#a solid while ago I was like yeah I got sick of this part of myself so I just kind of carved it out and killed it off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ronearoundblindly · 2 years

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The Dignity of His Choice (3)

Brand, Part One (see previous or series)

Summary: Why Steve decided to fake his own death.

[Minors DNI. Warnings for implied smut, canon-level violence, angst]

How this all started…

They stopped a terrorist cell.

From intel retrieved at the leader’s residence, a small team immediately dispatches to a warehouse within ten kilometers where explosives are suspected. Steve and Bucky sweep the facility first since they could also escape the fastest were anything triggered. They split up. Bucky takes the large spaces while Steve clears a short labyrinth of offices and storage closets.

Bucky gives the all-clear to the team outside. Steve confirms “no explosives” over the channel before catching his friend’s eye and waving for him to follow. Steve doesn’t say a word until the door is shut to the windowless room. He even takes out his comms.

From Bucky’s wide eyes, Steve was right to bring him in immediately.

Bucky removes his earpiece, too, then flips the volume up on his walkie and orders, “I want the warehouse handled but then await further instruction. No other rooms. Got it?”

“Acknowledged, Sarge.”

Steve holds up several papers from a makeshift desk littered with files. His skin crawls in panic. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is, Buck.”

Among the papers are photos, dozens of photos of just one person: you, including a picture of you out celebrating your promotion months ago, one of your friend Gracie’s birthday party from just last week, and one of a particularly disturbing nature inside a dressing room. He can’t tell when that’s from; he doesn’t recognize the clothes or the walls. The papers detail all kinds of things, thorough tracking your movements and records of your preferences of everything from food and drink to skincare and feminine hygiene products. Steve’s gut knots itself entirely when he comes across a file containing medical records and an accurate calendar of your menstrual cycle. He’s gonna be sick.

Bucky doesn’t have to say anything. The intent is obvious enough.

“Looks like kidnapping,” Buck mutters anyway. “You don’t do this level of recon just to poison or kill. My guess is leverage over you.”

The papers are like heavy knives in his hands. His tact suit feels excruciatingly tight, and Steve’s brain is on fire with rage.

“Down to her fucking period,” he blurts, low and violent. Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up at the language but an air of holding his tongue has Steve more nervous. “What?”

“A pregnant woman would be even more valuab—“

Steve punches the table so hard the plastic buckles, toppling to one side, stacks of surveillance intel sliding to the floor. His jaw locks. The thing is that there is nothing for his rage to stand on because Steve doesn’t understand how this could be happening.

“But we caught them all, right?”

His voice is tight, Steve admits, weaker than he hoped. There’s no confidence in it. There’s less than none when Bucky speaks.

“Today was one of the leaders, yeah…” His friend rubs the back of his neck.

Steve’s hands sink deep into his hair as he weighs options. “How many more?”

Bucky slides his walkie back up to his mouth, eyes fixed on Steve’s barely contained meltdown. “Torres, come in.”

After a beat, “yeah, Sarge?”

“I’m gonna need a crate brought to the back hall here. Just leave it there and we’ll pack it up.”

“You got it. Looks like we’ll be finished here in twenty.”

“Okay. Crate now, and we’ll be ready by the time you guys are done.”

A minute later, a hollow thump from beyond the door signals the drop-off.

With an armful of files, Bucky turns back to Steve. “I’ll handle the box myself. No one will see these,” he assures, opening the door and dragging the solid-sided, black bin inside. He drops in his armful, and just as he straightens, he sighs, “but we need to think of something, pal. This investment? The time they’ve spent? They won’t let her go.”

Steve worried Buck would say that, but then he never answered the question.

“How many?” Steve throws the force of a punch behind each word, and by the unblinking look on his friend’s face, Steve is already unprepared.

“Compiled list is thirty-five members—” Bucky puts his finger up before Steve tries to ask “—and that’s the ones not crossed off yet.”

Steve takes his rage and frustration out on the files until Bucky stops him from destroying evidence. Steve uses every ounce of his training, focus, and serum-laced enhancement to not show any agitation outside of the room.

On the return flight to HQ, he settles into a stoic—but very edgy—version of his normal self. His mind races at the speed of light. One of his first decisions is to not tell you because he doesn’t actually know anything yet. With so many enemy operatives still unaccounted for, he has to proceed under the assumption that some of that mountain of intel was fed through sources inside the Initiative. To allow Bucky time and distraction to haul the crate to his own quarters, Steve oversees unloading and takes point at the debrief.

He only becomes more paranoid when he gets back home. As you speak about your day, you mention at least two names he doesn’t recognize, so he pries, harder than he ever would before. You tease him about being jealous and swear that Tom the Barista only has eyes for Jake Hudson from your lab. Tom even came as Jake’s date to Gracie’s birthday party. You tell Steve he’s met him.

Steve shifts leaning forward on the couch while you casually lounge in his rocking chair. “Who? Thomas?”

“Yes, Steven,” you sass, twirling a finger through the chain of your necklace, a gift from your lab group given for your promotion (that dozens of nefarious scumbags have a picture from), “that’s generally what ‘Toms’ also go by.”

Steve considers how long that means you’ve been watched. He considers it for too long.

“Are you feeling okay? You’re very twitchy.”

“Tired.” Steve isn’t lying about that, and since he knows he’s a crappy liar, Steve has to be more careful.

“Go have a shower, love.” You kiss his forehead, running your fingers lazily through his hair. It makes his skin crawl again, painfully exhilarating and terrifying all at once. “I can bring dinner back here if you want.”

His grunt and sigh suffice as an answer.

Steve never was a stealth operative (well, not for anything longer than sneaking into a building), so he only stops obsessively over every product you kept in the bathroom—on the counter, in the drawers, and in the cabinet—when you peek in to ask if he wants sweet or savory sauce for his egg rolls.

Your curious look turns into a smirk. “What? Not liking the way I smell now?”

“Uh…” He blanks.

You pluck the jar of cream out of his hands and replace it with a tube of balm.

“Better for your dry elbows,” you hum with a smile and pat the meat of his bicep. “I’ll put out all the sauces. Just take your time, Sketch.” You shut the door behind you.

Steve knows he will throw up if he forces himself to eat his normal amount of food, and since he’s a super soldier and doesn’t get stomach bugs or food poisoning (or lose his appetite for any other reason), he is forced to do something he has never, ever done before. Steve fakes getting a call from a team member and leaves the apartment for a while. He walks the whole tree line around the complex in the dark and then returns to say not to worry, they had food upstairs. He gets away with this because there is food up in the lounge right by the main conference room; he just doesn’t fill in the part where he didn’t go anywhere near it.

The only thing that settles his stomach is to be near you, as near as humanly possible, so that night when you two make love, Steve holds onto you a lot tighter, his face never more than an inch away from yours. He pushes your hips against him and grips the back of your neck. You respond to his intensity with extra affection, which leads to a second-round where Steve was nothing shy of overbearing and possessive. He knows you sense a change, but you didn’t ask. You never ask for details after missions, and he usually likes that you help keep those things separate. You always wait for him to be ready to talk. He will never be ready to admit what kind of danger you were in.

So he spirals for hours. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees the photos. He sees you going about your everyday life not knowing you’re being watched. He sees you, twirling and biting at your necklace, deep in thought. He wishes he never scolded you for that nervous habit. He wishes he’d been nicer about the bear on it (even though he’s right and it is actually the same as the California state flag), but you love it anyway. He can’t take any of it back now. All he does is stare at the metal chain laying against your softly rising chest, pendant settled just between your breasts, and he feels helpless.

The next day, when he gets a chance to speak with Bucky far away from HQ on their run, it only gets worse.

The reason someone would want to kidnap you is to control him. It doesn’t take the brain power of anyone over the age of five to notice Steve will do anything for his wife, and the biggest problem boils down to the time it takes to tick off all the names on that list. Of the listed thirty-nine, four are already captured or killed as of yesterday’s mission. However, the Team only started acting on intel for this group a week and a half ago. They currently have leads on seven more, but the info ranges from “we know he lives right here” to “I heard someone talk about seeing him in this other country a year ago.” Tracking, verification, and takedown of thirty-five targets could take…well, it’s impossible to estimate.

Keeping you in hiding is an option, but you’d be out of work for who knows how long (and pissed about it). Bucky is fairly certain Steve would not be able to join you in hiding either, so you’d be alone and pissed and he’d still be afraid. You could have a heavy security detail, but that’s no good because some of that research came from HQ; at the very least there’s a data leak, but there could also be an operative working amongst them. Even if Steve up and quits, retiring from the Avengers, he’s still capable of being wielded as a physical or political weapon, and just because he isn’t fighting on the Team, doesn’t mean he can’t influence the Avengers (and several world governments) anyway. There is no clean path forward. All options require coordination and too many resources.

Eventually, it’s Bucky’s suggestion that offers the quickest and most efficient solution. If Steve dies, no one has use of you as leverage. Steve now wants to throw up. He doesn’t like the idea of being stuck away from you indefinitely, but he soothes himself by comparing this to any other mission. In fact, he wills himself to calm down since this mission is entirely for your safety, but he can’t fully accept it. He just keeps feeling sick.

A vague semblance of a plan is discussed. Bucky has a safe house from his time on the run (left unfound because of how useless the location is for fieldwork), but it is remote—can’t find it on a map even when it’s marked with an x remote—and in a wilderness surrounded by tundra. No electricity, no running water, no satellite signal. Nothing.

A new leader will take over the terrorist cell. That could take some time, but not much, and Steve and Bucky can’t coordinate an elaborate rouse on their own. With each person they’d bring into the fold, or each prepared part of the deception, they risk whoever is feeding information from inside knowing Steve is still alive. Worse yet, their plan to take you might be moved up if the group knows that he suspects. Steve and Bucky agree to tell absolutely no one. They have to go by opportunity with knee-jerk reactions as their guide.

Steve spends half of each night watching you sleep, memorizing your body, stroking your hair and hip. He reminds himself not to behave differently. He can’t savor your touch more or convince you not to spend a day with your sibling at port that week. He catches you watching him sadly a few times. You sense something still, but he convinces himself over and over that it’s for the best. Nothing helps him sleep.

Ten days later, Bucky, Natasha, and Steve are all sent to dismantle an Inhuman fight club that acts as a rendezvous for two names on the list, theoretically. Steve never gets to see their faces. One of the Inhumans can explode and then reintegrate, so there’s basically a bomb moving around the place that can go off as many times as it wants. It only takes one shared look between Steve and Bucky to know: this is it.

Steve tosses the shield at the man as he’s triggering, drops his comms where he stands, then sneaks back to the jet, hiding, while part of the building collapses. After the Inhuman and his associates are captured, Bucky behaves like he’s looking for Steve in the rubble. Nat finds the shield, scorched so badly the color’s gone off, and her distraught announcement to send a cleanup crew, one that should expect human and superhuman remains, sounds genuine because it is. Nat thinks Bucky is being quiet and brooding because he’s in the field and she wouldn’t expect him to slip into an emotional scene no matter how epic the Brooklyn boys’ bond. Steve hides for almost two and a half hours until Bucky and Nat finally return to the jet. Once in the air, Steve hears muffled voices, then yelling, and then Buck calls his name. If Steve didn’t know Nat so well, he’d swear she barely blinks as he steps out of his expansive cargo locker onboard, but she’s upset.

All Steve has to say, though, is that you’re being targeted, and Nat springs into action, finding any supplies that can be overlooked as missing or a regular inventory discrepancy. A certain number of rations. Some first aid supplies. Ammunition. Two of Bucky’s (many) knives and one of her own guns. Steve notices Bucky smiling at his gal fondly several times and feels a stab in his own gut for how much he already misses you. Bucky packed his own go-bag with several helpful additions (including clothes and an extra duffel to carry it all in) and wrote down extremely thorough directions to the cabin, directions which Steve is to destroy as soon as he gets there.

Natasha raids every locker and storage area onboard for liquor (which covers up the evidence of removed supplies) and splashes some vodka on her chest after a few swigs. She insists Steve and Bucky drain every bottle, too. Finally, she explains that any extra time the jet is in the air and doesn’t return to HQ will be chalked up to her and Bucky wallowing in their own unique way. Steve adores Nat’s genius at that moment, but he half-wishes for Thor’s refilling container of Asgardian ale—the only thing he and Bucky can really get drunk on—because Steve already hates what’s about to happen.

They fly the jet in stealth mode as low and as close as possible without wavering from a reasonable flight plan. It’s the one time Natasha doesn’t mind Steve jumping out of her jet; she’s a pragmatist and knows it’s necessary. It still takes Steve about twenty-seven hours to find the damn cabin, a needle among needles in a needle factory, but that’s why Bucky’s the best.

And then all Steve can do is wait.

(Next part) Don't hurt me, dearies /o\

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

#fools rush in #steve x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers #steve x you #fanfic #series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers angst #angst with a happy ending #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america angst

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

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Apologies if this has been asked for a prompt, but how about one where they discover the real origins of the curse (like how they do in the last one) but in 1978 so they’re able to save Tommy? Can we also pretend it’s early on so he doesn’t end up killing anybody A very dramatic yet happy ending as Cindy ends up living but obvi the reader and Tommy are together and they get their own 70s version of “burgers and the pixies” :)

Hello :)) I love this prompt and this is also technically a semi-sequel to "are you in there?" where basically they tie him up and Cindy and Alice do what they need to in order to break the curse :)

Pizza and Aerosmith (Tommy Slater x Reader)

Warnings: major character death, blood mention/described, axe violence mentioned, devil shit mentioned, cursing, betrayal, attempted violence, minor angst, kissing, not proof read sorry

Word Count: 4.9k

"Her body wasn't there!" Alice yelled, throwing down her trowel and her walkie talkie. They'd told you about ten minutes before that they were heading back to the cabin, and you'd expected them to be carrying a bag of bones in tow. You and Arnie's heads snapped to her and Cindy, and your mouth fell open for a minute as you tried to think of what to say. Of what to do.

That night, your boyfriend had been possessed. If it had been six hours ago, you wouldn't have believed it yourself. But, after the four of you had found his name carved into solid stone and he nearly went for an axe to chop up Arnie, it was hard to deny.

You'd dragged him to your cabin. You weren't supposed to be supervising color war, so there was no reason anyone should've come to get you. And, well, you couldn't exactly let your boyfriend near anyone. You'd had to tie him up and leave him on your bed, where he continuously squirmed and tried to harm pretty much anyone within a certain distance to him. That alone made you positive that this wasn't your Tommy.

"Well, what do you mean it wasn't there?" Arnie asked as he stood up. They were talking, explaining, too fast for you to catch up. The body was there. The body wasn't there.

