#its always been a thing here. its just a new coat of paint.

[trans-estinien]

seeing popular blogs fall for the new askbox scam i cant. guys.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

��Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[feralgoblinqueen]

I’m not the first to write something like this but here’s my spin on shifter!141.

*****

They had spent too long in their bestial forms. Time feels different when the wolf takes over, easier to lose track of and even harder to remember their human lives. By the time one of them remembers the house in the woods and its many acres that still needs a final payment under a fake name it’s too late.

They look on from the tree line, taking note of the changes made by the new owner. A budding flower garden in front of the house, well kept and just starting to show its spring colors. Around back a large vegetable patch was still green, nothing yet ready to harvest. The exterior had a fresh coat of paint and small repairs had been made. A single faded blue truck rumbled up the long and winding driveway. That’s when they first laid eyes upon you.

—————

“Abandoned, Selling As Is” was what the advertisement had read. No one else had wanted the plot of land hours away from civilization. For you, though, it was perfect. Somewhere to start over, to be alone and relearn who you are.

The rooms still held the previous owner’s belongings. Everything had been left untouched as if they just vanished one day. All men, you assumed, just from the sparse decor and the clothes left behind. Military, maybe, from how the beds were made with their sheets tucked into hospital corners. Paranoid loners, possibly even doomsday preppers, was another guess you made after discovering a gun safe hidden behind a false wall under the stairs.

It was almost a game, once a day trying a hand full of combinations to see if any worked. Something mindless to fill an unoccupied moment of time. That’s when you really started going through the papers and books left behind. Looking for any clues at what the code might be. A notepad left on the small hallway table is where you scribbled down all the combinations that hadn’t worked, in a meager attempt to not repeat yourself. A small mystery to add a little life to your loneliness.

At night is when things really come to life this far out into the wilderness. In the early days of owning the property, before you were able to get the satellite internet set up, you’d spend the evenings watching and listening on the back porch. Deer were the most common, using the wide open expanse of a backyard as a place to graze in the evenings. Owls silently swooping down on field mice before retreating to the trees once more. Coyotes, crickets, and night birds made a symphony of nature most nights.

The most exciting were the wolves. You could always hear them howling in the distance, calling to one another. They weren’t like the coyotes that cackled over one another in attempt to sound larger or more numerous than they actually were. These were direct calls and responses. Their vocalizations sounding almost melancholy, as if they were yearning for something that seemed just out of reach.

It was a quiet night when you finally decided to respond to their calls. The evening had been spent making supply lists for your trek into the nearest town in the morning. A large cooler had been thrown into the bed of your truck to store items intended for the refrigerator and deep freezer.

You sat on the tailgate, listening to the night song that seemed to encapsulate the peaceful valley you now owned. A celebratory drink held in one hand and a small, proud smile graces your lips. Your house was starting to feel like a real home and that was definitely worth celebrating.

The wolves that you had grown fond of, yet had never seen, were starting up. Your favorite night song. A melody that you could listen to for hours. One you had listened to for hours.

Four. You could make out four distinct calls at this point. Two were more vocal than others, their tones more playful. One was definitely the pack leader. His call the first and last each night, like a command or an order. And one was rarely heard, usually only short responses and never as loud as the others. But the valley always carried their calls to you, teaching you their voices. They were faceless friends in your solitude.

So you call out into the night. The long howl a poor imitation of theirs, straining your vocal cords.

The night grows still. All goes quiet. As the silence passes for a beat, then another, your smile slowly falters and fades. A pang of disappointment and a small bubble of guilt at interrupting their conversation.

All animals, even fierce predators, could be skittish. You worried that your call had scared them off, ruining your chances of ever spotting them. With a hop you jump off the tailgate, slamming it shut in frustration. Heavy feet stomping all the way onto the porch and inside. You could only hope they hadn’t heard your foolishness and that something else has quieted them.

The night remains silent as you crawl into bed. The night song ending early and sewing sadness into your dreams.

But they had heard you.

Your distinctly human howling calling to a dormant part of their minds. They remembered themselves. They remembered their life in the valley. They remembered the house where their human lives were lived.

And they were coming home.

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Objects in Motion

Part 2

Alpha!Billy Russo x Omega! Reader

Part 1 here

You’re deep in sleep when a loud bang wakes you.

Bolting up with a gasp, your heart pounds in your chest for a few minutes. You’re not sure what the noise was- a door slamming shut, or maybe something falling in the apartment above you, but the echo of it in your head keeps you awake for a while, hating that your anxiety doesn’t let you sleep.

.

You go to another dry cleaners, you do your best to avoid going out. You go to work, and back home for a couple of weeks, worried that someone will find you and scold you for what you’ve done.

You think about being scolded by him, you doubt you’d be able to last a moment in his presence.

After you’d ensured the safe delivery of the coat, did you finally research the owner.

William Russo, his stoic, borderline angry expression staring back at you through your computer screen had only made you aroused all over again.

This, this was the Alpha with a scent so magnetic, you couldn’t resist it.

He was rich, a CEO, and you could only look around your threadbare apartment and sigh sadly, there was nothing you could offer him that would interest him.

So, you try to move on with your life, work hard so you can afford to buy alleviators for your next heat, and stay away from alphas that would no doubt hurt you.

The art museum was a big comfort. On a Friday evening, when it was at its emptiest, you’d go in, and stare at all the paintings. You’d study the brushstrokes till your eyes burned, items like Starry Night, and Street Light were beautiful works that always made you dare to dream of a life better than the one you were in. Today however, The Lovers was the one that kept you most occupied.

Two people, with white cloths over their heads as they lean into each other, kissing.  Hidden from each other’s sight, you wonder if the painting only holds its romance because of the seemingly anonymity of the subjects. If the mystery was removed, would there be more love, or less?

It was kind of how you felt right now, pained, searching for something that you weren’t familiar with. An alpha, to call your own.

None of the alphas you’d met had ever been right for you. There was an entitlement written into them, the belief that your station was lesser, so you were supposed to submit. Alphas constantly lived with that air of superiority surrounding them, and they were easily upset when you did not give them what they wanted. 

The alphas you dated were wrong to think that submission was something freely given, in reality, it had to be earned.

You wondered if the alpha on your mind would ask nicely.

Probably not. It was a good thing he existed only in your fantasies.

.

Your omega privilege means you get to stay a little after closing. You smile gratefully in the security guard’s direction when he comes to escort you out.

