#saw a tag in the notes about that the other day so... just clarifying!) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fairysluna · 7 months ago

Note

Hi! Could I please request another threesome with Cregan, reader and Jace. Maybe they get jealous when they see reader with another men and want to teach her a lesson? Thank you and love your blog!

i get drunk on jealousy.

Modern!AU — After they've ignored you for a week, you were desperate to have their attention back. Flirting with a random guy might not be the best idea.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon.

TAGS — polyrelationship/polyamorous, m/m/f, smut (p in v, clit play, handjob, oral sex, creampie, spitting, cum eating, male on male action), jace x cregan, use of alcohol and drugs, kind of drunk sex, dom!cregan, switch!jace, sub!reader, jealousy, cursing. If something is missing let me know!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — Don't expect so much of this fic, I saw this picture, I saw a vision, and basically my horniness wrote this by itself. Not my best work, but fuck it, this is just for fun. Also, this made me realize that I'm unable to write dom!Jace if Cregan is there too, oops??? I guess??? NO BETA, WE DIE LIKE MEN.

I took this request as an excuse to write this fic so... thank you for sending it and hope you enjoy this!🤍

WORD COUNT — 3.1k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤenglish is not my first language.

Most people on Campus knew about your strange relationship with Cregan and Jacaerys. Some guys would often call you a whore behind your back, while some girls would prefer the term ‘lucky bitch’; it was no secret that the both of them were quite known for being handsome and gallant, almost acting like real life prince-charmings. Every girl would drool for them, acknowledging their chivalry and politeness. Of course, they already knew about the attention that they received from the opposite sex, they knew about how many girls would love to be in your position. Which is why they didn't understand why you were so eager to act like a brat.

Jace tapped Cregan's shoulder as he saw you chatting with some random guy that suddenly appeared next to you on the couch. Neither of them had seen him before, he was probably a freshman or someone that sneaked into the party without invitation. Both pairs of eyes were intently staring at you, watching every move you make. They knew you weren't oblivious enough to not see it; he was obviously flirting with you, and you were clearly enjoying every moment of it. Jacaerys, being the most jealous out of the three of you, tightened his grip around his bottle of beer, his fingertips turning white as Cregan turned to look at him.

“Don't do anything stupid,” he warned him. “She'll deal with us later.”

“But look at her!” Jace snapped, his breathing ragged.

“She's doing it to piss us off,” Cregan attempted to calm him down. “She won't do anything with that guy. Just wait until the party's over and we'll take care of it, okay?”

He looked at him, obediently nodding as he took a long sil out of his beer to calm down a bit. Jace forbade himself to turn your way, ignoring your desperate attempt to make them jealous. Cregan, being a lot less hotheaded than Jace, acted nonchalantly toward your attitude, pretending you were doing nothing wrong, even when he wanted to grab your arm and take you right in that couch just to clarify that you belong to them.

Cregan knew your purpose, you both had spoken about it earlier that day after one of your classes together. They both have been ignoring you, neglecting your needs and spending more time alone — without you. At first you didn't mind it, thinking that they were busy with the final exams and their final projects of the semester; however, when you knew they were using all that time to plan this stupid party you got pissed, almost screaming at him in the middle of the campus, frustrated. Now here you were, sitting with a freshman trying to get in your pants, all while they were still ignoring you.

Both guys spent the rest of the night drinking, playing some games with other members of the fraternity and having a blast while you were standing in a corner, alone and bored; your two lovers out of your sight. Perhaps that was why you couldn't see Jace searching for you everytime he could, unable to control the jealousy that had grown within him. He couldn't find you anywhere around, which made his mind overthink about where you were, and with whom. Cregan would try to calm him down, offering him his blunt which Jace would accept in order to relax.

Hours passed, it was 4am when the music stopped and everyone passed out in random parts of the fraternity house. Cregan and Jace were stumbling their way up to their dorm, the effects of the alcohol still lingering in their bodies as they struggled to reach for their room. They both were holding onto each other until they opened the door and saw you standing in front of the mirror, wiping off your make up and getting ready to sleep. They noticed you had moved their beds together, making a bigger one as you usually do whenever you stayed with them.

They entered the room in silence, and while Cregan was closing the door and turning the lock, Jace stood closer to you almost drooling once he saw you were wearing one of his shirts. He wrapped his arms around your waist and hid his face on the crock of your neck, leaving wet kisses all over your skin and completely forgetting about the fact that he was supposed to be ignoring you.

“You're so fucking weak, Jace,” Cregan scolded him, removing his shoes and shirt, getting ready to bed.

You turned to look at the eldest guy, who just ignored your intense gaze.

“You're mad?” you dared to ask.

“We both are, actually,” Jacaerys murmured against your skin.

“And why would you be mad? I should be the angry one!”

“Oh, really?” Cregan finally turned, stepping closer to you. “Why is that?”

“You know why! We talked about this and you decided to keep ignoring me!”

Stark laughed dryly, his gray eyes getting darker as he narrowed them. “Is that why you've been acting like a fucking whore tonight? Trying to get into a freshman's pants to get our attention. Fucking pathetic.” He took a step close enough to grab your jaw and force you to look at him. You tried to squirm away from him, but Jace's arms tightened their grip around your body, and you had no escape. “Jace couldn't even enjoy the fucking party because he thought you were sucking another guy's cock. You think that's fair? To make him feel like shit the entire night because you were just needy of attention?”

“I- I didn't-”

“You broke my heart tonight, sweetheart,” Jace whispered in your ear as his fingers reached the hem of your shirt. “You need to pay for what you've done…”

“I'm- I'm sorry, I never meant to-”

“It seems like you need a lesson,” Cregan interrupted you, tightening his grip on your face and making you whine. “Something to remind you that you belong to us.”

Jacaerys' hand cupping your core with one of his hands, burying his fingers between your folds and covering them with your growing slick. He giggled, “she's not wearing panties…” he informed, smiling up at Cregan who clenched his jaw.

“Get her on her knees,” he commanded, and the youngest obeyed immediately, letting you go from his firm grip.

You fell to your knees, scratching them with the raspy carpet beneath you. Jace removed his shirt as Cregan started to unbutton his pants until they pooled around his ankles along with his underwear. You whimpered once you saw his cock starting to get hard under your haze, your mouth watering as you leaned towards his side.

“Get on the bed,” he pointed at Jace. You tried to stand up and follow the instructions too, yet he stopped you by gripping the front of your head and pulling it back. “Not you,” he sternly said. “Open up.”

Obediently, you did as you were told, opening your mouth and letting him press his tip on your tongue. He gave it a few taps, teasing before ge finally decided to start fucking your mouth. Cregan grabbed the sides of your head to keep you still in your position, and his hips started to snap against your throat without further warning. You found stability when you placed your cold hands on his thighs, grasping onto them so you wouldn't lose balance as he had no mercy with you.

You looked up teary eyed, gagging and gulping loudly as you heard his moans slipping out of his plump lips. The small eye contact suddenly became too much for him, so he leaned his head back as he closed his eyes. “Such a delicious mouth,” he praised you, “taking my cock so fucking well.”

His grip around your head started to hurt a bit, his fingertips burying in you as he fastened his pace. It wasn't hard for you to become a mess; your own drool was falling down the corners of your lips as you cried out, your whines being muffled by him inside your mouth, and your slick already starting to leak out of you. Your arousal only grew once he buried himself completely in your mouth, grabbed the back of your head and forced you to stay there for a few seconds, with his length fully sheathed in your throat. Your nose brushed against his pelvis as the air started to escape from your lungs.

“Come on now, baby,” he murmured with a strained voice, feeling his cock pulsing inside your mouth. “Take it… take it all…”

He chuckled softly as you started to tap on his thigh, and he quickly let you go. You gasped once he pulled out of your mouth, gasping for the air your lungs desperately needed. He moaned softly once he saw you; tears on your face, drool falling down your swollen lips — you looked so pretty he even thought about letting you go unpunished and just please you, but then he turned to see Jace; his cock was achingly hard, his ruddy tip leaking as he desperately fucked his fist; he had been so good to you, and you made him feel so bad throughout the night; he deserved a reward, and you deserved a punishment.

Before you could react, Cregan grabbed your body with ease, lifting you up from the ground and carelessly carrying you towards the bed. You moaned with his touch, so needy of him that even his roughness made you squirm out of pleasure. He moved your body around as if you were a ragdoll, shifting your position in bed until you were sitting on top of Jace's pelvis, his cock right between your legs. For a second you thought it was finally the time for them to fuck you, but you were so wrong.

“Grab her hips,” he commanded, using that mandatory tone that drove you and Jace insane. “Don't let her move.”

He positioned himself between the boy's legs, leaving you more confused than before. “What- what are you-?”

“I'm teaching you a lesson,” he stopped you before you could finish your question. “You'll see what happens when you behave and when you don't.”

You saw him leaning down, his plump lips wrapping the tip of Jace's cock and making him squirm beneath your body. Your mouth dropped as you looked at Cregan taking him entirely, his haze fixed in you as the frustration in your body grew even more. The youngest had his nails buried in the flesh of your hips, you heard him moan so prettily that you could even feel the slick oozing out of you, even when you were untouched. It was such a sinful image to witness, especially when Cregan's eyes became teary once he gagged around Jace.

“Oh, fuck…” you mumbled, tears of despair gathering in your eyes as your breathing became ragged. “P-please touch me…”

Jace's hand attempted to reach for your throbbing clit, but the older grabbed his hand and pushed it away. “I'll stop if you touch her,” he warned him. All you could do was cry out.

Cregan's ragged breathing would reach your folds, causing shivers all over your spine. You would try to move your hips to at least rub yourself against Jace's skin, but he didn't allow it, holding you down so tightly that you were certain it would leave a bruise.

The moans turned into whines as Jace started to quickly feel the orgasm coming. His skin was burning as Cregan fervently sucked on his tip, using his tongue to clean up the precum spilling from his slit. Whenever you would cry out or move on top of him he would feel closer to the edge, his body burning inside. “I'm so fucking close, baby,” he whimpered, “keep sucking my cock, I'm- I'm gonna fucking cum… f-fuuck.”

You saw Cregan hollowing his cheeks, milking Jace dry as he came inside his mouth. Drops of the pearly seed escaped from his lips and you felt the need to lick them both clean. You needed a taste, anything that would make you feel some kind of relief.

He sat back up, and as soon as he laid his hazy eyes on you, he grabbed your neck pulling you closer towards him. As if it was a reflex, you opened your mouth while you stared at him through your glossy eyes. He let his spit fall onto your mouth, to then pull you close and fervently kiss you. The salty taste of Jace's release lingered in your mouths as you devoured each other, you would whine against his lips, still sobbing as your pussy was already aching for the lack of attention.

That's when the boy beneath you wrapped you between his arms, forcing you to lay on top of his chest. He didn't even let you catch a break before you felt his cock slowly making his way inside of you, and you gasped out of relief. He stretched you out, providing you with that sweet sting of pain that drove you insane. His hands grabbed your thighs, folding you in half as he started to thrust upwards.

“Don't ever forget who you belong to,” he grunted against your ear as you struggled to keep it quiet. Probably the whole house knew what you were doing, and maybe that was their purpose all along. “You're fucking ours, baby. This tight pussy belongs to us, do you hear me?”

Cregan's hand fell hard on your throbbing clit as you remained silent. A whine left your lips as Jace kept bullying your gummy, wet walls with his girth.

“Answer him,” he demanded, getting closer to you and placing his leaking cock on top of your swollen pearl. You felt the room spinning.

“Yes! Yes! I'm- fuck… I'm fucking yours,” you sobbed.

The whole situation became overwhelming, while one was burying himself in the deepest part of you, the other was rubbing himself on your sensitive flesh, searching for his own release as he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“Fuck, you're fucking squeezing me so tight, baby,” Jace moaned, breathlessly as he felt the mixture of your slick falling down his sack. The lewd sounds of your folds getting stretched by his thickness almost making him cum again. “So fuckin delicious…”

“We've just started and we already fucked her silly,” Cregan chuckled. “She's a fucking mess for us…”

A layer of sweat covered your body; you felt the blood burning inside your veins, the orgasm approaching you embarrassingly fast as they were stimulating your senses. Your eyes rolled back, the desperate pleads slipping out of your lips as you were begging them to make you cum. You were shaking, your face covered in tears as the moans were ripped out of your throat.

“So loud,” the older teased you, “gonna wake up the whole fucking house…”

“I- I need to… please, I need to cum!”

Cregan leaned towards you, and Jace instinctively fastened his pace, burying himself deeper and harder; you had a hard time thinking straight as the older’s hands tightened around your neck. “Ow, poor girl, wants to cum. I don't think you deserve it.”

“P-please, Cregan…”

“Work for it,” he demanded. “Make Jace cum and then you're free to do it too.”

Almost as if it was an instinct, you started to move your hips up and down Jace's cock, making the thrusts more intense and deeper. The younger moaned loudly, already feeling overstimulated by your movements and feeling his sack heavy with a new load of his release. He thought about how pretty you would look with your legs spreaded and his seed falling from your weeping hole; that image alone almost made him peak right in the spot.

“Jacey, please!” you whined, already growing tired. “Please, please, cum in me!”

“Want me to fill your pretty cunny, baby? Mhm? Want my cum inside of you?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes as your walls clenched with his filthy words.

“Yes… yes, please… give it to me, please…”

As a spectator, Cregan groaned loudly, quickly rubbing his hands around his shaft with his eyes fixed in the way Jace was filling you up, bewitched by that bulge in your belly that grew each time that he would bury himself deep inside of you, touching your sweet spot over and over until your head feel dizzy and all that left your mouth were incoherent mumbling.

“I can't… I can't hold it…” you sobbed.

“Come on, baby, I'm so fucking close, just wait for me,” Jace whimpered, his movements getting more desperate and sloppier.

“I can't! I can't! F-fuck…”

Everything came to a breaking point once your release gushed out of you, spurring all over them and making a complete mess. Neither of them could hold back after such an obscene view in front of them, and they were quick to follow. Jacaerys finally spilled himself in you, his seed painting your walls and filling you to the brim. Lastly, Cregan stained your shirt and flesh with his pearly drops, moaning so beautifully that it made you feel butterflies in your belly.

You hissed when Jace pulled out of you, feeling your legs shake while Cregan struggled to stand up from the bed and looking for something to clean you up while you laid against the younger’s body, who softly wiped the tears out of your face.

“Shh… it's okay, you did so good for us, my love,” he cooes, so gently. “So, so good.”

“I'm- I'm sorry,” you mumbled while Cregan returned to your side with a towel in his hand. With soft brushes he started to clean your thighs, your belly and the raw flesh between your legs. “I- I never meant to make you two feel bad… I was- I was being so selfish-”

“Hey,” Cregan stopped you, holding your face with gentleness; so different from his previous touch. “It's already behind us, okay?”

Once he finished cleaning you up, your body fell into Jace's embrace as he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you closer to him and cuddling with you. He hid his face on the crook of your neck and softly hummed when the remains of your sweet perfume reached his nose.

“We love you so much,” he whispered, “please, don't ever do that to us again…”

You grabbed your face only to see his puppy, brown eyes. A gentle, soft kiss was shared as you felt Cregan laying down behind you and fondling your body, soon you three had your limbs tangled as you kissed and caressed each other without shame. Loving touches that relaxed all of you.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered again to the both of them. “I'll never do that again.”

“Do you promise?” Cregan asked.

“I promise,” you softly nodded.

The Northern boy leaned to leave a soft kiss on your cheek, you both shared a gentle smile which let you know that the anger that was once within him was now fully gone.

follow @by-fairysluna for updates!!

GENERAL TAG LIST — @islandfantasydream @arcielee @bucknastysbabe @zaldritzosrose @rafeism @valeskafics

CREGAN TAG LIST — @purplequxxn @iloveharbingers @jeongiegram @koobratzy @foxyanon

JACAERYS TAG LIST — @iloveharbingers @alynna-m @katharina1111 @simp-aholic

#house of the dragon #hotd #cregan stark smut #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon x reader #cregan stark x jacaerys velaryon #jaceagan #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #cregan stark x you #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x you

3K notes · View notes

lullabies-blue · 4 months ago

Text

Thomas Hewitt/ Reader

𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱? 𝔑𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔯?

Written in third-person limited POV, focusing on Thomas. Content tags: Neurodivergence, Cannibalism, mentions of rape, Canon typical violence, self harm, Mommy issues, child abuse (mentioned), good vs. evil with nothing in between, religious trauma. Author notes: I honestly intended this to be short and to the point- but here we are. I read a lot of Thomas/Reader stories where Thomas is portrayed as neurotypical and I don't know why it bothers me so much- it's just fanfiction after all, but I wanted to write a short "love" story where Thomas is violent and scared and lonely. He's nonverbal, he's mentally disturbed but not 'slow'. His world is very black and white and full of violence, so that got me wondering- what would love look like for him? What would happen if this man, who has only ever known darkness, met someone who was nice to him? Fair warning, lots of rambling ahead. I also just want to say that I am Autistic and that influenced a lot of this story- from the way that I write, to how I portray characters, to certain interactions. So if anything seems weird to you, I apologize- my mind works in weird ways. If I need to clarify anything, just shoot me a message. I would love to talk about the writing process and why I included certain things. Important: This is about 15k words and NOT even half of it. I had to cut it into pieces, will update the rest in another post.

Thomas brings the axe above his head, his breath ragged as he swings it down and cuts the piece of firewood in half with a low grunt. He’s hot, even though it’s the middle of winter- the weather low even with the sun that hid behind the clouds- and his shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably, the sweat doing nothing to cool him down.

He lodges the axe into the tree stump, grabbing the two pieces of wood and throwing them in the wheelbarrow before he wipes his forehead with dirt covered hands. It was the last chore of the day, and he was tired and sore- a tightness in his shoulders that seemed to spread all the way down to lower back and made him want to get in bed. His mask is damp and tight against his face, the skin underneath irritated. He wants to go inside and change, the thought of taking a shower was frustrating but he knew that he needed one. He could smell himself- bitter with sweat and the slightly suffocating scent that seemed to stick to chickens now clinging to him from when he had cleaned out the chicken coop. His nails were lined with dirt- hands and arms caked in grime. It made him feel heavy and slow.

Uncle Hoyt would drag him to the back and hose him off if he saw him, and he hated that more than he hated cleaning himself off- the feeling of water on his skin something he had never got around to liking. He could handle other things- blood never seemed to churn his stomach, or when Momma or Uncle Hoyt used to ask him to go clean out the pig pen- back when they could afford to have pigs, they were empty now, the whole farm seemed to get emptier and emptier as the months passed- he hadn’t thought that shoveling pig shit into a bucket was all that bad. But he had trouble smelling sometimes, especially with the leather pressed so tight against the place his nose had once been.

He takes the handles of the wheelbarrow, filled with enough dried out wood for the weekend- maybe Monday, if the weather stayed where it was at- and began to haul it towards the house. Momma would need some in the kitchen, to boil water and heat the ovens for Supper when she got back from town. He’d have to check the fireplace on the main floor- sometimes even on the coldest days of winter that room stayed warm enough that if they were to turn on the fireplace it’d be too uncomfortable to sit in. He would wait until Uncle Monty asked for more- he didn’t like it when any of them made decisions for him, more so now that he was stuck in that wheelchair.

There were no fireplaces upstairs, just piles of blankets to layer and hope they did enough to keep them warm. Sometimes it would be enough for him, but there were nights that even with two or three of the ones Momma sewed together for him; he would still lay awake, teeth chattering from the cold. It’s why he hated the cold- he could manage the heat, but winter was unpredictable even in the deep south of Texas.

Uncle Monty is in the living room, asleep in his chair as the TV keeps playing, almost as loud as his snoring. He walks past him, noticing the almost empty fireplace. His footsteps are heavy and loud from the metal on his shoes as he carries an armful of wood into the kitchen. He sets it down on the dining table, right on the white plastic cloth momma had set out before she had left, dirt falls onto the floor and he makes a low, grumbling noise of frustration, hoping that she didn’t see it when she got home.

