#in a tricked drive home situation

[ladysophiebeckett]

it would have been funny if during one of betty's break up attempts she had just straight up said 'it's because you're a griton.' bc how you play past that? he can't say 'im not gonna yell at you anymore' bc they both know that's a lie. 'i'll try and yell less'? he's said that before too and he kept doing it. he would have to really reflect on it i think.

[elysianightsss]

Mouth watering sundress

Summary: John gives you a ride home from work, and his phone number…

It was the car ride from hell.

John drove with one hand on the steering wheel and one on the clutch, his truck smelled just like him. Oak wood, cigars and spiced oranges. It had a musky undertone that made you shift in your seat, thighs clenching uncomfortably. The Chevy he drove somehow didn’t surprise you and the country music quietly playing from the radio didn’t surprise you either. 

His plaid button up shirt and loose blue jeans had you staring. You could see where the muscles were too big for his shirt when he changed gears it looked like it was going to rip. You wondered what it would feel like to have those muscular arms wrapped around your body.

You played with the hem of your floral sundress, tracing the little flowers while you scolded yourself for thinking such things about your gorgeous neighbour. 

“How was work?” John asked with gentle curiosity, his big hand moving the clutch to change gear.

“It was okay.” You shrugged glancing out of the window only to look back at him and see a frown on his face.

“Just okay?” His eyebrows rose as he watched little old Doris pull out in front of him in her mini with no indication whatsoever.

“Yeah. I mean my job consists of listening to people complain on the phone and trying to fix their issues. It was pretty boring, only gets good when you get the screamers.” You laugh, watching the forest trees pass by as he drives.

“Screamers?” He asks, a small laugh coming out himself, though you picked up the concern dithering there. Tricks of the trade.

“People who start shouting or screaming down the phone as soon as you answer. Mostly cause they haven’t got they wanted from the company yet.” You explain, saying it so casually.

“That doesn’t sound too fun.”

“Maybe not fun but definitely an interesting change. Gives me something to think about on the weekends too. Maybe if I should have responded differently. How can I better my answers for next time it happens.” Your brows furrow slightly realising how pathetic you just sounded.

“No friends to make your weekends interesting?”he cleared his throat hoping he wasn’t too obvious here, “or boyfriend.” He glanced quickly at you out of the corner of his eyes to catch you cracking a small smile making one grow on his face too. So infectious.

“Some friends but they work on the weekends. And I don’t have a boyfriend.” That had John shifting into the wrong gear the car making a loud scraping noise, he scrambled to quickly rectify the situation before the car stalled.

“Fiance? Husband?” He grimaced saying it, if felt like a dirty word on his tongue, leaving a bitter after taste that quickly disappeared when he spotted no ring on your finger.

“Nope. Completely and pathetically single.” You sighed, not dramatic, but simply a deep breath that showed how tired you were from everything. And boy you were tired. Exhausted from the emotional stress of life.

“Oh?” His interest clear, just as much as his curiosity was.

“Every time I like a guy or even think about entering into a relationship, it always fucks up in a monumental way and I always end up hurt. Every single time.” You let out another tired sigh. It was hard to be single when both your friends had partners, always the third wheel. It made you really hate life at the moment. Though you suppose you’d been in worse positions than in a Chevy with your large, handsome neighbour.

You pulled up to a traffic light, John pulling up the hand break before turning to look at you with a deep seriousness gleaming not only in his eyes but on his face, his body language, his entire demeanour had become the embodiment of seriousness.

“I would never hurt you. Ever.” He was so earnest. It made your heart ache, yearn for the kind of man you’d always wanted but never had. Always boys, never men.

The light turned green just as you let out a shaky breath, fingers lacing together in your lap picking at your nails in nervousness. Heat rising on your cheeks when his hand reached over to lay itself on top of yours for a few moments before pulling your hands apart, “Don’t do that. You’ll ruin those pretty hands.” He lets go just as he looks deep into your eyes, “and we can’t have that can we.”

You didn’t know what to say, the glint in his eyes, the way he tipped his head to the side a bit. Fuck, he looked wonderful. You steeled yourself and consumed every bit of self confidence you had, “You think my hands are pretty?” You stared at him, blinking a few times, definitely not fluttering your lashes. Your eyes flickered to where his jaw seemed to clench tightly for a few moments.

The intensity was building as he leaned in closer to you, it had a burning feeling building in your stomach, a fluttering you’d never experienced before the longer he stared into your eyes

Before he could even open his mouth in reply the beeping of horns from the cars behind started going off. You cleared your throat turning to face the front of the car, “The lights green John.”

“Mhm.” It’s short. Sweet. And so fucking sexy. His voice gravely and low, rumbling in his chest as he hums. Prolonging his gaze upon you just a few more moments before he turns back to the steering wheel and begins driving off.

You quietly let out a breath you hadn’t realised had built up, it did nothing however to ease the fluttering in your stomach. Only seemed to make the nausea worsen. You made a point of not picking at your nails, instead you lay your hands over your thighs, the feeling of your skin and the material of your sundress distracting you enough to not see smirk that graced John’s lips.

John lips, those luscious kissable lips that seemed almost hidden away by the full beard that had grown around his mouth. Like some forbidden fruit hidden just enough in the garden of Eden. He seemed like some forbidden fruit.

He stopped the car just outside your house, getting out to open the car door for you to get out. “Thank you for the ride home.”

“Anytime sweetheart.” He gazed down at you, his height even more daunting now that he was standing. His whole being was just large. That was the best way to describe him.

-

Honestly, you thought about him for the rest of the evening and all night. You thought about his muscles, the way they stretched the fabric of his shirt over the skin. The way his hands seemed to dwarf everything, you wondered how big they would look holding yours. You thought about the way he smirked after calling your hands pretty. You thought about the way his blue eyes glistened when he gave you his phone number.

It was all you thought about. All that was on your mind with no way to get rid of it, no sign that the brazen thoughts would ever leave you. It was like your own personal brand of torture.

Even when you finally managed to drift off, you dreamed of him. Dreamed that he would touch you the way you wanted him to. That he would kiss you desperately, achingly. You were hungry to be touched by him, so hungry that even the very thought of tasting him made you feel nauseous. It had been so long since anything had touched you, that your body had grown accustom to the emptiness that gnawed at you day in, day out.

But maybe it was just what you needed, to push past the sickness. To hold on tight to the warmth that wanted to cover you, that wanted to wrap itself around you. But you couldn’t help but push it away, say no in cruel anticipation of the inevitable. Love is a tender kiss for most people. For you she saves her sharpest axe.

Waking up was humbling, how groggy and unhinged you felt after a night of thinking and dreaming of John. Rolling over in bed you unplugged your phone and began to scroll through your notifications. Your heart jumping in your chest at the sight of a new text; from John.

John: Hey pretty girl. 7:36am. read.

Holy shit, he’d text you this morning. Was it when he first woke up? He was he thinking about you all night too? This man is something else.

John: No reply already? I thought I would’ve had to say something stupid first before you ignored me sweetheart. ;) 9:41am. read.

You: Sorry, got distracted. How’d you sleep? 9:42am. read.

John: Like a log. You? 9:42am. read.

You: Could use a couple more hours honestly. 9:43am. read.

John: What do you have planned today sweetheart? 9:45am. read.

What did you have planned today? Rolling around in bed thinking about a well built beast with thick mutton chops. So enthralled with the simple idea of John.

Fuck you’d never met a man so….well manly. His big muscles and his thick musky scent that screamed masculine in the most primal way possible. In every circumstance, in every part of the world and every century, he would be the ideal mate. To protect and provide-

The ringing makes you jump, the phone vibrating in your hand as you see the unfamiliar number only just added to your phone. You breathe in sharply for a moment, blowing out shakily, hands beginning to sweat. And it’s not even him in person, it’s just a phone call.

“It’s just a phone call. You can press the end button at any time.” You tell yourself, reassuring yourself before sliding your thumb along the screen, the answer swipe turning green. You put the cold screen to your ear. “John?”

“I got impatient.” His voice sounded so low and deep, must be that its first thing in the morning.

“Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.” You mumble picking at the sheets surrounding you.

“Anything you wanna share? Or is it too soon to be prying into that pretty head of yours.”

“God you’re forward.” You breathe out a little laugh, a hot feeling fluttering in your stomach.

He laughed, heartily. “I’m just wired that way love.”

“I’m not sure if I like it.”

“Oh?” John voice was light and soft, if you were really leaning into it you’d notice the tinge of disappointment in the sound.

“It’s catching me off guard. I like to keep my cards close to my chest.” You swirled your finger along the pattern of the crocheted pillow in front of you.

“I’d happily let you play me.”

“John.” You breathe out another laugh, your heart skipping a beat.

“Like that,” he huffed low and wild, “like when you say my name. Sounds so nice coming from you.”

“It does?”

“Well with a pretty voice like that, I’m sure you can make anything sound nice.” He chuckled. And fuck you had to mute with how you giggled, kicking your feet with giddiness.

“So you want to go for lunch?” The rumbly bearish throaty sexy voice melted your knees until they felt like jelly.

“Again with the forwardness.” Your flushed cheeks hurt, couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, and he could hear it.

“I’m a man who knows what he wants and goes for it.” John answered without so much as a thought, the answer coming so naturally.

“I’ll consider it.” You pressed the red button and jumped in the shower, cold and brisk. It was the only way to bring your burning body temperature down.

John was unlike anybody you’d ever met, definitely better than an of your exs and you hadn’t even gotten to the deep stuff yet.

You wrapped a towel around your body and began to dry your hair with your other towel when you noticed your phone light up, a nervous grin tugging at your lips as you picked up the device and read the text.

John: Considered it yet? 10:02. read.

You shook your head, teeth biting into your smile. He was so unashamed and so bold. It made you question yourself, made you want more than you had once had. Made you want him.

You: I’d love to have lunch with you. 10:04am. read.

John: I’ll pick you up in an hour, wear that mouth watering sundress again ;) 10:04am. delivered.

Mouth watering sundress? Fuck, no one had ever said that to you before. Hell no one had ever offered so many compliments in one conversation before. He was truly a man of different breed. You giggled again falling into your bed and kicking your feet in the air, he was such a flirt. You loved it.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ keep this drive to just us two | fushiguro megumi

wc: 2.7k

summary: megumi is a liar, but there’s a reason for all this.  

contains: f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, college!megumi, pre-relationship stuff, feelings, some swear words

a/n: happy birthday to our boy ♡ set in the same universe as this megumi fic (so a ~kind of part 2); some songs that inspired this & ones i imagine playing in the car: the shining by the neighbourhood, paradise by chase atlantic, & over the moon by the marías

part: 1 | 2 | 3 series m.list: by your passenger seat

It’s just you and Megumi on a late night drive—a quarter past 11 p.m.

The passenger seat has long since been adjusted to you, his car a somewhat second home. There’s that characteristic reverb accompanying the deep bass of the music he listens to, and his knee is bobbing to the beat of it, like it always does when the music is good. 

Megumi’s car always smells of mint, a fresh, crisp scent that cuts through—an accurate depiction of the man: level-headed, cool. A sharp honesty exists in every word he speaks; it’s the only way he knows how to be.

Except, maybe, lately. Like this moment.

Megumi’s a liar right now. 

He feels a little guilty for it, tricking you into coming out tonight. But how bad can it be to invite you under the guise of it being from Yuuji? 

“Yuuji said he’ll meet us there?” you settle into your seat, dragging the seatbelt across your body before locking it into place. 

Megumi shifts the gear to drive, nodding as he turns the wheel to get out of the parking lane. He can’t trust himself to speak. 

The ride is quiet save for the music, a comfortable silence he seems to only have with you. Nobara and Yuuji like to talk, to fill in the empty pockets of air he never feels the need to. You—you adjust, read the room; you become what the situation calls for all on your own. 

That’s what he likes about you, among many other things—he’s stopped lying to himself about that, at least. 

The streets whiz past you in a blur, both vaguely familiar and unrecognizable. There’s a fast food joint your group of four frequents as a post-party drive-thru, and the holiday lights are strung up on lampposts lining the sidewalks. 

Yellows, reds, and greens melt into one another as the backdrop of your window. But all Megumi sees is gray—

When he dislodges his phone from the stand clipped to the AC vents at the center console, handing it over so you can control the music. His eyes stay locked on the road until he feels it, the slightest brush of your fingers against his.

He turns to you, a quick glance; you’d shrugged off your puffer jacket some time during the drive and tossed it to the backseat, leaving you in this right now.

—the gray sweater that he knows all too well; that you haven’t returned but you wear like it’s yours, as if this piece of him is something you’ve chosen to keep. 

It looks better on you, anyway, he thinks.

He turns back to the road, breathing a little quicker, grip tighter and knuckles a bit whiter. 

If he listens carefully, the comfortable silence between you hasn’t actually been all that silent lately. A constant beat’s been drumming in his ears, exacerbated only every time you’re near. You’ve locked eyes far too often for two people sitting in a car, driving from point A to point B, and this isn’t the first time your fingers have brushed, nor is it the second, or third (or even fourth if he’s thinking about the technicalities). 

He finds himself smiling too easily when you speak, the corners of his lips aching by the time he’s dropped you off on the way home. You’ve looked at him fondly too, a handful of times, when you think he won’t notice; but it’s impossible not to when he’s paying just as much attention—from the corner of his eye, in his periphery. A responsible side-glance that inconspicuously catches everything. 

There’s something between you two, and he’s grown more confident of that the more he’s accepted his fate:

He likes you.

It’s why he called you tonight, out of all nights, in the first place. 

Aimless driving can only be so convincing up to a certain point, and that point comes fast approaching as Megumi is about to pass the same street for the third time. You don’t notice because you’re queueing songs on his phone, but he has to think of a diversion—just something to tide him over past midnight. 

“I’ll get us some snacks,” he signals to the left, pulling over to a 7-Eleven. 

“Oh!” you look up from his phone, swapping it for yours, “I’ll ask Yuuji if he wants anything. Did he mention if Nobara’s coming?” 

Megumi freezes, panic setting in—if you message Yuuji now, you’ll realize that he’s been lying. He holds his breath, shifting the gear to park before pulling at the edges of his sleeves.

Think. 

“He’ll eat anything, it’s fine. Nobara probably won’t come too. Wouldn’t pick up when he called.” 

For someone who always puts things bluntly, he’s surprisingly good at coming up with lies right now. 

You hum, nodding, “Okay. Do you want me to go down?” 

“I’ll be quick,” he shakes his head, fishing around the center console for his wallet, “you want anything?” 

Then he looks at you, your head tilted to the side as you think. A little pout causes your lips to jut out and he can’t help it, how his eyes fall to them, shiny in the way only your lip balm can make them. 

“Maybe something warm?” 

Your voice snaps him out of it, but the moment is frozen—like he’s been caught red-handed. He’s so sure you saw him staring, your eyebrows shooting up, flustered while watching his gaze shift from your lips to your eyes. 

He doesn’t expect it when you do the same thing. 

It’s freezing outside and his lips feel chapped; he wonders if they’re cracked, if you’re studying the grooves of split skin—if he should buy lip balm by the counter, on the way out. 

He looks away, clearing his throat, one hand to the door handle. 

“Okay,” he opens it, “turn up the heat if you’re–”

You nod.

“Yeah, okay.” 

He steps out. 

The cold is biting as he tucks his hands inside his pockets, rushing to get into the convenience store. 

(You watch his back retreat from the window of his carseat, and the influx of cool air should make you shiver, but you feel warm, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

This whole night has been confusing; the subtle touches and lingering gazes—ones like just moments ago, especially. Being alone with Megumi lately has been both comfortable and nerve-wracking; you have feelings that you aren’t quite sure are reciprocated, no matter how much Nobara teases the both of you already. 

You can’t take it; you need a buffer—where is Yuuji? 

11:41 p.m. 

< are you otw already? we just went to grab some snacks

You wait, fingers tapping on the back of your phone. 

11:42 p.m. 

yuuji 🍡

> huh?

> otw where? 

> who’s we?

> i’m outside fushiguro’s rn! with gojo-sensei!! apparently he surprises him every bday…

> you should come! you live near right?

You scrunch your eyebrows, confused. There are too many thoughts in your head right now—has Megumi been lying? 

11:43 p.m.

< oh ok, i probs misunderstood!!

< and i’m out tonight, idt i can make it but lmk how it goes!!

You’ve never known Megumi to be a liar, but he’s definitely in it right now for some questioning.)

The 7-Eleven doors swing open, revealing Megumi with his shoulders shrugged up to his ears, hands deep inside his pockets as a plastic bag hangs around his wrist. He opens the car door, immediately settling in his seat before shutting it. 

He still won’t meet your eyes, fishing through the random snacks he bought instead. It’s awkward, the air in the car tense; and it takes the biggest guts in him to look up as he hands over the warm bottle of tea he got you, just like you wanted. 

