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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years

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Unhinged

One-Shot

This one-shot is my entry for @jtargaryen18 's super spooky Haunted House writing challenge! The prompt was - A celebrity haunted house for charity will be open one night only, Halloween night. You spent days trying to get a ticket online for the event. Thanks to a bad day on Halloween, you get there only a minute before the line closes. You’re the last person to go in and thinking that’s either really bad (everyone is tired or would be in a hurry to see you out) or really good (maybe you’d get some extra time with the one you came to see). You are never seen again.

I had extremely fun writing this story with Mr Freezy! 😍 I hope you guys enjoy it! Please click here to check out all the other wonderful entries!

Description: Villain!Reader meets Mr Freezy aka Robert Pronge and, let's just say they don't get along well.

Warnings: Torture, mentions of murder, non-consensual acts of sex, abusive language, dark theme. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

Word count: 4300~

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I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

You looked at the pale, lifeless face of a certain Mr Patterson. Skin shriveled up, eyes gouged out, side of the face smashed in and the mouth permanently set in a horrified expression, Mr Patterson laid on the table in front of you as his widow sobbed beside him.

"I-I can't ev-even look-k at hi-him," she croaked between her tears, "My sweet-sweetheart, who-o would d-do this-ss to yo-you?" she wondered rhetorically as she completely broke down in the arms of her daughter, a woman of closely your age.

The daughter couldn't bear to look at her deceased father as she consoled her other parent. She looked at you with sadness, "Can you, maybe, make him look, a little, a bit, presentable?" she inquired quietly, "It's not going to be an open casket funeral. But we, we just want him to, you know, look a little…like slightly, better."

You almost laughed at her face on the request, but years of working at a funeral home as a makeup artist to the dead had trained you not to gawk any client's requests.

You successfully suppressed your laughter, and instead donned a sincere expression, "I will surely try my best ma'am. I am sorry for your loss, please accept my condolences."

As the mother-daughter duo left the room, you turned to face Mr Patterson. "Condolences my ass," you muttered as you spat at his face. It was ironic how the majority of your victims found their way to the funeral home where you worked. Take Mr Patterson here for example, not less than 48 hours ago he was begging you to spare his life, and now, here he was, laid out in front of you, lifeless.

You considered him for a moment, then decided against wasting your good makeup on this pervert bastard. Or maybe he might have been innocent? Who cared, he was dead now. Maybe he was truly looking at the Halloween decorations hung around the house behind you that night, or maybe he was just ogling at you. It was dark so you couldn't get a good look. But hey, you had a suspicion that he was checking you out, so you obviously had to teach him a lesson!

You still remembered killing your first victim. It had been your piano instructor. That lecherous pedophile had forcibly pulled you down on his lap, stating that sitting on him will make you a better pianist. You had grabbed the nearest glass vase and brought it down multiple times on his head, until the carpet beneath was red and his screams were all but an echo in the living room of your parent's house.

Since then, murder had become an activity from which you rarely partook in, then turned in to a pastime, a hobby, a passion and now finally, it was as natural and as necessary as breathing for you.

It didn't matter whom you killed anymore. Whether it was an old man looking at his neighbor's Halloween decorations, a dull attendant at the supermarket, an enthusiastic door-to-door salesman, a college student listening to irritating music on their headphone, or an incessant toddler crying for attention in the store, you didn't care. Anybody who irritated you, or pushed your buttons in the wrong way, or just, was at the same place at the same time with you doing something you disapproved of in your mind, you made sure to dispose of them.

The world had enough idiots, you didn't need any more of them around you.

You quickly wound up your work and left. Halloween was tomorrow and you had to make a quick stop to a local celebrity haunted house that you hoped had already been set up. It was being organized by an NGO for some God knows what charity and the tickets had proven to be difficult to procure. So you had just decided to break into the establishment a night prior.

Unfortunately, the exhibit was still being set up when you reached the venue and so, you decided to try again tomorrow night.

🎃

"OMG I can't wait to see him!" the teenagers standing in the line for the exhibit squealed as you watched them from the shadows. You looked at them with disgust, open contempt. Bloody fucking teenagers, you thought as you regarded their extreme enthusiasm. Clad in rhinestone studded clothes which sparkled under the streetlight, all the teenagers were busy on their iPhones. You rolled your eyes as each girl went live on either Instagram, Snapchat, Tik Tok or God knows what app. Fortunately, they were the last group to be admitted inside the exhibit, and if you could just time everything right, then you could maybe pull this off.