“We’ve got a new piece coming in tomorrow. You won’t be able to stay late anymore, but I’m sure you’ll like it.”

You smile in delight.

“Do you know which one it is?” You ask.

“Not really, not much of an art guy, but it’s a big deal, really expensive.”

You nod, enthusiastically.

“Well, I can’t wait.” You reply, wishing the beta a good night when you finally reach the exit, pulling your jacket tighter around you to protect from the cold.

.

Not for the first time in his life, he feels the loneliness. 

It’s only that he’s never felt it quite like this. Usually, people just didn’t want him, his mother gave him up when he was a baby, and he’d never really understood why. Through his life, people had assumed he’d present as a beta, because he’d been a scrawny kid. Things had only gotten worse when at ten, his alpha denomination had shown through.

Then, everyone had wanted a piece of him, an opportunity to say that they’d fought an alpha and won, uncaring of his age and size- the world had forced him to become ruthless very quickly.

He’d let the world’s rejection shape him, and he’d only realised that when he’d met Frank.

Frank had made him understand, that alphas were not supposed to be cruel, but rather the very definition of safety and security.

He'd tried his best to ignore the hollow feeling inside of him, and that had worked.

At least, it had, up until he'd smelled that stupid coat.

Now, it was like someone had taken a piece of him and ran off with it, ripped a carefully placed bandage off and left him with an open wound. He could feel the absence, like if it was a whole other person in the room.

He wanted his omega.

It was all he’d thought about now, as he pressed the coat to his nose every night, struggling to catch her fading scent, he wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep again when the scent fully faded.

He keeps going, maybe he even pushes himself harder, his work distracts him, helps him keep a clear head.

He’d even accepted a job to secure artwork for the museum, even though his specialty was protecting people, and Frank was usually the man that handled asset protection.

He’s following closely behind The Scream when he stops dead in his tracks.

One of his employees tosses him a confused glance, but he ignores it as he takes a deep inhale. 

He’d know that vanilla scent anywhere, the smell of apples mixed in and his heart gives an eager kick.

Surely not-

He turns his head, sees a painting of two lovers hiding from each other, kissing through a shroud of white cloth. He studies it for a moment, his mind racing at speeds he can’t fathom.

When the painting gets too far ahead, he turns and resumes his stride, thinking about all the ways he can do his best to get what he wants.

.

He gets permission to access the security footage of the museum.

Who’s really going to deny an alpha anyway?

Billy finds her, or at least the back of her head, and he can’t help the excitement that after weeks of searching, he’s managed to get lucky and obtain a lead on her.

He talks to the security guard that walked her out. With a sleepy voice over the phone, the man tells him that she’s a frequent visitor to the museum on Fridays, and she doesn’t cause any trouble so he lets her stay a little after closing.

“She just likes looking at the pieces, and I can’t be mean to an omega as shy as her.”

Billy’s mouth twitches upward, amused at the biological imprint inside everyone to protect omegas. The men who’d done her a favour to deliver his coat had said near the same thing.

It had made him fond, of a sweet girl, that would no doubt be spooked if he showed up at her home unannounced. Even if he now had the means to trace her back to her home, he couldn’t take the risk. He had to play this right.

.

When you hear Edvard Munch’s The Scream is on display, you vibrate with excitement. Instead of going the opening week, you wait till your usual time the next Friday, when hopefully there’s much less of a crowd to contend with.

It’s not completely empty, but you’re okay with the sparse crowd, you smile, tiptoeing to peek over shoulders so that you can catch a sight of it before you’re at the front.

You love everything about it, the colour and the expressionism of it, you wonder how much the paint has faded over time. The little paragraph beside the painting describes an infinite scream, a universal anxiety, and you think you can almost feel that as you stare at it, the idea that you’re being watched sending a nervous thrill down your spine.

When you move away from the painting however, the feeling lingers. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to shake the feeling, you don’t understand how a painting can have such an effect.

To clear your head, you find an impressionist nearby, Monet’s reflections of clouds on a lily pond, and you stand in front of it, letting out a long sigh.

When the distinct smell of bergamot hits you, you stiffen. 

Your heart squeezes into your throat, and you try to look around as casually as possible, betas turn to look at you as they scent your distress in the air. 

Did you feel like you were being watched- because you were actually being watched?

You take in another breath, and this time, you’re sure.

Cracked pepper, citrus- 

The alpha was here.

Someone says your name behind you, and you turn in fright.

There he was. Dressed down in casual clothes, trying to blend in with the people around him- as if an alpha as handsome as him ever could.

Billy Russo was devastatingly gorgeous up close.

But you were fucked.

Your eyes widen and you take a step back, knowing that this was definitely about stealing his coat. He would no doubt try to make you pay for cleaning- or worse yet- a new coat entirely.

Your body flushes with fear as you back away from him on shaky legs.

His head tilts as he watches you go, dark eyes caught on your retreating form.

“Don’t run, omega.” He says easily, taking a single stride as you back away, his presence looming over you, igniting something in your stomach like a match being struck.

You make a small sound in the back of your throat, and you do exactly what he says not to.

You run.

Well, not exactly.

More like a quick walk, looking back to see if he follows, you beeline for the bathroom, hoping to hide in there for a moment.

You groan, splashing your face with water, internally grumbling over what you've gotten yourself into.

You should have never grabbed that stupid coat with your stupid omega senses always searching for the right alpha. What did you think? That just because he’d had an amazing scent meant that he wanted to take care of you? 

No, he was probably going to scold you, and force you to pay him back, and you couldn’t afford three thousand for a coat. 

Your throat tightens in panic, your body flushes with fear.

You couldn’t think too much on what he would do if he caught you, all you needed to focus on right now, was getting away.

So you take a deep breath and you shed your jacket, tucking it under your arm and stepping out of the bathroom behind someone. 

There’s not a lot of people, but luckily you know the museum, and you take the most secluded paths that you doubt anyone unfamiliar to the museum would know of.

You sigh happily when you see the exit door in sight, making large meaningful steps, looking back every now and then. Behind you is empty, and you think that you might have actually lost him.

It sends a pang of sadness through you, but you shake your head to shove it away.

You look back once more when you push your way through the exit doors, making sure the path behind you is clear of any six foot alphas.

And you walk right into him.

You’re not sure it is at first, but his size and smell give it away. Your face is pressed securely to his chest, and his hands come up to grip your upper arms firmly.