"Maybe you dug in the wrong place." You said, trying to be hopeful, and Cindy proceeded to lift up a rock. Written on it was, The witch forever lives. Shit, alright. Maybe they didn't dig in the wrong place.

But, that left the four of you in a deep pile of shit. What were you supposed to do? How would you find Sarah Fiers body? It had been over three hundred years, and Nurse Lanes diary was about the only insight you had! You sat on the bed, ignoring Tommy's jerking and grunts. You reached out to place a hand on his arm as you stared at the wall across from you.

You'd promised him you'd get him free of this. That the four of you would do what you needed to in order to help him. Alice and Arnie had already suggested- You weren't even going to think about it. You didn't care if finding the body sounded impossible. You'd successfully found the hand, and not even Nurse Lane had been able to do that. You could all find her body too. You went over everything you knew of the curse in your mind, and interrupted whatever fight Alice and Cindy were having to say,

"The blood." And they both turned. You looked up, at the three of them. "The blood. Blood falls whenever Sarah Fier is near. We just have to walk around camp and wait-"

"Wait until one of us gets a nosebleed? Are you serious?" Alice interrupted, and Arnie was quick to join in.

"That could take all night!" Arnie said, and you gave each of them a look. It was better than their idea. And, even if Arnie and Alice did seem particularly cynical about everything, for a second- Just for a second you'd seen how much they wanted to end this. For Tommy, for Shadyside. And there was really only one way to make this go faster.

"It wouldn't if you had more help."

***

At first, they'd thought just you and Arnie, but your plan stretched farther than that. It was why Joan, Gary, Ziggy, and, to all of your surprise, Nick Goode, stood in your cabin, staring at the tied up form of your boyfriend.

"Y'know, when Joan and I were talking about the curse earlier, we were just messing with you guys." Gary said, and part of your stomach sank when Joan agreed with,

"Yeah, this is way trippy." You knew it was going to be hard to convince them. You knew it was a long shot in total darkness but what else could you do?

"We know this sounds crazy," Cindy started, and you were happy she was the one taking over. Out of all of you, she was the one that would never play a prank like this. And if she believed it- Well. "We can even show you what we found, but we have to do it quick. Tommy- From what we know, he doesn't have a lot of time and-"

"I believe you." Nick interrupted, and you watched as Ziggy was quick to turn to him.

"What?" She quickly asked, an incredulous look on her face. And, while the sisters were as different as could be, you could see the resemblance between them when it came to their skepticism. Nick looked at her, even reached out to place a hand on her arm.

"Look at him, Ziggy. That's- That's Tommy Slater. He couldn't even kill the rat they found in the kitchen earlier in the month and now he's-" He glanced over at him just as Tommy let out a particularly hard thrash, and you tried to calm him. You shushed him, pushing his hair out of his face. His forehead was sweaty from all his exertion, his arms straining against the rope. Having more people in the room seemed to aggravate him more, and you watched as his teeth bit the gag in his mouth. "And Nurse Lane attacking him? Really, is it so hard to believe that it's all connected? That it's all..." He didn't need to finish for you to know where he was going, but he did anyways. "Sarah Fier?" For a moment, you nearly swore that you wanted to hug the kid. You glanced back over, watching as Ziggy looked between you and Tommy.

You'd never been close to her. Sure, you were friends with her sister, but, from what you'd heard from Cindy, they were hardly close either. But, you gave her a tilt of your head and you watched as she let out a small sigh and a roll of her eyes.

"What do you even need us to do?"

***

Cindy and Alice were going to take them to see what they'd found, to convince those that still needed an extra push, and then go find the body of Sarah Fier. You'd explained to them that at least two people needed to watch Tommy at all times, and that's when Nick Goode surprised you again.

"I can stay with him." He offered, and you'd given him a confused look. You and Arnie quickly shared a glance. The two of you had been watching Tommy all night, had an unspoken bond, a similar one to the one Cindy and Alice were building, already. "Arnie can go with his girlfriend and I can stay here." And you didn't miss the glance he sent towards Cindy. She'd been glaring at him the second he seemed just a little too familiar with her sister. You supposed he didn't want to spend the rest of the night caught in her group, and, well, part of you couldn't blame him. Especially when she quickly agreed. While the groups got ready to part ways, Arnie quietly asked you,

"You okay with this?" And you bit your lip for a moment. You should be. The Nick kid, while you didn't know him well, was always the nicest out of the Sunnyvale counselors. And, well, he was the only one that actually believed you. Completely believed you. And you knew that if you were in Arnie's shoes, you'd want to tag along with Alice. Really, you couldn't think of a reason to say no. So, why did you have a pit in your stomach?

"Yeah, sure. Just- Get this over with quick, okay?" You asked him, and he gave you a nod and a smile. He held out his hand for a fist bump, and you gave him one. Last second, you handed him the second walkie talkie that you'd given to Alice before, and quietly told him, "Keep it on, okay?" And, while his eyes had been confused, he'd given you a nod.

You'd been trying to conserve the batteries all night, but, with the pit in your stomach, you didn't want to take any chances.

***

Cindy, Alice, and Arnie took the others to see the room they'd found. That alone was enough proof the show that they weren't fucking around. That this wasn't some sort of sick prank. Though, as they walked out of the room, Ziggy still had questions,

"Well, yeah- I get this being a curse and all, but who lit the candle? Who wrote his name?" And Joan was quick to add,

"Yeah, like, you guys were with Tommy all day so it's not like he wrote himself." And the three of them paused. They'd been so caught up in trying to break the curse, in trying to save Tommy, that they hadn't really thought about who'd doomed him in the first place.

"This is so weird. And why Tommy? Tommys- Tommy. Why would someone choose him?" Gary asked, and the three of them were stumped. Tommy wasn't a jerk that made enemies with a lot of people. He was nice to everyone, even those that weren't nice to him. And why would they choose a camp counselor? Didn't they know that he'd be surrounded by children?

"I- We don't know." Cindy said, and the six of them walked through the little storage room. Cindy shined her flashlight in front of her as she thought, wondering just who would choose Tommy Slater to be the next Shadyside Killer. Cindy couldn't stop thinking about it even as they broke off in pairs and started looking for the body.

As she walked with her sister, she glanced over at Arnie and Alice, who were heading a different direction. She watched as he played with the walkie talkie in his hands, and, for a moment, she had a small sinking feeling in her chest before she pushed on.

***

At least with Arnie, you kind of knew what to talk to him about. You were at least sort of friends, since both of you were Shadyside counselors. You could talk about how stupid color war was, about the places back in town. Arnie had even asked you a few questions about Tommy, which you'd been happy to answer.

But Nick? You'd thanked him for staying, and then the pair of you sat in silence as you tried to keep Tommy calm. Gently, you pat him with a wet washcloth to try to cool down his fever. You tried not to think about what Nurse Lane had said as you did. One way or another, you're gonna die tonight. You wondered what would happen if he continued to resist the curse, and your heart tightened at the idea. You shook your head. You weren't going to let that happen. The others had been gone for awhile, almost two hours, so they were due to check back sooner rather than later. Hopefully, one of the groups would have good news. You ran the wash cloth over his cheeks as you said,

"After this, we're gonna get pizza and listen to Aerosmith all night. Watch a few movies, maybe. You like the sound of that?" You asked, even if he couldn't respond. Even if the only thing he sent you was a nasty glare. With a sigh, you wished for the moments where he'd look at you like you put the sun in the sky.

You turned around when you heard something fall, and you stared in confusion as you watched Nick reach for Tommy's bat. He'd left it here once, and you'd put the axe he'd gotten from that room right besides it. You stood when you watched him grip it.

"Nick?" You asked, and you watched as he turned around. He had a smile on his face, the same charming smile he'd given Ziggy, but the pit in your stomach returned. You glanced down at the bat, just as he started to explain,

"Oh, y'know- In case, he gets free." He said, and you glanced down at the way he was holding it again. The way his hands changed grip. You didn't like what he was implying, first of all. You didn't want to hurt Tommy, you wanted to help him. That was the point of all this. You'd lived in Shadyside all your life, and maybe that gave you a better bullshit detector than most. Or, maybe, part of you had become so used to things going to shit that now you could smell it. Quietly, you said,

"He won't get free." And you shuffled your feet. You stood in front of him almost defensively, but, part of you didn't think it was Tommy you needed to protect. He gave you a smile and a shrug, and then you glanced over at the walkie talkie you'd put on your desk. The second you did, the second your eyes left him, Nick moved. You didn't know what was happening, not truly, but you knew that it was bad. You snatched the walkie talkie and ducked out of the way of his swing. You turned it on as you hauled ass to the bathroom, side-stepping him as he tried to grab you, and slammed your back against the bathroom door to keep it shut as you fumbled with the lock. You heard him banging on the door, heard the knob moving as he tried to get it open, and then he stopped. It sent a chill up your spine to hear silence on the other side. Finally, you pulled up the antenna, pressed the button, and yelled into the walkie talkie,

***

"Code red! Code red!" Came screaming out in your voice from the walkie talkie so loud that Arnie swore he almost jumped a mile. He was quick to answer with a shout of your name, and a,

"What's going on? What's wrong?" And Alice backtracked from where she walked in front. They could hear the panic in your voice as you yelled back,

"Arnie! Thank god! Come back to the cabin right now it's-" And the line went dead. You must've taken your hand off of the button, and the silence sent a chill up both of their backs. The only thing they could hear was the sound of crickets and wind. They hadn't even stumbled across a camper yet, and the woods felt empty and ready to swallow the pair of them.

Alice and Arnie stared at eachother for a moment. They'd been walking aimlessly, the maps Cindy had made up in their hands. A second of unspoken words passed between them, and then they were both sprinting back towards your cabin.

***

When Ziggy stepped on the red moss, she made a noise of disgust and lifted her foot. It has stained her shoes, and she quickly asked,

"Ugh, what is this stuff?" And Cindy looked up from her map. She'd carefully given each pair a third of the camp to search over. With two people to comb through each section, they should've been able to find it at least within the night. They were supposed to check back She looked around at the red moss, recognizing it as the same moss from the outhouse. From the caves under the outhouse. She glanced around, looking where it grew.

"Holy shit." She said, and quickly walked towards the rock. She looked around, and her sister arched a brow at her. In disbelief, she asked,

"Did you just swear?" And Cindy quickly waved her off. She was spinning around, quickly stepping through the moss with a big smile on her face. She probably looked insane, but Cindy didn't care. They'd needed another sign, another thing to look for. She felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner.

"The moss!" But Ziggy gave a small shake of her head. She didn't understand. Cindy pulled the hand out of her bag and held it up. She pointed at it as she said, "We found this in the red moss. This," She said pointing around. "Might be apart of the curse!" And Ziggy's eyes widened in understanding. Quickly, she echoed,

"Holy shit!" And the pair of them were quick to start looking. It only took a second for them to each get on their knees and start searching through the moss. It only took a few minutes for Ziggy to feel warmth dripping down out of her nose, and she swore she'd never been so happy to get a nosebleed ever in her life. Quickly, she called, "Over here!" And Cindy scrambled over. They started searching through the spot, and when they finally dusted the dirt off to find a ribcage, they were both so happy they could nearly scream. They cleaned it off further, completely unearthing the body of Sarah Fier. And, finally, Cindy held the hand in both of hers and gave Ziggy a look. This was it. Ziggy reached out, and together they out the hand back with the rest of Sarah Fier.

***

Arnie practically ripped your screen door off it's hinges as they ran into your cabin. He wasn't thinking clearly, wasn't thinking about what he was doing. All he knew was that you sounded like you were in trouble and now-

He ran into Nick. The brunette grabbed him by the arms, and looked scared out of his wits. The words were leaving his lips so fast that Arnie almost didn't have time to process.

"I thought I heard something outside so I went- I went to see if it was one of you and then I heard screaming and now-" And Arnie cut him off.

"Where's Tommy? Where's y/n?" He demanded, and Alice was right behind him now. She gasped when she saw the mess of the bathroom door. It had been axed nearly in half, before being pushed open. She was quick to run towards it, and Arnie pushed Nick away from him to the same. There was a mess of wood over the floor, but there was no blood. And, when they spotted the open window, a glimmer of hope went through both of them.

You were resourceful and smart. Of course you'd gone through the window. It dimmed a bit however when they saw the broken walkie talkie. Alice picked it up. The antenna was barely hanging off of it and the body looked crushed, stomped on. Getting in contact with you was now near impossible, but they had hope that you were still out there. Arnie turned back to watch as Nick paced, seeming to lose his mind over what had happened. He looked like a ball of nerves, and Arnie could understand why. He'd been gone for one minute and everything had gone to shit. Though, as Arnie looked back at Alice, he saw something there. She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, and Arnie wasn't surprised when she asked,

"Did you look for them? Do you know what direction they went?" And, when Nick shook his head, his story started to make a little less sense. The pair of them shared a look, and they had a brief moment of silent communication. How did Nick come back when he heard screaming and not see where Tommy went? Axing down a door didn't take a matter of seconds, it took minutes. And you sure as hell wouldn't have started screaming just before Tommy got the door open. So, the real question was, how did Nick miss you? The couple glanced over at Nick, but didn't say a word. Instead, Arnie asked him,

"So what do we do?" And they were relieved that at least his first idea was to get all the campers out of there.

***

Your thighs burned as you hid. Outrunning Tommy simply wasn't an option, but your mind was on hyperdrive as you tried to process the last five minutes of your life. Nick Goode was a dick. Whatever he'd been trying to achieve, it had ended up with Tommy getting loose. You thought maybe he was going to do what Alice had suggested at the very beginning of the night. Take care of Tommy to make sure no one else got hurt. Instead, now, you were trying to keep yourself from getting axed by your very own boyfriend. Not to mention, you were trying to keep him away from the direction of the kids. Sure, yes, you were hiding and running from him. But, you were also making sure that you were the one he stayed in pursuit of. It was a fragile balance, and you glanced around before you stood up to find a new hiding place.

You nearly screamed when you ran into someone, but you quickly ripped Ziggy and Cindy down behind a bush. The words left your mouth in a quick whisper as you started,

"Guys, I have so much to tell you. Nick Goode-" But Ziggy was finishing your sentence.

"Is a total douche." Her voice was laced with venom, and she sounded pissed. Betrayed, even. And you gave them each a confused look. You looked between them and asked,

"You know?" Your surprise was laced in your voice. How did they know? How could they know? But, Cindy was quick to explain.

"When we put the hand back with her body, we saw the truth."

