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scvrmqueen · 1 year

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Tag, You’re It - Danny Johnson

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — one-shot.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — Danny Johnson x afab!reader.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — SMUT! dubious consent, descriptions of gore, vaginal sex, use of knife handle for penetration, dirty talk, unprotected sex, no aftercare, Danny is literally his own warning.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 2,982.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ I got this idea after listening to Tag, You’re It by Melanie Martinez. Takes place during Dead by Daylight. I don’t own the rights to Danny or DBD. You’re just trying to survive another trial when Danny proposes a little game.

“Oh, you were so close, kitten!” A mirthless chuckle slipped from the macabre figure perched above you, his hips pinning you to the frigid earth. Your struggles had promptly ceased once his steel blade found purchase against your throat.

“And to think, one more step and you would have been home free,” he tsked, blade digging further into your sensitive flesh to reveal a crimson stream. “Didn’t know you could be so cruel, kitten, trying to leave me on my lonesome without so much as a goodbye kiss.”

“Fuck you, Danny,” you spat, glaring into the shadowy abyss of black fabric that concealed his eyes. “Kill me and be done with it, I’m sick of playing your fucked up games.”

An audible gasp sounded beneath the foreboding mask, a gloved hand - the one not preoccupied with mutilating you - covering his heart in feigned shock. “Y/n you wound me! Where’s your fighting spirit, huh? C’mon, I know you have that ‘I’ll go out kicking and screaming’ final girl mentality.”

You were mere feet from a successful trial, sparing a glance toward the cement hatch. What anger bubbled in your chest was steadily replaced with fatigue, an overwhelming sense of feebleness rendering your fight or flight instinct futile. You pressed your scorched fingertips into the dirt beneath you. A shaky breath pierced through pursed lips, frustrated tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as you realized just how close you had been to besting the Ghost Face.

“Aw, doll. You’re so pretty when you cry for me,” Danny cooed, his blade smearing blood on your cheek as it moved to collect the pearly drops. “Tell you what, I’m feeling generous. Play one last little game with yours truly, and I’ll let you have the hatch.”

Mouth agape, you waited for the inevitable ‘ha, gotcha’ moment. When Danny remained silent - a phenomena in itself, you finally responded, “what game?”

“Atta girl.” He lowered his head until cheap plastic scraped your cheek, his faux mouth resting by your ear. Leather and copper flooded your senses, head reeling at the intimacy of his proximity. “You’re familiar with tag, aren’t you, doll?”

You scoffed, “tag?”

“That’s what I said, Y/n.” You could feel the deep chuckle rumble through his chest. “Try to keep up, sweet thing, you’re smarter than that. Now, if I catch you - and we both know I will - I get to do whatever I want with you.”

“But you won’t kill me?” The question was more breathless than you intended. Whatever he wanted? Your cooperation was founded on the promise of making it out alive. Still, you couldn’t help but hesitate. If Danny’s intention wasn’t to give you to the entity, what did he want?

“Cross my heart hope to die, kitten.” His words dripped with deranged glee, the rough edge to his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll even give you a ten second head start, being the generous fella I am.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Get the hell off me so we can get this over with.”

“There’s the Y/n I know and love.” A leather clad hand wrapped around your throat, using the leverage to drag you to your feet. You reluctantly complied, attempting to ignore the traitorous heat that pooled in your abdomen.

You sprinted in the opposite direction the moment he released you.

Aside from a guaranteed win, this game hardly differed from the demented reality of every trial. You were perpetually haunted by that damned mask - led to slaughter each time the sanctity of the campfire was torn away. Unlike your counterparts, your penchant for fighting back had earned Danny’s favor from day one. His insatiable obsession blossomed during your first trial, when you drove a jagged plank through his abdomen.

Had you predicted he would save you for last each trial, you wouldn’t have been so damn heroic.

Your lungs burned, legs aching as your pace gradually relented. You spared a glance over your shoulder to determine Danny’s proximity. Though momentarily relieved to be greeted by empty darkness, his absence ultimately proved equally troubling. Ghost Face was synonymous with stealth, often remaining undetected until his signature hunting blade was buried deep in your gut. It was impossible to determine where he prowled now.

Haddonfield offered little room to be chased. Eventually, you would have to loop back to the hatch in order to escape, a feat which would require you to pass through the decrepit homes. Though entering structures always proved to be a precarious gamble, remaining on the street much longer practically ensured your capture.

You bypassed the first few houses you passed with the intention of throwing Danny off your trail. Zig-zagging through abandoned vehicles, you staggered toward the Myers residence in hopes of a momentary reprieve. Hiding in the abandoned building was futile - Danny had prompted a game of tag after-all. The moment you ceased moving he would be there, his merciless shadows ensnaring you. You prayed slipping through the rooms undetected would buy you some time.

Pausing briefly upon entering, you attempted to regulate your rapid breathing in order to detect his presence. Satisfied, you darted into the kitchen to grab a butcher’s knife from the familiar wooden block. Danny hadn’t specified rules regarding self defense - his mistake. Should the occasion arise, you fully intended on making grabbing you a hellish feat.

No sooner had you grabbed the knife did a familiar dark chuckle sound from the doorway to the porch. You turned slowly towards the culprit, as if minor movements would shroud you from his gaze.

“Really, bunny? The Myer’s house? Tsk, never knew you were so cliché.” Well, at least you knew where he was now. Spinning on your feet, you sprinted back toward the main entrance. Knowing Danny, the moment you stepped out onto the porch he would be there to grab you, blade against your throat and arms encircling your waist. Hesitation would cost you precious seconds, leaving you to scamper up the stairway on shaky legs.

“Annndd going up the stairs?” His distant voice only caused you to increase your pace. “Y/n, haven’t I taught you to be better than those horror movie bimbos?”

As you reached the room with a large opening to the roof, you couldn’t resist screaming a hearse, “Fuck you, asshole!” Once on the roof, you would slip into the backyard and make a swift exit back to the hatch. You could taste victory on your tongue, beyond pleased to have outwitted Ghost Face.

Or at least that was the plan.

You hadn’t planned on Danny tackling you mere feet from the roof, his imposing figure weighing heavy on your back. Thrashing beneath him proved futile. He grabbed your wrists with little resistance, pinning your arms by your head. The cold hardwood was pressed roughly against your cheek, and from the awkward angle you watched as his mask lowered to your ear.

“Tag, you’re it.” His deep chuckle reverberated through your spine.

“Let me up, Danny, and I’ll gladly come get you.” Clutching the butcher knife tighter, you wriggled your ass slightly in hopes of providing a momentary distraction. A throaty groan sounded above you, his hips digging further into your own. His grasp loosened, and you used your remaining strength to twist on your back. You were quick to extend the blade toward him in a punishing stab. But Danny was always quicker.

“Feisty,” he growled, his hand encircling your wrist and slamming it to the ground with excessive force. A small yelp escaped you as the knife flew from your grasp.

“But I think you’re forgetting the rules, kitten. Naughty girl.” You were pinned beneath him once more, glare burning through his black mesh. “Let me remind you what happens when you don’t. fucking. listen.”

