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moraxsthrone · 1 year

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☿ title:: desperate measures

☿ pairing:: mafia boss!arataki itto x f!reader

☿ wc:: 1.2k

☿ warnings:: nsfw. mdni. mafia au. gangsters. thigh riding (if you squint). public sex/exhibitionism/voyeurism. itto calls you a slut (endearing). mentions: mob front, extortion.

☿ a/n:: okay but arataki mafia boss!itto fucking you on the conference table during a gang briefing. you knew you’re not supposed to interrupt his meetings, but you just couldn't wait, could you?

you know itto is in an important meeting, but you haven't seen him since he rolled out of bed early that morning - his big, naked body dipping the mattress made you stir just for him to kiss your forehead and shush you back to sleep. you had awaken a little while later, aching with a need, so intensely craving your man’s attention - his touch, his weight, his cock - that it drove you to desperate measures.

you walk inside the dimly lit conference room, all the men stopping to look at you and it’s not lost on itto the way they all ravish you with their eyes. as you make your way to the head of the table, itto stops talking and leans back in his big wingback leather chair with his fingers steepled, stalking you with his gaze. "i thought i told you not to interrupt me when i'm in a meeting…"

stopping in front of him, you clasp your hands behind your back and poke at the floor with the toe of your shoe while biting your lip. "m'sorry, itto. i'm just so lonely. can i sit on your lap? i promise i'll be a good girl and be quiet."

he rolls his amber eyes and spreads his legs before patting his muscular thigh. "come. sit."

you obey and itto gets back down to business with his boys when he feels a warm, wet spot forming on the top of his thigh - right beneath where your cunt sits.

as you squirm to get comfortable, the fabric of itto’s black slacks provides just enough friction to make your clit throb harder, but not enough to give you any relief. if anything, your pussy aches even more now that you know his dick is only a few inches away. you subtly roll your hips, rubbing your butt against the head of his clothed cock - so thick and spongy even when it’s soft - and you feel him twitch beneath you.

the topic turns to legalities concerning his gang’s latest front when itto picks one of your legs up and situates you such that you’re straddling both of his thighs. he thinks it’s comical the way the other men respectfully look everywhere except the space between your open legs when your skirt rides up to your hips. one by one, however, they can’t help but glance back when a soft mewl escapes your lips and your head lolls back to rest against itto’s broad shoulder.

their boss’s large fingers have your panties pulled to one side, the tip of one slipping between your folds to spread your slick over your clit. he’s got you on full display, almost daring the other men to watch as he claims you. it’s impressive really, the way itto doesn’t miss a beat when he addresses his legal consultant, who, at his boss’s request, nervously places the licensing papers that require his signature on the table in front of him. you bite your lip to stifle your whine when itto pulls his fingers from your slit and sucks them clean before picking up his pen and signing his name on the dotted lines. with your glistening pussy on full display the men shift uncomfortably in their chairs.

the discussion continues as itto picks you up by your hips and sits you down on the mahogany conference table, your barely clad butt making a subtle slapping sound against the wooden surface. he's still engaged, asking one of the other men a question about logistics when he pulls your panties off and stuffs them in his pocket. the other men watch, gulping hard as their boss yanks you right up to the edge and throws his tie over his shoulder before wedging his hips between your open thighs. when his colleague fails to answer his question, itto clears his throat to reclaim his attention like he's not unbuckling his huge belt right in front of them.

you're keening, too horny and needy to care who watches when itto reaches between your legs and spreads your folds open to expose your winking cunt and tease your clit. he pauses and looks expectantly at one of the gentlemen who can hardly tear his eyes away as your back arches off the table. for itto and a couple of his more seasoned gangsters, it's business as usual. but the rest are all guests, watching with morbid fascination as their host unfastens his pants and pulls his thick, veiny cock out, still stroking it to a full erection.

itto asks for confirmation that the organization’s current extortion scheme is still going as planned as he guides his beefy member between your labia to drag it back and forth over your clit. he knows you're plenty wet for him - he can see your slick pooling on the dark wood between your plush ass cheeks - but he takes quiet delight in making you choke back a whine when he slaps the leaking head of his cock against your hardened bud.

"yes, sir. nearly all the arrangements have been made," one of the men stammer as itto carefully lines himself up, his plump cockhead pushing against your greedy hole. "just a couple more phone calls - perhaps a little extra incentive - should win them over," the man says, clearing his throat when itto grunts at the sensation of your wet heat engulfing him as he forces his weighty dick through your tight opening.

itto proceeds to fuck you right there on the conference table, only having to remind you once to keep quiet. your pussy squelches, audibly sucking on his fat dick as a ring of your cream forms near the wide base of it, but that can't be helped. a couple of the guests squirm as their erections take hold, watching this powerful mob boss fuck his girl right in front of them.

the discussion goes on, itto only having to redirect the attendees’ attention a couple of times before he himself begins to struggle with staying on the topic at hand. one of the gentlemen is in the middle of explaining how an upcoming charity event could help the organization’s image when itto puts a finger up. "h-nn-hang on a sec-" he breathes, the sensitive head of his cock swelling inside you as it nudges your cervix.

the snapping of itto’s strong hips comes faster and harder as he leans over you, forcing your back onto the hard surface. he presses your knees back, drilling his cock with increasing stutters of his thrusts. "nhh fuck," he swears under his breath, tapping your thigh. "cum for me, slut. say my fuckin' name. tell the boys who fucks ya this good."

“y-you do, itto! fucking my pussy so good with your fat cock.” you cry his name out again and again as your walls spasm helplessly around his abusive girth, milking him. he pulls out, fisting the angry red tip of his cock, the other men all watching with sick anticipation and hard dicks as arataki itto's cum spurts out in long, thick ropes onto your spent pussy and creamy thighs.

itto mlist

if you reblog and/or interact i give you kisses !! please spread the love and help my new blog grow in the process !! 💜

#the one and oni himbo demon boi 😈#arataki itto #itto #arataki itto x reader #itto x reader #arataki itto x f!reader #itto x f!reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #arataki itto smut #itto smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #mob boss!itto #mafia au itto

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kuuyandere · 8 months

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Planetary Yandere Asks

Sun (☉): Do you identify as/with any other -dere types? How about your darling? Would you want your beloved to have similar tendencies as you?

Moon (☽): Which yandere aesthetic(s) do you resonate with? Pastel? Guro/gore? Dark?

Mercury (☿): How did you discover yandere/obsessive love/etc. community? What has your experience of having a yandere blog been like?

Venus (♀︎): What is your relationship with your darling(s)? What initially drew you to them? Were your feelings sudden or gradual?

Mars (♂︎): How do you deal with "rivals" or those that wish to covet your beloved, if at all?

Jupiter (♃): What nicknames or terms of endearment do you enjoy using for your darling, if any? What pet names do you like for yourself?

Saturn (♄): What sets off your obsessive and/or possessive feelings?

Uranus (♅): How do you personally define "yandere" as it relates to you?

Neptune (♆): Would you say you are more dominant or submissive to your darling? Also, god complex or inferiority complex?

Pluto (♇): Have you always had obsessive/possessive inclinations or did you develop them from your current darling? When did you to realise you were a yandere?

#YANDERE #YANDERE ASKS #YANDERE ASK GAME #LOVESICK #YANDERECORE #ASK GAME #YANDERE ASK MEME #YANCORE #ASK MEME #ASK #IRL YANDERE #YANDERE COMMUNITY #YANDERE BLOG #OBSESSIVE LOVE #OBSESSIVE LOVE DISORDER #planetary yandere asks #planetary yandere ask game #YOUR YANDERE #I have no idea why the tags are in all caps

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟏𝟏

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The aftermath. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥��𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 (𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥) 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟓𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀

Rooster hurries over to the sofa and lays your body down carefully--as carefully as he can when he’s shaking this bad. Your dress is wrecked: torn at the thighs, muddled with tequila and vomit and tequila-scented vomit, wrinkled. Now Rooster is panicking as Jake paces behind the sofa, watching the scene before him helplessly.

