#SHIVER though. she just wanted to see how she could use big man's guilt in order to get something from him. if im not mistaken there. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cookie-gal · 5 months ago

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A Big EPIC Oneshot

Lost in the underworld

"I see a man who gets to make it home alive but it's no longer... YOU"

That was the last thing Odysseus heard from the prophet as the edge of the cliff he was hanging onto broke causing him sink into the cold river

"I.... Can't feel my body... It's so cold..!"

Odysseus' vision becomes dark as he sunk deeper into the cold green water without any oxygen that is, eventually one of his crewmates eventually found him washed up on the cold shore.. Odysseus wasn't sure who was carrying him but was somewhat glad.. that someone found him despite still being somewhat still unconscious

"Um Eurylochus...."

"Yeah Perimedes--"

Eurylochus stared in horror as he looked at the unconscious captain on Perimedes' shoulder, shaking immensely. Eurylochus ran up to Perimedes and snatched Odysseus off his shoulder like a small helpless animal

"By the gods what didju do?!"

Eurylochus questioned

"I didn't really do anything, I just sorta found him like this dude."

Perimedes shrugged and explained

Perimedes watched as the second in command struggles revive their unconscious captain, as he repeatedly shakes Odysseus and pushes down on his chest. Eventually, Odysseus wakes up hacking and coughing all over the place clenching his chest tightly trying to catch his breath, his eyes repeatedly turning normal and a haunting green color

"Captain what happened, what did the Prophet say? Is he gonna help us make it home?"

"....."

No response, he just whimpered quietly and continued to stare blanky at nothing as his eyes shook not even making eye contact with the two people trying to talk to him... He still felt cold, painfully cold he couldn't stop shivering

"So...c-c-cold.. it hurts...!"

He quietly mumbled to himself Eurylochus and Perimedes looked at each other, trying to figure out what happened to the captain and what to about his state

"Captain please tell us what happened to you, we can't help you if you won't tell us!"

"I think he's in some kind of frostbite trance.."

"Quiet! C'mon let's .just leave him alone for now.. maybe he'll snap out of this...state eventually."

As the two left Eurylochus wrapped Odysseus in a big blanket hopefully keeping him warm and dry.

Odysseus sat there in that spot for what felt like hours, he couldn't get Prophet's info out of his head the information given to him, sounded so awful. Outta the all of the things that haunted him.. scared him was the supposed different man with his beloved wife, his queen.. Why... Why would she... leave him like that, and who was man with the trail of bodies why was the trail of blood beneath HIS feet when he was witnessing the vision? Was the blood trail coming from him was.. was HE dying in that vision? Did the man who took his wife somehow killed him?!

N-NO, NO SHE WOULDN'T LEAVE ME WOULDN'T LEAVE ME LIKE THAT?! SH-SHE COULDN'T..!

Negative thoughts started to overwhelm Odysseus as he tried to stop his anxiety and guilt taking over him

"I-I need to calm down, I need to get out of here..but I need to....cl-clear my head first. But how?"

He anxiously looked figuring out what to do to clam himself

"Eurylochus..."

"Captain you're awake, are you doing okay?"

"Yeah I'm okay I think I'm gonna take a stroll.."

"That's great I'll come with you-"

"No, I uh.. I'll go by myself I want you to stay here, and watch out for the rest of crew okay?"

"What..?"

The underworld was quite an somewhat unstable place, someone like Odysseus going for a stroll could be quite dangerous, Euryrlochus witnessed the Captain's health slowly degrade overtime every death, every tragedy, traumatized the poor captain

"Captain, isn't that risky I mean, you've almost broke down when we first got here! Are you sure you want to go alone?"

"Brother, I'll be fine I'm sure"

"How sure are you though?"

"I.."

Odysseus paused at first, thought he was fine but now. He felt like he was back on the boat arguing about the wind god

Why...why is this happening again.. Why now?

He quietly thought to himself breathing slightly shuddering as well

"Euryrlochus, I'm sure I'll be fine besides, I promise I won't go too far and I won't be long. Honest."

WHY DIDJU YOU PROMISE THAT YOU KNOW HE'S RIGHT ABOUT YOU

"Well if you're so sure then I guess I'll leave you be, take care captain."

The second in-command reluctantly walked away leaving Odysseus alone. He was about to reach his hand out towards Euryrlochus but then stopped himself

What am I doing to myself.

He didn't really know where he was going actually, but he did repeatedly check behind him to make sure how far he was, seeing the boat and the crew almost near, his slightly blurry vision. Until he couldn't see them.

"Ghhn wh-why is it-it suddenly getting c-c-colder?"

Odysseus didn't really realize that he was going deeper into the underworld. He felt like a lost kid in a forest, he didn't really know where he going his heart kept on beating with every step he took, he keeps having this gut feeling that he shouldn't be wherever he was at He felt very uncomfortable as spirits stared at him not saying a single world or rephrasing anything like they usually do it was like they were frozen in place his fear gets distracted when suddenly he heard a voice

"Waiting..."

"M-mom?!"

Odysseus followed the voice and found her in a small little cavarn room. He peeped from the behind the entrance to see his mom not as a small memory orb but fully there the real her

"M-mom I missed you so much.."

As he tried to step into the small cavern he immediately realized that there was a green river dividing them

"Don't be scared, it's just a river. A river of the damned hopefully no spirit would be there right? It-it'll be quick just wanna say goodbye one last time.."

Cautiously stepping in the green river Odysseus felt a pang in his foot he gritted his teeth and continued though everything step he took was bringing himself more pain

He felt nothing but a painful frostbite, every single step became more of a struggle he felt cold hands of some spirits gripping at the more he was getting closer to his mom. So close. That is untill, they were starting to get aggressive

"AGH!"

Odysseus screamed painfully, he felt the spirit hand trying to pull him into the freaky green river. He felt like his mother was becoming further away from him

"No..! NO NO NO NO M-MOM!!"

Tears blurred his vision. What... what was happening was he was sinking.. Why outta of all the times the damned has interfered why, why now?!

Odysseus starts to have trouble both breathing and keeping himself calm, his panicking wasn't really helping himself either, he was frantically moving his arm trying to get unrestrained from the ghost hands grasps

"I CAN'T GET OUT - WHY CAN'T I GET OUT! MOM PLEASE,TELL THEM TO LET GO!"

"MOTHER PLEASE IT HURTS!"

"I-I CAN'T... I can't... P-please mama..."

Odysseus felt tired.. too tired his body went limp and sunk into the water of the dead. He felt cold. Colder than before.. He couldn't tell if he was crying or not due to the water. Odysseus tried though wasn't really successful but tried to hold his breath, tried his best cover his mouth with his hands

I.. can't b-breathe... Please someone... Euryrlochus... M-mom...

There's no point in of asking for help.. It-its not like they'll know where I am.

It's so cold.. I'm so cold... Why?

"You can relax my friend, I can tell you're getting nervous..."

Polites .?

"I'll stay in your heart..."

Mom?

He sorta felt at peace and yet bittersweet when he encountered both spirits though his mom was less of a bittersweet encounter and more of a heartache than anything. But for some reason, Odysseus had a sudden bad sense of dread he was already in enough pain in him slowly struggling to hold his breath

NO STOP, STOP, STOP!

They were suddenly pulling at him, they started forcibly moved his arms that held his breath

4.5

They were practically trying to pry his mouth open. But why? Were they trying to make him just like them? Were, were they trying to kill him??

Odysseus' arms were restrained as he was forced to let the green watery ectoplasm enter his lungs he felt like he was swallowing poison everything inside him, was screaming at him. Thinking was starting to become difficult as Odysseus was repeatedly going in and out of consciousness he wanted think of something, anything else besides the fact that he's dying slowly and no-one knows where he is..

Penelope..

Please Penelope, take this s-suffering...away please... Please...

Odysseus' vision went black

He didn't really know how long it's actually been but he's starting to feel genuine concern for the Captain. Euryrlochus questioned some crew members if they've seen him but no-one seemed to know

"Where are you Ody...?"

Perimedes raised an eyebrow seeing the distressed expression on the second in command

"Yo, you good?"

"Captain's been gone for awhile.. He's said he wouldn't be long too. Well that's what he promised atleast."

"Maybe he went back to the prophet for more questions and answers"

"Y'think it takes this long to get answers? I doubt it."

"So you think he's in trouble?"

Eurylochus responded to the question by getting up and heading towards the same direction Odysseus went when he left Perimedes followed from behind

"So you're gonna wander aimlessly till you find him?"

"THERE!"

Eurylochus shouted pointing at some footprints. The duo followed the footprints up untill they seemed to have stopped near a river and a small cavern there were small scratch marks in the ground entrance of the cavern

"Do you think he committed suicide?"

Eurylochus pushes Perimedes into the green river not wanting answer his peculiar question and decides to look behind to see if they missed any footprints. Perimedes felt something hard in the water realizing that the hard item was something familiar

4.6

"Uhm hey, Eury I think you might wanna see this"

"What is it now..."

Eurylochus' pupils shrunk realizing the thing that Perimedes was holding.. a sandal.. Odysseus' sandal

Odysseus' vision was blurry he starts to realize as his vision starts to focus that he wasn't in the green watery ectoplasm that was suffocating his lungs like before... But somewhere different - Land. He washed up shore... But something still felt wrong...

"Ahhh, w-why d-d-d-does this area feel c-c-colder than...than the o-other areas!!"

He wrapped himself up with his cape though it didn't do much..

"Why...why am I here.."

Odysseus pondered every step felt like he literally getting stabbed by icicles, not even his arms felt really comfortable despite them being covered up, still felt cold... His whole body just felt low temperature..

Odysseus screamed, the frostbite ache was too much he felt like he was in some kind of frozen hell.. "Please.. someone help me..!" He cried, though there was no-one... No one knew where he was.. not even he himself knew he was lost and alone.. Alone and cold.

What is wrong with me, why-why did I think this was a good idea??

Odysseus' feet gave out causing him to fall, not even attempting to get up he was too pained too.. all he could think about was pain, and his crew.. his friends... He was surrounded by the ones that were brutally killed now stuck in a loop begging for their captain to do something

"I... I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry everyone... Polites... I'm such a idiot... I'm such a horrible captain!"

It was his fault, he is the leader.. the captain among the men. Most of them perished cuz of his doings... His plans, they all pretty much backfired.. and now he's alone deep in the underworld where no-one knows where.

Negative thoughts returned back to Odysseus' mind causing him to break down and tremble. He felt liked he was getting repeatedly mocked, everytime he looked up he was just reminded about how awful of a captain he was

4.7

"Why...is it s-so c-cold...here.. Why am I so pathetic... I don't deserve to..t-to be a captain.. I don't deserve Penelope, I left her and Telemachus alone for years.. N-no wonder the prophet says he can't help me. I-I don't.. deserve to..."

"Ody, you need to relax and calm yourself.."

"Wh-what.? N-no wait that voice.."

The voice was familiar...very familiar and innocent Odysseus' eyes were filled with surprisement and a little dread

"...P-Polites...?"

His voice was shaking as much as his whole body was as well. Polites wasn't a monochrome ghost green spirit anymore he was actually colored and alive

"I don't -- h-how are you here.. I-I mean... I.."

Odysseus didn't really know what specific emotion he feeling there was so much at once he repeatedly stammered over and over trying to question what was happening.

"Come on, and rest with me and my fire"

This doesn't feel right. But I can't take this pain anymore!

Odysseus ignored his itchy feeling of something being wrong and immediately got up and hugged Polites.

"Come on let's get you warmed"

Polites smiled warmly and hugged back but as soon as his hands made contact with Odysseus' back he felt a sudden chill

"Polites, I don't feel right."

"Awh c'mon captain I'll make you feel better in no time!"

Polites offers a hand out Odysseus was hesitant at first, his hands trembled a little. He still unsure if he safe... Especially after everything that just happened to him.. He almost drowned to death as both his mom and Polites forced him to run out of oxygen but yet why was Polites.. this version so different?

Why does it feel colder than before

"Yo Euryrlochus, you found anything? Anything useful cause all there is just nothing"

Eurylochus heavily sighs

"No, not really... All there are is these footprints but for some reason they just stop here in this cavern entrance.."

"So what, you think he just vanished?"

As much as he didn't want to admit it Perimedes was kinda right..

4.8

"You're right."

"What? A-are you serious, I was joking--"

"Something or someone made him vanish..."

"...what are you implying? Do..you think some spirits did something to him?"

"Yeah."

"So....what do we do?"

"This place runs on memory and despair and it's pretty much a maze... So we'll just wait."

"What?"

"We'll wait till sometime and till something happens okay? There isn't much we can do except for waiting."

Perimedes wanted to argue but he didn't know what to say. Instead using any words. He responded with body by just sitting down legs crossed staring at the green river Eurylochus did the same position as well

"I guess we'll wait then"

Perimedes commented the two stayed silent and waited

Odysseus felt like he was walking around forever he still felt slight discomfort around this "Polites" that is until they eventually made it to their destination

"Captain look"

Odysseus' eyes dilated full of confusion and disbelief... All the fallen soldiers that he lost they were all there running around and some of them chilling n sitting on rocks and just like Polites none them were monochrome ghost green

"How...how is this p-possible?"

Is...is this even real? Or am I dreaming all of this...

"C'mon captain!"

Polites grabbed the anxious "captain's" hand once again, causing him freak out and feel intense frostbite in his hand making him flinch and tumble to the ground.

Odysseus' felt his heart sink as soon as he hit the ground

"Ody are you okay"

"You're not really here... Are you?"

"You- you're just in my h-head..!"

All the men stared blankly at him Polites included, their slowly losing soul and becoming more dull n lifeless

"Ody, aren't we what you wanted. What you've been missing. You've been mourning for us for so long..!"

Odysseus was slowly becoming paralyzed as "Polites" was slowly approaching up to him

"N-no!!"

He whimpered out as "Polites" hugged the freight pathetic man. Odysseus wanted to fight back but he couldn't

4.9

Odysseus' heart start aching and racing as he stood there. He felt so..childish, so pathetic... So much pained inside him as he was getting hugged..with frostbite hands from what's supposed to be his best friend

"It's okay Ody, you're safe"

"N-no...no.... please!"

He... He can't do this, he needed to leave NOW, he just wanted to go back to the ship with the crew. He couldn't take these nightmares that he always suffered every night, he couldn't take the hallucinations he suffered everytime he started grieving.

Odysseus screamed...

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE PLEASE!! I AM SICK OF SEEING YOU!! YOU'RE ALWAYS HAUNTING ME AND I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!"

It felt like the world stopped for a sec as Odysseus' words echoed around the room. All of the men vanished from thin air leaving "Polites" left who just stared at Odysseus with a distorted expression

"...Wh- P-Polites...?"

Odysseus reaches his hand out to Polites' shoulder but immediately flinches it away as Polites turns into ash leaving nothing but his cracked glasses Odysseus felt like he reliving his best friend's demise again..

"...N-no... Polites... No...not again!"

He regretted his outburst he wanted to take back what he said.. he didn't really mean it fake or not he wanted to say sorry but now, it was too late..

"Polites... I'm so sorry...!"

"Do you really mean it captain"

Another Polites...? Why?? He keeps on repeatedly getting traumatized by this place. WHY DOES KEEP HAPPENING OVER

"No...no NOT AGAIN WHY WON'T YOU JUST F---KING LEAVE ME ALONE PLEASE!! SOMEONE HELP ME!!"

"Please I can't take this s-suffering anymore..."

Odysseus' vision went dark... He passed out "Polites" seemingly vanished as soon as it heard two familiar voices Euryrlochus and Perimedes

"CAPTAIN!"

Eurylochus shouted with concern approaching the unconscious captain who was whimpering despite his unresponsive state. The duo looked at each other and brought Odysseus to the ship to rest

4.10

Perimedes prepares a small bowl of water but the captain is seemingly refusing to take a sip

"Open your mouth."

"N-no please!"

"OPEN YOUR DAMN MOUTH DONTCHA WANNA FEEL BETTER!"

"NO PLEASE JUST LEAVE ME A-ALONE!"

"Fine I didn't want to do this but I guess I have no choice."

Perimedes slightly reluctantly grabbed both Odysseus arms restraining him shoving the bowl of water down in his throat despite Ody's cries and whimpers to stop.

Odysseus felt like he was choking on some type poison he wanted it to stop!

Eurylochus suddenly came in the room, wanting answers for the screaming

"WHAT'S GOING ON IN HERE?!"

"He won't drink this damn water I'm trying to calm him down but he's too anxious it's starting to piss me off!"

"How is water supposed to make him feel better after everything with Poseidon?!"

"I.."

"Leave Perimedes. NOW!"

Eurylochus' voice echoed around the room! Slightly frightening Odysseus. Perimedes left the room he glared angrily at Odysseus slightly scaring him even more

A exhausted sigh came out of Euryrlochus' mouth he turned to Odysseus who was facing the opposite direction of him whimpering and trembling

"Hey it's okay, look sorry about whatever that was don't really know what his deal is I'm sorry for whatever you had been through today..."

"You were right."

"What?"

"You were asking me if I was okay earlier today but I lied I.. I'm such a horrible person.."

"Captain don't say that."

"It's true though.. I lost everyone and it's all my fault; Polites' death, most of our friends drowning by Poseidon I was pretty helpless there.. then eventually everyone got turned into pigs by Circe! It-its all my fault! Eurylochus, I don't deserve to be captain!"

"Captain look, those were yes your faults but you didn't mean it they were accidents and everyone makes mistakes okay"

No response just like before, Odysseus just glares at Eurylochus with almost dead expression

Eurylochus sighed as he covered up the sad man

"Bye captain hope you feel better"

#epic the musical #epic the underworld saga #odysseus #euryrlochus #polites #perimedes #the underworld saga

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frogtanii · 4 years ago

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your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

a quick glance to the boys at your sides notified you that they weren’t faring much better. atsumu kept fidgeting with his cufflinks, sakusa was so stiff you could knock him over with your pinky, kenma looked like he was about to pass out, bokuto was debating on squeezing under the table in front of you, kuroo was tapping a pattern on his pants (akeelah and the bee style), and akaashi kept reciting ominous poems under his breath.

the only people in the room who looked even remotely fine were osamu, oikawa, sugawara, daichi, and, surprisingly, yachi. osamu was munching on some peanuts that he pulled from... somewhere, while oikawa and sugawara were holding their own conversation by the window. daichi seemed to be minding his own business but you could never really get a proper read on him anyway.

well, you supposed yachi was okay because she knew what to expect. i mean, you were meeting her boss.

after you and kenma had posted your “exposing the hype(r) house” youtube video, an email had come to the both of you, inviting you to visit the “big boss” along with the rest of the crew.

you weren’t necessarily afraid of losing your job; the hype(r) house was already being dissolved and you were (finally!!!) getting to move in with makki and mattsun until you found your own place. you were genuinely excited to put the drama and literal hell behind you and begin to live your life again but...

that didn’t mean meeting the Man™ wasn’t terrifying. it was like being called into the principal’s office, complete with the existential dread and occasional bouts of gassiness.

the door opening made you flinch as you quickly moved out of the way to let the newcomers enter. while they walked past you, you couldn’t contain the shock that overtook your face, your jaw practically on the floor.

the man was massive.

built like a brick wall, the man who you assumed to be the “big boss,” had a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and massive fucking pecs, his white button up barely closing around them.

beside him stood a tall, lanky man who was dressed suspiciously un-office-like with a red buzz cut and wild eyes that seemed to cut into you as he took his place at the table.

the final man seemed a bit awkward in comparison to the other two, but he was trying to seem unaffected, his purple bowlcut, despite being rather juvenile, fitting perfectly with his slim but toned build and bright complexion.

yachi hurried to greet them, giving all three a blinding smile before motioning for everyone else to take a seat. you ended up between the redhead and atsumu, the former being way too entertained by just your general being. his eyes rarely, if ever, left your face sending shivers down your spine. the remaining members all hesitantly took their seats and “big boss” began.

“it is an honor to meet you all. i am ushijima wakatoshi but you can call me ushijima or wakatoshi or ushiwaka or toshijima or just ushi or just jima or just waka or just toshi.” for a moment you thought he was joking but his face never moved, not even with the awkward silence that followed. redhead seemed rather amused by the whole display and bowl cut looked like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting.

it took an uncomfortably long moment for ushijima to proceed but he did as though nothing had happened. “these are my associates, satori—” redhead gave you a mischievous grin “—and tsutomu.”

“goshiki,” bowl cut interrupted, his voice wavering but his eyes gleaming with righteous indignation as though he was challenging wakatoshi to say something in defiance. instead, ushijima just gave him a nod and he visibly deflated back into his seat.

“goshiki is the social media manager for imla and satori is... satori,” big boss continued, not a hint of emotion on his face. the rest of the table perked up at his comment but atsumu was the only one who apparently had the balls to say anything.