It’s even worse when you’re staring right back, expecting—almost like you’re about to confront him. 

“Be honest,” you start, eyes squinting. 

Shit. Sweat forms at his palms as he blinks, the beat drumming in his ears intensifying. 

“Did you bring me out here to murder me?” 

He raises an eyebrow, expecting you to convict him for lying, “The fu–”

Which you do, bringing your phone up so he can read. Your text chain with Yuuji casts a white light over his face, his eyes darting from side-to-side as he scans each message. 

(You aren’t mad or anything, just even more confused than you already are; some clarity would be nice, once and for all. 

Embarrassment is painted on his face the more he reads through your phone screen, lashes entirely too long as it bats against the tip of his cheeks; a faint pink blooms on his skin, like winter peonies.) 

There’s a reason for all this. 

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath; he’s dreading having to open them—do you think he’s weird now? That he had some ulterior motive bringing you out? His jaw clenches at the thought—

But then you laugh, a soft chuckle that accompanies the ‘click’ of your phone turning off. And when he takes a peek, squints one eye to catch a glimpse, you’re smiling; your lips are pressed together with the corners curled up slightly, as if you find this entire thing funny. 

The tension dissipates, but he frowns, eyebrows scrunching as he considers whether he wants to be the reason for whatever it is you’re thinking. 

“Stop it. Don’t make fun of me.” his head turns to the side. 

You chuckle again, biting your bottom lip, “You’re just too cute.”

A beat.

(It slips out before you can catch yourself, heat rising to your cheeks. Megumi isn’t doing any better; his ears are flushed red, crawling down to the sides of his neck as he swallows.) 

The plastic bag crinkles on his lap, cutting through the silence. 

How can you just… say that? 

You clear your throat, “So, uh, did you know about the surprise?” 

(Your eyes shift to the corner of the infotainment system, 11:52 p.m. in white.)

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he leans back on his seat. 

“Gojo-sensei tries to surprise me every year, I didn’t think he’d call Itadori this time.” 

“You sound like that’s a bad thing…” you tilt your head, curious. 

He pauses, staring ahead as he considers his response, “Not bad… just,” his fingers fiddle with the plastic bag, “too loud, sometimes.”

(Megumi’s mentioned a bit about this ‘Gojo-sensei’ guy, his kind-of-mentor slash benefactor since being orphaned with his step-sister at age 6. You’ve never met him, but Yuuji never stops talking about how fun he is, how cool. 

It makes sense why Megumi finds him a bit much, if anything.)

“And you think I’m any better?” you snort offhandedly, joking as you turn to the side, facing him. 

He tilts his head towards you, leaning back on the headrest; your eyes lock for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting subtly before he looks away, straight ahead again. 

If he had the courage, he’d tell you that you’re the only company he wants to spend this birthday with—

That there are songs in his playlist he’d otherwise never listen to, but repeats and repeats and repeats because it reminds him of you;

That he looks forward to doing deep cleans on his car every weekend, but has started to dread it once he noticed that it washes away your scent from the Fridays that he drops you home; 

That he’s a liar because he really likes you, but can’t find the words to tell you.

So he doesn’t say anything, shrugging. 

The silence is telling. 

(You feel too warm, whether from the heating system or from the implications of this moment. The 11:58 p.m. on the clock adds a pressure that it shouldn’t, an almost taunting presence that tells you if you act now, tomorrow could be very different. 

Are you reading the signs right? 

Should you just say it? 

Each second drags on twice as long, and you think—

Fuck it.) 

“Megumi?” your voice breaks through softly. 

The plastic crinkles on his lap as he turns to you. 

He could be any other place right now.

But he’s chosen to be here, with you, parked outside a 7-Eleven, minutes before midnight. 

“If I tell you something, will you be honest with me?” 

He blinks before humming, nodding. This is the least he can do after today’s blatant lying. 

There’s an intensity to your gaze that makes him nervous; your fingers tug at the edges of his (your) gray sweater, a piece of him you’ve taken with you. Then you speak—

“I like you,” you say it plainly, unblinking, “and I need you to tell me if you don’t feel the same.” 

—and you take the rest of him too. 

12:01 a.m.

He stares at you, turning the confession over and over in his head. He’s always had a feeling but it’s different when it’s out in the open, when it’s from you and isn’t based on some gut-feeling. 

There are so many things he can say, but you did ask him to be honest—to tell you if he didn’t feel the same. 

“Do I stay quiet if I do?” he mumbles, cheeks deepening into red. 

There’s a smile he’s trying to hide, one he won’t allow himself to let out until he gets one from you too. 

You visibly relax, releasing the breath you were holding. Your lips curl up instinctively, wide and infectious—that feeling of your heart bursting. 

“Smartass,” you scrunch your nose before glancing at the time, “happy birthday.” 

When you look at him this fondly, there’s not much else he can ask for, really. 

.

You eat the snacks in his car (an exception—whether it’s because of you or his birthday, you’re not sure) and tell him that your actual gift is back home, sitting in dog-patterned wrapping paper by your entryway. 

The drive back is, for the most part, the same—lingering gazes when the stoplight permits, a brush of your fingers when you hand him his phone after queueing songs. You’re wearing his sweater and his car still smells like mint. 

But you both can’t stop smiling. 

And when he drops you off, he’s tempted to tell you to stay longer for just one more song, but he figures there’s lots of time for that now. So instead, he grabs your puffer from the back, gets down and rushes over to open your door, helping you out. 

He holds up your jacket as you slip your arms into it, zipping it up so you stay warm and toasty. Cute, he thinks, when your grin reaches your cheeks; he could pinch them, would you complain if his fingers are too chilly? 

Your hesitance is evident in the way you bite your lip, but you go for it anyway, diving in to land a soft kiss to his cheek. It happens so quickly, it barely registers to him—the touch of your lips to his skin. When you pull away, you look shy.

He doesn’t say anything, heat rushing to the place you’d kissed. You take this as a sign to go ahead, so you move, but he can’t—

—can’t let you go just like this. 

Not when he’s been thinking about those lips since he last laid his eyes on it. 

It’s reflex, the way he grabs your wrist, pulling you back to him. He lets go immediately, hovering, but his eyes drop dangerously, down to your lips—shiny and plump from the lip balm he knows you carry. 

His breathing quickens and he asks so softly, “Can…”, he gulps, nervous, “Can I?” 

You nod, humming. 

(When Megumi leans in, long lashes fluttering over your eyelids, you think, this can’t possibly be real. But then his lips slide over yours, cold but not cracked, and you move yours against them, gentle in the same way he is.

His fingers slot themselves at the edge of your jaw, palm pressed to your cheek; it makes you shiver, how cool it is, but it warms up quickly.) 

The kiss is over far too soon (you think so, too), and when you part, you’re beaming, a twinkle in your eyes that makes him want to kiss you again, if only to keep them shining the way they do. 

It’s the end of the night, but the beginning of something new and Megumi’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the noise; this constant beat drumming in his ear is all he can hear now, swiping his tongue over his lips to taste mint—your lip balm of choice.

thank you note: to everyone who was just as excited abt this as i was—@soumies @mysugu @augustinewrites @mididoodles @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @selarina @pastelle-rabbit @mymegumi @kagelun @irisintheafterglow & @shidouryusm for making me see that paradise is so megumi 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[reiderwriter]

hey, i really love your writing esp fluff hehe..

I was wondering if you could maybe write a story where gf!reader has anxiety and decides to spend night at spence's but constantly keeps apologizing cause she is like afraid to be inconvenience but he keeps hugging and comforting her just some really fluffy story

Love yaaaa🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶💕💕

-🍓

A/N: FINALLY getting back to some classic requests! Thanks for this cute one 🥰 I love fluff where Spencer is so caring and considerate, so I hope you like this one, too!

Summary: After a traumatic experience, you avoid confronting new fears with your new coworkers until a late invitation lets you find comfort in Spencer's arms.

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, guns, other cases details etc.

If any other member of your team had so bluntly asked you the question ‘are you okay?’ you'd have lied to their face, convincingly, and not felt bad about it for even a second. 

It had been, after all, long enough since your kidnapping to have become comfortable with new surroundings again. You went on cases fine. You dealt with similar unsubs perfectly, and you were absolutely a professional. 

But with Spencer Reid in front of you asking you that same question, you felt like you were one slight breeze away from crumbling entirely. 

The night had grown old as you sat with Spencer looking over some case files. You weren't shipping out for this one, thankfully, but you still wanted to be sure you knew every detail of the case so you could help find your guy and get him off the streets. 

But having worked from 6 pm to 2am, your eyes were growing bleary, and you had to finally look up to the clock to see how long you'd been zoned out for. 

“Shit,” you murmured, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

“I have to go, Spence,” you scrambled for your keys, pulling your bag onto your shoulder as your heart started beating. 

It was okay. You'd be okay. It was dark outside, but you'd driven in the dark before now. The roads were clear anyway, and you weren't on a job. You could drive home, get some sleep, and forget anything happened. 

“Y/N, it's late, you’re tired,” Spencer said gently from opposite you, grabbing your bag from your hands and gently placing it down again. “It's okay, you can just… stay over tonight.” 

In the few weeks since you'd been kidnapped, you'd told everyone you knew that you were okay and doing fine and that it would take a lot more than that to get you down. And then you'd go home to an empty apartment, triple check every lock, barricade yourself into your room, and sleep with a gun on your bedside table and a knife under your pillow. 

You didn't drive in the dark. You didn't eat or drink anything you hadn't personally prepared, and you didn't dive head first into cases anymore. A few people had remarked about how you'd matured as an agent. They didn't understand that bile rose up in your throat every time you thought about being alone in a room with men. 

Being alone with Spencer was different. He was your Spencer. You'd seen him kill unsubs, but you'd more often see him peacefully trap and release spiders instead of killing them. You'd seen him fumble talking to women by pulling out magic tricks, just as often as you'd seen him be approached by every single working girl you'd interviewed on a case. 

You'd slept over before. This wasn't any different. 

“Yeah… yeah  you're right. It's probably not a good idea to drive this late.” 

He smiled at you as you abandoned your path to the door, and went to grab you some clothes to change into. You paused, and tried to breathe deeply as you assessed the situation. 

You'd been to Spencer's apartment before. If you slept in the living room, your best route out would be the front door. The kitchen didn't have any good exits. The bathroom window didn't open wide enough. The fire escape was connected to both the living room and the window in Spencer's bedroom. If anyone came through the front door, it would be safer to sleep in the bed and jump out the window before they had a chance to pursue you. 

But if they came up the fire escape, they could choose between which window to come through. Without a second thought, you crossed to Spencer's window and checked the locks. They worked, but they were old. They could easily be forced open. 

You checked, and you still had your gun on you, thinking about where the best place to store it would be. Next to the bed, under the sofa, somewhere it'd be easy to grab and shoot. 

You worked yourself up walking yourself through your plan that when Spencer came up behind you again, without thinking, you turned the gun on him.  

“Whoa, Y/N!” 

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I don't - I was just thinking about what I would do in a h-home invasion, and it seemed safer to have the gun close, but-” 

Slowly taking the gun from your hand, Spencer pulled you towards him and into his arms. 

“Are you okay?” he asked again, and though it was the 100th time you'd heard the question in the last few weeks, you finally, finally broke down and told him the truth. 

“N-No.” 

Stroking your hair, Spencer held you as you began to quietly sob, not pulling away as you clung to him for dear life, letting the fear slowly drain from your body. 

“It's okay. It's going to be okay, I'm here,” he whispered. After a few minutes, you gathered yourself and pulled away, wiping your eyes as you looked up at him again. 

“I'm sorry, I must just be really tired. I'll just crash on the couch-” 

“No, Y/N, you can't do that.”

“It's fine, I'm fine now. I've crashed on your couch before, and-” 

“And the couch is next to the door. You're going to sit there all night with your gun in your hand, waiting for the door handle to turn. You won't rest.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, but he grabbed your hand and led you to the bedroom again. 

“I know what it's like, not being able to sleep at night. Feeling anxious and alone and scared all the time.” 

He handed you a pile of clothes and let you sit on the bed as he began to untie your shoelaces. 

“Sleep in the bed. The window has a secure lock, and it's covered by the alarm system. The bedroom door locks as well." Finishing, he looked up at you from the floor, smiling weakly before standing up and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

Your heart, which had been resting comfortably with the new details of your security, flared up into a fast-paced drum beat again as he left for the bathroom. You weren't sure if you were scared still, or if somehow a small kiss and care he'd shown you were enough to have you flushed like a middle-schooler. 

You quickly slipped on the pajamas, which you recognised as old FBI training clothes, and hopped into the bed before your brain could decide to investigate any further. 

Spencer returned quickly and climbed into bed right beside you, turning off the lights beforehand. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, looking at him as you laid on your side. 

“What for?” 

“For not making this awkward.” 

“Awkward? Is it weird for us to share the bed? Should I have taken the couch? I should have taken the couch, let me go-” 

You leant over the small space between you and wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you for not letting me spiral. Thank you for letting me be not okay.” 

He relaxed into your touch as you spoke and pulled you into him for a hug quickly. His hands rested awkwardly still on your shoulders and waist, as if he were scared to touch you more, to seem inappropriate somehow. 

“Spencer?” 

“Hmm?”

“I think I'd feel safer if you just held me a bit tighter.”

With your head on his chest, you heard the short rumble of laughter that popped out of him as he relaxed into your hug, closing your eyes and falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating. 

[a-aexotic]

HEYYYY! So like every other mf on the planet right now I am in my hunger games era!!

Please could you write a Finnick x Reader where she is selected for the quarter quell (Maybe in her games she was lethal and killed like 10+ people?)

And when Katniss shoots the arena in catching fire she gets taken by the capitol (Like Peeta) and they torture her and shit? Then Finnick and her get there reunion she’s all like battered and bruided and it’s dead sad? Not sure if this made sense because i’m half asleep and dyselxic but let me know😭🤣

Maybe he says “It’s okay baby i got you” ??? x

hey of course i can! i hope u enjoy it babe <3 its a tiny bit long! my apologizes

cw's: angst, mentions of killing/dying, typical thg stuff, torture, ptsd, lmk if i missed anything

You were one of the youngest victors alongside Finnick, being only 15 and having won your games. You were also from District 4. You won the 68th Hunger Games, a few years after Finnick.

When you were reaped, Finnick and Mags were your mentors. Finnick came off as self absorbed and arrogant but once you started talking to him, the more you realized that was total bullshit. He wasn't how the Capitol portrayed him, he was much more caring and compassionate. He was very sympathetic to your situation, having gone through the same things.

During your time in the arena, you were one of the most ruthless tributes of all time. In the beginning, you were easily overlooked. The tributes weren't thinking that you were going to be much of a challenge because of your size and the way you carried yourself.

But that was exactly how you wanted to be portrayed. You tricked the Careers into thinking you were some naïve little girl, stabbing them in the back (literally) the first chance you got. The Capitol loved the turn of events, cheering you on.

When you had come back home, you had finally understood the intensity of what you had done. You had killed a whole group of people, ending their lives permanently. Those people had lives and family who loved them, and now they're gone because of you.

You suffered through months and months from never ending nightmares. Even getting consoled by your mother didn't help anymore; she doesn't understand. You didn't even feel worthy of food anymore.

You closed off Mags and Finnick when you had come home, driving yourself into isolation and depression. You rarely went out anymore, eating one meal a day and slept more than 80% of the day. Even sleeping couldn't mend the eternal tiredness you had, the void that filled your body.

Finnick had felt more than responsible for your pain. He gave you time before he realized he was just adding to your pain. Even when you didn't communicate back to him, Finnick visited you every day. He gave you advice and told you what he had went through after the Games as well. Eventually you opened up more to Finnick, and slowly, he had become your best friend.

He had told you that numbing it wasn't going to make it go away. He reminded you that you had him and Mags to help you with this process, and that you weren't alone despite of how you felt.

He helped you regain your sense of purpose again, your self image again. Finnick had singlehandedly helped you rebuilt your sense of self again.

He saw a part of you in him, that scared 14 year old boy who was trying to go back home to his parents. He never wanted anyone to feel that, especially you.

He promised you that he would never let anything bad ever happen to you again.

During your Victor's tour, Snow had suddenly deemed you desirable by the Capitol, wanting to sell you as he did with Finnick. Finnick couldn't risk getting involved, wanting to protect his family.

Every night in the Capitol, you were always consoled by Finnick. Every time you had to do a favor, you remember walking to Finnick's room to sleep, not baring the thought of having to sleep alone in the cold bed. He was always there, holding your hand comfortingly as you both slept.

The Capitol adored you both, nicknaming you the princess and prince of Panem. The more time you spent with Finnick, the more the media had speculated a relationship between the young victors.

You and Finnick had connected in many ways. Both having the same trauma, it was easy to talk to him and for him to understand how hard it was.

