#did i mention that this fic will imply that he's the local eye candy of the FF | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eclipsedpascal · 3 years

Text

Vile Intentions

60s!Older!Duncan Shepherd x Female Reader

You’d been obsessing over your fathers older best friend for months, finding it near impossible to tear your eyes from the stunning man throughout every party of your parent's that he had attended. So when the notoriously promiscuous man made a move on your young and naive self, you decided to disregard your friends and mothers concerns of his ungodliness and let yourself collapse into his grasp. If only you had known of his growing obsession with you and it's Vile Intentions.

Disclaimer: the concept of 60s!Duncan was come up with by Daisy ( @celestialrequiem ) and all credits go to her! Daisy always comes up with the best concepts so if you’re interested in more creepy, 60s!Duncan then please check out days of candy!! It’s art😌 But with Daisies permission, i’ve been writing this piece for the past few months as a set up for a new au which I’m currently working on. I’ve already written multiple other (smutty) fics for it nd they should all hopefully be out soon:)

Please read the warnings!!

Warnings: inappropriate relationships, large age gap (reader is 20 whilst Duncan is in his early 40s), dad’s best friend!Duncan, very slight hints at daddy kink, some teasing, innocent reader, 60s housewife stereotype, possessiveness, manipulative behaviours, maybe some slight mentions of a religion corruption kink?, kinda creepy duncan, mentions of alcohol, implied judgments of reader and mentions of smut:)

Notes: This fic is kind of inspired by cruel intentions, the manipulation themes and sudcing stuff is anyway hehe. I haven’t actually finished this the way I wanted to, but ahh I just needed to post something so I can get out of the writer's block i’ve been having. So yeah! Basically this is just a bit of creepy, manipulative, 60s!Duncan that will be a set up for a few other fics i’ve got in the works:))💗

Word count: 3.3k

●●●●●●●●

You had been staring at him all night, taking every chance you could to wander off from the rest of the party and stare at the handsome man.

Duncan, or as your parents referred to him, Mr. Shepherd, was a friend of your fathers and attended most the parties your family held. He knew your father from work as he owned a partnering company to the one your father worked at. They had met each other several months ago at a business meeting, and despite Duncan being 10 years or so younger than your father, the two of them became good friends quickly. At these events, they could usually be found drinking together near the living room bar, smoking cubans and joking about their recent work triumphs. It was their favourite ritual.

Duncan was around 40, well spoken and extremely attractive. Every time you saw him you were blown away by his looks. It was shameful how starstruck you became in his presence and you knew it was wrong to be thinking of an older man in such way, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your father spoke so very fondly of him and you couldn’t agree more with his sentiments.

You remember the first night you saw him. He had come over for dinner with your parents whilst you were out with some girlfriends and you had found yourself arriving home just as he was leaving. You were far too scared to talk to him, so instead you snuck up the stairs and stopped on the landing to lean over the banister and watch your parents wish him a goodnight.

You were shy, only having flirted with a few boys whilst you were in school as dating didn't appeal to you the same way it did your peers. You had been taught from very young age that the happenings that came from ‘dating’ were ungodly and that you were to stay far, far away from them. Instead you were to simply court a good man and marry him when the time came, but it had been 2 years since you left school now and the most male attention you had been able to gather was some light small talk at the local diner that had frightened you too much to properly partake in.

Still being at home with your parents had some benefits, though. You had more free time that didn't yet have to be spent as the ‘good housewife’ and you cherished that, knowing you would have to fill that role at some point soon. Luckily that thought didn't worry you too much. You had been prepared for it by your mother most of your life and like any good young lady, practicing your cooking and cleaning was just a normal part of life.

Parties were good for this. You were able to cook for your parent’s many guests and receive their compliments and criticisms on it, though recently the only opinions you cared for were Duncan’s. You would secretly listen in on his conversations with your father as he devoured your dishes, hoping for some kind of praise from the man.

You had spent this party in particular watching him from behind the kitchen door, peering past it just enough that you had a good view of his stubble blanketed face. As per usual, he was joking with your father, holding a bourbon in one hand and smoking a cigar with the other.

There were a few other men gathered closely around them, but all were busy with their own conversations, leaving Duncan with the perfect opportunity to bring up the topic he had been eager to discuss all night.

Letting out a laugh, he turned his head and fixed his eyes onto you. Seeing you freeze up in fear, he winked at you before returning to the conversion with your father. “Say, is that you daughter over there?” He lifted his glass in your direction, noticing you had now disappeared back into your not so secret hiding spot. You had retreated behind the door when you saw him point, not wanting to be in any kind of trouble with your father.

“Mhm, that’s Y/N. Our youngest.” your father chuckled at your bashfulness.

“She’s beautiful” He took a drag from his cigar, thinking back to the many times he had spotted your precious little face staring. Of course, he already knew who you were; but your father needn't be aware of that.

Your father nodded along. “She’s a pretty doll, but she’s too shy for her own good.” He looked down at the floor, worried thoughts running through his mind at the reminder of your anxiousness.

“Oh yeah?” This didn't actually surprise Duncan in the slightest; It was obvious you were shy. He found you gazing at him every time you were in the same room and yet you had never spoken to him. But this silent attraction of yours had never made you seem any less appealing to him, if anything the challenge of coaxing you out of your shell only served to entice him further.