“Rooster, fuck, I--!”

“--The fuck happened to her dress?” Rooster asks, fingers shaking as he tugs on the skirt, desperate to cover the lower half of your body besides the obvious.

“I can’t, I don’t--I don’t know, I can’t fucking…I don’t even, like, we-we were fine, we were together and then--and then…” Jake stutters, sobbing into his fist. The scent of your vomit is hot in his nostrils--and your bile running down his back is hotter than that, heavy. “She just--she, she fucking…”

Jake doesn’t remember the last time he had a bump--he needs one. He knows now isn't the time--but he’s fucking freaking out. Your only sign of life is the involuntary lolling of your head, the bile pushing out from between your lips.

“Spit it out, Goddammit!”

Jake presses his palms to his chest--wonders if he’s having a heart attack--and sniffs hard, wiping his face off and putting his quivering hands on the back of the sofa.

“Jake,” Rooster warns, voice lethally quiet and serious. “Spit it the fuck out!”

“We were fucking fine! We-we were dancing and then she wandered off for, like, fuck--one fucking second and I found her by the bathrooms, man. She was like this already! I think someone--fuck, I think someone slipped her something.”

Rooster’s blood runs cold.

“We’ve gotta take her to the hospital,” Rooster says. If he was closer to Jake, if he had the ability to leave your side, he’d be shoving Jake’s chest hard. “The Hell you doing bringing her here? You fucking idiot!”

Rooster knows it wouldn’t make him feel any better--if he got a frantic phone call from Jake and had to drive to the hospital. But it would be better than this. Anything would be better than this.

Jake shakes his head.

“We can’t,” he insists.

Rooster’s blood is boiling.

“Fuck you mean? Look at her, Jake!”

The strangled noise that falls out of Jake’s mouth is almost indistinguishable from something primal--feral. It’s a terrified sound, the scream of prey as it is mauled by predator. He knows he’s fucked. He knows he’s fucked you, too.

“‘Cause if they screen her, man…they’re gonna find more than just tequila and coke,” Jake admits, running his hands down his face. “Fuck.”

“What’re they gonna find?” Rooster asks. He’s staring at Jake, his eyes bloodshot. “Fucking tell me!”

“Acid, man,” Jake admits. “California Sunshine or some-some shit like that. Fuck, man, I took it, too. But I’m fine! We split one! But she’s gonna be in a whole lot of trouble if they find her pumped full of that shit.”

“Bullshit!” Rooster hisses. “Everyone and their old lady does fucking dugs! Dennis knows that, he lets people--!”

“--Yeah, Dennis lets you take drugs on set in a controlled environment, man. Where you’re, like, under his supervision and authority! That’s the thing, man, that’s the fucking skinny--he don’t want other people to know about it.”

Rooster’s back molars nearly crack under the wrath of his clenched jaw.

“And, like, what’s gonna happen to some fucking bunny like Cherry if she’s gotta get her stomach pumped, like, four months into her career?” Jake argues. “No one’d fucking hire her again, man.”

“No one has to!” Rooster argues. “Dennis has her on a--!”

Jake points an accusatory finger at Rooster.

“--You know how he is, man! He don’t like you, well, you’re only filming four times this year! He’s got the fucking dough to get out of his contract with Cherry! She don’t! You know Dennis’d kill us if it leaked. And if he didn’t kill us, he’d kill her fucking career! And if, by some cosmic fuckin’ miracle, he was being a real coolhead about it all--yeah, he lets her finish it out. Then leaves her high and fucking dry! Who’ll take her then, huh? No one wants to hire a burnout!”

Rooster’s in a state of dysphoria.

He can’t believe how much sense Jake is making right now, how sober these thoughts are--which is a sheer contrast from his appearance. Everything feels twisted, convoluted. Rooster’s supposed to be the one making sense right now. He’s supposed to be the one figuring it all out. But he can’t think about anything else when you’re shivering on the sofa.

With a sense of dread seeping across his skin, he realizes that this is the closest he’s ever felt to when he was on the brown tabs at Woodstock--when he was living tangible nightmares every waking and non-waking moment, when nothing made sense.

“We’d be fucking her,” Rooster says under his breath, eyes untrained. “Fuck.”

So, without another word, Rooster falls to his knees beside you. You’re crumpled up, your body boneless and malleable in a way that makes his stomach turn.

You’re still not really in your body--your body is tissue-thin and the color of fruit juice, waving in the wind like a paper kite.

You’re not really here.

“Cherry,” Rooster tries, holding your face firmly. “Cherry, wake up.” He pats your cheeks a few times, biting his lip hard, but you don’t come to. You’re thoroughly unconscious, being punctured by rays of sun wherever you are. “Cherry, baby, wake up. C’mon, babygirl, c’mon--open your eyes. Open your eyes, baby. Please, babygirl, you gotta.”

He’s waiting for you to open your eyes like this is all some sort of joke. He wishes, for the first time ever, that you and Jake are pulling his leg. He doesn’t wanna be in on this joke at all. He wants, so desperately, to be on the outside of this for once.

He knows he’s being desperate right now. This is what he did when his ma went--when he was still high as he came to, when he swore he’d only been asleep for an hour, just an hour, sitting up in that wooden chair, when the veins in his eyes throbbed, when he woke up and she was still--

“She won’t wake up, man,” Jake cries, chewing on his fingers. “Fuck, man. Fuck! Is she gonna fucking die? Oh, my God. Wait, fuck--is…is she dead?”

Rooster snaps his gaze at Jake, pointing at him tersely.

“Shut the fuck up,” he bites at Jake. “Get your shit together. Take another fucking bump and change your threads. Go turn on the shower--cold water, alright? Then wait there for me.”

Jake does as he’s told, sobbing as he runs down the hall, tugging his hair like an upset toddler.

“Cherry, I’m gonna grab you, alright?” Rooster says softly as if you can hear him. There’s not so much as a crease, a freckle, a dot of response across your features. “I gotcha, babygirl, c’mon.”

And then he’s holding your form in his arms and you really do feel like deadweight--so much so that his knees feel weak, so much so that he almost cries out. But he can see the faintest twitch of your lips, the quietest words uttering from your mouth. He can’t make any of them out.

“I gotcha, babygirl,” he promises again, starting for the bathroom.

He won’t take his eyes away from your face, afraid to set his gaze anywhere but you, because when his ma left he wasn’t looking at her, because he fell asleep and he was so tired--

“C’mon,” Jake says shakily, grabbing Rooster’s shoulders and pulling him all the way into the bathroom--the light is golden in here, so bright that Rooster is blinking away tears. “Shower’s on.”

Rooster, because he doesn’t trust the universe or guardian angels or fate or ancestors or luck to protect you like he can, steps into the frigid water as he is. The cold is a shock to his system, which he knows is the point, and he turns so the stream pelts your belly.

“Cherry-berry,” Jake tries from outside the shower, reaching in to pat your cheek a few times. The only response is your limbs twitching from the cold, your body still totally slack in Rooster’s arms. “Get up, honey. C’mon, get up.”

Bradley sinks to his knees, still holding you against his chest, his curls soaked with ice water and his clothes not far behind. He strokes your hair, his fingers numb with the cold of it all.

“I’ve gotta make her vomit,” Rooster says sorrowfully, shaking his head. “She’s got too much shit in her system.”

“Fuck, man, she already hurled--!”

Rooster looks up at Jake, interrupts him with nothing but his blown pupils.

“If you don’t have the stomach, get lost for a minute, okay? Get towels.”

Jake listens at once, considering Bradley to be somewhat of a homebase right now.

“Towels,” Jake mutters, wiping his nose again, turning towards the door and leaving the bathroom as he unbuttons his soiled shirt. “Fucking towels, man, towels.”