He had forgotten the plastic mat last time and gotten her favorite tablecloth dirty -the mud staining the light blue cotton forever. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal, Momma had once told him that life was messy, that’s how one knew that they were living it, but she had been so angry at him then- sending him out with the bucket and soap, shouting about the mud he had tracked inside their house. Supper had come late that night- Hoyt growing angry at him. He liked it when it was ready and waiting for him when he got home- shouting at momma that working men weren’t supposed to wait for food.

He had gotten into an argument with him that night- he didn’t like it when people were mean to momma. Uncle Hoyt had called him a bad name- making his blood boil.

He didn’t want that to happen again. He didn’t like how badly he had wanted to hurt Uncle Hoyt at that moment. Momma said that family fought all the time, but he had to be careful not to do anything that he would regret. Maybe he would regret it when his blood stained his clothes, but part of him wasn’t so sure. He liked him better when he was Uncle Charlie. Uncle Hoyt reminded him of the bad men.

He tries not to think about it anymore when he heads back outside to grab a few more pieces of wood for the living room. He didn’t like thinking back on the things that made him angry, sometimes he couldn’t come back from them, and he’d end up doing something bad.

By the time he’s pushing past the double front doors, Momma’s car is pulling into the dirt path off to the side of the house. It’s an old one- rusting from the heat of too many summers, but momma didn’t mind it.

The car comes to a stop as he picks up another armful of wood and takes it inside.

Ever since Hoyt became Sheriff of the town, things had gotten better for them. There were never days where they went to bed hungry, the meat freezer down in the basement always seemed to have enough for them. If it ever ran low, a Hoyt always seemed to find a way to get it restocked. Momma had taken over the shop in town after the owner had passed away and Hoyt made sure that his son- one of the bad men- went right along with him. He had filled the bellies of those who still stayed in town, too hungry to care enough to question them. Sometimes she brought back what didn’t sell that day and they’d have themselves a little feast. There were days Uncle Hoyt brought a guest with him- always a woman-, other times he’d ask momma to bring his food up to his room- the muffled screaming drowned out by Monty’s TV show.

He liked to stay in the basement on those days. It was harder to hear the pleading and begging as Hoyt played too rough with them. He would always get stuck with getting rid of them afterwards and he was starting to dislike the chore.

By the time he finishes stacking the wood, Momma is calling out for him, the front door swinging open. He freezes- his shoulders squaring and his breath suddenly heavy as he looks up at the hall, hidden between a wall and the fireplace. There was someone with Momma. He could hear the footsteps- Momma walked with a purpose, heavy and loud like him. She said that she did it so God would hear her better, but he wasn’t so sure that God was with them anymore. The ones that came after her were lighter, nervous.

He didn’t like guests. Didn’t like that Momma and uncle Hoyt had developed a habit of taking in strays that would just end up in the basement with him later. They would scream when they saw him- call him those names that made the anger come. Some of them liked to hurt him, momma taking him to the bathroom afterwards and stitching him up.

“You’re going to love my Tommy. He’s a little bit shy but he’s got the sweetest heart.” Momma says and he hears the other person laugh. It’s a soft noise- gentle in a way that manages to make his heart race faster as he tries to crawl deeper into the tiny space. “He’s here around somewhere… but let’s get you set up in your room then you can come down and help me with supper, okay?”

Another laugh, his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t want Momma to find him, he was already so tired.

“Of course,” the stranger says, and she- the thought of a woman in the house irritates him- doesn’t talk like Momma or Hoyt or Monty. Her voice is quiet, it doesn’t drawl out. He’s heard it before- she must be from out of town. “I would love to!”

For a moment, he feels bad for the woman as he hears them go up the stairs. He always feels bad for them at first. Momma said that his heart was too kind. Hoyt called him a pansy boy, in need of toughening up. He doesn’t know why he feels bad, the guests were never good people- he’d always come to learn that, but it never seems to do anything to make the twitch of guilt go away from his heart. The steps grow quieter the farther up they go- until he hears Momma’s muffled voice and then her footsteps coming back down.

She spots him, curled into himself in that tiny, dark space and she sucks her teeth, shaking her head. “Thomas Hewitt, what in the lords name are you doing there?”

He feels embarrassed all of a sudden, getting caught like this. He makes a low noise in his chest, pointing to the firewood.

“Come on and get on out of there if you’re done then, we’ve got company.” She comes down the rest of the steps and makes her way towards him. When she holds out her hand he takes it, a comfort that has his heart slowing down.

“I need you to go and grab the rest of her stuff from the car- poor girl don’t got no power in her home.” She says with a shake of her head as she pulls and helps him to his feet. “She’ll be staying with us until her electricity gets put back up.”

He shakes his head, this time the noise he makes is in protest, a deep groan of anger. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want her in his house.

Momma frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now listen here Thomas, not everyone is as lucky as we are. Sometimes we have to help those in need.”

He wants to believe her- Momma wasn’t one for lying, after all- but this isn’t anything new. He knew how this would end; with the woman in their bellies and her screams in his head, keeping him awake at night. She would make a mistake and then she’d end up in the basement, begging for her life.

It was like Momma had set her up to fail, like a game that promised a prize that would never come, and Thomas didn’t want to play. Not this time. He shakes his head again, his way of telling her no.

Momma and Uncle Hoyt have a lot in common, no matter how sweet and gentle Momma tried to be, her anger was almost as bad as his. He doesn’t like it when she gets angry at him- everyone was always angry at him- and he can see it in her eyes, making him bend his chin against his chest as he let out a whine, glancing down at the ground. She never hit him, but she would ignore him and that hurt a lot more.

“Then you go on upstairs and tell the poor girl that she’s got to leave. I won’t be the one to break the bad news.” Momma huffs, stomping over to the kitchen. “Tell her you would rather see her freeze than offer a small kindness.”

There it is, that harshness in her voice that makes him tremble, his heart picking up its pace until he feels like he can’t breathe. He shakes his head again, digging his fingers into his arm. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the woman. Didn’t want to be forced to deal with her later but if this is what Momma wanted, then he would do it. He would make her happy.

He lets out another noise, smaller this time and turns towards the door. Part of him is angry- angry that he wasn’t allowed to be angry without being punished. Angry that sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t allowed to have a say when it came to things. He felt as if momma sometimes liked to hurt him on purpose- pushing and pushing until he snapped.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he feels the guilt settle in his stomach, hot and suffocating. Momma wasn’t like the bad people. She wouldn’t hurt him. Sometimes he just made her so angry- he knew that. He knew that he was difficult and stubborn and sometimes she got tired of dealing with him.

It wouldn’t be long before the woman disappeared anyways- Hoyt will see her at supper and he’d take her upstairs. The screaming will start, and everyone will act like they couldn’t hear it; Momma would knit, and Monty would turn the volume on the TV up until it was too much. He’d end up sleeping in the basement again, picking at his skin until it was raw and bleeding- the crying twisting his stomach and threatening to swallow him whole.

He just had to wait until then. He would be good until then.

The trunk of the car was left open for him, and he finds the woman’s things waiting for him. It’s not much- a simple backpack, filled with so many things that it ballooned uncomfortably. He grabs it, grunting at the fact that it was heavier than he thought, and slams the trunk close. The car shakes and squeaks at his aggression as he carries the bag inside. He doesn’t like the fact that he’s touching the stranger’s things.

He’s dirty- his fingers staining the bag- but he’s also dirty inside. Rotten from the anger, the bad he’s done. The bad he was going to do. He can feel himself soiling the items inside- turning them just as dirty as him as he walks into the kitchen and sets the bag down on the floor. Momma had taken the firewood he had left and put away the mat. He could feel the warmth of the fire even from where he stood across the oven- filling the room with the scent of smoke. He grunts, wanting Momma to turn around and see that he had done what she asked. He wanted her to smile at him- to ease the way his heart still hammered in frustration.

She turns, but the softness in her eyes isn’t directed at him- she barely looks at him and his heart sinks further down into his stomach, tension building in the back of his neck. He can hear her footsteps now- the creaking of the staircase as she came downstairs. He’s standing in front of a wall, the staircase on the other side. For now, he was hidden- but it wouldn’t be long until she stepped into the kitchen, and he couldn’t hide anymore.

“We’re in here dear,” Momma calls out to her. “Tommy here’s got your bag for you.”

He sees her for the first time out of the corner of his eye- spotting her before she spots him, her eyes on Momma. She’s short- shorter than momma by a bit, and clean and well dressed. Her sweater is thick and colorful, the cuffs of her sleeves neatly folded against her wrists. Something there catches the soft yellow light of the kitchen- a thin golden bracelet halfway hidden beneath the fabric. Her jeans look like they’ve been around for a long time- a different shade of fabric stitched into one of the knees. Her boots are old and worn out, reminding him of his own.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this feeling that runs through him as he inspects her.

“I really like your house!” she says- voice light and full of excitement that made his mood worsen. “Its-” whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as she turns her head to the left and spots him for the first time.

He doesn’t let her look at his face- turning his head to the side as he folds into himself, chin against chest. He doesn’t like this- doesn’t like that she stares at him without saying anything. He can feel her eyes on him- inspecting him- an animal on display. His chest rises and falls painfully, his breathing hard and loud in the silence. He can feel his hands twitch- his thumb nail grazing along the length of his finger.

“This is my son,” Momma’s voice is tight as she talks. “Tommy this here is our guest. Don’t you want to say hello?”

He shakes his head, his hands trembling. Something wet lands inside the sink and he startles. He hears Momma suck her teeth and he can see her in his mind- shaking her head like she does whenever he does something she doesn’t like.

He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like that Momma is getting mad at him, that the woman still stands there, watching him tremble in fear. He could already hear it- her laughing as she called him an idiot. They always called him something. They always laughed at him.

“It’s okay,” her voice shakes a bit as she breaks the silence, and she coughs and clears her voice. “I, um, I’m a little shy myself so I know how hard it can be sometimes.” She speaks slowly, her voice almost a low whisper. She tells him her name. Tells him that it’s nice to meet him.

He doesn’t say anything- not that he can, he’s never spoken a single word- but he nods his head, his eyes quickly glancing over at her. She’s still looking at him and his heart almost beats through his ribs. He expects her to be looking at him like they always look at him- filled with disgust and hatred, looking for any excuse to leave, to get as far away as possible from him- but he doesn’t find that in her face.

He finds her mouth twisted downwards and her eyebrows pushed together just a tiny little bit, her eyes gentle and wide. She looked at him as if he was a dog out by the side of the road on a hot summer afternoon refusing help and she had been chasing him with a bowl of water.

She looks at him like there was nothing scary about him. Like he was a man, dirty from a long day at work and not a freak- poor and disfigured- a monster. He had never seen that look from anyone who didn’t live in this house, and it scared him. It terrified him that someone would decide to look at him like that.

But as soon as he met her eyes she looked away, towards Momma- a smile in her voice.

“What are we making for dinner?” she asks, stepping farther into the kitchen and pushing her sleeves up towards her elbows- ready for whatever Momma tells her to do.

The tension disappears just like that, Momma laughing lightly as she places her hand on the woman’s back and pulls her close. “You’re such a darling, helping me out like this. How about you start getting out the pots and pans? They’re over there by the pantry.” She pointed to the cupboards by the fridge and the woman nodded and went straight towards them.

With her back to them- Momma turned and looked at him finally. He could still feel his heart hammering away at his chest, but this was more manageable. He was still waiting for the names to come, for the screaming and the disgust to appear in her eyes. Sometimes when Momma was around people hid it a bit better, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long until they couldn’t hide it anymore.

He expects Momma to still be mad at him- blue eyes dark with anger- but instead she sighs and puts her hand on his shoulder, a silent apology that has his muscles relaxing. The woman pays them no mind- bending down to inspect the cupboard down there.

“Go on and take her bag up to her room and get yourself cleaned up, okay?” She tugs on the collar of his shirt before fixing his hair out of his face. It’s damp from his sweat, but she doesn’t flinch. “She’s a good girl- try to handle her with care, alright?” Her voice is a low whisper- something the woman wasn’t supposed to hear. It unsettles him as he nods along with Momma- not quite understanding what she meant. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to nod along with her or shake his head, but Momma doesn't wait for an answer, patting him on the cheek before she turns her head and calls out to the woman.

“Honey, Tommy is going to take your bag up to your room- is that alright?”

The woman rises from the ground, two pots neatly stacked in each other in her hands. “Yes,” she says softly- her eyes meeting his. “Thank you, Tommy.”

She smiles at him shyly and his heart begins to hammer against his ribs again. He feels his skin begin to burn- his flesh raw and exposed to her. Even underneath his mask he can feel himself heating up as he looks away, scrambling to grab the bag.

He needed to get away from her- from Momma and her words that he couldn’t understand. He felt like he couldn’t breathe with her here. He stumbles up the steps- feet so heavy against the wood that he swears he can feel the house tremble underneath him.

Momma gave her the room across his- the empty one where she liked to keep the extra bed sheets and towels. But it’s cleaner now as he turns the knob and goes inside, the curtains pulled open to let in the bit of light that still shone from outside- the sun close to setting. The piles of blankets that were on the bed are gone- the sheets neatly tucked into the space between the mattress and the boxspring. There’s a jacket thrown on top- red and faded, the cuffs ripped up on one arm.

He sits the bag right next to it- on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans. It topples over and he lets out a grunt- fixing it so it sat upright again. He decided that he would stay up here until Momma called him for supper. He wouldn’t go down to the basement while the woman was here- he was worried that she would be stupid enough to follow him down there. That would be the end of her. Blood and flesh and sinew torn from her bones for them to feast on.

He’s careful when he’s leaving the room- closing the door gently so that it doesn’t slam before he hurries off into his own- locking the door behind himself.

Here it’s dark, his windows covered in greased up newspapers. He didn’t like it when it got too bright- when the sun shone through and reminded him of the mess around him. His room is small and cramped and full of things that he had hauled up from the furnace room so that he wasn’t stuck going up and down all the time. Uncle Monty said that he sounded like a ‘goddamned bulldozer,’ stomping around the house when he was trying to sleep. So, it was better this way- even though sometimes he got irritated that there were too many things. But it meant not being bothersome, so he tried not to mind much.

He checks the door again- making sure that he had really locked it, pulling and twisting at the doorknob just to be safe. He knew that no one would come up here and go into his room- Monty was stuck on the first floor, Momma was with the girl in the kitchen preparing supper and Uncle Hoyt wasn’t home yet. But he was always a little paranoid, just the tiniest bit afraid that someone would knock down his door and see everything about him that he had tried so hard to hide. Not even Momma was allowed in here. This was his- the only place where he could hide from everyone, where he didn’t have to worry about anyone disturbing him.

He takes his mask off and it’s not quite the relief he was expecting- the leather inside has gone stiff, his face raw and tender and aching from all the sweat and dirt that had managed to get in. He can feel it as he runs his fingers across his face, a cut on the corner of his lips that wasn’t there last time. It blends into the sores and scarred tissue already there, his skin long ruined. It shouldn’t bother him- but as he opens his mouth and feels the skin stretch and crack, a drop of blood welling up and rolling down his chin- he gets upset, grunting in frustration. He had wanted to clean the mask and add some petroleum to try and soften it up so it wouldn’t bite at his skin anymore- pinching and scratching and making the pain worse. It would have been something to do, something to keep him busy and distracted until he had to face the inevitable, but now it was something that he no longer wanted to do. Why would he? What would it change?

It was never this bad- but ever since his nose began to fall away, it only ever seemed to get worse- no matter what he did or how hard he pleaded for it to just stop and go away- nothing ever changed. There was no one there to listen to his pleas.

With a low groan of frustration, he tears his hand from his face, wiping the blood on the front of his shirt. He hates himself. Hates everything about himself. Momma liked to say that the bad people were liars, that people who were hurting only ever knew how to hurt others- but he knew that wasn’t true. He was a monster. He saw it, looking back at him in the mirror- wild and ugly and evil, everything that he did not want to be. He hated taking his mask off- hated knowing that the man that existed underneath it was the same man that he was trying to escape from.

Coming here was a mistake. He should have stayed downstairs, should have gone out back to the barn- there he would have found something, anything, to do.

He takes a breath like Momma showed him, trying to push the anger away- down, down, down, until he couldn’t feel it slithering through his veins and pounding in the back of his head. He just had to focus on something else-he liked it when he had chores, things to do that kept him busy and away from the bad thoughts. He takes another deep breath through his mouth- dirt and salt on his lips as he picks up the mask and tries to clean it off on his clothing. It does nothing but lift the dust off into the air as he places it on his face, tightening it too much across his head, leather digging into tender skin. He would take a bath, change his clothes, then sit in bed and wait. Uncle Hoyt would come an hour after the sun disappeared and then he would have to go downstairs. He didn’t want to go downstairs.

He didn’t want to feel the bad feelings anymore. The fear, the anger. The woman would look at him and his throat would tighten, and his heart would beat painfully. He hadn’t liked that feeling- trapped in his own skin, unable to get away. Yet at the same time, he wanted her to look at him. No one ever looked at him.

He could still feel her eyes- soft and warm on his skin, simultaneously calming and worsening his anger. He was half embarrassed- covered in dirt and sweat stains, his clothing old and faded- Did she think that he was disgusting? He was always messy in everything that he did- always having to teach himself how to do things. Filth had never been a stranger. Had never bothered him. But he finds himself wanting to wash the grime and sweat from himself- even if he was just going to put the same clothes back on.

His stomach growls, empty and needy as he unlocks the door and roughly pushes it open- he finds the woman outside of it.

The door swings open, the gust of wind pushing her hair around as the door barely manages to miss her. She’s looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open- her arms up by her chest. It scares him, seeing her there and he makes a messy, garbled noise of surprise.

“Sorry!” she speaks fast, her words all pushed together. “I was just trying to find the bathroom!”

He feels his heart beating in his throat, muscles tense and solid as he stares down at her. She’s so much shorter than he thought- he could reach out and crush her throat in his hand and it wouldn’t take much force to do so. He’s almost tempted to, his fingers twitching at his sides. Momma would get mad at him when he dragged her body downstairs- but she would forget eventually.

“I’m in your way- I,” she takes a step back, her eyes finally releasing his. “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

He grunts. Low and short- his way of telling her to stop talking. Nothing she says is making any sense to him and the sound of her voice makes his heart hammer at his chest. Thunderous and loud and painful. It scares him how easily she does that to him. Such a small thing like her, carelessly walking into a house where God was nowhere to be found without a single ounce of caution. He could take her to his room, and no one would hear her scream. He could scare her more than she scared him.

She squirms in the silence like a rat stuck in a trap. She tugs at her sleeve, at her collar- his breathing loud as he watches her- watches her chest rise and fall with every breath, her eyes on the space between them.

Another grunt and she startles backwards, looking up at him. This time, when her eyes meet his own, he doesn’t cower even though his body tenses and he can already feel her pulse beneath his hand.

His body is stiff as he steps out of his room and moves out of the way of the door- he has to turn his back to her and for a split-second, panic runs cold and fast through his veins as he remembers the woman who had stabbed him. The door slams close as he turns around quickly, eyes wide and wild as he looks down at her hands.

He expects to see a knife pointed at him- the scar on his shoulder aching from the memory of being sliced apart, the pain still there even after all the months that have passed since. He hadn’t done anything to deserve that pain- the woman and her friends had attacked first, had tried to hurt his family. Uncle Hoyt had told him, so had Momma with tears in her eyes and blood splatters on her dress. They were bad people who wanted to do bad things to them, and it was his responsibility to protect them- to keep them safe. It hadn’t mattered that his hands shook so hard with fear, and he could taste vomit at the back of his throat, vile and burning, he had to protect them. They were all that he had. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- lose them.

He was panting as he searched the woman and finds nothing in her hands, her eyes widening as she takes another step away from him.

Was she scared?

Did she finally see it? The evil that radiated off of him that others seemed to see- always scared of getting too close to him- He was a disease on this town. A burden. Did he finally scare her?

