#i think that Killer and his plans to leave are the best ever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 months ago

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This Halloween | Yandere SatoSugu

“Hi, gorgeous! Surprised to see me here?”

“Don’t cry, (Y/n). We were never going to kill you.”

The reveal that the small town’s biggest menace was your friends Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto. To think that the golden boys of Jujutsu High who were dating two of the victims were hanging off one another in their bloodied costumes. Smiles wider than they’d ever been with their supposed partners, the reality sinking made the bile rise in your throat.

Thinking about your meditation you close your eyes. The smell of partygoers rotting all over the small beach house fills your nose. The sound of the back screen door bumping against the frame as the beach breeze goes in and out with the tide surging outside. The taste of pennies filled your mouth as you gnawed at the inside of your cheek. The twitch of your fingers awkwardly hovered in front of your chest as they flexed in and out. On top of your breathing didn’t calm you as much as it usually did.

“(Y/n) did you hear what I said?”

The voice of Suguru somehow made it past the warbled sound of absolute confusion that clouded your brain. The leather glove lightly held your left hand as he slowly came closer to you’re shivering state. Those brown eyes looking so deeply into your own, it felt wrong to look away.

“All you have to do is say we left early.”

You opened your mouth to ask but the growing sound of sirens stopped you. Gojo was the first to let out a curse, giggling about running away. He shook his raven-haired partner who hushed him with an amused smile, turning back to you.

“You can do that for me can’t you Dove?”

The duo left out the back. That screen door screeched as they ran through it; returning to bang against the frame angrily. Its aggressive banging triggered an all-new set of shivers to wrack your body, causing you to fall to the floor. Closing your eyes you try to level yourself again but the sound of your own heartbeat is deafening and the eyes of your best friend pleading with you.

It will haunt you forever.

The sight of Detective Choso brought an uncomfortable pit into your stomach. The man you’d met years ago in another city–your city, with his hair down and his eyes had bags like a masked vigilante.

“He’s out.”

The news didn’t scare you. Not as it should have. Many may find it strange to know you dreamt about serial killers on death row. But it warned you. Prepared you for the day you’d need to run as far as possible from anything you knew. On the anniversary of that day no less.

“What’s the plan?”

The detective pursed his lip and his eyes wandered. His feet, running the flat of his oxfords on the carpet of the entrance to your apartment. The silent scratch of the wool under his shoe irritated you almost as much as his request.

“We wanted to lure him out. Will you—”

He didn’t need to finish before the door was slammed in his face, pushing him back into the apartment hallway. Choso groaned to himself, the situation's futility ebbing at his already short patience. He calmly knocked on the door again.

A muffled, “Go away!”

He sighed, lightly banging his head on the rusted number of the apartment. With his ear so close to the door he could hear the receding footsteps and the mumbled curses directed at him. He looked down the hall making eye contact with the local department’s plant taking out the trash. He didn’t feel completely terrible leaving when there was a guard there, making a note to try again in 24 hours.

“I’ll be back.”

It was meant to be assuring but Choso worried it came off threatening as heard a defiant thump on the opposite side of the door. Resisting the urge to sigh again Choso turned tail, making his way to the elevator. Pulling out his phone he scrolled through his contacts, landing on the name: Idiot surrounded by blue hearts.

Holding the phone at his waist he timed the ringing until he heard said idiot singing out a ‘hello.’ Only then did he bring the phone to his ear and respond.

“The eggs secured and it’s staying in the next. How’s the snake?”

_____________________________________________________________

Gojo Satoru finished his lecture with a grand gesture as though he had finished giving a presentation. When in fact, he’d pressed play on the school’s TV the second his students got in their seats. Maybe in the back of his mind, he’d thought to make himself look better for the detective standing just outside the classroom. Even though they both knew it didn’t matter.

“I appreciate you waiting until the kids were outta the classroom. Wouldn’t want to explain to the parents why the police were in their school.”

The white-haired teacher spoke so cheerfully, that his familiarity with the detective might have seemed positive. The detective wasted no time calling their partners in; the stout one stood at the door while the taller one pulled at the blinds of the classroom. With the classroom darkened and the school slowly emptying the head detective decided to speak. Making a dramatic move of pulling a voice recorder out of his pocket he held it up as he asked his question.

“Where were you the night of October 7th?”

Gojo sat on his desk, kicking his feet as he mockingly thought hard. He pretended to put his fingers to his temple as though that would provide answers. The detective associates sneered at the childish display.

“Hm on the night of October let me see–”

The man trailed off as he reached over his desk, pulling a calendar out of a drawer. Flipping through it he animatedly pointed his index at the circled date on the calendar.

Smiling up at the detective Gojo exclaimed, “The anniversary of those horrible murders? Well, I was grieving over the victims by grading my kiddies homework.”

The detective snatched the calendar from him, letting his eyes glaze over the marked paper. Confirming the statement, he tossed the calendar back to him.

“Can anyone confirm this statement?”

Gojo let out a playful whine in annoyance as he dramatically flung back on his desk. The detective and their bodyguards all flinched at the large movement, hands hovering over the fire-arms tucked under their coats and at their belts..

“It’s always evidence with you guys, geez. I have it on the calendar, I never left my house you can ask my neighbors about that.”

“Your neighbors all live three kilometers away from you, That’s not an option.”

“So critical. If I personally broke out some poor inmate on death row do you really think I would have let you just walk into my space like this?”

The question had the detective hovering over their weapon again. Gauging the posture of the white-haired man who was only smirking in their direction with an unsetting nonchalance. The pause that ensued allowed the detectives to reluctantly let their hands drift from their weapons as the sound of multiple chattering students hurriedly approached the empty classroom. The door previously closed swung open to reveal Gojo’s most loyal student–a pink-haired teen leading the charge.

“Teacher! Did you see my post?”

With that smug persisting smirk on his face, Gojo turns his head feigning surprise.

“Unfortunately no. I was too busy talking with these old friends of mine. What’s up?”

“Dude! The police are totally raiding your place!”

The teen turned his phone around to reveal a short video of police and armored vehicles surrounding the luxurious Gojo estate. Plenty of onlookers also recorded the unnatural phenomenon for the typically small town. Granted the amount of paparazzi that constantly come in and out of the town to film anything they can on the Gojo head wasn’t all that rare, but the authorities looking so closely was. And like everything in this town, it was all anyone would talk about for months.

“Well, Detective Mahito am I under arrest?”

The long-haired detective sent a look to his partners and the curious teens absorbing the situation. Coming to a decision he openly hovered his hand over his weapon.

“You are not under arrest but for your safety, you need to come with us.”

Of course, there was a video preceding this of the beloved teacher being escorted into an unmarked vehicle and the students behind the camera being shooed away as it drove off. With all the interested eyes on this case, it almost felt impossible that anything would slip under the radar of millions of curious eyes.

_____________________________________________________________

(Y/n) remembered the way the couple went public with one another. After the tragedy that ensued at the annual Hallow’s Eve party, it was of minor shock that the two golden boys of the high school found solace in one another. Everyone chalked it up to the bonding of trauma after both lost their girlfriends.

“I just found that no one could relate like he can.”

You heard the reasoning in passing, always around the surrounding crowds curious about the latest scoop on the survivors of the Hallow’s Eve tragedy. No doubt some of them will have turned around to tell the outlets interested in the story as well while others would theorize about the identity of the masked killer.

“Maybe it was them!”

“Yeah, what a defense! ‘I don’t talk anymore after what I’ve seen!’ As if!”

The nauseating feeling would eventually go away but the pressure was suffocating then. Haunting your mind with their echoed speculations and the image of your dead friends. What’s worse was the killers so happily parading their sorrowed expressions along the halls. Accepting the gift baskets and surface-level condolences without an ounce of suspicion. The feeling of your hair raising along your skin when one of them mocked their sympathy towards you.

“Don’t be so hard on them, they’ve seen things no one should have to see.”

The constant threat of tears was a reoccurring pain, as you replayed the events of that party. It was never to be soothed by the couple who’d spend their free time pestering you. Often leaving quickly thereafter to repeat their sick game.

“Just keep quiet, Dove. We were here the whole time after all.”

“Yup, and to prove it we’ll take a picture. Don’t tell anyone okay?”

You couldn’t bare listening to them any longer.

______________________________________________________________

Conveniently the press that did have your new contact information weren’t as insistent as before. Quietly asking for a comment on the criminal notoriously associated with Hallow’s Eve murders. After all the rumored victim of the killer was recently detained, surely as the witness that convicted the killer to death row you’d have something to say. You kept quiet. Deleting emails and hanging up phone calls from unidentified numbers, solely focused on getting to your plane on time.

“I’m so sorry but all commercial planes have been grounded for the foreseeable future.”

Like glass breaking at the perfectly angled rock, you started to crack.

“What. Do. You. Mean?”

This poor employee didn’t deserve your wrath but she also wasn’t betting on this plane to save her life. She’d nervously stutter and stumble over her words as she denied every out or once of compensation to make this any better.

“There may be some private planes but those are in incredibly high demand–”

“I’ll go! I don’t care how much just tell me where!”

She seemed reluctant to say but she still told you. Maybe it was because she felt bad, seeing someone so desperate to get away or maybe it was because you were inches from her face. Either way, you were on the tarmac within the hour, along with a few others desperate enough to pay privately. Only to be crestfallen when you arrived at the staircase to enter the plane; letting the other exasperated passengers pass by your still form.

“May I help you with your bags?”

An attendant, with a shining smile and neatly pressed uniform with the plane’s company proudly pressed right above his heart. Greeting you with nothing but an offer to help; you cursed the involuntary reaction to vomit.

“Are all…the private planes available…from this private airline?”

You tried to keep the tremor in your voice to a minimum as you nervously wrung your hands around the handles of your bag.

The attendant—none the wiser—smiled and gestured to the other planes lining up the tarmac with rows of people.

“Yes, they are. Gojo Airlines is offering a discount during these trying times–”

He kept talking but you weren’t listening. Turning around to leave, ignoring the airport security and the attendants who were preparing to let you onto the plane. It meant nothing to you for the beating of your heart and your panicked breathing is all you can hear. When you finally waved down a taxi, you quickly dialed a familiar number.

“He knows.”

______________________________________________________________

Detective Jogo looked nervously at the contact of his partner miles away. Since the week that their missing subject committed the grand massacre, he was infamous for. Because of the nature of the parties involved, he was strictly instructed to not call unless absolutely necessary considering they suspected their phones were compromised.

“You eat yet?”

The question came with a warm bagel and a cup of coffee. Held over his seated form by the burly officer Hanami; coming from the breakroom on the other side of the station. For the first two weeks, it was just following the heir around. But with the inmate scheduled for death row at large and another anniversary coming up, it was decided they’d move the heir into one of their holding cells. Of course, it was lavished with furniture and decorations all chosen by the illustrious Gojo Satoru. He did whine when they demanded to inspect and bug his phone and laptop but the station was taking no chances when it came to this specific case.

The rumors were enough too.

“Have you checked on him within the last few hours?”

Hanami tilted her head looking at the one-way glass of the blue-eyed witness pacing casually in the fortified room. From the glimpses that Jogo got from his chair across the room, their witness was unusually chipper. The days they spent guarding him throughout the day were incredibly boring; temporarily leaving his job as a teacher to gallivant around a hotel of his choosing didn’t make it better. Throughout those weeks Gojo had subjected the team to an aggravating amount of chatter—none of it helpful or even worth repeating. Detective Mahito was plenty great at keeping up but Jogo and Hanami opted for alternating earplugs. Even with the earplugs in he could pick out the strong hints of annoyance bubbling underneath his wide smile and piercing gaze.

The change unnerved him. Especially with the rumors circulating around this specific witness.

“Didn’t want to besides I’m watching from the camera.”

Blunt and unforgiving Jogo wouldn’t expect anything more from the officer. It didn’t put him at ease.

“Where’s Mahito? Still investigating that place?”

If it was possible Hanami’s apathetic expression tightened, her brows knitting at the thought.

“Yes. Last he called all the evidence had been scrubbed and all we can hope now is that they forgot something we could use.”

Jogo sucked his teeth in shared annoyance. The rumor he was dreading was more like an undisclosed fact. The true masterminds behind the Halloween Massacre were both Gojo Satoru and the death row inmate Suguru Geto. The files say the Gojo family lawyer fought hard for the heir; effectively blaming it all on Suguru Geto. With prints, hair, witness testimony, and photographic evidence all on the heir they were able to plead for coercion by malicious manipulation. Getting their heir off and painting his partner in crime to be a greater threat than he. The whole fiasco of the jewel of the Gojo clan being involved made the whole case a living nightmare, that their superior Choso Kamo rose to fame with. By finally encouraging the only witness with viable evidence to testify Suguru Geto was sentenced to death row. And through expert lawyers mysteriously hired, he remained waiting for years.

Choso, before he left to guard the witness, believed it wasn’t just an escape attempt but a chance for the killers to tie everything up. Destroy the evidence, stop the search for the death row inmate, exact revenge on all who participated in the case, and reunite with their loved ones by the end of Halloween.

Of course, it was their best detective leaving to protect the witness who was in the most danger. Leaving his underlings—Mahito and Jogo to keep them on the pulse of the case and their eyes on the man believed to get off scot-free.

If it weren’t for him knowing Choso cared so much for this specific witness; he would have thought he was leaving them the rough side of this mission. He knew the hardened detective could be a compassionate man–a hard thing to retain in this line of work.

Jogo huffed taking a sip of his coffee,” I hope he’s having a better time than we.”

Hanami made a grunt of agreement before returning to the hall to stare at the monitors she had been for the past couple of days. He would have offered to switch if he didn’t think he thought this pit in his stomach could be resolved.

The 40-year-old detective stood from his seat. Careful to nurse the leg he’d fractured from two cases ago. He took his uneaten bagel, noting it retained some of its heat. He headed to the holding cell. Sending a look to the guard at his station, a buzzer rang and the door unlocked. With the final swipe of his keycard, he let himself into the semi-messy room. The culprit was sitting on his bed, a smile still on his smug little face.

“Hungry?”

Those cerulean eyes weren’t on him the second he came in, instead looking at the clock left graciously in the upper corner of the room. Nor did they flicker when Jogo asked his question. The disrespect made the Detective’s eyebrows twitch as he kept his hand holding the bagel.

“I’m not going to eat your leftovers, old man.”

“Not good enough for you!? Not up to your snobby standards,” was what Jogo wanted to say but he didn’t need to get kicked off this case for suspected bias. It didn’t help that the man still wasn’t looking at him, laughing to himself as though Jogo told the funniest joke.

“Have you eaten anything today?”

Jogo was trying. He really was.

“Nope, but I’ll eat later today.”

Jogo loosened up,” Have any idea what you want?”

The Gojo heir’s smile didn’t compare to the smirk he had on before. His smile practically reached his ears and those haunting eyes staring right through Jogo, “All of your livers.”

“What?!”

The suspect wasn’t speaking anymore and Jogo’s phone was ringing.

Jogo had a decision to make. Answer the call or make sure he just heard what he did.

“You should answer that. He might never call again.”

Despite his better judgment, Jogo pulls out his phone, seeing the name of his fellow detective and the goofy photo they took on his phone. Another look at the white-haired man and he answered the call. Immediately his ears were assaulted with the sounds of wood crackling; the unnatural sound made his mind piece together what was happening.

“I-it’s a trap!” the tearful voice of Mahito rings the loudest. Jogo almost doesn’t want to speak as if that would make what he heard go away. “G-get out–”

The sound of something large falling and the frantic screaming from either the detective or some other poor soul being abruptly cut off. Punctuated by the phone call ending.

Jogo couldn’t take it anymore throwing his phone aside to reel his fist back to punch the chuckling man in the face. Prepared to fight against the guards that would be arriving any second he aimed with urgency. He was certain he’d have time to get in one. One good hit to the face of the man responsible for the chance that his partner might be dead.

“Did you really think I’d just let that happen? That’s cute.”

Jogo’s fist was easily captured by Gojo’s hand, a careless gesture strong enough to keep the shaking fist static and far from its intended target. Unnerved by that restraint the detective launched his other fist only for it to receive the same treatment. Pushing with all his might Jogo–in the split seconds of any fight—found himself at an impasse. Figuring if both his fists were being thwarted he’d go to the next best thing–his legs. Cursing the ache he’d have later he aimed to kick the heir in the gut.

“But not that cute.”

The quip was a warning barely processed as Gojo caught the man off-guard, releasing his fists to latch onto the outstretched leg. Gripping the ankle of the old man swung the body of the detective into the one-way glass. It crackled under his weight bursting with shards of glass as the stout man rolled past the curious guard’s post.

Jogo didn’t feel like he could get up but he did watching the blue-eyed man let himself out of the holding cell, a stolen I.D. being twirled in his hands. He didn’t need the guard to let him out, outright kicking the metal door until it flew off its hinges. Of course, the guards in the room moved with a taser and baton in hand.

“You guys are so dramatic! How about you go out begging then maybe I won’t make you suffer.”

The guards didn’t bother responding to the one with the baton going first. Swinging from above any normal man could barely manage to dodge but Gojo was by no means normal. He easily sidestepped the baton using the downward stroke of the officer to grab at his neck. At speeds, Jogo couldn’t comprehend the officer’s head was facing the opposite direction. Even worse they weren’t dead their eyes darting around as they tried to scream—making a gargled plea instead. The one with the taser barely had time to fire, missing the dodging assailant who easily grabbed the coils beaming with electricity to pull the gun from the guard's shaking hands. Defeated with a hand slicing toward their exposed neck also making the man gurgle as he fell to the floor.

“Now what was it we were talking about?”

The question was directed to Jogo and the pain paralyzed him to the floor. Helplessly watching as Gojo slowly walked closer. The old man’s eyes darted nervously around searching for anything to use. His thoughts raged with an all-manner of possibilities running through his mind there was one tool bound to stop the incredibly durable heir. His gun. Jogo took great care to not let this realization be made. Planning to only reveal this when he needed which would be soon, judging by the way Gojo was cracking his knuckles.

“About how this was all planned by you?”

Jogo was stalling but it didn’t seem Gojo was listening. The heir tapped his foot impatiently against the floor as he looked annoyed at the aching detective.

“Are you done because otherwise, I’m just going to end–”

In a large flash of blue, the heir stood back just barely dodging the hurling form of Hanami. Using her natural height against him she aimed a violent punch into the ground, cracking the concrete the heir was standing over just a moment before sidestepping. Jogo felt his heart lift, who greater to fight alongside than Hanami—the human tank with punches as strong as steel. Surely now they had a chance.

Jogo pulled out his gun aiming at the dodging heir. Waiting for just the right moment to pull the trigger and finally end the menace that got to run free.

“This really was fun but I’m tired of this place.” The declaration sounded petulant like a child,” and I’m tired of you.”

Almost in annunciation a pale hand shot through the chest of Officer Hanami–the human tank stopping her assault to look down at the hand pulling out of her. Before Gojo’s bloodied hand could leave a spray of her blood dousing her face and eyes. Fear-filled eyes watched his partner struggle as a waterfall of viscous carnage poured out of her baffled mouth.

