#Look at him he's so unaware of the horrors.. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queenmuzz · 1 day ago

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Sleep is a Shallow Death

A one-shot story set after Weisshaupt, with heavy implications of Emmrook. Based of fthis idea I had.

Zea is pretty adept at passing out when she knows she’s safe. That’s what life in the Necropolis does to you. She can rival Lucanis when it comes to staying awake and alert when need compels her in the Lower Depths. And yet, despite the horrors she saw at Weisshaupt, the death, destruction, the Blight and blood, the moment her head hits the pillow, she is dead to the world. Her body demands that she rest, and she will not deny it. Even her mind aids her by giving her a slumber untroubled by dreams or nightmares. She’s safe in the Lighthouse, and must take full advantage of it, for who knows when the next crisis will deny her rest?

So, her body is unprepared for the insistent prodding it feels. First the fleshy part of her upper arm, which she is completely unaware of, to the side of her torso, which she ignores. It’s just a loose piece of straw, her mind rationalizes, you are safe here. There is no danger. Rest while you can.

It’s when her cheek gets poked that her mind decides that something is wrong and starts alerting her muscles that they must awaken. She blinks. Once. Twice. Three times.

The first time, she sees two green shapes, a few inches from her face.

The second time, she see’s an off white oval behind them

The third time, she sees it for what it really is. A skull.

“SPIRITS PRESERVE ME!” she shrieks and topples off the couch, landing in an undignified heap. She grabs her dagger, ready to brandish it…

Oh…it’s Manfred.

“Oh, hey there!” She lets out a sigh of relief, “Listen, I know you’re curious, but you can’t go around poking people when they’re sleeping. You could get yourself hurt doing that, especially if you tried it on Taash.” She goes to get back on the couch, to slip into sleep once more, but is stopped by Manfred, who yanks on her arm. He’s making a strange sound, somewhere between a hiss and a whine. There’s something agitated in his manner, and her blood freezes cold.

“Emmrich? Is he in trouble?”

The skeleton nods and goes to yank her towards the door, but his boney hand clings to air, as Zea is already sprinting out of the room.

Her mind races. Was he hurt? How had she not noticed? It must have happened during the siege of Weisshaupt. Afterwards everyone was so pumped up with adrenaline, anger, and frustration that perhaps even Emmrich hadn’t noticed that he was injured. Still, it’s no excuse, she’s their leader, she ought to have paid attention.

She doesn’t bother to knock, deciding to burst into the room, ready to assess the situation. He’s not at his desk. Nor in his upstairs balcony. It’s only after she looks downstairs again, does she notice one of the bookshelves out of place, swung open like a door, leading to a room she’s never seen before. The lighthouse has seen fit to give him a cozy bedroom, it seems. She still can’t see Emmrich, but she notices that the bed is unmade, something that seems very out of character for the ever fastidious professor. He can’t have gone far.

“Emmrich?”

There’s a pained wheeze from the far side of the bed and she runs towards it, her mind playing out worst case scenarios. A broken bone, internal bleeding, head injury?

She finds him curled up in a ball, his hands clutching his chest, leaning against the mattress, almost unrecognizable, his tailored nightwear disheveled, his usually combed back hair now limp and damp with sweat, his ever alert eyes dull and unfocused. She’s never seen him in this state, and it frightens her. He’s always been so full of confidence and vigor, a smile on his lips and a helping hand always available.

“Emmrich!” she collapses to her knees, her hand already reaching out to him, trying to assess the situation. Instead, he makes what seems to be a sobbing gasp, and flinches away from her touch, as if her hands were red hot iron brands. She doesn’t try again, afraid that she will make things worse, deciding to attempt to figure out what he’s suffering from by sight and questions.

“Emmrich, please tell me what’s wrong.” She waits for him to answer, but he doesn’t respond, almost doesn’t seem to know she’s there. He’s just gasping for air, like he’s drowning, and his eyes just stare straight ahead. He looks so lost, so terrified, like a small child trapped in a…

“House collapse. Quick deaths”

“That’s when I discovered a great terror of dying”

The words from the Memorial Garden seeped back into her memories and she understands. He’s suffering from a panic attack, no doubt fueled by the near death experience of the previous day.

“Oh Emmrich…” she sighs, not out of aggravation, nor even out of pity. It’s more like helplessness, with her unable to break through to him, to assure that he is safe, that death will not touch him here.

There’s a worried hiss coming from the foot of the bed, revealing Manfred looking on with concern.

“Manfred,” she asks, knowing that he cannot give her a detailed answer, but trying anyway, “has this happened before?”

The skeleton nods with a sad rattle. That means Emmrich has gotten through them, (although the thought of him being in this situation multiple times during his life causes her chest to hurt), maybe he has a way of dealing with them.

“When Emmrich has one of these episodes, what does he or you do to make the…” she doesn’t know how much Manfred understands about panic attacks. This sort of thing isn’t part of Curiosity’s wheelhouse. “How do you make him feel better?”

Manfred animatedly goes to the side of the bed, pointing at roughly stitched together pillows and blankets, no doubt of his own handiwork, all bundled together around where Emmrich would have been sleeping. If it wasn’t the seriousness of the Professor's condition, her heart would have swelled with how adorable it was for the spirit to try to comfort the older man.

“Hmmm, didn’t work this time”

Another sad rattle.

“Well, it’s not your fault, he’s had a… pretty rough day.” That was an understatement. Between the fall of the impregnable fortress, the death of so many brave wardens, and yes, even the fate of the First Warden himself, it was a wonder anyone had come back mentally whole. Mila and her father seemed to be the most well adjusted of the bunch, followed by Evka and Antoine, but the other Wardens? Davrin? Lucanis? Even Zea herself, despite how easily she had fallen asleep, knew that the horrors she had seen that day would never be forgotten. Emmrich had hidden his burden from them all, being the diplomat that had defused a tense situation after, while no doubt trying to keep the terror of what they had just been through at bay. She should have checked in on him, should have known his preoccupation with her own wellbeing was a front.

Well, there was no changing the past. She can only hope that her presence would help calm him down. Although… She has an idea.

“Manfred, could you make a cup of tea for Emmrich? Just need one cup. Do you have that blend you made for us in the Memorial Gardens?”

The emerald eyes light up, and he nods, before scurrying away, happy to help. She sits down beside Emmrich, close, but not too close to be threatening. She’d love to give him a reassuring hug, tell him everything will be alright, but she knows that even if he wasn’t in such a vulnerable state, it would cross a boundary she dares not touch. This man is her friend, nothing more. No matter how much she wishes otherwise. So, instead, she does what comes naturally to her, she talks.

“What a day we had,” she starts off in a tone reserved described by Varric as ‘talking about the weather’, (she wonders if she can wake Varric up to assist her once Manfred returns, he’d know what to do… but just the thought of it makes her head hurt, for some reason. No, she’ll stay here). “I know when I asked you to help us stop the Gods, I may have neglected a few small details of what it would entail…okay, maybe a LOT of details.”

Emmrich doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t seem to be getting worse. His forehead is dripping in sweat, but it takes all her willpower to resist the urge to wipe it with her sleeve. She mustn't touch him, not in this state.

“I have to thank you, Emmrich.” she chuckles to herself, trying to exude an aura of joviality that she doesn’t quite feel, “For the first time in my life, I wanted to actually punch someone out who hadn’t attacked me first. The First Warden, his attitude… his complete buffoonery. But…” she thinks back to that moment where everything stood in the balance, “You were there, and I KNEW you’d be disappointed in me if I didn’t at least attempt to be diplomatic. And the craziest thing… It worked!” Were the present situation not so serious, she would have laughed. She could sense even Davrin rooting for her to knock him, his own boss, down a peg or two. But it was Emmrich alone who seemed to be relieved that she hadn’t resorted to violence, and that had made her feel… good. “The man was being an arse, yes, but I realize now he was terrified out of his mind. He refused to look Death in the face, tried sticking his head into the ground, tried denying it was there, and by doing so nearly got every single Warden killed. I can’t fault him for being terrified, it’s a natural, uncontrollable reaction, but I can’t in good conscience condone his actions. He should have been leading, if not from the front, helping the evacuation.”

If Emmrich hears her, he gives no sign, save for rocking back and forth a bit. His breathing is hard, and if she can’t somehow soon calm him down, he might pass out. And while that would solve the immediate problem, she feels it wouldn’t help the situation, or his mental state.

There's a cheerful hiss, and Manfred clomps over, arms outstretched as he shows off a single tea cup, steaming hot with a warm brown liquid, set on a hexagonal shaped plate, with two sugar cubes.

“Ah, thank you Manfred!” she smiles, truly thankful for the distraction, and nods as she takes it from him, setting it on the nightstand. This action earns her a quizzical wheeze from the Spirit, as he clicks his jaws together in confusion.

“Oh, he’s not going to DRINK the tea” she explains, “it’s the smell of the tea,” she idly wonders if Manfred CAN smell, that’s something she’ll have to inquire about when Emmrich is back to normal and well rested. If he wishes her to never mention this particular incident again, she won’t. She has a feeling that this sort of thing is a shame to him. “Hopefully the smell of the tea will remind him of pleasant, peaceful times, and will slowly remind him that he is safe.”

A metaphorical bouquet of floral scents begins to permeate through the air, and it has its desired effect, both on Emmrich, who ceases his rocking, but keeps himself tense as a wound spring, and herself, who momentarily remembers her first (but sadly not last,) clumsy attempt at flirting with him. She shakes her head, now is not the time.

Instead, she positions herself so that she is kneeling in front of him, an arms length away. Close enough to reach out to him, but far enough to give his space. He is still clutching his chest, his shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing pallid skin that shines with sweat. On closer inspection, his left hand is actually clutching something tightly. She can’t make out what it is, but for the briefest of moments, she sees the unmistakable brilliance of gold peeking between his white knuckles. An amulet of some sort? Something he apparently finds great comfort in.

“Emmrich, may I…” this is a critical moment, and she must be careful. “May I touch you?”

For a brief moment, there’s no response, and she despairs. She’s failing him.

And then, he stirs, and she sees the glimmer of recognition for a split second.

“Rook?” His voice is ragged, but her heart swells. It’s like he has only noticed her presence, or finally recognized her after much struggle.

“May I touch you, Emmrich?” she repeats, and he gives out a faint nod. Carefully, she places her right hand on that exposed skin. He flinches slightly at her touch, but does not shrink away. She feels how clammy he is, that he’s liable to catch cold from how much he's been sweating. She feels his heart beat, faster than a runaway gear in the Necropolis lift. No wonder he’s terrified, if she felt her heart racing like that, she’d think she was dying too.

With as much gentleness as she can muster she takes his free hand, and brings it to her own chest, letting him feel her heartbeat thrumming along at a slightly higher than normal rate. Hopefully, this will ground him, remind him that he’s not alone in this, that death will not claim him, not yet.

“Breathe with me, Emmrich, one breath in… hold it in …3…2…1, let it out. Breathe in again… hold… 3…2…1, let it out…”

His breaths try to follow instruction, but he’s clearly having difficulty, with the pattern being interrupted with gasps and hiccups. Worse yet, his eyes are becoming glazed over, as he no doubt is reliving the previous day’s events. All the times he could have nearly died. She must find a way to avert those thoughts from spiraling him into darker depths. Distraction will not work, she must change his perception of them.

“I saw you at Weishaupt, saw how you fought. How when that Ogre noticed Mila and ran towards her, YOU were the one that cast the spell to distract it, putting yourself in danger.” His eyes begin to regain their focus as he recalls that memory. Good, she thinks, I’m getting through to him.

“I saw you there on the battlements, as the walls crumbled, and Davrin would have fallen with them, had you not extended your hand and caught him, despite the risk of you plummeting down with him.” His breath begins to slow down, still rapid, but he’s no longer at risk of hyperventilating.

“I saw you Emmrich Volkarin,” his eyes snap up to lock on hers at the sound of his full name, and he goes completely still.

“You looked Death in the face, and You. Did. Not. Flinch.”

It’s working! His heartbeat is slowing down, still rapid but losing its intensity. His chest now rises and sinks with hers, with only a few hiccups along the way. The worst is over, but the task is not done. He must be assured of her support, that he does not have to go through this alone, or even just rely on Manfred.

“Upon my honour as a Cryptguard, Death shall not touch you.”

His eyes now look completely alert, and hep gasps, perhaps catching an errant breath, or more likely, at what she’s just uttered. He knows all about Necropolis oaths, and the price for breaking them.

“Rook… you cannot…”

She gives out Oaths sparingly, and usually with not such insurmountable conditions, but in her heart, she knows she means every word. The world would be much darker without Emmrich Volkarin in it. HER world would be much darker without Emmrich Volkarin in it. She smiles at him, shoving that last thought deep down.

“I just did. I would be a terrible leader if I didn’t protect you all to the best of my abilities. After all,” she pushes her hand on his heart, “I’m merely doing what you did yesterday, protecting people.” Hopefully he never notices that he’s the only one who received that binding oath. For the others, it’s more of a ‘handshake’ agreement. She would do anything to ensure their safety, of course, but Emmrich, she’s especially fond of him. She can’t let him die, not again, not like she did with-

She winces, a stabbing shoots through her skull for a brief moment, but quickly goes away as she focuses on the man in front of her.

His heart is now matching hers beat for beat, while he utters the most relieving sound, a chuckle. A weak one to be sure, but considering what he’s just been through, it’s much better than she would have expected.

“You are…” he’s thinking of a word, pausing for a moment before settling on one, “remarkable.”

That’s not the word he wanted to use, she thinks, idly wondering what he really wanted to say, as she slowly, reluctantly withdraws her hand. She doesn’t mind that his hand lingers on her chest for a few moments longer, missing its warmth the moment he pulls it back. There’s a brief moment of tension, where each of them are unable, or unwilling to do anything that will break this moment of peace. Finally, she takes the plunge.

“You feeling better?”

“Quite so.” It’s a bit over-confident, and definitely a lie but the fact he’s able to put on that mask of quiet bravado is a good sign that he’s over most of it.

“We ought to get you back to bed, Manfred’s brought you some extra pillows and blankets to keep you warm and toasty.” She suggests, as she looks up at the Spirit, who's been watching this all transpire with rapt interest. She helps him up, ignoring the pain in her ankle that has flared from both the battle and from kneeling. She’ll tend to it later. Right now, looking after Emmrich is her priority. Taking a towel off the nightstand, she mops up the sweat off his forehead, trying to be as gentle as possible. Already, his eyelids are half closed, he’s probably exhausted from the panic attack, not to mention the battle. She idly wonders if she can take whatever is in his hand to set it on the nightstand, to prevent him from losing it, but thinks better of it. It obviously brings him comfort. Manfred is rearranging the pillows and blankets, tucking him. It’s frankly cute how much the little guy cares for him. Emmrich is in good hands, and she decides to make her exit.

“Rest well, Emmrich.” She murmurs as she leaves his side, intending to head back to her quarters. She should have no problem passing out, now that the danger has passed.

What she does not expect is how quickly his hand shoots out, how strong the grip on her wrist. Instantly, her eyes snap up to his, worrying how wide they are. Not frightened, but… something else?

“Stay…” he rasps, “Please.” There’s a pleading in his voice, one that her iron will, despite being so strong that it stood up to the First Warden, crumbles to bone dust with those two words.

She doesn’t have to fake a smile as she nods. If it will help him sleep, she’ll do anything for him. She lets him pull her down until she’s sitting beside the bed, in the same place as he once was. Only then does he release her.

“I’ll be here however long you need me, Emmrich. You’re safe.”

He doesn’t respond, although the sound of his breathing, now slow, deep, and even is thanks enough. It’s not much longer until she’s pretty certain he’s fallen asleep. She hopes that whatever dreams he has, whatever journey through the Fade he takes, it will be pleasant and peaceful. Still, she made a promise to stay, and just like her oath, she’ll honour it. She settles down to keep watch as Manfred approaches.

“Thanks for coming to me Manfred,” she smiles at the skeleton. “You really helped out Emmrich there.” The spirit hisses softly in happiness.

“Listen, if Emmrich ever has any more trouble like this, you come to me, okay?” If she needs to spend a week, a month, a year here to make sure that Emmrich doesn’t suffer from another attack, she’ll gladly do it. Besides, this room is quite cozy, and even sitting at the side of the bed is just as comfortable as laying on her couch. She’s safe, there’s no dang-

She remembers no more of that night.

Emmrich blinks the sleep out of his eyes as he wakes up, rather more refreshed than he expected. Yet, he feels odd. His eyes feel gummy, like he had finally recovered from a day spent surrounded by copious amounts of gravedust. And his pajamas they feel stiff, like they’d been overly starched. His left hand aches, and upon further examination, he realizes that it’s been tightly clutching something the entire night. Wincing slightly, he opens up to see the skull brooch he’s carried on his person since he was a boy. Ah… he comes to the sad realization as he surveys his bed, covered with pillows and blankets, all of them created by Manfred. He must have had another panic attack the previous night. It was to be expected, he concedes, after the horrors of Weisshaupt. Still, he thinks, he was quite impressed that at the time, he had not faltered when things looked dire, nor collapsed in terror at the horrors he saw. That they were able to save as many poor souls as they could. He could have frozen in fear of sight of the Archdemon, but he hadn't. Facing off against almost certain death he…he…

He did not flinch.

He frowns, wondering why that particular phrase came to his mind. He sighs, breathing in deeply and then freezes. There’s a scent in the air, familiar and comforting, but out of place. It reminds him of the memorial garden, of that particular blend of tea he’d found while perusing the Nevarran market. He’d only had it once, with Rook, which was a pleasant enough memory, but why did he smell it now?

He surveys the room, and finds his answer, although it leads to more questions. There’s a cup of tea on the nightstand, room temperature based on the lack of steam, and full. This is exceptionally odd. He never drinks tea while in bed, due to the risk of spills and scalding. And definitely he would not let a cup of tea sit there going cold, risking staining the porcelain. And as helpful as Manfred was, and as much as he enjoyed the task, he only made tea upon Emmrich’s request. Unless…

The memories come back to him in sickening clarity as he covers face with his hands. It was one thing for him to have one of his attacks, he’d dealt with them his entire life. It was quite another to have someone witness them. Manfred, innocent soul that he was, gave no judgement on these episodes, trying his very best to make him comfortable until it passed. Johanna surprisingly had been rather kind, in her own unique way. She’d just pretend she saw nothing. But she’d pat him on his head, calling him a ‘foolish cowardly man’ as she patiently waited until he recovered. But she’d never used it against him, even when she could have used it as leverage or, even in revenge when he’d stood by as she was expelled from the Watch. She had even prevented others from discovering his shameful secret, letting people that were looking for him while he was ‘indisposed’ that he was far too busy for whatever ‘trifling’ matter they had. He never had told her how grateful he was for that small act of kindness.

But Rook? Not only had she witnessed his weakness, she’d seen him in the worst state he’d been in for years, perhaps decades. He could only imagine how wretched he looked to her now. He was supposed to be a learned Fade expert to her, not a boy she needed to coax back into bed after a bad dream. What must she think of him now? He knew exactly what she’d think. That he was pathetic. Or worse, she’d pity him. Leave him here at the Lighthouse, safe from the danger of the outside world that she knew he could not handle while she faced the Gods without him. Somehow, the thought of her, hurt, alone, with him unable to aid her, drove into his chest like a knife, deeper than any fear of death.

Still, he needed to get to her. To explain himself, to assure her that whatever she had seen was not all who he was. That when she needed him, no matter how dire the situation, he would not…would not…flinch.

Her words echoed through his skull. She had said them with such conviction, hadn’t she? Like she truly believed that he’d be willing to stand against the Maker Himself if she asked him to. Still, the darker part of him argues, she merely said it to calm you down, you deluded old man. Did you expect her to believe a man with night terrors would be worth anything in a fight? The only reason she stayed is because you asked -no, BEGGED- her to. She probably left the moment you fell aslee-

He stops, hearing a noise coming from the side of his bed. It goes quiet, then starts up again, a slow rumble, like the shudder when the Necropolis halls shift. He looks down…

Rook is there, sitting there, legs sprawled out, head tilted back as she softly snores. There’s a look of peace and contentment on her face, free of care or worry, a side of her he rarely has seen. It would be a shame to wake her up, especially after all she’s done for him. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, not out of terror, but of what it meant. She had promised to stay… and she did. So instead of getting up, rinsing out his gummy eyes and changing out of his sweat dried night clothes, he lays back in bed, willing to tolerate them a bit longer if it allows her to rest a bit longer. Perhaps he can even slip back into slumber again.

He can’t help but notice that someone has carefully covered her with a badly stitched up quilt.

#dragon age the veilguard #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #zea ingellvar #my writing #Manfred is the best boy

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luv-rizzimura · 3 days ago

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➜ AHHHH okay guys this was gonna be the ending for a Ni-ki x reader fic where the reader has the hanahaki disease.... I can't resist so I'm posting it even if there's literally no context😋🫶

Ni-ki x hanahaki au! reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: Blood, hanahaki au so y'know, cussing and I mean f-bomb material, lmk if I missed something

You rushed into the bathroom and uncovered your mouth, a full bloomed flower (with a stem this time) quickly made it's way into the sink, complete with a disturbing amount of blood.

Wiping your mouth, you whispered, "My days really are numbered, aren't they..." Reaching to erase the evidence down the drain, you paused as you felt another bulb climbing up your throat.

However, it all froze when you heard a faint, "Y/N? Are you okay, why'd you run off like that?" emitting from the hallway behind you. Shit. Not here, not now, why is the timing always so bad! Damn it, why him, of all seven of them that could've checked on me, why-

"Hey Y/N, it's me Riki! Is it okay if I come in, you kinda scared us." You grimaced, forcing the bulb down your throat before speaking.

"Yeah come on in, sorry about that, I didn't mean to freak you guys out." He quickly barged in and made his way towards you with furrowed eyebrows.

"It's okay, but are you sure? Hey wait what's that in the-" Shit again, I forgot about the sink- He moved you out of the way and peered down at the flower.

"Y/N...? What is this, a flower? With blood?" He turned to look at you, a concerned look on his face. "What's going on? You've been acting really strange recently."