He liked how quiet you were, the idea of receiving the reward of your sweet young voice when he finally managed to pluck sentences out of you delighted him. Just thinking about you excited him far more than anybody else he had been with. You were uncharted territory that was willing and wanting to be claimed by him. Nothing turned him on more.

“Well no man wants to marry a girl like that. She’d be a good housewife one day if she’d just talk to the men that showed interest in her! But every time someone’s tried, she’s gotten all flustered. Doesn’t say a damn word! Then they just.. loose interest and well.. here we are.” Your father cherished you, but he feared you would struggle in the real world; being you couldn’t hold a conversation to save your life.

Taking another drag of his cigar, he watched the door and listened to your fathers concerns, hoping to see you pop your head back around to sneak another peek at him, and surely enough you did. Your father watched this interaction, seeing the two of you lock eyes before yours fell to the ground cowardly. “She doesn’t exactly make it easy.” Your father commented.

Preparing to finally approach you after too many nights spent feeling your eyes on him without a single word spoken, Duncan finished his drink and placed it down on the hardwood bar beside him, saying one last thing to your father before parting. “Well perhaps those men should've put up more of a fight.”

Giving an illusion of focus, you stared down at your feet as you nervously danced them around each other. His polished black shoes entered your vision, your eyes trailing their way up his pant legs and blazer to his stubble sculpted face. Looking up at him from where you stood in the kitchen doorway, you felt your cheeks bloom a hot, cherry red. You were terrified.

“I couldn’t help but notice your staring back there, sweetheart.” He smiled down at you, his large stature making him tower over your frame.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words would come out. You wanted to defend yourself and apologise for your behaviour, but all you managed to squeak out after your long, unwanted silence was a meek “I-i’m sorry.”

“There’s no need for apologises. I enjoyed it.” He placed his hand on the wall next to you, leaning over you and licking his lip as he stared you up and down. He had never been this close to you before. He could make out the blue in your eyeshadow and smell the floral tones of the sweet fragrance you adorned. Yet he still craved to be closer.

You didn't know what to say now he was being so forward. Forgetting every word in your vocabulary, you felt your breathing grow heavy with the weight of fear now coursing through you. You looked back down at his feet, just wanting to avoid his eyes. Obviously you had dreamt of this occurring many times before, but now he was really here on front of you, the realisation of having to hold a conversation with such an attractive, older man had become far too daunting.

“You’re a nervous little thing, aren’t you?” He grazed his thumb over the bottom of your chin and lifted it slightly, his cigar balanced securely between his index and middle finger of the same hand gracing your face. “You know, I don’t bite, little one.” He chuckled, easing your nerves as you laughed lightly at his joke.

“So daddy’s not mad at me?” Feeling more confident now you had spoken, You looked past his shoulder at your father who was watching your conversation intently. You found it curious he approved of Duncan’s flirting.

“Oh no, Daddy’s not mad at you. I just thought you could use some company.” He caressed the outline of your jaw before bringing his hand to his face and puffing on his cigar, doing his very best to suppress the groan that was threatening to leave his lips after hearing your use of such a word. And his own words? They were smooth, of course. His confidence captivating and the way he bathed in your innocence; intoxicating.

He was a very flirtatious man, that you knew. You had heard rumours of his promiscuous nature when listening in on your mothers gossip sessions with her friends, all of them saying he hadn’t a wife, yet his bed was never empty.

You never saw him at Sunday service either. Everyone you knew would attend church, but not him. Not even once had he graced your congregation with an appearance. Your mother had commented on this concerning attribute of his to your father once before, during dinner, but he dismissed it, saying Duncan was a busy man and couldn’t afford to go to church when he was running such a large company; not even on god’s day.

But when you saw his face, all of your worries and concerns were washed away. He could have confessed unspeakable sins and you would have still found yourself worshiping him, falling to your knees and grovelling at his feet for just a slither of attention. And if your father trusted and defended him so often, then why shouldn’t you? Daddy knew him best and he wouldn’t be so open to him flirting with you if he was truly such a corrupt man.

“Company would sure be swell. That is.. as long as it’s you.” You batted your eyelashes at him, doing your best to uphold a facade confidence and flirt back. You didn't want to mess this up.

He smirked at the boldness of your words, moving his hand to run over your cheekbone with his finger tip of his thumb. “What’d you say we take a walk outside? Get a little more privacy.” He lowered his arm, offering it to you and waiting for you to grab it so he could lead you into the garden.

You considered your next move carefully, knowing it could be vital; but it didn't take you long to decide. You didn't care about the 20 year age gap or his reputation, too infatuated with his looks and charm to care about the judgmental stares you would receive if you walked out the door with him. So you accepted.

He finally had you.

●●●●●●●●

That night in the garden had been incredible. He was a very traditional man from what it seemed, extremely polite and respectful; far more than any man your own age had ever been. You knew others might not agree with your pairing, but you didn't care. He had asked if he could take you to the pictures the next Friday and you couldn’t have been more thrilled, trying to hide your excitement as you accepted his offer.

Your parents had argued with each other over breakfast the next morning, your mother scolding your father for letting such a man attempt to court you. She wasn’t happy when she found out you would be seeing him again but your father supported it, saying he couldn't think of anybody else who could better look after you. Duncan was more than wealthy enough to care for you properly and you were well aware of that.

