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corruptedcaps · 3 months

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Bad Blonde

This is a repost of as story I made on Wordpress when I migrated over there briefly. Will repost the next parts over the next few days

Lucy and her girlfriend Dora were enjoying a lovely Saturday searching for some unique finds at a variety of thrift stores. Being poor college students this was more of a necessity than anything else but they did get a thrill from finding long forgotten fashions. This didn't get them many friends on campus however as their tastes were mocked for being outdated and weird but they didn't care because they had each other's like minded company.

It was getting late and Lucy was getting tired but Dora wanted to check out one more store she spotted down an alley off the main street. Lucy didn't like the look of the dark empty alley but didn't want to admit she was scared.

"Don't you have work soon? Do we really have time for another store?" Lucy said to Dora trying to dissuade her.

"I have time as long as I go straight there from here. Come on we might discover a real find!" Dora said excitedly already walking into the alley. Lucy begrudgingly followed her.

The little bell above the shop door clanged as they entered the store finding it to be somehow even darker inside than it was outside. A heavily tattooed woman sat behind the counter not acknowledging their presence. The shelves were filled with odd knick knacks and items and most of the clothes were dark and tight looking. Lucy couldn't see a single thing that fit her style. However something did catch her eye.

In the back amongst a line of black wigs on mannequin heads sat a lone blonde wig. It was incredibly straight and smooth like it was made out of spun gold. The blonde colour was like a beacon to Lucy in the sea of dark shades and she felt drawn over to it. Picking it up it felt somehow even softer than she thought it would be and incredibly real.

As a lifelong brunette she had always been curious what she would look like with a different colour although strangely never wondered what blonde would look like. She always associated blonde with the mean girls who bullied her in high school or the spoilt sorority girls in college. Even the mannequin head that the wig had been sitting on looked bitchy. Lucy being the kind and gentle woman that she was, never entertained what being blonde could look like but as she held the wig in her hands she suddenly had a great desire to find out.

Slipping it on felt like putting on a snug glove. With a little tuck here and there the seams of the wig completed disappeared along with any visible signs of her brown locks. Finding a mirror she was almost taken aback by how different she looked. It may have been because the mirror was dirty and it was dark in the store but Lucy could have sworn her skin looked clearer and her lips looked fuller. Her postured shifted slightly the more she looked at her reflection.

With a hand on her hips and her chest sticking out she was suddenly reminded of all the mean blondes she had ever met and it sent a shiver down her spine. Although not out fear but out of pride. She was liking the way she looked.

"You look so good." Said an unfamiliar voice that sounded almost like it was in her head.

"What?" Lucy replied confused.

"I said you look good as a blonde." Dora said, Lucy having failed to realise she had been beside her the whole time. She put the mysterious voice down to Dora and focused on her reflection again.

"I do don't I?" Lucy said stroking the hair as if it were a part of her.

"Go on give me a go." Dora said reaching up to take the wig from her but Lucy reflexively slapped her hand away. A sudden flood of anger surged up in her.

"As if, you'd only ruin it with your big fat head." Lucy hissed at Dora as she looked her up and down like she was disgusted by her very existence. Tears welled up in Dora's eyes and she ran out of the shop. For a fleeting moment Lucy felt triumphant, even pleasure of what she did but then her conscience got the better of her. Ripping off the wig and stuffing it unconsciously into her bag she ran out of the store after Dora. She finally caught up with her girlfriend who was sitting on a bench gently sobbing.

"Honey I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me. You know I didn't mean it right?" Lucy said sitting down beside her. Dora looked up at her wiping her tears from her eyes.

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry you know I am just a little sensitive about my weight. I probably over reacted, I shouldn't have tried to take the wig from your head." Dora said.

"You don't need to apologise, I was the one being a bitch. Look to make it up to you I'll buy tonights dinner and we can have it when you get back from work." Lucy said putting her arm around her but Dora quickly broke from the embrace and stood.

"Oh shoot I had forgot about work, I better go otherwise they'll dock my pay. I'll see you at home later. Love you." Dora said quickly hurrying away. Lucy blew her a kiss and headed home herself.

Arriving back a little while later Lucy tiredly went into her bedroom. Throwing her backpack on the bed she slumped beside it exhausted. Closing her eyes she knew she could almost fall asleep there and then but knew she should keep to her promise and get food for when Dora would be back. Opening her eyes she was surprised to see the blonde wig from the shop staring right at her. Sitting up she saw the zipper of her bag open and suddenly she remebered.

"Oh damn I must have stuffed it into my bag during all the drama with Dora. The store will be closed by now so I'll have to drop it back tomorrow. Hopefully they don't think I'm some thief." She said taking the wig in her hands and walking over to her mirror.

"It is such a wonderful wig though. Now that it's here it would be a shame if I didn't try it on again." She said to herself as her hands were already guiding it onto her head. Once again she marvelled at how fast it slipped snuggly onto her head and how her own hair seemed to vanish.

"God it does look fantastic on me doesn't it. I look kind of sexy as a blonde. Kind of naughty too." She said letting her hand slip into her panties to touch her increasingly wet pussy. Closing her eyes she started to picture how she would look to be a blonde all the time. Doing so turning herself on more. That's where she heard the voice again.

"You know what would be even hotter? If you opened your eyes, took off those glasses of yours and watched yourself finger yourself." The voice whispered. This time Lucy didn't question where the voice was coming from, instead she did as it suggested. Opening her eyes she removed her glasses and watched as she slid her fingers in and out of her pussy slowly. She didn't have to imagine what it would be like to be blonde, she could just watch herself.

"Oh fuck why is this so much hotter?" Lucy said increasing her pace slightly unable to take her eyes off herself.

“Because it’s so dirty! You love how slutty you look with me on your head.” The wig replied clueing Lucy into where the voice was coming from. Lucy nodded in agreement. She should have been concerned that she was hearing an inanimate object suddenly speak to her but its suggestions were hitting all the right spots too much to care. This was something she would never normally do but with the blonde wig on she felt empowered and mischievous. She felt sexually charged knowing how so unlike her this was.

“Oh fuck you’re right! I look so gorgeous and hawt as a blonde! Almost as good as those sorority bitches.” Lucy said, her voice taking on a bratty whine.

“It’s a good start but let’s make some improvements. When I’m done with you those girls won’t even be in your league.” The wig said.

Immediately Lucy felt her body start to twist, shift & change. All the while she continued to pleasure herself.

First to change was her extra flab around her midsection. She watched in awe as it sunk into her belly. Not only that but she felt little pulses rhythmically hit her stomach. Each new pulse tightened her abdomen making it perfectly toned like that of a gym bunny. This extended out to her legs and arms too giving her a peak physique.

She felt instantly arrogant about her new athletic form as she observed it in the mirror and knew other girls would be jealous of her. She loved the thought of others green with envy about her.

“I feel so strong and flexible. God it’s so intoxicating!” Lucy moaned her hands soaking wet with pleasure.

“We’re only getting started my dear.” The wig said with mischief in its tone. No sooner had it said those words that Lucy felt her body start to lightly vibrate. As it did she felt all hair below her neck start to fall off her body giving her a perfectly smooth form. She felt it most immediately around her pussy. She was so distracted by it that she almost failed to register her skin take on a light tan head to toe.

“Mmmm I’m beach ready looking like this. I can see it now, me sitting looking like a million bucks lounging on a deck chair in designer sunglasses. Guys and girls flocking to my side. Oh god I want it now!” Lucy cried out imagining the tight animal print bikini she would wear while continuing to massage her clit.

“That will be your reality soon just a few more tweaks… oh this one may interrupt you for just a moment.” The wig continued and it certainly did as Lucy felt her nails double in length. She gasped as the fingers inside her suddenly caused extra sensitivity. The gasp quickly turned into a deep cackle. She loved how the new nails felt in and outside of her.

By now her mind was swimming with dirty and bad thoughts. How could it not when she looked every bit the bratty bitch she used to hate. She now knew why hot girls always looked down on her. She felt superior now. She felt herself recoil remembering how she used to look only minutes ago.

There was one thing missing though and somehow Lucy knew the wig wouldn’t give it to her unless she explicitly asked for it.

“I feel like such a hawt little slut now but if I’m to become queen bitch I need one more upgrade and I need it to be big. Make my boobs grow! Give me big perfect tits!” Lucy demanded and the wig obliged.

Lucy moaned as her chest heaved as her two petit breasts grew substantially bigger. The previous slight sag she had completely erased, replaced by gravity defying perfection. She took a moment from touching herself to massage her new tits lovingly.

“Fuck yes! I am perfection! Pathetic Lucy is gone! The mean uber bitch Lucia has been born.” She moaned sticking her fingers back in her pussy, inching towards climax. She looked upon her new body with vain satisfaction. Smirking she thought about how as Lucy she would shrink into the shadows in the presence of such beauty but as Lucia she would never be in dark anymore. Others would shrink from her.

“When you cum you’ll release enough endorphins to allow me to burrow deep into your head. You’ll make the bitch queen Lucia permanent. No one will stand in your way. You’ll become the meanest, hottest bully in town and your first victim can be that pitiful girlfriend of yours.” The wig said with a long cold laugh inside Lucia’s mind. However something didn’t feel right. She wanted this power so much but could she sacrifice her relationship to have it?

“No Dora can be left out of this, she is weak & ugly but meaningless. I won’t bully her.” Lucia said ever slightly slowing her pace as her conscience started to intrude.

“Don’t you see? She’s holding you back from achieving greatness! No one is above your power and you must embrace that! You have to destroy everything Lucy had if you are to become Lucia. Perhaps a little more incentive is needed.” The wig hissed and Lucia felt her tits grow even more, her waist further clenched and her butt grew out. Lucia moaned as the pleasure became unbelievable.

“Mmm maybe you’re right, that loser is standing in my way of achieving what I deserve! I need to drop her like the heavy weight that she is. No! What am I saying? She’s the love of my life and you’re evil! You’ve turned me into a cruel and egotistical narcissistic. I have to stop this now!” Lucia yelled reaching up to remove the wig.

The wig increased the changes, her face became steely cold, her nails even longer, it even mustered enough dark magic to change Lucia’s clothes into something tight and form fitting. Lucia smirked at how gorgeous she was, how powerful she had become but it was all in vain as she used all her willpower to rip the wig off.

Once the wig was off her body reverted back to her normal unremarkable form. Lucy had returned. However she instantly felt like she was in withdrawal. The thoughts of being Lucia lingered in her mind like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She needed to get the wig out of there.

Carefully rolling it up in a garbage bag she stuffed it into their freezer for the time being. As much as she wanted to get rid of it she just couldn’t compel herself to do it. Heading to bed she hoped that by the morning the hunger to wear it would subside…

To be continued…

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #evil wig #corrupted wig #corrupted hair

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blood-starved-beast · 8 days

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Guys it should have been obvious but like. Is it me or are the dynamics in Hades 2 giving very strong school academy vibes? Melinoe is our protagonist and the Perfect Straight A student who is super neurotic about her grades and her appearance and a bit of teacher's pet (Nem says so as much). Hecate is the Head Teacher, obvious. Odysseus is the coach/mentor. Dora is the silly don't give a care in the world and best friend character. Artemis is the cool older sis/sempai type. Moros is the new student who is sweet (girl next door possible LI, clearly has a crush on Mel). Nemesis is the edgy character who wants Mel's favor and position whom Mel has a homoerotic rivalry with. Eris is the troubled Bad Boy Type who hates "Miss Perfect's" (yes she calls Mel that) ass and beats her up (the Bully). Even Chronos, the more times you fight him, feels like he's being the Villain just cause and is kinda like, the Evil Principal. He doesn't see Mel as an actual threat.