"We saw everything." Ziggy added, and you looked back to Cindy when she continued,

"The Goode family is the reason for the curse. They made a deal with the devil, so Sunnyvale could prosper and they've been feeding him Shadyside blood!" And you stared at them. Really, hours ago, you would've thought they were both on drugs. But now? After watching your boyfriend get possessed, finding a creepy bone hand, and getting almost fed to your possessed boyfriend by the Sheriff's son? You'd believe Santa was real.

"Nick Goode just completely fucked everything up, and now Tommy's loose." You whispered, and their eyes widened. The three of you looked between eachother, and then around. You couldn't see anything in the dark, but you felt like an ant trapped under a magnifying glass as Ziggy whispered what you were all thinking,

"Shit." And you gave her a nod. Now that you were thinking about it, you had no idea if Nick even knew. He'd tried to kill your boyfriend to save everyone, and it turns out his family was the reason for the curse? God, how the hell were you going to explain that? You gripped each of them as Cindy continued again,

"But that's not the worst of it." She said, and you gave her a confused look. What could be worse than all of this? Nothing could've prepared you for the words she said. "Nick Goode picked Tommy. He's the reason Tommy's possessed." And you felt white hot anger replace every ounce of your fear.

***

When Arnie and Alice watched Ruby Lane climb out of the grate in the middle of the kitchen, more of a black sludge becoming the figure of the dead serial killer, they thought tonight couldn't have gotten any weirder. The only way to make it worse was that Nick had run out of the room, and Arnie had to knock his shoulder against the door to stop him from locking it behind him. They had already guessed that he was a back-stabbing little bitch, especially when they had to force him to stay to wait for the rest of you instead of getting on the bus with the campers, but this? Oh, they were going to kill him if they got out of this alive.

When she started to walk towards them, they were quick to head towards the door, only to watch as you, Cindy, and Ziggy ran inside. And guess who was only a few feet behind you? Tommy.

"Shit!" Alice said as they slammed the door closed, and they quickly did their best to stop him from pushing it open and getting inside. But, to their surprise, they watched as you practically snarled,

"You." At the brunette. You ran, tackling him to the ground before he could try to escape. Even if the crazy bitch from the sixties was quick to come out of the kitchen and you had to roll off of him before she slashed you with a razor. You dodged the milkman as Nick tried to run, as the killers quickly turned on Ziggy and Cindy. You knew, to some degree, you were the best person, one of the only people, that could go after him. You'd seen it when you ran from Tommy. He'd specifically tried to go after them, completely ignoring a prime opportunity to swing at you when you tripped on the way over. Because of whatever the Berman's had seen, it was like they had a target on their back. And you had a pretty good idea as to how you were supposed to end all of it.

"Watch out!" Ziggy yelled as you tried to get away from who you quickly realized was Ruby Lane, and as a man in a jumpsuit with a knife tried to slash Cindy. Cindy threw you her shovel, even as she dodged and ran from the man. She yelled,

"Don't let him get away!" And you knew what you had to do. You ran after him, seeing that he was climbing down into the hole below. He looked up just as you went to swing, and, you watched him panic. You watched as he lost whatever grip he had, as he fell into the hole rather than climbed down. You were about to climb down after him, about to make sure this was finished. Instead, you heard- a laugh?

You and the rest of your friends stood above the hole in the kitchen, staring down at it. The killers had disappeared, gone in a poof. The kids were safe on the bus, already heading back to town. And Nick Goode was dead. When he fell, he must've hit his head. Broken his neck. It was a quick death, one that could've happened to anyone. If anything, it could be labelled an accident.

"Should we check?" Alice asked, and the five of you looked between eachother, and then down at the hole. It was tempting. To see the body of the man that had done something so evil lay lifeless. It was Cindy that answered her.

"Nah, just let him rot down there." And, ultimately, you agreed. Arnie reached to close the grate, sliding it in place. The five of you nearly jumped out of your skin when Gary and Joan barged in the kitchen door, and paused when they saw you all standing around it.

"Why's Tommy knocked out outside?" Gary said, pointing with his thumb, and you gave him a smile as the others started to laugh out of relief.

***

You and Tommy sat on the rock in the middle of the woods. It was the one Cindy had labelled on your map. You'd gotten a large pie of pizza, and his little radio was blasting Aerosmith as you enjoyed the summer afternoon.

The camp had closed, and the News ran with the story. An axe murderer had wandered onto the camp grounds of Camp Nightwing, but, due to the heroism of it's counselors, not a single camper had been hurt. Tommy Slater, in particular, was famed for having distracted and fought the killer long enough to let the campers escape, to the point where certain counselors had at first thought he was to blame. And, when the police asked the only eye-witnesses to the crime, all of them had said one name.

Nick Goode.

It wasn't until a week later that anyone had found the body of Nick Goode in the caves, and the police hadn't known what to make of the discovery. With eight eye-witnesses and a cave full of occult shit, it was hard to cover up or deny. So, now, the News circled with the story of Nick Goode, the first Sunnyvale Killer.

Tommy handed you a bag of fries as the pair of you ate, and you smiled as you looked over at him. In the sunlight, the copper in his hair shined and his eyes practically glowed. The look in his eyes had returned, the one that he gave you. The one where he looked at you like you put the sun in the sky.

"So, this is her, huh?" Tommy said, pointing with his foot at the red moss. You nodded, taking another bite.

"Yeah, she saved us." You said, a small smile on your face. You wanted to visit for that exact reason. To silently tell her thanks, and to meet the girl that saved your lives. Tommy knocked his shoulder against yours, and you looked up at him.

"No," He said with a small shake of his head. "You saved me. You never gave up on me." He said, and your eyes softened. You looked at him, leaning in as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I heard you, y'know. Fighting for me. And I'm sorry I-"

"No, don't apologize." You told him quickly, reaching out to hold his hand. "That wasn't you." You told him, and you watched how the words made him tilt his head. How they soothed whatever ache he still had in him. Whatever regrets. You knew he was hard on himself, that part of him probably blamed himself for giving in. For what he could've done. Softly, you added, "Did you hear all the times I told you I loved you?" And you watched how he smiled, how the clouds of his regret seemed to fade. He gave you a small nod, and you smiled back. He leaned in to kiss you, and you met him halfway.

#fear street tommy slater #tommy slater fear street #fear street tommy #tommy fear street #fear street #fear street 1978 #tommy slater #tommy slater x reader #thomas slater x reader #thomas slater

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willwriteforhugs · 3 years

Text

the most beautiful girl i’ve ever known- jung hoseok

boyfriend! hobi x chubby! reader- one shot !

word count: 2.3k

genre: angst

synopsis: you’ve always struggled with confidence- it’s simply part of who you are. always the chubby student in the class, always the one wearing pants instead of a mini skirt. as an adult, you tried to make peace with it, but after a horrible run in with your coworker, you feel like you just can’t do it anymore- at least, until your boyfriend takes things into his own hands. hoseok’s determined to get you to realize your own beauty, and he’ll do anything for that to happen.

warnings: body-shaming, work harassment, swearing, minor arguing

a/n: wow, first bts fic, here we go...

this fic was requested by a sweet anon- and if they’re reading this, i hope i did the request justice! i think i did well, though i tried to treat the topic with love and respect.

i hope everyone enjoys <333

- - -

your apartment building’s elevator makes a polite dinging noise as the doors slide smoothly shut- and for the second time since they opened, you thank god the small space is empty.

elevators are generally silent places, but now the box is filled with the sound of your rushed, uneven breathing. you rotate so your back is pressed into the corner of the moving elevator, pressing a hand to your face. hot, silent tears stream down your cheeks. your thoughts are a jumbled mess:

god, how embarrassing. crying in a public elevator. anyone could walk in right now.

you try to take a stabilizing breath- but you quickly realize the attempt was in vain. your inhale causes you to hiccup and choke, making you cry even harder. you bury your face in your hands, wondering what you’d done to deserve this.

‘why this body? why?’ you think to yourself. it was a thought that came all too quickly, and one you were familiar with.

you don’t think you were ugly, not necessarily- but you certainly don’t think you were desirable, either. being overweight had always had that effect- not complete hopelessness, but a serious lack of overall confidence. and it’s not like you can help it- you try your best to stay healthy, but genetics do what genetics do. so you are overweight. some days, that fact it didn’t bug you- but today was not one of those days.

in the moment, you feel yourself reach up down and clutch at your own arms, squeezing the soft flesh. you groan quietly, unwillingly reliving what had caused this spiral in the first place.

one hour ago:

you had begun the day in a positive mood, really- but that had all gone to shit once the work day began.

you had a new coworker- mr. lee. he wasn’t your superior, but he liked to be called by his surname, apparently. he’d been hired on a whim two weeks ago, when the company lost the long time employee that previously held mr. lee’s position.

the man, though being probably a decade your senior, had a childlike way of going about the work day. he laughed at things that weren’t funny, and tried to make conversation even when you had your earbuds in.

you hated him, naturally.

he was just too much. over-caffeinated, controlling, and immature- basically everything you despised in a peer.

however- or up until today, at least- you’d been able to tolerate him. but while you were on lunch break, mr. lee drew the last straw with you.

he’d walked into the breakroom, already making too much noise. he was humming, and tapping his foot, and running the microwave, all at the same time. and, unfortunately, you were the only other person in the room- so he made a beeline straight for you.

“afternoon, peach!” he’d said. you hated the nickname, and had no idea of its origins.

“hi,” you grumbled, staring down at your food.

“i didn’t see you come in this morning.”

you made a noncommittal noise. “got here early.”

“right.” the man replied.

a beat passed, and the two of you settled into a stiff silence, only disrupted by the sound of your eating.

and finally, the vulture had a point of interest.

“you really gonna eat all that?” he’d said, looking pointedly down at your meal.

you’d frowned at the comment, and dodged the question. “why do you ask?” you’d replied.

“well, you know. didn’t think a girl like you would need all of that, right?”

you set your fork down, trying to keep your breathing even. before you had been able to come up with an answer, though, he’d continued:

“i mean, you should be trying to lose weight.” he leaned into the word ‘lose’, as if speaking to a child.

you remember your anger had begun to dissipate, quickly replaced by offence and sadness. you’d stood up quickly, grabbing at your things so you could leave.

mr. lee had frowned at your reaction. “come on now,” he’d said. “there’s no need to feel upset, i’m only being honest with you. you don’t want me to lie, do you? you’re fat, you may as well know.”

you spun on him. “and what’s so wrong with being fat?”

before he could supply you with an answer (which he surely thought he had) you’d stormed out of the room and requested the afternoon off.

and now here you are.

you stumble a bit on your way out of the elevator, cursing as you nearly drop your bag. when you finally make it to your door, it takes three tries to get the code correct.

you sigh heavily as the door to your apartment swings open. to your surprise, you find the lights still on, and it takes you a moment to realize why.

it’s friday.

hoseok had the day off.

shit.

you kick off your shoes and shut the door quickly, abandoning any efforts to be quiet. your own sniffles seem loud as you scramble to shut yourself in the hallway bathroom. you don’t want him to see you like this- crying, puffy, and chubby as usual.

right as you slam the bathroom door shut, you hear his voice.

“y/n?”

you grimace, clamping a hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds of your crying.

“y/n-ah, is that you?”

you hear your boyfriend pad into the hallway, and his steps falter when he discovers your belongings strewn about by the front door. there’s a pause, then the footsteps continue to the bathroom door- where, on the other side, you’re slumped against the cabinets.

hoseok knocks gently. “y/n? love, are you alright? i thought you worked until five today...”

when you don’t answer, he continues. “are you sick?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, and a small sob tears its way out of your mouth.

you can tell your boyfriend heard it, because his voice becomes even more frantic. “y/n?” he says, leaning against the door.

oh, hoseok. sweet, innocent hoseok. he was always so kind to you. you remember the day when he first asked you out- you’d been convinced it was a prank at first, but when you realized he was being genuine, you’d fallen for him instantly. now, you know that genuine was all hobi ever was.

he’d never called you fat. it had crossed your mind, of course- whether or not your size bugged him, or if he had to defend you to his friends- but whenever you’d been brave enough to ask about it, hoseok would always respond with: “of course not, my love, you’re beautiful.”

you’d never pushed it, though now you realize you always wanted to.

now you remove your hand from your mouth, taking a shaky breath. your voice trembles as you finally respond: ‘”i’m okay, i’m- i’m not sick or anything.”

you hear your boyfriend’s body slide down the length of the door, ultimately settling on the ground in front of it. you lean forward so your head is pressed against the wood- the two of you are sitting face to face, with only the closed door keeping you apart.

“y/n-ah, talk to me.” hoseok says. “please.”

your shoulders shake as another wave of tears crashes over you. “i’m sorry,” you manage. “i’m just- i’m not feeling very good right now.”

you can tell hobi’s face is pressed into the door from how close his voice sounds. his words are tinged with distress. “what happened?”

you sigh, overwhelmed with shame and anger. you don’t want to tell him- but of course, you know you have to anyways. if for anything, just to wipe the sad curiosity out of his voice.

“you remember- do you remember how i have that awful new coworker?” you croak.

there was a pause, then: “the older one?”

“yeah. he’s annoying. and rude.”

“okay, yeah. i remember.” hoseok says quietly, urging you to continue.

you inhale slowly. “he just- he said some things to me today, and i-”

hobi interrupts you suddenly, his tone having gone sharp. “what kind of things?”

you pause. “he said... things about my body. he said i needed to lose weight.”

hoseok says nothing, which is always worrisome. you can practically feel his emotions through the solid wooden door- a chaotic mix of distress, concern, and red-hot fury.

after a moment, your boyfriend speaks up. “y/n-ah.”

you hum dully in response.

“can you please open the door?”

you frown, but decide not to fight it. you know he’s only trying to help. so you reach up and scoot back a few feet so that the door can open inwards. hoseok, who had been so faithfully slumped on the other side, shuffles inside the small bathroom, still on his knees.

when he meets your eyes, you can see his heartbreak, and he can see yours. without any hesitation, he reaches forward and takes your face in his hands, softly caressing your tear-streaked cheeks.

you lean into his touch, allowing your body to fall forward into his. he slips an arm around your abdomen in support.

a few minutes pass without speaking, the air filled only with the sounds of hobi’s hand running over your back, and your laboured breathing.

finally, your counterpart speaks up. “y/n- is that all he said? the one thing?”

he places his hand on your jaw to lift your face away from his chest, wanting to meet your eyes.

you sigh, pulling away. “no, he- he told me that i should eat less, and that-” your breath catches. “well, he said i was fat.”

hoseok’s jaw clenches, and you shift in his arms. “what?” you whisper.

his eyes are aflame when he responds. “why would he say those things to you? i just- why did he think he’d have any right?”

you look away. “i don’t know. male workplace entitlement.”

hobi gives a wry chuckle. “that’s no excuse.”