Duncan knew that too, of course. He knew he could offer you so many things you had never experienced before. Whether that was buying you expensive jewellery he knew your father never did, or fucking your virgin cunt senseless, it didn't matter. He just knew he could and he would. He wanted you. Wanted to make you his and nobody else’s.

Things had moved pretty fast after your first date. The two of you would see each other pretty regularly. He would take you to dinner at a number of fancy restaurants he liked, or for drives in his red Cadillac where he would slide a hand over onto your thigh and leave it there whilst you watched him drive. You thought nothing of this little habit. It was something that made you tremble, yes, but you would have never suspected it to be his intention. Just as you didn't suspect his true motives for dating you in the first place. You would have never guessed he wanted you in the vulgar manner he truly did, and certainly not since the very first time he saw you; that would just be absurd.

At first the realisation it wasn’t just another quick fuck he was craving was much to Duncan’s dismay, but he grew to appreciate his new found desire. He wanted to lure you in, use his suave and traditional act to make you slowly fall for him, convince you he was just as reputable and unblemished as you were. He dreamt of the day he could call you his wife, his personal piece of arm candy to parade around and have obsess over him whenever and however much he desired it. It shouldn't be too hard, that he knew. You were so young and unguided. Easily manipulated, one might say. He adored the way you looked at him, your eyes glassed over with innocence, he almost felt himself wanting to look after you. Make you his little girl. But mostly he just couldn't stand the idea of another man’s hands on you. He needed to be there before someone else swooped in and stole you from him. Like an eagle stalking it’s pray.

Whenever he would drop you off at home, he would always walk you up to the front door and plant a cheeky kiss on your lips, politely pulling away after just a few seconds; but this one time was different. He slipped up.

You had been seeing him for just over three months at the time and were falling for him harder everyday. So when he walked you to the door and pressed his lips against yours just as he always did, you made the impulsive decision to keep him there a just little longer, moving your hand up to his hair and stopping him from pulling back.

You felt his hand rest on your waist, his other moving up your back to press you closer to him. You’d not been excepting his enthusiasm and it shook you to your core, never having been kissed like this before. The furthest you’d ever gone with a boy had been a four second kiss that happened in the playground at school over a decade ago.

Duncan’s lips began moving against yours, rough and urgent. It was too much. You felt your cunt grow hot and you emitted a sudden whimper at the feeling of his tongue entering your mouth. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, flailing them around as he held you tight.

You felt the bittersweet tang of blood hit your tongue as he bite down on your bottom lip, the pain of it somehow transforming into more pleasure as he violently pushed you into the door, creating a bang so loud you were sure everyone inside would have had heard it.

Of course you had been right, your mother had in fact heard it and was now interrupting the frenzied, lust filled moment you were sharing with Duncan by calling out your name, trying to find out if you were finally home at an hour this late.

He released you from his grasp, placing his arms down at his sides and pausing. You stared up at him, lips pierced and face completely red with embarrassment. You were filled with an urge you didn't quite understand as you found yourself wishing the moment hadn't ended so quickly.

“Sleep well, Y/N.” he quickly wished you goodbye, running his hand through his styled curls and retreating down the path to his car after his sudden loss of self control. You watched him for a moment before opening the front door and stuffing yourself inside, just wanting to run upstairs and hide from your prying mother’s questions.

Despite Duncan’s words, you didn’t sleep well that night. You tossed and turned for hours, tirelessly fighting the unsatisfied tingling feeling that had occupied your crotch ever since he first set his perverted lips on yours. You’d never felt like this before. Your body radiated heat like magma, urges feeling as if they had become trapped underneath your sweltering skin, trying desperately to claw themselves free from your pent up limbs before you combust from complete absence.

It all felt so new. So stimulating. so.. arousing. How could you have possibly been expected to restrain yourself from falling for someone who you could make you feel such carnal pleasures? You had been hidden from affection your whole life, only to have Duncan bathe you in it; buying you anything and taking you anywhere you wanted. He nurtured you as if you were the most precious object in existence, making sure that the overwhelming sense of love for him inside of you grew so present that when the time came to propose, you couldn't have possibly said no to him; even if you had wanted to.

●●●●●●●●

Your vision skewed and hazed by the puffy, white vail which draped over your face, you stared down at the church hall flooring, doing your best not to stumble over your own feet, being far too terrified to gaze up at the man you were destained to be with forever.

You were gaining on the end of the isle rapidly, fear flowing through your veins at a rate you had never experienced before and feeling the burn of your family and friends eyes scorching into your virgin skin. There they all stood, watching your young, trembling hands grip into your fathers arm with the sudden realisation you would soon be without him and belong to another.

Reaching the inevitable end, you left your fathers hold, carrying yourself up towards your future husband on only the dreams of what you hoped would be. Hearing the once deafening organ halt to a sudden silence, he lifted your vail and from deep within his chest, released a satisfied exhale, being reminded of the blinding and innocent beauty he was marrying.

Remembering your voice, as shaky as it may have been, you plead your vows. You stared up into his eyes and searched for the warm comfort his aquamarines had bore reassurance into your own with many a time before, solace and joy settling into you immediately.

Accepting your ring with a smile as wide as your now sparkling eyes, you muttered the fatal ‘’I do.”

"You may kiss the bride.” The priest chided happily, undivulged to how sinful of a man he had just bound you to.

