#ice truck killer x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

radioisntdead · 18 days

Note

AHAHHAHAHSHSHHD I HAVE A REQUESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT IF YOU DON'T MIND BUT CAN YOU DO A HUSBAND ALASTOR X CRYBABY READER

Good evening my dear! Indeed I can!

I'm on a songfic fix at the moment so hopefully you don't mind me turning this into one, if you do just let me know and I can write a proper oneshot, drabble or headcanons

Crybaby

Warnings:

Murder, Alastor being weird, mild angst, OOC, the ending is a bit muddled because lack of motivation hit me like a TRUCK.

The song I chose for obvious reasons

You seem to replace your brain with your heart, You take things so hard and then you fall apart

You always had what one would call a bleeding heart, tears would overflow at the slightest instance, you fell onto the ground? Tears, you saw a rabbit munching on a carrot? Tears fell because it was just SO cute, you sobbed as you stabbed a guy to death, blubbering out apologies saying you wouldn't have to do it if he had JUST kept his mouth shut and didn't say those awful, awful things.

You try to explain, but before you can start

You met Alastor when the two of you were alive, he was an aspiring radio host at the time and well, your father ran a rather popular radio station.

Those "Cry baby" tears come out of the dark

You were considered the favorite child, (or the only child depending on the route you go) and Alastor knew that, he wasn't above using people to climb up the social ladder.

Someone's turning the handle to that faucet in your eyes

Everything was planned out, like how the two of you met, he found out what places you frequented, choosing a cafe to be the place to run into you.

You had accidentally poured warm coffee on his clothes, you cried out apologies as you patted him dry with napkins, offering to pay for drycleaning.

You pour it out where everyone can see

And that was it, it started with him charming you, asking you out for coffee, lunch, dinners and eventually he had you hooked.

Your heart's too big for your body, it's why it won't fit inside

Him eventually catching feelings for you was just the icing on the cake, a bonus, you and him felt similarly to certain affections.

His mother quite liked you as well asking him to bring you by again when you met her the first time.

You pour it out where everyone can see

As the relationship grew, he became a prominent radio personality, eventually proposing to you leading to marriage.

They call you cry baby, cry baby

Alastor was supposed to be working late that night, you weren't expecting him to come home as you washed the blood off of your hands, blood stained the bathroom sink, dried tears leaving faint streaks on your face.

But you don't fucking care

"Mon étoile?"

You slowly turned around as if you were in a horror movie, the one person you didn't want to see you like this.

Cry baby, cry baby

You burst into tears falling onto the ground, not even trying to explain yourself, Alastor grinned and moved next to you, gently wiping away your tears taking silent joy from them.

So you laugh through your tears

You laughed as Alastor gave a light smooch onto your face.

Cry baby, cry baby

And that begun a new era of your relationship,

You'd act as bait luring in the folks you and Alastor felt like taking away their living privileges.

'Cause you don't fucking care

You lived like that for years, taking many lives, shedding many tears, a killer couple.

Tears fall to the ground

Unfortunately all good things come to an end.

You'll just let them drown

Alastor went to dispose of a body while you cleaned up the aftermath.

You'll just let them drown

The police showing up and breaking the news to you that your dearest Alastor was shot in the head and attacked by dogs shattered you.

Cry baby, cry baby

You spent your days crying, barely being able to organize a funeral that no one other then you attended, after all who would attend the funeral of a murderer.

You're all on your own and you lost all your friends

You were alone now, sure your family urged you to move back home, you were still a sweetheart with a bleeding heart to them, you just fell for Alastor's schemes, that no one saw coming.

You spent your days crying, clinging on to any remnants of Alastor, your social life took a huge hit.

You told yourself that it's not you, it's them

They whispered behind your back, theorizing if you were apart of the murders or not, if you knew, if you were truly innocent.

You're one of a kind and no one understands

You were found dead in your home, alone.

But those "Cry baby" tears keep coming back again

You woke up in hell, you knew you probably weren't going to heaven but still!

Someone's turning the handle to that faucet in your eyes

Tears swelled up in your eyes but you wiped them away before they could fall deciding to look around and assess your situation.

You pour it out where everyone can see

Wandering around you passed by a shop with a radio present in it, reminding you of your dear Alastor.

Your heart's too big for your body, it's why it won't fit inside

The tears started pouring, and before you could do anything else, someone touches your shoulder.

You pour it out where everyone can see

You've been down below for who knew how long now, bring found by Mimzy of all people, a good friend of yours, and Alastor's.

They call you cry baby, cry baby

Mimzy showed up at Alastor's home banging on the front door, you stood a few feet away from her, He opened it displeased at the sudden visit but he smiled wide nonetheless.

"Mimzy dear, pray tell why you are banging on my door at this unholy hour?" He asked, simply hearing his voice the waterworks began as Mimzy pulled you out from where you stood.

But you don't fucking care

Alastor's eyes ever so slightly widened, it hadn't been that long since he died, he suspected you would follow suit eventually but not this quickly.

Cry baby, cry baby

"I believe this one is yours, they've been crying on and off, it's driving me crazy" Mimzy said shoving you into Alastor as you grinned up at him through blurry eyes

So you laugh through your tears

"I missed you." You said as Alastor touched your face, brushing a claw over it, you, much like him and every other sinner looked different from when you were alive, you had permanent gold tear streaks stitched into your face, how ironic.

Cry baby, cry baby

Alastor simply grinned, wiping away a tear.

"You haven't changed a bit, Mon étoile."

'Cause you don't fucking care

"You can pay me back for reunitin' ya lovebirds later!"

Mimzy laughed before running off to do who knows what, making a swift exit for plot convenience.

Tears fall to the ground

And that was that, you were finally reunited.

You'll just let them drown

While Alastor was given the name of The Radio demon you were referred to as the Crying demon,

How original.

Cry baby, cry baby

While Alastor stuck fear with a smile, hearing you wail in the distance stuck fear into others, you'd apologize as you ripped sinners apart just like you did in life.

You'll just let them drown

You watched as Alastor developed a cannibalistic taste for sinners, he opted to bring you sinner hearts as a token of affection,

You teared up from how sweet the extremely messed up act was.

Cry baby, cry baby

You also watched as Alastor's personal hygiene got worse, to the point where you'd chase him down with a sponge and a bucket of water, or before bed with a toothbrush and some toothpaste.

Much to his chagrin he was never able to escape you chasing him.

You'll just let them drown

Alastor's more sadistic tendencies were revealed in full force, with him biting and pinching your cheeks just hard enough to make you cry.

It wasn't a deal breaker but it did weird you out at first.

I look at you and I see myself

Alastor brought you to the Hazbin hotel after Husk and Niffty were pulled from wherever,

You quickly gained an affection for the hotel and it's residents, Alastor may have been using the hotel for his own entertainment but you genuinely believed in Charlie's dream of redeeming sinners.

And I know you better than anyone else

Becoming another parental figure for the princess you showered her with advice and familial affection, saying if you had a child you'd want them to be just like her.

And I have the same faucet in my eyes

Vaggie wasn't spared from the parental affection either, Alastor might not have been fond of her but you were.

So your tears are mine

You eventually became like the hotels therapist, a very prone to crying therapist but a therapist none the less.

You and Charlie tended to cry together especially if the two of you decided to put a emotionally charged movie on for movie nights

They call me cry baby, cry baby

You cried when extermination day happened, taking out exorcists left and right, your tears were filled with anger as you witnessed what happened to Sir Pentious.

But I don't fucking care

You cried tears of joy when the hotel was rebuilt and when Alastor came back from wherever he was.

Cry baby, cry baby

"You are an complete and utter MORON,"

"Mon étoile, W̴̝̖͙̩̹̓͆̏͌̒̔̑͐̕h̶͔̲̄ă̵̟̥͙̥͖͚̋̍̓̓̇̕ţ̶̧͇̞̟͈͔͉̦͋̄͂̌́̉͗ ̸̛̟̖̰͛͐̂̌̃d̷͎͍̦̩̯̂̐̈́̒̇͜ͅï̷̙͎͙̱̲̾̓̓̂d̵̛̛̲̤̺̟͒̈́̽́̑̈́̈͜͠ ̴̬̥̱͓̊̒͛ȳ̶̢̢̛̛̘͓̱̱̭̩̣͈̈́̀͋͘͝ő̴͓̜̥̪͇͙͉̞̜ủ̴̢̖͙̞͈̳̈́̑̋̂̉̈ ̵̩̈́̋̂̾̓̎̌̕̚j̶̛̗̲͚͖̼̻̥͕̚ù̸̫̯̎s̷̛̹̠̠̰͇̬̟̤͖̃̋͋ť̵͇̹͕̞͌ ̵̢̹͖̯͆̀̽́̎̐̐̽̆̃c̴͍̼̤̓̉̃̒̕͠a̶͖̙̭͂͋̓l̸̢̧̨͙̯̹̯̱̳̏̈́̀l̷̡͖͉̟̼̳̹͙̏́̄̃͋ͅ ̶̧͓͍͑m̶̨̡̠̖͇̫͓̅̈́-̷̞̱̪͓̞̅̈́͊̇̎̐͝"

"Don't pull that radio demon bullshit with me right now Alastor! How hard was it to arm yourself? You aren't invincible to ANGELIC WEAPONS!"

You shouted at Alastor as you paced around your newly restored shared room, first aid kit open, bandages wrapped around, angry tears in your eyes.

If you were anyone else, you would be dead for rubbing salt into the still aching wound.

Alastor sighed and swung one leg over the other, crossing his arms intending to wait until your 'temper tantrum' was over.

I laugh through my tears

Normally he rather liked your tears, in a Alastor way, but they were annoying to him in this instance.

Cry baby, cry baby

You grabbed his face, locking your eyes with his,

"You could've died, You would've left me again."

"Dearest,"

"Al,"

"I won't leave you again."

"Promise?"

You asked dropping your hands from his face only for him to hold them in his hands.

"Promise."

'Cause I don't fucking care, Tears fall to the ground

With the hotel rebuilt, bigger, more grand then before, sinners began to trickle in.

Wanting to give redemption a shot,

Some wanted to see someone they knew that more then likely ended up going above, some had nothing left to lose, some just wanted to change, hating what they've become since they fell below.

I just let them drown, Cry baby, cry baby

You quite liked how things were developing, seeing Charlie's face light up when hotel residents improved, getting clean from addiction, proving to be better.

I just let them drown, Cry baby, cry baby

Alastor originally got involved in this place for his own entertainment or otherwise, bringing you with him, he didn't think that his darling crybaby of a wife would get attached.

But maybe he was getting attached too, not that he would ever admit it even to you.

You'll just let them drown, They call you cry baby, cry baby

You and Alastor sat comfortably on the couch in his radio tower, with you laying on his shoulder, his arm gingerly wrapped around you.

I just let them drown

"Al, look how cute they are!"

You said as you held your phone to Alastor, you had to remove a few qualities in order to keep the phone, you didn't mind since you mostly used it to communicate with the hotel residents or look at animal videos on the Internet anyways.

He simply hummed as he grimaced at the phone, you were trying to show him a group of hellborn kittens,

"We should get a cat,"

"We already have a cat."

"Husk doesn't count."

You said frowning as Alastor moved his hand to your cheek, pinching it until tears swelled up in your eyes.

Cry baby, cry baby

You were sobbing at the red creature you held in your arms,

"It's adorable!" You sobbed out holding the catlike creature that you found on the side of the road much to Alastor's displeasure you wanted a cat, and you got a cat thingy

"It looks like Alastor."

"Exactly!"

Alastor squinted at the cat thing you were crying with pride over, he would throw the damned thing out the window but unfortunately you were already attached, and he preferred you to cry over literally anything else other then the failed clone of his.

You'll just let them drown

Good evening folks! Thanks for tuning in! I scheduled this for Saturday so that should mean this is the last of the songfics! [For now anyways] [post-post edit, I LIED THERE WILL BE MORE SONG FICS THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING]

I wanted to go more into how Alastor would probably enjoy the readers crying but it got a little too weird.

Have a wonderful weekend folks!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor imagine

231 notes · View notes

trashmouth-richie · 2 years

Text

♡ ziggy, 31, she/her, your cool older sister, writer, ♉︎ , mashed potato enthusiast, i like to laugh..a lot. dm or slide into my ask box I love chatting and simping over the hot boys (eddie, steve, argyle— occasionally jonathan and billy, + always hopper) of Hawkins

♡ this is an 18+ only blog, minors will be banished by the power of 3

♡ latest works blurbs: love’s never meant much to me

cold shower 18+

the raven told me of you 18+

♡ latest works series: open arms 18+

♡ popular works (series): honey i’m home (roommate!eddie) 18+

requests: closed

asks: open

tag list: comment on this post to be added

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ao3

♡ pls support writers with reblogs + comments

i do not give anyone permission to copy, steal or repost my works on any other platform. i do not give permission to put my work into AI systems of any kind. copyright @trashmouth-richie

LATEST WORK ·˚ ༘

OPEN ARMS: escaping Hawkins was impossible, but he did it. when a ghost from your past shows up unexpectedly, bringing with him old memories and holding up a mirror to the train wreck life you’re living… you find it hard to trust him again.

*new* HIDE + SCREAM : Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

LILITH : a series of blurbs about crazy!reader x crazy!eddie.

LIE TO ME: lovesick! Eddie *new!*

SERIES ·˚ ༘

TWINFLAMES : (ongoing) Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader —the annngst, the smut, NO VECNA, it’s gonna be a ride (15/??) (on permanent hiatus)

HONEY, I’M HOME desperate for a roommate, you place an ad in the paper. Eddie x Fem!Reader (enemies to lovers, menace!Eddie )

DO YOU LIKE THE WAY THE WATER TASTES? a day at the pool with your best friend, his gf, and his best friend Eddie— who has a crush on you.

HEATED taking the back roads to Indianapolis was Eddie’s idea. the day trip there was Steve’s. But when Wayne’s borrowed truck grinds to a halt on the hottest day in September, the tension and the boys’ tempers aren’t the only thing to rise.

ONE SHOTS ·˚ ༘

FORTY THREE BELOW *new* blizzard au, reader is fighting a cold

COBBLER *new* blizzard storm with a crabby eddie

TWELVE HOURS *new* smutty 12 hours of bf! eddie worshipping you until christmas

DIFFERENCES *new* a blurb about the way Steve & Eddie fuck you

IT’S 3 AM *new!* [early early morning smut with Eddie]

LEAVE ME IN THE DARK *new* [eddie angst: before & after s4]

CONFESSION *new!* [smut] eddie x fem!reader

LANDLORD! MEAN! OLDER!EDDIE [smut]

SOMEONE LIKE YOU [steddie angst]

LETTING SOMEONE GO *new!* [angst]

RUN

HELLFIRE THANKSGIVING [smut]

BAD DATE CHRONICLES

PREP SCHOOL [smut]

WANTING YOU

AT THIS MOMENT, YOU MEAN EVERYTHING steve x reader smut

more fics under the cut

MINI SERIES ·˚ ༘

WE’RE THE LAST IN LINE [on Hiatus]

MINI MINI SERIES ·˚ ༘

TEASING

CHOKE ME, BITE ME

QUEEN OF THE DAMNED eddie x fem!reader { corruption kink }

ANSWERED ASKS ·˚ ༘

VALENTINE’S [fluff]

LITTLE MUNSON [fluff]

UNO

ICE ICE BABY

WHEELS ON THE BUS

KITCHEN SEX steve x fem!reader

DESSERT

FERAL + BREAD

GLASSES + LIGHTS

BEST FRIENDS

BILLY X EDDIE X YOU

ROOF SEX : Eddie x Fem! Reader

LET’S NOT KEEP SCORE *new* coach! steve x fem reader

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #ziggys masterlist

1K notes · View notes

joelswritingmistress · 4 months

Text

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 29

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

Tori and I met up on my lunch break the following afternoon. I filled her in about the mishap with James the night before and she visibly cringed.

“Ouch.” She made a face. “That was a bold way to shoot his shot.”

“I felt so bad,” I admitted, “I still feel bad.” I twirled a French fry in ketchup and popped it into my mouth.

“Did you tell Joel?”

I nodded. “The night before I had gotten a card that was left on my car with no name. I thought it was this creepy guy Trevor from class.”

“Who’s creepy Trevor?”

“He's just this brown noser type of guy. I saw him lurking behind the building one night when I left and then he, like, popped out of the library stacks at me out of the blue.”

“Red flag, red flag.” Tori made invisible check marks in the air with her finger. “What if he's the lady killer?” That's what the papers and news outlets had branded the person responsible for the two dead women.

“Lately, I think everyone is the lady killer.” I huffed a laugh and shook my head. I changed the subject. “Are you and Derek doing anything for Valentine's Day tonight?”

“We’re going to see an early movie and then going out for cocktails and some apps.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Where’s Mr. Gold Coins taking you?” She asked with a laugh as she forked a bite of chicken from her salad, “Paris?”

I laughed. “We’re going to a place called Lake Kora.”

“Where's that?”

I shrugged and reached for the second half of my turkey wrap and took a hearty bite.

“You didn't Google it?”

I shook my head and continued to chew.

“Do I have to teach you everything?” Tori eyed me and began typing away on her phone. “How do you spell it?”

“L-a-k-e,” I began, smirking at her as she flicked my hand.

“Smartass, I know how to spell ‘lake'. What about the second part?”

“K-o-r-a.”

Tori eyed her tiny screen and began flicking her finger until she seemed satisfied. “Hmm..”

“What?” I arched my neck and she turned her phone part way.

“Looks nice.” She scrolled through photos. “Is he going to put, like, rose petals all over the bed? Feed you chocolate covered strawberries?”

I nearly spit the bite of my sandwich out and the two of us began laughing, drawing looks from other customers in the little sandwich shop.

“Sorry,” Tori whispered with a hand up, still chuckling as she took a sip of her iced tea to compose herself.

“Maybe we can double date some time soon,” I suggested.

“I gotta get a feel for this guy,” she nodded in agreement and poked around through her lettuce in search of a crouton. “What's going on next weekend?”

“His sister is getting married. We’re going to Vermont for the long weekend.”

Tori raised her eyebrows. “Wow.”

I nodded. “I was nervous to go but I met her recently and we hit it off, so..” I shrugged.

My friend pointed her fork in my direction. “If this guy ends up breaking your heart, I'll break his neck.” Tori paused, “Well, I’ll get someone to do it because I probably wouldn't be able to.”

I have a closed-mouth smile. “I hope this is all what it seems; because I'm totally caught up.”

“I know you are.” She nodded, “I've never seen you like this.”

“I know.” I ate another French fry and sipped on my Diet Dr. Pepper. “It's a little scary.”

Tori gave a genuine smile. “I guess life should be about taking chances.. and following your heart.” She raised her styrofoam cup, “To the next step?”

I tapped my cup against hers. “To the next step.”

The ride to ‘up-upstate’ with Dr. Miller late that afternoon had me excited for the weekend ahead. We took the truck, loaded up with snacks and even stopped at a little hockey store to purchase two pairs of ice skates. I couldn’t wait to go ice skating. It had been so long since I’d been but I was sure I’d pick it up again - like second nature.

“Want a coffee?” Dr. Miller motioned to a little shop beside the hockey store, “Or hot chocolate?” He grinned and took my hand when I nodded. We wandered into the shop and the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans hit me like a wave.

My eyes scanned a chalkboard with an endless array of choices. There were your typical French Vanilla flavors and Hazelnuts. And then the list trickled down to pistachio, white chocolate almond, blueberry and peppermint mocha.

“I’ll do a medium black coffee with a shot of espresso,” Dr. Miller ordered. “And a package of the chocolate covered espresso beans.”

When I spotted a banana mocha chocolate espresso, I was sold. Half hot chocolate, half coffee with the sweetness of the banana. Sign me up.

Dr. Miller smiled at me and gently squeezed the back of my neck as I ordered. I leaned into him and our hands found one another’s again after getting our orders and walking out.

“I can’t wait to get up there,” I told him when we got back in the car. I sipped my drink after giving the entrance to the cup a gentle blow and then set it in the cup holder. When Dr. Miller reached for my hand again, I squeezed his. I loved how he had to touch me at all times - whether holding my hand, squeezing my neck, or resting a hand on my knee as he drove.

He popped open the little bag of espresso beans and then reached over, prepared to place one in mouth.

I accepted, purposely sucking the pad of thumb for an extra second and Dr. Miller smiled at me. I almost giggled, thinking about Tori’s comment about the chocolate covered strawberries but I just grinned and looked out the window, relinking my hand with his.

Honestly, I didn't want the car ride to end. Until it did, and the A-frame lake house we would be staying in came into view.

Okay, I'm ready for the car ride to end.

The frozen lake stretched out, what looked like, for miles as he pulled down the long, rocky driveway.

Dr. Miller pulled the truck up beside the house and I got a glimpse of a hot tub on the front deck. He turned to glance at me and I couldn't help but smile.

“Come on.” He nodded his head toward the cabin and opened his door.

I eagerly trailed him up to the rental property. Neither of us bothered to grab our belongings yet. The sting of the cold weather felt refreshing on my cheeks on the short walk to the front door.

Dr. Miller punched a code into a little black box beside the door and a silver key popped out as the front of it opened.

“Do you own this house, too?” I had to ask, but he smiled and shook his head.

“I know as much about it as you do.” He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door, pulling me inside by the hand as he flipped on the main lights. It was like something from Pinterest or “hashtag cabin” on any number of social media outlets.

An oversized television sat above a stone fireplace to the right. A small collection of couches and chairs faced it, only split up by a shag throw rug. Above it hung a giant rustic chandelier. Overlooking the living room area was a loft that was accessible by a winding staircase and beneath the loft, straight ahead, was a cozy, modern kitchen with low ceilings.

“What do you think?” Dr. Miller put his hands on my shoulders from behind, and I reached up and placed one hand over his.

“I think we should stay here for a week.”

“Or two,” he added.

“Or two.” I nodded in agreement and looked over my shoulder at him. “Thank you. This is amazing.. again.”

“Let's get our bags.”

I followed him back to the car and he carried as much as he could, leaving me with just the ice skates that I set down on the couch in the living room area. We unloaded the little bit of food we’d brought up for the short stay and then towed the suitcases up the windy stairs to the lofty bedroom.

“Feel like some dusk ice skating?” Dr. Miller asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Is it safe?”

“I've been checking the weather all week,” he explained, “It's been in the teens and twenties.” Dr. Miller nodded, “There were some people out there when we drove up. Should be frozen solid.”

“Well, then, I can't wait.” My hands fell down into his and I bent at the hip to kiss him firmly on the lips. When I slowly dropped to my knees in front of him, working at the buckle of his belt, Dr. Miller looked down at me with a half, closed-mouth grin.

He sighed and arched his hips so I could shove his pants down to his ankles before closing his eyes as he stood back up. “Alright,” he agreed with a second deep breath.

“Unless you want to get right out onto the ice..” I teased.

Dr. Miller opened his eyes again and looked down at me. “It'll still be there in five minutes.”

“Five?” My hand wrapped around him now and I took him partway into my mouth. I guessed longer.

He groaned and smiled with his eyes closed. “Maybe three.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

110 notes · View notes

slasher-paws · 2 years

Note

Hello I really liked your last two posts can you do one with trickster? Platonic or romantic, however you would want. You don’t have to do this! Thanks!

Trickster x Innocent reader [Platonic]

Authors note: I love Trickster with all my heart. Thank you for the request Anon! 😉 I hope this brings everyone comfort!

•First encounter: Behind a bush you hid, hoping the rapid beating of your heart will stop. The killer was aiming and throwing blades at the survivor, his aim was accurate and quick, impressive. You were watching his move to see when the coast was clear to finish up the generator.

• David obnoxiously laughed as he bonked a pallet on the killer. Ji-Woon muttered an insult in his native language, destroying the pallet. David caught up with the other survivors to escape. The trickster was frustrated, so he left to find the remaining survivor, which was you.

• On your way to the exit gate, you spotted some of his blades scattered on the floor. Ji-Woon didn’t have time to reload is inventory of knives while in the chase of David. He really wanted that one survivor dead..begging for mercy. Because damn, David got Ji-Woon looping around a pallet for twenty minutes!

