EXPLICIT
PAIRINGS: serial killer!Nat x reader
WORD COUNT: 1,598
WARNINGS: smut, gun kink, switch!R, switch!Nat, serial killer!Nat, mentions of murder, death, violence, teasing, degrading, praising, cunnilingus, masturbation, daddy (N), begging, think that’s all :)
NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!
“You’re so cute, I almost don’t want to kill ya’.” The woman chuckled, bringing a new tear to your sore cheek. You were growing red as sobs forced themself out of you. Fear was implanted into your brain, that was obvious to Nat and anyone else who’d have the misfortune of seeing you like this.
“Please, I’m not ready to die!” You begged, eyeing the gun tossing in her hand. She failed to show a sense of remorse, instead fanning a faux frown.
“Don’t you look sweet on your knees, it’s like you were meant to be a trashy fucking whore.” You gulped down the words that were trying to make way, knowing these could be your final moments if so. Although, even if you kept quiet and agreed to her terms, you had a feeling it would end with the same results.
“Why are you doing this? I don’t know what I did but- but, I- I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow! Whatever I did, please- just let me go, I won’t tell anyone!” You clawed at her sweatpants that were hiding the soft, tan skin. Her outfit choice was laid back, making it look like she had done this regularly. You imagined all the victims who must’ve looked like you, a pathetic mess begging for their life, then they were dead. And you were next, you knew there was no hope she’d let you live.
“Oh, I know you will.” She didn’t say another word as the gun came to your mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, remembering every blessed moment of your life while you could before it was stripped away from you. The moments where you finally held peace with your family. The moments where your friends finally showed their support. The moments you came home with a smile on your face from an outstanding test result. But there weren’t many, your life had gone slow, your every move being thought out and planned to a max. But these plans never succeeded, which led you to hope your later years would be all that you dreamed of late at night when you wallowed in self-pity. But they were being stopped short, all because you fell into her trap like a mouse being bribed by cheese.
“Open- yeah, good girl.” You slowly followed her request, goosebumps spreading around your skin as the cold metal pressed the back of your heated throat. A small gag came from you, resulting in a low groan from the woman standing over you. You didn’t know her name, you guessed you never would.
“Now suck it, baby. Suck it like the dirty slut you are.” You hesitated to rest your hands on her backside, fearing one wrong move would bring this to a short, unfulfilling end. But she didn’t complain, only thrusting the weapon in and out of you at a slow pace. Small strings of saliva would connect you with the horrid act, being the small reminder of what sinful acts you were committing. You were getting face-fucked from something that brought death to many, you were disgusting.
“Oh my, look at you rubbing that sweet, little clit of yours. You’re so wet, I bet you’d take Daddy’s fingers like it was nothin’!” She bit her lip as her ears closed in on the squelching sounds you hadn’t noticed you were creating. You instantly drew back your fingers, trying to return them to their previous destination but the act was refuted.
“You’re not taking that back now, darlin’. C’mon, make Daddy happy, she is the one deciding if you’ll see another day, after all.” She retreated her gun from your mouth, letting you release multiple hurried breaths as you coughed on nothing.
“You’ve made me so fucking wet, look at the mess you made.” You held little recollection of when she dipped her hands beneath the layer of clothing, being too focused on watching her facial expressions to ensure she was satisfied.
Fingers were displayed in front of your face, two of them separating as a line of arousal followed. The string broke, and your tongue met with your lips, leaving a glow from the lamp in the corner of the room.
“Please,” Came your small, pleading tone. The woman raised a brow, a silent signal for you to continue. You looked down, shame and guilt spreading throughout your body and boiling deep inside of you along with the tightening in your lower stomach. You were feeling so many different emotions and all of them were due to her, how she could hold so much power, you didn’t know.
“Please what?” She asked when knowing you wouldn’t follow the small command. You sniffled, bringing a grin to Nat’s face. Her lips soon twisted into a smirk that only frightened you further.
“Please let me taste you, Daddy.” She cooed, wiping the dribbles of drool mixed with tears from your chin with her thumb before taking it between the barrier beneath her lips, humming at the taste that greeted her.
“Why are you doing this to me?” You repeated from earlier, the lack of mercy showing across her face only making you regret coming home that night. You should’ve stayed at a friend's, you never should’ve gone out in the first place.
“No, you did this to yourself.” Her pants lowered along with the lace panties she adored before she stepped forward, tugging your head closer by your hair and creating a tight ponytail. She drew you in when you denied, relishing in the motions you gifted her. Your tongue drew circles on her clit before you sucked graciously, moaning at the sweet nectar you received. You wondered if this is how most of her victims spent their last moments and nearly wept in misery as the acceptance came into play, this is how you’d spend your last moments, you were now considered a victim. You never got to say goodbye to your family, instead being forced into accepting her wetness. But, when you tried to wallow in sadness, you couldn’t find such. No, you only felt a smile threatening to take the way of your lips. You got to admire the beauty of Natasha Romanoff, the most famous and feared serial killer in the city, only no one knew it was her. They gave her a name, a feared title, but no one lived to tell the tale of how her red hair splayed across her neck, a few strands sticking up in the heat. No one got to see the stare she was giving you, the signs of pleasure that were seeping into your awaiting mouth.
“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, little girl.” You sucked harder, occasionally parting to tease her hole before you felt liquid easing out of her, the result bringing a sense of pride. But you didn’t stop there. Even when her head was thrown back, her veins along the skin nearly popping while her sculptured jawline shined beneath the light, you didn’t stop. She looked as though the gods from above had sent her down, but she instead came from hell. She was a devil in disguise of an angel, and you were slowly turning the more her grasp lingered.
“Wha- what are you doing, baby?” Her hips thrusting disagreed with her mind telling her she had to leave, she couldn’t risk the danger of getting caught for a human she barely knew the name of. You held no importance to her, and the more you brought yourself to accept her actions, the more she reconsidered ever choosing you. She noticed you on the way home from a bar and thought you were the perfect person; you were sweet, making sure you tipped the bartender more than most before waving your coworker goodbye. Nobody would notice if you were gone, she’d be able to flee in no time. But you weren’t making that easy for her, you were a challenge she never faced. She knew this would bring her deeper into the hole she dug for herself, but she couldn’t stop moaning.
“Oh- God! Mhm, right there, that’s the spot!” You replaced your tongue with your fingers, letting your digits rub her clit softly while you dipped in and out of her tight hole.
“Fuck,” She dragged out, her eyes rolling to the back of her head while a gasp left her. You pinched her bundle of nerves in hopes of getting a reaction out of her, which you instantly did.
“Can’t…I can’t take it.” She admitted, causing you to pull away. The action brought a whine from her that enlightened you, sending a rush through your body.
“Hm, it doesn’t sound like you want me to stop.” She shook her head, dragging you in and expecting you to continue, bringing out an impatient groan when you refused.
“Oh, now you want it? C’mon, I want to hear how bad Daddy needs me to suck that pretty little clit.” She clenched around nothing at your words, the embarrassment seeming to send heat waves to her tightening coil ready to burst once more.
“I need it, baby girl. F-fuck, I need it so fucking bad! I’ll do anything, just please let me cum for you.” You chuckled, taking the weapon that had dropped to the floor in a rush from her previous endeavors. You pressed it against her hole, smirking as she seemed to take it with ease. You slowly started dragging it in and out, your previous load of saliva keeping the gun wet.
“Mm, look who’s the one begging now.”
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Oh, you wanna play psycho killer? (Ghostface! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader x Ghostface! Peter B Parker) Part 1
RAAAAA! Excited about this one! Based off this post. Inspired by this drawing from Andalusia_Lu on Tiktok. Not proofread. Tbh I’m kinda nervous about this one but…Enjoy! Also in this story MJ and Peter are just friends. This is probably the darkest think I’ve written.
(Y/N) - Your name.
NSFW!!, Cursing, use of alcohol, death, murder, yandere behavior, Reader has a bf who does die, violence, blood, said reader’s bf calls her derogatory remarks behind her back, religious imagery(I think???), stalking, male masturbation, invasion of privacy, reader being drugged, panty stealing, stalking, implied kidnapping, gore, cameras being placed in readers home without their knowledge, it’s a horror one shot so… you know what you’re walking into. Dead Dove Do not eat, MDNI!
Word count: 2.5k
Part 2
Masterlist
—
October 31st, Halloween night. Also know as the night that gives college students an excuse to get fucked up while in a shit quality costume that cost 50 bucks at spirit Halloween.
That little rule you are not exempt from, that’s how you found yourself in a random college frat party at NYU, a bottle of beer in one hand, and your boyfriend’s in the other as you drag him through the crowd so you both can dance. The alcohol in your system made your whole body relaxed and your cheeks glow with a dash of red over them, your eyes half-lidded and your smile wide as you looked up at Daniel while Promiscuous from Nelly Furtado blasted through the house. You looked like an angel straight from heaven, although that might be due to your customer, being dressed up as Juliet from the 1996 movie, while your boyfriend was clattered in armor as Romeo. The costumes being your idea after having rewatched the movie a few weeks ago.
You both had lost the rest of your group in the crowd, Jess and MJ had said they were going to the kitchen while Miguel and Peter had said they were going outside to get fresh air but you haven’t seen them since, you wouldn't have extremely worried, if it wasn’t for the reason sightings of the ghostface killer that had been popping up on the news though. Sure maybe going to a party wasn’t the best idea either but you figured you would have been fine since you were going in a group, I mean, what wouldn’t you be okay? It’s not like an actual serial killer goes after a group of young adults who are all drunk right? But now you’ve lost 4 out of 6 people in said group. But maybe in the small chance you do get targeted, you should be able to stand a chance since your Daniel was always in the gym with Miguel, so he was pretty jacked (not as jacked as Miguel though but you’ll never say that out loud).
One song turned to two then to three, just like the beers in Daniel’s hand, you had slowed down so you could at least be sober enough to order a Lyft for when the night was over. Eventually you were whisked away from your boyfriend by MJ and Jess, thankful that they were still at the party and nothing happened to them.
“Hey, have you guys seen Peter or Miguel?” You shouted over the music after a while, Jess just shrugged, before MJ answered.
“They texted me that they found Daniel and he’s like, fucked up apparently.”
—
“Please!”
Stab.
“I don’t want to die! Please stop!”
Stab.
“I’ll give anything! Just don’t kill me!”
The begs and pleads become more desperate and sloppy with every second, the words slurring more together from the alcohol and the crimson red liquid dribbling out of Daniel's mouth. The sight was almost enough to make the two men feel pity. Almost.
“Anything?” The shorter one asked with an agonizingly slow head tilt, his voice altered from the voice changer attached to the plastic mask, signaling for the other to stop plugging the knife into their victim’s stomach. Despite not liking being told what to do, he dropped Daniel on the floor with a snarl. Daniel quickly retracted into a small ball, shaking arms going to cover his bloody wound with a groan and whimper.
“We want (Y/N).” If it weren't for him being in excruciating pain and bleeding out, Daniel would have thought they were joking, but the tone in which the words were spoken made his blood that was spilling out from his stomach and mouth run cold.
“W-what?” He asked as he tried to keep his breathing from becoming shallow and his head from becoming too dizzy, but he was failing miserably.
“You heard us. We. Want. (Y/N).” The larger one spoke this time. How badly, he wanted to emphasize each word with another stab, the knife in his hands twitched a bit as he tightened his grip on the black handle. He was itching for an excuse, but he’ll refrain.
For now.
Maybe it was the way he responded to a stressful situation, or maybe it was the lack of blood finally affecting his brain, but Daniel had the nerve to laugh. Fucking laugh. The laugh was breathy, and in between coughs and groans, causing Miguel and Peter to look at their prey like he was the crazy one. Rage filled their bodies when Daniel finally composed himself enough to talk again.
“Y-you can’t be serious? …Right? You-you’re gonna kill-kill me over some bitch?”
How fucking dare he.
How dare he speak about you like you were some random skank, like you were a pile of dirt. You were a fucking goddess, Miguel and Peter knew that, because they worshipped you like one. They didn’t see what you saw in Daniel, he didn’t deserve you, no one did, except Miguel and Peter, they would treat you better than any other man that roamed this stupid planet, and especially far better then the sorry excuse of a boyfriend that they had on the ground like he was a wounded animal.
For someone who was about to die, he sure had a lot of nerve.
He didn’t love you like they did, he didn’t know your every move like they did. They were like your real life guardian angels, always following behind you to make sure no one would harm so much as a hair on your pretty little head, and how lucky were they, that you were juuust oblivious enough that you don’t notice them, just enough to brush of your rummaged trash as raccoons, just enough that you didn’t noticed when a pair or two of your dirty panties go missing, you had too many to keep track of all of them anyways. Never knowing that one of the two would sneak into your apartment while you were asleep to grab them from your hamper, no matter which boy had decided to embark on their mission, both of them had to fight against the struggle to not stay and watch you sleep, fighting the urge to release their painful hard members and stroke while watching you sleep. They’d be lying to themselves if they said they haven’t lost the battle at least once before, biting into their free hand to stop any moans from escaping and waking you up, while they fist fuck their cocks with the other, but can you blame them?
They just loved you so much and you loved them too, you just haven’t realized it yet. How could you when that pest of a boyfriend of yours was pumping your head full of false thoughts? He didn’t love you like Peter and Miguel did. Sure Daniel might seem like he loved you so much, going as far as to get you flowers and gifts from time to time, but Miguel and Peter’s gifts they would give you were so much better, because these gifts were all given to you with the same purpose. To help them watch over you, make sure you were safe, strategically planning to make sure to eventually fill your entire home with cameras right under your adorable nose. The teddy bear that sits on your bed and the light up mirror over your bathroom sink were first of course.
Peter couldn’t help himself, with all of his force, he kicked Daniel right in the balls, causing him to curl up more in pain. Miguel was going to do the same when his phone pinged in his pocket, he quickly took it out and checked it, your name filling his screen made his heart skip a beat.
“It’s (Y/N). She’s asking where we are, and wants us to meet her at her apartment after she drops off Jess and MJ in 15 minutes.” Miguel mumbled as he looked down at his phone, before looking up at Peter then down at their prey on the ground. “She probably thinks we’re still with him, what should we do with him?”
Peter’s eyes followed Miguel’s gaze down to the half- conscious Daniel, silent as if thinking about what to say, or more likely what to do with him.
“We could leave him here for dead?” Peter suggested, but Miguel shook his head at the thought, too risky, they couldn’t have the chance of him being found by someone and taken to the hospital, that could ruin everything.
“You both… ar-are fucking psychotic! Killing me over some-some bitch who doesn’t eve-even give good fucking… fucking head!” Daniel yelled between coughs, more blood falling from his blue-turning lips, he looked like he had seen a ghost due to how pale he was becoming from the blood lost, and now he’s gonna become one. Miguel’s phone buzzed again, this time you only sent a single question mark, looking down at his phone.
“I want you to know that if I wasn’t about to be late to see you, I would beat this guy bloody, for the way he talks about you.” Miguel said out loud as if you could actually hear him, as if you were actually here to hear how true those words were, but instead Miguel raised his knife with one hand and grabbed Daniel’s hair with the other. Enjoying the way the Dani’s eyes widened in fear, his weak arms flailed around as he tried to fight the larger man off of him, but it was no use. “Guess I’ll just have to cut straight to the point.” He said, the smirk evident threw his altered voice before putting his knife against Daniel’s throat and slashing it open. Watching whatever life that was left in him drain from his eyes.
Peter being the skilled photographer he was, took a selfie of the two with their slayed animal, now it’s time to go claim their trophy.
—
Something was off.
