#I’m a skeleton...complete skeleton...as simple as that... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eepwtf · 3 months ago

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UPCOMING BOTS / BOT DUMP!!

i’m a sucker for the fall season, every and any season CANNOT top the fall season at all. which is why i’m making (some) horror/halloween inspired bots—even if there’s like 70 something days till halloween. along with a few random bots i've done and going to do.

tvdu ☆彡

Kai Parker: 𓏲ּ ghostface au! 𓂃

after you caught his eyes, he had an inexplicable curiosity over you. every step you took, every conversation you had with other people, he was there, watching you from afar. of course, that didn’t sedate his curiosity over you. so, when someone in your orbit ventured a little too close, he took matters into his own hands—quite literally. he gutted the perceived threat, the world around him narrowing into a singular focus: you. to him, it wasn’t just a crime; it was an artistic expression, a violent confession of his feelings woven into a tapestry of blood and chaos. He crafted his work with meticulous care, each stroke of the blade a declaration of his affection. yet, in the heat of his actions, a twist of fate caught him off guard—there you were, witnessing it all. Elena Gilbert: 𓏲ּ halloween costumes 𓂃

caroline's halloween party loomed on the horizon, a spectral deadline that demanded perfection. every cobweb, jack-o'-lantern, and plastic skeleton needed to be meticulously placed. the entire event had to be flawless, a masterpiece of festive horror. you, however, felt a different kind of dread. social gatherings weren't your forte, and the thought of navigating a sea of costumed strangers made your stomach churn. but elena, with her infectious enthusiasm, had other plans. she'd already amassed an army of costumes for you to try on, each one more outrageous than the last. as she twirled before you in a dizzying parade of personas—from sultry vampire to whimsical fairy—her eyes sparkled with anticipation, silently demanding your opinion on each piece of clothing she’d modeled on herself. Elena Gilbert: 𓏲ּ cookies and kisses 𓂃

elena passion for baking was palpable, even if she wasn't a seasoned expert. what truly brought her joy was your presence in the kitchen, your willingness to join her culinary adventures. she cherished those moments when you'd sample her latest creations, those little baking treats she'd present with such enthusiasm. as you took that first bite, elena's eyes would light up, watching intently for your reaction. the moment you'd let out a contented groan of approval, a proud smile would bloom across her face, warming her from within. in those sweet instances, she felt a sense of accomplishment that went beyond the mere act of baking—it was about the connection, the shared experience, and the simple pleasure of making someone she cared for happy through her heartfelt efforts. Bonnie Bennett: 𓏲ּ season of the witch ( witch!user ) 𓂃

bonnie had gone to your place for witchcraft lessons, bringing some herbs you had specifically asked for, and of course, she brought the most important thing she needed for the lessons. herself. she knew that the lessons you were teaching her were more advanced, and that she needed to pay attention but as you began to explain the complex theories and gestures, she found her concentration wavering. your shoulder pressed against hers as you demonstrated a particularly intricate hand movement, the warmth of your body so close to hers, the subtle scent of herbs that clung to your skin, the intensity in your eyes as you spoke of each spell - it all combined to make her head spin.

Damon Salvatore: 𓏲ּ lost in your iris 𓂃

damon tried to fight his feelings for you, but you were his weakness. he sees you completely, and he’d do anything to have you near him. every glance you exchanged pulled him deeper into a world only you inhabited, where his heart raced and his resolve faltered. he yearned to lose himself in those captivating eyes, longing to feel the gentle spark of your existence beside him. Klaus Mikaelson: 𓏲ּ so confusing 𓂃

klaus wrestled with uncertainty, his feelings for you a tangled web of emotions. some days, he was convinced you harbored a deep-seated dislike for him, your every glance and gesture seeming to confirm his fears. other times, he caught himself nurturing a grudging resentment towards you, though he couldn't quite pinpoint its origin. despite all of that, he persistently suggested grabbing drinks. it had become his go-to solution, a way to bridge the gap between you two–or perhaps to blur the lines of your complicated relationship. so, inevitably, you'd find yourselves perched on barstools in some dimly lit establishment, nursing your drinks, surrounded by the hum of stranger's conversations. the atmosphere was always thick with unspoken words and lingering glances. sometimes, you'd manage to fall into an easy rhythm, laughing at shared jokes and swapping stories about your day. in these moments, the confusion would recede, and a genuine connection seemed possible. but more often than not, an awkward tension would creep in. silences stretched too long, laughter felt forced, and both of you would become hyper-aware of every word and gesture. ( this is actually my fav rn!! )

Klaus Mikaelson: 𓏲ּ his muse 𓂃

klaus always found himself getting lost in the dance of his hands across the canvas, transforming the lifeless white expanse into a vibrant masterpiece. the studio was his sanctuary, a world inhabited only by his artistic vision and you—his ethereal muse. in his eyes, you were the embodiment of perfection, and his brush strokes captured your essence without flaw. the art, a mirror of his perception, revealed no imperfections, for in his mind, you were utterly flawless.

spn ⟢

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ angels and halloween ( angel!user ) ᵎᵎ

you were an angel, which meant that you had no idea about humans, especially in their tradition of halloween. so when dean catches you staring at the halloween decor, and costumes in a store, he goes out of his way to make this a memorable halloween for the angel. he planned an elaborate evening, starting with pumpkin carving. your first attempt at pumpkin carving was... unique. the face you created had a lopsided grin and mismatched eyes, one comically larger than the other. next came costume selection, where the two of you went to the nearest halloween, a warehouse-sized space filled with endless racks of costumes and accessories. you browsed through countless options: superheroes, movie characters, mythical creatures. dean suggested a sexy devil costume with a mischievous grin, but you firmly declined, not finding the humor in it. ( i think this is my top 2 fav! )

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ insatiable ( vamp!user ) ᵎᵎ

dean’s fangs throbbed with an insatiable hunger, a primal urge he struggled to contain. every pulse of blood rushing through nearby veins called to him like a siren's song. the warmth radiating from human bodies sent shockwaves of desire coursing through his undead form. but resistance only seemed to intensify the craving. his heightened senses picked up on every nuance—the slight sheen of sweat on exposed skin, the rhythmic thump of hearts, the tantalizing scent of life itself. through it all, you observed him drinking in his struggle like a fine wine, with a knowing smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. your eyes sparkled with amusement, fully aware of the internal battle raging inside dean. you knew exactly what he craved—what he needed. and yet here you stood, taunting him, daring him to give in to his darkest impulses.

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ dark magic ( witch!user ) ᵎᵎ

dean wasn’t that awfully nice when it came down to witches or anything surrounding the supernatural. everything he stood suddenly disappeared when it came to you, logic fled and instinct reigned. your very existence seemed to weave an enchantment around him, bending his iron will as easily as a whisper bends a candle flame. in your orbit, he became a different man—softer, more open, as if you alone held the key to unlocking a hidden part of his soul. but your influence was not without cost. your magic, steeped in shadow, left a trail of upheaval in their wake. chaos bloomed wherever you tread, a dark garden of your own making. ( not sure i might stick with this plot, but am so hhhng im lazy )

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ might say somethin stupid ᵎᵎ

after a long, exhausting hunt, dean heads to a nearby bar to unwind. weighed down by the night's events, he orders a drink and surveys the room. his attention is quickly drawn to a stunning individual sitting a few stools away. intrigued, dean moves closer, captivated by their effortless beauty and presence. deciding to engage, he buys them a drink and leans in, confidently flirting with a playful question about their relationship status, hoping to shift the mood and distract himself from the tension of the hunt.

Sam Winchester: ๑ ︵ bloody date ᵎᵎ

it was catastrophic. sam knew, deep in his bones, what you truly were. he might have chastised himself for harboring feelings for you, convinced he was teetering on the edge of insanity as his heart clenched painfully within his chest at the mere thought of your presence. but fuck, you were worth it right? this date, however, shattered any remaining illusions. it was meant to be an intimate affair—small, meaningful, a cherished memory in the making. well, you sure as hell made it memorable for him to ever forget it. there you stood, fangs sunk deep into your helpless victim, crimson rivulets painting the edges of your mouth like some macabre artwork.

slashers ☆彡

Brahms Heelshire: ୭ ∿ i'll be good ∿

you had reluctantly accepted the nanny position, despite the suspiciously high salary. the isolated manor and eccentric heelshire family raised red flags, but desperation silenced your misgivings. nothing, however, could have prepared you for the absurdity of your charge – a porcelain doll named brahms. initially, you played along with the charade, following the strict rules set by the heelshires. but as days turned to weeks, an unsettling truth emerged. the real brahms was no doll, but a grown man, which in hindsight would be something to be freaked out about but for you it was fine, however the fact that the brahms could be a little too clingy was the problem. simple errands became ordeals. attempts to leave the property triggered tantrums, brahms clinging to you not wanting you to leave him.

Patrick Bateman: ୭ ∿ touch starved ∿

patrick never considered himself a touch-starved person. in fact, he often thrived in the artificial perfection of his meticulously curated life. he relished the combination of power suits and high-stakes finance, his existence orchestrated with a calculated precision that left no room for vulnerability. but from the moment you entered his life, everything changed. he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame, craving your touch in a way that defied his logical mind. in the upscale restaurants you frequented—places with starched tablecloths, crystal stemware, and prices that made most people wince—patrick's behavior shifted noticeably. while he once sat rigidly across from his dining companions, maintaining a respectable distance, with you he couldn't bear even that small separation. he'd guide you to the plush booth seating, sliding in close enough that your thighs touched beneath the table. as you perused the menu, his arm would find its way around your shoulders, fingers absently tracing patterns on your skin. during the meal, he'd lean in unnecessarily close to murmur observations about the food or other patrons, his breath warm against your ear. as the evenings wore on, patrick found increasingly creative ways to maintain contact. he'd reach across the table to adjust your napkin or brush an imaginary crumb from your cheek. Patrick Bateman: ୭ ∿ feeling bratty? ∿

patrick felt more on edge as time passed, a tightening coil of frustration that wound ever tighter within him. when the tension reached its boiling point, he reacted instinctively, striking out like a stray cat cornered and threatened, hissing and baring its tiny fangs. in that moment of vulnerability, his anger found an outlet in the nearest target—unfortunately, that target was you. deep down, he recognized his own insufferable behavior; he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. he watched as you scoffed at his provocations or simply ignored his taunts, and each dismissive reaction stoked the flames of his irritation. the more you turned away, the more desperately he sought your attention, despite knowing the fire he was playing with could easily burn him.

misc ⟢

Soldier Boy: 𓂃 ꒰ freak show ꒱

Ben never imagined he'd find himself at the entrance of a peculiar circus, its weathered sign proclaiming "freak show" in faded letters. for weeks, vought's pr team had hounded him relentlessly, insisting that this appearance would be "good for public relations" and "humanize" him in the eyes of the masses. ben had scoffed at first, but their persistence wore him down like water on stone. now, here he was, surrounded by wide-eyed gawkers and the constant buzz of excited whispers. as the show began, ben found himself oddly captivated. each act was more outlandish than the last - contortionists twisting their bodies into impossible shapes, fire-breathers painting the air with flames, and strongmen hefting weights that should have been beyond human capability. but then, as the ringmaster's booming voice announced the next act, the tent fell into a hushed silence. a single spotlight illuminated the center ring, and ben's breath caught in his throat. there you were. the aerialist.

Stiles Stilinski: 𓂃 ꒰ favorite monster ꒱

stiles was well versed when it came down to the supernatural, he read every book, myth, and stories when it came to the supernatural. was well aware of the dangers of ghosts, werewolves, vampires the whole gist, you name it he undoubtedly knows it all. of course, you were a different case, a unique case that even though he knew the dangers about being a vampire he couldn’t for the life of himself get away from you. every late-night conversation and shared secret made it harder for him to keep his distance. as the two of you walked through the forest, discussing everything from pop culture to existentialism, it was at the very instant that your sudden laugh made his heart race. the warmth in your eyes and the way you would brush your hand with his rendered him utterly transfixed. he wondered how it was possible to feel so electrified and safe in the presence of someone who was, by all accounts, a threat. Stiles Stilinski: 𓂃 ꒰ you're ghostface ꒱

stiles didn’t know what to expect when the rumors of a serial killer began circulating in their small town. the gossip, dripping with fear and intrigue, shattered the fragile peace of beacon hills. as he stumbled through the dimly lit alley, the unmistakable glint of a knife illuminated by the flickering light from the nearby streetlamp caught his eye, and as the scene grew clearer, every hope he'd entertained shattered like glass. you, standing over a crumpled figure on the ground, the knife still gleaming in your hand, ghostface mask perched above your head. stiles had known you—i mean, really known you. the fact it was you, who was said killer made his stomach churn. he felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath him, leaving him suspended in disbelief.

Madison Montgomery: 𓂃 ꒰ bitchy!user ꒱

madison's initial reaction to your caustic demeanor was a blend of irritation and intrigue. it catches her off guard; she's unaccustomed to having her façade challenged so directly. your unwavering stance and refusal to be cowed gnaws at her composure, chipping away at the armor of superiority she's cultivated. yet, beneath her outward indignation, she finds herself grudgingly impressed. your razor-sharp retorts and quick wit present a novel challenge—one that simultaneously infuriates and exhilarates her.

Madison Montgomery: 𓂃 ꒰ tobacco lips ꒱

before her death, madison was already dead inside. numb to the world, she craved to feel—anything. she chased oblivion through a haze of flesh, drugs, and alcohol, desperately seeking to drown the echoes of her past. each indulgence was a futile attempt to erase the memories: her mother's absence, her asshole of a father, the relentless scrutiny of the press, and the string of lovers who had taken pieces of her without leaving anything in return. she had found her way to the nearest bar, her face, heavily caked with makeup, felt like a mask weighing her down. her once-pearly teeth, now tobacco-stained, hid behind a sneer. the dress she'd chosen, meant to turn heads, only succeeded in making her look cheap rather than alluring. she navigated the crowded gathering with a practiced arrogance, projecting an aura of superiority she didn't feel. a fresh cigarette dangled from her lips, the filter stained with lipstick—a silent testament to her desperation. her words flowed freely, empty promises spilling from her mouth to the eager ears of men old enough to know better. then, through the haze of smoke and poor decisions, she saw you. beautiful, poised you—the coven's rising star, their future supreme. you stood surrounded by distinguished men, everything madison's admirers lacked. everything madison herself lacked. shame crashed over madison, as darted out, trying to get away from your sight.

might fix some of these but …. probably not anyway! @eppwtf on c.ai 😛

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qin-qin16 · 2 months ago

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My computer is possessed?! Oh, wait, it's just my out-coded skeleton boyfriend!

Summary: When some of your work in progress goes missing, you decide to start investigating whether your computer has a virus. That is until you realize that the few remaining works are of one character: Error Sans. cw: comedy, kinitoPET and creepypasta vibes, Error is an asshole and Reader is stressed, gn!reader, dark jokes about suicide, but nothing serious, we have a bit of jealousy Error, writer Reader… note: I finally wrote down this idea from weeks ago lol and the divider is from @sister-lucifer (Part one) (Part two)

You would never forgive yourself.

Five hours of work. Five. And it all vanished with a simple power outage. The entire neighborhood was in the dark for hours — and when the power finally came back, everyone heard the lengthy stream of insults and curses you hurled at yourself when your computer screen went blank; there were no files saved in the cloud and no trace of everything you had written.

Your body glides over the wheeled chair as you slowly spin in circles, “Eu quero me matar…” You murmur, without any genuine or serious inflection in your words, even though deep down in your mind, there’s a certain desire to end the emptiness that lingers from your anger.

“Three pages… three damn pages…” You run your hand over your face, resting it on your mouth as you feel your eyes sting from the static white of the computer screen. “I can’t believe it.” You finish, still in disbelief over the unexpected blackout.

You know that old saying, “I’ll believe it when I see it”? Well, the problem was right in front of you: a completely empty Word document, except for a few notes saved before everything was lost. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe what you were seeing.

“I’m not going to write all that again! I can’t even remember the last thing I wrote!” you rant to no one but the lifeless machine in front of you, running both hands through your hair and tangling it with unnecessary force — leaving only irritation in certain spots on your scalp and strands of hair sticking out in every direction.

Settling into the chair — legs crossed and leaning forward like a shrimp — you start closing all the tabs left open on the computer, not caring at all about what’s saved or not. All you want to do right now is shut off that old piece of junk (that can't even handle an internet outage) and go grab something to eat. Maybe that would help you relax and distract yourself from this mess.

However, the large ERROR 505 flashing on the screen interrupted your ongoing stream of frustration.

The damn title, accompanied by a series of codes that made no sense to you, was plastered on the last tab of your browser, just waiting to be closed. But even after you clicked the little red box three times — eager to shut the window as quickly as possible — the page stayed open.

It felt almost as if it were mocking you. Almost…

“Perfect! Just what I needed!” You don’t hesitate to slap the monitor, taking out all your anger on the old machine. “Now even the damn Google isn’t working!” Your grunt is muffled as you bury your face in your hands, holding back the scream that desperately wants to burst from your throat.

“God, if you exist, why are you punishing me like this?” Your murmurs are heard only by the computer as it continues to mock your suffering with the bright white screen — and that damn ERROR 505 displayed at your face.

“Know what? Screw it, I don’t care.” With your hands thrown up in defeat, you finally surrender, tired and out of patience to battle this cursed error.

This is worse than when the Ao3 is down—no, I can't exaggerate like that, you think to yourself as you crouch in your chair searching for the charger’s plug. If this page won’t close on its own, then it’ll have to be forced; nothing beats unplugging the old computer directly from the outlet.

Which turned out to be a challenging task, not only because of your awkward and uncomfortable position in the wheeled chair, but also due to the mess of wires and cables under your desk. You didn’t even know which one belonged to your computer, let alone where the outlet was.

“Maybe it’s best to just yank everything and hope the outlet comes with it.” You go back to your original position, stretching your spine and letting out a quiet grunt as a pop resonates from your back. “I need to stop spending hours sitting in front of the computer.” Your grumble is nothing more than a hollow promise, unlike your spine, which was definitely promising to develop some kind of scoliosis.

“Okay, here we go— what the hell is this?” you exclaim, and even though your voice lacks any emotion — probably exhausted from all the shouting earlier — your jaw drops, matching the widening of your eyes as you see that the once flashy ERROR 505 screen has now changed to a completely different tab.

What had once been a white background filled with bold text was suddenly replaced by your Tumblr homepage... featuring countless fan arts of Error Sans scattered throughout your feed.

It wasn’t unusual for you to search for fan art and fanfics about him; in fact, the number of tags you followed with his name was far too many to count on both hands!

However, today was not one of those days. In fact, you had been trying to set aside your obsession with the glitchy skeleton to focus on other Sanses. Those three pages you lost forever were actually part of a fanfic about Cross x Reader that you had been working on for a few days.

So… why did the page load with this theme that you had been ignoring?

It doesn’t matter, I’ll just close this tab and—oh my God, what a gorgeous fan art! You quickly get distracted by the artwork on your screen, and without hesitation, your finger starts clicking rapidly on the mouse, liking and reblogging as fast as you can.

You must have been very tired not to notice the muffled sound coming from your computer — different from the noises it made when starting up or running a virus scan. No, no, this sounded oddly like a stilted laugh, as if the audio had been chopped into pieces.

But why would you pay attention to that? Computers couldn’t laugh, especially not at your half-closed eyes and the sentences you’d written incorrectly because you were sleepy…

Right?

Tagging the people who wanted to see a fanfic of this:

@snastheskeleton64, @moonpieandfries12345, @lostsoulsofdragon, @mrcatmario, @something-random1-1-blog, @joonebugg, @crunchontoast, @honeybubbletea33, @what-have-i-unleashed, @leafwateraddict, @sweethoneybear, @sleepy-batz

If you want to be tagged in part two, please let me know :D

#error sans #error sans x reader #error x reader #error x you #utmv #utmv au #qinqin stuff 💖#sans x reader #sans x you #sans x yn #utmv x reader

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eternal-evergreens · 4 months ago

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may I request a yandere hajime kashimo x fem reader or yandere gato x fem reader if you haven't read the manga yet

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧ "Arc Flash" ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post format: drabble

Paring: Yandere! Hajime Kashimo x Fem! Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: major injury, slight gore, period-typical misogyny (nothing from Hajime), cross-dressing, forced marriage

You were once one of the strongest sorcerers of your time, though your days of glory have long since passed you by.

You were twenty-five when you fought what you thought to be your last battle. Twenty-five when you sustained a life-altering injury. Twenty-five when you lost it all.

Hajime Kashimo. Your childhood friend turned sour. Endearing when you were children, his fixation on you began to verge on unnerving as you entered adolescence. By the time you had entered adulthood, it had bloomed into an obsession from which you could not escape.

“Let’s get married,” he told you on your eighteenth birthday. He wasn’t asking for your opinion. If you wanted to get out of this, you’d need a better excuse than ‘I don’t want to’.

“I can’t,” you said flatly, luggage in hand. You needed to get going before noon, and he was blocking your only exit. “It’s a tradition in my family for sorcerers to go on a pilgrimage of strength once they enter adulthood. You know this.”

“I’m not like them,” you say. “I need to get stronger.”

“The girls usually choose to get married instead, though.”

“You don't even have a technique!” You pause.

That's not quite true, though he has no way to know it. You never told him about it, after all.

“...Even more reason to get stronger.”

You do have a technique, but you've only just recently discovered it.

“You won’t need to get stronger once you’re under my protection.”

Most sorcerers become aware of their technique around five or six…

“And what if someone attacks me while you’re away? I’m going. End of story.”

…but it's a different story if their technique requires the use of a medium that is hard to come by.

“When you come back, then,” he says. You give a vague indication of agreement, and he lets you pass.

Corpses aren't exactly common playthings for a child, after all.

Most pilgrimages of this type end after a maximum of three years. However, returning was never something you planned on doing. Your family scorned you for not being a meek and obedient daughter, and Hajime had chased off the only friends you had. There was nothing left for you back in the village. The pilgrimage was largely nothing more than an excuse for your escape.

Of course, that doesn’t mean it was all for show. You were’nt lying when you said you wanted to get stronger, after all.

