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strang3lov3 · 30 days ago

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Bedridden

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 🍆💦❤️‍🔥

Joel is sick and refuses to rest, so you knock him out the best way you know how. (5.4k)

Tags - smut, lotsa sexual tension, blow jobs, pussy pronouns, teasing, fingering, unprotected piv, riding the sick old man’s cock, creampie, non-graphic descriptions of being sick. JOEL DOES THE DAD SNEEZE. coughing, fevers. That’s all. Joel is stubborn and grumpy while you take care of his old as fuck ass. Arguing with the old man, forcing the old man to bathe, forcing the old man to eat and drink, forcing a thermometer in the old man’s mouth. Joel bitching you out the whole time. Joel is kind of exactly like Dennis in IASIP when the gang gets quarantined. Fic Help - My usuals! @beefrobeefcal, your unhinged comments on the doc were the best part. and @endlessthxxghts thank you for your help <3 A/N - Heyyyyyyy. I promised this fic yesterday and then didn’t deliver. Sorry. It just needed to marinate in the doc a little longer or something. It’s been a bullshit ass few days and I’m,,,,handling it. Anyway, I’ve been sick as balls so that’s how this fic came about. Everybody wash your hands 🧼

There’s a fine point late in the year, right after summer turns to fall. You can fall asleep with the window over your bed cracked open just an inch to let the crisp, cool air blow over your face as you cocoon yourself in blankets. In the mornings you wake to that same breeze and the birds chirping, though less and less as they fly south for the upcoming winter.

Not this morning, though. This morning, you’re awoken by a chesty, hacking cough coming from outside your window. You sigh as you get out of bed and push the curtains away from the window to get a better look at what the hell is going on out there.

And it’s just your neighbor, Joel. You should have guessed it’d be him, you heard his earth shattering, deafening sneeze the other day when you waved to him as you walked by his house. Joel waved back at you with the same hand he sneezed into. Ew.

Everyone’s getting sick lately, it goes around quickly in Jackson. Always does - it starts with the kids and works its way through the community, and a good four to six weeks are filled with endless sneezing and coughing and mucus.

Joel’s coughing up his lungs as he rakes up the leaves in your yard, a job he’s seemingly assigned himself, because you sure as shit didn’t ask him to do this. He has a habit of taking on your chores and home maintenance out of his own frustration.

You pull a robe over your pajamas and slide on a pair of slippers, then leave out of the front door to greet Joel. “Good morning, Joel.”

Joel clears his throat. “S’actually noon, lazy ass. ‘Bout time ya woke up.”

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like.” He sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Gross. “M’workin’.”

“Yeah, I see that. But you sound sick.”

Joel ignores the accusation, “Your yard looks like shit, by the way,” he says. “Wouldn’t kill ya to rake once in a while. ‘Stead of makin’ me do it.”

“You choose to do this. I don’t make you do anything,” you argue, rolling your eyes. It’s funny, though. Joel’s turning into the caricature of the old man angrily shaking his fist at kids playing on his lawn. All crotchety and pissed off about nothing. You step closer to him and wrap your hand around the handle of the rake, pulling it towards yourself. “Besides, Mother Nature put those leaves there for a reason,” you add.

“Sure, smartass. For you to ignore and for me to clean up. Now, give it,” Joel tugs the rake back. Whatever. You let him. Joel rakes more of your leaves into the pile he’s created, then doubles over in another coughing fit. You rub your palm on his back, patting him gently. He’s sweating through his flannel. “Oh, Christ. Fuck me.”

“Joel, you look awful.”

You help him stand up, “You’re a terrible flirt, darlin’,” Joel replies dryly. But he knows you’re not wrong. He saw in the mirror how pale he looked this morning, the dark circles around his eyes.

“Oh, shut up.” You press the back of your hand against Joel’s forehead, all sweaty and warm. “You’re burning up, Joel. You’re sick.”

“I am not sick,” Joel protests through another cough. “I’m fine. How ‘bout you worry ‘bout yourself ‘stead of fussin’ over me.”

“You’re hacking up a lung in my yard. I’ll worry about you all I want, thank you.”

In response, Joel grumbles something you can’t quite make out. You roll your eyes and take the rake from him, dropping it on the grass. “My rake,” Joel murmurs, annoyed and defeated. With your work clearly cut out for you, you take his hand and lead him into your house. “Aw, hell. What’re you doin’ to me.”

“Taking care of you,” you reply.

“Didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” Joel complains. “I don’t need takin’ care of.”

Oh, he’s a peach. Most men, when sick, are total babies - pathetically crying about their headaches and stomachaches to women who deal with the same symptoms on a monthly basis. It’s charming, truly. But not Joel, though. In his stubbornness, Joel refuses to ever admit when he’s sick, like he’s got something to prove. Can never let himself be taken care of, because that’s his job - to take care of others. Always has been.

Once inside, you have Joel take off his boots, then usher him to the bathroom with a hand on his back, his flannel damp with sweat. “Sit.” You reach for Joel’s shoulders and push him down, forcing him onto the lidded toilet. You crouch down at the bathtub and plug the drain with the stopper, then turn the water on - not too hot, not too cold. “Yeah, this is good. This’ll make you feel so much better.”

“Oh, c’mon. Turn off the damn water. I’m not takin’ a bath.”

“You are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Joel,” you bite. Joel parrots your name back in the same threatening tone.

“We’re breaking that fever one way or another, Joel. So you bathe yourself, or I’ll do it.”

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, will ya, now?”

You go quiet, no retort to his comment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you focus on the bathtub filling with water to avoid Joel’s taunting gaze. After a long enough silence passes, Joel changes the subject. “I don’t have any clean clothes, y’know.”

“Then I’ll grab you some from your house,” you mumble.

“Mm,” Joel grunts. “Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”

You glare. Joel glares too. You fold your arms across your chest and raise your eyebrows at him. You are not losing this battle.

Joel sighs in defeat. “Alright, go on an’ get, then. I’ll take the fuckin’ bath if it’ll get me fifteen minutes away from you obsessin’ over me. There. Happy?”

“Happy.”

You leave Joel in the bathroom to bathe himself, closing the door behind you. Still wearing nothing but pajamas and a robe, you change quickly into a hoodie and jeans, then leave through your front door for the second time.

Joel’s house is right next to yours, so it’s not a long walk. Mentally, you’re kicking yourself for your stupid threat to bathe Joel. The way he responded to it, ‘Oh, will ya?’ and how bashful that made you, the embarrassment written all over your face in big, black, permanent marker. Your crush on the older man is obvious, and Joel, never the gentleman, will jump at any opportunity to make you squirm. Like when he catches your eyes lingering on him for a little too long, he’ll tease you for it. “S’rude to stare, y’know,” he’ll taunt, always with that stupid fucking grin on his face. Smile lines framing his cheeks, crows feet handsomely peeking at the corners of his eyes. You really need to stop setting yourself up for these things.

Once in Joel’s house, you head upstairs for his bedroom and rifle through his dresser drawers for some comfy clothes. You pick out a pair of plaid boxers, some gray sweatpants, and a navy waffle-knit henley. You bunch up his clothes and inhale, Joel’s natural smell still lingering in the clothes, even washed.

In his kitchen, you notice some vegetables sitting out on his countertops. Carrots, potatoes, onions. You grab those too, then check the fridge for leftover chicken or turkey or something. He usually has some, and usually brings it to you after he’s had his fill. “This is for you, trouble. Cause y’don’t eat enough,” he’ll gruff. “Would you like me to heat it up for ya?” And whether you say yes or no, he always does. It seems to make him happy or fulfill him somehow, so you let him take care of you like that. If only he’d let you return the favor.

Bingo. There’s chicken in old Tupperware right on the top shelf, and yesterday’s date written in Joel’s terrible handwriting from an old, dried up Sharpie. You take that too, then go back home.

You leave Joel’s food you stole on the kitchen table and stop at your linen closet for a fresh towel. You knock on the bathroom door, “Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’.”

“I have your clothes. And a towel.”

“Good. I need those,” Joel says. “C’mon in, then.”

You open the door, averting your eyes from Joel’s naked body in the bathtub. “Relax. M’not gonna let you see somethin’ you ain’t ‘sposed to.” He’s got his hands covering his manhood, the rest of himself on display - toned biceps, veined forearms. His belly is pillowy and hairy and his legs look so long, all bare like this. His toes peeking out of the soapy bathwater. You set the towel and his clothes down on the toilet, stealing an even longer look at him when you think he doesn’t notice. “I see ya snoopin’, trouble. Wanna take a picture?”

You roll your eyes and ignore the offer, turning your attention to Joel but keeping your eyes focused on his face. His hair is slicked back, and his grays pop out against the rest of his dark hair, little ringlet curls at his neck. The asshole is criminally handsome.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. Like I’ve felt all day,” Joel lies. His body betrays him instantly when another cough wracks through him.

“Right. Well, you smell better, at least.”

Joel rolls his eyes, “Nice one, sweetheart. Thanks. Now scram, so I can get dressed.”

You leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself again. You can hear the sound of the bathtub draining and Joel getting out of the tub as you stop at the linen closet again, this time grabbing some queen sized sheets and pillowcases.

In your living room, you pull some cushions off of your sofa and pull out the built-in bed, then dress it with the sheets and an old floral quilt. You cover your own pillows in the pillowcases, then fluff them nicely and set them up for Joel, who’s leaving the bathroom now, combing his hair back.

“Stole your comb,” he says, tossing it for you to catch. He stops in the living room and looks at the pull-out bed that you made up, the corners of the sheets tucked in and everything. “The hell’s all this?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” You mock his words from earlier. “Your bed.”

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. I ain’t even sick.”

You ignore Joel and point to the bed. “Get in.”

Joel rolls his eyes but gets in the bed anyway, springs squeaking under his weight. “M’not gettin’ in this bed ‘cause I’m sick or ‘cause you’re makin’ me. Just feel like sittin’.”

“Sure, Joel,” you sigh. “How much water have you had today?”

“Plenty.”

“How much is plenty?”

“It’s enough,” he snaps impatiently. You leave him just for a second to fill a glass with some water, then bring it to him. Joel pushes the glass away, “I said I’ve had enough.”

“I’ll decide what’s enough, now here–” you put the glass into his hand, “Drink.”

Joel drinks the entirety of the glass, glaring at you the entire time. Good god, if looks could fucking kill. The cool water soothes his scratchy, sore throat, but Joel won’t tell you that. “You’re a tyrant, sweetheart,” he tells you, voice raspy and low. What he doesn’t tell you, however, is that if the shoe were on the other foot and you were the sick one right now, he'd be just as overbearing over your health. Probably worse.

You pout mockingly at Joel as you take his glass. “Stay here. Don’t get up.”

You get up from the bed to go into the kitchen and begin preparing a soup for Joel to soothe his aching throat. You start by dicing onions, then chopping some carrots. You toss them in a large pot with some butter, letting the vegetables soften. You’ve even got some leftover bread you made yesterday, so you turn on your oven to heat it up. You can hear Joel getting restless, tossing and turning in the less than comfortable bed. Probably should have turned on a movie for him, left him a book or something to occupy his restless mind. “You okay?”

“M’fine. Mind your business.”

You open Joel’s Tupperware and chop up his chicken into little bits. When you look up, Joel’s out of bed. You scoff. He’s forcing open your window, grunting as it squeaks. “Joel, what did I tell you? Get your ass back in that bed.”

“Relax, would ya? M’tryin’ to get some air in here.” Joel successfully forces the window open, and cool air blows into your tediously warmed home. “House is a fuckin’ oven.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably your fever talking, dumbass. Put my window down.”

“I really outta fix this window for ya. Ain’t good to leave it like this. I’ll get my tools an’ I–”

You march across the kitchen and into the living room, knife in hand and using it to point to the bed. “Joel.”

“You scare me,” Joel mumbles, raising his arms in surrender. He closes the sticky window for you, then you march him back to the pullout. Before Joel lays down, he glances in the kitchen at what you’ve been cooking. He heard the sounds of you chopping, but with his nose all congested he can’t smell enough to hazard a guess as to what you’ve been making. Joel narrows his eyes at the stolen Tupperware on your table, the carrots and onion peels to the side, and recognizes it all as his. “Is that my…?”

“Just lay down, Joel.”

“Did you take that from my fridge?”

“I did.”

You’re completely shameless about this, there’s not even a half-assed attempt at lying your way out, and Joel’s beside himself. “You stole from me, you little–” You urge Joel into bed, fluffing the pillows behind him as you ignore his tantrum. “You are unbelievable. I could throttle you, you know that?”

“Go ahead, Joel,” you challenge. A slight breeze could knock this sick old man down to his knees. You tuck Joel into the sheets, then adjust the quilt over him again. And this time before leaving him, you grab an old book of word searches in a basket under an end table. “Here.” You toss it to him along with a dull pencil. That should keep him busy.

Back in the kitchen, you’re still working on Joel’s soup. It’s bubbling away on the stove, and you’ve just finished making egg noodles to make the dish a little heartier. Something to stick to his ribs. It hits you then, that you don’t hear sniffling or coughing. Joel’s gone quiet, suspiciously so.

And lo and be-fucking-hold, Joel’s up again. This time, with tools. Tools that you don’t have, tools that he must have snuck out and grabbed from his home at some point. “Joel!”

“There,” Joel says, moving your window up and down seamlessly. “Window’s fixed.”

“How many times do I have to say it?”

“How about you try a ‘thank you’, huh?” Joel shoots back.

You shoo him back to bed. You slice a bit of warm bread, then ladle some soup into a bowl and bring it to him with a spoon. “Eat,” you tell him.

Joel eats a spoonful, and it’s written all over his face how much he enjoys it, the warm broth relieving his sore throat. “So what’d you poison it with, huh?”

“Oh, you’re such a dick.”

Joel smiles, only teasing. “M’sorry. S’just that you shouldn’t be doin’ all this for me, s’all.” Joel squeezes your knee comfortingly. “Thank you. I mean it, darlin’.” He’ll let you feed him, but no more than that. You’re too sweet for your own good. “S’good soup.”

“I’m glad you like it, you asshole.” You smile too, and push some of Joel’s hair out of his face. He finishes his bowl of soup, even has a second one. You take his bowl away and wash it at the sink.

“Should let me do that,” Joel says, following you into the kitchen. “Ain’t that how it works? One cooks, the other cleans.” Joel bumps you to the side and takes the soapy dish from your hands.

“Maybe another time,” you offer, attempting to take back the bowl. “Don’t want your germs on my dinnerware.” But Joel holds on tight, so you let him wash the dish. Since he wants to die on this hill. So you dry your hands, then feel his forehead once again. You frown, displeased that the bath didn’t work at curbing his fever at all. He’s still burning up. “I’ll be right back.”

You go to your bathroom and open the cabinet vanity, where you have an old Walgreens thermometer, the paint all smudged off. You wash it with soap and water in the sink, then return to Joel. Amazingly, you find him in the bed doing his word search puzzle, and you didn’t even have to tell him to go lay down this time.

The bed creaks under you as you sit down next to him. You put his book down, “Open,” you tell him, thermometer in hand.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Joel complains. “Get that thermometer outta my face.”

You shake your head no, and tug on Joel's chin so that he opens his mouth. You place the thermometer under his tongue and he closes his lips around it, staring daggers at you the entire time thermometer reads his temperature.

He’s so handsome. Big, sparkling brown eyes underneath brows knit together in irritation. Pouting lips. Age looks good on him, perfectly both softens and enhances his rougher edges.

The thermometer beeps. You read the temperature, 102.3°F. Why Joel’s even upright with a fever like this is a mystery, but that’s men for you. Fucking idiots. “That’s a hell of a fever you’re running, Joel.”

“You’re full’a shit. Gimme that.” Joel sniffles and snatches the thermometer from you to read the number for himself. He shrugs. “S’old. Probably faulty. Can’t trust it.” Joel covers his mouth with his elbow and coughs loudly.

“You’re old and faulty too, Joel. Look at you.” You offer him a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “You’re falling apart.”

Joel scowls at you before blowing his nose. You leave him once more, this time to bring him a cool, damp rag. You press it against his forehead, and Joel closes his eyes. “Does that feel nice?”

“No. Quit that.”

But Joel’s body betrays him. He’s sighing in relief, and his tensed muscles loosen. His breathing, while still shallow, has slowed as much as it can, soft belly rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No, I’m not. M’not tired,” Joel argues. He tries adjusting the now lukewarm rag, warmed by his body heat.

“You should sleep.”

“Nah.”

You take the damp rag off of Joel’s forehead and flip it so that the cooler side soothes his hot, feverish skin. “You know, Joel, I think this is why god made women. To take care of stupid, sick men like you.”

“Hm. Could be so. But I think he sent you to me as a punishment of sorts.”

“Is that so? A punishment?”

“S’right. An’ some day, you’ll fool some poor man into marryin’ you and he’ll have to put up with this same shit the rest of his life. I don’t envy that sorry bastard one bit.”

“Oh, I know,” you coo, wiping away a droplet of water that rolls down his temple. “You tell me all about it, Joel. Tell me how terrible it is.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Joel continues his tirade, bitching and moaning about how you're doing too much, that none of this is necessary. ‘Quit fussin’ over me’ and so on.

You know that after this, Joel will try to leave you, go home and fiddle with things in his home that aren’t broken - or worse yet, he’ll tinker with the things in yours that he deems in need of fixing. Squeaky door, creaky floor panels. You listen to his slight wheezing, his sniffling, his voice all raspy and broken. He really does need to rest, the poor man.

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man.

You remove the damp rag from Joel’s head and set it on the coffee table behind you. Joel’s eyes are shut as he takes shallow breaths, and you trace lazy patterns on his stomach, inching your way down, down, until you’re rubbing his warm bulge, feeling him stiffen beneath your touch. “Goddamnit, what the hell are you doin’ t’me, now?” Joel groans. He takes your wrist and squeezes it gently in his grip.

“Nothing, Joel,” you answer innocently.

“Bullshit, it’s - you’re - oh, fuck.” Joel bucks into your palm. You slide your hand beneath his sweatpants to touch his bare cock, amused at how Joel decided against wearing boxers today. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart. You gotta, you can’t–”

“Shhh,” you hush him. You drag your nails through his patch of coarse hair, playing with those long and wiry hairs. You palm his cock again, half hard and growing harder by the second. Before this goes further, you tug his sweatpants down his thighs. “Lift up for me, Joel.”

Joel lifts his hips and you tug his sweats down the rest of the way, then continue touching him. You spit into your hand and pump him from top to bottom, taking special care to gently massage his balls when you reach the base of his cock. “Ohh, darlin’. Oh lord.”

Joel’s stiffened to full length now. You kiss the tip of his cock, all the way down his shaft before licking your way back up, one long, fat stripe. You swirl your tongue around the head and dip your head, teasing him with it as you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him down your throat with each pass.

Joel moans, his sick voice breaking a little. He keeps a heavy hand on your bobbing hand and wonders what the hell he did to deserve this from you. He should have stopped fighting his sickness long ago if this is what was in the cards for him.

Realization dawns on Joel. It all makes sense, why you’re sucking him off at this particular moment. You’re trying to put him to bed, you goddamn deviant. “You’re trouble,” he accuses. “I know exactly what you’re doin’.”

“Hmm?” You turn your head to Joel, his cock still in your mouth. You bounce it against your inner cheek, and Joel groans at the lewd image of his cockhead bulging in your mouth.

“Yeah,” Joel says. “And let me - oh, fuck-” You drop your head low, taking all of him into your mouth. So deep that your nose is buried in his pubic hair. “Let me tell ya, darlin’, what you’re doin - it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You pull off of his cock with a pop. “It won’t?”

Joel shakes his head. “Mm-mm. You’re wastin’ your time.”

“Oh. Well, I should stop, then.”

You begin to pull off of his cock, but Joel forces you back down. “Nah, you don’t have t - you gotta give it your best shot, right?”

You smile with Joel’s cock in your mouth. What a fucking guy. You pull off of him only momentarily, garnering a protesting groan spilling from his lips. You take off your shirt and unbutton your pants. “Lemme help you with that, c’mere, darlin’,” Joel says, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. He unclasps your bra next, then sheds his own clothing.

You take him right back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck his length. This time, though, you play with your pussy. As you move up and down Joel’s shaft, you slip through your folds, dipping down to your wet hole to gather your arousal on your fingertips. You circle your clit a couple of times, then push your fingers in and out of your pussy.

“You fuckin’ yourself on your fingers, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, mouth stuffed full of Joel’s cock.

Joel pulls your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own, much thicker and longer ones. “Let me,” he says. “S’my job. Shouldn’t have t’do that to yourself, ‘less you wanna. Or if I say so.”

Joel spreads your thighs wider. He moves his pointer and middle fingers up and down, exploring your slick, velvety pussy. He sucks those two fingers and then his thumb and rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, all swollen and wet with your arousal. You moan at the action, the vibration of your voice traveling right down his shaft and to his balls. He bucks himself into your mouth.

Joel inserts his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping in and out slowly before curling them upward, stroking right where you need him to. “Got a nice fuckin’ pussy,” he purrs with his hoarse, gravelly voice. You pulse around his fingers, and Joel admires the way your tight hole hugs him as he moves in and out of you. “She’s makin’ such a mess, drippin’ all over me.”

You twist your fist up and down Joel’s shaft as you suck him, working him closer and closer to the edge. Joel’s content with this, the prospect of coming down your throat and fucking you with his fingers. But you have a different idea, and when his balls are tightening and his shaft is twitching, his breathing quickening, you pull off of him.

Joel groans in frustration, but his anger is quickly eased when you straddle his hips. You reach between your legs for his cock and stroke it, dragging the tip through your folds, up and down, up and down, dipping it in and out of yourself to tease him. “You’re fightin’ dirty.”

Joel’s exercised enough self control today and doesn’t let you tease him for long. He puts both of his large, weathered, and masculine hands on your waist and pulls you right down on his cock, the initial penetration causing a stretch so intense you see stars for a second. “Oh god, Joel,” you moan, clutching his shoulders.

“I know, I know,” Joel whispers, rubbing your back. “You good, sweetheart? You need a minute?”

“Just - just a second.”

“Take your time. Know it’s a lot, you’ll get used to it.”

Joel gives you a second, then inches you up and down on his cock to get you adjusted to the sensation of being so full of him. Soon enough, the ache dissipates and is replaced with pleasure, nothing but pure pleasure. You rest against his hot body, rocking your hips to grind against his pubic bone.

You know that by the way he bucked his hips into your mouth, how he pulled you down on his cock, how even now he moves you, that he’ll tire himself out. Your plan was simply to make him come to knock him out, but this - this works too. Exhaust his body, get yourself off in the process. Killing two birds with one stone.

Joel fucks you harder now, hands on your ass to move you up and down on his cock. He bends his legs at the knee for more leverage, bouncing you on his lap. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts. He moves you so that your chest is right above his face, and one at a time, sucks your nipples into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing them.

You hold onto Joel’s broad shoulders to steady yourself, looking down at him as he fucks himself into you. He’s so handsome, cheeks and chest all flushed red, a sheen of sweat glittering at his hairline, his graying curls damp. Joel’s eyebrows are knit together as he fucks you, tracing your curves with his gaze. He pulls you against his chest as he ruts against you, his scruff scratching your skin so deliciously. “Takin’ me so good. Look so pretty on my cock like this.”

You move at his will. Joel’s underneath you, rocking himself in and out of your dripping, tight pussy. His thrusts are getting sloppy, hips stuttering in a non-rhythm as he pushes himself inside you over and over. He must be getting close now.

“Up, sweetheart. Lean back f’me.”

You peel yourself off of Joel’s middle, all slick with his sweat. Joel spits into his hand and presses the calloused pads of his fingertips against your clit. You roll your hips against him, savoring that much-needed friction against your clit.

“Like that, darlin’. Jus’ like that. Fuck yourself on my cock,” Joel says, rubbing your sensitive bud with tight circles. “Gonna watch you come all over me.”

“Yeah,” you moan, “Wanna come for you.”

Joel loves you like this. Your face contorted in pleasure, mouth agape, body quivering and twitching on top of him. He steadily massages your wet, swollen clit and wears a crooked smile when he feels your cunt start to pulse around him. And you think you’re pulling one over on him, but look at you, all fucked out and delirious. You’ll probably crash after this, and Joel will go right back to fixing up your house. There’s a door hinge that’s been squeaking…

“Oh my - Joel, I’m - I’m gonna -”

“Know you are, sweetheart. Let me have it,” he groans, voice all broken and hoarse. “Come all over my cock, darlin’. Let go f’me.”

That hot, sticky pleasure in your gut begins to intensify rapidly. You go quiet just before it happens, then let out a long, whimpering moan when your orgasm takes over your body. You shudder and jerk as Joel fucks you through your release, and once you’ve ridden it out, Joel pulls you tight against his chest.

While you come down from your high, Joel frantically fucks you, slamming his hips against yours as he chases his own climax, balls tightening and his belly filling with warmth. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel pants as he comes, painting your insides with his hot seed, the warmth of his release and the pulsing of his cock so satisfying.

