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themorningsunshine · 1 year

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Pie - eyed over you

Mafia - Baker AU

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Mentions of murder and weapons

Word count - 3.3k

a/n - This is my first time writing an AU and I am super nervous (also because I have combined two things I can just not write about, weapons and cooking). Please let me know what you think.

Rain was pouring heavily on the roof of the shed and he wasn't sure if the old sheds meekly covering the building could contain them much longer. He couldn't care less.

He walks out of the building and into the rain, wiping his left arm on his dry coat to wipe off the blood covering it. The pouring rain caresses his face but does nothing to the ever-present frown on his forehead and the grimace on his lips.

He used to love the rain as a kid. The gentleness of the droplets, the smell of rain, and the puddles. It was so much easier back then. So innocent. He closes his eyes as droplets slide their way all over him. They touch him like they don't know what he has just done.

His frown deepens as images claw into his mind once again. He clenches his fist remembering how it had taken him mere 10 seconds to shoot 3 bullets straight into the man's head. The killing had become easier over the years. Picking the bullet and shooting straight into the target had become second nature to him.

What hadn't become easier was the aftermath. The guilt that somehow always gnawed its way into his heart. The question was there any other way?

With his eyes still closed, he brings his face towards the sky, daring the rain to wash away his thoughts the same way it has washed away the blood that stuck to his metal arm not so long ago.

He likes the rain for a completely different reason now.

It provides him with an escape.

From his mind.

His thoughts

The images. The man screaming, begging him to stop and he doesn't even feel disgusted by himself when he doesn't even falter. He left his men to take care of the body.

A face lingers in his mind, pushing away all the dark thoughts. His ma "Bucky "

It's like he can hear her call out to him, urging him to come back home.

She would have hated how he turned out.

But he tells himself he doesn't care.

It didn't matter what his ma would have thought about him. She wasn't here. She didn't have to know.

He snaps his eyes open when he doesn't feel the rain falling on his face anymore. He can still hear the raindrops thudding on the roofs of the buildings. He looks up to see a huge umbrella over his head, shielding him from the rain.

He frowns and follows the handle of the outrageous floral print object only to be met by the sight that was going to change his life forever.

The first thing he saw when his eyes met y/e/c ones was that they held a certain softness to them that he didn't think still existed in this world. He was almost afraid to take his eyes off yours as if he was scared that you would crumble down under his gaze.

But when he brought his eyes over your face and then the rest of you, he knew it was the most beautiful sight his eyes had ever landed on. That even the most beautiful paintings in the world didn't hold a candle to you.

"Are you okay?" You whispered, voice so gentle, it could calm the most violent of storms.

Bucky thinks those are the most precious three words he has ever heard. He nods his head, mostly because he doesn't speak too much these days and also because it has been a very long time since someone has asked him that question.

"I am walking that way and the rain is increasing, you don't want to get drenched. Walk with me?" You ask and he thinks he would burn the whole world down to the ground with a smile on his face if you asked.

He looks at the way you are pointing and realizes that's where his car is parked. He says, "Okay" and sees as you take a step towards him, covering the both of you with your umbrella, and his senses are filled with your smell. You smell like freshly baked cookies and coffee. It's his new favorite smell.

You take a couple of steps ahead before turning towards him and he realizes he is staring. He doesn't remember the last time when somebody had enthralled him so much. For some reason, he just can't get himself to look away.

"I have not seen you around before." He says only to hear you speak again.

"Yeah, I am kind of new here. Been less than a week." You reply with a smile on your face and Bucky thinks this cursed town has just been blessed.

You look around before commenting, "It's a beautiful town." And for the love of god, he can't figure out how this part of the town which is more of a dumpster with remnants of buildings all around can be beautiful to somebody.

"This is not really a safe place." When you look at him with confusion in your eyes, he continues, "Especially at this time of night." As if that explanation is enough. He straightens his back and tries to get the confident, mob aura he has around everyone. "What are you doing here?"

If his slightly changed demeanor throws you off guard, you don't point it out. You just bite your lip before speaking, "What if I tell you I lost my way?"

The chuckle that leaves him is involuntary. "Really? Lost your way?"

"Hey. In my defense, it's just been a week." You place your hand on your chest in fake offense.

"Where were you heading to?"

You put your hand in your pocket before taking out a piece of paper. "Here"

Bucky takes the paper from you and looks at it with furrowed brows. "Why are you walking this way? This place is at the other end of that alley." He says before pointing out to a dark alley.

You make an o shape with your mouth before turning toward where he is pointing. "Got it. Thanks."

When you reach his car and his driver opens the door for him, he turns back before saying, "Let me drop you." It doesn't sound like a request.

"No, no. It's fine. I don't want to be trouble. Also, I am not sure your car would fit in there." You said before tilting your umbrella towards yourself.

"I'll see you around." You tell him before giving him a small wave and walking away, a smile still etched on your lips.

Bucky stands there, watching you go, and realizes he didn't ask your name. But he'd be damned if he let you go in that alley alone. He asks one of his men to make sure that you reach your destination safely.

"Keep an eye from afar." He instructs him. Voice cold and commanding.

But the frown on his head and the grimace on his lips are a little less evident on the way back.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" Bucky's voice bellowed around the dark room, startling everyone around him.

"S- sir, I tried." Peter bows his head before whimpering.

Steve, who has been standing beside Bucky's chair leans in to whisper, "He is just a kid, Buck."

Bucky rubs his hand over his face before looking at Peter trying his best to give him a soft look. "Okay, Peter. I don't have time for this. What exactly is the problem here? And don't tell me a full-blown story."

"S-sir, the new bakery. The owner says she isn't going to pay the money. Said something about taxes and also that, 'If I don't barge in there asking for weapons, don't barge into my place asking for money.'

Some of the men standing in the corner chuckle but are rewarded by a glare from Bucky.

"I don't have time to deal with a Baker. Did you tell her that everybody in town pays the money? It's for protection." He says, voice slightly irritated. The townspeople feared him. There was no doubt about that in his mind. Hence, they sent him money at the start of every month diligently. But sometimes, out of the blue, someone would come and try to be the savior, trying to rebel. He didn't understand what they wanted. He wasn't a monster. Over the years, he had relieved some people of paying the money on various occasions.

"I did tell her that, sir. She asked me who exactly is this protection from." Peter whispered, now slightly trembling with fear.

This piqued Bucky's interest. Over the years, nobody had ever asked his men the reason behind the money. They just obliged.

Peter continued, "I told her it's from the mob. Some of us. And she said she isn't going to pay us to do the bare minimum, to be human." Bucky leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes in annoyance.

Steve spoke up, "It's okay, Buck. I'll handle this. You know they all give in eventually."

Bucky opened his eyes and stood up from his chair. "Nope, I will come with you. This is different." He then looked at Sam who was standing at the other end of the room, "Receive the order of the weapons. The delivery is scheduled in an hour."

Same nodded his head before walking out of the room. Bucky dismissed the other men and along with Steve walked towards Peter, both of the men towering over him.

"Peter, are those crumbles of pie on your face?"

A shiver passed through Peter at his cold tone and he willed himself to speak, "She gave it to me, sir. I tried to refuse. Really did. But she said that I am just a kid and don't deserve - " Peter cut himself before he could speak too much. He somehow had the habit of always speaking about stuff that is supposed to be kept secret.

A small smile found its way to Bucky's lips but it was gone as soon as it came and he patted Peter's shoulder dismissing him. "This is different." He said to Steve before walking out of the room.

And for some reason, he was sure it was true.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

"We are here, sir."

Bucky looked up from the file he was reading to his driver and then around him. It was one of the good areas of the town where families stayed, holed up in their whole little world, the darkness of the other side not fully reaching them.

Steve instructed the driver and the guard to stay in the car as the both of them walked out. "That is the one," Steve said pointing towards something.

Bucky followed his gaze and his movements faltered for a slight second. He had never seen something so - warm.

A little bakery standing between a bookstore and a cycle stand with sweets adorning its shelves looking delicious enough to lure anybody inside—soft music playing in the little speaker placed outside. People occupying the chairs outside and inside the shop, kids running around with huge grins on their faces, every one into their own little world.

It looked lively.

Bucky couldn't remember seeing something like this in the town before. Maybe he hadn't even bothered, or maybe something had really changed. With their black sunglasses and dressed up in dark colors from head to toe, he wasn't sure if he and Steve were going to fit in, but he couldn't care less.

As they walked closer, Bucky could now see most of the shop and when his eyes landed on the sole person behind the counter, his breath hitched in his throat.

Removing his sunglasses to get a better look, he stopped in his tracks when his suspicions were confirmed.

It was her.

The girl with the floral umbrella and the warm smile.

The girl who had somehow crept her way into his thoughts more than he would like to admit in the past week since he had seen her.

And she was beautiful.

He saw as you stood behind the counter, handing a box to a little girl with a huge grin on your face, the girl jumping up and down in excitement as you leaned towards her to whisper something.

He then saw the little girl run out of the bakery, clutching the box to her chest towards her mother as if it was the most precious thing in the world. When his eyes went back to you, he saw how you talked to the next customer, an old lady, with the same huge grin on your face.

He hadn't noticed that he had been staring until Steve cleared his throat, a smirk on his face. Before Steve could say something, Bucky muttered, "Stay here, let me handle this." He walks towards the stops with a calculated gaze and a perfected aura of confidence.

As he opens the door to the bakery, the smell of coffee and cookies hits him hard and a feeling of warmth engulfs him.

"How can I - " Your words die in your throat when your eyes land on the familiar figure.

Bucky could swear your smile gets wider.

You compose yourself before saying, "Hey, I know you. You are the cute guy from the other day."

Bucky frowns as he takes in your words. Cute? Did you just call him cute? He had been called intimidating, scary, and even sexy. But cute? He was furious. He was anything BUT cute. Also, was he allergic to something in the shop? Why the hell was his stomach suddenly fluttering?

He also ignores the way his heart is beating quicker at the realization that you remembered him. What was happening to him today? "I am looking for y/n l/n."

Your smile turned slightly mischievous as you replied, "That would be me."

Bucky's eyes almost widened at that. "You are y/n? The owner of the bakery?"

"Yup." You said popping the p as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And the last I checked, introductions went both ways."

You raised your hand towards him for a handshake and after looking at your hand for a moment, he shook it. "I am B - James." For some reason, he didn't want you to know who he was. The nickname might give it away.

You smiled at him again before returning your hand, a little too early for Bucky's liking, "So, James. What can I get you?"

He had it all planned. It was like second nature to him. I want my money. Abide by the rules, you don't want to know the consequences. It was the usual. But for some reason, his mouth had gained a mind of its own as it said before he could comprehend, "Cupcakes"

You looked at the huge display of baked goods before looking back at him, "Which one?"

Bucky gave the display a glance, he was sure he hadn't ever tasted most of them. "What do you recommend, sweets?"

He watches as you are visibly taken aback by the nickname. A smirk find its way to his lips as he watched red color creeping up to your neck.

"I - uhm" You take a breath to compose yourself. Get it together. "These red velvet cupcakes just came out of the oven and they are kinda my favorite. So.." You look at Bucky with excitement in your eyes and he likes how passionate you are about your work.

"I'll take a box."

You smile at him before bending down to pack a box of the delicacy and he watches how you oh-so-gently pick up each piece before placing it inside the box with practiced precision.

When you hand over the box to him and your hands brush, you feel the sparks through your spine once again as when you had shaken hands.

When he puts a hand in his pocket to retrieve the money, you cut him off. "Don't worry about it. It's on the house."

Bucky smiles a little before replying, "Sweets, you keep giving free goods like that and you'll have to close the shop soon." He says in a teasing voice.

"I'll let you in on a secret, James." You lean towards him as if it is the most secretive thing in the world. "This is a business strategy."

He frowns a little, trying to cover the fact that he was getting too comfortable with how close the both of you were, before saying, "How's that?"

"The first order is on the house but then you come again. And again. It's really profitable."

There is this - innocence and purity in your voice that reminds him of a little child. Of old times. Easier times. And he just stares into your eyes for as long as he can, as if they could help him escape, become a portal to a time long lost.

You don't dare to move either. His eyes are the prettiest shade of blue you have ever seen. They have this intensity to them as if hiding the stories of a lifetime and you just can't get yourself to look away. You have always loved a good mystery.

Bucky clears his throat, bringing the both of you out of the daze as he brings the teasing tone back to his voice, "What makes you think I will come back?"

You chuckle a little before giving a proud smile. "Oh, you will, James. I trust my cupcakes."

He gives you another small smile as he takes a step back. This is the longest conversation he has had with a person outside his line of work in a very long time. Everybody was just too scared but he couldn't care less.

"Goodbye, sweets." He says before letting the new customer who had just entered go ahead.

"Goodbye, James. Until next time." You add with a wink.

Bucky walks out of the bakery, his initial motive forgotten completely. From the outside, he turns back to look at you for the one last time and watches as you say something that makes the teenage boy laugh while taking out cookies from the shelf.

A moment later, you look towards the window and your eyes meet for a fleeting second. You smile at him and give him a small wave.

Bucky turns around to walk towards his car when he notices Steve standing a few feet away with a knowing smirk on his face.

Bucky rolls his eyes before muttering with clenched teeth, "Don't"

Steve doesn't ask about the money and Bucky is glad. He isn't really sure how he would answer. Whatever happened wasn't what he was expecting. You weren't what he was expecting.

As he slid into the back seat of his car, the image of your smile when you were that close to him lingered in his mind and he couldn't stop the way his lips had pulled slightly upward.

When the car started driving, and with Steve on a phone call, he opened the box of cupcakes and picked one to take a small bite.

As he takes the first bite, the softness and the sweetness of the cake engulf him and leave him wanting more. He doesn't remember eating something this good in a long time.

And for many reasons, he will definitely visit again.

Next part

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nexysworld · 9 months

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Summary: Leon Kennedy is your new neighbor, and seemingly a great guy; handsome, funny, sweet, mysterious. It doesn't take long until you're falling for him hard and fast. But things take a turn after the death of someone close to you. Strange events keep happening around you, leaving you in a whirlwind of confusion. Desperate for a sense of normalcy, you rely heavily on Leon. He plays his part well, always being there for you, always being your safe space. There's only one problem, unbeknownst to you, his obsession towards you is growing and as it does, so too does the measures he'll take to watch over you, and more importantly make you his.

Pairing: Yandere!Leon x Fem!Reader

Tags: NSFW, Dead Dove, Dubcon, Kidnapping, Stalking, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Pet Names, violence, gore, MDNI, masturbation, murder, slow burn.

Read on AO3 || Ask Box Open || Masterlist

You had lived in this apartment since the day you moved out of your parent’s house. It was small, only a single bedroom located in a rougher part of the city. While the appliances hadn’t been updated since the 90’s and the place looked like a disaster, you did your best to make the beat down apartment your own. A few fresh coats of paint on the yellowed walls and some throw rugs to cover the stained and now flattened shag rug and boom — not too shabby.

It was home.

Living in such a rundown building meant that the turnover rate for neighbors was quite high, people always coming and going. None really caught your attention except for the few long-term tenants that seemed to have no intention of leaving. So of course when a new person moved in on the other side of Mrs. Wilson, the sweet elderly woman who shared the apartment next door, you paid no mind.

In fact, it wasn’t until several weeks later that you had even seen who the new neighbor was. Returning from work, you watched Tina, the girl from 202 painfully trying to hit on – what you could only describe as – an absolute tank of a man.

Sandy blonde hair was slicked back out of his face revealing a handsome mesh of chiseled and soft features. He had clearly been accosted on his way back from exercising, clad in black basketball shorts and a sweat-soaked gray t-shirt, sleeves straining against his massive biceps. His earbuds were tossed over his shoulder as he talked to the girl, music still playing quietly through them. Turning to the wall of shared mailboxes, you tried your best to not stare or eavesdrop, but damn was it hard. As you opened the small metal door, you couldn’t keep your eyes from darting back to him.

‘I thought guys like him only existed in magazines.’ You thought to yourself, collecting the mail – even taking an extra moment to slowly sort through it where you were, buying more time to be nosy. It was obvious he was not into her at all.

“Soooo Leon..” Tina said awkwardly, twirling her finger through her choppy red hair, the metal bracelets on her wrist clanging together with each movement, bubble gum gnashing between her pearly whites. “You listen to music while you work out?” “Uhh…yeah, sometimes.” He said almost flatly, scratching a spot on his slightly cleft chin.

“Oh that’s cool. What uh, what do you usually listen to?” She bit her red coated lip, and batted her lashes, it didn’t seem to garner any additional interest from the man.

“Rock music, I guess.” Another flat response, his jaw clenching ever so slightly before he resumed his neutral look.

“I like rock music. Uh…” You watched as she fumbled to try to come up with anything else to add, tapping her heeled boot against the floor.

“Look, it was real nice talking to you, but I have to go.” He said flashing a small smile before popping his earbuds back in and running up the stairs, not giving the girl a chance to respond.

‘Ouch, that was awkward. But damn even his voice is attractive.’ Stopping yourself from giggling, you collected the few pieces of non junk mail and made your way back to your apartment. There was the smallest amount of guilt bouncing at the back of your mind, knowing you shouldn’t be ogling men like that while having a boyfriend. ‘It’s not like I did anything. I didn’t even speak to the guy.’

About a week after that, you had your first real run-in with Leon. Heading out to work you saw Mrs. Wilson’s door ajar — definitely unusual as she didn’t tend to get many visitors besides yourself. Concerned for her, you poked your head through the opening. The familiar smell of mint and warm bread hit your senses, but you didn’t hear a thing.

Sliding inside you quietly poked around as you made your way to the back of the apartment, keeping an eye out in case anything nefarious was afoot. Much to your relief, the hall opened up into the living room at the back where you saw Mrs. Wilson. Next to her was another figure you hadn’t expected.

Leon was standing with one arm above his head, unscrewing the blackened lightbulb from the socket before replacing it with the fresh one he had in his other hand. Workout attire replaced with a pair of worn blue jeans and a long sleeve black shirt. “Oh thank you.” Mrs. Wilson said with her signature wrinkly smile. “You’re so kind to do this for me. I hate having to bug the sweet girl next door all the time, but you know the lights in this place tend to blow every time there’s a storm and I can’t get up on the chairs like I used to.” “No worries ma’am.” He said with a far brighter smile than he’d worn during his interaction with Tina. His hair was no longer slicked back either, instead it framed his face, soft and fluffy, accentuating his cheekbones. You couldn’t help but notice the tiny gap his shirt left while his arm was raised, just the smallest peek of a dusty blonde happy trail and the faintest hint of hard muscle. “Looks like you have a visitor.”

Leon turned his attention to you with a small nod before he flipped the switch on the wall to test the new light. It lit up, further illuminating the area with a soft yellow glow. “S-sorry.” You snapped out of it, raising your eyes to meet his. “I saw the door was open and I just wanted to make sure Grams was okay.”

“You’re always such a Darling.” The elderly woman said with a toothless grin aimed in your direction. There was a homeliness about the old woman that made you feel warm. “Mr. Kennedy here is such a sweet boy. Have you met him yet? He moved in next door a while ago and offered to help me with a few things.” “I told you Mrs. Wilson, call me Leon.” He said as he tossed the broken lightbulb into the small pink trash can by the kitchen counter. “And I don’t believe we have met. Nice to meet you. The name’s Leon, well I guess you already knew that. Leon Kennedy.” He added his last name, reaching out a hand to you.

“Nice to meet you too Leon. I’m glad to hear Grams has someone else to help take care of her. I live next door, in 306.” You couldn’t lie, your heart melted a little. ‘Handsome and kind? This guy must be a unicorn.’ You whisked the thought away again, the picture of your own boyfriend flashing behind your eyes again.

The vintage clock hung against the floral wallpaper cuckoo’d and chimed, indicating the top of the hour. “Oh shit—“

“Language!” Mrs. Wilson chimed. “You know it’s unbecoming of a lady to—“

“I meant, shoot. Sorry Grams. I’m just running late for work.” You wrapped an arm around her in a quick side hug. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to run.” Waving to Leon, you made a beeline for the door.

“Well Ms. 306, I guess I’ll be seeing you around.” He shouted after you.

“You too Mr. 302!”

Ever since, Leon became a regular in your routine. Short conversations in the hallway that always left you with butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t help the way your muscles in your face stretched into a permanent grin that you couldn’t stave off for the life in you. How a man managed to be so stoic and corny at the same time you’d never know.

You ran errands for Mrs. Wilson together too, taking his Jeep out into the city. He would leave the top down and take the long way. Your hair would whip your face as you both sang along — poorly — to some dad rock mixtape Leon had. It seemed so fitting that he’d have an out of date tape player in his car, something so indescribably Leon.