Mel is the one thinking she's in a dramatic fantasy with high stakes (I mean, they are high stakes no doubt about it) but she is also autistic and in high school/undergrad.

#Melinoe #hades 2 #hades II spoilers #hades II #Moros #Odysseus (hades)#Eris (hades)#Nemesis #hecate #Dora (hades)#d musings

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suresne · 7 months

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writing my young harry/kim au has me thinking about how it seems pretty clear that harry regretted leaving his gym teaching job before his amnesia. the mentions of harry’s teaching days are tinged with nostalgia and melancholy that don’t seem to just be caused by harry idealizing his youth or the years he was still with dora:

[Og] *468. YOU - "You said in Couron? I was a gym teacher there?"

[Og] *396. JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Yes, you *taught gym* in Couron. I believe that's the term? Taught gym at a high school. You were a high school gym teacher."

[Og] *508. PERCEPTION (SMELL) - The smell of sweat and glue, the worn floorboards...

[Og] *549. ENCYCLOPEDIA - Couron is just east of Jamrock. It was a short walk, every morning -- to the baseball field or the sports building...

this shivers check with annette in particular makes me insane

[Og] *110. YOU - "Shouldn't you be at school or something?"

[Og] *149. ANNETTE - "I do my studies at home at the moment. I have to help Mum keep this place running."

[Og] *530. YOU - "What is *school* anyway?"

[Og] *256. ANNETTE - "School?" She rubs her red, chilled nose. "Well, mine is a big yellow building on Boogie Street. And the people there run it. They say it's a *charity*."

[Og] *711. SHIVERS - The gale wind blows in from the coast, a wind of needles. It wraps itself around a building of brick and mortar. Somewhere, a clamor rings through the honeycomb of classrooms.

[Og] *315. YOU - What is this feeling?

[Og] *662. SHIVERS - Remorse. The parquet of assembly halls, the rows of stall bars are growing cold. The corridors stand empty. A girl's voice somehow finds its way through this strange feeling...

thinking about how harry would have been a great teacher to “problem” kids. how he would have understood and empathized with their hyperactivity/lack of focus/lack of impulse control. how he would be encouraging and funny and a good influence on kids who probably had difficult lives

thinking about how the RCM would take all of that away from him…..

#lying on the floor #harry du bois #disco elysium #my meta #de character meta

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bettyfrommars · 10 months

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hi hey hello i am here to humbly request a sexy lil stevie blurb where he’s getting his succu bussed by demon babe.

go nuts. go wild. maybe steve is a good catholic boy maybe he’s not i dunno the evil power is in your hands.

goodBoy!Steve x demon!fem!Reader

18+ONLY - MDNI - smut, Steve falls in love, unprotected p in v, hint of dubcon but only for a moment, demon sex, oral for all, hints to religious trauma, heaven and hell, mention of demons, curses, star-crossed lovers. wc: 2.9k

Good Boy

Steve Harrington was on his knees that night, praying at the foot of the bed, waiting for the all too familiar rustling sound to come from inside the closet. He prayed louder, faster, but he knew you were coming for him, just like you had every night since he found The Book and accidentally summoned you.

He’d tried to throw the book out the window, he’d tried to burn the book, but every night it returned to his bedside table, right where his bible used to be. His family farm had fallen on hard times; the dirt was dry, and the crops were dying, and an old woman in town sold him a book with a spell inside that would bring life back to the land. Steve had always been a very good boy; he worshiped at church, and he worked from sunup to sundown on the farm. He had sexual relations with women before, of course. Once right out of high school, and a couple times with his first girlfriend, Dora, but she always told him he was too big, and it hurt. Steve didn’t want to hurt anyone, and so he’d been saving himself for marriage ever since.

That is, until, that first night the demon came to claim him.

It’d been 7 unholy days full of sins unimaginable since the night he drew the symbol on the floor, dripped blood from his pricked finger, and recited the spell from the book. 7 days since the rains came and the diseased crops glowed ripe and plentiful like an overnight miracle. The book itself was tanned leather, made from some type of skin, embossed with three symbols on the spine but no other distinguishing markings. At first, he cursed the day he was stopped by that old woman in the street, peddling her wares in a pushcart.

Her wrinkled hand snaked out from under her black shawl to take his wrist with a touch that was hot with fever. “You’ll never know if you don’t try it,” she rasped, hunched over, her face in shadow. “Many people have been cured by my spells; many roses have bloomed in my wake. A good boy like you deserves to be rewarded.”

He didn’t even remember buying the book, but suddenly it was clutched under his arm, wrapped in newspaper, and he was on the other side of the street. He looked around, searching for the old woman, but it was as if she’d never existed. He adjusted his glasses, lip curled in confusion, running a hand through his unruly hair. When he unwrapped the paper to see what he had, he realized the pages in the book were, indeed, not the word of God, and so he threw it away in the nearest garbage can.

That was the first time it ended up back on his nightstand. He tossed it out the window and into the pond, only to have it materialize minutes later. He recited the lord's prayer and begged for God to remove the book, but it was no use.

That night, he lay in bed shirtless, one hand behind his head, kept wide awake by the compulsion to perform the spell in the book the old woman had told him about. In a half hour, the spell was done, and he was wiping the chalk and blood off the wood floor, shaking his head, sucking back tears at the idea of a lifetime in purgatory.

But, the next day, he realized the spell had worked, and maybe the woman was right: good boys deserve to be rewarded, and Steve was a very good boy.

That night, after an afternoon of celebration at the farm for the miracle that had clearly been a gift from God himself, Steve crawled into bed with a smile on his face. Under the covers, he jerked himself off, riddled with shame as he did so, moaning a bit to himself, worrying his parents would hear him downstairs. Blind in the dark without his glasses, he reached for the box of tissues with his cum-covered hand, and touched The Book instead, wiping his seed across the symbols on the spine.

That was the first time he heard the noises coming from the closet: a swoosh, and then a stomp, and then the rattling of the doorknob as something worked it open from the inside.

When Steve snapped the light on, there you were, standing at the end of the bed. Looming formidable, smooth red skin tight against your muscles, two horns curled on either side of your head like that of a ram, eyes wide and glossy black. You wore a harness on your neck, breasts bare and firm, nipples hard. From the waist down, there appeared to be dark fur, as if you had the hips and legs of a goat, complete with the glimpse of a hoof just before it morphed into a human foot, and a human leg.

Steve scrambled back against the headboard, too afraid to even scream, struggling to get his glasses on.

“Begone demon!” His voice quivered. But why did he like what he saw so much? You sauntered around the corner of the bed to get closer, long, pointed tongue flicking out to touch your cheek. There was a purring, or a clicking noise happening in the back of your throat

His cock was rock hard, the tip sticky against the inside of the blanket.

“Do you want me to help with this?” You asked, in the same tone a snake might speak with, finishing with long S’s.

Steve gasped when you pulled back the cover to reveal his generous length curved tight up his stomach above his white boxers. You sat down on the bed near his leg, the springs squeaking, and his cock twitched, aching as he watched every flick of your tongue. With a snap of your fingers, the bedside lamp went out, so now the moon through the thin curtains was the only witness to the weight of Steve’s desire.

Your teeth were sharp, but your lips were soft, and it was all Steve could do not to buck his hips in his eagerness for you to take him. This had to be a dream, and in dreams, you can’t be held accountable for the things you take part in. Maybe he’d even forget it by the time he woke up. He kicked the blanket all the way down with his socked feet, and you ran your pointed nails along his hairy shin, all the way up to the hem of his shorts, making him shiver. You scratched at his balls gently with the tips of your nails through his boxers, tapping tapping, causing more pre-cum to dribble from his tip.

“Are you…” Steve stammered. Sweat shining on the skin under his chest hair. “...what do you want from me?”

“I want to taste you,” you told him, eyeing the tip of his cock hungrily. Knowing full well you could take him even if he said no, Steve nodded, bracing his hands on either side of him.

You bent over but kept your black eyes on him, dropping your long, pink tongue down to taste the sweet skin of his shaft and the fresh juice from his hole, concentrating on the ridge under his flesh tip. You wrapped your lips around the head, moaning as you did so, softly grazing the skin with your teeth. Steve threw his head back, his balls aching to do their job again. Your mouth was so wet, your tongue like velvet. He really did not want to like this, but dreams were funny that way.

"I need more,” you swallowed, rubbing your lips together. “You're such a good boy, so patient.”

“I- I- I don’t want to hurt you,” Steve stuttered as you pulled his boxers down and made your way onto the bed to straddle him. He was concerned with you taking the generous nature of his girth.

The sentiment made you close your eyes, roll your head back and growl, imagining the seed of such a good boy feeding the darkness inside of you. You took his hand, bringing his fingers to the slick slit between your legs.

“Holy moly,” Steve gasped. “Is that…because of me?” His eyes were so innocent when they found your dark orbs, it made you line his cock up with your hole and sink down, pinching the tip with your tight inner muscles, hovering there.

“Remember what I told you?” You waited to hear him whimper with need before you sank all the way down. “Good boys deserve rewards.”

The speed and strength with which you rode him had his eyes rolling back so that only the whites were visible, neck muscles straining when he turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Look at me,” you told him, demanding. You took one of his hands. “Circle your thumb right here,” you brought it to your clit. “Rub it fast, just like that, so I can cum too.”

“Wait, women can cum? Like men do?” Steve blanched in between grunts of pleasure, raising his hips in jerky movements to meet the way you pounded down on his cock. “I don’t think I’ve ever been inside anyone this deep before.” He frowned in concentration, rubbing your clit like he was told, experiencing waves of pleasure he never thought were possible.

“You fill me up so good,” you assured him, bottoming out and then rocking back and forth. Every time you rose, you milked him with your tight walls.

Steve barely had time to bark a warning that he was cumming before the whip cracked inside of him and he was pumping all he had inside of you.

“Oh good boy, good boy,” you repeated, thighs making a smacking sound as you helped him ride his high. “All of it, give it all to me.”

You waited until he was done, head back breathless on the pillow, before you slipped him out of you and got on your belly to lick him clean. Your tongue worked under his balls, tickling at his ass, thinking you’d like to stick more in there one day, enjoying his moans as he discovered sensations he liked but had never explored before.

Steve wasn’t sure what you were doing when you moved up to straddle his head, positioning your dripping pussy above his face. But, then you lowered yourself to his mouth and he understood, throwing his tongue around in your folds as best he could while cum dripped out of your hole and down his chin.

You wanted to fuck that sweet mouth until the end of time. Grabbing the headboard, you cursed in your ancient language, cunt rippling against his full lips as you came. You let out a growl that was animalistic, and Steve realized that the sound triggered a lust deep inside and turned him on, just like everything else about you.

The day after that, Steve had a spring in his step. The best sex of his life had been with a demon in his dream, but still—he felt as satisfied as if it had happened in real life. His parents did say they heard him up late walking around his room, and swore they heard a coyote whining right outside their window, but he brushed it off after he apologized profusely for waking them.

But, that very next night, he was forced to come to the cold, hard conclusion that, not only were you real, but he was starting to have feelings for you.

