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novaursa · 3 months ago

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The Dragon and The Wolf

- Summary: Rhaenyra sends her daughter instead of her son to fly North. You.

- Paring: velayrion!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is second born child of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is a dragonrider. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (expect for rating to go higher in the next chapter)

- Word count: 3 681

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

- A/N: I had this one stored away, but I've decided to post it on a request. Harwin Strong one is not yet finished, but will be posted in coming days. I'll see how both of these are received before posting more.

The wind whips across the snow-dusted fields, biting and cold, as you soar above on your dragon, Thraxata. The North stretches below like a vast, white ocean, with Winterfell looming ahead in the distance, its grey walls rising like ancient guardians against the winter sky. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting a pale light that glimmers off the frost-coated land.

Thraxata’s dark scales gleam like polished obsidian, a stark contrast to the endless white beneath. Her massive wings carve through the air with graceful power, the membrane tinted in deep shades of violet and blue, like the twilight sky before night fully descends. She is known as the Midnight Fury in whispers—born of shadow and flame, a terror in the night skies. Her roar splits the silence, echoing across the fields, a sound both commanding and otherworldly.

From your perch on her back, you spot the waiting banners below: the direwolf of Stark, surrounded by lesser sigils of Northern houses. Lord Cregan Stark stands at their forefront, a tall figure clad in thick furs and armor, as still and stern as the land he rules. He expects a prince, no doubt, a son of Rhaenyra, a warrior with fire in his veins. But you are no prince.

You are Y/N Velaryon, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Silver-haired like your mother, with eyes the color of amethyst flames, you are the embodiment of old Valyria—a sight that would capture any man’s breath, even in the frozen heart of the North. Unlike your brothers, there is no questioning the blood that runs in your veins. You carry both the fire of your ancestors and the steel of the sea, a daughter of dragon and salt.

Thraxata descends with a mighty sweep of her wings, stirring a storm of snow and ice as her talons dig into the frozen ground. Her head swivels as she growls low, a deep rumble that vibrates through your body, her violet eyes fixed on the assembled Northerners. You dismount with practiced grace, the long cloak of thick fur billowing behind you as your boots crunch into the snow.

The men whisper, their breath misting in the cold air, eyes wide with awe and trepidation. No prince, but something more—something wilder, something that belongs in tales and legends.

Cregan Stark steps forward, his eyes fixed on you. They are grey like the winter itself, hard and sharp, yet there is a glint of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a flicker of admiration beneath the layers of duty. He dips his head in a respectful nod, though his eyes never leave yours.

"Princess," he greets you, his voice deep and resonant, like a wolf's growl beneath the snow. "Winterfell welcomes you. I had expected a prince, but the Queen has sent a dragon nonetheless."

Your lips curve into a small smile, cold as the winter air. "My brothers may be princes, but it is I who bears the fire and ice that binds our realms, Lord Stark. I trust you will remember the oaths sworn to my mother, and the duty you hold to the true Queen."

His eyes narrow slightly, though there is no hostility, merely calculation. "The North remembers its oaths, Princess. But oaths are easily sworn and easily forgotten when the fires of war draw near. I would hear your words and judge for myself where our loyalties lie."

Thraxata’s tail lashes behind you, sending a spray of snow into the air. You can sense her restlessness, her desire to protect you, to assert her dominance in this land where dragons are more myth than reality. But you place a gloved hand on her scaled flank, a silent command, and she stills, though her eyes remain fixed on Cregan.

"You speak with wisdom, my lord," you reply, your voice firm but laced with the authority of the blood you carry. "But the North has never bent to whispers or empty promises. My mother’s cause is just, her claim undeniable. The realm needs strength, and you know as well as I that only fire can bring the long night to its knees."

There’s a flicker of something—approval, perhaps—in Cregan’s gaze. He steps closer, his boots crunching in the snow, until you are but a breath away. The North has always been a place where respect is earned through strength and resolve, not titles or finery. In that moment, you realize that your mother’s choice was not a mistake; you were sent because here, in this land of cold and iron, you are seen not as a delicate princess, but as something fiercer.

"Then perhaps the Queen chose wisely in sending you," he murmurs, his voice low, for your ears alone. "The North respects strength, and it seems that is something you possess in abundance, Y/N Velaryon."

There is a tension between you, a silent acknowledgment of the game you both play. He is the Wolf of Winterfell, and you are the Dragon sent to bind him to your mother’s cause. But there is something else too—a flicker of intrigue, of something more personal beneath the formalities.

“I shall make my case before the gathered lords,” you say, breaking the charged silence. “And I trust that Winterfell will extend the hospitality due to a dragon and her rider.”

He gives a slight incline of his head, a gesture of respect between equals. “Winterfell is yours, Princess. And I look forward to seeing just how fierce the fire of a dragon truly burns.”

With that, he steps back, signaling to his men. The banners dip in a formal show of respect as you walk forward, the Northern lords parting to make way for you. Thraxata stays behind, watchful, a dark shadow against the snow.

As you enter the gates of Winterfell, you can feel the eyes of Cregan Stark on your back, heavy with unspoken questions, and perhaps—just perhaps—the first stirrings of something that could grow amidst the frost and flame.

The warmth of Winterfell’s great hall is a great contrast to the biting cold outside. The stone walls are thick and ancient, adorned with tapestries depicting wolves in the hunt and battles long past. A roaring fire burns in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that dance across the rough-hewn beams above. The scent of woodsmoke and roasted meat fills the air, mingling with the faint tang of iron and earth, as though even the stone itself remembers the blood spilled within these walls.

You stride forward with measured grace, your fur-lined cloak trailing behind you. Eyes turn your way as you pass, curious glances that are quickly averted once they meet your violet gaze. The courtiers and bannermen of Winterfell are not accustomed to your kind—a dragonrider with Valyrian blood, a figure more suited to the tales of Old Nan than to the cold North. They murmur among themselves, voices hushed but thick with speculation, wondering if you are as fierce as the stories of your mother suggest.

Lord Cregan walks beside you, his stride steady and sure, the embodiment of Northern strength and resolve. He leads you to the head of the hall, where a carved wooden chair sits, draped in furs—a seat of honor, meant for you. As you take your place, his voice rings out, commanding the attention of everyone present.

"The Princess Y/N Velaryon graces us with her presence. Her arrival is most fortunate, for it seems the North’s business does not wait. House Glover has brought a criminal before us—a man accused of grave crimes—and they demand justice. Perhaps," he says, his grey eyes locking onto yours, "it would be fitting for a dragon to pass judgment."

There’s no mistaking the challenge in his words. This is a test, one meant to gauge your strength, your understanding of Northern customs, and how you wield your authority. He watches you closely, waiting for your reaction, as do the assembled lords. You know this moment is pivotal; how you handle this situation will determine whether they see you as just another southern princess, or as something more—someone who can command both fire and frost.

You meet his gaze evenly, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It would be an honor to dispense justice in the North, Lord Stark. Show me this criminal and let us see what manner of man he is."

Cregan gives a slight nod, and with a gesture, the doors at the end of the hall creak open. The sound echoes through the chamber as two men of House Glover drag a prisoner forward, shoving him to his knees before you. He’s a ragged, weathered man with wild eyes and a face marked by scars. His clothes are filthy and torn, his hands bound with rough cord. There’s a stink about him—of sweat, fear, and desperation.

One of the Glovers steps forward, bowing briefly before addressing you and Cregan. "This man, Wyl Gray, is accused of murdering his kin and stealing from their holdings. He fled north to escape our justice, but we tracked him down and brought him here, as is our right."

The hall falls silent, all eyes on you now. The weight of their expectation is palpable. You rise slowly from your seat, descending the steps with a regal grace. Your voice is soft but carries through the room with the authority that only a dragonrider can wield.

"Wyl Gray," you say, your tone cold as the Northern winds, "you stand accused of betraying your own blood and committing theft in the lands sworn to House Glover. What have you to say in your defense?"

The man’s eyes dart around wildly, searching for some hope, some mercy, but finding none. He looks up at you, trembling slightly. "I did what I had to," he snarls, his voice hoarse. "My kin treated me worse than a dog, taking what was mine by right. I took back what they stole from me—nothing more!"

The hall murmurs in response to his words, some in anger, others in grudging acknowledgment. You can see the flickers of approval from a few of the assembled Northerners—they value strength, even when twisted by desperation. But you know better than to be swayed by the claims of a desperate man. His actions speak louder than his words.

You step closer, your gaze piercing. "You claim they took from you, yet you took their lives. Blood demands blood, Wyl Gray. In the North, justice is harsh and swift, but it is also fair. A man who cannot protect what is his without resorting to murder is a man unfit to live among honorable men."

Cregan watches you intently, his expression unreadable, but you can feel the shift in the room. The lords are weighing your words, assessing how well you understand their ways. It’s not enough to be just, you must be decisive—and you must show that you are not ruled by softness.

"You are guilty of murder and theft," you continue, your voice unwavering. "But the North does not deal in mercy for such crimes. You shall face the punishment decreed by the Old Ways. Justice shall be meted out by the one who passes the sentence."

A heavy silence falls over the hall. This is the moment—where the test truly lies. You could ask Cregan to deal with the criminal himself, and none would question it. But you understand what is truly being asked of you. The North respects those who do not flinch from difficult decisions, those who stand by their words with action.

You turn to Cregan. "Bring me the sword," you command.

There’s a ripple of surprise among the lords, but Cregan’s expression shifts, a hint of approval crossing his stern features. He gestures, and a massive sword, long and sharp, is placed into your hands. Its weight is heavy, but you hold it with ease, feeling the cold steel beneath your fingers.

You step before the kneeling man. His eyes widen in terror, realizing that you intend to carry out the sentence yourself. You look down at him, feeling no pity, only the cold resolve needed to see justice done. "In the name of House Glover, for the blood you have spilled and the dishonor you have brought upon yourself, I sentence you to death. May the gods judge your soul as they see fit."

With a swift, clean stroke, you bring the sword down, severing his head from his body. The hall is silent, save for the soft thud of the head hitting the stone floor and the hiss of blood soaking into the rushes.

You let out a breath, handing the sword back to a waiting Stark guard. The lords nod with approval, respect in their eyes. This is not a land for those who shy away from harsh truths or difficult choices. You have shown them that you understand the North’s ways—and that you are as much dragon as you are queen’s daughter.

Cregan steps forward, a slight smile touching his lips. "Well done, Princess. The North remembers strength, and today, you have proven yours."

There’s a weight to his words, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve passed his test. The respect between you has grown, forged not only by fire and ice, but by a mutual understanding of what it takes to rule.

As the hall begins to stir with renewed conversation, you feel Cregan’s eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between you. It’s not just respect now—there’s a flicker of something deeper, something that might grow, given time.

But for now, you’ve earned your place among the wolves. And in doing so, you’ve taken the first step toward binding the North to your mother’s cause.

A little more than two weeks have passed since your arrival at Winterfell, and in that time, you have come to understand the North in ways few from the south ever do. The cold no longer bites as fiercely, the rough customs of the Northerners have become familiar, and even the solemn howls of the wolves at night are a comfort rather than a cause for concern. You’ve spent your days among Cregan’s people, riding alongside his bannermen, sitting in council with his advisors, and breaking bread with his warriors in the hall. You’ve proven yourself capable in all the ways that matter to them—skilled with both words and steel, a dragon in human form.

The Northern lords have come to trust you, their respect won by your ability to speak plainly and match them in courage. They see in you a reflection of their own values—honor, strength, and loyalty. Even Thraxata, the Midnight Fury, has found her lair in the craggy wilderness nearby, roosting among the jagged rocks as if she, too, feels at home in this stark and wild land. The villagers whisper tales of the black dragon seen circling the mountains, her shadow long across the snow, a fearsome guardian from the days of old.

Today, you ride out with Lord Cregan and his men on a hunt. The sky is a bleak grey, thick with the promise of snow, and the air carries the scent of pine and earth. The forest is dense, the trees tall and ancient, their branches heavy with frost. It’s a test, of sorts—Cregan’s way of seeing how well you handle yourself in their world, not just as a rider of dragons, but as a hunter and a leader.

You ride astride a hardy Northern stallion, its breath steaming in the cold air, and you match the men stride for stride as they navigate the rough terrain. Cregan rides beside you, his expression more open than it had been when you first met. Over these past weeks, a bond has formed between you—one built on mutual respect and a growing sense of trust. He speaks more freely now, and there’s a warmth in his tone that was absent when you first arrived.

When the hunt begins, you do not hesitate to join the chase. The hounds bay as they track the scent of a massive stag, and you ride hard, your cloak snapping behind you in the wind. You’re no stranger to riding, and you handle your steed with ease, navigating the twisting paths and snow-laden ground. When the time comes to strike, you draw your bow with practiced precision, letting the arrow fly. It finds its mark true, and the stag falls. The men around you roar with approval, slapping their shields and calling your name in praise. They respect a woman who can hunt as well as any man, and here, they see you as one of their own—a warrior, not just a princess.

As the hunt winds down, Cregan approaches you, his face flushed from the cold and the thrill of the chase. "You’ve more than earned your place among us, Y/N," he says, his voice gruff but warm. "Few could keep pace with Northern men in their own forests, let alone best them. I see now why the Queen sent you instead of a prince. You’ve shown strength and wisdom—two things the North values above all else."

You incline your head in acknowledgment. "I’ve come to admire the North and its people. But admiration is not the same as allegiance. I must ask, Lord Stark—will you now stand by my mother and send your armies south to fight in her name?"

Cregan’s expression shifts, a shadow crossing his eyes as he considers your question. He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze turning toward the distant horizon, where the land stretches into a vast, icy wilderness. "The North is not like the South," he says finally, his tone measured. "Our duty is first and foremost to our own. With winter coming, my responsibility is to the Wall and to the people who must survive the cold months ahead. I cannot, in good conscience, march thousands of men south when their families might starve without them."

You frown slightly, frustration creeping in. "So you’ll abandon my mother’s cause? You gave your word, Lord Stark."

Cregan’s eyes meet yours, unwavering. "I do not break my word, Princess. I swore to uphold my oaths, and I will. But sending armies south would be folly with winter approaching. However," he continues, his tone softening as he watches your reaction, "there are those in the North who would fight, even in the harshest winters. The Greybeards—elders, warriors who have lived long and seen much. When winter comes, many of them leave their homes, believing it is better to pass in battle than to linger and be a burden on their kin. They are few in number, but each is worth a dozen younger men in skill and experience. I will send them to your mother, to fight in her name. They may not be an army, but they are a force to be reckoned with."

It’s a compromise, one that you didn’t expect but cannot wholly dismiss. You nod slowly, understanding the practicality behind his words. "Your support, even in this way, will strengthen our position. I thank you for honoring your oath, Lord Stark."

Cregan remains silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, more personal. "There is another matter I wish to discuss—a way to bind North and South even closer. You’ve proven yourself in the eyes of my people, and I have come to value your counsel and your strength. The North needs a Warden, but it also needs stability and unity. I am in need of a wife, Y/N."

His words catch you off guard. You had expected negotiations over troops and strategies, but not this. You study him closely, searching for any hint of jest, but there is none. His gaze is steady, earnest even, and the weight of his words is not lost on you.

"A marriage alliance," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. It’s a move that makes sense, politically and strategically. Your mother’s cause would be strengthened by such a bond, and Cregan’s position would be solidified, uniting the North under his leadership. But you know it’s more than just politics—there’s something personal in his offer, a recognition of the connection that has grown between you over these weeks.

Cregan inclines his head. "A marriage would do more than just bind our houses. It would be a show of unity between North and South, and it would ensure that whatever may come in this war, our strength remains undivided. You are a woman worthy of the North, and I would be honored to stand beside you as more than just allies."

You consider his words carefully, your mind weighing the implications. There’s a certain inevitability in the offer, a recognition that your paths have been converging since the moment you arrived at Winterfell. You could refuse, insist on keeping your independence, but you know that this is more than just a marriage proposal—it’s a partnership that could shape the course of the war and the future of the realm.

Finally, you meet his gaze, your voice clear and firm. "If this is the path we choose, Lord Stark, know that I will be as fierce in our union as I am in battle. The North will have a wife who is as much dragon as she is Velaryon. But I do not take such matters lightly—if we are to do this, it must be done with respect, trust, and understanding."

Cregan’s smile is genuine, his eyes gleaming with both respect and something warmer. "I would expect nothing less, Y/N. We’ll have much to discuss in the days to come, but I believe this could be the start of something greater than either of us alone."

