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ominous-feychild · 4 months ago

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✦ OC Questionnaire Tag 2✦

Following tag from @the-letterbox-archives!

Characters from Sun and Shadow: Freya, Crow, and Daleira Characters from the Arcane Rifts: Gene, Tazin, and Mislav Featuring tAR's children leveled up! They'll be answering at 15, 17, and 17 years old respectively!

Questions: - "What's your relationship with your family like?" - "Do you have any hobbies? if so, what ones?" - "Do you dream often? what about?" - "What is the one thing you would not wish on your greatest adversary?" from @willtheweaver

"What's your relationship with your family like?"

Freya: Well... we don't even know if my dad's alive but... re-regardless, it was rough between us. He was never around, and I just... I missed him. I know it was his job, but I blamed him. It was just me in that house, you know? Like, I mean--sure! I chose that! But the only other choice was to live alone in the city instead, where I had to deal with people trying to suck up to me in order to get money or whatever! So neither was a good choice, yeah??? And--I don't know, okay? I... I hope he's actually alive like the others say. I guess... I'll probably apologize to him, alright? But that still sucked.

Crow: Oh, my father's great, yeah. ... What, you were expecting more of an answer? Daleira: Oh, I love my dad! 😊 ... not enough for you?... okay, fine. Um... it's difficult at times between us. He's busy taking care of Lynsmouth most of the time, so we hardly spend any time together. But, you know--I get that! It's a lot of work to uh--... do whatever it is he does? Honestly I'm not that sure, haha. 😅 But I'm sure it's a lot! So, you know, it's not a big deal that he doesn't spend a lot of time with me. I'm really appreciative of him finding me and taking me in to begin with, and I've really led a great life thanks to him, so! 😊

Gene: I... don't remember my family. Just like I don't remember anything else before I got here. But... (*looks away to think. Will not look in asker's direction again.*) I think Abi was my brother? Older--older brother. He... really helped me a lot. So in that case... good. But... thinking the word "family"... hurts.

Tazin: (*spoken through his teeth*) I don't have a family.

Mislav: (*fakest smile you can imagine and not even trying to hide it; voice falsetto*) Dead, thanks for asking!

Crow: Sike!!! Bet you thought I wasn't going to answer. 😘 How cruel of you to think so lowly of me!!! 😭

I wasn't kidding, my father's great, I love him. He taught me everything I know about--detective work and all, heh! We don't always see each other because he's usually working on cases, but he's given me everything I need to succeed in life and I'm thankful to him for that. So hopefully I'll make him proud on this case with Frey! 😉😊

(tragically, it is not a work I have created if someone's family life is good. But, omfg, until now, I didn't realize SaS was the story of goddamn DADDY ISSUES!!! 🤣🤣🤣)

"Do you have any hobbies? if so, what ones?"

Freya: Oh, um... dammit, I'm not going to get away with a lie, am I? (*Heavy, drawn-out sigh*) Okay, fine. I... like reading. I know this is really weird!!! But, uh, sometimes, while I'm inshore, I've found books in the water. Books! Perfectly fine! Little to no water damage most of the time! I don't know if Dad sent them to me somehow or what, but... most of the time, they're in other languages. Things that don't always line up with those I find in the library. But I've figured a few of them out over the years, and I think it's really fun!

Crow: Psh, nothing as boring as reading. (*Precariously leaning back against a bulging doorway. There's a creak and then--CRASH!!!*) SHIT-- (*Furiously opens the door. An endless pile of books comes falling out. Except... they're all related to their cases? Huh. Is their hobby... working?*) Yep. That's my hobby. Working. Tell my dad that, would ya? 😘 (Oh I think we see something deeper in the closet--) NO!!! DON'T YOU DARE-- (*we zoom in to see countless artistic collages made out of cut-outs from pictures in their books and magazines.*) ... (*Crow, face burning, melts into the shadows and hides in shame.* But??? That's a cool hobby??? WAIT, COME BACK, AZA--)

Daleira: Oh!!! I just love working with magical trinkets! You know, conduits--from gods, mortals, and discovered in the Faewildes! It's amazing figuring out how each of them work and trying to figure out if I can replicate them! Faer and I have gotten good at transferring magic between objects, but gods' conduits are especially hard to work with. Like, come on--can't they share some of their power with the rest of us??? :/

There's a few items from Soren we just can't figure out, though... and he wouldn't tell me where he got them! I mean, that would help immensely in trying to figure out how they work, but we've already broken a few of them and don't want to risk losing all of them! Especially since--... well. An-anyway-- 😅

I gave Freya one when we first met! She was showing clear signs of magical sickness, and I'd already figured out it was a magical restraint you could manipulate the strength of--which is amazing, you know??? So it would be awesome to figure out how it works! But-- (*continues rambling happily*)

Gene: Hobby?... (*Looks away. Will not look back.*) I... like to draw. It's useful. Maps. Nobody else is able to navigate around the sewers, but my maps... they stay right. Even though they change. So it's nice to draw... feel useful. And everyone likes me then. Not just Mislav and Tazin. If... Tazin does. I'm pretty sure he does. (*Shakes his head swiftly, then nods*) Right. He does. Sorry...

(*Anxiously picks at his hands, still avoiding looking anywhere near the asker*) And... I've always liked reading, I think. The real stuff. To learn. It took a while for me to learn Glavni, but I've been able to read by myself for a long time now. I enjoy it. (*Finally looks back to give asker a pained smile*)

Tazin: Does burning buildings count? 😉 No? Okay, fine. How about just plain-old casual arson? 😉 OH, COME ON, HOW COME THESE GUYS'-- (*continues screaming into the camera, but we cut to black*) (*We return to a moody Tazin pouting with his arms crossed... and surrounded in flames.*) Fine. I've always liked stupid stories. You know the ones--knight in shining armor, or the underdog rising up and saving the day--that stuff. And Gene's got me into his stupid fucking "learning" thing, alright? But that's all you're getting out of me, got it, you little-- {REDACTED FOR PROFANE LANGUAGE}

Mislav: Um... not really? I... guess anything that lets me spend more time with Gene? 😅😭

... I really liked it back when I was on the farm. But... it's gone now. And I don't think Adilzhan or Zhrizn would let me do anything like that again. And... (*looks away, voice going below a whisper*) I'm afraid to even try.

(BET YOU THOUGHT IT WAS GOING TO BE ALL HUMOROUS HERE, DIDN'T YOU!?!?! DIDN'T YOU!?!?! YOU FORGOT IT WAS MY!!! MY!!!! STUFF YOU WERE READING!!! *maniacal laugh.mp4*)

"Do you dream often? what about?"

Freya: I think I've had a lot of dreams in my life. Most of them, I've hated, but I... can't remember them honestly. Except... fear. Being afraid of them. So, heh, you know--nightmares. Normal stuff normal people deal with right? Especially kids, I've heard.

... but I've been remembering a bit more of them lately, since I... since I was in the shipwreck. (*Voice goes strained and breathy, like she's struggling to breathe*) And I... I think I'm in the water again. In--in the dreams. And there's something else there--

Crow: Ha, no. Do most people remember their dreams? (They're lying. They remember. Their dreams center around failure. Failure, and a desperation to prove themself.)

Daleira: Um... not really? We faeries aren't like you humans... our "dreams" are... different. Real. I try not to actually sleep because of that. I don't want anyone else getting stuck in them.

Gene: Not anymore. I used to. Usually... nightmares. Monsters and nature and things chasing me. I have a curse. When I sleep... my nightmares find me. I'll wake up surrounded in things. Once... it included the monster. (*He looks away and is silent for a long moment, remembering.*)

... thankfully I don't dream much anymore. The curse is still here, but it's kinder now. Better things come through.

Tazin: No, who's asking? >:/

When I do dream, it's weird stuff. Memories. Wishes. (*waves hand dismissively*) Normal stuff.

(Also lying. Sometimes has nightmares of the people he cares about abandoning him. Stabbing him in the back. Telling him things about himself he knows to be true, but doesn't want to admit. Telling himself to be better... when he knows he won't.)

Mislav: Yes. I remember the night I lost everything. And the ones who took it all from me. (*looks to Gene*)

... almost everything.

"What is the one thing you would not wish on your greatest adversary?"

Freya: To find themself alone. To lose the people they care about... or feel like those people don't care for them back.

Crow: A pointless end. If you have to die, you should die for something. Something meaningful. Something you care about.

Daleira: Whatever happens to what I eat. 😅 (She's not kidding--remember, she's not human.)

Gene: Starvation.

Tazin: ... to be alone. Or... for it to be their fault.

Mislav: What happened to me... what's happening to me.

I regret deciding to do all these characters...

Your questions: - What was the worst day of your life? - What's your worst nightmare? - If a monster asked you your worst nightmare, what would you tell it and why?

Tagging (with no pressure) @darkandstormydolls @yourpenpaldee @honeybewrites @fantasy-things-and-such @themboty @.the-letterbox-archives (avoiding double-tags) and whoever else wants to join!

Divider from @cafekitsune

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inkykeiji · 4 years ago

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day 3 ❅ you are my home, my home for all seasons

don’t cry snowman, don’t you fear the sun, who’ll carry me without legs to run?

day two ❅ day three ❅ day four | series masterlist

characters: todoroki touya | dabi ft. todoroki natsuo

genre: smut + angst

notes: WAAAAH okay listen i swear to god this was not supposed to be as long as it is. uhhhh just over half of this is smut, pls pay attention to the warnings below n stay safe! <33 | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), one (1) non-graphic fist fight, tense family dynamics, generally toxic relationships, size difference, drug use, threesome, rough sex, cumplay/snowballing, a hint of mindbreak, slight dacryphilia, slight degradation

words: 7.7k

synopsis:

And the way his eyes glitter as he gazes at you, the way his fingers trace your jaw and then smooth down your hair, melts all of the anxiety and anger that had been building in your chest, burns it all to ash and sweeps it away just like that, with that one look and that gentle caress.

Because his sapphire eyes hold so much love it’s almost suffocating, overwhelming in the best way, has you endlessly craving more, more, more; and his soft touches speak volumes, rough hands scarred and stained with blood he’ll never be able to wash off, so tender when they touch you like this.

I think…I think he really loves her.

And suddenly, none of it matters anymore, Fuyumi’s words and Rei’s worry no longer holding any weight. All that matters is that you love him, and he loves you, and that’s all you need.

❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

It storms, the day of December 23rd; a nasty blizzard that has the wooden shutters banging against the outside of the cabin, harsh gusts of air rattling the glass windows as it viciously hurls snow and ice against them.

“God, you can’t see fucking anything!”

“Language, Natsuo,” Rei chides softly, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stares out at the white, at the nothingness, just endless swirls of deceptively pretty snow, being tossed in every direction by fierce winds.

“We can’t even see the cars, and they’re only a few feet away!” Fuyumi whines. “So much for tubing today,”

“That’s alright,” Rei says, forcing her lips into a smile as she turns towards her children. “We’ll just have to find other ways to entertain ourselves, that’s all,”

And not one of you misses the uneasy trembling in her voice.

❅ ❅ ❅

“Up,”

Black obscures your vision for a moment as Touya tugs his shirt over your head, a shiver coursing through your body as your skin is exposed to the cool air of your shared bedroom.

“You cold?” Touya teases, tweaking a peaked nipple.

“Niichan!” you whine, swatting at his hand, blood rushing to your face, cheeks tingling with embarrassment.

“Cute,” Touya smirks, the tips of his fingers caressing a burning cheek before he turns away, rooting through a drawer and looking for your dress today. “It’s adorable that you’ll let me stick my cock in you, or fuck your throat, or coat you entire body in cum, but you still get embarrassed by those little things,”

He turns back to face you with a stupid, goofy smile on his face, though his eyes are shining with mirth, and you can’t help the soft giggle that bubbles past your lips, sprinkled throughout your shy little shut up, niichan!

It’s routine at this point, your actions entirely automatic as your naked body slides off the bed, Touya kneeling to pull a fresh pair of panties—lavender today, trimmed with lace and ribbon—up your legs, lips scattering a few kisses along your thigh as he does so. Arms raise into the air, almost expectantly, as Touya straightens up again, slipping a long sleeved babydoll dress over your head—crushed velvet and plum purple, this time—helping pull your arms through before smoothing it down your body.

Stepping back to assess you, to admire you, Touya dusts his hands together. “Do you think you can pull on your tights by yourself today?”

Your eyebrows furrow, but you nod anyways. Of course you can, you’re a big girl, you know.

“Perfect.” He turns on his heel. “Then, I’ll be back,” he tosses over his shoulder casually, as if there isn’t a blizzard raging outside. “Stay put, yeah?”

“Wait, what?” tiny finger curl in the material of his sleeve, tugging a little. “You’re going out in that?”

“Just for a moment—”

“Niichan!” the honorific comes out as a gasp, your hand smacking his bicep. “Do you have a deathwish?”

“Baby,” he begins, gently taking your face between two large palms, voice supercilious as if speaking to a child. “I need to smoke, or I’m going to crawl out of my fucking skin, do you understand? Natsuo’s gonna come,”

“I wanna—”

“No.” he says instantly, eyes flashing, your body instinctually cowering from his tone. “I’ll only be a minute, I promise,” he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Relax, it’s just a little snow! I want you to sit here like the perfect little good girl you are, and not move until I come back, okay?”

Lips pulling down into an involuntary frown, you nod in his grasp, watching him go with a little pout. It’s only after you hear the backdoor slam, pulled shut by the sheer force of the wind, that you hear them.

“He’s got her entirely brainwashed!” Fuyumi’s muffled voice carries through the walls.

“I’m not quite sure that’s it,” Rei responds, trying to gently reason with her daughter.

“Oh my God, what are you talking about!”

You creep off the bed, springs squeaking under your weight.

“Fuyumi,” Rei sighs, and you imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose. “When’s the last time you saw Touya smile like that? When’s the last time you saw your older brother this happy?”

Bare feet make the softest little pad…pad…pad… against the hardwood as you tiptoe towards the door.

“Mom…” Fuyumi trails off, her voice softer when she speaks again. “It doesn’t make it right, though,”

The brass knob turns slowly, carefully, silently, and you pull the door open just a crack, just enough to push your ear close to the sliver and listen.

The master bedroom is at the end of the hallway, but the door is wide open, their voices floating through the vacant corridor.

Rei responds after a beat of silence. “Would he stop even if I told him to? Is it even worth the fight, at this point?”

And she sounds so sad, so defeated that it drives a dull, throbbing ache deep in your chest, a hand coming up to press against your body, trying to quell it.

“I think…” Rei trails off, and your breathing halts. “I think he really loves her,”

Her words probably shouldn’t inspire such wicked sparks of joy that shoot through your veins and up your spine, but they do, and you have to press your lips together to keep a giddy smile from spreading across your face. So other people do see it.

“Oh God, give me a break, he’s—”

“I’m serious, Fuyumi,” Rei cuts her off sharply, voice curt. “I haven’t…He’s never stayed with someone for this long, never cared about anyone as much as he cares about her—you can see it in his eyes,”

“But—But she’s his sister, mom!” Fuyumi cries. “It isn’t okay!”

“Keep your voice down,” Rei scolds, sounding exasperated. She’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right. It isn’t okay. But I…” her voice fades, and you think you hear sniffling, the thought stinging your own eyes. “I can’t take that from him, Yumi, I just can’t,”

A tense silence settles, and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, body rigid and tight as you wonder if the conversation’s over.

“She doesn’t deserve that, you know. He doesn’t, either,”

Fuyumi’s words, murmured so quietly you have to strain to hear them, light a ferocious fire in your chest, sending scalding fury burning through your veins. How dare she!

Your teeth grind together, hand gripping the doorknob so tightly it begins to jiggle. How dare she insinuate that Touya doesn’t deserve your love. How dare she imply that he isn’t capable of loving, when she barely knows a goddamn thing about him.

Sparkling cobalt flashes through your mind, accompanied by that pearly, lopsided smile and that thoaty, syrupy voice that’s always dripping with just a touch of indifference, and your heart swells.

Touya takes care of you better than anyone ever has in your entire life. Touya makes sure you’re well fed, well groomed, well dressed. Touya ensures your final year university assignments get done in a timely manner, buys you whatever you want, whenever you want it. Touya provides for and cares about and loves you.

How dare she pretend as if she understands any of that, as if she knows anything about your relationship at all, as if it’s any of her damn business in the first place.

“What about her father? What does he think about this whole situation?” Fuyumi asks a few moments later, when it’s clear Rei isn’t going to respond, capturing your attention again, jaw clenching.

Another deep sigh, one that surely has her chest heaving with the force of it, echoes down the hallway. “He refuses to talk about it any time I try to bring it up, so I’ve stopped trying. He’d rather just…not know, I guess, ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist, and just look away. I don’t—I don’t think he can bear the thought, so he just…doesn’t.”

Exhaustion is heavy in your step-mother’s voice, weighing down her words and diminishing the flames raging in your chest to smoldering embers, hand relaxing its grip around the doorknob.

“If that were me and Natsuo—”

“That’s enough,”

“Or me and Shouto—”

“I said, that’s enough, Fuyumi.” Rei snaps, and you flinch—in all the years you’ve known her, you’ve never heard her use that tone of voice. It’s unusual, unfamiliar, unsettling.

Heavy footsteps begin stomping up the stairs, cutting off your thoughts, and you yelp softly, scampering back towards the bed. Touya pushes through the door a moment later, eyebrows knitting as azure eyes dart from your untouched tights, still sitting neatly folded on the bed where he placed him, to your bare legs, then drifting up to your face.

“Why aren’t your tights on, princess?” he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips, more relaxed now that he’s smoked. “Willfully misbehaving? Or are you not such a big girl after all?”

I think…I think he really loves her.

And suddenly, none of it matters anymore, Fuyumi’s words and Rei’s worry no longer holding any weight. All that matters is that you love him, and he loves you, and that’s all you need.

❅ ❅ ❅

By the late afternoon, you’ve all begun to get antsy, resulting in Rei feeling like her kids are actual children again and wracking her mind for an activity to keep you all occupied. She decides on baking and decorating gingerbread men and then a Christmas movie marathon after dinner, gathering the family in the kitchen as her hands nervously rearrange the ingredients she’s laid out on the table.

Everyone’s already a little on edge, shoulders tense and tight any time Touya and Shouto are in the same room together, and you swear the air is electric, cracking and popping with shocks and zaps anytime one of them bristles at something the other said.

Like a storm is brewing.

The entire family works hard to keep them as far away from each other as possible, and attempts to minimize any type of contact at all: seating them on opposite ends of the table, keeping them sandwiched between moderators—family members who speak cautiously in gentle voices, who carefully and dutifully steer the conversation away from a fight—and even going as far to give each ‘group’ their own mixing bowl and baking tools.

The ingredients, however, they have to share.

It feels like a competition: who can make their dough the fastest, who can decorate their cookies the nicest, who can stay the most faithful to the recipe, who’s cookies taste the best.

And yet, none of these efforts seem to matter, because Shouto’s very presence, Shouto’s very existence, infuriates Touya to no end. They clash like thunder and lightning, silent strikes of white-hot fury that you can almost see flashing through the air—Shouto snickering quietly, or making some snide comment muttered under his breath, or reacting to something Touya does with a roll of his eyes or a scoff—followed by a clap of menacing thunder; rumbling—a tremorous growl deep within Touya’s chest; and roaring—the way his deep voice booms through the space; and rolling—his hand clutching you: your hand, your thigh, your wrist, anything he can latch onto to keep him grounded, to keep him sane.

It only continues to build as the day progresses, explosive magma rising higher, and higher, and higher with each spiteful word spit through clenched teeth, each ridiculing laugh ringing out around the room, each malicious look shot in the others direction, until it finally erupts, spouting blistering lava that scorches everything in its path, that seeps through the cracks, beginning to corrode that mask Shouto has been steadily chipping away at.

It was bound to happen eventually—no matter how hard any of you had tried to pretend, you had all known it. It had only been a question of when.

The answer to that question, apparently, is after dinner.

You aren’t even sure how it began, exactly, busy washing dishes with Rei in the kitchen, but your blood runs cold when you hear Natsuo quietly urging Touya to stop, don’t, it isn’t worth it, and Touya growling at Natsuo to let go of him, don’t fucking touch him.

Rei hears it too, of course, because the plate she was scrubbing slips from her hands and cracks as it collides with the aluminum sink, sheer panic etched into her face, wiping sudsy hands on her cardigan as she hurries towards the voices with you in tow.

Shouto’s barking out a laugh as you both round the corner—a harsh, almost piercing sound that echoes throughout the cabin, void of any humour.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,”

And though his face is harder than marble, eyes positively glaring at his eldest brother, his voice shakes a bit.

Touya picks up on it, of course, because Touya picks up on everything.

“That so?” He asks casually with a shrug, eyes beginning to glitter as Shouto involuntarily shrinks away from him. “Shame. Whaddya say we fix that?”

Touya has always been quick, has always been seemingly one or two steps ahead of everyone else. He reaches around his body, lithe fingers running along the waistband of his jeans, and groans out a curse when his hand meets nothing—Nastuo still has his gun.

That’s fine, he shrugs a little, dangerous smirk on his face as Shouto’s eyes watch his hands with laboured breathing as fingers dip into his front pocket, curling and finding it empty—Natuso still has his blade, too.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Touya hisses, Natsuo’s words from after the snowball incident echoing through his mind. You can have these back, he had said sternly, as if speaking to a fucking toddler, when you’re in your car, behind the wheel, all packed up and ready to go Christmas Day.

Well, that’s alright, Touya supposes, because his fists are weapons in their own right, too, aren’t they?, large hands flexing before curling into tight balls, sapphire eyes glinting in the warm light, teeth bared in a petrifying smile as he cracks his neck.

And it all happens so fast, like a cat pouncing on its prey, nothing but a blur of ivory and black colliding with crimson and cream, a mess of bruised knuckles and split lips and flowing scarlet—so much scarlet, streaming from noses and smeared across cracked picture frames, seeping through little slashes and spit from between clenched teeth.

Something shatters, someone screams, but it all sounds muffled to you, distant and far away as you stare dazedly at the mess of limbs on the hardwood floor a few feet away, watching as brilliant galaxies of periwinkle bloom rapidly on smooth skin, and everything feels numb.

Natsuo manages to catch Touya, receiving an elbow to the stomach in the process as he hooks his arms under Touya’s and hoists him off of their baby brother. Shouto leaps to his feet, ready to lunge at his now incapacitated brother, but your father grabs him before he can, holding him back, arms wrapping around him in an iron grip.

The softest sob sounds, all eyes snapping towards it.

Rei stands with her arms wrapped around herself, gleaming grey eyes darting between her eldest and youngest, and everything stills.

“You leave my sight for two seconds—” she starts, blinking hard as fat tears roll down her cheeks, the rest of the sentence getting lodged in her throat. “Two seconds, a-and—and you—I am so—so—”

She’s unable to force the words through her trembling lips, but she doesn’t need to.

I am so disappointed in you.

Natsuo’s able to haul Touya off to the first floor washroom, curses still spewing from your niichan’s lips as he thrashes against his brothers grip, volatile and malignant and stuffed full of hostility, his rough voice breaking with them. His eyes look glossy, and you think he may even be crying, though it’s hard to tell with his aggressive writhing in Natsuo’s strong arms, muscles bulging under the thin material of his shirt.

Touya’s hands tremble as he taps out those little round pills, as white as the snow outside, a few clattering to the floor during the process. Your fingers knot together in front of your body, wringing and unwringing as you watch Touya toss several in his mouth, dry swallowing them expertly before leaning against the counter, fingers curling around the edge, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Sh-Should he be taking that many?” Your eyes dart to Natsuo, who’s propped up against the bathroom door, your forehead creased in worry. He laughs a little, coos at you as if you’re so cute for worrying about your niichan, like your niichan didn’t just down four oxys at once—before bothering to clean himself up, before bothering to do anything—and wraps an arm around your shoulder, tugging you towards him.

It’s comforting, and you automatically snuggle into the warmth, still shaken up from the events that occurred in the past twenty minutes, burying your head in his chest and inhaling, letting the palliative scent of fresh mint and lemon with a hint of blue raspberry fill your lungs.

He needs them, Natsuo tells you in that gentle voice, in that trusting voice, his thumb rhythmically stroking your back, voice vibrating against your cheek and reassuring you that It’s alright, he’s fine, he just needs a little something to calm him down, to sedate him.

This is the best option, he promises you, stone eyes soothing and familiar when you gaze up at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth. With the snow storm happening outside and all.

He has a point, you guess. Whether you like it or not, Touya’s still undoubtedly trapped in this tiny cabin with Shouto for at least the next twelve hours.

It’s a low dose, he ensures with a kiss pressed to the side of your head, “Gave ‘em to him myself,”

You feel like you can breathe again, Natsuo’s calming words taming the irregular palpitating in your chest, soft fingers swiping across your cheeks, catching glistening tears as he consoles you.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He’ll be okay.

What Natsuo doesn’t tell you, though, is that Touya needs them in more ways than one, that Touya actually ran out of the oxys he had brought for the trip, the ones that were supposed to last him the full five days, and that Natsuo’s pulled from his personal stash to give him more, because the last thing anyone needs on top of this disaster is Touya suffering a fucking opioid withdrawal.

He leaves to check on Shouto shortly after, muttering something about shoving a few pills down his throat, too, to mellow him out.

You pretend not to hear it, rushing towards Touya the moment the door shuts, latching onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into his back, tears threatening to suffocate you again.

Touya turns in your grasp, wrapping large arms around you and squeezing you to his chest, clutching you like a lifeline as his fingers dig into your flesh, head dropping and cheek resting against the crown of your head as he repeats Natsuo’s words.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He’ll be okay—as long as you never leave him.

And you won’t. You wouldn’t. You never will.

❅ ❅ ❅

The movie marathon, to everyone’s surprise, proceeds as scheduled. It’s awkward, and no one actually wants to be there, but Rei’s face is still stained with tears, streaks of sticky salt decorating her cheeks, and none of you have the heart to leave her when she throws on some staticky old cartoon and collapses on one of the couches—not even Touya.

No one talks about it, either. No one talks about the shards of broken glass Fuyumi swept from the floor, or the ugly, weblike crack Shouto’s head left when it whacked off the drywall.

There’s nothing to talk about, you guess, bitterness stinging the back of your tongue, sinking in your chest, as you snuggle into Touya’s lap.

But Touya’s feeling better—Touya’s feeling good, large hands running down your bare thighs, kneading the flesh before he drags them back up, under your dress, the thick quilt draped over your lap obscuring his actions from the others.

“N-Niichan,” you whisper, turning to shove your burning face in his neck and whimpering when he chuckles lowly, a dark sound that has scalding heat pooling deep in the pit of your stomach, that has your thighs clamping together and trapping his hand.

“Shh, behave,” he murmurs into your hair, waiting for your thighs to relax before his hand continues its ministrations, creeping up, up, up until he reaches your clit, flicking his thumb over it once. A gasp spills from your lips, and Touya pinches the sensitive bud, lips at your ear. “I said, behave,”

So you do—or, you try, legs spreading wider for him, molars sinking into the flesh of your inner cheek to keep from mewling. Because that’s all you want, really—to be good for him, to be his good girl, to help him forget, to do anything you can to alleviate his stress and make him feel better.

Touya teases you for the entirety of the marathon, continuously driving you to the edge and teetering you on the cliff, tempting you with the fall, the plunge, the release, before dragging you away from it, only to repeat the process again, and again, and again. Skilled fingers have it down to a fucking science at this point, circling your clit in quick, hard motions, until your thighs are trembling and your hips are pathetically trying to buck into his touch. Such reactions are always his cue to stop, to back off, immediately slowing to unhurried figure eights, sometimes pressing his fingertips into your hole just a little through the thin cotton of your panties. And then, he waits, waits until every muscle unclenches, relaxes, until your breathing evens back out and your whines fade, decreasing in frequency, until the gentle, featherlight touches of nimble fingers against your swollen clit have almost put you to sleep, just to simply begin it again.

The bulge in his jeans strains eagerly against the denim, and it’s hard, so hard, pressed up against your thigh. Long, slender fingers catch your wrist when you try to cup it, to offer him some relief, sapphire eyes flashing as he shakes his head slowly. A deep pout etches itself into your face, you just want to help, but Touya growls in your ear, orders you to stop being a fucking brat, chest rumbling against your back.

And by the end of it, you’re covered in a glistening layer of sweat, legs quivering so bad that you’re barely able to stand, the cotton of your panties soaked all the way through and sticking uncomfortably to your aching pussy, your slick slippery on your inner thighs after having seeped through the thin material.

Everything hurts, muscles feeling like they’ve been filled with sand, Touya chuckling as he stands and stretches his hands above his head, cock still straining painfully against black denim, and murmuring about how cute you are when you’re tired.

“Tired,” Natsuo snorts with a roll of his eyes, just after the rest of your family has trudged up the stairs to get ready for bed, Fuyumi struggling to support a barely coherent Shouto.

You look over at him, head quirking curiously.

“You two were misbehaving,” he smirks, glancing between your faces self-righteously. “You were quite naughty tonight, don’t you think?”

Pricks of humiliation crawl along your skin. He noticed?

Of course he did, how could he not? His voice is sharp, stings like a slap to the face, a tone you don’t hear very often from him, and it wasn’t very fair to make him sit through that and not be able to touch, was it?

“No, it wasn’t,” Touya agrees with a shake of his head, sounding almost solemn, though amusement glitters in his azure eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. I think we should make it up to poor Natsuo, princess. Don’t you?

They’re looking at you like a pair of starving jaguars, stone and sapphire eyes glinting dangerously in the hazy yellow light the little lamp provides as they prowl towards you, trapping you between their bodies and the edge of the couch.

“I-I…” your voice dies in your throat, eyes darting between the two men as your heart begins to race. You don’t know, you aren’t sure, is this even allowed?