Leaning in, Your new husband kissed you passionately. Quickly enough to look respectful in front of your peers and relatives, of course; but turbulently lewd enough to snatch your breathe away. He moved back, keeping his hold on your waist locked into place as he looked down at you with a devilish grin as you beamed back up at him.

“My bride. All mine.”

●●●●●●●●

Thank you sm for reading!!🥺💗

Tags: @celestialrequiem @ntxoza @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @blakescoven @ritualmichael @ghostangels @fernfiction @ferndolan @brattylovee @7-wonders @angelicmichael @melodylangdon @brooklinn13 @kitty4860 @instincts-baby @michaellangdonstanaccount @9layerdevilfoodcake @chicaluna2410 @plymptxn-reborn I've tagged just anyone who I thought might be interested, if you would like to be moved feel free to let me know!! you can also lemme know if you would like to be added to the tag list to:)

194 notes · View notes

ring-a-ding-dumbass · 3 years

Text

Companions as Hallmark Christmas Movie Love Interests

Happy Holidays!! I’ve been watching a LOT of bad Christmas Movies, so here are the companions as Hallmark movie love interests! (I’ve left out Codsworth, Dogmeat, Strong, and DLC companions.) [disclaimer: I know most jobs listed in these do not work in the way that I will imply, but that’s pretty standard for these kinds of films, so I’m rolling with it. Also, most of these are based off of SOME movie I’ve seen this Christmas, so obviously it’s not going to be super original. They’re Hallmark movies; they’re not supposed to be ‘good.’]

Note: I’d love to expand these into a fic, but I really don’t have the free time right now. If anyone is interested in taking one of these ideas and running with it, please do!! Just tag me when you’re done so I can read it!!

Cait- Cait owns a bar and she has a strict “No Christmas” policy. No Christmas music. No singing Christmas carols. No decorations. She hates the holidays because she thinks that all of the happiness and love that they inspire is a bunch of BS. She say’s it’s all fake for the sake of Christmas cards and holiday specials. One day, you’re the last patrion in her bar, and Cait slips on some ice while she’s locking up. You take her to the hospital and she has *gasp* AMNESIA. You let Cait stay with you because you can’t find any friends or family of hers, and the hospital can’t keep her. To your surprise, this Cait actually seems to like Christmas. She treats everything like she’s learning about it for the very first time. She’s not all soft and lovey-dovey, sure, but she doesn’t mind the peppermint bark and ice skating and snowball fights and eggnog. As she begins to get her memory back, she gets colder, and she opens up to you that the reason she hates Christmas is because Christmas never meant anything to her as a child. Her parents were mean to her 24/7, and that didn’t stop around the holidays, which is why Cait was always so certain that Christmas cheer was a hoax. Cait regains her full memories, but because of your re-introduction to the holiday, she doesn’t mind it as much anymore. She’s no santa claus, but she does stock up on peppermint vodka and candy canes for the bar, and wears a mistletoe headband during December, which you always manage to take advantage of.

Curie- Curie is the owner of a flower shop in North Pole, Alaska. Every year, more people move out of town, and Curie has to try to sell more items during Christmas, which is her most profitable season. You’re a character actor who works as an elf for a mall santa agency, and this year, you’re sent to the Fairbanks/North Pole region. One day, you go to see the sights in North Pole and meet Curie while she’s working in her shop. She’s running around like a chicken with her head cut off. You ask if she’s busy, and she mentions that she just lost her only employee to the local Build-a-Bear. She charms you, and you apply on the spot. After she hires you, you realize that there’s a well dressed real estate executive that comes in at least once a week to hit on Curie. She explains that he’s been offering to help her business in exchange for a date, but she won’t do it. As you and Curie ready up for the Holidays, you realize that you’re really compatible. You have fights with the fake snow used for window displays, you help organize flowers in the walk in freezer together and bring hot chocolate in when it gets too cold, and you start sneaking kisses to one another when you have to retrieve an order from the back. One day, the business man comes in and tells you that he’s buying the land that your shop is built on unless you can afford to pay an astronomical hike in rent. Curie begins to worry that she’ll have to sell her shop, but you promise her that it won’t happen. Together, you come up with the idea to sell Christmas packages online, so families who live far away from each other can send a little piece of christmas to other family members for the holidays. The idea takes off. Not only are you able to sustain the hike in rent, but you’re able to pay for your own land to move the shop, so Curie will never have to worry about rent again. You never go back to the mall santa place, and you run your shop with Curie for years, making a comfortable living in a cozy town.

Danse- Oh, Paladin Danse-- He’s the son of the president, and one of the best generals in the country, and he’s getting married. You are the baker for his wedding. One day, when you’re trying to haul a prototype cake to the other end of the capitol building to put on display to show Danse and his future spouse, you turn a corner and run into Danse, covering the both of you in cake. You don’t recognize him, and he doesn’t introduce himself, but offers to help you in any way he can to rebuild the cake. He insists on helping, so you let him, which sparks a friendship between you. Once the cake is ready, you bring it back upstairs, to find Danse and his spouse ready to look at the cake. Danse and you start speaking when you run into each other in the halls, and one day, he asks you on a walk around the grounds, where he confesses to you that he doesn’t personally feel attracted to his spouse, but it must be done for the good of the country. Just before his wedding, you confess your feelings and Danse runs off. The wedding comes to a halt and nobody knows why until Danse shows up to tell his future spouse that he can’t go through with this because he is in love with someone else. He approaches you as you’re cleaning up the confectionary table and tells you that he has to be true to himself, and that means being true to you.