The weight of his words lingers between you, and as you ride back toward Winterfell together, there’s an unspoken understanding—a shared resolve. You have won the respect of the North, secured their support, and now, perhaps, you are on the verge of something more—an alliance forged not just in duty, but in fire and ice, strength and trust.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targeryan #cregan stark #hotd cregan #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x you

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theplotmage · 1 month ago

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Halloween-themed Fantasy Festival and Unique Events for Worldbuilding:

1. Whispers Eve – A night when the spirits of the lost whisper secrets to the living.

2. Harrowtide – A festival of fear where nightmares walk among the people.

3. Veilfall – The thin barrier between worlds collapses, allowing passage for the dead.

4. Moonshadow Revel – When the moon is dark, shadowy creatures come out to celebrate.

5. Hallowed Lanterns – A night where enchanted lanterns guide the dead home.

6. Soul’s Gate – The gate between the mortal world and the afterlife swings open.

7. Glimmernight – A festival where ghosts appear as shimmering lights.

8. Dreadmasque – A masquerade where each mask hides a dark secret.

9. Reaping Hollow – An event where spirits return to reclaim what they’ve lost.

10. Bloodfire Vigil – Bonfires are lit with blood magic to protect against the undead.

11. Darkmoon Ascendance – A night where the moon turns black and dark magic reigns.

12. Spectral Tide – The dead rise as the tide reaches its highest point.

13. Twilight’s Grasp – The setting sun never fully disappears, keeping the world in twilight where horrors lurk.

14. Night of the Wraiths – Wraiths descend to collect souls and drag them into the underworld.

15. Frostgrave Feast – A feast in the frozen woods where the spirits of winter grant wishes, but at a price.

16. Bonefire Rites – Sacred fires are lit to honor ancestors and keep malevolent spirits at bay.

17. Witch’s Mark – A night when those who bear a witch’s mark gain immense, but temporary, power.

18. Gravemist Rising – The fog from graves rises, filled with whispers and secrets from the dead.

19. Shadowveil Crossing – A ritual where people cross over into the shadow world to commune with spirits.

20. Autumn’s Curse – A festival where the curse of eternal autumn brings creatures of decay to life.

21. Lantern of Souls – A single lantern, said to hold the souls of the departed, guides the lost on Halloween.

22. Phantom’s Requiem – A symphony is played by phantoms, echoing through the realm of the living.

23. Cindershade Festival – Celebrating the power of fire to keep the dark spirits away.

24. Nightmare’s End – A gathering where the most vivid nightmares are summoned and must be conquered.

25. Hallowveil Procession – A grand parade of masked figures representing both life and death.

26. Gloomhaven Masquerade – A ball held in an eerie town where no one knows who is mortal and who is not.

27. Midnight Harvest – A harvest festival under the blood moon where sacrifices are made to dark gods.

28. Ebon Wreath – A wreath of black flowers is hung on every door to protect against roaming spirits.

29. Soulthorn Festival – A thorny forest springs to life, and only those who navigate it can escape the spirits within.

30. Eclipse of Ashes – During a total eclipse, the ashes of the dead rain down, bringing with them cryptic messages.

31. Gravenight Dance – A dance held in a cemetery where ghosts lead the living in one last waltz.

32. Night of the Void – The stars disappear, leaving the world in utter darkness as creatures from the void emerge.

33. Horror’s Ascendant – A festival that celebrates the rise of a forgotten terror that once plagued the world.

34. Tide of the Forsaken – A night when those forsaken by the gods are given one last chance to walk among the living.

35. Mournstar Vigil – A night when the mournful star rises and the dead follow its path back to the mortal realm.

36. Graveshadow Feast – A festival where the living feast with their deceased ancestors.

37. Shroudfall – The shroud between life and death dissolves, allowing creatures of darkness to invade.

38. Hollowlight Procession – Spirits of lost children carry lanterns, leading a parade through the haunted woods.

39. Doomveil Gathering – A gathering of witches and warlocks under a cursed sky to summon forbidden magic.

40. Veilfire Festival – A festival where fire dances upon the veil between worlds, granting glimpses of the afterlife.

41. Ruinwake Revelry – A chaotic festival celebrating destruction and chaos, where dark beings rise from ruin.

42. Blackthorn Masque – A masquerade in a cursed castle where everyone wears masks of thorns.

43. Echoes of Dust – A ceremony where the dust of ancient beings blows through the town, and their voices are heard once more.

44. Ashen Sun – The sun turns ashen, and with it, the spirits of forgotten warriors rise from their graves.

45. Night of Unraveling – A night when the fabric of reality unravels, and the boundary between dimensions fades.

46. Hushmoor Eve – A silent evening where all sound is banned to prevent awakening the slumbering dead.

47. Cryptwatch Festival – Vigilant watch over ancient crypts, where treasure seekers try to unlock the secrets of eternal life.

48. Wraith’s Breath – A chilling wind blows through town, said to be the breath of wraiths hunting for souls.

49. Duskmire Celebration – A festival in a swampy region where creatures of the mire rise to celebrate with the living.

50. Moonless Descent – A night where the moon disappears and the world descends into a temporary abyss, where anything can happen.

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mountainsandmayhem · 11 months ago

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You’re Mine, Little Dove

(Joel Miller x Female!Reader) 18+

Summary: You’ve always loved walking at night, but an unexpected visitor goes from the most terrifying to most erotic night of your life.

TW: predator/prey dynamics, ropes, blindfolding, gagging, non consent, consensual non consent, oral, fingering, unprotected P in V, dirty talk, pet names (little dove, baby girl etc.)

A/N: I can’t say much without giving anything away, but this scene has been so fun for me to write. I’m tagging @untamedheart81 @beboldbebravethings @rav3n-pascal22 and @spookyxsam since you 4 wonderful people had such amazing support for my last story. And because delulu is the solulu, I’m also tagging @swiftispunk and @thetriumphantpanda because they’re both incredible creators and I truly admire their work.

🤍🕊️🤍 •• 🤍🕊️🤍 •• 🤍🕊️🤍 •• 🤍🕊️🤍

You’ve always loved the night, and since getting promoted at work walking in the dark has become your way of winding down. Your friends think you’re crazy, blabbing on about how it’s dangerous and you shouldn’t be out there alone. One even suggested buying really dark sunglasses and walking during the day. You all laughed at that as you sipped rosé, but it’s not the same. For one, the summer sun in Texas is way too hot most days, but it’s also too “peopley” during the day. You want the solitude and quiet that comes with the dark.

All day you’re interrupted and expected to do things outside of your lane. Take work for example, today you were asked to take meeting minutes for a meeting that the team you lead isn’t even a part of. You lead a team, and have an assistant of your own who takes meeting notes, doesn’t that team lead have an assistant who can do that?

Probably not. He’s an arrogant prick, you think to yourself. But he’s the boss's son so he gets away with it. And because of that, you agree. You always fucking agree. Always happy to help, never saying no.

Here in the night though, it’s just you. The night doesn’t ask you to do anything but sleep, which you will do after enjoying the cooler summer air on your skin as you wander through the park behind your house.

There’s also a slight edge of danger to it that entices you. The park is well-lit, but who knows what could happen in the darkness between the casts of yellow light from lamppost to lamppost. Those darker spots might be your favourite, just a few steps away from the safety of the light.

You stop in one of those dark spots, closing your eyes and tilting your head up to the sky, taking a big cleansing breath in.

Silence. Calm. Peace.

You hold your breath for a few seconds, silence ringing in your ears before you slowly exhale. Just before you open your eyes, two strong arms wrap around you. A hand clamps over your mouth, the other arm other snakes tightly around your waist, pinning your arms down with it.

Silence, calm, and peace, were quickly replaced with fear, terror, and panic.

A solid wall of a person leads you to the grassy, non-lit areas of the park and you realize you have never known fear before. The fun fear of a roller coaster or haunted house, yes; but never true heart-stopping fear. Your stomach drops and everything inside you is yelling to fight.

“Don’t scream, little dove.” A deep voice rumbles through you. If it wasn’t for his massive form holding you up, you’re sure you’d fall over.

This doesn’t happen here. This is a safe neighbourhood where you know all your neighbours. For a second you think it’s a joke, someone sneaking up on you that you know, but it’s almost midnight on a Wednesday. Who would be up at this point?

As he pulls you along your fear evolves into terror. You’re frantically trying to catch your breath through your nose as every happy memory floods through you. The sparkly pink bike you got when you were six. The first time you saw white sand and crystal clear blue waters. Watching your best friend get engaged. How proud your parents looked when you got promoted last year. What was the last thing you even said to your parents?

His strong frame forces you to the grass. He places a knee on your back, holding you down as he ties your hands with a scratchy rope. Your mouth is free as your forehead rests on the grass.

Scream. Now.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Why can’t you scream or at least look back at him to see who he is so you can describe him to the police?

Oh god, what if he doesn’t let you go?

Just as you open your mouth to try to scream again he gags you and then blindfolds you. You’re pretty sure it’s done with silk ties, but you really can’t be sure.

“Good job, little dove.” He coos in your ear as he helps you up. “You’ll be rewarded for keeping quiet.”

He leads you through more of the grassy fields. You try to map out which house you’re headed toward in your mind’s eye until you’re interrupted by the sound of crunching gravel under your shoes. You assume you’re in an alley or street as you hear the clicking of a car door.

Your overly conservative father's voice comes into your head. “You can’t go out dressed like that. Boys will get the wrong idea. You’re inviting them to take advantage of you.”

That was years ago. You’re an adult woman now, with a degree and a mortgage. You know your clothing isn’t an excuse for this man’s abhorrent behaviour, but maybe you should have changed from your denim skirt and tight black top.

As you hear the vehicle door open the panic begins. Your breath comes in shorter and shallower, and it feels like your heart is thumping in your throat. You’re sure your captor can hear it, or at least feel it through the skin of your bicep that he’s gripping so tightly. A whimper escapes you as he hoists you into a back seat and slams the door.

“Don’t cry, little dove.” He says from the front as he starts the engine. “It’ll only entice me.”

Fuck. Fuck. You’re dead. Or trafficked. How could you not have screamed?! You let him take you, but did you stand a chance either way? You could feel his chest on the back of your head when he grabbed you, he was probably a foot taller than you. His strong hand was large enough to practically cover your whole face. He was the predator…you were the prey.

You calm your breathing and focus on the turns the vehicle takes as it pulls out of your neighbourhood, not letting the tears fall, you refuse to give him that sort of satisfaction.

It feels like you’ve been driving for hours before you finally come to a stop. He hasn’t said anything from the front seat. No music played. As he turns off the car you can hear the sound of a garage door closing. You’re royally fucked.

The door near your feet opens and you scramble to the other side of the vehicle as your instincts to fight ignite. A strong hand grabs your ankle and pulls you forward. You kick blindly with your other leg, screaming through the silk that’s wedged between your teeth. He catches your other ankle, squeezing them both together with one hand and binds them together.

He hoists you over his shoulder and lays a hard spank across your ass, eliciting a squeal as the walls of your pussy clench a little. “Behave, little dove,” he says cockily. You can’t see him, but you know he’s smirking over how easily he overpowered you.

You try to say ‘fuck you’ through your gag.

“Oh, I intend to.” He says as he takes you inside and up the stairs.

He drops you down on a bed and undoes the gag. “Tell me your name.”

“Touch me again and I’ll rip your dick off.” You spit.

He chuckles a little while straddling you and lifting the hem of your shift, exposing the soft skin of your stomach. “I love it when my little doves talk dirty to me.”

He places light kisses along your skin and you squirm to try to get free, but his large frame has you trapped and your arms and legs are useless if they’re bound. A deep moan from his chest shoots straight to your core, sending a new wave of arousal as your body starts to betray you.

“You’re a fucking coward,” you say with as much hate as you can muster, trying to ignore the want that’s spreading through your traitorous body.

He lifts your shirt higher, exposing all the skin between your bra and denim skirt, continuing to place soft kisses and light nibbles along your skin.

“I only want to make you feel good, little dove.” He says in a husky whisper, “How does that make me a coward?”

God dammit he feels so warm against you. You push his soft lips and deep soothing voice out of your mind and focus back on the fear, terror and panic you felt earlier.

“Capturing someone in the night. Binding them. Real men aren’t afraid of the fight.” Taunting him is incredibly risky, but if you entice him enough he might untie you and you can fight like hell to get free. He couldn’t have taken you far.

His kisses cease. You almost let out a whimper of protest at him stopping. Are you this desperate for touch? You have a boyfriend.

“Is that what you think, little dove?” He shifts to be straddling your hips, leaning forward with both forearms on either side of your face. He brushes away some hair that has stuck to your lips. “That I’m not a real man?”

You can feel the bulge in his pants pressing against your stomach as you try to squirm free. “Yes, you’re fucking pathetic.”

His lips move to your neck. Wet kisses moving from your ear to your collarbone. You’ve always been a sucker for neck kisses and with sight being taken away, your sense of touch seems heightened. Shit, his lips feel good and at this proximity, you catch a faint smell of leather and cedar. He trails his tongue back up before gently biting your earlobe.

Fuck, a small shiver runs down your back and your breath hitches as you squeeze your thighs together.

“I’ll make you a deal, little dove,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “If you can keep your breathing steady for the next 5 minutes, I’ll untie you and remove the blindfold.”

You feel dizzy by the closeness and gentleness of him. “And if I can’t?” You breathe.

“If you can’t…I’ll untie your ankles and remove the blindfold. I have a feeling you have beautiful eyes.”

You swallow hard, contemplating your options. He kidnapped you. He doesn’t have your consent to any of this, but based on the wetness that is now coating your thighs, your body doesn’t seem to get the same message.

You take a deep breath before saying, “Deal.”

Before the word has fully left your lips, he’s ripped your tank top completely open. His fingers work the front clasp on your bra as he whispers that he’s sorry about your shirt and starts placing hungry kisses down your neck. Your breasts are completely exposed to him, the cool air turning your nipples into stiff peaks.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” He says as he cups both your breasts. His tongue swipes along the left nipple as his thumb caresses the smooth skin underside of the right one.

You remind yourself that he kidnapped you and try not to let your body and breathing betray you, but your thighs squeeze tighter for relief and your mind is swimming.

His tongue swipes harder before he moves over to the right one, sucking it into his mouth and rolling the other between his fingers.

He’s playing you like a fiddle. How does he seem to know exactly what you like?

He releases your nipple with a pop before gently blowing cool air on it. He latches back onto the left one, swirling with his tongue and your hips involuntarily buck forward as your breath stutters.

“Good girl, little dove.” He says with a low growl, coming back up to be face to face. “Looks like I win. Your hands stay tied, but I’ll free your ankles and take off the blindfold.”

His minty breath hits your nostrils. Fuck, my hands!! How could you have forgotten about your hands? Shit. You can’t believe you let this monster make you feel good.

He slips the blindfold off and you blink a few times, adjusting to the dimly lit room and taking in the man on top of you. Fuck, monster he is not. His curly dark hair is pushed back and you can see some salt and pepper around the temples. He has patchy facial that you couldn’t even feel when he was kissing you, he was being much more gentle than you thought. He’s handsome and rugged…if anything, this man is your type.

“I was right,” he says, his deep brown eyes staring right into you. “You do have beautiful eyes.”

Now that he sees you as a person, you might be able to elicit some sympathy.

“P-please let me go.” You say, holding in tears.

He tilts his head to one side, a small smile revealing a dimple that makes you melt a little. “Let you go? We’ve only just started, little dove.”

The fear starts to come back again as he shifts to untie your ankles. “Please don’t do this.”

He kisses up your thighs and speaks between kisses. “Sshhhh…let me make you feel good and then you can go home.”

You should kick or flail or do something, you had your best chance just seconds ago, but his warm, soft kisses had you too distracted. You start to think this man wouldn’t actually hurt you. But he is hurting you by forcing you to be here in the first place, isn’t he?

You look down at him to see him lying beside you, head propped in one hand near your hip as the other trails up and down your legs. His features are soft, eyes wholly focused on the tiny goosebumps he’s leaving on his skin. His hand slips between your thighs and tries to part your legs, you’re suddenly unsure if you’re squeezing them together to ease the throbbing of your clit or out of fear.

“Open your legs for me, little dove.” He says as he kisses the tops of your thighs.

You shake your head as the tears you were holding in roll down your cheeks. He’s right near your knees now, you could draw one up into his jaw, but those big chocolate eyes are looking up at you so lovingly.

He get up, walks towards the end of the bed and grabs your ankles. Like the flip of a switch, his look turns harsh and angry before he pulls you to the edge of the bed. Your skirt hikes up around your waist from the motion and he licks his lips as he wedges his body between your knees, spreading you apart enough for him to see you glistening for him.

“Tsk, tsk.” He says while shaking his head and lowering himself slowly between your legs. “Walking alone at night, in this little skirt with no panties?”

He lowers himself between your thighs and you begin to realize just how broad he is as your leg muscles cry out from the stretch. The rest of the room comes into view. There are handcuffs and ropes, along with paddles and whips hanging on the wall. There was no escaping this man, and your curiosity is peaked by the ropes you notice around the bed frame.

“Perhaps you’re not a little dove after all.” He taunts, looking at your wide eyes as they take in the room. He’s going to take what he wants from you and you barely fought it. You’re enjoying his words and touches, even more so now that you see how incredibly handsome he is.

“Please.” You whimper, making eye contact with your captor. Though you aren’t sure if it’s a plea to stop or keep going.

“You look even more gorgeous spread out for me like this. So wet. And warm.” He’s looking at your cunt like it’s the newest wonder of the world. “Doesn’t look like she has gotten the attention she needs lately. Does your boyfriend not know what he’s doing?”

His warm breath hits your core as he speaks, sending waves of warmth from the base of your spine out to your fingertips.

“He….” you aren’t sure what to say. You love your boyfriend, “he does. He just isn’t…skilled.”