You raise your head in panic, trying to wrench back from him.

“Relax omega, you’re not in any trouble, I promise.” He says, something in his voice that makes his words sound believable.

You whine in distress.

“Please, I’m sorry, I can’t afford to replace your coat. I shouldn’t have taken it.” You plead, voice wobbling with the struggle to speak under duress.

“Shh, little one, I’m not here to ask you for money.”

His words don’t register in your head, and you begin to cry. Thick swells of tears fall from the corners of your eyes.

“I can’t pay.” You struggle out in a tiny voice.

He grunts, his hands move to cup your face, your tears spilling onto his fingers instead.

“Omega.” He says meaningfully.

The command in his tone makes you look up at him, brain going quiet, the power of his voice catching your attention easily. His stern expression softens.

“I’m not here to make you pay for anything, and I promise you’re not in any trouble.”

You make a little sniffle.

“ ‘M not?” You ask weakly.

The corner of his mouth curves up.

“No, I just want to talk.” 

“Talk?” You repeat dumbly.

His thumbs trace over your cheekbones gently, a soft tingling sensation swims in your head and settles at the top of your spine. Your eyelids flutter as you watch him nod.

“I’ve been searching for you for weeks, omega, since you left me that coat drenched in your sweet scent, I haven’t had a clear thought since.”

You gulp.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t be sorry just-” He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s looking for the right words, “Have dinner with me. Tonight. My treat.”

You take a deep breath, eyes widening.

“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

He lets out a swift breath, you worry that you might be aggravating him.

“What aren’t you sure about? Your safety?”

You feel your heart pick up its pace beneath your ribcage, tormenting your body with the feeling of panic.

You reach up, cupping his hands in yours and peeling them off your cheeks. 

“Alphas are… notorious for getting angry when they don’t get their way.” You reply anxiously, your hands uncurling from his, filled with so much trepidation. 

“I understand, but give me a chance to prove myself. There’s something between us, omega, you just have to open yourself up to it.”

You blink, stomach flipping as you debate your options.

You eye him warily, too afraid to say no, too scared of how he would react.

You take another step back, and his face looks pained, his body tense.

You shake your head, scared, taking another cautious step away.

“Please don’t run.” He says softly, it makes you pause.

Maybe… maybe a chance wouldn’t be so bad.

“What about lunch tomorrow?” Somewhere bright and public that would make you feel safer about being around him.

He lets out a slow breath.

“Lunch is great. Where?”

You think for a moment.

“We can meet right here, there’s a place not far from here with nice sandwiches.”

He inclines his head.

“Sandwiches are great.”

You give him a soft smile of amusement, still a little unsure.

“Okay, we’ll meet here tomorrow? Around 12?”

He nods, digging into his pockets for a moment before pulling a card out and extending it to you.

You blink, a little cautious, reaching for the obsidian coloured paper in his hand. You study the raised silver lettering, his name, his job title, his company.

“The one on the left is my cell. Let me know when you get here. If you want, we can look around the museum too.”

Something flips in your chest at the thought. You wonder what he thought of The Scream.

“No,” You mumble, shaking your head, “The museum is packed on a Saturday. I hate crowds.”

He nods in understanding.

“No crowds then, maybe we can take a walk in the park.”

“Maybe.” You reply, still a little unsure of this entire scenario.

“You're safe, Omega, I promise.”

You offer a sad smile.

“That's what they all say.”

.

He was going to kill every Alpha that had ever made you feel unsafe.

He sits in his car, after you'd denied his offer to at least take you home. 

Your scent fades where he'd touched you, his body demanding more. Apples, so fucking sweet his mouth waters. 

Halfway to his home, a text comes in from you, shyly informing him that you'd made it home.

He'd asked, wanted to make sure that you were safe as the late evening had turned to night.

He keeps it simple, types out a small message to put you at ease.

Thank you. Sweet dreams

.

.

.

A/N: Pretty sure y'all are gonna hate this. Sorry.

Also, just asking for more without leaving any kind of feedback makes me feel kinda used 😅

[were-changing-cake-vaults]

Etho cannot deny that in some way, the ocean is messing with his friends, and that he noticed far too late.

It targets Gem first, long before it goes after anyone else, so subtly it’s almost undetectable. Here’s the way he notices: her little boat is cute, but the mangrove wood on the trim seems old and rotten in some places, murky river water staining the paint that coats the sides. The lighthouse, when built, seems washed out, as if the color has been sucked from the stone that forms it. Etho finds this strange, but refuses to jump to conclusions- Gem is still his little sibling with the same warm smile, so he lets it be for now.

It’s really when the fishing craze begins where Etho starts having doubts about the normalcy of things. Grian is in no way an average person most of the time, but this level of dedication is new and sort of suspicious. It starts with the mending book, which is fine, since he’s decided to avoid villager trading this season. Etho comes over sometimes and jokes about the luck of the sea. Here is where it gets weird, though: when he comes over to make that joke again, Grian turns his head, oh so slowly, expression serious and eyes blank as he replies.

“The ocean will provide the book. It’s the next one, I know it.”

It takes a little more effort than it should for Etho to not turn tail and run. The tambre of his friend’s voice is off-kilter and strange, almost hollow in the way it echoes. And it’s the way he doesn’t say mending, he just says the book- Etho can’t help but feel like he isn’t fishing for enchantments anymore. The air smells of rot and slime. He swallows bile, gives a little uh-huh as a reply, and leaves as soon as he can.

Then there’s Pearl and Beef, obsessed with salmon, of all things. Pearl’s thing seems like a one-off, but Doc tells him that Beef has taken the joke about “big salmon” a little too far, claiming he’s gotten emails from them that have threatened the goat directly. Etho doesn’t really know what to make of that, or Pearl’s salmon head, or the continuous slapping of fish on noteblocks that’s driving him insane.

But he knows this: he’s never really liked fishing before, not for its intended use, anyway. It’s good to have in a death game, but not once has Etho found the monotonous motions of fishing appealing. Grian said it best himself: he used to think fishing was lame. And he did. Does. He thinks it’s lame. He thinks all of this stuff about the river and the boats and the ocean and the salmon and the rot is all really weird and not at all cool. He’s only here to make sure his friends are okay. Not to fish, because he doesn’t want to, just to keep Magic Mountain in line.