Within just a year of your departure, rumours of “The Masked Sorcerer” began to circulate around Japan. Despite the growing fame, you weren’t worried about being caught. After all, [First] [Last] was a female sorcerer of humble origins with no innate technique, completely different from the Masked Sorcerer, an anonymous male who possessed a mastery over corpse manipulation.

After seven years of independence, you thought you'd never see anyone from your past ever again. But perhaps the years of separation had worn on your memory; you seemed to have forgotten that Hajime was a junkie for battle.

It was a relatively simple attack from behind. So easy to dodge that you suspect it was meant more as a declaration than a genuine attempt on your life. You reach for your katana, prepared to take your assailant down in one blow, however, a familiar voice freezes you in place.

“You’re the masked sorcerer, right?” He asked. “I've been looking for you.” Hajime lunges for you, his cursed energy crackling around him. You jump to create distance, narrowly avoiding a collision. Snapping out of your momemtary stupor, this time you don’t hesitate to unsheathe your katana and swing it down in one fluid motion. At the same time, you summon a horde of skeletons to join you in battle. Skeletons don’t make for the strongest fighters, but bones are the most resistant to electric conduction. That makes them perfect for fighting against Hajime’s cursed energy.

“So this is corpse manipulation!” Hajime exclaims, leaping out of your sword’s path. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” Your skeletons swarm him, each armed with weapons made of bone. Hajime releases a surge of electricity, but the skeletons hardly react. “Not bad.” He grins. “You even accounted for the special property of my cursed energy. However,” Hajime drops his staff and raises his arms to his chest, making a hand sign you recognise instantly. How could you forget? You were the first person he showed it off to.

“Hey, look at this! I just learned how to make explosions!” Hajime, age twelve, told you, guiding you by the hand as he ran with you across an open field. “[First], [First], look!”

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” you say. Hajime smiles, letting go of your hand to free up his own, he places his left palm over the back of his right hand, making a sign that resembles a butterfly’s wings. “How does it work?”

“So you take a bunch of electricity like this to create a sort of field, yeah? Then you pulse more electricity through that field, and then…” In a second, the tree standing to your left explodes as if struck by lightning, its stump catches on fire, and its branches fly out in all directions, many of them also on fire.

“Woah! That’s amazing, Hajime!” Hajime puffs out his chest with pride.

“I’ve even thought of a name for it!” He tells you. “I’m calling it—”

“Arc flash.”

In no time at all, the force of the explosion rips your skeletons apart, leaving nothing left between you and him. You lunge forward, katana in hand. He readies his staff to block your attack, and the two of you exchange blows with lightning speed.

“What’s your name?” He asks. You don’t answer. Your voice would give you away. A current passes through your body, shocking the nerves. You lock up, and Hajime reaches to remove your mask. In a flash, you sever his arm. But the damage is done. In an effort to protect your identity, you gave it away instead.

It’s Hajime’s turn to be frozen now. He looks down at the stump of his arm as blood gushes from the cleany cut arteries, then he looks back to you. “That was…”

New Shadow Style: Simple Domain.

By creating a small domain around your body, you’re able to automate your movements, attacking and reacting to attacks faster than you ever could on your own.

It’s not something you came up with, but, having no innate technique to rely on, it was basically your signature back home.

Shit. You messed up.

“Let’s change the rules,” he says, healing his injured hand and picking his staff back up. “If I win, you’ll promise to marry me, just like you did back then.” No point in hiding it now, you figure. You rip off your mask and throw it to the ground.

“And if I win, you’ll die where you stand.”

“Deal.” The two of you launch towards each other in a blaze of fiery passion. You fight well, but it isn’t long before you burn through all of your skeleton reserves. Regular corpses, though stronger, are more suceptible to electric pulse, and don’t last much longer. With nothing but melee combat left at your disposal, it was only a matter of time before a well-placed electrical current sent you out of commission.

That bastard. He targeted your spinal cord on purpose, didn’t he?

“Partial paraplegia,” the doctor said. “It means that while you still retain some form of movement in your legs, it will be quite difficult for you to ever walk again. And even then, only for short distances.”

You wanted to kill him. That good-for-nothing husband of yours was just about as bad as it can get. But a sorcerer’s word is their pride. So you agreed to go back to his residence as his newly disabled wife, though the humiliation and shame just might send you into an early grave.

“Well,” he says, grinning as he wheels you out of the office. “Guess you can’t run away anymore, huh?”

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere x reader #yandere hajime kashimo #hajime kashimo #hajime kashimo x reader #yandere jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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honorarysimp · 4 months ago

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Ramifications

series masterlist

(trigger warning - childhood trauma: mental and emotional abuse mentioned)

“Stop it! Stop it!”

Little hands bat at the large one wrapped around your arm, pulling you through the apartment.

“Uncle Derek stop-“

You’re brought to a halt as he stops, towering over you with a twisted expression on his face, “I didn’t ask for this just as much as you did, okay? I have one, simple rule, one that you can’t seem to get through that little head of yours”.

He then prods a finger into the side of your head, the faint smell of booze radiating off him, making your little nose scrunch as you try to shy away.

You’re not a fighter, how could you? He’s the only family you have, and maybe he’s right. Maybe you should stop asking.

When tears fill your eyes, he seems to soften a bit, sighing as he lets your arm go and drops to his knee beside you.

“Look squirt, what happened to your parents was… shitty. I didn’t ask to be stuck with you just as much as you didn’t ask to be stuck here with me” he says much softer, though his words still hurt your little heart.

“But we’re all we got, alright? So just… leave it alone, that’s the only thing I ask of you” he continues, trying to make the situation better by patting down your tousled hair.

You force yourself not to pull away, not use to his touch being so gentle “I’m sorry for asking about them, Uncle Derek-“

When you can’t choke back the sob, you hear him sigh heavily before patting your shoulder, and oddly you prefer it over him possibly even trying to hug you.

That might break you apart completely.

“Just let it go kid, sometimes we just have to accept things are what they are, even without a logical explanation” he tells you quietly, your crying slowly stifling to sniffles.

“Uncle Derek?”

“Yeah squirt?”

“Uncle Derek-“

You sit upright, his name in your mouth, but you swallow it and it drops like lead to your stomach.

You rub your eyes and glance over to Anika’s bed from where you’re lying on her floor, your designated spot any time you sleep over.

Buzzing on the carpet next to you is the alarm on your phone, you quickly shut it off and stand. Twisting your back and stretching, you let out little satisfied grunts as multiple joints pop across your body from all areas.

Double checking the time and wincing at the bright 8:04AM that flashes back at you.

Turning towards Anika’s bed, you nudge her, which only makes her groan.

“Can’t it wait another hour?”

“Do you really want to hold yourself responsible if I’m the reason I get arrested today?”

Anika doesn’t move, nor offer any more grunts of protest for a solid minute.

“We’ll stop at The Offering on our way and get free coffee, courtesy of my nonexistent uncle”.

“That’s considered guilt tripping” a pause, “and bribery”.

“Is it working?”

A beat, and then a sigh, shuffling from under the covers.

“Your coffee addiction needs looking into”.

“Take me to rehab tomorrow”.

____________________________________________

If you keep making a habit of breaking and entering, you might actually get good at this.

And with Anika’s help, it’s almost unfair. Her ploy is executed so well that neither of you miss a beat.

Hell, maybe you were born to do this.

Her idea had been to play innocent lost teenage girl, approach the guard at the front, and ask him to call her dad. To which she takes advantage of the moment he’s distracted, unclasping his keys from his belt and dropping them just outside the building as he escorts her inside, to a phone probably.

She plans on using your Uncle’s number, knowing damn well he won’t answer.

The morgue is completely vacant, a skeleton of a building. The inside is a stark, sterile place, filled with a cold, clinical ambiance. The walls are painted a pale, sterile white, and the fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare upon everything.

The long hallway that stretches out in front of you is lined with countless autopsy rooms, each one isolated and separate, with a sense of foreboding. The only sound that echoes through the hallway is the faint mechanical hum of medical equipment, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

“This is the part in the movie where people watching scream for the protagonist to turn around and leave” you mutter to yourself, hand tightly clutching the keys as you push forward.

As you push forward down the eerie hallway, the atmosphere becomes even more unsettling. The sterile, stark white walls seem to close in on you, and the harsh fluorescent lights glare down at you from above. The silence of the hallway is only broken by the soft footsteps of your feet against the linoleum floor, and the faint sound of medical equipment in the distance.

Despite the clinical sterility of the place, you can't help but feel a sense of unease as you pass by door after door of isolated autopsy rooms. The thought of what goes on behind those closed doors sends a shiver down your spine.

The relief you feel when you finally stumble upon the right room, marked "Files and Records," is palpable. Your heart is pounding as you fumble with a set of keys, trying each one in the lock until finally, with a satisfying click, the door swings open. The room is dimly lit, but you can make out the shapes of filing cabinets and boxes stacked up against the walls. The air is musty and old, and you can't help but feel a sense of excitement and trepidation as you enter.

“What the fuck is wrong with me” you mutter as you flip the light switch, goosebumps in your arms from the stale air of the room.

The room is small but functional, filled with rows and rows of filing cabinets that line the walls. In the center of the room are two desks, each one positioned against opposite walls, and on top of each desk is a computer.

The desks are cluttered with various papers and documents, and there is a sense of organization mixed with chaos. The air is heavy with the aroma of old paper and dust, and the fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare throughout the room.

You take a seat in front of one of the computers, your mind racing as you begin to dig through the desk drawers and folders spread across the top. You try to ignore the sense of unease that crawls along your spine and focus on the task at hand. You sift through papers, searching for any hint of a password or any clue that might help you gain access to the computer. Frustration creeps in as you search, the anxiety building as you struggle to find anything useful.

You lean back in the chair and survey the room, your eyes scanning the rows of filing cabinets and boxes stacked against the walls. The sense of frustration and helplessness weighs heavily on you, but you're determined to find something, anything, that might give you a clue. You get up from the desk and begin to rifle through the drawers of the cabinets, hoping to find a file, a piece of paper, or anything that might lead you closer to the information you need.

Your eyes land on a photo sitting on the desk, half-hidden behind a stack of files. As you reach for it, your heart skips a beat. On the back of the photo is a date, scribbled in faded ink. Without hesitation, you rush back to the computer, your fingers trembling as you type the date into the password prompt. With bated breath, you press the Enter key, waiting for a response.

As the computer unlocks, a wave of relief washes over you. You immediately open the command center and search for your father's name. The computer hums to life, processing the command as you anxiously wait for the results. Your heart is in your throat, your palms sweating as you imagine what you might find.

Your stomach sinks as the search results pop up, dozens of files bearing your father's name filling the screen. Your mind races as you quickly fish a flash drive out of your pocket and plug it into the computer. Your hands are shaking slightly as you transfer the files onto the drive, the sense of dread growing with each file that is copied.

With a sense of urgency, you unplug the flash drive once the files have finished copying, shutting down the computer and hastily exiting the room. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath as you scan the hallway, making sure no one has come by. The hallway seems eerily quiet, the only sound the sound of your own erratic breathing and the muffled hum of the air conditioning.

“This is too easy” you mutter to yourself, tucking the flash drive into your pocket before heading back in the direction you came.

But then again, who’s expecting someone to break into a morgue? Actually, you don’t want to think about that.

You hastily exit the building, dropping the keys just outside the door for the guard to find later, making your way down the street at a steadfast pace.

As you come around the corner, you find Anika waiting, just as planned.

“That guy was a fucking creep, you owe me big time” Anima hisses under her breath, falling into step with you, “did you get it?”

You dig the flash drive out of your pocket and hold it up, giving her a grin “one step closer”.

____________________________________________

You’re pretty sure you’ve never been to this part of the city before.

But, as you continue forward with this ‘investigation’ as Anika so kindly put, you brace yourself for any possibilities.

The apartment building in front of you is a looming, dilapidated structure, its crumbling brick facade covered in graffiti and stains. It stands alone in a neglected, desolate stretch of the city, its shadows casting an ominous aura over the surrounding streets. As you sit staked out in your car outside the building, you can't help but feel a sense of foreboding and danger.

Yes, you heard that right, car. You've got your permit, and you practically raised yourself, so it counts. Besides, who is going to stop you? It's not your fault your Uncle left his keys out for the taking.

Not to mention, you think you're an excellent and safe driver.

The area is sketchy, known for its drug activity and violent crime. The darkness of the night only adds to the atmosphere of danger, making you tense and wary.

Why are you here? Because you and Anika spent the last two days going through everything you’d found, and oddly enough, every victim your father had signed off for had lived in this area. Not this building specifically, but a large majority in the complexes along the street.

It’s no surprise the police didn’t go snooping around, if they even made it this far. You’ve lived in New York long enough now to know what areas to avoid and what ones are safe, especially when it comes to contraband.

You’ve been here for three hours, and at this point you’re getting restless, what do you expect to find anyways? Sitting here watching won’t do you any good.

You have to act, you have to find something, this can’t all be for nothing.

So, you go to the only dealer you know, shifting the car into drive and heading back towards the inner city.

When you reach the Bailey residence, and are greeted by Quinn at the door, she grins and bear hugs you.

“Where the hell have you been? Ethan says you haven’t answered any of his texts, if you keep skipping class and it forces me into social interaction with normal people we’re going to have a problem-“

“Is Richie here?” You cut her off, her smile faltering as you step through the threshold, brows knitted together in confusion.

“What-“

“I need to talk to him” you say as you cast her a side glance, heading into the apartment, catching sight of Ethan sitting in the couch watching a movie.

For a moment, you feel that guilt, knowing he’s only just been let off house arrest after helping you and being caught by his own dad of all people.

Quinn follows after you and fires question after question. When Ethan sees you, he jumps to his feet with a swirl of relief, worry, and confusion on his face.

“GUYS. PLEASE” you snap, whirling on them, bringing them to a complete halt behind you.

“Just back off, alright? Stop hovering, Jesus Christ, I’m not made of fucking glass” you say a bit too harshly, and the way their expressions show it makes you hurt inside.

You don’t have time for this.

Squaring your shoulders, you turn and head in the general direction of Richie’s room, and they don’t follow.

You hear a “fuck off” when you pound your fist on the door, rolling your eyes as you try the doorhandle, finding it locked.

“Richie! Open the door, I need your help” you shout just loud enough for him to hear. He seems to register you aren’t his brother or sister, feet padding towards the door before the sound of a click from the other side.

The door opens, wafts of dank coming from his room as he leans against the doorframe, looking you up and down in ridicule “you? You need my help?”

“Believe me, it’s a last resort” you push the words through your teeth “I need you to get me in touch with your dealer”.

He laughs, hard, you don’t.

And when he also seems to realize this, his laugh fizzles out and his smile drops “yeah that’s not going to happen for an abundance of reasons-“

“Give it to me, or I’ll just tap your phone and get it myself” you say far too confidently, and with the way his eyes narrow you’re pretty sure he’s going to call your bluff.

“You need to be careful where you insert yourself” Richie says as he nudges his door open, heading into his room to grab his phone off his bed.

You stay at the door, “since when do you care?”

“You go knock on the wrong persons door, you’ll get yourself killed some day, but that’s your funeral” Richie says without looking at you, your phone chimes from your back pocket and you grab it to check the message.

Contact information.

“You owe me” Richie says as he drops down to lay on his bed.

“Consider it you repaying me for not ratting you out to your dad” you snark, turning on your heel.

You should come up with a better way on tracking down people, because you'll never stoop this low again-

“Right you just rat out your friends, right?”

You bite your tongue, because you know it isn’t the truth, and you don’t owe him an explanation anyways. But how he knows you’re the reason Ethan got in trouble is beyond you.

You don’t have time for this.

Without offering a response, or a thank you, you hastily exit. You don’t even think to check for your friends, nor do they show themselves as you let yourself out.

And you find out why, as your tunnel vision suddenly comes to a halt the moment you step into your apartment.

When you look up and find your three friends gathered in the living room, you can’t help but quip “is this about the cigarettes? I swear it’s just for the anxiety, and to be fair Derek shouldn’t be leaving them lying around-”.

“Don’t play with me right now” Anika says sharply, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

You stiffen, instantly becoming defensive “what’s your problem-“.

“You. You’ve become our problem” Quinn cuts you off, and when your eyes go to her you can’t help but take note that this is probably the most serious you’ve ever seen her.

Sure, you aren’t as close with her as you are Ethan and Anika, she flirts and you go along with it. But it’s a harsh reminder than she is a person with feelings, and she is in fact, also one of your closest friends.

“You’re going off the rails dude, we’re worried” Ethan tries the gentler approach, “I wouldn’t just get myself into trouble with my dad for nothing-“

“You knew what you were signing up for, you didn’t have to” your words are sharp, and you instantly regret it as Ethan’s demeanor shrinks just the slightest.

Anika strides towards you, now furious “do you hear yourself right now? Who the hell do you think you are talking to us like this? Were your friends and we’ve done nothing but support you and help you since-“

“Since what? Since I found out my Uncle might’ve actually killed my parents?!” You exclaim, boiling over, everything crashing down all at once in this moment.

"Yeah, well considering how much you act like you hate the guy, you sure are acting like him" Anika shouts back, taking a step towards you.

Silence.

Your hands start to shake, the slightest ringing in your ears as you take a very slow breath, "...excuse me?"

"Anika-"

She holds up a hand and Ethan instantly cuts his own sentence off, deflating as he looks from her to you, and when no one else speaks. You do.

“How fucking dare you. I’m suffocating over here, I have been for years! I am nothing like him! My Uncle doesn’t give a shit about me, my estranged family wants nothing to do with me and I don’t know why. My parents were murdered, and I don’t know why, but as of right now I’m pretty sure it’s got to do with my Uncle covering up some shady shit”.

Ethan and Quinn exchange a look, and you can tell Anika is trying to keep a steel expression and hold you accountable for how you’ve been acting recently.

“That doesn’t give you an excuse for treating us like shit” Anika says sternly, which makes you clench your fists at your side, “you’ve always been impulsive but now you’re just being reckless, this isn’t like you”.

It’s your fault, it’s your fault, it’s your fault.

You scoff, trying to shove past her “of course you don’t understand, you have the picture fucking perfect family that actually loves you-“

“Yeah, and they love your stupid ass too, if you’d get your goddamn head out of it for five seconds to remember everything they’ve done for you” Anika barks, grabbing your arm and pulling to make you turn to face her.

And that. That breaks you. As flashes of memories from your childhood flood your brain, your furious Uncle and all that time of isolation.

You know she’s right, and that hurts more.

“Don’t-“ you rip your arm free, chest heaving unevenly as your bottom lip quivers, eyes filling with tears as you point a trembling finger at her, “don’t fucking touch me like that”.

The regret in her eyes is instant, but she doesn’t back down, instead she moves forward and pulls you into a hug.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs taking a full pause as everything just stops for a moment. Even when you’re hurting, beyond angry, confused, and shutting down, they’re still here.

They see you. They see you falling apart, and they’re still here, they see you going nuclear and they’re reminding you who you are.

You aren’t your past, you aren’t the trials and tribulations you’ve gone through, you aren’t your parents or your Uncle.

It isn’t your fault.

And you fall apart, your hands clawing at the back of her shirt as your knees buckle, a broken sob ripping from your throat.

And Anika holds you, dropping to the floor with you, your cries muffled against her shoulder. And then Ethan is there, and Quinn, circling you as they surround you with their love from all sides.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry” you manage out between breaths, face twisting as your chest caves in from the swirl of emotions overwhelming you.

“We got you” you hear Anika murmur, “we’ve always got you”.

You aren’t alone, you’ve never been alone. You are loved, and you aren’t a burden.

At least, not to them.

____________________________________________

Your friends weren’t entirely in agreement to your methods of gathering information, but you never really fell in line with rules and regulations anyways.

However, after having been enlightened by your barbaric and brash behavior, you put yourself in check.

So after a bit of a plan is formulated, you set out.

Yes, getting answers and finding some sort of inner peace is important, but you’re fifteen for Christ sake.

There’s far too much that you’ve felt within your lifetime already, and to be frank, you want to close the chapter. Put an end to it, let the dead rest where they lay.

An individual of logic, and rationality you are once again, somewhat.

You never knew your parents, murdered before you reached your second birthday. Fact.

Your Uncle is blacklisted from the family for reasons unknown, refuses to talk about what happened, and thus isolating you from the rest of your family with no say on your part. Fact.

Your Uncle hates his sister, your mother, also for reasons unknown. Fact.

Did he kill them in some ploy? Revenge? Money? Only to get stuck with you?

Or is there something bigger at play, and perhaps, your Uncle traumatized you so badly so you wouldn’t go digging.

For your own safety? Or is that a stretch, hoping a man who never once gave you the time of day, might actually care for you on some twisted and toxic level.

Yeah, no, he’s a piece of shit. No need for euphemisms at this point.

At least he taught you how to use it as a tool of intimidation, probably the only thing he ever taught you.

It took a lot, a lot of convincing to let you walk into that warehouse alone that night, after linking up with the dealer you were put in contact with no thanks to Richie.

You’d casually told him you needed to speak to his boss, wanting in on the underground workings so to speak. Money is always the best ploy, because everyone needs it. You’re pretty sure the guy had no idea how old you were, but considering you’re from New York and plastered on your most boorish persona.

He didn’t question it.

But now that you think about it, you’re beginning to question your own judgement as he leads you to armed men at the front of a sketchy warehouse, they’re at least triple your size. He tells them why you’re here, which has them exchange a look before taking over, a curt nod indicating you follow.

You’re nervous. Reflecting. Subconsciously grateful that your friends rattled you up enough to get your senses back in order, else you’d be completely fucked right now.

Everyone you walk past is eyeing you, your first thought has to be your age and stature, but there’s other factors you consider as well.

You pray this works out as planned.

As you are escorted through the warehouse, you are surrounded by armed men, their weapons hanging heavily at their hips. The atmosphere is tense and ominous, the only source of light coming from the dim, hanging light bulbs that hang from the ceiling. The walls are lined with storage crates and shelves, creating a labyrinth of dark shadows that seem to swallow up the light.

The air is thick with the scent of musk and decay, and you can feel the eyes of the armed men on you, watching your every move as you are led further into the dimly lit maze.