“so yer the one who wrote that shitty among us tweet?” goshiki flushed horribly and sunk further into his plush leather chair, his body language showing he must’ve already gotten an earful about it. “thought it was a good idea,” he muttered while averting his eyes, completely ignoring satori’s cackle from across the wood.

ushijima put up a (massive???) hand to calm the both of them and it instantly worked. satori quieted down though he never lost the mirth in his expression and goshiki straightened up, a new wave of determination crossing his features.

you sat up as well, feeling the shift of energy in the room but you were startled to realize the boss had decided to focus his energy on you, his deep baritone voice calling your full name. “i am extremely sorry. we have failed you as a management team and as men. i have failed you.”

he sounded remarkably remorseful, his brown irises conveying heavy emotion and guilt. you had no idea what to say but he wasn’t done.

“although i do not have full control of the decisions that have been made here, i should have fought harder for what i believed was right and for that, i will forever be sorry.” you shifted uncomfortably under his weighty gaze, not that he noticed because his attention was swiftly taken by kenma at the opposite end of the room.

“who is in charge then? aren’t you like the ceo or whatever?” he asked. ushijima took a moment before nodding very slowly, his attention clearly on something in his head.

thankfully, satori rapidly took over the thread of conversation before the room could fall in tense silence yet again. “there’s a board of old, stuffy guys who basically kicked miracle boy wakatoshi to the curb and make all their decisions without him.”

...miracle boy? what did he have to do to earn that kind of nickname? you shook your head and tuned back in, just as the ceo spoke up once again.

“because i have not succeeded in doing my job properly, i have something to give to you,” ushijima deadpanned, sliding a thick envelope towards you. you carefully grabbed it and opened it up to reveal a thick, thick, wad of cash.

a gasp caught in your throat, words not coming to you as you thumbed through the money. there had to be at least $60k in there, your eyes filling with tears while you took in his generosity. “thank you,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to speak any louder.

wakatoshi nodded at you before addressing the rest of the table about something but you weren’t even listening.

you were so overwhelmed. for the longest time, you’d hated whoever management was for ignoring your pleas for help and trying to placate you with nice dresses and fancy dinners so meeting ushijima was quite the welcomed surprise.

despite everything that occurred, you could tell he felt horrible for letting things slide even though it was technically out of his hands and you couldn’t even articulate how much that meant to you.

the fact that he had gone out of his way to pay you extra, assumingly without the permission of the board, was heartwarming, confusing, shocking, and staggering all at once.

i mean, you could probably describe the past few months as exactly that. so much had happened, so much had changed, and while you could do without some of the life adjustments (the nightmares, spare trauma, and fear of public bathrooms to start), you felt blessed with new friends and the experiences that helped shape you to the person you were now.

the boys didn’t hate you anymore (well, not all of them at least and none were actively antagonizing you), you were seeing dr yamada again, you were getting to move in with your two best friends, you were just given enough money to expand your channel drastically, and you were finally feeling good. better than good.

meiko was behind you and though you missed the person she once was, you were so glad she was out of your life in a way where she couldn’t harm you or the boys any longer.

a grin spread across your face, your cheeks nearly burning from the intensity of it. things were definitely looking up.

a soft call of your name jolted you from your thoughts, your eyes landing on all the boys already standing as they got ready to leave the room. you could sense their worry and you shot them a genuine, reassuring smile before standing yourself.

you waved goodbye to the three men at the table, thanking ushijima profusely for his kindness but he shook you off, insisting that he had just been doing what he should’ve done a long time ago.

what a nice guy.

as you followed the boys out of the building, you took a moment to observe them together with fondness written all over your expression. they were laughing and joking around, the happiest and most carefree you had ever seen any of them. bokuto was begging yachi to get them ice cream, the rest of them piling on until she gave in with a playful roll of her eyes, giggling at the cheer that went up from the group.

atsumu seemed to notice you lagging behind, falling back to join you. “ya okay angel?” he asked, eyes focused on your feet as he slowed down to match your pace.

you didn’t answer for a while, instead focusing on the sun warming your cheeks, the cool breeze messing up your hair, and the sounds of pure joy swirling above you.

“i’m absolutely perfect.” you replied and you actually meant it. “race you to the van?” you sent him an impish grin before taking off, his yells of indignation making you laugh freely as the rest of the boys joined in, right on your heels.

this is it, you thought. no matter what, i’ll have this moment and i’ll be okay.

you’d been through hell and back and you’d survived. you’d been cursed at, choked out, hospitalized, and been beaten at mario kart more times than you could count and you had still made it through. you were resilient and strong and you’d never given up, despite how badly you’d wanted to, multiple times over.

things weren’t perfect, they rarely are, but you knew that if you could make it through all that, you could get through practically anything, especially with the boys by your side.

yeah. i’ll be just fine.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

bonus!!

“told you it sounded stupid as hell.”

“gah, stop talking about it!!”

“you sounded sooooo old ‘shiki, what are you, 92?”

“AAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“satori...”

“what’s up miracle boy?”

“...what is ‘sus’?”

℗ poker face

i’ll be just fine

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - AND THATS A WRAP FOLKS 🥳 wowowow did the ending give me trouble but that’s ok SISJSK the endings will be coming shortly but they might not be daily just cs they may take more time, who knows lmfao i’ll let y’all know :3 AAAA ANYWAYS ILY I HOPE U GUYS LIKED KITH KITH don’t forget to feed me <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

I.R.L.📷1

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight stalking, masturbation, naughty talk.

This is dark!(camboy!)Andy Barber. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your guilty pleasures becomes and all too real terror.

Note: I split this into two because it kept stretching on and on ahah. But I hope you’re ready for a creepy ass camboy.

Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

You could blame your break-up or the pandemic but you were just lonely. Besides, Cam left you a year ago and the quarantine was long over. It seemed the whole word had moved on except you.

You always got that fluttery feeling when you opened up the tab and typed in the address. You keyed in your username and password and that moment of shame and guilt quickly passed. Men did this all the time so what was the big deal? You had the money and time to waste on the shallow release.

You scrolled through the active rooms and found ‘SuitNTie80’. There were a few times you tried other rooms but you quickly left, always keeping to your comfort zone, not that you were ever very comfortable. There was that shadow of guilt that lingered after but you learned to live with it.

You sat up and leaned on your arm as you watched the window load and the chat popped up first on the side. You were desensitized to the image of the naked body, the large hand around the thick shaft, stroking and teasing as he issued intoxicating groans. You piled your pillows behind you and bent your legs as you watched lazily.

You were mostly quiet but you were there at least twice a week. You didn’t have much to say in the text box and the thought of a private voice chat was too intimidating for the price. You sent your donations and went on your way once you got yours.

You tickled your leg as your eyes clung to the hair along his muscled chest and stomach, his thick thighs bent and bulging as he gripped his dick firmly. He was huge, not that you were ever a size queen, but it was a nice escape, a careless fantasy. It wasn’t hurting anyone to look.

You hummed and reached for your vibe. You leaned back and teased your clit. You got wetter as he moved around and the bold yellow font popped up in the chat box. You hit ‘pay’ and bypassed the tier. The chat dwindled and the muscular body laid back so that his dick stood straight. He continued to play with himself as he pushed his head into the pillow.

You grabbed your dildo and angled it down along your folds. You poked and prodded until you slipped inside just a little. You pulled back and pushed back in until you could take most of it, the vibe still buzzing against your bud.

Another paywall popped up and again you hit the big button and confirmed. You kept the transactions on your credit card and didn’t think much until the statement showed up. Again, the audience dwindled. It was Wednesday, there weren’t as many as the weekends.

You got comfortable again and pumped the toy as you rubbed the stimulator against your clit. You bit your lip and whined, close. The deep voice stopped you.

“Looks like it's just you,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed and kept his hand moving.

You typed a hey into the chat and sent another tip. He smiled, only the bottom half of his face visible, the trimmed beard defined his already sharp jaw. You fell back again as you tried to focus on his hand.

“You’re here a lot, honey,” he purred and rasped as he rolled his palm around his tip, “every week…”

You froze and sat up stiffly, careful not to push the toy deeper.

“You don’t have to be shy,” he cooed, “we can go into a private room.”

You didn’t know what to say. You just wanted to cum and lay down. Forget about another long day back in the office.

“No charge,” he offered, “I’d just like to hear your voice.”

Your fingers tapped noisily over the whir of the toy, ‘why?’

“You’re my most loyal customer,” he slowed his hand, “just curious.”

You just sat there, your heart pounding. You liked not being seen, just watching quietly, just being there in the audience. You were embarrassed he even noticed the frequency of your attendance. You eased the toy out of you as you leaned an arm on your leg. You hovered the cursor over the leave icon.

The invited for a private room popped up and kept you from clicking, “just a few minutes, honey, I’m almost done and I wanna help you finish.”

You bit the inside of your lip and dragged your finger down the trackpad. You hit ‘accept’ and a pop-out window buffered as it requested access to your microphone. You could mute once you were in. You confirmed and the private room loaded. You maximized it and drew your hand back sharply, already regretting the decision.

“How are you doing, honey?” he asked, “anyway you want me?”

You stared at the screen, overwhelmed by the spontaneity and your natural shyness.

“I hear your toy,” he said softly, “why don’t you tell me what you’re playing with?”

You gulped and the mattress spring squeaked as you shifted, “um, I’m okay,” you answered his first question, “how are you?”

“I’m great,” he pushed the camera back and sat so that you could see all of him, “it’s nice to hear the voice behind the name.” His teeth grazed his lip as his muscles tensed and he groaned, “so what do we got, hmm?”

“Er,” you looked down, the toy buzzing against your thigh as you’d let it slip thoughtlessly, “a vibe and... “

“And…” he coaxed, “what else, honey?”

“Um, a dildo?” you said weakly, “erm, yeah.”

“Is it inside you?” he asked.

You choked and tried to smother it. You sniffed and clicked off the toy. “Sorry, I don’t think--”

“I want it inside you, now,” he said firmly as he stroked himself, “I want you to imagine it’s me, that i’m stretching you.”

You gaped at the screen as he watched you expectantly, almost as if he could see you. You always kept your camera covered though so at least he could only hear how clueless you were.

“Turn the vibe back on and put that dick inside of you,” he snarled, “come on, honey, for me.”

“I…” you breathed, “okay…”

You shakily hit the button so it vibed again. You asked yourself what you were doing as you slipped it down against your clit and pushed the dildo into you before it could slip out completely. You squeaked and he growled as his hand sped up.

“Mmm, is it in?” he asked, “all of it?”

“Y-yeah,” you murmured, “as much as… I can.”

You cringed at your own answer and he grinned.

“Oh, you’re tight?” he teased, “sounds like you need to be broken in.” You let out a breath as you sat unmoving, filled but paralysed by the intimacy of the chat, “go on, I wanna hear you, honey. I can’t finish if I can’t hear you.”

You hesitated but laid back against the mountain of pillows. You rolled the vibe flat to your clit and moved the dildo slowly. You quivered as the ripples flowed through you and made your toes curl, your legs splayed wide around your laptop. You can hear how wet you are as instinctively you move the toy faster and moan.

“That’s it, honey,” he cooed, “listen to you, hmm? So we for me…” his voice was a series of gasps as he added lube to his length and sped up, “how close are you?”

“C-close,” you rasped.

“Good, good,” his knuckles turned white as he worked his hand even faster, “I want you to picture me… balls deep… fucking you until your hips hurt… until you can’t walk…”

You let out a pathetic mewl as you fucked yourself harder with the toy, to the point of pain.

“What’s you’re favourite position, honey?” he asked as he used both hands on himself.

“Oh, uh…” you shuddered as you thought, trying to keep the toys in action, “doggy… I think.”

“Mmm, wouldn’t you like me behind you, pounding into that tight little cunt,” he puffed, “I can only imagine how tight you’d squeeze me… the way you’d shake… you think you could take it? Hmm?”

“Y… y… yes,” your voice fizzled out and you let out a strained cry as you came abruptly.

You panted wildly and turned onto your side as you squeezed both toys between your legs and groaned. A grunt brought your attention back to the screen as you twitched. The man cradled his sack as he came and strings spilled from his tip as his voice rumbled from the speakers. He smeared his cum all down his length until he was a mess and let his shoulders fall as he stilled his hand.

“Was that good, honey?” he asked as he looked into the camera.

“Mhmm,” you uttered as you sat up and slid the dildo out, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” he stood and came closer to the camera, bending so that you could see his face clearly, he was startlingly handsome, “can we do it again?”

“I… don’t know,” you replied as you turned off the vibe and covered yourself as if he could see you, “maybe.”

“You did really well, sweetie,” he smiled, “and I really like your voice.”

“I…” you sniffed and swallowed as you glanced around your dark bedroom. Is this what you’d come to? “I gotta go.”

You hit ‘leave’ and immediately felt awful. As much for leaving him hanging as even indulging in the chat. You rubbed your temples and bent your fingers against your skull as you gripped your head. How sad could your existence be?

📷

The disconnect icon came up and Andy sighed. He closed down the chat and logged out. He sat and cleaned himself, gently as he was overly sensitive from over an hour of stimulation. He enjoyed his little sessions and he made a decent penny, not that he really needed the money. It was more the high than the dollar sign.

He pulled on a loose pair of silk pajama pants and the fabric tickled his tip cloyingly. He closed the lid of his laptop and tidied the room, stripping the bed and putting the plain cotton sheets back on. He sat heavily to catch his breath and leaned back on the heels of his hands.

He always saw her username in the chat when she entered and tipped but she never said anything. He didn’t think much of it, she was just another regular. LacyLilac; it was a cute name. He was just bored and wanted to try something new. It was fun and thrilling and just the sound of her wet cunt made him twitch.

He kept thinking about her voice. He was disappointed she left so quickly. He would’ve liked to talk a little longer but it was just a porn chat after all. What more did they have to say to each other?

He tried to match her voice to a face in his head. She was probably cute; she sounded young. Well, lots of people were younger than him. He was probably one of the oldest cammers on the site.

She was shy though and he liked that. He’d married the outspoken one and he was over it. That turned to shit fast and look where it got him. Alone and pimping himself out for kicks. Yeah, it was fun at first, he liked being watched, it was always a game for him. He used to play with himself at his desk in his office, sometimes the interns caught him but they never said anything. They were too afraid.

That was all gone too. That life was behind him, so far it almost felt like it never happened. He wished it never had; wished he hadn’t wasted the time.

He stood and sighed. He took his laptop from the table and slipped it under his arm. He went downstairs and opened it on the counter. He let the screen saver bounce as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He popped the cap off with the edge of the granite and watched the little wisp of mist rise from the neck.

He tapped on the pad and scrolled through his activity log. He found her name and clicked on it. Her profile was mostly empty except for the profile pic, a stock photo of lilacs. He got nothing from scrolling up and down the blank fields. Well, he knew a few tricks the cops passed onto him back in the day.

He opened another tab and quickly generated the link. He went back to her profile and clicked the little speech bubble beside her username. He took a moment before he began to type.

‘Hey, honey, I had fun. I hope to see you again on Friday <3. My schedule’s changing soon, you can see it here.’ He attached the link and hit send. He took a swig of the hoppy beer and leaned an elbow on the counter.

All she had to do was click that link, if she didn’t, he’d have to figure something else out. Or maybe just give up.

The computer chirped as a green dot appeared beside her name. She was online. He saw the little eye beside his message and the dots as she typed. She stopped and he waited. Nothing.

He clicked back to the other window and opened up the visitation log for the link. He smiled and took another deep gulp. She’d done it. She tried to use the link and now he could see everything; her IP, her location, her internet provider. It was just enough to work with.

Bing. He switched back over to the chat and finally her response hung beneath his in a bubble.

‘Thx. I’ll try. The link doesn’t work tho.’

He typed with one hand as he finished his beer in sips, ‘sorry, honey. I’ll fix that and send an updated link when I get a chance. Have a good night <3.’

‘Good night,’ she responded and the green dot disappeared.

He set aside his empty bottle and closed the laptop. He was hard again. It didn’t usually happen so soon after a session. It was why he spaced them out. But he was throbbing so violently that just standing straight made him groan.

He gripped the counter and shoved his hand down his pants. He closed his eyes and exhaled as he quaked at his own touch. He thought of her little ‘ums’ and ‘ers’ and the buzz of her toy. Such a shy little thing acting so innocent and yet she was always there, watching him.

Fuck, it wouldn’t take much more. Not as he thought of how she couldn’t even fit the whole toy in her sweet cunt. He would help her with that.

📷

The anomaly soon grew to a habit. The second meeting was just as awkward. You didn’t do private chats, it was just easier to fade into the background, but the third was easier. Despite how your nerves flurried and your hair stood on edge, he made you feel comfortable, made you relax as you neared the tipping point.

That night, you promised him you’d be in the chat but things always went to shit when you had plans. You were almost relieved as your after hours activities were starting to get in the way of your work. You found it hard to focus when he kept sending you messages that filled your burner email.

You sat before the blue-tinted hue of the monitor, your eyes watering as the colours seared into your retinas. The spreadsheet left a template in your vision and you saw the little boxes even as you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. Maybe another hour and you could go and forget about the colour-coded rectangles.

You sighed and took out your phone. You looked out at the pen of cubicles, your small office forgotten in the corner. You handled the numbers and those only mattered when someone needed a new chair or the holiday party was coming near, and those tasks were easier left to the interns.

You yawned and swiveled back and forth in your chair. The little envelope floated in the margin. You dragged down the status bar and hit the icon. Your inbox was filled with alerts to new messages on the chat site. You only had your shell email account attached to your phone and kept to incognito mode on your laptop.

Only Lucy was still around and she was having a loud phone call on speaker a few offices down. She basically lived at her desk and served as a harbinger of your future. You opened a private window and signed in. You went to your profile and checked the blinking message box.

‘Hey, starting soon.’

‘On live now!’

‘Where are you, honey?’

‘About to go private.’

The last message was a sad-looking emoji and you shook your head. This was why you needed to stop. It felt special at first to be noticed, to feel wanted even if you were just a money sign, but it was growing exhausting. You hardly even enjoyed it anymore, you were just there to get off and get it over with.

‘Srry, caught up at work. Not going to make it tn.’

You hit send and blacked out your phone. You went back to the lifeless excel columns and compared it with the garbled mess corrupted on the second monitor. You told Stuart over and over to eject it properly and didn’t understand how the file hadn’t been uploaded to the company cloud. You shuffled through your papers and shrugged it off. No use being angry, no one cared.

Your phone vibed again. You ignored it and kept typing, looking through reports by the month as you keyed in numbers. A year's worth of tracking all down the drain. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Your phone wouldn’t stop.

You opened up your phone and went back to the private window. ‘You couldn’t tell me earlier?’ ‘Hello?’ ‘What did I do, honey?’

The messages came close together and you looked over at the log. His chat had gone inactive; it was early. You were slightly addled and confused by that.

‘It’s work. I haven’t had a chance. Can’t talk. Logging off. See you Friday.’ You hit the arrow and excited the window.

You dropped your phone face down and hung your head back in exasperation. Your guilty pleasure was becoming a second job. The guy had enough viewers, he could hardly be missing your wallet that much. It was starting to get weird and you weren’t so sure you were going to tune in that Friday, you might be better off to catch up on your sleep.

📷

You kept your laptop off on Friday and opted instead to catch up the latest episodes of your favourite trash tv. The week was long enough to have you dozing off by the second episode and you woke early on Saturday, feeling more groggy than refreshed. Even so, you had two days to yourself.

Two days to catch up with your personal life. You went to the kitchen and used the last of the coffee. And the cream. Time for a shop. Well, you could still make a fun day out of it. There was a café in the same plaza as the grocery store so you could stop in and pretend like you were enjoying your time off with whatever specialty flavour they offered that day.

You didn’t get out before noon as you dragged your feet. Your mind kept drifting to your claustrophobic office and the migraine-inducing spreadsheets. You tried not to, fought your own mind as you steered into the parking lot, but you knew you had another week of bullshit awaiting you.

You grabbed a cart and made your rounds of the aisles, sighing as you waited on octogenarians to decide on a grain of bread. You hurried to check-out before you could get caught behind another dawdler and paid, piling your goods in your cart impatiently. You rolled out the lot and filled your trunk, pushing the cart back to the receptacle with the rest.

You hit the lock button on your keys and headed to the cafe. You eyed the strawberry and cream latte on the board as you stood in line. A deep voice drew your attention from the menu and your heart stuttered as you looked at the man at the till. It couldn’t be.

You got a better look at his face as he eyed the desserts in the glass case and pointed to the one he wanted. How in the fuck? The world couldn’t be that small. You tucked your chin down as your cheeks burned. You could only think about the image of him, or really his more intimate parts, and his low moans.