Gingerly, you approached the one who was facing away from the group, her front camera facing her with the entrance of the exhibit behind her. You cleared your throat, "Hi, um, excuse me, could you please help me?"

The teenager looked at you and flashed a wide smile, "Sure what's up?"

You smiled in relief, this would be easy, "I think my car keys fell somewhere back there, and my phone died so I can't really find them. Will you please come with me? I could use your phone's flashlight."

"Oh sure absolutely! Hey guys," the teenager called her friends, "Let's go and help her find her car keys."

"Oh no no no that's not necessary," you said urgently as her other friends grinned kindly at you, "I really just need one person. You guys stay here and hold your position in the line. We will be back in a few minutes."

"Are you sure?"' inquired another girl from the group.

"Yes yes," you smiled back in a reassuring manner.

The teenager who came with you - Ashley - looked at the grass and sidewalk at your request. If you hadn't want to enter the haunted house so much, then you would have considered sparing poor Ashley's life. Meh, you thought as you slowly crept up behind her, life wasn't always fair.

"Hey Ashley, please look under this car. I think it might have gone underneath it," you requested with a sincere expression.

She nodded as she got on all her fours, "It's not here."

"Try inhaling a big whiff of air. The keychain has a strawberry scented air freshener on it. Maybe you could smell it?" you suggested, knowing full well that the cyanide sprinkled under the car by you would instantly kill Ashley.

Your plan worked almost too well. As she painfully writhed on the floor gasping for air, you took her smartphone, hid her hideous rhinestone phone cover in your pocket and headed towards the exhibit.

Ashley's friends were waiting for her at the entrance when you reached. You told them that she was on a call with someone and would join them soon. While they still waited for her, you showed the guard the e-pass on Ashley's phone and entered the haunted house.

You were thrilled at seeing your most favorite characters almost alive in front of you! The animated wax statues bore close resemblance to their movie counterparts. Whether it was the Ghostface from Scream, the creepy Annabelle doll, the weird guy in the hockey mask, the Nun, Pennywise the Clown or the long-haired lady from The Ring, they all looked truly horrifying and you were loving it!

As you ventured further, you were surprised to see Chris Evans' character Mr Freezy or Robert Pronge. The movie wasn't exactly popular, but you figured they had maybe included this character now that Evans was all the rage thanks to the uptight stick-in-the-ass Captain America character.

Mr Freezy was standing besides his ice-cream truck, inviting you to enter it in repetitive robotic movements. His face with his signature long hair and glasses smiled at you vacantly as you looked on.

You vaguely remembered watching this movie, hell, you had even copied the cyanide idea from Mr Freezy himself! Just when you squinted your eyes, hoping to remember more parts from the movie, you heard noises behind you.

"She came inside, Officer," said a voice that sounded like one of the girls from the group. Shit! They must have discovered Ashley! you panicked as you looked for a way out. The door ahead of you had been mechanically locked shut, and the voices behind you were growing louder by the minute. The bright lights flickered on and the animations of the objects around you completely stopped.

Except for Mr Freezy.

His movements increasingly sped up and his eyes grew wider. At first, you thought it might be a malfunction, but you were shocked when he whispered your name, "Enter the truck to escape. NOW!"

As if on auto-pilot, you opened the door and hurriedly stepped in. The dry ice engulfed you, the voices lessening in volume behind you. A moment later, the entire truck shook violently, causing you to blindly hold on to the sides and yelp in surprise.

Suddenly, someone pressed the brakes and you lurched forward. The dry ice cleared inside the van as you stumbled towards the driver's seat. You heard someone close the door and walk towards the back of the truck. A moment later, the backdoors of the van were opened by none other than Mr Freezy himself.

Your jaw dropped to the floor and he mirrored your expression, the pair of you taking in each other's appearances.

Your modern 21st century clothes were completely out of place in the 1960s America that was home to Robert Pronge. His blue eyes from behind his long curtain of hair seized you up as he recovered from shock.

