiating from his every pore. "I used to." A sob escapes her as he walks out of the frame. Shelby turns, coming face to face with the cameraperson.
          "Seriously, Audrey?" Tears well in her eyes and she turns and fled in the opposite direction of Matt. The video cuts off.
          "So the phone is Audrey's," you say to yourself, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Poor Shelby. To not only lose a husband but to have it broadcast on national television, not to mention being harassed by fans and paparazzi.
          "If you ask me, she got what she deserved." You glance up so quickly your neck smarts. Rory stands in the doorway, leaning against it, his faded jeans and red and white baseball tee fitting him like a glove. "How did you—?" You start, flabbergasted.
          He smiles, his dimples flashing, and pushes off the frame, walking toward you.
          "It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you were thinking," he says, motioning toward the phone's screen. "Everyone sympathizes with her. 'Poor Shelby, attacked by spirits. Poor Shelby, all alone.'" Rory rolls his eyes. "She wasn't the only one attacked by those fuckers, you know."
          Your heart constricts. "So is this house just riddled with ghosts, or? I mean, that's what you are, right? A ghost?" His brown eyes met yours, amusement shining back at you.
          "I guess you could say that," he says, shrugging. "I prefer Supernatural Sexiness, but that's just me."
Laughter spills from your mouth and he smiles widely at you. "I like your laugh. You should do it more often."
          You turn your face away as it heats once again, switching your attention back to the phone. I'm not flirting with Rory's ghost, I'm not flirting with Rory's ghost, I'm NOT FLIRTING WITH RORY'S GHOST.
          You swipe to the last item in the gallery and press play, trying to avert your gaze and collect yourself. How can you feel the heat emanating from his skin if he's dead? If this is a dream, why is it starting to get all too real? Rory watches with you as the viewpoint changes from pitch black to blurry. The cameraperson is moving the phone too quickly to see much, but after a few seconds it clears, as though the phone had been propped against something to record. Lee Harris, Matt's sister, is bound to a chair in the middle of a large barn, her dark skin slick with a mixture of sweat and blood. Three figures surround her—one appears to be an older woman with long, stringy gray hair, the other two horribly disfigured men. One of the men is crouched on the ground next to Lee, a large flaying knife clutched in his first.
          "Just let me go," Lee says. Her voice is weak but she does not beg; her words are a demand. The woman laughs and motions to the man with the knife. "Keep tenderizing! We need the meat nice and tender before we can slice off another piece."
          Your stomach lurches and you raise your eyes to Rory's. Concern is etched in his face. Wordlessly, you both return to the screen.
          "Yes, Mama," the man answers. His words are slurred and difficult to understand, as if his tongue is too large for his mouth. He starts kneading Lee's thigh with his knuckles as the other man comes around behind them and sprinkled something onto her skin. "Is that...?" You ask Rory.
          "...Seasoning?" He finishes. Neither of you look away from the screen. The first man then splashes alcohol on her and raises the knife. Just as Lee lets out a shriek, the screen goes black. The video ends.
          "What the actual fuck did I just watch?" Rory exclaims, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Shaken, you toss the phone back on the bed and shiver. You're suddenly freezing cold, your torso covered in nothing but a spaghetti strap tank top, and you rub your arms with the palms of your hands. He looks over at you, confusion and disbelief in his features. "Dude, what the fuck," Seeing your reaction, he forces himself to calm down and turns to face you fully. "Do you think she's still alive?"
          You shake your head. "I don't think so. There was something on the news a couple weeks ago. Lee was holed up in the house with her daughter, I guess keeping her as a hostage or something, for hours. The police hear a gunshot and Flora comes out alone. Lee killed herself."
          "Jesus Christ," Rory exhales, his eyes searching your face. "I haven't seen her here. I've seen Audrey and Matt and even Monet and Shelby sometimes, but not Lee." He stands and begins to pace idly. Your brain is whirling, and your stomach lurches again. All of this is way too real to be a dream, a voice niggles in the back of your mind. Is it really just a dream? You're lost in your own thoughts when you realize Rory has stopped pacing and is standing in front of you, his eyes yet again roaming your face.
          "What? What's wrong?" You ask, looking up at him. He shakes his head, tossing his already disheveled hair. "You're so familiar," he replies quietly. "but I can't remember where I've seen you before." Maybe it is a dream, you think as you drop your gaze, because I would definitely remember having ever seen him before.