But Grian says it again: Etho walked up here and was like ‘this is lame’, now look at him! Etho, in turn, looks at his hands. When did he start fishing? Was the sun always that high in the sky? Did the ocean always sing like that? Was there always a magnetic force to the waves at the shore, pulling him closer with every lap of sea foam? Was the lighthouse always this beautiful?

No, no it wasn’t. He knows this. Something is very, very wrong. There’s something in the water that’s making his friends lose it, and there’s something supernatural that’s trying to pull him in. He needs to get out of here, back to the jungle, with its nice green grass and earthy smells-

To his right, Etho hears his death call. The bell rings, the swan sings, and the water keeps lapping at his feet. It’s too late, he knows it, in the way that his hands are gripping the fishing pole with white knuckles, in the way the lilypads seem to grow under his feet to get him closer to the great deep blue. The music continues, the serenade settling into his bones, giving him an eerie sense of calm.

In the magnetic pull of the moment, he doesn’t even realize he’s crying.

[themorningsunshine]

Pie - eyed over you

Mafia - Baker AU 

Masterlist                         Series Masterlist

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

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

Warnings - Mentions of murder and weapons 

Word count - 3.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He likes the rain for a completely different reason now.

It provides him with an escape.

From his mind.

His thoughts

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

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

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

She would have hated how he turned out.

But he tells himself he doesn't care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where were you heading to?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We are here, sir."

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

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

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

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

It looked lively.

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

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

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

.

It was her.

The girl with the floral umbrella and the warm smile.

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

And she was beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky could swear your smile gets wider.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll take a box."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for many reasons, he will definitely visit again.  

Next part

[milla-frenchy]

October

2k3 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: autumn is here, and you always loved that season. This year, you will probably love it even more Warnings: none, fluff. Meet cute, soft!Javi, book lovers, cats, alt POVs. No age specified.

a/n: this is written for @jolapeno & @goodwithcheese 's fall challenge. I ordered Peña’s Pumpkin Latte and A fall walk 🎃🍂🍁

@aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing and everything, as always 💕🫶 dividers @steddiecameraroll-graphics 🙏

Autumn has always been your favorite season. The cooler temperatures, cardigans, blankets on the couch. The thicker socks. You loved staying in and watching the leaves fall from your couch. Drinking coffee or hot chocolate, your cat on your lap.

You also loved going to bookstores or cafes, walking on the fallen leaves on the ground. Listening to their crunch under your feet. The streets painted in a mix of red, orange, brown colors were beautiful. The first rains didn't even bother you.

That Saturday, you took your notebag and the book you were currently reading and headed to one of your favorite places. To get a coffee sprinkled with chocolate powder, and to eat some of those ghost-shaped cookies that the owner cooked every year, from October to November. You finished your book there and decided to get a new one, so you walked to your usual bookstore. The one where the owner's cat sleeps on the books. He's beautiful, black and white. He lets you scratch his ears every time you go there, purring so hard that it always makes you smile.

It started to rain and you forgot your umbrella, so while waiting for the rain to stop, you picked three books from the shelves, and sat down in one of the armchairs to choose one of them. You turned the pages and the smell of old paper rose up to your nostrils. You loved that scent.

“Good choice,” you heard.

You turned your head towards the man who just spoke to you. Dark hair, mustache, black coat. He had two books in his hand. You'd never seen him there before.

“Your book,” he added to answer your questioning look, pointing at it. “It’s one of my favorites.”

His smile was warm, friendly. His eyes were a curious contrast of seriousness mixed with a twinkle.

“Oh, right, the book,” you replied, smiling. “Yeah, I’ve read great reviews about it. I just finished my last one and I am looking for a new one.”

“It's bittersweet, a little sad but very beautiful. If you're not afraid of a rollercoaster of emotions, it's perfect.”

“Well, I’m gonna follow your advice and buy it. Thank you…?” 

“Javi,” he responded, smiling again.

“Thank you, Javi,” you replied, and told him your name. “The rain has stopped, I’m gonna go. Have a good day!”

“Thanks, you too.”

You paid for the book and left quickly, seeing that new threatening clouds were approaching.

On Sunday, you walked to the park near your house. The weather was way better that day, the sky all blue. You sat on a bench sheltered by hedges that had grown well since last spring, put a blanket you brought on your knees and began reading  your book. 

You started it the night before, and you were glad you followed the advice of that man, Javi. The book suited your tastes perfectly. 

You stayed in the park until it started to get a little chilly, the blanket not enough to keep you warm, then you gathered your things and left. 

On your way back home, a curious black kitten approached you. Its fur was a bright contrast to the orange leaves on the ground.

“What are you doing here all alone, kitty?” you asked him, crouched and scratched his chin. He rubbed against your legs, purring, then left as quickly as he‘d arrived.

As you got up, you saw Javi on the other sidewalk and waved at him.

“Hi!” he greeted you, walking towards you. “You enjoyed some quiet time in the park?” he asked, pointing at your blanket.

“Yeah, I wanted to enjoy the nice weather. I go to the park every Sunday afternoon when I can. I started to read the book!” you added.

“Oh great! What do you think?”

“I really love it so far. Thank you for the recommendation.”

He smiled at you. He was cute. And handsome.

You smiled at him too. And for a few seconds you were just smiling at each other. Those slightly silly smiles that you share when you meet someone and want to know them better.

“I was going to have a coffee, do you wanna come?” he finally asked you, breaking the silence.

“Sure.”

You had never usually had coffee with strangers, but you felt like you already knew him a little. As if the fact that you had the similar tastes in books had helped you to take the leap.

He told you he always drank black coffee, but wanted to try something new, so he ordered a pumpkin spice latte. You laughed when you saw him wrinkle his nose after tasting it.

“I’m gonna stick with my usual,” he chuckled.

You spent the afternoon there, talking about whatever you could think of. Your jobs, your families, your lives, your hobbies. He had moved into the neighborhood a couple weeks ago and didn't know anyone there.

You parted ways, saying “see you soon”.

The following Saturday, you hoped to run into him. At the bookstore or at the café. Or in the neighborhood. You didn't see him and you were a little sad about it. You had often thought about him during the week.

On Sunday, you went to the park. It was a beautiful autumn day. To your pleasant surprise, Javi was waiting for you. With pastries and two coffees.

“Too creepy?” he asked with a cute, almost shy smile, as you stopped surprised in front of him.