Rooster presses desperate kisses to your temple, to your forehead in apology. He’s sorry that he didn’t go out with you, sorry that he’s got you under frigid water, sorry that’s about to do what he’s about to do.

He props your body forward, droplets of water wetting your hair. And then he holds your cheeks, presses his thumb between your teeth, and shoves his fingers down your throat.

☿

You’re not in your own bed. Without even opening your eyes, just by moving your bare feet on the sheets, you know that you’re in Rooster’s bed. It smells like him: expensive cologne, nice hair gel. He prefers silk sheets, too--you prefer velvet. Silk is always so cold--that’s why you have goosed skin right now, right down to your toes.

Everything hurts. This isn’t just a hangover kind of everything hurts--this is deeper, more serious. There’s a migraine pulsing behind your swollen eyes, throbbing your temples. Your limbs feel like they’ve been ripped off then reattached haphazardly with fishing wire. Your belly feels empty, which is usually how you like it to feel, but this is the kind of empty that frightens you--one that seeps into your chest cavity and sits there like a purring cat.

Cracked lips parting just so, you open and close your mouth, the putrid taste of vomit sitting on your tongue like paste.

Rooster’s been sitting in a chair beside his bed since five o’clock this morning, propping pillows behind you so you don’t roll onto your back and choke on vomit. He hasn’t so much as let his blinks linger, his gaze fixed on you entirely.

Every thirty minutes, he leaned forward, set his index finger below your nostrils, and counted to twenty. Every hour, he rubbed his knuckles along your diaphragm to make sure your shoulders were still snapping forward like they should. Although he’s been out of practice for a long time, it still feels second nature to him.

Jake passed out sometime around noon, curled up around your feet like a kicked dog. He’s still asleep now, hugging your leg. He’s sober enough to feel guilty--but not fucked up enough to do anything about it.

You take a shaky breath, which feels stunted mid-inhale.

“Mm,” you mutter, swallowing hard. “Roo?”

His heart spikes--nearly busts through his chest.

Immediately, he’s crowding you. Kneeling on the bed, his heart pounding, he gives you a once-over without touching you. He’s almost afraid to lay a finger on you, just in case you don’t want to be touched, just in case you want to be alone in your body.

“Cherry,” Rooster says, voice suddenly close to you, to your face. His breath wafts across your cheeks “You waking up, baby? C’mon--open your eyes. Lemme see ‘em, babygirl.”

You know something’s wrong when you struggle to lift your heavy lids, when your lashes are matted with sand and tears and mascara. And it’s not the morning--it’s late in the day, maybe seven or eight in the evening.

It’s an odd thing, waking up somewhere and realizing that you don’t know how you got there. It’s the first time it’s ever happened to you--you didn’t have a daddy that would carry you to your bedroom if you fell asleep on the sofa. Really, you didn’t have a mama that would let you fall asleep on the sofa.

Before really even knowing it, you know that you’ve missed something crucial.

“Oh,” Rooster whispers, voice trembling. Your eyes meet his and there you are--his Cherry girl, alive. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot but he can tell that you’re in there, can tell that you’re going to be okay. It’s the first time all day he’s known that you’re not gone for good. “Babygirl.”

His tongue is thick with tears that he won’t let out--not in front of you. Not until you’re okay and in your body and he’s alone. He doesn’t want to scare you.

“Ow,” you just whisper.

“S’alright,” he says softly. “I know, baby. I know.”

He wraps his hands around your fingers, which are cold. And with a sad, sad smile tugging on his lips, he brings your fingers to his mouth and blows hot air on them. You’re shaking still--probably withdrawing.

If you had a voice right now, you’d ask what the fuck happened. But you can’t muster the strength to make those chords vibrate in your throat, can’t do anything except feel Rooster’s breath against your chipped fingernails.

Glancing down, you find Jake wrapped around one of your legs, blinking himself awake and groggily moving up to catch your gaze.

“Oh, mama! Up and at ‘em!” Jake says, eyes widening when he realizes you’re lucid. “Oh, fuck, Cherry-berry. We thought you were a goner.”

“Man, not the time,” Rooster hisses softly, kissing your knuckles. “Careful with her.”

Jake crawls up your body, careful not to put too much pressure on you, and peppers your warm face with some kisses. Rooster watches, still just holding your hand, still just relieved that you’re awake.

Jake picks up your other hand, the one that is freezing to the touch. He kisses your ruby ring over and over again, like he always does in greeting, and you let your eyes slip shut again.

Rooster’s just silently watching you, his lip tucked between his teeth, tears heavy on his waterline. There were a few moments throughout the night that he thought he was going to lose you--like actually lose you. He thought he was going to fall asleep, just like he did when his ma was sick, and wake up to your face entirely still and your heart stopped.

He knows now--and he knew before, too, just couldn’t put words to it--that he won’t be able to live without you. Not in any capacity, in any universe, in any dimension. He knows it full and well as you struggle to swallow, as your brows knit, as your fingers tremble.

“God, you were real nasty last night,” Jake says, muffled by your fingers. Rooster has half a mind to strike the back of his head, but then a pathetic and crackley laugh tumbles from your lips. “You hurled all over me! Ruined my shirt!”

Now you’re laughing a bit harder, wheezing, a few tears slipping from your eyes.

Jake keens at this precious sound. It’s the only thing that can make him feel better right now, even as his fingers shake. This is the longest he’s been sober in months--and it’s just for you.

“Made a mess on the entryway tile,” Rooster adds very quietly, an almost-there smile pushing his bottom lip. “And the couch. And the bed.”

It hurts to laugh--there is a particularly deep ache in your diaphragm, like someone’s been punching you there all night long.

“Ow,” you say again, pouting, but still giggling.

It’s a pathetic sound. It makes Bradley’s chest ache. So, he nudges Jake and then shakes his head at him. No more.

“Sorry, babygirl,” Rooster says, stroking your matted hair from your face. “No more goofing, huh?”

☿

Jake leaves around midnight. He kisses your face all over, presses his forehead to your temple, attaches his lips to the shell of your ear and whispers, “Don’t ever do that to me again, okay?” And as he’s walking out of the house, he passes your ruby ring sitting on the entryway table--Rooster put it there while you bathed. Not confiscating it, but maybe hiding it.

Jake palms it, stuffs it in the pocket of his jeans, and drives home in the quiet of the late night. If you ask him if he’s seen it, he’s not going to lie to you. He’ll give it back. Just not until you verbalize your want to him. It makes that pit in his belly fill up with tissue paper--dissolvable, fleeting. But still there.

Rooster’s sitting up against his headboard, right underneath the Joni Mitchell painting, and you’re hugging his legs, cheek pressed against the familiar terrain of his thighs. You feel a bit better now after having showered and ate, hair still wet and belly full of chicken broth. But you still don’t feel good--not by a longshot.

Rooster’s just about ready to keel over. It’s been over twenty-four hours since he’s slept and every follicle of hair on his head, every nerve in his being, can feel it. He’s absently stroking your damp hair, eyes drooping, heart lulling.

But he won’t let himself fall asleep.

“Did I scare you something awful?” You whisper.

He nods--you feel it.

It’s quiet for a few minutes. He’s just stroking your hair, relishing in the steady breaths falling from your vaseline-smeared lips.

“My chest hurts,” you tell him quietly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He reaches down, lets his fingers just barely graze your diaphragm--your shoulders still come together anyway. There are bruises where he pressed his knuckles--he feels guilty about it, but not guilty enough to have changed anything. “Had to make sure you were still in there.”

“It’s groovy, daddy.”

Another lull falls over the two of you.

You’re thinking hard about what happened before it all went dark, before you were just a paper kite floating over black poppies. You don’t think you were in your body. You don’t know where you were, you don’t know how you got back, but you’re glad that you are now. You don’t know what you would do if you could never be here again, on Rooster’s lap, in his bed.