Deacon- You’re a server working at a diner in a moderately large town. Deacon comes in one day and introduces himself as the new hire. You train him, and he’s kind of terrible, but he makes you laugh. You slip him your number after a week or so of light flirting and banter, but he turns you down. You leave to let Deacon close, but realize that you left your phone at the diner in an embarrassed hurry. You head back to the restaurant and find Deacon snooping through the boss’s files! After you catch him, he confesses that he’s an undercover spy, sent to keep an eye on your boss, who is suspected of using the diner to launder money. Now that you know, Deacon brings you on as his partner, and swears you to secrecy. You two go on a cute stakeout, have researching sessions together, and slowly fall in love over the course of December. At the end of the month, you come in for a shift to see your boss being arrested, and Deacon isn’t there. It isn’t until Christmas eve that you get a knock on your door. Deacon is there with takeout. He explains that his boss decided to go in without asking him, and they forced him back to the office, barring any outside contact until he could provide a full report. He confesses that he has fallen in love with you, but has also lost his job because of it, because he confessed to breaking cover. You reunite with a warm kiss and warm takeout, and, now that you’re both jobless, you start a P.I. agency together.

Hancock- Oh. Oh. Oh. BAD BOY CELEBRITY gets in trouble with his publicist over general bad-boy-scandalous behavior. YOU are a choir director for a low income rec center in a small town and you are putting on a Christmas Pageant. You don’t have the funds, but eventually the publicist finds out about your little operation, and she is ALL over it. She brings Hancock in to work with the kids and she brings an entire media team with him. He’s arrogant at first, and doesn’t even remember your name for the first few days, but you notice a change in him as you begin to work together. As skeptical as you are, Hancock really connects with the kids, and really seems to care about the Christmas Pageant. While you’re there, the kids start teasing you two, and implying that you have crushes on each other. In the end, The publicist scores him a comeback story and interview on a national morning talk show, but it would mean missing the pageant. While it seems like he’s chosen to go to the talk show, he changes his mind and arrives just before the pageant with flowers to apologize. After you accept his apology, the kids push you two under some construction paper and white puffball mistletoe.

MacCready- RJ is a single father who is still getting over the death of his wife. He has yet to move on in part due to his son’s illness. You are an heiress to a rather large fortune, but you’re told that you have a year to get a job and learn about good old fashioned hard work before you’re allowed to have access to the fortune. You start out with no discernible skills, so you become a babysitter for RJ. He goes to work in the evening as a security guard and you take care of Duncan at home. Duncan confesses to you that things haven’t been the same since his mother died. One night, you decide to ask Duncan what he wants for Christmas, and he tells you that he told the Santa Claus at the mall that he wants his dad to be okay. One night, RJ comes home and confesses that with the holidays coming up, he doesn’t know if he can afford to keep paying you to watch him every night, to which you reply that you’d gladly work for half salary. One night, you two stay up until Duncan has to get up for school, just talking about your lives. MacCready starts inviting you on outings with him and Duncan. One day, after RJ loses his job and can no longer to afford medicine for Duncan, you confess to him that you’ve been rich the entire time, and that you can pay for it yourself. MacCready accuses you of lying to him this entire time about who you are, and he asks if he can ever trust you again. You tell him that omitting to your fortune was a lie, but your feelings for him never were. You two make up, move into a house together, and Duncan thanks you for granting him his wish.

Nick Valentine- Did someone say GHOST ROMANCE? Yes, I did. You inherit a small farmhouse from an old relative that you haven’t seen in years. You go to get a good look at to see if it’s even salvageable, and you find that not only is it relatively well kept, but things move when you’re not looking. You spend the night and are woken up in the middle of the night by someone rummaging around in the attic. You find Nick, and you threaten to call the police. He’s polite, and promises it’s not what it looks like, but tells you not to call the police. When you do, they show up to find nothing in your house. Once they leave, you turn back, and Nick is in your house again. He explains that he’s a ghost, and for some reason, he can only be seen by the deed holder of the house, which is why your relative hasn’t been to the house in years. Nick explains that he died in this house a few decades ago, but he doesn’t know how it happened. Determined to figure it out in hopes that it can help him pass on, he was looking in the attic to see if it might have any proof of how he died and if foul play was involved. Over the course of your investigations, you two become good friends, and as much as you want it to be more, you tell yourself that it could never happen. Together, you slowly piece together that Nick was murdered just before proposing to the daughter of someone who used to own the house. As you and Nick celebrate this information, you realize that Nick hasn’t passed on. Nick explains that ghosts can’t pass on until they feel they have nothing to leave behind. He explains that he has grown attached to you, and doesn’t want to leave you behind. You move into the Farmhouse with Nick where you two live until your spirits can both pass on together.