Then they’re laughing at you, cooing at you as their hands paw at your body, pinching and cupping and squeezing, Touya murmuring about how you’re going to help Natsuo out like a good girl while carrying you up to your shared bedroom and placing you on the bed, Natsuo following close behind, shutting the door with a gentle kick of his foot.

Then Natsuo’s crawling onto the bed beside you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I bet you look so pretty when you cum, baby,” His voice is low, rough, and it makes your stomach flutter.

His words pull an unexpected gasp from your throat and your eyes find his, blinking twice in genuine question. “D-Do you think about that?”

“Fuck,” he nearly whimpers, sharing a look with Touya, who chuckles smugly, leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed casually over his chest.

“I told you,”

Forehead wrinkling as your brow furrows, your gaze darts between the two of them, unsure of exactly what it is they’re talking about.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Natsuo breathes, eyes hooded as they scan your body slowly, working back up to your face as he grinds the heel of his hand against his hardening cock. “I think about it,”

The burning deep in your belly flares at his dark stare, thighs rubbing together as you hold his eyes, sweet little pants escaping your parted lips. Make it up to him, huh?

“I wanna—” you start, looking over at Touya and swallowing thickly. “Can I cum on his cock?”

Natsuo chokes on a whine the moment the words leave your lips. “Christ, niisan, she’s gonna kill me,”

Touya huffs out a little laugh, though his eyes do not leave yours as he considers.

Usually, the answer would be no, absolutely not. Touya has always refused to share your pussy with anyone—that was his and his alone. However…

If there’s anyone he would even think of sharing it with, he supposes it would be his brother.

“You wanna cum on his cock, baby?” he asks slowly, sapphire eyes watching you sharply, analyzing every micro-expression, every twitch of your brow, every quiver of your lips.

You’re unsure if it’s a trick question or not, but you’ve learned that it’s always best to be honest with your niichan—he’d know instantly if you were lying, anyway—so you nod, sucking on your bottom lip. “J-Just once,” you add, after a beat of silence.

“I mean, it is Christmas…” Touya trails off, looking over at his brother, who’s glassy gaze is glued to your face. “What do you say, Natsuo?”

“Seriously?” his eyes fly to Touya’s, wide with disbelief, not nearly as bold as he was in the living room. “I mean—I don’t—I’m not here to overstep any boundaries—”

“I know,” Touya cuts him off calmly. “I trust you,”

Trust. That’s rare with Touya, an honour to be told, and Natsuo’s eyes soften.

“It’d be a privilege to have you cumming on my cock, baby,” he tells you, voice so gentle, so sweet, so sincere, foiling the dirty words spoken.

But your fingers are trembling, tangled in your lap, and your heart is racing, pounding against your ribcage, and your mouth is dry, throat stuffed with cotton. Blood rushes in your ears as you look over at your niichan again, worried, scared. Is this a test? Is he really allowing you to ride someone else’s cock?

A frown materializes on his face and he stalks forward, stopping in front of you and reaching out to cup your cheek and tilt your head up, thumb caressing your cheekbone as he stares down at you.

“What is it, baby?”

“C-Can I really?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “You won’t—You won’t be mad?”

Both men coo and Touya laughs, eyes shining in the dark. “No, I won’t be mad, princess,”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he nods, hand moving to pet your hair once. “Now, come on,” he gives you a light slap to the cheek, eyes darting to the bulge in Natsuo’s grey sweatpants. “Can’t wait to see you take that monster, baby,”

Monster isn’t exactly an exaggeration.

He’s bigger than Touya—not by much, maybe an inch or so longer, but considerably thicker. The head of his cock glimmers, decorated with a pearl of precum, thick and veiny and nowhere near as pretty as your niichan’s.

“Look at her,” Touya teases from his spot across from you, now perched on the edge of the other bed. “She’s already salivating over it,”

And it’s true, at least in part, your wide eyes glued to Natsuo’s cock as endless heat gushes, throbs, between your legs, little cunt suddenly feeling very empty. Touya’s been teasing you all damn night, an intense neediness building in your chest, powerless to stop the pathetic little whine that gets caught in your throat when Natsuo shifts on the bed, rearranging himself slightly and patting his spread thighs.

“C’mere, baby,” he’s saying as you climb over him, massive hands clutching your hips as you hover above his cock. “Lemme give you what you need,”

And the high pitched moan that slips from between parted lips as you sink down onto him is nothing short of pathetic. Natsuo emits a breathless little laugh as dark grey eyes watch the way your face screws up in discomfort, little whimpers spilling from your lips as he splits you in half.

“Aw, baby,” he murmurs, never slowing his pace as he forces your hips down, down, down. “We didn’t prep you properly, did we?”

No, they didn’t, neglecting to stretch you out at all, copious amounts of your own slick the only thing aiding Natsuo’s cock as he shoves it into you.

“Your fault, you know,” he whispers in your ear as he finally bottoms out. “If you hadn’t been so greedy, so eager to hop on my cock, maybe I would’ve let’cha cum on my fingers first. But what more could I expect from a slut?”

Your eyes snap open, inhaling sharply, unused to hearing Natsuo talk with such derision, unused to the way it makes your stomach positively swoop. He’s already looking at you, a small grin on his face, and, oh, he knows.

Natsuo doesn’t afford you a second to adjust to his girth, though, immediately bouncing you in his lap like you’re just some toy for him to use, hips bucking up into you wildly, malicious laughter escaping his chest as you whimper out Hurts, Natsuo, i-it hurts, Touya snapping at you to be a good little whore and just take it.

But the stinging fades quickly, like it always does, finally yielding to that heady mix of pain and pleasure, and it feels so good, the stretch is so good, Natsuo is so good.

Natsuo snickers, berating you for your extremely limited vocabulary, and you’re so cute, all stupid and fucked out like that from bouncing on his cock—you’re so fucking easy, aren’t ya?

His degrading is punctuated by his hard thrusts, blunt nails biting into the flesh of your hips as he fucks you, as he uses you, each piston of his hips forcing you closer and closer to that edge, the one Touya has already dangled you off of so many times tonight.

Todoroki cock must really make you dumb, huh? Turns you into nothing but a drooling, senseless little cocksleeve, isn’t that right, baby girl?

You’re having trouble concentrating on anything, really, overwhelmed by sensations and sounds, by Natsuo’s steady stream of words and the smack of your ass against his thighs.

Can’t even answer me, foolish little girl, already drunk with cock and we’re just getting started.

Yes, you whine, nodding your head in lazy little jerks, pushing the word out of your slackened mouth. Yes, yes, yes!

Your skin is crawling, itching, blazing, your head lolling to the side, connecting with glowing sapphire, and you swear you can feel his gaze on your body, leaving a trail of blistering heat in its wake.

His cock is still so hard, but he doesn’t touch it, completely captivated by you. He doesn’t ever want to forget this, he tells you, unblinking eyes searing into yours, wants to see the way your face contorts in ecstasy when you cum all over his brother’s cock, wants to commit it to memory.

And it’s Natsuo’s mean, belittling words, spoken in that saccharine sweet patronizing voice paired with each rough drag of his thick cock, plus Touya’s shallow breaths, little gasps and inhales, the way his dark eyes almost sparkle as he watches you, that have you creaming on Natsuo’s cock embarrassingly quickly.

Your eyes don’t leave his, though, sapphire all you can see as your orgasm tears through you almost violently, the pulsing release almost painful after being edged for so long, little pussy aching as it clenches around Natsuo’s cock.

A pathetic little whimper slips through your lips as your body collapses against Natsuo’s firm chest, head automatically nuzzling into his neck. His cock is still so hard inside of you, twitching as your hips involuntarily shift a little. Strong hands find your waist, a patronizing chuckle blanketing you as they begin to knead your flesh.

“Idiotic little girl, we aren’t done yet,”

The words are harsh, almost spit out with that small chuckle, dripping with condescension and rolled in icing sugar—and his tone is so ridiculing, speaking to you as if you’re so dumb, so silly and God, you really do go so stupid from cock, don’t you?

Another laugh rings out—niichan’s this time, and he’s saying something—something about Natsuo’s cum filling up that empty head of yours, you think—as Natsuo roughly rearranges your pliant body, pushing your head into the mattress and yanking your hips up.

It’s hard to focus on the words being spoken, brain hazy and floating on post-orgasmic clouds, but you’re fairly sure Natsuo’s promising to make good use of your cute, empty little skull, telling you it’s the perfect little cumbucket.

But Natsuo’s arrogance fades, finally, morphs into high, needy mewls and quiet little moans, interspersed with sharp intakes of air, sucking in curses and your name as he repeatedly rams into you, thrusts growing sloppier, massive hands keeping your hips held up.

“Oh, Christ,” the curse leaves Natsuo’s throat in a pitiful whimper. And although they were talking about it, joking about it, a mere twenty minutes ago, Natsuo knows he must still get permission. “Niisan, can I—can I cum inside?”

And his voice is so whiny, as if he’s begging Touya to say yes, harsh breaths ghosting over your bare back, cool against your heated skin and mingled with little half-grunts, ones that hitch in his throat as he continues to pound into you, pace never faltering.

Desperate pleads begin spilling from your lips almost instantly, urgent and uncontrollable, brain mushy with thoughts of ice cold hands on your waist and a thick cock buried within you, intoxicated by the scent of cool mint and tangy lemon.

“Oh, please, niichan, please,” you’re sobbing into the mattress, bleary eyes squinting as they try to focus on the watery blur you assume is Touya, still seated on the other bed. “Please, want his cum, want his cum for Christmas,”

“Holy fuck,” Natsuo’s gasps out brokenly, a loud moan reverberating in his chest. “Please, Niisan,”

Touya chuckles, and if it weren’t for the slight breathlessness to his voice, you would have figured him entirely unaffected. “Yeah, fine, go ahead,” he says passively, as if it makes no difference to him. “She’s a little cumslut, anyway,”

A steady stream of overlapping, practically incoherent thank you’s flow from yours and Natsuo’s mouths, getting lost between pitchy mewls and the slap of skin against skin as his taut hips meet your ass.

“Nat—Natsuo-nii!” you cry, so fucked out that the honorific doesn’t even register in your mind, blissfully unaware in that moment that you’re older than him, little hole pulsing around his thick cock. “Natsuo-nii, please, please, give it to me,”

“Oh God,” he chokes on the words, gurgling them in his throat.

His hips piston into you once, twice, three more times, and then they’re stilling, pressed flush against you as he falls forward, sweaty chest pressed against your back, strong arms caging you in as his cock throbs, filling your little cunt with powerful spurts of thick cum.

It’s like a rush of frost through your veins, not scalding the way Touya’s cum is, sending vicious shivers skittering across your skin. It’s soothing, almost, cool and pleasant and has you pushing back against him, hips wiggling a little as you try to milk him for just a bit more. Plush lips find the back of your neck, pressing kisses along your sweaty hairline, a tongue darting out a moment later to lap at the salty substance.

He stays pressed against you for a moment more before straightening up, pulling out with a hiss and heavily collapsing back on his heels, legs tucked under himself.

“Let’s see,” Touya’s saying, as if he’s asking Natsuo to show him his homework, not to examine his brother’s cum leaking out of your aching cunt. “God, look at that,”

You whine a little, hole fluttering as Touya gently blows hot air against it, and Natsuo groans out a curse, voice raw and wrecked.

Hands—Touya’s hands, you can tell, you’re sure of it—curl around your hips, halting them from their slight swaying. A soft, surprised yelp gets caught in your throat when you feel something wet, something warm, something strong, lick along your slit.

“Aw, niisan!” Natsuo scolds, emitting an indignant sound from the back of his throat. “That’s so…That’s so…” his voice tapers off into a soft whine that has Touya chuckling against your swollen lips, the tip of his tongue flicking against your clit teasingly before he pulls back.

But, wait, that isn’t fair!

“Niichan,” you whimper, hips squirming in his loose grasp. “Niichan, want some,”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, hands running over the smooth skin of your ass, thumb caressing his scarred name. “You want some of Natsuo’s cum, too?”

“Please,” you beg, hole clenching again at the thought. You can feel it oozing out of you, thick and cold, and hate the thought of it being wasted on the bedsheets.

You expect Touya to swipe nimble fingers along your slit and gather cum to feed you, gasping loudly when you feel his tongue on you again. The strong muscle laps at the cum trickling down your inner thigh, then it’s curling against your cunt, inside of your cunt, collecting as much of the syrupy substance as it possibly can.

A hand fists in your hair, using it as leverage to yank your head up. Your mouth falls open instantly, expectantly, and Touya lets his younger brother’s cum—now watered down with his own saliva—dribble from his mouth into yours.

Natsuo chokes something out—you aren’t sure what, you weren’t listening, hyper-focused on the way sapphire burns into your skull as cream coats your tongue—and Touya’s open mouth molds into a sinful smile, still drizzling the sticky, viscous substance into your mouth, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth as gooey strings of white drip off of it.

“Such a greedy little baby,” Touya says after he’s emptied his mouth, voice almost affectionate. “Now be a good girl and swallow. Swallow for Natsuo,”

And you do, of course, because you are such a good girl, such a good girl for Natsuo, such a good girl for your niichan.

“You guys are nasty,” Natsuo almost pants out, failing to keep the whine out of his voice, gunmetal eyes scanning your little hole, licked clean and now gleaming with Touya’s saliva. “Fuck, that was—hey, wait…What’s this?”

“About time you noticed,” Touya mutters, and your heart sinks.

You know exactly what he’s looking at.

A beat of silence passes, and you keep your head buried in the sheets, terrified to move even an inch.

“What did…Did you…?”

“Yeah, with a soldering iron,”

“Jesus Christ,”

“I deserved it,” you whine out, muffled by the mattress, guilty tears springing into your eyes. “I was—I was very bad,”

Glowing ruby and soft, fluffy tufts of silvery-blue hair flash through your mind, eyes squeezing shut tightly as stinging spears rip through your chest, straight through your heart and right to the core of your body.

No. Now is not the time to think of him. It is never the time to think of him.

A tiny sniffle escapes, your chest hiccupping with it, and you clench your teeth hard, so hard your jaw aches, in an effort to keep any other sounds from escaping. Touya hushes you, large hand warm and heavy and oh so familiar on your lower back, thumb caressing the silky skin just above the swell of your ass. You’re good, he tells you, voice quiet but firm, and you nod into the sheets.

“That is so fucking hot,” Natsuo breathes out, eyes flying to the brand again, his voice breaking you out of the reverie you nearly fell into. “Can I touch it?”

The question startles you—no one else has ever touched it except for Touya. Your mouth stays shut, body stiff and still, waiting for your niichan to make the decision.

“Sure,” Touya finally answers, your entire body flinching when Natsuo reaches out to trace the name with his pointer finger, first forward; T, O, U, Y, A, and then backwards; A, Y, U, O, T, the letters echoing through your mind in Touya’s smooth, deep voice as he does so.

“Holy fuck,” Natsuo whispers as he sits back again, the bed jiggling a little with the motion. “That’s…”

Touya gazes down at it as he blows air out of his mouth, fingers running across it slowly, feeling the slightly raised letters of his name in an almost gentle caress.

He didn’t expect it to scar as bad as it did, his name forever etched into your skin in thin silvery streaks that almost shine when the light hits them right, but you didn’t seem to mind. It’s pretty, you had told him, in that gentle soft voice that makes his chest feel as though it’s blooming its own tiny ball of sunlight. It’s yours, niichan.

He wonders what Shouto would think, if he knew, how he’d feel, if it would make his throat burn and his eyes sting and his chest stutter, if he would weep for you. Touya hopes he would.

“Mine,” he whispers, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to it, his tongue darting out and laving over the entire name once before the tip traces the letters. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you whimper, hips greedily pushing back again. “Niichan, niichan, please,”

He hushes you, tells you he’ll give you his cock now, quiet, quiet, rearranging your body so you’re on your side and bending your legs, pushing them up towards your chest and revealing your little cunt to him. Large hands drag your hips to the edge of the bed, sure to keep the ass cheek with the brand facing upward, facing him.

The gentle clinking of his belt has your toes curling in anticipation, the head of his cock nudging your little hole a moment later.

He delivers one quick thrust, burying himself in your snug little cunt in a singular motion, groaning about how you’re still so tight, how you still feel so good, even after being pounded by his brother.

His pace is merciless from the very beginning, hard and fast and so fucking deep, pulling broken cries and rough little whimpers from your raw throat, one of his hands on the mattress to stabilize himself while the other weighs down on you, pinning you to the surface.

“Niichan!” you’re squealing, Touya’s blunt nails digging into the meat of your thigh as he uses it to steady you, large hand splayed out on your skin. “Niichan, nii-niichan, it hurts,”

It more than hurts—hurts doesn’t even begin to describe the excruciating thorns of pain intermittently racing through your upper body as he slams against your cervix, shooting straight to your core and festering in your throat. You can feel them collecting in the column, wedged tightly between the gummy walls, and you choke on them, gag on them, coughing around them as you urgently gasp in air.

“But you can take it though, right?” he pants out, cobalt eyes wide and frenzied as they burn into your face. “You can take it, because you’re a good little slut for niichan, aren’t you?”

Salt stains the back of your throat, tears and snot mixing as you sob into the mattress, face half-buried in the rumpled sheets.

Yes, yes, oh God yes, you want to be good for him. “Uh-huh,” you breathe out, the noise stuttering past your lips in time with the quick snap of his hips.

And, fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful like this, so fucking hot, taking his cock so well when he’s giving it to you so hard.

“Good,” he gasps, eyes zeroing in on his name etched into your ass, peaking out from between his thumb and forefinger, glimmering when it catches in the pale moonlight. “So fucking good for me,”

Because you are, with your dedication, and your submission, and your pure devotion to him as he brutally fucks you, taking everything he gives you, taking it so well.

And it’s these thoughts, swirling in his mind as you gaze up at him, a mess of sweat and drool and cum, teary eyes dazedly watching him like he’s some sort of god, that have his hips stuttering, filling you with cum, thick and hot and so much, your body going lax under his grip as he chokes out how much he loves you.

Senseless gurgling bubbles past your lips as you try to move, try to roll onto your back or uncurl your limp body, whining softly when you find that you can’t. Two silhouettes loom over you menacingly, the sound of laughter and mingled voices blanketing you, murmuring words you can barely make out. Another pathetic whine hitches in your throat, tongue sluggish in your mouth as you try to speak again, losing the battle with your heavy eyelids a moment later, finally engulfed in darkness.

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #dabi smut #todoroki touya smut #dabi #todoroki touya #there's one line of dialogue in the smut taken straight from my life no joke <33 #ok ok ok dont expand the tags unless u want a slight spoiler!!! promised anon i'd answer here so!!#this almost murdered me #deadass almost jumped out from my laptop screen and stabbed me in the heart #uuuuh YES ANON FROM BEFORE there's ur answer: rei is caught in a moral struggle and her dad would rather not know #tw pseudo-incest #tw drugs

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years ago

Text

Right Back Where You Started

[Masky/Timothy Wright X F!Reader]

[Warnings: slight blood, slight violence, language]

[AN: Four of my OC's are in here! This was also requested from a friend a while ago.]

The beauty about being able to live a life outside of murdering people and being at the whim of a monster that fancies itself as a god is a variety of your own accord.

For instance, you can wake up whenever you feel like, take a job wherever there’s openings, meet new people and not have to bash their brains in just for asking about your life and only need to pick up a blade to cut food or occasionally packages you impulsively bought on the nights that feel like too much and not enough all in one. You can breathe and not worry about inky black tendrils crushing your throat for doing so without his permission. You’re able to sleep at night knowing that no higher up in your group will attempt to kill you in an act of proxy related hazing. You can clear your mind temporarily of the thoughts of what may come next in trade for semi-normalcy even though you know those thoughts won’t go away anytime soon. The weight of what you’d done was too much to bear, and Atlas can only disappear for so long.

When you first decided to betray your boss, the tall man in the woods, the faerie that steals children away, you acted on impulse. It was an impulse that was born from being all too exhausted with risking your life, committing sin upon sin and other terrible, no good things that should ever be uttered. The decision you made on impulse had no foresight or planning, and when you decided to run, you ran as far and as hard as you could away from him. Away from them. Away from it all. Of course, you know there were going to be repercussions for running like so few others did.

The ire of the Slender Man being the worst.

Most days, you try not to think of him. There’s no point - well, maybe there is a healthy fear you still have - but to worry yourself into a stupor would be silly now. You’ve been free of him for a year. He hasn’t sent you any signs, nor has he sent anyone… Maybe you weren’t important enough to set him off like some of the others had.

These are the things you like to think about as you sit on your couch watching the late night news that’s barely audible as you scroll through your phone. You never really did like the total silence an empty house provides. There’s a simmer cup of tea on the coffee cup and a few snacks laid out that you have little plans of eating while you relax and enjoy the midsummer night. Outside, you can hear crickets sing and cicadas accompany them. It’s peaceful, and while your mind would like to think of it as such, you can’t ignore the ringing in the back of your head. Things have been pleasant, too pleasant. There’s bound to be a storm due to roll in.

Still, you try not to think of these things, and instead focus on the content that scrolls in and out of your vision. It’s nothing particularly interesting, but helps get your mind off the things that often keep you up. And you continue to sit there on the couch, wrapped up in a light blanket to combat your AC as the hours of the night tick by. Your mind is completely off of really, any higher cognitive thought, when you hear something. It’s soft, low, sounds like two, maybe three people and they’re out in the distance. Must just be stumbling onto the borders of your ‘farm’.

See, the funny thing about trying to integrate into normal human life is that you physically can’t. You can follow all their customs, get into their society, look like them, but you’ll never be fully human. You want to know why? Proxies can never go back to what they used to be. They’re forever changed, and no force on heaven of earth can ever get rid of that. He can take your memory and dump you on the side of the road, but your biology has forever been changed. In most cases, it’s a nice thing to have: faster healing, better pain tolerance, heightened senses, and a better sense of problem solving than most people. Other days, it’s a hindrance for reasons you can’t quite explain. Some call it Slender Sickness, and the only way to remedy it is to be under the tall man’s care.

Because you’re not, you’ve found other ways to remedy the sickness he inflicts on practically everything he touches. Pills. You find them in odd, strange places, but they get the job done. So long as you have them, you can be free of his grasp and his connection.

But goddamn, the hearing is mostly a hindrance. On the account of you living on the edge of a college town, you’ve got land and are surrounded by farmer’s fields. You heat it all- critters in the night, teens messing with the patches, arguments, sometimes crimes, and it keeps you up at night. That’s a downside to not having him in your life- he’s not there to dampen its effects when it becomes too much. However, in this specific instance, your heightened hearing is a blessing.

The feeling in your gut only furls together tighter as you hear the three strolling down your dirt road. They’re close, much too close. You know that they’re here for you.

Frantically, you jump off the couch and start to damage control by making the place look like no one inhabits it. The TV and lights are turned off, the mug emptied of its contents, snacks put away and other leads buried. Your heart pounds a mile a minute - you know that if he finds you, it’s all over.

He’ll kill you - the Slender Man is not known for his mercy.

You feel like a chicken with its head cut off as you look around the house for weapons before settling on the kitchen knife. It’s cliché and reminds you of someone you once heard whispers about, but it’s all you can think of in this moment. When you left this life, you left the physical parts of it as well. All your gear, weapons, they’re hidden in a place that’s too risky for you to even attempt getting. Armed with the kitchen knife, you debate running out the back or hiding, then running. You always were good at staying out of sight, hiding it is.

Your eyes dart to the basement door and you slip through right as you hear the three outside your front door. There’s a window that opens in the direction of the town. If you slip out of it, you’ll be able to get a good headtstart through the field. The moment you start booking it down the stairs, you hear your front door get blown open.

“Wallace, what do you think?” You hear a male’s voice ask.

“Someone’s been in here recently,” a deeper male voice responds - must be Wallace, eyeing over your living room.

In the darkness, you quietly maneuver the crowded, cluttered basement, mentally cursing you left your phone upstairs in your haste.

“It feels like someone’s been in here,” Wallace’s voice continues. You can practically hear him smelling the air. “Ruth, tell Nyein to sniff this one out.”

You hear boots scuff against your wooden floor and stop somewhere in the doorway. “You could always just ask them yourself,” the female voice identified as Ruth verbally shrugs. She clicks her tongue, and you hear even more steps. How many of these people are there? You hope it’s just four. That’s a well sized group, come to think of it. “Ny, can you please sniff this one out? Seems like they’ve done a good job at scent covering.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Don’t give us any attitude,” the first male voice hisses slightly. “Do what you’re told-”

“Theo,” Wallace sharply reprimands.

You hear Theo sigh right as you reach the window. You pray to whatever deity will have you that it won’t squeak or make any loud noises, but the thing hasn’t been opened in gods know how long. You use the blade to lightly cut through the layers of off-white paint before the window is free. You mentally smile before attempting to lift it.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Nyein got your scent. Their pupils dilate upon realizing you’re the one the Slender Man has requested alive. You hear someone rapidly padding to the basement.

Panic fills your veins as you struggle to get the window open, not even caring that it’s making all the noise in the world. You need to get out!

“She padlock this thing?” You hear Ruth ask before she grunts. The door can’t hold them back forever.

You frantically push up on the window - it's a quarter open, not near enough for you to slip through. Shit, shit, shit! You need to go NOW.

“Jesus- just break it already,” Wallace sighs.

A few more grunts and you hear the wood splinter. You hear them descending the steps quickly.

“There!” Theo points.

You hold your breath and push the window up with all your strength before hosting yourself up.

“Shit! Out the front! Ny, keep on her,” Wallace commands as he smacks Ruth and Theo’s shoulder, the two quickly following him up the stairs.

You begin to shimmy out the narrow window as the being called ‘Nyein’ eyes you down. You don’t think you’ve ever seen an independent like that before. They look absolutely feral, and the scent of you has them locked on your crawling form.

Their eyes narrow, teeth bared, and they quickly lunge across the space for you, right as your legs reach the windowsill.

You cry out in surprise as their clawed hand digs into your ankle, drawing blood you know you can’t afford to worry about.

“Get off!” You shout in retaliation, kicking at their face. Freed, you begin to sprint into the field.

Nyein snarls and crawls out the window as well, running after you with a speed that has you on edge. You continue to run. Behind you, you can hear the other three quickly gaining on you as well. How badly does the Slender Man want you? Your lungs light on fire as they chase you through the field. Soon, you’ll be hitting the small stretch of trees before you reach the town. With other people, you’ll have a better chance at being safe. But the stretch of woods is an awful mess of brush and loose soil. You can’t afford to misstep now.

You take in a deep breath as you hurl into the small stretch of trees, all too aware of the proxies and independent that are hot on your trail. In the back of your head, you can tell they’re tired of you. Good. They should be. You narrowly avoid twisted roots and piles of mud and grow closer and closer to other people.

It’s so close that you can almost touch it.

Lost in your thoughts and too tunnel visioned in on reaching the town, you fail to recognize the steel jaw trap in the darkness and send your shoe right on it. It clamps down, bites, and holds you. You screech and fall forward, careening into the forest floor. The pain in your leg is absolutely agonizing, and you claw at it in vain to free yourself as your pursuers close in on you.

“Gave us quite the chase, Reader,” Wallace says with a slight scowl as he crouches a healthy distance from you. “Should let you rot here,” he muses. You can’t see his face both from the darkness of the night and the fact he’s wearing a mask, but you can tell he’s upset.

“Or let Ny eat her. Been a while since they’ve last had anything,” Theo adds on, glaring at you through the eyeholes of his mask that’s the head of a pig.

“He said he wanted her alive,” Ruth chimes in, a sigh in her tone. “She’s already fucked herself up enough, let’s not rub salt in the wounds.”

“Put her to sleep then,” Wallace shrugs.

You look up at these people like a caged animal, your eyes narrowing and slightly watering at the pain of the steel jaw trap. You feel yourself inching closer and closer to the earth subconsciously as Nyein eyes you like a prize.

\ They reach their hand out to touch you before you smack them away. Their snarl, their eyes traveling down to your ankle where the blood smells the strongest.

“Do it before they eat her,” The deep voiced man says again. “Though, last I checked, Ny doesn’t eat proxies.”

“She’s a traitor, not a proxy,” Ruth lightly corrects, her gaze alone shushing you from making any noise.

Not wanting to work yourself up, you settle for cursing them under your breath.

Without any other words, Ruth comes up to you, resting her boot on your chest to keep you down. You attempt to grab at her leg, throw her off balance, but she’s stronger than you on account of still being an active proxy. Her dark eyes scan you up and down before she reaches into her back pocket. “Take a deep breath for me,” she murmurs before smacking the rag to your mouth and nose.

You flail about, screaming and cursing before reluctantly taking that breath.

“... Thank you, you’ve done well. Head out to - yes, that’s right, Theo - head there and I will give you further instruction.”

You blearily come to on the carpet of an office you hoped you’d never be back in. The smell of jasmine and incense hangs in the air. You hear a door shut and catch the boots of the people who brought you back to him leave the room. He must be sending them out to their next assignment; it’s probably some poor other bastard that won’t escape like you did. You take in a few timid breaths and allow the light to filter in.

There he is, your boss. He stands in front of you like a god. He has no face, but you can tell he’s more than upset.

“Miss Reader, what a pleasure,” he says in a deep, authoritarian tone.

On instinct, you feel yourself shrinking.

“Really?” He muses, inky black tendrils sprouting from his back. “You have the nerve to run from me, suppress me, and now you do this? You dare show your submission?” He hisses. The tendrils move like bolts of electricity as they wrap around your exhausted, terrified form.

You cringe as the tendrils take over every part of you, squeezing as if they’re threatening to break your bones if you so much as breathe out of turn. Tears well in your eyes as you remember the fear you used to feel rushing back and overloading your senses.

“You’re absolutely pathetic,” he spits as the tendril wrapped around your neck begins to constrict. You notice his body language bristle as he looks at you longer. “I could pop your eyeballs out of your sockets. I could tear you limb for limb,” the Slender Man continues like it’s nothing.