Through the tears growing in his eyes, Jogo fired his gun.

Over a year spent in the police academy and being a rookie in the small town. To a supervisor to a junior detective who humbled himself to learn the young genius detective. More than certain his aim was true, he collapsed into himself. The weight of both his partners, his friends dead when just hours ago they were as lively as ever.

Thankful that the beast responsible was gone.

“Glad you came I was just about ready to clean up myself.”

The monster he thought he’d defeated was standing above him casually calling out to another down the hall. Whoever this was holding a disembodied arm and was casually walking in the halls surrounded by bloody remains of the investigative team.

As frightening as it was to revel in the new threat having gotten past security and was brutal enough to be carrying the limbs of his coworkers. But it didn’t take away from the horror of realizing his gun never did go off. Instead, his gun was squished with the bloodied hands of Gojo Satrou, who sent one last disgusted look in his direction before dropping the disfigured gun in his lap.

“I told you, I had it under control.”

“Whatever you say ‘kuna.”

“Don’t call me that. Now go on get to your ‘date.’”

If Gojo had taken the talons he called fingers and torn out Jogo’s heart it would have been better than recognizing the pink-haired, tattooed man, covered in blood. To think he’d have the privilege to die near the detective-turned-mercenary Ryomen Sukuna. Face ashen and succumbing to his fate, he wistfully watches the white-haired man skip over the carnage of the force. Without so much of a glance, the Gojo Satoru had taken everything from him in a matter of minutes.

The only thing he did have left was doomed to be gone soon.

“You ready to fight to your death?”

An idol asking a question worthy of someone who wasn’t likely paralyzed by merely being thrown through a window and failing to shoot the man responsible for the destruction of an effort to maintain justice no matter who the suspect is. There was only one thing he could say as Sukuna awaited his answer.

“Yes. More than ready.”

______________________________________________________________

Today was the day you’d broken your silence all those years ago. Once again traveling with the detective to the far reaches of a rural town far away within the safe confines of a car. It didn’t soothe you in the slightest. From the airport incident, the unnerving shiftiness within your stomach hadn’t settled not like it did when Suguru was finally shipped off to prison and not like when Gojo was sent to a foreign exchange school. It wasn’t over.

“How are you doing?”

The question was worthless but you hadn’t said anything since Choso dignified the plan. A lot was unspoken between you but talking was still necessary.

“Like throwing up. How’s your brother?”

The immediate question was not just a deflection, it was the easiest way to distract the detective. Choso was a proud older brother who at any topic that reminded him of his little brother ensued in long rambles about said brother. It’s a perfect soundtrack to drown your thoughts and avoid playing therapist with the detective you’re effectively running away with.

“Since you asked—”

Seeing the tired straight-faced detective finally begin to smile as he proceeded to rant. It’s a nice change to the gloom you both permeate. You figured you’d help stave it off for a while with some light chatter.

“---and his little friends all look up to him like the natural-born leader he is!”

“He’s in high school now right?”

“He is. He’s actually….” Choso trails off as his smile falls,” he’s actually going to Jujutsu High.”

The name of the familiar school renews the tense atmosphere and with terrifying speed, the synapses of your brain begin to fire off. Suddenly you can guess why Choso insisted the plant stay behind or how he refused the undercover police escort. Or why instead of awkwardly attempting to cheer you up he keeps his tired eyes on the road ahead.

“So the safe house was a lie.”

Choso visibly grimaced, “Not entirely. I wouldn’t give you to them if I wasn’t sure you’d be safe.”

“Them!?”

He dared to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I know what they’re after and they’re not going to hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes, “You trusted the serial killers who promised they weren’t going to hurt me?! Gee, what a smart detective you are, let’s blindly trust the guys who have a death wish for me!”

Choso had the nerve to look offended at that. You didn’t bother holding back your glare, anxious to hear the reasoning behind this betrayal. His hands tightening against the wheel told you there was some turmoil—as if that would resolve the bubbling fury that had you debating about taking the wheel and driving you both off the road.

“My partners went back to the place, searching for evidence.” He spared a look towards you as if confirming you’d shrink in on yourself at the mention of that Halloween Night. “It was rigged to explode after they found some evidence. My other partners that were meant to guard him….”

His tired eyes were blinking in a futile effort to hold back tears. Thankfully he had the decent to pull over before clasping his hands over his tired face. With only the light sniveling filling the car, you were forced to remember that night. The fire. The blood. It was all too much. You reached for the handle of the door, pulling at it to get into the open fields Choso pulled in. Only to find the door would not give.

“(Y/n), their funerals will be closed caskets and the cause of death will be chalked to some accident that explains the state of the bodies.”

He was trying to look at you, to get you to look at him. The droplets clouding your vision and the frantic breathing you were trying to regulate weren’t helping. Recognizing your struggling he grasped your hands, holding them the way he did when you first fought to retell the tale that imprisoned one of the most infamous killers to exist. Rubbing his rough thumbs over your knuckles in comforting circles encouraging you to slowly inhale and exhale.

“They did that to the ones they wanted dead for years. They told me, the last thing they wanted to do was harm a hair on your head.”

The tears were running as Choso pulled you into a hug, listening to you blubber about it being a lie.

“I think if they wanted you dead they would have done so by now.”

His assessment was crude but the truth. Deep down underneath the fear and noxious feeling of encountering those two again, there was still disbelief. A part of you that always denied that the friends you’d seen reveal themselves to you would ever think about reducing you to one of their many victims. Perhaps for your sanity, you’ll have to trust in the friends you know. The friends that confided in such a secret all that time ago.

“So your brother…anyone else?”

He knew what you meant and as he lit a cigarette; he answered with a puff.

“The whole town. Practically wiped out the entire workforce with the stunt they pulled.”

He inhaled with a wince, taking in another painful huff. He hated smoking.

“If they did do anything the whole town would be completely at their mercy…”

Reaching into his coat pocket, you pulled out a cigarette for yourself swiping his lighter to enjoy your cancer stick. Both of you fill the inside of the car with your despair, smoking your anxieties into something smaller. Hopefully weaker.

“Well if it’s for your brother and the whole town then I guess it’s a worthy sacrifice.”

Both of you joylessly laughed, taking long pained drags of the sticks—all the while licking at the tears that escaped your blinking eyes. A couple more puffs of smoke were had before Choso pulled back onto the road.

For whatever reason things were lighter as if that would take away to the possibly dangerous future you’d be subjected to.

“When you can, you should take Itadori to see the city. That’ll really change his life.”

“Any places you recommend?”

“Do you want a list?”

It was nice to fill the space with something positive—a rare activity you two partook in after the court case. It was nice to do it one last time.

The drive wasn’t much longer, eventually pulling up to a small neatly painted house with no car in sight, if it weren’t for Choso’s intel you’d have been none the wiser.

As he put the car in park, he looked at you. As sincerely as he’s always done despite visible tiredness in his face. His arm wrapped around yours with a hesitant hand.

“If you really don’t want to do this you don’t have to. You can punch me and we can say you ran off into those cornfields we passed by earlier.”

Mustering a smile as you leaned your head against his chest, “I’ll be fine Choso. Say ‘hi’ to Yuji for me.”

He helped you get your bags, knocking in a specific tune on the door. The door opened and an old woman revealed herself, welcoming you with a warm smile inviting you both inside. You looked to Choso in confusion as you followed closely behind leading you to a parlour filled with hideously dated and flowery decor. She insisted you sit, promising to fix some lemonade for you both.

“Oh, young man can I have your help with this? I’d get it myself if it weren’t so high.”

Choso hurriedly followed after her, sending a look for you to sit and relax.

This felt weird throwing off your expectations for your meeting with the murderous duo. Managing the burden of a fate to come you allowed your hands and eyes to wander. Letting your eyes glaze over with thoughts of how old the intricate wooden end stand is. Playing with the frayed edges of the quilt decoratively draped over the couch. It kept you distracted long enough, finally breaking out when you saw the long and pale hands coming to wrap around your chest. In a perfect world, it would have been Choso being oddly affectionate but these fingers were longer than his, sculpted to the very knuckle to become a living weapon. Accompanied by an inhale against the top of your head the owner of these hands pulled you further against the back of the couch; further pulling you into the warm soft and sturdy chest of a man you’d feared. A curtain of silky black hair much longer than you remembered dropped just past your shoulders, daring you to look up at its owner who refused you the luxury of space as the shadow-colored eyes stared deeply into yours.

“Hello, Dove. You look radiant as ever.”

Velvety as the day he testified and was sentenced was Suguru Geto. Older but just as handsome as the day you met; exuding the air of gentleness that made anyone feel at ease. That is until he didn’t need to. Those hands long and spindly trailed from your chest and on to your neck tracing your collarbone through your clothes. Finally resting on the middle of your neck, index fingers toying with the organ underneath your skin.

“Hum for me Dove.”

It was just like old times, unwilling to speak and yet plagued by the demand into those dark eyes to give something. So you hummed broken and uneven, in your ears it was hardly the symphony he claimed it was. But it didn’t really matter what you thought now.

“That’s my Dove.”

He annunciated proudly moving his hands to hold your face up, keeping you in place as he softly explored your mouth. Nibbles were soft but urgent as though there was a timer for this reacquaintance unlocking the memories of this exact kiss.

Under the stairwell after a big game, the first after the reveal. Satoru was insistent you come, unable to goad a word out of you, he had you hum. A promise to come to their game and cheer them on. As per usual they won, despite suffering from so many late players the team relied on their surviving all-star players. Unsurprisingly Satoru was majorly credited with their win, allowing Suguru to pick you out from the cheering crowd leading you under the stairwell.

“Aren’t you proud of me, Dove? Show me how proud of me you are.”

The kiss was just like this, still soft but needy. Hands methodically wandering to allow for an opening; some easier access to melt his body into yours in the minutes he had before the others came. It was just like this.

“Aw gorgeous, you missed us?”

Playful as always and hands eagerly running under the hem of your shirt to rub thumbs along the soft expanse of your skin. Pecks in between the hands creeping higher all the while Sugure tightens his grip on your jaw a warning not to forget him. Not ever again.

When Suguru does pull away it’s to suck at your neck, holding you by your shoulders as you’re hands wiggle with uncertainty. Even subconsciously you hesitate to have your hands reciprocate while the two assaulted you with kisses that were getting rougher by the minute. Satoru ignored Suguru when he climbed up higher to meet your lips; and worked to intertwine his fingers with yours. With another attempt, he roughly pulled at Suguru’s lips with his teeth demanding they share a deep kiss of their own before returning to you.

“Oh Gorgeous we’ve been waiting to do this since forever.”

Two more final pecks from each of them, allowed you to breathe leaving you limp and pliable for the especially touchy Gojo Satoru who slotted you into his lap as he settled onto the older couch. Suguru sat closely his arm reaching over the top of the couch to let his hand rub at your neck once again.

“Missed you at the airport.”

The pit in your stomach returned at the loaded judgment and came with a pinch into your side. Under Suguru’s scrutinizing gaze and the feeling of Satoru’s eyes from behind you, had you hoping to defend yourself.

“I thought you were going to kill me.”

You said it with attempted laughter, begging for the laughter of the killers you’ve feared for years–all to confirm that still wasn’t the plan.

Suguru in his forever-contained demeanor sent you a smile with half-lidded eyes. The most unclear answer to the anxiety that hadn’t rested even with the butterflies of kissing these two again. The vibration of a laugh from behind wasn’t an answer either and neither were the muscular arms circling you.

Suguru released your neck, and brought his hand to hold up his head,” So you and the detective. Did you get together, after I left?”

The growl behind his smile reminded you of why it took so much courage to speak out. Something you bore witness to since the couple decided to reveal themselves to you. Not only for the fear of ending up like their victims but for the entirely personal punishment only Suguru in all his infinite fury could conjure.

“No! I’ve been single this whole time.”

That got you a squeal from Satoru who lightly squeezed you tightly into him giving light pecks to your neck. Not stopping anytime soon you turned your attention back to Suguru, who still didn’t look pleased.

“Hm, I’m not convinced.”

The nonchalant claim made you feel like crying again. You remember this conversation when it came to an old friend. Even when you pleaded, silently albeit he’d scoff and smile at you while he remained ‘unconvinced’. Kissing your forehead before leaving to claim another victim for the masked killer.

“He brought you to me …he-he convinced me to talk.”

That wasn’t true. It was you. Through a month of self-care and therapy, you were able to muster the ability to speak again. Choso was great support but it was you who did it. You who gained the courage to move away and restart your life away from the memories of your serial killer boyfriends. Speaking of, you whimper at the sting of pain along your neck.

Straining your gaze to look at the man whose admiring the mark on your neck. Despite the loving caressing of his hand along your neck, the glare of Satoru Gojo was just as frightening as the killer sitting across from you.

“I don’t know I think that’s all the more reason!”

You couldn’t restrain yourself from silently pleading with Suguru looking deeper into the house where Choso disappeared with the older woman. Suguru sent a hand through his unrestrained hair as he sighed.

“I’m not pleased with you (Y/n). Telling on us like you did someone’s got to pay.”

You could hear Gojo smirk behind you.

“So what do you say, babe round 3 of our favorite Halloween Night?”

Suguru released his locks as he mockingly stuck his nose to the sky,“I’ll think about it.”

Suddenly the rickety old house shook from a plane overhead; thinking nothing of it you expectantly looked at Suguru who seemed to be debating. Only for him to abruptly stand and make his way to the door. Satoru hopped up with you in tandem refusing to let you walk on your own without him clinging onto you.

They both made their way to the back porch where the very plane you’d refused to ride a day ago was releasing its stairs. With the steps fully extended Satoru tugged you along as Suguru began to ascend. With the question of Choso’s life still hanging in the balance you dug your feet into the ground pointing at the house which Satoru barely acknowledged until you’ve turned yourself in his direction.

“Wait! My bags! Choso has my bags!”

That had Suguru coming down the steps faster than you could turn; feeling that familiar grip on your jaw as he forced your gaze on him.

“You don’t get to choose if we bring that with you. I didn’t get to choose what I got to bring when you sent me to that cell. ”

You held your gaze as you stood your ground, “Not him. Be mad at me! Not him.”

For a moment those black depths flashed with something violent; a glimpse of what hundreds had seen in their last moments.

It wasn’t for you but how could you know that?

Suguru sighed lessening his grip on your jaw, using both his hands to hold your face. Running his thumbs along the creases of your face as if he had to remember the texture of your skin against his own. Since his reunion with Gojo, he fought tears, pulling you into a hug. One you returned on instinct, somehow even with the blood splattered on his face with the mask of a serial killer hanging on his head he was still your friend. As Gojo closed in from behind you you reminded that you felt the same for him; more than certain that you’d be rendered the same helpless witness to the deaths of so many friends. It would always end this way.

with them at the end of the blade, with the power they’d always have.

Satoru settled a hand on your waist and his other on Suguru’s face, his smile as warm and welcoming as the day you first met.

“Come on you two. Let’s spend this Halloween together. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

Finally entering the plane a part of you felt like you lost. That you succumbed to the imbalanced rulers of the system. But the largest part of you knew since you’d gotten involved with these two, you’d been given the footprint of a giant and it really would be better for everyone if you let them win especially this once.

At least with certainty, you can say this Halloween no one else is dying because of you.

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br0kenangel · 3 months ago

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐲 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Serial Killer Aegon x Victim Reader

Summary: you just wanted to enjoy the night with your best friend and getting fucked. But what was waiting for you was much more scary than anything you had ever expected...

Warning: kidnapping, blood, abuse, unwanted touch, murder.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Original Gif by @lady-alicent ♡

The mirror gleamed back at Y/N as she carefully applied the finishing touches to her makeup, the sleek red dress clinging to her curves in all the right ways. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, the silky strands catching the light of the vanity. Tonight, she was going to be unstoppable. On speaker, her best friend Emily's voice filled the room, excitement buzzing between them as they planned their night out.

"Girl, I swear, tonight's the night. I will get laid" Emily laughed, the sound infectious, pulling a giggle from Y/N.

"Are you sure, though? You've been talking about this for weeks. Are you finally going to get with Tom?" Y/N teased, brushing some highlighter across her cheekbones.

"Hell yeah! I'm gonna fuck his brains out!" Emily declared dramatically, causing both of them to erupt into laughter. "But what about you? Don't think I didn't see how Oliver was staring at you last time. That man is ready to risk it all."

Y/N smirked, lining her lips with a deep crimson. "Oh, Oliver won't know what hit him tonight" she winked at herself in the mirror, confident. "By the end of this party, he's going to be begging."

Emily cackled, making another inappropriate joke that had Y/N snorting, her mascara brush shaking slightly in her hand. "God, Emily, you're gonna make me mess up my makeup."

"I cant help it, you're gonna make himー"

Suddenly, Y/N froze mid-laugh. In the corner of her eye, she caught something ーa shadow shiftingby the window, just out of her line of sight. Her heart skipped, an eerie prickle crawling up her spine.

"What's wrong?" Emily's voice came through the phone, concern creeping into her playful tone.

Y/N blinked, her eyes darting around the room. Everything was still. Quiet. The only sound was Emily's distant voice on the phone. She let out a breath, forcing smile as if it could push away the unease settling in her gut. "Nothing, I just thought I saw something."

"Probably just your nerves. You've got Oliver on the brain too much!" Emily teased, bringing the conversation back to its lightheartedness.

"Yeah, you're right," Y/N muttered, trying to shake off the strange feeling. She continued applying her makeup, but every now and then, her gaze flicked back to the window. That uneasy chill hadn't left, a quiet whisper in her mind that something wasn't quite right. But it was probably nothing.

At least, that's what she told herself.

The night was pitch black, the only light coming from the dim glow of Y/N’s headlights as they cut through the lonely, desolate road. Trees stretched out on either side, their branches twisting together to form a canopy of shadows. The once lively conversation with Emily had died down to a nervous exchange of directions as Y/N found herself completely lost in the maze of unfamiliar back roads.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Y/N asked, her voice tight with frustration, gripping the wheel a little too hard. The GPS had stopped working a while ago, leaving her utterly reliant on Emily’s instructions.

“I swear, Y/N, it’s the right way! Just keep going straight, and you’ll see a sign soon, I promise,” Emily’s voice reassured her, though it did little to calm the rising anxiety bubbling in her chest.

Straight. That’s all she had to do. But the road seemed endless, stretching out in front of her like a void, each passing second growing thicker with unease. Y/N glanced around, her stomach flipping as the dark woods loomed over her. It felt like something was watching from the trees.

"Emily, I don’t see anything—" Y/N began, but her words were cut off in a scream as a figure suddenly appeared from the darkness, leaping in front of her car.

THUD.

The impact jolted her entire body forward, the screech of brakes cutting through the stillness as the car skidded to a halt. Y/N’s heart was racing, pounding so hard she could barely breathe. The world outside was silent again, but the deafening thud of the hit echoed in her ears, over and over.

“Y/N? Y/N! What the hell just happened?!” Emily’s voice was frantic, but Y/N barely heard her.

She stared ahead, wide-eyed, her hands trembling on the wheel. What just happened? Did I hit him? Did I just… kill someone?