Coming down from his orgasm, a wave of exhaustion hits Joel. He finds himself unable to move, unable to open his heavy eyelids. He might’ve been wrong, because napping away the rest of the afternoon doesn’t sound quite so bad, now.

You pull your body off of Joel’s and he lets out a sighing grunt when his softening cock slides out of your body, the mess he created with you spilling all over his lap. You grab that washrag you held against his forehead and clean him up and then yourself, then get up to dispose of it.

Joel grabs you by the arm, his grip weak. “Don’t you go anywhere, trouble,” he grumbles.

“But I’ve gotta take care of this, Joel,” you protest.

“Deal with it later. Just -” Joel yawns and pulls you down and holds you tight against his chest, as tight as he can, anyway. “Jus’ stay with me a minute.”

Joel’s eyes are still shut, and his breathing becomes slow and rhythmic. It’s laughable how quickly sleep is taking over his sick, exhausted body, having used what little life he had in himself to fuck you stupid. Like that last burst of energy from a dying star. “I thought you weren’t tired,” you tease.

Joel sniffles. “M’not.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“Just checkin’ my eyelids for holes.”

You push some curls out of Joel’s face and hold your palm against his cheek, still hot with his fever. He’s so peaceful looking like this, plump lips pouting as he breathes through his mouth. You bring your face close to his and close the gap by pressing a little kiss against his lips.

“What’re you kissin’ me for, hm?”

“I want to,” you reply, kissing him again.

“Gonna get yourself sick,” Joel murmurs groggily, eyes still closed. “Which means in a couple days, I get to do all this right back to you. S'payback, darlin’.”

You chuckle. And in just a few short seconds, Joel’s snoring lightly, dead to the world.

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with thoughts or comment or hop in my inbox! Your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #grumpy joel #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #Joel miller #pedro pascal characters #tlou #tlou smut #the last of us #Joel tlou #tlou Joel

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bunnygirllover45 · 3 months ago

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— The shape of love. ﹑◌﹒WARNINGS﹕Kidnapping, implied punishment, ugly jealousy, some descriptions of body harm ( just wounds or bruises, and it doesn't get too graphic), lots, and lots of deranged ramblings, it gets very dark at times. This is narrated from the POV of the Yandere, you can read this as a 'letter' of sorts.

♱ ✧ ⤷ Word count: 997 (felt lazy and I didn't reach 1k lmao.)

There you go again, looking at me with the same eyes as always.

I don’t know how many times I’ve repeated moments like this inside my head since the last time. It's been a while since I've been this close to you.

The trembling of your body lets me know that your excitement is as big as mine, is your body perhaps unable to contain all those bubbling feelings?

I grab your legs, my hands softly pressing against the flesh, feeling it under mine —so soft and delicate, for a moment I thought that maybe if I pushed my fingers inside of it I could spread it like a cloud made of cotton— when I pressed I could fee the shape of your bones underneath just a little, the sensation made my own body tremble.

It’s a shame you’re still shy to my touch, even if it’s something simple like a small caress or a kiss on the cheek you’re always trying to push away from me, I would love if you to cling onto me more when I do it or have you begging silently to do something more. I know you wouldn’t tell me with words, you’re not good with them.

Now that I think about it, I’ve never heard you say my name since I brought you here, no?

I should tell you what it is now so you could say it between sighs and I could engrave the sound on the back of my brain forever — those sweet sounds could captivate me forever.

I wonder if you’d say my name with a kind voice, or you’ll just talk to me with the same indifference and fear that’s so characteristic of you. I do admit that is kind of endearing, wild animals were always more interesting than domesticated ones thanks to their hostility, it makes me want to approach them, stick my hand, and see if they’ll bite me, or would just run away and hide in a corner.

I wouldn’t mind if you bit me, I would love to bite you as well in fact, I would wear that mark proudly and I would make sure you do it as well, we could bite our fingers and pretend the marks are our wedding rings, a testament of our love engraved on our skin.

Hahaha — I’m rambling again, please don’t get nervous, you know I usually get lost in my thoughts when I’m here with you, especially when my hands are idly dragging across your skin — nails and all — leaving red marks behind.

I’m just tracing small invisible circles on your skin and you’re already getting goosebumps, I think that when I touch you delicately like this is when you fear it the most, right? I’m always keeping the momentum, you’ll never know when I can dig my nails into your skin or grab you and never let go.

I press a simple kiss on the skin of your heel, dragging my lips across the length of your leg, what a celestial feeling, there’s nothing in this world that could compare to this mere sensation. You’re trembling again, that makes me smile.

Sometimes when night falls and there are no more thoughts left to think inside my head my mind begins to wander off the path, usually it doesn’t lead me anywhere in particular, but since some time ago I’ve had this constant thought; there are other —people— that had touched you like this before?

I would like to think that I’m the only one who had the privilege to enjoy all of you, that no other mark of fingers or teeth that doesn’t have the shape of mine has been on your skin.

Thinking like that makes sleeping easier for me.

I’m thankful that right now you can’t speak to me, because if I made you that question and you responded to me that yes, other people had marked you like I did, I think I would had the impulse to tear apart each part of you that has been tainted by them.

Not because I hate you, on the contrary, I just think I couldn’t live with the idea. That you belonged to someone else even if it was just for a moment, what am I saying? I don’t even like the idea of you belonging to yourself.

But if I were to do that, I think I’d like to go to extremes no other people could; kiss your open wounds or taste your blood, that would be romantic, don’t you think?

I press my face against your thighs while I keep dragging my nails up and down your legs, I sigh again, tilting my head slightly to take a better look at you, I can see myself reflected in your own eyes now, how romantic, just like in the movies you like to watch.

I like the me I see in your eyes, I like the idea that it belongs to you alone, the idea of you keeping each small expression I make just for you, each blink would be like a small photograph you take of me and keep inside your head, aaaalll yours.

My mother used to tell me that love is only true if you can see it reflected in the one you love,

From your red cheeks — was I too rough last night?

Your bruised knees — If you would just learn how to sit properly at the table already, it would make our meals more easy.

Your beautiful hands — You should stop trying to take off your handcuffs.

Your shining eyes — Is that a small tear I see? Maybe I should reach it and lick it, I wouldn’t like to go to waste.

Yes, I think for the first time something she said made sense, now that I took a better look at you, I don’t think there’s any better proof of this —

You’re the truest, most beautiful form of ‘love’.

#male yandere #yandere boy #yandere oc #yandere #original character #original art #chrona... writes stuff?#johann the bastard #the wording or style of writing might be weird #since this is a translated text #I didn't originally write it in english #my apologies;;

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corazondebeskar-reads · 2 months ago

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get some on my love

QZ!Joel Miller x f!reader

my masterlist | joel fic recs

This is for @justagalwhowrites' Birthday Celebration for Joel. I picked the prompts for QZ!Joel and breeding kink. It, uh. It got away with me. Title from "Gasoline" by Seether because that's what made this get so feral. Please read the warnings.

dedicated to @covetyou bcus it's your tumblrversary bb! and also because of SWAT, the ultimate slutty qz joel fic that lives in my head and pays rent

words: 1.6k

summary: You visit Joel Miller to get what you need.

warnings: dub-con, dubcon due to sex in exchange for drugs, and he kind of springs the breeding kink on her (but there's not a risk), abuse of prescription medications, QZ!Joel Miller, dealer!Joel Miller, smuggler!Joel Miller, filthy!Joel Miller, breeding kink, creampie, menstrual sex, inappropriate uses of period blood, spitting, pussy pronouns (she/her), vulgar language, god i don't even know it's just nasty and they like it, kind of hate fucking, no y/n, no betas no proofreading no nothing lol

dividers by @saradika-graphics

also on ao3

“Well, well. Look who’s come crawlin’ back,” Joel drawls when he opens the door.

You scowl. “You gonna let me in or not?”

He leans against the frame, a lazy smirk curling. “Gee, I don’t know. You had some mighty strong things to say ‘bout me last time.” He does step back, though, ushering you in.

“Pretty sure you said you were never gonna look at my ugly mug again,” he adds as he shuts the door behind you.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter.

He tips your chin up with two fingers. “Yeah, well,” he mocks. “Well, what? No one else want that sloppy pussy as payment?”

“You like my pussy, jackass,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, I do,” he says, cornering you against the door, your back hitting it with a thump. He leers, leaning in. “You know why it’s so sloppy? ‘Cause I fuckin’ ruined it, and you loved it.”

You scowl again, turning your head sharply to the side so you don’t have to look at his smug smirk. The worst part is how right he is.

“Look,” you mutter, heat rising to your cheeks, “I-I can’t pay today. But I need them, bad. I’ll… I’ll make it up to you.”

It nearly kills you to say. The only thing worse than dealing with Joel Miller is owing Joel Miller.

“Whaddya mean you can’t pay today? Cunt closed for construction or somethin’?”

You shove him away roughly, ducking out of his grasp to stalk into the living room. “No, dumbass, I’m… bleedin’, you know.”

His responding grin is feral and full of teeth. “I don’t give a shit. Go bend over the bathroom sink.”

“Are you fuckin' serious?”

“You want the fuckin’ pills or not?”

You could scream. Of course you do. There’s not a part of your body that doesn’t hurt. It’s settled into every joint and crevice, an ache you can’t stretch out or shake loose.

You’d know. You’ve tried. But you’re losing sleep, and the pain makes you too nauseous to eat. His drugs will only take the edge off for so long, but god, you’d do nearly anything for a few hours’ respite.

“Fine,” you whisper finally, and make your way to the apartment’s tiny three-piece.

He follows, watching you with amusement. “Strip,” he says.

You glare, and he shrugs.

“Or don’t. But I ain’t responsible for what happens to your clothes.”

Oh, fuck him. Fuck him. But you strip—all the way, even though you could have left your top on, but because mother nature has you on her shit list, your usual pain is compounded when you’re menstruating. And when you’re ovulating. Really, so many women don’t even have a fucking cycle anymore from all the stress and malnutrition, but noooo, you were cursed with a fertile fucking uterus.

The point was that your titties were sore and aching, and the thought of his warm hands groping and pawing at them sounded nice, so off goes your shirt.

He chuckles when he enters the bathroom. “Well, look at that. Eager?”

“Hurry up,” you snap. “It’s cold, and there’s gonna be a mess.”

“Gonna be a mess either way,” he taunts, his hands rough against your hips.

And ain’t that the kicker? There’s gonna be a mess. Your cunt is already sore, and he’s gonna leave a trail of destruction in his wake.

“Don’t look so grossed out, sugar,” he says, cupping your breasts and looking at you in the mirror. “It’s all natural. Plus, I gotta say, it’s been a long time since I got to do this.”

You’re busy meeting his eyes in the mirror and pulling a face, not catching his last words. He rolls and pinches at your tender nipples, but it’s the kind of pain that sits on the right side of pleasure. As expected, his meaty hands grope unmercifully at your breasts, and you moan in relief at the free massage.

“That’s it. That’s what I like to hear. You ready for me, huh? That greedy pussy o’ yours ready?”

“Uh-huh,” you say distractedly. “Wait—”

“I didn’t forget,” he murmurs in your ear. “Open.”

You open your mouth obediently, sticking your tongue out. He sets a round, white pill on it and turns your head with a firm grip on your chin, his spit landing right on the pill.

You swallow and avert your eyes as he watches your reflection.

“Get on with it,” you rasp.

One hand wanders down between your thighs and strokes through the folds, working you open with two thick fingers scissoring side to side. He doesn’t spend long there, dragging them up to rub at your clit for a moment.

“Make some fuckin’ noise; I can’t tell if you’re wet or not with all this goin’ on,” he grumbles, withdrawing his hand and showing you the slick blood coating it.

You wince, and he laughs. “Y’ain’t scared of your own period, are ya?”

“Fuck off, ‘course I’m not. Doesn’t mean I wanna look at it.”

He grins. The expression is always unnatural on him and usually heralds something vulgar.

You’re not wrong. He brings his hand up to cup your breast, leaving a smear of blood on your tit.

“Somethin’ kinda hot about it, don’tcha think?” he muses.

“If you say so,” you mutter, but you can’t look away. It’s striking, blood against your skin that isn’t borne of violence.

The thick tip of his cock interrupts your thoughts as he pushes down on your shoulder. You bend, gripping the sides of the vanity as he buries himself inside with one slow thrust.

He groans, gripping hard on your shoulder. “S’better than lube.”

“You’re so gross,” you say, shaking your head.

“Yeah? Then why’re you clenchin’ around me like a goddamn vice, huh?”

“You always talk this much when you fuck, or am I special?”

“Oh, sugar, don’t flatter yourself,” he says with a slap on your ass. “Y’ain’t special.”

“You—ahh—you hate-fuck all your customers?”

He snorts. “You ain’t even special enough to hate, honey. And you can hate me all you like, but we both know you’re gonna keep comin’ back.”

As you scowl up at him in the mirror, you almost wish looks could kill. But he’s right. He’d be no good to you dead because no other dealer in this godforsaken QZ will dose you in exchange for sex.

As it is, he only lets you once a week. You need more than that? Gotta pay like everyone else. Even when you can afford it, you find yourself back here or on your knees or however he wants you every fuckin’ Friday, because a free pill is a free pill. It’s 3-4 hours you can nap without nearly killin’ yourself to afford it.

Today’s pill hasn’t begun to set in yet, but that’s the other thing about Joel. He’s good at making you forget.

Real good.

His hands are on your body, roughly gentle. He’s not careful with his touch, but not careless, either. He wants you to come, wants you to shake and fall apart on his dick, so he can flash you that little self-satisfied smirk borne of bravado he’s rightly earned.

And you do. You come for him, with his hands on your breasts and your clit. You tremble and moan and your pussy tries to stake a claim on his cock, clenching and hoping to never let go. But it will, and you will. In the end, you always let go.

He’s a different kind of beast tonight. Panting and grunting in your ear, teeth on your neck, sweat dripping and blending with yours. After he’s rung pleasure from you, he settles one hand on your hip and another on your shoulder and ruts into you like a jackhammer. Like he can’t get deep enough, can’t stop until he’s carved a spot for him within you.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he mutters, pushing you down further. “Fuuuck, darlin’, you want this, huh? You want me to fill you up?”

“Wh-what?” you gasp, air knocked from you with each punch of his cock against your cervix.

“Gonna fill you up good, gonna—nnng— gonna make it stick.”

You reach back and smack him. “The fuck are you—”

But he doesn’t let you finish. He holds on tight and grinds his dick deep. “That greedy pussy, sugar, she fuckin’ wants it. Oh fuck, I-I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy ‘till she’s full o’ me. And you’re gonna take it, right?”

You whimper, holding tight to the sink while he loses his fucking mind or whatever is happening. You don’t know. It feels too good to question.

“Thas’ it,” he rambles. “Gonna look so good, stuffed up, and ev’ryone—everyone—will know you let me fuckin’ breed you.”

Oh god. It shouldn’t be hot. Those words should be stopping your heart, you should be pushing him away, but your dumb cunt has a mind of its own and holds tight to him, each thrust of his cock squelching as you come around him again.

“Jesus, baby, it’s been too long, too long since I got to fill up a cunt like yours,” he groans, hips stuttering, “oh shit, take it—fuckin’ take it.”

His cock pulses inside you, and you think maybe you die and go to heaven for a little bit—just a little, because when you open your eyes, you’re still in Joel’s grimy bathroom—but there’s a sweet moment where you think he’s right. It’s been too long. Far too long since a man’s come undone inside you, let you feel that hot burst and twitching, it’s divine, it’s—well, it’s making you come again.

When he pulls out, you stumble right to the toilet, glaring at him as you try to clean up the mess before it happens. “Gross,” you grumble.

When you look up, the way he’s looking at you makes somethin’ awful churn inside, and it’s not just the apparent buckets of cum he filled you with.

The silence between you is thick. Finally, he jerks his head to the shower. “Get cleaned up ‘n get out,” is all he says, and the door clicks shut in his wake.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #qz!joel miller #dead dove fic #the last of us smut #the last of us fic #tlou fic

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clementinegreye · 8 months ago

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the sweetest sin of all

aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader ||

summary: in the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's new song 'too sweet'):

word count: 3.4k

warnings: heavy tension, hurt comfort, crossing professional boundaries and general talks of CM violence and murder (nothing graphic):

a/n: hi! i wrote this entire thing for a friend, but maybe you might enjoy it too! this is my first piece of writing on this new blog so if you like feel free to like, reblog or even just let me know! and hopefully if it goes well there'll be more soon!

a/n update: it went well, here's part two!)

From the dim lighting of the office it was almost impossible to tell the exact lateness of the night. His watch consistently ticking, remained a steady rhythm. He ran a hand across his face, his tie undone and lying, long discarded on his desk. The first few buttons of his shirt undone, unbuttoned and an almost vulnerable step away from his usual armour. Papers containing violence were spread haphazardly and with chaos across his desk. A nearly forgotten glass of strong neat whiskey sat in place of his usual bitter coffee.

His team had been on the case for nearly a week, and Hotch felt they were no closer to catching the Unsub. The whole team was feeling the pressure. The profile told him they were dealing with a moral enforcer, a highly organised, violent offender with a clear mission. It should have been easy for them but bodies seemed to be continuously appearing and everyone was feeling uneasy and frustrated.

He was drowning in the details of this case, the Unsub's pattern ever-present in his mind. He thought of the remaining sins - envy, wrath, and lust - and something burned deep within his chest. It was a dangerous game they played, one where the stakes were higher than any case he'd ever worked on.

Being head of the team he felt the responsibility more vehemently than the rest, and he was doing something he’d promised the team he wouldn’t. He was letting it get to him.

There’d been four victims so far, each killed to match one of the seven deadly sins. So far his victims had been; gluttony - an overzealous upscale restaurant critic who binged food that he slated publicly, greed - a high-profile stock broker with the inability to control his obsession with obtaining more of his client's money, sloth - a wealthy trust fund baby who squandered their university scholarship out of laziness and pride - a wealthy woman with a shopping addiction who frequented beauty salons and had an intense social media presence flaunting herself.

Each victim came from a different geographical area of the city and Garcia hadn’t been able to uncover any crossover between their lives where it might have been somewhere they could have met the Unsub. There were no leads and the team felt at a loss.

Knowing the Unsub was three victims away from the end of his mission, Hotch knew they were close to losing him if they didn’t catch a break soon. He’d sent the team home to get some sleep and told them to be ready bright and early the next day. Yet Hotch couldn't bring himself to leave the office, hoping the crime scene photos might uncover something he'd missed. He thought everyone had listened to his orders until he was drawn away from the graphic images in front of him by a gentle knock at the door.

"Come in." He croaked harshly, the hours of not speaking catching up to his vocal chords.

It was her. Of course, it was her.

She always had a way of pulling him from the edge, of grounding him when the world became too much. In the chaos and uncertainty of their work, she was his constant, his unwavering beacon of light. She was his solace, his calm in the storm, and in that moment, he allowed himself to get lost in her.

She was like honey, dripping out and pooling where flies could get stuck on the intoxication and drown. He could feel it, the danger she could be. If he’d been a man less controlled he could see how she could be his every downfall and triumph. In her, he saw a reflection of all his desires and fears. She was every strength and weakness. In the moment, he couldn't help but want to drown in the intoxicating allure of her, his deadly and dangerous, yet irresistibly sweet sin.

‘I’m heading home for the night…’ Her voice trailed off in a quiet hush to match the silence of the office.

The creases in his forehead from pouring over crime scenes and endless theories seemed to smooth out. He breathed out hours' worth of tension in a single breath, allowing the corners of his mouth to turn upwards so quickly that unless she’d been a profiler paying attention she might not have noticed. The way his body language shifted was subtle enough to the untrained eye, but not to her. He couldn’t conceal himself in his controlled, cold-edged front as well as he usually could when she was around.

"I gave those orders hours ago." He mused, leaning back in his chair, the breath of a sigh dying on his lips.

She gently shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. "I thought you might be used to me defying your orders by now, Hotch. You should take your own advice, didn’t you promise to stop working so late," she replied, a glint in her eyes that held an irresistible challenge. Their playful banter was a welcome change from the dark seriousness that he’d been so consumed by moments ago.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief waiting for his retort.

"I didn’t promise anything." He huffed.

She didn’t wait for an invitation, she didn’t need to. Crossing the threshold of his office and making her way to the imposing desk of the Unit Chief.

She’d not seen her boss look so troubled by a case in a long time. Her gaze was drawn to him as his elbows leaned against the desk, his usually impeccable suit dishevelled. She noted the way the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of the man beneath the stoic FBI Unit Chief. It was a stark contrast to the man who was always put together, always in control. Yet, in that moment, he looked anything but. Not yet unravelled, but on the edge of it.

She moved further into the office, she was not someone who second-guessed her decisions. She walked with confidence, and perched herself on the edge of his desk, letting her legs dangle over the edge her black work trousers tight across her thighs. She rested her hand on the desk, dangerously close to her Hotch’s, mere centimetres.

His gaze shifted from the papers in front of him and followed the contours of her face, lingering a moment too long on her lips. He swallowed hard, his mind flickering with thoughts he'd held at bay for far too long. But he was Unit Chief, and professionalism might as well have been his middle name. He lightly shook his head, feeling the back of his eyes burn from the focus he’d had all day.

Hotch wasn’t one to open up, he was always controlled but around her, there was a tug at the stitches of his personality.

‘I have a bad feeling about this case.’ He hummed, the night breeze catching against the window. He could smell her perfume, mixing with the scent of burnt coffee and paper. He dare not think about it too long.

He reached across his desk and grabbed his near-forgotten whiskey, downing it in one drag. He bent towards where her legs were hanging over his desk, motioning for her to lift them. She drew them up towards her chest and he opened the drawer beneath her pulling an expensive-looking bottle from it and refilling the glass, this time handing it to her. Their fingers grazed slightly with the exchange. His warm, hers icy cold - meeting to form the perfect temperature.

‘We have no leads. I always trust the profile, but this case… We’ve got nothing.’ His eyes watched her as she swirled the liquid around the glass, her eyes watching it splash against the sides. He sighed in defeat, rubbing his eyes with both of his hands before leaning his head back, a deep exhale exiting his thin lips.

‘We’ll get him.’ She said confidently, something shifted in her tone. It was like a dagger's sharp edge, certainty dripping off it like blood. He almost believed her, but she could see the already dim light dissipating from his dark eyes. She felt sympathy pooling in the tips of her fingers. If she didn’t hadn’t been holding their shared glass she might have reached out and touched him so that it could bleed from her into him, so that he would feel less alone.

She leaned back slightly, her eyes searching his. It was unclear what she was searching for in them. He couldn’t read her entirely, even with all his years of profiling. When she smiled, he felt his heart catch in his throat. It was like looking directly at the sun. Burning and bright hot.

‘You should follow your own orders… And for once so should I. Go home. Get some rest.’ She downed the liquid with a swift tip of her head. Hotch watched the curve of her neck as she moved and the way she licked her lips catching a fallen drop of liquor. She laid the glass down on the desk, allowing her hand to brush over his. His skin crackled with electricity.

She moved with grace as she climbed down from his desk. That one moment shared more intimate than she’d expected it to feel, with their proximity, the lateness of the hour and the unusually undone Aaron sitting at his desk.

His eyes followed her every movement, skin stinging as if he’d been burned. She was halfway to the door before he heard himself call out to her. It almost didn’t sound like his own voice.

‘Wait. Don’t go yet. Come here.’ His voice was firm like it always was, but there was a depth to it that she hadn’t heard before. One she’d always longed for. His eyes glinted with dark hues as he watched her turn from the door. He almost breathed out in relief.

She had an unreadable expression. One that set the blood in his veins on fire. She lowered her head, and with it, her eyes darkened. He stood from his desk, making his way over to her with steps that felt dreamlike. Their eyes met with an energy never shared before and once in front of her he reached out, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear so that he had an unobscured view of her whole face. The same face that had the power to completely undo him.

Her eyes widened slightly as if surprised by his gentle touch, but at the same time, there was a knowing in them as if she’d been waiting for it all along. She remained still, and his heart pounded in his chest as he looked into his eyes, an unspoken conversation passing between them. It felt like any words would have made the moment less intimate.

His hand lingered against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his touch was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of his office. Her skin felt like it was burning under him. The silence between them was palpable, filled with the yet unspoken words and emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface. Hotch, usually so controlled in his feelings suddenly felt so unsteady. His heart beat suspiciously with the feeling that perhaps he’d crossed a line.

‘How do you know?’ He whispered, eyes scanning hers as if he were a detective trying to uncover the evidence that gave her certainty. In the light of the office, she looked like she’d been hand carved, art that he’d been lucky enough to be in the presence of. He traced his thumb over her lips, eyes heavy with a mixture of desire and something else she couldn't quite place. It was a dangerous gesture, one that could endanger his whole career.

'I trust you, and that’s all I need to know that we’ll get him.' she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glazed with a devotion that almost made him groan. The conviction of her words pierced his wavering confidence. He’d gone from feeling almost hopeless to buzzing with determination.

He let his hand fall away from her face, but the warmth lingered, an almost promise that what she’d been sure she’d felt moments ago had indeed been real. Reality swarmed his brain, aware of the situation he’d almost found himself in. He straightened up, posture contrasting his relatively dishevelled exterior.