Would she scream?

Was she going to hurt him- just like everyone else? Drive a knife into his flesh- a pain that would only last for so long before it faded into a memory that he refused to think of. A pain that wouldn’t be so bad compared to the shame that churned his stomach whenever a stranger screamed when they saw him.

He waited- teeth clamped together as he stared her down in the heavy silence.

He watched as her lips part, lower lip trembling slightly. If she screamed, he would hurt her before she could hurt him. If she screamed, she would be nothing but a pile of bones, tossed into the fire by the time the sun rose tomorrow.

Scream, he thought, fingers twitching at his sides. Scream already and let this end already.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” she whispers and her voice trembles even as she keeps talking. “I can tell- you’re looking at me like I just pulled out a gun on you or something.” She lifts her hands towards him and moves them back and forth, as if she was showing him that he had nothing to worry about. “But my hands are empty-”

She lifts her hands, palms facing him, and wiggles her fingers. “If it makes you feel better, apart from a kitchen knife I don’t think I’ve ever held a weapon.” She smiles oddly at him- as if she wasn’t sure how to do so, her eyes still wide and unblinking. As if she was worried that he would lunge at her at any second.

He doesn’t like how his body seems to let go of its worries and fears so fast, his shoulders drooping and his heartbeat slowing down until it’s no longer pounding against his ears as the ringing slowly starts to disappear. He unclenches his teeth, the pain still lingering in his jaw and neck, and suddenly, he’s no longer thinking of hurting the woman- of how easy he would have snapped her neck. He still could, part of him even ached and begged for him to do it. To get it over with.

But he doesn’t listen to that part of him that never truly seemed to go away- always begging for blood, for a voice that would finally be heard. He’s staring at her hands instead, focusing on the tips of her fingers that are flushed pink. He notices the birthmark on her left middle finger- a tiny dot right underneath the crease of her knuckle. He notices all the tiny little lines that make up her palms and the way her thumb trembles lightly.

He did not like her.

He did not like the way something as simple as her hands was enough to draw his attention- his eyes seeking out the tiny little patterns between her fingers. He did not like how her voice could soothe him so easily when he wanted nothing but to crush her- to take her, to taste her flesh on his tongue and her blood on his lips.

He did not like how she called out to him as he just stared at her- stared through her, voice gentle with his name. It wasn’t the same as when Momma said it though. This felt like a spell, a bad omen- Satan’s own voice whispering temptation in his ear. Sweet and gentle and unfamiliar.

She made him feel the same way he had felt that one night he had snuck upstairs to watch Uncle Hoyt and his new friend. He had pushed the door open just enough so that he could see but still stay hidden from the light. He hadn’t made a single noise as he watched Hoyt undo his pants and pull the woman’s legs apart. He hadn’t been able to see much from his hiding place, but what he heard had sent a shock of electricity through his body- blood boiling with need as he listened to the crying and the begging and the sound of something slick being hit over and over again. His stomach churned the same it had that night- tight and hot and restless for something that he could not give it.

He lets out a whine- deep and guttural and full of frustration. Go away, he wants to yell at her. Go away before you ruin everything.

“Tommy…?” she asks again, not understanding his plea.

He whines again and it takes him a second to realize that he’s scratching at his arm- digging his fingers into the old scars there and agitating the skin. It hurts. But that pain is familiar and calming and helps him focus on something other than the panic rising in his throat.

She was messing it all up.

It’s supposed to just be the four of them- Momma, Hoyt, Monty and him. It’s always been just the four of them. There wasn’t enough space here for her. She was too much of a change to get used to- too loud, too much. Even if he went and hid in the basement until Momma got tired of her, he knew that he would still be able to feel her through the walls, a choking weight in the air that would only poison him until he forgot what it was like to be ignored and cautious even in his own home. He’d be able to hear her- hear her laugh, her steps, the tiny little noises she would come to make the more time went on. She would fill this house with her until she soaked the walls and filled in the foundation. Until everyone forgot that she had a stranger at one point- a spontaneous good dead in all the bad they dealt in.

And even then- what would stop Hoyt from taking her to the room where almost all of the women ended up in? From the emptiness of their bellies that might make them remember that she wasn’t one of them- that she was the answer to their starvation?

He's sinking his nails in harder- the thin skin underneath breaks and he itches at the spot as if there was something alive and buzzing under the flesh. He doesn’t feel the pain as the blood begins to gather underneath his dirty nails. He can see it, even in the dim light- but he can’t feel it. Can’t stop. He digs and digs and digs, hoping for the thoughts to stop- for the voices to stop telling him that he had to kill her. That if he didn’t, he had to make sure that she never left- that this house swallowed her whole and kept her from running, from leaving them. Leaving him. If she tried to run, he could keep her in the furnace room; could tie her up and warn her that if she wasn’t good, she wouldn’t be able to stay.

He could be good to her. He would learn if he had to, would ask Momma to teach him to be gentle and kind. He would not make her angry, would not make her cry or scare her away as long as she listened to him. As long as she stayed with him.

He’s lost, stuck in the farthest corner of his mind, in a future that would stop existing if he simply reached out and touched her. All he had to do was cover her face with his hand, she would be too surprised to fight him off when he pressed her against the wall and kept her there-the weight of him against her back. He could already feel her as she squirmed against him- her body unable to stand still as her lungs began to burn. He could already feel her warmth through his clothes, feel the way his heart would race as she sank her fingers into his skin, drawing blood from fear and desperation. His fear would seep into her flesh, make her lash out more. Her pain would become his and they would be inseparable in that moment.

It’s when he feels her- fingers cold and desperate as she prods and pulls at his arms, forcing them apart that he returns to reality- to the dimly lit hall, the heat of the fireplace already seeping through the cracks in the foundation. He can feel the way her arms tremble, her fingertips burning holes into his skin.

The woman’s eyes are wild when he looks at her, all wet and round- something in them, in the way she looks at him, makes his heart fill with lead- knocking against his ribs painfully.

“It’s okay!” she says, her voice panicked as she keeps repeating it over and over again, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself- or maybe she thinks that if she says it enough times it’d become true.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” she repeats, her eyes on his as she pulls his arms towards her. “We just have to get this cleaned up and it’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t budge when she tries to pull him towards the staircase- instead, he watches as she stumbles over her own feet, her hands sliding down his arms.

“We need to get this clean,” she’s pleading now, tugging at him to get him to move. “It’s going to get infected if we don’t and there’s no doctor in town anymore-” the more she talks, the more hysterical she begins to sound, her voice growing higher. “I don’t know where the bathroom is, but we can go down to the kitchen, Luda M-”

He doesn’t let her finish, easily pulling his uninjured arm free from her. He didn’t want Momma to know. To see the mess that he made of himself. She would yell at him if he was lucky- tell him that he was sick in the head, hurting himself like a damn fool again. But he knew that Momma wouldn’t be kind like that- she would take one look at him, dripping blood on the floor and she would blame the woman for his pain.

He could already hear her yelling, the shrill sound bouncing through his head. Momma wouldn’t care to listen, to see anything other than what she wanted. Momma was like that- kind and sweet and quiet until someone was stupid enough to go after the family. He was like her in a way, protective of them all. He liked to think that he got it from her- that he couldn’t possibly be bad when Momma’s blood ran through him, sweet and caring.

He couldn’t let Momma find out. Not now- not when he had decided that the woman standing in front of him was worth more to him alive than chopped up into pieces that would fit into the deep freezer.

With a grunt that shuts the woman up from her rambling, he grabs her arm. She’s soft and small under his touch- her sweater itching at his palm as he begins to pull her deeper into the hallway, into the darkness. Away from Momma. Away from a future he wanted no part in.

“No, Tommy we have to go downstairs. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice is shaky as she takes a couple steps forward before planting her feet and refusing to keep going. “Your mom might me better at this than me, please.” She pleads even as she begins to walk again when he refuses to stop.

He tries to tell her that Momma couldn’t find out. That if she did then he wouldn’t be able to protect her- to keep her safe. Momma would tell him to get rid of her and he always did what Momma wanted, even if sometimes he didn’t want to.

He loves Momma. Loves her more than Uncle Hoyt or Monty. He loves her more than anything or anyone- even himself. He could suffer through any pain as long as Momma was with him- as long as she was happy with him.

He tries to tell her that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but all his words come out as a garbled mess of a groan, the muscles in his throat too weak to form any actual words. It frustrates him- hearing himself talk in a way that no one would ever understand.

He lets out a low howl, that frustration growing when she stops walking again. He has to be careful not to hurt her- he didn’t want to accidentally pull her arm too hard if she was going to make this a habit. He just needed to get her to the bathroom. She had to wash off the blood on her hands before she went back downstairs. He could take care of his injuries himself- Momma had taught him how to clean and bandage cuts and bruises. Though he wasn’t concerned with the open wound dripping blood down his arm.

Right now, he needed to get the woman to understand that Momma couldn’t find out about this. That if she went down those steps, stained with his blood, then there was nothing he could do to keep Momma from lashing out. Facing her, he points to himself- finger beating against his chest twice before he points at her.

He’s watching her- his eyes on her as she watches him repeat the action two more times. Her face is flushed, her eyebrows pushed together, and he begins to worry that she’s not understanding him, that now that he’s let go of her, she was going to be stupid and try to push him back towards the stairs.

Letting out a small whimper, he grabs at her wrist. She’s pliant under his touch- her skin cool and soft. Touching her reminds him of the Cattle fences that were used back when the Slaughterhouse had been open. He had touched one by accident, not fully understanding why they had so many warnings signs- and just like back then, something hot and quick ran through him. Back then, the muscles in his fingers and arms had tensed and burned, taking away all his strength. But touching her, feeling the way his scarred thumb slid against the thin skin on her wrist- felt like a shockwave of warmth had run through him- intense and disorienting and addictive.

It scared him, but he didn’t let go of her even though his brain was yelling at him to stop touching her. He couldn’t. He had to keep her safe. Slowly, he began to raise her hand towards him, his mouth opening as he made a noise from the bottom of his throat.

He looked at her face as he pressed the back of her hand against his chest. She was already staring at him, her lips twisted into a frown. He couldn’t look into her eyes for too long, something in him ached when he did, so he kept his eyes on her mouth as he tapped her hand against his chest. That same warmth that was spreading through his arm poisoned his chest. He could feel it in his throat, in the depth of his belly- It knocked around in his head until he was dizzy.

For a moment, with her hand on him and his eyes still glued to her lips, he forgets about the bad people who called him all those bad words. He forgets all of the evil that he’s done, all the screams that haunt him, all the blood that he can never wash off.

He finds the confidence to raise his eyes to her own and part of him is scared that in them he would find disgust at having to touch something like him. A smaller, quieter, part wonders if she feels it too- the electricity that flows out of her and through him. He wants her to tell him that she feels him in her- that he’s also warm and electric through her veins. He wants her to tell him that a real monster wouldn’t feel the way he did- that if he really was a monster, the softness in her eyes wouldn’t be affecting him so much.

Dropping his eyes, he taps his chest with her hand twice before pointing it towards him. He does it one more time before he lets go of her. He expects her to pull her hand away, but instead she lets it linger on his shirt, the dirt and stains not bothering her. He wonders if she can feel the way his heart knocks against his ribs.

“You want me to follow you?” her voice cracks a bit as she takes her hand away.

He nods, grunting as he motions to a door off to the side behind him before he lifts his bloodied arm and runs his hand over the scratches- they’ve stopped bleeding already, his arm a mess of blood stains and dirt. Pointing behind here, towards the staircase he shakes his head, bringing his hand back towards his arm and covering the mess he made.

She doesn’t say anything as she tries to piece everything together- her face twisting into itself as she thinks. He repeats the movement, groaning when he points at the staircase and once more when he covers the cuts. ‘Not safe,’ he tries to tell her, ‘Take care of it here.’

Realization makes her eyes brighten, her features smoothing out. “You don’t want Luda Mae to find out?”

It’s not exactly what he was trying to say but he lets it be, seeing as it was close enough. She could have thought that he wanted her to go down and grab Momma- and he was worried that with how small she was she would take off running before he could stop her. In trying to help she would run straight into her end.

The thought made his stomach drop- a sudden chill rocking through him.

“Tommy- I don’t know if I can do anything about that…” she pauses, and he watches as she reaches for him, taking his arm in both of her hands. Her touch burns him again, and this time he can’t stop the small whine of delight from escaping his lips. Her mouth twists down as she inspects his arm- and he tenses, waiting for her to start yelling at him, for the bad names to come. But they don’t- she stays silent, her eyes glued to his arm.

The damage isn’t bad- compared to the collection of scars that line both of his arms, this was nothing. He had scratched a small hole in his forearm- breaking the skin and tearing apart the bit of muscle and fat there. He was lucky that he hadn’t hit anything vital- that he had stopped when he did.

When he was younger, he had taken to cutting- tearing flesh from his body and slicing himself open as a punishment for his mistakes, for his bad thoughts. He had done a good job of keeping it from Momma until the night he had cut too deep, and the blood wouldn’t stop. He had ran to her, howling in fear- bloody arm pressed against his chest. She had made Uncle Monty hold him down while she stitched him together, only a glass of whiskey to keep the pain away. She had yelled at him the entire time-first with tears in her eyes then when they had dried up and she had finished sewing his skin together- she had taken the belt and beaten him raw. When she got tired of beating him, she had told him that this was all Satan’s fault- that she had no choice but to beat the devil out of him. God was gonna soothe his pain, his fears, his anguish. He would see, Momma liked to say. She had kissed him on the forehead, and he swore he had seen the devil on her shoulder, laughing at him.

The pain hadn’t convinced him to stop- he simply learned how to hide it better, how to keep things clean, how to stitch himself together on those nights that he fantasized about finding peace in death. He learned where to cut and how deep to dig- and eventually, Momma made herself forget it ever happened at all. Sometimes, he thought that she was afraid of God- of making him angry, of him turning his back on her. It’s why he didn’t tell her that every once in a while, he could feel the devil itself pumping through his veins. Taunting him.

The woman gently turns his arm, and he pulls himself from the memories, watching as her fingers caress his skin. She’s too trusting- doesn’t she see the danger that she’s in? How easily he could overpower her? This was a Godless house, no matter what Momma and Hoyt thought- he knew the truth. He knew that they were all rotten, inside and out. She would be ruined by them all if she stayed. He would ruin her with his sins-but his guilt wasn’t strong enough to stop his desires.

“It looks a lot worse than it is, doesn’t it?” she asks him, but he doesn’t answer- too busy watching the way she touches him- her touch making his breath deepen.

He likes the way she doesn’t mind that his blood is on her hands- twisted into the tiny cracks of her bracelet. She’s careful and slow as she traces the tip of her index finger above the crater he had created in his flesh. He’s almost tempted to push her hand down- to feel her flesh against the inside of his own, to have her hurt him before he could hurt her- but she moves her hand away before he can make up his mind.

“Okay…” she sighs, not letting go of him. “Show me what to do.”

He grunts in satisfaction, the weight of Momma finding out and the woman being punished lifting from his shoulders. Slowly, he turns the arm she cradled in her hands so that he was grabbing her instead- his hand swallowing hers.

He tries not to think about it too much as he tugs gently and finds no resistance in her steps. He almost smiles- lip twitching against the leather on his face as he leads her to the bathroom. Inside him, the devil starts to dance in glee.

The room is cold as he pushes open the door and pulls her inside before he follows. He can feel the cold seep into his thin shirt, see it with every exhale when he turns on the light and shuts the door, dropping the woman’s hand. She shivers and he wants to know if it’s from the cold or the fact that he’s no longer touching her.

The light flickers and dies for a couple seconds, leaving them in darkness before it turns back on- low and yellow like all the others in the house. It makes the woman’s skin look sickly- washing her out as she blinks and tries to get used to the light.

“We have to clean it,” she’s already walking around him, towards the sink. It’s a small one, too low for him to reach without having to bend his knees uncomfortably. Maybe that’s why she pauses mid-sentence- was she trying to picture him, hunched over as he scrubbed the dirt and blood and sweat from his arms?

The thought of her thinking about him- caring about him- splits him in two, a feeling that he’s never experienced before.

“Where are the towels?” she asks, turning around to face him. “If we lay some down on the floor it should keep the mess down a bit, right?”

He doesn’t tell her that it’s not a good idea- that a pile of soaking towels would raise questions that need to stay buried instead. So, he shakes his head, already closing the small distance between them.

The bathroom is small- all of them are. The tiles on the walls are a faded green color, some of them cracked- some of them are separated by mold- the caulk so old and weathered by age and neglect. He hopes that she doesn’t see them- his blood warming in embarrassment as he tells himself that he would fix them later, before she realized that this house was falling apart right under their feet.

The toilet and sink and the bathtub are old- not quite as stained, but still the same faded shade as the tiles that surrounded them. Under the harsh yellow light, it all looked a mess. At least it wasn’t like Hoyt’s bathroom- with too many colors and carpet all over the floors that trapped the smell of tobacco and sweat and soap, the steam that seemed to linger and stick to the walls doing nothing to lessen the stench.

He’s careful as he walks around her- suddenly aware of just how close they were. In here, with the door closed, being near to her seemed almost intimate in a way that he could not quite grasp.

He was used to being alone with people- usually they were screaming and begging, or already half-dead, delirious and confused from the pain and the blood loss. He was used to them thrashing and running and fighting back- hitting him with their fists, kicking him, throwing whatever they managed to get ahold of. They would always scare him when they did that- the pain eventually making him mad until he lashed out and hurt them on purpose.

They didn’t seem to understand that he didn’t want to make them suffer- that he was being kind- taking their lives quickly so that they didn’t have to be so afraid.

He was used to the screaming, the name calling- no matter how scared or afraid he got, he always knew how it would end.

With the woman, he had touched her- she had touched him- without screaming, without her begging or flinching or trying to run away. Out in the hall there had been enough space for him if he needed to get away, but here it was just the two of them- existing in a space that no one else seemed to belong in.

It terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. It made him feel the same way as when he had to chased down someone that had slipped out of his hold- but this time his mind wasn’t telling him to kill. This time, as he stood besides the woman, her eyes on him as he turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm, something inside of him was telling him to chase her down in a completely different way- to keep her at his side.

Even if he had to chain her and train her- he did not want her to leave. He would not let her leave.

He remembers when he had first started at the Slaughterhouse, when he had been put to work with the cows- separating the babies from the mothers as soon as they were born. He would take them- carefully scooping them up in his arms, a child at the time, not knowing better, not knowing what it was that he was doing- and carry them to another part of the barn where he would drop them into cages so small that even he couldn’t fit inside.

They would cry and shake, unable to stand, unable to realize what lay ahead of them. He would feed them scraps he had stolen from the feeding center- oats or barley or even handfuls of grass from outside- shoving his hand through and letting them eat from his hand. They would calm down, even though they could not stand fully- their heads hunched over and pressed against the metal. He would show them that even if they weren’t going to live long- even if the world around them didn’t seem to care for them- they weren’t alone.

She did not have to be caged like them- though if he had to, he would keep her locked up if it meant keeping her beside him. Down in the basement where no one would hear her- where no one would disturb them, he would get her to see that he was a kind man, that he only wanted what was best for her.

She was already so much like the calves from back then- stupid and small and too trusting of him. It wouldn’t be hard to break her, to convince her that it was all her fault- that there was nothing left for her outside this home.

When the water heats up- steam rising and filling his lungs- he runs his fingers under the stream. Dirt and blood stain the sink, the hot water turning his fingers pink. It hurts, but not enough for him to stop. He rubs his hands together, the water turning pink as it drains. He can feel her eyes on him as he scrubs the grains of dirt from his skin.

For some reason, it embarrasses him- having her watch him do something so mundane and ordinary. He almost swore that he could feel the warmth from her eyes on his skin- hotter than the water. It makes the simple task suddenly seem foolish, makes him feel as if this was the first time he was doing it and he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong.

