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mead-iocre · 18 days ago

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Run | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: you are walking home alone at night. someone is following you. Read more of the Butter's Meadio-cre Mayhem (the Spooky Season collection) here

warnings: a little darker than what i usually write

wc: 2.5k words

The evening air was crisp, lingering sounds of the city winding down for the night. Street lights flickered as you and the girls stepped out of the restaurant. You were all slightly tipsy, bellies full of authentic Italian pasta and vintage French wine. Being a good friend, you waited with them for their uber to come pick them up. Your flat was only a short walk away from the restaurant, so after exchanging goodbyes and making promises to meet up again soon, you watched as they got driven away until the taillights were merely specs of light blinking in the distance.

The night was cool, and the city streets felt empty, save for the occasional hum of a passing car. You always enjoyed walking home after a good meal, and London at night time was usually good company. It was serene, and peaceful. Such a contrast to the hustle and bustle of the usual mornings. You didn’t have to worry about tourists who walked too slow, or mothers and their massive pushchairs taking over the entire pavement.

You passed through the park, a quick shortcut, passing by a few people with tired, weary faces probably on their way home from work. Soon enough you reach the rows of residential streets, so close to home that you could almost taste the leftover tupperwares of garlic parmesen chicken wings from wingstop in the refrigerator.

You wrapped your coat tighter against yourself and started walking, your boots tapping lightly against the concrete. It was the only sound you could hear. The quiet of the evening settled around you like a blanket in a way that was comforting almost. But soon something pierced that calm—a second set of footsteps.

They were faint at first, almost blending with your own. You noticed it earlier but you figured it must just be someone else making their way home. Taking your phone out of your coat pocket, you check the time to see that it was nearing 11 pm. Surely you weren’t the only one walking home from a night out or a date night in the city. But you couldn’t help but take notice of the footsteps. Curiously, you slowed down your pace, pretending to fiddle with your phone while conspicuously checking your peripheral to see if you could make out the owner of the footsteps.

Your heart dropped when you noticed they slowed too.

It was just a coincidence.

Surely.

It had to be.

But when you sped up again, the footsteps followed suit, quickening in lockstep. Your pulse throbbed in your ears. Feeling brave, you stole a glance behind you.

A figure was walking several paces back, draped in a dark jacket, dark trousers, and their face was hidden beneath a hood. They were tall in stature, broad shoulders, long legs. Most likely male. They were strolling towards you, without a care in the world, just a few metres away, with both of their hands hidden in their trouser pockets. Panic fluttered in your chest. You’ve been listening to far too many true crime podcasts to know that right now you were the perfect victim for anyone with cruel intentions. Stories of young, vulnerable women walking alone at night, only to end up missing– or worse dead– flood your mind. You looked away and picked up your pace, your heart beating faster now. But the footsteps behind you only grew louder.

Closer.

Your stomach knotted with dread. Someone was definitely following you.

You could hear him a lot clearer behind you now—a faint, steady rhythm of footsteps growing louder with each second. He wasn’t rushing, just matching your pace, like he was toying with you. Like this was just some sort of sick, twisted joke to them. The sound made your skin crawl, icy terror flooding your veins. You didn't dare look back now.

With shaky hands, you hunch over your phone, finger hovering over your emergency contact for a second before you press the call button without further hesitation. You hoped training was over by now.

The phone rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey, baby. How was dinner with the girls? Are you on your way home?” Leah’s voice was light. She had training today in preparation for an upcoming match later that week. However, she had been coming home a lot later than usual because they had meetings after training.

“Yeah, just left actually” You said, eyes flickering nervously over your shoulder. You couldn’t see much thanks to the lack of lamp posts in this particular street. “I’m walking home now…”

There was a pause on the other end. “What’s going on, baby? You sound…weird”

Your throat tightened. Swallowing the best you can, you quickened your pace as the sound of steps behind you suddenly became more pronounced. Trying to force yourself to focus on Leah’s familiar voice on the other end of the phone, you press the phone closer to your ear, as if it could save you from the fear overtaking your body. “I think someone’s following me”

A rustle was heard on the other end, a few inaudible shouting and yells before Leah’s voice came back, this time there was a harshness to her tone. “Where are you? I’ll come get you”

“Lee, I'm probably just being paranoid. I don’t know, maybe they just happen to be walking in the same direction as me” But you were starting to doubt that was the case. You could still hear his steps behind you and you doubt it was a coincidence at this point.

Nearing the end of the street, you turn your head from side to side before crossing. What was usually a welcoming and familiar street in the mornings, is now eerily unassuming at night time. There was only one lamppost on the other side of the street, the light dim as if it could go out at any second. Most of the houses along the street had their lights off, probably already in the safety of their own warm beds. You, on the other hand, are alone and cold.

“Baby, tell me where you are. I’m in the car now” You hear the distinct click of the car key, some more shuffling. The sound of Leah's car rumbling to life does little to comfort you but at least she was nearly there. The training grounds was only about a 20 minute drive away from where you were.

She’ll be here soon, you tell yourself.

You glance around at the dark street ahead, cursing the lack of shops and street lights, you try to steady your voice. “I’m only less than 10 minutes away from home. I’ll be fine. I think—”

Your sentence was cut off by the sharp sound of footsteps picking up behind you, a lot closer than you realised. He wasn't matching your pace anymore. He didn’t care if you noticed him following you. You spun around, heart leaping into your throat. You turned, and a dark figure was walking faster, closing the gap.

“Leah,” You walked briskly, more hurried. Your voice trembled, just barely above a whisper. “They’re getting closer.”

“Baby, listen to me—run. Don’t look back, just run. I’m on my way.”

You did not have to be told twice. You broke into a run, your boots thumping against the pavement. You wanted to cry, tears were already welling in your eyes, but the blurriness would only slow you down.

Sprinting down the narrow, dimly lit street, your breath came in short, ragged gasps. The night air is heavy and still, a thick fog rolling in, muffling the distant sounds of the rest of the city. Old brick houses loom tall on either side, their windows dark and unwelcoming.

The only light sources are the light illuminating from your phone screen and a few street lights that flicker erratically, casting long, distorted shadows along the pavement. Every step you take seems to echo unnaturally loud, the silence only amplifying your fear. The cold air clings to your skin, biting at your face.

You risk a glance behind you, your pulse racing as you glance over her shoulder, but there's nothing there. Nothing you can see. You falter slightly, almost tripping on your own two feet. Is he gone?

Turning your head left and right, you look around you. As if the figure was going to pop out at any second to come get you.

But you’ve watched enough horror movies to know that the character who lets the monsters catch up to them always dies next. Without wasting another second, you continue on running. The next street up ahead is your street. Home.

Home is close. But the street seems to stretch on endlessly, like some cruel trick. Your heartbeat is deafening, and mind races, whispering doubts. Did you take the wrong turn? Are you still being followed? The wind picks up, rustling through the trees lining the road, but it sounds more like distant whispers, low and unsettling.

Your footsteps quicken, almost stumbling now, each stride feeling more desperate than the last. There's a faint noise—a creak, or maybe a footstep—in the darkness behind you, but this time you don’t dare stop to check. You are almost home. Almost safe. But they always say that at night, safety feels like an illusion, just out of reach.

Because that’s when you hear it again.

Footsteps.

This time they were loud. Like the person was right behind you, ready to grab you at any second. You started running again. Your breath came in ragged gasps, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the soft thud of your boots stopping on the rain-slicked pavement. The streets were still unnervingly quiet.

Your feet slapped the pavement harder as you veered onto the last alley. Shadows stretched and warped along the brick walls, twisted shapes that seemed to move in your peripheral. Stumbling over the uneven ground, your boot catching the edge of the pavement, just barely catching yourself before tumbling forward. Your hands scraped against the rough wall, but the sting of fresh cuts did nothing to distract you from the mounting fear.

The footfalls behind you never faltered.

The houses, with their shuttered windows and dark facades, loomed like silent witnesses, indifferent to your panic. You were so close now—just a few more houses down and you’d be home. But your legs felt leaden, each step heavier than the last, like you were being dragged down by something.

But you weren't going to stop now. Not when you were so close to home. You grit your teeth, running as fast as you could.

The stranger’s pace behind you thundered in response, chasing, closing the gap. You darted into a side street, your breath ragged, pulse hammering in your throat. You didn’t dare look back again, didn’t dare stop. Your feet hit the ground in a desperate rhythm, mind racing, trying to think of what to do next.

Suddenly, you felt it—hands. Grabbing you from behind, pulling you back.

You screamed, but the sound was ripped from your throat as you were spun around, your back slamming into a cold, rough brick wall. You braced yourself for the worst, expecting a stranger’s cruel eyes, but—

“Baby! Hey, it’s me!”

Leah’s voice cut through the panic. Your girlfriend stood there, her ponytail wonky, still dressed in her training kit, blue eyes wide with alarm. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her face flushed, like would after playing on the pitch for the full 90 minutes. She let go of your arms, stepping back quickly as if he’d just realised the terror she had caused you.

Leah.

It was only Leah.

You blinked, still trembling, trying to process the sudden shift from blind fear to relief. “Leah? What the fuck— it was you running behind me?”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you!” she stammered, running a hand through her dishevelled hair. “I saw you crossing the street. I called your name, but you didn’t hear me, and then… when you ran, I just… I panicked and ran after you.”

You just stared at her, heart still thudding in your chest. Your mind was reeling, trying to calm the panic that hadn’t yet subsided. "You were following me," your muttered, still dazed. "I thought—"

“I know,” Leah interrupted, her voice softer now, guilty seeping through. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning against the alley wall. The adrenaline was still pulsing through your veins, and your body refused to relax. "I was so fucking scared." You confessed, visibly shuddering, knees going weak. "I thought I was being chased by some fucking creep."

Leah’s face fell, a frown forming, guilt etched across her features. She cupped your cheek, pulling you close, the warmth of her palm providing much needed comfort. She gently kissed the crown of your head, tucking your face in the crook of her neck. "I am so sorry, baby. I’ll try to shout louder next time, and yell out my name or something. I promise."

You forced a chuckle, your breath fanning her neck. Although a part of you still felt uneasy, like you hadn’t quite shaken off the fear completely. For a moment longer, you revelled in her warmth and the safety of her embrace. But truthfully you just wanted to forget it even happened. You press a kiss against the side of her neck, reluctantly pulling away. "Let’s just go home."

Stepping out of the dark corner of the street together, and back into the glow of the streetlights, your heart began to slow. but you still kept a tight grip on Leah’s hand. She’s got her arm over your shoulder as you huddled into her side, and her other hand was occupied by your own. To strangers you both probably looked ridiculous walking like that, sticking so closely to each other, like you were glued together. But you did not care. You would’ve asked Leah to carry you in her arms if you could muster the courage to do so.

As you walked towards home, the sounds of the city returned, a few cars passing by, distant voices drifting in the wind. But something still tugged at you, an odd prickling at the back of your neck. The one you get when something doesn't feel right.

You couldn’t help, but glance behind you again.

For a brief moment, you thought you saw something—movement, a shadow darting back into the side of the street. Your breath caught. The dark shape of a figure melted into the blackness just as quickly as you saw it, like it had been there the whole time, watching.

Stopping in your tracks, you turn to Leah, your skin crawling. You scratch at your arm, feeling goosebumps along your skin. "Did you see that?"

She looked over her shoulder, frowning. "See what, baby?"

"There was—" You hesitated, squinting into the shadows. It was so, so dark. But you could just about make out an empty street. Nothing but the distant murmur of cars driving past filled the air.

You shook your head, feeling a shiver creep up your spine. “Nothing. Must’ve been my imagination.”

Leah smiled, oblivious, and tugged on your hand gently. "Come on, let’s get you home. You’ve had enough scares for one night."

You nodded slowly, but as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still being watched. The footsteps from earlier still echoed in your ears. You glanced back once more back

And for a split second, you could swear you saw something move. A figure, just at the edge of the shadows where the blinking street light lamp could not reach. Someone was still watching you.

(had to repost this because it was not showing up in the tags even after 24 hours for some reason)

first story in the butter's meadio-cre mayhem (the spooky season collection). the rest of the stories will not be as spooky as this one but they will be halloween/fall season themed! i thought it's only appropriate to have at least one spooky-ish story in this collection <3333

comments and reactions appreciated!

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #leah williamson imagine #my fics #woso one shot #leah williamson fanfic #leah williamson x you

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sillygoofyqueer · 3 months ago

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Even more thoughts, for you to post if you so choose!

I do love the idea of Shen Yuan having a fancy hair piece with a pin that doubles as a weapon! Just because demon crows don’t have access to spiritual swords doesn’t mean he can’t stab the hell out of you.

For his main weapon, I’m thinking crow demons that can take human form tend to use bows, with the feathers shed by their clan as fletching. (Perhaps demon feathers also grant abilities of some sort to the arrows?)

Looking at the iridescence of crow feathers reminds me of the Chinese tradition of making jewelry with kingfisher feathers. Now I think it would be lovely if the crow demons also had a tradition of fashioning similar jewelry with their own feathers, perhaps treated with solutions and lacquered in a way that brings out even more of their color.

Speaking of colors, while crows aren’t among those birds able to see significant ultraviolet, they are tetrachromats, and thus are able to distinguish colors to a far greater extent than humans. I’m sure his sudden ability to see way more colors than he could in his last life is very perplexing to poor Shen Yuan!

The regular crows acting as an alarm system by cursing and saying spooky nonsense at all unknown visitors is an absolute delight!

I vote that Shen Yuan intentionally never gives them whatever signal that would mark Airplane as a friend, just so they continue to harass the guy every time he comes to visit. 😂

(I’m thinking poor Airplane is trying to set up trade routes for demons, and struggling with the general hostility different types of demons have for one another. Killing interlopers and/or raiding other demons for their stuff is not conductive to trade! It’s no wonder demons lack the arts. Nobody shares anything with anyone, except when giving demon nobles tribute. 😭)

You know, with all the feathers and bird-folks about, the transmigrators probably figure out quill pens. Not sure how big of an improvement they’d be compared to brushes, but they’re at least more like what the transmigrators are used to.

It’d also be funny if all the demon crows and villagers were learning to write simplified Chinese from Shen Yuan, instead of traditional, leading visitors to wonder what the hell is up with this one location’s weird writing system, where half the characters are inexplicably different.

(He probably teaches them traditional too, if only for the sake of reading imported books and things, but simplified is probably faster for personal notes and bookkeeping or the like).