He really seemed like a great guy and you were enamored to say the least — though you tried desperately not to be. ‘It’s just a harmless crush.’ You told yourself. ‘He’s not into you anyway. Leon’s just a nice guy, worlds out of your league.’

~~~~~

Cool air bit at your cheeks and nose while you leaned against the brick wall of the building. Derek was abysmally late, you had the feeling he was upset at you for some reason but unable to fathom why. Hoping that it wasn’t the reason for his current absence, you checked your phone again.

Still nothing. A sigh escaped your lips as you readjusted your jacket.

“Everything alright?” The voice was immediately recognizable and your face lit up into a smile before you even looked over at him.

“Hey Leon. Yeah everything’s fine, I’m just waiting on Derek.” You couldn’t be certain but you swore there was the slightest change in his expression, facial muscles contracting tightly before settling back into the lax warm look you were used to. “Oh. You know it’s not nice to keep a lady waiting.” Leaning against the wall next to you, he tilted his back to look up at the sky. He was wearing his brown bomber jacket that you found so attractive on him. A small part of you wondered how it would feel to wear it yourself, if it would smell like him. The other part of you was curious how a guy could afford such a nice brand name jacket, but lived in a place like this.

“Yeah well… I think he’s mad at me actually.” You moved some dirt back and forth with your foot. “Why’s that?” A thick blonde brow was raised with interest as he tilted his head to look down at you. The dull light of the street lamp lit up half his face, casting hard shadows on the other, it accentuated each of his features in a way that made you never want to stop looking.

“Wish I knew.” A dry laugh escaped your lips. As the wind picked up again, dust kicked up from the ground, blowing towards you along with some plant debris. You covered your face with the oversized jacket sleeve for a moment to protect your face.

You heard Leon chuckle. “Looks like you picked up a straggler.” He brought his hand up to your head, just above your ear and gently removed a small weed stem that had made its home in your hair.

“Thank you, I would’ve looked silly walking around like that.”

He lingered close to you for a moment, flicking the stem away before he brought his hand back to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Mhm, can’t have that.”

The moment felt intimate, and your heart beat out of time for a moment. You wanted to return the gesture, to say something, to do anything, but your brain was frazzled for a moment by the electric feel of his touch.

“Ahem.” Your head snapped in the other direction to see your boyfriend standing there leaning against his car, not having heard him drive by or even exit the vehicle.

“Have a good night Leon.” Quickly, you jerked away from his touch and ran over to your boyfriend, who had already started walking around to get back in the driver’s side of his car. Slipping into the passenger seat, you tried to lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek, but he turned his head enough to dodge it. Shrinking back, you buckled up and rested your head against the window, looking out as the city blurred past. ‘Guess he is mad at me.’

You attempted to fumble through some radio stations, but Derek made it clear he didn’t appreciate it, reaching over and turning it off entirely after the third one. The forty minute ride felt like hours as the rest passed by in total silence.

His mood didn’t seem to improve at the movie theater either. Each little gesture of affection you attempted was immediately spurned. Every part of him radiated with negativity — and the thought of dinner afterwards made your stomach churn. A movie was a distraction and there was no requirement to talk, but sitting across from someone dead silent, that would be harder to deal with. The uncomfortableness of the situation caused your focus to drift again, only tuning in when a jumpscare appeared – unfortunately he left you to reel in your chair alone during those parts too. The movie ended, indicated by the overhead lights that suddenly appeared and the credits rolling on the screen. Derek was halfway out the door before you even finished grabbing your bag.

You had to run after him across the tacky carpeted floor of the theater and out intl the parking lot. “Why are you acting like this?” You pleaded, grabbing his hand before he could reach the car.

“Acting like what?” He asked coldly.

“Like this.” You gestured broadly towards him. “You’ve been cold to me the whole evening. Well actually more than just this evening.”

“Really? I honestly didn’t think you’d notice.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You know exactly what it means!” He finally shouted. He brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep breath trying to calm himself. Of course the two of you had fought before, but he’d never acted like this. It didn’t help that you had no idea what he was even talking about. “You’ve been pulling away from me for weeks now. You’ve been distant, canceling plans to ‘run errands’. When we are together all you ever do is talk about that stupid neighbor of yours — and then tonight, I catch him nearly eye fucking you right out in the open. You certainly didn’t seem to be bothered by it.”

“Derek….that’s not true. I — Leon’s just a friend, my neighbor I swear.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“What?”

“Are. You. Sleeping. With. Him?” He brought his eyes back up to meet yours, the look of hurt on his face made your stomach twist and heart ache.

“No! What? No, I wouldn't do that to you.” You assured, stepping towards him. “Come on, please don’t be like this. I’m sorry if it seems that way, I don’t realize I’m talking about him so much. I’d never —“

“Save it.” He said, pushing you away from him again. “I don’t believe you. I don’t even know why I came out here tonight.”

“Der—“

“I said save it!” He snapped.

“This isn’t fair!” You shouted in return. “Why drag me out here on this whole date if you were this upset? You could’ve brought it up this whole time”

“I did. I told you over a week ago I was sick of hearing about him. I asked you to stop seeing so much of him, you told me no.”

“Leon’s a friend, I’m not going to ruin my friendship with him because you’re being psycho and jealous.”

“I’m a psycho because I don’t like that my own girlfriend spends all her time with some guy that looks like he stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad? How about the fact you don’t even seem to care that I’m hurt I thought I’d have been more important — you know what? Forget this. Forget it.” He turned to walk around to the driver’s side of the car. “I’m over this. You want him? Have him. I’m not chasing you. I thought you were my future wife, I thought we’d have the picket fence, kids, all of it. But now I get how you feel about everything.”

He slammed the car door shut, started the engine, and began backing out of the spot. You banged on the window to get his attention. “What are you doing? You’re seriously just going to leave me here?”

“Call your boyfriend to come get you.” He sneered through the window before blasting off and out of the parking lot.

You were stunned, unable to move as you watched the car disappear. ‘He can’t be serious right now? He’ll be back right?’ Pulling your phone out of your pocket you checked the time, 10pm. Wanting to hide your shame from the few people staring at you, and deciding he just needed a little while to cool down, you sat on the sidewalk in front of the theater, hidden by a bush that extended out.

15 minutes passed. Nothing.

Dialing the familiar number it rang a few times before going to voicemail. You tried again, this time it went straight to voicemail.

10 more minutes passed and you tried to text him.

20 more minutes, still no response or call back.

The wind was picking up again, making it chilly even under your jacket, which you’d brought down over your knees to try and keep in more warmth. This part of the city you weren’t familiar with, and weren’t sure it was worth the risk of trying to walk home. Given the situation, calling Leon was the last thing you wanted to do, especially since he was probably asleep by now — not that it was his job to really come save you anyway.

Opening the Uber app on your phone, you put in the respective addresses. “$30? Not including a tip? Fuck.” You bit your lip in frustration. Technically you had enough, but it was the last of what was left in your account after bills.

Tapping your fingers along the cement, you shivered as a particular gust of wind leaked air into your jacket from the opening underneath. ‘Even if I did call Leon and he wasn’t mad I woke him up, that’s still a drive away. An Uber would be faster…but I do need groceries to sustain life.’

“This sucks.” You said out loud to yourself, burying your face into your knees, you had no clue what you were going to do and were running out of time to decide. By this time, the parking lot had emptied entirely, theater closing for the night. ‘Fuck it. I’ll just call and if he doesn’t answer I’ll order the stupid Uber.’

Opening his contact, the picture of him you’d taken at the park came up. Blonde hair pushed back and messy, one sea blue eye opened staring at your phone’s camera while the other was closed in a wink. You’d even convinced him to throw up a peace sign – it was so silly and so very Leon. Sighing, you began the call, letting the phone ring.

As it rang over and over again, you could swear you heard a familiar tune in the distance. It was very quiet, like someone was playing the radio several blocks over, but it tickled your ears all the same. You ended the call the moment it went to his voicemail, as you did you swore the song had ended too. ‘Weird, I must be hallucinating. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top, abandoned and crazy.’ You let out a dry laugh at the thought.

Luckily after a moment, the phone buzzed in your hand, heart fluttering a little when you saw his name pop up on your screen. “Hey.” You said softly.

“Hey there.” He replied, his voice sounding groggy.

“Sorry to uhm….sorry if I woke you up.”

“S’not a problem. Everything ok?”

“Well I uh….”

“What’s wrong?” His voice sounding more alert now, you heard some shifting on the other end of the line.

“Derek kind of ditched me at the theater. I’m a little stranded —“

“Need me to come get you?”

“If you don’t mind. But if you’re asleep —“

“No, it's fine. I’d rather make sure you’re okay anyway. Where are you at?”

“The theater up by main, across from the big shopping center.”

“I’ll be there in 15, ok?”

“15, are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? This a test?” There was a small chortle from his end. “Well it’s just that the apartment is nearly 40 minutes away? I hope you’re not planning on driving like a maniac.” There was a long moment of silence on the other end, so long it began to make you feel anxious. “Hey Leon, you still there?”

It was still another few seconds before his voice could be heard again. “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry about that. I actually crashed at a friend's house after you left, so I’m nearby.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The wait for him to show up felt like an eternity, you watched each and every minute tick by on your phone, both giddy and nervous with anticipation. When his Jeep came to a stop in front of you, you bolted up with a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He replied with the same grin he always greeted you with. His hair was a little messy and he looked tired, making the guilt bubble up in your stomach more. “So….you gonna get in or?”

“Oh yeah.” Letting out a nervous laugh, you ran around to the passenger seat before hopping in. He had the heater on, not that it was doing much with the open top, but you appreciated every time the warmth hit your legs.

“So what exactly happened? If you don’t mind me asking.” He leaned back more comfortably in his seat, driving with one hand as the other rested on the door.

“We just got into a fight….” You fidgeted with your phone as you gave him a glance in return. “He seems to think I’ve been cheating on him…or at least that I like someone else. I tried to tell him it wasn’t true, but you know…

“So he abandoned you? Just like that?” He asked bewildered.

“Yeah I guess he did…”

“That’s pretty shitty of him. I mean what if something happened to you?”

“Yeah it was… I don’t know…” You trailed off, not wanting to talk about it further, just dredging up those bad feelings. Instead, you opted to change the subject entirely. “Hey you know what’s weird?”

“No, what?”

“That one Nickelback song you like so much…you play it almost every time we’re in the Jeep together.”

“Oh, Far Away? Sure, what about it?”

“Well…as I was calling you, I swore I heard it. Was so weird, like a scene from a movie or something — maybe it was a sign that you’d come get me. Or I had a psychotic break and imagined the whole thing. Could be either one.”

“Yeah?” He asked with a chuckle. “I don’t know about the universe, but I am always here if you need me – even if you’ve lost your mind.” He tilted his head and gave a nonchalant shrug.

“Thanks Lee…” The rest of the ride home went smoothly — things falling back into place like they always did. Blasting music obnoxiously loud for the hour, singing along. He even stopped to get you milkshakes on the way back, despite your insistence that you were fine. In his defense, the logic of ‘no one can be upset with a milkshake’ made a lot of sense.

As the vehicle rolled in front of the building, he leaned over, swiping his thumb across the side of your mouth. “Had something there.” His tongue darted out, lapping the sticky white substance off of the digit.

“Oh.” The simple touch had that electric feeling sparking throughout your veins again. “Thank you….and thanks again for the ride.”

“No problem.”

Not knowing what else to say, you nodded and scurried from the vehicle back inside the building. He didn’t follow immediately behind you, having to properly park, which left you relieved.

The entire evening was a whirlwind of emotions and that last little interaction had your entire brain scrambling inside your skull. All you wanted was for the night to be over with, forgotten as you drifted to unconsciousness.

You took a quick shower before changing into your pajamas and all but flopping into the comfortable fortress of your bed.

Curling up into the soft bedding, you expected sleep to come over you quickly — but you were wrong. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could picture was that pink tongue darting out to lap up the milkshake from his thumb. His smile, his eyes on you. It made you shudder and clamp your legs together, heat rushing between them. You squirmed around tossing and turning, trying to get your mind to relax and to stave off the arousal that was hindering your sleep.

Nothing you did was working, finally deciding to just give in, sinking your hand down between your legs. ‘Just so I can sleep…’

Hand tracing gently along your slit through your panties, you spread your legs farther to give yourself more access. Closing your eyes you could vividly see his face between your legs, tongue out lapping at your panties the way he’d done to the ice cream.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you applied more pressure, rubbing the slick soaked fabric against your aching bud of pleasure. “Mmm Leon…” The comforter was slowly becoming suffocating, too hot. You tossed it off of yourself to the other side of the mattress, letting yourself feel the cool air as it rushed against your skin – nipples sensitive to the temperature change.

You brought your left hand up under the silken sleep shirt, circling one hard bud with a finger before pinching it lightly. The fingers of your right hand teasingly walked themselves up to the hem of the fabric, dipping inside the band to properly travel down. Air escaped your mouth once direct contact was made to your throbbing clit. “Leon…so good…”

In your little vision the man had moved to hook your legs over his shoulders to gain a better angle - the real you bucking your hips up against your fingers, desperate to add to the vision. “So good to me Lee….always so good to me….fuck…”

Your fingers slid up and down against yourself, left hand abandoning your breast to travel it’s way downward as well, two fingers slipping themselves within your soaking hole – desperately needing to clench around more than the nothingness you were left with. “So close….gonna…” The words caught in your throat as the pressure finally released itself, tingling warmth spreading from your core throughout your body. It was quick and rough, far from the best you’d ever had but it was exactly what you needed.

The illusion finally cracked and you were left with sore arms, staring up at the ceiling – momentarily sated and relieved, again hoping sleep would take you quickly.

A/N: If this looks familiar, it's a total rewrite/reboot of my yandere!leon series. This original series was inspired by @explorevenus' Something Permanent series. Other inspirations include @gigabyte-flare, @lipglossanon, and @girldungeon's works. Special shoutout to @elfven-blog and her superior pinterest skills for the aesthetic pics used in the banner.

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call-me-maggie13 · 2 years

Text

My late 40s to early 50s boss just asked what’s wrong with 18-25 year olds these days

And as a 21 year old all I could think was

The world has been on fire since we were born and we’ve been told the adults are putting it out and now we’re old enough to realize they’ve been pouring kerosene on the flames instead of water.

Before my first birthday, 9/11 happened and the world wouldn’t let us forget it. When I was 6 years old, on September 11th, my teacher sat us down in front of a tv and showed us footage of 9/11 and then told us we weren’t allowed to cry. She said that it was real and those were real people jumping from the building because jumping was a faster death than burning.

When I was 7 years old, the economy collapsed and my family went from lower middle class to poverty, we went from healthy home cooked meals every night to mac and cheese and beans for weeks in a row. We started skipping holidays because mom and dad couldn’t keep the lights on and buy us new toys. We started wearing clothes and shoes until they fell apart.

When I was 11 years old, Sandy Hook was attacked by a grown man with a gun and 26 children and teachers were brutally murdered. My teachers never looked at us the same and I haven’t felt safe in a school since. After that, once a month we would have active shooter drills and we were taught to fight and cause as much damage as possible if an armed man entered our classroom because it gave other classes a few extra seconds to escape, it gave our siblings a few extra breaths of safety. We were taught to cover ourselves in other students blood and play dead if we weren’t hit, we were taught that we weren’t safe and we wouldn’t be safe as long as we were in school.

When I was 15 years old, my high school art teacher locked us in the classroom and told us if we heard gunshots we should line the desks up lengthwise so that they reached the other wall because that would be harder to break through than a barricade. She told us that she knew about the threats and she wouldn’t judge any of us that wanted to leave. She told us to get our siblings and stay in the buildings as long as possible, to duck in between the cars so we couldn’t be seen until we got to ours. She told us about the trail behind the auto shop that was lined with trees and led off campus. I got my brother and his friends and we left, we spent the day sitting on the floor in my living room waiting for a phone call that the people we left behind were dying.

Two weeks later, one of my friends dragged me out of a football game and forced me to go home with him. He grabbed my brothers and my best friend and forced the six of us into a two seater car before he would tell us anything. His mom worked for the school board and had told him the police found an active bomb under the bleachers in the student section, and they weren’t informing anyone because they didn’t want to incite panic.

When I was 16 years old, ISIS set off a bomb at a pop concert in Britain and killed 22 people, injuring at least 100 more. The next day at school, our teachers went over how to stay safe if we ever experienced something like that. They told us the most important thing to remember was to not remove any shrapnel because it could be keeping us from bleeding out, they said it was more important to get yourself out safely before you worried about anyone else.

When I was 18 years old, my teachers stopped teaching and put the news up on the projector and we watched as the Notre-Dame burned. The boy I had sat next to since second grade spent the entire day trying to call his sister who was studying abroad in Paris, I watched this kid I had never even seen frown fall apart in English because she wouldn’t pick up the phone. We didn’t know it at the time, but she was okay.

Six months later, my history teacher put the news on the projector again for another fire. This time, we watched as an entire continent burned for three months. We watched their sky turned orange from the smoke and their wildlife drowned in pools because they were trying to escape the heat.

When I was 19 years old, the whole world shut down because of a global pandemic. I didn’t meet a single new person for eight months, despite the fact that I had just moved across the country. I watched as people didn’t wear masks and spread it to everyone around them, I was so scared when I went back to my room every night because my roommate was immunocompromised and I was terrified I would give her Covid and kill her.

Just two months later, I watched a video of a black man being murdered by police officers. I watched the world around me explode after George Floyd’s death, people destroying businesses and police stations. I watched some of my friends realize police officers didn’t exist to keep them safe, they existed to keep the people in power in power. I learned that some of the people I had grown up with would rather watch a black man die than admit that maybe, maybe, the system was broken.

When I was 20 years old, I went to the mall with a friend to buy a birthday present and I was pulled to the ground by a twelve-year-old girl after gunshots went off in the mall. I held this child’s hands as she cried for two hours until we were evacuated by police, and then I waited with her outside and helped her look for her mom. I gave her my phone to call her mom and I watched as she called the number over and over and never got a reply. I waited with her until a police officer took her to the station to try to find out more information about the girl’s mom, I hugged this girl I had never seen before and I wished her the best. I never found out what happened to her or her mom, it keeps me up at night sometimes worrying that this little girl was orphaned.

When I was 21 years old, I started working at a daycare and exactly a week later, Uvalde happened and I found myself crying because my students are the same age those kids were. When they came in after school the next day, one of them had asked me if I had heard about Uvalde and I told her I had, I asked her if she was scared of going to school because of it. Her reply broke my heart. “We practice for it every week so that when it happens to us, we know what to do. I’m just worried that the shooter is going to start in my baby sister’s classroom and not mine.” I listened as other students with younger siblings agreed with her, one of them saying “I would take fifty bullets, if I had to to keep my little brother safe.”

Early this year, I watched Russia launched bombs into Ukraine, blowing up churches and schools and hospitals and apartment buildings. I watched as the estimated death count rose from the hundreds to the thousands to the tens of thousands. I watched men send their wives and children to bordering countries for refuge while they stayed behind to fight, knowing they would probably never see each other again.

Just four months ago, I watched as my right to medical privacy got taken away. I watched my old roommate fall apart because she was denied the right to have her dead fetus removed from her body for almost two days, I worried every time I looked away from her that the next time I saw her would be in a casket. I watched as the women around me realized the military-grade weapons that had torn children in classrooms apart were protected by the government but our bodies weren’t.

There is nothing “wrong” with my generation, we’ve experienced all these things as children and were expected to respond with patriotism for a country that continuously sacrificed their children for the “right” to military-grade weapons, that took away my freedom of choice. We are tired, we were told the world was a wonderful place then shown, at every step, how the world was a place of destruction and pain. And we are angry. We are angry because no one but us seems to be trying to fix anything. And we are scared. We are scared because our children, our nieces and nephews, our cousins and our friends children are growing up in a world that won’t protect them.

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eretzyisrael · 7 months

Text

This account, first published in JewishNews, is written by an anonymous London-based Guardian employee who has family living on a kibbutz in southern Israel. It offers a look at life in the newspaper’s offices in the days since Hamas’s attack on Israel.

I wake up on October 7 to a text from my brother-in-law: “Thoughts are with your family in Israel. I hope everyone is safe.”

I check the news. Hamas has entered southern Israel. They’re in a kibbutz. My partner’s family is in that kibbutz. His cousin is nine months pregnant. He’s in contact with them; they’re in the safe room. Terrorists are outside.

I check social media. Reports of hostages, maybe three. I check again; perhaps ten.

There has been a massacre at a music festival. I look at the video. Who do I know there? I check social media again; there are videos of hostages. I look at their faces. Do I know them?

We lose contact with family in the kibbutz. I tell myself that the phone lines are down because the IDF are there. I watch Hamas footage as it is coming out. I go on Telegram for the first time in my life and I see a room full of bodies covered in blood. I see children gunned down. I see the bodies of raped women. I see families holding each other as Hamas livestreams atrocities. I look for people I might know.

My partner and I walk 30,000 steps. There’s nothing we can do. Late that evening we hear that his family is safe but their house is gone, neighbors are dead.

I don’t understand. I could have easily been there and part of me thinks I was.

I look at the papers the next day. The newspaper I work for has a tank on the front page: ‘Hundreds die and hostages held as Hamas assault shocks Israel’—victorious terrorists hold a Palestinian flag. The subheading reads ‘Netanyahu declares war as 150 Israelis die. 230 Palestinians killed in air strikes.’

I don’t understand. I know people, Israelis, who were murdered. They did not “die,” as if in some kind of accident. I saw footage of terrorism. It was not an “assault.”

The front page of The Observer, The Guardian’s sister Sunday newspaper, on October 8, the day after the Hamas massacre. (via The Observer)

