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sophiethewitch1 · 3 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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izurou · 2 years

Text

if katsuki has told you once, he’s told you a thousand times—don’t wait up for me.

you never did understand what all the fuss was about. sure, the fatigue would catch up to you after a few consecutive days of doing so—but it was never anything a little more sleep in the morning couldn’t solve.

still, after seeing how adamant he was about the whole thing, you dropped the habit altogether—or at least, he thought you did.

it’s almost midnight when katsuki arrives home, easing the front door shut with the utmost care. he doesn’t bat an eye upon noticing the dull amber glow emanating from the kitchen—you always leave the little light above the stove on for him. he does however, feel his heart skip a beat when he rounds the corner and sees a figure clad in black sitting at his kitchen island.

he easily recognizes the figure as you—seemingly lost in your own little world as you rest your chin in your palm and stare down at your phone. you click on a news article that catches your eye—one from just two hours ago. dynamight’s big rescue! on the evening of tuesday september 6th, three villains entered a bank around ni—

“the hell are you doin’?” his voice lingers from the doorway, much softer than usual—because he knows you’re unaware of his presence.

it startles you nonetheless, but it could have been much worse—he probably just saved you from a major heart attack. a true hero, even off duty.

“just some light reading,” you turn your head and give him a sheepish smile, simultaneously giving him a once over for any injuries. fortunately, you find none—not that you can see at least.

“meant what’re you doin’ up,” he replies, crossing his strong arms over his chest as he takes a few steps further into the kitchen.

“waiting for you,” you hum, hopping out of your chair and padding over to him. he watches, from the moment those words leave your mouth to the moment you wrap your arms around his neck—and then he turns his head. “kats, i missed you.”

he knew it was coming, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to hear. lately, with this increase in crime, you’ve been seeing him less and less. he hates it, but he knows you—and how quick you’d drop everything for a little more time together. he’s witnessed it, all those late nights and early mornings, they took a toll on you—and you don’t deserve that. so, he put an end to it, made sure you knew how important your health was, and had you sleeping like a baby by ten o’clock most nights. but, here you are.

“go,” he nods towards the stairs and rests a hand on your lower back, ushering you ever so gently. “‘ll be there in fifteen.”

he’ll inhale his dinner, wash up at the speed of light, and slide into bed next to you—just like the old days, right?

“i haven’t eaten yet,” you mumble.

you feel his hand stiffen up, and he’s no longer steering you towards your bedroom. he peers down, scarlet eyes boring into you from right beneath his furrowed brow—because he knows that you know, he’d never let you go to bed on an empty stomach. touché.

“pain in my ass,” he mutters, dropping his hand and letting you shuffle towards the fridge where you’re harbouring two plates of leftovers. he trails his gaze down to your feet, and you swear you hear a little snort slip out of him.

as if drowning yourself in his hoodie and sweats wasn’t enough, you have his slippers on—and they’re a size, or seven too big for your feet. you don’t have enough fingers to count all the times he’s called you ronald, or said that he didn’t know the fuckin’ circus was back in town. he can make all the clown jokes he wants, you’ll never give up that warmth and comfort—him getting a kick out of the whole thing is a side effect you can handle.

“how was patrol?” you ask, sliding one of the plates into the microwave. you more or less know how it went, but you’ll keep that to yourself.

he mumbles a same old shit before giving you a vague rundown of the bank robbery—well, the attempted bank robbery. he’s cut off by the loud beeps that echo throughout the room. you reach for the button that opens the little door, but he beats you to it, nudging you away with his hip. he removes the plate—and it’s blatantly obvious that it’s his—the portion size being a dead giveaway. still, he holds it out for you to take. “eat.”

the look on your face must’ve said it all, because he’s quick to follow up. “‘ll finish what you don’t, baby. sit, eat.”

his gaze lingers on you for just a tad longer than usual before he turns around and heads for the second plate. there’s probably half the amount of food on this one, but he doesn’t seem to mind. so you sit, and eat. he’s not far behind, plopping down next to you just a couple minutes later.

“katsuki?” you side eye him, thinking about how cute he looks with his cheeks all full. it’s been a little while since you’ve sat down and had a meal with him—this is perfect, just what you wanted. still, you can’t help but look ahead as you yearn for a little more. “will you wake me up before you leave tomorrow morning?”

“mmm,” he holds his hand in front of his mouth, rapidly chewing the remainder of his bite so he can answer you. “whatever, but if you swing at me once ‘m leavin’ you there.”

as much as katsuki would love to have a testy six am encounter with the little overtired monster that is you—he won’t, because he’s going to let you sleep until your sweet heart’s content.

you won’t be happy, he knows that—hell, maybe you’ll even swing at him tomorrow evening while fully awake. nah, who’s he kidding? you’d never consciously do that. he almost smiles at the thought though, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent it.

right, you won’t be happy, but you’ll get over it. it’s his job to get up early, come home late, and deal with all the bullshit in between.

because, in all aspects of life—from sleep, right down to the level of warmth and comfort you feel on your feet—katsuki believes you deserve just a little more than him.

#izurou #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #mha x reader #bakugo x you #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha fluff #bakugou hcs #bakugo hcs #bakugo headcanons #bnha hcs #tw food

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buckttommy · 27 days

Text

umm. pause. guys. guys. gay tommy has been canon this entire time. what the fuck. like. oh my god. no. like. okay. okay. so. 2x9 (hen begins), sal [deluca] is talking about his girlfriend dragging him to see twilight. he makes a homophobic joke about tommy being team jacob and tommy's like "i don't even know what that means." chimney says "he's insinuating that you're gay" and tommy blows deluca a kiss. fine. whatever. but THEN you skip to 2x12 (chimney begins), and—i stg it's a blink and you miss it moment—tommy and gerrard (racist captain) are having this conversation in the background

tommy: what about that burger place? gerrard: tommy i hate that place. hey wasn't your girlfriend supposed to come and cook us dinner? tommy: uhh. next tuesday. gerrard: promise? tommy: uhh. uh. yes. yeah. i will promise.

and it's like. number one, this sounds like a conversation they've had before. something to the tune of "hey, how come you never bring your girlfriend around" which i can't help but think was intentional considering the members of the old 118 were entirely familiar with deluca's girlfriend gina. but number two, no straight man who has a girlfriend sounds that unsure that they have a fucking girlfriend. it was very much giving "ah yes. this human lady that i love that most definitely exists. absolutely. also i like breasts." and it's just like. ok. what the fuck. like. i don't know if this was the plan all along. i don't think it was. i still maintain buck/eddie were supposed to go canon after the shooting and the powers that be got in the way. but. but. the idea that this canon queer character has been hiding in plain sight (subtext) is just. wild to me. like. i've always headcanoned tommy as gay, mostly because every character he plays seems fruity as hell. but bro. i don't think it's a headcanon anymore. and i don't think it ever has been. what the fuck.

there's also the idea that. like. so i've been watching the begins episodes again trying to figure out what, exactly, tommy's crime against the members of the 118 has been. like. he worked in a -phobic/-cist environment. he was definitely complicit in making hen/chimney feel like outsiders in their workplace yes yes all these things are true. but as far as i can tell, tommy has rarely ever actively been anything except spineless. deluca makes a homophobic joke? tommy laughs. gerrard makes a bunch of sexist and racist comments? tommy looks, but doesn't say anything to encourage (or discourage him). hen gives her monologue? he looks chagrined.

and his complicity would be absolutely shitty and inexcusable if he was just a cishet white man. no questions asked. but if — if — you view his behavior through the lens of the fact that tommy is queer himself? that tommy is, and always has been, a member of a marginalized community who felt it was easier and safer to assimilate than it was to be openly queer and have a target on his back? his behavior becomes a whole hell of a lot more understandable. yes, it's still shitty, but. there's a purpose behind it. and this idea is supported by the fact that, when gerrard leaves (flashing forward to bobby begins again), even before bobby gets there (because we always credit bobby with making the 118 the family it is today), like. the atmosphere is completely different. tommy and hen? are friendly with each other. chimney and tommy? also friendly with each other. which we also know because in 2x14 broken, he calls him up for help. which lends credibility to the idea that the problems tommy had (or thought he had) with henchim were not about them as people but more about whatever manufactured conservative boys club bullshit gerrard fostered.

and it's just like. motherfucker. bitch. what the hell. like. first of all, leave it to 9-1-1 to tell a story like this in the most subtle way possible. like if that was indeed the intended implication, i'm throwing my tv off a bridge immediately. but also. second of all. what is wrong with this show. they're crazy. i want to eat it like a loaf of bread. just shovel it in my mouth because the idea that tommy has been queer all along, that he wasn't brought back just to be a stopgap on buck's queer journey to eddie, but that he's been haunting the edges of the narrative like a gay ghost is sooo like. ohhh. okay. [throws up]. like????? okay. anyway. i'm going to be thinking about this the rest of the day.

#tommy kinard #head in hands.....................HEAD IN HANDS #tv: 911 #jack.txt #There's also something to be said about the idea of FOX main characterizing Buck/Oliver #around the same time they put a stop to Buddie #Something about like. Conventionally attractive (dark hair / light eyes) white men are not allowed to be loudly quee #and like. I KNEW there was something there #I knew it. And I love Michael and David and Karen and Hen don't get me wrong #those are my emotional support gays #but I was just like ''hm. kind of funny how every queer character connected to the mains is a person of color right?''#and I never vocalized this thought to ANYONE but I always kept it in the back of my mind #even the men michael would be seen with *before* David — always black #and there's nothing wrong with it it's fine #but the idea becomes a LOT more insidious when I consider FOX's politics—when i consider that both racism and homophobia are inherent to #their brand. and then it's just like ''ohh. you guys made the black people dirty queers because white is right. okay got it''#anyways. let me stop talking. lol

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thewayitalknj · 3 months

Text

Friday, I'm In Love?

Eddie Munson x Female Reader.

When random corny love notes start appearing in your locker, you're wondering who the hell Is taking time out of their day to think of you.

Quick Notes - Happy Valentine's Day! I got this idea while playing our Valentine's Day Playlist at work and thought I would write something. Super short but to the point, lol. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count - 849 (Told you it was short) Warnings - None! Enjoy :)

Monday That's when the first note fell out of your locker. When the small piece of paper fell onto the floor you were confused. You had all your notes, what could this possibly be? You opened it up and read the message ; Let's commit the perfect crime. You steal my heart and I'll steal yours.

"The actual fuck?" You laugh.