Fully dressed, Steve took his glasses off and threw water on his face in the bathroom sink, trying to wake himself up when you appeared out of the closet the next night. “No way, no how, no sir,” he shook his head. “There’s no way this is happening.”

He faced you and jabbed his finger at the book, water dripping from his hair and nose. “God will smite me if I continue to fornicate with you, and this book is to blame.”

You were not forced to fuck Steve because of a curse. That first night, yes, he had inadvertently summoned you. But, after that, it was your own free will that had you polishing your horns and sharpening your claws, wanting to look good for him. Steve had free will too, and he could’ve told you at any moment that he didn’t want you there, but he never did.

On that second night, the two of you kissed for the first time, and then you sucked him off, swallowing him deep inside, making his legs shake and his knees buckle. Every night was a new sexual experiment, a new avenue of lust to pave Steve’s way to hell.

On the fifth night, you were next to him in bed, silicone strap-on harnessed in place, still slick with lube, and he took your strong, red hand in his. “You know what? If you’re in hell, I don’t think it would be so bad.”

You turned your head on the pillow. “There’s something I should tell you.”

The sound of your voice made Steve afraid. He turned on his side to face you, tucking his hands under his head like a pillow. “I’m listening.”

You kept your gaze to the shadows of the ceiling. “I’m only here for seven days,” you swallowed hard. “And then I have to go back.”

“Back? Back where? In the closet?” Steve pressed.

‘Back…where I’m from,” you said softly.

“Wait, back to hell?”

You gave a crooked grin. “If that’s what you want to call it. But I am not of your world, clearly,” you used your hand to gesture to your body and your horns.

“I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he offered, sincerely.

You blinked a few times, almost shy under his earnest gaze. “There’s a portal in the closet and it’s going to close on the seventh night,” only as you said the words did they start to sink in for you. “We’ll never see each other again.”

The two of you sat in silence for most of the rest of that visit, trying to come to terms with the weight of your realities.

On the seventh and final night, there were tears from both parties. You let him see you that night, in your actual half human, half beast form, and he did not turn away from you. Steve filled you up while on top of you, kissing you, missionary style. It was the most vanilla of all of the positions, but it was quickly becoming your favorite as you wrapped your furry legs around him. You drifted in and out of sleep in each other’s arms; you could only stay till midnight and Steve wanted you there until the last second. You’d had plenty of lovers in your day, back in your world, but none of them had been as tender as Steve. You worried that you cared about him enough to make the separation very painful.

“What will happen if you don’t go in?” Steve asked, holding your hand outside the closet.

“I’ll probably cease to exist,” you shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”

Fair enough, Steve didn’t want to take any chances. If he could summon you once, he could summon you again, and he’d work every spell in the book until he figured it out. When the time came, there was one last tearful look and hand hold before the door shut, but just as it closed flush with the wall, Steve flung it open again, needing one more kiss from you.

But, you were already gone.

You were not the only thing missing. To Steve’s horror, he realized he was no longer in possession of The Book. There was an empty space on the nightstand, and it was not under the bed or in any of his drawers.

The next morning, he tore his room apart, rummaging through the tiny closet, groaning in frustration, flipping shoe boxes over his head and ripping coats off of hangers.

“What’s going on up there, Stevie? We’ll be late for church.” His mother’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m not going!” Steve barked, but then he collected himself. “My apologies mother. I’ll be right down.”

The sermon by Pastor Wilson was particularly long and torturous that day for Steve in his button down shirt and tie. He desperately wanted nothing more than to go back to his closet and find a way to get back to you. Pastor Wilson asked the congregation to stand for a hymn and that was when Steve caught sight of a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye: it was the hunched over figure of the old woman he’d bought the book from. She was standing outside the church window, looking in, her black scarf over her head, bracing against the wind.

But, she was moving now, turning and walking away.

Steve followed, excusing himself, he pushed through bodies as fast as he could without knocking people over while the congregation sang about begging for holy protection from satan.

Steve broke through the church door and out into the daylight just in time to see the older woman disappear around a street corner, shuffling her cart with her. Steve ripped his tie off and unbuttoned his shirt, preparing to run the distance to catch up with her.

“Leaving now?” An elderly man shouted after Steve from inside the church. ��You’ll go to hell for that, son.”

“God, I hope so,” Steve barked over his shoulder, arms pumping as he lit out across the street, running toward the devil with all his might.

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington oneshot #stranger things smut #oneshot #demon #monsterfucking #monsterfucker #monster fuqqer #monster smut #joe keery #steveharringtonsm #steve smut #sh

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sleepershell · 7 months

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truth or dare

synopsis y/n convinces the Skittles to play truth or dare. It's all fun and games until Reggie doesn't like your answers. He storms out and, when you go to confront him, he's forced to admit how he feels.

Word count 1309

note loosely based on a prompt I saw @sufferingstarlight write from.

warnings a little sad, angst, mention of death eaters/the dark mark, some swearing

pairing Regulus Black x reader (no pronouns I think? Although I was writing it thinking f! Reader)

I couldn’t believe I’d convinced all these pureblood wizards to play a muggle game. But there they were, all my friends, sitting around me and playing a game of truth or dare. Evan charmed a Hufflepuff girl into giving us some weed for free, and we’d smoked it outside before running giggling back to the Slytherin common room. The seventh years all left at the first sight of us. They probably knew we were in the mood to start some trouble.

It was never hard to sneak Dora in anymore, although that probably had something to do with Regulus’ clout among our housemates for being a Black. Or maybe our housemates’ fear of him being a Death Eater. Either way, it worked out well for us. Dora was leaning against Reg, her long legs splayed in front of her. I was in a similar position, my top half leaning on Cas so she could play with my hair. It was the most euphoric feeling in the world to have her hands in my hair, especially when I was high. Evan was between Cas and Reg, while Barty sat between Dora’s and my feet. It was a good position, since I could give him a good kick whenever he said something stupid. With all that brain of his, one would expect him to say less dumb shit.

I was just recovering from a fit of laughter at Evan’s last confession when Cas asked “y/n, truth or dare?”

“Hm,” I pretended to think. Normally I would love a good dare but, knowing Cas, she’d try to give me something she knew I’d struggle with. No one quite knew how to push my buttons like my best friend. “Truth this time.” I cracked my knuckles for effect.

“Alrighttt.” I could feel the vibrations in her chest as she spoke. “If you could kiss any of the boys at school, who would it be?”

My stomach dropped. Of course, she still had found a way to torture me. Oh, that girl was going to get jinxed later. She’d never be able to sleep safely in our room again. There was no way I could tell the truth. It would be painfully embarrassing to admit who I really, really wanted to kiss in this group. I wouldn’t live it down. Barty was wagging his eyebrows at me, and Evan looked equally interested in my answer. I was always so careful to keep who I liked close to my chest, though I suspected everyone already knew. I had to think of something before the length of time got way too suspicious. I let a glance fly over at Reg. Like always, he just stared at me, eyes blank, a slight furrow in his brow. I should say Sirius. Then maybe he’d actually react to me for once. Then maybe I’d know how he felt. Saying Potter might hurt him even more… But I couldn’t do something like that to him.

“Uh, Remus, I guess.” I shrugged.

Barty wrinkled his nose at that. “That boring friend of Sirius’?”

“He’s not boring,” I protested, “he’s… nice.”

A scoff from Regulus.

I sat up straight, ready for a fight. “Is there something you want to say?”

“Nope.” Cocky asshole.

“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “Reggie: truth or dare?”

“Truth.” His dark eyes were still blank but I could see tension in his lips.

“Who in school would you kiss?”

He shook his head with a small laugh. “This muggle game is ridiculous.”

All at once he was standing and stalking out of the common room with the haughty grace typical of all the Blacks. Pandora looked shocked when he disappeared from beside her and nearly fell over. Other than she and I, everyone gave a collective shrug. It wasn’t out of character for Reg to leave so abruptly, to get rumpled over nothing. But this time I hopped up from my spot as well. He couldn’t just leave like that.

“Where are you going?” Evan asked.

“I’m going to find that fucker.” I called back over my shoulder.

“Oh boy.” I could hear them all break out into laughter as I slammed the door behind me.

Regulus wasn’t hard to find. When I didn’t see him in the dungeons I knew where else to look. It was late in an October evening, and I had to wrap my arms around myself as I followed the edge of the Black Lake. There was no moon above, the only reflections cast on the water from the monolith of a castle behind me. So many days we’d spent out on the bank of the lake, on the side closest to the Forbidden Forest. There was nowhere else he’d go.

And there was Reg, pacing back and forth, his hands held out in front of him grasping the cold air. Strong hands. Piano hands. Writing hands. Hands I’d almost reached out for so, so many times. He appeared suspended in an argument with nothing.

I held my tongue until I was near, but had to speak when my presence wasn’t acknowledged. That close, I could finallyI see emotion on his face. Twisted up and white as a sheet.

“Reg, tell me what’s going on.” My voice was soft, barely more than a rasp.

“Nothing.” Still not a glance at me, though he’d stopped pacing. His chest was heaving as if he’d been yelling. “Go back inside, y/n.”

He loved to give orders. As if anyone had any reason to obey him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” The words flew out of me with a bite, and he looked up as if he’d been slapped. Maybe my tone was too close to his dreadful mother’s for comfort. But I couldn’t worry about that. We’d been playing pretend for too long. “Do you have a problem with Remus or do you have a problem with me?”

He scoffed again, his eyes up to the moonless sky. “You have no idea what I’ve got going on.” He always had to play superior. Always had to play prince.

“Salazar, Regulus, I’m not a bloody idiot! Do you think that little of me?”

He glared down at me, his eyes glistening. I took a step closer. The gap between us was so small I could feel his breath.

“Either you’re jealous and you want me or you don’t and you’re the blood purity asshole Black family heir you want everyone to think you are. Just say which.”

“Stop.” He shook his head at me.

“I’m already in. You can’t scare me away.”

“Please stop.” Head still shaking.

“I am in love with you, Regulus. I won’t take it back because it’s true and you can’t ignore it anymore.” I could see the water welling in his lower lids. It was in mine, too.

“We can’t,” he breathed.

My hand, out of reflex more than anything else, lifted to his chin. I brushed my thumb along his bottom lip. He didn’t shy away from my touch like he had so many times before.

“Please walk away.” There was so much desperation in those eyes. “Please.”

“Why?”

He grasped his sleeve and wrenched it up. I didn’t have to look; I already knew.

“If I have to take the mark myself, I will. Anything. Anything.”

“Fuck,” he sobbed, the tears finally falling. He let himself fall forward with them, our foreheads bumping against one another.

“You love me.” I didn’t ask, but it was a question. A desperate question I’d asked myself about him a million times before. Does Regulus Black love me like I love him?

A nod that shook my own head with it. His red-rimmed eyes bore into me. “I love you.”

I moved my hands to cup his face on either side. “You never told me your answer.”

And then I felt the softness of his lips on mine.