Her throat was dry as she swallowed, trying to steady herself. "I… I think I hit someone. I’m not sure." Her voice was shaky, barely above a whisper.

“What?! Are you okay?! What happened?” Emily’s voice was nearly drowned out by the ringing in Y/N’s ears, her panic rising with every passing second. Y/N’s hands moved to unbuckle her seatbelt, her body feeling as if it was moving on autopilot. "I need to check. I’ll call you back."

“What? No, wait—” Y/N hung up, her mind spinning with terror as she opened the door and stepped out into the suffocating darkness. The wind was cool, but her skin prickled with cold sweat. The night was unnaturally quiet, save for the rapid beating of her heart in her ears.

Her eyes landed on the crumpled figure lying in the road just ahead, and her stomach lurched. She could barely see him in the dim light of her car’s headlights, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. Every instinct screamed for her to run, but her feet moved forward, her breath shallow.

She knelt beside the man, her hands trembling as she reached out. "Hey… Hey, are you okay?" Her voice cracked, almost pleading. She shook his shoulder gently, her breath catching in her throat. Please don’t be dead. Please, God, don’t be dead.

He didn’t respond, his body limp. Y/N’s heart plummeted. For a horrifying moment, she thought she’d killed him. I hit him, I really hit him. What if he’s dead? What if I—

But then she noticed it—his chest, rising and falling slowly. He was still breathing.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, a wave of relief crashing over her. "Oh, thank God…" she muttered, her hands moving to check for any sign of consciousness. "Hey, can you hear me? You’re gonna be okay, I’ll get you help. Just hang on."

Her voice was trembling as she stood, rushing back to the car to grab her phone. Her hands fumbled with the door handle, her pulse pounding in her ears. She had to call for help. Get him to the hospital.

But just as she reached into the car for her phone, something hard and solid slammed into the back of her head.

Pain exploded through her skull, white-hot and blinding. Her vision blurred instantly, the world spinning as her body crumpled to the ground. Her mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening, but all she could register was the unbearable, crushing pain.

She tried to blink away the darkness closing in around her, her breaths ragged and desperate, but the force of the blow had knocked her senses loose. Through the dizzy haze, she saw him—the man she had just hit, standing above her with a rock in his hand. The sickening realization crashed into her like a freight train.

It was a trap.

Her heart raced, adrenaline surging through her, but her limbs felt heavy, numb. She wanted to scream, to fight, but her vision was dimming, the pain dragging her under. The last thing she saw before everything went black was the man’s cold, emotionless face, looming over her as she slipped into the abyss.

Y/N's consciousness flickered like a dying flame, dragging her unwillingly from the void. The pain in her head was the first thing she registered-an unbearable, spliting agony that pulsed in time with her heartbeat, making her feel like her skull was about to crack open. She groaned, but the sound came out muffled, trapped behind something in her mouth. Panic started to set in as she realized she couldn't open her jaw; the taste of dirty fabric filled her mouth. A gag.

Disoriented, she blinked slowly, trying to make sense of where she was. Her vision was blurry, her surroundings a nauseating haze of darkness and shadow. Everything reeked. The stench hit her all at once- thick, putrid, suffocating. It was a mix of urine, sweat, blood, and something far more decayed. The smell clawed at the back of her throat, making her gag against the cloth. She fought back the urge to vomit, knowing it would only choke her.

Her body felt... wrong. Heavy. Aching. Every muscle was sore, every inch of her skin stung with a dull, throbbing pain. When she tried to move, she realized why: she was tied up. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, the coarse rope biting into her wrists and cutting off circulation. Her legs were bound too, her ankles tied together so tightly she could barely wiggle her toes.

Where the hell am I? The last thing she remembered was... the man. The man she had hit. Her heart jumped into her throat, the memory rushing back to her all at once一the impact, the body on the road, the moment of relief when she realized he was still breathing. And then... then he had attacked her. Everything went black after that. And now I'm here.

Her breath quickened as she took in her surroundings. The room was small, cramped, with walls so grimy she could barely tell their original color. Blood smeared the walls in splatters and streaks, both fresh and old, the sickening reminder of whatever horrors had taken place here before. There were stains on the floor, dark, sticky patches that made her skin crawl. And then she noticed the other things一flesh, torn and hanging like trophies from hooks. Bones, carelessly strewn on the floor, cracked and splintered. She wanted to scream, but the gag silenced her, the terror building in her chest until it felt like she might suffocate on it.

But she wasn't alone.

In the dim light, she saw them-other women. At least five of them, maybe more. All of them were bound like her, gagged, naked, their bodies bruised and filthy. Some of them were barely conscious, their heads lolling weakly, while others stared at her with wide, terrified eyes. There was something about their expressions that sent ice shooting down her spine-those hollow, desperate eyes, like animals resigned to their fate.

One of them, a woman with tear-streaked cheeks and a gag so tight it had rubbed her mouth raw, met Y/N's gaze. She shook her head slowly, almost imperceptibly, her eyes full of warning. It was as if she was trying to tell her something, something Y/N didn't yet understand. Don't move. Don't fight. Don't make a sound.

But Y/N wasn't like them. She couldn't just sit here and wait to die. Fear surged through her veins, but so did adrenaline. She had to get out. I have to get out.

Slowly, carefully, she began to squirm, trying to shift her weight without making too much noise. Every movement was agonyーher wrists felt like they were being sliced open by the ropes, and her muscles screamed in protest. But she didn't stop. She couldn't. If she stayed here, she was dead.

As she inched her way toward the door, the other women watched her, their eyes filling with fresh tears, their bodies trembling as they silently begged her stop. But she couldn't stop. She had to get free. She had to.

The closer she got to the door, the more hope flickered inside her-until she fell. Her hands slipped, and her body hit the floor with a dull thud. She landed in something wet and slimy, the smell assaulting her senses immediately. It was a disgusting mix of rotting food, excrement, and something else- something thick and foul that clung to her skin and made her gag. Her stomach churned violently, the bile rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, focusing on the door just a few feet away.

But then the door creaked open.

The sound was slow, deliberate, and it filled the room like a death knell, Y/N froze, her heart hammering in her chest, her body tensing as the dim light from the hall spilled into the room.

He stepped inside.

The man. The same man she had hit with her car. He stood in the doorway, his silhouette tall and menacing, his face twisted into a sickening grin. His eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on Y/N, his expression darkened. Rage boiled just beneath the surface of his face, twisting his features into something monstrous.

"What do we have here?" he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

Before Y/N could even try to scramble away, he was on her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her up, dragging her across the filthy floor as she screamed against the gag. Pain shot through her scalp, white-hot and unbearable, but the terror that gripped her heart was even worse. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill her right now.

"You stupid, stupid girl" he hissed, his voice thick with venom as he dragged her back to where she'd been. "You thought you could just leave? You thought you could escape?" He threw her down onto the cold floor, kicking her hard in the stomach for good measure.

The breath was knocked from her lungs, and for a moment, everything went dark. She gasped for air, her body convulsing in pain, but she couldn't get enough oxygen. Her vision blurred, her mind spinning with fear and panic. This is it. I'm going to die.

"You should be thankful l'm not going to punish you further;" he spat, kneeling down beside her, his breath hot and rancid against her face. "You're new. I'm feeling generous today."

Y/N's body shook uncontrollably as she lay there, too weak and terrified to move. But then, just as quickly as the anger had come, his expression changed. The rage melted away, replaced by something far more sinister. His hand, still tangled in her hair, began to stroke her scalp gently, his voice softening as if he hadn't just brutalized her.

"I'm sorry" he whispered, his tone dripping with faux concern. "I didn't mean to hurt you. You just made me so... angry. it's your fault, you know? If you hadn't tried to leave.." His fingers trailed down her neck, his touch lingering on her skin as he murmured, "You're so beautiful. So.. perfect."

"Soft," he murmured, as though admiring the texture of fabric instead of skin. He leaned in closer, inhaling deeply as he buried his face in her hair, his breath warm and sickening against her skin. "You smell so good... You're going to make the perfect doll."

Y/N's mind spun with confusion and horror. Doll? What did that mean? She wanted to scream, to thrash and fight, but her body felt like it was frozen, paralyzed by fear and exhaustion. Her tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks as she trembled beneath his touch.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as his hand slid lower, caressing her naked body with possessive, almost reverent strokes. His fingers traced the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. He was taking his time, savoring the touch, the control, the power. Y/N felt sick, her stomach twisting in knots as she lay there, helpless, her mind screaming for it to stop. But she couldn't Scream. She couldn't move.

"You're going to be perfect" he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "Just... perfect."

She wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and never exist again. But all she could do was lie there, paralyzed by fear and disgust, as he continued to touch her. His hands roamed over her body, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. Every touch felt like fire, burning into her flesh, marking her. She could feel his excitement, his anticipation, and it made her want to vomit.

Then, suddenly, he stood up.

“Not today" he said, smiling down at her with a look of twisted affection. "Today isn't your day."

Y/N's stomach lurched as she realized what he meant. Not her day. But soon. Her tears blurred her vision, her entire body shaking uncontrollably as she tried to scream through the gag. She couldn't stop the sob that broke through, muffled but desperate.

He laughed softly, brushing her hair out of her face with a gentleness that felt like a mockery of kindness. "Shhh" he cooed, "don't cry. You'll ruin your pretty face. And I love your face."

Before she knows it, the man turned his attention to one of the other women-a blonde who had been sitting silently in the corner, her eyes wide with terror. Without a word, he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her to her feet with a sickening cruelty. The woman's body convulsed in terror, her eyes filling with tears as she let out a muffled scream behind her gag.

She struggled weakly, her limbs trembling, but it was no use. He dragged her toward the door, pulling her like a rag doll, her body limp with fear. She was looking at her. Like a lamb. Wide eyes. Begging for help. But Y/N couldn't do anything.

Y/N watched in horror as the door slammed shut behind them. The remaining women in the room sobbed softly, the sound of their crying mixing with Y/N's own frantic breaths.

Then the noise began.

The sound of metal on flesh, a sharp, wet thwack followed by a crunch that made Y/N's blood run cold. The woman's faint cries echoed through the walls, but they were quickly drowned out by the sickening sound of the ax splitting flesh and bone. The rhythm was steady, methodical, like someone chopping wood ーonly it wasn't wood. lt was human.

Y/N closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. All she could do was wait, knowing that soon... it would be her turn.

Should I make a part 2?

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

539 notes · View notes

sweetiecutie · 1 year ago

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🖤Fuck or die🖤

Paring: slasher! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, dead dove do not eat, non-con so rape, cuckolding, unwilling cheating, oral, facefuck, dick piercing bc I know y’all like it, unprotected sex, blood, murder, gore in the end. This is only fiction, don’t take any of this too seriously! If you feel triggered by any of these tags - just scroll past!

Word count: 4k, holy fucking shit

A/n: not me writing this in one day, jesus fucking christ😮‍💨 It’s first time I wrote something so violent, but I think I did pretty good! Originally planned to post it on halloween night but I’m too eager to share!! Also, I tried my best to fix all mistakes by proofreading it 4 times, I really did, but I’m pretty sure that I left out some still

It’s been very uneasy in a small town where you lived - series of blatant murders shook up all inhabitants with their brutality. Cruelly butchered corpses gave a hint of culprit’s strength, so cops guessed it was a man. And the most terrifying thing about this whole situation was that this maniac was still on loose - he never left any evidences, not a damn thing - nothing that could give a clue of who he was. The only trace he’s ever left wasn’t an accident or his mistake, but a well-planned thing - after appearing nameless in numerous news reports and articles he finally decided to introduce himself, writing KÖNIG with his victim’s blood on white flooring, said victim’s two bloody teeth serving as umlaut.

And his motives behind picking out victims were just as unclear - there was nothing in common between all these people: he didn’t have any preferences in victim’s sex or age, their profession nor appearance - as long as they lived in one family house, to avoid anyone hearing their screams, you figured. It seemed that he simply loved killing, who that was - didn’t matter.

You can’t say how exactly it all happened. It was another evening that you were spending at your boyfriend’s place - Paul’s parents were out of town for a few days for anniversary of their wedding, leaving a huge house for their only son. You felt uneasy - there weren’t any new murders in over a month, people were scared that maniac will go “haunting” very soon, which meant that no one was safe.

Paul only cooed at you soothingly when you shared your worries with him, promising to “protect you from all weirdos out there”, placing a comforting kiss on your forehead. So to distract yourselves you decided to throw a movie night - stacking up with snacks and beer, Netflix window opened on a large tv-screen, ready to serve its purpose as you made last preparations.

Cuddled up on the comfy couch, your boyfriend’s comforting warmth slowly seeped into your tense muscles, you watched some corny comedy, groaning in tandem at poorly-made jokes. When suddenly a sound of shattered glass jolted you both up, staring tensely at each other.

- I’ll go check it, - Paul said, getting up and heading to the living room from where the noise came. Everything was quiet for a few long minutes, your fingers fiddled with loose string on the corner of fluffy blanket as you heard some crashing and your boyfriend’s angry shouting:

- Y/n, get out of here!

Then everything was as if in a blur; tall figure clad in all black stepped into the living room, white scream mask contrasting starkly, huge knife covered in thin layer of blood was shining in blue tv-light. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you stared at the man in front of you - sticky feeling of fear seemed to fill every muscle in your body with heavy lead, making it impossibly hard to move even an inch. And then something in your head snapped, you threw yourself off the couch and towards the door opposite from killer, but he was way quicker - huge hands gripped you by your shoulders, rising you off your feet easily and dragging you back towards living room, your struggling and screaming did nothing to help.

You were now kneeling in front of this psycho, hands tied up tightly with coarse rope that dug painfully into your soft skin, surely leaving deep indents and dark bruises. Your boyfriend was laying on his side a few meters afar - bound by his wrists and ankles with same rope, crimson blood oozed out of deep stabbing wound in his stomach, nose obviously broken and bleeding - all these a result of his grapple with intruder, which obviously didn’t end in Paul’s favour.

- Please, - you weeped, tears and snot covered all of your face, whole body trembled with fear and adrenaline. - Please, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill me, - you managed to choke out, silent cries tore through your chest, their intensity made it hard for you to breathe - you were hysterical.

- Oh, I know you will, sweetheart, - mechanical voice said in mock sympathy. One huge glowed hand came up to cup your chin, causing you to jolt violently upon feeling the contact; murderer tilted your head upwards, your insides churning upon laying your eyes on white plastic of his mask.

His thumb rubbed soft circles on your wet cheek - it was almost ridiculous how gently he touched you. This made you sob even more, but you didn’t dare to turn away, too scared to anger him.

- That would be a shame to kill such a pretty little thing, after all, - maniac said, glove-clad pad of his thumb swiped over your trembling bottom lip, soft cotton absorbing the mixture of your tears and saliva glazing it. - I may have an idea. Wanna hear it?

Silence set in for a few long gut-wrenching seconds which was interrupted only by your quiet sobbing and sounds of your boyfriend struggling against tight ropes. Quiet squeal tore through your chest as huge hand squeezed your cheeks harshly, yanking your face upward, forcing you to look up at König. Your bleary from tears eyes fixed upon two black holes in his mask, where man’s eyes supposedly were.

- I said “wanna hear it”? - slasher gritted out, his tone harsh as he put heavy emphasis on every syllable he uttered, making you shrink even further into yourself. You nodded your head hastily, not wanting to try out your luck any more.

- Y-yes, - you stammered, your voice giving out making your response sound more like a kitten’s squealing rather than human speech. König stared at you for a few long silent seconds, your knees beginning to tremble from both fear and painful exposure to hard flooring, which soon irradiated onto the whole of your body.

- I’ve been watching you guys, you know? For a few weeks now, - he said nonchalantly, his grip on your face loosened, long fingers tracing intricate shapes on your cheeks and temples, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ears, getting it out of your eyes. A wave of hysterical cries threatened to tear through your throat upon hearing his words, but you tried to suppress them as much as you physically could, staying still before him.

- Yes, - his voice sounded delicate - as if one of those passionate lovers who proclaimed their tender feelings. - Seen you guys do stuff… kiss, cuddle, fuck. A pathetic view, to be honest, - as he said so, his fingers came to tangle in your messy hair, massaging your scalp with soft movements. You felt sick. This man with a dagger bigger than your forearm clasped tightly in one hand, was caressing you so tenderly with another one - his unpredictable behaviour was making your guts churn.

He turned toward your boyfriend who was still thrashing harshly, struggling with all his might against secure confines of tight rope. Your gaze shifted towards your lover as well - the sight made your heart ache - his blood - some already caked and some fresh and shiny - covered the whole bottom of Paul’s face, a makeshift gag out of piece of some fabric was tied skilfully around his head - by the looks of it not to be untied by itself. His eyes met murderer’s, you could make out his muffled promises of killing the bastard, threats to not touch you and to get the fuck out of here. Murderer didn’t look impressed at all, staring silently at your man lying at his feet.

- Look at this pathetic scumbag - I tied your hands loosely, hoped for a bit of a fight, - harsh noise came from the speaker behind the mask, which you figured to be a sigh. König then turned back towards you, his head tilting to the side slightly, you could practically feel his intense gaze prickling on your skin. - Why are you even wasting your time on this piece of shit? He can’t even fuck you right, and you expected this piece of shit to actually protect you from danger? Provide for you?

Hot tears rushed down your cheeks at his words, as you stayed silent, not knowing what to say. König sighed again, rolling his shoulders to rid himself of the tension in sore muscles, his neck popping loudly, making you jolt at the sound.

- Now, my plan is - how about I show you what a real man is like? Set the bar high for you, hm? - he said, a cool glimmer of blood-stained blade caught your eye as König twirled his knife skilfully in between thick fingers barely twenty centimetres away from your face. He noticed your attention shifting from him to his little tool, softly nudging your chin up to look back at him. - Oh, don’t worry darling. If you’re being a good girl that thing won’t touch you, deal?

You nodded your head frantically, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. - Anything, - you choked out, voice hoarse and barely audible but it was enough for him to hear.

- I like the eagerness, - murderer chuckled, straightening his back from semi-crouching position to stand to his full height. His hand left your face with a small pinch on your tear-stained cheek, tossing his knife from one hand to another as if he was juggling; finally gripping the handle tight König pointed the tip of sharp blade towards your boyfriend: - I want you to watch. You dare closing your eyes and she’s dead.

Your eyes widened in panic, staring fearfully at Paul, mouthing silent “please” at him. Maniac shifted his attention back to you; he put his knife into its holster which was attached to his thigh with tight leather straps, you noted that he didn’t secure the handle, making it easier to pull the knife out in one move if needed.

You watched as if in slow motion how his hands came to the waistband of his black jeans, undoing the button and tugging zipper down, pulling front pants pieces apart. Your gaze darted up towards his mask-covered face, confusion mixed with terror written on your face - your insides dropped as you finally realised what he actually meant.

- What? Doll, I promised to show you what a real man is like, - one big hand came to rest on the crown of your head, not pushing nor pulling, just staying there securely. - Now I warn you, you dare using your teeth - I’ll pluck every single one of them before gutting you like a fucking pig, you get it?