Danny shifted, capturing both your wrists in one hand, his knife skimming your waist. The cool steel scraped against your stomach as it lifted your shirt. Before you could even comprehend struggling, your hip burned with a familiar intensity. Searing pain crept up your side as Danny sliced into your sensitive flesh - a hiss escaping through clenched teeth in a poor attempt not to scream. The blade curved against you, shallow in its path but agonizing enough to demonstrate his wrath.

“Ah, perfect!” Danny leaned back on his heels to observe his work. Your eyes drifted down to observe a jagged “D” carved into the left side of your hip.

“You sick fuck!” You shouted, all thoughts of self preservation having dissipated. The wound would heal upon returning to the campfire, but it didn’t stop the blinding rage that permeated your senses.

“Oh, Y/n,” he snarled, using the blade to slice through the middle of your tank-top. “You have no idea just how sick I really am.” He traced the steel around the top of your exposed breasts, humming his approval as your breath hitched. The knife slipped beneath the thin fabric in the middle of your bra, exposing your chest to his ravenous gaze. A traitorous moan slipped from your lips - a wanton sound that you attempted to disguise as disgust by struggling beneath him.

“Danny-” his name tumbled from your throat with unintended reverence. Your voice trembled with thinly veiled desire, leaving you to pinch your lips together. You desperately hoped Danny hadn’t recognized your slip.

“Fuck, kitten, I love it when you say my name.” His hips bore into your own with bruising pressure, forcing a haphazard squeal from you in response. Admittedly, this wasn’t the first time that you had been in a compromising position beneath the killer. While the previous instances had ended in your untimely demise, this moment whispered promises of something more - something deep-seated that you could never come back from.

“You know, I can’t count how many times I’ve heard your screams of pain,” he muttered, the deep, guttural sound going straight to your core. “I can’t wait to hear what you sound like screaming for more.” Without further warning, his chilled, leather fingertips pushed past your denim shorts, briefly grazing the hem of your panties.

You didn’t recognize the sound that emitted from the depths of your chest as he slid into you - facing little resistance much to your dismay. His finger curled, stimulating a part of you that hadn’t been unearthed for far too long. Dragging in and out, hitting a spot that made your vision dance with speckles of white, you couldn’t find the strength to resist his ministrations.

“You like this, don’t you? What a dirty little girl you are, bunny.” His voice fractured your lust-fueled haze, attempting to slip your hands from his grasp as you bucked beneath him. Your resistance hardly fazed Danny, earning no more than an amused tsk as he tightened his hold.

“Now, now, bunny. If you’re going to be naughty and not play by the rules, I’m going to have to punish you.” A wisp of fear at the promise of discipline caused your core to clench. Danny groaned as he removed his fingers completely, the sudden emptiness sobering your senses. The reprieve was short-lived, the leather previously working you replaced with the blunt handle of a familiar knife.

“What the fuck -” Your words slipped into an unexpected cry of pleasure as the handle brushed your center with expert precision. Discomfort melded into bliss, your will to fight a distant echo in the recesses of your mind. His concept of ‘punishment’ seemed skewed, particularly as a skilled finger danced along your clit in tandem with the blade’s thrusts. Your eyes fluttered close, walls clenching with bruising force as you reached the precipice - nearly pushed over that delicious edge -

And just as soon as sweet release had been promised, it was stolen.

A pitiful whine escaped you as his attention ceased, robbing you of the peak you so desperately craved. Ah, punishment, indeed.

“Ah, ah, Y/n. Only good girls get to cum.” Danny adjusted his position so his hips were once again pressed firmly between your legs. Much to your dismay, the coarse fabric of his pants caused you to grind against him - desperately searching for friction.

“I might consider being merciful and letting you cum on my cock if you beg me for it.” His deep rasp trailed into a lilting tone, teasing you - humiliating you. Even in all your torturous deaths dealt by Danny’s blade, you had never begged him to spare you. Though your hips chased his, desperate to ease the ache between your legs, you would sooner die than plead for him to fuck you.

“You call that merciful?” You scoffed, attempting to ease the tremble in your voice. “You’re even more fucked up than I thought if you think I want you.”

“Oh, I think you’re pretty fucked in the head yourself, kitten.” Those fingers slid between your thighs once more, gliding up your center to collect evidence of your arousal. “You can lie to yourself all you want. But see this?” He pressed the glistening leather to your lips, forcing your mouth open to taste your body’s betrayal. “This doesn’t lie.”

“So, you’re going to be a good girl, and you’re going to take everything I have to offer. Every. Last. Goddamn. Inch,” he growled, each word only fueling your thinly veiled desire. You wanted to protest - wanted to kick and scream like a good little survivor. But something within you, some deep, animalistic urge only satiated by the thrill of danger, wouldn’t permit it. Maybe Danny was right. Maybe the endless torment of fighting to survive fueled something savage - a ruinous need to be ravaged by the enemy.

Saving you from the false pretenses of your moral obligation to resist, Danny flipped you onto your stomach in a swift motion. One firm arm wrapped around your waist, using the leverage to lift your hips up. With your face and arms planted to the floor, the harsh arch of your figure placed your bare ass on display for Danny.

Without warning, two fingers were buried deep within you, setting a brutal pace that set your body ablaze with burning embers. Just as your walls began to flutter, Danny removed his fingers before delivering a sharp slap to your sensitive flesh. He waited a moment, allowing you to drift further from the promise of release, before claiming you once more. You lost track of time as he continued to edge you - cooing dirty words in your ear and chuckling at your growing frustration.

“You know how to make this stop, kitten.” Your body ached, core pulsing as his touch parted once more. Danny trailed his blade down your thighs, collecting the slick of your arousal. You had been so determined not to beg. But now as you burned with stifled desire, begging for release seemed preferable to continuing this torture.

“Danny,” you whined, aghast at how difficult stringing together a sentence had become. “Please, please, just fuck me already you fucking psychotic -”

You were cut off by your own hoarse scream as Danny pushed into you, forcing you to take his entire length in one fatal thrust. You arched further into the ground, allowing him to reach impossibly deeper as he brushed your cervix. He was so big, feeling as though he would split you apart as he snapped his hips against yours.

“That’s it, Y/n - fuck, you’re so tight. Bet you haven’t had anybody fuck this sweet cunt like this, have you?” You could only moan in response, clenching around him.

A gloved hand fisted your hair, pulling your head back roughly so his mask rested by your ear. “I asked you a fucking question, bunny. Nobody fucks you like this, do they?”

“No!” You squealed. “Only you, Danny - Danny.” His pace increased as you whimpered his name, thrusts intensifying until your looming orgasm was forced upon you. Your body trembled as your release washed over you, waves of fierce pleasure threatening to consume your very existence.

“Yes - yes, that’s my girl.” He didn’t slow down, allowing you no reprieve from the overstimulation that wracked your core. You attempted to pull away, to form a coherent thought that would save you from the onslaught of fervent sensations.