#regulus black #regulus arcturus black #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #marauders #harry potter #regulus black x reader #regulus x reader #angst #so much angst #self insert #jealousy #slytherin #love #💤🦪#🐍#friends to lovers #star crossed lovers

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shiorimakibawrites · 3 months

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Image Credits: kissthemgoodbye.net / Greta Punch (Unsplash) / Stephanie Harvey (Unsplash)

A Tale of Two Men (Part 1 of Cozy Corners)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: 6,595 Summary: One week after you open your cafe, you meet two handsome men - defense attorney Matt Murdock and the vigilante Daredevil. Warning(s): Canon-typical violence, description of anxiety and panic attacks, referenced oral sex (f receiving), referenced p in v sex, referenced masturbation, dirty thoughts, female gaze Cozy Corners Masterlist Shiori's Masterlist A03 link Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @danzer8705 Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

A Tale of Two Men

You couldn’t stop smiling. Owning your own cafe had been the dream of you and your best friend Dora Morales since high school. And now, after years of hard work, it had finally happened. One week ago, you had opened your doors for the first time. You looked around. You and Dora had done everything you could, within the limitations of your lease and budget, to make Cozy Corners to live up to its name. Warm, comfortable, and inviting.

You were especially pleased with the little nook, tucked away from the main bustle of the cafe where people could read and study in relative quiet. You had found some nice chairs in a secondhand store, their brown leather the color of chocolate and butter soft. The little library of reference books and fiction was small but you hoped that over time it would grow. Yes, people were more likely to use the internet to look things up these days but you liked having analog back-ups. Just in case something got broken. Or the city was invaded by aliens. Again.

You found having back-up plans helped calm your nerves, made the anxiety gremlin in your head less loud. You were a big fan of keeping that gremlin quiet. You didn’t like it when the gremlin got loud. It was mean.

Hearing the bell on the front door chime, you looked up to greet your new customer. And immediately felt your stomach fill with butterflies. Because one of the most beautiful men you had ever laid eyes on had just walked into your cafe. Dark brown – no, dark auburn, you could see the glint of red in the sunlight – hair that looked like it would be very enjoyable to run your fingers through, excellent bone structure, and a mouth practically begging to be kissed. Round sunglasses with dark red lenses hide his eyes from view. Which was unfortunate. Especially if they were just as pretty as the rest of him.

The brown suit he worn, by contrast, did very little to disguise how well-built he was. Which was very, if the strain on buttons of his dress shirt was any indication. He moved an enviable grace as he walked toward the counter, his long white cane sweeping in front of him.

“Good morning, sir,” you said. “What can I do for you?”

“Good morning,” he replied. His voice was pretty too, nice and deep. The kind you could easily imagine whispering everything from sweet nothings to dirty promises in your ear. The thought made your cheeks warm and your heart beat at little faster.

His lips twitched into something like a smirk before he asked, “Do you have a menu in braille?”

You sighed, then said, “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” he repeated, tilting his head to one side.

“I have something in braille. The printing service claims that it’s my menu.”

“I take it that you disagree?”

“I don’t sell a cinematic rainbow muffler.”

“What?”

The sheer disbelief and confusion put into that single ‘what’ had you biting your lip to not laugh. You didn’t want him to think you were joking or making fun of him.

“Cinematic rainbow muffler,” you repeated. “Not something we sell here at Cozy Corners.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t think anyone does. What was it supposed to be?”

“Cinnamon raisin muffin.”

His brow furrowed. “That . . . doesn’t even have the same amount of letters. How did they manage get that?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” you said, shaking your head. “The whole thing is like that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” you said, pulling out the copy you had left under the counter in case you needed a laugh. Which was about the only thing it was good for. You sat it down in front of him. “It’s at your twelve o’clock if you want to see for yourself.”

Mr. Handsome took you up on that offer. While he read – or rather attempted to read since you knew sections were completely unintelligible – you idly wondered if the dark facial hair dusting his face was the start of a beard or if he just didn’t feel like shaving this morning . . . you had the feeling he would look good either way . . .

Case in point, all that look of utter befuddlement like he didn’t whether to laugh or to be irritated by what he was reading did was make him look adorable. You needed to be careful. This guy was dangerously pretty.

“What is 78554.051?” He asked, looking like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“What?”

“It’s listed as one of the drinks. I think. I assume you don’t serve dribbles.”

“No, sir,” you said, thinking. “My best guess is that someone put the number sign where it didn’t belong.”

Mr. Handsome hummed thoughtfully, re-running his fingers over one section of the menu of nonsense. “Green tea.”

“Now that I do have,” you said. “Speaking of which, would you like to order a drink?”

“I don’t know . . . ,” he said with a teasing grin. “Drinking a coffin sounds dangerous.”

“It does,” you agreed, ignoring the continued presence of the butterflies to go along with the banter. “Does coffee sound better?”

“Infinitely.”

You gave him a quick rundown of the coffee options. He ordered a red eye for himself, which always sounded like a lot of caffeine to you but you didn’t know this man’s life. While he didn’t look tired, maybe he had been working a lot of hours lately and needed the extra oomph. Apparently he didn’t think his coworkers needed extra caffeine as they got a cappuccino and a dirty chai.

“What’s the name?” you asked. Mr. Handsome might be the only customer right now but that could change any minute. It was only a little after nine. Plenty of people might still be heading toward school or work, people who might decide to grab a coffee (and maybe some food) on their way.

“Matt.”

“Matt,” you repeated, both to make sure that you had heard him correctly and because you wanted to say it. If for no other reason so you wouldn’t accidentally call him Mr. Handsome outloud. He nodded in confirmation. “Just coffee this morning?”

He made another thoughtful hum. “I probably shouldn’t have just coffee for breakfast. What’s on offer?”

“We have bagels, muffins, croissants, turnovers, doughnuts, frittatas, and breakfast sandwiches.”

“Hmmm, those all sound great,” he said.

“Take your time,” you said, “Think about it while I make your drinks?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You turned to start making the coffee. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him flinch a little when the machine started grinding the beans. Which you couldn’t really blame him for. It wasn’t a nice sound. Easily one of your least favorite. But Dora, who was a coffee aficionado, might actually kill you if you even thought about using anything other than freshly ground coffee for espresso.

She had explained why it mattered. And demonstrated how changing how fine the grind was effected the drink. But that didn’t make the noise any less unpleasant. Which was probably why she hadn’t been able to talk you into freshly grinding your coffee at home. Not yet anyway. You were getting worn down on the issue. Agreeing would at least mean she would stop giving you that look of actual pain everytime she saw your can of already-ground coffee.

Pulling the shot part of the espresso was a lot more pleasant on the ears. With the added bonus of putting out that nice fresh coffee smell. You poured the shot into the waiting to-go cup of the house brew. You knew some places poured the hot coffee into the espresso but Dora thought that method disturbed the crèma too much.

You were pouring in the frothed milk with the chai concentrate into the double-shot of espresso for his coworkers’ dirty chai when Matt spoke again.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did but you can ask another one,” you said, feeling a little bold from his earlier friendliness, as you put the finished drink into the carrier alongside it’s companions.

He chuckled. “Left myself wide open for that one . . . Are you the owner?”

“Co-owner with my best friend, Dora,” you answered, tapping the used grounds into the knock box.

“Dora and who?” Matt asked with a charming smile. You felt your heart sped up. Something about smiling transformed his already handsome face into something breathtakingly beautiful. You had no resistant to something like that. You told him your name.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“And that was a line,” you said. One that you had heard numerous times. Through never from someone this good looking.

“It can be,” he acknowledged before subtly shifting his posture. He hadn’t been slouching before but there had been a relaxed air to the way he carried himself. Now he was standing there, straight-backed and shoulders square, his hands resting on the white cane held upright between his feet like it was some medieval courtiers’ staff of office. He had a presence. One that you suddenly realized had been there all along. It was just front and center now.

When he spoke again, there had also been a subtle shift to his voice. Easy self-assurance had been replaced with rock-solid confidence and conviction. Not thundering like an angry priest, just the calm, even voice of someone who knows they are correct, that the facts were on their side.

“Does that phrase being used as a pick-up line mean that a name cannot be pretty?”

“No,” you said. “A name can still be pretty.”

“Generally speaking, is your name one of the pretty ones?”

“Yes?” you said slowly. Why did you feel like you had just walked into a trap? Maybe it was that little edge of sharpness to his smile? . . . .

“Well, if names can be pretty and your name is one of those pretty names, then you have a pretty name.”

“I suppose,” you conceded. It was hard to argue with that logic. Especially when you didn’t actually want to argue that your name was ugly. You liked your name. And it was nice to hear something about you called pretty. Even if it was just your name.

“A pretty name for a beautiful girl.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks. That smile should be illegal. As for the words . . . he probably didn’t mean them. He was obviously something of a flirt. Regardless . . . it was still nice to hear. Still made your heart flutter.

“And that was absolutely a line,” you said, fidgeting with the ties on your apron. “Flattery is not going get you a free muffin.”

“It’s not flattery if it is true,” he said. Which did nothing to lessen the warmth in your face. “And since muffins are off the table, what about the doughnuts? Or the turnovers?”

You laughed. “Sorry. As much as I would like to give out free coffee and food, unfortunately there are all these places that expect me to pay them with money.”

“Instead of an excellent pie, like a sensible person?”

“Exactly,” you said, once again finding yourself drawn into the banter in spite of your nerves. You knew one thing for certain about Matt – he was definitely charming.

He nodded solemnly, like this was a serious conversation. “I’ve encountered the same problem with my small business.”

“You did?” you said. Then, feeling genuinely curious, you asked him, “What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer who wants to get paid in pie?” you said, feeling a little skeptical. Didn’t lawyers usually work in big offices that paid them big money? Granted your experience with lawyers was largely limited to baby-faced ones who were grabbing coffee for the office or law students who looked like they had forgotten what sleep was . . .

“I like pie,” he said mildly. “But, as you said, since so many people want money instead of pie, my partner insists that’s what we charge for our services.”

“That’s a shame,” you said.

“It is,” Matt agreed solemnly. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “What to know a secret? If you ever need to bribe Foggy, try bagels. He can resist pie but never a good bagel.”

“Duly noted,” you said. “I assume Foggy is your partner?”

“Yep,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law.”

“Nelson?” you repeated. “Any relation to Nelson’s Meats?”

You expected the answer to be no. This was New York City, after all, not a small town. But, to your surprise, Matt nodded and said, “Yes, it’s his family’s butcher shop. How do you know Nelson’s?”

“We buy the meat for the cafe from them,” you explained as you placed the to-go carrier by the cash register. “Did you ever reach a verdict on breakfast?”

He chuckled. “Jury is still out, I’m afraid. It all smells so good. Can you give me a recommendation?”

Your heart gave another excited flutter at the compliment as you thought about it. Then, with a little hesitation, said, “Maybe bagels? That way, if I need to bribe your partner, he knows what he’s getting out of the deal?”

“Good idea,” Matt said with a smile. “What favors do you have?”

After being given his options, he opted for a plain for himself and an everything for Foggy. After some further consideration an apple turnover for Karen, the third person at his office. He thought the sweetness of the turnover would compliment the spices of her dirty chai better than a bagel.

Soon the rest of his order was bagged up and paid for. Before he left, he tapped the menu of nonsense with his finger. “Can I have a copy of this? Otherwise I’m pretty sure Foggy will think I’m making it up.”

“Go ahead,” you said. “I’ve got other copies.”

He smiled, then tucked the menu into the bag with the food. He feed his arm through the handles of the bag, then picked up the drinks carrier. Considering his left hand was occupied with his cane . . .

“Would you like me to open the door for you?”

“Please.”

On the downside, Cozy Corners wasn’t very big so that particular journey didn’t take very long. But on the upside, you got to watch him walk down the street, discovering that he had a perfect ass. Because of course he did. You sighed. Why was everything about this man so attractive . . .

“I saw that.”