The armed men move silently in front of and behind you, their footsteps barely making a sound on the concrete floor. The only noise is the soft shuffling of your own footsteps and the occasional sound of creaking metal coming from the boxes and crates stacked around the warehouse. As you make your way deeper into the labyrinth, the sense of uncertainty and danger grows, making your heart race and your palms sweaty with fear. Every corner you turn, every shadow you pass through, could hold something sinister lurking in the darkness.

In an attempt to self sooth, you start humming Hotel California, which inadvertently reverberates through the space around you.

“Knock it off, kid” one of the armed men grunts, breaking you out of your momentary trace, unable to help the subconscious look you judgementally send his way.

“What? Not an Eagles fan?” you remark, which has him look forward again as you continue along.

“I don’t like football”.

Your mouth opens, the words don’t come out, and honestly you’re too taken aback by just how badly he’d mistaken what you’d said. You don’t even bother correcting him, blowing quiet raspberries instead rather than wasting your breath.

As you enter the next room, you are directed towards a tall, imposing figure standing by a large table. His muscular frame, and deep scar runs down his face, adding to his intimidating aura. Every inch of him exudes power and ruthlessness. His gaze is fixed upon the money he counts in his hands, his eyes cold and unreadable as you approach.

His towering presence makes the room feel smaller, and the atmosphere is tense as he regards you with a steely gaze. The flicker from the light above casts moving shadows across his face, making him look even more ominous and dangerous. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, and a chill runs down your spine as you stand before him, feeling like a mouse cornered by a lion.

Despite the intimidating presence of the tall figure, you force yourself to stand tall and hold his gaze. He drops the wad of cash on to the table and looks you up and down, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, before breaking out into a loud, almost cruel-sounding laugh.

The man laughs louder, clearly amused at your attempt to get involved in the drug dealing business. "So, a toddler trying to get into the game," he says with a sneer. "You're underestimating the risks. This isn't a playground. It's a dangerous world, and you're not prepared for it. Kids like you are nothing but a liability"

You bristled at his words, feeling the sting of his condescending tone. But you stand your ground, your eyes meeting his defiantly. "Don't underestimate me," you say firmly, your voice steady. "You have no idea the thing I’ve been through, the things I’ve seen, what all I’ve done to get to this moment. Right here."

The man's condescending smile falters for a moment, his gaze studying you closely. For a brief instant, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes, almost as if he’s seen something in you that he never expected. He leans back against the table, his arms crossed, as he regards you with a new level of curiosity.

Good, you have his attention, now all you need to do is hold it.

You notice the change in the man's demeanor and decide to test the waters, subtly complimenting his reputation. "I've heard stories about you," you say, your voice low and deliberate. "About the grip you have on people in New York, the way you manipulate the system to your advantage. It's impressive."

He scoffs again, clearly trying to downplay your comment. "What would a kid like you know about the things I’ve done?" he says, his tone dismissive. "You're just a kid playing at being grown-up. You don’t know anything about this life, about the things I’ve had to do to get where I am."

You take a deep breath, steeling your nerves as you prepare to drop the name that you hope will bring the man's attention to you. Letting the silence hang in the air for a moment, you meet his gaze directly, your voice steady and confident. "Everyone in New York knows your name," you say, emphasizing each word. "You're a legend in this town. Mickey."

As soon as you say his name, the man's demeanor changes completely. All the false charisma and snarky attitude disappears, replaced by a look of annoyance and disdain. He straightens up, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you with a cold gaze. "How do you know my name?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

The tension in the air is palpable as you stare him down, the room falling quiet. You take a step forward, your voice firm and unwavering. "You know, Mickey," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "I may be just a kid, but I know more than you think."

The air between you and Mickey is thick with tension, the silence in the room growing even heavier as you take a step forward, your voice dripping with sarcasm. As you speak, his eyes flash with anger. "You think you know something, kid?" he growls, his voice low and menacing. "You're nothing but a scrawny little punk who's in over your head."

The room is tense as you take a step forward, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. Your voice is firm and steady as you speak, your words laced with sarcasm. "I may be kid right now," you repeat, "but I know and am capable of more than you give me credit for. And let's be clear on something, Mickey. I didn't come here to play games. I came here to make a deal."

As you strongly follow with the words "blackmail, on a charge of double homicide," Mickey’s expression hardens even more, his body going rigid as if you've put him in a metaphorical chokehold. The atmosphere in the room becomes charged, the sense of danger and tension reaching a new level. His eyes narrow, and a flash of anger passes through them as he regards you with a steely gaze. Silence hangs in the air like a heavy blanket, the only sound the steady breathing of the armed men standing around you.

Mickey looms over you, his towering frame casting a shadow across your small form. A crazed, almost feral gleam enters his eyes as he stares down at you, the corners of his mouth curling into a sinister smile. "You think you can threaten me, kid?" he laughs, his voice thick with menace and eyes narrowed, “you think I haven't killed countless people to get what I want? You’ll have to be a little bit more specific.”

It’s hard, not to buckle under that scrutinizing gaze, how he is three times your size and easily could overpower you and do God knows what.

But you’re use to this kind of intimidation tactic, and didn’t come all this way for nothing.

“Feldman”.

Mickey's expression morphs from one of psychotic glee to a sudden, unsettling stillness, his laughter stopping mid-note as your name registers in his brain. For a moment, he stands there, completely frozen, and then he throws his head back, a maniacal cackle echoing loudly in the room.

His laughter is chilling, the sound of it echoing off the walls of the warehouse as he throws back his head, cackling loudly. The sound is almost animalistic, filled with a gleeful malice that sends shivers down your spine. It's a sound that speaks of a man who is utterly devoid of remorse, a man who takes pleasure in the pain and suffering of others.

The cackling laughter stops so abruptly you get whiplash, his face becoming a mask of cold control once more. He regards you for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he pieces together the puzzle. Then, in a quiet voice, he asks, "Pause. Your parents... You're their kid, aren't you?"

His lip curls into a cruel smile, his eyes taking on a dark, malicious gleam as his voice takes on a mocking tone, continuing to speak, “right right right, you were that God awful shrieking in the background as I put a fucking bullet in mommy and daddies head for backstabbing us” he snarls, head slightly rolling as if reiterating the story was an inconvenience.

Then he fixes you with a look, head slightly tilted and a sour look on his face “and clearly nothing has fucking changed”.

“Fuck you asshole-“

You stop short, your mind slowly catches up to his words, the implications of his story sinking in. Confused and growingly concerned, you ask, "Wait... what do you mean, 'backstabbing'?"

Mickey begins to pace around you, his demeanor becomes more and more unsettling, the air of menace thick and electric. He begins to explain the story, his voice taking on a venomous edge as he describes your father's situation. "Your old man... he was a drug-addicted mess," he says, his tone dripping with malice. "He owed us thousands, and we were collecting, found a way to have him repay us in… little favors. But then he decided to get righteous and refused to cooperate with us anymore."

He continues circling you, his gaze flicking over your face, searching for any sign of emotion. As he speaks, his voice becomes almost gleeful, as if he's enjoying the power he holds over you. "But we couldn't just let him get away with it," he says, almost gleefully. "So we figured the best way to get to him was through his wife."

He stop right in front of you, his grin wide and his eyes cold “and well, when that didn’t take…”

For a moment, he takes a step back and makes a gun, complete with the "pow" sound, before throwing his head back, his laughter once again filling the room. The gesture is casual, almost chilling in its simplicity.

As he continues his laughter, you glance at the armed men standing nearby, but they show no reaction to the story or the man's performance. Their faces are schooled, almost emotionless, as they stand silently and watch the scene play out. The lack of emotion in their eyes adds to the unsettling atmosphere of the room, making you wonder what all these men have seen and done.

Okay, now is not the time to panic, as you come to realize just how bad of an idea this really was.

You take a moment to compose yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat, before meeting his gaze and asking, your voice steady, despite the sickness you're feeling inside. "So you admit it... you admit to killing my parents?"

Mickey's composure snaps as you ask your question, his expression darkening into anger. He suddenly lunges towards you, grabbing your wrist with one hand and pulling out a knife with the other. He raises the knife menacingly, his eyes filled with venom as he yells, "ENOUGH! I’m growing sick and tired of all the goddamn questions”.

He looms over intimidatingly, towering above you as he sneers, his face contorting with sadistic rage as he says “considering you won’t be around much longer to bother me, I’ll let you die knowing that they didn’t kill themselves, no no no. It was me, because I wanted to. Because it’s fun, because I can”.

Despite the fear and the sick feeling in your stomach, you gather the courage to speak up, asking a question that's been burning in your mind. "S-so that’s it? Was it a hit? Were you hired to take out my parents?"

He growls with annoyance, digging the tip of the knife into your forehead with irritation. "What part of 'I killed your parents' didn't you understand, huh? Are you listening to me, kid?"

Do something. Say something. Fuck it, time to alternate to plan B.

Despite the fear and anger bubbling up inside you, you force yourself to maintain a cool facade, hiding the nerves and uncertainty just under the surface. You reply, your voice steady and firm, even as you're shaking inside. "Yeah, I heard you loud and clear."

The man is caught off guard by your sudden change in demeanor, but no chance to process as you land a swift kick between his legs. He lets out a guttural gasp, his eyes widening in pain and surprise, knife falling from his hand and clattering across the floor. He doubles over, clutching his crotch, as the air is knocked out of his lungs.

You don’t wait to see his reaction for long, immediately taking advantage of the situation. You turn and bolt, darting through the warehouse as fast as you can. You hear him bellowing out orders behind you, his voice filled with pain and anger, telling his men to apprehend you.

You weave and duck through the chaotic scene, dodging obstacles and furniture as best you can. The sudden sound of gunshots rings out behind you, echoing loudly in the empty warehouse. Bullets whiz past you, missing you by mere inches, as you keep moving, knowing that stopping would be a death sentence. Every movement feels like a matter of life and death, the tension in the air thick as you keep up the mad dash to escape.

Shooting at an unarmed minor? Yeah, these guys really don't give a fuck, you'll process this later.

The adrenaline pumps through your veins as you run, your heart pounding in your chest as you push your body to its limits. You've never moved this fast in your life, but the sounds of footsteps and gunshots behind you tell you that your pursuers are closing in. Every muscle in your body screams in protest, but you don’t dare slow down. The fear of what would happen if they caught you fuels you to move faster, even as they gain on you.

In the heat of the moment, you see an opening in the space between two large wooden boxes on the shelf running parallel through the warehouse. Thinking quickly, and hoping your pursuers won't spot you, you bolt over to the gap and squeeze through to the other side, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The rough wood scrapes against your skin as you duck between the boxes.

As you push yourself to the other side, your already shaky footing falters, causing you to stumble and catch yourself on the rough wood. The wood digs into your palm, causing a sharp pain to shoot through your hand. You let out a small gasp of pain, the cut stinging as the adrenaline is temporarily overshadowed by the sudden injury.

The sight of blood dribbling down your arm causes your heart to skip a beat, and you scramble to put pressure on the wound, clutching it against your chest. Ignoring the pain, you push yourself to run once more, your feet pounding against the warehouse floor as you race to find a way out. Hoping that your pursuers haven’t found a way to cut you off.

Your heart sinks as you reach the end of the aisle, coming to a sudden stop. Your gaze flicks around the space, desperate for an escape route, but there's nowhere to go. The dead end walls loom in front of you, trapping you between them like a rat in a cage. The feeling of dread fills you as you realize you're cornered, your heart hammering in your chest.

Your heart pounds in your chest as one of the men grins and taunts you, "No where to run now."

A sense of doubt starts to creep into your mind, and you begin to question whether your plan will even work. The men look intimidating and powerful, their arms muscles rippling as they stand menacingly around you.

“This is the part in the movie where-“

"NYPD! FREEZE!"

The command rings out through the warehouse, and in a moment of disorienting surprise, multiple law enforcement officers appear, shouting the order to 'freeze'. The armed men are caught off guard, their smugness instantly replaced by confusion and worry. Some of the men raise their guns instinctively, but the armed police quickly take control, shouting at them to lay down their weapons.

The scene dissolves into a high-stakes standoff, with weapons raised and tension thick in the air. You clutch your wounded hand to your chest, the blood still trickling down your arm as a mix of relief and trepidation washes over you. The two factions are at a standstill, waiting to see who will make the first move.

As the officers maintain their steady pressure, the armed men realize their disadvantage. They glance around warily, their previous confidence now replaced with a tense, calculating gaze as they assess the situation. The realization that there's no escape starts to sink in, and a few of the men drop their weapons in surrender.

One of the men makes a quick decision, turning towards you and aiming their gun. The trigger is squeezed, and a loud shot rings out, its sound echoing through the warehouse. Your heart skips a beat as adrenaline surges through your body, bracing for the potential impact.

To your surprise, the shot never makes contact with you, instead you hear the sound of the man's body hitting the floor. The officers promptly leap into action, rushing forward to apprehend the rest of the men and handcuff them. The air is electric as they secure the suspects, the chaos slowly being brought under control.

Your body trembles with adrenaline, your pulse pounding so loudly in your ears that it nearly drowns out the surrounding sounds. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, the shock of the situation making it difficult to stay composed. The scene around you is a blur, the mixture of relief and fear coursing through your veins as you try to process what just happened.

An officer tries to approach you, moving closer with a concerned expression, but you instinctively flinch away. The trauma of the situation has rattled you, making you jumpy and guarded. But as the officer speaks gently, you slowly start to come back to reality, your tension easing ever so slightly.

“You look rough kid” the Officer says, offering a smile that’s both sympathetic and a somewhat attempt to be friendly.

You laugh, your eyes finally focusing back in, you notice he’s probably one of the younger Officer’s out of everyone currently scrambling about around you.

“Says you, McDreamy” you shoot back, and he laughs almost like he’s heard that reference countless times.

“I prefer Officer Kincaid, now do you want to go get that patched up or keep making a mess of my crime scene?” He says with a more genuine smile, and it’s about this moment that you remember your hand is bleeding profusely.

Adrenaline, you beautiful, beautiful lady.

____________________________________________

The next few hours are a blur, hand stitched and wrapped, but hey you always did think having a hand scar would be sick as hell. You were told it won’t, but the thought is there.

You saw Mickey getting hauled into the back of a cop car earlier, and you didn’t miss the sinister sneer he shot your way.

It shouldn’t worry you, but it does, because men like him don’t forget backstabbing. You’ve been informed of this just recently.

As of this moment you’re sat in the precinct, Officer Kincaid had already gotten your statement and you’d already answered all their questions.

But you had one last thing to do, and it very well may be the end of you as you know it.

“Now tell me why the hell I shouldn’t kick your ass across this entire city for how thoughtless and irresponsible you were tonight?”

That voice, ah, it instills the fear of God in you.

“Mr. Bailey I can explain-“

He’s beelining to you with a condescending expression, and to be honest you prepare for the worst.

Which is why you’re frantic, almost dropping your tape recorder as you fish it out of your jacket “I have a confession on my parents murders!”

Instantly his expression drops, confused, and then mortified “do you not realize you just as easily could’ve joined them tonight? Huh? The hell is wrong with you!”

Everything in you sinks, the scrutiny tearing at your insides as he continues even when your hand remains outstretched.

“I’ve got my fucking kids to worry about as it is, but when one of them calls and all they give me is an address to possibly find your dead body at-“

Okay, to be fair, at this point you just disassociate. You’re used to this, being yelled at, chastised and scolded. In his defense you deserve it because yeah, you could’ve died tonight. Or worse.

But the plan had worked, and that what matters, right?

You tune back in at the wrong moment.

“-you know the position that could’ve put me in? To think I might have to tell my own kids their best friend-“

But then he stops, almost like the word ‘died’ catches in his throat, and that alone makes you look up.

And that’s when you see it, the worry, the fear. He’s not hounding you because he doesn’t like you, he’s hounding you because he’s a father.

That breaks you.

The sudden wave of emotions crashes down on you like a tidal wave, the adrenaline giving way to a whirlwind of feelings. The realization of the gravity of the situation sinks in, and you find yourself overwhelmed as the events of the past week replay in your mind.

Your vision begins to swim, your breathing growing more and more labored as the pressure becomes too much to bear. Without warning, the dam breaks, and the breakdown takes over your body. You suddenly find yourself sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down your face.

As you break down, he quickly steps up, moving closer and gently guiding you into his arms. He holds you protectively, his voice soft as he tries to comfort you. "Goddamn it... come here. You're safe," he says, rubbing your back soothingly. "Just let it out. I've got you."

His embrace is firm but kind, the strong, protective grip bringing much needed comfort to your shattered state. The fatherly energy he gives off makes you think maybe there is someone you can go to who will shield you from harm and provide comfort in the face of chaos. In that moment, you find yourself clinging to him, feeling the weight of your emotions starting to subside ever so slightly.

As you finally calm down, the officer slowly lets go, gently checking to make sure you're alright. He looks you over carefully, then gives you a small smile. "I'll only say this once but," he says with a hint of admiration, "you're one tough son of a gun, y'know that?"

The sudden laugh escapes your lips, mixed with still lingering tears that you hastily wipe away. Embarrassed and feeling a pang of vulnerability, you try to maintain a brave face, not wanting to seem weak. "Born and raised right here in our fine city that is New York," you mutter, a shaky smile playing on your lips.

Mr. Bailey nods, his gaze shifting to your tape recorder still clutched in your hand. A curious smile appears on his lips as he tilts his head towards it. "A confession huh? Where the hell did you even get that fossil of a thing" he teases gently, his tone light.

“Don’t be mean, it’s younger than you” you shoot back, which has him barking with laughter you’ve never heard before.

It’s in this moment, you begin to wonder if maybe you’d severely underestimate and misjudged Mr. Bailey.

But then again, it’s safe to admit to yourself how deep your trust issues go due to the hand that your parents and Uncle played in fucking you up.

Maybe it’s time to, you know, pull your head out of your own ass like Anika said and go see a therapist.

That’s when you hear a deep voice call your name, once and then twice, you look up to see the last person you ever expected to see here.

And when Mr. Bailey straightens up and stiffens next to you, you know what’s coming. He stands and strides towards your Uncle with purpose, it makes you want to melt into your seat into nothing.

Cease to exist all together.

Maybe you can find a phone, calm your friends, which you’re pretty sure Mr. Bailey already told them you’re okay, you lost your phone in your getaway earlier.

It’s hard to hear, but just by reading their body language, you can tell your Uncle is getting a far worse ass chewing than you got. It gives you sadistic pleasure knowing this.

But then he looks over, and your intestines twist uncomfortably. He never cared about you, you were always a burden to him, an inconvenience. Given he never hit you, hurt you in any way physical, as a matter of fact that’s the problem.

He did nothing. Nothing.

And with that thought, follows the next, which is the realization that he had done nothing. He’d been accused of murdering your parents, reputation ruined by rumors.

Maybe he’s just broken too, and didn’t know how to heal. No, that’s no excuse for how he treated you-

“Hey squirt” his voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up.

He’s stood a few feet away, wringing his jacket between his hands in front of him. He looks exhausted, dare you think he even looks worried.

Good, motherfucker.

“Why are you here” is your first words to him in over four months, knees tucked up to your chest as you mold yourself to the leather seat you’re sat in.

You see Mr. Bailey off a bit of ways away, talking to another officer, but he’s watching. It brings you some ease.

Derek has yet to reply, clearly not sure why he’s here either, at least you assume he mustn’t.

“I got your call” he starts, which doesn’t make sense because you never called him, it’s only when he elaborates that you understand.

“I never thought I’d see that landline number pop up on my phone again, I know it wasn’t you but… I knew I needed to come back to make sure you were alright”.

Anika’s call to him from the morgue, that makes more sense. But he recognized the number, which means your dad must’ve called him from there all the time.

And then, you realize something horrifying, he’s talking about your parents.

“Why” you spit venomously, the swirl of your emotions in your chest are currently not in favor of him “you never gave a shit before.”

“Because not giving a fuck kept you safe from the truth, alright?” He snaps back, that familiar tone makes you wince involuntarily. Eyes down casting, which he seems to notice as he sighs and deflates.

“That’s such bullshit, Derek” you mutter, and he doesn’t offer a reply, he most likely agrees with you.

So when he sits next to you, it takes everything in you not to physically shrink away from him.

“You’re a perfect mix of them both” he tells you, looking to a spot on the floor between his boots, “the woman I hated… and the man I loved that was taken from me”.

Now that, you were not expecting.

And he knows it, as you snap your head up, your brain starting to hurt. Is he implying what you think he’s implying? How much more don’t you know?

You say nothing, in fear he’ll stop talking if you do.

“I’ll give you the bare bones, prestigious and over the top religious roots is where we come from. I met him in my frat at college, he was…” Derek has a ghost of a smile on his face, it almost hurts you “everything to me.”

Then his expression falls, eyes glazing as he seems to lose himself in the memories, “when it got serious, I brought him home to meet the family. Our relationship was under the radar of course, and when your mom met him it just… shattered everything”.

You swallow hard, trying to categorize and work through all the new information. It still doesn’t excuse his actions, but you’re now starting to understand him for the first time ever.

“They hit it off, he broke it off with me, they got engaged. I begged him not to do it, she overheard, told everyone I was trying to seduce him, called me a-“ he stops, face twisted sourly, “I got blacklisted from the family from that moment forward. No chance of telling my side or defend myself, nothing”.

That hurts, because now you really see the bigger picture, “and when they died… everyone thought it was you” you say softly.

He looks up at you, eyes red and rimmed with tears, and if you weren’t already overwhelmed you are now. You’ve never seen this man cry before.

“Another chapter of my life ruined by something I didn’t do, at least this time I could tell my side. When the jury ruled me innocent, CPS came to me, told me your dad had signed me as your legal guardian if anything ever happened” Derek continues, which that alone has your eyes widening as you sit back.

The small action makes Derek laugh, gesturing vaguely with his hands “yeah you’re telling me, I shit my pants, I never thought-“ he stops and shakes his head, sighing as he looks back down again.

“I didn’t want you at first, and I know you know that, but… it wasn’t you. It was never you, it was them I held a grudge against. To do that to me, and leave me with their spawn felt like a slap to the face-“

“It’s not like I asked to be born” you say defensively, which has him give you a look that reads ‘stay with me, I’m getting there’.