You and Finnick eventually got together a few years later, then getting married (in secret, of course) almost right after. You were both deeply in love.

Finnick found solace in the thought of always having you by his side, remembering that no one could tear you apart. That was until the Quarter Quell was announced.

You and Finnick were sitting at the edge of the couch, listening to Caesar's words carefully as he explained that this year's Hunger Games was going to be very different.

When it was announced that there will be only be Victors in this year's games, you heard dropped. You looked over at Finnick and he shared the same terrified look on his face.

--

When Annie's name had been called, you without any second thought, put up your hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

The crowd gasped and you looked over at Annie and you could tell she was a bit relived but still scared nonetheless. You immediately embraced her tightly, letting her let out a small sob. "It's okay, you're okay."

Mags looked just as terrified and you took her hand. When Finnick's name was called, you felt your stomach drop. Not only were you back in the arena, but you were with Finnick.

You looked over at Finnick and he looked prepared to fight. You both stood up and he grabbed your hand, raising it up in union.

The trainride to the Capitol was pretty uneventful. Finnick had wanted some time to think about the plan and so did you. A part of you knew what he was planning; he kill everyone else in the arena and then eventually himself, all for you.

As you sat on the bed, you felt the sadness and anger turn into numbness. No amount of crying was going to stop the Quater Quell and you had to be smart.

You didn't want to survive without Finnick. You were either winning with him or dying with him. Life would be meaningless without him.

Finnick knocked on your door slightly, before walking in. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile. He took a seat next to and took your hand.

"I have a plan."

"Finnick, I know what you're thinking, and no. You're not killing yourself for me."

Finnick looked defeated. "One of us has to survive, Y/N. For Annie. For Mags."

You look a deep inhale, looking away from Finnick. "I don't want to life without you, everything would lose all it's meaning without you."

Finnick felt his heart burst into two pieces as he squeezed your hand. You felt your eyes watering again and you couldn't help but let out another quiet cry as Finnick pulled your head in, as he embraced you tightly.

"Shh, it's okay. I promise, I won't... I won't leave you."

--

It had all happened so fast, you couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. One moment, you were with Finnick trying to find Johanna and Katniss and suddenly there was big loud boom. You were relieved for a moment; Plutarch's plan had worked. Until you realized how far away you were from the others.

You were wandering, trying to find anyone until you heard people behind you. You turned and then you saw some unfamiliar faces; suddenly, your vision went black.

Then, you woke up in a white room. You felt like your stomach had dropped out of your body once the realization hit you; the Capitol captured you.

You were strapped down to a bed and you couldn't move or shake it off. The severity of the situation had hit you; even if by some miracle you did escape, where would you go? How would you find your way to 13 and back to Finnick?

You knew how ruthless the Capitol was to everyone who disobeyed them. Your worst fears had come true and there was no getting out of here.

You heard the door open and you saw some Peacekeepers come in and then you saw the person you dreaded to see most; Snow. You felt like your whole had come crashing down, how could this nightmare become any worse?

"Hello, Y/N."

You didn't respond, resorting to stare at the wall in front of you instead.

He tutted disappointedly. "Out of all the tributes, you were the one I expected least to be involved in this mess. You are the Princess of Panem... What a shame."

You still hadn't replied and you hadn't dared to look at Snow. Months and months you spent trying to heal the trauma he had caused you, you were sure if you had to look at him now, you would break.

"I want to take mercy on you, dear Y/N. If you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I will make sure the Peacekeepers are gentle with you."

You shook your head. "No."

He let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. What?"

"No." You said again, louder.

He hummed in disapproval. "Okay then, you leave me no choice. You are going to regret this."

He nodded to the Peacekeepers and walked out of the room. You were then met with Peacekeepers, loosening the straps then taking you to another room.

If Snow knew one thing about you, it was that being only physical with you wouldn't hurt you enough. He had to hit you were it hurt most.

They threw you in the seemingly vacant room and immediately locking it. You were confused until you heard it.

"Y/N, help me!" Finnick's voice screamed. "Please, help me! Get up and do something, they're killing me! Please."

You looked everywhere in the dark room, trying to find the source. It kept going.

"Y/N, please! Help! What the hell are you doing, just sitting there? You are such a disappointment!" The voice started shouting. "We should've just left you to died in the arena! You are useless!"

Now this was something new. Your body was filled with panic and fear and even though you knew it was fake, you felt like you were going to throw up from all the noise.

Suddenly, Annie's voice came in as well. Then Johanna's. Then your mother's. There was nonstop noise filled with screams for help, shouting with disapproving messages. Your body couldn't handle it; it was so overwhelmed with fear that you started shaking on the ground, putting your hands on your ears but that did little to nothing.

You wanted it to stop. It was too much, you were trembling. It felt like days, just sitting there in that room listening to all those demeaning voices of your loved ones. You couldn't even think straight anymore.

It was so bad you had started to pound your head on the ground, screaming and crying. You had have enough. And then, it all stopped. Silence was foreign for you; your ears were ringing.

You were sitting on the ground, almost lifeless as the Peacekeepers took you away. Your eyes hurt from the tears, your body sore, your ears ringing and your head was pounding.

But you knew that was just the beginning.

--

You were asleep in bed and you were awakened by the door opening, you instantly jolted up. You looked over to see a group of masked men in front of you and you had started to tremble again, silent tears rolling down your face, thinking that the Peacekeepers had come again.

"No, no, no." You started to mumble to yourself.

A man came up to your and took your bruised hand slowly, rubbing it gently in silent empathy. That was the first soft touch you'd felt in a few weeks and it almost stung.

"It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to 13 now."

You had to blink a couple times, trying to process what he said. Was this a dream? You went to pinch yourself but it was real life.

He then helped you up but you couldn't help but stumble; your legs were weak, you couldn't remember the last time the Peacekeepers let you walk for this long.

As you got into the hovercraft, you saw Annie. Your eyes widened as you both ran up to each other, embracing each other. She had started to cry a little bit and so did you.

That was when it hit you. You were going to see Finnick. You were going home. You started crying into Annie's shoulder as she held you. "We're safe now, we're safe."

You had seen Johanna as well but she didn't seem too responsive. Neither did Peeta. You fell asleep on Annie's shoulder on the ride back and for the first time, you actually felt yourself drifting off calmly.

--

There were lots of doctors and nurses looking at you and asking you all sorts of questions and you tried your best to answer them. You were still in shock; you were safe. They couldn't hurt you anymore.

"Y/N?" You turned around to see Finnick. You immediately got up from the examiner's table and ran into his arms, your eyes starting to water up again.

"Finnick," you sighed slowly. You pulled away, putting your hands on his face and touched him as if he wasn't real.

"Are you.. Are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm really here." Finnick looked at you and suddenly his voice transported you back into the dark room. You quickly twisted out of his embrace and his expression changed.

His voice was back and you heard all of the nasty things he had to you. You back away, stumbling into the examiner's table and your breathing became heavy. "No, no, no, please-please go away. No."

You slid down to the floor and you closed your eyes, putting your hands on your ears and rocking back and forth trying to get that voice to stop.

Finnick ran up to you and put his hands on your knees, trying to get you to look at him. His heart broke in half; he didn't know what the Capitol had done to you but now he knows it has something to do with him.

Of course the Capitol would try to ruin him. His eyes started to tear up at the sight of you, in so much pain and panic.

You opened your eyes, Finnick in front of you. You started to cry some more before Finnick slowly went up to you, wrapping his arms around you.

When he had started wrapping your arms around you, your instinct was to push him away but his warmth was welcoming and safe and you started to focus on his touch. The voices slowly drifted away, the sounds of your silent sobs only being heard.

You then gave into Finnick's touch, falling into him and putting your head in his chest as he caressed your back gently, shushing you.

"It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe now, they can't hurt you."

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Getting fucked by ghostface!Billy in an alley on your way back from Tatum’s. He tried to scare you and pull this little stunt, but you figure out it was him

More Billy, YES (this is 1.5k, enjoy)

Please read the warnings before reading this one, some of the content might make you uncomfortable or be triggering for you

Warnings: 18+, dub-con, semi-public sex, p + v, non-protected sex, creampie,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Dewey to drive you home? He should be there at ten,’’ Tatum asked again as you were getting ready to leave. ‘’The psychos are out at this hour...’’ 

You declined her offer. ‘’I can’t. My parents will have my head if I'm not home before curfew.’’ You grabbed your backpack and opened the door. ‘’See you tomorrow!’’ You waved at her before stepping out and closing the door. 

The chill autumn air brushing your face and the fallen leaves swished on the ground around you as you walked down the Rileys’ driveway and took the sidewalk. You didn’t particularly enjoy walking alone at night — no women did, honestly —, but Tatum’s house was only a few blocks from yours. 

On the way, you admired all the carved pumpkins out on the porches and other halloween decorations, making you miss when you were kids. Halloween was still fun as a teenager, but no parties could beat trick-or-treating and exchanging candies with your friends. 

As you turned on Elm street, a growing unease pricked at your senses. Someone was following you. Your steps became quicker, but not quick enough that your change of pace would alert the person behind you. The last thing you wanted was to let him know that you knew he was following you. He could take a run after you and it would be done for you.

You thought of going back to Tatum’s, maybe Dewey was home from work, but you were almost home. Instead, you took the shortcut to your house and turned in an alley, thinking you could kick a trash can at your pursuer's feet in case he tried anything, but a shadow loomed over you. Panic surged through you, and before you could react, a gloved hand swiftly clamped over your mouth, stifling the scream that tried to escape.

Fear pulsed within you, your mind racing to comprehend the situation. You struggled against the grip, your instincts kicking in as you fought to break free. The scent of leather filled your nostrils as you twisted and wriggled, attempting to loosen the stranger's hold.

A distorted voice pierced the air, its chilling words sending a shiver down your spine. ‘’Don’t you know walking home by yourself at night is a danger-magnet? Especially with a tight little skirt like yours,’’ he said as the hand that wasn’t over your mouth slid up your thigh, making your heart race in fear of what was going to happen. 

A sickening feeling twisted in your stomach. Maybe you should have waited for Dewey to drive you home. Your parents would have been mad for not respecting your curfew, but at least you would have been safe. 

You tried to scream again, and fight back, but the stranger only laughed at your attempts. 

‘’You’re not gonna escape me, babydoll,’’ the distorted voice laughed, tightening their grip and pressing your front against the brick wall of a building. ‘’If you try, I’ll gut you like a fish.’’ Something cool touched your leg and tears pricked in your eyes. 

A knife. 

Tatum was right about psychos being out at this hour…

You turned your head slightly, trying to see who was holding you, but all you saw was a strange halloween white mask with a black hood. 

‘’Have you ever been told how good your ass looked in that skirt? Bet your boyfriend likes to take you from behind, uh?’’ The hand that was on your thigh moved up, pulling your skirt and lifting it up, making your skin crawl. 

The night air hit your bare ass, completely exposed to the masked stranger, and you pressed your thighs together. You doubted it would stop the man from doing anything, but you could at least try. 

‘’Mmh, what a nice ass,’’ he pointed out, smacking his hand on your ass-cheek, the sound resonating in the alley, and grabbing it. You squeaked at the impact. ‘’I can’t wait to feel it against me as I pound in your tight pussy.’’

Your stomach churned. Your night was turning into a nightmare. 

‘’Now, I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth, but if you dare scream…’’ he trailed with a threat.

You nodded, having no other choice. He was the one with the knife.

‘’Spread those legs, hands on the wall,’’ he ordered, the distorted voice glitching a little, causing you to hear the man’s real voice. It sounded familiar, like you had heard it before, but a lot of men had similar voices. 

Shaking that thought, you obeyed and parted your legs, holding a hiss when pressing your hands against the rough brick.   

‘’Now what?’’ you spat, looking over your shoulder.  

The stranger chuckled, then pushed himself up against the curve of your ass, letting you feel his erection through his clothes, the hardness and heat radiating from his body admittedly kind of hot. ‘’Now I'm gonna stick it in you and rearrange your insides, you dumb fucking bitch.’’

You gasped at his words, arousal leaking through your panties. 

A car drove by on the other end of the alley, making the both of you go completely still. Minutes ago, you would have been relieved that a car was driving by. Not anymore. A sick and twisted part of you wanted the masked stranger to fuck you against that wall. 

Once the car was out of earshot, the masked man another grope of your ass, then pulled aside your underwear, running a gloved hand over your folds and discovering your little secret. 

‘’Is this…turning you on?’’ 

You kept quiet, disgusted and ashamed of yourself. 

He laughed, keeping going with the teasing by pressing a finger inside you, making you gasp as you automatically clamped around it. ‘’It is turning you on.’’ You heard the smirk in his voice. ‘’Dirty little slut.’’ 

You whined at his words, his finger moving in and out, but not nearly enough. ‘’Please,’’ you surprised yourself by saying, chasing his finger. ‘’I need more.’’ 

If anyone were to see you right now, you would be mortified. Not only were you getting sexually assaulted by a masked stranger in an alley, but you were enjoying it. It was sick.

Much too soon, he removed his finger, making you whine in protest. You turned your head to glance at him, but his head was down and you couldn’t see much. 

‘’Think you can handle my cock in you? Your slutty little cunt is weeping around my finger,’’ he said as he reached beneath his robe, fighting with his belt buckle and zipper to free himself. 

Your stomach bubbled with excitement, your teeth catching your bottom lip when you felt his hard cock pressing against your entrance. You pushed back against him, the hard press of his tip prodding at you, his pre-cum mixing with your leaking arousal. 

Your jaw dropped as you felt his cock part your folds, pushing himself all the way inside before stilling for a few seconds. Fuck. His dick was filling you so good. He gave a first snap of hips and a moan escaped from your lips, louder than you were expecting. 

Behind you, the masked man stopped moving, clamping a hand over your mouth as he hissed in your ear. ‘’Keep quiet or I’ll stop playing with your cute little cunt. Can't get caught, can we?’’ he warned, forgetting to use the voice distorter and giving himself away. 

‘’Billy Loomis, you sick fu—’’ 

Your words were cut off as his thick cock plunged back into you, making you moan instead. 

Billy laughed. ‘’Surprise, babydoll.’’ He gripped your hip firmly with one hand, the second coming around your throat while he was pounding in you from behind, stars flying around in your vision as the pleasure filled your whole body, explicit groans and muffled moans filling the dark alley.

‘’Always so fucking tight,’’ he grunted, getting really hot under the mask. Halloween costumes were not made to be worn during sex. 

You tried your best to brace yourself, both hands flat on the brick wall as Billy kept pistoning into you, your legs were shaking with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you. ‘’Ahh, yes, just like that!’’ 

After he emptied himself and rode the waves of your respective pleasure, Billy slipped out from you, a white string of hot cum connecting you to him. He smirked under the mask, loving to watching himself leak from your abused pussy and drip out and down your leg. 

‘’You’re insane,’’ you said, turning around to face your boyfriend, your wrinkled skirt still bunched up at your waist. 

Laughing, Billy pulled the mask off his face, his lips curved into a wicked grin. ‘’The best people are.’’ 

You both fixed yourself in silence, having enough played with public indecency for tonight. As thrilling and exciting as this had been, you didn’t want an actual stranger to see you exposed like that.  

‘’How did you know I just left Tatum’s?’’ 

‘’Stu,’’ he explained. ‘’Tatum called him saying you just left, so I put on that sweet little costume and decided to surprise you. Did you like it?’’ 

You grabbed the front of the black robe and kissed him in response.

—

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[boredmadamoiselle]

You're losing me

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Synopsis: When the 2023 season comes to an end, everything falls down. Including your relationship with Charles.

Warnings: Angst. Charles is a little toxic maybe and an asshole. English isn't my first language, so it probably contains some mistakes. Sorry in advance!

Author's note: Let me know what you think. Your feedback is always appreciated and it is really important for me. If you have any ideas or concepts you want to share and that you want me to write, feel free to send them and I will take into consideration.

How long could we be a sad song 'Til we were too far gone to bring back to life? I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier Fighting in only your army Frontlines, don't you ignore me I'm the best thing at this party

“And Max Verstappen is a F1 world champion for the third time in a row!”, you heard the speakers saying even if everyone already knew that. 

All attention was on Max and Red Bull but your thoughts were on someone else. Charles.

While Max was celebrating his victory, Charles had lost not only against Red Bull but also against his own teammate. In the end, Carlos had managed to overtake him in the drivers' standings. The same Carlos who had always been one step in front of him for the entire year, who had broken, albeit for just one race, Red Bull's dominance and had dominated during the weekend at Monza, Ferrari’s home race. It was frustrating because he was Il Predestinato, the one who was destined to win and bring Ferrari to success after all those years. But race after race and despite the support of his fans, it seemed to him that it was no longer the case. He didn't even feel the same anymore. He was losing his confidence and was tired to fight when everything and everyone seemed to be against him: his own team, the strategies, the car, his teammate… 

But most of all, Charles was angry. You could barely keep up with him from how fast he was walking. With the helmet still on, he was ignoring everyone, including you and his fans. Something he had never done before. 