He swiped his card and moved along the counter. You stood frozen, not moving until the person behind you told you it was your turn. You apologized and moved up to the till. You stammered out your order and fumbled with your wallet, keeping your head down as you paid.

You kept your distance as you moved to wait in the corner until your turn at the window was called. You stared at the floor and tried to dissipate into the air as you pondered just leaving without your drink. When your name rang in your ears, you stepped up without look and collided with another.

“Oh, sorry,” the familiar voice made your eyes round, “shoot.”

You winced and pulled your shirt away from your chest as the hot coffee seeped down your front. You shook out the fabric and shook your head.

“It’s fine, I-- I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you dared to look up at him, unsurprised by your luck, “I hope I didn’t, er, spill too much.”

“I’m more worried about burning you,” he said, “you sure you’re alright?”

“Fine,” you repeated curtly and stepped around him, “really.”

You grabbed the paper cup and spilled even more hot liquid onto your fingers in your urgency. When you turned back the man was just ahead of you and he waited as he held the door for you. You ducked your head down as you passed him and thanked him with a mumble.

“No problem,” he said as he dropped the door.

You stepped off the curb and almost tripped. You didn’t look back as you rushed over to your car and searched for your keys in your pockets. You hit the button and quickly opened the door and flopped into the seat, placing your cup in the holder as more foam and espresso spilled from under the lid.

You hung your head back and sighed. You cringed and wanted to scream. You gripped the steering wheel and shook the whole car in your tantrum. As if your life couldn’t get worse. You were just one disaster after the other.

You wiped your hand on your jeans and started the car. Oh well, a forgettable slip-up. You wouldn’t remember it next week and he likely wouldn’t either. He didn’t even know who you were. Didn’t know you were one of the perverts watching him on their screen as they sat in the dark, lonely and desperate.

You pulled out of your spot and steered between the rows as you neared the exit. Fuck, you thought to yourself, you probably paid for that coffee. Ugh, why were you doing this to yourself? Making yourself feel worse and for what? He put himself on the internet, you were just supporting him.

“Just shut up,” you said to your inner voice as you turned out into traffic, “just stop.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #camboy!andy barber #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #two shot #one shot #irl #defending jacob

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mypoisonedvine · 5 years ago

Text

The Summer Before College | Marcus Moreno x reader

summary: just because you got some good scholarships doesn't mean you couldn’t use some extra cash. luckily, babysitting for a family friend has been a steady side gig for you. rule number one of babysitting: don't let your wandering eye rest for too long on the hot single dad.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: smut (dub con elements? but she’s into it lol don’t worry), age gap (he’s 40-something, reader’s 18/19), loss of virginity, pussy spanking (like, once), lots of petnames and ‘good girl’s, not a dark fic but kinda pushing it, not explicitly dad's best friend trope but it has that energy and I've decided that he is in fact friends with the reader's dad

a/n: this has basically nothing to do with the movie. he’s just a hot dad. don’t overthink it.

You knew the walk to the Moreno's by now: down two blocks from your house, take a right at San Vicente, a left on Birch, a few houses down and you're there. With your full backpack weighing on your shoulders it felt longer than usual, but you made it anyways and knocked on the front door.

"It's open!" a voice called from inside, and you turned the knob and swung the door open.

You almost regretted wearing your tiniest jean shorts, from the way Mr. Moreno did a double take when you walked in. But hey, it was the middle of summer and he would never look at you like that— you were just his daughter's babysitter, ever since you were sixteen; he was probably just surprised to see that you were wearing something other than your school uniform. Maybe some part of you wished he would look at you like that…

Missy called your name, tearing you from your thoughts, jumping up when she saw you and beaming as she rushed to give you a hug. "Hey!" you greeted in return.

“Thanks again for doing this,” Mr. Moreno nodded in your general direction, apparently already dressed for whatever it was he had to do, slipping on his jacket from where it hung on a hook by the door. "She's already had dinner, so just homework and bedtime," he explained to you as you nodded dutifully.

"Bedtime? Dad, I'm not a little kid anymore," Missy rolled her eyes.

"Okay, you're a big kid and you need to be asleep by 10. It's a school night."

She huffed but didn't protest, and you joined her on the couch because she wanted to show you some drawings she’d done earlier that day. "Bye, Dad!" Missy waved when he left, and he turned back quickly to blow a kiss in her direction.

Once you helped her finish her homework (frankly, you didn't have to do that much— she's a smart kid), the two of you enjoyed some video games before you finally got her to start getting ready for bed.

It was cute how confident Missy was that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, only for her to be snoring within five minutes of her head hitting the pillow. You were envious of how easily she could sleep; you could kill an hour just tossing and turning and readjusting your blanket. But that wasn’t going to be your problem tonight: you weren’t going to sleep yet, until the man of the house returned, meaning all you had to do was wait.

Even in summer, having already graduated, you had plenty of work to do while you waited for Mr. Moreno. Knowing what classes you had in the fall, you bought your textbooks a bit early and planned on reading them all before the semester began. You’d already gotten through Philosophy Through the Ages and now you continued from where you left off in the middle of Introductory Physics.

What surprised you was that you had time to finish that one, too. You had anticipated that Mr. Moreno would be back before you made it to the module on fluid dynamics, but you reached the index at a quarter past midnight and he was still gone. You shrugged and picked up the next one— A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry— hoping he was alright and that he’d be back soon.

You had to make yourself some coffee when 1 a.m. rolled around; tired, anxious, and distracted, you realized this was probably not the best state to be attempting to study in, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice. You didn’t want to fall asleep here, you’d promised to watch Missy and you couldn’t exactly do that while asleep… plus, he would probably be back any minute now. Sure, you’d been saying that to yourself for nearly an hour and a half now, but it was more true than ever.

It was another hour and a half, though, until his car pulled into the driveway and he pushed through the front door, prompting you to set aside your textbook.

“Good evening,” you greeted, standing up. He looked a little disheveled— but it worked for him, with that curly hair all messed up in just the right way. Maybe it was just that it was late or that it was the rare time you saw him without Missy around, but there was a darkness about him now, not sinister so much as just purely intimidating. It was like you hadn’t really taken him seriously before, and now you were appreciating that you should have.

“She’s asleep?” he assumed, glancing over to the hallway which his daughter’s bedroom was positioned at the end of before slipping his jacket off and hanging it by the door.

“It’s half past two, so… I really hope so,” you chuckled.

“Shit, is it that late already?” he groaned, glancing at his watch.

“Did you not notice?”

“I.. got carried away.”

You didn’t want to know what he’d been out so late for. It was none of your business, and you figured you were better off without any secrets to keep— you’d never been so good at keeping secrets, even your own.

“Been studying this whole time?” he noticed as he glanced at the textbooks on the couch, grinning a little. It sort of felt like he was mocking you, and it made your cheeks warm as you nodded. “What a good girl.”

That made a cold tingle crawl up your spine. Sure, other students had called you that before, and plenty of your teachers, but when he said it, like that… it felt entirely new. “I try,” you managed to respond eventually.

“You’ll do well in college, I bet.”

“You think so?” you beamed.

“Yeah,” he nodded confidently. There was something comforting about the way he smiled at you; yet, there was something predatory about the way his eyes glanced down your body and back up slowly.

As you turned and bent over to pick up your textbooks off the couch, you could tell that he had stepped closer; you could just barely hear the soft noise of his footsteps on his carpet, just barely feel the warmth of him behind you, just barely pick up on the slow, thoughtful breath he took in and out through his nose.

Standing back up slowly, you felt him do it again, right against your neck.

“M-Mr. Moreno,” you stammered, shivering when his hands gripped you on either arm. Not a tight grip, per se, but one that made his strength obvious.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he breathed. “Not when we’re alone.”

Not that you really had any plan on how to respond to that, but if you had, it would've been forgotten as his lips brushed over your neck, leaving teasing kisses in a trail over your pulse.

"Wait—" you blurted out instinctively when his hands moved to your waist, cut off by your own shaky sigh and suppressed moan. “What if she wakes up?” you questioned anxiously, glancing down the hallway and hoping you wouldn’t find Missy there, watching her dad feeling you up— and you letting him, not just that but enjoying it. Of course, the hallway was deserted, but you couldn’t feel certain it would stay that way.

“She won’t,” he assured. “Not if you can be a good girl and stay quiet.”

You made a little whimpering noise as you wondered if you could. You didn’t know how, really; you were good at being quiet when you were alone, but being alone had never felt like this. Forbidden, sexy, terrifyingly wonderful… nothing had ever felt like this.

“Do you want me to stop?” he purred, sounding like he already knew the answer.

“No,” you answered a little too quickly, “please… please don’t stop.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” he grinned. “Tell me what you do want.”

“I want…” you sighed and started over again, willing yourself to speak your thoughts aloud even though they made a pit of guilt sink in your stomach. "I want you to make me feel good."

You knew it was a sort of childish way of putting it, even before he laughed at your statement, but you weren't sure what else to say. "Yeah? I can do that," he decided. "But I can make you feel good in so many ways…" he trailed off as his right hand slipped lower and lower, finally landing between your legs as you gasped. Two fingers slid over the crotch of your shorts, and somehow he managed to bump against something that made electricity shoot up your spine and your hips buck into his touch of their own accord. You felt his smile widen as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin of your neck. "You'll have to be more specific," he finally finished. "How do you want me to make you feel good?"

"Inside me," you whined, "I want you inside me."

There was a sudden shift as it seemed like the control he had over you suddenly did not extend to himself; he growled a bit and pulled you into him, and you could feel the hard shape of his cock, through his trousers and your shorts. You could feel it pressed just above your ass and it made you squirm against his embrace. "Feel what you do to me?" he grunted, and you nodded quickly. "Good."

He spun you around quickly, pulling you close to him and burning right through you with those brown eyes darker than ever, but just as you thought he might kiss you, he spoke instead.

“My bedroom’s upstairs,” he informed you quietly.

You just nodded, following him as he pulled you along through the house, up the stairs and past the door to the master bedroom of the house.

Now that you hadn’t seen it coming, of course, was when he chose to grab you and kiss you suddenly. It was rough and passionate and nothing like you could've imagined; you were certain you'd never been kissed like this, like he needed to kiss you more than he needed anything.

Your arms slipped around his neck as he pushed you back against the wall, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he kicked the door shut behind the two of you. Little moans were muffled by the kiss— and it took you a minute to realize they were yours. You didn’t even sound like yourself; probably because you’d never felt like this before, and therefore had never had any reason to sound like this.

You could feel his cock between your legs, though unfortunately not in the way you wanted. Still, it drove you wild to have him so close like this, to try to imagine how the thick shape you were feeling would ever fit inside you.

His hands were so strong and thick that you worried they’d stretch out your tank top just by reaching under it— well, that is you would have worried about that if you could think about anything else but his hands reaching under your tank top. He didn’t even waste his time touching you over your bra, instead making quick work of the clasps with one hand before coming back to grope one breast in his palm, then the other. Just that was enough to make you run your fingers into his hair, but a little pinch to your raised nipple made your fists tighten and pull— you didn’t mean to, and you were just about to feel bad about it until he growled a little. It seemed like a growl of approval, considering he pinched your nipples harder to make you do it again.

“Feels good?” he asked with annoying (yet arousing) confidence.

“S-so good,” you slurred, stumbling over your words as you tried to think as clearly as possible through the thick haze of pleasure clouding your mind.

As he guided you to set your legs down and unhook your arms from around his neck, you felt a bit like a doll being posed; when he pulled your top over your head and your bra from your arms, you felt like a doll being undressed. You sort of didn’t mind it; you were happy to let him take the lead, confident he knew at least 100% more about this than you did.

He knelt down before you as he roughly pulled at your tight jean shorts, his knuckles nearly bruising your hips as he stripped you. Your underwear were not the pair you would’ve worn if you had known somebody was going to see them, just a plain dark blue color that made you feel so drab as he came face-to-face with them. He didn’t seem to mind much, grinning up at you as he slipped his fingers under them and pulled them down, too. Your face was so hot and yet your legs were breaking out into goosebumps simultaneously, and a shiver rolled up your body when he growled at the sight of your body laid bare for him. Before you could even process it, he stood up and grabbed you, tossing you back onto the bed and spreading your legs.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praised with a smile that made you feel a little light-headed, swirling a few fingers over your swollen button until pulling them back to spank you there— it wasn’t even that hard, but you yelped and jolted and he laughed darkly. “So sensitive,” he purred, his words walking a fine line between a compliment and a taunt, “so wet.”

Another finger slipping down to your entrance proved him right, your arousal plentiful as his touch glided through your folds.

Suddenly overcome with a moment of bravery, you sat up and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, making him smile down at you. “Let me help you,” he offered as he worked the buttons instead, freeing you to try to open his belt. “Look at you, acting so desperate…”

At this point, you weren’t even offended by that; you wanted him so bad that you didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed by it anymore.

He slipped the shirt off of his shoulders just as you finished opening the belt. He pushed your hands away, and now you could see the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you down by your wrists. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, señorita,” he purred.

Why did feeling powerless to him turn you on so much? There was no real fear to it— you knew and trusted him, you would never have developed your misguided crush on him if you didn’t— and yet there was a strong edge of uncertainty as he kissed your neck and moved down your chest, between your breasts before he stopped to kiss those, too.

“Oh god,” you breathed, and he smiled against your skin before sitting up and staring down at you. It wasn’t apparent if it was distant streetlights or the moonlight shining in through the window, but either way it cast a cold blue light into the room that reflected as a glimmer in his eyes.

“Not gonna make you wait any longer,” he promised in a low voice, reaching down to push his unbuttoned belt and trousers to his thighs— those thick, muscular thighs that made your lip catch between your teeth.

Your breath caught, too, but in your lungs this time as his cock was exposed: thick, swollen, veiny… it looked picturesque, if thoroughly intimidating. You couldn’t figure out if you wanted to move towards it or sheepishly crawl away.

"Why do you look scared?" he asked, his voice so much deeper than you remembered it from before, even if there was genuine concern somewhere in his tone.

"Is it gonna hurt?" you asked instead of answering.

"Baby…" he sighed huskily, "are you a virgin?"

You bit your lip and looked away, irritated that you hadn't managed to hide your fear enough to keep your secret.

He sighed, your silence apparently answer enough.

"Do you not want to, anymore?" you asked anxiously, afraid you had completely killed the mood. Part of the reason it'd taken you this long to lose it was specifically because people seemed intimidated by the idea of being your first.

"No, no, I— no," he asserted sternly. "I just need to… change my approach, slightly.”

He leaned down a bit, hovering over you as he trailed his hand up your leg, rubbing the inside of your thigh before finally drawing circles over your aching clit with his thumb, causing you to shiver and moan quietly.

“And, to answer your question, it won’t hurt. Not if I get you good and ready for me,” he explained, pushing just one finger into you— and even that small of a stimulation made your eyes flutter shut, with his fingers being so much thicker and stronger than yours.

The second made your fists clench around the satin-y sheets beneath you. You didn’t dare open your eyes, knowing you’d find him staring down at you and you weren’t ready for that, weren’t ready to see his reaction to your body in such a vulnerable state. You could hear his reaction, though, with the rough groans and satisfied sighs he let out as he pumped his fingers into you.

When three fingers filled you, your eyes shot open. “Fuck!” you yelped.

He smiled but slowed down, apparently taking some pity on you— but not enough to stop him from pressing down harder on your clit.

Just when you figured he’d warmed you up enough and he’d fuck you like he promised, he slid lower and the bed and bent down, adding his tongue into the mix with his fingers. It was… overwhelming, and hot, not just psychologically but literally: it was physically hot, as in temperature. How was his mouth so warm against you, and his fingers so warm inside you?

When he latched his lips around your clit and sucked on it, you saw stars. Energy gathered in your gut and burned so bright that you thought you might explode. Really, it was more like an implosion as the coil inside you snapped and your thighs accidentally clamped down on his hand. It didn’t faze him though, it didn’t even slow him down as he moaned a little against you and curled his fingers even harder. You didn’t remember reaching down to grab his head, you just felt his hair between your fingers as you pulled it roughly, gasping his name.

When he did stop, sitting up and wiping his face with the back of his hand, you just looked back up at him as you caught your breath. He laughed, and you realized you were gawking unintentionally.

“I’m guessing you’ve never come like that before?” he ventured. You didn’t know if ‘like that’ meant from oral or just so suddenly and intensely, but it was true either way so you nodded.

When he reached down to grip his cock with the same hand still wet with your slick, you held your breath without realizing it. “Please put it in me,” you whimpered.

“I will,” he assured as he guided the head of it through your slick folds, stopping to tease your clit as you jolted from the contact on the sensitive nerves. Something surreal and indescribable tingled under your skin— you could hardly believe that this was happening, let alone with him, with Mr. Moreno. Or, Marcus. You were on a first-name basis by now, surely.

He pushed forward in one smooth, slow stroke until he was all the way inside you, his body filling yours to the brim as you quivered from the sensation of being stretched so wide.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked roughly.

“...almost,” you answered hesitantly, unsure how to describe the sensations you were feeling; not exactly pain, but not not pain. The favorite pain you’d ever felt in your life, easily.

He chuckled as he gripped your hips a little tighter. "I'm gonna move now," he announced. You nodded your approval, sighing shakily as he pulled his hips back and you felt the intoxicating friction of his cock against your walls.

"Ffffuck," you whimpered, gasping when he slammed his hips forward again. Your eyes rolled back in your head when he pushed as deep into you as he could with each thrust, still measured but not exactly gentle as he set a pace faster than you’d prepared for. But it was good, god it was so fucking good you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. "Marcus," you sighed, barely recognizing your own voice when it was heavy with need and arousal like this.

He grinned when he heard his name cross your lips, grinding his hips against yours for emphasis until you were forced to arch your back. "You like it rough, don't ya, honey?"

You nodded, confident that you liked it however he was doing it.

"Fuck, I knew it. Knew as soon as I saw you."

Before you could wonder what he meant by that, he was already moving fast enough to make your head spin. You had never had anything so deep inside you before, and when he pushed your legs up and back against your chest, you had no choice but to scream with pleasure.

Just before you reached the peak of it though, his hand clamped down over your mouth to muffle the sound. "Gotta be quiet," he reminded you through his teeth before relaxing his hand a bit so you could still be heard somewhat

"I can't," you whined, "Marcus, please, I can't stay quiet—"

"You have to."

"Feels too good," you whimpered your excuse. "F-fuck, slow down, I won't be able to stop it—"

He cut you off with a kiss, slow yet dominating, and your moans were muffled by his lips. You still sounded so loud in your own head, but at least your cries weren't echoing against the walls of his room anymore.

What was echoing were the sounds of skin slapping on skin as he pounded into you, roughly finding every delicate spot within you and making the backs of your thighs sore as his hips slammed into them. It forced your hands to grip at his muscular shoulders and your nails to dig into the skin there. You hoped there would be little half-moon shaped marks there tomorrow, maybe one would even scar so he'd have your mark on his body forever; after all, he'd carved a permanent space in your body by taking your virginity. Even if you couldn't dream of being as special to him as he was to you, you liked the idea of giving him something that he couldn't give back.

That energy was building again, different from before but no less powerful and persistent. "I'm gonna— fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm so close," you whispered.

“Yeah? Go ahead," he encouraged. "I wanna see you fall apart just for me, wanna feel you come around my cock."

You hadn't realized he'd be able to feel it, and the idea of that was so filthily beautiful that it pushed you over the edge, your whole body tensing up in sudden waves of pleasure so intense that it made your eyes water.

Through the static filling your ears, you heard his low, husky voice encouraging you: "Good girl, just like that, don't fucking stop."

You'd always been powerless to his voice, but this was another level. It was as if your body understood and met his demands, continuing to ride the peak of your sensation so long as he growled in your ear just right.

It was much too tender, the way he brushed the stray hair away from your face, the way he kissed your slack mouth again, the way he held you tighter and mumbled more praises to you. It was more romantic than it had any right to be, and you had to bite back the words of affection threatening to spill out of your mouth.

I love you, you wanted to tell him, I've loved you for years, but it was beyond inappropriate. You didn't want to play the role of the innocent virgin who thinks sex means being in love and lets herself catch feelings for the older man who is just taking what he wants and, at best, doing her a favor so she doesn't have to go off to college and get her cherry popped there. Maybe that was accurate, but that wasn't who you wanted to be.

You wanted to be sexy, and mature, and in control. You wanted to play a new rule, one that still felt foreign and yet closer than ever. So you wrapped your legs around his hips and held him deeper in you, smiling with a little growl of your own.

"I want you to come inside me," you informed him with a purr, loving the little moment of shock that passed over his face before he groaned, fucking you a little faster and more erratically.

"Fuck, really?" he rasped.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and nodded.

"You're on the pill?"

Another nod, this one finished off with a shiver as you wondered how much more of this your body could take.