"Whacha you got there?" Eddie snatches the note from your hand and reads it in the most dramatic voice you have ever heard, clearly used for DM'ing only. You close your locker and lean against it. "You have a secret admirer? That's adorable." You take the note back and stuff it in your bag.

"Beats me. Probably someone playing a stupid prank."

"Or someone's in love with you."

"I highly doubt that."

Tuesday ; They say true love hides behind every corner. I must be walking in circles.

"So, who do you think it's from?" Jonathan asks as you walk the track field for gym.

"No idea. I just find it odd. Why now? For fucking Valentine's Day?"

"Maybe they think it's the right time since it's a holiday about love."

"I still think it's a silly prank."

"Or someone is in love with you." He smiles.

"Well, I highly doubt it."

Wednesday ; Romance is the icing, but love is the cake.

"I like this one, it has to do with food." Robin snarks, holding all 3 notes in her hand.

"That's such a you comment to say."

"What are you guys talking about?" Nancy takes a seat next to you at the lunch table.

"Someone has been leaving me stupid notes with pick up lines in my locker everyday this week."

"And you don't know who it is yet?"

"Nope."

"You have't recognized the hand writing?"

"See, this is why you're the smart one." Robin states.

"I never even thought of that, let me take a look." You examine the writing on the notes. "Yeah I got nothing. Who knows, it could be very obvious and I don't even see it."

"Or, someone is in love with you."

"Again, I highly doubt it."

Thursday You fling your locker open and there fell a note. ; If I were a cat, I would spend all nine of my lives with you.

"Okay, that's it. I'm done with these. Thank god tomorrow is Friday."

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Eddie asks.

"Nope, I haven't. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, of course not. But speaking of stupid," He pulls out his math binder. "Here are the math notes you needed."

"Thanks, I'll get them back to you tomorrow. I can't believe you actually paid attention."

"Well if I want to graduate I gotta do some work, ya know?"

Later that night you're doing homework in your bedroom and started organizing your math notes. Using Eddie's notes from earlier you flip over the page to continue note taking when you notice some scribbles at the bottom, definitely not pertaining to math. Let's commit the perfect crime. You steal my heart and I'll steal yours. ; They say true love hides behind every corner. I must be walking in circles. ; If you were a fruit you would be a fine apple ; Romance is the icing, but love is the cake. you're a 9 out of 10 and i'm the 1 you need ; well i'm here so what are your other two wishes? if you were a cat, I would spend all nine of my lives with you ; if you let me borrow a kiss I promise I'll give it right back to you.

A lightbulb goes off and you immediately reach for the love notes in the front pouch of your backpack.

"Holy shit." You whisper.

Friday The morning bell rings as you slip a note into Eddie's locker. ; Roses are red, Violets are blue. I found out who you are, and you must admit it to me too. Meet me at the picnic table after school.

The afternoon bell rings as you take off towards the woods to meet Eddie.

You sat on the table impatiently waiting, bouncing your leg up and down until a familiar face appears before you.

"What's this?" He asks waving the note in his hand.

"It's you."

"What do you mean it's me?"

You wave the four notes in front of him this time. "Didn't get one this morning. I beat you too it."

"That's not me."

"Stop lying Eddie."

"But it's not. Can you prove it?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Your math notes." He looks at you confused, taking out his backpack and finding his notes. As you watch him flick through his eyes get wide.

"Holy shit." He whispers.

"Yeah I said the same thing."

"Look I'm sorry-"

"Why are you sorry? And why didn't you just say anything in the first place?"

"Because it wasn't suppose to end like this, and I didn't know how you would react. So I thought this would be a good way to ask you out. Maybe. Possibly."

You nod your head and look down to the ground.

"So?" He ponders.

"So what?" You look back up.

"Can I take you out on a date?"

You smile.

youtube

#Spotify #Stranger Things #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson blurb #Valentine's Day

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desswright29 · 8 months

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All up in your mind

Contains: Sexual Content, Angst, Fluff, Suspense

Word Count: 3.1k

Taglist: @imjusthere2readbruv,@bubbleblowinggirl, @euph0ricx0,@bellaallebbella1, @minionslikeppl, @melanated-queen, @letitiasnyash, @tishlvr, @writtenbymarie, @doramilaj233, @lichuchin, @6-noir, @jackdrawsjunk, @Ippriceisright

Last Time on Half Crazy (lol):

Riri sat in the darkness of the room, in the center of her bed. She’d hacked into Shuri’s Kimoyo beads allowing them to connect to hers a while back, and now she sat listening. Imagining Shuri taking care of her the way she took care of you. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her jaw clenched in anger. It should be her. You didn’t get her the way she did. Ok, so you looked good and were a good fuck. But what else? Shuri is confused. She doesn’t know what she wants or needs.

“I’ll show her.”

Riri was up bright and early, as she was every morning. Not much time to rest when there was a plan that needed to be put into motion. She danced around the lab as her music played over the speakers.

“Tell Mama that I’d do it for you

This rider always want you

I’ll be groupie for you”

She sang as she smiled visions of her and Shuri making love in this very lab taking over her mind. Shuri choking her up against the wall as she slammed her strap in and out of her. There was no kissing, no true connection.. and yes Shuri very well could’ve been using her body to relieve her stress. But, it happened; and she’d be damned if it wasn’t the best sex she’d ever had! She bit her lip as she looked over her handywork proudly. A couple of weeks had passed since y/n came and fucked up all the progress her and Shuri were making together. Ugh, that little wife of hers had proven to be much more of a problem than Riri had anticipated. “Bitch.” She stated to herself. She wouldn’t be a problem anymore after today though. Today was the day that all of her hard work would be placed into action.

“I try to get all up in your mind

Is my love a crime

Cause I wanna make you mine”

For the past two weeks she played docile. Getting up early to have alone time in the lab to work on her “special project”. The rest of the day she would collaborate with Shuri with no unnecessary interactions. Not like it mattered any way. She’d been so caught up in her little reunion with her wife she wasn’t even paying her any mind and was continuously leaving Riri to her own devices in the lab. Last Tuesday she came in for an hour, then left to surprise y/n with a trip to fucking Santorini because her friend Tolu told her she’d been raving about some restaurant called Argo. Spoiled slut. But it ended up working to the benefit of Riri. She’d thought long and hard, making sure to be very strategic in the way she went about her plan.

At first she thought about coming up with away to remove Shuri’s memory of y/n. But everyone would know something was off with that. They’ve known eachother all their lives. Hm, no she knew she could do better than that. She thought about just drugging her, but that was so, primitive and temporary. And then there was Shuri’s panther suit. NANOTECH! It was brilliant! She’d just have to find a way to make the vibranium nanotechnology digestible. Riri would create a setting in her Kimoyo beads that would cause the tech to send transmitions to Shuri’s brain once it was inside of her body and then BOOM! HaHa! She’s in control of Shuri’s thoughts! It was a great day to be a GOT DAMN genius! And soon this would all be hers!

“I try to get all up in your mind

It stops at a crime and I'm gonna make you mine

I try to get all up in your mind

I'll go and do the time if it means I'll make you mine

My eyes, yeah, they really like your smile

It stops the time, yeah, I'll stay here for a while

You give me that good feeling that I need

Why don't you take the time to really notice me?

I try to get all up in your mind

It stops at a crime and I'm gonna make you mine

I try to get all up in your mind

Be careful what you ask for 'cause I just might comply”

Riri laughs as the song ends. Today she’d have her Queen.

It was 5 am. Shuri sat in the claw foot bathtub, that sat in the center of your bathroom. Her head tilted back, eyes closed, and her mouth slightly ajar as she gripped the sides of the tub. “Hmmm” She groaned, as the hot water and vanilla scented bubbles sloshed over the sides of the bathtub. Your lips were attached to her neck and you held on to her small breast as you bounced up and down on her strap. “Ride that shit.” She whispered, bringing her hand down into the water and gripping your ass hard, bouncing you with one hand as she bit her lip. To say you and Shuri were back was an understatement.

Watching you two together now was sickeningly adorable. That is until it got uncomfortable, and then it was just sickening. But the kingdom was happy to see it. You two were making up for lost times. So in the past weeks everything you both did you did grandiose. The two of you became insatiable when it came to sex. There wasn’t a place in the world off limits and you didn’t care who was watching. And someone was definitely watching. Shuri’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as you continued to pull her orgasam out of her. You rode her with purpose as you felt the band about to snap in your belly. “Bast!” You pressed your body into hers, letting go of her breast and wrapping your arms around her neck. Something about your slippery breast pressed against Shuri’s created waves of euphoric pleasure throughout your body. She rubs your back as you bury your head into her neck.

“I feel you cumming Thandiwe, I’m right behind you” she continued rubbing your back with one hand and guiding your hips with the other. “You’re doing so good for me my pretty. Yes baby you’re squeezing me so nice.”Her kissing your cheek, biting your earlobe and whispering sweet nothings was sending you over the edge. You wanted to stay right here in this moment with her forever. “Oh Bast, you’re so good to my body sthandwa.”

“Mmmhm. You feel so good. You’re my forever, you know that? Who’s better than you umama?” Her breath tickled your ear as she spoke, sending electric waves down your spine. “That’s right. Let it out f-for m-me. Oh shit sithandwa kiss me. I’m cumming for you.” Shuri gently coached you through your orgasam and followed suit. Bringing your mouth to hers you shared a kiss that sent you floating into sub space as she came inside of you. You moaned your pleasures into eachothers mouths as she continued to keep your body pressed close to hers; still slowly thrusting making sure every ounce of her was released into you as you continued the soul stirring kiss.

“Ndiyakuthanda” Finally you break for air, pulling back from Shuri’s sweet kiss. “Nam ndiyakuthanda. ngayo yonke into endinayo (I love you too. With all that I have). Your glassed over eyes met Shuri’s just in time to see a tear fall, causing one to fall from yours as well. Both of you simultaneously brought your wet hands up to cup eachothers face, wiping away the tears and sharing a small laugh at how in sync you were. “It’s going to work this time.” Shuri reassured you as you nod in agreement. “I know it will.”

“And if it doesn’t it’s not the end of the world. There are other options. And no matter what. We have eachother. It’s us against the world My Queen.”