You sighed and turned away from him, gulping down the bulb and forcing back your tears. Are you serious?? Of all ways for him to find out, why this, this fucking sucks, what the hell am I supposed to... You sighed again, turning back. You know what, it's about time. It's not like there's anything I can do about it now... I guess there's nothing else but to tell him the truth.

You looked into his eyes, hesitating for a moment before you began, "I know this might seem really strange, b-but... I, I have the hanahaki disease. I love someone who doesn't love me back and- and-"

Ni-ki couldn't help but not believe you at first. "I'm sorry, what? Y/N I hate to break it to you but that's not real, it's just a made up sickness-"

"Yeah, that's what I thought at first too," You interrupted, sadly chuckling, "but I don't know how to explain it any other way... Why else do you think I've been ignoring you, huh? Why do you think I've been making up excuses not to see you, not to hang out like we used to. I want to do all those things again, I want to dance and go to the arcade and have sleepovers, but it hurts, Ni-ki, it hurts so bad-" You paused and blinked a couple times, refusing to cry in front of him. "It hurts so much to be around you. It's like my throat closes up and my heart pounds in my head and my lungs, Ni-ki I can't breath sometimes, I can barely stop them from-"

And with that you had to lean over the sink again, coughing up not one but two flower bulbs. Ni-ki watched with horror as you wiped your mouth off once again and silently turned back to him. "Y/N, I-"

"Don't. Don't even say anything, it gets worse when you talk. I just... I just want you to know that I care for you very much, and that your performance today was excellent. I'm extremely proud of you and I know you're gonna do great things as time goes on. Don't blame yourself for this, if I had backed away sooner it wouldn't be this serious and I might've had a chance to stop it. Take care Ni-ki, tell the others that I wasn't feeling well and that I went home. Don't come there looking for me."

And with that you moved past him and didn't look back, not even when you felt him reach for your arm, not when you heard him call out your name, not when the tears that you had tried so hard not to show began to finally, finally fall.

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heartsongss · 3 hours ago

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three. we heroes.

masterlist.

a/n: guys im putting up a poll soon for the love interest because its a bit of a Choice and I want ppl to like it so watch out for that gang

One week later, you find yourself catching the train into Gotham. It’s 6:30, and the train is surprisingly packed for the time. You figure that even in Gotham, where rent is permanently cheap, people need to make a living. Insurance, and all that.

You chew on your nail, eyes watching the entrances and exits everytime the bus stops, but no monsters climb on, staring at you hungrily. Just more humans, blissfully unaware of the horrors hidden even further into Gotham’s heart. Would they run in fear, horrified by the odd contortations of monster flesh? Or would they accept it. Gotham is the home of human monsters, after all.

What is an empousai to Bane? What is a hellhound, all angry and drooling blood, to Killer Croc? Nothing. It's just another beast out for their blood.

The bus hitches to a final stop and you get off, near the heart of Gotham. Camp owns an apartment they use as their Gotham home base. You’ll start the Cull here and end it there, too. You wonder when your family will arrive. You know that they found out last night, as you watched through the windows as they climbed into a Camp van.

You were in bed by the time they got home, carefully ignoring the sound of them entering the house. Distantly, you could hear their whispers. Not the full things, only small snippets of conversation that relate to you.

“...(Y/N)...”

“It doesn’t….”

“...Weak!...”

You fell asleep to their thoughtlessly cruel words that night, and you made sure to be out far earlier than they’d be up waiting for you, intent on spending as much time away from them as you can. Hopefully, the Cull will save you from them. Maybe they’ll forget about you all over again, letting you fade into the background again, nothing more than the normal one.

You open the door of the apartment complex, hurrying through the halls and into the elevator. You press the button for the fourth floor, watching blankly as you pass the prior numbers. It’s all so close, now. In just a few hours, you’ll be fighting for your life. All of Gotham will be asleep, ignorant to the real monsters in their home city.

You’ll protect them all.

From block to block, borough to borough, you’ll keep them all safe. The elevator stops, and to step out to walk to the apartment door. You fiddle with your keys, unlocking the door and sliding in. There’s a few dim lights scattered about, illuminating eleven figures.

Katie Gardner, Travis Stoll, June Woods, Clarisse La Rue, Mary Leblanc, Will Solace, Lucy Black, and Jamie.

Your eyes widen at the sight of your friend. You had no idea that he’d be here today! He smiles tiredly at you, doing a two finger salute in a greeting. Smiling at him, you go and sit by his side. Clarisse stands just as you sit, looking out at you all.

“As you know, some of the Justice League will be involved in this year’s culling. We’ve supplied them with Celestial Bronze weapons, and Lady Hekate pulled the mist from their eyes. We’ll be working in groups of six. Three Demigods, three heroes.”

You nod, fiddling with your bracelet. You’ve named it doron, for gift. It was the first thing you ever got from your mother, and your most cherished. It’ll protect you well, tonight. You look to Clarisse, raising your hand.

She points to you, silently telling you to ask your question.

“Who’s working with who?”

“I was getting to that.” She says, deadpan.

You scowl at her, chewing on her lip.

“Katie, June, and I will be with the Flash, Wonder Woman, and Superboy. Travis, Mary, and Lucy will be with Batman, Wondergirl, and Red Hood-” You sigh in relief, “And (Y/N), Will, and Jamie will be with Superman, Impulse, and Nightwing.”

Fuck. Fucking shit. You try not to let the panic show on your face, reaching out to clutch at Jamie’s hand. He squeezes it reassuringly, tapping his foot in a panicked beat.

Clarisse barrels on, uncaring, “We’ll meet at eight today and get everything in place. Ensure they understand we’re doing it our way, never theirs.”

She takes it personally, you can tell. Something must have happened during the discussions. You don’t care much, though, a bit distracted of being on a team with your older brother. Your eyes flick to the clock. It’s seven. One more hour before you’re face to face with your family, walking them through the yearly massacre held in Gotham.

You’re so fucked.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Wonder Woman is leading them through a recap. Discussing do’s and don’ts, how they differ from baseline humans. She’s particularly focused on Bruce, who’d made the mistake of condemning the demigods who had killed.

He said they were cruel, and that nothing - even winning those wars - warranted so much death on their part. He said they should be jailed.

Clarisse, Dick thinks her name was, was royally pissed. She had turned on him, eyes wild, and spat, “Do you have it in you to lock up your own child?

The room had gone silent. Clarisse, breathing heavily, stared hin down and said, “(Y/N) did the most damage out of all of us. They fought for their survival. For our survival. You want to persecute them for that?”

Bruce hadn’t been able to answer. Mostly because Clarisse had been led out of the room and hadn’t returned. That was when Wonder Woman had taken over, explaining (Y/N)’s ancestry. She admitted that Clarisse would have known more, and she’d try to get her to talk the next day, but she hadn’t been with Wonder Woman this morning, apparently with the demigods in charge of the Cull.

Wonder Woman was still talking, saying, “They’re unconventional. They’re used to fighting with what they have, so they’ll probably make use of their surroundings. Including you.”

Dick nods. Bruce, beside him, grunts. His hands are clenched, tightening in a rhythm. He’s stressed. They all are, really. They hadn’t thought (Y/N) was so… scarred. They hadn’t even noticed! The poor thing must have been so scared. They couldn’t go to their family for help with the monsters following them… They hadn’t even been to camp! What if they were homesick, those summers spent away?

He frowns. Jason bumps his shoulder, looking at him through his helmet. Jason had taken it hard. It was different, but he knew what it was like to fight. He knew what it was like to be so scared, but unable to do anything but face it. It’s horrifying.

They can fix it. After all this, they can talk to (Y/N) and fix it all. They must be so tired! It’s okay, though. Because they can rest with the family. It’s okay.

Diana’s voice filters through his senses again, “We’ll be meeting them at their safehouse in half an hour. From there, we’ll help with their preparations. They’re setting up some seals to keep monsters in, and preparing the spell to put most humans to sleep. That will happen around… twelve? one? It takes them a while to prepare themselves.”

They approach the Zeta tubes. Diana pauses, looking out at them. Her eyes stop on Dick, Bruce, and Jason. A silent plead to stay calm, a silent message.

They are strong enough.

“You remember your groups? Good. Gods help us all.”

#demigod!reader #platonic yandere batfam #platonic yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere dc #dovechild #dividers by fairytopea

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sol-dial · 10 days ago

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I'm working on my AA Season 3, episode 26 (aka season 3 finale) reaction cuz I have so many thoughts but have a silly reaction meme I made based on a silly screenshot I took of the episode! :D

#Tony..look out behind you!#Look at him he's so unaware of the horrors..#RAHH I just watched AA season 3 finale (I have before but watching it again devastated me </3)#aannyywaays yippeee!#Iron Man #Tony Stark #Avengers Assemble things #AA: s3 ep26

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momentomori24 · 6 days ago

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I may just be insane about this but does this feel like foreshadowing to anyone else. In this scene we see her trying to replicate the skill of someone else (her mother) and failing to achieve the same results that they would. That feels really specific and it's driving me insane.

Like, we see this come back again in the aftermath of the trial. Diana has repeatedly voiced her admiration for Wolfgang's ability to speak and inspire those around him in the darkest of times, saying she wished she could do the same. We see her pour her heart out and give her own speech to inspire the others-- except the reaction that she receives is cold and miserable, far from the newly kindled warmth and hope Wolfgang was able to create every time.

Diana is a chameleon. Her whole thing is to reflect, to replicate and to adapt. Do you think that this small scene where she tries to make a butterfly out of her hairclips-- a butterfly, an animal associated with transformation and change-- and the end result looking nothing like what she wanted it to be is a metaphor for her future character arc? She has declared that she wants to follow in Wolfgang's footsteps, wants to become something new, but do you think that by the end she ends up being the furthest thing from him? Do you think that by the end she will be left distorted, fundamentally wrong? Do you think that if she could see what she will become in the future, the only emotion that she can muster is horror as she gazes at a stranger that's supposed to be herself? That by the end, she won't be able to recognise herself, because there's no "her" left anymore?

#project eden's garden #p:eg #p:eg spoilers #diana venicia #wolfgang akire #it makes me think of her in the imitation artwork #the way she is more “normal” than everyone else. that she's smiley and friendly and colourful but her eyes are completely vacant. glassy #everyone else's ranges from horrifying to morbidly cryptic to depressing yet they all feel infinitely more “real” than she does #they say the eyes are the window to the soul yet hers are mirrors that only reflect the people in her sight #and in one you can see her face. expression hardened and determined with purple eyes similar to wolfgang.#and then the one where you see diana look at her imitation self covering her mouth in horror at what she sees when she looks into its eyes #and it's so unbelievably similar to when she watched wolfgang get electrocuted to death #and it feels to me like it's emphasising how his death will be her spiral into losing herself entirely failing to be like him #which makes sense. because she has an idealised image of who wolfgang was #wolfgang was someone who was also scared. who also struggled. who had his own insecurities and fears and secrets #wolfgang had parts about himself he hated and tried to be a better person than he thought he was presently #and he has an idealised image of his own mum. dedicated his life to be like HER #she chases after an idealised picture modelled after another idealised picture unaware that the standard she's pursuing never existed #diana corruption arc i can feel it #i can see her character going downhill mentally from here and honestly i'd love that but i would be upset cuz she deserves better #but i feel like her story will be one of transformation gone horribly wrong #which makes her such an interesting antagonist and contrast to how damon's development will likely go #anywho just rambling here in the tags don't mind me much #i just really like diana and i don't rant about her enough XD #momento rambles

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cheerforrevenge · 2 months ago

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One year at Pride, I was talking to this guy about something. I really don't remember but it was a nice conversation. I think we were talking about pets because I had archer there and I have two cats at home.

So then my partner goes "my son!" In this way he used to until this exact event.

So then the guy, who had his young child with him, starts asking questions about our son and talking about raising children and I had to, very awkwardly, say that my partner was actually referring to our kitten.

That was pretty much the end of that conversation and I relive that mortifying moment constantly. My partner, who doesn't remember a single thing unless it's Warhammer or pokemon themed doesn't ever think about it.

#i am genuinely still so embarrassed about it bc like i just remember turning to look at him in horror #anyway my partner has absolutely no shame in public and it kills me #like an employee will talk to him about something and he doesnt respond because he just.... idk is that unaware of the world around him

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mechahero · 1 year ago

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found a picrew based on what i was talking about not that long ago lmao (picrew link)

#//oh boy here's hoping nothing bad happens to him! <- (unaware of The Horrors™️)#//made two bc i liked the way he looked in the second pic #//went with blue for the first pic bc why not you know? pink was available but i was like hmmm he seems blue in this one #//look at himmmm #//he's so squishable #//you should get in on this too maybe?#boredom killer {dash games}

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cookinary · 2 years ago

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Buddy doodles cuz he's been on my mind lately

#Unaware Eldritch God AU #Buddy #eldritch god #cosmic horror #god i love how unapolegetically powerful this guy is #he's too fun to write #he's the most powerful being in the entire multiverse and he can bend reality at will without any consequences #but he just wants pizza #you literally can't do any dramatic stories with any kind of stake- it just wouldn't work #like- villain wants to reduce the world to slavery? Nah villain is chill now and has no army we're good #dude has some amulet that could destroy his powers? Okay first of all that'd be ineffective and also that amulet never existed #mah guy has literally no limits but he's chill af- his scary appearance is just for show #leave him alone and he'll just vibe in a corner #i love him #he wears glasses cuz anyone who looks into his eyes would see the world from his perspective and go mad instantly #so he might as well get fancy with it and make them pink #oh yeah and the dark blob in the corner is a glimpse at his true form #and i tagged cosmic horror cuz he's several trillion times bigger than the universe so #anyway #toodles

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yuutryingtowrite · 8 months ago

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Yandere!Stalker who you have been aware of since the beginning. It is difficult not to. He is really clumsy. He made it a habit to come to your room every night, but he always makes a ruckus while trying to get to your bed. One time, he even tripped and face-planted. Poor baby.

Yandere!Stalker who uses his nightly visits to bask in your soothing presence, even if you are just sleeping. He will take anything he can get. He doubts you will let a nobody like him approach you during the day anyways. When he is feeling bold, he sometimes traces your facial features. You are just the prettiest to him. That is why he also has a whole folder with pictures of you taken when you were unaware.

Yandere!Stalker who, one day, has enough courage to go under the blanket with you. He waits a bit to be sure you are still sleeping before scooting closer to you. His chest is against your back; you can feel his heart beating like crazy. He then shyly wraps his arm around your waist and nuzzles into your neck. A light pink hue dusts his cheeks. Being this close to you…He is so happy he could die right now.

Yandere!Stalker who you suddenly pin to your bed. That is it. You can’t take his cuteness anymore. It is your turn to have fun now. You watch him try to get out what looks like to be an explanation between his stutters. He keeps squirming, his hands can’t stop fidgeting and his wide, puppy-like eyes look at you with a mix of horror, from being caught, and excitement and adoration, from being underneath you.

Yandere!Stalker who you tell to wait on your bed as you make your way to the closet. A few seconds later, you toss him a…maid costume. And then a… bunny costume. And then…a skirt with cute bows. And then…You seem to spawn out of nowhere the most skimpy and feminine outfits known to mankind for him to wear (you bought them just for this eventuality).

Yandere!Stalker who has tears in his eyes as you tell him to pose. His right hand is doing a shaky peace sign while his left hand is holding the tiny skirt down. His face is beet red and he feels hot everywhere. He loves this. He is so vulnerable right now, yet he only wants to show you more. Please, humiliate him more. Pin him down again. Toss him around. Step on him. Use him as you wish. Make him yours. He will be your toy, your boyfriend, your lover. Yours to break and yours to put back together again.

“Say cheese~” *click*

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ohbo-ohno · 24 days ago

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animal, sick as they come

summary: Ghost has been starving his whole life. Never enough food to fill his stomach, never enough blood to cover his hands, always leaving him hungry and ready to snap. You’re the supposed solution to his problem, willing or not. (or: the kidnapped home chef au)

wc: 14.2k

cw: graphic nonconsensual sex, kidnapping but you’re lowkey chill about it, rough sex, pain play, dirty talk & light degradation, non-consensual spanking, rough/painful anal sex, gratuitous description of cooking/food written by someone who once lit a pot of boiling water on fire and is really just trying her best

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

You may have never been kidnapped before, but you can’t imagine this is how it’s supposed to go.

The masked man looms in the doorway to the kitchen, shoulders so wide that he can’t stand in the opening properly because he wouldn’t even fit, the very top of his head hidden by the worn frame. He’s a beast of a man, hulking in every sense of the word, and you can’t help but wonder how he managed to sneak up on you in the first place. Surely you’re not that unaware of your surroundings? He’s easily 6’4, probably no less than three hundred pounds.

Not much time had passed since you’d woken in a dark room with a thudding pain between your temples, mouth dry and throat swollen. You were sure you’d been blindfolded at first, eyes dry and heavy, until ice-cold water splashed onto your face and your eyes flew open on instinct.

He’d just… been there. One minute you were walking home, trying to avoid large puddles and squinting through pouring rain, and the next you were shivering and scared, your captor towering over your crumpled and bound form.

You’d lost control of your bladder the moment the sight of him registered. He’d looked down, snorted, and lumbered away to find a hose.

You’d been inconsolable when he told you to strip, shaking with your sobs and keeping your arms wrapped tight around your chest. Even when he’d grunted ‘m not gonna fuck you when you reek of fuckin’ piss, you hadn’t been able to calm enough to follow his demands. It was only when he’d reached up to run a hand over his face and his shirt lifted just enough for you to get a glimpse of the piece on his hip that you’d been snapped away from your panic.

You can see the shape of it now, tucked in its holster. You’re fucking terrified that at any moment he could pull it out and end your life, like that. It would take hardly any effort at all. Just a twitch of the finger and bam, you go from captive to corpse.

“How long’ll it be?” The man grunts, massive arms crossed over his chest, breaking you out of your fearful stupor.

You blink at him, wide-eyed and silent. He’d given you clothes – clothes that fit, to your comfort and horror – so you’ve been spared the further indignity of forced nudity, but the extra layer doesn’t make you feel much safer.

He dips his chin when you don’t answer, dark eyes boring into yours. That only makes you clam up more, joints stiff.

He huffs. “Dinner. When’re you gonna fuckin’ feed me, bird?”

You stare at him, baffled. “What?” It’s the first word you’ve said to him without sobbing, and your voice trembles, shrill and weak.

He steps forward, angling his shoulders to fit into the room, fuck, and you skitter back, pressing yourself to the wooden cabinets. They’re tall, taller than the countertops in any house you’ve ever lived in, and the lip presses into the middle of your back.

“There’s food in the fridge,” he grunts. “Get to work.”

You’re not sure you could move even if you wanted to, your fight-or-flight instinct having settled firmly on freeze.

He rumbles low in his chest and plants one hand on the island in the center of the kitchen, leaning over it. He’s so tall that his head nearly reaches the other side of the counter, hardly a foot away from yours. The counters are the perfect height for him.

“What’s not clicking, girl?”

You pinch yourself, a quick twist of skin to make sure that this is all real and you’re not just trapped in the world’s most confusing nightmare.

“I-I don’t… you want me t-to cook? For you?” You manage, voice strangled.

He looks spectacularly unimpressed with your lack of understanding, and a distant part of you recognizes that you should probably be worried about making your captor displeased so quickly. However, the far larger part of you hasn’t had a rational thought since he hosed you down with freezing water and is still almost entirely useless.

He turns to the side to open his fridge, hand dwarfing the handle, and drops a chunk of frozen meat on the counter. It’s wrapped in brown parchment paper, a little string holding it closed. The fridge rattles with how harshly he closes the door and you can’t help but flinch.

If he weren’t closer to the exit than he is to you, you’d have bolted away the second he turned his back. But he’s close enough that he could reach out and grab you with one hand if you got to the doorway, and you can’t even bring yourself to think about what he might do if you were caught.

“Cook it.” He nods at the meat, voice bored like this is simple. Like it’s obvious, and your lack of understanding is an inconvenience that he’s rapidly losing patience with.

You listen, because it is obvious. He’s the captor, you’re the captive. At any moment, at the slightest whim, he could shoot you, strangle you, beat you, or a dozen worse things you can’t imagine for fear of ruining his dinner with your bile.

He has every advantage and you don’t have anything but the shapeless hoodie and sweatpants he gave you. Here, you are nothing and he is everything.

So with shaking hands and tears streaming down your face nearly the entire time, you listen.

You find a pan – he doesn’t help you and it’s incredibly awkward to try and dig around in unfamiliar cabinets without turning your back to him, but you manage it – and get the burner turned on. He steps out of the doorway again, still watching you from the hallway, and that gives you just enough bravery to inch towards the fridge, snatching the butter from it like he might lurch forward at any minute.

It’s a good cut of meat. A ribeye, think and with not much fat on it. You’ve worked in the resturaunt business for a long time and it’s obvious to you that this is cut by a local butcher, not some packing plant. This is fresh.

You have to stand with your back to the counter beside the stove to keep him in your eyeline. He doesn’t seem to mind, though the black balaclava covering him from scalp to neckline keeps almost all of his expressions a mystery to you.

“How do you want it?” You manage to ask, after what must be five minutes of psyching yourself up internally and darting your eyes between him and the meat.

“Rare,” he says, and you find that you’re not exactly surprised by his answer.

Basting the meat is the hardest part, but you manage. You’ve watched your father do this since you were born, spent countless nights in the corner of your parent’s restaurant watching line cooks and chefs and dishwashers and paying them all far more attention than you ever did your homework, nodding off in class the next day because the restaurant was open until eleven and your parents never once left early.

You could cook this meat in your sleep. Even with his minimal ingredients (he just shakes his head when you ask where the garlic is, and you quickly realize the only seasonings you have to work with are salt and pepper), you’re confident that the meat has come out tender and juicy, if flavorless.

There are no sides. No drinks. No dessert. If you’d made this meal for either one of your parents, they’d lecture you for so long that the steak would go stone cold.

You don’t have a plate to serve it on. When you ask tentatively about the dishes, voice hardly audible to even you, the man doesn’t answer.

He instead begins to stride towards you, sending you careening around the island to try and keep as far from him as possible, hips crashing into the sharp edges of the counter and socks slipping across the tile. He ignores you completely as he leans over the over, sniffing loudly.