“Danny s’too much,” you slurred. A venomous laugh sounded in turn as he flipped you over again, hands gripping the undersides of your thighs to press your knees to your chest. He resumed his brutal pace, brushing the pad of his thumb against your clit as you writhed helplessly beneath him.

“C’mon, Y/n, you can take one more can’t you?” That familiar pressure was already building. You forced your fluttering eyes to gaze upon his mask, the mere sight of his looming presence causing you to tumble over the edge once more. You screamed his name, overwhelmed by the earth-shattering intensity of your climax.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” he groaned. Danny’s pace became frenzied, each thrust forcing brutally past your fluttering walls. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you? You want to be dripping with my cum when you sit around that campfire with your pathetic little friends.”

“Fuck. You,” You managed, the breathy words lacking their usual bite. Your fire only spurred him on as he buried himself to the hilt within you, hot ropes of his cum coating your insides.

As he slipped from you, allowing you to come down from your orgasmic high, the weight of your actions settled in your chest with crushing realization. Danny placed a finger under your chin to return your gaze to him - an uncharacteristically gentle gesture.

Whatever insults you prepared to spew were quickly lost as he moved his mask - revealing a finely sculpted jaw covered in dark stubble. He leaned in close, pouty lips hovering above your own and stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Until next time, kitten. And there will be a next time.”

#danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #Danny Johnson x you #jed olsen x reader #Jed Olsen x you #jed olsen #danny jed olsen johnson #DBD #DBD Ghostface #ghostface #ghostface smut #danny johnson smut #dbd smut #slasher x you #slasher fic #slasher smut #slasher fandom

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scvrmqueen · 1 year

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BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 4.12 | “A New Man”

#actual loml #btvs #spike btvs

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scvrmqueen · 1 year

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the devil behind the mask

commission for @twoturtlesinabathtub , my dear friend and birthday boy

#but daddy i love him #dead by daylight #incredible #Danny Johnson #ghostface #Jed Olsen #dbd #dbd ghostface

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scvrmqueen · 1 year

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Let's find your owner...🔪🩸

#ghostface #deadbydaylight #scream #danny johnson

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scvrmqueen · 1 year

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PEARL dir. Ti West (2022)

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scvrmqueen · 1 year

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smokin’ hot devil

#dead by daylight #scream #ghostface #dbd ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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scvrmqueen · 1 year

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NEW SURVIVOR

HEADCANONS of DANNY JOHNSON with a new survivor he finds attractive

WARNINGS: creepy stalking, typical danny stuff, perverse & sadistic thoughts, obsession

FOR: Ghostface ft. Dwight :]

Oh?

You suddenly dropped in one day during his trial, might he add, as though you were made for him. Disoriented, quivering and on unstable legs. It's Danny's instinct to prowl, hunt and observe, and he absolutely loves when there's new survivors — it's a new opportunity for him to see what your insides look like.

Are you terrified yet? You seem to be a bit too calm in the moment, but it was probably just setting in. Of course Dwight takes it upon himself to explain the generators to you, blah blah blah. Danny's attention is nothing more than a simple curiosity, that of a cat lazily pawing at a mouse. If you're lucky, he'll lose his curiosity quickly and your first death will be (almost) painless.

Unfortunately, you're not lucky at all. You blow a fuse on a generator, quickly disrupting the unnerving and almost faint caws of those ominous crows that seem to follow you everywhere. Dwight quickly hushes your surprised yelp, urging you to move quickly, but Danny's already behind you. His interest has been piqued, you're quite pretty when you're frightened.

To be fair, he had been behind you for quite some time. Ohh, you're easy to spook, aren't you? You're a quick learner, your fingers move diligently, but the pressure of being dropped in a game of life has you fumbling. He thinks you'd look good smeared in blood, a sweet rouge dotting your face as he watches those eyes go big and doe-like. Thinking about it gives him a small rush, and he idly twirls his knife as he stealthily slinks after you.

Dwight grabs your shoulder to make you crouch and you flinch, a sharp breath escaping your lips. Danny's own breathing falters.

He likes watching. He likes figuring out everything about the survivors, which killer they fear the most, how good they are in tough situations, how easy of prey they might be. The quiet whimpers of pain he inflicts upon them, the groans and limping, he could end it quick — but he doesn't choose to, he revels in their misery, prolongs it. All survivors have hope to escape, that's why The Entity chose them.

He loves breaking it. Of course, they'll occasionally escape through that damned gate or hatch, but when they don't it's almost artistic. He broke them down. He crushed their hopes, their small semblance of faith in leaving the hellhole they're eternally trapped in, even if it was for a single round. If he finds it particularly poetic, he'll even snap a quick photo. Danny's always been quite the romantic.

He's snapped many photos of you in the short time that he's known you. Your side profile, your smile at the awkward quip Dwight makes to ease your nervousness, all of it. Your hesitant movements and the changes in your face is something he finds charming. It's the way you're adapting even though he could practically smell the absolute horror radiating off of you, you're so fucking scared it's driving him crazy.

Danny plays with you. He wants you to be paranoid with every flash and click, every branch snapping you hear. It's amusing when you turn to his direction only to see nothing, no, he doesn't want you to see him yet. He has to get rid of that parasite sticking by your side first.

He decides then he wants you for last, like a sweet reward for his excellent trial. Yeah, he wants to see your hair disheveled and your limbs sprawled against the dirt. The Ghostface doesn't speak, none of the killers generally do, but he would whisper a description on how he'd gut you and see the realization of your predicament seep in. He wants it so badly. He wants — needs photos to commemorate the experience.

Deep down, Danny knows this is just an obsession formed over a baseless fascination. He wants to see what makes you squirm, but also you're attractive to him, so it works out for him perfectly. It also doesn't help that he believes you to be photogenic, and only The Entity knows how many survivors he would sacrifice just to see you covered in blood.

It's the pure notion of such a thing that would set him off. Are you a cryer or would you attempt to hold it in? How's your pain tolerance? Have you ever experienced such brutality and cruelness before him? Danny would love if the shimmer of your tears appeared in the photo as well as your contorted expression. These thoughts cross his mind as he hooks Jake and Feng.

Fuck.

It's getting harder to rein himself back in, but Danny is smart to know patience is a virtue. It bears fruit, beautiful fruit such as being the first killer in this endless loop to sink a knife into your side with a sick slick sound.

There was something watching you.

You felt it throughout the whole time you were in this weird dimension, your hair bristling as though there were eyes were locked onto your frame's every movement. You recounted the feeling hesitantly to Dwight as you were headed to another spot, and he pursed his lips before saying that it was most likely The Ghostface. You persisted for more answers, but he provided you none, stating most trials felt that way.

Dwight was nice, sticking by you and looking out for you as you tripped and messed up time and time again. "It's alright," he whispered, fixing up a generator skillfully. "It's your first trial, I was even worse when I got here."

It was sudden when you lost him, another blown generator and the building dread of something approaching. You ran away. You shouldn't have, Dwight even shouting after you, but you did anyway. It was too overwhelming, the fear had overtaken and your natural instinct was flight.