“No… too cute,” you grinned, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. He was dressed in black. Coat, sweater, pants. He was really handsome. You couldn't believe he was waiting for you there, that he remembered what you said about loving to come there every Sunday afternoon.

You drank your coffees and ate the pastries, sitting on the bench, your blanket on both of you.

He told you he bought furniture the day before, that he finished putting it together late at night. As if he was trying to explain why you didn't see each other yesterday.

“I'm glad to see you today,” you told him.

“Me too.” He looked at you, his eyes landing briefly on your lips. Smiling shyly afterwards, as if to apologize.

You saw each other for the next three weeks, every Saturday and Sunday. Doing fall walks to the cafe, bookstore, park. Every day of the week, you looked forward to the weekend. Aware that you were slowly falling in love with Javi, even if you didn't show it. You weren’t sure if he had feelings for you.

One day, you didn’t know what pushed you to do it, but you couldn't resist and you kissed him under your umbrella. He had just caressed your cheek, and his eyes were the only thing you were able to see. As if everything else had disappeared. 

He kissed you back, his lips pressing against yours, his soft mustache against your skin. You didn't talk about it, didn't want to. You just loved being with him and everything had been perfect so far.

He was always calm, reassuring and didn't rush you. You liked that he didn't feel compelled to fill in the blanks in your conversations.

“Did you see that the café is closed for renovations next Saturday?” he asked at the park, that last Sunday.

“Yes…” you looked down at your feet. You didn’t want to spend a Saturday without seeing him, so you gathered some courage. “Would you like to come and have coffee at my place?”

“I’d love to,” he added quickly, as if he was relieved to know you wanted to see him too.

You gave him your address, and added, “it's the last house on the right. The one with the pumpkins, electric garlands and candles in the living room window.”

He smiled and said “see you Saturday, Hermosa,” before leaving.

Javi wasn’t expecting to meet anyone with whom everything seemed so easy. Not so fast, not so smooth. That Saturday at the bookstore, he saw you a few seconds after the bell on the door rang, announcing an entrance. Always used to analyze every situation, every noise around him. He had done nothing but that for decades. Some habits were hard to break.

You went straight to the cat sleeping on the books, awake as soon as you had lulled him with your soft words “hey kitty, how's your day going? You're such a good boy, always taking care of those books. You love their smell, don’t you? I love it too.” 

He heard the cat purring from where he was. Javi wasn't a cat person, he preferred dogs, but found it rather cute, that loud purring sound.

He had thought back to Puff, Steve and Connie's cat. Fucking sicarios.

His years at the DEA would haunt him for years, probably for his entire life, he knew it. He had tried to work on his father's ranch, but everything reminded him of the DEA. His childhood, his teenage bedroom. The discussions with his parents about his desire to join the agency. Lorraine. He wondered what he had missed, even though he did not regret his years in Columbia. He had done the best he could.

He had thought that maybe he would recover faster if he left Laredo. If there were fewer people who spoke Spanish around him. He needed a change of life, so he had moved to the other side of the country.

And then you arrived in his life, kind of. 

When he saw you, holding his favorite book in your hands, his heart skipped a beat. There were two other books on your lap, but you were looking at his favorite. He didn’t hesitate long before coming up to talk to you. As if that book was some kind of a sign that he had to meet you.

On Sunday, he saw you sitting on a bench in the park, immersed in the book. He didn't want to disturb you, so he waited for you to leave and came to meet you while you were crouching next to a cat in the street. You really were a cat person.

The smile you gave him reached his heart a little too fast. As if you were a constant in his new life. Already. 

It could seem silly, he didn't know you. But he didn't really remember what a normal life was, either. With no drugs, no guns, no threats, no deaths. You were none of that. Maybe that was the reason why he never felt the urge to be grumpy or sassy around you.

The following Saturday he went to buy the last pieces of furniture he was missing in his apartment. He started to assemble them, without realizing how much time was passing. Until he saw that night had almost fallen. He ran to the café, to the bookstore, to the park, but he didn't see you. It was too late.

He cursed between his teeth, and hoped to meet you the next day. Yes, the next day, if the weather was nice, he would go to the park.

He smiled when he woke up the next morning, seeing the blue sky. He waited for the afternoon, then bought two coffees and some pastries. Hoping that you would be there.

You greeted him with a big, beautiful smile when you saw him. Thanking him for what he had brought. And damn, you had a charming smile.

Then, you saw each other every weekend, all October. Each week passed too slowly for his liking, while each moment in your presence passed at the speed of light.

One Saturday, in that café, he didn’t even realize that he had rested his head on his hand, turned towards you, and that he was drinking in your words. You were so close. It made you smile shily. He wondered if you were as enamored as he was. 

But he didn't want to move too fast, didn't really want to know if you were. It had been a long time since he had spent such moments with a woman. Someone who wasn't related to his job. Since high school, probably?

He didn’t want to know, but when you came out of the cafe and it started to rain, you opened your umbrella and offered him a cover rom the rain under it. Your eyes plunged into his, and he couldn’t resist the urge to brush your cheek covered in a few drops of water with his thumb. Your eyes slid from his eyes to his lips, and you bit yours. He didn’t move, not wanting to break the moment. Not wanting to go too fast. But he let you get closer to him, until your lips landed on his, offering the softest kiss he had ever received. He felt his cock throb, tightened in his pants. It was happening to him more and more when he was with you, but he didn't want to think about it. He wanted to put his arm around your shoulders to protect you from the cold, but he didn't dare. 

Though, he couldn't help himself from resting his hand on the small of your back, brushing it over your coat. He felt you getting closer to him and you walked without speaking. The silence wasn't awkward at all, and he loved that.

That last Sunday, when you offered him to have coffee at your place, he didn’t hesitate for long. He wasn’t so sure if he wanted to take his time anymore.

He knocked on your door and when you opened it, he held out a book.

“This is my second favorite, if you want to give it a try,” he said. As if he was not really talking about giving a try to that book, but to him.

You smiled, pulled him by the collar towards you and kissed him.

He definitely didn’t want to take his time anymore, and apparently neither did you.

Javi p masterlist

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[ghosty-writes-23]

Just Can't Let Him Go. - Leon S Kennedy.

!TAGS!: NSFW Content, Needy!Leon, Desperate Sex, CONSENT IS KEY, Cheating (With Y/n), Sweet Ending, !WRAP IT, BEFORE YOU TAP IT!, Unprotected Sex, Soft!Dom!Leon, P in V, Creampie, Eating Out, Slight Anal, Spit Kink, Slight Choking, Praise, Aftercare.