Your breath stopped upon hearing his words, shoulders started shaking as strong bout of adrenaline rushed through your veins, making your poor heart pound crazily, threatening to break your ribs from the inside. You nodded your head vigorously, all of a sudden extremely aware of the tight rope binding your wrists together, how your fingers prickled from constricted blood flow, how much your shoulders ached from being pulled back for so long.

- Good girl. Now, go on, - König said, lightly pushing your head towards his clothed crotch. You had to crane your head up painfully because of the height difference between you two in order to even reach König’s private parts. You gazed up at him, unsure of what exactly he wanted you to do, but he just stared down at you silently, not offering any instructions nor comments.

You darted your tongue out, licking a noticeable bulge showing through his boxers, soaking black fabric in your spit. You did it again, and again, fear and adrenaline subduing feelings of humiliation and shame, you could hear your boyfriend’s muffled “get your fucking hands off her”, but König didn’t seem to pay slightest attention to the other male. You tilted your head to the side, pressing your opened mouth to the thick shaft that was trapped between man’s v-line and his tight underwear, sucking on it softly. That made slasher heave a deep sigh, hand on your head tangled deeper in your hair, holding you firmly in place, indicating for you to keep going.

- Now pull my boxers down, - psycho ordered a few seconds later; his voice, though contorted by voice changer, now sounded deeper. You looked frightfully up at him, your hands still bound tightly behind your back.

- But… how? - you asked, a spark of hope igniting in your chest as thought of him untying your hands popped up in your head. But it was extinguished just as quickly as it appeared with his next words:

- Well, think about it, - he shrugged his broad shoulders ever so slightly, your mind racing at the speed of light as you tried to figure out the problem.

You opened your mouth, moving as slowly as you could to indicate that you didn’t mean to do anything reckless - baring your teeth and gently hooking the elastic of his boxers, your canines grazing slightly against warm skin of murderer’s lower stomach. Once you secured your hold on elastic you pulled down on it, managing to slide it down slightly. König’s hard cock sprung right out, standing tall and thick against his clothed stomach - tip was concealed by brownish foreskin, and your eyes widened at the sheer size of him. Your attention was caught by two symmetrical rows of shiny silver balls running along mighty shaft, glistening coldly is white light of living room’s chandelier.

- Now, doll, that’s what a real good cock looks like, - man said, his free hand came to wrap around thick shaft, pumping it a few times to reveal pink head, a shiny bead of precum sitting in the middle of it. - Open wide, princess. And mind your teeth.

You let your mouth fall open, sticking your tongue out; his cock was standing too high for you to reach it in your kneeling position so König had to guide his length down to your lips, your mouth managing to only take his tip and a little bit more inside.

With your mouth full of other man’s cock your eyes wandered in the direction of your boyfriend; thrashing around seemed to finally exhaust him, crimson blood oozed out of the wound in his stomach. His chest was heaving in tandem with his wheezing breath, angry tears streamed down his temples as he stared with fierce anger at your abuser, the sight made your throat clench, causing you to gag on killer’s hefty length.

- Aw, poor girl is not used to a decent cock, huh? Tell me, did the even reach down to your throat? Lemme guess - he was cumming a few minutes after shoving his pathetic ten centimetres in this precious mouth, wasn’t he? - König chuckled darkly, suddenly pushing down onto your head, forcing you to take half his length down your tight throat, keeping you in place as you choked around his thickness, metal balls were rubbing painfully against the softness of your tongue, irritating sensitive buds of it.

Murderer’s free hand joined the one resting on your nape, gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail, fixating your head in one position. Tears of pain and humiliation rushed down your reddened cheeks as man fucked his massive cock into your tight throat; his pace was erratic, without certain rhythm, making it hard for you to synchronise your breathing with his irregular thrusts. Your lungs burned with lack of air, dainty kneecaps ached from standing for so long on hard flooring, surely bruising your tender skin.

He let go of you only when you actually started to choke, your whole face reddening with exertion; thick strings of spit mixed with precum connected your swollen lips to glistening pink tip, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, dripping down your chin onto the floor below. A choked cry tore through your chest as massive hands manhandled you around, forcing your head down so that your wet cheek was pressed against cold hardwood facing your boyfriend, your back arched and ass up high in the air. König kneeled down behind you, backs of your thighs were touching coarse denim sitting snugly around his legs, cold metal rivets of his holster contrasting brutally with warmth of your skin. Broad palms kneaded on soft pudge of your ass, delivering a strong smack to the swell of your buttcheek, impact softened slightly by the fabric of your shorts and his glove.

Your boyfriend started thrashing as hard as ever, grunting and screaming as much as he could as König pulled your shorts along with your underwear down to your knees, huge hands resting on the bottom part of your ass, thumbs spreading your pussy open. Silent tears ran down from your eyes, gathering in a small puddle on the floor; you heard maniac tut behind your back, a pad of thumb swiped up and down your slit, making you jolt from sudden contact.

- What a shame, - he heaved a deep sigh, straightening his shoulders and looking up at your boyfriend. - She’s wet, dude.

A few small sobs left you upon his words. Paul tried talking back, but a horrible bubbling sound came out of his throat - gag in his mouth was completely red with absorbed blood, some of it oozed down the corners of his mouth, adding to the bloody mess on his face. You sobbed at the sight, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid looking at horrible picture.

- Turns out our little slut likes it rough, yeah? - König mocked, leaning over your frail form, one meaty forearm rested next to your head, huge chest pressed tightly against your back, overstimulating your thus on age senses. Terrifying mask was barely a few centimetres afar from your face as man whispered right next to your ear: - Did he ever fuck you rough?

His heavy gaze was fixed expectantly upon you, huge hand that still rested on your ass squeezed your flesh painfully, causing you to cringe. - No, - you mouthed, but that was more than enough for him. Slasher hummed in acknowledgment, straightening back into his kneeling position.

- Don’t worry love, I’ll give this pretty pussy what she needs, - psycho said, fisting his leaking cock a few times before aligning swollen tip against your tight entrance. With slow but persistent push of his hips König forced one third of his length inside your poor cunt, fresh dose of hot tears rushed from your eyes, pain of penetration adding to the ache all over your body.

With a sharp snap of his massive hips man forced as much of his cock as it’d go into you. Loud yelp tore through your throat, scratching it painfully; stretch of his girthy cock was too much for your pussy to take, ladder of piercings adding to unpleasant feeling. Tender walls fought against his thick length, such sudden stretch caused your muscles to reflexively constrict around him more, drawing a throaty groan to tumbling out of killer’s broad chest.

- There there, dearie. Poor pussy so used to pathetic cocks, can’t even take me whole, - König said in fake compassion, you felt his length throb within you, twitching a few times. Strong hands held you in place tightly, preventing you from moving your hips even for a millimetre.

Murderer generously allowed you a minute or so for your poor cunny to accommodate to his size before beginning to move his hips in shallow but quick thrusts. Soon enough König was full on fucking into you on rapid pace, your whole body jolting forward with intensity of his mighty thrusts, strong arms yanking you back in place every so often.

One of his deadly hands slithered around your ridiculously smaller form, index and middle fingers danced across your spread around his dick folds, causing your stomach to tense at sudden contact. Free hand yanked you up by the rope binding your wrists, urging you to raise your torso; your shoulder blades were pressed tightly against his heaving chest, warmth emitted off him like a fucking radiator.

Clothed fingertips rubbed tight relentless circles on your clit, causing thick pleasure to rush up and down your spine and your back arch uncontrollably. Your teeth clenched to suppress all the small sounds threatening to spill out of your lips; you felt König’s massive form shift behind you, cold plastic of horrendous mask pressed against the side of your face - he was whispering right into your ear, soft voice real and unchanged:

- I’m gonna slit your fucking throat if you’re not using it, - that caused a shiver to rush down your spine, arising goosebumps in its wake. You moaned out, doing as the murderer wanted, letting all the small sighs and moans flow freely from your lips, your voice lower than usual from all the crying and throatfucking.

Your breathing became shallow; your head just wasn’t working anymore - emotional shock along with physical abuse drained you out of all strength - you were a mere rug doll in psycho’s tight grip, and he could do whatever he pleased with you, you were too exhausted to fight back anyway.

Consciousness started to slip out of your grasp, vision blurred out with tears, dark spots appearing in the corners; König’s throbbing dick pounded your poor pussy mercilessly, thick cockhead nudged against all the sweet spots inside of you, his piercings stimulating you even further as if in spite of all your attempts to resist pleasure psycho was forcing onto you. A tight coil curled in the pit of your stomach, threatening to explode with every harsh snap of mighty hips against your reddened ass. Soaked with your slick fabric of König’s gloves felt overbearing against your clit, his fingers never once stopping to rub your sensitive nub.

A few moments later something deep within you snapped, like a rubber band stretched to its limit - suddenly the world around you turned white, ringing noise filled your ears as you had the most painful orgasm of your life being wrung out of you; your body quivered and thrashed in serial killer’s strong grip, unintelligible sounds and words poured out of your lips, barely louder than a whisper. And then everything became quiet. Soft velvet of darkness enveloped your bruised and exhausted body; you were drowning in warm waves of sleep, not finding it in yourself to try and fight them off. You gave in happily, trusting yourself in welcoming hands of darkness and quiet, afar from horrible reality, afar from fear and danger.

It felt as if your head was splitting in two - horrible ache settled somewhere deep inside of your brain, pain irradiated from within to the outsides of both hemispheres, causing you to groan in agony quietly in. Your whole body hurt, eyelids felt swollen and heavy even as they were closed; and then suddenly your eyes snapped open.

You were lying on cold hardwood flooring in your boyfriend’s living room, shorts and underwear still pulled down to your knees, but your hands now free from rope. You pulled your bottoms back up, hot tears pooling in your eyes as you let out a choked sob. You felt wretched, disgusting, dirty.

- Paul? - you called out to your boyfriend, the sound of your own voice startling you - hoarse and scratchy, total opposite from your usual octave.

As you turned around your breath got caught up in your chest, bitter ball of bile got stuck in your throat - you felt like you were about to throw up.

Here lay Paul - pale and lifeless, dull eyes staring blankly into nothingness, gag still fixed tightly around his head, now brown with dried out blood. Some of his insides spilled out of the gaping cut across his stomach, lying on the floor in a small heap right next to him, huge puddle of blood spread out on the floor, getting into all small cracks and gapes in wooden flooring.

And on the wall behind, in strange brownish color that looked all too similar to the caked blood on your boyfriend’s face, in sprawling handwriting were words:

SEE YOU SOON ♡

Slasher! König Masterlist

Another a/n: I’m planning on making it a series - let me know what you guys think<3 Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writes some love - we live off feedback<3

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mikassaviola · 7 months ago

Text

Best Friends Brother|MYG

Description: Your best friend's older sexy brother. The older one. Smart. Intelligent. The one who advises you about life ever since you were a kid.

Warnings: age gap, reader is 20, Yoongi is 27, Soft Dom Yoongi, Mentions of insecurity indirectly, Unprotected sex, slight fingering, appreciation, nipple sucking, after shower after care, cute stuff?

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You and your best friend Mina were now eating pizza and sharing reels to one another, meeting after a long time and having big plans.

But this is what you were actually doing.

Nothing.

But it was comfortable.

Mina's phone ringing interrupted you as you looked at her lazily picking up the phone and putting it to her ear.

Just like Yoongi, you thought.

You shook your head, it had been too long since you met him. He's probably busy with some music projects in Seoul.

Meanwhile you and Mina went to different colleges and met up like this after a long long time, fixing your schedules when free.

"Oh you're here? Sure sure, yeah", You heard her say, as you curiously eyes her. She was getting up after cutting the call.

"It's Jungkook, you know the guy who was three years our senior?", Mina said and you nodded still confused as to where this conversation was going.

"Yeah, the jock guy", You replied casually.

"Well I've been going out with him for a while, and he's outside.. I'll be back by the night?", She asked but didn't really ask as she was already putting on her socks after jeans.

"I didn't even know how long you've been dating? Is he good? Seemed like a Playboy back in the day", You asked completely not expecting that. She hasn't told you she's been dating for a while?

"Three months, will see you. I'll probably be late cover for me yeah?", She said leaving you alone in her house.

You were supposed to catch up, watch a scary movie at night, do your face mask and stuff. Just you and her.

But in these two years ever since you joined colleges you've been drifting apart, it's no secret.

She can feel it, you can too. Always inseparable during school, best of friends and all that shit just going into trash as soon as you joined.

Your personalities were really different and in the back of your mind you already saw this coming.

The bell rang making you frown, no one was supposed to be here.

Her parents have gone out for the weekend hence your plan of staying, her brother's in Seoul and she possibly can't be back so soon.

She clearly stated that she'd be back by night.

You walked to the door, your over thinking ass wondering if it's a serial killer as you opened the door.

It was quite the opposite. It was Yoongi. With a big ass suitcase. Dresses in dark blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt.

He looked handsome.

"Hi, uhm long time", You mumbled stepping aside giving him a way in.

He was also surprised to see you, hoping for his mom to answer the door.

"Yeah, how you doing?", He asked walking to his room casually as multiple questions popped inside your head.

Why is he here? Is he staying? Did something happen at work? Is he good?

He looked like he lost a lot of weight. He walked back inside probably after keeping the suitcase as you filled a glass of water for him to take.

"Thanks uh, so where's everyone else? Didn't expect you here", He asked drinking his water in one go as you leaned on the counter across him just like he was.

"Your parents are out for the weekend, and I was uhm with Mina, she uhm... She's out buying some snacks for us, I was supposed to stay in your room since Mina snores", You said as he gazed at you nodding at your words.

"Yeah, I didn't really tell anyone so..", He said shrugging at the end and you nodded taking in his words.

"Why don't we sit down?", You walked to his room because Mina's was really quite messy, not like he would mind she was his sister but you just thought it'd be better.

Less messy and probably more comfortable for him, he's back after like an year? Or even longer.

After you were settled down on his bed and him beside you leaning at the headboard you asked.

"Is it fine at your work?", You said looking at him. He was just looking up. He looked pretty, his cheeky cheeks and pretty feline eyes.

You missed this. Sitting like this and talking about life with him.

"It is yeah, although it was getting too much, felt like I wasn't getting a break. So another producer offered me to take off for like a month or two", He explained smiling slightly making you smile.

"Sounds good Yoongi, you got good colleagues", You said following his gaze and staring at the ceiling. Many star stickers pasted on the ceiling.

Back when Yoongi and Mina shared a room and Mina wanted a starry ceiling, her room was their store back then. Then she turned 8 and got her personal room.

"I do, what about you? How's it going at college?", He asked the question you dreaded. You didn't know whether to ramble to him how shitty everything is, the last was two years back.

When you were 18 and were about to start college.

But now things are different. Yoongi has always been smart but he looked even more mature, having work experience too now.

"It's fine", You said but Yoongi could tell it wasn't.

You were different. Introvert. Never opened up to anyone really. He didn't like that you weren't even telling him things like you used to. But then again he was the one who was focused on work never taking a break. Less calls. Less texts.

"Mhm, made many friends?", He asked and you looked at him to find him already looking at you.

"Not really but I'm fine", You shrugged.

"You miss Mina?", He asked.

"Of course I wish she was in my college would've made things easier but that's okay too", You said. You never said it out loud. Not to Mina because every time she talked about her college. She was always doing so good.

"Mina would've come back by now", Yoongi mumbled checking the time and you sighed.

"Look, she's with a guy. Please don't tell your parents, will be back by night", You bit your lower lip waiting for him to react and he shrugged.

"Should've told me Y/N, she's an adult now. Although she shouldn't have left you alone", Yoongi said.

He noticed the pained expression that took over your face, scrunching his face and cocking his face to the side giving you the look.

You sighed. "We've just drifted apart I guess", You let out, rubbing your forehead slightly.

"Impossible, you were so close", Yoongi retorts totally shocked and you smiled slightly.

"We have, ever since college started, she made new friends, a boyfriend, she's having her own adventures that the boring me could never suggest", You chuckled slightly hurt. You thought she'd always choose you even though you can be really constant about your life.

"You literally made her jump roofs", Yoongi exclaimed and you immediately groaned at the memory of the 14 year old you.

"Not that adventure, the smoking, clubbing types. I've never been that kind of person Yoongi, you know it and she has always been an extrovert", You explained a little frustrated.

"Then she's choosing shit if that's what she wants, what about you", He asked.

"I have been the same, not many friends and all, I just miss Mina and I miss you", You said looking at him as he sighed.

"You're really awesome, just don't think you're boring or stuff because your adventure isn't Mina's cup of tea", Yoongi explained and you smiled. Always good with his words.

"You know I'm sometimes jealous of her, because she's so good at it. At communication. Like she's forgetting about me and here I'm stuck with her memories", You chuckled at the realisation that you were saying this to Yoongi.

"Mhm and?", Yoongi asks as you bite your lip. He surely knows you to the point that he understands when you want to say more but won't because you think he'd judge you.

"And, she's good with guys. Don't get me wrong, they come back. And the guy I dated. God he made me feel horrible. Like I wasn't a good fuck, had me scarred for life I guess", You let it out and laughed afterwards masking the hurt with it.

"And you believed him? Didn't even try anyone else? Maybe he was bad at it yanno?", Yoongi argued knows you too well to know you're hurt. Knows you're an overthinker.

"I couldn't try someone else", You said a force in your words, your eyes on him, his on yours, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Why?", He asked.

"Because, I-", You leaned over placing your lips on his.

He's been talking for too long, knows you're fucked. He looks so pretty doing nothing. You just can't help when he's so close to you after so long.

Fuck the besties code that you and Mina never talked about. About not being with each other's siblings.

Your hands settled around his neck as he started moving along your lips after a while. It got hot and wet after a while as you devoured each other.

Yoongi has always liked you, you were so different and adventurous and good at talks completely opposite of what you just told him.

And when you kissed him, for a second he thought he was simply imagining it but here you were gripping on his collar as his hands sneaked around your waist.

You pulled back out of breath.

"Because every time I'm with a guy, you're on my mind. Yoongi would've listened better, replied better", You said pecking his lips in between your words as he just stared at you baffled by your actions.

"Would've touched me better", You said placing yourself on his lap.

"Shit you gotta reply to me Yoongi", You said grinding on his crotch as Yoongi took your hands pushing you back and climbed over you.

"God do you have any idea what you're doing?", Yoongi said as your heart beat fastened inside your chest at the proximity. Your actions registering in your head as you got red and red. "Never took you the one to be so reckless", Yoongi pointed out his lips finding your neck making you gasp.

"Yoongi", You whined as he started un buttoning your t-shirt trailing kisses along it making your skin burn as he reached in between your breasts.

"Was so glad when I saw you open the door", He mumbled against your skin softly making you whine.

"Yoongi, I"- You gasped when he took your nipple in his mouth. You didn't wear a bra knowing only you and Mina would be at home.

"You're so pretty baby, Mina is just stupid", Yoongi says leaning back sitting up and removing his T-shirt.

You both half naked, your cheeks red, chest heaving up and down as Yoongi traced your tummy and grabbed your boobs making you hiss.

