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cherrychilli · 5 months

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18+

Mean! Steve x AFAB reader, sub! reader

Oral cockwarming, oral sex(m), roleplay, degradation, humiliation, Steve takes pictures of reader in a compromising position (everything's consensual)

That almost unobservable, yet entirely present smile remained on his lips while you were forced to wait, as patient as you could stand to be until he decided it was time to give you some attention again.

“Y' doing alright, babe?”, Steve reached down to lightly grazed a thumb along your cheek, voice sweet and touch tender but it's all faux concern, made obvious by the way his eyes flash with cruel glee.

At any other time you would have said something; called out his mock sincerity with a scoff and thrown in a quick riposte but you couldn't.

Not with his cock resting on your tongue.

Hours of your day had been spent wrestling with thoughts of Steve as you failed to distract yourself with housework and errands; wanting him, growing more pliant and willing in the absence of his touch. But there's a particular side of Steve that you're craving tonight - a temporary departure from his usually soft and caring treatment of you.

He senses your mood when he returns home, finding you in the hallway with your hands restlessly picking at the hem of your dress, pulling your now slightly swollen bottom lip from between your teeth to offer him a sweet smile at his return.

The exchange you have following him kissing you hello is brief, your quiet but mounting impatience giving way for you to voice the request that'd been weighing heavy on your tongue all day.

"Stevie?"

One of his broad hands smoothed down the back of your hair, chin resting on the top of your head while your arms tightened around his waist.

"Yeah baby?"

"Want you to be mean again", you murmur into the front of his shirt, just loud enough for him to hear even with your face buried in his chest, shying away from his gaze.

It always brought a smirk to his face when you got like this, all bashful and needy.

"You sure?"

You nod in answer, the hair on the top of your head tickling his chin from the movement.

"Anything for you, sweet girl", and he pulls back to kiss you on the forehead, fingers lacing with yours to lead you further into the house.

You follow him into the kitchen from there, his back turned to you, watching him pluck a beer from out of the fridge and take seat at the the little table where you shared all your meals together, often with his toes playfully nudging yours underneath because he couldn't go very long without touching you in some kind of way.

But that side of of Steve wont be making an appearance for the rest of the night, this confirmed when he turns to you again, his face completely absent of all the warmth and consideration he'd shown you when he first arrived home.

Exactly what you'd been waiting and aching for.

The kitchen curtains haven't been drawn yet, an obsidian sky coloring the paned glass of your window as a creeping tingle of excitement worked its way through your body when you caught his eyes flicking to it and back.

You know where this is going.

He pulls back the tab on top of the can until the aluminium cracks open, alcohol fizzing and white foam frothing up through the opening when he asks you to strip, equal parts casual and cocky about it.

That tingle intensifies and you let it wind its way through the spaces between your ribs, ascending to settle in your throat, the thought of a neighbor noticing the light still on in your home and peeking in forming a lump you struggle to swallow.

The heady mix of clawing nerves and perverse exhilaration make you pause, yet to comply with what he's asked you to do while you side eye the window in search of any passersby. But Steve didn't like to be kept waiting at times like this, showing his impatience by tapping his foot against the tiled floor, the rhythm matching the steady ticking of your wall clock, redirecting your attention to it next.

Nearly 1AM.

Your shoulders relax after taking note of the time, telling yourself it would be alright. That no one else would be up at this hour, all of your neighbors likely deep in sleep and will awake tomorrow completely unaware of what you and your boyfriend were getting up to next door. At least you hoped so for the sake of avoiding any awkward run ins in the morning.

But you've made up your mind now, desire overtaking your concerns. Steve watches closely as you pull at the thin straps resting on your shoulders, dress coming loose off your frame and fluttering to the floor. He's pleased to see that you're not wearing any underwear, completely nude for him as he holds the rim of the chilled can up to his lips, eyes never leaving your body while he sips on the sour alcohol.

“On your knees, sweetheart. Hands behind your back”, he instructed when he set the can down on the table, and though he says it calmly, you recognize it as the command that it is.

There's no more stalling when you drop down to oblige. Sinking into position feels natural to you at this point, hands set behind your back with your palms cupping your elbows, chest pushed out and weight supported on your knees.

You liked being obedient for Steve, seeing that glimmer of approval in his eyes, being told how good you were being for him but having waited all day, you can't help but weaken to an urge that has you acting before he's given you permission to do so.

Leaning in between his spread legs, your soft lips brush the outline of his hard cock over his tight denim jeans, tilting your head to the side so that your cheek rubs against the bulge with uncurbed yearning.

Any sense of shame had been shed entirely now and thankfully, Steve doesn't take issue with you giving into your impulse, showing leniency while you nuzzle into him like a cat in heat. He groans approvingly in tandem with your sultry, longing sigh, hand caressing your hair again when you peek up through your lashes to look at him.

“Y’ really missed me, huh baby?”, he coos, entirely taken with how amorous you look between his legs, a space meant only for you.

You nod, tongue slipping out between your lips to lave unabashedly along the girth of his clothed erection.

"Shit- bet you want a reward huh? something for waiting all day?", he prompts, hissing quietly at the way your spit saturates the denim, sloppy stains darkening his jeans.

The mention of a reward had you perking up, more than eager for what you think he has in store for you.

But you're quickly reminded that you're dealing with the callous side of Steve tonight, the crude part of him that took pleasure in making you earn your satisfaction.

He made it clear that you weren’t to suck to his cock yet when he undid the button on his jeans, pulling the zipper down much slower than you would have liked before he lowered them enough to pull the turgid length free.

“Open”, he grunts curtly, holding it by the base, tapping the sticky, flushed head against your lips and you obey eagerly, parting them to grant him entry into your waiting mouth.

“Now stick your tongue out”, he orders next.

You do so and he rests his cock on your warm, wet tongue, letting his precum pool on it so that he's all you can taste, that sticky salt you wished to lap at and swallow.

“Now be a good girl for me and maybe, I’ll let you suck it”

That's when you wilt under his gaze, stomach dropping at the possibility of being denied, a very real possibility if he was feeling extra mean, but you prove yourself determined to please him.

It’s been a little over ten minutes now and your bottom lip and chin are coated in a tacky layer of saliva and precum, the viscous combination narrowing into a thin trail that drips down along the column of your throat and makes its way between the valley of your breasts, doing little to cool your burning skin.

The ache in your jaw is equal to the one that pains your poor knees, nothing soft slipped underneath to cushion them like he usually did to relieve you.

Steve's cock lays heavy on your tongue and you resist the urge to swirl the muscle over his ruddy tip, longing to lick at the translucent beads that spill plenty from his weeping slit, desperate to be allowed to wrap your sore lips around it and really savor the taste of him.

Instead, you're tasked to remain still, treated like an afterthought while Steve sits unbothered in his chair. He'd kept himself occupied with a second beer and his phone, scrolling through the contents while you fight against the whine trying to claw its way out of your throat.

How much longer?, you'd been wondering that for what felt like hours now, thighs hot and quivering, sweat beading on your back.

For a moment, you think your patience might be rewarded when he meets your eyes, finally looking at you again but that spark of hope dulls in your belly when you see his thumb swipe over his screen, realizing he's angling the camera at you.

“So fucking pretty. I think I’ll have to make it my wallpaper”

The shutter sound clicks several times and echoes within the kitchen walls, picture after lurid picture filling up his gallery.

You nearly choke at the sight of the obscene pictures he’s taken when he turns the screen towards you, barely recognizing yourself in them but all it does is make your stomach flare with so much more heat and want for the man responsible for your current state.

“Jesus, look at the mess you’ve made. You’re gonna have to clean all of that up, honey”

Still reeling from the humiliation, you're certain he's referring to your saliva puddling on the floor, that is until you feel him stretch his right leg out, carefully positioning his foot between your thighs, lightly tapping his shoe against your neglected cunt.

It's the only real stimulation you've been granted since this all started, hips jerking and a pitiful, garbled whine spilling out of your throat when your throbbing clit catches on the tip of his shoe.

"Shit it's all over the floor. Wanna see?"

He pulls back his foot to take another picture, this one making you feel more vulnerable than the last given the placement.

"Look at that", he turns the screen towards you again, grin impossibly wide.

You stare at the picture of your bare pussy helplessly, stunned by the amount of slick pouring down your thighs, stringing into a little puddle on the floor.

"Just letting it all go to waste", Steve tsked, shaking his head like it was real shame.

"Can't have that. Start sucking, darling"

The words you've been aching to hear finally come and it's like the floodgates have been opened.

He chuckles darkly when your eyes light up, lips wrapping around his cock like you'd been starved of it, tongue delving, mapping each and every pulsing vein you could find, head bobbing to fill your throat with him.

"I'm feeling generous today" he adds while you work him sloppily, reaching down to fondle your breasts, pulling and pinching at your perky nipples until you whine around him.

"When I'm done I want you to get on the table. I'm going to take my time tasting you, sweet girl"

Maybe he wasn't going to be so mean tonight after all.

#steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader

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lovelybunn · 2 years

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ㅤㅤㅤ ﹙ 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝖽.﹚

warning(s): smut, swearing

author's note: this is lowkey so fanon it's not even funny but it's fine. and i love red guy so i'll project on him as much as i'd like, f u + ratio + leave if u don't like it idc. /lh

༚ . 🍬 ◌ ꙳ . ⊹ 🖍 + ｡ ๋

"hm? you say you 'love' me? thank you. i guess i do, too." red flashes his canines at you; a warm, gentle smile welcomed you. it only lasted for a second though, before his focus went completely back on the television in front of him. you rolled your eyes playfully before laying down next to your boyfriend.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖢𝖠𝖭𝖮𝖭𝖲.

his autism makes it a bit hard for him to show his affection/emotions, but he really does try his best.

he may act kind of cold and/or misunderstand certain social cues, but he does it all in good faith.

red loves being generally around you. there doesn't need to be a conversation– or even any touching for that matter, just being in your presence gives him a sense of comfort.

red speaks in a very monotonous voice, not intentionally of course, but it does cause confusion in translation. what makes it even worse is that sarcasm is literally his main sense of humor.

"hon, i left some chives in the fridge. can you go fetch them for me, please?" your boyfriend hummed. the smell of fresh cut onions frying in olive oil filled your nostrils. red was preparing some kind of dish, but he refused to tell you what it was. you about drooled imagining all the possibilities; no matter what it was, you knew red was bound to make it delicious.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖢𝖠𝖭𝖮𝖭𝖲.

red unironically loves to cook, so his love language is to feed you with his culinary specialities.

he has an over 200 page recipe book that would be illegible and unorganized without the help of duck with a variety of dishes from tiramisu to korean style corn dogs.

the only thing he won't even think about cooking is red meat. it reminds him too much of organs and that makes him physically sick to his stomach.

if you guys are making bread or something, red will press his body close against yours and guide your hands while softly whispering you instructions.

"why do you keep staring at (name) like that?" yellow bellowed, his head tilted to the side with curiosity. red snapped his focus towards yellow. his tone was mildly harsh as he responded, "what? i'm not staring. i'm just looking at them. am i not allowed to look at my own partner anymore?" duck scoffed, flipping through the newspaper absent-mindedly. "don't get all defensive, he does have a point, it's quite... awkward to watch on the sidelines." before red could come up with a snarky remark, you pranced in, looking as happy as can be. duck smirked while yellow became a giggly mess. you didn't understand what the commotion was about, but red looked like he was about to explode.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖢𝖠𝖭𝖮𝖭𝖲.

even in the long term, red acts like you're simply unreachable like his chances of ever finding his real family.

he absolutely adores viewing you from afar. your like some kind of abstract painting to him: weird, confusing, yet so beautiful in his eyes.

he even has little fantasies and daydreams about you two, but red keeps the thoughts to himself, afraid you may debunk his ideas entirely.

his two mates tease him to hell about you two, but he always keeps his cool no matter much he wants pop their little skulls open.

ㅤ𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚! 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗧 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗨𝗧!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖢𝖠𝖭𝖮𝖭𝖲.

he's 1000% a bottom, no question. he needs you to control and use him until he's nothing but a shriveled up disgusting milked dry mess.

forget a horse, all the horsepower you need is right in red's lap!

red is always in the mood for head, no joke it's almost as if that thing is always hard as mount everest.

in contrast to the point above, red's sex drive is really low, but when he is horny, it's like witnessing a dog in heat.

he's a whimper/mewler. he can't help it, you just make him feel so fucking good.

red's ability to speak completely shuts down when having sex. it just become incoherent babbles at that point.

pretty much inexperienced, but once red gets the hang of it, it's on and poppin' partner ;).

no bdsm. absolutely not. abuse? of him or you, especially you? hell no.

exhibitionism is also a no-no. red believes sex should be a private intimate experience, and he's already fully aware of who he belongs to and vice versa.

red's praise kink is down so horrendously that you can simply say "good job" in a casual conversation and he'll get hard.

red prefers to cum inside you, wouldn't mind if you were like "ew that's gross /hj"

speaking of his cum, he got alot of it, and it goes everywhere when you give him head.

#dont hug me im scared #don't hug me i'm scared #dhmis #dhmis show #dhmis tv show #dhmis tv series #dhmis red guy #red guy #red guy dhmis #red guy x reader #dhmis harry #harry dhmis #headcanon #headcanons #hcs #hc #imagines

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mirage-aera · 8 months

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•°. *࿐ Truth or dare

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : All night - The Vamps

Rain x fem!reader

Synopsis: Rain’s s/o got dared by Sodo to ask Rain about his size.