Like seriously off, ever since Peter and Miguel disappeared at the party neither of them had answered their phone, and as soon Dani disappeared neither had he. Maybe the party wasn’t the best idea in retrospect, you let out a sigh as you entered your apartment, and collapsed on your couch, wanting to try and calm your racing thoughts a bit before you changed out of your costume. Closing your eyes, and taking in a deep breath.
Your phone started to ring.
Usually, you didn’t answer calls from people who weren’t already in your contacts, so the “blocked number” would normally set off red flags, but maybe the alcohol was still making your brain foggy, because without thinking you answer the call and put your phone to your ear.
“Hello?”
No answer.
You left out a huff and tried again.
“Hellooo?”
When you didn’t get an answer again you rolled your eyes.
“I think you got the wrong numb-“
“Wanna play a game?”
“I’m-I’m sorry?”
“I said, wanna play a game?”
“Um no thanks. I'm hanging up now.”
“Hang up and you won’t get to see your special surprise though.” Oddly enough, you grew a bit curious.
“Wha..what do I have to do?” You asked.
“It’s simple, We’re gonna play a small game of hot and cold.” You had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea, maybe you shouldn’t answer the call. “Right now you’re cold.”
Without another word, you slowly got up, and made your way down the hall, your floorboard creaking underneath your heels.
“Warmer.”
Your heart begins to beat in your ears, you bring a shaky hand up to the doorknob of your bathroom, you go to open the door when the voice from the other end of the phone spoke again.
“Colder.”
You quickly bring your hand back down to your side and let your heavy footsteps make your way into your bedroom.
“Hotter.”
You swallowed the thick lump of saliva down your throat as you made your way to the left side room, your eyes dead set on your closet.
“Hotter.”
You closed the gap between you and the closet, and brought your hand to the handle, mentally preparing yourself for whatever hides before the wooden doors.
“You're on fucking fire baby.”
Your hand drew back the door, the sight made you let out a blood curdling scream, almost dropping your phone in the process. Your Daniel, dead, sitting on the closet floor, gutted out like a fish. The voice on the other end of the phone let out a sly chuckle before speaking once again.
“Sorry about your boyfriend, guess all those muscles didn’t help much.” He mocked before the call went dead, and you finally released your phone, it falling to the floor, as your body began to shake and your breathing became rapid.
You let out a sob and began to stumble away from the mangled corpse that you once called your boyfriend, only for your back to meet with a what felt like a wall of muscle, you quickly look up over your shoulder, being met with the infamous ghostface mask that has been plastered all over the news.
“What’s the matter (Y/N)? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The altered voice taunted. No, no, no,no. This cannot be happening. You shook your head as another sob left your lips stumbling away from the masked killer and into the hallway, expecting him to follow after you, but instead he just watched you. If you were thinking straight. You’d probably realized that this was a trap, but you weren’t thinking straight, as you finally reached the front door, you went to unlock the door and leave your apartment, but before you even stepped foot out of the door a large hand came and grabbed you around your waist. You take in a deep breath and open your mouth to scream, but instead a white cloth came and covered your nose and mouth, the strong smell of chemicals quickly filling your lungs.
“Surprised (Y/N).” This voice was a bit deeper, then the one from your bedroom, your head became dizzy as you eyes fluttered, your vision was beginning to blacken, before you were fully go under, you saw the man holding you still was a lot larger than the other one, it clicked, there were two of them.
You black out.
—
“She out?” Peter asked Miguel as he slipped off his mask, Miguel following suit.
“Like a light.” Miguel smirks as he goes to pick you up bridal style, your body limply laying in his arms. The two couldn’t help but smile as they watched your sleeping form, so peaceful looking, like an Angel. Their angel. Their plan played out just as they wanted, you were theirs now, and theirs alone. No one could come in the way of you three anymore, all they had to do now was make sure you wouldn’t leave them. But how would you do that if you didn’t know where you were? You couldn’t. That’s why Miguel gently placed you in the backseat of Peter’s car, before getting into the passenger’s seat. They were going to make sure you were far, far away from your old life, so you could start your new one with your lovesick killers.
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❥ K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 3
Masterlist
➽──────────❥
❥ DAY 12. Caught Sex! with Suguru Geto
Summary. One of Suguru's co-workers keeps trying to flirt with him even though she knows that he's dating you and you sneak out on the changing rooms to show her how to strike back properly.
Content Warning. Fem! reader, no use of Y/N, all characters are adults, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, oral sex (f. receiving), breeding, semi-public sex.
Word count. 2,203.
MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT !!
Your nails drum on the table, even if the sound is thin and soft, for Suguru’s coworker feels like the footsteps of a serial killer approaching her, even though she is the one walking towards you.
“D–Do you need something else?” She asks, with a weak voice as she avoids your gaze.
She’s been flirting with your boyfriend, you know it.
She chose to ignore the fact that he was already dating someone, just as she’s fighting to ignore the rage in your eyes as you look at her.
In her position, she's supposed to look down at you with superiority, but she feels like a tiny bug in a spider web.
“Yeah, I would like to see a face that won’t make me want to throw up my macchiato” You smile cynically as she sighs shyly and nods. Walking away with her hands on the bags of her apron.
You take a long sip of your drink, still smiling, the girn on your face increases as you see Suguru walking towards you in a hurry. God, his angry face looks so hot.
“How long have you been there?” He groans, pulling the chair harshly and sitting in front of you. You put your elbows on the table to hold your face with your hands, looking at him like you have hearts popping in your eyes.
"You look handsome when you tie up your hair like that." You extend your hand to play with his bangs.
He gives you a hard look and you sigh, still playing with his hair.
“Like three hours. I have work to do and I decided to work on it in advance as I drink one of your delicious coffees.” Suguru scoffs at your answer, throwing his head back as he pinches the bridge of his nose before sighing and leaning closer on the table.
“I know why you’re here” Suguru sighs, caressing your arm softly with his fingers, he bites his lip to hide his smile as he looks up at you. “Thank you. She’s been over me all week, today is the only day that she has left me alone and I was wondering why until I heard of a grumpy client.”
You shrug, snorting softly.
“I’m not that grumpy” He laughs back, relaxing a little. “I’m just worried, usually we are the relaxed and smart boyfriend with the girl who’s inappropriate and…”
“Grumpy” He responds, chuckling.
You laugh softly, looking down to hide your blush.
“Yeah, and the grumpy girlfriend.”
You both relaxed, but the echo of his coworker taking an order some tables away tenses you both again. You feel the borders of your lips go down, running the cute atmosphere as you both remember all the insistence of the girl.
“I can ask my boss to let me go earlier today, ‘kay?” He says, leaning closer to kiss your cheek lovingly before standing up again. “Even they know about how tired I am from all her begging me to cheat on you with her.”
Your eyes widen at his words, and he nods with pursed lips before kissing your forehead and saying a soft ‘I’ll be right back’.
As Suguru enters through the door with the small sign of “Staff only” you can’t help but worry again of all the stress he’s going through with this girl. If even the staff knows about all the problems and she keeps insisting, maybe you’ll have to be as crazy as her to stop it.
When your boyfriend has finished taking off his apron, he starts to unbutton his shirt; once all the buttons has been let off, he startles at the sensation of someone pulls back his shirt and revealing his back and shoulders.
Suguru turns back in cold sweat, just to find you smirking and bringing up your hand to his chest.
"Wow, it's been a while since I got this view" You giggle, passing the tip of your nails across his chest, receiving a stained moan from him.
He grabs your waist firmly, pulling you closer to whisper.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He scolds you, but you still can feel the warmth of his hard breathing against your face. "You'll get me in trouble if someone finds you in here."
You purr, hugging his neck to bring him closer and rub your lips against his. Suguru shivers at your actions and his hands can't avoid the reflect of holding your waist.
"Do you really need to stay on this job? That girl just keeps bothering you" You whine, biting softly his lip as Suguru closes his eyes to hold himself from falling in your threat. "C'mon, I'll get jealous."
"You'll get jealous even if I work at a damn geriatric." Suguru snorts, finally giving up to look out for your lips, kissing you deeply and drawing circles with his thumbs on your waist.
You hit his shoulder softly, unable to answer anything from the way he kisses you like it's been a year since the last time. Sucking on your lower lip and chasing out for your tongue, you whimper pleased against his lips.
The sound of your lips touching and pulling back covers the small changing room until the soft whines in your voice start to join.
"S–Suguru…" You lean back but he brings you again against his lips as his hand gets inside your jeans to rub your clit in circles above the underwear. "Fuck— Yes… That feels good."
Suguru laughs against your lips, bringing the other hand behind your neck to keep you on there for him. You clumsily unbutton your jeans to let him move his hand more freely and he licks your lip slowly like a candy.
When he pulls back, you breathe finally as you pull down your jeans and kick them aside with your foot. He harshly turns your body and presses you against the lockers, you feel you cheek against the cold metal as he pushes your hips back to let you feel his hard crotch.
"You know you shouldn't be here, love" He whispers, caressing your hips with your hands and crawling slowly to reach your clothed breasts while his hips softly thrust against your ass. "You never pay attention to me."
His hands squeeze your breasts, grabbing the border of your bra and pulling it down to let them be free before slamming your upper body against the surface and keeping your butt closer to him.
You moan loud and clear at the action, the cold feeling immediately turning you nipples hard as he pushes you against the metal with the increase of the strength on his hits.
"P–Please, just fuck me, Suguru" You plead, feeling his finger rubbing up and down right in your —still— clothed cunt.
"Nah" Suguru scoffs, soaking softly his finger with the wet fluids trespassing the fabric and making you roll your eyes at the slight touch. "You're being so fucking loud, I don't wanna get fired because of your whines."
You open your mouth to complain, being stopped by his hands wagging your ass and squeezing it as his crotch sends another thrust. You tried to moan but your teeths quickly grabbing your lip covers it.
Suguru laughs, pulling down your panties as he kneels behind you as he caresses your legs.
"Now you understand it."
You nod painfully as his head travels between your ass to start licking your folds from behind. His tongue already knows where to rub softly and have you in such a whiny state, but his demands of being silent are giving you a headache.
Suguru loves to do it this way; your soft ass in his face as his tongue and lips kiss you like he wants to clean every drop of fluid inside your cunt. You can't help but roll your eyes as you moan the lowest that you can as he starts sucking and drinking every drop that leaks on your thighs.
You start trying to grab something to hold the pleasure but the damn lockers are so loud every time you try to support on them and they rumble with metallic echoes.
"S–Shit! Suguru!" You whine, squeezing your breasts between your hands as his tongue gets a quicker peace and teases the tip of your clit.
His hair is tangled between your fists as you bring a hand back to hold him on there but he pulls back again, making you moan a little bit louder in your complaint.
"Hold on, don't turn." He says with a firm tone that startles you and you obey with a little trembling of the interrupted pleasure that almost drove you to the orgasm.
You glance back slightly, seeing him tossing aside his jeans near to yours as he strokes on his erection a few times before putting his tip near to your folds.
He pushes your head against the lockers again with a strong hold as his dick slides fully inside in one thrust. You moan with a mix of pain of pleasure not bothering about your volume as he keeps slamming without caring of the sound of the skins or the echo of the rumble of the lockers.
"Y–You're a damn pain in the ass, you know it, right?" Suguru groans, moaning between his teeths at the feeling of your walls sucking him inside. "You never listen to me."
You can't help but nod against the metal with struggle because of his hold as you hold the locker's doors to keep you standing.
"Suguru! Fuck— You’re so rough with me!" You moan, loving his peace and thrusts kicking in and out so perfectly as you smile like a dumb.
"Yes— God, this is the only pussy that I'd love to feel all my life" His hand lets go of your head to keep them both on your tits, squeezing them and arching your back slightly in his direction to keep holding you as his thrusts become more harder and messier. "I'm gonna cum, I'll cum inside and show it to everyone, princess."
You moan harder, breathing with struggle as he pounds like a beast on you as you feel electric shivers covering all your body as the orgasm starts to build on you with every hit.
Suguru growls at the feeling of you tightening around him as you cry his name. He feels close— so fucking close, so he moves his hands from your tits to your wrists to keep you on there as he slams feeling the previous feeling of his orgasm reaching him too.
Is then, when the door suddenly opens and a familiar annoying voice comes inside.
But this time it doesn't annoy you. It actually sounds like your favorite song as she gets inside.
"Suguru, what's all that nois—"
"Fuuuck—!" Suguru groans as he sends a few thrusts that are the high of his orgasm as his seed fills you with a bigger load of cum than other times.
Between your half opened eyes and fucked out gaze, you're still able to smile at the sight of her shocked face as he pulls out from you and you have to hold the lockers with the sweat on your forearms and hands to keep standing as you feel the hot liquid starting to drip down along your thighs.
"Yeah…" He asks, breathless as he strokes his cock to throw the last drops of cum on your ass before grabbing his boxers from the floor and putting them on. "It was my girlfriend, sorry."
His smirk says everything but regret as she gets red and avoids your eyes before slamming the door and leaving.
"Is she stopping now?" You ask, trying to recover as you put on your panties again and look for your jeans.
"Yeah. Anyways, everyone definitely heard it all so I might get fired." You snort, buttoning your jeans and grabbing his hand.
You roll your eyes, kissing his lips softly as he returns the kiss with tenderness as he caresses your cheeks.
"Come on," you say against his lips, playing with his loose hair. "Let's leave before she starts screaming about what she saw."
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Eddie and his Mean cheerleader girlfriend going skinny dipping during school's trip or something, they would be such a menace😩
yes yes yes !!!
although i do think she's the actual menace in this context lol
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“will you stop being a pussy and get naked already?” y/n yells with a playful smile, already tearing her shorts down as she runs towards the water,
“you don’t know for sure that the water is sanitary enough! it’s a lake for gods sake! can’t we just lay here and get high? baby, Higgins won’t even notice” he points at the heavy thick blanket that he just spread,
she rolls her eyes, “we’ve been doing that dozens of time! lets try something different with me edsy!” pulling her sweater off she is left with nothing but a baby blue bra with matching panties before facing him. his eyes immediately lights up with brows raised
“i don’t think i have seen you with that one” he says looking at her lingerie. “your tits gotten bigger, have they?”
“eddie!” she giggles, throwing the fleeced material at him. “language, please”
he catches it in a second, wicked grin on his handsome face. “what? you’ve heard far worse from me than the word ‘tits’. come on, can you just—get out from there! ever heard of pneumonia?”
“sure” she shrugs, chills running down her spine. “get in here! the water isn’t even that cold” she tries to convince him when she knows it’s the exact opposite,
the water is super freezing.
his head shakes, hands on his hips. “nope. sorry sweetheart not gonna happen. I made up my mind.”
she quirks an eyebrow. “are you sure?” her teasing tone comes to play as she keeps an eye contact with her man.
her hands slowly snaking its way to her back before unclasping the bra. she lowers the straps and throw it away to his direction. then her fingers move down slowly to the waistband of her panties, tucking it down like she’s giving a strip show. his eyes nearly pops out of his sockets, quickly looking left and right to make sure no one is watching
“are you out of your damn mind, woman?!” he exclaims, hurriedly walking over to her naked body before —trying his best— covering it, despite the water seeping through his jeans,
“what if jason and the dickheads passes by and caught a glimpse of your tits and that?!” he nods his head to her bare crotch. “no wait, scratch that. my girls. my pretty things.” he emphasizes, hugging her body while he looks over to the back. “or steve harrington? because there’s no fucking chance i would let that happen! you and i both know he has a thing for you!”