Despite his nervousness, he waited for you entering inside his driving room before slamming the door violently. You gasped at it.

You remained silent as you watched him change clothes and you thought about what you could tell him to console him. You didn’t even know if it was a good idea talking to him. What could you tell him in a moment like that to make things better? You knew that whatever you would have said wouldn't have been enough. What could you tell him that you haven’t told him yet? Because it wasn't the first time you found yourself in that situation, that things weren't going well...

You thought back over the past few months. It hadn’t been a good year for him and as a result, your relationship had suffered too. The worse the races went, the more, in fact, he was disappointed and threw himself more into work. When he didn't have to race, he was in Maranello at the factory working on the car and getting ready for the next race. Although you had tried to accompany him whenever you could, you had seen him less and less often. You also didn't feel welcome at the factory as you felt like your presence was bothering him. Scared by that, you had stopped going with him. You know it wasn’t true, that it was only your mind playing tricks on you. Was it?He loved you... you weren’t a burden or a distraction to him – you had repeated to yourself for months. He just needed to focus on his job if he wanted to win. Knowing how much it was important to him, you had put yourself aside and never said anything about it or how you felt. Not even when he didn’t come home for your anniversary because he had to work or when he forgot your birthday. You had remained silent even then, forgiving and justifying him, even though every disappointment and forgetfulness were like a stab in your heart, making you feel less and less important. In the end, it wasn't even worth it.

Although you were sad for Charles, a part of you was happy that the season had finally come to an end and that the winter break was about to start. It was your chance to spend some time together away from everything and everyone. Everything would have gone back to normal, to how it was before. You and Charles would have been fine again. At least it was what you thought… How wrong you were.

As Charles was putting his t-shirt on, you hugged him from behind and rested your chin on his shoulder. Or at least, you tried. He moved your arms off of you and walked away leaving you paralyzed in the middle of the room. You heard him grumble. 

You felt rejected by the man you loved and who told you he loved you. Because in that moment it didn’t seem like that. 

It wasn’t the first time that you felt rejected. The truth was that you hadn’t felt loved by him for months. 

You wanted to cry but you couldn’t. You had cried enough for him. You had lost count of the nights you spent crying before falling asleep. 

“Charles…”, you managed to whisper than to say. 

He turned to look at you. 

“What… what happens?”

He looked at you in disbelief. “What happens? Weren't you out there? Didn't you see what happened? I lost everything! Here what happened!”, he screamed. “I lost the championship, again! I’m not even vice-champion this time and my own teammate beat me. I’ve been driving a tract for the entire year. Isn’t all this enough for you?” 

As you listened to him, you realized how everything was always about him. He was still talking about the damn season he had, the championship, the car, his teammate… when you didn’t give a fuck about them, not anymore. You cared about you. You and Charles. But it didn't seem to be the same for your boyfriend.

He was still complaining about the season when you stopped him. You had enough. “No, I meant why you moved earlier.”

He turned around looking at you in confusion as if he didn’t understand what you were saying. 

“What… what are you talking about? When?” 

You couldn’t believe it. Was he making fun of you? How could he be so oblivious about everything, about you? Weren't you the woman he said he loved?

“Now when I hugged you and you immediately moved away from me as if you couldn’t stand my touch. Why that?”

Charles sighed and you could see how annoyed he was from your affirmation. Too bad for him that you were tired too and you couldn’t stand that situation anymore. It was time for both of you to clarify it. 

“It was nothing. I didn’t even realize it”, he said turning and giving you his back. 

“You see, Charles, this is the problem. You wouldn’t have realized it if I hadn't pointed it out for you. You never realize anything”, you said. 

“What would that mean? I already said that it was nothing. You're overreacting, Y/N!”

As your patience had reached its limit, you ended bursting out. 

“It was something, Charles! It meant for me. But apparently you simply don’t care enough about me and also about us if you don’t realize how much you’re hurting me, or I should say how I much you had hurt me in the last months”, you yelled at him while your eyes started filling with tears. 

Your words caught him off guard and put him in difficulty. He turned around to face you. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn't do it on purpose. I just have a lot of things on my mind right now. This year sucked…” 

You didn’t give him the time to finish. 

“Stop, Charles! I’ve had enough. Yeah, this season, the car, the team, everything sucked. I know that very well and do you know why? Because I’ve been by your side the whole time supporting and consoling you when everyone and everything seemed to be against you. And despite all this, you managed to make me feel like I wasn’t welcome. The least you could do is not push me away.” With every word you raised your voice more and more, not caring who could hear you from outside. 

“I never asked you to do all those things.”

You looked at him in disbelief. You quickly wiped away a tear that was falling down your cheek. He didn't deserve to see you crying. He didn't deserve you tears anymore.

You wondered yourself who was the person in front of you because that wasn’t the same Charles you knew and loved. There was a completely stranger in front of you as you didn't recognize him anymore.

“Yes, you didn’t but I did it anyway and I don’t regret it, Charles. I'd do it all again because I love you. But…” 

The thought had been tormenting you for months. You had kept pushing it away, trying not to listen to it but it came back stronger every time. You didn't want to believe it was true because it would mean the end of you and Charles. But maybe your relationship had been over a long time ago and you were just postponing the inevitable. 

“But it looks like my love isn’t enough anymore or maybe… maybe you don’t love me anymore, I don’t know. But I know for sure that in the last year you’ve loved your job, the championship and everything else more than me and don't try to deny it because you proved it several times, Charles. And I’m sorry but I'm tired of trying to make this relationship work when it seems I’m the only one who cares about it. I can’t keep fighting for both of us”, you said as you started collecting your things around the room, even the pieces of your broken heart. You wanted to leave that place and everything behind you as soon as possible. You were about to burst into tears. 

“Wait. What are you doing?”, he asked as he realized what you were about to do. 

“Leaving”, you simply said avoiding looking him in the face. You were afraid of the effect it might have on you. 

“What do you mean? The room or… me?” 

Good question. You didn't know it either. 

“I… don’t know. Maybe both, but for now the room for sure. I need some fresh air and... some time.” 

You collected your last things.

You had reached the door when his words stopped you. 

“So is it like this? Just because I've been absent recently or because I didn't win, you break up with me? You know I was working all the time, right?” 

You turned around to face him. All the sadness from earlier had been replaced by anger. You approached him reducing the distance between you. How could he think so low of you?

“Don’t you dare, Charles! I don't care if you're the champion of the world or not. I've always loved and wanted you despite that. And yes, I know you have been working all this time. You know why? Because that's all you've done this year: work, work and again work. If we've reached this point, it's… Do you know what? Nevermind. It’s just a waste of time and I've already wasted it enough. And so did you. I assume you have some work to do or am I wrong?” 

Maybe you had exaggerated with your words but you didn't care at all. You were hurt and angry.

Charles said nothing as you stood looking at each other. 

You weren't sure what you were hoping for. But anything would have been better than that deafening silence that was slowly killing you inside. It felt like the world was ending. For sure something was certainly over between you and Charles. But was it the end for you and him? Or there was still hope?

Your hand was on the doorknob, ready to leave when you turned to Charles. You wanted to see him one last time, to remember the Charles you loved but all you saw was a stranger. 

“You know what, Charles? You were right in the end. You’ve lost everything, including me, us. Good work, Charles.”

And with those last words you left the room and Charles. 

You exited the garage and walked quickly across the paddock hoping no one would have stopped or seen you. 

As you were keeping your head down, you didn't see that Joris was coming in the opposite direction and you collided with him.

"Oh, Joris... I'm sorry, I didn't see you...", you told him.

"Hey, Y/n. Is it everything ok? Where are you going?"

You were avoiding his gaze. If you would have looked at him in the eyes, you wouldn't have been able to hold back the tears anymore. "Away, Joris. I need to go", you whispered as your eyes started to fill with tears again.

"Wait, where? What happened?"

You quickly looked at him before hugging him.

"Nothing, don't worry. Take care of him for me, Joris."

You quickly kissed his cheek and left him there confused as he watched you walking away.

Stop, you're losin' me Stop, you're losin' me Stop, you're losin' me I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore For you 'Cause you're losin' me

--------------------------

[winwintea]

how dreamies would react to bailing you out of jail

PAIRING ▸ dreamies x reader 

TAGS ▸ none, except jail and chenle being rude at first, and oh karen renjun

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ i have never been arrested, i am a lawfully abiding citizen. have a nice day. i am perfectly normal and sane.

Mark Lee

Mark has never had to deal with the legal system before, so when he receives the phone-call from you, he’s really confused. “You’re… where?” He makes you repeat yourself and how you got in the situation. “What do you mean you can… ‘bail’ yourself out? Don’t you… have to be tried, like in front of a jury?” You have to explain to Mark how bails work, and eventually he begins to understand. “Don’t worry y/n… I’ll get you out, give me a second.” You can hear him leaving his room and running out, “CHENLE ?? CHENLE !! I NEED SOME CASH.” 

Huang Renjun

Renjun is a little annoyed at first when he realizes that it’s the police station calling him and it involves you. “Well, what’d they do?” He asks, carefully, and as he listens to what the officers say, and his temper slowly starts to rise. “And you put them in jail for that?” He’s pissed off now. Not only was his day interrupted, but you got arrested for such a stupid reason. There was absolutely no reason why he needed to be involved either, so if they wanted him involved he would get involved. “You will be hearing from my lawyers…”

Lee Jeno

Jeno, like Mark, would be extremely confused on what exactly was going on. While he listened to you rant about what happened, and how you got put in jail, one thing would be on his mind: Were you a criminal now? He’s still technically trying to process everything that’s going on, nodding and expressing some “Uh-huh”s here and there to let him know you were listening, but his eyes are wide with concern. He really didn’t want you to become a criminal and agreed to buy your bail. (poor jeno)  

Lee Donghyuck

Haechan cannot remain serious for once. He immediately lets out a giant laugh as soon as he hears what happened, “Yo, can you send me the mugshot? I might make some memes with it.” Obviously you aren’t too happy with this at all, and promptly hang up the call, stating that you were going to call someone else. 5 seconds later though, Haechan calls back, apologizing profusely, “SORRY. SORRY. I’LL PAY, I’LL PAY, SORRY”

Na Jaemin

Jaemin is both disappointed in you, but still worried for your wellbeing, so obviously he agrees to come bail you out, “Are you okay? I’m coming… to pick you up, don’t be scared.” When he arrives at the cell, he immediately scolds you, which he deems as appropriate payment for him having to drive over and rescue you. However, Jaemin will absolutely defend you all the way. Once he pays the bail bondsman, he then turns his attention to the officers, “Look at that face officer! Does that look like the face of a criminal to you?” It’s not until you beg him to leave that he finally gives up arguing with them. 

Zhong Chenle

Chenle does not want to help you at all, “I don’t have time sorry.” (okay rude) But Chenle’s biggest mistake was calling you on facetime. You started crying and rambling about how your life was over, and how you were going to get sentenced to jail time, and this did the trick. “Okay. Fine FINE. I’M GOING.” He ends up paying a hefty sum to get your name cleared from the records and so there will be no trial for you! He doesn’t even ask if you did it or not. This is lowkey illegal and corrupt, but Chenle just doesn’t want to see you upset, and who are you to complain?

Park Jisung

Jisung is somehow so calm about the situation? Like, hearing that you got arrested doesn’t even phase him, “Where you at, send me the location, I’ll pick you up.” You’re shocked too, because you expected him to be in panic mode, but he just comes, does the whole bail process like it’s nothing and takes you home. When you’re in the car with him you can’t help but ask why he was so resolute about the whole situation. Jisung just gives you a nonchalant look, “It’s not the first time I’ve done this. Don’t do it again though.” 

[strwberri-milk]

Your Fragrance

Rafayel x GN!Reader || Mild Smut, Nipple Play || 1 647 words

“What is that smell?” Rafayel asks you, eyes narrowing at you.

“What? I thought you like this scent!” you reply, smelling yourself.

“No, it’s not that,” he huffs, abandoning getting ready for the exhibition in favour of sniffing your wrist.

You sigh inwardly, digging your knees further into the seat cushions of his couch. You let him have his way with you for a second, hoping that after he sates his curiosity with whatever it is you’ve got him thinking of, he’ll leave you alone and finally get himself fully dressed.

“It’s a perfume or cologne, is it?” he mutters to himself, suddenly pushing you down onto the couch as he crawls on top of you.

You stare at him in shock, pushing lightly against his shoulders in hopes that you wouldn’t give him any ideas.

“Rafayel, we need to go,” you urge, trying not to let the heat of his body pressed against yours make you fall victim to his seductions.

“I promised Thomas we would go. Come on, please?” you try to beg, hoping he’d fall for your cutesy act and listen to you.

Instead, it seems to tick him off, pinning your wrists above your head. You can’t deny the way it makes you excited, stomach fluttering as he glares at you with those intense eyes of his. Even the darkness of the evening falling over the two of you can’t hide the fire burning inside of him, leaning down so close your noses touch as he scoffs.

“Even when you have me on top of you you can’t help but think of another man. Why is that, huh? Does Thomas make you feel as good as I do?” he challenges, grip tightening on your wrists slightly.

Your face immediately heats up as you think about the last time Rafayel ended up on top of you and you know he’s right. He smirks when he feels your knees knock up against his hips, brushing his lips against yours in the slightest suggestion of a kiss.

“Well? Aren’t I right?” he whispers huskily, quickly taking control of the situation.

That is, until he licks his lips.

He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it earlier. Maybe it’s because he was so caught up in the jubilation of pulling a fast one on you, thinking he somehow managed to trick you into thinking he wasn’t home. Maybe it’s because he was too busy whining about the fact that you weren’t thinking about him at all times.

“Rafayel? What’s – mmph!”

He practically shoves himself into your mouth, tongue lapping at your lips hungrily. You have no idea what he’s doing, opening your mouth to let him in only to be left gasping for air as he pulls back. You brush your thumb against your lips, the tackiness of your lip gloss gone as you realised he’s made a mess of it.

“Rafayel!” you scold, reaching into your bag to re-apply the product.

As soon as the wand hits the air, he realises that’s what he was smelling. The sickly-sweet scent of the lip gloss paired with whatever it is about you that drives him crazy is making his mind spin. He watches hungrily as you brush the wand against your lips, biting his lip and savouring the taste he has on his tongue as he watches the plush of your lips bounce with your application.

“More,” he whispers huskily, holding your face in his hands as he kisses you just as hungrily.

His tongue moves against your insistently this time, swallowing all your moans as he practically fucks his tongue into your mouth. You can taste the sweetness of your gloss on his tongue, burying your fingers into his hair as he’s downright starved for your taste. His hips grind against yours unintentionally, making you moan as he kisses you messily.

“Is that new?” he asks breathlessly once he pulls back, pupils blown wide as he admires the state he’s left you in.

You’re gasping for breath, chest heaving. The light of the stars reflects softly in the lip-gloss that he’s smeared, the tackiness that he feels on the pad of his thumb as he gently brushes against the plush of his lip making him want to kiss you stupid again.

“Oh – uhm – yeah, I found it at the store the other day. It was really cheap and I liked the scents so I bought it. You like it too then?”

He nods leaning down to kiss you again. Your bodies begin to move against each other in a pre-established rhythm, Rafayel adoring the way your body responds to his. All he can hear past the roaring of his blood in his ears is the soft sounds of your lips smacking against his, soft moans slipping past your lips as you whine for him to not stop kissing you. His body burns with need for you, burying his face into your neck as he tries to ground himself in his desire for you.

You take the brief respite to catch your breath, reapplying the product again while he presses more open-mouthed kisses against your neck. Once you catch you breath you gently push him up, taking out your phone to check the time.

“How about I give you a reward if we manage to make it to the event on time?” you ask him, dragging your hand down his chest.

“What sort of reward?”

He never finished getting dressed, button up shirt still left half undone. Your fingers gaze against his heated skin, watching as his stomach contracts when you decide to flick a nipple with your thumb teasingly. He makes a sharp noise of surprise, one that goes straight to your gut.

“Let me give you a taste.”

You switch positions, pushing Rafayel onto his back as you start to leave sticky kisses against his cheek. Immediately the smell of your lip gloss hits his sensitive nose again, making him gasp as he tries to pull you in for a kiss. You shake your head, shaking your finger teasingly at him as you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, smacking your lips playfully as he practically shakes under you.

“I told you to listen,” you scold gently, pinching his nipple for good measure. His hips buck into yours, head thrown back as he whines needily.

“Please sweetheart. I’ll be good, I promise,” he whines, eyes rolling into the back of his head as you continue your ministrations.

“I know you will be. You try to be a brat but you know when to behave.”