“Us against the world My King.” You giggle as Shuri’s smile spread big across her face. You couldn’t think of anyone that was more powerful, more sovereign, more supreme, or majestic than Shuri. Man or woman. So as ruler of Wakanda, you believed she deserved the title King and you referred to her as such. And every time. She loved it. “You’re trying to go another round huh?” She bit her lip pressing herself deeper into you. Laughing you immediately remove yourself from her strap. Standing to get out of the tub. “Absolutely not! We have so much to do today and I need to prop my legs up before the day begans, so I can start baking this bun!” Tapping your belly you smile down at Shuri. She grabs your thighs right beneath your ample bottom and leans up placing a delicate kiss on your tummy. “You’re so beautiful sthandwa. I’m forever grateful to call you mine. And I can’t wait to start this new chapter with you.” You smile as she stands to her feet and envelopes you in another kiss.

Riri had to admit you two were better than porn. All she had to do was press a button and tune in and all of a sudden she was getting a show. She huffed, as she removed her fingers from her soaking wet cunt. She’d just finished cumming along with the two of you on top of Shuri’s desk. Listening to the two of you had become a guilty pleasure. The affirming words that Shuri would say to you, she would use to coax herself into her own orgasam. Pretending it was her that was drawing the lustful sounds from Shuri’s throat. Imaging that it was her pussy that Shuri’s tongue was caressing into tranquil bliss. Turning off the beads she popped her fingers into her hot mouth removing her juices from her fingers; envisioning tasting herself on Shuri’s fingers as she let out a sultry moan. “Pull yourself together Ri. You’ll have her soon enough.” She got off of the desk, and began fixing her clothes. Today, she wore her single braids in a low bun, and a form fitting black mini dress, she’d even applied a bit of makeup and wore heels. It was a special day and she wanted to look good for Shuri.

Shuri walked into the lab at 7:40 am on the dot, cheerful from the beautiful morning she’d shared with her y/n. Her smile was bright, hair freshly braided and she was dressed in her signature all black attire though she was a bit more casual than usual. Black sweats a black T-shirt and a black Nike tech jacket. Not a piece of lint in sight. Ugh! It didn’t matter how she dressed Shuri could make you quiver with just a glance in your direction, and Riri was no exception. Her powerful stride accompanied her through out the lab as she checked on her staff and their progress. Riri watched from the top of the stairs as her heart began to race with adrenaline. Turning toward the glass she gave herself a once over brushing her hands over her curves. “Let’s go get our woman.”

Riri slowly made her way down the stairs heels clicking against the concrete floors catching the attention of the Queen. Shuri did a double take once Riri entered her line of sight not used to seeing her dressed so… feminine. Assessing Riri’s body, Shuri’s lip upturned in appreciation. The woman was definitely a looker. “Good morning Shuri.” She smiled seductively as she approached her. “Good morning Ms. Williams. A bit out of dress code for the lab aren’t we?” Shuri turned away continuing her examination of the updates to the Dora’s weapons. Riri’s eye narrowed at the side of Shuri’s face. That’s not the reaction she was looking for. “Yea, well today is a special day. And I wanted to look nice.” Shuri nodded not yet acknowledging Riri’s statement. “Great job Amahle. These look amazing.” She spoke to one of the lab techs, causing Riri to fume. ‘I look fucking amazing! And she’s ignoring me!?’ Finally Shuri turns toward Ri motioning for her to follow her as she walked past her towards the stairs.

Shuri’s eyebrow raised at Riri in curiosity as she damn near jogged to catch up with her in her heels. “What’s the occasion?” A malicious grin spread across Riri’s face. Yes! Here we go. “I have a date tonight.” Riri looked at Shuri with intent. Looking for a reaction. Now both of Shuri’s brows where raised, eyes widening as her lips turned up in a genuine smile. Riri’s upper lip began to pull up in disgust. Quickly she recovered her expression, bringing it back to neutral. “Really!?, Well that’s great! I’m glad your getting out and mingling instead of just hanging around the lab.” Now standing in Shuri’s office, she sat on her desk facing the shorter woman who squirmed under her gaze. “I know the first couple of days here were rough when you returned. And I truly feel guilty for leading you on. I’m glad you’re moving forward Riri. And If it’s any consolation, you do look beautiful.” Shuri gave a cute lopsided smile that made Riri’s stomach turn. Shuri really had no feelings for her.

Riri placed the best fake smile she could muster across her face. “Thank you Shuri really! I know I took it hard at first but I figured it was best that I got over it. You and y/n are honestly so perfect for eachother.” Riri turned away, walking over to a covered dish sitting on top of the mini fridge. “I brought a bit of a peace offering. An apology for all the chaos I caused.” Picking up the dish she turned back toward Shuri with it stretched out to her. “I heard that pot bread was your favorite. So I made you some. If you’ll except my effort as an apology?” Riri’s big brown eyes sparkled as she looked up at Shuri with her sad kitten like eyes. Shuri looked down at the dessert as Riri uncovered the dish. The aroma permeated the office and a slow smile spread across her face as she now looked into Riri’s and took the dish into her hands. She extended her arms out welcoming Riri into her warm embrace. Riri closed her eyes as she took in Shuri’s cologne almost moaning at her scent. “Ofcourse I will Ri. If you’ll also except my apology. I didn’t bring anything to give bu-“

“No no no! You’ve done enough allowing me to stay here after everything. I’m sure y/n wanted me gone. So thank you. Just except my peace offering. Go ahead and try a piece! I’m dying to see if you like it.” Riri’s heartbeat drummed in her ears. Her palms were sweaty and she was getting antsy. “You ok?” Shuri pulled back obviously picking up on Riri’s elevation in nerves. “Y-yea! Yes. This conversation was just a bit nerve wracking. I’m glad I finally got it out of the way. And I reeeeally hope you enjoy this bread. It’s my first time.” She let out a nervous chuckle, as Shuri smirked. This was the moment of truth. Everything she’d worked for. She’d created ten very thin magnetic pieces of nanotech vibranium the size of atoms and placed them inside of the corner piece of the bread. Marking exactly wear to cut. Once that piece was ingested the atoms would connect and attach to the wall of her stomach. Once that happened it would send a signal to her beads. From there Riri would be able to send magnetic waves to Shuri’s brain and control her conscience. She could turn it on and off as she pleased. Meaning she could make Shuri do whatever she wanted when it was on and when it was off Shuri would have no idea what had taken place. She’d only have the memories that Riri would allow her to keep. It was brilliant.

“Well, it definitely smells amazing!” Shuri says as Riri takes the dish back from Shuri, placing it on the desk. Using a knife she had ready for use inside of the dish, she gently cut the piece placing it on a paper towel, handing it to the unsuspecting woman. “I hope you like it.” It wasn’t a lie. Even in this twisted situation Riri still wanted Shuri’s approval. She bit at her bottom lip in an effort to quell her anticipation. Without hesitation Shuri brought the dessert up to her mouth. Riri’s eyes sparkled in excitement, watching so closely that Shuri’s movements almost became slow motion. Finally, she bites into the delicacy. Shuri’s eyebrows raised and she began to nod. “Damn Ri. It’s delicious! I love it.” So much joy ran through Riri’s body she almost laughed out loud, as Shuri quickly finished it off. She settled for a goofy smile. Her body shivered. It was only a matter of time now. It shouldn’t take more than 20 minutes for the nanobits to find one another. So now we wait. A sinister smile spread across her face. “I’m so glad you like it.”

2 hrs later

‘Nothing. NOTHINGS FUCKING HAPPENING! I can’t fucking concentrate staring at these goddamned beads all day! Did I not take into account the herb? Is it causing adverse effects?’

Riri looked down at Shuri from upstairs as she spoke with another technician. She looked fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Riri let out a frustrated exhale plopping down in a chair in Shuri’s office and crossing her legs. Her hands cradled her face. ‘Damnit! Was all that work for nothing! This is my only hope she’s so in love with that hoe of a wife she has that she doesn’t see me. I have to think of someth-“

Bzzzz, Bzzzzz. Riri’s heart drops to her stomach. Slowly she pulls her hands from her face, and looks at her left wrist as it buzzed and lit up with blue light. It worked. She’d done it. She really fucking did it. Pressing one of her beads a projection of Tony Stark revealed itself. “Your atoms are in place. Make your request kid.”

“Shuri will fall out of love with y/n when I activate the atoms. She should remember me as her girlfriend. When I deactivate allow memories of us together to remain.”

“Sure thing kid. Transmition sent. Anything else?”

“Yes….Send her to me.” Riri pressed the bead removing the projection as she stood, walking over to Shuri’s desk leaning against it as her palms became sweaty and her heart rate picked up. She heard foot steps coming up the steps and she smoothed her hands over her dress, letting out a long soothing breath to calm herself as she waited. The foot steps got closer and closer and closer, until Shuri appeared in the doorway. She leaned against the frame, her gaze meticulously traveling Riri’s frame as she sized her up. And then her eyes connected with Riri’s. She seductively smiled with only one side of her mouth, before placing her bottom lip inbetween her teeth.

“Hey Ri baby.”

A/n: This next chapter is gonna be a MESS WHEW!! Stay tuned!

#letitia wright #letitiawright #shuri udaku #shuri x reader #spotify #shuri x you #shuri angst #shuri fic #shuri fanfiction #shuri smut #shuri imagine #Spotify

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detectivestucks · 3 months

Text

The Anbu Captain X

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader

Summary: Kakashi has the week off before a very long mission. He makes the most of his time with you and it is the most magical week of your life.

Warnings: NSFW, nipple play, anal play, light choking, oral, unprotected penetration.

Word Count: 4.6k

Art Credit: @akirasukuna

Part 9 New here? Check out Part 1

Side Note: didn't edit this much but I fell in love with this chapter and didn't want to wait to post

“You okay Captain?” Tenzo asks once Team Ro had settled into their camp for the night.

“Huh? Oh, yes, I’m okay.”

“You’ve been lost in thought a bunch on this mission. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just thinking about how I want to spend our week off.”

“Oooh, so it’s true!”

“What’s true?!” Yugao asks

“Captain has a girlfriend!”

“He what?!”

Kakashi just smiles at the ground as his team members begin to pelt him with questions about you. Ignoring their prying asks, he closes his eyes and goes back to planning. When he got back, he wasn’t going to squander a second with you. He had an entire week off before they left for two months. If you weren’t at work, you were on his time and it would be a punishable crime to waste his time.

********************************************

The team arrived back in the village late Sunday evening. In typical Kakashi fashion, he snuck through your window and slipped into your bed. He was a bit aggravated to find a sleeping Pakkun snuggled up against your stomach but he forgave the hound, knowing that sharing a bed with you will probably be of great comfort over the next two months.

You somewhat stir as you feel him grab hold of you from behind while he settles into being your big spoon.

“Welcome back baby.” you sleepily say as your hand rests on top of his arm.