“everyone has a thing for me, it’s not news. but it’s you who I’m with right?” she says, trying to console him. yet eddie just looks at her in disbelief for that comment and it makes her giggle,
she presses both hands on his face. planting a soft kiss on his lips to calm him down. “you’re so adorable. but trust me, no one’s definitely coming, baby. they’re probably far too busy burning some mary janes or jacking off to that one blonde camp counselor in the cabin. although jason voorhees maybe…”
“okay you know what, that’s not funny.” he answers sternly, looking over her shoulders to make sure no serial killer on the loose,
“ugh! lighten up you little shit!“ she groans. “I’m literally naked with my tits out and all, and you’re not even going to budge? get naked with meeee” she whines, giving him her best puppy dog eye and a pout, tugging his shirt a little.
eddie isn’t gonna lie. the sight of her with dampen hair, naked and wet body begging for it to be touched is turning him on like crazy. not like it’s all new to him. she could be wearing a freaking potato sack and he’d still think she’s the sexiest girl ever.
plus, she looks so damn cute doing that with her lips
“fine” he grumbles with an eye roll. discarding all of his clothes in quick motion. “you’re so lucky i love you” with a mumble, he throws away the rest of his clothes
“i love you baaack” she sings, letting out a playful moan when she sees his naked self. “oof, hubba bubba! look at that ladies and gentlemen. hottest rockstar alive about to get freaky with his girl! better hide your wives!”
“don’t hide your cock from me!” she swats his hands when he’s awkwardly trying to cover himself,
he blushes, then suddenly hissing when the water hits him. sending chills down his spine.“fuck, you were lying weren’t you. It’s so cold! how are you even holding up?”
“i don’t actually” she starts giving feather light kisses on his chest. feeling him shiver under her touch. “but it’s a good thing we can keep each other’s warm right? and maybe we can try to fuck under water?” her arms then move down to hug his torso
eddie’s cock grows hard at the thought. even more when he feels her bare pussy rubbing against the base of his shaft. gulping softly when she’s batting those pretty lashes at him. looking so innocent when he knows damn well she isn’t,
he smiles down at her, burying his palms in her hair while he lightly massages the scalp. her eyes shut in pure bliss,
“you’re going to be the death of me sweetheart.”
-
requests are open!
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spencer dropping a wine glass or something and being really scared y/n’s gonna get mad at him (bc like,,,childhood trauma) but she’s just laughing at how clumsy he is
imagine the poor thing immediately flinching when she gets up the get the broom [:(] and then being even more scared bc he thinks y/n might interpret his fear as him being scared of her [:((((]
this is me projecting
Hope you’re doing okay 🫶🏼
tw: childhood abuse themes
The best news your Friday could bring- besides getting to spend the weekend with your boyfriend (thanks, serial killers)- is a special bottle of wine gift from Rossi. As they always do, you know it’s going to taste exquisite.
Spencer’s attempting to plate cheese and crackers, siting you need something to go with the alcohol, when in his usual clumsy fashion, he flings his hands around slightly too much while speaking and knocks a wine glass of the countertop. It’s yet to be filled which makes less of a mess on the tiles but glass goes flying everywhere.
You stop giggling at his antics as you get up off the couch to survey the scene. It’s not until you look up at him that you realize he might be hurt. “How are you?” You check.
He processes your question quickly, shrinking into himself and backing away from you, seemingly not caring about the glass under his feet. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry.” He apologizes frantically.
He’s panicked in a way you’ve never seen before, and you can practically hear and feel how fast his hearts beating.
“Just let me get my shoes.” You direct, guessing that, however unlikely, somehow in his 30 years of living, he’s never broken a glass and doesn’t know what to do. “Stay there.”
“Please don’t.” He practically begs you, near to tears. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t want to make you upset, I promise.”
It’s then that you get it. There’s no other explanation to why he would be so worried about breaking a glass, try to apologize quickly and beg you not to get something which you figure could be used to hurt him.
“Oh, baby.” You coo. “I’m not upset at all. I just wanted to wear shoes to sweep it up so you wouldn’t get glass in your feet trying to clean it up yourself.” You explain, reaching out to touch his hand.
He visibly relaxes, processing what you’re saying. “You’re not mad I broke a glass?” He double-checks.
“Of course not. We’ve got 5 more.” You remind him. “And you’re allowed to be clumsy, no matter what anyone might have told you.”
“It was my dad.” He confesses. “He hated reminders that I was uncoordinated.”
It’s definitely possible to hate someone you’ve never met because you’re not a big fan of William Reid.
“You know that’s wrong, right?” You ask. “I’d never be so mad with you that I did that, and certainly not over something minor like a wine glass. It’s replaceable, you’re not.”
He soaks in your words before nodding, confirming he believes you. “Thank you.”
You squeeze his hand. “I love you, Spence.”
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Sarah can I just ask for some random Eddie conversations please ❤️ love you
Hiii lovey!! Awe love you too!! I hope you enjoy these extremely random conversations between you and Eddie💖
“Eddie can you hand me the creamer?” “Uh…we are..out.” “I beg you’re fucking pardon?” “Don’t look at me like that…it wasn’t on the list.” “Wasn’t on the list? Edward it was the first thing on the list!” “What? No it wasn’t…oh…shit….where are you going?” “Wayne’s…don’t follow me.” “Oh come on baby it’s just creamer…don’t be mad.” “I’m not mad…I’m annoyed there’s a difference..I’ll be back.” “Tell him I said hello.” “Whatever.” “Love you…” “love you too…and if you’re smart there’ll be a full thing of creamer in the fridge when I get back.” “Yeah yeah…of course.”
“Eddie my sweet sweet precious ba-” “what do you need princess?” “Don’t be rude Edward James.” “Baby…” “my car won’t start and I’m late for work.” “Let me get dressed I’ll take you.” “I was kinda hoping you’d just let me take the van…” “not happening you know she’s tricky.” “I’ve driven her before and it was fine.” “Oh yeah that time you drove into a stop sign or the time you ran a red light or that one time you popped the curb on the way to Bennys…” “those were all learning experiences and besides if I take the van you can just work on my car and figure out why it hates me so much.” “It doesn’t hate you it’s just…finicky.” “Can I please take the van? Pretty please…” “oh I kinda like it when you beg.” “You’re so annoying I’ll just walk.” “You ruin all my fun…the keys are on the counter.” “Thanks honey! Love you!” “Love you too baby.”
“I’m not arguing with you baby I’m just saying Freddy has a cooler power that’s all…he also has knife hands.” “Freddy is a bitch who has to put you to sleep to kill you…Michael doesn’t need you to be asleep he will just squish you to death with his bare hands…that’s way more terrifying.” “What? How are lame human hands scarier than knives for fingers?” “Because they are normal! That’s the creepy part he’s just a man…who can end your life anytime he wants not just during nap time.” “I…guess…you’re kinda right but…Freddy can turn into things so that’s cooler than walking around in a blue jumpsuit with a mask on.” “The jumpsuit and mask for his personality.” “His personality? Baby he doesn’t even talk.” “Sometimes words aren’t necessary.” “It should bother me the love you have for this serial killer…but it doesn’t.”
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North To The Future [Chapter 15: Drive] [Series Finale]
The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.
Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, violence, character deaths.
Word count: 7.3k.
Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.
Taglist: @elsolario @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart @heliosscribbles @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @tillyt04 @cicaspair418 @fan-goddess
A/N: This is the fic I almost never wrote because I didn’t think anyone would be interested in some random, angsty, 1990s, Alaskan, crime-thriller AU. Thank you for proving me wrong. I hope you enjoy the ending. 💜
Almost everything about your existence is pure chance; it’s the most freeing and horrifying truth imaginable. There’s the genetic lottery and corporate downsizing, revolutions and hurricanes, plagues, asteroids, famines, faulty airplanes and malignant blooms of cells and drunk drivers. There are 100 billion planets in this galaxy and your atoms ended up on the one called Earth. After all that, do you really think what you want matters? So make all the choices you like, all the nail-biting deliberations and promises and vows, weigh costs and benefits, do research, roll dice, ask astrologers and palm readers, start over every New Year because that’s something we tell ourselves is possible. The fact that you exist at all is one big cosmic coin flip. If you think you’re the one driving, you’re dead fucking wrong. You’re the speck of dust on a windshield, the spin of a roulette wheel. You’re a flash of silver in the universe’s pinball machine.
I spend a lot of my time thinking about chance, okay? My family is one of the wealthiest in the Western Hemisphere, and I didn’t do anything to earn that. I was born first, and I definitely didn’t do anything to earn that, Jesus Christ, what a chromosomal fuckup. I inherited an affliction that others get to live without. I can’t imagine what it feels like to wake up and not be horrified by myself, my shortcomings, my failures: too small, too stupid, too wild, too weak. And the first time someone says something like that to you, you want to apologize, you want to drop to your knees and cling to them and beg for absolution, maybe even the first hundred times, the first thousand. And then it just starts to piss you off. Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all before, why would you expect anything different? Isn’t this getting old, Mom? Maybe you’re the stupid one, Dad, if you think you could cut me and anything but disappointments would fall out. I’m not horrified by the fact that I’m an addict. The horror came first. The horror is what led to all the rest of it.
One day when I was in 10th Grade—I was slumped way down in my chair and drinking vodka out of an Evian water bottle—my American History teacher, purely by chance, assigned me to make a poster about Juneau, Alaska. Some other kid got Los Angeles (Hollywood! The Whisky a Go Go!) and another got Chicago (the Mob!) and another got Nashville (Johnny Cash!) and some jock moron I hated got Baltimore (um, crabs? the War of 1812…?), but I got fucking Juneau, Alaska. I thought this was so unjust that I never forgot it, the fact that I had to get up in front of the class with my pathetic Crayolas-and-magazine-cutouts poster and pretend that Juneau was a place that mattered, that microscopic cloud-covered relic of a late-1800s gold mining settlement on the shores of the Gastineau Channel. Juneau was never on my list of cities to run to. It just wasn’t. It didn’t have anything I wanted. But when I started thinking about places where I could really disappear, where no one would ever bother looking, where days are short and dark and incurious and irrelevant…well, that sounds like Juneau, right?
Let me tell you something about the night I left. I’ve been more messed up, yeah, and I’ve hurt people worse, and I’ve been closer to death, I’ve been one more powder-white gram on the scale away from oblivion; but I’ve never felt that fucking low. I can’t decide if I wish I’d never gone to Juneau at all. I can’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.
My flight is a red-eye with a layover in Ketchikan, American Airlines, bound for Seattle. Sunfyre has the window seat. He’s wearing the bright red Service Dog vest that I once stole for him specifically for such occasions. My dog fly with the cargo? My dog?! Bill Clinton will be elected pope first. Sunfyre is chewing contently on Milk-Bones and watching the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean. He knows the drill. We’ll touchdown and deplane, and then…and then…
And then we’ll start over again somewhere new. I’ll find a flight board and pick a destination; Seattle is a hub, with spokes leading everywhere. I could go south, to Galveston, Lafayette, Biloxi, someplace where it gets hot, someplace where I can sweat her out of me, purge every cell that still remembers what she felt like. I could go west, fading into mountains or cornfields, vapid infinitesimal towns in Montana, Iowa, Idaho, Nebraska. I could go to New England or the Great Lakes or freaking Hawaii, sleep in hammocks, swim with sea turtles, drink my rum and Cokes out of coconut shells. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that nowhere really sounds good to me. My legs are suddenly tired of running. There’s an ache that rattles down to the bone.
I don’t have to tell you that I love her, right? It’s not so easy for me to say. But it’s true, and it’s beautiful, and it’s torture, and it’s a dream. It’s pain that flays you alive and then builds you back again, layers of fresh muscle and tendons and veins growing over ribs and vertebrae like a trellis thick with ivy. It’s not a high. It’s just the best life can get down here on earth. It’s the ocean, it’s the Northern Lights.
I’m swimming in a black hoodie that is three sizes too big; I haven’t slept and I’m pale and raccoon-eyed, looking like death, feeling worse. When the stewardess rolls by with her clattering cart just slim enough to fit through the aisle, I order a cup of water for Sunfyre and a double rum and Coke for myself. It arrives with two blood-red cherries bobbing in a caramel-dark carbonated sea. The guy in the next seat over gives me a judgmental little eyebrow raise.
“That doesn’t look like breakfast,” he says.
I bite off both cherries—juice dribbling down my chin, wiped away with a sleeve—and throw the stems over my shoulder. The lady sitting behind me yelps in disgust. “Because it’s dessert.”
The man smiles and shakes his head, one of those I shouldn’t find it funny but I do sort of looks. I inspire a lot of those. He’s maybe mid-thirties, long hair and ripped jeans, very punk rock, cool as hell. There is a constellation of pins on his denim jacket. One of them has a roman numeral 10 on it, a stark X nestled inside a triangle. Unity, Service, Recovery, the gold letters say. To Thine Own Self Be True. It’s an Alcoholics Anonymous pin. What are the chances?
He catches me staring, and I ask: “Does it really make you a better man?”
“It doesn’t make you better. It just makes you real.” He smiles again, patient and kind. “It makes your emotions and experiences real, your relationships real. And so you become whatever version of yourself you were always supposed to be. But you have to want it. Not your wife, not your parents or your kids, not your pastor, not your friends, not your parole officer. You.”
I speak without knowing what I’m going to say. “I want it.”
“Yes, I think you do.”
He sees a lot, I think, as the plane descends into the grey fogbank of Seattle. 20/20.
When we land, the man squeezes into a cab with me and Sunfyre—he sniffles into a Kleenex for a while before reluctantly admitting that he’s allergic to dogs—and pays the fare. The cab’s worn brakes squeal to a stop outside a residential treatment center on the banks of the Puget Sound. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I ask the man if he’s going to take me to get one last drink first. He laughs in my face. Fucking jerk.
He pulls out a black Sharpie and rummages through his pockets, his wallet. He can’t find a scrap of paper. He writes his phone number on the underside of my arm instead. “You call me, okay?” he says. “Call me when you get out. Call me before you get out, if you need to. I don’t care if it’s in five minutes, I don’t care if it’s at 2 a.m. You just make sure you call.”
“Why would you do this? I mean, you don’t even know me. You have no idea who I am.”
“Because once, years ago, someone did the same thing for me, and someone did it for her too. Maybe one day you’ll be able to pay it forward. I don’t care who you are or where you’ve been. It doesn’t matter to me. I’d like to think that we’re all more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”
And then he waits for me to go inside. He doesn’t leave until he watches me check in at reception on the other side of the rain-flecked glass. Outside, a brand new day is beginning. A misty sun rises as pieces of the sky fall.
Sunfyre trots into the lobby alongside me, panting cheerfully, shaking the perpetual Seattle drizzle from his fur. There’s a girl at the front desk, just a girl, and that’s the other thing that’s different now. She’s not a maybe-future-one-of-my-girls. She’s just like anyone else. I already have a girl. I mean, I don’t anymore, not really. But I still do.
I throw my things onto the counter: my single suitcase, my tattered wallet, my bundle of cash held together with rubber bands, my scraped-up electric guitar.
“Checking in?” the girl asks.
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes, I guess.”
She opens my wallet, reads my license, blinks in bewilderment. “Aegon…?”
I sigh dramatically. “It’s Greek.”
~~~~~~~~~~
You dream of him; and when you do, he’s always smiling. He’s reading your palm in an empty Taco Bell, he’s kissing you under the Northern Lights, he’s regaling your parents with stories—of lobster fishing in Portland, of cattle ranching in Denver—all through Thanksgiving dinner, he’s undressing you in his moonlit apartment, he’s climbing into your bed. He’s not angry, he’s not ruined, he’s not running away. He’s exactly as you remember him in his best moments. He’s all chaotic white-blond hair and weightless light, sharp laughter and bright eyes. And each morning there’s a splinter-thin moment before you remember that he’s gone. That’s the worst part, really. You always knew it would be. You can’t even begin to forget him.