Word count: 1.079

Ghost masterlist

Just a small drabble to get be back into writing.

You and the rest of the ghouls hold a weekly game night. Where you all can just gather, relax, and have fun without a worry. Sometimes Papa will join in on the fun. The games could range from Mario Kart, to UNO, to truth or dare. , maybe throw a twister night in between. It’s always different, but always fun. Tonight, is another day of the weekly game nights. And to everyone’s annoyance. It's Sodo’s turn to pick a game. When it comes to Sodo, you're more likely to play truth or dare than other games. He just likes to get dirt on everyone, maybe even tease you all with his stupid dares. Before the game starts, everyone makes sure that they're on his good side, not wanting to be on the other end of his wrath when it comes to dares.

You arrive with Rain at the commons room. Once you enter the room you notice that everyone has already made themselves at home either on the couch or on the floor. The other ghoulettes made a makeshift ghoul pile. It looks very inviting, to say the least. Sodo snaps his head to you two, “Well well. It seems like the lovebirds did decide to join us after all.” You subtly roll your eyes while Rain lets out an annoyed groan. “Yeah yeah, we know you’re miserable being lonely but no need to make fun of us.” You jab at his love life. Instantaneously you regret that opened your mouth. He’s totally going to give you a dare, and not a nice one. “Watch your mouth.” He says to you. You sit next to Swiss and Rain. “Let the game night commence!!” Phantom yells out excitedly. Aether chuckles, “yes, let the game night commence. Since it’s Sodo’s night let’s start with him.” Sodo grins and looks over at everyone. Some cowering away from his gaze, hoping he won’t pick them. Eventually, he smirks, “Swiss.” The mentioned ghoul next to you tenses up and mutters out a quiet “fuck”.

“So Swiss, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

A series of outbursts ring throughout the room. None expected for Swiss to choose truth. He must’ve done something bad to piss Sodo off. “Who was your worst partner during sex?” Swiss groans, “goddamnit Sodo.” Sodo smirks and waves him off, “Go on, we’re waiting.” Swiss chews on his bottom lip, “it was one of the newer sisters here.” This peaked everyone’s interest.

“Who?”

“Which one?”

“Is it the blonde?”

“How bad?”

“I hate you Sodo.”

The room bursts into laughter. The ghoulettes are gossiping on who it could be. Sodo smirks, “answer the questions.” Swiss shakes his head no, “that wasn’t part of the ask. You can find that out on your own terms.” He sulks as he curls onto himself. “Mount, truth or dare.” He mumbles.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to eat a spicy pepper.”

Mountain can’t deal with heat very well so this should be interesting. He reluctantly gets up and waltzes to the kitchen to fetch said pepper. He came out with the small very spicy one. He frowns, “it’s the only one we have left.” Swiss laughs, “eat up big boy.” Mountain flips him and puts the pepper in his mouth and swallows it quickly. His lips are getting red from the spice, his nose is running, and he’s bolting to the fridge to get milk. A couple of minutes later he returns, sits back down, and glares at Swiss. “Aether, truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“Are you enjoying sorting out papers for Sister Imperator?”

Aether frowns, “I prefer to be on stage making music with you all, but I suppose it’s not too bad. I still get to play just not on stage anymore.”

And this cycle continues for a while. Then it was Sodo’s turn again. He turns to you, “(Y/n), truth or dare.” To show you aren’t afraid of dares, albeit a bit stupid of you. You choose dare. He grins, “great!” He pauses to think for a bit. If there was a lightbulb next to his it would’ve surely lit up. He leans over to you and whispers, “ask loverboy of his size.” You groan. You mentally make a note to apologise to Rain after this game. “Rain?” He nods. “How big are you?” He tilts his head like a puppy. “Shouldn’t you know this? I’m 5 ft 10.” The room bursts into laughter yet again. You facepalm, “that’s not what I meant. I meant how big are you, in bed?” The confusion only grows on his face. “In bed? I’d still be 5 ft 10, but sideways.” The ghouls and ghoulettes are laughing again. Wheezing could be heard, some are even letting out tears because they’re laughing so much. “Rain, honey. It’s Sodo, what do you think he’s implying.” He makes an ‘o’ shape with his mouth. He laughs, “bigger than him that’s for sure.” Sodo’s jaw drops.

“You did not just say that,” Sodo says, flabbergasted. Rain smiles, “yes I did.” Sodo sulks, “I don’t want to play this game anymore. Let’s play Uno or something.” Everyone agrees to save his dignity.

***

“Stop skipping me cumulus!! How many do you even have?!" Cirrus exclaims in frustration. Which earns a solid laugh from her. “I’m sorry Cirrus, but I have to use these cards up.” Her eyebrow twitches, “you could’ve used them up before Phantom reversed!!!” Cumulus chuckles, “sorry love, there can only be one air ghoulette winner tonight.” “Oh I’ll show you winner…” Cirrus mumbles under her breath.

As the night goes on, and games of uno go on. One by one ghouls and ghoulettes alike are heading to bed. Sooner than later only you, Rain, and Sodo remain. You play a round, you win. You play another, and Sodo wins. By the third round, you’re getting tired and start dozing off. Rain notices, he finishes the game with Sodo, puts your and his cards away, drapes your arms around his neck and stands up. Which makes you clutch onto him like a koala. “I’m taking this one to bed. Good night Sodo.” He wishes you both a good night and heads to bed himself. Rain carries you over to his room and sets you down on the bed. As you make yourself comfortable under his sheets. He gets undressed and climbs into bed next to you. He wraps his tail around yours and holds you against his chest as you both doze off.

#ghost #ghost band #ghost band x reader #nameless ghouls #nameless ghouls x reader #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost bc x reader #the band ghost x reader #nameless ghoul #nameless ghoul x reader #rain ghoul #rain ghost #rain x reader #rain ghoul x reader #rain

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nerdy-fangirl-65 · 1 year

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Mountain Dew Me (Loki X Fem Reader)

Hey everyone! So I recently saw a dannyphantomexe tik tok with a similar premise (unfortunately no smut tho) and since I saw it I can't get the idea of it out of my head, so, I figured I'd share my dirty fantasies with you all XD.

Pretty heavy smut warning, 16+ readers only. Have fun, fellow dirty minded freaks.

You were sitting cross legged on the couch with a book in your hand when he walked into the room. You'd been pretending to read for about an hour now, but instead of focusing on th en romance novel you were reading, you were stealing glances at your boyfriend, who had been sitting across the room from you. Minutes ago he had disappeared into the kitchen, and now he had returned with a bag of chips in his hand, several already stuffed into his mouth.

"Hey Loki?" you asked, glancing up from your book.

"Yes, darling?" he replied, reaching for another chip.

"Would you mountain dew me?" you asked, a smirk on your face.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I think we have some in the fridge—"

You cut him off with a grin, "No, that's not what I meant. I asked, would you mount and do me?"

His eyes met yours as he processed your request, and before you knew what was happening his bag of chips was discarded, and he was straddling your hips. His lips found yours in no time at all, one hand moving to cup your face, and the other reaching to your lap and moving your book to the sidetable so it wasn't in his way. He breathlessly broke the kiss, moving so he was sitting on the couch, and hoisting you into his lap.

"How about instead... you do me?" he spoke huskily, his eyes darkening with lust.

"Don't have to tell me twice," you murmured, kissing him sloppily. His kisses were addicting, and the way he cupped your face with one hand, while his other hand traced your curves could've made you come undone right there.

Your lips trailed down his jaw down to his neck, and he easily let his head tilt to the side to make it easier for you. You wiggled your hips against him, and smirked at the strangled growl that left his mouth in response.

"Mm, I love you, my dear," he murmured, his hands gripping your ass.

"I love you too," you whispered breathlessly, pulling his shirt over his head. His hands traveled up the length of your body before he lightly teased your breasts through your shirt. You let out a pleasured sigh, allowing him to pull your own shirt over your head. He tossed the piece of fabric to the side, before skillfully un-hooking your bra, and discarding it as well.

You kissed him again, this time all teeth and tongue. After a long moment he broke the kiss, instead kissing his way down your neck and eventually finding your breasts. He took once nipple in his mouth, sucking at it gently before grazing it with his teeth.

"Loki..." You breathed, running your hands through his hair. He grinned, repeating the same action on the other nipple, before leaning in and capturing your lips with his own. You lightly tugged at his hair as you kissed him, rocking your hips against his. He moaned into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips as he guided your movements.

"Bedroom?" you asked breathlessly when you eventually broke the kiss. He nodded, and wrapped his arms carefully around you, hoisting you in the air as he stood. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and busied yourself placing kisses on his neck. He growled lowly, and kicked the bedroom door shut before carefully setting you down on the edge of the bed.

He gently spread your legs so he could fit between them, pressing you down onto the bed as he kissed you. He slowly kissed his way down your neck, lightly teasing your breasts with his tongue, before finding his way to the waistband of your pants. Within seconds your bottoms, and your ruined panties had been discarded. You watched him with anticipation as he dropped to his knees in-between your legs, and you moaned softly as he kissed your inner thigh.

"Loki, please..." You whined as his tongue ghosted over where you needed him the most. His lust filled eyes made brief contact with yours before he leaned in, and slowly began to eat you out.

You didn't bother to try and hide the pleasure sounds falling from your lips, gripping the bed sheets to ground your self. You instinctively bucked your hips into his face, which he half heartedly attempted to discontinue by holding your hips down with one hand.

"Loki..." You whimpered desperately, gazing down at the god between your thighs.

"Mm, you want my fingers, too?" He growled when he pulled away briefly to breathe. You couldn't form words to reply, as he was already carefully sliding two fingers inside of you.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, arching off the bed and into his hand, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get him to fuck you with his fingers. He smirked at you, before burying his face back between your legs, slowing pumping his fingers in and out of you. You moaned loudly, grinding against his face, various cusses falling from your lips as pleasure overwhelmed you.

"So... fucking... close...." You whimpered, squeezing the sheets tightly. At your words he replaced his tongue with his thumb slowly circling your clit as he continued to fuck you with his fingers.

"Mm, you gonna fucking cum for me? You gonna soak my fucking fingers? Come on, baby, give it to me, give it all to me," Loki growled, licking your juices off his lips as he gazed heatedly at you. His words sent you over the edge as your entire body tensed, your orgasam washing over you.

"Good girl..." Loki murmured, fucking you through your orgasam before removing his fingers from inside you, and licking them clean.

"Fuck," he murmured, watching as you caught your breath, "you're beautiful when you cum all over my fingers," You moaned softly as he leaned in and kissed you, tasting yourself on his lips. He carefully adjusted you so that you were laying fully on the bed, and once he'd discarded his remaining items of clothing, he was on top of you in seconds.

He grinned himself against your pussy, his eyes rolling back as he moaned aloud.

"Loki, please," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck, "I need you,"

Without any warning, he slammed himself inside you, moans falling from both of your lips.

"Fuck, I love you," he murmured breathlessly as he buried his face in your neck. You opened your mouth to reply, but no sound came out as he slowly began to fuck you. One of his hands rested above your head to hold himself up, and the other held your hip as he fucked into you. The room filled with moans, the smell of sex as he gradually brought you closer to the edge.

His hand moved from your hip to lightly toy with your sensitive clit, and your breathing hitched as he hurtled you to the edge if paradise.

"I'm gonna cum..." You moaned out, and Loki gritted his teeth, sweat lining his forehead as he focused on bringing you both to completion.

"I know, darling, me too... cum for me, my love," he managed in-between incoherent moans and cusses. His permission was all you needed as your second orgasam wracked through your body. His thrusts became sloppy, and he cried out your name as he came deep inside of you.

"Fuuuck," he moaned as his body went limp, carefully crashing on top of you. He lay on top of you for several minutes as you bkth caught your breath, before he gently pulled out of you, and climbed off the bed. You whined in protest, and he chuckled as he caught your hand in his.

"I'll be right back darling, we just need to get you cleaned up," he disappeared in the bathroom before returning with a damp cloth, which he used to gently clean you up. He discarded the rag into a hamper before crawling back into the bed with you, pulling the covers over the both of you. He kissed you lovingly, and held you close to his chest.

Before he allowed himself to doze off to sleep at your side, he quietly asked, "Do you need anything else, darling?"

"A mountain dew might be nice..." you said sleepily, erupting in giggles when he playfully rolled his eyes. He chuckled softly, and kissed the top of your head before allowing you the peace to fall asleep in his arms, and eventually falling asleep as well.

#loki laufesyon x reader #loki smut #loki fanfction #loki x reader #marvel #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader smut #loki x you #smut

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jacksprostate · 3 months

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When God himself informs you your contract has been passed on to a third party, you might wonder where you're headed.

My regiment of angels waved me off. A man with a split lip and holy glow, he said, this was out of our hands, sir. We'll try to follow you. Sir.

The first few weeks I was at the asylum, I got taken off all my pills. Mount Massive was not Heaven. Divine figures shrunk back into shrinks. They paid special care to the rough chop of scar tissue spread across my face. I was a corpse laid fresh on an anthill.

The thing is, when you come off a cocktail of benzos and antipsychotics and mood stabilizers and SSRIs meant to keep you from blowing up the World Trade Center, you have withdrawals. The thing is, it was very apparent that is what the doctors ordered.

The Engine.

I was out of my gourd, when they primed me for it. The therapy, you'd think they'd never seen a car crash before. I could hear all the other men screaming. The sensation, it was insomnia before support groups all over again.

I know what you want. On the way back to my cell, I talked.

"Do you?"

You want him back.