With a grunt he tries to push the thoughts from his mind- cupping his hand and filling it with water before he splashes it onto his arm, onto the wound he had given himself. It makes a mess- water splashing onto his rolled sleeve and onto the floor, the sink too small to prevent the mess.

“Can I?” she says- and she’s suddenly closer than he had thought, her body pressed against his side. He can feel her through his shirt, through the thick fabric of her sweater. He swears that he can feel the softness of her body, the beating of her heart, the blood rushing through her veins on his very skin. It makes his heart leap into his throat- the sudden touch making him want to push her head into the glass of the medicine cabinet or pull her closer- he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to do most.

He stands still, body tense as she reaches for him, grabbing his arm and lifting it closer. She must have found the linen closet- an old, red washcloth in her other hand which she places underneath the running water. She hisses, pulling her hand away and opens the cold water.

“Doesn’t that hurt you?” she asks- and there’s no anger in her voice, no underlying judgement that has him tensing up, muscles rippling with dread that he had done something wrong. Momma liked to talk to him like that sometimes. She liked to ask questions that made him feel bad, that made him regret coming to her- guilty that he had bothered her. Hurt that she saw him as something bothersome.

He shakes his head, his way of telling her that no, it wasn’t hurting him. If he had a voice, he would tell her that his skin is so damaged that he could barely feel it, that some days he even preferred it- he liked the way his skin turned red and pulsed in a way that was almost comfortable, soothing.

“This will feel much better,” she holds her fingers under the water, and once it’s at a comfortable temperature she lets it run over the washcloth. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

He nods sharply and she smiles at him- the corners of her mouth lifting. He expects her to rub the wound directly, desperate to clean it off before infection sets in. Instead, to his surprise, she wipes around the length of it- scrubbing gently at the blood matting the hair on his arm. The hand holding his arm is gentle, her fingers sinking into his soft flesh and holding him still.

He watches her- watches the concentration on her face that has her eyebrows knitted together as she wipes and rinses, repeating those two motions over and over and over again until his skin is cleaner- until the dirt is gone and there’s nothing left to hide the many sins he carried on his skin.

She pauses- and he can almost read her mind at that moment. He can see it in the tension in her wrist, feel it in the way her fingers tremble just a fraction of a second before they dig a little deeper into his arm. The feeling of her nails scratching at him isn’t painful, but it startles him just the same as if it were- a warmth growing in his chest that travels down to his belly and pools there- filling him with a different sort of sin.

He expects her to say something about the hundreds of tiny little cuts and bruises that she’s unearthed- he can feel it hang heavy in the air- his lips tingling from anticipation. From the worry that she would open her mouth and ruin it all.

It would either be disgust or pity- and he wanted neither. The scars were his to carry- his own punishment for his terrible deeds. Uncle Hoyt always cringed and acted like he didn’t see them- even though his mouth and face twisted as if he had eaten something sour. The pity always came from Momma- her hands on his as she prayed to God to take away whatever burdens he seemed to be carrying around in his heart. She wouldn’t touch them- maybe out of fear, or anger, or maybe just like Uncle Hoyt, she was disgusted as well- scared that if she touched the scars, they would somehow ruin her as well.

The corners of the woman’s mouth are still twisted down when she glances up at him- her eyes too dark to read. He wonders what he looks like in her eyes- what is it that she sees in him that no one else seems to see?

He waits for her to talk- to break the tense silence that’s choking him- but she doesn’t say a word, dropping her eyes as she picks up the bar of soap that’s been there for months. It almost slips out of her hand, and she lets go of him completely- his arm frozen in place, his body already missing hers. The tension disappears, as if nothing had ever happened, as if it had never been there to begin with. It rolls from the points of pressure that she had left behind on his flesh and up his arms. It moves in his veins, thick and syrupy- coating all of him in a feeling that’s doesn’t sit right.

Maybe he did want her to speak- to pity him after all. But the moment is gone, and he doesn’t have a voice to bring it back- to tell her what he was feeling, so he lets the discomfort drown him just a bit as he watches her act like nothing wrong had happened.

She rubs the bar between her hands, underneath the stream of water and his heart sinks at the thought of her cleaning all traces of him from her skin- he wanted to coat her in all that he was- his scent, his hatred, the bitter taste in his mouth that never seemed to go away- he wanted her to have it all, to carry him even if they were apart for a split second. An extension of him- equally as fearsome.

“Come here,” she motions for him to bring his arm towards her hands, letting the bar fall into the sink. Her hands are covered in soap as she takes his arm in between them- gently scrubbing from his wrist to the inside of his elbow, where his rolled-up sleeve sat. At first, she doesn’t touch the wound- and he can feel the hesitation in her fingers as she scrubs at his arm, circling around it. She scrubs at his skin, at the spaces between his fingers, taking his hand in her own and gently massaging it.

It's the first time anyone has done something like that to him- and while he can’t understand why she was being so thorough when it would have been easier to just hand him the soap and let him do it, he has no intention of stopping her.

He simply watches and enjoys- his mouth twisted into the closest thing of a smile that he could manage underneath his mask.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” she says quietly, and it takes him a second to understand her words, his mind lost even to himself- her fingers lightly press against the cut as she speaks, drawing him back into reality. He tenses as she begins to clean it out, rubbing soapy water into it. It doesn’t hurt- not with how light and slow she moves her hand, her finger dipping into the hole he had scratched open. He expects it to hurt or sting or startle him- but pain doesn’t come. Instead, he groans in delight- enjoying the way her finger seems to be tearing into him, stretching his skin open. It’s like she’s making space for herself inside of him- forcing herself into the parts of him that held him together, sinew and muscle and blood- now poisoned with whatever sickness the woman had inflicted in his heart.

“Sorry!” she says quickly, pulling her hand away from him. The once white bubbles between her fingers are now a soft shade of pink, mixed with his blood. It all disappears down the drain as she rinses her hand, drying them on the front of her jeans.

He grows frustrated at the fact that there’s no way to tell her that she hadn’t hurt him- that he wanted her to do it again. That the pain she caused him was almost addictive- sweeter than the whiskey Uncle Monty sometimes let him have whenever he was in a good enough mood to share.

The woman motions for him to rinse his arm, already cupping her hands together under the faucet and letting the cool water pool between her hands. He angles his arm awkwardly into the sink and she lets the water trickle from between her fingers over his arm slowly. He watches as she repeats the motion, rinsing his arm- it’s so trivial and boring, yet he’s in awe as she takes care of him.

Without a second thought, the woman is already devoting herself to the mundanity of life with him. He could see it as she turns the water off and tells him to wait- as if he would leave her side, as if he could do something so absolutely stupid- subjecting himself to an agony he had no intention of experiencing firsthand.

He hears the closet door open behind him, making him turn around and look at the woman as she rummages through old fitted blankets, washcloths and towels until she finds what she needs. With one hand pressed against the pile of folded towels she pulls one free, tossing it over her arm. “I don’t know how long this has been here for-” as she talks, she moves onto her toes, stretching her arm out as she reaches for something on one of the top shelves.

He almost moves to help her, his body already swaying in place, eager to move, to make himself useful to the woman. But he spends too long trying to decide- her hand closing around whatever it was that she had seen earlier. She lets out a small noise of delight as she drops down to the balls of her feet, and it wracks through him, sending a shiver of warmth up his spine that spreads across his chest- tightening the muscles in his lower belly.

“Expired medicine and antibiotics are better than nothing, right?” She asks as he turns and faces him- lips curved up into a smile and he almost finds himself mimicking it- the corners of his lips twitching. He catches himself, hot embarrassment forcing his eyes to drop from her face- down to the small plastic medicine bin in her hands. It did not matter that he had his mask to hide behind, the way she looked at him made him feel as if she could somehow see through it- his face exposed for whatever ridicule and insults she would eventually throw at him.

There are bottles of pills stacked on top of one another- the type that Momma used to give him when he was feverish. It would take his sickness as well as his hunger- leaving him too heavy to do anything but lay in bed until the heat of his body burned through the drug. There are other things as well- gauze and bandages, silver packages of pills he couldn’t identify, the label worn off a long time ago- a bottle of Vaseline, faded from the years sits next to a glass jar of Vapor-Rub. Looking at it, he swears that he can smell it even with how far away from the jar he was- even though his nose hasn’t worked properly for months, he feels the ghost of it wrinkle as he cringes from the offensive smell his mind reminds him of.

Momma used to slather him with it when he had first started working at the Slaughterhouse. He hadn’t been used to the smell of it back then and every day he went back had been miserable. The scent of death and blood and shit had soured his stomach until he had gone and thrown up the oatmeal Momma had made for breakfast all over his worktable. All over the slab of meat he had been told to break down. He can still remember the taste of animal blood on his tongue after he had wiped his mouth- forgetting that his hands and arms and chest had been covered in chunks of offal. His boss had called him every bad word under the sun-some were words that he had never heard before, now fully engrained in his mind, tearing at his heart once Monty had told him what they meant.

When he had gone home that night, after scrubbing his station clean- the blood mixing with his waste underneath his nails, in the strands of his hair and in between the cracks of his boots, Momma had slapped him. She had been waiting for him on the porch, her face twisted down in anger, the blue of her eyes dark and cold behind her glasses.

She had called him a great big idiot- uncaring of how dirty he had been, of how hard he had silently prayed to God for the day to hurry up and end so that he could leave and go home. At one point, when the bell for Lunch had rung and he was forced to stay and catch up to everyone else- his boss throwing what Momma had packed for him in the garbage before spitting on it with a laugh- he had wanted to die, his chest burning every single time he brought the cleaver down. He had wanted to die right then and there- to stop existing all together. To be nothing but the air around him- free from the bad people, from the stares, from feeling like all that he did was somehow inherently wrong. No matter if it was an accident or not, no one ever seemed to care enough to listen to him.

Momma had gotten a call from the Slaughterhouse- telling her that because of his careless mistake he would have to be let go. Momma had told him, as she dragged him to the hose out back, that she had begged and begged and begged for them to give him a second chance. They couldn’t lose his income, not with Uncle Monty getting less hours at his job and the Government cutting Uncle Hoyt’s veteran checks so suddenly. They were barely making ends meet as it was- this would ruin them.

She had yelled and shouted, spraying him with cold water until he was a shivering mess, the blood no longer crusted over on his skin. He could feel the cold water pooling in his boots, making his socks stick to his toes. It hadn’t even mattered to him then, his heart hammering away at his chest at the thought of never having to go back. Of not having to wake up so early to walk all the way to the other side of town in a place that he hated.

He didn’t even mind when Momma had beat him, welts forming on his wet skin from the belt she kept exclusively for punishments. The pain was nothing in comparison to when Momma had told him that she had made sure that he had kept his job.

They were going to cut his pay, a little every check, until he paid off the cost of the half cow he had puked all over. But he still had a job, he was still able to help the family out- wasn’t that good? Momma asked him, smiling at him like she hadn’t just beat him tired.

Momma warned him that he couldn’t mess this up again. That there were no more chances after this- sending him up to his room with no dinner, his stomach already empty and rubbing against itself.

The morning after, when she had woken him up- his body sore from all the walking that he had done and the bruises forming on his back and legs- Momma had twisted open the jar of Vapor-rub for the first time, filling his room with the slightly sweet- minty smell.

She had bought it last night, right before the shop closed- with the bit of lose change she had managed to scrap together. It’s gonna help you from making another mistake she said right before she shoved a finger full of it into his nose. It was thick, and cold, burning the inside of his nose as he moaned in pain, trying to push Momma away before she shoved more into the other nostril. She had smacked his hand away, telling him that this was for his own good. That this was only until he got used to it.

He had moaned as tears began to form, shaking his head- trying to empty his nose, the burning crawling up into his head and making his eyes water painfully. Every inhale he took through his mouth burned its way to his lungs. Momma only slapped him again- telling him that this was his fault. That he had to do this for the family.

“You’re so selfish Thomas!” she shouted at him, holding his jaw and shoving another finger into his empty nostril. “There’s no room for useless boys in this house, do you understand?”

He couldn’t remember anything after that. His memories about that day lost to the pain he had put himself through. He remembers bits and pieces- the hunger. The burning. The anger.

He always seemed to remember the anger. Flashing through him- hot and cold, boiling his blood.

Something outside of his thoughts rattle and he’s once more standing in the bathroom, a man three times the size of the child that he had once been. Beside him, the woman had set the medicine bin on top of the toilet tank and was rummaging through it- the source of the noise that had brought him back.

He’s tense, the muscles in his neck thick and tight. He doesn’t like how he seemed to live more in his memories- constantly remembering all the things that he just wanted to forget. He didn’t want to remember, to be reminded of the pain he carried.

The woman glances at him, holding a small yellow squeeze tube and a roll of self-adhesive medical tape in one hand. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him, even though he can feel the way his face is twisted down into a scowl- his eyebrows heavy over his eyes.

He doesn’t mean to glare at her- to make her smile falter slightly as her eyes widen just a fraction. He could almost see himself in her eyes and he doesn’t like the him that he imagines. Large and imposing- a thing that only knows how to hurt, how to cause fear. He waits for the woman to realize her mistake- to realize that she was trapped in a small room with a monster.

“Give me your arm?” she asks him, holding out her right hand. “Let’s get you all wrapped up, okay?” her smile is still small, and he can see the wariness in her eyes, but when he places his arm in her hand she doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t rush him- wanting to get this over with.

She pulls him towards her instead, slender fingers wrapping around his forearm as much as possible. She tugs, and he moves- lightweight in her hold.

He’s aware of the muscles in his face- of how, even if he’s partially hidden behind his mask, his face sits. He makes himself relax- something that comes easy with the warmth of her hand on his body, easing the tension that he still carried from his memories. Her touch burned into him, filled him until he swore that he could feel her in his blood- pumping through his heart.

Her eyes don’t leave his as she pulls him closer, and motions with her head for him to sit down on the toilet. “It’ll be easier, that way you don’t have to keep your arm in the air.” She explains, shuffling out of the way to make space for him.

Underneath his weight, the toilet squeaks and shifts as he does as told, awkwardly sitting down. She’s taller than him like this, his head at the same level with her chest, making him have to tilt his head back just a bit to meet her eyes.

Her smile had grown in the time he had looked away- and he can’t help the heat that spreads across his face, his ears growing hot. Could she feel it? The warmth that she caused him? The uneasiness thrumming through him that had the tips of his fingers aching to touch her? To hold her like she held him?

“Can you hold this?” she asks, already dropping something into his expecting hand. It had been resting on his lap, calloused covered palm open and waiting- a beggar’s pose. The ointment and tape weren’t what he had been waiting for, but he takes them, closing his thick fingers around them.

What he didn’t expect was for her to lean over him with a mumbled “sorry”, her hand falling onto his shoulder as she reached for something behind him- inside of the medicine bin.

He doesn’t know what to do- his body freezing underneath hers as her neck grazes his mask covered face. It doesn’t last long- maybe a fraction of a second before she’s pulling away and dropping the hand from his shoulder, but it was enough.

Enough for him to inhale the light scent of her- woodsy and sweet and nutty- just the smallest hint of sweat underneath that. It reminded him of the baked goods Momma used to make for him on his birthday when he was small. It was comforting in the same way that it twisted his stomach with the pain of remembering something that used to make him so happy, something that had been taken from him so abruptly once Momma decided that he was too big to celebrate his birthday. Too old to be cared for.

The woman had been so close that he swore that he could almost hear the blood pounding through her veins. He had almost been tempted to turn his head and feel its pulse with his lips. To scratch her skin with his mask- the scent of her tainting it the same way it has already ruined his senses.

He could picture it- his teeth sinking into the warm and thin flesh she had so stupidly given him access to. It was almost scary- the way his mouth began to water at the thought of her blood on his tongue, raw flesh between his teeth. He wanted to fill his belly with it- to make her a part of him in a way that no one could take from him.

Would she taste as sweet as she smelled?

He swallowed down saliva, clearing the bad thoughts from his mind- scared that if he kept focusing on them, he would do something that he didn’t really want to do. Something that he wouldn’t be able to take back, no matter how hard he begged and prayed and tried to undo.

He didn’t want to hurt her right now. No matter how hard his mind was telling him to do it- replaying all of the times that he could have done so. Showing him all of the ways that he still could.

He feels ashamed of his thoughts, of the temptation that he was barely keeping at bay- and finds himself unable to look at the woman as she rips open a piece of plastic, tossing it in the garbage can between the toilet and the sink. He keeps his eyes on the space between his legs, on her beat-up boots as she stands in front of him- sweet and unaware of what a horrible person he truly was. Of all that he was struggling to not do to her.

“Do you think Luda Mae is getting suspicious?”

The question startles him, reminding him of the world outside of the bathroom, outside of the woman in front of him.

“She’s probably thinking I ran away; don’t you think?” the woman’s laugh is small, feathery light. He doesn’t know how to answer- not knowing how long they had been up here. There was a possibility that Momma had grown suspicious, or maybe she thought that he had snapped and taken care of her in the only way that he knew how.

Vaguely, he shakes his head. Whether it’s to disagree with her or to tell her that he wasn’t sure- he let’s her decide on which one he’s trying to communicate. If Momma had been concerned, she would have come upstairs to check on her already, so he wasn’t too worried. He shrugs, and her laughter fills his ears again.

“Right. If you’re not worried, then I won’t be either. I just don’t want her to think that I’ve been a horrible guest- running off in the middle of helping her with dinner.”

He shakes his head again and this time its to reassure her that Momma wouldn’t think that. At least he hoped that she wouldn’t. The thought of Momma angry at the woman made his chest burn uncomfortably. An ache that slithered in the tight spaces between his ribs- hot and uneasy in its slickness.

“Well, what’s done is done, lets just get your arm bandaged. I might need your help facing her again.” The woman likes to talk with a smile, he’s noticed. It was as if her mouth had no other way to rest- the corners turned up towards the heavens, towards her eyes that liked to seek him out- unafraid of what she saw, of what others liked to look away from.

He wondered if she was joking- if she was just talking in order to fill the silence. He knew people who did that- people like Hoyt and his old boss at the Slaughterhouse, who had to keep their mouths moving or they would stop existing all together. He liked to think that if he had a voice, he would be like that too- not quite as annoying, but loud enough that people were forced to look at him, to listen to what he had to say.

He would tell the woman that he would keep her safe. That he wanted to go down with her and show Momma that she had done nothing wrong. That if anyone was to blame, it was him. It was his fault that she had stayed away for so long. He would hide her away from Momma’s anger- keep her tucked behind him- safe.

If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure that he wanted her to leave just yet. They could stay here a little longer- everything behind that door non-existent. He could make believe that Momma was still at work, busy with too many customers- outsiders who were just passing by, headed for more than the meat hooks in the basement of this house. That for a bit his uncle’s Monty and Hoyt didn’t exist. That the world was just for him and her.

That would be enough for him. He was almost tempted to ask God- to check and see if he was still paying attention to him after all that he had done.

The woman moves from in front of him and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, her knees rubbing against the outside of his thigh as she grabs his arm and places it on her lap. He can feel the buckle of her belt against his knuckles- his arm suddenly a solid weight as he feels the warmth that radiates from the space between her thighs.

It crawls along his skin- up to his shoulder and through the space in his chest. It reminds him of the times that he’s stayed in one spot for too long, his limbs falling asleep. Though there was no uncomfortable pain this time- Instead it felt like a million little bugs were crawling around inside of him- a buzzing under his skin that he was unused to, but not disgusted by. It was something that maybe he could get used to.

It settles in his belly- thick and heavy and hot, stirring awake thoughts that felt too uncomfortable to focus on. Shamefully, he raises his eyes from the woman’s lap, trying to think of something other than the way her jeans clung to her thighs or how close his fingers were to the space between her legs- somehow hotter than the rest of her, the back of his hand burning pleasantly. He wanted to keep it there- to soak all of himself in her warmth until he knew nothing more.

He pushes the indecent thoughts from his mind, suddenly growing paranoid that the woman would find out what he was thinking about her. He didn’t want her to think that he was disgusting. Rotten just like Uncle Hoyt, who was obsessed with playing with their food.