I've always loved when people have weapons in discreet places, so it seemed necessary to dump that onto Shen Yuan because he's the most iconic character ever. Especially CrowYuan as well, it seems like something he'd do just to be safe when it comes to these things - after everything he's read, it's hard not to always be prepared. (Also, a more cheeky reason if I may, imagine Shen Yuan in a sticky situation and he pulls the hair pin out of his hair, now holding a weapon and looking AWESOME as he does it) Also, main weapon as a bow IS MAKING ME LOOOSE MY MIND. Ever since I was little, I've been obsessed with people who use bows (Legolas, Robin Hood, Hawkeye, Kate Bishop, various book characters) and the idea of giving Shen Yuan a bow?? I am dropping to my knees and shaking my fists at the sky. HUZZAAAHH!!! Feathers as fletching is a great idea, almost like a calling card of sorts, as well as a warning. Demon feathers giving certain abilities to arrows is a brilliant idea, such as resilience, poison, increased speeds (useful for high pressure situations where someone has to die before they can be alerted). I'd find it interesting if different demon feathers grant different abilities, and it's almost a norm for these demons to trade feathers! The jewellery idea is absolutely gorgeous and adorable! I was thinking that it could mainly be a crow demon thing, and to have one made for you if you aren't a crow demon is a sign of great trust within the community, a decision that has to be agreed to by at least half of the community! Also, itty bitty angst idea, this jewellery could also be highly sought out because it's gorgeous and its making is entirely a clan secret that is only taught to those within it - so, it's often seen as a spoil of war, a way to brag about a crow demon's death is to wear the jewellery "won" from "battle". Shen Yuan would most definitely be thrown off guard by this wider arrange of colours, often found in the wildest areas of the forest and just staring at everything. At first, he wonders if it's because he's a demon now, but more research (aka, bullying a demon chicken Airplane for answers) shows that it is fact not because he's a demon, but instead because he's a crow. He is both excited that he can see all these colours and fiercely delighted that Airplane can't, because he's a spiteful little shit and I love him. If Airplane comes to visit, he's grown adept to immediately submitting to the harassment of the crows because they soon grow bored of him if they don't get any reaction other than pitiful screaming. (He would highly suffer from trying to set up trade routes as well, lmaooo) OH MY GOD, if Mobei Jun ever comes to visit Bing-ge, he would also be immediately attacked by crows and that is funnier than anything else right now in my mind. His stern face immediately becomes one of absolute outrage, but it quickly becomes confusion when Bing-ge says he can't attack them back because "Shen Yuan would never forgive me" On the idea of feathers as quill pens, that would end up being incredibly useful for them! Perhaps the use of certain demon feathers would be better than others if we go by different demon feathers holding different abilities - for instance, let's say crow feathers hold increased speed, that would be helpful for writing because one would merely need to guide the quill and let it do the rest. However, a demon feather that created a poison effect, let's say chicken feathers, would not be the best for writing, which makes certain feathers more valuable than others for different things! Shen Yuan would be a great teacher, because he knows the traditional Chinese - which is useful for things you previously mentioned - but then he would be able to introduce a whole new writing system that makes it easier to write. This would be especially useful for those who may struggle with the traditional Chinese, because then they would still be able to access writing!! {part seven! part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, and part six!}

#four answers asks #crowyuan au #at least I don't have summer work anymore #scum villian self saving system #scum villain #svsss #svsss au #shen yuan #luo bingge #bingge #binggeyuan

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yanderelionwrites · 1 year ago

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Trick or Treat (Male!Yandere x Reader)

A Halloween one-shot for spooky season 🎃 I didn't want it to be too long so it's a little rushed, but here it is. Enjoy!

Content Warning: yandere, breaking and entering, assault/grabbing, manipulation

Word Count: 1.9k

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come to the party with us? I have a spare costume you could borrow that I know you would look great in!” Your roommate asked, adjusting the faux dog ears that were sitting atop her head as she walked into the kitchen.

You pulled a candy bowl out of the cupboard, dumping the sweet treats you had bought earlier today and filling it up to the brim. You smiled politely at her, but shook your head.

“Nah, I’m good. You know parties aren’t really my thing. Besides, somebody’s gotta watch over the house to make sure it doesn’t get TP’d or egged or whatever.”

“Still, though, I feel bad leaving you here by yourself. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“You sound like such a mom, Mallory,” Your other roommate, Tristan, snarked, coming down the stairs clad in a black cat costume. “(Name)’s been home alone plenty of times before. They’re not a kid.”

“I know, but it’s Halloween! The holiday just makes being alone feel more scary…”

“I’ll be fine, Mal,” You sighed, though you were still grateful for her concern.

“We should probably get going now,” Tristan said, checking his phone. “Come on, Mal, let’s go,” Tristan grabbed ahold of her wrist, dragging her out the front door. “Don’t have too much fun without us, alright?” He winked at you.

“Bye, (Name)! We’ll probably be back around midnight! Call us if you need anything!”

After waving them goodbye, you took a small table and placed the candy bowl on top, leaving it out front with a “take two” sign. You had only bought one bag so if it ran out, it ran out. Locking the door behind you, you made your way upstairs to your bedroom, excitement coursing through your body. You loved your roommates, but there was just something about having the whole house to yourself that made you giddy. A true introvert at heart.

Plopping down on your bed, you turned on your TV, scrolling through streaming sites to decide what to watch. In honor of the holiday, you naturally chose a horror movie, something you’ve never seen before but heard good things about. Cuddling up with your favorite plush, you get comfortable as the film starts, ready to experience the same dread and terror alongside the main characters.

That feeling never came however, because you quickly fell asleep not even 30 minutes into the movie. An hour had gone by by the time you woke up, with the credits rolling and the obnoxious sound of the doorbell going off. You stuffed your face into the blanket you were wrapped up in, hoping and waiting for the visitor to go away. The candy bowl was probably empty and some greedy brat was outside demanding for more.

You were forced to jump out of bed and stomp down the stairs when the ringing only continued, followed by loud knocking. Damn entitled kids. You thought bitterly, undoing the locks and yanking the front door back without even checking who was outside first.

“Look, I don’t got any more candy, so just-” You barked, but stopped mid-sentence when you were met with a tall figure dressed head to toe in black clothes. He had a hood covering his eyes, with a mask obscuring his nose and mouth. He stood eerily still, staying completely silent, only the sound of his heavy breathing being heard. It felt like an eternity before he said, “...Trick or Treat.”

Your eyes widen, backing up a bit and closing the door enough to shield yourself from him. You definitely were not expecting a grown-ass man to be outside your door asking for treats. Chuckling awkwardly, you stutter, “U-Uhm, sorry…we unfortunately ran out of candy…”

“Darn…that’s too bad,” The man’s voice was husky, but muffled by his mask. “I was really looking forward to having something sweet tonight,” He flipped his hood off before pulling his mask down, giving you a hungry look. “You’re wrong, though. The sweetest piece of candy is standing right in front of me. I could just devour you in one bite.“

Slamming the door shut, you quickly locked it again, disgust and slight fear taking over you. The audacity he had to just start flirting with you was downright deplorable, the creepiness of it all causing your hair to stand on end. Maybe this could be a prank? A stupid Halloween scare that would rack up millions of views online, with poor you being one of the unfortunate victims.

Yeah, that’s probably what it was. You wouldn’t expect any less from this neighborhood, after all. Your heart was still pounding as you tried to convince yourself that it was just a joke, however, and you headed into the kitchen to grab something to drink. A glass of water was needed to calm your nerves.

After gulping down the cool liquid, you searched for a snack to chow down on. Hopefully if you eat something while watching your movie, you won’t fall asleep this time. Deciding on microwave popcorn, you popped a bag in and waited for it to be ready.

Only a few seconds went by when you heard tapping on a window. It was coming from the sliding glass door that led out into the backyard. At first, you wanted to believe you were just hearing things, but the next taps were louder and incessant. The last thing you wanted to do was investigate, having had enough fright for one night, so you stayed where you were.

Good thing you did, because immediately after the tapping stopped, came a loud crash. You screamed, watching in horror as you witnessed a brick fly through the glass door, shattering it to pieces. Reflexively, you quickly grabbed a knife from the knife block, just in time to see the man from before casually stalking into your home. He turned to you, an eerie grin on his face as he approached. You pointed your weapon towards him, making sure he kept his distance.

“Stay the hell away! The fuck’s your problem, why are you breaking into my house?!” You shouted, putting on your nastiest glare.

He cocked his head to the side, as if he couldn’t understand why you were angry. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here for my candy,” He said matter-of-factly. Smirking, he curled his pointer finger at you. “So put that silly thing down and c’mere.”

“You’re insane! Get the fuck out of my house!”

“So rude,” The man huffed, pouting like a child as if this was all a game to him. “Well, if you’re not going to give me my treat, I’ll just have to give you a trick. That’s how this works, hm?”

Before you could even process his words, he lunged forward, twisting the knife out of your hands with ease. He was stronger than he looked, and within a matter of seconds, he had you pinned against the counter. You winced as your stomach dug into the marble surface, and you desperately tried to move your hands from out underneath his iron grip. They wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t struggle too hard, darling. It’ll make this easier for the both of us,” The man breathed into your ear. Chuckling, he added, “You’re cute when you’re scared, you know. God, I can’t wait to taste you.”

Your fear only worsened at that, struggling even harder even though it was useless. “W-Why are you doing this? Who even are you?” Your voice wobbled as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“Who I am doesn’t matter right now. And maybe you’ll find out why this is happening to you if you do some digging later. A little detective work, if you will.”

What the hell does that mean? You couldn’t dwell on it for very long, though, because the man was pressing into you even closer now. You squealed when he dragged his tongue along the shell of your ear, anger getting ready to burst when he only laughed at your reaction.

“Get off me, creep!” You snarled, and you actually managed to jerk your arm back and elbow him in the stomach. Hissing, his grip loosened, allowing you to push him off. He stumbled back, and while he was vulnerable, you promptly kicked him in the groin. The intruder yelped in pain as he fell to the floor. You took this chance to run, practically throwing yourself at the front door and fumbling with the locks so you could get the hell out of there.

“Yeah, you better run…while you still can…” The man groaned, but his threats hardly fazed you considering he was just a pathetic heap on the ground now.

Flinging open the door, you sprinted out of the house, planning to find safety with one of your neighbors. You couldn’t get far, however, as you ran into someone quite familiar.

“Tristan?” You panted, hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath while looking up at your worried roommate.

“(Name)? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Tristan asked, putting a hand on your shoulder to try and comfort you. “What are you doing out here?”

You sucked in a few more breaths before explaining the situation to him. “There…someone….some guy broke into the house… He was after me…he tried…tried…” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, it was too terrifying to relive.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now,” Tristan hushed you, pulling you into a surprising embrace. It was something you never expected from him, but you returned the gesture anyway.

“He’s still in the house, Tristan… We need to call the cops and get away from here,” You pulled away from the hug, eyes now focused back on the house. “I left my phone in my room, so can you call them?”

“Yeah, I will,” He nodded, whipping out his phone to start dialing. “Let’s go back to my car and stay there until they arrive, okay?”

The two of you made yourselves comfortable in the warm car, and you listened intently as Tristan called 911. After he hung up, he told you that they were on their way and would be there as soon as possible. It was able to calm your beating heart only a little bit. There was a beat of silence between you two before you decided to speak up.

“So where’s Mallory? Is she still at the party?”

Without missing a beat, Tristan said, “Yeah, she is. I just had to come back cuz I forgot something. The last thing I expected was to see you in such a panic, though. Good thing I got here when I did.”

“Yeah… I wasn’t sure what neighbor would answer the door to help me, so I’m glad I ran into you,” You confessed.

Tristan laid a comforting hand over yours and smiled. “I’m just happy you’re not hurt. That guy’s gonna pay for what he did.”

You gave him a weak smile in return, before leaning into his touch. Seeing Tristan being so soft was new, but you found it sweet and appreciated how hard he was trying to soothe you. You closed your eyes as he wrapped an arm around you, glad that you were finally away from that creepy intruder.

Tristan let you rest, pulling out his phone when it buzzed with a text alert. Opening the message, it read:

I’m out of the house now. Sorry I couldn’t keep em pinned for longer, I know u wanted to look like the hero or some shit. Though it looks like it still worked out in the end

Trying to hide his smile, Tristan replied:

Thanks man. I’ll send the rest of your payment over in a bit, after the cops leave and things settle down.

Stuffing his phone away, he squeezed your arm gently, smirking at the way you moved in closer. You were so easy to scare.

Right into his arms.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere oneshot #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere writing #yandere imagines #halloween

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altocat · 26 days ago

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FIRST SOLDIER EPISODE 2: CHAPTER 1

It's finally time! We were waiting FOREVER. I know you guys are very excited for Babygeal and Miniroth's first adventure together. So I'm recapping what you might have missed if you weren't able to see the chapter! Let's go!!!!

We open on the mysterious woods, a hooded figure staggering around wheezing and gasping. He's in some sort of ruins location. He drops a video camera cutting to images of sephiroth in fire and flashing forward to glimpses of scenes we'll see later in the story. We see Sephiroth, Angeal, and a Lucrecia-looking character named ALISSA. A new soldier ally? But she looks a LOT like Lucrecia so it's weird. A new friend? Or something...else?

Alissa is shown to be mentioning something about Sephiroth taking a magic sword (Masamune) and how it will empower him. Or, as she puts it, CHANGE THE WORLD. More clips from the trailer.

We cut to the present with Miniroth sleeping on the helicopter. Angeal disturbs his sleep like we saw before. It's still 1992 btw so not too much later than the Rhadore mission.

Miniroth is grumpy. Camera guy is here too--his name is Bachman.

Angeal is SIXTEEN also btw if you're wondering. Seph is prob 14 or 15.

Angeal keeps yapping and LMAO he's already talking about dumbapples. Miniroth is super annoyed and keeps blowing him off.

Angeal guesses that Seph has ever been lectured before and Miniroth FLASHES BACK TO GLENN. I'm already sad.

Bachman is reminiscing like this is a documentary he's looking back on. Angeal and Sephiroth land in September of 1992 into the ruins of Robio, on the southern tip of Wutai. Their objective is to find a bunch of missing soldiers.

Bachman is with the Shinra Records and Archives division. Sephiroth already hates being filmed. Bachman is basically there for propaganda reasons. Sephiroth WILL NOT humor his questions and is getting increasingly pissy.

Angeal is determined to find the missing soldiers no matter what. Four missing soldiers.