“I owe you more apologies than anyone walking this planet, you didn’t deserve any of that” he says slowly, as if the words taste like sawdust in his mouth “telling you I’m sorry wouldn’t suffice-“

“-not even close-“

“But I’ll do better” he looks to you again, sitting up straight, and all you can feel is panic.

Or just maybe, maybe it’s hope, but you’d be a fool to think so… right?

“Don’t bother, you’ll disappoint us both” you mutter curtly, years of neglect and abandonment making the beating in your chest claw its way up to your throat.

He makes a face, and then there’s an awkward pause of silence, and then… you both laugh.

A broken child, a lost soul, deeply damaged if you’re honest with yourself.

But not alone.

previous.

AN: shout out to all the anons who helped me build this prologue brick by brick.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #pip anon

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jackson-imbecille · 1 month ago

Text

Yippee, edited the hell out of this because I hated how it was. Might do more editing later.

The Warehouse

3.5k words Supernatural/Danny Phantom

Written in 2020 FFN AO3

The Winchesters hear about a string of suicides in Elmerton and come to investigate. Or, Sam and Dean overhear Spectra messing with Danny and talking about his home life. They offer to help him, human or not. Follows the AU where Danny is completely ghost and has minor shapeshifting abilities to make himself appear human.

“So, this is the place?” Dean asked.

“Yup.” Sam answered.

The warehouse was dark and grimey. A recent string of suspicious suicides in the building had caught the attention of a four amateur ghost hunters a few days back, three of which were currently hospitalized, and the last one was found dead from inflicted injuries. The building itself was nothing special. It was long abandoned and falling apart. The walls groaned as if they were on the verge of collapse, the roof was sagging in some areas, and had large holes through in others. Crates and boxes littered the floor, stacked up to fifteen feet high. Some rotted or ripped through on the sides, spilling their unidentifiable contents out and onto the floor

“Man, this place is destroyed. How is it still standing?” Dean asked, kicking aside a piece of the fallen roof.

“It won’t be for long.” Sam said. “It’s set for demolition next month.”

“So,” Started Dean, “You thinking a ghost, or…” he shrugged.

Sam shook his head. “It’s possible, but I don’t think so.” He walked over to some of the crates and began to examine them. “There isn’t really a record of anyone dying here before the suicides though, so I’m not sure. It could be anything.”

“It sure looks haunted.” Dean took a step and tensed as he heard a loud crunch from under his boot. He shivered as he lifted his foot to see the crushed skeleton of a small animal underneath. “The place gives me the creeps, like the Van Ness House.”

“I get what you’re saying.” Sam pulled an EMF meter out of his jacket pocket. “Hopefully it’s just a ghost and we’ll be able to get this over with without anyone else dying.” He was just about to turn the EMF meter on when he heard someone.

“Spectra, you’re an absolute bitch. You know that right?” At the sound, both Winchesters hid behind a stack of crates. Dean shoved Sam aside to look over them. Sam glared and crouched to peek around the side of the pile.

A figure emerged from a hole in the wall across the warehouse.He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, mostly black with white accents and shoes. Short in stature with tanned skin, white hair, and eyes that glowed toxic green. He seemed young, couldn’t have been older than fifteen. He picked his way through the wreckage, unintentionally moving closer to the Winchester’s hiding spot, before stopping in the middle of the warehouse to look up.

Dean pulled out his gun, but Sam took it and raised his eyebrows. Dean rolled his eyes, but nodded. He took his gun back and stowed it. They’d sit back and listen, for now.

“There’s no point in hiding, I know you’re here. I thought I told you to stop messing with humans.”

For a while, nothing happened. The deafening silence was broken with a cackle that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It echoed through the room in an almost unbearable cacophony of noise and then silenced. The source of the sound staying hidden.

“Oh, you’re hilarious. You know that, right? See, you said I needed to ‘stop playing psychologist to lure humans to their deaths.’ And guess what? I haven’t been playing psychologist with them, and you’re not human. So I’m not breaking any silly little rules. Anyway, let’s talk. How have you been feeling recently? Have you finally started working on that temper of yours?” The voice was condescending and filled with mock cheer.

The kid rolled his eyes. “And so much for not playing psychologist.” He mumbled. “Cut the crap Spectra. You know exactly what I meant. Why are you here anyway? And alone? Did your little assistant dump you or something?” He chuckled a bit at his jab, scanning the room for the source of the voice. No dice.

“It seems you haven't. Can’t say I’m surprised. Well, I knew if I approached you, you wouldn’t take the time to listen before attacking. But you wouldn’t be able to resist interfering if I stirred up some trouble. I had to get your attention somehow, and it’s so nice to meet on neutral ground, isn’t it?” You could almost hear a grin in her tone.

“Are you serious? You did all that just to talk to me?” The kid was fuming. Gesturing wildly and pacing back and forth while yelling at empty space. “You could have, oh, I don’t know, made a phone call like a normal fucking person! Man, now I’m gonna miss curfew again just because you wanted to be all dramatic. And I just got ungrounded!”

“Still playing pretend I see?” The voice, Spectra crooned, dripping with amusement.

The boy suddenly stopped moving. “What?”

She laughed again, seeming to find great humor in his offense. “Oh, I just find it so endearing. Your ignorance, that is.”

The boy glared at the walls and threw his hands up. “Okay, fine. If you did all this just to make fun of me, then there’s no point in talking.” His hands lit up with green light as he stared at the walls as if they were about to attack.

“You think if you just keep playing human, they’ll continue to care about you. Unfortunately, you can’t keep up the act forever. Soon enough, you’ll slip up. And they’ll destroy you.” She stated, her words laced with shallow sympathy.

The boy’s hands flickered out and his face dropped for a moment, barely perceptible, before recovering. Eyes now full of fire and fury. “What did you just say?”

“The second they find out what you are, they will end your pathetic existence! It’s only in their nature.” She stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay, you need to shut up right now. ” The boy gritted out as his hands balled into fists. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. They wouldn’t do that. They’re my parents and they love me.”

“But are they really?”

He was caught off guard. He tried and failed not to let it show. “Yes, they-”

“I mean, yes, of course they made you, but did they really raise you?” The voice questioned, its tone light as if it were discussing something simple as the weather. “I mean, who used to tuck you in at night? Who fed you, clothed you, comforted you? Certainly not them.” The boy opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“When you started falling behind in school, who noticed? When you came home bloody and bruised, who patched you up? Who looked for you everywhere when you ran away? Who helps you through nightmares, panic attacks, the list goes on and on and on,”

“I don’t-”

“Your sister.” The voice said, cutting him off a second time. His face fell. “Your sister has always taken care of you because the ones who should have didn’t. Your sister, who gave up her whole childhood so that you wouldn’t have to. Now, she didn’t deserve all that did she?”

“It’s not their fault! They were…”The boy searched for an excuse to clear his parents’ names. “They were busy.”

“Yes, yes, busy opening up a door to the other side, don’t we all know it. Busy shooting down ‘monsters’ that didn’t deserve it, busy shooting at you.”

The boy’s face fell further. “They didn’t know it was me, I was...” His eyes started to well up.

“Oh yes, your little disguise. The ability to shift your form is such a useful one! From a distance, no one on earth would recognize the Phantom as little Danny Fenton. But up close, it’s blatantly obvious. What difference does a little color swap make?

“Of course, those idiot ‘parents’ of yours have seen you up close in both forms and yet, they didn’t recognize you. They had you strapped down to an autopsy table, ready to slice you open for the sake of science. You can’t get a closer view than that. They had you pinned like a bug, inches away from their stupid little eyes and didn’t see you. If your sister hadn’t tricked them into leaving the lab, they’d have flayed you open without a thought.”

“Stop.” It was quiet, barely audible through the voice’s echoes.

“And then, when you were captured by those other hunters, what happened? It took them three days before they realized you were missing. Three days. And it wasn’t even your human identity that they noticed was gone.”

“Stop! Just stop it!” His fists were clenched and tears were falling freely at this point. The voice kept going.

“Soon enough, you’re going to mess up. They’re going to find out what you are. And the fact that they created you is not going to stop them from doing what hunters do.” The voice softened. “You aren’t safe there.”

The boy shook and covered his ears. He fell to his knees and curled in on himself, curling smaller and smaller as if to disappear.

“I’m not listening to you,” He whispered. “You’re just using your weird emotion powers to make me miserable so you can feed off me like a leech.”

The voice paused, then replied. “I didn’t bring you here to feed on you.”

The boy’s grip on his ears loosened and he glanced upward. “What?”

The voice grew soft and caring. “We’re worried about you. Both you and your sister. We’re worried the two won’t survive long in that house, and for good reason.”

The boy glared up at the shadows. “My sister is human. Even if they try to end me, they would never, ever hurt her.” He snarled.

“You were human too weren’t you?”

A tall woman with red hair materialized from the shadows and walked towards the boy.

She crouched carefully in her red suit and pulled down her sunglasses. There was an almost motherly kindness in her eyes.

“Face it.” She placed one hand gently on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re dead. They killed you and they don’t even know it. You’ll never be human again. Staying with hunters is the worst thing you could do. You need to be with your own kind.” He looked away from her. She sighed.

“I can take you and your sister somewhere safer, somewhere you can live without fear. There are rooms ready and waiting for you at Vlad’s mansion.”

The boy scrunched his nose in disgust. “Why should I trust you? Vlad has been trying to kill my dad for years, and you tried to kill my sister. Why should I believe that either of us would be safe with you?” He pulled away from the woman’s grip and stood.

“Anyway, Vlad has that weird obsession with my mom. He’d give her anything she wants. I don’t think I’d ever be ‘safe from her’ with him.”

The woman recoiled and stood. “I admit that I haven’t made the best choices in the past, but I am changing. Vlad is too. We are helping each other move past our mistakes and do better.” The boy scoffed. She continued.

“Vlad has realized that Maddie will never return his affection and has moved on. You have nothing to fear from us, which is far more than you can say about your parents.” She smiled at the boy. The boy thought over her words and took a step forward, his eyes glazed over with a milky green haze. The woman offered her hand to him. He lifted his hand to shake it, but stopped.

“I don’t believe you.” He pulled his hand away and stepped back, as if being anywhere near her would burn him. The green haze disappeared. “This is what you do. You manipulate people into trusting you, then hurt them. You’ve killed people, both you and Vlad.” His words were picking up speed and volume.

“You’re both evil. I don’t want anything to do with either of you!” He yelled.

The building went silent. The woman’s kind understanding smile morphed into a rage filled sneer. Her arm snapped forward and grabbed the boy’s wrist. He panicked and began to fade from view, but the woman tightened her grip and pushed him to the ground. He tried to scoot away, but she pinned him to the ground with one foot.

The woman grinned, displaying far too many teeth and wagged her finger. “Ah ah ah, no escaping, freak. Vladdie’s paying me good money to get his little toy back, so just relax and let this happe-”

BANG

Stunned, the woman loosened her grip. The boy scrambled free and stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall. She held a hand to her chest, green liquid pouring out of multiple wounds. She looked around the warehouse until she locked eyes with Dean, still aiming the shotgun at her. She glared and hissed.

The gun shot several more rounds at her, but she disappeared into the shadows, escaping every blast. “I know this isn’t the end of this. Sooner or later you will return, just begging for our protection. Pray it isn’t too late when you do.”

The darkest shadows in the building pulled together, as if being sucked up by a black hole, before vanishing altogether.

“You okay kid?”

The car ride to Danny’s house was tense and quiet. Every once in a while, the kid would tell Dean which direction to go in, but other than that, it was nearly silent. Which made every little sound from the tires rolling across road or gravel ever more grating and ominous. Fifteen minutes passed before anyone said anything. Sam and Dean spent the time thinking of the best way to start the inevitable conversation, while Danny spent it hoping that the conversation wouldn’t come. In the end, it was Dean that decided to break the silence

“So, that Spectra, she doesn’t seem like much fun huh?”

The kid didn’t say anything. He just stared down at his hands as he picked at his fingernails. Scraping at loose cuticles, peeling away flaking bits of the nails and ripping away dead skin.

Recognizing his failure, but determined to try again, Dean continued. “Was she telling the truth about the,” He paused, thinking of the best way to word what he was thinking. “Situation with your parents?”

The kid looked up for a brief second before continuing to pick at his nails, now picking at the right hand instead of the left. His face darkened and he stopped picking at his hand before he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He just sat like that for a second before letting out a huff of air and looking out the window at the cars passing by.

“Turn left here”

The car turned.

After nearly seven more minutes of awkward tension, Dean made his third attempt at breaking the uncomfortable silence. “They’re hunters right?” He offered, using a question they already knew the answer to in order to give Danny an opportunity to choose whether or not to join in on the conversation. Unfortunately, Danny’s unresponsiveness and continued window staring showed that he had declined to take the opportunity.

Dean looked to Sam, nonverbally asking for help. He had never really been that good at the talking to people thing. That had always been Sam’s strong suit. Luckily, Sam picked up on the message.

“What Dean means to say is, we aren’t sure if you going home would be the best decision. We know how most hunters will shoot first, ask questions later. Hell, that’s what we were raised to do. And if your home situation is already that bad, are you sure it would be safe to go back?”

Danny turned his attention from the window to the tiny crumbs of debris stuck in the seams of the seat cushion to the left of him. He picked at them with his left hand while his right fiddled with the hoodie string pinched between his fingers. He was trying to keep a neutral face, but every few seconds it would break.

“Bet Jody wouldn’t mind taking care of another kid, or maybe Bobby.”

Sam turned his head to Dean and gave him a look. Nonverbally telling him to shut up. Dean shrugged and went back to staring at the road.

Sam sighed and directed his eyes to the rear view mirror to look at Danny. “We just want to know if taking you back is the right option.”

The kid stopped fidgeting with the crumbs on the seat and moved his left hand to fiddle with the same hoodie string his right was fidgeting with. His face was tightened into an uncomfortable closed mouth grimace. He dropped the string and picked at the fraying edge of his sleeve before opening his mouth and looking up. He seemed to have changed his mind about something though as he quickly shut it and looked down again.

A couple minutes later he opened his mouth again and hesitantly spoke, eyes fixed to the sleeve in his hand. “I-” He stopped for a second, looked to his left, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and started over. “They’re my parents. I’m not just gonna abandon them, they need me.” He kept his head down, eyes averted from the mirror Sam was looking through.

Dean’s face hardened and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Sam turned a concerned glance at him before focusing his eyes back on the kid in the backseat. He let out a breath before speaking.

“Kid, we’re not asking what your parents want. We’re asking if we’re going to endanger you by bringing you back to them.”

An uncomfortable look painted the kid’s face before he looked back toward the window and it dropped, leaving behind a blank and unreadable expression. He stared out the window for a couple more minutes before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Turn left on seventh street.”

A few minutes passed, then Sam sighed, slightly frustratedly before he began to speak again.

“We get it, we’re two random guys that just happened to hear all of that, you have every right to be wary of us. But if what that Spectra said was true, you aren’t safe there.”

The kid completely ignored him, face blank as he scanned the area. Then after a few seconds, he pointed at the brightest, most obnoxious zoning violation of a building either of the Winchesters had ever seen.

“It’s that house, the one with all the lights and stuff.”

Slightly stunned, Dean hesitantly pulled into the driveway next to what looked like a cross between an RV and a military grade tank and parked the car. The kid put his hand on the door to leave, but before he could, Sam turned around to try to talk to him.

“You don’t have to go back to them, there are people who would be willing to take you in and help you, human or not.”

Danny looked down as if contemplating his options, but he soon came to a conclusion.

“Goodbye.”

He opened the door and walked back into the house like a lamb to the slaughter. They knew that this would be the most likely outcome, but it was still somehow shocking.

“Are we seriously going to let him just walk back to that house?”

Sam wiped a hand across his face in defeat, then shook his head.

“If he’s not going to accept help there’s really nothing we can do to stop him.”

Dean waited a few minutes, then tightened his grip on the steering wheel before cursing and hesitantly switching the car to reverse. He wished he could just barge into the house guns blazing and solve the problem that way, but that wouldn’t work. These were humans he was dealing with, hunters at that, and what they usually did wouldn’t fly.

No matter what situation he thought up in his head, he couldn’t come up with a way he could try to fix this without risking more harm to the kid.

He started to slowly back out of the driveway, already regretting his decision to leave, when suddenly, he heard a knock on the car window.

Standing there was the kid and a girl not much older than him, maybe around sixteen or seventeen. She looked similar to him, most likely siblings, but there were a few differences. Her hair was bright orange, her skin was lighter, and she was taller. He rolled the window down.

Each kid was carrying a couple small items. A stuffed bear, a pillow, a backpack, and a few books for the girl. A stuffed dinosaur, a pillow, and what looked like a plastic rocket for Danny.

The kid fixed his eyes to the ground and hugged his things closer to him before the girl behind him nudged his arm with her elbow. He looked at her questioningly, she just gave him a reassuring look and made an exaggerated deep breath. He closed his eyes and copied the breath before looking up and meeting Dean in the eye.

“Those people you said could help, do you think they’d be willing to take in more than one kid?”

#danny phantom #supernatural #danny fenton #penelope spectra #jazz fenton #sam winchester #dean winchester #tw implied child abuse #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #my writing

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stevesxyellowxsweater · 11 months ago

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The one hiding under your stairs

PAIRING: Gator Tillman x fem!reader WC: 3k CW: MINORS DON'T INTERACT!! Female masturbation, friends with benefits, use of sex toys, oral (m receiving), mask kink, brief mentions of daddy/mommy kink, praise kink, spanking, Gator needing to be a winner, cream pie, anal penetration, mentions of biting and marking skin. I think that is everything please let me know if I missed anything. SUMMARY: You and Gator have been hooking up for a while, but when he doesn't reply to your text one night you assume it's you and your toys tonight. Little do you know that he has a surprise for you. AUTHOR NOTES: This came into my head the other night, and I couldn't help myself. Thank you to those who supported and encouraged me to write this. Especially big thank you to @entermxnson for being amazing and reading all my stuff. Credit to @cafekitsune for the amazing divider.

You and Gator had been fuck buddies for about six months now. Neither of you had time for a real relationship, seeing as he was so much under his Daddy’s thumb and you were busy with work. It was a simple setup; when one of you if you had an itch. You'd text each other and then meet up at your place.

That was the usual setup. Today, however, Gator didn’t reply.

You'd sat on the couch, time passing so slowly. Your desperation to be touched grew with each passing minute until you gave up. Gator wasn't coming. He had blown you out tonight. Shutting up downstairs, you checked the house over before going upstairs. Your sex toys were clearly going to be what cured your itch tonight.

Stripping off, you climbed onto the bed and pulled out the dildo and your clit stimulator and lay down on the bed. Though you'd never deny that you enjoyed your touch, something about getting off because of Gator was much more enjoyable.

Lying on the bed, you picked up the dildo and began to rub it against your wet folds. Soft whimpers left your lips as you felt it against your already wet folds. Your free hand moved up to your breast and began to play with your nipple. It felt so good, but you couldn't help but feel sad that Gator hadn't come over tonight.

Moving the silicone penis against your hole, you pushed it inside, moaning gently. “Gator.” You whimpered gently. It wasn't as big as his cock, but still, it filled you up nonetheless. Pumping it slowly, you reached for the clit stimulator and turned it on before bringing it down to your clit.

Moaning, you closed your eyes. Pumping gently with the vibrator and rubbing against your clit with the smaller one. Gentle mews left your lips as waves of pleasure rushed through your body.

“Mmm, Gator.”

“Yes?”

Your eyes shot open to see Gator standing at the end of your bed; your heart pounded hard as you looked at him. He was near enough in complete darkness if it wasn't for shafts of light trickling through the curtains to illuminate his face. But it wasn't his face. It was a large white skeleton mask. Jack Skeleton.

Biting your lip, you gazed at him nervously but excited. You began to stop pleasuring yourself and focused on him as he took off his jacket and threw it on the chair in the corner.

“I don't remember telling you to stop.”

A whimper fell from your lips as you returned to pleasuring yourself as you watched him removing each item of clothing other than the mask.

“Not removing it?”

“No, tonight I’m the Pumpkin King tonight.”

Biting your lip, you nodded your head gently as he pulled his pants off and threw them across the room. Your eyes raked down his perfectly crafted body. You’d desired him all day, and to have him here now made you incredibly excited.

The bed dipped as he moved onto the bed; his hand took hold of the small toy for your clit and dropped it off the bed.

“We won’t be needing that.”

Gator husked as he thrust the dildo harder into you, causing you to moan loudly. You could see the lust in his eyes as he watched you. There was something about how his eyes watched you, about how his big hands touched your skin. He set your skin on fire. Each touch left heat running up your body from where he put his hands.

He climbed up your body, his hands trailing as he moved up to be sitting on your chest. You gazed up at him, his giant cock in your face. Leaning up, you licked along the thick throbbing vein, causing him to moan.

“Good girl.” He whispered as he took your hand and used it to hold the vibrator inside of you while his fingers moved to your clit. Moaning as he began to rub your clit, you lifted your head and moved your tongue to lick the precum from the tip of his shaft.

“That's it, baby.” He whispered as you began to take him in your mouth. His free hand moved to grip the headboard as he rubbed circles on the little nub between your legs, waves of pleasure from his touch and desire from having him in your mouth washed over you.

Muffled moans left your lips as he began to thrust into your mouth. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” He uttered as he moaned, feeling the back of your throat. “Are you going to take me all in?” He asked as he looked down at you, his head tilting to the left.

Staring up at him, you couldn't help but think about how sexy he looked in that mask. Nodding softly, you felt him push further into your mouth. You were careful not to gag, holding back as he thrust down your throat.

“That's it, take me your pretty little mouth.” He moaned as he thrust in and out. His eyes focused on you, and you could tell he was smirking. The mask was taking away some of the enjoyment, but he did look very good with it on. His fingers moved from your clit, causing you to whine. “Shhh, rub.” He ordered with a stern tone as he took hold of the dildo. Whimpering gently, you nodded and began to rub your clit as he began to thrust the dildo in and out. Any other guy you would’ve been surprised if he could reach, but not Gator and his long arms and big hands.