You jumped with a small shriek and whirled around. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen was Dora. How long had she been standing there?

“Saw what?” you demanded, walking back over to the counter.

“So many things,” she said with a knowing grin. “You flirting with Mr. Matthew Murdock, Esquire? Undressing him with your eyes? Checking out his ass? I saw it all.”

Warmth flooded your face. “I wasn’t undressing him with my eyes!”

“Yes, you were,” Dora said with the utter confidence of someone who had known you since you were ten and therefore knew all of your tells.

“Maybe I was,” you muttered as you tidied up the work station. It needed to be done but also gave you an excuse not to see that knowing grin. Which you knew, without even looking, had just gotten bigger.

“And now you are thinking about how loudly he could make you scream.”

“Dora!” You exclaimed, your head whipping around to make sure the cafe was still as empty as it was the last time you looked. It was. “Is this really the time for that? We’re at work!”

“That wasn’t a denial,” she pointed out in a sing-song voice. “I’m betting on very loud.”

“What makes you say that?” you asked, suspicion in your voice. “Did you sleep with him?”

The very thought sparked a little flame of jealousy inside you. Which you hated. You didn’t want feel jealous of your best friend . . .

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I know someone who did. She said Murdock loves eating pussy. That he fucked her better with his tongue than any man ever had with their dick.”

“Dora!” You whined. Because now you were thinking about it. Now you were trying to imagine that handsome face buried between your thighs. It was an appealing image. Very appealing. But one you would rather not have when you could do nothing to quench the heat growing between your legs. “Why are you telling me this?!”

“You’ve been under way too much stress lately. Orgasms are wonderful stress relief.”

“Matt Murdock isn’t a requirement for me to have an orgasm,” you said mulishly. You had hands. And a vibrator. Both had served you well in that department. Often better than men had.

“Perhaps not,” she said, nodding in acknowledgment before flashing you a wicked smile. “But that’s who you are going to imagine fucking you senseless while you flick the bean, isn’t it?”

You were spared from having to answer that question by the arrival of new customers.

&&&

You managed to avoid any further conversation about Matt Murdock and what he could do with his tongue. Or other body parts. You put that down to two things. First, there had been a steady stream of customers to keep you both busy. Most had been simply curious about the new business in the neighborhood or tourists needing a quick break. The latter made you a little nostalgic, remembering your first days in the city and how overwhelmed you had felt. But some of the customers were repeats from earlier visits. Something that you hoped would continue.

Second, while you were still working on hiring, you did have some staff. Staff that had come in around lunch time and were there until final clean-up. It was one thing for Dora to speak so frankly about your sex life (or the lack thereof) when it was just the two of you but in front of others? Others who were your employees? Who likely would be very uncomfortable with that conversation? That was an entirely different kettle of fish. Not one that Dora or you had any desire to partake in.

By the time you were locking up the cafe and setting the alarm, Dora had seemingly forgotten all about Matt Murdock and how you had – allegedly – been undressing him with your eyes. It might only be temporary reprieve. Assuming he didn’t hate the coffee and food, Matt would be back. Despite the certainty of teasing from your best friend, you hoped that he came back.

Not because you thought had any chance with him. You weren’t delusional. Men that good-looking didn’t go for people like you . . . but if he was a regular, you could at least look at him. You’d get to talk to him. Though seeing him with girlfriends was going to suck . . .

“Are you sure that you don’t want me and Steve to walk you home?” Dora asked, looking worried.

“Yes,” you said, looking over at your best friend and her steady boyfriend. He had come to pick her up as usual. “I’m in the opposite direction of you guys.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve said. You knew that he didn’t. He made similar offers since he and Dora had started dating. And never complained or acted annoyed when you accepted the offer. But your apartment was much closer to Cozy Corners than their place, which weren’t even in the Kitchen. The only time you had accepted the offer since the cafe opened was the day before and only because you were dropping off the deposit at the bank. Then, carrying your opening week’s worth of cash, you felt like you had needed some extra security. Steve was a very sweet guy but he was also a tall man with large muscles. Not exactly the easy target that most criminals are looking for.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “It’s not that late and my place isn’t far.”

“Okay,” Dora said. “If you are sure?”

“I am.”

Mollified by your conviction, Steve and Dora left. You watched them go around the corner before heading off yourself. You walked swiftly. Because rain had been predicted tonight and it was starting to get chilly at night. It wasn’t quite cold yet but brisk enough that you needed a jacket and didn’t fancy getting soaked. You couldn’t afford to get sick right now. Your business was too new . . . and Lady Who Sneezes A Lot wasn’t exactly the second impression you wanted to give Matt.

You might have very few hopes of attracting his interest but that didn’t mean you wanted to completely tank what little chance you had . . . You shook your head. You needed to stop the daydreaming. This wasn’t the time for it. Daredevil was back from wherever he had disappeared to but the vigilante only made things safer, not safe . . .

There was no warning. You were walking, almost home. Then you were grabbed from behind. You screamed as you were dragged toward the gap between two buildings. You dropped the sack holding your dinner and tried to struggle, to resist, but your attacker was too strong for you. You were pulled into the shadows and slammed into the side of a building. It knocked the wind of you.

Heart pounding, you desperately tried to suck in air. To get your breath back. You needed to scream again. Scream in the Kitchen and the Devil came. That was the story. That was the hope. But was one scream enough? You didn’t know. So you had to scream. Scream and pray all those stories were true . . .

You started to scream . . . then agony exploded on the left side of your face, transforming that scream into a cry of pain. Everything from your cheek down to your jaw immediately began to throb. It hurt. Worse than the time your sister Alex had accidentally given you a black eye with a softball. The bruising grip on your shoulder that kept you pinned against the wall barely even registered.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the man ordered in a low hiss. “Make another sound and I’ll slit your throat.”

Tears were blurring your vision but you could see the knife he was brandishing. It wasn’t a small pocket knife. It was a chef’s knife. Like the one you had at home and at the cafe. And it was stained with something. You bit down hard on your bottom lip to stop a terrified whimper. It was too dark for you to tell with what but you feared that it was blood.

Apparently satisfied that you were too frightened to be anything but compliant, the man released your shoulder.

“Purse,” the man demanded. “Watch. Jewelry.”

Trembling, you removed your crossbody bag and held it out. It was taken and slung onto his shoulder. You ignore the watch directive since you weren’t wearing one. It was when you tried to remove your jewelry that things went wrong. The only piece of jewelry that you were wearing, a necklace, had a very delicate chain with a tiny clasp. Your hands were shaking too much for you to get a good grip on the lobster clasp, let alone open it and slip out the ring. The chain wasn’t big enough to pull the whole necklace over your head. Every time, the clasp slipped out of your fingers, your panic grew. Which only made the trembling worse.

It didn’t take long for the mugger to lose patience. His hand darted out and grabbed the necklace. He yanked hard, snapping the chain. More tears filled your eyes. It was bad enough that he was stealing your favorite necklace. Did he have to break it too? Then, to your horror, he raised the knife. You screamed, instinctively throwing up your arms to try to protect yourself. Your eyes squeezed shut, bracing yourself for the pain that you knew was coming.

Except it never came.

What came was a growl, low and furious. It was accompanied by the sound of something flying through the air. You heard a pained yelp and something metal clattering to the ground. You cautiously opened your eyes just in time to see someone put himself between you and the mugger.

Someone dressed entirely in black, save for the thick white ropes tied around his forearms and hands. Someone wearing a mask. Daredevil, you realized with a dizzying sense of relief. It might not be the more distinctive red outfit and its horned helmet but you were sure it was him . . . the stories were true. Scream in Hell’s Kitchen and the Devil will come to save you.

“You made a big mistake,” Daredevil snarled at the mugger, each word dripping with fury and utter contempt. “By not fleeing when you had the chance.”

Then he threw himself at the man.

Your legs turned to liquid. You fell back against the wall and slide down. You didn’t care the street was getting your pants dirty. You had to sit. While your legs were uninterested in supporting your weight, you could pull them up and wrap your arms around them. So you did. It was almost like a hug and you could use one right now.

You couldn’t stop shaking. The sound of breaking bones, meaty thwacks, and a man’s screams were oddly distant. Like you were listening to something through a well instead something happening just a few feet away. Scent, however, was viscerally and intensely present. Acrid car exhaust, rotting garbage, coopery blood, sweet peaches, and sour sweat filled your nose. You gagged, then tried to breathe through your mouth to lessen the nauseating combination. But you couldn’t get your throat to work . . . you couldn’t get enough air . . . your vision darkened . . . . you couldn’t breathe . . .

You weren’t sure which penetrated past the panic first – the hands massaging your shoulders or the deep voice speaking. But once it did, you were suddenly aware of both. You almost couldn’t believe your own eyes and ears. Was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really kneeling in front of your huddled body? Were those gloved hands gently gripped your shoulders, really the same ones that had just literally beaten a man bloody?

“You’re safe, it’s okay . . .”

The soft, quiet voice was completely at odds with his grim reputation. It also sounded a little familiar but you were too exhausted to try remembering where you had heard it. It had been a long day and panic attacks always took a lot out of you.

You weren’t so tired that you missed that the Devil was a good-looking man. And not just in the face. Those grainy surveillance photos in the newspaper hadn’t conveyed just how tight his clothing was. Which was very tight. His shirt, for example, was practically painted on. You could see his muscles. His many, many muscles. He had clearly hit the muscle store during a clearance sale . . .

The thought made you giggle. It sounded more like a wheeze and more than a little hysterical but still a giggle. But you needed a laugh. You were alive. You had been sure that you were about to die. That you were going to be stabbed to death in a robbery gone bad . . . you started to tremble again, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather . . . you could have died . . . your bottom lip quivered . . .

Hands squeezed your shoulders, “Hey, hey, look at me.”

That didn’t sound too hard. Only half of his face was visible but what you could see was mighty fine.

A deep chuckle. “Thanks for the compliment.”

‘Note to self – abject terror followed by panic attack completely dissolves your brain-to-mouth filter. Shut up before you ask if it is actually possible to bounce a quarter off of his abs.’

Another deep chuckle alerted you that you might have also said that outloud. A theory confirmed by his statement, “I’ve never tried. Can you do something for me?”

Warmth filled your cheeks as you nodded. He smiled at you. It was a nice smile. “Follow my lead? Deep breathe in . . .”

You mimicked the inhale, the short hold, then slow release out.

“Good! Now again . . .”

It seemed like forever but eventually you felt calm. Or at least not like you were about to have another panic attack. That was good. Panicking was exhausting. Daredevil seemed to agree with your self-assessment as he had stopped instructing you to take deep breathes. After one more reassuring squeeze, his hands slid off of your shoulders. He sat back on his heels.

“Feeling better now?” he asked, his voice returning to what you assumed was his Daredevil speaking voice – low, deep, with a growling rasp. It was possible he sounded like this all the time. It wasn’t like you had ever meet him outside the mask. Well, as far you knew. You supposed that you could have but how would you know . . .

“Yes,” you said, when you remembered that you had been asked a question. “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not from a certain point of view. You were feeling better now that you were no longer teetering on the edge of a second panic attack in a short space of time. You knew this calm, almost numb, feeling was fragile. It would shatter instantly if pressed too hard. But that was the best you could hope for right now. Feeling any better than this would require things that weren’t here – like your most comfortable clothes and your pets – along with time.