A gentle kiss is placed on your mound, right above the spot that’s aching for attention. “Poor baby. Do you need me to take care of it, little dove?”

You clamp your eyes shut. You shouldn’t. This is wrong. But your traitorous pussy has other plans and you very quietly whisper yes.

His mouth is on your before you can even process what you just agreed to. A flat, wet tongue laps from your entrance to your clit a few times before he sucks your clit into his mouth. He groans deeply as he tastes you, sending a rumble straight through you. You cry out loudly and arch your back, pushing yourself into him.

“Good girl.” He says before doing it again. “I want to hear you enjoy it.”

His mouth continues to keep you on edge. Rotating between licking and sucking, adding pressure until you start breathing heavily and then easing up. You’re right on the edge, but he’s not letting you over.

“Please. Please let me come.” You beg.

He stops, looking at you with a cocky smirk, revealing that fucking dimple again. “That boyfriend of yours has been mistreating you, little dove. So worked up.”

You let a whine when he stops and begs some more. “Please. You feel so good.”

He slams two fingers deep inside of you. You’re so wet that it happens with ease and when he curls his fingers forward, right to that spongy part, you start to feel like your bones are dissolving.

“F-fuuuuuck,” you gasp.

His tongue begins to flick against your clit again, gently at first as he works you with his fingers. You can feel your arousal dripping down his hand and pooling under your ass. He starts applying more pressure with his tongue and you know that he’s going to make you come. Hard. And with your hands still tied behind your back you won’t be able to push him away when you become too sensitive. Too overly stimulated.

“Come on my little dove,” he says between licks. “Show me how good this feels.”

Your orgasm hits with a force you have never felt before. Electricity feels like it courses through your entire body and you scream out to the room, legs shaking as you cover his hand and mouth with your arousal. He doesn’t let up, sucking and licking as your orgasm feels like it lasts forever. Finally, you can’t take it anymore and you try to roll away.

“S-Stop. S’too much,” you gasp. “Please.”

He pulls his fingers from you, pinning your hips down with his forearm making you a prisoner to his tongue. He’s going to make you come again.

“I can’t,” you huff as you try to escape.

“Ssh, little dove. You can take it.” He keeps sucking and licking your swollen bundle of nerves.

Your body starts to shake, the word no escaping your lips over and over. You mean yes, but this man is overwhelming you with pleasure in a way no one ever has before, and you don’t know if you can take it.

He moans against you as he sucks, that same rumble from earlier, it consumes you and that’s what does it. You come again, grinding shamelessly against his face as he smiles up at you.

“Good girl. Fuck, I am going to ruin you for every other man. No one is going to make you come as hard, or as much as I will. Roll over.”

The fact that he’s taken you against your will is not even in your mind as you slide back into the bed to roll over. He pulls you up so your knees are resting right on the edge, fully on display for him.

“Such a perfect little pussy. And a perfect girl. Being so good for me.” You hear his belt and jeans hit the floor. Glancing back you see him naked from the waist down, pumping his cock in his hand. Your eyes widen at the size of him.

“No. It’s not gonna….I can’t do it.” You crawl up the bed to get away, laying flat on your stomach.

He climbs up behind you and hitches one of your legs up before aligning himself with your soaked entrance.

“Relax, little dove,” he whispers in your ear before gently kissing your neck. He pushes himself into you and you tense up at the size of him.

“You need to relax, baby girl.” He says deeply, “Take a deep breath. You can do this.”

You do as he says, looking over your shoulder at him and breathing deeply.

He pushes into you more, not breaking eye contact. “Good girl. Make room for me.”

He’s stretching you almost to the point of pain but you listen and breathe. The more relaxed you are the better it feels. There can’t be much more left for him to get inside of you.

“Almost there. You’re such a good little dove. One more breath baby.” Finally, you feel his hips pressed against your ass. He stays still for a second and you grind back into him.

“Fuck, stay still for a second. You’re so tight.” He gasps. Pride fills you that this big man can be brought to pieces by just the tiniest wiggle of your ass.

He takes a few breaths this time before he starts to move. He starts slow. Moving halfway out and then back in a few times. You need more.

“Fuck me,” you moan. “Please. Ruin me for other men like you promised.”

A hard smack lands on your ass cheek before he pumps in and out of you. He’s rough with you now, grabbing your hair and pounding as deep as he can after pulling out to the tip.

“You won’t be able to walk for a week.” He grunts before releasing your hair and spanking you again.

It’s euphoric. The perfect mix of pleasure and pain. You arch your back more and he lays another slap across your ass.

“You’re not a little dove are you?” He growls as he fucks you.

“No,” you breathe. Barely able to form a thought.

“Tell me what you are.” He says, slapping your ass again.

“I’m yours. I’m your desperate, cock loving little dove.” It comes out as a whine, your orgasm growing closer.

He doesn’t stop pounding into you. “Fuck. That’s my good girl. You’re taking me so well.”

You can feel your arousal soaking the sheets below you, and hear the squelching as he fucks into you. You arch your back again so he can brush against that spot you love so much. He reaches under you, rubbing tight little circles on your clit.

“Oh….f-fuck.” You coo.

“Yea?” He taunts, “You like that? My rough fingers on your beautiful little cunt?”

His words send another rush of arousal to your core, this is wrong. You shouldn’t like this, but you’re not sure you’ll survive if he stops what he’s doing.

“N-no. Fuck you.” You try to sound mad but it hits his ears in breathy moans.

“My perfect girl.” He taunts, “Come on my big cock. Squeeze me with that tightly little pussy.”

Your vision blurs as you start to gush all over him. Your whole body tenses as wave after wave of pleasure consumes you, moaning and squealing like a woman possessed. Your legs shake so hard that you feel like you’re in the middle of an intense gym session. Slowly you gain control of your body again and he’s right, you’re ruined for all other men.

“Good fucking girl,” he says as he pulls out and climbs up the bed. “You’re so hot. Open your mouth for me, little dove.”

He pumps himself over you as you roll on your back and open your mouth. His strokes and breathing become erratic as warm ropes of come hit your tongue and face. He lets out a deep moan as he covers you.

He leans in a kisses your lips, not caring about the come on your chin or cheeks, the biggest smile crossing his face.

“Let me get you a face cloth, babe.” He says with a little laugh.

“Thank you, Joel.” You say with a wink. “And please untie me, my hands are asleep.”

He laughs, “I would, but I’m just your unskilled boyfriend now.”

He gently wipes off your face before reaching back and untying your wrists. He kisses them gently before laying back on the bed. “Was that ok?”

You curl into his arms. “It was perfect, baby.”

“Are you sure?” He squeezes you reassuringly. “You seemed genuinely scared a few times.”

“I told you I was in theatre in high school.” You laugh to yourself.

He chuckles deeply as he rubs your back. “I don’t think all of that was acting…”

You glance up to see him smiling at the ceiling, clearly very proud of himself for making you come so hard. “True, I think we need to change the sheets.”

Another gentle kiss lands on your forehead. “I love you.”

“You too, Joel. Very much.”

———————————————

Tags: @wannab-urs

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedrohub #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader

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oddinarylani · 11 months ago

Text

"you don't want me" | skz | pt. 1 | chan, lee know, changbin, hyunjin

9:51 pm. bang chan.

it was past midnight by now. the moon wasn’t shining. she was hidden behind great big storm clouds that’d been crying since noon. the dirt turned to slush, the pavements now a dark gray - different from their softer brighter colors underneath the sun. the only sound that triumphed through the room was the white-noise sound of the rain - beating down on the roof, on the windows, on cars outside, and on the earth.

empty. just empty. and tired. so tired. there wasn’t a way to describe it; and you were tired of trying. you hadn’t the drive for much anymore, not for work, or friends, but you still stood out for chan. you always would. you just haven’t been good at it for the past few weeks - and he was worried to bits which was the last thing you wanted.

maybe silence and the dreadful exhaustion of not even trying to communicate would fix things. maybe he’d get the right idea and move on. this couldn’t be good for him, no, surely not. there was better in the world, it just wasn’t the home of your arms.

“would you talk to me?” he asks, his voice shaky - brows melted together and worried sick. and he was truly worried sick. checking his phone for any texts from you or updates, laying awake when he let the worry eat him up.

you look up from your hands, realizing you were lost in thought. “o-oh, yeah. sorry.”

“sorry? i just want you to talk to me. you don’t have to apologize.” he grabs at your hands, a slippery grip that shakes his stable hold, he eventually steadies his hold and looks at you with a kind of wavering certainty. he’s trying desperately to be the strength you need, but his vigor is faltering. he sees all the hope in the palms of his hands being to melt away and he hadn’t the time to sort through the hundreds of thoughts forming in the terrorous wake of that.

your hand falls slack in his own, failing in your grip of his desperate grab of your hands. chan watches every microexpression that graces your face, seeing your brows bleed together. doubt strikes your features, and you slide your hand from his grasp, shaking your head before the words leave your mouth.

all you had to do was muster the strength to speak the words, but even then, swallowed by a kind of grief, completely blindsided by false-truths, but even then it hurt to say.

“y-you don’t want me,,” your watery eyes can’t even meet chan’s - he feels his heart shatter into a million pieces all over the floor.

“you’re all i want, all i have ever wanted- what do you mean.” and his voice wobbles, he wants to reach out, grab you, stabilize you - shake the sense into you, because what do you mean he doesn’t want you? he’s wanted you so terribly for so long that he let it tear him up inside.

“i’ve been in love with you for years- i-i love you so much, you’re all i want.” he does reach out now, bracing your arms in his gentle hands when the tears spill over your cheeks and you crumble in his hold.

“b-but i’m like,,, this- i-i don’t-” he brings your body into his arms, your chest meeting his as his big arms wrap around you and hold you tight to his body. he’s warm, and his embrace just fills you up so much you don’t know what to do with it.

“i love this part too. i promised you that and i do. i always will okay?” his hands hold the sides of your head, over your hair - and he pulls away to look you in the eye when he says that. he knows you need to hear it, knows you need to look at him when he does.

you fold and buckle, only able to nod to keep your voice from wobbling and cracking. you wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest.

“i’ll never stop telling you i love you.” he presses his plushy lips to the top of your head, his hands smoothing over your back gently. “i’ll tell you more.” he promises.

“i-i’m scared i’ll push you away, that i’ll scare yo-you off or that i’ll hurt you. i-i can’t-” you shake your head against him and frown, his t-shirt soaking up the wetness from your cheeks. “i can’t hurt you, chan. i can’t do that to you.”

“you don’t hurt me, baby. you never have, i promise. just wanna be here for you.” he mumbles against your hair, his hand cradling the side of your head. his lips leave tingly kisses along your hairline, and his promises to you fill you with love that you’re unsure what to do with.

you nod against him, and he smooths his hands over your head again, “okay? i love you.” he pulls away, his eyes soft and brows melted together as his sights washed over your tear stained cheeks and face. “love you too.” you mumble, his thumbs swiping your under eyes and drying your cheeks.

8:12 am. lee know.

soft cuts of sunlight filtered in through the lines of the blinds and you’re immediately met with the warmth of the bed beneath you. the shirt you were wearing wasn’t yours, and your hair still seemed done from the night before - with a wandering and curious gaze, your eyes filter over to the sight next to you, and your lips part in surprise.

minho, laying like an angel, as always. sleepy, soft skin blanketed by a thick comforter - lean muscle beneath. his hair was sprawled and he was still wearing makeup but if he wasn’t the prettiest sight in the world you didn’t know what was.

only problem of course, he was your friend. a long time friend. and you’d been into him for far too long to let this slide.

quickly, your legs slither out from the comforters, your toes finding the wood floors with ease as you move quietly to slink out of his bed, your gaze fixated on his sleeping face the entirety of your attempted escape. you pull on your skirt from the night before, grab your shoes in one hand before they slip from your grip and clatter to the floor quite ceremoniously.

your face winces up, shoulders and spine tight as he stirs, his eyes fluttering open.

he leans up on his elbows, eyes squinted as they adjust to the mild morning light coming from behind his blinds.

“what’re you doing?” he asks tiredly, slumping back into the mattress as you gather your shoes in your hand once more.

you push your hair from your face, huffing to gather your breath as you look at him. “i have to leave, minho.” you explain, feeling the tightness in your chest gather at the thought.

“you don’t, come back to bed-” he groans, stretching, his hand gently offered to you as he laid back down, eyes sleepy and voice croaky.

all of your hurt, after all of these years comes back to the forefront of your brain. the nights you spent crying, realizing he’d never want you, the years spent in pain in realization you’d never have him. and you can’t stop yourself from blurting what you truly felt, tired and defeated.

“you don’t want me.” you shrug like it’s easy, like there was no other way, only acceptance of what you’d manage to convince yourself of. your chest aches at the sound of your own statement, but you grip your shoes a little closer and swallow the dryness in your throat.

he leans up, slow. the crinkle of the comforter as he does so only fills you further with nervous anticipation. his eyes are still tired, angeled and low and he seems so pleased with what he says.

“i do want you.” his brows lift for a moment. not for a second does his eye contact waver - and you knew, a small but very true part of you knew he wasn’t lying but you couldn’t accept it. no it wouldn’t be that easy, and maybe it meant something different to him.

“no you don’t.” it’s gentle, defeated, barely rolled off your mouth when you say it and he feels your hurt - feels a bit of his own too though he wouldn’t like to admit it.

“i do.” he presses. his expression changes, one of understanding that melts at the ache in your chest. he softens, his hand now more of an extended invitation. almost like he was silently pleading with you to just take it - take it and trust him.

your fingertips tingle with the twinge of need that extends in your touch; they act before you can control them. the back of your hand raises, the supple skin of your palm meets his, and he wraps his hand around yours the moment you touch.

it feels so right - god it feels right. it nearly takes the breath away from you - even this was enough. just this.

he pulls you closer to him, his arm lifting to circle around your waist like it was the first time he’d ever done so; his touch and hold almost chivalrous. never for a second does he let his eyes leave your own, your face. his skin awakens prickles in your skin, your lungs take in breaths shakily - like every bit of you trembles at his touch.

he takes your hand, swallows it in his grip because he wants to ground you - just think of me. it’s like he says. i’m here. a promise. what he can’t muster to say in words - he tries desperately hard to say in the way he floods your senses. it’s bracing, whole.

“have for a while.” he admits softly, as your knee comes to press into the softness of his bed, getting closer by the second.

“why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, sitting with your legs folded over his own cloaked by the comforter.

he shakes his head gently, brows raised again, for a moment. “don’t know.” he musters, smiling for a second at the realization of his own sheer disbelief. why hadn’t he? fear? doubt?

“i should’ve said something too. ‘s okay.” you squeeze his hand before softly pulling it from his grasp, knowing he wasn’t the biggest fan of skinship. but to your surprise, he reaches back out for you.

he pulls your hand to his cheek, leaning into the touch with soft low gaze. his skin is warm, his guidance of your hand to his face is gentle, and you feel your heart lighten at the action, a small understanding smile on your lips. your shoes are disregarded, hair messy, but all you see is him. and all he wants is you.

3:43 pm. changbin.

“your friend,” your mom begins. “the one with the…” her voice drifts off, her hands gesturing in long strokes of her fingers from the top of her head to her mid-waist, repeating this action until you understood. the long hair, she was meaning.

“yeah,” you follow with their name.

“their parents were at the recital - did you know she’s going off to a performing arts high school?” and you swallow because of course you knew this, the whole school did. and now your hands were wringing together because you were nervous, anxious. and you just didn’t want to hear her actually say it or it’d confirm everything.

“why don’t you do something like that?

it was a frightening feeling and not at all fleeting. no. this sat with you, cooked inside your brain and marinated in a venomous concoction of long-lasting insecurity and self-doubt.

being loved by and loving changbin was a catalyst and returning friend of a face you said goodbye to some time ago. comparatively, you and changbin were very different people. a world-renown producer and artistic creator to one of the most popular kpop groups to ever rise in the industry, and you.

little you.

with nimble fingers half-good at crochet, a homemade recipe for lemon ginger tea, and a smile you convinced yourself most days was nice, you didn’t compare. it wasn’t sad, it took no convincing on your end, it just was.

suddenly consciousness regains in the forefront of your mind - and it slips from your lips before you can stop it.

“you don’t want me.” it’s said into the phone pressed against your cheek, you’re driving, and you’re nearly home. the rain is still falling from the morning - shining and wetting the roads up for traffic lights to reflect their bright colors on the throats of puddles.

on the other end of the line, changbin’s voice dies in his throat - too thoroughly stunned in the moment to even try speaking. his lips part, his brain thinks over the words you’ve just said to him, and he can’t puzzle himself as to why you’d ever say that.

“w-why do you want me-” a sharp intake of breath past your lips, a shudder, the slam of your car into park as the doors unlock and his very first instinct before anything else is to be there.

he says your name, speaks it with ease - familiarized himself with the way it feels in his mouth, and he stutters before speaking again.

“of course i want you- are-are you okay? talk to me, baby what’s going on?” he stiffens up in his chair and chan leaves the room to grab a call from an executive. right now the music doesn’t matter, the hours of work spent trying to delicately assemble a new track doesn’t matter, the only thing he can think about is you. why you’re saying this.