Piper- Piper is a journalist who has been tasked with writing a weekly features column about Christmas, but she has found herself disillusioned with the holidays. She thought she’d be getting a Christmas bonus that she could use to buy Nat something special, but there was never a bonus, and money is really really tight. You’re quite literally the child of Santa Claus who has been sent out into the world to be with the people and really learn what the true meaning of Christmas is before you start your apprenticeship with your father to be the next in line. You meet Piper at charity event where you’re gathering toys to send to low income communities. After Piper interviews you, you start asking her questions, and upon seeing that the cold world has turned such a warm heart into a Christmas cynic, you decide to give her the Christmas of a lifetime. I’m talking ice skating, light shows, snow on christmas, and Nat getting a few extra presents. On Christmas eve, you’re called back to the North Pole. Your dad wants you to start your apprenticeship with him on Christmas by seeing how it’s done. You tell him that you can’t, because you have your own duties this Christmas, and he’s proud of you for that. You tell Piper about your dad, and she doesn’t believe you at first, but after bringing her and Nat to the North Pole to see it all happen, she apologizes for not believing you. You kiss, and agree to split time between the North Pole and Piper’s hometown, because you would never make her give up what she loves.

Preston- You grew up in a small town, but moved to the city to get a job at an ad agency. Around the holidays, your agency notes that they’re looking for something more down-to-earth and rustic for their new ‘winter campaign,’ so they send you to your hometown for Christmas. They’re expecting a campaign plan by new years, but while you’re trying to do your job, you find Preston, selling Christmas trees at the local Christmas tree farm and greenhouse. He teaches you to slow down, and to appreciate a christmas built on family, camaraderie, and love. You use your ad/social media experience to save his dying christmas tree farm. At the end of the year, you decide to quit your job and stay with Preston, who brings you on as a partner in the business and in life.

X6-88- X6 is a loan company executive who has been sent to audit the inn that you have been taking care of since your spouse passed away years ago. He’s quite serious and no-nonsense, which clashes with the capacity for compassion that you clearly possess. He thinks such traits are inefficient and pointless. Despite that, you include him in all of the Christmas dinners and events that you have planned, even if he’s not enthused about them. Through the Christmastime events that you plan for the inn throughout the Christmas season, X6 realizes that you’re not just all heart and no head. You have great ideas, and you’re inclusive of him even when he’s pessimistic. He uses his own knowledge of your loan plan to outsmart his own company and save your inn for the time being. He decides to leave his job in the city to live with you at the inn so he can handle the business and finances.

149 notes · View notes

red-doll-face · 4 years

Text

locked in. [michael myers x gn!reader]

Ok, SO. this is my first slasher fic ever so be gentle, or else I will cry. This isn’t a specific version of Mikey so feel free to imagine any version you like, Thank you for reading this shit, 😳

Summary: You don’t want to think about it. How hard you’re breathing. How much you hope that his hearing isn’t so great in that mask. How much you wished, no matter how cruel, that he had entered someone else’s house. Maybe the neighbors had a gun. A well placed baseball bat. You didn’t. And it was too late. He had chosen this house. No matter how indeliberate or random the choice. It was still you.

WC: 2899

Warnings: stalking, implied kidnapping, creepy mikey (but that’s to be expected)

The sun offered its blistering warmth that fell gently, swayed by the autumn breeze that afternoon, which moved the leaves in their races across the porch, tumbling and piling up in the corners. The day had progressed normally. Like any other day that passed before it; inconsequential and in no way seemed to affect your life specifically, Halloween being of no special importance. The cover of night time seemed to change that air of normality. The sun fell into the ground as slow as always and came all too quickly. If you had known what awaited you in the silver night that shrouded the windows and darkened the doorways, you would have vehemently begged for the sun to stay. For Halloween night to never come.

Television noise filtered through, duly registered, and in large part ignored due to the hesitant call of school work.

A heavy sigh pushed through your lips, and after that, the pervasive silence that blared after the break of a long time spent focusing. Fall weather chill came from the open window overlooking the yard above your desk, workspace cast in the sparse light of the small lamp, kept there for your neverending school work.

Silence prevailing over the house, besides a static-y television, you realized that your parents must have left for that stupid Halloween party. The one at your parents’ job that offered the free alcohol and tepid conversation that careened in circles. ‘How are you doing?’ s exchanged, launching into an awkward silence before someone hopefully picks a good joke or something cheesy. All of the couples’ costumes explanation nightmares. Every horrible attempt at socialization a broken record that played the same section over and over… The schoolwork was better.

“Again, the town of Haddonfield, Illinois is plunged into another horrible Halloween-” the finger over the button put a quick end to the reporters nonsense as you rubbed at your eyes. 10:24 p.m. Not so bad, a few good hours of working afforded you some rest from your class discussion notes. The doorbell startled you after the white noise of 10 o'clock news stopped filling the room. Giggles and quiet chatter came from the front door. Oh, yeah. It was Halloween and the children were out on the hunt for candy. You almost forgot kids do that.

“Trick or Treat!” a group of kids no older than 9 accompanied by two watchful mothers held bags open, ready to receive the gift of sugar.

"Here you guys go,” you said, with as best a smile you could offer the children at her door. “Happy Halloween.” they ran back to their parents, only saying thank you when the two women scolded them for being so rude. You smiled and gave a small wave to the mothers and shut the door. The red plastic bowl for the candy now sat empty by the front door table.

“Sorry, no more candy.” You muttered to yourself, flipping the switch to the light on the front porch. It was darker outside than you thought but you didn’t want kids expecting candy come to the door.

After a snack and some juice enjoyed in silence, or rather to the serenade of crickets and what little children or teens still lingered on the quiet streets of Haddonfield, you refill the glass and made the begrudging journey back to the books. But little complaining was done when you considered the alternative. Another half-hour of work passed you by and when your glass of juice revealed itself to be empty, your thirst won out and you trekked back to the kitchen.