On Sunday, we get more information about what happened to my partner’s family, about how Hamas set the family’s house on fire when they thought it was empty, how my partner’s cousin screamed for her life when the room filled with smoke, how her husband had to pin her down to stop her cries, how Hamas laughed when they realized the family would need to crawl out of the room, how they refused to leave the burning building. We hear that they somehow survived and walked out through pools of their neighbors’ blood, pieces of dead children littering the street; kids who’d been playing on a Saturday morning.

I’m safe, I’m fine, but I can’t comprehend the color of the sky or the rustle of the trees. I look around at people enjoying their Sunday and I think: Do they not know what is happening? I check the news again and see there are more hostages. I look through the names.

There are still terrorists in Israel.

I listen to the radio, one Israeli interviewee and then one Palestinian. I can hear that the interviewer is struggling as defenders of Hamas justify terrorism. I don’t understand. Is this how they reported the Russian invasion of Ukraine? Did they platform Putin’s people?

I check social media. A friend has posted: “They’ve broken out of jail.” Another has said: “Today is a day of celebration,” and someone else has shared an infographic of “Settler colonialism for beginners.” My old flatmate tells her followers she will be at the demonstration outside the Israeli embassy and she invites people to join her.

On Monday I go to work. How are your family, a colleague asks. When I answer, she squirms. Can’t they just leave, my colleague says. No, they can’t actually.

I look at the morning newsletter for the newspaper I work for. It breaks down the number of dead Palestinian children. It does not mention dead Israeli children.

My group chats are exploding as family and friends work out what has been happening, who is alive. I go back to the news. I type the name of the kibbutz into the wires. Nothing. I read how Hamas invaded “settlements.” They’re not settlements! They’re small, pre-state kibbutzim.

I find out that a friend of a friend was at the music festival and is missing. I’m shaking at work.

I see a colleague who had posted about “decolonization” all over social media over the weekend. They’re laughing with the rest of their team. They’re having a great day. I used to love their podcast, full of hot takes and celeb gossip. Now they’ve evolved into an expert on the Middle East. It doesn’t look like their family is in the middle of it, though.

No one else at work speaks to me about it. I nod my way through conversations about fonts and I stumble home.

I go back the next day. I look at the front page. A photo of Gaza and “violence escalates.” Israelis “dead” but Palestinians “killed.” If they can’t empathize with the Jews now, they never will.

I email the editors. I tell them that my newspaper’s coverage has been upsetting. They tell me that their thoughts are with my family but they stand by the paper’s reporting.

I hear colleagues complaining about the newspaper’s “American readers. They’re always accusing us of antisemitism.” They’re laughing.

I leave work early to go to a vigil outside Downing Street. People quietly weep. Everyone there is Jewish.

I’ve seen on social media that I know people going to a demonstration. Later, I see photos of it: people on lampposts, red flares, Jews hiding inside, the Israeli embassy boxed in. All kinds of people are united in the chant, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” In Sydney, they are shouting: “Gas the Jews.”

On Tuesday, I find out that my friend’s friend at the music festival is dead. I remember the day I’d spent with him on the beach in Tel Aviv last month. He’d gotten back from South America and was excited to travel again. He had been gentle and sweet. I don’t understand.

On Wednesday, I go to work again, and the next day, and the next day. Finally, the pictures from the kibbutz come out. I look at all of them. I rewatch the footage. I bear witness. No colleague asks me how I am again that week.

I go to synagogue at the weekend and cry with my community. The rabbi holds space for pain. I say Kaddish for the boy at the music festival I will never talk to again.

Back at work I see someone pointing to a photo of the Israeli flag burning in the newspaper. They laugh, “This is my favorite picture.”

I remember telling my family that when I next went to Israel I’d lie to my colleagues and tell them it was Spain. I’d lie because my colleagues had said to me of Israel: “You gotta go while you still can.”

Now another colleague asks me what I think of Netanyahu. Do I hold him responsible? I explain that I have protested against Netanyahu but the only people responsible for October 7 are Hamas. She keeps asking me about the settlements. I tell her they’re bad but she won’t stop. “Don’t you think Bibi has a lot to do with this?” I ask her if she has family in the region. She does not.

I’m on social media again. Friends share infographics from Jewish Voice for Peace and heavy-hitting images from the Gaza Health Ministry. I don’t disagree with what they’re posting but they said nothing when October 7 happened. I start unfollowing decades-old friends.

In the days that follow, my synagogue receives a bomb threat, my local rail station has photos of missing children ripped off, I hear of more friends of friends who have been killed. I hear of others who are now enlisted. I hear that a synagogue president in America has been stabbed to death and synagogues all over the world have been vandalized and destroyed.

The newspaper I work for is covering the bombardment of Gaza and I watch in horror. I think that Israel must defend itself. Yet when I say this, people will tell me I am justifying the murder of children. They will tell me it is a genocide.

As the events of October 7 draw on collective Jewish memory of pogroms and the Holocaust, the newspaper I work for will dispel that myth, publishing a piece entitled “Israel must stop weaponizing the Holocaust.” Am I wrong to connect our grief today with that of our past?

In the weeks that follow, I will apply for other jobs and speak exclusively to Jewish friends and family. I will hide myself away from the streets of London and the waves of social media.

I will not forget the photos and videos I saw on October 7, but I start to think about how this day will be marked; how my children’s children will take part in a new commemoration, where we will remember not the Romans or the Persians or the Nazis but Hamas, and how we survived.

Intergenerational trauma has been retriggered but now is not the time to dwell on our historical violent oppression. Now is the time to rise up, speak out, and defend our right to exist. Now is not the time for colleagues to dismiss Jewish pain or publish inflammatory op-eds that will spark more violence.

I will keep applying for other jobs.

#Israel #The Guardian #Antisemitism #hamas

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luveline · 9 months

Note

aaahhh okay wait imagine Emily is away on a case longer than usual and comes home without telling r to surprise her and sees that reader has been like idk wearing her shirt or sleeping with her pillow or idk just like something to feel close to her

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Emily knows you're in her bed before she's so much as opened her front door. She lives in a nice building across from Washington, DC, in an apartment that glows with the lights of the city. It takes time to get home after a case, but the view isn't one you'd find anywhere else.

She'd fly a hundred hour flight if it meant getting to ch ome home to you. It sounds silly and corny, like a fairytale she didn't believe in, but there's something about you that inspires cliches. Like, your beat up converse arranged neatly so as not to disrupt her tower of high heels and boots. Your coat on the rack with the arms and hood smoothed down, and the way you arrange Sergei's food and water bowls intricately every time you visit because you're aware of Emily's penchant for orderliness.

She knows you're here because of all of these things, but really, she has a freaky sixth sense when it comes to you, and seeing you curled up on her side of the bed cements it perfectly.

She locks her gun away in its safe and puts her shoes and jacket away. Quiet, she slinks to where you're sleeping with the sheets up to your nose and bends down to check you over. She knows nothing has happened since she saw you last, but it doesn't matter. She needs to look at you properly.

You're on your side, face angled down, arm a lump under the sheets. Emily smiles and, despite the singing urge to wipe away the day's faded makeup and brush out curls crunchy with hairspray, lingers, holding her hand up to your face, stroking a short line.

You won't wake from it. Maybe you're a heavy sleeper or maybe you know it's her, but she never wakes you up when she comes home.

Sergei snores little nosed snores from his fluffy bed. Emily laughs as you do the same, though she frets (and she'd deny it if anyone asked, but frets all the same) that you can't breathe with the blankets smushed to your nose as they are.

Gently, she pulls down the sheets.

Her lips fall from their fond smile. Tucked in your arms like a life jacket is a soft white camisole, the last shirt Emily slept in before she left.

She isn't excessively loud about loving you —she isn't quiet about wanting you, but that isn't the same— and you aren't overly forthcoming.

Which isn't to say she doesn't feel loved, Emily knows she's loved in the same way you must know it, with the burning, aching sort of desire that has you pinching her hips when she walks by, or begging her to share a shower with you even if it'll make her late for work. But Emily hadn't realised how much you loved her in this sense. The difference between missing her company and missing the intrinsic smell of her skin is unsaid and yet yawning; you love her enough to curl around a dirty t-shirt. This is the kind of love that grows old together.

Emily's particular about things, but not tonight. Fuck it, she hopes she gets mascara on the silk pillow case as she climbs into bed behind you. Let it be a monument to how she feels, any hint of fatigue replaced with silky soft wanting.

"'Mily?" you murmur, covering her arm where it curves over your waist.

"No," she whispers, "axe murderer. Sorry, babe, welcome to your nightmare."

"I had a good run." You push her back a touch as you roll onto your back, squinting at her through thick-knitted lashes.

"You can sleep. I'll still be here in the morning, I promise."

"Y'here now. Missed you, Emily," you murmur, turning more, vying to hold her waist as she holds yours. You sound a little upset, but that could be the sudden wake up call.

"I'm sorry," she says, smiling at you in hopes of getting one back. "But I'm home early. That's a good thing, right?"

"Can I put my face in your neck?" you ask.

Emily tries to say yes. All she can summon is a mute nod and a tight smile —she's happy, yeah, but she feels strangely like crying. It's a scary thing, finding out how loved you are. Suddenly she has to worry about it being taken away.

You wrap your arms around her, your skin hot with a furnace like heat. Mumbling, your face fits into the curve of her neck, your lips skipping against it as you say, "Love you… you okay?"

Her smile shocks back to life. She presses it to your forehead without hesitation. "I'm fine now. Love you. You can go back to sleep."

"I really really missed you."

Emily feels each word fan against her neck. It's a sensation she's sure she'll remember for years to come. "I missed you, too."

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss oneshot #emily prentiss scenario #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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drefear · 8 months

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Righteous and Romance

Summary: Miguel is the God of chaos, and you are the goddess of peace and beauty. an idea originally by @hrhmimieucliffe

TW: light smut, p in v.

He was inherently chaos, broad backed and straight shouldered. He was the voice dripped in red and encouraged man’s wildest desires: murder, sex, gambling, money, and more. A drowning flame, he was a mystery cloaked in anger and resentment, mirroring unease at every fine point. He was insanity and she was clever. She was butterfly kisses of the sea salt air on the beach, an afternoon sun shower with a rainbow across the bluest sky. She smelled of lavender and truth, and she sounded like honey covered dew drops on the tongue of a river. Her laughter made men fall to their knees, and so did his sword. His words made widows weep, and her words made them pray for thanks.

She was all that was good and beautiful, and he was the fire that burned beauty to the ground in a pile of rotten ashes.

They did not see eye to eye.

“A martyr, creating such victims with your gifts.” Miguel roared, his nature as God of Terror taking hold of his mind as he stormed into your garden while you tanned in the grass. One of your eyes opened to see his hulking, angered form marching towards you and you let out a deep sigh in retaliation.

“At least I am one to give gifts, as I recall you only give grief.” You sat up, fastening your silk robes around your waist as you covered your shoulders and leaned on one hand. He blocked the sun as he stood in front of you, frown cutting the corners of his mouth sharply.

“Grief builds countries, grief gives men purpose and woman motivation. What do your frilly gifts do for anyone?”

“My beauty and kindness gives all who they grace a sense of purity and happiness, of which can also build countries and give purpose and motivation. Have you ever been kind in your life?”

“No one has given me a reason to do so.” As you stood to speak to him, you felt dwarfed by his stature and fixed your posture.

“You should not need a reason to be kind to another.” You spoke back and he stayed quiet, no other words being spoken.

This was a battle of beliefs, an unspoken exchange of ideas. You stared at one another silently before he turned on his heels and stomped away.

But the truth was, at night, he worshiped your body like a loyal disciple. HIs lips ghosted over your skin as you mounted his lap, being held but one of his arms around your waist as your head fell backwards. Miguel pushed your hair off of your shoulder as he kisses and licked the top of your soft breasts, pacing himself and going slow to savor you like his last meal.

“Your body is like a peaceful night under the stars.” He whispered as your hands wound their way into his brown hair, shivering at his sweet words. “Thank you for this, for giving yourself to me, my sweet Goddess.” He thanked you, appreciated you as your bodies rocked together in harmony, a melody only the two of you would ever witness.

“My bold MIguel, let me give you everything when it is just us, let yourself fall deep into love.” You spoke against his forehead as he rolled your hips against his, buried deep inside of you as you shook with overwhelming pleasure.

“I have fallen in love, and you are my only saving grace, you are my all and nothing could compare to our intimacy. I only pray to you, I only make love to you.” His admission of true love and devotion sends waves of ecstasy to your core and makes you clench around him as you both finish. Sweat covered your features as he laid down your bare body, staying close to you and refusing to detach himself. “I will never be with another like I am with you, to the Gods I swear it.” He announced and you cupped his cheek, bruising your thumb against the stubble.

“To you, my precious Miguel, I am only my true self, and you are my purest desire, my indulgence. You are mine.” You concluded as your eyes pulled you into a black abyss and you both fell asleep, knowing that tomorrow the bickering would continue and the night would create a paradoxical love once more, between Chaos and Beauty.

#miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel smut #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel

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cobaltperun · 2 months

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Woe out the Storm (13) - Here comes the Thunder

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 3.6k

-Storms are comin', better run for cover. Here comes, here comes the thunder-

Tyler Galpin was the monster, the Hyde, the one who murdered Rowan and hurt Eugene. You were pissed, but you were nowhere near as pissed as Wednesday.

“I should have known it. His wounds weren’t nearly as serious as they should have been, I thought he got lucky, but he wounded himself,” she began pacing back and forth, the two of you still in front of the hospital.

“We need to go,” you told her, as subtly as you could pointing toward the hospital where Weems and the sheriff were coming out. “We can’t trust either of them now. H won’t turn his own son in and Weems…” you weren’t ready to say it just yet.

“Has been obstructing us since the start,” Wednesday said it for you as the two of you began walking away. You’d head straight for Nevermore, there wasn’t anywhere else you could go to, really.

“Right, let’s see, we know Hyde lays dormant, so there should be some genetics involved there. Galpin senior is a normie, but do we know anything about Tyler’s mom?” you asked, it was very rare for someone to just randomly develop an ability. It happened, but usually not with the kinds of abilities that involved transforming or shifting.

Wednesday shook her head. “No, and you’re not going to the archive to check,” ah, so she was still worried about what happened to you when you went to mayor’s office building.

“Maybe sneak into his house? See if we can find any medical records? Any history with Nevermore?” you gave in, it was adorable how protective she was.

“We can send Thing,” before you could even raise the question of his health she beat you to it. “He’s fine now,” she assured you.

“Okay, we got a plan then,” you nodded. Thing really was your best option here, even if you wished he could rest for at least a while longer. “Why would he turn on Laurel though?” you wondered.

“I’m not sure, I’m confident Kinbott is Laurel,” she slowed down a bit, as if something caught her attention at that very moment. “No, it’s not Kinbott,” Wednesday completely stopped.

You stopped as well, though a few steps ahead of her, and raised an eyebrow, silently asking her to continue.

“I thought it was her because of the flowers she left in Eugene’s room, they were the same flowers Enid and I saw in Laurel’s room, but the photos someone took of me mean that someone would have to be at Nevermore,” Wednesday explained, and you could see the frustration on her face at both her guesses being wrong.

“And since Tyler is the Hyde, the master has to be at Nevermore,” you groaned in frustration, you had no idea who it could be. “Unless it’s someone else, like the one that attacked me,” why was this so complicated?

“I don’t think it’s that one. The raijin, I mean,” Wednesday said and you halted completed.

“Raijin? The raijin? Japanese ‘lightning god’ raijin?” Wednesday just nodded at that. Well, that explained a lot of things, the pressure you felt, the difference in your level, the overwhelming presence. You weren’t dealing with a beast, you were dealing with a damn god of lightning. “Well, we better hope that guy doesn’t show up, because all that talk about not dying goes out the window in that case,” you just said it. There was absolutely nothing you could do, even if you shifted you felt like you’d be powerless against raijin.

“I know, I saw a vision of Diego, the raiju Goody had a bond with, fighting him. You can’t fight him,” you could hear the hints of panic in her voice. Wednesday knew, even better than you did, from the looks of it, just how strong the raijin was. And it pretty much confirmed you were attacked by someone who’s been alive for centuries.

You closed the distance between you two and took hold of her hand. When she squeezed your hand in return you leaned down, resting your forehead against her left shoulder. “I’m not going to let you deal with this alone, if that’s what you were going to suggest,” you could hear the sharp, though barely audible, gasp. “I’m on your side no matter what,” you let red sparks surround the two of you, completely safe for Wednesday. And in the midst of all that she raised her other arm and placed it on your back, her fingers digging into your back through your shirt.

“Don’t die for me,” she whispered, so softly you almost wondered if you heard it right.

You told her you wouldn’t die, but given the situation, it seemed more like wishful thinking than anything else now. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” you couldn’t say anything else, you could just hope it wouldn’t get to that point.

And if it did… Well, there was no point in thinking about that right now.

You had no idea how long the two of you stayed like that, in the middle of the road between Nevermore and Jericho, not caring one bit about who could see you. You both just committed the moment to your memories, cherishing the feelings you weren’t quite ready to talk about just yet, but you were feeling them nonetheless, perhaps even more intensely than you would if you were to put them into words.

It wasn’t a generational bond. This ran deeper, this was entirely personal, and it brought out a side of each of you that you didn’t even realize existed. The more emotional side of Wednesday, and a side of you that wasn’t afraid of your lightning hurting someone.

~X~

For whatever reason you chose to stay in the quad, saying something about giving Wednesday some space. Considering how emotional she got less than half an hour ago she was more than willing to accept that. When she came into her room, she realized exactly why you gave her space.

Wednesday stopped when she saw Enid there, unpacking and it somehow made a heavy weight she was feeling since Enid left disappear. She could admit that she preferred to stick to certain habits, and you and Enid living with her became a part of her daily routine, so to have Enid back, from the looks of it, made her feel like things were going back to how they should be.

“Hey,” Enid greeted her.

“You’re back,” Wednesday wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I’m gone for a few days, the place gets trashed, and Thing almost dies. Someone’s gotta look out for you two and Y/N can’t do it alone,” Enid stopped unpacking and walked around her bed to get closer to Wednesday.

Like getting emotional with you wasn’t already enough. Wednesday could feel emotions clawing their way out of her body against her will, so she changed the subject. “What happened to rooming with Yoko?”

“Yoko’s great. I just decided I needed a few more boundaries,” Enid was already pulling the tape out.

Wednesday looked away. “Skip the tape.”

“Don’t tell me Wednesday Addams is mellowing out,” Enid dared to tease her.

“Never. More like evolving,” she retorted right away, once again meeting Enid’s eyes.

“Well, one inch of duct tape at a time,” the pastel werewolf smiled, not as brightly, but just as genuinely as Wednesday was used to seeing.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Because we work. We shouldn’t, but we do. It’s like some sort of weird friendship anomaly. Everything you said about me is true, but I don’t apologize for it, not anymore. It’s just who I am,” Enid told her, confident and relaxed.

“Thing said he missed you,” it was true, it was also the way to express a part of what she felt without saying it entirely.

“I missed him too,” Enid replied and Wednesday could feel the unspoken words.

“I,” she paused, cursing herself for how soft she had gotten since coming here, how soft Enid and especially you made her. “missed you too.”

Enid remained too stunned to respond and Wednesday took that opportunity to step away from the conversation.

~X~

The plan was set in motion. Enid, who came back and had a much-needed conversation with Wednesday, that you chose to give them privacy for, would make sure to cover your and Wednesday’s absence from your room. Bianca would use her siren song on Tyler, Xavier would offer his shed as the place to bring Tyler to, and Ajax, Yoko, Divina and Kent would be the back-up.

Of course, if anything went horribly wrong you’d be the first line of defense and the one who’d fight the Hyde, even if Wednesday wasn’t too thrilled about that part of the plan.

You watched as Bianca put Tyler to sleep. This was the extent of her siren song. It wouldn’t be helpful for the interrogation; she couldn’t make someone tell the truth. That was the issue with her ability, she could make someone believe something, but in doing so she influenced them. Meaning that she’d influence Tyler into believing he was the Hyde instead of pulling the truth out of him. You stood at the back of Xavier’s shed, behind Tyler, and far enough that he couldn’t realize you were there. If he thought he could fight his way out of this he was sorely mistaken.

Yet, as Bianca woke him up, he immediately put on an act, pretending he was confused and afraid as Wednesday tased him.

The yells of disapproval from everyone else annoyed you. Tyler killed people, he did it in a brutal, painful way, he felt them die. Getting tased was the good outcome for him. But one by one, the Nightshades left Xavier’s shed, with Bianca trying to get Wednesday to go to Weems.

“Wait, wait please! Don’t leave me here with her, I’m begging you!” Tyler cried and whined, knowing that Wednesday wouldn’t stop. But, Bianca left, just like everyone else, leaving only you, Wednesday and tied up Tyler in the shed.

“Wednesday, please! I’m not the monster! And even if I was you’re alone now!” he tried, he bargained, he wasn’t aware of the full circumstances he was in.

“Not quite. Trust me, I’m more than enough to handle you,” you spoke and he froze as he realized you were there as well. “You didn’t think I’d leave her here alone with you, did you Galpin?” you came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, zapping him lightly, not any harder than Wednesday’s taser, but he definitely felt it. “Talk,” you demanded.

“I have nothing to say! I’m innocent!” he cried out.

“We know you’re not,” Wednesday stood next to you. “What is Laurel Gates using you for?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you had to give it to him, he was good at hiding who he really was. You were almost tempted to believe him.

“Tyler, the body parts in the basement of the Gates mansion, what are they for?” she wasn’t giving up.

“Wednesday, please,” but he just kept begging, like a broken record.

“Who is Laurel Gates, Galpin? Come on now, either transform or talk, but don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” your eyes turned red and you released a strong burst of lightning around you, though you wouldn’t hit him with it unless he fought back he didn’t know that.

But he just kept whining, crying and begging for mercy and it wasn’t his crying that got you to pull Wednesday back. It was much simpler than that. “He’s not going to talk,” and you could see it in Wednesday’s eyes that she figured it out as well.

Not that it mattered, even considering the fact that Tyler was no longer tased or tortured in any other way, the police, let by Tyler’s father, came in and prevented any chance of Tyler talking.

You were ready to be taken away, but the police ignored you, courtesy of Weems trading in the information of Tyler’s abduction and location for your freedom. You glared at the woman as the police took Wednesday away. She wanted to avoid you attacking someone at the station, she could see the way you felt about Wednesday, and she wasn’t risking those feelings causing you to shift.