•You couldn’t help but feel bad. So, you picked those knives up, careful of the sharp edges. You escaped with them, later hoping to return the killer’s belongings. You were kinda …curious of his reaction. Everyone knows how egotistical the trickster was. Nothing made him happier than watching his victims suffer.

•You entered his realm in hopes of locating him. And there he was, playing with his blade. He was humming an unfamiliar tune. You cleared your throat to grab his attention.

• “Hello..um..hi Mister Ji-Woon! You dropped your knives in the last trial an- and I just wanted to give them to you..” You said nervously. He just sat there, not moving a muscle. He then slowly turned around, lifting a brow.

“Hm..?”

•He just stared at you, with those bright, beaming eyes. Confused why you would do something kind for someone like him. How stupid..how naive

•he assumed you were a little fan, because why else would you be kind to a murderer like that. You seemed so..clueless!

•The trickster snatched his weapons back, showing off a truck by flipping one of the blades with his fingers. He didn’t even bothering thanking you. He was too above to thank a survivor. Ji-Woon was unsure what to say, he never encountered such a situation.

“Go on, shoo.” He flicked your forehead. “Little fan.”

• You loved it when he would hum or sing. It was nice to hear. Beautiful, hypnotizing.. Sometimes, it even made you sleepy.. So you told him!

• “Um..Mister Ji-Woon, I love your voice, y’know..when you sing!” You rubbed your arm, kinda feeling shy reaching out to him. Trickster was flabbergasted. A survivor showering him with compliments and praise? Referring to him as “Mister” made him feel respected.

“ Oh darling..who doesn’t.” The trickster smirked. He loved compliments, it made him feel high and mighty, especially from a survivor.

• Ji-Woon crept in the basement. Something alerted him that he wasn’t alone. He found you hidden in the shade. You were crying like a child who dropped their ice cream. How annoying, he thought. He didn’t want to kill you just yet, he might as well play with his food. He knelt down in front of you. You were kind to him, so he was curious as to why you were crying.

•you covered your face with your hands. Too afraid to even look the killer in the eye. You were trembling.

• “Oh, and what is the matter with you this time?” He removed your hands from your face, revealing your tears and pink cheeks. You tried to explain, but your sobbing had you choke on your words. He hummed in thought.

•“I accidentally bombed the generator and I was told to go elsewhere..my team mates said awful things to me. Seriously it was just one mistake how cruel can they be!” You cried. You never knew you’d vent to an egotistical killer. You were in need of comfort.. Trickster was quiet for a few seconds until stood back up, revealing that stupid smug smirk of his again. “I did most of the generators..I just want to be appreciated..”

Appreciated huh.

• “Aw, how pathetic, crying like a child. Why must you care what they have to say. There is no room in this realm for WEAK survivors like you.” He lifted your chin with his finger, revealing his infamous smile. “What makes you think you’ll survive these trials if you can’t handle some stupid comments hm?”

You continued to cry, which annoyed him even more.

• “Keep crying in this basement, and after I finish up those survivors, you will be next. Who knows, my little fan, your blood-curdling screams might be used in my upcoming songs!~ The trickster giggled. Oh, he was living your facial expression right now. You were horrified by his words. Ji-Woon was trying to get you up and going, in his own way.

• The Trickster knew how bitchy the survivors can be. I mean, he went through all that toxicity too, not just you. So, he left you in the dark. He camped, and tunneled those survivors.

•He saw you get back up on your feet and run towards the hatch.

“Ah..that’s my little fan..” He mumbled to himself.

#fanfic #writers on tumblr #trickster #ji woon hak #trickster dbd #trickster x reader #dbd x reader #dead by daylight #dbd headcanons #dbd survivor

583 notes · View notes

preciouslandmermaid · 1 year

Text

cold secrets, warm light (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 2/3

Note: This got longer than expected, so now it’s gonna be 3 chapters instead of 2. LMAO. This takes place in the same universe as cold hands, warm heart and is seen as a continuation of that fic.

Rating/Warning: Canon typical violence, blood/injury/and minor gore. Thigh grinding and making out. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) haha ! nice! (also those gloves make me feral)

** All the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person. I also created 2 entire locations because I don’t want to use the real world lmao. (Al-Qunbar & Noreth)

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, and no other descriptors are used.

(Read on Ao3) ||| 🔪🔪🔪

~~~~~~~~~

In the days that follow, you settle into a routine with Ghost and Soap at the safe house. Samira looked after Soap. She attended to his medical needs and physical therapy. He’s a decent patient until his frustration boils over and then he’s huffing like an old goat and crossing his arms. Agathi’s boys worked the farmland. They shovel manure, or prune plants, or tend to the harvest. The security of the safe house is organized into scheduled shifts. The perimeter of the property, the barn, and the house itself are your main concerns.

However, Ghost took over the sniper position at the barn. Instead of following the six-hour schedule, he stayed up there for twelve to fourteen hours. When he returns to the house, he talks to Soap, rests, then returns to the barn without speaking to anyone else. You don’t take it personally. Ghost is a diligent operative. He never wavers. He never falters. You are safer, Lukas is safer, with him here.

Your nails are encrusted with dark, rich earth from digging up carrots with James and Lukas. Lukas’ favorite task is to unearth food you’ve grown. He smiles brightly, holding aloft potatoes or carrots or stalks of green onions, and you cannot help but smile in return. He is a sweet and tender boy. And its awe inspiring someone so sweet and gentle could come from you. A trained killer. A girl made of ice. A woman without identity, without roots.

You skim your dirty hands across the stalks of tall reeds while walking down the dirt, pebble-strewn road. A lone bird calls out to signal that night is upon them and the predators will awaken soon. Your smile tugs errantly at the corners of your mouth.

The sky is bruising purple and dusky blue. The clouds on the horizon promised rain. You can smell in the air – fresh, biting, and green. You unscrew the cap of your flask and swallow a warm, robust mouthful of black tea. The dilapidated barn leans against a backdrop of dying sunlight like a wounded animal. Sven emerges from the grass with a sheepish smile. His blue eyes dart briefly to the barn loft.

He says, “time for shift change already?”

“I’m early.” You ruffle his stringy, blonde hair. “Go on. Your brother is waiting.”

Sven flushes bright red. “Thanks.”

You watch him jog down the road with a flashlight in his hand. You check under the tire well of the abandoned truck and find the hidden pistol. You check the safety and clip. You tuck it away again. Price, the thoughtful bastard, managed to arrange a covert supply drop. Ghost collected it earlier in the week. It contained ammunition, infrared lights, night vision scopes, and supplies for Soap and Ghost.

Price can get into serious trouble by his superiors if anyone finds out about it.

You aren’t sure why he keeps sticking his neck out to help you, but you’re grateful. You think of Lukas. You wonder if he suspects anything. Samira often says fondly, ‘it’s as if God took the blueprints of you and made him.’ You don’t see it. And whenever you tell Samira this, she laughs, and her scarred skin stretches with joy.

The wooden ladder creaks when you ascend it. Ghost is perched with his sniper and completely unmoving. Your nostrils itch as the scent of old, dusty hay fills them. You sniffle and wipe your nose with your knuckles.

“All clear,” drawls Ghost.

“Yes, I know. I was just outside.”

Ghost scoffs. You settle crossed legged next to him. You glance at his stark black-and-white profile. His sandy eyelashes flutter against his black-painted skin. Your body hums with acute unspoken desire. You trace the shapes of his tattoos on his forearm. You would give anything to touch him and feel the hot expanse of his skin across your palms. You’ve lain awake in your cold bed, tossing, and turning and coiled with taut desire, and wondered if he’d shun you if you came to find him. But you always manage to talk yourself out of it.

There’s no benefit in complicating matters further. Noreth is at war. You and Lukas can’t leave. Soap and Ghost can’t leave. The best course of action is to lay low and keep safe until extraction. You swallow another gulp of tea and watch the cloudy, star dotted horizon and swaying tall grass.

“What’re you drinking?”

“Tea.” You wipe your mouth with your fingers.

“Nothing stronger?” He grouses.

“We’ve got vodka back at the house.”

He gives a small shake of his head. “Foul.”

You extend your arm toward him, the flask pinched between your fingers, and Ghost glances sidelong at you. Seconds pass. You’re about to pull it away. But then Ghost reaches and accepts the flask without touching you. You force yourself to look away rather than look at him. You imagine the shape of his lips closing over the mouth of the flask. You imagine his muscled throat shifting when he swallows. You imagine him wiping away a teardrop of tea from the corner of his mouth with his gloved thumb. You wait until you hear the sound of the cap screwing back on before looking at him again.

His mask is pushed up to right below his nose. His jaw is shadowed with dark blonde stubble. You recall how it scratched against your bare skin and left faint, irritated red lines. You avert your eyes.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He mumbles.

You shrug, “things have changed.”

“Have they?” He says and the words are deep and rumbling. You take the flask from him and drink to delay answering his question. Things have changed. You are no longer an intelligence agent. You deserted. You have a child. You have good people relying on you. You have a reason beyond survival to carve a place for yourself in this new world.

“A bit.” You respond vaguely. The silence stretches, weighted and poignant, and you crack your knuckles one finger at a time. It never used to be awkward with Simon. Or has nostalgia completely skewed your perception? Or is it your guilt? Your fingertips touch when you pass the flask again. An electric jolt fires across your skin. You meet his heavily lidded, shadowed eyes. The unsaid words and confessions linger on your tongue. The distance between you is miniscule. It’s mere inches, but it feels like an endless chasm. You risk the danger and shift closer.

His skeletal gloved fingers graze along the feverish skin on your inner wrist.

“We shouldn’t complicate things.” You blurt. Your secret presses on every of your chamber of your heart. His presses his lips together and cocks his head to the side.

“We’re well past that, Lux.”

“There are things you don’t know about me, Ghost.”

The rough texture of his gloves glides up to your shoulder, lightly touching your neck, and you feel his index finger slide under the golden chain of your necklace. Your pulse throbs in your carotid artery. The moth charm twirls, pretty and light, between Simon’s large fingers.

“I’m not saying this to be coy or mysterious, Riley.” When you use his name, his eyes dart from your throat to your face, and you feel every ounce of his attention on you. You feel like a butterfly pinned to a display frame.

A hot and prickly sensation burns in your throat, “I have secrets you’d hate me for keeping.” You whisper.

You swallow with some difficulty. His tongue sweeps across his lower, chapped lip before he pulls his lower lip between his teeth briefly. Your heart stutters. You force your eyes from his mouth.

“I doubt that very much.” His voice is rumbling, and quiet, and its reverberation echoes into your spine. Your skin burns. Your breath, ragged and warm ,drags itself through your lungs and out your parted lips. You tilt forward and press your forehead against the cool, hard plastic of his mask. Your eyes shutter closed.

Simon says your name longingly. His breath tickles your chin. Your heart pangs to tell him the truth about Lukas, about Al-Qunbar, about Price and his help. Yet, pragmatism pinches your tongue in a vice grip. Lukas’ safety and well-being is everything to you. The less people who know the truth the better.

His lips ghost across yours. His stubble is prickly and rough. Without further prompting or encouragement, you kiss him and slide your tongue between his lips. You tremble and your breath huffs desperately through your nostrils. You hold his jaw. You need him close. You want to wrap your bodies together and remain glued. An overwhelming sensation of bliss floods through your veins. Simon’s tongue moves languidly and tastes of robust black tea. He squeezes the back of your neck, holding you tight and refusing to let you pull away. A heady sense of warmth explodes inside your chest and launches your heart into a tailspin.

You throw your leg over his big thigh, straddling it, and Simon makes a low, pleased sound at the back of his throat. His other hand clutches your hip—tight, possessive, his thumb digs into your flesh. He pitches your hips forward, then pushes back, and you quickly get the idea. You clothed cunt grinds against his muscled thigh. You encircle your arms around his neck, pressed chest-to-chest, and feel Simon’s every rough inhale and exhale. Your original plan to remain distant and uncomplicated has crashed and burned into ash and charcoal.

His tongue flicks obscenely and wetly into your open, panting mouth. “Can you come like this?” He asks, “or do you want my hand, hm? My fingers?” The thought of Simon’s hand shoved between your legs is enough to make your body tighten with anticipation and desire. You wonder if he’ll keep the gloves on.

“We have to keep watch.” You whimper.

He chuckles like deep, dark wine. “I can multitask.”

The temptation threatens to drag you underwater. You are swept into the current of Simon’s influence and your own intoxicating desire. His warm, rough burr. His large and deliberate hands. His strong, muscled arms and legs. His chiseled abdominal muscles quiver as you push your hands up his shirt and touch his hot, damp skin.

“God,” He drags the word out and tilts his head back to look up at you, “you’re gonna kill me, Lux.”

You smile. You are lost in the deep, coffee color of his eyes shadowed by ashen blonde lashes and smudged with black camo paint. They are the same shade as Lukas’. An arrow of guilt spears your heart. What are you doing? Noreth is at war. You’re on watch. You’ll never forgive yourself if Lukas got hurt because you let your lust overwhelm your logic. You clear your throat.

You say, “we – we should wait until we’re inside.” You climb off his leg and adjust your rumpled shirt. “Okay?”

Ghost licks his lips and watches you with dark, hungry eyes. “I’m a sniper. A few hours is nothing.”

“Great.” You reply, your voice tight, “I’m going to walk the perimeter.”

~~~~~~~~

The walk back to the heaven is tense. It is filled with piping hot anticipation and coated in white foam that tastes like a hopeful dream, a beggar’s wish. Two dimly lit windows peer like eyes onto the dead lawn and black skeletal shape of Kaja’s motorbike.

Simon’s palm glides along your lower back and blistering heat floods your stomach. Your body clenches and your clit throbs with pressure and desire. You’ve thought of nearly a dozen different positions and fantasies during your walk. This is unlike your time with the task force. You don’t need to avoid detection. Neither Samira nor Agathi will judge you. Although, for the sake of those sleeping, you resolve to do your best to stay quiet.

The front door opens to the sound of Lukas crying. Agathi is holding him, bouncing softly, and her tired face looks relieved when you cross the threshold.

“Nightmare.” She explains. Lukas reaches his tiny hands toward you.

“I’ve got him.” You bundle Lukas into your arms and kiss his flushed, sticky-with-tears cheek. You glance apologetically toward Ghost. Perhaps this is for the best. Maybe you shouldn’t sleep together. Maybe this was some unseen force ensuring that you and Ghost remain uncomplicated. Maybe it’s saving you from breaking your heart again. Once Soap is clear, Ghost will leave. You know it. You believe it.

You sway Lukas in your arms and mutter softly.

~~~~~~~~~

Ghost stands frozen in the doorway. The boy has his eyes. And the realization is like a leech. He cannot shake it. He cannot bear to be in the same room as you and the crying child. The child with his eyes. He stalks down the hall and ducks into the small room arranged for him and Soap.

Soap is asleep. He’s glad for it. He doesn’t want questions. His breath his ragged and edged like shrapnel in his lungs. His skin is flushed and stretched uncomfortably over his bones. You held Lukas sweetly. You kissed his face. You showed him more affection than James or Sven. How did he not see it earlier?

Lukas looks nothing like Sven or James or Agathi. He looks like you. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. You must’ve had a child with someone during your time in Al-Qunbar. He scowls. The maths didn’t add up there either. He guessed Lukas’ age is close to 3. Lukas would be younger if you gave birth to him in Al-Qunbar. Then when? With whom?

He swallows thickly and recalls your short time together. Lukas can’t be his. Can’t be. Can’t. He’s not fit to be a father. He’s a dangerous man. A killer. And a damn good one at that. His palms are sweaty and clammy. He peels off his skeletal gloves and tucks them into the back pocket of his pants. He chews his tongue with his back molars.

If Lukas is yours then he doubts the agency knows. A child is a target. A vulnerability. He starts cleaning one of his guns to keep his hands busy. The gun oil is slick and warm against his fingers. He clears his dry, uncomfortable throat. He thinks about your weighted words in the barn. You mentioned you had a secret. You said it was something he’d hate you for.

His slick, oiled hands move purposefully over the metal. His gaze flicks upward to Soap. He watches his chest breathing evenly beneath the dark sheets. They will stay here for a few weeks and then they’d leave. He can endure it.

You were never meant to have a reunion. And he is a fool for wishing for anything other than what he got. Regardless of who Lukas belongs to—he’s no one’s father. He’s not destined for a civilian life. He’s comfortable in the danger. He’s comfortable wearing the mask. He likes it too much to walk away.

He can’t go and live on a farm and change nappies. That’s not who he is. And he won’t bring danger to your doorstep. But he doesn’t want to say goodbye again. He doesn’t want you to disappear. Ghost sighs heavily and sets the pistol on his bouncing knee.

He needs to talk to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It took an hour to get Lukas back to sleep. You settle into one of the wooden chairs on your small, porch balcony outside your bedroom and watch the darkness and swaying grass. You roll the night vision scope between your palms and feel the roughed, grip texture. You peer through it ever-so-often toward the barn. You consider joining Kaja, but you don’t want to leave Lukas in case he has another nightmare.

A floorboard creaks. The smell of gun oil permeates the air. Ghost sits in the chair beside you.

He asks, “what’s the story between the kids here? They got family on the outside?”

You bite your lip. “Not really.”

“What about their dad?”

“Agathi’s husband is dead.” You explain.

Ghost rests his elbows on his knees, “and the small one?”

You chose your next words carefully. “He’s alive. I tell him his dad is a soldier working hard to keep everyone safe.”

Ghost stares at you, unblinking, and his gaze is like holding a lit cigar to your skin.

“That the truth?” says Ghost gruffly.

The crickets chirp, a chorus, a symphony, lonely and desperate for connection.

“The truth would hurt everyone, ” You shrug.

“It would hurt him.” You look meaningfully over your shoulder toward Lukas’ bedroom door adjacent to your room.

Simon’s tone is commanding and harsh as nails, “tell me the truth.”

You squeeze your eyes closed. A swirl of black and purple spots spin on the canvas of your eyelids. You had hoped to avoid this conversation. But Simon has connected the dots and you played your hand too heavily when you told him you carried a guilty secret.

“Do you remember Al-Qunbar?” You ask.

He hums, “Mhm.”

It was the last place you and Ghost met. A city of dust and smoke, a marble fountain that gurgled with blood.

“I was Qadir’s mistress,” you begin, referring to the politician that governed Al-Qunbar, “that was my cover. It was not uncommon in their culture for people of power, regardless of gender, to have multiple partners or spouses. And they considered multiple children as a sign of virility and good fortune.”

You inhale slowly. This is the part of the story that is like traversing a minefield. You’ve imagined telling him, but never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d get the chance.

“Qadir had many children. But his regime was unstable. I begged him to send the children away. I groveled.” Your voice quivers and tears sting your eyes like wasps. You bite down on your lower lip and compose yourself.

“Qadir refused. He said we’d all go together in the end. He gave poison disguised as medicine to his wives, his mistresses, his personal guards…his children…his children…”

You knew those children. You cared for them. You scrub a hand over your face. Finding the courage to topple dictators or stare at the barrel of a loaded gun is easy. But looking at Simon is impossible. You focus on a spot in the dark, starry horizon. The high grass that surrounds your property sways like whispering dancers.

“I knew I couldn't’ save them all, so I chose Lukas.”

“Samira helped. She was Qadir’s midwife and served in his military as a doctor. The day Qadir was assassinated, I got Lukas out, but I couldn’t leave Al-Qunbar. Not yet. The extremists, the loyalists, the American agents. None of them could know he was alive. I need to make it seem like everyone in Qadir’s family perished in the uprising.”

The wooden chair creaks like an old ship underneath Simon’s weight.

“You were the one who torched his compound.” He says. It’s not a question. You wonder if he read the file. You wonder if anyone told him your undercover name and saw you were listed under ‘killed in action’. You wonder if Price mentioned his part in helping you escape from under the thumb of imperialism.

You nod. You burned Qadir’s house, and all the bodies within, and fled. You earned yourself a deep wound from a sniper at the town square before you reunited with Ghost’s team.

Simon scoffs, “I think you’re a bit of an arsonist, Lux.”

You recognize his attempt at humor, but you can’t summon the energy to smile. You’ve told him the background, you’ve set the stage, but you haven’t brought the main actors into the play. You haven’t revealed the truth.

Your voice scratches as it travels up your throat. “I told Qadir the baby was his, but the timing was off.”

“He’s yours, Simon.” You finish weakly and your heart capsizes inside your chest, “he’s ours.”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look away. The mask hides everything from you and his eyes are guarded and cold. He will hate you. You are sure of it. He will hate you for lying, for not contacting him, for keeping Lukas.

You lift the night vision scope to your face to hide your hurt expression.

~~~~~~~~~

“Shit!” You jolt upright, blood pounds in your ears, and your eyes swivel across the black landscape. You peer through the night vision binoculars to assure you saw Kaja’s signal accurately. You’re not mistaken. She flashed her infrared twice. Trouble.

“What is it?” Ghost is beside you, alert.

“Kaja is in trouble.”

He huffs. You think there’s a question poised in his eyes, but then a burst of gunfire illuminates the darkness like white fireworks. You drop like a stone into fight-or-flight. You run into the adjoining bedroom and scoop Lukas into your arms, waking him, and he cries – startled – in your arms. There is nothing inside your head beyond the checklist of tasks you must complete for your sons’ safety.

“It’s alright, lovey. It’s just a storm.” You assure him.

You barrel down the hallway. James and Sven step into the hallway with Agathi clutching their shoulders. You swerve pass them, taking the steps hurriedly, your heartbeat thundering in your ears and drowning out the sounds of Lukas’ tears and the encroaching gunfire. You don’t bother to look behind you or check for Ghost. He doesn’t know the household protocol, but he can handle himself in a fight. You aren’t worried about him.

“If you get out of that wheelchair, I’ll kill you myself.” Samira snaps. She shoves a loaded shotgun into Soap’s hand. “Protect the little ones.”

You duck into the basement. The door is heavily fortified, and along with supplies, the back left corner equipped with an escape tunnel.

“Alright, there, there, sweet boy.” You kiss the side of Lukas’ head, “it’s going to be alright.” You bounce in him in your arms, kissing and repeating platitudes, promising him that everything will be OK. You never expected motherhood to come equipped with so many desperate lies.

Agathi opens her arms for him.

Lukas’ little fingers cling to your neck, unintentionally scratching, and he is grabbing your shirt, red-faced and screaming. You pry him off. Your heart breaks. Your mouth is dry. You swallow your tears as Agathi cradles your son to her chest and rocks him. Her steely blue eyes meet yours—fierce, red-rimmed, and determined. You share a meaningful, wordless look. You’ve always known the role you would play if shit hit the fan. Agathi and Samira are the protectors.

And you?

You’re the fucking executioner.

“Be safe.” James says, squeezing your hand once before you hurry upstairs. The second your foot hits the landing, Samira shuts the door and extinguishes her lamp. In near-darkness, Sven tosses a body armor vest toward you. You clip it hastily, grabbing equipment from the case, and affixing it to your body. You grab a few extra throwing knives and tuck them into the holster on your chest.

Ghosts’ footfalls are quick and deceptively quiet as he comes downstairs, “counted five approaching.”

“There’s likely more with Kaja.” Samira says knowingly, pinning her dark hair away from her face and scowling.

“What’s the plan?” asks Soap.

“Defend the house.” You nod toward the basement door, “this door especially. If there’s any risk of breaching, hit the switch here, and they know to get the fuck out.”

You walk confidently backwards and toward the door, “if I don’t come back—assume I’m dead and don’t come looking for me.”

You spin on your heel and slip through the partially ajar door. You knew the conflict would eventually reach your doorstep, but you wish it hadn’t happened when you had so much to lose inside. Their flashlights cut through reeds of tall grass and flicker like ghosts across the lawn. They’re shouting at each other in Noreth’s native language. You’re not fluent, but you get an idea of the instruction, and you weave through the grass. Your fingers curl around the knife’s grip.

A low hum of insects buzz around your sweaty face and tall grass whispers as you move through it. You sharpen your focus. The moon illuminates the silent battlefield in a ghastly, blue-white subdued glow. You taste salt on your lips. You cling onto the memory of Simon’s warm, deep eyes. If you died here, or fucked it up, he’d never let you hear the end of it.