It would have been normal if the back door hadn’t been open. When you turned to find the source of the chill creeping up your legs you found the back door ajar, letting in the cool air. A stint of fear shot through your veins until the wind shut it back closed in a violent bang. The wind might have blown it open, you rationalized in silent contemplation. The wind is often to blame. Your father used to say that about the noises in your house so you figured it must be the cause. It’s always the cause.

Quietly padding to the slamming door, you wondered how long this had been going on. You hadn’t heard it earlier when the TV was on and even after that. So when exactly did the wind begin to blow open your backdoor? A quick peek into the backyard didn’t answer any questions and only worked against you, ranking up your fear. The darkness crowded around the bleak circle of light the backyard lights emitted and stretched back to the trees lining the fence and even further after that. You shivered and huddled into the comfort of home, locking the door securely. Making sure to be deliberate. If it happened again, then you should be fearful.

When you had finally made it back upstairs after your little backdoor scare, your homework greeted you like a solemn reminder: due tomorrow. With a weak plop into the desk chair, you grabbed a pen and continued where you left off. But thoughts about the backdoor snuck up on you. For the life of you, you couldn’t pinpoint a certain moment; besides when you walked into the kitchen, where you could remember the sound of the backdoor banging on the now battered wall. You shake your head, your logical self trying its best to keep you on track.

'It was just the wind, mom and dad probably just forgot to lock it’.

Momentary placation drove your brain back into work, scribbling notes to distract. To calm. Notes were calming in the place of the implications your wide-open back door held over you.

One more half-hour. 11:03 p.m. glowed on your alarm clock. One more hour before your alarm would go off, demanding you go to bed. Groggy mornings would be the death of you. The phone makes you jump and you sigh again before trotting downstairs. You answer the phone, plucking it off the wall.

“Hello?” You answered tiredly, emphasizing how much you disliked being startled.

“Ohh, honey, we were just- stop that!” Raucous giggling and party chatter streamed through the phone. You rolled your eyes.

“We called to ask you how you were doing? Hard at work, I hope. My hardworking baby.” your mom cooed and you simply set your mouth in a line. So hard at work. Working so hard.

“Yeah, mom when are you coming home?”

“Your father and I will be home in an hour. There’s an afterparty! How exclusive is that? I feel like a celebrity; like I won an Oscar!” you rolled your eyes, that one a little more meaningful “Afterparty…” your mom sighed wistfully as if her quaint office party compared to an Oscars afterparty.

"Ok, well just get home safe. You worked out who’s driving ?”

“So responsible. Yes, yes we have all that worked out.” She whispered to someone else nearby and she gave a quick 'love you, bye!’ Before hanging up. Hm. you lingered at the phone for a while, putting it back on the hook delicately, the 'clack’ sound soothing in a strange sort of way. Then something much less comforting echoed through the barren lonely wasteland that was your house.

A creak.

You stilled. It was not you and that you were sure of. You hadn’t moved and even if you did, you know exactly where each creaky floorboard in your house is. There isn’t one by the phone.

'Old bones’ grandpa would say.

'What an imagination on you! The things you’ll do with it!’ your mom would say.

'The wind’ dad would say in that gruff tone he had when he was busy.

With all of those reminders, you couldn’t be sure. Was there someone in your house? Your friends did mention the local psycho killer and his October shenanigans. Some sort of escaped mental patient. But that was a local legend. He spent his Halloweens in a cell.

Then other, less silly options came to mind. Robbers, realistic killers, the Ted Bundy kind. The ones who were less legend and more substance. More manipulative than a faceless shape peeking from the shadows.

“Imagination” you rationalized. All those work hours were taking their toll. The words whirled around and finally sleep called.

But when you think about it, you weren’t so tired. Not sleepy. Only worried. The backdoor banging against the wall and now this ominous creak were like a storm on the horizon. When you really think about it, you want to leave.

'Silly, silly.’ you thought. This is your home. The safest place you know. Your room has a lock. And so do the windows. Nothing to be afraid of, surrounded by the safe and secure interior of the house you grew up in.

Thus began the slow cycle around your warm, familiar home. Every window and door leading directly outside was closed and locked up for the night. Locked tight and double-checked. All the dark corners and closets were searched and you finally felt like you could sit without feeling imaginary eyes burning holes into the back of your neck. Every door was closed as to alert you if you saw one open and you finally settled in.

Your nightly routine brought its comfort in that it was ritualistic. It repeats every night and you do it without fail. Brush teeth, clean and wash face, comb hair, prep hair, change clothes, old clothes in the hamper, open stupid shower curtains, dry face with a towel if still wet, plan out next days outfit, Put away books…

Each book found its place in your bookbag and it was placed by your room door for easy takeaway. and finally, the usual glass of water. the same glass with water from the gallon and chilled just how you liked it. No matter what mom and dad say about your strange habits, the glass of water was necessary. It just was.

The stairs didn’t so much as creak as you crept down them, thankful you didn’t turn off all the lights. You filled your glass and slowly made your way up to your room.

A noise, just behind, well not just but somewhere behind you. You whipped around, expecting to see the shadow of something that meant you harm but you didn’t see anything. When you turned back around you could see it. That something that meant you harm. Your throat went dry and your heart stopped.