“i know.”

“we’ll report him, alright? i will, if you won’t. that’s no way to be speaking to coworkers.”

you nod vaguely as hobi runs his hands up and down your arms. trapped underneath you, your right foot begin to fall asleep.

“baby?” your boyfriend asks after a minute.

“do you think he’s right?” you burst, eyes burning. “do you think i need to lose weight?”

hoseok’s face falls, and he grasps at your wrists. “y/n,” he starts.

“no,” you interrupt. “really, hoseok. i- i’m not enough for you, am i? i don’t know why you stay with me. you’re way out of my league.”

“y/n!” hobi snaps. his tone is suddenly sharp.

you shut your mouth, already regretting your words.

“my love.” hoseok whispers, his voice breaking. “how could you say that?”

you choke on a dry sob, unable to answer.

your boyfriend’s eyes search your face, desperate for an answer that isn’t there. “how could you ever think that you aren’t good enough? and- what, just because you aren’t skinny?”

you look down at the floor as he continues, blinking rapidly. the tears really won’t stop.

“that’s a silly way to think.” hoseok says quietly. “and i know that for a fact, y/n. because you are the most beautiful girl i’ve ever known. and you always will be, no matter how big you are. you could be four sizes smaller, or four sizes larger, and i would love you all the same.”

you burrow your face further into his chest. “you mean it?” your voice comes out in a whimper.

“absolutely.” he says, not hesitating. “there is no version of events where you aren’t good enough for me. you’re too good for me, honestly. sometimes i think you deserve better.”

you pull away now, frowning. “that’s not true.”

“why not?”

“well,” you falter. “because i love you. and i chose you. i chose you because i love you, and i don’t want anybody else.”

above you, hoseok smiles gently, waiting for you to hear your own words.

the realization hits, and you understand suddenly. he wanted you to say that, to hear it from yourself.

“oh,” you whisper.

“now do you get it?”

you sniffle, grateful that your tears have mostly subsided. “yeah,” you mumble. “i get it.”

“good.” hobi pauses. “i love you, y/n. and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says about you, because you’re gorgeous, and you’re important. and you will never be defined by your body. i’ll call your office and report that awful guy, alright?”

you nod silently.

“okay.” he says, nudging your arm. “now how about you get cleaned up? since you’re home early we can spend the whole evening together if you’d like.”

you perk up at that. “oh- yes, i want to.”

hoseok smiles. “i thought so. here-” he rises to his feet, extending a hand to help you. you take it, placing your palm in his. he lifts you to standing, then smiles again.

“don’t worry, my love. i’ll fix your mood right up. i even have some sample tracks i could show you!”

you smile gently. “that sounds nice.”

as he turns to leave, you clear your throat. “hoseok.”

he turns quickly, eyebrows raised. “hmm?”

you gesture for him to come closer, and as soon as he’s in arm’s reach, you lean over and kiss him.

it’s a gentle kiss, really. a kiss that says i love you, and a kiss that says thank you, for everything.

hoseok hums into your mouth, hands quickly finding your waist. you lean into him, body and mind buzzing. kissing hoseok is your favorite, because each time is just a little different.

your hands find his hair, and you smile against his mouth. you can feel him smile back.

he kisses you for just a moment longer, then pulls away.

he rests his forehead on yours, sighing lightly.

and you know that you have never felt more loved, more beautiful, more safe, then you do in that moment, with him.

158 notes · View notes

corabbit · 3 years

Note

A Tiny Burger

—————————

CW: SAFE VORE

Notes: I really didn’t intend for this to be so long but it just kept going. Have some beeduo angsty noms for a treat, I hope y’all like it!

—————————

“Quackity have you seen Tubbo?”

Immediately, the shorter man’s head shot up. His hands that had previously been tinkering with a few stray wires on a slot machine came to halt. His one working eye flashed with fear and worry before settling to a more neutral disposition.

Quackity’s distrust was just another warning. Ranboo knew he wasn’t supposed to be here.

Wilbur would kill him if he knew he had visited Las Nevadas without permission, but he couldn’t shake the worry that had been building up in him for days.

He hadn’t seen Tubbo for a whole week.

He knew they had been having their issues, but at the end of the day they always went back home together. Even though they worked on opposite sides they were still family…or at least Ranboo had thought so.

“No he hasn’t clocked in yet,” Quackity glared, clapping his hands together to get rid of the thin layer of black dust “What’s it to you?”

“Oh… nothing,” he sighed, his tail curling anxiously around his leg, “Just hadnt seen him around lately.”

For a split second Quackity eyes studied him suspiciously, searching for any mistruths. Ranboo could practically feel his skin crawl under the man’s gaze.

It wasn’t a lie though. At least not entirely.

He was looking for Tubbo. It had been almost a whole week of him being missing. And no matter how hard Ranboo tried he couldn’t remember what might’ve happened. No fight or conversation came to mind when he thought for where Tubbo might have gone.

It was like his husband had just vanished.

“Well,” Quackity cleared his throat, “You should probably leave my country yeah? I shouldn’t even be letting you here in the first place.”

Ranboo nodded sheepishly, hyper-aware of the shining axe strapped to the duck-hybrids back. Memories of sitting on the cookie store’s walls and the conversation about his planned execution flashed through his head.

“Yeah, no worries. I’ll be on my way,” Ranboo placated, “Um- just let me know if you see him okay. Please.”

Quackity stared at him again before letting his head fall to his chest with a scoff. The tips of his wings twitched in amusement before he turned back to his work.

“Say hi to Wilbur for me yeah.”

Ranboo nodded quickly before almost tripping on his own feet. The nervousness flooding his whole body made him feel like he was vibrating.

He had no idea where else to look for his husband.

He’d asked almost everyone, and no one had seen any signs of the tiny. Not even Tommy had seen him to Ranboo’s dismay. He knew he was probably fine, if anything they probably got into an argument he forgot about. Maybe he said something bad enough to make Tubbo finally leave him.

The thought made him cringe, but it was better than the other alternatives. He didn’t even want to consider if Tubbo had been injured. The tiny was already too careless especially with only one life left.

Ranboo’s thought finally stopped spinning once the burger van came into view. It stood proudly along the tree line bordering Las Nevadas, and smoke from the grills puckered out from the windows like steam. Even from so far he could smell the savoury scent of the burgers.

“Ranboo!” a loud voice called out, “What are you doing man?”

Immediately the enderman’s head snapped towards the sound of the voice, catching on the brown mop of hair peaking out of one of the van’s windows. The wind blew it across his face but even so he would know the man anywhere.

“Hey Wilbur,” he sighed as he jogged over to the van, “Sorry I’m late.”

“No fucking shit,” Wilbur glared, the cigarette between his fingers pointing straight at the enderman, “Where’ve you been. We’ve got a fucking business to run if you haven’t forgotten.”

Ranboo stuttered to find a response as he pulled himself through the van’s doorway. It was fairly clean even though he hadn’t been in in a few days much to his surprise; Wilbur was never one for cleaning.

“I- no no I didn’t,” Ranboo bent down to stand next to the human; the roof just barely scratched the top of his horns, “Just Uh, looking for something.”

Wilbur tilted his head in curiosity, “What kinda thing?”

“Uh well, not a thing per say,” he scrambled, “Just Uh…I don’t know, probably stupid, but have you seen Tubbo at all recently?”

At that Wilbur’s hands froze; his spatula still laying underneath a patty that needed to be flipped. And even though it was a simple question Ranboo couldn’t help but feel like he’d done something wrong. It was almost like he could see the discomfort emanating from the older man.

“No,” Wilbur frowned, “Havent seen him in a while…Did something happen?”

Ranboo’s fingers tapped against one of the counters nervously, “No, well maybe. Its like he just vanished.”

Wilbur’s hand brushed back through his hair as he put down his spatula on the counter. With his stern face Ranboo could clearly see the hints of Tommy’s expressions. It was easy to forget the two were brothers sometimes.

“Well, when was the last time you saw him?” Wilbur shrugged.

“I don’t know like…a week ago? Maybe more?” Ranboo’s eyes squinted in frustration, “The last time I remember was when you invited him.”

Wilbur froze and turned to Ranboo with a quirked lip, “That was the last time?”

“Yeah, why?” Ranboo frowned, “Whats wrong?”

“Oh nothing,” Wilbur hesitated, his attention flitting back towards the burgers on the grill, “Just thought you’d see him before that.”

Ranboo frowned and stepped closer to the shorter man.

“What do you mean by that?” he scowled.

“Huh?” Wilbur shrugged nonchalantly, “Just that I think that’s weird. You’re close and all.”

Wilbur turned back to the burgers but before he could flip them Ranboo’s hand shot out to grab his coat sleeve.

“Why’s it weird?” Ranboo growled, finally allowing himself to reach his whole height.

Even though he was so much younger he could tell it made Wilbur uncomfortable. As much as the revolutionary pretended he was above everyone he was scared. Ranboo knew how scared he was.

The man had seen death and had no wishes to go back.

“Well,” Wilbur shrugged with a familiar air of fake confidence, “I just played a little prank. Just kinda thought you’d have figured it out already.”

The thudding of Ranboo’s chest felt so loud he was sure Wilbur could hear it. And with every breath the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong made him dizzy.

“Will, what did you do?”

Wilbur laughed nervously, tilting his head to the side. His hands immediately sought out the comfort of his pockets.

“Well, just wanted to study a bit of your enderman biology yaknow?” Wilbur said nonchalantly, “Thought the idea of a second stomach was cool, wanted to see if you had one too.”

The moment the words left the older man’s lips Ranboo felt sickness swirl up in his chest. He tried to hide it by standing up taller, but he was sure Wilbur had already seen the disgust on his face.

“What do you mean?” Ranboo’s eyes narrowed.

Wilbur shrugged again, before a sick grin twisted his face, “Wanted to see if you could keep something alive in there. And Tubbo did say he wanted me to ‘make him a burger’.”

Ranboo was sure he must have been dreaming. It had to be a nightmare or some joke. His brain couldn’t even process the information- every thought stopping before they could reach their dreaded conclusion.

“You,” Ranboo stuttered, “You what?”

“You heard me Ranboo,” Wilbur waved his hand lazily, “You’re not stupid are you?”

The harsh words felt like a slap to his face, and all of a sudden the meaning of it crashed down on him like a wave. He almost wished it was so he wouldn’t have to think about what Wilbur- no, what he had done.

He barely processed as he ran out of the van; Wilbur’s laughter echoed in his eardrums. His feet dug into the muddy ground, still wet from the morning rain, but he just kept running. Even as the wet dirt burned into his skin.

It was only when the bubbling sounds of water hit his ears that his legs slowed.

He had no idea where he was.

He couldnt see the van anymore, or any landmark. There were just endless trees and a lazy blue stream racing through the woods.

Ranboo wheezed out an inhuman sound as his legs collapsed near the riverbank. Everything felt like it was too much. Part of him wanted to throw himself into the river so his enderwalk state could take over. At least then he wouldn’t have to think about what he’d done.

As his eyes stared daggers into the water all he could focus on was the small weight in his stomach that had become more and more obvious.

How had he not noticed?

“Tubbo I’m sorry,” he whispered painfully.

Carefully he pushed his palm against his stomach until he could just barely feel something solid behind his skin. Cursing himself under his breath he focused all his attention on the small boy tucked away in his gut.

He’d been there for too long

He’d swallowed Tubbo only once before, and it had been a mistake while he was enderwalking. He’d apologized profusely, but still Tubbo avoided his touch for almost a week. The enderman couldn’t even walk into their shared room without the tiny’s head shooting up in fear.

It was safe of course, like Wilbur had mentioned he did have a second stomach, but it didn’t help ease the fear that Tubbo had.

The idea that he had kept him there for almost a week made him want to curl up and disappear.

“Hey I’m going to get you out,” he whimpered, hoping for any response, “I’m so sorry.”

He tried to calm his breaths before focusing on the lump in his stomach. The stillness of it made fear curl up in his throat, but he had to get him out. He could worry about that later.

He coughed a couple times before he felt the weight rise to his throat. His throat tightened around it, and within seconds Tubbo’s tiny figure fell out onto his palm.

“Tubbo oh god,” he panicked, “God I’m so sorry please be okay.”

But the tiny didn’t move. He laid still in his hand almost like a doll, and he looked far too pale for Ranboo’s liking. His husband had never felt so small in his hands.

“Please Tubbo,” he frowned, carefully pressing ear against the tiny’s chest.

For a few terrible moments he couldn’t hear anything before a weak breath escaped the boy.

His instincts chirped in relief as he focused in on the tiny’s breathing. He still didn’t move, but he could slowly feel his husband’s body warm up under his touch.

Tubbo was still alive.

And even if he would probably hate him, Ranboo could live with that. As long as Tubbo was safe, he would find a way to move on.

#corywrites #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #tw vore #g!ranboo #g!wilbur #t!tubbo #tiny burger au #Roman ask #YES ROMAN #:)#mmmm angst #maybe part 2 #forgiveness arc #?

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thesunicarusfellfor · 3 years

Text

Safe With Me (Yandere!Plat!C!Ranboo x F!Reader) 2/???

TW: Yandere, blood, canon lives lost, mention of painkillers, kiddnapping, swearing

Part One

Over the next few days, he practically begged you to come to live with him in the Snowchester mansion, claiming that you could be much safer there, and closer to him. A.k.a, away, FAR away from Technoblade.

While you liked the thought, you explained to him that you liked your home and wanted to wait a bit before moving in. Ranboo was a little upset but quickly went back to smiling and saying he understood... He couldn't be mad at you... This was life changing for ender's sake.

Then your last day at his home came quicker than he would have liked.. but that's not the only reason he hated that day...

Maybe the voices took over?

Or maybe he was of his own free will when he did it..?

He never fully got the answer out of you and he never understood what happened... He never understood why that damned man decided to take everything from him that day...

You had walked out the door a few minutes ago with a smile on your face and a travel cup full of whatever hot drink you had made before leaving... Then he heard an ear-piercing scream.

Stumbling over his own long and lanky legs, he ran out the door as fast as he could, crashing and tripping over furniture before reaching his front door. He threw it open with a cry of your name and saw the scene he feared the most...

Every single one of his fears had come true.

You were laying lifelessly on the stark white snow, eyes and mouth wide open with dull terror as your clothes were covered in an almost beautiful ruby red liquid seeping from a hole in your chest. Your once shiny (e/c) eyes were glazed over like the glass eyes of a doll, your skin rapidly losing any sort of beautiful hue he had once studied.