Your friends want to help you, but they don’t know how. Neither do your parents. Your dad gets an atlas from the study, throws it down on the dining room table, and opens it to a map of the world. “Pick anyplace and we’ll go there,” he says. “We’ll close the vet clinic for two weeks and we’ll all go.” But you can’t give him a single name: not Athens, or Paris, or Buenos Ares, or Cairo, or New York City, or Rome, or Tokyo, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s the strangest thing. All your life you’ve been waiting to get out of Juneau, but now nowhere sounds good to you. And maybe that’s a lesson you wish you’d never learned: sometimes freedom is less about places than it is about people.
The blood on the equipment recovered from Trent’s apartment matches DNA from the first three victims. He is charged with eight counts of first-degree murder and held awaiting trial in the Lemon Creek Correctional Center. His family visits him faithfully each week. His lawyer is exasperated that he won’t plead guilty and spare his parents the humiliation and expense of a protracted court battle. But Trent’s story never changes: he’s innocent, he’s never killed anybody, he doesn’t understand how the blood could have been found on his belongings. He wants to know exactly what items the police tested; he and his lawyer are still waiting for the prosecutor to turn over all the details during discovery. In the midst of the scandal, the upheaval, you fade into the backdrop like the stars behind fog. People talk around you and through you. They offer gaps that you don’t care enough to fill in. Drinks clink, whispers fly, conspiracies are exchanged between pool shots. You watch the days grow longer and wait for the future to arrive. You don’t know what it will look like, you can’t even begin to fathom it. But surely there must be a future. Life goes on. It did for your mom after Jesse. It will for you too.
A week after Aegon leaves, there is a knock at your parents’ front door. You open it to find Aemond standing there in the muted amber-pink afternoon light. His hair is long and loose, his Armani suit immaculately tailored, his BlackBerry nestled in his right hand. He glances up from it at you and his jaw falls open. And only then do you realize how awful you must look.
You tell Aemond, your voice hushed and heavy, ankles in quick-drying cement: “I don’t know where he is.”
“No, I can see that,” Aemond replies, dull horror in his blue eye. Then he turns around and strides halfway down the driveway towards the street, where a cab idles as it waits for him, engine exhaust pouring into the air like smoke from a firepit.
“How’s your dad?” you call after him when you get your bearings.
He pauses under the dwindling light. “Alive. For now.” And then Aemond considers you for a while. “I suppose if I ever want to find you again, I know where to look.”
You nod. “I’ll be here.”
I’ll always be here.
A month crawls by like a wounded animal, dead leaves snared in the fur of its belly. The flesh on your thigh knits back together. The things that Aegon ordered show up in Juneau, packages left on the front porch and stuffed into the moose-shaped mailbox like Christmas gifts in a stocking. You pack these remnants of him—Zoobooks and cooking accessories, knives and Chia Pets—into a cardboard box and tuck it away in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of the attic, and you’re aware the entire time that this has happened before, almost exactly twenty years ago. When your dad puts a Third Eye Blind or Red Hot Chili Peppers or Oasis album on his record player, you find some excuse to leave the room. When you tack magazine cutouts of beaches and cityscapes to your bedroom walls, all you can think about is where Aegon might be now. You wonder where he works during the day, a surf shop or a construction site or a farm or a fishing boat; you wonder who he spends his nights with.
I’ll always be here. Even if I leave, I’ll always be here.
~~~~~~~~~~
Twenty years ago to the day, almost to the hour, a man fell into the Gastineau Channel and drowned. They found water in his lungs, though the autopsy was only a formality, an afterthought; Jesse had a reputation in Juneau, and no one was particularly surprised to see how his story ended. There were abrasions on his back and shoulders, contusions on his wrists, but so what? He probably tripped half a dozen times before he tumbled over some guardrail and into the frigid black water. There was a bloody mess of an impact wound on the side of his face, but who cares? The blood alcohol concentration doesn’t lie. The man was wasted, and more than that he was a waste. If his premature demise hadn’t been then, it would have been later, in a week or a month or a year. And when someone like that goes, there’s a sigh of relief that accompanies the misery, isn’t there? There’s the sense of a weight being lifted from a scale.
You’re sitting in Ursa Minor at the usual booth, but the bar is practically empty. It’s Valentine’s Day. Joyce is with Rob, Kimmie is with Brad; Heather’s parents have spirited her away on a short vacation to Sitka to try to take their minds off Trent’s imminent lifelong incarceration. Your mom and dad’s February 14th tradition is cooking a homemade Italian dinner together—pasta, bread with herbs and olive oil, caprese salad, tiramisu—and then settling in for a romantic Blockbuster rental. This year, it’s Runaway Bride. Your mom loves Julia Roberts. They didn’t ask for privacy, but you gave it to them anyway. Kimmie offered to drop you off at Ursa Minor and then drive you home after her date with Brad so you could drink away your sorrows without having to worry about calling a ride. So now Kimmie is getting wined, dined, and plied with boxed chocolates at the Red Dog Saloon while you drain appletinis and flip through one of Jesse’s journals, not knowing what you’re looking for.
Dale is washing pint glasses in the sink behind the bar and humming cheerfully along to a Cake CD. It’s just you and him tonight; evidently, Dale doesn’t have a hot date either. It was nice of him to eschew the usual Shania Twain or Sheryl Crow soundtrack. He’s trying to spare you from any crooning love songs. He must have forgotten that Cake has its own little slice of relevance in your memories of Aegon, those memories that refuse to fade, ink in your skin as dark as night.
Your fingerprints trace Jesse’s scrawling, handwritten letters. It’s his very last journal, the last words he ever wrote. His final entry is unremarkable, a lucid recollection of his latest woodcarving project: it’s a family of tiny bears, three of them. He says he wants the cub to have the same slope of your cheeks, the shape of your eyes. And it’s just like your mom said. It really did seem like he was getting better.
You flip to the next page, blank. The heading reads: Thursday, February 14th, 1980.
You go back a few days. And your gaze catches on words that you’ve read before, months ago, back when the journals were a new discovery like striking oil. The entry is from Saturday the 9th. It ends with an unceremonious bullet point of a reminder: dinner w/ Dale on Thursday.
You leaf forward to Thursday, to the blank page that tells you nothing. Back to the 9th, forward to the 14th, again, again. Valentine’s Day 1980, before Dale had married his wife, after your mom had stopped trying to make plans with Jesse, maybe even rebelled against them; just two unromantic, discarded men with a vacant slot in their calendars and troubles to drink into submission. Except that Jesse never came home.
Dinner with Dale, you think dizzily. Dinner with Dale on the night he died.
The opening notes of The Distance shout from the stereo. Everything suddenly feels very loud.
Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,
Engines pumping and thumping in time…
What had Aegon said about that song before you sang it together, stomping and staggering across the hardwood floor? It’s not about NASCAR, it’s about a journey!
Outside, it’s a rare clear night in Juneau. The Northern Lights are a kaleidoscopic ribbon against indigo night, the sky a mausoleum of stars. And you remember when Aegon sang Everlong, when he grabbed your hand, led you upstairs to the roof, kissed you for the first time under the ethereal, shimmering curtain of green and purple and blue…before Heather had interrupted to tell you that Dale was closing the bar. He was irritable, he was tired; he wanted to go home.
The arena is empty except for one man,
Still driving and striving as fast as he can…
And then they found a body, didn’t they? Yes, you can remember being in Aegon’s apartment and hearing the police cars zoom by. You remember the red-and-blue flashes on his face. You remember thinking they looked like sapphires and rubies, the ocean and blood.
The sun has gone down and the moon has come up
And long ago somebody left with the cup,
But he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns
And thinking of someone for whom he still burns…
Icy claws glide down the length of your spine. Memories play back with a focused clarity that you didn’t have before: Dale groggy and yawning just before they found the fifth victim at Christmas, and again before they found the eighth the same night Trent dragged you—shrieking, bleeding, virtually naked—out of your Jeep. You remember Dale at your parents’ New Year’s Eve party talking about how maybe the killer was an athlete with brain damage from CTE. You remember him offering to give Trent a box of his old equipment from when he was a park ranger. You remember him watching as Trent towered over you here in Ursa Minor with a cue stick clenched in his fist, demanding to know where you had been the night before, Dale’s eyes gleaming with disapproval and fascination and…and…oh god, opportunity.
He’s going the distance,
He’s going for speed,
She’s all alone (all alone)
All alone in her time of need…
And now Aegon’s long gone, but you’re still here. And so is the Ice Fisher.
You’re staring at Dale, eyes huge and glossy with terror. He glances up, gives you a brief casual smile, looks down at the pint glasses again. And then his eyes come back to you. He sees you and you see him, really see him, and it’s the first time in your life that you can recall him being a centerpiece instead of an ornament for gazes to skate over like ice, wallpaper or taxidermy deer heads or a mirror. And you watch as the thing that lives inside Dale stirs awake. It is a shadow with fangs, talons, barbs down its spine, a weblike scribble of a brain loud with the echoes of screams; and it unfurls and fills him completely, all the way to his fingerprints. It possesses him, it eclipses him.
It’s Dale, you realize like a bullet slicing through an aorta, spilling an ocean of hot blood. It was him twenty years ago and it’s him now.
You gasp and fumble for the cannister of bear mace still clipped to your purse. Dale crosses the room with staggering swiftness, like a wolf, like a storm, one pint glass still gripped in his hand. He reaches you just as your thumb presses down on the cannister’s release tab. The rust-colored mist spews not directly into his face but into the room; Dale is hacking and rasping, you both are, but he isn’t in too much pain to haul you out of the booth and onto the floor. You’re screaming, you’re clawing at him, your eyes feel like they’re on fire, tiny pinpoint infernos that drill down to the bone. You can feel the ice-cold juice and schnapps and vodka of your appletini, knocked off the table when you fell, soaking through the back of your sweater. You can feel pebbles of glass as they burrow into your flesh. You are dimly aware of a barstool tumbling over as you struggle with Dale.
“No!” you cry into the monstrous hand that he clamps over your mouth. “No—!”
Dale brings the bottom of the pint glass down on your head. The Distance lyrics—she’s hoping in time that her memories will fade—swirl around inside your fractured skull.
Silence descends like a curtain, shadows in, lights out.
~~~~~~~~~~
I knock, and he opens the door. The house smells like fresh bread and alfredo sauce, rosemary and crushed garlic. My rental—a Toyota 4Runner, I remember what she said about the Nova being a bad idea in Alaska—is parked in the driveway behind her Jeep. Sunfyre is standing beside me, eyes sparkling, smiling with that unburdened-by-intellect innocence that dogs have. There’s a bouquet of blue-dyed roses in my left hand, cool melancholy blooms of life like seawater, like bruises.
“Hi,” I say to her dad as he stands in the doorway. “It’s good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you too, Aegon.” He’s not just staring at me in the artificial front porch light; he’s gawking, he’s damn near speechless. “Wow. Wow. It’s really good to see you.”
Yeah, I know I look different. The dark rings around my eyes have vanished, my face is less puffy, my hair is trimmed and healthy and mostly out of my face, I stand taller. I’m wearing a white turtleneck sweater and a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, my combat boots. I have a red chip in my pocket that I can’t fucking wait to show her: 1 month sober. On the first day, you think you’re going to die, and on the second day you wish you would. But you don’t. You live, and that starts out as a grisly inconvenience, and then you get a taste for it. “You can probably guess who I’m looking for.”
“Yeah, I reckon I can,” her dad says. “But she’s not here right now. She went to Ursa Minor.”
I grin, a crooked little curl of the lips. “I think I remember how to get there.”
I hop back into the 4Runner with Sunfyre and pull out into the street, snow and ice chomping under the tires. I had missed driving, I realize now. I got so used to almost never being able to do it that I forgot how good it feels to turn the wheel yourself, to watch the speedometer ramp up when you decide you want to fly. Ten minutes later, I swerve into Ursa Minor’s deserted parking lot and screech to a stop across three separate spaces.
“Oh, what the fuck!” I choke out as I step into the bar, coughing into my sleeve. The blue roses tumble out of my hand. Ursa Minor is empty, but there’s something in the air, something invisible that drives scorching, stinging needles into my eyes and my sinuses. Tears stream down my face; my exposed skin prickles and burns. Sunfyre sneezes over and over again and lingers in the doorway, gulping in fresh night wind from outside. There’s shattered glass and green liquid on the hardwood floor. There’s an upturned barstool. The stereo is playing Cake’s cover of Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.
What the hell happened here—?
And then I see it: the cannister of bear mace that had rolled under the booth, the same one she and her friends always sat in.
She used the bear mace. She finally used it. But why?
There’s blood on the floor. There’s blood on the table too. There’s a tattered, olive-green journal opened to a blank page. The pieces slide closer and closer and then link together, an explosion in my mind like fireworks.
I bolt outside and study the snow-covered parking lot. There are fresh tire tracks there under the murky luminescence of the streetlights; they lead out to the main road and then north towards the lakes.
“No,” I whisper to no one but the fierce wind, the sky threaded with the opalescent Northern Lights. “No, no, no…”
I sprint back inside Ursa Minor, get the phone Dale keeps behind the bar, and call the cops. “Stay where you are,” the 911 dispatcher instructs me sternly. “Wait for the police, do not attempt to investigate yourself, do not attempt to intervene—”
“Yeah, fuck that,” I say, and slam the receiver into the cradle. Then I swipe the black 8 ball off the pool table.
I load Sunfyre into the 4Runner and spin out of the parking lot, following the parallel lines of tire tracks like the etching of veins beneath skin.
~~~~~~~~~~
There’s a sound, rough and grating; and then you realize that it’s you being dragged across the ice. When your eyes flutter open, you see the uninterrupted sky: indigo night, distant stars, the Northern Lights. Your clothes are wet with snow; it’s so cold that the fabric is freezing, stiff and crackling when you try to move. Dale is lugging you over the frozen lake by the collar of your sweater. It’s choking you, but of course that doesn’t matter much. He’s about to kill you anyway.
“It’s not right,” Dale mutters, and you’re aware through the disorientation and the fog-like cloud of pain that he’s not really talking to you. “Your mom’s a nice lady. It’s not right that she had to lose two people this way, she doesn’t deserve that. Oh well. It can’t be helped now, can it?”
You whimper something, disjointed helpless words. Please, hurts, don’t, please.
“It’s not me,” Dale says, as if it’s perfectly logical. “I mean, not really. It’s this part of me that I can’t cut out. I can only feed it so it goes away for a while. It quiets down sometimes, it hibernates like a bear in the winter…but it always comes back. And my god, is it hungry.”
You smack clumsily, futilely at his hands as he hauls you over the ice. Dale doesn’t seem to notice.
“You have to make it look like an accident. That’s the ticket, if you don’t want anybody to know. You shove a hiker from a ledge, a drunk into the ocean. I did that for a long time, never raised suspicion. Never pinged on anyone’s radar. Jesse was the hardest, though. Good lord, did he fight. Had to pour a bottle of Everclear down his throat. Had to make it look like he was drinking that night. He wasn’t, which was unusual. Kept saying he wanted to turn things around. I think you had something to do with that. Now this? You were never supposed to be here, ladybug. What a shame. What a goddamn shame.”
Consciousness is a river that you dip in and out of; blackness crumbles around the edges of your vision, collapses in, recedes, swells again like a wave. You moan, you beg, you struggle as much as you can. It’s not much. It might as well be nothing.