It had receded naturally as you left, but then the guilt had taken over. A piercing scream ripped through the air and you whipped your head around. It was him — Dwight. You should've just stayed put.

It was the moment you decided to step toward the sound to fix your mistake that an aggressive shove halted your movements, your body sent tumbling to the strangely wet soil. It was cold, dirt sticking to your hair and body, and a soft scream forced its way out of your mouth. You quickly turned over to attempt to stand, but then a dark, impeding mass of black seated itself right on your hips.

His name — you know how he got his name. The Ghostface and his startling white mask, forever in a petrified scream, your eyes were blown wide. It was one thing to hear about him and feel him, but his actual presence made your stomach churn. You thrashed and wriggled violently in hopes of forcing your way out from below him, but he kept his weight heavy upon your body, purposefully pushing his legs against your torso to cage you in.

As if to issue a warning, the Ghostface cut a slice into your thigh, and you released a silenced whimper. Stunning. You were stunning, he could analyze and study your every expression forever, maybe pry noises out of you no one else could.

Dwight's blood curdling cries worsened as the Ghostface wiped the knife he used to slash him down, head tilted and chest heaving. The exhilaration of hunting the other survivors was nothing in comparison to seeing you below him. There were clumps of filth across your face and hair, clothes ripped by the strangely sharp branches of the dead trees, your heartbeat spiking.

He could feel it. If he wanted to, he could reach down with his own two fingers and press against your thumping pulse in an oddly intimate fashion. Would you be bewildered? He wanted a picture for every face you could ever make — confused, angry, whatever.

"Has anyone done this to you before?" he asked before he could help himself, freakish mask leaning in closer to see every twitch on your visage.

Your eyebrows knitted together, he saw it. Something like that shouldn't have fascinated him as much as it did. With a shuddered breath, you spoke in a rasp. "I—I don't understand..."

Your alert eyes flickered toward his knife, and the Ghostface hummed. He smelt of cheap cologne.

"Dwight was babying you," he stated lowly, mockingly cocking his head to the side. The martyr. He bit off more than he could chew. "The nerd took it upon himself to try and save you, have your first trial be one where you survive. Isn't that fucking ironic?"

It was rhetorical, you knew it was, yet you answered anyway. "I know," you spat bitterly, turning away. It felt bad to have your own mistake be said so bluntly by a murderer of all people.

Weakly, you writhed underneath him for a chance to move, but his hold was too suffocating. Tears sprung up in your eyes. Why was this creep just watching? He didn't do much with his weapon, just kept staring with his hooded lids and breathing in your face as you struggled.

It seemed like the rise and fall of his chest quickened when that light glaze of frustration and fear appeared upon your face. He sucked in a hiss, craving to see those bewitching, translucent pearls stream down your features.

"Oh, you're a fucking cryer," he cooed. His hunting knife pressed against your cheek, the cold blade forcefully turning your head back to face his eery mask. "Look here, I need a good shot of those eyes before and after I sink my knife into that stomach of yours."

#love love the way they write Danny!#we need more!!!#danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #ghostface dbd

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scvrmqueen · 1 year

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Showtime, Little One

Part 1

Pairing: Bo Sinclair(House of Wax) x Dahlia Juarez(OC)

Word Count: 6668

Summary: When a private investigator goes out on a case, she finds herself stuck in a quiet town and a kind stranger.

Warnings: car accident, blood, manipulation(look closely), teasing, death mention, family loss mention, alcohol mention, teasing, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, teasing, hair pulling, minor biting, begging, my typical stuff y'all

A/N: More self-indugent oc content? It's more likely than you think! This came to me in a fever dream and not out of my need to create my own smutty content. Thanks to my lovely enablers @bleudragonfire and @johnnycranes. This was fun to write and look forward to another part(or two). No I don't acknowledge canon or criticism and yes this was for me and you saps get to be blessed. Thank you and enjoy the show!!

Another missing person from bumfuck Louisiana and DJ was trying to piece together something. A location, but all credit card purchases said the man never passed the gas station and didn’t return the way he came.

She wasn’t sure where else to look as she tried to go down the same road again.

Dahlia left Montana after no action and nothing but being some hick cop; at least down South, she could do something more productive. So after packing what little she had, she went down to a hiring private investigation agency and never looked bad.

This new job was from a poor distraught wife looking for her husband after he didn’t come home from a trip in New Orleans; he was to return home that night, but nothing since. Police incompetence and lack of support didn’t help DJ either.

After Dahlia had mapped it out and drove down the road several times, checking the maps and the navigation on her phone for any extra towns or stops and nothing.

The young detective packed her things and decided to go on to the next town and drove down the road Kenneth Loundes was last on if DJ got the purchases mapped out correctly and the footage of the gas attendant gave her.

After countless times, Dahlia had driven down the road, and this time, she caught a dirt road just off to the side. Covered by overgrown brush and barely visible if she didn’t notice a deer run through it.

“Huh..” Dahlia pulled over and looked at the maps. Nothing. It was an unmarked path, unpaved.

Making sure there were no gates and no signs warning trespassers, she stepped out and scoped it out.

Noting the tire tracks imprinted in the dirt and rubble. Possibly fresh, DJ didn’t know. Maybe Mr. Loundes went down and had gotten lost or hurt. Maybe there was a farm or home that might be able to steer her in the right direction.

After half an hour, the road was still empty with nothing but run-down buildings. Not even local wildlife was active as Dahlia drove on. Nothing but an eerie stillness as the wind blew.

Dahlia decided to call it and head back to the main road as a large grey truck passed her. Finally, life!

As her hazel eyes quickly looked to the rearview mirror, she squinted as the truck brake lights came on.

But then she heard a smash and snapped her attention back on the road; a deer had run straight into her front end. Almost going through her windshield.

She could hear her horn blaring in her ear, stars, tires screeching. The smell of blood pooling in her nostrils.

“Miss?” A drawl in the voice calling out. An accent or one she thought, “You still with me, darlin’?”

It’s not too deep to hide his curiosity as she stirred, whimpering when she felt heavy hands on her face. Pushing her dark hair from it.

“Ah. There she is.” She could almost feel a smile on the stranger’s lips.

When she came to, she violently thrashed against the stranger. A man. In a ball cap and some mechanic jumper. Casual, unlike her black slacks and white button-down she had on.

“Whoa now, tiger!” He tried to calm her down, holding up a rag of blood he must’ve wiped from where the gash on her head. “It’s alright. You’re alright now. A deer dove headfirst into your car, offing itself and your car, it seems… it’s out of commission right now.”

The mechanic helped Dahlia out of the car and held her up as she stumbled. She could see the deer’s rear out of the windshield on the passenger side when she looked back. How it didn’t slam its skull into her was a miracle.

“What?” He said something, but she didn’t hear him. Not when he had her anchored against her car door, lifting her head up to the sky and keeping her dark hair from her face so the bright sun would shine on her face and he could look at her pupils.

They were responsive as he asked again, “Your name?”