Ranboo couldn't stop the scream of bloody murder that escaped his throat as he stumbled through the snow and collapsed to his knees beside your colourless corpse. His hands quickly became covered in the red liquid as it seeped into the snow, flowing freely from the wound that had been created by the man he has once respected.

He knew you were already gone by the time he came out, but he still kept trying to get you to wake up. His colourless hands gently shaking you, holding your face in between his stained hands, trying anything to keep the life from leaving your body, but obviously failing.

"She has one more life left. You're overreacting." His pink-haired neighbour growled softly as your body began to break apart into particles. Despite the piglin's words, the other hybrid sobbed hysterically with his head thrown back to the sky, ignoring the tears burning into his skin.

"I'll kill you."

"Heh?"

"I'll kill you for this, Technoblade." Ranboo tilted his head back down as the black part of his skin began to seep into the white part. His green eye turned into an amethyst-coloured purple and his mouth began to split open.

The next few days to him were a blur... Or that was his memory getting worse...

He'll never really know...

He just knew that you weren't safe without him... You were on your last canon life! You had to be protected...

Even if that meant you couldn't leave...

He had a few more days before you woke up from your respawn, so he set to work quickly. Ranboo began to build an obsidian building, reminding him very much of his panic room, but he couldn't focus on the fact for very long. He had to build something only he could get into. Something that would protect you. Something that couldn't be destroyed.

It was difficult and took longer than he would've liked... But it was safe and out of the way. No one would find it, but that was what he wanted. It was for your safety! And so he could remember you forever! He couldn't complain even if he was tired and his hands were covered in blisters from mining for so long...

Carrying your momentarily lifeless body through L'Manberg was stressful enough, with the emotional and mental pain of carrying the person he held closest to him, but with everyone quickly running up and asking what happen... He found himself unable to say anything other than, "Technoblade..." before brushing past them as quickly as possible, trying to get you to your new home.

There was an almost disgustingly familiar throbbing in your head that awoke you a few days later. You couldn't place where you had felt the headache before, but didn't think too much about it as you just decided to get up and start your day, "I wonder if Ranboo wants to hang out again, I mean... Then again, we've spent an entire week together. Mans is probably sick of me by now..." You laughed a bit to yourself, trying to hide the little stab of self-deprivation that filled your body.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you looked around and sighed, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, "At least I unpacked before I passed out... Now, where did I put the stupid painkillers...?" You walked out of your room, cringing at the cold wooden oak floors and sight of the darkened windows, "Ooookay. Slept less or longer than I thought... Maybe social interaction is more draining than I would like..."

You shuffled around your house and lit a few of the lanterns in your kitchen, digging through the cupboards to find something to alleviate the throbbing pain behind your eyes, "Oh! I went shopping before I passed out? Huh... Maybe I got a bit tipsy or something? Wait... I didn't buy painkillers? Dammit! I always need something I didn't buy..."

Groaning, you put your hand to your head before grabbing a sweater to put over the clothes you slept in, which were the clothes you left Ranboo's house in, before slipping on your shoes. Once you looked at yourself in the mirror, you deemed yourself ready to go outside and head by the store, so you opened the door...

Only to walk into a solid black wall.

"H-huh?" You whispered, gently reaching up and touching the cold material blocking your exit, "Ob...Obsidian? What on earth?... What kind of prank is Tommy pulling now?!" You huffed angrily and walked over to a window... Only to realize it wasn't dark... Every exit was covered in obsidian. "Okay, okay, what the- oh, wait I have tools! Ha ha Tommy, suck a pickaxe."

Walking over to your storage room and opened the chest that held your tools and materials to make tools, only to find it completely empty. Your armour was gone too! This... Was an elaborate prank... Maybe Tommy got help with it. You pushed yourself up and walked over to your enderchest, only to find it completely gone!

Dammit, Tommy definitely got help with this...

Realizing that they wanted you to panic, you huffed and sat down on your bed, crossing your arms in thought, "This... Ah, just gotta wait it out I guess..." You mumbled angrily, flopping onto your couch, groaning in annoyance as the action irritated your headache. Maybe you could sleep it off? Yeah, that was your best bet.

You weren't exactly sure how much time had past to be completely honest? Maybe a few days? Or a few hours? There wasn't much to really do during this horrible prank, you couldn't even enchant your tools or even make any! You didn't even have knives for cooking dammit! Plus... You were beginning to run low on food...

This time you woke up to something different. It sounded like Redstone activating and pistons sliding against each other before the door creaked open. The prank was finally over! Thank god! You shot up from your bed and walked towards the front door, only to see Ranboo standing there with bags filled with groceries dangling off his arms and tail. With a sigh, he decided to put them on the kitchen counter before looking around, only to completely light up at the sight of you, "(Y/n)! Hello!"

"Ranboo..." You smiled, your voice a bit hoarse from the lack of use, "Please tell me Tommy's terrible prank is over and I can go outside and touch grass again.

The hybrid's expression didn't change, "You can't go."

Your smile faltered a bit and you grit your teeth. This prank was still going on? How annoying. Turning quickly towards your door, you huffed as you saw it blocked off by obsidian again, "Boo... Please let me out... I'm not enjoying this prank anymore. I don't even have a clock-"

"Oh? Did I forget to build you a clock when I built this place? My bad, I'll make you one tonight so I can give it to you tomorrow." He continued to smile, beginning to put away your groceries for you... Somehow having the exact brands you always bought... And... Knowing exactly where they went, "But, you can't leave."

"This... This isn't funny anymore, Ranboo." You spoke firmly, but your voice wavered a small bit in realization as your face drained slightly of colour, "Built... This place? You put me here?"

The tone of voice, while still not lessening his smile, caught his attention, "Oh... You're looking pale... Here, let's get you to bed. You aren't looking too good and I don't want you getting sick." He walked over and put his hands on your shoulders, trying to get you to head into your room, but you wouldn't budge, "(Y/n), come on, I'm just doing what's best for your health and safety. We don't want you to lose your final life, especially to an easily preventable sickness, do we?"

"Final... Life...?" You were going to be sick... Quickly lifting your arm into view, you realized he was right. There was only one black line left. There were two when you visited Ranboo... What...? "I'm-I'm not tired... Ranboo, what happened?!"

"I'm not going to taint your memories with something so horrifying..." His voice, while sounding sickly sweet, sounded disgustingly morbid, "That's why you're in here! So I can keep you completely safe from the dangers of the outside world and remember you forever!" He was still wearing that damned smile...

He took you away from your life...

And he was fucking smiling...

GENERAL TAGLIST: Empty

'SAFE WITH ME' TAGLIST: @kylobensgirl

#ranboo #ranboo x reader #ranboo female reader #ranboolive #mcyt #mcyt x reader #ranboo mcyt #yandere x reader #yandere ranboo #ranboo dsmp #dsmp #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #ranboo x you #c!ranboo

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years

Text

Do You Trust Me?

Pairing: Arvin Russel x Reader

Summary: When Lenora finds out she’s pregnant and another girl turns up pregnant and murdered, Arvin and Y/N take matters into their own hands.

Warnings: Violence, Murder, Sexual Assualt, Teen Pregnancy, Cursing, Mentions of Rape, Bullying, Dark Religious Themes, Talk of Abortion DO NOT READ IF THESE BOTHER YOU (Very similar things to the movie)

Word Count: 7000

A/N: So Lenora doesn’t die in this but that part is instead replaced by the Reaster girl being found dead (I named her Jeanette... I didn’t remember if they gave her a first name)

A/N 2: I know I’m writing characters that exist already but like I feel like I’m going to Hell for writing this. Any other Christians feel that way about liking the movie?

___________________________________

Secrets were hard to keep in such a small town as Coal Creek. Everyone knew everyone and if one person saw something, the whole town knew about it by next morning. That’s why Lenora had kept her secrets with Reverend Teagarden from all except you. Other than Arvin, you were her only friend in the world. It felt nice to have another girl to talk to because as much as she loved her brother, it was nothing like having a sister. Though you weren’t related, just friends from school, it was the closest thing she had.

The two of you had bonded over the harassment from boys at school. Unlike Lenora, you had no problem dishing back threats and abuse. You were more like Arvin in that sense, not always terrified that the Lord was going to smite you for defending yourself. You and Arvin were close too because of it.

The day you two met, he’d gone to pick Lenora up from school one day to find the two of you cornered out back by Dinwoodie and his boys. They called Lenora ugly, as per their daily routine, and said they wouldn’t fuck her with a bag on a her head. Tommy Matheson had a paper bag held over her face, holding her down while she squirmed.

“There ain’t nothing alive that would willingly let you touch them, Dinwoodie!” You spat while Orville Buckman held you back, his arms wrapped around your body, keeping your arms . pinned to your side, “You’re a vile thing. Hell, I’m sure a dead pig wouldn’t let you fuck it.”

Dinwoodie spun around and blew a hard smack across your face, “Lenora here ain’t much different than that. But you on the other hand, I’d take you whether you wanted it or not. I like a girl with a dirty mouth. And lucky you, I won’t make you wear the bag.”

He fisted your hair and pulled your face close to him, trying to force a kiss from you but spat in his face, a massive drip of saliva landing in his eyes and smaller particles spewed across his lips. “You nasty bi-” Gene Dinwoodie reared back, ready to hit you again when suddenly Arvin came out of nowhere, sending a solid blow straight into Gene’s face, sending him flying to the ground with a crack.

Orville let you go to go after Arvin and Tommy did the same to Lenora. You ran over to her and pulled the bag from her head, seeing evidence of her silent tears all over her face. Once you saw she was okay though, you ran over to help Arvin, who had found himself dragged to the ground by the three boys. Lenora got up too, screaming for them to stop.

“Stop!” You yelled, pulling at Gene’s arms to try and get him to stop kicking Arvin. He shoved you back harshly by the chest but you caught yourself, returning with a sharp blow to his face with your locked fist.

The enraged boy smacked you even harder than before, sending your ass to the ground with thud that you knew would leave a bruise. Your hands and knees got skinned up as you skid slightly on the pavement. Lenora kept pulling on the boys too, begging them to stop but to no avail.

“Ha, sister fucker!” The three of them called out to Arvin before leaving the three of you alone.

“Are you okay?” You asked the boy that you hadn’t met before, who was curled up in a ball on the ground and holding his stomach. He groaned in response, trying to push himself up but requiring your assistance. “Thank you for what you did back there. I’m sorry this happened.”

He stretched, flinching at the slight movement. He sent a small nod towards you but then turned towards Lenora, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, Lenora.” Words couldn’t describe the guilt he felt for allowing this to happen.

“It-it’s okay, Arvin. It wasn’t that bad this time. Y/N here took the brunt of it, unfortunately.” Lenora turned to you, “‘M sorry about that, by the way. You didn’t need to step in for me.”

You had stood up about the same time Arvin did, brushing as much of the dirt off your bleeding and scraped up knees as you could without flinching, “Those guys are ass holes, Lenora. I did need to.”

Lenora piped up, “Oh, um, Y/N, this is my brother Arvin. Arvin, this is Y/N. She just moved here.”

“It’s nice to meet ya.” You greeted the boy with a pained smile, your face hurting from the blows you’d just taken.

Arvin nodded, “You too.” He paused for a moment, “Can I give you a ride home? I don’t need them boys catching up with you again on the ride home. Besides, your face is getting mighty red. I might have something back at my house to keep it from bruising up too bad.”

You looked over at Lenora, sending her a questioning look, like asking if you could trust this boy who had just come to your rescue, which may have seemed like an odd inquiry to have since he just tried to take on the guys harassing you, but your encounters with boys in this town hadn’t gone all too well thus far. The girl looked unfazed though with almost a hint of excitement that you could possibly be going to her home.

“Um, yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.” You tucked a messy strand of hair behind your ear before looking back up at Arvin to see that he was already staring at you.

That was months ago. You’d gotten settled into Coal Creek by now and the abuse from Dinwoodie had stopped entirely after Arvin had gone full vigilante to beat the shit out of them all. Speaking of Arvin, the day he saved you and Lenora, he asked you on a date and the pair of you had been going steady ever since. If there was ever a couple to not be fucked with, the town had learned it was you two.

This weekend, you’d gone over to the Russel’s home for supper at their Grandma’s invitation. It was delicious, as usual, as that woman had the God-given ability to produce miracles in that kitchen. As you all finished up, Uncle Earskell asked Arvin to help with something upstairs so he left without a second thought to help his kin.

Lenora had been looking at you funny all night, as if trying to catch your eye. After helping Grandma (which she insisted you call her as well) clean up supper, Lenora pulled you off to the side, “Y/N, let’s go on a walk. I need to tell you something.”

The weight in her eyes told you how serious this was so you just nodded, “Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s go.”

She grabbed a lantern on her way out the door and towards the barn. It was already dark, despite only being seven in the evening. Lenora led you out there and then closed the door before sitting on the hay. “So what is it?” You asked nervously. Normally, you would have made a joke but something told you that this wasn’t a joking matter. Anxiety buzzed all around her.

“Y’know the new pastor? Preston Teagarden?” Lenora began, wringing her hands together and beginning to hide under her long red hair.

You nodded, the question having an obvious answer as everyone, including your God fearing Mama and Aunt, went to church every Sunday. “What about ‘im?”

“Well… um… y’see. We… we had sex.” She whispered the last word like it was the dirtiest thing she could fathom saying.

Your eyes blew wide and your mouth dropped open, “You what?” You whispered back in shock.

“Shh!” She held her finger up to her lips, “He said that to bear yourself as God made his first children was to truly turn yourself to Him.”

You were having a difficult time processing this new information. Arvin and you had both agreed that there was something off about that new preacher since the first day you met him but you wouldn’t have guessed it was anything like this. “Lenora, that makes no sense. God sees everything. He’s already seen you in your birthday suit. He doesn’t need the preacher to see it too.”

Part of you felt bad for the way you were reacting, especially when you saw the way your best friend shrunk back a little in embarrassment. Clearly, he’d manipulated her into getting what he wanted, using her faith as a weapon for her sexual exploitation, but of course she didn’t see it like that because his words were specifically tailored to get her to believe him. Now as you said these things, though, it was becoming clearer to Lenora that she had been manipulated.

“That’s not all…” She continued.

You held her arm gently, “What is it?”

Her eyes got wide with fear, “You can’t tell anyone okay? You gotta promise.” Her hand covered yours, gripping tightly to ensure that you grasped the severity of the situation.

You swallowed hard, honestly scared by her reactions to whatever was happening. This wasn’t like sweet, simple, calm Lenora. Nonetheless, you nodded, “I promise.”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

You actually choked, “What? Are you sure?” This was bad. This was so bad.

Her eyes began to well up with guilty tears, “Yeah, I am. I was pretty sick a few weeks back. Couldn’t eat nothin’ cause I kept throwin’ up. And I haven’t had that time of the month in two months.”