“It’s what I did with my ma,” he says quietly. He doesn’t know why he’s telling you this--maybe because he’s on the verge of sleep, maybe because he just needs you to know. “Like, it’s how I’d figure out if she fainted or if we had to skitty on to the hospital.”

Swallowing hard, you nod.

“You didn’t take me,” you whisper.

“No, we didn’t.”

“Why?”

Rooster inhales deeply--tries to feel anything but tired, but can’t seem to--then cups your swollen cheek.

“Worried you’d wake up without a job,” he tells you. “Who’s gonna hire a bunny that got her stomach pumped less than a year in, huh?”

It makes you feel very young. So young that tears start to well in your eyes.

“Guess I was pretty much a space cadet then,” you say, sniffling. “Shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“Everyone does shit, Cherry.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “But not everyone’s got a Daddy Warbucks to make them barf up all their mistakes.”

For the first time in hours, Rooster smiles softly.

“I told you I’m gonna take care of you,” he says. He clears his throat, takes a composing breath. “I should’ve taken a rain check with Nix. Shouldn’t’ve let you go out with Hangman alone.”

God, Phoenix. You forget that’s how this entire mess started. When you were envious at the thought of them touching each other, when you went to the disco with a sore body and a hunger for anything that would make you feel better, different.

“Nah,” you whisper. “Would’ve taken the tabs anyway.”

“I don’t think it was the tabs,” Rooster tells you quietly. “Think some chump slipped you something.”

Wrinkling your nose, you glance up at him.

“Like what?”

You know that he must not be talking about coke--you already had a fair bit of it in your system.

Rooster doesn’t know how to explain it to you. He doesn’t know how to tell you that someone slipped something in your drink in the hopes that they could finish tearing your dress, drag you off and away from Jake, and have their way with you. It’s hard for him to even think it--he’s frustrated, his jaw clenching, his knuckles white.

“Nothing,” he tells you. “Forget it, huh?”

You’re too tired to argue, so you nod.

“Alright,” you whisper.

If he closed his eyes right now, he knows he’d be asleep in seconds. So, he just keeps his gaze trained on you, on your sweet and sad form holding onto his legs.

“What am I gonna do?” He whispers.

He’s not even sure that he’s said it outloud. He’s not sure if he’s meant to say it aloud.

You don’t look up at him, your own eyes slipped shut now.

“What’re you talking about?”

“How am I gonna keep you safe if I’m not right next to you?” He asks softly. He doesn’t really expect you to answer him--but he has to say it aloud. “How am I gonna live with myself now?”

Hugging him tighter to you, you kiss his thighs a few times.

“Stop,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

His tongue is dry.

“Baby,” he whispers. “You were really sick.”

“I know,” you mutter. “You got me.”

He doesn’t know how to articulate to you that he would rather relive the worst day of his life--the day his ma died--a thousand times than not know if you were going to make it through the night. Not because he loves his ma any less than he loves you--but because her death seems predestined, even now. The cancer was always there, watching and waiting. But you’re so young, so full of love that it wedges itself between your ribs and underneath your fingernails.

“But I didn’t,” he whispers. “I didn’t…Cherry, I didn’t have you.”

Now you look up at him, your face sponged clean of mascara and vomit, and really see him for the first time since the two of you laid down together. He’s tired, like the kind of dead-tired your daddy used to be in the winter after doing barn chores. His eyes are red and drooping, there are purple bags touching his lower lashline, and there are very nearly tears rolling down his cheeks. His lips are twisted and his brows are drawn together.

This is the purest expression of anguish you’ve ever seen on anyone’s face before.

Chewing on your lip, still feeling too weak to do anything but lay here, you reach up and carefully finger the gold chain he always wears. Your teeth have touched this--chewed on it, clamped down. It brings you comfort the same way a baby blanket would.

“I’m good,” you tell him, voice thin. “We’ve got each other, huh?”

He shakes his head, sniffling hard, ready to break down entirely.

“I was so scared,” he tells you. His voice is wobbling, his fingers trembling. “God, I was so scared that-that I’d fall asleep.”

Brows knit, you shake your head.

“Why’s that give you the willies?”

Two fat tears stream down his face--he can’t stop them anymore, can’t take them back. He’s desperately stroking your face, sniffling.

“‘Cause I was only asleep for an hour when she left,” he cries softly. He knows, really, that you probably don’t understand what he means. He knows that. But he’s so worked up now, so upset, so fucking tired, that he can’t stop. “I was right there. I couldn’t hear her.”

“Who?” You whisper. The fear in your bones tells you that you already know.

“My ma,” he whispers.

And then he breaks down entirely. It’s the kind of breakdown toddlers have when they’re over-tired. His cheeks are pink and his sobs are choked. There’s snot dribbling down his face and his tears are fat and hot.

You’re holding onto him, kissing his skin, unable to get yourself to sit up. And he’s leaning over, hugging your torso close, pressing his wet face just beside yours.

“Roo,” you whisper to him. “Roo, everything’s chill now, honey. We’re all good. It’s okay.”

He can’t stop, though--a spigot that has broken.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ leave me,” he mutters to you.

You shake your head.

“Won’t,” you simply utter.

“Don’t die before me, okay?” He says very seriously. “Don’t fucking die before me.”

Your skin gooses. You’re not sure what to say, how to agree. So, you just nod.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Swear it.”

And because you’re not sure what to do, you wipe his face with your hands, not caring about snot or tears or heat or skin. And you kiss his hair, inhale all that familiar scent of his that you feel like you could drown in.

Then you unclasp his gold chain take it off his throat. He takes only a moment to register that you’ve done it, lifting his head slightly. But then you’re handing it to him and turning away, silently signaling to him that he must put it on you.

He does so silently, careful to move your hair out of the way before he clasps it.

Then you turn back to look at him, holding his cheek. The chain is still warm from his skin and it sits loosely around your neck, falling into the hollow of your throat as you gaze up at him.

“Your halo,” you mumble. “It’ll protect me, huh?”

His heart squeezes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, sniffling. He tries to compose himself as you wipe his face clean again, kissing his flushed skin. “It will.”

The chain was his father’s. One of the only things he got of his, one of the only things that survived the arduous task of time. He wasn’t wearing it when he died--Rooster thinks that must mean something.

“C’mere,” you insist.

It’s the kindest thing you’ve ever done for Rooster. You move your sore body so you’re laying on the pillows, pull his large body up beside you, and spoon him. Face pressed against his neck, feet against his calves, hips connected, you press kisses down his shoulders.

He hasn’t been held in a very long time. So long that it doesn’t really feel real that this is happening. But all the same, he sinks into the water bed, counts every single one of your heartbeats, and melts into the mattress.

“Hold onto me,” you whisper quietly.

Just the same, it’s been a long time since you’ve asked to be held.

He moves his arm behind him, wraps it awkwardly around your hips, and lets his grip rest on your lower back.

“Don’t die,” Rooster whispers, slurred with sleep.

It’s an odd thing to say--kind of funny, but also not at all. He’s being serious. You know that.

“I won’t,” you whisper.

“Don’t,” he says again, almost entirely asleep now. “I won’t live.”

“Shh,” you mutter.

And when he’s asleep, heat pouring off his body like a radiator and his body heavy against yours, you stay awake for a long time just being alive.

You’re keeping your promise.

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: listening to Halo by Beyonce brb

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬

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v-era-18 · 1 year

Text

Red Licorice

Prologue: Dumb Blonde

“My friend (Y/n) loves scary movies,” Casey's voice was filled with adoration, “It's a bit weird but I love her anyway.”

“Tell me something (Y/n)?” Casey was sitting crisscrossed on her bed, teen magazine in her lap as she watched her best friend section another part of her hair in two, “Why are you so against me dating Steve?”