“i-it’s been-” you sniff, wiping your face at the pathetic notion of your own tears. “it’s been on my mind lately and i can’t stop thinking about it, bin.” your hand shakes with the grip on your phone, voice failing as you succumb to the tears. your shoulders shake, and you put a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise - as if you could hide it from changbin.

“baby, i’m here, i’m here, it’s okay. let me wrap this up with chan real quick and i’ll be over okay? you at your place?” he asks, voice soft and turned away from the mixing booth as chan walks back into the studio.

you nod, humming and confirming.

“i’ll be on my way in a minute, okay? i’ll text you when i’m headed over, baby.”

he leaves a minute later, driving like hell to get to you quick enough - and when he sprints up the stairs to your apartment he walks in to find the lights low and your form sitting on the couch - head resting in your hand.

“i’m here, baby. what’s wrong.” he doesn’t miss a beat - immediately he kneels at the couch, his hands coming to stroke your upper arms, coaxing you soothingly to open up to him. you shake your head, lips wobbling.

“god- it’s pathetic really, bin-” you almost chuckle in hindsight. “just…” you look down, feeling the warmth of his hands as he circles you.

there’s a brief intermittent pause. a realization. it washes over you and steals the words from your mouth and the thoughts along with them. his hands pause between your bodies as if he’s afraid - afraid to touch you - afraid to upset you. more big wet tears cascade down your cheeks, face flushed with heat and red, and you wish more now than ever that he’d just hold you.

“i-i don’t,,, i can’t-” you sniff. “compare to you.” it angers you to even speak it, knowing it’d hurt him. why.

“y-you don’t,,” you shake your head, your eyes filtering up to meet his own that look at you with such disbelief it’s almost sobering.

you were telling him this. like it was a fact, like it was your decision to make. he thinks maybe that’s why it hurt so much to hear you say it. like there was no alternative in your mind, nothing you could tell yourself to soothe this particular ache. like your mind was made up.

“baby, baby-” he stands to sit next to you on the couch, gently grabbing your legs to toss over his own, his hands coming to stroke the wetness from your cheeks. every touch of his skin on your own is terribly grounding and sobering, and for a moment your tears slow a bit as he cradles your face in his calloused hands.

“all i want is you. all i want. okay? i want all of you, on your best and worst days.” his arms circle you, hand resting at the back of your head to urge him into your shoulder. there’s where your tears fall now, arms grasping onto him and his shoulders. “there’s nothing you or anyone else could say to change my mind either. you’re perfect and i love you.”

you nod against him, breathing in shaky. “i love you. i love you so much.” you know he’ll say it as many times as he must before you accept it.

“love you too. love you.” you’ve become something like putty in his arms as he holds you. his hands soothe over your back, and you hear it; hear him. and believe him.

1:03 am. hyunjin.

your fingertips shake, fluttering over the textured fabric of the dress sitting daintily from your figure. a breath released, a breath inhaled, and in the next moment - it all comes crumbling; the image of yourself you brave for yourself. the falsities, the fabrications. in the reflection of the mirror you watch peripherally your face drop, turning to the side to run your hands over the curve of your body, trying to make it fit, trying to fit this idea into a box.

your hands drop slack, hitting the sides of your legs. your composure weakens and you feel a buckle in your ability to withstand it.

“fuck,,” you whisper, turnin away from the mirror with your hands on your face - fighting with might only a god could match to keep from crying.

too many tears were shed because of this very same reality, you didn’t want to give it the satisfaction of succumbing to it.

but your knees buckle - submitting to it, and you’re right back at square zero.

hyunjin was going to be home any moment now, this fact had drifted away from your thoughts as hot tears welled up in your eyes, only when you hear the door unlock do you tighten up like board was tied to your back. you stand, walking to the closet to change quickly. just as your fingers unzipped the back, tears rolling over your cheeks and jaw, hyunjin announces he’s walked into the bedroom with a soft, “i’m back, baby.”

his voice was soft, and he was completely oblivious and safe from the torrent of thoughts within your skull. he slinks in, your hands pause from unzipping your dress. “ah,” you sniff. “hey honey.”

his head turns in your direction at the sound of that.

he doesn’t have sights on you, you’re hidden behind the closet doors, but he makes his way over quietly, making a questioning type of humming noise, as if gently asking, “what?”

you keep your lips sealed, unable to conjure an excuse quick enough - he’s suspected you already and you know if he finds you like this, it’ll be a torrential downpour you won’t be able to stop - hyunjin had that effect.

“,,,babe? what’s-“ “d-don’t-“ your hand stops him from opening the closet door, you didn’t mean for the action to come across as aggressive it was - but you couldn’t let him see, and your heartbreaks at the idea.

“what’s wrong, angel? i won’t judge you, i promise.” he relaxes his hands on the closet doors, his eyes darting over it’s surface. there’s a bit of anxiety boiling up now for hyunjin, he hadn’t a clue what was going on but he expected the worst by far. all he wanted was to be there for you - know why you were upset and help.

“the dress i-… it doesn’t look good.” you sniff again, on the very edge once more as tears build more, faster.

“i’m sure you look beautiful, baby. it’s okay. can i come in?” he doesn’t press the door, but instead waits for your consent.

“s-some of the beading came off while i was putting it on and the seams look stretched-“ you take a breath shakily from your nose, “hyunjin-“ you say his name with reason, like saying it would be enough to soothe you. hyunjin feels his heart ache deep within his chest, his bottom lip pushed out slightly as he hears your hurt.

“you won’t… you won’t want me.”

it absolutely tears him up inside the way you say that.

he pushes the door with no fighting from you, eyes first and only meeting your eye contact. “all i want is you, okay? i want you.” he promises, hands a bit shaky as he smooths over your hair and holds your face, his movements a bit sporadic as he tries everything he can to get you to focus on him, on what he was saying.

“i love you.” he exhales. “i love you.” his hands shake your face the slightest amount to just try to get you to believe him.

“and you look so beautiful, baby.” he mumbles into your hairline, pulling you into his arms, his own eyes closed tight. his hands flatten against your back, running his palms smooth over your exposed skin. “you are so beautiful.”

in his arms, your crying slows. and the only reason he lets you go is to make a point.

“come. follow me.” he grasps your hand, letting you follow behind him with as he stands in your mirror.

“look at you.” he smiles softly, holding your hands in his own. “so pretty,” he whispers as if in thought, looking over your form as if it was a book to study.

you wipe your face, feeling hyunjin begin to walk behind you, his hand kept only our waist as he now towers behind you - warm hand resting on your hip. “i knew when i bought this you’d look beautiful but,, it’s more than that.” his voice is soft, only shared between the both of you.

you shake your head gently, feeling his hands steady on your zipper, stabilizing your side as he begins zipping you up - his eyes thoroughly focused on your form in the mirror as he does so. he says it like he doesn’t doubt it even for a moment. there’s not a moment he doesn’t think you’re outstanding, and not a moment he wishes to quiet his claim of your beauty.

“look at me,” he asks, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes in the mirror. you let his soft touch gently guide you - his thumb swiftly drying a stray tear. his hand settles on the other side of your waist, holding you in his hands. his look is all too knowing, chin dropped, fully expectant on you understanding what he was thinking - and all you can do for a moment is chuckle, wiping your cheeks.

“you look so pretty, baby - this was made for you.” he promises, admiring the texture of the dress under his hands as he gently strokes your sides and smiles.

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bloody-peach · 10 months ago

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The Sun Always Shines on TV (Hazbin Hotel: Vox x Reader)

SURPRISE! I'm not dead! So my buddy @omniuravity got me into Hazbin and especially my new husband Vox, and after a few headcanon chats, I just HAD to write something. So I did. Is it canon to Vox's behavior? I dunno, I haven't seen the full season, but I've seen clips, and I think I at least got a vague idea. So, sorry if not, but oh well. Still fun! This was kind of done in a rush of hyperfixation, so sorry if it's a bit rough. Anyways, enjoy!

Taglist: @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered @neonvehk @omniuravity and anyone else who loves Hazbin and Vox!

~~~♡♡♡~~~

It was midnight when the hourglass finally ran out. The counter read '000', showing that time was up. You knew what today was.

Extermination Day was here again.

The day where angels would come down to hell and massacre hundreds of sinners as a form of population control. You could hear the screams of terror outside as crowds of sinners would scurry and try to escape their fates. You could've easily been in that crowd, getting impaled through the gut by an angel's spear.

Vox pulls you close to him, his arm around you as he watched the carnage from the couch on the large TV. He knew that it was hard for you to watch sinners get butchered alive, so he would let you hide your face in his chest when things got gory. When he heard you whimper, he looks at you, a concerned look on his face, saying, "You ok, Y/N?" You look at him and nod, "Yeah..it's just...it could be me out there...what if I'm next?" Vox brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear and said, "You won't be. As long as I'm here, you're safe. I won't let them hurt you." You hug him, snuggling in his chest for comfort, glad that he was there.

In truth, Vox was just as scared as you were. You could easily be in the crosshair of an angel if you were out on the streets. He would low-key panic if you weren't there with him each Extermination Day. He couldn't stand the idea of losing you, not to anything or anyone.

He still remembers seeing you watch his show from an electronics storefront. He noticed how you were drawn to the show, but somehow, his hypnosis didn't have an effect on you. But he was amazed that even without it, you still tuned in and watched with excitement. That day, he felt there was something special about you, so he kept a close eye on you, watching you through various tv screens when you weren't looking. Then one day, he met you through a chance encounter.

You worked at Valentino's studio as the camera operator and Vox happened to show up one day. You caught a glimpse of Vox talking with Valentino and you couldn't stop staring at him. You felt a ball of anxiety in your gut build as you watched him, admiring his good looks, charismatic attitude, and mesmerizing voice. You couldn't help but swoon to yourself.

"Y/N! Are you listening?!" Valentino's voice broke your daze and you quickly ran to him, so not to enrage him. "I-I'm sorry sir! I-I just sent the footage to the editor and they'll get it done right away!" Vox saw as Val smiled at you and he felt a bit of rage. He didn't like how Val looked at you with his sleazy gaze, undressing you with his eyes. He's the only one who should be allowed to do that.

Once you started to walk away, Vox trips you and you start to fall, but he catches you before you could hit the ground. You look at him and could feel your face blush and your heart flutter. You stood up and bowed your head, "I'm sorry sir!" "Hey, no need to apologize. And no need to call me 'sir', either. Just call me Vox. Now, who may you be?" "I..I'm Y/N..." "Y/N...what a nice name. So you work for Val?" You nod, saying, "Yeah, I work the camera." Vox walks closer to you, saying, "Oh, sweetheart, your cute face doesn't deserve to be hidden behind a camera. It deserves to be displayed on TV." You blushed pure red and Vox knew he had you in his grasp.

Vox buys you off of Val and he lets you live with him at his mansion. While you were amazed by the opulence an overlord possessed, all that mattered to you was that you were with Vox. As things went on, Vox noticed how caring you were towards him, comforting him when he was stressed out over Alastor or helping him fix his screen or repair his wires when he gets hurt. He would always turn to you for comfort before anyone else. He always enjoyed being around you, loving the way you laughed, smiled, made jokes, everything. Eventually, he realized that he was in love with you.

When Extermination Day came, you were just leaving the porn studio from a long night of doing re-shoots. The bell rang and you felt your heart sink. You tried to look where to hide, pushing your way through the screaming crowd. You pass by the electronics shop when you hear a familiar voice. "Y/N! Over here!" You turned and saw Vox's face on a screen. "Vox! It's time! Extermination Day! Oh my god, what do I do?!" "Listen to me, you're not too far from where I am. Find a place to hide and stay there, I'll come get you. Ok?" You nod, tears in your eyes. He sees your fear and says in a comforting voice before signing off, "It'll be okay, Y/N. I won't let them hurt you."

With that, you look and find a dumpster. You immediately hop inside and hide, keeping quiet. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours as you laid there, your anxiety and fear through the roof. You kept hoping that Vox would get there soon. You then feel a wire coil around your waist and pull you out of the dumpster and hold you. You look and see it was Vox, carrying you and rushing back to his house, dodging any angel nearby.

Once you got inside, Vox grabbed you and held you, causing your emotions to crash over you as the adrenaline ran out. You hugged him tightly and cried into his chest. "Shh, shh, it's okay now, Y/N. I'm here. You're safe. You're..safe..."

You could hear tears choked up in his voice and he hugged you tightly as you both dropped to your knees. He tried to hold back his tears, but he couldn't.

He could've lost you. When he heard the bells ring, he was so scared. He needed to find you and take you home. He couldn't lose you. He couldn't. Not you. He scanned every television in the district to find you and was so relieved when he did. He rushed out the door and ran towards the studio. And now that you were here in his arms, where he knew you were safe, he started to break down. His screen started to glitch and his audio started to skip as he tried to control himself. He was usually an narcissistic egomaniac, caring about himself, but when it came to you..it was all different. He needed you.

"Vox.."

"Y/N..please...stay with me...don't go...I love you..please..."

Those words made you cry even more, out of joy now.

"Vox...I love you too..."

"Y/N.."

And with that, you both cry out your built up emotions and soon, you both were in bed together, forgetting the world outside and only listening to each other's moans and words of love.

Ever since, Vox claimed your soul and you were now permanently his. From now on, you were under his protection. If any demon fucked with you or disrespected you, that was a direct insult to him and they would be dealt with. You would work as his assistant and co-host on some of his shows, entertaining thousands of viewers all over Hell. And whenever Extermination Day hit, you stayed at home with him, sitting with him on the couch and listening to him cheer and laugh as each sinner was killed. Sometimes it helped you, other times it didn't. But he knew that.

Vox stands up from the couch and shuts off the TV, saying "Come on, let's get to bed. It should be over soon anyways." You nod, following him. It's not too long til you both lay in bed, holding each other close. The bedroom was higher up from the ground floor, so the screams and sounds of death were much more distant. You lay your head on his chest and you hear his circuits buzzing rapidly, a sign of his anxiety. You lift your head and look at him, concerned. "Vox? Are you okay, honey?" He looks at you and smiles, but his face gave away that today kind of disturbs him too. It would remind him of the day that he almost lost you. He cupped your cheek and said softly, "I am, knowing that you're with me." You smile and lean up, kiss him softly and tenderly, the kiss showing so much love. Vox reciprocated the kiss and held you close. Once you broke the kiss, you hear the bell ring out, signaling the end of the annual massacre. Vox chuckled, saying, "Perfect. Now I can get some sleep. Night, babe." You lay on him, your head resting on his chest as you respond, "Night, sweetie. I love you." Vox wrapped his arms around you, gently rubbing your back as he said softly, "I love you too, Y/N."

~~~♡♡♡~~~

I hope you all like it!!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox #vox x reader #gender neutral reader #maybe?#hazbin #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #vox x y/n #hazbin x reader #hazbin x y/n #vivziepop

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ladybirdswritings · 11 months ago

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Pride & Prejudice - Coriolanus {Young} Snow x Reader

Summary: Spending more time with the miserable Mr. Snow, against your will, only proves to you exactly why he is a man you have sworn to loathe for all eternity. Steamy Pride & Prejudice retelling with young snow and you! Alternate universe, au!snow <3

Notes: so happy you all loved the first part — so i guess i’m continuing ahaha. as always, thank u for leaving comments and loves as it keeps me motivated! also, feel free to lmk if you’d like to be added to the tag list <3

two

The mist of September’s end and October’s greeting is a thick, heavy blanket in the air. You only scowl at it as you pick up your tiered skirt from where it drags against emerald moss and dirt. A storm is nearby.

You would melt into this very soil if you could. Become one with the lilacs and peonies if it meant you’d never be prevailed upon to marry again by the force of your mother.

Mama is unwell. As always but, with more fervor now. The dance was most successful for Jane. She and Sejanus have been exchanging kind letters with pomegranate stained kisses garnishing the print. Even so, mama is viciously unhappy.

The cherrywood cabinets slam louder when you pass, and her eyes narrow at any mention of the gathering. Perhaps your behavior was a great embarrassment for her. If only you were as divine as Jane.

The house is lively, far too lively for your liking at this settling hour. Sisters here and sisters there. They busy themselves with the grand piano and awful singing. It isn’t long until one of the twins rushes forward with a sealed envelope clasped tightly in hand.

“Mama! It is for Jane!”

You snatch the paper from her palm, worrisome that she will ruin it with how tightly she squeezes. Beyond this, you are most eager to see the development in your own personal romance novel starring your dearest sister. Mama slaps your hand away in turn, tugging it back into a monstrous grasp that nearly shreds it to minuscule little pieces.

You see the breath halt and dwell comfortably in her throat, unwilling to part or falter. This is most important to her, trivial matter as it is.

So long as Jane is happy…

You gaze on at the girl with petal-pink cheeks and bright eyes — her smile is a thing of beauty and joy at the mere idea that Sejanus Plinth could admire her.

“Mama! What does it say!”

Her hands tremble like hummingbirds now, and your frown stitches itself promptly upon your pretty face. Oh no, he is certain to have changed his mind.

At least he was kind and gentleman enough to inform dear Jane by letter.

That joy, excitement and eagerness once swimming within your mother’s eyes has dissipated to sheer horror.