"Do we, or do you?" My false father figure in all his hazmat glory liked to lead his questions.

Of course I want him back. I'd watch their Z-list snuff films twenty four seven if it meant he'd come back.

Why does Murkoff want Tyler?

My shrink, he said, "Have you considered, what is amazing about Tyler is not him, but the fact that you could make him?"

So I learned, this was a Jesus sort of thing. Or maybe God. I told my shrink, you can't teach God anything.

The Engine.

That was a bit more like lye. My keepers, they wanted Tyler. They wanted me pissing on the Blarney Stone. They wanted my palace of many doors. My inner cave. They wanted what my mind could do, they wanted me to craft them their very own God.

The Engine showed me blond hair. Red leather. Chipped teeth.

Oh, my compliance was a scientist's wet dream.

It's only natural that when Tyler returned, everything collapsed like the soggy wood of the mansion under monkey feet.

Like a schoolgirl sold on love at first sight, I want to believe I felt it when he crawled back inside my head and out the door of my subconscious. In truth, I spent the first night of the riot hidden away, under my bed. Awake. The howls I heard. I knew it'd been too long since I'd been to fight club. I'd die like a fool.

Tyler, though.

When I wake up, I'm in an office. In a closet, really. The desk arranged just like the one I woke up at with gasoline on my hands.

Rejoice.

Tyler, I know he keeps coming around, because the hulking, mutated, beaten men I pass by start nodding at me. I know because I wake up with badly done stitches. I know because I'm not seeing him, and he's all the more real since I'm not.

I wonder what the other patients think. Skinny guys fight til they're burger. I wonder if Tyler's siren call works as well in a land already past bottom.

I wake up in different rooms. My cell. That office. A kitchen, with a dead man laid out, head inside a microwave. Tyler left a sticky note on him.

You are what you eat!

The bodies around tell the story. The flesh that speaks.

When the carcass is gone, we stop moving. The burners are clear and the fridge is full of glycerin.

Tyler Durden, creature of habit.

I make no habit of roaming. These men, their eyes are open. They know I'm Tyler. They know I'm his. These things are different. Property, ownership. Things that can be stolen.

I like to fall asleep to the caterwauls of all these lost apes.

The prodigal son returns, finally, when the church burns. You know what they say, Hell is empty, all the devils are here.

Tyler, I say.

He looks at me. It's so easy to be pinned like a worm under a dissecting microscope. I try to imagine him with his brains blown out. With the massacre of a face I have.

Tyler.

"And so Adam was sent from the garden," Tyler says. "And so, the devil ran amuk."

He looks like he's thriving.

The next man I see calls me sir.

#fight club #my writing #outlast #extremely silly #dont try to understand time #this will deeply appeal to like 3 people.

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proctocheck · 1 year

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miscfandomwrites · 9 months

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Mama: Chapter Five

A/N: Hey Y’all! Been awhile since I’ve uploaded. Let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist for this series or any that I write. My inbox and messages are always open for requests and criticism, as well as questions. Long author’s note at the bottom for a few explanations about the guns and stuff I’ve written about in this chapter. This is more team building and reader getting used to things, I promise Natasha will definitely make more of an impact in the next chapter or two. I am aware that the text in the collage is blurry.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Mom! Avenger! Reader

Warnings:

Words: 1.7k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

After breakfast, it was decided that Lillith would stay with Wanda and make cookies while some of the others would show me my workspace.

I didn’t even know that I’d have a workspace, let alone something as massive as what I was given. It turns out that Stark had several floors under the tower as well, and I was on the fourth floor below the ground. It was an entire floor, and it was massive.

It was a huge parking garage pretty much, with ramps for vehicles and other sorts of transportation up to the surface. My truck, jeep, motorcycle, and car were already there, parked and waiting.

Despite living a somewhat simple life, S.H.I.E.L.D paid me well and with the various odd jobs I’ve picked up over the years, I had quite a sum of money that I could do whatever I wished with.

“There’s a range right over there, and the benches have the boxes on the. You’ll just need to arrange things how you like them, and then it’s more than fully workable.” Stark told me as I entered the main area of the workshop.

Lit up with several overhead lamps and taking up the majority of the floor, this was by far the best workspace I’d ever had.

Several benches were scattered around, one backed to a wall between three metal gun cabinets and metal cases holding dozens of ammo cans. That was the gun area, and judging by the boxes around it they didn’t mount anything or store anything yet. I preferred to take care of all of the organizing for the weapons and such by myself because I had my systems for finding things, and as Clint liked to joke; I turned borderline Hulk if someone messed up my systems.

I noticed mainly the divot along the back wall, like a large ramp running nearly from the center of the room to the back end of it, heading down. All of the walls were concrete, and there was no door there.

“That’s the range. Four feet of concrete, not counting the steel targets you’ll be using, but it’s more than thick enough to stop the majority of bullets. I didn’t know what you wanted to do for the Archery stuff, so I didn’t mess with any of it.” Stark spoke again, by side. I nodded and continued looking around.

A lounge area, with a sink and what I assumed was a bar, was sparsely decorated with the occasion box or sheet. Some couches and what looked like a futon were around it. I noticed a TV mounted on the wall, and a fridge. The main area had a bench with what looked like my archery things on it, but I was more excited to find out that the benches moved. They all were on a wheel system, which meant I could combine or place them anywhere I deemed necessary at the moment.

I was so focused on looking around, already imagining where I’d place everything and how it would all fit together that I didn’t notice Sam, Steve, and James heading to the reloading bench.

I walked over as they tried to open the metal gun cabinet, quietly discussing amongst themselves the password for it.

“2641996012340 is the passcode. It’s thirteen digits, so it’s unlikely someone will enter the right code.” I said as I squeezed between Sam and Steve, shooing them away as I punched in the code.

“Why the hell would you have a thirteen digit code for a gun safe?” James asked me, eyebrows raised.

I shrugged, and instead of finishing punching in the code I just gave the locker and hard yank and the door came open.

“The passcode section broke a long time ago. It taught me to keep a gun by my side at all times.” I replied, opening the lower doors as well.

“What happened?” Steve asked.

“Someone broke into my old dwelling a few years ago when Lillith was still a baby. I kept all my guns locked up so she wouldn’t get hurt when she wandered, but I broke the door to the cabinet to grab a gun. That’s why it doesn’t work.”

“A true mom.” Sam grinned at me as he grabbed one of the rifles in the case.

I stepped away and allowed the boys to look at my guns, and started rummaging through the boxes on the reloading bench.

“Where’s the ammunition?” Sam asked as he held my old revolver Colt 45 in his hands, the hammer already back and waiting for a magazine to be loaded.

“In the ammo cans to my right. Find the Revolver Colt 45 label. There should be ready bullets in there..” I replied, not looking up from sorting through some of my notebooks.

“Hey, Stark!” I called out over my shoulder, looking towards him. He quickly looked up from the wrench kit he was going through.

“Yeah?” He yelled back.

“Are my AIs incorporated into the tower yet? I talked to Pepper about it a few weeks ago.” I said as I turned towards him, still holding my notebook.

“Yeah, they should be running right now. You can check, though.” He told me, turning back to the kit.

“WAR, are these notebooks recorded?” I asked out loud.

A male mechanical voice responded, telling me that they were, and asking if I wanted to know anything specific from them.

I politely dismissed it, tossing my notebook back on the counter.

Bruce glanced at me as I walked past him, heading for what I’d make into my archery bench.

“You created AIs?” he asked me, a look of surprise on his face.

I nodded, moving some boxes off the table.

“What does WAR stand for? I hope it’s a good abbreviation.” Stark said as he walked towards me, holding the notebook I’d discarded on the reloading bench only moments before.

“WAR stands for Weapons Ammunition Recorder. It records all information I need for my weapons, and formulates things for me if I need them. I’m working on another right now as well. It’s still in the starting steps, so it doesn’t have a name beyond ‘Digital Assistant’ right now.” I replied, unpacking a box holding my bow press.

“What do these stand for?” Another voice rang out. Natasha was looking over Stark's shoulder, and as soon as he noticed her he jumped, almost dropping the notebook.

I grinned, leaning over the notebook, looking at what page they were on.

“Looks like designs for my Creedmoor. One badass gun, I’ll give you that.” I replied, looking up at Natasha.

“Creedmoor?” Stark questioned.

“It’s more the name of the bullet it takes. I built most of these guns by hand, and that was the most expensive, fun, and stressful one I’ve ever done.” I replied.

“How much?” Natasha said as she looked up from the notebook at me. I fought off the blush rising on my cheeks from the intense stare she was giving me.

“Almost ten thousand dollars. It’s worth it, though.” I replied.

I walked over to the gun side of the room (I really will need to have a decent name for this side of the floor) and pulled a large plastic gun case away from the wall. The boys looked over in interest, following me to one of the workbenches where I laid it upon.

I cracked open the several snaps, before pulling open the lid.

“Holy shit.” Sam whispered.

I nodded, and grinned as I pulled the gun up from it’s designated spot in the case. A massive sniper rifle, my creedmoor weighed nearly twenty pounds.

I rested the butt of it upon the table, and mounted the bipod on the front of it. I took it off the table, shouldering it and checked to make sure the gun was clear.

“Mom!” A yell came from behind Natasha. She turned, and moved aside so Lillith could run up to me.

She stopped right in front of me, her mouth open.

“You got the creedmoor!” She exclaimed, almost jumping up and down with excitement. I laughed at her antics, and squatted down, still holding the gun.

“Wanna hold it?” I asked her.

She grinned and nodded with such force her hair whipped up and down.

“What are the three rules about guns?” I questioned, sliding the bolt back until it locked in place.

She closed her eyes, grasping her hands into fists at her sides.

“Be aware of your target and beyond….”

“That’s one.”

“Never point the muzzle anywhere you’re not going to shoot….”

“One more.”

She scrunched her eyebrows together, a look I called the ‘Focus headache’ because whenever she did it, it usually ended up with her hurting her head.

“Something about the trigger?” She questioned, opening her eyes.

I nodded, and spoke slowly

“Never put your finger on the trigger-” I started

“Unless you’re ready to shoot.” she finished, grinning.

I lifted the gun from my grip, holding it out to her.

“Careful it’s heavy.” I warned, but she took it and cradled it against her chest. It was almost as tall as her, even holding it diagonally the barrel was above her head and the butt of the gun was below her knees.

Her mouth was agape in awe as she ran her hands over the gun. She tilted it down, checking down the barrel and the scope.

“I didn’t know there were rules to guns.” James told me, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s more common sense than anything. She taught the same to my kids and Laura.” Clint replied, taking photos of Lillith.

I nodded, and noticed Lillith was struggling a bit with the gun.

I gently took it from her, and set it back on the table.

Wanda rounded the corner in a sprint, stopping once she found Lillith. I noticed she was covered in what looked like...flour?

She bent over, gasping for breath. In between her gasps, she breathed out that she found Lillith.

I looked over to Lillith, who shrugged and tried to give me her best innocent face.

“What? I wanted to make cookies!” Lillith exclaimed with a huff, crossing her arms.

A/N: So I was born and raised around guns, and I kinda implemented that into this series. I’m also doing archery right now. My dad reloads bullets (has been since before I was born) and I’ve helped him with it since I could remember. I work on guns with him-mostly ARs-and our bows. I’ve reloaded bullets and made my own arrows, and still do. All of the information is correct, at least in the way my dad raised me. The Creedmoor that is mentioned is a rifle that my dad made a couple years ago (real gun is worth about 8k) and it one fucking gun. It’s hyper-accurate, and there’s not much recoil on it. It’s also heavy, weighing in at about 17 pounds. I’ve edited some information because the Creedmoor in this series is a little different. My dad made his with some expensive parts, but not necessarily the parts he would have had if he had more money. I’ve shot it dozens of times, and I still love it. I’m cutting this chapter short because it’s getting long, and I figured I’d end with showing a little bit more of Lillith’s personality. I really expect this series to be over 20 chapters, just so y’all know.

Any questions or comments? Send an ask!

#miscfandomwrites #marvel x reader #marvel #mama #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #avengers x reader #avengers x avengers! reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov

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jinxhallows · 9 months

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idk if the requests are still open but can you do Lee Know detective au? thanks in advance! 💕

hey, I know you didnt ask for all this but well, when you make a request, I must oblige, and if im gonna do a detective au, its gonna be noir because, Minho as a noir detective? his pretty scorpio ass? I swoon! I got so carried away and it got so long, I had to split it into two parts, so here ya go ;) sorry it took so long! I've never written minho before and he's quite enigmatic, I wanted to do him justice. I've never written in this kind of au before, i really enjoyed it! thanks!

ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴄᴀsᴇ [ ʟᴇᴇᴋɴᴏᴡ x ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɴᴏɪʀ ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴀᴜ ]

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴀ sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴇʀɪᴇs

ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ: 𝟷𝟾+ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ, ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ɪʟʟᴇɢᴀʟ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛɪᴇs, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟽.𝟼ᴋ

━━━━━━━━

Lightning dances across the melancholic navy-grey night sky, momentarily illuminating the worn-out detective's office. The accompanying thunder roars in a subdued grumble, blending with the relentless downpour outside. The storm's proximity jolts Minho from his relentless pursuit of a fourteen-year-old missing person case, now gone cold, aggravating his already mounting frustrations.

With a frustrated scrape of the wooden chair against the floor, Minho rises from his desk, clutching his empty black coffee mug. The dried residue at its bottom reveals hours have passed since his last sip of caffeine, a regular occurrence during his late-night vigils. His reputation as a tenacious detective, able to crack cases others can't fathom, depends on these after-hours endeavors.