“It’s good to be back.” he says nuzzling against your ponytail.

~~~~~~~Monday~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ramen? At Ichiraku? Like in public?” you question Kakashi, surprised at his suggestion.

“We’ve been in public before”

“Yeah but that was before the rumor mill was set ablaze.”

“Set ablaze, huh?”

“It seems dating you is a big deal. I’ve had eyes follow me all week.”

“You sure it’s not cause you’re so beautiful?”

Kakashi brushes your lip with his thumb while you give him a knowing look.

“Well I’m all for Ichiraku. They’re delicious.”

“Good cause that’s what I’m in the mood for.”Kakashi says as he grabs your hand and escorts you out the door and down the stairs.

You walk through the village, both of you in civilian clothes and sure enough, there wasn’t a single person minding their own business as the two of you made your way to the favorite local ramen shop.

“Kakashi! It’s good to see you!”

Kakashi was greeting the shop owner when he noticed you. “And a lady friend? Kakashi, I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone.”

“This is Y/N”

You timidly wave in response. You were certain you'd be a celebrity by the end of the week if the two of you were to be out in public like this every evening. Kakashi goes ahead and places your order.

“Could we please have two orders of Miso Ramen, one with Chashu Pork?”

“You got it! Anything for the lovely couple.”

“So, would this qualify as a date or just grabbing dinner?” You ask while you watch your soup get doled out into a bowl.

“Just getting dinner. Don’t worry, I have our whole week planned out.”

“You do?”

“It’s not often I get a week off.”

Your face softens as you look at him. This was not the same man you met nearly four months ago. It couldn’t be.

“So what do you have planned?”

He gives you a playful smile, “You’ll see.”

~~~~~~~Tuesday~~~~~~~~~~~

You pad up one of the main streets of town, again under the watchful eye of every single villager in proximity. You let him lead the way until he came to an abrupt halt. You stood on the earth where you almost smashed your face into the ground tripping over Kakashi.

“Why are we outside of the dumpling shop where we met?”

“I have some friends I’d like you to meet.”

“You have friends?”

You didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, but between never being home and never mentioning any friends, you were kinda shocked to think that there were others in the village Kakashi had connections with. Kakashi gave a nervous smile and began scratching the back of his head.

“Well, they’re my old classmates from the academy.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“So I’m meeting your friends now. Does this mean we’re official?”

Kakashi grabs you by the back of your head and whispers in your ear, “You’re my official pet. Or have you forgotten about your collar?”

He gave the shell of your ear a small nibble before releasing you.

You feel your throat go dry at the same time that arousal threatens to drip into your underwear.

Kakashi takes your wrist and drags you into the dumpling shop where his classmates are waiting.

“Hello everyone, meet Y/N.” Kakashi announces to the small group.

“Hello” Kurenai greets.

“Hi” , you say with a small wave.

“Long time, no see. Looks like a lot has happened since I saw you trip into Kakashi here.”

“Oh, yeah” you blush, nervously tucking hair behind your ear in front of the witnesses to your clumsy blunder.

“Is that where I know you from? I thought we may have met in glorious battle!” Gai asks

“No, just from that time I tripped on a rock.”

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks

“Yeah, she had some books the size of a small child in her arms.” Asuma chimes in

“Well it’s nice to officially meet you. I’m Kurenai.”

“Asuma”

“And I am Kakashi’s greatest rival, MIGHT GAI!”

Kakashi shakes his head before hiding his face behind his hand in embarrassment.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N”

You and Kakashi take a seat among his friends and begin to dine. Kakashi didn’t say much. He mostly just watched you laugh and smile while getting to know his friends. The way you effortlessly make others fall in love with you. You amazed him every day. He couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was to have you. You were his perfect match.

******************************************

“Well that was fun!” you say as you walk back to your home together. Doggy box in hand with some left overs for Little Guy.

“I was worried Gai would be too much for you, but you handled him like a pro.”

“I like him! He makes me laugh.”

“Yeah, he makes me laugh too.”

“You know I’m going to need to bear witness to these rival challenges one day.”

“They’re really not impressive. I usually just challenge him to Rock, Paper, Scissors.”

You laugh so hard that you snort. “He does not fall for that!”

Kakashi kicks a pebble with his sandal as he chuckles. “Most of the time he does.”

You ascend the stairs and see Little Guy waiting for you.

“Hey Buddy! Look what I brought for you!”

He taps his paws in excitement. You pull out the dumplings and Pakkun gives an approving bark. You give him a few head scratches and offer for him to come inside but he seems content with staying outdoors tonight. You close the door with you and Kakashi on the inside leaving Pakkun free to return home. The ninja hound was more than aware of the kind of activities you two participate in at night and he was not about to overhear any of it.

~~~~~~~Wednesday~~~~~~~~~~

You come home from the office to find your room illuminated with candles and your collar waiting for you on the bed.

“What’s this?”

“It’s Wednesday, my dear.”

You give him a questioning look before comprehension sets in. “Oh, ‘hump day’”

You laugh as you go change out of your work clothes and opt for your uniform of crop top and panties. Tonight you go with a matching set. You dress in a dark purple cotton top and dark purple satin panties lined with lace around the waistband. You tied your hair up in a purple satin scrunchie to finish it off before walking up to him to accept your black leather collar. Your fingers play with the metal tag adorned with your name marking you as his property as he secures it around your neck.

He grabbed your face in both of his hands pulling you into him, resting his forehead against yours. He seemed on the verge of saying something but instead reached in his pocket to pull out the familiar headband.

You hold up your ponytail so he may tie the fabric around the back of your head before he carries you over to the bed. He lays you down gently. You feel his hands slide out from underneath you before they trace along your entire figure. He touched you like a valuable work of art.

His lips delicately brush your skin as they leave a trail of kisses down your arm and then up your leg. Kakashi was torn between touching you like a fragile rose and ruining you like the ravenous wolf he is.

He kneeled over you and cupped your face in his hands. You run your hands from his defined shoulders up to his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. You offer your tongue and he greedily takes it.

His arms begin to wind around you possessively. You make small little moans in response and it begins to drive him over the edge. You hear grunts coming from him as his kiss becomes rough. His fingers start to grip you tight while his teeth come out to play. He lowers himself down to your chest and bites down. You arch your back upwards, pushing your breast into his face.

“Oh fuck Captain!”

Kakashi’s grip is bruising. His teeth latch on to your nipple as he suckles in vain. One day he will successfully milk them, until then he will toughen the skin. You squirm under him feeling your panties fill with arousal as your nipples ache. When he releases he places a small elastic around each stiff peak forcing them to stay pointed and erect. You whine when the band closes around your bud, rubbing your legs together as the pressure sets in.

“Good girl” he coos as you lift your chin towards him. “Now open”

You separate your lips only to be met with cool aluminum on your tongue. Kakashi had pulled out his gift from your first date. You were excited, the plug in your back door made his length in your cunt feel extra tight. It was exhilarating and hit all your sweet spots in the best way.

Blindly, you salivate all over the metal bulb before your captain pulls your hips towards him to insert it.

He sticks a finger in your mouth for you to lick before he glides it into your puckered rear. He rims you and then begins pushing in the tip of the plug. You breathe deep and allow your muscles to relax. This time, it glides in with ease and is pushed in up to the pink gem that now shines between your cheeks.

You let out a gratified moan as you feel the weight inside you. You stretch your back, arching it and wiggling side to side when Kakashi also attaches the chain leash to the metal loop in your collar. He pulls up his mask and rids your eyes of the headband.

You turn back to look at him as he tears away the fabric. He pushes you down on your back and keeps the hem of your crop top lifted above your tits so he can see your nipples swell, trapped in the black elastics.

Keeping your tether tight, he lowers himself down to your heat to snack on the arousal that is dripping from inserting your little gem. He’s careful to hide his face as he buries it into your dripping pussy but he removed your blindfold because he yearns to see the fire in your eyes when his tongue dances between your folds.

His arms gripping your thighs, leash still in hand, Kakashi locks eyes with you as he dives in. You don’t dare break eye contact. Seeing his brown and red eyes stare up at you from between your legs was the sexiest sight you could have ever dreamed. Selfishly clutching your chain while watching his prey unravel before him. Your core tightened more than it ever had.

“Kashiiii-AH!”

It was the most pleasurable torture of your life. Your toes were curling under the spell of his tongue. Your chest heaves under labored breath.

“Please! Please fuck me Captain!” You scream, begging to feel yourself stretch around him, unable to handle how empty your cunt feels.

“Close your eyes.”

You excitedly shut them.

“Lick”

You hear his voice in front of your face and you reach out your tongue to lick and suck your cum off his face like a lovesick puppy.

When you’re done he places his mask back over his face and instructs you to return your gaze to him. You lock your eyes onto his. He kneels between your legs and teases you by tapping your slit with his tip.

A whinny look of desperation covers your face. “Please Captain” you pout. You see him give in as he plunges up and in, dick plummeting past the bulb in your rear grazing two sweet spots at once. He sees your face as you expel a broken gasp. Smiling behind the cloth.

“Does my little pet enjoy this.”

“Mhm” you choke, pathetic and needy.

He slips in and out as you collapse back on the bed, nipples poking out from under your crop top. “Oh gods Captain, you’re so good to me.” you praise as he works his way along your walls which flutter around him.

He positions himself above you, thrusting for nearly twenty minutes, watching you mewl and moan under him. Hands pawing at his chest, fingers gripping his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. You were in a state of bliss and your mind swam from it. He felt himself pulled into a trance. He studied every part of you. The texture of your glowing skin, the depth of your irises, the softness of your hair, the feeling of your plush thighs, the darkness surrounding your nipples made purple in their bands, the vein along the side of your neck, the pink of your lips, and how your eyelashes curl.

He suddenly felt you close around him and realized you were cumming. He quickened his pace and looked down to see the ring of cream enveloping the base of his cock. He pulled out of you with a squelch and flipped you over onto all fours.

You tried to lay your head down on the bed but he tugged on your chain and pulled you back up into an arch. Feeling malicious he tugged on your gem and wrapped the chain around it so the bulb pressed up against your sphincter unless you kept your back bowed.

Beggared whines continue as he pushes his tip past your entrance and into your slit. He held you at your shoulders when he began ramming into you. You pressed the center of your spine towards the bed making sure his angle was as deep as he desired. He pulled on your leash, near your collar, some more. A choked moan falls past your lips. His fiery passion burns hot as your sounds fill his ears.

His hips slam into yours and all he can think as he looks down at your shining gem and the ripples of your fat ass is mine, mine, mine, mine.

Feeling ravenous for you, he leans down and slips his fingers inside your collar and pulls you towards him. Your weight supported by the leather straining against your neck, you feel excitement coarse through your body as the blood flow to your brain is restricted.

While one hand is tucked around the collar, the other reaches around to feel your nipples made sensitive from the lack of blood flow for the past half hour. You flinch as he brushes his fingertips against them.

“Are you sensitive, good girl?”

“Yes Captain-Oh- oh!”

He continues to rail into you so you can barely answer him. Between the sensation in your nipples, his balls slapping your clit, and the friction between your legs, you spiral into one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had. You wheeze in his arms, falling limp and lifeless from the convulsions running through you.

He feels powerful as he holds your figure. The urge to bite into your shoulder overcomes him. He can feel your blood pumping through your body, your heart thumps against his arm as it drapes around your chest. He wants to taste that blood. His helpless prey, his beautiful pet, his reason for living. You are his everything.

You cry out as his teeth sink in but he laps against the bite like he always does and it feels better. Stroking in and out slowly from behind as he holds you against his chest. He reaches around and rolls the black elastic off your buds with a hiss from your teeth. He licks his fingers before massaging your nipples between them. The tender care makes your rear spasm around the stem of your gem.

“Thank you Captain, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, good girl. You did well.”

You throw your head back on his shoulder still panting in his arms. He unclasps the leash from your metal hook and lets it fall to the bed. Stroking slowly still. You lift one arm and let it run through his silver mane. The other wraps over the hand around your waist. Your sweet cries echo in the room.

Pulling up his mask now stained with your blood, he pulls out and lays you on your back. He re-enters you in a mating press, eyes boring into yours as he strokes in and out. Your eyes study his brown iris, then his red. Switching back and forth, not sure which is more beautiful.

Your mouth falls open into an O as Kakashi nears his orgasm. Both of your hands thread their fingers into his hair. You squeal as he cums. Kakashi grunting with each pound into you. He wasn’t going to see you for two months. This week was for depositing as much of himself into you as possible so you wouldn’t miss him as much.

He collapses on the bed next to you.

Both worn out from your orgasms, you fall asleep side by side, plug still in your behind, collar around your neck, naked body on naked body.