“When did we receive this?” She whispers, a ghastly and terror laced sound.

“This morning!” One of the twins happily offers, twirling her chocolate ringlet tight enough to knot.

Mama cries out a sound of agony, shoving the paper hard against Jane’s chest — enough so that she stumbles. She is a frantic thing, running round your quaint living space like that of a farm animal who has lost its head.

You are fueled by your own confusion, constricting your mind to only wait upon Jane. She shakily reads the crumbled thing — hesitance becoming her. Her eyes shift then; a look of joy, excitement, fear — then dread.

“What is it?” You whisper, watching as mama mutters nonsense and brushes the collection of scattered breadcrumbs from the countertop — eyes wide as the moon aglow at midnight.

“Mr. Plinth and his sister, alongside Mr. Snow and sir Plinth’s dear — rich uncle, have all planned to meet with us this evening. They’ve taken a carriage, and have made arrangements to arrive by sundown.”

Four pairs of eyes, in perfected unison, glance into the grassy plains where the sun has begun to set.

You do not intend to giggle at the irony, perhaps it is a thing fueled by nerves just as your mother. Yet it floats from your sweet lips like a prayer, slender fingers rushing to suffocate it.

It is undeniably numerous, however. How could it be anything but?

The way your dearest blood all melts at the brim for the gaze of three men whom are only important by cold silver is a thing of great mystery to you, something you do not understand. It is not just mama and Jane and the entirety of your own family however. No, it is all of society. You only wonder what it would be like for a woman to reach beyond the horizon line — to be great. To not be forced upon a man of all creatures to be of true importance.

Mama rushes past, so quickly your hair becomes unruly. She presses her palms firmly against your cheeks — your face piecing together like a swift minnow from the nearby fish pond.

“Oh heavens — if you do even the littlest act so to embarrass me, I am certain to die of great illness. My nerves are far too weak, you must behave for me! Be as sweet Jane is. Sir Plinth’s uncle is of the richest gentleman in Newbury, 5,000 a year! You must converse with him, do it for your dearest mother. Oh! And brush that wild hair from your face, girl. He will think you to be a witch — keep guard at the window.”

Her words are a tangled, knotted mess of all the things you despise. Even whilst tucked away into a place where you do not truly listen, you know well she is asking you to be social for gain of a husband.

You frown, grateful when the headless chicken runs off from you again. Your hand fussses with the wisps rested amongst your forehead — and you obey mama’s orders by sauntering to the creaky old chair that faces the fogged front window.

The fog is a veil, a curtain hiding from you only dread. You are grateful for it now, though it does no good for your locks and tresses. Your eyes dart to the torn book beside you — and you consider disobedience as an alternative to this state. You know well what will happen if you stray, so you do not dare it.

It is an awfully timely and punctual arrival — perhaps ten ticks of the grand, tower clock before the stallion’s snouts peek through the fog. Just as the golden halo sets beyond them.

“Mama!”

You call, but she only waves you away with a busy hand as she continues fussing with the knit table mat. You will not bother it again. You shrink, hiding all but curious eyes behind the lace curtain.

Sejanus is grinning, nervously you think. Then the scowling sister, a small, old creature with a sunken gaze — and the miserable one. They approach, you sink further.

“God Sejanus, smile any more for the poor thing and your pockets will start betraying you.” Grace sneers, voice sewn tightly with disgust at the less fortunate situation your family finds themselves in, glancing around at the quaint, pathetic home. It is as if she believes one breath of hers will cause it to collapse to the soil — to her polished feet.

“Please Grace, she is the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Oh, uncle, her eldest sister is very agreeable as well. Don’t you agree, Snow?”

Oh, he’s asked the cold thing who’s far too proud and rich for a humble party. You’re curious.

“Perfectly tolerable, I suppose. But not pretty enough to tempt me.”

Oh…

Your mischievous, sneaky grin melts into that of a hard line — ample with annoyance. How arrogant of him to say. As if his blonde locks and blue eyes make him any different than the handsome officers that pass by now and then. As if he is some prize. You scowl, Grace’s laugh an unpleasant sound.

Four hard knocks and you are quickly up to your feet.

Mama rushes to you immediately, slapping your hand enough so that it stings greatly and fades the color crimson.

“You were meant to watch! Places, take your stance girls!”

It takes beyond the greatest force to drag your feet to stand beside Jane. Mama checks each forced position anxiously before she tugs the door open wide — with a horrible, eager grin.

“Welcome!”

They trail the moss and dirt onto your oak floors, not bothering to wipe it away on the torn cloth you call a carpet. No need, they believe. The house is pathetic already as it stands. No dirt shall make it any less worthy than it already is.

In unison, a curtsy of greeting becomes all of you. Prim and proper and perfect just as mother groomed you all to be. For preparation of husbands.

Good god, the blonde looks even more dreadful now. Cold eyes darting to the old, harmless hound that chews on a racket ball. He winces at the sight of dust and chipped oak wood furniture surrounding. He looks down upon this place as if it is beneath him.

He far from belongs here.

“Sit, please sit! I’ve already prepared us supper!” Mama practically pushes Sejanus with most nervous palms, and his shadows follow suite.

Though you dream of running through the open door and fading into the mist to never be found again — you obey; sauntering into the archway with tired eyes and reluctant feet.

“My lady…”

Oh.

The short man with bushy brows and coal colored, untamed locks pulls your seat back enough so that you may sit upon it. To your dismay, the miserable one takes place in front of you. His eyes are cast downward to the far from fine silverware laid before him.

“Thank you sir.” You whisper, the chair feeling as though it is determined to suffocate you the longer you sit upon it.

“Oh, Jane — everybody, please meet my uncle, Mr. Casca Highbottom of Bristol.”

You only nod at the grinning old man, and mama rushes back like a midnight breeze through the archway — setting plates filled to the brim with but all of the food left for the entire month. Even so, it remains poor to a gazing eye. Though it matters not how little garnishes the porcelain, for when you catch gaze of miserable Snow pushing his few peas around in disgust, you cannot help but narrow your sight.

How can he be so proud? Certainly, if a humble gathering invited you in for a warm meal in this awful mist — you’d be most grateful for even a singular pea on your plate. Let alone twelve.

Grace laughs at the sight of Snow displeased — placing a soft palm against his knee beneath the cherrywood table. He spares her laugh a glance, and his lip twitches in what appears to be an amused smile. They talk lowly to each other, you notice it from where you peer behind your glass. She must be fond of him what with the way she touches him and leans closer with each word he speaks. You cannot possibly imagine why. Perhaps they are just alike. Rich, rude things.

“So — I dare ask if any suitors captured your heart at the party then?” Grace, she speaks to you now. You snort, ready to offer words of disdain and disgust toward the lot of men and their sweaty palms. Your mother’s cold glare silences you.

“No… they did not.” You mutter in quick defeat.

“Hmm, how dreadful…” it is mock sympathy, noticeable to both you and Jane.

Tension thins to a mere string lacing the table together. Silence blanketing even more so than the mist as worn silverware and mama’s embarsssing tangents erupt in painful harmony. You are grateful for Jane who manages to pry her eyes from Sejanus for a single moment so to save you from mama’s disapproving glare at your silence. She is selling you to the short man, it seems. She has been for the entirety of this meal.

“It is not as though gentlemen do not flock to my dear sister…” Jane starts. “It is simply that she is far too preoccupied with her books to notice them. She is an avid reader, adores her novels you see. She possesses great talents because of it!”

You hoped Jane would be so kind as to avert the attention. Yet it remains stable upon you, the available wife — as cattle with clipped ears. You feel as though you are livestock being powdered and pressed for the market. If the short man is buying, you’d rather be butchered.

He is awkward and stout and his jokes are uncomfortable as they are just rude. He is far from a gentleman and all the reason you deny each hand bestowed to you in the first place. For reason of men like him.

“You write?” Snow inquires.

Those cold, devoid eyes are locked upon you — and despite wishing to send him away to never return so you may be free of his arrogance, you only peer up at his gaze through fanned lashes to see them commanding an answer of you. Awaiting one.

“Occasionally, sir.”

His gaze doesn’t falter, nor does the gaze of Mr. Highbottom, even as he presses a boiled potato to his tongue.

“What of?”

What a silly question, you think. What else would a woman of your age and lack quill about?

It baffles you to find him curious. Perhaps he does not wish to seem obviously rude any more so than he simply is — perhaps he is only creating small talk.

“What else, sir? My thoughts and desires, my ideas. Romance — dramatics…”

“Oh but she just despises poetry!” Mama interjects, as if to end the conversation and refocus it upon your eligibility. Even when she speaks, Snow does not spare her a single glance. His eyes, they still rest upon you.

“You do? I thought poetry to be the food of love.”

You dare a snort then, suffocating a fit of laughter with a spoonful of food. You take your time chewing it, only offering more words when you realize that the conversation does not seem to be at its end. No. It cannot be. Not when he looks at you in a such an expectant manner.

“A poet writes of women in the gaze of all men, which I do not believe to be a true show of adoration. Perhaps it is the food of love — if you want to suffocate it. Stone it till it remains no longer.”

His next words come quick, immediately almost. As if he is grasping at the first chance to reply, much to Highbottom’s dismay whom snaps his mouth shut after losing the opportunity. Every eye in attendance is on the both of you.

Do they think you to be an enigma? You wonder…

“What do you recommend then? To encourage affection between two people…”

You do not know why he asks you this, but you can only assume it is because he wishes to embarrass you. Grace’s sharp gaze morphs into that of an amused smirk. Why would he ask the only woman seated what encourages affection when she cannot obtain it on her own?

You are certain then of his intentions. To mock you in front of Plinth’s sister, his uncle. In front of your blood. He does it so subtlety that if you were not bright as you are — you would most certainly miss it. He is a fool, a great fool because miraculously — you can reciprocate.

“Dancing… even if one’s partner is only tolerable.” You almost sneer with a tilt of your head and raise of your sharp brow.

If something truly clicks within him, it is most quickly dissipated. Most tricky to see. Sejanus clears his throat, and Highbottom — rude creature, erupts into a fit of laughter with a mouthful of food. Your mother is nervous, she joins him.

Grace only gasps, and Jane’s soft features are laced with confusion at the thing only you five are lucky enough to understand.

You remain stoic, challenging his eyes and his tense, twitching jaw with proudness.

“Shall I fetch dessert mama?”

Your mother nods through fits of forced laughter, and you take the opportunity to lift upon your feet. The chair scrapes against the creaky panels and nearly topples as you rush into the quaint kitchen and away from him.

It brings you joy knowing that he has nothing further to say.

You are smiling, terribly overflowed with pride as you place canned, sugared peaches upon ten porcelain plates. How proud he must have felt to speak lowly of you, a girl he spared little words to at a party he refrained from dancing at for it was too poor for his liking.

You disliked him then — but a chat with miss Lucy-Gray Baird while passing by in town confirmed all of your prejudice. She claims to have been treated most coldly by him whilst he was courting her. He offered his hand, then fled into midnight when he grew bored of her. Only the next morning.

He is as any other man is. A heartless hound. His behavior in your small home only further proves your prejudice is with more than enough reason.

You take longer than you should selfishly, and when you return — your gaze locks upon Sejanus who is entirely enamored by the sapphire gaze of Jane.

Mama aids you in placing down the plates you juggle. It is a poor dessert, but one that is most delectable.

“Oh well, your daughter is most precious. Funny, too! How uncommon for women.”

“Oh please uncle, we all have our wit. She is just peculiar, I daresay.”

Mama laughs at Grace’s words, and you only offer a polite, tense smile before being seated once again. It is you now that pushes your food around your plate, fading into the mist truly as you remain silent.

They speak of things you care the least bit for — all irrelevant matters to your mind. You are grateful when wine is poured, you nearly inhale it and garner a slap on your hand once again from mama.

You need it to get thought this.

Highbottom and mama speak of you, she tells him lies. How much you wish to be wed, how eager you are to find a lover. All contradictions of Jane’s earlier lick of truth. The rich fool believes her, his eyes cast upon you like poisonous darts. Slowly suffocating you.

Sejanus is preoccupied entirely by Jane — and the miserable one chats lowly with the scowling sister.

“Well, how about some music and dance? Lizzie, off to the piano!”

Your youngest sister lifts — eager to press her hands against the keys. It will be a mediocre melody but one that offers enough sound so to dance. You wish to stay glued to the table as they leave you to the living space — but mama tugs at your braid harshly, you have no choice other than obedience.

Sejanus kindly offers Jane a hand — and you feel as though you will just sink entirely into the floor as Highbottom approaches. Your heel turns you swift as you try and find even a small bit of space in this little home.

A navy vest with a crimson rose tucked into its pocket cages your escape. You never thought to see the day you’d be grateful for the cold blonde who cuts in front. You nearly collide with him.

“Dance with me.” He commands.

How baffling…

You do not notice the tension settled within your features until your brows ease in confusion. Your chin is pointed upwards — enough so that he can be equal to your gaze.

“Are you asking this of me — or ordering sir?”

His jaw ticks once more, but he does not follow up with any more words. The cleared throat of the short man behind you is enough reason to pick the far less uncomfortable poison. You’d rather be fueled by annoyance as opposed to discomfort and dread. One dance is all.

“Fine.” You mutter, sealing your fate and betraying your swear to be far away from the man whom you loathe entirely.

He is a pale thing up close. Birth marks kissing silken skin, soft as the moss kissing your shoes. You are grateful that this dance does not require touch — only the occasional closeness.

You follow him to where Sejanus and Jane stand — his head nearly reaches your ceiling. His palm hovers over yours, eyes downcast on your pretty features. Grace is scowling, again.

Your fingers twitch as Lizzie begins the sonnet, and you follow his lead.

It surprises you greatly, how well he dances. Though his mouth is a hard line, and his eyes are like round lumps of charred coal. He is noiseless.

“Are we to dance in dread and silence, Mr. Snow? I dare comment on this awful weather, now you may follow with a remark about the food. How much you despised it.”

You catch a glimpse of him, a suppressed twitch of his lips. As if the words offended him. Maybe amused him. You step forward and then back, frayed skirt floating against the movement. He follows suite.

“I could comment on how you dance. I am happy to inform you it is more tasteful than how you cook. Please do advise me on what more you want me to say to you.”

You stumble by his words — and his eyes dart to your clumsy feet. They are stable soon enough, circling him like a shark in vicious waters. His words upset you.

“Mama and Jane prepared the meal. I only prepared the peaches; but I do believe that if a family was kind enough to welcome an abrupt attendance with a warm meal — I would not be so complacent about its contents. You see — we are not all so fortunate to have garnered inheritance, Mr. Snow.” A cold melody, but one he would be a fool to ignore. It is all true.

Now it is him that halts. He steps forward, dipping his head low. Your eyes wander to his gloved palm — it clenches then flexes outward; all evidence of his annoyance with your words.

There you both stand, Sejanus and Jane alongside the twins, mama and Highbottom swirling around you. You do not know where Grace lurks.

You both are still, he stands a tower above you. His eyes pour heat into your own, admonishing you — offended with your words. It is as if the room is only filled with the two of you, the lace of connection between you just your anger. Even in your short time being familiar, it is strong.

“Do you imply that my inheritance is all the reason for my success?” He forces through clenched — perfect teeth.

“Perhaps I do sir, miss Baird of Newbury certainly agree—”

The hand that lays against your side is snatched into his own. He squeezes it tight now, eyes wide and swimming with disapproval and frustration. It has been resting at the surface, but bound to crack.

“Oh I’m certain she does. I am sure she told you the many tales of her troubles and woes brought upon by her time spent with me. You won’t speak to her again.”

It is you that steps forward now, so laced with upset that you do not notice your poor and worn shoes are stepping upon his tip toes. Up upon the rich and shined leather. Your chin is pointed upward, your stance tense.

“You command me as if I am wed to you sir, but I am not. You have come here, unannounced and unhappy with your humble plate as if we are all but a quaint inn with poor maids. Just because we gather little and obscure and we do not have pockets as generous and full as yours does not make us beneath you, Mr. Snow.”

The music halts, and your eyes shift quickly to find a concerned Jane gazing on — alongside your horrified mother. How crazed you both must look now. Stepping upon his toes with palms clasped — anger and upset becoming you both.

You release his gloved hand and part your soft lips to dismiss yourself — yet a strike of lightning cracking from above the grayed sky is a gift given, a distraction from beyond. Yet alongside it? A curse.

The horses startle, lifting to their hind legs before running far and fast with the carriage. Grace cries out from where she sulked in the shadows, and Sejanus alongside his uncle run after the wild beasts. Your sisters and mama follow.

“What are we to do!?”

“Grace, please be calm. We will fetch them.”

“We cannot travel in these conditions, boy.”

“You may rest here!”

Dread is a serpent that wraps tight round your throat — making the pounding of your heart halt entirely.

It is all a blur, but by the end of the lively conversation it is decided. They will stay. They will all stay. You bow your head, crossing your arms round the beating at your chest so to protect it.