Daredevil frowned, tilting his head slightly to one side. It was hard to interpret the expression on his face since you couldn’t see most of it. But it seemed like he was staring at you (through how he saw anything through that mask was a mystery) as if you were a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Or maybe he was simply skeptical. That was possible. You had seen how you looked after panic attacks. In his shoes, you wouldn’t believe you about being fine either.

“I’m as fine as I’m going to get tonight,” you amended.

That answer, at least, was deemed plausible to him. He nodded, then pulled something about the little pouch attached to his belt. A cellphone. Who was he calling? Since you had no energy for guessing games, you simply asked.

“The police,” he said.

Well that was your cue to get out of here. You couldn’t think of something you would rather deal with less right now. Your usual post-panic attack headache was already growing – no need to kick it into migraine territory with sirens and flashing lights. You shifted onto your knees so you could get to your feet.

“What are you doing?” Daredevil asked.

“Going home.”

“Home? Shouldn’t you be going to the hospital?”

Amazing, he had found something worse than the police. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you said. “I don’t wanna.”

His lips twitched. “You don’t wanna?”

“What are you, a parrot?” you demanded, feeling your temper flare. If you had been less tired or not in pain, that question would have playful. But you were tired and hurting so that question was grouchy. So was the rest of your statement. “Yes, I don’t wanna. No, I don’t care that is whinny. I’ve had a shitty night! I’ll whine if I want to!”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, spitfire. No hospital.”

As the anger drained, you felt a swell of guilt for yelling at him after he just saved your life. This was why you did your best to avoid people when your social batteries were running too low to manage basic human interaction. It seemed like you always ended up biting someone’s head off for no good reason.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shifting back onto your bottom. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead against your knees. You didn’t care that your pants were dirty. You needed to hide. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just too tired to be peopling right now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I understand.”

You cracked up an eye and turned your face to peer at him with that one eye. Again, it was almost impossible to get a read on his expression but he didn’t seem bothered. And vigilante like him probably did know a thing or too about having a temper. Suddenly feeling curious, you asked, “How good does it feel to punch crime in the face?”

A wolfish smirk spread across his face before he answered, “Sometimes very good. Why?”

You shrugged, “Don’t know. Maybe I’m looking for a career change. Punching bad guys sounds more fun than getting punched by bad guys.”

You got the impression he was giving you a very stern look from behind that mask. That mouth pressed together in a thin line was all disapproval. “How about you leave the punching bad guys to me and I’ll leave the baking to you?”

“How did you know I’m a baker?” you asked. Then felt a little stupid for asking. You were still wearing your chef’s jacket and an apron. It was pretty obvious that you worked with food . . .

“You smell like flour, yeast, butter, sugar, and spices which all says baker to me,” he said. “Through you also smell like peaches. The fruit, not the flowers.”

You blinked. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. You also hadn’t realized that the scent of your peach beauty products were that strong. They smelled pretty light to you. But before you could think of a response to that, Daredevil rose to his feet. Which gave you a nice look at his legs which like his torso and arms was muscles for days barely contained by tight clothes. The black trousers weren’t quite as painted on as the shirt but they were snug enough. The naughtier parts of your mind wondered what it would be like to ride him, feeling those powerful thighs under you as he thrust up . . .

“Spitfire?”

Embarrassed warmth flood your face. While you were distracted, Daredevil had held out his hands and obviously asked if you wanted help standing. More than once if that amused smirk was any indication. You put your hands into his before you could embarrass yourself any further. A goal immediately challenged by watching the muscles in his arms flex as he helped pull you up onto your feet without a hint of strain. Because damn if that wasn’t hot . . .

Thankfully this time you managed not to become so distracted by the sexy vigilante that you just stood like there drooling like an idiot. You slide your hands out of his and then, to prevent yourself from staring at all those muscles (again), started looking for your crossbody bag. You hoped that the mugger had dropped it during the fight with Daredevil. Because as much as you wanted and needed your things back, you also would rather not get any closer to that man than you had to.

It didn’t matter that mugger was (probably) unconscious and (very probably) too beaten up to be a threat anymore. Not to anxiety brain. Anxiety brain was seldom appeased by such frivolities as fact and logic. So when you spied the large, still shape on the ground, your heart started racing again.

“Don’t worry about him.”

You looked over at Daredevil. He wasn’t even looking in the same direction that you were but still seemed to know what you were looking at. Almost like he read your mind . . . could he read your minds? God, you hoped not . . .

“I promise he’s not going anywhere soon,” Daredevil continued, his earlier rage coloring his voice a little. Part of you wanted to know what the mugger had done to make him so angry but most of you decided that you were better off not knowing. Your brain did not need help coming up with nightmares.

Feeling reassured by Daredevil’s confidence (and the knowledge that he was still between you and the mugger), you looked for your bag again . . . there it was. It was closer than you expected. You started to move closer but your foot encountered something. Something metal judging by the sound against the concrete. You looked, hoping it wasn’t the knife.

It wasn’t . . . too small . . . you knelt down and discovered your necklace. You picked it up, glad that you wouldn’t have to try to find something so small in such poor lighting or run the risk of it being gone by morning. Which it probably would have been. Aside from the broken chain, you hoped the rest of it was undamaged. You ran your thumb across the surface . . . it didn’t feel like any of stones had gotten chipped or cracked . . . the engraving could still be read . . .

“What are you doing?”

You jumped a little at the voice before remembering Daredevil. You were surprised he was still here. Weren’t there other damsels in distress he needed to be rescuing?

“Not at the moment.”

Either you were still saying things outloud without realizing it or Daredevil could absolutely read minds. You decided to believe the former because the latter was too mortifying to contemplate.

“Checking my favorite necklace,” you said as you darted forward and grabbed your bag. “Doesn’t feel like anything but the chain got broken.”

He nodded. “Ice those bruises when you get home – ten minutes on, twenty off. And try to keep your head elevated. After two days, you can use a heat compress.”

“Ice and prop up tonight, heat in a couple days,” you repeated. At his confirming nod, you asked, “Are you a doctor or something?”

“Just familiar with bruises” he said. “Trust me, spitfire, the bad guys often hit back when you’re punching them.”

You nodded, then realized that any further delay was just stalling. But as much as part of you wanted to keep talking – how often did you get a chance to talk to one of the city’s heroes? – the rest of you was still tired, still feeling jittery-numb from the panic attacks, and still hurting. And you had work tomorrow. It was time to call it a night.

“I guess this is good night,” you said, taking one last look at the vigilante. Odds were, the only time you’d see him again was in the newspaper.

“Good night, spitfire,” Daredevil said. Maybe it was projection but his smile looked a little sad. Like he also knew this was probably the first and only time you would ever see each other.

You paused when you reached the street to pick up your bag of food. It was probably a mess but you were definitely weren’t going to cook when you got home. As you walked away, you faintly heard the low rumble of Daredevil’s voice, presumably talking to the police on that phone.

Notes:

A Tale of Two Men is a reference to A Tale of Two Cities, an 1859 novel by Charles Dickens. I’m thinking about making all of the titles for this series reference book titles.

It occurred to me recently that my Reader characters in the series all are some level of anxious. Probably because I have anxiety and that colors how I perceive the world. Hence the Reader with anxiety.

The alien invasion is a reference to the events of Avengers I. Fair warning that some of the larger events of the MCU will not be depicted same as they were in canon. Accept that this is an alternate universe and move on.

I know Charlie Cox has brown hair but in some lighting for Matt Murdock, his hair does have reddish tint . . . and Matt in the comics is (generally speaking) a redhead so I’ve compromised by making Matt Murdock have dark auburn hair, the kind that looks brown unless the light hits it right and brings out the red.

Reader is sighted but knows how to read braille. The story behind this will be revealed later.

This knowledge is only reason Reader considers the misprinted menu of nonsense to be funny. She would have not find it funny if she found out about the misspellings and such after handing it to customers.

From my understanding, using the hands of a clock is the best way to tell a blind person where something is relative to their position. The menu of nonsense was right in front of Matt so at his 12 o’clock. Directly behind would have been his 6 o’clock, etc.

In braille, the symbols for numbers 1 – 9 and the letters A – I are the same along with J and 0. The number sign is written before tells you those symbols are meant to be read as numbers instead of letters. So 123 instead of ABC. If I have the information right, a second number sign is used to indict the end of the numbers and return to letters.

But all of my knowledge of braille is self-taught so don’t take my words as gospel here.

A red eye is a 12 oz (340 g) cup of drip coffee topped with a single or double shot of espresso.

A cappuccino is a coffee drink with a double shot of espresso topped with a very frothy milk. It is slightly stronger than a latte because it has less milk.

A dirty chai latte is a coffee drink with a double shot of espresso, then a chai concentrate is poured into the milk which is frothed. Finally the milk and espresso are combined.

Crèma is a dense layer of foam that forms the top of an espresso shot and is a unique characteristic to the brewing method (forcing very hot water under pressure through finely ground compacted coffee).

At least in this fic, Matt Murdock is a proud member of The Pie Appreciation Society. The Society ranks include its long serving president Dean Winchester.

How much a lawyer makes a year depends on where they work and what kind of law they practice. People who work in public sector offices like a public defender or a state prosecutor generally make a comfortable living but they are never going to get wealthy doing that job. There are some lawyers who charge six figures or more per billable hour but those seem to be litigators and they aren’t as common as the associates who charge something less crazy (through probably still an eye-watering amount of money to some).

It’s Nelson & Murdock because (1) this takes place not too longer after the 3rd Season so they are still working out of the back of Nelson’s Meats and (2) New York law prohibits the formation of the Law Firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page unless all three are attorneys. So if Karen wants her name on the sign, she has a law degree to earn and a bar exam to pass. Which she just might do in this universe.

The white cane is held in one’s dominant hand. I picked the left hand for Matt as another nod to his comic book counterpart who is (again usually) left-handed.

Esquire is an honorific title that is only used in the United States for lawyers for . . . reasons. No one seems to know why.

‘Flick the bean’ is a euphemism for female masturbation.

A chef's knife is a knife about 8 inches (20 cm) long used for chopping, slicing, and dicing meat and vegetables. Unless you have something like a meat cleaver, it is probably the biggest knife in your kitchen.

The favorite necklace is part of some story elements so this is not a generic favorite necklace but a specific favorite necklace. But if you want to mentally change the specific elements of its later description to better suit yourself, go right ahead.

A lobster clasp is the one that looks a like a lobster claw.

Matt is in the Black Suit since he has yet to replace the Red Suit – the old one being too damaged by the Midland Circle and only other one in existence was worn by the impostor who murdered people. A version of the Red Suit will eventually appear (since as hot as the black suit is, the guy without a healing factor needs body armor) but I’m still working out how.

The description of the panic attack (shortness of breath, sensory overload, etc) along with its aftereffects (exhaustion, mood swings, etc) are based on my experiences.

Spitfire is nickname for someone with a temper, possibly referencing the WW2 plane.

The treatment for bruises comes from internet so grains of salt are advised.

A chef's jacket is a double-breasted jacket with mandarin collar commonly worn by chefs and bakers, traditionally made from thick, white cotton cloth but can be made in different colors these days. The thickness of the jacket is meant to help protect the chef or baker from heat, steam, and splashing liquids in a busy kitchen. Frequently the jacket has long sleeves to help protect arms while reaching into the ovens.