~~~~~~~Thursday~~~~~~~~~~

The sky is painted on a pink and purple canvas as you finally feel a tug on your fishing rod.

“Captain, I got one!”

“Good job, my love” he says with a proud smile.

He gives you a peck on the cheek as you bring your catches and fishing equipment back to Kakashi’s home. It is in his kitchen that he teaches you how to cook it in his favorite fashion. He gives you his headband to wear around your hairline in case he can’t keep his lips to himself. He also gives you an apron and calls you his sous chef because you belong ‘under' him.

Your tantalizing head chef finds every opportunity to stand behind you and guide your hands through the process. Teaching you while nuzzling into your neck and rubbing his boner along your backside.

You’re holding a knife trying to dice vegetables when Kakashi grabs your wrists. He presses light kisses against your neck. You close your eyes and hum.

“Mmmm, thank you Captain.”

“It’s ‘thank you Chef’ tonight, my love.”

“Mmm, Thank you, Chef.” you say while wiggling your rear into his pelvis

“What a good girl you are.” he says into your neck while starting to kiss it more aggressively. You drop your knife and turn around in his arms to kiss him. He lifts you up onto the counter before lowering his headband over your eyes. Your dinner nearly burns while you’re distracted by your quick reward for behaving so well.

~~~~~~~~Friday~~~~~~~~~~~

Large palms covering the back of your hands, your fingers dig into cool slimy clay as Kakashi guides your blind limbs into creating an unknown column. It feels reminiscent of when you stroke his length but he told you he wanted you to have a vase for when he buys you flowers.

“Are you sure we’re doing this right?”

“Trust your Captain.”

“It just seems like we forgot to hollow out the inside of the vase.”

“Don’t worry. It looks exactly how it’s supposed to.” he says with a quick kiss on your jaw.

You smile under his headband tied around your eyes. You’re pretty sure he’s up to something but without your sight you can’t confirm.

Kakashi lifts his hands off of your’s.

“Let me add just a few final touches.”

“Can I look?”

“Not yet, Good Girl”

You let out a little whine.

“Do I need to bend you over my knee?”

An excited shiver runs down your spine and stiffens your nipples.

Kakashi laughs at your reaction. “Seems someone enjoys being put in her place.”

“Depends on who’s putting me there.”

“Good Girl.” he says, reaching over with his messy hand. He strokes your cheek before giving a boop to your nose. Your cheeks flush.

“Alright, it’s done.”

You lift his headband off your eyes to see a replica of Kakashi’s manhood complete with veins and mushroom tip. You give him a look of amusement.

“I can’t put flowers with this!”

“But, you can put it in your flower when you miss me.”

Your jaw drops. “I’m supposed to put that where?!”

“When it dries, I can give you a tutorial.”

Your eyes widen as Kakashi comes over to your chair to straddle you. He sank the headband back across your eyes as he lowers his mask to begin kissing you, ready to remind you how the real one feels when it’s inside.

~~~~~~~Saturday~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kashi, where are we?” you ask, hearing a loud sound ahead of you.

“Where do you think?”

“Well it sounds like we’re getting close to a waterfall of some kind.”

The two of you race through the forest jumping tree to tree. It had been a long time since you had traveled like this. Mostly you practiced your taijutsu these days in case anyone were to break into your office. You hadn’t been on a mission in ages.

Only the moonlight illuminated your path. Kakashi is much faster than you so he doubles back every now and then to steal a kiss. Sometimes he stops to poke fun at you for calling yourself a ninja.

“If everyone was good enough to be in the Anbu then it wouldn’t be so impressive, now would it?” you say defensively

“Yeah but I know Genin faster than you.”

“Why you little-”

Kakashi pinned you against the tree with his finger against your lips

“I don’t recommend you finish that sentence, little one. Your Captain might not like it.”

Your already heavy breathing strains from arousal, eyes shining up at him. He gives your cheek a clothed kiss as you near a clearing. You undoubtedly are headed towards the mouth of a waterfall when you find two giant stone statues etched into the cliff.

“Valley of the End?”

“Yes, where Hashirama battled Madara.”

“Wow, the statues are huge!”

“Race you to the top!”

“Hey! No fair!”

Exhausted, you meet him at the top of Hashirama’s head where he is casually sitting with one leg out. You plop yourself down next to him and nestle into his side.

“The river looks so beautiful from up here.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

Your blush isn’t visible in the light of night but Kakashi knows it’s there. Very seriously, Kakashi grabs your hand. “This has been the best week of my life. Thank you.”

“Captain, it is me who should be thanking you. No one has ever done anything like this for me.”

Kakashi lifts your hand to kiss the back of it.

“Kakashi…”