You feel nothing but malice radiate off his form. It’s heat that singes your very soul. “S-Sir,” you gasp out. “Why would you b-bring me here just to k-kill me?” You attempt to reason, eyes watering and vision going fuzzy. You weakly attempt to use your fingers as a barrier between the constrictor and you. You can’t take this low oxygen any longer - not with him physically inhibiting you.

A cold chuckle reverbates in your head while the vision of wolf’s teeth smile at you, as if they’re ready to snap. “You always were smart,” he notes, loosening his grip ever so slightly. “I could rip your head from your shoulders and it would make none of the difference.”

“Answer my observation,” you weakly cough out before he holds you tighter. You struggle to move your limbs. Your blood feels hot.

“Masky,” he suddenly calls out, hand gesturing to his office doors.

You’re barely able to move your head and settle on shifting your eyes instead to those large, oak doors as they open just a crack.In slips a man in a tan coat. He’s got dark hair, bags under his eyes, and he looks exhausted - more exhausted than you feel. He doesn’t look at you but instead focuses on the Slender Man.

“Sir,” he greets, bowing his head slightly in reverence.

The Slender Man hums, clearly pleased. You see the wolf’s jaws smile in your mind’s eye.

“Reader, you will be under his care now,” the Slender Man says. “If you successfully spend half a year at his side, I will reconsider tearing you apart.” He says it so nonchalantly that you feel chills run up and down your spine.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Do you oppose me?” The Slender Man asks. “I am being more than generous, aren’t I?”

“Don’t take this offer for granted,” you hear Masky quietly add. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, you can hear Masky telling you not to push him too far.

Hesitantly, you nod, voice too weak to say anything physically.

The Slender Man’s tendrils suddenly retract from you, sending you roughly to the carpeted floor.

You yelp as you come into contact with the carpet and slowly gather yourself as you try to push down the aches and pains that bloom on your joints and shins that hit the ground particularly hard. You cough a bit as air returns to your lungs and struggle to stand.

“Do what you must,” the Slender Man waves off, turning his back to both you and Masky.

Masky finally breaks from his stance and moves quickly to your side to help you up.

At first, you try to smack his hand away, but upon realizing you’re too weak to even see straight, accept his hand and his arm when you’re standing upright. He smells of cigarettes and some out of date cologne. It’s not bad.

The two of you hobble out of the Slender Man’s office with Masky’s eyes never leaving your form. After all, you are his responsibility now. He continues to lead you through a mansion you’ve grown to despise and out into the warm summer morning. The Slender Man could never imitate the beauty of earth to its entirety, that much was apparent.

“Where are we going?” You ask in a rough voice, attempting in vain to clear it by coughing.

“Stop that,” Masky sighs as the two of you cross the lawn. “To the parking lot, getting in the car, then driving across the border to Mississippi. We’ve got a temp there,” he murmurs. “You good?” He’s mentally wondering why your healing hasn’t damage controlled this yet. Probably the boss still being mad at you is the best reason he can come up with.

“Do I look like I’m good?” You dryly respond, eyes squinting slightly as the fog begins to kick up. You know you’re reaching the end of his reach. Once the fog clears up almost as quickly as it appeared, you realize the Slender Man’s practically kicked you both out of his realm. The walk was always longer when you truly were his. He must be severely pissed off at you. In a way, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you from the get go.

It’s best not to dwell on that thought though.

The rest of the walk is quiet and you’re in the car before you can count to 100 (your numbers are very jumbled though). You slide into the passenger seat and feel a little better at being able to rest.

Masky slides into the driver’s seat and sighs as he grips the wheel. “You have any questions, you ask them now in the car. I’m not putting up with your bullshit when we get to the temp.”

You roll your eyes and look out the window. “Who are you?”

“Masky, you heard him,” he’s pulling out of the parking lot and mentally thanking the gods he wasn’t killed alongside you. When the boss is in such a questionable mood, there’s no telling what’ll happen.

“You know damn well what I meant,” you cough slightly.

Masky scoffs before reaching into the backseat for a moment. His fingertips brush a water bottle, and upon realizing that’s what it is, grasps it and then tosses it to you.

You nod and take a sip, mentally frowning that the water’s been heated in the morning summer sun.

“I’m a group leader. Probably haven’t heard of us though, we’re not terribly monumental,” he begins as he flicks the turn signal on. “You’ve got three other people to watch out for. Hoodie, he’s the right hand, Toby, he’s essentially our middle child, and Kate. You’re replacing her and the hazing process will start up,” he finishes, now matching pace with the other cars that sparsely decorate the expressway.

You pout slightly and press your lips into a thin line as you gaze out the window at the rolling scenery. You’ve been here before. You’ve brought people back here this exact way before. They’re all unwanted memories. In response, your body language becomes unreadable.

This does not go unnoticed by Masky. “Yeah the attitude isn't gonna work,” he says as he glances over at you. “C’mon, you’ve been through this process before. We all have - what gives?”

With a sigh, you flick your eyes over to him to gauge his mood. He seems genuinely curious. “You do know that I ran away for a reason, right?”

Masky nods. “Sure, it was stupid though.” He takes a hand off the wheel for a moment to open his window. “What did you think would happen?” Sounds like he’s trying to pick at your brain.

“Anything but this,” you gesture angrily to your current situation. “I hoped to never see him again,” you groan, clearly frustrated. You chug some more water.

Masky breathes out slightly, as if he’s judging your answers. “Whatever. Forget about pulling something like that again because I’ll personally come after you if it comes to that,” he claims in a tone that’s far too serious.

You roll your eyes slightly, “sure, like you’ll-”

His eyes shift on the expressway, and after ensuring there’s no one that’ll cause a pile up on behalf of him, he hits the brakes, sending you lurching forward into the dashboard.

“What the hell?” You cry out in an exasperated tone, struggling to peel yourself up from the dashboard. You cry out in shock again as you feel his hand at the back of your head, successfully grinding your skull into the heated polyvinyl chloride.

“Get that thought of your fucking head,” he hisses, raising your head slightly before smacking it back down.

You growl back and relent. Once the pressure from his arm is gone, you shove him off of you. The car picks up pace again and you notice him wave to a person who passes by - they have a mildly concerned expression - and he smiles like he didn’t just slam your skull into PVC.

Welcome back to the proxy life.

You make it to Mississippi by mid afternoon. Masky brings the car down some dirt path where a house lays right on the Mississippi river, and you can smell traces of blood. They must’ve cleared the previous residents out.

There, on the porch in a muscle tee holding a can of coke is a man with his left cheek missing. He twitches slightly as he waves at you and Masky.

“T-This her?”

Masky nods.

“Can’t b-believe she g-g-gave Wallace’s g-g-group the s-slip,” he says in a slightly amused, slightly annoyed tone.

“Word travels that fast?” Masky replies with a slight chuckle.

The proxy before you nods with a small smile, “c’mon. I wanna g-g-get out of this h-heat. It’s a-a-awful out here,” he says with a playful grimace as he slowly rises from the front step where he had been sitting.

“Is Kate happy?” Masky asks as he watches Toby head in, then nods for you to go.

With a small frown, you do so. At least it’s air conditioned.

“Over the moon,” a feminine voice cuts in from the kitchen. She’s stirring a thing of lemonade.

Masky smiles slightly and takes a seat at the table. “We weren’t that bad,” Masky notes as Kate slides a glass of lemonade to the group leader.

She raises a brow at Toby who glances down to his open pop can. “So, this is the one he wanted alive for this term?” She questions as she glances at you, silently asking if you’d like some.

You mouth a ‘please’ before getting comfortable at the table.

“Weirdly, yeah,” Masky replies before taking a languid sip. “Thought he was gonna go for someone with more street cred, but, whatever. She’s our problem now,” he shrugs.

You look down into the pastel yellow liquid and furrow your eyebrows in annoyance. All of this, it was wrong. You hadn’t had to play by proxy rules in a year, and here you were, bottom of the rung, the runt. You hadn’t been a runt in gods know how long.

Conversation begins to flow between the three people around you as glasses of lemonade are poured. You sit in silence, listening because you know it’s not your place to speak. As far as proxy culture goes, you don’t really have any rights. Well, you’re in a better place than independents, but according to other proxies, you’re a glorified errand boy. They say to jump and you’re supposed to ask ‘how high?’ Your group’s word becomes gospel.

Apparently, Kate was this group’s runt before you came in. But, runts only stay runts for a certain amount of time. It’s possible for groups to not have runts - and that’s essentially what this group was doing. Kate had outgrown her runt status and was well considered the youngest (in experience) member of their group but had the same social standing as Toby. While it was a joke to refer to her as a runt, they hadn’t had one for a while.

That’s where you come in. You’re the first member to be considered a runt in quite some time. And you can tell they’ve been itching to take it out on someone.

“Where’s Hoodie?” Masky asks as his fingertips trace the lip of his glass. “Should be thrilled to see we’ve got another one.”

“Only t-thing holding h-him back from h-hurting you is the f-f-f-fact the O-Operator asked f-f-for us to t-take her,” Toby giggles slightly as he crushes another pop can. “He’s h-h-handling something, Should be c-c-coming back now, though.”

“Speak of the devil and the devil will appear,” you hear another man’s voice chuckle as the front door swings gently open.

Standing in the doorway holding a crowbar and wearing a white t-shirt is Hoodie - sans hoodie. It’s much too hot to be wearing one anyways. He haphazardly tosses the crowbar to the floor before closing the front door behind him, then begins walking towards the kitchen.

“This is her?” He asks as he takes a seat next to Masky, silently thanking Kate for the lemonade.

“Disappointing, right?” Kate lightly jokes, making Hoodie smile.

“In this form, sure,” Hoodie observes as his hazel eyes rake over your form. “She looks weak, scrawny, low endurance, probably forgot all her skills, what, with her being missing for a year?” He says it like it’s a game but looks at you like he despises you. “Not training her. Not my problem, and especially not in this heat.”

“She’s part of our group,” Masky replies in a slightly exasperated tone.

“No-Nose goes,” Toby suddenly blurts out.

Everyone presses their index to their nose except for Masky, who sighs dejectedly.

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles. “Let’s go, Reader. You’ve been awfully quiet.” The brown haired man says in a less than pleased tone, picking his glass up and momentarily pausing to place it in the sink.

You quietly follow in suit, nodding to your other comrades before following him out.

The nice thing about waiting for Hoodie to stir things up was that it was the late afternoon. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, and a breeze was beginning to shift through the air. It wasn’t near as hot due the sun no longer beating down on you. Besides, it was nice to get out of the house for a bit.

Masky and his group must have been staying here for a while, because he walked into the woods on this deer path like it was nothing and led you to a clearing. There were a few training things, but nothing of any substance - just a temporary fix until they were somewhere more permanent. Proxies are nomadic, after all.

“You still have a knife on you?”

“I would’ve stabbed you with it.”

He shoots you a look as if to tell you to watch your mouth and you holds your hands up.

“I’m joking,” you defend. “When I meant I wanted to never look back, I truly, deep down to my bones, meant it.”

Masky’s hand goes to his belt loop where he takes out a knife. It’s… severely dulled. Looks like he doesn’t trust you just yet.

“See that dummy? Show me what you remember and I’ll decide if we’re out here until midnight or not.”

The dummy in question looks gods awful. It’s missing an arm, the stuffing is all over the grass, and the poor thing looks like it can’t support its own weight anymore. You wonder which one of your comrades got it to this state of if this was a group effort.

You narrow your eyes and get a hold of the blade in your grasp. It’s much nicer than a kitchen knife - reminds you of what you used to use when you were but a shadow in the night. You glance at him, then the dummy, and decide to get to work.

There’s no use in running. The Slender Man will hunt you down regardless, and he won’t be as merciful the second time around.

“Stop stalling,” Masky chides.

You take in a breath, and do as told.

To say six months passed with ease would be a lie. It’s been six months of hell - and that’s mostly because you’re a runt paired with the fact you never wanted to be back here to begin with.

It’s been strange, you’ll give it that. The proxy in you took over faster than the human side of you could and you integrated back into proxy culture and society far easier than anyone expected. Of course, there were some moments where your group members would ruffle your feathers and put you in your place, but that was expected. To be a proxy is to be put under fire until you prove yourself otherwise.

You’ve gone on operations with them. Took lives again. Stole things again. You settled back into the life you originally left behind as if you’d never departed to begin with. That’s how deep the proxy mindset and muscle memory is embedded into those it takes hold of. It sets itself out to be the only thing you’ll ever know. You live by it, you die by it.

So, where have you been for the past six months? Well, still in Mississippi. About two weeks after you first arrived with your new group, you and the group moved down south near the ocean and have been staying there the entire time. Luckily, this place was considered a temp house for the people who owned it - they liked spending time in Europe - which left this place as yours. Besides, the Slender Man likes having you close. He was able to periodically check in on you with you being a few hours away as opposed to days. Why he was so interested in you, you’ll never know.

According to both him, and Masky, you’d been making good progress. By the end of your six months (lovingly referred to as a “trial run” by your group), you were half way back to what you used to be. It was disheartening to only hear “half” but it was better than nothing. A part of you wonders why you’re so inclined to get better when you should be focusing on leaving.

It’s not like you didn’t try.

You tried so many times that your group started a tally board and whoever found you first got a mark under their name. Whoever hit five before the board was reset got the next operation (or operation of their choosing) off. For the first few weeks when you were but a stranger with them, the punishments were harsh and unforgiving, like they hate you to your core. But, as the months went on, they went from fists to phrases. Eventually, you stopped trying to run so they no longer had to beat you. Every time you got that far off look in your eye, someone would reprimand you. It’s probably because they cared about you.

That’s common for proxies, bonding with your teammates on a level outsiders can’t understand. It’s mostly to keep you safe while out in the field. And unfortunately for you, you’ve been feeling that way towards your group. You’ve covered for each one at least once, and that gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. You’re in a strange place, if you’re being honest.

Take for instance now, back in the passenger seat of a car and heading back to Rosswood with Masky (he told you his real name is Tim) to talk with the Slender Man face to face. While the others in your group have been keeping up with him regularly, you haven’t seen him in person since well, six months ago. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have butterflies in your stomach as you draw closer to the woods you once considered home.

“You nervous?” Masky hums as he turns the radio down.

“Yeah,” you reply, gazing out at the rolling fields again. “What if he-”

“It’d be stupid of him,” Masky cuts you off. “Six months of putting all this time and effort only to off you? Just… Just don’t say anything stupid,” he reminds you, a slight teasing tone lingering on his words. He looks at you with gentle eyes.

You scoff playfully. “Eyes on the road, weirdo.”

Standing in the Slender Man’s office this time as a welcome guest is weird. There’s still the scent of jasmine and incense, but there’s also something sweeter - like a memory he’s trying to provoke specifically for you. It’s warm, but not uncomfortably so, and it doesn’t feel near as suffocating as did that first time.

“You’ve certainly changed,” a deep voice says with an audible smile as it reverberates through your head.

“Sir,” you bow your head slightly.

“I’m going to make this short,” the Slender Man begins. “Miss Reader, I am satisfied with your progress these past six months.”

“Thank you, Sir,” both you and Masky reply.

The tall man hums. “However, you have only reached half of what you used to be. I believe the longer you stay in this group, the better you will become.”

You take in a sharp breath.

“Does that bother you?” The Slender Man doesn’t sound mad.

“I…”

Masky mentally clicks his tongue at you, and you glance over through the corner of your eye.

You decide to respond carefully. “I know normalcy… Sir, I don’t know if this life was ever meant for me, but,” you take in a deep breath and ball your fists to ground yourself. “If this is what you want of me, I will do it.”

The Slender Man chuckles. “Timothy, you’ve done an excellent job with this one. Perhaps I should have placed Pariah with you,” he emptily thinks aloud with another slight laugh. “I regret to inform you Miss Reader, that normalcy was never an option. You will go back with your team and you will continue to better yourself until I say otherwise.” He makes no move to stand from his desk, but his hands reach out.

Taking that as a nonverbal cue, you and Masky stand and each take a large hand.

The Slender Man’s fingers close around your much smaller hands before his hand leaves your grasp entirely. Instead of striking you, he gently cups your cheek. “Now go. I look forward to seeing you in six months.” The warmth is gone from his tone but lingers like doused coals in a still simmering fireplace.

“Thank you for your time,” Masky bows slightly, nodding for you to follow.

Without any other words, you nod to your boss and follow Masky out. The two of you trade silent conversation as you exit the mansion and back to the car. You slip in just like you did six months ago, and so too does Masky. The car comes to life, and you begin to peel out of the parking lot, back to Mississippi.

“How are you feeling?” Masky asks as he pulls down the sun visor after squinting at the beams of light.

“Not as bad as I thought,” you say in slight surprise. “Maybe it just hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Or,” Masky begins. “You were always meant for this.”

You laugh in response and smack his shoulder lighter. “You know you’re not slick, right?” You tease as you stick your tongue out.

Masky chuckles deeply and gets back on the expressway. “I try when I can.”

“Oh really?” You pretend to be shocked. “Where was that smooth talking when I first met you?”

“Out the window because I just met you,” he retorts, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You are literally the worst,” you teasingly scoff.

“Right back at you,” Masky breathily laughs. His dark eyes stay focused on the road as

you get comfortable in the passenger seat.

“Really though,” you say as you stretch slightly. “Thanks for not killing me.” You look at him with such gentle eyes that he can’t help but smile just as genuinely in response.

Masky won’t lie, he was admittedly worried for you in the beginning. What with you running away all the time, speaking ill of literally everyone, almost getting everyone caught by the cops… You were colorful, for lack of better words. It’s been nice cultivating that into something better. Maybe you’d make something of yourself out of this garbage fire of a hiccup.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugs. “It’s my responsibility to watch out for you anyways,” he says as before honking at someone who almost swerved into your lane. “Besides, you’re not all too bad, and as long as it’s me making sure you don’t set shit on fire… Think we’ll be just fine.” He looks over at you and smiles warmly - it feels like the sun - before he turns back to the road.

You hum contentedly as your hand reaches for the radio. You turn up the music and let it play, a serene, comfortable silence falling between the two of you.

#reader #x reader #reader insert #masky #hoodie #marble hornets #creepypasta x reader #tim wright x reader #masky x reader #slender man

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

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fic: (could be dreadfully) boring

Boring gets a bad rap, really. Boring can be the best thing in the world.

“Could be kinda boring, right?” Dani says one Thursday morning, cold breath and hot hope mingling in the words, and Jamie laughs a little. She says it like it’s the best idea in the world: could be kind of boring, like all the songs say it shouldn’t be, like every movie tries to dismiss. But Dani says it, and Jamie thinks she’s only partly doing so to make her smile. Maybe she’s saying it for other reasons, too. Real ones. Ones that have nothing at all to do with Jamie, and how much she knows about the allure of boring.

Jamie didn’t grow up bored. Jamie walked the line between bad and worse most of her life, between one poor decision and the next, and Jamie found out all too fast what it was like to live out an adventure. The storybooks make adventure sound like something to chase, something hot-blooded and excitable, a rush.

In real life? In real life, adventure is hot-blooded, and excitable, a rabid thing with teeth. You grab hold, it swings around and bites you right back.

Spend enough time with enough idiots who think I want is a perfectly fine life philosophy, spend enough time far from freedom, spend enough time picking up after someone else’s catastrophe, and adventure starts to sound something like a dirty word. She doesn’t want adventure. Her life, as it stands, makes sense. Get up. Get ready in a little flat made up with a little bed, a little couch, a little table. Drive to the house. Grow. Go home at the end of the night, ready to start it all again.

It’s not easy, but it is simple. And simple, from where Jamie’s standing, is a good thing. You can make sense of simple. Of when to plant, when to harvest. How much to prune away, and how long to let something linger before it’s ready to be picked. Simple, scheduled life. Nothing wrong with it.

And then here comes Dani Clayton, and Jamie doesn’t have the words to explain why she knows, but she does: Dani isn’t simple. Dani blows in with her strange American accent and her big blue eyes and a smile that doesn’t quite reach them, not all the way, and she’s not...simple. At first, Jamie can’t say what she is. Bigger than she looks, somehow. Like there’s something too expansive behind her ribcage to fit under the pastel blouses and the denim jackets. Like she spends all that time puffing her hair up and puffing her chest out because if she were to let her guard down for one minute, something on the underside of Dani Clayton would come unmoored.

And it’s not Jamie’s problem.

Not supposed to be, anyway.

She did this once, sort of. This caring about an au pair thing. Rebecca Jessel was different, but there was something about her that clicked with Jamie--something like a younger sister, someone with such ambition and so little self-preservation at the same time--and Jamie had thought, sure. Sure, this is worth the time, the energy, the stress. Family is what you make of it, and say what you will about Hannah and Owen, but they are family. The kids, too. Wee monsters, the pair of them, but they’re hers, somehow.

Rebecca was almost hers, too. She thinks some nights about that far-away look in dark eyes, the way Rebecca turned her head sharply away near the end, like looking at Jamie--at any of them--was too near a mirror she couldn’t bear peering into. Rebecca was something special, and Jamie couldn’t see her pulling away until she was too far out to swim to.

And here: Dani Clayton. Also something special. Also something...something about her Jamie can’t quite put a finger on. Like walking into a room and inhaling the scent of the last good day of summer vacation, and thinking, yes. This one’s right.

But she’s also twitchy as all get-out, and her eyes do this funny jig any time Jamie meets them, and her mouth goes tight around the corners, and Jamie thinks: not this time. Not again. Not my problem.

Until it is.

And she didn’t plan it, certainly. Didn’t plan to stay the night, with the kids all wound up and the rain pattering outside and Dani bunched up on the couch beside her using words like love and possession like she’s intimately acquainted with both. Didn’t plan on the way Dani’s breath hitched around the words. Didn’t plan the way her own throat swallowed like it was trying to force down the first spark of true honesty.

Just for safety, she tells herself, setting up on that couch with a thin blanket and a shake of her head. Just in case.

And on it went: a grab of the hand; a sudden understanding; a flirtatious banter exchanged under guise of mourning. All of it innocent enough.

And then there’s Dani Clayton, telling her she sees ghosts. Telling her she sees the ghost of her ex-fiance. Telling her, with eyes clenched shut and thumbs jammed into her fists, like she doesn’t want to say the words, but she needs Jamie to hear them. And Jamie, she thinks, this isn’t boring, with a lurch of the stomach that says it shouldn’t be an attractive quality in a person. The idea of not being boring. It’s a bad goddamn idea.

Like it’s a bad idea when Dani surges into her. Like it’s a bad idea when she’s got Dani’s hair wound around her hands, her thumbs dragging arcs across Dani’s cheekbones, her mouth pulling into a delirious grin as Dani kisses her. It’s a bad idea. She knows it, and she doesn’t care in the least as Dani presses in and groans softly against her lips, and--

Jerks away.

Always, with the jerking away.

This isn’t how you do the thing, Jamie thinks for the next several days. This isn’t how you get involved in something like this. People are so goddamn much. And Dani is maybe more than most, maybe more than anyone she’s ever run up against in her entire life, and she tries not to think of it. Tries not to feel Dani’s small hands clutching her jacket. Tries not to taste the way Dani almost laughed with relief into her mouth. She tries.

Few days away, she tells herself. That’ll do the trick. Few days to get her head on straight again, and then she’ll go back. Go home. Get back to the schedule of plant and tend and harvest, and it’ll be like it never happened.

“Could be kinda boring,” Dani says, and Jamie looks at her. Wants to tell her no. Wants to want to tell her no.

Smiles anyway.

“Could be dreadfully boring.”

And even then, she thinks it won’t make a difference. Dani’s already shown her cards. Dani’s carrying something bigger than the both of them, and Jamie knows all too well how someone else’s baggage can upend a person’s life. It can ruin a person, to stand too close to someone else’s bonfire. Can singe you straight down to the bone.

And yet...here she comes, anyway. Back for Dani that night. Back to take her hand, feeling the slide of cautious fingers knitting with her own. Back to lead her into a damp, dreary grove where only Jamie has ever stepped foot, and she tells her. Everything. How it is. How the world is. How her world is. She tells her more than she’s told anyone in years, and never all at once like this, and even as the words are spilling out of her, she thinks, this isn’t simple.

Dani doesn’t seem to mind. Dani looks at her for the longest heartbeat in the world, and she is looking at her. Not with eyes darting, not with jaw tensing, but with the most open-hearted want Jamie has stood near in maybe her entire life.

It burns. It burns in the absolute best way.

And it isn’t simple, and it isn’t easy, but it’s right, she thinks, as they stand in the drizzling rain with Dani’s arms wrapped almost double around her shoulders. As she lets Dani hold her and kiss her and sigh like this is what finally letting go feels like.

It isn’t simple, and maybe it isn’t smart, because Dani Clayton isn’t boring. And, suddenly, Jamie doesn’t want her to be. Or, rather, she doesn’t want Dani Clayton to be anything shy of what Dani is: selfless, silly, hopeful Dani, who touches her like she’s never touched anything worthwhile in her whole life and is a bit terrified Jamie’s going to fade away under her fingertips. Dani, who walks back to the house with her like she’s on a goddamn mission, head up, eyes more certain that Jamie’s ever seen them. When she smiles in that bedroom, it reaches those eyes. When she lets Jamie slide with her beneath the blankets, with nothing between them, there’s no sign of ghosts or goblins or guilt.

She gasps when Jamie touches her, and burrows closer, and Jamie thinks, oh, we’re in this, now.

Her blood sings, her heart racing, and it feels like adventure, and something in Jamie sits back and sighs. All right, that something says. All right, you’ve made your call. When’s it ever gone right for you, to choose something like this?

She shakes her head, helpless, unable to explain to this core of self-restraint that this is...everything. That Dani being less than simple isn’t enough to negate all the rest. That Dani being less than simple is, in fact, integral to how desperately Jamie needs to keep her close.

The day comes and goes, Jamie still wearing yesterday’s t-shirt, Dani smelling faintly of Jamie’s shampoo somehow. No one calls them on how close they sit, on how Dani’s hand is always brushing Jamie’s, a constant reminder that last night happened, that Jamie is still here. No one calls them on how Dani’s laugh is louder now, dizzy-giddy as she gasps for breath, or on Jamie’s leg angling of its own accord to press against Dani’s thigh from the next chair over. She looks up once, sees Hannah’s knowing brow rise, and thinks, this could be you, you know. Hannah, for all her clever glances, doesn’t seem to read her mind. She only lifts her mug of untouched tea very slightly, nods, smiles.

The day comes and goes, and it isn't easy, and it isn’t simple: Flora’s acting strange again, coming and going in that unpredictable way children sometimes have, and Miles is strung tight at the table, and there’s a strange distance that seems to be growing up between Hannah and the rest of them. The price of family, Jamie thinks with a stab of regret--and then Dani is slipping away with her to the hall, pressing her gently against a low table, kissing her with the already-easy fervor of someone who would gladly do this every day for the rest of her life.

That thought, above all else, should scare her. To think of a life not lived in that little flat, with the little bed, the little couch, the little table. To think of a life lived, instead, sharing someone else’s baggage.

She almost stays another night. Almost. If Dani had tried a little harder, she thinks she would have lost all measure of restraint. If Dani had kept making that tiny noise, the one that unbinds everything calm in Jamie’s chest, her tongue brushing Jamie’s in the sweetest invitation. If Dani had taken her hand and led her back down the hall. She almost does it, anyway.

Simple, she reminds herself, breaking the kiss, her skin humming beneath the splay of Dani’s fingers around her ribs. Boring. Boring and simple and let it blossom on its own time, why don’t you.

She goes home. She goes back to that little flat, where she showers and lays down with a book she can’t seem to read, her head buzzing with the nearly tactile energy of Dani’s smile. Eventually, she sleeps.

She wakes already reaching for a body she knows isn’t there, and the only thought in her head is, trouble.

Her phone is ringing, she realizes belatedly. For a bleary second, she’s sure it’ll be Peter Quint on the other end, breathing deep, taunting--but it’s Owen’s voice, shaggy with sleep, saying, “The house. Something at the house, Jamie. Do you feel it?”

She’s already screaming Dani’s name before she reaches that lake, before she has any idea why talons of terror are scraping down her back. She’s plunging into the waves in great hitching leaps, moving as fast as she can to catch Dani up before she--and Flora, Flora’s out here in a nightgown and shuddering fear, her eyes older than any eight-year-old’s have a right to be--can tip over into the restless water. Dani is shaking like she’s going to come apart right here in Jamie’s arms, shaking and clutching Flora close and muttering, “It’s us. It’s us. It’s us.”

There’s something wrong with her eyes. Jamie won’t be able to tell for almost an hour what it is--the moonlight isn’t bright enough, the shadows too thick around them, and even when everyone is back on solid ground, Dani curled in her arms, she holds them shut against Jamie’s searching worry. As if she thinks Jamie seeing her up close tonight will undo all the careful, hopeful, wonderful work they did together over the last two days.

“D’you want some company?” Jamie asks her, when the dust has settled enough to make clear the road that led them all to this point--Henry, here; Hannah, not; Owen, drifting. It’s a mess, she thinks, just the biggest goddamn mess she’s ever come across, and the simple answer would be to walk now. To drive back into Bly, back to the little flat with its little world bunched up behind little walls. Close down, start over when things regain proper equilibrium.

“D’you want some company?” she asks, and she’s sure Dani will say no. Dani’s head is already shaking--and then, slowly, reversing course. Dani, looking at her with swollen eyes--one the blue Jamie fell into that very first day, the other a soft brown made up of all the sorrow one woman could possibly carry without falling down dead of it. Dani, letting her kiss their joined hands, a silent promise that other nights are coming--as many of them as Jamie can scrounge together--and that Jamie isn’t going anywhere.

And now they’re here: in America. In another life altogether from au pairs and gardeners and ghosts. They’re here, and Jamie thinks, not simple. But boring?

Yes, in its own way, she supposes it is.