You catch your breath in your lungs. You attack, swift and deadly, your knife plunging wetly into your target’s chest. You vanish into the grass, crouched low, and using the light breeze to your advantage. You move with the wind, in bleached moonlight, and you strike down his partner before the others notice. The assailants approaching the front yard were easy. They spread themselves thin, they were too jumpy, and they held their rifles awkwardly. You surmised based on their gait and posture that they were newer—likely fresh recruits.

The three approaching the back entrance wouldn’t be so simple. They move cohesively with experience. You weigh your odds. You can kill one, but the other two will engage with you. If this had been any other mission, you would divert their attention slowly, pick them off using traps and tricks. However, the sands of time are pouring through your fingers, and you’ve got people inside to protect. A man you want to talk to, a child you want to raise, a friend you need to see again.

You test the weight of the throwing knife in your palm. It’s risky. But what choice do you have? These fuckers likely have reinforcements at the barn. Kaja is in danger. You grit your jaw and find the best position among swishing grass and damp, spongy earth.

You wait for the flashlight to illuminate his partner. Your knife spins in the dark, twirling, unseen and the target exclaims a short – “Ah!” as the blade sticks into the meat of his shoulder.

It’s off-mark. You leap to the second target, spry and agile. You are a weapon of death, a herald of doom. Your knife cuts across his throat in brutal efficiency and soaks your wrist in hot blood. You pivot, tucking your arm, and use the target’s body as a meat shield as they fire several rounds at you. You count the bullets.

He spasms and jerks against you as bullets whiz by and you wait for the reload. They might be experienced, but they’re spooked enough to fire all their ammunition simultaneously. You drop the body the second you hear the resounding click of an empty chamber. You draw your silenced pistol. Your last resort. Your breath catches in your lungs.

There’s only one man in front of you. You fire your shot. It goes through your target’s throat. He gurgles wetly, painfully, before falling backward. You scan the area for the threat, the missing attacker, but suddenly something hits you in the back of the skull.

Sharp and biting pain blossoms and stars dance in front of your vision. Their forearm wraps around your throat, pinning you to their chest, the muzzle of their sidearm pistol against your temple. Your time off the field has made you sloppy. Overconfident. Careless. You mentally berate yourself and plant your feet to try and throw him off before he can pull the trigger.

A bullet rings through the darkness. A torrent of hot blood and chunks of bone splatters wetly onto your cheek and side of your head. Your target collapses into you and you roughly shoulder him away. Half of his skull is missing and his brains and blood gushes over the marshland.