“Dahlia,” Dahlia said, wincing at the light touch on her cheek as he told her the injury on her head was just a small flesh wound.

“Ah, Miss Dahlia, my name is Bo. Lucky you, we crossed paths.” He smiled at her. It was bright and almost playful. Considering the circumstances.

She glanced at her car and let out a sob at the mess. Her front end mainly was fine; the right signal light was done in, and some scraped paint on the hood where the doe dove in.

It was as if the poor deer made a choice to ram itself into Dahlia’s car. Like she wanted her to take her out.

Dahlia only hoped her victim went quickly.

A small whimper slipped from Dahlia’s shaking lips as she looked at the wreckage, and the man cooed to her. Attempting to soothe her, “It’s alright. It’s just a car, better the car than you.”

She looked at his bright blue eyes as her sweet expression was worrisome and soft as she spoke so quietly, “It’s not the car. The poor thing; I hope she went painlessly.”

“That’s what you’re worried about? You could’ve died, and that’s what you’re worried about?” Bo was surprised when she said yes. He shook his head with a smile and ran his hands along her arms to comfort Dahlia, “Aren’t you sweet?”

After he had reached into her car for her personal things, files, and her gun, he asked her, “You a cop?” Before carefully handing her things, and her gun.

“I used to be. I’m a private investigator now,” the young woman just pulled her hair back into a ponytail carefully in pain, gathering things from her trunk. He nodded and said, noted.

She watched him as he went over to his truck and heard some vague talk. Or muttering into a phone of sorts. She was too far to make any sense of what he was saying.

The kind stranger offered to take her to town and replace her windshield and repair the front end of her vehicle. Carried her bags even when she said she could call for a tow, but her phone was broken. Shamed right into the center console on collision. Bo even said he already had someone coming to tow her car there. Southern hospitality.

“Now, you can try to call from my shop, but I can take you into town and get you squared away. Maybe even cleaned up.” He suggested with a warm smile and held his arm out.

It must be the southern charm she always hears about. It made her lips curl subtly into a slight smile, and a flush crept along her freckled cheeks.

The truck looked on the inside how it did on the outside, bland and simple. It rumbled as they went down the road and filled the silence.

Her throbbing head bounced with every bump and shake. The young investigator whimpered as she clutched her reports and findings tightly.

“I’m real sorry about your car, Miss Dahlia.” Her escort tried to comfort her, “Unfortunately for you, our doctor is out of town, and there’s been a flu going around, so we might not be as accommodating with everyone staying home. You are welcome to call home, your spouse or someone?”

“Oh. Thank you, it’s just me. No spouse. My family’s up North. Montana.” She said, holding her sore head.

The roaring truck wasn’t loud enough to cover his disappointment. Bo smacked his lips and sighed, “Terrible luck. I’m sorry.”

Dahlia just sighed and rested on the window; just her luck, she’d get into an accident in the middle of nowhere and be stuck in a ghost town.

After a few turns and twists, they made it to the town. Dahlia saw signs for a Famous House of Wax and Miss Ambrose.

They had gotten to the gas station, his store. He was charming when he told her to hold a moment before rushing to Dahlia's side and opening the door for her.

“After you, Miss Dahlia,” charming as he helped her out of the truck.

Her flushed face was almost noticeable, and she just told him, “You don’t have to do that. Thank you, though.” She smiled sheepishly, “You can also call me DJ if you want.”

Bo smiled and noted it. Then, waving to a man in a green cap and saying hello from a distance.

When they entered the shop, he turned down the loud blaring rock music. Before pulling a phone out, Bo said he’d be a moment.

Trudging to the back and down a set of stairs as Dahlia made her call. He took one last look and smiled kindly, “I’ll be a moment.”

When she picked up the phone, the line was dead. She pressed the buttons but nothing but a busy dial tone. She tried and tried again, but nothing.

Dahlia took a quick look around the gas station. Just old run down, with old school gas pumps. A town stuck in time. She noticed the camera in the corner of the shop and peeked over the cash register. She leaned over to see if it took card or cash, and saw no card reader.

She jumped when Bo returned, “I do hope you don’t plan on robbing me.”

“Oh! No! I’m sorry! I was just.. Just looking. Do you take cards, by any chance?”

Bo put his hand up to stop her, “No, ma’am. Just cash, unfortunately. Bit out of date.”

She agreed and commented that his phone line was dead. He apologized and seemed embarrassed about it. Saying his brother must’ve forgotten to pay the bill.

“It’s okay. I can just wait for the windshield.” She smiled warmly, trying to be an accommodating guest. Now she had felt embarrassed for saying anything.

Trying to change the subject, “Do your cameras record?”

It did get his curiosity. His brow perked up and why she wanted to know. Dahlia had pulled out a crumpled photo from her pocket and showed Bo a missing person’s flyer.

“This man has been missing for a couple of weeks after leaving a bachelor party. He’s got people looking for him, and I was hired to help. But no one’s had any luck. And I have been mapping out his card transactions along the main highway. Maybe he came through here and just used cash?”

Bo smiled in fascination when she told him her business. Like she was a news anchor, and he was the audience.

He looked hard at the photo and started to nod when his memory was coming back to him, “Yeah, I think I remember this fellow. Was with his wife or girlfriend.”

That couldn’t be right; Mr. Loundes was married, and Dahlia didn’t see any evidence of a mistress. She dug as best as she could and didn’t find spare phones or extra transactions. She’s been on cases of infidelity. The evidence would have come up.

He sensed her thoughts and apologized about his camera too. They didn’t record. Just her luck.

DJ sighed and asked him, “Are you sure? His wife actually hired me. Just looking at the signs, he seemed faithful.”

The mechanic took off his hat and pushed back his hair a bit. Then, shifting uncomfortably, “Well then, this is awkward. They sure acted like a couple. You said he was at a stag party? Maybe.. He might’ve met someone.”

That was true. Things like that can always happen. But weeks without a word? It didn’t add up.

“You know they did come through once; maybe while you are here, they will come back by. So you might catch them while you’re here.”

Another true statement. If she was stuck, then pray it would be worth it.

He had told her that he was running a bed and breakfast that he could put her up in for the next day or so. Took after it after his mother passed.

“I’m sorry,” Dahlia apologized as she held her papers and reports.

“Don’t be. Not your fault,” Bo only smiled and fumbled with the ring on his right hand. Then, rolling it around as he had her bag slung on his shoulder.

Still sincere and genuine, Dahlia still apologized. Telling him, “I lost my mom and sister when I was young. So I just know how it feels. It gets… easier.”

She had noticed a white curtain open from one of the homes, then quickly shut when she tried to wave.

It brought some uncertainty and discomfort that maybe the residents didn’t take outsiders too well.

“Don’t worry about Ms. Reynolds. She’s a mean old bag and doesn’t care too much for strangers. Not pretty ones either, I’m afraid.”

It made Dahlia laugh. And she shook her head, “You working hard for a tip?”

That got a slight chuckle out of him, and he nodded, “I am sure it would be a lot more work than just nice words.”