"You’re right, you should follow my orders. Go home, get some rest. I told the team we’d start fresh in the morning," he instructed, a softness in his voice that was rarely displayed. But she didn’t move, and he didn’t either.

He watched her eyes for any sign of discomfort, the tension in the room was palpable, an electrifying current that Hotch didn’t dare to break. Silence blanketed them, only broken by the ticking of his watch. It was a solitary reminder of the passing time, yet the urgency of their case had fallen to the back of his mind.

‘Close the door.’ She instructed, using the same authority that Hotch usually spoke with. The change in dynamic almost made him falter, but with a small smirk, he moved towards the door. He’d been aware of the power imbalance he held in his position but with the tone of her voice, there was a subtle shift in the air between them. She moved back towards his desk with certainty. Moving his name tag so she could perch to face the dark space of the office.

Their eyes met across the room. She tilted her head to the side, examining his body language. As he locked the door behind him, the air seemed to constrict around them, the room becoming a world of its own where only they existed. The only sound in the room was the soft click of the lock and their breathing. It echoed throughout the office, bouncing off the walls and settling into their bones. The tension escalated, but it was different now, charged with an anticipation that neither of them could ignore.

He might have been unit chief, but right here, right now, she was in charge. The line between professional and personal blurred dangerously as their eyes locked, a promise of something more hanging in the balance. The air was charged now, they were poised, daring each other to make the first move. They both knew that they were on the precipice of something dangerous, something that could have dire consequences professionally.

Yet, the pull was too strong to ignore, and for the first time, Hotch allowed himself to teeter on the edge, his resolve tested by the powerful undercurrent of desire that crackled between them. Tonight, they were not just colleagues, they were two individuals drawn together by an irresistible force. In the room, the undeniable chemistry that had been simmering under the surface for far too long had nowhere to hide.

On the desk, she rested each hand palm down to the side of her thighs and opened her legs wider to create space for his body to fit. She moved her head in a motion for him to step forward. Hotch couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, pupils were blown wide from more than just the darkness of the room. How long had he craved something so forbidden, how long had he denied himself the idea that this could ever happen?

As he moved closer to her, he couldn't help but think about the deadly sin of lust, a strong passion or longing that was deemed sinful. Here he was, teetering on the edge of crossing professional boundaries, something he’d never done. The balance of energy in the room was no longer solely from the stress of the case, it was about them - about her. He could have tried to argue that it was, but no jury in the state would believe him. If this were a trial, he was about to be found guilty.

The Unsub's deadly pattern echoed in his mind - the three sins he’d yet to kill for; envy, jealousy over another's life or possessions, wrath, a violent anger driven by hatred, and finally, lust, a powerful desire that can become all-consuming, much like the craving he was experiencing in that very moment. Looking upon her he felt envious of anyone who had ever been allowed to touch her, he felt wrath for anyone who had ever wronged or hurt her, and most of all he felt lust. He definitely felt lust, his desire for her taking over all his senses.

Was he caught between duty and desire? No, he had no doubt in his mind. The sheer intensity of her shared gaze and the way she was beckoning him forward smashed the boundaries of their relationship. He’d never seen her in this light, never dared to allow himself to think of her like this. But now she was in front of him how could he ever deny himself something so sweet?

Hotch had always been a man of control, a man who kept his emotions in check. But in this room, with the charged atmosphere heavy between them, he felt his resolve wavering. He was caught in the powerful current of the desire for her that he’d managed to keep at bay. He didn’t want to be in control anymore.

He closed the distance between them, fitting himself between her legs, his hands landing on her hips as he looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She brought one hand off the desk to hold the waistband of his suit trousers, tugging lightly.

“Are you finally going to kiss me, Agent Hotchner?” She asked, voice dripping with honey. Sweetness laced with danger that hit him right in the chest like a bullet.

She was an intoxicating mix of all seven, a deadly sin in her own right. She was his lust, his unending desire. She was his gluttony, the one he wanted to consume endlessly. She was his greed, the one he wanted all for himself. She was his sloth, his reason for inertia. She was his wrath, the one who could ignite a fire in him like no other. She was his envy, the one he admired and coveted. And she was his pride, the one who made him feel like he was on top of the world.

‘You will be the ruin of me.’ He breathed, his eyes almost black. He looked down at her taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and satisfaction. He was entirely wrapped around her finger. Tonight, he decided, he would willingly drown in this sweet sin, consequences be damned.

‘That is entirely my intention.’ She chuckled and he groaned, a guttural sound that felt foreign to him.

"Only if you promise not to tell the team," he murmured, a playful undertone to his voice.

As he leaned down to capture her lips with his, he knew without a doubt that this was a deadly sin he was willing to commit. It was both sweet and intense, a perfect reflection of their now complicated relationship.

Her lips tasted of the whiskey they'd shared, sweet with a hint of burn that left him wanting more. She tasted like a curse, sickeningly sweet as if to cause him decay. He deepened the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. He was standing on the cliff of the unknown, and he was more than willing to jump and fall headfirst.

As he pulled away, he couldn't help but study her face. He’d come face to face with endless serial killers, and been in the presence of pure evil. But he’d never been so close to something so dangerous. She was a temptation he couldn't resist. Sweeter than any apple in the Garden of Eden. He traced the contours of her face with his fingers, his gaze never leaving hers.

He could still taste her on the back of his tongue, sugar and shared whiskey burning. He’d never been so certain that he’d been willing to trade his control for the intoxicating sweetness that was her. She was a forbidden fruit that was too alluring to resist, and Aaron Hotchner had no more resistance left in him. Not now he’d tasted something so delicious.

After all, wasn't life about balancing the deadly sins and virtues? Tonight, he chose to sin.

(you can now read part two here!)

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds fic #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds hotch

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battydora · 1 year ago

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"DISOBEY"

masterlist | rules

CHARACTERS: hantengu clones, demon reader

CONTENT: nsfw, dubcon, noncon, minors dni!!, gn reader (afab), reader is upper 1, reader forces the clones apart and makes them sumbit to their pleasure, power dynamics, strong dominant/submissive dynamics, power abuse, threats, sexual frustration, graphic descriptions of blood and mutilation, fivesome, angry sex, stress relief sex, cunnilingus, breast play, bruises, hate sex, small plot, slight vouyerism, restrictions, teasing, praise/praise kink (a tiny bit), reader's a demon whose emotions are intense and usually overwhelming (specially anger), so any intense and/or positive emotions can counter the effects negative emotions have on them, sexual stimulation being the example today, reader is referred as "they", "ma'am", "mistress" & "my/our lady", barely proof read

A/N: hey demon slayer fandom how we feelin bout s3......... you know the drill, these fuckers are hot and i'm here to please the disgusting person i am. MINORS DNI!! I'M SERIOUS, I WILL BLOCK YOU.

DISCLAIMER: this is a dubcon/noncon fanfiction (the first one I ever made), please take in consideration I'm against non-consensual practices and I DO NOT promote them by any matters, I'm choosing this gender merely for the fact that hantengu such as the reader are demons and as we know so far, demons' interactions with eachother are ruthful and cruel, senseless in average human intercourse since they feel and act differently the way humans do, I could've done this any other way but I chose to stick to kimetsu no yaiba's logic. self-contradictory but just stick around with reader being upper one and gyutaro still being the sixth, i was lazy to make it sense.

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

it certainly was shocking news for the upper moons to find out the sixth was slayed by the demon slayer corps. otherwise there wouldn't be any other logical reason for the demon king to summon all of the, remaining, upper moons, in the infinity castle. including yourself, upper one.

akaza was asking about you but he didn't know you were already there, listening to all the rambling he and the rest of the upper moons were having seconds ago. however, you voice didn't make an appearance until the biwa lady made clear you were present from the very first second, akaza's eyes widening with awe and concern. gyokko remained in place silent and hantengu whimpering terrified at your mere presence, like he usually did. kokushibo looked up, you were in a building nearby, your demonic figure sitting upside down on the ceiling, your hands sitting modishly on top of eachother, waiting patienly for your king.

"i arrived way before any of you did."

"oh (y/n)-sama, you've been here all the time... aren't you pleased to find yourself meeting with me after so many years? ah, you're stunning today, i bet you've becoming much stronger these past decades." douma's carefree voice reached everyone's ears, touching a nerve inside akaza, his bad mood being worsened by the women eater demon.

"douma" your mysterious and harassing voice called upper 3's name, sending a raw shiver down the latter's back, gyokko and hantengu trembled at your mere voice, which sounded horrifying "give up your brattish behaviour" your shiny and dangerous eyes glare at him across the castle, threatening "know your place." another quivering and breathtaking shiver hitting his senses cruely.

you weren't entirely in the mood to deal with these bastards, you always found yourself hating each one of your demon associates, an inmense desire of finishing each and every one of them was what kept your mind daydreaming about, the mere idea was something that made your body tremble with excitement and unwanted sexual arousal but it was always an impediment to know that you had muzan kibutsuji's evil eyes fixed on your back and that he could make you dissapear within a blink if you did anything against his experiments. so you remained in line, interacting with them whenever you had to.

the meeting was as shitty as you were expecting, muzan scolded every single one of you and left you more angered than you would've wanted, this anger that kept building inside of you made your body tense, your eyebrows were frowning as your body temperature continued to raise in anger. once muzan leaves, you look around the room, your eyes landing on hantengu, the poor demon was trembling in a corner, he felt your harassing gaze towards him and looked at you, who was suddenly standing infront of him. your black hand reached his clothes and he cried out the moment you picked him up. "you're coming with me, you have a task to complete before fulfilling the king's desires."

and out of the blue, your figures dissapeared from the castle. you had taken the small demon to the forest, no one around, only a river running a few meters from you. hantengu was crying and mumbling nonsense, fearing at the look in your face that was... certainly frightening, your eyebrows frowning, your eyes wide open, your teeth clenching in pure fury and drops of saliva falling off your lips. your hands held his body and your sharp nails digged into the head and body of the old looking demon, blood spreading on your fingers as you pulled both ends to behead upper 5, tearing his skin apart and violently ripping his head off. he grunted and yelled in pain, his body splitting apart entirely to your inhumane strength as a pool of blood spread on the ground beneath you. you let his head and body fall to the floor as you watched each part regenerate into two separate demons: sekido and karaku. you walk to sekido who was staring at you entirely upset at your behaviour, you gripped his clothes and pulled him towards you returning the same angered expression.

"how are you allowed to do this, upper one?" you raised both of your brows to his words, furious at his statement.

"you are not in position to scold me, do not." you stated before gripping his hair and fiercely rip off his head, letting his other clones show up: aizetsu and urogi.

"how come i never seen our upper one this upset? this is kind of exciting" karaku spoke this time, standing up from the ground and walking towards you "have anything special in store for us tonight, mistress?~" his voice was charming and intrigued, a wide grin taking over his face as he licked his upper lip, showing the black kanji tattooed on his tongue.

"it saddens me to be the ones to deal with (y/n)-sama's anger... hantengu ran away to hide in the woods already..." aizetsu joins the conversation, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

"how can you be sad about this? sekido is being scolded by our lady" urogi chuckled out a laugh but their focus returned to you once again, you seemed upset.

"everything just makes me so angry... the demon slayers, douma, akaza, all of the upper moons... our demon lord... you all just find a way to GET ON MY FUCKING NERVES!" you began to rant, your body itching at the intense frustration and fury growing inside of you each second, you fell to your knees consumed by rage, teeth clenching hard enough to seem like they were about to shatter "please me, hantengu, make your stupid blood demon art useful and cease these intense emotions inside me" further on, you started undressing, your hands helping you body to get rid of the kimono that was denying your skin the ecstasy of being naked. all the clones looked closely, frozen in their places.

once all your clothes were scattered on the floor, you lifted your gaze to meet theirs, you were infuriated, they could tell. so the first one to react to your angered gaze was aizetsu, as a natural reaction towards threat and probably for being used to sekido's mistreatment towards him, whose anger paired yours in that moment. the sorrow demon let his spear fall to the ground and walked carefully towards you, afraid of disobedience. he knelt infront of your exposed figure and kissed your lips, cupping your cheeks while doing so. the kiss was well welcomed, you kissed the blue demon fervishly and hungrily.

then karaku followed, sitting beside you and hugging your torso, pulling you closer to kiss your neck with intensity. you opened your eyes in middle of the kissing and stared at sekido and urogi, who were standing there, urogi looking at the other two clones get their way with your body, a senseless excitement hitting his body at the view, making his wings quiver. and as for sekido, he was clenching his fists, his jaw almost hurting out of fury, how dared you use his clones to please yourself? were they some kind of toy to you?

you frowned at them, your left hand made its way to aizetsu's crotch, squeezing his clothed cock which lead him to break the kiss to let out a soft whimper, breathing heavily and closing his eyes. your right hand did the same to karaku's, making him grunt into your neck.

"m-my lady..." "oh, that's...oh~" their voices cried out holding onto your body as you massaged the areas for a little while. aizetsu mumbled nonsense into your left ear, pressing his body against your own seeking closeness and karaku making sure to do the same on your right side moaning softly, licking and biting your earlobe, both of them entirely poisoned by your touch.

"why are you just standing there? i gave you an order" you demanded once again, it infuriated you to see sekido so so upset with you, your body filled with rage and excitement hoping your provocations were enough for them to fucking move. urogi gulped, hesitant, before walking towards the three of you, placing himself behind you, arms wrapping your torso and animal-like hands cupping both of your breasts, squeezing and massaging lively, stealing a grunt from you instantly.

sekido's mouth was half open, astonished at the view of you having complete control of each one of them. the grip on his weapon tightened, unsure of what to do now, he wished he could fight you but he knew quite well you would destroy him within a second, he just wishes to... agh! he just wished you would just vanish, you arrogant piece of-!

"sekido" his raging thoughts about you were cut off when you called his name, your tone of voice switched instantly, it was deep and threatening, you could just let him stand there and take a great look at what you were doing to his counterparts but you wished to have him doing something so much better, you wanted him, you wanted him to pleasure you, to watch his face clench into annoyance and anger because of you. your hands made their way to aizetsu's hips and moved him aside, letting him sit beside you so you could open your legs widely, karaku and aizetsu couldn't help but stare down at your soaked cunt, its scent captivated the three demons around you and karaku's such as aizetsu's hand tried to reach it to please you in their own ways but your own stopped them, with a serious expression and your eyes never meeting theirs, the latter only fixated on sekido.

"no, let sekido take care of that, maybe it'll hit some sense into him before he ever thinks of disobeying me again."

the three of them looked at him and was aizetsu the one to speak, for someone who was often saddened everytime sekido spoke and scolded him, this was impressive and sort of satisfying "sekido please... you know what they can do..."

clearly upset, your statement made the anger demon throw his weapon to his side with rage a few seconds later.

he walked to you, aizetsu and karaku doing you the favor of holding your legs wide open for you, the red eyed knelt infront of your body, taking a good look at your wet cunt, pausing for a moment as he contemplated you. he looked up again, his eyes meeting yours, unsure of what to do next.

"put that blabbering mouth of yours to good use" you commanded, your bright eyes staring directly into his before he got his body to fully lay on the ground, face inches away from your slit, he purposefully digged his nails into the skin of your thighs, tiny drops of blood painting his fingers.

"yes, ma'am" every drop of anger was poured into that "ma'am" of his as he broke the distance between his lips and yours, his tattooed tongue licked from the bottom to the top in a slow motion, sending a shiver through your abdomen, you moaned out loud and grinned the second his tongue landed on your clit.

you felt urogi's cock twitch against your back, you threw your head back to land on his shoulder, looking at his yellow eyes with a serious gaze. "are you hard already, urogi?" at your words, the joy demon gulped and nodded "yes, my lady..." his voice is sweet and a bit shy, you smirked at his response and tilted your head.

"should your upper one do something to fix that?" the seduction on your voice did not help urogi to keep his composure at all "please... please do" his pleading voice was music to your ears, it almost made you feel sorry for him, you only chuckle before giving a response.

"i'll treat you if you continue touching me. does that sound fair?~" excitement quickly filled his orange eyes "yes, my lady" as his hands continued to massage your chest and his mouth reached the back of your neck, biting and sucking passionately. karaku and aizetsu exchanged glares interested in your words, would they get a treat too if they please you? they couldn't take chances so they continued to kiss and squeeze your body, arousal growing bigger inside them each second more.

it was karaku who, holding your right leg open, started grinding against you, slight pants leaving his mouth as he was trying to satisfy himself somehow, the whole situation got him excited and needy for some touch, he almost couldn't hold himself back. you noticed his motion right ahead and stopped him. "you're not allowed to do that, karaku" his eyes widened and he gulped "but mistress..." he pleads but takes his words back the second you glare at him, intimidating "how... how can i earn my release, mistress?"

you chuckle at his question, an evil grin showing up.

"huh? earn it? that's the deal, karaku, you don't- hah~" a broken moan escapes your lips, sekido's tongue made sure to hit your sweet spot just in time "oh sekido, you're hitting it just right~ keep going~" you praise, the anger demon didn't want to admit that you calling his name like that actually made his stomach flutter. how could he find this exciting? how do your praises make him so eager to fulfill your request? his anger was being condescending.

karaku frowns, a grimace expressing his need to do something about the tent of his pants, but how can he disobey you? he wanted to be selfish, but urogi and sekido being praised and paid for what they're doing, made him feel jealous, he has been good from the beggining, didn't he deserve a prize too? an urge to compete against his counterparts rushed through his body, maybe like that he could get your attention. but he couldn't do much from there, urogi was working on your chest and sekido had the best part... it all feels unfair for him, he had to try another ways, so he leaned in and kissed you passionately, hoping your attention was drawn at him. the kiss caught you offguard but you decide to play along with his idea, you smiled inbetween the kiss, noticing what he was doing.

aizetsu in the other hand, was kissing your neck and leaving gentle marks along it, listening to what you were saying to karaku. however, when the green eyed kissed you, aizetsu felt left a little behind, he felt your touch fading away each second karaku spent kissing you, he didn't want that, it saddened him to not being touched and payed attention at by you, he needed you too. he took karaku's actions as a provocation, a threat to his territory and being so he couldn't allow karaku getting away with you so he came up to your face and held your chin lovingly, making you pull away from the kiss to make you kiss him, you give in smiling, sensing both of their jelousies compiting over you.

karaku was offended and tried to draw your attention back at him, insisting in kissing you again. you look at him from the corner of your eye, kissing aizetsu passionately at the same time. you were teasing him, watching his face twitch in jealousy for seeing you kiss his counterpart so vively, so intensely, as if you really were enjoying aizetsu more than you enjoyed karaku. his hand instinctively pressed his aching cock when he saw you biting aizetsu's lower lip, sharp teeth pulling his skin with desire, making him moan softly, never breaking eye contact with karaku. he was having enough, he was about to beg for you but chose being rough, he leans to your mouth even when you and aizetsu were kissing and tried to kiss you. aizetsu didn't give in and keeps fighting for his place, turning the kissing into a kiss of three. saliva being exchanged between your mouths. you laughed between the kiss at their little competition, this is so exciting!

your senses were through the roof, pleasure continuing to build up inside of you, a wave of sensations hitting you body as the clones did their job, sekido being more skilled in his area than you originally expected, his mouth working you to your climax, tongue licking and lips sucking in the right places, making a mess beneath him. your legs broke free from karaku and aizetsu's grip, suddenly sandwiching sekido's head almost making him lose focus as he made you cum. a loud moan drowned in your kiss with the other two as sekido licked your clit to help you go through your last bits of orgasm.

you pulled away from the wet kiss and rested your head on urogi's chest, sighing in relief for finally getting the release you needed all night, you held onto karaku and aizetsu's shoulders as you breathed in and out, chasing breath regulation; the winged demon massaged your belly and waist until you recovered your breath completely, he smiled with satisfaction at the view of you exhausted for all the job they've been doing for the past moments just to please you, it made his stomach flutter with excitement. your body continued to release an inhumane amount of hormones, all the fury contained in your body earlier had completely vanished at the mere touch of upper 5, you were contented and pleased, yet... you weren't satisfied, if someone offered you another round or more, you would accept without hesitation. you suddenly felt sekido crawling onto you, you contemplated him, his angered expression continuing to grow as his mouth drooled spit mixed with your fluids, his kimono subtly falling off his shoulder exposing his skin, you couldn't lie, that was kinda hot, you grinned at him.

"had enough sekido?" you teased playfully, chuckling at him.

"not quite" he growled and positioned himself between your legs, approaching you as he undressed his torso "how fucking dare you? are we just some toys to you? you're disgusting, upper one, leaving me and my counterparts stupidly aroused, you don't deserve being done for the night"

"hah? who said i was done for the night? it's funny that you mention it, actually, i could just get up and leave you and your pathetic clones here and let you starve without my touch, i would love to see how you would handle from there. you're all hard as a rock and i don't need to see it to prove it, you weak creatures, whining and begging for my attention, it would be so fun if i just left!" your voice gained a mocking manner, a cocky attitude hitting in as you allowed sekido between your legs, a short laughter escapes your lips "but... how could i... you were all such good boys, my heart squeezes with pity, i come to the conclusion you deserve at least a prize. so, sekido, if you want yours, form in line, i'm not done with all of you just yet."

thanks for reading!

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short-honey-badger · 9 months ago

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Cramps and Cream Pies

hellooo my JJk ladies. This may be a bit niche, but I am currently on my period and couldn't get my mind off Dead Beat Dad Toji. He's just too fine. Anyway! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings! SMUT. Period sex but it's not graphic. Shower sex. Vomit is mentioned. It's Toji. He's nothing but a red flag. Breeding Kink too.

@goth-mami-writer who giggled with me over the title ❤️

Fushiguro Toji could hear you retching from where he was lounging on the couch. It was your time of the month, and it seemed to be hitting you harder than usual. He usually wouldn’t bother with helping you, or even asking if you needed anything, but listening to you cough and groan made his chest feel tight and guilt eat at his black heart. He sighs loudly and rises from the couch when he doesn’t hear any sound coming from the bathroom after a while, worrying for his girlfriend making him move his lazy ass.

Toji finds you curled on the floor, arm tight around your abdomen, and a pitiful expression painted on your pale face. He leans in the doorway, crossing his arms and giving you a look of sympathy, even if his words do not match his expression.

“You look like you feel like shit.”

He is rewarded with a glare, though it’s less effective than a wet kitten.

“Thanks, Toji,” You sneer and roll over with a groan, not wanting to look at the asshole you call a boyfriend.

“Thanks for stating the obvious.”

The elder Fushiguro huffs and rolls his eyes at you, and then shoves off the door frame to kneel by your side. He slides a hand into your sweaty hair, blunt nails gently scraping along your scalp. You sigh and press into the touch, finding comfort in the surprisingly sweet action.

Toji rolls his eyes at you again and slides his hand away after a moment. You whine at the loss of his touch but are soothed soon after when your lover scoops you up in those thick arms you love so much and cradles you close to his chest. You shove your face in the crook of his neck and focus on your breathing instead of the feeling of your insides twisting into a pretzel.

“Poor babygirl,” Toji coos softly and kisses the side of your head. He holds you up with one arm and reaches for the shower faucet, flicking it on and turning the knob to your preferred temperature. He checks the water after a moment and then carefully sets you down.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up so you don’t smell gross, anymore.”

You pout at his mean teasing and undress as quickly as you can. You can’t deny that the hot water feels amazing when you step under the spray, and your shower gets better when Toji joins you moments later. He curls an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, his big hand splayed along your lower stomach. His other hand curls along your hip, and Toji presses his face against yours.

Toji holds you for a while, but he is a simple man, and having you all wet and pressed against him has the mercenary’s cock swell with blood. Toji is shameless in the way he grinds against you, dick pressed into the small of your back.

“Ya know, I heard that sex can help with those cramps. Lemme fuck you, baby,” The elder Fushiguro growls in your ear and the hand on your hip slips further around, fingers easily finding your clit and pinching the sensitive bud meanly.

“Gah! Shit, Toji~,” You hiss his name, head falling back to rest against his chest. You open your eyes and find your lover gazing at you, green eyes half-lidded and full of desire. You nod once, easily giving in to the dark-haired man when he puts just enough pressure on your clit to make your legs tremble.

“Mhmm. You’re such a good girl, baby. Gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock,” Toji mouths at your ear, teeth catching the lobe and nipping it harshly. He nudges your feet apart, dropping the arm that he has around your waist so that he can push you forward and down at the waist. He grabs his cock, guiding his length forward to slide the fat head of his dick through your folds.

Your hands find the shower wall, holding yourself up as Toji parts your pussy and bullies his way inside your cunt. Your lover is thick, so the stretch is a bit painful, but it only enhances the pleasure that Toji gives you. He lets you adjust for only a second before he starts up a brutal pace, cock dragging along your walls and relieving that awful pressure that has bothered you all day.

Toji grips your hip, fucking you back on his cock as he grits his teeth. You are tight, feeling like molten lava around his dick, and Toji never wants to leave. He leans down, lips finding your ear as he snarls filthy promises into your ear.