You lean into him. Under the darkness of night he lowers his mask. His lips pushing into yours, he cradles your head as he lowers you to the stone surface. Shifting his bodyweight over you, he lifts your shirt and lowers your pants, allowing your passions to take over. You pant and paw at him under the stars, letting him make his final deposit before his long mission tomorrow.

~~~~~~~Sunday~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up together in your bed. The dreaded Sunday has come. You’re not ready to say goodbye. You’re not ready to fear for his safety. You’re not ready to miss him for 8 weeks.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and look down at his restful sleeping face. Your heart constricts at the thought of him leaving. You were blessed with the most incredible boyfriend who happened to have the worst job in the village. You wanted to ask him to leave the Anbu. Retire as a decorated Shinobi. But you knew he loved his village and you knew he felt he had a duty to fulfill. Tears start to leak from your eyes.

Not wanting Kakashi to catch you crying, you hurriedly get up and walk to the kitchen to make breakfast.

You check the front door to see if Little Guy was outside and sure enough he was.

“Hey Little Guy.” you greet somewhat somberly.

He gives a little whine almost as if to say ‘what’s wrong?’

“He leaves today, Little Guy. I know. I know I should be grateful to have had him all to myself for an entire week but I got so used to him being around and now…” Your lip begins to quiver, “Now it feels like a hole has been punched in my chest.”

You wipe the tears with your arm as Pakkun gives you a head bunt. You give him ear scratches then stand up facing the kitchen.

“I know, I know, enough tears. Time for breakfast.”

Pakkun could see your heartache and as you looked down at him you swore you thought the friendly neighborhood dog was feeling pity for you.

You pull out the frying pan and get busy.

A groggy Captain emerges from the bedroom and wraps his arms lovingly around your waist and gives you a light kiss over last night’s hickies. You melt into him.

“Thank you Captain.”

“You’re welcome, Good Girl. How can I help?”

“You can bring these over to the table” you say, handing him two plates.

You grab the tea and join him.

“So you leave today.”

“Yes, before noon.”

He looks up at you, searching for a reaction. You drop your eyes not wanting him to see how sad you were.

“It will be 8 weeks.”

“I know…” you reply in almost a whisper.

“I will always return home to you.” he reassures you, grabbing your hand.

Your eyes dart up to meet his. You give him a small smile.

“Cause you’re the best there is.”

He gives a low chuckle. “Cause I’m the best there is.”

You finish eating and do the dishes with a quick reprieve for intimacy. After redressing your naked bodies it is time for Kakashi to officially depart. You stand in your doorway holding each other. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and breathe deep.

Kakashi inhales long and strong with his nose buried in your hair. He releases his hug and is about to step across the threshold when you tighten your grip and pull him back towards you.

You have a look of desperation on your face as you begin to say,

“Kakashi, I-”

“I love you too.”

The wind is knocked out of you as a tear of joy leaks out the corner of your eye.

“I’ll see you in 8 weeks, my love.”

“See you in 8 weeks, Captain.”

#kakashi x reader #kakashi smut #kakashi hatake #kakashi senpai #kakashi is daddy #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi anbu #kakashi sensei #hatake kakashi #romantic kakashi #pakkun #anbu kakashi

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milk-karton-kids · 1 year

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#true crime #true crime community #tumblr polls #true crime blog #true crime cases #true crime tuesdays #cults #cult leaders

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venus-haze · 9 months

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Working for the Knife (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: It’s been over 15 years since the Windsor College murders, not that they had ever been on your radar. That changes when you get hired at a New York marketing firm where you work closely with Mickey Altieri, alleged Ghostface killer whose charges were dropped after a controversial mistrial. Working so closely together piques your interest in each other, soon spiraling out of control. [This is an AU.]

Note: Female reader implied to be mid-20s or older, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also Timothy Olyphant being such a DILF, I had to write something like this (I had Justified era Olyphant in mind while writing this, specifically these gifsets, but you can picture whatever hehe). Creative liberties have obviously been taken. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: True crime elements (the reader engages with a lot of true crime content), but obviously this is a fictional serial killer. Mutual stalking/obsession. Sexually explicit content that includes dubious consent fantasy that involves knifeplay; spanking, daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

For once, you felt like things were going your way. After a little over three years of scraping by at your old job where you were woefully overworked and underpaid, your months-long job search finally came to an end when a mid-sized marketing firm gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure, you’d taken a huge pay raise and shifted to a hybrid schedule with your new job, but the highlight was undoubtedly Mickey, the only other person on your small team and the type of sexy older man you sure as hell didn’t mind spending your days in the office with.

With the whole company working hybrid or completely remote, people only came in sporadically, as did you and Mickey, only going in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with the occasional Friday if needed. As a result, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet anyone else who worked there.

Your first week was fully in person, since some of the programs you’d be using for the job were easier to learn if he were there to show you. You certainly weren’t complaining, having plenty of time to get a feel for your new coworker, silently observing and testing the waters with light flirting, which he seemed to return. Maybe you were just a little too hopeful.

“Big plans for the weekend?” you asked when five o’clock rolled around on Friday.

“Got a hot date with Netflix,” he said. “How about you?”

“My friend and I are getting drinks later, but that’s about it.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Anything under $10, if I can help it.”

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Don’t have too much fun.”

“I’ll try,” you said, smiling as you began packing your laptop into your bag. “Have a good weekend, Mickey.”

“You too.”

With your first week at your new gig down, you headed to a small bar in Flatbush to celebrate with your best friend and dish the highly anticipated dirt on your hot coworker. Lee was already at the bar when you’d arrived, sitting at a small table and sipping a beer she went ahead and bought herself.

“Drinks are on me,” you said. “I fucking owe you.”

Lee grinned. “Always glad to help.”

You wouldn’t have gotten the job without Lee. She helped you fudge your resume to match the experience on the job listing, gently scamming your way into the position you now held. All week you’d been texting her about how great things were going, and fawning over Mickey, of course.

After joking about ordering top-shelf liquor on your dime, Lee settled on a margarita, undoubtedly the first of many for the night. You returned from the bar with your drinks, more than ready to gush about how much better your new job was compared to the hell of your old one. Nothing could bring down your mood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they pay you out the ass and you don’t have to worry about health insurance anymore. Great,” Lee said over her margarita. “I wanna hear about your hot DILF coworker. No detail is too small.”

“Lee, oh my god, it’s not even fair how hot he is. Our desks are right next to each other in an L shape, and I feel like such a weirdo for staring at him all the time. He’s been so nice helping me all week, too. Maybe I’m looking too much into it, but sometimes I feel like he’s being a little flirty?”

“Is he married?”

“No ring, and no mention of any family or long-term relationship. I don’t get it, how could Mickey be single?”

“You don’t hear many people going by Mickey anymore,” she said. “Either he’s a mouse or incredibly Irish.”

“I think he’s Italian,” you mused. “Altieri sounds Italian to me.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wait, was that offensive?”

“No, just that you’re working with an alleged serial killer.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, but she was already busy typing away at her phone.

Suddenly, Lee’s phone was shoved in your face, a your hot coworker’s mugshot front and center in an archived New York Times article from October 1998.

SUSPECT ARRESTED IN WINDSOR COLLEGE KILLINGS

Michael ‘Mickey’ Altieri, 21, was arrested early Thursday morning in Windsor, Ohio, as the primary suspect in the Windsor College killings. Among the charges are first degree murder, attempted first degree murder and aggravated assault. Altieri has maintained his innocence and is being held on $1,000,000 bail in Windsor County Jail as he awaits trial.

The brutal killings that made national headlines were directly inspired by the ‘Ghostface’ murders in Woodsboro, California, two years prior and coincided with the release of STAB, a film based on Woodsboro survivor and reporter Gale Weathers’ book on the murders. Survivor Sidney Prescott was a student at Windsor College and targeted yet again in the latest string of murders. Allegedly, Altieri’s accomplice was Debbie Loomis, mother of one of the two original Ghostface killers, Billy Loomis. Mrs. Loomis was killed in an altercation prior to Altieri’s apprehension by police.

You looked away from her phone screen, feeling like your head was spinning though you weren’t even finished with your first drink. “Well, if he did all that stuff, why isn’t he on death row or something?”

“There was a mistrial. It was a huge thing,” Lee said. “You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“No. Can you send that to me?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll send some podcast episodes and Youtube videos on it, too. You know I’m on that true crime shit.”

It took a few more drinks for you to be able to shake off the thought of your hot older coworker potentially being a serial killer, but the rest of your night with Lee was a lot of fun. She’d been one of your closest friends in college, and the two of you lived together when you first moved to New York. You knew she meant well, but damn, did that news put a damper on things.

You returned to your apartment a little after midnight, kicking off your heels at the door and collapsing on your couch, not bothering to make the short walk to your bedroom. 17 missed texts from Lee, all links to videos and podcasts about Mickey that she recommended.

Among the links Lee had sent you was a nearly hour long Youtube video titled: ‘What Happened at the Windsor College Ghostface Trial? A Deep Dive’. The woman in the thumbnail had a scared expression on her face, her eyes focused on that same mugshot of Mickey you saw in the old New York Times article.

Pressing on the link in your messages, you had the video come up on your TV instead, slouching back in your seat as it began to play.

‘I know most stuff about the Windsor College murders focus on just that, the murders, but I thought it’d be interesting to go into the trial that followed because it was almost like something out of a movie, but it doesn’t get as much attention as the killings, especially since there have been like two more Ghostface murder sprees since this happened. I’m just presenting facts and my own observations here for educational purposes, and it’s not my intention to imply guilt on anyone who hasn’t been convicted in a court of law. Before we get into it though, I wanna give a huge thank you to BetterHelp for sponsoring today’s video—‘

You rolled your eyes, skipping through the three-minute long sponsorship spiel.

‘So my sources for this video are Gale Weathers’ books Wrongly Accused: The Maureen Prescott Murder, The Woodsboro Murders, and College Terror. I also used James Chase’s book Ghostface on Trial, articles from newspapers and a few like lawyer journals that I was able to find online, and whatever stuff from the trial itself that’s public information. I have it all linked in the description—“

Pausing the video, you pulled up the New York Public Library website and searched for College Terror and Ghostface on Trial. Copies of both were available at the branch near your office, and you wasted no time in putting a hold on the books.

The next few minutes of the video gave an overview of the murders at Windsor College, which you half-paid attention to. You’d watched Stab 2 in high school, so you felt you were familiar enough with the killings. Thinking back on the movie, though, all of the characters had the same names as their real-life counterparts except for Mickey. Legal reasons, you assumed.

You turned up the volume on your TV as the video finally got into the details of the trial.

‘As soon as Mickey was arrested, theories were all over the news about what had happened and there was a ton of speculation about his guilt. James Chase, a controversial defense attorney from Chicago, took on the case pro-bono, stating in his book Ghostface on Trial that he knew he stood to make more money on a book deal, interviews, and speaking engagements by winning the case than whatever fees he’d get for representing Mickey. The defense focused on discrediting both of the prosecution’s star witnesses early on in the trial, planting seeds of doubt in the jury.

Chase and his team leaned heavily on the fact that three years prior, Sidney Prescott had incorrectly identified Cotton Weary as her mother’s killer when in fact it was Sidney’s former boyfriend Billy Loomis and their mutual friend Stu Macher who had committed that initial murder that led up to the original Woodsboro Ghostface murders.

Gale Weathers’ testimony was also discounted by the defense on the fact that she was a sensationalistic tabloid journalist who’d admittedly fabricated elements of her best-selling book on the Woodsboro killings. She claimed this was a result of editing and to achieve a better narrative flow.