A monster appears! Sephiroth doesn't want to fight with the cameras rolling so Angeal steps in to fight for him. Angeal asks why Sephiroth didn't fight, Sephiroth says that Angeal had it handled. Bachman keeps hassling them for PR footage. Sephiroth was not informed about being filmed and is sulking. The guy is DONE.

They enter the Igara Forbidden Zone. It's a spooky place. Shinra thinks they're hiding something there. This is where the soldiers went missing. Angeal guesses there's some evil sort of entity in the area. Sephiroth is checked out.

Angeal tries to get Seph to cut loose. There's tension between them. Seph won't open up. The incident with Glenn really hurt him. He doesn't trust anyone.

Angeal spots something. It's a soldier and he's dead. Angeal is sad. He knew this guy and he was one of his friends. Angeal says they'll bring the body back later. They have to find the others.

They trek deeper into the Forbidden Zone. Angeal leads the way. ANOTHER body! That's 2/4 soldiers found.

Bachman brings up the Rhadore mission. Sephiroth flashes back again to the FS trio being kind to him. Sephiroth lies about how close he was to them, pretending he never got emotionally involved. But even then, Sephiroth is upset af when they are called traitors to Shinra. It's weighing on him.

Sephiroth tells Angeal that he's a special soldier. He's the only one who can speak freely to Professor Hojo. He warns Angeal THEY'LL NEVER BE FRIENDS (lol). Hojo must have done some shit to Seph before this mission, since he's so closed off. Angeal muses that being around Hojo must have fucked up Sephiroth's personality.

A third dead soldier found. Sephiroth still doesn't want to fight when monsters show up. Peak Grumpyroth. Only one more soldier left to find.

Sephiroth says that the wound on the body was made with a blade, the same as the other bodies. A PERSON killed the soldiers, not monsters. Angeal wants Seph to help him out and share intel. Sephiroth is not being agreeable.

They take a short break. Bachman brings up being friends with soldiers and says that Seph keeps to himself. Angeal lectures on TEAMWORK. Seph blows him off again. Sephiroth brute forces his way through without teamwork.

Angeal says he always wanted to work with Seph. He says if they can't be friends then at least comrades? Sephiroth keeps depersonalizing himself. He keeps calling himself just a "weapon" or a "machine". Angeal is DETERMINED to be his friend no matter what. They can get stronger through bonds. But Sephiroth is still depressed and checked out.

Lol they talk about ninjas. Angeal has fought them in simulations.

FUCKING HOJO JUMPSCARE. Seph flashback of fighting in simulations with Hojo overlooking his training. Angeal's data was included to test how Sephiroth operates with a team. Huh. Angeal was apparently partners with Seph in those simulations due to rankings. LOL GEN NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO PLACE I GUESS.

Angeal senses something's not right about this place (NO YOU THINK?). They talk about Soldier Intuition. Camera man is literally just there for Angeal to talk to since Seph won't talk to him lol.

Seph says they're being watched. Sephiroth just senses it while blowing off the whole intuition thing. We see a spooky purple presence tailing them.

Another body! The final one! And they're alive! But suddenly an old man with an INCREDIBLE AMAZING SWORD shows up. Sephiroth says that the geezer is unworthy to hold such a beautiful weapon. It's the Masamune btw. In case that isn't obvious. And the old man's name is Swordsmith Masamune.

NAMELESS (Sephiroth's old sword) breaks during the clash (rip). The old man says that he's the master swordsmith of Robio. He brags about how COOL AND AWESOME HIS SWORD IS. And how no matter how long he's waited, no one has come to claim the sword as their own (lol till now). He then runs off.

The injured soldier stirs and removes their helmet. It's that Lucrecia-looking chick Alissa. Sephiroth IMMEDIATELY panics because SHE LOOKS LIKE HIS MOTHER SADRFGHJGFD

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON ASEDRFGHFDS She asks if she looks like Sephiroth's sweetheart...or his MOTHER. AND THEN THE CHAPTER ENDS!!!!

But wait there's apparently extra content? Little glimpses. Hm...

Snippet 1: Angeal tells Bachman to take Alissa to safety while they gather their fallen allies. Sephiroth is still freaked out by Alissa. The mission wraps up. Bachman muses that there is no other soldier like Sephiroth. But the second he lost his sword...there were cracks in his psyche. Hm...

Snippet 2: Sephiroth is having a dream. It's his mother's voice and HOLY SHIT he's dreaming about seeing her im going to pass away. I'm going to die FUCK he's dreaming of having her with him and being in her life and hersdfdsdfs she makes him dinner and it's PUMPKIN SOUP AND I'M DYING HOLY SHIT HOLY FUCK ASEDRFGHJGFDSADFGHGFDSDSFGHFDS it's a fantasy in his head AND HE AND AND SHE ASDFGHFDSA I'm sobbing SHE HUGS HIM AND I'M ASDFGDSFD

Snippet 3: Angeal is thinking back to a memory with his father. It's Gillian's birthday. We see young Angeal with his dad and they're bringing out food for his mother enjoying a nice picnic. Angeal says he wants to do more cooking. Just some cute Banora lore mostly. Angeal is talking about enlisting. The extra wages will help his family. They toast in honor of sending him off. Angeal reflects on doing meaningful stuff with his life by joining SOLDIER.

END chapter. Whew. Holy cow. Super intriguing stuff. Who is Alissa? Why does she look like Sephiroth's mom? What's with the Masamune? Will Sephiroth EVER trust Angeal? ALSO HOLY SHIT WE GOT A CANON MOMMY ISSUES SCENE WITH Seph and Lucrecia I'm going to die.

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thatdeadaquarius · 2 years ago

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SAGAU / Isekai Genshin:

You can still use your characters! ... as in possessing them 👻

(all art by me down below, hope its decent lol - did it for u guys and myself i mean what )

Edit 9/7/23: 1,500+ NOTES??? BRO WHAT!! THABK YOU <3

Edit 12/24/23 + 4/5/24:

☆

My dumbass forgot to put this here .-.

Anywya this is a full length fanfic now ;)

PART 1 (you're here!) / Part 2

So.

You got sucked into a video game.

Crazy, but it happens ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

yknow how it issss

...you very quickly discover that unfortunately video game rules still apply...

which wouldn't normally be an issue! like, needing to use the bathroom in the middle of a fight? Nope! minor cuts and bruises like papercuts, only actual enemies or fall damage counting? hell yeah that'd be great (theoretically no chronic pains if you got that?? hmmmm unsure)

see the issue comes when you realize, you as a player, don't have a "character" that's all your own

there's aether/lumine yeah.. but bc the game's real now, they're their own people, and you didn't wake up to find yourself as a blonde twin...

the closest you can describe your form as is .. like a seelie?

or like the way ghosts look in game?

but a lot more "starry"

like your specterlike, but you look like you got filled up with stars and the milky way, maybe a reference of you being from another universe/world? (aether/lumine/dainsleif/khaenriah star symbol reference secret thEORY-)

but yah.

you also got just, white eyes.

like, not iris, not pupil. like your pupil and iris got erased

you gotta admit, at least you look really aesthetic now.

(u also got a little cape and hood on at all times, and you cant take it off to see your starrified hair >:/ ,very Blue Diamond-esque, look up Steven Universe, Blue Diamond if you dont know who im talking about)

so needless to say, as soon as you sort of glitched your way into existence you were HYPE

i mean ur ACTUALLY IN TEYVAT WITH THE BOYSSSS

...then you realize your a spooky-no-character-to-pilot-around-thus-no-character-model-body-for-you thingy

and that you cant touch stuff!! >:(

like wth!!!

thats just downright unfair.

so, you figure if you got no body to be.... you gotta find a new "character" to pilot >:)

...

I choose you, yellow fungi!

...

....

you're in the fucking woods (Sumeru somewhere obv, u knew that the moment you opened ur eyes),

what'd you expect?? an archon??

..wait a minute. can you possess an archon-

these kinda thoughts plague your first few days of irl genshin impact playing

a rishabold tiger? yep.

a sumpter beast? kinda slow and heavy feeling but yeah.

...you also try a ruin machine LOL

by far, the fungi and ruin machines are the best to possess, mostly because you can remain upright with those

(tho u did find some type of flying monkey that wasnt in game, but its like,, a real world and jungle now so that makes sense there'd be more complexity + stuff)

you do eventually think you should try and possess a person at this point... but ur kinda nervous 👉👈

its ur first time doin this okay nobody explained the basics to you youve been winging for a week now!

will your mind be replaced with theirs? it hasn't been so far with the creatures/bots

and as far as you can tell, they kinda just-

forget what happened or "wake up" after you possess them

(the tiger you were for a day looked confused as hell when it realized that there was a new pile of fruit next to it when it "woke up", it was your way of saying thank you to the animals of the jungle, u left them little piles of food you collected running around as them)

so THEORHETICALLY-

you should be good to go and possess a random poor eremite

... you figure you want to possess something human-like eventually even if you get a puppet body like wanderer/raiden so...

here goes nothing...

♤

so it's been 2 weeks since you've been forcefully yanked into teyvat, and by the second week, you were trying to possess eremites

which! worked out!

mostly..!

you kinda convinced the entirety of two eremite camps that a certain part one of sumeru's forests is hella haunted bc ppl keep "blacking out" and doing things they don't remember doing, yknow... like possesssion LMAO

they kinda ran off to escape you but, hey!

experiment #2: people possession, success!!

now you were kinda convinced of this when you realized no matter the angle the animals and machines of sumeru didnt react to you getting super close to them (you dont have to touch something to posses it, just look at it really, but you wanted to test limits, so you walked up to sumpter beasts and fungi and ruin machines)

but no one can see you.

you don't have a "character" most of the time, you can float and glide around the ground like scaramouche lol

you cant touch stuff bc of this, you cant smell stuff (u saw the eremites campfires & couldnt smell the smoke until you were them)

you cant eat stuff w/o a body, so.. it makes sense that the eremites and passing merchants, cant see you when you float around, trying to reorient yourself after 2 weeks of experimenting

:( ur only a lil sad about it... but mostly not bc lol u got possession powers so trade off u guess

the first time you see a vision-bearer you literally scream

LMAO

ur so lucky u cant be seen or heard

bc Collei would have def screamed back lol

needless to say u stalk the forest ranger- ALL DAY.

Collei goes on patrol around the woods? you go on a patrol.

collei goes to visit other forest rangers? you "visit" other forest rangers at base (lol u def possess a guy who was asleep on a bench nearby & wake up to go talk to Collei "in-person", poor guy was so worried he sleep walked/talked so hard he went to see Tighnari an hour later lmao)

welp, you decide this is your life now, follow Collei everywhere, talk one-sided to Collei until you can possess a forest ranger w/o it being suspicious (dont wanna turn the poor rangers into the terrified eremites from a week or two ago...)

then, after you get the courage and erase the paranoia that tighnari can just... somehow hear your ghostly bullshit-

u do the same to Tighnari (then Cyno when he visits! no u didnt squeal, so what, nobody can hear you- )

♧

Tighnari begins to get suspicious about 3 weeks into this routine.

he's been starting to collect and start a file on all the rangers or nearby villagers that've started randomly "blacking out/sleep walking" in the evenings usually

(u possess as close to nighttime as u can so it seems like sleepwalking)

So when Cyno comes back from a mission gone wrong,

having nearly been decapitated by a rogue flying ruin machine, only to black out and come to standing calmly 10 feet further than he remembered being 1 minute ago...

Tighnari's suspicions are confirmed, and he launches into researching this phenomenon.

his first thought is something like the aranara, but that doesn't account for the effect this thing is having on people

after all, what little forest spirit is strong enough to-

-control humans??

Tighnari begins to get the sense he's in over his head after he finds himself pushed into going into Sumeru City in order to collect more library books or ask around if the blackouts have spread to the city people

he answer is negative, on both accounts.

and he spends about one half of the day walking around, and the other reading up all he can on mythical creatures or ailments

Tighnari gives up for the day, and as he makes his way back to Ghandarvaville, he almost gets ambushed by some particularly nasty muggers

...and then he wakes up 20 feet away, his denro vision thrumming with power, full of worry and fondness for himself??, (just like Cyno said he felt happen to him..)

...Tighnari decides he needs reinforcements.

YOU GUYS-

UR LOCAL ZODIAC SIGN OBSESSED W/GENSHIN HIT A CHARACTER LIMIT ON A POST FINALLY. 😦

??? THIS WOULDVE BEEN LONGER BUT I BARELY GOT SPACE FOR THIS- I- EVEN THE QIQI POST DIDNT HIT LIMIT-

uh cya ig!!

Safe travels lmao,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist @revonie / @hat-on-a-cat / @takottai / @sickly-falling (?) / @iruiji

(Sorry about the late tag! I forgot to update my taglist before i posted this 💀 my bad guys)

Also if the people who got put there who i couldnt find a blog for see this, idk what went wrong ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ - maybe check and see if ur setting for "being able to be searched/looked up" is turned on?? Idk man

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whereslynx · 23 days ago

Note

Can you make one with being best friends with sad eyes and spooky and being also a member of los Santos and sad eyes claims you out of nowhere?

a/n: yess!! p.s, if you’ve requested something, don’t worry, i’m getting to it! i do requests in the order they were submitted, but i’ll get to everyone’s eventually. :)

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was another typical night hanging with the crew. The Santos were posted up in the usual spot—Oscar’s backyard, music bumping, a few drinks scattered around, and everyone either in their own world or talking smack about something. You’d always felt comfortable here, part of the crew, and even more so because you were tight with both Spooky and Sad Eyes. You’d been rolling with them since forever, growing up in the same neighborhood, running through the same streets.

As the night wore on, you leaned back against the fence, laughing at some dumb joke Joker had just cracked. Sad Eyes was perched on the hood of a car, giving everyone his usual cool, laid-back stare. Spooky was nearby, arms crossed, looking like the leader he was, but still relaxed enough around his people to joke and chill.

You felt that familiar warmth of belonging. It had been like this for years—close friends, thick as thieves. You were more than just another member of the Santos; you were family to them, and they were family to you. No one questioned your place, and the respect you commanded came naturally. You’d always been ‘a Santo’s Santo,’ but something had been shifting lately, especially with Sad Eyes.

He’d been acting a little different around you, more protective, more watchful. But you didn’t think much of it—at least not until tonight.

The music shifted, and a few people started dancing, while others gathered around to talk. You were in the middle of a conversation with Oscar when Sad Eyes slid up beside you, his presence warm and familiar, but this time, there was something a little different in the way he stood close, his arm brushing yours.