His moans are like music to your ears, body growing increasingly sensitive as you continue to kiss him. You bring your lips down his neck to his collar, letting him feel the chill of the air against the sticky sweetness you leave on his body. His fingers dig into your waist, squirming restlessly under your ministrations.

You love making him a mess from seemingly simple acts, sucking marks into his chest where you know nobody will see them. You’re glad he didn’t finish getting dressed yet, giving you delicious access to his chest as you leave the shape of your lips on his skin paired with pretty little bruises littered all over his pale skin. You can feel his hardness press against your ass, letting him grind against you.

“Don’t tease me anymore,” he begs, pretty eyes looking close to tears when you look at him.

“You know I’ll make you feel good if you let me. Just let me, please.”

His pleas turn into a sharp moan when you enclose a nipple into your lips, lightly sucking on the erect peak. He grinds against your hips more insistently now, mind going blank when you start to grind back on him. You release it just to lave your tongue over it, tasting your gloss and the beads of his sweat as you lap at his skin with a broad tongue.

Just to make sure things are fair you switch to his other nipple, pressing a kiss to it before giving it just as much attention. The fact that he’s already so sensitive makes it so easy for you to predict his reaction, curious to see if you could make him cum just by teasing his chest. Your hand goes to tweak and tease his pec, gently groping in time with the movements of your mouth.

“Oh – fuck – I think-”he gasps.

You take that as your cue to pull off with a wet pop, laughing evilly at the flush on his face as he stares at you incredulously.

“I told you I’d reward you if we manage to make it on time. You’ve got enough time to get dressed and drive over if you put your head on straight right now,” you smirk, hopping off his lap as though you weren’t about to make him cum.

“Come on now. You can manage, can’t you?” you say sweetly, lightly smacking his thigh to wake him up.

He finally hears what you’re saying to him, grumbling as he continues to get dressed and wipe away at the sticky marks you’ve left on his body.

“I’m going to get you back for this,” he mutters, trying to ignore the strain of his pants from his hard cock.

“I know you will. Just focus on cooling off and we’ll talk about it after. I’ll drive us there – and if you still need to cool down maybe I’ll offer you a helping hand if you aren’t a brat on the drive over,” you promise, giving him a quick peck on his lips before running out to your car.

He stares after you, groaning as he follows you. The drive is going to take forever, he knows it but the evil grin on your face makes it clear you’re going to enjoy every moment of it.

[brairslair]

lil eddie smut ramble

18 ONLY. NO MINORS PAST THIS POINT.

a/n: i was just listening to sex on fire by kings of leon and eating a lollipop omw home from work, and my mind started wandering so now i present you this tiny little blurb. no actual smit, just super suggestiveeee… yw!

don’t forget to like, reblog, comment, and follow to support my work! it makes my day <3

“head while i’m driving”

Your hand rests dangerously close to the tent in your poor, flustered boyfriend’s jeans, and your sweet giggles cause his leg to twitch.

Logically, you know this whole situation is dangerous, but you’ve been needy for hours, and the overwhelming lust is strong enough to cloud your judgement.

Your perfect, attentive boyfriend has been taking care of you all day. Taking you out to lunch, buying you a sweater you really wanted, and giving you sweet ice-cream flavored kisses at the park after spending the day carrying your things. You just want to take care of him in return, is that so terrible?

As your nimble fingers begin to unbutton his pants, his hand wraps around your wrist. Gentle, but strong enough to stop your movements. His other hand has a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

You look up at him through your lashes, feigning innocence. “What is it, Eds?”

He takes a long, deep inhale through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, just like how you taught him to deal with stress. You hold back a new fit of giggles as you lick your lips. His eyes flicker at the movement.

“Honey, I love you,” he tries to pull himself together, “but if you keep doing what you’re doing we’re both gonna end up dead on the side of the road.”

You frown as his words, even though you know he’s being extremely reasonable.

“Eds” you whine out, “I just wanna take care of you, like how you always take care of me.”

You test the waters again, softly tracing the outline of his bulge, and he sucks a breath in through his teeth.

You have a plan, and you know it’ll work. After all, Eddie’s wrapped around your pretty little finger.

You lean up so your soft lips brush the shell of his ear, putting on the most seductive voice you can muster;

“I just want to suck you off so good that you feel like you’re dying.”

That does the trick.

In the blink of an eye he’s turning the van into an empty alleyway, only lit by the slowly setting sun. You smile at him like you want to eat him alive, and in a way, you do.

“You’re a real devil, you know that?” Eddie asks you with a loving smile playing on his lips, finally letting you unbutton his jeans.

my asks are open!

[krysalla]

hide me from the cleaver, i'll hang with you forever! - i

thomas hewitt x fat f!reader

word count: 5.4k

read on ao3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, blood, violence, gore, murder, kidnapping, drugging, body horror

Tommy has been lonely for so long. He's ready to settle down.

You startle awake and you can’t move. Your limbs are locked up, unwilling to comply with any thought or demand that they move, they stay glued to your sides while you try to fight yourself into full consciousness. All you can do is look ahead, up into the vast darkness of this room, and will yourself not to cry. You don’t know what’s going on. You don’t remember checking into a motel, the last thing you remember was the bright sun filtering the the van’s windows, lulling you into an uneasy sleep while your friends chatted amongst themselves toward the front of the van, the feeling of sweat pooling in the creases of your body and soaking your shirt and hair.

This bed is unfamiliar and not a motel bed. The sheets don’t have the starchy smell and stiffness that they would if you were in a motel. It’s a private home. If you were in a hospital, there would be more noise and light. You’d rather be in a hospital.

Whoever put you here, they tucked you into bed like a child with the sheets snug under the outline of your body and a soft pillow under your head. Maybe a good samaritan? Maybe it was a car accident and being out in the middle of nowhere, the nearest hospital must be at least an hour’s drive away. No, that still doesn’t make sense. You try not to cry, but as you keep coming up with ideas about why you’re here nothing clicks in your memory. You whine out in frustration. The how isn’t important, not when you can’t move.

You take a deep breath through your nose and exhale through your mouth, trying to relax so you can jump start your limbs into working again. Your mouth is dry and the taste of your last meal is hot on your breath–a pre-packaged pastry and gas station coffee. Your stomach grumbles. Whatever happened, it happened before you and your friends stopped off for lunch. The room is pitch black so it must be well past nine at night. If you can still taste your breakfast, it must be the same day or at least the early hours of the next day. Pinpointing a timeline makes you feel a little better about your situation.

Your hand flexes and finally you’re able to push yourself up. You rip the blanket off of you and your arms and chest scream out at you. You’re not wearing your clothes. You were wearing a loose shirt and a pair of cut offs. Someone stuffed you into a dress that is at least two sizes too small for you. You feel across your chest, the neckline is low, maybe not for the person it was intended for, but on you it is, you are spilling out everywhere. The sleeves cut into your upper arms and constrain the breadth of your shoulders, the fabric stretches tight over your wide hips and soft stomach, the buttons holding the front of the dress closed are straining against all of you, creating gaps between the edges of the fabric. Whoever dressed you removed your undergarments too, probably to make it easier to squeeze you into this horrendous dress. Your first instincts are your friends, this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve pulled a trick on you, but this feels needlessly cruel, even for them, to strip you down while you’re sleeping.

Your friends–where are they?

There’s no one else in this room, you can’t hear any breathing but your own. You get off the bed and on shaky legs wander blindly in the dark until you see the small strip of light coming from under a door and stagger toward it like a moth to a flame, this will lead you out of here, get you the answers you need. You pull the door open and hiss at the bright, sickly yellow that floods the room. You blink, waiting for the spots dancing across your vision to fade away. The hallway is dilapidated and filthy. The walls are yellow too, it’s not from paint but years worth of smoke build up. You tiptoe through the hallway, trying your best to keep quiet, but the old floorboards creak under your weight.

You get a better look at what you're wearing. The dress is old and well loved but you are ruining it. Your stomach and hips bulge against the fabric and the skirt was supposed to be loose but it’s swallowed up by your thighs and ass. You can barely make a full step.

You pass by three more doors, two of them to your left and one to your right, before you find the staircase.

A woman wails from somewhere downstairs.

You follow the voices even though your gut is telling you not to. The stairs don’t creak under your weight, deceptive given the looks of them. No, you move silently through the house, every sound drowned out by the woman crying frantically. Nothing can be heard over her, not the shifts of the wood floors or the stretching and ripping of the dress you’re wearing. One of the buttons pops and hits the wall. 

The front door looks so inviting, it’s the best idea. You don’t know where you are, you’re wearing a stranger's clothes, you have no idea how you came here and there’s a woman howling. This is not a safe place, you need to leave but you can’t. No matter how hard you will yourself to grab the doorknob and slip out unnoticed, you can’t. That could be one of your friends–either Anna or Lucy–and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you left them here. You close your eyes and head towards the chaos you know is waiting for you.

As you get closer, you can distinguish the voices clearly. It’s Anna. Her usual soft tone becomes shriller and more agitated with each passing second, with each step you take. She’s cursing and threatening. A man is yelling now, a woman too. Both sound older. A dog barks.

You peek your head around the corner. 

Anna is tied to a chair with thick ropes. Her red hair, her pride and joy, is a mess, tangled like someone had run their hands through it and tried to yank it out by the roots. She fights and tugs at the ropes, rocking the chair with her, a wild look in her eye, the kind you see in a wild animal that’s been cornered and has no other option than to bare its teeth and fight. Around her is a family, you think. An older man stands at the head of the table, holding onto the back of the chair. He looks bored. Another man is in a wheelchair with a small, mangy dog in his lap. A woman sits next to the man in the wheelchair. The table is covered by a lacy tablecloth and set up for a big dinner. The evening meal sits, ready to be served. There are five place settings. You only count four people.

The bored man shouts, “Tommy, get in here and shut ‘er up already.”

There’s number five.

A man lumbers out from the other entrance to the dining room and your mouth dries. He’s huge. You’ve never seen a man that size before. His presence captures your attention, stealing you away from your concern for your friend who is clearly in big fucking trouble. Something isn’t right about his face. It looks off, loose around his eyes and mouth, like there’s too much skin and it can’t hold itself up anymore. He looks so familiar.

“You stay the fuck away from me, you fucking freak!” Anna yells before breaking back down hysterical tears. You hear an electric humming. Then comes the roar. The man–Tommy–has a chainsaw and he wields it without a problem, like the beast of a machine weighs nothing at all to him. You finally take a step into the doorway.

Red everywhere. There’s no hiding from the blood and carnage. Anna is convulsing to the rhythm of the chainsaw ripping through her chest. Tommy rears the chainsaw back and forth out of her body. Blood splatters everywhere, the rubbery bits of her flesh sticking to every surface and splashing into the pot on the table. Her bones crunch and crack in a sickening symphony. You can’t connect this brutality with the domestic setting around you. A family dinner all served up on the table with a frilly tablecloth to protect the wooden table. 

You clamp your hands over your mouth. You don’t want to watch this carnage but you can’t move. You’re stuck and you see Anna’s head loll around on her neck until she looks up at you, and you can hardly believe that she is still alive. Her eyes light up, it’s dim but you can see her register you, and she attempts to speak. Her words are garbled and wet, tongue too coated with blood to get her words out properly. The chainsaw pushes all the way through her chest again. Her jaw goes slack and her eyes wide in agony. The chainsaw pulls back. A death rattle, her final breath. Her head drops.

The man, the one who was yelling, cackles and smiles something awful while he reaches out and grabs onto her red hair and pulls her head up to face him. He spits on her face. It’s brown from chewing tobacco. “Ain’t so pretty now, you stupid bitch, huh?”

“Hoyt, watch your language!” the older woman admonishes. 

“Now, Mama,” the man lets go of Anna’s hair and straightens up. “Worse things been done at this table than a lil’ bit a swearin’.”

The mangy mutt on the still nameless man’s lap growls at you. Everyone looks up at you.

The man–Hoyt–settles a hand on his hip and looks at the behemoth that carved up Anna. He snorts, “Seems your sleeping beauty woke up, boy.”

Tommy looks up at you and you realize why he looks so familiar. That’s not his face. That’s David, Lucy’s boyfriend. He cut off his face and is wearing it like a mask. You notice the blood around his eyes and on his neck. It’s fresh. David and Anna are dead. Lucy and Bobby’s fates unknown, but you know what yours will be.

You scream.

The man stomps toward you but you dodge him, running toward the door and blessedly, it’s unlocked. You throw it open and bound down the front steps. The moon is full tonight, casting enough light to help you find your way, but that means he can see you too. You can hear him behind you, his hulking weight racing after you and his heavy breaths pounding like a drum in your ear. He’s so close, all he has to do is reach out a hand and grab you by the back of the neck. You duck and weave between the laundry hung up on the line, hoping he will get confused and lose you in the chaos.

You veer left and head towards the thicket of trees. A dirt road runs perpendicular to it. You can lose him through there and follow the dirt road to a paved one. Maybe a semi truck will roll through or a farmer with a truck or anyone. Anyone would be better than this bloodthirsty family you’ve encountered.

You run as fast and as long as you can, but you are not built for it. Your knees and ankles ache, the bottom two buttons on the dress have popped and given you more room to move but only expose you more. You burn in humiliation and anger. 

Tommy seems to have disappeared. You thought it would be a relief, but it’s not, he could be anywhere, he has the home field advantage. He knows the roads better than you, probably knows the woods too. Each sound, no matter how soft it is, has your head swiveling around on your neck, looking for the ever present threat of him, the glint of the blade glowing in the night. Blood rushes to your ears. You have to get out of here. You need to get to the police and tell them what kind of freaks are living out here. Are you the first to encounter them? The ease with which they orchestrated and witnessed the carnage of Anna’s death tells you no. That beast’s mask–David’s face–the work around the eyes and mouth and nose, all those delicate features, it was carved clean. That is not the first face he’s worn.

What do you know? You are in Texas. Somewhere between Austin and Odessa. David and Anna are dead, Lucy and Bobby are missing and most likely dead. It’s the dead of night. Which way is west? You have no landmarks to point you in the right direction, at least back home you have the mountains, and you have no idea how to find the north star. 

There–the road lies just ahead of you.

You miss the shards of glass on the shoulder of the road. It digs into the flesh of your foot and you wail in pain as it hits bone. You crumple to the ground and hold onto your foot.

He makes his appearance. He breaks through the treeline, shoulder heaving with his heavy breaths, eyes shining in the dark as he stalks closer to you. This is it. You get on your knees and hold yourself up with your hands, trying to push up, but the second you dare put any weight on your foot, your leg gives out. You yell, deep from your chest and swing your head up to look at him. He walks slowly and it makes you angry. He’s playing with his food and you just want this over with. You’re done, there’s nothing left for you to do.

“C’mon, hurry up! I don’t have all day,” you spit out at him.

He dangles the chainsaw in your face when he stops in front of you. You gag at the stench of iron and sight of chunks of Anna still stuck in the chain. He tilts the weapon and presses your chin up with the flat side, smearing her blood over your face as he examines you. You can hear the low hum of the engine. He stares at you from behind his mask. His eyes are dark and wide. He adjusts his grip on the chainsaw and shifts his weight. You don’t lose eye contact with him. You will not be the one to break or bend. If he wants you dead, he will look you in the eye while he plunges that monster through your chest. You are going to meet your fate and he will have to watch you die, you won’t let him take the cowardly way out like he did with Anna.

It’s hard for someone to make you feel small. Even if they were taller than you, odds are you were wider, but beneath him, you feel minuscule. He’s barrel chested, shoulders wide and arms bulging with muscles. Everything about him radiates strength and power. You clench your jaw and swallow.

You reach out and grab the saw, bringing the tip right to the center of your chest. You’re aware of the image and if you had been watching this interaction from the sidelines, you’d laugh at the implications of this. You, with your large chest spilling out from the fabric of your dress, on your knees while he towers over you with a weapon that is no doubt phallic pointed right at you. How pornographic. You grab the saw again, fingers slipping against the wet metal to press it harder against you.

“C’mon! Kill me already!” you shout. This show of bravery is a farce. You are terrified. If you thought begging or pleading would save you, you would. But no, you see that no amount of messy pleading and placations will save you. It didn’t save Anna. No human could take a life in that manner and be weakened by bargaining. 

His eyes flash up to you. The skin of his mask distorted and warped from the heat and his own sweat. The nose collapses in on itself. You offer yourself up to him on a silver platter and he won’t make a move. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” You grit your teeth and push yourself into the saw. His hand wavers.

The deafening roar never comes. The engine cuts off and the buzzing stops. He drops the chainsaw and instead reaches out to touch you. He cups your face and whines. You drop your jaw at the utterly pathetic noise you just heard come out of the behemoth. He takes that as an invitation and shoves his thick fingers into your mouth. You gag at the intrusion and taste of him—blood and grime and sweat. His other hand presses your top lip up. Under his scrutiny, you feel like a show pig being judged. Maybe you’ll win a prize. Whatever he sees, he nods and pulls his fingers from your mouth, a strand of your spit connecting him to you until it breaks. He wipes his fingers on his dirty cargo pants.