#daredevil #fan fic #fan fiction #cozy corners #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #tw anxiety #tw panic attack #ao3 link

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darling-i-read-it · 10 months

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Babysitter

Dandy Mott x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: dandy being dandy, straight up murder, descriptions of a womans dead body, gloria is trying to like sell dandy to women

Author’s Note: i do not know how to feel about this but dandy is still crazy adn sometimes that calls for a weirdly sectioned fic

Requested: by anon, Hey! Your Dandy Mott fics are absolutely scrumptious and I can’t think of anyone better to hand over this idea to. I was thinking Gloria hires Reader as a personal nurse/kinda nanny for Dandy to get him used to being close to ladies his own age but it totally backfires on her cause Dandy gets interested in Reader and throws huge tantrums when his mom tries to get him to pay attention to other (rich) women

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You really needed a job. The summer had started and now that you were out of school there was no excuse for you to be lingering around without a reasonable way to spend your time. You had scoured the town for help wanted signs, dropped off your resumes at every available desk and even visited the local circus to see if they needed someone to hand out tickets.

Some places answered.

None of the places were as interesting as Gloria Mott’s phone call. You hadn’t even been by her house, had no actual idea that she was attempting to hire. You had heard the horror stories of the Mott’s. Dandy had walked around town and caused ruckus but you had never actually met him.

Gloria’s phone call was high pitched and concerned.

“A babysitter? I’m sorry Miss. Mott, I was under the impression that Dandy was around my age.”

“Oh yes, he is! He’s just…a little stunted. In the most affectionate way possible! I would like someone his age to get to know him, get used to the idea of regular people.”

She said regular people like it was a slur. You had no idea what kind of abnormal people she was speaking about or if she was directly talking about Dandy. Regardless, she was willing to pay far too much money for you to just hang out with Dandy. You had babysat before, granted, no one close to your age.

It was between that or stocking shelves at the general store for below minimum wage.

That was how you arrived at the doorstep of a large house. You knocked on the door nervously, unsure what to expect. You teetered back and forth on your feet, peeking through the side window that had the curtains drawn. You jumped when the front door opened.

A woman answered the door wearing an apron. She had a disgusted look on her twisted face.

“You’re the new help?” she questioned.

“I…I guess so.” She didn’t move aside.

“I’m Dora Brown. Welcome to the freak show.” She finally backed up. “I’m the maid here. Gloria said you were here to babysit Dandy?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Though isn’t Dandy my age? Gloria didn’t really specify what my duties here would be.”

“Dandy’s behavior is obnoxious and unreasonable. He’s a spoiled brat who doesn’t know manners,” she seethed. You followed her through the house, trying not to be too amazed at the decor. You hadn’t realized how rich the Mott’s really were. You couldn’t imagine having this much money, enough to decorate the walls with unnecessary pastels.

“So I’m here to make sure he doesn’t act out?”

“I think you’re here to get him used to other people.” She stopped in front of a door. “Good luck with that.” Her tone of voice was not reassuring. She left you there, walking back down the long hallway with no instructions. You looked at the door, unsure what you were going to find behind it. You wondered if this was worth the money. Dora didn’t seem exactly happy. But who was happy at work?

You knocked on the door.

It swang open without much of a delay. Behind it was Gloria, her face pinched into a forced content look.

“Oh good! You’re here.” She moved aside and took your bag from you. “Dandy’s just in his room. If you could just make friends with him.” Her instructions remained vague and you didn’t think you were going to get anything else from her even if you pried. You cleared your throat.

“Why can’t Dandy make friends-”

“You’ll see dear, you’ll see.” She was ushering you towards the door at the end of the room. You suddenly felt unsafe; like she was leading you to slaughter. You had no room to protest because suddenly the door was open and you were being shoved inside.

The door shut harshly behind you.

It was like a children’s play room but enlarged. Toy horses the size of real ones were at the corners of the room. There was a bike and a chandelier. You looked around, absorbing everything rather slow, when your eyes finally landed on Dandy. He was sitting at the front of the room, in front of what looked like a puppet show stage. He stood up when the door shut behind you.

“You’re the girl my mother is paying to watch me?” he questioned. His tone was closer to singing than speaking. You cleared your throat and nodded. You had never seen Dandy in person, only heard the rumors. He was your age. Handsome, if it weren’t for the childish scowl on his face.

“Hi Dandy,” you breathed. “I’m Y/N.” You straightened your back. You had to do what you were paid here to do.

“Y/N.” He played your name on his tongue. He said it again, whispering it and then saying it loudly. “Like a toy.”

“Sure. Like a toy.” You approached him, still looking around the room. “How are you today?”

“Fine. You shouldn’t have to be here. My mother thinks I’m still a child.” He sauntered over to you, landing just in front of you. He observed it curiously, like you were nothing but an object. He put his hand on your arm, brushing down it, like you were made of practice.

“You’re not a child,” you told him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Right?”

You nodded once.

“What do you like to do, Dandy? This room is pretty magnificent. I can’t imagine you getting bored.”

“I’m so bored,” he promised you. “All the time.” He gestured to everything. “My mother doesn’t like it when I speak about the circus or the clowns. I want to go to the circus Y/N.” You furrowed your brows.

“I haven’t heard much about the circus. What goes on there that’s so exciting?” You sat down on the round green couch in the center of the room. He turned to look at you, eyes wide.

“You haven’t heard?” You shook your head, a small smile on your face.

“No I haven’t.” He sat down beside you, words starting to tumble out of his mouth. He liked to hear himself talk and it was easy to get him going.

You weren’t quite sure what Gloria and Dora were going on about. Sure, Dandy was high maintenance. But he loved hanging out with you. He was a clingy mess, the second you allowed him to speak to you he never wanted you to leave. Multiple nights he insisted on you spending the night. You got used to him fairly quickly and had no issues getting paid to spend time with him.

Frankly, after a while, you grew to enjoy your time with Dandy. Having someone fawn over you endlessly and obsess over your every move was more enjoyable than anyone else gave him credit for. He had no interest in the circus after a while. Why would he, when he had you?

You got him fun trinkets from there when you passed by, pictures of the abnormalities he would go on and on about. He kept them on the wall and in the corner, a shrine to your presents.

Dandy was napping. He had to nap once a day, like a child, otherwise he would get cranky. Typically you read in the same room as him so he wasn’t surprised when he woke up without you. Dora liked to call you ‘Dandy’s favorite teddy bear’.

You had curled up beside him, holding the book open with two fingers. Gloria opened the door slowly, not wanting to wake him up.

“Afternoon,” you whispered. Dandy grumbled at the noise but didn’t wake up. She gave you a curt, whimsical nod.

“Tomorrow evening I’m having some ladies over. Your services won’t be needed.” You nodded once.

“Are you sure? Are they friends of yours or-”

“Potential suitors for Dandy,” she explained. “It’s better if you’re not here to distract him. Though your services have been increasingly valuable,” she admitted. Her voice was wispy. You nodded slowly, glancing down at his sleeping figure.

“No worries. Should I let him know?” She shook her head.

“I’ll let him know,” she said.

“Alright.”

She stared at you for a moment, awkwardly, like she wanted to say something else but nothing else came out. You watched her, evenly, until she left the room. You weren't sure when you had started to hold the cards over Dandy but it felt like you had more sway than her.

Dandy groaned. You brushed his hair out of his face and he nuzzled against your touch.

He reached forward, grabbing at your leg. You hummed and he put his head in your lap. You hummed till he fell back asleep.

It was odd not going to the Mott’s the next day. You wondered how Dandy was handling it. You spent the day pursuing the shops in town, finally having the money to spend. When you arrived back home your phone was ringing. You set down your bags and removed your sunglasses before picking it up.

“Hello?”

“Oh thank goodness.” You recognized Gloria’s phone voice. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for an hour. Where on Earth were you?”

“I was out, I thought I had this afternoon off,” you said. “Is everything alright?” You asked the question, despite being able to hear the ruckus in the background. There was a crash and a yelp from Gloria. You heard some muffled calling from Dora. Then an exasperated groan from Dandy.

“No! No, everything is not alright! Please come over!” It briefly occurred to you to ask for more money. Clearly your services were needed and Gloria’s pockets weren't exactly hurting. Instead you heard another annoyed groan from Dandy and nodded.

“I’m leaving right now.”

When you arrived you could hear the chaos from outside. Glasses shattering, plates breaking, screaming from an annoyed mother. You didn’t bother knocking, instead you just used your key and let yourself inside.

You followed the noises to the dining room.

“I don’t like those ladies' mothers! I don’t want those women, those foul overpriced women!” Dandy explained loudly. “I want Y/N!”

“Y/N is not a- stop throwing things!” Gloria’s strained voice exclaimed. You pushed open the door. There was glass shattered on the ground and beside it, a dead woman. She had a singular gunshot wound in her forehead. Her lips were still open, drool escaping her lifeless mouth. Your eyes floated around.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Gloria exclaimed. “Dora will come clean this up. Please, please, just deal with him-”

Dandy ran over to you, throwing his arms around you. Your receptive actions were halted for a moment, as you took in the events in front of you.

“What happened?” you asked him as he held him against you.

“My mother tried to have me marry a different woman,” he seethed. “Doesn’t she know we’re supposed to be married?” Your eyes opened wide. You couldn’t exactly deny your connection to Dandy but neither of you had talked about anything exactly romantic.

“Oh Dandy,” you whispered. You brushed his hair out of his face. “Did you do this?”

“She wouldn’t leave me alone,” he explained, looking at the dead woman. She was older than him. Much older. Closer to Gloria’s age and status. You narrowed your gaze at her. Dandy was easy to annoy but he was worse when he was uncomfortable.

“I assure you, she was just being friendly,” Gloria said absentmindedly. You watched as she left the room to find Dora. You wondered if this unnamed woman’s death would be talked about at all, or if they would sweep it under the rug like everything else Dandy does.

“I didn’t like her,” Dandy whined. You nodded. He was still holding onto your arms, his grip tightening. You nodded once.

“That’s alright,” you whispered. “Let’s go get some air.” You dragged one of your hands down to his hand. You gripped it, lightly dragging him out of the room. He watched the unmoving woman as he walked. You led him through the front door and to the courtyard. It was empty of any other staff. You were grateful to be alone.

“I want to go out,” he muttered. “I don’t want to be here.”

“We can go somewhere else. Where would you like to go?”

“I don’t care,” he admitted. His hand remained in yours. He looked down at it, observing the intertwined fingers. He hummed, flexing his fingers in and out. “This is nice.”

“I’m sorry your mother tried to set you up with that other lady,” you whispered. He shook his head. Just the reminder of her made him upset. He had disposed of her and now would need no other reason to think of her.

“She’s gone now,” he told you. He said it like it was a promise, as though he had done it to protect you. “Where were you?”

“Your mother said you were having friends over. She said I didn’t need to come by.”

“You always need to come by,” he insisted. He raised his head and let go of your hand. “You’re not like mother or Dora. You listen when I speak,” he said, head straight. You gave him a gentle smile and he gave you one back.

You gestured down the courtyard.

“Should we take a walk?” He thought about it for a moment and then offered his arm. You wrapped your arm through his. He leaned against you and used you as a crutch. You wondered if you were going to get a phone call from Gloria, complaining about where Dandy was. She might even try to fire you, hire a new ‘nanny’ for Dandy, and try and set him right again.

“Do you think we could stop at the circus?” he questioned, voice suggestive. You both knew you weren’t supposed to go there.

“That’s a long walk.”

“We can take one of my cars.” He paused. “I have many.” You nodded slowly.