“Is this uncomfortable for you, Tommy?” maybe it was because the silence had gone on for too long, but the woman whispers her question- her voice only for him, distracting him slightly as she reaches for the things she had given him, plucking them from his hand before he even had a chance to register the movement- her hand too fast that he barely feels the way her fingers skim his palm.

She’s already twisted open the bottle of ointment by the time he shakes his head- the cap balancing on the edge of her knee. With a hum she nods- her eyes focused on her own hands even though he wants her to look at him again. He wanted her to ask him more questions- her voice tender and sweet whenever she spoke to him. He wanted her to distract him for his thoughts that liked to pull him away from her- and right now he wanted to stay right here, to not miss a single moment.

The ointment is cold against his skin- the woman squeezing a light amount right above the wound. He can feel it cleansing away all of his wickedness- her finger swiping at it until it’s in the deepest layer of his flesh, leaving nothing behind but an oily residue that coated her thumb. Without a pause she sticks a piece of gauze on top- taping it up until the gauze is well hidden under flesh colored medical tape.

He had found it in the pocket of one of the first of Uncle Hoyt’s guests- setting it aside for Momma along all of the jewelry he had collected. Maybe it was for a reason that he had second guessed his decision to throw it away. Maybe that had been a sign from above that you were on your way- that God hadn’t abandoned them after all.

The woman is gentle as she pats the covered wound and leans back a bit to meet his expectant eyes. What does she see in them- in him- that makes her look at him so sweetly?

“You’re all set. How’s it feeling? It’s not too tight, is it?”

#texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface #thomas hewitt #slasher fandom #slasher fanfiction #slashers x reader #slashers #slasher community #leatherface x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre

368 notes · View notes

sokoviansimp · 1 year ago

Note

Hi so for the package AU from the prompt list you just reblogged can you write 29 and 8? for wanda and y/N? pleasE? also ily and i hope you have a great day

Invasion

✒ Pairings: WandaNat x child!Reader (platonic)

✒ Summary: What happens the first time Y/N gets hurt in Wanda’s care? - with prompt dialogues

29. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

8. "Are you hurt?"

✒ Tags and Warnings: gunshot wound, invasion

✒ Author's Note: So sorry for the wait, I basically rewrote the events of this twice.

✒ Word Count: 2483

✒ Read Time: 12 minutes

Masterlist : Socials

The Avengers compound hummed with activity as the team prepared for an important mission. The team was tasked with thwarting an imminent threat from a nefarious group seeking to exploit a powerful artifact. As the team gathered their gear and reviewed their plans, you watched with wide-eyed fascination. You wanted nothing more than to be part of the action, like your superhero guardians.

Wanda crouched down to your eye level. "Remember, sweetie, this mission is too dangerous for you. You'll stay here with Nat," she said, her voice filled with motherly concern as she saw the sparkle in your eye as you fantasized about being with the team.

You pouted but reluctantly nodded. You understood the dangers, but that didn't stop you from feeling left out. "Okay, Mama."

The mission was set to begin at sunset. As the Avengers geared up and made their final preparations, you watched from the sidelines. Wanda and Nat had promised to keep you safe, and they both took that promise seriously.

With a heavy heart, Wanda glanced at you. "I know you're disappointed, love, but I need you to stay here. It's just too risky for you."

Your big, innocent eyes filled with tears. You understood the need for safety, but your heart ached to be with your beloved Mama. "I'm scared, Mama." you mumbled out barely above a whisper.

Wanda's heart clenched at the vulnerability in your voice. She knelt down and hugged you tightly. "I promise Nat will protect you, Y/N. Nothing will happen to you, I swear."

“Not me, you.” You explained. You had no reason to worry about your own safety, but Wanda was going on a grave mission, you couldn’t help but worry that something may happen.

“Me? Detka, I’ll be ok. We all have each other’s back.” Wanda assured you, she hadn’t even thought about her own safety to be frank, too busy worrying about how you would react to being without her. Though, maybe that’s what motherhood is all about, always putting your child first. Their feelings, their happiness, and their safety.

“Pwomise?” you wondered looking up at Wanda with doe wide eyes and pure innocence.

“I promise that I will do everything in my power to come home to you safe and sound.” She clarified. Even though unlikely, Wanda couldn't bring herself to make a promise she didn’t have the full power to keep. There was always a chance something could happen to her in missions like these and you both knew it.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Avengers embarked on their mission. You and Nat standing by watching them depart, your small hand tightly gripping Nataha’s. The compound felt empty and eerily quiet without the usual banter and laughter of the team.

Hours passed, and the tension in the compound grew palpable. Nat kept one eye on the security feeds, monitoring the team's progress. Unable to sleep, you pushed any hesitation you still harbored for Nat aside as you clung to her side like a lifeline. The minutes stretched into hours as you tried to find comfort in your stuffed animal and Natasha’s closeness.

Taking Natasha’s attention away from monitoring the team, an emergency alert blared through the compound. Her heart skipped a beat as she read the message: " Multiple intruders detected. High Alert. Seek safety immediately."

Normally this wouldn’t phase Natasha, but with you to protect, fear gripped her nervous system, and she scooped you into her arms. "Stay close, kid. We need to go to the safe room." With you in tow, she rushed through the corridors, heart pounding with dread. Her first priority was getting you to safety, “How many are we looking at FRIDAY?” she said aloud to the Artificial Assistant.

“I count 7 armed soldiers and 2 unarmed, Miss Romanoff. Would you like me to deploy the nano recon drones for more real-time data of the base?” FRIDAY responded with limited emotion in her voice.

“Deploy the recons and the defense droids, and notify Fury!” she demanded as continued to rush you to safety. On the verge of tears, you waverly spoke, “Natty? What noise is dat?”

“We just need to go to the safe room, Y/N. Someone is here,” she explained as she tactically rushed you across the compound.

You wanted to ask who, but soon enough, you couldn't hold back your tears anymore. The loud noise, the frantic state that Nat was in, and the lack of Wanda all came crashing over you. Even when Natasha seemingly kept her cool as she checked corners and cleared hallways before ushering you along, you could tell that something was very wrong.

“Shhh, everything is going to be okay, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, ok?” Nat tried to reassure you but your tears continued to fall.

Once you got to the safe room, Natasha instructed you not to let anyone else in, no matter who they said they were and to be as silent as you could, before rushing back out to take control back of the building.

“Any idea on what their play is here?” she questioned FRIDAY, trying to put the pieces together, as she left you to gather the weapons she needed to take on such a group. There was nothing on the radar that would’ve led the team to foresee this event happening. Especially now, when everyone is away.

“Intent is Unknown,” FRIDAY informed.

Was that it? Everyone is away, in fact, everything they’d been following for the last 2 months pointed toward this weekend in Glasgow. Was it a distraction?

Pulled from her thoughts, Tony’s name came buzzing through her phone. “Romanoff,” Nat greeted like any other phone call as if she wasn’t in the middle of a dire situation.

“Nat, everything ok there? I’m seeing alerts come through.” Tony queried, optimistically hoping something may have unintentionally triggered the alarms, even though he had taken extra precautions to block unintentional triggers.

“Here? Oh yeah, everything is great. You know, except the gang of at least 9 trying to take over the compound. Peachy, really.” Nat sarcastically replied, she wasn’t upset with Tony, but it was one of her coping mechanisms in times like this, “How’s everything in your neck of the woods?” she wondered, trying to see if her theory had any ground.

“Surprisingly quiet. I’m sending you some help,” Tony said as he deployed suits and more equipment to help fight alongside Natasha.

“Thanks, I have a feeling Glasgow was a distraction,” she uttered as she marched toward the invaders.

Amidst the dimly lit corridors of the Avengers' high-tech compound, The Black Widow stood alone. The emergency alarms blared in the background, casting eerie crimson lights that danced across her sleek black suit. The once-peaceful sanctuary had been infiltrated by a group of highly trained armed guards, and Natasha was the last line of defense.

“Hey, Fellas!” Nat cheekily shouted towards them

The guards, clad in tactical gear and armed to the teeth, advanced on Natasha with cold determination. They moved in unison, their footsteps echoing ominously against the cold, metallic floors. Natasha could hear their synchronized breaths, a chilling reminder that she was outnumbered.

With a flick of her wrist, Natasha activated her Widow's Bite, sending electrifying shocks coursing through her fingertips. The room's lights momentarily flickered, casting eerie shadows as her attackers closed in.

The first guard lunged forward, wielding a baton. Natasha sidestepped his attack with grace, her movements fluid as water. She delivered a swift kick to his chest, sending him crashing into his comrades.

A second guard opened fire with an assault rifle, spraying bullets in Natasha's direction. She rolled behind a nearby pillar, bullets whizzing past her. Her keen reflexes and agility kept her one step ahead of the deadly hail of gunfire.

From the shadows, she launched a pair of electrified Widow's Bite disks. They struck two guards, incapacitating them instantly. The room was filled with the acrid smell of burnt fabric as their uniforms smoked.

Amidst the chaos of the compound invasion, as Natasha fought valiantly to protect their home, a sudden surge of determination welled up within you. Being safely tucked away in the secure room, you could hear the sounds of the struggle outside and it gnawed at you, filling your mind with a mixture of fear and courage. What if something happened to Nat? You could prevent it.

With small, trembling hands, you pushed open the heavy door of the safe room. Your heart pounding in your chest as you took hesitant steps toward the fray. You watched Natasha, in her awe-inspiring Black Widow suit, fighting against the row of heavily armed intruders with incredible skill.

Then, You watched her take some punches and you couldn't just stand there. You have powers too, powers you’re still learning to control. With a deep breath, you focused your thoughts, trying to remember what Wanda had taught you about harnessing your abilities.

As the guards closed in on Natasha, your eyes glowed with a faint, cyan hue. Your small hands extended outward, palms out, and concentrated. Vibratory waves emanated from your palm, a powerful force that rippled through the air like invisible shockwaves.

The sudden disturbance caught the invaders off guard. Staggering and stumbling back, their weapons falling from their hands as they tried to maintain their balance. Natasha seized the opportunity, delivering swift and precise blows to disarm them.

But in your determination to help, you had left yourself vulnerable. One of the guards managed to regain his composure and, in a desperate act, fired his weapon in your direction. The shot rang out, and a searing pain lanced through your left shoulder.

Before Natasha could even catch sight of the bullet, you were on the ground crying in pain. Both Tony’s drone and Natasha swiftly subdued the last of the guards and she rushed to your side. Her heart ached with worry as she gently cradled you in her arms.

As soon as the bullet made impact, Wanda could sense that something wasn’t right, even from miles away. It was as though an invisible thread had been pulled taut, stretching across the miles that separated you. Her brow furrowed in concern as she continued to sense that something was terribly wrong back at the compound. She couldn't put her finger on it, but her maternal instincts told her that you were in danger.

Wanda began running through every option she has to get to you. Would using her powers be faster? What if she used her powers on the jet, could she make it go quicker without overloading the engines?

After weighing her options, she went with the latter. The team had already reversed course once they discovered it was a set up, “Hang on tight,” she said before supercharging the engines.

“Wanda, what are you doing?” Clint managed to get out as he was smushed against his seat from the G-Force.

“Y/N is hurt. I can feel it.”

When she finally arrived at the compound, her fears were realized. The sight that greeted her was both heart-wrenching and heartwarming. She found Natasha cradling you in her arms, your face contorted in pain but also displaying a remarkable resilience.

Wanda rushed to your side, her eyes filled with concern. "Y/N! Natasha!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling. She knelt beside you, “Are you hurt?” she frantically asked, her hands glowing with a soft, soothing light as she assessed the extent of your injuries.

Natasha looked up, relief washing over her features as she saw Wanda. "Wanda, i’m sorry, i- i’m so sorry, i put her in the safe room and she tried to help-," Natasha explained, her voice laced with fear of wandas wrath and admiration for your bravery. "She used her powers to protect us, but she got hurt in the process."

“Mama, miss you!” you gasped through clenched teeth.

Wanda's heart swelled with a mixture of pride and concern as she looked down at you. Gently stroking your forehead, she used her powers to ease the pain. "You're so brave, little one," she whispered, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm here now, and I'll make sure you're okay."

Though clearly in pain, you managed a weak but heartfelt smile as you looked up at Wanda.

Even though Wanda was upset that you were caught in the crossfire, she couldn’t blame Natasha. She understood that Natasha, like herself, cares deeply for your well-being and did everything in her power to protect you during the invasion. The priority for both of them was getting you fixed up.

Wanda paced nervously alongside Natasha in the compound's infirmary while you lay on a medical bed, receiving treatment for the gunshot wound.

Natasha reached out to gently place a hand on Wanda's shoulder. "She's going to be okay, Wanda. The doctors are doing everything they can."

Wanda nodded, but her brow was furrowed with concern. "I know, Nat. I just can't believe she came out of that safe room. She's so young, and she shouldn't have been in danger."

Natasha sighed, understanding Wanda's anxiety. "I get it, Wanda. I tried to keep her safe, but she's got that Stark stubbornness, you know? She was determined to help."

Wanda looked at Natasha with a mix of gratitude and worry. "I appreciate that you were here to protect her, I just wish it was different, I wish I had been here, we should have been more careful. She's just a child."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "You're right, Wanda. We should have been more careful about sending everyone on a wild goose chase. But you know how determined she can be. She wanted to help because she’s seen you and me doing what we do."

Wanda sighed, her shoulders slumping with fatigue and relief. "I know, and I'm proud of her courage, but I, I just hate to see her in danger like this. She can’t take after us, I never want her to be in danger again."

Natasha squeezed Wanda's shoulder reassuringly. "We'll keep her safe, Wanda. We're a team, remember? And we'll make sure she knows the importance of staying out of harm's way."

Wanda finally met Natasha's gaze, and there was a softness in her eyes. "Thank you, Nat, for protecting her. I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to her."

Natasha smiled gently. "We're her family, Wanda. We'll always do whatever it takes to keep her safe." she noted as she enveloped Wanda in a comforting embrace. Sinking into the hug, Wanda clung to Nat as she buried her face into her neck and relaxed into the arms of her lover.

As they continued to watch over your recovery, the couple knew that they would need to work together to ensure a balance between protecting the child they loved and nurturing your independence and bravery.

Taglist: @mymommawanda@livslifeonline@reggierizzoli@mythixmagic@lesbicentism@marvelogic@katethewriter @inluvwithfictionalwomen @spooky-reader1 @marvelogic @kissforvoid @pono-pura-vida

#the package au #sokoviansimp fics #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff x you #anon ask #bry answers #wanda mcu #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff x child!reader #natasha romanoff x child!reader #child!reader #avengers compound #natasha romanoff mommy #ask bry #mommy wanda #mama wanda

185 notes · View notes

liightsout · 9 months ago

Text

the blue - part eight

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

✯ summary: the boys head off for the Bahrain GP ✯

✯ pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!oc ✯

✯ content warnings: none ✯

✯ now playing: halley's comet - billie eilish ✯

✯ series masterlist ✯

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

mattieryan just posted on their story

danielricciardo sent you a message

danielricciardo mattieeeeeee you're killng me here

danielricciardo pretty girl

Liked by adamjames22, danielricciardo and 64 others

mattieryan family

View all comments.

adamjames22 we've lived in the flat for 2 years and this might be the first time you've used the kitchen properly

↳ mattieryan gotta get my muffin fix somehow

↳ danielricciardo what's a boy gotta do to get one of those muffins

↳ mattieryan win a race 🤭

↳ danielricciardo on it boss 🫡

gia.ryan99 thanks for hanging out with me!!

↳ mattieryan any time angel 🫶

Liked by danielricciardo, adamjames22 and 123 others

mattieryan good luck to these two hooligans

tagged danielricciardo and landonorris

View all comments.

landonorris mattie 😳 you were sent these in confidence 😳 why u gotta do us dirty like this 😳

↳ mattieryan you both look cute!!

↳ landonorris yeah yeah sure 🤨 also adam has told me i'm supposed to say thank you 🙄 so thank you 🙄

danielricciardo thank you mattie 🤍

↳ mattieryan 🤍

adamjames22 what am i? chopped liver?

↳ mattieryan i literally just spent an hour on facetime with you, what more do you want from me? 😐 ur so NEEDY 😐

Liked by user1, user2 and 7432 others

f1paddockgossip New photo of Danny and Lando posted on Instagram earlier today ahead of the Bahrain GP. The photo was posted by the friend of one of the Mclaren mechanics Adam James. Not much is known about the friend, Mattie Ryan, all her social media profiles are on private. A source close to the Mclaren garage tells us that Ricciardo may have a close friendship with the mysterious Brit. Will post any updates when we get them!! xoxo

View all comments.

user1 greaaaaat, Danny's not even been at Mclaren for a week and this girls got her claws in lol

user2 such a cute photo of them!! was she with them? will she be at the race?

↳ user3 adam posted on his story that he had been on ft with her so i assume she's at home? they must have sent her the photo or it's not from this weekend

↳ user2 ohhhh ty for clarifying!

user4 does anyone know what her insta is?

↳ user1 it's mattieryan - but if you want to see more about her you're better off following adamjames22 his account isn't private and he posts about her a lot

↳ user2 stop searching for info on her, it's such an invasion of privacy! if her account is private then we should respect that!

Liked by adamjames22 and 64 others.

user5 surely if she's going to date either of them it'd be lando? he's more her age? danny's gotta be like 6/7 years older than her? bit gross if you ask me

↳ user2 no one asked

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

✯ authors note: hey angels! sorry for the delay in getting this posted, i've been super busy last couple days. saw the 1975 on wednesday and noah kahan yesterday so i'm suuuper tired.

i'm also in a state of despair cus danny ric broke down in my hometown yday and was at my local supermarket getting the car fixed and it's just a lil too close to home for me :( :(

hopefully gonna get part nine written tonight/tomorrow so shouldn't have to wait too long.

hope this quick lil social media chap is ok in the mean time! ✯

#daniel ricciardo #dr3 #danny ric #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #daniel ricciardo fanfic #f1 fanfic #dr3 imagine #formula 1 #daniel ricciardo fluff #f1 fic #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 smau #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fiction #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando norris smau

54 notes · View notes

random-thot-generator · 11 months ago

Text

Dirty Little Secret + pt. 3

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH x FEM READER

Summary: Johnny shows up out of the blue and gets to meet Aunt Rue. Cue the impromptu come-to-Jesus meeting.

Warnings/Tags: Angst - obviously, Profanity, Sex is mentioned but nothing explicit, Soap's POV, Rue's POV, Reader is taking a moment, Aunt Rue's a good mum, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Again, no smut. We're not there yet, folks. Wanted to get Johnny's side of the story out there, along with Aunt Rue's thoughts on the matter. Just a warning. Edited this to Kickstart My Heart on loop, so if there's a shit-ton of mistakes... my bad. 🤷‍♀️)

Word Count: 2K

Johnny felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when he heard your voice behind the counter, but when you suddenly popped into view, it almost brought him to his knees. The only thing that kept him from reaching for you was that horrible, devastated expression on your face. Tucking his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking, he took a hesitant step towards the counter, as if approaching a cornered, wild animal.

"I'm no' here t'cause ye grief, hen," he murmured, trying to make eye contact. "I jus' wanted t'see ya."

You blinked up at him, huffing a breath out of your open mouth. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," you confessed, sounding dazed. "How did you…?"

Johnny scratched the back of his neck, feeling like a bit of a creeper. "I, uh… I saw ye on the news. Some sort o' festival 'r somethin'."

"The May Day celebration," you mumbled, remembering the news cameraman panning his camera along the row of booths on the boardwalk. "Bloody hell. So… you saw me and just decided to stop by for a visit? After six months?"

Johnny's look turned sour. "It was no' like I knew where the hell ye'd gone off to, now was it? Ye jus' took off without sayin' a bloody word," he replied, his tone low and accusing.

You scoffed, your own expression growing dark. "And how could I have told you, Johnny? It's not like you ever bothered to give me your number, remember?" you fired back.