“Things were easier after I got married,” Dale continues. He has a large hiking backpack slung over his broad shoulders, you see now. It jostles from side to side as he drags you. You know what’s in there: a chisel to break the ice, fishing line to strangle you. “Having someone else there all the time, it was a distraction. And it kept that thing inside me…not tame, no, I wouldn’t say that. But chained up down in the basement, maybe. Now I’m alone again. And when the chains start rattling, there’s nothing to stop me from hearing them.”
You get your feet under you, twist around, and slam your fists into Dale’s chest as hard as you can. He laughs in a baritone rumble and shoves you back down onto the ice; your head hits the ground, and you can feel yourself fading again, the last wisps of sunlight at dusk.
“Sometimes you want to hide,” Dale says. “And sometimes you don’t. I was ready to stop hiding. I can’t tell you what a high it was every time they found a body. The news, the ceaseless chattering around town, the name they gave me…incredible. Exhilarating. I couldn’t sleep for days after each kill. I’d toss and turn all night imagining what the headlines would be. Let me tell you, ladybug. I’ve never tried heroin, and I never need to. It can’t possibly be better than this.”
What will happen to my parents? you think, heartbreak gutting you, dull knifes rearranging your organs. What will happen to Heather and Kimmie and Joyce? What will happen when Aegon finds out he left too soon?
“I knew I needed someone to pin it on,” Dale informs you calmly. “Didn’t take anyone who went to the bar, didn’t take anyone who could be traced back to me. And still, I knew they’d figure it out eventually if I didn’t give them another suspect. At first, I was thinking I might use Aegon. He was a little small, sure, but he showed up around the right time and he was an outsider. Then I saw the way Trent was with you…aggressive, menacing…and I knew it had to be him. It was almost too easy. I planted the seeds, and good lord did they grow.”
“They’ll know,” you croak. “If you kill me, the police will find my body and they’ll know Trent’s not the Ice Fisher.”
Hideously, horribly, Dale smiles down at you. “Oh, ladybug, I don’t think they’ll ever find you. They found the others because I wanted them to. And no one is looking for victims anymore. Once you sink, I’ll cover up the hole with ice and snow. No blood, no signs. People will assume you’re a runaway. It was just too much, wasn’t it? Trent getting arrested, Aegon leaving town. Maybe you ran off after him. Maybe you threw yourself in the channel. Who could say? No, your bones will become silt, your name will slowly disappear from Juneau. And in ten or twenty years, your parents will have you declared dead in absentia. That’s my best guess. That’s how it will go.”
“No,” you sob, battling against the hands knotted into the collar of your sweater. “No—!”
His knuckles bash the side of your head, and a black silence rolls in like high tide, engulfs you, drowns you. When you swim back up into consciousness again, Dale is a few yards from you and drilling a hole in the ice with his chisel. You try to crawl away and promptly collapse, frail and boneless. He glances over at you, chuckles pleasantly, and then begins using a hatchet to widen the opening.
No, you think, hooking your fingers into the snow and dragging yourself towards the forest. No, no, no…
Dale’s ready for you. He walks over, grabs both of your ankles, tugs you with terrifying ease to the hole in the ice. Then he has a length of fishing line in his hands, and he’s looping it around your throat again and again, and he’s tightening it until the needle-thin nylon wire bites into your flesh, spilling tendrils of blood. You know you don’t have a chance, but you try; you owe it to your parents to try. You claw at the fishing line and you struggle and you cry out in hoarse, useless screams—
And then you hear something that doesn’t make any sense. Through the darkness, through the wind, there are the barks of a dog. Sunfyre rockets into your dimming field of vision and jumps on Dale, snarling and growling and snapping at his hands, his face. Dale flings the dog away, and as he’s distracted, Aegon arrives. He’s holding—ludicrously—a black 8 ball from a pool table, and he smashes it into Dale’s head. A sick, wet, crushing sound ricochets, cracked bone cushioned by flesh, and Dale howls as he rolls onto his side and covers his head with his hands.
He peers up at Aegon, furious and pained and stunned. “You?!”
“Me.” Aegon’s voice is dark and low like thunder, like the iron gale of storms over the ocean. “And I’m a killer.”
He lunges at Dale, still wielding the 8 ball. Dale’s massive hand juts out and closes around Aegon’s wrist, and then he yanks him to the ground. They’re grappling on the snow and ice, they’re striking out with knuckles and elbows, they’re ripping at each other with their bare hands. You’re trying to unravel the fishing line still coiled around your throat, panting in deep, frantic breaths so you can see and think clearly, so you can scramble to your feet, so you can help Aegon. And then Dale gets away from him just long enough to grab you again, to wrap the ends of the fishing line around his fingers. He delivers one last macerating blow to your skull, pulls you by your throat to the gaping hole in the ice, and shoves you through.
The water is so cold it’s paralyzing. There is a thought that seizes you—so overwhelming, so strangely rational—that says all you have to do is stay where you are, to wait a little longer, and then you’ll never hurt again, you’ll never be disappointed or caged, you’ll never be anything. And you think of all the lives you could have lived, all the places you could have gone: cities and beaches and deserts and valleys, gardens and rivers, ruins and glass. You were always so afraid of really going after them. What the hell were you so afraid of? Everything worth fearing is right here in Juneau.
I can still do those things. I can still live. And I can still help Aegon.
You jolt out of your inertia and clamber madly for the surface. But you don’t hit frigid open air; you hit ice, ice too thick to break through, ice too thick for more than a murmur of light to penetrate. Your palms press against the semitransparent wall; bubbles of carbon dioxide spurt from your nose and mouth. You feel for the opening that Dale made, but you don’t know where it is. You are lost beneath the ice, running out of air, fading rapidly. Then you hear Jesse—and you aren’t sure how you know what his voice sounds like, but you do—speaking softly and kindly to you, comforting you, telling you which way to go.
I’m sorry that no one knows the truth, you say without speaking. I’m sorry we thought you destroyed yourself. I’m sorry you never got the chance to truly live.
You were all better off without me anyway, he answers, without any bitterness at all. And that’s true, isn’t it?
There is a great disruption that rocks through the water. New currents stir into existence, fresh waves spring out of the darkness. And then someone takes your hand and draws you towards a noise, muffled through the ice and water: a dog barking, you realize. Then your palms find the opening and you inhale brutally cold air into your aching lungs, the best you’ve ever tasted. Aegon helps pull you through the hole and out of the lake, out of the jaws of oblivion.
You lie together on the ice, breathing in gasps that turn to mist in the night wind. Dale’s body is sprawled several yards away. The hatchet he’d used to break up the ice is buried in his neck, spine severed, eyes slick and vacant. You can see reflections of the Northern Lights flickering in them.
“You came back,” you whisper to Aegon as whirling police sirens approach, the lights dancing on his face: blue like the ocean, red like fire and blood.
“Of course I came back, Appletini,” he says, laughing with frenzied relief, kissing your cheeks and forehead over and over again, lake water dripping from his hair. Sunfyre jumps around you both, yapping ecstatically, his tail wagging. “I couldn’t leave without my Juneau girl.”
~~~~~~~~~~
There’s wind, but it isn’t sharp like a blade. There’s a sky, but it isn’t cloaked in cloud cover or fog. The boats that bob in the surf are sailboats and cruisers, not fishing vessels. Dolphins crest out of the sun-speckled waves like someone coming up from a dream.
It’s June 9th, and you’re soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in the red Ford Mustang convertible you rented after the plane touched down in Seattle. Aegon is in the driver’s seat, black sunglasses and white T-shirt, his hair whipping in the breeze. He has one hand on the wheel and the other behind your headrest. Sunfyre is in the backseat, grinning like only dogs can. You turn up the song on the radio: Drive by Incubus.
You and Aegon had stayed in Juneau long enough for your skull to heal, and for your parents to find someone else to take over the vet clinic. They settled on a 32-year-old from Detroit: Justin McNair, a former Marine like your dad, and he either has no family or a bad one because he never wants to talk about them. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter which it is; perhaps sometimes they’re just about the same thing. Your parents have already basically adopted him. He eats dinner with them three times a week and calls your dad when he needs help with house maintenance or scaring a moose away from his truck. And just before you went south, Aegon showed him how to make the world’s best hot chocolate.
You send postcards back to Juneau from each town you stop in. Heather’s bon voyage gift to you had been an indecently revealing swimsuit. Joyce appeared with—what else?—a stack of books fit for leisurely beach reading. And Kimmie gave you, however bizarrely, a compass. So you don’t get lost, she had said with an innocuous little smile. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking.
During his one month in jail, Trent learned how to meditate and do yoga. He’s still kind of a dumbass, but he’s also a supposedly devout vegan Buddhist, and he had the decency to leave you alone aside from an apology letter that he slid into the moose-shaped mailbox: handwritten, six pages, lots of spelling and grammatical errors. Oh, and he finally got that job with the Forest Service, probably mostly due to his high-profile wrongful detainment. Now hikers get to swoon over his muscles and hair flips.
You’ll go back to Juneau, of course. Maybe just for visits, maybe for more than that someday. But it will never feel like a cage again.
Aegon calls Aemond every two or three days, a habit he started when he was in rehab. At first it was by necessity—he needed someone to pay the $30,000 bill—but now you think he secretly looks forward to it. He updates Aemond about how the road trip is going and reassures him that the plan hasn’t changed: south to San Diego, and then cutting east across the country to Miami. You don’t know what exactly life will look like there, and neither does Aegon. That’s not the important thing about going. Part of AA is making amends, and Aegon has a lot of work to do in that respect. He wants to go back to Miami, he says. He’s ready to go back.
San Diego is exactly like Aegon once told you it would be. You weave through the rust-colored peaks of the Laguna Mountains and there’s the Pacific Ocean, glittering and sapphire-blue, peppered with surfers and sea lions. It’s hot and it’s beautiful beyond words and everything grows there: ivy, cactuses, palm trees, calla lilies, roses. And for the first time that you can remember, the world feels breathtakingly, impossibly big. You get carryout from an unassuming restaurant called The Taco Stand, and then Aegon parks the convertible in La Jolla. You walk down the steps carved into the cliffside, paper bags in your hands full of tacos and churros, Aegon carrying Sunfyre so the dog won’t slip.
You sit together on the golden sand and watch the 8:00 p.m. sun sink into the waves, Aegon’s arm around your waist, your fingers tucking his lock of silvery hair behind his ear. And then he takes your hand, kneads it until it’s sinuous and relaxed, and reads the lines of your palm in the amber dusk like firelight.
“It says you’re happy,” he tells you. “And that you’re free.”
“I am,” you reply, smiling as the ocean stretches out like the arm of a galaxy: the ancient past, the infinite future.
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Pick Me Up - A Gojo x Reader x Geto Fanfic Part 3
Gojo and Geto are two serial killers who enjoy seducing their victims before killing them. Every year on Halloween they have a friendly competition, and this year the target they both choose is you.
Read Part One Here! Read Part Two Here!
The first two parts will be fairly short and just serve to set up the way these two operate. The third part starts the “main part”. Any feedback or comments are greatly appreciated! Divider by @violetbudd
Smut. 18+. Fem Readers. Smut mostly just thought/talked about in this part. Gojo and Geto are both bisexual.
You’re standing in line at the convenience store, two giant bags of potato chips in your arms. Your friend told you to bring some to the party, so here you are, standing here in a silly white Angel costume. There’s a fake halo on a stick over your head, small white wings attached to a white top that is way too sheer for your comfort. The skirt is shorter than anything you’ve ever worn, and your white thigh-high stockings have little bows at the top. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to look innocent or slutty. Probably both.
Your friends picked out the costume for you, saying it fit your personality. You don’t know what that says about you, but you’ve decided to take it as a compliment.
The teenage boy working the register stares at your chest, not even trying to be subtle. You pay for your chips and for some gas you just put into your car, then you head out.
A group of trick or treaters nearly mow you down as they run into the store, excitedly chanting the familiar phrase as the teenager rolls his eyes and begins dropping handfuls of cheap candy into their colorful buckets and bags. You smile as you watch the little goblins, remembering how much fun you always had as a child on Halloween.
This year is going to be just as fun, you tell yourself. You’ve never been to a large Halloween party before, but you’re really excited. You hum the Ghostbusters theme to yourself as you toss the chips into the backseat and climb into the driver’s seat of your car.
***************
Satoru and Suguru have been sitting in the white van, parked far away from the pumps at the gas station, for a couple of hours now. They’re watching the various people who stop for gas, each trying to pick out their special Halloween victim.
Suguru has one hand buried in a bag of popcorn. “How about her?” he asks, pointing to a “nurse” strutting by.
Satoru takes a bite of the king sized candy bar in his hand. “Nah. Too easy. I want a challenge tonight. Besides, you need to focus on picking your own target.”
“My taste is more discerning than yours,” Suguru says, holding up the small bag to pour the rest of the popcorn into his mouth.
“Wait,” Satoru says, pointing with his free hand toward the door of the convenience store, “look at her.”
Walking out of the store after nearly bumping into some kids is the sweetest looking Angel either of them have ever seen.
“Fuck, she can barely walk in those heels!” Suguru says breathlessly, “Can you imagine chasing her?”
Satoru’s eyes are shining above the rims of his dark sunglasses. “She’d trip so fast. That flimsy outfit would rip… she’d be crawling on the ground, crying her eyes out, begging me not to hurt her…”
Suguru laughs. “Easy, you’re gonna bust a nut.”
“Only in that sweet angel’s mouth,” Satoru says.
“I’m picking her,” Suguru suddenly declares.
Satoru swivels in his seat immediately to look at Suguru. “What? No, I’m picking her!”
“Too late. You didn’t get a chance to cut her fuel line.”
Satoru frowns. “I’ve got other ways of getting her into my van.”
“Really? Like what?” Suguru asks.
Satoru gives him a meaningful look, pulling the shades down. “These baby blues. I could roll up covered in blood, carrying a machete, and she’d still wanna ride my dick after one look into my eyes.”
There’s a moment where Suguru just stares at Satoru silently, allowing himself to get lost in those eyes. Then he looks away. “You’re too full of yourself.”
Satoru laughs, taking anther bite of his candy bar. “Just admit you think my eyes are pretty.”
Suguru ignores him and stares out the windshield, watching the angel climb into her car. “How about we make the contest interesting this year? Let’s both pick her.”
Satoru raises his eyebrows, clearly intrigued by the idea. In years past, they competed to see who could fuck and then kill their individual target first on Halloween night. The rules were pretty simple. They had to act suspicious, and they had to get the target to willingly have sex with them despite throwing up glaring red flags. It was their fun way of testing their own charm and good looks.
“Okay, let’s do it,” Satoru says, grinning. “If you’re lucky, I might just give you sloppy seconds!”
Suguru rolls his eyes. “I hope you like fucking girls with no skin, because that’s the only way you’re having her tonight.”
They both laugh, and then Suguru gets out of the van, heading to his own vehicle so that he can use the backroads to get ahead of her.
*****************
You sit for a minute in your car, trying to send a text to your friends to let them know you’ve picked up the extra chips and are heading towards the party, but there’s no service in this area. Too wooded and remote. You sigh and cram your phone into the small white purse beside you.
A couple miles down the road, you’re blasting Monster Mash on the radio, singing along with the lyrics, when you notice someone walking along the side of the road. You hit the brakes, your car screeching to a halt beside a man with long dark hair, dressed all in black.
If he’s walking along the road in the dark, he probably needs help! You roll the passenger side window all the way down and lean across the seat as he steps over and bends down to look in at you.
“Is everything okay?” you ask him, concern obvious in your voice.