It takes her by surprise, honestly. This sort of behavior is textbook adventure. To up and leave the only place she’s ever known for a land as alternately thrilling and scandalizing as America. To do so with Dani’s hand in hers, holding tight like if she lets go for even a second, she’s sure she’ll turn around to find Jamie gone and the beast in the jungle standing in her place. Jamie doesn’t mind the way Dani’s grip grinds her bones together some nights. The way Dani just sits back and looks at her, searching her face for something, anything, of the monster she feels lurking in the shadows.

Jamie does her best to give only what she has, and what she has is apparently enough, because Dani slowly...slowly comes back. There are moments, yes, afternoons that start out perfectly sunny and swing without warning to Dani sitting with her back against the wall, her breath coming in shallow gulps as she chokes on her own terror. There are nights Jamie wakes to find Dani clambering atop her with a child’s grace, legs and arms clutching, heart racing so hard, Jamie can feel it beneath her lips. Those nights aren’t good ones, and Jamie wonders each time if she’ll wake the next morning to find Dani has fled under cover of moonlight. If Dani has decided the terror is greater than the reward of working on this with her.

But each morning, Dani is there. And, slowly, slowly, the tension slides out of her grasp. The look in her eyes, the one that says she’s been staring inward too long to see Jamie at all, fades. They’re still mismatched, those eyes, and sometimes, Jamie misses when they were both that mesmerizing blue--but the longer Dani looks at her, the more she thinks, doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter what color they are at all, s’long as it’s her looking back from behind them.

They build a routine. Jamie wonders if this will get old, if this will wear at them; the songs all say it, the movies all insist: routine is cousin to death. Got to keep it fresh, everyone insists. Got to keep it moving.

But what they don’t seem to get, what they don’t seem to see, what Jamie believes with her whole heart is this:

Anything worth growing takes time. And patience. And routine. Anything worth growing needs a person to give every ounce of devotion they can muster, not the ragtag chaos of the brand-new.

They build a routine. Find a place. Build a shop. And with every passing day, Dani comes back to herself a little more. She’s making jokes now--bad ones, ones even Owen would cringe away from--and Jamie’s laughing every time because it’s not the words that count. It’s the delight in Dani’s eyes when she lands one that makes water stream out of Jamie’s nose. It’s the sheer open-hearted bliss of knowing someone so well, you can’t help but make them laugh with the stupidest things.

Jamie’s out of bed first each morning. When it was Dani, at the beginning, it made her uneasy; waking in bed with one arm reaching toward Dani’s side always felt like an omen of uncertainty for the day ahead. Would she walk out of the bedroom to find Dani pacing the apartment, wearing tracks into the carpet as she muttered under her breath? Would she find, instead, Dani struggling over the morning coffee? Would she find Dani gone altogether, only to come stumbling through the door hours later, arms laden with grocery bags and strange decorative bits and bobs?

Jamie likes it better this way. Out of bed at six, sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching Dani breathe. At the beginning, this was the only time she ever saw Dani truly relaxed. It still feels like a gift now, a stolen moment unshared with anyone else. Dani curls toward Jamie’s pillow, her hand sleep-sneaking over to rest beneath it, and Jamie leans to kiss her brow.

She’ll sleep another hour or two, probably, and in the meantime, Jamie breathes. Brews tea. Waters plants. Plans out orders to keep the shop stocked. Every day like this feels clean in some strange way, like by getting up with the sun, she’s allowed a chance to wash away the past. If she didn’t, if she slept later, maybe she’d wake to find the ghosts had followed them after all. Better this way. Better to keep vigil so Dani doesn’t have to.

“You’re not sick of this, yet?”

Those same words come weighted with different meaning. Sometimes, Dani says them laughingly--usually when they’ve both managed to botch a meal so badly, the only recourse is pizza. Other times, her voice is stiff with swallowed tears. On those days, Jamie knows, she’s thinking about the concept of borrowed time. Wondering how much she’s earned with good behavior. Wondering how Jamie could possibly stand starting every day not knowing what might pop out at them from the corners of Dani’s anxiety.

“Not sick of it, Poppins,” she says every time. Sometimes, she says it and pins Dani against the nearest bit of furniture, ensuring they’ll both be breathless and giggling with irritation when the pizza finally does interrupt. Sometimes, she says it into the crown of Dani’s hair, hands stroking calm, repeat patterns down Dani’s back. It doesn’t matter how she says it. It’s always true.

It’s boring, she wants to tell Dani, but can’t quite find the right way to say it. It’s boring, and it’s right. It’s the good kind of stable, the kind where you know for a fact that no matter what happens, your reaching hand will never come up empty. It’s the right kind of natural, the organic state of live and flourish that comes from tending something with earnest care. It’s boring, and I could never be sick of it, she wants to say, because it’s you. It’s me. It’s us.

Their home is the good kind of cluttered, and their bickering is the good kind of stupid, and every time she finds herself tucked under Dani in bed, or tucked into Dani on the couch, or tucked close to Dani in a moment of perfect bliss, she thinks, this was always how it was supposed to go. I knew it, somehow. First time I saw her at that lunch table, I knew it.

But there are words, and then there are words, and Jamie isn’t really designed for pretty language. She presents Dani with a flower--one carefully tended moonflower, grown in secret--and she says with shaking certainty, “We’ve got a problem, Poppins.” The problem, of course, being that she’s not sick of it. Not sick of Dani’s legs tangling smooth against her own after a shower, not sick of Dani’s heaving laughter when they slip on an icy Vermont sidewalk and go down in a heap of limbs, not sick of waking to Dani’s hands tracing, gently, the raised tissue of the scar on her back. She knows her life inside and out, knows the good days and the bad, and above all, she knows the thing that counts most:

It’s boring. It’s the right kind of boring. Dreadfully, perfectly, wonderfully boring.

And she is so in love. Has been, if she’s honest with herself, for ages. Has been since Dani was scolding her for a bedframe gone unbuilt, since pinning Dani against an upright mattress and sliding a thigh between her legs and hearing her groan against her ear. Has been since Dani was sitting beside her in that weathered diner, talking about realism and one-day-at-a-time. Has been since Dani reached for her hand without looking in the Bly Manor foyer, has been since Dani shuddered and shook in her arms after the lake, has been since Dani kissed her in the hall, in the grove, in the greenhouse.

It makes sense in all the ways that Dani has from the very start, and it makes no sense at all in the way Jamie thinks good things in her life never do. And it’s right. Dani, looking at her over the counter with such affection, like she’s questioned so much, but never this. Never Jamie. Not really, deep down, where it counts.

They’re in the back room, all hands and mouths and laughing sighs, and Jamie knows boring gets a bad rap. Knows that every kind of narrative insists this is the thing to be avoided. Keep moving. Keep dancing. Keep it fresh and new and hot-blooded and ready to bite.

But this...this is what people don’t understand. What people could be so much happier, if they could only wrap their heads around the concept. Boring doesn’t mean stagnant. Boring doesn’t mean stuck in place. Theirs isn’t a photograph, all arc and angle and line frozen in time.

Theirs is a story. Growing. Shifting. Ever-evolving. Blooming and fading and blooming again. Dani’s hands, always finding hers. Dani’s eyes, mismatched but so full of adoration, whether she’s spent the day worrying about dinner or demons. Dani, who once stood with her back to a greenhouse counter and said, “Could be kinda boring, right?”

Boring is good. Boring is perfect.

Jamie thinks she could do boring for the rest of her life.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #fanfiction #this got a wee bit out of control in terms of length

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donutloverxo · 4 years ago

Text

The proposition

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork asked for "hmm. Gentle fluff or smut, can be both. Whatever your in the mood for babes. Long or short as you would like." Ok I know the story doesn't really fit the gif or the request but I love it so much🥺🥺

Summary - Wilford has a proposition for you and Curtis.

Warnings - smut, virgin reader, blood/cum play, dark themes, technically non con/dub con since it is coercion

Pairing - Curtis Everett x reader

Word count - 3.5k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You looked at the wooden board contemplating your next move. You had gotten somewhat better at playing, after practicing for so many years. But you still weren’t nearly as good as Wilford.

“Check” You warned and grinned as you trapped his king with your knight.

“Hm” he hummed staring off into the distance. He was really out of it throughout the game.

“Is something wrong?” You spoke casually and felt a shiver go down your spine. Suddenly on edge again.

You often forgot that you’re supposed to hate him. After everything he’s done to so many people, even if he was somewhat kind to you, he was far from a good person.

You never even knew about the state of the tail section. Not until the revolution that happened months ago. Their conditions had gotten considerably better. But they and their leader were still struggling and fighting for their rights.

“Well if you really want to know...” He paused chewing on his finger while he supported the weight of his head with his palm. “There’s Curtis. He’s clearly not happy. He’s making it difficult for me to mould him into a perfect heir.”

“Oh” You let out. The disdain Curtis held for Wilford was really obvious. You had never spoken to him but you accompanied Wilford to several of his meetings. “Maybe you can meet him in the middle? Give into his needs a bit?” You said your voice strained. You didn’t need him second guessing your loyalty.

“I’ve been more than generous with him.” He scoffed “We have to maintain equilibrium. Perfect balance.” He went on his usual lecture taking out your knight with his queen “If only you were a bit smarter... and a man I wouldn’t even need Curtis.” He stated his eyes staring at the board.

“I’m sorry.” You hung your head in shame. Ashamed that you couldn’t be enough to satisfy him, be of any use to him. And that you craved his approval in the first place.

“At the end of the day” He said finally looking at you “How devoted are you? How far would you go for me?” He asked and looked at you expectedly.

“I – I’ll do anything for you sir. You know that.” You stammered. He had yet to ask you to do any tasks for him. Expect for keeping him company. You doubted he'd ask for anything too extreme from you. Not when he had so many skilled people do the job for him.

“That’s all I needed to hear.” He said giving you a chillingly warm smile that highlighted the wrinkles around his eyes.

***

Curtis struggled to not punch a hole into a wall to let the anger bubbling inside him out. Every time Wilford called him up to the ‘sacred engine’ it was for something incredibly stupid.

Like fucking tea parties with macaroons or mini sandwiches. The pompous ass called himself ‘A man of taste. That’s how I know you’re special.’

Now Curtis would have to eat those ridiculous cookies or sliders or whatever he serves him and listen to his bullshit.

But he knew that had no right to complain. This was a small price to pay for all the work he had been doing to help HIS people.

They were given five more sections of the train. Proper food and clean water. It was acceptable. But it still wasn’t enough.

He had his own spacious room since he’s 'one of the big guys now'. He felt guilty living in it. To have clean water to shower everyday, have more than enough food to keep him full.

It had been 17 years since he was alone in a room. With his thoughts. Now he got to sleep on his plush mattress all by himself. It should feel good. But he was guilty. He wouldn’t rest until his people got the same privileges. No matter how long it takes.

Wilford agreed to his terms, and negotiated with him for hours, when he had him over a barrel. It was either that or Curtis blows up the train.

The first few weeks were rough. He felt completely hopeless and crushed. Knowing from then on that he could only trust himself in this dog eats dog world. The people he did love and care for were now all dead.

So he did what he had been doing for the past two decades. Threw himself into work and planning with a clear goal in mind.

He finally reached his destination finding Wilford waiting for him. Welcoming him with a smile.

“Why don’t you sit down for a while?” He asked when Curtis merely stood there glaring at him.

“Can we make this quick.” He snapped.

“Why do you have places to be?” Wilford laughed calling for you to come out of the corner. Where you usually stood and watched his meetings take place. He introduced you to Curtis “But you must know her by now.” He inquired raising a grey eyebrow at him.

“Yeah.” Curtis gave you a small nod glaring at you as if he was ready to cut you up then and there. You had no idea why he seemed more angry with you than he did with Wilford.

“Well you’ve been on edge. And you know men have needs...” He trailed off shrugging “You can have her as your own. You’ll need an heir soon enough.” He continued.

Leaving you completely stunned. He wanted to sell you off as if you were a breeding mare.

When your father ‘gave' you to Wilford ,just over 4 years ago, you thought you’d have to do that with him. Keep him satisfied like the prostitutes in section 5 do.

But you were surprised to find that Wilford never really cared much for sex. Not with you or anyone else. He decided to ‘keep' you even went far as to call you a pet. Someone adorably stupid he liked to teach things and impart his wisdom to.

The thought of being with Curtis in that way wasn’t repulsive, not as much as it was with Wilford, but you were sure that he’d hurt you. That he hated your guts.

“That won’t be necessary.” Curtis stated “is that all?” He said completely done with this whole situation. And needing to get out of this place that just stinks of Wilford.

“Now now what’s the rush? Is she not enough? I thought you’d like someone simpler or I would’ve called for a professional.” To which Curtis shook his head dryly laughing at the ridiculous proposition. “Do you have someone else in mind? Someone in the tail section? No one there would be healthy enough to bare a child.”

To which Curtis gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw.

He did you a once over. He could see your curvy and plump figure even through your baggy clothes. That’s what he hated about you the most. The fact that he was so attracted to you. And that you always looked so goddamn irresistible.

“I don’t need a whore.” He spit.

“How about you watch your language and your tone” Wilford frowned “She won’t be a whore. She’ll be the mother of your children. You can marry her if you want to. Not that it would mean anything.” Wilford paused letting him process his words. “I’ll tell you what. You can have any woman you want.”

“How about no?” He snarked even though he knew better.

“I wasn’t really asking.” he sighed. Irritated at just how annoyingly stubborn Curtis could be. “You do this and maybe I’ll be more open to negotiating.”

Curtis shook his head in disbelief and looked at you. You had been quiet the entire time. Just like you always are. He had never heard your voice. He would certainly remember it if he did.

“And you’re okay with this?” He asked you.

Your eyes darted back and forth between both of them. “Ye – yes” You stammered. Feeling as if you were suddenly put on the spot. You didn’t really have much of a choice.

“Does tonight sound good to you?” Wilford asked you and you gave him a small nod. “Well then you should go on and get ready sweetheart” He cooed at you softly and you followed. Looking at Curtis one last time before going back to your room.

“Is this really necessary?” Curtis asked as he watched you leave.

“You’re still in your prime. This is the best time to have a baby that’d healthy. You know what they said better late.”

Curtis stayed for a bit discussing these ‘negotiations' Wilford had promised. But he was sure of one thing. No way in hell is he fucking a front sectioner. Let alone have a kid with one. He wouldn’t be caught dead trying to bring a child in this fucked up world.

You seemed impressionable. He could easily convince you to lie.

***

Your roommate Laura helped you pick out a dress for the night. Giving you some pointers on how to please men.

“And don’t forget to remind him to pull out.” She warned. Knowing the penalty for birthing more than one baby, in most cases, is very high. “Oh yeah you wouldn’t need to do that...” She trailed off feeling sympathy for you “Then I’ve heard that you should keep his cum in you for as long as you can. Let gravity do the work.”

You zoned her out. Needing her to stop talking because you were anxious enough.

“Aren’t you nervous though? To be a mom? I’d be terrified.”

Terrified. Yeah that’s what you should be. But you felt eerily calm. “I’m taking it one day at a time. Or I’d go crazy.” You muttered out in response to her.

Your steps were slow as you made your way to Curtis. What happens if he finds you lacking? Or so repulsive that he can’t even get it up. Would Wilford forgive you. How grave would his punishment even be.

You found yourself worrying more for Curtis. Wilford still held a soft spot for you. But as much as he claimed to be smitten by Curtis, it was clear that he held a bias. Like most front sectioners did against the tail Enders.

You knocked on his door before letting yourself in. Looking around for him. His room was, as you expected, much larger than yours. It held a king bed in the middle of it, unlike your twin beds. It was much cleaner and organised as well.

Your eyes fell on an old worn out paper which held what looked like a charcoal drawing. You held it up studying it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You jumped as you heard him growl. You turned around to see him standing just a few feet away from you, dressed only with a towel hanging low on his hips.

“Uh I’m here for... the...you know...” What the hell were you supposed to call it? Babymaking?

“We won’t be doing that. You will sit there, quietly, for a few hours and leave.” He ordered looking through his dressed for his clothes.

Even though water was abundant to him now, he wasn’t going to be wasteful with it. So he only showered in the evenings. To wash the whole day off of him.

Maybe a part of him knew you’d be here. And wanted to look presentable to him. Which, he knew, was stupid. You’d never see him that way. And he didn’t need to work to impress someone like you.

“We can’t do that.” You mumbled taking in his naked torso. His shoulders were broad and he And you were pleasantly surprised to see just how huge he was.

“Why?” He asked pulling a shirt and some pants out. He looked back at you expecting an answer.

“He – a doctor will be examining me tomorrow. They’ll probably figure it out.” You said hugging yourself to make yourself small. Averting your gaze to avoid the intensity of his eyes.

“Fine then.” He huffed. He looked through the dresser to search for the lotion that came with the room. He could probably use it as lube, get it over with. It wouldn’t be too hard for him to do it and he wasn’t really looking to hurt you either. “Lay down on the bed” He instructed handing you the bottle as you settled on top of his mattress.

He opened his mouth about to tell you to apply it between your legs but then “I’ve never done this before you know. Just thought you should know.” You confessed still unable to look him in the eye.

“What? That’s not possible.” He frowned at you “Aren’t you supposed to be Wilfords whore?” He snapped.

Which set you off. This was the second time today he had called you a whore. “You really think you have the moral high ground to call me that?” you swallowed as he looked taken aback by your words. “I don’t know what I am to Wilford. What I do know is – if we don’t do as he says we’ll have to pay.”

“I’ll take my chances.” He scoffed.

“Don’t. You’ll regret it.” You said gravely. Shedding off your clothes. There was no point in prolonging it. “Can we turn the lights off?” You asked.

“No.” He let out as he looked at your dress. Bunched up around your waist. Giving him a generous look at your thick thighs.

He loosened his towel a bit as he felt himself harden at just the thought of you naked.

He hadn’t been with a woman in decades. Too afraid to bring a child in this world. There were offers from many to suck him off. But he was never particularly interested. He took care of himself as hastily and as quietly as he could, in his bunk late at night.

Despite everything, how lucky he was right now to have the things he had, how far he had come, he had also suffered a lot. Gave up a lot. Maybe he deserved something he took just for himself.

He dropped his towel onto the floor, revealing his erection to you. He climbed on the bed and crawled to you.

You stared at his long length, how scary and angry it looked pressed hard against this taut abs. “I uh what do I do with this?” You asked looking at the lotion.

“Forget about it.” He tossed the bottle away and worked on rolling your panties down your legs.

You shivered as cold air touched your exposed core. “Oh” You gasped as you felt his fingers nudge your warm folds.

“Off with this too.” He demanded taking your dress off your head.

You quickly brought your hands up to cover your exposed chest. Shifting in your place. The reality of the situation suddenly hit you. This was really happening. It was all too quick. There wasn’t nearly enough time for you to process your emotions.

He pushed you on your back and quickly settled between your legs. Smelling a whiff of your arousal. He knew he was being hasty. If he wasn’t patient it would be over too soon. But he was so damn hard he felt as he’d bust right then and there. He rolled his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure from his groins.

He groaned at the sight of your naked body above him. Your soft stomach, your breast laid flat as your chest heaved. He dove in for a taste. Pleased with just how wet you already were and at the way you squirmed. He almost let himself believe that you wanted him. That you were so aroused just for him.

But he knew better than to believe that. It was far from the truth. You were just as forced into this situation as he was. He was just trying to make the best of it.

Before he could eat you properly you lightly pushed at his head. “Wait.” Your voice scratchy. You propped yourself on your elbows so you could look at him “I don’t... want it to hurt. Please.” You pleaded.

“That depends on how much you cooperate.” He threatened and you laid back. You whimpered as he sucked your clit, wrapping his mouth around it. He pushed a finger inside you and then another. Holding a hand flat on your stomach to stop you from moving. It was different than when you played with yourself with your fingers.

You cried out loud for the whole train to hear when he rolled your bundle of nerves between his fingers while fucking you with his tongue. You came on his tongue. Feeling more intense than you had ever before.

He lapped up everything you gave him. Not wanting to waste a single drop. He trailed kisses up your nipping just under your breasts and wrapping his lips around one dark hard bud. He sucked it harshly gently pulling on your other nipple, just to get a reaction out of you. You whimpered cradling his head close to your chest.

All too soon he released your nipple and supported his weight on his forearms to look down at you.

You looked so perfectly dazed. Staring at him hazily through your hooded eyes. Your lips bruised and bleeding. Were you biting them so hard to keep, and fail, from making those singular noises?

He couldn’t help it. He knew he’d regret it the second he thought of it. But he needed to know what your mouth tasted like. He nibbled on your bottom lip for a bit before capturing your lips for a kiss.

His first one as far as he can remember. He wondered if he was your first kiss too. He tilted his head to get an angle that would allow him to explore your mouth the best. Moaning into it he brought his hands up to cradle your face. Somehow kissing your mouth felt more intimate than kissing your cunt.

He finally pulled away so you could both breathe. He took in a few deep breathes before nudging your lips with his tip, before seething himself into you.

He was deliberately slow. Drawing out the pleasure for both of you because he didn’t want to hurt you. Far from it. He wanted you to scream his name just like you were minutes before.

He groaned into your ear as he bottomed out. Giving you all the time you needed to adjust to his length. He pulled your earlobe between his teeth. Snaking a hand beneath your hips he raised them so he could thrust deeper inside you.

You mewled and moaned under him, chanting his name as if it was a prayer, as he slowly rutted into you. He wondered, if it was because of him. Or it wouldn’t really make much of a difference to you of it was some front sectioners cock instead of his.

Your walls were so snug and tight around him. He knew he wouldn’t last long. He tried to think of all the work he had to do, hell even thought of Wilford just to hold off.

But he couldn’t. Not with the way you were squeezing him. He quickly pulled out and stroked himself to completion. Ropes of his cum painted your stomach. He felt strangely possessive at that. As if he marked you as his own.

He sat up on his knees, looking down at you and stroking your thighs, he admire his work.

“What did you do?” You asked as you felt his warm spend on your stomach. It had been feeling so good for you, you were almost at the edge when he pulled out. You knew he was supposed to finish inside you.

He didn’t bother to answer you before his broad shoulders nudged the inside of your thighs to fit him. He lapped up at your cunt again. Determined to bring you off at least once more. He moaned at the tangy taste of your blood, and your juices mixed with his.

It didn’t take long for him to work up your sensitive and overworked folds and cunt. This orgasm was somehow more intense, if that was even possible.

Curtis settled beside you. Wiping his mouth off with his hand he turned off the light. He thought about asking you to go back to your room.

But then you curled up against his arm, wrapping your little hands around it. You settled your head in the crook of his neck. He would get up later to clean you both up later. Right now he just needed to commit this moment to memory. So he’d never forget it.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist lemme know via dm/ask or click the link in the bio.

Yayyy I finally wrote for Curtis! Idk if there will be a part two to this. Snowpiercer is just too dark for a soft girl like me🥺🥺

Please note that my works are not to be reposted on any other website/blog. Reblogs are welcome though!

#curtis everett x reader #curtis everett #curtis x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #snowpiercer #submission

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dcforts · 4 years ago

Text

[day 4: cooking and baking]

Now, Bobby Singer didn’t always exactly enjoy having Sam and Dean around – he was used to living alone and he liked his routine; they got loud when they bickered and he always had to make sure they were clean and fed and far from the stuff he had laying around that they weren’t supposed to touch.

He never wanted to be a father after all, nor get stuck running a daycare for hunters for that matter, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say no to John whenever he asked, even if he had his garage to run and hunting on the side.

He felt bad for them. He might have known nothing about raising children, but he sure knew that they were supposed to have a home, not to be dragged across the country in an old car, exposed to all kinds of dangers.

So, if washing an extra set of bedsheets and hiding his booze and getting a headache or two from their feet stomping upstairs meant giving them a roof over their head for a few days, a familiar place where to feel safe and proper food in their belly – if one could count canned soup as proper food – then he could bite the bullet.

And they were good kids, they always did what he told them and never complained about anything.

Even when one year they got stuck at his place on Christmas Eve. The air was heavy around the dinner table and Bobby had turned on the tv in an attempt to liven up the atmosphere and distract them. Still, they remained quiet, hunched over their plates wearing gloomy faces.

Their father was supposed to pick them up but he’d called and said he wasn’t gonna make it. Bobby knew it was gonna happen as soon as he’d heard the phone ringing that afternoon.

"But it’s Christmas!” he’d hissed angrily trying not to be heard by the kids, “What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Uh - I don’t know, Bobby," John had replied, with that tone he got when he was uninterested in what you were saying and had already uncorked one too many beers. "It’s just this one time.”

When Bobby had delivered the news, Dean had shouted "Why hasn’t he called me?" and Sam had grumbled "You should have convinced him", so they most likely hated him too.

Bobby didn’t take it personally, if he were a kid he sure wouldn’t have liked to spend Christmas with someone like him and without his only parent.

Bobby didn’t do holidays at all. He hanged a wreath on the front door just cause he kept it in the hallway all year round. He made himself a turkey sandwich. He enjoyed a classic movie just as the next guy and he passed out on the couch with a glass of store-bought eggnog. That was it. It was not like he had anyone to share it with. It had been like that for years and he didn’t mind.

Knowing that the kids would be around though, he’d hanged on the window a string of lights he’d found in the basement and had put on display a weird looking statue of an elf - although if he wasn’t sure if it was Christmas related or just an old dark artifact. The boys had spared those things barely a glance and not brought up Christmas at all so Bobby had just figured that they didn’t do holidays either.

But then a commercial featuring a big holiday banquet came on tv for the umpteenth time, filling the kitchen with its obnoxious jingle and Dean finally spoke up.

“Hey Bobby,” he asked, tearing his eyes from the tv. “Did your mother ever bake for the holidays?”

Bobby didn’t even remember the last time he’d talked about his mother with anyone. It always brought up bittersweet memories he didn’t like to deal with. Still, he cleared his throat, “Sure,” he said, but now Sam was watching him too so he added, “she was a good baker - made a mean blueberry pie.”

Dean gave him a small smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, and she’d always make two, one for everyone and another one just for me."

“A whole pie? Just for you?" Sam asked with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"I could eat that," intervened Dean immediately.

Bobby snorted, “Yeah, I know that, kid."

Dean smiled proudly, but then Sam said "You couldn’t, Dean. You’d get sick."

"No, I wouldn’t," he shot back.

"Yes, you would. Not even an adult can - "

"What do you know, if you never - ”

“I know - ”

Bobby groaned and got up from the table to start collecting the dirty dishes, "Alright, break it up".

They fell into silence again as he put the dishes in the sink and started washing them.

"Go get ready for bed."

He heard the scraping of chair legs on the floorboards, but he was still thinking about his mother and didn’t realize that only one pair of shoes had left the room and the other one had come to stand next to him.

"Does your oven work?" Dean said, making him jump.

"Wh- my oven? Yeah. Why?”

"Just ‘cause... you never use it," was his reply, a little unsure.

"That don’t mean it don’t work."

"Have you ever used it?”

"Can’t remember, honestly.”

"Mum used to bake pies for me too," Dean said then. "Sammy wasn’t there so he gets upset when I talk about it."

Bobby gave him half a smile. "Bet Mary's pies were the best, uh?”

"Yeah", he said, but he sounded thoughtful. He still made no move to leave and Bobby didn’t know what else to say. The last thing he wanted was to make the boy sad, or worse, make him cry for his mom.

He started working faster on drying those dishes.

"Maybe your father remembers the recipe. You should ask him,” he said, casually.

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. Dean tugged the hem of his jacket and looked at him with the most scared expression Bobby had ever seen on him. “Don’t!" he said, "Please. Dad doesn’t like talking about these things. Don’t tell him I told you."

Bobby gritted his teeth and tried to not let his rage show on his face. He put down the rag and grabbed one of his shoulder, “It’s okay, Dean. I won’t.”

Dean gulped and quickly nodded and Bobby itched for a drink.

“Now go. It’s time for bed.”

"Yes, sir," said Dean.

“You don’t have to cal-” he started, then sighed, “Nevermind. Just go.”

As he heard the door upstair close he opened the highest cabinet and grabbed his bottle of scotch. He sat down to pour himself a glass, took his cap off and rubbed his forehead.

His hands tightened into fists at the thought of John. How could he leave them like that? What would’ve happened if he’d died on a hunt? Who would have cared for them? Bobby certainly couldn’t – John couldn’t possibly expect –

The tv was still on.

His second glass was already empty when that stupid holiday commercial with that stupid jingle came on once again. Annoyed, Bobby stood up to turn it off and that’s when Dean came to his mind and a thought hit him.

The kid wanted a damn pie.

He just didn’t know how to ask, or even if he could ask. And of course he would think that, with that father of his, his taboos and his rules. Bobby felt anger and stubborness rise in him.

If the kid wanted a goddamn pie, Bobby would’ve given him a goddamn pie. Even if he had to drive for miles at the crack of dawn on Christmas Day for blueberries.

And now where the fuck did he put Karen’s recipe book?

The morning after, he cracked the bedroom door open and Dean blinked awake as soon as he brushed his shoulder.

“Don’t wake your brother. Come downstairs," he whispered, motioning him to be quiet.

In the daylight Bobby was willing to admit that he was a little nervous about his idea.

Yet he couldn’t resist watching Dean’s face as he entered the kitchen ten minutes later and stopped in his track when he saw flour, eggs, sugar and blueberries lined up on the counter.

It was like his face couldn’t settle on an emotion. He frowned, smiled, frowned again. Then he just looked at Bobby as if he was asking him what he was supposed to do or say.

"I was thinking it’s about time I make that oven work again. What you say? Wanna bake your own pie?"

Dean surprised himself with a laugh. "But Bobby - I don’t – I never -"

"What, you think I do?" Bobby shrugged, "If it’s bad, we’ll just throw it out."

Dean seemed too overwhelmed to say anything. He just nodded.