"Who the fuck are you and what the hell are you doing in my van?" he broke the foreboding silence.

You cocked your head to the side, your brain unable to comprehend the reality of the situation. Did you just appear on a movie set? What sort of time-space travel bullshit was this?

"ANSWER ME YOU CUNT," Mr Freezy's voice was loud enough to break you from your reverie, but the strong, tall, well-built man hardly intimidated you.

Instead of cowering as he expected you to, you raised your eyebrow, "So you are one of those method actors huh? Sorry I appeared on your set unannounced Mr Captain Evans," you said with spite as you walked towards him and crouched down to be at his eye level, "I will be on my fucking way now."

"Mr Capta-what? Who the fuck sent you? How did you come inside my van when I locked it? You weren't in there when I left Atlantic Avenue. What the fuc-"

You punched him in the face before he could finish his sentence. Though you liked his deep, smooth voice, his incessant cursing and hostility had started to get under your skin.

As he stumbled backwards from the force of your punch, you looked around him and noticed the absolute absence of large lights, cameras, large crew and any kind of set whatsoever.

You jumped from the van and looked at Chris Evans again as you landed on your feet. He looked exactly like his character in the movie. But something didn't feel right. That's when you heard the small click of his revolver.

Before he could aim it at you, you hit his right palm that held the firearm and twisted it, effectively breaking it in the process. He screamed in pain and tried to move away from you, but you weren't done yet.

Pulling him towards you, your knee brutally met with his pelvis and you punched the air out from his stomach. He doubled down with pain, his eyes watering as he tried to regain balance. But one swift blow to the back of his head turned his world dark.

You were panting when Mr Freezy finally lost consciousness and collapsed on the ground. You looked around again. The streets were isolated and there were barely any houses lined on the sidewalk.

You felt around your pockets for your belongings, but found them empty. You waited around for a few minutes, hoping to get some sense of clarity for your situation as Mr Freezy drooled on the street.

Finally, you resigned and hauled his heavy ass back into the van in the passenger's seat. Desperate for some sort of explanation, you put your hands inside his pants' pockets. You were rewarded with his wallet, some keys and a bunched up paper with an address roughly scribbled on it.

The year on the license was 1963 and the city stated was Jersey City of New Jersey.

Just as you secured his unconscious body with the seatbelt, you took a close look at his face. Despite the creepy hair, he did look handsome. Afterall, it was Chris Evans! Or some sort of alternate-universe-reincarnation-asshole version of his. His soft plump lips looked a bit dirty, so you looked down at his crotch. The pants had riddled up when you had placed him on his seat, giving you a clear outline of his dick.

And my was it a sight!

His thick member was struggling against the uncomfortable position of the pants. The rotund rod was anything but flaccid. You squeezed and rubbed your palm over the semi-hard member, cherishing the disgruntled noises that escaped his lips.

After about 5 minutes, you decided to drive his van back towards the line of houses. You guessed you were at the outskirts of the city and right now, you needed to find how to blend in with the people.

Soon enough, you were deep within the city and found a dress shop. All the signs on the shops which you passed seemed to fit the 1960s, thus leaving no doubt that you had actually time traveled into the past, that too in a completely different timeline.

You considered breaking into the shop and stealing a few clothes, but then decided against it. You were absolutely against stealing. It was probably the only crime you couldn't excuse.

The only time you hadn't paid for your stuff was when you wanted to buy a yellow dress. The lady shopkeeper with kind eyes had told you that the colour purple suited you better than yellow, and insisted that you buy the same. Later that night, you had calmly walked over the old woman's dead body and grabbed the yellow dress that you had loved.

You looked at the dresses in the shop window and decided to come back tomorrow. That's when you noticed the sign "WHITES ONLY".

You went back to the van and grabbed the revolver. Three suppressed shots from the silenced gun destroyed the sign, the wreckage of which witnessed you breaking into the shop and literally stealing everything that was on the premises.

Two. There were two crimes you wouldn't excuse.

You turned the van around and headed back towards the outskirts of the city. It was almost morning by the time you reached the address that you had found scribbled in Mr Freezy's pocket. It seemed to be some kind of a cold storage facility in a dilapidated building.