You’ve thrown yourself, completely unintentionally, to the side of the counter with a large and well-stocked knife block. Before you even really think about it, you’re gripping a carving knife with both hands and holding it straight out in front of you, like you’re hoping he runs into you and impales himself. It’s probably your best bet, considering your knees are nearly knocking and barely holding you up.

He is entirely unconcerned by you. He grabs an oven mitt that was either always black or has been scorched so badly that it’s been darkened, the back of it split with its thin lining peeking out, and grabs the cast-iron by its handle, turning back to the rest of the kitchen.

He snorts when he sees you, the sound distinctly amused and unafraid. “You think you could hurt me? With that thing?”

You may be shaking in fear, the knife quivering in front of you even with your knuckles clenched so tight they nearly spasm, but you still manage to find yourself almost offended.

“I’ll stab you,” you threaten, voice quiet but the steadiest it’s been since you woke up in that damp basement. “I’ll do it.”

The cheeks of the balaclava pull up, the imprint of his lips clear throught the fabric as he smiles, an indent where his teeth must be. “Don’t think you’ll like what happens if you try, pet.”

He steps around the island again, striding for the door and completely dismissing you. At least, that’s what you think until he calls, “Follow,” over his shoulder, like you’re an animal being called to heel.

The dining room is visible from the kitchen, a section of one wall carved out so you can see into each room from the other. You only lose sight of him for a second before he reappears on the other side of the wall, heading to sit at the table.

The room has a horrible dark red carpet, the walls the same old-fashioned panneling as the hallway he’d dragged you down hardly an hour earlier. He seats himself at the head of a small rectangular table. It’s the only chair in the room despite the fact that five more could easily fit at the table, one leg shorter than the other. There’s nothing on the walls, no decor anywhere, just one table and one chair for one man.

You linger in the doorway, shifty and nervous, halfway to rushing back to the kitchen if only for some deluded sense of familiarity you’ve already built.

“Don’t make me chase you,” he warns, eyes narrowing into a brief glare before he drops the pan in front of himself, silverware already set at his place, cast iron still smoking. “Neither of us’ll like it if you ruin my meal, bird.”

Then, he digs in.

You’ve seen a lot of people eat. More people than you can count, in fact. You’ve seen them eat good food, bad food, life-changingly good and life-changingly bad food. As a child you’d been fascinated by the expressions on customers’ faces when they tried something new for the first time.

A woman with her eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows raised high as she bites into a new chocolate cake recipe your mother spent weeks making you taste test, moaning so loudly her husband had blushed. A man nearly collapsing over his bowl of soup on a cold winter day, just barely keeping his tie from falling into it as he desperately shoveled another bite into his mouth. You’ve seen people cry over your father’s wagyu, pepper your mother’s face with kisses after tasting her dacquoise.

This man eats like none you’ve ever seen before.

He’s like an animal. It takes him just a second to push his mask up to his nose, revealing pale skin decorated with atrophic and keloid scars both, then he’s pulling the pan as close to his chest as he can and hunching over it like a predator guarding its kill.

He seems entirely unworried about burning his wrists on the edges of the pan, instead focused on tearing his steak into barely bite sized pieces with his fork and messily rubbing it in the extra butter still pooling in the bottom of the pan.

He doesn’t even pick the first piece up with his fork. He pinches it between two fingers and pushes it between thin, scarred lips, ignoring what must be a burn on his fingertips. He chews twice, then swallows. His digits shine under the low light of his dining room, juice from the meat dripping down his fingers to cover his hand, nails choppy and with a little piece of fat stuck under one until he digs it out with his tooth.

You gape as he does it again and again, pushing two, then three pieces into his mouth at once as he works through the meat.

It was a massive steak. It took more than half an hour to cook, if the clock on his stove is right. It’s gone in less than five minutes.

He moans as he eats, nearly pornographic in a way that makes you shift in discomfort. The steak is rare enough that the juice dripping from it is pink, the meat itself a brighter color than the man’s thin lips. Juice sluices down his chin as he chews with his mouth open, bits of the meat caught between crooked teeth.

When he gets to the last piece of the cut, half of it submerged in butter, he holds it in front of himself for just a moment. Then, he turns to you for the first time since he left the kitchen.

His lips are flat, expressionless, as he holds the piece of steak up in front of himself. His elbow is planted firmly on the table to keep his hand in his eyeline, and he looks at you expectantly, silent.

Your stomach growls, loud enough for him to hear. His lips twitch up in a smirk before he smothers it. You glare. You have no idea how long the drugs knocked you out for, how many days it’s been since your breakfast omlette. Standing over the oven, smelling the steak as it cooked, has made you hungry.

The two of you are silent as you inch forward, hardly daring to lift your feet from the carpet. It doesn’t take you very long to reach the table, not when the room is as small as it is.

You shift the knife to just your dominant hand, your now free hand reaching forward slowly as you keep your eyes trained on his. The steak is still so hot that steam is still curling from the pink center of it, right between his eyes. He’s still as a statue.

Then, the second your fingertips brush the meat, he snatches it back, slipping it between his lips.

You flinch back as your mouth drops open, offended and startled by his sudden movement. Your fist tightens around the knife, no longer so limp at your side.

He chews with his mouth open, smiling meanly at you. His teeth are stained pink from the juices, and you think for a moment that it almost looks like his gums are melting.

“Forget your manners, pet?’ He asks, only swallowing once he’s finished talking.

You wince at the lack of manners, your p’s and q’s brow beaten into you with a stiff wooden spoon to the back of your hand when you were young, shocked to see someone ignore what you’ve always seen as instinctual and then ask you about manners. “What?”

He leans forward in his seat, greasy hand set on his jean-clad knee. “You didn’t say please.”

You blink at him, caught in some sort of trance that you have no idea how to pull yourself out from. “Oh.”

He sits, still and silent, for several long moments, belly rising and falling beneath his folded fingers, before speaking again. “You’ll call me Ghost while you’re here.”

Your brows furrow a bit but you nod, fingers trembling where they rest limp against your thighs, knife almost entirely forgotten in this almost-hypnosis he’s dragged you into. You can’t quite make your lips move enough to give him a verbal answer, but he seems to accept the nod.

He snorts, eyes narrowed as he looks at you. He doesn’t even have to tilt his head up even though he’s the one sitting. The realization makes you sweat, something hot igniting low in your belly.

Before you even register that Ghost is moving, he’s snatched the knife from your now-slackened grip. He drops it into the pan immediately, the handle and blade both becoming drenched in the butter.

You’d nearly forgotten you even had the knife but the lack of it now drags the fear back up your throat, makes your heartbeat louder and your fingertips colder.

“Don’t need that,” he grunts, leaning back and folding his hands over his belly, fingers sliding against the fabric and already staining. This close, you can see that it hangs over the hem of his pants just enough to cover the button. You swallow thickly.

“‘S good,” Ghost says, looking you up and down. Just like in the kitchen, the chair and table here are taller than what you used to, like they were tailor made for your captor instead of bought from a store. You’re only barely taller than him even as he sits, but he somehow still manages to make you feel like he’s looking down on you.

There’s something in you that keeps you from backing away, even though being hardly a foot away from him makes the backs of your eyes sting with tears. It’s like your feet have sunk through the floor, like you’re up to your knees in shag carpeting and you can’t even try to get yourself out until the behemoth before you looks away.

“Congratulations, girl,” he rumbles, lips quirked up into a mean smile. “You just bought yourself a life, right here with me.”

You can’t stop the tears from falling, shaking hands clapped to your mouth in a fruitless attempt to muffle your sob.

Ghost leans forward, smile growing when you stumble back until the small of your back meets the half-wall. “What’re you cryin’ about, doll?” He lowers his voice, like he’s sharing a joke with you. “Think I won’t treat my new pet well?”

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat so hard it gives out, its galloping thump felt even in your teeth, gums numbing. Your tears blur your vision, but you can see enough to know when he stands from his set, the chair creaking as he scuffs towards you.

He comes into focus when he crouches in front of you, his knees hovering just above your naked feet, toes curling into the carpet in a futile attempt to get as far from him as you can.

“I won’t,” he says lowly, hot breath gusting over your face and lighting your nerves on fire. “Not until you earn it. Y’hear me?”

Whimpers eek through your fingers at his words. There’s something in his eyes that still looks hungry, little drops of grease dripping from Ghost’s fingers to your toes, and it makes you feel like prey just inches away from the predator’s jaw.

His hand darts out, smacking your clothed thigh and making you yelp.

“Don’t fuckin’ ignore me,” he snarls, sharp and sudden anger upon him like a wave, your thigh stinging from his hit.

You nod as soon as the chain of words connects in your brain to mean something, head bobbing up and down quickly in desperation to avoid any more physical contact.

His eyes narrow, unimpressed. “Repeat it, then.”

“I have to–” you cut yourself off, breath suddering out of you almost painfully. “I have to earn it.”

“Earn what?”

Exasperation mixes with terror, eyelids straining to stay widened, unwilling to miss another twitch from him.

Think I won’t treat my new pet well? He’d said. You have to earn it.

You can’t think of a way to distill that down into a singular answer, not quick enough for him, at least.

“I don’t– I don’t know,” you sob.

His movement is slow this time, but it’s no more possible for you to avoid his touch than it was when you hadn’t seen anything coming. His hand drags into your hair, nails catching on scalp, and he tugs your head back, slamming it into the wall.

“Everything,” he hisses, the fabric covering his nose brushing against yours, snot sliding down your fingers. “You earn everything here. You work for it all. Get it?”

You can hardly nod this time, his fingers tightening around the strands of your hair and pulling at your scalp, but thankfully it’s enough for him.

“Good,” he spits, leaning back and standing, dragging you with him.

Once you’re standing, half crouched to try your best to ease the pain rippling from your head but pushed up on your toes so his hand isn’t practically lifting you, Ghost grabs you by the elbow instead and drags you out of the room before you can even fully realize what’s happening.

He grabs you in the exact spot he had when he’d dragged you to the kitchen in the first place, each finger laid precisely where there were already bruises emerging. His grip so tight you can’t even think of trying to rip away – you imagine your arm would come off your body before Ghost’s hand came off of you.

He drags you from the dining room and down a small hallway. From what you’ve seen of the house, and what you can remember that isn’t clouded over by a haze of panic, the floor-plan is closed off, more claustrophobic than anything else.

Every room seems connected by a new hallway and they're each thin enough that you couldn’t walk by the man’s side – the two of you might not even be able to walk chest to chest without somehow getting wedged between the wood-panneling, considering the bulk of him.

Your toes drag, catching on the warped wood floor as he pulls you behind him. Your hands are wrapped around his wrist in a wasted but desperate attempt to keep everything below his grip from going numb, leaving your choking whines and sobs and pleas to rush out of you, voice bouncing off the panneled walls.

Ghost ignores you entirely, doesn’t even seem to notice when you dig your nails into his skin and you try your best to yank.

You start to grasp at the walls, trying to slow his stride in whatever way you can. You have no idea where he’s taking you, no idea what you’d do even if you did somehow manage to break free from him, but you try nonetheless.

He doesn’t react, no matter how much you scream and hiss, no matter how much you claw and kick and make your body dead weight, nearly breaking your wrist from the way you yank and twist.

It’s only when your fingers catch on the edge of something thin that you’re given a tangible thing to wrap your hope around.

You only realize it’s a picture frame once you’ve already yanked it from the wall, the photo itself a complete mystery to you.

It’s the adrenaline that makes you pull back and slam the frame glass-first into the side of his head, reaching up as high as you can to make contact. There’s a horrible crack when glass meets fabric, a screech when you drag it down the side of his face, glass catching on mask and skin and more glass.

Ghost doesn’t let you go but he does stumble into the wall, grunting like a bull and batting your opportune weapon like it’s hardly more than an annoying mosquito, sending it crashing to the ground despite your death grip.

He falls back into the wall, tugs you with him with enough force to nearly knock you off your feet, your head a mix of fear and victory and adrenaline and pain and more fear, coherent thoughts a far-off dream.

“Little fuckin’ cunt,” you hear him spit, heavy boot smashing fallen glass into further pieces as he turns to press you against the wall with his body, heavy and hot against you.

His eyes are raging, scarred lips curled to bare his teeth and little pieces of glass sticking from his skin and balaclava.

You only have about four drops of blood to speak of for your desperate attack, and with your kidnapper furious and holding you down all you can manage to think is why the fuck did I do that? What was I thinking?

There’s no room for anything but shame when you’re staring down the barrel of God only knows what he’ll deicde to do to you.

“Off to a bad fuckin’ start,” he hisses, spittle landing across your cheeks. “Thought I’d be nice to you. Send you off to sleep with hardly a damn scratch.”

Ghost snarls, shakes his head like a beast shaking off fleas. Glass goes flying around his head. You can hardly breathe.

“Tha’s not good enough for you, is it?” He says, hand coming up to lock around your throat. You’d cry out if he left you enough air, but he’s squeezing so tight you can barely get enough breath to stay conscious.

“You need a heavy hand, ‘s that it, pet? Need someone to show you what happens when you fuckin’ misbehave?” He pulls your head a few inches away from the wall on the last word, slamming you back enough to rattle your brain in your skull, eyes unfocused and hardly seeing and unable to groan with his hand squeezing your airway shut.

You try to shake your head, can’t manage to do anything more than shift with the grip on your throat. You think, briefly, about how he could snap your neck with one hand. His palm rests over your vocal chords, fingertips pressing against the nape of your neck. A flick of his wrist and you’d be dead. You think your heart may give out, overwhelmed and unable to keep up with everything Ghost is drawing from you, spitting at you.

Capture myopathy, a friend told you once, sitting beside you in a required biology class only one of you was interested in. When a rabbit is so scared that their heart gives out on them and they die. Just like that. Snap. Easy dinner for a fox. Isn’t that sick?

Sick. She’d said. This, you think, is sicker than anything a fox could do to a rabbit.

“You’re lucky your meat was good,” he says, tone calming into something less rageful and more frustrated, hand loosening enough to let you breathe more easily but still keeping you from speaking. “Don’t mind trainin’ you up knowin’ you’ll be an investment. Just need some work, huh?”

You try your best to nod, eager to pick training over certain death any day.

He hums, thumb stroking the crease of your skin between neck and shoulder and you can’t stop your shiver.

“Don’t worry, bird.” His teeth gleam when he flashes them, finally leaving your space. He practically throws you in front of him with the hand on your neck, letting it shift to wrap around your nape so he can guide you forward. “I’ve had pets before. All those tears tell me you’ll at least be easier to break in than the boy was.”

You only have a brief moment to wonder who the fuck the boy is, if he’s in this house, and what that could possible mean for you, before Ghost is nudging open a rickety door and nudging you down the stairs.

He lets you go once you’re firmly on the narrow staircase and taking slow, tentative steps out of fear you’ll miss one in the dark. Ghost takes his hand from you, looming as you make your leaden-footed way down.

You can’t stop your sniffles or your tears, terrified of the nightmares that must be waiting at the bottom of the staircase and back in the basement you’d woken up in. You know some of what waits for you, what the room will look like and what will be in it – Ghost had been with you since he dragged you to the kitchen, there would’ve been no time for him to change anything – but you’ve got no idea what training means or what Ghost will do to you when your feet hit concrete.

You don’t move any further into the room when you reach the bottom, Ghost easily stepping around you and choosing to ignore you in favor of looking for whatever he’s decided he needs. The sight of a small carabiner with keys latched to one of his belt loops makes your idea of running back up to the door leave as quick as it comes.

“Over here,” Ghost calls, back turned to you as he crouches down and fiddles with something at the wall.

You don’t move, feet anchored to the floor.

He huffs when he doesn’t hear you following him, shifting one knee to rest on the ground so he can turn over his shoulder and level you with an unimpressed look.

“You really want to make me come get you?” He rumbles, and the threat is enough to get you rushing forward then pulling to just as sudden as stop just out of his arm’s reach.

It doesn’t matter much, you can’t really do anything to stop him when Ghost’s arm darts back to grab you by the knee, his torso leaning back to get a hand on you and tugging you forward.

You can’t keep yourself from falling to your knees right at his side, nothing around for you to grab onto other than him and even looking at a face-full of concrete you know not to make any unnecessary contact with Ghost, not if you can help it.

The weight around your neck is sudden and unexpected, his quick movements around your head even moreso. You don’t even have enough time to decide if it would be worth it to try and fight him off before there’s a resolute click, and he’s pulling back with something thick wrapped around his knuckles.

It’s a chain. Silver, hardly a hint of rust on it, thick and well-kept, and leading right back up to your neck.

You don’t put it together until shaky hands come up to press around the- the collar. Thick leather, two or three inches wide, just tight enough that you can feel it on every exhale.

A collar. A collar with a chain leash, heavy enough that you can feel the hint of pressure pulling you towards Ghost, the length of the chain that’s not tight in his fist resting in loops by his boot.

You can’t do anything but stare up at him, wide eyed and trembling, can’t begin to think of what to do before he’s standing and tugging you with him.

“Here now,” he grunts, not bothering to give you any time to get to your feet. You sort of stumble after him, knee scraping the ground as your head is jerked along. You can’t let yourself lag at all, not unless you want to get dragged along by your neck.

You feel like you’re moving through quicksand, every move only making things worse for you. Every forced step forward is another step closer to him, every jerk of your head pulls at the hair stuck in the back of the collar that he hadn’t bothered to move before locking it onto you, every panicked breath only serves to keep your breathing short and hitched.

Ghost drops himself onto the small cot pressed against the wall, it’s metal legs creaking under his weight. You can’t straighten fully with how short he keeps the chain, which leves you in a terribly vulnerable hunched position, eye-level with his stomach and bent at the waist, knee throbbing.

“Over my knee,” he rumbles, voice quiet. “Get this over with.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes, panting open-mouthed, drooling. A panicked animal with its leg caught in a trap, unable to do anything but stare up at the jaws closing around its body.

“Please,” you beg, voice hardly a whisper. “Don’t hurt me.”

His eyes are hard behind the mask, mouth a firm line as he looks down at you. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat beneath the thick leather.

Ghost doesn’t give you another chance to obey. One quick jerk of his hand and you’re toppeling forward, choking on spit and holding your hands out to catch yourself.

He manhandles you quickly – one hand on the chain yanking it further down, head forced lower than his knee while his other hand grabs you by the hips and hefts you on top of him, elbow jamming itself between your thighs while blood rushes to your head.

You yelp, legs kicking out as you push at the bed with one hand, the rough ground with the other, throwing your head back and forth as much as you can with the leash giving you almost no room to move.

“Settle,” Ghost hisses. You don’t listen, can’t listen with the way panic alone rules your mind, and in response he lands a harsh smack on the center of your ass, enough to push you forward a few inches.

Your pleas come to a sudden stop, breath stuck in your throat as you absorb the pain, a noticeable sting even through the sweatpants.

“You’re gettin’ fifty,” he grunts when you’ve gone silent, tucking two fingers in the back of your pants and tugging them down, lifting up one knee to lift your torso so he can yank them to your waist. “Take ‘em, then we’re done.”

“No, no, please, God,” you choke, one hand flying to your mouth and pressing against it. Tears stream down your face, cheeks blazing with heat, a horrible mix of terrified and humiliated that leaves you all but limp over his legs.

Ghost snorts above you and you jump when you feel his cold hand make a pass over the fat of your ass. “Won’t be thinkin’ that much longer.”

You only have a brief moment to think hysterically is he making a joke right now? before there’s a horrible pain on your ass, the smack loud in the otherwise silent room.

It takes a second for the pain to hit you, but when it does you yowl. You push up on his thigh with both hands as another smack rains down, pulling as hard as you can against the chain.

“Stop, stop, stop it!” You screech, toes sliding uselessly against the cement as you writhe, all of your struggles doing absolutely nothing to stop his hand from falling again, this time right on the center of both cheeks.

“Y-You can’t- you can’t d-do this!” You wail, throat filled with tears and snot as you realize you can’t even get close to standing, not with his grip on the chain as immovable as it is. “Stop!”

His next smack is his hardest, his grip around the chain loosening at just the right time to allow you to be sent sprawling over his lap, sobbing at the pain that lights up your backside. It hurts, and now your forehead is nearly pressed to the floor, leaving you completely off balance.

Ghost grunts as he shifts one of his legs, tucking your flailing limbs between his thighs and forcing you to be bent over just the one thigh, knees hovering inches off the ground.

“Stop your fuckin’ wailin’, Christ,” he hisses, peppering you with more spanks, each of them as hard as the last and forcing all the air out of your lungs. “Damn lucky this is all you’re gettin’. I should make you count ‘em, start over every time you get one wrong.”

You cry out at that, wriggling desperately and only serving to push your ass further into the air, trapped on both ends.

“We’d be here all damn night,” Ghost mutters to himself, hardly audible over your fit. “One picture ain’t worth bruisin’ my hand over.”

Your feet just barely brush against his thighs when you manage to kick up, but you’re embarrassed to find that you don’t have the strength to do much more than hang limply in his hold, one hand reluctantly wrapped around his calf to keep yourself from falling to the floor.

Your tears and sobs don’t stop as he continues his assault on your ass, but there’s a part of you that almost… settles. Not into the pain, not when he’s smacking you hard enough to jolt your body forward and make you wail at every new touch, but into the steadiness of his smacks.

He doesn’t wait more than a second between hits, each spank no heavier or lighter than the last. It hurts, hurts worse than anytime you’ve burned or cut yourself in the kitchen, but after the first minute or so your body comes to expect what’s coming.

That doesn’t make it any easier to handle. You couldn’t stop your crying if you tried, like his hand is resting on your tearducts instead of your ass, squeezing every bit of moisture out of your eyes.

He stops at some point, hand resting on your cheeks. He squeezes, nails digging in deep, and pulls your cheeks apart. You sniffle at the indignity, free hand covering your eyes as your face crumples.

“Half way through now,” Ghost says, ignoring the way you cry out. You can’t imagine taking one more hit, let alone twenty five.

He shifts back on the cot and for a moment you have absolutely no idea what’s happening. It’s not until he not-so-gently readjusts your legs, his own laid out flat in front of him with his feet hanging off the cot, your body readjusted so you’re lying properly over his thighs.