Bobby went towards him. "See, I got this book here, it was my wife’s. We’re more than capable to follow a bunch of instructions, right?"

It took way longer than Bobby had anticipated, and surely longer than it generally took other people. And it wasn’t easy. At all. Not just because in the last few years he’d reduced his diet to mostly pre-cooked stuff, but especially for the smells that filled the kitchen and the long string of memories attached to them - Karen and his mom, guilt and comfort, sweetness and fear.

But Bobby went through all of it, the fishing out of the egg shells, the spilling of the flour, the hour long wait for the dough to set and the million questions Dean seemed to have – because the boy enjoyed himself.

Bobby was pretty sure of it, from the way he groaned in disgust as he dipped his hands in the mixture with raw eggs, in his cheeky face when he lied about stealing the blueberries they were using, in his clear laugh when Bobby slipped and almost crashed on the dirty floor; all of that made it worth it.

When the oven door was closed and the timer was set, he even sat cross-legged on the tiles to watch it as it baked.

Bobby moved around him to clean the mess they’d made and then went to wash himself up. When he looked himself in the bathroom mirror he saw flour all over his beard and bits of dough on his flannel. He found himself smiling a little.

He might not be able to bring the boys the spirit of Christmas or whatever crap they sold these days, but he would’ve been be satisfied if he managed to make them happier for half a day.

Dean started pounding on the door right in that moment. “Bobby!” he was shouting, “The timer! Hurry up! We need to get it out!”

Bobby’s reflection rolled his eyes and sighed. “Coming!” he shouted back and heard Dean running away again.

When he entered the kitchen half a minute later, Sam had joined Dean in front of the oven. He was still in his pyjamas and looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “Dean’s screams woke me up,” he said.

“Yeah, alright. I’m here, let me through and step back. I don’t want you to get burned.”

As carefully as possible, he took the pie out under the scrutinizing gaze of the brothers. As he sat it on the table he noticed the uneven colour of the crust and the filling that had spilled all over the sides and through the cracks. He made a face. “Well - doesn’t look half bad as far as first attempts go -" he tried to say but his words were drowned by the boys shouting “Whoa!”

"It smells so good," said Dean, wearing a proud smile.

"It’s perfect," said Sam with the solemnity of a renown critic. "Can we try it now?"

"Let’s give it a moment to cool down. You go get dressed. Dean, go wash your hands."

They both sprinted in different directions. Sam immediately ran up the stairs banging a hand on the banister in excitement. Dean bolted in the direction of the downstairs bathroom.

“Be careful!” he thundered.

They both shouted back at once: “Yes, Uncle Bobby!”

A rush of affection washed over him. He shook his head looking down at their pie.

“Merry Christmas kids.”

joining @bend-me-shape-me in this!

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 #spn fanfiction #christmas at bobby's #bobby singer #2k #he does his best - i love him #sam and dean are 7 and 11 i guess #john winchester a+ parenting #i know that im kinda obsessed w bobby but i was thinking that #apart from the kitchenettes in motel rooms #bobby's kitchen was the only real one the boys got to see #maybe pastor jim's ?? we never saw that thought #honestly i have no idea if this fits into canon #but when dean was 10 bobby played catch w him so - why not #also im obsessed w bobby hating john because he sees his abusive father in him #my writing #bobbyverse

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gyllousos · 3 years ago

Text

Warnings: Depression, masochists, language.

Dedicated to @the-grimm-writer

_________________________________________

Hannya despised hospitals. She hated the smell of disinfectant, the plain white walls decorated with awareness for the human body, as well as the chairs in the waiting room. Not that the one she was sitting in was uncomfortable, yet her ass felt like a pin cushion since she'd been in the thing for well over an hour and counting. Just ten minutes ago she had gone to the vending machine for a soda, downing the Sprite in one gulp.

She was still staring into the empty soda can as though it would refill with more of the carbonated beverage. Her thumb pressed into the side, crinkling the corner. Above her a TV played an old show, something about two children using their imagination to escape into a new world.

One where they forgot about all the bad stuff, even for a moment, a paradise for two. A haven. Thinking about that made a lump swell in Hannya's throat. She set her can onto a nearby table, curling her hands into her lap. A nail dug into the fabric of her leggings, she winced at the bruise there. It was still throbbing a week later, still sore. Her back arched from the cut diagonal cut, also a week old, but it didn't pulse like the thigh bruise did.

Her old cuts and bruises hurt most days, even though half of them were healed for weeks, despite their ugliness in the beginnings. She used to never recognize herself in the mirror after they fucked. Not screwed, but fucked until she lay beneath him unable to move, a quivering mess of orgasm.

God. She was truly sick.

She inhaled slowly through her nose. Hannya refused to cry in this place. One of the nurses had been looking at her so often, a pitying look in her eyes. Hannya avoided eye contact.

She knew that nurse too well, she'd nearly made a home here. But that was long ago. And the nurse, a petite brunette with gentle doe eyes was always so kind to her.

Vague flashes of Hannya in a room where she was monitored, wearing a gown, and counting the hours on the clock to her meds. No, she wasn't going down memory lane again.

What if she broke again? But not because of him.

Dabi.

ㅤHe twisted the fabric of her shirt, bunching tightly. There were tearing sounds. Fraying sounds. Dragging her to within inches of his leering, predatory smile.

ㅤHer shirt came away in a ribbon, leaving her in unkempt, scant rags. He sneered, pinching a nipple as her pert little breasts jiggled free. Dabi tweaked the nipple, and swatted her breast with an open-palmed slap.

Hannya let out a cry between a gasp and a moan.

Dabi clenched his fist around her throat, thrust his arm so she was pinned to the wall behind her. One hand constricted the air from her lungs, while the other twisted cruelly on the same nipple from before.

"Scared yet?"

"No."

ㅤㅤ"No need to lie."

ㅤHis other hand slipped low, her breast freed from his cruel touch only for his hot breath to caress it. Dabi sank teeth into her its supple flesh, snakelike tongue uncoiled to writhe slick against the nipple. His loose fingers delved between her thighs, groping a handful of her warm, tender sex.

ㅤHe didn’t need her to black out from the choking, but it was designed so that every throb of pleasure he squeezed into her body lightened her head. A cruel, sadistic practice to strangle every last drop of ecstasy, to send her spirit into heaven but her body to hell.

Dabi's fingers were long and defined, two sunken deep into the supple heat of her cunt. His pace, merciless. The villain ground the heel of his wrist firmly against her clit, assaulting every inch. He worked in and out of her with aggressive vigor, stirring up loud, sloppy noises from her.

She felt him adjust, she bit her lip from the harsh penetration when he slammed himself into her, those haunting blue eyes never leaving her face.

"You're mine, Hannya."

"I'm yours."

"If another man looks at you the way I look at you, or even thinks about fucking you, I'll split his goddamn skull."

Hannya snapped back to reality at the alert of her name being called. She remembered now that she had been called into the exam room for tests. The gown felt paper thin on her, exposing her to the nurse who held her clipboard in hand.

She hadn't commented on the palm bruise on her thigh or the cut on her back. Hannya was almost relieved her skin was back to semi-normal. It had been a long time since she last been here. How long ago?

Three years since her last attempt.

"You're doing well Hannya, much better since your last visit with us. You've been keeping up with all of your appointments, last time you were hear you had bad anemia and an infection. You bounced back like a champ. "

Hannya smiled faintly. The plump old woman reminded her of a doting grandma.

"Your appetite back to normal?"

"Yes ma'm. Everything is good."

She tried best to hide the clip in her speech.

"Now that we're following up, I'd like to wait for the rest of your test results to come in."

Hannya hid her impatience, wishing time would go forward, she could grab her things and leave. Back to her home where she could close off the world. Block everyone out. Would Dabi be waiting for her? For once, she didn't want to see him. As much as their sadistic games were fun time both of them, she just didn't have the desire. No other man could get her off the way Dabi did.

Lately, she dreaded seeing him propped in her couch, or getting a text from him. She could damn near feel him without him being near. A moment later, when the same woman poked her head in, Hannya actually beamed.

The door closed behind her.

That's when Hannya left the hospital in a daze, barely clutching her phone and purse, she didn't even know she drove home until she parked in the driveway. Turning off the engine, she sat in stunned silence, her knuckles tight onto the steering wheel.

God, she just wanted to turn back time to the last month, the last year, erase everything. She was numb enough as is and she hoped Dabi wasn't waiting on her. She just couldn't take it right now.

“No,” she said, barely audible. The nurse's words echoing in her ears once more.

A sob escaped her. She dragged herself out of her vehicle, barely registering her feet moving towards her home, inside of her apartment. She locked the door behind her. And didn't have to look around to see a tall man with spiked dark hair and a smile that gave her goosebumps.

"Dabi..."

"Miss me?"

Her legs felt like jelly. Her heart was being so fast she feared it rip itself through her chest. Hannya's knees shook, and her heart hammered in my chest. She felt like she was already walled in, and she didn’t even know it.

“I wish I’d never met you,” she said, almost whispering.

He stopped, his boots creaking the wooden floor under him. “Believe me, girl, the feeling is fucking mutual.”

No arguments, no shouting, no cursing even though she wanted to spew a blue streak at him. Eventually she fell onto her knees, the metallic clink of a belt and a zipper being pulled down; she parted her lips for Dabi's cock already slick with precum. She swallowed him into the back of her throat.

"Good girl," he praised her, stroking the back of her head.

___________________________________________

Hannya hadn't seen Dabi since that day, what felt like over a month had turned into sixteen months. As much as she didn't care, she ached for him, and not in the sexual sense. She truly yearned for his company if she could actually believe it. Just what happened to him after that?

No texts, no calls. No sudden appearing without warning. Poof! He never told her he was leaving. Then again he never told her a lot of anything. Hannya often dreamt of him, as the little boy named Touya. The same boy who came crying to her in the catacombs and she to him. Two kids yearning for a place in the world.

She hadn't given up hope she'd see him again, if ever. Hannya swiped her fingers across her phone screen, tucking her device back into her pocket, her blue eyes swiveled up the moon, an ache swelling in her chest.

"I'm losing it..." She mumbled, proceeding to walk. She was patting her pockets for her car keys when a hand snaked its way around her forearm, dragging her into a brick corner, pinning her against a wall.

She couldn't scream because of the stranger's hand covering her mouth. Her eyes doubled in size, his sinister smirk making her skin flush.

Touya!

"Dabi." It came out as a muffle.

"Like you've seen a ghost," he sneered, letting her go.

"For a minute I thought I did..." She whispered.

His eyes raked over her outfit, eyes narrowing in on her chest. He sure knew how to make her vulnerable, naked without undressing her. So he hadn't left after all. Was he hiding from her?

He was never far to begin with. Something told her this wasn't a social visit, she needed to get home before she did something like kiss him. He'd take her right here in public. Wouldn't be the first time.

"I was looking for you, " she said.

"Is that a fact?" His voice was utterly emotionless. Not the least bit of warmth.

"I suppose I was looking for you, too. You made a big mistake Hannya."

The way he said it made Hannya scoot an inch from him.

"What are you talking about?" Hannya remained composed, furrowing her dark brows. Dabi only advanced.

"Telling lies, keeping secrets. It was all gonna come out eventually, you just should have been more careful."

"Dabi..." He chuckled, one hand stuffed in his jacket pocket.

"I...I meant to find you...I was looking for my family."

Dabi almost laughed, shaking his head slightly.

"You were looking for a family, huh? One could argue it's my family you’re looking for right? How are my baby boy and girl by the way? Got my eyes don't they?"

All the color drained from Hannya's face.

A glimpse into memory had her back in the exam room months ago.

"We ran more tests Hannya. Your bloodwork shows you’re also pregnant, a little over eight weeks along. Congratulations.”

Why couldn't the Earth just swallow her whole now? There's no way he could have known. No she wouldn't have told him right away, if at all. He wouldn't have been a great father. When she was told she was pregnant Hannya wanted to cry, scream, break something or even someone. The last thing she had ever wanted inflicted on her had happened, she was in such hysterics she nearly fainted.

Why couldn't it have been anyone but him? The raw cry she let out. She imagined life with two tiny humans, ones she could give unconditional love to. Innocent souls. Her twins. She knew she was going to keep them, her darling babies. How she tried to keep them from Dabi and now...

"You knew...how long..."

"Does it matter? You honestly didn't think you could hide them from me forever Hannya. You should know better than that." His voice was almost a taunt.

"Try keeping them away from me, if you so much as leave with them I'll burn everything down in my path, everyone, to get what I want."

It was like a slap in the face. He wouldn't? Right? No, he had no rights towards their children. Her children. As far as Hannya knew Dabi was just the sperm donor.

Hannya scowled.

Dabi smirked.

He was right, the twins got his eyes alright.

Still advancing, Dabi pinned Hannya to the rough brick wall, his nose level with hers. He didn't want to admit he missed his little devil. He had to resist the urge to to tear off her clothing and fuck her until she was begging him to stop. God, her scent. She couldn't have been more beautiful, plump lips, inviting breasts, fair skin he wanted to mark again.

"I'll be watching you and our children, doll. Who would have thought..."

He gripped her oncoming wrist from slapping him. Should he break it? No. Some other time. He released her, backing up to give her space, almost yearning for the closeness again. No more talk, he left quietly as he came. He heard the faint falling of Hannya on her knees, cursing him to hell and back.

#yandere dabi x oc #yandere bnha x oc #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #my hero academia fan fiction #yandere bnha #dabi x oc #bnha dabi #mha yandere #yandere dabi #my hero acadamia #by gyllousos all rights reserved 2021 #copyright all rights reserved #dabi smut #mha dabi #mha fanfiction #mha oc #mha smut #yandere

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filthficdump · 3 years ago

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Good Thing This Job Has Benefits.

AN: I wrote this in one day, I’ve developed a hyperfixation on The Walten Files, so you get to enjoy this absolute mess I’ve made.

You can also read it here on AO3. There’s no romance, it’s a gender neutral, nameless reader fict. There’s no death, because I am NOT about to write angst about a happy family :(

When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around. Those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd.

The gravel under my tires crunched as I drove through the night, bopping and tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the song, singing along. It was late, most likely near or after nine PM, but I wasn’t about to take my eyes off the road to check. That’s just asking for trouble.

But someone picked you from the bunch, one glance was all it took. Now it's much too late for me to take a second look.

New job, it’s been going great! I wouldn’t have thought I’d get to use my programming degree so soon, but I’m so happy I got this job. Sure, it’s for a kid’s burger joint, but there’s animatronics and other stuff, plus that finance minor rocketed me straight to an assistant manager position!

Oh, baby, give me one more chance, to show you that I love you. Won't you please let me, Back in your heart.

In the distance I could see a pair of headlights and slowed my car a bit and moved a bit to the side to provide them more room. These roads were narrow and I really didn’t think I wanted to get into a car crash and have to deal with that with what’s left of my savings and likely my first check.

Oh, darlin', I was blind to let you go (Let you go, baby) But now since I see you in his arms (I want you back)

The thought ‘That car looks like it’s moving really fast- too fast’ is the last thought in my head as the car got close, too close to stop the car or move away, there’s a ditch and trees on my side of the road. My hand hit the horn hard, blaring, but they served and-

CRASH!!!

Yes, I do now, I want you back. Ooh, ooh, baby, I want you back.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I want you back. Na, na, na, na.

When I come back to, I’m upside down, held up by my seat belt. Ho-ly-shit. I got into a fucking car crash.

Oh shit! I got into a car crash- The other car! I struggle to turn to look out the window and I see the other car against the guard rail. It’s hard to get a good look at the other car, seeing how I’m upside down and in the goddamn ditch, but I need to get out of the car.

I instinctually went for the pocket at the door, looking for my seatbelt cutter, but it had fallen out. Thanks, gravity. Thankfully, it’s on the roof of the car and I grabbed it before grabbing the handle of the door, pushing it open before I pressed my free arm against the roof of the car and-

“ FUCK! ” I yell, feeling the pain shooting up my arm and shoulder. Holy fuck, why did it hurt so bad?! We’re in the middle of the woods and I can’t remember the last home I passed and my car is upside down.

Either someone comes or I’ve got a long walk. I grit my teeth and cut the seat belt, falling head first into the ceiling and then out the door, tumbling until my butt hit grass. I flung the seatbelt cutter to the side and struggled up, using my door as support before I had to climb up the slippery slope of the ditch and onto the road.

My more useful arm held the other to my chest as I limped. Just about everything hurts. My chest, my shoulder, my leg, my face. Why did this have to happen? I was having such a good night, and now I’m in a wreck and about to give this jackass a piece of my mind. If he’s not dead.

I got closer to the car and looked inside. The man was unconscious, leaning against the steering wheel. I looked to the back instinctually, not expecting to see two terrified children! Oh god, wait- No, they’re alive. They’re looking at me.

I pulled open the driver door, still looking back at the kids, “Uh… Hey. Are you kids okay?” I asked, leaning down to look at them better. A boy and a girl, clearly siblings. They were sniffling and crying, but nodded, “Is this your dad?” I asked, pointing at the unconscious man. The car reeks of booze.

“N-No…” The boy sniffled, “He’s our uncle!”

“Okay, okay… Well, I’m gonna get us to help.” I said and went over to the passenger side, opening it up. The paint was scratched and the panels dented, but the car was still running. It would be shorter to keep going the way I came from, the city and a hospital is that way.

I reached over and wrapped my arm around the unconscious man’s chest, dragging him over into the passenger seat where there were beer bottles on the floor. Not even a seatbelt? He’s lucky he didn’t die.

I buckled him in and shut the door, walking back around to the driver’s seat before getting in and shutting the door. I tested my foot on the gas and hand on the wheel, my other arm resting in my lap.

Thank god the car still worked! I just started driving, the car feeling quite literally fucked as it went over the road, but it’s a working car!

It was perhaps ten or fifteen minutes down the road, “Um… So, what’s your guys’ names?” I asked, looking back at them through the crooked rear view mirror. They must have been so terrified. They were just in a car crash, and now their jackass drunk uncle was unconscious and a stranger was in the car with them.

“I’m Edd… She’s Molly…” Edd said, his sister was holding a grey bunny toy. Looked like one of those prize stuffed animals we keep at Bon’s Burgers prize counter, but it wasn’t blue or purple, and the restaurant hasn’t been opened yet.

I introduced myself and really focused on the road, “That’s a really cool bunny. It’s like the ones we have at my work.” I said, smiling, “Ever heard of Bon’s Burgers?”

The girl looked confused, “Y-Yes? Our dad works there.” She said. Oh no, were they my co-worker’s kids? Which co-worker?

“O-Oh? What’s your dad’s name?” I asked, glancing over at the man in the passenger seat. I couldn’t see him very well in the dark car, but I could hear his deep breathing and slight snoring.

“His name is Jack Walten. Our mom is Rosie!” Edd said, and for a moment I thought I was going to get into another accident. Jack… Walten…?

My boss's kids?!

“Ha-Ha, oh wow… Small work. I started working there. Today was my first day, actually…” I said, muttering a few swears under my breath, “I met Jack! Um… Do either of you know his phone number…? We’re gonna need it when we get to the hospital.”

The boy nods and I sighed- Wait, if these are Jack’s kids, then the man...

Another glance. We’re getting to the part of the road with street lights. I recognize those glasses. This was my other boss, wasn’t it? Please don’t say it is, I just crashed into my bosses’ car. Wait, no, he crashed into me! This wasn’t my fault!

The bastard is too drunk and irresponsible. He could have killed himself, the two kids, or even myself! For god sakes my car is in a ditch!

“Let’s just… Listen to some music, okay?” I offered and put on the radio, driving with my knee for the moment since my injured arm was starting to go numb. It better not be broken, I swear to god.

Once we got into the city I went straight to the hospital, parking in the emergency parking lot. “Okay, can you guys walk?” I asked, unbuckling my belt to look at both of them. They opened their doors and the girl winced.

“My ankle hurts!” She cried. Edd thankfully didn’t seem too injured, but he had a burn from the seat belt.

“Okay, okay. Hold on, I’ll carry you.” I said and got out. My leg felt like it was covered with biting fire ants, but I wasn’t about to leave her alone for them to just get a wheelchair.

I bent down and she reached up, one hand clutching the stuffed bunny as she wrapped her arm around my neck and I held her up on my hip, my only good arm holding her up, “Okay, okay, okay.” I mumbled softly and the boy was by my side, “Okay, grab my hand.” I said, offering my injured hand. I didn’t care that it hurt, I knew he was putting on a brave face.

He took my hand and I walked them both in. The tired nurse at the desk looked up at us and looked terrified before she quickly called for help, “We have another in the car. The black one out front.” I said, “We were just in a car crash.”

“Oh my god!” She said as more nurses came, one that had a gurney and I put the girl up on top and the boy got to sit in a wheelchair, “Are you their mother?” The nurse asked as one of the other nurses tried to sit me down in a wheelchair as well.

“No… I’m the one their uncle crashed into.” I said and reluctantly sat down. I didn’t realize how fast my heart was beating, it must explain all of the wandering thoughts that clouded my mind.

I was brought to the same room that they were, but curtains separated me from them. Doctors and nurses came shortly and my vision grew quite spotty. Information was exchanged, my nearest relative was an hour away and it was late, so it’s a toss up if they got the call.

One of the children gave a nurse the phone number to their home, and already my head was coming up with the worst thoughts of what would happen. Will I be fired? Is he going to sue me? I’m probably just as guilty as Felix in his eyes.

Speaking of Felix, if Jack doesn’t fire me he will! If he doesn’t get arrested.

“Pardon me…” One of the nurses said, drawing my attention, “We need to cut off your shirt. Your arm is likely dislocated and we don’t want to move it.”

Oh god, if they cut off this shirt I’ll have to pay 25 dollars to get another. “Um… No, it’s my only uniform.” I said and with my one good arm undid the buttons before another nurse pulled from my uninjured side and I pulled it the rest of the way off, letting the nurse take it.

Unfortunately, pants and shoes too, but I got a nifty gown and now they could resume looking me over. What I didn’t appreciate was them having to pop my arm back into place, that was awful.

They had to bandage up my cuts and test me for brain damage (just a mild concussion) and put my arm in a sling, my ribs were also likely fractured. Molly's ankle had to be splinted as it was strained and Edd had a slight concussion.

At least I got to change back into a spare set of plain clothes that they happened to have, but that required a nurse's help with the newly relocated arm that ached and hurt when I moved it.

Felix hadn’t been brought to our same room, and an officer came to question us. I told the whole story, and just to be sure they breathalyzed me. Unlike a certain driver I blew a 0.0 BAC.

Our stories matched up and they pulled back the curtains to allow us to see each other and talk. They were still shaken up, but they were told their mom and dad were on their way a while ago. Great. I’m just glad their parents were still awake and were on their way, even though I knew there was going to be so much to talk about and I was going to have to justify myself to both of the worried and likely angry parents.

I talked to them about school and what they liked to do, how they just came from a school party. Molly was excited to have her friends sign her ‘cast’ and Edd thought he would be the coolest kid in school for surviving a car crash.

I remembered being their age and smiled and nodded along as I was put on a low grade painkiller and we were given water to drink. After about 20 minutes I could hear a commotion and a man and two women calling out for the two children. They called back and moments later a frazzled looking man, my boss Jack Walten and his wife Rosemary, along with his worried looking teen daughter Sophie rounded the corner of the doorway and in that moment I had never seen anyone look so relieved.

The reunion was toothrottingly sweet, all five hugging and just overjoyed to see their children okay and alive. I couldn’t help but smile, even though it felt like I was intruding on something that should have been private.

Edd brought me up and Molly joined in, the both of them talking at once and practically over each other as they tried to explain everything that happened. I’m not sure if their parents or sister fully understood, but what was grasped was that Felix crashed into me, and I drove them to the hospital.

Both Jack and Rosemary looked at me and I awkwardly waved. He looked confused, like he recognized me but unsure from where, “Hi, boss…” I said, introducing myself for the second time that day.

We only met for ten minutes earlier today, but his eyes widened in surprise. “You… Felix crashed into you?” He asked, “And you got my children to safety?”

I timidly nodded. Please, please don’t be angry.

The officer presented himself and cleared his throat, “Your employee here was driving home when Mr. Kraken, who was intoxicated, who was driving the other way crashed into them and knocked them from the road into the ditch while Mr. Kraken’s car hit the guardrail.” The officer explained.

“I um… I was upside down but cut myself free and climbed out to check on the other car, and I saw that he had Molly and Edd in the back and my car wasn’t about to get out of the ditch any time soon so I just… drove them here.” I finished, punctuating the end by nervously drinking the rest of my water.

“He was drunk?!” Rosemary said, stunned and clearly angry. The officer nodded while Jack’s fist clenched, clearly enraged. I would be just as shocked and angry if I had children and they were put in danger by someone who’s supposed to be their friend.

I should probably be just as angry that some drunk asshole- who is my boss no less- nearly killed me, but I was just glad that we were all still alive. Sure, my car is fucked, and so is about 50% of my body (exaggerating), but my bones will heal and I’ll repair my car or get a new one. I mean, that’s what insurance is for, right?

What I didn’t expect out of all of this was to be hugged by Rosemary. Oh yeah, it fucking hurt but I just kept that to myself. She sniffled and I awkwardly patted her back with my one good arm, “Thank you for keeping them safe…” She said quietly.

“I-It was nothing, really.” I said timidly, “I wasn’t about to leave them alone.”

“Nothing? You saved them!” Jack said and shook my hand when his wife pulled away to dry her eyes and hug all of her children once more, “I can’t ever thank you enough for what you did for my family. I… I couldn’t stomach the thought if…”

I gave him a reassuring squeeze of his hand and he clasped my good shoulder, “It sucks that this happened in the first place but… I’m just glad everyone is alive…” I said, giving a nervous smile.

“Is he alive?” Jack asked, looking at the officer as he let go of my hand and shoulder.

“Yes, he is. We will be pressing charges, he blew above a 0.3.” The officer responded and Jack nodded, seemingly ‘pleased’ with that.

After exchanging contact information and addresses with both Jack and myself he departed, leaving the family to resume their reunion. I smiled awkwardly and looked away awkwardly, scratching my neck.

I haven’t heard anything about my relative having called or if they were coming, so I could only assume I wouldn’t be getting a ride from them. Or a ride tonight at all.

For a moment I was lost in my head, feeling a bit too sorry for myself. I moved all the way out here because there were jobs and rent was cheap, but I was so far from my family and friends, and even though I helped their children would I even still have a job?

I refilled my paper cup and sipped on the cold water before a nurse came to let us all know that after a final check over, we would be set to go home in an hour or so. Great, I better start making calls or something.

For a moment I didn’t realize that Rosemary was talking to me. I looked up as she repeated my name, “U-Uh yeah?” I said, looking a little confused.

“Do you have a ride home…?” She asked. Ah, oh no. I’m not about to ask these clearly exhausted parents for a ride home, I could only imagine they just wanted to get home and be with their children.

“No… But I can get one, don’t worry.” I said, but Jack shook his head.

“Nonsense, it’s the least we could do. You look like you need some sleep.” He said, making me chuckle.

“So do you two.” I laugh, “Really, you don’t need to. I’ll get a hold of someone eventually. Really!”

Rosemary shook her head, “No way, sincerely it wouldn’t be a bother. Where do you live?” She asked, and I reluctantly gave my street address, “Oh, you live just a bit down the way from us!” She said. Looks like it’s out of the question.

The doctor came and checked us all over one last time before giving me a prescription slip for painkillers for the next week and a half and we were permitted to leave. Jack carried his daughter while Rosemary held her son’s hand and I followed behind them.

I won’t lie, I’m pretty damn nervous. Checking out of the hospital took a little while as well, but soon we were free to go. That will be a fun bill to pay.

Rosemary sat in the back with the children, not giving me any chance to protest as I had to sit in the passenger seat next to Jack. Edd and Molly were clearly tired, cuddling up to their mother as Jack turned on the car and carefully pulled out.

It was incredibly clear that Jack was very, very focused on the road, not wanting to get his family into a car accident as well. I couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, but I was just so glad that this didn’t end in tears.

The car ride to their home was mostly quiet, only some light conversation made. Jack was interested to know how I enjoyed my first day on the job.

“It’s been exciting…” I chuckled and he laughed softly, but I wasn’t all that comfortable or any less nervous. I did just want to get home and rest, because tomorrow morning I likely had to call my insurance and figure out how I’ll be getting to and from work.

If there even was a job anymore. With one half of the business owners likely going to jail I didn’t know if Jack would take on the massive workload, or if he would even want me to work there anymore.

“We’re here.” Jack let them know.

We pulled into their driveway and Sophie was the first to get out to help her mother take her siblings into the house with Jack telling them that he would be right back after he dropped me off.

“Have a good night, everyone…” I smiled and waved at them. Edd and Molly sleepily waved back before they went inside and shut the door.

It was surreal, everything that had happened. And now I was alone with my boss as he started to drive towards my home.

“I can’t believe he happened to crash into you…” Jack said and I nodded silently, “I could never thank you enough… You… I just can’t believe…” His voice cracked and he brought his hand up to wipe his cheeks.

“I’m sorry this happened… I’m just glad your children are safe…” I said, fidgeting with a stray string on my pants, unsure if I should pat his back or would that be too far? “You have a beautiful family, Jack, I’m sorry that you’re having to drive me home…”

“Don’t be sorry, you drove them to the hospital with a dislocated arm! I couldn’t imagine what it was like, being run off the road and into a ditch, upside down!” He said and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“To be honest, it was like a dream. One moment he’s coming towards me and I move aside since the road is pretty narrow, the next I see that he’s a bit too close over to my side and then finally I’m upside down in the ditch.”

“And- It was you! Who would have thought that my new employee would be the one to get hit.” He said, smiling softly, “Oh and don’t you worry about rushing back into work! I will be paying you your wages, you helped my family out, I’m going to help you too.”

“You-You really don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay!” I insisted, but he shook his head. He wasn’t having it.