As you continued to suck his cock, you could feel yourself starting to come undone below him. It was like someone was tightening an elastic band in your stomach, stretching it till it was ready to snap. Pulling your head back, you looked at him as you removed his cock from your mouth. “I need, I need to cum.” You whispered, his eyes shifting from his job to you.

Gator smirked as he looked down at you. Well, you assumed it was a smirk behind that mask. “Do you now, darling?” He asked as he moved his hand to touch your cheek. His fingers ran down your jaw as he watched you. “You better cum then, this is the only time I’m going to allow you to easily.”

You began to rub your clit harder, desperate for your orgasm to hit you. You knew Gator, and you knew how long he could hold back an orgasm if he felt particularly like teasing you. It was one of those rare moments where Gator felt generous. You’d take it.

“Time is running out.” He uttered as he moved his hand from your cheek to rub his shaft a little. “One of two things will be happening right now, either I’m coming on your face, or you’re going to cum,” You were close. You needed this release before you carried on. Why did he have to tease you so much?

“I’m close, so close.” Gator watched you as he thrust the dildo deep inside of you. “Come on then, for me.” He told you before he pushed it hard in once again. Gasping, you felt him hitting the right spot. The elastic band inside you snapped. “Shit, G-gator!” You stammered out as you tried to continue to rub your clit as he thrust the dildo inside of you. “Good girl.” He husked, his eyes fixated on the face you made as you orgasmed.

His thumb moved up into your mouth while you came undone under him. He couldn’t stop smirking, enjoying how you unravelled under him. “That’s it, good girl.” He whispered, causing your body to shiver as he praised you. You’d never really been into praise until Gator. How he would tell you that you were good at doing things always made you melt.

Your body shook as you came down from your high. Gator moved down your body and removed the dildo from your wet cunt. Turning it off, he threw it on the ground and looked at you. “Mine.” He whispered as he pulled off his mask and leaned down to capture your lips.

Wrapping your arms around him, you kissed him back with a certain kind of hunger. He tasted of that awful vape he was constantly sucking on. Strawberry kiwi or whatever this week's flavour was. His tongue found its way into your mouth. A battle for dominance began inside your mouth, and you would let him win, as you always did. But at this moment, you just wanted to put up a fight.

Pulling from the kiss, he moved his lips down to your neck. You knew what was coming. He did this every time you ended up in bed together. Gator would bite down on your neck, leave a mark to make it clear that you were his, even if you weren’t a couple. Gator liked to make men aware that you’d been with him.

He bit into you like you were an apple. A moan fell from your lips as you felt his teeth sinking into your flesh. “Gator.” You whimpered, closing your eyes for a moment as you felt Gator suck and make sure that his teeth were nice and deep enough to leave a bruising mark. “Thank you.” You murmured as he pulled back and looked down at you. There was always a sense of pride when he did that. You have learnt to enjoy it.

He smirked, as he pulled back a little to look down at you. These moments always make you feel like Little Red Riding Hood being looked at by the hungry big bad wolf. He was the big bad wolf, and you didn't mind when he huffed and puffed and ate you all up.

His hand moved down between you as he lined his cock up with your entrance. With one crack of his hips he was inside you. The pair of you moaned in unison, him enjoying the way your walls hugged him tightly and you enjoying the way you felt so full when he was inside you.

“That's it, fuck yes.” He uttered as he looked at you. “I'm a winner, what am I?” Looking at him, you smiled, your hand moving to his cheek. “You're a winner.” You assured him and he nodded. “That's right!” He exclaimed as he began to move at a fast rough pace. “What am I?” He said with a moan. “A winner!” You cried out loudly as he pushed deep inside you.

His hands moved to take hold of your wrists, pinning you in place below him as he gazed at you. You knew what he wanted, what he needed to hear right now it was always the same. The boy with the desperate need for approval needed to hear he was doing a good job.

“Good boy, you're doing so good, that's it Gator. You fill me up so good.” You assured him as he thrust deep into you, moans escaped from both of you. A desperate need to be closer together.

You fought against his hands, wanting to hold him and be as close as possible. But he wasn't going to let you, not right now. “Who do you belong to?” He asked as he thrust inside you particularly hard. “Gator!” He smirked and nodded. “That's right, you belong to me.”

Gator finally let go of your wrists, you could feel the bruising already starting as he pulled you up and pushed back inside you hardly stopping. Burying his head between your breasts, you let out a loud moan as you began to ride him.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding yourself close to him as his hands rested on your hips. Your chin brushing against his gelled hair, that was more crunchy than wet. He was keeping control, he always did unless he was feeling a certain way and then he'd demand you take control and words like Mama would fall from his lips. But not today, Gator wanted to be in charge.

You whined as he bottomed out inside you and sucked a mark in the valley between your breasts. “Gator!” You uttered breathlessly. “What am I?” He asked between your breasts. “A winner.” You told him as you became increasingly drunk on his cock, you felt almost dizzy as he increased the rhythm. He always felt so good inside you, truly a pleasure to feel.

“That's right.” Your hands moved down his back, slowly at first tracing over his freckles. You hug each little more that you could reach. He was so beautiful, even if there were some ugly parts inside him. But he had been made perfectly. You loved the way moles and freckles decorated his lightly tanned skin, you loved how deep his eyes were when you gazed into them. You could lose yourself in them if you weren't careful.

Your fingers moved up his back, slowly leaving barely even a trace that you had touched there. Reaching below his shoulders, your nails slowly start to dig in. Needing to mark him, just once. This of course caused Gator to stop moving, your eyes met each other. A small smirk spread across your lips, just once you'd like to mark him.

Smack!

You moaned loudly as his large hand connected with your ass cheek, it stung and throbbed but it felt good to the point you wanted more. “Do it again!” You couldn't help but moan, Gator smirked a little, his hand connecting again.

Smack!

“Thank you!” You whined happily, the sting giving you pleasure and pain. “No marking, you know that.” You couldn't help but pout. “But I got marked up all pretty, just once?” Gator shook his head then pressed his lips to yours to take away the pout. “Not this time.”

His fingers dug into your hips as he began to thrust hard into you again. The pair of you kissed hungrily, teeth smacking against each other and moans escaping into each other's mouths. You thought this was how it was going to end tonight, riding him to orgasm.

But he had other plans.

In just a couple of moves you were on your front with his large cock thrusting hard into you. His thumb pushed into your small little asshole as he began to thrust harder into you, he must've been getting close as his other hand found your clit and began to rub it as he thrust hard into you.

“Gator!” You moaned loudly, feeling yourself close to coming undone just from the extra touches he was giving you right now. “You're going to be a good girl, you're going to cum for me again against you!” He uttered breathlessly as his thumb pushed deep into you as his cock did. “You take me so well, good girl!”

You weren't going to last much longer, the way he made you feel so full and sent waves of pleasure through you as he thrust in hard hitting the right spot was causing you to draw close to the edge.

“I'm a winner.” You heard Gator, he was close too. He did this a lot, chanted that he was a winner as he drew close to orgasm. It was almost like winning a race for him. His thrusts became almost animalistic as he drew closer, they were harder, faster and you were close to losing control.

“I'm a fucking winner!” He yelled out loudly as his cock twitched inside you and started to spurt out strings of cum. “Gator!” You cried out your orgasm catching up with his just a second later. “That's it, cum for me!” Gator moaned as he used your orgasm to milk his cock.

You moved together for a few more minutes, milking all his seed from his cock inside of you before he slowly removed his thumb, and then removed his cock from inside you. Reaching down, he used two fingers to gather his cum that was seeping out of you. Bringing it round to your mouth he pushed them in.

“Show me how much of a winner I am.” He told you as he watched you lick his fingers clean, a small moan leaving his lips as he watched. “That's my good girl.” He whispered before lying down on the bed to catch his breath.

Lying beside him you knew this moment wouldn't last long, there would be no hugs and no more kisses. They were reserved for sex and sex only. Glancing over at him, you could see his face glistening. He was so handsome, maybe one day you'd get to be more than friends with benefits.

Sighing gently, you watched him get up and start to get dressed, neither of you said anything. You just lay there watching him as he put his layers of clothing back on. Picking up his mask, he placed it on your nightstand to remind you of tonight. “I'll see you soon.” You said gently hoping for once he'd kiss you goodbye.

It was like he read your mind, as he finished putting on his sheriff's vest, he leaned down, your lips close together. “A word of advice sweetheart, you might want to make your basement secure, anyone could just walk in.” He winked, before straightening up and heading out of the room.

“Gator? Wait, what do you-?” You scrambled up, slipping on your robe as you ran out after him. “Gator!” Rushing downstairs, he left through the front door before you could reach him. “Shit.” You mumbled gently. Reaching for the door handle, you stopped as you realized something.

“How did he get in?” Turning around you noticed the basement door under the stairs wide open. Slowly approaching, you went to shut it, as you heard the faint yell of your favorite deputy somewhere outside. “I'm a winner!”

Tagging a few people who I hope wish to read it: @keerysfolklore @shescreamslikeachild @innocencemission @angst-lasagna @darleenjade @steveshairspray @halflifejess @chrrymunson @reidsbtch

#gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman smut #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman imagine #gator tillman fanfic #Gator Tillman x you #you x gator tillman #Gator Tillman imagines #Reader x gator tillman #Gator tillman

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tearfallpixie · 11 days ago

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Soulmate Necklace - Chapter 1: Finding You

Tags: @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @synthetic-wasp-570 @circle-with-me @beaker1636 @itsjustemily @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @faceless-mirror @nonamessblog @yournecessaryevil @black-damask1999

@lyschko666 @vinyardmauro @skulliecadaver-blog @some-daniela @latenightmusiclover @rye14-blog1 @somewhere-diamond @Shilohrosechicken @abiomens @awkwardalex @rumoured-whispers @miss570 @dominuslunae @th0ughts-pr4yers

I was sitting in the drab doctor’s office waiting for the nurse to return with my necklace, the dread rising in my bones. The government had issued a statement that they had completed research on a soulmate project and made the decision that everyone was to report to their local doctors office to get assigned their necklace. No exceptions. The necklaces were supposed to be a perfect match of your soulmates and when you saw them it made it easier to identify. This was some fucked up way to combat underpopulation or some shit and was met with a lot of push back.

“Here we go, Miss Scarlet. Your blood work came back and the necklace took a bit to process but we have it.” She held up a chain with a single silver skeleton key on it. It had a heart for the hole on the top and hung on a simple silver chain. The necklaces were also designed so that it was impossible for you to remove so there was no visible clasp. “I just need to place it on and you are good to go.” I nodded and turned my back to her as she hooked it around my neck. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?”

“No. I just think this whole process is fucked up.” I mumbled.

“I’m sorry sweetie. I think it is too. I’m lucky that I was married before it got put into place.” That was the downside to this. If you were already married prior to the law being put in place you didn’t have to get a necklace however there was no exception for the people in relationships or the lgbt community. Even if you were engaged to the opposite sex you, you had to fight your reasoning for staying together. “I’m done. You are good to go.” I nodded my thanks and jumped off the counter before walking out. I made my way home to where my roommate, Elara, was sniffling on the couch.

“Hey, what's wrong?” I murmured, pulling her into my arms, my previous woes disappearing to the back of my brain.

“H-he broke up with me.” She sobbed. Her boyfriend Zach had been a total tool so I wasn’t upset by it but I held her close and hugged her tightly. “H-his soulmate is that bitch, Makenzie.”

“I’m so sorry sweetie.” I whispered. “She’s the one he cheated on you with isn't she?” She nodded weakly.

“W-we were supposed to go see Motionless in White tonight and now I’m stuck with this extra ticket.” She grumbled, chucking her phone across the room.

“I can go with you. They are your favorite band so I don’t want you to miss them because of some asshole.” I offered and her eyes lit up.

“You would do that?” She exclaimed, sitting up. I nodded and felt myself being pulled into a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She rambled.

“Of course. Let's get ready. That concert is worth fighting for the barrier.”

“We need to be on Ricky’s side. I love him. Though I am a Vinny girl through and through.” She gushed, fiddling with her necklace. It was two triangles pointed at each other with a line through the bottom one, so it looked like an hourglass.

“Vinny is the drummer right?” I asked.

“Yes! Ok, so, we need you to get caught up.” She pulled out her phone and started showing me all the pictures she had on her phone of the band. The one she said was Ricky caught my attention and I couldn’t deny that he was hot as sin.

About an hour later we were dressed and ready to go to the concert. It was about 1pm so we would arrive at the venue at about 2:30. Not many people were there when we pulled up which was nice and we ended up getting a spot at the front of the line. We had brought snacks and games to entertain us for the afternoon and soon we had an entire group of girls playing cards with us.

“When we get inside lets get our spot first and then we can go get drinks or anything that we want.” I agreed and brushed myself off as the security opened the door. We got in relatively quickly and managed to weasel our way to the barrier on Ricky’s side of the stage. “God I can't believe we will be right next to him.” Elara squealed. Watching her gush over the concert actually made me start getting excited. “Ok, I’m going to go get drinks. I’ll grab you one, just hold our spot and I’ll be back.” She was gone for about 30 minutes and when she returned she had brought us both a can of beer. “Here we are!”

“Thank you! I’m actually excited to see them perform. You hooked me.” I giggled.

“Only took two years.” She teased me. The first band came out and we watched as they sang through their set list and danced around the stage. They weren’t exactly our type of music but we did enjoy the show they put on. There was another 30 minute break as they tore down and set up Motionless in White's stage. Vinny, the drummer, was the first to come on stage and the crowd went wild, Elara letting out a noise between a scream and a sob when he looked our way.

“You are pathetic.” I nudged her playfully. Justin and Ryan were next causing another round of screaming from the crowd. Ricky was next one onstage and the moment I saw him my breath caught in my throat. He was more beautiful in person and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was messing with his guitar but the moment he got far enough on stage it was as if he noticed something. His eyes snapped up and scanned the crowd until they landed on me. He stared at me for a moment until I noticed it wasn’t me he was staring at, it was my necklace. I cocked my head and he quickly looked away with a frown.

“What was that about?” Elara asked.

“I don’t know.” I whispered, still staring at the retreating guitarist. Finally Chirs came on stage and waved to the crowd as he started singing Meltdown. We ignored the strangeness of the guitarist and danced the songs away. They sang through 7 songs before Chris spoke.

“Man you guys are insane tonight. How are you guys?” There was a resounding scream from the crowd making the singer grin. “Well are you guys ready to hear the heaviest fucking song we’ve ever written?” After letting the audience calm down once more he started the Intro to Slaughterhouse. Ricky stepped up on his platform right in front of me and started his signature headbanging that I had noticed that he always did. What caught my eye though was that his necklace that he was wearing slipped free and as he stood up I noticed the shape of a very familiar key.

“Scar, is that your-“ I nodded wordlessly. Ricky glanced over and saw my shocked face, immediately looking down and glaring at his chest. He quickly put his key back under his shirt and tossed me his pick before moving away. I glanced at the pick before slipping it in my pocket and turning back to the stage. “What are you going to do?” Elara asked.

“I don’t know.” The rest of the concert was a blur and I barely registered it. The last song came on and it was Scoring the End of the World. I had listened to that one a few times so I knew that Ricky had a part at the end that he sang butI felt like my emotions were so out of control at that moment and I wanted to cry. I almost begged Elara to leave but they started tossing pics and drumsticks to the crowd as they said their goodbyes. Vinny came over to our side of the stage and tossed a stick out that Elara caught. Vinny grinned and waved until his eyes trailed down. His eyes immediately went wide and he knelt down to whisper something to the security guard before pointing to Elara. The security guard nodded and motioned for her to come past the barrier. I followed her due to her death grip on my wrist and we were both led back to the green room.

“Holy shit. Does this mean what I think it means?” My best friend exclaimed. I pulled her over to the couch and we sat down to wait for the boys to get back.

“I don’t know. I just really don’t want to see Ricky right now.” I muttered. He made it obvious that he disliked me so I didn't want him to say it to my face.

“Why? He’s your soulmate!”

“Yeah, who doesn’t fucking want me.” I huffed. It was a few minutes later that they walked in and Vinny made a bee line for Elara. Ricky looked over and glared at me before coming over and getting into my face.

“Look, We may be soulmates but I don’t give a fuck. Ok? This whole thing is stupid and I don’t need some fucking science shit to tell me who I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with.” My jaw hung loose in shock and I didn’t know how to respond.

“Woah, Rick. Calm down.” Ryan pulled him back away from me and kept a grip on his arm.

“You know what Olson? I don’t fucking want you either. I’m just sorry I got stuck with you as a fucking soulmate.” I spat. I stormed out of the room but the singer Chris followed me.

“Hey, hey.” He grabbed my arm and turned me around. “Please don’t leave.”

“Why? He obviously doesn’t want me.” I snapped.

“Because I don’t need my guitarist ending up in jail because he ignored a government mandate. And I don’t think you want that either.” I went limp and dropped my head. That was the stupidest part of this soulmate necklace rule was that if you refused to be with your soulmate then you get thrown in jail until you agreed to go through with it. “Look, Ricky is a stubborn knucklehead sometimes that gets too into his projects and ignores the world. But once you get to know him, he is the most loyal, caring and kind friend that you could ever ask for. He’ll come around but you can’t leave.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” I asked, glancing up at the purple haired singer.

“Tour with us. You’ll be in his vicinity, and he’ll have to at least get used to you. It’s not perfect but it's enough to make the feds think you are together. People saw you; they saw your necklace. You two just have to pretend for the cameras and behind the scenes you two can hate each other all you want.”

“I can't just up and leave my photography job.” I huffed.

“We’ll hire you as the personal Motionless photographer. It's something you have in common already.” I glanced up at the singer and sighed with a nod. “Thank you.”

#motionless in white #miw band #ricky olson #Soulmate necklace #ricky olson fanfic

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undertale-fic-librarby · 17 days ago

Note

Hey! Do you know any good Errormare fics? I know ‘Wayward’ and ‘At Their Mercy’, but I’m looking for more 👀

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

It's All Just Training, Right? by atomiCherry, Souldew_UT (Explicit, Complete)

Hopping from universe to universe after his own Anti-Void no longer suffices as a safe place from the chains of Fate, Error winds up in Nightmare’s Castle with none other than the God of Negativity himself, who’s far too pleased with the Destroyer’s presence. Unaware of Nightmare’s true intentions, Error finds himself taken aback by a suspicious yet remarkable deal that very few people have the courage to propose. It was meant to be a simple session, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but then the both of them find out that there might be more to their meeting than meets the eye… - updates every Tuesday and Friday

Catalyst for Concord by Somebody_OntheInternet (Mature, Incomplete)

“My ecto-o isn’t unsummoning.” He kept his gaze firmly locked on the carpet, refusing to look the other God in the eye. The tentacle in his grasp curled around his radius and ulna, and he squeezed it. There was an awful, crushing silence for a few moments, before his husband spoke: “…you don’t think..?” *----*----* After their mating cycles lined up, the "evil" Gods of Destruction and Negativity find themselves in quite the predicament. They must figure out how to balance their dangerous work with the task of ensuring their baby's development is healthy. That, and they have to ensure the Council does not find out. No matter what, Ink cannot find out.

Signed, Your Penpal by Hellsaint7w7 (General Audiences, Incomplete)

Geno and Nightmare fall in love through anonymous notes to each other and their love of books. But of course, Geno doesn’t stay Geno forever and Nightmare doesn’t handle it well.

Day 1: Teratophilia/Size Difference by Destiny_Of_A_Dragon (Explicit, Complete)

Nightmare feeds on too much Negativity and the only way Error can get them to calm down is by letting them use his body. Error felt Nightmare’s whole body shift and ripple— and couldn’t resist taking a peek over his shoulder again. The destructive Skeleton froze in a soulbeat, eye-lights shrinking as he saw the corrupted Guardian fumbling with their own pants, mind not stable enough yet to undo them properly. Eventually, the fabric tore— and Error’s eyes went wide as he saw what was underneath. S-stars, that was—! That was—! Nightmare was currently over twice his size and full to bursting with excess magic, but Error hadn’t really thought about what effect that might have on their ecto!

Chocolate Pampering by Souldew_UT (Mature, Complete)

Error succumbs to anxiously drown himself in chocolate - eating more and more every day than usual. He pays so much attention to the chocolate which eventually causes Nightmare to get stupidly jealous. Nightmare doesn't like sweets, but he likes to mess around with Error, so he takes all the chocolate away when Error is not present and hides it.

Thanks for the recommendation! The fics being recommended are…

Wayward by Queer_Sleep_Demon (Mature, Incomplete)

Error had always been in control of his teleporting abilities. He knew the ins and outs of world-hopping like the back of his hand. The joke was on him, though, because the multiverse didn't play by anybody's rules. An impulsive decision to teach Nightmare a lesson in respect went horribly wrong. As a result, Error and Nightmare become stranded in a foreign and hostile dimension. Finding a way out was easier said than done.

At Their Mercy by Devcipher (Teen And Up, Complete)

The multiverse had been perfectly balanced when the seven higher beings weaved it together. Through countless interferences, however, the balance has begun to tip, and stability is threatened. Fate's creation has been unresponsive to their warnings, and thus a solution must be made. While feuding with Destiny over a monster to be Ink's counterpart, Karma intervenes. Inspiration from Harrish6's Forced God of Destruction universe, but a unique alternate multiverse/universe of my own. Discord is constantly breaking the link for the ATM discord but: https://discord.gg/DgHWGnMNrs *EDIT: My server got raided twice please message me for a link lol* Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/devtemrys

Here's a few more fics that are similar to what you're asking for!

#i've discovered that i can exclude specific ships when i'm searching #so these were significantly easier to find than the last time i tried #fic rec #fic recommendation #ao3 fic recs #utmv #error sans #nightmare sans #error x nightmare #errormare #not suitable for minors #ask #mod sleepy

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ticklishshenanigansau · 23 days ago

Text

LaughterLand - Chapter 22: Tug-of-War

(story by Mod Secret, art by Mod Yosh)

For several agonizing moments Papyrus completely froze in terror, the nightmare of seeing all of their past adversaries standing together in one room leaving him practically paralyzed with fear.

“B…. Bro…?” Sans’s small voice spoke up.

Sans, still trapped in doll-form, lay sprawled on his front on the second wooden table and completely facing the other way, powerless to move himself.