The bitterness in your tone cooled his anger instantly. "I…" He huffed out a breath, shoulders slumping. "Yer right. Tha's on me." His contrite expression returned. "It was jus' a shock, comin' back an' findin' ya gone, yer flat empty. I was no' expectin' it. Not after…" He blew out a breath, running his hand over his mohawk. "I dinnae ken wha' t'think."

You crossed your arms over your chest, lips trembling. "I'm surprised you thought of me at all. Why did you even go back to my flat? Things not work out with your other bird?"

"Other bird?" he repeated, scowling, looking utterly confused.

Before you could clarify, your aunt pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Whatever she was about to say died on her lips as her eyes darted between you and Johnny. "Everything alright, love?" she asked you.

"Everything's fine." You dragged your eyes away from him to address your aunt, your tone softening. "I'm sorry 'bout your tea. The box was empty, and then he showed up, and…" You sighed, closing your eyes, shoulders dropping in defeat. "I— I need to go back to the stockroom. Maybe there's another box of oolong back there."

Picking up on the obvious tension and your need to escape the young man, Aunt Rue patted your arm affectionately. "'Course, love. Go ahead. I'll see t'him."

You gave a slight nod, eyes slanting towards Johnny for only a second, but then your chin gave a wobble, and you rushed through the swinging door. He called after you, taking an unconscious step forward, hand reaching out, but you didn't stop. A pained expression crossed his face before he turned and paced a few steps away, raising both hands to rub over his head, holding them there as he blew out a frustrated breath.

Rue pursed her lips, studying him before her eyes cut back to the kitchen door. "So, I take it ya know one another," she drawled.

Johnny turned back around, dropping his arms to his sides. He looked like a whipped pup. "Yes, ma'am. We were… She was my…" A myriad of emotions played over his face before he sighed, remorse evident in his eyes. "Aye. We know each other."

Rue smirked, brows lifting. "I see." She turned to the hot water urns and grabbed a couple of to-go cups. "Tea or coffee, lad?"

Johnny blew out a frustrated sigh. "Dinnae bother, ma'am. I should prob'ly jus' go. Sorry t'have bothered—"

Rue snorted, amused. "Ya ain't gettin' off that easy, lad. Been dealin' with that heartbroken lass for six months. I've got questions, an' you're just the one to answer 'em. So. Tea or coffee?"

Johnny opened his mouth to refuse but didn't have it in him to argue. "Coffee, please. Black with sugar," he mumbled.

Rue hummed in acknowledgment, making them both a strong cup, forgetting about the oolong. She needed all cylinders firing for this one. As she worked, Red finally showed, cheerful as always. He gave Johnny a friendly nod, opening his mouth to greet Rue, but she cut him off.

"No time for chit-chat this mornin', Red," she told him, throwing a couple of rolls into a bag and handing them over. She reached beneath the counter and grabbed his favorite jam packets, then rounded the counter to hand them to him. "On the house, yeah?" she said, ignoring his shocked expression. "Off ya go, then. See ya tomorrow."

Red could do little more than nod as Rue herded him out the door, casting a flummoxed look back as she shut the door and locked it behind him. Reaching for the cups she left sitting on the counter, she handed one to Johnny.

"C'mon, lad. Let's go out back an' have ourselves a wee chinwag."

She led the way to the back exit, checking to be sure you were still inside before motioning him out the door. Walking over to a pair of metal folding chairs leaned against the wall, she grabbed one, nodding for Johnny to take the other, then sat down with a tired sigh. Once, they were both seated, she crossed her legs and looked him over with a critical eye.

"Alright, then. First things first, lad. I'm Rue, her aunt, and you are…"

"John, ma'am. John MacTavish, but ye can call me Johnny."

She nodded, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "Well, it's nice t'meet ya, Johnny." She took a quick sip of coffee and smacked her lips. "Now, let's get down t'brass tacks, shall we?" She sat back and crossed her arms over her lap. "I'm goin' to take a wild guess an' say you're the reason why my girl came runnin' home with her tail between her legs. Not seen her in that bad a shape since her da dumped her on my doorstep, so it must have been serious. How long were ya together?"

Taken aback, it took a moment for Johnny to answer. "I been seein' her fer almost two years, but we were no'… I mean, it wasnae…" He huffed a frustrated breath and scrubbed his hand over his 'hawk. "It's— It's complicated."

Rue rolled her eyes, making a scoffing noise. "Bloody hell, this generation, I swear…" She shook her head. "Just say ya were fuckin', lad. Jesus." She scoffed again. "Complicated, he says…" she muttered.

Johnny gaped at her, surprised by her blunt words. His brows furrowed, an embarrassed look on his reddening face. "It was no' jus' fuckin'," he muttered, sounding defensive. "I cared 'bout her— do care 'bout her."

"Uh-huh. So, what happened, then? What would send my girl runnin' back to the one place she worked so hard to escape, hm?"

His lips parted, but he didn't have an answer. Eyes darting back and forth, he searched for an explanation, a reason why you would just up and leave him without saying anything. He thought it might have been another bloke, but after that last night together, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. So, why? Why did you leave? He had been searching for that answer for the last six months. Finally, he settled for repeating your confusing words from earlier. "She said somethin' 'bout another bird," he said glumly. "Dunno wha' the hell she's talkin' 'bout."

Rue's brows ticked up. "Sure about that? You're a handsome lad. Doubt ya have trouble pullin' the birds."

"No!" he snapped. "I'd never che—." He cut himself off, gritting his teeth in frustration. "There was no other bird," he grumbled out.

His hand clenched into a fist, the other warping the to-go cup, some of the hot brew spilling over his knuckles. Cursing under his breath, he set it on the ground, slinging the hot liquid off his hand. He glared at the back of his hand, then huffed a tired breath, his expression softening. "I dinnae want anyone else. Jus' her." He shook his head, looking lost.

Rue studied him, her head tilting to the side. "She never mentioned you, ya know? Never once spoke your name. I knew she was hurtin'— obviously, but there was somethin' about the way she looked when I'd try to bring it up, like she was... ashamed. 'Course, we've all been fools for love, so I figured some bloke had filled her head with a bunch of pretty words, promisin' her the moon an' stars, then broke her heart, but…" Her eyes narrowed. "Explain to me what 'complicated' means."

A look akin to the shamed face you would always give her now came over his. He started picking at one of his cuticles, studying it with keen interest, his bottom lip jutting out a little.

"When we first started hookin' up, it wasnae a big deal. We'd run into each other at the pub an' end up back at her place." He shrugged but then paused, his eyes growing solemn. "But then, somethin' changed. I'd catch m'self thinkin' 'bout her, like all the bloody time, while I was deployed. Then I'd come home an' find m'self goin' back t'tha' same damn pub, hopin' t'see her, gettin' pissed when she was no' there." He sighed, shook his head. "I finally gave up pretendin' it was jus' a hook up, an' started goin' over t'her place when I was on leave."

"So, you're a soldier, then," Rue said softly.

A grim look pulled the corners of his mouth down. "Aye. A sergeant in the Army. Special forces." He frowned, an inner struggle going on inside his head. "I ken 's no' the best job t'have, no' when ya got a lass waitin' fer ya at home. 'S hard t'make it work, bein' gone so much. Most birds canna hack it, end up callin' it quits. Figured I'd come home one day an' she'd be shacked up wi' some other bloke. Thought that might'a been wha' happened, but... I had t'see fer m'self." A sad expression made his eyes look luminous in the morning sun. "Tol' m'self I should leave her be, let 'er go, but I canna do it."

He sighed, leaned back in his chair and scrubbed at the scruff on his cheek. "I never tol' her how I felt, dinnae think it was fair puttin' tha' on her. Tried no' t'crowd her, dinnae hang about her place, makin' a nuisance o' m'self. Thought I was protectin' her, but it was jus' as much fer me, I guess. Dinnae help."

Rue's heart went out to the poor lad, despite how bloody stupid he was. "Could ya not tell that she loved ya, lad?"

Johnny's brows shot up, his mouth falling open. "She… She loves me?"

Rue sniffed a laugh. "Bloody hell, you really are an eejit, aren't ya?" She shook her head, amazed at how clueless he was. "'Course she loves ya, ya daft numpty." Her eyes grew shrewd as she watched him process the revelation, saw the hope bloom in his eyes.

"So, tell me, Johnny boy. What are ya willin' to do to get her back?"

part 2 part 4

#john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x fem reader #cod soap x reader #cod soap x fem reader #cod soap #cod soap mactavish

70 notes · View notes

sarcasticassian · 2 years ago

Text

over the past couple of years Steve Harrington has learned that the unexpected can actually happen quite a lot but that doesn’t mean he was necessarily prepared when, on a random Sunday morning in February 1986, Chrissy Cunningham comes bursting through the door of Family Video, marches over to the counter Steve is stood behind, slams her delicate hands down rather ferociously and asks Steve ‘how did you stop caring? like about what everyone thought of you and about being popular and fitting in?’, ‘back in your senior year’ she clarifies when Steve just blinks at her for a moment

Steve carries on just staring at her whilst he tries to put together an answer, he can’t exactly say because I found out monsters were real or I actually do still kind of care what people think or I actually got some good friends for a change

he must take a moment too long to answer because Chrissy starts talking again, ‘I just think that actually my boyfriend is probably an asshole and I think I’m only going out with him because everyone told me I should’ (and oh Steve can relate to that one) ‘and I like the cheer squad just fine but I don’t think we ever actually talk about real things and I’m worried it’s all too much and I was thinking about it last night and I really don’t care about being popular if it means being unhappy like this and then I saw you and your girlfriend in here last night and you looked so happy, you never looked like that at school and I want to be happy and I think it means I have to stop caring so much about what everyone else says, like when Nancy and you broke up and everyone was saying those nasty things about you both’ (and okay ouch Steve hadn’t known about that) ‘and you just carried on and you were friends with her and Jonathan and its like it didn’t matter’

Steve ends up saying something about having a wake up call and that it’s not actually that easy to just stop caring but once you realise there’s other stuff out there maybe it’s not so hard after all, he tells her that if she doesn’t really like Jason all that much she should definitely break up with him because it’s fairer to everyone, he notices she flinches slightly at that (is she scared of Jason?), Chrissy mumbles something about not always being able to get away from the problem and Steve sort of gets it because it’s like kids with parental issues can just understand each other so he nods along, tells her she can always come around to Family Video if things are hard and Chrissy nods, thanks him then rushes home so her parents don’t notice she wasn’t actually sick and she was just ditching church for the hell of it

two days later Robin is bounding into the store after school and unloading all the gossip of the day onto Steve ‘and you’ll never guess what, Chrissy Cunningham DUMPED Jason, like right there in the cafeteria, it was brutal but he was such a dick, Eddie Munson told him to back off though and I thought Jason was going to punch him!’, Steve nods along and smiles slightly, proud of this girl he barely knows for doing what was best for her and begrudgingly noting that Eddie Munson might be kinda decent

Chrissy manages to pull herself back from the edge enough that come March Spring Break Vecna discounts her and goes after someone else but now that she’s friendly with Steve she happens to be at Family Video when Max and Dustin come bursting in and she’s also friendly with Eddie so when it seems as though he’s caught up in some dangerous stuff she tags along to help out, she didn’t expect to be walking through an alternate dimension with Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley, whilst Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington have a weird, half flirting conversation behind her and she didn’t expect her heartbeat to jump like it does when Robin smiles at her and holds her hand when they both need a little comfort

it’s hellish but Chrissy comes out of it all in one piece and bonded for life to a group of weirdos and she realises just what sort of wake up call Steve had all those years ago but weirdly maybe some of it was for the best because despite being fallen royalty they’re both happier with themselves than they’ve ever been

#Chrissy thinks that last thought curled up in Robin's lap #Eddie and Steve pressed up against each other sat across from the #let Chrissy and Steve bond #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #buckingham my beloved #robin/chrissy #steddie #stranger things #stranger things 4 #comphet Chrissy who is actually a lesbian my beloved #at some point Steve told her Robin was not his girlfriend

657 notes · View notes

prawndip · 2 years ago

Text

Acting Grand…?

CHARACTERS: Alhaitham, Jean x gn!reader

TAGS: fluff, written before the release of 3.4 but didn't finish until afterwards, sumeru spoilers in general maybe

SYNOPSIS: being acting grand-somethings is tough work.

WORD COUNT: 1 123

NOTES: saw that alhaitham had become the acting grand sage in the trailer and knew this had to be written. also trying a new format with this one. also I'm so sorry jean's is so short in comparison to alhaitham's every time I went to write for her my brain was empty. also *cries* lost the 50/50 on alhaitham's banner. still draggin him home anyways

ALHAITHAM:

honestly you had expected that alhaitham would turn down the position of sage. you had also expected his work to increase tenfold as he waits for new sages to take office.

what you didn't expect was the way that alhaitham seemed to handle everything with such efficiency. where most people might have crumbled under all that responsibility, alhaitham appeared to be taking it all in stride. not that it was a bad thing. you were kind of impressed, actually

thing was, this mean he spent a lot, and I mean a lot of time in his office in the akademiya, and as his lovely partner, you make it your duty to "distract" him at least twice a day.

The smell of freshly cooked food makes its way through the Akademiya hallways. Students who follow their nose finds it leads them to you, happily strolling through the Akademiya to the office of the scribe, where your boyfriend has been cooped up in there all day doing a copious amount of paperwork. You’re surprised he still has time for anything else.

You approach the door to his office, knocking on it thre times, waiting for him to say something before opening the door. Faintly, you hear a ghostly, quiet “Come in.” from the other side. You frown, opening the door with a bit of concern.There he was, sitting in his office chair, with stacks of paper all over his desk, more than you remember seeing last time you were over. He seriously looked like a ghost in his seat. He looked fine this morning, what could have possibly drained him of all his energy in such a short time? He looks up to see you and a little bit of colour returns to his face.

“So, how is Grand Sage Alhaitham doing on this fine afternoon?” you joked, and he groans as he rests his head in his arms. “What, did they give you more things to do?”

“For the last time, I am Acting Grand Sage.” he clarifies, despite knowing you’re joking. “And they did. I have to review all the possible candidates for the new Sages.”

He sounds tired. He knows he sounds tired. He's been at this all day, all week even. You continue to frown a little despite your lighthearted attitude, pulling up a chair to sit next to him. You get a chance to look at what he was writing before you walked in, where although he had been at this for hours on end, his handwriting was still as neat as always. Still, you could sense that he was in need of a break, and you gently move the papers over to the edge of the large desk to place the food you bought on it.

He sniffs the food, a soft yet weary smile spreads over his face, the kind of smile only you are lucky enough to see on most days. "Curry shrimp?"

"Mhm! Just got it made fresh too!" you open the box up carefully, the scent of the freshly made food wafting throughout the office.

"Just in time. Here I thought I'd die of starvation otherwise." he said jokingly, despite the fact you had dropped by only a few hours, and he had only left his seat once since then, to drop off some papers. “Thank you though, I was wondering when you’d stop by.”

It was anything but silent between the two of you as you ate, simply taking the time to enjoy each other’s presense while things were slowing down. The papers were briefly forgotten about as you chatted about your day with him, and though he was most certainly listening, all that was on Alhaitham’s mind was how wonderful it was to be with you.

“Is something wrong?” you stop your rant about that annoying merchant you saw on the way where when you noticed a look on Alhaitham’s face was he tired? Bored of you? Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, much to your surprise.

“Nothing. I just miss you, is all.”

JEAN

despite your best efforts to try and get her to do things otherwise, jean is incredibly stubborn, and takes on way more things than she can handle

of course, she does spend her off days with you, but on the days where there's lots to do and not enough time to do them, jean still manages to do all of it - at the cost of her sanity.

although you stop by multiple times a day to visit her, it's not uncommon for you to find her asleep in her office at the end of the day.

The sun had long since fallen behind the horizon as you entered the Knights of Favonius Headquarters. You had hoped Jean would be done by now, but it was one of those days where there was just so much she needed to get done, and you had just figured it was taking longer then usual. Still, you decided to check up on her.

You gently knock on the door to her office, quietly calling out her name. No answer. Frowning with concern, you open the door, and your expression softens at the way that the acting grandmaster had put her head in her hands, and you can slightly hear the sounds of her snoring softly. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for he to fall asleep on days like this, though you see that almost all her work seemed to be done.

"Jean?" you gently tapped her on the shoulder, your voice barely a whisper. "Jean it's me. Let's go home now."

She rises from her slumber, shaking away any drowsiness you may have had. "Y/N... how long have I been asleep for? what time is it? did I leave anything unfinished? Did I-"

"That doesn't matter," You begin to organize Jean's papers into a neat stack, setting them to the side, and you don't dare let her touch a pen to get back to work. "It's late now, and you need to get some proper rest for tomorrow, ok?"

Reluctantly, Jean agrees, taking your hand as she gets out of her chair, though she takes one last glance at her work before leaving her office altogether, shutting off the light.

As the two of you leave the Favonius Headquarters together, you can feel the way that Jean's head lull's to the side, resting it on your shoulder. She mumbles something that you can't quite understand, and you assume it to be about her work.

Truth be told, Jean was mumbling about how much she loved you. No matter how busy her days would become, the last couple hours of the day with you were already the best part.

#shrimp genshin writing #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin drabbles #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #jean #jean x reader #jean genshin impact #alhaitham genshin impact

330 notes · View notes

fanficsforheartandsoul · 1 year ago

Text

Maniac | König x M!Reader | Part II

Note: Just to clarify, my boii isn’t wearing his helmet in this story, just his good ol’ rag of a shirt on his mighty head. One of my most popular incorrect call of duty quotes makes an appearance here lmao.

Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022)

Warnings: Swearing, Fighting, Knives, Mentions of Homophobia, Unrealistic depiction of KorTac, the Military in general and uhh hand to hand combat?, Injuries, Angst, Slight NSFW, Slight OOC, Reader got a blood kink oopsie, König as well?? Unrealistic portrayal of lots of things

Summary: König’s relationship with KorTac’s local psychopath is something he himself doesn’t really understand. But when an incident happens and a picture of the two is circling around the army base they’re currently staying at, they finally address what is going on between them...

Word Count: 5,18k

Taglist: -

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name! Or comment on the fic :)

Masterlist

Part I

He doesn’t see Atom for a few days.

Which is strange, considering that he saw him from afar almost every day in the past but now he’s nowhere to be seen. He can’t feel his presence at all and the attacks aren’t coming. It’s a different kind of unsettling.

Instead, he can sense that something is off with the base in general. After walking out of PT with Horangi and Klaus, they pass a few marines who look at him and then start to whisper.

The other two operators don’t notice it but König does immediately, the anxiety of years of harassment in his youth stirring awake.

At first, it’s subtle. But then after two days, it becomes obvious that the marines are really talking about him, and even his friends realize.

“What the hell’s going on?” Zeus asks eventually when they’re all sitting in the mess hall, eating some sad excuse of what they call fried chicken. He points at König with his fork while chewing.

“They’re talking about you, right? Why?”

The Austrian shrugs his shoulders. “No clue.”

He really doesn’t know. He hasn’t done anything embarrassing and the others haven’t pranked him in a while so there shouldn’t be anything to talk about. Unless...

The image of Y/N licking his own blood with a smirk on his lips comes to mind and he closes his eyes to get that memory out of his head.

Not that he succeeds this time either. In the last few days his brain has run itself stupid with replaying it.

It’s absurd and he kind of questions his sanity but there’s this part in his head that finds the blood-licking extremely hot.

Maybe he got hit a bit too much or Y/N threw him on the ground too often. Or his madness rubbed off. He laughs to himself, forgetting that the lower half of his face is currently uncovered so that he can eat.

“What?” Stiletto asks.

“What what?” He tilts his head in confusion.

“Why’re you laughing?”

He shrugs his shoulder.

“You hang out too often with Atom”, Calisto says, leaning back as she stirs her tea. “He’s rubbing off on you.”

He halts and stares at her. Can she hear his thoughts??

He’s about to open his mouth when Horangi interrupts: “I haven’t seen him around for a while. You two finally buried the hatchet?”