He grinned and picked up the pace again, his moans getting a little louder with each movement. "Fuck, I'm gonna come— gonna fill up your tight little pussy, is that what you want?"

You nodded feverishly, already close to the edge again as you imagined what it would be like to have his come in you for the rest of the night. Was he going to make you walk home with it leaking out from between your legs? Why did that idea make your inner muscles involuntarily tighten around him?

With a string of curses and a grip on your thigh tight enough to bruise, he reached his own peak and you felt his cock flex and pulse inside you, a new warmth filling your gut from the inside out.

It's hard to say how long the two of you stayed like that, since you were busy basking in the afterglow (and, less enjoyably, worrying about the consequences that tomorrow morning would bring).

When he pulled out and collapsed beside you, you wondered if you should get up and get dressed.

"Stay here tonight," he instructed you, as if somehow a response to your internal thought. "Your folks won't freak out if you're out all night, right?"

"I'll just tell them I slept over at your place," you shrugged. With a confused look from him, you clarified: "on the couch."

"Right," he nodded as he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you closer, letting you rest your head in the crook of his neck. In this way and in so many others, it was how you expected (and hoped) losing your virginity would go: someone you trust and who cares about you, with enough attention on you that you didn't feel much pain, plus cuddling afterwards. But, in even more ways, it was unlike what you'd ever thought possible: it felt incredible and you came so hard that your ears were still kind of ringing, you didn't use a condom or even think to mention it, and finally— and most absurdly— it was with Marcus fucking Moreno.

Frankly, considering his performance earlier, "fucking" very well could be his middle name.

"You should sit for me again next week," he suggested quietly.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

"No," he grinned, "but I'll be sure to come back real late, after she's gone to bed, so I can show you all the other ways I can make you feel good."

"H-how many ways are there?!"

He just laughed, pulling you closer and placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Oh, sweetheart… so smart, but so innocent. We can fix that.”

You weren’t sure entirely which of those two things he intended on fixing.

#marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #pedro pascal x reader

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you.

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh.

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat. And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure." His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know. You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do."

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge. Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine.

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing. You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours.

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant.

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

#yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere #yandere x reader #overhaul x reader #afterwitch writes #uhh I added 2000 words in between last night and now

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rowanaelinn · 4 years ago

Text

Slipped away - chapter one

prompt - single parent @rowaelinscourt

“It’s cold,” Fenrys complained, sitting on Rowan’s new couch.

“We are in the north, you dumbass.” Lorcan snapped. “Of course it’s colder than what you’re used to.”

“Doranelle is in the North too.”

Lorcan took a deep breath, apparently, he wasn’t feeling very patient today. “I don’t know, Fenrys, it might be because we are on a whole other continent, maybe?”

Rowan snorted at his friends, Fenrys was playing dumb just to annoy Lorcan and as always, it worked. They were enjoying their last day of rest before their first day of work tomorrow. It wasn't a new job, not really. The company they worked for had just moved from Doranelle to Orynth, and of course, Rowan and the other employees had to move too.

Rowan knew that with the opening of the new Valg Industries headquarters the next few months would not be smooth sailing, but he believed in himself. Maeve was so confident that she even promoted him. It was a new beginning for Rowan and he was happy about it, his life in Doranelle was the perfect definition of dull. Not that he hated it, he was just glad to be away from his cousins. He didn’t hate them, they were just so… meddlesome.

Rowan walked into his kitchen and opened his fridge, empty. He cursed under his breath. The few bottles of beer he had last night ran out very quickly, they didn’t even have leftovers of the pizza they ordered yesterday. Which was a problem because Rowan was starving and there was no way he would order food for the second night in a row, it had already bothered him to do so yesterday.

He checked his watch, six in the afternoon. He was pretty sure the grocery store didn’t close before seven, he had little time if he wanted to go there. He needed to be quick. “Going shopping, be gone when I come back,” Rowan told his friends as he picked his car key. He needed some time alone but he knew they would probably still be there when he came back, his friends weren’t ones to listen.

He slammed the front door behind him and got into his car. It still smelled new, the leather still a little too stiff under Rowan's body. He had gotten the car yesterday, he had decided that if he was going to change his life, he would do it all the way. Nothing in his life in Doranelle set foot in Terrasen except his friends and his job.

Rowan lived in an upscale residence in downtown Orynth. Between his family's money and the money he was making even before he was promoted, he could afford it. He didn't want to live in the apartments that the company offered to its employees, he needed some peace and quiet.

So Rowan took a house that was too big for him, in a suburb full of family, as if he wasn't almost thirty and wasn't still alone. He had never felt so out of place, but he would get used to it.

He had chosen the opposite of the life he had until then, wanting space. He had left to forget.

When he pulled into the grocery store parking lot, Rowan could have sworn he saw a familiar face. He blinked and it was gone, he shook his head. How could he recognize anyone if he had never been to Terassen? He needed to sleep.

He got out of his car and shivered slightly. Maybe Fenrys was right, it wasn't cold but it was definitely colder than Doranelle at this time of year.

He walked into the store, it was large. Everything in Terassen looked big. The houses, the buildings, the stores... Rowan could get used to it.

He took a basket from the entrance and went straight to the vegetables. The store was almost empty considering the time of day, he could hear a couple of kids laughing in the background but otherwise, everything was quiet. It felt good to be away from the world.

He selected enough vegetables for three days, preferring to shop for short periods rather than a whole week. It made less mess and allowed him to control what he ate. That's one of the things he needed, control.

"Gotcha!" He heard a woman's voice laugh rather loudly.

"Noooo!" A little girl said and Rowan heard her laugh and ran. Gods, children were loud.

A few seconds later, something hit Rowan's legs. He looked down to find a little girl. She was a brunette with blue eyes. She laughed and stood up. "Sorry," she said before running off again to lose whoever was trying to catch her, but it was too late. A tall blonde lady came running up and threw herself on top of the little girl, grabbing her under the arms and throwing her over her shoulder. The little girl screamed with laughter and tried to struggle as the adult spun around. "Stop!" the child screamed but continued to laugh.

Rowan felt like he was intruding but he couldn't stop the tip of his lips from rising slightly. The adult stopped spinning but did not let go of the child, the little one wrapped her arms around the woman's neck and hid her head. "Hey, little monster, did you apologize?" She asked, her eyes still on the little one. Rowan couldn't see her face with the hair hiding it. "Huh?" She shook the little girl slightly but she refused to look at her.

"She did," Rowan said, not wanting the little girl to get into trouble. When the woman looked at him, his heart stopped beating and his whole body froze. It was impossible.

Did the gods hate him that much? What had he done to them for them to punish him like that?

Her eyes widened and he noticed her body going still, her hold around the girl tightening. Her mouth opened and then closed.

As he had been years before, he was struck by the intensity of Aelin Galathynius’s gaze. These blue and gold eyes were mesmerizing, had always been and always will.

His only thought was that she looked older, but since he had last seen her when she was nineteen it wasn’t surprising. She looked like a woman now, and womanhood suited her. She was wearing a white shirt and black skirt, a simple outfit for a working woman, and yet Rowan couldn’t help but stare longer than necessary at her body. If she had been beautiful seven years ago, she was magnificent now.

He wanted to punch himself in the face, so much work to forget about everything that happened, so much work to ignore the guilt and pain just to be ruined by a meeting in a grocery store.

“Rowan,” she breathed.

“Hi, Aelin.”

The little girl looked at him and he noticed everything she had in common with Aelin. Her eyes first, and the same nose and lips. They looked so similar.

Suddenly he was struck by the truth standing in front of him. While it had taken everything in him to try to forget about her, Aelin had moved on. And she had a daughter. Aelin had a life and if the laugh she let out a minute before was any indication, she was happy.

“What are you doing here?” He blurted.

A snort. “What am I doing in a grocery store?”

“In Orynth.”

“This is my hometown.” She said, her voice so tight he couldn’t guess what she might be feeling. It had always been so damn hard to read her. Orynth was her hometown? How come he never knew that? He knew she was from Terassen, her accent betraying her, but didn’t know exactly where. He knew so much about her but at the same time so little. That little truth hurt. “What are you doing here?”

“I moved. For work.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Fuck, that was awkward. “How old is your daughter?” He asked, nodding toward the small girl playing with Aelin’s hair. Aelin looked at her and her expression softened a little.

“Oh, no. She isn’t my…” She took a deep breath. “She’s Aedion and Lysandra’s daughter. I’m just babysitting for the night.” Right, Aedion. That’s why the small girl looks so much like Aelin. “Remember Aedion?”

Of course, he did, last time he saw the man Rowan got his nose broken and a black eye. He wouldn’t forget his old friend so soon. But Rowan didn’t care about that, right now he only cared that Aelin, in fact, didn’t have a daughter. It was easier to breathe suddenly. “Yeah.”

“But she’s four,” Aelin said and he knew it was only so she had something to say. Talking was awkward but the silence was worse.

Before he could say anything else, someone interrupted them by hitting Aelin’s legs, hugging them. This girl was blonde, Ashryver blonde. Gods, how many children did Lysandra and Aedion have?

The youngest paused on the ground and did not waste time before leaving from where she came. Aelin seemed to forget Rowan's entire existence as she knelt down to face the child, though she looked even tenser than a few minutes before.

"Hey, pumpkin, what's going on?" She asked softly, delicately taking the girl's grip to force her to look at her. "Tell me."

"Asper pulled my hair!" The girl cried and Aelin smiled.

"Did you try to tickle his neck?" She asked, making Rowan choke. Aelin didn’t spare him a glance. He wanted to ask her why she wasn’t punishing this Asper for pulling hair but he guessed Aelin would beat him up if he questioned how Aedion chose to raise his children. “You know how sensitive he is.” She smiled at the child. The girl sniffed heavily and Aelin used her sleeve to dry her tears. "Go back over there, I'll be there in two minutes." The child nodded briskly and before she left, she turned her head to Rowan.

His blood ran cold as green eyes fixed on him.

She looked like Aelin on the little one before, of course, but not only that. Did she... No. Lysandra had green eyes too. Rowan could have sworn that Lysandra's eyes were much lighter, but he hadn't seen her in seven years. He was wrong. He had to be wrong.

"Hi!" She said with a big smile. She was missing a tooth in the front, but that didn't take away from her charm.

Rowan swallowed, "Um, Hi." He managed to smile but he couldn't help that she looked too little like Lysandra.

“Are you a grandpa?” The girl asked and Rowan choked. “Only grandpa has grey hair.” She smiled and looked proud of herself. Silver, his damn hair is silver, not grey.

"Go ahead, Helia," Aelin said before Rowan could answer, her voice firm. She pushed the little one toward the alley away from Rowan. Aelin stood up when the little one was gone and his eyes shot to hers.

"It was nice to see you again," she said but he knew she was thinking the exact opposite. Rowan's heart was beating so loudly that Rowan could hear it pounding in his ears.

"Aelin," He called to her, stopping her in her tracks. " Just how... How old is she?"

"Bye, Rowan." Her voice left no room for questions, but he didn't care. He didn't care about what happened in college and now wasn't the time to start.

"Answer me." Not a question and she knew it. He could swear he saw the gold ring in her eyes flutter, a sign he had learned to recognize as anger. Well, let her be angry, he deserved answers.

"Ace, is everything okay?" A man with nearly black hair and sapphire blue eyes asked him. A boy a little taller than Helia was sitting on the man's shoulders and when Rowan saw his green eyes...

He had to be wrong.

"Aelin?" The man asked again as Aelin hadn't looked at him yet, her gaze still on Rowan.

"Yes." She replied with her voice cold. "My friend was just leaving, right?"

The way she said the word "friend" was anything but friendly. Fuck, he wanted to yell at her, he wanted to demand answers now, but he didn't. The two little girls were behind Aelin and the man, watching what was going on.

"Answer my question first."

"Get out." She gritted through her teeth.

"Why do you have your angry voice, Mommy?" The little boy asked and suddenly Aelin's eyes softened and she looked at the boy. She grabbed him by the underarms and took him in her arms.

Mommy.

Her son.

Clearly not the son of the man next to Aelin. He looked about six, maybe even seven.

No. That was impossible. It was only one night. One night he had spent the last seven years regretting...

“Mommy’s not angry.” She smiled as she caressed her son’s hair. Their… No, her son. For all Rowan knew, Aelin only had a thing for men with green eyes. It meant nothing. “But she’s busy right now, go back to the car with uncle Dorian, okay? Then we’ll eat pizza, that’s your favorite, right?” The three kids cheered and Aelin gave her son to the man, Dorian.

“You okay?” He asked, touching Aelin’s shoulder. Rowan didn’t know why but he wanted to slap the man.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in two minutes.” She reassured him and he nodded, letting Aelin’s son on his shoulder as he held the two girls by their hands and walked back to the parking lot. Rowan wanted to stop him, wanted to ask that boy and girl how old they were but they were just kids. He couldn’t scare them. This was between Rowan and Aelin.

“I deserve the truth.”

“You don’t deserve shit. Not after what you did.”

“It was between me and you, not between me and-” He was cut off by her.

“There is nothing between you and them. Do you understand me? Nothing.” Them. So the girl…

He couldn’t take it. She had made it clear already, deep inside he knew the answer to his question but he needed to hear her say it. “Are they mine?” He finally asked and if looks could kill, Rowan would be buried already.

“They are mine.”

Why did she have to be so fucking complicated? He clenched his fists, trying to keep his anger inside him but it was so damn hard. “Am I their father?”

Both of them were breathing heavily and Rowan was glad for the empty store now, not wanting to cause a scene. “No.” Her voice was lethal and Rowan’s mind froze. He didn’t know if it was a good thing or not. But they looked so much like him… “If your question is whether or not you knocked me up, the answer is yes. But you are not a father. Never been and never will be to them.”

They were his. Rowan’s entire world stopped and he wasn’t sure how he kept standing. He was a father, no matter what Aelin said.

“How could you hide this from me? How could you take them away from me?” He was screaming now. He didn’t care about causing a scene anymore, he didn’t care about anything but the two kids in a car outside. “They are my kids!”

“You don’t even know their fucking name!” She was screaming too, cheeks red. Fuck, why did she always had to be the most attractive when she was angry? He hated her so fucking much. “I am the one who’s been raising them alone for almost seven fucking years!” She didn’t look alone, not with that Dorian by her side.

Suddenly, he knew Aedion didn’t punch him for what he and Aelin shared the last night he saw her. He had punched him for getting his cousin pregnant. He knew Aelin hadn’t been honest about what happened between them after the sex or he would have been dead by now, so now he was sure it was because of the kids. He had deserved it, deserved more than the five punches Aedion managed to give Rowan before Fenrys and Lorcan separated them.

“I will die before I let you treat my children like you treated me. Get out of Terassen, nobody wants you here.”

She left storming out of the store without her groceries and Rowan was frozen. He knew he should go back after her and apologize, he should beg her for a chance to know his kids but he couldn’t move.

He had children, twins. And Aelin had been raising them alone because of him, because of what happened.

He was so fucking screwed.

He didn’t care about what Aelin told him, he wouldn’t go anywhere. It was too late to save what could have happened between him and Aelin, it had been too late since the night she left his apartment in tears. But it wasn’t too late for his children and he would fight for them.

————

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @surielandiareendgame // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy // @hellasblessed

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #slipped away

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bonky-n-steeb · 4 years ago

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𝐵𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴

𝘿𝘼𝙍𝙆!𝘽𝙐𝘾𝙆𝙔 𝘽𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 | 𝙈𝙊𝘽!𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: Your life is as good as it gets. The perfect husband, the perfect daughter, the perfect job. But what you are unaware is that your husband is a deadly assassin and your long-lost friend, now a fearsome mob boss is hell bent on getting you back. But what you don’t know can't hurt you, right?

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: psychological disorder, PTSD, domestic abuse, yandere, obsession, violence, cursing. If you find any of this triggering please DNI. Also inform me if I left something out.

ᴛʜɪs ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, sᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ

My previous account was deleted so I’ll be posting the stories again. I’ll be changing this one, so yeah.

Inform me if y’all wanna be tagged!

As the Winter Soldier entered the house, his instincts kicked in. The house was too quiet for his liking. He kept the bags on the sofa and started climbing up the stairs towards your bedroom. Oh, how much he loved you. You had never left his side, not when he lost his arm, not when the guilt became too much to live with and he cried his eyes out near you while you said sweet nothings into his ears. He wanted to keep you by side always, he wasn’t ever letting you go. Soon he was going to ask you to leave your job and stay at home looking after him and Iris.

He couldn’t stand to see the tired look in your eyes, how you managed everything, your job, your kid, the house and most importantly him. In the beginning he was afraid you wouldn’t love him, that you would only love Bucky, but you loved him just as much; though you were unaware that he existed in Bucky. Bucky was an idiot to let you roam free and be away from him, especially when the world is filled with cruel people. He was a fool to let you be friends with Thor or any man in general. You were only his and Bucky’s. He was Bucky only, but he was much stronger and capable than Bucky. He was the one who would protect you, not Bucky. The Soldat loved you much more than Bucky ever could.

As he opened the door, he noticed you were in the bathroom. As he entered inside, for a second even he was shocked. You were sitting with your legs folded and staring wide eyed at his computer. He noticed you were watching his files and videos and you were so dumbstruck that you didn’t even notice him standing at the door.

But seeing you watch him do the deed sent a weird wave of pride through him. He wasn’t ever going to tell you any of this, after all it was highly confidential and your life could have been jeopardized. But seeing you now, watching his skilled work with awe, made his chest swell with pride. He deserved to get his work appreciated by his wife; after all, he had put sweat and blood in it, and you weren't even aware, but not anymore. What he failed to notice was that it wasn’t awe on your face, it was unadulterated fear.

He could clearly see as your eyes filled with tears and you pressed a hand on your face. He knew you were scared, but he would tell you not to be. For you, there was nothing to be afraid of him. As you started to puke, he went and held your hair in one hand while with the other he quietly shushed you. The last thing he wanted was to see you suffer. He wanted to protect you, keep you safe from the world, not hurt you.

After you emptied your stomach, you slouched besides the toilet and huffed loudly. The tears from your eyes weren't stopping. “Peeking in other people’s stuff ain’t a good habit, doll.” he said calmly as he folded his hands while leaning against the door frame.

Your eyes widened when you realized that it was Bucky shushing you all this while. But why would he do that, now that you had found his secret. Maybe he was being merciful before killing you. Wait, he was going to kill you!!! You had seen top secret information and there was no going back. You averted your gaze from him as you stared at the laptop. Another video of Bucky’s murders running on it.

You couldn't exactly make out what the video was as your eyes were filled with unshed tears. “He had a big ass fence and four huge dogs guarding the house. But well, all dogs can be lured by treats.” he said shrugging as if he was talking about your neighbors' dogs and not of the person he had killed. And you realized he regretted nothing; he was talking about murdering people with pride rather than guilt.

“Make it quick.” your voice was barely audible as pathetic sobs escaped your eyes. The Winter Soldier titled his head in confusion, “And what made you think that I’m going to kill you?” you looked up at him with even more fear. “I wasn’t supposed to see all this. And I’ve seen enough movies and read enough books to know what happens when you see stuff you aren't supposed to.” you shivered violently at the thought.

The Soldier chuckled dryly “You are right, if they know that you’ve seen all this, then they wouldn’t bat an eyelid in executing you. But... who is going to tell them? Not me for sure. I just need one promise, you aren't ever going to tell this to anyone, no matter what, no matter whose life is at stake. You are going to pretend you never saw any of this. Delete all this from your brain right now!” he ordered.

His commanding voice sent shivers down your spine, “I promise, I promise not to tell anyone....... I'm sorry, please.” you had no idea for what you were apologizing or pleading for. “It's okay.” he said with a faint smile as he picked you up gently and you wondered whether it was the same man capable of killing people in the blink of an eye. As you quietly sat on the bed, you dared not look at him; he on the other hand was lovingly staring at you.

You wanted to tell him to give up this job and start anew, but you knew this wasn't the right timing. “Don't worry, I’ll keep you safe. You don’t have to do anything. Just sign your resignation and I'll turn it in. You'll be safe in this house. You don't even have to ever leave it. The hospital doesn’t even pay you enough for your handwork.”

You looked at Bucky with shock and betrayal, you absolutely adored your work. You wouldn’t ever give up being a surgeon and saving lives. You had spent years trying to reach where you were today, and you loved doing what you did. How could Bucky ever say something like that. He was always so supportive but well, he wasn’t the same Bucky he once was.

“You wouldn’t ever meet any other man. Doll, you don't know how this world is, there are lunatics, murderers and all kinds of bad people. But I’ve vowed to keep you safe and I will. Just don’t, just don’t stop loving me.”