You look toward the house. You can’t see Ghost’s sniper scope in the darkness, but you feel it. You feel him watching. You holster your gun. You walk away from the house and toward the barn. To Kaja. To finish your hunt.

~~~~~~~~~

Ghost watches the flashlights disappear from your window. He has every intention of providing cover fire with his sniper—if you need it. He is watching you through the scope, remembering Spain, and his cold heart pangs weakly. He isn’t sure how he feels about you. He wants to be angry for keeping secrets. But, that’s bollocks, isn’t it? You both come from special ops backgrounds, from troves of classified files, and hell—his identity has been a secret for years. You don’t even know what he looks like. The kid’s got my eyes. There’s some small part of him that carries on throughout the world and you’re the only two people who know about it.

He doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to being angry. You made the right call. You kept the kid—Lukas—safe. His kid. Ghost’s throat threatens to tighten. He shoves it down. The feeling smolders inside his chest. It’s not like it matters. You’ll go your separate ways once Soap is cleared to evac. Assuming everyone lives after this evening, he thinks wryly. He adjusts his hold on his sniper and breathes deeply.

A burst of gunfire crackles in the distance. He swings his scope to the swaying reeds. One of the targets have veered off into the darkness while the other fills his dead friend with bullets. He catches brief flashes of your body, hunched, before you duck from beneath cover and stand—your form exquisite and lethal. A muted flash appears before the muzzle of your gun.

The second target appears from the darkness and grapples you. Ghost holds his breath. His finger hovers over the trigger. The pistol touches your skin. He imagines it firing. He imagines your body going inert and dropping like a sack of rocks into the strangers’ arms. His jaw clenches. He has seconds to react. The targets’ face hovers next to yours.

He fires. An explosion of blood and brain and bone spews around your head. You knock the body contemptuously away and somehow manage to meet his eyes through the rifle scope. Ghost’s heart thumps painful and hard into his ribs. You’re half-covered in someone else’s blood like the final girl in a slasher horror film. He thinks of kissing you. You turn and vanish into the darkness. He releases the breath he was holding.

Samira swings into the room, hand clutching the doorframe, “Ghost.” She says, “I need you to go to the barn.” Her tone brokers no argument. Despite that, however, he still says…

“Why?”

“Kaja’s not back yet which means she didn’t escape.”

“How’d you know?”

Samira huffs, “we have a system of triggers and alarms and codes. She hasn’t signaled the all-clear.”

“Could mean she’s dead.”

Her gaze darkens, “they do not often kill women in Noreth. They make them suffer first. Go. An order, Ghost. It’s an order.”

He dislikes taking orders from her, but Samira has your trust, and that means something. And although you claim you don’t have a hierarchy at the haven, it’s clear they look to you for leadership, and Samira is your second.

His head is still fucked from everything. But he’s thankful for the clarity of battle—of conflict and fighting—it gives him something to focus on. He follows the tracks you made through the grass. The air smells like car exhaust fumes, and gun smoke, and dark, damp earth.

“Leave her alone!” Your voice jabs into his gut like a well-placed and serrated knife. Ghost moves silently through the brush. His blood is hot and pounding in his neck.

The glaring headlamps of their truck illuminates your bruised face. Your teeth glisten wet and red. There is more blood covering you, but he can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. Someone has you pinned to the ground, your hands behind your back, and your legs are pinned by a second body. The man in front of you drops to a crouch and speaks lowly. Ghost doesn’t hear what he says. Your gaze hardens and your lips press into a tight line.

Your eyes move past the man speaking to you. Your gaze strikes his through the blades of swaying grass and encroaching, tall weeds. Your eyes are red-rimmed and filled with vengeful tears like the oil-painting of Lucifer.

“Bring them both in!” The man pinches your jaw roughly, his tone scathing, “You will sing like a songbird for me, little viper.”

Your jaw shifts. You spit a bloody glob of salvia into his face.

“Bitch!” He yells. He back-hands you, and you head lolls sideways into the dirt, wheezing, a fresh cut blooms on your lower lip. Rage burns through him, hot and corrosive, across every limb, every nerve, until he’s certain the dry vegetation around him is going to burst into flames. He’s never wanted to tear somebody limb-from-limb before. Not ‘till this moment.

He’s shaking. He realizes it almost distantly, like he’s not inside his body, like he’s viewing everything from a sniper’s scope but he’s without his calculated, cold ease. A voice inside his head informs him of the amount of bullets he has, the target locations, and the cover the barn could provide.

Kaja’s lilting voice appears from somewhere near the back of the truck—her words are thick with phlegm and barely distinguishable—but Ghost can tell she’s begging. He can hear it in her tone, how she sobs around the broken syllables. It’s not you who will break. It’s Kaja. Young, inexperienced Kaja. Another voice inside his head tells him he needs to silence her before she blows his cover or more importantly, your cover and the safety of Lukas. There’s only one target with Kaja and his back is to the shadows. Big mistake.

He shifts into the dark, lush undergrowth. He circles around the barn. You’re still goading the leader. He suspects you’re doing it to keep the focus away from Kaja, to take her pain, because you know she’s fragile and you’re trained to take it. He hears your brusque, insulting tone and it is nearly always followed with the sharp, biting sound of his skin striking yours. His heartrate skyrockets.

He’s shaking again. He bites his lower lip, tasting copper and salt, and it forcefully yanks him back to reality. He creeps through the darkness. He strikes. His large palm covers the target’s mouth, dragging him backward into the shadows, he snaps his neck quickly and efficiently. He drags the body into the grass and approaches the truck bed where Kaja is tied with a black canvas bag over her head.

“Please!” She’s trembling. “We’re just a little farm! We’re not rebels!”

Ghost yanks the bag over her head. She meets his gaze with glossy, frightened eyes. He motions one finger to his mouth. He doesn’t have time to cut the ropes that dig into her bony, bird-like wrists. He grabs her and pulls her from the truck. The weight is shifted and the springs beneath the back tires groan and squeak.

His blood curdles with the abrupt sound of your scream when his boots hit the grass. Every instinct in him wants to—to drop Kaja and fire every bullet into the men that circle you like hungry lions. He resists. If you’re screaming, then it’s part of the act. You wouldn’t give these slimy assholes the satisfaction. He believes that.

He drags Kaja into the darkness.

“We need to go back!” She whispers harshly when they’re several minutes away from the barn, “untie me. We need to save her.”

Ghost says nothing.

<< Part Three (Final) >>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST: @k1llerch4n // idk why sometimes it looks like it works and othertimes it DONT. @iwantmethgivememeth // @levisbebe // @solidly-indulgent

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley reader insert #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty fanfic #ghost cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare fanfic #ghost x you #ghost simon riley imagine #ghost x y/n #ghost x female reader #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 x you

176 notes · View notes

mrsbluehands · 5 months

Text

The creeps and their ice cream!

Headcanon (x reader)

Creepypasta

Silly Headcanon I had in mind. Who doesn't like ice-cream? (No offense if you don't XD)

Tw: none

Pronouns: Gn

Jeff the killer: He's a classic. Chocolate. Or well anything with chocolate. He's a little shameful about it since it reminds him of his childhood when he and Liu would run after the ice-cream truck to get their sweet treats. You can ask to share, but not sure he'll ever give up on his ice-cream.

Eyeless Jack: He can't have ice-cream (it's a monster thing), but I'm pretty sure that if he could he would be as simple as vanilla. He likes the smell of it when you eat yours. Would of course buy you one every time he goes out. He finds it funny when you get some on your nose and cheeks.

BEN drowned: Bubble gum. He's still a child at heart and this colourful ice-cream is making him nostalgic. Please give him one and cheer him up. He'll soon associate his favourite ice-cream with the quality time he can spend with you.

Masky: Mint and chocolate. It's taste is fresh and a little bitter. It reminds him of the cold air of the forest in winter and his long walks with you on his rare days off. He's not a fan of sweetness, but loves the bitterness of the dark chocolate. Will always buy you one too so you can enjoy the moment with him.

Hoodie: Caramel syrup (no. Not because of the colour of his hoodie) with vanilla ice-cream. He likes when the caramel is hot and melts the cold ice cream under. He can eat his ice-cream all year long, this man is never cold. He surprisingly has a sweet tooth, but you're the only one who's aloud to know. If you eat it in the winter, he's wrap his arms around you so you don't get too cold while eating your cold dessert.

Ticci Toby: He's also a chocolate lover but especially chocolate chips. Just a fan of sweet things (unlike Masky). It makes him forget how life is hard sometimes. Will totally feed it to you, but you are both laughing as he gets some everywhere on you face, but on your tongue. At the end you'll both end up with ice-cream in your hair, nose and on your face, but it's a moment you both cherish.

Liu Woods: Vanilla, but he likes when there's a special flavour on the menu too! Doesn't like to take decisions so he always took the same flavour when he went to the ice-cream truck with his brother. When you two eat ice-cream, he asks you to pick something to add on top of the treat. Will trust you blindly, so please don't play with him (Like that time when you convinced him that pickles were good with vanilla, he did accept your apology though).

Jane the killer: (For the aesthetic) Black vanilla. She just loves to colour and the natural scent of vanilla. Nothing to do with the artificial one! If you buy one for her, she'll probably just look at it and won't take a bite because of how pretty it looks. Nothing compares to you though no worries!

Bloody painter: The king of aesthetic, he loves red ice-cream whether it's cherry, raspberry, blueberry... anything as long as it's red he like it. Not much of a sweet tooth, but like the taste of fruits a lot. He might even try to paint with it (spoiler: it won't work). His favourite way to enjoy his treat is with you. If you squint you will probably be able to witness one of his rare smiles as he shyly reaches for you hand.

Clockwork: Any flavour. She is the type to go for the weird limited one that changes once a week even if it sounds disgusting. She's a dangerous woman, what can I say. For that reason, you probably won't be sharing (unless it's really terrible, then you feel bad seeing her face each time she takes a lick). Will also put some on your nose just to have the excuse to lick it off. She thinks you are adorable when you blush.<3

Seems like I had inspiration for that one! Hope you enjoyed!

#creepypasta #headcanon #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer #eyeless jack #ben drowned #masky marble hornets #hoodie marble hornets #ticci toby #liu woods #clockwork #jane the killer

53 notes · View notes

livindeadgirlgrav · 8 months

Text

The Monster's Den

Pairing: Otis Driftwood x fem reader

Warning: Violence, bad language, gore, nsfw, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome its Otis Driftwood lol

A/n: This is my first story on this account! I use to write a lot but my account got deleted so iIm staring over! Just note I type really fast and I'm also dyslexic, I'll try my best to proofread every post but please tell me if I miss something or made a mistake:) - This story is a work in process, I'm still getting my creative juices back!

This story is written in the readers pov and alternating povs!

Getting a flat tire is a stressful experience already, but getting a flat tire in the middle of no where in the Texas heat is even worse. You knew this would happen sooner or later but you hoped your piece of shit car would make it a little longer. Tying a old shirt to the door you decided to walk, having no idea where you were walking to just hoping a house or gas station would pop up so you could use the phone. After what felt like hours of walking you finally stumbled upon a house, carrying your wedged sandals you decided to knock on the door. The house in your mind was creepy, it look as the vines were eating the house with hanging baby dolls trying to escape from the walls. the yard itself was littered with items. You tried not to be too judgmental for working in this heat had to be killer. "Oh hello darling?" You smiled at the warm presence of a older woman. "Hi, i'm sorry to bother but my car broke down a few miles back-" before you were able to finish the lady pulled you in "Oh honey you look terribly hot! why don't you have a sit and I'll get you some iced water" Taking a sit on the couch you watched as the lady came into frame with a sweaty glass of water. "Thank you so much! Do you have a phone I could use by chance?" You said accepting the cool beverage. "Noo,I once had one back in 57, I don't quite remember you see there isn't anyone here I feel like jaw flappin' at no more."She said taking a sit beside you. "But RJ has a tow-truck, I bet he can get it for you. Might be able to fine the problem." You took a sip of the heavenly water and brightened up. "Really? that would be wonderful! Thank you" You said sweetly admiring the generous woman. She smiled and nodded "Well it might take him a few hours but you are free the stay here." You smiled "I would love that thank you!" The woman giggled a little before deciding to go find RJ to talk to him about your car, leaving you alone in the living room.

After a few minutes of looking around and sipping your water you heard a noise behind you, turning to see if it was the woman- you were met with a tall, pale man with stringy blonde hair. Feeling your heart flutter as the man stared down at you sitting on the couch remaining eye contact as he walked around to get a better view of you. "H-hello, I'm y/n the older lady welcomed me in, I-I broke down a few miles bac-" Before finishing your sentence the man spoke up. "Can you speak girl?" He glared down. You nodded fast. " Then speak up!" He shouted making you jump with the outburst. "Yes" Otis stared at you watching your face heat up and your eyes flutter. Gasping, your eyes quickly widen when the strange man grabbed your neck pulling you up from the couch harshly. Grasping his wrist to try to free yourself but it was no use. "I bet you are soaked already huh?" He admired your struggling form for a moment before he slammed you down on the couch by your throat. You winced in pain. The man decided to sit on your legs to keep you from kicking tighting his grip. You tried to scream but nothing came out. "p-please!" struggling to form words you squinched up your face in pain. "i-I cant breathe!" trying your best you begged breathlessly. Before everything went black you saw the man smirk.

Your eyes fluttered awake, starring up seeing a ceiling as your eyes came into focus. Moaning at the pain, you knew there had to be a bruise on your neck. Realizing your arms are tied behind your back and a gag was in your mouth you tried your best to look around the room. You started to breath heavy realizing what just happened. You jumped when you heard the door open and the same man who was just choking you walked in. "Hey there mama, you sure are pretty hogtied like that!" You cried out and pushed against the rope. Earning a chuckle from Otis. "Now look I'm going to remove your gag but if you make anything such as a fucking peep. I'll gut you like a pig and make you eat your own intestines!" You nodded as tears rolled down your cheek. Otis pulled the rag down and stared at your face looking at your puffy lips. "W-what do you want?" you stuttered making Otis chuckle, "You."

Thank you for reading! I might make a part 2 Im not entirely sure but I hope you guys like it! I haven't written in forever so this was great!

#slasher fucker #slasher x reader #slasher rp #slasher fanfiction #slasher requests #horror #house of 1000 corpses #otis driftwood x reader #otis driftwood #otis drifteood x y/n #my writing #my story #send me asks #request #request open

51 notes · View notes

writing-good-vibes · 1 year

Text

loving you is like loving the dead (or fucking the dead)

y'all are going to hate me for this one 😈 corey has a sick little fantasy he wants to play out with michael.

big, big, big WARNING this time readers, for corey x michael, smut, age gap relationship (though it's not brought up), psuedo-necrophilia (no one is actually dead), autonecrophilia (again, no one is dead), ice baths, slightly unsafe kink practices (because corey has no idea what he's doing), heavy mentions of suicide and past suicidal ideation. dead dove; do not eat.

divider by @/firefly-graphics.

“I wanna try something,” Corey says, keeping his eyes on the outdated TV set at the foot of the motel bed while it crackles with static; a fierce wind outside meddling with the reception.

They’d been on the road for a few days, sleeping in the truck on the side of the road when they had to, and never for long. Lucky for them, there was only one attendant at the last gas station they stopped at, and it wasn’t difficult to clear out the till. Corey found he could be rather persuasive these days, particularly with Michael’s fear-inducing presence close by. Even without the mask – or, perhaps, especially without the mask, Michael was a cutting figure. The kind of man people trip over themselves to avoid. Either way, they had enough cash for a night in a motel, maybe even two if they found somewhere cheap enough.

Michael, doesn’t say anything, but his head tilts minutely in Corey’s direction from where he had been focused on the staticky TV screen, showing his apparent attention.

“Like…” Corey thinks of how to word it in a way Michael will understand. “Like play-pretend.”

Once again, no response, but he knows Michael is listening. He leans up on his elbows from where he was reclined beside the older man. “Play-pretend where you’re the killer, and I get to be the corpse.”

Corey had thought a lot about being dead. After the accident, they’d put him on anti-anxiety meds. His psychiatrist said he wasn’t coping. There’s talk of adding antidepressants to his prescription, but when he doesn’t talk much in his sessions, they’re worried it’ll do more harm than good. He overhears his psychiatrist telling Momma to keep an eye on him. Six months later and momma had got sick of all this psychology talk – “You’re fine, Corey. These doctors, they don’t know what they’re talking about, trying to dose you up with God-knows-what and putting silly ideas in your head. It’s hurting you, Corey. Now, listen to your mother, I know what’s best for you.” – and stopped paying for his refills.

He'd stopped taking them anyway, leaving the half-full orange pill bottle to gather dust at the back of the bathroom cabinet. They’d never helped his nerves, even when things were at their worst. Besides the therapy appointments, he didn’t leave the house for months. Not with the way people stared at him, the way they shouted at him across parking lots and while he waited in line with Momma at the grocery store. She warded most of them off, but it didn’t change anything. The acquittal had stopped him going to jail, but he was already damned.

The first time he went back to the Allen house was on Halloween. The surviving Allens had abandoned it after the trial; Corey wasn’t sure where they’d moved to, but he somehow knew they were still in Haddonfield. It had been a whole year since Jeremy had died and nothing had changed, Corey’s blood pumped through his veins so harshly he could hear it in his ears, just like he had that night. The house is empty, stripped of everything bar the piano in the front room and some clothes hangers in the closets. Corey checked every room, he didn’t know what for, until he got to the attic. That was the first time he tried.

By no means the first time he’d thought about it, though. No, he’d been thinking about it. He’d spent a disturbing amount of time thinking about it. But as he climbed over the railing, looking between his sneakers at the long drop and sudden stop, he really thinks he could do it. He thinks about it for a long time, but his fingers never loosen their grip on the banister and his feet stay planted between the spindles.

It happens more often than Corey knows is normal. He goes to the Allen house and climbs over the third-floor railing and looks down. He wonders how many times it’ll take until one day he just lets go. Not that it matters, he thinks. Falling would just be the final nail in the coffin; he feels as good as dead already. A cold, empty body in a cold, empty house.

When he gets home afterwards, he always uses the back door. He has every creaky floorboard memorised, and he’s almost silent as he passes Momma and Ronald’s room. She never even notices he’s missing; he knows she doesn’t because if she did there’d be bars on his windows and a new lock on the back door before he even woke up in the morning.

That all seems so long ago. These days, he’s never felt more alive. The longing he once had has been replaced with a sick curiosity to have just a taste of what he had wanted so badly back then.

Corey shivers as soon as he steps into the tub, full to the brim with cold water and ice that he had to run out to the icebox for.

Michael watches from the bathroom doorway, arms relaxed by his sides, as though Corey trying to freeze himself into a corpse is nothing out of the ordinary.

The shower curtain isn’t pulled over, and displaced water and chunks of ice spill over the side of the bath, splashing and skidding across the cracked tile floor when Corey lowers himself into the makeshift ice bath, wincing when his balls tighten as he submerges himself. Corey sinks down further, up to his shoulders and a shocked gasp leaves him, making it sound like he’s been winded. His muscles start to spasm as his body tries to maintain its own heat.

There’s a cup of ice sweating away on the counter next to the sink. Corey tips some into his mouth and rolls it around with his tongue, pressing another ice cube to his lips until it hurts, then keeps it there longer still.

He doesn’t think it’ll work but he props a leg up on the edge of the tub and shoves an ice cube up himself. He’s already slick with Vaseline, having prepped himself in bed while Michael sat and watched Jeopardy. Now the ice surrounding him was nothing compared to how cold his fucking insides suddenly felt. Corey cringes, his hips bucking as he clenches around the uncomfortable intrusion. He crunches on the ice in his mouth to distract himself. “Have to wait for it to melt inside,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

Michal watches with that faint sort of fascination he has for most things which he does not personally understand, yet are intriguing enough for him to consider.

While they wait, Corey grips the rim of the bath, fingers sore with cold-cramp. How did he get here? Jumping from the top storey. Overdosing on his meds. Slitting his wrists with Laurie’s knife. Hanging himself by the belt he’d stopped wearing. No, no. Those days are long gone. Now he’d just use Michael. “How did you kill me?” Corey asks.

Michael is silent. His head dips slightly, like he’s looking the younger man up and down. He approaches, crossing the small room in two strides, before crouching next to the tub. Reaching out, his good hand circles Corey’s throat, finger and thumb pressing ominously on either side of Corey’s windpipe. Strangulation, Michael is saying. Corey should have guessed.

Corey closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, the hand on his throat is gone and Michael has retreated back to the doorway.

It’s impossible to keep track of time like this. Hours could have passed and Corey wouldn’t be able to tell. Corey’s teeth are chattering hard and when he chances a peek at the clock, he manages to let out a shaky breath. Times up. With quaking arms, he lifts himself out of the water. Dripping onto the already-wet tile. As he stands there shivering, he glances over at Michael, still stood watch stoically.

Without a word, which is no surprise, Michael keeps an arm’s length away from him and hands him one of the scratchy motel towels. Corey pats himself dry, not wanting to heat up too quickly when they haven’t even started yet. Catching sight of himself in the vanity mirror shocks him more than he thought it would. He’s pale, sickly pale, and there’s a blue hue on his lips. Every inch of him is devoid of life.

Michael’s playing ‘killer’, isn’t he, so the mask stays on this time. He closes the gap between the two of them, blackened eye holes bore into Corey. Michael's come closer to killing Corey than this, but Corey never had the chance to really play the role of ‘corpse’ then.

There’s a voice in the back of Corey’s head that says they should probably talk about this before they go any further, but before he can indulge or deny that voice, Michael wraps his hands arounds his waist and heft him into a fireman’s lift.

Oh fuck. Michael’s weathered and scarred skin feels white hot against Corey’s, his heart pounds and he doesn’t know if it’s because he wants this so fucking bad or because his body temperature has dropped so much his heartrate is working overtime. Like a ragdoll, Corey doesn’t react when Michael tosses him onto the bed, or when he spreads his legs obscenely wide.

Thick fingers dip into the Vaseline and then into Corey, almost burning hot, replacing what might have been washed away in the bath. Corey breaths shallowly, past the point of shivering now that a dense numbness has settled in his limbs.

It’s more difficult than Corey expects, pretending to be dead. He wants so badly to whimper, to moan when Michael pushes his unreasonably big cock into him. To rock his hips up to meet Michael’s. To press his blueing lips to the rotten latex of the mask. But he forces himself to be still, to make himself go limp. Michael has always been able to manhandle him, but he feels so much more vulnerable when he can’t resist. Or assist, is more like it, he thinks.

He’s used to the stretch by now, but the intensity remains each and every time. Very rarely does Corey wish Michael spoke, but right now he desperately wants to know if his insides feel as deathly cold as his outsides. If Michael’s cock is really that searing of if he’s just forgotten what warm flesh feels like.

Corey tries to suppress a moan, but the sound still rumbles in his throat and slips from his slackened mouth. Michael’s hand comes up, clamps over Corey’s cold lips and squeezes just the right side of too tight. He holds the pressure for a moment before letting go – Be quiet, you’re supposed to be dead, the gesture warns.

Corey does as he’s told. It comes as a surprise when he feels himself get hard, he’d thought he couldn’t with how cold he is, his blood vessels must have closed off, right? Freezing right down to the bone it feels like. Although corpses can stay hard, if that’s how they died, Corey thinks.

As he stares at the ceiling and lets his eyes lose focus even more, Corey’s mind wanders back to the sewer. Thinks about the day he woke up, dazed and scared, and how Michael could have killed him. Could have squeezed the life out of him and fucked him while he was still warm. Or saved him for later when he’d be cold, just like he is now, only better.

He wishes he could see what he looked like from the outside. Wants to know how depraved and disgusting they look as Michael ploughs his prone form, ice cold to the touch and unable to stop himself being defiled. His limbs really do feel stiff from the cold, and he really doesn’t think he could stop Michael even if he wanted to. That mindless bliss he feels when he can just lie there and take it is heightened by the thought of him being like this forever, his skin getting colder and his eyes clouding grey with death and Michael’s cock rocking him into an endless sleep –

Abruptly, Michael pulls out and Corey wonders what’s happening, wonders if Michael’s suddenly decided he’s not into it, before he’s flipped over. His arm is trapped at an uncomfortable angle beneath him, but he doesn’t readjust, just waits until Michael forces himself back in, half-pulling Corey back onto his cock. The rough material of Michael’s coveralls – because he is the killer, right now, not the man – chafes Corey’s freezing thighs.

Corey’s twisted arm brushes against his own cock with each thrust. It takes everything in him not to react, not to move his arm just a little so he can grasp himself with an icy hand. He resists the temptation, after all, he’s dead, isn’t he? Mind long gone and nothing useful left of him except a cold, tight hole.

Being dead feels so mind numbingly good. So, so much better than he ever imagined. Even at his worst, even when he cried himself to sleep every night. He’s so fucking glad he waited – no, that’s a lie – he’s so fucking glad he never had the guts to do it. Because if he’d offed himself back then, his body would have gone to waste.

Getting bored, or maybe Corey just makes such a pretty corpse that he should be face up, Michael flips him back over, and Corey’s gaze briefly refocus on the ceiling once again, his mouth open and wanting. The thrusts get harsher, Michael is ruthless as the best of times, and Corey certainly isn’t going to break the moment to complain. He chokes back a moan, his leg twitching involuntarily when Michael’s hips smash against his in a final moment of primal desire.

Corey comes untouched, as soon he feels the explosion of heat inside him from Michael’s own release. If anything can bring him back to life, it’s Michael.

He blinks slowly; a long, slow breath rattles his chest.

“If you fucked me like that afterwards, I really would let you kill me,” Corey says, from the cocoon of blankets he’s swaddled himself in.

The friction and exertion from their fucking had warmed him up a little by the end, but then he’d started shivering again and realised he should probably do something about it.

Michael is sat beside him on the bed, leaning against the headboard, when he turns to face Corey properly. The mask sits between them.

Whether you let me or not, I’ll do it one day, Michael is saying. And Corey knows it.

#corey cunningham #michael myers #corey cunningham x michael myers #cunningmyers #but i promise no one is actually dead #i'm sorry for all of this. well mostly sorry. a little bit sorry.#inspired partly by a line in the song sacrasm by get scared #title is from type o negative of course #disclaimer: i dont think either of them are actually *into* n/cro. but corey is trying to process some old feelings --#-- and michael doesnt have a lot of se/xual preferences. so he is willing (sometimes) to indulge corey's weirder ones #something something even if he was dead he'd want michael to want him

16 notes · View notes

shutupandplayasong · 2 years

Text

Cobra Kai headcanons

Not x reader. Just general headcanons I have for the main characters. Will probably do a part 2 for the adults and side characters

Tw for quite a bit of swearing.

Miguel:

The cursed child craves raisin cookies

Like. He just? Eats them? For fun???

This boy gets lost taking the trash out.

His sense of direction is so bad it makes his GPS cry

Kicks ass at arcade games like pinball or pacman

Could fall asleep in the bed of a moving truck he doesn't care. When he's tired, he. is. tired.

Eli:

Im splitting up Eli and Hawk so this might end up janky oops

I feel like he'd have an emotional support dog? Especially before he joined CK

I'm picturing a doofy lil corgi. Probably named Nemo or Yoshi or something cute like that

When he was a kid he'd BEG his mom for a little sister. He's still lowkey disappointed he never got one.

His most "embarrassing" secret? He wants to see snow.

He was born and raised in California so he's never seen snow in real life and he desperately wants to. Straight up dreams of it

It'd be like one of those viral husky videos where he's sitting in the middle of a blizzard, caked in ice and when you ask if he wants to come inside he'd just be like "nah"

He'd never admit it though. He thinks it sounds childish.

Hawk:

He obviously talks a big game and acts tough but if there's one thing that'll make him scream like a little girl it's gonna be rats

Like just the word "rat" makes him gag

Paints his nails. He's actually pretty good at it

For sure tried "guy liner" once but Johnny told him it wasn't badass :/

The most agro backseat driver but if you pull that shit with him he'll cry

Demetri:

Secret brony

Definitely had a FNAF phase

Oh and Undertale

Very big into ARGs. Like the Mandela Catalogue or Daisy Brown

LOVES those low-budget, made-for-TV Sci-fi movies.

Forget camp. This boy wants garbage.

Can't drive for shit

You're telling me Demetri went to the Halloween dance in a serious costume?

Blasphemy.

He is too lanky and too ironic to not go as Mr. Noodle or something stupid like that

The neediest, whiniest, most annoying patient when he is sick/injured. He takes full advantage.

He pinches his finger in a drawer and he's not lifting a hand the rest of the day. You pick up the remote.

Gives me "weird double jointed kid" vibes

"Hey did I show you I can flip my foot backwards?"

"Yes. 37 times."

"Well lemme show you again just in case"

Robby:

Also paints his nails but does a much messier job of it

Left handed

I feel like he has a knack for learning new languages

Can turn anything into a 5 star meal

Give him cheerios, clamato juice and a single banana and he'll make it work.

Unlike Miguel and Demetri, this boy never gets lost and is the calmest, safest driver you could travel with

Why do I have driving headcanons for everyone wtf

Very good at board games

OH HE FOR SURE HAD A MAGICIAN PHASE

Sam:

You wouldn't guess it but she can kick anyone's ass at any videogame

Likes cosplay

Idk I just feel like her character is a lot dorkier than the show portrays?

Very wimpy driver. She just let's everyone cut her off and she'll apologize?

Theater kid energy