"So sensitive here", Yoongi cooed coming down to lick your nippled and suck on them as you pulled on his locks slightly making him groan.

Giving both of your nipples a good suck he trailed his kisses down, biting and nipping on your skin making you whine out.

"So loud, all for me bet that boy didn't worship this perfect body", Yoongi said toying with your waistband.

"Yoongi please I want you to touch me", You whined out as he pulled down your trousers along with your panties.

"I am touching you", He said and you whined making him laugh at you, his gums showing.

He spread your legs for his eyes to see, his laugh fading and his eyes darken when he looked at your cunt.

"You want me so bad, don't you? Look at you baby, so fucking messy, all for me", He said his right hand leaving your leg and coming down to your pussy pushing a finger inside.

"Fuck yes, Yoongi. All for you ", You mumbled your breath catching in your throat and he pumped his finger in and out making you moan.

"I know", Yoongi murmured pulling down his jeans along with his boxers and holy fuck. You've never seen anything so big, not in porn, never in real life.

He was big and thick and perfectly long.

"Yoongi you're so beautiful", You moaned out feeling the need for him to be inside. "Please put it inside me", You said seeing slight pre cum leak out at your words.

"You have no idea what you're playing with, you want me so bad yeah?", Yoongi said pressing the head of his cock to your clit rubbing it up and down.

"I'll cry if you don't", You said out of frustration, not thinking before you spike making Yoongi grin.

"Would love to see that, will see that someday", He said pushing his full length inch by inch inside you as you opened your mouth and closed your eyes. Taking him in.

"Shit Yoongi, you're so so so big", You said out of breath and Yoongi leaned down pressing his lips to yours.

You could feel his veins rub against your pussy walls as he shifted slightly making you wince.

"So tight, so fucking tight. My fucking pussy", Yoongi rambled and gave you a long, slow but powerful thrust making you gasp.

"Yes, yes yours. God feels so heavenly", You said as he started thrusting in and out.

His dick filling you so well, reaching deeper with every thrust.

His hands holding yours above your head as he thrusted inside your pussy repeatedly and harshly.

"Yes yes yes yes Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi", You chanted like a mantra making him groan.

"Whoever said this is bad can fuck themselves, this is the best. Made for me. Mine", Yoongi growled sitting on his heels pulling you towards him holding your legs up as he thrusted inside you violently.

"Holy fuck, fuck, yoongi. Yoongi. Yoongi. Yoongi. Yoon- ah fuck - gi", You moaned feeling the knot in your stomach tighten.

"Fuck yes, tell everyone who's making you feel good. Who do you belong to baby? My pretty baby", Yoongi moaned his thrust getting sloppier and faster.

"You Yoongi", You cried out. "I am gonna"-

"Me too", Yoongi growled.

"Inside, Fill me, I'm on pill", You moaned feeling your orgasm wash over you and feeling overstimulated as he thrusted and thrusted until he came inside you with a groan.

Leaning his body over yours, sweat beads coating his forehead as he kissed you sweetly.

"You are so beautiful", Yoongi said, his voice deep and soft as you smiled.

"You are such a talker when you fuck", You said as he pressed his forehead to yours as you both laughed.

"You make me say things", Yoongi replied, both of you tired but had the biggest smiles on your faces.

"I love your smile, always have ever since we were kids", You mumbled taking his face in your hands and tracing your fingers over his gums.

"Ahan, is that so?", Yoongi asked and you giggled.

"Mhm, let's take a shower?", You asked making Yoongi get up as you both took a shower together. Bathing each other and talking.

"It's not a one time thing, don't overthink", Yoongi murmured drying your hair with a hair dryer.

"I know Yoongi, I'm looking forward to us", You said smiling at him wearing his t-shirt and shorts as he smiled back.

You both laying in your bed, your head on his chest, your arms up in the air as you measured your hands silently.

"You're so small", Yoongi exclaimed and you huffed.

"I'm taller than Mina", You said nuzzling your face in his neck bringing your hand down to wrap around hin.

"Never took you as the cuddly one, can live like this forever", Yoongi said making you smile.

"I know you're tired and want to sleep though, sleepy baby", You said.

"Baby? I'm like 7 years older?", Yoongi mocked and you both laughed. Glad that his age was not a matter of concern but something you were joking about and you hope it stays the same.

"okay baby", You teased, your laughs never fading as you both slept in each other's embrace.

A/N: you can lmk about my errors yk I'm like really new to this😭

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rainroses45 · 4 days ago

Text

My Niece is a Goldfish?

۶ৎ description: Imagine when Dean goes to go pick up Sam from college, not only is the news of John being missing brought up but another little surprise was on its way. Dean Winchester x fem! reader ۶ৎ a/n: I have like 4 different incomplete stories in my notes app rn and I'm just so lazy because who the hell wants to read my garbage when people want smut but oh well i tried…not my best not my worst idc (Not edited) ۶ৎ song inspiration: Back to the Basics - Lana Del Rey ۶ৎ Warnings: ZIP ZERO NONE NADA

“Woah dude, why is there a car seat in the back?” Sam stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at the floral pink booster.

Dean had just broken into his apartment like a serial killer in the middle of night, dragged Sam out into the street after somehow convincing him to join him on trying to locate their dead beat father, and now there is a missing infant.

“Great.” Sam thought, “Dean caused an Amber alert.”

“Shit!” Dean scurried to the impala, hoping - no, praying that his brother developed cataracts or something. “I told them not to leave the car.”

“Them?!” Sam followed Dean around the impala. “What are you talking about?!”

“I told her not to leave,” Dean angrily said while dialing your number, “and what does she do,” he puts the flip phone to his ear, “she leaves.”

“Dean,” Sam walked over to him, still being completely ignored, “hellloooo??” He waved his hands in front of his older brother. “Who are you talking about?”

“Pick up, pick up,” Dean ignore him, anxiously tapped his thigh looking around, waiting for the phone to stop ringing, and your voice to answer.

“Okay if you are about done now with your little tap routine, I’m going back-“ Dean grabbed Sam’s shirt pulling him back like a dog on a leash.

“They couldn’t have gone far-” He shoved the flip phone in his pocket, frantically searching the area with worried eyes. “Dean let go man…” “You take that direction and I’ll check this side, maybe if we..”

“Dean, sweetie did you find Sam?”

And is if the lights from heaven sent a giant satellite beam on you, Dean turned around blindly searching for your voice.

“Oh my dear cream of tartar where have you been?!” Dean flared his hands down looking at you like you’ve been missing for months.

“Okay what the actual fuck is going on?” Sam was close to just throwing his duffle bag at the window, heading back into bed, and taking a melatonin.

Dean waved him off unfortunately to his demise. “Not right now bowl head I just saw all of my lives flash before me.”

“You’re such a baby.” You commented. You held what looked like to sam a tiny sack of potatoes with a pink blanket covering it from the winds.

“Does that mean I get to-“

“NO!” Both you and Sam scream - both for different reasons but the same sense of warning nonetheless.

“Okay can someone explain to me what is happening right now?”Sam ran his hands through his hair desperately trying to contain a forming headache from all this mojo of chaos.

“Well my dear Sammy, while you went off to college I decided to adopt the brady brunch- what the fuck do you think happened?” Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance walking over to you and the baby.

Sam now able to adjust his eyes realized the sack of potatoes turned out to be a little baby with the rosiest checks ever.

“I didn’t think you would end up with child.” Dean groaned at Sam’s comment.

“What are we the England Monarch? No of course I didn’t plan on bringing a baby into this world but stuff happens..” Dean trailed off, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal. Sam on the other hand was having a whole mental gymnastics session trying to figure out how the hell things changed so fast.

“How is my little precious princess doing,” your husband pulled the blank down gently to see his daughter’s beautiful eyes peak out. She had the same sparkle and shape as yours to the point he could even see the tiny hew surrounding the pupil - she was beautiful.

“Sorry for leaving sweetheart,” you said to Dean, watching his cute reaction to his daughter gazing up at him. “She was getting fussy in the car waiting so I decided to take her on a little stroll.” You moved her down to your arms, cradling her into your chest.

“Would it have killed you to answer the phone at least?” Dean sighed as the rate of his heart finally matched his breathing.

“Sorry my phone died.” You knew your husband would be worrying about you but by the time you thought to call, you phone screen turned black with a red battery sign on.

“That’s okay just- I don’t know, shoot a flare gun or something just please don’t leave without telling me.”

“I won’t.” You smiled. He in return left a soft kiss to your check and a butterfly kiss to your daughter. She smiled at her father’s touch, making you both smile back; hearts so full with love, before the moment was ruined.

“So I have a niece?”

“No you have a pet goldfish, suprise!” Dean sparkled his hands around annoyingly, if he had known picking up his brother would be this tiring he might have just let Sam be stuck in his cob web filled books. . “How the hell you got into Stanford is beyond me.”

“That’s enough Dean,” you snickered as your husband rolled his eyes. “I think it’s nice to see you again Sam, although on different circumstances would have been nice.” You walked towards the impala, Dean already opened the back door for you as you hopped in with your little princess.

“Wow I just- I never took you as a father figure,” Sam looked down shocked, “I mean I didn’t even see you as one to settle down - no offense Y/n.”

“Umm very much taken Samuel.” You had been dating Dean since you both were 15, so to say he wouldn’t stick around after the shit show of high school was highly offensive.

“Everyone buckle up,” Dean readjusted his review mirror starring at you, as you buckled in your seven month old daughter. His whole life in the back of his car.

Sam clipped in his seatbelt, “Soooo am I going to have to interrogate the baby for answers orrr..”

“This is going to be a long car ride.” You smiled as Dean groaned.

“Well it all started when…”

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x you #dean winchester/reader #sam winchester #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x fem reader #FLUFF #sam winchester confused #john winchester being a dick #dean winchester x wife reader #dean winchester x wife who happens to have his child reader #IM TIRED #short cute imagine #no smut

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dissapointu · 1 month ago

Note

Arcane characters throwing a birthday party for the reader who has a bad memory and forgot his own birthday 😝

((my memory is rubbish, I can forget things I'm going to say/do In the same second , casual conversations, details and commitments 😔 planners are my best friends)

Happy birthday again 🥳

BABE. FIRST OF ALL.your faves would 1000000% throw you the most extra, heartfelt birthday party of all time because you deserve to feel loved and celebrated—memory or not.

So here’s how they’d handle it when you’re out here vibing, completely forgetting it’s your special day, and they’re like “Oh no, not on my watch.”

————————————————————————-

Jinx

Jinx is giving CHAOTIC ENERGY for this party. She’s not even subtle about it.

• You’d probably walk in and see her messing with some dangerous contraption, and she’d be like, “SURPRISE! You forgot your birthday, but I didn’t!”

• The party is WILD—explosions (small ones, probably), neon lights, spray-painted “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” signs, and cupcakes she may or may not have dropped at least once.

• She’s dragging you into every game and activity, yelling stuff like, “You don’t get to forget your own birthday, dummy! That’s what I’m here for!”

• By the end of the night, she’s probably passed out on the couch, holding a balloon, mumbling about how you’re “the best ever.”

Vi’s the type to keep it lowkey cool but still make it super special.

• She’d notice you forgot your own birthday and go, “Really? Guess I gotta take matters into my own hands.”

• She’d gather all your favorite people, decorate with some string lights and snacks, and surprise you like, “Told you I’d always have your back, didn’t I?”

• She’s keeping an eye on you all night, making sure you’re actually enjoying yourself and not overthinking anything.

• Before the night’s over, she’s pulling you aside for a quiet moment like, “Next time you forget your birthday, I’m just gonna tattoo it on your forehead.”

Sevika

Sevika pretends she doesn’t care, but she’s planning this whole thing in SECRET.

• She’s got a killer poker face, so when you’re like, “Wait, is today my birthday?” she’s just smirking like, “Guess you’ll find out.”

• The party is simple but PERFECT—her version of “lowkey” is making sure everything you love is there: your favorite food, drinks, and music.

• She acts all casual about it during the party, but at some point, she hands you a gift and says, “Don’t forget who made this happen.”

Silco

Silco would be so extra but act like it’s no big deal.

• He notices you forgot your birthday and immediately starts plotting. He’s like, “How does one forget their own existence? I’ll have to fix this.”

• The party is elegant AF—dim lighting, fancy food, and everything planned down to the smallest detail.

• He’s not a big “party” guy, but he’d be there in the corner, sipping his drink, watching you enjoy yourself, and thinking, “Yes, this is satisfactory.”

• At the end of the night, he’d come over and say something soft like, “Don’t forget your worth. I won’t.”

Vander

Vander would be the dad friend who makes your birthday feel like home.

• He’d figure out you forgot and immediately start pulling everyone together to plan something. He’s like, “We can’t let them go another year without feeling special.”

• The party would be warm and cozy—lots of laughter, good food, and a cake he baked himself (even if it’s a little lopsided).

• He’d give you a big hug at some point and say, “You’ve got a lot of people who care about you, even if you forget sometimes.”

• It’s the kind of party that leaves you feeling like you belong.

Ekko

Ekko would turn your forgotten birthday into an unforgettable NIGHT.

• He’d act all chill about it but secretly plan the coolest party ever. Firelight lanterns? Check. Music and dancing? Check. The BEST vibes? Double check.

• When you’re like, “Wait, is this for my birthday?” he’d laugh and say, “Yeah, you kinda forgot, but don’t worry—I didn’t.”

• He’d spend the whole night hyping you up, making sure you know how important you are to him and everyone else.

• By the end of the night, he’s handing you a handmade gift like, “Something to help you remember next time.”

Jayce

Jayce is going ALL OUT. No chill whatsoever.

• He’d throw a huge surprise party, complete with decorations, balloons, and probably a cake with your face on it. “You forgot your birthday? Not on my watch!”

• He’d spend the entire night making sure you’re having fun, constantly checking in like, “You good? Need anything?”

• He’d make a toast at some point, hyping you up in front of everyone. “To the best person I know. Happy birthday, even if you forgot it!”

• You’d leave feeling like the most important person in the world.

Viktor

Viktor would make your birthday feel quietly magical.

• He’d notice you forgot and gently remind you by planning a thoughtful little surprise. “I didn’t forget, so you don’t have to.”

• The party would be small and intimate, with everything tailored to your preferences. Soft lighting, good conversation, and maybe even a little tinkering if you’re into it.

• He’d give you a heartfelt gift, saying something like, “I know your memory gets the best of you, but you’re unforgettable to me.”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn would be the QUEEN of thoughtful birthday surprises.

• She’d find out you forgot your birthday and immediately start planning something sweet and meaningful.

• The party would be elegant but not over-the-top—just enough to make you feel special. She’d definitely include all your favorite things.

• At some point, she’d pull you aside and say, “You might forget your birthday, but I’ll always remember. You’re worth celebrating.”

Mel Medarda

Mel would throw the most glamorous birthday party you’ve ever seen.

• She’d notice you forgot and smile to herself like, “Looks like I’ll have to step in.”

• The party would be GORGEOUS—fancy decor, delicious food, and a vibe that screams “luxury.”

• She’d take a moment to toast to you, saying something poetic like, “To the person who deserves more than they remember to ask for.”

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa would be direct but thoughtful.

• When she realizes you forgot your birthday, she’d be like, “How do you forget something like that? Never mind—I’ve got it handled.”

• The party would be practical but deeply meaningful—everything chosen with care to make sure you feel appreciated.

• She’d tell you at the end, “Don’t let yourself forget how much you mean to the people around you. We won’t let you.”

Heimerdinger

Heimerdinger would LOVE throwing you a surprise birthday party.

• He’d go all out with quirky decorations, fun activities, and maybe even a little invention to commemorate the day.

• “Ah, you forgot your birthday? No worries—I remembered for you!”

• The whole night would be filled with laughter and warmth, and he’d make sure you know just how much you’re appreciated.

Salo

Salo would be quiet but so sincere.

• He’d notice you forgot your birthday and take it upon himself to plan a small but meaningful celebration.

• The party would be simple but full of heart—just the right mix of people, good food, and a little reminder of how much you’re loved.

Scar

Scar would be CHAOTICALLY AMAZING.

• He’d be the one yelling, “YOU FORGOT YOUR BIRTHDAY? HOW???” while running around setting up decorations.

• The party would be loud, fun, and full of energy. He’d make sure you’re smiling the entire time, yelling stuff like, “This is YOUR day! Own it!”

Maddie Nolen

Maddie would be super sweet and thoughtful.

• She’d notice you forgot your birthday and plan something small but so full of love.

• She’d quietly make sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself, saying, “You might forget things sometimes, but I’ll never forget how special you are.”

Lest

Lest would be so kind and gentle about it.

• She’d realize you forgot and immediately start planning a little surprise to make you smile.

• The party would feel magical, like a fairytale, with every detail chosen just for you.

• She’d tell you at some point, “Even if your memory fails you, you have me to remind you.”

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justwinginglife · 5 months ago

Text

Just For A Summer

Yall this was not supposed to be NSFW but kinda got that way on accident. I’m horny, what of it? LMAO. It is also significantly longer than I had planned and that's because I got lost in Soshiro La-La-Land and couldn't stop writing.

At first, you thought maybe Japan was just a small country. It was an island nation after all. But then you'd started to wonder if maybe something as dramatic as destiny could've brought you constantly colliding with a certain Soshiro Hoshina.

You were on your first vacation in years -a little treat to yourself before you had to return to your real life, your real job, your real responsibilities- and you noticed that the most delicious distraction you could ever have hoped for just happened to keep crossing paths with you on this now-delightful vacation of yours.

"And so we meet again, mysterious lady." He starts walking up to you with a smirk on his face and you return his smirk.

"It appears we do. Did you end up going with the chocolate croissant or the almond croissant?"

He throws his head back and laughs at your astute memory. "A couple days ago, at the bakery? Chocolate. Love me some chocolate."

"So tell me- are you stalking me?" You joke, though honestly unbothered by if he is or not, your sense of logic skewed by your attraction to him.

"Oh baby, if I was pursuing you, I'd do a whole lot better than this."

"Alright, I'm gonna need your name now if I'm going to just keep seeing you everywhere." You tease.

He bows dramatically. "Soshiro Hoshina, at your service."

You give him your best overexaggerated curtsy and introduce yourself as well, earning a grin from him.

"M'lady, what a pleasure it is to finally make your acquaintance." He takes one of your hands and makes a show of pressing a firm kiss to it, his eyes never leaving yours.

It was his idea to have brunch together but you had been just about to propose the idea yourself if he hadn't. You had chalked up the last several meetings with him as coincidence, but you weren't about to let him slip through your fingers again, not this time. Not when he smiled the way he did, not when he laughed the way he did.

It had to mean something, had to be some sign from the universe, that you'd run into him at the aquarium, reached for the same book at the bookstore, almost crashed bikes together in the park, and finally had breakfast right across from him at his favorite cafe the other day. So now you planned on running with this chance that fate had given you.

So there you were, having brunch with a handsome man for the first time in your life. Teasing him about his choice in food. Laughing at his jokes. Soaking in the sound of him laughing at your jokes. Splitting dessert.