“You are joking right? You don’t mean that... do you?” You asked unsure of his words. “Why would I joke about this?” Your heart beat so loudly that you knew he heard it. To keep you inside your house like a prisoner, had he lost his mind? You enjoyed your freedom more than anything. And at that exact moment you realized that Bucky had utterly and completely lost his sanity.

“You can’t do that! I love my job and I’m not resigning anytime soon. I have friends for Christ’s sake. I have a goddamn life James! What the hell do you mean I won’t see any other men?” You lost your cool. Enough was enough. He couldn’t control your life; you wouldn’t let him.

You took a deep breath; you didn’t want him to misinterpret your next words and ignore you. “James, I believe it should be the other way around. I think it’s time you drop being a hit man. It’s not safe...” at your words he tilted his head and squinted his eyes. But still you continued, “It’s clearly dangerous. The things you’re doing, they could jeopardize all our lives, you, me, Iris. And the way you kill...” you cleared your throat and shook your head.

“It’s not safe for your mental health too. Look Buck, you think I don’t know, but I know you secretly cry at night. You feel guilty, so just stop now. We’ll work it through before it’s too late.” You said while rubbing his arm.

“Think about Rissie, she misses her dad so much when you are gone. Maybe take a job where you won’t have to leave and you can be with her so much more. Also... the lives that you’ve... umm.... they are taking a toll on you. You are not present with us anymore Buck, you stare off and don’t give a shit as to what we say. And it’s not just me that notices. You get irritated so quickly, it’s difficult Bucky. But it can all change if you want, Buck.”

Soldat’s talented ears ignored every word you said and only paid attention to the fact that you care about him so much. He doubted that you would get hysterical knowing what he did, but instead you were worried for him. You were ready to forgive him. He was the luckiest bastard.

You saw his love-struck expression and you knew he wants listening to you. “Bucky...!!??? Listen to what I’m saying! Leave that goddamn job!” You lost your cool and yelled at him.

“Do you know why I took that job? They gave me a chance! They gave me my arm back. I would’ve hated being a burden to you and now look, I’m capable to taking care of you. You don’t understand, I can’t leave that job. They gave birth to me.” Your heart ached at his words.

“Bucky, nothing matters if I’m gonna lose you...!!! You are all that matters. And working for Hydra hasn’t fixed you; it had broken you even more. I miss my Bucky. Please, ple....”

At your words, the Winter Soldier snapped his head towards you, “What did you say? Huh, you miss who?” You narrowed your eyes and you couldn’t quite get the meaning of his words. “What? I said I missed Buck, you were so sweet not controlling, I just...” you stopped talking seeing the deadly expression on his face.

“That idiot Bucky is not going to save you! It’s me! I’m the one who will keep you safe. I love you so much more than Bucky ever has. Don’t you understand. Bucky is weak and he is not coming back.” You winced at his cruel words.

“James, you are the Soldat right now? You.... you need help.” You stuttered. At your words Soldat lost his cool, couldn’t you understand and accept his love for you. He raised his flesh arm and slapped you across the face. What was in Bucky that wasn’t in him. He was right, you only loved him as you thought it was Bucky; you didn’t love the Soldat. But he was Bucky, too right?

“Bucky!!!” You held your stinging cheek. You might have tolerated his words but how dare he hit you? You weren’t the one going to sit back and take his shit. In the heat of the moment, you slapped him back. “How dare you?” you screamed at him. He just closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he knew he had messed up big time. The Soldat was scared of one thing: your anger and resentment in him. He hated when he upset you.

“James enough is enough. I’ve had too much of your shit! All I try to do is support you and care for you. I literally handle this house, a job, I look after Rissie, and I take care of you like you are a child. Not once have I ever complaint.

James, I love you so much, but it’s so taxing! Love is not supposed hurt; it’s not supposed to be one sided. I try everything I can to help you. But you? You just don’t care! All you do is come up with stupider excuses. Keeping me home? Making me leave my job? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shook your head and pinched your nose.

“Look James, I can’t do this anymore. I think we should take a break. We both need to breathe. We need to take a look at things from a different perspective....” before you could continue, he snapped.

On moment you were trying to talk some sense into him and the next you were pinned to the wall with his metal arm squeezing the life out of you. Your eyes widened and you desperately tried to breathe, but he had blocked your windpipe. “Jame...” you couldn’t even continue your sentence.

The Soldat was furious. How could you? How could you suggest that he leave you? You didn’t need a break, you needed him. Only him. And he was going to prove it to you. He wouldn’t let you leave. You started banging your hands on his arm but it was of no use. His eyes were dead, like in the videos. And that scared you more.

Finally, your arms gave out and you were on the verge of passing out. Yet that didn’t stop him, he was a madman with a point to prove. But then a small blood vessel burst open in your left cheek. And when Bucky noticed that, he came back to his senses.

He quickly left his grip and ran back, bumping into the bed. You sagged back down the wall, wheezing. For minutes or for hours you couldn’t tell, you both didn’t dare move. You were shivering and sobbing. And he was contemplating everything, how could he?

He wasn’t the Winter Soldier right now, he was Bucky. Why did the Soldat had to ruin everything? He was fine till it was limited to killing, but ruining his marriage. What could he ever possibly do to make up to you?

Bucky was the first one to speak up, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I... that wasn’t me; or maybe that was. I don’t know. I’m so confused. You were right, I shouldn’t have joined Hydra. I... I don’t know what to say, what to do.... ,,.... please say something, don’t stay quiet. Please.!” He pleaded with tears in his eyes.

“Tell me, tell me what shall I say so that you wouldn’t snap.” Your voice was hoarse and it was hurting to even say one sentence. “You are right, we should give each other space.” His heart broke to million pieces, but he knew it was right. The Soldat could come back any moment and he was too unstable to stay with you and Rissie.

“I’ll... uhmm.. I’ll leave. I can come here for an hour everyday till...” he suggested. “Please, please don’t. You are too scary. Think about Iris. Just go to Rachel, you’ve denied it for too long and look at us. If she says you are stable enough, come back anytime. But... not before.” Rachel was your friend and an excellent psychiatrist. “Oh, okay. Forgive me please. I’m sorry...”

“Leave please!” You quietly observed as he picked up his duffel bag, which was packed all the time for emergency, and left the room. You got up and followed him, all while thinking of the beautiful moments you shared with Bucky. “Goodbye.” He said and you nodded as he left the house in his car.

“Umm, are you okay? I was worried, I don’t mean to pry. I just heard some commotion.” Sam said as he entered your front yard. Sam was neighbor and a dear friend. He had moved in soon after you had. But you had known each other much before that. He used to frequently visit your hospital with one reason or another. You guessed he had a thing for one of the nurses but he never agreed. He was a light hearted person and you enjoyed his company.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I appreciate your concern.” you tried your best to smile. His eyes quickly went to the bruises on your neck. “You don’t have to be formal, tell me. We are friends. Are you fine? Do you need something.” You couldn’t stop your tears at his concern.

“I’m not fine, but I don’t want to talk about it right now.” You said wiping the tears off. “If you need me, anytime, I’m just one call away.” He gave you a warm smile. “Thanks Sam. I’m so glad you are my friend.”

“You are hell bent on giving me diabetes with your sweet words, lady. Take care of yourself. I’ll be right next door.” He said as he saw you walk into the house.

He quickly exited your house and removed his phone from his pajama. He had to make a call.

☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎

You were in your own thoughts. Bucky hadn’t once called you or showed up in the past six days. You had expected him to come back the next day or at least call.

As you walked back home from the hospital, you didn’t notice the huge Greek god of a man walk straight into you. “I’m sorry.” You said out of instinct without looking up.

You stopped right in your tracts when you heard a familiar yet much affirmative voice calling your name. You turned around and stared right into his eyes. He had changed, become much much bigger and stronger than before. But his eyes, they were the same.

“Steve?!” you asked with sudden excitement. He gave you a radiant smile which instantly improved your day.

Lost in the joy of meeting your long-lost friend, you were both unaware of the pair of eyes keenly observing your every move.

#chris evans #sebastian stan #mcu #marvel #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky #mob!steve x reader #mob!steve #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes

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cheekygreenty · 4 years ago

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His Queen - The Darkling x Reader

bitch, I think I outdid myself on this one. I'm shocked I wrote this

He hated the Tsar. He hated himself, but he didn't hate you. How could he of let this happen, he's never been a slave to his emotions. You were married, no, scratch that, you were the Queen for Saint's Sake. The Tsar had made it common knowledge that you didn't belong anywhere but the Grand Palace, in a glittering gown and a jeweled crown upon your always perfect hair sitting in front of a fire sipping on your tea. He wanted you nowhere near the action or actual Palace life. You were merely an accessory to him.

The young and innocent girl raised in nobility, who caught the old bastard's eye by fluttering your eyelashes at him, longing for his person.

Bullshit.

Aleksander could see your repulsion whenever you were in your husband's presence. The longing eyes as you looked at the doors, the shiver that rattled your spine as his sweaty hand gripped yours, or the increasing sadness in your eyes as the months went on. The jewels around your neck glistened, but your eyes didn't. Not anymore.

He had done some digging in the months following the wedding, and rest assured you didn't belong anywhere near the palace. You were scrappy, ready for a fight at all times. There were numerous accounts of you running around villages, fighting your way through pubs and inns. Your parents, the Duke and Duchess, were downright ashamed of you before your big day. You were itching to drop everything and join the First Army the second you had the chance. You were skilled in ways no noble was; you had street smarts.

Then the late Queen died and you were presented on a silver platter to the King, donning all the family jewels that never sit quite right. The King couldn't help himself, the public blamed the grief for his hasty marriage, 'he needed a companion.' But in reality, he saw what he could have and grasped you up the second he had the chance. And now you were stuck here, in a cage with no way out.

Aleksander didn't take a liking to you at the start. All he saw was what the King wanted him to see and for that, he feels tremendous guilt. He thought you to be proper and uptight and spoiled, so when you approached him the first time, franticly asking for advice about a simple state matter that was dropped into your lap by the General himself, he couldn't help but snigger at you and convey news of the stupid Queen to his fellow Grisha.

He didn't know the King treated you like a child or that all of this was new to you. I should've seen it he cursed himself, for the weeks to follow you were the talk of both the Palaces and news spread to camps on the front.

The stupid, young, ditsy girl who couldn't put together a luncheon for Ravka's war heroes was the Queen. Ridiculous.

He believed it too until he had seen you out one night when he couldn't sleep. You were deep in the forest, tending to your black stallion and in what looked like peasant clothing. You had mud on your boots and your hair was messily braided. There was a tatted punching bad tied up on a tree and another person sitting against a log, breathing heavily and clutching his side. Aleksander never made himself known, just blended into the darkness as he did best but continued to watch you eagerly. Only then did he faintly make out your bruised knuckles and the tears in your breeches.

'Again?'

'Saints Y/N no, I've got a way to go and the way you just bruised my ribs, I've a painful journey ahead of me' mused the sitting man.

That night, Aleksander sent out his best Grisha to collect information and asked Genya to tend to you, but you denied yet again (only after asking her to fix up your hands).

Ever since then, Aleksander has been observing you and getting to know you when he could, telling his Grisha it was to gather information since Genya was no longer garnering the Queen's secrets, but he felt drawn to you for whatever reason. You were the best part of his day; whether it was a simple smile sent his way or you rambling about the ways you avoid being followed around the palace, he listened intently and set the shared memories into his brain.

The General was a mystery to you. With his extremely handsome face and confident stances, he mesmerized you to the point of a blank mind. Whenever your eyes met his, it could be in a room of 60 people, rest assured you were right by his side in an instant. You had sought out his presence wherever you went and clung to it while you could.

But the King had made his opinion of the Darkling obvious, and his hatred ran deep. 'He likes to think he rides a horse above everyone else.' 'He's most unnatural.' You didn't care though. As long as he kept himself away from you and just used his words and not actions, you were fine.

You had gathered a particular kindness for late evening walks before bed, silently slipping onto the grounds of his palace, awaiting his companionship. It might have only been 40 minutes out of your day, but it was always better than not seeing him.

Ivan had pointed out that you had an air of hostility around you every time you were in a room with your husband and your heart tended to beat dangerously fast as if you were panicking. So Aleksander attempted to pull you away from him and distract you from the horrid man, and it seemed to work. He grew to like you and would miss your witty humor when he went back to the Little Palace.

Months had passed and he never grew sick of your presence, ironically he craved more of it. He tried to tell himself that you were just a part of his plan, nothing more, but things got even more complicated. He had accidentally mentioned seeing you that night in the forest, and instead of being hostile about it, you told him you enjoyed a fight or two and invited him to join you. That night, after multiple rounds of sparring and hard hits, he kissed you fervently. And again and again, until you both got past the point of going back.

You acknowledged the risk only after it happened and started to panic. You had an affair with the General of the Second Army. He seemed to be in the same state as you. But before you went your separate ways, he held you in his arms and promised it would all be ok. You believed him.

He got back to his chambers that night and his demeanor changed behind the closed doors. He was so mad. He always swore to take what the King loved most and destroy it before his very eyes, but this was a sick joke the Saints played on him. He needed to protect you, get you out of the Tsar's grip, and hide you away from any harm. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep you out of danger's way and he knew it. Why did he let this happen? He knew that whatever your ending may be, you would get hurt, maybe not physically, but definitely emotionally.

You had told him of all the things the King did to you, how he treated you and paraded you around. You begged Aleksander to do something about it, to help you get out of that life and back to your old one, but there was nothing he could do and it broke his heart.

'I wish I could do something Y/N, I truly do, but I am not as powerful as you may think I am. The King is still the King' he had told you, guilt building in him.

He was sitting at his desk in his chambers now, looking out the window feeling fidgety. You were late for your evening walk, like really late. Sure it happened before, but Aleksander had a weird gut feeling that something happened. Maybe the King found out? or maybe you finally realized the magnitude of the situation and came to your senses?

He knew if the King whiffed out a sliver of what was going on with his wife and Aleksander, he would rain hellfire. He was a powerful man, the most powerful man in all of Ravka and there was nothing more dangerous than an embarrassed man's actions.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise he hadn't heard in a very long time, followed by the very loud thuds of falling books. The tunnel?

'ALEKSANDER?' your panicked voice reached him and triggered something primal in him. fight or flight. He and his shadows shot up and ran to you but stopped dead in his tracks, the black matter disappearing in on itself. You stood at the entrance to the tunnel, visibly shaking with anger, but that's wasn't the cause of his shock.

'Saints Y/N' He whispered, realization flooding over him like a nasty wave of ice-cold water. Your once ivory white nightgown was drenched in crimson but you were uninjured, it wasn't yours. The huge green Lanstov emerald sitting atop your left hand was smeared in red too, giving it a brown tinge.

'I need to get out of here right now.' You sounded solid and stern, the panic was long gone. The scrappy fighter was back.

Aleksander had always known what to say. But now, he didn't have a single word come to his mind and his body refused to move, he was rendered speechless and useless. This is a nightmare, surely, he prayed.

'Y/N I-I, What happ-'

'Aleksander, unless you want to see my head on a pike by dawn, I suggest you help me' You said as you moved across the room, after closing the tunnel door firmly shut. How does she even know about these tunnels?

'I once heard a drunkard speak of tunnels beneath the palaces, I tried my luck' You said answering his question without even being asked,

Your hands moved quick, shedding yourself of the nightgown and holding it in your hands as you moved to grab his black robe off a chair. Aleksander still stood there, his head whirling with so many thoughts, it debilitated him. He needed her to say it.

'Y/N did you do what I think you did'

'You know I did'

At that moment the doors burst open to reveal Ivan with an alarmed look on his face and his hands raised, ready to jump into action, most likely alerted by the falling books. But he faltered when he saw you, The Queen, covered in blood and holding a bloody nightgown in the most secure room of the Little Palace.

'Great another witness' You huffed and dumped the gown into the fireplace.

'Moi soverenyi, what is the meaning of this?'

'Ivan I wish I could tell you.'

'I killed the King. I have approximately 3 hours before somebody notices him laying in his own blood with his neck slit open' You sighed and sat down, head in your hands. This was the first moment you'd had to process it all, and it was overwhelming, to say the least.

A silence enveloped the room as the fire roared back to life, already having burnt the evidence to a crisp. Aleksander finally came to his senses, moved and grabbed a bowl of water and a cloth.

'Did anybody see you leave?' He asked as he handed you the items to wash your hands of the sticky blood.

'No. I made sure of it. I traveled through the tunnels.'

'And the King? There is no weapon near him?' Ivan interrupted.

Slowly you bent down and pulled a small dagger out of your shoe. Small but sharp.

'Give that to me' Aleksander took it out of your hands and walked out of the room while you continued to scrub the crimson off your hands.

You momentarily looked at Ivan, he didn't look mad or upset. He looked like a soldier.

'Are you not mad your King is dead?' You mused.

'He was not my King'

'That makes two of us' You were done cleaning your hands and moved to clean the ring. Should I burn this too?

'Leave it on. If things go sideways, you can buy your freedom' Aleksander returned. 'Ivan go get 2 horses and pack essentials. Get Genya too. I trust you to keep quiet.'

'Yes Moi soverenyi, Moya tsaritsa' He bowed his head quickly and waltzed out the room.

'Aleksander I'm scared now.....what have I done' You whispered. He took hold of your hand and pulled you into him. He held you tight, not wanting to let go.

'It's going to be ok. I promise. There's a small cottage down south I want you to go to. Ivan will take you. You will be safe. I will right this. I will protect you as I should've done earlier.' He kissed you deeply, letting all of the emotions flow through without the need for words.

'And what then?' You whispered against his lips.

'You be you. Perhaps go to Ketterdam. I feel you belong there... or come back to me when the time is right' He kissed you again, it was sweet and sad. A goodbye kiss. 'I love you, and even though you don't like it, you are my Queen. Forever'

'I love you too' Your hands fisted at his beautiful black kefta as tears dripped off your face.

****

That night you fled, your hair and appearance completely changed. The peasant clothes you felt comfortable in were on your back while the heartrenderer galloped beside you. Os Alta was still asleep as you sped down south, praying to the Saints that leaving Aleksander to deal with your mess was the right decision. That he would be ok too.

Ravka was shaken by the news of their dead King and the missing Queen. Some say she was dead, kidnapped by Fjerdans, and slaughtered mercilessly, others said Kerch merchants had her thrown in the Fold as she refused to give up information.

Either way, Aleksander had made sure you weren't regarded as a murderer and kept his promise to give you a chance to return to the Little Palace, to him.

Also if u can see this fic plz interact with it!! Idk if my tumblr is fixed yet and I need to make sure!!! If u were tagged and it didn’t notify you like last time, plz tell me!!!! 💓💓

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx

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mailboxmerchant · 4 years ago

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winning!Ranmaru Kageyama x Reader: What Have You Done?!

a/n: i just finished the most recent installment in yttd andn holy fuck,,,,,,winner! ranmaru just. holy shit! i love him so much. (also i guess you sort of take saras place? like shes there but youre ranmarus buddy instead and uhh hc that she got joe’s doll for a partner because i love thme) hgnghgh)\

also please leave requests!!! please!!!! for almost any character from almst any fandom!!!!!! please!!!!!!

also this is....a long one. probably gonna be a two parter! <3

“I’ll hold him back, just go! Reko...she....she’s-”

Watching with the others in the classroom as Kurumada held Ranmaru to the ground by his head, you looked down at Ranmaru’s pleading expression.

Before you could reach for him though, you were quickly ushered out by your panicked friends and allies.

Ranmaru....what did you...

◤...three hours prior to this...◢

“Keiji! I’m here! Please come out, everyone is so worried!”

“y/n....”

“Are you...there Keiji?”

A hand that clamped around your shoulder sent you into shock as you sprawled forward to the ground. “Waugh!!! Wh-who!?!?” You whipped yourself around to face a concerned looking Ranmaru.

“Heya y/n.” He said with a smirk and a wave. “Gah! Ranmaru, you scared me...!”

“Clearly.” He smiled as he offered a hand out to you. You gave him a pleased smile as you took his hand. “So....Keiji was a no-show, huh?”

“I mean, Sara was too worried to go alone so I offered to go in her place...but it looks like we should have followed Keiji’s instructions, huh?” You laughed dejectedly, as the missing friendly policeman’s absence was beginning to create a deep worry in the back of your mind.

The expression on your face seemed to clearly resemble your disappointment of not finding him, as a pair of fingers snapped out in front of you.

“Heeey? Earth to y/n, I asked you a question. You alright?”

You gave a curt, polite nod. “Sorry, yeah, what did you say again?”

Ranmaru sighed as he patted your back, “Man, you’re a mess today, eh? I asked....ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵃᵛᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵗᵒ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴹᵃᵖˡᵉ ˢᵃᶦᵈ....” The last part was quietly spoken, but you heard what he said, and you knew what he meant.

“What!? You mean about what she about....winning?” Ranmaru’s uneasy expression meant that was exactly what he was talking about.