~X~

Wednesday was seething. Tyler was getting away with it and now he was gloating. Telling her about his victims, how their fear was delicious. And then, as if to make sure she completely understood the situation she was in, he leaned toward her, pulling her closer by the collar of her jacket.

“You have no idea what’s coming. And your raiju? That beast that you like? I’ll make sure to bring you her head,” he promised to hurt you, he promised to kill you and bring remains to Wednesday and the rage within her reached a boiling point as she seethed while staring at his retreating back. It was as if he really was innocent, that’s how he was behaving and Wednesday pushed the doors open and briskly walked outside. She needed to get away from him, otherwise she’d make her situation even worse than it already was.

When she stepped outside the police station she saw you sitting on the stairs, clearly you zapped from Nevermore to the station and Wednesday couldn’t help but feel her heart hammering nails against her chest.

You heard her coming out and got up right away. You looked concerned, worried about Wednesday and she just took a deep breath. Her time at Nevermore was more than likely over.

~X~

“Expelled?! You expelled her?!” you yelled, lightning bursting all around you and damaging Weems’ table where you were gripping it.

“Calm down Y/N. That’s the quid pro quo for sheriff Galpin not pressing kidnapping charges,” she explained, only fueling your rage even further.

“So, expel me too! I was just as involved!” why was Wednesday expelled why you got to stay?

Weems stood up, anger radiating from her in a way you never saw up until that point. And it was somehow fitting for her.

“You know as well as I do that I can’t expel you. Setting a raiju free would only tarnish Nevermore’s reputation,” she said it in a tone so low you nearly stopped glaring at her. Weems was imposing, but she was never intimidating like right now.

You didn’t back away though. “We’ll see how long you can stick to that,” you promised and blasted the doors open with your lightning.

~X~

Weems wasn’t the only one you were going to confront, but before you could deal with Tyler the only remaining way you could think off, Bianca and her Nightshades came up to you.

“I’m sorry we got Wednesday expelled, it wasn’t our intention,” you would let it go, you wouldn’t react to her words. “We just couldn’t let you torture him,” you couldn’t walk away from that. You turned around and walked up to Bianca.

“Bullshit! He murdered people!” you exclaimed, your anger making your eyes turn red and subsequently making Bianca and others step back.

“You and Wednesday tortured him!” Bianca snapped back, always the boldest of them all.

“And any one of us would have gone through much worse if we were the monster,” you reminded her that was how it worked, how it was for the outcasts.

“Y/N,” Wednesday calling your name calmed you down and your eyes went back to normal, her voice, her arrival put a stop to the argument you had with the Nightshades.

You turned around and saw her coming down the stairs. She really was leaving. “Wednesday,” you clenched your fist, feeling powerless to do anything about this.

“This isn’t over, I need you to stay alive, don’t pick unnecessary fights,” she stopped right in front of you, almost as if she was going to take hold of your hand, but changed her mind at the last moment.

You nodded. “I got this, and I’ll stay in touch with you, I promise,” you told her, which prompted her to slip a piece of paper into your hand.

“My address, if you send letters, or if you want to visit,” she said and you nodded once again, grasping her hand before she could pull it away.

“Be careful, especially until you get out of this town,” you rubbed circles into the back of her hand, much like you did the night Thing was stabbed.

Wednesday nodded, only pulling away from you when Bianca chose to speak up, to apologize for getting her expelled.

~X~

It’s only been hours since Wednesday left and you still weren’t willing to fully accept it.

It was the irony at its best. Because here you were, doing the exact thing Wednesday did when you left the room. You were laying on her bed, just staring at the ceiling. You should have been expelled as well, you should have went with her, you shouldn’t have just accepted her leaving. Now you were stuck in the remnants of her presence. Her scent, her half of the window and her part of the room, void of any color. If you concentrated enough you could almost hear her cello, you could hear Thing’s insistent tapping.

You could feel him jumping on your shoulder and pulling your collar.

Wait? What?

You sat up so abruptly Thing nearly tumbled off the bed. “Thing? What happened?” him being here wasn’t a good sign, no matter how nice it was to see him.

He began frantically signing and you tried to understand him, but you couldn’t follow.

“Wed-Wednesday is- Wednesday is what?!” you were getting frustrated, and so was Thing, as he began signing even faster, fumbling over words and making it impossible for you to figure it out. “Slow down! It’s terrible when you stutter!”

He gave up on signing and jumped down, running to your table. You followed him as he grabbed a pen and tried to write, but he didn’t have a piece of paper. Frustrated, he began tapping the morse code with the pen.

“Wednesday is in danger!” your eyes widened when you finally understood what he was saying. “Tyler and Thornhill took her! To Crackstone’s crypt!” you grabbed your phone as Thing slumped down onto the table, relieved that you got the message. You immediately called Enid, not caring one bit that she was with Ajax.

“Damn it, Enid, pick up!” but she wasn’t picking up as you took the knives you would hopefully stab deep into Tyler and Thornhill, Laurel, whatever her name was. You quickly called Ajax instead and nearly began yelling when he picked up. “Put Enid on the phone, now,” you demanded.

“She’s talking to Eugene,” he tried to tell you.

“Now Ajax!” you didn’t have time for this.

“Okay, okay, you’re on speaker!” you heard him telling Enid it was you.

“Y/N? Eugene told me Thornhill is Laurel!” Enid exclaimed.

“I know, she took Wednesday! I’ll take Thing to Poe’s statue, he’ll explain about Nightshades, take Ajax with you, bye!” you hung up before Enid could say anything and grabbed Thin as you ran and, much like a few nights ago, jumped off the balcony. Only this time you didn’t need to catch anyone, you just held Thing close to you and slowed down your fall enough to land without any injuries.

“I’ll go and get her, I promise,” you assured him as you ran toward the statue.

Thing just tapped that he knew against your palm.

You left him at the statue and threw your knife, zapping toward the crypt. The lake? It didn’t matter. You threw your knife right across it, zapping and catching it and throwing it again, not once looking at the water beneath you. It didn’t matter, the danger, the fear of water, all you knew was that Wednesday was stuck with a revenge driven lunatic and her pet monster that enjoyed slaughtering people.

~X~

The one person that ever made Wednesday feel fear stood in front of her, revived because of her blood and Laurel’s ritual. And he even thought she was Goody. Not that it mattered, he had used his telekinesis to keep her from moving.

Hypocrite, using outcast abilities while trying to wipe them out.

“Goody Addams, you will suffer the same fate you bequeathed me!” he promised as he approached her.

Wednesday glared at him as she tried to break free, but it was even stronger than Rowan’s telekinesis. She couldn’t do anything. She was powerless as he pulled out a knife. The flames flickered, and the glint of the blade made her more than aware of how this would end. She was alone, and she had no way to defend herself.

Doors burst open behind her and the moment of surprise cost Crackstone his chance to stab Wednesday, a knife passed right by Wednesday and she felt arms wrapping around her waist as she was pulled to the side and away from the resurrected man.

“Raiju, I see you found a new one, Goody Addams,” Crackstone growled as he recognized the ability you had.

“Hands off my Addams,” you… just had to… Didn’t you? Even if the threatening tone of your voice made Wednesday a bit more forgiving of what you said.

A/N: Raiju to the rescue! No mortal wounds for Wednesday, yet. Honestly, I feel like the middle of the chapter is a bit bare, so I might go back and add some more scenes, but as it is, I’m okay with this. Do tell me what you think about the chapter. Is the middle bare, or is it enough given the fact that I’m writing slightly altered canon and you could just go and watch the show instead of reading about it.

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #jenna ortega x reader

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biteofcherry · 1 year

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To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you’re unexpectedly appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings: dark!Steve Rogers (really, he’s not a softie here, he dark); manipulation; blackmail; threats; power imbalance; specific warnings will be added for each chapter separately

warnings for this chapter: none

Be patient, please, this first part is only an introduction and setting the scene.

Chapter 1. Storm on the horizon

~ * ~

A stream of dark cars, which slowly pulled up to the curb, distorted the innocent image of pristine sidewalk with raised flower bed pots soaked in early summer sunlight, immediately drawing Felix’s attention from the plants he’s been watering in his office.

The center had a large parking lot on the other side of the property, where clients could leave their cars without interrupting the usual street flow at the front side. No one ever pulled up to the very front; beside that one evening a few years ago when the official opening ceremony turned into a gala with VIPs coming in their fancy limousines.

Felix narrowed his eyes, watching through the window as three big, black cars stopped right in front of the steps leading to the building. Expensive models. They looked reinforced, too, meaning they were probably more expensive than a line of limousines.

Two men stepped out of the first car, both of them doing a subtle sweep around before approaching the middle car. They stood on both sides of the backdoor, watchful of anything changing in their surroundings.

A man slipped out of the front passenger’s side - big and bulky, with dark hair pulled into a bun, and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. He was wearing all black, from the heavy military boots to leather jacket and leather gloves.

He walked around the car to the backseat guarded by two other men and pulled the door open.

When yet another man stepped out, slowly stretching to his full height, Felix’s heart dropped to his stomach.

That man he recognized.

That man should not be anywhere near here.

The watering-can almost fell out of Felix’s hand, his fingers spasming in a tremble of panic. Water spilled on the windowsill as he dropped it down with a thud, before running out of his office.

The center has been quiet for the past few days, only slowly getting back to life after its short period of mourning. At this early time of day there weren’t many people inside, most patients coming in a bit later.

Felix rushed down the corridor, shaken with the unexpected arrival and not knowing how to proceed.

He should be doing something, he thought. Warn the right people. Having things not go smoothly was a novelty with which he had trouble dealing, especially in those circumstances.

Not so long ago he boasted about having things under control, gaining even more confidence when you turned out to be kind and inexperienced in the nuances of the city’s complex socio-political wires. He could work with you without a hitch, Felix convinced himself - and others - of that fact.

Three black cars pulling up in the early morning hours wrecked that simple plan.

Almost at your door, Felix ran straight into Natalie, your assistant. She was smaller than him, a filigree silhouette with a sharp bob and a murderous look. With a calendar in one hand and a traveling mug with hot coffee in the other, Natalie glared at him.

“Felix, what the hell?” It was too early in the morning, for her at least, to be dealing with any crap.

“Rogers is here! S-Steve Rogers is here!”

He was breathless, air in his lungs burning not from the pace with which he ran, but the fear of that man about to enter the place.

Natalie frowned, looking above Felix’s shoulder at the still quiet and empty hall. Rogers’ name was recognized by many people in the city, even the lucky ones who had absolutely no connection to the dark tentacles of his criminal empire.

Though, some whispers suggested that somehow everyone was tied to him. Some people just didn’t know it, living in sweet oblivion.

“Well, then,” she took a sip of her coffee, “shouldn’t you be greeting him at the door and asking what exactly is he here for?”

“He’s not here for me, you know that.” Felix nearly shrunk in on himself, scared of the prospect of facing Rogers.

He definitely didn’t want to be on his radar, even as someone simply pointing directions. They said Rogers never forgot a face. Oh no, it was better to be completely out of sight. Hide in a closet and wait for the storm to pass.

“Of course.” Natalie rolled her eyes. “It’s obvious he’s here for the new boss.”

That moment the door to your office opened and you stepped out, almost bumping into Natalie - your newly acquired, or inherited, assistant.

“I was actually about to go look for you.” You smiled at her.

Natalie, though she could be sour like a lemon, provided you a sense of security in the wicked waters you were treading through as of a few days.

“I went through the outlines for the group classes last night.” You informed her.

“I’d like to schedule a meeting with the therapists and construction manager. It would be better if they explained to him which changes in the project they need to be done.”

“I’ll arrange it.” She nodded, balancing the mug in the crook of her elbow and flipping the calendar open.

You’ve met some well organized people in your life, but Natalie was like the highest functioning computer in a tiny human flesh. She included everything in the schedules she made, with traffic jam and bathroom breaks.

Why she kept a paper calendar as well as a digital one in her phone, you had no idea. As long as it worked for her, and she worked for you, you weren’t going to judge her methods.

“I’ll reschedule today’s meeting with the lawyers, too.” Natalie added casually.

“Isn’t that in-” you checked your watch- “half an hour? Why do we need to reschedule?”

“Another meeting came up.” Natalie answered with a shrug, her gaze flicking to the end of the corridor from where heavy footsteps of someone approaching were gaining in volume. “A rather important one.”

“With whom?” You frowned.

Beside the lawyers, or your grandmother, there wasn’t anyone you expected to be calling you on a whim demanding immediate attention. No one that you were aware of, at least.

“Steve Rogers.” Felix squeaked.

“Who is that?” Your frown remained, only deepened.

You didn’t recognize that name from any legal papers in which you were swarmed for the past couple of days.

Felix’s eyes grew big, even Natalie seemed surprised that you didn’t immediately react at the sound of his name.

Working at the center since its beginnings, they were probably used to all the people from elites and various organizations with whom Howard Stark used to work while running this place.

You were barely familiar with some of the institutions. You knew you had to broaden your knowledge now, but it couldn’t be done in a week. You doubted it could be done in a year.

You were simply a neuropsychologist who spent two days every week for the past year helping Howard Stark after his stroke. A pawn on the full board of other specialists, who all tended to Howard.

And yet, it was you with whom he grew a certain bond, maybe fondness, that led you to the overbearing mess of a situation.

When Howard passed a few weeks ago, your mourning over a friendly patient was disrupted by an unexpected summoning. To the will reading.

Among all of his wealth and companies, which were all inherited by his son Tony and his family (the sweetest woman you ever met, Pepper, and their daughter), the little chunk - a drop in the ocean really - was signed over to you.

The health and therapy center which Howard founded after his first stroke. Back then he bounced back to health quickly, but his road to recovery taught him how little help there is for people with neurological damages and impairments of any kind.

It was a very narrow field. Getting appointments with specialists was hard, and mostly not covered by the insurance companies.

So Howard founded this center - in a huge building that once upon a time was a palace, then a private school, then a library before that one got a new, modern building in the heart of the city.

You visited the place with him a few times, using very well equipped rooms and strolling through the vast inner garden. During one of your visits, you briefly mentioned how the place could also open for kids and teens after appropriate adjustments.

Was it then that Howard decided to leave the center to you after his death?

Was a single sentence enough to make such a drastic change in his will?

Then again, Howard was eccentric. Tony was too, from what you learned. He also wasn’t at all annoyed that his father included you in his will.

Since the will reading, your life flipped upside down. You had no idea how to run a place like that, there was so much to learn. But it also was like a spark of courage to reach for dreams you never hoped to achieve. With the right people at your side, you could maintain the place and even expand it in the right direction.

For now, however, you were a green little sprout in a huge field of unknown. And the name Steve Rogers rang no bells.

“He’s-” Natalie paused, searching for the right word- “influential.”

He was more.

He had power and control.

Not only over the city’s streets, which he was ready to drown in blood if needed. Over hundreds of rats running in the wheel of the underworld’s crime machine, as well over people in pristine places and on high stools in the capitol.

And he conquered it in brutal ways; paved his road with bodies and fear.

It was safe to assume that if someone had any influence - be it political, or in the media - Rogers had that person on a string. No, not a string, a heavy chain with immediate suffering at the end if they stepped out of line.

One could assume Stark knew Rogers in some capacity, though the man not once stepped anywhere near the center. Whether he had Howard in his pocket, or if they had a different relation, they were never seen together here.

“I’ve been meeting influential people for the past week.” You scoffed. “Each of them had a scheduled meeting. Mr Rogers can schedule one too.”

You wanted to maintain a good relationship with donors and patrons, but you weren’t going to bend your back for any of them. People needed to learn boundaries. Rich people especially.

“It would be better-” Natalie began.

A male voice, deep and cool as a mountain brook, interrupted her:

“I do have a scheduled meeting.”

His voice carried over through the corridor easily, without him having to shout. In a few, long strides he was standing right behind Felix. Another man kept a step behind him.

He walked with the prowess of someone who owned the place (and anyone in it). For a split of a second you felt like taking a step back and bowing your head. Then you remembered that he did not, in fact, own the place.

Nor did he own you.

Rogers was tall, Felix’s head barely reaching above his shoulder. With golden blond hair, shorter at the sides and slightly longer strands coiffed back. You saw a glimpse of your own stunned reflection in his dark aviators before he took them off, revealing stunningly blue eyes.

Broad shoulders seemed to stretch the black leather of his jacket and when he put his hands on his hips his frame appeared to double in size.

His gaze briefly slid from you to Natalie, who was now taut like a string, quickly returning to you with a mocking glimmer in his eyes.

“Don’t I, Miss Stendhal?” He addressed Natalie. Somehow, it sounded as if he knew her, and it wasn’t a good thing at all.

“Yes.” She replied immediately, astonishingly calm and stoic. “Mr Rogers had scheduled this meeting a week ago, but I made a mistake writing it in the calendar. It’s my fault there was a mishap. I’m sorry.”

You turned to stare at her, disbelieving every single word.

You may have known her for less than two weeks, but you already learned she makes no mistakes of that kind. Her organization skills were better than the army’s.

Natalie’s face betrayed nothing. She was as poised as every day, admitting to the supposed mistake with cool professionalism.

“That’s okay. I’m sure you corrected the issue.” Rogers smiled.

It was charming at first glance. Reminded you of a chivalrous sweetheart from the romances you occasionally liked to read. But there was an edge to it, like a shark’s grin a second before making you his dinner.

“Of course.” Natalie tilted her chin, as if offended that someone dared to doubt her efficiency. “Like I said, I’ve rescheduled the lawyers to clear this hour for you, Mr Rogers.”

Then she took two graceful steps to the side, clearing the entrance to your office. She sent a glare Felix’s way - who was nearly shaking like a leaf having Rogers at his back. He shuffled quickly to her side, not once glancing at Rogers or his bodyguard.

Natalie gave him her coffee mug, so he could focus his trembling hands on something. His thoughts scattering, Felix mindlessly lifted the mug to his lips and took a nervous sip. Natalie would undoubtedly tear his head off for it in different circumstances.

The moment his path was clear, Rogers took a single step forward. It was enough to find himself toe to toe with you.

A waft of spicy, woody scent of his cologne swirled around you; a teasing tendril as much part of him with its dangerous allure. He towered over you and the expanse of his chest seemed to cut off your vision of anything else around.

The fact you had to crane your neck to look up at him seemed to amuse him. Or please him.

Perhaps both.

Whatever kind of benefactor he was, you suspected you wouldn't like him a single bit. There were no idle threats made, not even any pompous comments a spoiled prick with money could make.

Yet he made the hair on your nape stand, your pulse quickening as adrenaline poured into your system at the instinct’s suggestion that this was a dangerous predator.

You weren’t sure if you’d fight or flight, though usually you chose the former.

Unknown to you yet, he wouldn’t allow you either.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #dark!mafia steve rogers x reader #dark!mafia steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #dark!mafia steve rogers #touch the darkness #my fic

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comfortless · 6 months

Text

Outside

but you’re mine (chapter 2 of ?)

🌱 PAIRING: König x fem!reader

🌾 CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <— comes with the territory; all of this being said it’s still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: ambivalence, pining, vague mentions of murder/abduction, very slightly suggestive.

🍃 NOTES: this is so much later coming out than i hoped it would be— apologies! wc: 7k.

<- prev ; next ->

Sleep addled eyes open to reveal the orange glow of a hunter’s moon, soil and clover beneath your nude flesh, the tickle of a dead fern rubbing against your bare calf as a gentle breeze pulls dying leaves from trees and leaves a wake of goose pimples on your flesh. Beneath the light of the moon, you gather your bearings well enough, the velvety dark creating illusions dancing at the corners of your vision. The shadow of the large antlers of an inquisitive buck pacing about, a woman swaying as a giggle escapes her parted lips, the sound of a pan flute playing some lively tune somewhere off in the distance.

As you sit up, taking in what you’ve believed you’ve just seen, it all quiets. The forest is as silent and still as always. Eyes wide and panicked heart palpitating wildly, you think to cover your most vulnerable parts with a cupped palm and the cross of your arm over the swift rise and fall of your chest.

How you managed to find yourself out in the dark, nude as any animal, is beyond your comprehension. Rationalizing seems futile, since you arrived not a thing has made any sort of sense to you, anyway. Inexplicable things happen, and frankly, it’s becoming quite the nuisance. Whoever has done this, dragged you from your bedroom to leave you in the darkened forest, can very well bet on the fact that they’ve made an enemy out of you. You stand to your feet, brushing dirt and fragments of leaves from the backs of your thighs and rear before concealing yourself once more.

What started as a series of harmless events seems to steadily build like a symphony as the days pass, and you only find comfort in knowing that it’s yet to reach any sort of crescendo. In your previous life, occupied by a mundane job and gray city skylines, if anything were to occur like this you would think your sanity had slipped. Convincing yourself you’re deluded wouldn’t change much here. You’ve tried already, only to find a man you’ve yet to properly meet curled against you in your own bed.

That night, only a week ago, felt like a distant memory now. He hadn’t been back. You had told Kate about it, of course, and in turn she spoke of her nightly visitor too. Someone who called himself John, who kept a cigar on his person when he anticipated speaking with her throughout the night. A loyal friend he was, she had told you, but you hardly had anything kind to say about the monster who had appeared from no where to steal your things, leave a dead bird in your bed, and invite himself beneath your blanket in turn. The only positive you could think of was that he had returned your lily in better health than it was when it had initially vanished. Kate hadn’t seemed particularly concerned, these things don’t usually harm humans in their own realm. It would give too much away, and they liked their secrets, their games.

Vulnerability looks sweet on you as you stumble about, careful to avoid the jagged edges of broken twigs and loose rock against your soles. You’re hopelessly lost, and god only knew how far from home you truly were. A part of you doesn’t want to play, to give whatever did this the satisfaction of seeing you break down as you spend your night desperate to return to shelter. It’s strange to feel such fear and anger at the same time, the sort of complex mixture of emotions that had you gritting your teeth as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

“Alright, come out, already! Take me back!,” You shout in a moment of weakness, realizing you’ve not progressed whatsoever. You could have sworn you’ve passed this same crooked oak twice already, it’s trunk bending so oddly it resembled someone kneeling in prayer. The air only seems to grow further still at your outburst, and your mind supplies a thought that rids your anger and only increases the fear. You shouldn’t have done that. How could someone so helpless be making demands to something capable of doing something like this on a whim, after all?