“I’ll make sure that you miss your next period, yeah? You want that, Mama? You want me to fuck a baby in you?”

You nod franticly, your body on fire as your orgasm finally crests and shatters through you. Your wall constricts, squeezing his cock like a vice, and Toji curses loudly, the suddenness of you coming dragging him down with you. You milk his cock, hungry for more, and your lover eagerly gives it to you, grunting and hissing like a damn animal until his spent dick slips from your puffy folds.

You feel much better, your insides and womanly bits having settled down for now, and the two of you catch your breath, only yelp when thick fingers find your clit, rubbing harshly and causing you to jolt forward. You turn and look at Toji, feeling dread well up when you catch the wicked look on his face. He pulls you in close for an awkward kiss over your shoulder and then reaches behind him with his free hand to adjust the cooling water.

“You didn’t think I was done, did you baby?” He rumbles and smirks against your mouth, “You’re wrong if you don’t think I’m not going to stuff you full.”

#reader insert #fanfic #fluff #jjk fic #jjk smut #toji fic #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #anime smut #period sex #period cramps #period fic #jujitsu kaisen

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osamucide · 11 months ago

Text

nsfw alphabet - osamu dazai . . . .ᐟ

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 2.1k

cw: gn!reader - no explicit anatomy mentioned, switch leaning sub!dazai, nicknames “pretty,” “honey,” and “babe” for reader, one instance of “daddy,” brief mentions of choking/spitting/slapping/marking/collaring/edging/dacryphilia, graphic mentions of cum, cum eating, CUM, degenerate!dazai my beloved

reid: no one asked for this i just be thinking uwu enjoy

. . . .ᐟ

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

it’s dazai - he’s lazy and kind of a princess. unless cleaning up is absolutely necessary (read: you both and the sheets are drenched in sweat and/or cum) he will just want to stay where you are and cuddle and be loved on

usually chatty afterward. loves to chit chat. if you’re too sleepy to hold a conversation, he’ll play with your hair and you can listen to him talk about the fall of the byzantine empire

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

dazai is aware that he has attractive hands. there isn’t a single part of himself he’s not at least a little conscious of, but he knows his hands are both pretty and skilled, so he might as well try to be proud of them!

can’t pick a favorite body part on his partner. it changes by the day. one day it’s your waist, the next it’s your hair, wednesday it’s your thighs, most fridays he prefers your hands, sometimes it’s your stomach, other days it’s your ass. . .

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

i know it tastes like sulfuric acid

cums so much. like an obscene amount.

he definitely has a thing for seeing you covered in his cum - whether it’s on your chest, face, back. . .

filthy nasty when it comes to cleanup. you made a mess on his fingers? he made a mess in your hands? your hole is dripping with his cum and yours? his mouth is on it. shameless

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

less dirty and more just embarrassing for him - he usually cries after make-up sex.

if you argue and then fuck it out, tears will be rolling down his face while he cums - he loves you so much! he doesn’t want a petty argument to ever make you rethink your relationship with him

if you notice this, no you don’t. to him it’s a fucking secret okay

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

while i do think he probably hoed around toward the end of/after his mafia days, i don’t think he’s as experienced as anyone expects him to be.

liked the feeling but hated the vulnerability. it was a tradeoff he wasn’t willing to make anymore at some point. eventually realized he needs to build up a level of trust with potential sexual partners

once that trust is built up though. hooo boy

that genius brain of his isn’t just for detective work

he’s intuitive and a quick learner. absolutely knows what he’s doing.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

spoons.

lazy man loves to wrap one arm around your neck and play with you with his free hand while he thrusts into you from behind <3

really partial to any position that lets him bite your neck and kiss your face and groan in your ear (hopes you do the same to him)

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

can’t help the occasional one liner. he’s a natural comedian

dazai rather enjoys more playful sex where you both can laugh and talk throughout - sometimes it feels more intimate than serious, stone-faced sex

takes on a more serious air if he’s feeling jealous or insecure

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

will adhere pretty firmly to whatever your preference is!

if you have no preference, he just trims when he’s unruly - maybe once every two weeks or so

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

physically extremely sensual and aware of your body - little touches and breaths on your skin, lingering eyes, things that would get glossed over by anyone who isn’t a romantic at heart

tries (and succeeds) to swoon you verbally, too.

“need to feel you, please.”

“fuck- we fit s’ well together, don’t you think so?”

“‘m all yours, honey.”

“c’mon, pretty, fuck me like you own me.”

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

pillow humper.

he’s lazy! don’t get the idea that he’s above stroking himself because he’s not, but sometimes he just doesn’t feel like it

just imagine him in the first light of the morning waking up before his alarm with an unforgiving hard on. . .he was probably dreaming about you! and if you’re not there, what else is he supposed to do other than fold a pillow between his legs and grind on it until he cums in his boxers?

nnnnhhnmnmghshdhd pillow humper dazai <3

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

choke. this. man.

whether he’s topping bottoming subbing domming whatever he cums 10x harder when your hands are anywhere near his neck

likes fingers in his mouth uwu since he’s confident in his hands, he’s definitely into you sucking on his fingers too

pry his jaw open and spit on his tongue. he will gladly return the favor, if you wish

slap him if you’re comfortable. he’s down for it. he usually hates pain, but if it’s supplemental to pleasure?

big fan of biting and scratching too, both ways if you’ll indulge him.

likes having matching marks <3

leash and collar this man while he’s on his knees and tell him it’s where he belongs. he’ll agree!

edges the hell out of you when he doms. maybe likes to see you cry a little bit <3

on the softer side, he adores being praised - bonus points if you can mix in some subtle and tasteful degradation. loves being told how good he feels, how good he’s letting you use him, how good of a boy he is. . .

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

he prefers the privacy of your bedroom so he can completely let go of his reservations

buuuuuut also gets excited about car sex uwu something about how the windows fog up, and how desperate and feral it can feel. . .

at the end of the day, he’s never met a flat surface he couldn’t fuck on. if he wants you, he’ll find somewhere to have you

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

when you get intense about anything. discussing something you’re very passionate about? someone or something is visibly pissing you off? you’re road raging? dazai’s ready to drop ‘em

oh lord about to get the works cited page going. next bullet point references this post by user cqthqrtic (not tagging as to not surprise them with random nsfw content in their notifs, however if you see this, legend, and want tagged do let me know!), who pioneered my favorite degenerate!dazai and i think about him OFTEN

so with that, on a less wholesome note than the first one, i fully agree that calling him names like sicko, perv, freak, etc. gets him going like you would not fucking believe. he lives for your half-disgusted little reactions when he whispers filth in your ear in public or proposes some depraved shit like eating his own cum out of you. god forgive me

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

heavy, intense degradation. he’s already hyper-convinced that he’s a piece of shit. keep it to the classics; he likes being your dumb slut, your fucktoy, your brat, etc. and mix it up with praise. he does not like being called useless, bad, good for nothing else, etc.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

a real eater. a proud munch. so fucking smug about it too

his mouth + his hands? you’re seeing god

cannot however deny how much he loves your mouth on his cock. he’ll almost never ask for it, but he’ll also never say no to it.

might get carried away and fuck your throat a little - don’t worry, he’ll compensate you. ride his face til he can’t breathe

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

almost always wants to take his time with you! he’s got a lot of self control and he uses that to his advantage

he can’t get over how tender it feels to bury his face in your neck, wrap his arms around you, and feel your nails in his back while he’s fucking you deep and unhurriedly

he loves slow, sleepy, lazy sex where his hands can just roam every inch of your body.

don’t get it twisted - dazai will absolutely fuck you fast and rough if you just say the word

want him to go faster and harder? give his hair a good tug <3

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

not his favorite methodology, last letter considered.

won’t decline if it’s to get out of work <3 bring him lunch at the office and he might just bend you over the bathroom sink

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’ll try just about anything once.

this man spent his most formative years in a front row seat to observe humanity at its filthiest - anything that happens with mutual consent and good intent between you two in the bedroom can’t be that horrible.

besides, he loves discovering new kinks of his with you <3

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

only one or two rounds, maybe three on a good day, but he manages his time well.

spends anywhere from 15-30 minutes on foreplay on the first go around

will let you rest between rounds but continue kissing on you and teasing you lightly so it all just feels like one dreamy and continuous round

with his insane self control he could easily drag a couple rounds of sex out for hours. many hours.

however, he won’t usually keep you longer than three or so hours; on the flip side, he rarely spends less than 45 minutes on you.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

not opposed to you bringing toys to the table, but no, he doesn’t own any.

he can makeshift some handcuffs out of a belt so quick - what would he need to buy them for?

not a fan of having toys used on him, but he’ll go to town on you if you want <3

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

oh brother

will hold off on cumming himself just so he can draw your orgasm out longer. sensing a theme here? when i tell you his self control is insane.

beg him all you want - he goes into it knowing exactly how long he’s going to edge you for <3

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he can hold himself back and be quiet. . .does not like to, though!

high quality triple x this-shit-rated-porn ass moans, sighs, grunts, and whines coming out of him regardless of his position. he was meant to be LOUD. he likes to let you know how good you make him feel!

cusses so much.

whatever he’s babbling gets so breathy and growly when he’s close

“thank you thank you thank you fuck thank you” while he cums <3

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

wanna make him bust on the spot? call him daddy while he’s in you <3

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

average thickness but god he’s long

we’re talkin pushing eight inches

no curve, very few veins, blushy pink tip

sticks straight up and twitches when he’s hard <3

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

contrary to popular (?) belief, i think his sex drive is average if not a little lower

mostly just up for it whenever you are! you bring it up? sure, he’s game <3

about who initiates sex: 60/40, you/him respectively.

if he’s not in the mood will say some really lame and uncomfortably silly shit like “i think mr. pinky’s asleep right now babe” 👎

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

no he wants. to. CHAT

has enough trouble sleeping at night as it is! kind of just wants to go back to snuggling and hanging out when you’re done

again if it’s bedtime and you’re sleepy, he’ll just talk softly about whatever until he hears you snoring.

might pick up a book for an hour or so before joining you in the dream world <3

always smooches you goodnight whether you’re awake or not.

#bsd dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai headcanons #dazai hcs #mdni #nnnsfw.ᐟ #with love—reid

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https-milo · 1 month ago

Text

2 ☾ Baking / Satoru Gojo !!

DAY TWO OF FLUFFTOBER!

Summary

- unsurprisingly, he cannot bake... buttt the first years are counting on some desserts!

flufftober masterlist!

The night before Halloween, your boyfriend appeared in your doorway. Your decorations were hung and you were bursting at the seams of excitement for the following day.

"Satoru? It's the middle of the night!" You scolded as you let the white-haired man in. He bore his usual lazy grin and black blindfold. Despite it being almost midnight, he was still in his teacher's uniform.

"Wellllll.... I need your help!" Satoru replied as he swung an arm around your shoulder and brought you to your kitchen.

"Huh? With what? Did you lose your comb again?" You asked in confusion. He didn't reply and instead pulled out his phone, showing you a picture of terribly burnt cookies. At first, you couldn't even tell what they were. It just looked like black ash on a baking tray. "What am I looking at?"

Satoru laughed and pocketed his phone, "Well! I told the first years I'd make them Halloween treats for tomorrow, you know for some enthusiasm. Well, actually, originally it was just going to be for Megumi, but then Yuji heard so Nobara heard too... But anyway! I tried baking cookies and well... that was the result."

You blinked at him, "So you want my help with something you promised?" Satoru nodded. You sighed, "Fine. You're lucky I love you." You placed a chaste kiss on his lips before scurrying around your kitchen to get the stuff you'd need.

"I am pretty lucky about that!" Satoru replied with an obnoxious grin. He sat on the counter like a princess and kicked his feet while you got the ingredients to make sugar cookies and royal icing.

You rolled your eyes as you needed the cookie dough. "You're so lucky you're beautiful." You sighed. Satoru stuck his tongue out at you and snapped a picture of you baking. You knew, within a matter of seconds, it'd be posted to his story with some corny caption. Once the cookies were in the oven, you stood between Satoru's legs and pulled him down for a kiss. "I love you, even when you make me bake cookies for you in the middle of the night."

Satoru's smile widened and he embraced you tightly. "How could you not love me?" You lightly hit his arm in a scolding manner and rolled your eyes. "Kidding, I love you too!"

Finally, the cookies were done and cooled. The royal icing was made and ready to be piped. "Ok, I have some cute designs I found on Pinterest..." You turned your phone to Satoru, who now stood beside you with casual clothes and a pink princess apron on ("I don't want to ruin my outfit! [The outfit was old sweatpants and an old graphic shirt]).

"Those are all so complicated," Satoru complained with a groan.

"And your cursed technique isn't?" You pinched his cheek softly, "How about you do the big main colors and I'll do the details."

Satoru beamed and grabbed a cookie, "Great idea, babe!" He messily started layering the icing before smoothing it out with a knife. You took his cookies and added the details. Soon enough, you had mummies, zombies, and pumpkins tucked neatly in a container, ready to head to the school in the morning.

"Thanks a bunch," Satoru said with a kiss to your cheek. "Wanna go to the school with me tomorrow?"

You shrugged, "Sure. It'd be nice to catch up with Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi." You yawned. "Let's head to bed, yeah?" Satoru nodded and the two of you walked to your room.

"You made these?" Megumi asked Satoru with distaste in his voice as he peered into the container with the cookies. "What'd you do to them?"

"Whattttt!? I'm offended!" Satoru dramatically said, he huffed and stuck out his chest.

"I made them," You swiftly cut in and grabbed the container from Satoru.

Yuji's eyes sparkled and he greedily grabbed one of each cookie type. Nobara smiled and grabbed a mummy, and Megumi nodded while grabbing a zombie. "Thank you, Y/N!" The three chorused. You could barely hear Megumi, but you knew he said it.

"Yeah, thank you, Y/N," Satoru said. He brought you in for a kiss with his hand reaching for the cookies. You scowled and kept the cookies away from him, pushing away from his embrace.

"Nuh-uh, you had 7 on the way here."

"But Y/nnnnn..."

"No, Satoru."

Thank you so much for reading <3

FLUFFTOBER TAG LIST!

@drxgonspine

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candyeager · 23 days ago

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𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋

— gojo satoru x fem!oc

CHAPTER EIGHT 3.2k words

short synopsis. in which her marriage to Satoru Gojo, the world's most arrogant and untouchable sorcerer becomes both a chain and a cure. warnings. graphic violence, murder, blood mentions, disorder eating, implied sexual threats, suggestive themes. tags. gojo x fem!oc, arranged marriage, angst with happy ending, eventual fluff, heavy pining/yearning, emotional detachment. oc is an empath.

previous chapter / masterlist / next chapter

Satoru

Satoru stepped out from beneath the veil, his pace unhurried as he made his way toward the nearby shrine. The moonlight spilled over the stone steps, casting long shadows that danced with the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. He could already sense the familiar presence waiting for him—a subtle, yet unmistakable trace of cursed energy that hardly needed further scrutiny.

As he approached, his gaze fell upon Mei Mei, standing with her back to him at the base of the stairs. Her long silver braid swayed lightly as she turned, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I thought I was being discreet," Mei remarked, her voice calm, almost teasing, as if the game of hide-and-seek had been a playful challenge to her.

Satoru smirked, his hands slipping casually into his pockets. "Yeah, not quite," he replied with his usual easy confidence, his eyes gleaming behind the dark sunglasses.

"Your crows gave you away, but I figured I'd let it slide... until you started bothering my wife, Mei-san."

Mei tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening as her fingers idly played with the strands of her braid. "Oh? I didn't realize you cared that much about her."

"Don't get it twisted," Satoru replied, his smirk widening just a bit, but his voice remained casual. "I'm just not a fan of people snooping around my business. Especially when they're getting paid to do it."

Mei chuckled softly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"How much did they pay you this time to spy on her?" Satoru's question was more a statement than anything else, knowing full well the kind of person Mei was.

"Not much," she answered lightly, shrugging one shoulder. "But the clan elders are getting antsy. You've been ignoring their requests. You know how they are—they're dying to meet her, especially after... what happened."

The smile never left her face, but her words carried weight. They always did when she spoke of the Gojo clan's inner workings—something Satoru knew all too well. Mei herself was a distant relative, though her ties to the family had never been particularly strong.

Satoru's gaze didn't waver, but his thoughts momentarily drifted. He knew what Mei meant. The elders—scattered across the four factions of the Gojo clan—had been pressing for a formal introduction to Kurai. They were curious, no doubt, about the woman who had left such a trail of blood behind her.

Satoru's smile thinned, but the casual air never left him. "They're not going to meet her anytime soon. She's not ready for that."

Mei's eyes gleamed with faint amusement as she took a step closer, her voice dropping slightly. "Not ready... or not stable?"

For a brief moment, an image flickered in Satoru's mind—Kurai, her face twisted in fury as she relentlessly stabbed the training dummy. The raw violence in her actions, the barely-contained rage, had stirred something in him. It wasn't fear—he wasn't the type to feel fear—but discomfort, perhaps. Was she that unhappy? He almost pitied her, though the feeling was quickly dismissed.

In front of Mei, Satoru's smile remained, the casual air never left him. "You catch on quick, huh?"

Mei smirked. "I did find what I was looking for."

"That right?" Satoru's voice remained lazy, but his interest was piqued, though he wouldn't show it. "And?"

"She's... intriguing, Satoru."

Satoru chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "She's something, alright."

Mei's eyes glimmered, her smile turning just a touch more cryptic. "More than she lets on."

She turned on her heel, walking away with a soft chuckle, leaving Satoru standing there, watching her retreating figure with a raised eyebrow. What was she playing at this time?

He didn't press it, though. With Mei, everything was always a bit of a game, and there was no need to overthink it. Still, something in her tone nagged at him, an irritation he brushed off as quickly as it came.

"Make sure you put in a good word for her," Satoru called out after Mei, his voice light, though his meaning was clear.

Mei's response was quick and predictable, her voice carrying back to him as she disappeared into the night. "As long as the payment comes through by tonight."

Satoru grinned, shaking his head as he turned away, walking in the opposite direction. Mei Mei was always easy to persuade—as long as you knew what currency she valued. And lucky for him, money was something he had in abundance.

Satoru slid the door to his bedroom open with a smooth flick of his wrist, the soft thud of wood on wood breaking the stillness of the room. As he walked, he tugged his signature blindfold over his eyes, fingers raking through his hair to prop it up in its usual tousled fashion. He was back in his dark blue uniform—zip-up jacket with a high collar, paired with matching slim-fit pants. The casual comfort of his break had been cut short by a call from the higher-ups. A special grade curse had appeared, and of course, they needed him—the strongest sorcerer—to deal with it. Just another day, really.

His footsteps were light as he made his way down the hall, but his attention was soon caught by a familiar figure at the entrance. Kurai was standing there, holding plastic bags filled with snacks, her arms clutching them to her chest like a dragon guarding treasure.

Satoru couldn't help but smirk at the sight. She looked... cute, in an unintentionally amusing way. Her tight grip on those plastic bags, as if to shield them from him, was almost enough to make him want to tease her—maybe pinch her cheek and quip, "I'm not going to steal your snacks, doll."

But then her recent threat flashed through his mind, "Touch me again, and I'll cut your hand off, you manwhore."

Amused, his smirk deepened, but he kept his hands to himself, realizing he couldn't afford to play around—he was on his way to work, after all. He shoved his hands into his pockets instead, feigning nonchalance.

"Quite the appetite you've got there, doll," he commented, his tone light and teasing as he approached.

Kurai's eyes flicked up to him, her expression unreadable. "Is that a problem?"

Satoru shrugged, grin widening. "Not at all. I love a girl with an appetite." There was a playful glint in his voice, though somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered hearing from Yoshida that Kurai hadn't been finishing her meals recently. It wasn't his business, really, but seeing her stock up on junk food wasn't exactly reassuring.

Still, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he adjusted the blindfold over his eyes, sensing her attention shift toward his uniform.

"I'm off to a mission," he said, his voice still casual, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kurai's brows furrowed slightly, though her tone remained flat. "Why?"

He tilted his head, amused by her question. "What do you mean, why?"

"Aren't you supposed to be on break?" Her tone wasn't accusatory or concerned—it was just factual, like she was pointing out something obvious.

Satoru's lips quirked upward, amusement lacing his words. "What, you miss me already?" His grin stretched wider as he teased, but when Kurai didn't react, he sighed. "There are some things only I can handle, doll. It's part of the job when you're the strongest."

Kurai didn't reply immediately, her eyes studying him. The silence stretched just long enough to feel heavy, and then she spoke, her voice low.

"You say that, but your feelings suggest something else."

For a split second, Satoru's easy smile faltered. She was using her ability—sensing his emotions. Unease curled at the edges of his mind, but instead of showing it, he masked it with his usual charm. He groaned, dragging his hand down his face dramatically.

"Ugh, don't do that," he whined, his tone comical as he waved her off. "I don't appreciate people poking around in my head, thank you very much."

But Kurai didn't respond to his attempt at humor. She turned on her heel, walking away with her plastic bags in hand. As she moved, she threw a final remark over her shoulder, her voice almost a whisper.

"Isn't it lonely at the top, Gojo?"

For a brief moment, Satoru's eyes widened behind the blindfold, just enough for surprise to flicker in his chest. Lonely? Was he lonely? The thought hadn't occurred to him—not really. But as her words lingered in the air, something deep within him stirred.

He tried to brush it off, but the sensation clung to him, unsettling in its persistence. Maybe she was right. Maybe there was something lonely about being the strongest—about always being called upon, always being the one to handle what no one else could. But that feeling was buried so deep inside him that even he hadn't acknowledged it.

The fact that Kurai could sense it so easily unnerved him.

Satoru exhaled sharply, swiping a hand through his hair as he let out a long sigh. 'Damn it, this girl.'

Satoru sat on the cracked earth, the air around him still humming with residual cursed energy. His chest heaved, not from pain or injury—he was as unscathed as ever—but from the sheer effort of overusing his Six Eyes. He didn't mind it though. Reaching into his pocket, he lazily pulled out his blindfold and tied it over his eyes, letting the fabric rest loosely as his hand brushed through his sweat-dampened hair.

Three special-grade cursed spirits. Not one, like the higher-ups had said, but three.

False report? Or deliberate sabotage? He scoffed at the thought. It didn't matter. If they were hoping to trip him up, they should know better by now. He doesn't lose. Even if it meant standing against the entire world.

Yet, as he stared out over the destruction wrought by his Hollow Technique: Purple, the vast emptiness gnawed at him more than he liked to admit. It was all too quiet now—too still. And that stillness... it gnawed at him.

Suddenly, Kurai's voice echoed in his mind, her sharp words like an unwanted truth slicing through his defenses. "Isn't it lonely at the top?"

'No, it's not.' He mentally scoffed, his lips curling slightly as if the thought itself was ridiculous. But who was he kidding? The sound of Kurai's voice stirred something inside him, something he had long buried and had no intention of facing. It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

For years, he had carried every burden—missions no one else could handle, enemies no one else could face—and he did it alone. He preferred it that way. No comrades to protect, no one to hold him back. He could move faster, fight harder, and think clearer when no one else was there to worry about. That's why he was the strongest, wasn't it? Because he didn't need anyone. He couldn't afford to.

But Kurai had sensed it. She had felt what even he had refused to acknowledge. And there was no denying it. She was right.

No matter how stubbornly he tried to reject the truth, the subtle hum of her energy was always a constant reminder that things had shifted. His house was no longer just his sanctuary of solitude. She was there, always there, on the other side of the house. Her cursed energy had become a strange sort of comfort. A reminder that he wasn't coming back to an empty home.

But now... standing amidst the wreckage of another mission, here he was. Alone again. Truly alone. And for the first time in a long time, the silence felt unbearable.

He groaned, leaning his head back and dragging his hands down his face as if that could somehow erase the thoughts she had planted in his mind. This was her fault. Damn her and her empathy. If it weren't for her, he would've continued lying to himself, blissfully unaware of how deeply the loneliness had rooted itself inside him. He didn't need her pointing it out.

But now that the thought was there, it wouldn't leave.

A soft rumble of an engine pulled him from his brooding. A car skidded to a stop not far in front of him, and the ever-nervous figure of Ijichi stepped out, visibly flustered as usual. His thin frame looked even more jittery under the weight of Satoru's gaze, or rather, the overwhelming presence Satoru carried with him everywhere.

Ijichi hesitated before speaking, his voice trembling slightly. "G-Gojo-sensei! You... you handled it, of course. I'm here to take you back."

Satoru didn't move at first. He just sat there, his blindfold half-draped over his eyes, looking like he might just stay in that spot forever. His mind wandered back to Kurai's words once more. "Isn't it lonely at the top?"

Was it? The thought clung to him like a curse of its own.

But Satoru wasn't ready to face that yet. He wasn't ready to acknowledge that she had managed to reach something within him that no one else had. His usual mask slipped back on effortlessly.

"Of course, I handled it," he said, his tone returning to its usual playful arrogance. He rose from the ground in one fluid motion, brushing the dust off his clothes. "But you're late, Ijichi. What if I needed a ride home sooner? Were you dozing off?" The teasing lilt in his voice was back, but his mind was still elsewhere, lingering on those words Kurai had left him with.