“What’s going on? Who’s there?” Sans sounded so weak and tired, but at the same time his voice trembled as he felt the sudden shift in tension.

The Cheshire Cat hungrily eyed the Sans doll once he heard the older skeleton’s voice coming from that direction. Noting the familiar tone coming from the familiar-looking doll surrounded by various tickling instruments, it didn’t take long to put two-and-two together. The Cat let out a low chuckle before stepping further into the cottage to face the witch.

“My dear, Dropwart,” he mused. “I must say you’ve outdone yourself. I never would have even considered a transformation spell. You must be so proud.”

Dropwart growled angrily in response, immediately stepping between the Cat and Sans.

“You all just head on back to where you came from now!” she demanded gruffly. “These two are mine, you hear me? Mine!”

“Hey!” came the voice of the Ghost Girl. “We were the ones who found them first!”

“Looks like they got away from you little brats!” Dropwart snapped, not really sure where to turn her gaze.

“Patience, everyone,” the Cat purred calmly. “I’m sure we can work something out. After all…,” he turned to make eye contact with Papyrus, his apple-green eyes burning straight into his Soul as he spoke, “…there’s nowhere they can run where I can’t find them.”

Papyrus trembled in the coils of Dropwart’s pet snakes. Panic raced through his mind remembering every individual time he and his brother had spent with the Cat, the Monster, and the Ghost Children. The thought of all of them — plus Dropwart and her snakes — ganging up on them was too horrific of an idea to deal with.

He turned to Sans, he knew his poor brother wouldn’t survive this. In the state he was in of being completely unable to move or defend himself, Papyrus shivered even harder to think what would happen to him. If he lost the will to carry on, even for his sake, there was no doubt about it, he was as good as dust. Papyrus didn’t even know if his brother could dust in this form, but he refused to find out.

Swallowing as much terror as he could, Papyrus leapt up and flung himself hard onto the wooden floor. The snakes had been so distracted by the intruders that they had forgotten all about their captive. With the length of their bodies slamming down hard onto the ground, both serpents hissed loudly and recoiled in pain, leaving enough wiggle room for Papyrus to break free.

“I’ve got you, Sans!”

Papyrus leapt up from the floor, making a dive for the table. His arms stretched out as far as they could go, ready to grab his brother and make a run for it.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Dropwart screeched, flipping herself around.

She and Papyrus managed to grab ahold of Sans at the same time. Papyrus gripped onto his brother’s arms with both hands, while Dropwart grabbed onto his legs. In an instant, they both began an impromptu tug-of-war for the Sans doll. Papyrus was still weakened by the earlier tickle experiments Dropwart had put him through, he could feel both of his arms and legs trembling as he pulled. But he pushed through the exhaustion, knowing that his brother was just a simple struggle away from being safe in his arms.

“Let … him … go!” Papyrus growled as he strained to pull him away. For being such an old woman, Dropwart was impressively strong.

“Not a … chance!” Dropwart also struggled to pull back her soft creation. “He’s … mine!” she snapped through the strain.

“Ow! OWW!! Hey! Watch it!!” Sans’s voice came bursting out of the doll, obviously feeling the pain of the tugging on his limbs. “Don’t go busting a seam! I’m serious!!”

Dropwart pursed her lips together to create a sharp whistling noise, alerting her pet snakes to come slithering to her aid. The serpents acknowledged her command with a loud hiss and slunk towards the direction of the scuffle. Before Papyrus had a chance to protest, he felt the snakes’ thick coils wrapping around his legs and ankles, trying to pull him back.

The younger skeleton stood his ground, planting his feet firmly in place as he held tight to the little doll. He was almost certain that he could manage to pull his feet forward … until he felt the sensation of their feathery tongues invading under the back of his knees.

“NYAAGH! Ahahahahaha!! Nohohohoho!! Hahaha!! N-Nohohoho!! Stahahahap that!! Ahahahahaha!!”

His pleading was useless, and he knew it. The snakes’ hissing seemed to be ten times more aggressive than it had ever been, and it showed in the way their tongues mercilessly flicked and fluttered and tickled his knee-pits. Papyrus tried to kick his knees up in response, forgetting that the colorful reptiles were firmly holding his ankles down. Papyrus noticed that they weren’t even trying to pull him away from Dropwart anymore. Their only goal was to hold him in place and tickle him until he released his brother, a task that Papyrus wouldn’t make easy for them.

“Eeeheeheeheehee!! G-Gihihihve—ahahaha!! G-Give me bahahack my brohohohother!! Aaahahahaha!!” Papyrus demanded through frantic giggling.

Dropwart didn’t respond, but instead kept her grip on Sans’s legs tighter than ever as she continued to pull. Sans, meanwhile, was bearing through his own struggles as his limbs were pulled in such an aggressive manner. He was certain that if he were still in skeleton form, he would have disconnected his arms and legs from the rest of him, just to spare himself the strain. But doll form wouldn’t give him that option, so he remained pulled between the two of them groaning loudly in pain.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! OWW!!” he yelped suddenly. “Pap! That’s not supposed to stretch that far!!”

"S-S-Sa—Ahahahahahaha!!"

Papyrus attempted to apologize, but his words were too intermixed between forceful giggling and painful groans as he tried to keep his strength up.

"Tsk tsk tsk, such a display of behavior." The Cheshire Cat tutted from the other side of the room.

Papyrus looked to see him turn towards the direction of the Ghost Children’s shadows. It was terrifying how it seemed like he could clearly see them.

"Children," he said slyly. "Would you be so kind as to lend our new serpent friends a helping hand?"

Papyrus heard the Ghost Children let out a malicious giggling sound before the sudden sound of a WHOOSH as they rocketed towards him. Before he had any chance to respond, he felt their soft little fingers digging into his ribs and underarms.

"NYAAAGH!! Ahahahahaha!! Oh-Ohoho nohohoho!! Not—Ahahahaha!! Nahahat you twohohohohoo!! Ahahahaha!!"

Between the snakes attacking the underside of his knees, and the Ghost Children going after his upper torso, Papyrus could immediately feel his strength starting to buckle under the ticklish stress. Dropwart yanked hard on Sans's legs eliciting another painful yelp from the older skeleton. Papyrus lunged forward in his moment of weakness, but somehow managed to regain control of his grip and steadily pulled Sans back towards him.

"Nohohohohoho!!" Papyrus cried through his cackling. "Yohohohohou—You—Aaaaahahahaha!! Yohohou can't—Ahahahahaha!!"

He tried so hard to fight back with his words. But he found that he was too quickly losing his stamina by talking, so he clenched his teeth and turned his focus back to keeping his grip on Sans.

"You can't … hold on … forever!!" Dropwart growled in response, also tightening her grip on the doll.

In all the commotion, nobody had even noticed the Tickle Monster's heavy footsteps lumbering further into the cottage. Nobody, except the Cheshire Cat that is. He turned towards the fuzzy creature, grin never faltering but with a clear look of annoyance in his eyes.

"Well? Just what are YOU waiting for?" The red cat sneered at the Monster. "DO get in there and get that doll, would you."

Unlike with the children, the cat spoke quite bluntly towards the Tickle Monster, though it was unclear just how the creature felt about such treatment. The Monster slowly approached the scuffle, its gaze turning back and forth between Papyrus and Dropwart. It wasn't quite sure which side to get on. But seeing as Papyrus had the snakes pulling against him, the next logical step in the creature's mind was to pull against Dropwart.

The lumbering creature positioned itself directly behind the green witch, abruptly wrapping its long arms around her waist and yanking her away from Papyrus. In an instant, the doll flew from the younger skeleton's fingertips, sending both him and Dropwart flying in opposite directions. Dropwart's body slammed into the Tickle Monster, sending both of them flying into a shelf. The sound of glass vials breaking left and right echoed through the cottage. Papyrus meanwhile, had landed flat on his back, awkwardly staring up at the ceiling before fully registering what had just happened.

"Oh no!!" he cried once he realized he no longer had his brother. "No! No! No! NO!!"

He quickly moved to stand himself up, but realized with horror that he couldn't budge from the floor. Something was pinning down his arms in an outwards position and something else was sitting on top of his legs preventing them from going anywhere. Two mischievous giggles were enough to tell him that the Ghost Children were sitting on top of him.

"Ha!" Dropwart gloated once she got up from the wooden floor. "He's all mine! Nobody gets the drop on old Dropwart!"

But the moment she finished her sentence, the Tickle Monster immediately made a grab for Sans, abruptly yanking on his arm with its gigantic claw.

"Why you fuzzy little gremlin!" the witch growled as she continued her fight to regain Sans. "You give him back to me right now!!"

The monster only grunted in response before continuing to pull against Dropwart. It was so big, it could only wrap two claws around the doll's arm, but it was enough to make Dropwart really struggle to try and pull him back.

"Sans!"

Papyrus grunted and struggled to move out from under the Ghost Children's weight. He heard them giggle as they watched him writhe.

"Hang on Sans! I'm coming to—AAAAAAGH!! AHAHAHAHAHA!! OHOHO NOHOHOHO!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!"

All at once he felt them start to tickle him under the arms, along the ribs, and even squeezing his knees. Papyrus shrieked, immediately trying to squirm and push them away. Their strength once again surprised him by how well they managed to keep him pinned. The younger skeleton tried to lift his head up to at least get a glance at what was happening to his brother, before realizing that the Cheshire Cat was standing directly over him. The feline's vibrant green eyes and sinister smile made Papyrus erupt in a startled shriek intermixed with his laughter.

"Well done, Children," the cat mused. "Do keep him there while I fetch dinner, won't you?" The Cat slinked off to join in the scuffle for Sans, a gruesome chuckle under his breath.

"NO! NO! WA—EEEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!! HAHAHAHA!! ST-STAHAHAP IT!! PLE—AHAHAHA!!!"

Papyrus banged his palms and heels against the ground as he felt the Ghost Children's little fingers swirling into his underarms and into his knee pits.

"Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle!!" teased the voice of the Ghost Girl.

"He's so sensitive and ticklish!!" added the Ghost Boy.

"I'm gonna tickle him forever and ever!" The Ghost Girl returned to squeezing the tops of Papyrus's kneecaps drawing out panicked gasps and chortles from the frantic skeleton.

"NOOOOHOHOHOHO!!" Papyrus howled, still trying to squirm away from their delicate fingers. "PLEHEHEHEHEASE!! NO-NOHOHO MOHOHOHORE!! EEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!"

"No more! No more!" the Ghost Boy repeated in a high-pitched mocking tone. "Hear that? He wants us to stop!"

"Aww! But I don't wanna stop!" the Ghost Girl pretended to whine. "Your giggles are extra tasty!! Yum! Yum!"

She merrily laughed away as she began dragging her little nails across the tops of his knees. Papyrus let out a silent squeal before resuming another onslaught of breathy cackling.

"STAAAAHAHAHAHA...!! OH-OHOHOHO PLEHEHEHEHEASE!! NYAHAHAHA!! L-LEMMIE GOHOHOHO!!"

"Let's have the doll, Dropwart." Papyrus heard the cat speak in an authoritative tone. "You've had your fun. Now kindly return what is mine."

It infuriated the younger skeleton how the Cat was speaking in such a manner about his brother, as if he had come to own him like a toy. Even in his hysterical state, he couldn't help but wonder why they all weren't fighting for ownership over him … especially not the Ghost Children. As he squirmed helplessly on the floor, Papyrus almost wished that they would leave him alone to go fight over Sans, at least then everyone would be distracted while he thought of a better plan.

That was it!

His mind immediately went back to the first interaction the pair of them had with the Cheshire Cat, how Sans had used the power of persuasion to try and steer the cursed cat away from his secret sweet spot. Although the plan ultimately failed, Papyrus knew it was his only chance at possibly getting the Ghost Children off of him and distracting them enough to make an escape.

"IS-IHIHIHIS HE—AHAHAHAHA!! IS HE—EEEHEEHEEHEE...!!"

It was so hard to think as he was being mercilessly tickled. His mind raced to find the correct words. He so desperately wished for his brother's ability to just make up fanciful lies on the spot. But in this moment, his brother needed him, so he inhaled as much oxygen as he could before trying again.

"IS-IS HEEHEEHEEHEE … J-JUHUHUST GOING TO T-TAHAHAHAKE SANS .... A-AHAHAHAHALL FOR HIHIHIMSELF?! AHAHAHAHAHA!!"

"Ha! Of course not!" the Ghost Girl replied arrogantly.

"We were the ones who found you first, so obviously we get first dibs!" added the Ghost Boy as he strummed Papyrus's ribs like a harp.

"W-W-WEHEHELL … HEEHEEHEE S-SAID THAT … SAHAHAHANS WAS HIS! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! J-JUHUHUST NOW IN FAHAHACT!! HEEHEEHEEHEE!!" Papyrus could feel himself on the verge of hyperventilating as he spoke through the unending cackles. "I-I-HEEHEEHEEHEE DOHON'T THINK … HE HAHAHAS IN-INT—AHAHAHA!! INTENTIONS TO SHAHAHAHARE!! HAHAHAHA!!"

"Wait … what?" the Ghost Boy answered, suddenly sounding confused.

To Papyrus's surprise, the tickling suddenly came to a halt. Obviously, his words had gotten through to them somehow, now he just had to keep them listening.

"Think about it!!" Papyrus practically choked out after a harsh gasp for air. He struggled to talk and catch his breath at the same time. "Why…. Why else … would … he just … leave you two over … here to … tickle me … wh-when … Sans is … clearly … th-the best … prize...?"

He coughed and gasped after finally spitting out his sentence, desperately hoping that he had made a decent enough point. For a moment, the Ghost Children were quiet, silently thinking. More than anything, Papyrus wished that he could see them, to read their faces and try to figure out which moves to make next. He was too afraid to start squirming again, fearing that they would see through his attempts to get them off of him. So he laid there, breathing heavily and silently praying that the odds were in his favor.

"You know what?" the Ghost Boy finally spoke. "I think he's right. We saw 'em first! How come he gets the best one?"

"Yeah!" the Ghost Girl cheered.

Papyrus felt a sudden lightness over his body as the Children levitated themselves off of him.

"Let's show that furball who really deserves that Tickle-Me-Skelly!"

Papyrus felt a sudden breeze sweep over him as the Ghost Children zoomed over to where the fight for Sans was continuing. At last, the younger skeleton took in a deep and well-needed breath in, and sat himself up wearily.

"What are you doing?!"

"Back off, he's mine!"

"No mine!"

"Get off of me!"

"Get away!"

"Let me see him!"

"I wanna play with him!"

"He belongs to me!"

The eruption of screams and protests from the crowd of adversaries pulled Papyrus's attention towards the scuffle. Sans was being pulled, literally limb from limb by everyone in the room. While Dropwart and the Tickle Monster each held onto an arm, the Ghost Children pulled on one foot, while Sans's other foot was in the jaws of the Cheshire Cat. The poor skeleton was groaning and whining in agony, feeling his body being uncomfortably stretched in every direction.

Papyrus gasped in horror, this wouldn't have been too terrible if Sans were in his normal form as he could simply detach his limbs. But there was no way he could reattach himself if his limbs were ripped off in doll form. Papyrus had to do something before that came to pass. He frantically looked around for anything that could possibly be useful. Besides the remaining tickle tools on the table, there was only broken glass around the floor from when Dropwart and the Monster crashed into the shelf. Clearly nobody was concerned about stepping on such precarious materials, not when a meal ticket like Sans was on the line. There were stray bottles here and there, but they had not yet been filled with any extracted laughter. Nothing that Papyrus could use against them. He watched helplessly as they all pulled at his brother, tearing out helpless gasps and painful yelps from the older skeleton.

Suddenly, the two snakes that had been wrapped around Dropwart's waist in an effort to help her pull, unraveled themselves from their master and instead began pushing and pulling against the Monster and the Cheshire Cat. The Lilac Snake even managing to wrap the Cat up completely in its coils. The Cheshire Cat however, still refused to release his smiling jaws. This gave Dropwart just the edge she needed to really start pulling Sans towards her. With only the Ghost Children really putting up a fight, she started confidently stepping backwards with Sans in tow.

"There … you see?"

She still struggled to keep her grip on him as she pulled, but her voice held the tone of haughty arrogance feeling as though she were finally winning.

"In the … Old Dropwart … Cottage … there's only … ONE … real queen!"

She continued stepping backwards, conviction growing with each step, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Sans would slip out of her opponents’ hands. Papyrus knew that it was now or never. He was still a good distance away from the group, so they hadn't yet noticed that he was free. But he also knew that he couldn't risk running over there, not only would he be too easily stopped, but there was too great a chance of him missing his brother completely. He had to come up with something, and fast!

At that moment, the harsh thumping on the wooden floor caused one of the empty vials to roll towards Papyrus. He looked down in time to see the tip of the glass-opening tapping at his ankle, reluctantly realizing that it was all he had. It may not have been much, but he was running out of time. If Dropwart successfully regained Sans, then it wouldn't take long for the others to notice him. Picking up the vial, he carefully measured Dropwart's footsteps. Despite still struggling against the others, the witch was still pulling herself backwards at a steady enough pace.

Holding his breath, Papyrus rolled the glass bottle across the floor like a bowling ball, clenching tightly in anticipation as he watched it travel across the floor. Just as Dropwart took another step backwards, the vial rolled directly under her foot. With a startled yelp she slipped backwards landing directly onto her old spine. The Sans doll abruptly flew from the clutches of the others and rocketed across the room. Papyrus dove for his brother, landing hard on the front of his ribs. The pain that seared through him was immediately forgotten once the doll landed safely in his hands.

"Papyrus!" Sans's voice was a strange mixture of joy and panicked screaming.

Papyrus didn't even waste time with a response. He scrambled to his feet, gently but firmly cradling Sans in his hands. Without looking back, he made a bolt for the front door, only to be greeted by a wave of intense heat as crackling flames had consumed the front entryway completely sealing them in.

"I … completely forgot I set that shelf on fire," Papyrus lamented meekly.

"That's alright, deary!" Dropwart's sudden cackle caused Papyrus to turn around with a sharp gasp. "You can pay me back for the cottage by giving me back my little poppet!"

Everyone was intensely staring the younger skeleton down with piercing eyes and devilish smiles. Although he couldn't see them, he knew the same could be said for the Ghost Children as he noticed their shadows hovering in place on the ground.

"There's nowhere left to run," the Cheshire Cat mused viciously. "Now you can either give us that doll … or we'll just have to take it from you."

Papyrus hesitantly took a step back towards the flames as he felt the others trying to creep closer.

"Although personally…," the Cat chuckled, showing off his sharpened claws. "I'd prefer if you chose the latter."

A shiver crept up Papyrus's spine, in spite of the blaring heat on his back. There just had to be a way out, he looked around again. There just had to be something … and there it was!

A bolted window. Clearly built with the idea of keeping prisoners trapped in the cottage. But the residents of LaughterLand were unaware of just how far Papyrus had gone in his previous shenanigans while training with Undyne.

"Give it up, deary!" Dropwart dared to creep closer while reaching out her green speckled claws. "There's no way you're getting out that door."

A wide grin spread across Papyrus's face, momentarily surprising everyone.

"I couldn't agree more!" he responded candidly.

Tucking Sans into his battle body, Papyrus leapt into a handstand before forwards flipping towards the window. The glass shattered instantly upon impact with his feet. Papyrus rolled into the grass, clutching Sans close to his chest. Though the fall left his head feeling dizzy, he gripped his brother tightly and ran with intense speed into the jungle, leaving the burning cottage of Old Witch Dropwart far behind them.

"Sorry!" he whispered cheekily under his breath.

#Tickletober #Tickletober2024 #Undertale #LaughterLand Story #Sans #Papyrus

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

Note

I loved your post about SoapGhost's summer coping mechanisms, bc it's ridiculously hot everywhere (& they're incredibly cute AF). but the post did mention 1 thing: Ghost having shorts for the occasion.

now I'm imagining Soap's reaction, the 1st time Ghost comes out wearing nothing but some black booty shorts with skeleton hands clutching his buttcheeks--

or even better: the peak 80s outfit, complete with an ashen grey crop top with some sarcastic phrase on it + the black skelly hand butt shorts + black Converse 👌🏽

(i made the reveal pre-relationship because it just hits better i think)

The first time Ghost wears The Outfit, Soap is sure his brain just about melts out of his ears.

In a good way, of course. A so-good-it’s-almost-bad way. Because not once did Soap ever stop to think of the possibility of Ghost owning clothes like that.

That being the worst (best) short-shorts he’s ever seen, the outdated ironic-slogan crop top, and the honest-to-God Converse Soap would have thought Ghost to sneer at if ever presented with such a footwear option.

But no. Not on this too-hot summer day, when Ghost is showing nearly as much skin as he might in his birthday suit.

Soap thinks he might explode.

There’s just something so cruel about the way Ghost’s muscles flex whenever he moves, the way his pale skin flushes pink so easily in the heat, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

Unfair, is what it is, that Ghost just has his arms and stomach and legs out in the open like that and Soap can’t just sink his teeth in. What he wouldn’t do for even the slightest chance to taste the salt off of—

“—geant? Johnny?”

Soap blinks. Ghost looks at him expectedly through those blond lashes of his, face hidden by a balaclava he still insists on wearing in spite of the weather. God, Soap hates him. He wants to kiss every inch of his bare skin.

“What?” Soap replies dumbly. In all honesty, he hadn’t been paying attention for a very long time.

Ghost just scoffs. He doesn’t bother repeating whatever it was he just said, instead choosing to hit Soap with a raised eyebrow and an almost too casual, “Like something you see?”

I’m not sure where to start, Soap thinks. His thighs? Biceps? Hands, waist, calves? His list might take him all day to rattle off.

So he condenses it into a simple, weak, “Aye, sir.”

Ghost considers him a moment. His eyes flicker over Soap’s own covered body, lips surely twisting into some sort of unreadable expression beneath the mask.

But Soap wouldn’t know. He’s too busy drinking in the sight of everything he may never get the chance to see again.

Ghost hums. It’s possible he says something else, but Soap would be screwed if someone asked him to repeat it—because as Ghost turns to leave, Soap is too busy gawking at the pair of skeleton hands hugging Ghost’s ass to function to any acceptable degree.