“Two months, Lenora? Shit…” You whispered, leaning back against the hay. Even before moving to Coal Creek, you came from a small town in Pennsylvania where this had happened to a few girls. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon in that particular town. Your daddy had been a doctor before he died so you’d seen more than a few cases of teenage pregnancy. For Lenora, though, this was practically unheard of. Good Christian girls don’t have babies before marriage. “Did you tell ‘im?”

Lenora’s breath shook, “Yeah ‘nd he said I was crazy and delusional. Just imaginin’ things. Said we never did nothin’ in the car. Then he said that I had to get rid of the baby or I’d be branded as the town whore with a bastard son. Even said it’d kill Grandma from the shame of it all if anyone found out.”

“That is not true, Lenora. None of it. You’re not a whore and it would be best for everyone if that baby inside you was a bastard. That disgusting man isn’t fit to walk the Earth we live on, let alone be a father.” It felt like the blood was rushing through your veins with full force, internally panicking about the situation. This was a big deal and, unfortunately, you weren’t sure if Lenora was emotionally capable enough to handle it alone. She’d always been quiet and lonely and an easy target for cruel people. “Are you keepin’ it?”

Her breathing shuddered as if she’d started crying, “I can’t kill the baby inside me and go on livin’ with that. But I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared,Y/N.” Lenora threw her arms around you and you held her as her body rattled against yours.

“Shh, you got me, alright? Me and Arvin. And I’m sure Grandma wouldn’t be ashamed if she knew what Teagarden did to you.” You insisted but she shook her head.

“You must think I’m stupid for believin’ that man.” She sat up wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“No! I do not think you’re stupid at all. That monster took advantage of you, told you things to make you believe that his dirty, lustful thoughts were vindicated by the Lord. And he’s going to fucking pay.” You were furious now as you began to stand up, unsure of exactly what you’d do but you knew you were gonna do it.

Lenora grabbed your arm and pulled you back down, “No! Wait! Please-”

“What’s going on here?” Arvin opened the door with a concerned face.

Both you and Lenora jumped at his sudden intrusion but were even more nervous about what he’d heard.

“How much did you hear?” Lenora asked her brother, rubbing her hands on her thighs.

He walked in and slammed the door shut behind him, kneeling down in front of you and his sister, “That someone took advantage of you and Y/N was gonna make ‘im pay. Now what happened? What’s going on?”

This was one of the things that you’d always loved about Arvin. He had this protective nature over what he loved, ready to do anything to keep his loved ones safe, whether that was his sister, his girlfriend, or his grandmother. His brown eyes held so much sincerity and understanding for his younger sister but also fear for what had been done to her.

When she didn’t respond right away, Arvin looked over to you with questioning desperate eyes but you chewed your lip, knowing that it wasn’t your secret to tell. Instead, you looked back over to Lenora sadly and nudged her slightly.

“C-can you say? Please? I don’t wanna say it again.” Lenora begged you quietly, avoiding eye contact with Arvin. Though you could never truly know she felt, you tried to understand all the emotions that must have been running through her.

Arvin met your eyes, begging you to tell him what had happened. “She’s pregnant. It’s that Reverend Teagarden’s baby. Said that he told her that the only way to get close to God was to show him her in the form of Adam and Eve. But now he’s saying that she’s delusional and that it’s not his.”

Arvin’s temper flamed inside his chest. That explained the Reverend’s intense sermon about delusion this last Sunday. Nobody did this to his sister and got away with it. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking ki-”

“Arvin please-” Lenora tried to calm him but it was a weak attempt, still trying to stay quiet so Grandma wouldn’t notice.

“No, I’ll end his life for what he did to you.”

You watched your boyfriend reel around, hands holding onto his hat. He was livid, understandably so.

Lenora wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to protect Preston Teagarden after what he’d done to her but she thinks it’s that she was more concerned for her brother. Besides, no matter what Teagarden had done, did he really deserve to die for it?

“We don’t have to hurt him,” You spoke to your boyfriend, “If she wants, she can just have the baby and we’ll help raise it.”

“But he said it’s not his and that I’ll just be considered some no-good whore. He said it’ll kill Grandma. I don’t want to kill Grandma.” She was almost crying again at the thought of their grandmother ending up six feet under because of the shame of having her as a granddaughter.

“He said that?!” Arvin nearly yelled.

“But what if he’s right?” Lenora thought out loud, “I couldn’t live with myself if I got rid of the baby but I can’t risk killing Grandma. Maybe it would be better if I were dead-”

“No!” You and Arvin both said firmly in unison. You held her hand tight and Arvin knelt down again.

He swiped his thumb comfortingly across the back of her hands, “Don’t you ever say that. We have both already lost too damn much to lose each other too, ya hear me?”

Lenora nodded, tears falling down her cheeks when she closed her eyes.

“Why can’t we just ruin him? You can have the baby and let everyone know what he did. Everyone will know that he’s the father and it’ll destroy his life.” Arvin suggested, all of the miserable ways this could end for the man twisting his heart in sadistic pleasure.

You shook your head though, “No, they won’t. It’s different for girls in small towns like this. Doesn’t matter what happened, you’re still the dirty no good whore, even if you were raped. The man is treated like a victim for even having the inkling of an accusation brought up.” After a few minutes, you suggested, “Why don’t we run off. We’ll all go to a new town, somewhere where nobody knows none of us. We’ll tell ‘em that your husband died in the war, leaving you with the baby. I’ll go with. I’ll help you raise it.”

She shook her head, “But what about Grandma and Uncle Earskell?” She did have a point. They were both getting on in age and would need more help than they already did.

You all sat in silence for a few moments, brainstorming ideas of what to do. Eventually, Arvin looked at his sister, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

The three of you went back to the house for the rest of the night, knowing that everyone would be getting suspicious if you were out any longer.

The three of you kept the secret quiet, barely even speaking about it to each other. You’d been doing as much research on babies in the libraries at school, which earned you quite a few disapproving looks from people who assumed that you and Arvin were expecting. You were serious when you said that you had every intention of helping Lenora and so was Arvin.

Weeks had gone by with relatively no news. Well, that’s what the town thought at least. After finding out about what the Reverend had done to Lenora, Arvin had told you about his plan to watch him.

The pair of you had spent several afternoons staked out near the church, watching as he went to the place of worship and then left at night. But then you started noticing a frequent visitor. Jeanette Reaster. The pair would drive off to a little secluded field and, sure enough, Teagarden would have his way with her. Though you couldn’t hear what was said, it was clear that they’d been praying beforehand before she submitted to him fully. Now, you knew Jeanette Reaster and, much like Lenora, she was the last person you’d imagine having premarital sex for the fear of being struck down by God. Whatever this man had said to them must have been real convincing.

“Piece of shit…” Arvin leaned forward against the steering wheel of his car while you sat beside him. You both watched on as the Reverend laid the girl down and began his assault of falsely “holy” acts.

For respect of Jeanette, you both looked away during the actual act but when you saw her ride off, Teagarden got out of his car, a bunch of fabric in his hands and sniffed them as he watched her. “That fucking perv. How does nobody know about this?” You asked, disgusted. Reaster was a good girl. She didn’t deserve this abuse.

“We know about it.” Arvin said, putting the car in reverse, “And that’s enough.” Less than a week later, word got out that Jeanette Reaster had run off. Grandma had told Arvin and Lenora that her mother had said to her privately that Jeanette left a note saying that she was pregnant but the father refused to believe that he was the father. To spare her family the shame, she ran away and begged them to just say that they had no idea what had happened to her. That’s what her parents intended to do for their daughter’s sake but had entrusted Grandma with the secret just so they had somebody to talk to about it.

The day after she disappeared, they found her body on the side of the road just a few towns over. Nobody had any idea of what had happened except for you and Arvin. Both of you were convinced that Teagarden had murdered her to keep his secret from getting out.

The anger that was held between you and Arvin both was unparalleled. In part, you both felt partially responsible for her death. If only you’d said something, maybe you could have saved her. But neither of you even knew she was pregnant. That monster did to her exactly what he had probably planned to do to Lenora.

“We have to set things right.” Arvin said, sitting in his car one night with you in the woods, “That girl is dead and I can’t help but feel like it’s on me.” His head hung sadly, the weight of another death weighing on his heart.

You shifted sideways in the seat, your jeans rubbing against the vinyl car seats. You placed a hand gingerly on his cheek, “This is not your fault. This is the evil of a wicked man.”

“A girl is dead, Y/N. He got her pregnant and murdered her. He got Lenora pregnant and tried to convince her she was crazy. He’s taking advantage of innocent girls out here and then tying up the loose ends.” Arvin sat there, so much hurt behind his brown eyes. Then an idea dawned on him, “Do you trust me?”

The question took you off guard and it showed but you answered honestly, “Yes.”

Perhaps being quieter in church was for the best for this particular scenario. You’d never been as religious as the rest of your family or the rest of the town, for that matter. But this morning, you found yourself on your knees by your bedside. “Lord, please forgive the things that I am about to do. Please understand that I do this with the best intentions of protecting every other girl to cross paths with Preston Teagarden and to avenge the death of Jeanette Reaster. I pray that you please forgive Arvin as well as I know he is a man with nothing but good and love in his heart. In Jesus’ holy name, amen.”

Almost on cue, your mom knocked on the door to see you on your knees, “Arvin is out front waiting for you.” She announced with a warm smile, noticing your outfit, “You look nice, sweetie! Since when do you clean up all cute for that boy?” She teased, a loving smile on her face as you smoothed out your yellow dress that hung just below your knees. The sleeves were tight and went about halfway down your biceps. It was far from revealing with a neckline that stopped just below your collarbones but it still was tight enough to accentuate the shape of your concealed breasts. A brown belt was tied around your waist, showing off your figure.

“Yeah, well I figured that for once I might as well dress up and do something nice.” The lie slipped out smoothly despite the racing of your heart in your chest.

She pulled you in for a hug, “Well you tell Arvin that I want you back by nine tonight! I’ll be going over to Mrs. Hadderson’s for quilting today, just so you know, in case I’m not home when you get back.”

You picked up your bag and pulled her into a side hug, “Alright, Mama. Love you!” You hollered, running out the door. Arvin was dressed normally, just his blue jeans and t-shirt, but he still looked great as always.

When you slid into the passenger seat of his car, he perked up and looked over at you, “Not used to seeing you like this on any day but Sunday.” He attempted to joke but found it difficult considering what the two of you were planning on doing.

After driving a ways down the road, he asked, “Are you sure you want to be a part of this? Because I can drop you off with Lenora and I’ll take care of this myself.”

Looking over at him to see his eyes scanning your face for signs of hesitation, you placed your hand on his leg, “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Not too deep down, Arvin felt terrible for allowing you to partake in this. Death had always seemed to follow him wherever he went; he didn’t want you to be stuck with the same curse. The two of you developed a plan but Arvin had created a backup just in case you decided you didn’t want to partake, not that he would blame you. He was terrified beyond belief himself but he’d decided that for the sake of every other girl in this town and any other one’s Teagarden had harmed in the past, he had to do this.

The only thing making him feel remotely at peace with your involvement was the fact that you weren’t actually doing the killing. You were the diversion, he was the trigger man. Arvin sighed, relenting to the fact that you were in on this, “Did you bring the rope?” He asked, eyes flicking over to you and your bag between glances at the road that moved beneath the wheels of his car.

You dug around in your little bag and pulled out a small length of rope, a weapon chosen for the lack of clean up. “Got it. You got the gun?”

Arvin pulled his denim jacket back just enough to show the handle of the Luger that once belonged to his father. This weapon was chosen for its reliability. Once you guys started, you had to finish otherwise he’d tell everyone.

Before you knew it, the tires were coming to a crunching halt on the rocky sideturn just around the corner from the church. A sudden wave of nausea came over you and you had to breathe deeply to settle it down. “You okay?” Arvin asked, reaching out for you.

You swallowed hard, “Yeah.” Sweat began to bead up on your brow as a million different images of what could happen in the next few minutes ran through your head.

Arvin watched as you zoned out on the dashboard and he knew exactly what was going on in your mind. It was the same inner conflict he’d had this morning before picking you up, when he first pocketed the gun. “Whatever happens today, I need you to know that I love you Y/N.”

You sucked a quick breath in. Neither of you had ever used the L-word before. Arvin was scared to because he’d lost so many people and the fewer people he loved, that fewer people he could lose. You had just never loved anyone romantically before and were too terrified that maybe you’d say it too early or think you felt it when you really didn’t. With Arvin, though, you knew it. “I love you too, Arvin.” You leaned forward and kissed him on the lips deeply, wanting nothing more than to stay against his skin for the rest of your lives. But, unfortunately, there was something you had to do first.

“Remember, just get him to bring you to the field. I will be there waiting. I won’t let anything happen to you, you hear?” Your faces were close together, so close your foreheads almost touched, as he went over the plan one last time, trying to make sure that you knew that you were safe as long as he was around.

“I know.” You gave him a small, reassuring smile, though it was far from a grin of actual happiness.

Arvin watched as you got out of the car, leaving the small bundle of rope behind, and walked down the dirt driveway to the church. You looked just like someone that pervert would fall head over heels for. There was an innocent sway to your hips and the way you held your bag close to your body screamed insecurity, but the kind of a young girl who doesn’t know how beautiful she is. The funny thing was that this wasn’t something totally out of character for you. Sure, you had a mouth and fist that could dish as much as it could take, and yeah, you and Arvin had been together for almost half a year, but there was still a youthful innocence to you. There was still a brightness in your eyes and a pep in your step, one that hadn’t been beat down by the tragedies of life yet. It was one of the things that Arvin found most attractive about you but it was also one of the things that Preston Teagard would as well.

The doors of the church were cracked open just slightly when you approached and you could see the Reverend sitting in the pews, reading his Bible, through the gap. Taking one less final deep breath, you pressed the door open and stepped in, the heels of your little white chucks padding against the hardwood. Teagard turned around at the sound, “Why, hello, there.” He greeted warmly. It disgusted you how this man could act no different after knowing what he’d just done but the worst monsters were human.

“Uh, hi there, Reverend. I’m sorry to bother but I just needed to talk to you about something.” You began, accentuated your Appalachian drawl while trying to make your voice sound as young and innocent as you could.

He patted the pew beside him, “Well, my child, you’ve come to the right place. That’s what I’m here for. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Skin crawling as you walked, you forced your feet to move towards the man and sit beside him. Right away, his arm stretched behind your shoulders as he sat uncomfortably close. At first, you avoided eye contact, “Well, um, you see, I’ve been… straying from the light and I really want to get right with God.”