To your horror, your exclamation is answered by the metered sounds of footfalls in the darkness, heavy and deliberate. The worst of them only liked to come out at night, Kate had warned you over tea the morning after your visitor had made his appearance. Not all of them, but most. Some were perverse, foul-tongued and inhumanly horny. Some were volatile and quick to anger. Some were simply hungry, luring people out just like this to drag them back to whatever pocket of unreality they had stalked out of to bring so many just like you back to devour in the comfort of their lair.

The sounds draw nearer, coupled with a deep intake of breath, no doubt to take in your scent. It’s the gnashing of teeth that spurs you to run, clamoring through prickly nettles, shredding the soles of your feet on pine cone and loose stone. It gives chase, maneuvering with ease through the woodsy terrain, uprooting bushes and tearing through clover beds in its wake.

“Come…” The voice is a warbled mockery of human speech, fluctuating in a tone that seems it’s speaking from its belly rather than its throat. Even a well taught canine could speak better.

“Come...”

A shriek is ripped from your throat when you hear the creature no longer behind you, but in front of you. It chitters loudly, breathes deep once more. You brace yourself for the feeling of clustered, crooked fangs piercing into your exposed flesh, but… that pain never comes.

Your eyelids flutter when you hear an inhuman wail of pain, see the silhouette of two massive beasts scuffling about before you. Some morbid shadow puppet show, filled with grunts and screeches. There’s a distinct, wet ripping noise followed by the blackened spray of entrails hitting the bark of the trees that surround.

The thing that had been in pursuit of you sounds like a squealing pig as it falls into a puddle of its own blood, weakly thrashing about until a prolonged gasp leaves it. Silence would follow, if not for the sounds of your own ragged breathing.

The victor merely rolls his broad shoulders, tilts his head to look at you as you take a step back. You catch sight of a veil hanging over his head, and as your gaze travels lower you see the glimmer of blood on clawed fingertips. The creature from your room, the irony of the thing you had feared so now becoming your savior.

Perhaps seeing how easily he ripped one of his own kind apart should have terrified you. Yet you find yourself oddly consoled, eager to see something familiar in the dark.

“Thank you,” you huff out before you can catch yourself. No thanking them. There’s no taking it back, even as Kate’s voice rings out in your mind, you don’t even make the attempt to correct yourself. In spite of her warning, nothing happens. The man takes a slow step toward you, careful almost, as though the thought of making you flee was something he actually considered. It’s entirely opposite from how you know him to be, forced cuddles and gifts of rot. Still, you’ve been lucky to avoid some grisly end on this night, and the consequences of your gratitude quickly fall from your mind just as a tear slips down your cheek.

He seems lost in thought as the glow of blue irises lock onto you, reflective under starlight visible through the holes torn in his veil, before he removes the cloak covering his body and places it gently over your shoulders. His hands linger as he gently strokes your arms only to reluctantly draw away.

“Reizendes.” You don’t need to ask what the word means, the way his gaze softens as he stares down at you tells all. It’s the same look you saw Ghost give to Johnny’s grave. Albeit, a little less tame. His stare isn’t just appreciative, something carnal lurks beyond those eyes.

You don’t know why this man, this creature, is drawn to you. Why he looks at you the way that he does, why he came here to save a defenseless human woman. There’s so little reason, so little time given to be worthy of such a strange devotion. Simple curiosity seems an impossibility, Kate’s been here longer than you and she didn’t seem to know just what you referred to when you described him to her. There’s a pleading in your tear-filled eyes as your gaze meets his own. Why me?

The man takes another step, lowering himself just enough to look into your eyes as his widen. It’s the first time you’ve been face-to-face, somewhat. His hand raises, claws drawn inward toward his palm as he considers reaching for you, though he drops it back to his side the moment you dart your tongue out to nervously wet your lips.

“I need to get home.”

“Ja. I will come with you.” He says it as though it’s the most obvious thing to suggest, the only logical way to end a night like this.

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

His eyes seem to crease at the corners in amusement, you imagine a sharp-toothed grin beyond the fabric hiding himself away from you. “You have already slept with me.”

Your reaction seems to be exactly what the fae expects, your lips parted and face warmed from embarrassment as your eyes go wide in surprise. “What— no, don’t say it like that!” To your chagrin, he has the audacity to laugh, a gravely rumble from his solid chest. A pretty sound, a haunted church bell, something you can’t place.

“You can stay with me.”

“Why would I do that?” You’re glaring at him, but you get the sense he knows there’s no bite to your harsh look whatsoever.

“You owe me, ja?”

You’re caught in a strange stasis between comfort and disgust, really. Your room’s felt colder at night since a week ago, even with your window shut tight, curtains drawn, and every blanket you owned piled atop you, none of it could bring back the warmth you felt tucked against him. Yet, here, beneath a pumpkin moon, you still can’t put together what exactly he is and your mind is like a banshee, screaming out for you to leave. Even with his cloak pulled tight around you, fur lining soft on your flesh, you still shiver from the breeze. The running, the confusion and fear. The defiance is clear in your eyes, but the exhaustion is evident everywhere else, from the rapid rise and fall of your chest to the blood staining your bare feet.

The fae doesn’t hesitate as he plucks you from the leaf-ridden ground and tosses you over his shoulder as though you weigh little more than a twig. His hand curves over your lower back, keeping you in place. Though you make your displeasure known with a grumbled string of curses, you’re only met with the touch of his clawed thumb flittering along your side as if in consolation. His touch is something that brings you an odd calm. You’ve considered that since your impromptu meeting if he’s got some sort of magic laced into his fingertips, making you pliant, or perhaps you’re a bit more accepting of his strange courtship than you would ever allow yourself to believe.

“You’ll take me home in the morning,” you whisper, a sulky request.

He huffs, his shoulder seeming to deflate almost imperceptibly beneath your bare tummy. “Ja.”

His strides are great as he begins to walk, clearing through the forest with ease, and he’s careful, careful not to allow any outstretched branches to even make contact with your body. He clutches you tighter when the howling of coyotes could he heard in the distance, rubs at your side each time you shiver. How a monster could be so soft, so attentive is beyond you, but subconsciously you begin to relax just a little more with each passing moment.

He places you back on your feet when you reach a small clearing, a circle of trees surrounding and grass that feels pillowy beneath you. His hands move to your hips, pushing you back as a whine of protest leaves your lips before your back hits a soft nest of furs, cleared away of any debris, right below the lofty gaze of the moon.

“I didn’t like the bird,” you speak up as he sits at your side, you pull his cloak tighter around yourself. The fae cocks his head at you, moving a hand far too large to rest on your knee. You’re confused, so confused. You both want to shield yourself from this titan and open yourself up to him, in bloom. Submissive, but withdrawn.

“I will leave deer next time,” he answers, his blue eyes crinkling again as he grins and leans in to nudge his nose against the side of your neck. “Little doe. Like you.”

Your hand rises to press against the front of his veil, to push him back. He tenses for a moment, but resigns only to push himself closer, nosing at the side of your jaw as he grasps at your waist. It’s futile, really, trying to shove him away but you don’t give up as you twist and writhe against him. “No! Don’t leave dead things in my bed.”

He pulls you tightly toward him, just like the night before. An arm tucked under your neck and one hand splayed over your womb. Your battle lost, banner raised by way of fluttering lashes and parted lips.

“Women like fur and feathers, ja?” There’s a lilt to his voice, both amused and desperate as he practically vibrates against you. “I will give them to you always.”

You busy yourself trying to pry his hand away from your abdomen, making a show of nothing as you weakly push and shove until clawed fingers slot themselves between your own. The simple act of holding his hand snuffs out any bit of fight you had left in you, because damn it all, your heart flutters.

“I don’t want your gifts.”

“What is better then?,” he huffs against your neck, the warmth of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you could swear you felt the graze of teeth just beneath his veil. “To fuck?”

You shake your head furiously at his suggestion, pulling your hand from his and wriggling away from him. “Absolutely not,” you hiss, eyes narrowed as you glare at him only a few inches distance away.

He laughs, and to your horror— your excitement, crawls over you, his hands resting on either side of your head. It’s hard to see in the dark, even as your eyes adjust somewhat, but as the veil flutters with his movement, you don’t catch sight of any monstrous face beneath it, only a man. The glimpse is brief, hardly enough to paint a proper picture, before he softly knocks his forehead against yours and brushes against your face. It stifles you, how a man like this, one that leaves gifts of death and has the stature of a beast could be so very gentle.

“I have missed you,” he breathes against your cheek as he lowers himself atop you, and for the first time you’re realizing he’s just as nude as you are, the cloak the only article of clothing between the two of you. But despite the feel of his regrettably impressive manhood against your thigh, he makes no move to ravish you. In fact, he seems content just covering you like a weighted blanket.

You bite your lower lip, chewing at it as an unwanted surge of arousal pools between your thighs, pressed so tightly together it’s almost painful. Unwanted and quickly over looked. This isn’t simple lust, your heart aches.

“You are so soft,” he continues, lowering his head to hook his chin over your shoulder, a hand stuffed beneath your lower back. “Softer than fur. Softer than feathers.”

“What do you want?,” you ask him for the second time since your meeting. It’s not that you don’t have an idea. He makes it painfully clear with the way he showers you in affection and stares at you as if you’re the only star in the night sky.

Still, he humors you with a response, “Keine ahnung.” Follows it up with a shrug of his massive shoulders and a soft whisper, “I don’t know.”

Yet, he dips his head down, with his lips pressed against yours from just beyond the veil, kisses you softly through the fabric as his hand moves to cup your cheek. The urge to tear yourself away is still there, but quieted, lulled into some sort of comfort. You find yourself reciprocating a little dumbly, unsure of just how to properly kiss with the curtain of fabric in the way. The warmth spreading across your face is dizzying, almost. The sole thought of this feeling predestined beds down in the recesses of your brain.

You think to request that he remove what hides himself from you, yet he pulls away before you can murmur it into his mouth.

“Give me your name.” The words are a demand, indefinitely, and with his size it’s hard not to view them in a threatening light. There’s something else, too: desperation. You’ve already given enough, your gratitude, a debt to be repaid.

You’ve thumbed through some of Kate’s books, the ones separated from the stock of romance novels on her shelves. There wasn’t as much material as you had hoped about these creatures, though you supposed that finding truths about what was not even supposed to exist was bordering on the impossible, anyhow. However, one sentiment seemed to ring out as fact between each meager source— giving him your name is reducing yourself to a possession.

“Show me your face,” you counter, to which he shakes his head with a breathy laugh.

“Not on this night,” he whispers. You find him at your side instead, tugging you close as he hums that very same song that slipped you into sleep just like before.

“Then you won’t have my name tonight, either,” you murmur against his broad chest, languidly pulling yourself closer as you toss the side of the cloak over the both of you like a blanket.

— — —

You don’t want to think about it, the tingling on your lips as though it were truly your first kiss, the way your heart stutters in your chest. Speaking of it seemed somehow worse, as if it would breath life into the memory. The way it weighs on you makes it feel as if it’s already something tangible, a snarling black cat with its claws buried into the shoulder of your coat. It’s raining when you pull your car from the driveway, your keys having turned up digging into your side beneath the sheets after the night you willingly spent wrapped so tightly against him. All the gray somehow made the vibrant oranges and reds of the trees seem dismal, too. You entertain the thought that it’s truly the fact that you’re being haunted by something that rips the intestines of creatures out with his bare hands that’s really causing this wave of misery, but something tells you that it’s the attachment you have to such a monstrosity that truly does it.

He’s done something and you just know it, cinched your heart with some otherworldly fairy bullshit, made the weeks waiting for him to reappear seem utterly unbearable. You feel like some poor housewife, loitering around doing menial tasks while your husband is either gunned down in some foreign battlefield or fucking into some pretty lady a sea’s breadth away. It’s been a month and there’s no sign of him, even visiting with Ghost you no longer feel the stares of the unseen up the walking trail. Just nothing but a hollow in the pit of your gut that taunts you with the suggestion that he won’t be back.

You drown out your thoughts on the ride into town with music, skipping every love song that plays on shuffle with a diligent tap of your thumb on your phone screen. You’ve put no effort into looking nice, a t-shirt several sizes too large and pair of pajama pants beneath your coat. Your eyes look deadened when you meet your own gaze in the rear view mirror. A stupid thing about heartbreak, really, is that you don’t even need too much to feel it. A friendship spanning a mere week could hurt just as badly depending on the circumstances. Feeling some affection for something no other person could possibly get their hooks into only to have him vanish like this almost makes the feeling seem justified. Almost.

Kate and Ghost have been good company. You haven’t told them, but there’s an odd sympathy in Kate’s eyes when she looks at you, she speaks with her passerby friend outside rather than in at night now, and Ghost… Well, he appears more often as a devil dog, shows his teeth and keeps his distance from you. You still have talks, from time to time he tells you about Johnny. He tells you that he’s been lost for a time, but he waits there knowing he’ll come home like any good dog would. It’s just the way he looks at you now, like there’s something looming over you that even he can’t properly detect.

Your solitude helps on dreary days like this, when you can’t pry it out—him, clawing at the corners of your mind.

The town feels just as hushed as everywhere else in this place.

A small street houses old buildings nestled tightly against one another, the brick crumbling and some corners blackened as though some angry soul had tried to burn it all down. It’s the kind of place that feels haunted, you think as you park your car on the mostly empty street, catching sight of your reflection in a shattered window. The thin blue curtains of the building billow outward as if beckoning to you and you tear your eyes away immediately. You don’t want to see anything again. Not him, not another giggling and twirling through clusters of bramble and fern. None of it. It’s decided, a bitter force of your own will.

Yet, when you step foot into the old bakery your mind races with his gift, his promise of more and… would it really be so bad to get him one too? A proper offering, not one that harmed a single living thing. Something soft, like your shared kiss. You step to the counter, noting how coldly the older woman just beyond the pretty cabinet of glazed buns and slices of apple pie eyes you. These days, you don’t feel welcome anywhere, caught in a loop of misplaced pity and loneliness. It’s one or the other, sometimes they overlap.

You pay for a coffee and a sugar bun, tucking the brown paper bag holding it into the deep pocket of your coat before you head back outside and choose to have your coffee on a bench. The wind and rain have lessened, somewhat, falling into a mere drizzle and a featherlight breeze instead. The sound of the earth is much more pleasing to the ear than the void of silence you’ve felt lost in.

Approaching footsteps draw your attention as you take a sip from the paper cup. Your eyes meet a sincere face as he steps towards you, looking a bit uncertain. A cop, no doubt. Perhaps even a rookie. He doesn’t have the hardened face of the standard city police, just a polite smile across his lips, a sort of kind twinkle in his eyes.

“Mornin’,” the cop says to you as he stands to the side of the bench. It’s nice to see someone normal, not unearthly. You offer him a slight pull of your lips, a half-smile.

“Good morning.”

“Kyle Garrick,” he introduces himself, offering his hand out for you to shake. You accept, shaking it twice before drawing your hand back. You hesitate for a moment, but inevitably give the man your name in turn. He is just that, you realize, a human man. “Haven’t ya… well, you’ve seen the news, yeah? Shouldn’t be out on your own like this.” You shake your head slightly, the hand wrapped around your coffee cup falling into your lap. The officer goes on to explain that disappearances occur somewhat frequently around this place. He has the courtesy to spare you the bulk of detailing the state these folks come back in, but your mind can fill in the gaps well enough. Dragged into the dark, a lair filled with teeth. It almost happened to you.

He looks down at you a bit sympathetic for a moment, before he brings himself to continue on. “Not tryin’ to scare you. Just want to make sure you’re aware.”

A shaky sigh leaves you before you bring your cup back to your lips, a long sip lost in thought before you meet the officer’s brown eyes once more. “I’ll be careful,” you respond quietly. “Can’t say the thought of dealing with a serial killer sounds fun at all.”

That earns you a laugh from him. It sounds sweet. Maybe you’re not the most trusting, but Kyle seemed like a good man.

“Can’t say for certain if we’ve got a serial killer at all, but ah— I shouldn’t be tellin’ you all of this, yeah?”

“Sounds like you’re trying to scare me off.”

“No, not at all,” he responds with a shake of his head. “Don’t fret too much. Probably just the grizzlies, the wolves… you know how nature can be.”

“Cruel?”

“Not quite.” He pauses as his brow pinches in thought. “Just… hysterical.”

If only he knew. You don’t have the gall to tell him that what he’s in pursuit of likely wasn’t an animal or a person at all, but some other thing. Kate probably would have outright, you imagine, but you’re not Kate.

He tips his head at you, tugging his black cap down by the brim. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

You nod him off in reply. The wind was starting to pick back up, the sugar bun in your pocket growing cooler with each passing breeze.

— — —

Kate’s been absent more often lately, a small pile of sticky notes left on the countertop all with hurriedly scrawled out ‘Be back soon!’s. When you arrive home, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you to see yet another stuck onto the refrigerator door with the same words written over the blue paper in black ink.

Visiting Ghost proved fruitless. The cemetery was completely empty. It was rare that he wasn’t stationed there, seated like a statue amongst the rows of headstones. Waiting around for him to return seemed irrational. Though he tolerated you well enough, Ghost was an enigma, and seeking out his company felt almost pathetic on your part.

Your hands clench at your sides as you walk the trail back home.

Your frustration is misplaced and you know it, but you’re exhausted with the same scenery. The same four walls surrounding you, the dreary little valley town, the cemetery. When things happen here they spark up your adrenaline in a way nothing else ever could, the high far better than any vice or pleasure you’ve ever accepted. The reverse is a pensive, horrid wait and coupled with this longing, it’s become unbearable.

Kate and Ghost had their secrets that you choose to leave well alone, and you… You realize you’ve got your secrets too as you place the sugar bun on your windowsill as a small offering for him.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he had said.

“I miss you,” you breathe out into the empty air, staring out the window as the rain begins to pick up again.

The sugar bun is gone the following morning and you find flowers in your bed. A bouquet of harebell and Queen Anne’s lace haphazardly tied with a short length of twine.

Late November drags itself in silently. The glass of your window is frosted most mornings, a hand print far too large left against it from the outside. Otherwise, everything is just quieted. Though you’ve rarely seen much wildlife around the house, it seems even more desolate now.

You help Kate set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the den, right by the hearth. The baubles and lights adorning it bring a warmth to you that seems uncanny this time of the year. You stray from your room more often, finding it nice to sit by the warmth of a roaring fire with one of her books in hand. (She tells you that John kindled the flames each time, yet you’ve still never seen them.)

Though you bide your time during the day, nights are your favorite. You leave gifts of honey and small stones, you wake to them gone and often in their place, blooming flowers tied with thin lengths of string. Flowers from someplace far away and less cold, someplace that doesn’t exist for you.

“Leave it alone.”

“Have you ever left it alone?”

Ghost huffs, ears flicked back and eyes narrowed. Try as he might, looking intimidating as a dog was just… impossible for him at least, especially now as he stands on his back legs, paws resting on your windowsill as he inspects your new gift, some strange cluster of unnaturally red pearls and flowers so golden they didn’t seem real. He sniffs at your gifts, black lips drawn back in a very canine expression of disdain. Perhaps you would still think him entirely cute, harmless, if you didn’t know what he had the capability to look like.

“I just want to know… where they’re coming from. You should know.”

“Why would I know what you’re invitin’ in?” Ghost counters as he places his big paws back onto the floor before padding over to your bed and jumping up to snuff at your sheets.

“I just thought I would ask.”

His diligent sniffing pauses for a moment, and you swear you see some recognition in his dark eyes. It’s distant, well guarded, but you feel certain he knows something that he just refuses to tell. The dog falls entirely silent, and you know you’re not getting another word out of him. Not tonight at least.

You had invited him in in hopes for answers, not for more questions, even explained in depth what had occurred that night in the woods. If your eyes were filled with tiny stars as you recounted it all, he hadn’t said a word to acknowledge it.

“Leave it alone.” Ghost repeats when he meets your eyes, dreamily thinking back to him again. Always, a constant gnawing at your mind. “It’ll want more.”

“My name?”

“More.”

“I don’t understand. You don’t want anything more from me, John doesn’t want more from Kate. Why would he be any different?” It sounds pitiful, even to yourself. You wouldn’t know more than Ghost, you’re just desperate. Desperate for the same thing as the fae you spent your nights missing.

Ghost barks out a laugh, surprising even to your own ears. He doesn’t need to say a thing. Black shulk, harbinger of death. A friend, for now, but he knows you’re reckless, knows your time will come eventually. It’s the reason he exists.

He gives you a nod when the recognition floods your face, and almost sympathetically places his massive head in your lap.

Tonight’s the first time he allows you to pet him, trailing your hand down the length of his spine as his wiry fur parts beneath your fingertips. He’s colder than you would expect, colder than the bite of winter outside. You ask him, again, to tell you about Johnny, and in turn, he tells you he’s on his way home.

The chill of Ghost’s stiff body is replaced by the warmth of the fire in the hearth as you lead him back to the door to let him roam into the night after little talk, little introspection.

But something is better than nothing.

The smell of coffee pulls you from sleep, Kate’s humming could be heard from the kitchen, a soft song, one you had heard her play on her record player some nights when sleep dodged you. It’s mornings like these that remind you of just how peaceful things could be here. She hadn’t even seemed to mind how you had fallen asleep on the couch, or Ghost’s dirty paw prints tracked across the hardwood floors. As you stretch and pad over to greet her, a mug of warm coffee is pressed into your hands and she smiles.

“I’ll clean the floor,” you murmur into your cup, a bit sheepish.

“Why? He’s got two hands, doesn’t he?”

You could never grow tired of her laugh, not hers. It’s sweet and so gentle, it almost reminds you of his. There’s love there, an affection born of two lonesome souls finding solace in one another through silly talks of monsters and shared cups of comfort. Kate really has become family to you after only a few short months.

“I suppose so. Want me to drag him back?”

She raises an eyebrow at that, flashes you an unknowing smile, to which you immediately shake your head.

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m teasing you,” she says, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know you’ve got someone else in mind.”

“How did—”

“Ghost.”

You place your mug on the countertop, looking utterly flabbergasted at the fact that he of all people would run telling your roommate about your infatuation with some suspicious stranger. Your face warms, a swell of embarrassment rising from your chest to your temples. It’s not petty, really, he might have your best interest at heart if he truly had one at all, but you weren’t quite ready to tell Kate about the strange gifts or the depth of your longing after a simple kiss. It was more than that, the danger you had been in, the way he had saved you. It felt like much more.

“I should have told you about it all,” you respond tinily.