          Rory kneels in front of you. "Where did you even come from?"
          "I'm dreaming. You're in my dream."
          He shakes his head again. "It can't be. If it was a dream how would I have my own consciousness, my own thoughts, my own memories? I wouldn't."
          "Well, I'm a writer. The characters I write and bring to life are well-rounded. Why should my dreams be any different?"
          "If it were a dream, could I do this?" Without warning he cups your cheeks in his palms and covers your mouth with his, fast and hard and without hesitation. You open your mouth to protest but he takes it as an invitation, his tongue slipping past your teeth to meld against your own. Your arms lift and you press your hands against his solid chest, intending to push him away, but instead gripping his shirt and pulling him into you. He smiles against your mouth and he pulls both of you to a standing position before picking you up and positioning your legs around his hips. You squeeze them tightly together, feeling his body respond immediately, a moan slipping from your ravaged mouth.
          Rory starts walking with you still wrapped around him, but instead of tossing you to the bed as you expected your back meets the hard paneling of the bedroom wall. Braced between the wall and his solid chest, you weave your fingers through his unruly hair before tugging just a bit. A whimper escapes his mouth and he slides a hand up the hem of your skirt to caress the silkiness of your inner thigh. "Thank God for skirts," he quips.
          "My thoughts exactly." You reclaim his mouth as his searching fingers strike gold, finding your most intimate spot. He plunges his fingers deeply into your heated core, causing you to moan into his mouth. His hand recedes and you grown in protest. Rory shoves his fingers into your mouth and you greedily lick them clean, tasting your own earthy flavor. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath. "Good girl."
          You hear him unzip his zipper and your insides constrict around nothing in anticipation. You don't have long to wait. Rory sinks his teeth into your neck as he fills your hole in one hard thrust, his thick cock stretching you on the most carnal sense of the word. You cry out as he starts building up his tempo, every thrust hitting each and every spot right on the dot. The friction builds, the fire inside you being stoked higher and higher until the sparks ignite and a flame roars to life. Your clit pulses in time with his thrusts and you scream out his name as the heat flows through your veins and you cum, harder than you ever had before. His hips move harder, faster, longer, pumping into you like a starved animal. Your inner muscles tighten once more, milking his cock, and he lets out a guttural scream into your throat as he fills you with his hot, sticky juices. Warmth spreads through your lower belly as he collapses against you, and you smooth the hair back from his face rhythmically, his head resting between your breasts.
          You let your eyes fall closed, and when you reopen them you're once again in your own bedroom, sprawled out on your back on the bed.
          Disappointment seeps into your chest. It really was just a dream. Trying to hold back oncoming tears, you pull yourself to a sitting position before standing and trudging to the bathroom. You splash your face with cold water, pat it dry, then look up into the medicine cabinet mirror. Bags hang beneath each of your eyes, your skin much paler than it was before you fell asleep.
          Your gaze drops lower and you gasp. There, right below your jaw on your neck, teeth marks indent your skin, a deep bruise forming in the same spot. Rory's laughter fills the bathroom as your vision blurs and you lose consciousness.

**A/N**
Yes, another Author's Note. (xD) I'm so sorry it took so long to get this out. I work in healthcare and with this pandemic happening I've been working a lot more than usual and just super tired when I get home. I've had ZERO motivation or inspiration to write, plus I went back and rewatched Roanoke so it would all be fresh in my brain. This chapter was a lot shorter than the others (not to mention a lot crappier) but I legitimately had no idea where I was going with it, not to mention Rory's only in like two or three episodes, so it was hard to get a sense of his personality. With Evan's other characters, he had a major role, so it was easy to slip inside their heads, but Rory... sigh. Dude was a challenge. That being said, I want to thank you all for sticking with me and not giving up on me. 4K reads, guys?? That is insanity! I genuinely can't thank you all enough for reading, voting, and commenting. Your comments LITERALLY make my day. I screenshot most of them so whenever I'm having a bad day or feeling like I'm not good at anything I can go back over them and it truly does help. I love you guys. Be sure to follow my insta (I follow back) @marsneedskayla and definitely maybe give my first Wattpad novel The Reason a read :) (the main guy character is physically loosely based on Tate from season one c:)
Again, thank you all so much and I love you all. 🖤
—Kayla xX
(wc: 3,033)