Gazing into the abyss of his mug, Minho mutters a silent curse at its emptiness before lifting a small, black remote and increasing the volume on the jazz music emanating from the sound system. The smooth melodies of the horns cascade through the room, supplying a temporary shield against the cacophony of the storm. Drawing energy from the music, he leaves the room, flicking on the light switch to the breakroom. The fluorescent lights flicker to life, unveiling the weary detective's countenance as he reaches for the cabinet above the stainless steel sink, retrieving a fresh coffee filter and aromatic grounds. A new brew, he hopes, will fuel him for a few more tireless hours.

The persistent scratching at the door leading to the back reminds him of the alleycat's nightly demand for its meal. Minho presses the button on the coffee machine, setting the brewing process in motion, and bends down to open the cabinet under the sink, scanning for any remaining cans of cat food. To his dismay, none are in sight. A sigh escapes his lips, a gust that momentarily sweeps his wispy black hair away from his face as he ponders an alternative solution.

Scratch. Scratch.

"Give me a second," he calls out in exasperation, fully expecting the alleycat to understand plain English. He opens the fridge and retrieves the tuna sandwich he had prepared for himself. His gaze shifts between the sandwich and the door, contemplating his priorities. Finally, he unwraps half of the sandwich, placing it on a delicate porcelain plate. Determined to pick up some cans of cat food on his way home from the 24-hour gas station, he heads towards the back door. As he opens it, a small, black blur darts past him and into the building.

"Hey—" he begins to protest, only to be interrupted by a resounding thunderstrike that causes him to wince. Shielding his face from the stray droplets, carried on the wind, he silently curses as the rain dampens his pristine white dress shirt. His decision to stay put is driven by a flash of lightning that seemingly reveals a figure at the end of the alley.

Another flash of lightning confirms his suspicion, and the glowing streetlamp near the door finally unveils your identity.

"What are you doing out here? Are you lost?" He raises his voice above the rain, squinting at you from the doorway. You take a step back, glancing at the sign next to the door, before shifting your gaze towards the dark-haired man.

"Are you Detective Lee?" you lean forward and ask.

"Come inside, we're both getting soaked," he steps aside, his gaze still fixed on the rain-laden sky. You cautiously enter the hallway, and with a frustrated sigh, Minho looks down the darkened corridor where the alleycat has vanished. Placing the small plate with the sandwich near the coatrack by the door, he closes it behind you. His eyes widen with disbelief as he examines your soaked appearance. He takes your jacket, giving it a gentle shake before hanging it on the hook. You also remove your hat, and he carefully places it on the adjacent hook.

"If it's an emergency, you should have gone to the police," he says, shaking his wrist to glance at his black watch with a gold rim. "I can drive you, so you don't have to walk in this rain. It's a few blocks up the road."

Ignoring his attempts to divert the conversation, you press on, your tone becoming more assertive. "You didn't answer my question. Are you Detective Lee?"

"Yes, I am," he concedes, though his tone carries a hint of reluctance. "But it's outside of business hours, and I'm really tied up in a case—"

Undeterred, you push forward, dismissing his excuses. "I was told to talk to you. My name is y/n, y/n Johnston."

At the mention of your name, he freezes mid-sentence. "Johnston. As in the disappearance of Alesha Johnston?"

You retrieve a manilla envelope from your bag and hold it out to him. "I received this yesterday—no label, nothing. Inside are photos of this cabin. It reminds me of the place Alesha used to talk about just before she went missing. I know it's been so long, and it may be nothing, but—"

Slowly, you hand the envelope to Minho, who holds it but refrains from opening it. He gazes back at you, his eyes capturing the fear and hope shimmering within yours. "Follow me," he urges, turning swiftly and leading the way through the breakroom. The coffee continues streaming into the pot, now halfway full. You maintain your pace behind him, taking in the sight of the old building's interior. The breakroom walls are painted a faded mint green, and the black-and-white checkered tile flooring evokes memories of shower floors in locker rooms. The door to his office bears a frosted glass window with golden letters that read: Detective Lee. He opens it, gesturing for you to enter first, and you hear the door click securely into place as you approach his desk. Stacks of folders and piles of paper clutter the surface, alongside a few polaroid photos of random people and a couple of bloodied scenes depicting unthinkable brutal murders.

He loosens his black tie, sinking into the edge of the work desk. His white shirt clings to his shoulders and chest, slightly damp from the encounter. His steely brown eyes bear a hint of doubt as his tongue probes the inside of his mouth, deep in thought.

Minho begins to unravel his thought process, his voice filled with skepticism, "This case is fourteen years old, and you suddenly receive an anonymous package with photos of a place your sister mentioned—"

"Hold on, how do you know she's my sister?"

He strides around the desk and opens the folder at its center, revealing faded, typewritten pages. "Because the Johnston disappearance is one of the cold cases I've been working on for a few years now. A wealthy family's daughter vanishes without a trace, barely investigated before being closed," he shakes his head. "But you weren't even home when it happened, according to your witness statement, at least." Minho raises his gaze, locking eyes with you. "Who told you to come find me?"

"I got the photos and started askin’ around to see if anyone recognized the cabin or the woods. The bartender at Jerry's mentioned you specialize in cold cases. Going to the cops, they wouldn't have taken me seriously. I know she's probably dead, but I can't find peace until I get some answers. Please, you're my only hope right now," you plead, the raw emotion in your words striking a chord in Minho's heart. He knows exactly who you're referring to when you mentioned the bartender. He'll have to pay his friend a visit and share a drink soon. Finally, he opens the envelope and carefully removes the photos. Six in total, each capturing the desolation of a dilapidated cabin in the woods. Two show the interior, revealing signs of recent habitation, at least, it seems that way.

"I don't work for free, no matter how pretty a face is," he says, sliding the photos back into the envelope and placing them on his desk. "Three hundred an hour, with a deposit now that counts toward the first one."

A smirk tugs at your lips as you retrieve your wallet from your bag, pulling out four crisp one-hundred dollar bills. Placing them atop the envelope, your gaze meets Minho's, locking eyes with the private eye. "An extra hundred, because you called me pretty." Money holds no sway over you, your inheritance affording you endless resources. Closure for your sister's disappearance is worth any price.

Accepting the cash, Minho opens a drawer and tucks it away before resting his forearms on the table, interlacing his fingers as he leans forward. "I could say much more than that, but I still possess a shred of decorum after all these years." Your attention fixates on his partly opened lips, when suddenly a ding echoes from the other room, prompting him to stand. "Would you like some coffee? I don't drink tea, but there might be some Lipton from the attorney in the office next to mine."

A chuckle escapes your lips. "Coffee will do just fine."

Meow.

The alleycat beckons from the doorway, its presence demanding attention. As you glance over your shoulder, it gracefully brushes its head against the doorframe, proceeding to rub against your leg. Unable to resist its charm, you instinctively bend down, indulging in a few gentle head scratches.

"How cute. Is he yours?" you inquire, your voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Minho corrects your assumption, emphasizing the proper pronoun, "She might as well be by now. I'll be right back," he replies with a warm smile.

Pouring the steaming brew into his mug, Minho finds solace in the hot liquid, an elixir for his restless mind. Alone in the breakroom, questions swirl in his thoughts. Even if they found the cabin, what would it lead to? Why would the victim have been talking about a secluded cabin in the first place?

Absently, he reaches for another mug from the cupboard, its distinctive wood catching his attention. He has opened these cupboards countless times before, yet something about them stands out now. Running his fingers along the shelf, a wave of familiarity washes over him. The grain patterns and texture of the wood bear an uncanny resemblance to the trees captured in the photographs.

He pauses, a connection forming between the cupboard and the haunting images that have consumed his mind. The realization strikes him like an electric shock—this is the same wood! Grasping the extra mug, he hastily fills it, returning to his desk and arranging the photos. His eyes dart between the images, drawing parallels.

"These trees," he murmurs, turning over one of the photos and gently pressing his finger against the clearer ones, "These are Eastern Black Oak trees. It's unmistakable. They grow on the outskirts of town, up north."

"Then we'll go tomorrow, when the weather clears," you declare with determination, punctuating your statement with a firm nod.

Minho hesitates, apprehension etched on his face. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, I don’t work with others—besides, this could be dangerous, if these photos are recent, it looks like someone’s still living there,” He stares at the photo, turning it back right side up so he can look at it closer. “Still, the forests on the edges of town are huge. It has to be narrowed down somehow.”

Now it's your turn to lean forward, your finger tracing the blurred backdrop in another photo. "If it's up north, this looks like the water tower on Bell Avenue," you interject, your eyes meeting Minho's. "But you know, you don't typically work with others, right?" A mischievous brow rises as you lean back, taking a sip of your coffee. The realization dawns upon you—the cabin had consumed your attention, neglecting the background details, just as Minho had focused solely on the trees, overlooking the water tower.

"Another set of eyes won't hurt. Besides, it's my sister we're talking about. I'll do anything to uncover the truth," you say, unveiling a small revolver from your bag and placing it firmly on the desk. Minho's surprise is palpable, his expectations shattered by your audacity. Silence fills the room, punctuated only by the distant patter of raindrops against the windows. Lingering glances and unspoken words convey volumes, as the weight of the investigation and your shared vulnerability hangs in the air.

Suddenly, Minho takes control of the moment, a subtle shift in his demeanor. "Alright then, let's meet here at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow morning," he asserts.

You rise from your seat, setting your partially drunk coffee on the edge of the desk. "Do you mind calling me a taxi?" you ask, your voice carrying a hint of weariness.

Minho glances at his wrist, considering your request. As he gathers the evidence and places it neatly in a folder alongside the rest of the case documentation, he offers an alternative solution. "Actually, I'm about to lock up and head home. I can drop you off at your place, save you the taxi fee," he proposes, a flicker of kindness in his gaze.

"Thank you, Detective. I would appreciate that very much," you reply gratefully, acknowledging his offer.

Together, you step out into the relentless downpour, the rain immediately soaking through your clothes. Minho swiftly unlocks his car, holding the door open for you, a gesture of chivalry. You climb into the passenger seat, a shiver coursing through your body as the cold rainwater clings to your skin. Minho shuts the door and dashes to the driver's side, water dripping from his hair and clothes. As he starts the engine, the car roars to life, its comforting hum filling the space. The interior feels warm and cozy, offering solace from the relentless rain. Soft illumination from the dashboard lights bathes the cabin as Minho adjusts the temperature and activates the windshield wipers. The rhythm of rain on the roof serves as a soothing backdrop as the two of you pull away from the agency and onto the road.

Curiosity sparks within you, breaking the silence. "I'm curious, how did you figure out the type of trees in the photo?" you inquire, stealing a glance at Minho.

"My degree is in ecology," he reveals, his voice carrying a note of pride. "It comes in handy at times."

You muse aloud, your gaze shifting to the raindrops streaking across the car windows. "And how did you become a detective?" you venture, genuinely intrigued.

A subtle, smothered chuckle escapes Minho, accompanied by a faint curl of his lips. Memories resurface, creating a momentary flicker in his eyes. "I had a troubled upbringing and ended up in prison. I learned from doing a lot of reading in there, and I guess I had a thing for criminology," he explains, his tone tinged with a mix of reflection and determination. "When I finally got out, someone offered to mentor me. They helped me channel my experiences into something that could aid others instead of causing harm."

Keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead, Minho concludes, "Thinking like a criminal is much easier when you've been one."

Curiosity piques your interest further, compelling you to probe deeper. "What did you do?" you inquire, your voice laced with genuine intrigue.

"We don't have to delve into that. Trust me, it won't paint a pretty picture," Minho deflects, occasionally stealing glances in your direction. "And what about you? What's your story?"

As the miles pass, you engage in small talk, cautiously revealing fragments of your respective lives. Each guarded, harboring past traumas unbeknownst to the other. As your destination draws nearer, the rain eases, the storm relinquishing its fury. The atmosphere within the car begins to shift, as a sense of cautious optimism replaces the earlier tension. It feels like a turning point, a pivotal moment where the answers you have sought for so long are finally within reach.

Minho pulls up outside your residence, the gentle purr of the car's engine fading as he turns off the ignition. Turning to face you, his eyes reflect a blend of determination and concern. "We're here," he states softly, his voice laced with anticipation.

Meeting his gaze, a flicker of gratitude glimmers in your eyes. "Thank you for everything, Detective. You have no idea how much this means to me," you express, genuine appreciation resonating in your words.

Minho offers a small, heartfelt smile. "Call me Minho. Since we're partners now, I suppose it's okay," he suggests, his voice laced with a hint of camaraderie.

The sound of a saxophone fills the car, the radio emitting a captivating riff. Minho adjusts the volume, his actions captivating your attention. You realize you have been lingering, delaying your departure. Despite your drenched state and weariness, you find yourself stalling. Minho's actions hold a magnetic pull, the weight of the investigation and an unspoken attraction hanging palpably in the air. He leans in slightly, bridging the gap between you, the charged atmosphere electrifying the space. His hand gently brushes a rain-soaked strand of hair away from your face, a touch both tender and exhilarating. His eyes betray a momentary hesitation, flicking toward your lips before diverting his gaze to the car's ignition, restarting the engine.

"Eight o'clock sharp, got it?" he asserts authoritatively, his voice resolute. Handing you a card, he adds, "Call me if you need anything before then."

You take the card, studying it briefly, gratitude filling your heart.