The biggest horsegirl

Tory:

She's a reformed horsegirl, thank you very much 😒

Definitely listens to Twenty One Pilots. You decide if that's a good or bad thing.

Look me in the eyes and tell me she wasn't into that whole Jeff The Killer/creepypasta craze

Straight up making creepypasta roleplay quizzes on Quotev

Is the one cutting people off on the road

Very much into soap operas. She watches them with her mom :)

She also watches cartoons with her little brother or plays pretend with him when her schedule allows it

Wants to move to Europe when she's an adult. I'm thinking Italy or Spain?

Aisha:

Ultimate plant mom

She gives me "Christmas is my favorite holiday" vibes but like. Tastefully.

Will nag her friends to drink water and go to bed on time but can not and will not take her own advice

Obligatory mini-van friend.

Best driver, just behind Robby.

I'm so mad she and Demetri didn't have any screen time together. I just know they'd be best friends.

Oh and Moon. I feel like they'd bond over journaling and crystals and stuff

Oh what I'd give for a spin off show about Demetri, Aisha and Moon.

Demetri, the pessimistic geek on one end of the spectrum. Moon, the wholesome, patient, optimistic hippie on the other end. And Aisha right in the middle. I don't know how it works but it just does for me.

Back on track. She has her own Etsy jewelry shop

Likes to feed stray cats <3

#cobra kai #cobra kai headcanons #miguel diaz #eli moskowitz #hawk moskowitz #demetri cobra kai #demetri alexopoulos #robby keene #robby lawrence #sam larusso #samantha larusso #tory nichols #aisha robinson #a vck original

137 notes · View notes

the-iceni-bitch · 3 years

Text

Killing Floor

Pairing: dark!Mr. Freezy x dark!fem!Reader

Words: 4389

Summary: You run into Robert Pronge one night and end up tangled in a scheme together.

Warnings: DARK so, so dark, please do not read if these type of fics upset you! non-con (erring on the safe side), dub-con (for sure), very graphic violence (m to f and f to m), death, gore, explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, hate-fucking, cavalier use of a handgun), SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: My first dark fic! It got away from me for sure but I enjoyed it. Please, please be mindful of the content you are consuming though, this could very easily be upsetting! Because of this, I’m only gonna tag my fellow Freezy hoes here, as I haven’t updated my taglist doc to include dark!Fics.

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!

You eyed the Mr. Freezy truck warily as you carried your garbage to the dumpster behind your apartment building. This was the third time this week you had seen it outside your place, and it was setting you on edge. There were hardly any kids in your neighborhood, so you didn’t know why it was hanging out here.

You cursed under your breath as the truck moved to the mouth of the alley, blocking your exit. You pressed your back to the wall behind the dumpster, right as a man exited into the alleyway from the bar underneath your place to smoke a cigarette.

A massive man in a white uniform stepped out of the back of the ice cream truck and walked towards the smoker, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves as he made his approach. He asked him for a cigarette before pulling a silenced pistol out of his jacket and shooting his target three times in the chest.

You schooled your breathing as you watched him drag the body to the back of his truck, trying to remain as still as possible. He stormed back into the alley to search for the shell casings, turning his back to you as he collected them.

Your legs were starting to cramp from your crouched position, and as hard as you were trying to stay still, it was getting difficult. You tried shifting your foot, but your ankle rolled in your heels and you let out a hiss. The killer straightened up suddenly at the sound, cocking his head as he turned toward you with a sneer on his face.

“Is that a little kitty I hear?” He jeered as he walked toward you, his voice thick with a Boston accent.

You stood up from your hiding place, preparing to make a run for it. He saw you tense up and lunged at you, wrapping a massive hand around your throat and pinning you against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs and cracking your skull against the bricks.

“Nice try, sweetheart, but I can’t let you go just yet.” He pressed his body against yours to pin you, his other hand brushing his stringy hair from in front of his glasses. “You have got horrible timing. To think I almost got out of here without getting a look at you, kitten.”

You just glared him as he moved his hand down from your throat to dip inside your blouse, grinning as he pawed at you as he buried his face in your shoulder, grinding his crotch into you.

“Think I’m gonna have a little fun with you before I let you go. You’re being so good and quiet.” He panted against your neck. Suddenly he stilled and drew his face up to look you in the eyes. “Why haven’t you called for help?”

He had relaxed just enough to allow you to move and you drove your knee between his legs at the same time you shoved your hand into his jacket and drew out his pistol, whipping it across his face and sending him sprawling.

“You cunt!” He spat, bloody spittle flying from the corners of his mouth as he moved to charge you again, stopping short when you pressed his gun to his temple. “Oh, you stupid little bitch.”

“I’m the stupid bitch?” You growled at him. “You wanna tell me what the fuck a Gambino hitman is doing so far outside of their territory?”

“Shit.” He hissed between his teeth as he eyed you warily. “You’re with the Genoveses?”

“That’s right.” You said, drawing back the hammer on the pistol. “Now answer my question.”

“Alright, alright!” He raised his hands in supplication, showing you his palms. “Fella in my truck has a father who owes Marks a good chunk of change, and y’know, he needed a little incentive to pay off his debt.”

“Marks gave you the ok to take out this hit? The mans getting bold.” You snorted, releasing the hammer as you pulled the gun back. “Lucky for you, I feel like leaving this to the bosses to figure out. Get the fuck out of here.” He stood up warily and reached for his gun, which you pulled back with a tut. “No, I’m gonna hold onto this for now. Maybe I’ll give it back later.”

Mr. Freezy growled as he brushed off his uniform and stalked back to his truck, grumbling under his breath the whole time. You just winked at him as he drove away, heading back up to your apartment to call this in.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

You saw him again 2 weeks later at a sit-down. Marks came to make amends to your boss for overstepping, hoping to find someway show his remorse for sending his man into the Family’s territory without permission. You were perched on a stool in the back of the room when the two men entered, and a small smirk teased your lips.

Lombardo liked bringing you to meetings as a distraction. Most of his comrades assumed you were there for eye candy, just the latest piece of tail the boss was wetting his dick in, too stupid to care about. But the real reason he kept you around was for protection. He loved the look of surprise that came over his enemies’ faces when you pulled out your garrot.

“Great to see you Leo!” Lombardo said warmly, moving to give the man a kiss on each cheek before sinking into his chair, gesturing for Marks to join him. “Y/N, grab us some wine sweetheart. Does your man want any?”

“No, I don’t like my men drinking while they work.”

You moved to open the wine when a massive palm wrapped around your upper arm.

“This is the bitch I told you about, boss.” The killer seethed as he wrenched you around viciously.

“The fuck are you doing, Pronge?” Marks hissed, giving you a chance to grab the corkscrew and press it to Robert’s throat. “Benny, I apologize for my man’s behavior, he’s been foaming at the mouth about some broad getting the best of him and it’s made him a little erratic.”

Lombardo just laughed as Pronge released you with a duck of his head. You kept the corkscrew where it was, watching a thin trickle of blood run down his neck.

“Let him go, Y/N.” He said with a wave of his hand, and you moved to open the wine, pouring two glasses and bringing them over to the seated men. “My girl has a tendency to elicit that type of reaction. It’s one of the reasons I keep her around!” He gave you a pat on the ass as you headed back to your stool, your eyes trained on Robert Pronge.

He was glowering at you maliciously as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his forearms flexing as he clenched his fists. You heard him growl from deep in his chest when you gave him a conspiratorial wink.

“You see my problem Leo, we can’t have Gambinos moving through our territory with impunity, as much as we can sympathize with the need to collect a debt. Fortunately for you, the boss is still soft on you fellas, so we’ve come up with a solution I think will work for everyone.”

“Ah, Benny, I can’t tell you how happy that makes me! Of course, whatever you need.”

“Excellent! We’ve got a little problem with one of Big Mike’s nephews. The kids an idiot and has been making some waves that are making it increasingly difficult to manage our operations, I’m sure you know the type.”

“There’s one in every family.” Marks said with a shake of his head.

“That there is. Anyways, Funzi wants us to deal with the kid under the radar. I’d normally send in Y/N on her own to take care of it, but as great as she is, the kid is surrounded by morons all the time. We also have a disposal problem. Funzi wants to make it seem like the kid ran off with some bitch, hopefully avoid a war, and we’ve heard that your man Pronge here is a disposal expert.”

“Oh, fuck no!” Pronge exclaimed. “I’m not working with this cunt!”

“You’ll do what I order you to do, or I’ll fucking end you, now shut the fuck up!” Marks roared at Robert, making him wince as he leaned back against the wall. “He’ll do it.”

“Glad to hear it.” Benny murmured, his nostrils flaring in anger as he gave you the signal to relax. “Let’s drink to our friendship while we let these two hash out the details.”

You stood up from your stool with a deep sigh as you moved towards your new partner. The man looked like he wanted to murder you, and you just gave him a wicked grin. He seemed to relax as you went over the plan with him, not really offering any notes, just grunting in acknowledgement as his eyes roamed over your body. You managed to come to a grudging agreement and made plans to meet in two days to carry everything out.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

You had been waiting outside the club for 10 minutes when Pronge finally parked his sedan across the street. He leered as he walked towards you, eyes drinking you in. You looked extremely different than the last time he saw you, relaxed in a flowing dress that stopped mid-thigh and plunged almost all the way down to your navel.

“You always dress like a whore on the job?” He grumbled as the two of you headed to the entrance.

“Sure. You always dress like a clown?” You asked, wincing at the painful pattern on his shirt.

“Fucking bitch.” He muttered under his breath, not quite low enough that you couldn’t hear him.

“That’s right.” You said, your eyes roaming around the club as you looked for your man. “There he is.”

There was a group of young men in a booth at the back. The leader bent to snort a line of coke off the table before screaming for more drinks.

“What a fucking moron.” Pronge said from directly behind you. You could feel the suffocating heat of his body against your back as you stretched your neck. You sensed his eyes boring into you, searing over your bare flesh.

“Wait for my signal.” You muttered as you moved towards the dance floor, winding your way through the crowd smoothly until you positioned yourself in front of the mark’s table.

Pronge moved around the edge of the dancefloor as he kept an eye on you, you even danced like a slut. Your eyes were fixed on the mark as you gyrated to the music. It didn’t take long for the idiot to notice you. Your hands wandered all over your body as you swayed drunkenly, tracing the curves of your breasts and running over your neck languidly before dropping to your hips and teasing the hem of your skirt higher on your thighs.

He felt his dick starting to get hard as he watched you move, fighting the urge to pull you into an alley and fuck you until you couldn’t talk. His bitch wife had been refusing to put out for months, but ever since he first saw you in that alley, you’re all he could think about. He just wanted to shove his cock in that smart mouth of yours and shut you up for good. He had dreams about wrapping his hands around your throat as he ruined your pussy, marking your tits with his teeth as he split you open.

Fuck, he was so hard it hurt. He did his best to school his thoughts as he watched the mark move to join you. He felt himself tense as he watched the moron slot himself behind you and grind against your ass. His hands roamed over your torso until he was cupping your breasts, squeezing them softly as you dropped your head back against his shoulder with a moan, arching into his grasp.

Robert lost his patience and stormed towards the bathroom, slamming the door open as he strode inside. His did his best to control his breathing as he checked the stalls for occupants. He heard your laugh coming from the corridor and he scrambled to conceal himself, perching on top of a toilet and closing the stall door as you entered the bathroom.

You were giggling breathlessly as the idiot mouthed at your neck. He ripped the sleeves of your dress down your arms until your tits were exposed, and you sighed as your nipples pebbled in the air. Your mark bent to run his mouth over your chest sloppily as he fumbled with his belt.

Pronge lowered himself to the floor gingerly, splaying his palm on the stall door and pushing it open slowly. Your eyes shot open and did your best to swallow a hiss. Something must have tipped off the mark, because he straightened suddenly and turned around.

You growled at Robert and wrapped your arms around the mark’s neck before he had a chance to raise the alarm, squeezing hard enough that his oxygen was cut off. Your eyes bored into his as you choked the man, bringing him to his knees as you crouched behind him, your body curled tightly around his. Pronge’s cock was pressing painfully against the front of his pants as he watched you work. Your dress gathered around your waist and your makeup smeared all over your face as the muscles in your arms strained with the effort of strangling the man.

He finally stopped fighting you, and you moved to grip his head at crown and chin before wrenching your arms in two different directions, snapping his neck. You dropped the body to the floor and stood slowly to glare at Pronge, your nostrils flaring.

“You’re supposed to be in the alley.” You seethed as you pulled your dress back over your shoulders, moving to check the hall for any alarm.

“You moved faster than I was expecting.” He hissed, climbing one of the toilets to open the small window to the alley. He gripped a pipe running over the ceiling and lifted himself up enough to shove his legs through. He moved his hands to brace against the sill as he slid through the narrow opening, his broad shoulders just barely able to fit through the frame. He dropped into the alley and looked around, ensuring there were no witnesses.

It was only a few seconds before you were shoving the body through the window for Pronge to catch. He couldn’t deny he was impressed. You were stronger than you looked to be able to lift all that dead weight through a window 8 feet off the ground. He caught it easily and hauled it to the Mr. Freezy truck, shoving it in the back before moving back to the window.

He came back to find you with your legs dangling from the window as you slid through. You dropped softly on the balls of your feet, being careful not to roll your ankles as you landed in your stilettos.

Robert was leering as you strutted past him, your hips swaying suggestively as you made your way to the truck, wrenching open the doors and stepping inside. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, pulling out slowly as you worked to wrap the body in plastic sheeting.

The two of you reached the warehouse in a little under an hour. Robert backed the truck into the loading bay and threw it in park before moving around to open the dock doors. He opened the back doors of the truck and tossed the body over his shoulder as you stepped out.

“Just head straight through.” He instructed you. You gave him a nod over your shoulder as you headed in. He grinned wickedly to himself as he watched your ass swinging back and forth in those heels, moving to follow you.

You found the old slaughterhouse easily and lowered a hook over the drain in the floor as he came to stand behind you, close enough that he had you on edge.

Once the hook was low enough, you moved forward in tandem. You ripped the plastic sheeting off the body as Pronge moved to wrap the hook and chain around the ankles. Once everything was secure, you stepped back to raise the chain.

Robert was still watching like a hawk. You did your best to ignore his eyes on you as you stood with one hip cocked, one heel tapping impatiently on the slanted floor.

Once it was at the required height, you stepped forward to drain the body without an ounce of hesitation, pulling a hunting knife out of your bag.

He growled from deep in his chest as he watched you work, leaned against the railing surrounding the killing floor, his cock starting to harden again as you stepped back, wiping your blade on a handkerchief.

“Almost forgot, Pronge.” You said, digging your hand in your purse and pulling out a pistol. You grinned at the panic on his face before flipping the gun in your hand so the grip was pointed at him. “This is yours.”

He took it from you warily and shoved it into the waist of his slacks, eyes still boring into you as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

“We’ve got some time to kill sweetheart.” He murmured as you moved to walk past him, heading back towards the loading bay.

Just like that he was on you, one giant hand wrapping around your throat as he slammed you against the wall, your head cracking against the concrete and your teeth snapping together painfully. You brought your knife up whip fast and pressed it to his throat at the same time he drew the gun from his waistband and pressed it to your abdomen.

“You’re just turning me on even more, kitten.” He leered at you, slipping the gun down the curve of your hip and drawing the hem of your skirt up your thigh with the barrel. He brushed the edge of his hand against your panties, groaning at how soaked you were.

He brought his other hand down and shredded the thin fabric easily, tucking the ruins in his back pocket before digging his fingers into your hip, gripping you hard enough to draw bruises. He sneered at you as he slipped the gun between your legs, running the barrel between your folds and teasing it against your clit, making you arch into him with a hiss.

“God, what a fucking slut you are.” He chuckled as he slipped the cool metal over your sex, your arousal soaking the steel as you writhed against it. “Acting so stuck up, and here this cunt is begging for me. Maybe I should fuck you with my gun, would you like that?”

He pressed the tip of the barrel against your entrance and you spat in his face, pressing the knife further into his neck and giving a mock sound of sympathy as a drop of blood welled at the tip.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, fucker.” You ordered him, grinding yourself into the steel as another round of arousal seeped from your pussy as it clenched around nothing.

“Oho, you bitch. I’m gonna fucking ruin you.” He growled menacingly at you as you slipped your hand under the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one at a time at an agonizing pace as you kept your blade trained on his jugular.

“Promises, promises.” You tutted, the coil in your abdomen growing tighter and tighter as you dug your nails into Robert’s chest, drawing a moan from deep in his throat.

He pressed the gun against your clit violently and grinned as you fell apart. Your legs trembled as you release gushed over the now-warm steel. You bit your lip as you gave a low moan, your cunt fluttering as came down from your high.

“That’s right, whore.” He withdrew the gun from between your legs and brought it up to his face, running his tongue over the barrel and moaning at the taste of you. He tossed the weapon aside carelessly before bringing his hands up to wrench the sleeves of your dress over your shoulders, until it was pooled around your ankles.

“Just fucking look at that.” He murmured as his eyes raked over you. “No wonder the Genoveses keep you a secret.”

He brought one hand to dig painfully into your breast as his other slipped between your thighs. You removed the knife from his neck before slashing it across his chest in a quick motion, making him hiss as you ducked your head to drag your tongue over the wound, moaning as the metallic taste of his blood hit your tongue.

His backhand sent your sprawling, your teeth cutting the inside of your cheek as the knife flew out of your hand. You laughed darkly as you straightened back up, spitting the blood out of your mouth as you watched him strip off his clothes.

“I’m gonna split you open and break you apart, cunt.” He spat as he stalked towards you. His body had an air of menace about it, thick corded muscles stretched over his frame that was covered in scars. “And you’re gonna fucking thank me.”

You groaned as he pounced on you, his mouth moving to trace your breasts hungrily as his fingers dug into the small of your back. You sucked in a harsh breath and wrapped your fingers in his hair painfully as you felt him sink his teeth into you and he moaned into your soft flesh. He moved his teeth over your tits in a vicious trail, marking you with them.

“Fuck.” You hissed as a particularly deep bite had him drawing blood.

He wrenched himself up to glare at you and wrapped his hand around your throat tight enough that it was cutting off your oxygen.

“I don’t wanna hear another word out of that mouth of yours.” He growled, pressing you against the wall again. “I’d shut you up with my cock, but I wanna wreck that hole between your legs first.”

He slapped his swollen tip against your pussy once before spearing into you. He grinned wolfishly as he felt your throat vibrating under his hand and he bent to scrape his teeth over your jaw.

“God, this whore pussy is so fucking tight.” He growled into your ear. “You’re squeezing me so hard, you gonna cum already?”

He felt you stiffen for a beat and then you were quivering around him, a thin whine escaping from your tightened throat as you raked your fingers down the muscles of his back, drawing deep gauges with your nails.

He slammed your head against the wall hard enough to draw blood as your release seeped over his cock, leaking down the inside of your thighs as you fought the urge to pass out.

Robert released you suddenly, his hand leaving your throat as he pulled out. You only had a second to suck in a breath as he spun you around, tilting your hips just a bit before slamming into you again. You pressed your cheek against the wall as he plunged into you brutally.

You let out a series of small whimpers as he pinched your nipples harshly, tugging at them and pulling your tits away from your body. You fought the urge to yelp when he slapped them, making your pussy clamp down on his cock as he fucked into you.

“What a good little slut you are.” He hissed in against your hair, smearing his face through the blood seeping from your head wound. “Yeah, you love the feel of my big fucking cock inside you?”

The only answer you could give was a low moan, followed by a gasp as he wrapped a hand around to pinch your clit.

“That’s right bitch, cream all over me. God you’re fucking cock drunk, aren’t you?”

You just whined as he tweaked your clit one more time and you came apart, your legs giving out. Robert wrapped a hand around your thigh and drew it up to pin against your waist as your body quivered against him, your pussy milking his cock as your eyes rolled back in your head.

“Fuck.” He whispered as his cock twitched inside you and he sank his teeth into your shoulder as he came, blood welling into his mouth as you cried wordlessly and he shot his seed into you, coating your canal in thick hot ropes that seeped out over your thighs.

He kept fucking you through it until he started to soften, then shoved you against the wall violently, pulling away and spitting your blood out of his mouth.

He watched you closely as you turned around, doing his best to keep from hardening again as he looked at you. Your hips and thighs were covered in bruises that were sure to darken even more over the next few days. There was the trace of his hand over your neck that you were absentmindedly running your fingers over. The side of your face where he had slapped you was starting to swell, a shallow cut running along your cheekbone. Blood was leaking from the corner of your mouth and your chest was covered in angry bite marks, some of them bleeding.

You wiped your hand across your face as you stared back at him, wincing. He didn’t look any better. His chest was covered in deep scratches and claw marks, smeared with blood from the cut on his chest. A thin red trail was running down his neck from the shallow prick you had made under his chin. His face was smeared with your blood from where he had buried himself in your hair, and when he turned to collect his clothes, you admired the deep gauges you’d made in his back.

“That was something.” You murmured, catching your dress in mid-air as he tossed it at you. You flicked your head towards where the body was suspended and gave a deep sigh. “Where’s your bonesaw?”

A/N: Welp, I’m going to hell, but at least I’m taking you hoes with me!

Tags!

@stargazingfangirl18 @starlightcrystalline @ozarkthedog @drabblewithfrannybarnes @slothspaghettiwrites @sultrygoblin

591 notes · View notes

chrisevansgoodgirl · 3 years

Text

i could be yours, i could be your baby tonight, topple you down from your sky forty stories high

summary: sugar daddy series: robert pronge. your dad has a long list of interesting employees, robert being one. (very light sugar daddy, more so the beginning of the relationship bc you know, he’s a murderer and that’s complex to work around).

warnings: mentions of guns, murder, mentions of other murders. sexual content, vaginal, oral, bondage, choking, hair-pulling, spanking. daddy kink obviously. there is a questionable scene with a dub-con vibe going on, but not in the way you would expect.

pairing: robert pronge x reader

word count: about 11,100 (and don’t even as me why it’s so long. for nothing, let me tell you. and i had to cut out so much bc it was so long)

a/n: not a r*pist in this story bc i’m just kinda not interested in writing him that way. lana lyrics bc she’s the reason I even have a daddy kink, so.

a/n 2: @donutloverxo (I blame you that I feel any type of way about this man. to be perfectly honest, I actually think he’s very attractive. someone needs to help me, thanks.)

You never thought your first time was going to be some sweet, romantic scene that reminded you of any movies, but this…this was so far out of the realm of what you had thought was possible. You, a virgin—a complex matter in itself—were bent over the knees of who you presumed was a serial killer—right? What were the exact qualifications of that label?

Your skirt was the only thing you still had on. He’d torn your shirt off the second he got you in the bedroom, and you weren’t wearing a bra or panties. Your shoes had been lost along the way, in the huge struggle you were putting up, trying to stop him from taking you anywhere. One might have ended up outside the house.

He had bent you over his lap and then tied your hands together behind your back. You were furious but since he was obviously in control, you decided not to voice your displeasure. You were simply waiting, trying not to move, trying not to make too much noise.

He liked this. He liked making you wait for what he was going to do to you. Technically speaking, you weren’t exactly an innocent party in all of this. But still. Was there no grace given to the virgin who only ever had boyfriends that were too scared to touch her because of her father?

Apparently not.

He smacked you once and you yelped, surprised, stunned that he actually did it. He didn’t lift your skirt, maybe that was his way of not going too hard on you. It wasn’t like he was going to win any awards for chivalry, but it made you smile anyway. For a second. Only a second. Because what the fuck?

You never told him he could do this to you. He was incorrigible and you were regretting your attraction to him immediately. Anyone else who dreamed of touching you like this, who even thought it, usually ended up disappearing.

How had your father missed him? Oh, right, you were responsible for that, too. You’d been lying to him since you were three. It was all the practice you needed, and now there you were being spanked by a violent man who was much older than you. Perhaps you should write a cautionary tale to children everywhere. Perhaps you could start with the warning to be wary of all ice cream trucks.

You soon discovered that that first hit wasn’t hard at all, he had held back quite a bit. The second hit, even over the material draped over your ass, stung horribly. Your eyes watered, you cried out, and he had to hold you down because you were attempting to move off his lap.

He let you settle before the third hit, as if that was supposed to help. It didn’t make anything hurt any less, and it didn’t stop your burning skin. The skirt was no longer helping, it was just an added layer of irritation.

This happened several more times and it was clear what he wanted. However, you would not beg him to stop, you would not beg him for anything. Truly, he could fuck off and the second he tried you, you would tell him as much. You clamped your mouth shut through it all, not that you were quiet, but it was the only defiant measure you had left.

It wasn’t until you were breathless, body bent loosely over his lap, your face pressing into his leg for just an ounce of comfort, that he spoke. “You could always say you’re sorry, princess.”

It took you several seconds to gain control of your own body back enough that you could speak. “Daddy?”

“Yes, baby girl?”

“Fuck. You.”

He laughed and you had to try so hard not to shiver, it was honestly a terrifying sound. “Such a god damn brat. Who let you get this way, hmm? Doesn’t matter, I suppose, because you’re going to be taught a lot about manners and behaving with me.”

“And who’s going to teach you?” you prompted.

“I don’t have to behave—”

“Right, because you’re a man,” you interjected. “Because you’re sexist.”

“I can’t have this conversation again,” he huffed. “Stop being so god damn sensitive.”

“Me?” you shot back. “I’m sensitive?! You’re throwing a temper tantrum because I—”

“Shut up or I’ll gag you.”

You immediately fell silent, and he scoffed.

“Of course, the threat of not being able to talk is simply too much for you.”

That wasn’t necessarily sexist in nature, but you knew him well enough that you knew it was how he meant it. You were keeping track, and you would collect what was owed to you from having to deal with his antiquated stereotypes.

He spanked you at least a dozen more times. You had stopped counting the hits, but instead counted down from 100. It was anger control and the serious amount of brain cells it took you to be able to count backward in this state was a huge distraction from the pain.

You only felt his fingers touching you for a second before he shoved two of them inside you. You gasped, once again attempting to pull away from him, it was a stretch but not an unpleasant one. He set his free hand down on your back and pinned you there, pulling his fingers out almost completely before pushing them back in.

“Daddy,” you whined. You wanted to tell him to stop. What the fuck? After what he just did to you? He did not deserve to touch you like this.

“And just like the brat you are, you’re fucking wet. Because I was spanking you. Nice to know that that’s something you enjoy—”

“I don’t!”

He moved his hand away from your cunt and lifted you by your shoulders to toss you back on the bed. You hissed as soon as your ass hit the mattress, and you shifted to try to move some of your weight off it.

He leaned over the edge of the bed, face just inches above yours, blue eyes staring deep into yours. “Oh, baby girl…” He kissed your cheeks, which you hadn’t realized were wet from tears, but they were. “You took that so well.”

Really? You cried. It hurt like absolute hell, weren’t you supposed to enjoy it? You immediately felt overestimated, but it was nice to hear him finally praising you for a change. As opposed to his usual routine of telling you that you were too curious, that you talked too much, that you didn’t take your safety seriously.

“You sure you didn’t like it?”

“Well…” You weren’t too sure now. You were wet, so didn’t that mean that you did? And it was him…he would never hurt you too much. You knew that, even if you were currently furious with him for being such a fucking dick.

“We’ll try it again,” he decided. “Later. I promise I’ll be gentler, okay?”

It didn’t seem like there was any harm in that. Gentler, you

liked when he was gentle with you. It spoke to that slightly narcissistic part of your soul that responded to being treated well by him when you knew he was such a cruel man that wasn’t gentle with anyone else. You nodded. “Okay.”

He smirked as he moved to the closet, returning with more rope. It was red this time, the one around your wrists was black. Why did he have so much rope? The pictures of his wife didn’t give off the idea that she liked sex at all, let alone this type of sex.

“I don’t like being tied up,” you claimed. There was this twisting in your stomach. Maybe you had trust issues—it wasn’t as if they weren’t warranted here, with him.

He arched an eyebrow. “How would you know that?”

It wasn’t that he was wrong, per se, but you did not want to be tied up anymore. He’d already bound your hands; you couldn’t hit him. What else could he possibly tie up? You didn’t want to find out.

He climbed onto the bed and you tried your hardest to crawl back, but your stupid hands were digging into your back painfully. He grabbed one of your legs and yanked you down, closer to him. “You were just so good for me, don’t mess it up.”

See, no one knew you were here. Once again, a mistake made by the one and only you. Not even your friends. What kind of person was partaking in a physical relationship with a man like this and just didn’t say anything?