“Yeah, I think it would.” She responded as they passed some stores. Telling him she’d give him her information so he could reach out to her insurance. And get the compensation he deserved.

The shops seemed empty, but the lights were all on, and faint sounds of children playing nearby. But her face lit up when she saw the big old building that said, “House of Wax” across the way, past an old fountain.

A small no way slipped out of her mouth in a gasp. She pointed to the building in disbelief, and Bo shrugged.

“Old tourist attraction,” he said, “It’s closed right now.” She seemed disappointed till he said, “I can show you if you want?”

“Can you!”

“Yeah. C’mon darlin’,” Bo escorted her to the House of Wax and was half as giddy as she was.

When the two strangers got to the attraction, she put her papers down next to her bags, already feeling the wax building in awe. “It’s all wax?” Bo nodded, and she reached for the doorknob but stopped when she saw “closed” hanging. But she excitedly peeked inside when Bo told her to go on.

It was beautiful in its own way. The wax figures were full of life and frozen in time. All the furniture and small knick knacks, and it was all wax. The details would be something she would see in museums.

She stepped out before she could cause any problems for Bo and thanked him with a smile, “It’s so pretty from what I could see.”

“You don’t wanna go inside and look?”

Sheepishly shaking her head, “No, it’s not my place to just wander, and the sign says close. I wouldn’t want to be a bother. Or get you in trouble.”

The sweet and thoughtful gesture made him smile, “How kind.”

They started heading to the B&B as he told her the origins of the Wax attraction; a doctor got married, and his wife began to create the lovely art statues, and they were a happy family. Till she got ill, and a tumor rotted her brain out. The doctor was so grief stricken that he had shot himself, and the artist, Trudy Sinclair’s death, resulted in orphaned children. Left to the system, “It was something else. The whole town could hear her screaming.”

“That’s awful,” Dahlia told him when he opened the door to the home turned inn.

Bo sighed, “Yes, it was. Poor family and a dark time.” He had her sign some book, “And the two boys, just alone like that.”

The pages of the guest book were clean, like the guest book was new. Either slow business or too much. The B&B just looked like any other old folks home, dusty even. It didn’t matter. She just was tired, and her body and throbbing head ached for a shower.

She did notice whatever guest in 3A liked their action movies with how loud they had their tv. She just ignored it. Dahlia’s never the one to cause a fuss.

Bo walked her to her dim and windowless room, 3C. It looked exactly how her grandmother’s room looked like at her new room at an assisted living.

The mechanic told her that he would work on her car once her brother had picked it up. First, replace the windshield and then the front light.

“Okay. Um.. I know you said no card, but I can try to write a check for now and everything?”

But Bo wouldn’t have it. He respectfully declined her money, “No! No, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it, and we can work out the money thing once it’s all done.”

The hospitality and mercy were refreshing. Dahlia had been dealing with the sour police and some frustrated folks through this small case, so Bo’s kind gesture was almost a boost of energy for her.

Raised to be a mindful and gracious guest, Dahlia shook her head. Then, sighed as she told him, “I really can’t leave you uncompensated. You’ve been really accommodating and all, I will pay you. I promise.”

“We’ll worry about that later.” He smiled and nodded, “Now, I’m very sorry to leave you for the evening, but I have a few things that I have to do before it gets dark. But please don’t hesitate to ring that small bell at the front after it gets dark. I should be back by then.” He apologized to her once more, “Unfortunately, some of the shops will be closing up early, as I said with everyone being sick and the doctor out..”

“It’s okay. I understand. Thank you again, Bo. You’ve been very accommodating. I’m sure all your guests enjoy it!” She smiled. Trying to keep down the deep flush building on her face.

The man just pressed his lips into a small smile, “That’s very kind of you. But not all my guests are so sweet.”

For a moment, she did hate herself. An accident and a missing person, and she’s here talking with some handsome and greased up man.

Perhaps it’s just the fixation or the little heat on her cheeks that assured her some playfulness was okay. But, how warm and welcoming Bo’s nature was; it was refreshing.

Bo had left her to tend to his affairs, and she had already stripped. Jumping into the shower, the water was brown and cold for a bit before she could actually enjoy the warm and clean water.

Once she was cleaned up, out of her dress clothes, and just into some black jeans and a black T-shirt. Simple. Cleaning the gash on her forehead as best she could without proper treatment.

She sat on the bed and laid out all her evidence of the last couple of weeks on the disappearance of Kenneth Loundes. Dahlia had pinpointed him in the area, and now the recent development that he was with another woman raised more questions than answers and brought her five steps back.

Where are you? She asked the missing person in his pictures with his pregnant wife.

Maybe Bo was right, and if she stuck around, she could find Mr. Loundes or the mystery woman Bo mentioned.

Once she had written down the new information and was settled, she decided she should get more snacks than what she had in her bag. Maybe some real food. And possibly more intel on her missing man.

When she passed the 3A, it sounded like a new movie going on. A western by the banjo. It was loud, and she could hear the words.

Dahlia just hoped he’d keep it down while she slept.

Bo wasn’t at the desk in the front, so she had thought she’d head to the general store.

The small town was lit up, and she could hear some faint music. Still some vague and the farthest sounds of barking and chatter. It was like it was miles away, and she sighed when she still didn’t see anyone on the streets.

The lights were something from an old movie about greasers, like The Outsiders. A film she’d seen over and over because of the pretty young girl named Cherry.

She thought to stop by Bo’s store, and the bright lights misled her. He wasn’t there. She was almost disappointed.

Turning to head to the general store, Dahlia saw the curtain open again and shut once more. Dahlia almost wanted to turn back and groaned when the store was locked, feeling like the outcast she was.

The lights on and open sign tricked her, and she knocked on the glass, “Hello? Hellooooo! I just need a couple things, and I have money!”

Nothing. No answer and just distant elevator music inside.

Dahlia sighed and looked around the town. It was dead. Bo said people were staying home from the flu outbreak, but this was almost too much.

It was undisturbed and ghostly with its still silence.

Something like a voice came from church. Maybe the sounds of an organ playing, she could tell. But her curiosity got her to check it out.

Like a cat exploring, Dahlia headed inside, only to lose all the color in her face and left the pure shock in her expression.

Some sobbing and the sound of organ going on as everyone had their backs turned to the door. Except for the preacher who was staring sternly at Dahlia and then Bo. He was on his knees, praying over an open casket.

She didn’t recognize him. Bo had his hair slicked back. Clean looking in a dark suit and a black shirt as his blazer was open.

Dahlia stammered and apologized, almost stumbling out.

The foolish young woman she was had just walked in on a funeral. And she was overwhelmed with embarrassment. Shame.

Burying her hot and flushed face in her hands and pulling her dark, long hair up into a ponytail.

If locals wanted to send her packing, they had every right. Bo might as well overcharge her for fixing her car.

She heard the door open behind her, and Bo stepped out. There was a slight look of frustration on his face, and DJ immediately grew hot.