He hauls you up onto your feet, not paying any mind the blows you land on his chest. He ducks and wraps an arm around your thick waist and without much hassle lifts you over his shoulder, he bounces once to get himself comfortable with the weight of you and then picks up the chainsaw and walks you back to the dirt road, back to the house of horrors. You can’t even fight him, too stunned at the display of strength. You haven’t been picked up since you were a little girl.

You go quietly with him. You have no energy left to expend now that the adrenaline has left your system.

It’s only a few minutes before the house comes back into view. The woman and Hoyt wait for your arrival on the front porch, backlit by the patio lights. They follow him in the door, the woman clucking over you, her hands skating over your face as Tommy takes you deeper into the house.

“Now, Tommy, you couldn’t find anything better to fit her? She looks like a hussy in that thing.”

He grunts in reply. Another fact to add to what you know: he is the one who dressed you and presumably the one who tucked you into that bed upstairs. But why? Why would he do that when he slaughtered the others? Why treat you with the kindness of tucking you into bed while Anna was tied up with rope and David’s face skinned from his head. The fifth setting at the dinner table. You didn’t understand why they would set it for someone destined to die. It wasn’t for Anna, the place at the table was for you. He intends to keep you.

He grabs your injured foot and spins around to show it to the woman who clicks her tongue at the sight.

“Set her on the couch, I’ll make some tea.”

He deposits you on the couch and stands behind you. Hoyt settles himself across from you with a sly smile and his arms crossed over his chest. He licks his lips as he devours the disheveled sight of you. You close your legs tight and hold your hands on your lap, hoping to block his view.

“Mhm, Tommy, think I get why you chose this broad outta all of them. Looks sweet as pie, wonder if she tastes as sweet as she looks.”

Tommy grabs your shoulder in what you assume is a protective manner. You can’t see what he does behind you, but whatever it is, it’s enough to get that man to stop looking at you like that.

“Hoyt, ain’t you got your own girl to entertain?” the woman asks as she reappears from the kitchen with a tray in her hand that holds a tea cup and some first aid supplies. Lucy. That must be Lucy that they are talking about.

“She don’t seem as fun as this one.”

“Leave Tommy’s girl alone. My boy deserves something nice and you ain’t gonna get in the way of that.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes, arms falling back to his side as he levels the woman with a glare. “Fine.”

Hoyt leaves and the grip on your shoulder relaxes.

“Tommy, go get a blanket for her.” She sets her supplies out on the coffee table and sits across from you on it. She smiles at you, not unkindly but you can see that sharpness in her eyes, she doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re an intrusion. The skin on her hands is thin, veins dark blue and protruding, and covered with spots. Her fingers are knobbly. She grabs your right ankle and pulls your injured foot into her lap. She looks back up behind you. “Tommy,” she says sternly. 

You hear him walk away. 

“He’s a good boy. Just wants to make sure you’re alright.” She examines your foot and picks up a pair of tweezers. “You got yourself good here. I’ll be quick about it.”

The glass slides out with a little maneuvering and you bite your lip to keep from crying out. The woman’s eyes crinkle behind her glasses. She pulls out another piece of glass slowly, watching your reaction to it. She likes this. 

A quilt is thrown over your lap and you rush to cover your body with it. 

“She’ll be fine, quit your hovering. I’m tryna work here.”

Tommy makes a disquieted noise. 

The last piece of glass comes out, the one that reached bone and you can’t stop yourself. You whine and bury your face in the blanket. Tommy has his hands on your shoulders again, thumbs rubbing circles into you. 

“There we go. Just gotta get you cleaned up.” She goes to work on cleaning out the wound and wrapping it up. 

You whimper and push yourself further into the corner of the couch. Tommy leans over you, gazing down at you with a soft look. He has brown eyes. Dried blood cracks around the corners of his eyes, you can’t see his lips through the mask but you know he’s smiling.

“Oh hush now, it’s all done now.” She pats your ankle. “Have some tea—It’ll help settle your nerves.”

“I don’t want tea.”

She narrows her eyes at you and reaches across the empty space between you and grabs your chin, fingers digging into the fat of your cheeks. “I won’t take no lip from you, missy. Drink the tea. Ain’t a request, understand?” She shoves your head to the side when she lets go. 

“Okay.”

She harrumphs and passes the tea cup to you. You don’t want to think about what she may have put in here. You chug it down. You hand the teacup back. It was a mistake to down it all in one go. You can’t think straight and your body feels heavy. Maybe it’s arsenic. That would be a cleaner way to go.

“Good girl,” she croons. She looks up past you. “Take her to bed.”

You’re in the air again, swinging in his grip as he takes you back upstairs and back into the bed you woke up in. He tucks you in beneath blankets and fluffs your pillow for you. If this was anyone else, you’d think the action was sweet, loving but it’s not, it’s him, the man who murdered your friend. When he’s content that you are comfortable enough, he sits on the edge of the bed, springs creaking under his weight, and he cups your cheek. You blink tears from your eyes and he wipes them away. 

“What are you going to do to me?” you ask. 

He peers at you through David’s face and leans down to kiss your forehead. You feel his lips part the hole he made of David’s mouth. He kisses you chastely like a parent does a child when they have a nightmare. 

You can’t fight the wave of exhaustion and the sedative weighing you down. It would be easier for him and better for you if he killed you in your sleep. It’s a reassuring thought that this ordeal will be over when you close your eyes. You let your dreams take you. 

-

The heat’s much worse in the backseat of the van. You feel more like cargo than a human back here, sitting amongst all the suitcases that didn’t fit in the trunk. You’re by yourself back here, all your friends sit in the front of the van, leaning over each other and chattering away with one another while you sit forgotten with their luggage. It’s all so on the nose that if you weren’t in this situation, you’d be laughing. Physical proof of where you stand in relation to everyone else.

You started to notice it more and more, how separated you are from the other five. It never bothered you much as a kid, just happy to be included by anyone, no matter if it was just the scraps of a friendship. Better to be the doormat than alone. But you’re older now and it’s starting to take its toll. It’s always been there, lurking, the doubt of their love for you, that is nowhere near the same level you gave to them. Time and age have given you a little perspective and you’re just so tired of carrying it all around.

One last trip.

You pluck at the fabric of your shirt, hoping for a little relief from the heat and your own sweat. The air conditioning doesn’t reach back here. Anna and her boyfriend, David, in the front seat don’t even bother to open the windows. They are perfectly comfortable with the steady stream of cool air hitting them directly. You shift in your seat and feel the back of your legs peel away from the leather and can feel the sweat gathering beneath your thighs,on the back of your knees, in the crease of your inner elbow from how you have your arms folded close to your torso.

Lucy and Bobby play a card game and flirt good naturedly, nothing will come from it, they’ve been playing this game since they were fifteen.

David curses and hits the steering wheel. “Almost out of gas.”

-

You’re alone again when you wake. You’re devastated that you woke up. You curl onto your side and cry until you have nothing left to give. Your eyes are swollen and lips irritated from your dry heaving, but when the tears run out you wipe your eyes and nose and fix yourself straight. There’s no use in crying. Crying won’t find you a way out. Lucy and Bobby are still out there. You have to find them.

The room is bathed in sunlight and you get your first real look around. There’s sparse furniture: the bed, a side table and a set of tall drawers. The wallpaper, a peach floral pattern, is water damaged and peeling. It’s a small room, maybe what was a guest room. On the dresser is a stack of folded clothing. 

You rush out of bed, limping on your bad foot, desperate to change out of the dress. The clothes are yours. They were in your suitcase. They have your things. You hurry out of the dress, the rest of the buttons popping off in your urgency. There’s indents all over your body from the tight fabric and you try your best to soothe them before you dress. It’s the most modest outfit that you packed—a pair of jeans and a long sleeve blouse along with your undergarments.

You stand by the door, listening for any signs of life on the other side. Nothing. The house is deathly silent. You pull the door open with care not to let the hinges squeak.

There’s only four other rooms upstairs that she could be in. The one at the end of the hall, the one you didn’t notice the night before, is a bathroom. You peek through the next two doors, both empty save for some furnishing. This last one must be her. You hear the light shuffling of sheets through the door and a weary moan.

Lucy is bound and gagged on a four poster bed with gauzy curtains hanging around her, her arms pulled apart in a spreader bar and her feet tied to the bedpost with the same thick rope they used on Anna. Her clothes are ripped to shreds and bloodied. She’s covered in cuts and bruises and her lips are cracked and there’s a chunk of hair missing close to her hairline. You can’t help but feel lucky. Her and Anna have gotten the worst treatment of the three of you, you’ve barely come out with a scratch, the only real injury you have was one of your own making. It strikes you then that Hoyt may be more dangerous than Tommy with his lecherous stares and bloodthirsty smile.

You lean over her and cup her cheeks. “Lucy! Wake up. Gonna get you outta here.”

She stirs.

“Dumpling? Thought they got you for sure. First one that got hauled away…” she slurs and drops out of consciousness.

“No, no.” You pat her face and she still doesn’t respond. You hope she’ll be able to forgive you. You slap her across her cheek, leaving a stinging, red mark in the shape of your hand. She jolts awake, laughing and crying at the same time. “Lucy, stop. They’re gonna come up here.”

She takes no heed, only attempts to kick her legs out and wrestle her way out of the spreader bar. She manages to shift the bed across the floor by an eighth of an inch in her efforts. You can’t hear over her laughter, they could be coming up the stairs right now and you’d never know and you’d lose the opportunity to escape. Tommy had too much faith in you not to try running again or the old woman didn’t add enough sleeping pills to her tea, probably used to dosing up women who are half your size. You cover her mouth with your hand and use your other to pull the cuff loose.

The door bursts open as she bites down on the flesh of your hand and you cry out in pain. She uses such force that she breaks skin. Heavy steps make their way to you. Tommy is by your side, picking your hand up to examine, whining when he sees the damage done to you. He isn’t wearing the full mask, just a half one that covers the lower half of his face in dark brown leather. You can see scarring peek over the edges of his mask and across his forehead. His dark hair hangs limply around his shoulders. Tommy looks down at the floor, cheeks gone ruddy under your examination. 

You notice the cleaver at the same time she does. It glints, casting spots of light along the walls of the room from how his hand shakes around it.

“Look what you did! You stupid, fat cow!” Lucy’s voice pitches up in fear as she spews venom at you, blaming you for her own actions. You could have saved her but she wouldn’t listen to you. 

His head whips to the side, looking down at Lucy with narrowed eyes, shoulders stiff as he tests the weight of the cleaver in his right hand. He reeks of blood and body odor.

She doesn’t stop her insults, the same things you’ve heard for years and you walk backward away from her, cradling your hand to your chest, trying to stop the bleeding. His free hand holds onto your shoulder, squeezing twice before gently nudging you to the side.

You hear scurrying steps and out from behind him comes Hoyt. “Aw, now look what your bitch did!” 

“What? You’re gonna stand here with these inbred fucks!” she yowls and arches her body off the bed. “Of course the only man that would even touch you would be a freak.”

Tommy takes four quick steps to the bed and raises the cleaver above his head and with one smooth swing and a terrible wail, plants the blade into her skull. He pulls it out with a sickening crunch, but Lucy still hasn’t given up on life, she hangs on by a thread. Her eye is popped and deflated, liquid oozing out of the socket, her insults turning into unfettered rambling. You vomit. He huffs in satisfaction, letting her writhe around on the bed a little more while Hoyt curses and shouts. The blade comes down once more and ends Lucy’s slurred speech. 

[nobody-nexus]

Obsession AU: UPDATED

I promise I didn't forget about this AU- In fact I've been updating it behind the scenes ever since episode 2 released! And now, with proper reference sheets, you now have a better idea of what they look like, and who they are! Alongside the new members!

(5 Facts About Pomni)

-She will never feed human meat to any person. It is THEIR hunt, and therefore if she eats it, it's ALL THEIRS. She'd never give it to others for that very reason

-Their hands are heavily damaged, having MANY scars. Due to this, she will wear as much hand covering as possible, refusing to give any more details on their appearance due to her record

-As if their stalker like obsession with Amanda isn't enough of an issue, she also has a mannequin in their home that she practices dancing with to old songs they like

-She has Hematolagnia- AKA a blood fetish. YES, she has issues if that wasn't already clear enough

-The scars that are on their body are from self-defense attempts from three different victims

(5 Facts About Amanda)

-Her damaged eye is from an incident where a kid hit her with a meat cleaver. Although she thankfully didn't lose her eye, she's 1/3rd blind and legally isn't allowed to drive because of it

-She knows how to cook! Although she does more baking than cooking, she loves to collect cookbooks and learn new recipes of various kinds! Especially ones from outside the United States

-She has scented candles in her home, and her home never smells like the same thing twice

-While she was away from her hometown, the only one that she kept in contact with was her brother, Jackson via text

-Her vitiligo started to pop up when she was 19

(5 Facts About Jackson)

-He is Zoey's roommate

-Jackson was an accidental child unlike his older sister

-He plays violent video games of all kinds. He loves being able to cause blood, death, and chaos without having to go to jail for it

-He likes sour candy a bit too much. Like it's a borderline issue with how much he's willing to pay just for sour candy and the feeling of it numbing his mouth

-Has a habit of stealing and shoplifting, being a bit TOO good at the action. He's gotten in trouble a few times before, but nowadays no one really seems to notice or care

(5 Facts About Grace)

-Grace was born an albino, having the palest skin out of most people in the town along with red eyes and white hair. It's unknown if her being albino was why she was so sickly as a child

-She loves to draw and will constantly have drawing/writing tools with her alongside notebooks or loose paper

-She's in the middle of quite the complicated situation between Amanda and Pomni

-Her most eaten food is soup, stew, and ramen

-She sees Ceaser as a father figure, being the most to visit him and keep him company ever since Quinn went missing. She'll occasionally even sing for him to make him feel better

(5 Facts About Zoey)

-They're very talented on the drums and are willing to be a temporary drummer for a price

-Zoey has a bit of an anger problem, quick to snap and easy to piss off given the topic of discussion. However, they are going to anger management classes to help with it

-Strangling is a common attack it does

-They decorate their prosthetic leg commonly

-VERY much smokes weed and makes edibles. Once tricked Amanda into eating some- and it likes the memory

(5 Facts About Kinger)

-He has a bit of a staring problem, however no one knows why

-He refuses to touch knives of any kind. This was a more recent thing about him, so most people just help him cut things in case he needs any help with it

-Still loves insects, and you can get him to ramble about bugs depending on his mood. He can't help but love em

-He has a nurse help him in his home, however it's not uncommon for Grace, Amanda, or even some of the new outbackers to come back and help him

-Has a daughter, but she moved out of state years ago. They talk occasionally

(5 Facts About Caine)

-He wears a top hat to not only stick to his brand, but also because he's kind of compensating for his height

-He has a small limp to his walk, thus why he constantly has a cane

-Caine's pet is a white pug named Bubble

-Pomni is his favorite customer! He constantly attempts small talk whenever she buys from him because he's always so curious as to why his pigs love her so much

-Although it's undiagnosed, he very much has ADHD and is on the spectrum to some degree

(5 Facts About Marina)

-She was a detective before she even moved into town, however her skills were finally noticed more so thanks to moving there

-She straightens out her hair

-Marina HAS to work in silence or she'll 100% get distracted. Caine's not allowed in her office for that very reason (but he knows)

-She is usually the one to come home late at night and snuggle in with her partner at like 2 in the morning

-Her favorite activity to do is stargazing, finding the night sky to be absolutly beautiful

(5 Facts About Summer)

-She is LOUD. You can and WILL know when she's talking and what she's talking about

-Constantly will ask her sister Marina about Caine. She is VERY wary of him even if Marina keeps telling her to stop

-Never share secrets with her because she IS a gossip girl. She adores to overshare about others and spread rumors just because she finds it fun

-Summer's seen to be a lot better around kids then people closer to her age. Thus why she's a teacher

-Can NOT let go of grudges no matter what

(5 Facts About Gabriela)

-She was the one who came up with the idea of the stripper outfits for her club. It somehow works

-She calls herself the 'Gloink Queen' as a bit of a joke whenever she's on the floor

-Can, will, and HAS flirted with at least half of the adult residence in the town just for the fun of it

-Although she claims to be married, no one has ever met her husband before, and probably never will

-Gabriela is the reason Pomni sees adult based activities as more of a transaction than anything else

(5 Facts About Gareth)

-He has a picture of his mom in his wallet. His mom nicknamed him Gummi at some point, but it's not known why

-He seems bossy, but only around his friends OR when he's upset. He's a lot more chill when one on one

-He has a manual truck that he drives around, but no one is ever impressed by it

-The reason he's good with skinning and cutting up meat is because he helped his dad since his father was a hunter

-His favorite music is country music

(5 Facts About Max)

-He's the one who came up with the idea that him, Gareth, and Chad all wore hats. He somehow convinced them to do so

-He bickers with Jackston a lot because they're both working at the same diner

-Out of the three friends, he's the most likely to flirt with someone, but if they reject him he will respect the fuck out of that

-Constantly forgets how NOT flexible he is as a person, will and has gotten stuck in multiple locations

-Always calls things that almost killed him 'the reaper'. He has also almost died WAY too many times

(5 Facts About Chad)

-He has a super high metabolism, thus why he's so skinny

-Usually carried medication in his fanny pack alongside trail mix and breath mints for some reason

-He's trying SO hard to grow facial hair, but it never cooperates with him like ever

-Chad has a habit of slumping/crouching constantly, and he has back pain as a result

-Is the most likely out of the friend group to be VERY confidently incorrect

(5 Facts About Loo)

-She was born in Britain but moved to the United States for an easier start. Who know it'd lead to being the mayor of a town?