With a nod of finality, you turn and make your way towards your front door, the echoes of raindrops fading into the background. The sound of Minho's engine revving as he drives off lingers in your ears. You close your door, pausing for a moment to replay the recent encounter in your mind. A faint smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but it quickly fades as the memory of your sister's disappearance resurfaces, dampening the moment.

Minho parks his car in the garage of his apartment complex, his footsteps echoing in the empty space as he gathers his belongings. Tucking his trenchcoat under his arm, he navigates towards the elevator lobby, stopping momentarily to retrieve the mail from his mailbox. Disappointment flickers across his features as he finds nothing of note. He locks the mailbox and steps into the waiting elevator, lost in his thoughts as he ascends to the seventh floor. The forced wait within the confined space allows his mind to wander. The woods near the water tower, the enigmatic cabin—how were they connected to Alesha's disappearance? Tomorrow, he decides, he will need to gather more information from you.

You.

Arriving home, Minho leans against the wall for support, slipping off his heels one by one, leaving them alongside his sneakers near the door. He places his briefcase on the small, round table in his living room, his hands deftly unbuttoning his shirt and removing it, tossing it into the laundry basket outside his bedroom. Unbuttoning his pants, he sits on the edge of his bed, his thoughts consuming him. Who would send those photos? What could their motive be after all these years? Why now?

A soft squeak pierces the silence, drawing Minho's attention to his furry companion. He scratches under the cat's chin, momentarily distracted from his musings. Resting his elbows on his knees, he rests his chin on his fists, contemplating aloud, "If this is a lead, it means the sender wants the case solved. But why not involve the police? Why remain anonymous?" The purring cat curls up beside him, a comforting presence in his solitary world.

“Let’s say this person genuinely wants the case solved. Why? How would it benefit them?” Minho's mind races ahead, thoughts swirling faster than he can articulate. “Because what if someone else is involved? I’d only breadcrumb someone to the culprit if I want them arrested, but then—why not give it to the police? Why not reveal your identity?”

Another squeak interrupts his train of thought, reminding him to focus on the present. “Soonie, I can always count on you to remind me to pay attention to you.” he murmurs affectionately, nuzzling the cat before rising to his feet. Stripping off his pants and underwear, he turns the shower knob, adjusting it to the desired temperature. Steam fills the bathroom, enveloping him as he steps beneath the hot cascade. The water reddens his pale skin, washing away the day's weight with a deep breath.

Minho lives alone in a modest one-bedroom apartment, his domain shared with his three feline companions. A few close friends exist in his life, but the demands of his work leave little time for socializing. Conversations with friends in marketing and business often feel stilted, as he stays disconnected from popular culture. However, he has developed a bond with Jisung, the bartender at Jerry's, often seeking refuge in the establishment to unwind and glean valuable information from inebriated patrons. Jisung's night shift schedule clashes with Minho's daytime investigations, limiting their opportunities to catch up.

And a partner? Forget about it. He had all but forgotten how to properly court someone, and nobody was willing to comply with his outrageously out of whack work/life balance beyond a one night stand anyway.

Coming home is a stark reminder of Minho's solitude, a condition he embraces for the most part. He has cultivated a reputation for being aloof, fitting the role perfectly. Like any dedicated professional, he relishes the moments spent on his couch, sipping beer and losing himself in mindless television. Yet, a persistent unease gnaws at him, highlighting the dissatisfaction that lingers beneath the surface.

Thoughts of you infiltrate his mind once more, and he glances towards his phone, though he is still firmly planted on his comfortable couch, dressed in lounge pants. His mind drifts, wondering about your current whereabouts.…were you already asleep? Or were you up, unable to fall asleep either? What did you think about when you were home? And did you live alone? With someone?

Suppressing a yawn, Minho finally acknowledges his body's fatigue, realizing it's time to rest. "Eight o'clock sharp," he murmurs, tilting his head back on the couch as his heavy eyelids succumb to sleep, shutting out the world.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

The piercing sound of the alarm jolts Minho awake, propelling him upright on the couch. Startled, two formerly resting cats scatter at his sudden movement. He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the back of his neck, feeling the strain from falling asleep on the couch like a fool once again. Scanning the living room, he notes that the sky is still dark, but the clock indicates it's already six in the morning. With a resigned sigh, Minho drags himself into the bedroom, silencing the alarm by forcefully pressing his fist onto the button. He rubs his eyes, fighting the temptation to crawl back into bed. It always seems inviting when he has to leave but rarely when he returns home after a long day's work.

Yet, there is a glimmer of hope that he may make a significant breakthrough in this case, finally cracking it open after years of being dormant. Fueled by determination, he dresses himself and leaves his apartment, heading to the agency to meet you at the agreed-upon time.

As he pulls up to the agency, Minho is momentarily taken aback by the presence of you and Kevin, the attorney who rents an office down the hall. Your smile is wide, something he hadn’t seen himself yet. What could Kevin be saying to make you so happy? He was as interesting as a wallpaper peeling.

Beep Beep.

Minho rolls down the passenger window, lowering his head to shoot you a disarming smile. “Are you ready?” he asks, his tone cool but polite.

"Morning there, Detective!" Kevin greets him with a wave, fully aware that Minho isn't one for exchanging idle pleasantries. He is taken aback when Minho responds with a curt nod, his lips pressed tightly together, acknowledging the greeting, albeit with a touch of frostiness.

You bid farewell, but before you step into the car, the attorney stops you. He hands you his card with a smile, holding the door open for you to enter Detective Lee's car. Minho discreetly rolls his eyes, seizing the brief moment while you buckle your seatbelt. As he drives off, the low hum of the radio fills the space, broadcasting the morning news.

"You know Kevin?" he asks casually.

"No? Well, I mean, I know him now, but we just met a few minutes ago. Why?" you reply, curiosity tinged in your voice.

"No reason, just thought you two looked friendly," he says, his words carrying a hint of observation.

You narrow your eyes, finding it peculiar that he took note of such a detail, but then again, he is a detective, right? Perhaps you're reading too much into it. Settling back into your seat, you retrieve several envelopes from your bag.

"The police had already gone through these and deemed them worthless during the initial investigation," you explain, tracing your fingers along the cursive signature of your sister's name on one of the aged envelopes. "They were letters she exchanged with Pierre, an exchange student from France."

You continue, "He interned at our father's bank before abruptly dropping out and returning to France with little explanation. At least, that's what Alesha told me. But now, after last night, I stayed up rereading them, and... I don't know, something feels off."

Minho nods, a flicker of impressed admiration visible in his half grin. "Is Pierre still around? Does anyone have contact with him?"

You shrug, shuffling through the letters, scanning them for any overlooked mentions. "Once he left, only Alesha kept in touch with him. Dad was solely focused on quickly filling the vacant spot at the bank."

"What about 'em feels off?" Minho inquires.

"Just the way Alesha questioned him about his reasons for leaving. Initially, he claimed he was homesick, but then it changed to his grandmother falling ill. The letters from those times... they're like a year apart," you explain, your brows furrowing.

"Good eye," Minho remarks, glancing at you briefly. His gaze drifts towards the bag in your lap before returning to the road. "You still got your weapon?"

"Of course," you reply confidently.

"Is it registered?" he probes further.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" You tease playfully, folding the letters neatly and placing them back inside. Your bag finds a spot on the floor by your feet.

"Yeah, I kind of need to know. If you go off shooting someone, it brings the cops into the mix, and they tend to get in my way. Things would go smoother if you have proper paperwork for the weapon," Minho explains.

"My gun is registered, and I'm licensed to carry. I've passed my foundational training for self-defense. Is that the answer you want?" you sassily retort, eliciting a snicker from him. He steals another glance in your direction, his gaze piercing through you as if he can peer into your inner thoughts.

Well then, kiss me.

"That's the answer the cops want to hear, so it's good enough for me," he says, refocusing his attention on the road. You confirm that he does not possess mind-reading capabilities. Why did such a thought cross your mind? It's neither the time nor the place, and he's certainly not the ideal person for such fantasies.

You lean forward, turning up the news report, to distract yourself from your thoughts that went rampant in the near-silence he seemed to enjoy. Was he a psychopath? No, of course not, a psychopath wouldn’t take in a stray alleycat. But they can be quite manipulative, and then also, you still don’t know what he did to end up in prison…

The car engine grumbles to a halt, and you take a moment to survey your surroundings. Houses dot the block, and the car is parked on the street. Minho steps out, removing his coat and scarf and tossing them onto the backseat. He scans the area, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. From the passenger's side, you observe as he leans on the center console, his big brown eyes locking with yours, the scent of coffee, cigarettes, and cologne lingering on his breath.

"Can you open that for me?" Minho gestures to the glove compartment, closer to you than him, aware of your close proximity and opting not to get any closer for now.

You oblige, clicking open the glove compartment, revealing a gun resting atop various receipts and letters. You gingerly retrieve it, carefully handing it face down to him.

"Thanks," he says, standing up and closing the car door, tucking the gun into the back of his pants as he adjusts them. His gaze sweeps over the visible street names, houses, and parked cars. He shields his eyes from the morning sun, filtering through the thick clouds in the gray sky.

It's going to rain again today, that was for certain.

Lowering his hand, his gaze settles on the imposing white globe of the water tower. He turns to look at the house behind him, confident that he has led both of you to a promising starting point. He begins walking forward, momentarily forgetting your presence until you call out for him to slow down, struggling to catch up. He halts, realizing your need, and waits for you to join him. His eyes shift to the vast land extending into the forest, obstructed by a black diamond chain fence, towering nearly eight feet high.

He sighs, running his fingers through his hair as he rests his hands on his hips. Stepping back, he assesses the fence, considering whether he should try to scale it. Then he looks back at you.

"Can you climb this?" he asks, as if it were a feat within the reach of an average human.

"N-No?" you stammer, feeling a sense of intimidation. He nibbles on his lip thoughtfully, searching for an alternative solution. Finally, his gaze lands on the neighboring house, and he points towards it, his finger tracing a line from the front door to the backyard that extends into the treeline.

"We could enter from there, but we'll have to go through the house," Minho suggests. "But if they're not too welcoming, we'll have to scale the fence. I mean... we could drive further down, but this is exactly the direction depicted in the photo. I don't think we'll get a better opportunity. Anything else would introduce too many variables."

You glance back at the house, your arms tightly crossed over your chest. Then you turn to Minho and nod firmly. "We have to try."

"I like that attitude, partner," Minho remarks, his arm draping over your shoulders as he guides your gaze, sharing his observations and the profile he has mentally constructed of the household. He points to the car parked in front of the garage door, indicating its size and potential seating capacity. "That's a full-sized sedan. I can tell from here it seats at least five, maybe six," he explains, redirecting your attention to the front yard. "There's a childproof gate there, so it's a family." His finger then lands on the tall pole holding the American flag. "They're patriotic, so it's likely a cookie-cutter family with a military dad or son," he deduces, scanning the surroundings until his eyes fall on a sticker adorning the vehicle's bumper.

"Veteran. It's the dad," he concludes, straightening his posture and nodding at his deductions. "Follow my lead... Oh, take this," he says, pulling his gun from his trousers and handing it to you. "Put it in your bag."

You comply, feeling the weight of the weapon as you zip up your bag. Walking alongside the detective, you watch as he raises his fist and lightly knocks on the door three times. Stepping back, he patiently waits, attentively listening to the sounds emanating from within. He distinguishes a shrill squeal followed by the quick pitter-patter of footsteps, indicating the presence of a small child, perhaps even two. A woman's voice joins the commotion, accompanied by heavier footsteps approaching the door. The door opens, revealing the mother with an infant resting on her hip, their eyes as strikingly green as each other's. The woman peers at both of you through rectangular lenses, curiosity etched on her face. Suddenly, a crash echoes from inside, and she steps back, calling out, "Daniel, please!" She then turns her attention back to you both. "May I help you?"

"Yes, I'm so sorry to bother you, but my wife and I are trying to get to my brother's wedding, and we made a wrong turn, ending up here. Do you mind if we use your phone to give them a call and let them know we'll be late? I'm the best man, and I just feel awful about this," Minho explains with a remorseful tone.

"Oh, I... that does sound awful! Come on in, please. My husband is great with directions; he might be able to help you get back on the right track! A best man can't be late," she says, wincing as another crash resonates through the home. "DANIEL JEREMIAH!"

Wide-eyed, you find yourselves abandoned in the living room as she rushes after the source of the noise. Pinned closely to Minho, you follow his lead as he subtly navigates through the living room, adopting an innocent demeanor as if searching for a restroom. You seamlessly merge into the kitchen, where the sliding patio door provides an escape route to the backyard.

"Your wife?" you whisper, questioning the authenticity of the story.

"It worked, didn't it?" Minho shushes you, ensuring that no one is within earshot. He slides the door open and steps outside. It's at this moment that the aroma of burning charcoal fills his nostrils, and he spots a nearby grill, cursing under his breath.

"Excuse me? Who the hell are you?" The bearded man calls out from his chair, his glasses perched atop his bald head.

"We're lost, and your wife was kind enough to offer us the use of your phone. Sorry if we wandered too far," Minho responds, modulating his voice to exude an innocent charm. Maybe he is a psychopath…

"Yeah, well, the phone's in there," the man grumbles, pointing towards the house. He takes a swig of his beer and places it on the table before making his way back to the house with a slight limp. You notice it, and you know Minho probably does too. This man isn’t capable of chasing after you two if you can get some distance between you.

Thinking quickly, you start waving your arms frantically and screaming. "It's a bee!" you shriek, stumbling backward. Minho is perplexed, trying to understand what's happening as he tries to calm you down and locate the imaginary insect.