Ijichi flinched, as usual, fumbling over an apology. "N-No, I was just—uh—there was some traffic, and I—"

Satoru waved him off with a careless flick of his hand, walking past him toward the car, his long strides confident as ever, even if his thoughts weren't. "Yeah, yeah. Just drive. I need a nap. Or maybe a snack. Ooh, maybe both." He smiled under his blindfold.

But as Satoru leaned against the back seat of the car, Ijichi handed him an iPad. "G-Gojo-sensei, there's something you should see."

Satoru raised an eyebrow again but said nothing as he unlocked the screen. His casual amusement faded the moment his eyes landed on the image.

It was a woman—her face eerily familiar. Kurai's face, almost. But her hair was shorter, and there was a softness in her expression that Kurai never wore. 'This woman smiled.'

Satoru's usual cocky grin faltered, his fingers tightening around the device.

"That's Kurai-san's mother," Ijichi explained quietly, his voice trembling slightly as though he could feel the shift in Satoru's mood. "She... she passed away giving birth to her."

Satoru swiped to the next image—this time, it was a man. Ragged, haunted, wearing the traditional kimono of the Sanzu clan. The resemblance to Kurai was undeniable. His posture, his eyes—dark, hollow eyes—looked like they carried the weight of something unspeakable.

Ijichi shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "That's her father... Arata Sanzu. He became the clan leader after his father's death, but there are... sources that say his mind was unstable. He began to lose his sanity after his wife's death... when Kurai-san was born."

Satoru felt a subtle, cold prickle crawl up his spine. His eyes narrowed as he continued swiping, this time landing on a medical report. The handwriting was nearly illegible, but the word "hallucinations" stood out clearly among the scribbles.

Ijichi cleared his throat. "I-I got that copy from a defected clan member who used to serve Arata. According to Arata's doctor, he suffered from severe hallucinations. Arata believed there was a... a devil's spawn in his house."

Satoru's fingers froze over the screen. Devil's spawn?

For a split second, he remembered something he had once heard from Osamu, the elder of the Gojo clan's East Faction, some nonsense about the Sanzu clan making deals with devils. He had dismissed it as the ramblings of a paranoid old man at the time, but now it stirred something unpleasant in him. The pieces weren't quite fitting together, but something about this was unsettling. He kept swiping, eyes moving quickly as though the next page might provide an answer.

Ijichi hesitated, the tension thickening in the air. "Arata... he claimed that he had tried various methods to kill the devil's spawn for years. But, um..." He swallowed, his nervousness palpable. "According to him, she was... unkillable."

Satoru's eyes snapped up, his voice deceptively calm, but carrying an edge of danger. "What do you mean 'she'?"

Ijichi shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hands. "T-The 'devil's spawn'... was actually his daughter. Kurai-san. He claimed she was cursed from birth. He tried to kill her—many times—but she survived each attempt. He... he didn't even realize what he was doing."

The air in the car seemed to thicken, pressing down with a suffocating weight. Satoru's grip on the iPad tightened, the screen creaking under the pressure of his fingers. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, drowning out the usual noise of the world around him.

He tried to kill her.

His mind spun. Kurai. Every inch of his being screamed against the idea, but the cold, hard truth stared back at him from the screen. Her own father had seen her as some sort of monster—something to be erased. A child, just born, and already condemned.

Cold fury seeped into him. It started low, a steady simmer in his chest, but it was growing—building into something uncontainable. His blood ran hot and cold at the same time. No one could see it behind his blindfold, but his eyes blazed with an intensity that few had ever seen before. He was rarely angry—not like this.

But Kurai—his Kurai—had suffered through something he couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around. The strongest sorcerer, and he hadn't seen this coming. He hadn't even thought to ask about her past, to understand what kind of hell she had walked through before crossing paths with him.

And suddenly, it all clicked. Her coldness, her apathy, her near-manic bloodlust when provoked. It all made sense now. She had survived, over and over, through what should've broken anyone else. She hadn't been unkillable because of some devil's deal. She had been unkillable because she refused to be destroyed.

And now, as the truth lay before him, he felt something new. Not just anger. Not just pity. Possessiveness.

It wasn't the possessiveness that came with control, no. It was something deeper. Something protective. She wasn't weak—far from it—but knowing what she had been through, he realized she didn't need to carry that alone anymore. She wasn't just some convenient tool or a strange anomaly in his life. She was something else entirely.

And, for the first time in a long while, Satoru Gojo felt out of control.

His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of the storm inside him. "Take me back, Ijichi."

Ijichi blinked, confused. "G-Gojo-sensei?"

Satoru didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to. The edge in his tone was enough.

Without another word, Ijichi scrambled to start the car, and as they drove away from the scene of destruction, Satoru's mind was already miles away—back to Kurai.

She was stronger than he had given her credit for. Far stronger. And he'd be damned if he ever let anyone make her feel alone in that strength again.

< chapter eight ends >

taglist. @brailsthesmolgurl @osunism @junslay (comment below if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

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lefteagleblizzard · 5 days ago

Text

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: A year has passed since Hannah and Beth's disappearance after the prank and Josh has invited everyone back to the lodge to relive old memories. But when you and Mike take a detour to the cabin, the night spirals into a nightmare beyond anything you imagined. Now, you're thrust into a desperate fight for survival as a vengeful Wendigo prowls the mountain, hungry for flesh and revenge.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Takes place during the events of the game. Mike and Emily/Jess are not together in this. No use of Y/N. Mike and the reader are now together. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex. More plot than porn. Lots of characters deaths, some more explicit but nothing too graphic. Happy ending?

Part 2 of 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔡𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥. The chapters that i focused on are chapter 1-3-4-7-8-10 to anyone interested <3. When you see long spaces it means that we are moving to the next chapter. I hope nothing is too confusing, i tried my best.

Words count: 12000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

The sky is tinged with fading sunlight, casting a warm glow over the snow-covered mountains.

The place is quieter than usual. With just you, Mike and Ashley here so far, it feels almost peaceful.

Josh is nowhere to be seen, likely off searching for a way to enter the lodge, and Mike is beside you, his arm wrapped lazily around your waist as he takes a look at the place.

You're leaning on one of the woody rail nearby, hand playing with the snow there.

"You’re excited to see Chris again?" You asked Ashley quietly, leaning against Mike and feeling a warmth settle in your chest at the sight of her expression.

She looks up from her phone and a slight blush spreads across her cheeks "Well... he's always excited to be here, right? I mean, we're all friends."

"That's why you've checked your phone about a hundred times in the last ten minutes?"

She bites her lip, a flustered laugh escaping her as she glances away. "I was just... you know, checking the time, that's all."

"Of course," you reply, letting your voice carry the full weight of your teasing. "You two would be great together, though. You know that?"

"Thanks," she murmurs, glancing up at you with a look of gratitude before looking down at her phone.

You feel Mike shift beside you, and his hand finds yours, his fingers intertwined with yours in a gentle, familiar way that sends a pleasant warmth up your arm.

He leans in close to your ear and whispers something just for you to hear. "What do you say, handsome?" he murmurs. "Think we could sneak off for a bit? Just you, me, and a cozy little spot out back?" His hand drifts lower behind your back to playfully squeeze your butt. "I know a lot of ways to warm you up. Want to experience them yourself?"

You snort, rolling your eyes as a flush creeps up your cheeks. "I'm not doing that out here in the cold. You'll have to wait."

"You're worth waiting for," he grumbles, flashing that grin again to you.

"I'm going to check if Sam and Chris are here yet," you say, glancing up at him and kissing his lips quickly . "Be back soon."

Mike raises a hand in a lazy wave as he watched you walking away. "I'll be here, waiting patiently... or impatiently, whatever comes first."

You've started to run down the path for fun, the snow crunching beneath your boots. Memories of your year with Mike drift through your mind, one after another. The excitement and nervousness of your first date, that late-night drive to a quiet lookout. The countless messages he'd send daily, even when he was busy, letting you know he was thinking about you or the way he looks at you like you're the only person who matters. The cold seems to fade, replaced by a warmth that fills you from head to toe.

The anniversary of those memories is just around the corner, and the thought of spending it with him brings a grin to your face.

Soon enough, you see two familiar faces behind a closed door. You rushed there in time and pressed the button to open it.

Sam's face lights up as she pulls you into a tight hug. "It's been ages! How's it been?” she says, her voice full of genuine happiness.

You chuckle, patting her shoulder as you step back. "Good! Life's good. And you? How's everything been?"

She shrugs, a wry smile on her face. "Nothing that exciting to know. I hope everything will go well this weekend" her face shifted for a second as she glanced back at the lodge far ahead.

Chris steps forward, his smile wide as he gives you a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Hey, man. Glad you could make it. I saw all the stories and posts Mike put on his socials. Someone gave you a little push in the right direction, eh?"

You nod, feeling a smile spread across your face. "Yeah, we are. He's... well, he's pretty amazing. Guess he hasn’t figured out how weird I am yet. Finger crossed for another year of him tolerating me"

Chris laughed loudly together with you. "Damn, look at that! I knew my matchmaking skills were top-notch." He gestures to himself with a mock bow. Sam stifles a laugh, giving you a knowing smile.

"Oh yeah, because you totally did all the work," she teases, nudging him with her elbow.

You can't help the fondness that fills you as you open your arms and pull both of them into a spontaneous group hug. "Missed my besties," you say, squeezing them both.

Chris groans playfully, though he leans in, and Sam laughs, wrapping her arms around you, warmth flooding through the three of you.

Sam pulls back a little, looking up at you with a thoughtful smile. "So, wanna do some hiking trip this weekend? Or are you too busy with... boyfriend things?"

You laugh, nodding eagerly. "Of course, I'll make time for it. Want to add some climbing as well?" You glance over at Chris, adding with a grin, "I think Ashley's been looking forward to seeing you, too”

Chris freezes, his face paling slightly as he stares at you with wide eyes. "Wait, what did you tell her?"

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What do you mean? I just mentioned a few things. Gave her a heads-up that you were excited to see her."

Sam bites back a laugh, watching Chris squirm with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. "Relax, Chris. It's not like she doesn't already know. You're kind of obvious, you know?"

Chris groans, rubbing a hand over his face. "This is going to be a nightmare," he mutters, but there's a small, almost shy smile on his face, like he's secretly looking forward to it.

The three of you head back up toward the lodge, chatting and catching up as you walk, the snow crunching underfoot as the familiar outline of the building comes into view.

You see Mike leaning against the wall. His eyes light up when he sees you and he pushes off the wall, making his way over.

“You made me wait way too long” he teases, slipping an arm around your waist as he pulls you close.

You roll your eyes, though you can't help but smile as he presses a quick kiss to your temple. "Please. You'd have followed me down if I took any longer."

"Damn right I would have," he replies, giving your waist a gentle squeeze. "Can't let my favorite guy get too far out of sight."

All four of you catch up on everything you missed out on each others in this days.

Josh, fighting with the frozen handle, calls Chris over for some help. Chris nods toward him and you went to follow to help and get the chance to talk with Josh after all this time

The decision you made a year ago, involving Hannah, still haunted you. It only grew worse with each passing day after her and Beth’s disappearance. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak with him without the crushing weight of guilt for what had happened to his sisters.

He doesn't look up right away, his shoulders tense, jaw set. For a moment, he's just staring at the door, like he's somewhere far away. Finally, he turns, his face relaxing into a grin.

Chris, concern evident in his voice, asks, "You doing okay?"

Josh nods, though there's a hesitation there, something unspoken. "Yeah. Just past it now, you know? Ready for a weekend with my friends. Let's make it memorable."

Josh then turns to look at you with an unexpected question, almost casually asking, "Let’s say you’re in a life-or-death situation. Who do you save? The person you’ve got a crush on or Chris, your best friend?"

The question catches you off guard. Chris blinks, staring at Josh in confusion while you feel your own stomach twist in discomfort. You laugh it off at first but Josh doesn't drop it, his gaze steady and unyielding.

Answer honestly. It would mean reaffirming the loyalty and depth of your friendship, showing that friendship holds a unique importance to you, separate from romantic affection.

Deflect with humor. Joking about the choice would ease the tension. Chris might laugh it off and Josh's curiosity would go unsatisfied. However it would hint that maybe you're avoiding vulnerability.

Answer honestly

You rest a hand on Chris's shoulder, meeting Josh's gaze with a steady look. "I'd save Chris," you say, your voice calm but sincere. "A crush isn't enough to put a friend's life at risk or, you know, my own life. In that case you would cover me up, right?" You winked at Chris at the last part, hoping to ease the tension that Josh brought. Chris's expression shifts, softening, his eyes reflecting a gratitude that goes unspoken. A flicker of recognition passes through his gaze, something understood as he analyzed your words carefully.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"So that means you'd pick me over Mike?" he teases, his voice light and a grin present on his face.

You laugh, nudging him lightly. "That’s a different story! Especially now that I've been together with him for almost a year. If a psycho for some reason forces me to make a choice between you two, I'll probably just throw myself off a cliff or something"

The snow crunched beneath your feet as you followed Mike, your breaths visible in the chill mountain air. Ahead, the small cabin came into view, a hidden little nook away from the lodge where Mike said he wanted to take you to.

On the way there, you came across a small and old looking building where Mike strode over, walking inside through the missing door. You waited, your curiosity piqued as you heard the sounds of him rummaging around.

A moment later, he reappeared, holding a mask, rusty and all black. He slipped it on, the mask completely covering his face.

"C'mere, gimme a kiss" he teased, his voice muffled behind the mask. He leaned forward, the masked face inching closer, but you recoiled, scrunching your nose in mock disgust.

“Mike, that thing probably had more mouths on it than a barstool"

He pauses, considering your words, then yanks it off, wincing in disgust. "Fair point."

He tosses the mask aside and wrapped his arm around you as you continue walking.

An horrible sound echoed from a distance, followed by a scream of pain from an deer. You soon enough spotted one lying off the path breathing heavily, its body twisted at an unnatural angle. A large gash along its neck. You glance at Mike, who steps forward and tries to think of what to do.

Put an End to Its Suffering. The deer's labored breaths shudder through the cold air. He could end it now, spare the creature further pain, the mercy quick and final.

Comfort the Deer. The creature lies there, its body trembling from pain and fear. He could try to soothe it, offer it a few last moments of peace, a kindness amidst the cruelty of the wilderness.

He takes a slow breath, crouching down, his hand reaching out and he makes his choice.

Put an end to it’s suffering

There's a serious look in his eyes as he kneels beside it, placing a steady hand on the deer to calm it. "You, uh... might want to look away."

But you don't. You watch as he tries to do the humane thing and took a step forward to try and help him out but he moves his hands, trying to get a solid grip and with an unexpected crunch, the wound worsens and the deer's head comes off in his hands.

Mike recoils, eyes wide, dropping the head immediately. "Oh, holy-!" he takes a shaky step back, brushing his hands on his jeans with a horrified expression.

You're just as stunned, your own eyes wide as you take in the surreal sight but something rustles nearby and snatch the deer's body, dragging it off into the woods with surprising speed

“Run!" Mike grabs your hand, the fear and adrenaline sending you both flying back toward the chalet. Snow kicks up in clouds beneath your boots as you sprint, your heart pounding with the thrill and terror of whatever that creature was. The wind cuts cold against your face but you barely feel it as you focus on Mike's hand holding yours pulling you forward.

"Don't let go!" he calls, glancing back every few steps to make sure you're right there beside him.

The cabin looms ahead and as soon as you reach the door, he shoves it open, practically pulling you inside before slamming it shut behind you. Both of you stand there, breathing hard, adrenaline buzzing through your veins as you process what just happened.

“Maybe it was a bear?” Mike tried to make sense of the situation you experienced.

“I didn’t see or hear a bear, though” there is a drop of sweat already present on your forehead.

“Don’t think about it. Whatever animal it was, it can’t come here inside”

You sank into the couch, the air inside the cabin was carrying a faint scent of cedar and something earthy. You glanced over at Mike who plopped down right next to you, his body pressing close.

He leaned back, casually draping an arm over the back of the couch. His hand found its way to your thigh, his fingers settling there naturally, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"You know," he said, his voice low and filled with a familiar warmth, I may have asked Josh if we could stay here tonight. Just us, in this cozy little love shack." He turned to look at you, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint that made your heart skip a beat.

"Didn't expect to be sweating out here with you for saving my life," you replied, a playful tone in your voice.

He let out a soft laugh, his fingers giving a light squeeze on your thigh.“If you think this heat is something, wait until we really turn it up.” he teased back, his voice dropping to a whisper as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Something catches his attention and he gets up from the couch. Mike's eyes narrow playfully as he raises his chin in a mock proud stance, grabbing a old rifle from its spot by the wall and lifting it.

"Look. I'd make an amazing hunter, don’t you think?" he boasts, posing with the rifle as if he were an expert marksman. "Picture it: me coming back every day with something new for you. Deer, elk, maybe even a bear if I'm feeling ambitious."

You snicker, crossing your arms as you lean back. "Right. And we’ll celebrate the collection by starting with the head of that deer with something written on it like: 'Local Hero Mike Munroe terrorized by Bambi’"

"Oh, you're hilarious," he mutters, setting the rifle aside as he strides over to you. "Keep that up and see what it gets you." He tossed his jacket aside as he felt the heat from the run catching up to him, remaining in a simple white tank top despite the weather outside.

"Oh, really?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow as you edge off the couch to toss your jacket on the table.

“If you're gonna make fun of me, you'd better be ready to back it up."

Before you knew it, he was lunging toward you, and you darted off, laughing as you escaped successfully around the other side of the couch, watching as he straightened up.

He raises an eyebrow, moving a few steps closer, his gaze playful but intense. He tilts his head, letting his gaze drift over you in a way that makes you feel hot inside. "Are you ready to lose?"

He lunges forward, his movements quick, almost catching you by surprise again, but you dart around him in time, laughing as you stay just out of reach.

Mike lets out a mock growl, his eyes narrowing as he starts to close the distance between you. "you're only making it worse for yourself." he says, his voice a soft, teasing murmur as he edges closer, arms wide open to catch any possible attempts you could make to slip away.

"How's that?" you challenge, keeping your distance as you hide behind the other side of the couch.

"Because when I catch you, it's going to be twice as sweet." and he lets out a playful growl, quickening his pace as he closes the distance between you and with a sudden burst of speed, he leapt over the couch, landing just in front of you. His hands wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

He leaned forward, one of his arm slipped underneath your knees and you were playfully hitting him on the shoulder to break free.

With a grunt, he managed to lift you up bridal style and dropped you on the couch.

Soon he pulled himself on top of you, hovering over your body completely, his weight keeping you trapped underneath him.

"Caught you," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek as he looked down at you, his expression both triumphant and adoring.

"Alright, alright, you won," you whispered, feeling the heat rise in your face. But he didn't let go. Instead, he tightened his hold, tilting his head as his gaze softened, his fingers tracing slow, gentle patterns at your waist.

"Couldn't have asked for a better catch," he asked, his voice a low, teasing drawl. He leaned in, his lips brushing just barely against yours. Words got caught in your throat as he closed the distance, his mouth pressing firmly against yours, deep and insistent.

His hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, a kind of hunger in the way he holds you close, like he's savoring every second.

You respond, your hands slipping around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Mike's hands slipped under your shirt, his touch firm as he dragged it over your head and tossed it aside.

He wasted no time, his lips returning to yours with fervor, his tongue pressed against yours, demanding and eager to get a taste.

His hands moved lower, undoing the button of your pants with practiced ease, and before you knew it, you were standing half-naked in front of him, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

His hands roaming over your skin, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest. His body pressing against yours as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

His fingers worked at your waistband, pulling your pants down in one swift motion before he settled between your legs.

"You're so damn perfect," Mike growled against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. His light beard scraped tantalizingly against your flesh with every heated kiss. His lips moved with a possessive urgency, exploring your neck, trailing down with his hands.

You could feel the heat pooling in your stomach. Mike's hunger only fueled at the sight of you like this and when he finally reached between your legs, your body arched off the bed, desperate for more

Mike's own breath was unsteady, mingling with yours in a symphony of shared pleasure. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

He wraps his hand around you firmly now, stroking you slowly as he kisses you deep. The vibration of your moans against his mouth made everything ten times better for him.

He kept stroking you and you curl into him.

Mike positioned himself in between your thighs, cock of his own throbbing through his jeans, rubbing his hardening self against your own with no remorse or embarrassment.

His hips buck up just slightly, seeking friction. You buckle his belt to pull him out of his jeans and boxers and he reaches down to help you. His mouth found yours again as his hands wrap around the both of you, rutting his leaking cock against yours, fucking into his palm.

You follow suit, hips rolling forward as you chase your high. He smirks against your lips before pulling away to look at you. "Ready?" he rasped, his voice thick with need.

"Fuck! Yes pleas-" You struggle to find the words, too lost in the pleasure of his dick against yours.

His hands moved to your waist, gripping you tightly as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours with a possessive hunger that made your knees weak.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you found yourself drowning in a desperate attempt to get closer, to feel more of him.

He slid his hand between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your entrance. You could feel the anticipation building as he teased you, his touch deliberate and calculated.

Mike's fingers slid inside you slowly, stretching you open as he worked you with a steady rhythm that had you trembling beneath him.

His free hand gripped your hip, holding you firmly in place as he picked up the pace, his fingers moving in and out of you with expert precision, curling at the right spot that made you arche your back. You could feel the heat building in your core, the tension coiling tighter with each thrust of his hand.

"So perfect," Mike murmured, his voice thick with desire.

You could barely think, your mind clouded with pleasure as he continued his relentless pace.

Just as you were on the verge to fall apart, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you aching and desperate for more.

The head of his length is now nudging at your entrance. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he pushes forward, sinking into you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, your body stretching to accommodate him as he fills you completely.

Mike groans softly, his forehead resting against the back of your neck as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him as he stretched you open.

Mike groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself to the hilt, his body trembling with restraint.

"Fuck" his voice a low growl as he began to move, setting a slow, agonizing pace that had you panting for breath.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as he thrust into you, his movements steady and deliberate. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body tightening around him as he pushed you closer to the edge.

The small room was filled with the sounds of your ragged breathing, the wet slap of skin against skin as Mike drove into you, his pace relentless. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building until it was almost unbearable.

"Mike," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm close."

He groaned in response, his pace quickening as he chased his own release, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing with the effort. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust into you harder, faster.

You could feel the heat pooling in your stomach, your body trembling with the need to let go. And then, with one final thrust, you shattered, pleasure washing over you in waves as you came apart beneath him.

Mike followed soon after, his body tensing as he buried himself inside you one last time, his release spilling into you as he grunted against your lips.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room the ragged gasps of your breath. Mike's body was warm and solid against yours, his hands still gripping your hips as he slowly came down from his high.

Finally, he pulled and collapsed on top of you. His arm wrapped around your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

Minutes passed and were spent with him relaxing against you. Each quick, playful kiss he placed on your neck ignited a flutter of joy in your heart. With every stroke of your fingers through his hair, he let out a contented sigh, leaning into your touch.

The quiet piece is shattered suddenly by the loud sound of glass breaking. Both you and Mike freeze, your smiles fading as the unexpected noise jolts you back to reality.

"What the hell was that?" Mike mutters, already standing up and moving toward the sound with a look of concern etched on his face.

You pulled your shirt back on and stood up, heart pounding as you followed him a few steps. "Stay here," he says, glancing back at you.

You hesitate, a twinge of anxiety creeping in but nod as he heads toward the other room where the sound came from. You slipped back on your jeans while moving over to the window, pulling aside the curtains to peer out into the night, searching for anything unusual.

Something on the snow caught your attention just outside, right here in front of the stairs.

Lean closer to Investigate. Curiosity gnaws at you, an urge to move and see for yourself. It’s right here outside. One quick look can't hurt... right?

Inform Mike about it. It hopefully won’t disappear soon despite the snow falling rapidly. You can go and inform Mike about it along with also seeing what happened with the window.

You take a breath, steeling yourself. And in a single, decisive moment, you make your choice.

Lean closer to investigate

A faint shimmer appear, the delicate flap of a butterfly's wings.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

Curiosity gets the better of you and without a second thought, you lean closer to the window. Your warm breath fog the window but not enough for it to be at the same height of your eyes.

Footsteps oddly spaced stretch from the edge of the woods toward the chalet. There's something... wrong about them, something that makes your skin crawl. The tracks don't look human, they're wider, deeper, and almost clawed. They're fresh, not yet filled in by drifting snow and tinted in red crimson blood. Whatever made these prints is close. Too close.

You turned around when you heard Mike coming back, his voice confused as he told you about something that broke the window.

You barely had time to inform him about what you saw before the glass behind you shatters and claws dig into your shoulders as you're pulled back, helpless against the force dragging you

You soon made contact with the snow as you got dragged further and further away from the cabin and into the woods.

The thing holding you is relentless, hauling you over snow and rock with an unnatural speed that makes your head spin. Fear crashes over you like a wave, cold and consuming. You thrash, trying to free yourself, your hands scraping against hard, rough skin.

