twenty one pilots one shots

Honey

A/N: Don't be fooled by the title. This will get very bloody later bc I love blood. So if you don't like blood and gore and all that fun stuff you might want to skip this one-shot

I lied in my bed in my apartment, the soothing sounds of Death Cab for Cutie faintly filling the silence.

I stared up at the textured ceiling, reaching with my hand and imagining the flaky bumps against my skin.

My craving had come back, and my skin was crawling from withdrawal. My body shook and my lungs weren't letting in enough air to satisfy my physical needs.

I reached with my other hand and opened the drawer in my bedside table, reaching for the paper carton and metal cube.

I snaked a cigarette from the pack, lighting it while still staring up at the ceiling.

I took up cigarettes in hopes that it would diminish my other craving, and it worked at first. Nowadays, it began to lose its effects.

I kept inhaling and exhaling smoke, burning through cigarette after cigarette, hoping it would sedate my body enough to keep it from trembling. Alas, nicotine wasn't enough.

I needed to satisfy what I was actually craving, but it was too risky. I had a bad habit of being careless and leaving behind too much evidence. The thrill of satisfying my craving became stronger than my sense of logic. I've almost been caught in the act several times, but I always managed to slip away like the smoke that tried to keep me at bay.

However, all the blood will be traced back to my knife eventually. They'll find spots of it in my fingerprints. Why not quicken the process and get myself caught? Make it easier for those trying to "enforce the law."

I'll do it. I'll satisfy my craving, and linger like the taste of blood on my tongue.

I decided to finish out this cigarette first, mull over on how I would execute this murder.

I smiled as I blew a smoke ring. I would revisit an old favorite: trickle honey on my victim's tongue and lure them away to their death. It was a classic. That's how Ted Bundy got all those girls to taint his feared name.

The cigarette's last breath curled from my lips, dissipating into the overpowering oxygen in the clean air.

I flicked it into the make-shift ashtray I also kept on my bedside table, adding to the pile of cold ashes and flickering embers.

I got out of my bed, expelling the excess smoke left in my lungs.

I got out my jeans first, ripping a few holes in the dark blue fabric. I could rub some mud in there later, too. If I want my act to work, I have to play my part well.

I shed my Nike shorts, replacing them with the now battered jeans. I removed my loose-fitting t-shirt, leaving my tank top. I shrugged on a fading, fraying flannel shirt. Again, some dirt rubbed in will make me more convincing.

I couldn't help but grin. This plan was going to work brilliantly. I looked casual enough to get out of the apartment complex without suspicion, but not battered enough to look like a victim. That was going to come later.

I left my apartment, trying to keep acting casual as I walked down hallways and rode to the ground floor in an elevator. I hardly got any weird looks, and even a few compliments. If only they knew what I had planned in the next hour or two.

It's 7 in the morning, and most people would be starting their morning commute. A lot of people out, and a lot of people to choose from. I resisted the urge to giggle out of pure giddiness.