In just a few hours, you knew enough about him to know you never wanted to stop knowing him. He wouldn't tell you what he did for work but he told you everything else. You- a complete stranger. He must've thought that you probably wouldn't see him again after this and that there was no harm in spilling every little detail about him. Or maybe he just liked you that much. You intended to find out if he did. You certainly liked him.

You exchange numbers with him as brunch ends, telling him to text you when he needs you, and then you start to walk away. You don't even make it a few steps when your phone beeps in your hand. You look down at it, puzzled.

I need you now.

You turn around and see that the goofiest grin is spread wide across his face.

"Hey. I've got the craziest idea. Spend 24 hours with me."

He's bold, you'll give him that. You literally just officially met a couple hours ago. He could be a serial killer for all you know, you could be a serial killer for all he knows. But something about the gleam in his eyes and the curve of his lips is so tempting. You want to spend more than 24 hours with him. You want to get lost in him. You agree to his preposterous idea in no time at all, thinking to yourself if he is a serial killer you might have to rethink your stance on them.

"Ahh, so you're crazy too, I see. I like that." He says after realizing you're actually serious about his proposal.

He holds a hand out to you. "Shall we go then, m'lady?" His eyebrows wiggle at you playfully.

That elicits a bubbly laugh from you. "After you, m'lord."

He takes your hand and walks you down the street, pointing to places that you need to try during your stay here, and places to avoid, claiming that you're too classy a lady to be seen near them. He barely knows you, he doesn't know if you're classy or not. But you love that he sees you that way. In fact, you're starting to love anything he says.

You listen to him talk to locals, as they offer to buy him dinner and thank him for his service. You're starting to wonder what it is he actually does for work, but you know he's been avoiding it so you don't ask. You just like that everyone around here seems to know him and seems to love him, it further solidifies his good character in your mind.

You wonder if three months will be enough to satisfy your need to know him. You wonder if he'll even let you spend the whole summer with him or if you're just some random interest he picked up today and will drop tomorrow. He did only ask for 24 hours after all.

After spending a whole, wonderful day together, you finally part ways with him at your hotel. You're just walking up to the door when your phone beeps.

I need you again.

You laugh as you turn around to face him not even 60 seconds from when you'd said goodbye to him. "Just can't get enough of me, huh?"

He grins devilishly. "Never. And I seem to remember requesting 24 hours from you... I don't think it's been a full 24 yet."

You blush. "Do you... want to come in?"

His teasing eyes and playful grin suddenly disappear, replaced by a darker, hungrier look. "Oh absolutely."

Your heart hammers in your chest but you attempt to ignore it as you lead him to your hotel room. You never touch the mini bar whenever you go to hotels because they're so expensive, but this time you feel like you're in need of a drink, so you grab one for you and one for him. You're already throwing all sense of logic and ration out the window anyway, spending a full 24 hours with a complete stranger, you think you can allow yourself a drink or two.

After three drinks and lots of heavy flirting, he finally makes a move.

"Took you long enough," You murmur against the heat of his lips.

"Apologies, I'll do better next time." He laughs and then pulls you onto his lap, kissing you deeper.

His tongue snakes its way into your mouth, hungrily claiming everything in its path. You moan into him and the sound involuntarily makes him clench his hands around your hips tighter.

Then you start to feel the roughness of his erection against your mound, his desire made evident even through layers of clothing. You roll your hips forward and engage it with friction. The sensation makes him hiss as he anchors himself on the crook of your neck, breathing heavily.

He pulses underneath you and the delicious movement in between your legs is enough to get you desperate to rip down your dripping panties. It's like he knows what you're thinking because he lifts you up with one arm and with the other he yanks down your pants, hooking your underwear as well, in one smooth motion. Then he settles you on top of him again.

"I'm a gentleman, I don't make my women undress themselves." He growls against your neck, sucking at it before tearing off your shirt and unclipping your bra.

"I'm going to make you forget you ever had other women." You shove him down on the bed and though he's surprised, he's clearly pleased.

Then you sink between his knees and start to lick a trail up and down his length, teasing his tip with a nip here and there. You start gently sucking an inch at a time until finally you're choking back his full erection. You pull away suddenly and he has to bite back a whine at the absence of your mouth.

He watches you intensely, trying to figure out your next move, then he groans against his fist when he sees you dragging your hand roughly along your moist folds, coating it in your own slick. Then you pump his cock up and down in your wet hand, rubbing your thumb aggressively across his swollen end. His precum oozes down your palm and you lick it off when you pull away yet again.

He thinks he might just yank you onto his dick at this point if you keep teasing him. But you're desperate for him too. You start to straddle him and he bites his lip in anticipation. Then you begin grinding your cunt against the length of his cock, not allowing him inside you just yet, but not letting him forget how wet you are.

"Are ya gonna do everything to my dick except fuck it? Goddamn." He grumbles, though flushed and breathing heavy.

"Saved the best for last, baby."

Then you give him what he wants. You plunge his cock into your depths and a moan rumbles low in his throat as your walls clench around him. He grabs hold of your hips and jerks you up and down, almost choking at the sight of your bouncing breasts as you continue to ride him. A hand leaves your hip and cups one of them, giving it a good squeeze. His thumb drags back and forth across your peaked nipple, causing you to soak his cock further.

"You're so fucking perfect, I can't take it anymore." He yanks you closer to him and starts slamming his hips upwards, thrusting into you with a speed and intensity that gets you screaming his name.

You're not one to hook up casually. You're not one to throw yourself away for one person. You have a good job, a good life- a life that's waiting for you to come back to it, just across the sea. But you're starting to forget all sense of who you were before this man came and ruined your life- ruined you. You need him to ruin you. You need him to bury himself deep inside you and cream every inch of your quivering cunt. You want to milk him dry and leave him shuddering beneath you.

And you do. Over and over again.

It's the best high of your life, orgasming against his muscled chest as he floods you with his seed. And then again in the shower when you try to clean yourself up. And then again on the couch when you try to watch TV together. And then eventually it's 5 in the morning and you're still fucking on the floor like you're both touch starved.

He pants on top of your back, kissing at your shoulder as he finishes fucking you from behind this time. Your knees dig into the floor as his cum spurts out in erratic bursts, sloshing against the cum that's still inside you from the last several times. "Fuuuck. How many times does that make now? You're going to drive me crazy."

"Oh I'm going to, huh? I'd say you're already there considering half of the times we went at it were your idea."

He pulls out and collapses on the ground beside you, his breaths heaving in his chest. "Don't say that like you aren't just as horny as I am, who was the one fucking my face with their pussy when I thought I'd try and take a nap?"

You roll over to him, giggling as you snuggle against his side.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as he kisses the top of your head. "I say we just pass out here on the floor. Get some Z's finally."

You poke his nose disapprovingly. "That's gonna break your back and I wanted to be the one to break it. Get on the bed with me and cuddle me to sleep."

He mumbles his agreement and the two of you pull your aching bodies off the floor, not even bothering to wash up this time. You know you'll just get horny if you shower together. Again.

You lazily wipe a towel in between your legs and then sink into bed next to him. It takes you a moment to fall asleep because he knocks out almost immediately and you've never seen him sleep before so you're intrigued. You watch as his lips part to let out slow, rhythmic breaths. You're tempted to kiss him again but the sound of his gentle breathing lulls you to sleep. And it's the best sleep you've ever had.

The next morning you find he's not in bed with you and you're significantly more hurt than you expected but the stinging subsides quickly when you see him sneaking back into the room with a platter full of food.

"Trying not to wake me?" You ask, stretching as you yawn.

"Trying to surprise you but you kind of ruined that." He shoots back with a teasing grin.

The two of you bond some more over breakfast, as you spoon feed him and he cleans leftover food off your face with his tongue.

He eventually has to leave for work but he promises he'll visit you again, saying he had too much fun not to come back.

The rest of the summer is the same- the two of you steal whatever time you can from each other, lost in your own world, forgetting that anyone else even exists.

You told him about your job, about your family, about your whole life, and he listened to every second with increasing interest, even getting annoyed on your behalf when you'd run through your list of ex's with him and what happened with each one. He'd eventually given in and told you what he did for work too, and you kept mock saluting him the rest of the day. After the fifth time calling him Vice Captain, he'd pinned you to the bed, growling "It's Soshiro" to which you giggled.

You'd also shown him your gigantic list of every tourist spot you'd ever wanted to visit in Japan, reassuring him that it was fine if he didn't have time to take you to all of them but he took you everywhere you wanted and more- showing you a few secret spots he'd found himself.

Once, he took you for a boat ride and when you'd almost drowned, he dove in fully clothed to save you. He teased you afterwards about your inability to swim, but you noticed he always had a careful eye on you and one hand around your waist after that and it made you smile.

You even met his brother, completely on accident. You're sure he didn't intend on introducing a summer fling to his family but it happened all the same. And when he bit his lip as you eyed his brother, you were tempted to tease him about the jealousy. But you didn't. You savored the feeling of him not wanting to share you with anyone else. Even for just a moment, even if it was delusional, you were his alone and you enjoyed it.

But then everything you'd been avoiding for three months came crashing down on you suddenly when you realized you only had a couple days left in Japan. If he remembered that your time was coming to an end, he didn't let on because he acted the same as he always did. You thought maybe he'd plead for you to stay, or even just joke around and try to convince you that the food here was better anyway. But he didn't and the longer this went on, the more you realized you must've misjudged how he felt about you. You were just a summer fling after all and you couldn't make yourself mean more to him than you actually did.

Eventually the dreaded day comes and he's nowhere to be found. He won't answer your calls or your texts. It's like he never even existed in the first place. Like he was some figment of your imagination, a little slice of heaven you'd made up in your mind.

Your lungs are thick with shock, every breath coming out panicked and heavy. Part of you demanded to know where he was. You needed to see him. To tell him how you felt. To say thank you for a wonderful summer. To just say goodbye at the very least. But part of you had accepted this fate. What right did you have to his heart? It'd only been three months after all. You'd promised him nothing and he'd promised you nothing. The sum of your three months was just that- nothing.

And now that you were in the cab, riding away from the hotel where you'd spent many wonderful nights in his wonderful arms, the weight of that nothing was hitting you hard.

You arrive at the airport, stumbling as you drag your lifeless body out of the car. The airport doors open for you and you step through in a daze. You don't even remember getting on the plane but suddenly you look down and your seatbelt is fastened, ready for the flight home. Home. You don't even remember what home feels like anymore.

A flight attendant comes up to you to tell you to turn your phone off. You slide your thumb up to the power button and then your phone beeps. Tears burst from your eyes as you see the messages that are flooding the screen.

You said to text when I need you.

I need you.

Come back to me.

And then suddenly you're yanking your seatbelt off, your bag flying behind you as you bolt out of the plane. Everyone stares at you as you sprint through the airport like a madwoman. You ignore them and you ignore the burning in your lungs as they try to catch up with the beating of your heart.

And then suddenly there he is, standing in the doorway of the airport, arms spread wide for you, smiling through his tears.

You run into his arms and finally, you remember what home feels like.

#kaiju no. 8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #anime #hoshina #oneshot #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #anime fanfic #han's library

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derangedanomaly · 1 year ago

Text

(Killer, Dust, Horror, Nightmare, Cross, Error)

Killer:

He would be scared shitless 💀

Constantly lies that he's not scared of you, to look cool in front of the others (they could careless though, his reputation is already shit 😂)

Listen, it's not the fact that you're a ghost that scares him, it's the fact that you always appear wherever

One time, he accidentally even ran into a door because you scared him. (The others will never drop that)

Even through all this, Killer's still Killer, of COURSE he tries to flirt with you. Wait... Let me rephrase that, he IS flirting with you whenever he gets the chance.

After you told him that you can appear just by someone calling out your name, he abused the shit out of this information. Literally won't leave you alone after that 💀

Calls you over for the smallest things. "Y/n!! Tell Dust that I'm not a sore loser!" You appearing next to him, sleepy as hell; "Killer...I was asleep.."

When he saw you for the first time, he instantly put his hand through you (to see if it would disappear or go through), which is...intimate to ghosts..so safe to say you didn't started off on the right foot. (Might be the reason you kept scaring him. ;)..)

Dust:

Dust was the last one you got closer to (other than Nightmare). He's just not a people person 🤷‍♀️

Even though you got to know him very late, there were small moments that made you question if he's interested in you or not. Like the time he protected you from Nightmare, which was very uncharacteristic of him.

Dust is probably the most educated of the bunch when it comes to monster species. (You've got to know your enemy to get the XP), so he is very much just scolding educating the others when they do something wrong/insulting to you, as the ghost species.

He's acting like such a boyfriend material, want anything from him? He already has it. Oh, Killer made you uncomfortable? It would be his pleasure to put him in his place ^^

Doesn't show much interest or concern towards you, but that's because he's an emo BI- he's afraid he would hurt you. (He's also stubborn)

You scared him when you first popped outta nowhere, but after that..it didn't scared him anymore. He's just surprised whenever you show up, but that's all really.

Horror:

Safe to say, he was very interested in you.

He's actually very sweet towards you, and that's because he thinks you're safe with him. I mean... you're a ghost, a monster that is safe from any harm, and he's a dangerous skeleton that could kill you whenever. He sees this as an absolute win.

Horror is actually the first one you got closer to. He's your best friend. ;)

The first time he catches feelings, is the time you defended him from Nightmare when Horror got hungry. Again... No one ever defended him for wanting food.

After that incident, he's always jumping at any opportunity to return the kindness.

Constantly following you around. He's just happy to finally have someone he's sure he can't hurt. It's really comforting to him.

Nightmare:

Only took you in cause he thought you could be useful.

Not very pleased with you at the start, cause you were talking back to him.

He's keeping a close eye on you, to see if you are doing your job properly. (You aren't)

At first, he regretted ever taking you in, but after seeing you at full power at your very first mission...he changed his mind.

Doesn't get scared easily, so you're almost never successful in that department. But....there was ONE time, where you did managed it. (He was caught staring at a picture of you 💀)

He groans loudly if you say something against his elaborate plans.

Actually finds it quiet impressive that you managed to befriend Horror. But quickly got angry by it when you two weren't doing your job, and instead spend the day together. (Jealous, but won't admit it.)

Secretly makes sure nothing bad happens to you, but won't admit it ;)

Cross:

Cross thinks it's cool.

Always fascinated by you. He's sometimes caught staring at you for to long, which makes him flustered.

Cross has a bad habit of getting nervous around you, and he doesn't want you to see him like that...the solution? Pulling up his hood and nuzzle into it further. It's actually really cute..

The main reason he's so nervous is because he's afraid he would somehow insult you or something (cause you're a ghost, and he doesn't know any monster with that kind of species).

After you calm him down, saying that it's ok, Cross finally calms down, and he starts to hang out more with you, causing you to get closer.

Cross is actually your training buddy! After Nightmare gave him that role, he got kinda scared he would hurt you somehow..so while training he was very gentle with you.

But after learning that you're more than capable of handling yourself, he slowly starts to go back to his usual fighting style.

He's safe from you and your 'appearing outta nowhere to scare everyone'. So he never got frightened by you. ^^

Error:

Hates it when you appear outta nowhere. He always glitches out, and that's super uncomfortable for him.

He likes how brave you are. Literally loves it.

Always backing you up when you're in an argument with Nightmare. (He's enjoying the chaos a bit too much XD)

Other than that, you two never really interacted that much before. That was until you caught Error in his Anti-void watching Undernovela... Error didn't know what to say as you just floated up to him, to look more clearly at the Tv.

After that whole ordeal, it ended up with you two watching Undernovela together, sharing a popcorn. Though you forgot you can't eat, so the food went through you. Error noticed only after you left.

Since he has Haphephobia, and you can't touch anything... He doesn't mind it whenever you try and 'grab him', but when he found out his strings have the ability to hold you...he has been abusing that fact ever since.

Uses his strings to pull you along, or to simply show 'affection'.

Thinks you're an awesome fighter, proud of you whenever you win a fight. ^^

#sans undertale #undertale fandom #undertale #dust sans x reader #sans x reader #killer sans x reader #horror sans x reader #error sans x reader #nightmare sans x reader #cross sans x reader

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merakiui · 3 months ago

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Okay, but serial killer Azul getting revenge on everybody after he's presumed dead in a prank gone wrong.

Maybe you were a popular girl that he was always in love with, since you were the only one who wasn't outright cruel to him. One day you end up asking him to the prom and for him it's a dream come true, his true love is finally recognizing him. Unaware that it's a Carrie situation where you and your friends plan to humiliate him at the dance. He's so happy to spend the night with you, wanting everything to be perfect.

But when the prank happens, something goes wrong, leaving Azul worse for wear and you and your friends believe he's dead and get rid of the body. But he's still alive and not happy about what happened on the best night of his life.

Suddenly your friends begin to go missing one by one, until you're the only one left. It's then that Azul reveals that he's still alive. Except he believes that you weren't apart of the prank, that you were tricked into it somehow Delusional Tako. Now that all your friends are out of the way, you two can finally be happy together.

I hope you don't mind my rambling. Slasher Azul just gave me ideas.

AAAAAAAAA OTL oh, the wrath of a scorned octopus... this is so good!!! Being a popular bully and thinking it would be so funny to take that loser Azul to prom, only to then prank him alongside your friends. And when it goes terribly wrong the lot of you are in a panic. Suddenly, you have to delete all of the videos and pictures you took, and you all take an oath to never tell anyone about it, making sure to keep your stories and alibis in check in case you're questioned. All of you need to remain innocent when they start investigating his disappearance.

Dumping Azul's body somewhere in the woods and then going on with your lives, hoping no one will ever find him. >_< the heartbreak and betrayal and fear Azul must have felt that night... now he's just angry and so vengeful. He already hated your friends; he always thought they were a terrible lot. This was the final push he needed to do something about them once and for all.

It could never be you, though!! You must have been pressured into it by those bullies. After all, you asked him to prom! You were so excited, so sweet! He got you a pretty corsage with your favorite flowers. He made sure to look his absolute best, and you told him he looked handsome in his suit. So it definitely couldn't have been you!

He doesn't understand why you're crying, why you're fleeing. He should be the one crying! It's his life that was ruined, and your friends laughed at his suffering! Your friends tossed him aside so easily when they thought he was dead because they wanted to save their skins. You don't get to run away. Not this time. He's going to have that dance with you no matter what—the dance you promised him! A blood-stained, masked Azul is closing in on you, and you've run yourself into a dead end. :)

No one hears from you ever again.

#twisted chit chat #>:) hehehe i love slasher tako

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d0youc0py · 2 years ago

Note

Could you do any 141 member (I don’t really care I love them all) comforting civilian!reader while she’s on her period? Like the cramps, nausea, mood swings?

Thanks!

He winced as another pained groan left your lips.

“Pain killers didn’t help?” He frowned. He laid down behind you tucking you against him. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head, his hands pressing down on the heating pad against your stomach. The pressure made you feel better and you softly grabbed his hand and put it under the heating pad, silently asking him to massage your stomach. “I got you.” He pressed another kiss to your shoulder.

“Are you done with your paperwork yet?” You whined.