It’s more comfortable, certainly, but you’re not sure you want comfortable right now. It feels impossible to imagine the brute above you as thinking of your comfort, completely analogous to his actions and leaving you a confused and weak mess.

Ghost shifts his hand along with the rest of him, dropping the chain entirely in favor of resting a heavy palm on the back of your neck, equally as effective at keeping you still. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t comment on your heaving breaths or shaking thighs, just lets you breathe with your hands curled beneath your chest and your forehead pressed to the thin sheet covering the cot.

The next spank catches you completely off guard, your body having gone limp and leaving you unprepared for the sudden pain. It reignites your sobbing, your throat on fire from all the screaming you’ve done. You can hear your voice crack as you absorb the pain, shoulder shaking.

“Christ,” Ghost sighs, hand briefly leaving your ass.

He’s lifting you by your hair a moment later, thick fingers laced through the tresses as he pulls your head back and stuffs something in your mouth. You whimer at the feeling, tongue working at the frankly disgusting taste, brows furrowed.

“Keep that there,” he orders, and you just barely get a glance of the side of his head before he’s shoving you back down, face-first. You realize, blinking slowly, that he’s shoved his mask in your mouth. “Can’t be bothered to teach you to shut the hell up, gonna hafta work on that once you learn how to behave.”

He spanks you again and this time your sob is muffled as you bite down on the fabric and grind it between your teeth.

His pace is slower now, hand more thudding than stinging. It feels like he’s putting his weight behind every smack, each one delivered with what you’re sure is bruising force. Though truly you can’t tell much of a difference, not with your whole ass already feeling like it’s on fire.

It gets harder and harder to differentiate between new and old pain as he lays brutal spanks over spots that are already hot and throbbing, varying the strength of each smack this time. You sink into the pain, limp and unable to do anything but take it.

“Better,” Ghost says, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing your scalp when you jerk at the sound of his voice. His next hit lands on the crease between your thigh and your ass, but your whine is almost silent. “Can hear myself think now, for one.”

Another smack, and your body doesn’t even jerk this time. You’re not even fully present in yourself, mind floating. You don’t quite feel like an outside observer, more like you’re just a few inches removed from the situation. All your sensations feel dulled, and you bear the pain as best you can.

“Can enjoy the sight too,” you hear him say, and suddenly there are pauses between each smack, a little break Ghost takes to rub your glowing ass and thighs as much as he wants before laying another handprint across your soft skin.

“‘S too bad I don’t fuck where I eat,” he muses, and you groan into the mask at a particularly rough hit. “You don’t take much fightin’. I like that in a girl. Go down real easy with a firm hand, don’t you?”

You shake your head as best as you can, which really isn’t much at all. He snorts at your effort, tightens his fingers to keep your head still.

You’re sapped of all energy, unable to move even as his punishing spanks linger lower on your ass, and even when he bullies a hand between your thighs and spreads your legs.

“Look at that,” he says, voice low. You can feel it through his stomach, goosebumps racing from your ribs to the rest of you. “Dirty girl, are you?”

You’ve got enough wherewithal to try and squeeze your legs shut when his fingers prod at your center, yanked back into your body at the sharp turn from painful to… something else.

He strokes two fingers over your slit, and you groan at just how much slick you can feel him spreading. You have no idea when it happened, have no idea why it happened, but you’re drenched between your thighs. Your cunt feels as hot as your ass, and the realization yanks a horrible little whine from you.

“Guess that wasn’t much of a punishment,” Ghost muses, spreading your lips and letting cool air ghost over you. You feel him blow a breath across you and struggle more than you have since he’d laid you flat across him, knees coming to tuck up under yourself.

“No,” he says simply, landing a horrible, smarting slap to your pussy. It sends you flat to your tummy again, squirming against him and wailing through the pain. It hurts. “Down, girl. No strugglin’ now.”

He only continues to stroke you, now pushing the steadily dripping wetness from your clit to your asshole, making you tense and writhe where you’re pinned, his order ignored.

“Think I’ll do the last few here,” he says, landing another harsh smack to your center, this time focused on your clit. “Make sure you remember your lesson.”

He doesn’t wait any longer, just begins to lay quick, harsh slaps all across your cunt – your spread lips, your hole itself, your clit. Once, even, on your bottom hole, digging his nails into your stinging cheeks to spread you wide for him.

It hurts more than any of the smacks to your ass did, undeniably, but you’re sapped of all energy and find yourself hardly able to cry, let alone struggle. You’re too busy being swept away in a maelstrom of pain-pleasure you’ve never experienced before to even try defending yourself.

Your only option is to lie still and wait for him to finish with you. So that’s all you do.

It feels like it’s been an eternity when he finally stops.

The hand near your ass gropes you firmly, pinching what you can already feel are tiny little raised spots from where his palm landed the hardest.

You don’t have the energy to even think of struggling when he finally moves you off him, letting you flop uselessly to the cot as he moves out from under you. There’s the sound of metal clinking, the tension from the collar finally eased as he lets it go completely.

He doesn’t bother to pull your pants up, but he does nudge your legs closed. It’s a bit of decency you didn’t expect from him.

You can’t do much more than blink wearily at him as Ghost reaches to tug his mask from your mouth, lip curling in disgust at the drops of saliva that fall from it. Good, you think. That’s just the start of what you deserve, bastard.

He crouches in front of you a moment later, bringing his face into full focus in front of you.

He’s… not traditionally attractive, that’s for sure. Even your defeated and exhausted mind can recognize that you would’ve avoided this man had you seen him on the street. Probably would’ve even risked being seen as rude and crossed to another sidewalk before he walked past you. Seeing as this is where you’ve ended up, your instincts wouldn’t have been wrong about him.

He’s got a square head and blond hair buzzed close to the scalp. The scars you’d seen across his cheeks and jaw extend further up his face, something textured across his temple that you can’t guess the cause of, eyebrows patchy and only half-grown in from burns, little bumps decorating his scalp.

But there’s something captivating about him. In his eyes, maybe, such a dark blue that you can only tell they’re not brown because he’s hardly a foot from you. There’s something about him that says look at me. Don’t forget where I am.

Though maybe, you think deliriously, you’re only thinking that because he’s the captor who just spanked your ass raw and dragged his fingers through your cunt.

“Rule one,” Ghost rumbles quietly, breath gusting over your lips. “You hurt me, I hurt you. Heard?”

It takes all the energy you have left to nod, eyes falling shut even as the little prey voice in the back of your head screams at the danger so near, never mind that you haven’t been able to do anything to keep him from you. You’re too loud to listen to the voice anyways, only a very distant part of you acknowledging it as you slip into a sort of half-sleep.

You don’t hear him leave.

From there you settle, bizarrely, into a routine.

Every day begins with you waking up in the basement. Always before Ghost comes to get you, some primal instinct buried deep knowing that you need enough time every morning to brace yourself for seeing him.

He locks the chain, the leash, to a hook on the wall a couple feet above your cot every night, the key to the padlock always left on him. The chain is long enough to give you plenty of room to roll and shift in bed at night but it’s too short for you to reach the small bathroom across the basement. There’s no clock for you to keep track of time with but you spend what must be half an hour every morning just sitting on the cot, waiting for Ghost to come get you.

He’s always nearly stumbling when he comes down the basement stairs to fetch you, sleep keeping his bones heavy. It’s only in the mornings when you see him with his shoulders hunched, movements weighted down, any other time he’s perfectly alert.

You think, at first, that your best shot at trying to hurt him would be in those early mornings when he’s groggy and slow moving, but Ghost never lets you off the chain when he’s like that. It’s always after he’s stiffened up, shoulders rolling back and permanent-scowl firmly back in place.

He’ll unhook the chain from the wall first, rarely saying a word as he half-drags-half-leads you over to the bathroom, doesn’t let you close the door while you do your business and shower.

(There’s a way he looks at you in the morning, when he’s at his rawest. Something animal and hungry in a way you don’t see even when you serve him his meals, pupils blown and lingering on your curves, unabashedly staring at your ass when you glance over your shoulder at him.

It had been terrible, at first, to get naked in front of him. He’d just stare, and most days you could see his hardness tenting his pants. Hell, some days he came down the stairs with his cock making itself plenty known, not a speck of shame in him.

You’d once listened to him jack himself off while you were in the shower. You’d had to step over the puddle of cum on the tile when he’d tugged you out of the room, nearly slipped into it when he’d pulled you just a little more harshly than usual.)

The chain stays in the basement, always unlatched from your throat along with the collar before he shepherds you up the creaky stairs, never much more than a foot or two away from you.

Then, breakfast.

It had taken a while for you to really believe him after he’d said you were only there to cook. What kind of person kidnaps a woman just to keep her as a private chef? But days went by where he never once touched you any more than necessary to get the collar on and off, his only reaction to your body a seemingly unintentional erection and usually ignored when you were naked.

Days, weeks pass where all you do is cook. Three meals a day, snacks when he’s hungry (which seems to be always).

Ghost’s cabinets were bare the first week of your captivity. He had enough meat in his freezer to last him months, but little else. There was a loaf of bread on the counter, a few condiments in the fridge with crusted lids and misshaped bottles, and some cans of soup in the pantry. Nothing else. He’d drop a cut of meat on the counter and expect you to work with it and seemed plenty content when you served him the blandest roast chicken of your life.

It took you three days until you worked up the nerve to ask him to go grocery shopping. It was the first thing you said to him that wasn’t a plea for your freedom.

You’d been terrified that you’d end up face down ass up over his thighs again, your ass still bruised from his first punishment and his subsequent much quicker corrections. But he’d hardly reacted, had just given you a piece of paper and a short pencil with bite-marks on the eraser, told you to write what you thought you needed.

He locked you in the basement for hours (you tracked the sun through the sole window as best you could, left behind fear and anger for boredom around what you guessed was the three hour mark) when he left. Briefly, you’d regretted asking in the first place. If the bastard wanted to eat nothing but protein and die of a nutrient deficiency, who were you to stop him? It would serve him right.

But you have nightmares, sometimes, of being stuck in the basement. Your captor dead in his bed, fallen to the bathroom floor with his head cracked open, bleeding out in the forest one of the times he goes off hunting. And you, stuck here, chained to a wall. No key, no way out, no one to find you.

A part of you had breathed a sigh of relief when he came home, letting you up to the kitchen and supervising while you dug through the plastic bags and put everything where you wanted it.

He doesn’t… do much during the days, is the thing.

He goes hunting, sometimes. You find that that seems to be his most consistent outing. He’ll spend hours out there at a time, sometimes coming back with nothing and other times coming back with a twelve-point buck you watch him drain through the kitchen window. He also has to keep his weapons – his many, many weapons – in shape, and you find that it’s not rare to spend an afternoon watching him clean guns or sharpen knives.

You enjoy his hunting moods most. He’ll disappear for hours on end to even find his kill, then spend days skinning and preparing the meat, then doing whatever it is he does in his shed with the bits of the body he doesn’t bring you to cook. Those days spent in the forest or the shed for him guarantee you hours of time alone, which isn’t nearly so miserable when he doesn’t keep you in the basement.

Sometimes he goes out after dinner. You’ll hear the front door slam shut after he locks you up in the basement, his truck’s old engine loud enough to be obvious when he revs it. You’re never sure where he goes, who he might even go with since he never takes calls, but you also have little interest in asking.

But most nights he watches TV. Almost exclusively old VHS recordings of The Price is Right, Wheel of Fortune, Password, and shows so out-of-date you’re sure you could count the pixels on the screen. He’ll roll himself a blunt and relax into an old recliner with cracked leather, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

(You watched him rest a hand in his pants, once. He hadn’t even been focusing on the TV, eyes far away and breathing heavy as he stroked himself slowly beneath his jeans. You don’t even think he finished, he was just… relaxing. You’d decided to just be glad he wasn’t coming after you for that job.)

Sometimes he’ll watch the same Manchester United games every night for a week straight, grunt approvingly or shout at the TV at the same points no matter how many times you’ve seen him watch it. By the end of your first month in his captivity, you could guess who scored every goal in the team’s 2012 championship game. You have absolutely no idea why he doesn’t just turn on the newest games.

You learn quickly that Ghost mounted a hook to nearly every wall in the house, and that he’s not shy about chaining you in the same place for hours at a time and leaving you to your own non-existent devices while he lumbers off. You spend the most time in the kitchen, undoubtedly, but you find that the horrible plush carpet in his living room isn’t too uncomfortable to sit on either.

It doesn’t take many days for your fear to turn to boredom, is the thing. Absolute, complete, mind-numbing boredom. There’s simply nothing to do but watch Ghost, and for a kidnapper he’s turned out to be spectacularly uninteresting.

He’d laid out the rules in the first few days. You hurt him, he hurts you. Listen to his orders, don’t make him repeat himself. Don’t try to escape, you won’t find anyone to help anyway and he doesn’t want to chase you down. Don’t try to fuck with the food you make him, he expects good meals consistently.

It had been the third you’d struggled most with, though you could hardly blame yourself. You’d thought he was going to make you bleed when he caught you trying to throw yourself out of a recently-broken window.

He’d taken you over his lap a few more times for smaller infractions too. To make sure the lessons stick, he’d said. They did. Ghost hits hard, and even after just his first punishment you’d been plenty cowed. You don’t give him many reasons to punish you again.

The bright spots in your life are, as they have always seemed to be, food orientated.

There’s a part of you that hates how much time you think of ways to quite literally serve him, but you have nothing else to do. He may enjoy his shows, but after about two weeks you think you may go insane if you have to focus on much more Tom Kennedy in an other-wise silent house.

You spend long hours staring out his windows at the foggy forest surrounding the cabin, running through the recipes you’d wanted to try before you’d been taken, notes for your parents’ dishes that were never listened to, plans on what you could make for Ghost himself with what he would provide.

And he does. Provide, that is. He provides plenty.

The fifth day of your captivity, he drops a chicken carcass on the wood island. Whole, unplucked, the blood from its neck still drying.

“I can’t…” You start, hesitating at the doorway to the kitchen as he moves further in. “I’m not a butcher. I can’t cook it like that.”

Ghost looks over at you, mask covering his expression. You find that it’s a fifty-fifty chance he doesn’t pull it on in the morning, dependent on some factor you’re not allowed to know.

“I’ll cut it up,” he grunts, turning his back to you and tugging a drawer open, digging around noisily. “Don’t need you to do anythin’ but cook it.”

You shift from foot to foot as he turns back to the bird, empty trash bag at his side and carving knife in his hand.

For a man who you’ve always assumed to be inept in the kitchen, he handles the bird like a professional. He has it plucked in less than a minute, his mess minimal.

His butchering is less impressive, though no less effective. He’s a bit of a slob with his cuts, reckless with his knife in a way that has you craning your neck to see just how much breast is left on the bone.

Ghost is slow-moving, careful in a way you’ve never seen him when he pops the thigh from the leg joint. It must’ve been a well-fed bird during its life, there’s plenty of meat for his thumb to dig into as he carefully rotates and pulls, not too much strength but not too little. A balance he seems to struggle to find before the thigh finally pops away from the body easily, and he moves on.

It’s… intimate is the wrong word, but it’s not far off. His hands – damp from being washed, something you’d been glad to see him do without you needing to draw his attention back to you – are shiny with the bird’s juices covering them, his thick fingers brutalizing the delicate, pale meat. The job is done quickly and cleanly enough to leave you plenty of meat.

He doesn’t butcher it completely for you. He leaves the wing connected to the breast, the breast and the tenderloin one large piece of meat when he lays his carving knife on the counter. His most precise cuts are around the oysters, each of them dug out and set to the side quickly.

It’s not a quiet process, his knife cutting through bone and joint. But it feels particularly loud with the only other sound the soft humming of the fridge, the call of a bird outside the window.

You feel squirmy for reasons you can’t quite place when he’s finished, bird butchered and glistening under the dim kitchen light. The look he gives you, heavy and stifling, doesn’t help.

You make him get mason jars next time he goes to the store, mourning all the stock that goes to waste because you’ve got no way to store it. He praises the tenderloins you make for dinner that night, voice rough in a way that makes your cheeks heat.

Most of the food he buys for you to work with is store-bought, but the meat continues to be fresh. He enjoys the food most when he kills it himself – he moans when he bites into a piece of duck in a way that you feel no shame in calling pornographic – but you learn that he’ll settle for anything fresh.

There’s a calendar on the inside of the pantry.

It’s an old military one, each of the pictures a dramatic shot of a soldier, covered in filth more often than not and staring across some sort of beautiful landscape. It’s from 2014, each of the pages worn and ripped where fingers have pinched and flipped. Each of the days is already marked off with an X in the box, some of them even with little notes written in different colors from over the years.

G birthday in Lancaster

S appointment - needs ride

L retirement on base

You know when he flips it to read June that you’ve been with him a month. You’re not happy, far from it, but you don’t spend everyday shaking in fear.

You know what to expect from Ghost, he knows what he expects from you, and you’ve settled into an almost-peaceful cohabitation.

He takes to ordering you prettier clothes about halfway through your second week. Sweatpants get traded in for sundresses and uncomfortably tiny shorts, sweatshirts exchanged for cardigans and low-back tank-tops.

Some days, watching him feed the chickens through the window in your daisy-print sundress and flour-covered apron, you feel almost like a homesteader’s wife.

If not for the chains hanging from the walls, of course.

You’re wearing one of those dresses when Ghost comes to visit you in the kitchen, nearly six weeks after he’d taken you.

He’d been letting you wander the house off-leash more and more, in small doses. Whether confident in his ability to catch you or your inability to get far from the cabin, you’re not sure, but you’re thankful nonetheless. You’re still a little sore from your last escape attempt, ass smarting from his belt, and haven’t quite gotten into your head to try again yet.

You’re leaning over the counter, tasting a fresh brownie from the middle of the pan while he smokes with his Wheel of Fortune on, having sent you off with a pat on the ass and a I want somethin’ sweet, doll.

You’ve never been nearly as good at baking as you have cooking, and you’re not sure you’ve perfected your brownie recipe yet. But you’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth, and Ghost keeps his house cold. Biting into a still-steaming gooey brownie, the top just enough of a crust to give the bite texture, the chocolate melting into your tongue, is one of the best things you’ve done since you first woke up in that basement.

You don’t realize you’ve made a noise until there’s an echo behind you, Ghost’s groan so quiet it’s nearly drowned out by the TV in the other room.

You jerk back from the counter, hands braced on the rounded corner as you look over your shoulder, sure that there’s a pipe groaning in the wall.

Instead you see your kidnapper, already hardly a step away and boxing you into the counter, hulking body smothering you with ease.

Your spine goes ramrod straight, brownie abandoned in its pan as he presses himself into you, hard chest pushing against your softer back. You’re silent, stiff, too surprised and scared to do more than wait.

“‘S got you moanin’ in here?” Ghost rumbles, heavy against you. “Thought I said I wanted a treat.”

“I–” You gasp, arching when he presses his hips into you. His sweatpants don’t do anything to disguise his length and you can feel every inch of him against your back. “I–I made brownies.”

“Hm…” One hand comes to rest on your hip, his head lowering enough that you can see his profile in your peripheral. “Let’s have it then.”

You don’t move at first, fingertips tingling and lips pressed tightly together.

He huffs, smacks your ass once. He pushes the fabric of your dress up just enough to clip your skin, simple granny panties doing little to soften the blow. You gasp and jerk forward, soft stomach pressing into the counter.

“Give me one,” he says, hand rubbing where he’d just spanked, fingertips just dipping under the edge of your underwear. “C’mon, bird, I want a bite.”

Your fingers quiver as you lift the brownie in your hand to his lips, holding it just over his shoulder as he feels you up with both hands, roughly kneading the cheeks of your ass as you try to stay as still as possible.

Ghost gives you more of his weight and bites the brownie, the sharp edges of his teeth scraping your knuckles. You jump at the feeling, unwittingly grinding yourself against him.

“Fuck, pet,” he moans, face dropping to rest his forehead against your temple. You can do nothing but stare at the cabinet. “That’s fuckin’ delicious. I need another bite.”

You’re reaching towards the pan to cut him another piece when you realize he’s shifting to his knees behind you.

“Ghost,” you whine when he takes your hips in his hands, hefting you up so you’re fully resting on the island with your toes unable to even skim the tile. Your eyes are wide as you stare at the backsplash, unable to quite believe what’s happening.

“Hush,” he scolds, and you get a smack to the thigh for your trouble. “I want my sweet thing.”

Ghost eats your cunt the same way he eats your food: voraciously, messily, and shamelessly.

He gives you no warm up, no time to prepare for something he’s only hinted at wanting to do before. There’s one broad swipe of his tongue across your sex, then his lips wrapping around your clit and your eyes rolling back into your skull.

You’re not sure that he cares about your pleasure, but he’s certainly giving you plenty. He licks from cunt to clit again and again, tongue quick and stiff against where you’re sensitive and drawing breathy moans from you, nails scratching uslessly at the counter.

He focuses mostly on your hole, licking up your slick like it’s the best thing his tongue has ever touched and leaving you pushing back for more unconsciously, wanting more than just the tip of his tongue inside you.

“Greedy,” he huffs when you nearly slip off the counter. He slips two fingers into your leaking hole and you squeal at the stretch, noticeable even with his mouth working you over. “This is for me, not you, pet. Settle down and let me eat.”

You cry out when he laps at your clit, quick, broad licks over the bud and just enough pressure to make your mouth hang open. He gives you almost too much suction, your brain rattling around between your ears when he crooks his fingers and tugs.

He uses just one hand on your thigh and two fingers in your cunt to shove you up the counter, giving him more space to have you practically sitting on his face. He laps around his own fingers, fucking with you just enough to coax more slick for him to drink, your knees knocking against the cabinet.

Eventually, what feels like it must be hours later, you come. The combination of Ghost’s fingers pressing at just the right spot, the suction on your clit and the sound of his mouth against you making you feel insane and finally pushing you over the edge.

It’s heaven, to have him lick and suck you through your orgasm. Your limbs feel tingly, bright white starbusts flying behind your eyes as you go limp across the counter, head pressing against the backsplash.

It isn’t until he doesn’t pull out his fingers, doesn’t pull his tongue away, that you start to feel truly gone, a puppet dancing to his tune, a piece of fruit squeezing whatever juice he wants into his mouth for as long as he wants.