The said girl looked up from her spot in front of the vanity, she was almost done with twisting the last section of her hair-four more to go and she'd be done. Today- Tuesday, the normal day the two girls would have their scheduled sleepovers, sometimes it would be spent gossiping-mostly instigated by Casey-painting nails, or simply talking about their future as the afro haired did her hair. She felt safe doing her hair at her best friends, it beat staying home alone while her aunt was out on the night shift at the hospital.

“I'm not against you dating him,” (Y/n) blew out, she thought back to how things were announced earlier this week, “I just didn't like how I had to lie to Stu about what really happened.” The girl hated lying-especially when someone she cared about asked her to do it. It felt dirty lying to Stu when he asked her if Casey cheated on him with the football player, of course she did as her best friend asked of her-still didn't make it right.

Casey stiffened on the bed, her face suddenly growing red from embarrassment, “I-I know…It was really big of me to ask that of you since you're considered a good friend of his,” The blonde laid back on the bed, her lips wobbling a bit, “I'm not going to justify my actions of what I did but-I needed something else-a distraction-”

“A distraction-?”

“That was a bad way to put it! The relationship wasn't for me (Y/n)! I couldn't see myself being with him forever-”

“You should've told him that-”

“It doesn't matter anymore,” Casey snapped, her eyes seemed to hold back tears that werent even for the failed relationship, “He’s off fucking Tatum. The exact bitch I told you that would flirt with him non stop. Not to mention the way he looks at y-”

The blonde stopped herself while she was ahead. No it wasn't right to tell her about the many times Stu had spoken to Casey about (Y/n) while they were alone. The couple had even discussed a threesome with their favorite best friend in mind while they were drunk one date night underneath the stars.

Casey was fine with it, until each time her best friend laid next to her in the bed-she was filled with something that shouldn’t have been there. Something frowned upon, so when the next time her ex boyfriend mentioned it she shut it down immediately. (Y/n) didn’t deserve her first time to be like that, she needed commitment. Something she knew most guys in her school wouldn’t go for.

(Y/n) cocked her head to the side sending a questioning gaze to the blond who had her head in the clouds. She knew that the twos’ relationship isn't perfect-hell no relationship is but she thought she knew better than to cheat on someone. Man or women, it wasn't right to sleep with someone else when you had a partner already. But she had never been in a relationship, so she couldn't judge or tell her what was right or wrong in this case. So instead she'd rather distract her best friend rather than scold her.

“Sooo,” The brown skinned girl smiled softly, changing the subject, “Wanna watch a scary movie downstairs? I brought popcorn!” One thing (Y/n) could always do to deescalate a situation among friends was to suggest a scary movie, most of the time Stu and Billy would immediately stop what they were doing and join her, already arguing with what to watch as others laugh.

Casey sits up in her bed sending a sad glance her way, “The amount of scary movies you watch is honestly concerning, they're gonna rot your brain one of these days.”

She laughed in response, finishing off the last strand, “Everyone knows horror is my favorite, the main reason why I'm gonna major in film! I'm gonna be the first black female horror film director.”

Her friend smiled in response, her eyes gleaming with adoration that was beyond platonic as her gaze moved a bit downward toward her cleavage peeking out from the silk overdress Casey bought her for her sixteenth birthday. It was a good choice and suited her very well, the red lace straps sat nicely against her shoulders and seemed to make her brown skin pop out a bit.

The fun part is, (Y/n) only has enough confidence to wear sleepwear like this around her friends. So only Casey , Sidney, and Tatum only had the honor of seeing such eye candy up close. It truly felt like a dirty privilege that any man would want to see-would possible even kill to see. And they had the honor of seeing it for free, Casey truly was so lucky.

“I know you'll be, just remember me when you get all famous,” The blonde got up and passed the girls headwrap and bonnet, “I want a seat in the very first row of your movie. You better hold me tight while I scream at all the gory scenes you'll come up with.”

“I'm surprised you don't want to be one of the actors,” (Y/n) giggled softly, she finished wrapping her hair and started to put the hair products away, “You would be perfect, you're so pretty and would make all the boys in the theater go crazy.”

Casey felt herself grow warm, “And what character would I be? The final girl?”

(Y/n) smiled ruefully, “No. You would be the dumb blonde that dies first.”

☿

Casey’s thoughts traveled back to that night, it only happened a few days ago yet she was so restless. It was so hard going on and pretending like these feelings for her friend do not exist. She had no one to talk to about it; Sidney would tell her to be honest and go for it ‘there's several problems with that plan’, Tatum would first laugh then tell her to move out of her parents house before they kick her out, and Randy is to awkward plus its obvious that they harbor the same feelings for the girl.

Hence why she needs another distraction tonight, the main reason Steve is coming over to ‘watch’ a movie. The main plan was to obviously have her brains fucked out of her so she would forget the way her best friend looked while bending over on the bed reading a zombie comic. The girl was completely unaware that her underwear was on full display in front of Casey, driving the girl up the wall. She had to refrain from touching her and instead laid down next to her and pretended to be interested in what she was reading.

She honestly felt like she was backed off into a corner, it was obvious her parents wouldnt approve if she liked women in a sexual manner, not to mention (Y/n)’s skin color. Casey wasn’t stupid. She knew the only reason the girl was allowed into their home was because of how truly brilliant her best friend was, it shocked her parents- so much so they allowed her to hang out more in the home more than Sideny and Tatum. They deemed her a good influence, she didn't want to ruin that image of her friend just because of her feelings.

Casey just needed to keep it all in until the graduate and get her own apartment then she would consider telling (Y/n) about her true feelings. But right now she shouldn't be thinking about that, she should be thinking about the boy that's going to be on her doorstep, hungry and ready to devour her. One thing she was thankful for was her looks, she could possibly get a lot of guys if she wanted to, if it wasn't that obvious with how quick Steve was to agree to a quickie in the locker room during third period. She was desperate then, it was honestly sad that she needed another man to truly satisfy the craving for her friend that sat next to her.

The blonde finished the touches on her makeup and outfit before heading downstairs.If she was going to fake her desire for the male she might as well look good doing it, Tatum’s philosophy unfortunately. Her boyfriend should've been here by now, leave it to him to keep a girl waiting and preoccupied with her thoughts.

‘If (Y/n) were here I would be very distracted,’ The girl could imagine it. The two of them on the couch eating popcorn before Casey decided to pull her into a long sweet kiss of affection. She didn’t need sex to explain her love. Simple acts of affection would be enough. If she were here right now the girl wouldn’t hold back anymore-.

A phone rang cutting off Beckers thoughts, it was late at night and assumed her boyfriend was calling to explain as to why he was leaving his house late. She would let it slide after all she was basically using him.

“Hello,” Casey answered the phone with a polite voice she could muster, she didn't want to be rude even if she was in a mood.

“Hello,” a voice answered back, it was smooth and a tad bit seductive. The girl would be lying if she wasn't taken a bit aback by it.

“Yes?”

“Who is this?” The man questioned.

“Hmm, who are you trying to reach?”

‘Never talk too long to strangers rule number one’ (Y/n)' s voice rang out. Even as the girl was listening to someone else the girl's voice was plaguing her.

“What number is this?” The man continued to question.

“Well what number are you trying to reach?” Becker asked, the man was starting to confuse her.

“I dont know.”

“Well I think you have the wrong number” Oh so he’s just wasting time.

“What-?”

“It happens all the time. You take it easy.” Casey hung up the phone before glancing at the clock, her boyfriend still isn't here yet-the telephone rang once more much to her agitation, “Ugh, hello?’

“ I'm sorry I guess I dialed the wrong number,”

“So why did you dial it again?”

“To apologize-”

“You're forgiven. Bye now.” Her voice was even, done with the conversation.

“Wait, wait! Don't hang up-,” The girl hung up the phone.

Casey stands in front of a sliding glass door observing her surroundings now that she had just ended the phone call with the mysterious stranger who keeps calling her house. Casey notices that it’s pitch black outside in her backyard.