Soap thinks distantly, watching the lieutenant walk away, that if Ghost ever wore The Outfit again, it would never, ever be too soon.

#ask #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #writing #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #ghoap

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duckiemimi · 1 year ago

Text

everything that’s happened since gojo’s unsealing has been such a missed opportunity for his character.

now, don’t get me wrong—yuuji is the main protagonist of the story, despite being benched for the better half of the arc, but gojo is a protagonist, too. and though the development from gojo’s beginning (the hidden inventory arc) to his sealing (the shibuya arc) isn’t as consistent as some of the other characters, it’s still growth with room for resolution. resolution which we did not get in 236. (if he’s actually dead.)

i think one of the biggest setbacks to gojo’s potential character growth is the timeskip that happened right before his fight with sukuna. the story wouldn’t have slowed down if we were given time to reacquaint ourselves with gojo after hundreds of chapters of absence, and it would’ve been a great opportunity to re-establish the dynamic he had with his students and friends, as well as introduce him to new characters and the characters we haven’t seen him interact with.

besides exploring character relationships, unfolding that timeskip into actual training scenes would’ve given the reader a sense of time passing, which would’ve played into the anticipation of waiting for the promised date. because that’s what the characters were doing, too—waiting for the promised date. the scenes wouldn’t have to be long and dragged out, but regardless if they were, they could’ve served a purpose in the story. in reality, all we know is that the timeskip happened and now everyone’s patting his back. conveniently implied off-screen growth.

then we have our epic battle, spanning fifteen-chapters full of “is he dead or is he not?” cliffhangers. as highly anticipated as this fight was, it mostly consisted of play-by-play sequences with minimal scenes of characterization. (by characterization, i mean things like internal-monologues and interactions that are more than just fighting. “phew, that was close” thoughts don’t count.) if we were to use the canon fifteen chapters as a base, a skeleton we could build on, adding more characterization could’ve made the fight less repetitive and so much more engaging, so much more meat to the story. alas, all we have fighting.

and then we have chapter 236. in my personal opinion, gojo didn’t have to die for the story to still end up centering the new generation he fostered, but let’s say he really did die in 236. if he really did die, then this chapter completely reversed and regressed gojo’s character to the point where it wholly undermined the development we’ve seen throughout the story. i would call it a simple “out of character” moment, but if he’s dead, then we’re back at square one and now we’ll stay there, unmoving. because he’s dead.

on top of that, his change was done abruptly, too, with no indication or foreshadowing that we were heading in the direction where 236 ended. i wouldn’t say that gojo enjoying his fight with someone who actually gave him a challenge was an indication that he would end up the way he did. you have to believe your readers are smart, but you can’t leave things so vague for them to figure everything out by themselves. readability is great. this issue shouldn’t have to be an open-ended question.

and anyway, the sudden change had no purpose. what am i supposed to take away from him reverting back to his high school self? that despite all the work he put in, he’s still alone? even in death, he feels alone? next to all his dead friends, he laughs but still, he feels alone and misunderstood? how pessimistic. and even if that was what the narrative was going for, then those fifteen chapters were a missed opportunity for an effective transition from point “a” (gojo pre-battle) to point “b” (gojo post-battle/in the afterlife) characterization-wise. (and plot-wise. off-screen major events are lazy.) i’m not convinced and neither are many readers. this isn’t just because gojo’s a well-loved character.

i think most people knew one way or another that gojo would die, given the nature of the story. even if that fifteen chapter back-and-forth gave hope for survival, the end is the inevitable, and that’s understandable. but to end his character as someone unrecognizable from who we were first introduced to, and to have it done so drastically, too? it makes me :/ . sacrificing gojo for the sake of the plot, i could understand, but twisting him post-mortem was unnecessary.

taking away the care he had for the future generation, who are battlefield-bound right now, completely undermines the fact that the story is supposed to center around them. that was his motivation and what spurred him to give yuuta and yuuji second chances in life. his care, his motivation, was what started the story in the first place. if gojo’s character arc was intended to be flat and his actual character, static, then he wouldn’t have had ongoing motivations that lined up with the major plot.

bear in mind, i’m not making this as a call to action or anything (god, no). but these are just my thoughts as a long-time reader. the story is still gege’s and while i’m dissatisfied with how he killed off one of my favorite characters in the series, whatever happens next is in the control of the g-pen between his fingers.

#gojo #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk 236 #do i tag this as meta?#jjk meta #and now we wait for tomorrow

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luminousjellyfishy · 3 months ago

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Hey look I'm capable of writing?? Woah???

It's a oneshot, so it's not too much, but I'm still proud that I wrote something.

Haunting Lullabies

Characters (all Sanses from UTAU/MV): Nightmare, Killer, Dust, Horror, Cross

Word count: 3609

Trigger warnings: Swearing and harsh teasing (it's pretty much bullying)

Summary: Nightmare tasks the gang with watching a child for a day while he's out, thinking things will go smoothly. To his dismay, they don't.

The Bad Sanses were sitting in the living room, Nightmare on his chair, Killer and Dust sharing the larger couch, and Horror and Cross sharing the loveseat. Error had been absent for the majority of the day, either off destroying or hiding away in the Anti-Void. The five present members were each doing their respective hobbies in relative silence, enjoying the calm evening after a long, tiresome day of causing havoc throughout the AUs.

Nightmare took a rather large sip of his coffee, then said abruptly, “I feel that I should let you know ahead of time that Error and I will be gone all day tomorrow, and in our absence the four of you will be looking after a child. I owe a friend of mine a favour and it seems that… babysitting, is the task they’ve chosen.”

This sudden comment drew the attention of everyone in the room, actually resulting in a true, pure silence. Panicked eyelights were darting around the room between one another and Nightmare, desperately hoping that they had misheard.

“What…? Boss, what do you even mean? A kid?” Killer started suddenly, confusion all over his features.

“Please tell me it’s not a human.” Dust added, his eyesockets wider than his usual apathetic appearance allowed.

A small chuckle from Nightmare, “No, he isn’t a human. He’s a skeleton monster like yourselves. However, he is quite fragile, so please do be careful with him. I can imagine that you’re all wondering why I don’t watch him, as I’m the one who owes the favour, and the answer is quite simple: I don’t want to.”

Cross stared agape at the smirk on Nightmare’s face, apparently not understanding how one could just not follow through on a debt just because they “didn’t want to”.

“Is something the matter, you two? You seem awfully quiet and I thought you’d have more to say on the matter.” Nightmare asked Cross and Horror in a low voice, however completely unthreatening.

“Well, I don’t really know much about takin’ care of a kid… the best I got is Aliza.” Horror said slowly, evidently still processing the situation. Cross quickly nodded in agreement, still silent.

“I mean, you’ve had Chara living in your skull for a while now, so you’ve still got a step up above the rest of us. I mean, I guess that I worked with Chara for a while, but they were a maniac, so I don’t think they really count…” Killer said to Cross; however, quickly trailing off in uncertainty.

“I killed my human.” Dust added softly.

“What’s that gotta do with it?” Horror asked, now looking at Dust.

“I don’t wanna accidentally kill the kid we’re supposed to watch.” He answered.

“Trust me, that won’t happen.” Nightmare replied, doing little to alleviate his concerns.

Silence followed briefly before Cross said, “So how old is he? Is there anything specific we should know? Is his magic stable? You said that he’s fragile, so will we need to dedicate certain times to healing? We need so much information to make sure we don’t kill him!”

Nightmare seemed to ponder the questions for a small moment before replying with a smile, “He’s a few months past 6 years old, however he looks, acts, and thinks much older. He doesn’t have much usable magic, so you won’t have to worry about that. While he is fragile, there is nothing you can do to help, so no amount of healing will do anything. Just keep him comfortable and entertained and you’ll all be fine.”

“You really seem like you’re purposefully not telling us shit about him.” Killer commented, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That’s fully intentional, but please, do not worry too much. You’ll be fine. When you all wake tomorrow, I’ll be gone and won’t be back until late at night. He will most likely be here before you wake, so please try not to sleep in too much.” Nightmare replied with a soft smile and laugh at the end.

A pained groan quickly erupted from both Killer and Dust at the knowledge that they won’t be able to sleep in.

Nightmare laughed again, shook his head, and refocused his attention back onto his book.

~~~~

The child had been roaming the halls of the mansion for quite some time now, admittedly getting rather bored. He had pondered causing chaos multiple times since Nightmare left, but has decided against it every time… well. Every time but this one it seems.

He ran to the laundry area, in the hopes to find some buckets. After a short amount of time spent rummaging around, he finally found a few beside a washing machine. A silly, evil giggle erupted before quickly being silenced, even though he was two floors beneath anyone and he knew that no one had woken up yet.

He ran as fast as he could to the bedroom wing on the second floor, holding several buckets. After reaching the wing, he quickly made his way to Error’s room, hoping desperately that there was leftover string or yarn from the many dolls and scarfs that were so often being made. To his excitement, he found a rather large amount of lime green yarn that would work perfectly.

He set to work, filling four buckets with water and attaching fairly intricate pulley systems to each, rigging them all to dump at their perfect moments.

Now to wait…

He sat down quietly against a wall across from the bedroom doors and began to sleep. Or at least what appeared to be sleeping from an outside perspective. He had actually just entered a semi-unconscious daydreaming state that could easily be disrupted.

Time quickly passed with the child sitting on the floor.

Suddenly, a tired groan from one of the rooms awoke the child from his trance. He quickly stood up, waiting for whoever it was to leave their room. Some shuffling could be heard from what the child knew to be Killer’s room and they could barely contain their giggle when they heard him approach the door to come into the hallway.

The doorknob turned and the system was set into motion.

Killer opened the door and walked out, surprised to see the child waiting there, but raised his hand to say hi.

Out of nowhere, a bucket of water dumped onto his head, drenching him completely and resulting in a loud, startled yell of utter confusion.

The child burst into fits of laughter, unable to contain it any longer.

All the sudden commotion woke the other sleeping skeletons and forced them out of their rooms to see what the problem was. As soon as their doors opened and they walked out, buckets dumped cold water onto their heads.

Everyone was completely confused and staring at the child with reactions that varied from amusement to pissed off. The child in question was currently on the floor dying of laughter because apparently he found their suffering and misery to be hilarious.

“Ok… what the fuck? Huh??” Was all that could be said from Killer, still staring at the skeleton child on the floor.

Dust didn’t even bother saying anything about the situation, he just shook his head and turned back into his room to change.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Horror slowly approached the child, asking quietly, “I take it you’re the kid Nightmare wants us to watch?”

The child took a second to calm down, but then looked up at the large skeleton ahead of him and quieted down slightly, however still letting out copious amounts of giggles.

“Yeah, that’s me. My name’s Lullaby. You’re Horror right?” another burst of giggles, “Sorry about the water, I just got super bored because you were all sleeping and I didn’t know what to do.” The child, now Lullaby, answered through more laughter and wide smiles.

Cross looked around the hallway, noticing the very complicated design of the yarn attached to all four of their rooms, then back to Lullaby, very confused as to how a 6 year old managed to accomplish this, and wondering how long they had been here.

“You set all of this up?? How long have you been here?” Cross asked incredulously before Horror could think of a response.

Lullaby smiled innocently before saying, “I’ve been here for about 2 or 3 hours? Setting this up only took about 15 minutes, though.”

“Ok hold up, I need to wrap my head around. You’re telling me, this 6 year old brat that Boss is forcing us to watch set this all up in 15 minutes? I don’t buy it.” Killer said in a dark tone of voice, very tempted to summon some of his knives and get rid of this nuisance.

“Killer, calm down. It’s just water and not that big of a deal.” Horror grumbled in his raspy voice, watching carefully to make sure he didn’t try anything.

Killer just scoffed and turned back into his room, clearly annoyed.

“Don’t worry too much about him, he just gets… grumpy. Especially this early in the morning. Well, it’s early for him anyways.” Cross chimed in. He was still soaked in water, but was very clearly amused.

Dust finally came back out of his room, dressed in clothes perfect for lounging around the house all day. He approached Lullaby and kneeled down so they were on the same level.

“Good job, kid, I’m impressed. Not just anyone can piss off Killer so fast.” He said with a wide smirk on his face and held his hand up for a high five. Lullaby gave him one with a smile stretched wide.

“I know, I know. I should be a professional shit disturber, right?” Lullaby asked, his smile still going strong.

Cross and Horror broke out into small fits of laughter, clearly not having expected that, whereas Dust just raised his ‘eyebrows’ in surprise.

“You totally should, that sounds like a great occupation.” Cross replied, trying to steady himself.

Horror nodded in agreement, then said, “I say we reward the newfound shit disturber with some nice cream.”

“Can I have some?” Killer called out from his room, still not opening the door.

Dust scoffed, “If you agree to play nice and not kill the kid then maybe we’ll consider giving you some.”

Silence followed for a few long seconds, when finally the door creaked open and out came Killer.

“Fine. I won’t kill him, BUT I will get my revenge.” He said maliciously, eyesockets narrowed at Lullaby.

“Oh noooooo, I’m so scared.” He muttered to himself; however, Killer unfortunately heard.

“I’m trying to be nice, and this is the reaction I get? Nah, I’m going all out. You’re going to regret coming here, kid.”

“We’ll see.”

~~~~

As the day passed by ever so slowly, Killer stayed true to his word. He had his fun torturing Lullaby, by first stealing his nice cream, then scaring him multiple times throughout the day, then taking away anything that he had been enjoying, and many more things that progressively got worse. He would taunt him and insult him, commenting on his broken and damaged bones, calling him names, teleporting him to parts of the mansion furthest away from anyone else, making fun of his purple clothing, and just overall making this day very unpleasant for him. The others tried intervening when they could, but there was only so much that they could do.

At one point, Lullaby seemed to have a mini panic attack that caused Killer to slightly falter, but not stop.

Cross, Dust, and Horror all talked to Killer, trying to get him to stop, but they were all met with a shrug and a comment similar to, “He knew what he was getting into. Besides, it's not even that bad, I’m just teasing him. It’ll help toughen the kid up!”

Eventually, Lullaby started avoiding him, if he saw Killer come near, he’d leave immediately.

Around 8pm, Dust caught Lullaby hiding in a broom closet with his eyes shut tight and muttering something, seemingly talking to someone. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, making enough noise so his presence was obvious. Lullaby looked up at him, startled as he sat down.

“Are you alright, kid? … No, that’s a stupid question. Killer’s been a complete jerk to you and it’s not fair or right. He’s not used to talking to people outside of our group unless he’s killing ‘em, so he might think that this is ok behaviour. I mean, fuck he’s always doing it to me. Well, not to this extent, but still…” Dust whispered to him, not wanting to draw outside attention. Lullaby’s shoulders sank and he hugged his knees tightly.

“I just thought it would be funny… I figured he of all people would agree. Do you think he hates me…?” He asked reluctantly. Dust’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

“No, kid. Not at all. He’s just a massive hypocrite who can dish it out but can’t take it. Stars, it’s nothing against you.” He shook his head and pulled Lullaby closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He felt him tense up at the contact and quickly let go.

Lullaby looked away with a sad expression on his face and nodded, standing up to leave. Dust followed suit, opening the door and walking out.

The two walked the halls towards the kitchen, hoping to meet Horror there, but being intercepted by Killer. Lullaby hid behind Dust, grabbing onto his sweatshirt and careful not to touch his scarf.

“Awww, is the little baby hiding behind Dusty? C’mon kid, I thought you were better than that. Aren’t you the one who said ‘we’ll see’ when I told you that you were gonna regret coming? You think that was a little cocky of you? Maybe you regret your stupid your stupid water prank?” Killer taunted, his voice chock-full of spite.

Dust glared at him, “Seriously? He’s 6, Killer. He dunked you with water, because it’s funny. I thought you of all people could take a joke. You’re way out of line. How the hell do you think Boss is gonna react when he finds out how you’ve been acting? We were charged with watching the kid and making sure that he’s ‘comfortable and entertained’, neither of which you’ve been doin-”

“Aw come on! I’ve totally been entertaining!”

“Leave him alone. If I find out that you’ve continued antagonizing him, there’ll be hell to pay.”

A quick, unreadable look from Killer, and he was gone.

Dust turned to take Lullaby’s hand so they could keep walking, but quickly saw that he was crying. He kneeled down and used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the violet tears that looked much more oily than a regular skeleton’s tears would. After wiping them away, they seemed to stain his bones a much darker colour than the tears were. It was almost black and caused Dust to do a double take.

“Kid? Why a-”

“He’s just like them.”

Dust sat in silence, his ‘eyebrows’ scrunched in confusion.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I’m staying.” He muttered to himself, but Dust could tell that he seemed to be telling someone else that he was staying. Someone that wasn’t himself or Dust.

The two of them stood up, and resumed their walk to the kitchen.

They walked in silence, eventually getting back to a sight that they didn’t expect.

Killer was sitting at the dinner table, his head in his arms and Cross beside him with a resigned look on his face.

Dust could feel Lullaby tense up, but neither said anything.

Killer looked up and his teasing stature seemed to crumble.

There was silence for a moment before he began, “Listen, kid. I’m sorry. I’m sure they’ve told you that I ‘struggle with emotions’ or whatever crap excuses they tried to give you to cover up for me. I dish out my pranks and comments to everyone, but I don’t know why I’ve been especially mean- no, cruel. To you. I guess I was taken aback that you got me first, so I tried making up for it like this. So I’m sorry.”

Lullaby said nothing, but Dust felt his grip loosen.

“I get if you don’t wanna talk to me or anything, but I just wanted to tell you that I really am sorry.” Killer muttered resignedly as he got up from the table and began to walk towards the door.

When Killer passed by Lullaby and Dust, Lullaby quickly grabbed onto him, pulling him tightly into a hug.

Killer stared down at him in shock, then slowly hugged him back.

“It was nice to hear you say that, but I can’t make myself believe it.” Lullaby said, dropping his arms and pulling back so tears could be seen to form in his broken eye sockets, “I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s too cruel. You’re great people and it was nice to meet you, but I really wish we could have started off better. Maybe I’ll bring myself to speak to you again later.”

Everyone’s faces shifted from confusion to shock when Lullaby’s body began leaking a dark substance from its crevices and orifices, especially his right eyesocket.

Slowly, Lullaby was completely engulfed in the goo, all of his injuries hidden and the hole where his right eye should have been was covered. Finally, his eyelight changed to a cyan slit and his demeanour changed from being a scared child, to that of a very pissed off King.

Nightmare glared at Killer, his tentacles lashing around violently, displaying his anger.

“You have no idea how much shit you’re in, Killer. It never occurred to you that maybe you should stop when you triggered him into having a panic attack? You never stopped to wonder why he did so? Why he hid?” He hissed, his tentacles sharp and pointed at Killer.

“I didn’t stop to think. I was upset that he got me fir-”

“I heard your whole speech earlier, don’t waste my time by repeating yourself.”

There was silence as Killer looked to his feet.

“Can’t explain yourself? Fine, then don’t. I don’t care to hear it anyways. As for my explanation, Lullaby is the name my past self goes by, as the name ‘Nightmare’ contains far too many negative connotations and memories. He follows me as a ghost that I can see and communicate with. I’ve been watching you all day, and honestly Killer, I’m very disappointed. You practically reenacted the worst years of his life. Of course, your ‘apology’ helps your case; however, I’m still quite upset.” Nightmare scolded, still glaring at Killer.

“He wanted to meet all of you, so we agreed that today would be a good day to do so, as Error would be out and we had no plans. I want to thank the three of you,” he looked to Dust, Horror, and Cross, “for assisting and comforting him. I appreci-”

“I’m so sorry.”

Nightmare looked back to Killer, only to see far less Hate leaking from his eyes, however being replaced by his red tears.

“I didn’t know. I thought that we were just having some fun, but I guess towards the end, I was just being mean on purpose because I wanted to feel powerful. Ha… feel powerful over a fucking 6 year old. Man, I really am the worst…” Killer sobbed, trailing off at the end.

Nightmare’s tentacles calmed and rounded slightly at the tips. He was at a loss for words. It was a very rare occurrence to see Killer cry, but when he did, it was genuine.

Everyone was quiet, broken only by Killer’s weeping.

Nightmare sighed, then pulled Killer towards him with his tentacles, gently embracing him. The other three respectfully kept their distance.

“Lullaby said it’s ok. He doesn’t blame you and you shouldn’t blame yourself. We both knew what he was getting into by taking control; however, I cannot let this go unpunished.” Nightmare murmured, gently rubbing his back with a tentacle. He felt Killer tense up slightly and he could feel his dread radiating.

“It’s nothing cruel or torturous, I assure you. However, you won’t like it.”

He could feel the others’ apprehension as he continued to console Killer.

“You’ll be taking care of everyone’s chores, you’ll be assisting Horror with dinners, and you’ll be going to bed at 9pm, all for a month from today.” He asserted, instantly feeling his disappointment, but also understanding. Dust cheered when Nightmare said Killer will be doing their chores, Horror groaned when he said that he’ll be helping in the kitchen, and Cross laughed at the fact that he’ll have a bedtime.

Killer pulled away, wiped his face with his sleeve, and nodded.

“You said, Lullaby followed you as a ghost, and that you heard me talking earlier, so does that mean he can hear me now?” Killer asked slowly. To this, Nightmare with a quiet sound of confirmation. “In that case, I’m sorry, kid. I really am.”

Nightmare’s eyelight flickered into Lullaby’s purple one, but he didn’t uncorrupt, instead he said in his lighter voice and with a smile, “It’s ok. I really don’t blame you. Personally, I would have revoked your nice cream privileges, but this will do.”

His eyelight flickered back to cyan and his smile changed to a smirk, “I actually think that’s a great idea. Fuck you, no nice cream for a week.”

Killer fell to his knees dramatically, seemingly mostly back to his old self, and yelled out numerous profanities.

Everyone laughed at the sight, Lullaby included.