Her flushed and reddened face took over honeyed skin. Her eyes were wide, and she frantically apologized.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to impose!” She saw him sigh, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it, “I was just trying to get something from the store; just some snacks, and it was closed..”

“You interrupted a funeral for snacks?” His response was cold and frustrated as he took a deep drag.

It brought some shame over her, “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have been a bother if I had known. Just the shop was locked, and it looked like someone was there, but no one answered. So I was just looking for some help..”

Bo just exhaled the smoke from his lungs and hung his head, “Let me just finish and put her in the ground.” Then put out his cigarettes on the steps before heading in.

Fuck me, Dahlia mutters. Debating if she could try to go to the cinema or just head back to her old room.

Just as she decided on the latter, Bo had came back out after her.

Feeling some remorse or, as it seemed, “I’m very sorry. As I told you, I lost someone very close to me.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize it was so recent. I’m really sorry.” She muttered out.

But Bo stopped her from her sympathetic rambling, “It’s alright, thank you.” His lips pressed into a smile as his eyes softened, gazing at her sweet manner, “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“You didn’t! It was annoying of me..”

Again, he stopped her. Then, trying to reassure her, “You couldn’t be annoying if you tried.”

The sweet words made Dahlia’s face redden again, and she boldly told him, “I guess I’ll try harder.”

That made him laugh.

Running his finger over his ring again, Bo said, “Let me finish up here, and I’ll run over to the store. Unfortunately, the shop owner is a bit of a drunk, so he might just be passed out in the back.”

He stopped talking for a moment when his attention moved elsewhere. Dahlia looked to see where he was staring, another tall person with long dark and black hair walking away. His back turned to them and with a dog.

It had Bo’s attention. Deep in thought and curling his lip before he snapped back to Dahlia.

“You must be tired. I can stop by your room and bring over anything to eat. Unfortunately, it’s late, and people are probably closing up.”

Dahlia thanked him and told him he was just too kind for everything he’s done for her.

But she pulled out her missing man’s paper and handed it over, “I know it’s awful of me to ask, but do you think you can ask the shop owner or anyone if they’ve seen him.”

Bo nodded and smiled, “It’s the least I can do making you wait to eat.”

“Okay, thank you. I will be patient,” Dahlia returned his smile with her own. Warm and still flushed, “If it makes you feel any better, you look nice.”

Bo just hummed in satisfaction with a slight grin.

Just when they were parting ways, she called out to Bo. Asked if he could bring her a drink with her food.

His brow lifted with a sly smirk. And she just put her hands up, “I’m allowed my vices. Smoking is just as bad.”

“Excuse me? You don’t like smokers?”

“I didn’t say that. I said it’s just as bad.”

Bo started to tease her now; he said with a drag in his voice and his accent a bit more clear, “So you think you’re as bad as I am. No… you’re too sweet.”

Dahlia’s flushed freckled cheeks were a dead giveaway from her embarrassment. She sighed before she trailed off and shouted, “Thank you, Bo. That’s very nice of you.”

Surely going to hell and burning for all eternity for disturbing a morning man and his funeral.

When she got back to the bed and breakfast, she passed her neighbor’s room and yet another movie. Screaming and crying on the tv was loud, and she knew this would be an all night thing.

Dahlia had sat on the ground for a little while and ate some crackers. Laying out all her papers, last seen photos, police reports, and statements in neat little stacks. Trying to date and map each movement.

Mr. Loundes had to be there or close.

Having gone through all the bank statements since he had left home and referenced the map, the area DJ was in now just made sense he’d gone missing there.

Something did seem strange throughout her searching; Ambrose wasn’t on the map. She looked all over from the interstate she got off of, and still no town with the name.

It was definitely something she would ask Bo and see what it was about. It’s not unusual for some tiny towns to be excluded, but it’s not familiar enough.

After she stewed in her thoughts, Dahlia felt like she was in the right direction but still at a dead end. A small voice just told her maybe Kenneth Loundes did have a new infatuated hookup, and he’s gone off. Perhaps he’s in the belly of a gator for all she knows. Both possibilities were unsettling. Just hoping he was alive was giving her hope.

When Dahlia started to yawn, a hard knock at the door woke her. Causing her to jump as she called out and sighed when it was Bo.

“Candy gram,” he said with a warm smile, still in his suit and slicked back hair. And while holding up a white paper bag and even a pack of beer. Silver and probably stale tasting, something lite.

She might pass on the drinks.

Thanking him and taking her items, “I really appreciate it.” She looked through the bag, just a deli looking sandwich and some chips. Sea salt and vinegar.

Bo whistled when he glimpsed at her mess on the floor. Papers all over and said, “Looks like you’re busy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up soon. But, actually, can I ask you why Ambrose doesn’t seem to be on the map? My map doesn’t show it.”

He seemed genuinely confused and didn’t have an answer for her, “Well, we clearly are very outdated, and we don’t have a lot of technology.”

It made some sense and especially if it was such a backwards looking town. Maybe after some rest, Dahlia could start looking around the town.

She asked him if he had asked anyone at the wake about Mr. Loundes while she tried to eat her sandwich at the door. Bo just told her, “Don’t you want to sit down and eat?”

“I’m sorry! My manners are shitty right now. You can come in for a moment.”

The gesture caught Bo off guard, but he didn’t hesitate. Instead, immediately looked at the floor at her papers and pictures.

“You think you’ll find him?” He asked, peeking up to Dahlia, “You’re very determined, it seems.”

The young woman smiled, eating a little bit before answering him, “Well, it’s my job. And I can’t really leave his family hanging.”

Bo took a seat next to the door as she asked him more about Mr. Loundes and his mistress.

There was no hesitation in his answers, “Just a small blonde woman. About your height,”

“So 5’7?”

Nodding to her words as she laid back on the floor and wrote down his description. Blonde, green eyes, named Jill. He also recalled what Mr. Loundes was wearing; cargos and a blue shirt. Simple things, but still something.

“Shouldn’t you get some sleep? Your missing man can’t be found with you running on fumes.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind the work.” She sighed and opened up about his pregnant wife, “She’s worried, and I feel bad. It’s hard calling her every day with nothing, and thinking how that baby might grow up without his father is upsetting to me. Call me optimistic. I guess it’s silly of me to worry about them.”

Dahlia’s cheeks were burning by then. Her freckles changed tone with her skin as she noticed Bo smiling warmly. Enamored.

“What?”

Bo said nothing, “That’s a very kind way of thinking.” He said quietly. The smile on his face was still there. Soft as he said, “Are you always this good a woman?”

As she began to pick up her papers and stack them, she told him she should be getting some rest. Then, giving Bo a half smile as she walked him out the door.

She had to thank him again, “I mean it. You could’ve left me there, and hell, you could’ve sent me on my way.” But, he told her he was more than happy to help.

“Especially with your own issues and problems here. Thank you.” Dahlia was a bit embarrassed as she went on, “I’m sorry to put you out and take advantage of your hospitality.”

Called it fate. Dahlia laughed but went back to being serious, putting her hand on his bicep. Gently.