You hear from not far the frantic shouts of a voice you know well. Mike. He's chasing after you, calling your name in a voice filled with fear and desperation but you can barely hear him over the blood pounding in your ears.

All you can think about is survival.

Desperately, you claw at the ground, fingers scrambling for anything to slow down the creature dragging you deeper into the trees. Your hand brushes against something solid, a branch half-buried in the snow. Without a second thought, you grab it and slam it upward, striking the creature’s arm.

The creature hisses, a guttural, furious sound that shakes your bones, but its grip loosens just enough for you to tear yourself free, stumbling forward and landing face-first in the snow. Cold bites at your skin as you scramble to your feet, legs already aching from the strain, but you can't afford to stop.

Not now.

Your injuries slow you down. Blood seeps from your arms and legs, leaving a trail as you push through the forest. Every breath feels like fire in your chest, your vision blurring around the edges as you force yourself forward, stumbling over rocks and roots.

In the distance, Mike's voice reaches you, a lifeline you cling to even as fear claws at your heart. You risk a glance back, just a fleeting second, and see him from afar, rifle in hand, his eyes wide with terror as he takes in your disheveled form and the blood marking your path.

He shouts your name desperately, his voice is raw, terrified and it propels you forward with renewed urgency.

But before you can reach him, the creature catches your ankle, sending you sprawling to the ground once more. Pain jolts through you as you hit the frozen earth, your vision going dark for a split second as it kept moving forward deep inside the woods and far away from Mike until you could no longer see him.

It stopped abruptly, it’s clawed hand slashes through the air, inches from your face, before a bright flash of light erupts behind it.

A burst of flame cuts through the night, illuminating the creature's twisted form as it recoils with a screech, backing away from the intense heat. You blink, disoriented, your eyes adjusting to the sudden glow. A figure stands a few feet away, wielding a flamethrower with a practiced ease, his face covered by a mask and big glasses for the snow.

"Get up," he barks, the command cold and unyielding. "Follow me, now."

Still dazed and struggling to catch your breath, you hesitate and the stranger's moves closer, the flames licking dangerously close as he gestures again with the flamethrower.

"I said, move."

With no other option, you stagger to your feet, following him as he leads you through the trees. Blood drips down your leg, each step a painful reminder of your injuries, but fear propels you onward. You cast one last glance over your shoulder, hoping to see Mike but to not success.

From a distance, Mike watches, heart pounding as he tracks your struggling form, his pulse surging with terror and fury.

He sees you stumbling through the snow, your face pale and stricken, blood streaking your clothes and painting the ground beneath you. His stomach twists painfully. His hands tighten on the old rifle he'd grabbed from the cabin, fingers white with the grip.

His eyes flick to the figure standing near you, holding a flamethrower. Mike can't make out the man's face due to the position but he's close enough to see the way the stranger's hand grips your arm, steering you with a harsh, unyielding authority.

A surge of rage floods Mike's chest into something cold and vengeful.

He shouts, his voice cracking with a desperation he can't hide but you’re too far away for him to hear. He raises the rifle, leveling it with a single, fierce purpose. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, drowning out the sounds around him. All he can think about is protecting you, keeping you safe, stopping this man who had the nerve to lay his hands on you.

He pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

Mike stares at the gun, disbelief and frustration crashing over him in a sickening wave. His hands tremble as he frantically checks the rifle, but it's no use. The damn thing's too old, a relic that was never meant for anything more than decoration.

“Jammed up piece of shit” he muttered to himself as he tossed the gun on the ground but not before taking the sight off.

His fists clench, anger and self-loathing simmering just beneath the surface. If he'd only been quicker. If he'd only gotten to you sooner.

You stumble over your own feet as the stranger pulls you forward, his hand gripping your arm with an iron strength that doesn't allow for argument or hesitation. Your head throbs and a nauseating chill seeps into your bones

He's silent, his face obscured by the mask he is wearing. You're not sure whether you should be more afraid of the creature that attacked you or of this stranger.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask, your voice rough, scraping against the quiet. Panic flutters in your chest, but you keep it in check, trying to sound braver than you feel.

The stranger’s grip tightens, his voice low and cold as he finally speaks. "To the sanatorium. Only place you'll be safe."

Safe? You can't help the bitter laugh that escapes, but it sounds foreign even to your ears, tinged with the underlying fear that pulses with each beat of your heart. "And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

He doesn't respond, his silence as solid as stone. You're struck by the thought that maybe he doesn't care if you trust him at all. To him, you're just another problem to be dealt with, whether you like it or not.

You feel the blood trickling down your calf, soaking into your jeans, and you know that each step leaves a fresh trail in the snow, a trail that anything or anyone could follow.

The old building looks even more haunting up close, its windows shattered, its walls covered in a thick layer of ice and grime.

Your footsteps falter as you take it in, the realization sinking in that this terrifying ruin is where he intends to take you.

The stranger seems to sense your hesitation, and he stops, turning to you with a hard, assessing gaze. "You don't understand what's out there," he says, his voice a low, gravelly murmur.

You square your shoulders, meeting his gaze with as much strength as you can muster. "Then tell me," you say, the words steady but quiet, a demand laced with a plea. "Tell me what's going on. What was that thing?"

He hesitates, just for a moment, deciding how much to reveal. Then, with a deep sigh, he gestures toward the sanatorium. "Inside. We're not talking out here."

You follow him through the heavy, rusted doors, wincing as they creak open, the sound echoing through the hollow halls. Inside, the air is thick with dust and stale.

The stranger leads you deeper into the building, down a winding corridor lined with cracked tiles and peeling paint. He finally stops in what might have once been a treatment room, with a few battered chairs and a broken table shoved to the side.

Two wolves appear from the dark. A black one growling at you and a white one tilting his head as he looked at you curiously.

You leaned back against the cold, damp wall, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you as the adrenaline began to fade.

With a quiet hiss of pain, you tore off a strip of fabric from your shirt, pressing it against a particularly deep scratch along your arm. The fabric was thin and already damp from the cold air, but it was all you had, and the pressure seemed to slow the bleeding. You shifted your weight, your hand shaking as you worked to tie the makeshift bandage in place, gritting your teeth against the sting that flared with each movement.

The stranger knelt down, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached into a pocket, pulling out a small roll of cloth. He hesitated, his masked face turning to you, as if silently asking for permission. You gave a slight nod, and he moved closer, crouching down to your level.

His gloved hands were surprisingly gentle as he pressed the cloth over a cut on your leg, inspecting the wound beneath. He muttered something under his breath. "Not too deep. You must be tough one to make it out here in one piece."

You managed a weak smile, though it barely masked the pain etched into your features. "I... I didn't have much of a choice. I just kept running."

"Smart," he murmured, adjusting the bandage on your arm, his fingers surprisingly steady and precise despite the thickness of his gloves. "It was all you could do in that situation. If you ever face them again, don’t move. It’s like toads. Sight is based on changes of movement in their field of vision"

He pulls out a small photograph from his jacket pocket and hands it to you. You take it, fingers trembling as you examine the image. The man in the picture is a horror to behold. His face gaunt, his cheek on the left a gruesome patchwork of scarred, missing flesh, exposing jagged teeth beneath. His eyes are milky, blind and vacant, but there's something hauntingly human about his expression, a remnant of a person buried beneath the monstrous features, a true nightmare made flesh.

You swallow hard, slipping the photo into your pocket as the man turns around to throw a bone at the wolves.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"What you saw out there wasn't just any creature. It was once human, before the curse took it."

You blink, your mind scrambling to process the words. "A... curse?"

He nods, his gaze hardening. "Wendigos. Spirits that inhabit the bodies of those who commit cannibalism. It turns them into monsters, driven by the need to feed. And once it's taken hold, there's no going back."

"So... the thing that attacked me..." you start, your voice barely a whisper, "it used to be human?"

The Stranger's gaze softens, just for a moment, and he sighs. "The Wendigo remembers parts of what it once was. People, faces, moments. Things it hated. Things it wanted. All now mixed with hunger”

Suddenly, the faint sound of footsteps reaches your ears, distinct and growing louder with each step. You freeze, the pulse of fear quickening in your veins. The man hears it too, his eyes narrow, his body going rigid as he listens. Without a word, he tightens his grip on your arm, helping you stand up and dragging you with him as he pulls you away from the main hallway

"Don't make a sound," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper, harsh and commanding.

You see a silhouette emerging around the corner and he starts to pull you backward, leading you out of the room, away from the figure.

The stranger led you down twisting passages until you reached an area near the entrance to the mines. He turned to you, his grip finally loosening, and gestured to a dark alcove.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice low but firm. "I'll check to make sure the rest of your friends aren't out there. When it's clear, I'll take you back to the lodge."

You nodded, exhaustion overtaking you as you sank down against the wall, your mind spinning with worry for Mike. You touched your cheek again, feeling the sting of the cut, your pulse still racing as you waited, alone, the cold stone walls pressing in around you.

Back inside, Mike watches as your figure disappears around the corner, led away by that dark, looming man and a fury unlike anything he's ever felt boils up inside him. He takes a step forward, desperate to follow, but his path is blocked by a heavy iron door separating him from the main lobby, the missing key preventing him from giving chase. He shakes the door in frustration, feeling the cold metal dig into his palms as he rattles it, cursing under his breath.

"Dammit," he mutters, his voice low and seething. The image of your face twisted in confusion and fear is burned into his mind and that only makes the anger roiling within him burn hotter. He barely notices his surroundings as he slams his fist against the door, once, twice, the sharp pain a poor substitute for the wrath and worry he feels building inside him. That bastard had hurt you, taken you, and he has no idea where or why.

The night air bites at their faces, unforgiving and cold as Mike and Chris drag Josh through the snow. Mike's hand is iron around Josh's collar, yanking him forward with an urgency that leaves no room for argument, while Chris trails close behind.

The desperation in his eyes is like a fire that's threatening to spiral out of control.

"Mike," Chris starts, his voice quiet, hesitant as he watches his friend's clenched jaw, the tightness in his grip on Josh's shirt. "Maybe we should just take a second. Think this through."

"Talk?" Mike spat, his voice a low growl. "We've been talking, Chris. And he's not saying anything because he's lying." He looked back at Josh, his gaze cold, unforgiving. "He did this. He knows where he is and he's just sitting here, laughing in our faces."

All he can see is the image of you being dragged away, hurt and vulnerable, every second stretching like an eternity, his mind racing with fears that sink into his chest like stones.

They reach the shed. Mike throws the door open and shoves Josh inside, not giving him even a moment to catch his breath.

Josh stumbles as he's shoved against a wooden support beam, his wrists still bound. Both Chris and Mike stepped forward to tie down and immobilize Josh completely against the wooden beam.

"Where is he, Josh?" he demands, each word taut with barely contained fury. "He's out there, alone and injured because of your sick little games!" Mike's voice rises, his anger spilling over as he steps even closer, his face inches from Josh's.

Chris stands to the side, a knot of worry tightening in his gut. The thought of you being hurt, or worse, out there because of this was almost too much to process. A wave of guilt rushes over him, crashing against the worry and confusion roiling inside him. He remembers every joke, every moment you'd shared and the thought that Josh might be responsible for taking that away, it's enough to make his stomach turn.

"Josh, please," Chris says, his voice soft, pleading, as he takes a step forward. "If you know anything, just tell us. We're not... we're not doing this for fun, okay? He’s a friend. Just... please."

There's a flicker of something dark in Josh's eyes, something that only Chris seems to understand. A decision, a choice that still lingers in his memory. Josh seems to notice, his smirk growing wider, almost triumphant.

"You let him talk you into thinking you were important, that you mattered, and then you turned on the only one who would've stuck with you." Josh's voice is soft, insidious, as he watches Chris's face pale. "All it took was a few words, and look at the mess you made with her. But sure, keep believing that he's your friend. Keep thinking he's anything more than just... clever with his words."

Chris’s expression stricken, the weight of the accusation settling heavily on his shoulders, mingling with the unresolved guilt he's tried to keep buried.

Josh looks between the two of them, an air of smugness creeping into his expression. "What, Mike, you think he's anything special? Can you realize that he’s not really the angel you think he is?" he mutters, a sneer curling at the edge of his mouth.

Mike feels his hands tremble with the effort to hold himself back, to keep from lunging at Josh right then and there.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that," Mike hisses, his voice rough, a dangerous edge in his tone. "You don't get to say anything about him. Not after what you did."

Josh just laughs, a hollow, bitter sound that echoes through the empty shed. "You've got it bad, don't you? You'd do anything to convince yourself he's worth the risk."

Mike's fist slams into the wood beside Josh's head, sending a shower of splinters scattering to the ground. "You don't know a damn thing about what he means to me," Mike growls, his voice low, laced with a ferocity that makes Chris's breath catch. "Not a damn thing."

For the first time, there's a flicker of confusion in Josh's eyes, a hesitation that betrays the anger, the defiance in his expression.

“No... no... I don-. I’ve got a problem, Mike... I don’t remember hurting him...”

“Christ” Mike mutters to himself, looking around in disbelief at seeing how fucked up Josh’s mental health was.

“I mean, I feel like I would’ve remembered killing him, right?” Josh continued, his tone shifting from confusion to something Mike didn’t quite like. “If you were with him for a year, he must’ve had one hell of a body.” He flashed a smug grin at Mike.

Mike pulled out the gun from his jacket and pointed it at Josh, shouting with a desperation that borders on madness. “If you don't shut your fucking mouth, I swear I'll-"

"Mike!" Chris's voice trembles as he steps forward, reaching for his friend, fear evident in his eyes. "Don't do this. He's just messing with you. It's what he wants."

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the air thick with tension until Mike finally lowered the gun. He never wavered his gaze from Josh as he spoke to Chris.

“Go back to the lodge with the others” Mike told Chris as he glared down at him, his voice barely controlled, barely holding back the rage that's tearing him apart. "You sure you’re okay?" Chris whispers and Mike nods. “they’ll want to know everything’s fine up there”.

“You’re right. See you in the morning” Chris muttered, sparing a last glance at Josh before slowly making his way back to the lodge.

The lodge has grown quieter than ever, the weight of fear and exhaustion hanging heavy in the air. The night presses on, feeling endless. A loud scream echoed inside the woods and Emily soon bursts into the lodge, her face pale, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Snow clings to her hair and jacket and her eyes are wide, glazed over with a fear none of them have seen before. She's shaking, her body visibly trembling as she stands there, looking as though she's barely keeping herself upright.

"Emily?" Sam is the first to speak, her voice soft but filled with worry as her and Ashley carried her to the couch. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Emily takes a shaky breath, swallowing hard as she nods, though her expression is anything but calm. "A monster- it’s a monster!" she stammers, glancing around, her eyes darting from face to face.

“Em are you okay?” Chris asks, concerned but also curious about what happened to her.

"I’m fine. I just need to calm down. It was moving so damn fast- i just needed to get away!"

“Em, Em. You can relax... Josh was messing with us but we-“

“You’re not listening to me!” Emily swallows again, her hands shaking as she raises one to her mouth, pressing her knuckles to her lips in a nervous gesture.

The group falls silent, their faces reflecting a mix of shock and unease as Emily explains to everyone how she called for help from the tower and she found herself in the mines after it collapsed.

"I found Beth’s dead body" she whispers, her voice barely audible, but her words carry through the room, settling like stones in their chests. "I didn’t find Hannah but I found some of her things there. It seemed she was just there starving to death while we were all searching for her up here"

“Em! You made it” Mike entered the lodge breathless from running.

She got up from the couch and immediately hugged him.

“What about Matt?”

“We’re trying to figure it out...”

“And there is also this “monster” that was chasing her-“

A loud knock at the door made everyone turn. A fresh wave of panic settled over them. Mike's hand instinctively goes to his side, reaching for the gun, but he stops short, his face tense as he glances around.

"I'll check it out," he mutters, glancing at Chris, who nods, his expression equally wary.

They move toward the door cautiously, every step filled with tension. He opens the door slowly, his hand poised on the gun and there, framed in the doorway, stands a stranger, his face full in view this time. He moves with a speed that catches Mike off guard, wrenching the gun from his grip in one smooth motion.

"Easy," the stranger says, his voice a low rumble, as he lowers the gun, his gaze intense but steady. He glances over his shoulder, nodding toward the darkness outside. "It's safe. You can come in."

There's a moment of silence and then, slowly, you step into the doorway. You're limping just slightly, your clothes torn and dirty and covered up by an old jacket similar to Mike’s one, your face bruised but alive.

Mike's heart stops, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he stares at you. He can barely move, his eyes wide, unable to process what he’s seeing. For a split second, he thought that it was a dream until you take that hesitant step forward and reality crashes in. He whispers your name, his voice barely audible, filled with a raw, aching vulnerability he can't hide. And then he's there, crossing the distance in an instant, wrapping you in his arms, holding you tightly.

The warmth of his embrace floods over you, the steady weight of his arms filling you with a sense of safety you haven't felt since the night began. You return the hug, exhaustion seeping into every muscle, and you let yourself sink into his warmth, closing your eyes as you let the moment wash over you.

"I thought I'd never see you again." Mike's voice cracks, and he buries his face in your shoulder, his breath shaky as he struggles to hold back the emotion.

You reach up, brushing your hand against his cheek, and manage a tired smile. "I made it back." you whisper, your voice soft but steady.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze scanning every bruise, every cut, his fingers brushing gently over each mark. "Are you hurt? What... what did this do to you?" His voice is laced with worry, a protectiveness that's fierce, almost desperate, as he holds your face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek

You reached up to cover his hand with yours. "I'm okay, don’t worry" you murmur, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Chris steps forward then, his eyes wide, relief flooding his expression as he pulls you into a hug, his grip firm, steady. "Man, you scared the hell out of us," he says, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls back, a grin breaking through the tension as he adds, "Don't ever do that again, okay?"

A small laugh escapes you, and the tension in the room begins to ease. You all follow the stranger and get to where the girls were waiting.

"Thank god you’re okay." Sam says softly, a warm smile on her face as she carefully hugged you to avoid any further pain.

Emily, still recovering from the shock she went through, gave a curt nod in your direction. "You look like you have been through hell" she mutters.

You manage a small smile, grateful for each familiar face.

The man clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him, his gaze steady, a hard look in his eyes. "I don't have time for reunions," he says, his tone firm but not unkind. "There's something you need to understand."

Everyone falls silent, their faces tense as they turn to him. Mike leads you to the couch, pulling you down beside him, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you close as you leaned against him.

The stranger begins to speak, his voice low and grave as he explains the truth of the mountain, the curse that turned the ones who commit cannibalism into unrecognizable monsters. His words hang heavy in the air, each one sinking into them like stones.

Mike's hand tightens on your waist, his gaze dark as he listens, his mind racing with the reality of what you must have endured all alone. The knowledge that you survived this and made it back to him fills him with a mixture of pride and fear that he can't shake.

When the stranger finishes, silence falls over the room, the weight of his warning settling into every corner, pressing down on each of them. Chris is the first to break the silence, his face set, determined. "So... what do we do?"

The stranger's gaze sharpens, his expression hard, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "You’re going to need to find somewhere safe to hide"

“For how long?”

“Until dawn”

They all nod, a shared understanding passing between them.

“Guys... i ran out and left Josh when i heard screaming” Mike told everyone, guilt spreading on his face at realizing what could happen to Josh.

“Your friend is already dead” the stranger spoke with unwavering certainty.

Chris steps forward. “No, no he can’t be. We were just with him a moment ago”

“A lot can happen quickly on this mountain”

"I'm gonna get him," Chris said with determination. "I’m supposed to be his best friend and i let him down"

“Then i’ll go with you” the man said, offering Chris a rifle to fight if needed.

Chris takes a deep breath, steeling himself and holding the rifle tightly to his chest as he stares at the door, the stranger next to him and ready to leave to rescue Josh. Just as he's about to turn away, he notices you and Mike standing together. Mike's arm is still around you but you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, leaning in close to murmur something to him. His face softens and he reluctantly lets you go, his hand lingering for a moment longer.

You walk toward Chris, your movements slow but steady, the worst of your injuries seeming to fade, the pain dulled and it gives you a chance to run again thanks to the man’s help. You hold up a hand for a high five, grinning just a bit. "Be careful out there, alright?"

Chris smirks, the familiar glint of humor in his eyes. "Hey, you know me. Careful my middle name." He claps your hand, his expression softening slightly. "We'll get through this."

Your gaze shifts to the stranger, a silent expression of gratitude in your eyes as you give him a slight nod. He meets your gaze, there's a faint hint of acknowledgment in the way he inclines his head.

Turning back, you move toward Mike. You catch sight of Ashley leaning against the wall, her gaze fixed on Chris with a strange, distant expression, something that you never saw on her when together with Chris. You pause, opening your mouth to ask her if she's alright, but she steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder to help you back toward Mike.

You give her a small nod, something unsettled lingering in your mind but you let it go as she guides you back to Mike. You feel his hand slip around your waist again, steady and reassuring, his warmth grounding you as you settle beside him, leaning into his side as he guides you to the basement with the others.

The atmosphere in the basement is heavy with silence, an oppressive weight settling over everyone. You were sitting down on one of the tables there, looking at all the cameras present there together with Sam and Emily. The door creaks open, and Ashley stumbles down, followed closely by Mike. You can see immediately the way his face is drawn, his eyes hollow, a deep sadness etched into every line.

He looks at you, the pain in his gaze made you fear the worst. "Chris... he didn't make it," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath.

You feel the ground shift beneath you, the words sinking in with an ache so sharp it feels physical. Chris, your friend, is gone. Your throat tightens and the reality of the situation claws at you, an emptiness that leaves you hollow.

Ashley stands frozen, her face pale and expressionless. Emily immediately moves to her side, reaching for her hands, while Sam steps forward, her voice soft with sympathy. "Ash... I'm so sorry."

Ashley shakes her head, her jaw clenched as she stares past them, her eyes glassy with shock. "I'm fine," she insists, her voice hollow and distant, "I'm fine."

Sam's voice is soft, cautious as she looks at Mike. "What about the man with the flamethrower? Did... did he make it?"

Mike shakes his head, his voice a low, haunted murmur. "Didn’t see him coming back. He's dead, too."

The walls seem to close in and Mike moves with big steps towards you and hold you tightly, pulling you closer, "I’m so sorry”. His hand moves gently to your back, tracing soothing circles, his fingers trembling slightly.

You find yourself melting into his touch, his hold a balm to the raw pain in your chest.

Mike began searching around the place and on the cameras to look for any possible other escape. Josh had the key for the cable car. The wendigos might have taken him to the sanatorium and he declared he will go there to get them and save him.

All of your friends group around the table to analyze the map left by the man, talking about the mines and the sanatorium.

You’re too deep in thoughts to participate in it. You felt tears ready to spill down from your eyes as you kept thinking about Chris and the man’ deaths.

“Em... Em, what is that?” Ashley's tone of voice was concerning. You looked up in time to see all of your friends slowly backing away from Emily as she kept a hand on her shoulder.

You got down from the table and wiped away the tears on your eyes. Stepping closer but stopping when you noticed blood seeping through her shoulder.

“Ash...” Emily began to talk, her gaze moving towards everyone as she carefully thought about her next words

“Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god! Oh, no, oh, no!” Ashely was freaking out as her gaze moved back and forth to Mike and Emily.

“It’s nothing. It just- it bit me and-“ Emily tried to explain but Ashley's loud voice interrupted her again.

“It bit you? What bit you?!”

You took another step closer while Ashley grew increasingly agitated with each word.

“The...ah... the wendigo,” Emily stammered, her voice trembling with fear rather than conviction. “It’s nothing, really. It’s not a big deal—it doesn’t hurt anymore, not really.”

Mike takes a step back "Em... if that thing bit you..."

“I know what you’re thinking and i’m fine” she took a step forwards and expanded her hands towards Mike but he backed away, his arm moving in front of you to shield you from her as he stepped away.

“Emily at least let us check it out,” Sam told her quietly, hoping to calm her down.

“Emily... if the wendigo bit you, you could turn into one of those things” Mike told her as he kept his arm in front of you.

“Oh that’s ridiculous” Sam said, her voice rising in frustration as she stepped forward to intervene. But Ashley sharply spoke again, her expression a mix of desperation and impatience.

“He said it was from EATING each other- remember, he said that! It happens if it bites you, you’re gonna turn into one of those things and you’re gonna turn in on us. Oh my god. Oh, my god! OH MY GOD”

Was it really like that? The man told you that it happened if someone committed cannibalism but he never told you about bites or other things like that. Was it just common knowledge and he didn’t told you because it was oblivious?

You took a step forward and felt pain radiating on your shoulder. A whimper of pain was heard through your closed lips and Mike turned around immediately, his arm outstretched in front of you while slowly moving you behind him as he positions himself between you and the perceived threat.

“You can’t be down here with us. You gotta go. You’re putting us ALL in danger” Mike told Emily firmly, no hesitation on his face or voice.

“Like hell I am!” This was the first time you saw Emily this desperate.

“Mike, just cool your head, okay? We don’t know how it works, maybe it’s just a bite” Sam said, her voice steady but edged with concern, though the unease in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t entirely convinced herself.