“Not done with you yet,” you hear him murmur, the rumble of his voice against your cunt making you moan from overstimulation. “Gonna drain you dry, pretty thing. Shouldn’t have made yourself so sweet if you didn’t want me taking it all.”

You want to growl that you can’t make yourself taste like anything, but he slips a third finger into your hold, curls his fingers and rubs his knuckles against your g-spot, and you’re coming too hard to even attempt a protest.

By the time he pulls your dress back down and pets your ass, taking a brownie from the pan without even bothering to use the knife to cut himself a piece, there’s nearly as much drool dripping from your mouth as there is your cunt.

From there, your life centers around two things: food and sex. Both of them exist only because of and with Ghost, him your constant companion as you unwillingly grow more and more comfortable in his house.

You cook him a stew made from cow leg he’d dropped on your counter that morning. Small russet potatoes float in the broth, popped into his mouth whole and swallowed almost as completely, pieces of carrots he chews to mush and celery he avoids, wine soaked meat leaving grease stains down his shirt.

Ghost puts you on your knees beneath the table, feeds you his cock while he feeds himself your food. You suck him as well as you can, trace your tongue over the thick vein up the side of his cock, ignore the throbbing in your jaw and try to push his foreskin back to suckle on his head. He wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, doesn’t let himself come until he’s finished with his meal. You can’t tell if his groaning is for your work on the stew or your work beneath the table.

Fuckin’ heaven, that mouth. Want me to send you off with a full belly, huh? Bet you like your meal as much as I like mine.

Half a dozen eggs, scrambled, served with enough bacon to make you feel sick from the smell alone and half-soaked in maple syrup.

You, needy and desperate, grinding your cunt across his thigh. You lean back as far as you can with your hands carefully resting on the table at your back, desperate to avoid his syrup-sticky fingers, and end up with a view of his cock lancing you. He scoops your slick up with his clean fingers, picks up another piece of bacon and rips it in half, offers you the bit he doesn’t take.

Please, please, Ghost, I need it so bad, it hurts and it’s supposed to, love, I said I wanted a show with my breakfast, didn’t I?

A rack of lamb, sliding off the bone, bites of it shared between Ghost and you as three of his fingers work slowly in and out of your ass, leisurely and for his viewing pleasure more than your own orgasm. Red juices smeared across your lips and face, dripping down his chin and staining his fingers. A thumb on your clit, meat shoved between your teeth as you come.

Gonna fuck you here too. Gonna make it hurt, listen to you cry a little when I eat. Oh, hush, you’ll be fine, don’t get yourself worked up. Not yet, at least. My cock’ll spread you out at least twice this much, save your tears for when you’ll need ‘em, pet.

Sticky fruit laid across your stomach, cantaloupe and watermelon and kiwi and banana. His fingers picking them off you piece by piece, savoring them as he fucks you hard. You laid flat to the table, legs spread why and throat sore from your cries, the stark difference between the way he relishes the food and the way he fucks you like an animal making you feel wanted in a way that threatens to drown you.

You need it bad, don’t you? Slut. Pretty, tasty, perfect little slut. Fuckin’ squeezin’ my dick off, goddamm, honey. Gonna fuck you full, gonna fill you up and feed you plenty.

Stir fry you make with hog maw, a recipe you’d never tried before given to you by a girl in cooking school who was set to inherit her parent’s restaurant. His face moving between your cunt and his meal, your whines about a UTI and cross-contamination go ignored, and he holds his bowl beneath your cunt while he strokes your g-spot with two calloused fingers.

Tightest fuckin’ cunt in the world. Pretty little thing and her pretty little meals, just made for me, huh? ‘S that right, pet? You’re made just for me and my mouth and my cock, hm? Gonna give me a nice little dressing for my food?

A night spent in his bed, after you make him angel-food cake from scratch. Waking up to a cock pressed against your ass, chain leash and collar heavy around your throat and locked around the headboard but the sheets soft under your skin, pillows thick and his own body warm in a way the basement never gets.

Ghost isn’t awake yet. He’s snoring like a freight train, completely unaware of the way you stare at him in the blue-dark of the early dawn hours.

The chain is heavy in your hand, cold against your soft palms. You feel almost like you’re in a trance, the world still hazy around its edges as you shift to kneel over him.

You don’t know how much strength it takes to strangle a person, but evidentially you don’t use enough.

You wrap the chain tight around either knuckle, press your hands hard into the mattress on either side of his head, and hold your own breath. His snores quiet, his breathing shudders. He coughs once, twice, you feel his hips and legs begin to shift beneath you and you really put your body weight behind your hold. He goes still.

Then, his eyes fly open.

There’s hardly time for you to think fuck before he’s flipping you onto your stomach, harsh hand shoving you into the mattress while another rips the chain from your hands and pulls.

You wail a breath as your head is pulled back, scalp nearly touching your spine as Ghost forces your back into a steep arch, ass pushed into the air.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he hisses. You can’t tell if the heat in his words is rage or hunger or some sick mix of both, have even less of an idea which one you should be hoping it is. “You tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me?”

You can barely breathe through the anticipation, the fear that’s been gone for so many days suddenly wrapped around you as tight as the collar, but you find enough breath to shout when he lands a horribly heavy hit across your ass.

“Ghost!” You shout when he only follows it with several more, eyes squeezed shut as he overwhelms you in pain and discomfort.

“What?” He snarls, fingers clipping your cunt and making your squeal. “What, now you don’t like pain? I watched you cream my cock without a single finger in your cunt last night, girl, but this?” Another spank, harder than you’ve ever taken and burning. “This too much for you?”

You huff, squirming as much as you can in your strained position.

“You wake me up with a goddamn chain around my neck and bitch when I beat your ass for it?” His voice is nearing a shout now, thick with what you’re sure is anger. “You’re gonna try and kill me in my own fuckin’ bed and pitch a fit when I make you sorry?”

You can’t find it in you to do anything but cry, chest tight and eyes squeezed tighter while he doles out punishment, bruising slaps landing anywhere from your cheeks to your cunt to your thighs to your hole, his hand spreading you wide for him.

“Spread,” he grunts eventually, a harsh hand shoving your knees wide. “Need to get to that hole.”

You don’t get to listen, he makes you do what he wants without giving you a chance to, and then lays a dozen terrible, painful smacks to your asshole.

You’re nearly screaming through them all, feet slamming into the bed as the pain rushes through you. He yanks the chain hard when you try to pull forward and bury your face in the pillow, forcing you to keep the tortuous pose he’s holding you to.

You feel the bed rocking with the force of his hits, spit and tears dripping down your face as you can do nothing but lay there and take it.

“Naughty, naughty fuckin’ thing,” he spits, two rough fingers pushing into your cunt with little care for your cry. “My own little chef tryin’ to strangle me, I can’t fuckin’ believe it. I bring you here to feed me, give you a load in your stomach anytime you need it, and you wrap your leash ‘round my throat?”

“I’m– I’m sorry!” You wail, inconsolable as he roughly rubs a palm over your clit, your cunt quickly getting slick. You’re still damp from the way he’d bent you over earlier, a mix of his and your cum wet between your thighs.

“Not good enough,” Ghost hisses. He quickly fucks his fingers back inside you, once twice, then pulls them out again.

You go taut as a board when those slick fingers move up, towards your far, far tighter hole.

“No,” you gasp, struggling even pinned as you are, a sense of panic shrouding your mind. “No, no, nonono, you can’t, oh God, please, Ghost, don’t–”

Ghost drops the chain in favor of grabbing you by the throat, tearing you back so violently that you’re staring at his sneer upside down.

“Shut the fuck up.” His spit is tacky when it lands on your cheek, mixing with your tears, and his smile looks evil as he glares down at you. “Gonna make sure you don’t even think of that shit again. Gotta make it hurt if you’re gonna learn a lesson.”

You sob as he lets you go, head finally falling limp to the bed as you turn your face to the side so you can still breathe. You watch as he reaches for a half-full bottle of lube on his bedside table, the label peeling and stained.

“Gonna cry for me some more?” He coos, laughing when you jump at the cold feel of the lube on your ass, thighs tense with nerves. “You know I like it when you make yourself look silly, pet. Go on, cry all you want. Still gonna fuck you.”

One finger pushes the lube into your ass, then two, then three. He gives you no time to adjust, only one thrust from each digit before he forces you to stretch further, lands slaps across your ass seemingly whenever he feels like it.

“Ghost, pl-ease,” you cry when you feel the hot head of him press against you, sure that it’ll be excruciating.

He threads a hand into your hair, pulls you up enough that he can bend to speak into your ear.

“You’ll call me Simon while I fuck your ass,” he says, voice low. “I wanna hear you scream it when I hurt you, pet.”

You listen to him against your will, the scream he wanted tearing from you and echoing the sheer pain of being fucked by someone as massive as Ghost with such little prep.

Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the pain racing through the rest of your body and leaving you limp and panting, only able to close your eyes and endure as he mercilessly pushes forward, uncaring of your pained hiccups and cries.

“Simon,” you whine when he bottoms out, warm balls settling against your neglected cunt. “Hurts…”

His laugh is mean, nasty in your ear. “Good, fuck, say it again, girl. Tell me how much it hurts.”

“So bad…” is all you manage, even just those words warbling off into nothing as he pulls out, fucking himself back in with a harsh thrust that nearly chokes you.

“Can’t believe you tried it,” he huffs, bracing himself over you as he sets a ruthless pace, no consideration for your comfort. You can see the chain in his right hand, feel the way it just barely tugs at your neck with how viciously you’re moving along the bed. “Been waitin’ for you to give me a chance to do this to you, to fuck you up.”

Your fists clench in the sheets as you do your best to breathe through the pain, the slide of the lube only making his thrusts marginally easier to endure.

“Been waitin’ to get my cock in this hole. Wanted to watch you cry and make you put your tears in the food, gape your little hole and make you ride me while I smoke, shit. Tightest ass I’ve ever felt, love, goddamn. ‘S that feel good?” A slap to the side of your face, rousing you. “You feel good with my cock drilling your little ass?”

“No,” you moan, miserable.

“Good,” he hisses, thrusts quickly becoming uncoordinated as he stares down at your ruined face, his eyes gleaming. “You’re so much sweeter when you’re hurtin’, girl. Wanna keep you like this all the time.”

You sob at the idea, already unable to imagine how excruciating it’ll be to sit tomorrow with your ass covered in welts.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Ghost pants, staring at you ravenously. “Cry a little more for me, attagirl…”

You feel his cum shoot deep inside you before his thrusts slow, the heat spreading as he fucked you through his orgasm, face twisted in pleasure. Your tears haven’t slowed, even as the pain lessened and lessened throughout your fucking.

“Fuck, fuck, that feels good,” he breathes, grinding himself against you as he empties the last of himself inside you.

You feel nearly catatonic as he pulls out, only able to whine when he slips free from your hole and then again when he rearranges you on the bed, limbs sore and neck stiff as he continues to hold you by the leash.

“Took it well,” he grunts, shifting to lay on his back again and tossing the lube to the table beside him. “You gonna pull that shit again?”

You sniffle shaking your head no, only verbally answering when he cocks an eyebrow. “No, Simon.”

He smirks. “I’d love if you did,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. “Would love if you gave me another chance to ruin you. Just go ahead, love. I’ll tear into you whenever you want.” He tilts his head, considering for a moment. “Whenever I want too. ‘Cause you’re mine to do whatever I want with, aren’t you?”

You nod, hands tucked beneath your chin as he tugs you closer by the hip, fingers pressing into rapidly developing bruises and making you whimper.

“Yeah, gonna fuck you ‘til you cry as often as I want. And you’ll gimme those tears every time, won’t you?”

All you can do is nod, a part of you calmed and feeling safer as you watch the predator’s teeth pull away from the prey’s neck when he nods.

The plate you balance is larger than your face and still nearly overflowing with food.

It’s filled to the edges with steak, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and rolls. You have a bottle of wine tucked under one arm, a corkscrew held between your lips and one glass in your hand as you saunter towards Simon.

“Smells good,” he grunts. You’ve learned that his compliments are concise but rare, and you greedily take in the praise from him. “Enough for us both?”

You snort. There’s enough food on your plate to feed five people, easily. But Ghost’s stomach is never-ending, and you’d made sure that there would be no way he’d go to bed hungry.

He spreads his thighs as you approach, pats one of them like you’re not already lowering yourself to him. He takes the glasses while you lay the plate, setting his silverware to the side as he opens the bottle and fills the glass nearly to the brim.

You hum as you take in a breath of the food, that familiar sense of pride from a meal well-made settling in your chest.

Ghost cuts the food while you lean back on his chest, watching his thick fingers work.

He lifts one of the little pieces of steak to your mouth once he’s cut it, swiping it through the potatoes and guiding you to look at him with a finger on your jaw.

He presses the tender, rare meat between your lips and you take it greedily, letting your eyes slip shut as you savor the taste. He kisses you almost immediately after, passes his tongue over the food before you can even swallow, but lets you keep it.

You giggle when he pulls back, swiping a thumb over the potato on your lip. He picks himself up another bite, pinches a bit of carrot with his steak and swallows without chewing, a moan slipping from his lips. You feel yourself dampening against his thigh, breath hitching.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” you say, voice quiet and held just between the two of you.

He snorts, ever unromantic. “Eat up, doll. Wanna have you for dessert after a meal this good.”

You smile softly at him, opening your mouth willingly when he lifts a bite of food to your lips.

#dark fic #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty smut #bo writes #cod fanfic #cod smut

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reidrum · 9 months ago

Text

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows.

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy.

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch, you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point.

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured.

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere.

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

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1nthedarknessofthenight · 1 month ago

Text

﴾ insane in the brain

pairing: ghostface!kim seungmin & ghostface!yang jeongin x f!reader

genre: one-shot, horror au, smut

word count: 17,1K

warnings: yandere!seungmin & yandere!jeongin ⋆ dom!seungmin & dom!jeongin & sub!reader⋆ mention of a violent act! ⋆ story is set in the 90s ⋆ obsessive behavior ⋆ stalking! ⋆ little!mxm action ⋆ threesome! ⋆ phone sex ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ mask!kink ⋆ voice!kink ⋆ biting! ⋆ hair!pulling ⋆ marking ⋆ overstimulation ⋆ squirting! ⋆ ass!slapping⋆ small!degrading ⋆ 69!position ⋆ f!masturbation ⋆ oral (f. and m. receiving) ⋆ cunnilingus ⋆ face sitting! ⋆ mating press!position ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ multiple creampies! (and yeah…that’s all i think…)

summary: a masked killer returns to the town, leaving you terrified, paranoia seems to follow you everywhere you go, along with two of your classmates, who seem to grow very fond of you…

main masterlist

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His chest heaved, nose flaring as he pushed away the strands of hair from his eyes. His gaze was glaring, piercing, eyes formed into slits, watching the pair, just a few feet away from him. The look of disgust was unmistakable on his face and his glasses, along with his longer, blond hair thankfully shield him from the view of anyone passing by. He blended into the background, like always — unseen. He didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing his screaming thoughts. He was almost sneering, teeth gritting against each other, when he saw the guy pushing your hair behind your ear and he had to dig his nails into the wall by the act — disgusting.

You didn’t feel the immense stare, attention fully on the guy infront of you as you listened to his every word. Your lips stretched into a smile, leaning on your still closed locker, fingers playing with the strap of your bag. You didn’t know much about the guy infront of you, not that much like the person peaking from behind the corner...You were so unaware of your surroundings sometimes. You just came from your last class today, boring and to be honest quite unnecessary, but it gave you some time to perfect the text on the papers that were peaking out of your bag.

You said a small goodbye to your friends after your last class, already putting on your headphones on your ears, not wanting to hear any conversation around you as you pushed the button on your Walkman. Today was overstimulating, like any other, since you transferred to this school, but those fliers in your hands really helped you keep your mind off things. You made your way straight to the bulletin board, putting up on of the papers in your hands and in your state of unconsciousness, you were quite surprised by someone tapping you on the shoulder. Jake — one of the football players, quite sweet, giving the big smile on his face.

He was charming in a way and you found yourself not caring too much, when his tone of voice became deeper, huskier, not really looking like the party you were putting the fliers up for was the thing, why he started the conversation. However when you walked a few steps back to your locker, you were stopped by him, not being able to maybe cut the conversation short as he blocked it with his own body. It was no use to fight him. Your eyes drifted back from him to your locker and then back the nearly empty hallway, as the man before you finally stepped back a little. “See you at the party.” You said, smiling up at him, nodding.

There was no way that anyone could have missed the obvious glimmer in his eyes, when he gave you a one last smile, before leaving your side. A puff of air left you at that, turning to your locker to finally get your things. It wasn’t that long ago since you transferred in to this small town, already making couple of good friends. The party, which you were putting up fliers up for wasn’t your idea at all. You were just manipulated by your dear friend and her boyfriend to help them set this thing up, but in some way it could really help you settle down in a way…

You slammed your locker’s door shut, turning swiftly, but you only bumped into something — someone. “Oh, my god–“ You were startled for the second time, your books becoming slippery in your full hands, before they all fell to the ground with a loud slap! Your eyes immediately darted to the person you had bumped into, but you were surprised by them instantly kneeling down to pick your books up. “I’m sorry.” You said, sheepishly, kneeling down before them to pick up your things.

“It’s okay.” You looked up at the quiet sound of their voice. You recognized him — Jeongin, a quiet guy in your class. Black, rimmed glasses frame his eyes, sharp, just like his high cheekbones. You have never seen him outside of the classroom and definitely haven’t heard him talk before either. You lips parted a little, eyes going over his shaggy, blond hair, not even realizing him gathering your last book, only his own stare shaked you from your trance.

Something about his stare made shivers run down your spine, it was so…different from his whole body language and behavior. “Thank you–“ You trailed off, tearing your eyes away from his to the books in his hold. You grabbed them, missing how his long fingers reached after yours, like he wanted to graze his naked skin over yours. Your cheeks flushed still, embarrassed a little by your clumsiness and also because you could still hear the soft sound of music coming from your headphones. Your hand fumbled with the cable, shutting the suddenly embarrassing song off, before standing up. He didn’t follow your move immediately, like he was struck, glaring up at you for a few seconds, before slowly pulling himself up. “Jeongin, right?” You didn’t even know where the sudden need to talk came from and it was clear by your furrowed eyebrows.

He nodded after a few seconds, shakily pushing his glasses up his nose. “Yes…” He said, looking at you with big eyes.

You really didn’t know what came over you — just few minutes before that you were screaming to be taken from the conversation with Jake. It was probably, because you thought you would maybe safe this awkward situation, but you only seemed to make it worse. Your eyes went to the paper on top of your books, turning it for him to see. “You going to the party?” You asked, trying to diffuse the unbearable tension.

He didn’t even look at the flyer, eyes fully on your face and it made you tremble. His stare was tense, not even blinking, so he wouldn’t miss your micro expressions. “Not really my style.” Jeongin stated, eyebrows twitching and taking unnecessary amount of time to voice out the full sentence. You were almost scared by what he was going to say, with the deep breaths he took between each word.

Your lips parted, before pressing them into a tight smile. Even if you knew from your short glances that he was quite shy, you were really the one fidgeting in your spot at that moment. “Oh, okay then…see ya-“ You said, heart beating suddenly so fast at the sudden drop in his expression that you thankfully didn’t see much off as you darted away from him.

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You really do have to take a deep breath at the memory. The more you thought of it, the more you realize what a weird vibe he had. So tense, eyes so piercing and the way they didn’t shift away from you — it was like he was tearing you apart, calculating your every move and twitch. Other than these few specks of memory, you didn’t think much about it. You only thought of it, because you thought of Jake — the guy that was supposed to be here, at this time and place, right here with you. How could you possibly be so naive to think that he would actually appear, because of you? With your eyes trailing over the room, it is obvious that you truly aren’t standing out, but maybe it is a good thing. Though…that is just yourself telling you that.

The cheap, plastic cup in your hand was already empty, your mind fuzzy enough to let you know that it was enough of the liquid gasoline. You saw multiple people pouring many different types of liqueur in the punch and you hope that you won’t be lying on the floor by the end of the night. Your good friend handed you the drink with a sweet smile, only grimacing with you at the awfully strong taste of alcohol. It wasn’t even sweet anymore, just pure bitterness and only one cup of it was enough — that can’t be said the same for your friend.

Your eyes go to the small dancefloor, small, drunken laugh falling from your lips at your friend, who spins wildly. Her boyfriend didn’t look much different from her, eyes already teary and heavy, looking back and forth between her and his friend, dressed as their team’s mascot. You can’t imagine the heat in that thing, you yourself sweating just in your miniskirt and tank top. The whole room was foggy and hot from the few people smoking in the back of the room and the heavy bodies grinding against each other. The party for sure turned out pretty well in a sense of attendance.

You scrunch up the cup in your hand, so out of your body that you even lick of the small bits of alcohol left around the rim. You were so thirsty, sweaty and gross that you somehow didn’t even care anymore. You surely weren’t looking the worst, you think, while looking across the room again. You weren’t even bored that much, enjoying your time analyzing the room that swirled wildly around you. Your gaze finds your friend again, her body now hanging lazily on her boyfriend who rubs her back softly, while laughing with the guy in the costume. Though by being so drunk and the room being so dark, you didn’t firstly register the dark clothed figure in the corner of the room.

The white, outline of what you think was its face stands out in the dark corner. The figure was clad in a black cloth, hood on its head and it even more emphasized its ghoulishly, big eyes and gaping mouth. Its face looks so out of place you can’t do anything, but stare into its eye sockets. Your whole body stills as you see it tilt its head. You know that it was definitely a person under the mask, but the simple gesture made you tremble. You feel uneasiness creep up onto you, the feeling of its glare making your skin crawl. The way it — the person just stood there, with around people who were laughing, dancing and simply happy, made the whole mood in the room change into something sour and bitter.

Your mind is probably playing tricks on you, maybe you are even imagining the whole thing. However even if you can’t see the person’s face, you just know they are staring right back at you. You have to wonder for how long. Maybe it was spying on you since the moment you stepped inside the house. Your eyes trail painfully over the figure, swallowing the lump in your throat. No one other than you seem to notice the figure. Maybe it is someone they all now, no need to introduce you.