“Yo, you good?” Sad Eyes asked, his voice carrying that usual laid-back tone, but there was something different—an edge to it, like he was paying more attention than he wanted to let on. His eyes, usually half-lidded with indifference, were locked on you, scanning your expression like he was trying to figure something out.

You smirked, shrugging off his scrutiny like it was nothing, but the look he was giving you wasn’t slipping past unnoticed. “Yeah, I’m good, Sad Eyes,” you said, raising a brow at him. “What’s up with you? You seem… I dunno, weird tonight.”

His eyebrow arched, matching your smirk with one of his own, though his gaze stayed fixed on you, as if you had said something that intrigued him. “Weird how?” he asked, his tone still casual, but there was something sharper underneath it now.

“Like you’re watching me extra hard or something,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. You tilted your head, studying him, trying to read what was going on behind those hooded eyes.

Oscar, who had been leaning against the wall nearby, caught onto the vibe instantly, his sharp instincts kicking in. He chuckled, taking a swig of his beer as his eyes flicked between you two. “I’ve been noticing that too, bro. You’re hovering.”

Sad Eyes didn’t respond right away, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he glanced at Oscar, then back at you. The silence stretched, thickening the air between you for a moment. Then, without a flicker of hesitation, he dropped it—calm, cool, and certain. “She’s mine. That’s why.”

The entire group went quiet for a second, like someone had just dropped a bomb. You blinked, stunned, looking at him like you couldn’t believe what you’d just heard. “What?” you asked, half-laughing, because there was no way he had just claimed you in front of everyone like that.

Sad Eyes shrugged, completely unfazed by the sudden attention. “What? You didn’t know?” Sad eyes slightly tilted his head, “Thought you’d figure it out by now since some ain’t bothering to holler at you no more.” He said, his gaze flickering to a specific group of Santos that reverted their gazes elsewhere.

Oscar’s grin grew wider, eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked between the two of you. He let out a low whistle, leaning back like he was settling in to enjoy the show. “Damn. So that’s how it is now, huh?”

Around the backyard, the others quickly caught on, their reactions coming in waves—hoots, hollers, and a chorus of playful “Oooohs!” filling the air, cutting through the low hum of the music. Laughter echoed all around, with some of the guys elbowing each other, throwing exaggerated looks your way, like they’d been in on some secret.

But you? You were still standing there, frozen in place, eyes wide, processing his words as they sank in. Your mouth fell open in shock, staring at Sad Eyes like you weren’t sure if you’d heard him right. “Wait, hold up,” you managed to say, your voice trailing off with disbelief. “What do you mean I’m yours? Since when?”

Sad Eyes just stood there, his expression smooth, unbothered by the chaos he’d just caused. He didn’t flinch, didn’t backtrack—just looked you dead in the eye, a hint of a smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth, like he’d known all along how this was gonna go down.

Sad Eyes tilted his head slightly, his smirk still firmly in place as he locked eyes with you, his voice smooth and deliberate. “Since now. I’m claiming you. No one else’s business.” He shot a pointed look around the group, his eyes sweeping over everyone like a challenge, as if daring them to argue or even question him.

Spooky, leaning back with a look of surprise and amusement, shook his head. “Man, you’re just gonna say it like that? No build-up or nothing?”

Sad Eyes didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I am,” he replied smoothly, his arm sliding around your waist like it was second nature. It felt so casual, yet so deliberate, as if this had always been the plan and everyone else was just catching up. “Ain’t no reason to keep playing around.”

You could feel the heat creeping into your cheeks, the suddenness of it all making your heart race. Even though everyone was watching, tossing around teasing looks and whispers, there was something about the way Sad Eyes said it that had you speechless. It was bold, almost cocky, and it threw you off, but you weren’t mad about it. He was always the type to go after what he wanted without hesitation, and tonight, it seemed, that was you.

“Damn, for real?” you muttered, blinking as you tried to process what just went down. “You’re just gonna claim me like that, out of nowhere?”

Sad Eyes chuckled, his voice deep and steady, that cocky edge unmistakable. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer, until your sides were pressed together. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unwavering. “You surprised? I don’t play games, chica. I’ve had my eye on you. You’re mine, no question.”

The way he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, sent a rush of warmth through you. It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a request—it was a statement, firm and clear. The playful jeers and murmurs from the rest of the crew faded into the background as his words hung between you.

Oscar, standing just a few feet away, crossed his arms and let out a low whistle, grinning wide. “Looks like you’ve been claimed, homie,” he teased, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Guess there’s no going back now, huh?”

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, but all you could focus on was Sad Eyes, the way his arm felt around you, the weight of his words. The reality of it hit you—this wasn’t some casual thing. He’d just made it clear to everyone, and there was no mistaking what he meant.

You smirked, trying to play it cool, but your heart was racing. “Guess I don’t have a choice, huh?”

Sad Eyes leaned in just a bit closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur meant only for you. “Nah, you got a choice. But I think we both know what it is.”

Laughter and playful jeers echoed around you, but despite all the noise, all you could focus on was the way Sad Eyes was looking at you—like he’d just made the most natural decision in the world. And maybe, just maybe, he had.

The others started to pick up where they left off, the music and chatter filling the space again, but you were still standing there, your heart pounding a little faster than usual as you looked up at Sad Eyes.

He leaned down a bit, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “I’m serious, you know. I don’t let just anyone roll with me like this. I’ve been feelin’ it for a minute. Figured it was time you knew.”

You blinked, still a little caught off-guard, but the warmth in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes, told you everything you needed to know. This wasn’t just some random claim. He meant it.

“Well, damn,” you finally said, a smile creeping up on your face. “Guess I’m yours now.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss your cheek, his voice soft and possessive. “Damn right.”

And just like that, you were claimed, right in the middle of the Santos, no hesitation, no doubts. You’d always been close with Sad Eyes, but now, things were on a whole new level. And you couldn’t deny the way it made you feel—like maybe, this was where you were meant to be all along.

As the night carried on, you felt the weight of his arm around you, the knowing looks from the crew, and the warmth of being with someone who made it clear—you were his, no questions asked. And honestly, you were more than okay with that.

#omb #on my block #on my block x reader #fanfic #oneshot #spooky #reader insert #antonio sad eyes guzman x reader #sad eyes #sad eyes x reader

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chronosdawn · 9 days ago

Text

Ruins - Zhongli x Reader

Fantasy-style AU, GN!Reader

Happy (late) Halloween! This is not what I originally planned to post but alas life :') Hopefully this drabble is sufficiently spooky (I started it after watching a bunch of videos on Fear and Hunger lore so...).

Content warnings: power imbalance, reader is not having a good day, brief discussion of imprisonment.

Word count: 2k

You found the old god seated on a carefully carved throne—dark stone threaded through with veins of some faintly pulsing amber ore. Despite how long the temple had been sealed off for, there was not a single hint of dust coating the floor, nor were there any of the usual signs of wear that plagued a building once it had been abandoned.

There were stories, from the old days—decaying parchment bound in beaten-up old leather—in which the homes of the gods took on a life of their own, serving the deities from which they were born with a fervour that outmatched even the most devout of mortal servants. You really hoped those stories were just nonsense, otherwise it might mean the easy path you’d followed through the temple had less to do with good fortune, and more to do with something leading you here.

The god remained motionless as you hovered at the edge of the room, thick gold horns jutting out from underneath a white hood that concealed most of his face from view. You curled your fingers around the cool metal object in your pocket, reminding yourself that you had a plan, one that couldn’t be achieved by simply loitering in the doorway. And yet still your feet refused to move an inch as you continued to stare at the imposing figure before you, the enormity of what you were about to do weighing you down like stone shackles.

You might have remained there forever were it not for the sudden grind of stone against stone, the ground beneath your feet shifting—tilting forwards until you could no longer keep your balance, sending you stumbling into the cavernous throne room. The sound of the path rearranging itself continued behind you, and you turned just in time to see the last stone slot itself into place in the barricade that had formed in the doorway, sealing you in alone with the god.

Trying desperately not to panic, you told yourself that this was just the nudge you needed, now that the only hope you had of leaving here lay in what you’d come to this temple for in the first place. That was, at least, until you heard an intake of breath that most definitely didn’t come from you.

“It has been an age since a mortal last walked these halls.”

You looked to the god and froze. He was staring straight at you; his hood having fallen back slightly to reveal his face. You suspected he may have been quite beautiful once, with ageless finely chiselled features. But unlike his temple, the god had clearly not been left untouched by the ravages of time. Thick dark lines, that seemed to glint gold in the light from the sconces carefully arranged throughout the room, crawled up his neck and across half of his face. They almost seemed to pulse in time with the ore of his throne as you stared at them, beating in sync with whatever a god possessed in place of a heart. His eyes too, were unlike those of any human, brilliant amber with near slit pupils.

“What has brought you here, little one?”

You swallowed, clinging onto the artifact in your pocket like a lifeline. Just a couple of steps and you’d be face-to-face with the god, close enough that you could do what needed to be done and get the hell out of here. Still, you hesitated, the weight of divinity, even as rotted as this, was heavy throughout the room, seeping into your marrow. Gods had been made to be worshipped by mortals, and right now you could feel the gaze of some otherworldly influence urging you to kneel and delight in subservience.

As you fought to remain so much as standing, let alone take a step, the god rose from his throne. He was huge, you realised, a great towering figure who made the high ceilings of the room seem inadequate. The god took a step towards you and you stumbled backwards, back hitting the stone of the sealed off doorway behind you. There was nowhere to run as he approached, nowhere to hide in this great empty space. You could only tremble as he approached, fingers tightening around the metal in your palm until your muscles ached with the strain.

The god came to a stop an arm’s length in front of you, a large hand—the skin of it stained the same iridescent dark shade as the lines creeping over his face—delicately grasped your chin and tilted your face upwards until you were forced to make eye-contact with the long forgotten-deity.

“Curious,” he remarked, tilting your head lightly from side to side as he examined you. “You bare not a single scrap of divine power. What land have you come from mortal, where there are no gods to claim you?”

It’s now or never, you thought.

“I’m sorry for this,” you said, quickly pulling the artifact from your pocket and going to strike him in thigh. That’s the wonder of these things, you could hear the voice of the old man who’d sold the thing to you as it carved a clean path through the air, don’t even have to hit a vital spot for it work, just one cut and it should sap whatever power a god has left. He’d smirked at you then, continuing, if you truly think you can find a god in this day and age, that is.

For the shortest fraction of a second, you genuinely thought you’d done it, the blade of the artifact just brushing the fabric that covered the god’s lower half—an unholy prize, born from countless hours of research and trailing through long-abandoned ruins, now finally in your hands. Suddenly, a vice-like grip seized hold of your arm, dark fingers swallowing your wrist and locking it firmly in place. You blinked—you hadn’t even seen him move.

No, this couldn’t—you had to—

One moment the artifact was in your hand, the next it was gone, your fingers clutching at air as you strained against the hold of the god. You dragged your gaze back upwards, a pit forming in your stomach as you saw the god turning the artifact over in his hand, studying it.

“I see,” he said finally, and you could only watch in horror as the centuries old weapon you’d bet the last of your family’s savings on melted in his grasp, the carefully carved runes dissolving into thick globs of gold that flowed over the blackened skin of his fingers and dripped onto the floor.

“Please, I—” your voice came out as little more than a whisper, “I didn’t have another choice, I…”

The god looked down at you, considering, those inhuman eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh? And what was it my little would-be assassin planned to do with the power of divinity?”

You swallowed, throat tight. There was no answer you could give that would justify an attempt on the life of a deity, regardless of the fact not a single worshipper had walked these halls in centuries. Instead, you trained your gaze on the floor as your eyes burned, the pattern carved into the stone tiles of the floor blurring as you awaited the inevitable.

“Hm.”

There was a strange ripple in the air and you felt something reach for you. It brushed against your mind—fingers flicking gingerly through the pages of book—and memories of your home surfaced unbidden, the edges rimmed in a golden haze. The shattered city walls, the ramshackle home you’d been forced to flee to, the truth that even without gods to bring down judgment upon them, humanity would still find a way to do so themselves.

“So that’s it.” The deep timbre of the god’s voice broke you out of your trance, bringing you back from desolate days of the past to the terrifying reality of your present. “You did not come here simply out of lust for power but because you are desperate.” The grasp on your wrist loosened and the god’s thumb ran tender circles over your wrist. “Afraid.”

You said nothing, refusing to even glance at him.

“You believe I intend to punish you, mortal? Tell me, what sentencing do you think your actions merit?”

You could beg, could sob and wail until either your apologies or your voice ran out. But what would be the point? Even if—if—the god let you leave here in one piece, what did you have to go back to?

“That’s not up to me to decide, your—” you faltered, tongue tripping in your mouth as you realised you had no idea how you were supposed to address a god.

A soft chuckle came from somewhere above you.

“In ages past, your kind would refer to me as Lord Lapis. Perhaps then I may have been inclined to harsher rulings, but it hardly seems fair to hold you to the same standards as those raised with my teachings—the safety I granted in return. In light this, I offer you a deal. Swear fealty to me, that you will never again conspire against me and will instead serve with your body and soul, and I will grant you my protection, including forgiveness for your attempt to claim my power for yourself without right.”

Your throat felt thick—there was a reason humanity had turned away from the gods after all.

“And if I refuse?” You finally lifted your head and met his gaze only to find his expression unreadable.

“I hope that you will not. Along with ensuring your safety, there is much else I provide those who are faithful. In the past I would even share fragments of my own power with those who were worthy. Is the promise of that not what drew you here in the first place, little one?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“If you are truly unwilling to agree to my terms, then I will not make you. However, I should warn you that only those who have gained my blessing are able to wander these halls freely. You may have been able to enter this place through one of the corridors where the divine energy has been corroded by the years, but now that you have reached my seat of power, it is unlikely you will be able to leave on your own.”

Your heart sank like a stone. “You just said you didn’t plan to make me accept your deal but you’re telling me that if I don’t, my only option is to starve to death?”

“As I said, I will not force your choice, just as you were not forced to enter to this temple. But do you truly expect me to bestow my favour upon one who would have seen me dead with no recompense?”

Eyes darting around the room, you took in the other sealed entrances—the flawless dark stonework you would have to attempt to dig through, with no tools besides your own fingernails, if you wanted to leave this place. You didn’t want to die here, corpse left to rot along with the long-abandoned god.

“I—” you swallowed, trying to force the words out. “I’ll accept your offer, Lord Lapis.”