Kate shrugs her shoulders a bit, idly tapping at her mug as she studies you. You’re stuck feeling like a child again, telling your guardian about some silly crush at school. Thankfully, she doesn’t pry. The look she gives you merely suggests that she wants you to be careful.

— — —

Careful isn’t what you would have called yourself when you pried open your window in the dead of night. You remembered the kneeling tree, the way it slumped over in its prayers to the earth and if you could just find it again, perhaps you could find him. The air outside was frigid, but you prepared as well as your impulsivity would allow; several layers of clothing and a blanket pulled tightly over your shoulders. It isn’t snowing, not so early into the winter here, yet the ledge of the window is still slippery with frozen condensation. You manage to keep yourself stable as you make your descent, grappling at the wall of the cottage to keep yourself upright.

You leave the window open, the light of your table lamp bathing the room in a warm glow, so inviting you nearly forget your motivations to crawl back in. Before the thought takes root, you turn on your heel and storm out into the dark forest.

Nights are a bit more lively, you find. A woman sings someplace far off, an eerie song telling the story of a carriage traveling a dangerous road, something long-forgotten and old. Hoofbeats thunder past you, accompanied by a breeze that chills you down to the bones, yet nothing could be seen, even with the glow of your phone’s flashlight lighting your way. When you do see something, it’s limbs are all crooked and long, mouth wide and filled with sharpened teeth. Its fur cascaded down its back, brown and covered in a light dusting of moss. It merely scuttles past you without a word or so much as a glance.

You know better than ever that this is dangerous, of course, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back. Some part of you believes that if danger comes, he’ll be there to fight it off, time and time again, just like the last.

The bent tree is still in its place when you arrive and try to retrace your steps from that night. Several meters to the left, a desperate sprint forward, and… just as anticipated, your light illuminates the darkened splatter against the bark of the trees where the fae had torn the other apart before your very eyes. There is no carcass, of course, the dried blood is just confirmation that you’re on the correct path. You turn to your right and set off in the direction that the man had carried you.

The glade is empty of pelts when your arrive. In place of the makeshift bed you had shared are only fallen leaves. You expected warmth, the familiar greeting of a figure too tall and broad to wrap you up in his arms, careful with his claws. Careful with you.

You’ve been holding back tears since he disappeared, little exchanges of gifts doing nothing to protect your heart from the weight of what you feel. When you begin your walk home, the dam breaks. Your face is cold from the wetness, the chill of each gust of wind. Heartbroken after a month, but shattered in the winter, unfortunate and weary, perhaps it was best to follow Ghost’s advice and leave it alone. Curious whispers fill the night air, another song and giggles and chimes start up in the distance. In better spirits, maybe you would have followed the sounds of the gathering, lost yourself in silver tongues and mischief.

Your window comes into view after some time, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been out in the cold, but you’re excited to return to your bed, to creature comforts. You reach your hands up to the windowsill, fingers curling over the inward slab of wood as you try to pull yourself back in. Your leg kicks at the side of the house for purchase, only to find none. With a small yelp, you fall onto your rear.

Sneaking out was for children with curfews, not an adult— why hadn’t you just used the door? You’re beating yourself up for your own silly decisions, trying to climb up again when a pair of strong hands reach behind you to tug you back against a firm chest. Your breath catches, panic settling in your guts until your side is stroked with a touch so tender a new wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Little one…,” a voice coos behind you, a veil pressed against the back of your head as he lowers himself down to your height, his arms still curled around you protectively.

“Where have you been? I… I missed you, and you didn’t…” You trail off, feeling so small, so caught up in your own feelings. The sentence is left unfinished as you twist around in his grip to wrap your arms around his middle, face buried into his chest.

“You told me not to come to your room.” He sounds confused, hurt. He tilts your head up to catch your eyes and his soften in time with just a look.

You hadn’t expected him to take the comment about an invitation so literally. His consideration almost stings. The words were said with conviction at the time, assured that you hadn’t wanted a monster in your bed, but couldn’t he see how that had changed? Hear how your heart fluttered now? He’s different, so unlike you in a way that confuses and enraptures you, some long-forgotten god out of touch with human conventions.

“I liked your gifts this time.”

His grip around you tightens momentarily, as though trying to embrace you further, pull you deeper into his chest to keep you locked tight in his heart entirely.

“I loved yours, little one.”

“Tell me who you are and you can come in whenever you like,” you huff out in promise, a cloud of your own breath puffing between you and the broad chest you had grown to admire so.

He curls a hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you against him as he lowers his head to kiss you through the veil once more. It’s warm, even as your blanket slips from your shoulders and falls to the ground. The fur of his cloak drapes around you in a better replacement as you return his affections. The kiss is just as chaste as the last, but the sentiment in it far out measures the contact.

He’s still yours. He never truly left.

“My name is König.” He tells you as he pulls away to carefully lift you from the ground and raise you up to the windowsill with so little effort it makes your knees weak. You pull yourself in and turn to look back at him. His gaze is adoring, yours must be too. You feel the way your eyelids slacken, the smile pulling at your lips.

You accept your blanket from him as he offers it and slot your fingers between his once the cover is cast aside. His hand covers yours almost entirely as it curls over yours. The claws look even more wicked in the low light of your room, but you don’t fear him. Not even a little. This time is so much different. It’s scarier to imagine spending another night without him wrapped around you.

It’s not the flowers, the furs, or the feathers that you want. It’s shallow kisses and blackened claws and the feeling of having a titan at your beck and call. It’s the way your heart flutters and your stomach twists with the thrill of falling in love that you long for.

“Come in, König.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #konig x reader #König #Konig #cod fanfiction #call of duty

221 notes · View notes

bunnysbrainrot · 9 months

Text

No Vacancy - Day Two

Characters: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader, Dean, Castiel

Content: Majorly plot building. Romantic/sexual tension.

Summary: In day two of your one-on-one case with Sam, you gather intel together. Once things settle down for the second night, Dean reveals some news. Sam realizes he’s made a huge mistake involving a lust spell.

*A/N: This chapter was getting a bit long, and I haven’t posted in a couple days, so this chapter is out early! Honestly I like the pacing of this a bit better so I don’t burn out. Y’all better be ready for the next chapter 👀

————

“Mrs. O’Connor, would you say that your daughter had any enemies? Anyone who would want to cause her harm?” Sam’s tone was filled with compassion as the woman explained the situation.

Her lips wobbled, “I-I don’t know. Casey was a sweet girl, she just got caught up in the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Did you see any changes in her behavior in these past few weeks?” You piped up, matching the softness of Sam’s voice.

Casey’s mother shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. You reached into the inner pocket of your suit jacket, handing her a pack of tissues. She gives you thanks and takes a moment before she speaks again.

“Not much. She was quieter, sure, but I thought, y’know, maybe she was depressed - she spent almost all of her time in her room. We were so close, and she just… distanced herself.”

“How so?” Sam asked.

Through tears, her voice broke, “Her whole demeanor changed, got… darker. She wouldn’t let me into her room anymore. That was where we had our movie nights…”

You nodded as you listened, glancing to Sam for a sign of a breakthrough, but his expression was muddled. A few moments later you were handing your personal number to Casey’s mother, and wishing her a good day.

Sam asked, “So, what do you think?”

“I think we should check her room, but we need to give her mom some time,” you replied, mulling over what could have caused Casey’s murder.

Your phone buzzed against your hand in your pocket. To your relief you saw a text from Casey’s mother: Thank you for your help. I’m glad Casey has people who care like you do.

You showed Sam the message. His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“What do I say back?”

“Well, we need to mention looking at Casey’s room,” Sam detailed, “and that we’re happy to help further.”

Your fingers fiddled with your phone as you issued a reply.

Of course. I’m sure the police have done so already, but we were given instruction to inspect Casey’s room. Would you mind letting us look around later today?

The reply was swift: Yes, that's fine. I'll be home later this evening, 7 p.m. would be the best time.

Stuffing your phone back into your pocket, you updated Sam.

"She says we can come back at 7 tonight. Until then, we should probably look over the police report and see who might know what happened to her."

Sam nodded, "We'll head back to the motel and look into it."

The motel. The goddamn motel where you and Sam blurred the lines of your friendship. With any luck, he wouldn't mention anything of last night, or this morning.

It was the way it felt so normal to wake up with him, to be enveloped in his arms, his scent, his soft breathing before he woke. It was a one-time thing that wouldn't, and couldn't, happen again. It was a vow - a guarantee to yourself that you wouldn't slip up like before. You reminded yourself on loop until you reached the motel again.

—

Twenty minutes later, and you were still staring at your computer screen. The thoughts couldn't flow like they normally did with your research. Vague searches covered the screen, but nothing constructive.

'Casey O'Connor family' 'Casey O'Connor facebook' 'Casey O'Connor instagram' 'Casey O'Connor death’

The tension you held in the pit of your stomach turned over itself when Sam cleared his throat.

"Find anything yet?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. Maybe Sam hadn't given things much thought after all. His tone was his usual curious self, but those bright hazel eyes swallowed you whole.

"Uh- no, not yet," you stammered, "I was, um, gonna take a pause and go to the lobby. About the... room situation."

Sam's lips thinned into a terse smile. For him, he didn't care one bit if there was another room available. He watched you leave the room, cursing himself all the while you were gone. You returned with a nervous smile, sparking a hidden hope in Sam's chest.

"Still no other rooms. And no cots, either."

It was Sam's turn to remind himself that last night crossed a boundary. All he'd thought about today was you, regardless of how hard he tried to reroute his thoughts. The way you'd buried your head into his chest, how you murmured in your sleep, how delicate your body felt in his hands...

He snapped himself out of it again, muttering to himself.

"What'd you say?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

He shook his head, "Nothing, I'm just mumbling to myself."

You let out a soft laugh, taking a seat on the bed. The ache in your shoulders reminded you of the consequences of sitting hunched over on the floor.

"The least they could've done was give us a desk or something."

"That's what you get in a small town, remember?" Sam quipped, that goofy grin back in action. You rolled your eyes at him and settled into your side of the bed, laptop open across your lap again.

Sam leaned over to you, staring at your screen. Well, you weren't lying when you said things on your end weren't interesting. You turned your head, watching him scour the Google search you haphazardly thought up.

"I... didn't really know what to look up," you admitted flatly.

He let out a breathy laugh, glancing sidelong at you. Those damn eyes. Part of you dared to close the inches between you, to brush your lips against his as if it were nothing. One wrong move, and you could risk everything you'd made with him. You surveyed his parted lips, suddenly pulled back up to his gaze when he cleared his throat. You shook yourself out of your trance and gave him a muttered apology before he took your laptop.

Within seconds he found something substantial - report cards from school, Facebook posts, tagged photos on Instagram.

"How'd you do that?" You asked.

Sam pushed himself beside you to give you a better angle at the screen, "First thing you gotta do is have the full name. Otherwise, you're flooding your search with 'Casey O'Connor's' from all over the country."

His arm brushed against yours, but he didn't pull away. Instead he rested fully against you as his fingers flew over the keys, opening page after page of information. You chose to let go and ease into him, head dropped to his shoulder as you watched. Sam's fingers stalled more than usual with you now relaxed against him. It was his turn for his thoughts to escape him.

"So, um," you piped up, "what are we looking for?"

He cleared his throat, "Changes in behavior, maybe in stuff that she posted, grades dropping, anything that seems like a red flag."

Casey's most recent posts to Instagram caught your eye. After explaining your gut feeling to Sam, the both of you kept mental note that perhaps Casey did get involved with something sinister.

—

The two of you had gotten lunch, lazed about town, and stoped by Casey’s school by the time 7 pm rolled around. At the O’Connor house, you kept downstairs to talk with the family, while Sam searched Casey’s bedroom. It took about 30 minutes, and you two were on your way.

“What’d you find?”

Sam handed you his phone, the photos organized into a neat folder. You inspected each image, taking stock in each sign - herbs scattered around, countless candles, and bottles of dark liquid.

“Is that..?”

“Blood, yeah. Almost didn’t see them; one rolled out of the closet. And if you see here,” he trailed on, scrolling to another photo, “seems like a pretty intricate altar in there.”

“Figures why she wouldn’t want her mom in the room,” you added.

You handed the phone back to Sam, fighting back a shiver when his hand grazed yours.

Perhaps he noticed, too, judging by the way his cheeks blushed. In the evening sun, it was barely noticeable but you were almost certain of it. You packed yourselves into the car and drove back to the motel. You rummaged through your duffel bag the moment you stepped in the door, picking out a new outfit for bed. Sam kicked off his dress shoes and shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Bedtime already, huh?” Sam teased. You turned to him and smiled.

“Just wanna get cozy. Makes doing research much easier.”

Sam shrugged, “Not a bad idea, I’ll probably do the same when you’re done. Need to get out of this damn suit.”

—

The time on your computer screen read 11:43 p.m., meaning you and Sam had been continuing your research for at least two hours. It had taken a toll of you both, with eyes dry and shoulders aching. You rested your tired eyes and felt the pull of exhaustion start to take over.

Until Sam’s phone rang - it was Dean. Sam immediately placed his brother on speakerphone.

“How’s the lovely couple?” Dean asked. He wasn’t in the room, but you could tell he was smiling - a shit eating grin that irritated you as much as his brother.

“Very funny, Dean,” Sam replied smoothly, a twitch in his eyebrow showed his annoyance. “How are things going on your end?”

Castiel muttered in the background of the phone call. Dean stuttered over his words as he told Cas to stop interfering.

“Okay, so we did a little searching on Casey. I mean, well, Cas did most of it. Turns out, our lovely Miss O’Connor had gotten involved with magic.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to yours, then to his laptop where he had stored photos of Casey’s bedroom. As you two listened to Dean the dots connected to make a full picture.

It was Castiel’s voice that piped up next, “We have reason to believe that Casey was involved with something dark. It doesn’t look like your average witchcraft. We’re talking about more forceful magic - breaking and creating soulmate contracts.”

He continued, “Those kind of bonds, soulmates, are meant to take time. It seems that Casey’s spells were focused on peoples driving emotions. Feelings like fear, insecurity, lust, and mania. Anything that could make people act out, it’s been happening in her social circle.”

“So, basically she’s playing Cupid?” you offered.

“Exactly,” Dean confirmed, interrupting Cas, “we broke some of the spells, but it seems like Casey did all of her little projects at home. Hell, she sent the spells to her friends in the mail. Who knew you could Amazon Prime some witchcraft.”

You chuckled at the joke, rolling your eyes. Sam smiled at you with relief that this whole situation had blown over.

“So, what’s next?” you prodded.

“If you two didn’t see any weird hoodoo at Casey’s house, then everything should be all settled.”

Sam furrowed his brows, “But Casey was murdered, how did she die, then?”

Dean replied, “That’s the karma of it. Casey planted a sachet on her boyfriend - love spell gone haywire. He eventually went a little too love-crazy, and ended up killing her. Jealousy was the source of it.” His tone has grown sullen with the final piece of news.

Now with the extra details, you didn’t know how to feel. What happened to Casey had been horrible, and it had worked itself out in the end. It was the part of hunting that never settled well with you. Sometimes, you simply couldn’t save everyone.

“Got it. So we’ll head back out tomorrow to meet you at the bunker, yeah?” Sam confirmed.

Dean’s tone changed to playfulness again, “Actually, I need y’all to check out a case the next town over. Mind camping out a couple more nights?”

It seemed Dean’s request was a final verdict based on the way Sam pursed his lips.

“Yeah, no problem, talk to you later,” Sam ended the call. He threw his phone onto the bed and closed his laptop.

“You alright?” You asked him. Sam let out a soft sigh and looked toward his suit jacket by the door.

“I think I might’ve screwed up.”

You did a double take, “What do you mean? Dean and Cas figured it out.”

He raced over to the jacket, fishing through the pockets until he plucked a small bundle. Your expression dropped completely at the sachet in his palm. Sam returned to your side and let you examine it - a small brown sack you assumed held herbs, oils, and then some. The sigils across the fabric stumped you; they were nothing like you’d ever seen before.

“What is this, Sam?”

“One of her spells,” he said, defeated, “I wanted to examine it, to see if someone planted something on her. That was before we knew that Casey was the witch.”

“Okay, so, what kind of spell is it?” you asked further.

Sam reopened his laptop, silent as he furiously typed away. Image after image splayed onto the screen - the realization came over the two of you at once.

“Lust.”

He coughed at the word, unable to choose his next move. Sam leaned back and let his head thump against the wall.

“Can’t we just…. burn it? Toss it out?”

With bated breath you waited for Sam to say something, anything. Instead he just shook his head.

“By now I’ve had it on me for hours. We’re kind of past the point of burning it.”

“Okay, but the spells only work on feelings that are already there, right? It wouldn’t work unless you’re with someone you wanted to, um… you know.”

Sam’s breathing quickened with each passing second. His words came out with an overwhelming shakiness.

“It’s a little late for that.”

Hi again! Thanks so much for supporting my work, the next chapter will be out in the next couple of days!

- Bunny

#spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester

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v3nusplanetofluv · 2 months

Text

camp

ii; good different

｡･ﾟﾟ･atsumu x fem! reader

｡･ﾟﾟ･college and 90s au

description...

atsumu miya was the bane of your existence growing up. always making it his job to tease and taunt you daily. as time went on you detached yourself from the neighborhood kids, your frequent, unwanted presence merely becoming a thing of the past. however, the summer of '98 causes you and atsumu to face the past.

warnings!

2.1k words

none!

"get him out of here," your hands slammed down on the wooden desk, shaking the small handmade frames and shitty trinkets that littered the surface. "i just wasted forty-five minutes of my day because he couldn't take a normal picture without staring at me with this dumb expression he gets on his face," a dry laugh left your lips as an exasperated expression overtook your features. tiredly, you sink back into the wobbly plastic chair littered with mysterious stains--most likely filled with kiddy germs, "why'd you have to hire him?"

"we're short-staffed--and he had a good application," the older woman leaned forward, resting her weight on her crossed arms. "why? ya have a bad fling with him--"

"NO! god no!" your eyes screwed shut, cringing at the nauseating thought. your face burned as if it was the surface of the sun, you shoved your face into your hands as if your palms could soothe the humiliating burn.

she let out an amused chuckle as she rested back into her spinny chair, causing the faux leather to peel off even further. "i just assumed," she put her arms up as a way to signal her surrender, "considerin' yall were from the same neighborhood and good lookin'."

you groan as you shake your head in your hands. "it's just playground stuff," you mutter, "it shouldn't have even come here--this is all very unprofessional--i apologize-" you ramble as you quickly begin to get up and out of your seat.

"wait, wait, if something is botherin' ya, ya are more than welcome ta tell me about it--i barely know miya-"

"no, no, no," you dismiss with a shake of your hand as begin to open up the office door, "I'll figure it out on my own! but thank you." with a smile you close the door behind you and let out a sigh. you quickly scurry out of the building, only slowing once you make it down the rotting steps--feet on steady ground.

you hunch over suddenly--violently--as you let out a callous but silent scream. hoarse fragments leave your mouth as you jump up and down stomping your feet erratically on the damp dirt. whispered curses bellow as you pull at your hair. your movements were so unsettling that if there was any chance of an ax murderer hiding out in the surrounding forest you definitely scared them away.

"stupid fucking bitch!" your grating curses fell upon deaf ears as you fell to your knees, repeatedly pounding at the ground as you panted. your forehead grew sweaty as you finally began to run out of energy, shallow breaths were the only sounds flowing through your head.

as you steadied your breath you looked down at your fingernails, covered in chipped nail polish, gripping onto your denim shorts. the blurriness in your vision began to dissipate as a pair of dirty sneakers snuck into your view.

your eyes trailed up the figure, making you let out a vexed whine as you landed on the familiar hazel eyes. you rolled your eyes, "what do you want?" a displeased sigh left your lips as he looked down at you in your weary state.

as he crouched down, you huffed at how he still towered over you. "ya were rollin' aroun' on the floor--the dirt," he let out a nervous chuckle as you only glared up at him making the climate even more suffocating in the beastly humididty. he let out a breath that he had been holding as he looked at anything but your figure underneath him, "jus' wanted ta check on ya-"

"i didn't need you to check on me," your tone was sharp as you pushed yourself off of the ground, shaking off any dirt left upon your converse. "why were you looking for me?'

it was now your turn to tower over him. and for one of the few times in his life, atsumu felt small compared to someone else...and he couldn't figure out why. maybe it was the way you looked down at him like he was dog shit on your shoe; or maybe it was his newfound attraction that made you look like a gift sent down from god; possibly a third thing--the fact that you had something over his head--the fact that he alienated and treated you like secondary when you were younger.

he snapped out of his thoughts as your hand began to wave in front of his face, "hello? what do you want from me?-"

"are ya gonna tell everyone?"

your expression softened, as confusion began to appear, "what are you-"

"are ya gonna tell everyone about how...about how i treated ya?"

a short, bitter laugh leaves your lips as you look down at him. atsumu looks up at you like a kicked puppy that doesn't want to look like he's been hurt. "no, i don't care to let everyone know about sandbox drama," his expression begins to lift with hope, "but i can hold a grudge," and then it drops. "so if that's all you had to ask then i think we're done here," you begin to turn on your heels.

"um the guys wanted me ta ask ya'd go into town ta get everyone pizza.."

you blink, "sure... i guess, what did they want?"

"they gave me a piece of paper with it on it."

"..." you look at him expectantly.

"..."

"...are you going to give it to me?"

the faux blond begins to get off of the ground, "nah, 'm gonna come with ya!" he smiles as he waves the slip of yellow notepad paper in front of your face, quickly pulling it back as you jump for it, "i don't believe in grudges, so we're gonna squash this, this summer!"

"no," you say through gritted teeth as your fists clench at your sides, "you're going to give the paper to me, so i can get in my car and get it by myself."

"well...no," he smiles down at you, "if i can't come, i guess you'll just disappoint everyone, and ya wouldn't like that now would ya?" he leans forward, "they speak so highly of ya," he tsks as he backs up, hands behind his back.

you looked as if cartoon-like smoke would come from your ears at any moment, "give me the paper atsumu!" you spit as you tried to grab it from behind his back. you lunge forward but he's quicker as he stuffs the paper into the front of his shorts.

your eyebrows furrow as he shrugs with a half smile, "ya can have it if ya get it yerself," he smirks as you suck in a frustrated breath through your nostrils.

you shove your keys into the ignition of the 1996 lexus gs 300, as atsumu slides into the passenger seat with the obnoxiously goofy smile on his face that you hated. it was as if the red hand-shaped mark adorning the side of it meant nothing!

as you began to pull out of the dirt driveway, he spotted your case holding your CDs. he began to plunder through it--much to your dismay as you maneuvered onto the road. a sound of excitement left the opposite side of the car as he pulled out a cd that caught his eye.