You are suddenly startled, when a pair of hands touch your arm, jumping immediately in your spot. Your heart beats faster as you turn your head to the direction of the owner’s hands, only meeting the messy state that your friend was. The relief that washes over you is big, your hair thankfully blocking the masked figure, letting you take a full look at your friend. “I wanna go home–“ She pouts at you, whining, while digging her long nails into your arm.

You think you have never actually been happier to hear those words. “Okay, let me just use the restroom and I’ll be right back–“ To be honest you don’t want to go anywhere alone right now, but you are in desperate need of washing away the fright and sweat off your face.

Your friend is already nodding, turning back to her boyfriend like a lost puppy and you didn’t even have a chance to possibly ask her to come with you. She can’t even walk, it being really nearly impossible in her state and high heels. You slowly turn your head to the direction of the figure, their stare so hard you don’t even have to wonder if they went somewhere. Only now it seems somewhat closer to you, even if it’s still standing in its original spot. You shake off the weird feeling, head hanging low, while you walk past the people to the staircase to the second floor. Not even an inhale of breath leaves you, eyes staring at the wall, not wanting to look at its face any longer, fearing that it might imprint in your mind.

The whole world swirls around you, grabbing the railing of the staircase in a tight grip. You are thankful that the lights were dimmed, because only the blue hue makes your incoming headache worsen. Making your way up the stairs you slither around the couple that literally blocked the whole middle part of the staircase, ignoring the nasty smacks of their lips and sighs. You meet a lot of pairs like that on the second floor — grinding against each other in the hallway, sneaking in one of the rooms and you really don’t look forward to maybe accidentally catching someone in the act, while searching for a bathroom. The house seems obscurely big, the hallway going into a big circle. Then you suddenly hear the sound of toilet flushing, before a guy stumbles around the corner. You don’t waste your time, picking up your pace and zooming around the corner only to bump into someone.

In your drunken state, your whole body is jelly, legs wobbly and you are thankful that the person you had bumped into puts their hand on your lower back to stabilize you. You huff, blowing your hair out of your face, looking up at your so called savior and you instantly wished you didn’t. Staring at you so blankly and almost deadly is the same ghostly, white mask you saw just moments ago. You don’t want to think much about it for your sake, because you already can feel yourself shaking at the thought that it followed you up here. However that wouldn’t be possible, it was a dead end, no other way up here than the one you came from. It must be someone else — maybe it was a popular costume, that you didn’t know of yet.

The hold the person had on you was soft, though you can feel their covered fingertips digging into your naked back. The two black holes instead of its eyes made you want to curl up into a ball the more you looked at them, making you wiggled yourself out of its hold. The music in the background was too quiet to your liking, not to mention that there was one other you and this person in the hallway. You mumble a small apology, too quiet to even reach your own ears, before literally running to lock yourself in the nearby bathroom, but not with its eyes staring you down the whole time.

You breathe heavily, fumbling with the lock, before pressing your back to the sink. You are scared. You are terrified to even walk out of the bathroom, reminiscing the ghost haunting the hallway. However you spend a lot of time in this small, safely locked bathroom to know that your friend might not wait for you that much longer. It makes you slowly opened the door, hinges creaking and a sigh of relief leaves you, when you look into the hallway. No one was there. Maybe it truly was a ghost and you imagined all of it.

You were thankful that night for your friend not leaving without you, clinging onto her just as tightly as she was, while you made your way home. Though even if you left that house and also the last bits of the alcohol in your system, you couldn’t quite forget it. The way the simply mask sparked something in you, making you shiver in wonder and fright, thinking about what might have been going on inside their heads when they looked at you.

────

The evil and bad feeling left behind by the whole occurrence left a spot however. Just few days after the party, while you were hanging out with your now completely sober friend in the living room changed your whole mood together. Your eyes snapped to the television, stopping the scribbling of your pen as your heart only beated faster by the sudden news coming from the reporters mouth. “A sense of dread has once again found the small town Sunny Dale after a body was found inside a local home last night. The victim body was discovered with multiple stab wounds. The only evidence left behind was the victim’s phone, found beside the body. Authorities are concerned this could be linked to a string of unsolved murders from months ago, leading many to fear the return of the same killer. As the investigation unfolds, police are urging anyone with information to come forward–” Your stomach turned at the news, looking at your equally horrified friend.

A lump formed into your throat, heart jumping in your chest at the newsy “Again?” You wonder out loud, shaking your head in disbelief of what you were hearing.

“Yeah, there’s been some couple of these things showing up in the news for the past year. Everyone just thought that they maybe stopped…” Your friend’s voice was little, also looking at the television, with fearful eyes.

Moving here, you would have never thought that you would be terrified to go out of the house. Your aunt never said a word about these events, maybe to not scare you and if she didn’t tell you about it, it must have been very bad. You understand that she herself is scared to talk about such things happening here in her hometown. Maybe she thought that telling you would only bring a bad omen.

The news spread quickly and into every corner and place. You couldn’t escape it and your own deadly curiosity led you to look through few months old newspapers. The things you read made your stomach turn. Even after reading through them shortly, throwing them away from your reach right after, the whispers and gossip wouldn’t let you live. You were normally paranoid — an overthinker. Of course you were scared, just as anyone, because with you can never now if you will be next. Your aunt wasn’t much better than you, being older and all, alone here in this house till you moved here, didn’t make her feel that much safer. She needed a deep breath of fresh air, but still when she came to you with the news of spending the weekend with her long life friend — you weren’t really happy.

You tried to beg your friend to stay with you, almost embarrassed by how much paranoid and scared you were to be left alone the whole weekend. She’s couldn’t make it — she herself was going away for a small family holiday. Everyone was leaving you and your overthinking only became worst. A tragic thing happened just few houses away from yours, horror filled your every sense and since then you can’t remember the last time you slept soundly. Only more horror could keep you up at night, so you decided to go to the local Blockbuster store. Maybe it wasn’t a very good idea — looking at such movies, when the very same things were happening around you, but you are just so scared of falling asleep alone, like a child scared of the boogeyman under their bed. The only time of the day, when you can rest your eyes will have the be the moment sun rises.

You push the heavy doors to the store open, bell ringing over your head as you make your way inside. Your eyes scan through the aisles, not meeting many people in your way, tugging at the bottom of your short sleeve shirt, lip pouting at the big selection the store had for you. You really haven’t rented a movie before, just going over your friend’s house, who probably had just as a big of a collection in their house, but tou your luck she wasn’t home to lend you something. The new excitement in you is bright, a little lost of words at few of the names you come across off. You can’t really help yourself by going over to the romcom section first and strangely it was right next to the genre of movies you were here for — how funny.

Though your heart aches for a sweet romantic movie that would leave you with butterflies in your stomach, it still wouldn’t be enough for you to not fall asleep. You have to wonder if you aren’t just torturing yourself at this point, but you can’t ignore the fact that maybe someone might get inside your house, when you would happen to fall asleep. You visibly shiver at the thought, looking away from the section of old horror movies. Though you liked the vintage filmography, you think that not even a single one could make you shiver in fear.

Your fingers trail over the row of paranormal horror movies, watching them slowly turn into more slasher. You stop at a particular one, known and already seen by you, but you can’t lie that you weren’t terrified the first time you had watched it. Pulling out the cassette, you stare down at the bold name, completely unaware of your surroundings and the shadow looming over your hunched up figure.

“Looking for something?”

You jump back at the sudden voice, stumbling just a little and bumping into the movies before you. Turning to the owner of the voice, you sigh a little at the familiar face. “Oh, hi Seungmin.” The dark, longer hair on him can’t mask away the obvious glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Your surprise doesn’t flatter, when your gaze falls down to the tag on his blue shirt. “Not really-“ You trail off, shaking your head at your own thoughts.

The whole situation that happened felt you overthinking nonstop — however you don’t really recall hearing anything about him working here. Almost everyone goes here and everyone likes to talk, though you don’t know what they would even talk about, when it comes to Seungmin. He was quiet, always in the corner with the bothered look on his face, never talking to anyone if not needed, other than…the dirty, bleached blonde you come across off just few days ago. Maybe these are just accidents, maybe it’s the universe pushing you to them to finally make more friends — you are definitely overthinking.

Being so lost in your thoughts, you are startled again by Seungmin reaching over your shoulder to tap at the paper, cover on the cassette. “Evil dead, huh?” You can hear the smile in his words, smelling his minty breath from the gum he is chewing. “You like scary movies?”

You frown a little and mainly by his try of making a conversation — you ignore it. “A little.“ You shrug, looking at the cover one last time before deciding to put it back. “Just trying to find something to keep me up at night.” You answer, turning around to look at the other side of the aisles only to be blocked by his taller frame.

You breathe in his cologne, his stare making you fidget as your back falls lightly back on the aisles to make some space between your bodies, but he didn’t even move an inch by the sudden proximity. “Why?” His voice is softer than you expected, eyes widely looking up at him as he tilts his head down at you. “You like being scared?”

Your lips parted at that question, lost for words for some reason. “No, it’s just–“ Your own eyes save you from answering, when you see a flash of red on the small television in the corner of the store. Even here, in a fairly empty Blockbuster store the news can’t seem to leave you alone. You can fear the obvious stare on your sudden change of expression and it makes you feel embarrassed by the very clear face of fear on your features. Glancing back at him quickly, you want to laugh at your whole situation. “I just don’t want to fall asleep that’s all.” You say, stepping away from him to finally rest your eyes on the new selection.

“That’s understandable.” Seungmin nods, eyes turning away from the television back to you, watching your own eyes skim through the movies.

You then thankfully see the next person walking up at you from the other side, giving your pour heart a rest. “Heard that the guy was stabbed 37 times.” Says the person and you do a double take at the familiar voice, your small assumption being only being proven correct, when you see the shaggy, blonde next to you. The horrible words don’t particularly move you, because you are somehow very intrigued by Jeongin’s own work uniform. Have you really not noticed them until now?

You hear Seungmin click his tongue at his friend’s words. “Oh, really, Jeongin?” You don’t see the looks being shared behind you, because when you stop trailing your hand over the multiple choices for your cinema night, you just notice how much the two of them are close to your body. A small silence rings in the air, your eyes falling on Seungmin’s hand right next your head. You can feel his breath on your cheek, when he boldly stretches his arm to touch a one specific film in the shelf. It wouldn’t be considered bold if he wasn’t so close to you, not when his fingers brush your thigh. Your eyes watch his hand and the same fingers, playing with the paper case a little too specifically. You nearly gasp at how he trailed his fingers across the movie’s cover, this whole thing happening just right before your pubic bone. Instinctively you move back a little to give him room, but you only feel your arm graze Jeongin’s chest. “If you don’t want to fall asleep…” Straightening his back, your gaze meets Seungmin’s with bashfulness. “Watch Nightmare on Elm Street–“ He says, waiving the movie at you.

“It’s not that scary for me.” Your throat is dry, voice scratchy and you really want to dive into the pile of horror right now. Trying to ignore the even more unbearable stare from the other, you try to distract yourself by looking through the selection, picking up the very familiar one.

You hear the scoff on your right side right when you grab it, feeling their intense stares momentarily flicker to the movie in your hand. “Really?” Seungmin exclaims, definitely judging your choice and taste.

Shrugging your shoulders, you tap your fingers on the paper, going over the outline of the small, red words — You’ll wish it was only make-belief. “Yeah — I mean dolls are sometimes scary.” You say, truthfully and you hear the blonde next to shuffle a little.

“It’s funny.” You look up at him, confused by such word and you now truly realize how close he is to you. You want to back away, but you are cornered — no one can safe you from their claws.

“What?”

Tilting his head, you can see his sharp eyes shimmer under the light, that reflects lightly in his glasses. “The movie?” He said it so obviously, like your question was so stupid to be even spoken.

Your eyebrow’s furrowed, looking up at him. “Well, if you find slashers funny…” You trail off, not really sure what to say back.

The look you received is so sharp that it makes you shiver, feeling Seungmin staring the same way at the back of your head. The air around you three is suffocating, but you seem the be the one most effective by it. The way they stand so close to you, surrounding your body not just with their own by also with their whole beings is nerve racking — and somehow not in a bad way. They both seem to be really comfortable in getting into your personal bubble, their hands already tearing it away from your own hands. This whole interaction is unusual for you and it is only weirder, because you know about their dislike towards people at your school. So, why are they so interested in picking up a small and quite pointless conversation — why are their so interested in you?

You are lost in thought, though still highly aware of the two bodies on either side of you. You found it hard to breathe, throat closing, so aware of everything around you — their breathing, the smell of their cologne, the rustle of their clothes when they tried to move even closer to you and even the soft sounds of footsteps coming behind you. “Y/N!” You are pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of your name and somehow that made the pair move too, twisting their bodies to see, who saved you from their hold.

“Jake!” You gasp out. You didn’t plan to sound so excited by his appearance, but it felt like you could finally breathe calmly.

You can see his attention shift a little, looking over your shoulders at the pair and you can basically see the small uncomfortableness in him from their behavior. Taking a one step closer to the brunette in reflex, your feet stumble over one another. It felt wrong to do that. “Hi!” Jake greets you, already feeling the awkwardness of this situation. Normal people would’ve left right? Or maybe just give you two some privacy, but Jeongin and Seungmin don’t move an another inch, silently staring at the both of you.

“Hi…” Your lips lift up into a small, that falls quicker than anticipated, your nails slightly digging into the paper case in your hand. There’s small beat of silence between you two, hoping that he might talk first as he was the one that approached you, but he seemed very interested in the two men behind you. Coughing little into your hand, seems to get his attention back, but he still looked a little…uninterested. “You weren’t at the party?” You ask, nearly cringing at the reality of being stared down, when talking to him.

Jake is little taken back, blinking at you. “Hm, yeah — no, I was.” He says and you frown at his words.

“Oh! Okay…”

“Yeah…” He scratches his neck, jumping in his spot a little, before a sudden, wide smile breaks off on his face. You watch his hand, way before he puts it on your shoulder, tugging you into him rather than coming to get you, like he was intimidated to approach you . You do let him put his arm around your shoulder, taking you to walk a few steps forward, away from your past companion. His touch feels a little heavy, but the small brush of your arm, when you pass Seungmin, makes you look at him, catching his eye, before you are being turned back to the guy next to you, who you realize was talking your ear off the whole time. “Y/N…I was wondering, if you want to come over to my place tomorrow.”

You froze in your spot, just few steps in your small walk. “I don’t know…” You heard the hidden meaning in his words, but you are not so sure if you want to go to an unknown guy’s house at the moment.

“It will be fun.” He says, almost whining, looking like a small child not being given his favorite toy. His arm falls off your shoulders thankfully at that, only to tap at the movie in your hands. “We can watch–“ He tilts his head sideways to read the title and his lack of movie knowledge makes you stunned. “Child’s play.”

Shaking your hand, you pull the movie from his fingers to your chest. ”No, Jake. I kind of already have something.” You say, wanting to end this conversation short, because you can feel the heat of two pairs of eyes on your head.

The look on your face definitely is clear enough for him to realize that you are not changing your mind — or was it the judging eyes of the two friends behind you? “Alright then…see you around.” He says, smiling lightly, making his eyes wrinkle and you want to almost stop him from going away from you for a split second.

However you only watch his disappearing figure, trailing your eyes over his body and you know that under different circumstances you might have maybe come to his house, but right know you do not want to leave your house and go somewhere you haven’t been before — you don’t even feel completely safe in your own home to begin with. You sigh at yourself, gaze still staring blankly before you, till you practically feel the seeping pressure of eyes on you again. You don’t even turn around, not even trying to walk away to maybe just disappear and find a different store to satisfy you, because it felt like you wouldn’t be able to get away from them anyway.

“Your boyfriend?” You recognized Jeongin’s voice and you are a little taken back by the rough edge it had to it.

You turn to the side just a little, looking at him, before glancing at Seungmin behind him. “What?” You are not sure if it was meant for his question again or for the sight of the dark haired, brunette leaning casually on his body. You are met with silence at that, realizing how your eyes were going between the two of them, till they meet Jeongin’s again. So dark — he doesn’t even blink, while looking at you, also noticing his lips that formed into thin line. “We are just talking–“

“Yeah, like back at the lockers?”

Frowning at the harsh tone, the glare send your way is blocked by his friend, who steps before him. Standing before you with his back straight, you only know can feel the true effect he has — confident, yet unbothered, but definitely thriving in your face, when he gently puts his hand on the movie in your hands. It is still laying on your chest and your lips fall apart as he wraps his hand around it, fingers grazing the skin of your chest. You let him grab it, watching him put it behind his back, before he pulls out a different case that instantly hands to you. “Pick this one.” Seungmin says, grinning a little as you look a the second part of the Chucky series. “It’s more gory.”

You don’t want to look ungrateful, so you grab it, smiling a little at him, though you are not sure really what to say to that. “Thanks, I like the first one the best though…” You awkwardly mention him to give it to you, thinking that maybe he would just hand it to you, but you basically have to lean over him to grab it from behind his back. You know that he does it on purpose, playing with you, but it still feels so new from him to do that. You think you have never heard him talk this much before, not to mention his friend behind him. When you go grab your desired movie from his hands, you learned that they are empty, awkwardly wrapping your hand around his. Sucking in a breath at the quite intimate touch, you feel Jeongin poking you with the case you were searching for, showing you that he was the one holding it the whole time. A short, dry laugh leaves you at your and theirs doings, not missing how the blonde basically shoves the case in your hands, separating you from his friend. “Thanks…I think this will keep me busy this weekend.“ You say pulling the two first Chucky movies to your chest, taking a step back from them.

They both look you over, completely without any shame dragging their eyes over your body and it makes you tug a little at the edge of shirt that has ridden up. You watch Seungmin tilt his head slowly, turning back to his friend who hands him a new cassette from behind his back. You actually wanted nothing more than to escape this unbearable tension, but you become curious about the movie being handed to you. “We have this new movie.” He hands it to you, making you glance at the cover. “Check this out-“

“Just got released-“ Says Jeongin, taking a few steps closer to you, joining his friend’s side, while they take in your reaction.

With your eyebrows furrowed you look at the name — Fear: Together forever. Or else. Flipping it over you read quickly through the summary, before looking back at the front, eyes scanning the face of the man on the cover and you nod in realization. “Oh, yeah. I heard about it.” Glancing at the two of them, you try to keep your cool at their unblinking stares. “Some kind of psycho boyfriend–“ You say your own version of the movie’s plot, playing with the cassette in your hand to distract yourself a little.

“Oh – so the spoilers got to you-“ Jeongin doesn’t seem particularly sad about that, but you can see the small pout on his face.

Shrugging, you look down at the movie. “Well, it’s kind of obvious you know…” You put the movie together with the other two in your hands, not really against of seeing something new and you also don’t, for some reason, want to let them and their small help down. You didn’t plan to finish your sentence, as it was to you kind of obvious, but when you look up at their faces, they only stare at you more longingly, waiting. “I mean — look at him.” You flip the cassette to let them take a look at the man on the cover. “You can see the crazy in his eyes.” You say, before nodding at them. “I’ll take it.”

You want to almost ask them what’s up with them, see if they maybe had a problem with you by their nonstop glares — but you are not sure if you are reading the emotion on their faces right. They don’t say anything, only turning around to lead you back to the counter. Seungmin takes the lead, making you walk up next to him, while Jeongin keeps himself behind you. They don’t seem to be quite fond of being away from you for some unknown reason and you don’t want to say that relief washed over you, when you hand the dark brunette the three movies you picked.

As he scanned them, each peep reminded you that you will be free of their presence, till you will have to return them. “How much?” You ask, realizing you didn’t even look at the rent money even once, digging through your bag, hand grabbing the scrunched up money.

“It’s on the house.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline, looking up at Seungmin, who stands behind the counter. “Oh! Oh, no that’s okay, it’s just like ten dollars-“ You say, waving awkwardly at him to know you are completely fine paying for yourself, but the man before you only shoves the movies to you. Staring at him for a second, blinking, your heart skips a beat at the sudden change of emotion on his face. It makes you nervously mumble a small thank you, somehow knowing that there was no use to argue with him.

Hands falling on to the pile of movies, your fingers graze his, staring with wide eyes as he swipes his ring finger over the back of your hand. His touch feels hot, leaving a tingling sensation in your lower tummy and you sigh out shakily at such bold move. You basically rush to pull the cassettes to you, but you can’t take your eyes off his, even when you back up. However you are unaware of your surroundings once again, because you only bump into the blonde who’s been standing behind you the whole time. Your back meets his chest for second too long, shock striking you at how quietly he was able to be unspotted by you. Mumbling a small apology, which you don’t even hear yourself, you turn on your heels, legs quick to run of the store, so you can escape their eyes and their hold. And you finally took a deep breath you so needed, ignoring the obvious and familiar feeling in your chest and lower tummy.

────

Sweat drips down your temple, short puff of air leaving as you close your eyes at the feeling of the night’s cold breeze fanning over your face. You take in the smell of wet grass, mixed with the humid air. You can feel your tank top sticking to your flushed, hot skin, your shorts gathered between your thighs as you lean out of your bedroom window. The night was quiet, no sound other the few rustles of trees and crickets — it reminded you of how alone you now were. The shower which you took just minutes was cold, but it did nothing against the awfully hot, spring night, though the few whiffs of colder breeze reaching you felt blissful.

You expected for it to be worst, but somehow the worst thing of being alone right now was that you couldn’t distract yourself from the awful heat. Your room’s window was unopened for the whole day and it was basically unable to breathe in it, so you decided to rather sleep downstairs in the living room. You take a one last breath, before pushing your window shut, taking your light, fluffy blanket with you before walking out of your bedroom.

The sound of voices coming from downstairs made it a little easier for you to ignore your thoughts that you tried so hard to keep locked. With a breathless sigh you walk up to the couch, plopping yourself on it and whining almost as the cushions sticks to your skin. You were somewhere else right now, lost in thought, gazing up at the ceiling, imagining a night sky over you — imagining being somewhere else. The commercial playing on the television ends, hearing the happy background music cutting short.

Your head tilts forward, eyes falling on the movie recommended to you on the top of the pile on the coffee table. The eyes of the actor stare at you from behind the woman’s blonde hair and you can’t help, but get lost in them. Your mind goes back to the pair helping you, looking quite excited — well, you only had a feeling, because they didn’t truly show any emotions on their face. Your own curiosity makes you pick up the case, pulling out the cassette. You for a second just flip it in your hand, expecting it, before you shuffle down the sofa, not even bothering to get and walk to the television.