“Excuse me.” You whisper, so low it is taken with the breeze from the open door before rushing up your dilapidated steps; knowing full well that the hospitality offered by mama, selfish reasoning or not, is the last thing a man like Mr. Snow deserves…

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ozu-teapot · 25 days ago

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Terror in the Midnight Sun | Virgil W. Vogel | 1959

Barbara Wilson in gratuitous sexy shower scene (or possibly a body double)

#Barbara Wilson #Virgil W. Vogel #Terror in the Midnight Sun #1959 #Invasion of the Animal People #Rymdinvasion i Lappland

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bimbosandbubbles · 2 years ago

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❀⤷Summer Frights!

Summertime Slashers m.list here

Starring Yandere Ghostface Josuke and Okuyasu

Synopsis-Your anxiety raises high when there’s been a slew of murders around your small town,rumored to be a copycat Ghostface terrorizing the town. Soon though your anxiety raises even higher when one night the Ghostface gives you a call around midnight.

Warning’s-murder,descriptive gore,dub con,non con,phone sex,multiple sex scenes,knife play,anxiety,heavy degrading,vulgar words,breeding,double penetration(oral and vaginal), mask kink,praising,pet names,unhealthy obsessive behavior,photos taken without consent,video taken without verbal consent, pussy eating, bondage,blood,biting,yandere,dacryphilia,humiliation,fear play,mentions of boxing Okuyasu and Med student Josuke.NOT PROOFREAD

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ AND UP! MINORS DONT INTERACT!

Word count-10.8k/10,891(First fic and I went overboard)

A shaky breath falls from your lips, a apparent sign of the inner turmoil you feel inside. You thought that this wouldn't happen anymore..That this couldn't happen in your city. That the ever looming presence of death couldn't haunt you so early into your life..you're only a freshman college student,barely graduated from a small high school in Morioh. Why here? Why peaceful little Morioh? Why did a dumb copy cat of a serial kill have to terrorize this quaint town?

And why did you let the thought of Ghostface morning haunt your nightmares? They were everywhere! In the morning when you woke up,they were your very first thought. When you showered,you constantly wondered if they would be stalking from behind the curtains,waiting to mangle and mane your soft body. When you walked from class, you imagined the killer in black being anyone.

Like this very moment right now. You imagine the seemingly kind house wife who just waved at you secretly using one her kitchen knives to kill the poor victim you read about in a news article posted a mere week ago. A victim you considered an acquaintance before his untimely death. You had known him from high school simply because he did something completely unexpected to someone who looks like you. He had confessed,poured out his pure and untainted feelings for you. However,you didn't feel the same and gently rejected him,making sure to still encourage him to stay sweet like the way he was. Over the years the two of you only shared small hello's or encouragements for the future.

But now..he had no more future. For,he was dead,mutilated and found with ripped pages of fat fetish pornos in his emptied stomach that was bare of any bodily organ. The thought of his suffering throughout the ordeal made your skin crawl in fear. Was he screaming for help? Was he begging anyone from the closest proximity to stop his death? Most of all,did he plead for the killers not to hurt him,to spare him?

And because of those bothersome thoughts you couldn't help but think that anyone is guilty for such a sick crime. Every step you take,you look around your once peaceful route to home,wondering if one of these seemingly normal people murdered someone without remorse. The houses you once stared at in calmness and familiarity were now morphed into murder houses. Houses,owned by killers that could be waiting to torture their next victim in utter bloodlust. Nowhere and no one were considered safe to anymore.

You grip your book bag tighter to your shoulder,holding the cool leather material closer to your side. The baby blue sundress you're adorning being softly tugged by refreshing summer wind. The sensation being a reliever to your anxiety induced sweat. Which reminds you that it's really summer now. That you should be happy because you just left your last class of the semester and that you won't have to worry about class for three whole months. However,despite the beautiful sun beaming down at you paired with the perfect breeze you can't help but feel so gloomy inside. How could anyone be happy when someone was just murdered only a week ago? How could anyone be happy when your acquaintance was already the 5th victim of a copy cat serial killer?

Immediately your morbid thoughts are shooed away by a loud booming voice. "Oi,(Reader)! How can ya leave without saying goodbye?" You snap your head back,not being able to fight how a toothy smile once you see your goofy friend. " 'Yasu,I'm sorry! I was in a rush!" Your once eager feet stopped walking to allow the male to catch up with you. Though it's not like he needed you to stop,the man is fit,years of working out and boxing shaping his athletic body. Just as soon as he called out from a distance he's already stooped next you.

"So you were in a rush?" His raspy voice asks. "Mhm I was,I'm just kinda pent and wound up from school and.." You don't have the heart to finish what you were gonna say. But it doesn't seem like you need to because Okuyasu finishes it for you,"The murders." You find Okuyasu's bluntness is nice,because at least something is straightforward to you in this mystery of a murderer or murderers.

"Yeah. It's been kinda umm..scary for me at least." Okuyasu nods as he puts his long muscled arm around your meaty shoulder. "They got me feeling on the fence a little too,especially that last guy. I mean porno mags stuffed in there? Plus them being that weird feeding shit,the guy must've been a real sick pervert." Okuyasu says nonchalantly,as he massages the flesh on right shoulder.

You can't help but think that that's why he had confessed to you before. Because you were a fetish to him,something he got off to and that's it. Now that Okuyasu pointed that out to you can't help but feel a little less empathetic towards the victim now. Disgusting. "Yeah,that's weird." You dryly add. "But umm what'd you chase after me for? I know you didn't just come here to scold me for leaving so soon." Okuyasu's eye's widen like he's barely recalled something. "Right! Umm Josuke and I wanted to invite to a little party at the beach! It'll only be us and a few other friends."

At that,your smile slightly falters. The thought of going to a party with a serial killer on the loose scared you. "Umm Yasu I'm not sure..I just wanna stay home at the moment." Okuyasu already looks at you with pleading black eyes,"C'mon (Reader), we haven't hanged out in forever. Josuke gets ya all the time cause he goes to a stupid university with ya. So please,won't ya just go with us?"

You chuckle," 'Yasu the boxing gym is right by the university,I always talk to you for like 15 minutes a day before and after class." He whines,"But today ya didn't say goodbye,Josuke got you forgetting all about me. That's why you gotta go to this party!" You find his needy behavior cute—almost endearing so you humor him. "Hmm..maybe I'll go. But if I don't go then why don't you and Josuke come over after the party? Just knock on the door and I'll let you in." Okuyasu pouts before speaking,"But what if ya’re sleepin?" You smile at him as you touch the hand he has resting on your shoulder," I won't be,trust me." Technically your promise wasn't empty,ever since the murders you've been having a hard time sleeping.

"Got ya! That sounds good. But I gotta go Josuke's waiting for me with his fancy ass car." He moves his hand to let go of your shoulder but he's met with your pudgy hand gripping it to your flesh harder. "Wait,can you walk me home please Yasu? I feel safer with you around." It's true,the man's positive energy managed to make you briefly forget your dark thoughts earlier.

He stares at you in thought,looking at your needy expression. It's almost like he visibly melted at your words and expression. "Yeah I'll getcha home! Lemme just call Josuke so he knows." Okuyasu pulls out his cracked phone and quickly calls Josuke,"Yo bro,(Reader) wants me to walk her home so just pick me up in the front of her house. Alright bye." He stuffs his phone back into his pocket and tightens his arm he has draped over you.

"Thanks 'Yasu." You kindly remark. " 'Course gotta keep my girl safe." You brush off the usage of "my girl" due to the fact that Josuke and him use it only in reference of how protective they are of you cause of the years long friendship the three of you share. At least that's what you think,right? It couldn't be used romantically,not when Okuyasu and Josuke got new girls on their arms most of the time. However the thought of being Okuyasu's or Josuke's girl..or both is something you find yourself frequently fantasizing about. But that's just silly,dreamful thinking.

The two of you start walking and talking. Conversation flows easily with Okuyasu,it always does. It does too with Josuke but Okuyasu somehow always eases you. He's your comforter,he always has been.

"Welp this is my stop." Okuyasu's voice says. You nod sadly,not wanting to say goodbye so soon to your living comfort. " 'Suke's not here yet,why don't you come inside until he shows up?" Okuyasu doesn't even think before he exclaims,"Yes!" You giggle at his enthusiasm,unlocking the door as you do so.

You enter and Okuyasu does the same behind you,making sure to close and lock the door.

"So are you hungry?" He smiles widely,"I always am!" You smile,"Yes you are! I got some spaghetti and meatballs if that's what you want."

"Yes, I love Italian food! I'll eat whatever you got left if ya let me!" You scrunch your brows in mock thought,"Okay,I'll let you have the whole container." He makes a noise of celebration as he follows you to the kitchen.

The pair of you walk into the kitchen smiling and chuckling, though your happy demeanor falters once you see the sink filled to the brim with dishes. " 'Yasu you can get the food from the fridge,I got to work on the dishes." Okuyasu nods with no hesitation as he rushes to the fridge. You grab an apron that Okuyasu had given you for a birthday years ago with a cringy motto that reads,"A dolla will make ya holla!"

Once he find the spaghetti he puts it in the microwave and he smiles gleefully once he sees you putting the apron on to wash the dishes. "Ya still kept that old thing?" You nod,"Yeah,it's my favorite." You don't miss the small blush that paints his cheeks when you remark that it's your favorite. "Good,it looks great on ya." You smile and turn to make soapy water for the seemingly never ending pile of dishes you had to wash.

Okuyasu’s food is finished in the microwave the moment the beep is heard. He grabs his food and sits down on a chair by the island. You turn your back to him once the water is done and start washing dishes. "Do ya normally wear a apron when ya do the dishes?" You answer back,"No,just when I'm wearing something like a dress or something I like a lot." He hums in thought before you hear him messily slurp and devour the spaghetti.

He swallows before hitting you with another question,"So where are your parents? They're usually home by now." You scrub off a nasty dish while replying,"Umm well I kinda own the house now. Since the beginning of summer,they left and said I had the house to myself. I don't think they'll be back for a few more months. They said that since I'm a college student I deserve my own private space and used that as an excuse to finally travel,not that I mind of course,they deserve that break."

"So ya're alone for a few months?" Okuyasu asks. "Yeah I am." You confirm once more. "Then me and Josuke should come over more often." He quickly says. "And Koichi and his little girlfriend too." He makes sure to add. "Yeah,I could definitely use the company in that case." You warmly welcome the idea. Not only so you're not experiencing isolation but also so you won't make yourself a easy target for the killer.

There's a few minutes of silence—comfortable minutes ,one's where you just hear clanging of the dishes occasionally and your dear friend excitedly devouring the food you've made. You've grown so accustomed to the silence that you can't stop the shocked gasp that falls from your lips once you feel a big calloused hand placed on your wide waist. "That was yummy,thank ya (Reader)." He doesn't bother to move his heavy hand once he hears the little gasp instead he tightens his grasp on your squishy waist.

"O-Oh you're welcome 'Yasu. It's a thank you for walking me home." He smiles,"No need to thank me. Like I said I gotta take care of my girl." He emphasizes his words when starts tracing small circles onto the cotton fabric of your dress. "This is real pretty,"he pinches the material of the dress,"Looks really cute on ya. But you always look real cute." Suddenly nothing else matters,not the dishes,not the fact that Josuke's coming soon,not even the murder that's roaming Morioh,all that matters right now is Okuyasu's touch.

You lean into his touch,"Thanks 'Yasu." Your words come out breathlessly. He hums in acknowledgement,his now two hands becoming his main focus. He squeezes the abundant flesh of your tummy that's hidden by your dress. "Ya're so damn soft." You can't help but let out a small whine at his gentle yet rough actions.

He leans against your back pushing his extremely tall frame against yours,black eyes leering at you. "Thank you 'Yasu." You can't help the awkward and repetitive response,not used to your friend behaving this way with you. Sure,he was flirty with you before but never this upfront with you. His touch advances,inching further up to your slightly exposed cleavage. " 'Y-Yasu.?" You can't help the panicked question. What is he gonna reach for?

"Yeah?" The grumble of his voice sounds erotic,almost like he's turned on right now. "What're you doing?" The question you asked held no malicious harm instead just innocent wonder. That must've snapped out of his daze. "I'm just trynna give ya hug,Josuke's gonna be outside soon so I'm saying a early goodbye." With that his big arms wrap around the whole expanse of your plush middle,his hard rock chest molds against your roll adorned back.

He leans down to give you a wet kiss on your neck,which makes you let out a shocked whine. " 'Yasu!" You exclaimed in embarrassment. "What?" He asks cluelessly. "You can't kiss me without telling me! It's embarrassing!" He smiles,"Yeah? Well Imma kiss you." He kisses your neck again,the attention on your sensitive neck making you giggle.

You slightly push his head away,"Now you know what to do if you wanna kiss me." He hums in acknowledgement. Soon a honk rings out from the front of your house. "Gotta go! Josuke's out front." He let's go of you which leaves you missing his warm touch.

" 'Kay say hi to him for me! See ya later 'Yasu." The male nods and rushes to the front door,the door slamming as he leaves. You leave the kitchen once he's gone to make sure to lock the door. And slowly you trudge back to the kitchen,"Time to do the dishes again."

☠︎

To say the least you were beat after doing the dishes. It's such a easy labor required task however you dread it. But it's not only dirty cups or plates draining you,it's the constant anxiety you feel deep down. Plus the way Okuyasu was behaving with you was different..It made you question so many things. However,the energy for being thoughtful and curious was sucking up too much from you.

You had to take a nap,just a short one. You just need to catch up with your sleep. You wander to find your phone so you can put it on silent and not be bothered with the outside world right now. Surely,you find it and set it to silent,placing it on the coffee table next to the couch that you plop on.

You lay down and curl up like a baby. Sleep,you tell yourself. Go to sleep. Though you craved a nap,you knew that a nightmare might come to haunt your only escape from reality. You haven't been having them too often but when they came,they'd be terrifying.

You forcibly shut your eyes and just relax. Soon enough you find everything leaving,all that is here is just a dreamless peaceful abyss.

However peace can never last long when death is afoot. You wake up with a start,gasping for air and clenching your poor couch cushions in fear. Eventually though,you're able to calm down. You sit up and reach for your phone to look at the time. The screen glare's at you as your eyes struggle to adapt to the light,"12:00 am. How long was I out for?" As soon as you voice your confusion. You see your phone alert you that a unknown caller is calling. You do what everyone else does when they see an unknown caller alert— decline.

"I'm hungry as hell." You mutter. You get up and stretch,letting out an almost pornagraphic moan. Your attention is taken off stretching the moment you see your phone violently shaking. You roll your eyes in annoyance. Who the hell is this persistent? You grab your phone and instantly your annoyed attitude morphs into one of fear.

Ten texts and multiple missed calls decorate your lock screen. They read threats like,"Answer the phone slut!" Or "I'll fucking murder you if you don't answer right now." Your breathing quickens,"What the hell should I do?" You thought of calling the cops but immediately you think about the original ghost face killings. Ghost face was always near by when he made calls so..that means the killers might be very close to you. But this might be just sick prank call,right?

So you do the not so smart thing and try to survive instead. Hurriedly you call the number and find yourself met with the taunting ring of the phone. Finally,an alarmingly deep voice speaks on the other end of the line. "Imma make this simple for you. Start rubbing your pussy right now."

Your breath takes a pause in your throat. Did you hear that right? "W-What?" You ask. "I said start rubbing your pussy now. Don't be a disobedient slut." For some reason a bit of fear leaves you,being replaced with courage. "No." You state. The voice chuckles,"No? What,now you want to act all brave? I know that you tremble in fear every time you hear about what we’ve done in the news. So don't act all confident with me and just rub your pussy like a good slut."

You gasp in amazed fear. This was—it couldn't

be—Ghostface themselves or himself. The voice chuckles once more at your shocked display. "Aww you're so cute but you're so dumb! That's why I need you to rub your pretty little cunt for me,it's the only thing your little dumb brain can handle."

With a uneven breath you ask,"Do you want me to umm..get naked?" You could hear a smug smile once he replies,"Good girl! You're learning how to please me. Yes,I want you to get naked and I want you right in front of that window you got in front of the coffee table. I want you to have your legs spread completely wide with your back against the table,I wanna see ya just like that,got it?" See you? He could see you? The thought alone makes your blood run cold.

"I expect an answer every time I say something. Do you understand me?" You quickly cough up a small yes. "Good,now hurry up and undress." You couldn't believe you found yourself submitting so easily to a killer—a perverted killer who's getting off to your garnered fear of them. It makes you so angry—so enraged yet you found yourself obeying like some obedient pup all because of fear. Such a coward—such a pussy you are right now. However you can't bring yourself to scold your submissive actions any harder because absolute terror is overruling the anger your feel.

And that's how you find yourself bare of any clothing,nude and vulnerable for the eyes of a sick fuck. Your baby blue dress stays by your feet,a visual reminder of your embarrassing submission . A low groan is heard through the phone , a groan that sounds so lustful it has you curling into yourself. "Fuckkkk,you're so perfect. You're so fucking gorgeous. Spin for me,I want to see all of you." The demand leaves no room for arguments so you shyly—albeit awkwardly you do a little turn hurriedly . "Mmm,my perfect girl. Do another spin for me,slowly this time. I wanna look at what I own."