“We can’t! E-everyone has been...working so hard together, and with you all as our new allies-” “They’re not all your allies. We were made to get rid of you humans, but Maple told me something the rest of them don’t know. Why won’t you let me act on it?! I can save us, save you!”

“That’s enough! I can’t...hear you say that. Not you, Ranmaru, please.”

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, y/n, I swore I’d protect you. Reko, Sara, Keiji, everyone! I’ll kill them, and I’ll get you out of this horrible game!”

As if the idea of winning crossing Ranmaru’s mind at all hadn’t hurt enough to hear about, here was your partner for this entire floor’s length of horrors telling you he’d kill all your allies to save the both of you.

Ranmaru wasn’t wrong. You were tired. You wanted to go home. You missed your friends, and your regular old life. You adored Ranmaru, and even without knowing what to do after this could end, you wanted to have him by your side.

What am I thinking?!

“Ranmaru! I don’t want you to protect me. I want us to all escape together, and I could never ask you to betray our allies!”

Something about the way you delivered that line stuck with Ranmaru though. You couldn’t ask him? Then you didn’t have to. He’d help you, and he’d take all the responsibility too. All the guilt, the hardships, the terror? He could handle it...if it was for you. You and him were going to win, and you were going to live. And after all his efforts, maybe, just maybe, you could be his.

And with the seeds sown, Ranmaru’s mind began racing with ways to get every single human and doll eliminated before they could realize what was going on.

And that would begin with the lovely, unknowing Ms. Reko.

◤...present time...◢

“Oh...no....” Sara uttered, her breath entirely taken away from the sight before us.

The magnetic trap mechanism in the locker room had been activated while Reko was in it. “Reko, please, no...holy shit...” Q-taro mourned. Her grotesquely snapped neck was just barely holding her entirely hanging body to the ceiling by her collar.

Everyone was whispering their words of loss and grief. You couldn’t speak though. You instantly made the connection between Kuramada tackling Ranmaru and what he had said about getting here quickly. This was preventable. And actually....

This was your fault.

Ranmaru wanted you to win, and he wanted you to take him with you. You didn’t chastise him enough to stop this, and now Reko’s blood and tears were on your hands.

The quiet stip-step of shoes tapping on the concrete floor sprung you from your remorseful daze. “y-y/n...I swear...I didn’t-”

A louder, heavier pair of feet could be heard hitting the solid ground harshly.

“Bastard! You’ll pay for what you’ve done!! My trust, their trust, you’ve ruined everything!” Kurumada went in for a swing as Ranmaru barely dodged him, bumping his backside into your front.

“NO! It wasn’t me! I wasn’t even anywhere near this room, I was with y/n!”

“That was a whole goddamn hour ago, you lying piece a’ shit! You woulda been in the control room well after that!”

“Why would I kill Reko?! I had no motive to kill the humans, our tasks were erased and our connections were cut! I would never-”

“Bullshit. No motive? What was all that crap about winning for, then?”

Ranmaru fell silent.

“You...you thought I was dead. And you thought you could leave the transceiver on and cheer yourself on for winning the game, huh?!”

Ranmaru’s silence persisted, your stomach dropping further than you thought possible.

He took a slow inhale...

“Yeah. I did think you were dead, but now I see you’re just as big of an obstacle as ever. All you damn dolls. I’ll get rid of you all, and y/n and I are gonna win.”

“Ranmaru...”

“I didn’t think I’d get caught on the first try, I mean geez! I really hoped it’d be easier than this, that I could be stealthy, but apparently not...”

It was like his entire demeanor changed. His usual hesitance to speak, his more crouched and small frame, and his kind meekness were all completely stripped away, replaced by this malicious, devious darkness that seemed to emanate off his body.

“Well, well! Somethin’ fun’s happening in here, amirite?!”

“M-Midori!?” You cried out as his arm creepily slung around your shoulder. You backed away as Ranmaru stayed staring him down. “Ohh, what perfect timing. Midori...I have a deal for you, something to keep this game interesting.” Ranmaru sounded like a perfect copy of Midori, it was beginning to frighten you. Reko’s body still left all the survivors in shock, no one but the three dolls who were as lively as ever being able to speak.

“ ᴿᵃⁿᵐᵃʳᵘ...ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ, ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ...“ You finally uttered.

“What might this deal be, my pathetic doll?” Scoffing at his comment, Ranmaru pleads with him, “If you could just please...kill the dolls. Leave me as the sole doll and I swear I’ll give you a show you’ll never forget.” You weren’t sure what made you sicker, the grin that was spread across both Ranmaru’s and Midori’s faces, or the dark tone Ranmaru suddenly took, his genuineness shining through. He would kill every survivor. You might really win, and you still didn’t know what to think about it.

The tension in the room was so thick you could slice through it with a knife. Everyone's eyes were trained on you, Ranmaru, and Midori. You felt sick, the energy of the room suffocating you slowly.

"I think I could do something like that."

As if it couldn't drop any lower, your organs practically just disappeared from inside you. "H-hey, you're not...serious, are ya?" Q-taro finally spoke up, the first of the survivors to actually something.

"Why wouldn't I be? This deal is of great benefit to me....and y/n it seems." Midori's tucked in smile sent shivers down your spine as he stared at you with his widened eyes.

"First though...the banquet has to happen."

The reminder brought the most sincere relief you'd ever felt in your life. You still had time to convince Ranmaru not to go through with his ridiculous sabotage plan.

The room calmed as everyone slowly and hesitantly made their way back to the graveyard. How was anyone supposed to work together after something like that...?

◤...to be continued (eventually)...◢

I HAD TO END THIS BECAUSE I WAS SLOWLY FORGETTING WHERE I WAS GOING WITh thIS SO ILL START WITH THE BANQUET IN THE NEXT PART TY FOR READING PLEASE REQUESTS MWAH ILY BYE BYE<3

#ranmaru kageyama #ranmaru #ranmaru yttd #ranmaru kageyama yttd #ranmaru x reader #ranmaru kageyama x reader #yttd x reader #x reader #yttd #ranmaru x reader yttd #yttd ranmaru x reader #kageyama ranmaru x reader #your turn to die #your turn to die fanfic #your turn to die ranmaru #ranmaru your turn to die

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wiypt-writes · 5 years ago

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide.

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone.

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink.

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood.

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you.

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places.

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything.

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall.

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne.

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination.

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby.

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his.

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes. With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet.

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system.

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did.

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even,

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end.

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

#murder he wrote #j's haunted house 2020 #dark ransom #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans characters

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

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Bullets and Bubble Baths | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies here's the first drabble for my Dinner at Dizzy's event!! Thank you all so much for your requests!! Enjoy!

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Angst

Entres (Pairing): Tony x F!Reader (Third Person)

Sides (Prompts): 11: “Oh my god, that was really violent.”, 23: “I have to protect the one thing that I can’t live without. That’s you.”

Notes: Y/n is Tony’s assistant, Tony's hella protective because she’s not an Avenger

Word Count: 1.4k

Dinner at Dizzy's Master List

She’s in the bathroom.

No, scratch that, she’s in the bathroom, vanilla bubbles up to her chest, soaking in the warmest, lavender scented water— with her boss. He’s not in the tub with her or anything, god forbid, but he’s there, yelling, and waving his arms around like a madman. Oh, and there’s gunshots— don’t forget about the gunshots that’s the most important part here. Why did she take his offer of moving into the Avenger’s Tower again?

Oh right— convenience.

“Tony what the fuck is going on?” She shrieks, trying to pull more bubbles over her chest but only ends up splashing water all over the floor.

He spins from the door which he has just locked, eyes blown wide, and she almost screams again. “Hydra— I think. Some big guys with guns. Steve’s down there now with Banner—”

A loud crash echoes from several floors below as if on cue, followed by another round of shots, and her heart skyrockets. She sits up, arms crossing over her chest frantically, listening for any noises that may be closer— like in her apartment closer. So far there are none but with her luck that’ll probably change. She turns back to the man in front of her, shivering from the cold air and the fear coursing through her veins.

She doesn’t want to scream again but she can feel it bubbling in her throat so she does the only thing she can think to do— she rambles. “How’d they get in? What do they want? Do you think Steve and Banner are okay? What are you doing in—”

She only stops when he drops in front of her, hands shooting out and wrapping around the back of her head, fingers twisting harshly in the wet strands of her hair as he yanks her mouth to his. It isn’t a heated kiss— more of a shut up or we’re going to die kiss— but for a moment it makes the world still, her heartbeat spiking for a whole different reason now. Maybe it wasn’t just convenience, maybe there was another reason she moved.

Before she can move her lips against his, he's pulling away from her, brown eyes searching over her face, probably making sure she’s not about to combust into words again. Don’t worry Tony, she’s too busy combusting into literal flames.

“I don’t know, okay? Not yet. Wasn’t exactly the right time to ask.”

“Tony—” he raises a brow and she shuts her mouth— right, they’re supposed to be laying low.

She lowers her voice a few octaves, whispering, all too aware of the fact that his lips are still only inches away from hers and that she still can hear bullets dinging off something metallic. Steve’s shield. Bucky’s arm. She swallows, fingers digging into her cold, wet flesh.

“Shouldn’t you be helping them?” Please don’t leave though, she adds in her head.

She has no idea why she asks. Courtesy maybe. Nerves or anxiety or the fact that she’s naked in a gunfight and he kissed her and she doesn’t know what else she can possibly say in this situation to make it okay. Nothing. She can say nothing. She regrets it immediately.

“I—” the door explodes, splintering into a hundred tiny pieces before he can finish— or even start, to be honest— his thought.

Before the scream can even rip up her throat he’s on his feet, gold and scarlet armour curling around his body. She must have missed him hitting the button on his watch thingy. Who can blame her, what with the large man that barrels into the bathroom, gun in hand. Gun pointed at her. So it’s just a party in the bathroom now, that’s cool. He scowls at her and she freezes, too numb to feel either cold or hot at this point. What the fuck did she do? She’s just trying to take a bath!

Cue the scream.

“Oh my god Tony look out!”

The man charges at him just as his helmet clamps shut, a sharp clang sounding through the bathroom, presumably a bullet bouncing off his armor, and he wastes no time holding an arm out and hitting the man square in the chest with a blast of god only knows what. She’s an assistant, she doesn’t get paid to know how his suits run. Then again she didn’t think she was getting paid to sit in luxurious bathtubs and get shot at either so maybe she just has no true grasp on her job and what it entails.

She watches, unable to look away, as he blasts him a few more times. She can’t see the man— the fire beam thing blasted him way out of the room the first time. She doesn’t even want to know what state he must be in right now. Rest in pieces, she supposes. She doesn’t have that much sympathy for the man who tried to put a bullet in her skull and made her waste her expensive bubble bath. Asshole. Still, after the fifth blast or so she decides that maybe it’s time to step in.

“Tony?” It’s almost silent, her voice shakier than she’s expecting after all the screaming.

From outside of the bathroom she hears the sound of metal clinking together, no doubt his armor retreating back into wherever it is that it goes when he isn’t using it. Seconds later the man— her boss— is running back into the room, chucks slipping against the tile as his eyes draw over her body frantically. It’s what makes her realize she isn’t numb anymore, the heat creeping up and over her chest. She lifts her arms higher, not looking down because she knows the bubbles are long gone.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Shit, what’s going on—”

He’s on his knees again, arms reaching out towards her, and she can’t think straight, she can only feel the hot tears beginning to drip down her face. “I— I think so? I don’t think I got hit. Are you okay? You got hit by a bullet! I just— I— Oh my god, that was really violent!”

She’s malfunctioning. Like on the fritz, fingers twitching, voice absolutely gone. Is this how Vision feels all the time? God, she hopes not. That would be awful. She feels Tony’s arms wrapping around her and her head flopping onto his shoulder but none of it really registers. She could have died. What the hell is her job?

“You’re okay. I got you.” He whispers.

“I’m an assistant.” She mumbles weakly against his shirt. “This was not part of the job description.”

He goes to pull away and she tenses, terror spiking through her veins. No, do not let go. She can’t handle it, not right now. She tightens her fists around his shirt, trying to keep him from shuffling too far away.

He doesn’t let go— not completely at least. He only backs up enough to look into her eyes, wincing slightly when he does, brown eyes filling with guilt. “I know, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t blame you if you left right now.”

She sighs, her shoulders sinking. Her face feels sticky, her chest cold, but no part of her feels like leaving. She’s terrified, yes, and pissed off that her bath got ruined. Her heart feels like it’s trying to escape her chest and she kind of wants to throw up. It’s awful and she hates feeling this way. But this is her home and him—

“Tony why did you come find me?” She whispers, the thought suddenly hitting her square in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs— he came for her instead of fighting with the rest of the team.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling her closer to him again, this time his head sinking against her neck. “I have to protect the one thing that I can’t live without. That’s you. I had to make sure you were safe.”

Well, maybe he’s her home too.

She wraps her wet arms around him, soaking his shirt and simultaneously squeezing her to him as hard as she can. “Thank you.”

He nods against her shoulder, lips pressing into her skin. She smiles— they’re definitely going to need to talk about this tomorrow.

For now, though, she sinks deeper into him, letting her eyes flutter closed. “You owe me a new bubble bath, boss.”

#Tony Stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark fic #tony stark fluff #tony stark angst #tony stark imagine #iron man #iron man x reader #iron man x y/n #iron man fic #iron man imagine #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #Dinner at Dizzy's

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shoyouth · 5 years ago

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Hello again! So i have this idea, could i request a hc when mc is being particularly clingy with them? Like, ask to cuddle a lot or backhugs on the living room or when they go about their day, etc? She just feels very needy that day 😂 thank you! And i love your writings so much, it made me smile a lot :)

Hello, my friend! This is such a cute request tbh, ty for sending it in! And aww thank you so much, that makes me so happy to hear 😁💞

napoleon ; he loves it. If you’re not normally clingy, the first time you give him a hug he watches you amusedly, inquiring as to why. But in the morning especially, when you aren’t pulling away from his embrace so adamantly, when you aren’t scolding him to get up but instead linger and return his kiss sweetly—he’s reminded why he loves sleeping in so much, and why he loves you. He could definitely get used to this.

arthur ; will tease you. Instantly. He has that little grin on his face and he catches your hand before you can snatch your hug and leave, and he pulls you right back in to his hold. Though he really is all bark and no bite; the second he has his hands on you, his touch is feather-light, his warm arms circled around your waist delicately. He actually basks in your open affection-days, and he becomes so so soft and he hums in your ear and sways back and forth. He needs it just as much as you. On certain days he may be more playful and return your affection twicefold; one kiss to his cheek leads to him pressing his lips to both of yours.

mozart ; you’ll be hard pressed to get him away from the piano, peeking your head through the door or lingering around behind him. He may feign exasperation at your ‘insistent silent cues’ that you want affection, but he readily turns around on the bench to let you sit with him, his lips pressed against your temple. Once you’ve had your fill, he’s softened up as well, and he’s nonchalant as he says he would not mind if you just stayed and wrapped your arms around his shoulder while he played “if you’d like.”

leonardo ; when you throw him pouts across the library, he can’t help the chuckle that rises in his throat. He’ll close his book and make his way over to you, nuzzling his nose against yours softly as he jokes that you can hardly be away from him. Again, leonardo sleep often just like napoleon, so he really doesn’t mind when you want to cuddle. He’ll sleep with you anywhere but if you have qualms about napping on the hallway floor, he’ll make the effort to clear his bed (only his bed, the rest of the room is still a godforsaken mess) for the both of you to cuddle comfortably, faces towards each other and playing with each others’ fingers.

vincent ; all you have to do is give the word and his paint brush is set down and his arms are open. You either cramp yourselves up super close on his couch or you go to his favorite spot on the hill and lay in the grass. Vincent gives super warm, comforting hugs (theo can vouch for him), and he smiles so sweetly as he holds you against him. He fixes your hair and asks about your day absently, and you may hold hands as you talk or—on more mellow days—you interlock your pinkies as you watch the clouds.

theo ; he’ll be in the parlor reading poetry or talking to arthur when you come in and sit so close beside him you’re practically on his lap. He pauses to protect himself from the stutter lodged in his throat, and his eyes cast to you. At your innocent smile, he simply sighs; he knows what you want. He places his hands on either side of your waist and hoists you into his lap, his arms caging you against his chest. If arthur makes any comment he grumbles and glares, but it’s just to protect his dignity when a pink flush crosses his cheeks (all the while you just smile). Affection in front of the others always flusters him a bit, but he always plays it off and acts suave—he secretly loves it.

issac ; if you ever were to surprise him with a back hug out of the blue, oh boy. He will sputter and choke, whirling around with big eyes. He may huff defensively that you shouldn’t surprise him like that, but the feverish flush of his cheeks shows you that he’s not mad at all. Though it may take some time, he grows to love your surprise affection on your clingy days, especially when he gets too stressed or focused about teaching or tinkering. Also a major sucker for the intimacy of close embraces like dazai and arthur, where he caresses your cheek and kisses your forehead—it relaxes and reassures him a lot.

dazai ; this sly dog can instantly read when you’re clingy, but he won’t do anything until you tell him. Everytime you’re glued to his side or brush against his arm, send him needy looks—he just smiles and asks if you’ve eaten or read the book he recommended. When you finally cave and tell him, for an odd moment he will remain quiet and not do anything, maybe have you just follow him. But once you’re sat down somewhere more comfortable, he’ll turn to you and gently take you in his arms, similar to arthur, and just hold you. His fingers will card through your hair, and it’s only when you silently beg for affection that you are able to draw out this soft kind of intimacy from him.

jean ; like issac, he isn’t much of a fan of the surprises. I don’t think he’d ever come to love it though because he’s afraid of how he’d react—would he feel threatened and pull his sword on you? What if he hadn’t drank enough that day, would he turn on you? For this man’s guilt-ridden heart, please initiate affection slowly. He’d love the soft handholding while you walked and talked, or the hand on his guiding arm. As he grows more comfortable, you could initiate gentle but firm hugs or sitting in his lap, and like arthur, he would end up needing it more; he will melt in your hands with his face pressed against your shoulder, your fingers running through his hair. It helps him forget and feel loved in time.

comte ; quirks a brow at first, a soft smile crossing his lips at your inquiry. He’ll cup your chin in his hand and kiss you gently, assuring you that he is all yours and he is only there to fulfill your every desire (“Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast begins playing in the distance). He’d gladly let you latch yourself to his arm while he traveled the mansion, but he throws his tasks out the window quickly to instead sit in the gardens with you, admiring the landscape with his arm securely around your waist. At times like this, he feels very happy in a mellow sense; your affection helps him forget that he’s immortal, and that he can share moments so intimate like this with you.

sebastian ; quite honestly you’re both cooking in the kitchen when you slowly intertwine your fingers with his empty one on the counter. He pauses in reading the recipe to look to you for an explanation, but you’re nonchantly getting the ingredients together. Sebastian is observant, and so I think he would quickly understand that this is your silent confession of being needy, so he’ll just smile and press a kiss to your cheek before continuing with his work. He will try his best to leave your hands connected while you work, or return to your hold as quickly as possible if the task requires both hands.

shakespeare ; your shows of needing affection may have to be more subdued if you ever want a desirable reaction. If you come on too strong or lively, he will only use poetic words to answer your actions, his eyes flashing as he’s on guard, for you couldn’t be that happy to see him, could you? But if you’re more mellow, perhaps kissing the inside of his wrist or ghosting your touch along his neck, he may shiver and crumble. Such intimacy! Mayhaps you do hold such love for him in your heart of hearts, and he’ll gloss his lips down your forearm to kiss your inner elbow to show his own desire.

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savagetrickster · 5 years ago

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Stay with Me | BNHA

request: Hi! Can I request a scenario where Bakugou thought that reader was starting to lose interest, but in reality reader is just really busy and doesn’t realize she’s treating baku differently and Bakugou confronting her about it then it ends with some fluff fluff. 💖 p.s luv ur work

anime | character: bnha | bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 1949

themes/warnings: soft!bakugou, insecure bakugou, college AU

a/n: sorry for not posting a fic in such a long time, I’ve been SO busy. so anyway, okay I kinda went little off-track and ended up writing the way it is shown below but i hope you’ll still enjoy reading this, though i have to say I’m not really fond of how it turned out. this fic has not been beta-ed so pardon me if you find any cringey error.

The city of Musutafu moved as sluggishly as possible for a city of its size and caliber. It was one of those days when the moon was mostly hidden behind the clouds.

Kirishima let his eyes roam the street outside. The inhabitants of the boulevard were constantly on the move despite being a Saturday; it was a startling contrast to the cafe they sat in where a comfortable nonchalance clung to every aspect of the little business.

The slow, sleepy music playing from the speakers.

The casual yet practiced movements of the baristas as they prepared the orders.