-She's been the mayor for about 5 years by the time Amanda moves back to the town

-She dyes her hair cause she doesn't like the grays that have started to pop up

-She's painfully oblivious to how unhinged the town can be sometimes

-Loo hates being called Penelope unless it's by close friends or family

(5 Facts About Ivy)

-Although she DOES shower, just speaking to them makes you think it doesn't actually shower

-She never thinks before they speak, leading in incredibly horrid things leaving its mouth in common conversation

-Ivy is the only one who actually knows Pomni is a killer, however she finds it very attractive (this is NOT a good thing)

-Their diet consists of purely junk food and as a result it has basically a beer belly

-She has a dark/deep web fanbase, and they simply refer to itself as 'The Influencer' on the web

================================================

If you have any questions, feel free to ask me!

If you want to make your own OC for this AU, here's the blank sheet for it!

[sugawarassoulmate]

we've been doin' all this late night talkin'

you flounder in the living room for a second, taking a glance at how the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up at all. akaashi notices this, and the time. it’s past midnight and he’s certain the trains aren’t running anymore. he can’t let a young girl like you venture out into the night all by herself, but a drive back to your place in this weather isn’t ideal and he can’t leave his daughter alone.

“i should probably—”

“just spend the night,” akaashi interrupts. he knows you at this point, you’re much too nice to ask for a cab ride home and you’d probably rather trek through the rain than ever be a bother to anyone. “don’t argue with me on this one, i’m not letting you go out in this storm.” that’s all it takes to shut you up, nodding without another word. you’re such a good girl for always listening to him.

paring: dilf!akaashi x babysitter!reader

words: 2.9k

cw: fem!reader, age gap (reader is in their 20s/Akaashi in his 40s), alcohol, dubious consent, slight manipulation, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink, pregnancy mention, minors dni

disclaimer: on this blog, we discuss and explore toxic relationships/situations/just because i write about these themes does not mean i condone/support these types of relationships nor do i do them in my own personal life.

these are fictional characters in fictional scenarios and nobody should be taking real-life advice or mirror the actions of the characters in these stories!

He laughed after hearing the small noise you made when he opened the door, entering the dimmed living room. You were curled up on the couch, a movie playing quietly on the TV. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, shaking the rain from his umbrella as he removes his shoes.

As always, you were quick to apologize, a trait Akaashi always found charming. “Oh, not it’s fine. I probably shouldn’t have been watching scary movies so late at night,” you mumbled, sitting up to put the film on pause. “Kisa knocked out hours ago, by the way. I managed to convince her to remove the facepaint but she insisted on sleeping in her costume so you’ll have a witch in her bed tomorrow morning.”

Akaashi wasn’t surprised. Even at five years old, Kisa was incredibly stubborn, getting into debates (Akaashi didn’t like to call them arguments) with her father over every little thing—not wanting to eat her broccoli or refusing to wear the new sweater Akaashi bought. You, on the other hand, were the Kisa Whisperer, able to get her to compromise and not act so hot-headed.

It was a blessing when you answered his ad for a babysitter. With his job taking so much of his time, and the messy divorce with his soon-to-be-ex, having the extra help means the world to him.

It also doesn’t hurt that you were so pretty. A sweet, obedient college student with such good manners. It took Akaashi weeks to get you to stop calling him “sir,” despite how much he loved how the word came out of your soft lips. “Just call me Keiji, you don’t have to be so formal with me, sweetie.”

Akaashi places his briefcase on the dining table and sighs. “I apologize for coming home so late, I just couldn’t get out of the office, and then the storm caused traffic on the way back. I hope you girls didn’t get caught in it while trick-or-treating?”

“Oh, not at all. I was keeping a close eye on the clouds the entire time. We made it home just fine.” your voice soothes Akaashi’s nerves as he hears you getting up from the couch. “And I don’t mind. Kisa’s such a great kid, I love spending time with her. I took a bunch of photos too, I’ll send them tomorrow.”

You flounder in the living room for a second, taking a glance at how the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up at all. Akaashi notices this, and the time. It’s past midnight and he’s certain the trains aren’t running anymore. He can’t let a young girl like you venture out into the night all by herself, but a drive back to your place in this weather isn’t ideal and he can’t leave Kisa alone.

“I should probably—”

“Just spend the night,” Akaashi interrupts. He knows you at this point, you’re much too nice to ask for a cab ride home and you’d probably rather trek through the rain than ever be a bother to anyone. “Don’t argue with me on this one, I’m not letting you go out in this storm.”

That’s all it takes to shut you up, nodding without another word. You’re such a good girl for always listening to him. He reminds you that extra sheets and pillows are in the hall closet and he has some of his ex’s pajamas upstairs that you could borrow. He has no issue taking you home after he drops Kisa off at daycare. 

After he assured you that it wasn’t a problem, Akaashi could see that you were finally starting to calm down. He suggested finishing the movie you were watching before going to bed, he needed to unwind a little bit himself. Before settling on the couch, he grabs a bottle of wine from the kitchen and two glasses and places them on the coffee table. 

“I know you’re gonna want to fight me, but you’re off the clock, sweetie,” Akaashi says, putting an end to any protest you’re about to give him. “I’m not your boss right now.” He pours a glass for each of you and hands one over.

He may be old but he can tell when he’s got a woman flustered and it’s written all over your face. So cute. You hold out your glass. “Cheers?” Behave, Keiji, he thinks as both of you clink your glasses.

It turns out horror movies haven’t gotten much better in the past couple of years. Still relying on overdramatic acting and cheesy jump scares, but he figures it can’t be all that bad if it scares pretty girls like you into scooting a bit closer to him. “Did you finish your drink already, sweetheart?” You look over at your empty glass, slightly embarrassed for drinking it so quickly. “It’s okay. Here, have some more.”

You’re more receptive this time, eagerly holding your glass so he can pour more wine. He always took you for a lightweight but seeing it in person was a sight to behold. “Sorry about making you work on Halloween. I’m sure you would’ve rather gone to a party or something,” Akaashi says, taking a sip of his own drink.

“Ahhh, it’s okay,” you giggled, curling up underneath the blanket Akaashi had on the couch. “There’s always gonna be another party.”

“Oh, do you go often?” he asks, chuckling at your quirked eyebrows. “Hey, I was your age too.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you tease, taking another swig—Akaashi’s certain he’s gonna have to refill your cup once again. “I go sometimes…if class gets a bit crazy, it’s nice not to think about work.”

Akaashi’s eyes flick over to the television screen, the dumb sorority girl in the movie starts flirting with the nerd boy character. There’s another thing he remembers about these stupid movies, a cheesy sex scene. A cardinal sin, their days are definitely numbered. But he wonders if their inevitable death will scare you enough that you’ll move even closer. At this point, you’re practically in his lap although it doesn’t seem like you’re aware of it. Are you this oblivious around other people? 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks without thinking, grabbing the wine bottle to refill your glass. He’s shocked and relieved when you shake your head no. “Come on, a pretty girl like you? I would think you’d have to fight these college boys off with a stick.”

Akaashi’s hand touches your thigh, gripping the soft skin. He feels the muscle twitch and a cute hum leave your lips but you don’t make a comment on it. “I don’t have time for boys,” you mumbled, eyes focused on the screen. You must be so tipsy at this point, poor thing, brain too foggy to notice the obvious jump scare that’s about to happen. It’s alright, though, the loud noise sends you leaning against him now.

“Aww, did you get scared, honey?” he coos, hand rubbing your back. Akaashi’s hand travels back to your thigh, running his fingers along the fabric of your jeans. “Are you really comfortable sleeping like that? Remember I have some extra clothes.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine…” But Akaashi isn’t having it, pulling you closer until you’re fully seated in his lap. You gasp in surprise, but don’t make an effort to push him away. On the contrary, you settle in his hold, sighing in relief.

Akaashi plays with the button at the front of your pants, easily spreading your legs so they dangle on the outside of his. “What did I say about fighting me, sweetie? I only want to help,” with deft hands, he undoes the clasp and pulls the zipper down. He’s so elated when you silently allow him to shimmy your bottoms off, leaving your panties exposed. “Doesn’t that feel so much better?”

He truly can’t help himself, thumb brushing against the front of your underwear. He slaps your thigh to placate you when you start squirming in his grasp. “I’m just helping, baby, it’s okay.”

“Noooo, sir, you can’t look at me down there,” the smell of wine is heavy on your breath as you slur your words. “It’s so embarrassing…” But Akaashi stopped listening when you called him “sir.” He thought he trained you not to call him that, but you can’t help it. So stupid with all that alcohol running through your veins. He’s feeling the effects of his few drinks—he would never be so forward like this but fortune favors the bold.

“Is that why there’s a wet spot right here?” Akaashi asks, touching between your legs once more, purposely reaching for the damp spot that’s slowly growing. He hears you whine again but quells it with a simple shush. “We have to be quiet remember? You’re gonna wake Kisa up.”

That makes you bite your lip, stifling any cries that would fall out. But it doesn’t do much to hinder Akaashi from touching you. His fingers playing at the hem of your panties. He could feel you trying to bring your legs together, but he keeps them spread. “Will you let me touch you, baby? I’ll make you feel so good,” he breathes.

Even in your embarrassment, you’re still a good girl and nod, boosting his ego. With the green light, Akaashi wastes no time plunging two of his fingers inside you. He’s quick to cover your mouth with his free hand, suppressing the cry before you can wake up the whole house. He even has to catch himself for a second, head lolling back at how wet you are. Fuck. 

The vice grip you have around his hand tells Akaashi that you’re going to feel so much sweeter when he has his cock in you. Perfect, he thinks. The thought of some inexperienced college boy on top of you, failing to make you cum, made him uneasy. A good girl like you needs a man. You’re still young and inexperienced—you need someone to show you real pleasure.

He’s more than happy to take up the mantle.

Akaashi’s other hand travels up your shirt, tugging at your bra until one of your breasts spills out. The flesh is so soft in his grasp, he has to let out another groan. He fucks you harder with his fingers, turning your head to swallow your cries with rough kisses. There’s a fire inside Akaashi that he didn’t know existed. It certainly wasn’t there during those last few months of his marriage or with those one-night stands he had to fill the void.

He needs you to cum, needs to feel your juices running down his arm. Akaashi pays attention to your clit, circling it with his thumb just enough to see your legs start shaking. “Does it feel good, angel?”

You cutely whine against his lips, “Yes…it feels so good, sir.” Akaashi has to compose himself when your hips start moving When you’re fucking yourself on his fingers, chasing your high any way you can. God, he’s really gonna fuck you up. “Ahh, sir—sir, I’m gonna!” You whine into your hand to cover up the sounds, creaming around Akaashi’s hand as your eyes rolled back in bliss. He lets your body rock through it, free hand playing with your buds. Rolling and tugging them between his fingers.

“Honey, you’re making a mess all over me,” but Akaashi’s the opposite of upset. He wants to lick all of it up until he’s drowning in your sweet nectar. He wants to bury his face in between your legs and make you cum over and over until your brain is mush. But he’s hard and leaking in his pants and while he knows he can hold out as long as he needs to, Akaashi needs to experience the feeling of your cunt around him.

While you’re still feeling the effects, Akaashi wraps his arms around you and hoists you up, carrying you bridal style. “You’re gonna feel so much more comfortable on my bed, baby,” he whispers, trekking up the steps, down the hallway, and far from Kisa’s room where she’s fast asleep. He sets you down on the plush king-sized mattress and smiles at how quickly you settle into the silk sheets. “Feels good, yeah? Wanted to have more room while I fuck you.” Akaashi breathes, unbuttoning his shirt before climbing into the bed and hovering over you.

You’re staring up at him with wide, doe eyes. So naive to what’s to come. “Oh, I’m gonna fuck you. Wanna see you cum from my cock, okay?”

Akaashi kisses you again, smothering your noises of affirmation. He pulls the rest of your clothes off, savoring the sight of your naked body, the swell of your breasts, and your glistening cunt between your legs. Next time, he thinks. Next time Akaashi will reward himself with fucking you with his tongue. His cock hits his abdomen when he finally frees it, kicking his pants and boxers down and stroking himself with anticipation. “It’s gonna go so deep in you, but I know you can take it. You’re such a good girl…”

The words only make you squirm more underneath him. Akaashi stops stalling and rubs his cock against your folds, cursing under his breath from how wet you are. It’s so easy for him to slip in, easily stretching you out until he’s buried at the hilt. He has you folded in a half, pushing at the back of your thighs to reach even deeper. 

Such a dumb, pretty girl you are, letting a man twice your age fuck you unprotected. You’re so lucky that it’s Akaashi doing this and not some other man who’d take advantage of you. He can take such good care of you—make you feel good, get your eyes to roll to the back of your head, you’ll never want to look at another man again.

“You’re so big,” you gasp, fingernails digging into Akaashi’s skin when he sets a slow pace. Akaashi pulls nearly all the way out before meeting his hips once again with yours. He can tell you’re getting addicted from the way your cunt spasms around him, clenching down to the point you’re practically choking him.

A pretty girl like you will definitely let him cum inside, fill up that young, fertile womb of yours. Oh, how adorable would you look with his seed spilling out of you? Or even better, plump and round with his baby? He’s always wanted a sibling for Kisa but his bitch wife wouldn’t allow it. But you wouldn’t fight him. Akaashi could be able to provide for you if you’d just let him.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. Never felt a pussy this good in my life,” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss you, slightly changing the angle of his thrusts. The sounds of you crying out are intoxicating, he could drown in it. 

"You ever felt someone's cum inside you, baby?" Akaashi asks in between kisses, groaning at the sight of your breasts bouncing as he fucks you. 

"No, never..." you sigh, mouthing a small fuck as Akaashi keeps going. 

He kisses you harder and the pride that's been bubbling inside him burns white hot in the pit of his stomach. He might not be the first to claim your body, but he'll definitely be the first the breed you—and that feels so much better.

Akaashi brings a hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were fucked out, mouth wet with spit. So beautiful. "It'll make you feel all warm," he says against your lips. "You'll feel so full and when it runs out of you—fuck. You'll love it so much, baby."

Wrapping your legs around Akaashi's waist, you pull him closer. "I want it! I want your cum, sir," you whined and Akaashi has you right where he wants. A dumb, cock drunk girl crying underneath him.

It's perfect. You're fucking perfect.

"God, I'm gonna fucking ruin you," he grunts, moving faster. Akaashi's thrusts get sloppy, losing his rhythm as he fucks you with purpose. "Gonna make you so full of me."

You're crying, fat tears running down your cheeks as you're overcome with pleasure and the feeling of your nails dragging down Akaashi's back tells him that you're cumming once again. 

It's so messy, your walls form a vice grip around his cock, and Akaashi, the experienced man that he is, can't help it. He cums with your name on his tongue, flooding your sinful cunt.

Both of you stay like that for a while. Akaashi's cock twitched inside you, making sure there isn't a single drop wasted. After a while, he wipes any stray tears that fall, kissing your warm cheeks with praises in between.

"You did so well, sweetie. You took all of me," he says, holding your shaking frame. He gives you a few seconds before peeling away and pulling his cock out, eyes locked on his seed flowing out of your cunt and making the mess he knew it would. "Look at that..." he whispers, completely mesmerized.

He knows he has to clean you up, but Akaashi lets himself enjoy the sight for right now. He'll keep the end of his bargain and drop you off at your place in the morning. But a part of him hopes you'll want to stay a little longer. You can be his cute live-in nanny, who takes care of his angel in the morning and gets fucked dumb at night. 

You’ll do it for him. You’re a good girl after all.

©sugawarassoulmate 2022 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Actually the concept of Nightbringer is so funny?