“What is this? Guys, what are you doing” Emily looked more and more scared the longer she looked around at all of you.

“Door’s right there. I’m letting you doing this voluntarily” Mike spoke firmly at her.

“Oh, no. You’re just doing this to make yourself feel better about sending me to my death because you know there’s a wendigo out there ready to rip me to pieces like it did with-“

“OKAY, OH MY GOD! WILL YOU JUST GO?! GO! GET OUT OF HERE!” Ashley screamed at the top of her lungs, voice full of frustration and terror at this point.

Mike move towards the table and took the gun, pointing it at Emily who immediately backed away in shock.

“Whoa,whoa-whoa- Mike! Calm down!” Sam tried to intervene but Mike pushed her away, his arm pulling you behind him protectively as his other hand kept pointing the gun at Emily.

“You’re gonna shoot me?” Emily crawled on top of the table until her back hit the wall, desperately trying to get away from the situation. “Mike...? Me?”

“This is the safe room, Em. And it’s not safe as long as you’re in it. Not for us!”

“Don- don’t do this!” Her voice broke on the last word, her hands reaching out as if she could somehow stop him.

“I’m really sorry” Mike choked out, his voice trembling with regret, the words barely escaping through a veil of anguish. His hands shook as he gripped the weapon, his heart pounding in his chest as he took a step forward. His finger pressed the revolver’s cylinder, rotating it to prepare the next shot.

Tell Mike Not to Shoot Emily. She's still Emily, still herself... isn't she? The fear is there, yes, but a part of you knows this isn't right.

Support Mike no matter what he chooses. The thought of Emily becoming one of those things, of putting Mike in danger, fills you with a dread so deep it nearly leaves you breathless.

Your heart pounded as memories surged through your mind, vivid and relentless of the wendigo’s claws tearing through your body as it dragged you into the unknown. You remembered the helplessness, the horror, the feeling of being trapped in a nightmare you couldn't escape.

Now, the thought of Mike facing anything remotely close to that horror because of a single hesitation sent fear clawing at your chest. You wanted to believe Emily; she was one of you, someone you'd shared memories with. But what if she did turn? What if Mike's hesitation meant losing him?

Support Mike

You lean closer, your voice soft, trembling, barely a whisper. “I trust you, Mike. Whatever you think is best... I'll stand by you."

A subtle shimmer appears, almost like a faint trick of light, the beat of butterfly wings sending ripples into the unknown.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

Your words seemed to reach him, settling into something deep inside. The fear in his eyes hardened into something resolute. He was reminded of the bruises on your face, the cuts on your skin, the exhaustion in your frame as you spoke softly at him. You were still recovering, still weak from the encounter. In the state you were in, you wouldn't be able to defend yourself if she turned into one of those things.

He can't let her be a threat.

The shot rings out, sharp and final, echoing through the room. The bullet made contact with her left eye, ending her life on spot and smearing the wall behind her with blood.

“Oh, shit... oh, shit... oh, shit. What the fuck did i just do?” Mike lets the gun fall from his hands, his expression haunted, his eyes flicking to you.

You reach for his hand, gripping it tightly.

“You’re safe... you guys are safe. I had to do it” he looked around, searching for reassurance, for some sign that he did the right thing.

Ashley backs away, shocked and terrified to look at him despite being the one ready from the start to make Emily leave the room.

“I’m going to get the keys from Josh. I’ll... I'll come back here.” He began to back away “you guys are safe... it’s over...” he let go of your hand, looking at you desperately one last time before turning away.

You watched him go with a worried expression. Sam came close to you, her hand resting on your shoulder as she looked with you where Mike went to get what was needed to let you escape this nightmare of a place.

From behind, you heard Ashley panicking again as she mumbled under her breath. She was sitting on the opposite side of a table reading what you assumed to be the diary of the stranger

“What? What does it say?” You and Sam stepped forward together until you were right next to her.

“It says... well... if it bites you it’s not infectious. It doesn’t do anything”

Sam took the book in her hands, looking briefly at Emily’s dead body and whispering her name softly. A tear about to spill from her eyes.

You peeked over Sam’s shoulder as she read the last page pf the diary. It talked about all the wendigos trapped inside the sanatorium.

Mike was going to fall right into a trap.

“We need to get to Mike” Sam said firmly, tossing the book aside as you and her made your way to Mike.

The dim, echoing tunnels of the mine stretch before you, the air is thick with dust and the faint metallic tang of rust. Mike is beside you, keeping close, his eyes darting around as if searching for any sign of danger, while Sam moves slightly behind you, her flashlight casting shadows that flicker and dance against the rock.

A small lake was blocking your path. The frigid water sending a chill just from looking at it.

"Guess we don't have much of a choice," Sam murmurs, voice tight.

You nod, sharing a glance with Mike, whose gaze is steady but filled with the same dread. Together, you step into the water, the cold biting instantly as it soaks through your clothes. It seeps up your legs, then higher, numbing everything it touches. By the time the water reaches your waist, your muscles are tense, your breaths sharp and shuddering from the sheer chill.

You could help but mutter something about how you were freezing your ass, teeth chattering as you trudge forward and earning a small chuckle from Sam, suffering as well from the extreme low temperature of the water.

A solid surface came ahead and you all got up from there.

Sam spots something on the ground and in the glow of her flashlight, you see a small, battered notebook, its cover dusty and worn but unmistakably familiar. It's Hannah's diary, you recognized her handwriting.

The three of you huddle close, drawn in by the painful intimacy of her words. The cold, the hunger and the maddening isolation as she struggled to survive in the mines with a broken leg. She stayed here for around a month.

“Oh god... it makes sense. I think... Hannah dug up Beth. It was Hannah. Beth died in the fall- so Hannah must have buried her“ Sam pieced everything together”

“God-dammit” Mike muttered in disbelief.

“She would have been starving... she would have been desperate-“

The implication of what it meant twisted your stomach, bringing back flashes of the memory from that night. You feel the cold seep through your skin, but it's not the chill of the mines.

It's the haunting weight of regret.

Mike's voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone gentle. "Hey... you okay?" He's watching you, his gaze filled with concern.

Lie. You could brush it off, tell them it's just the cold getting to you. It would be easy, just a few words to keep the truth hidden, to protect yourself from the shame that threatens to overwhelm you. But the guilt would stay buried, festering, a constant reminder of what you did and chose to keep hidden.

Confess. You could let it out, finally release the burden you've been carrying. Admit that you saw Hannah that night, that you knew about the prank but chose not to warn her. This choice would mean exposing yourself but it might also allow you to find a sense of forgiveness. A chance for honesty and maybe a path toward healing.

The truth gnaws at you, clawing its way to the surface, refusing to stay buried. You can't keep it hidden any longer.

Confess

Taking a shaky breath, you look at Mike and Sam, your voice barely above a whisper. "There's something I need to tell you. I saw Hannah that night. Right before... everything. She asked me if I knew where Mike was and I didn't tell her about the prank." Your voice cracks, raw with the pain of holding back the truth. "I could've warned her and stopped it. This is all my fault."

The silence stretches as your confession hangs in the cold air. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your chest tightening as the weight of it crashes over you.

Mike's hand tightens on your shoulder and he looks at you with a softness that you didn't expect. "This isn't all on you. I shouldn't have gone along with the prank in the first place." His voice is laced with regret. "If anyone's to blame, it's me."

Sam's hand finds yours, squeezing gently. "You made a mistake but we all did. I should have found her faster. I should have insisted more on stopping that prank. None of us were perfect that night."

Her words are like a balm, gentle but unwavering, her empathy wrapping around you as she holds your gaze. The three of you share a moment of quiet solidarity, bound together by the shared regret.

You all continue moving through the mines. Mike's hand brushes against yours as you move inside the water.

"So... you were jealous?" His tone is playful, laced with his usual teasing, as if trying to lighten the atmosphere.

You roll your eyes, feeling the corner of your lips curve upward. "It was like a year ago, alright? And yeah, I was jealous."

Mike grins, his eyebrow quivering as he nudges you gently. "And how long were you crushing on me?" He leans a little closer, his voice dropping to a low, flirtatious murmur.

Sam, walking just behind, groans in mock exasperation and from the cold water. "Could you two get a room already? I really don't need to be the third wheel right now."

"Sorry, Sam." You laugh, feeling the last remnants of tension ease from your shoulders.

Eventually, you could hear Josh mumbling to himself, his eyes wild, his expression a chaotic mix of fear and mania.

"Josh!" Sam calls, her voice gentle but firm. "Josh, it's us."

He doesn't respond, muttering incoherently, his gaze distant, as if lost in a nightmare he can't escape. “He’s tripping or something” Mike muttered to himself before giving him a slap to snap him out of his stupor. "Josh!"

Josh blinks, his gaze slowly refocusing on the three of you, a flicker of recognition sparking in his eyes. "Don’t h-hit me, p-please-"

“You were deep in it, man. Full metal jacket”

“Josh, Hannah was down there for weeks... a month?! She dug Beth up” she was on the verge of crying and you stepped forward to place a hand on her shoulder.

"We need the keys," you said gently, trying to keep him calm. "The keys to the cable car, do you have them?"

Josh's hand trembles as he digs into his pocket, pulling out the keys and handing them to Sam. She pockets them and glances toward the slope leading up to the surface.

"That's our way out," she says, her voice filled with determination.

Mike shakes his head, glancing at Josh. "He's not going to make it up there. We'll have to go back the way we came."

Sam nods, though her face is etched with worry. She looks at you, assessing your condition with a careful gaze. "Think you can handle the climb? I can help you up if you need."

Mike steps in, his hand brushing your arm as he looks at you. "You sure you're up for it?" he asks, his tone soft, but there's a hint of worry in his eyes.

You nod, meeting his gaze with a steady look. "I can handle it. Sam's got my back in case”

He hesitates, his grip tightening on your arm, his gaze flickering with a hint of reluctance. Then, with a soft sigh, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his hand lingering on your cheek as he pulls back, his voice a whisper only you can hear. "Be careful, alright? I want to see that handsome face of yours back at the lodge."

You smile, brushing a hand over his. "You too, Mike. Don't do anything stupid."

He chuckles, the sound soft but tinged with a bittersweet edge. "Stupid? Me? Never." He winks, a smirk playing on his lips, though his gaze holds a flicker of sadness.

He knelt down to help both you and Sam with the first push to start climbing and with one last look, he turns back to Josh, his hand gesturing to the direction to get out of the mines.

You and Sam exchange a determined nod before turning to the steep climb. Every movement is careful and calculated, each foothold chosen with precision as you make your way up.

The climb back to the surface is grueling, every muscle in your body aching, but the sight of moonlight filtering through the cracks above fills you with a surge of determination. Sam pulls herself up beside you, panting but grinning as she looks over at you with a playful gleam in her eye.

"That was just like a climbing class, right?" she quips, giving you a nudge.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, except with a lot more life-or-death stakes," you reply, matching her tone with a smirk.

She lets her hand fall onto your shoulder, her fingers gently squeezing as she takes a moment to study your face. “You did good,” she says, her voice a soothing contrast to the chaos you’d just survived. “Not a single complaint, even when you looked like you were about to pass out.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her. “Do I really look that bad?” you ask, the question coming out more tired than you’d intended. The last time you saw your reflection was before you were dragged away from Mike, leaving your body feeling like it had been run through a blender. You knew there were cuts, scrapes, and bruises all over your body. The left side of your cheek throbbed painfully whenever you touched it and you could feel the stickiness of dried blood against your lips.

She gives you a small, teasing smile, a spark of humor glinting in her eyes. “Nah,” she says, her voice light but sincere. “It makes you look tough. I can guarantee you, Mike would approve of me without hesitation.”

A tired smile tugs at the corners of your lips. Despite the exhaustion in your bones and the tremble in your legs, you can’t help but feel a small spark of gratitude for her presence, appreciating her support as the two of you move forward and towards the lodge.

A bone-chilling scream pierces the air from behind you. You can feel the presence of something behind you, its screeches growing louder.

The two of you bolt toward the lodge, every step pounding with adrenaline without looking back until you reach the lodge. You pound on the door with both fists, your heart hammering as you shout for someone inside to let you in. You feel the tremor in your hands, the knowledge that every second spent outside is a second closer to whatever horror is chasing you.

Then, a figure from behind calls for your name.

Mike.

Relief floods through you as he steps forward, grabbing you in a fierce hug, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breaths shallow and shaky as he presses his face against your shoulder and allows himself to rest for just a second.

Sam picks up a rock, smashing it against the window of the door to unlock it. With a final glance behind, the three of you slip inside.

“And Josh?” Your voice suddenly small, a tremor running through it as you glance at him.

He lowers his gaze. It’s a look that sends an icy chill through you, the kind of look that makes your stomach twist in dread. “It got him”

Your breath catches, you feel sick to your stomach, cold in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature around you.

Sam’s shoulders sag, her face twisting with anguish as she drops her eyes to the ground. ”Ohh, god, what an awful way to go...” she mutters, her voice thick with disbelief and grief.

“What do you think we should do now?”

“We should check the basement, might be someone left down there”

Descending down the stairs to the basement, the only thought passing inside your mind was that there was no time to mourn yet. Help will soon be on the way. You just have to survive just a bit longer.

The door of the basement cracks open and three wendigos are there. Their emaciated bodies twisted and contorted, creeping forward with a surprising speed.

Ashley was no longer there.

Mike takes hold of your hand and with Sam behind, you all backtrack to the main lobby. Mike suddenly halts and tugs harshly at your arm to block you in the track.

"Don't move. Don’t fucking move muscle." His voice a hoarse whisper.

Your heart pounds as you follow his gaze and that's when you see it. A wendigo, tall and twisted, perched on the wooden chandelier above. You caught a glimpse of the butterfly tattoo on its arm. This was Hannah. She was no longer recognizable, skin stretched taut over skeletal limbs, her hollow eyes scanning the room with a terrifying intensity.

𝒟ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝓂ℴ𝓋ℯ

Fear grips you, cold and unrelenting, as you force yourself to stay still. You can feel every tremor in your muscles, the effort it takes to control your breathing, to keep from trembling as the creature shifts, her claws scraping against the wood.

The wendigos from the basement emerge to the main lobby. One of them lunges at Hannah, and in a flash of brutality, she catches it’s leg and throws it first against the wooden stairs and then against the chimney, causing one of the gas pipes to break. Another one attacks her from upstairs but despite the height advantage her claws successfully sink into its neck and decapitate it with little effort.

Your eyes flick to Mike, his face drawn tight with focus as he inches toward the lightbulb switch while keeping an eye on the distracted wendigo.

Then you see the last wendigo from the basement perched on the wooden railing near you, its blind eyes scanning and it's facing Mike. Every step he is making is putting him in danger.

Save Mike. Do anything in your power to distract the monster from him. Anything to protect Mike, even if it means putting yourself in danger.

Run. Save yourself. The path is clear. No wendigos are paying attention to you. Just a quick turn around, a chance to escape. You could save yourse—

Save Mike

You raise your foot and press it down onto the floor, letting it creak just enough to attract the wendigo's attention. The creature snaps its head towards you, the hollow gaze empty and yet focused, its twisted limbs twitching as it crawls toward you, its movements disturbingly animalistic.

𝒟ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝓂ℴ𝓋ℯ

The wendigo creeps closer, its body contorted, moving on all fours with a disturbing grace, each shift of its limbs slow and deliberate, its clawed hands digging into the wooden floor. You can see its sunken eyes, the stretched skin pulled tight over a jaw filled with teeth too sharp, too numerous.

Just as it seems to lose interest, it shifts, turning toward the stairs, drawn by a new sound. Hannah’s form looming over it as her hollow gaze fixes on it, ready to fight.

You see Sam from the corner of your eye, moving silently toward the door, hiding behind the remnants of overturned furniture. Hannah close in on her hiding spot, her bodies coiled with an unnatural tension, ready to strike.

Your heart pounds in your chest, its frantic rhythm deafening in your ears as your body locks in place, paralyzed by terror.

Mike has backed away and reached your position. His hand slips into yours, his grip firm as he starts to pull you toward the door. His gaze remains fixed on the wendigos, unwavering, every muscle in his body tense with vigilance. His attention flickers only briefly to Sam, a silent worry in his eyes matching yours.

Just as you're inches from the door, Sam's scream cuts through the silence. Your blood freezes. Panic surges through you as you turn around.

Hannah’s grotesque hand shoots out, grasping Sam's face and yanking her up in the air as she struggles to break free. In one brutal, swift motion, Hannah's arm pierces Sam's body, tearing through her.

Her scream pierced the air, and then... silence. Sam's body goes slack, her eyes glazing over as the light fades from them. Hannah lets her crumple to the floor, lifeless.

Tears burn in your eyes, blurring your vision as your breath comes in ragged gasps. You clutch Mike's hand harder, your fingers digging into his skin, as the crushing weight of Sam's death settles over you, the weight of loss heavy on your heart. You feel Mike's hand squeezing yours back, his body tensed beside you but his face filled with grief and helplessness.

The two wendigos turn, their hollow eyes finding you and Mike, and they begin to move, their twisted limbs carrying them forward with terrifying speed.

"I'm sorry, Hannah," you whisper as your gaze locks onto Hannah's, the words slipping out, soft but filled with regret at what you did to her.

Mike steps forward as he reaches for the light switch. The moment he flicks it, a spark ignites, and the room erupts in a blinding explosion. The force sends you and Mike flying backward, his arms wrapping around you protectively as the two of you crash to the ground, the shockwave rattling through your bones as the lodge goes up in flames.

You lie there on top of Mike, the world spinning as the roaring fire consumes what remains of the lodge.

In the distance, you hear the faint whir of helicopter blades, the sound growing louder, accompanied by a voice echoing through the smoke. "We've got survivors."

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow in the police station room, making everything feel painfully real.

The officer across from you studies you with a quiet intensity, his face neutral, but his eyes carry a weight that tells you he knows he's about to hear something he won't easily forget.

“I... I was grabbed and dragged through the woods. I thought I wouldn't make it, but then this man showed up. He had a flamethrower... he saved my life and he... he died trying to save a friend of mine” You recount everything, the words spilling out in uneven breaths as you described the twisted nightmare that unfolded in the mountains.

When you finish, the silence stretches out, heavy and unnerving, until the officer leans forward, his gaze intense.

"There's one more thing we need to discuss," he says, his tone carefully measured. "We recovered multiple bodies from the lodge after the explosion. One is severely burned, difficult to identify, but we believe it was one of your friends." He pauses, watching your reaction. "From what we could determine, she was shot."

The words sink in, your stomach twisting as you realize he's talking about Emily.

The officer's gaze sharpens, his voice low but probing. "Your boyfriend already told one of my colleagues what happened, but... I want to hear it from you. Can you tell me why he did it?"

His question hangs in the air, pressing down on you with a weight that's almost suffocating.

Tell the truth. You could tell the officer everything, lay bare the paranoia and fear that drove you all, admit that Mike had acted out of a desperation to protect all of you, even at the cost of a friend. This would leave Mike exposed, vulnerable to judgment and consequences that he might not deserve.

Protect Mike with a half-truth. You could bend the truth just enough to shield him, craft a version that holds the essence of what happened but protects him from the harshest scrutiny. You could tell the officer that Emily was on the verge of turning, and that Mike's decision was one made in self-defense for everyone. After all, Mike had a clue the bite wasn’t infectious. This would keep Mike safe.

You think of Mike, his face as he'd held the gun, the determination and anguish mingling as he made the choice to protect all of you. The quiet nights, the endless texts that bridged the miles between you when life pulls you in different directions. The inside jokes that only the two of you understood, the late-night conversations. You remember the way he’d stood by you through everything. The way he would always try to make you smile when you were having a bad day, the sound of his voice calling your name in a crowd, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered. The memory of him chasing after you through the woods risking everything to save you.

Protect Mike

"There were other... things in that lodge, things that weren't human. I don't know if you've recovered them yet, but I'm sure you'll find them."

The officer's brow furrows slightly, as if considering the implications of your words. "We... found some burned bodies in the lodge. They were deformed, impossible to identify." His words trail off, as though he's reluctant to admit what he's seen.

You steady yourself, forcing your voice into a calm, controlled tone as you look back at the officer. "Emily was infected. She was about to turn into one of those things. Mike acted in self-defense for all of us, he was trying to protect us." The officer's face remains impassive, though you see a flicker of skepticism in his eyes.

You lean forward, pulling the crumpled photo from your pocket, the one the stranger had given you of the man twisted by the wendigo curse, the monstrous transformation captured in horrifying detail. You hand it to the officer, your hand trembling as you do.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"These... things aren't human. It wasn't her anymore. Mike did his best at saving us."

The officer studies the photograph, his expression shifting from skepticism to something darker, more troubled. He nods slowly, his gaze flicking back to you, and there's a note of respect in his tone as he speaks. "We'll look into it. Thank you for sharing this. We’ll keep it in mind for the investigation." He slips the photo into his folder, his expression thoughtful as he regards you one last time.

You hesitate, your voice soft but filled with a quiet desperation. "Could I see Mike?"

The officer studies you for a long moment, taking in the bruises on your skin, the exhaustion etched into every line of your face, and the pleading look in your eyes. He sighs, standing up and nodding toward the door. "Come with me."

You follow him through the narrow hallway, your heart pounding with every step as you finally catch sight of Mike, seated outside another interview room, his head bowed, hands clutched together. The exhaustion on his face is evident but the moment he sees you, his face transforms, relief flooding over him like a wave.

You barely have time to process before he's standing, crossing the short distance to you in a few strides and wrapping his arms around you in a fierce embrace. His grip is tight, his body trembling as he pulls you close, his breath hitching as he presses his face into your shoulder.

"It's over now," you whisper, voice barely audible as you press closer. "We're safe. It's finally over."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes filled with fierce determination. He’ll never let anything happen to you ever again.

The two of you sit together in silence, your hands intertwined, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle, steady rhythm. You can barely bring yourself to look at him, feeling the guilt gnaw at you. All of your friends died and it was your fault

His arms then pull you in closer and you lean into him, not saying anything because no words seem to make the guilt any lighter. But, in that moment, with his arms around you, there’s a strange sense of relief. No matter what happens next, at least you’re not alone.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

I really love all the characters in this game, and honestly, it was painful to write their deaths. But I wanted to try something different this time. I hope it didn’t make the story less enjoyable to read—it wasn’t my intention at all. If you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3

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indestinatus · 10 months ago

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The silent art of gif making

The gif above has 32 layers plus 6 that aren't shown because this is part of a larger edit. I wanted to share it to give everyone a glimpse of the art of gif making and how long it usually takes for me to make something like this. This one took me about an hour and a half but only because I couldn't get the shade of blue right.

I use Adobe Photoshop 2021 and my computer doesn't have a large memory space (I don't know what to call it) so usually most of psds get deleted because I'm too lazy to get a hard drive. It doesn't really bother me that much because I like the art so when it's done, it's done. Off to somewhere else it goes.

Here are the layers:

Everything is neat and organized in folders because I like it that way. I prefer to edit it in timeline but others edit each frame. There's a layer not shown (Layer 4 is not visible) and it's the vector art. Here it is:

Now it is visible. I don't plan to make this a tutorial, but if you're interested I'd love to share a few tricks about it. I'm pretty new to the colors in gifmaking but the rest is simple to understand. Here, I just want to show how much work it takes to make it.

I opened Group 2 and here's the base gif. I already sharpened and sized it correctly but that's about it. Let's open the base coloring next.

Yay! Now it looks pretty! The edits are in Portuguese but it doesn't matter. There's a silent art of adding layers depending on how you want the gif to look but you get used to it. The order matters and you can add multiple layers of the same thing (for eg. multiple layers of levels or curves or exposure).

This was pretty much my first experiment with coloring so I don't know what I'm doing (this happens a lot with any art form but gifmaking exceeds in DIYing your way to the finished product) but I didn't want to mess up his hair, that's why the blue color is like that. Blue is easy to work with because there's little on the skin (different from red and yellow but that's color theory). I painted the layers like that and put it on screen, now let's correct how the rest looks.

I was stuck trying to get the right teal shade of blue so yes, those are 10 layers of selective color mostly on cyan blue. We fixed his hair (yay!) we could've probably fixed the blue on his neck too but I was lazy. This is close to what I wanted so let's roll with that.

BUT I wanted his freckles to show, so let's edit a little bit more. Now his hair is more vibrant and his skin has red tones, which accentuates the blues and his eyes (exactly what I wanted!). That lost Layer 2 was me trying to fix some shadows in the background but in the end, it didn't make such a difference.

This was part of an edit, so let's add the graphics and also edit them so they're the right shade of blue and the correct size. A few gradient maps and a dozen font tests later, it appears to be done! Here it is:

Please reblog gifsets on tumblr. We gifmakers really enjoy doing what we do (otherwise we wouldn't be here) but it takes so long, you wouldn't imagine. Tumblr is the main website used for gif making and honestly, we have nowhere to go but share our art here. This was only to show how long it takes but if you're new and want to get into the art of gif making, there are a lot of really cool resource blogs in here. And my ask box is always open! Sending gifmakers all my love.