“I want to, you don’t understand how stressed and worried we were…” He said, “I called Felix over 20 times, I thought the worst had happened and I… I started to lose hope I would ever see them again.”

“He’s going to jail for this, no doubt…” I said, “Will you be taking over the business…?”

“Yeah… It’ll be a lot but I think I have someone who I can rely on to help.” He said, smiling.

“Oh, good! I’ll try my best to pull my own weight.” I said, smiling, “I know you guys took a big risk hiring me fresh out of college but-”

“I- It’s you!” He said, “I know you just started, but your finance and programming degree is going to be a massive help!”

“Wha…?” I gaped at him. Me? Did I get a promotion? “I would be honored to help!” I smiled. I think I just became a manager or something, I’ll figure that out when I go back to work.

I pointed out my house and he pulled up in front, “I won’t let you down, I promise.” I gleamed and he smiled, holding his hand out for me to shake.

I did, not expecting him to pull me in for a hug. Looks like this was a really huggy family, it was pretty similar to my own family. “I know you won’t. Would you mind if you gave me your number so we can speak tomorrow? I imagine Edward and Molly would like to hear that you’re okay.” He asked.

I nodded and waited until he got a pen and a small black book to put my number in it before I opened the door, “I’ll speak to you soon, then… Have a good night, boss.” I smiled and he laughed.

“Just call me Jack. Really.” He said, “Have a good night.” I nodded and got out before shutting the door, walking to the front door. I grabbed the spare key from the mail box and gave one last wave after I unlocked the door. He flicked his high beams at me before he started to back up and I opened the door, shutting and locking it behind me.

It’s been a really strange night.

#the walten files #twf #jack walten #Rosemary Walten #Edward walten #Molly Walten #Sophie Walten #Reader #gender neutral y/n #No romance #No smut #Gen #Alcoholism

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jazzistolkienfanfics · 4 years ago

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Beads and Braids - Kili x reader

Type: Imagine Pairing: Kili x reader Summary: post BOTFA, everyone lives!AU, in which Y/N, a girl from Rohan seeking shelter in Erebor, befriends the Princes, and the mischievous Kili needs better ways of confessing his feelings. Warnings: ‘fuck’, ‘shit’ Word Count: 2735

All italicised, non-English words are in Khuzdul, one of the main Dwarvish languages.

Y/N was no stranger to being alone, nor was she unused to being unusual. Being on the run from a dangerous league of hunter assassins that were sweeping through her hometown of Rohan, spending months trying to reach Erebor, the Mountain of Gold, then arriving only to be turned away, had taught her not to care too much about loneliness.

Sure, she’d been allowed in eventually, after she’d insisted to the stingy King Thorin Oakenshield that she had ‘absolutely no fucking interest in your goddamn gold’, but the reminder that she wasn’t wanted in Erebor still stung dully day after day, even as she attempted to bury the emotion beneath layers of stone.

Although, she was no longer completely shunned while in Erebor. The first few weeks had been difficult, especially as she was at least eight inches taller than everyone else, even as a relatively short human - Y/N was surrounded by Dwarves, and it was a transformative experience (she enjoyed being tall for a change).

But as time went on, the Dwarves became far more accepting - mostly because when Bard visited with his children, Sigrid and Tilda (who was the reason they were there, to say hello to the ‘lucky Dwarves from the toilet’, namely Dwalin, her favourite) and saw her, he spouted a whole speech on the helpfulness of humans in the Battle of the Five Armies, especially how a number of them had charged Azog’s numbers, saving the line of Durin. That made Thorin begrudgingly become kinder to her.

Y/N spent most of her days outside the cold fortress, reading old books on Dwarven culture and their previous interrelations with other relations on the ramparts or the grasses below the Mountain. It was on one of such days that she ran into someone who would change her life.

Well, Y/N didn’t run into him.

He really ran into her.

Y/N had been sitting on the ramparts, her legs swinging over the side and continually tucking her h/c hair behind her ears as the wind blew it into her face. A large book with a f/c leather cover that had stood out to her in the towering shelves of the Library was sitting in her lap, gold-leaf lettering across the front of it boldly proclaiming ‘A History of the Honourable Line of Durin’. She’d been told by Balin (a frequenter of the Library) that it was updated often with the latest triumphs of the youngest of the Line of Durin: Thorin, Fili and Kili, the Royals Under the Mountain.

Y/N wouldn’t lie, she was mostly reading it to make fun Thorin, but then again, history was interesting.

She looked up from a particularly hilarious passage about Thorin’s ‘incredible bravery and innumerable acts of service to the Throne of Erebor’ at the harsh cry of a raven. It circled around her, cawing enthusiastically with something less akin to malevolence and more to happiness in its black eyes, before flying off.

Y/N had been smiling but she frowned when she realised that the raven was not flying towards Erebor, as most did, but away from it.

Then it had to be flying away from something … Y/N connected the dots just as the door to the battlements whipped open and something slammed into her back just as she was turning around, knocking her off the ramparts.

She screamed loudly, looking at the ground beneath her and envisioning the fifty different ways she would splatter all over it.

A hand encased in a brown glove but for the fingers suddenly swung into her view, catching ahold of hers in a startlingly tight grip.

Y/N looked up, seeing a Dwarvish face that was at once familiar and entirely seperate from her small existence in Erebor, and she couldn’t put a name to him.

His brown hair reached just past his shoulders, and was not braided. Paired with his beardless, kinda attractive face (stubble did not count in Y/N’s eyes), Y/N reached the conclusion that he was still young, definitely under 100.

He was holding onto her with one of his hands and his other was held by a blonde Dwarf with much more facial hair than the former and a messy blonde mane like a lion who stood behind the battlements where she had been sitting prior to being knocked off by (presumably) one of the two.

Y/N was very impressed that the Dwarf was holding her up with one hand, as she was at least more than half a foot taller than him, but she had no energy to be focused on that emotion beyond the hot fear coursing through her veins.

“Oi! Pull!” the brown-haired Dwarf yelled, and the blonde did so, clenching his teeth and heaving, until all three of them were safe on the ramparts.

“I am so sorry for my brother’s clumsiness, Miss Y/N!” the bearded, seemingly older Dwarf apologised.

“Itkit! (Shut up!)” the younger brother hissed, giving the blonde a scathing glare. “But I do apologise, Lady Y/N.” He emphasised the title he gave her, though it was definitely not one she actually possessed.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N replied to the two enthusiastic Dwarves with confusion etched all over her face. Here they were, having knocked her off the side of a fucking Castle, calling her ‘Lady’ and apparently knowing her name when she could not match a name to either of their faces. “How do you know my name? Do I know you?”

“Oh, that’s right,” the brunette said thoughtfully, turning to his brother. “Uncle Thorin said she was new.”

“He also said she was a-”

“Oh Mahal, shut up! How many languages do I have to say that in?”

Uncle Thorin? Oh shit ....

“Anyway. Prince Fili-”

“-and Prince Kili-”

“At your service!” they both chimed, bowing low in unison and springing back up with wide grins that made them seem a lot younger than they probably were.

“Fuck...” Y/N muttered under her breath, curtseying as low as she could. “My Princes, I apologise-”

Her embarrassed apology was cut short with a squeak flying from her mouth as she was yet again jerked up by Kili, who brushed off her f/c dress that was dirty from falling off the ramparts.

“Lady Y/N, you needn’t apologise; it is technically my fault for knocking you off the walls of Erebor!”

“Then you needn’t call me Lady Y/N,” the girl retorted, almost instantly regretting the familiarity with a royal figure, but also proud when Kili gave a loud laugh and wide smile. “I’m just Y/N.”

“Alright then, Just Y/N,” Kili teased, wiggling his eyebrows and taking her hand, kissing it gently. “On behalf of the Prince of Erebor-”

“-Princes, you little shit,” Fili interrupted, casually spinning a knife on his fingers.

“... Princes of Erebor,” Kili rolled his eyes. “Welcome, new friend.”

---

“You two are unbelievable,” Y/N complained, though a wide smile was affixed on her face.

“We know,” Fili and Kili replied, both still covered in flour from when they’d begun to throw it like snowballs in the middle of baking with her.

“Well, at least we salvaged-” Y/N cut herself off as she took the cake out of the oven. “Mahal. What is that?”

The cake was less a cake, and more a complete mess. Half of it looked gooey and porous, and the other half burnt. Y/N just turned to the brothers, raising an eyebrow.

They eyed each other too, shuffling their feet.

Y/N sighed. “This is why we don’t have food fights in the kitchen, guys.”

Fili and Kili had the decency to look a little sheepish as Y/N turned to dump the mess in the bin. As she did so, she glanced out the window and flinched.

“Shit! I’m meant to meet Bard soon - it’s a meeting of great importance. And I’m not ready, there is flour everywhere, my hair is a mess-”

“Well, we can handle at least one of those things,” Kili told Y/N, lightly pushing her into a chair, his hands clean of flour now. “I know a really good hairstyle for special occasions - our mother used to wear it.”

He began to run his fingers through her hair, gently untangling the knots with a brush Fili gave him (honestly, how much did that Dwarf have in his coat?) and braiding it. Y/N closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his hands in her hair and its soothingness. Suddenly, she opened her eyes, flushing red.

Was she falling for the Prince of Erebor?

No, surely not. After all, he was a dwarf, and she a human: a human the King of Erebor didn’t exactly have a partiality towards. It would never work out.

That doesn’t mean feelings just stop, dumbass. Y/N’s brain reasoned. She rolled her eyes at herself.

“Alright, it’s done! And Fili and I will clean up the kitchen,” Kili announced, pulling her up and lightly dusting off her f/c dress, careful to avoid any areas it was improper to touch, a small hint of pink on his cheeks as he did so. Y/N pulled some of her hair around her shoulders - Kili had done several braids amongst her loose hair, most of them tied with black bands but one with a beautiful bead in it that she didn’t get a proper look at.

(A/N - imagine this hairstyle, but only one bead, and that bead has lots of jewels all in different colours)

“We’ll clean up what?” Fili protested. Kili smirked, pushing her out the door.

“We’ll see you later, Y/N!”

---

Y/N ran as fast as she could, considering her annoyingly impractical skirt, and she finally skidded to a stop in the snow outside the great doors, taking in who was there.

Bard bowed his head in greeting, his eldest daughter, Sigrid by his side. (Y/N had thought she had heard faint giggles from inside, meaning Tilda was hanging out with Dwalin again), Thorin stood impatiently, leaning on his sword, and next to him, keeping a petty distance was …

“My lord Thranduil,” Y/N bowed, having also read all about the infamously glamorous Elvenking of Mirkwood. “I apologise for my tardiness.”

“You are on time, Y/N,” Bard said, giving Thorin a side-eye. The damages of the Battle of the Five Armies went far beyond death.

Thorin chose to sit on a ledge that a) placed him higher than all of those present and b) allowed him to rest. Recovering from being impaled by the Pale Orc was a lengthy process, and one still far from finishing.

“What is the importance of this meeting?” Y/N asked, eager to go back to her chambers and think on the startling discoveries she’d made on what her heart told her about Kili Durin.

“The purpose, Y/N, is for this …”

---

After the meeting, Y/N went to leave, but Thorin called her name, stopping her.

“Yes, my King?”

He reached for one of the braids Kili had put in her hair, smiling kinder than she had ever seen him do so.

“Kili’s bead. So you have not tamed the Lion, but you have chosen the Fox. Loyal, yet cheeky and sweet.”

Y/N opened her mouth, confused, but Thorin kept speaking.

“I congratulate you on your courtship, Y/N. I wish you much love and happiness.”

“My King, I’m sorry, but I am not courting-”

He swept off in a majestic swirl of furs, leaving Y/N with a finger raised and her eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

“Courting?” she wondered aloud. “What in Middle-Earth ...”

Suddenly, she recalled Thorin’s observation of ‘Kili’s bead’, and she pulled her hair in front of her face, scanning it for the singular, beautiful silver bead, with its nine differently-coloured gemstones, and some vague thought buried in the back of her brain called to her.

“That Dwarf ...” Y/N cursed colourfully, tossing her hair over her shoulder, picking up her skirts and running as fast as she could to the most familiar area of Erebor.

The Library. Shelves upon shelves, thousands stretching out further than Y/N could see from the entrance. She raced for the section on Dwarvish customs, pulling a dusty red tome titled ‘Dwarves and Their Secrets - The Rites and Customs of Their Culture’ and flipping through it, coughing as swirls of dust swam into the air.

Finding the page she was after, she slammed the open book onto a nearby table, running her finger down the page as her h/c hair fell in her face.

“That little fuck,” Y/N hissed, closing the book with a slam and sliding down one of the shelves until she sat on the floor, her arms curled around her knees, her face hidden from the world and vice verse by her h/l hair.

“So you found out,” a meek voice said, prompting Y/N to lift her head as Kili sat next to her.

“You bet your non-existent beard I did,” Y/N grumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Kili mumbled, burying his face in his hands, which were large, the same size as yours. “I didn’t know how to tell you that I liked you. I chose the coward’s way out.”

“I can understand that,” Y/N admitted. “Although telling everyone that why were courting via my hairstyle was not the smartest way of going about it.”

“Well, technically, your hairstyle doesn’t say you are dating. (A/N: this part here is completely made up) These braids in this style, paired with the loose hair actually means unrequited love. And seeing as I did your hair, and I have a matching braid-” he briefly pushed his hair behind his ear, pulling on a small braid, that was, indeed matching, even with a simpler version of the bead, with only two gems. “-it basically tells everyone that I have a crush on you. Uncle Thorin just misunderstood because he only looked at the bead, which he knows I own.”

“What do the gems mean?” Y/N asked, knowing she was avoiding the topic of Kili’s love for her and her possible love for him, but too afraid to cross that bridge.

Kili smiled nervously, already flushing from what he anticipated Y/N’s reaction to be, and he pulled the bead from her hair, pointing to each gem as he explained their meaning.

“The white one with the blue sheen - moonstone. It means patience, like how I am willing to wait for you. This pink one is morganite. It symbolises divine love and prosperity. These two are the ones that I have in my matching bead.” And Y/N saw that this was indeed true.

“The red ruby, which symbolises passion.” Kili’s cheeks looked as red as the jewel as he hurriedly moved on. “An emerald, green, which is fertility. Not only in children, but fertility in the soil that grows the flowers of success. Old wive’s tale. The purple one’s an opal - which is for emotional purity. It’s meant to guard against jealousy and anger. The garnet and the citrine - orange and the yellow - both stand for protection, though the citrine also provides prosperity and success.”

Y/N was completely entranced by his knowledge of the gems, even as he came to the last few.

“This pastel blue one is for fidelity, although I don’t think you need that, you have loads of it.” Y/N and Kili laughed together, and Kili fixed the bead back in her hair.

“Wait! You didn’t explain the last one!” Y/N protested, eager to hear more.

Kili stopped, smiling. “Oh. That’s a sapphire, which means trust, like how I’m trusting you with my heart. But I put it in there because it’s the exact colour of your eyes.”

Y/N was so touched by this last one, that he trusted her with his heart, even after she heard that it had been broken by the death of the Mirkwood elleth, Tauriel, that she threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight. On the floor, they were a similar height, and he hugged her back lightly.

“You know, Kili of the Line of Durin,” Y/N said teasingly as her arms lingered around his neck, though she pulled back so she could look him in the eye. “I think I need to thank you for the bead and the braids, because you made me realise something.”

“What?” Kili breathed.

“I realised I’m kinda in love with you.”

And hidden in the endless shelves of the library, Y/N kissed him, right there and then.

Hi there guys! I’ll be putting up a dialogue prompts request list soon for you to request UP TO THREE numbers.

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to heart this imagine, give me a follow and/or request (it makes my day so much!).

#kilixreader #xreader #kili #thehobbit #thehobbitxreader #you #x reader #kili x reader #the hobbit #imagine

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

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Widower (A Dad!Diego/The Umbrella Academy Fic)

A/N: I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So I am putting it out into the universe. But not actually making it canon (when did the Dad!Diego fics develop a canon? What is life?) so feel free to just pretend it never happened. I just needed to be angsty. Word Count: 1270 Content Warnings: Major Character Death; poorly handled grief; a few well placed swears

It had been a long time since he’d worn black. Ever since Y/N came into his life, he hadn’t felt like he needed it. He could be freer, he could let color in, he could be happy, content.

Eugene squirmed on his lap. The little boy was too young to know what was going on, just that he was uncomfortable in his itchy black baby-sized suit and that he was bored. Maggie knew a little better, in that she sensed that something was wrong, and that he was sad and squirming or complaining were the wrong thing to do. So she sat dutifully beside her father and brother on the hardback chairs, legs swinging slightly, and tried her hardest to be good.

“Hey Diego,” Allison murmured, suddenly appearing in the row behind him, leaning forward to talk softly to her brother, a tenderness between them that wasn’t usually there. “Do you want me to take the kids tonight, give you a little time to...deal with things by yourself?”

He turned to look back at his sister, so tired of being sad that his expression was completely blank, lifeless behind the eyes.

“T-t-t-t-t-that’s…” he closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I c-c-c-an’t.”

His stutter hadn’t been this bad since they were just young kids, since he had their father scolding him several times a day for not living up to an impossible standard. Her frown deepened.

“Diego, what do you mean you can't? It wouldn’t be an imposition, and…”

He shook his head. “N-no. If I...i-if th-they’r-re n-not…” his voice dropped to a mumble unable to force his mouth to make sounds at full volume.

“Never s-s-see th-e-em-m ag-g-g-ain,” she managed to catch, and immediately she wrapped her arms around him from their awkward position. Of course after everything that he’d been through this past week that would be his fear. She felt guilty that she hadn’t thought of it right away.

“Oh Diego,” she sighed. “They’ll be alright, I’ll make sure of it. Or I can take them to the Academy, have everyone there to watch out for them. But I understand. As a parent, your kids mean the world to you. We could have a ‘sleepover’ at your place? Me and Claire, and maybe the others?”

He shook his head and opened his mouth to tell her that he’d be okay. But he knew that was a lie. He didn’t think he’d ever be okay again. But all the old habits Y/N had helped him break - the determination that he had to do everything alone and the certainty that he wasn’t allowed to show how he was feeling - came crashing back down around him like prison bars.

“No,” he snapped, pulling away from her comforting touch. “I’ll h-handle it.”

“If you change your mind…”

“I’m fine, Allison.”

“Daddy,” Maggie asked him a few mornings later at breakfast. “W-where’s Mom-my?”

His eyes met her confused and pleading ones, the beat of his heart catching with the familiar skips of her stutter, and something inside him snapped. He dropped to his knees, face buried in his hands.

“Daddy?” she asked, voice as full of concern as a four-year-old’s could be.

But in that moment, tumbling head over heels, around and around, in the black hole of his despair, he could no longer hear his daughter. He couldn’t feel it when her little hand tugged at his shirt. Because it required a person to do those things, and he wasn’t anymore. He was nothing but his grief.

“Diego,” a voice cut through his fugue. He couldn’t remember when he stopped crying, giving in to emptiness instead. There was nothing special about the voice, but something tickled in his mind that said it wasn’t supposed to be there. “Diego, get up.”

He thought he might have shook his head.

“Diego, please,” the voice asked, begged. “Your children need you.”

Klaus. It was Klaus talking to him. What was he doing here? How did he get into his house? Where had he been at the fucking funeral?

He sat up and shoved at the hands on his shoulders, pushing Klaus away from him with a snarl, like a feral animal, full of hate and pain and fear and nothing somehow all at once.

“Okay. Calm down,” he couldn’t remember the last time he had heard Klaus sound so level. Because of course he wasn’t phased. It wasn’t his wife, the love of his life lying in a coffin under a mound of fresh dirt.

“What do you want Klaus?” he snapped, choosing anger over the pain or the numbness he had been cycling through.

“Maggie called me. She’s very hard to understand over the phone. But she said you wouldn’t get up and asked me to come fix it.”

“You can’t. You can’t fix this. Nobody can.” His voice started as a growl and faded to a sigh.

“I know that, Diego. But my niece, your daughter, called and she was scared and what else was I supposed to do? Five’s here too, my chauffeur, entertaining the Squirt and the Bean so I could talk to you.”

“Like you actually care.”

“What?! Of course I care. You’re family, all of you. Including Y/N.”

“Then why didn’t you bother to come to the funeral?”

“I don’t mix well with funeral homes or graveyards. I...just couldn’t.”

Diego frowned, wanting to snap at his brother that he should have been there anyway, but knowing that it wouldn’t have been what she wanted. Y/N had understood Klaus’s fears and nightmares almost instinctively and done everything she could to help him with them. She wouldn’t have wanted him torture himself on her account, not when she wasn’t really there anymore. So he pulled back, shifted into a seated position on the floor, sitting across from Klaus and staring off into the distance.

“Have you...seen her?” he asked after a long while, voice flat.

Klaus shook his head regretfully. “Not yet. I can try again to conjure her, for you right now, if you want?”

Diego thought about it, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Was that what he wanted? In that moment?

“No. Just, if you do find her or however it works, tell her…” he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to gather the words within him.

“A-ask her why she le-ft,” he blurted out. “Why she a-bb-bandoned us. I c-c-c-an’t do this al-l-lone without her.”

Another sob shook his body and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut. Klaus was quick to catch him, holding his brother up.

“If she had the choice, I’m sure Y/N would have stayed here, for you. But she couldn’t. I know it’s not fair and sucks,” he sighed, thinking of Dave briefly before returning his focus to the matter at hand.

“You’re not alone,” he continued sagely. “I know it’s not the same as her, but you have all of us, if you’d just stop being so goddamn stubborn and let us help you. Team Zero and all that shit or whatever.”

When Diego looked up, his view danced past Klaus to Five in the doorway, Eugene asleep on his shoulder, tiny fist balled in the lapel of Five’s jacket (he still wore that goddamn uniform so often and it was weird, though Y/N had said it made sense, a sense of identity wrapped in blue linen).

“We’re all here for you,” the oldest Hargreeves assured. “And for them.” He nodded his head toward his nephew with a faint, fond smile. “No matter what.”

#Sorry not sorry #ANGST #I am the Angst Fairy Godmother #I am an emotional masochist #Delight and Tremble Before Me #I was just going to write it and then let it go but I'm really proud of how it came out #except maybe the italics abuse #Dad!Diego fic #Diego Hargreeves x reader #The Umbrella Academy fic

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et-lesailes · 5 years ago

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alibi

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

word count: 2485

summary: the death of harlan thrombey is being investigated, and while ransom seems to be the perfect suspect, he also has the perfect alibi.

themes: mentions of murder, drama, fluff

taglist: @evanstush, @chibi-crazy, @tanyam93, @bval-1, @wonderwinchester, @patzammit, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @sammyslonglostshoe, @mizariomi, @jadedhillon, @bohemian-barbie, @marvelouspottering, @sebabestianstan101, @lille-kattunge, @peach-acid, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @hannie-stark, @bookish-shristi, @kind-sober-fullydressed, @whores4thor, @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly, @danathewitchywoman, @denisemarieangelina, @mango--mango, @frencchfries, @xlanawriter, @littlemoistcarrot, @pottxrwolff, @arianatheangelworld, @ifuseekamyevans, @southerngracela, @nsfwsebbie, @rororo06, @almost-had-the-stars, @sebastian-i-stan, @whysparker

notes: this was based on an idea given to me by @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory and i absolutely loved it! i did change it up a little, and no i did not reveal who the actual killer is-- because i don’t know how to write mystery fics for shit, and i wanted to focus on ransom and reader’s relationship rather than solving an entire ass murder. anywho there are references to scenes from the movie so if you’re sensitive to spoilers then don’t read! and thank you to @thewritingdoll for the graphic!

“You think I killed my Granddad.”

Ransom looks at Detective Benoit for a few seconds before scoffing, even smirking as he looks to the window of the elegant room lined with bookshelves. “And why exactly do you think that?”

“Now I didn’t say that.” The detective drawls, leaning forward and looking at the younger with intense crystal hues. “But you left his party early, right after a rather serious fight with him, and you don’t bother to show to the funeral… seems a little suspicious. I’d like to know where you were.”

Ransom looks at the detective for a few moments before leaning in as well. “Where I was,” he lowers his voice, “is none of your goddamn business. It’s not even relevant to anyone in this goddamn family, so you can go ahead and get your Kentucky Fried ass out of it right now.” He stands up, looking at the detective almost challengingly. “Maybe you should find another occupation, Detective, because you don’t seem all that great at this one.”

Benoit watches as the man turns around and walks out the door. A few seconds later, he stands up as well, walking outside. He gets into the passenger side of a waiting car, the headlights turned off.

He nods towards Detective Elliot sitting in the driver’s side. “Follow him.”

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER

“Interesting how you’ll show up at the reading of the will and not at your grandfather’s actual funeral.” Walt Thrombey comments as Ransom strides into the room, his expression bored as he tucks his sunglasses into his pocket. He barely smirks in amusement upon his uncle’s comment, sitting himself down on one of the couches and crossing his legs. “Had another commitment. Unlike you, I wasn’t stuck up his ass my whole life.”

Walt widens his eyes, immediately shooting up from his seat through struggling slightly with his limp. “What the hell did you just say to me? That’s not true, w-we worked together, of course we had to spend time together!” His wife quickly grabs his arm, giving Ransom a dirty look. “Just sit down, sweetheart.” Ransom notices his father barely chuckle out of the corner of his eye.

What a family.

“You shouldn’t be here, Ransom,” Meg hisses, glaring at her older cousin. “You never appreciated Granddad. All you did was fight with him all the time.” Her mother Joni bites her lip but murmurs, “Up until his very last night…. Seems a little suspicious.” Linda immediately turns on her. “Excuse you? Are you trying to imply something here concerning my son?”

“Oh come on, Linda,” Walt scoffs, “I bet you wouldn’t put it past him either. Kid’s a sociopath, always has been. We’ve been telling you to get him help for years.”

“My son does not need help!” Richard raises his voice, standing up infuriated. “And do you really want to talk about damaged children right now? Have you met Jacob?”

The young teenage boy looks up from his phone, clearly offended. “What’s wrong with me? Besides, I told you guys, I heard Ransom basically threatening Granddad! He clearly did it!” His mother quickly rubs his arm. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Jacob.” The fight only escalates from there, insults directed towards all the Thrombey children firing back and forth.

Ransom can’t help himself. It starts out as a grin, then a low chuckle, then finally a loud cackle of laughter. He’s practically thumping the armrest of the couch, shaking his head to himself. “Oh, God. You guys are too funny. We should do this more often.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Meg practically screeches, “What is wrong with you? How are you getting enjoyment from this?” Over her voice, other comments can be heard-- “He shouldn’t even be here!” “Can he just fucking leave already?” “Do something about your son!” “Why do you guys suck as parents?” “He should be removed from the damn family!” “Fucking spoiled brat!” “Cut him off already!”

Ransom scoffs, his face still full of amusement. “How about… eat shit,” he points to Meg, then Walt, “and you eat shit,” he continues, then chuckles seeing his parents reprimanding him, “you definitely eat shit…”

He’s still going as everyone’s telling him how “classy” he is, the uproar becoming louder and louder. Perhaps anyone else in his position would be affected by this-- it normally isn’t easy for most to be so hated and despised by their own family, and it’s generally quite stressful to be in a yelling match with at least seven other people. Not for Ransom, though. He’s lived with this dysfunction his whole life, and now, he only finds it hilarious how uptight and irritable his high strung family gets. They make it so damn easy for him to have some fun.

“Hello? Excuse me!” a loud voice rings above all the fighting, and everyone falls silent, looking towards the doorway. An old man is standing there, looking at the family in both shock and disgust. “We’re ready to read the will now, if you all are done.” Everyone immediately gets up, nodding their heads and forgetting all about the drama Ransom’s started.

For now, anyways.

Detective Benoit Blanc can’t help but study Ransom as the will is being read, taking in how calm and collected he is. He has not eliminated any suspects, and God knows this entire family is a mess of dysfunction and motive, but he has at least had the opportunity to talk with them and get to know them a little better. Ransom is still a mystery, and he finds this suspicious.

It is not long before the family is in an uproar again, this time over the will. Even Benoit is shocked. All of Harlan’s inheritance, gone to Marta Cabrera? He looks to Ransom, who’s simply sitting there grinning like an idiot- even beginning to laugh hysterically.

Ransom appears to be the only one who knew of Harlan’s plans before anyone else in the family. Benoit takes note of this. Perhaps it will help him later on.

PRESENT TIME

“There’s two cars in the driveway.” Lieutenant Elliot notes, the two of them watching as Ransom gets out of his. “A Honda Civic. Nothing flashy, expensive-- certainly not Ransom’s.” Benoit murmurs, keeping his head slightly low as he keeps an eye on the man from their spot behind a tree. He walks into the modern style home, and Elliot barely chuckles. “These giant windows sure help. Jesus, he must not care too much for privacy.” He raises an eyebrow, adding, “Not that this is going to give us anything, Benny, come on-- the guy killed himself. That’s all there is to it.”

“There’s just something about this boy.” Benoit sighs, looking to the house calmly. “He’s… hiding something. From his entire family. I’d like to make sure it doesn’t involve Harlan’s death.”

What the two see in the next five minutes is definitely unexpected, to say the least. Elliot watches the living room window in shock, scoffing slowly. “Unbelievable. This is what he’s hiding? How-- how could his family not know?”

Benoit watches, his expression unreadable for a few moments before the corner of his lips slowly tugs upwards. “I see.” He murmurs, more so to himself. “I suppose the kid could be innocent, after all.”

“Why am I here again?” Ransom raises an eyebrow at the man before him, crossing his legs. “We’ve already gone over this. I didn’t kill my Granddad, and I’m not answering any questions as to where I-”

“Anette Harper Drysdale.” Benoit cuts him off, looking at an open file in his hands. “Born November 22nd at 11:42 AM.” He looks up at Ransom’s shocked expression, tilting his head to one side. “During your grandfather’s funeral.” He looks back down at the file, flipping to another page. “It appears her mother arrived at the hospital the night before, though. Early contractions. You checked in to see her at 9:23 PM and didn’t check out until after the baby was born.”