It's a fish out of water situation like with S1 (and many other otome games) except MC won't be the fish

They're the one who's going to know the most about the Devildom's history and culture and customs (even thousands of years in the past) while the brothers have just been dropped on their asses fresh outta the Celestial Realm where, at this point in time, demons are thought of as purely evil beings who can't even conceive the idea of peace

The brothers should, rightfully, be the ones floundering because their bodies, self, magic, entire world, world view and concept of just about anything has being flipped on its head while MC who was scarily adaptable to new situations in S1 itself has been living in & out of the Devildom for years now.

The brothers are going to be given new high positions within the Devildom while still holding disdain for demons and MC's gonna be their "demon attendant" who they'll obviously see as a lower class of demon from themselves - giving them two reasons to disregard MC - except MC would be scarily competent and just seeming to quietly know everything while also being weirdly mysterious.... do you see what I'm getting at? MC's gonna be giving off a S1 Barbatos-esque vibe to the brothers😭😭😭 (though obviously less stoic)

Mammon's gonna say or do something and MC's gonna say "oooh I know that look" and Mammon's gonna be like "????We literally just met???"

Or Belphie's gonna talk about how terrible humans are and how he wants to kill them all and MC's gonna be like "haha yeah wow they're the worst huh" while trying to pretend they're not a human who was more than willing to kill another human for daring to point a gun at Belphie

Or the brothers are gonna be settling down in their new home and MC's gonna be like "lol remember to put aside some money for Beel" and Lucifer's gonna be like "wha-" and Beel's already eaten half the sofa

Or MC's gonna forget and mention a new anime that was supposed to come out and Levi's gonna be like "what's anime?" and MC's gonna have to sit there in silence for a while to process

MC's gonna instantly know how to make Lucifer's shitty black-darker-than-his-actual-soul coffee and that might be the reason why present Lucifer likes his coffee like that

MC's gonna know the brothers more than they even know themselves and that's driving me insane

Also pretending to be a "demon attendant" as if Barbatos who can see through timelines & alternate universes and Diavolo who can tell when people are lying won't instantly know. And MC who knows them so well is going to know that they know. Just constantly "haha yes I'm the sins' demon attendant that you definitely appointed haha👁👁" and "haha yes you're the sins' demon attendant whom we definitely appointed haha👁👁"

Also what's Solomon's angle here?? Because he doesn't start seeing demons as friends until after he meets MC in the future. At this point they're beings he can trick & use to achieve his goals (one of which is getting closer to Lucifer & making a pact). So he's definitely not helping MC out of the goodness of his heart and this is probably another way to achieve that goal (specially if he finds out MC's already made pacts with all 7 sins).

Anyway, sounds like fun times for everyone! Oh and also trauma for the brothers ig

[defectivevillain]

old habits die bleeding

pairing: Michael Myers/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: You’re kidnapped—and on the same night Michael Myers returns to terrorize Haddonfield. Just your luck, really.

word count: 2.7k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood & injury; kidnapping, chloroform, smoking, burns, hospitals.

You’ve celebrated Halloween in Haddonfield for more than two decades. You’ve escaped Michael Myers a few times now. And you won’t let him drive you out of your home. This Halloween is no different, you tell yourself as you finish putting up the cheap decorations in your window. Trick-or-treating isn’t much of a thing in Haddonfield anymore, but occasionally a few brave (or just foolish) kids will stop by. Your heart always skips a beat whenever you look out your window, as you think back to that night years ago. 

It was your first Halloween in Haddonfield and, while you had been warned that the night often brought terror, you assumed it to be an exaggeration. You weren’t much of a party person (and you still aren’t), so you had settled in on your couch and spent the night watching television. 

At least, that was how things were supposed to go—until you felt a large hand close around your mouth and pull you up and over the couch. You fell to the floor, only to be pinned down with a knee to the chest and a hand on your throat. A man in a mask stood over you, taking the breath from your lungs. You tried to shove him off, but he was too strong. You kicked out and eventually managed to knee him in the gut, momentarily loosening his grip and providing you with an escape. From there, it was a series of increasingly close calls, until you finally managed to race out of your house, down the street, and out of sight. 

While that was your first encounter with Michael Myers, it wouldn’t be your last. The killer would come every year; and each time, your escape felt narrower and narrower… 

That brings you to tonight: Halloween. You’re still sitting on your couch, watching television as you normally would. This time, however, you’ve kept the lights on—and have monitored the shadows cast on the walls with vigilance. 

So, when a large hand covers your mouth, you’re ready to fight back. Except… it’s not just a hand. There’s a rag pressed into your face, forcing you to breathe in whatever drug is evidently laced through the fabric. You try to shove the person’s grip off, but your vision is spinning and your limbs don’t seem to be obeying your commands. You’re stumbling on the ground, desperately trying to keep your balance while you fight off your attacker. Their grip is persistent and you’re forced to take another deep breath, inhaling the mysterious substance once more. 

This doesn’t seem like something Michael Myers would do, is the last thought that runs through your mind before your vision quickly fades to black and you crumple to the ground.

You wake up to find yourself in a musty room with crumbling wallpaper. Your hands are tied behind your back and your legs are tied to the wooden chair you’re situated on. Your head is pounding and your ears are ringing as you try to get a better idea of your surroundings. Ultimately, there’s little else in the room save for you. You don’t see anything sharp that you could use to cut yourself free from the ropes binding you. 

You’re alone, by some miracle. Your head keeps dropping as you nod off, fighting off slumber. You can’t sleep here, no matter how much you may want to rest. You have to get out of here. You’re not sure what your kidnapper wants with you, and you don’t desire to find out. You grit your teeth and try to maneuver yourself so that you can reach the pocket of your pants. Smoking has been a bad habit of yours—one that you’ve been meaning to kick—but you’re extremely thankful you didn’t get around to it, since it prompted you to place a lighter in your back pocket. You manage to maneuver so that you’re holding the lighter in your bound hands. You flip it around with your pinky finger and manage to light it. 

Unfortunately, your escape method isn’t entirely painless—which you soon realize the hard way. You’re trying to burn the ropes, but you’re dealing some damage to the skin of your hands in the process. By the time you’ve successfully frayed the rope and pulled it off, your skin is rubbed raw and irritated from the lighter. 

Thankfully, now that your hands are free, you can simply untie the ropes around your ankles. Your hands are slightly shaking as you free your legs, but you still manage to set yourself free within a few moments. Immediately, you quietly step towards the doorway, pressing an ear up against the inside wall to listen for your captor. After several seconds pass in silence, you decide to risk it and step out of the room.

From there, you find yourself in a dark hallway—maybe a basement, of sorts? Your thoughts are confirmed when your eyes catch on a staircase in the corner. You slowly walk over towards the stairs, as quietly as you can muster. 

When you get to the top of the stairs, you’re foolishly deluded into thinking that you’ll get out of this unscathed. Then you take another step and a loud creak echoes throughout the space. Abandoning any hope for silence, you sprint towards the front door—surprised to find that you seem to be in a house of some sort. Your hands are fumbling for the first lock on the door—there are two—but just before you can slide it to the side, there’s a hand on your collar yanking you back into a hard chest. There’s a knife pressed to your throat and an unfamiliar voice in your ear. Instinctively, you pull at your captor’s arm in an attempt to create some distance between the knife and your throat. The knife is only pulled towards your throat tighter, until it’s drawing blood from your skin and a pained whimper from your lips. Just as the blade draws ever closer, you bring your knee up and slam your foot back into your captor—connecting with their ankle and successfully making them stumble long enough for you to twist out of their grip and run back towards the door. This time, you manage to slide the lock open, but there’s still the second lock lower on the door. You hear them get up and instinctively move to the right, just barely dodging their strike and sending them careening forward into the door. 

From there, you reach out and slam their head into the door again, before turning around and bolting towards the other side of the house—hoping there’s a door to the backyard. You hear the telltale shink of the knife getting pulled from the door and your heart drops to your stomach as you frantically look through an entirely unfamiliar house. You run through the kitchen, before doubling back to grab a sharp knife from the knife block. Your eyes then catch on a wooden door past the kitchen and you race over to it, flipping the lock and pushing it forward. But the door doesn’t open, no matter how hard you yank at it and beg for it to open. Suddenly you’re tugged back and slammed into the locked door. Your knife falls from your grasp. Blinking stars out of your eyes, you try to push your assailant away—but their grip is too strong and suddenly they’re jamming their knife into your abdomen before brutally ripping the weapon back out. You choke on a breath and slump forward, as blood drips down your chest and begins to splatter along the floor. You fall to your knees and slap a hand onto the wound, wheezing and fighting for breath. Your hands fall to the floor and your right hand falls right next to the knife you dropped. Through the blinding pain, you manage to subtly grab the knife and jam it into your captor’s crotch. They scream and you aim a bit higher, sinking it into their abdomen and shoving them away from you as they fall to the ground. You manage to push yourself into your feet and press a hand to the nearby wall to stabilize yourself as you look down at their body. They’re definitely unconscious, at the very least. That should give you enough time to make it outside and call for help. You stumble back through the house and towards the front door, unlocking the second lock and shoving it open. 

As you awkwardly shuffle across the front porch, you’re hit with a striking realization: you’re still on your street. In fact, you’re only a few houses down from your own house. The thought provokes a nearly infinite amount of dread within you, as you try to come to terms with the fact that there is yet another killer in Haddonfield. Eventually, you have to push the thought aside and focus on getting back home. You’re hobbling on uneven footing, your hand pressed against your side like a vice. Your breathing is ragged and loud in your ears; your entire chest is on fire. 

But the universe is smiling down on you—because you manage to make it back home. Your front door is unlocked and you’re quick to stumble inside, clumsily locking it behind you before moving towards your living room. Within a few steps, your knees crumple beneath you and you’re forced to crawl towards the sofa. What follows is an excruciating effort consisting of you pulling yourself up on the sofa and collapsing onto it with a pained hiss. Your vision hasn’t stopped spinning since you first entered your house. Worst of all, you can’t stop thinking about the possibility of the killer coming back for you—it’s very likely that you only incapacitated him. Despite your best efforts to remain awake and attempt to move, your vision is quickly giving way to an overwhelming, suffocating darkness.

You wake a few hours later to a knife pressed against your throat and a dark silhouette looming over you. You instinctively want to push yourself up to a sitting position, but the blade is pressed into your skin hard enough to draw blood and you’re forced to abandon the effort. It’s then that your vision clears to reveal just who is standing over you and, despite the sheer terror running through your veins, a laugh wrenches its way from your lips. 

“Michael,” you say, greeting the killer who has made a habit of visiting you every Halloween. This year is no different, it seems. He presses the knife against your throat pointedly, as if waiting for you to push it away. You can barely manage a pathetic attempt at shoving the blade away and you eventually settle for staring at him. 

(Michael stares back at you. There’s blood splattered across your hand, he realizes, and the skin is raw from what he can only assume to be burns. Not to mention, there’s a seemingly unending crimson stain marring your shirt. Something unfamiliar churns in his stomach, combined with that ever familiar rage that boils his blood.) 

You watch as Michael tilts his head to the side, before removing the blade from your neck. You blink at him in disbelief, and stare as he lifts his hand to tap his wrist impatiently. You’re late, he motions. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare in confusion. Then you realize he must be referring to this unfortunate tradition between the two of you: the cat-and-mouse chase that ensues every Halloween night, without fail. “...I was kind of preoccupied,” you mutter, motioning down to the wound on your abdomen that hasn’t stopped burning and stinging since you woke. 

Michael follows your gesture and stares down at the wound for longer than you’re comfortable with. Before you can ask him what the hell he’s doing, Michael places a hand on your wound and pushes. You can’t stop the pained outburst that leaves your lips, especially when he twists his hand and digs his knuckles into the tissue. Your vision is swirling again and you desperately try to push him away, but he’s too strong. Just when you’re on the brink of passing out, Michael releases his grip and leans back. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, as your vision slowly recovers. The pain is even worse now. You’re shivering and shaking, your teeth chattering and sending reverberations through your ears and into your very skull. 

Perhaps worst of all, you think you might understand what Michael was trying to say just now. If you die, it will be by my hand—and no one else’s. He’s prideful in that regard. He doesn’t need to capitalize on someone else’s work, or take advantage of your already wounded state. A shiver rolls down your spine as you come to the conclusion that he enjoys the chase—enjoys the hunt. 

Michael is still staring down at you. You almost wish he wasn’t wearing his mask, so that you could read his expression. Still, there’s an aura of annoyance and irritation emanating from his form—and it’s only further exacerbated by the tight draw of his shoulders and the way he stares at you impatiently. 

“Ruined your night, huh?” You ask wearily. Honestly, you’re not sure where you’re getting this sudden surge of confidence—you think it must be the adrenaline. Surely, if you live to see tomorrow, you’ll wake up feeling immense regret. 

Michael is infuriatingly silent, as always. You didn’t expect him to respond, though. You’ve managed one-sided conversations with him before—even under much more desperate circumstances. This one is no different, save for the excruciating pain that binds you to your sofa and forces the most blunt and honest of words to leave your lips. 

“Same time next year?” You choke out sarcastically. You swear you see the mask contort, as if Michael’s brows are furrowing, but you dismiss it as a figment of your imagination. 

You’re not deluded enough to feel safe right now—with a killer towering over you—but exhaustion tugs at your core as your adrenaline quickly crashes. Your eyelids are stinging as you fight off sleep. Michael’s looming over you and you’re sure you’ve never been in a more unsafe situation—wounded and defenseless in front of him. But your fatigue doesn’t care, and your eyes are slipping shut within moments. 

For a while, there is nothing but darkness. Then, your eyelids twitch as a blade is traced along your cheekbone, dipping under your chin and nicking the skin underneath. You flinch and try to open your eyes, but your eyelids are sealed shut and you’re forced to remain entirely compliant and complacent. Your heart is thudding quietly in your chest. 

Thankfully, Michael must lose interest, because that’s the last sensation you register before falling into a deep and unburdened sleep. 

To your surprise, you don’t wake up in a giant pool of your own blood and a ruined sofa. Instead, you wake to bright fluorescent walls and unassuming white walls. Someone must’ve taken you to the hospital. Within a few minutes of your awakening, a nurse arrives and fills you in—apparently, one of your neighbors had called the police after seeing your front door ajar and finding you passed out on the couch with a bleeding wound. You take a deep breath and try to relax, but all you can think about is Michael. 

Why the hell didn’t he kill you? He had ample opportunity. Even if he is prideful, like you were first thinking, wouldn’t his bloodlust outweigh any egotism? You were entirely vulnerable in front of him—he could have flayed you alive and you wouldn’t have been able to resist or struggle. It would’ve been over in a split second. Michael could’ve been in and out of your home within a few minutes. 

You take a deep breath and try to clear your thoughts of the killer. The effort is, understandably, a lot more difficult than you think it will be—especially when you turn on the small television in your room to find a murder being broadcast on the news. The victim, you soon learn, was the same person who kidnapped you. You’re immediately torn between guilt, fear, and a shameful gratitude. They will never bother you again. 

As for Michael Myers, however… Let’s just say you’re already thinking about how to survive Halloween next year.

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[allthegothihopgirls]

at LEAST once jason (with tim) has dragged damian along with them clubbing as a designated driver (if he wasn't being bribed with driving the batmobile he would NOT be going, zero chance)

they all go suited up because 1. tim won't go as a civilian (bad for his reputation etc etc). 2. every gothamite knows not to ask a robin-boy for ID. 3. jason claims to have never gotten more free drinks than when he goes as hood.

damian will walk in, accompany jason to the bar so he can get a ginger ale, and promptly situate himself on a barstool (the bartenders WILL look out for him + get him free refills of whatever soft drink he wants), observing his brothers and muttering about them being "imbeciles".

it takes a couple of hours before jason starts coming over to damian, pleading for him to join a dance circle, or show off a trick.

jason ends up bargaining down to damian walking around with him whilst he talks to girls, because "chicks dig guys with a paternal instinct" and it's gotham, and everyone's under the influence, so no one's going to question why there's a 13 year old in the nightclub. instead they see red hood with his little brother robin, and think it's sweet.

the one condition of damian being their designated driver is that dick is under no circumstances allowed to find out. one time dick called tim, and he was too tipsy to answer anything but "damian" when asked if he had a way home, and subsequently "no, he's here" when dick assumed (already pissed, and about to rant about how they can't rely on a 13 year old to drive them home) damian would just be driving over to pick them up. they did not hear the end of it for weeks. + going forward jason confiscated tim's phone every time they walked into a nightclub.

"he's 13, legally, he cannot be in a nightclub, OR driving anyone home"

it was worse when he found out they went suited up. tim copped it the worst, because jason had an apartment to go home to, while tim was stuck in the manor listening to all of dick's hate-fuelled rambling about jason and his childishness, as well as what he had to say about tim's own behavior.

for damian it was win-win though, dick loves him too much to be mad at him about it (even though he KNOWS he has the common sense to Not Get Into Those Situations), AND he got to drive the batmobile (he manages to drive around gotham for over 45 minutes before a drunk jason starts to suspect they aren't 'going straight home')