You obey his command once more,dying of humiliation the longer each turn took. What's worse is you don't know where he's looking from. Is he in the front of the window? Is he in a tree up above? You don't even know if it's just a he,it could be a them—the murderous duo who's now personally terrorizing you. "Good girl,now put the phone on ya table and put me on speaker. Now spread your legs for me like a good girl."

Once again you find yourself obeying him to the exact T. As you bend down to place your back against the table you wonder why he's doing this to you? Why you? Why your town? Why poor little Morioh?

You feel the cool wood make contact with the rolls that adorn your soft back. A little whimper leaving your insanely chapped lips once the cold table touches you. "Mmm,good girl,"he practically purrs,"Now I don't want you to start rubbin just yet. Play with those pretty tits,yeah?" The phasing of his last sentence made you queasy because of the sheer audacity to make that sound like a question when at it's core it's a order. A order that reminds you of your fear.

Your fingers slightly tease your blooming bud—the cool air teasing your nipple away from it's natural softness. It feels nice—good so good that you almost forget why you're doing this. Your other hand squeezes the stretch mark decorated breast on the side closest to your heart. The warm,gentle attention riles out a small moan from your mouth.

The man on phone coos to you,celebrating the obedience he didn't have to fight you on. "You're so gorgeous! So glad you're such a good girl for me and I didn't have to hurt your perfect body! My smart girl knows what's best for her,huh?"

You hum a response,too focused on the task that's melting in your hands. Your breast continues to be meddle with,each massaging motion feeling better than the last.

Somehow his already deep voice reaches a lower octave,"Stop. Start playin with your pussy." Lust oozes from the speaker. Untouched,evil desire is all you heard come out of him at this moment. Is that why he's doing to you? Lust? To own your body with the leash of fear he has snug around your neck? What a sick pervert.

You reach down,inching away from your sweaty chest—touching the wet arousal you're disgusted to have formed. You could call it a natural bodily reaction to the fondling your breasts received but you know—you know that his degrading praise had a hand in the layer of moisture that built up on your pussy.

Your fingers clip onto your aching clit,a rubbing motion starting on from there. Rub,rub,rub, and rub is all you can think about—your pleasure,the promise of cumming is what you deserve for being forced to put on a show for a murderer. "Atta girl,keep rubbin. Your pussy looks so pretty,doll! Fuck,just wanna stuff my face in there. Would ya like me to eat you out,huh,sweet thing?" His words are slightly labored this time,an almost groany tone releasing from his lips.

"Mhm!" Is all you mutter. A short answer,yet just the answer that the serial killer needed to hear. "Yeah? Want me to suck on that fuckin pretty clit? Want me to force my face in between those thick ass thighs? Yeah—shit,wanna have you on my face—don't wanna fuckin breath until you cum all over my face." His groans—oh my god his groans, your could feel your needy cunt clench around nothing. He sounded so good,so wanton,so needy! But you can't enjoy his sounds,not when he's taunting you like this—not when he and his partner murdered five innocent people!

But what if you just let yourself indulge for a second? Just a quick second and then you could go back to quivering in fear. Oh please—oh please just a moment to get pleasure from his desire of you. "Hmmph—Shit all I can think about is your cute ass sittin on ma face. I'll eat your pretty little cunt for days! Fuck—Fuck—put ya fingers inside! Wann' see your pussy stretched out."

You don't question the command—two fingers sink into your clamping hole. A keen frees itself from your gasping throat. Feels so good! Feels so good to have something inside,something to distract your empty pussy. You start making a up and down motion,each movement making contact with your warm sensitive walls.

"Ah—feels good!" You babble. It's embarrassing—demeaning how easily you gave into him—the pleasure he gives has you oh so sensitive. "Yeah,baby? Ya cunt feel good?" You furiously nod your head,knowing that verbal responses weren't the only thing he'd understand. He's watching you after all.

"Shit, you're so good for me! Ma lil slut—my good fuckin cock whore! Fuck—wish I could be in ya instead of your little ass fingers, I could make ya feel so much better—stretch ya out real nice and good,have ya screaming fa' me and scratching my back. Wouldn't I,baby?" You almost choke on your moans when you force out a response. " Y-You would! You'd mmm—make me scream!"

"Shitttt...keep talkin like that,sweet thing. Wanna replace your fingers so fuckin badly now—gonna make sure your little cunt is a cum dump once I'm done with ya! Gonna bred ya and ruin ya for anybody else—shit—fuck yourself harder right now."

You oblige and start reaching — wiggling fingers inching deeper for that wonderfully good spot. You feel so close if only you could find that small mushy spot that would make you see stars.

Almost like he could read your body language perfectly he says,"Ya're close aren't you? Ya gonna cum soon? Fuck—me too! Gonna cum—wanna cum with ya! Shit—need ya to cum now."

Almost like some magic word you find that special spot and a pathetic mewl comes out of your mouth. Your back arches out,the position forcing out your plentiful tummy out even more.

You huff and huff an attempt to catch your lost breath. The man has became silent, any sign of him being present is gone.

The air is only full of the smell of your sex and your constant puffs. Finally, he speaks up again,"Ya did a good job,sweet thing! Call ya tomorrow at the same time." With that he leaves you to sit in silence accompanied by the constant blaring reminder of his quick exit.

Your mouth gapes open,"What the fuck just happened?"

☠︎☠︎

"(Readerrrr), ya there?" Josuke calls out. His concerned diamond blue eyes pour into yours. Your body flinches at the sound of your friend's deep voice. "Y-Yeah,just a little shaken up." You reply. Smoothly Josuke's sleeveless arms round your shoulders and coddles you closer to his chest. "Ya? Did ya have a nightmare before we got here?"

You accept his affection gesture—leaning in and pushing your pudgy cheek into his chiseled pecs. "Why didn't you tell me and Okuyasu,we could've taken care of ya way earlier." Chiding with him,Okuyasu pipes out,"Yeah! You can tell us anythin. We got ya back."

The thought of spilling your guts and telling them whatever happened only an hour ago crosses your mind—it's brief because you realize it's stupid. No way you'd put any of your friends in danger involving the terrorizers of Morioh. That's right—it's only been a hour since the call,only an an hour since you've dirtily indulged into his demands. But no—enjoying it meant they'd win and you can't let them have anymore power over you.

A part of you wonders what if? What if Josuke and Okuyasu came just at the stroke of midnight? Would they have been able to protect you from the murderers? But that what if is a distant reality—the real reality being is that your favorite duo showed up at your doorstep with snacks in hand and bright smiles. Stories of Koichi being forced into a embarrassing bathing suit by Yukako and Rohan screaming Josuke's head off when he buried him in the sand while he was sleeping on beach were exchanged with you.

Stories that kept the air light and distractive until the three of you sat on the couch to watch a movie. The polite custom of staying silent during a movie was driving you crazy,the silence leaving too much space in your head to think about what occurred.

You place a fake smile onto your lips," Thanks you guys but really I'm fine,I promise." To add weight to your adds you further snuggle into Josuke's chest and reach for Okuyasu's mangled hand,to which he gratefully accepts by gripping your hands in a no escape hold. "If ya say so." Okuyasu says. Josuke gives an annoyed look towards the unaware male,one that you've learned means that Okuyasu didn't say the right thing or he said something dumb. "What Okuyasu meant to say is if you want us to stay the night or just stay away longer?"

At first,the instinctual answer was no—strictly because you don't want to cause them too much trouble. Josuke constantly takes you places in his car because you're too fearful of the bus or walking too far away from home. Okuyasu was a already like a guard dog before the murders,but now he constantly wants to stick to you like glue no matter where you go. Of course there's exceptions of this happening like today but majority of the time that's what happens.

However,that first move to say no is gone out the window once they start touching you. Josuke starts thumbing at your back,creating soothing patterns all over the the hot skin. Okuyasu's big veiny hands are twiddling with your fingers like you're some dainty little thing to him. The touches feel good—comforting,making your poor little stressed mind let go.

"Okay." You mumble. "Yeah?" Josuke confirms. "Mhm." You hum into his chest. "Hell yeah! We haven't stayed over in forever!" Okuyasu exclaims. "Are we gonna sleep in your room?" The blunt man asks. Now that he's mentioned it,you're not sure where they should sleep. The suggestion of your room didn't really concern you all that much. After all these are your friends so won't do anything strange,right?

Sure,they are 6'1 and 6'4 men who's body weight mostly consist of pure hard earned muscle but besides that the thought of them sleeping in a room shared with you isn't really intimidating at all. In fact,it comforts you knowing that they're going to be with you in your room. You know you'd have incoming nightmares or a sleepless night ahead caused by that call,so two friends that happen to be men and very attractive are just doing what good friends do.

"Of course, you're gonna sleep in my room,silly! It wouldn't be a sleep over if you weren't." You happily exclaim. "Yeah!" Okuyasu leans over you to give Josuke a type of handshake that you don't even bother to look at. It fills you with glee to see the two of them so ecstatic to be staying with you. However,the feeling of glee doesn't overcome the impending sleepiness you start to feel.

"I think I should start setting up the bed for us." You state. Josuke's brow perks up in a inquisitively,"Us?" A rush of flustered heat floods through your body for the assumption that three of you would share your bed. You feel so comfortable with them it merely slipped out. "Um—I mean it's just cause I have pretty big bed and they'll be plenty of space for you two but I realize how silly that is now. Just forget it I'll

get—

"No,No! That's perfect, me and Oku' won't mind at all. You're our friend after all." You catch many nice things about his interrupting sentence,especially the way his honeyed tongue says "our " with almost a possessive gripe. You brush over it though, no matter how odd it sounded—instead you choose to favor his laxness about sharing a bed with you.

"Uhh well perfect! Let me just set up then and I'll call you two up to bed." You offer a marshmallowey smile before you turn from the pair and walk your way up the stairs—missing the lust glazed stares of your trusted friends directed at your teasing dimpled cheeks peeking out from your loose cotton shorts. If only you could see Josuke and Okuyasu hissing as they adjust the semi's that's grown in their jeans.

You find yourself in your room,adjusting your bed for more room and comfort. You move your stuff animals and overly big pillows,setting it on free spaces throughout the room. That's it,that's all you had to do. Yet,you weren't gonna call them up. Not yet.

You stare down at the baby blue sun dress you took off during the call that you tossed on your floor in a crying haze once the killer hung up. The dress felt like a lingering memory of what happened and what's to come. "Call you tomorrow at the same time." The words ring in your head, a consistent reminder to of your impending doom. You'd be some type of sick sexual outlet for the killer(s). And then what? Once they were done with terrorizing you with calls would they come up from a secret hiding place by your house and tally you off as another victim of theirs? The 6th victim? Or worse would they violate you—ignore your agency—the word no and pleas of reason would mean nothing to them.

And now you're here,being such a coward. Accepting their plans for you like some type of sick puppy. You make yourself sick,the thought of just surrendering makes a deep pool of raging nausea roar from the bottom of your belly. How can you be so—so easily available? You just obeyed whatever he said and when you did stand up to him you just surrendered due to the deep rooted fear of what he and his accomplice could do.

Just how weak willed how are you? Listening to a killer that demanded you to touch yourself and actually doing it! Loving the way he praised you—guiltily indulging into the desperate groans

he howled out for you. And worst of all, actually feeling your heart and clit beat with the promise of this repeating tomorrow. How sick you are.

You swallow a wad of contempt mixed with saliva before your tongue sticks out to wet your flaky lips. You call out," 'Sukeeee! 'Yasu!! You can come up now!" They heard you as soon as you said the sentence because you quickly hear the stomping up the stairs.

During the short time you throw the dress in your closet and look back in a lost daze before you slam the closet door shut. You sigh,"What am I gonna do?" You don't have much time to think about the next step before Okuyasu zooms into the door frame. He's panting—big wide chest moving up and down in a seducing rhythm. "Told ya I could beat you up the stairs Josuke!" He proudly and rather cutely says.

Not even a second later Josuke is up behind Okuyasu, Josuke's shorter frame slightly being blocked by him. It's funny how someone even as tall as Josuke looks short compared to Okuyasu. The pompadour wearing man rolls his eyes,"Yeah,Yeah meathead I know I lost." Okuyasu doesn't even bother to hide his amusement,in fact,the man can't stop laughing. "Maybe you should become a boxer like me instead of being Mr.Future Doctor. That'll get you faster."

"Yeah and risk breaking this nose?" He points to his perfectly pointed and straight nose. "No,thanks." You giggle at their interaction,"I don't know 'Yasu, Josuke's pretty built for someone who doesn't box." Okuyasu dramatically slacks his jaw,"C'monnnn he's not better than babies." Okuyasu flexes his thick arms,posing them in a abstract Y position.

You smile and lean over to touch the hard mass of muscles,chubby digits feel up his biceps. "Ooo very hard 'Yasu!" The teasing compliment flusters the tall man,making him splutter out,"Course they are! I take good care of myself! I eat real good too!" You look at him,"I know, 'Yasu. Anyone can really tell how good you take care of yourself."

Josuke chuckles this time,"Well remember Okuyasu,this future doctor takes care of all your injuries because you always spend your money

too fast and can't afford an actual hospital bill." Okuyasu whines," Man you can't use that against me,I always get my money back anyways."

"Right." Josuke remarks sarcastically. You laugh once more before disputing the whole interaction. "All right,all right you both are just great the way you but you'd be even better asleep." The both whine out an okay and drag their feet to your bed.

You slide into the middle of the soft mattress but stopping halfway though to ask,"Are you guys fine with me being in the middle?" They don't seem to mind because they simply just shake their head. You nod and finally make yourself comfy in the insulated center of the bed.

However,comfort doesn't last long when both of the males turn their handsome faces towards you. You don't fail to catch their staring eyes drinking you in. You feel a pool of nervous saliva coat your mouth," 'Suke can you turn off the light?" The male nods and leans over to switch off the lamp placed on your bedside table.

The second the lights turned off Okuyasu boldly grips wraps his big arms around the whole expanse of your rounded front—thick hard muscle grasping your wide waist in possessiveness. The actions so sudden a small gasp flees from you. " 'Yasu not so rough!" You exclaim in a flustered panic. He doesn't say anything in response,instead digging his scabbed extremities into the plushness of your pouch sitting above your pillowy hip bones and groin.

He nuzzles his face into your shoulder,instantly knocking out onto your flesh. Josuke and you share a glance of shock and amusement. You break the silence with a quiet giggle. "I forgot how easily he goes to sleep." Josuke nods,"I know right? He's just like a baby."

You smile,"Yeah,wish I could go to sleep as easily as him." Bright diamond blue eyes peer into you,analyzing your very being. An inhale of breath is heard before," How have you been holding up?" The question rings into the air,almost like you don't want to answer it. You can't tell Josuke—your protector,your friend,the guys who's ward off bullies by going in a blind rage of attack when bad things has ever been said about you—that the taunting ghost of Morioh called you to get himself off in some sick way.

He'd get only hurt and dragged into a unfolding mess. You can't do that to him! Sure,he's strong and tall,standing at 6'1 feet with some raging fighting skills. But could he take on the Ghostface? The man who mutilated a person you used to know so inhumanly. Not even to mention there's most likely two of them. No,Josuke couldn't know. For his sake.

"I've been doing okay. Just always nervous,ya know?" He hums in acknowledgment,long lashes kissing his cheek bones. His smooth yet textured fingers gently rub back and forth on a small patch of flesh of your cheek. "I know,baby. But me and Oku will take care of ya anyway you need. All you need is us,the rest of the world will just ruin ya."

You look up at him and catch his wrist in affectionate hold,your own fingers rubbing skin as well. "Mmm,I know you'll take care of me—the both of you but I just can't get this constant fear out of me. I'm so scared of them. " Josuke looks at you in thought,trying to find the right thing to say to comfort you.

"You're not their MO,they won't touch you." You find comfort in how matter factly he states it,like he's completely sure that nothing will happen to you. "I know but it's just the last victim I knew. You remember that one guy in high school who confessed to me? That was him. And it's just so hard for me to actually grasp that he's no longer here anymore."

Josuke's gentle and somber expression melts away,twisting in a disgusted one. "That guy was a creep,(Reader). He just fetishized you,like you're some type of meat. And you're not,you're the most sweetest,most beautiful,most considerate person and that fucker was probably just jerking off to ya body." You're gagged by how easily he tore into the deceased man.

"But still—" You try to speak but you're cut off with a cold cut sentence,"No,I think he got exactly what was coming to him." You stare up at the male, shocked by the discovery of just how cold and ruthless he could be. " Josuke..." you trail off. He looks at you,his angry expression fleeing from him the moment he does.

"I'm sorry I must scare ya talking like that." He stops rubbing your cheek,replacing the soothing touch with cupping it. You nod,"Yeah,I've never heard you so...cruel before." He leans closer to you,softly sighing. "I know but creeps like that just piss me off. I'm sorry, I won't talk like that in front of you again."

You peer into Josuke's pretty eyes,not missing the barely lingering murderous glint reflecting in them. It fills you with a pool of anxiety and a little drop of suspicion. But Josuke couldn't be one of the men plaguing Morioh,he loves Morioh after all! He talks about the city so beautifully—the people he loves that reside here. So naturally,you easily brush off the creeping inkling.