He folded your calf up to your thigh and started tying. You did not like where this seemed to be going. He did so with the opposite leg and then looked up at you. “Too tight?”

Honestly, no. You didn’t like it, but that wasn’t what he asked. You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

He leaned over you again, pants brushing against your wet pussy. His hair fell forward, onto your shoulders or the bed around you. “Still not sorry?”

“Not at all.”

He tsked. “And to think, I just went shopping for you. To show you how much I appreciate your patience, show you how much of a good girl you’ve been lately… And then you go and mess it all up.”

So, on the list of things you would never try again, attempting to break up with him was at the very top of the list. It wasn’t that you stopped being attracted to him, it was…well, it was a million and one complicated things.

Very simply, he was wrong, you were right.

This morning, after he picked you up and hadn’t said a word to you, you wanted to end it. You never wanted to see him again. Unfortunately, your emotions stopped you from realizing that was probably the last thing you should ever say to a man like him.

“What did you get me?”

“You wanna see?”

You nodded.

“I don’t know…” he pretended to think about it. He stared at you, eyes moving over your face, but nothing was given away in his expression. You’d come to realize that that never meant anything good.

“Are you going to fuck me, daddy?”

“Yes.”

You tried not to look too pleased with the answer, mostly because you knew he was going to make you work for it. But hell, this was what the fight was all about. This was two months of waiting for him to touch you, that was all you wanted at the end of the day.

“If you want to come, you better start behaving. Do you understand?”

You nodded.

“Speak,” he ordered. “When I ask you a question, you use words to answer me.”

You swallowed. “Yeah, I understand.”

“Okay, I have a couple of rules. First, you can’t say no to daddy.”

“I won’t.”

“Second, you keep your legs open for me. No matter what.”

No matter what… That made you feel a bit nervous, but were you going to argue in this position? “Okay, I will.”

He moved off you and to the closet.

You wondered if your father would blame himself. When, if, he found out, would he hate himself for suggesting that this man drive you to school? You remembered that day, and you didn’t blame him. No one ever could have guessed that any of this was going to happen.

You had been running late that morning, trying to sneak alcohol into your bag for you and your friends, and your dad was threatening to revoke your allowance if you were late for school again. You had pitched a fit after he’d told you about Mr. Freezy. The last thing you wanted was to show up to school every morning in an ice cream truck.

Dr. Henricks usually drove you on Mondays, but he was “missing”. Because your dad didn’t let you drive. You were a college student, possibly the only one your age who was able-bodied with access to a car, who didn’t know how to drive. Because, according to your father, it was dangerous.

Regardless, why they called Dr. Hendricks a doctor if all he did was drive you around was beyond you, and why he was “missing” was a mystery, too. You didn’t ask questions anymore; it wasn’t like you ever got any answers.

Mr. Freezy hadn’t been around too often before that day, but often enough that you remembered him. Another name that you hadn’t understood. When you were a child, you’d accepted that it was just because he was pretending to be an ice cream man. As you got older, you realized that most of them didn’t have names. He’d started showing up a lot more when you were 16, but you were long past sneaking around and trying to eavesdrop on your dad’s meetings at that point.

Your tantrum was silenced with your father’s credit card. You headed out with the task of convincing Mr. Freezy to take you and your friends shopping. You’d never spent more than a few minutes in the same room as him and never alone. You always took that to mean something—there were a few employees that your dad didn’t trust to leave you alone with. You’d always figured Mr. Freezy was one of them and his appearance seemed to be all the explanation you needed. Not that he was an unattractive man, but something was certainly off.

He was impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel until he noticed you coming. He hurried out and opened the door for you without a word. His long hair was loose today, the same ugly glasses on his alarmingly aesthetic face. The only time you saw him without was when he was wearing sunglasses. He always wore the loudest shirts, this time an orange floral pattern button-up, tucked into tight, dark pants. He liked showing off his body.

You clutched the strap over your shoulder nervously. “Were you promoted or demoted?”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve never had to drive me before. So, promoted or demoted?”

“Transporting your father’s most precious belonging? I’d assume promoted.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wow, I’m more important than drugs and other stolen expensive items?”

He shrugged a shoulder, gesturing to the seat. “Suppose. Not that I agree.”

You tried to hide your smile as you climbed in. “Thanks for the honesty.”

He gently closed the door and jogged back to the driver’s side.

You settled in the set, tossing your bag down. “Why does it smell like bleach in here?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” He started the truck and pointed to the house. “Say goodbye to your father.”

You turned to see him watching out the window. You waved, he smiled at you and did the same. Mr. Freezy was staring in the mirror as he backed out of the driveway. “So…are you picking me up, too?”

“Far as I know.”

“I need to go shopping after.”

“Nope, your father told me you try this shit with everyone.”

You pulled out the credit card. “Well, I threw a tantrum over you taking me to school, now I get to go shopping.”

He scoffed, looked purely delighted at the idea of you not liking this. “You don’t want me driving you?”

“Nothing personal, I just wanted to go shopping. So, you’re taking me and my friend after school is out.”

He sighed. “Is it gonna take long?”

“No,” you claimed. But you knew it was going to take as long as you wanted it to. No one rushed you, certainly not this guy. He wasn’t scary like some of the others.

He scoffed. “Right, because women don’t take hours shopping.”

“Don’t be sexist,” you warned. “Or I’ll tell my dad you’re not allowed to drive me. Promotion over before it started.”

“That’s not sexist, don’t be so sensitive.”

“Yes, it is,” you argued. “To place every single person of the same gender in a single category is sexist.”

“So, you’re not a bad driver?” he teased.

You glared. “That’s not funny.”

“You really don’t know how to drive? How old are you again?”

“Why? You wanna teach me?”

He scoffed. “That is not how this is gonna work, sweetheart. I do what your father says, not what you say. I’ve heard from your other drivers—the whole bratty routine isn’t going to work with me. I assume it helps that they also wanna do some pretty disgusting things to you, but—”

“Are you gay?”

He fell silent for a moment, turning to narrow his eyes at you. “What?”

“Everyone wants to fuck me,” you pointed out. “Either because they genuinely want to fuck me or because of some weird psychological hate they feel for my father that translates to wanting to fuck me. You just implied you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t imply—”

“So, you do?” You wouldn’t mind. All your father’s friends wanted to, sometimes it made things a lot easier. Not that you’d ever let any of his ugly, sleazy friends lay a hand on you, but you pretended you would. If they did this one thing for you, as you liked to claim while batting your eyelashes. Then, you let your father know they made you uncomfortable and they were gone.

“No. I said I didn’t imply that, and that’s because I didn’t get the chance to. Don’t interrupt people, it’s not cute. And don’t talk back to me, I won’t tolerate this attitude, you understand me? I’m the driver here. You irritate me, I’ll take you straight home.”

“So…are you going to be driving me from now on?”

“That’s how your father made it sound.”

“Do you know why?”

“Questions irritate me.”

“I guess they would irritate me too if I didn’t know the answers.”

“I never said I didn’t know.”

“This sounds like a demotion. You’re a chauffeur that’s left out of the loop.”

“Your other drivers are doing other shit.”

“More important shit,” you theorized.

“No, I’m doing the most important shit right now. They’re doing less important—you know what? Don’t try that again.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t try anything.”

“You think you’re real smart and you may be, but that’s not gonna get you any points with me.”

“Okay…what will get me points with you?”

“Behave. Do what I tell you to do. Stop with the questions.”

“Can I ask one more?”

“That was one more.”

“Please?”

He sighed. “Fine, ask, but I might not answer.”

“What should I call you?”

“Mr. Freezy.”

“I don’t want to call you that.”

“That’s what everyone calls me.”

“I don’t want to be ‘everyone’.”

“What do you want to be?”

You contemplated, then shrugged. “How about a friend?”

He snorted. “You wanna be my friend?”

“Why not?”

“You can call me Mr. Freezy,” he said again. “We’re not friends. I work for your father and that’s all this is. Call this strike one on your part. I hope your second attempt at getting me wrapped around your finger is going to be more creative.”

You did have quite a knack for that, it was why your father always had to switch out his “associates”. You were extremely amused by him thinking he was in some way immune. You had all sorts of charms and knew which ones to use to get every single man you’d ever encountered “wrapped around your finger”. He certainly wasn’t special.

“That your boyfriend?”

You glanced at the man behind the wheel before peering out the window. Your group of friends was already cracking up over your new means of transportation. Anne, whom you’d met on your first day in ballet class, was your best friend. Morgan, who was the newest addition, a transfer at the start of the semester but a seamless fit. Charlie, who would smack you if you called her Charlotte, was in your English class your first year and always seemed to want to drink. And yes, your boyfriend in question, Adrian.

“How do you know my boyfriend?”

“Your father has files on everyone you know. You had to know that.”

You huffed. “I didn’t know he made it a habit to show people… But yeah, that’s him.”

“Looks different.”

“Yeah, he’s changed a lot ever since my father started paying him.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Paying him?”

“To be a perfectly respectable boyfriend. He can’t get into trouble, including when he’s not with me. He also can’t give me alcohol or drugs, can’t do anything at all, ever. Not that it’s hard for him, he stopped liking me a long time ago, but doesn’t want to lose the money.”

He stopped the truck a few feet past your friends, turning to you. “Why are you with him, then?”

You pulled your bag off the floor. “Thank you for driving me, Mr. Freezy.”

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You’re not going to answer me?”

“We can trade answers.”

“You think you can bargain with me?”

You shrugged. “If you want to know.”

“I don’t, I was just making conversation.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you at 4.”

“Be punctual,” he directed. “Not a minute late, or I’m not taking you shopping.”

You didn’t stop pushing for his name, not until the day he said to you ‘call me Mr. Freezy or call me nothing’. You stopped speaking to him altogether and a mere four days later, he growled his name to you as you were getting out of the truck for school. Maybe then, it was Robert’s fault that this all happened.

He came back with a thin chain in his hand. You were only confused until you saw the clamps. He sat down next to you and dropped the chain on the bed, but you kept your gaze on his.

Your breath caught when you felt the smooth tip against your nipple. He glanced up at your face, checking to see if you were okay enough to continue. Apparently, you were since he let it close. It didn’t hurt. Or maybe it did, but you kind of liked that it was him doing it.

He closed the second one and then his fingertips trailed between your breasts down to the loop where the two chains connected, you felt it pull slightly as he continued to descend, and that was how you realized there was a third chain.

Wait… Oh. He pressed one of your thighs down firmly, a reminder. You can’t close your legs. You held your breath, you thought it would hurt less. As soon as the clamp took hold of your overly sensitive skin, you gasped.

“You’re okay.” He let his hand trail up, along your slit until he set his hand over your stomach. He kept you pressed down, watching your face, waiting for any protest.

This did hurt. You didn’t want to tell him that, though. He never seemed to care about anything if it didn’t match up with exactly what he wanted. Admittedly, you saw that tiny soft spot he had for you. You just didn’t want to test it, you wanted to delude yourself into believing that he would put you before himself. You hoped you’d never have to find out for sure.

You squirmed around on the bed.

“Don’t move.”

“It hurts.”

He hummed. “Yeah, that’s the point. Or do you not remember how we got here?”

Well, that certainly depended. He probably wasn’t referring to the first time you kissed him. He had been teaching you to drive. A few random mornings, he wouldn’t force you to go to school. He would drive you out far into the middle of nowhere, far enough that you should have been scared but you weren’t.

Since he knew that if you went home with as little as a bruise that your father would kill him, he always sat behind you in the driver’s seat. His legs were spread wide, you were nearly on the edge of the seat but sometimes you did manage to scoot back a little. He would move the gear shift for you, adjust your hands on the wheel, and tap your knee when he thought you were going too fast.

The morning, you could tell he was tense. See, you had noticed a pattern. Whenever you didn’t wear a bra, he didn’t force you to go to school. He took you out to learn to drive—it was getting old, and he promised he would bring you a real car to practice on eventually.

That morning, when the truck stopped, you asked a question that had been on your mind since that first day. “Do you kill people for my father?”

“You don’t ask people that.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been working for your father for how long?”

“I think…nine years.”

“So, you can assume I’m good at my job. You think that includes telling my business to every spoiled princess whose father I’m employed by? Theoretically, if I did and I told you that, I might have to kill you then to keep that level of quality work. Correct?”

“I guess so.”

“So, tell me that you know that was a stupid question that you’re not going to ask me or anyone else ever again.”

“Okay…it was a stupid question.”

“And?”

“I won’t ask you or anyone else.”

“Jesus, you wanna end up dismembered in some guy’s trunk? Why does it matter anyway?”

You shrugged. “I was just curious.”

“Curiosity…” he prompted. “Finish it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Killed the cat.”

“Good girl.”

You wouldn’t mind him calling you that under drastically different circumstances. You hopped up onto his thigh and he immediately went rigid.

“What are you doing?”

“You didn’t ask me how my night was.”

And he always asked. Because you always asked. You would ask how his night went, then his day prior to picking you up from school. He never answered with more than one word and always turned the questions on you to distract you from your interest in his life.

He sighed. “Okay, how was your night, princess? Did daddy buy you another horse or something?”

“I went to bed early.”

He snorted. “Right. Because you’re such a good girl.”

“Well, I touched myself and thought of you.” This was a lie. Mostly. You did touch yourself and you did think of him a couple of times, accidentally, but really, Morgan was the one who wanted to come over to watch porn. “Am I still a good girl?”

“Seriously, what are you doing?”

You shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Look, I need to take you to school. I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“What did I tell you about asking those kinds of questions?” he demanded.

Instead of saying anything, you leaned in and kissed him. It was literally only a brush of your lips over his before he flipped out. He grabbed your waist and move you aside before he bolted.

Okay. Not the reaction you were expecting. You waited a while before making your way out to him. He was lingering at the back of the truck, smoking a cigarette.

“My dad said you didn’t smoke.” That was one of your first complaints when he told you Mr. Freezy would drive you. You hated smelling like smoke. But your father promised, this man didn’t smoke. Yet…

“He doesn’t know everything about me.”

You simply pressed your back against the truck, staring at the floor while you thought of something to say. Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Yes, he was married but he didn’t like her at all.

“What the fuck was that?”

You shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?! Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He only continued once you had done so. “That can never happen again. Do you understand me? Ever. You’re not allowed to touch me, okay? And you’re going back to calling me Mr. Freezy—”

“I want to go to school. Now.” You stormed around the front of the truck and got into your seat.

He finished his cigarette before he made his way back. You were turned away from him, arms and legs crossed. It was clear that you didn’t want to speak with him, and he was thankful for it. When he finally pulled up to the school, you left the car silently without a single word to him.

He arched an eyebrow, prompting an answer.

“Well, do you think you’re at all responsible for this situation?”

He scoffed, an exhausted sound. “All I want to do is take care of you, you know? Make sure you’re okay. Make sure you’re behaving and not putting yourself in any unnecessary danger.”

“Seriously? That’s what this is about?”

“What else would it be about?”

You didn’t answer that because you felt like your tongue was just burning to make him angry.

“You don’t wanna talk?”

“I never said that. I just don’t know how to answer your stupid question.”

“My stupid question. Because you’re so smart. The smartest spoiled brat I’ve ever met, honestly.”

You gave him a flat look.

“Fine, if you have nothing to say, I can think of a better use for your mouth.” He stood up again and stopped at the side of the bed, moving his pants out of the way.

If he thought you were going to argue, he was stupid. Which you’d long ago discovered that he wasn’t. He hadn’t been working for your dad for this long for nothing.

“Open up, sweetheart.”

You adjusted yourself, just slightly onto your side, but you didn’t close your legs. He looked almost disappointed that you hadn’t broken one of his rules. That didn’t surprise you. He was still clearly furious with you.

You opened your mouth for him, and he grabbed a handful of your hair before he slowly slid his length down your throat. You stared up at him, enjoying how weak his expression got as he watched himself push in and pull out of your mouth. He only stopped when he heard you gag, then he was pulling out, enjoying how soft your tongue felt against him.

This was only the second time you had done this. With him. Ever. You liked it the first time but not being able to touch him felt so impersonal. You wondered if that was also part of your…punishment, as he had referred to it when he pulled you out of his trucking and dragged you inside his house, all while you were screaming at him at the top of your lungs.

Either he had no neighbors, or they were just like him. No one came out. No one wanted to make sure that whoever was causing the scene was okay. You wondered if they were used to this. Did he regularly bring screaming women back to his home? You had never asked what he did when his wife had failed to satisfy him. Part of you worried what the answer would be.

You could admit, maybe you were more to blame than him. But maybe it was your dad. He was the one that employed him, he was the one that let him drive you to school, and he was the one that called him when you were kidnapped. That was when things had changed.

After the failed kiss, you were closed off completely. Two weeks, you didn’t wear a single revealing skirt or tiny top. You knew he found you physically attractive, but you no longer believed he had a right to see you that way. You no longer wanted to gift him with your beauty if he was going to pretend that he didn’t want you to kiss him. He did. You knew he did. He wanted a lot more than just a kiss. And it was weak of him to pretend otherwise.

When you were taken it was because you had gone out to dinner with Charlie. Her dad worked with your dad sometimes, so their family was one of the few that your father trusted with you. You liked being at Charlie’s more because her father let her do things on her own. Correction—had let her. Before everything.

Honestly, it wasn’t some traumatizing experience. They didn’t lay a hand on you. Well, minus one mishap, but not more than that. They drugged Charlie’s drink because hadn’t expected that someone would be with her because she usually had dinner alone on Thursday nights. When you were pulling her out to the car, just about to call her dad for help, that was when you were ambushed.

It wasn’t a normal situation, you were lucky. You knew that. But Robert refused to acknowledge it. As far as he was concerned, it was a risky situation. It didn’t matter what happened or didn’t, what mattered was that you had been taken at all.

He saw your attention drifting from him and wondered what you were thinking about. Probably that night. That was what he spent most of his time thinking about. You were a naive fucking child sometimes. You weren’t scared about what had happened, and you weren’t scared about the possibility of it happening again.

When he got a call at two in the morning, he had known it was going to be your father, but he had not anticipated any of what happened next. His wife next to him was complaining about being woken up, so he took the call downstairs. Your father, in an alarmingly calm tone, informed him that you had been kidnapped. And fuck, he wasn’t surprised. You walked around with that god damn attitude acting like you were better than everyone. He was only surprised that it had never happened before.

But then his stomach had started twisting. He knew the kind of men in his line of work, any one of them would kill, and more than likely have, just to get their hands on a soft, sweet little thing like you. And he knew what they would do to you when you got mouthy. It made him sick, imagining you bruised up like that. And hell, he knew exactly what they had more than likely already done to you. It was probably the first thought that crossed their mind as soon as they saw you. A woman as beautiful as you, he assumed it was what most men thought about when they looked at you.

He remembered what you had been wearing that morning and it made him mad. A skirt, for the first time in a long time. He had been imaging running his hands up and down your thighs all day, and he was furious to think someone else would get to. It also made him furious that you wouldn’t want it. He was livid thinking about you being touched after you said no.

He’d never given this business much thought before. He knew what he was. A creep. A psycho. The worst of the worst. But he’d never raped someone. Had he had the occasional sick thought? Of course, he wasn’t immune, but he would never violate someone like that. It was weak, in his opinion. The only thing men held over women and he wanted to be much more creative than that. He didn’t kill because he liked to, that was irrelevant. He killed because he was asked to, and he was good at it. End of story. Being good at rape wasn’t his brand.

That was why your father called him. He appeared strong and collected at first, but as the conversation went on, Robert could tell this man was desperate. He’d known Robert worked everywhere and never minded, never asked him to be a rat or a double agent. But he was asking now, and under any other circumstances, Robert would have said no. It was bad for business and all that.

But you didn’t deserve this. You weren’t part of this, and it was a mistake that anyone would try to make you part of it. He gave Robert the name of who did it, they’d already called and made their demands and hadn’t given the location yet. Robert knew the location; he’d been there several times for the drop-off and the occasional clean-up. Robert told him he would take care of it. When he said it, he had believed that he was going to get out of there as pure as you had gone in.

He had a long history with the family who took you, her especially. Marcella was beautiful, he assumed. She wasn’t his type, but maybe she was once. She kind of looked like his wife and since he couldn’t stand to look at her, Marcella didn’t get an unbiased opinion. Unless she was on a job with him or in his way, he didn’t think about her much.

She wanted to bargain, unsurprisingly. What threw him was that she wanted sex, but he didn’t mind. It was just sex, he’d fucked his wife, and hell, he hated her. Marcella wouldn’t be a problem if that meant getting you and your friend out safe—and under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t give a damn about your friend, but he knew you wouldn’t leave her behind.

Marcella knew something was different immediately. He never was one to be sent on a rescue mission. He was a skilled killer, nothing more. He tried to explain it away with money, but she kept talking about you. She kept trying to bait him. She called you a perfect doll, said she could tell that you were a virgin, other things that made him want to snap her neck.

When she brought you out, he started at your legs. You had a bruise on your knee, but he had noticed that when he was dropping you off earlier. Your shoes weren’t scuffed, the skirt you wore wasn’t wrinkled, meaning no struggle. Your tiny shirt was still tucked into the waistband and he couldn’t see your nipples, so your bra was still in place. Your arms and hands were clear, no broken nails, your hair looked fine, no bruises around your neck.

But he felt his hands balling into fists when he saw the red mark across your cheek. It didn’t look like you had been crying so he figured that was all you had to endure, but it was more than enough to make him see red.

Marcella made some pathetic remark about how good you were, how you hadn’t disobeyed a single order—that was good; later, he saw himself lecturing you, telling you what to do and what not to do if this ever happened again.

According to Marcella, he was free to take you. The other one, your friend, he had to earn her. She brought him closer to you, where you lay on one of the desks in the newly remodeled room. The location had once been abandoned, but everyone in his line of work knew how convenient the basement was in this building. Of course, these people bought it.

She said, “I want to watch you eat her pussy.”

The expression on your face was almost unreadable. You didn’t look scared originally, you had that same face when he had yelled at you after kissing him a while back. He knew what it was after a moment. Insecurity. He had truly convinced you that he didn’t want you like that.

You argued, said he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want. First, he did want you. He had been imagining how you would taste for a long time. Second, he did have to do whatever Marcella said. That you were stating otherwise was a testament to how much your father had shielded you.

“It doesn’t matter,” he claimed, and maybe that was the wrong choice of words. You were a virgin, not that he could ever forget, but sometimes, he did forget how big of a deal that was to some people.

He was angry again. The exact thing that he had wanted to avoid, you being touched by someone like him, was the only way he was going to get you and your friend out of here. But he was also selfish. He could have gotten out of this. If anyone ever asked why he didn’t, he would claim it was because he didn’t want to start problems with Marcella’s family.

The truth was that you were irresistible. He wanted to make you come, he wanted to devour you, show you what it was supposed to feel like. He wanted to be the first man who ever came close to you like this, and he wanted you to remember it, him, many years later. When you were off with some boyfriend, husband, whoever managed to sneak you away after gaining your father’s trust, he wanted you to still be thinking of him and missing how he made you feel.

“It’s okay, he insisted.

Marcella was amused by you, by how little you knew about how sick men were. Robert was sure there wasn’t a man on the planet that wouldn’t fuck you if they had the opportunity, he was not immune to it. Wanting you.

“It’s okay,” he repeated. He brought one hand to your shoulder, but you tensed. With his opposite hand, he removed his glasses and set them on the desk. “It’s okay.”

You reached out to touch his face with both hands. He felt your hands lingering on his jaw, fingertips pressing into the facial hair there.

“Okay?” he whispered. “Just lie back.”

You still looked unsure, but Robert leaned in and kissed you before you could say anything that he would end up regretting. You relaxed then, some of the tension he felt in your shoulder slowly ebbing away.

He pulled back, pressing another kiss to your forehead before pushing you down with his hands around both shoulders. He didn’t move his hands until you appeared comfortable. “You’re okay?”

You nodded.

“Okay. Just remain calm.” He had no idea what to say to you, what you needed to hear to be okay with this. He had no idea if he was being discreet about this, about the want he was feeling for you.

You pulled your skirt up just slightly and he caught your shaking hands. “Just relax.” He moved them off to the side before taking his hands and placing them near your knee. His palms slid up, catching the hem of your skirt until it gathered over your pelvis. You were wearing white lace panties that made him painfully hard.

He touched them against your hip bone. “I’m gonna take them off.”

You nodded, now staring up at the ceiling.

He pulled them down slowly, carefully getting them over both of your high-heeled shoes. He glanced up, sighing softly when he saw your bare pussy. He’d always known you hadn’t been touched, but he wasn’t naive enough to think you were completely innocent.

Marcella told him to get on his knees and he did. He carefully brought your legs over his shoulders, trailing kisses up your thigh to warn you where he was. He didn’t want you to be caught off guard for a second.

You felt his lips and the rough, shorts hairs press against your skin and you started a little. He kissed you over and over and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Up and down your slit several times until you had wet his mouth and he was spreading your arousal all over your skin.

The smell of you was enough for him. If he died right then, he wouldn’t have minded. But that didn’t stop him from getting greedy the longer he was at your pussy, just kissing, teasing. He wanted to work you up, it was always so easy with virgins. His hands slid up your legs out to your hips where he grabbed you and jerked you down further.

To accommodate his size, your legs spread and your pussy opened up to him. You gasped softly, hands trying to find purchase on the desk, but there was nothing for you to hold onto. He took pity on you, that was all it was when he took your hands in his. It certainly wasn’t him attempting intimacy. He had long ago given up on faking that part of himself and thankfully, his wife had also stopped asking for it. He was fine being what he was. He simply felt bad for you, that was all.

He linked his fingers between yours and you squeezed his hands tight. His tongue dipped out, just small random licks up and down, up and down. He touched your clit barely and your hips jumped, your hands tightened more, nails digging in so hard he knew he would bleed, and you whimpered.

And that fucking whimper did something to him. It was the sweetest, smallest sound he’d ever heard. Maybe it was that you were just so delicate in his indelicate world. Maybe that was why he was so addicted to you. He liked what you were, how unafraid and optimistic, how sweet and naïve, and he felt this primal need to protect you from everything that could change you.

He let his tongue move down until he could slide it into your entrance. You gasped and instinctively pulled your joined hands up. He pulled them back down and pinned your arms flat against the desk. You tasted better than he thought you would, he couldn’t stop pressing his tongue into you. He knew it was a tease, he knew he should just make you come, get it over with, but he couldn’t do it.

He flicked his tongue up hard, no more teasing. As he touched your clit, your hips jolted and your head rolled back. You tried to say his name, but no real words were leaving your mouth.

His tongue became quick. He always knew when he touched your clit because you would whine loudly. You were a woman who had never been pleased and he loved that he was going to be the first to satisfy this gorgeous pussy. Those gasps and screams and whimpers kept him going, blocked out all the rest of the world.

He’d forgotten Marcella. He’d forgotten that he was eating the pussy of his boss’ daughter and that if that boss ever found out he was going to be murdered horribly. He’d forgotten that he was supposed to be getting you home. All he cared about was you coming in his mouth.

You were soaked, dripping down his chin. He didn’t mind, the last reminder he was going to have of your pussy was if you managed to get on his shirt. He began gently sucking at your lips, letting his tongue dip out to soothe you when you were shaking and crying out, and pulling so hard against his arms. You weren’t stronger than him and you would have bruises if you didn’t stop, but he didn’t care about that either.

He didn’t care about anything but getting you off. He knew it wasn’t going to take long to get you there once he wrapped his lips around your clit, so he was now also guilty of relishing in this. He was guilty of dragging this out longer than necessary. He could make a virgin fall apart in a couple of minutes, but he wanted to devour you, to destroy any chance you had at being pleased by some idiot your age.