This had to be the first truth you’d told anyone other than Arvin today. You felt too terrible lying in the presence of God so you’d found a way to genuinely get your feelings off your chest while still luring Teagarden into your trap.

He rubbed his chin and hummed, “The fact that you acknowledge this means you haven’t strayed too far. God always comes back to his flock, even to those little sheepies who’ve gone astray. Why don’t you tell me more.” He urged.

Your hands squeezed the strap of your bag tightly, “I… I have lustful thoughts sometimes.”

Preston was lucky he’d had a lot of practice concealing his emotions because he’d be lying if he said that those words didn’t stir something in him, “Now are these just thoughts or have you acted on them?”

“Oh, just thoughts, Reverend. I’ve never acted on any of them.” You reassured, finally meeting his eyes. They seemed to look at you with such understanding that you could see why Lenora and Jeanette had fallen for him.

He nodded in approval, “And who are these thoughts about?”

This was where you’d have to do a bit more lying, “I don’t really want to say.” You blushed bright red. You knew that Preston must have taken this as a sign that it was about him but it wasn’t. Your dirty thoughts never strayed from Arvin.

Preston looked away and then back down at you, “You’re going with that Russel boy, right?”

Silently, you nodded, not wanting to incriminate your boyfriend too much in this process of confession.

“Has he ever touched you?” Preston pressed, his body getting closer to yours inch by inch until your legs were nearly touching.

The red in your cheeks wasn’t part of the act anymore but genuine. You shook your head, “No, never.” You felt almost panicked at the question.

“Have you ever touched yourself to these thoughts?” His voice became slower, more cautious as his inquiries got riskier and riskier.

You found yourself unable to maintain eye contact with him anymore and looked back down at your shoes instead, just shaking your head, “No, I feel too weird. Like it’s a violation or somethin’.”

Preston looked away, as if considering something, before turning back to you, “Can I show you some place? I find it helps me feel closer to God when I feel like I’m goin’ astray. Perhaps I could help.”

Hook and sink. He’d fallen right into the trap. With a shy nod, you agreed sweetly, “Yeah, yeah, I’d like that. Is it far?”

Teagard shook his head, “Oh no, not too far at all. But I’ll drive so we don’t have to walk.”

Getting him to drive you to the spot was just as easy as you imagined it would be. With a quick glance in the rear view mirror, you noticed a car in the far distance behind you that you immediately recognized as Arvin following. Preston’s car came to a stop in the same field you’d seen him take Jeanette Reaster to a few weeks ago, facing the woods ahead.

It really was quite peaceful and would have been a pretty sight if you weren’t with a sexual predator. Again, his arm slid around your shoulders and you breathed in deeply, the intense sexual tension making you uncomfortable even though you had every intention of finishing him off before he even got a hand up your skirt.

“You said that Russel boy has never touched you. Have you ever shown him yourself?” The fact that this man had the nerve to ask you such questions disgusted you beyond belief but you kept up the facade.

“Like naked?” You clarified, seeing him nod, “No, not naked. We went to the lake one time so he saw me in my bathing suit then but that’s not exactly the same thing.”

Preston chuckled at your naivety, “No, no, not the same thing at all. You know how you’re supposed to save yourself for marriage to be right with the Lord. But there is nothing that brings you closer back to our heavenly father than to be as Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, the garden of pure paradise.”

“How is that so?” You cranked up the childlike inquisitive nature as you looked up at him with big doe eyes.

Preston had to fight the urge to take you here and now, looking at you like this, but he remained strong for the sake of the process. “They were made in his image. We all were but they were his original children. The pure, unaltered image of God himself, before the sin of man tainted it all. By showing yourself in your pure, unaltered image, you bring yourself closer to the light.”

Your brows furrowed, “But didn’t you just say that premarital sex is a sin?” This may have been jeopardizing your mission but you felt inclined to point out the hypocrisy before you offed the man.

He nodded, chest falling and rising with a heavy sigh, “It depends on who you’re with. I’m a man of God myself and I like to model myself after Jesus. I’d like to think that makes me an extension of His love and power and therefore an outlet for you to feel safe to do whatever you need to do in order to be right with Him.”

With a shaky breath, you bit your lip, “Alright. H-how do I-?”

Preston watched as you fiddled with the hem of your skirt and let his mind wander to what else those fingers might be good at. “First, let us pray.” He reached over and held your hand, “Lord, Y/N is showing herself to you. See her Lord, as you made her. She presents herself to you. Give her strength. Amen.”

“Amen.” You muttered after him, your fingers slowly going to unbutton your dress. This wasn’t how you’d imagined the first time a boy seeing you in your knickers going. In your mind, it had always been on a nice romantic evening with Arvin and a selfish part of you wanted it to stay that way but then you remembered why you were doing what you were doing and sucked down the reservations. At least you weren’t actually losing your virginity to the monster.

Nervous fingers fuddled with the button for just a moment too long and Teagarden twisted sideways, hands coming to cover yours, “May I?” He offered his assistance.

Your heart thumped so loud you could hear it but you nodded silently, letting your fingers fall onto your thighs. With deftly skilled fingers, he had your blouse unbuttoned before long and had pushed it off your shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat at this much exposure, your breasts just barely concealed under only the fabric of your bra. Lord, you prayed silently, please let this be over with quickly.

Your eyes slid closed, trying to imagine that it was Arvin touching you instead of Preston Teagarden but then the mere thought of comparing the two made you sick to your stomach. They were nothing alike.

A set of chapped lips kissed your forehead gently, then your cheek, and then, finally, your lips. At first, you drew back, but still kept your eyes closed, trying to mask the disgust with untouched hesitance. You forced your body to relax again and Preston took that as a cue to continue with what he was doing, his lips returning to yours.

Wasting no time, he’d crawled over you until your back was flush against the seat. You placed your hands awkwardly and haphazardly on Preston’s shoulder’s, trying to feign inexperienced confusion. You and Arvin may not have ever gone all the way, but you’d at least gone this far.

Preston’s lips moved down your neck and your breath got caught in your throat. As much as you hated it, he knew what he was doing. This man knew all the right buttons to push to make a nervous girl submit to his every desire and, though you were well aware of the game he was playing and had zero attraction to him, the physical reactions were almost impossible to stop. Your body shuddered when his stubble, something Arvin lacked, scratched the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes were open wide now, just waiting for your boyfriend to finally show up and save you from this situation.

Arvin approached the car and slowly and quietly as he could. The windows were up so it wasn’t too big an issue as long as he wasn’t clanging metal but he figured he didn’t want to take any chances. When approached the driver’s window, his heart wrenched and he immediately regretted putting you in this position.

Preston was on top of you, his hands roaming all around your semi-exposed chest. He knew that you’d never been exposed like that to anyone before and he suddenly felt sick with himself for allowing the first time to be with anyone beside him, let alone Preston fucking Teagard.

He expected to have to psych himself up for the actual kill, to have to convince himself to do it but when you locked eyes with him, a silent plea to get the man off of you, it came unnervingly natural. With the rope already wrapped around both of his fists, Arvin reached for the handle and threw the door open, looping the rope around Preston’s neck and dragging him back out of the car. Preston’s eyes were wide with shock and fear, “What the fuck?!” He hollered in fear, the words turning to gagging and choking. His hands grasped at the rope but Arvin had it pulled too tightly.

Preston’s body was kicking against the grass but his neck and head were pressed against Arvin’s chest, who was kneeling in the field.

“You really thought you could get away with what you did to my Lenora? To that poor Reaster girl you murdered? And then I bet you were willing to do the same to her over there too, huh?” He seethed, notioning over to you with a flick of his chin.

The reverend tried to say something, anything to defend himself or get himself out of this situation but Arvin never let up so the words came out as disgustingly graphic chokes. You crawled out of the car, not knowing what you could do to help or secure the situation but feeling useless now.

In a few minutes time, his lips had turned blue and the thrashing of his body had stopped. Arvin finally let up and the body slump into the grass. He crawled back and away from the man who had only moments ago been all over you, touching you.

That was when he remembered that you were there still. He’d gotten so blinded by rage that he almost blacked out, caught up in the task at hand. But when he looked up, his heart began to beat again and he stood up, rushing to you, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Your face was pale and blank, almost as if you were in shock. Your top was still totally unbuttoned, white modest bra still exposed to the world but you didn’t look like you cared at all. If Arvin was being honest, this wasn’t how he’d pictured seeing you topless for the first time going. He always hoped it would be romantic and with more than enough time to compliment every inch of your perfect body. Instead, you looked scared and shocked and almost like you could be sick.

“Y/N?” He urged, coming stand between you and Preston’s body, attempting to break your view of it. He reached down and began to re-button your blouse for you.

“I’m fine,” You said flatly, only moving to look up at him, “Are you okay?”

With a glance down at his knuckles, the rope burn was clear to see, but Arvin had been through much worse, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m so sorry that I let him do that. This whole idea was stupid and now-”

“No,” You interrupted, finally snapping out of your shocked state and bringing your hands up to rest on his, which were on your chest now, “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Arvin didn’t actually feel remorse for killing the man. The only thing he wanted was to take you back home, or rather far away, where there weren’t any reminders of today’s events. He wanted to show you how special you were, how much he loved you, and how brave he thought you were for being willing to be Teagarden’s last victim for the better good of the world.

#the devil all the time #tdalt #tdalt fics #arvin russell #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel imagines #do you trust me?#dark fics #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader

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jediken0bi · 3 years

Text

Boundaries

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary:

When JJ makes an offhand comment about Spencer not being particularly fond of physical touch to his girlfriend it causes a bit of a misunderstanding.

word count: 3180

Ever since you and Spencer decided to ditch your colleagues for the third time in a row to watch Doctor Who at his place instead, which resulted in him awkwardly admitted to liking you at the end of the night, you two have been practically inseparable. You knew that Spencer was shy when it comes to physical affection from the start but you also knew that a huge part of it was the lack of said affection throughout his life.

Often times he looks surprised when you hug him or kiss him with no particular reason in mind other than that you wanted to.

It's like he's used to only experiencing soft touches in the context of challenging and heartbreaking events happening to him.

You were set on changing that. You're going to make up for all the people who have failed to treat him with the love he deserves.

So far he hasn't stopped you from trying either. You cuddle him every chance you get, you kiss him whenever the opportunity presents itself and the environment allows it, you hold his hand while you're on the jet. You make sure Spencer is on board for all of this though.

You always ask him if he's okay with it before. The last thing you want is for Spencer to feel uncomfortable with you.

He's never denied you though and your question is always received with a big smile on his face.

Despite being very responsive to your touches Spencer doesn't allow himself to outright ask for them. Your best guess is that it comes from a long line of people denying him these simple pleasures. The thought breaks your heart.

You two were in the elevator on your way to meet the rest of the team in the bullpen when it all sort of went south.

You were holding hands with Spencer and he subconsciously squeezes your hand a little once the doors open. You give him a smile and lean up to press a small kiss to his cheek.

He immediately turns bright red and you giggle. He's given up on asking you for their reasons. He's starting to accept that you like kissing him and that's reason enough.

He grins at you and you let go of your grip on his hand. You both walk to your respective desks and stuff your go bags under them.

Before you can make your way back to Spencer you spot JJ across the room seemingly headed straight to your desk.

You know JJ is Spencers best friend and while you admittedly had a hard time accepting that your boyfriends best friend was a woman he used to have a crush on, you decided that you had absolutely no reason not to trust Spencer. He was happy with you and JJ was married with kids after all. Hell, Spence is their godfather. There's no need to worry about either of them having feelings for the other. You're sure of it"

Plus, you really like JJ. She was the hardest to win over simply because she and Spencer were so close but she never treated you with hostility. She was kind and respectful but kept you at distance until she was sure you were right for Spencer. You would've been upset if you weren't so happy someone was looking out for him after all.

"Good morning JJ" you greet her happily.

It really had been a good morning.

You and Spencer woke up earlier than usual to eat breakfast together. He made you pancakes!

Or, at least he tried. They were a bit burned but you told him that they were the best pancakes you have ever had. And you meant it.

He, of course, turned bright red and refused to take the compliment so you shut him up with a kiss.

A kiss that said 'Thank you for making me breakfast. I love you and i can't wait to spend the rest of my life eating burned pancakes with you'.

"Hey Y/N i was wondering if you had a minute to talk. About Spence." JJ approached you with a certain worry in her eyes that immediately unsettled you.

"What do you mean? Did something happen? I just saw him a minute ago and he seemed fine" You say nervously. Was there something you overlooked?

You make a mental note to go through the events of this morning again.

"No, he's fine! It's not that. I just wanted to talk to you about how it's going with Spencer. You know, being a couple and all"

JJ seemed almost nervous.

You weren't sure what to think about that.

She never dug around in your business before and you don't think she's got any malicious intentions but it does throw you off a little bit.

"Did you have something specific in mind? We're doing great, JJ. I know you worry about him but i think he's happy with me"

You say proudly because you know he is.

He tells you every night when you two settle down to lie in each others arms to read for a bit.

That's code for Spencer reading to you while laying his head on your stomach and you playing with his hair.

You smile at the memory.

"Uh yeah i guess i do. I just don't want you to think of this as something personal but i think as his best friend i owe it to Spencer to talk to you about it"

She looks down at her feet seemingly uncomfortable but willing to go through with this.

You were shocked to say the least. What could she possibly have in mind that would potentially hurt your feelings? Your mind goes to the worst possible scenarios and it's giving you a good bit of anxiety.

JJ seems to spot the look on your face and grabs your hands.

"No, no, no it's nothing bad per se! Just something you should be aware of to avoid misunderstandings"

You let out a small breath and calm down a bit. You're still confused though. If it's so urgent, why wouldn't Spencer tell you himself?

You were curious though.

"Okay so what is this about then?"

JJ looks at you with a bit of pity in her eyes and you immediately decide you hate that look.

"It's just that, you know, Spence is a bit of a germaphobe and he just doesn't do very well with people invading his personal space. Not that you're invading his space! Gosh no, you're his girlfriend after all. It's just that it seems like he might be a bit overwhelmed. I know it's non of my business, but i think he's trying to be okay with the PDA because it's something you want. I'm all for expanding your comfort zones but i'm afraid Spence is not going to tell you himself"

She finishes her nervous rant and you felt your heart sinking.

Is that why he never asks for your touch? You thought it was because he was shy but maybe it's because it makes him uncomfortable.

Was he trying to protect your feelings by not denying you touch whenever you asked?

Or worse, did he think you would leave him if he put up some boundaries?

Your eyes are filled with unshed tears and you look down at your feet out of embarrassment. You don't want to see the look on JJ's face right now. You're humiliated and honestly just upset Spencer wasn't telling you all this himself.