The god smiled at you, not unkindly, and said, “then I claim you as mine, mortal, until the end of all things.” He raised the hand still dripping with the molten remains of the artifact and smeared a streak of gold down the centre your forehead. “Just like the priests of old.”

His touch burned like a brand, searing through flesh and bone to the innermost parts of you until nothing was left unscathed. There was a name on your tongue, despite having never heard it before. Morax—the god who would now and always hold claim on your soul.

You sagged in Morax’s grasp, barely aware of the hold on your wrist falling away, only to be replaced by an arm under your thighs as you were lifted into the air.

“It will take a few moments for you to adjust, but you need not fear, little one.” A hand brushed against your cheek. “You need not fear ever again.”

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #thank you for reading!

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msbfonnie · 6 months ago

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scrybeswap concepts :> they were very fun to do

Beast! Mags is a werewolf like creature; also wears a red cloak similar to that of Little Red Riding Hood

Magick! P03 is a wizard who's body is made of mox; there's always a magical aura around it to keep itself together

Death! Leshy is very much inspired by skull deer, cause I wanted him to be spooky and those things are little freaks /aff

Tech! Grimora was the hardest to figure out, cause I didn't have any ideas beforehand; I definitly took inspiration from Ballora (FNaf) and Betty (BatDR) for her look though

#i'll never live up to all those cool scrybeswap designs lmao #inscryption #inscryption fanart #scrybeswap #inscryption leshy #leshy inscryption #leshy #inscryption grimora #grimora inscryption #grimora #inscryption p03 #p03 inscryption #p03 #inscryption magnificus #magnificus inscryption #magnificus #art #digital art #artist on tumblr

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noxturnalnymph · 13 days ago

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The Devil's Wife

Devil!Joel x Witch!OFC (7.1k) DARKAU! Joel Miller where he is the literal Devil, and the OFC is a witch named LUNA with moderate physical description.

Summary: OFC is a witch who is a member of an elite coven who take their relationship with their Dark Lord quite seriously. This upper echelon of witches practice the darkest of magic and initiation to their circle involves a wedding ceremony that has them pledging their lives and bodies in unholy union to Lucifer himself. What happens when one of his brides (ofc) calls upon her betrothed for help one Halloween night? Will the Devil rise to save her? And what will be the cost of his rescue?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Satanic worship, witchcraft, SEX, satanic panic seduction, coercion, DubCon, monsters of the blood-drinking variety, talk of blood, violence, and death.

A/N: Entirely based on a dream I had last year but never got around to writing it. Is it Joel Miller, or is it just Pedro in a black suit? I don't know, who cares? Just enjoy it (or don't). Happy Halloween!!

The clouds part just as she steps out into the chilly October air, showcasing the sliver of the waning crescent moon hanging precariously in the sky. A breeze gusts down the alley, scraping leaves along the pavement and blowing her skirt tightly against her ankles. She pulls her maroon cloak over her head and forces herself against the wind, heading towards the warm glow of the sidewalk streetlamp.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home, Luna?” a tender voice calls from behind her.

She turns towards the voice, her friend and fellow witch Jadis following her out of their coven’s late-night gathering. The shorter witch’s honey-colored eyes probe as she tucks her lower lip between her teeth. Her rich, dark skin blends completely with the alley but begins to look like melted chocolate as the orange glow of the street crosses her rounded face. Jadis draws her cloak tight around her middle, mumbling about the cold and the hour of the meeting’s conclusion.

“You live in the opposite direction than I do,” Luna says, forcing a smile on her cheeks against the numbing chill of the wind, whipping violently now that they’re out in the open.

“I just worry about you walking all that way alone-”

“It’s Halloween, my friend,” she interrupts. “The streets are full of revelers.”

“But it’s 3am!” her friend counters.

“Then the streets will be full of drunks,” she says, clapping her hands together and silencing any further refutation from her worrisome cohort. “I shall be perfectly fine, just as I always am.”

They part ways with a hug and the lone witch cinches her hood tighter, marching down the street against the wind with her head held high. She makes it to the edge of the cemetery, humming a tune in harmony with the whistling wind, before she starts to have regrets about her late-night walk. It’s not the temperature of the biting air, the tedious walk through the village to her little part of the woods, or the spookiness of the creeping fog rolling through the wrought-iron gate that runs alongside the stiff gravestones. It’s partly the snickering she keeps hearing popping up behind her - potentially drunk frat boys about to play games with the wrong witch, but mostly the wet shoe she’s currently plodding on - having just stepped ankle-deep into a freezing puddle formed between the broken sidewalk stones.

“Girl,” she hears them whisper for the tenth time.

She looks ahead of her just in time to see a large dark figure curl around the tall brick column that marks the entrance gate of the cemetery. Great, she thinks, they got brave enough to come out and play. She stealthily moves her hand to her inner pocket, grabbing hold of a small vial of a special brew she concocted for situations such as this. She sees his pale painted face contort into a nefarious grin, the dim lights dotting the street glinting off his elongated canines. Another Twilight fan, she groans, rolling her eyes in the shadow of her cloak.

“Little red riding hood,” the fiend croons, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

She hears the scraping footsteps of at least two of his friends closing in behind her.

“Sorry Sparkles, I’ve got a date with the big bad wolf,” she mutters, attempting to step around him.

His cold hand reaches out faster than she expected, grabbing onto her arm. Cursing, she tries to pull her arm free from his grip but hears his nails ripping against the fabric of her cloak. What kind of claws did this guy put on tonight? She thinks he must be sobering up from whatever party he skulked out of, because his hold remains firm and he yanks her back to face him. She hears the scuffling come to a halt behind her, as his companions resume their snickering laughter.

“Don’t be rude,” he draws each word out purposefully.

A thought occurs to her that bruising her arm with his grip might actually be what is considered rude, but she doesn’t bother to voice it. Mortals can be so irksome when they’ve imbibed enough alcohol to embolden their twisted desires and put action to troubling behaviors. Pulling it out of her cloak, she lifts her unrestrained arm high, the small vial clutched tight in her hand, and drops it to the ground swiftly.

It breaks open with a soft tinkle, dark smoke rising from the cobbled stones, obscuring her surroundings and sending her would-be attackers into a coughing fit. She feels his hold loosen as she slips her arm away, stepping aside and darting into the cemetery gate beyond, leaving them behind to suffer her spell. She manages to stifle the laugh that bubbles up inside her and slinks along the pathway in the ancient resting place, ducking under old tree boughs and over wet blades of overgrown grass.

A short while later she finds herself nearing the back edge of the cemetery, the western woods looming just beyond. She would have preferred to take the worn pathways into the forest - her forest - to trek back to her cozy cottage home, but those bothersome boys have changed her plans. No matter, this way will be faster, she’ll just have to deal with cleaning the mud off her shoes and clothes when she gets home. She reaches to unlatch the creaking gate at the back fence, its lock long since broken, when freezing cold fingers lace over her bare arm.

“Not so fast, little witch,” he hisses.

She gasps a breath that doesn’t fill her lungs. How did he escape the effects of her potion? The tall, pale-faced man stands before her once again. She looks down at his hand, ghostly white against her skin, darkened veins showing even in the low light, and long dirty nails sharpened to a dangerous point. It doesn’t really look like a costume now that she’s up close. She drags her eyes to his face, noting the dark hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes. His coal-black eyes. His dark red mouth twists into a smile once again and she is beginning to think his sharp incisors aren’t part of a costume either.

“Monster,” she spits. “Unhand me.”

She spins out of the way just as one of the others snaps his jaws next to her ear, missing his target. With her arm still ensnared she is unable to move very far, and collides into the chest of the third, a rotten scent wafting off him hitting her nostrils as she stumbles towards the ground. Out of the clutches of the creature once again, she scuttles back, cornering herself against an old sunken grave with a broken headstone.

She reaches her left hand out in front of her, palm facing them, momentarily halting their movements. The plain band on her fourth finger glints off the moonlight, catching her attention. It gives her an idea.

“You bloodsuckers don’t know who you’re messing with, do you?” she hums, cracking a sideways smile.

The two giggling figures skip around her in circles as the towering demon lowers his face to meet hers, a wet smirk curving his face into a twisted visage.

“Why don’t you enlighten us,” he replies.

“My husband is-”

Her next words are replaced by a piercing shriek, as the fangs of one of the beasts connect with the left side of her neck. She feels his sharp teeth ripping through her delicate skin and the pain burns across her in a fiery wave. Before she can fight him off, the grinning ghoul in front of her grabs her arm yet again, the left one with the simple golden ring, sinking his greedy maw into her wrist. Sharp pain shoots up her arm and her lungs empty on a scream. She sucks in air to cry out again but a filthy hand is clamped over her mouth first, muting the wail she attempts when the third monster’s teeth pierce the flesh of her other arm just above her elbow.

She lies on her back on the ground, the pain searing through her quickly giving way to a numbness washing across her skin. With the cool soothing of the pain comes a stilling calm, altogether paralyzing her from fighting back or even wanting to. The grimy hand slides from her lips as her mouth fails to make any additional sounds. My husband, she mouths the words. Her eyes drift to her left hand, her wedding ring just beyond the monster’s head still reflecting light, even as blood drips from her wrist across her fingers.

He’s going to kill you, she thinks, unable to even form words now.

The cemetery has turned dark and she slowly realizes that she must have closed her eyes. She can still hear the wind whipping through the trees, creaking branches and blowing dried leaves against the fence nearby. There are no other noises among the silent tombs other than the sloppy slurping noises of the three vampires who are draining her body.

She sees a dim light in the distance, like a flickering candle. No, she thinks, it can’t be a candle because her eyes are closed. She watches the candle getting closer to her, or maybe she’s getting closer to it. The bright orange glow from the candle becomes clearer as it nears, until finally she sees it right in front of her.

It’s a solitary tapered black candle, gently burning as wax drips slowly along its side. It’s just like the candle she lit at her initiation ceremony, she thinks. The coven of witches she belongs to is elite and extremely difficult to join. Her aunt had extended the invite when she showed rare magical aptitude as a teenager. Only second daughters can join, as the condition of induction was to pledge your body, mind, and life in unholy matrimony to the Dark Lord Lucifer himself. She was honored to be chosen and after many years of apprenticeship, she lit the black candle on a full moon a little over a year ago. It was identical to the candle she is looking at now, the candle she lit at her wedding to the Devil.

The flame before her suddenly gutters and goes out, leaving her in complete darkness.

***

She feels it before she senses anything else, the warmth spreading across her face, radiating out from her lips. Her cheeks burn against the freezing wind and her hair, no longer bound by her cloak, tickles wispy tendrils across her forehead. Long moments pass as the warmth spreads and finally she opens her eyes, suddenly swallowing a scream. Except she can’t scream. There is a man pressing his lips to hers.

She is being kissed by a stranger.

A man with deep espresso eyes meets her gaze, dark curly hair falling over his forehead. He pulls back from her, his facial hair tickling her lip as his mouth curls into a shy smile.

“Welcome back” his voice, thick as syrup, coats her consciousness.

“I-,” she starts, realizing that the warmth is now spreading down her chest, across her stomach, and flowing into her arms and legs. “Did I-”

“Die?” he finishes quietly. “Yeah.”

Her eyes widen, the sharp teeth of the creatures coming back to the forefront of her mind. She looks around frantically, suddenly worried they might return to rip into her flesh and drain her dry.

“They’re gone,” he answers the question she didn’t ask.

He rises up onto his feet, and she sees he’s dressed in all black. He wears pressed black trousers and shiny dress shoes that somehow don’t have a speck of mud on them. He tugs on his black suit jacket, straightening it, and presses his hand over his black shirt and tie, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. This man looks like he just came from a fancy gala, she thinks, not that he was just crouched over her lifeless form in a dirty cemetery.

He reaches his hands out to her and she surprisingly takes them without question, allowing him to help her to her shaky feet. Before she can protest he wraps an arm around her waist and although part of her wants to object she knows that she wouldn’t be able to remain standing if he hadn’t done so.

“Let me walk you home,” he says softly, guiding her to the back gate and basically carrying her along the neglected path into the woods.

She doesn’t speak, although her mind is racing a mile a minute. Did she really die? She remembers being attacked by the vampires and not being able to fight them off but she doesn’t remember what happened after that. She weakly raises her left hand up, inspecting her wrist and seeing nothing but unblemished skin absent of any marks including any dried blood that should be there, remembering how it ran in rivulets from the monster’s wet lips. She brings her fingers to her neck, brushing them over smooth skin there as well. It would seem that her bite wounds have somehow been healed and she has been cleaned of any and all evidence of her attack.

Who in the world is this man, she wonders. Maybe the vampires left and he luckily showed up just in time, perhaps reviving her somehow. He certainly doesn’t look like someone who just fought off three bloodsucking beasts and how could he anyways, without being attacked himself? It isn’t until they reach the clearing in the woods where her small cottage sits, a lantern on the porch giving off a warm glow, that she realizes she never told him where she lived.

She pulls away, feeling a bit stronger now, and wanting to distance herself from the seemingly kind but rather unusual man who has inexplicably returned her to her secluded abode. Wait, was that mouth-to-mouth or was he kissing her when she was dead? She gives him a sideways glance and plasters the most polite smile she can manage onto her face. Smoothing strands of her tousled hair away from her face, she turns to him and her eyes widen as the man in black reaches forward and plucks a leaf out of her hair. He drops it, letting the wind carry it away as he smiles sweetly at her, looking harmless as a lamb.

“Thank you for-,”

“What is your name?” he interrupts.

“Oh-, I-, Luna,” she stammers, caught off guard by his inquiry.

“Luna,” he repeats, drawing her name out as he wraps his lips around the vowels.

“Yes, and thank you for-” she attempts again, trailing off as he slowly steps around her, continuing to walk towards her porch. “-for helping me, I guess,” she finishes, turning to follow him while wondering what she’s really thanking him for. Did he save her? “I don’t know how to repay you,” she speaks to his back as he climbs up the steps, “but I’m thankful for your assistance.”

“Do you live out here all alone?” he asks, ignoring the gratitude she’s attempting.

“That’s-,” none of your business, she thinks. She doesn’t want to be rude so instead she says, “this cottage has been in my family for generations.”

It’s not a lie. She is - in fact - the only member of her family living in the one-bedroom dwelling right now but it has been lived in by members of her family for over two hundred years.

“It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he says, reaching for the handle and opening the door she knows she locked when she left the house earlier today with no resistance.