Pairing: Vendetta!Leon + Mistress!Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature.

Summary: “I Know I Need To Put A Stop To This Before Its Too Late, But I Can’t He Makes Me Weak.”

Leon knew coming here was a mistake, he just needed to get back onto his motorbike and leave, to not be sitting outside your apartment at night waiting for you to reply to his message, to not be hoping you will open your apartment door and welcome him with open arms. He knew this was wrong to crave the touch and affection from one person while being with another, but he couldn’t stop himself. He needed you like oxygen even if it meant going behind his girlfriend’s back.

Word Count: 4.4k

Ghosty's Notes: Hello my lovelies, yes I have finally done it, I have written Vendetta!Leon finally, I know I have been promising it for months and I am sorry that it has taken this long to get around too, but I do hope you find it worth it, this is probley some of the filthiest smut I have written in a long time, so please enjoy.

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Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

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Tonight, you were finally enjoying a cozy night in after last night’s nightmare of a shift at the bar you work at, you hated spending your night’s serving asshole customers, unnecessary flirty comments or remarks from drunken men and woman trying to get in your pants or a free drink, minor’s trying to buy alcohol with clearly fake ID’s and the list goes on, from catching couples fucking in the bathrooms to breaking up fight’s that break out in the bar and having to get the police involved, these are never fun when you have to clean up the mess afterwards, who knew cleaning up blood would be such a mission.

But even with all the negatives you have for your work place, there are some positives like the friends you have made there, a boss that isn’t a complete prick and let’s you have free drinks when your working your shift just as long as they aren’t alcoholic ones.

Some of the customers can be sweethearts like a regular you have that comes in every Friday night just before closing and like’s to give the staff any left over food from his takeaway store that didn’t sell, but he didn’t want to throw it out. You and your work besties are always grateful and take it with a smile and give him a discount on his drinks since it was only fair.

You were sitting on your couch panting your finger nails while the opening credits to Buffy The Vampire Slayer season two started playing, you were humming along to the theme song and trying to focus on not getting black nail polish all over your hand.

It always annoyed you that you needed to do more then one coat to get the desired darkness that you liked, but you carefully applied the polish and waited for it to dry, which took forever. You planned on having a self-care night with painting your nails and doing a face mask that you will have to dig around in your bathroom to find.

Your friend Claire was always tell you needed to take some you time and relax, so she gave you a little self-care pack with some face masks, eyes patches that felt like slimy jelly in your hands and made you cringe at the texture, but she seemed so excited for you to try, so for her you would try and use some of the things she had gifted.

When the first coat of nail polish finally dried you went to grab the little brush handle to start the second coat when your phone buzzed, indicating a new message which made you frown because who would be messaging you this late, reaching over the table you grabbed your phone and unlocked it and went to look at the message.

Leon: I miss you Y/n…

You froze as you stared at the message on your phone screen, your heart rate picked up slightly as conflicting feelings and emotions started swelling in both your head and heart. You and Leon have a complicated friendship if that’s what you could call it.

You and Leon meet many years ago while you were working in a hotel bar, one of his missions went longer than anticipated and he stayed at the hotel you were working at and came down to the hotel bar just before you were closing.

He looked exhausted but not the kind that sleep could fix so you decided to keep the bar open for a little bit longer, so he could have his drink in peace and you could take your time closing the bar down for the night.

But one thing you couldn’t have predicted about that night was being bent over the bar counter and being railed with his gloved hand around your throat as he used your body like his own personal stress relief toy, you had never been fucked like that ever before, he made you see stars.

The following morning you had to sneak out of his hotel room, even after he tried to ‘convince’ you come back to bed with neck kisses and soft growls and as much as you wanted to stay in bed with him, you had to go to work downstairs or you would be fired.

You had showered at gotten to work only for your boss of the hotel bar calling you into her office and pulling up CCTV footage of you and Leon in the bar last night, you remember all the color draining from your face and trying to figure out an excuses you could make, but she just smirked at you and gave you a warning but also high fived you for finally getting laid.

She was one of the best bosses you had while working there, she was roughly around the same age as you and was the boss of the whole hotel’s daughter so she let some people get away with small things every now and then, but when you left to go to the job you currently have the city It broke your heart, because you would miss her a lot but you would always stay in contact and try and see each other when you could. It made you remember that time you told her Leon had a girlfriend.

*Flashback*

You and Iris were sitting in your apartment sipping on wine glasses and catching up, it has been months since you last seen her, you had missed her dearly. “So, wait let me get this straight, Leon as in the guy that gave you the most mind-blowing sex of your life, has a girlfriend.” Iris says before she took a sip of her whine, just then sentence made you want to curl up into a ball and hide forever. “he doesn’t call her his girlfriend, more like friends with benefits, but she see’s him as her boyfriend.” You tried to explain it to her the way Leon has explained it to you a few nights ago. “Still if he is involved with somebody else then he shouldn’t be trying to get into your pants.” Iris said before she sets her glass down on the coffee table and grabs your hands.

“Y/n honey, just because he is good for your hole, doesn’t mean he is good for your soul.” Iris says with a straight face, causing a very heated blush to come onto your face at her crude words. “IRIS.” You say with a soft embarrassed squeal in your voice. “You know I’m right.” Iris says matter of factily and deep down you knew she was right, going down this road would only lead to disappointment and heartbreak but that doesn’t stop you from melting every time he calls you darling, doll or his good girl, or the pure bliss you feel when you feel his muscular arms wrap around you making you feel safe.

*End of Flashback.*

Shaking your head you focused on the present, you still hadn’t replied to the message leaving it on read, you know what you needed to do, to ignore the message or even delete it and pretend it doesn’t even exist no matter how much it hurts your heart. This was wrong on so many levels, yes Leon didn’t love his girlfriend and it only seemed to be a situationship that they both benefited from and it’s not like they in an actual relationship but that didn’t stop you from feeling any less guilty, you wanted so badly to put an end to this before somebody got really hurt but deep down you knew he made you weak he always had, ever since he purred you were his doll as he took you from behind, you heart had never same since that night.

Leon: I know you said last time was the last time, but please Yn I need you even if it’s only just for tonight, she isn’t you, she doesn’t understand me the way you do, Please doll.