The defense also said the deceased Debbie Loomis had more of a reason to go after Sidney and recreate her son’s Ghostface murders as revenge for his death. They pushed the idea that she acted with Sidney’s boyfriend, Derek, and that Mickey ended up getting caught in the crosshairs of what was a gruesome and unfortunate situation. Sidney maintained Derek’s innocence, but the fact that both he and Debbie were killed by gunshot wounds made it likely they were the Ghostface duo this time around.

Former Woodsboro Deputy Dewey Riley, another survivor of both Ghostface killings, was unable to testify because he was in a coma. He later said that because he was incapacitated before Sidney and Gale allegedly confronted Debbie and Mickey, he couldn’t say for sure who the killer or killers were, but he trusted their judgment and stood behind their testimonies.

It didn’t help either that Sidney was visibly distraught while on the stand and mixed up details of the original Woodsboro murders and the Windsor College ones. Gale was initially confident while being questioned by the defense, but later became combative when the inaccuracies in her books came up. In contrast, Mickey appeared calm and earnest, and seemed to have his story straight every time he took the stand.

There’s actually some footage of the trial that I was able to find, so I’m gonna play that now.’

The video was grainy, camera focused on an agitated-looking Sidney Prescott sitting in the witness stand. On the other side of the stand, a blond man in a gray suit read off from a stack of papers in his hand.

“Ms. Prescott, in your statement to police, you claimed that Mr. Altieri admitted to both you and Ms. Weathers that he had committed the murders with Debbie Loomis and wanted to get caught. Could you perhaps explain to myself and the jury, why exactly an alleged killer would want to get caught?”

“Because he’s fucking sick in the head!” Sidney exclaimed.

“Language, Ms. Prescott,” Judge Matthews said.

“He said he did it on purpose,” Sidney continued, her voice breaking. “He told us he wanted to get caught so he could blame it on the movies! He had everything planned out, the lawyers he wanted, the angle the media would take, he even quoted that line from Psycho, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

Chase furrowed his brow as he looked over the papers in his hands. “When did he say this? I’m not seeing that in your statement.”

“He said it right after he shot Randy,“ Sidney said.

“Randy wasn’t shot, he was stabbed.”

Sidney’s eyes widened. “I know. I meant—“

“Ms. Prescott, is there something you didn’t include in your police statement that you’re telling us now?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Billy quoted Psycho, after he shot Randy at Stu Macher’s house, not Mickey. I got mixed up.”

You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. The courtroom on your screen devolved into nothing short of pandemonium. The video then faded into Gale Weathers in the middle of being questioned by the defense. She, in contrast to Sidney, looked confident and well-put together under Chase’s grilling.

“Ms. Weathers, you wrote in your book that your camera man Kenny was gutted, when in actuality his throat was slashed, is that correct?”

Gale nodded. “It is.”

“Why the inconsistency?”

“All books, fiction or nonfiction go through an editing process. That was a decision made by my editor to establish a better narrative flow. It isn’t uncommon in the true crime genre by any means.”

“Better narrative flow isn’t the truth, though, is it?” Chase asked.

“Look, a book is a book. I’ll say right now under oath that Kenny was killed when one of those guys in the Ghostface costume slit his throat. I’ll also say under oath that Mickey Altieri did commit those murders with Debbie Loomis, and he confessed it to me and Sidney Prescott.”

“Your honor, this isn’t the only major inconsistency we’ve found in Ms. Weathers’ book on the Woodsboro murders. Yesterday we distributed to the prosecution and now present to the jury at least seventeen of these major inconsistencies.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m the cheesy tabloid journalist everyone thinks I am?”

The corners of Chase’s lips twitched. “Not quite my words.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Gale scoffed.

The jury murmured among themselves at her shift in attitude. You found yourself chewing on your nail, enraptured by the trial. For the last time, the video faded out and then back in to show Mickey, your coworker, sitting on the witness stand. This time, the prosecutor was in front of him, his annoyed expression a contrast to Mickey’s calm demeanor.

“Mr. Altieri, we have signed affidavits from several of your former classmates that in your film theory class, you claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and CiCi Cooper, both of whom were killed by this ‘Ghostface’ persona of yours—“

“Objection!” Chase shouted. “Claiming the Ghostface persona belongs to Mr. Altieri is an undue presumption of guilt.”

“Sustained,” Judge Matthews said. “I advise you to reconsider your wording going forward, counselor.”

The prosecutor huffed. “You claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and Casey Cooper, both of whom were killed by the ‘Ghostface’ persona, that violent movies were responsible for influencing people to commit acts of violence, is that correct?”

“It was a classroom discussion. Our professor had brought it up because two fellow students were brutally killed at the premier of a slasher movie the night before, by someone dressed as the killer from that same slasher movie. I just thought it wasn’t a coincidence, and neither did half the other students in that class. Are you going to make them testify too?”

“Don’t deflect, Mr. Altieri.”

“I don’t understand how I’m deflecting. You asked me about a conversation I had with my classmates, and I answered.”

The video went back to the commentator, but you had goosebumps raised across your skin. You rewound back to the clip of Mickey’s testimony, staring at his face. Could he be a killer? Only a few days ago, you wouldn’t have even considered it. Now, you were down a rabbit hole that sent your mind reeling.

‘A lot of the prosecution’s evidence was dismissed as circumstantial by the defense. Mickey had alibis for all of the murders, even for the one Sidney claimed to witness him commit, allegedly shooting her boyfriend Derek. The chat room records and emails allegedly linked to Debbie and Mickey didn’t do much to convince the jury of Mickey’s alleged involvement in the murders. The records did positively identify Debbie based on the account’s password hints and her IP address. The other user was more tech savvy, changing IP addresses to make it more difficult to confirm an identity.

In move that was described as ‘sloppy’ and ‘desperate’ by the media following the trial’s conclusion, the prosecution also tried to claim that Mickey being the only other survivor among Sidney’s friends was suspicious and indicated his involvement, but the defense pointed out that Randy Meeks had also been the only other survivor of Sidney’s friend group in the original Woodsboro killings despite a gunshot wound like Mickey had, and later on at Windsor he was a victim.

Randy Meeks’ murder actually played a huge role in the defense’s strategy. Several Windsor College students saw Mickey elsewhere on campus during Randy’s murder. The final nail in the coffin was when Windsor County police confirmed that DNA in the news van where Randy was murdered was a match for Debbie Loomis. The police retested other evidence, but couldn’t find anything conclusive.

After weeks of questioning and evidence, the jury deliberated for a little over five days before returning to the judge in a deadlock. Judge Matthews declared a mistrial, and less than a year later, a district court dismissed the case on lack of substantial evidence and all charges against Mickey Altieri were dropped. Despite media speculation that he would, Mickey chose not to sue Sidney and Gale for defamation and hasn’t been in the public eye since the controversial trial.’

You stared blankly at your TV screen when the video ended, another one auto-playing a few seconds later. Even after your drinks with Lee, you felt way too sober to even process any of it. For the next few hours, you devoured videos, bookmarked dozens of articles, and sifted through podcast episodes to listen to during work.

The odd case had made its home in the recesses of your mind. You dreamed about him when you finally fell asleep, just before sunrise. Sitting in the downtown Manhattan office, the open floor layout was unusually bright, fluorescent lighting washing the place in an eerie white glow. Mickey walked over to his desk, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering on the carpet in a trail leading right to him. He looked at you, a smile on his face as he brought his upright, bloody index finger to his lips.

As the weekend flew by, you tried to keep yourself otherwise occupied. It wasn’t good for you to stay fixated on it, and certainly not fair to Mickey.

Working from home on Monday helped, as you focused on finishing the last of the onboarding process.

Tuesday was where things became tricky again. You sat on the forty-minute long subway ride to the office equipped with a podcast episode about your new coworker. The hosts didn’t seem to have much new information from what you took in the night before, except for the last few minutes of the episode where they’d gone off-script.

‘Last I saw online, he was living in Manhattan.’

‘Oh my god, that’s so Patrick Bateman-core.’

‘So you think he did it?’

‘It’s tough to say, like I totally get why the jury couldn’t come to a consensus.’

‘Yeah same, messy as hell. I tend to think that he didn’t do it. Innocent until proven guilty, ya know?’

‘I get that. We did try to get in touch with him for some kind of statement or even an interview—‘

‘Wishful thinking.’

‘Yeah, we looked for his email address, but I guess it wasn’t the right one because our message got bounced back, so that was a big fat bust.’

‘He’s like notorious for denying interview requests, anyway. I think he turned down book deals and stuff.’

Enraptured by the conversation, you nearly missed your stop. On the three block walk to your office, you hurriedly opened one of your playlists and put it on shuffle. The last thing you needed was for Mickey to somehow see on your home screen you’d just been listening to a podcast episode about him.

Your head was spinning by the time you got to your desk. He hadn’t arrived yet, and you felt a bit relieved that you had a little more time to psych yourself up. You shouldn’t have even had to do that in the first place, just be normal about your coworker, but if you learned anything over the weekend, even if he wasn’t guilty, he sure as hell wasn’t normal.

The elevator doors opened, and you looked up to see him walk out, waving at you.

“Morning, Y/N, have a good weekend?”

“Pretty good. I’m more broke than when it started, though. How about you?”

“Like I told you, hot date with Netflix,” he said, sitting down. “Thought you were sticking with shitty liquor?”

“I was, but my friend wasn’t. I got the tab, and she got plenty of margaritas.”

“Shit, I oughta get drinks with you sometime if you get all your friends’ tabs.”

You grinned. “Don’t count your luck.”

He chuckled to himself. The two of you worked in near silence for the next three hours, though you found yourself glancing over at him every so often, out of curiosity and also admiration. His graying hair suited him, and you could see the muscles in his arms from his casually rolled up shirt sleeves.

Soon, though, you found it hard to stay awake, the light from your computer screen adding onto your fatigue. To your horror, you yawned loudly, catching Mickey’s attention.

“You alright? I’m not too boring, am I?”

“No, I just kept waking up last night. I feel like I barely slept.”

“Why don’t we take an early lunch and go get coffee?”

“That sounds great,” you said, grabbing your purse.

There was a deli right up the block, and when you looked at the small pastry case, you decided to order something with your coffee. Mickey placed his order, a hot coffee and a bear claw. With plenty of tables to choose from, you and Mickey sat near the window.

Your coffee definitely hit the spot, and the sugar from your pastry helped wake you up too.

“How long’s your commute?” Mickey asked.

“About 40 minutes. I live in Brooklyn, kinda between Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.”

“Damn, that’s long. I live on the Upper West Side.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. Before this job, I was barely able to afford to rent on my own.”

“It’s a rent-controlled building. I’m not making a ton after alimony and child support.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, though he looked out the window as he continued speaking. “It was a long time ago. Deanna and me just didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff when our son was born. I knew before he even got to kindergarten it was over.”

Unsure of how to respond, you slowly reached across the table, putting your hand over his. “I’m sorry, Mickey, really.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. “They live upstate, so I don’t see them much. I have more time for going to the movies and Mets games.”

“I only go when they’re bad because tickets are cheaper.”

He snickered. “I should take a page outta your book. How about you? Any sports? Or reading? Isn’t true crime pretty popular with young women now?”

Your heart pounded at his question. Innocuous enough. True crime was extremely popular. The paranoid part of you couldn’t help but feel like it was an accusation. Then again, he couldn’t possibly know you’d spent the weekend immersing yourself in it, particularly stuff about him.

“I’m not really interested in that,” you said. “Sometimes my friends and I go to trivia nights at bars. I’m not that good, but it’s fun to just hang out. I have a membership at the MOMA, so I go there a lot. They show movies sometimes, too.”

To your relief, the conversation shifted to just that, and Mickey seemed surprised by some of your opinions on different movies. He told you he’d originally gone to college for film studies, which you already knew, of course. The odd thing was, while you certainly didn’t want him aware of just how much you knew about him, you didn’t feel guilty for it, just that he would be weirded out by it, obviously.

You and Mickey ended up talking about movies for nearly an hour and a half, well over your allotted hour lunch break, but he assured you no one would care that much. Still, the two of you half-ran back to the office, and something bubbled in your chest when he sat down and smiled at you, the wrinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent.