“Ya, Sweetheart.” He lied. The thought of leaving you alone to suffer on the couch made his stomach turn. “You rest up, now and I’ll fix us some dinner later, yeah?”

“Don’t leave till I fall asleep please.” You requested, scooting closer to him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He’s literally the dream partner when it comes to this stuff

He has always been a very nurturing person

He has your special week marked on his calendar so he’s never caught off guard if you snip at him or you wake up and need to change the sheets

When he can’t be with you he always ships a care package to your house with all the things you could possibly need (snacks, pads/tampons, medicine, a card saying how much he loves you)

He’s the best honestly

“Kid, open the door!” The door handle jiggled. You splashed cold water over your face trying to calm down, but no matter how hard you tried sobs wracked your body. You blamed the hormones. You and Simon were new in your relationship, about five months in, and you had just recently started spending the night at his place. You always had a plan for what to do if you got your period during the night but you didn’t plan for it to come almost a week early. You woke up feeling a familiar wetness and practically ripped yourself out of Simon’s arms. To make matters worse he had his thigh resting between your legs, meaning- you didn’t even want to say it. You shook the thoughts out of your head.

“Sweetheart, c’mon.” Simon sighed from the other side of the door. “You know what I do for a living, yeah? You think a little blood is gonna scare me off? I find that a bit offensive if I’m being honest.”

“It’s disgusting and embarrassing!” You shouted through your sobs.

“It’s not disgusting.” He shot back. “Whoever made you feel that way is a cunt. And it might seem embarrassing now, but I promise you in a week it’ll make you laugh. Out you come.” He shook the door handle again. He did make you feel better. “There she is.” He whispered. You looked him over, happy he had changed his sleep shorts. A clunky thumb wiped away a few remaining tears.

The man is completely unbothered

You can throw a whole hissy fit and he’ll just ask if you’ve eaten anything today

Bodily fluids don’t faze him at all- you could bleed, vomit and cry all over him and he’d just pat you on the back

He’s still doesn’t always understand how to take care of other people, so if you want/need him to do something all you have to do is ask

He never ever makes you feel bad/embarrassed about anything

“Si, you aren’t going to believe the blood clot that just came out of me.” “I’m proud of you Sweetheart.”

“I just can’t believe he did that to her!” You sobbed, wiping your eyes on your husbands shirt.

“What a bastard.” He growled, wiping a tear from his own eye. He wrapped an arm tighter around you, throwing a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth.

“Get off the screen!” You shouted, throwing a few pieces of popcorn at the TV.

“Ya, fuck off!” Johnny yelled after you tossing a few pieces as well. You both looked at each other before bursting into a giggle fit.

Every time you on your period it seems like Johnny also goes on his

You would think both of you being so emotional would cause problems, but it really makes you feel less alone

He definitely steals higher grade pain meds from the base to help you (Price caught him and started doing it for his own partner)

Absolutely loves to take warm showers with you

This man is also unfazed by bodily fluids ;)

Whenever you feel sick he is on the other side of the door cheering you on

You hated when you got your period and he wasn’t here. It always reminded you of how sucky life was before him and how much spoiled you are now. You pressed yourself deeper into his pillow, inhaling his scent. Your muscles relaxed slightly- but it was nothing compared to the real thing. The pain killers had yet to kick in and your body felt so hot and uncomfortable. Your ears piqued up when you heard the door open.

“Babe?”

“Ky!” You screeched. The ache in your stomach couldn’t stop you from running through the flat to greet him. “What are you doing here? Your not suppose to be home for another two weeks?” You questioned between both of you pressing kisses against each other.

“I can just stay for two days.” He sighed, scooping you up. “I told Cap you weren’t feeling well- and let’s just say being the favorite has its perks.”

If you thought Price was good wait till you meet Kyle He definitely learned it from Price

Total Princess treatment to the max

“Ky, I can tie my shoes.” “Don’t worry bout it love.”

He shows love through acts of service so this is his time to shine ✨

Has a stash of all your favorite snacks/drinks for when the time comes

He usually puts you between his legs and the two of you play video games for the next eight hours- distraction helps take you mind off of the pain

#cod #cod men #d0youc0py #doyoucopy #cod mw2 #cod mwf2 #cod x reader #fluff #sfw #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #cod captain price #kyle gaz garrick #ghost x reader #soap x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #female reader

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coryosbaby · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet Serial Killer *ੈ✩‧ Young! Gf! Nick Goode x reader (1)

“𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓴𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻

𝓓𝓸 𝓲𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓱,

𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓪 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓶𝓾𝓬𝓱! “

Summary: Murders are happening around Camp Nightwing, and you’ll do anything for your best friend Nick.

Warning: mentions of murder & violence, dubious consent, yandere! Nick, possessiveness, obsessive behavior, mentions of pedophilia (NOT by nick), pictures without consent, toxic relationship asf, god complex, male masturbation, oral (m & f recieving), p n v, breeding kink, dumbification, size kink, daddy kink, missionary, riding, the reader is very dependable on Nick, loss of virginity, creampie, marking, squirting, dom! Nick, sub! Reader

Nick isn’t an inherently violent person.

But when he meets you in the summer of ‘76, all of that is thrown out the window.

You’re a camper. And no, you aren’t a child; you’re eighteen years old. Nick is twenty, beginning as his first year as a counselor. At Camp Nightwing, it’s taboo for a counselor and camper to become romantically involved. But Jesus, Nick just can’t help but be so in love when he looks at you. Your cabin is right next to his, and he sees your sweet ass everyday, watches you strut around with him on his off days and have fun. You’ve both grown incredibly close. And if anyone messes with you, they have to deal with him.

And waves of intense rage aren’t new to him. But right now, he has still never been so incredibly angry.

He watches as a camper, some guy named Alex and around your age, torments you; pulls your hair, calls you names, makes fun of your makeup. And it makes his blood boil. You’re so precious, so much of an angel. No one needs to treat you this way. He approaches, quickly breaking it up. On the outside, his demeanor is calm, is safe.

To you, Nick will always be safe.

Alex scurries away quickly when Nick starts murmuring threats through clenched teeth. Tears are running down your face, and Nick brings his arm around your shoulder and guides you to his empty cabin. You bury his face in his neck when you’re both finally alone on his bed. He pulls you away and begins to stroke your tearful face soothingly.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “I know. It’s okay, honey. That fuckin’ asshole..” he looks at you with slight concern for a moment. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You sniffle, and shake your head. “He p-pulled my hair, a little bit. But I’m fine.”

If Nick had any previous guilt about his plans for tonight, they’re all gone now.

“Okay..” he smiles, a small laugh leaving his lips as he runs his hands over the outer corners of your eyes.

“You ruined your makeup.”

You frown, worried. “Do I look bad?”

“What? No, not at all.” How could you ever think you look bad? “You look.. you look really pretty, y/n.”

“Oh.” your face flushes, and you smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He replies. And then,after that, you lay down on his bed and he reads you your favorite book while you curl up on his left side. It’s one of the things he does to help you feel better, to make you feel even more protected and safe with him.

And then later that night, the first murder at Camp Nightwing takes place.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The next day the talk is all around camp. Alex, the boy that had harassed you the day before, is dead.

You’re in shock. No one has ever died at the camp before; it’s full of teenagers and kids doing arts and crafts, after all. In a situation like this, they should close down the camp. But the death itself was confirmed to be an accident; he had somehow slipped off of a cliff beside the lake that campers weren’t allowed to approach, and had hit his head on the rocky floor below. A counselor had found him that day, and there were rumors that it was incredibly brutal; his head was completely smashed to pieces.

Some people, however, believe it wasn’t an accident. There were rumors that a few campers saw someone in a black robe and a weird mask that resembled that of a ghost. But those were just rumors, for now.

You shove the thought that Alex deserved what he got down into your gut, and decide to feel bad for him.

“I just don’t get it,” you explain to Nick the next day, in the empty art room. “Why would you even go over there? It’s like, the most dangerous spot.”

Nick shrugs as you refer to Alex, as he knots a new bracelet for the third time that day.

“Dunno,” he replies. “Like I said, he was an idiot.”

His tone and the use of the word ‘was’ makes bile rise in your throat, but you change the topic to the task at hand.

If anyone knows you, you’re just a little… dumb. So, Nick helps you with your crafts in your art activities everyday, always teaches you new things because you’re interested and don’t know how. It’s not just in this field, where you depend on him; he helps you with practically everything, even feeds you from time to time. He knows how to take care of you, how to keep you satisfied and happy.

He watches as you struggle to tie a knot in the bracelet that you’re creating, watches as you slam it down onto the table and make a sound of frustration. He chuckles, amused.

“Having fun?”

“Fuck off, Nick.” You snap . You immediately begin to apologize, not meaning to have sounded so rude.

“Im so sorry!”

“Don’t apologize, y/n. It’s okay, I promise.”

He hates when you feel as if you’ve said something wrong around him. You could never anger him.

“It’s just…” you rub your eyes, careful not to destroy your glittery makeup. “I can’t.. I can’t make the bracelet. It’s not working.”

“That’s okay,” Nick assures. “I can teach you. It’s okay, here-“

His fingers move to grab the strings from you, maneuvering the plastic stand it’s attached to so he can gain better access. He looks down at the instructions.

“Yeah, this knot is complicated,” it’s not, but you don’t need to know that. “All you’re doing wrong is not looping it around. If you just..”

He smiles as he grabs your cherry red nails into his larger set of hands. He brings them down and shows you the proper way to tie the bracelet, and you squeal in victory when you’re finally done. It’s a little jagged along a section, but it isn’t too bad.

“See! I knew you could do it. You’re such a quick learner.” Nick praises. You flush.

“Thank you.”

He watches as you tie the ends. And then, you’re nervously looking towards him.

“I want you to have it.. i-if that’s okay!”

Nick beams, happily snatching the bracelet from your hands and slipping it onto his wrist.

“Thank you, angel. I love it.”

He picks up one of the bracelets he made and insists that you wear it too. He ties the ends for you, and slips it around your wrist. You smile. And then, with ease, he brings his lips down to your wrist and places a kiss to it. The nervous lip bite you give him makes his cock harden in his pants, but he chooses to ignore it for now. You smell so sweet, the perfume on your wrists making his eyes practically roll back. It’s so you, and he can’t get enough of it.

“Do you want to go back to my cabin?”

The words make you stutter, knowing that the cabin is empty and that everyone is away at another camping activity at the lake. But alas, you utter a quick ‘yes’. When you get inside he guides you to sit down at the head of his bed so he can read to you again. But once he gets through a couple paragraphs of The Great Gatsby, you’re already leaning onto his shoulder sleepily.

“Tired?” He asks.

“Mhm.”

“C’mere.”

He grabs one of your arms and slings it over his chest. You sigh happily, shoving your face into his shirt as he moves down to lay flat on the bed.

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for dinner.”

“Okay, Nicky. Thank you.”

Oh, how precious.

Your soft snores fill the room as you sleep. Time ticks by, but Nick can’t seem to keep still as much as he wants to. So, gently, he removes himself from underneath you and pulls his blanket over your shoulders as you turn over in your sleep. He watches as your tits seem to practically spill out of your tank top. His breath catches in his throat. It’s not that noticeable because it’s on your lower side, but your nipple has seemed to slip out of the fabric.

The thing he does next is probably incredibly wrong. But who can blame him, with you looking like that?

His hands go down to palm the bulge in his pants. He breathes heavily, lip getting caught in his teeth as he watches your slow moving breath and beautiful face. He brings his hands into his pants and begins to stroke himself with vigor.

He knows it’s incredibly risky. You’re his best friend, and if he gets caught doing this you might not be anymore. But precum spills over his fist and he thrusts into his own palm mercilessly. He starts to imagine scenarios with you in them: taking your tits into his mouth, sucking on those pert little nipples that he loves to see peeking through your shirt. Fucking that tight little pussy he knows you have, while you’re on all fours and your ass is bouncing back against his abs. And then, lastly, watching your little cunt get stretched beyond its boundaries as he impales you, your virgin blood coating his cock and leaving your creamy spend on him. This makes him keen, and then he’s stuffing his fist into his mouth as he cums all over the inside of his briefs. You begin to stir, not quite waking up, but it makes Nick’s mouth water even more at the thought of you catching him. You don’t wake up, however. You’re always such a deep sleeper.

Nick sighs, moving into the bathroom to wash off his hands and then change into a new pair of underwear.

And then, when he’s next to his dress, he catches sight of his camera.

It’s a Polaroid camera, a dark brown that he keeps with him whenever he wants to take picture of the camp’s scenery.

But maybe it can be used for other sights.

He remembers to turn the flash off, and then he snaps a picture of your sleeping form. And then, another. And another. And another. All at different angles, some far away, some so close that it’s a surprise that you don’t hear the click of the device and wake up. When he’s done he gathers up all of the pictures that have been printed and shoves them into his drawer full of shirts, next to another set of pictures. Ones that consist of a boy in water, with his head missing.

He checks on the clock on the wall. It’s dinner time, now.

He goes over and lightly shakes you. It takes a few minutes of this before your eyes finally crack open.

“C’mon, sweets, you gotta wake up,” he murmurs. “It’s time for dinner.”

You blink, wiping the sleep away from your eyes and smearing your makeup in the process again. But when you get up and look in the mirror, you choose not to acknowledge it.

You don’t even notice the anxious look Nick gives you when you ask for some of his clothes and reach into his t-shirt drawer. He’s so thankful that he hid the photos in the very back, because you don’t find them.

He makes a mental note to move them to a place where no one would think to look.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The next day Tommy Slater teaches you archery.

You’ve see the boy around, not really ever talking, but he’s sweet, with nice hair and a pretty smile. He holds your arms in the right position as he helps you pull back the strings of the bow. When you pull it back, it’s the first time ever that you hit the target. You pull him into a hug, and his hands go down to your waist as he asks if he can buy you a cherry coke from the vending machines.

Nick watches the whole thing with displeasure when you say yes.

No one really notices, but Nick just always seems to be around you, even though there’s a whole other side of camp to be taught. It’s a surprise, really, that the boy can keep his job. If it wasn’t for the extra class he teaches everyday and his father being the sheriff, he’d probably be fired.

Nick really hasn’t had that much of a problem with Tommy before. He’s a nice guy, and they get along well whenever they work together. Hell, Tommy was even his bunkmate for a while before he decided to switch and room with his brother, Will.

But he’s talking to you. And he’s being a little too nice, too touchy to see you as a regular camper or friend.

And Nick can’t have that, can he?

So a week later, after you had started to grow close with the boy, Tommy Slater is found with a noose around his neck. A suicide, of course. It’s incredibly unfortunate for you; you cry about it, not leaving your cabin all day over the death of your new friend when you find out the news.

Of course, Nick is there to comfort you. He doesn’t leave your side, and stays with you for the entirety of the day while you sleep on top of his shirtless, warm body.

He’s such a good friend.

You sigh as you roll yourself out of your bed. You’re exhausted, mentally. Nick had begged you to come to dinner with him, but to no avail after many minutes of struggling. You figure right about now that the best thing to do is your makeup. Something that sounds incredibly stupid, but it helps you relieve a lot of stress. You bring yourself back over to your bed with your makeup bag and begin to apply a full face.

You jump, almost smearing your eyeliner, when Nick opens the door. Although you shouldn’t get excited at a time like this, you smile when you see an ice cream cone in one of his hands.

“Finally getting up?” He teases. You nod.

“I guess so. No use getting hung up, right? We..” you’re trying to seem positive, but the image of Tommy’s body hanging from the ceiling brings bile to your throat. You swallow it down as you apply a layer of blush and grab the ice cream cone from Nick. “Me and Tommy weren’t even that close.”

Nick shrugs, sitting down beside you and resting his head on your shoulder to watch you apply your mascara.

“He’s in a better place now, y/n.” The boy assures.

You nod in agreement, but you’re still a bit upset. You shake the thoughts out of your head and lick at the ice cream cone. Nick watches some it drip down your chin, and he imagines what it would be like to stuff your mouth full.

“So,” He starts. His eyes never leave your mouth. “Are you going on the camping trip tonight?”

Every Saturday, campers go deeper into the woods and camp out. You know Nick enjoys it, but the thought of sleeping in a tent with no air conditioner tonight does not sound like fun.

“Probably not.” You reply.

“That’s okay.” Nick assures. He can tell by the look on your face that you feel bad for ditching him. “On second thought, how about I stay here with you tonight? I know you don’t like to be in the dark alone.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not scared of the dark, I’m scared of what’s in the dark! But also, won’t you get in trouble?”

“Whatever you say, sweetness.” Nick replies. “But I’m staying. I’ll just say I’m sick. ”

“That’s…good. I want you here.” And it’s true, as you utter the words. Nick smiles, and watches as you get up to throw away the ice cream cone (one of your weird quirks that Nick has picked up is that you only like the ice cream itself, and not the cone). When you bend down to drop it into the trash can, your shorts ride up and the soft globes of your ass are exposed. Nick exhales sharply.

You hear him, and turn around to look at him in concern. “Are you okay?”

Nick coughs, eyes averting from you as his cheeks glaze over into a dusty pink. “Yeah! It’s just a little stuffy in here, that’s all.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Do you want to go to your cabin instead? You have a better air conditioner, anyway.” And then your eyes light up. “And you have a radio! We can listen to music tonight!”

Nick chuckles at your excitement. He knows you enjoy music. “Yeah, honey.”

“Yay!”

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

It’s not long before almost everyone in camp is away, and you and Nick are alone. Although the trip is optional, very few people decide to stay behind. Will had left, his eyes lingering on you a bit too long as he tells Nick to ‘have fun’. Nick’s eyes had narrowed at his tone, and he had put a possessive grip on you as he guided you to his radio so he could teach you how to use it.

And that night, Nick introduces you to weed.

It’s not something you’re opposed to, you’ve just never got around to it. And when Nick pulls out a small bag of the skunk smelling drug, you’re happy to get high with him.

You giggle as Nick runs his fingers over your legs in a teasing manner. He knows your ticklish behind your knees, and of course he isn’t going to ignore the chance of getting to touch you. His radio plays ‘Fear The Reaper’ in a blaring tone, and the both of your eyes are red rimmed and watery. You move away from his hands and off to bed to explore the things in his room, dazed.

And then you catch sight of his camera.

You pick it up, and feel the plastic device with your fingertips.

“I’ve never seen you with this,” you say. “Is it new?”

Nick lifts his body up off of the bed to look at you.

“No, I’ve had it for a while.” He replies.

“Oh.” and then, your hands begin to flimsily play with the buttons.

Nick grins. “Do you want me to take pictures of you?”

The question catches you off guard, but the look on his face, begging, can’t make you say no.

“If you want.”

“That’s great,” Nick pauses, hesitant. “Can you get on the bed for me?”

“Yes sir.”

You don’t mean to say it, really, but you just want to follow his directions. You think he’s going to be freaked out, but all he does is give you a sweet smile.

“Good girl.”

Your face flushes, and your twiddle your fingers as you begin to climb onto the bed. You move your hair so it rests behind your shoulders, and smile. Nick snaps it, the perfect view of you on your knees for him. You move to another position, sideways, and tilt your head back.