He smiles at you, and you can’t help noticing that he’s incredibly good looking. “I ran out of gas,” he says.
“Well hop in and I’ll take you to the gas station,” you tell him, patting the seat beside you.
He blinks, hesitating for a moment before that charming smile returns to his handsome face. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice creamy and smooth. “It’s dangerous to pick up hitchhikers, you know. I could be a serial killer.”
You look him over, from his smile to his clean and simple clothing. He sure doesn’t look dangerous. “It’s fine,” you say with a grin. “I’ve got a good feeling about you!”
His eyes widen slightly, then he breaks out into laughter, so much that he clutches his side. “I can’t argue with that logic!” he says, opening the passenger side door and climbing inside.
“Wow, you smell nice,” you say to him, noticing the fresh fragrance of soap, or maybe laundry detergent. “Is that Gain or Tide?”
He glances at you sideways, seeming a little caught off guard by the question. “Uh, I just use whatever’s handy… I don’t pay attention to brands…”
“Well whatever it is smells great.”
He stares at you for a moment before saying, “Thanks.”
You hate the awkwardness of silence so you decide to keep talking. “Do you live around here?”
“No, just traveling through,” he tells you.
“I’m going to a Halloween party,” you say brightly. “But I guess that’s obvious.”
He looks you up and down. His gaze feels hot, and you notice his eyes lingering on your legs. “That’s a cute costume,” he says. “So are you sweet like an angel?”
You laugh and slap his arm playfully. “Is that a pick up line?”
He gives you a strange look, unreadable, then smiles again. “I’m just kidding.”
“Well, if you really want to know the truth, I didn’t pick out this costume. My friends did. It’s a little more, uh, risqué than I’m used to.”
“It looks good on you,” he says.
“Aw, thanks! You’re really sweet!”
Again, that strange look, but then a second later he’s laughing again. You’re not sure how your words were funny at all, but you giggle along with him, caught up in the moment.
He laughs so much he’s nearly in tears, then he looks over at you with a smile that seems genuine for the first time. “Has anyone ever called you naive?”
You nod, smiling proudly. “Yep! All the time!”
He tilts his head, black as night hair falling over his shoulder. “And you’re not bothered by that?”
“Nope! I’d rather see the good in people and be wrong occasionally than always assume the worst of everyone.”
He chuckles. “You’re like one of those virginal heroines from a horror movie.”
You look at him sharply, then quickly look away, heat spreading across your face.
“Haha, you’re totally red right now,” he says, then suddenly his smile disappears as his eyes seem to focus on your face. “Wait… why are you so red right now? Are you… a virgin?”
You wince. “Is it really that obvious?”
His face seems frozen as he stares at you. Then one eyebrow twitches. There’s an excitement in his eyes that confuses you but also gives you a little thrill.
“You really are an angel, aren’t you?” he asks.
**********
When the angel pulls back into the gas station, Suguru doesn’t even have to ask if she’ll drive him back to his car. She volunteers, of course. He smiles and thanks her, and heads into the store to pretend to buy some gas.
To his surprise, Satoru is standing by the magazine rack, thumbing through an issue of Fangoria.
“Not in any hurry, I see,” Suguru says to him.
“I know your patterns,” Satoru shoots back. “So, how is she?”
Suguru picks up a random magazine, not even looking at the cover, and pretends to flip through it. “She’s totally innocent and naive. Kind and sweet. She has absolutely no sense of danger, but I don’t think she’s an idiot. And…”
Satoru looks up at him. “And?”
Suguru meets his eyes. “Satoru, she’s a virgin.”
Ahh, there it is. That positively depraved, monstrous gleam in Satoru’s eyes. “Oh fuck,” he says, dropping the magazine back onto the rack. “I could wreck her so bad.”
Suguru understands the appeal. The thought of ruining something so pure and so good is irresistible to people like them. An image creeps into his mind, of that innocent angel choking on Satoru’s huge cock, and he doesn’t know why it turns him on so much. Because he’s also imagining her thighs trembling on either side of his face, gasping moans spilling from her lips.
“I better get back to work,” Suguru says.
Satoru waves him off with a smile. He must have some kind of plan in mind, Suguru thinks.
After buying an empty red gasoline container, Suguru returns to the car, where the angel is waiting patiently for him. She opens the trunk for him to put the gas inside, and soon they’re on the road again.
***************
The man beside you doesn’t talk much on the drive back to his car. You wish he would. He has such a nice voice. But he smiles warmly when he catches your eye, and he has a way of putting you at ease. You hate to admit it, but you might just be developing a bit of a crush on him.
He tells you where to pull off the road, and soon enough a car comes into view, parked in a wooded area, behind some trees. You stop your car and turn to him, feeling a little sad that it’s time to part ways.
“Here you are! Do you need any help?”
He makes no move to get out of the car, but looks at you with an expression you could only identify as “predatory”. But on him, it just looks sexy. “I’m not in any hurry tonight,” he says, turning to face you. “Are you?”
You feel your face heating up again. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’re feeling heated in another place too. “Well my friends are waiting for these chips,” you tell him. “Do you want to come to the party with me?”
“Actually, I was hoping we could spend some time together, just you and me.”
Ohhhh. He wants to hook up. Right here in the woods. You’re not sure how you feel about that. On one hand, he’s smoking hot. You’ve been getting wetter with each passing moment that he’s been in your car. But on the other… do you really want your first time to be with a stranger? You think about it for a moment, looking at his beautiful face, inhaling his pleasant scent.
Why not live a little?
“Tell me your name,” you say.
He blinks at the sudden shift in the conversation. “Huh?”
You turn in your seat to face him. “I don’t want us to be strangers.”
“Ah, I see,” he says, then he smiles. “I’m Suguru.”
You smile back. “I like that name.” You introduce yourself and then you take a deep breath. “Okay, so what did you wanna spend time doing with me?” You know the answer, but you want to hear him say it.
He scoots closer to you, then leans his upper half toward you. “I don’t think you can handle what I want to do with you,” he says, his voice practically dripping with honey.
You feel a shiver run through your body. Is this really happening? Are you really going to have sex with a guy this gorgeous? That you just met? There’s something scandalous about it that thrills you. “I probably can’t,” you admit, “but you’ll take care of me, right?”
There’s fire in his eyes as he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours and kissing you gently. One of his hands moves to your hair, caressing it, pulling you closer, making the kiss deeper. When his tongue slips into your mouth, you offer no resistance. After a few moments, he pulls away to look at your face. You’re breathing slightly harder than usual as you say, “Wow, that was some first kiss.”
His eyes widen. “That… was your first kiss?”
You blush. “Yeah. Thanks for making it a good one.”
All at once, as if a switch has been flipped, he’s upon you, his hands rubbing over your body, his lips on yours, then on your neck. It’s a bit overwhelming, but it feels good, and there’s a thrum of energy coursing through you. There’s no doubt in your mind that by morning, you’ll no longer be a virgin.
And then you hear it, a strange sound, like someone breaking a large stick in the woods. You put your hands on Suguru’s shoulders and lightly push him back. “Did you hear that?”
He presses forward, nuzzling your neck. “I didn’t hear anything,” he murmurs.
You push him with a bit more force, causing him to stop and look up at you. “There’s someone out there,” you tell him.
He sighs. “There’s no one out in these woods. Trust me.”
You turn around in the seat, looking out all the windows. There! Someone ran by some trees! “I saw someone,” you yell, pointing toward the spot where the figure disappeared.
He looks in the direction you pointed. “I don’t see anything.”
“It might be an elderly person who needs help!” you say, starting to open your door.
He gives you an incredulous look. “An elderly person?”
“They had white hair!”
Suguru’s eyes flatten to unamused slits. “Ah. I see. It’s probably some asshole playing a prank. It’s Halloween after all.”
You slide out of the car. “But what if it’s not? What if some grandma got lost in the woods and needs our help? I won’t be able to relax until I check.”
A look of annoyance passes over Suguru’s face, but he quickly replaces it with a warm smile. “Okay. I’ll help you check.”
“Thanks! You’re a really great guy!”
The two of you move around the car, calling out shouts of “Hello?” and “Is anyone out there?” and even “Shout back if you need help!”
When no answer comes, you run over and open the trunk of your car with the key. “I have a flashlight in here,” you say, digging around. You push the container of gas out of your way, and you notice something strange about it. The container is so light! You reach over and pick it up, and it’s immediately clear that the container is empty. Why would it be empty? Just as the terrible, obvious answer dawns on you, Suguru appears right beside you.
You look up at him with wide eyes. The empty gas can is still in your hands.
His eyes shift to the can, then back to your face. “Ah, I guess the jig is up then,” he says in a casual tone. “What a pity. I really, really wanted to fuck that virgin pussy before I kill you.”
You back away as his words sink in. You watch helplessly as he pulls your keys from the trunk lid and then dangles them in the air. Before he can take a step forward, you fling the empty gas can at him and break into a run as he knocks it out of his way. You only make it a few yards away before you realize running in stiletto heels on uneven forest ground is impossible.
Stopping for just a moment, you tear off your shoes. When you glance back, Suguru is running toward you. In a panic, you throw the shoes at him one at a time before sprinting into the woods.
“Ow, fuck,” you hear him shout, “you almost hit my eye!”
“Sorry!” you yell back, a reflex you couldn’t subdue.
Branches from small trees and bushes scratch you as you flee. Your skirt gets ripped up the side, the thin, cheap fabric of your top is nearly shredded, and your cute white stockings have holes in them now, one of the bows from the top missing. You ignore all of this as you make a beeline for the road.
You haven’t heard Suguru since you threw the shoes. No yells, no footsteps, no crunching leaves. Either he’s a very quiet pursuer or he’s got some other plan for how to catch you. Both options are terrifying.
Finally you break free of the trees and reach the road. You scan the area for Suguru, or your own car. He could easily use it to chase you down. You see headlights approaching and you decide to take the chance that it’s not him. You run up alongside the road, waving your arms.
The vehicle that stops in front of you is a rusty white van, but it looks like a blessing to you right now. The passenger side window rolls down and a man in sunglasses leans over from the driver’s seat.
“You okay, miss?”
“No, some guy is after me! I think he wants to kill me!” Your voice is a bit frantic, but you’re trying to stay as calm as possible to avoid scaring him into leaving you behind.
He looks around as if checking for attackers. Even in your distressed state, you notice how distractingly beautiful he is. He pulls his sunglasses down and looks at you with eyes so blue you almost forget you’re in danger. “Get in,” he says with a disarming smile. “You can tell me all about it and I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Feeling lucky to be rescued by such a charming prince, you hurry to climb into his van. You look over at him as he pulls back onto the road. “Thanks so much,” you tell him. “You saved my life!”
He grins at you. “Don’t mention it, angel!
Now where can I take you?”
You exhale as you slide down a bit in the seat, trying to decide whether to go to the police or not. You feel like the night has lasted forever, having no clue that your Halloween was only getting started.
Tag List:
@loyal-to-my-dilf @unearthlydream @noodlejitsu @itzmeme @themonst3rqu33n
If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please comment to let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged!
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did you know in season 5 of gotham ed spends so much time searching for oswald due to a false memory that lead him to believe oswald did something to damage his brain but when he finds him and confronts him oswald tells him that he would never do something like that and that if they are ever at odds again he will know he is his enemy which is so much more than oswald could say for anyone else as he is like so constantly backstabbing lying and betraying people but for ed he swears to be honest and he pushes the barrel of ed's gun right to his heart and ed realizes that when he though oswald said "i'm going to fix you, ed" he was saying it with LOVE and ed looks at him and swears to him that if that day comes he will stare him in the eye as he stabs him in the heart and oswald SMILES which is so insane and also he named his DOG EDWARD and then they spend the rest of the technically-apocalypse planning to build a submarine and run away together but when oswald decides to stay back and fight for gotham ed begs him to stay and says "following your heart has never worked out for you" TALKING ABOUT HIS OWN FUCKING SELF and oswald looks at him and tells him he should spend more time listening to THIS (poking his heart) instead of THIS (pointing to his head) and then do you know what ed fucking does he SHOWS UP AT THE LAST MINUTE TO COME AND FIGHT WITH OSWALD and it is FOR OSWALD because oswald gives a big speech about gotham being his home and ed is like yeah me too what he said whatever and during the battle someone throws a grenade at them and oswald screams "eddie" and without a second thought covers ed to protect him and LOSES AN EYE and afterwards ed is apologizing profusely for not doing anything ("i saw the grenade and i froze") which he has never done to oswald or anyone really oswald cuts him off and just says "it was the least i could do" which is insane and when he asks ed if its bad and shows it to him ed says no but he gags and it cant be because he was grossed out because he was literally a forensic guy and a serial killer its because he cant see oswald hurt like that and after everything after the battle theyre fuming in a little room about how "that BITCH stole our submarine" and all their treasures and ed says he felt NOTHING for the people of gotham as he was fighting WHICH FUCKING CONFIRMS that he came back for OSWALD and oswald alone he doesn't care about gotham but he wouldn't leave oswald and he has some big speech about never taking the knee to anyone in gotham again and oswald says theyd be stronger together and ed is like perhaps and oswalds like oh this bitch is playing games and ed's like let's shake on it and oswalds like are you fucking kidding me we're HUGGING you idiot but he takes a knife out of his boot surreptitiously and ed takes a knife out of his pocket surreptitiously and they hug and they hold the knives to eachothers backs but oswald tears up and he doesn't do it of course he doesn't he couldn't kill him and assumes ed will stab him but he doesnt either he SMILES and when oswald moves to pull away ED HOLDS HIM TIGHTER AND DOESNT LET HIM because theyre in fucking LOVE. hello
do you understand. do you understand.
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What MatPat egos are like as lovers
(The Detective, MadPat, Mack, The Hermit, WarfPat, DarkPat)
The Detective:
- Are you kidding? This man is the sweetest!!
- He likes bringing you flowers a lot. His favorites are lilies, because they remind him of you
- Physical touch is definitely his primary love language (have you seen him and Ro in Escape the Night?!)
- He’s a very patient person most of the time, unless he gets too stressed out. Arguments (because, let’s be honest, they’re inevitable in all relationships) with him are rare.
- He isn’t always the one to apologize first, but he makes a point to always make up for it after you’ve both cooled down
MadPat:
- What?? A serial killer can’t be a good lover, right…?
- Ha! Wrong!
- Well, mostly. Sometimes he gets so caught up in work that you don’t see him for a whole day
- I have no idea how he does it, but this man will somehow work his ass off every day at the pizzeria, and then come home and manage to give you all of his attention
- He likes listening to you talk. Not always anything in particular, either. Hearing about your day, reading to him… all of it is nice. He especially likes it after a long day of work, or after, uh… his less-than-legal hobbies
- If he can help it, he tries to keep you separate from the whole… serial murder thing. Though, I’m sure it’s inevitable you find out eventually…
Mack: (Crewmate & Head Engineer)
- For crewmate Mack, he’s obsessed with you. But not in a creepy way. He just loves being around you, and probably even went as far as to beg the captain to put you on similar jobs so he can stay with you as long as possible
- Loves forehead kisses! Both for you and for himself, but every time you two have some alone time together, it’s cuddles and forehead kisses if he has his way
- Head engineer Mack is more bold. He’s less outwardly touchy, and is far less obsessed with you, but that’s mostly because he has a reputation to uphold. He’s the second-in-command of the whole shop, after all. People look up to him!
- However, he does use his title and his power to keep you around him as much as possible, same as crewmate Mack. Maybe it’s you being assigned the job of cleaning the same room that he’s stationed in, or specifically keeping you from working on one particular day so you can spend the whole day with him
The Hermit:
- He’s the most protective of all the egos. He knows the danger out in the world, and is very adamant about keeping you safe.