The voice of the reporter is quiet, getting louder as you crawl up to it and the change of volume makes your ears pick up the words leaving her mouth. “Authorities are still investigating the recent resurgence of a killer, who terrorized the small town Sunny Dale a few months ago. While there has been no trace of evidence leading to the identity of the person responsible, the latest update to this cases is deeply disturbing.” You freeze in your spot, eyes unblinkingly looking at the humming television before you. “Authorities now confirmed that investigators have found a new, unused Ghostface mask near a victim’s house. The mask, which is widely available in stores selling horror-themed merchandise, was likely placed there intentionally by the perpetrators. Police are urging the public to stay vigilant — if you see anyone acting suspicious and wearing this mask contact—“ A choked sound leaves you, watching the screen cut to a picture of said mask — the one which you have seen, the one you saw a week ago.

You shakily turn off the television, not wanting to hear another word. The quiet that follows after is deadly — pinching you, making goosebumps appear all over your body. You have seen it — you were so close to it…you touched it. Nausea rises in your gut, looking back at the house phone next to the couch, contemplating. Should you call the police or not? Maybe it was really just a coincidence that you happen to see someone wearing that mask. Maybe the police are already getting calls from others — were they really that desperate that they needed help to catch this person? You know that even if you called, it wouldn’t be any use. Literally everyone was there at the party and not just people from your school — it can be anyone.

Then your doorbell rings, a small yelp leaving from you, making your hand fly to your mouth to silence it. You need to calm down…the thought of the killer being at the party was really unlikely, because they were people present — nothing happened at the party, nothing. It was just…someone. In your state of shock which you slowly, but surely get out of, makes you jump back to present, eyes turning to the main door. You completely forgot that you ordered a dinner.

However you are still cautious, standing up and making your way to the front. The cold floor helps you wake up a little, feet paddling across the hallway, before leaning on to the door to look through the peephole. No one…even if that made you feel better, you are highly aware of how weird it is that the delivery man you anticipated isn’t there. You glance down at the keys in the door, still locked and safe from the outside world. It’s such a stupid thing to do and you really think about it, but soon enough you are unlocking the door and pushing it open just a little to see what’s waiting for you on the other side.

No one is standing there, nothing, but the pitch black night, till your eyes drift slowly to the doorstep where surely your food was. Confused, you slowly become more curious than afraid, opening the door a little more to kneel down and inspecting the box of pizza. It is almost funny how such thing could make you fear for your life. Because of the small light coming from the inside, you catch the small note on top of the box just before it could fly away. ‘Sorry for leaving your food on the ground, had to go!’ A deep frown falls over your face, because in what world would a delivery man give you your food, without even letting you pay for. Must have been in a real rush to let you have your food for free…

You don’t want to put much thought to it. It was just few dollars and maybe there was a party somewhere going on, where they would definitely get their money’s worth back. Taking the box with you, you are not that angry of not paying as your hand touches the bottom of the cold box — you are too unbothered to go and heated up right now. Shutting the main door, you lock it, before finally going to the living room to watch the movie waiting for you. Putting the box down on the table, you put one slice of the cold pizza in your mouth, fumbling with the cassette and television for a second, before you flop back onto the couch.

The movie — well, it does in sort of way have you on the edge just few minutes into it. It is interesting and almost realistic in some way, making you get real deep into it. You lay in the corner of the couch, biting down on your fingers, watching the main characters interact with each other in a dark lit club. The lead, the main antagonist has a specific maneuvers that you find quite interesting — charming, yet in his eyes you can see something hidden in them…something dark. As you are so into the movie, eyes staring dead straight on the television, the ringing of the house phone right next to your ear certainly startles you to death.

A soft gasp flies past your lips, putting your hand over your racing heart and turning to the ringing phone next to you. You grab it without any hesitation, thinking that maybe your aunt is trying to check up on you or maybe it was your friend ready to talk your ear off — definitely not silence. “Hello?” You ask, gripping the phone in your hand and pressing it right against your ear tightly.

“Hello?” Says a voice on the other side of the line.

You shake your head a little, not recognizing the voice. “Yes?” You say, eyes still on the movie.

“Who’s this?”

You press your lips together, straightening your back a little. The voice is scratchy, yet deep, an unusual small hum every time it speaks. “Y/N.” You say, not really wanting to say your name, but what harm can it do? Maybe the person just delayed a wrong number.

There’s a small shuffling on the other line, before a small click follows. “Oh, Y/N–“ The person says your name sweetly, making goosebumps rise on your skin. It was whiny, so familiar, like the person knew you.

“Jake, is that you?” You ask, sitting up a little. His voice today sounded a little different than you remembered, but maybe it was just the phone distorting it. “How do you know my number?”

“Oh — got a friend, who asked your friend…” A small pause follows and you don’t know why but the way he speaks to you in this voice strikes something in you or maybe it was just the scene playing in the movie. “Want to talk to you–“

“Okay…what do you want to talk about?” You ask, eyes still on the television, yet your attention is now completely on him. Did your friend really give him your number? But it is a little unusual that she would be able to keep it secret — maybe she just wanted you to have fun on your weekend.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You smile a little at the question. “Oh, but you already know that one — Child’s play.”

A long sigh leaves his lips and it is almost like you can feel it on your ear. “Sorry — I seem to forgot.” This whole unexpected moment makes you tingle a little in excitement, distracting you from everything around you and you can’t help but feel effected by the change of voice.

“That’s okay.” You say. “What’s yours?”

“Guess.”

Humming lightly, you truly think about your answer. Jake’s face flashes in your mind, but it somehow is so blurry that you can’t think of a movie that would fit him — so, you focused on the voice in your ear instead. “I don’t know…I fear you have to give me a hint–“

“You are smart girl, Y/N, surely you can think of killer in a white mask–“

The words strike you a little too deeply, because your mind firstly shows you the ghostly mask. The two black holes it had for its eyes, before you quickly shut down your thoughts. “Halloween?” You say, uncertain as an another slasher with a similar mask flashes before your eyes, but this one spoke to you mostly.

You hear a click of a tongue on the other line at your answer. “Clever girl.” The nickname makes you unusually warm, your legs moving against each other, shifting the thin blanket down your thighs. “What are you doing right now?”

“Ehm — nothing much, just watching a movie.” You just now glance back to the said movie, already a little confused what the characters were doing and why— you are getting a little distracted.

“Alone?” The raspy voice sends chills down your spine. “Want me to come over? I don’t want you to be scared–“

“I’m not scared…right now.” You say, frowning a little, trying to defend yourself and thankfully your voice is steady.

You hear a sound then, close to a coo, before there is more shuffling. “Is it because of me?” There is obvious teasing tone in his voice, but you can’t help yourself, but feel amused by his tactics.

“Yeah, your voice is…soothing in a way.” You can’t quite find the right word to describe it, but you definitely can think of a word which is even closer than the one you said.

Small silence fills the line, listening closely to the static, ear trying to pick up any noise you could. This small pause only highlights the tension rising in the room, making you fumble with the left strap of your tank top and just as you did that — like he could see you, he speaks up again, but now there is not so much amusement. “Y/N, tell me…” You can’t even make a sound, so he continues, a little nervous about what he might say — but you certainly wouldn’t have guessed it right. “What are you wearing?” He asks, breathing into the speaker, the sigh making your pure heart skip a beat.

Your eyes widened, mouth hanging open. “What? I-I–“ This definitely wasn’t part of your plan for the night, neither getting a quite firstly innocent call to only lead to this. Your body responses truthfully the moment those words are spoken, thighs rubbing against each other, feeling the hem of your shorts digging into your center. You battle a little, wondering if you should play along and maybe enjoy this call or if you should just hang up. You definitely wouldn’t care if you did, you wouldn’t care that you basically would chicken out of phone sex, but — the way your bottom half starts to tingle, you tell yourself to relax and simply enjoy. “Not much?” You cough out as your voice becomes strained.

A low, long hum echoes from the other side, spreading tingles across your slicked skin. “Not much…” He repeats and you hear the fake pout in his voice. “Describe what you are wearing.”

You know where this conversation is leading to, but you are still careful with your words, a little self conscious, like he could just see your barely covered body. “Just a tank top and shorts…there are hearts on them.” Biting your lip at the last sentence, you wait for his reaction and maybe next request.

“How cute.” He almost whispers and you can basically feel his every breath in your ear. “Wish I could see you–“ You think you hear a small mumble at the end, but you don’t pick up what it is — probably just something in the background.

You close your eyes for a second, the movie still playing long forgotten as you slowly pull down your blanket to pool at your feet. Air hits your hot skin, damp in sweat and something else. You pick your courage, licking your dried lips, before speaking. “And what would you do if you did?” Your voice is no longer collected and cool, it’s breathy and whiny and you feel heat rushing to your face at your own voice.

You seem to catch him off guard — or so you thought, only to be reminded that you might not be that seductive as you thought you. “Do you really want to know, Y/N?” There’s an edge to his voice, giving you the last chance to back away, but you know that it is too late for that, because you can already feel slick forming between legs.

“Yes.”

Shakily responding you let the phone fall down shoulder, pressing your ear to it, while your fingers tug at the cushion beneath you. Waiting, though not so patiently, your eyes drift around the room, like it is the first time ever, your mind empty and fuzzy. Another click is heard in your ear, before a sigh is heard, making your hands tighten around the leather couch. “Pull your hair off your neck…” Your eyes close ever so slightly at those words, ear becoming numb from how much you try to feel his small breaths across your skin. “Then kiss down your neck, teasing you, just a little, till I would get a little lower–“ Your breath hitches, rubbing your legs together, unshamefully aroused and you really don’t seem to care anymore. “Do something for me Y/N.” You nod your head, like he could see you, eyes blinking open. “Follow my voice.”

Your white knuckles, that grip the cushion turn into their natural color, as you slowly trail your hand over your body to your hair. You do just as he said, gathering the strands of your hair and pushing them off your shoulders, fingers dancing across your neck. “Okay…a little lower–“ You are quiet, bashful from the fact that only a voice and words could make you feel like this. The more your hand travels lower, the more your nails scratch at your skin — going over your neck, collarbones, till they pinch on the swell of your breasts.

“Yes–“ You gasp at the moan leaving him, whimpering softly to yourself, while you play with the hem of your tank top. “Lower.” You follow his word, fingers getting caught a little in the cleavage of your top, dragging the fabric down with your movements, till it snaps back. “Lower.” His voice suddenly becomes rougher, hearing the shuffling of fabric on the other side as your hand meets your stomach. “Right there Y/N — yeah, there we go–“ You sigh sharply, head tilting back a little as your hand meets the waistband of your sleep short, stopping just over your mound. “Tell me…how do you feel.”

“I — hot, I feel hot.” You say, sighing breathlessly. You do not move your hand and touch yourself, the build up making you feel so much better than you thought it would and you do not want to disobey him. “I–I can’t-“

“Can’t what, sweetheart?”

“Wait – please, I need it.” You don’t recognize yourself — so needy and ready to burst at any moment. You can feel your nipples hardening, goosebumps appearing on your sweaty skin, thighs already slick with your cum.

“Touch yourself.” You can hear the words, but you for second can’t hear hear anything else other than the low hum in your ears. Your hand trails lower, pushing the material of your shorts to the side before you dip just a little into your leaking cunt, moan ripping out of you. “Just like that, Y/N. Keep going–“

You frown in pleasure, two of your fingers swiping across your folds, spreading your legs to fully touch your already puffy clit. “Oh, my god…” You have never been so swollen like this before, the hood of your clit puffed up, hips jumping, when you finally push down on it. You circle your fingers across it, smearing your juices across your whole bottom fall and the nasty wet, smack can definitely be heard through the speaker, when a groan fills your ear.

“You sound so good–“ Something rattles on the other side and you through out the noise hum in delight from such praise. “Come one, baby, put those little fingers inside your pussy — you sound like you need it–“ Curse falls your lips, whining a little when your hand leaves your clit, but as you put your hand lower, fingers just dipping inside of you, your palm grazes you, making you grind down greedily. “Fuck that pretty pussy – want to hear it.” Your mind is all over the place, too lost in the pressure, because you only hear a click of a tongue again, when your fingers slide hallway inside you. “I want to hear it.” He voices out each word, making your eyes screw shut at such filthy demand.

However your other hand is already moving to the phone, before you can even stop yourself, losing power over your own body. Grabbing it in your shaking hand, you want so desperately to lift your hips so your fingers would go deeper, but you wait till the phone is placed right on your upper thigh. The fact of hearing you so closely — how each inch of your fingers disappear into you, makes a wet sound and it should be embarrassing, but it only makes you moan louder, hoping that he can hear you.

When your hole meets the back of your knuckles, you scissor your fingers, spreading yourself open. Your slick is already pooling down your ass, creating a wet spot on your blanket, with the first curl of your fingers. You chase after the pleasure, clit bumping into your palm as you pull out your fingers a little to only push them back in, hitting the small squishy spot inside you. Gripping the phone tightly, it shakes from your strong hold, mouth falling open. You are dripping wet — so slippery that you fuck yourself just a little harder to feel more of the sickening pleasure. You are letting yourself go, moaning loudly, head tilting back, feeling your tummy rumble and when a small crack of the floor is heard you realize that you almost forgotten the phone in your hand.

Your hand doesn’t stop, when you put the phone back to your ear, whimpering at the quiet moan from the other side. “Fuck — you sound even better than I imagined…” Your whimper mixes with his own sound of pleasure, wondering if he might be doing the exact same thing as you, but hearing him becoming so whiny and quiet is really making you lose it. “Keep going–“

“Please talk more…I’m close.” Gasping sharply, when the tips of your fingers graze the one sweet spot, your hips hump your hand wildly. Your eyes are shinning with small tears of pleasure, ready to plead if he asked you to.

“Yeah?” You can hear the amusement in his voice. “Gonna come all over yourself? Just from hearing my voice? Fuck, you are such a slut Y/N–” Nodding dumbly, the name only makes your eyes squeeze tightly shut, concentrating on the pleasure, ignoring your numbing hand. You place the phone to your shoulder again to only sneak your now free hand to your breast. The extra stimulation almost too much, pinching a little at your hardened nipple. “Yeah, keep squeezing your tits just like that–“

You pause, slowly realizing the words he had spoken. Your hand releases your breast, now laying flat across it, the other still moving a little. “H-how do you know?” You ask, voice quiet, but you know it’s not that much from the pleasure anymore.

“I can see you, silly girl.” The deep chuckles makes your heart stop, freezing in your spot, eyes staring wildly across the seemingly empty living room.

“Where?” Your breathing becomes heavy, pulling your fingers away from your center and sitting up slowly on the couch.

“Come and see — should have locked your window–“ Your eyes widened at the words, hearing the sound of beeping, signaling the call has been ended. You wanted to scream, cry, but in your state of shock and in this fight or flight situation, you don’t think twice and rush to pull yourself on your feet, throwing the phone somewhere, not really caring about the crack you hear, when it hits the floor. You are shaking, chest tight as you run on your trembling feet to the front door only to be met with a sight that almost makes you fall in despair.

Ghostface — it is standing right in front of you, right before the door leading to your freedom. It stares at you, listening how your naked feet squeak on the polished floor, making you stumble from your sudden pause. The way you fall a little forward makes him jump at you, but you quickly dodge his hands, turning around to run to the opposite side and away from him. However as you ran through the hallway, passing the staircase, you notice someone standing in the middle of the stairs.

A cry leaves you, thinking firstly you have lost your mind, when your eyes meet another person dressed as the ghostly figure. Your first thought of going up the stairs to maybe jump of your window, which you knew was definitely now opened was forgotten. This one seems to be even faster as he runs down the stairs, hand shooting through the wooden railing to grab your passing form, but he was only able to graze your shoulder with its leather glove. You can’t catch your breath properly, feet sliding across the floor when you turn the corner to the kitchen. The thought of maybe grabbing a weapon was there, but seeing the other door to the kitchen seemed as a safer option.

Your body slams onto the door, sliding through the small gap, before slamming it in their faces. Your eyes stare around the living room and the couch which you were pleasuring yourself on to its voice just minutes ago — you don’t want to reminisce it. Your feet drag you back to the main door, turning the knob, only to stupidly realize you have locked it. However, when your eyes fall down the keyhole, your keys were not there. The window is your only option now…

You can taste blood on your tongue, adrenaline pulsing through you, when you turn around to the staircase, catching a glimpse of the two figures closing the distance between you. The carpet scratches you, burning, like your already strained muscles as you jump onto the stairs, nearly falling to your knees by the reckless move. That also almost gets you caught — dragging yourself up your feet before one of them can catch your ankle. The loud, creaking stairs, makes you wonder if you truly are being haunted, because how long have they been here with you? The stairs never seem to end, their incoming stumps making you cry out, rush pulsing in your veins. Your foot just barely touches the carpet of the second floor, before you feel a cold hand on your other. You can’t even blink — it already drag you to its body.

Your hands save you from the fall, a loud thud! echoing in the hallway. You can’t anymore — you can’t…You feel the hand leave you — you hear the slow footsteps coming up the stairs, the two figure’s watching you desperately try and crawl away from them, but you are only flipped onto your back. Hands find your shoulders, pushing you to you to the ground and you gasp loudly at the close proximity of the masked person. You can almost see an emotion behind the darkness…

You don’t fight back anymore, excepting your fate that you still have to guess, because you can’t find any weapon in their hands. The one holding you releases you suddenly, standing up to its fully height. You whimper softly, staring through you eyelashes at the pair looming over your shaking body. The more you look at them, the more you feel nauseous, afraid, tears quickly gathering in your eyes — but at that reaction they pull their hands up to their faces, making you momentarily quiet and still. With shock you watch them wrap their hands around the back of their masks, before pulling them off their heads.

Your whole word turns dark, heart stopping at the familiar heads of hair, thinking you must be out of your mind, but then they reveal themselves fully — Jeongin and Seungmin, staring down at you with crazed smiles, breathing heavily from your small fight. “Oh, my god–“ You hiccup a little, shaking your head in disbelief. Your body shakes, looking at them. Their hair is a mess, noticing the blonde without his glasses and wonder if he ever needed them to begin with. Seungmin takes just a one step closer, making your eyes snap to him, backing up a little. From the corner of your eyes you can see your open bedroom door, but you are not dumb enough to try your luck and also, even with just a small glance, the brunette noticed it. “You killed all of those people–“ You are horrified, disgusted, but you couldn’t take your eyes off them.

They cooed — they cooed at you like they were seeing a small injured puppy, the familiar sound unwillingly making heat go over you. Your lips fall shut, watching how they shake their heads at you. “Those weren’t people, Y/N — we did for you.” Their voices blend into each other, the last sentence making shivers go down your spine. The way they are not phased, looking normal about this whole situation, makes your head hurt.

“W-what?” You can’t cry, only sniffle in confusion. Your eyes trail over their figures clad in long drape of black cloth, nothing, but their masks in their hands. You can’t believe it — you would have ever guessed it. Though maybe your body responding to their stares and need to press their bodies to yours just few hours ago told you enough. They had no weapons, remembering how they only tried to catch and not physically harm you, but how can you be sure of their intentions? Maybe they are hiding their knifes under their cloaks, maybe trying to scare you and play with your mind, before they do it. How can you trust their words right now, when they lied to you the whole time?

Because of the way they appear so calm, it makes your chest stop heaving so hard and fast, catching your breaths that you didn’t take when you were being chased. You watch them both lower themselves to crouch before your layed out form and in reflex your legs you try to kick them down, but you are not fast enough. Both of them wrap their hands around your legs, pressing them down as you trash. Their holds are strong, yet you don’t feel big pressure, only the small scratch of their leather gloves.

The act makes you stop, deciding to regain the small strength left in you, if they decide differently about your fate, but looking back at their faces — now without both of their masks, raw and real, they show you a small spark of warmness in their cold eyes. “Jake–“ Jeongin says his name with displeasure, sneer match Seungmin’s and you listen their confession with choked breath. “The man that was this close to kidnapping you back in winter–“ You shake your head, trying to remember and they see the fight against your own memories from the look on your features. “You weren’t paying attention — like always. Scratching off at your shopping list, completely unaware of the near danger.”

You don’t want to believe their words, but they sound so real. You vividly remember the day, feeling like any other — were they really there? Watching, spying on you, keeping you safe. You realize at that the obvious truth that they have been watching and following you all along. Your mind goes back to the day at the lockers — how you bumped into Jeongin, thinking it was just an accident. It makes you go back today, how his lips formed into a snear, when Jake showed up. ‘Like back at the lockers?’, he said with disgust, eyes trained on the leaving figure of the football player.

“But — I only know you for half a year!” You fire back, almost spitting in their faces and you for some reason don’t talk against the thought of them saving you — they really looked and sounded believable and what use would it be to lie to you now? “What about the other people?” You whisper, trying to push away from their hold, but they only pull you back to them.

“Just a small practice…” Says Seungmin, sniffing a laugh with his friend and you look at them completely horrified. “Though they surely will not be missed, I give you that–“

“Do you really think that we did those things only out of pleasure?” The blonde continues, not letting you have your word. “Those things you called people were nothing more than a waste.” Venom drips from his mouth, eyes glaring into yours.

You don’t know what to say. Again they could be just lying to your face, but why would they? They already showed you how much trust they had in you by pulling of their masks. The news didn’t say anything about the victims, it was always the same — the victim was a residence of the town. Not telling the public what the victim might have done to deserve such punishment, maybe to seek fear in order for the public to began their own search. If the people knew that the killers — Jeongin and Seungmin were targeting only bad people, it would only turn on the authorities. You know that some fanatics would say that they are saviors and in a sense they are. They both saved you from that man which you didn’t even know off, they were taking care of you. No…you can’t be thankful for them, they still hurt people.

“You think that makes you better?” Even the words felt heavy on your tongue, trying to fight back the obvious — they saved you. “You think you will redeem yourself of what you both did?”

The brunette shakes his head instantly, smiling with the other, just as he wraps his hand around your chin. “No…you will redeem us.” His breath fans over your face, lips tingling at the familiar smell of mint. The tone of his voice makes a small sound escape your mouth, screwing your eyes shut in embarrassment.