So cute, Nick thinks. And all mine.

By the third or fourth, you’re comfortable enough to not be shy.

“Is this good?” You ask. You’re leaning forward now, on your knees once again. Nick can see your cleavage at this angle, and he thinks you’re the most sexiest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

“Perfect.” And then, another pause before he speaks. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blanch, as if that’s the first time he’s ever said it. You look up at him with a look he can’t quite place.

“Do you really think so?”

“I think you’re perfect.”

Dazed and Confused by Led Zepplin is playing on the radio now. The tension in the room grows intensely, in this moment, as Nick utters the words. It’s as if it’s never been experienced before. It has, many times, but usually there was someone or something to interrupt that tension.

So now, all that Nick can think to do is throw the camera onto the bed, move over to you, lean down, and press his lips to yours.

It’s probably a dumb idea, but if it goes the opposite of the way Nick wants then he can just blame it on the mary jane in his system.

But you kiss back. The boy suspects you’ve never been kissed before, because your lips move awkwardly against his. It’s endearing to him, and he moves to press himself closer to you. You moan against him when he begins to climb on top of you. He pulls away, his thighs caging your hips down. He grabs your hands and moves them above your head.

“You’ve never done this before , have you?”

You look away shyly, shaking your head as you do so to signal the word ‘no’. He grabs your face with his strong hands and guides you too gaze at him again.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, y/n. Yes.. or no?”

Your lip gets caught in between your teeth as he looks down at you hungrily.

“No.” You utter softly.

He tuts, bring his hand down to your hip and rubbing the soft skin there.

“So no one’s ever touched you here? Hm?”

You shake your head.

“Poor baby.” His hand moves down further. He’s ghosting his fingers over the crotch of your shorts. You squirm, a small squeak leaving your mouth when he presses on your clit through the fabric. “What about here, baby? Anyone ever played with this little clit before?”

“N-Nick, c’mon-“

“Who? Are you lying to me? Has someone touched you here?” His tone is demanding, now, angry. You look up at him with wide eyes. He’s always been so gentle with you, and his attitude now shock you.

“No..” and then, softly, “no sir. I promise.”

He calms, a small smirk beginning to play on his lips. He rubs, gentle and slow, on your clit. You mewl, hands going up to his hair for leverage as he teases you.

“Such good manners. Being such a good girl.”

His fingers leave you. You whine in protest, beginning to grab his hand and put it back where it was, but he pushes your grip away. He chuckles.

“No, no. You’re going to do something for me first.”

Your face goes red, when he grabs your hand and presses it against his girth.

“You feel that, baby?” He’s taunting, watching as your mouth opens on instinct and your soft wet tongue lolls out. “Feel what you did?”

“Yes. Yes, daddy, I-“

The word that leaves your mouth isn’t intentional, but when it does it has Nick groaning, thrusting his hips up into your hand.

“God, that’s it. You want me to be your daddy, baby? Wanna be my little girl?”

You nod, eagerly, and you begin to move to unbuckle his jeans. He makes a noise of disapproval, though.

“No. Stay right here.”

And then he’s moving off the bed and to the foot of it, beginning to unbuckle his belt. He beckons you over, but stops you when you begin to get off the bed.

“No,” His hand goes down into his pants, and he breathes shakily.

“Crawl.”

Your pussy is practically drenched at this point. A small moan sounds in the back of your throat, and you get on your hands and knees. The look Nick gives you as you move towards him is so dark that you aren’t sure it’s even him anymore. But fuck, he looks so handsome, so beautiful. You can’t help but do what he says.

You’ll do anything for him.

He grabs you by your shoulders and pulls you up on your knees at the edge of the bed. His shirt has ridden up, exposing a sliver of his tanned and toned skin.

“What do you want me to do now, daddy?” The words you’re saying sound so unlike yourself, but it’s like something different has taken over you. All you can think or feel is NickNickNickNickNick. Over and over, your pussy throbbing and spilling wet juices all over the inside of your panties.

“Take your shirt off, sweetheart.”

The demand is one you follow instantly, and when you slip the shirt over your head your nipples are puffy and swollen. He grins, moving down to flick one of your nipples.

“These are so pretty. We should get them pierced, don’t you think?”

The thought of needles going through your tits make you wince. Nick laughs.

“I was just joking, angel.”

“We have to have those nice and ready for our baby, don’t we?”

Your eyes widen, and he laughs again, as if pregnancy is some kind of game.

“Joking, again. God, you’re so gullible, you know that?”

You really don’t think you’d mind carrying his baby, but you don’t mention that right now. Instead, you bring your hands to the bulge in his pants. He groans in surprise, and looks down at you.

“You little minx. Get to work, then. Since you want to be so impatient.”

You hesitate, not really knowing what to do.

“Can you teach me, sir?”

He presses your mouth to his clothed cock, and you gasp at the sudden movement. You drool all over the fabric of his jeans, the confines of the zipper making his incredibly large cock press against the denim.

“Gotta taste it first, don’t you?” He teases. He yanks you away from his dick and pulls your head back so you’ll look up at him.

“Give me a kiss.”

You do, reaching up desperately to kiss him on his soft, sweet lips. He strokes your face, gentle unlike the past few minutes.

“Do you feel safe with me?”

You nod, and he nods his head in understanding at the confirmation.

He begins to unzip his fly. And then, you watch as he pulls out his thick length. You gawk at how pretty and large he is, his tip shining with precum and his balls drawn up tight.

“Do you trust me?”

His voice is rougher now. He strokes his cock, and you ache for it to feel the deep canal of your throat.

“Yes, daddy. You’re the only person in the world I’ll ever trust.”

“Good. You only need me.”

And then he’s rubbing the tip over your lips, and you’re eagerly suckling the soft skin and licking the precum off. He tastes so good, so salty and bitter but so perfectly divine. He growls low in his throat, holding back as much as he can so he doesn’t destroy your perfect little mouth.

“Yeah, just like that. Didn’t even have to tell you where to put that slutty mouth. You think about this a lot, don’t you?”

You nod, as much as you can with your mouth full.

“Run your tongue along the vein.” He directs, watching as you pull off and ask him what to do next. “You see, right there?”

You follow his directions perfectly, following the trail and then moving to kitten lick underneath his head. His eyes roll back, and he shallowly thrusts into your throat. You become desperate, then, and before he realizes what’s happening your downing his whole aching prick in one singular stroke.

“Oh, fuck, you bitch!” He’s loud, and his resolve breaks. He grabs your head with both of his hands and begins to fuck your throat with vigor. You choke, your eyes watering, but you don’t want him to let up. Looking up at him through watery lashes, you see that his had is tilted back and his mouth is open in shock and pleasure.

“I can feel the back of your goddamn throat, Jesus fuck..”

He slows, just a bit, when he sees you struggling to breathe.

“Remember to breathe through your nose, sweetness.”

His advice helps you, and soon you’re relaxed as he uses your throat. Your hands grip his thighs, and on a particularly deep thrust your nose hits the curly black hair at his base. It’s amazing, how much you can take.

Not that Nick has been with many girls, but he’s been with a few. And all of them could hardly take his cock inside their cunt, much less their throat. Nick giggles at the irony, then, sadistically. Of course you can take it. You’re made for him. And he’s your god, a life force that you’re devoted to, that you can’t ever escape.

“Yeah, you’re a pro at this,” Nick says roughly. “ My good little cocksucker.”

That sets you off, and your fingers begin to go down and rub your clit. It doesn’t take long before Nick is pulling you off and pushing you back down on the bed. He grabs you by your thighs and begins to unbuttons your shorts aggressively. When he gets down to your underwear he’s pulling them off with a quickness and shoving them into his back pocket.

You really should be shy right now, but you aren’t. It’s just that way with Nick. You can do anything, show him anything, and you’ll still feel like the most free person to ever exist. He spreads your legs wide, and he doesn’t hesitate to go down and get a taste of you.

He licks a stripe up the expanse of your drenched pussy, makes sure to add a little bit of tongue when he gets to your clit. He thumbs the swollen button, plays with it like it’s a toy. Your back arches, his touch setting flames off on your skin and inside of you.

“Nicky, please..”

Your voice is raw from getting so harshly throat fucked, your eyes droopy and already fucked out from all the foreplay. He says nothing, instead choosing to gather up some of the precum from his cock and use two now lubed fingers to shove inside of you. Your hips soar off the mattress, the sudden stretch burning intensely, but not as much as you would’ve originally thought. You’re so wet that you’re really up for anything, at this point. You flush with embarrassment when you hear your wetness gushing around Nick’s fingers. But he looks pleased, intensely so, and bends down to press a little kiss to your clit.

“Aww, look at that,” he coos. “You’re so wet, aren’t you? Did daddy make you this wet?”

“Yesyesyesyes-“ you practically scream when he rubs your inner walls a certain way, and it makes your legs shake and makes tears stream down your cheeks. “please keep doing that, daddy. Oh my God!

You can feel your orgasm approaching, and it’s embarrassing that you’re cumming this soon. But you’re a virgin, after all. You can’t help it. And so, with a sharp intake of breath and a moan, you cum all over Nick’s fingers. He watches as your juices coat his entire hand and shirt as your legs start to convulse in pleasure. He smiles, satisfied. You just squirted all over him.

“There you go.. just like that. Good girl. Give me all of that, baby.”

When you come down it’s like you’re wiped of energy. Nick notices. His hand goes up to stroke your face.

“You have to give me one more, okay? Just one.”

You shake your head, eyes going closed, but he slaps your cheek lightly to keep you awake.

“Still need fuck you, honey. I want you to be awake when I do it. Want you to remember.”

You bite your lip, hesitant, but then you nod. He smiles, and your heart flutters as you look down at him in between your legs.

“That’s my girl.”

He adjusts your thighs, pulling your spent body towards him. His cock nudges against your entrance. It’s different from what you’ve just experienced, much more intimate and warm. So he guides himself into you, gently. It hurts, and you let out a noise of displeasure. You start to cry again, but out of pain.

“Daddy- c-can’t, ‘s too much..”

“I know you can take it, sweet girl. Don’t you want to make daddy proud?”

You hiccup, tears flowing freely down your cheeks, and you whisper a small, “yes sir.”

He pushes into you for what seems like forever, and when you finally feel his pelvis pressing against your clit you jump from the stimulation. It causes you to clench down on him, and you cry out at the feeling of him losing control and thrusting into your open canal. He groans, lifting himself up with his hands to keep himself still.

“Don’t do that baby, ‘s gonna hurt you. Fuck, you’re so tiny. My cock is splitting you in two.”

Yeah, you wanted to say, like I warned you it would.

But you don’t say that, and soon his cock just feels like a lot of pressure. So when you tell Nick to move, he tries his hardest to be slow. He’s shaking, the fact of being in control of himself a new phenomenon. But when he drags himself out, slow, and then pushes himself back in, you begin to feel different. He hits that special spot again, just right, and your hips move back on him at their own accord.

“Daddy.. please. Fuck me! want it hard…”

The words spill out of your mouth quickly, your brain going haywire. Nick’s hands become bruising in their grip, and he shoves your hands over your head again and begins to pound you vigorously. Your wetness leaves a creamy ring around the base of his cock, and you look absolutely gorgeous, letting him use you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful little girl.. love having this pussy fucked, don’t you? Making daddy so proud..”

You moan loudly, his praises making more wetness drip out of you.

“Love you, daddy, love you so much!”

Nick’s hips stutter at that, and although it should be a very large milestone to cross, it feels perfectly natural, perfectly true to say, and it makes his head spin. His perfect little girl, worshipping him and his cock. You’re a dream come true.

“Holy fuck.. I love you too, sweetheart.” Your heart aches, so deeply. He loves you. Nick, the boy you’ve been completely devoted to and have worshipped the entire summer, loves you.

You can feel his thrusts speeding up, his hands bruising on your skin. ‘M gonna cum, shit-“

He twitches, flooding your sticky walls with his cum. Your hips shake, your pussy milking him dry.

“Love your cum, sir, feels s’good.” You slur. The fact that you’ve gotten riled up and haven’t came again is in the very back of your mind. Nick’s cock, his body, his devoted time and attention to you, is enough to satiate your needs. When he pulls out of you he makes sure to watch his cum drip out of your needy hole, and then rubs your clit in gentle strokes.

“just give me one more, baby. Cum for daddy one more time.”

And who are you to resist? Shaking, your brain turns to mush. Your tummy tightens and then you’re spilling again, watching as Nick looks down at you with adoration.

When you slow, his hands move up to swipe some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. You smile bashfully, watching as he lays down beside you and beckons you over to him once more. It’s peaceful, resting now in the darkness of his room. The radio is still playing, soft just as before. And when you sleep, you dream of sweet nothings.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

And then two days later, you’re being harassed by the camp’s janitor.

His name is Lloyd, and he’s older, much more so. He’s noticed you around, he says. He wants to get to know you more.

You’re uncomfortable by his offer. He’s a grown man, for christ’s sakes! And not an attractive one, at that, so why would you even attempt such a thing with him?

Of course, Nick isn’t too far behind when Lloyd starts spewing harsh words when you reject him. He pulls you behind him protectively, and begins suggesting that he call his father and tell on him. Lloyd instantly backs off, but his narrowed eyes never leave yours as he walks away.

Later that night, there’s a camp bonfire. You smile as you conversate with Nick while a bag of marshmallows between the two of you. You shove one into your mouth as you discuss Carry by Stephen King, and he agrees that it’s one of the best. Your head rests on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around you. Although campers and counselors technically can’t be together, no one around really cares at the moment; they’re all too busy with their own friends to notice. You grab Nick’s hand and suggest that he take you to get more snacks from the cafeteria. He trails behind you, watching your ass bounce in the tiny skirt you’re wearing. It isn’t long before you’re buying a coke and Nick is using every excuse in the book to guide you behind the deserted building and up against the wall.

His lips press gently into your neck in a sloppy, wet kiss. Your coke is forgotten, the soft drink’s bottle sitting on the concrete beside the both of you. You fall into Nick more when he bites down softly on the spot below your ear; he’s only fucked you once, but he knows your body like the back of his hand.

You sigh, your hand grabbing his and discreetly guiding it to that warm spot in between your legs. He huffs out a laugh, watches your face contort into carnal pleasure when he rubs your clit softly.

“Needy, baby?”

“Want you..” you whine, hands gripping his shirt. “Fuck me here. Wan’ everyone to see…”

“Jesus,” he moans, your hand going down to palm his aching shaft. “Only fucked you once and I’ve already turned you into a little cockslut, huh?”

You nod as his thumb brushes over your lips in a playful manner. You bring the digit into your mouth, making sure that it hits the very back of your throat. Nick groans at that, bringing his thumb out and crashing his lips into yours. You taste like cherry coke, and from the past few days of the constant making out you guys have been doing, Nick can infer that this is just how you taste. It’s so perfect, so incredibly sweet and precious. He grabs your arms and turns you around so he can press your body against the wall behind you. His hands undo his belt, and then he’s lifting up your skirt to see your pretty cunt.

“No panties, sweetheart?”

“Just wanted to be ready for you, daddy.”

The way you say it, so giving and dedicated, makes Nick’s cock jump. When he pulls it out he presses it flush against your bare mound and slaps your lips playfully with his tip. You squirm, little pussy red and swollen.

“Love this little pussy so much, baby,” Nick coos. He rubs your clit with his length, and it makes you tremble. “Need you to beg for daddy. C’mon, be a good girl.”

You don’t even hesitate, your voice shaky and desperate. “Please! Need you so bad, daddy. Please fuck me!”

He doesn’t hesitate to shove himself inside you, then. And although the stretch still hurts, it feels better than last time and it makes you mewl as he begins to harshly pound into you. He yanks you back by your hair, your body pressed flush against him, and he uses his other hand to yank your top down and expose your tits to the night air. They scrape against the brick wall, and it the sting makes you clench around him.

“Good little bitch.. such a tight little pussy…”

And then his tone becomes darker, and he begins to put a bruising grip on your hip.

“Tommy could’ve never fucked you like this, y’know.”

The sentence catches you off guard, your body slowing its movements. But only slightly; because as fucked up as it is, Nick still turns you on. You stutter, your eyes rolling back when Nick’s cock grazes your insides perfectly.

“W-What?”

And although it seems like Nick should be ashamed or feel caught saying the thing he just said, he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers reach down to rub you clit, as he chuckles darkly.

“You heard me. That little fucker. You were going to leave me for him, weren’t you?”

Your eyes furrow in confusion, tears beginning to form at the stress of his interrogation and his harsh thrusts. Nick slaps your ass harshly, watching it jiggle and move against him more.

“Answer me!”

“No! No, I only ever wanted you! I- I didn’t-“

“Good.”

His fingers slap your pussy, and then he’s rubbing your clit in harsh circles again. You practically scream, your wetness gushing down his dick.

“Now fucking cum for me.”

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You ignore Nick as he walks you back to his cabin.

You don’t know what else to do. How else are you supposed to react when your best friend slash lover decides to talk about a dead friend in bed?

It should upset you more than it does.

You’re freaked out, a little bit, of course. But the guilt, that pit in your stomach, isn’t as prominent as you thought it would be. And when Nick pulls you into a hug and softly asks, “stay, please?”, you can’t resist him. Will is out, you assume. Probably with a random girl or still at the bonfire.

None of that matters, right now. You turn your head when Nick tries to kiss you. He frowns, hands coming up to your hair.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why’d you say that stuff earlier, Nick?” You ask quietly. Your nervously bounce on the balls of your feet. “That was really mean.”

He sighs, looking regretful as he takes your face into his hands.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know I shouldn’t of said that. I got carried away..“

His lips land on yours, gentle. You’re extremely tired, your limbs weak and your pussy aching from Nick’s harsh fucking. You don’t know how to feel, but the softness of Nick’s lips makes your eyes flutter shut.

“I won’t do it again,” he murmurs, as he pulls away. His thumb goes to wipe away stray mascara that had smeared on your face. “I promise. Just stay with me?”

You know it isn’t right. You know that what he said was messed up, was something you should leave him for. But you don’t. You just nod your head obediently, and join him on his bed. And when you’re trying to sleep and his length rubs up against your thigh, he asks if you want him. You say yes, and It’s true.

And when he brings himself up to your lips, you lick his cock clean, and show him your devotion.

@itsthatonegirl

#nick goode #Nick goode x reader #Nick goode x fem! reader #nick goode smut #Ghostface! Nick goode #fear streat scream au #scream #fear street #fear street 1994 #fear street 1978 #fear street 1666 #fear street trilogy #fear street fanfiction #young! Nick goode #dom! Nick goode #sub! reader

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wintrwinchestr · 6 months ago

Text

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

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read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that?

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway?

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about.

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol.

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has.

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night.

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out.

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought.

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you.

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away.

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge.

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears.

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need.

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still.

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans.

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue.

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour.

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—”

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.”

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already.

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some.

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise.

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that.

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why.

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything.

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.”

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying.

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now.

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up.

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.”

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers.

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough.

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band.

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight.

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary.

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet.

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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