Y/n: Leon…

You didn’t know what to reply with, it has been months since you last saw him, all you could manage to send was his name because you knew deep down what was going to happen, you would welcome him into your apartment with open arms and open legs, you would let him ravish your body any way he wanted, marking you his until the bruises and bite marks faded a few days later, it made you feel weak and pathetic but you couldn’t help yourself, you loved him even if you weren’t meant too.

Y/n: I’ll leave the front door unlocked.

Leon: Just left the DSO, on my way now, be there in 10 minutes.

You sighed softy as you threw your phone onto the couch before placing your hands over your face, guilt was bubbling in your stomach, but so were butterflies. After tonight you had to put a stop to this no just for your sake but also Leon’s before things got to deep and complicated. Soon you heard the familiar rumble of a motorbike causing your heart to pick up and your thighs to clench subconsciously

When you heard you apartment door open you ran over to Leon in a hurried pace, your feet carrying your body towards him, Leon’s bag fell to the ground with a heavy thud before he opened his arms to catch you, your legs wrapping around his thin torso as his muscular arms wrapped around your body holding you securely to his body, you guys fit together like puzzle pieces, two halves of a whole, Leon has caught you effortlessly, his large gloved hands held you by your ass as he walked into your apartment and then pressed you against the front door.

Your mouths crashed together in a hunger and desperate filled kiss, your tongues intertwining and lapping at each other’s as your bodies grinded against each other’s. Moans and groans leaving both of your lips. Leon pulled away only for a few seconds, his forehead resting on yours as his blue eyes meet yours, desperation, hunger, lust and warmth clouded his eyes, his warm breath was hitting your face, you could see the tips of his ears were red.

“I need to be inside you doll.” He groaned softly, there was a soft growl in his voice that made you clench around nothing. “Condom?” you say softly, you knew you had some upstairs but something told you weren’t going to be making it upstairs. “Don’t have one on me this time sweetheart.” Leon says with a frustrated groan, you knew he had just gotten back from a mission, you didn’t think he would be taking a condom with him.

Biting your lip you knew the other option, you had gotten tested not that long ago and knew you were clean, you made it a priority that you get checked at least every 2 weeks to 4 weeks or whenever you sleep with somebody different, because you can’t be sure sometimes. Looking up at Leon he nodded his head. “I’m clean as well, got tested last week.” He tells you and you nod your head, you knew the risks of not using a condom, but you took your birth control this morning and you trusted Leon.

“Okay.” You say to him and he nodded his head and helped you out of your shorts and panties, they fell down your ankles pooling on the floor, you kept you hoodie on as Leon opened his pants, he got them half way down his thighs before he was grinding against you, you could feel his soft length grinding against you, causing you to bite your bottom lip soft sounds leaving your lips.

“Please Leon.” You soft whined as you tightened your arms around his neck as you pressed your body closer to his, there was no distance between your bodies, you could feel his warm breath on your neck panting softly, the scent of his cologne, gunpowder filled your nose it was a scent that brought you a sense of comfort and warmth, as well as made your body feel hot and bothered.

“I know doll, I know.” Leon says against your neck as he adjusted his position, soon Leon spat on his hand and used his saliva as lubricant as he gave his cock a few pumps before he brought it to your entrance, he tapped his tip a few times causing sweet whines to leave your lips before he pressed his hips forward causing his length slide inside smoothly causing sweet whines and cries to leave your lips as he filled you up, you could feel him growing inside you stretching you could perfectly.

One of his gloved hands came up to the door behind your head, to balance himself and use his other hand on your ass to keep you in place as he began to thrust at a steady but slow pace, burying his face in your neck, his stubble scratching the soft skin of your neck and shoulder but in this moment you didn’t care, all thoughts left your mind as you focused on the pleasure this man was giving you.

“Fuck, been waiting for long on for this.” Leon groans in your ear as you feel his grip on your ass tightens slightly, his gloved fingers digging into the soft flesh knowing there will be a bruise there tomorrow, you could feel his cock twitch as he kneaded your ass as he thrusted into you rhythmically, sweet moans and cries fell from your lips uncontrollably as you moved your hips to meet his thrusts, you leaned back against the door as you tightened your legs around his waist.

You could hear the door creak and rattle with every thrust, you felt Leon pick up the pace slightly, the tip of his cock hitting that sweetspot that made your eyes roll to the back of your head, you felt his hand that was on the door was now in your hair, tugging your head back slightly exposing your throat, you could feel his lips and teeth attack the soft skin, leaving marks on your skin that you will have to cover up tomorrow before you go into work. Sweat started to cover your body, your hair was sticking to your forehead, your body becoming slick.

“Leon.” You babbled his name out as you could feel your thighs behind to shake, you knew you were close, your body felt as if it was tightening, at the sounds of your cries Leon steady up his thrusts, he was now pounding into you could hear his grunts and praises.

“I know sweetheart, cum for me.” Leon grunted against your neck that his teeth were currently sunken into, soon he buried himself to the hilt inside you, that pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name with a loud whine and dug your nails into his shoulder as you felt your body come undone around him.

He soon followed and you felt his cock twitch inside you before he filled you up, causing pleasure to ripple though your body causing you to mew softly. You both stay like this for a few minutes, both breathing heavily and waiting for the trembling of your body to stop, but there was a smile on your lips. But soon you were lifted up and taken to your couch, where you were laid over the arm chair, you could feel Leon’s cum dripping down your thighs making a mess and your cheek flush bright red, you needed to clean yourself up.

Looking over your shoulder at Leon, you could see him admiring the sight of you bent over the couch arm, watching his cum run down your thighs, you saw him kneel down between your legs from behind, then he took off his gloves and put them on the ground before you felt his fingers run up the back of your thighs, your combined juices coating his fingers before he caught them up to his mouth and clean them a growl leaving his lips causing you to clench around nothing.

“You’re going to make such a pretty mess for me doll.” Leon says gruffy as you felt his hungry eyes on your puffy pussy. You felt him move the bottom of your hoodie up to the middle of your waist, leaving your behind exposed to him and the cool breeze. “Look at you, so perfect and dirty just for me.” He praises you causing a soft embarrassed whine to leave your lips before without warning he dived in, burying his face in between your thighs from behind feasting on you like a starving man.

A sharp hitch pitched moan leaves your lips as you pushed your hips into the couch, you buried your face into one of your couch pillows as you could hear the wet and sucking noises coming from behind you could hear Leon grunting also animalistically behind you devouring you, He carefully spread your legs more and buried face deeper, his tongue gently lapping at your sensitive bud, before taking it in between his lips and suckled softly.