“How do you have those?” Ransom immediately hisses, shooting up from his chair and reaching out to grab the file. Benoit lets him, having suspected he would do as much anyways. “We had reasonable suspicion, and so the hospital was required to give it to us. I’m only confused as to why you didn’t just tell us all of this from the start. You clearly had no part in your grandfather’s death. Why not prove yourself innocent with this?”

“Because my family can’t know about Y/N. And they especially can’t know about Anette.” Ransom sits back down, teeth grit from frustration. “Fine. You got me, alright? I’m married. And now, I have a daughter. A daughter who isn’t even a week old. That’s all I’m hiding here, and I want to continue hiding it. I’m not introducing my real family to this fucked up bunch.”

“I won’t tell them.” Benoit replies after studying the other for a few moments. “I have to admit, I had you all wrong.”

“Yeah, most people do. Look, being with Y/N- I’m not the same person I was before. I mean, sure, I’m not a fucking saint. And I’ll still take any chance I can to see my parents, cousins, uncles, aunts-- to see them get screwed over just because of how damn entertaining it is. But I’m never, never going to do something to jeopardize my wife, and now, my daughter. Do you get that?”

Benoit looks at the intensity in Ransom’s features. He’s sure the boy knows how to lie like a pro, but he can tell he’s not lying now.

“You can go, Ransom. I’ve officially eliminated you as a suspect from this case.”

You’re sitting at home in the nursery and cradling your sweet baby girl to sleep when Ransom walks in, his loud sigh echoing through the spacious living room. “Oh!” you whisper, wanting to call to him that you’re upstairs but definitely not wanting to wake little Anette. You carefully stand up, holding her close as you walk out of the nursery, coming to the banister that gives you a view of the front door so you can wave to him to come up. He immediately grins upon seeing you, taking off his coat and scarf tossing both on the nearby couch before making his way upstairs. “Hey.” He mumbles lowly, wrapping one arm around you and kissing your head. “How is she?” You smile, leaning into your boyfriend’s hold. “A little angel. I can’t believe how lucky we got, she barely cries-- only when she’s hungry.”

He stares down at his daughter’s face, almost in disbelief with himself. He never cared for babies, or for people for that matter. After living with such a shit family like his, he had never really learned what loving or caring for someone was like. He watched them use others, use his grandfather’s money for their own success, and so that’s what he did. People were puppets to be manipulated, and he could bend them to his will however he wanted because of his family’s money.

And then he met you. No, it wasn’t love at first sight, no bullshit like that. He hates to think about it but in the beginning, he saw you as he saw every other female companion he came across. Someone to play with, someone to throw money at for a couple of weeks just for the hell of it, someone to satisfy his sexual needs.

At least, that’s what he had wanted from you. And you were certainly not giving into it.

He remembers how shocked yet intrigued he had been. You wouldn’t accept any money from him, and you didn’t fall for any of his charming flirtations. He even had to watch you date other men right in front of him before finally realizing this was driving him crazy. It started out as simply wanting something he couldn’t have. As he got to know you, it turned into just… wanting you no matter what. It stopped becoming some type of challenging game to him. It became reality.

He thought he was the master manipulator in any relationship, but damn, you managed to twist him into all sorts of shapes and forms without even trying.

“She gets it from you, you know.” He mutters playfully with a scoff as he carefully walks you back into the nursery, eyes still fixated on his sleeping baby’s face. “Can’t even imagine having one like me running around.” You laugh softly at the thought, gently setting the little girl down into her crib. She barely frowns and you hold your breath, worried that those blue-green eyes might open along with a wailing mouth, but she simply settles down again and resumes sleeping. “Well, that might be a possibility in the future,” you remark as you step back, looking up at him with an amused smile. “Aren’t you the one who said you want us to have at least three?”

“Mainly because you look so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant.” Ransom mutters, leaning down to bury his head in your neck and start kissing at every inch of skin he can. “It’s just so hot seeing you carry my child.” You smile as you tilt your head, reaching your hand up to stroke his hair. “Well my handsome baby daddy, you can calm down for the time being because I have no plans of being pregnant again right after giving birth.” He sighs dramatically as the two of you leave the nursery, closing the door but leaving it slightly cracked open. “Mm, fine, we’ll talk when Anette’s one.”

You chuckle softly but bite your lip, holding his hands as you stop to look up at him. “What did he ask you?” Ransom pauses before sighing, looking down at you seriously. “He knows about us. About Anette. But he promised he wouldn’t tell my family. He just cleared me from the case, I’m officially not involved anymore.”

You sigh in relief, squeezing his hand lightly. “That’s great, baby. But... what are you going to do?” you ask, a little worried. “Sooner or later you’re not going to have their money anymore. I don’t mind being the only one working, babe, but with a single income we might have to move out of this place…”

Ransom looks down at you more seriously, reaching out to stroke a strand of your hair behind your ear. “If I have to get a job at my mom’s stupid real estate agency, I will. No matter what, we’ll figure this out. I’m going to do whatever I can if it means providing for the two of you and giving you the best damn life possible, got it?”

You smile and nod your head, standing on your tiptoes to peck his lips. “As long as you’re here with us, we’ve already got the best life.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom thrombey imagine #knives out spoilers

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too-gay-for-marvel · 4 years ago

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i can take the fall

a/n: so uhhhhhh i found this one tonight. i wrote it forever ago, so its NOT my best by far, but i still kinda liked it. so now you all have to suffer through it, and im not sorry. i mean, im a little sorry, but im not sorry

Word Count: 1197

Warnings: light swearing, canon-typical violence

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

There were very few things Natasha wouldn’t do. She wouldn’t kill children or animals, maybe people with families. She wouldn’t even dream of hurting someone who was pregnant. She wouldn’t drink coffee if she either hadn’t made it herself or watched someone else make it. She wouldn’t indulge your fantasies of turning the compound into an animal shelter. She would never let someone make the sacrifice play if there was any other option.

She wouldn’t let you fall.

Vormire wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. You weren’t supposed to have to do much, just make a bargain, get the stone, and go back home. Hell, the only reason Tony had let you go was because he thought there was minimal risk. So how the hell did you end up like this? Both of you hanging off the edge of a cliff, Natasha holding onto your hand for dear life, your suit surrounding Natasha and not letting her do what she needed to do.

“Damn you, Stark,” Natasha said through gritted teeth, trying her damndest to pull you back up.

“Let me go, Tash,” you said softly, trying to be tough, but Natasha could see the fear.

“I am not explaining this to your father.”

“Tash-”

“-no!” Natasha shouted, fighting the tears and thankful that the suit’s mask was pulled down. “You don’t get to do this!”

And you gave her that look; that damned look that Natasha had seen too many times on both yours and Tony’s faces. It was a look that Tony would have whenever he was going through his self-destructive phases, and Natasha had had to stop him from killing himself. And you had the same goddamn tendencies as your father and were always putting yourself in situations that could get you killed.

“Would you please, for once in your fucking life, think about the consequences of your actions?” Natasha practically yelled as she chased you through your lab.

“I did. I thought “hm, people might die if I do nothing.” So I did something,” you shot back, FRIDAY already helping you take the top part of your suit off.

“You were shot!”

“I lived.”

“What if you hadn’t?”

At that, you turned around, and Natasha almost wished you had stayed with your back to her. While your back looked nasty, with road rash and bruises from being knocked around in your suit, your front was even worse. Your nose had been broken and was still bleeding, your lip was split, and you had bruises on the entire right side of your face.

“Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, and that doesn’t sound too bad at the moment.”

“You can’t just throw your life away because you think someone deserves to live more than you.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” you said as you practically stomped forward, your boots making a loud metallic noise against the concrete. FRIDAY had since given up on taking off the pants of your suit. “You think you don’t do the exact same thing?”

“I don’t try to get myself killed, Stark,” Natasha shot back.

“Well you certainly don’t try to avoid it,” you said with a jab to Natasha’s chest.

“I do what I think is best.”

“And you think I don’t?” Natasha took a step back. She had definitely made a mistake. “I don’t do this hoping I’m going to die, Natalia.” Oh no. “Believe it or not, I don’t want to die.”

“I never said you-”

“-I just believe,” you interrupted, ”-my life is no more important than someone else’s. I’ve done the math, Nat. People hate the Avengers; they think we’re just causing more harm than good. If it takes one of us dying to fix that…” you let out a shaky breath and raked your fingers through your hair. You was avoiding Natasha’s eyes. “I can take the fall.”

Natasha had never been so terrified at seeing how little you cared about your own life.

“Nat,” you said, drawing Natasha out of her thoughts.

“We can find another way,” Natasha said, pleaded, cried. The face plate on the suit lifted up, and Natasha could finally look at you without all those little gadgets in the way. But she didn’t like what she was seeing, and she almost wished the face plate would lower again.

“Remember what I said all those years ago?” You asked. You were trying to keep your voice light, Natasha could tell. But it wasn’t going to distract either of you from the situation.

“Please don’t,” Natasha shook her head. She didn’t want to hear it.

“I can take it,” you said anyway, trying to smile. But Natasha couldn’t smile back. She could feel your grip loosening, and Natasha tried to increase her grip, but the suit wouldn’t budge. Damn you.

“But I love you,” Natasha managed to choke out around a sob. Your hand was slipping.

“It’s okay,” you with a nod, but Natasha knew you were lying. It wouldn’t be okay. “I love you, too.”

Before Natasha even had a chance to say something else, she felt you push off against the wall as hard as you could. Your hand slipped from Natasha’s grip, and Natasha could only watch as you fell. It was like everything moved in slow motion; you falling, a scream ripping its way through her throat, you closing your eyes before hitting the ground. Right before you hit, Natasha turned her head. She didn’t want to see it. She couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see your lifeless body bleeding out on the cold ground.

A flash of light surrounded Natasha, and she sat up quickly, the suit feeling heavier than she had ever thought it would. Maybe it was because it had betrayed her, had saved her instead of you. She looked at her closed hand, opening it slowly to see the soul stone. For a second, she thought she could hear your voice. But it was just a stone. Just a stupid fucking stone. You had traded your life for a goddamn rock. If it hadn’t been as important as it was, Natasha would’ve crushed it in a heartbeat.

But you had given up your life so they could fix their mistake. You had thought the cause was worth losing your life over, and Natasha wouldn’t - no, she couldn’t take that for granted. By god, she was going to get the stone back, and they were going to bring everyone back, and not a single soul was going to be able to ignore that you had given your life to get them back.

With shaking hands, Natasha set her quantum suit’s GPS to the future. She didn’t want to stay on this god forsaken planet any longer. If she stayed, she wouldn’t leave, and then you would’ve died for nothing. In a flash, she was back on the quantum pad with everyone else. She could vaguely hear cheering, clapping, people giving each other high-fives and talking over each other. All she could do was fall to her knees, the stone still in her hand. Now that she was back, it was finally, truly hitting her what had happened.

“Nat, where’s Y/N?”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #my writing

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btssavedmylifeblr · 5 years ago

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Euphoria (M)

Jungkook x reader

angst • fluff • smut

established relationship, time travel au

Word count: 6k

At the end of your life, you are given one day to live again with the man you loved. A lifetime’s love story told in a single day.

Part of the Love Yourself collab

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Warnings: major character death, ambiguous ending, explicit sexual content, and a lot of existential angst.

A/N: I cried while writing this. Several of my beta readers cried. If you don't want to think about your own mortality today, maybe sit this one out. But I think the ending is uplifting. One of my beta readers described it as "so lovely and so sad and so happy."

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If you could live one day again, which day would you choose?

Warm sunlight hits your face. You blink up into a bright light. The pain is gone. You are lighter, thinner, longer. You hold your hand up to block the bright sun and the skin of your hand is smooth. Un-bent fingers dance across the light before your eyes. They don’t look anything like the wrinkled, calloused hands that had held your daughter’s hands only moments ago.

You stretch, enjoying the feeling of soft cotton sheets against the smooth skin of your legs. You’re so much taller than you were moments ago, hunched over in your deathbed. Your spine is straighter. It’s joyous. A breeze blows in from the open window behind you.

This was May. Your college apartment had no air conditioning, so you left the windows open from April to September. The air was just beginning to warm up, not yet the oppressive heat of the summer. The breeze from the window cools you. The day is as beautiful as you remember it was. It’s your twenty-first birthday.

A groan comes from beside you, the bed shifting, and you’re afraid to look. Is this real? Will he be there? You close your eyes, afraid that when you open them again, you’ll be back in your hospital bed, forced back into the body riddled with disease, age and exhaustion.

But nothing changes. The sunlight continues to play across your young skin. The breeze stirs wisps of your hair.

You open your eyes to find him splayed out beside you, covers tossed to the side because he always got warmer than you did. Your boyfriend, your husband, the father of your children, and companion for the rest of his life. He died in your arms five years ago, a small wrinkled old man whose eyes sparkled with mischief and whose face crinkled with laughter in the same way it did all his eighty-one years.

But he’s not eighty-one now. Today he’s twenty-one again. And he’s beautiful. His dark hair spreads across the pillow. This was the phase where he was experimenting with growing it out, letting it get longer and longer until you finally took him in for a haircut at the insistence of his mother. His young testosterone-filled body is hard and firm, his pectoral muscles rising and falling as he sleeps beside you.

Both of you are naked. There’s a tenderness in your lower half that makes you remember how frequently the two of you had sex at this point in your relationship. You’d been dating for six months, but had only gotten good at sex in the last month or so after a lot of awkward fumbling, figuring out what you were doing, together.

Is this a dream? The last figments of your dying mind as your body shut down? You’re afraid to touch him, afraid your hand will pass right through him and this whole beautiful world will vanish. The voice in your head as you died had promised you one day of your choosing. And you had picked this day. One of the few days of your life you still remembered perfectly, even at eighty-six. This was the day you knew you would marry him.

Did everyone get one last day? What day had your husband chosen when it was his time to go? You wish you could ask him. You’ve missed him every day you’ve been apart. This boy beside you won’t know though. He’s only lived a tiny fraction of the life you two will have together.

As much as you want to watch him sleep for a hundred years, you can’t bear to be apart for a second longer. You bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and nuzzling into his warm, slightly damp skin.

The smell of him is overwhelming. Young and boyish, with just a hint of the cologne he use to wear. He thought it made him smell manly and you hadn’t yet told him how much you disliked it. It was still too early in your relationship for those kinds of harsh truths. But underneath the garish fake musk, is the undercurrent that is entirely Jungkook. The scent of your best friend, your lover, your children, your family, and your home.

Tears well in your eyes. You manage to wipe them away just as he stirs awake.

He wraps one arm around you and kisses the top of your head. His embrace is so casual compared to yours. He doesn’t feel the weight of all those years apart. You grip him like he might vanish at any moment and he just lightly strokes your arm.

“Hey,” he murmurs, kissing you softly on the forehead and you finally look into his eyes. Dark and full of warmth, the beginnings of a smile tightening around them. His eyes are too much. They made you feel so loved, so at peace. The way he always gave you his full attention, focused entirely on you. The tears creep back in at the edges of your eyes and you lunge forward to kiss him.

He starts to kiss you but then stops, grunting and turning his head away.

“What’s the matter?” you ask. “Kiss me.” You grip his waist tighter, insistently pressing your lips against his.

He shakes his head, lips closed tight in an impenetrable line. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.” His words are muffled by his tightly sealed mouth.

“I don’t care about that,” you insist, peppering his cheeks and nose with kisses as he stubbornly refuses to open his mouth. If only you could explain to him that you haven’t seen him in five years and a little morning breath was not going to stop you from getting the kisses you so desperately needed. But you’re not going to waste the precious time you have trying to convince him you’re his eighty-six year old wife from the future.

“I care!” He laughs and kisses your cheek and your forehead.

“Fine,” you huff, deciding to kiss every other part of him you can reach instead. You seek out each little mole that you know so well and kiss each one. Below his lower lip. Right cheek. Tip of his nose. Right earlobe. Left side of his neck. Scattered across his chest. Clustered around his belly button.

His young body is so sensitive, so responsive, and you know exactly what buttons to push to rile him up the most. It’s delightful. You lick his nipple and then blow across it, just to watch him laugh and squirm.

He’s already hard and ready to go. He always was at this age, waking up every morning with a raging hard-on that he would rub against you, hoping you would take the hint and do something about it for him. On particularly stressful work days in your twenties, you used to sneak out of bed without waking him so you had time to work before he was insisting you fuck him. You never could resist when he asked, so you had to sneak away while he was still asleep.

But today you want to savor it. You close your eyes and breathe in the smell of him. But that’s too much of a pause for your impatient boy.

“Hey,” he grins down at you, wiggling his erection. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Nope,” you tease, kissing across his belly instead of putting your lips where he really wants them. “Not until you kiss me.”

His mouth falls open in protest, but before he can sass you, you give one long lick from the base to the tip that has him tilting his head back and groaning. But then you roll off of him and giggle.

“What? Really?”

“Kisses before blowjobs.”

“Fine, fine,” he sits up and climbs out of bed, picking his clothes from yesterday up off the floor.

You sigh in exasperation. “Where are you going?”

“To brush my teeth!”

You can’t bear the thought of him leaving you alone for even a minute. Not when you had so precious few of them.

“Ugh, fine, you stubborn boy. Get back here.”

He grins and lets you tug him back to bed by his hips. He stands at the edge of the bed as you sit on the edge of the mattress. You take his erection in one hand and his balls in the other.

“Holy fucking shit,” he swears as you rub your thumb along his frenulum. He was still young enough that it was an unexpected surprise to him whenever you touched his dick. “Shit, goddamn,” he groans when you slide him into your mouth.

You’d forgotten how much he used to swear in bed. When did that stop? Sometime around when your daughter were born perhaps. Difficult to fuck hard in a room with a sleeping baby in it. Then it was all whispered words and silent touches, on those rare moments you even could. You knew each other’s touch so well by that point, words were no longer necessary.

But here at twenty-one, your boyfriend was good at letting you know exactly how much you turned him on. The two of you were so loud and enthusiastic in your enjoyment of each other that later this month your roommates will sit you down for one of the most uncomfortable talks of your life about how the sounds of your fucking are disrupting their studying. But that’s a conversation your past self has already lived through and not a thing you need to worry about today. Today your prissy roommates can listen to you enjoy every last moment you have to the fullest.

Had you blown him that morning sixty-five years ago? Would it matter if you changed the day? It had already happened right? You have already lived it. But you wouldn’t want to change anything even if you could.

You savor every noise he makes, how he feels, how he tastes and smells. It’s not a blowjob twenty-one-year-old you would have been capable of. You know his body so well. It all comes back to you so quickly. The way he shakes and trembles and whines.

The man who could fuck you for hours isn’t here yet. The man who could dominate you, flip you over and spank you, call you a slut and fuck you into the mattress because you trusted him. This is not that man. This is a boy so in love with you and so excited at his first long-term sexual relationship that his enthusiasm spills over almost instantly. It’s endearing.

While you had quite enjoyed the man who would handcuff you to the bed and make you beg to suck his cock, the shy young man groaning and trying not to thrust too hard into your mouth is lovely too. You pick up his hand that he is clasping by his side and place it on the back of your head, gently encouraging him to guide you up and down his cock. Something you know he’s dying to do but hasn’t fessed up to yet. And then he’s coming.

“Fuck,” he groans, head thrown back, legs trembling, neck gleaming with sweat. He collapses next to you after you pull off and lets out a deep contented chuckle that shakes his whole body. “You sure it’s not my birthday?”

You laugh. “So you do remember?”

“Of course!” His eyes spring open as he huffs indignantly. “Been planning this day for months!” It would seem sarcastic coming from anyone but Jungkook, but you know it’s true.

“Come on,” you smack his flank, enjoying the firm bounce of his muscular thigh. “Let’s go brush those teeth.”

You both toss on some clothes to stumble down the hall to the shared bathroom, giggling over nothing in that obnoxious brand-new couple way. As if the two of you have discovered some new secret that no other human has ever known before.

Your old bathroom is stuffy and dirty, neither you nor your roommates disciplined enough to maintain a regular bathroom cleaning schedule. But neither you nor your boyfriend care.

It had been a big step when you’d bought him his own toothbrush for your place a few weeks ago, and he fishes it out the medicine cabinet now.

You finish brushing your teeth long before he does his. He was always more thorough than you about it. You take the opportunity to tease him, sneaking your hands under his shirt and tickling him. Trying to get him to hurry the fuck up and kiss you already.

He squirms away from you, laughing as you chase him around the bathroom.

Finally he’s spitting into the sink, then he’s cupping your chin and pulling you in for a real kiss.

Oh, to kiss him. It washes over you how desperately your body has missed this. While some physical aspects of your relationship had dwindled over the years, his kisses never lost their potency. They were always bright and fierce, immersive in a way nothing else ever could be. You are starved for it. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes unbidden as you drown in love for him. He spots them when he pulls back from you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His eyebrows lift as he searches your face for explanation.

“Nothing.” You wish you could communicate how right everything was with the world right now. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Are you sure?” He wipes the tears from your cheeks.

You bury your face in his chest so he doesn’t see you cry any more. “I love you so much.”

His chest shakes with laughter as he kisses the top of your head. He tilts your chin upward so you are looking into his dark eyes. “I love you too,” he says, though he has to murmur it against your lips because you couldn’t give him space enough to say it before kissing him again. “And I’m going to spoil you rotten today.”

“Yeah? What are you planning?”

He shakes his head. “It’s a secret.”

You smile to yourself and don’t tell him you already know all his plans. Don’t want to ruin the surprise.

“But first,” he says, pulling his shirt off over his head. “We need to take a shower.”

He strips out of his clothes quickly, never much embarrassed around you, even at this early stage of your relationship. He catches your eye as he removes his pants and wiggles his eyebrows encouragingly. Shameless. Probably because you were never good at hiding how into him you were. Or because you had been friends for so long before you started dating.

You’d held off on dating him for as long as you could. You knew even then that if you ever got together, you’d never date anyone else. But it had only taken one drunken hook-up of him with some other girl (you can’t even remember her name now) to make you realize you were about to lose him.

You smack his butt as he leans over the tub to turn on the water. You liked to tease him about his nonexistent ass, one of his few physical features that could be described as less than perfect. But you loved it anyways. It would only get flatter over the years as his muscle mass decreased with age, but you would never stop grabbing it whenever he gave you a chance.

You’ve taken so many showers with Jungkook over the years. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Sensual slow make-out sessions where you couldn’t be parted from each other and quick ones where you were running late for work and had to double up to save time. There was a particularly cold one when you moved into your first home before the water heater was installed. You had shrieked and he laughed at you. There was a particularly tense one when the two of you hid in the bathroom and ran the water so your in-laws couldn’t hear you argue.

This is a sexy shower. Your future husband is so ridiculously hot, especially when he’s all wet. You’d almost forgotten how much of a dreamboat he used to be. Long wet dark hair dripping into his eyes until he tilts his head and tosses his hair back. College was his peak gym rat days. How you ever got so lucky is something you’ll never understand. The way he eyes you up and down and is similarly enthralled by you is more that you can deal with.

All you have to do is kiss him under water stream from the shower head and he is ready to go again. Pressing into you, crowding you up against the wall of the shower, spinning you around and pinning you into the wall so he can rutt against your buttocks. He’s so eager. He doesn’t know you’re going to do this thousands of more times together. It’s all brand new to him. It makes it feel brand new to you too.

To your husband’s credit, despite 60 years together, he never did get bored of you. The way he would smile and laugh and kiss you and insist on fucking you whenever you gave him one too many kisses never changed. God, you love him so much. You drown yourself in his kiss again under the running water.

You can’t keep your hands off of him. And you want his hands all over you. You squeeze his butt cheek in your hand and delight at how he giggles. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. At this young age, the lines disappear along with his smile, but you watched those laugh lines slowly etch their way on to his face over years and years of joy together. Your precious joyful boy. How much joy he has brought to your life.

You don’t fuck in the shower today. The two of you had not yet figured out the miracles of waterproof lube. But you do slick him up with the conditioner and let him rut against your ass as he fondles your breasts. He comes across your ass well before you’ve reached your climax, but that is fine.

He doesn’t notice that he’s gotten off twice while you’ve gotten off zero times. Twenty-year old you had been so inexperienced, what with Jungkook being your first real boyfriend, that you hadn’t even known you weren’t orgasming for another year until Jungkook bought you your first vibrator. But you have had plenty of orgasms by now. Watching him fall apart is rarer.

When the two of you get out of the shower and dry off, he finally asks “Don’t you want to know what I have planned for today?”

You laugh. “I assume you’ll tell me when you want to.” You already know though. There's a reason you came back to this specific day. But you play along though. “What should I wear?”

“Something casual,” he replies, removing the towel from his waist tossing it onto the bed. You will later have an argument about his habit of leaving wet towels on your bed so that your whole bed ends up damp, but it’s not important today.

He finds what must be his clothes from last night - skinny jeans with holes in the knees, a white t-shirt and big bulky grey sweatshirt. You smile at the sweatshirt, pleased to see it in its prime again. Ever since you told him how much you liked to cuddle him in that sweatshirt, he’d worn it as frequently as he could get away with. Later in your life together, you would steal it when he was away on business. The two of you traded it back and forth for years, you always handing it back whenever it stopped smelling like him, wearing it until holes formed in the collar and wrists. He kept it tucked into the back of his dresser for years even after he stopped wearing it. You found it again as you were emptying your house after he died, sniffing it for one last whiff of him. But he was gone.

So as soon as he gets his sweatshirt over his head, you are tackling him to the bed, inhaling deeply and fighting back the tears that well in your eyes. You wonder what will happen to the sweatshirt now that you are also dead. Your children have no use for a holey sweatshirt. You won’t blame them for consigning it to the recycling pile.

You leave the apartment and pile into his car. You make a big show of being surprised and delighted when the two of you pull into the zoo. The zoo was one of your favorite places and Jungkook would happily let you drag him from exhibit to exhibit, smiling at you while you watched the animals with delight.

The weather is perfect today. You remembered it was but were worried your rose-colored memories of the day had fooled you into coming back to a rainy day. But no, it’s sunny and warm, with a slight breeze, winter’s chill just beginning to leave the air.

Your first stop is the gorilla exhibit. They were your favorites. And it wasn’t legal to keep gorillas in zoos anymore by the end of your life.

“Look!” Jungkook points at a big sign in front of the enclosure. “The gorilla has the same birthday!”

The big silverback gorilla, who was apparently named Quan, was sitting in front of a big ice sculpture shaped like a cake and filled with frozen fruit. A string of frozen blueberries traced out a big 30 on top of the ice cake. The gorilla was older than you. Sort of.

Do gorillas know they are going to die? As Quan sits munching contentedly on a piece of watermelon and surveying his kingdom, he doesn’t seem too bothered about being a year closer to the end of his life. You wish you had taken turning thirty with as much grace. Perhaps it is better to not know that your time is limited.

Jungkook squeezes your hand, grin spreading across his face. “So where should we go next, my love, my precious, the light of my life?”

The two of you had begun referring to each other in exaggeratedly grandiose ways after your friends criticized him for “dropping the L-bomb” too early and getting too serious too fast. Those goofy ironic nicknames would end up sticking with you for the rest of your life.

“What do you want to see, love of my life, my dearest sweetheart?” you tease, squeezing his hand back.

He shrugs. “I just like watching you.”

That was it. That moment where he turned to you, glowing in the warm sunlight, hair ruffled by the breeze, and looked at you like you were the most important thing in his whole universe. That was the moment you knew you were going to marry him. The world was perfect and you wanted it to be this way forever.

Twenty-one-year old you was dumb, of course. You both were. Dumb and in love, with no idea of the struggles coming for you. The arrogance of youth let you believe you could predict exactly how your life would go from here.

Your life together wasn’t perfect, no lives ever are. There were ups and downs and moments you almost called it quits. But the good days out-numbered the bad and for that, you owe him your life. There’s still no one else you would have rather spent it with.

You swallow down a lump in your throat and steer him over toward the marmosets.

You drag him to every single exhibit, even the petting zoo where a goat tried to eat his camera, not wanting to leave until you absolutely had to, knowing that when you were done here, the day was nearly over.

But all too soon, he’s checking his watch and tugging you toward the exit. “We have to get home and change if we’re going to be on time for dinner.”

“Wait, there’s more?” you ask, feigning surprise so that he grins mischievously.

“Oh my love, we’re just beginning.”

He drops you at your apartment, promising to be back in thirty minutes.

You race inside to get ready for the night. You throw on the little black dress you bought for this occasion, picked out special with your girlfriends when he had told you you’d be going somewhere fancy on your birthday. It would hang in your closet for the next forty years, never worn again, but making you think of this night whenever you saw it.

You examine your young body in the mirror of your college bedroom. When you were twenty, you saw yourself as full of flaws. You wanted to be thinner, prettier, with clearer skin and stronger arms and better hair. But now that you look at yourself with your eighty-six year old eyes, you can’t see those flaws at all. You were so young, healthy and strong, with a body doing everything bodies are supposed to do. How much time of your life had you wasted telling yourself you weren’t good enough?

You check your watch. 6 o’clock. Six hours left. If that. You don’t know when this last day ends. Are you the mortal equivalent of Cinderella, turning into a pumpkin at midnight?

You sink down on your bed, as you contemplate all your wasted time. What was the point of all those things you used to worry about? You look at the big wall calendar you kept on your desk, covered in deadlines that had caused you so much stress. Papers you should have written sooner, readings you shouldn't have skipped. Things you felt so much guilt and anxiety over. What was the point?

If you were going to die and Jungkook was going to die and all the gorillas are going to die and your children will die and your children’s children will die and the earth will dry and crack and fall into the sun and the universe will disperse into nothingness, what was the point of living at all?