As you managed to make your way to the second floor with his limp, but still heavy, body, you remembered seeing a similar storage facility in the movie where Mr Freezy stored the dead bodies of his victims.

Your suspicions were proven correct when you picked the lock and entered the room. You found the tub where he cut the bodies of his victims and the chains he used to tie their bodies with.

As you ventured further, you found the dead body of the girl who had been force-fed pufferfish. That you remembered well, because you had tried to buy one but couldn't get your hands on the costly bugger fish.

Looking around, your eyes fell on the chains again and an idea popped into your head.

🎃

Robert Pronge woke up to find himself naked, spread eagle on his table, hands and legs wide apart, tied to the table with secured chains. The worst part? Large chunks of ice were wrapped around his palms and feet, rendering them numb. Waves of painful, frostbiting cold passed through his body. Hardly any sounds escaped his gagged mouth as he feebly tried to recollect what had happened last night.

He vaguely remembered you, a strangely dressed woman who had suddenly appeared in his van and knocked him unconscious.

He tried to look around him, a painful but necessary moment, and he realised he was in his own facility.

After what seemed like a few hours, he heard the door open and the clickety-clack of a woman's heels came near him.

Still shuddering with cold, he looked at you with his hooded eyes, the blue irises filled with hatred.

You chuckled at him. This was going to be fun. "Good morning Robert. Or should I call you Mr Freezy? Do you have a preference?" you cheerfully asked him as he kept staring at you.

You were wearing a yellow dress with white polka-dots, and a small artificial bouffant completed your look. Basically, you were dressed like any other cunt in 1963.

"Oh silly me," you scoffed at yourself, "I forgot about the gag."

A slew of profanities escaped his plump lips as you removed the gag, "You fucking whore! Untie me right now you bitch. Who the fuck do you-aaarrgghhh!" He shut up mid-rant when you slapped his cold naked dick.

"I will not tolerate any bad language. Let's take it from the top, shall we?" you reprimanded him and gave him your name.

He tried to spit at you but failed, his body dehydrated with the cold.

"You have no idea who you have messed with bitch. When my friends find out-"

"Friends?" you asked him, feigning surprise, "I thought you worked alone. Or has Mr Freezy gone all softy for The Iceman?"

Watching Robert gulp in anticipation gave you immense satisfaction. You went away from him, the dull clang of the metal chains filled the air as you heaved and huffed. Finally, he heard you crank the lever and the metal rattled as something huge was hung upside down on the metal hook.

Richard's dull, muted musk reached his nostrils before his dead body came into view. His feet were secured on the hook while his lifeless eyes stared into nothingness. His arms waved around a bit before the metal conveyor belt was brought to a stop.

"See? Richard found you," you claimed excitedly as Richard Kuklinski or The Iceman's body slowly turned above Mr Freezy.

Robert went still. Too still. A different chill had now consumed his body, his heart. He recognised the ugly emotion. He was scared. Terrified. It had been a long time since he had felt this horrible emotion but now, he lay motionless consumed by it.

His desperation grew when he heard you hum lightly, "You don't own me, I am just not one of your many toys". He had to get away from this place, from you.

As soon as he saw you disappear inside the freezer storage, he started struggling against his bonds once again. But the chains did anything but budge. "Now now, that is no way to thank me for making sure you meet your friend,* you scolded him, returning with a heavy block of ice.

"Let me tell you-UGH," you irritably shoved aside Richard's limp body as you came to stand beside Mr Freezy's horizontal torso. "Let me tell you how this is going to work. I want the names and addresses of those dusty, old, poor excuses for flour sacks 'Mafia Bosses' who apparently rule this city," you emphasized with air quotes.

Mr Freezy regarded you carefully. He knew by now that you were dangerous, but even he had his doubts that you would be able to destroy the mafia families in New Jersey. "Rot in hell bitch," he managed to spit weakly.

You rolled your eyes, "Men. Why do they always have to be difficult?" you muttered as you placed the heavy block of ice on his chiseled abs, and he immediately started writhing with the cold. "What did I tell you about your language? Tut-tut, looks like someone needs to be taught a lesson."

And with that, you made your right hand travel down his stomach and towards his thick naked member. Upon the contact, Mr Freezy tried to still his body, but the unbearably cold chunk currently resting on top of him made it impossible for him to stop moving.