The lazy, idling manners in the way the customers brought their cups to their lips. Carrying every bit of thoughtlessness and indifference in their actions.

Well, almost everyone but them.

A perplexed frown pinched between Kirishima’s brows as he turned his gaze away from the window beside them.

Bakugou Katsuki had been sulking at the window ever since he plopped into the seat across him.

He had been sitting in brooding silence for what felt like fifteen minutes and the expression on his face hadn’t changed. If there were any at all, it was only that his scowl grew bigger.

“As much as I like hanging out with you, I have to say this is getting a little…weird.”

Kirishima briefly flitted to the counter to see curious eyes on them, “My colleagues are starting to think we’re dating.”

Tonight was the fourth time Bakugou had come to find him right as he was knocking off from his part-time job this week.

“Who gives a fuck about what they think?” Bakugou muttered gruffly, finally looking away from the outside.

Kirishima had known him ever since they met in middle school to know the scowl on Bakugou’s face was…well, his default expression.

Long enough for him to tell at one glance that the scowl he’d been seeing on Bakugou’s face was different. This one seemed to come right out from the depth of his fierce vermilion eyes — Bakugou was upset.

And it was about you.

No matter how hard Bakugou tried to hide how much he was a sucker for you, Kirishima could always tell.

Even though they had matured into college students, Bakugou was still the same stubborn guy who wasn’t the most comfortable displaying his affections openly.

Mere mentions of you would soften the scowl on his face, and the rough edge in his voice. It was easy for anyone else to miss the difference but it was obvious to Kirishima.

His grumpy complaints about how clingy and touchy you are were one of their common topics in their conversations. The annoyance scowling in his eyes when he did was always subtly soft and warm.

But something changed, as Bakugou had mentioned, in the recent two weeks.

Nights in his dormitory room were spent alone. He was so used to falling asleep and waking up, to the sight of you curling up right next to him.

The last time he saw you were from afar, watching you rushing off to somewhere.

Dates with you, even as simple as a meal in the cafeteria was scarce.

Your replies to his texts were late and sometimes curt. The usual ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ from you, if you didn’t spend the night with him, were no longer…usual.

Sometimes his messages to you would be left hanging for days before you replied.

The tone when Bakugou was telling him about all these strange distances between them was nonchalant, but the scowl on his face told Kirishima a different story.

Kirishima tried to think of something to say, but all he could think of in the end was the same thing he’d been saying ever since Bakugou shared this with him.

“Stop worrying man, she’s probably just busy?”

Bakugou’s face carried a carefully blanked expression as he raised his eyes to meet Kirishima’s.

“…Or maybe she’s losing interest in me.”

His arm was tucked between his pillow and his head as his other held his phone to his face. Vermilion eyes stared blankly at the quiet chatroom he shared with you, particularly fixated on your last reply to him.

Two days ago.

The gloom hung over his gaze these days were like the dreary seasons of dull, gray monsoons.

The hopeful morning sun filtering into his room through the wooden window blinds above him was a startling contrast, and so was the lively laughter ringing out from the basketball court somewhere near the dormitory blocks.

Probably some idiots shoving snow at each others’ faces, Bakugou thought seethingly as he clicked his tongue in annoyance at a particular spike of volume in the ruckus downstairs.

It was Saturday and the morning was already—

His eyes flitted to the time written in the corner of his screen.

— halfway to noon.

A quiet sigh left him.

Like on Saturdays, he should be on the way to meet you for your usual brunch. Except things weren’t quite ‘usual’ anymore.

Bakugou released another sigh as he let his phone fall away from his face along with his raised arm, landing on the bed under him with a muffled ‘plop’.

His forehead ridged with a scowl. Just how did he fuck things up?

His memories sifted through the times he called you names and how you would still smile back at him like he was your whole world as if he didn’t just call you an idiot, a nerd, or a moron.

A bitter taste of guilt entered his mouth.

Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed that you knew he was feeling affectionate when he did?

Perhaps you’ve grown sick of him? And realized that you didn’t need a shitty boyfriend who called you insulting names or would shrug off your affections as if they were annoyances.

His jaw clenched to his gritted teeth as a frustrated hiss slipped from him.

Shit, maybe he did fuck up afterall. Fucked up big time.

And he was probably going to lose you. Everything that made you…you.

The way you smiled at him with a loving, bright glint in your eyes as if he was the one who put the stars in the sky.

The sweet kisses you love to plant on his lips and forehead.

How your hand would hold onto his — small but warm with your love.

Bakugou felt his throat swell with the presence of forming tears as his heart twinged in his chest.

The idea of losing all that spurred a rush of panic in him.

Bakugou shot off his bed, put on the nearest shirt and jeans he could grab, and hurried out of his room.

The first place Bakugou thought to look for you was your dormitory but his worst fear made him hesitate at your door, with a hand hovering over its handle.

In fact, he’d thought about doing this for the past two weeks but the wisps of doubts whispering nasty things wouldn’t let him.

His jaw clenched to his gritted teeth.

What if there was someone else—

Bakugou shoved the unfinished thought aside; it was unbearable to even think about that possibility.

His scowling gaze snapped to his hesitating hand and his lips instantly curled into a sneer to a spark of irritation within.

What was with him? He was starting to remind himself of Deku, hesitating outside doors with twiddling thumbs like a wimp.

He was Bakugou Katsuki and he should be announcing his arrival by bursting through one.

Man, you thought you could finally enjoy a good night’s sleep after countless of sleepless nights.

But no…nope.

The heater just had to break down at an ungodly hour when you were still trudging through the last thesis for your project and you could find no other alternative places to work on them.

Bakugou came across your mind but again, it was crazy late or more accurately, early to budge into your boyfriend’s room.

Like every other night, you’d been tirelessly working on it so you could finally submit the project you’d been assigned since two weeks ago.

It was the infamous final year project you’ve dreaded ever since you heard about it from your senior — dubbed as ‘the project from hell’.

And indeed, it was a project from hell. It seemed to suck out your very soul. The exhaustion weighing you down like lead ran bone deep, that even lifting your head off your pillow was such a struggle.

With a broken heater sitting uselessly in your room, you’d spent the whole night wrapped in your blanket, with the lingering winter chill prickling at your skin.

So you couldn’t help sighing at the sudden warmth enveloping your body after spending the night shivering away under your blanket at the mercy of the dropping temperature.

Your arms found their way around the heat source.

You didn’t see the tender curl of his lips when you sighed blissfully and nuzzled into his chest or the softening glint in the usual fierce edge held in his vermilion eyes.

It was like nestling inside a warm cocoon that…

— awareness seeping into your groggy senses pried your eyes open.

…breathed.

What or rather who greeted you lifted you right out of your morning grogginess and struck you with an overwhelming barrage of emotions.

“…Ka-Katsuki!” You missed him so much.

Along with how the shadows and sunlight filtering in from behind you fell across and highlighted his chiseled profile, there was something about the way his intense eyes looked down at you with his head leaning against an arm.

This sight gave your heart a fluttery squeeze.

You weren’t sure why Bakugou looked so strikingly handsome like this — maybe it was because you haven’t seen him for awhile?

“When did you come in here?” Words started pouring out of your mouth.

You’ve always wanted to vent and rant about the dumb project to Bakugou so there was too much you wanted to say,

“Oh my god, you’ve no idea how much busy I was these few weeks-” but the brooding look that hadn’t left Bakugou stopped you.”…Katsuki?”

You’d never seen Bakugou look this down before, and it didn’t sit right with you.

You hesitated but asked anyway.“…What’s wrong?”

The cloud that fell over his eyes told you that something was definitely wrong.

“…I’m sorry, (Name).”

You grew concerned as you tried to understand his unreadable demeanor. “What’s this about— ”

“Are you losing interest in me?”

Your next breath was caught in your throat at his strange question and the only thing you could do was blurt out a —“What?”

You watch him exhale carefully with a bewildered look.

Bakugou didn’t even care how he looked to you now.

“Look, I know I’m a huge fuck-up as a boyfriend and you probably think I don’t care about our relationship cause I act like I don’t.”

There was so much to say, so much guilt brimming inside him.

“But shit, I do care.”

He was desperate.

He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t. He loved you but he was an idiot for not showing that to you.

So he needed to let you know now.

His hand on your waist pulled you up to him and his eyes were pinned on yours.

Your mouth opened, then snapped close at the silent, blazing gleam in his gaze.

Your voice had fled at the way he stared at you.

Longing and heavy with remorse.

“Stay with me,” His lips brushed lightly across yours as his voice cracked with an aching need.” …please.”

He kissed you and the world fell away.

#bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou imagine #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #bnha katsuki x reader

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solarwonux · 5 years ago

Text

10. “I still remember the way you taste.”

31. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

villain!wonwoo x superhero!f!reader

w.c: 2.6k (it was mistake okay I got carried away we should know this by now)

warnings: fluff, talks of death, ghosts, torture if you squint, graveyards, digging up graves (don’t do that yall), angst a little, it’s hinted that the reader can communicate with ghosts. (if you’re uncomfortable with any of these themes this one is not for you)

note: I CAN EXPLAIN OKAY I KNOW YOU WANTED JOKER WONWOO BUT LIKE IT STARTED OFF THAT WAY AND THEN I GOT SOFT. Enjoy let know your thoughts please, they mean so much to me.

Also i will answer asks at some point, school is just keeping me super busy, BUT IM NOT IGNORING THEM THEY MAKE ME SMILE EVERY TIME I SEE THEM.

masterlist || drabble game

Wonwoo wiped the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand, panting slightly as he stared down at the empty grave. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Vernon asked, digging his shovel into the ground with the heel of his boot. He rested his forearm against the handle looking at Wonwoo through his sweaty bangs.

“There is no reason, I was just bored.” Wonwoo shrugged, his cheeks were dusted with dirt and his white dress shirt was anything but white. The truth was he had a reason, he needed a way to meet you halfway and causing chaos was the only way to get you out of that shiny tower in the middle of the city where all the heroes resided. But his reasoning would never be voiced out loud, especially not to Vernon and so he lied like it was second nature to him.

Wonwoo missed you, He missed getting under your skin with his snarky remarks and idiotic plans to take over the world. Or at least the city. The world was his end goal, but in order to do that he needed to succeed at taking over the city first and so far he had failed. Mainly, do to you and your teammates interrupting his plans. Though along the way something unexpected happened. He had undoubtedly fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with you. It had annoyed him at first, his mind was constantly enveloped with thoughts of you. Interrupting everything he spent years working on.

It took him months to come to terms with his unwanted feelings and if he hadn’t snuck into the masked ball held every year at the tower; he probably wouldn’t have. But the second he saw you come down the grand staircase of the ballroom wearing a dress so blue, it put the night sky to shame; he kissed you before he could stop himself. Despite the mask he was wearing you had spotted him in the crowd and led him down an empty hallway when his urges got the best of him causing him to sin. When he pulled away he was shocked just as you were, but he was definitely floored when you had cut his apology short and kissed him again.

“So you decided to dig up an empty grave for fun?” Vernon pushed his dirt stained hand through his hand, leaving behind little specks of dirt in its wake. “How did you even know this grave would be empty?”

“It’s mine...well used to be mine. Obviously I’m not dead.” Wonwoo’s nonchalant tone sent shivers up Vernon’s back. Once again he found himself wondering why the hell he always found himself going along with Wonwoo’s schemes. He knew there was a reason. Wonwoo never did anything without calculating all his moves beforehand, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the true reason, more so if he was going to find out soon anyway. His suspicions were confirmed when he caught sight of you. He should’ve known that this was just another one of Wonwoo’s ways to get to you.

Vernon didn’t understand your relationship with Wonwoo, scientifically it didn’t make sense. In simple terms Wonwoo was hated by everyone and you on the other hand were not. But the two of you had snuck around for years up until the accident five months ago. Ever since then Wonwoo’s spirits were low and he was going mad. If he wasn’t holed up in his tiny room at the apartment he was bent over a desk mumbling to himself, trying to come up with ways in which he could see you again. All of Wonwoo’s attempts before this one had failed and to say he wasn’t surprised to see you sit down, legs hanging over the edge of the grave while looking down at Wonwoo lovingly, he would be lying. Though, he supposed it had to do with the fact that Wonwoo’s grave was dug up.

“You guys having fun there?” Wonwoo jumped. He rapidly smoothed down his shirt, leaving behind streaks of dirt, and fixed his hair before turning around. A smug smile adorning his features. Vernon shook his head and rolled his eyes. Sometimes he missed the days in which Wonwoo wasn’t in love.

“Princess what brings you here?” He winked. His clammy hands grew more wet as he leaned against the shovel, before it failed underneath his weight causing him to trip. Seeing you again was like a breath of fresh air, the pictures he kept of you and looked at every night did you no justice. For you shined brighter than the stars in the night sky and it always made Wonwoo’s heart skip a beat.

“Cut the shit Wonwoo, I know you’ve been turning this city upside down at least once a week to get under my skin.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? You haven’t been answering my calls, texts or emails.” Wonwoo threw his hands up in disbelief and you rolled your eyes at his ignorance.

“Apologize, that’s all you had to do and you wouldn’t be here digging your own grave...literally.” You huffed crossing your arms in front of you, ripping your eyes away from his. Suddenly the memory of the accident came lingering back. You knew, given his nature, Wonwoo was calculated. He used his powers to affiliate pain on his victims without moving a muscle to get what he wanted. Though, he had never used it on you, until that night.

He had been blinded by rage and pain and you had never seen him use so much power in your years of knowing him. It scared you and when you had tried to coax him out of whatever state he was in. He did the one thing he promised he would never do.

He used his abilities on you.

Wonwoo sighed before hosting himself out of the hole and taking the empty seat next you. “I wanted to do it in person, but you never showed up.” He looked down at his hands playing with his fingers, twirling the ring on his pinky. His body was consumed with guilt as your screams of agony replayed in his head. Just like they did every night. He had never once felt anything but satisfaction and bliss whenever he used his powers on someone. In fact he loved the way his victims begged him to stop, that was until you were on the receiving end of his torture.

“You know where I live. It’s a big shiny tower in the center of town. Pretty hard to miss honestly.” The airy playfulness of your voice made his stomach swirl. He truly missed you and not just on nights when the two of you gently explored each other's bodies, but just in general.

“I know but you know how much I hate the others, especially Joshua. He always has to stick his nose into matters that don’t concern him.” He huffed, flicking a tiny spec of dirt off of his trousers. “And I was scared.” He confessed lowly, shocking Vernon who had now taken it upon himself to sit on the soil filled ground to watch the spectacle in front of him. Wonwoo never admitted his fears and though Vernon sometimes could feel them radiating off him. It was different hearing it come from his friend's mouth.

“Of Joshua? Dude’s only got super strength and-”

“No of you. I was scared to see you suffer and to turn me away. I was scared that if I did show up putting aside indifference for your friends just to hear you say that you didn’t love me anymore.” Wonwoo let out a deep sigh at the ending of his words. He dropped his shoulders feeling the weight being lifted off them. He felt your body shake next to him and it confused him greatly, even more so when it was followed by your laugh. Though he loved it and missed it greatly. He couldn’t deny the anger he felt towards you as you laughed at his vulnerability.

Slowly, he felt his heart close up again and brought himself up to his feet faster than he could blink. His feet moved faster than the doubt racing through his veins and your laughter came to a stop.

He now remembered why he swore to never love again all those years ago.

“Wonwoo, wait come back.” You hurried to your feet, smoothing down the creases on your leggings. Vernon copied your movements. He could sense the fear coming from your body, and it overwhelmed his senses. Behind his soft eyes he quietly told you to hurry before Wonwoo did something he wasn’t supposed to. Even though Wonwoo always did without planning ahead of time, there were a few instances where he didn’t care and acted carelessly. And he found himself fearing more for your heart rather than his friend's safety.

You sighed tugging on the sleeves of your sweatshirt before turning around and ran after the only man you had ever loved. You passed many tombstones, silently paying your respects until you stopped in the middle of a small clearing, home to one familiar tombstone and Wonwoo. His hands in his pocket, eyebrows furrowed and his teeth chewing down on his teeth.

“After she died, I promised her I wouldn’t love anyone again.” He whispered, “but then you came along and ruined it.” He turned his head, his eyes glossy with wanted tears. “Do you know how much I beat myself up every day for what I did to her. For what I did to you. I hate myself for it, I hate that I can inflict pain on everyone else but myself because I’m not one that should be suffering, not everyone else.”

By now he had finally let his tears go. They raced down his cheeks rapidly and it shattered your heart.

“It hurts me that you think that way about yourself. She didn’t die because of you, you tried to save her and-”

“I was too late.” Wonwoo snorted and rolled his eyes. He stared intently at the tombstone in front of him, reading his little sister’s name over and over again, letting it burn feverishly inside his mind. He missed her dearly and sometimes he wondered why you never told him anything about the conversations you would have with her whenever she visited you. But you had told him that it was a family secret between the two of you and he never questioned you again because you had used the word family and it made him feel all giddy inside.

“Let me talk Wonwoo.” You said closing the gap between you and Wonwoo. You grabbed his face in your hands and wiped away his tears with the pad of your thumb. He had always been there to comfort you on your lowest days. His sweet words and warmth grounded you back onto the Earth, but you had never gotten the opportunity to do the same to him. He always kept himself closed off and reserved. It had taken almost a year into your secret, not so secret relationship for him to tell you about his sister’s unfortunate death and a few more months after that for him to say that he loved you. Despite all those small passing moments of vulnerability he had never once cried in front of you.

“I love you and you’re stupid for thinking that I would love you any less because of what happ-”

“I hurt you though,” Wonwoo cut you off, earning a ground shattering glare from you that sent shivers up his spine. “Sorry you can continue.” He whispered.

“Thank you.” You smirked and wrapped your arms around his neck, making him freeze. You were the strangest person he had ever had the pleasure in knowing because normal people would never be as comfortable as you were in his presence. “I know the kind of person you are Wonwoo, through this cold exterior there is the most loving and sensible person I have ever known. I mean, baby, you spent a whole day sulking because you forgot to water your plant.”

“You gave me that plant for my birthday, therefore he’s our child.”

“This is exactly my point, you have the biggest of anyone I have ever known. Unfortunately, you have been dealt a bad hand in life and I really don’t understand your obsession with taking over the world. But you’re not a monster.”

“I hurt people though, sometimes for fun.” He whispered against your skin. In the midst of your speech he had given in and circled his arms around your waist before burying his face into the crook of your neck. Leaving the two of you in an awkward and uncomfortable position.

“And who are those people?”

“Bad people.”

“Exactly baby, they’re the scum of the Earth and you have helped stop them.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t make me a hero. I’m just doing what you guys can’t do. On top of that Joshua’s super strength is useless, he only gets praised because he’s hot.” Wonwoo finished and raised his head, smirking. He sent you a playful wink, tears long forgotten, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Mingyu takes forever to get ready, but that’s besides the point. You’re not a monster so stop treating yourself like one.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” He pouted batting his eyelashes at you.

“Yes you big idiot.”

“Then...why haven’t you kissed me yet?” He puckered his lips and made kissing noises, making you laugh. “Hey I’m waiting and you know I’m impatient.” He spoke through pouted lips as he leaned in closer, his lips hovered over yours teasingly until you finally caved and kissed him. He sighed happily against your mouth and deepened the kiss. He had spent five months without the feeling of your touch and it scared him that he would forget how it felt. Yet, now as he kissed you with everything in him he realized he hadn’t and it overjoyed him to the point in which he accidentally let out a moan; making you pull away quickly and eyeing him down.

“Control yourself, your sister, her friends and Vernon are here.” You scolded making him pout.

“I’m sorry, i just...I still remember the way you taste, and I got excited.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Before he could plant his lips on yours again he was met with your hand pushing him away. He whined as you tore his arms away from your waist, his body growing cold. “Nooo, one more kiss.” He reached out making grabby hands at you like a child. Instead of giving into what he wanted you turned and started walking away, “Wait, where are you going?” He stumbled against his own feet before following you.

“Home.” You looked over at him and stuffed your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie. “You have a grave to cover up with Vernon.”

“But I haven’t seen you in five months, just give me five more minutes please.”

“Wonwoo you just didn’t look hard enough baby.” You said giving him a knowing smirk before leaning over, giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek. He felt his eyes grow in realization as everything started to click in his head. If what you had hinted was the truth and you had shown up to every single sight he had caused trouble in, then he had to give it to you. You were a lot more clever than you led on. “Don’t think about it too hard, I’ll leave my window open for you.” You smiled widely giving his cheek a pat and disappeared through the trees.

“You live on the twenty fourth floor.” He yelled after you, his hands falling down at his side in defeat. He heard someone snort next to him and suddenly he remembered that Vernon was there silently observing everything, just like always did.

“Figure it out baby, you always do.”