She wants to protest that she can take care of herself, which is her usual response when people say things like this, but given what has transpired tonight she bites her tongue. Instead she follows him as he enters her home without invitation, drawn into the main room. She watches as he closely inspects framed photos on the walls, touches the spines of old books on her bookshelf, and toggles the flue of her chimney as he passes the hearth.

She wants to ask him to leave. No, she wants to physically shoo him out of her home. Who does this man think he is and what right does he have to waltz into her home and parade around as if it were his own? She reaches towards the vial in her pocket only to bitterly recall having already used it tonight in her attempt to disable her attackers.

She follows a way behind him, straightening what he’s poking out of alignment and trying to ignore her growing sense of unease. She looks up at the man in black to find him stopped and standing very close to her. She gasps in a sharp breath as he seems to examine her with a curious stare. A long moment of silence passes as a gentle smile builds on his face. She pushes past the knots forming in her stomach in an awkward attempt to match his gesture.

“You’re married?” he asks.

“What?” Her brows knit, surprised by the query.

“You were mumbling about a husband when I found you,” he explains, pointing to the golden ring on her finger as further evidence.

“Oh, I-,” and she pauses, unsure of how to proceed.

She turns towards the fireplace, using the hand he motioned towards to push some dust around the thick wooden mantle. She curses herself. She should have said she lived here with her husband when he asked if she was alone but he’s already come to the conclusion she is the solitary occupant of the tiny cottage. But she is wearing a wedding ring and he apparently heard her talking about her husband in the cemetery. She can’t very well explain to this mortal man in black that she’s married to the Devil, he’ll come back with a pitchfork carrying mob. Best case scenario is she winds up in a psych hospital and worst case is that she becomes kindling.

Wait, how did he hear her talking about her husband, she thinks? She only remembers mentioning him to the vampires before the attack and then any words beyond that didn’t seem to leave her mind.

She whips back around to find him standing even closer now and before she can react he grabs her left hand in his. She opens her mouth to scream but he lifts her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss right over her wedding band. A warmth spreads across her hand and up her arm, jolting her body as images play across her mind.

***

Her body lay bloodless over the damp soil of someone else’s grave. Three greedy ghouls, licking crimson from their craws, eyes glistening with glee. The thrashing wind comes to an eerie still and the man in black materializes in the shadows of a nearby willow. He stalks silently but the creatures see him coming and let out a loud hiss, frantically fleeing at the mere sight of him. The man in black raises his hand, snapping his fingers, and white-hot flames instantly engulf each vampire. He stops to watch them burning, their tormented howls piercing the night, until they are nothing but shadows and ash carried away on the breeze. He moves to his knees at her side, touching the ring on her left hand reverently, before he leans down and places his lips over hers.

***

She takes in a deep breath, her lantern-lit cabin coming back into focus around her, the man in black still bowed slightly in front of her, lips against her hand. He raises his head and his rich brown eyes meet hers once more, only this time she knows exactly who she’s looking at.

“Hello, wife,” he smiles sweetly.

Her eyebrows climb up her forehead as she attempts to pull back her hand from his gentle grip, which tightens in response over her delicate fingers. She’s no longer a stranger to the true nature of the man in black who stands in front of her, having sacrificed her immortal soul to him in order to draw on his supernatural influence to fuel her dark magic. But to have him actually standing in her living room, the raw power radiating off him is enough to make her bones ache, and she finds herself stunned and a bit scared. She continues to try and wriggle out of his crushing grip until he stills her with his words.

“Aren’t you lonely out here all alone?” he questions, his lips still upturned into a saccharine grin.

“No I-, I prefer to be alone,” she stutters.

“Is that why you want me to leave even though I just got here?” his mouth turns to a frown.

“No!” She exclaims. “I don’t want you to leave, I just-”

“I did exactly what you wanted, didn’t I?” He lets go of her as he begins to circle her in the small space. “You wanted me to destroy those monsters who dared to lay a finger on you and I did. And then I fixed you up good as new. Well… almost” he winks at her as he tucks a loose strand of her messy hair behind her ear.

“Yes, I was-,” she shakes her head, the nerves sending a hot wave up her neck to burn at her cheeks. “Thank you,” she stammers.

“You don’t have to thank me, wife,” he hums. “I always take care of what’s mine.”

“Yours…” she trails off.

“Yes,” he smiles. “You are.” He strokes his fingers against her cheek, so warm against her still-chilled skin. “You were saying something about repayment and I think I’d like to make a request.” His smile is sickly sweet once again, boring deep into her.

“Oh-,” she starts before he grabs both her hands in his, silencing her.

“I think I’d like another kiss.”

Another, she thinks, because their first kiss was when she was… deceased.

“Yes,” he continues as if reading her thoughts. “Our first kiss felt like ‘Snow White and the Prince who woke her from her slumber’. But our story isn’t a fairytale, is it my dear bride?”

“No,” she whispers tentatively.

“No,” he agrees. “Our story is one of dedication,” he places his large, warm hands on her shoulders. “Of adoration,” he continues, pushing down until she sinks to her knees. “Of worship,” she tilts her chin to look up at his dark gaze above her now. “And that deserves a very different kind of kiss, don’t you agree?”

She manages to nod her head slightly as he reaches to unbuckle his belt. Watching as he unzips his trousers and pulls himself out of his pants, she’s not surprised to see how well-endowed he is but is a bit shocked at how stiff he’s already become.

He cups his right hand around her neck, pushing his length towards her face with his other hand. She finds herself pursing her lips together in a kiss only to have him push past them into her empty mouth. Of course she knew what he wanted, not just a kiss, but she’s still feeling a bit disoriented. He makes tentative, shallow thrusts while her hands rest on the front of his thighs before she hears him muttering above her through clenched teeth.

“Come now, wife, I thought you were grateful.”

She reaches to grip him and puts some effort into her ministrations. It’s not that she’s inexperienced but it has been a while since she was with a man, since before her wedding ceremony certainly. When she pledged her body to the Dark Lord, she certainly wasn’t envisioning having to perform an act such as this. However, she figures the best course of action is to not just let him take what he wants, but to give him an unforgettable experience. It's in her best interest to show him how appreciative she really is of his rescue.

She pulls her head back, swirling her tongue over his tip, while pumping him firmly with one hand. When she hears him moan in response and grab her hair in his fist, she knows she’s on the right track. She flattens her tongue along her bottom teeth and lets him guide her head up and down, taking him deeper with each pass until she begins to make choked gagging noises.

He lets go and she pants, wiping away the drool that now streaks her chin and hears him chuckle above her at the sound of her gasping breaths. Before she can stop herself, she scratches her nails down his thighs, probably harder than she should have given the fact that he’s the Prince of Darkness. A hissing intake of breath is followed by a deep, rumbling laugh that seems to reverberate off the walls of the small cabin and vibrate deep in her chest, and then his hand is back in her hair in a rough, twisting tug.

He shoves himself past her lips in one go this time, hitting the back of her throat with a gurgle and this time she lets him use her mouth like a toy, grabbing at his ass and holding on tightly. This goes on for several agonizing minutes, him allowing her to gulp in much-needed air in between the rough, dominating ramming of his pelvis into her chin. Finally she hears him cry out just as he pulls away, immediately grabbing himself tightly at the base of his shaft and shaking his head.

“Oh, that was close,” he says breathlessly, laughing without humor. “That lovely mouth of yours is so decadent, wife, that I almost lost control.”

Good, she thinks, and she can’t stop the smug smile that creeps across her face.

“Proud of yourself my little witch?” He tilts her chin up to meet his eyes, brushing away escaped saliva from her cheek. “Let’s see what happens when you’re the one being so deliciously tormented.”

At this point she has no idea what to expect of him but grabbing her off the floor and throwing her over his shoulders was certainly not something she anticipated, so the surprised wail that escapes her lips is almost inaudible to human ears. She hears him chuckle yet again as they pass through the door concealed as a bookcase to carry her into her bedroom. The man in black walks through this home as if he owns it, she thinks, before she recalls herself bowing before a black altar and offering everything she possesses in service to him.

Perhaps this house is more his than hers, she recognizes, as she hears him hum in agreement to a thought she didn’t speak out loud. Before she can question his possible reading of her thoughts she’s deposited onto her four-poster bed, with its velvet emerald curtains wrapped around walnut-hued spires, vines carved in swirls around them. Her vision focuses on the man in black before her only to realize that he’s no longer wearing a stitch of clothing. She opens her mouth to speak but her eyes catch on her own body, laid bare in front of him.

“How- ohhh,” her questioning is cut short when he dives forward, spreading her legs and latching his mouth to her core in one fluid movement.

He drags his tongue up her seam and then closes his lips around her sensitive nub. He begins to pulse his tongue against her and she is unable to stop herself from immediately crying out in pleasure. She’s positive that he knows exactly what he’s doing when in under sixty seconds her back is already bowing off the bed, her nails digging into the sheets, her voice crying out in ecstasy.

He pulls back and gently places kisses on the insides of her thighs, she feels the warm huffing breath of his laughter blowing across her wetness. He gives her a short moment of reprieve before he slowly pushes a gloriously thick finger into her wet heat, moving to swirl his tongue across her overstimulated bundle of nerves. He lets her writhe and wiggle, attempting to move away only until the sensitivity fades and she finds herself grinding her center towards his face for more.

Somehow she has her wits about her enough to grab his hair this time, eliciting a hum of approval from him that she feels vibrate against her. She’s proud to see that she’s able to hold out a bit longer before her orgasm tips her over the edge, but her ego crumbles when instead of stopping he continues his ministrations to bring a third crashing wave of pleasure immediately after the second.

Delicious torment, indeed.

He pulls his face back again, glistening with her arousal and smiles a devilish grin, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes are nearly black. He roams up her body, placing kisses that feel more like bites than smooches, devouring with his eyes what his mouth can’t reach.

“Husband,” she keens, the desperation in her voice unfamiliar to her ears.

The responding growl that escapes his chest seems to shake not only the room but the entire forest around them, vibrating deep into the wood foundation. He grabs her ankles and spreads her legs obscenely wide, notching his thick head at her entrance and sliding it back and forth, coating himself in her wetness. He waits until she’s clawing at his chest, head thrown back and begging him in frenzied babbles, and only then does he finally push himself into the clutch of her.

“My magnificent mate, what an agreeable display of thankfulness you’ve given me today,” he proclaims, setting a fervent pace. “So welcoming to your dark angel, eagerly performing such valued wifely duties for him,” he continues to prattle, more for his sake than her own since all she can manage in response is frenzied moaning. “Perhaps I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you, my wanton little witch.”

He pushes on the back of her legs, driving her knees towards her chest and hitting inside her at a new angle that causes her to scream out in bliss. She wraps her own arms around her legs, holding them tight to her as he mutters words of encouragement and praise. She feels another orgasm building inside her, starting as a tingle at the base of her spine.

He leans forward and spans his large hand across her throat. “Whose pussy is this?” he asks, giving her no time to respond before he’s demanding more answers. “Who’s the only one who gets you down on your knees? Who is the only one who makes you come? Who do you belong to? Who? Who?”

She manages to scratch out a long wail of “you,” beneath the pressure of his hold before she starts to tremble and break apart, coming again in a seizing crest. In a half growl he demands she open her mouth and when she enthusiastically obeys he leans over her and spits, gripping tightly at her neck to feel her strained swallow. Only then does he let himself lose control, grabbing her hips with a bruising grip and pounding away half a dozen more times before he lets loose a roaring release, pumping his warm spend deep inside her.

***

She pads out of the shower, head and body wrapped in warm towels, and comes across her amorous husband perched on the edge of the bed once again dressed in his all-black ensemble. She sees him looking into the nightstand drawer he has opened and before he can reach his hand in to grab what she’s sure is something she’d be rather embarrassed to have to explain, she clears her throat. His hands still but he doesn’t appear surprised by her presence, likely having no qualms about being caught peeping through her unmentionables.

Wordlessly, he shoots her a glare, displaying ire that is no doubt driven by the trove of sex toys he’s just discovered stashed away in her bedside drawer. She shrugs and heads to her dresser, turning her back on him to pull out her pajamas and giving what she hopes is a flippant but playful reply.

“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself when I’m alone.”

He says nothing in response but she hears a throaty rumble and notices the flames dance higher for a moment in response. She turns to find him behind her, although she didn’t hear him approach, so close now that she can feel the heat of his body radiating onto her skin. He pulls the towel loose from her hair and caresses the side of her face, tucking some loose strands behind her ear. She bumps backwards against the dresser but stills as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

“Are you leaving?” she asks, hating the disappointment she hears evident in her voice.

“I have things to attend to, but worry not darling wife, I will return to you,” he speaks against her forehead and she isn’t sure if the flip her stomach does is from excitement or fear of his promise. “Be careful out here in these woods alone, it’s just not safe,” he echoes his earlier sentiment and she nods her head silently in a placating gesture.

She shuffles her slippered feet, seeing him to the door and watches him as he walks until his dark form reaches the edge of the glow of the lantern lights and he slips back into the shadows.

***

“I can’t believe it,” Jadis guffaws, having listened to Luna’s entire recalling of the events of Halloween night.

“I swear to you, every word is true,” she lies, having told her friend the truth of the evening almost a fortnight ago up until the moment the man in black pushed her to her knees. Something about how the night ended made the whole encounter feel even more unbelievable, so she twisted the truth a bit to tell a story of a grateful wife ending the night with a chaste kiss instead.

“No, I can’t believe you waited two weeks to tell me about it!” the small witch exclaims loudly, both of them erupting into a fit of laughter, the hysterics sending the small car wobbling in its lane. “Did you tell the coven elders about it?” she wonders, having finally gotten a hold on her laughter and the steering wheel.

“Oh, Gods no,” Luna deflects. “This sort of thing is probably so commonplace, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m bragging.”

But that was another lie. She knew damn well that if the Morning Star himself had ever appeared before any of the other witches in her coven that entire memoirs would have been written about it, let alone engaged in the manner of acts that he had with her. She felt heat passing across her cheeks as her mind flashed through memories of them together. As for telling the coven, she was never one to brag and she didn’t want to set off any jealousies.

Technically they were all married to him, each and every one of a long line of witches having given themselves over to him and while it gave them deep and lasting power, he’d never bestowed any personal gifts upon any of them. In nearly two centuries of recorded history of their coven, he had never whispered sweet nothings on the wind, sprouted flowers in a garden on an anniversary, or intervened at all in any of their daily lives.