At the top of the stairs was the tallest man you’d ever seen, wielding a giant kitchen knife and wearing dark blue coveralls. His shadow fell over your face and you couldn’t even think to run. The black holes cut in his white mask seemed viscous, like a bird of prey. Watching, waiting, timing, capturing. You were sure that you were the rabbit in this situation. Sure to end up the hawks meal. Or perhaps the owl as he tilted his head at you. He descended a step and you followed suit, taking a step back, trembling hands dripping water from the glass that might just cost you your life or save it.

You tossed the glass at him, hitting him square in the forearm he raised to fend off the clear shattered remains and you took the opportunity to bolt. He didn’t give chase but you knew he wouldn’t just let you leave. That’s not the endgame. Not for him anyway. The pantry called you, but first, you had to lead him astray. The pantry was the most obvious choice. In the movies, that’s how all the dummies die. Grabbing a chair from the dining table, you tossed it into the window and then hastily dashed into the pantry.

This was a mistake. But only if you made it that way. Surrounded by crinkling bags and carefully stacked boxes, absolutely no movement could be made. Not if you wanted to get away with your life.

The heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs. Creaking on every step, it had never occurred to you that you might be more nimble than your killer, or your killer would be heavier than your dad. The crunch of broken glass from afar signaled the glass you threw.

He passed over it, unfazed and you cover your mouth, afraid even the slightest breath would tell him where you were hiding. He was the local legend after all. You tried to pretend this was extreme hide and seek. Having your life on the line, however, seemed to make you sweat bullets.

The crunch of glass closer to your hiding place tells you he’s inspecting the window. Will he fall for it? You hope so. You’re not sure if it will give an opening for you to call the police.

Sure enough, you hear him grunt and his feet land on the earth outside your home. How long ago was it that you called your mom?

Slowly, you crawled to the dining table, closing the pantry door snail slow behind you. The phone taunted you from the hook it was placed on. So close, yet so far. You slowly rose to a crouch, and just as he seemed to turn back into the house, your ruse not fooling him for long, you had already bunched yourself into a ball behind the couch making intense eye contact with your phone. He vaulted the window, heavy workman’s boots creaking the hardwood floor underneath the window that would draw the eye to your dad’s shiny old Cadillac. You felt a tear roll down your cheek. Tears don’t help you escape.

He lowered himself to peek under the dining room table and you took the chance to move to the other couch, still out of his view. Gaining courage, you peek to see him slam open the pantry door. You shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn’t fallen for your little trick. While he was distracted, you took the chance to move quickly as possible to the phone, not quite in his line of sight but you’re hoping he’ll choose the basement. You’re praying, hoping he’ll investigate the basement but he spots the backdoor. Locked. You kicked yourself. If it was unlocked, he might have assumed. He crept towards where you were hiding but by some miracle he stops, waits. An alarm. Midnight. He stalks towards the sound like a man possessed. Your precise ways have saved your life again. You set the alarm in case you got sidetracked so that it would remind you to go to bed. With some quick thinking, you manage to slip into the curtains and he stomps up the stairs before it becomes quiet. he only lets you hear him when he wants to be heard. You exit the closet and pick up the phone dialing the police.

“I swear to god if that’s you again you little punk- ”

“Listen to me. There is a man in the house wearing a mask. My address is 569 Garrison ave. if you don’t come now, I will die.” Your breath hitches at the need to cry but you soak it up. He can’t hear you. Not if you want to live. “Please. Send someone. Goodbye.” You rushed that but it was obvious the police have been receiving prank calls. You hoped he wouldn’t write you off as another prank caller.

The man is still looking for you upstairs. You’re not sure if he’s still busy with the alarm clock. You creep away from the phone on your way to the front door.

Your escape isn’t hasty enough. You should know better by now. He is a predator. He watches. Waits. Strikes. A barreling force pins you to the wall by your shoulders, the pain shooting into your scapulas. You whimper in response and he closes in, seeming to revel in your little noise. You wonder if you had chosen to run to the door, would he have still caught you?

“What do you want?” You pant out.

“I didn’t do anything!” you wiggle and struggle but his brute strength surpasses your academic homebody. You are no match. His face is so close, you can hear the heavy breathing.

Inhale. You test his grip on you.

Exhale. He doesn’t falter.

Then he leans in. Too close for comfort, you think and you cry out as you realize he is feeling you. Studying you. Squeezing and sniffing. Consuming. He raises the strange mask to his nose, before licking the sweat accumulating at your neck. You wished you had seen his face. You hoped he wasn’t some extreme pervert.

He tilts his head in curiosity. He’s starting at you, right in your eyes. He pulls his mask down and grabs your throat and you wince at the thought. He’s gonna choke you to death.

Sirens drown out your little struggles and whines to be set free. He turns, bathed in the flashing, then bends down to pick you up by the waist, folding you over his shoulder.

“No! Stop!” He squeezes your thigh with an iron grip. A warning. Silent tears slip past your shut eyelids. You’re forced to do nothing while the police bang on your door.

“Open up, police!”

'So stupid. You locked yourself inside with him.’ You sob into the blue fabric of his coveralls, soundlessly disappearing out the backdoor.

#michael myers x reader #slasher x reader #dbd x reader #dbd the shape #fanfic #slashers #😳#🤭#red writes

207 notes · View notes