“What?” Casey asks now seemingly becoming just slightly annoyed with this mysterious man continuously calling her house phone repeatedly trying to get her to engage into conversations and ask her questions about things she could care less about at the moment.

“I want to talk to you for a second.” The man tries to hold on to the conversation with the blonde haired girl who is trying to end the phone call as soon as she possibly can.

“Well, they’ve got nine hundred numbers for that. Seeya.” Casey exclaims as she hangs up the phone, grinning as she goes back to cooking the popcorn on her stove.

The night continues at the Becker residence, silence taking over as nothing but big oak trees surround the house, with no neighbors in sight.

The house phone then starts to ring once again, prompting Casey to pick it up, still expecting her boyfriend to call as she awaits his arrival at her house.

“Hello,” Casey says as she speaks into the house phone as she watches the popcorn sizzle in a pot on the stove as she covers it with a lid.

“Why don't you want to talk to me?”

“Who is this?” Casey asks unbeknownst to her that it is the same person that has called her more than twice already in the past 15 minutes.

“You tell me your name I'll tell you mine,” the mysterious man tries to make a deal with her, trying to engage the young blonde into telling him more about herself seeing as she wouldn’t the last two attempts he tried calling her house.

She wanted to laugh, “I don't think so,” Casey replied, simply shaking the popcorn on the stove. If the girl's best friend was here she would be shaking her body to the beat, the girl smiles slightly at the image she created.

“What's that noise?,” He asks, trying to make out the background noises he could hear during the phone call with Casey.

“Popcorn,” She answered shortly. Casey’s demeanor goes from slightly annoyed to irritated that she can’t seem to get ready for a date night with her boyfriend who has yet to arrive at her home without this stranger constantly calling her and distracting her from her tasks.

“You're making popcorn?” asks curiously from the other side of the line.

“Uh-huh,” Casey replied bored. The conversation was really strange and getting a bit too long, she wondered why she was still on the phone in the first place.

“I only eat popcorn at the movies,” He informed. The girl's mind went back to her best friend once more, her laying back in the movie seat, manspreading in excitement as another kill took place on the movie screen.

“I'm getting ready to watch a movie,” she says to him, walking over to the counter of the aisle sitting in the middle of the kitchen. Casey now leaning her body over the aisle as she starts an interesting conversation with him.

“Really? What?” The man seemed a bit too interested for her liking.

“Just some scary movie my friend suggested,” To (Y/n) and Randy it wasn't just some movie, it was one of the best scary movies storyline wise and had the two in an ever loving chokehold.

“Do you like scary movies?” The man purred.

“My friend (Y/n) loves scary movies,” Casey's voice was filled with adoration, “It's a bit weird but I love her anyway.”

“(Y/n)? Is that your friend?” The girl froze for a minute deciding whether or not to answer, it was a stranger and there could be several girls with that name so he couldn't possibly know which one she was talking about.

“Hello?”

“Yes. She is,” Casey whispered into the phone, “One of the best.”

“Oh,” He replied softly, “What's your favorite movie to watch with her?”

Casey moves away from the stove and takes a seat at the kitchen counter right in front of the glass door, “I don't know. There's so many,” She laughed softly.

“You have to have a favorite,” The man was insistent, “You seem very fond of her, I'm sure there's a movie you both enjoy the most.”

She thinks for a moment, from all the found memories of the two spending time with each other. Stu cut in sometimes during the memories making her stomach churn as she thought about one night the two wouldn't stop talking about Alien, she felt left out even though her friend tried to include her. So to warm her spirits she thought of the very first horror movie they watched alone together, (Y/n) snuggled up into her side and ate buttered popcorn like a delicacy.

“Uh..Halloween. You know, the one with the white mask who just sorta walks around and stalks the babysitters. What's yours?” She had given him too much information already and it was his turn.

“Guess.”

“Uh,....Nightmare on Elm Street.” (Y/n) would have probably guessed a lot better. She had a thing for slashers.

“Is that the one the guy had knives for his fingers?” The mysterious guy tries to pry more information out of the clueless girl.

“Yeah, Freddy Kruger,” Casey answered, starting to walk out of her kitchen and to a different area of the house, leaving her popcorn cooking and unattended on the stove as it still continues to pop fresh buttery kernels.

“Freddy-Thats right. I like that movie. It was scary,” The man seemed pleased that Casey was now participating in the conversation that he had been longing to have with her all evening.

“Yeah, the first one was, but the rest of them sucked though,” Casey laughed as she walked through the halls of the main level in the house, locking doors that would lead access to entry and as an exist to the estate, “(Y/n) said he had the potential to be the best slasher, but the directors ruined it.”

The man went silent for a long moment, making the blonde's nerves go on edge, “This (Y/n) girl, are you guys a thing?”

The girl's blood ran cold, “What?”

“I'm asking if she's your girlfriend, you keep bringing her into the conversation,” The man chuckled lightly, “I wont judge if-”

“No!” She denied quickly with a yell, “I-I mean, no, we're not together.”

“Ah, so you and her have boyfriends?”

Casey giggled nervously, “Why? Are you trying to ask one of us on a date?”

“Maybe. So do you guys have boyfriends?” the male uttered the question again.

“No.” Casey suddenly felt a bit flirtatious with the male, she knew her best friend would have been disappointed with her actions but this was the most fruitful distraction she has had in awhile, “And my friend would have to know you before she would even consider going on a date with you. Although, she might let you slide if you buy her dinner and watch a marathon of scary movies.”

He let out a deep chuckle, “I'll keep that in mind.” it was silent for another moment before he continued, “You never told me your name, but you told me your friends.”

Casey disregarded the last comment and twirled her hair, “Why do you want to know my name?”

“Because I want to know who I'm looking at,” The man replied simply.

Casey spun her body like lightning towards the glass door, her heart hammered in her chest as the words sunk in, “What did you say?”

“I want to know who I’m talking to,” He faked his sentence innocently.

“That's not what you said,” The girl snapped, heading towards the lights.

“What do you think I said?” he questioned.

Casey surveyed the backyard illuminated by the light. The tree's shadows seemed to move with the branches as she looked around for any sign of the seemingly intruder over the phone on her property. There's no one there. She turns the lights out as she hears the popcorn pop in the kitchen.

“I have to go now,” she gritted out in fear. She shouldn’t have been so stupid, out of all the scary movies she's watched with her best friend she knew better than to talk to strangers over the phone or simply alone.

“Wait-I thought we were going to go out?” He faked disappointment.

“Nah , I don't think so,” Casey on the fritz of an anxiety attack.

“Don't hang up on me,” He warned, there was an edge to his tone, he seemed to be losing his patience. “And don't you dare call (Y/n) either-!”

The girl was so scared she missed the last part of his sentence, “Gotta go.” She hung up the phone once again before running to the glass door and locking it. She starts to move to the stove before-the phone rings again as she's sliding the popcorn off the stove.

She answers with a hopeful prayer that it's her boyfriend calling with an explanation, “Yes?”

“ I told you not to hang up on me,” The strange man now seemed to calm as he said it to Casey for the fourth time, calling her tonight.

Now fear started to enter her body as she began to look around her housing, baffled as to why this man that she does not recognize on the other end of the line of the phone, would ask her such a question.

“What do you want?” Casey asks the man as she tries to piece together how this man could possibly state that when she doesn’t even know who she's on the phone to begin with.

“To talk,” the man simply states to her on the other end of the line.

“Dial someone else, okay,” she frantically states as she then hangs up abruptly on him, now showing clear signs of irritation and fear, as it pans over her face and body as she starts to move her left arm up and down, stating to the stranger now showing she is far from interested in what once seemed to be a platonic phone conversation with a random stranger to a now seemingly creepy stalker type of scenario.