- Admittedly, sometimes this protectiveness borders on possessiveness, but he’s a sucker for you. All you have to do is tell him that you appreciate his concern and that you’ll be okay. Sometimes you have to agree to take him with you, but overall, you’re usually allowed to go on your own
- It sounds absolutely insane, but with him as your lover, you are treated like royalty. Sure, he lives in a cave on a (mostly) deserted island, but you have everything you could ever want.
- You swear he has some kind of extraterrestrial abilities…
WarfPat:
- Oh dear, let’s hope you’re up for the chaos
- His love language switches like… every time you blink I swear. One day he’s all on you, hugging you, kissing you, etc. and the next, he’s giving you gifts like there’s no tomorrow
- He’s overall a pretty energetic guy, but around you, he simply cannot sit still. He loves being around you!! It makes him really talkative, too, so he ready to hear him infodump about anything
- You are his favorite guest on his talk show, easily. You’re a fan-favorite, he always says
- He’s kind of like a teenager when it comes to some things in the relationship. Like, for example, he is a sucker for matching things. If you made him matching bracelets, he’d love you until the end of eternity (he already does but you know)
DarkPat:
- I know he looks like an asshole, but it’s mostly just for show
- DarkPat is a mix between The Hermit and Mack, really
- He doesn’t like physical touch all that much. Not just in public, either, but all in all. He will hold your hand sometimes, but kisses make him uncomfortable when they’re unprompted, and he isn’t really one for cuddling
- He makes up for the lack of physical touch with gifts. Specifically expensive jewelry. Seeing you wear it makes even him smile, and then he buys you more
- Rich man fr
- He also likes taking you to fancy dinners for dates, which kind of freaks out the people around him, seeing a glitching entity with too much eyeliner, but as long as you’re happy
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Welcome to my Nightmare Ch. 1
Here is the first chapter of the rewrite!
Masterlist
Chapter One: Santa Carla
Dry heat. The only two words that could describe the hellscape that Santa Carla, California was. I was just now realizing that I had no idea what I had gotten myself into, getting states away from home. The horrors of the grimy truckstop showers should have been an omen not to come here, but I was determined to get away. To start new. To be. . . different.
I had hitchhiked what felt like hundreds of miles, but I knew that wasn’t possible. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was not getting some serial killer-rapist to pick me up. So far, I had gotten nice people, families, and old run-down people that were once me. The Sun’s lasers blasted at me like I was Princess Leia. I was definitely going to get a sunburn after this. I held my thumb up for the millionth time to plead with someone to not let me die of a heatstroke out here. No luck.
The dry dirt crunched under my boots as I walked down the side of the highway into California. A “Welcome to Santa Carla California!” the sign taunted me. As I passed, something told me to glance back. Some punk had spray painted the phrase “MURDER CAPITAL OF THE WORLD” in a fitting, blood red. I suppose maybe that should have been my omen to quit while I was ahead. Of course, I didn’t listen. I had hithicked and been through some of the nasties and sketchiest places to get her. Murder Capital of the World wasn’t going to shock me. More people means more crime anyway.
This time, my thumb yielded an old red Toyota to take pity on me. Once inspecting my saviors, I understood why an older woman had stopped. She had two children in her car. Maybe she saw herself, or her kids, in me. Maybe the husky that was desperate to sniff me begged her to pull over.
“Hi, are you alright? Do you need a ride?” A sweet and delicate voice emanated from her gentle expression. Murder Capital of the World, am I right? Her two sons, the older brunette, and younger blonde, eyed me suspiciously. ALthough, they didn’t seem too concerned with their mother picking up a total stranger. Maybe she did this often.
“Yes ma’am, I just need a ride into town.” I explained. If I got a cheap hotel, maybe I could settle down a bit. I glanced into the old vehicle, it seemed a little over crowded. The two teenages didn’t seem to want to share their precious car space, especially with a husky on the blonde’s lap. Who drags a Husky into this kind of weather?
“Michael, move over just a little. Would you?” The woman’s turquoise necklace with wings caught my eye. It looked almost like a Journey album cover. Michale, the older brunette guy, side eyed me. Not wanting to displease his mother, moved over just a little.
I grabbed the sun bleached handle and opened the car to scoot towards Michael. I tried not to take up too much space, I was a sweaty hitchhiker. It seemed like any space I took up was too much.
“Thanks, I’m (Y/N).” I gestured my open palm towards Michael to shake.
“I’m Michael,” he thankfully shook my hand and didn’t seem too upset about me being in the car. “That’s Sam, Nanook, and my mom–”
“I’m Lucy by the way.” She laughed.
“It’s nice to meet you all. Thank you for giving me a ride, I really do appreciate it.” I thanked Lucy. Sam muttered something about not asking for another one. His mother’s displeased look stopped him from saying anything else.
“So, you’re staging with some family?” Lucy glanced at me through the rearview mirror.
“Oh, uh. I just . . . um. . .” I can’t believe that I was completely choking up. Shit. “Yeah, but only for a little bit.” I hoped that was enough to convince her. It wasn’t.
“Oh, they couldn’t drop you off?” She questioned.
“Well, they don’t have a car, so I just walk everywhere.”
“If you need somewhere to stay for a bit, we have extra room.” Lucy reached for my hand behind the seats.
“Mom–” Sam objected. I couldn’t blame him.
“Sam! Be nice. I raised you better than that!” She scolded.
“You’re more than welcome to stay with us if you need. Really, we do have plenty of room.” Lucy seemed more concerned for me that I was about myself.
Was it really a bad idea? Maybe. Was I going to take it anyway. Yeah! A rent free place to stay, why wouldn’t I take that? Plus, I could cook, clean, or pay rent after I got a job, so it wasn’t like I was taking advantage of them. I only had sixty bucks left, so not enough to stay at a motel for very long.
“Are you sure? I really don't want to take up unwanted space.” put on a sweet and naive voice. I couldn’t make it too obvious that I wanted to stay. Sam and Michael would be a little harder to convince, but I could do it.
/|\^._.^/|\
Along the ride, I learned the family’s name was the Emerson’s, freshly moving to Santa Carla after a not-so-great divorce. I thought it was interesting to move so far away, even if Lucy’s father was here. Did she not have siblings? Friends that could help her out? I wasn’t going to ask. Michael wasn’t too thrilled finishing his senior year in a completely different state, but he said he was going to try to make the best of it. Sam, on the other hand, was almost insulted that he had to relocate. A total mall-rat. California seemed right up his alley, every person who wanted to be someone, wanted to be in California. Not Sam though.
The Emerson’s stopped at the boardwalk, which I had no idea was anything more than an expensive tourist trap. Lucy said she came here all the time when she was younger. I always thought it was just for rides and carnie good, but no, there were legitimate businesses. It looked like a couple of food joints, random stores, and a . . . pharmacy? Weird. Maybe it was cheap to rent here. Maybe tourists just got sick a lot.
People were pouring out of every nook and cranny of these places, it was like an anthill. I hadn’t ever seen this many people since Black Friday, except with less fighting and stealing. The Emerson’s had split up and it looked almost impossible to figure out how they were going to meet up. It was overwhelming, especially with how bright and hot it was. Maybe I needed that pharmacy.
Sam and Nanook split, running around like wild children. Lucy and Michael went looking for jobs. I wasn’t really sure where to be, I also wanted a job, but I didn’t want to compete with Lucy or her son. Maybe if I look the next time we’re here, I’ll find one.
Jesus Christ, it was bright. Somebody’s got to sell some shade, otherwise I was going to get a migraine. I scanned the sweaty maze of people, locating a small shop. The Sa’s Surf Shop sign looked over me. Jesus, there were so many people. I forced myself into the air conditioned shop. The smell of sunscreen, surf wax, and too many people that smelled like salty water and B.O. was so grody. I spotted a pair of round, cat eye sunglasses, with a teal rim. They sat discarded in a big with other various pairs.
I picked up two similar pairs and wandered around the store pretending to be a customer. I put the pair I wanted in my waist band underneath my baggy shirt. I made my way over the bin and placed the other pair back. It was so easy to take from shops like this, there were always way too many people to keep track of thieves.
I walked a couple shops down before placing my shield of glory upon my face. A few more shops down, I noticed a bookstore. I was a little confused at how many shops and what types called the boardwalk “home.” It was much more than I expected.
The sign was so sunbleached it was almost impossible to read Used Books on the front. Straight to the point, I guess. An old ancient being guarded the sacred used book store. He seemed almost upset that someone wanted to actually buy something. The store was a tightly packed maze of books from new to who knows how old. Nothing was organized, excepta few book on display near the back, but none of them related to each other. Maybe the old geezer would hire the help he probably needed.
Once inspecting the display, I noticed that How to Raise Your IQ by Eating Gifted Children by Lewis Frunkes was next to Dracula by Brahm Stoker. . . . interesting. I pulled Dracula off the shelf, then moved around the shelves to find a similar cover. I eventually found another vampire novel that looked close enough to Dracula. I hid Dracula in between my back and the waistband of my pants, hopefully he hadn’t seen me. I proceeded to place the other book on the display hoping it would trick the old man. I made my way to the front of the store to find the old man staring at me intensely. Had he caught me? Hopefully not. He looked between me and the display, quinting. Could this dinosaur even see?
“Was that on the display?” a grainy voice interrogated me.
“Yes, sir.” I said.
He stared at me harshly before saying something. “Alright then.” He uncrossed his arms and placed him on his hips, revealing his name tag. Milforn.
“Excuse me, I was wondering if you were looking for some help–”
“No.” Milford flatly stated.
“Uh, ok. Have a nice day then.” I backed away slowly.
“I don’t need no help.” Milford’s jowls flapped angrily.
“Have a nice day sir.” I said as I quickly exited the store. What a weirdo.
I wandered around a bit before spotting Lucy, Sam, and Nanook. It seemed like lucy was asking Sam to give some money to two kids eating out of a dumpster. I remembered what that felt like. A couple of people had given me money before, but it always was embarrassing taking it. It felt like they just pitied me and wanted to make themselves feel better. Lucy didn’t mean it that way though, she was a good person. I truly do believe that she is a good person.
“Hey,” she grasped my shoulder gently. “We’re going to head up to my father’s now. Don’t forget you’re invited now.” She chuckled at me.
“Ok, thank you.” I said. I kinda felt bad for accepting. I didn’t want to take advantage of Lucy the same way I did those shop people. Lucy was nice, those shop people sucked and had overpriced junk.
Eventually, Me, Michael, Sam, Lucy, and Nanook clamored our way into the old, but well loved, Toyota. Sam seemed more upset about me going than Michael did. The car ride out of town was a little tense to say the least. It was thick enough to choke me. Lucy didn’t seem bothered, or didn’t let it show. She turned on the radio, made jokes, and eventually it seemed as if we were having a good time. Sam even laughed at something I said.
“Ya know, I haven’t lived with another girl since I lived with my mother!” Lucy laughed. “If you need anything, really anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you. If you need help moving anything, let me know. I don’t mind.” I chirped.
“You could move my stuff into my room.” Sam laughed.
“Light work I guess.” I quipped back. Michael chuckled in response. “So, how old are you guys?”
“18.” Michael said.
“Old enough.” Sam said.
“Sam,” Lucy nudged her son in the ribs. “He’s 13.”
“I’m guessing you're maybe 30?” I joked with Lucy. While Same and Michael didn’t seem to think my joke was funny, Lucy felt more than flattered. After all, it was her approval I was after, not two punk-ass teens.
“So are you in highschool?” Michael asked.
“No, I just graduated.”
“So why are you all the way out here?”
“A fresh start. I just wanted things to be different than how they were.” I didn’t want to tell my whole life story to a guy I just met a couple hours ago.
“Fair enough. Us too.” Michael was quiet and didn’t talk much. “I’m finishing my senior year here.”
“Who said you’re graduating?” Sam joked. Michael wetted the tip of his finger and shoved it into Sam’s left ear canal.
“Mom!Michael just gave me a wet-willy!”
“Michael, please don’t start on the wrong foot. We’re almost here. I don’t want your grandfather to think we fight.” Lucy explained.
“I thought it was funny.” I whispered to Michael. He chucked a bit. Perhaps I could get them to warm up to me.
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Hello, You. (Dexter Morgan x Stalker!Reader) PROLOGUE
a/n: hello, you. (get it? hehe). ANYWAYS sorry i've been gone for a while. i've literally been depressed for like months but I'M OKAY NOW. i promise. so, in honor of my mental health being good now, i wrote this story about a reader who REALLY needs to see a doctor.
word count: 1,466
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, mentions of attempted rape (and rape in general), assault, borderline psychopath reader, stalking, like one mention of abortion, joe goldberg core
Hello, you. Dexter Morgan, you sick and beautiful freak of nature. I know what you’ve done. I’ll stay quiet for now since I’m such a good girlfriend. Well, about the girlfriend part. You don’t know yet. But you will soon, my love.
I would tell you how long I’ve been following you, but I fear it would make you more likely to run the other way. But the thing about that is I don’t want you gone yet. You don’t know yet that you desire me to. The same way I enjoy and crave you.
Ever since Rita died, your life has been fading colors, Dexter. You lack a desire, a need to kill, and feel that release. And I understand that better than anyone. Sure, the context may differ for us, but it always leads down the same path. You don’t have that drive, but I do. And more importantly, I want to give you that purpose you feel you lack. I’ve done everything to get your eyes to meet mine, but everything never works. It’s like I’m some piece of glass you can ignore. You want to look past me, Dexter, but I find that incredibly flustering when I’m standing there. I’ve quit jobs at places frequently and wore heavy makeup and ugly clothes, all for you. You can’t ignore me forever, Dexter.
Now I sit in a nearly empty store, just for you. It’s like I said, you can’t ignore me for long.
The store is bland and uninteresting, a place I would never expect you to be. Of course, this is where you’ll see me finally. You wouldn’t be able to unsee me. I’ve dyed my hair and changed my appearance. It’ll be hard to recognize me of the changes I’ve made. I know you’ll think: I’ve seen this girl before, but I can’t place where. But the truth is that you’ve noticed me in everything your eyes have touched. At supermarkets and malls, where I just watch you and your children enjoy a day out together. Then, your wife was murdered brutally by the Trinity Killer. Now, did I have connections to the Trinity Killer to cause her death? No, unfortunately. The death of your wife was still all him. But I quickly struck when I knew it was my time to shine. The children, not including Harrison, were finally gone. Now that I can manage. You, Harrison, and I could finally be the perfect family together.
But you had to make things complicated. First, it was Lila West. Now, I don’t like cheaters, Dexter. But here’s the thing about that. It's hard to compare all of your actions and say that cheating on your wife is the worst of them.
She was a serial arsonist. Lila didn’t understand anything about you, but she was good at taking care of your so-called addiction to heroin. You told her what she wanted to comprehend. Lila tried to save you when you were unsavable in her eyes. She wanted to save the unsavable.
Next thing you know, she’s off to France after almost killing you and Rita’s children in a house fire. She ran from you when you didn’t choose her over your wife. Pathetic, honestly. As much as I can say that I would do the same, I would be wrong. Dexter, I’ve known you for years now. We were coming up on our fourth year together. My fourth year in your life without you knowing of my existence.
Then that girl came into your life. What’s her name?
Oh, right, Lumen—the poor girl from Minnesota who sweetly begged for your help in the killing of her rapists. As much as she got in my way, I will admit, I did like her for you.