#gif making #gif tutorial #resources #completeresources #y'know what that post yesterday got me into this #i love creativity so i send all my love to gifmakers #this is HARD #my tutorials #tutorials

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sapphire-writes · 1 year ago

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Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 5 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: A date with Will Tyrell doesn't exactly go as planned.

word count: 5.0k

rating: Mature/Explicit/18+

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, substance use, degradation, some praise, pussy slapping, pussy spitting, fingering, p in v, hand over mouth, exhibitionism, choking

note: hope you enjoy my loves!!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected

You wake with an ache between your thighs and your hand fisting the sheets beside you. Aemond must have left sometime during the night.

No sleepovers. Rule number one.

You unclench your fist, letting the silk sheets slip through your fingertips, before pushing yourself into a sitting position. Sunshine pours through the French doors, the storm from the previous night long gone.

You don’t know when Aemond left, you must have fallen asleep before him. The last thing you remember is finalizing the rules of your….arrangement.

“I usually establish boundaries,” Aemond said, “Guidelines that both parties are satisfied with.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. He always sounds so clinical.

“Do this a lot, do you?” you asked, but he shrugged off the comment.

“You don’t need to know about my past encounters, and I don’t need to know about yours,” he’d told you. His violet and blue gaze was piercing.

“Fine,” you’d agreed.

“I do think we should both be tested,” he shared, matter-of-factly, “I was recently, but I’ll go again so you can have a copy of my results.”

“You’d do that?” you asked, brows furrowed.

“That’s my standard,” he answered, “And if you ever are comfortable with fucking without a condom it's a non-negotiable for me.”

“Same,” you’d agreed, “I’ll make an appointment this week.”

You’d spent some time bickering, as you and Aemond often did.

“What are your other rules?” you’d asked, “Since you’re such an expert.”

“No feelings,” he said automatically, causing you to snort.

“No problem,” you’d answered.

“No other partners,” he continued, ignoring the jab, “I don’t share.”

A small shiver rolled through you at his possessive tone. Your eyes flickered to your phone, thinking of Will Tyrell’s message.

“Sounds great!” you’d responded to his text.

“No sleepovers,” he said, “Aftercare, of course, but no spending the entire night together.”

“Understandable,” you’d agreed, though you hated to admit how comfortable you’d felt in his arms. You were nestled against him now, snuggled into his chest with one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders, the other tracing lazy circles on your thigh.

“We’re fucking for the summer,” Aemond said, moving suddenly off of the bed.

“Where are you going?” you asked as he left the room, the sound of thunder booming through the walls of the house.

He returned a moment later, illuminated in the doorway by a flash of lightning, a box of condoms in his hands. He tossed them to you, and you caught them as he closed the door. You raise an eyebrow, surprised he wants to go again so soon. Aemond walks to the edge of the bed, curling his hand around your ankle, dragging you forward.

“When summer ends, this ends,” he says, kneeling between your legs at the foot of the bed, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, “Agreed?”

Your breathing picks up as you feel his breath against your core.

“Agreed,” you tell him, as his mouth descends on you.

When summer ends, this ends.

Your reminiscing of the night is short-lived, as a knock comes from your door, a second before it opens, revealing Helaena. You pull your shirt down, covering your bare thighs to make you somewhat decent. You frown at her as she plops onto the bed.

“No, come in,” you tease and she purses her lips.

“Dude that storm was intense,” she said, pulling her legs up to sit in a criss-cross position, leaning her elbows on her knees, “Sorry our plans got wrecked.”

“We can make edibles tonight?” you suggested, causing her to smile.

“Always down for that,” she said with a snicker.

“Guess what,” you tell her, “Will texted me. We have a date on Friday.”

“What’re you doing?” Helaena asks, after letting out a squeal of excitement.

“Outdoor movie? They’re showing Dirty Dancing,” you told her.

“Great movie,” Helaena says, kissing her fingertips in a chef’s kiss fashion, “Maybe I’ll force Egg to go with me, Aemond hates that cheesy shit. Speaking of….” she trails off for a moment, eying the shirt you’re wearing.

Your cheeks flush, suddenly remembering it's his.

“Was my brother nice to you?” Helaena asks.

“Yeah…um, we didn’t really talk. I spent most of the night up here,” you tell her.

Not a complete lie. After establishing the rules you’d spent the rest of the night in the guest room. Sure Aemond was with you for most of that. On top of you. Below you. Behind you.

You blink rapidly at the memory.

“Mhmm,” Helaena says, eyes narrowing, “Alone?”

“Yup,” you tell her, cracking a small smile.

Helaena reaches forward, slapping your thigh with the palm of her hand. You yelp in surprise at the burn her hand leaves, mouth opening in shock.

“Your pants are on fire!” Helaena teases, a smile dancing on her lips.

“I’m not wearing pants!” you comment snidely as Helaena makes a face.

She tilts her head, eyes flickering between you and something on the floor. Helaena raises her eyebrows. You follow her gaze, eyes landing on a discarded condom wrapper on the floor. Shit, you’d forgotten that one.

“Oh…” you begin.

“Yeah oh,” Helaena says with a snicker, “Figured that would happen. You two clearly have chemistry.”

“We do not have chemistry,” you object, “We can’t stand each other.”

“Oh yeah?” Helaena says, arching a brow, “From the look on your face, that wasn’t the only condom used. You must hate each other sooo much.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as she pokes you in the side.

“You’re not like, weirded out?” you ask, “I mean, he’s your brother after all.”

“I don’t dictate who my brothers fuck, that sounds like a lot of work,” Helaena says with a chuckle, “Besides. You’re a much better option than Floris Baratheon.”

You can’t help the curiosity that’s been eating away at you.

“What’s wrong with Floris?” you ask, brows creasing together.

“Classic mean girl,” Helaena tells you, “I just know hooking up with Aemond went to her head. Which made it all the more satisfying when you told me he’d dumped her ass.”

Your glaze falls to your hands, as you play with the hem of your shirt. Floris had seemed pretty solid until that morning at the country club. You can hardly blame her for being heartbroken, Aemond seems like a bit of a player.

“C’mon,” Helaena says, standing, “Breakfast, then boating? I think Luke’s taking a test drive but we can go swimming or something. Meet with Bae so you can tell her all the dirty details.”

“Sounds good,” you tell her as she leaves the room, saluting you.

You meet her downstairs once you’re dressed, where a buffet-style breakfast waits for you. Aegon stands in front of two identical silver trays filled with eggs steaming, his hair ruffled as though he’d just woken up, clad in a pair of basketball shorts.

“What’s the prob?” Helaena asks, using her hip to move him out of the way.

“Are they the same?” he asks, voice rough from sleep, “They look the same.”

“Cheesy, no cheese,” Helaena says, pointing right and left. She chooses the scoop for the cheesy eggs.

“Mhmm,” Aegon says, rubbing his eyes, finally looking at you, “Oh hey.”

“Morning,” you say with a small smile.

You wonder when he got in. Or if he’d always been home. His eyes give nothing away.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, as another presence enters the kitchen.

“Aem, there’s cheesy eggs,” Helaena says with a grin, handing you the spatula.

“I’m making an omelet,” Aemond says.

“Of course, you are,” Helaena rolls her eyes.

Aemond moves past you, not saying anything to you. You can feel him brush against your back, his crotch pressing against your ass as he squeezes by. You can feel the outline of his cock press against you and you drop the spatula, sending it clattering against the marble counter.

Aegon flicks an eyebrow at you, before grabbing some toast and walking over to the table.

“Butterfingers,” Helaena teases, eyes flickering between you and Aemond.

Aemond barely glances up as he reaches for a carton of egg whites in the fridge. Annoyance gnaws at your insides. You understood the rules, they make sense in the grand scheme of things. But it still feels icky to be ignored completely after sleeping with him.

Helaena grabs a couple slices of bacon, before plopping down next to Aegon.

“You wanna see a movie?” Helaena asks him.

“What movie?” Aegon grumbles.

“Dirty Dancing, it’s playing in the park,” Helaena tells him.

“Ask Y/N,” Aegon says with a yawn.

“She’s got a date,” Helaena says with a smirk, “Besides, it’ll be fun. We can smoke and make fun of people.”

Aegon nods, seeming pleased with that plan. Your eyes flicker to Aemond, who now stands at the stove. His face reveals nothing as he adds butter to the pan. Of course, it doesn’t matter, you’re just fuck buddies after all. You join Helaena at the table, taking a bite of toast.

Aemond continues to silently cook, and when he’s finished he brings his meal outside to sit in the sun. You nearly roll your eyes at his obvious avoidance. Aegon looks up from his food, following your gaze.

“Oh shit,” he says with a chuckle, “You’re in for it now.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, looking away from where Aemond sits.

Aegon just grins, shaking his head slightly as you all continue to eat.

“What time is Will picking you up?” Baela asked from her bed, as you raided her closet for an outfit.

You’d been searching forever while she scrolled through Tik Tok, various sounds filling the room. You’d had all week to pick out an outfit but somehow ended up choosing at the last moment.

“Eight,” you told her.

“Not sailing.”

“No, he’s driving,” you told her, “But we’ll probably take his boat back.”

It was about low tide, just the time when the road appeared connecting Driftmark, Dragonstone, and King’s Landing. You could only travel by car when the tide was low enough. You pulled out a light blue dress, holding it up to show Baela.

“No,” she said, nose scrunching, “What about that red one you bought?”

She was referring to the sundress you bought a few days ago. It caught your eye in a boutique window while out with Sara and Baela. You hurry to your room to try it on, before returning for Baela’s approval.

“You don’t think it’s too…simple?” you ask, giving her a little twirl.

Simple spaghetti strap red dress, with little yellow flowers on it. Cute. Nice. You raise your eyebrows expectantly. Baela sits up, beckoning you towards the bed, cocking her head.

“I think it’s cute,” she says, agreeing with your inner monologue, “Perfect for a movie date. With Will Tyrell. You know his mother like owns Home & Garden magazine?”

“Damn,” you say, eyebrows raising in shock.

“She’s won Most Perfect Lawn for the past ten years,” Baela continues, “Insane behavior. No one cares about tulips as much as Mrs. Tyrell.”

You let out a laugh, choosing a necklace to wear. You meet Baela’s eyes through the mirror as you fiddle with the clasp.

“What’re you going to do tonight?” you ask, putting on some earrings as well.

“Call Sara, maybe just stay in,” she says with a shrug, “I’ll think of something.”

“You always do,” you say, turning to face her, “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous, as always,” Baela says with a grin, “Have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Not very sound advice,” you tease, and she opens her mouth in feigning offense.

“Rudeness!” she scolds but smiles as she says so, “I’m glad you’re going out with Will, he’s nice.”

You purse your lips, applying some chapstick. Baela had been pushing for Will to pull through since you told her about you and Aemond hooking up. Her eyebrows had shot up to her hairline, jaw on the floor when you’d told her.

“Yeah, he seems nice,” you agreed, and she smiled happily.

“Your pussy, do what you want,” she began, “But I think he’s the safer option.”

You smile at her concern. Baela’s always been one to look out for you.

“I know, Bae. It’s just some fun,” you assure her.

“Just be careful, okay?” Baela says softly, “Aemond’s….a lot.”

You want to press her on what that means, but Rhaenys knocks on the door alerting you of Will’s arrival on the island.

Will Tyrell had pulled up to Driftmark in a dark gray Tesla. You knew his family had money, seemingly everyone from this town did, but it was still a bit of a shock. You couldn’t stop looking at the ceiling, which was completely made of glass revealing the purpling sky.

“Have you seen Dirty Dancing?” Will asked, attempting to make small talk.

What a stupid question.

You held your tongue, despite yourself.

He was cute after all; dressed in a white t-shirt and khaki shorts. He’s gained a bit of a tan since the last time you’d seen him, and his chocolate curls hung around his face.

And it wasn’t like Aemond was going to take you on a date. The guy had barely spoken to you since your rendezvous a few nights ago. You weren’t even convinced the arrangement was still on. Maybe you’d had a super immersive fever dream caused by the thunderstorms that had rolled through and imagined the whole thing.

Of course, you hadn’t imagined it, and this was confirmed when you went downtown and got tested, as promised, sending him your results revealing no sexually transmitted infections. He’d sent you a thumbs-up emoji in response, before sending his own results, next to a clock. Like a fucking ransom picture.

So the cold shoulder was just him being a douche. Why should you expect anything else?

It made you feel even better about agreeing to your date with Will.

Aemond truly didn’t care about anything with you besides sex. There was nothing to lose by going on a little date.

Will turns into the park, which you’d only seen a handful of times walking through King’s Landing. The parking lot was already filled with cars as packs of people headed down a grassy hill toward a large screen far off in the distance.

“Wow,” you said, as Will parked the car.

“It’s pretty nice,” Will agrees, “I mean, drive-ins are cool too, but I think this is more fun.”

“This is awesome,” you agree.

You get out of the car, helping him with the two beach chairs and blanket he brought. He leads you through the path of cars before the ground begins to dip.

“Careful,” he cautions as you begin to make your way down the hill.

It’s steep, leading to a grassy field where people have already started to make themselves comfortable on picnic blankets, and chairs with groups of their friends. You and Will pick a spot, when you hear someone whistle at you. You look up and see Helaena, seated to your left about 50 feet away. She smiles as she waves, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie.

You can’t help but laugh. Very incognito of her. Aegon sits next to her, a bucket of popcorn in his lap. She whispers something in his ear, causing him to laugh loudly. You almost wish you were over there with them; Helaena is so fun to be around. You watch them for a moment when you notice a third person seated next to them.

Aemond.

Blood rushes to your face as Helaena says something to him as well. He doesn’t laugh like Aegon, but he does quirk a small smile at whatever Helaena says, before meeting your gaze across the sea of people.

“Want any snacks?” Will asks, and you tear your gaze from Aemond’s.

“What?” you ask, meeting Will’s soft brown eyes.

“There’s a concession stand if you want anything. My treat,” he offers with a kind grin.

You return his smile, but your eyes keep looking behind him toward Aemond. He seems to notice, following your gaze.

“Oh, Helaena,” he says, waving. Helaena returns his wave. “She’s awesome. My lab partner in high school. She’s smart as hell.”

“Yeah, she’s great,” you agree, watching Aemond’s lips part as he tilts his head to the side slightly. Like he’s amused or something, it sends a shiver down your spine. “I’d love some popcorn.”

“Yeah?” Will says, standing, “Be right back.”

You force yourself to look forward as he walks away, but you can feel Aemond’s stare burning a hole in the side of your face. Even when Will returns and the movie begins, you can still feel him watching you.

Will reaches for your hand a little more than halfway through, and you let him. You like how it feels; his palm is a bit rough with callouses. Not as warm as Aemond. He held your hand last night, during your second round. Lacing his fingers through yours and pressing your hands into the mattress while he-

You drop Will’s hand suddenly, a wave of arousal making goosebumps appear on your arms. Will notices, eyebrows concaving together with concern.

“You cold?” he asks.

“Just a little,” you tell him.

“I have a sweatshirt in the car, I can get it-” he says, motioning to stand.

“No, no,” you insist, “I can go, you went and got the snacks.”

“You sure? It’s no problem,” he says, eyes wide and full of good intentions.

You need a minute alone anyway, you can’t think with the feeling of Aemond’s eyes on you. You’re being a weirdo and worry that Will can sense it.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you assure him.

“It’s open,” he tells you and you head up the hill.

You make your way out of the crowd, and back up the steep hill. You actually enjoy the burning sensation in your calves, it distracts from how flustered you are. Why was Aemond even here? Helaena said it herself he hates this cheesy shit. Hates everything to do with romance. Love. Affection. Human decency.

Whatever.

You laugh to yourself bitterly as you find Will’s car nestled in the middle of the lot. Several other cars have parked forming a few rows behind his car. You open the doors seeing Will’s sweatshirt laying across the back seat.

You reach for the sweatshirt, pulling it to your face. It smells like clean laundry detergent. Not an unpleasant smell, but it doesn’t make your heart race or your pulse quicken. Not like-

Stop that.

As you close the door to Will’s car you notice Aemond, leaning casually against the hood. You gasp, slightly shocked at his appearance. You didn’t hear him approach. You straighten up, holding the sweatshirt in your arms. It’s like you fucking summoned him. Aemond’s violet eye watches you carefully.

“What?” you question, taking a step toward him.

Aemond doesn’t speak, just pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. You sigh dramatically at the continued silent treatment.

“You back to not speaking to me? Fine,” you move to walk by him, continuing back to the movie with Will. Where you belong.

But your feet stop and you turn on your heels, not done with him.

“You know what? No,” you tell him, crossing your arms, “You’re not going to just fuck me, and then treat me like shi-” Your words are cut short as Aemond takes one long stride towards you, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you flush against him; silencing you with a bruising kiss.

Your words dissolve into a moan against his mouth as he brings his free hand to cup your cheek. Your eyes flutter closed as he deepens the kiss, hand moving from your waist to grab at your ass. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer to him.

Aemond allows this for a moment, kissing you harshly, before removing your arms from his neck and pulling away. He looks down at you, tongue darting out to lick his lower lip before he turns you around. You turn your head to look at him as he steps forward, forcing your body against the hood of the car.

“One night and I fuck you stupid already?” Aemond growls, pushing you against the hood of the car, “I thought I made myself perfectly clear.”

Heat pools in your lower belly at his angry tone, a dull ache beginning to throb between your legs.

“Aemond,” you hiss, lifting your head as he lifts your dress, “Someone could see.”

“Everyone else is engaged with the movie,” he assures, long fingers looping over the bands of your panties and pulling them down your legs, “Look at that.”

You can feel his hand trailing a path back up your leg, between your thighs until meeting your wet center.

“Already wet for me,” he murmurs, before delivering a harsh slap to your pussy that steals the breath from your lungs. You gasp as he rubs his fingers along your dripping folds.

“Or is it for your little date?” he sneers.

Your cheeks flush. He is mad.

“That’s what this is about?” you hiss, voice practically a whisper, “Aemond it’s not like I’m fucking him.”

“You’ve broken the rules,” Aemond sing-sings, slipping the tip of his finger into your aching center.

“You said no fucking anyone else,” you try to keep your voice firm, but it ends in more of a whine as he sinks his finger deeper inside of you, “I didn’t think-”

“No,” he cuts you off, finger stroking that sensitive rough spot right behind your pelvic bone, “No you didn’t think at all, did you?”

A sharp whine leaves your lips as you convulse as he caresses your g-spot, pressing yourself harder against the hood of Will Tyrell’s Tesla.

“Aemond,” you whine, “You don’t even speak to me-” You’re cut off by a partially rough curl of his long fingers.

His opposite hand winds its way into your hair, yanking your head off the hood, and making you arch your back.

“Don’t be a fucking baby, and take it,” he growls in your ear.

Your toes are pushing off the ground, pressing the curve of your stomach against the hood as your shins shake from the effort. Your hands seek purchase on the hood of the car, sticking slightly from the humidity and the sheen of sweat that has broken out across your body.

You can hear the squelching sounds of Aemond’s fingers moving in and out of your soaked pussy, and your gaze looks wildly around the crowded lot. You’re alone, completely, everyone down the hill is engrossed with the movie. The anticipation of being caught sends adrenaline shooting through your veins like lightning, heightening the pleasure Aemond draws from your center.

His lips move against your neck, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, causing you to cry out. As soon as you do, he removes his fingers, causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

“Greedy, greedy girl,” he scolds, letting go of your hair, bringing his hand down your spine. He pushes gently on your lower back, pressing your front completely on the hood of the car.

Your body relaxes, feet firmly planted on the ground once more as you hear Aemond unbuckle his belt.

“You okay with no condom?” he asks, his voice strained.

“Yes,” you breathe, body thrumming with anticipation.

Aemond presses against you; you can feel the head of his cock spreading apart your slick folds, before sinking into you. You shudder as he bottoms out, an immense rush of pleasure overtaking you as he stretches you open.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Aemond groans, pulling his hips back and thrusting into you, “So warm, and wet for me.” He thrusts into you again, pressing you harder against the hood of the car.

Fire pools in your belly as he continues his harsh thrusts into your throbbing center. You moan, pressing your cheek against the hood of the car, even as he shushes you.

“Ae-mond,” you whimper, the words punctuated by each merciless thrust he delivers.

“This is what happens,” he snarls, snapping his hips against you. You can feel the muscles of his abdomen press against your ass with how deep and hard he presses into you.

Each thrust is calculated, with brutal precision. He’s fucking you deep, nearly removing his cock completely each time before slamming back in. Your legs shake, barely able to hold yourself up as his fingers dig into your hips.

“Keep that mouth shut,” he orders as you moan his name again, “You want everyone to hear don’t you?”

You try, you really do but you can’t help it. Another garbled moan, a mixture of the syllables that make up his name escapes you, and he’s had enough.

Aemond pulls out of you suddenly, roughly turning you on your back. His hands move underneath your thighs, pushing you up further on the hood. Aemond drops one of your thighs, bringing his hand to his cock. He strokes his shaft once before tapping the head of his cock on your clit, rubbing it between your folds and spitting directly on your pussy.

“You do, don’t you?” he asks, sinking into you once more as your mouth drops open in shock at the lewd action.

You’re completely at his mercy now, one leg strewn over his shoulder, the other held in his large hand. Aemond brings his free hand to cover your mouth as he returns to his brutal pace.

“You want everyone to hear who’s fucking you,” he taunts, “Who’s giving this pretty pussy just what it needs, huh?”

You’re in a haze of pleasured shock at his words, the way his cock feels fucking you raw, the way his hand completely muffles the ungodly sounds you’re making. Tears prickle at the corner of your eyes as you watch his abs contract with each thrust. The look in his eye is something else. He’s no longer that stoic figure, fading into the background of the Targaryen household.

A cocky smirk appears on his face as he takes in your glazed-over, pleading eyes.

“Who’s fucking you?” he growls, moving the hand that was planted on your mouth down to rest around your throat.

He smiles an open-mouthed grin as your eyes widen, and your pussy clenches around him.

“C’mon you wanted to use that pretty voice a minute ago,” he taunts, “Now tell me who’s fucking you.”

Your prolonged moan is nothing more than a breathy whine as he tightens his grip on your throat, almost in tandem with the strokes of his beautiful cock sliding in and out of your pussy. Your eyes are rolling back into your head; You can hear the music from the movie, it’ll be over soon, and people will come back to their cars. You almost don’t care if someone finds you like this, the pleasure within you cresting. You’re so close you want nothing more than Aemond to throw you over the edge like you know he can.

You meet Aemond’s eye again, and he raises an eyebrow at you, still waiting for your answer.

“You,” you whimper.

“Who?” Aemond insists, “Let them know, baby.” He drags his cock out, all the way to the tip, slamming back into you, “Who’s fucking you?”

“Aemond….” you gasp, “Aemond Targaryen.”

“That’s fucking right,” Aemond says, bringing his free hand to your clit. He spits again, before rubbing even circles around the sensitive button, “That’s a good girl.”

“Oh fuck,” you whine, legs shaking as you come.

“That’s a good girl, coming all over my cock,” Aemond says, talking you through it, “Oh she’s so pretty when she comes, huh?” He cups your cheeks, “Such a gorgeous girl.”

He thrusts a few more times, before unsheathing himself, stroking his hard cock and releasing pearly strands of cum on your lower stomach and the skirt of your dress. Aemond and you struggle to regain your breathing, you can hear (I've Had) The Time of My Life beginning to play as Aemond releases your thigh, removing your leg from his shoulder.

You slide off the hood, picking up your panties. You look down at the state of you, his cum rapidly cooling on your lower belly, your dress clinging to it.

“The fuck am I supposed to do?” you hiss at him.

Aemond merely smirks, putting his softening cock back into his pants.

“That’s your punishment,” he tells you nodding.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says, fixing his belt, “You wanna go out with another guy, this is what you get.”

You reach for the discarded sweatshirt, throwing your arms through it and zipping it up. Luckily, it hides some of the damage Aemond’s left behind. It’s dark out too, Will shouldn’t notice.

Aemond smirks again, bringing his hand underneath your chin, holding it between his thumb and index finger.

“I meant it, you know,” he says, stroking your lower lip, “You’re pretty when you come.”

Heat floods your face and you feel your pulse quicken at his words. Aemond looks at you, a moment too long, before dropping his hand and clearing his throat.

“Better get back down there,” he says, turning to leave.

You watch him go, waiting a few moments to make sure you’re even able to walk.

What the fuck just happened?

You start down the hill on shaky legs, making your way back to Will and plopping down in your chair.

“There you are,” he says, smiling and not suspecting a thing, “Hey, are you going to the carnival next weekend?”

Your eyes move past him, watching Aemond rejoin Helaena and Aegon. Aegon holds out the popcorn to him and he waves him off.

“Umm, carnival?” you ask and Will nods, “Yeah…I’m-” you think for a moment, “I’m going with Helaena actually.”

“Oh,” Will says, “Well maybe we can meet up? Take a ride on the Ferris wheel?”

Aemond meets your eye. That’s a bad idea. You know after tonight it's a bad idea. You bring your gaze back to Will’s hopeful expression.

“Maybe!” you promise, smiling softly.

Well, maybe not the worst idea.

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