The rest of the workday went by quickly, and you headed to the library where you’d reserved the two books about the Windsor College murders and trial. By the time you got home, you’d already devoured the first two chapters of Gale Weathers’ book. Glad to be working remotely the following day, you let yourself stay up later than usual to read, getting to the halfway point before you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Weeks turned into months, and you absolutely loved your job, and the pay, but most of all, how the content you consumed and your proximity to Mickey seemed to feed into each other in a vicious cycle that increasingly drowned out the rational part of you that knew what you were doing was weird.

Still, it wasn’t like you were invading his personal privacy or treating him any different than you did before. All of the information you’d read, listened to, or watched was all public as your running list of books, podcasts, and documentaries on the matter grew. You’d even rewatched the Stab movies and started scrolling through threads and tags related to Mickey and what happened at Windsor College. After all of the personal research you did and how much you’d gotten to know Mickey at work, you couldn’t conclusively say whether or not he did it.

You tried keeping your obsession lowkey, but your friends seemed to notice how you’d shoehorn it into conversations. Lee had even told you she was afraid she’d created a monster by bringing up Mickey’s past in the first place. If she’d never made her comment or showed you that first article, you probably never would’ve known about it, remaining blissfully unaware and going about your business at your typical office job with your hot older coworker.

For how much time you spent at home between work and researching, it seemed like whenever you’d go out, you’d come home to something missing or moved. Articles of clothing gone, coffee mugs out of place, books not quite in the order you’d left them. At first, you chalked it up to your consuming too much true crime content, feeding into your paranoia, but when you asked your landlord to install another lock on your door, it all seemed to stop. That didn’t bode well with you.

Your fantasies blended with reality in your dreams, as you were having increasing occurrences of Ghostface or Mickey, or both, in them. Whenever you woke up, you didn’t remember much except for a warm feeling in your core. One dream remained vivid even after you awoke, though.

You were in your apartment alone, late at night, when you got a call from an unknown number. Normally, you didn’t pick up calls unless you were expecting them, but for some reason you picked up. The details of the phone call itself were jumbled, but you were frightened, running into your bedroom and locking the door behind you.

To your horror, you’d locked yourself in with Ghostface, the looming predator who looked at you emotionlessly, stalking toward you with his knife. When you turned around, the door knob was gone, and a black gloved hand grabbed your shoulder, moving you to face him as he pushed you against the door. He sliced through your slinky pajama top, exposing your breasts to him. Roughly groping each of them, he let out a low moan in appreciation before bringing the knife to your collarbone, dragging the blade to the valley between your breasts. Your breath hitched as he pressed it a bit deeper, but instead, you felt it in your pussy, like he was penetrating you.

“Give me a kiss, sweetheart,” your masked assailant ordered in a distorted voice.

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips against the cold, hard plastic mask. You gasped as he dug the knife into your skin with one hand, his other slipping under your panties, pushing his fingers between your folds.

“I own you,” he said, clearly in Mickey’s voice this time.

You threw your head back in ecstasy as he pushed his fingers into your tight cunt, and then your alarm blared, jolting you awake. Turning over, you groaned into your pillow in frustration. At least it ended up being great masturbation material later on.

Another Thursday at work, seemingly uneventful as usual. You and Mickey had gotten into the habit of getting lunch together whenever you both were in the office. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but as time went on, they felt more like dates than just a casual lunch with a coworker. Not that you were complaining.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” he asked in the nearby deli the two of you had begun to frequent.

“No, not really.”

“Do you wanna come over after work tomorrow? Watch a movie or something?” he asked.

“That’d be great!” you said, almost a bit too enthusiastically. “Should I bring anything?”

He shook his head, smiling a bit. “I can order a pizza.”

For some reason, you trusted yourself to be normal at his place, telling yourself throughout Friday that everything would work out fine. Being a weirdo about his alleged murders certainly wouldn’t help you get a real date with him, but your infatuation with him was only growing. You liked the slightest hint of danger about him, going to his apartment alone, wondering in the back of your mind what his true intentions were and feeling a bit of a thrill at the prospect that they could be anything less than innocent.

You showed up at his apartment that evening with a bottle of wine in hand, even though he’d told you not to bring anything. As expected, he thanked you for the wine, though he gave you an exasperated look as he let you into his apartment. Nicer than yours, but it still looked lived-in.

“Pizza will be here in a couple of minutes,” he said. “I’m thinking Mean Streets for the movie.”

“It’s a classic,” you agreed. “I love Harvey Keitel in it.”

“You know, that was De Niro and Scorsese’s first time working together.”

“Wait, why did I think Taxi Driver was first?”

“Came out in ‘76, just after he was in Godfather Part II in ‘74. Busy decade for him.”

“You’re telling me.”

The doorbell rang, the pizza arriving sooner than expected. You waited in the kitchen while Mickey dealt with the delivery.

“We can eat in the living room while we watch,” he said, carrying the pizza box inside. “I don’t have many people over, so it’s still a little messy.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him.

He put on the movie, and you balanced the paper plate on your lap, nodding along to “Be My Baby” as it played during the opening scene. Testing the waters, you scooted closer to him a few minutes into the movie. He glanced over at you, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

You were especially pleased when he put his arm around you, not bothering with the pretense of a “move,” but rather taking what he wanted. Settling comfortably next to him, you tried to focus on the movie.

Despite his arm around your shoulders, closer physically to him than you ever had been, you felt restless. You knew when the halfway point of the movie was, and so you excused yourself to use the bathroom, telling him he didn’t need to pause it until you returned.

The tips of your fingers itched as you passed closed doors to the bathroom, which he told you was at the end of the hall. Biting your lip, you considered your options, and in a moment of impulse and weakness, you reached for one of the door handles. A mostly empty extra bedroom, maybe his son’s old room.

You weren’t deterred, opening another door. Jackpot. Slightly messy, with clothes strewn about the floor and on the dark sheets of his bed. Glancing behind you, you stepped into his room and looked around for anything that stood out.

Most people hid things under their beds, and so you got down on your hands and knees, wondering where exactly he might hide his—

“Don’t think this is the bathroom,” he said, startling you.

You yelped, frantically turning around as your brain short circuited for an explanation. “I—I was just—“

“Looking for trophies? All serial killers keep them, right?” he asked, towering over you from your spot on the floor. “Mementos of their victims or the kills.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but you’re looking in the wrong place anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from behind his back.

“Serial killers also don’t—don’t kill people th-they know,” you stammered.

“Typically,” he agreed, “but I’m not typical, am I? I’m sure you’ve listened to plenty of those cute little podcasts where some dumbasses read the Wikipedia page about the Windsor College murders in between hawking security systems to their listeners that they’ve just scared shitless. I admitted I did it, went to fucking trial, and the jury couldn’t even find me guilty.”

“Point taken.”

“So, what trophy would I keep from you?”

You were silent for a moment before answering, looking him in the eye. “My panties.”

“Which pair? Figure I have at least five of them now. Unless you wanna make that six, sweetheart.”

“You’ve been breaking into my place all this time.”

“You made it way too easy. It’s like you were asking for it.”

Maybe you were. Regardless, you didn’t show any resistance when he lightly kicked at your leg, a silent command to stand up. You got to your feet, though your gaze was fixed on the knife in his hand. His eyes followed yours, and he smirked a bit before putting the knife aside.

He turned you around, pushing you back onto his bed. Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed your skirt up, his hand caressing your ass, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your panties.

“Were you asking for it, sweetheart? Have you wanted this all along? Been a bad girl to get my attention?”

“Yes,” you whimpered weakly, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Y’know, I’ve heard of serial killers having groupies, but you,” he said, slapping your ass for emphasis, eliciting a moan from you, “are something else.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you whispered, fidgeting against his mattress.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Another smack on your ass. “I could’ve been having fun with you months ago.” Smack! You hissed this time, though your pussy was pulsing between your legs. “Bent you over my desk in the office, have my way with you while no one else is around—or maybe a little slut like you would wanna get caught with daddy’s dick buried inside her.”

He spanked you harder this time, holding you down when your body instinctively recoiled at the impact. A pained moan escaped your lips as he pressed his body weight against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your tender skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as the sensation, and you resisted the urge to slip your hand between your legs.

“Or maybe,” he said, reaching around you to wrap his hand around your neck, “you just want me to fuck you before I kill you. Probably cum the minute I put that old Ghostface mask on, huh, baby?”

You let out a strangled moan at his words. “Yes, daddy.”

He released his grip on your throat, standing up to give you one more slap across your ass. “Turn over. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The friction from his sheets stung against your sore ass as you rolled over to look at him, though he grabbed you, pushing you onto your back himself. His grip on you was tight, fingers digging into your arms as he held you down beneath him, completely at his mercy.

He pulled off your skirt and panties, leaving your pussy exposed for him. He dragged his index finger between your folds, and you whimpered when he brushed your clit.

“God, you’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips. “Was it the spanking, or is it the serial killer thing?”

“Both.”

“Good answer,” he said, lazily circling your clit with his finger.

He ducked his head down, wasting no time in devouring your wet cunt. His tongue relentlessly flicked at your clit while he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole. You took them easily, but wondered if it’d be the same for his cock when he’d undoubtedly fuck you.

Your hands gripped his sheets as he worked his tongue, your feet curling at the tension you felt building up inside of you. He moaned against you, loud enough that it felt like his voice rocked through your body.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly.

A pained and outraged whine pulled from your throat when he did just that. You looked down at him between your legs, betrayed.

“Why should I let you cum?” he teased, rubbing light circles in your clit with his soaked fingers. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Please, daddy.”

“You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

“Please let me cum, daddy. I’ll be so good. I—I’ll do anything, just—please,” you cried out in frustration of being so close yet not quite there.

“Only since you asked so nicely,” he relented, dipping his head back down between your legs, his hands holding your hips in place as your lower half began to quiver at his touch.

You could feel his lips move slightly against your sensitive pussy, nothing short of a smug expression on his face at making you fall apart so easily. It didn’t matter, your head was swimming, muscles strained as he brought you closer to climax. Grabbing his hair, you pressed his face closer against your pussy, grinding against it in desperation.

“Mickey—Fuck—“ you choked out as your orgasm wracked through you, fireworks in between your legs as your body shook.

He ate you out through your orgasm, and another tidal wave of pleasure hit you all at once, almost painful and overwhelming, your brain on fire at the sensation. You could hardly catch your breath when you released your grip from his hair and he lifted his head, your wetness glistening on his lips.

When he kissed you, you hardly had the strength to kiss him back, though tasting yourself on his mouth sent a rush through you. He pressed sloppy kisses to your face, trailing down to your neck. His hard length rubbed against your slick-coated thigh, a low growl coming from deep in his throat.

“W-Wait, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Did you really wanna get caught?”

He stopped, lifting his head from your neck to look at you a few moments before answering, “Yeah, blame the movies, make a real circus of the trial, but my attorney said he didn’t think I could pull off an insanity plea because I was too put together. Obviously pleading guilty and confessing everything wouldn’t get nearly as much attention as actually going on trial. I was pissed at first, but it worked out, I mean I had every reporter eating out of the palm of my hand by day three.”

“Why don’t you do interviews now? Or write a book?”

“What’s there to say? Not the truth.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you muttered. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“Probably should,” he said, the slightest smirk ghosting his lips as his eyes raked over you, “I might need more convincing not to.”

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