You played with the hair surrounding his trunk, twisting and pulling almost teasingly, your eyes searching for his, but unfortunately, Richard's body hung between the two of you, blocking the view. So Mr Freezy couldn't see you and you couldn't see him. But who said there was romance in maintaining eye contact?

You gently wrapped your fingers around his length, making him gasp. "Someone likes this huh?" you cooed as you sped up your gestures, his length soon hardening under your touch.

"St-stop," his command was almost a moan.

You laughed at him, at his pathetic state and at his measly little request, "I don't think you want me to," you teased him as his member was almost erect now. You increased the speed of your strokes, your hands applying more pressure to thick rod that was now bulging with veins.

His hips and thighs tightened, indicating that he was close to the finishing line. But you were not done with him. Not yet.

You completely stopped your ministrations and lifted your hand. A small groan escaped his mouth before Mr Freezy caught himself.

"N-now you lis-listen to me you bit-AARRGGHH" he tried to speak between his pants, but shrieked when you roughly slammed an ice cube against his penis.

"What did I tell you about the swearing?" you chided him as you pressed the ice cube further to his length and balls.

Mr Freezy started fighting his bonds again, and frankly speaking, his refusal to accept his fate had started to get on your nerves in a bad way. You decided to keep the chunk of ice between his legs and grab some early lunch.

You returned in about 2 hours, just to find him in the same position as you had left him. The only difference was that all the ice had now melted. Oh, and there were huge, deep, red cuts on his wrists and ankles, probably due to all the fidgeting.

He was still slightly shivering though. Eh, it wasn't your problem anyway.

"Let's try again shall we?" you asked him as you got a fresh chunk of ice from the freezer. Richard's body was still hanging exactly where you had left it when you reached for Mr Freezy's lollipop again.

He tried to shake his hips, his length dancing along with his movements, as if to discourage you. "No," he muttered through gritted teeth, "No. Stay where you are. Don't you dare don't you fucking da-"

He shut up as soon as you started stroking him again. "We need to do something about your swearing Mr Freezy. Is that the language you use when you talk to kids? Huh? Looks like I will have to teach you some manners."

He soon started feeling the knot in his stomach, ready to unwind at any second, but you stopped. Completely. Again.

Even though he was mentally prepared for the cold hard ice to be rubbed against his genitals, his body wasn't.

This continued for 4 times more before he gave up. As you tried reaching for him for the sixth time, he almost pleaded with you, "I will give you their names, addresses, fucking every detail you would want about the mob bosses. Just let me go."

You laughed at his admission. He nearly jumped out of his skin as your sickeningly sweet laughter filled the isolated room. "Do you really think it's about that now?" you asked him, am incredulous expression on your face, "Ooooh Mr Freezy. I can get that information from anyone! Sure it would be convenient if I got it from you. But that's not what all this is about."

"Wh-why?" he asked, as if he already knew the answer and was terrified by it.

"Because I like breaking strong men," you replied with a pleasant, innocent grin. "Now, let's get back to work. Hhmm?"

"No no wait. I can. No. I will give you whatever you want. You want me to kill for you? I will-"

"Do you think I need a handy boy?" you interrupted him. "You want to give me something? Fine. Then stop swearing!"

He nodded eagerly, "Done. Not a single bad word. I will stay quiet. I promise. Just let me go."

You regarded him carefully, "No," you shook your head, "I don't think you have learned your lesson yet," you claimed decisively as you headed towards his legs.

With what bare minimum strength that was left in him, he shook his body again, hoping to get away from you. "Stop touching me! Stop!"

"It's funny that your mouth says stop," you grabbed his member again, "but your dick says the complete opposite." You bent down to kick a wet stripe from his balls to the tip of his mushroom, giving it a gentle suck as you reached the tip.

Mr Freezy's breath hitched in his throat. While he felt filthy and dirty everytime you touched him, the organ between his legs was aching for your attention. A tear escaped his eye as he realised this was probably the end of his life, that he might never see his son again.

As you set to work on him again, the part of his mind which had refused to accept his fate, slowly started succumbing to your sinful torture. His rebellious spirit was only left with one thought now. To be afraid. Very afraid. Of you.

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