Now walking back into the kitchen to finally attend to her popcorn, the phone rings once again. Casey, finally being fed up, decided to answer the phone and rip the creepy man a new one.

“Listen asshole-,” Casey tries to finish her rant, but before she could even get a few words out to voice her feelings the killer beat her to it.

“NO, YOU LISTEN, YOU LITTLE BITCH. IF YOU HANG UP ON ME AGAIN I’LL GUT YOU LIKE A FISH. UNDERSTAND?” The man yells, fed up that the young Becker girl wouldn’t play into his shenanigans and games he was trying to engage her in.

Nothing was heard on either side of the phone as the man had finally gotten Casey’s full attention and now he would be able to set his plan into motion with her.

Not able to fully grasp the events of the conversation that just took place only seconds ago over the phone, Casey promptly asks the man, “Is this some sick joke?” To which he replied to her with, “More of a game,” in a playful yet serious manner.

Casey is now eyeing the outside of her house from the inside of her kitchen as she is still on the phone with the man, she then makes a beeline straight for her front door. Noticing that it’s unlocked, she then takes the opportunity to lock it at that very moment.

“I’m two seconds from calling the police.” Casey exclaimed to the man as panic started to settle in that someone is watching her ,and has possibly been watching her for who knows how long.

“They’d never make it in time.” The man sneers into the phone, causing Casey to push her face into the front door. Using the peephole, Casey tries to see if she can spot anyone on her front porch or yard, thinking that this could just be some sick prank that one of her friends or her boyfriend, who has still yet to show up to her house, could be playing on her. However, seeing that the front porch was empty and with no one in sight, set a newfound terror in Casey Becker’s stomach.

“What do you want?!” She uttered in complete fright, she couldn't see the man no matter how much she was trying to. He was stalking her , circling around her in the shadows of the trees that she couldn't see.

“To see what your insides look like,” The male smiled into the phone, it was a domino effect as he watched the girl's face go slack in terror, the face he’d been waiting all night to see. His smile is short lived as she hangs up once more throwing the phone onto the side table, it was okay, the plan is still being set in motion.

He leaned against the tree as he watched the girl look towards the front door, his partner was ringing it, obviously growing impatient from waiting for their two kills for tonight. They both were masterminds, this was another successful step forward into the biggest thing that they both wanted.

“Who's there?” She called out to the door, another chime rings out causing the girl to move towards the sound, she repeats her sentence louder this time. Not daring to open the door, she was smarter than that. When she realized there was going to be no answer she realized this was getting out of hand, she needed the police. Just as she grabbed the phone it rang once more.

Casey brought it up closer to her ear trembling, she didn't want to speak to the man any more, so she waited for him to speak again through the phone. And that he did.

“Your friend is a horror movie fanatic and you're calling ‘Who’s there?’,” the man let out a disappointed tsk, “Didn't she tell you that's practically a death wish?”

She did, but she wasn't going to tell him that, “Look, enough is enough. You had your fun, now you better leave me alone or else!” Casey, clutched against the wall trying to gain her bearings.

“Or else what?” It was a dare for her to speak the threat, she needed to phrase her words wisely. It's too bad she was making all kinds of bad decisions tonight.

“My boyfriend will be here any second and hell be pissed if I tell him-”

“I thought you didn't have a boyfriend? I thought you had a thing for girls?”

‘Oh shit,’ Casey thought in her head, “How did this guy know so much about me and my personal life? Is it really that noticeable that I have a thing for Y/N?!? I thought I hide my feelings very well in public so people wouldn’t suspect anything between us or assume the worst.”

Finally deciding to answer his question, Casey admits to the truth. “So what if I lied? I do have a boyfriend and he’ll be here any second and your ass better be gone,” she decides to try to match energy with this sicko on the other end of the phone.

“Sure…”The man states as he doesn’t believe any word Casey utters, as if her threat held no weight to its end.

“I swear it. And he’s big and plays football and will beat the shit out of you,” she states with venom dripping from her voice.

“I’m getting scared,” the man states to her, obviously not scared of her empty threats.

“And I’m really telling the truth this time so you better leave,” the girl states thinking that her saying that could scare this man off, but Casey should have known that this was only the beginning of the ending of her sad foreshadowed ending that she was warned about beforehand.

“And this boyfriend of yours, Steve, wouldn’t happen to know about the thoughts you have running in your head about that best friend of yours, (Y/n), would he?” the stalker asks with a small fake gasp, making Casey’s eyes go wide, causing her to turn her body around with horror striking her face.

“How do you know his name?” Becker uttered in shock.

“Go to the back door and turn on the porch light- again,” The instructions rolled off his tongue in waves, sending chills down her spine. She did as told, her steps unsteady like her breathing, moving from the front door-to the kitchen-and finally the glass doors. She found the lights and licked them on.

“OH GOD!” Caseys scream filled the house as she stood watching her boyfriend being tied and gagged to the chair in front of the glass doors. His eyes looked at her desperately asking for help, blood streaking down his face, he seemed to take a beating-but was alive nonetheless.

Her hand moved to the lock of the door, intuitively wanting to help, “I wouldn't do that if I were you,” The man scolded on the other end.

“Where are you?” She cried helplessly, all her spunk gone.

“Guess,” He teased.

Her eyes scanned the year-the trees, all around the porch the man was nowhere to be found. She gave up, “Please don't hurt him,” She was actually surprised she was begging for his life. She really didn't truly love him or anything, but no one deserves to die.

“That all depends on you,” His words had their weight.

“Why are you doing this?” Casey honestly wanted to know, she hadn't crossed anyone other than Stu and possibly Tatum, but they both weren’t capable of murder.

“I wanna play a game,”

“No-,”

“Then he dies. Right now.”

“No!” She begged

“Which is it?” He gritted on the phone. The male watched the girl stare back at the big jock through the door, the big dude was crying too-almost fooled him that he was crying for his girl rather than his own life.

“What kind of game?” She complied.

“Turn off the light,” He ordered.

She did as told, much to her boyfriend's dismay as he tried calling her name through the gag on his mouth. “Here's how we play. I ask a question. If you get it right, Steve lives.”

“Please don't do this,” She rips the lamp cord from its socket, darkening the room. If she couldn't see the killer then she didn't want him to see her.

“Come on, it'll be fun! I know (Y/n) would have loved it,”

Casey frowned and whimpered, “No, she wouldn't”

The male did his best to ignore the bitches comment, “It's an easy category, Movie Trivia.”

“Please,” She begged again.

“I'll even give you a warm up question,” The male replied nicely, “Name the killer in Halloween-”

“No,”

“Come on, It's you and (Y/n)’s favorite scary movie, remember? He had a white mask, he stalked the babysitters-”

“Micheal….Micheal Myers,” She whimpered.

“Yes!” Casey sighed, relieved the answer was correct, it was short lived. “Now for the real question.”

“No!” She was hysterical.

“But your doing so well-”

“Go away and leave us alone! That includes (Y/n)!”

“Then answer the question. Same category,” The girl was still a whimpering wet mess on the floor, “Name the killer in Friday the 13th.”

Becker jumped up in relief, “Jason! Jason! It's Jason!” There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone, the girl thought they were finally free-.

“I'm sorry. Thats the wrong answer,”

“It's Jason! I've watched the movie twenty goddamn times!” Casey was beyond angry at this point, all the times she watched the movie with Stu and (Y/n) were all for naught?

“It's the wrong answer, if you've watched it that many times you would know that Mrs. Vohes was the original killer Jason didn't appear until the sequel,” The male laughed behind the phone, “Lucky for you there's a bonus round-but for poor Steve-im afraid-hes out.”

The girl heard the noise before she saw the murder first hand, her boyfriend's muffled screams echoed outside, and she could practically hear the tearing of flesh through the screen door. The lights cut on giving her a good view of his dead corpse, she screamed out a choked sob as she reached for the lights again turning them off hoping the killer would just leave her alone.