König shakes his head, shoving a bite into his mouth to avoid talking about it. But the others all look at him with expectation, there’s something in their expressions that makes him feel slightly anxious.

“Yeah, what’s your boyfriend up to?” Conor asks, slightly smiling, clearly trying to vex him.

“Oh fuck off”, he mutters with a full mouth, ignoring the eruption of snickers from his friends. His glad that most of his face is still covered, he can feel how his cheeks begin to heat up and he’s sure that his complexion would show it off.

He wonders though. Where’s Y/N?

The question gets answered when they’re on the way to their barracks.

Horangi suddenly pulls König aside after staring at his phone for a bit.

“Dude”, he begins, sounding unsure of how to breach the topic of whatever he wants to talk about, “I think I get why they’re talking about you.”

The tone of the Korean opens a pit in König’s stomach and instead of explaining more, Horangi just gives him his phone, standing awkwardly to the side, while he looks at the screen.

It’s a picture.

The angle tells him it was taken from outside the barracks, the photographer must’ve stood really close to the doorway. Y/N blocks off König’s head but even then it’s obvious that they’re kissing, based on the posture of their bodies.

He stares at the picture, trying to coordinate his racing thoughts.

Who took it? He asks himself barely putting the first few moments after parting lips with Atom together. But then he remembers, there was a marine.

He looks at Horangi, who watches him closely, his sunglasses on his head for once.

König doesn’t know what he should say, if he should explain, how his friend was even thinking about gay people- or in his case bisexual people- but he doesn’t even get the opportunity to open his mouth, because a sudden shout can be heard coming from the left corridor that leads to the gym.

“What the hell, Jackson- grab him!”

The group of KorTac operators all turn their heads, the shout clearly setting off some alarm bells. With various levels of interest, they make their way toward the gym, trying to find out what is going on.

König follows in a slight daze, still holding onto Horangi’s phone.

When they arrive, they can’t see shit at first because the room entrance is blocked by several marines standing in the doorway. Shouts and grunts can be heard from inside.

Someone yelps: "Fuck man, it was just a joke- stop it-!"

König’s eyes go wide when he hears Atom's voice- his tone is furious: "Let me show you what I understand as a joke, you motherfucker!"

There’s shuffling and several people shout: "Get him off!" "Fuck, how strong is this bastard!" “Calm down, sergeant!"

Due to König’s size he can look over most of the marines who are blocking the doorway and he spots the cause of the spectators; Y/N is on top of a marine, holding him in some type of gi choke, while four others try to pull him off the guy.

König recognizes the marine’s face immediately, even when he’s all bloody. It’s the man from the hallway and he understands what’s going on.

He tries to push through the crowd, calling out the sergeant’s name.

“Atom, calm down!”

He manages to make it through and rushes to them.

“Atom, let him go. You’re going to kill him”, he says and to everyone’s surprise, Y/N stops struggling as soon as he hears the Austrian’s voice. They pull him off of the guy.

“König”, he mutters and it sounds almost... relieved?

E/c meets blue. His eyes wander to the white band-aid on Atom’s neck. He gulps.

“Whatever he said, it’s not worth it. Just calm down, he’s an idiot.”

The marine with the bloody nose and face grunts, obviously not liking the insult but he knows better than retorting especially because Atom’s still in close proximity, turning to look down at him with a death stare.

The sergeant seems to contemplate König’s words for a bit. The tension and fury in his body haven’t left yet, he can tell based on the way he clenches his fists.

“That bastard-” Atom begins in a low voice, when suddenly their team leader’s voice comes from the hallway: “What the fuck is going on here?!”

König looks back, his eyes meet Stiletto’s who gives him a thumbs up and he nods.

The murmurs of the people around them stop immediately.

Majka parts the spectating crowd like Moses and he looks at the men in front of him, scrutinizing Atom and then the marine on the ground who’s holding his bleeding nose. He glances at König.

“Atom.” His voice is stern. “Go to my office and wait for me there, right now.”

The sergeant looks at him, his expression grim. “Sir-”

“RIGHT NOW!” Majka isn’t taking any of his bullshit today, he’s dead serious.

Atom looks at König for a moment and then turns and walks out of the room, his head high as he passes the onlookers.

The RS team leader turns around to face the gawking marines.

“Do you have nothing to do?” he growls. They mutter something and he just looks at the door. “Fuck off!”

The KorTac operators watch as they begin to filter out of the gym, the four marines who tried to pull Atom off of their guy also begin to move, one of them helps the bloodied man up but Majka points at him.

“Major Briggs wants to see your ass.”

The marine’s eyes go wide. He stammers a “Yes, sir!” and then hurries out of the room.

When the only people in the room are from KorTac, Majka sighs deeply and wipes his forehead. He looks at König.

“I don’t give a shit about your or anyone else’s sexual preferences. You like what you like, I don’t care but I’m telling you if anyone gives you shit-” the team leader looks at all of them, “tell me or Ridgeback. We’ll handle it. And if any of you have some dumbass opinions about someone’s sexuality, I’ll make sure to beat your ass straight, understood?”

König feels relief wash over him even after being put in the spotlight.

“Yessir!” they all shout and Hutch whistles loudly. “Awe, you care about us!”

Majka clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Yes, I do.”

They laugh and Conor shouts from the back: “Even about the lunatic?”

Their team leader rolls his eyes. “Even him. And now buzz off.”

He makes a shoo-shoo gesture and they file out into the hallway, König following behind the Serbian and Stiletto.

Zeus and Aksel joke around with Majka but he just flips them off and then leaves in the direction of his office. The others slowly make their way to the barracks, talking about what had just occurred.

The Austrian lingers behind the group, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the whole development of the last 15 minutes. Horangi seems to have realized that as he slows down to walk beside him.

“You okay?” he asks him. König shrugs his shoulders helplessly. “The marine- he took the photo.”

His friend nods. “Yeah, I guessed that...” He remains quiet for a while.

“So... Are you guys together then? Did you tame Atom without telling us?” The Korean shows a teasing smile towards the end.

König sighs deeply, the anxious knot in his stomach grows. “No. He just kissed me out of nowhere. He completely surprised me.”

Horangi tilts his head, eyeing him closely, trying to figure out how far he can prod. “So you’re not...?” he trails off.

Ah, fuck it.

“No, I am bi”, he states roughly, louder than he intended. The two KorTac operators in front of them turn around. “What does that mean?” Zero asks.

“He goes for both ladies and gents”, Klaus explains.

Zero nods thoughtfully. “I see. No mercy for anyone, makes sense.”

König looks at Horangi and they exchange eye contact.

His friend bursts out laughing, making more heads turn in their group.

“What?” Zero asks and Klaus just shakes his head, patting his shoulder. König can’t stop himself from smiling either, Zero’s answer was just perfect.

The anxiety in his chest slowly starts to disappear. Yeah, fuck it.

It isn’t his first coming out and he has good friends in KorTac. Worst case scenario, he’ll use the knife skills he has perfected over the last few months with Atom’s training to silence someone. His smile drops.

Atom.

Will he get a disciplinary meeting for beating up the marine?

König knows the sergeant has been warned several times about his behaviour. But Majka’s words from before... He knows that Y/N didn’t just beat the guy for no reason. Will they take that into account?

He doesn’t know and now the anxiety is back.

They reach the barracks and the women split with a “See you later, losers!” from them. König contemplates whether he should follow the others or go to Majka’s office to intercept Atom.

To be honest, he doesn’t really want to do the latter. He hasn’t talked to the sergeant in days and although he had a lot of time, he still hasn’t found the words he could say to him.

He knows they should address whatever that kiss meant but...

He just doesn’t know. Whether Y/N is serious or just toying with him. If he is, König doesn’t know if he would be able to deal with that truth. He feels someone’s eyes on him and he turns to his side, where Horangi is watching him.

“Are you going to talk with Atom about what just happened?” he asks, keeping his voice low this time. But he doesn’t have to worry because the others are walking off, disappearing around the corner.

König bites his lips. “I don’t know... Should I?”

Horangi looks at him baffled. “Why not?” he asks almost incredulously.

“We don’t usually talk”, he mutters fidgeting with the seam of his mask. His friend’s eyebrows almost disappear in his hairline. “So you do what...? Just fight all the time without a peep?”

He clicks his tongue. “No, I mean we just don’t... talk about anything serious. We don’t even do small talk. I have no clue what he’s doing in his off time, where he goes, what he likes to do. He just doesn’t seem like the guy for it.”

Horangi hums, understanding what he’s getting at. “You think it’ll be awkward?”

He nods. Yeah, that’s exactly it. He just can’t picture the conversation in his head.

‘Hey, so why did you kiss me out of the blue? Were you attracted to me all this time or was that just a stupid joke to throw me off my game? Because if so I’m probably going to go dig a hole outside at the obstacle course and kill myself in it. And why did you beat that guy up? Is it because he caught your joke and you’re a raging homophobe or because you wanted to protect your or my reputation?’ Ja, eher nicht.

He doesn’t know how Atom would react. Yes, he did get to know the sergeant better in the last few months, he got to know some of his personality and his quirks. But they’re mostly related to fighting.

König can discern when Y/N is in a good or a bad mood in their training fights.

If he’s in high spirits, the significant grin on his face is almost up to his ears and there’s a glint in his e/c eyes, his eyebrows raised. He trash talks more than usual and almost playfully strikes at him, a skip in his movements and sometimes it’s almost like he’s dancing.

The killing intent in his attacks is there but it’s more like he’s a cat playing with a mouse before biting it dead.

Unlike when he’s in a bad mood. Then there’s no amusement in his eyes, even though he keeps grinning. But the smirk combined with the furrowed line of his eyebrows is unsettling.

Y/N’s posture is usually an indication that he’s pissed. If he is, there’s a certain way he holds himself, the center of his balance low, shoulders tight.

His attacks are ruthless and precise and it always leaves König wondering if this is the time when he finally gets stabbed or cut. Those fights prove to him that there’s some truth behind Atom’s nut job reputation.

More than a few times he has witnessed the other’s temper when Y/N abruptly decides to end their fighting with a quick feint.

“It’s getting fucking boring.” And the next thing he knows a fist is smashing into the mat or wall right next to his head.

But usually, Atom feels better after sparring for a while, as seen by his walking away while whistling, even if he was pissed at the beginning of the fight. As he said, the sergeant seems to release his pent-up stress when they exchange blows.

So yeah... König can read Atom’s mood to a certain extent but there’s not much he knows about his personality besides that. In general, he doesn’t really know the man.

He’s aware of Atom’s exceptional combat skills, whether with a knife or a rifle and on ops he can count on him to carry on even through hell but more than that...

Not in a billion years did he think that he could potentially be attracted to him or other men in general. Okay, he was even questioning women, based on the lack of a reaction when they visited a strip club once on Hutch’s birthday.

But that’s beside the point. He just... König got to know Y/N’s fists throughout the last few months but other than that the man, his thoughts and feelings, they’re all an enigma.

Horangi stares at the pondering Austrian who looks hesitant and he could practically feel the anxiety radiate off of him.

But the Korean knows. He knows something König hasn’t realized yet and basically every one of the others knows as well, after all, they met Atom way earlier than he did.

“I think you should go have a heart-to-heart talk with Atom.”

The tall giant stares down at him.

“Yeah?”

He rolls his eyes and slaps his shoulders.

“I’m telling you there’s this raging sexual tension since you two met and I and the others are so fucking tired of dealing with it so yeah, please go talk about it, for fuck’s sake.”

König pulls a face not believing a word he just said but Horangi can’t see it.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go. Wish me luck.”

He begins to walk and he looks back at his friend. The other operator just shows him the middle finger. “Go get your boy!”

“Fick dich!” he replies over his shoulder waving him off.

“Mi-chin saeggi!”

The curses of his friend in his ears, König breathes in deeply and makes his way slowly to Majka’s office. He waits in front of the door for a while unsure whether Atom is still in there with his team leader.

Two minutes pass. Then five. Then ten.

He’s about to finally get a grip and knock when the door swings open and he stands tall, hoping to see Ato- and it’s Ridgeback.

“Jesus! König what the hell are you doing standing so close in front of the door?!” she yells surprised and he apologizes immediately, backing up from the doorframe. “Sorry! I wanted to uh- is Atom still in there?”

She looks him up and down, and an understanding expression grows on her face.

“No, Majka dismissed him already. He should be in the infirmary, he’s supposed to apologize to Mr. fuckface.”

König tilts his head, not quite sure if she’s meaning what he thinks she means. “The marine he beat up”, she clarifies.

“Ah, yeah. That makes sense...” he says a bit flustered. She’s about to leave when she halts and looks up at him, her eyes soft now.

“König, what that guy did? Taking pictures and spreading them around, making hateful comments? I’m not saying that Atom’s reaction was right but I can understand him. If someone did this to my wife... Majka and I are in agreement. And the higher-ups are too. We have a zero-tolerance policy for shit like that and if it happens again, come to us. We’ll handle it. Gladly.”

She smiles dangerously at the end and he nods slowly, a bit taken aback that she just casually dropped her marriage status.

“I’ll see you later, König.”

“Thank you, Ridgeback”, he says after her and she waves as she walks off.

5 minutes later he finally comes across Atom. Not in the infirmary though.

He wanted to take a quick trip to the toilet before the slightly nerve-wracking conversation when he walks into the bathroom and spots the sergeant with his back to him.

He freezes when he sees him and for a few seconds they’re quiet, the only sound is the closing door behind him.

He takes a deep breath and finally speaks:

“Atom...? Can we talk? About the uh- the photo and... that fight just now?”

Y/N is standing at the sink, cleaning up the blood on his knuckles with a towel. He turns to glance at the Austrian. "König", he acknowledges his presence before continuing to swipe at the back of his hands.

His demeanor is unlike his usual self. His posture is slightly hunched over, not standing tall as usual. The usual confidence - Conor calls it arrogance - was nowhere to be seen.

König looks at him, suddenly unsure if it really was a good idea to follow Horangi’s words.

At this moment, he’s not sure whether Atom’s agitated because he can’t see his face. But the tension in his body is telling him yes.

“That fight wasn’t just about the photo, right?”, he asks slowly, watching the sergeant with eagle eyes.

Y/N halts, stopping his mindless wiping of the blood. "Oh? Do I sense some brain cells from you König?", he jokes half-heartedly still standing with his back towards him.

König bites his lip, not liking the tone of the other’s words.

He’s already anxious as is and he feels like the Atom he’s facing right now is unknown territory. He almost feels like they’re back to zero like after their first fight when König believed he was a fucking psychopath. The operator standing at the sink feels like a stranger.

He hides his hands in his pockets, clenching and unclenching them into fists in an attempt to relax.

He waits for the h/c haired man to talk but Y/N doesn’t.

He takes a deep breath and asks quietly: “Why did you kiss me?”

The Austrian looks at the other man, he sees his back muscles tense and Atom puts down both hands on the edge of the sink, looking down. König waits with bated breath for an answer. Instead, he gets a question back.

“Did it disgust you?”

Y/N almost spats the words, they’re dripping with hostility and subconsciously, König clutches the hilt of his switch knife.

“No”, he says carefully but it seems like the sergeant misunderstands his tone and he growls: “Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not lying!” he responds earnestly. Atom looks him in the eyes, then he stares at his hips, realizing something.

“You brought your knife?”, he asks in a low tone, his voice on edge.

König can feel the atmosphere in the room shift immediately and based on the furrow of Y/N’s eyebrows it’s not good.

“I always have it with me”, he explains, “just in case.” You taught me that he thinks. “Just in case, huh... Take it out.”

He looks at him baffled.

“No, why-” Y/N takes a step in his direction, his hand on the sheathe of his Atom Splitter at his leg. “Take it out, König.”

Fuck, he thinks. This isn’t how he expected the conversation to go. Fuck Horangi, man, fuck him.

He does as he’s told, activating the blade and Atom unsheathes his knife, twirling it in that familiar fashion while his significant grin forms on his lips. A shiver runs down König’s spine.

“Can we not do this right now?”, he pleads, holding the knife at his side, clearly not wanting to fight the sergeant. But Atom doesn’t care. He never seemed to care before either. He just attacks. Relentlessly.

By the first blow, König realizes that the other man is deadly serious about it this time. His mask gets cut, and the blade barely misses his cheek. The knot in his stomach coils.

If he’s not careful, he’s going to die. He can see the bloodlust in the e/c eyes.

König pushes Y/N’s blade away with his own. He put a lot of force behind it but the sergeant is unfazed, he attacks from a new angle, stabbing at König’s torso.

He blocks the knife but Atom gets a hit in, punching his jaw.

The bathroom is filled with pained grunts and the sound of punches but all König can hear is his messy heartbeat as adrenaline is pumped through his veins.

What ticked him off? I didn’t want this. That thought spirals in his head. I don’t want this.

Atom kicks his knee, making him falter.

Next thing he knows, he’s kneeling and Y/N’s knife is pressed against his throat. Even through the fabric of his mask, he can feel the coldness on his skin. They both pant. König looks up at the sergeant, his face is blank, the smirk gone.

Atom grabs his hair through the fabric at the back of his head, pulling it back harshly. He gasps alarmed, dropping his knife, and he searches the e/c eyes. They stare down at him, pupils blown wide.

“Y/N”, he whispers. The man begins to smile ominously. “You make my blood boil, König.”

His face changes when he hears those words.

The nervousness of having that knife to his throat when Atom’s eyes look dead like this is still fluttering in his chest. But there’s also something else. A knot forms in his lower stomach and his eyes land on the white band-aid on the sergeant’s throat.

Y/N continues: “Only you get me this excited... Makes me wanna fight all day long. What am I supposed to do?” He tilts his head.

König gulps and watches with eagle eyes how the h/c haired man uses his blade to lift the seam of his mask and flip it over his head, exposing his scarred face. A burst of anxiety and self-consciousness rushes through his veins as those e/c eyes study his appearance. A glint appears in them.

“Do you like our fights?” Atom asks, his voice slightly hoarse as he presses the blade to König’s cheek, tracing one of the pale scars with it.

The tone of his voice is light but he can feel the significance of that question, he sees the expectant look in Y/N’s eyes.

He nods. “Yeah”, he mutters slowly, staring up at him, “I do.”

Atom’s brows lift and his smile widens, showing the white of his teeth and his gums. “Really?”, he prods. He nods again.

He can see Y/N debate something, emotions flit across his face that he hasn’t ever seen before on him and the knot of anxiety in his chest unfurls, making space for something else. Hope, anticipation.

“Atom...” he begins and Y/N takes this as his cue to kiss König without hesitation. It takes him by surprise again but this time he’s prepared to breathe through his nose and he actually responds to the kiss.

Atom’s grip on his hair is tight and he holds his head in place as he practically devours König. The intensity makes him gasp and Y/N uses it to push his tongue into his mouth, exploring every inch mercilessly without allowing any pushback.

The sergeant kisses like he fights. Aggressively and intensely. He loves it. If he were touched carefully at this very moment, he would probably dislike it. After all, the ferocity is what he always enjoys about their fights.

König allows his eyes to close, leaning into the sensation, slowly getting lost, when he feels a sharp pain and tastes iron in his mouth. Atom fucking bit his tongue!

He grunts in protest but the other man doesn’t care at all. They part, their breaths mingling and Y/N groans: “You taste so fucking good, König.”

He looks up at him, seeing the intense desire burning in the e/c eyes and certainty washes over him.

He pushes himself off the ground, forcing the sergeant to let go of his hair. He towers over him and for a second they just stare at each other before König moves, his hands pushing Y/N back until he collides with the bathroom wall.

He dips his head and their lips connect again, the taste of iron intermingling. He can hear the clatter of Atom’s knife on the ground before two hands touch him, igniting a fire wherever they roam his skin.

Y/N tugs and prods at his clothes, pulling his shirt out of his pants to stick his hands underneath, and in the next second König can feel fingernails dig into his back. He growls and the sergeant smiles into their kiss. “’re always so aggressive-” König complains breathlessly.