"Wait! Calm down, will you!?" Minho shouts, gripping both of your arms to halt your frantic movements. You both freeze, breathing heavily, and gaze at each other in bewilderment.

“I can’t calm down, I’m allergic–honey–remember?” you say through gritted teeth before snatching your arms away and resuming your flailing, screaming about bees once more. With that, you rush off towards the woods. Minho's eyes widen in realization, his mouth forming a perfect "O" shape as he looks back at the bewildered old man, offering an apologetic glance.

"Sorry, I'll be right back. I have to go after her," Minho offers.

“Like hell you do boy, or you won’t hear the end of it the whole car ride home!” The man waves Minho off and the detective takes off in a sprint after you. You can hear his footsteps behind you, gradually catching up, but you keep running deeper into the woods until you eventually slow down to a jog, completely out of breath. With a breathless laugh, you turn to face Minho, who slows down a few paces behind you, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath before straightening up.

"Now that..." he wags a finger at you, "that was clever." Closing the remaining distance between you, he squints his eyes at the trees ahead. He then glances back at the direction you came from, the water tower still visible above the trees, but now further away.

You unzip your bag, handing him back his weapon that he tucks into the back of his pants again before trudging forward.

“You said it wouldn’t paint a pretty picture if you told me what you did to get in prison, so…what do you care what I think about you? After this case is over, it’s not like it matters what I think.” You say, stepping over fallen branches here and there and trying to stay stable on rocks lodged into the dirt as you walk alongside Minho.

“Nice try.” He says, ducking under a low branch as he walks. “How about I tell you once we solve this case?”

“Are you inferring you’ll keep in contact with me once we solve this case, Detective?”

He looks at you with a grin. “You’re drawing a lot from one statement, perhaps you’re projecting something?”

“Perhaps I am.” You reply boldly.

The banter between you two continues, but the unspoken tension hangs thick in the air. Instead of addressing it directly, you both delve deeper into the case, exchanging details and theories. As you walk, the terrain becomes increasingly challenging. The uneven forest floor causes you to stumble several times, almost twisting your ankle. To assist you, Minho takes hold of your hand, offering support as you navigate the rocky path. The sound of a nearby stream reaches your ears, bringing a sense of tranquility. However, when Minho hears it, he comes to an abrupt halt, his gaze fixed on the surrounding woods.

"Eastern Black Oak trees. They're often found near creeks and streams," he explains, slowly turning his head until he spots the distant water tower, now a mere blur. Whipping back around, he points, his voice filled with urgency. "Do you see that?"

You follow his gaze and your eyes widen. "Th-that's it!" you exclaim, your voice filled with disbelief. "I-I think that's it!"

"Stay close," Minho commands, his hands firmly planted on your shoulders. He locks eyes with you, his intense gaze capturing your attention. "If anything goes wrong, you need to run, okay? Run and get help. Don't try to be a hero, got it?”

Nodding in understanding, you respond, "You're kind of scaring me."

"Crime is scary. I'm telling it like it is because I believe you can handle it. This is what you signed up for when you asked for my help. Usually, I do this on my own. Now, you can turn back and use that family's phone to call a taxi and go back home where it's safe, or you can trust me and come find out what happened to your sister." Minho releases his grip on your shoulders, giving you the space to contemplate.

"Either way, I'll lose sleep over another cold case. This is my life—it has been for 17 years. Nothing changes for me. I work to make sure the changes happen for people like you.”

Being in this place, the very location your sister spoke of before her disappearance, brings back a flood of traumatic memories. The sleepless nights filled with fear, the constant dread of whether her captor would come for you next, the tormenting thoughts of her suffering at the hands of a twisted killer.

Minho's hand on your arm brings you back to the present, his touch gentle and reassuring. He begins to speak, but you interrupt him.

"Let's go."

That's all you manage to say as you forge ahead fueled by pure adrenaline. Minho joins you, and as you draw closer, there it is—the cabin from the photos. You can't help but pause, your breath catching in your throat as you gaze up at its dark, foreboding windows. Meanwhile, he takes a slow walk around the perimeter, peering into the windows and assessing the cabin's condition.

“Well if someone did live here, they haven’t for a very long time.” Minho's conclusion reverberates in your ears, though your focus remains fixated on the thunderous pounding of your own heart. He steps back towards the front door, confirming its locked status before bracing himself. With a powerful kick from his foot, the door splinters and flies open, accompanied by the clattering of screws onto the wooden floor. Seeing him draw his gun, you fumble to retrieve yours, eager to stay close behind him rather than be left alone in the daunting woods.

Silently, you survey the cabin with wide eyes as Minho cautiously progresses. He gestures for you to stay back as he eases open the door to a room on the right, his gun poised at eye level. The room is dusty, adorned with cobwebs, and scattered with empty cans and litter, but otherwise empty. Minho moves with agility, his steps barely making a sound as he crosses the hall to the other room. Opening the door, you catch a glimpse of a small bathroom as he approaches the shower and yanks the curtain back, his face contorting with disgust.

Relocating his gun to the back of his pants, Minho turns to face you. "A dead rat, almost completely decomposed," he informs you, stepping back into the hallway and surveying the surroundings. "Otherwise, we're all clear." He gazes at you expectantly. "Recognize anything? Any memories?"

You shake your head. "Nothing's ringing a bell."

"Hm." Minho paces around the living area, his eyes scanning the walls. The absence of personal photos is notable, replaced by framed wildlife and landscape imagery, coated in a thick layer of dust. However, something catches his attention, prompting him to take a step back. He withdraws the photos from his pocket, shuffling through them until his gaze locks onto the deer head above the mantle.

His eyes shift from the photo to the actual mantle, and he immediately notices the glaring disparity—the deer head is conspicuously absent. As he takes in the scene, he realizes another detail: the small clock on the mantle is missing as well. With a growing sense of intrigue, he approaches the clock, now positioned on the opposite side from the photo. It's in a dilapidated state, covered in dust, but he picks it up nonetheless, examining it closely, his mind racing.

"I would send the photos because I want the case solved," Minho muses aloud, his fingers exploring the clock's grooves. "I would lead you right to the answer—perhaps for revenge? Otherwise, I would have involved myself sooner..." He sticks his fingernail underneath the battery tab, popping the piece out and his doe-eyes widen at the small key inside. Just as he begins to formulate his thoughts--

"Detective!"

Your voice echoes from the room that Minho had unlocked earlier, prompting him to rush in with his hand ready to draw his weapon. However, he finds you kneeling on the floor, pressing your hands against the wooden surface. His gaze follows your intent, and that's when he notices it—a lock embedded in a door that conceals whatever lies below. He joins you, slowly lowering himself to his knees, the key held out before him as his eyes meet yours.

"How are you doing?" he asks, concern lacing his voice.

"A little shaky from the adrenaline, but I'm alright," you respond honestly. Minho nods, acknowledging your state, and leans forward to unlock the latch, flipping it open. As you both stand up, you lend your strength to lift the heavy door, its piercing creak reverberating through the air as it reveals a set of stone stairs descending into a pitch-black lower level.

"I don't know about this. Maybe we should call the cops..." you trail off, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Minho ignores your suggestion, determined to forge ahead. With his gun drawn, he advances down the stairs, his focused footsteps echoing in the darkness. You groan, scanning the room for something that could aid your exploration. Your eyes land on a partially burned candle nestled in a holder, accompanied by a box of matches, resting on a small table near the window. Swiftly, you seize the candle and strike a match, its flame casting a flickering glow as you cautiously make your way downstairs. Minho stands in the center of the room, surveying his surroundings—an empty expanse devoid of any notable objects. The shelves are bare, a solitary wooden table leans against the wall, and a few cardboard boxes are strewn about.

He places his shoe against one of the boxes, squinting and tilting his head to read the faded stamp. A half-smirk emerges on his face as he looks back at you. "Well, well, well, mademoiselle," he utters with a trace of satisfaction. "It seems we might have ourselves a lead."

Your horror is palpable, etched onto your features as you catch sight of the label on the box:

AIR MAIL - PARIS, FRANCE

---

next part -> click here for the smut

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haier-com · 1 year

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alilbitlesbian · 22 days

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Third time's the charm (common denominators) DLC

One of my readers on AO3 asked a description of a room the other day, and then I offered to describe more, and then I wrote too much so,,, here we are?

For anyone who doesn't have the context of my fic; GN!Reader-insert (Dove) is Adam's third wife (made for him ooo) and got stuck In hell during the season finale, this is just a few rooms from that story described in detail.

Story's called "Third time's the charm (common denominators)" and you can find it on ao3.

@alovesongtheywrote here you are! <3

Adam’s office

imma describe it like Dove’s investigating it

The office is pretty barebones, there are no pictures, no personal touches, really, it looks like it could belong to anyone. There’s a grand, bow-front oak desk in the centre of the room, and a few mainly empty bookshelves.

(Personally, you know exactly why Adam has a bow-front desk, he loves public stuff, and he loves blowjobs, so– Ugh, actually, let’s not think about that right now.)

There’s a desktop computer on the desk, though it’s mounted so it can easily be pushed and pulled around to see over the desk for meetings and such. You round it and open the drawers on the right side, only to find them empty aside from some menial office supplies, a perforator and such.. That, well, that can’t be right, you take a closer look, and–

Yeah, that’s more like it.

It’s a false bottom, in the hidden compartment of the drawer, there’s a vibrator and three different fleshlights, you vaguely recognize them from when Adam was in this phase and kept leaving the items around the house. He was so obsessed. “Oh! These are made from the moulds of real people, yeah, real human ass! Yeah, this is from a porn star named Chris- Hey hey, don’t look at me like that, bitch, it’s not gay– it’s THE best fucking ass possible, okay, shut the FUCK up!”

You know far too much about them, he would rant for hours and hours how the insides were made to give different textures, and– Oh, yeah, you recognize that big one, you use a pen to turn it over, it was made to ‘help train stamina’, it worked fine, which was the problem. Ugh, you thought he’d gotten rid of these.

Closing the drawer back up, you move to look at his desk, there’s a shit ton of trash on his desk, next to a pile of files he had to go through- You still have no idea what he does in his office, but you think he doesn’t, either. You recognize one of the beer cans, and huff.

That’s another fleshlight, you recognize it, because he used to keep it in the fridge, until you figured out what it was and made him get rid of it. You think he gave up on the incognito sex toys in different places, but seems he just moved them to his work, gross.

His computer is brand new, there’s several games with anime girls as the icons, one called ‘Yandere simulator’.. What’s that? Eh, whatever, unimportant.

The left drawer has a few personal affects, a miniature guitaraxe you got him for his birthday once, several pictures of you, him and/or Lyre. And a few of him and Lute, there’s also a collection of pictures he took during an extermination once, with the three of you absolutely drenched in blood.

There’s a dog bed in the corner, sometimes he takes Lyre to work, ‘Liar’ is embroidered onto the front of the bed, and there’s a small basket of different dog toys, and a hook with a spiked dog collar and studded leash hung off of it, right above the bed.

There is a row of dead cacti on the windowsill, you’re pretty sure Emily keeps giving them to him, the one furthest right is still alive, the one furthest left is the most dead one, they seem to all die of different things, though. One is rotting away (it smells), another is dried down to a raisin, one smells overwhelmingly of alcohol.. This one’s got all of it’s spikes cut out? There’s tweezers next to it and a neat pile of the spikes, jesus christ Adam, what? Another has a tiny collection of swords stabbed through it.

Actually tiny, they’re small swords, okay? You have no idea where he got them.

Moving on from that, there’s—Well, the rest of the place is pretty barren, there’s some panties you don’t recognize halfway under a bookshelf, but what else is new? You huff, having found nothing very interesting, and leave the room, noting that there is no lock on the door.

Again, gross, Adam.

Dove’s hotel room

(Before the return with Lute)

“Should we… I don’t know, empty it out?” Charlie’s hand settles on Vaggie’s shoulder, the fallen angel huffs, shoulders falling.

She’s probably been standing, looking into Dove’s old room, for a little too long.

“I don’t want to.” She murmurs lowly, Charlie smiles, but Vaggie looks away.

“Then we won’t.” Her girlfriend assures, Vaggie nods slowly, glancing around the room.

“I’d like to be alone, for a while, if that’s okay.” Charlie nods, pressing a quick kiss against Vaggie’s cheek. Her hands settle on her girlfriend’s shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze before she pulls away.

“Of course, Vaggie, I’ll be downstairs if you need me, okay?” Vaggie nods mutely, and Charlie leaves.

Vaggie squares her shoulders, then enters the room, shutting the door behind her.

Dove’s room is… A mess, really, there’s a bluetooth speaker on the nightstand, it is on, though it chimes every few seconds that it has a low battery. There’s a clock, but it’s several hours behind. The floor is littered with dirty clothes, and there are dishes around the room, though, they are oddly all clean of food residue.

There are cans of.. Mace? On the floor? All empty, it’s not like it’s a few of them either.

Vaggie confiscates the cigarettes she finds.

The bed has a single plush duck at the centre of the pillows. The pillows themselves are more set up like a nest than in a row by the headboard, which Vaggie vaguely remembers is one of Dove’s habits. There are three different TVs around the room, not a single one is fully off, one has a screensaver of ducklings in water for some reason, and another is playing ‘funniest murder videos’, again, blissfully, the volume is down.

Vaggie sighs, and turns off anything electronic she can find, she plugs the speaker into a charger. Then finds all three of the TV remotes and sets them on top of the nightstand (they are all incompatible with the other two TVs, but look exactly the same. Thank you, Dove.)