266 notes · View notes

fandom-imagines-stories · 5 years ago

Text

Lost Boy

Sodapop Curtis x Reader

Words: 4305

Summary: 16 years of never belonging and you’ve finally had enough. You move in with your outcast sister in Tulsa and meet a group of boys who finally make you feel like you’re where you’re supposed to be. Inspired by the song Lost Boy by Ruth B.

Notes: Peter Pan is one of my all time favorite stories and I love this song. I thought it could bring a whimsical, yet still angsty feel to a Sodapop imagine so I hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

Sodapop and more: HERE

There was a time, when I was alone

Nowhere to go and no place to call home

You always wanted to know what it was like to fly. To soar above the clouds, too far away to hear your parent’s screaming. Watching the world zoom by through the car window was the closest you’d ever felt to flying. You were free.

Pulling up to the little shack of a house, your sister, Beth, gave you a small smile.

“It's not much. You’ll be sleeping on the couch until we can clean out the attic.” She rambled. Beth rambled when she was nervous. “We were going to have you stay in the boys’ room, but Michael has a fever so he’s had to stay in bed-”

“Beth,” You gave her the biggest smile you could. You hadn’t smiled like that in a long time. “It’s perfect.” There was a loud racket coming from the house at the end of the block and three rowdy boys came bounding down the street.

“Hey Mrs. Austin.” One greeted as you both got out of the car. Your sister waved and he grinned. You never knew a boy could have a smile as nice as he had.

“Steve, my engine is making that sound again.” Beth said to one of the other boys.

“I’ll look at it as soon as we get back.” He said and the three took off down the street again. The one with the nice smile looked back at you and for a second you thought he might have winked.

“Who was that?” You asked, turning your attention back to your sister as she helped you unpack. You didn’t have much. Just some clothes and a couple books.

“The one I was talking to is Steve Randal. He’s been helping me keep this piece of junk rolling.” Beth patted the hood of the car. “The others are two of the Curtis boys. They live with their big brother Darryl down the block.” She pointed to the house the boys had come out of. “Nice kids.”

You watched them walk for a moment longer before taking your things inside. Your brother in law greeted you with a suffocating hug and one of your nephews wrapped around your leg.

“John.” Beth laughed, prying him off of you. John was six-years-old and Michael was four. They were two of the sweetest and silliest boys you’d ever met.

“Look at how big you’ve gotten,” You said, feeling a twinge of guilt. You hadn’t seen the boys since Michaels first birthday. You were lucky if your parents let you write Beth letters.

Beth was your age when she got pregnant with John. Your parents kicked her out of the house and told her never to come back. Her and Jack got married and moved here, to Tulsa. Two years later, she had Michael. They were happy, which was more than you could say for your parents. But you’d never have to worry about them again.

After you settled in a little, you decided to find a quiet place in the neighborhood to read. You’d lost count how many times you had read Peter Pan, but you never got tired of it. The idea of a place like Neverland got you through every fight, every tear filled night, and every cigar burn.

You walked around for a while before you found a nice spot in the big empty lot. There were a couple of logs to lean on and a spot where a fire had been. With winter break coming to its end, the January air made you shiver. You didn’t mind. You were too happy to even notice.

Just as you opened to the first page, you saw a figure approaching. He was hunched over with his hands shoved in his pockets. He didn’t even notice you until he reached where you were sitting. This must be his usual spot.

“Hey, who are you?” He spat, though it was hard to be intimidated by his quivering voice.

“My name is Y/N,” You said calmly, setting your book aside. “I just moved here.”

“Yeah, well you better beat it.” He ducked his head like he was trying to hide his face from you. “There are some real creeps around here at night and you don’t look like no greaser girl.”

“I’m usually pretty good at handling myself.” You stood, not to scare him, but to show that you weren’t scared. “What’s your name?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Well, if we’re going to be friends, I’d like to know your name.”

“Who said I wanted to be friends?”

You sighed and tucked your book under your arm.

“Suit yourself.” You walked past him, bumping his shoulder as you went.

“Wait.” He squeaked. You turned around. “What… what are you reading?” A little surprised, you lifted up the cover so he could see it.

“It’s my favorite. I’ve read it so many times, but I never get tired of it.” You beamed as he read of the gold lettering on the cover, worn from years of being very well loved. You could see his face now and you held back a gasp. His cheek was red and swollen and his lip was split. He caught you staring and quickly turned away.

“Like I said, you better get out of here.” He huffed. Without thinking, you put a hand on his shoulder.

“My dad hit me too.” You didn’t know how you knew, but you did. At first, he seemed angry and jerked his shoulder away. But his face softened and he looked at the ground.

“My name’s Johnny.”

“Now was that so hard?” You playfully nudged his arm to try and ease the tension. He even smiled a little.

“Johnny!” Another figure appeared across the lot, barreling towards you like a steam engine. You were worried that it might be his dad, but as he got closer, you saw how young he was. He looked Beth’s age, maybe younger.

“Hey Darry.” Johnny greeted, his voice still quiet.

“I thought that was you I saw slinkin 'over here.” the man crossed his arms disapprovingly. “The hell are you doin out here? You’re gonna freeze to death.” Darry saw the signs of violence on the boy’s face and sighed. “Come on home with me and I'll fix you something to eat.”

“Thanks Darry.” Johnny muttered. Darry’s stare landed on you.

“Haven’t seen you before.”

“I just moved here today.” You meant to sound tougher, but your voice came out as a squeak. Man, he was scary. After giving you a once over and figuring you weren’t trouble, his hard stared turned a little more welcoming.

“You must be Beth Austin’s kid sister.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No need for that, now.” He chuckled. “You can call me Darry, same as everybody else. Your sister told me to watch out for you.”

“She did?” You knew Beth was protective, but she didn’t have to alert the neighborhood.

“Probably wants you to stay away from us greasers.” Johnny said and Darry tousled his hair.

“You can come over for dinner too, if you want.” He offered. You would have declined, but your stomach started growling something awful. Darry motioned for you to follow him.

“That’s Darry for you.” Johnny whispered with a small smirk. “He’s got a habit of takin’ in strays.”

He came to me with the sweetest smile

Told me he wanted to talk for a while

It was kinda funny how well you fit in at a table full of boys. Darry was still fixing dinner and Johnny was talking to the youngest Curtis, Ponyboy. It only took a little convincing from Johnny for Ponyboy to get comfortable with you being there.

“Damnit, where is that boy?” Darry exclaimed, throwing down a dish towel.

“He probably got caught up talking to all those girls that come to see him.” Ponyboy said, sounding a little jealous.

“Yeah, well if he wants dinner, he better get his butt back here.”

“Who are we waiting or?” You asked Johnny in a low voice.

“Oh, they’re just goin’ on about Sodapop. He’s the middle one.”

“His name is Sodapop?” You wondered. You didn’t laugh like other girls sometimes did. You were actually curious.

“Sure is. Our dad liked unique names.” Ponyboy beamed. “And Soda’s as unique as they come.”

“That’s one word for it.” Darry laughed, shaking his head. As if he heard his name, the middle Curtis burst through the front door, an excited grin lighting up his face.

“You shoulda seen her, Darry.” He howled. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“You say that about every girl.” His older brother scoffed.

“Well this time, I mean it. And she’s just down the street!” Sodapop leaned against the fridge with a dreamy expression. Darry cleared his throat, jerking his head towards the dinner table. Ponyboy and Johnny were ready to burst from laughter. As soon as Sodapop’s eyes landed on you, he nearly fell over, his face turning a very cute shade of pink.

“You must be Sodapop.” You tried your best to hide the nervousness in your voice, not to mention the furious blush lighting up your face. You had never been called pretty before. Maybe he wasn’t talking about you. After all, he only saw you for a second.

“Yes ma’am.” He straightened himself out and smiled. Lord, that smile. “You-uh-you’re the girl I saw with Mrs. Austin.”

“What’re you calling her ‘ma’am’ for?” Johnny exclaimed. Ponyboy elbowed him in the side. “Ow! What? She’s just one of us!” You laughed at the two, but kept your eyes on Soda.

“That’s me alright. Beth’s my big sister. I’m gonna live with her now.” You said proudly.

“Where are your folks?” The youngest boy wondered.

“Ponyboy,” Darry scolded sharply. He knew that the story probably wasn’t a nice one. In this neighborhood, they never were. You didn’t seem upset by the younger boy’s question.

“They’re still in Chicago. Be glad you’ll never have to meet them.” You shrugged, your gaze returning to Sodapop. His blue eyes were bright with curiosity. He sat down across from you and Darry put down a plate of sandwiches.

It was the liveliest dinner you’d ever had. Darry and Ponyboy squabbled back and forth while Johnny scarfed down his sandwich.

“Whatcha reading?” Sodapop asked, eyeing the book you had set on the table.

“Oh, um, you’ll probably think it’s silly.” You quickly pulled the book into your lap. His lips fell into a pout.

“I promise I won’t.” His voice was so sweet that you knew he wasn’t going to make fun of you. You slid the worn down and well loved book across to him. “Peter Pan?” He read. “I remember that Disney movie when we were kids. Never thought about reading the book.”

“That’s cause you don’t read.” Ponyboy snickered. There was a thud and Ponyboy cried out, rubbing his now sore shin.

“Is it any good?” Soda asked.

“Oh it’s my favorite.” You beamed. “I guess the idea of flying away to a place where you never have to grow up was a nice thought when I was with my parents and all their yelling.”

You felt the tone of the table change. Ponyboy and Johnny looked at each other, Darry clasped his hands together on the table and Soda gave you a sympathetic smile. The grim shift made you think of home.

“Alright, enough with the long faces.” You exclaimed, leaning across to playfully shove Ponyboy’s shoulder. “That’s all over now.” You looked at each boy with the brightest smile they’d ever seen. Your gaze landed on Sodapop and his lips returned your grin. “This is Neverland.”

Smiles returned to the boys’ faces and Darry even chuckled. You and Soda just kept looking at each other.

“You clearly haven’t been in Tulsa long enough.” A new voice sneered. Everybody looked at the boy standing in the doorway. He had a hard stare and a mean look about him, but you didn’t let that scare you. You’d seen meaner.

“Anywhere is better than where I was before.” You replied calmly. The boy narrowed his eyes and looked you over.

“Is there something you need, Dally?” Darry asked sternly.

“Little bird told me there was a new girl in the neighborhood. Didn’t think she’d be slumming with us greasers already.” Dally kept his mean glare on you until Sodapop stood up.

“Come on, Y/N. Why don’t I walk you home?”

“Soda must think you need protecting.” He smirked. “I think you look like you can handle a guy like me.”

“Cut it out, Dallas.” Darry’s voice was a warning now.

“It’s alright. I should be getting back anyway to help Beth get the boys in bed.” You pushed away from the table, thanking Darry for dinner and saying goodnight to everyone. Lastly, you turned to Dally as you and Soda passed him. “It was nice meeting you, Dallas.”

You could feel his stare burning into the back of your head as you stepped out into the cool night air.

“Sorry about him.” Sodapop said, shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans as he walked. “Dally’s really not so bad. He’s just acting like that cause he don’t know you yet.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You shrugged. “I knew plenty of boys like that back in Chicago, only I didn’t have a tough guy like Darry or a sweet one like you to stand up to them, so Dallas is right.”

“About what?”

“I can handle guys like him.” You bumped his shoulder with yours and laughed. “I appreciate you walking with me, though. Beth would kill me if she thought I was out here by myself at night.”

“Has she always been protective like that?”

“I guess.” You thought for a moment. “When we were kids, she was always sticking up for me to our old man. She never let him lay a hand on me as long as she was around.” You found a pebble on the sidewalk and nudged it with your toe. “When she got pregnant, she didn't have a choice but leave. I think she just still sees me as that scrawny 10-year-old.”

You walked together in silence for a moment. You stopped suddenly, looking up at the sky. Stars stared back down at you with their bright faces. You liked to think they were smiling. Soda was a few steps away before he noticed that you had stopped.

“What’re you looking at?” He asked, walking back to join you. He tilted his head upward, trying to find whatever had caught your attention.

“The sky’s a lot prettier out here.” You mused. “In Chicago, it’s all lights and smog. But here, you can really see the stars.” That feeling of flying was back, taking you up into the air just like the book.

“You’re a different kinda girl, you know that?” Sodapop laughed. You spun around with your arms extended.

“You have to be different to survive, Sodapop Curtis.” When you looked at him, he could have sworn that your eyes twinkled like the stars.

I am a Lost Boy, from Neverland

Usually hanging out with Peter Pan

“They were not nearly so elegant as Peter, they could not help kicking a little, but their heads were bobbing against the ceiling and there is almost nothing so delicious as that.” You read in a clear voice so that all the boys could hear you. It was strangely nice out and the afternoon had turned into a kind of gathering at the park. You were sitting underneath the jungle gym with Johnny and Ponyboy sprawled out across from you. Sodapop and Steve had their knees hooked on the bars to see who could hang upside down the longest.

“Do you think this counts as flying?” Soda grinned down at you. Even upside down, it was the sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

“Only until you hit the ground.” Steve swung out his arm to try and knock him down, but Soda was quicker than that and Steve was the one that ended up in the dirt. Everybody laughed and Steve was only angry for a minute.

“Let her keep going.” Johnny whined. He seemed less skittish than he had last night. Ponyboy waited until Steve wasn’t looking to nod eagerly in agreement.

“Pony, don’t you have studying to do?” Soda climbed down and gave his brother a pleading look. It didn’t take long for Ponyboy to catch on. He made a face and got up, nudging Johnny to join him.

“Don’t be too late, Soda else Darry’ll take it out on me.” He grumbled, thanking you for the story before taking off back to the house. Steve also came up with an excuse to ditch, leaving just you and Sodapop, who tried to look surprised.

“Is this how you pick up all your girls? Cornering them in parks?” You scoffed, putting your book back in your bag. Man, his face turned red.

“I don’t know what- um- I’m not… no.” He stammered, kicking the toe of his boot into the dirt. You laughed.

“Relax, Soda, I’m just teasin’ you.” You shoved him playfully and slung your bag over your shoulder. The wind picked up a little and you shivered.

“Don’t you have a coat or something?” Soda asked, watching the goosebumps appear on your arms. You’d picked one of your short sleeve shirts since it was so nice, but now the weather seemed to remember what month it was. “Here.”

Soda wrapped an arm around your shoulders, rubbing your skin to help warm you up. His hands were softer than you thought they’d be with him working at the gas station and all. Being so close brought a pleasant pink color to your cheeks. Before you knew it, you were inching closer and closer until he kissed you.

His lips were gentle and soft and perfect. You both forgot to breathe for a while, but that didn’t bother you. When you did finally pull away, you both had the biggest grins on your faces.

“Maybe I should walk you home.” Soda said breathlessly. You nodded and, with a rush of courage you laced your fingers together as you walked.

By the time you got home, you felt like you were floating. It wasn’t the same as flying. This wasn’t rushed or heart-pounding. It was quieter and sweet. You couldn’t help but give him another kiss goodnight. When he was walking back to his house, he seemed to have a skip in his step.

You swung the front door open with a wide smile, giggling to yourself like a little kid. But that happy feeling washed away when you saw who Beth was sitting with.

“Daddy?”

Run, run Lost Boy, they say to me

Away from all of reality

You ran until your lungs felt like they’d burst. All you heard were three terrifying words and you got out of there as fast as you could “Takin’ you home.” You were home. That bastard wasn’t taking you anywhere.

You took the back way to the Curtis house, ducking your way through other people’s back yards so that your father wouldn’t be able to follow you. You were too afraid to go around front, so you found a low window and knocked on the glass.

“Darry!” You whisper-shouted. “Soda, Pony, is anybody in there? Sodapop?”

The curtains were pulled aside and an irritated looking Darry peaked out at you. He lifted up the window pane all the way so he could lean out and get a better look at you.

“The hell are you doing here, Y/N?” He asked. “Soda said he just dropped you off at home a few minutes ago.”

“I couldn’t go around front, Darry, he might see me.” You sniffed, wiping your nose on your sleeve. You must have been crying cause your face was all wet. “Could you help me in?”

He nodded and pulled you up by the arms. As you climbed in the window, Ponyboy appeared behind Darry with big eyes. You must have looked worse than you thought from climbing all those fences and cutting through yards.

“What happened to you?”

“Pony, go get her a glass of water. And where’s that other kid brother of mine?” Darry shouted before turning back to you. “Jeez, kiddo, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“Yeah, Darry?” Soda popped his head into the room. His eyes went as wide as Pony’s had when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N, what’s the matter?” Darry grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward.

“Sodapop Patrick Curtis, if you hurt his girl, I’m gonna-”

“It wasn’t Soda.” You blurted. You crossed your arms over your chest and stared down at the floor. “It’s my dad. He’s come to take me back to Chicago.” You jerked your chin up, trying to look tougher than you felt. “But I’m not gonna let him.”

“I thought they let Beth bring you here.” Darry closed the window and grabbed you a blanket from the bed. It was then that you realized you must have climbed into Darry’s room. There was a pair of work boots on the floor and an old, beat-up football on the shelf.

“They did.” You glowered. Soda gently wrapped the blanket around your shoulders. “Guess they missed having something to scream at besides each other.”

“Well you can just stay here til he goes away, right Darry?” Soda said, not losing his sunny optimism for a second. Before Darry could respond, a series of loud bangs came from the front door.

“I know she’s in there you little punks!”

“Oh god, it’s him.” You hid yourself in Soda’s embrace and Darry went to answer the door.

“Come out now you-” Your father’s shouting stopped abruptly. Darry, though half his age, towered over him. He didn’t look so confident anymore. “Where’s my girl.”

You held Soda tighter. Your old man must have really hurt you because Soda knew you were one tough girl. You stood up to Dallas.

“You need to leave.” You could just see through to the living room since Darry’s bedroom door was slightly open. Darry was fully blocking your father’s view of the house.

“I’m not leaving without that little brat.” He snarled, his cockiness returning. “An’ if you don’t bring her out here, I’ll call the cops. That wouldn’t end too well for you, would it son?”

“I said leave.” Darry growled again, his muscles tensing. You knew what could happen if the cops came. So you broke away from Soda.

“I’m right here, so you can leave these boys alone.” You snapped, stepping out before Darry or Soda could grab you.

“Thought you could run around with these bums and I wouldn’t come for you?”

“How did you even know where to find me?”

“Those brats of Beth’s started hollarin’ as soon as I raised a hand at her.” He smiled cruelly.

If you hadn’t been standing there, Darry would have slugged him. You just wanted to get this over with.

“Are we going or not?” You frowned, defeated.

“Y/N, you can’t go with him!” Soda cried, trying to reach for you, but you jerked away. Tears pricked at your eyes again.

“I have to, Sodapop.”

“I don’t think so.” A new, hard voice joined the scene. You looked over your dad’s shoulder and saw the rest of the boys circling the house; Two-Big, Steve, Johnny, Ponyboy, and Dallas. Dally was the one talking. “You know something, fellas? I don’t like old me. And I really don’t like old, stinkin’ drunk men hanging around my neighborhood. Especially one that yells in my buddy’s face.”

“I ain’t afraid of a bunch of rats from Oklahoma.” Your father spat, but you could tell he was a little shaken. Dally pulled out a blade.

“How about a New York rat?” He hissed, getting real close to his face. Your dad’s eyes went wide, shifting from the blade to the circle of tough looking boys around him. Then he looked at you.

“You ain’t worth the trouble.” He decided, carefully moving around Dally and walking into the night.

The whole group gathered around, hollering and cheering over their success. Soda pulled you into a tight hug and kissed you right there in front of everybody. One of them, probably Two-Bit, whistled.

“Ponyboy, where the hell have you been?” Darry asked, ruffling his youngest brother’s hair. Pony just shrugged.

“I saw that mean old guy standing out here, so I ran and got Johnny and then we got everybody else.”

You pulled away from Soda and glanced around at the other boys.

“You all came here… for me?” You gasped, a different kind of tears now welling in your eyes.

“As soon as I heard Soda’s girl was in trouble, I got the hell over here.” Two-Bit said and Steve nodded in agreement. You felt your heart swell. Soda’s girl.

You looked at Dally. Without him, it might not have worked. He just shrugged coolly and lit a cigarette.

“I had nothin’ better to do.” But you could tell that, underneath, it was more than that. Johnny gave you a small smile.

“You’re one of us now.”

“And we stick together.” Ponyboy added. And they were right.

“Alright, I’d better call Beth and tell her everything is gonna be fine.” Darry announced. “You all get in here. I’m sure we’ve got more chocolate cake somewhere.” This was followed by more cheers and stampeding feet as the gang rushed inside.

Sodapop gave you the biggest, bright smile yet, taking your hand and following the boys to the kitchen.

Neverland is home, to Lost Boys like me

And Lost Boys like me are free.

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