"i love hall and oates!" he smiled as he began to put it into the cd player, but you quickly slapped his hand making him flinch back. "why don't ya wanna listen to a cd that ya bought?" an incredulous look overtook his face as he glanced over at you.

"if you like it, i don't want to hear it," you give him a tight-lipped smile before facing the road again. "put on the blue cd," you instruct prompting him to dig through the bag.

he pulls out the cd only to make his face scrunch up in disgust, "weezer...?" he looks over at you, the displeased look unable to leave his face.

"i love weezer," you spare him a quick look as your eyebrows furrow, a small pout on your lips.

"well 'm not puttin' that on," he stuffs the cd back into the bag and tosses it into the backseat. ignoring your protests, he slides the compilation album, looking back, into the player. he picks up the piece of plastic as he skims the back, looking for the song he wanted to skip to.

after ten nosiy clicks of the forward button, "maneater" begins to blare through the car stereo system. he sticks his arm out of the car window and begins to tap his hand on the door to the beat.

you sigh and pull your sunglasses down over your eyes as your hair whips in the wind. atsumu begins to hum along, testing the waters. as you continue to ignore him he begins to sing along quietly, "oh here she's comes," he looks over at you as he sings along, "she's a maneater..." you tap your finger on the steering wheel to the song.

as he continues to sing, he notices you silently lip-syncing to the song, "just sing," he urges making you hum and raise an eyebrow, "ya know ya want to...and this is basically yer song."

your head snaps to face him, "what's that supposed to mean?'

"ya clearly get a lot more attention from guys now because ya look so...different," he says matter of factly making you reach over and tug on a piece of his hair forcing him to wince. "a good different! yer hot now! like totally smokin'!" you shoot him a lethal glare from above your glasses.

"ok, ok..." he sinks back into his seat, the hot seatbelt burning into his chest.

the rest of the ride is in silence--well partial silence as hall and oates plays softly. the sun has begun to set, painting the sky in hues of pink, orange, and yellow. you look over to your side to see atsumu looking out the window as you turn into the parking lot.

you switch off the car with a sigh.

"all i did was get contacts and my braces off..." you mutter under your breath catching his attention.

"hmm?"

"you're obviously curious--i just always looked like this i guess-"

"no...something else looks different too..." his eyebrows furrow in thought. his eyes start from the top of your head: a new haircut, obviously--maybe even some color; the glasses have been ditched, but you have more piercings now--four in each ear and a silver nose ring; your teeth are straight and you've ditched that overbite thanks to the braces. his eyes begin to drift further down...down to your-

"boobs!"

your eyes quickly follow his line of vision, arms flying up to cover your chest, "you want another mark on the other side of your face to match?" you sneer as you feel your face heat up with agitation.

"you have boobs now, that's what i couldn't figure out!"

"atsumu! i'm going to kick your stupid teeth in!" you seethe as you wish the earth would sink in and swallow you whole. his gaze is unmoving as he looks at you with a dopey grin and matching red ears.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry!" he exclaims as he finally looks away. your arms slowly begin to drop from your chest as you unfasten your seat belt, gaze following astumu's movements as he unbuckled his seat belt as well.

a breath that you felt you'd been holding in for centuries falls from your lips as you close your eyes for a moment. a small moment of peace as you'd not only been running around setting up camp for the past three days but you'd been forced to face your unruly neighbor head-on after avoiding him for years. with your head titled back onto the seat rest, your eyes flutter open at the sound of uneasy rustling coming from the passenger seat. the slow turn of your head aids in no halt of his movements.

the sight of him fitfully digging in the front of his shorts, makes your eyes go wide and cheeks heat up as you yell to grab his attention. why'd you yell? it was a rash decision!

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" the guttural sound makes him jump in his seat, hands still stuck in his pants as he tries to quickly fumble around to get them out.

two deers in a set of headlights stare at each other across the gear shift, as the inside of the car gets unbearably hot. as he stumbles over his words your eyes constantly flicker between his incredibly red face and his hands groping in the front of his shorts.

"TAKE YOUR HAND OUT OF YOUR PANTS?"

'THE PIZZA ORDER!"

notes !

☆ i totally just watched lisa frankenstein and the freakout part is totally inspired by that.

☆ atsumu is having a hard time talking to y/n--not just because she's his type now, and intimidatingly pretty, but because he's only ever had mean things to say about her.

☆ surprisingly--to atsumu at least--y/n's pretty into rock music ie. weezer, nirvana, green day, radiohead, the cranberries, etc. whereas, atsumu is rather nostalgic and listens to music from when he was a kid ie. hall and oates, david bowie, michael jackson, al green, etc.

☆ when atsumu finally got the list out of his pants, it was crumpled, full of penis sweat, and unreadable. luckliy, y/n was able to make an educated guess on what they wanted because she's worked with them so long (and she was spot on).

taglist ! open

@bakugoswaif @luvly-writer @littlemiyastars @tvhsleb3ww @yachi-luvr @rosieandthethorns @lzaj19 @kaymarnun

if your name is bolded i couldn't tag you :(

dividers by @plutism

#hq x reader #hq fluff #hq fanfic #haikyuu fluff #hq imagines #hq x y/n #haikyuu!!#hq hcs #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x female reader #miya atsumu #msby atsumu #atsumu headcanons #hq atsumu

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binkszamsstuff · 6 months

Text

Prize money

Mob/casino owner Bucky x server innocent reader

Warnings:kissing, stalking, creepy men, groping, unwanted sexual contact, minor character death, mob violence, let me know if I missed anything! 🩵 kinda safe for work? No smut

The smoke filled air with people’s slurred yells from the table games were what occupied most of the young girls nights. The 20 year old server walked up and down what felt like endless isles of slot machines, yelling over the shouts of frustration, music and much more.

“Snacks, beverages, cigarettes, anyone?” she yelled walking down an aisle.

“Yeah hey!” A man sitting at one of the many machines called her over.

“Hi sir what can I get for you?” The server asked him. The girl knew him, he frequently was seen in the Cash Pit casino.

Just as she was pulling out her notepad the man groped her bum.

“Nice outfit sweetheart”

“You need to get your hands off of me sir,” the server said sternly. Trying to mask her fear.

“What!” the man reached out to pull her closer by her waist “Common I’m a nice guy”

“I will not be serving you” Ripping herself from his grip the young woman walked straight to Sam one of the security guards.

“Sam” she weakly spoke

“Hey, I gotcha,” he said bringing her into him with one arm wrapped around her shoulder. His other reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out his walkie-takie raising it to his lips he spoke into it. “Steve I need you in section five ASAP bring Barnes with ya too. Natasha pull up the tapes in section five around three minutes ago and look for y/n. Once you find the clip write a report and put the fucker on the banned list”

“What am I looking for?” Natasha another security guard spoke back through the line.

“You’ll know when you see it.” was all Sam said. y/n had been working for the cash pit casino since she turned 18, now 20. She didn’t like the crime or the sin-filled place but she needed money, after leaving her mother's house due to the dysfunction and her mother always putting her cheating boyfriend over her own children y/n fled. She looked for jobs that didn’t require her to wear slutty uniforms (like the cash pit casino) but nothing paid like the job she had now.

The casino was run by an undercover mob boss James Barnes, James’ father started the family-owned casino but once it was passed down to James he added…a little side business. The casino was the perfect cover-up, before James established his power he would watch the city's gangs pimp his father for so-called protection. James promised himself he would never let people tell him what to do with his fucking money like his father did because his father didn't believe in breaking a few laws. James’ father was murdered when the casino was being robbed by the gang Hydra. That was 15 years ago and James is still in a war against them.

James was a cruel man. He was a womanizer, he never was satiated with one woman his endless cash flow brought in many women that he loved to play with…that was until his doe-eyed cotton tailed bunny came hopping through his casino doors in need of a job. At first, James just thought his obsession would go away, no woman could hold his attention for long. But she did, yet he knew the kind of world he lived in. It was no place for an innocent little bunny like her, he knew it was better to protect her from a distance. And so protecting her from a distance meant loving her from too. James never let anything happen to his servers, dancers, or any woman who worked for him, especially be unsafe in his building. But when it came down to his bunny, his girl, his love, and his obsession, he ordered she never be out of any of his men's sight. He made his men follow her everywhere, he even had a tracking device under her car. He would burn the world down for the one girl who made him soft.

James tried to be friendly to all his employees at his casino, talk to them, and make a legitimate workplace so no one would be suspicious. James lived for his short conversations with y/n, her giggles and shy smile made him want to kiss her all over her face. So when Steve his right-hand man threw open his office door with enough force to make it smack against the wall James was immediately pissed.

“Hey! What the fuck was that for!” James yelled at his best friend.

“It's y/n come upstairs.” James flew out of his chair grabbing his gun from under his desk top he and Steve started to walk to the main floor. No questions were asked when it came to girl.

“What the fuck happened” he asked.

“I don't know, sam said something happened with y/n and that we needed to get up there fast”

“Fuck! I swear to god if she’s hurt!”

When James and Steve made it upstairs his eyes searched for Sam and y/n. Sam had pulled y/n into the private smoke lounge that was empty.

“I feel so gross” y/n cried into sams shoulder

When Steve pointed at Sam and y/n James made a b line straight to her.

“What happened?!” he asked as he and Steve stepped through the curtain, Steve closing it once both were in the lounge.

James sat on the couch next to Y/n, pulling her into his arms his eyes softened.

“I-I was in my section asking if anyone needed anything and some guy asked me to come over s-so I did and he grabbed my bum and wouldn’t listen to me when I told him to stop”

“Steve go get him out of my casino” James ordered then his voice turned soft “Bunny baby look at me. It's okay now I'm here” he rocked her slightly in his arms, sam got up to step out to give y/n and James some privacy.

“There's my girl” he cooed at her when her eyes met his “You’re safe, he won't ever touch you again, no one will for that matter”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes” she whispered to him, their eyes locked in on each other until he slid down to her lips. Her breathing got more shallow as James moved his left hand to the back of her neck. He pulled her closer onto his lap, his lips met her softer ones. The kiss was otherworldly, she had never being kissed like that before. Yet as soon as it happened it was over, the cold look in his eyes reappeared. James was hungry for his little bunny, but importantly he was scared. He was scared because he wanted her yet keeping her at a distance protects her from his mafia world but it doesn't protect her from everyone else’s . He had to make a choice, either let her go forever because of his ruthless world, or bring her with him, risk the danger but protect her better than any other man could.

James picked her up “Wh-what are you doing?” she asked confused

“I’m taking you home” When James said that she immediately thought of her home.

Walking through the back of the casino so no eyes could pray, once outside he continued to his newest black Audi. Putting her in the passenger seat, leaning down to buckle her up. y/n sucked in a breath, being so close to him had her reeling to reality. His cologne smelled so good, her in his arms made her almost forget that he was her boss. She had always thought he was handsome a not-so-small crush on him, she was especially flustered after their kiss. Just as he was finished buckling her up his cold blue eyes met her for an intense moment before he closed the door and walked around the front of the car. Opening his door and buckling himself, he started to pull out of the parking lot that was located behind the casino which was only for employees. James made his choice.

The drive was awkward for y/n she was shaken up by the creepy man and confused because her boss had kissed her but was now acting so cold. So caught up in her thoughts she didn't realize that he wasn't driving her to her home but to his. Only when the car pulled into a private driveway did she become aware.

“This isn't my house?” she hesitated to say.

“I know it's mine” he replied shortly. “Im confused, why are we at your house?”

James parked his car he turned to look at her, his eyes besotted on her, they would never leave her. James knew his eyes would never look at someone like they do for her, that he would look for her in every room for the rest of his life even though he could be miles away. He would never twant another person, she was his love, lamb, bunny, life, and soul, his future and he would die without her.

“y/n look at me. I want you to know now that after tonight I can't hind. I can't hide my feelings for you, I love you more than I could ever express with my words so please ju-just stay with me. Come inside, come home. I’ll love you for the rest of my life with or without you, but please doll be with me” he begged, pleaded, his eyes hoping with everything in him.

y/n stared at him, her breath gone. She couldn't believe he would ever want her. Yet her heart felt the same as his did, she longed for him, to see his rare smiles more frequent. She wanted to know him, to learn, to crave him, and never be able to live without him.

“Bunny, baby you’re killin’ me, say somethin’ let me be yours” he took her hands in his

“I love you James” she whispered before she let go of his hands and reached for the sides of his face. Pulling him in for a kiss, this one even more passionate, full of words now spoken, this kiss longer. Coming up for air from her magic James smiled against her lips chuckling.

“I love you y/n,” James said before getting out of the car, once on her side of the car he opened up the door holding her hand in his, he brought her hand up to his lips kissing it. y/n blushing while they walked into his their home.

The night was spent eating takeout in PJs (James' shirt and sweatpants that were hilariously too big for her) cuddling, kissing, playing, giggling, and learning about the love they would share for the rest of their lives.

The end

I had this song of repeat while I made this because it gives off shy but scary but sweet Bucky to me

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshots #marvel #james bucky barnes #soft dark fic #soft!dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #yandere bucky barnes

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miss-dollette · 7 months

Text

Vladimir Makarov x Reader - 18+

TW: rape + murder + victim blaming + Makarov (need I say any more?)

I fully believe Makarov is not capable of true love. I believe he's a psychopath with no regard for human life, and he only sees lovers as possessions.

Note: Just because I write about Rape, doesn't mean I believe it's moral. This is dedicated to @bloodyrussianraven P.S: Sorry if it's a little short, I came up with this quickly.

Tomorrow is Saturday, and it's been three long months since Vladimir disappeared to God knows where. That's just how he was - he never cared to give her a heads-up about his departure, and sometimes she'd wake up to a frigid, desolate bed and an even icier void in her chest.

But today was entirely new, in the worst way possible. While her life still had its share of troubles, nothing could match the agony coursing through her body. The memory of her violation rolling over and over in her mind.

Her forehead remained streaked with dried, crusted blood, her neck bore the telltale bruises of his violent grip, and her face still burned from its rough contact with the carpet.

As she reminisced, her memory painted a vivid scene of being thrust into her apartment from behind, her face brutally colliding with the coat hanger, staining her white coat with warm crimson trickles.

Fingernails scratched her waist as her pants and underwear were snatched down to her knees, and her insides burned when he pushed his penis into her unwilling womb.

Pinned down and vulnerable, she found herself at the mercy of his predatory intentions, trapped in a horrifying ordeal.

The fact that he didn't attempt to kiss her was a small relief. She knew she'd snap out of her shocked trance and resort to extreme measures if he dared, even if it meant biting off his lips.

It was as if all her will to resist had drained away, and she lay there in disarray, attempting to blink away the blood clouding her vision.

Her cognitive functions shut down, and she stared at the broken eggs on the carpet. She wasn't sure how to react at that moment.

After he finished, hastily zipping up his trousers before bolting from the apartment, even pushing past her startled neighbor, she remained sprawled at the heart of the crime scene, her hand tenderly tracing her battered face as she struggled to regain her composure.

Disgusting sperm ran down her leg.

The groceries were strewn across the front door, their contents scattered on the floor. She remained seated at the kitchen table, gazing out the window as cars passed by, children engaged in snowball fights, and the sun dipped below the horizon. Her appetite for dinner had vanished.

A shadowy figure crossed the street and entered her apartment building, his measured stride betraying his identity. She silently wished he'd returned sooner, knowing he could have protected her. He could've.

The front door clattered against the fallen groceries, and she heard his steps muffle as he examined the telltale signs of the struggle - her blood-stained carpet, the chaos of the groceries, and her beanie abandoned on the floor. She was certain he knew this wasn't her typical mess.

Turning her head towards him as he entered the dining room, she watched as he lowered his gun, the barrel aimed in her direction.

"What happened?" He inquired with a tone that lacked emotion, a dangerous sign she knew all too well.

"I was walking home… i didn't see him," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "He hurt me." As she spoke, tears finally streamed down her cheeks, the realization hitting her that she hadn't shed a tear until now.

Vladimir moved swiftly, covering the distance in long strides, until he occupied the chair opposite her. In a rough and unforgiving manner, he seized her chin, his different colored eyes dissecting her battered forehead and blood-soaked countenance.

"Tell me what he looked like," he demanded, his tone blunt and sharp.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It happened too fast, and I couldn't—"

"I told you to stop being so mindless, wandering around like an idiot. Now look at you." He interrupted her sentence, causing her to shrink further into her seat, his calloused fingers digging into her chin.

"Vladimir..." she began, but her words faltered, a sense of futility enveloping her.

They spent that night together, with her recalling the day before the attack. He meticulously questioned her, forcing her to repeat various details numerous times, where she'd been, who she talked to that day until she squeezed out details that managed to escape her until that moment.

When he came to visit her, she would dutifully stand over the stove, preparing their meals (usually consisting of meat), and then share the food with him before he laid her down on the bed, and pushed himself inside her.

It appeared that he had lost his appetite for both food and that carnal desire that was attached to him when he visited her.

At nearly midnight, he dismissed her, and she left him alone in the dimly lit dining room. She found solace in the bathtub, immersing herself in the lukewarm water, which gradually turned a disconcerting shade of red. The stinging sensation from the cut on her forehead intensified.

Her entire body ached, and without the concealing cloak of clothing, she was confronted with her bruised flesh in its full spectrum of colors: purple, yellow, green, and angry red.

In an attempt to cleanse herself of the ordeal, she vigorously brushed her teeth until her gums bled, then meticulously dressed, yet the feeling of being tainted lingered. Despite scrubbing her skin raw, she couldn't shake the sensation that an oily darkness clung to her.

She reclined on her bed without much regard for comfort, her gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling. Her eyes, glazed over with a haunting emptiness, stared into the void above.

She eventually closed her eyes and surrendered to sleep's embrace.

When she awoke, Vladimir's absence was glaringly apparent. His side of the bed remained cold, a stark reminder of his cold nature. His clothes from the previous day lay in disarray on the floor, and a lone sleeve dangled from an open drawer where he stored his belongings.

Once more, she vigorously scrubbed her skin raw in the morning, as if attempting to rid herself of the memories etched into her flesh.

It had been three long weeks since she last saw Vladimir, and it had also been three weeks since she was raped by that stranger. In that span of twenty-one days, she moved through the town with a distant, glazed-over expression, avoiding any meaningful eye contact with men and speaking in hushed tones. It seemed as though her very soul had been snatched away, leaving behind only a hollow shell of the person she once was.

She fixated her gaze upon her worn boots, every step they took echoing loudly on the icy concrete beneath, determined to drown out the relentless cacophony of traffic and the incessant chatter of the people bustling around her.

In the early morning's embrace, the first light of dawn meticulously brushed the streets with a vibrant palette, painting them in exquisite hues of pink, purple, and a myriad of other melodramatic colors.

Her stomach emitted another mournful growl, a reminder of her empty mornings – just like the one before, and the one preceding it. She struggled to recollect the last time she had savored a meal.

Engulfed in her contemplations, she collided unceremoniously with a stranger's back. With a gentle "Pardon" escaping her lips, she reluctantly tore her focus away from her ruminations. A gathering of nearly a hundred people held collective fixation on something in the road.

She wondered if there had been a car accident that morning.

Compelled to forge a path through the throng, her heart raced wildly in her chest. As she finally emerged from the crowd, her heart plummeted into the depths of her being, her eyes locked on a man whose face suddenly seemed so familiar. He was suspended between two lampposts in the middle of the road, a grotesque marionette covered head to toe in a gruesome tapestry of blood and bruises.

His wrists, where wires had mercilessly bitten into his flesh, oozed crimson rivulets that painted his arms and body in a grotesque shade of red, an agonizing tableau of suffering before her very eyes.

She was forcibly reminded, once more, of the chilling reasons Vladimir struck terror into the hearts of the masses, understanding why his name blared across newspapers in stark letters, detailing the monstrous carnage he'd ruthlessly orchestrated, all in the relentless pursuit of collective fear, and a motivation that'd been explained to her, but never understood.

The lifeless form of her attacker hung eerily above the street, expertly suspended by wires, resembling a grotesque work of art that defied the boundaries of the macabre.

With her mouth parched and her chest feeling like an empty void, she turned away, her mind haunted by the scene before her. The sheer reality of the experience weighed heavily on her, leaving her unable to carry out even the simplest of daily tasks. Resolute, she made the decision to set aside the day's chores. Today, she knew she needed to retreat to her bed, seeking refuge from the relentless torment of her thoughts.

#vladimir makarov x reader #vladimir makarov #cod mw2 #mw2 x reader #cod makarov #dead dove do not eat #mw2 #makarov x reader

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dias-writing-corner · 9 months

Text

I keep thinking abt yandere ticci Toby that started off as childhood friends.

You meet him through his sister as the 2 of you were good friends long before you meet her brother. And sure you’ve heard Lyra mention how her brother is being bullied and about his Tourette’s through the school grapevine but you’ve never actually met the kid or even really seen him outside of pics or from afar.

Anyways when you meet him he’s this shy and awkward kid who’s a year or so under you and Lyra. But you don’t judge him for his Tourette’s or anything, you’ve always been a kind person like that. As you hang out with the two of them he starts getting this silly little puppy crush on you and Lyra teases both of you - separately - about it. But you blow her off as you just see him as a little brother.

Soon Lyra gets into her accident and dies. Leaving a hole in both yours and Toby’s lives and hearts. You spend more time with each other trying to remember her, you bring him homework he missed from staying home after her death and start to notice he’s more erratic with his behavior. Prone to outbursts or even aggressive behavior towards you. You can’t stand his self harm - even if he doesn’t feel what he’s doing to his hands - and he snaps at you when you press the issue too much. After you leave each time he lashes out at you Toby feels bad and beats himself up, after all he’s lost his sister, he doesn’t want to lose you as well.

But he eventually becomes so overcome with grief and anger he goes through with the murder of his step dad and burning the house down. And Slenderman wipes his memory of everything before his moment of retribution.

You notice the flames on your way to give him the latest bit of homework. Pressing harder on the gas until you stop your car in front of the building house, leaving the car you run up to the caution tape set up by police and the fire department. Falling to your knees in grief as you sob and scream his name, one arm covering your face as the other holds onto your opposite shoulder in a desperate attempt to comfort yourself.