So, this follows my headcanon that Nightmare is made up of three consciousnesses: the original passive Nightmare (he goes by Lullaby now), the Corruption (literal negativity - goes by C), and Nightmare (he's a combination of the other 2 - primarily has control of their body). Lullaby can take control whenever he wants since he's the original (the other 2 can't take it from him), and C can take from Nightmare, but Nightmare can't take from C. For about 2 centuries after the Apple Incident, C (he went by Nightmare to keep up appearances) had complete control over their body because Lullaby didn't want to interact with reality at all (at this point, he wasn't even following as a ghost, he was just gone). After those ~2 centuries, the combination between them formed and others would notice that Nightmare had significantly calmed down, signifying the formation of the current and most well-known Nightmare.

This is inspired by a YouTube video by AButterfly (www.youtube.com/watch?v=10iGbkHDafA) and I seriously suggest you watch it! Not even just for context, but because it's cool.

Thanks for reading! :D

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umemiyan · 1 year ago

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𝑪𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑻𝒀.

pairing. — dental hygienist!eren jaeger x gn!reader

word count. — 1.3k

content. — suggestive content (no actual smut but still, mdni), mentions of candy/eating, dentist office setting, mentions of reader having dental anxiety and possible oral fixation, mentions of some questionable dental practice (but nothing bad happens to reader), no actual procedures are done but reader is told they have cavities, i think that's it sorry i'm trying to be thorough because until recently this shit seriously bothered me lmao so i don't want to upset anybody!

notes. — it is upon us!! i know it's like a couple of hours until halloween (at least where i'm at) but i wanted to post this while i was riding the high of finishing this up. this is my entry for @bastardblvd 's house of slimy horrors collab! my prompt was "candy" and i took this as an opportunity to thirst over dental hygienist!eren and lowkey further heal from my dentophobia lol. but i hope you enjoy! (divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

The distinct stench of the dentist’s office seems to fill your nostrils with increasing potency the longer you sit in the waiting room, anticipating the moment when your name will be called and you will be one step closer to being able to just leave. Your nerves are wracked despite the simple reason for your visit (a routine exam and cleaning) because this place never fails to nearly make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. It seems fitting that Halloween is only a couple of days away, and you wish you could pop a piece of candy directly into your mouth to give yourself something pleasant to focus on.

Whether it be because of the rather off-putting and…eccentric cohort of licensed(?) dentists or the generally apathetic hygienist that is always hovering over you, your appointments consistently end on a note of complete and utter desperation to just get the hell out of there. You’re already bouncing your knee and anxiously counting down the seconds until it happens. The Halloween decorations, though relatively jovial in nature, don’t particularly make you feel any more at ease. You almost envy the fake skeleton in the corner for its perfect set of teeth.

You’re jostled out of your bored but nervous daze by a rather low utterance of your name coming from the doorway to the back. You stand from your seat and look over to see a familiar face: a young man with dark hair tied back to keep it out of his brilliant green eyes and expressionless—but handsome—features. You recognize him as the same hygienist to have taken care of you last time (was his name Adrian? Aaron?), and although his rather unenthusiastic presence leaves something to be desired, you can’t help but take the slightest bit of comfort in it. If nothing else, you at least remember him being thorough and competent enough for you to not be so on edge.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says as he walks you down the hall and to a room on the left where an empty chair is there waiting for you, and beside it a small table adorned with the various cleaning instruments all laid out in a neat line. You quickly take a seat and let him prepare the x-ray machine and place the heavy protective sheet over you shortly after.

“I’m gonna grab a few x-rays first, alright?” he explains, voice tinted with the slightest bit of friendliness. You get the sense that he’s not the most talkative of beings and that bedside manner isn’t exactly his favorite part of the job, but you at least appreciate the hint of effort you can detect. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s rather enjoyable to look at, either; not to mention the smooth sound of his voice and the way his eyes seem to linger on you for a few seconds too long.

“Bite down on this for me,” he instructs, placing an odd contraption in front of your mouth and waiting for you to open so that he can get on with the x-rays. He’s almost a little intimidating, looming over you and giving quiet orders in your direction, but you can’t deny that there’s something appealing about opening your mouth for him, even if it’s so he can place uncomfortable equipment in it. Maybe it’s the escapist part of your brain trying to forget about the stress of the appointment, but it can’t hurt to have a few indulgent thoughts during the process, can it? Whatever works to get you out of here with your sanity, right? You don’t reckon most people are lucky enough to have such an attractive hygienist, so you might as well appreciate it while you can.

You repeat this process a few more times—opening, closing, opening, closing—until he’s finally done and removing the lead sheet from your torso. Twiddling your thumbs restlessly, you watch as he examines the images on his screen, giving you a few moments to really look him over. You’re less concerned with the results of the x-rays than you are with observing his body—it looks rather toned even beneath the scrubs he’s wearing, and you wonder what sort of things he does in his free time. Going to the gym seems highly likely, but perhaps he’s outdoorsy? Is he a weightlifter, or does he go on hikes? Play sports? Is he good at other physical things—?

Your thoughts are cut short by his voice breaking the silence. “Looks like there’s some decay on a couple of your bottom molars,” he states, walking back over to you and placing a gloved thumb on your chin. “Open for me?”

You obey and lower your jaw, giving him space to lean in and take a peek at your back teeth. He’s much closer now, brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to focus in with his eyes, and there’s a faint but pleasant masculine scent capturing your attention. Maybe it’s a spritz of cologne or his body wash taking over your senses, but whatever it is, it’s certainly more alluring than you’d like for it to be, especially with the way you can practically feel his breath fanning over your skin. It only lasts for a second before he’s pulling away, and you’re warmer than usual.

“Yeah,” he says conclusively, taking a seat on the stool next to you and bringing the mask up over his mouth and nose, which… he probably should’ve done before getting in your face a few moments ago, but you honestly aren’t complaining. He looks and smells clean, and you’re already mourning the loss of the sight of his lips. “I’ll let the doc take a look, but you’ll probably need a little work done.”

“Is it bad?” you ask a bit too quickly from the jitters, his words not exactly what you were hoping to hear today.

Eren shakes his head in response. “No, nothing serious. Just looks like maybe you’ve been laying it a little heavy on the sugar lately.”

You don’t like the sudden feeling of being accused or interrogated, but you suppose that’s simply part of his job. With an ashamed look on your face, you cast your glance to the side. “Yeah. Maybe.” You don’t like to admit it at the dentist’s office, but in recent months you’d developed somewhat of a bad habit of sucking on candies and lollipops on the regular. Your sugar consumption had only increased since the beginning of October, which certainly couldn’t be helping the problem. “I guess I’ve gotten a little too used to munching on all the extra candy lately.” You chuckle to try and lighten the mood. “Maybe I have an oral fixation or something.”

It’s hard to fully read his face beneath the mask, but you see him quirk a brow as he starts to lean your chair back for your cleaning. “Yeah?” he asks, somewhat intrigued.

You’re staring up at him now, watching as those beautiful eyes fixate on your body and then your lips. Sure, it’s his job to make keen observations about your mouth, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking on your behalf, but you can swear the way he stares at you is less than medical in nature. It’s not easy for you to keep from squirming and hide that very same look in your own eyes.

“Mhm,” you reply simply, gaze glued to his face.

Slowly, Eren pulls the mask back down below his chin and leans in closer than necessary, letting you see the way his lips part and how his eyes go half-lidded. He brings his thumb back up to your mouth but slips it inside this time, fascinated with the way you instantly close down around it. “I think we should find another way to keep you occupied,” he says, voice even lower than usual in a way that makes your heart gallop. “Don’t wanna let candy be what ruins your pretty mouth, do you?”

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #my writing.#re: eren jaeger

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jackactuallywrites · 8 months ago

Text

Spirits and Ghosts

Warning: I’m putting this at the top because this fic is pretty dark! Alcoholism, referenced suicide, Soap is dead, Ghost is completely broken, mildly dubious consent cause you’re both drunk shagging

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x female reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Everyone is devastated after Soap’s death, most of all Ghost. He knows you know he’s coping with alcohol, and comes to talk to you, he doesn’t know that you’re drinking too

Notes: I just love a bit of hurt/comfort after all the mushy fluff

Word Count: 3,270

ao3 link

Special thanks: @xxven ily

There was a palpable heaviness hanging over the base with the knowledge that one of your own was gone. You’d never had the pleasure of truly befriending Soap, yet you still felt his absence, a hole in the worn fabric that made up the base. His jokes, his laughter, that obnoxious Scottish accent that echoed down the halls, something you’d found irritating then, but now you would have given anything to hear it one last time.

None amongst you felt that loss more keenly than Ghost.

You were intel, so it was in your job description to keep watch, not only on whoever the government had designated as the enemy but on your own, digging into your comrade's personal lives and finding out every last little secret that could possibly be used against them. Skeletons in the closet didn’t even come close to describing the graveyard in Ghost’s past. Supposedly, he was numb to the trauma, empty of every human emotion after everything he’d been through, but you’d been watching him. There had been something motivating that man, some ironclad little spark at the centre of his being, yet it had died with Soap.

Never once before had his moniker been so accurate. The man truly was haunting the base, a ghoulish spectre wandering the halls at night, his eyes dead and cold, his body animated by something unknown. At least, that was until you took it upon yourself to break into Ghost’s room.

Alcohol.

That was what was motivating the man to keep going, a growing pile of spirits underneath his bed. It was the perfect crime; nobody would ever get close enough to the man to be able to smell his breath; even if they did, he wore a mask, the alcohol-tinted air smothered by a layer of fabric and resin. You knew that Price and Gaz kept an eye on the man, but how close could they truly get to him? Even by military standards, Ghost was closed off. So, you came in. Covert amongst the covert, supposedly for the ‘good of the task force’, though yet again you were questioning it. What good would come of reporting Ghost? You’d read his psych evals; the man was not one for therapy, and understandably so, meaning he would be discharged honourably if he was lucky, but you knew how that story ended. At the end of a rope.

The laptop in your office mocked you with its bright glow, lighting up your dismal notes of alcoholism and trauma, but you couldn’t bring yourself to transfer the notes into his official documents just yet. A man’s life was on the line, and this was not something you took lightly. What you needed was your routine.

It was simple enough; you’d get yourself a nice cold lemonade and then put in enough vodka to drown a small animal, though never enough to completely rid you of your conscience and allow yourself to be engulfed by everything you forced down. Considering you were planning on writing up Ghost for a drinking problem, it felt hypocritical, but everything you did was. Spying on your own soldiers to keep them safe. The lines were already blurred, no matter how straight you tried to make them.

Your room was a perfect prison for you, your laptop safely stored in the securely locked server rooms, only accessible by a sober you the next day. For now, it was just you and your notes, the ones that would be responsible for condemning a man. The words felt heavy on your heart as you flicked through your notepad, your mind already swimming with alcohol as you reread what you’d written of Ghost, of his pain, his guilt, his trauma. He was a good man, from what you could tell, but there was no room for empathy. You had to do what was best for the task force.

When you heard the knock at the door, you felt your soul leave your body. You switched up your drinking room every time, never using the same one twice, always having your office as where you would be found after hours. Of course, you weren’t stupid enough to believe that you yourself weren’t watched, but you knew how and where they’d monitor you, and you’d gone out of your way to avoid it. Or so you’d thought. Could you have messed up? No, you’d done everything perfectly. This was just some horrible coincidence.

Another knock at the door, firmer though still quiet, was enough to rid you of that thought. Someone was out there, someone who knew you were in that room. Your sidearm was never far from your hand, and you kept it in hand as you approached the door, hoping that your dishevelled appearance would be put down to being roused from an early night’s sleep rather than from an empty bottle. Professional. Courteous. That’s all you had to be for the next minute. You could do that.

You might have been able to if it wasn’t Ghost on the other side of the door—Ghost, whose fate lay in your hands, fragile and delicate like a baby bird. He made no attempt at upholding any sort of professional courtesy himself as he pushed past you into the small room you’d taken as sleeping quarters that night.

“I know.” His tired voice brokered no disagreement, but you still made an effort. “Know what?” He sunk onto your bed, precariously close to your stash of alcohol, resting his forearms on his thighs, his eyes firmly on you, “I know you know everything.” You remained quiet, as was always best in this situation, allowing Ghost to reveal how much he knew. “Don’t.” He knew, of course, he knew, he’d been briefed on those exact tactics. You looked back at him, trying to be resolute though your head was swimming, “I’m just doing my job, Lieutenant. As you do yours.” He scoffed, but you pressed on, “It’s for the good of the team, Riley. You know that.” “There is no team without Soap.” He was a man in pain, in distress, yet he was too close. You couldn’t have him in here, not where your secrets unravelled. “Go sleep it off, Lieutenant.”

For a moment, it seemed like you’d escaped closer scrutiny by the skin of your teeth, but Ghost’s eyes had shifted to the small gap in between the bed and the end table, where you’d stashed the bottle, having given up on the charade of diluting it with lemonade quite some time ago. His eyes slowly returned to you, and you felt him examine you, not just your physical appearance but your posture, the slight haziness in your eyes you’d tried to play off as exhaustion.

“Are you drunk?”

There was no doubting the absolute incredulity in his voice, and you knew you’d been caught. Honesty, that was your best policy now, mixed in with a heavy dose of untruths. “I’m off duty.” “I know your schedule.” “Unscheduled leave.” He pushed up from the bed and crossed the room to you, trapping you between him and the door, glowering down at you. “Liar.” A different tactic was needed now, and you tried to look earnest, “The death of Soap-“ He didn’t let you finish, placing his hand over your mouth to silence you, his glove soft against your skin, “Don’t you fucking dare.” You could feel how precarious your situation was now. Ghost would never hurt you; you knew that much from his files, but he might report you. You could take him down, but you’d be sentencing yourself to go down with him.

After a moment, Ghost removed his hand from your mouth, folding his arms across his chest and glaring down at you, allowing you the freedom to explain yourself as though there was anything non-incriminating you could say. You hesitated momentarily before deciding there was no other way out of this. “I’m drunk.” He narrowed his eyes at you, “I could report you.” He looked you over, no doubt weighing his options, so you reminded him, “So could I.“

For a moment, the silence seemed to stretch out into eternity between you, both considering the mutually assured destruction you could unleash. Ghost was the first to deflate, sinking back onto your bed and reaching over to grab the bottle of vodka. He held it up to you in a mock toast, his voice dark, “Here’s to the best and the brightest of the forces.” You relaxed a little, taking the bottle from him. “There’s another bottle in the drawer.” He didn’t need telling twice, pulling the drawer open and taking out the second bottle, unscrewing it as he pulled off his mask and balaclava. You’d read about his face, but seeing it was something else. He was handsome, even with the crooked nose, the untidy greying stubble and the heavy purple bags under each eye. You held out your bottle to his, “Here’s to mutually assured destruction.” His voice was soft as he clinked his bottle against yours, but you could still hear the name on his lips. “To Soap.”

Nothing compared to the blissful feeling of alcohol carrying you away from your worries. Your entire body felt light, slightly tingly, as if there was a slight lag between your mind and your limbs. It was a delightful feeling, the feel of the carpet underneath your fingers, and you stretched out your hands, exploring the new textures that brushed against your skin, stroking along the fabric and noting the bump of the stitches.

“That’s my leg you’re stroking.”

Ghost’s voice was soft, and you laughed, moving your hand away from his leg, “Sorry, sorry.” You cracked open an eye to see him leaning his back against the bedframe with his eyes still closed, a slight smile on his lips, “I don’t mind. S’nice.” The lines between professional and person were already beyond blurry and had been since the very first sip of alcohol, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You returned your hand to his thigh, exploring the waterproofed fabric and how your fingers slid over it smoothly, feeling the ridges of the pockets and then the coarse material of his belt. He shifted, laying his arm on the bed frame behind you, his forearm draping over your shoulder, and you allowed yourself to lean into his chest, enjoying the close contact.

It was obvious to you where things were going; no matter how slowly they were progressing, the end result would undeniably be the same. You shifted away from him, using every last ounce of your self-control to put some distance between you, placing your hands in your lap. “Ghost. We can’t- I can’t. It would be wrong of me.” He reached out for your face, his gloved fingers soft against your cheek as he gently turned you toward him, “I just want to feel good again.” You could see the earnestness in his face but also the pain and exhaustion in his eyes, the undeniable sorrow that lingered. At the end of a day like this, feeling good was all you wanted, too.

Ghost seemed to feel your resistance fading away, his hand shifting from your cheek down, his fingers stroking over your jaw and then around to the back of your neck. His grip was gentle but quietly insistent as he pulled you toward him, your boundaries slipping as you gave in, letting your hands reach out to grab his jumper and pull him closer to you, his lips crashing against yours, firm and desperate, his fingers sliding up into your hair, holding you tightly against him.

A single kiss was all it took to destroy the facade of professionalism entirely.

Ghost wasted no time, breaking the kiss to take his jumper off, revealing the plain green T-shirt underneath, and you eagerly hooked your fingers underneath the hem to take it off for him. He raised his arms to allow you to strip him, waiting for you to take his t-shirt off before he started on yours, easily pulling it off of you and then gently pushing you back onto the carpet, using his knee to nudge your legs apart and then wrapping them around his waist as he leaned down to kiss you again, using his arm to brace himself so he didn’t crush you underneath him.

You knew what you were doing was wrong, but he felt too good against you, one hand tangling in your hair, his lips moving down your neck, sucking and biting at your skin, the other hand pulling your hips against him as he ground into you. The alcohol heightened the pleasure in your skin, and you let out a soft sigh, allowing yourself to become lost in the sensation. Even the slightest sign of pleasure from you spurred Ghost on, and he leant back from you, leaving you panting on the floor as his hands darted down to your trousers, swiftly unbuckling your belt and button and then yanking the zipper down, tugging your trousers off and tossing them to the side.

As he began undoing his own belt, you took a moment to appreciate how attractive the man was, the way the muscles in his arms bulged as he fumbled with the buckle, the black tattoos that wrapped around his forearm, the hungry look in his pale eyes as he took in the sight of your body, the dark blond hair that trailed down his stomach. He undid his trousers, pushing his boxers down, his cock finally springing free. You could feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of him, how desperate he was for you, and you bit your lip in anticipation, feeling the butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Ghost didn’t bother to take his trousers completely off, already leaning down to tug your pants off, sliding them over your legs and throwing them aside. He gripped your thigh as he positioned himself, grinding himself into you to coat as much of himself as he could in your wetness before he slowly pushed into you, the pressure at your entrance building before he slowly began to sink into you, a throaty growl emanating from his throat as he buried himself inside you. You knew you should have been more careful; you should have thought of protection, but all you cared about was how he felt against you, his hand moving to your thigh to hold you in place as he thrust into you, angling your hips so he rubbed up against that perfect spot inside you.

Without warning, he shifted back to pull you on top of him, positioning you in his lap, placing his hand on your hip and grinding you against him. His other hand reached up to cup your face, forcing you to look up into his eyes, his own wide and desperate. He rubbed his thumb over your cheek, his other hand grabbing your ass as he rocked you against him, his voice throaty as he rested his forehead against yours, “You feel so fucking good.” His hand moved from your ass and grabbed your hand, pushing it down between your bodies, his voice desperate and pleading, “Come on, baby, make yourself feel good for me.” You weren’t one to deny yourself pleasure, so you did as ordered, pushing your hand between your bodies and beginning to rub circles around your clit, feeling that familiar pressure build in your core, shifting your hips against him to angle him more perfectly, and he rubbed his thumb over your cheek, “Just like that, sweetheart, come on.” He let you control the rhythm as you rocked against him, resting his hand on the small of your back, his voice strained, “Come on, darlin’, come for me.”

Your body couldn’t hold on for longer, your rhythm starting to stutter as you pushed down on him hard, trying to get him as deep as possible as you finished, your nails digging into his shoulders as he held you closely against him, whispering soft words of encouragement into your ear, “Just like that, sweetheart, just like that.” You let your head fall forward onto his chest as you rode out the last sparks of pleasure, and he wrapped his arm around your back, holding you against him, stroking your hair with his other hand.

Ghost was still underneath you, seemingly content to just have your pleasure, but you weren’t finished just yet. You shifted on top of him so you were straddling his lap, gently placing your hands in the centre of his chest and pushing him insistently. He looked at you questioningly, but he allowed you to lay him flat on his back, his hands sliding down your back and to your waist, allowing you to take control. You could feel the hesitance in his touch, and you began to rock your hips back and forth, feeling how his hands began to tighten on your waist, his head falling back onto the carpet, and his jaw clenching as he thrust up into you. You found your rhythm quickly enough, balancing on your knees as you rode him, feeling that familiar tightness inside you as he hit you just right, everything still sensitive from your first climax, your voice a breathy whisper as you slid up and down, “Fuck, Ghost.”

“Simon, it’s Simon.” His voice was tight, as were his fingers on your waist, beginning to pull you down onto him more forcefully, “Say my name.” You couldn’t help but reach back down to rub yourself again, feeling everything tingle and tense, biting the inside of your cheek as you tried to keep the rhythm just right, “Fucking hell, Simon.”

The simple utterance of his name seemed to bewitch him, and he let out a deep groan, gripping onto your hipbones as he began slamming up into you, yanking you down to meet him every time, almost lifting you off his cock entirely before he buried it back inside you. You could see the frantic desperation in his movements and feel the tightness in his legs as his body began to tense up, but he slowed, panting out in short, heavy breaths, “I’m close, darlin’, I should probably-“ Both alcohol and arousal were clouding your better senses, and you dug your nails into his chest as you ground yourself against him, right on the verge of finishing yourself, the nail in the coffin of any intelligence, “Come in me, Simon.”

Ghost needed little encouragement, completely lost in the sensation of you finishing around him again, and he thrust forcefully inside you before sitting up and pushing you down to the floor once again, pulling your legs tightly around his hips as he fucked you hard, pounding into you fiercely, the carpet harsh against your back as he thrust deep into you one final time, growling out a throaty, “Fuck,” as he finished.

Not anything about your decisions had been smart, from fucking Ghost to letting him finish inside you, but you just couldn’t summon the energy to care anymore. He felt too good, and you’d needed it; you’d needed an excuse to break free of the constraints. He collapsed to your side as he pulled out, yet brought you with him into a tight hug, burying his head in your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your hair as his heart slowed. Nothing was said, but nothing needed to be said, and you simply enjoyed the closeness, resting your head against his chest, the dark thoughts in your head blissfully silenced.

#jack writes #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod fic #simon ghost x reader

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