You had somehow managed to wrestle one of your hands away from his. You brought it to the back of his head, fingers winding in his hair to yank him in further. That was something he would never forget. He began kissing you again, teasing you because he wasn’t like everyone else. You didn’t just get to order him around. “You need me to make you come?” he asked, lips brushing against you as he spoke.

“Yes,” you blurted out.

“Want it so bad, don’t you?”

You gasped your answer. Yes.

As soon as he sucked your clit into his mouth, you shrieked loud enough that Marcella laughed. He wanted to turn around and strangle the hell out of her, but he wouldn’t pull away from you if his life depended on it. He let your other hand go to grab your hips.

You were pulling his hair with both hands. He knew you’d always liked his hair.

Once your hips started to roll, your cunt grinding against his face, he knew this was the end. He knew that your pussy was going to be the death of him. He pressed his hand down on the center of your stomach, pinning you down onto the desk. He rubbed his face against your center, pulling at your skin with his lips the entire time until you were sobbing out pleas. Finally, he sucked your clit back between his lips.

A noise caught in your throat as you were coming, hands tightening in his hair, back arching painfully. Almost immediately, your cunt was clenching, desperate to be filled, as he continued focusing on your sensitive button.

Your hands moved away from his head, reaching up for anything. You were looking for a way to get away from him, overstimulated, shaking, throbbing, needing.

“Robert,” Marcella scolded teasingly. “Give her a break, she can barely handle it.”

He knew she was right. He shouldn’t overwhelm you, not after the first time. He knew he should get on his feet and get your ass back home. He gave you just a few more licks and kisses, and then he was standing.

He felt that same need he had before. To protect you. He sat you up and hugged you to his chest, rubbing his hand along your spine as you worked to catch your breath. “Get the other girl.”

“Why so fast?” Marcella wondered.

Right, this was why he never negotiated.

“I think I changed my mind,” Marcella claimed. “I think I want to watch you fuck her before I give you the other one.”

He turned down to look at you. “You still okay?”

You nodded, but he noticed that you finally looked scared. You didn’t want to have sex with him, and he didn’t blame you at all. It wasn’t going to happen.

He pressed a brief kiss to the top of your head and then pulled you into his chest. He could tell you were surprised at first, but you eventually relaxed against him.

It was silent for several seconds before he yanked his gun out of his jacket pocket and shot Marcella. You startled again, trying to push away from him to see what was happening. He only held you tighter, there was no reason that you needed to see that.

When he pulled you off the desk, he wouldn’t let you turn around. He simply moved you to the exit, carrying you because your legs weren’t working either from shock or having just been eaten out, he wasn’t sure.

It was freezing and dark and he didn’t want to leave you alone, but he was not going to let you go back inside. He shoved you in his truck and pulled out the gun from his waistband. Your blank stare communicated that you had never used a gun—seriously? He opted for a knife instead before disappearing back inside.

Once he had you both in the truck, he drove several blocks over and pulled over suddenly. He could still taste you and it was driving him insane. He thought a cigarette might change that.

You apologized to him when you’d finally gotten too impatient and joined him outside. He wanted to laugh. What the hell were you sorry for? The answer was as naïve as he would have expected. You were sorry because of what he had to do, you had convinced yourself that he hadn’t wanted it, that he hadn’t enjoyed every second of it.

You called him out. You pointed out the gun, why hadn’t he killed her before he ate you out? He didn’t answer, which was probably what emboldened you so much. You didn’t let him push you away that night. Instead, you took your shirt off, then your bra, and you tossed them both back into his ice cream truck.

He tossed his cigarette aside and stepped out in front of you, tapping you against the side of his truck with his hands pressed to it inches away on either side of your body. He thought he could make you back down, scare you into pulling away from him. All he saw was determination on your face.

He took your waist in both hands and you gasped. He yanked you forward and ducked down, his mouth closing around one of your nipples. You wrapped around him automatically. Your arms around his neck, hands in his hair again, and you jumped up to hook your legs at his hips.

He pressed you into the side of the truck harder, massaging the bulge in his pants against your bare pussy. He bit down on your breast hard, sucked your nipple indelicately, and then licked over it to soothe any pain he caused. He alternated between your breasts without pattern, leaving your skin wet and sensitive, made worse by the biting cold of the outside.

You were rolling your hips, pressing yourself against his cock, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. Not after wanting this for so long, not after tasting your pussy. He pulled you down abruptly, turning his body slightly but keeping a tight hold on you.

“We can’t do this here. I gotta get daddy’s princess home. He is worried sick, I’m sure.”

“You’re hard,” you pointed out. “What would my daddy think?”

He abruptly grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head back as he wrapped a hand around your throat. “I’m your daddy now, baby. You don’t have to worry about what anyone else will think. Understand?”

Your eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen them. He’d always wondered because the innocent act didn’t quite suit you. So, he always wondered what type of shit you were into. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“You understand you’re mine now?”

You nodded.

“No more letting your friends touch you,” he cut you off before you could ask how he knew about that, “no more of that pathetic boyfriend, no more touching your pussy without my permission. And you’re gonna stop being such a brat.”

“Or what?”

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t try me.” And all you did was smirk. “You’re gonna get me killed, you know that?” Again, before you could talk, he interrupted. This time it was with his mouth on yours.

He finished thinking about how your breasts had felt under his hands and mouth, the sounds you made. He pulled out slowly, giving you the chance to swallow because that was what he always demanded. Every drop of his cum was meant for you, not the bed or the sheets.

His hand curled under your jaw and you looked up at him.

“Will you take it off?”

“The clamp?”

“It hurts.”

“The one on your pussy?”

“Yes.”

He reached down, finger pressing to your aching core. “Right there?”

You were squirming again. “Please?”

He pressed down firmly, swiping over your clit several times. “Please take it off?” he taunted, then shook his head. “No.”

You narrowed your eyes.

That was what it was all about. You were a brat. You wanted to be in control because you’d been in control of everyone your whole life, but he wasn’t going to let you be. This, whatever was currently happening, only started in the first place because you were acting up.

He’d given you a phone so he could stay in contact with you without your father knowing. His one rule was that you never left the house without it, that you never went anywhere without it because if he needed to, if you were ever in danger again, he would be able to find you. At the time, you’d said yes.

For two months, everything went smoothly. Or so he thought. He spoiled the hell out of you, dipped into that savings account he had been adding to since long before he was working for your father. He bought you lingerie that he wanted to see you in. He bought you jewelry even though you could more than afford it yourself. His plan was to slowly get you to stop relying on your father so much. He wanted you to rely on him.

It had seemed that it was working all those times that you would send him pictures and he would call you those moments that he could get himself away from his wife. You certainly didn’t seem to have a problem when he was telling you how to get yourself off over the phone. But you, as mentioned, were a brat. You didn’t like how cautious he was being with you. As if your father wouldn’t put a hit out on him the second that he as much as suspected that there was something going on. That was when you broke the phone rule.

It’d been after this huge fight that you’d started on the way to school. You ended it by telling him that he didn’t need to pick you up because you were going to Charlie’s. As in the person you had been kidnapped with. Nope, not happening, which he told you.

Long story short, it did happen. And to make matters worse, you ditched your phone. You’d somehow managed to stash it in his truck before you left in the morning. When you texted him on your original phone, he knew something was wrong immediately. It only took him three hours to decide he was going to track your phone and damn, no words could ever adequately describe how mad he had been.

That led to this morning. He was driving you to school, but never had any intention of taking you there. He was fed up with the attitude, the recklessness, the sheer stupidity. Your father was no longer cutting it, he deiced. He was getting old and couldn’t take care of you, and that meant that Robert was going to have to.

You had been silent most of the drive but after a little poking on his side, you announced that you wanted to be done with the relationship. Did you honestly think that he was going to let you just walk away? After he’d told you that you were his? You agreed, it wasn’t his fault that you were so god damn innocent that you didn’t understand the extent of the promise you made.

“I have something that I need to check on,” he announced.

“Don’t leave me here like this.”

“Baby, the sooner you understand that you don’t tell me what to do, the easier this will be for you.”

“Don’t leave me here!” you repeated. “You’re insane!”

He grabbed the center ring on the chain and yanked on it on his way out. You gasped, body going taut from the pain. Smirking, he shut the door behind him.

“Ass!”

When he came back, you were furious. The clamp on your clit was aching terribly and your nipples were close behind that on the pain scale. Your legs and arms were practically numb. You’d long ago just given up and rested on your back, your ass stinging, knuckles digging hard into the small of your back.

He was hard again, you couldn’t miss the bulge in his pants. He started to undress, simply watching you.

And all you wanted to do was make one thing very clear. “I’m still not sorry.”

He smirked, making his way closer to you. He removed his glasses and set them on his wife’s bedside table. “You’re beautiful, baby.”

“What did you have to check on?”

“Business. Don’t talk about business in the bedroom, not when I’m about to fuck you.”

You ignored him. “Business…was my dad calling?”

“No.”

“Then what business?”

He climbed up onto the bed toward you. His hand was around his cock, ready to push into you. “Why do you care?”

“I just want to know.”

He said nothing, and you felt his heavy length rest against your cunt. Any sensation there was too much, but that didn’t seem to deter him at all. He ran the head of his cock along your slit, never failing to move the clamp.

Each time, it pinched your skin painfully. Each time, your body spasmed from the pain. He pushed in with the tip and you gasped, but all he did was keep going until his pelvis was flat against yours. One hand rested on your torso, between your ribs, hard enough to hold you down.

It hurt, but maybe it didn’t. Maybe that was the clamp. You were wet, so wet. He just slid right in, but you still felt stretched. It was the first time you’d taken anything more than a couple of fingers. It didn’t hurt, or maybe it kinda did. You might have been numb, at least a little. You wanted him this close. How could getting what you wanted hurt? So, maybe it didn’t.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered to himself as he pulled out. He saw his cock covered in your blood and it just did something to him. He was your first, and he intended to be your last. He wanted to make you so dependent on his cock that you wouldn’t be able to go days without begging him for it.

You had been playing with the idea ever since he brought you here. To his house. His empty house. Now, you felt overwhelmed with the idea that you didn’t know everything. He was inside you, and that had to count for something. “Did you kill your wife?”

His eyes flickered to your face and his hand slid upward, between your breasts until he could grab your neck. “What if I did?”

You knew immediately that if he hadn’t, he would. He could. There was nothing emotional that was stopping him. There was nothing like morality that would make him choose another path. “Tell me. If you fucking did it, be man enough to tell me.”

“The answer is yes. Did it last night because I decided I wasn’t going to go another 24 hours without your pussy.” He pushed back in hard, and your scream caught in your throat. “Did it right on this bed. Strangled her.”

“Did you fuck her, too?”

“Jealous, baby?”

“Not at all.”

He hummed, then looked back down. He leaned over you, rested all his weight on one arm as his hips picked up pace and he squeezed your neck a little.

“Was that the business?” you choked out between gasps and strangled moans. “Whatever you had to check on?”

“No.”

“Well, what was it?”

“Stop talking.”

“You just told me you killed your wife. Is there anything worse than that?”

“Yeah, what if I paid someone to kill your father?”

All you could do was stare up at him. He wasn’t serious, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have a motive. Your dad had been the reason that everything between the two of you was always so complicated. “That’s not funny.”

He continued fucking you, harder now. It was starting to feel different, maybe better. You were still trying to differentiate between all the sensations, and it seemed impossible. You felt like everything inside you was getting tight, each time his cock slammed back into you, tighter.

He was a murderer. You shouldn’t enjoy fucking a murderer. You shouldn’t be able to look at his face and find him beautiful, find him anything less than terrifying. You shouldn’t be so weak for the cock of a man who just killed his wife and possibly killed your father—Robert never lied to you. Yet, there you were.

“Oh, daddy—fuck, daddy!” You dug your head back into the mattress, angling your lower body up to meet his thrusts. There was so much tension in your body, you just needed it gone. You’d never felt anything like this. It wasn’t just an orgasm.

He closed his hand tighter around your neck, the small choking noises were drowned out by his grunting and the wet sounds of your pussy gripping his cock tight—fuck, you were so tight. He hadn’t had a virgin pussy since he was 19, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. He remembered them all, and none compared to you.

When you were coming, screaming as well as you could, body shaking, your pussy gripped him harder.

You had never come like this, wrapped around someone and the newness of it all left you dizzy. Not long after, he finished inside you and as soon as you were full of his cum, which you could feel, hot, heavy, wetter, you consciously recognized the immediate addiction to him.

He stayed over you, just staring. His hand moved up and he touched your face, your parted lips, your glowing cheeks. You felt hot under his fingertips, certain parts of your skin damp. He tucked some hair behind your ear and then sat up.

He pulled out of you silently. You saw his cock covered in cum and blood, white and red, and your face burned. Right, you’d nearly forgotten it was your first time. “What are you doing?”

He moved off the bed and to the closet without answering you. When he returned, it was with diamonds. This chained choker with a single dangling diamond heart. He put it on you and then collapsed onto the bed beside you. With no skill at all, he wrestled with the ropes and by miracle, he had you free.

Once your hands were in use, you quickly pulled the clamps off you, gasping at the pain. Your skin there throbbed, the numbness replaced with pins and needles.

He didn’t give you any time to pout over it, he grabbed you and pulled you onto his chest.

You touched the choker, smiling. You ignored your turning stomach because you liked the jewelry. You ignored the fast pounding in your chest because you liked your skin pressed to his, you liked that he was holding you. You ignored your racing mind and your suspicions that he had been completely honest about what he had done to his wife and your father.

“Thank you, daddy.”

chris tags:

@onetwo3000 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @kleohoneyao3 @cevans-fics @gotnofucks @sweet-pieces-of-nothing @dbnightingale24 @first-jumper-tris46

#robert pronge x reader #sugary4kchallenge #my writing

266 notes · View notes

mysticgoblinwriter · 3 years

Text

Driving In A Cold Sweat; There Is No One On This Highway

Warnings- Murder, infidelity, swearing, food imagery, shitty parents, i made Steve the villain who’s in the HOA and a politician, adult content, dark!reader, cheating, a bit of flirting, mental health joke (mental health is NOT a joke, y’all), religion symbolism, dark!steve, peggy x bucky,

Word Count- 1.9k

kudos to @blackberrybucky for being my soundboard, and @fandomsandxfiles for being my beta reader. Love y'all

a/n- This is inspired by Hypothermic by Goodnight Texas. Its really dark, and I surprised myself writing this but I like it. I also changed the landscape to desert. Leave comments if you want! As many as you like, I fangirl over my work too. All writers should, its selfcare.

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING FLUFFY AND SOFT TURN AWAY NOW; MINORS DNI

DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE. A REBLOG IS APPRECIATED. A REPOST IS NOT.

Bucky looks you up and down, taking you in like you are the gods own ambrosia. “So, doll. What brings you to this shit hole?”

You laugh to yourself. “I murdered somebody.”- was the sentence that also inspired this but its not in the actual story.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The radio gave out miles ago. It was emitting nothing except for crackling and static. Every now and then it would cut back to a sermon, funnily enough it’d been the same one that was on when you started your trip. Sunset was a little ways off. If you looked hard enough you could see coyotes just off the asphalt. Alive, yes. But just how long had their souls been gone? Someone was screaming.

A man. You’d heard that scream before. Seared into you memory like that steak you had for your 15th birthday. It was right next to you. Oozing blood and raw-red. You could hear the clink of the knife as it scraped against the plate. Shaking your head to clear it, you notice an exit with a gas station. “Now’s a time as good as any to stop.” Gravel crunches as you slide up next to the pump. The neon beer lights from the bar across the road are calling. But you can’t answer. The gas handle is slick and grimy, you’ve felt something like that before, but you can’t remember what. A fuzzy noise in the back of your ears gets your attention. Another truck has pulled in. Right in the spot next to yours, never mind the dozen others that are free. A bulky man steps down, his face hidden by a rangers hat.

You could tell he worked out though. And had hair in need of a washing. Clunk. The tank was full. You thought it best to leave before anyone could place you, but your stomach needed something other than greasy two-bit fast food. You glance around, looking for any sign that promised a hot meal.

“Looking for something, doll?” You let out a small gasp. He was staring straight at you now.

“Does this shithole have a place to eat? I might have to start eating the cactus.”

He lets out a soft laugh, “Yeah, there’s a diner about half mile down the road.”

His face brightens like he just thought of something. “You wanna meet me there? I’ll buy dinner?” You weigh the options. You can’t have anybody recognize you; but your cash is getting low and however you can stretch it, you must. You nod once. “Sure.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The diner is every trope you’d seen in the movies your pops watched when he got off work. Flies buzzing, neon sign flickering, checkered tile. It even had the shiny red leather booths. What a dream. “Getcha a seat anywhere, honey. I’ll be right over,” came a perky voice from the back. Presumably a waitress. You choose the booth near the back exit. Its always good to have a backup plan.

The man said he needed to get something at the mini-mart, that you could go ahead and he’d catch up. Somebody screamed right next to you, causing you to jump out of your seat. You whip your head around. No one was even in the dining area. It sounded so real. Like you could reach out and grasp the shattering inky blackness. You take a couple of deep breaths. Try to remember your happy place. Tahiti, its a magical place. Or so you’ve been told You just picked it from a magazine that was open on the coffee table the night your mother set fire to the curtains in the living room. The flames had licked up the page, burning the island resort into ash. Boots thudded as they made way to where you were. He slides in across from you.

“Um, the waitress’ll be right out,” you said softly. He barely heard it over the rickety air conditioning. He nods to show he heard. He’s sitting close. Closer than you’d thought another human would ever sit next to you again. His hands are rough and calloused. The sleeve cuffs of his hoodie are frayed; as if someone clawed at them. Eyes traveling up his body, you take in more details. The hoodie isn’t faded, its brand new. He wears a bracelet of leather on his right hand, with a charm you can’t quite see. His necklace is corded hemp, plain and understated.

A light stubble that’s maybe three days old covers his jaw. His eyes... are piercing right through you. You take in a quick breath, not being able to look away. You’d never seen that shade of blue before. He’d been watching you watching him. Quirking an eyebrow, ”See anything ya like, doll?” You start to sputter an answer but the waitress comes over. “Sorry about the wait. Here’s your-” Blue eyes interrupts her, “We don’t need those. I’ll have the special and she’ll have the ‘Its Impossible To Go Away Hungry’ plate” “Okay, then. I’ll get that right out to ya folks.”

You glare at him, he mirrors it with dicky nonchalance. “Why did you order for me?” He leans forward, tilts his head the right the tiniest fraction. “You’re starved. I really don’t give a damn what kept you from eating but I ain’t gonna let you go without giving you a meal. The steak plate is the biggest meal they have. You can take a to go box, that is if you don’t eat the whole thing.”

“Oh.” You cast out a huff, “Well, thank you.” He flashes a killer smile. Pearly white teeth in a straight line. Not an imperfection to be found anywhere. A silence falls between the two of you. You can’t decide whether its comfortable of not.

“My name is Bucky. I thought you wouldn’t like eating with a stranger. I like to doodle in the margins of my books sometimes.” “Please tell me not library books.” He scoffs as if you suggested the impossible, “Never. Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Jury’s out on that, Bucky.” He looks at you more intently now. “Really? Same could be said about you. When I first spoke to you it was like a deer in headlights. Ya running from something, sugar?” He’d said it jokingly but you didn’t laugh.

“No. Nothing like that.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shirley came back with your plates, and two root beers. She left the check at the end of the table and Bucky swooped it up. The meal passed by in the comfortable sounds of silverware clinking and ice clacking in the cups. You both ate in record time.

You were careful to save enough for a second meal. That went into the to go container. Now both cups were drained and plates scraped clean. You start to slide out of your seat, mumbling a thanks but Bucky stops you. “Wait, won’t you sit here a while longer? I’d be kinda sad sitting here alone.” After a moments hesitation, you resume your position. “What do you wanna talk about? It can’t be the weather. Its been dry as bones for weeks.” He ponders for a moment, “You.” He shifts a little, resting one ankle on the opposite knee.

“I want to know what you’re running from, and see if I can offer...a distraction.” That shocks you. “Life? Aren’t we all running away in some form or another? I just happened to take the mobile route.” You shrug, “What do you want me to say? It was all shitty so I left it behind. And as for the distraction part, I got a whore last night, so don’t bother.” He is silent. Just sits there and gazes at you. You cock your head, getting impatient. “Am I allowed to leave now? Or do you want to talk about our feelings?”

“I slept with my best friends wife.”

“I-I’m sorry you what??”

“I slept with my best friends wife. He owns half the town, what with him being mayor and all. I couldn’t take it anymore, he’s always been the golden boy. Always been the beacon of light. I just wanted a slice of what he had.” He looks up, his eyes are dead. “She was willing, and I just... took her. There on his desk. He’d been out for lunch with some bigwig, and I made her cum twice on my cock.” He chuckles darkly. “That’d been the first time. All the other times don’t matter, he doesn’t know about those. But he does know about the time in the craft shed. Peggy did pottery.

Had a nice little workshop, it was connected to the mansion they had. I wanted to bring her pleasure in the place where she gets frustrated often, so she’d have something else to think about. Steve caught us on the floor. A big bunch of daffodils in hand. Stupid, those weren’t even her favorites.” He was gone now, lost in memories, not even knowing he was talking. “Said he had come by to take her to lunch. That was always like Steve. Expected her to clear her schedule at the drop of a hat but never doing the same for anybody. He didn’t even get mad. He just walked away, muttering something about his office.

Peggy said she could talk some sense into him. The next day I found her in the garbage when I took out my trash.” Your sharp inhale and big eyes do nothing to catch his attention. “Steve comes strolling out of nowhere, said that she was a threat to his image. Said that I need to leave or face the same. I asked why he left me alive and he said ‘So you can remember the pain until you lay down in the ground and the mice and carrion drag your body up from its silk cocoon to feast.”

But that’s not all.” He said the last bit so quietly, it was as if he said nothing.

“What?” He’s crying now, tears are forming rivers in his eyes. “She knew. She knew he was going to be there and that’s how she wanted to go out.” Your puzzled expression makes him laugh. “Don’t know many politicians, do you? Good. Keep it that way. That day when the mail came I got a letter. From her. It said how she wanted to divorce Steve ever since he became the HOA president. But she couldn’t. He had threatened her once, just once and what he said was so blisteringly awful. And he did it. He is a man of his word, after all. He kept his damn word.”

“So...she used you as an out?” He winces. You hadn’t meant to sound like that.

“Yes.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Out in the diners parking lot you say goodbye to James. Wait. No, no. His name is Bucky. He’s got a green Chevy and blue eyes. Or was it red? It doesn’t matter anyway. You back out and head for the next state, ignoring the blood leaking from the tarp in your trunk. The screams have stopped. And the moon is bright.

#dark!reader x bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #mcu #marvel fic #bucky barnes x dark!reader #bucky barnes oneshot #dark!steve rogers #moongoblin marvel writes all by herself #bucky barnes x female reader

67 notes · View notes

thatfanficstuff · 3 years

Text

Impossible - 11

Pairing: Reader x Eric Northman

Warnings: nope

A/N: I no longer have access to true blood so i’m going off of episode summaries and my poor, poor memory so this will be diverting even further from the show than it has been. As a reminder, Jason never met Amy and never kidnapped Eddie.

***

It was past dawn before Eric and you finally slept so it didn’t surprise you to discover it was after one when you woke. You grabbed a bag and filled it with what you needed for several days. Odds were you wouldn’t make it more than a couple without Eric coming to retrieve you anyway.

When you got to Sookie’s you twisted the knob intending to just walk in as usual. You frowned when you found the door locked. It wasn’t like her to lock up when she was home, but there was a killer on the loose. You knocked but received no answer. A walk around the house to the other door yielded the same results.

You huffed a sigh and pulled out your phone to call her.

“I am so sorry,” she answered before you even said a word.

“Where are you?”

She paused before answering which meant whatever she said next was likely to be at least a half-truth if not a full out lie. “It sort of slipped my mind you were coming. Sam and I are running an errand out of town. We should be back before dark.”

You clenched your teeth to keep from saying any of the many things that came to mind. “I don’t suppose you have a key hidden around here anywhere?”

“Not since Dawn. Jason has a key. I could tell him to let you borrow it.”

Seeing Jason Stackhouse ranked at the very bottom of the list of things you wanted to do that day. “I can manage. I’ll see you later.” You hung up before she could respond. It was probably safer that way.

You spent your time waiting in a booth at Merlotte’s. You ate a meal while you read a book you kept in your truck for when you needed to entertain yourself. When Lafayette had a break, he’d come out and sit so the two of you could catch up.

The sky had grown dark before you noticed and you gathered your things to head back to Sookie’s. You parked beside Sam and grabbed your bag. You didn’t bother to knock when you got to the door. Part of you wished you had when you caught Sam and Sookie making out on the sofa. You cleared your throat and they jumped away from each other. “Am I interrupting something?” Your lips twitched.

“Yeah, you are,” Sam answered with an irritated expression on his face.

“No, of course not,” Sookie was quick to correct. She gave Sam a look as she hopped to her feet.

His disgruntled expression had a smile flirting with your lips again.

“I think Y/N has it from here, Sam.”

That got Sam off his ass. He turned so his back was to you as if that would keep you from hearing their conversation. “Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“Not really no.” Sookie had that tight look she got whenever she was in an uncomfortable situation. Apparently, she was having second thoughts about that kiss. That was unfortunate. As much as Sam could annoy the piss out of you, he was so much better for her than Bill would ever be.

“Sook.” It may have been only one word, but Sam’s tone spoke volumes.

“Sam, I asked Y/N to help me out by stayin’ with me. I won’t be any ruder to her than I already have been.” She walked over to the door and opened it. “Now, I thank you for all of your help, but it’s time for you to go.”

Sam’s gaze darted between the two of you before settling on your friend. “All right, Sookie. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaned forward to kiss her as he passed. She turned her head at the last moment so he kissed her cheek. His sigh was audible as she shut the door behind him.

She locked the door before facing you. You gave into the smile you’d been fighting and her shoulders slumped as she groaned and wiped a hand down her face. “What am I going to do?” she moaned as she walked past you. She dropped onto the couch and you sat beside her.

She leaned her head on your shoulder. “I sure am glad you’re here, Y/N.”

You hummed in agreement. “While I expect the full story about what I just walked in on, we need to talk about last night first. What happened?”

Sookie took a deep breath and sat up straight. “There was a party at Merlotte’s for Arlene and Rene. I was feeling sorry for myself on account of Bill taking off the way he did so I was helping Sam out to keep my mind off things. I went inside for some more ice when I got this vision of a girl being killed.”

She shivered and you frowned. You couldn’t imagine being able to see the things she did. It had to be horrible.

“He was so angry. That was worse than what I saw. The overwhelming anger. I finally came to my senses enough to realize that the killer had to be there. I dropped to the floor and just missed a knife that slammed into the bar. I screamed and just focused on putting as much room between him and me as possible. The next thing I knew I crashed into Sam as I tried to see what was going on behind me.”

“I assume you called the police? Or what passes for them around here anyway?”

She nodded. “Of course, but there wasn’t much they could do. He was right there and I didn’t get a look at him. I’m so stupid.”

You grabbed her hand to make certain you had her attention. “Surviving is never stupid, Sookie. What good would it have done for you to see who it was if you died in the process?”

“I guess you’re right.” She turned on the sofa so she faced you and bounced in her seat a little. “Sam and I might have figured out who it is anyway.”

Your brows shot up. “Way to bury the lead, Sook. Tell me what you know.”

“When I had that vision last night, the girl that was killed was wearing a name tag from this pie place not too far from here. Her name was Cindy. Sam and I went up there to ask some questions today.”

“You did what now?” You loved your friend but sometimes you wished she thought things through a little more. “And what if the killer finds out you were asking questions? You’re going to make yourself a target.”

She shook her head. “You’re assuming I’m not already. But listen, so this girl named Cindy was killed and her brother disappears while they’re investigating. The police haven’t been able to find him. We tried to get some information from them, but they wouldn’t tell us anything. They’re supposed to be sending a picture to Bud.”

You had no doubt you could get the information much faster than they could. “What’s this guy’s name?”

“Drew Marshall.”