~~~

Years have passed yet you still hold onto the 2 Polaroids of your dearly departed friends. One was yours originally, the second was Lyra’s and the third that was Toby’s was assumed to have burned in the fire. The Polaroids were of a day you all went out and got ice cream and had fun like kids, one of the last times that happened before Lyra’s death.

Anyways you’d be well into college, perhaps junior or senior year? Focusing on studies has been hard for the past few months due to feeling like you’re being watched constantly. And quite honestly it’s starting to affect your grades. So you go out to the woods, to a part where the hiking path leads to a small clearing with one or two picnic tables. Settling down at one with your books and notes you try to let the sounds of the woods envelope you in peace and quiet to focus. Only for it to get a little too quiet and set off that feeling of being watched once more.

After a while you realize you’re not going to get much of anything done like this. You try to leave but as you get to the start of the path that leads home you find yourself stuck to a tree. Back digging into the harsh bark of the tree, a strange man with orange tinted goggles over the eyes and a strange mask covering the lower part of the face. You can hear the man breathe heavy, only one arm of his presses into you and holds you still.

Something in you tells you to keep quiet, an almost primal urge to make yourself as small as possible. You try to shrink into the tree behind you. Noticing the 2 deadly weapons fastened onto his hips, a small whimper escapes you as tears form in your eyes. He reaches down into his pocket and brings out a folded piece of film, unfolding it and showing you it. It’s crumpled around the edges and worn but you can still make out the smiling faces of a young Lyra Toby and you.

“H-how do you have that? It should’ve burned…” you ask in astonishment as tears threaten to fall from your eyes at the memories of your deceased friends.

The man’s neck twitches so hard you worry it’d snap, he doesn’t say anything and just points at young you in the picture. You nod your head and say “ye-yes that’s me..” assuming that’s what the man was asking. Using his free hand he tugs the goggles off his face and lets them rest in the messy brown hair atop his head.

Eyes crinkled in a sort of joy or maybe excitement as he finally speaks up. “F-f-found yo-ou”

#ticci toby #creepy pasta #creepypasta #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby x y/n #ticci toby x reader #ticci Toby imagine #tw yandere #I don’t think I’ll ever write a full on thing for him or any other creepypastas until I work through my personal cringe #this is the closest thing you’ll get from me for any of them. I’ve just been having Toby thoughts #not edited

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absurdthirst · 8 months

Text

Kinktober 2023: October 7th

Day 7: Anonymous Sex, Nonconsensual, Somnophilia

Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning: Sex clubs, offers of blowjobs, voyeurism, masturbation, anonymous sex, protected sex, riding, slight tit play

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The case had sent him down a rabbit hole of sex, drugs, money and murder. Taking him to the seediest places in town and talking to some of the most disreputable types. Following lead after lead, casing any scrap of information down so he can put the criminal behind bars.

The club had intrigued him. It scared him how much, although he had pretended to not be interested when scantily clad women jiggled their tits in front of him and asked him if he wanted a blow job. They weren’t hookers, he wasn’t going to bust them for solicitation. This was a sex club.

Sitting hunched over his desk, Tim stubs out another cigarette and reaches for his pack. Last one. The smokey din of the office irritates his eyes, but he needs the nicotine. Or maybe he just needs to sleep.

Not that he would get any. The case would be playing in his mind, over and over again, like a silent record on repeat as he subconsciously looks for any clue that he might have missed on first glance. It’s why he runs on stale coffee and bad bodega sandwiches.

Lighting up the cool menthol cigarette, he takes a drag as he stares at the card propped up against his desk phone. He should have thrown it away, or refused it in the first place, but he had shoved it in his jacket pocket, telling himself he would never use it. It was a pass. A card for one visit without a membership. A test drive, as the owner had told him, the smirk on his face one that had made Tim shuffle uncomfortably. Like the guy could see through the detective’s professional exterior and see what he had really wanted to do while he was asking routine questions.

Sighing, he rolls his head, feeling his neck pop and lets out a quiet groan. The clock on the wall says that it’s too late to get anything decent to eat, and yet it was still too early for Tim to go pass out on his little bachelor apartment sofa. The bed was too big and lonely since Babs had left him. Or, more accurately, kicked him out.

Flicking the ashes into the nearly overflowing tray, Tim puts the cigarette between his lips and picks up the card, looking at it carefully as if it were a clue itself. The shiny gold lettering is pretty, professional. Even if what is for wouldn’t be considered that in some circles.

A test drive, a trial run in a sex club where the only thing that matters is that someone consent. Everything was apparently on the table if the other party was down. He had cleared his throat several times when he had walked by the glory hole stations, the prim suit and tie types on their knees with cocks in their mouths. Nothing wrong with it, especially since the best part of the club was that it was anonymous. No names, no faces. Everyone wears a mask.

Jumping when the filter starts to burn his lips, Tim realizes he’s been staring at the card for so long the cigarette has completely burned down. Crushing it out and shaking his head as he licks his lips, the jolt to reality makes up his mind. Pushing away from his desk and standing straight, reaching for his jacket and tucking the card into his pants pocket. He’ll leave the badge and the gun in the car when he gets to the club. Tired of the idea of being alone, he wants to see what it’s like to experience it as a visitor, telling himself he might find another lead.

****

It’s a nondescript building that looks even gloomier during the nighttime is now in front of him. The covered door mocking him and he heard the faintest sound of music. Wondering if they turn the music up to cover the moans and sometimes screams of the members.

Once he’s inside, the card is taken away and he is shown to the locker room so he can strip down to nothing and put on the demi-mask that had been provided. Plenty of members brought their own, but there were plain black ones like the one provided.

It’s jarring, slightly embarrassing to be naked except for a mask, but it’s also freeing. He can be whoever he wants tonight, do whatever he wants. Walking out of the room into the main area of the club, he can feel eyes on him. Assessing, perhaps speculating on who he is, or what he’s there for.

****

You spot him from across the room. Lazily lounging as you rub your clit, watching the couple beside you as they pleasure each other with their mouths. Catching your attention as he adjusts his mask and then reaches down to adjust his hardening cock, only to remember that he wasn’t wearing any clothes to adjust. A newbie.

You smirk as you pull your fingers away, sliding them into your mouth as you stand and your left hand slides along the woman’s hip and you tap it appreciatively as you move away and start to slowly walk up to the man as he looks out over the small weekday crowd.

“Hey, handsome.” You watch as he turns towards you, apparently distracted as you walk up. Eyes widening behind the mask as he looks you up and down, shuffling his feet slightly and the fact that he is just as naked as you are means he can’t hide the way his cock twitches and bobs as he takes you in. “Me? Uh, I mean, hi.”

Oh he’s sweet. You smirk slightly as you reach out and touch his arm. “Are you looking for something special or just taking it all in?” You ask, wondering what he thinks of this. He’s obviously here for the first time, and you want to guide him if you aren’t the person he would be interested in.

“I don’t - I’ve never-” He shakes his head and gestures around. It’s endearing and you can see that he’s truly overwhelmed.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You ask, giving him a simple question to answer, yes or no.

“Yes.” His answer is rushed out, almost incredulous as if he couldn’t believe that you would even ask that question.

“Perfect.” Your hand slides down to his and you take it to guide him towards the couches. “Do you want to be alone, or do you want others to watch?”

HIs hand squeezes yours as he contemplates before he clears his throat. “Out here is good.”

Leading him over to the black leather sofa, you urge him to sit down, moving to straddle him as he leans back. “So, is there anything that you really want?” You ask quietly. “Or do you just want to cum?”

“I want you to cum too.” His hands are slightly unsure, light on your hips and he slides them up your back experimentally. “I - uh, regular sex I guess?” He gives a self deprecating laugh. “Do you - would you want to ride?”

His cock is thick and gorgeous, laying trapped between his body and your cunt. The head of it mushroomed perfectly and you would love to suck it one day. “I would love to ride that cock, handsome.” You hum, leaning in to kiss his chin and then slowly work your way towards his mouth. Some have rules about not kissing and you don’t want to rush him if that’s not something that he would like.

Instead of turning his head away, Tim turns into the kiss, desperate for the physical contact that he has been missing for such a long time. He doesn’t know your name, but it doesn’t matter right now when his lips are pressed against yours.

When initial contact is broken, it never takes long to get to the sex. The bowls of condoms are on every table that isn’t occupied by a body. Always within read and you snag one even while the man’s tongue slips into your mouth to tear open. Doesn’t matter how handsome he is, you aren’t willing to risk your health. He groans when you take his cock, rolling the rubber down his length and pumping it a few times.

You’re still kissing when you lift your hips, sliding his cock into position to sink down on it. Both of you moan as you take him deep into your body. Groaning when your ass touches his thighs and you circle your hips a few times experimentally.

“Oh shit.” He pants, breaking off the kiss and starting to move his mouth down your neck and over your chest.

He likes it, if the way that he’s twitching deep inside you is anything to go by. Both of you adjust to the feeling before you start to ride him. It’s slow to start, up and down and grinding down on him, squeezing him when you do. His hands start to become a little bolder. Racing over your spin and hips, squeezing your ass and then up to your breasts.

That’s when you get a little quicker, bouncing on his cock. It’s such a good cock, you enjoy the way it stretches you out and fills you every time you fall onto it. Making you moan out wordlessly. It’s not like you have a name you can call out.

“Oh fuck, it’s so- fuck, you’re so hot.” He starts to ramble right before he leans down and takes your nipple into his mouth. Making you whine since you love when attention is given to your tits.

“So are you.” You pant out, enjoying how he is biting and sucking on your nipple, taking cues from your reactions and pulling away from things you don’t react as strongly as the other things you obviously like. “Fuck, I love your cock. It’s so thick.”

He twitches inside you, groaning at the praise and he starts to rock his hips up to meet your thrusts. Both of you chase your pleasure with increasingly unbridled enthusiasm.

You know people are watching, you enjoy the idea but your focus is on this stranger that is currently starting to rearrange your insides with every rough thrust up into you. Bracing his feet on the ground and using that leverage to make sure you feel every inch of him.

“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh fuck!” Your eyes blow wide behind the mask, body locking up in his arms as your cunt clenches down around him. Feeling the ultimate bliss as pleasure courses through you. Taking your breath away and making you collapse against his chest and press your lips to his.

For him, apparently your orgasm triggers his own. Only thrusting into you, pulling your hips once more before he is groaning into your kiss. You feel the heat of the condom being filled inside you as he throbs deliciously against your wall while he rides out his orgasm.

Catching your breath after a moment, you lean back and smile at him. “See you next time, handsome.” You hum, placing a soft kiss on his hips and lifting off his cock so you can make your way to the restroom to clean up. You have a feeling as you look over at your shoulder at his slumped, dazed posture, this man would be back.

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