“Do you have the keys?” His lips turned up into a mischievous smile.

“I may.”

#dandy mott x reader #dandy mott x fem!reader #american horror story imagines #dandy mott imagines #black balloons tag

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writingintheshadowsforever · 2 years

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Imagine Shuri being the one to come find you

A cough wretched itself from your throat making you to stop to bend over and hack it out. Your entire body felt like crap and it was getting worse by the second. The sun was just a a few hours away from setting with the sky getting darker. You had stopped running the second you reached the forest settling for a slow gait. Your left inner thigh was on fire from that shallow cut as was the large open gash on your left cheek. Even though your instincts were telling you were right to run, your brain and body was cursing you for it. After all its know like you were truly thinking rationally at that point. You were driven by pure emotion and fear even now your emotions were still high.

As much as you wanted to turn back for help. There wasn't nearly enough strength in your body for you to do so. With no other choice in sight you decided to rest up inside of a tree with a gaping hole. In the middle of it and wait for the Dora Milaje to come for you, because they would come. You were like family to everyone and that's what you do for each other. They would probably searching for you already.

Right.

Palace

Shuri missed your presence for the entire day pouting away in her lab. When T'Challa informed her that the Dora Milaje would be conducting training outside of the palace today, and she wasn't to interrupt in anyway. She was upset more than annoyed you were the light of her day sometimes. Her best friend since day one when the her father chose to let you reside in their own. After both of your parents who were soldiers for Wakanda died on a mission. You were four years old when it happened, and truly couldn't comprehend why they didn't come back. It was Queen Ramonda who ultimately decided the royal family would take you in.

While you got a bit more freedom than Shuri did like being allowed to go to public school, and going out without being under a watchful eye. All the time that still didn't stop the two of you from becoming the best of friends. You would bring her back sweets when her parents told her no, and tell her of your adventures. If anyone messed with you at school Shuri would give you some type of contraption. The next day to use on them it didn't bring any harm to the bully just a small prank that would cause a mess or embarrass them. But as both of you got older life would pull you in separate directions. Shuri was always going to be on a different path from yours being a princess and all. But her talent and love for science making her want to spend all her time in the labs, and your desire to leave up to your parent's legacy. Not to mention prove all of the other girls wrong about you being to soft to join the King's Army is. What truly made it impossible for you and Shuri to spend as much time together as before.

She had to get use to you not being around that much just looking over her shoulder. While she worked or perched up on her desk cracking the occasional joke, whenever she grew frustrated with something. Once Okoye finally got back to you after your physicality test with her to confirm you were eligible to join.

Shuri spent a week afterwards low-key upset with the General for not failing you instead. While the princess knew it was your dream and your decision, and would never truly get in the way of that. She was scared for you to not only join the Dora Milaje because of the danger that came with the title. But she really feared how it would change your relationship with her, and was silently wishing something would stop you. Eventually her brother gave her a pep talk and made her talk to Okoye about how she was feeling. Unbeknownst to you the General made a promise to the princess to do everything in her duty to keep you alive and unharmed. If it was in her power to do so without betraying her duty.

Okoye anticipated Shuri's reaction the second you ran away, and knew it was best to deliver the news to T'Challa and Queen Ramonda first. She sent word ahead of time for them to meet her in the throne room for discussion.

"Are her injuries severe?" Queen Ramonda asked. After Okoye was done recounting everything that took place including your strange new ability.

"No they won't bring her to death's door or anything, but the gash on her cheek will need stitches. By now she will need antibiotics for risk of infection as well" Okoye said.

"Give me five minutes to suit up and then we will take a jet to go look for her." T'Challa said getting to his feet.

Okoye nodded and just both of them were heading towards the double doors. They opened revealing a slightly irritated but still happy Shuri who waltzed in. "Is y/n in here I've been searching the palace for her for quite sometime. I see all the other trainees are retiring for the day, so where is she?"

Okoye looked away still a bit worried of how the young princess would react. T'Challa opened his mouth to answer but no words came out as he was unable to find the right ones. You were like a little sister to him, and the only real reason he wasn't freaking out was because. Unlike his little sister he how strong and capable you truly were. Also he knew in your current state by now you were probably tucked somewhere in a tree. It wouldn't be that hard for them locate and rescue you. But none of those reasonings would prevent Shuri from freaking out at the news you were missing.

"There was an incident during training and she fled into the wild out of fear." Queen Ramonda spoke up realizing that the other two couldn't do it.

The smile on her face disappeared replaced with a frown. "What happened in training? Do we know where she is?

"Princess that is a long story and yes we have an idea. A search party is about to be sent out for her there is no need to worry" Okoye tried to soothe her.

But she wasn't having it. "You haven't sent out a search yet" she exclaimed angrily. "Why would she be afraid?"

T'Challa walked over to grip her by the shoulders. "Calm down Shuri you're not the only one in this room who cares for her. I will bring her back to the palace before nightfall, and then you can talk to her yourself."

"No I want to go with you to find her" Shuri demanded leaning back to catch her brother's eyes.

Immediately he shook his head no letting her break free from his hold. "Okoye and I can handle this."

"That's not fair brother she's my best friend I should be out there." Shuri insisted whirling around to face Okoye pointing a finger at her. "Tell him I need to go please Okoye you owe me this."

Okoye didn't know what to do on one end arguing with the king wasn't in her, but the pleading look in Shuri's eyes struck a nerve. Luckily enough though she didn't have to make a decision. Queen Ramonda once again saved the day by speaking up.

"No my child you will remain here like your brother asked. Trust him to bring y/n back to us, and when he does she will need immediate medical attention. Can you be ready for when she gets here?" Queen Ramonda said knowing it would be easier to convince Shuri to stay behind. If she had something to do besides sit around waiting in anticipation.

Shuri hated the idea of being cozied up in her lab while you were out there alone, scared, and hurt. She wanted to go look for you herself, but no one here would let her do such a thing.

So she decided to just stop asking. "Yes mother I can do that" Shuri reassured her with a nod. Then turned back to her brother and the general, "bring her to me straight away please when you return."

"I wouldn't trust her with anyone else" Okoye swore to her. T'Challa gave her a nod and both of them exited the throne room.

In The Forest

It was getting dangerously close to nightfall which meant the temperature was steadily dropping. At first you were fine not really noticing it, but eventually your body started shivering involuntarily. When you took a deep breath and released it into the air. It was visible and you knew then time was running out. There was no way you could survive a night out here in nothing but your training gear. Which consisted of a simple pair of black leggings, and a red shirt with a breastplate installed.

Your gut was telling you to go seek out shelter, but you knew without trying you were too weak too stand. You shouldn’t have a ran away like that. It was a stupid idea and now you were paying for it. You rested your head back onto the tree closing your eyes. A little nap couldn't hurt right you were tired and its not like there was anything else you could do. Whenever the search party came no doubt they would be calling for you. The sound of their worried voices would stir you awake then everything would be fine.

Just as you felt yourself slipping away into a dreamless slumber. Your ears picked on the distant sound of tree branches being crunched, and the grass ruffling. Instantly your eyes snapped open as you sat up focusing your attention. On the small hole in the tree that was the entrance to where you were. Animal attacks were scarce in Wakanda, but there weren't totally unheard of. You were in no condition to fight off a lion or hyena. As if the power felt the fear bubbling up inside of you again.

The same blue energy manifested from your open palm lying on the ground, and surrounded you in an protective sphere. The energy emitted a bright glow lighting up the tree, and acted as a beacon. For whatever was trekking around outside the tree. This power was seeming like a blessing and curse at the same time more and more. The sound of footsteps got closer and increased in pace. Indicating the intruder knew exactly where you were located now.

The footsteps came to a stop right outside the entrance to the hole. You tensed up expecting to hear a deep rumbling growl of a lion. But there was nothing but silence other than the crickets whistling, and the occasional bird. You wondered if the animal could sense your power, and if that's what was making it hesitate.

"Y/N are you in here?" A familiar face appeared peeked out from the side. It was Shuri the light from your energy shield making her face visible. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blue orb surrounding you. "Holy shit what is this?"

You let out a cry of relief at the sight of your best friend, and the shield disappeared. Your legs shook as you moved to crawl over to her.

"No no no y/n stay there I'll come to you." Shuri said bending down to fit into the hole. She made her way over letting you collapse into her lap. The second she was in range catching your body wrapping her arms around you.

"Are you alone?" You asked her eyes glancing back to the entrance. As you wondered if the King T'Challa and the Dora Milaje were waiting on the outside. It would make sense to send Shuri in alone. Your trust for her was unwavering.

"Aye I am the although the others probably aren't that far behind. I got a thirty minute head start on them had to sneak out of the palace. They wouldn't tell me what happened, or why you ran away. I couldn't wait plus you're my best friend. I had to come for you because if it was me. I know you wouldn't hesitate" Shuri explained bringing a hand to brush over the gash on your cheek.

You winced in pain flinching at the touch. "Easy" you warned.

"Sorry" Shuri whispered moving her hand hover over your heart. Maybe you didn't notice but she could tell your condition was worsening. Your heartbeat was steady but your body told a different story with how sweaty it was. Even though your temperature was low because you were cold. She had to get you back to her lab asap. "Okay y/n it's time to get you out of here-" your hand snatched up hers in an iron grip.

"What's going to happen to me if I go back? You asked her. It was obvious your question threw her off as she tilted her head to the side in confusion. But there was no lightness in your voice or a joking tone. You were serious.

"Nothing I'm going to take care of these nasty cuts, and we'll go from there" Shuri insisted.

You gave your head a small shake. "What about this power inside me. I can't control it Shuri and that girl I was training with earlier-" you paused to look away ashamed. "I hurt her and she was in bad shape."

Her hand gripped you by the chin forcing you to turn your head back. So you were looking at her face again. "That was an accident and everyone knows it. I'm not going to let anyone touch you, and they would have to get through my brother first anyway."

You were really too tired to continue to protest, so with a small nod your grip on her hand relaxed. "Besides this is not America we do not lock up our own people and experiment on them. We're going to help you figure this new power out" she quickly added. Her reassurance and presence is all that you really needed to truly relax now, and without warning you passed out.

Shuri let out a frustrated groan knowing she wouldn't be able to carry you out of here. By herself she didn't plan for you passing out before she got you onto the jet.

"Why don't you let me take her little sister" A familiar voice said. It came from the shadows in the entrance. A figure she could barely make out because of the darkness filled the tiny exit. Shuri already knew who it was letting a small grin form on her face.

"About time brother hurry she needs medical attention right away" Shuri ordered. She dragged your limp body over to him trying to be as gentle as possible. T'Challa lifted you into his arms bridal style and moved so his little sister could exit first. She came face to face with Okoye and Ayo waiting a few feet away.

"I'm guessing you don't want your mother to hear of this" Okoye said with a raised eyebrow.

"I would prefer that yes" she replied trying to sound unbothered. But all of them could see right through her. Her mother hated it when she made it a habit to outright disobey or lie to her.

"If mother asks I found her now let's move" T'Challa ordered. A ring of white light shot down from the sky surrounding all of them in a circle. They started to float upward into the jet awaiting them.

Tag List: @danveration @xxromanoffxx @romanoffomixam @yelenabelovasgf @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @lizlil @be-missed @natashasilverfox @jokertgkk

#mcu imagine #marvel imagine #black panther imagine #shuri x reader #t'challa x reader #okoye x reader

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