Looking around the room for anything else that should be dealt with before she.. Well, locks the room up for the foreseeable future, she’s kind of confused by her findings.

Food items, or even sex toys, is what she expects to find, that was a really weird thing with Dove. For some reason, the angel had a thing with keeping sex toys in the worst places possible. Vaggie would assume they were Adam’s if Dove weren’t so adamant they were theirs.

Weird.

But none of that was there, if anything, aside from the weirdly obnoxious TVs, and, for some reason, a mini-fridge, the room was kind of…

Bittersweet.

There was a pet bed under one of the windows, full of a certain cat’s black hair, but much bigger than necessary to be intended for Keekee, distinctly the size of a certain dog. As an extra punch in the gut, there’s a small shopping bag with a few necessities, toys, a collar and leash, and food. There’s a bowl set up to the side, it’s topped off with fresh water for Keekee.

There’s a desk, though it’s been buried under trash–or, well, it’s been buried under.. Stuff, new stuff, the most of it, like Dove has been going on a buying (or shoplifting) spree. There’s also a simple potted plant that blooms with Lilac flowers, Lute distinctly remembers Emily having one that looks like it.

She moves on, passing the walk-in closet, and the bathroom looks oddly untouched aside from some golden stains in the sink. There’s also a towel crumpled on the ground, it too, is covered in bloodstains. It’s long dry, the blood appearing brown and the cloth looks like it’d crunch if Vaggie tried to unfold it.

When did Dove get hurt? She… She can’t really think of a time.

She closes the bathroom door, she’ll ask Charlie to throw away the towel, she was sure Alastor would try to eat it or something, and that was frankly freaky when it’s her parent’s blood.

Continuing down the room, there’s a few leafy red plants in the windowsill that Vaggie thinks used to stand in other places in the hotel. The rest of the surface seems clear, aside from grime, and Vaggie almost passes by, but…

There’s a pile of pictures on the dusty windowsill, packed in a folder from some shop in hell that apparently printed them. The pictures were obviously well-loved, and frequently visited, by the smudged dust around the pile.

Vaggie sits down on the bed with the pictures and sorts through them.

She quickly figures that these are all images that were on Dove’s phone, there are.. A lot of them, she sets them in little piles, a few of the pictures are of Liar, but a lot of them are…

Candids?

She didn’t know a lot of these existed, it was a little odd, really, to see herself like this. It was just.. Domestic moments, most of them. One of her asleep in a pile with a few of the other exorcists and Lute. One of her and the others all drinking, with Dove’s face halfway in the frame in what was intended to be a selfie.

Also a lot of.. Lute.

A surprising amount, really.

Lute and Dove at a fair, with a seal plush between them (though Lute looked wholly unamused), the two of them with Liar, and many of them just..

Well.

Asleep? Cuddling? A lot of Lute, asleep, curled up in increasingly strange positions or situations. Vaggie had seen Dove take these sometimes, always with the excuse of ‘blackmail’, but…

She’s pretty sure the wing in the one she holds is Dove, Lute’s asleep ontop of Dove’s wing. That on it’s own could be fine but–

There’s a lot like that, a lot that seem oddly intimate, Vaggie shakes her head.

Dove is literally created to love men, and nothing else, Vaggie’s just reading into it too much. Lute never seemed close to them anyway.

She puts the pictures back, and stands, there’s a few loose feathers about, a few are white, but that’s not too strange, sometimes down was lighter than the normal feathers. What is strange is that there is an engraved money clip on the floor, with a few spare hundred dollars in it.

Vaggie hesitates, that’s hell’s currency, not heaven’s. How did Dove even–

She picks it up, reads what’s engraved.

Ah.

What the fuck.

LM.

…Christ, Dove, did you really steal from my father-in-law…?

She sighs, glancing one last time around the room, she unplugs some electronics (not the minifridge) and then locks the room behind her, intent to find Charlie to.. Find a way to return this without (rightfully) pissing off Lucifer.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #reader x hazbin hotel #reader insert #third time's the charm #common denominators

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rosemaidenvixen · 1 year

Text

A Secret's Worth

Chapter 32: Barbara

Ao3

Content warning: misogynistic language

Barbara just stood there, frozen to the floor, staring at James in stunned silence while he sat there on the couch, laughing, his words bouncing around in her skull.

That old potion actually worked after all.

It was bad enough that James had actually broken in, then Jim had rushed in and he’d seen him–

Something was deeply wrong, when he saw Jim he should have screamed, ran, passed out from shock, not…not…

Pieces were flying together in her mind, she could already see the rough shape they were taking, but the picture forming was so terrible that her brain refused to acknowledge it.

“James….” she said slowly “What are you talking about?”

His laughter stopped, James turning towards her and flashing a vicious grin “Why don’t you go check under the fridge?”

“The fridge? Wha–”

“You just might find something interesting,” he added, a sinister lilt to his voice.

Blood rushing in her ears, Barbara turned towards the kitchen–

Jim was already moving, hustling into the other room with the other kids trailing on his heels. Making straight for the fridge, Jim slid down to his knees and grabbed the bottom of the fridge in one fluid motion, tilting it up with a loud creak. All five of them gathering in close and peeking at the small space underneath, A frown curled to life on Jim’s face, reaching far underneath the fridge and pulling something out, it looked long and flat, almost like a sheet of paper, but it was the wrong color, and paper wasn’t that thi–

The fridge crashed to the ground, causing everyone else to jump. Jim didn’t react to the sound in the slightest, gaze locked on the object in his hands. Staring at it with wide eyes, mouth falling open. The other kids huddled around him, twisting and craning their necks to get a view of the object, shock rippling through each of them in a tangible wave as they saw it. Mary dropped down to her knees, Toby’s face went chalky and gaunt, Claire covered her mouth eyes going large, and Darci let out a short gasp before choking off, expression frozen in horror.

Her heartbeat boomed even louder. Barbara felt herself start to tremble, she tried to see what the kids were looking at but couldn’t because of the angle. Faintly, as if from a great distance, she heard James start to chuckle again.

“Jim…” she had to fight to keep the quiver out of her voice “What is that?”

The only response was dead silence, Jim and the kids either too stunned or too horrified to answer.

Intestines in knots, Barbara picked up her frozen feet and forced herself to move towards the kitchen. As she got closer Barbara was able to get a better look at the mysterious object in Jim’s hands. It looked almost like a wide piece of…leather; but why would just a piece of leather cause such a reaction?

“What is it?” Barbara finally lost the battle to keep her voice from shaking “What are you looking at?”

Slowly, Jim lifted the leather up and handed it to her, fingers trembling as they uncurled from the cured hide, his eyes didn’t move the entire time, gaze now locked on the floor.

A rolling in her gut and a chill in her pounding heart, Barbara grasped both sides of the leather and stretched it out in fro–

The earth slammed to a stop, raw emotion, too wild to even try and identify, cracking through her like lightning, nearly knocking her off her feet. She staggered back, a roaring in her skull and her heart in her throat, the rest of the world falling away until the only thing that was left was the leather clutched tightly in her fingers.

The leather was dusty and brittle with cracked edges, a sign of its poor aging. And while the back was blank, the opposite side that Jim had been looking at until a moment ago, that Barbara was now staring at with a mounting sense of horror, had been marked with black ink. A lot of the smaller pieces of ink along the damaged edges, what looked like it could have once been writing, had been worn and faded beyond recognition. But towards the center, where the leather was less damaged and still had some flexibility; large, hieroglyphic-like pictures stood out stark and clear.

On the far left was a human shaped figure holding a black jar and standing in front of a pond. The picture to the immediate right was almost identical, but in this one the jar was blank and the pond was pitch black. The next picture showed the human figure standing halfway in the pond, the next one just the black pond.

But it was the final picture that struck her like a dagger to the gut.

A figure emerging from the pond, one foot in the black water and the other on dry land, but not the same figure that had entered it. This figure was larger, broader, and had a massive set of horns curling up from its head.

She couldn’t get enough air, chest heaving and vision swimming as her back hit the counter. Her arms fell limply to her sides, leather slipping from her fingers, snatched away by Claire before it could hit the floor. Barbara’s head was spinning, chest heaving, the lights of the kitchen burning painfully bright in her vision, the cold, sharp edge of the counter digging into her back and hands. It was James’ laughter, trickling in from the next room, that snapped her back to reality.

“You….you did this…” she whispered.

“Oh man! All these years it was a dud, but it turns out you were dealing with this each night,” he let out a guffaw.

“Buh buh–” Barbara stumbled back into the living room, one hand on the wall to keep her upright “How did you even– James, what is this!?” she pointed a shaking finger towards the leather in Claire’s hands.

“Oh that, that was just the label, it came wrapped around the jar with the potion in it,”

“ P– potion!? What potion!? Where does something like this even come from!?”

James just shrugged again, leaving Barbara standing there with her jaw working open and shut.

How could he be so damn casual about this, doesn’t he realize what he did to his so–

“Hell if I know, my great grandma’s great grandma brought it over with her from Wales. Before that your guess is as good as mine,”

“James....” her voice was low and soft, her mind refusing to acknowledge what her bones already knew “What did you do?”

He got to his feet, thumbs in his pockets and a smug grin on his face, self satisfaction practically oozing out of his pores. Seeing that expression on James in this situation felt painfully out of place, that look belonged to long ago nights when he’d successfully talked his way into getting upgrades to VIP seats at a club, or managed to sneak them into the front row of a concert.

Not here, not with this.

“Well the night before I left I mixed great grandma’s potion with some baking soda and left it with your bath fizzers,”

He looked her square in the eye, something nasty curling behind the edges of his grin “A little going away present,”

“Buh– but, why!?”

“Oh stop with the act Barb you know why. I was just paying back for everything you put me through. You were the one always trying to drag me down, nagging me day and night, making me do chores and babysit all the time–”

He’s your son, how is it babysitting when he’s your own child.

That wasn’t even remotely the point of this conversation, not even close, but her brain clung to the insignificant details to keep from focusing on the larger, looming horror.

“So I figured on my way out why not teach you a lesson you’d never forget,”

“But how did– how did you know Jim was going to use it!?”

“Honestly I figured you would,”

Her heart stopped, blood running cold and a jagged lump of ice dropping in the pit of her gut.

Well the night before I left I mixed great grandma’s potion with some baking soda and left it with your bath fizzers,

Honestly I figured you would,

This was meant for her, it was always meant to be her.

“...what?”

She pivoted at the sound of Jim’s voice, him and the other kids slowly stepping back into the room.

James glanced at him and gave a half-hearted shrug “Sorry kid, tough luck I guess,”

Barbara still couldn’t move, arms and legs frozen in shock, but beneath the surface something smoldered to life deep inside her.

“Wh– why James, why!? Wasn’t it enough to abandon us!? Why– why this!?”

He turned back towards her, mirth abruptly dropping off his face, his expression cold and stony “Oh get off your goddamn high horse Barb, you were the one who drove me away,”

“What are you–”

“Cut the innocent act,” he said with a sneer “You were the one always henpecking me into the ground, nothing I ever did was good enough for you. You should have figured out that one day I wasn’t going to take it any more,” he glanced over to where Jim and his friends were gathering in the entryway “Sorry kid but your mom’s a nagging bitch,”

Barbara struggled to form cohesive words, the ice in her chest at war with the growing heat in her belly “But how does that justify– this!?”

James grinned again, and while the expression was somewhat familiar, her having seen different versions of it in the past, but now there was something dark behind it that chilled her to her core.

“I wanted to make the outside match the inside, turn you into an ugly freak, get you run out of town with torches and pitchforks and all that,” he let out another loud bark of laughter “But to hear that you’ve been bending over backwards cleaning up after little Jimmy’s messes for all these years, oh man that’s even better,”

Blood rushed in her ears, but not loud enough to drown out James’ laughter, arms numb at her sides but chest ablaze.

It was never some far off witch, all the books and documentaries were right, the Salem witch trials weren’t magic, just mob mentality and moral panic. It was James, it was James all along.

She’d thought that James was done hurting them, had been determined to make that true. But James was the one who’d been hurting them for years, all this time. Who’d left a poison pill that she’d handed to their child.

Watching him doubling over in laughter, at the thought of her, of Jim’s– of his son’s suffering, the twin currents of emotion inside her rose to a fever pitch, sharpening everything around her into painful clarity.

There was a time that she imagined sharing her life with James, growing old together, possibly having more children.

But when this man saw all the harm he’d caused, all the pain he put them through, and his first response was to laugh–

Something inside her snapped.

“Get out,”

James started a bit “What?”

“I said. Get. Out.”

“Oh no Barb, I’m not done here just y–”

Her body moved without thinking. Striding forward and grabbing James by the scruff of his jacket in one fluid move, yanking hard and dragging him towards the front door.

“Ow, geez Barb, take it eas–”

She ripped the door open and threw him outside with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. James stumbled across the stoop, staggering towards the front steps but stopping himself before he could fall.

The bottom of her foot on the seat of his pants helped with that.

James flew forward, splattering face first on the pavement with a cry and wet crunch. Groaning and rolling around on the ground, he flopped over to face her again, twin streams of red pouring out of his unnaturally bent nose.

“Don’t you ever ever show your face at the house again!”

James flinched, crab walking backwards on the asphalt, every trace of smugness gone now.

“If I ever see you here again I will kill you, do you hear me?!” her voice barely sounded like her own, too much of the white hot fire in her chest roaring out with it “If you ever try to set foot in this house again so help me god I will slit your throat and throw your body in the woods!”