Even while she practices this internal rationalization with herself she knows that it is also a lie and that the real reason she's kept it secret is that his visit to her had made her feel special. It made her feel like she might really be the powerful witch she’d been told she was while growing up and that even their Dark Lord took unique notice of her. It made her feel cared for, perhaps a feeling intensified by her solitary lifestyle and etched into her mind by his repeated reminders of her being “all alone in the woods”.

She remembers the way his warmth spread across her as he placed his lips over hers and the mischief that danced in his eyes when he stood above her in her living room. A buzzing feeling spreads down her chest and settles deep in her belly as she recalls the way he coaxed pleasure from her over and over again, and his delightful threat to keep a closer eye on her plays on repeat in her mind.

Loud sirens sound behind them, knocking her from her reverie and startling Jadis into quickly pulling over on the side of the road. Two large fire trucks speed by them, blaring horns and flashing lights. Behind them follow several police cars and two smaller fire department trucks. Once the raucous cavalcade passes, Jadis pulls back onto the road and follows along the darkening route out of town.

A short drive later as the car meanders along the winding drive into the woods, the fading sunlight gives way to quite a spectacle ahead of them. The woods ahead seem to be glowing a magnificent orange while red and blue lights flash blindingly against the tree trunks. A heavy fog obscurs the view as bundled figures run from truck to truck, dragging hoses around and shouting muffled orders from behind helmets with face masks.

Not fog… smoke.

Her woods are on fire. Her cottage is on fire. She ignores Jadis’ protests and jumps from the passenger seat of the car before it has even stopped moving, vaulting herself towards her home. Before she can get close she feels large arms wrap around her middle, stopping her forward movement as two firemen approach her with their arms out, trying to calm her down. Eventually she settles and the man holding her, dressed head to toe in firefighter gear, releases his grip around her while keeping one hand gently on her shoulder.

When the blaze is finally extinguished she lets the fireman who has comforted her guide her around the smoldering perimeter of what was her centuries-old home. The inferno had burned hot and quick and she doesn’t recognize anything to be salvageable, save for the cast iron cauldron she sees sitting among the fallen hearthstones. She turns to him in the dark, his face completely hidden behind his mask, and sees only her own image reflected in his visor; trails of tears streak her soot-covered cheeks and strands of hair chaotically twist in the wind, matching the mood of the evening.

She feels more tears stinging at her eyes and lets the broad-shouldered fireman turn her away from the sight of the destruction, tugging her against his smoke-scented jacket and tapping a gentle hand on her back in sympathy. She feels herself break open and let go, sobbing deeply into this stranger’s shoulder for several minutes before she takes deep breaths and slowly collects herself.

A tall, tie-wearing fireman approaches her alongside a shorter man sporting a police uniform and a very thick mustache. She turns to them, sniffling and wiping her tears from her face.

“Is there anywhere we can take you, Miss?” the officer questions with a nasally voice.

“Do you want us to call anyone, your husband maybe?” the warm voice beside her asks.

“Oh, sorry ma’am, I didn’t see the ring,” the officer apologizes.

“They think the fire may have originated from the nightstand in the bedroom, but the fire investigators are still working,” the tall man speaks in a deep soothing voice while she focuses on the glinting badge pinned to his chest that reads 'Fire Chief'.

“Can we take you back into town?” the officer continues. “Maybe there’s a hotel or somewhere your husband can meet up with you?”

She sniffles, the mention of her husband stinging at her wounded pride. The man in black had been attentive enough to bring her back from the dead but apparently not to stop her home from burning to the ground. Keep a closer eye, my ass, she thinks bitterly. She wants to be upset but a part of her tries to rationalize that she should still be grateful that he intervened at all on that violent Halloween eve. However, tonight’s events have the euphoric high of the last two weeks quickly wearing off, and she feels another jab of hurt that he hasn’t tried to contact her once since he left.

“I can drive you to your Aunt’s house,” a small voice speaks up behind her, and Luna emerges from the fog of her thoughts to realize that Jadis has been here the whole time.

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she nods a small thanks, taking her friend’s outstretched hand and letting herself be guided back towards the little car parked down the drive.

“Hey,” she hears a shy voice speak up.

She turns around to see the familiar broad-shoulders of the fireman who has been her companion for hours. He takes large steps, coming to stand right in front of her in the drive and Jadis continues on to wait in the car, giving them privacy.

“Be careful, okay?” he pleads, and she opens her mouth to tell him she’ll be fine. “It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he finishes, reaching a gloved hand forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She freezes, watching her own eyes go wide in the reflection of his visor. She reaches a hand forward slowly, grabbing the bottom of the mask. When he makes no move to stop her, she flips it up, knocking his helmet off of his head in the process. She knows what she’s expecting to see under the mask, or rather who she is expecting to see.

What she doesn’t expect is for the entire uniform to collapse in front of her very eyes, landing in a limp pile on the ground at her feet as if nothing but a spectre had inhabited it. With shaking hands she leans down and grabs a small white paper sticking out of the collar of the empty jacket. She flips it over in her trembling fingers, reading it several times. It’s a business card for Joel Miller, a familiar face smiling from a photo on one side of the card. The Devil’s in the Details, Inc., it says, and below that is written ‘Home Building & Realty’, along with a local address and phone number.

On the back of the card is a handwritten note:

I always take care of what’s mine. xx - your loving husband

#devil!joel miller #Witch!OFC #Devil!Joel #joel miller x ofc #noxturnalnymph #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #spooky season

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fanfic-scribbles · 12 days ago

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Spooky Scary

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Bucky tries to bond with you over your love of horror. It goes well, just...not how you'd expect.

Quick facts: Romance – Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Reader loves horror but is also scared of it, short and very fluffy

MCU Timeline: Set some nebulous time after CA:TWS

Words: 1226

A/N: Please enjoy this short piece of Halloween fluff. For regular readers: I am having a bit of A Time right now and I don’t know if I’ll be able to update in November. I’m a little bummed; I’m very proud of having been able to keep my monthly update schedule, but I’ll be traveling for Thanksgiving this year and I recently had a set back that hit pretty hard. So right now I’m thinking I’ll take November off, *maybe* December if I have to, but we’ll see when we see. Nothing is abandoned, I just need a minute, so enjoy what’s here in the meantime, and I will see you later <3

You are on a date (not a date) with your crush (best friend) right now (right now!) and you are terrified.

In more ways than just one.

“You’re okay with a haunted house?” you ask, looking over the advertising placard. The overall layout is very ‘graphic design is my passion,’ but some of the photos look…unsettlingly good.

“It won’t bother me,” Bucky says with absolute confidence. “Clint says I’ll be fine. Something about the makeup being good but overall it’s pretty cheesy.”

You don’t know what you did to Clint, but a few Robin Hood jokes are not enough to warrant this.

A gruesome Jack-in-the-box pops out, telegraphed from a hallway down, and yet you still jump. You’re glad you picked Bucky’s left arm to grab– hopefully it isn’t pressure sensitive.

“You all right?” Bucky chuckles, his breath in your ear. Despite the ‘blood’-stained, grimy hall, you relax a little, and even smile at him.

“Doing great,” you lie.

You have a reputation. A deserved one, admittedly– you love Halloween. Horror movies and the macabre are for year-round, in your opinion, but there’s something about the energy in October that just makes it even better. Your friends know this.

They don’t know that you’re actually kind of a scaredy-cat.

So, yeah, horror movies are great– on a screen, when you’re alone at home and no one can see you flinch, jump, or peek out between your fingers.

Or gasp and jump out of your skin when a shadow runs past your open side. You’re gripping Bucky’s arm hard enough your hands hurt, but it’s also kind of…thrilling, being able to be so close to him. Or rather, being forced to, even if only by your own nerves. You might need some help unlatching your fingers by the end of the night.

But Clint, via Bucky, was right– the scene work could be better, you think, but maybe that’s a good thing, because the actors are great, in costume and performance, with one of the most terrifying being a woman following alongside you, unnoticed until the perfect moment. But no one comes close to touching you, and it doesn’t hurt that you’re in the company of someone who could stare down Jason and punch out a Xenomorph, so you actually start enjoying yourself.

You’re so distracted by everything that you completely miss what’s going on with Bucky– until he gently bumps your side and you jump almost clear off the floor. He lets out a heavy sigh and jerks his head up at a sign. You have to squint a bit, but you make out one of the exits, and after a few seconds, it clicks. Bucky needs to leave.

Just like that, you snap into crisis management mode, like any time you’re out and Bucky has a bad moment. It doesn’t happen too often, but you know how to handle it: get to a safer spot, wait a minute for him to calm, and if he can’t, walk him home.

Easy peasy, but when you get out and to the side of the building, Bucky turns and looks…fine. Composed.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. He looks surprised by the question, and he looks you over. And then he goes quiet– thinking, you assume. It takes him a little longer, sometimes, to figure out how to speak his thoughts. Right now, he’s looking a little frustrated, and nothing’s coming out.

“It’s okay,” you say and squeeze his hand. Thankfully, he squeezes back. “Take your time. You wanna get dinner?”

He hesitates, nods, and leads the way– still firmly holding your hand.

“I’m sorry.”

You’re halfway through a bite of pizza when he speaks again. And maybe it’s a good thing your mouth is full, because it gives you time to think about what he might mean. Then you realize– he must be talking about the haunted house. In your rush to swallow and reassure him, you almost choke. He immediately leans over to hit your back, but you manage to get it all down, and you take a quick sip of your drink before you say, “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I told you– if you ever need to leave a place, then we leave. Simple as that.”

He squints like he doesn’t understand. “You needed to leave,” he says, like he’s explaining to you. “You were scared.”

You duck your head. “It was a haunted house,” you say. Mumble. “The makeup was really good, and so were the actors.” You can feel him staring at you still, so you admit, “I’ve never been to a haunted house before.”

Bucky blinks. “But you love Halloween,” he says, almost accusingly.

“I do!” you say. “I love Halloween, and scary movies, and scary things…because they’re scary.”

It’s your first time admitting that out loud. You’re not ashamed, necessarily, but the way Bucky looks at you makes you wonder if you should be. “You like being scared?” he says.

“Sort of.” You push at your crust. “I know it’s not dignified, and you guys are really brave, and maybe you’ll think less of me, but–”

“It’s not that, and no I won’t, it’s just…” He rests his head in his hand and watches you. “I never knew that. That the stuff you like actually scares you.”

“It’s a safe kind of scared. Like roller coasters– scary, but I know I’ll be okay in the end.” You match his gaze. “But yeah, not exactly something to brag about, and I know you don’t like horror movies.”

“Yeah.” He ducks his head. “But I wanted to spend some time with you, and when I was asking for things you might like, it made sense that–” His head snaps up. “Wait, so you didn’t want to–”

“Stop.” You gently rap your knuckles on his forehead. He cracks a smile, ridiculous as the motion is to him, and you smile too. “I don’t really like people seeing me scared, so I don’t do anything that might make me jumpy in public,” you say. “I’m glad I got to try it though. It was kind of fun.”

“And I made you leave,” he huffs, the smile fading.

“I think it was sweet, that you were keeping an eye on me,” you say. “Though I was probably denting your arm by how hard I was squeezing.”

“I didn’t mind,” he mutters.

It’s your turn to blink. “…Really?” you ask. You like to think that maybe things have been a little flirty from time to time. Natasha certainly thinks so, and acts long-suffering about it, but you’ve never had anything concrete. Now, though, Bucky looks a little shy, and then he…nods.

“Well…” You creep your hand forward on the table, and when he takes it, you dare to hope this is different. “I have plenty of Halloween movies that aren’t horror. Ones that are just fun.”

“Yeah?” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. “Can I have you on my other arm?”

Your mouth curls into a smile. “You sure you want me clinging?”

He stands, and crooks his arm in your direction. “I can take it,” he says.

You stand, and slip your arm into his. You won’t pick anything that would upset Bucky, but it wouldn’t hurt to find something with at least one good jumpscare. Just for fun.

#bucky barnes x reader #avengers reader insert #captain america reader insert #happy almost halloween 🎃

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2nd2ndalto · 8 months ago

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here is a smol ides of march au

Leo taps Nico’s leg with the flat of his gladius. “Look sharp, di Angelo, the big boss is coming through,” he mutters.

Nico shifts from where he’d been slumped against the wall of the Forum, pulling himself to his full (yes, really) height and tipping up his chin. It’s his least favorite time of day to be on guard; the midday sun is beating down on the stone walls and the gravel at his feet, and the damn helmet isn’t helping matters. He couldn’t find his own this morning, so he’s wearing Reyna’s, and it keeps sliding down his sweaty forehead.

Nico half-listens to the conversation as Caesar and his companions draw nearer.

“Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, to touch Calpurnia; for our elders say the barren, touched in this holy chase, shake off this sterile curse,” Caesar says, characteristically self-important.

Leo quirks an eyebrow at Nico, and Nico tries not to laugh.

Then, “Caesar!” someone calls. The voice is creaky, ethereal. Nico shivers.

The general stops short, his entire entourage grinding to a halt around him. One of them knocks into Leo, then grabs Nico’s shoulder to steady himself. Nico grits his teeth.

“Who is it in the press that calls on me?” Caesar asks, imperious. “I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music cry, ‘Caesar!’ Speak; Caesar is turned to hear.”

Nico lets out a long breath. Why use two words when two dozen will suffice? The longer this exchange takes, the longer he has to stand here, pin-straight in this stupid fucking sweaty tunic.

“Beware the Ides of March,” croons that same spooky-sounding voice, and a tall figure draws forward. It must be a man, Nico supposes, if only from the height. The figure is robed in sky blue, head covered, his back to Leo and Nico.

Nico’s mind wanders to the gnawing hunger in his stomach, the blisters on his sandaled feet. The heat on his armor is starting to make him feel as if he’s being slowly baked. A Nico panini, perhaps.

“He is a dreamer!” Caesar announces suddenly, jolting Nico from his discomfort. “Let us leave him.”

Nico lets out a breath as the group in front of him begins to move once more.

The man in blue - the soothsayer, Nico supposes, lingers. Once Caesar and the others are out of sight, he turns with a shrug.

“They never listen.”

And his voice isn’t spooky, or ethereal. It’s light, easy. Nico blinks, surprised, taking in sparkling blue eyes, crinkled at the corners, a rueful half-smile. A spill of freckles, several blond curls peeking out around the edges of his hood. The young man appears to be right around Nico’s age.

And he’s hot.

Next to Nico, Leo seems to be undergoing a similar journey of revelation. He steps forward, holding out a hand and offering a toothy grin.

“Leo Valdez. It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Soothsayer, sir.”

Nico rolls his eyes.

The man in blue quirks a smile and takes the proffered hand. “Will Solace.” He steps back.