" It's okay,let's just not talk about it anymore." You assure as you lean into his touch. People could call it delusional or just pure ignorance to brush off someone's body and verbal language if they were acting like Josuke a few moments ago. But no,you feel in your heart that he and Okuyasu could never commit such heinous crimes. They could never..at least that's what you told yourself to help halt the booming alarm bells coursing through your brain.

Josuke nods,"Yeah,let's just go to sleep,m'kay?" You don't protest him,welcoming the suggestion of sleep. " G'Night 'Suke." He hums a response and snuggles closer to your neck. You close your eyes,attempting to drift off to a peaceful darkness.

Josuke's rhythmic breathing against the nape of your neck soothes you like a lullaby does.

☠︎☠︎

"Sorry me and Okuyasu had to go to work. We tried to wake u up but u wouldn't budge. See you later tho and stay safe!" Is what you read as you groggily pour yourself some milk for the cereal you're about to eat.

"Ughgg I can't believe I slept in for so long..." you complain. It's now 4:39 in the afternoon and you find yourself dazzlingly eating not so good cereal.

You guess though,that at least this is somewhat normal for a person your age. To sleep long and be unproductive the moment summer break hits. But you're no longer a normal college student anymore,for the man taunting your innocent city is now personally bothering you.

You wait and wait and wait,doing things to keep your mind busy until the clock strikes 12. Time slowly yet quickly slips the your finger tips. It seems every time you pursue an activity the time goes the quicker. It's almost like the universe can sense your unrelenting anxiety and chose to pick on you.

5' o clock

6' o clock

7' o clock

8' o clock

9'o clock

10'o clock

11' o clock

Your face is crest fallen once you look down at your phone and realize that it's only one hour away from the awaiting phone call. Your chest tightens and suddenly all the air from your lungs flees. One breath,then another,and a third one before you slide down a wall.

It feels like the whole sky is resting on your racing chest. It's too much—it hurts it's so much.

You wheeze and try to compose your breathing. Slowly—extremely slow your compose yourself and once you do you immediately stand up.

"I can't stay here..! I-I have to go!" The thought of staying in your own house is too much right now. The thought of just sitting in your home like a sitting duck almost makes another panic attack ensue. You hurriedly grab your phone and stuff it into the pocket of the mid thigh length shorts you're wearing and slide on some sandals.

You rush out your door and start an instant pace away from your house. Further,you just needed to be further. It's now finally hitting you that there's no real escape! The police couldn't and wouldn't help,after all they haven't done much of anything to help with the disgusting crimes committed prior. Josuke and Okuyasu can't help you,they're just regular young adults just like you.

You're just screwed,so screwed. And you may have made yourself even more screwed by making the rather impulsive decision to walk away from home. But you honestly didn't make it too far,being only 10 houses away from your own. You pull out your phone from your pocket and it's barely 11:15. You could still walk back to your house..but then what? He'd call and tell you to touch yourself again and then you'd just do whatever he says?

That didn't sound good to you at all. However the choices are slim—go to the police force who won't do anything about or accept whatever they'll want you to do. Both of those choice sound horrible,however one has a more merciful fate. If you were to go to the police you feel that they would know but if you were just to be obedient,maybe,just maybe you'd have a sliver of hope to be unharmed.

With that you briskly walk back to your once beloved home. The overwhelming sense of dread constantly pokes at you. You'd just have to suck it up,no matter what they gave to you.

You wrap your ample arms around the protruding roundness of your stomach,gripping anything for comfort. Despite your poor attempt at comfort you still feel a sinking ball of anxiety fall lower into the never ending pit of your tummy.

You never thought that is ever growing ball of sensed doom could get any bigger,however once you arrive at your house and find the door to your house is barely ajar.

Your heart booms and booms against it's confined cage. The hairs of the back of neck stand tall once you feel the familiar vibration of your phone shaking against your leg. A shaky hand reaches for the cellular device and you see the dreaded numbers.

Unlike last time,you made sure there's no room for blowing off a unknown number again. You answer,fear injecting your tone,"H-Hello?" You can practically hear the smile on the murderer's face,"Heya doll! You've been a good girl fa' us?" This voice...sounds different—raspy and deeper than the voice prior. This must the other half of Ghostface.

"Y-Yes." You answer. "Hmm...Don't sound so bummed out! It'll be good in a lil bit,okay?" You're off put by the shift in personality and tone. This Ghostface sounded nicer,less impatient and sadistic. Although the new voice is a scary find,it doesn't distract you from the slightly opened door to your home. "Did you come to my house?"

The question stands still,the man on the other line letting it cruelly marinate. "I dunno,why don't ya find out?" A thin layer of anticipation sweat coats your face as you gulp down a wad of saliva. "I'm waiting inside,are ya really gonna make me be here all night?" It's whiny—his tone,almost childish. It reminds you of someone but you can't put your finger in it.

"N-No." You remark. "Yeah? Then,hurry inside. I gotta surprise for ya." Something told you that this surprise isn't something you'll be very glad to see. The images of someone's intestines lining your floor as some sick substitute for romantic rose petals—blood splatters coating the untouched decor instead of calming candles. Or worse,them waiting with knives in their hand preparing to torture you and mutilate your body.

What you find when you enter the invaded house isn't intestines,nor blood splatters. No,what you find is much worse than anyone's sick mutilation. Dozens of polariod pictures decorate the wooden floor. With each step you take it's like looking at a mirror full of past yous because all the images laid on the foundation are of you. Naked,clothed,changing,eating,sleeping—whatever a person's daily normal activities are all there right in front of you.

But what's really the icing on this fucked up cake,is the two bodies cloaked in black and elongated dramatic masks,standing there in the middle of splay of pictures. Ghostface. The sights are so terrifying,so incredibly off putting that you don't know what to look at—the secretly taken pictures or the Ghostfaces that have ruined Morioh.

"Well are ya just gonna stand there or are ya gonna greet us?" The raspy voice rhetorically asks. If you weren’t suffering from shock you would’ve made the smart choice and walked over to them but you physically couldn’t move. Your body feels like a leaf struggling to fight the wind

— the trembling exuding from your nerves being unstoppable. “Aww she’s scared! We can’t just leave her like that.” The one who’s slightly taller says.

“Yeah,you’re right. Let’s make this easier for her.” The pair walk over to you and there’s so much tension. So much fearful curiosity on what’s going to happen to you. “P-Please…” That’s all you can mutter. Just please. Please what? Please don’t murder me? Please don’t hurt me? You don’t know what you’re asking for but you just wanted to stop whatever’s happening to you.

“ Josuke’s she’s pleading,I feel bad.” Josuke? Your Josuke? There’s no way you heard that right. A hard swat is heard,a harsh impact landing on the male’s arm. “Ya idiot! She was supposed to know after we were done! Fuck,you just ruined our plan.” The man you call a friend,the man who’s comforted you from Ghostface …is the one disturbing Morioh.

You want to be pissed,want to yell and scream and tell them what sick bastards they are. They only thing you can manage is a broken sob fleeing from your body. Hot tears soak your cheeks, the constant moisture never leaving. You can’t even bear to stand anymore,your knees giving out on hard wooden floor.

“Why?! Josuke,how could you?! Okuyasu why?! Just why?!” You cradle your hands in your face and just sob,letting snot and salty tears build up on the skin. Hard heavy boots stomp their way to your form and a gloved hand forces you to look up at a screaming mask.

“Don’t go pitying yourself. You should be thankful we did all this for you—because we love you. Don’t you realize how lucky you are to have two people so in love with you?” By now Josuke’s taken off his mask,allowing you to stare at his crazed expression. Okuyasu joins in,his bare face shown to you too,”Yeah! Me and Josuke are just doing this because we love ya! So just be a good girl like last night and everything should be good,m’kay?”

“You love me..YOU LOVE ME?!” You voice trembles with a mixture of rage and betrayal. “How can you even claim to love me when you hurt my community?! How do you even have the audacity to say such a thing when you’ve lied and manipulated me?! You two bastards are sick!” You’re about to stand up before Josuke’s strong hand shoots out and pushes your head down with a insane amount of strength.

“You’ve always been stubborn (Reader)…but if ya can’t see what we’re trying to do for you then fine. I didn’t want to be so rough with ya…only wanted to scare ya a bit and then fuck your poor little brains out but since you wanna be a bitch though we’ll do it the hard way.” Effortlessly,so easily he scoops you up and hauls you over his shoulder. You hang over his muscular back and scratch your dull nails through the fabric. It doesn’t seem to be effective and only manages to piss him off because he roughly spanks your slightly exposed bottom.

“Behave.” He warns. You whine at the impact but stop your physical protest. “Okuyasu go get the rope,she won’t stay still.” Chills crawl down your spine the moment he utters that and so…casually too. “Right.” Okuyasu stops following you two and goes back downstairs.

Josuke takes you to your room and plops you on the bed. You attempt to force out all the hatred and betrayal and..sadness you feel once you look at him in face again. He chuckles at that,seemingly amused by it. “You can never be mad at us—at me,you’ve always had such a soft spot for me and Okuyasu. So just accept whatever we give you,yeah?”

With that he pushes you flat on your back onto the springy mattress,his big hand cradling your wrists as he straddles you. He pulls something from his pants and once you see the reflective glimmer of a cool metal your chest starts racing up and down. “What’re you do—“ His gloved fingers mush your lips shut. “Shhh..just let me do it.”

He brings the knife down to your thin cotton tank top,the tip of the jagged knife circling your hardened nipple. “No bra?” He smugly asks. “Were you waiting for me and ‘Oku to ruin ya’re cunt?” You shake your head no and he chuckles. “What do that little phone call I gave you yesterday didn’t have ya pacing in excitement? Didn’t have your pretty fuckin cunt clenching around nothin?”

You ignore him yet he’s still amused. “It’s okay,sweet thing you don’t have to lie to me. I know how your body feels.” He continues his gestures,making sure the cool blade nips at your erect nipples. A small whine falls from your lips at the cold contact—sounds are pulled from you by the attention on your bare breasts. “Shit ya sound so good,ya know that? Fuck needa see your pretty titties.”

He quickly cuts open your shirt with the weapon,not caring about how dangerous the swift motions are. Josuke practically drools once he his dilated pupils lock onto your chest and tummy. “Fuck,Okuyasu better hurry up before I take you for myself…” His veiny hands grip the pillowy flesh rested on your chest,his flat finger nails digging into you.

Okuyasu comes barging into the room with a coil of rope and a cam recorder. “Noo you started without me!” He impatiently sets the items onto the bed and rushes over to hover over you. His eyes light up like a little kid in a candy shop once he lays eyes on you. “Ya’re so fuckin gorgeous (Reader)!” Impulsively his hand reaches over to touch your boobs,not even bothered by the fact that Josuke’s hands are over them.

“ Josuke move your hands,I wanna feel.” He complains. “Whatever…” He arises from his straddling position and walks over to the other side of the bed. Happily Okuyasu takes his spot and hops over your laying body. His face dives into your chest and whatever he’s doing feels so unbelievably nice. He suckles like a baby being nursed on your exposed nipples,rotating from your left to right one. He mushes and massages eagerly,loving the way you feel.

“You taste…so fucking good! I wanna know what that pretty cunt tastes like!” He pops off your tits so crudely but you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can even get out is small whimpers and grips on his hair. “Yeah,Okuyasu eat her cunt! I’ve been thinking about that since I called her. It’s so fuckin fat Okuyasu…and her little clit just throbs whenever you give it any attention.”

“Shit really? You’re a real lucky bastard Josuke,gettin to see her cummin on her fingers.” Josuke chuckles,”I think you’re the lucky one,you’re the one who gets to taste it first.” Okuyasu doesn’t argue that so he hastily pulls down your shorts and panties. “Spread your legs,baby.”

You do as he says,allowing him to slide off your clothes. He quickly slides down your body,making his way to your cunt. He pushes your thighs apart and whistles an appreciative tune. “Mmm..you weren’t lying,her pussy’s so pretty.” Without any warning he nudges his nose against your clit. Affectionately teasing the throbbing button.

He spreads apart your pussy lips even separating your thick pubic hair that’s stuck to the moisture of your cunt. He dives in with zero hesitation,wrapping his mouth around your hammering clitoris. You writhe and moan at his attentive behavior—everywhere,his tongue felt everywhere.

It felt like you couldn’t catch a break, every few minutes you were gasping and moaning,arching your back away from the bed. Okuyasu spits down your pussy as he sits up to look at you. “You look so fuckin cute. Josuke you gotta film this…look at her face—fuck I got so much pre cause of it.” He immerses himself back in between your legs this time scissoring two of his fingers into your accommodating walls.

His free hand clenches the hanging fat above your cunt,the harder he licks the more his grip becomes more rough. “Look at me,sweet thing..Look at the camera.” Josuke points the camera down at you with one hand,the other rubbing a painful looking bulge fighting against the fabric of his pants. You whine and whimper,” Y-Yasu! Don’t stop!”

Your encouragement only makes the tongue in between your legs move more passionately. It feels so good! So good! So good,that you can’t fight back the cascading tears falling from your eyes. “Shit—you feel so good that ya’re crying,baby? Yeah? You like Oku’s tongue on your sweet cunt?” The male leans down and lick away the salty tasting liquid from you plush cheeks. “Mmm..just everything tastes good about you.”

“Aaah! ‘Gnna cum! G’nna cum!” Slur after slur Okuyasu continues his aggressive attack on your sensitive pussy. You push away from his mouth,using your hands to uproot you from your place on your back however you’re met with big hands digging into the flesh of your wide hips. “Nu uh,don’t move away from him! You’re interrupting his meal. We can’t let ya do that…” Josuke sets the camera down onto bedside table and reaches for the discarded rope.

He swiftly bounds you by your wrists and softly pushes you back onto the bed. “Now be a good girl and take it!” He exclaims. By then Okuyasu seems to have found a special spot that would take you over the brink of pleasure. He curls his digits against the mushy spot and a loud hysterical scream falls from your lips.

You see black spots taking over your vision. You can’t hear anything,can’t even see,a mind numbing orgasm taking over all senses.

You’re so incoherent that you don’t even know how you’re sprawled out on your hands and knees. “Ya’re gonna take this dick,doll? Hmm,you want this fat cock hitting ya cervix?”

You look behind you and find Josuke positioned behind you.

“W-What??” Okuyasu hushes you by pushing the tip of his pre cum covered head against your lips. “Just enjoy it,doll face..Just enjoy it.” Is all you hear before the tip of his mouth enters your mouth.

You mumble around his tip right before Josuke mercilessly thrusts inside of your cunt. Your lips pop off Okuyasu’s tip in a surprised moan. “ Gentle! Be gentle! Fuck—omg!” Your moan against Okuyasu’s inner thigh,the toll of Josuke’s rough treatment becoming more obvious.

“C’mon baby,don’t ignore me! I need you…” Okuyasu whines. He nudges your mouth to his once more and this time you’re ready for it. You curl your tongue around the expanse of his shaft. You set a constant motion,bobbing your head halfway down his cock and jerking off what you can’t fit in your mouth.

Josuke seems to like the pace you’ve set and gyrates his hips into you each time you pull away from Okuyasu’s dick. In and out,in and out,that’s all you can think—feel about. It’s so euphoric,feels so new. Each time Okuyasu’s thick cock burns the back of your throat,Josuke’s cock deliciously drags against your clamping walls.

The man behind you has a death grip onto the fat of you wealthy hips. “Fuck,I’m gonna cum in this pussy! Gonna claim this pussy as mine! Shit!” His labored breath quickens the deeper and deeper he goes into you.

Okuyasu groans and forces your head further down his cock. You gag and grip the sheets as your back of your throat is constantly touched by his oozing tip. It’s too much! It’s too much to have them both focusing you on you at the same time.

You try to pull away to express the intense overstimulation you’re facing but a rough hand keeps you still. But what really sends you over the edge is when you feel two fingers reaching over you and circling your clit. “Mmhm! You’re so good,baby! Taking me so well!” Okuyasu compliments.

Josuke groans and mutter babbles of praises. It’s a mantra of noises,diluting the idea of time for you. You’re not sure if it’s been hours,minutes or mere seconds.

But still you find yourself so close to the brink of sweet paradise. “Such. A. Perfect. Fucking.Cunt.” Each word is emphasized with a balls deep thrust. You moan on Okuyasu’s cock,gripping the sheets underneath you.

You’re so close,so close! You could feel your orgasm creeping up on you! “Mmmf!” A shocked whimper is muffled by white hot liquid overflowing in your mouth. You don’t even have to process it before Josuke tightens his grip on you and mounts you like a animal in rut.

“Shit m’ gonna cum in ya! Want ya cunt to take every single drop!” He groans and leans against you,punching your cervix with the head of his fat cock. That’s when you can’t hold it anymore and you slump forward,finally letting go of Okuyasu’s member from your oral hold.

Josuke fucks you throughout your orgasm,every single thrust paired with filthy words. Finally at his last thrust his hips still as he releases a huge load into you. He huffs and huffs against your back,Okuyasu mimicking his actions as well.

And you can barely keep your eyes open—the vision offered to you being slowly whisked away. From then your whole surroundings disappear and everything doesn’t exist anymore…

Not even the fact that Morioh’s killers made you theirs…

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! So are comments!<3

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