If I failed to exist, you would've destined to be with her. How funny fate works, though, since she left your sight in the blink of an eye. Was that my doing? For the most part, it was all her. Lucky me that I didn’t have to do anything before she told you that her dark passenger had left her and how she finally managed to heal from the torment. It's funny how someone so tortured by her past could move on so quickly, unlike you, who seems forever stuck in that cargo container.
My point is every girl in your life has left you in some capacity.
And the only male figure in your life failed you. I, however, understand that you don’t need saving or fixing. Killing is a part of you. Harry made that very clear to you. He tried to save you by shaping you into a hero. But as we both know, that didn’t last very long.
Now you’re here in Iron Lake, New York. Ten years clear from killings. I’m sitting outside the homely yet bland store, waiting for you to leave. Yes, I plan to follow you home. But I have a good reason. Tonight’s the night I tell you of the accident you saved me from, how you caught the man that could’ve killed me that very night. You rescued me by slaughtering him.
You probably don’t remember that night. I don’t blame you for that. It was just another kill for you. But allow me to enlighten you.
It was when you were still in Miami, November 1st, about nine at night.
I was leaving a bar after another sad night alone. A man follows me out of the bar. I can’t remember his name or his face. You would be better at recognizing his name and his face than me. All I do recall is someone grabbing me as I left, pulling me into an alley. His hand covered my screams, his other holding a hunting knife to my throat.
"Shut the fuck up, or this goes straight through your fucking neck." The man threatened, pressing the knife deeper into my neck.
I’d be powerless my whole life, always a second choice, but I never pled for what happened to me. But I don’t blame him for what he targeted me—a vulnerable young woman leaving a bar in early November. It’s a recipe for murder.
My voice tries to scream out more, my body thrashing against his. The man's grip moves away from my mouth, moving down my body. I feel tears swell in my eyes as his hand pulls up my skirt and pulls down my panties. I knew where this was going, and I was terrified. I couldn’t afford a police investigation or an abortion. I would have to carry the baby, that fucking rape baby.
Suddenly, the knife he was holding drops out of his hand. His threatening pleas of my silence turn hushed as I hear his body thud against the pavement. The loose rocks and debris scratch against his body as you drag him away. My eyes are shut tight, too scared to open them. But I knew it was you, the Bay Harbor Butcher. Things like this were happening all over the city. Stories of your heroism, saving all walks of life. You were a hero, never the villain. I just never thought it would happen to me.
The dragging briefly turns shushed as I feel your eyes on me. "Go. Run far." You say in a hushed tone.
My eyes shoot open, and it feels like my feet think for me. I do as you say. I ran, and I ran fast. My feet and lungs held my body as upright as they could. Finally, I reached a gas station near my apartment before I became tired. I ran five miles the night, just on adrenaline alone.
That’s how you saved my life that night, Dexter. Three words. You had given me a purpose and something to fight for.
It wasn’t hard to find you after that. I searched in forums across the internet, talking of this Bay Harbor Butcher persona of yours. Of course, I never encountered you on any of those, which I should’ve figured. So, my search efforts had become ten times harder. So, I did what any logical person would do and found patterns within your murders, all criminals who either went under the radar or were recently released. You try to save the people, like some sick and twisted Batman. When, if anything, you follow closer to Bateman than the caped crusader. I did what a cop or detective couldn’t have done in a year. After all that time and effort, I found your name and shady Iron Lake cabin: Dexter Morgan, a man in the countryside with a girlfriend who's a cop. Shame for her since she won’t live to hear my declaration. But even if she does, she won’t like what she hears.
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What if you were crazy but Ethan is even more crazy about (yall) each other even going so far as to murdering each other's ex's just to be with each other And Mindy thinks that your just a nice and" innocent " person that couldn't hurt a bug while she thinks Ethan is insane and would hurt anything
Even Sam Thinks the same way about Y/n and Ethan Her and Mindy would be talking about it a lot I mean I lot 🤭
I’m trying to finish my fics and Im getting encouraged by these headcannons 😭😂😂
Alright here we go!
Mindy and Sam would be at the apartment, Sam is cooking while Mindy leans against the counter naming off every reason it could be Ethan.
“I’m telling you Sam. Ethan is ghost face. Okay we hardly know him, he most definitely juked the roommate lottery. And he wooed his way into our lives by getting our best friend to fall in love with him. He’s sticking to the classic Stab 2.”
“Wasn’t there an actually ghost face killing people on a college campus though?” Sam raises a brow.
“Yeah, Nancy loomis and Mickey Altieri. The only time where the victims where in a different location.” Mindy looks up and winces. “Too soon?”
“Yeah…”
“Look all I’m saying is we don’t really know him and I think he’s more than capable of hurting us. I mean have you seen how tall he is. Sure height isn’t a playing factor when it comes to all the previous ghost faces but in his advantage it would most definitely work in his favor.”
Sam laughs, shaking her head. “What would Y/n think of you saying all this shit about her boyfriend?”
“That beautiful angel would thank me, for saving her life, and warning her about her psycho boyfriend.”
“Sure she would.” Sam scoffs. “How do know she’s an angel? What if there’s a deep serial killer underneath that smile.” Sam hums.
“Don’t disrespect my girl like that. Okay? Y/n wouldn’t hurt a fly. Remember that spider she found in her room.” Sam rolls her eyes at Mindy. “She let it go, anyone with half a mind would squash it. Not our Y/n. She let it go. Y/n wouldn’t hurt anything or anyone if her life depended on it. Okay, she’s not even on my list of suspects, hell the list doesn’t even apply to that beauty.”
“But it applies to her boyfriend?”
“It sure does!”
-
Meanwhile somewhere behind a dumpster. A guy that looked at you and girl that looked at him, cowered into the farthest corners begging for their lives.
“Please…please. W-What ever we did we’re sorry!”
You and Ethan turn to look at each other through the masks you wore, then slowly looked down at the two. You both raise your knives and watch as the two scream.
-
“Hey, hey. I’m home!” You call out as you walk into the door with Ethan in toll. “Ethan’s here too!”
Sam meets Mindy’s eyes with a smirk. Mindy rolls her eyes.
“Speak of the devil…Hey!” Her annoyed look turns to one joy seeing you pop into the kitchen. A tight lipped grin on her face.
“What’s up? Smells good in here!” You lean back into Ethan’s chest, his arm wrapped around you.
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Alos also
Yandere Baji who notice you going distance and starts to wonder and attempts to confront you only for you to avoid or run off…this obviously pisses him off and he corners u and ask why. He looks closer and what you know it
Yandere bf seems to have given you a punishment
Maybe a black eye, a slap on the face, arms bruised all bc suddnly your sene with Baji…
At this point your breaking down in tears begging Baji to leave you alone “please Baji please just leave me alone- if he sees me with you he’ll be even more mad”
Idk what hc u can call this but Yandere Baji relzing your getting punished by your Yandere bf/ Yandere bf putting his hands on you
- 🌑 I’m choosing this one I did a spin wheel thing
pairing : baji x gn!reader
summary : when his darling hurt cause of their yan!boyfriend
⤷ cw : general yandere themes, light descriptions of injury, implied abuse
notes : just wanna say that i don't normally cuss this much, but it feels so right to do it for baji. i feel like he is definitely anger prone and impulsive, so he cusses a lot, especially to get his point across, you know? i usually try to write with the characters personality in mind, and i kind of just shove it into the way i write to make it more personal to them. so! yeah, don't mind all the cussing because there is a lot...😭
you've been avoiding him.
every time you see him, your pretty little eyes widen and you hurry your ass the other way, hauling it like you were being chased by some serial killer, and he hates it. it kills him, really. to see you so scared of him makes his gut wrench in the most twisted, uncomfortable ways.
so, he corners you. it was pure luck that he got the opportunity to, though, because you've been careful. but you weren't paying attention after school--typical, spacy you--and he snatches you. drags you to an empty, abandoned classroom where he pins you to the wall and cages you there. he's not giving you any fucking room to escape him anymore, because two weeks without you has been hell enough. that time alone could probably pay for all the sins he's ever committed. yeah, being without you is that bad.
you hit his chest, trying your best to get him to move, which is cute because your hits are the equivalent of being hit with a fucking pillow. he's not trying to be demeaning or anything but, compared to all the hits he's ever taken from anyone, yours are nothing.
he smirks and grabs your wrists to pin them on the wall, missing the way you flinch and tense in his hold.
"little thing," he calls, low and raspy. your lip wobbles and he can see thin, glassy tears begin to form in your eyes. "why have you been avoiding me, hm?" he asks just as he places a soft, ghostly kiss on the juncture between your shoulder and neck. the shiver he receives from the action causes his ego to swell. he still affects you, whether you want him to or not.
you don't answer at first, but that's fine. he's in no rush. he focuses his attention on kissing you, applying more and more pressure to each one as he goes on because, fuck- he's missed you so god damn much. he can't get enough of your soft, plush skin under his lips—do much that he can't control it when it’s bruising and boarder line sensual, nipping lightly at your skin every now and then 'cause he knows how much his fangs get to you.
"baji... please," you finally say, wobbly and nervous. "leave me alone."
baji pauses, processing your words carefully before his grip on your arms tightens tenfold. just as he's about to growl at you and ask what the fuck you mean leave you alone, you yelp loudly and the tears in your eyes finally start slipping down your cheeks. you fight against his hold, trying your damndest to get him to let your arms go, which only causes you to be in more distress.
it takes him only a few seconds for things to click in his mind before he gently gulls your arms towards him and rolls up the sleeves of your hoodie. his stomach drops at the sight before him--at the sight of deep, protruding bruises defiling your skin. his heart begins to speed up when he realizes that your shitty boyfriend must've done this to you because of him, and that's why you've been avoiding him.
he looks up at you, brows furrowed in both anger and worry, and you're looking back at him with the most hurt expression on your face.
"he said that if he catches me with you again, he'll do worse so..." you trail off to sniffle and wipe the tears that are beginning to clump on the curve of your chin and jaw. "please, just... just leave me alone." you say, barely able to contain the cracked sob that slips between your quivering lips.
his heart clenches again at the way your face scrunches up to try and keep yourself from crying anymore. fuck, you're crying, and he hates it so much in these circumstances. no way in fucking hell is he ever going to leave you alone again when that damn bastard does this bullshit to you. he's not just going to let you go back to him and then sit with himself knowing that there's a possibility he could hurt you more and in worse ways.
"let me protect you," he whispers, swiping his thumb over your bruises, making sure that he doesn't press on them to the point that it hurts you. "i promise i'll never let him hurt you ever again so please, just... let me protect you, okay?" he sounds so desperate as he tries to convince you, and he is. you should never be subjected to this kind of treatment, ever. no matter what. and anyone who inflicts you with pain should burn in fucking hell for the rest of their miserable lives.
you hesitate for just a second, but then you're leaning into him and clinging to his waist as you begin to sob even harder. god damn it, he never wants to see you like this again--never even wanted to see you like this in the first place.
"i'm scared, baji." you say, grip tightening like he was just gonna walk away and leave you--which, he would absolutely never do that. not to you. he wraps his arms around you, one hand on your back and the other on your head in a protective hold.
"shh, it's okay. i'm gonna keep you safe like i promised, okay? no need to cry anymore, my sweet baby." he whispers, kissing you on your forehead as he does. such a soft act that was able to calm you, but from a third perspective, baji couldn't have been more murderous in that moment.
your boyfriend is going to fucking pay.
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Hunting Ghosts
Sam Carpenter x Wick!Reader
For @tokufighter
Sometimes the past comes back to haunt you when you least expect it. For you and the Carpenter sisters it was a mixed bag. On one hand, they had to deal with the serial killer known as Ghostface. For you it was the festering wounds that the Continental Hotel had brought on.
You find yourself loading up on guns and any assortment of gadgets you needed to combat the dollar store slasher villain. You holster the P30L pistol and pack your grandfather’s tactical rifle into a duffle bag. The attachment that Winston mentioned was a secondary shotgun barrel retrofitted for dragon’s breath incendiary rounds.
You snuck out, having Sam and Tara in the safe confines of the Continental Hotel. You even took Sam’s cellphone that way whoever this Ghostface was, they would be hunting you and not them.
You made your way down Times Square, walking around just waiting for a call from the killer. On the cue the phone rings. The caller ID reads Charon.
You pick it up, “tell me the girls are safe”
“Oh we’re safe.” Sam answers back. “Where are you?”
“I’m ending this. Today. I won’t let you or Tara get injured again”
“This one’s different. I can’t lose you too. You come back right now. You hear me?!” Sam begs you.
“I will…when Ghostface is six feet under” you hang up.
Another call rings, you pick it up without even looking at the caller ID.
“Sam, baby, I’m sorry I-”
“Oh I’m sure you are” the slimy voice of Ghostface answers back. You stop dead in your tracks. “you look snazzy in that suit. I’m sure if you weren’t with Sam, Quinn would’ve gobbled you up in an instant.”
“I might’ve let her. She was smoking hot till you gutted her like a fish” you retort, “of course Sam wouldn’t have minded sharing”
“Tempting that would’ve been. Honestly that outfit is missing something…”
“Yeah what?” you say, your instincts kicking in at that moment.
“It’s not stained red!” the voice shouts from behind you.
You duck and weave, narrowly missing the blade of Ghostface.
You counteract the next swing of the blade and stab your own blade through the assailant’s arm. A shriek that sounded feminine in form rings out from the mask. You knew who it was in the moment.
“Hello Quinn” you smirk.
You hear a growl under the mask. You give your assailant the finger and run off into the crowd. You can feel her give chase. Your mind runs wild - if Quinn is under the mask, who is her partner in this? There’s more than one, as always.
You run into an abandoned building, Ghostface is hot on your tail.
You run up the staircase of the complex, you can practically hear the boots of the killer right behind you. You reach the top of the staircase and roll into a shooting stance. You fire off several shots which ricochet off the robes of the killer.
“It’s amazing what you can buy on eBay” Quinn retorts
“Someone sold out the tactical tech.“ you huff.
She drives her knife towards you. Quickly rolling again, you pull out your own bowie knife and swipe at her, landing a few jabs at her left knee and elbow.
She screams before driving a knife into your right calf. You grit your teeth to muffle any scream.
“Funny” she retorts, “I always was hoping you’d stab me. Over and over again”
She gets real close, removing her mask. She licks your face, a sign of mockery, or maybe that was just her sex positive attitude leaking through.
She slips her mask back on and readies the knife over your heart. “We’re in the endgame now” Quinn whispers, readying to run you through with the knife.
“You know what I love about a franchise’s endgame?” you smirk as your hand reaches into your duffle.
“What?”
“It always ends in fireworks”
BLAM! You fire off the dragon’s breath attachment. Quinn’s robes catch fire and ignite. She screams, trying her best to dampen the flames. BLAM! BLAM! Two shots ring out, bouncing off her robes.
The masked Quinn slams into the railing and tumbles down the staircase. And with that, she disappears.
“Chasing ghosts, kid?” A gruff voice rings over you.
“More like being hunted by them” you respond as a hand reaches down to help you to your feet. “Apparently one’s helping me now”
You get pulled up to your feet by John Wick, who offers you a weary smile and a hug.
“It’s good seeing you again” he says, rubbing your shoulders reassuringly.
“Good seeing you’re still kicking, Dad” you respond, “I thought you died in a duel in Paris with Caine”
“It’s the city of love, not death” Wick responds. “let’s go”
Your dad guides you out to a jet black Mustang. Sam jumps out with her own shotgun a second later.
“I thought i lost you for a second” Sam runs up and hugs you.
“Wicks are hard to kill” you retort.
“And even easier at resurrecting” John finishes as he shakes your girlfriend’s hand.
“Come on” Sam smirks “lets kill a ghost”
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