“Fucking hot out here, isn’t it?” Will Solace says. He shoves down his hood, revealing a head of tousled blond curls, shining like gold in the sunlight, the blue in his robes reflected in his eyes. Nico feels a bit like he’s been punched in the face. In a really good way.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Will says, fixing his grin on Nico.

“Nico. di Angelo,” Nico manages, extending a sweaty hand. Blue eyes catch on his and linger, curious.

“You sounded… different. Before,” Nico says.

Will’s grin goes wider, a bit sly. “I’ve been trying something new.”

“So it’s all an act, then?” Nico asks, curious, because…

“Oh no,” Will shrugs. “He really does need to beware the Ides of March. I just find folks are more receptive to prophecy if I get a bit spooky with it. You know. Really lean into the drama of it all.” Will wiggles his fingers.

Nico nods. “Caesar does have an… aura of death. A thick possibility of it.”

“Nico,” Leo complains. But Will quirks an eyebrow, regarding Nico with more interest, a quick once-over and a half-step closer.

“You know, I might have a prophecy for you,” he tells Nico.

“Yeah?”

Will touches two fingers to his temple, closes his eyes, a flutter of dark blond eyelashes against freckled cheeks. “Yes. I see you, having dinner with me. Tonight.” Will’s voice has gone spooky again, but it’s edged with something warmer now.

“Good grief,” Leo mutters.

Nico nods. “Interesting. Do you see yourself picking me up at eight, maybe?”

“You know, I do,” Will grins “You’re good at this.”

“Maybe after dinner I can show you what else I’m good at,” Nico counters.

Will waggles his eyebrows. “I foresee that I would enjoy that.”

They exchange details, and Will replaces his hood as he leaves, winking at Nico before turning to stroll away.

“That was disgusting,” Leo says flatly.

“Hey,” Nico shrugs, grinning, wondering if he can convince Jason to take his shift tomorrow morning. “There's no use fighting the power of prophecy.”

~~~~

Many thanks to @anything-thats-rock-and-roll for the quick beta & for enabling this ridiculousness

#roman empire au i guess #lol #this is probably the most i've thought about the roman empire since we read julius caesar in grade nine #nico di angelo #will solace #leo valdez #my writing #ides of march #wildly inaccurate historically speaking #if it's less than 1000 words i don't need a title i decided #absolutely terrible flirting omg #only two days late happy st. patrick's day #nico panini

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foxilayde · 1 year ago

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Where’s My Goddamn Money? [Marc Spector x Fem!Vampire!Reader]

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Blood drinking, lack of consent, groping, nudity, suggestive language. Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: Marc Spector wants his wallet back.

A/N: I wrote this fic a long time ago, but removed it in a fit of angst shortly after posting. I’ve been thinking about Ula recently because of spooky season and wanted to share her with y’all. I hope you love her as much as I do!

“I know you’re here Dracula, you big fucking nerd. Where’s my Goddamn money?!”

Hurried steps and the swish of a crescent-shaped cape accompany the echoing voice of Marc Spector as he descends the slate steps of your abandoned-chapel-turned-temporary-home. Seems ironic to live in the belly of a place so full of crosses, but it reassuringly houses a small family catacomb, and it just might be the last place anyone would think to look for a vampire… unless they knew who they were looking for. And would you look at that, Spector figured it out.

“Took you long enough, Spector.” You sip your wine, curled up on the velvet divan, the ceiling drips steadily above you, and you couldn’t look more like a fucking vampire if you tried. You look like a boudoir photoshoot they’d sell at an alternative gift shop, and if you were able to appear in photographs, you’d consider posing in a calendar for real. Eternal life has it’s disadvantages certainly, but it is easy on the eyes.

“Where’s my fucking money, Ula? I know it was you.”

He stalks closer to you now with a slow intensity. It’s funny; for how rushed he seemed to be making his way down the steps, he appears to have lost some of his impatience upon reaching his destination. The sight of you totally naked in the candlelight on the blood red velvet fainting couch has the desired stunning effect on poor Marc Spector. His steps grow slower, edging closer to you, but scanning his surroundings now with creeping mistrust. Smart boy.

You pick at a button on the sofa and purse your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Marc.” You smile wickedly at him, taking another sip from your glass.

Marc’s mask dissolves and he flips back his hood to reveal an unamused angular face, inky curls hanging handsomely over his brow. What a tasty looking treat. And so thoughtful. To bring himself all this way.

“My fucking wallet, Ula. Black. Leather. Full of cash. Ring any bells?”

You put an affronted hand on your bare chest, making sure to caress a nipple with your ring finger while you give him a cartoonishly innocent doe-eyed look “Why, whatever could you mean, mister Spector? Are you accusing me of being a thief?”

“You this lonely, huh? You have to take things of mine to lure me down here. You’re obviously not expecting… company.” He shakes his head and gestures to your curled nude form.

“I’m deeply offended, Marc. I assure you, I did not take your wallet.” You set the wine glass down on the lacquered table, next to the flickering candelabra. “Tell you what” You stalk toward him, very slowly as not to frighten him, “You can even search me if it’ll make you feel better.”

Marc gulps and takes one step backwards for every advancing footfall you trod across the damp stone floor. His back eventually reaches a column and he pauses wide eyed allowing you to slowly and carefully close the distance between your bodies.

You thought an avatar might be a little harder to hypnotize, but he was no more of a challenge than any other man. His eyes are effortlessly tractioned by your own and his jaw loosens in wonder as you step between his legs.

He puts up no fight when you grab his hands and place them on your waist. Oh darkness, his hands are warm, warm and sweet like his candied brown eyes. And fuck, the way his panicked heartbeat vibrates through his hot fingers and into the flesh of your ass? The radiance is akin to the memory of sunlight… you can smell he sun on his golden warm skin. Everything in you screams with a bat-shriek to bite into him now, to suck the sweet life out of his sun-kissed neck, with its thick ropes of tense muscle, fatigued from carrying that pretty head around.

He won’t fight now, not while you’re looking at him like this, but you can’t hold his gaze forever… or perhaps you could. You’d wager your hypnotic gaze could theoretically keep him here for as long as his biology could remain stasis without rest and water— but there’s no chance your patience and lust could wait that long. Not while the throbbing vein in his neck, so thick, so appetizing, is inches from your face. You’ve improved upon your restraint in the last few hundred years, but it’s yet to be perfected. And why wait? You don’t want the stupid bird to come looking for him, do you?

Your eyes are heavy on his own when you purr, “search me, Spector.” He nods like a zombie and his hands are rough on your body, zeroing in on the fleshiest part of you— your bare ass, he squeezes and pulls your cheeks apart and his lip curls like a dog when he growls softly. Whether the vocalizations are a demonstration of pleasure or defiance, you don’t care.

“Ooohh,” Your eyes tighten in mirth and you nearly lose the gaze before you widen them again.

“Good boy, Spector.”

You bite your lip, letting your pearly fangs hook on your bottom lip. He’s delightfully obedient to the gaze. You let your long nails scrape along his scalp, scratching him affectionately before you take a handful of his unruly curls in your grasp.

“Such a good boy that I’m going to let you in on a little secret, okay?”

Marc gives no indication that he understood and he continues to stare dumbly into your eyes and pinch and squeeze the softness of your backside in his warm, wide palms.

You huff impatiently and use the reign of his thick strands to nod his head in agreement for him. You smile with satisfaction. “I did take your fucking wallet, Marc.”

Again, no reaction from him, thoroughly caught in the haze and muck of your sticky spell.

“I took it to lure your cute little butt down here so we could have some fun.”

Still silence, hardly a trace of recognition on his dazed face.

You trace a long fingernail down the side of his cheek, poking up the corner of his mouth into a half-smirk. “Gods, I love a man who knows when to shut the fuck up.” You laugh, scraping your nails gently down his neck and down his suit, to the crescent emblemed breast plate. You nearly, very nearly, break the gaze to look at the plate while you tease your fingertips across it. But your gaze is steady.

“But that’s not the secret, Spector. You knew I took it. The secret is this, and I’ll drain you if you ever tell anyone, but the secret—” You pitch your voice down to a breathy whisper, “You know how mortals have to invite a vampire into their home before we are allowed to enter?”

No response, no matter.

“Well, the opposite holds true for mortals entering a vampire home.”

Again, not a flicker of recognition from him, his thumbs are rubbing needy circles at your backside and the closer you step into him, the more pronounced you can feel the pulsing heat between his legs. Fuck, maybe you should drink from him there. It’s been a long time since you feasted on a femoral artery of a man.

“You see, Spector, once you enter a vampire’s lair, you can’t leave without express verbal permission.” You lick your fangs to punctuate your point. “Like a mouse in a glue trap, I could keep you here as long as it pleases me,” you laugh.

You think you see a subtle widening of his eyes, but it could have been a trick of the candle light.

“Oh don’t be scared, Marc. I’m not going to kill you. Not even going to change you. Just going to take a few good mouthfuls of you, and then I’ll let you go.” Your mouth waters at the visual you’ve painted for yourself. Mouthfuls of his thick pulsing blood, straight from the femoral artery. Christ, you need to feed.

“Does that sound good to you, Marc?” His nostrils flare a bit and you grin. “Oh look at you, baby. You’re excited, I can tell.” You place your palm at the inside of his knee and drag it up, up, up, till it’s resting over the booming ventricle at the center of his thick, warm body, it’s playing a quickening beat and you can feel your fangs grow at the temptation of it.

“Eyes on me, baby.” It’s harder to talk the more your throat fills with the analgesic fluid and your fangs thicken and extend. Your tongue gets hard to control in your attempt to swallow the flood of venom that pools in your mouth. You drop to your knees, never breaking eye contact while you kiss his inner thigh. Your lips are right above the searing pulse point he smells like heaven itself. You rip off his stupid loincloth with impatience. Nuzzling your face into his thighs as best you can while still holding his eyes with your own.

Your bare knees sting slightly on the cold wet floor, You grip onto his thighs, nails biting into the grey linen wrapped coverings while you affectionately nip at his clothed inner leg, never breaking the gaze. In your mad craving, you hardly register as a string of venom drips to the floor from your mouth in a debauched display. You admit you can’t remember the last time you went on your knees like this for a warm suck, but Spector looks delicious from this angle, leant back against the cold stone column, legs obediently spread for you. His hands, unable now to “search” and grope you, are balled into fists at his sides.

Your fangs are at full extension and they grow itchy and painful, if you had any patience left you’d have asked Marc to vanish this part of his suit, but he’s likely capable of fuck-all since the gaze kicked in, so you sink your teeth right through the gauze of his leg coverings, hitting that sweet throbbing vein that’s been calling out to you, begging for relief, begging you to slow its rapid pace down.

Your eyes close in relief and ecstasy, and it’s no matter that they do, the damage is done. You don’t have to hold the gaze any longer, your prey is paralyzed. Though, you think briefly you might enjoy it more if he were able to struggle, to vainly wriggle his thick thighs against your predatory hold. He would be so much fun to play with! To wrestle him down, to fight for your meal— for each suck to drag him further and further away from his own strength… but mortals are so fragile, if it weren’t for the gaze, many would perish from a heart attack before you could get to the meal. Only the most unrefined of your kind ever resort to such discourteous practices when feeding.

He tastes so thick and sweet, and so very very warm, much warmer than a neck bite. The heat of his thighs on either side of your head adds to the burning delicacy, the muscles are more tender down here as well… as much as you had fantasized about the ropey texture of his neck under your lips, this holds its own delights. Sure, you can’t taste the sun, salt, and stubble of his neck— but the flesh down here is soft like butter-seared fois gras. Blood syrupy and warm like hot mead. You don’t want to drink too much, but you don’t want to drink too little either. It’s unlikely Marc Spector will be fooled twice and pay you another visit, so you must savor and make this last as long his blood will hold.

When his heartbeat eventually slows to a resting rate, you make an irate little sound against his blood soaked thigh and force your teeth to pull back into your mouth. Fuck, its so painful to do when your lust isn’t slaked, much easier to just drain him… but a promise is a promise.

You nip your finger and squeeze a few drops of your own blood till it pearls on your skin and you swipe the healing blood onto his puncture wounds, effectively sealing him up. It does nothing for the staining though, and the dark red continent is prominent against the light grey of his suit. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and smile, rising up to your feet. You step in between his legs and snake your arms around his trim waist, planting a bloody kiss on his dazed mouth. He kisses you back faintly, like one might groggily mouth a kiss in their sleep.

“Mmmm, darling, you tasted even better than I dreamed you would.” You wipe of the stain of blood you transferred to his lips with your thumb and you pout at him.

“Baby is tired, isn’t he?”

Marc blinks slowly at you in response, eyes rolling back in delirium, and he heavily collapses into your embrace. Luckily your senses are heightened from having just fed, so you’re able to support his weight with ease and bring him to rest on the divan. You prop him up comfortably. Poor baby is helplessly unconscious… Perhaps you took a tad too much from him? You climb on top of him, still naked, and straddle his limp form to press your ear to his chest.

Still beating. Strong enough.

You sigh with relief. If he was dying you’d have to change him and then you’d have that fucking bird on your ass for turning his avatar. Nearly 600 years old and you still can’t control your lust to a conscionable level. Just imagine, Spector as a vampire! You laugh at the idea and slap his sleeping chest as if he were the one who came up with the thought. “Ha!” He would make a miserable vampire, he’d never have fun with it. No imagination. He’d be the type to be wracked with guilt at every kill. Sad silly boy. A regular Louie du Pointe du Lac, feeding on cats in shame and writing disconsolate letters to no one with his own blood tears. What a mess he would be!

You prop yourself up in a cobra pose on him, forearms and elbows on his breastplate, laying on him fully, the tops of your feet pointed atop his shins. You shake your head at his handsome face and smooth the curls from his brow. For the first time in a long time you have a whim to sleep for a moment… but you can’t, you haven’t slept in nearly 600 years, so you prop your chin on your fist and stare at the pretty avatar while he sleeps, drinking in his slumber with your eyes, savoring the slow rise and fall of his chest.

You reach under the decorative pillow and pull out a black leather wallet. You grin as you tuck it safely in his belt and you kiss his warm cheek before whispering in his ear, “I grant you permission to leave when you wake, Marc Spector.” You rest your head in the crook of his neck, lips teasing his weak pulse point. You sigh when you close your eyes and pretend that you can dream.

END

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#Marc Spector #Marc Spector x Reader #Marc Spector x You #Moon Knight #Oscar Isaac forgive me #Kinktober

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