Barbara was able to catch a glimpse of James scrambling to his feet and starting to run towards the main road right before she spun on her heel, stomped back inside, and slammed the door shut behind her with enough force to rattle the pictures on the walls.

For a moment she didn’t move, standing there facing the shut door, breath coming in heavy, quivering pants. Two shaking hands, her own hands, rose and pressed against the wood, bracing herself. Trembling, she leaned forward to rest her forehead against the wood, heart pounding, blood rushing in her ears.

It was never some witch from Salem, it was James, all along it was James that had brought all this suffering to their door.

From behind she heard Toby let out an awkward chuckle “That was uh…that was pretty badass Dr. L,”

The words only just whispered in past the roaring in her skull, the echo of James’ laughter still ringing in her ears.

How could she have been so wrong? Spend ten years– ten goddamn years, digging into a red herring? Sara Good of the estate sale had never been related to the Salem witch trials, the bathbomb hadn’t even come from her in the first place. She’d gone so far as to plan to drag her child to the other side of the country for a giant coincide–

A vice tightened around her heart, the agony nearly crippling her.

It was supposed to be her, this was meant for her all along.

James had done this to target her but Jim was the one who got hurt instead.

Who had his entire life ripped away from him before it had even begun.

Her knees buckled, upper body dragging against the door as she slid down to the floor.

How could she have misread James so badly? James– a man she’d once trusted everything to, was so rotten that he’d left a poison pill behind when he’d gone, right under Barbara’s nose.

And she’d handed it to Jim none the wiser.

How could she have been so blind, so stupid– She should have seen James for what he really was a long time ago. Cut him from their lives before he had the chance to do any permanent damage, actually noticed that something was horribly wrong with that goddamn bathbomb before she handed it to her five year old son.

A sob bubbled up out of her mouth.

Ten years, ten years spent on a wild goose chase. So much time, effort, and money wasted on looking into a fairy tale when she should have paid more attention to the monster she’d invited in herself.

From behind the floorboards gave a soft creak “Mom?” Jim spoke up hesitantly.

She barely heard him over the roar of the raging storm inside her.

Barbara had promised herself that Jim would never have to fear adults in his own house the way she had, that his home would always be a safe place for him. But she had brought this poison home and exposed her baby to it.

A strangled wail broke free from her throat, more sobs gushing out after it as she completely collapsed on the ground.

She’d failed, she’d failed herself as a person and she’d failed as a mother in the worst ways possible.

Fingers rose and tangled through her hair, pulling and tugging until she felt the burning sting in her scalp.

As if her own shortcomings could be pulled away so easily. As if she could even atone for over a decade of negligence

Through the tears and askew glasses Barbara caught a glimpse of a large, blue blurry figure kneeling down next to her and leaning towards her with its arms outstretched.

The sight was like a red hot arrow through the black fog of grief.

Now instead of playing with his friends your son is going to spend his whole night comforting you, a nasty voice inside her head whispered he already lost his childhood because of you now you’re taking his adolescence.

You’re not a parent you’re a parasite, sucking away everything your son has until there’s nothing left.

Just like your own mother.

Preternatural strength surged through her, popping upright and somehow managing to bodily shove Jim away.

Jim flopped back onto his backside, managing to prop himself up with his hands, Barbara crumpling back down, still sobbing.

The cool wood of the floor pressed against her cheek, hushed whispers and urgent voices washing over her, only gleaning bits and pieces as the guilt slammed into her again and again.

“--need some help here,”

“But who are we supposed to–”

“--can’t just leave her like this!”

In the one tiny corner of her mind clinging to rationality Barbara knew just how bad this was, and how she was actively making it worse, that she shouldn’t be going to pieces in front of her child and four other children. She was a grown woman and she needed to get herself together and start acting like it.

But a dam inside her had burst and she just couldn’t stop, even as a wave of hot shame rushed in alongside the guilt, leaving her a weeping, trembling mess.

Barbara had no idea how long she stayed like that, lying in a quivering puddle of tears on the floor, the shame and the misery pounding into her again and again with every beat of her heart.

I failed, I failed as a parent, I failed Jim every single step of the way.

From out of nowhere something tugged on Barbara’s shoulder, pulling her upright. Lifting her head, Barbara saw a blurry, tear washed version of what was still undoubtedly Nancy Domzalski’s face.

Nancy’s mouth was moving but Barbara didn’t register any sound, more hands were on her back and shoulders now, pulling her to her feet. Somehow Barbara found her legs underneath her, still helplessly sobbing as Nancy, and who she now recognized was Toby, led her out the front door.

Her crying didn’t abate, even as she stumbled through the dark cul de sac, Nancy and Toby gently guiding her across the street to the Domzalski house. Bringing her inside and guiding her towards the couch, where Barbara promptly collapsed. Snuffling back tears, she caught a glimpse of Toby and Nancy standing in the door, words exchanged between the two of them. Toby leaned over and gave her one final, lingering glance, then stepped out and shut the door behind him. Leaving her and Nancy alone in the house.

Nancy bodily turned and gave Barbara a long look, and then stepped out of the room.

Now it was just Barbara, alone, crying her eyes out on the neighbor's couch at nine o'clock at night.

That realization alone was enough to make her sob even harder, by this point Barbara had given up any hope of stopping the flood of tears, but she did her best to gulp back her sobs and try to regain her bearings somewhat. And a few minutes later, when Nancy came back into the room holding two travel mugs and a box of tissues under her arm, Barbara had pulled herself together enough to move somewhat and form semi-coherent words past the tears.

“I– I– I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she shakily tried to get to her feet, trying to wipe away the layers of tears and mucus with the back of her arm “I– I– I’ve wasted too much of your time already, I need to get back home and–”

Nancy instantly set the mugs and tissues on the table and reached out to grab both of Barbara’s hands with her own, plunking down on the couch and pulling Barbara back down with her.

“Barbara. I know that you’re deeply upset, and you have every right to be,” her voice was warm but with an undercurrent of steel in it “But right now I need you to listen to what I have to say to you,”

Something about the authority in her tone stunned Barbara into silence. She stifled the next wave of sobs into a sniffle. Blinking to try and clear her vision, looking towards Nancy to give the older woman her undivided attention.

Nancy pulled a deep breath in through her nose and looked her straight in the eye “Barbara I am approaching seventy years old, I’ve got more years behind me than ahead of me, and I quit suffering fools a long time ago,” the hands covering her own squeezed “The only reason I’m sitting on this couch with you right now is because I want to, you’re not tricking me, you’re not manipulating me. The reason I’m here right now is because I want to be,”

Emotion, both relieving and painful, flooded through Barbara’s chest, her mouth dropped open but before she could get a single word out Nancy spoke up again.

“And quite frankly you aren’t in a fit state to go anywhere,”

“Buh– buh–” she stammered “But I have to get back to Ji–”

“Jim will be alright dearie, I haven’t seen him but we did speak on the phone, and he has Toby and all the girls with him, right now you need to focus on you,”

“But he– he– he tried to hug me, and I– I– shoved him away, I–”

Barbara felt another wave of sobs rising up threatening to shatter her fragile composure.

Nancy considered her for a moment “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. In the morning, once you’ve had enough time to calm down, you are going to explain yourself to Jim and apologize. Then we’ll give him as much time and space as he needs, but I have a good feeling that he’s not going to hold your actions against you,”

“Buh– but, I have to go!” Barbara again tried to rise from the couch “Jim must be so upset and–”

“That’s enough of that talk,” Nancy’s voice took on a sharp, but not unkind, edge “Jim may be upset, but he has Toby. Toby’s a good boy and he’s more than capable of being there for Jim right now, you know that right?”

Again stunned into silence, Barbara found herself frantically nodding her head.

“And they have the girls to, each of those girls has a good head on her shoulders, and between the five of them they’ll all be alright for the night. Right now what we need to focus on is you,”

Flabbergasted, Barbara just sat there; soft, whimpering sobs bubbling out and tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Now, did James hurt or threaten any of you?”

“Buh– but how– how did you know James was…”

Nancy’s expression turned from firm to contrite “Dearie, you weren’t quiet…”

A hot wave of shame surged up Barbara’s throat, pushing behind her eyes and turning her vision blurry again. She barely managed to mumble out a ‘no’ before the flood of fresh sobs crashed into her, crumpling in on herself on the couch.

From the side she felt Nancy’s arm wrapping around her, and Barbara was so exhausted she found herself leaning into the embrace.

Maybe it was the stress of the situation, or emotions running high, but for whatever reason the words seemed to tumble out on their own.

“I– I failed Jim, I promised I’d protect him and keep him safe and I– I–”

The arm around her shoulders tightened “I understand Barbara, more than you think. When I got the call that told me my son and daughter in law were never coming home, with Toby sleeping on the couch ten feet away, I wanted nothing more than to grab him and hide him away from the world and never let anything bad happen to him–”

Nancy choked, pausing to suck in a deep breath before continuing “But that’s just not possible, and even if it was, it would only amount to him living in a cage,”

If Barbara wasn’t already sitting down she would have fallen to the ground. A hammer to her chest would have hurt less than those words.

Ten years of keeping her son locked up in the house, throwing him in the basement when he misbehaved, only letting him out on a glorified leash.

And now as a teenager, a mature responsible teenager with mature responsible friends, when he wanted to go out, even just to the woods with his friends, her first thought was to shove him back into that cage–

The same cage she’d kept him in for over a decade.

And this whole thing was her fault from the start, she was the one who exposed him to the poison that had tainted his life beyond repair.

If she had only been smarter, sharper, more aware of her surroundings, none of this would have happened.

A sound halfway between a sob and a strangled moan escaped her, Nancy patting her back as more jagged cries tumbled out.

“I’m a terrible mother…”

“No, you’re not,”

“I–”

“Barbara you listen to me good.” the steel came back to Nancy’s tone with a vengeance, briefly snapping Barbara out of her crying to sit bolt upright at attention.

“I’ve known you for over a decade, and you’ve raised Jim to be one of the most thoughtful, caring young men I know. Quite frankly you must have done something right,”

“Buh but– James, he admitted, how much he didn’t care, he– he laughed! I should have known, I should have cut him out before he– he– he–” her words trailed off into a wail.

“Don’t you dare take that man’s failings on yourself. He made his choices and you are not responsible for them.”

“You don’t understand!” Barbara’s voice was practically a shriek “I had a responsibility towards Jim and I– I– I–”

Nancy’s face softened “Barbara you’re one of the most dedicated, hardworking people I know, but you can’t read minds or see the future, and you can’t–”

“But I’m his mother!” the word exploded out of her in a gush of tears “I need to protect him from things like this, I need to be strong for him, I owe it to him!”

Nancy just stared at her, an unreadable expression on her face, she was silent for the longest time before speaking up again.

“Barbara dear, the hospital you work at, it takes a lot of people to give all the patients the care they need; doctors like you, nurses, technicians, even the custodians and cafeteria workers. To take good care of patients all of you need to work together, right?”

Slightly confused now, Barbara still managed to nod in reply.

“I don’t think you’re a bad mother,” Nancy squeezed her hands “I think that for the past ten years you’ve been one person trying to run an entire hospital by yourself,”

Barbara just stared at her, momentarily too stunned to even cry.

There it was, her whole situation laid bare in front of her. Cut and sorted in clean terms Barbara couldn’t deny.

Not even to herself any more.

She couldn’t do this, no matter how much she tried or how hard she fought she just couldn’t do this.

“You’ve been carrying this by yourself for so long,” Nancy’s voice was soft “But you shouldn’t have to, and you don’t,”

“But I–”

Two hands were placed firmly on each of her shoulders. Nancy’s warm gaze meeting Barbara’s watery one “I’m here for you Barbara. Tonight I’m going to sit here while you get this all out of your system, and then in the morning I’ll help you work on a solution and make a plan,”

Barbara’s eyes burned, something hot but not altogether unpleasant fluttering inside her chest, she opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“You’re strong Barbara, one of the strongest people and mothers I’ve ever known,” the hands on her shoulders tightened “But no one should have to be that strong forever, everyone needs to be weak sometimes,”

She couldn’t move, the delicate thing inside her chest tearing her apart more completely and thoroughly than the tide of grief ever could.

“And I’m telling you Barabara, you’re not alone and neither is Jim, he has his friends and you have me,” Nancy moved her arms from Barbara’s shoulders to around her neck and back, pulling her into a tight hug “You’ve fought so hard for so long all by yourself, but you don’t have to anymore. It’s ok to share your burden, Jim is going to be ok, and you will to,”

The last thread of control inside her snapped, Barbara letting herself completely surrender into Nancy’s embrace. Everything she’d been holding together for so long falling to pieces.

And it hurt.

She’d been carrying so much, swallowed so many teeth, having them all spill out at once was agonizing.

But even as it tore her up inside, all her faults and shortcomings ripping at her soul like so many thorns, it was just as relieving as it was painful.

She’d failed, she’d tried so hard every day for the past ten years and she’d failed in the worst ways possible.

But it wasn’t her against the world, not any more, if it ever was. She could fall apart and Jim would still be ok. He had his friends to hold him up and she had someone to hold her while she cried.

And there were so many tears.

Barbara buried her face into the sleeve of Nancy’s dress, clinging to the older woman with everything she had, sobbing into her shoulder while Nancy patted her back.

As much as it hurt, in the past ten years she’d never felt so light.

#tales of arcadia #trollhunters #rmvwrites #barbara lake #james lake sr #jim lake jr #nancy domzalski #sunshine au #a secret's worth #tw misogynistic language #fanfic

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