Where is Jungkook? Why are you spending a moment away from him when these are the only moments you have left? You call him, counting each ring until he picks up. Your voice cracks when you ask where he is.

He’s leaving his apartment now. He’ll be there soon. There’s no way to explain to him how precious these moments are.

You are going to die. Or maybe you are already dead. Perhaps this fantasy is merely the death throes of your dying mind. Were you ready? To not exist? What did it feel like?

You had thought you were ready. When you had been dying the day before, struggling for each breath, you were ready for the pain to end. But now you are losing everything all at once, all over again.

Jungkook calls when he is outside and you shake your head, racing to meet him at the front door. You pause at the top step of the stairs so he can see you come down them from where he waits at the bottom. The big grin that spread across his face drives the dark thoughts from your head as you hurry down the stairs.

“You look gorgeous,” he says, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek.

He looks gorgeous too, smartly dressed in the first suit he ever bought himself.

He takes you to one of the most famous restaurants in town. Weird experimental food and a fancy fixed price menu. The first time he took you on this date 60 years ago, you had no idea how he could afford it. You didn’t find out until many years later that he had begged his parents for the money and spent his whole spring break repainting his uncle’s house in repayment.

“Why are you so good to me?” you ask, taking his hand across the white linen table cloth and squeezing it. “You don’t have to try this hard.”

He laughs. “I finally got you to go out with me! I’m not going to lose you by going half-assed.”

You squeeze his hand again. “You’ll never lose me.” It might sound like an empty promise to the couple sitting at the next table over, but you know its the truth. You’ll be by his side from this day until the day he dies. It’s you who loses him in the end. You fight back tears as you tell him again how much you love him. You’re not sure why he loved you so much. But he did and you felt it every day.

After dinner, Jungkook has one more surprise. A hotel room.

“Is that weird?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is it like I’m assuming we’re going to have sex?”

You laugh. “I had sex with you twice this morning. And twice yesterday.”

“So it’s too much? We don’t have to.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You better rail me into that overpriced mattress, Jeon Jungkook.”

The view from the room is amazing and definitely too expensive for your boyfriend. The two of you make out on the bed with the view spread out before you.

But then he is pausing and grimacing. “Weird food,” he groans as he rubs his belly. “I’ll be right back.” And then he heading for the bathroom, leaving you alone. Even on your last day on Earth, not everything can be perfect.

You get up to look out the windows. You remember standing in this window 64 years ago. You had believed then that the two of you would conquer the world together. Change the whole universe. But the city below you and the world beyond look very much the same as they did decades later, unchanged by your existence.

Some of your plans had been successful, some hadn't. Some of your dreams had come true, some had been set aside to make room for obstacles you never saw coming. Dreams of changing the world set aside for day-to-day happiness.

And now there is no more life to live in front of you. This is the last of it. You begin to cry.

Jungkook comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your tear-stained cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“What if none of it works out?” You blubber, unable to stop yourself.

His forehead wrinkles in confusion. “None of what?”

You shake your head, unsure of what you are grieving exactly, but feeling the loss of all those possibilities. “What if it was all for nothing?”

Jungkook rests his chin on your shoulder. “Why are you worried about that today?” He squeezes you tighter. “Twenty-one isn’t old, you know.”

You contemplate the future of man next to you. Did you hold him back? Could he have done so much more without you?

“I decided I was going to marry you today.” You have to tell him. He has to know. It’s not like it changes anything. You’ll both still age and die. It’s already happened. But you need him to to know. “But what if I ruin your life?”

Jungkook laughs. “You are my life, you ridiculous girl.” He grasps your chin and turns it away from the window to look into his eyes. Sympathetic tears well in his eyes too. Your sweet sensitive boy. “Worry about the future tomorrow, okay?” He kisses you with every ounce of feeling he has, scooping you up into his arms and carrying you over to the bed. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

You kiss him back desperately, fingers clinging to his shirt. You need to not think anymore, just a few minutes where the weight of the end of your life isn’t hanging over you. “I need you to fuck me like it’s our last night on Earth.”

He grins. “I can do that.”

You dive into him, desperate to lose yourself. The taste of his mouth. The warmth of his skin. You rip your clothes off as fast as you can, needing nothing between you.

He dives into you, desperate to prove himself. You wrap your legs around him, welcoming him inside you.

His touch lingers. His pace is slow. You want him to fuck you harder, but then it will be over sooner. Your breath and his synchronize. Your heartbeat slows to match his.

You know his body so well. You know when he is reaching his end. You lead his hand downward, placing your fingers on top of his, showing him exactly how to touch you to bring you to your climax at the same time as his.

It’s the first orgasm he’ll see from you and it’s your last. And for a moment, you forget you are going to die.

He empties himself into you, gasping for breath, sweat trailing down his neck. He collapses on top of you and you hold him close. His heartbeat thumps through your body. A long still moment elapses, the two of you entwined in each other.

But then he is sliding out from inside you. He chuckles as he rolls over, sighing and folding his arms behind his head. “Well,” he says, yawning. “If this was my last night on Earth, I would die a happy man.”

You burst into sobs, wracking your whole frame. Your curl into his side and weep for everything you are losing.

“Oh! Oh no!” He tries to sit up, but can’t with your tight grip on him. So he wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head, which is all he can reach. “What’s wrong? Was it not a good day?”

“No, Jungkook,” you whisper, finally looking up at him. “It was a good day. It was perfect. Thank you.”

He nods, satisfied with himself, eyes drifting closed. "It was a good day."

You glance over at the clock. There’s only a few minutes left to midnight.

Jungkook’s breathing softens as he falls asleep, unbothered by the ticking of the clock. He still has his whole life to live. Unlike you. You want to fall asleep in his arms, but you don’t know if you’ll wake up again.

Maybe you could just never fall asleep. Maybe if the day never ends, then your life never has to be over. You can just watch him sleep, wrapped in his arms forever.

But then the edges of the room begin to darken and blur. You hold on tighter to the man you love. A voice calls to you from the darkness that is closing in around you. It’s muffled, like from deep underwater.

It’s time to go.

You shake you head, squeezing the boy next to you tighter, but the world is already slipping between your fingers. “No, I don’t want to go. Please no.”

It’s okay.

You cling to your husband, the love of your entire life, and can’t bear to part with him. “Please, just a little more time.”

It will be okay.

“How do you know that? How do I know you’re not some figment of my imagination? What if there is nothing left beyond this?” You begin rising from the bed against your will, feeling the pull of the dark, more and more of the room beginning to disappear in a cloud of smoke. You cling to Jungkook’s hand where he sleeps on the bed.

The voice crystallizes, unmuffled and clear, ringing through the darkness. The voice of your husband.

I promise, my love. It’s all going to be okay.

You take a deep breath. You let go.

----

You are the sunlight that rose again in my life

A reincarnation of my childhood dreams

I don’t know what this emotion is

If this place is also inside a dream

This dream is a blue mirage in the desert

A priori deep inside of me

I’m so happy, I can’t breathe

My surroundings are getting more and more transparent

I hear the far-away ocean

Across the dream, over the horizon

I’m going to the place that’s getting clearer

Take my hands now

- BTS “Euphoria”

#happy jk day!#here's my love letter to him #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #btssavedmylifeblr #love yourself the collab #euphoria

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holylulusworld · 4 years ago

Text

Sorry is not enough

Summary: It’s an eye for an eye and a life for a life tonight.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Reader, former OFC!Frank x Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of forced marriage, mentions of domestic violence/physical & emotional abuse, protective Dean, hurt & comfort, violence, torture, blood, knife play (non-sexual), burning with cigarettes

Characters: Sam Winchester, Benny Lafitte, Ruby, Jimmy Novak, Arthur Ketch, Charlie Bradbury, Alex Jones and Impala the dog

A/N: Please head the trigger warnings for domestic violence which gets mentioned. Please also head the warnings for torture, blood, and violence.

A/N2: Part 3/3 to Too late to be sorry… & Never too late to be sorry

“Where is he?” Dean looks at the monitors, following Benny, Jimmy, and Ketch while they sneak around a house. “Is that bastard in there?”

“Take a deep breath, boss. Sit over there and just watch. The boys got this, okay. I hacked into the security system and made sure the phones won’t work.

He’s in there, along with his boss and partner who watched him hurt Y/N.” Charlie explains while she sips at her coke.

“You enjoy this a bit too much, Charlie. I guess working with me, and Sammy made you hard as steel.” Dean smirks as Charlie gives him a curt nod.

“Not hard as steel, boss. I know what we normally do isn’t exactly legal but, this is fun. Punishing an abusive asshole, his boss and partner - a good day for Charlie Bradbury and Team Winchester.” Snickering Ruby looks over Charlie’s shoulder.

“Sam insisted on going with them. He’s out for blood, you know, he never forgot about Y/N. Sam often told me she was like a sister when he was younger.” Ruby gets her knife out to clean her nails, a smirk on her lips. “Do I get the chance to cut one of those bastards? Please?”

“You can have the boss and partner. Treat the leftovers however you want to, Ruby. That bastard is mine.” Dean’s eyes narrow watching Benny break through the front door. “I reserved a special place in hell for him.”

“I guess that messing with Dean Winchester or his girl is a death sentence. Good thing I fuck your brother.” A smirk on his lips Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

“Won’t save you if you fuck us over. Now one messes with the Winchesters, not even a pretty little thing wrapping my brother's dick around her fingers. Be good, and we treat you well.

Be bad, you end up six feet under with my brand on your ass.” Ruby swallows thickly watching Dean’s arms bulge. “Not that Sammy does not like you, though.”

“Never thought about fucking you over. I prefer fucking your brother…” Charlie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Can you two stop talking about fucking or fucking someone over? I have to provide back-up for the boys. I need to be their eyes and ears. Now silence. Benny is about to go in…” Dean falls silent, just like Ruby when the minute's tick by.

“Benny, can you hear me? Can you give me a status update?” Concerned Charlie tries to reach her friend. “Got it. Can you repeat it? Good. Pack everything and bring him here.”

Watching Benny drag Frank’s partner out of the house via the dashcam in his car Charlie squeals. “That’s number one. Good job, Benny. Secure him and wait for my orders.”

“Awesome…” Dean gives Ruby a high-five chuckling lightly. “Don’t tell Sammy or he believes I start liking you.”

“Wouldn’t dream about it…” Ruby retorts.

“Sam, can you…oh-great. Hit him with your best shot big boy.” Squealing Charlie jumps up to do a little victory dance. “Sam got Frank, broke his hand, and drags him out now.”

“Damn, if he brings me that monster, you can marry, Ruby.” Blinking a few times Charlie giggles at Ruby’s pained expression. “What? You want my baby brother, make him an honest man…”

“Slow down, Winchester.”

“Guys, silence. I am trying to reach Jimmy, but he doesn’t answer. Give me a minute here.” Charlie ends the awkward situation. “Jimmy, can you…oh-yes. Confirming Sam and Benny got their targets. Perfect. Bring him out.”

“He got the boss?” Dean watches Jimmy drag Frank’s boss out of the house. “Say goodbye to your cozy home, bastard. Does he have family or the partner?”

“Had a wife, got divorced according to the information I gathered last night. Uh-huh-juicy. She accused him of having an affair with one of his colleagues. I bet my favorite pair of panties it was Frank.” Hands balled into fists Dean paces around the room.

“He let Frank hurt my girl as he was banging him? Are you fucking kidding me!”

“I guess you want to know why we brought you here?” Looking at the men, chained to chairs Dean smirks as Frank’s partner looks like a scared little mouse. “It’s because all of you were part of my girl’s misery.”

Frank’s head snaps upward and just now he recognizes Dean’s face. Sam can see the fear in your husband’s eyes as he tries to fight the gag in his mouth.

“What did you try to say?” Mocking Frank, Dean moves one hand behind his ear. “Didn’t get that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you worry, Frankie boy. You’ll get your chance to scream your lungs out later. For now, we want you to sign the divorce papers and for you to give everything you own to Y/N, your beloved wife. Later you will write a farewell note.”

Ruby circles the man, her favorite knife in her hands she slides it over Frank’s partner’s cheek, cutting deep enough to make him whine.

“Shush, little pig. Don’t be a girl about it, take it like a man.” Ketch leans against a wall, enjoying Ruby’s way to play with the men. “Wasn’t that exactly what he said to Y/N?”

“It was Arthur. My girl told me everything about that night. She finally gathered all her strength and called you, Michael Waters, her husband’s partner to ask you for help. She also called you, Victor Murdock, his boss.” Sam looks at your diary, the one you handed Dean days ago.

“Do you know what my girl wrote? You pigs came to her house and watched her husband hit her, hard enough to make her bleed, and lose a tooth.

When he was done hitting her, he got a belt and spanked her back, thighs and ass while you just watched him.” Dean’s eyes turn cold when Sam slams the diary shut.

“Ready or not…” Ketch snickers when Dean gets up to light a cigarette. “Here we come…”

Screams echo through the house and you wrap your arms tightly around ‘Impala’. You know Dean came back hours ago, Frank, his boss and his partner in tow.

“Everything is going to be alright, Impala. He’ll never hurt us again, baby. Promised. Dean will hurt him.” Sniffling you look at Alex who tries to ignore the men’s pleading. “If you want to go, Alex, I will understand.”

“My dad liked to push my mom around, Y/N. He always acted as if it was an accident, but I saw the bruises and the blue eyes he gave her.

I know what an abusive asshole looks like and Frank is one of the worst I ever met.” Alex sits next to you to squeeze your hand. “We will listen and remind ourselves, they deserve the worst…”

“Look at you with my girl's name written on your chest.” Dean muses while Ruby cuts the last letter of your name into Frank’s boss ' chest. He’s impressed by Ruby’s handiwork, even though, he would never tell her so.

“A masterpiece. Now…give me the salt.” Victor shakes his head furiously but Ketch hands Ruby the salt, a grin on his face. “I think you will look good covered in blood and salt, just like the pig you are…”

When he starts screaming again Ruby slaps his face. “Take it like a man, pig. Don’t you dare to lose consciousness, or I will carve my name into your dick.”

“She will do so, asshole. Believe me, my girl likes to carve her name into things and people.” Sam snickers at Victor’s pained expression. He grits his teeth, tries to breathe through the pain but Michael isn’t better.

While Ruby plays with Frank’s boss, Benny does the same to his partner. “Mine looks way better. Look, I carved a flower next to her name.” Ruby huffs, not caring about the rose Benny carved into Michael’s flesh.

“I think, we are done playing.” Dean claps his hands, still only staring at Frank who looks like he’s about to scream like a schoolgirl when the tall mobster walks toward him, a cigarette between his lips.

“Boss, can we bring the leftovers out and finish them?” Ketch rubs his hands, already imagining where he will plant the bullet ending Michael and Victor’s life. “Fast, or painful?”

“Painful.” Frank flinches at Dean’s words but dares not to look at his partner or boss. He knows, he’ll die tonight. He reached the end of the rope and he can’t escape Dean’s wrath.

“Leave Frank to Dean, I’ll stay here to help him out if he needs me to.” While Benny, Jimmy, and Sam drag the other men out of the room Ruby and Dean stay behind. “Shall I carve her name into his chest too?”

“No, Ruby. This is my job.” Dipping his head Dean blows the smoke of the cigarette into Frank’s face, enjoying the tears run down his face and the fact Frank peed his pants.

“A little and scared man, that’s all I can see. Nothing special. Only someone hurting vulnerable people, women, children…even your granny.”

“Piece of shit.” Ruby spats, sitting onto the table behind Dean’s back. “I’ll be waiting for my turn, Frankie. We will have so much fun.”

“Nah, he’s all mine.” Dean fists Frank’s hair before he removes the gag. Frank pants, sniffles before he chokes the word ‘sorry’ out.

“Oh, poor little Frankie. Sorry is not enough for what you did to my girl. It will never be enough.”

“An eye for an eye, Frank. Or rather your life for the life you almost took. Now, be a man about it and take it…” Ruby laughs when Dean presses the burning cigarette to Frank’s forehead.

Frank screams, even whimpers as all the memories of his father’s abuse flash back up. “You had a chance, Frank. You could’ve treated people better than your piece of shit of a father did. We decide who we become, not our parents.”

“That’s right! My mom was a bookkeeper and look, I am a goddamn sexy killer. She was a nice woman, always treated me right but I became a bitch.” Snickering Ruby watches Dean rip Frank’s shirt open. “Knife, boss?”

“Yeah…I think he deserves Y/N’s name on his chest but first. Maybe we will end you fast, you were smart enough to sign the papers after all.” Dean plays with Frank, always giving him hope just like he did with you. “No, I think…”

Dean’s fists meet Frank’s jaw and his head lulls back at the sheer force. For a heartbeat, Frank believes Dean is done but the fist comes back…again, and again, and again until nothing of Frank’s face is left than a bloody mess.

“Shall I or do you want to do it?” Itching to carve your name into Frank’s chest Ruby stand behind Dean. “Please…”

“Do it. This is my wedding gift for you and Sammy, crazy bitch.” Dean smirks when Ruby starts carving your name into Frank’s flesh. “I’ll get more salt and acid. I want him to scream for me…”

“Dean?” Watching Dean emerge from the showers you grasp for his fist. “Does it hurt?” Smiling Dean kisses your temple, not saying a thing just to savor the moment. “Dean?”

“He’s gone, and I can tell, he paid for what he did. Frank was kind enough to sign divorce papers and to give you the house, car, and everything he owned.” Dean carefully helps you lie onto his bed.

For a few days, you live with him in his room, the one he wants to share with you for the rest of his life . “I…thank you. I hate to admit it, but I am glad he’s dead…”

“Sweetheart, I promised to reserve a special place in hell for him, and I did,” Dean smirks when you curl into his side. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

He’s wrapping his arms around you, not mentioning he sold Frank and his friends to not very friendly people. People who like to torture and hurt people like Frank.

Dean fulfilled his promise. He made the rest of Frank’s life living hell…

More tags in reblog.

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@negans-lucille-tblr

@deans-baby-momma

@thefaithfulwriter

@squirrelnotsam

@roonyxx

@neerness

@deansgirl-1968

@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester

@butifulsoul125

@lyinginthegingerlocks

@neen-illustrates

@janicho88

@woodworthti666

@thevelvetseries

@dreaminemz

@akshi8278

@midnightsilver16830

@mrspeacem1nusone

@ria132love

@caligraphee

@the-witch-in-silence

@justanotherwinchester

@multisuperfandom

@jason-todd-squad

@jadesupernatural

@psychicforest

@luciathewinchestergirl

@magssteenkamp

@palefiregiver

@tranquility-or-chaos

@jxackles

@michellemxndes

@addictedtofictionalcharacters

@gabifernandessn

@waywardrose13

@team-free-will-you-idjiot

@myopiamystical

@rintheemolion

@isthatabutterfly

@bluecornflowers

@rosalynshields

A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

#sequel to too late to be sorry #sorry is not enough #angst #torture #mentions of domestic violence #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #mobster au #MOBSTER!AU #mobsterdean #mobster!dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester miniseries #mobster!dean x you

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naturepointstheway · 4 years ago

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Frozen - Domestic Assassin (Crack AU) Masterpost

This is a Masterpost of all the fanfiction I’d written (all on Tumblr) based in @ultranos’ Domestic Assassin crack AU which was hilarious for a fairly good-sized group of us! And from what I”ve seen in my notifications, people are still enjoying and finding fics of mine in this AU even to this day, which is great!

I’ve basically dug into my previous fanfiction pages and pulled them out year by year, so because it’ll be way too much work to try and arrange everything by title, I just went by year. At least Tumblr keeps the links when I copy and paste.

Since there are so many, you’ll find them under the cut. Enjoy!

Pre-2016

Air Mattress Prompt

An exhausted Anna returns home from a hot night with Kristoff only to accidentally make her sister fly off the air mattress when she flops down on it for a sleep.

“Am I supposed to be alarmed by the moon tonight?” prompt

Elsa is so exhausted she gets confused between the sun and moon apparently.

“Can we please stop fighting and talk about the koala in your room?”

Elsa adopted a koala, much to Anna’s exasperation.

“Can you pull this fake cobweb across the door?” Halloween prompt

Anna wants to play a prank on Elsa...

Cell Block Sniper (M - violence and strong language)

Yes. Yes. It’s a crossover. A crossover between “Cell Block Tango” song from Chicago and this AU.

“Do you realise what this means?” “That you’re a really bad shot?”

Elsa is NOT having the best of time trying to instruct a new trainee.

Domestic Assassin AU prompt: Hans’ POV (pre-reveal)

Hans has a visit from Elsa when he dumps Anna.

“Don’t touch that!” (Healthcare writing prompt, Snow Sisters)

Elsa was bound to fall out of a tree at some point and end up in hospital. Anna takes care of her.

Elsa and Weselton prompt

Elsa refuses to let Weselton in the door.

Eyes That Glisten

Anna knows how to persuade Elsa to do whatever she wants.

“God you’re such a grumpy bags in the morning aren’t you?”

Elsa is not a happy camper after a long night where everything just goes wrong. “Holy shit. Most realistic Dementor costume ever.” Halloween prompt

Turns out, Elsa just looks like that most of the time.

“I can’t help being a geek about my vital signs!” prompt (Elsarik)

A crossover between another AU (Shardsverse)

“I don’t think I should tell you what we’re dressed as.” (Halloween Prompt)

Somebody think of the children!

“I dropped my cookie :’(”

Elsa cries when she drops her cookie.

“I feel like a T-Rex”

Anna is too lazy to just grab the goddamn stepladder and get the jam herself.

“I wish I could drive you out of my life with a sword!” (Hans and Anna, prompt)

Anna is NOT a fan of Hans...

“Maybe you should go as an assassin. Oh wait, you already are one.” (Halloween prompt)

Anna is a sarcastic little sister to Elsa.

“No one unfollows like Gaston!”

Anna overhears Gaston boasting about how he unfollowed someone because of a disability. She is not happy.

Ruined Dinner Party

After an hour of waiting for her sister to come to the party, Anna finally spots her with “ketchup” all over her top.

Part 2 of “Ruined Dinner Party”

Of course it wasn’t ketchup. Duh. Anna is NOT HAPPY.

Sleepyhead (drabble, Snow Sisters)

Elsa, going to the kitchen for midnight munchies, spots Anna sprawled on a couch, textbooks all around her.

“So. Many. Triangles. Help me here!”

Anna, not being a maths-y person, gets frustrated with geometry, and Elsa offers to help.

“So you’re going as yourself for Halloween.” Halloween prompt

Elsa is not keen on dressing up as Halloween.

“Tell our parents my Tumblr URL and I swear I will make your death look like an accident” prompt.

Elsa practically threatens Anna when the latter demands to explain her Tumblr URL (of course she quickly forgives her little sis.)

“That mask is all kinds of creepy. I like it.” Halloween prompt

Elsa practically shits herself when Anna scares her while wearing a terrifying mask.

Things you said at 4am prompt

Anna gets a call at 4am on her phone from Elsa, who accidentally sniped the wrong guy..

Those Poor Birds

Elsa mistakes a pair of birds’ mating antics as fighting, much to Anna’s amusement.

“Wait, you’re yelling at a movie?” (Snow Sisters, writing prompt)

Elsa is very confused to find that Anna’s yelling from the lounge is at a movie. Not at an invader.

“Was it really necessary to shoot my pumpkin carving?” (Halloween prompt)

Anna is NOT happy when Elsa decides to use her pumpkin carving for shooting practice.

“What do you mean it’s a sunset…?” prompt

Elsa wakes up only to find that it’s already after sunset, not sunrise.

“What the hell? You gave out alcoholic chocolate to trick-or-treating kids?!” (Halloween prompt)

Anna discovers that her German chocolates had been opened by Elsa, who’d handed them out to kids.

“Where did you leave the spare copy of that book?” (Elsarik DA!verse, prompt)

Crossing over with another writer’s AU with her OC, Alarik. Elsa can’t find that one specific book she needs, and she’s sure Alarik has it.

“You once asked me what I’d do if I had only one day left.” prompt

Anna will most definitely NOT be spending that final day of her life with Hans.

“You did what?!” prompt (Elsa and Kristoff)

Elsa does not appreciate Kristoff’s concern over her having WAY too many cats for one house.

“You mean a line segment.” prompt

Elsa is a huge geometry nerd, even waiting in line for takeaways.

“You should go as an assassin. Oh wait. You already are one.” prompt

Another one where Anna suggests Elsa goes as an assassin for Halloween, only to be all “oh wait, you are one.”

2016

Accidental shooting

Elsa accidentally shoots someone she did not mean to shoot in a library’s basement.

Amuse Me

Elsa’s having one of those blah days and Anna’s there with bad puns all ready to go.

“Bittersweet and Strange” (not based on a prompt)

Elsa explains exactly how she likes her coffee to Anna. Turns out Elsa is also a huge fan of marmite.

“Can’t I at least take this baby koala home?”

Anna, no, you cannot take a koala home from Australia, no matter how cute it is.

Cat Gallery (not based on a prompt)

Kristoff discovers Elsa’s huge photo album of her cats.

“Did you lose your main point…”

Anna hears something about money and bills and wait what now.

“Do nurses ever fall asleep on the night shift?”

Anna visits Elsa in hospital and inevitably someone has to wonder this. Elsa’s adorbs when she’s pouty and Anna can’t help but annoy her on this count.

Fight Me

One sister challenges another to a fun boxing game.

“How did you get these bruises?”

A crossover with another writer’s canon OC, Alarik (”Elsarik”) where he asks how she got some bruises while on the job.

“How many cats are in bed with you?”

Anna marvels that there are nine cats in bed with Elsa.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have the whole packet at once.”

Do not eat a whole bag of coffee. Do not.

I Have Found My People (not based on a prompt)

Elsa has discovered that certain Scandinavian countries drink the most coffee in the world and wants to migrate there right now.

“I know you don’t want this but it’s for your own good…”

Kristoff is rightly concerned when he finds that Elsa had thirty cups of coffee in 48 hours. Do not do this at home.

“I, uh, kinda dropped it in the water.”

Elsa calls Anna to tell her there’s an emergency: she dropped her wallet in the sea and all the fish now have her personal information.

“I want a Venusian day…”

Elsa tries to explain to Anna why she would not want to live on Venus. Anna doesn’t give a fuck. More hours in the day what’s not to love about that?

Of Cat’s Paws and Adopting Stellar Systems (not based on a prompt)

Elsa is enthralled by a photo of the Cat’s Paw Nebula she has found on the laptop.

Of Monkeying Around and Going Ape (not based on a prompt)

Anna comes home to discover that Elsa has adopted a monkey that had been neglected by its owner. Even Anna is almost (I said, ALMOST) tempted to keep the monkey but her common sense reigns.

“Oh so you were in my bed this whole time?” (nsfw)

Dontcha hate when you’re in the middle of coitus and your goddamn cat has to interrupt you? (Elsarik, with another Frozen writer’s (@patricia-von-arandel) OC for Elsa)

“Once we start tickling, we can’t stop!” (nsfw)

Another steamy one with an old abandoned OC of mine (Jannike), where they find themselves having a quickie while the boss is away.

Rubbish Day (not based on a prompt)

Anna is horrified to find a rubbish bag gone and trails of what suspiciously looks like blood leading outside. Turns out some meat thrown in there leaked inside.

“The best way to get rid of your ex…”

Anna didn’t think that Hans Westerguard would ever end up on Elsa’s targets to “take care of”. Until he does.

The One Time Elsa Caught Anna “Studying” (not based on a prompt)

Anna uses the mirror in the bathroom to practice distinguishing teeth for a medical exam. Elsa suggests alternatives.

“What is this owl doing in our bathroom?”

Of course Elsa would adopt an owl and want to keep it in the bathroom. Of course.

“Who dances in the rain anyway?”

Elsa comes home to discover Anna dancing in the rain.

“Why is there an otter in our kitchen?”

Anna comes home to find that Elsa has “adopted” an otter from a “client”. As you do.

“Why would you wish to be at a backpackers?”

Elsa and Alarik (Shards AU, Elsarik) decide to stay at a backpackers together for some private time.

“Yes, yes the cold doesn’t bother you…”

Anna is not impressed with Elsa standing in the snow when she has a major cold.

2017

The Blood of White Men (not based on a prompt)

As Elsa’s favourite song goes, he had it comin’ all along.

Is the Earth Broken? (not based on a prompt)

Elsa is confused about why the day she thought it was today...actually isn’t. She convinces herself the Earth has somehow broked.

“It won’t be high tide you said…”

Elsa needs to learn that reading yesterday’s newspaper’s high tide times is not helpful.

Kittens on Saturn (not based on a prompt)

Elsa hopes there’s actual giant kittens on Saturn after seeing a graphic manipulation on an astronomy news site.

Of Singing Humpback Whales and Rock Trolls

Kristoff visits Elsa in hospital while Anna’s busy with other things. It...does not go as expected. Poor Kristoff.

“Proboscis Monkeys look ridiculous…”

Anna’s exasperation at Elsa rescuing a Proboscis monkey is still not so great that she can’t help but wonder what would happen if you honked their nose. Anna NO.

“She’s going to kill you.”

Kristoff knows his days are numbered when he spills carrot juice all over Elsa’s brand new rifle. Uh oh.

“There’s a perfectly good reason for all these kittens.”

Turns out Elsa decided to adopt some kittens left on the side of the road when they’re already over-run with cats.

“This is extreme, even for you.”

Elsa is so addicted to her coffee she’s begun pouring them into wine bottles, as you do.

2018

Elsa brings home a parrot

Anna discovers that Elsa has “rescued” a very large, very loud parrot from one of her, ahem, “clients”.

Elsa’s Back Up Cat, Mushu

Anna discovers one of the cats apparently reading a book, and much to her consternation, Elsa explains he’s for back up.

“Oh what a circus!” photo prompt

Anna takes her still-bewildered-after-five-coffees sister to the circus. This may or may not turn out to be a great idea.

#Frozen #Domestic Assassin AU #DA!verse #Frozen DA!verse

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