Atom snorts. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.” His lips trail down his neck, biting and sucking and König presses his thigh between Y/N’s legs in response, getting a low groan out of the other man.

It sends a spark through his body and his mouth twitches as Atom grinds against his thigh. “Y/N-” he warns but he gets interrupted when the flush of a toilet can be heard.

Atom stops moving, his hand halting mid-air, only inches away from König’s belt buckle. “It’s the women’s bathroom”, he says, trying to calm the Austrian down before touching his belt. But it sobers König up a bit and he leans back, stopping his hands.

“We should probably stop here. It would be a bit awkward if someone walks in.”

Y/N clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Let them watch.”

He smirks and they look at each other. König’s hair is absolutely dishevelled, his face red from their make-out session. Atom doesn’t look any better, his eyes still hold the glimmering desire.

He breathes out slowly and begins to smile.

“We should continue elsewhere.” He licks his lips, the bloody taste still in his mouth but unlike before this day he likes it.

Atom follows his tongue’s movement with eagle eyes. “Yeah, we definitely should.” He pauses for a second, disappointment evident on his face.

“I can’t right now though.” He sounds grumpy.

König tilts his head, confused, staring down at him. “Why?”

“I have to clean the bathrooms as punishment.”

He blinks and follows Y/N’s eyes toward the mop in the corner.

“Will you help me?” The sergeant bats his eyelashes like the women who try to flirt with König at the local bars. He laughs, walking backward, putting his hands up.

“I just remembered I have something to do.”

E/c eyes darken. “Come on! Be good and help your boyfriend!”

His heart leaps. “Oh, so we’re boyfriends now? I don’t remember saying yes to this agreement.��

Y/N glowers at him, picking up his knife from the ground.

“It was a joke!” he protests but the man strides up to him, pointing the blade at his throat. At this point, it’s getting old.

“Say it.”

He snorts. Atom stares up at him, his dead expression suddenly looking less intimidating and more so somewhat adorable. He tilts his head, provocatively.

“What?”

“You know what.”

König grins and grabs Y/N’s hand holding the knife.

“I’ll let you be my boyfriend.”

Atom only raises an eyebrow and he guides the sergeant’s hand and knife away from his throat before dipping down again and stealing a kiss from his lips. A soft one this time. One that makes König’s heart swell and flutter from happiness.

Y/N closes his eyes, enjoying the moment and they stay closed even after they part. König coughs, smirking.

“Anyways, I can’t help you with the cleaning sorry.”

Atom opens his eyes wide and a breathy indignant laugh escapes him as he watches the Austrian turn around and leave the bathroom whistling, mirroring the many times Y/N did it to him. Payback’s a bitch, he thinks.

“You forgot your knife! König! Come back!” Atom shouts his tone almost pleading but König is already out the door and he laughs and yells over his shoulder:

“You can bring it to me tonight, mein Schatz!”

___

Translations (freely mostly)

Ja, eher nicht - German: “Yes, better not”

Fick dich - German: “Fuck you”

mi-chin saeggi 미친새끼 - Korean: “Crazy son of a bitch”

mein Schatz - German: “my dear, my love” lit. “my treasure”

167 notes · View notes

implausiblyjosh · 1 year ago

Text

I made a post a couple days ago about the Quinton Reviews situation. I'm deleting that post.

In that post, I expressed my emotional response and thought process as to why I saw vague posting from Lady Emily and Sarah Z as fucked up, and how it seems like people are vaguely alluding to Quinton being creepy without providing anything other than vibes and a handful of awkward DMs posted publicly on twitter in early 2021. In my mind, here's two people who I have seen with my own eyes have a history of spinning a narrative in bad faith, sometimes in the face of clear contradictory evidence, and one of whom has a negative history with the person in question. Since it was all vague posting, there are no specifics. There was just a pattern of history to go off of, and it looked clearly bad to me. I expressed that sentiment on here, and clarified questions and points people had when the post started getting traction.

Yesterday, Sarah Z saw it and reblogged it to her followers with clarification that her vague post was actually about Colleen Ballinger. Since then, she and others have suggested or demanded that I delete the post because it's misinformation, that I shouldn't have made a call out post for something I didn't have the full picture of, that I should have just asked her what was up, and that I was aiming to make a viral post.

The post was never a call out post. I was, very clearly, expressing frustration at something that was bothering me with public vague posts I was seeing. There was no call to action, I wasn't warning people about anyone, I was simply saying "this shit sucks!" about what I was seeing online. If that's your definition of a call out post... I'm not sure what to tell you.

I also do not really understand the "you should have just asked me" line. Not only because all lines of personal messaging to you were closed off, but why would I try and ask about a vague posting, seemingly vent post, wherein you say it's a red flag to vent to your audience because it leads to bad things. On top of that, I really don't need to reach out for comment, I'm not a journalist. I'm venting frustrations with public vague posts.

I'd also like to say that the angle that I was intentionally trying to make a viral post is silly at best. My initial post had no tags on it, and I cannot control what posts of mine speak to people. I'm also not sure if ~2k notes (at the time Sarah Z brought up the viral angle) is really viral, but I don't think I've ever had a post crack 200 before this weekend. Feel free to correct me on that. Additionally, you reblogged this to your audience instead of messaging me. All my lines of messaging on here are open, and it wouldn't have spread as far if you didn't reblog me.

I do not think my read of the vague posts were out of line. I laid out my reasons to think that Sarah Z is someone who spins a narrative, sometimes in the face of clear contradictory evidence, in her published work. I've also seen a pattern of making digs at him, on top of the posting of the DM from him. I simply do not trust her in this instance, and seeing it all line up just so made it seem like it was a dig at him. And while she's saying that I'm wrong, and that the post wasn't about him, she's still implying he's a creep in that clarifying post. So while she says I'm wrong about the vague post, my "seems like people are calling him a creep based on vibes and awkward DMs" point seemingly still stands.

At the end of the day, I wanted to vent on here about something that was bugging me. I didn't wanna dance around my specific points, so I was specific in what bothered me. I do not think I was as clear as I could have been in what my specific issues were, and for that I'm sorry. If/When I make criticisms in the future I will be sure to be as clear as I possibly can be.

The post is now gone, and I'll leave this pinned on my account for awhile.

#josh average talks

60 notes · View notes

ponds-of-ink · 1 year ago

Text

William Afton X Reader One-Shot: “Valentine’s Daze”

This is my answer to a writing prompt @dovewingkinnie put out, since it got my writing brain spinning.

This is my first time with this sort of “properly putting someone into Mrs. Afton’s shoes” thing, so uh.. Sorry if I missed a key thing here.

(Also, to clarify: This is my personal William specifically, though the timeframe’s obviously a bit skewed here. Guess this should be considered a very alternate timeline?)

The sunrise painted a rosy-orange sky as you pulled into the Freddy Fazbear’s parking lot. It was pretty quiet in the parking lot, save a few employee cars around the back. “Looks like the managers aren’t here yet,” you thought to yourself as you neatly parked your own car. “Either I’m earlier than I thought or something really bad happened to one of them.”

You exited your vehicle and strolled to a push-handle door. Your shoulder shoved the door open. Casual chatter greeted you as you stumble inside. “...I’ll let our Showtime Spotter know,” a man said, finishing a conversation while entering the room. You locked eyes with each other, but only for a moment. “What’d you want to tell me, Johnny?” you asked, your voice showing a hint of concern.

“Well, I just got off the phone with Henry,” Johnny explained, leaning against the doorframe. “William’s had a rough night, so Spring-Bonnie’s not going to be ‘live’ today. He’ll be on Valentine’s Program B when we hit Showtime.”

Your eyes widened. “How did William have a rough night?” you questioned while hanging up your winter jacket on the coat rack. “Last time I saw him, he was playing Skee-Ball with some of the older kids– And they were all having a great time!”

“Well, something must’ve come up after you left,” Johnny shrugged. “Henry didn’t get into detail about it, but that’s a given with him. That guy can keep secrets even after he’s dead and buried.”

You nodded reluctantly as you opened the employee closet. Yeah, that summed up Henry pretty well (for better or for worse). You slipped on your red vest and put on your name tag. “I think I’ll have a chat with Will once I get the main guys started,” you decided, donning your special ‘Stage Manager’ cap. “I know he’s had a rough night, but I think he’ll still be up for a chat. It’s not like he’s having a sick day or anything.”

“I guess,” Johnny muttered as you walked out into the main area. “Just don’t push the guy, all right? He already has enough trouble trying to talk with you on a good day.”

You stopped a few yards away from the show stage. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you said slowly, furrowing your brows.

As you prepared for your job, you thought back to yesterday. Everything was pretty good. Business was booming, not many kids broke the rules of Freddy’s, and the arcade machines didn’t need any last-minute maintenance. The only thing that was strange was a little chat you had with Spring-Bonnie. Err, well, whoever was playing him at the time. He and some other guy had just wrapped up this one segment and you pressed the Showtime button to close the curtains. Both of them snuck to the backstage while you followed behind. However, for whatever reason, “Springy” didn’t change straight away. He just sat on the bench outside his dressing room, fiddling with the large Valentine card prop.

Of course, being the social person you were, you sat down beside the guy. “What’s up, Springs?” you asked, not entirely sure whether or not to address him in-character. “You, uh, nervous about giving that card to your special some-bunny?”

Springy nodded glumly. Even his eyelids drooped.

“Well, I could hold onto your card for you, if you like,” you offered, scotching a bit closer to him. “That way, no kid can snatch it and try to read it before your some-bunny does.”

Springy’s ears raised. He gently hugged your arm, then gave you the note. “Take good care of it,” he instructed in that goofy voice of his.

“I will,” you answered happily as Springy left to go change. “Glad I could help!”

So, you kept that prop in your hands for the rest of the day. Even as William gave confused glances over his shoulder– Which, come to think of it, probably meant that there was some miscommunication between “Springy” and William about the card. That, or you were supposed to give it to him for safekeeping. Oops.

But what was done was done. You gave that prop to Johnny by the end of your shift. And, knowing him, he would probably clear things up with William and give you a rundown by the time you hit your lunch break.

You now stood near the Showtime button, using the sight of two men opening the front door to refocus your attention. Henry and William had finally made it, though you could tell it wasn’t without coaxing for one of them. Henry immediately made his way to the tech room while William lingered at the front entrance. As expected, the latter looked more run-down than usual. Hair just barely combed, tie sloppily put together, dark rings under two reddish eyes.. Almost like a teen girl trying to go to school after a bad rejection, if that wasn’t too insulting of a comparison.

Hoping to cheer him up, you gave him your best smile and waved at him. You waited for him to wave back, but all you got in return was a forlorn glance and a heavy sigh. He was clearly not in the mood for friendly hellos.

So, you kept your mouth shut and played aloof. Only your eyes followed him as he squeezed his way past the arcade machines and trudged into the backstage area. “Poor guy,” you thought as a muffled conversation played out between him and some other employee. “Maybe I should hold off on that conversation until he feels better. He looks like he’s just lost the chance of a lifetime or something.”

Thankfully, Freddy’s managed to keep your mind busy once customers actually came in. You kept an eye on the main robots once Showtime started, ready to report things to the tech crew in case Freddy’s eyelids got uneven or Chica’s beak slacked in the lip-sync department. The only thing you managed to catch so far was one of Bonnie’s guitar strings preparing to come loose during a huge solo. At least that could be fixed while Fredbear and Springy talked it out.

Speaking of those two, it was soon time to hear what Valentine’s Program B was all about. As soon as those two settled onto the stage, you hit the Showtime button. The two huge purple curtains pulled back to reveal a golden bear and an equally yellow bunny. After an off-screen announcer relayed his “it’s a top of the hour check-in!” spiel, the two robots sprung to life. “Say, Springy, you look mighty down,” Fred-Bear noted, turning his body more towards the floppy-eared bunny. “Did the card-givin’ not go well?”

Springy’s body jittered as a cartoonish sniffle played over the speakers. “She didn’t even answer the door!” he exclaimed in a choked voice (though the robot didn’t quite convey that properly). “I stood there for ten minutes, but she never came out! I guess she was out with some-bunny else. Some-bunny more handsome, probably...”

Your eyes widened. Did that mean that all your card-holding efforts was all for nothing? Your blood boiled as Fred-Bear tried to comfort his heartbroken co-host. “That two-timing snake,” you fumed, crossing your arms and tapping your foot. “I’m almost glad nobody showed up in some put-together lady rabbit costume and tried to be this make-believe crush. Why, if I were Fred-Bear, I would’ve marched up to that snooty bunny’s door and–“

You took a deep breath. Now was not the time to get too invested in a simple Valentine’s Day skit. If this feeling of absolute second-hand betrayal lingered, then you’d have to go straight to whoever played Springy yesterday and apologize. Hopefully, whoever that was would completely understand.

As you pressed the button a second time, your eyes scanned the rest of the building. Some children in the audience were bummed out, but most of them were ready to join the rest playing in the arcade area. The adults chattered with each other or followed behind those rambunctious go-getters. Meanwhile, some distance away from all this action, William and Henry talked things out. “Maybe I’ll get the chance to talk to him after all,” you mused to yourself, observing their body languages as best you could. “He looks like he feels a bit better.”

A couple more hours passed. Families came and went. Songs played from the show stage, then fell into fifteen minutes of silence. Spring-Bonnie and William still moped, but at least William was recovering a bit faster.

By the time it was lunch break, you had almost forgotten the frustration you felt earlier. You cheerfully straightened your hat and strolled backstage. “Well, Johnny, I’m all set for some good Freddy’s food!” you called out, removing your vest and placing it on the bench. “Whatcha got?”

“Same old, same old,” Johnny answered, returning from a smaller room with a plastic menu. “Salads from the salad bar, pizza, maybe even some dessert if the kids didn’t eat it all.” He stopped in front of you, then looked down at the menu in his arms. “By the way,” he resumed in a more nervous tone, pulling out a large and frilly envelope, “Will wanted me to give this back to you. Turns out the card wasn’t just a prop.”

You lightly grabbed the envelope and inspect it. Your heart skipped. This was the same card that you held for all those hours. And.. it was yours all this time? “Can I open it?” you asked, your voice twinging with surprise and confusion.

“It’s yours, so I don’t see why not,” Johnny reasoned nonchalantly, shutting the menu. “In the meantime, I’ll get your usual ready. Have fun ‘stealing’ from Spring-Bonnie’s valentine.”

You rolled your eyes as Johnny proudly left the room. Then, after you collected your thoughts, you undid the red wax seal on the envelope. With some gentle tugging, you pulled out a smaller sheet of rosy-pink paper. Your fingers quickly unfolded the note. You skimmed the message at first, but then your eyes stopped. The only words that were on the page were:

“Please meet me back at Freddy’s. 7:00 PM sharp. I have something to ask you.”

Though there was no signature, the handwriting made its messenger clear to you. You gingerly rose up from your seat and peered into one of the dressing rooms. “Hey, Johnny,” you spoke up in a shakier tone, “where is William, anyway?”

“Think he’s out there playing Skee-Ball,” Johnny replied, tapping his pen on the table in thought. “You, uh, got a question to ask him?”

“More like I’ve got an apology to make, but yeah,” you corrected, inching your way out of the dressing room. “Just let me know when my lunch is ready, I guess.”

“Sure thing,” Johnny answered in a warm tone. “Break a leg!”

You just bobbed your head and left the backstage altogether. Your heart thumped as you navigated the large sea of children and adults. You gathered your nerves and your thoughts as best you could. All you hoped for was that William wasn’t too mad at you.

When you finally arrived at the Skee-Ball section, you beelined for the messy-haired man rolling a 250-point shot. “Not bad,” you commented, trying to keep a casual tone as you lined up at the machine next door.

A murmur of “Thanks” was the only reply you got from him.

“The highest I’ve gotten is a 500,” you explain sheepishly, fooling with the pink paper still in your hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever managed to toss anything into that big one in the middle. It just.. eludes me, I guess.”

William bowled another skee-ball while you talked. It only fell into the “gutter”.

“Guess that sums up how I am with.. certain hints, huh?” you asked weakly.

William glanced down at the letter, then looked at you with wide eyes. “I... suppose,” he replied thoughtfully. “But that was my fault, really. I shouldn’t have trusted Spring-Bonnie to do something I should have just done myself. The intentions would have been much clearer there.”

Pleasantly surprised by getting an actual answer, you smiled a little. “So, just to be clear,” you spoke up with more boldness, “you were the guy who played Spring-Bonnie yesterday, right? Not one of the other actors?”

“Yes,” William confessed with a faint chuckle. “I thought my melodrama on-stage would have make it obvious, but I guess not.”

Your face burned as everything sunk in. “Sorry about not reading your note, then,” you apologized, looking down at the colorful carpet. “I had no idea, I—“ You cut your own words off as a new thought entered your mind. “I hope you didn’t sleep in the car all night because of me!” you gasped out, putting a hand to your mouth.

“I only waited one hour,” William assured, picking up a skee-ball and slinging it into a 250-point hole. “After that, I just drove home and ate a carton of ice cream on the couch.” He paused, his rosy face flushing even more. His upper teeth dug into his lower lip. “That last part was not supposed to be said aloud,” he added shakily, tugging at his tie. “I know I look like I do that often, but I..” His voice trailed as he inspected his unkept shirt. He attempted to finish his sentence, but his words turned into flustered syllables as he tried to straighten his outfit.

“Hey, it is Valentine’s Day,” you reasoned, scooping up one of the remaining skee-balls and tossing it for him. “I’d be doing something like that too just for the fun of it. I’m sure all this work at Freddy’s would help me burn some of the food off.” You glanced back at the still-embarrassed man. “You think we can still do the whole Freddy’s thing tonight?” you inquired, letting the poor guy return to his game. “I could ask run the buffet myself, if nobody else wants to. I got training on how to run a chocolate fountain.”

William stepped in front of his arcade machine. He gulped. “I would like that,” he answered with a wavering smile. “My only concern now is that I might make a fool out of myself if the buffet only contains desserts.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” you chuckled as you pull out a spare Faz-Token from your pocket and slide it into your own Skee-Ball machine. “If we play some Skee-Ball for a couple of hours, I think we’ll both curb the risk of loose seams.”

“You may only need a couple of hours,” William quipped with a snarky smile. “I might need a few days, and that’s being generous.”

This sparked eight minutes of banter and bowling between you two. You kept at the high praises and modest Skee-Ball scores, he prevailed with low self-blows and surprisingly good scores. A few of older kids, thinking that it was an intense tournament, started chanting for their respective favorite.. Until their parents picked them up, that is. At least their cheers built up confidence in the both of you as you kept playing.

As you both collected your tickets, you noticed Johnny standing beside you. “Hey, so your lunch has been ready for five minutes now,” he explained awkwardly to you, eyeing both you and your potential date. “Same with yours, Mr. Afton.”

“Thank you, Johnny,” William responded politely, reaching over to shake his hand. “We will be eating our lunches shortly.”

You noticed Johnny giving William a knowing wink as he walked away. “So, I guess it’s a date,” you smirked, rolling up your tickets into a makeshift ball.

“I guess it is,” William agreed, neatly folding his and putting them in his pocket. “Are you all right with the time still being 7?”

“Are you all right with a dessert buffet?” you questioned back rhetorically, nudging him in the shoulder with your elbow.

William stifled a giggle as he straightened his tie. “Sure,” he answered as confidently as he could (though his red face and timid posture told you otherwise). “Just be prepared for a Spring-Bonnie buffet scenario come to life.”

”Don’t try to talk me into it further!” you laughed as you walked away. “Spring-Bonnie’s my favorite!”

“Let’s hope I don’t change that!” William called out in his best Spring-Bonnie voice, just barely audible amid the clamor of ringing arcade games and chattering kids. You looked over your shoulder to see him waving before hurrying to his own lunch station. As you neared the salad bar, one thought stayed in your mind: This date night was definitely going to be one to remember.

#william afton #william afton x reader #fnaf fanfic #second person #one shot #alternate timeline #writing prompt #fnaf y/n #henry emily #long post #x reader

50 notes · View notes