You hear Jeongin leaning closer to you, the soft fabric of his cloak falling over you. You don’t open your eyes immediately, stilling when his breath hits your ear. “Sweet, Y/N.” He says, voice dripping with honey and you gasp softly, not able to move your mouth properly by the hand on your face.

��Do you think we are going to hurt you?” You have a feeling that the sadness in Seungmin’s voice is mocking, however when your eyes blink open you see the truth. You know — but still your mind overpoweres your heart, logically nodding in agreement at such question and surprisingly they don’t look too taken back or offended.

They actually cooed at you more, shushing you softly and it calms you just a little “We would never.” Still you shake a little in their hold, trying to find the pieces of your shattered sanity. “We did this all for you, so you can be safe-“ Jeongin argues, feeling his covered thumb brushing across your naked skin. You really are crazy to trust them with their words.

Seungmin pulls you closer to face him again, gazing down at you. “Don’t you feel saver knowing we saved you and your dignity?” He says and you gasp in sudden realization.

“You killed Jake-“

“No, no, no-“ Seaungmin stops the small cry leaving you and you feel Jeongin leaning to dig his nose in your hair, basically rubbing the side of his face into you — you can’t do anything other than inhale sharply at his closeness. “Even if we would prefer that…we just really let him learn his lesson.” Smile creeps up onto the brunette’s face and you can feel the other smiling just as wildly on your temple.

“You are both crazy!” Your voice is broken, trembling at the feeling of the blonde’s lips pressing lightly on the side of your face.

“Oh, really?” Every word bounces of your skin, feeling his spit smear over you and at his tone of voice, your bottom lip quivers. “Hear that, Seungmin?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, while he turns his head to glance at his companion and you do nothing, but the same.

A low hum comes from him, looking down your body shamelessly and you self-consciously squeeze your thighs together and that move particularly seems to make his eyes sparkle. “Weren’t you the one fucking yourself to our voices?” Teasing you, the smile in his voice makes you shake, embarrassed at the memory of them seeing you at your most vulnerable.

“I didn’t know it was you!”

“Yeah, but you definitely didn’t think of the fuckface-Jake either.” Spits Jeongin, turning his head to look into your eyes and you can see every small wrinkle and invisible blemish on his skin.

Then a voice is heard and it makes your heart stop for a moment, a familiar knot forming in your stomach as you turn to Seungmin. With wide eyes you glance at the small box in his hand, watching him press down the button on the side of it. “You like it.” He states the obvious and you can’t do nothing, but agree silently in your head. You can hear both his normal voice and his changed one, the reality of the situation crushing over you. His hand on your chin tugs you closer to his face, hearing the click of the button again, crisp hum coming of the voice changer. “You, like that, Y/N?” Fuck you do….

“I-I-“ You try to justify yourself, fight against the rising desire in your gut. Maybe it is because of your ruined orgasm, but you seem to almost lean into his hold.

A deep laugh rings in your left ear, making you look from the corner of your eye at Jeongin who holds his own voice changer in his hand. “Want us to finish the job, huh?“ He says, eyes flickering down your body, hand tightening around you. “I can see the wet spot on your little shorts from here.” Your lips fall apart, whimper leaning you, knowing that Seungmin must feel the blood rushing to your face. You see your legs tremble from how much you were pressing them together, making you calm down your strained muscles. You can feel your upper thighs stick together, the cold air kissing you, realizing you haven’t even put your shorts back to their place.

The hand on your face leaves you, letting you turn to look up at the brunette, watching his every move. A sense of Deja vu washes over you, when he pulls your hair off your shoulder, eyes staring at the naked skin of your neck. Their hands on your legs trail up, the extra stimulation already too much to handle all at once as Seungmin lowers his head to your neck, hand stopping just at your higher part of your thigh — but Jeongin doesn’t.

Breath fans over your skin, making it tingle, before you feel a press of Seungmin’s lips on the part where your neck meets your ear. Mind completely fuzzy, you sigh out a silent gasp, when Jeongin’s fingers lightly graze over your exposed center. It makes your hand shoot to his, gripping at his wrist and it makes him stop momentarily. He meets your wide gaze, quietly asking. You can feel the other kissing your skin again, your hand on the blonde’s softening its grip a little, but not internally letting go. Giving you one single look, his leather covered fingers finally dip into you.

The unknown material on your most sensitive area sends sparks down your spine, gasping lightly, grip around his wrist tightening a little, when he pushes his fingers harder against you. “Fuck, I can feel how wet you are even over my glove–“ The blonde opens his mouth, mimicking the whimper you let out at lewd words. Your other hand flies to grip Seungmin’s shoulder to brace yourself when you feel the small flicker of his friend’s finger on your clit, but you only receive a bite on your neck.

Your yelp makes them both laugh, suddenly pulling away from you to look at you fully, all three of you trying to catch your breaths. Their hold leaves you, challenging you, maybe to see if you would run, but to your own surprise you do nothing other than rubbing your legs together. “Stand up.” You nod after a split second, crawling back a little so you could stand up on your shaking legs, just like they asked you to.

They immediately follow your lead, making you nearly double over by their looming height, gasping when they both grab you, picking you off your feet. The embarrassment of feeling your cunt quiver is quickly forgotten as you swing your feet in the air, till you are pulled into your room. Your eyes glance at your window, cracked open, like you carelessly left it. When you feel them put you down on your carpet the memory is thrown out of the window, when they manhandle you, turning you around, before pushing you down on the bed.

The pink duvet wrinkles under your weight, watching them slowly lower themselves on either side of you. Your eyes firstly meet Jeongin’s, his gaze unnaturally soft for a moment, eyes half lidded, flickering down to your bitten lips and you can’t help, but do the same. He leans ever so slightly towards you, but you are swiftly pulled away from him by his friend, who gives you a long, deep look, before smashing his lips to yours.

His tongue breaches your lips immediately, swirling around yours and you desperately try to keep up with his pace. Drool — his and yours mix together, rolling past your lips. He swallows the small sounds you let out, hand gripping at your leg tightly. It seemed way more possessive, fingers digging into you so deeply, you know it will bruise permanently. Seungmin breathes through his nose heavily, fucking your mouth with his tongue and it must be considered anything, but a kiss at that point. Then you however feel a hand sneaking its way up your back, till it buries itself into your hair, tugging harshly. It makes you pull away from the brunette, who bites down at your lip, almost like tugging you back to him. A small hiss leaves you, but it is torn away from you hallway when Jeongin pulls you by your hair to his own lips.

His kiss is a little softer, more precise, not overly using his tongue right away to build up the tension. Spit is literally rolling down your neck, pooling at the valley of your breasts, leaning into the blonde just a little more, when his own hand meets your thigh. Another lips travel up your neck, kissing your jawline, cheek, till you feel Seungmin swiping his tongue across yours and Jeongin’s. “Fuck-“ Your small curse isn’t even heard, both of them pressing their bodies to yours, tongues licking into your open mouth.

The sighs from all of you melt into one, your heart hammering against your chest, letting them both kiss you messily. You don’t even know who is who at this moment. Who is biting down on your lower lip, who is swiping their tongue across your gums and teeth — you don’t even register one of them pulling away from you. Your mind is completely empty, so soaked that you can feel your shorts and your duvet sticking to your pulsating pussy. You are drunk of a simply kiss that felt so much more than anything that you left, when you were pleasuring yourself downstairs in the living room.

When you are pulled away from the mouth latching onto yours, it makes your eyes flicker open, only meeting Seungmin’s crazed eyes. His lips shine, puffy and red, swiping his thumb across yours to clean up the drool across your them. “Sit on his face, baby–“ Your eyes momentarily widened at such words, just noticing the shifting on your bed behind you, making you turn around and see the blonde laying on his back horizontally on the mattress. “Maybe, you can finally shut him up–“ Seungmin laughs, ignoring the glare on Jeongin’s face, it melting when meeting your eyes.

You bite your lip, already raw, trailing your eyes over his lean body, that is still covered completely. Your body moves on its own, sitting up, reaching to touch him. Being on your hands and knees, you feel Seungmin’s hands finding your hips, squeezing and grabbing a handful. It makes you tremble a little, crawling your way up to the blonde, eyes staring down at his sharp cheekbones and plush lips. But when you go to swing your leg over his body, facing him, you only receive a nasty smack on your cheek.

Another startled yelp leaves you, feeling your skin ripple and burn from the slap, turning around to glare at Seungmin, but he only finds the expression on you was adorable. “Turn around.” You frown a little, confused, turning back to look at man laying before you and when he taps his lips with his index finger your eyebrows raise in realization.

Too much — it was all so much for you, but your body acts on its own, turning around on your knees, your backside facing the blonde, before you finally swing your leg over his body to straddle his chest. You needed a moment to breathe, to calm yourself down, but he doesn’t let you even fully settle in this new position. His hands fly to your hips, squeezing just like his friend did, who now faces you, before roughly pulling you closer to his face. A gasp leaves you, falling forward, back arching, your chin hitting the bulge covered by his cloak, stilling when his flattened tongue licks over your barely covered cunt.

Moaning, your eyes glance at Seungmin whose eyes go back and forth between your body and your contracting face which you bashfully hide in the dark cloth beneath you. You try to move just a little, to sit up maybe, legs not strong enough in this position, but Jeongin doesn’t seem particularly against in sticking his whole face in to you. You can feel him everywhere — tongue licking over your slicked slit, mouth sucking in your lips, teeth grazing over your pulsating clit, nose digging in hole. “Too much — fuck!” Your legs already shake, face smushed against his leg, grazing his twitching cock.

Jeongin pulls away from you with a sharp inhale, chuckling at your trembling legs, hands running over the swell of your ass. “Come on, baby. We know you can take it.” You moan, not sure if it’s in agreement or disagreement, spit covered lips soaking his cloak. You only whine more, when he suddenly lifts his hips effortlessly, even with you being on top of him.

While trying to catch your breath a little, letting the man under you play with you — sqeezing your flesh, sucking meanly at your thighs, you didn’t even notice the other getting off the bed. The blonde pulls your lips apart, groaning at the sight of your dripping hole. “Fuck, look at that–“ A familiar long hum echoes around the room, making you tilt your head, gaze only meeting Seungmin’s. You don’t even know how he got behind you, but that doesn’t seem as important as the sight of his cock in his hand.

With wide eyes and blurry vision you watch his hand go up and down the length, smearing his own precum over himself and you whimper softly at the veins running from the base all the way to his flushed tip. Your small noise only breaks in a loud mewl when you feel the blonde’s tongue licking you up again, long and rough, before you are left speechless when he shuffles a little more to the edge of the bed. “You are dripping, baby — gonna fuck you nice and good right now, okay?” You look at him with big eyes, feeling Jeongin, sliding under you, latching right on your clit.

You can’t move an inch from the growing pleasure, shaking again already, freezing for a second when you feel the tip of the brunette’s cock kissing your entrance. Jeongin doesn’t seem to be put off, actually nibbling a little at you, while Seungmin starts to bottom out. The sweet burn from the sheer thickness melts away with the tongue moving your clit from side to side, making you grip tightly onto Jeongin’s legs, face bumping into his own cock that twitches all the same like the one now kissing your cervix.

Your walls suck him right in, back arching even more, grinding down on the cock inside you and the tongue licking your cunt. “Hear that?” Your ears perk up at the words, feeling Seungmin pull out his cock, before fucking back into you with a filthy, nasty smack! as your skins meet. “You are a fucking slut — greedy for a cock and a mouth at the same time–“ You hum dumbly in agreement, face hot at the sound of Jeongin spitting and slurping at you. “That asshole wouldn’t even know what to do with this hungry cunt of yours — would he Jeongin?”

His friend unlatches from you, though his tongue still licks at your folds, letting the man over him snap his hips back into you, before picking up pace that makes you see stars. “No.” You don’t even make a sound for a second there, mouth hanging open at the way Seungmin’s cock kisses the spot inside you that you have trouble reaching yourself. The lack of answer from your side gives you a sharp bite on your right thigh, Jeongin teeth breaching the sensitive skin with a wide smile. “Answer us — would he be able to make you feel like this?” Another smack lands on your ass, Seungmin’s now naked hand grabbing a handful of your bouncing flesh.

“No!” You cry out, sobbing almost when the blonde suck your clit into his mouth, gripping at your trashing hips. “N–never–“ Your whole face rubs against Jeongin’s cock, making a wet spot appear right over his tip from your drooling .

“Fuck, yeah, he wouldn’t.” Seungmin is cocky and you can hear the proud smirk on his face from the way your hips start to meet his. You don’t even want to move — can’t even, your muscles and nerves doing it for you. It only makes you back up into Jeongin’s nose, moaning as it hits your clit perfectly. “So good–“ Praises the brunette, slapping his palm over your already bruised skin, his eyes fighting to stay open when your insides starts to pulse around him.

“I am — I-I–“

“Gonna cum, huh?” He is mocking you, but the sight of your ass bouncing on his cock and his friend’s tongue just lightly grazing over him, makes his own hips shutter. “That soon?” The blonde under you response by pushing the tip of his tongue hard against your poor clit.

“Please-” You whisper, mind a mess from the burn coming from your clit and stretched out hole.

“What do you think, Jeongin?” You want to moan in protest, pleading quietly to the man under you, who has been torturing with his tongue for the longest time. “Should we let her cum?” Seungmin asks, though not stopping thrusting into you.

The named man nods firstly, the move with his mouth latched on you, nearly taking you over the edge, but he separates from you just as you felt the first spark of your peak. “She’s been good — so responsive–“ You hate how even now they are playing with you, not knowing that they are doing it just to spite you — to completely ruin you for anyone else…there will not be anyone else. “I want you to cum all over my mouth.” Mumbles Jeongin in your pussy, swirling his tongue hard over your tingling clit.

“Fuck, please…yes–“ Loud gasp leaves you when you feel the tip of Seungmin’s cock hitting the plushy spot inside you. “Don’t stop.” Your words die on your tongue, falling forward, the only thing keeping you somewhat up were their hands digging into your soft skin. Your lower tummy rumbles, the sudden burn coming from your clit is so much that you want to escape the feeling, but they are too strong.

The incoming pleasure is so close — so sharp and intense, that you feel your whole body being set on fire. You shake, sobbing and moaning loudly, muffled by your mouth digging into Jeongin’s cock that twitches under you. Seungmin buries into you deeper, his hand finding your hair to pull your head back so they both could hear what they were doing to you. With a single last suck of lips, cock ramming into you in a delicious pace that makes you almost black out, you finally cum, coating the brunette’s cock and the blonde’s face in your juices.

You see white for a second, feeling your hole push out the cock still moving in you, giving Seungmin no choice, but to pull out of you. A flow of your juices and pleasure come leaking out of you and straight to Jeongin’s face and you in exhaustion flop down on him. “Holy shit— didn’t know you were a squirter.” Your features would have shown shock at the words, but you are completely drained from energy, whimpering, because you can’t seem to ride down this mind shattering orgasm.

You feel someone flipping you around, the blonde shuffling away from you, letting you flop down back on the bed. The ceiling dances in shapes, your chest rising heavily, stretching your hand to push your hair off your face only to met plastic in the way. Turning your head to the side you only find one of their masks right next to you and you find yourself trailing your fingers over the sleek white face. “Baby…” You tiredly look down the length of your body, meeting their gazes that spark with a new emotion. “You like it?”

You genuinely think of a right answer, turning to look back at the mask, that right now didn’t seem so scary. You hate yourself — you know that it isn’t because they fucked you so good, you truly can feel your pussy fluttering at the memory of them wearing it. Then you only nod, not trusting your own voice and they both melt a little at the cute wonder on your face. Seungmin is the first one to move, hands trailing up your thighs, meeting with the waistband of your shorts. You help him take them off, the garment completely unnecessary. Jeongin on the other hand goes a little higher — firstly just grabbing a handful of your tits, nipples digging into his palms, before he as well helps you take off the last piece of clothing.

Their sweet behavior makes your chest fill with warmth, but you can’t ignore the darkness in their eyes, that drink in your naked body. Hands are everywhere on you — mostly groping the new exposed flesh of your tits, pinching meanly at your nipple, each giving you a harsh suck on the swell of your breasts, marking you. You take your chance to finally touch them, running your hands through their hair, gripping their shoulders, feeling their muscles spasm under your fingers. Your legs are spread open, Seungmin’s cock rubbing against your thigh, while Jeongin fumbles with something behind you.

They detach their mouths from you, making you look down your body, noticing hickeys, blotches and bruises covering you. A ruffle of clothing catches your attention, noticing firstly how the blonde kneeling beside your head uncovers his lower half. You inhale, staring at the bulge in his pants, before looking up at him, only to be left speechless again. He is wearing the mask…you don’t how he was able to put it on so quickly, but you are still drowsy of your orgasm, vision a blur.

Watching him undo his belt and zipper you instantly go to sit up on your arms, only to be pulled down a little on the bed. Seungmin tugged at your ankle, just like on the stairs and now even with the same mask on his face. The feeling of having not the privilege to see their pretty faces, making you instead stare at the Ghostface mask makes you oh, so needy. You can just feel their grins on you — the blonde tugging at your roots to turn your head to face his now uncovered cock.

“Will you be good and take both of us?” You bite your lip, eyes going from the long veiny cock with deliciously flushed tip to his masked face, air getting caught in your throat at the use of the voice changer.

Nodding, you blink slowly, trying to unstick your teary eyelashes to fully imprint this view in your mind. You feel hand trail over your stomach, squeezing at your soft tummy, while the cock before you pokes at your lips, smearing precum all over you. “Gonna fuck my cum right here–“ Says the brunette, pressing down on your tummy. “You’ll be mine.”

“Ours.” Hisses Jeongin through his teeth, when you wrap your lips around his tip, sucking the salty taste of him in your mouth. The sneer is obvious in his tone and as response the older snaps his hips into yours, burying his cock in you in one go.

Your squeal is muffled by the cock in your mouth, hand smoothing down your messy hair, but the sweet gesture doesn’t match his or his friend’s movements. You almost choke around him as he hits the back of your throat, because Seungmin started to chase quickly and roughly for his own orgasm. You can tell by the way he rolls his hips into yours — humping you more and more than fucking you, gasps and curses flying out his mouth that he definitely won’t last that much longer like before.

Drool rolls down face again, eyes filling up with tears, while you still look at the man fucking your mouth. He is slow with it, yet hard, keeping in mind that you might not be able to catch up with him when his company is so busy with molding your pussy into the shape of his cock. You are already over the line of overstimulation, your cunt swallowing hungrily Seungmin’s cock and when he suddenly presses his thumb over the top of your clit your eyes roll back into your skull, legs shaking around his hips. “You, slut — look at you swallowing my cock, bet you are about to cum again, hm?” You grip his hips tightly between your legs, trying to get much needed oxygen through your nose, head swirling from the incoming pleasure.

“Look at me — when I’m fucking-“ The low, rough voice makes you look at its owner, moaning around Jeongin, when you notice the desperation in Seungmin’s movements. “Yes, yes — keep squeezing me like that — fuck!” You whimper loudly, hand stretching to make the brunette slow down a little as you feel the second orgasm of the night creeping up on you. The blonde pulls out his drenched cock from your mouth, making you instantly moan breathlessly, eyes on Seungmin, who throws the voice changer somewhere to grab your hips to fully fuck into you, . “Cum for me — cum with me, come on, baby — yeahhh-“

No sound leaves your lips, when you hit the peak of your pleasure, body shaking violently as you feel Seungmin’s cock twitch. His warm cum fills you right after, pressing his whole cock so deep inside you, that you fear for a second that he breeched your cervix. Groaning, he falls on his knees before you, head hanging low, only to realize as he pulls his down his mask, that he is staring at where your bodies meet, watching his cum leak out of, forming a creamy ring around his cock. “Still not full?” Says Jeongin and you watch him tore his own mask off, running his hand through his messed up hair.

“I can’t no more–“ You plea, but the sight before you makes your cunt only clap down on the cock still inside you. The younger one eyes the older, looking into his eyes before wrapping his hand around the base of his cock to pull him out of you. You don’t know if it was because of his orgasm or the mesmerizing sight of your hole leaking his cum, but he lets Jeongin shove him off you to fill in his position.

He crawls up your body, kissing your left nipple, before meeting your lips in a sweet kiss. “You can — just hold on, I got you.” You moan tiredly, twitching, when he puts his cock to your clit teasingly. “Have to fill you up too.” You look up at him with big eyes, the intimate position making your chest swell and it seems like it does it for him too.

You let him grab your legs, a little shocked by him pushing them all the way to your ears, but you are a complete mess to care anymore, muscles jello. His cock breaching your stuffed pussy, makes a nasty wet sound echo around the room. Whimpering, while the blonde moans, long fingers digging into the cushion on each side of your head, you lock your legs together behind his back. You watch — mesmerized by the sweat dripping down his face, hair sticking to his forehead as he rams his cock into you, not even letting you breath for a second.

Your eyes shoot open again, fighting against your tiredness, wildly staring into his eyes, mewling at each snap of his hips, the sticky release of his friend smearing across the both of you. “Fuck, you are so right, Y/N.” You hum between each snap of his hips, head rolling back, when his happy trail scratches your completely bruised clit.

“Ah! Ah — Jeongin, can’t–“ Your whole bottom half burns, but it still was so good that you found yourself drowning in the pleasure.

Your head is turned back, vision nothing, but small black spots, but you recognize the hand holding you. “Cum for him, Y/N-“ Seungmin says, laying beside you and your eyes meet the blonde’s at the words. It was like a command — they had the complete power over your mind and body. “Just one more…” A sob breaks out of you, gasping then when Jeongin hits your spot particularly hard. You need to feel something more — so, you lean in to press your lips to his and the unexpected gesture leaves his thrusts shattering into a stop, groaning into your mouth.

This one takes you completely out of your body, feeling yourself squirt ones again, so hard you swear you could hear your orgasm dripping out of you. But the thing you do feel is the cum filling you, mixing with yours and the other’s. You can feel the light kisses on your skin — you can hear the words both degrading and encouraging. Your ringing ears are filled with sweet nothings, your eyes not able to tell apart the room and faces before you — but you do see the obvious.

You are insane in the brain.

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