"Oh. Well, i'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought we were okay but i'll make an effort to turn it down. Thanks JJ"

It's clear she wanted to say something in return but you already turned away from her to flee the scene. It was overwhelming and you didn't want her to see you cry over this.

You went to the only place you knew you could feel freely without having to downplay the whole thing.

Penelopes Office.

You knock twice at her door.

"Hey Pen, can i come in? Are you busy?"

She immediately opens the door and with it, her arms.

"Never too busy for you honey bun!"

You give her a sad smile and hug her tightly.

You sniffle a little and she closes the door behind you two.

"What's wrong Y/N? Did Spencer do anything? I'll kill him for you. I have about twenty seven different ways that would make it look like an accident! Perks of working for the FBI"

This actually makes you laugh and you immediately know you've made the right call coming to Garcia.

"It's more about what he didn't do. Pen, am i a bad girlfriend?"

She grabs your shoulders and pushes you out of her embrace to look at you.

"What? How could you possibly think that? Boy Wonder has never been happier and i've known the kid for a solid couple of years!"

You look down again with an empty smile

"Then why would he send JJ to tell me all about how uncomfortable i make him?"

Okay so maybe you were being a bit dramatic but it feels like he broke your trust by talking to JJ about it before talking to you. At least, you assume he did. Why else would she bring this up?

"He did what? Are you sure?"

You raise your arms in a frustrated manner.

"I don't know Penny all i know is that JJ had some thoughts on how to be in a relationship with Spence!"

Garcia looked shocked and it makes you laugh.

"Yeah, that was my initial reaction too"

She shakes herself out of it.

"Did you talk to Spencer about what he thinks?"

You look at her with sheepish eyes.

"I don't want to yet. I'm upset with him and honestly a little embarrassed. I just wish he would've told me certain things himself. I think i'm going to take a sick day, okay? Can you let Hotch know i'm out for today?"

She looks at you with understanding eyes and gives you a nod.

"Of course, Bunny. Take care. And don't forget that Spencer loves you!"

You smile and give her a nod in return.

"Yeah, i know"

And with that you're out the door and on your way to grab your bag from your desk.

Of course you end up running into the one person you don't want to talk to right now.

Spencer looks at you with a small smile and you give him one back. Admittedly, yours looks a bit forced but you don't have the energy to pretend right now.

"What are you doing?" He asks innocently. He must be unaware of your conversation with JJ.

"I- Uh i'm taking a sick day. I'm not feeling so well"

You try to avoid eye contact but you fail to ignore Spencers worried expression in your peripheral vision.

"Are you okay? Was it the breakfast? I told you you shouldn't have eaten the pancakes!"

He sounds so distressed you can't help but laugh.

You were still mad at him but he was just too cute for his own good.

Out of habit you raise your hand to plant it on the nape of his neck where you usually toy with his hair before kissing him.

Just as you were about to put your hand on him you shake yourself out of it and retreat it.

He looks at you with confused eyes.

"What's wrong?"

He asks you with sad eyes. He's giving you completely mixed signals and it's driving you insane. Did he suddenly want you to touch him?

"Nothing. I just- I'm really tired"

You look down at your bag and pick it up to make your way out of there.

Spencer grabs your hand and it causes you to stop in your tracks. You breath in and out and turn around to look at him once again.

"Are- I mean are you leaving now?"

He looks at you with an embarrassed glint in his eyes. But there's something more to it. He looks hopeful. Like he's expecting something.

Maybe he's waiting for you to kiss him goodbye like you always do says a small voice on the back of your head.

No, you shake your head, JJ was perfectly clear about these things.

"Yeah, i am. See you later okay?"

You say with a small smile. You weren't mad at him for not being comfortable with PDA. That's not it at all. You just wanted him to be the one telling you.

You squeeze his hand and he exhales a little.

"Yes! Yeah, um, we're still on for tonight right? Your place?"

He seems so nervous and it reminds you a lot of the first few dates you two had. He was so afraid of messing up, of being laughed at or rejected.

"Of course we are. I'll order us some Chinese"

You give him a real smile and he starts lighting up as well.

"Yeah i'd like that. See you, uh, tonight then"

He's still holding your hand and you squeeze it one more time before letting go.

As you step into the elevator you know that you two have a lot to talk about.

--timeskip approx. 8h--

You've spend all day trying to figure out how to talk to Spencer about what happened at work today. You didn't want to fight with him and you hope he's not going to try and shut you out.

All your worries pretty much wash away when you find Spencer at your door holding a beautiful arrangement of flowers.

When he finally reveals himself behind them you can't help but drag him inside and press a kiss to his lips. You smile into the kiss and it's not long before Spencer does the same. It's harder than it sounds like but you two aren't willing to separate yet so you keep kissing for a little longer before leaning back to accept the arrangement.

"Thank you, Spence. They're beautiful"

You push the curls out of his face and cup his cheek in your hand.

He leans into it and closes his eyes for a second

"Almost as beautiful as you"

It's barely a whisper but you heard him.

Putting the flowers down on the counter you don't waste a single second hugging him tight to your chest.

He hums in contentment and you melt into him.

You've missed him so much today. You weren't used to being at distance with him. Emotionally or physically.

Speaking of.

"Does that mean we're okay again?"

Spencer asks pressing small kisses to your neck.

You shutter slightly before leaning back to look at him.

"What do you mean? Were we not okay before?"

You brush the curls that have fallen back into his eyes away again and he looks at you with wide loving eyes.

"I don't know i thought we were but then you didn't- um i don't know you just left and i thought maybe i had done something to upset you?"

He looks nervous. Almost like he's afraid he's going to say something wrong. You give him a small sad smile and decide that now is as good of a time as ever.

"I didn't kiss you because i know you're not comfortable with that"

You weren't mad anymore. You had enough time to process what happened and you've come to the conclusion that Spencer must've had his reasons. You're willing to let him explain.

He on the other hand looks at you like you've grown a second head.

"What? No i- why would you think that?"

You huff out a breath and look at him for a moment with raised eyebrows. You really thought he was going to tell you now. Is he waiting for you to say it?

Spencer looked genuinely confused and upset you would even suggest such a thing. It makes you wonder if he talked to JJ at all.

"Look, JJ came to talk to me today and cleared some things up and honestly i'm not upset about what she said. Not really. I'm upset i had to find out from someone who wasn't you. You could've told me. You should have told me actually"

This didn't do anything to wipe off Spencers confused expression. If anything, his frown just got deeper.

"Y/N i seriously don't know what you're talking about. I haven't talked to JJ this week"

Now it's your turn to frown. Did he not know? Was it really just JJ making assumptions that weren't true?

"But she said- No it doesn't matter what she said. What matters is that i want you to tell me, right now, if my affections make you uncomfortable in any shape of form. It's okay if they do Spence! I know i'm a lot but it's important we're both okay with what's happening between us"

He stares at you with a mix of adoration and confusion.

"Of course i'm not uncomfortable with you! I would tell you if i was. It's not even like you're doing any of it without checking with me first! Why would i lie to you?"

You let out a frustrated huff.

"Because you don't wanna hurt my feelings! But it's okay. We're equals and we can set up boundaries if you want. All that matters to me is that you won't shut me out"

Spencer smiles at you and it confuses you. Why the sudden mood change? Not that you're complaining. His smile always did manage to make you feel better. This time is no exception.

He grabs your hands and pulls you closer again.

This is new. Not the hand holding, but the fact that Spencer is the one initiating it.

"I promise you i have never been more comfortable with a person. I don't know what JJ told you and i'm definitely going to have a talk with her about boundaries but as far as we go, i'm more than happy with where and what we are"

You give him a small laugh and he joins in.

You wrap your arms around his middle and bury your head in his chest.

"So you're okay with me kissing you or touching you in general? In front of the team"

He presses a small kiss to the top of your head.

"More than okay" He whispers

You smile and lift your head to give him a proper kiss. He grabs the side of your head and pulls you even closer.

Lips just millimeters apart you look him in the eyes and find nothing but love in them.

"Also, next time you leave work without kissing me goodbye i'll make a scene. No hesitation"

You laugh loudly and push him away. He playfully stumbles back a couple of steps and laughs with you. He shrugs his shoulders

"Try me"

You lean your head on his shoulder.

You don't even know what you were worried about anymore. Spencer has a way to make all the problems seem to minuscule. You can confidently say you've never been happier.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #reader insert #fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds imagine

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

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in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

#ffcc #wincest #dean jr #my writing #this is again just sort of a collection of paragraphs #and it's--mostly what you asked for i think?#but mainly it's me musing about the unknowability of parents and children #so uh #that's what i was able to manage #hopefully i'll remember how to construct a story soon lol

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mailboxmerchant · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ranmaru....what did you...

◤...three hours prior to this...◢

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

“y/n....”

“Are you...there Keiji?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s enough! I can’t...hear you say that. Not you, Ranmaru, please.”

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, y/n, I swore I’d protect you. Reko, Sara, Keiji, everyone! I’ll kill them, and I’ll get you out of this horrible game!”

As if the idea of winning crossing Ranmaru’s mind at all hadn’t hurt enough to hear about, here was your partner for this entire floor’s length of horrors telling you he’d kill all your allies to save the both of you.

Ranmaru wasn’t wrong. You were tired. You wanted to go home. You missed your friends, and your regular old life. You adored Ranmaru, and even without knowing what to do after this could end, you wanted to have him by your side.

What am I thinking?!

“Ranmaru! I don’t want you to protect me. I want us to all escape together, and I could never ask you to betray our allies!”

Something about the way you delivered that line stuck with Ranmaru though. You couldn’t ask him? Then you didn’t have to. He’d help you, and he’d take all the responsibility too. All the guilt, the hardships, the terror? He could handle it...if it was for you. You and him were going to win, and you were going to live. And after all his efforts, maybe, just maybe, you could be his.

And with the seeds sown, Ranmaru’s mind began racing with ways to get every single human and doll eliminated before they could realize what was going on.

And that would begin with the lovely, unknowing Ms. Reko.

◤...present time...◢

“Oh...no....” Sara uttered, her breath entirely taken away from the sight before us.

The magnetic trap mechanism in the locker room had been activated while Reko was in it. “Reko, please, no...holy shit...” Q-taro mourned. Her grotesquely snapped neck was just barely holding her entirely hanging body to the ceiling by her collar.

Everyone was whispering their words of loss and grief. You couldn’t speak though. You instantly made the connection between Kuramada tackling Ranmaru and what he had said about getting here quickly. This was preventable. And actually....

This was your fault.

Ranmaru wanted you to win, and he wanted you to take him with you. You didn’t chastise him enough to stop this, and now Reko’s blood and tears were on your hands.

The quiet stip-step of shoes tapping on the concrete floor sprung you from your remorseful daze. “y-y/n...I swear...I didn’t-”

A louder, heavier pair of feet could be heard hitting the solid ground harshly.

“Bastard! You’ll pay for what you’ve done!! My trust, their trust, you’ve ruined everything!” Kurumada went in for a swing as Ranmaru barely dodged him, bumping his backside into your front.

“NO! It wasn’t me! I wasn’t even anywhere near this room, I was with y/n!”

“That was a whole goddamn hour ago, you lying piece a’ shit! You woulda been in the control room well after that!”

“Why would I kill Reko?! I had no motive to kill the humans, our tasks were erased and our connections were cut! I would never-”

“Bullshit. No motive? What was all that crap about winning for, then?”

Ranmaru fell silent.

“You...you thought I was dead. And you thought you could leave the transceiver on and cheer yourself on for winning the game, huh?!”

Ranmaru’s silence persisted, your stomach dropping further than you thought possible.

He took a slow inhale...

“Yeah. I did think you were dead, but now I see you’re just as big of an obstacle as ever. All you damn dolls. I’ll get rid of you all, and y/n and I are gonna win.”

“Ranmaru...”

“I didn’t think I’d get caught on the first try, I mean geez! I really hoped it’d be easier than this, that I could be stealthy, but apparently not...”

It was like his entire demeanor changed. His usual hesitance to speak, his more crouched and small frame, and his kind meekness were all completely stripped away, replaced by this malicious, devious darkness that seemed to emanate off his body.

“Well, well! Somethin’ fun’s happening in here, amirite?!”

“M-Midori!?” You cried out as his arm creepily slung around your shoulder. You backed away as Ranmaru stayed staring him down. “Ohh, what perfect timing. Midori...I have a deal for you, something to keep this game interesting.” Ranmaru sounded like a perfect copy of Midori, it was beginning to frighten you. Reko’s body still left all the survivors in shock, no one but the three dolls who were as lively as ever being able to speak.

“ ᴿᵃⁿᵐᵃʳᵘ...ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ, ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ...“ You finally uttered.

“What might this deal be, my pathetic doll?” Scoffing at his comment, Ranmaru pleads with him, “If you could just please...kill the dolls. Leave me as the sole doll and I swear I’ll give you a show you’ll never forget.” You weren’t sure what made you sicker, the grin that was spread across both Ranmaru’s and Midori’s faces, or the dark tone Ranmaru suddenly took, his genuineness shining through. He would kill every survivor. You might really win, and you still didn’t know what to think about it.

The tension in the room was so thick you could slice through it with a knife. Everyone's eyes were trained on you, Ranmaru, and Midori. You felt sick, the energy of the room suffocating you slowly.

"I think I could do something like that."

As if it couldn't drop any lower, your organs practically just disappeared from inside you. "H-hey, you're not...serious, are ya?" Q-taro finally spoke up, the first of the survivors to actually something.

"Why wouldn't I be? This deal is of great benefit to me....and y/n it seems." Midori's tucked in smile sent shivers down your spine as he stared at you with his widened eyes.

"First though...the banquet has to happen."

The reminder brought the most sincere relief you'd ever felt in your life. You still had time to convince Ranmaru not to go through with his ridiculous sabotage plan.

The room calmed as everyone slowly and hesitantly made their way back to the graveyard. How was anyone supposed to work together after something like that...?

◤...to be continued (eventually)...◢

I HAD TO END THIS BECAUSE I WAS SLOWLY FORGETTING WHERE I WAS GOING WITh thIS SO ILL START WITH THE BANQUET IN THE NEXT PART TY FOR READING PLEASE REQUESTS MWAH ILY BYE BYE<3

#ranmaru kageyama #ranmaru #ranmaru yttd #ranmaru kageyama yttd #ranmaru x reader #ranmaru kageyama x reader #yttd x reader #x reader #yttd #ranmaru x reader yttd #yttd ranmaru x reader #kageyama ranmaru x reader #your turn to die #your turn to die fanfic #your turn to die ranmaru #ranmaru your turn to die

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