His blue eyes dropped to her hand on his arm, eyed it as she spoke kindly and sweetly. The corner of his lip curled a bit as he smirked, and he said, “You’re not taking advantage of me. But I wouldn’t fight if you did.”

Her face flushed, burned when she felt Bo’s hands on her arms.

Dahlia’s eyes were glued to his hands. Keeping in a small whine when Bo’s thumbs dragged along her skin.

The mechanic’s rough pads on her soft skin sent sparks through her nerves and to her core. Lighting that fire and heat in her belly.

She didn’t know if maybe it’s been the weeks she’s had and the stress that coaxed her to press into him.

It could be causal. She’d been gone the next day or after, worst case.

Bo had been sweet, charming, and so warm through her whole few hours of knowing him. And he was handsome. Especially now, his brown hair slicked back and his sideburns clean. The dark suit and how cleaned up he was, even if he was just at a funeral.

Dahlia was definitely going to hell for unintentionally seducing a mourning man.

“I should go.” He told her, but his fingertips were still grazing along her arms.

She didn’t realize she was still holding his biceps. Gripping the soft dark fabric and she didn’t know when she had pressed into him.

Dahlia felt bold and shameful as she said, “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you too much.”

“Oh?” Bo said. Grinning with more pride as she peeked up at him. Almost wiggling into him like a cat in heat.

And it’s that accent that made her weak when he said, “Aren’t you an angel?”

She felt his hands grab her face and kiss her roughly. Groaning as she reached for his slicked back hair. Pulling at it and disheveling it as she deepened their kiss.

Mewling softly when she felt his tongue along hers, gliding with such need and hunger.

Bo gripped her hair tightly when he felt her wrap her arms around him. Whimpering pleasurably when he bit down on her lip.

Sucking hard with a proud smirk, and asked, “You sure you’re not married?”

The red flush across her face was still burning, and even with his question, whimpering with embarrassment, “I’m sure!” And kissed him with the same ache from before.

A small chuckle and laugh slip out of the two when he says, “Since you’re so sure.”

Dahlia hated herself. Her moral compass was on the fritz. Bo had been charming and handsome; he’d only known her for a moment and was sweet on her. And he was there now, cleaned up and slick.

A southern gentleman at that moment, she could take a break.

Just a small break, you deserve it; you won’t be finding anyone at this time of night, her inner conscience told her as Dahlia felt Bo’s hands brushing the hair from her face.

Dahlia was already slipping out her pants, moaning into Bo’s rough kiss as his hands reached up her shirt. Digging into her soft flesh and leaving a ghosting drag of his nails as he reached to her breasts.

Kneading, grabbing hard once she rushed out of her shirt. Smiling against his lips when he got a good look at her and said, “So beautiful.” Then pinched at her breast before pushing her toward the bed.

But she pulled him by the dark blue lapel as she laid on her back. Bo on top of her instantly and kissed her hard. Carnal and harsh, slipping his tongue along hers.

Dahlia held tightly to the fabric of his coat, pressing into Bo when she felt his free hand trail down her body. Pinching at her breasts once more to get a small whimper out, then moved down. Finally, just to her thighs, groping her flesh and letting out a deep groan when Dahlia wiggled into him.

Taunting the poor, needy woman some and slipping his fingers inside her slick folds.

Kissing her flushed freckled cheeks and smiling, “You’re a needy woman, aren’t you? I thought you were so sweet too.”

Proudly grinning when she shook her head as he pumped his fingers inside Dahlia. His middle and ring finger, pushing in and out with such hunger.

Hanging on to her little moans and pulling at his clothes.

Mewling out to Bo as he went on with his teasing. Whimpering with each thrusting of his fingers.

Dahlia let out moans and mewls, calling out to him for him to take her already, “Bo, please. You’re teasing me. You already got me where you want me.”

Except Bo knew that. She was eating it all up. The charm, the display, the temptation. A kind and lewd thing all at once so he could indulge her.

So Bo pulled at her thighs hard and around his waist.

His covered erection pressed into her more, making her whine and plead to him, “Please, I’m not gonna be the only one naked, right?”

Like a cat in heat, her mewling and needy movements made Bo smile, “I do remember you telling me I looked nice.”

She did say that. And he did look nice and cleaned up, even if she messed his slick dark hair out of place.

Now she was eating her words, naked and flushed.

“Wow, what a tease,” she whined to him.

Lucky her, the flustered smile on her face was enough to coax Bo and simmer that helpless and sweet begging.

When she reached to hold Bo’s face, giving him a harsh kiss. Whimpering when Bo bit down on her lips as he was already working on his belt and pants.

Pushing his pants down just enough to free his cock, yet still fully clothed, Dahlia would let it slide since he looked so handsome.

She let out a sharp moan and clawed at his clothes when she felt Bo slip his hard cock inside her.

Already moving his hips, slamming into her hard and kissing at her neck now. Biting now and sucking at the soft skin.

Spilling debauchery in her ear, telling her how good she felt around his cock and how sweet she was.

“So cute and pretty taking my cock like that,” Vulgar words to a sweet thing.

Her weak and helpless moans in his ear coax him to pick up his speed. Pounding into her roughly, harder with each thrust.

It’s when he sits up, still keeping her legs around him. Bo was sweating now, his dark suit was hot, bothering him now, but he took off his coat to just leave him in a black shirt.

Dahlia slammed her fists softly into his hard chest when Bo slammed away into her, his heavy hand grabbing at her breasts.

She hoped her one neighbor’s TV was blaring his volume as she let out lewd moans. Loud in the small space with each deep and hard thrust.

When she felt Bo dipped his hand between her thighs. Pressing down on her clit as he moved his hips hard.

Teasing her, circling the bit of nerves as his thrusts become rougher. Forceful even as he listened to her sounds and moans.

His teasing and thrusts, dragging his cocking into her deeper each time, were overwhelming Dahlia. Her end came over her already as she called out to Bo.

Whimpering through her hard trembling, telling him she was close, “Bo, please!” Dahlia whined, “I’m coming, please, Bo!”

Bo leaned to kiss her hard, muttering against her lips, “I know, darlin’; just let go.”

She does. That was it for Dahlia. With her orgasm overtaking her senses, trembling hard and letting out lewd cries, Bo pressed his heavy body into her, anchoring her movements as his thrusts became brutal and more sporadic as he met his own end.

Pushing deeper into her when he came, to the hilt as she cried out with pleasure, and he spilled his seed deep inside the young woman.

Still kissing Dahlia, softening and trying to calm their rapid breaths. Sweaty, wet hair sticking to his face, Bo smiled. He told her, “I thought you were so sweet and innocent. Am I wrong?”

Slightly flustered still with his bold words, “No, but the company is nice.”

Whining when his hands caressed her flushed face, smirking with adoration before kissing her forehead. Next to her small wound.

Dahlia had embraced him with a small sheepish smile as she looked up to him, “I guess it’s time for some rest.”

#omg this is a masterpiece #I’m in love with DJ #writing #bo sinclair x oc #house of wax

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