***

You sent the information to your father asking for him to find out what he could. Realistically you knew it would be the next evening before you heard anything. It was unlikely he’d have a contact at such a small precinct but he’d surprised you before. Sookie and you watched a movie and stayed up late talking. Well, it was late for her. You were always more comfortable in the night. That happened when you were raised by vampires.

After she went to bed, you passed your time by texting Eric who kept threatening to come drag you home. It was past dawn before you found sleep. As such, it took you a minute to process what was going on a few hours later when Sookie burst into your room yelling your name.

“Hold on. Hold on,” you instructed as she fired out words in a rapid burst of confusion. You sat up and raked a hand through your hair. “Okay. Start again. Slower this time.”

“There’s been another murder. Some one night stand of Jason’s. He’s been arrested.”

Shit. “All right, Sookie. Calm down as much as you can and go get dressed. We’ll go down to the station and see what’s going on.”

She nodded and hurried from the room. Jason Stackhouse was a lot of things but you weren’t certain he was capable of murder, despite your history with him. There was only one way to find out. With a sigh, you tossed aside the covers and climbed out of the bed.

***

You’d barely put the truck in park before Sookie had her door open and jumped out. You shook your head but didn’t try to stop her as you followed at a more sedate pace. By the time you joined her at the desk, she was already giving Andy Bellefluer a piece of her mind.

“If you’d give me a minute—”

“I’m not giving you anything, Andy Bellefluer. How stupid do you have to be to think my brother killed gram never mind all those other people? How could you believe such a thing?”

“I was trying to—”

Sookie cut him off again. “Did you not get the picture they were supposed to be sending you of the actual killer? Of course, Sam and I had to find that for you.”

Andy turned to you with an exasperated expression. “Help me out here, would you?”

You held up your hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m strictly here to watch her back. You’re on your own.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes as he put his attention back on Sookie. “Your brother—”

“Didn’t do this. That much I know and if you think—”

“He confessed!” Andy yelled over the top of her.

She visibly deflated. “What?”

“Jason Stackhouse walked into the station and turned himself in. He told us that there was a dead woman in his bed and we needed to lock him up before he hurt anyone else. I’m sorry, Sookie but that’s what happened.” The sympathy in his gaze had you rethinking your earlier assessment of the detective. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

Sookie licked her lips and gave a nod. “Could I see him? Just for a minute?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. I suppose that would be all right. Come on.”

You had intended to stay in the lobby but Sookie grabbed your hand and pulled you along with her.

Jason no sooner laid eyes on his sister than he started protesting. “What’s she doing here?”

Andy opened his mouth to answer only to be cut off by Jason asking Sookie the same question. The detective rolled his eyes at once again being cut off by a Stackhouse and you couldn’t help a little grin. Poor Andy.

“Why are you doing this, Jason? We both know you didn’t kill anyone.” She dropped your hand to wrap her hands around the bars that separated her from the last of her family.

“You don’t know that, Sook. Hell, I don’t even know that. Maybe I did kill all those girls and I just don’t remember. But I do know I can’t hurt anyone else if I’m in here.”

“Don’t do this,” she practically begged.

Jason looked from her to the detective. “Get her out of here, Andy. I don’t wanna see her.” He stepped away from the bars and turned his back on his sister.

“Come on, Sookie,” Andy said as he patted her shoulder.

She hesitated only a moment before following him to the door. They glanced back to see if you were following, but you hadn’t moved. “I’ll be along in just a moment. Jason and I have some unfinished business.”

The detective glanced between you and Jason before nodding once and leading Sookie to the lobby.

“I ain’t got nothing to say to you, Y/N,” Jason said, his back still turned. His shoulders were tight with tension.

“Don’t care if you do. I have something to say to you.” You gave him a minute but when he didn’t respond you continued anyway. “Maybe I killed people and don’t remember doesn’t sound like much of a confession, Stackhouse.”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know I’m rarely wrong when it comes to people and you aren’t a killer, Jason. You’re dumb as shit but you aren’t a killer.”

He snapped around, scowling at you for the insult. “I’m not stupid.”

You shrugged as if it didn’t matter to you and it didn’t. You weren’t going to argue the point with him. “I do want to know how someone gets killed in your bed without you knowing about it until it’s too late.”

His chin jutted forward as he clenched his teeth.

“My guess is you were wasted or high and slept through the whole thing.”

Fear flashed across his face before he schooled his features, but he remained silent.

You hummed as the corner of your lips curled into a small smile. “Got it in one. What’s your poison? Weed? Meth? V?”

His eyes widened and he stepped back as you said the last. You arched a brow. He was even dumber than you thought.

“You can’t tell him. Please Y/N, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t tell him,” he begged.

“Tell who? Andy?”

“No, that scary ass motherfucker at Fangtasia. He said he’d cut my balls off with a rusty spoon if I ever used V again. I like my balls where they are, Y/N.”

“Eric doesn’t want to touch your balls, Jason. Trust me. You’ll be fine.”

#eric northman x reader #true blood fanfiction #true blood fanfic #eric northman x you #impossible #series

156 notes · View notes

fandomfindings · 4 years

Text

Smithereens

Pairing: (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Word Count: 1.5K

Warning(s): Cursing and Violence

Summary: A Spencer Reid imagine inspired by the song Smithereens by Twenty One Pilots. You and Spencer go to bar and after you accidentally spill a customers drink a fight breaks out between Spencer and the angry patron.

----------

"So he only kidnapped those women because they looked like his mom who neglected him as a child?"

"Exactly, and when they didn't fit his motherly needs, he killed them, unfortunately." Spencer said, a hint of sadness in his voice."Luckily though, we got to him before he could kill his most recent kidnapee."

You gave Spencer a meek smile, knowing he would've preferred to save all the killers victims, who wouldn't. Sadly, that wasn't the reality.

The remaining walk to the small bar from your shared apartment was quiet, not in an uncomfortable way but a content one.

You had missed Spence for, as usual, he was away on BAU business. So merely being in his presence was enough to satisfy the previous need you had to be near him.

Spence had missed you too. He always does, even if he was just at his building all-day instead of home with you when you had made it home for the day. Spencer especially missed you on this trip, for he couldn't contact you as much as he usually would. This unsub worked fast, so they didn't have much free time outside of the case.

Once at the door of the bar, you opened it, allowing Spencer to step inside first. He bows his head in thanks before entering the semi-crowded bar, its normal state.

The bar was small, and not many knew of it unless they were bar-hopping on the weekend or something of the like. You and Spencer came here whenever he came back from a case, to spend time together and get him to distress before the next inevitable one.

You both headed for the bar to order your drinks before heading to a more secluded table, noticing the bar was where most of the occupants were.

Before you got far, you heard the familiar ring of Spencer's phone, him being in front of you stopped in his tracks, causing you to stop as well. He turned to you and said, "I gotta take this. You going to be okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Find us a seat?" You asked. Spencer nods before walking past you towards the tables and booths that littered the small bar, answering his phone in the process.

"Reid," Spencer answered, letting Hotch know he had picked up his call and was ready to listen.

Spence quickly found a booth towards the back of the room and sat down, facing the front of the building and its door. He always felt more at ease when he could easily see who was entering the establishment, wanting to be aware of his surroundings.

From his seat, Spencer could also see the bar, and therefore you. He watched the smile on your face as you talked to the bartender like you were old friends. You two had been coming here so long he wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

Your brief conversation with the bartender seemed to cease once they turned around and began to make You and Spencer's drinks. It didn't take them long to do so since you two typically got the same thing every time you came.

The bartender smiled at you one last time before carefully handing you the drinks. You returned the smile; however, you weren't as careful with the glasses.

You turned around and almost immediately made eyes with Spencer. You grinned, cheerfully lifting the beverages almost as if obtaining the drinks was some outstanding achievement. Spencer chuckled lightly at your silly antics; unfortunately, the happy environment didn't last long once the sound of shattered glass filled the bar.

Spencer was briefly confused; the drinks were still in your hands. Granted, they now had less liquid in them, but the glass was still intact. Your boyfriend's confusion quickly went away once he noticed the stunned look on your face as you glanced to your side, seeing an increasingly angry man. In the wake of your excitement, you hadn't noticed the man near you when you had brought your arms back down; you had hit the patron's arm, effectively knocking his drink from his grasp.

You swiftly placed your drinks on the bar before turning to the man and beginning to apologize to him profusely. "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, I wasn't paying attention. I can pay for you another."

The man wasn't hearing any of this. He was too focused on the anger building inside of him. He looked between you and the shattered glass that previously held his beer at his feet, knowing he would soon be a sticky mess.

"You made me spill my fucking beer!" He exclaimed, fuming.

You were taken aback with his tone. You understood that he might be upset, but there was no need to shout, especially after you had apologized. "I know, and I apologize. Like I said, I can buy you another one. It's not a problem," You said calmly, not trying to escalate the situation even more than it already had.

The customer seemed to ignore your apologies completely. He stepped closer, causing you to back up into the bar, practically trapping you.

Spencer glanced with wide eyes almost mirroring yours, for they had also increased in size at the stranger's advances. "I got to go," Spencer said to Hotch, realizing he wasn't paying much attention anyway.

Your boyfriend's long legs came in handy, making his way to you in no time. Without hesitation, Spence stepped between you and the upset man, placing a hand along the man's chest, lightly moving him further away from you two.

"Hey, we'll pay for your drink." Spencer reiterated on your behalf.

"Don't put your fucking hands on me, son," The man said, his age appearing in how he spoke.

Spencer quickly analyzed him, noticing the salt and pepper hair that grew from his head and face. He also noted that the man was quite muscular for his age, which appeared to be early to mid-50s based on the wrinkles across his face, how he spoke, and the cut on his hand, which was a little over a week old. If he were younger, it would've healed by now, but it would take more time since he was older.

Spencer also inferred the man was more muscular due to his construction career, taking note of the steel-toed boot that had hints of dried cement on them. Also, since he watched the door, Spencer saw the man enter the bar from his pick-up truck in the parking lot, covered in dried mud.

"I'm not your son," Spencer corrected calmly, which only made the man more upset. As if he couldn't control his anger much longer, he took a swing at Spence, hitting him perfectly along the jaw.

The crowd shouted in an uproar, not appreciating the bar's usually calm atmosphere being disturbed by this overly aggressive man.

Spencer didn't want to fight this man. While he had the height advantage and his FBI training, the man was more muscular than him. Therefore his advantages may mean nothing if the man could get another good hit on him.

The bar was loud with protests from you, to the other patrons, and the bartender. A few men came closer, trying to restrain the man as he stepped closer, trying to punch Spencer again. He pushed those other men away, swinging for your boyfriend once again.

Fortunately, Spencer was prepared; this time, he grabbed the man's fist and quickly twisted his arm behind his back. Spencer then kicked at the man's knees, causing him to fall to them.

The angry stranger struggled in Spence's grasp for a bit before two men who tried to intervene before were able to retrieve him from the floor. He was promptly removed from the bar and banned by your friend, the bartender.

Once out of sight, you grabbed Spencer, placing him on a stool along the bar. Once sat, you examined his face, seeing how it was already red from the impact, and you would not be surprised if it further bruised to shades of yellow, purple, or black.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Of course I do. You got punched in the face for me," You stated, chuckling lightly at how nonchalant Spencer was about the situation.

You noticed the bartender had brought over a handful of iced surrounded by a clean cloth. You send them a grateful smile, to which they returned before going to clean up the mess you unintentionally made.

"I'd go through worse for you. I couldn't just sit there and watch him berate you like that." Spencer hissed once you put the ice to his face, at the coldness and the slight pressure placed on his injured jaw. "He would've had to beat me to a pulp before he could lay a hand on you," Spencer added.

"You'd get beat up for me?" You wondered out loud, questioning how you got so lucky finding a boyfriend like Spencer.

"I'd get beat to smithereens."

----------

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As some may know from my other Spencer Reid imagine Omission he is my favorite from the show and the song mentioned in the summary reminded me of him. Feel free to let me know what you guys think!

Lots of Love <3

179 notes · View notes

janicho88 · 3 years

Text

Falling For You -Part 3

November

Pairing- Eventual Dean x Female!Reader,

Word Count-3546

Warning- Fluff. Mention of serial killers. Still burning slow.

A/N- I had an idea for a one shot, and giving a little backstory to Dean and the Reader meeting took on a life of its own. We should hit the one shot part around chapter 20, oops? This story is AU, and un beta’d. Thank you @waywardbeanie and @whatareyousearchingfordean for helping me keep these 2 characters in line and letting me bounce ideas off of you.

Summary- After being burned before you had sworn off finding love for now. Coming home from work one night there is a strange man pounding on your door. Neither of you knew what this meeting would lead to.

Series Masterlist

Do you ever notice how quickly time goes once October hits? In a blink November is over and suddenly Christmas is here and then we are ringing in the new year. You aren’t even sure you remember much of the first two weeks of November this year. You did remember you had been out helping Dean a number of nights. Work was finally back under control , but you needed to get a list around to start on your Holiday baking for the first weekend of December, Thanksgiving was next week. It seemed like you couldn’t figure out which direction to go in.

Dean had gone to see a few houses and asked you to go with him for another opinion. Both of you fell in love with the sixth house. It was a two story single family home, you would have killed for the kitchen. So much counter space for baking or cooking. It only needed a few touch ups here or there, maybe some new paint in some of the rooms eventually, but it was move-in ready. The previous owners already moved out of town and took all their belongings with them. Dean had been working with a bank to be approved for a loan before finding the house, plus he had saved what he had when his house sold. The closing was done by Friday the end of the second week.

While Dean was busy finalizing paperwork on his house, you were at your desk on your lunch hour looking through pinterest for new cookie or bar ideas. A familiar voice sounded behind you.

“I’m back bitches!” Turning around you saw the fiery redhead who was in charge of IT for the company. Charlie used to work out of this office, but they had moved her to the new clinic that had opened an hour away for the last two months.

“Things are running smoothly over there, two weeks without any problems, I get to come back to you guys now.” She walked over to her familiar work area and tapped the Hermione figure sitting by her monitor and asked if she missed her. “So what have I missed here?” You and Monica filled her in, and introduced her to Anna when she came back. The rest of the day passing fairly quickly.

Making a quick dinner that night you received a phone call from your mom. Her older sister had fallen and hurt her hip. She wasn’t going to be able to travel down for Thanksgiving, so your parents were going up there. This way your mom could help her around the house and with the meal. Your cousins were a bit lazy, they weren’t going to do it. She asked if you wanted to go with them, and after thinking about it for a moment, told her not to worry about you. Your aunt's house wasn’t very big, and some other family was going up also. That was going to be too much close family togetherness for you.

Wiping down your counter you heard a tap at the door, slipping on shoes and grabbing your purse you headed out. Jess and Dean were out in the hall waiting for you, the two of you offered to help Dean clean tonight before things were moved in tomorrow. Sam was working a big case and stuck at work this evening. The house was in good shape, it just needed a good pre move in clean.

“So Dean,” Jess started talking when you got in the car. “Since you are going to have the most room, how about you host Thanksgiving next week?”

“What?” He was a bit caught off guard by that.

“Your parents are coming up, so are mine, that’s seven of us in our apartment trying to cook a big dinner, you have a huge new kitchen and a dining room.”

“One, do you really trust me to make Thanksgiving dinner?”

“I didn’t say you had to make it all, we’ll help, you just have the space to have it at.”

Sitting at a red light Dean closed his eyes and let out a sigh, “If we can have the house usable by Tuesday, fine.”

“Good, Sam also told your parents they were staying at your house.” Rolling his eyes Dean knew it was pointless to respond. Jess turned in her seat to see you in the back, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Y/N?”

“Usually we go to my grandparents, but my mom called tonight and my aunt got hurt so they are all going up to her house. I’m just going to hang out at home, watch the parade, and be lazy.”

“Apparently I’m hosting Thanksgiving, come join us.” Dean offered, glancing at you in the back.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be, Sam already did that when he has people staying at my house that I’m not even living in yet, without telling me.”

“Okay, if you are sure, thanks. Just let me know what I can bring.”

“Pie, lots of pie,”

Dean had already taken cleaning supplies over to the house and the three of you decided to divide and conquer. You took the kitchen and dining room, Jess and Dean split up the two upstairs bathrooms and the master bedroom and one of the guest rooms. Whoever finishes first would start in the living room. These rooms would be used for his parents' visit and Thanksgiving, the other rooms would be tackled if there was time. Walls, windows, doors all scrubbed down, floors vacuumed and mopped, kitchen cupboards all wiped out. It took you guys a few hours and everyone was beat when you headed back to the apartment building. Sam and Dean were renting a uhaul in the morning to get Dean’s stuff from storage, you made plans to ride over with Jess to help unpack.

Back in your apartment you looked to see what you could whip up to take with you for breakfast. Normal cinnamon rolls would take too long, and you didn’t have the energy, but cinnamon biscuits were doable. You made a double batch, and prepped the icing. Figuring you would warm them in the morning and top them then.

Dressed in a comfy old t-shirt and worn jeans sweatshirt sitting with the biscuits, you were ready when Jess came to get you. “Oh my, what is that smell?”

“I figured we would be working up an appetite today, so I brought breakfast rolls. Do you want one for the road?”

“Uh, yes please.” Both of you laughing, she grabbed one out of the container while waiting for the elevator.

“Yep, Dean’s right. Girl you can bake.”

The guys pulled up with the uhaul just as you were getting out of the car. “Ready to start,” she asked.

“Not really, you?”

“I wish I was back in bed.”

“What are you two laughing at?” Sam inquired leaning down to give Jess a quick kiss.

“Just wishful dreams,” she told him.

Dean unlocked the house while Sam opened the truck. They let you and Jess take some boxes, while they moved some of the furniture that came on this load. Thankfully Dean had somewhat labeled the boxes as he packed so you knew where to drop what. His labels gave you an idea on what was important to the man: kitchen crap, bathroom junk, living room stuff, bed things, other room bed things, you just didn’t know what was in each of those boxes, but clearly knew what was in the VINYLS, TOOLS, and MOVIES boxes.

Dean had kept most of the furniture from his old place, but did have a few new things coming. Such as a master bedroom set, and new couch and dining room table. Those were going to be delivered Tuesday. Jess told you he didn’t want things that reminded him of Lisa, so he sold anything that did when he moved.

Cas came over to help in the early afternoon, bring some pizzas as an apology for missing the morning work. The biscuits you made long gone. Things were coming along nicely, Dean wasn’t super picky on where things went right now. Dean gave you the job on organizing the kitchen, he said you would know best. His only request being the coffee items were close to each other and easy to get too. He would figure out where you put anything else later. Placing his old coffee maker next to the plug between the sink and refrigerator, the glasses and mugs in the cabinet next to the sink and and coffee and filters above the machine.

Jess was helping Sam set up the guest bedroom and washing the sheets for that room and Dean’s once his bed arrives. Cas and Dean ran the wires for his tv and speakers for his record player. Dean deemed those two things most important. Everything was out of storage and into the house Saturday evening, put away was another story. You offered to help on Sunday, but Dean said he wasn’t going to work on it then, taking one day of the weekend not to work and unwind a little. He still had a few things at Sam and Jess’ place to get packed up at some point.

Thanksgiving week was always a nice work week since you were only open 3 days. Monday and Tuesday evening you had helped at Dean’s and it was ready for Thanksgiving, his parents were arriving sometime Wednesday.

When you left his place Tuesday night you headed home alone. Dean was all moved in, he was out of the apartment across the hall. It made you kinda sad to think about. It’s going to be weird not running into him in the hall, or have him randomly come over when he was giving his brother some space.

You opted for staying home Wednesday night instead of hitting the bar with Charlie and her friends, and decided to get the pies made. You went with two traditional pumpkin, and one apple since Dean liked the last one so much. When you were at the store you also picked up the ingredients to make a strawberry pretzel jello.

Thursday morning you watched the parade in comfy pj’s on your couch with a glass of hot chocolate. Unlike Dean coffee wasn’t your thing. But with the chilly weather you liked something hot in the mornings. When it was warmer you would enjoy your weekend morning drinks on your balcony.

Dinner was supposed to be at two, but you headed over before noon to help with the preparations. You put on leggings and a long sweater, Jess had told you it was more about comfort than fashion today.

It was your turn to knock on Dean’s door for once, a pretty blonde woman answering the door. She had a big smile on her face that turned to surprise when she saw you.

“Hello, can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Dean and Jess invited me, I came over early to help with dinner.”

“Hey Y/N!” Dean came up behind her with a big smile on his face. “Come on in.”

“Hi Dean, I came to help, brought pies, pumpkin, apple, and a jello”

“You don’t have to help,” he said while ushering you inside, “you did that enough with moving this week. Y/N this is my mom Mary, mom this is Y/N. She actually lives in the apartment across from Sam.”

“Nice to meet you dear. I’m sorry, I was expecting Sam at the door, I didn’t know anyone else was coming.”

Getting to the kitchen Dean opened up the pies and you saw him hide one of them in the cupboard. Shaking your head, you look around at the food out on the counters.

“What kind of jello is this?” Dean asked looking at the cake pan you set down.

“It’s a pretzel strawberry jello or some people call it a salad. I didn’t think you would be too fond of that term though.”

Dean looked at you before looking back down, “Pretzel jello? I see the jello and strawberries, and something solid under that but it doesn’t look like pretzels. Where’s the salad part? What are you trying to feed me sweetheart?”

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head “There isn’t actual lettuce in it Dean, this time salad is referring to a side. The solid layer is cream cheese cool whip mix, the Pretzel is the baked crust. It’s a combination of salty and sweet. Just try a bite, I’m not trying to sneak anything past you. I promise it won't hurt you as much as Sam's veggie bacon.”

Dean's face grew serious, “I thought we agreed that we don't speak of that fraud, it's not bacon. I need actual meat.”

Laughing you pat his back, “I know, I'm sorry. Now you have your own kitchen to cook real bacon.”

“Yeah or I could come to yours and let you do the work.” He said with a smile your way

“You are always welcome at my place.”

“Now that we are done discussing the jello, what do you need me to do?”

“Y/N, seriously you don’t have to help.”

“I want to, I like cooking almost as much as baking.”

Dean moved over to the list of food Jess had made up the other day, “Turkey is stuffed and in the oven, potatoes are boiling, the corncake hasn’t been started yet, neither has the salad, rolls are just waiting to bake.”

“Well Sam wanted the salad so he can do that, I’ll get the corncake going and in the oven.”

Sam, Jess, and her parents arrived a short time later. The guys all ended up in the living room watching football and left you four ladies in the kitchen. Mary started to ask Dean where his mixer was, but he told her to talk to you since you organized the kitchen. While working on last minute touches Mary turned and looked at you.

“How long have you and Dean been dating?”

Jess started laughing while you stuttered out an answer, “Oh, uh no we, we aren’t, we’re just friends.”

“They are both in denial about having any feelings for each other.”

“Jess! There are no feelings to be in denial about, we’re just friends, that’s it.”

“I’ll let you know when they catch up with what the rest of us know, Mary.” You turned back to setting the table shaking your head at her.

Dinner was great, and the conversation was even better. Dean’s dad was a little intimidating at first, but grew on you as the meal progressed. Dean sat next to you and before he took a bite of his jello he picked up the bowl and looked it over and made you promise him he wouldn’t regret it. He took his time chewing, bobbing his head around while you awaited the final verdict.

“It’s actually pretty good.” You just gave him a little nod, holding back your laugh at his behavior before going back to your own food.

The guys migrated back to the television after a while, and the four of you cleaned up. Dean came in a few times, but you sent him back out. When the first game ended the men came back for dessert. Jess brought out pumpkin bread and apple crisp her and her mom made and Dean carried the pies over.

“Y/N made pumpkin pie,” Dean told the others.

Leaning over to whisper in his ear, “You keeping the apple for yourself?”

Giving you a little grin he nodded, “You know it sweetheart.” Laughing you didn’t notice Mary watching your exchange across the table.

Looking through the ads with Jess you made plans to go out with her and her mom the next morning. Mary was watching the two of you, and you asked if she wanted to join. Jess quickly looked up and told Mary how much fun it would be if the four of you went together.

Sam tried to talk everyone into playing a new game he picked up. When he finally got everyone, even Dean to agree to join he went out to the car to retrieve it. Coming back in empty handed swearing he put it in the car, but unable to find it. He went looking through some of Dean’s things for the deck of cards he swore he didn’t have striking out again. Dean told him if he wanted to play games he needed to host Thanksgiving and went back to watching the football game. Jess was sitting beside you unusually quiet the whole time.

“Did you know he forgot the game?” You whispered to her.

“He didn’t forget it, who do you think took it out of the car?” Quickly covering your laugh with a cough she continued. “It was a trivia game about serial killers that used a courtroom type setup. The box said something about cross examining, objecting and redirecting. It seriously wasn’t happening, I get enough lawyer talk at home.”

At five am the next morning you decided Jess had too much energy. She had you leaving the apartment building by 3:30, then picked up Mary before hitting the mall. You drove the 40 minutes to Ann Arbor because Jess wanted to go to the bigger mall. Luckily the temperature was in the high 30’s this morning and you didn’t have to wait outside long. There are years you have stood outside in the snow waiting to get in a store.

You had a few things on your list, but no clue for some people. You weren't great at coming up with gifts, especially at this hour. You walked past one store front before stopping abruptly, and Jess walked into your back.

“Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I’m going to run in here real quick, I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute.” The display in the window made you think of Dean and you went into get him a house warming present.

Stopping in the food court for a break later, Mary had a question for you, “Call me crazy, but didn’t you say something about apple pie yesterday when you arrived?”

You started laughing, “ I did, Dean apparently hid it when he took it to the kitchen. He had some last time I made one and decided he didn’t want to share this one.”

Mary was talking to you more about Dean. “He seems so much happier now than when he left. He was in a dark place for a while, that girl hurt him bad. I ran into her in town, and she had the nerve to talk to me like everything was fine. I gave her a piece of my mind and John had to pull me away.” She paused for a minute before continuing, “Dean has mentioned hanging out with a new friend a number of times I’ve talked to him. I think that person has made a big difference in his happiness, and I hope they stick around for a long time.”

You weren’t really sure what to say, you gave her a little smile, and told her Dean was an amazing guy who didn’t deserve to be treated like he had been.

After running errands on Saturday you stopped over at Dean’s. He was surprised to see you at the door and invited you into the living room where he was talking with his parents.

“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to drop something off.”

“You’re fine sweetie, you aren’t interrupting anything. We were just chit chatting, but we should actually start to get some of our things around. We fly out tomorrow morning. John, we should go pick up the room, and pack what we don’t need tonight.”

“I did that earlier.’

“Well you should double check it, just in case. You two talk, we’ll be back later.” Pushing John out of the room they headed upstairs.

“I didn’t mean to chase them away, I just wanted to drop off your house warming gift.”

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to get me anything. Your help was a huge present,” Dean told you, taking the wrapped box out of your hands.

“I wanted to, just open it.”

“Oh Sweetheart, she is a beauty.” You had gotten him a new Keurig coffee maker, this one could make a whole pot, or a single pod. He mentioned he had been fighting with his old one, and you knew how important coffee was to him, especially in the morning.

“This way, you can make yourself a single cup if you just can’t wait for the whole pot to finish, or if you want one later.”

“This is great, thanks Y/N. You did well, especially for a non-coffee drinker,” he finished with a teasing grin.

“I should get going, let you enjoy your last night with your parents.”

“You don’t have to, Sam and Jess should be over soon, her parents left today.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to interfere with family time. Tell your parents it was nice meeting them, I hope they have a safe trip back. I’ll see you around Dean.”

Part 4

Thank you for reading!

Tags @talesmaniac89 @katehuntington @winchest09 @flamencodiva @whatareyousearchingfordean @waywardbeanie @deanwanddamons @smol-and-grumpy @emoryhemsworth @anathewierdo @malfoysqueen14 @superfanficnatural @jensengirl83 @atc74 @sandlee44 @akshi8278 @fantasydevil2002

Falling For You tags- @halesandy @abuavnee @hearteyes-j2 @vicmc624 @440mxs-wife @wonder-cole @maralisa124

#FalingForYou #Deanx FemaleReader #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural

113 notes · View notes