“Now answer my next question,”

“Please leave me alone,”

“What door am I at?”

“What,” Casey couldn't think straight at this point, she was too terrified.

“There are two doors to your house. A front one and a back one. If You answer correctly-you get to live,”

It was a lie obviously.

The blonde looked in the varying directions, looking from the directions of the doors and strategizing how she could possibly escape outside and to the road without the intruder catching her. She felt useless, she was going to die in this house without saying goodbye.

“Don't make me,” Casey pleaded, “I cant-I wont.”

“Your Call,”

The girl only had a second to scramble over towards the table to grab a knife as the glass door broke with a lawn chair. Glass seemed to slow down as the intruder emerged, what shocked her the most was the black robe with a screaming white mask of a ghost. If she wasnt so terrified she would laugh and commence the costume, but the knife in the man's hands glimmered in the light, causing her blood to run cold.

Casey runs to the window slowly sliding it up as she hears the man make his way through the foyer, with hate she slips through the window, at the last second she fumbles the knife dropping it. Muttering a curse she decides to leave it as races to the corner of the house outside.

She was almost there to the yard, moving between the fence and the house, the only obstacle was the two curtainless glass windows she would have to pass without him noticing. She peeks into another window watching the killer open a closet searching for her, taking a chance she skips the second window and moves down to the third. Casey peeks her head up again, only to let out a blood curdling scream with the masked figure staring back at her. The masked man thrusts his fist through the glass grabbing her arm, only to be stopped with her throwing a punch to his face.

Casey took this chance to run further into the yard, rounding the corner seeing headlights in the distance. Her parents were home early, without second thought she tears off towards them, awaiting safety from the murder. Her hope didn't last long when the ghost masked killer appears, grabbing her, raising the gleaming metal high before striking it down once more.

She dropped to the ground, clutching her chest as red blooms staining her cream sweater, she chokes on her cries. The ghostface tries to strike down again only to be kicked away in response. Casey stagers over to the front porch, her parents staring at the ajar door.

“Maa,” It was choked out and gurgled, she was choking on her own blood as she watched her parents head inside. Casey stayed lying on the ground outside by her house as she would gasp for deep breaths, hoping they would help better the airflow of the injuries she received from the masked killer. As she laid there she could hear the heavy footsteps of the slasher near her.

Looking up had to be the worst mistake in her life because then Casey realized the harsh truth her best friend told her that same evening only a few hours early. As she laid there on the ground, the killer took the opportunity to stab her once again making it the final blow for her. It wasn't for naught she got to see her killers face, tears slide down as she realized her best friend would be left with the monster much to her dismay.

And with her dying breath, Casey Becker gasped out, “(Y/N) was right, the dumb blondes do always die first in horror movies.” and with that last breath from the girl, her chest stopped rising and she was finally dead.

Much to the satisfaction for the unknown killer, but to the rest of the town of Woodsboro, California, Casey Becker’s death wasn’t the first and it surely wouldn’t be the last for sure.

#billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #stu matcher x reader #Stu matcher x Black reader #Billy Loomis x Black reader #Spotify

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libramc · 2 years

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a quick guide to . . .

- Planetary Hours.

what are planetary hours?

each hour of the day is ruled by a specific planet. every planet holds a different energy, resulting in each hour holding a different influence. planetary hours are great to schedule important meetings or dates, to study, manifest, post content, etc. and it's a technique often used by wealthy people to boost their success ✨ this practice dates back to hellenistic astrology; as such, we'll only take in consideration the seven classical planets: the sun, the moon, mercury, venus, mars, saturn and jupiter. in this reading I'll show you how to calculate planetary hours, what they mean and how you can use them based on your birth chart 💫.

calculating planetary hours

calculating planetary hours is extremely easy, and also free. first of all, I suggest using the website planetaryhours.net. you just have to select the date of the day you want to check and the place of your location, and you'll automatically get a chart of all the planetary hours of the chosen day. apple users also have access to the planetaro app, which pretty much works the same. the advantages of this app are the possibility to enable notifications, in order to be noticed whenever it is a certain planetary hour, and you can also add an aesthetic widget to your home screen to always keep an eye on them.

how to make the best out of planetary hours

☉ sun hour: great for being in the spotlight, creativity, confidence and self-expression. during sun hour, try to schedule your job interviews, post your social media content to reach more engagement, work on your creative projects to be more inspired; talk to authoritative figures during this hour (for example to ask your boss for a raise). sun hour is also great for manifesting success, fame, popularity and confidence.

☽ moon hour: great time to spend with your family or at home in general. you can book a table at a restaurant during moon hour, since it's also the hour for food, you can have a meal with your family, or also cook, as the food cooked during this hour turns out very delicious. moon hour is also great for serene naps, with frequent dreams. in fact, during this hour we tend to be more in tune with our imagination and intuition. as such, you can also read tarots or your birth chart with better results during moon hour. this is also a great time for journaling and writing down your feelings.

☿ mercury hour: this is the best time for communication and learning of any kind. it's the best hour to study, you may find yourself easily more focused on the topics you're studying. this is also the best time to write essays or any kind of formal document. if you have to write and send an important email or message, this is the best time to do it. this is also the best hour to take a lesson or an exam, if you can schedule them at your leisure. this is also a good time to write content for your blog (it's mercury hour as I'm writing this rn!) and for creative writing. this is also a good hour to sell items and to make deals in general.

♀︎ venus hour: during venus hour you can do a bunch of things! first of all, it's the best time for love, therefore you can schedule a date, a marriage during venus hour in order to make it turn out well. it's also a great hour for creative activities and for entertainment in general. during venus hour you may attend a concert, go watch a movie, go shopping, throw a party... it's also the best time to book an appointment with the hairdresser, with your nail tech and anything that involves beauty. this is also a good time to grow your social media, create and post content and manifest luxury and money.

♂︎ mars hour: great for physical activity; if you workout, make sure to do it during mars hour for better stamina and results. this also applies for sports and competitions of any kind. mars hour also makes you more assertive, so it's a good hour to make decisions and plan your week, do something that you always procrastinate. on the other hand, remember that mars is also a malefic planet: try to avoid confrontations that may escalate into an argument, as during this hour it's easier to get stressed or lose our temper.

♃ jupiter hour: jupiter hour is obviously the lucky hour of the day! it's the best time to manifest abundance and wealth, you may want to play the lottery during this time. this is also a good time to launch your business, do anything that you may want to grow and turn into success. that can implicate studying for an important test, investing your money... during jupiter hour you can also pursue spiritual activies like meditation, astrology, yoga, tarot reading, etc. in addition, it's the best time to study a foreign language and planning trips.

♄ saturn hour: during saturn hour we tend to feel more disciplined; as a result, it's the best time to do your house chores, complete a project you are procrastinating, organize your week and your plans for the future. saturn usually makes things slow, therefore if you want to do something swiftly make sure not to do it during this hour. instead, do things that you want to take slow and nurture with time. saturn also rules karma, therefore be mindful of what you do and what happens during this hour. most of the time, significant events that occur during saturn hours are karmic events that were meant to be.

a little trick

to make the most out of planetary hours, look at your birth chart and act based on your personal planets. for example, let's suppose you want to cut your hair. you can book your appointment during venus hour, but what I suggest you to do is to look at the sign your venus falls in. for example, if your natal venus is in virgo, it means it's ruled by mercury, and therefore mercury hour will activate your natal venus and give you its benefits. in this way, you'll be able to match the energy of your birth chart to planetary hours for better results.

if you made it until here, thank you! hope you enjoyed the post ✨ don't hesitate to ask more questions if something's not clear, my ask box is always open.

also, I do complete birth chart readings for only a few $, therefore if you're interested in having your chart read by me you can get all the info on my pinned post. 🦋

last but not least, if you liked this post make sure to follow me for more content! - libramc xx

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