“Leon.” His name fell from your lips in a hitch pitch slur, your brain was so hazy and blissed out that you couldn’t focus on anything expect him and the pleasure that was flowing through your body. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you.” Leon groaned against your pussy as you started to grind on his nose, as you were moving your hips you felt his thumb gently tease your asshole, before he slowly pushed it in.

You tensed at first since it was your first time having something back there, but slowly you adjusted your hands where now gripping the pillow your face was buried in as you felt your eyes roll into the back of your head. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your slick was now running down your thighs as Leon’s mouth and fingers worked you, as if he knew your body like the back of his hand.

“That’s its baby, cum all over my face, I wanna drink every drop.” Leon growled against your pussy encouraging you as he increased the intensity of his ministrations. You couldn’t hold on anymore your body feeling as if it was on fire as it trembled under his touch, you squeezed your eyes shut as your body came undone but then you felt it, a gush left your body causing a squeak like moan to leave your lips as your body spasmed.

You felt his grip on your thighs tighten slightly as well as a soft suckling noise, you reached your hand back and tried to push his head away. “to sensitive.” You whined softly before you felt his fingers intertwin with your as he placed one last kiss on your pussy and ass before he got up.

“told you I would make a mess of you.” Leon says with a deep chuckle then you felt his hand around your neck, the same one that was just inside you a couple seconds ago, you could see the front of his shirt was drench in your juice’s causing an embarrassed blush to color your cheeks.

You looked up at him, your eyes glazed over with a hazy and dazed look of lust before you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, you felt a drop of his saliva drop on your tounge and you swallowed it immediately, you could taste yourself which caused your cheeks to burn brighter and a grin to come onto his face as he slightly tightened his grip on your neck.

“Such a good girl, always taking everything, I give you.” Leon praises you, his voice low and husky before he leans down and captures your lips in a gentle kiss, that made your heart leap into your chest.

Soon Leon helped you to your feet, he put his arm around your waist to keep you steady as your legs were like jelly and shaking, you both made your way to your bathroom upstairs. “Do you want to shower together or separately.” Leon asks as he guides you into the bathroom and places you on the toilet seat, before going over to your shower and turning on the hot tap. “Together.” You said not trusting your legs to be able to keep you steady in the shower, Leon nodded his head and walked over to you and gently tugged your hoodie off and placed it on the sink before he started to strip himself.

You could see new wounds and scars on his body, but you don’t say anything, you knew his work was private or he couldn’t say anything, but you knew his work drained him both physically, mentally and emotionally and that is what made you worry the most.

Stepping inside the now warm shower water you both felt out a hum as the warm water cascaded over your bodies, relieving the knots and tight muscles in both your bodies, Leon wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closely to his body. Leaning against his body you went up on your tippy toes and pressed and gentle kiss to his lips, this wasn’t sexually driven or rough as before but more tender and softer as if you were trying to savor this moment of soft intimacy in your own little bubble.

Leon returned the kiss also immediately, his callous hands running down your curves before they settled on your ass and give it a small squeeze. “this.” He mumbles against your lips as he gave you soft pecks. “this is why I can’t let you go.” he whispers softly before his blue eyes meet yours. “You’re not just sex to me y/n, but something more.” He says as he cradles your head in his hands before his lips meet yours again in a soft and passionate kiss.

“but we can’t keep sneaking around Leon, it isn’t fair to your girlfriend, even if you’re in a relationship or situationship it still isn’t fair on her.” You say as you gently pressed on his bare chest breaking the kiss softly. “I know.” He admits quietly as he rested his forehead on yours, his damp hair was pressing against your forehead and for a moment you forgot that you were in the shower as his eyes looked into yours, you could see the guilt in them but also a look you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“you know how I feel about you y/n, I’ll figure something out somehow I promise.” Leon promises you as he places a kiss on the top of your head, despite the uncertainty and guilt hanging over them, all you wanted to do was be closer to Leon, he made you feel a way that no other man has ever made you before, he makes your heart flutter and skip a beat with just a look, his arms feel like home, making you feel safe and protected when they are around you, but you knew things were going to be easy for either of you.

After your shower and putting both of your clothes into your washing machine, you were laying on your bed just in a pair of panties, your hair was still a little damp but you knew it would dry overnight, only your bedside table lamp was on giving your bedroom a more relaxed vibe as you could hear the rain outside hitting your windows.

Leon came in a couple moments later, only wearing a pair of briefs, lucky he had left some of his clothes from last time he was here, He soon joined you on the bed and pulled you closely to bare chest as his hand started to run through your dam hair, causing a soft hum to leave your lips.

“Beautiful.” You heard Leon mumble before he leaned capturing your lips in a soft and passionate kiss, like you shared in the shower, you hummed softly against his lips and kissed him back the same, your hands resting on his bare chest, your eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself be lost in this man that you know has capture your heart despite everything.

The dim lighting in the room and the rain outside gave your bedroom an almost intimate and sensual atmosphere as you moved closer to Leon, straddling one of his thick thighs, you could feel the emotions in the kiss, the unsaid words you couldn’t say out loud, the promises and hope. You both explored each other’s mouths languidly, taking the time to savor the taste and feel of each other, not knowing when the next time you would be able to see each other.

You felt him break a hand up and gently stroke your cheek with his thumb as he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead on yours, gazing into your eyes with warmth and adoration. “I love you y/n so damn much.” He confesses softly, his tone was tinged with desperation and longing, as if it was a slient plea for you to always be his and only his.

Reaching up you intertwined your fingers with the hand that was on his cheek and leaned up and softly kissed him, you didn’t say the three words back to him but your actions showed it, slowly you pulled away causing a groan to leave his lips as he tried to chase after your lips, but you place one of your fingers on his lips.

“If your serious about this then leave her, I’m sick and tired of sneaking around behind everybody’s back and feeling as if I am walking on eggshells.” You say to Leon hoping he would understand where you were coming from, you felt him lean forward and soft peck your lips as he gave the soft flesh of your ass a small squeeze.

“I promise I will y/n, you’re the only one I want.” He mumbled against your lips as if he was sealing a promise, you didn’t know what the future held for the both of you, but you knew if Leon kept to his promise then you wouldn’t let him slip through your fingers not again.

“Okay.” You say to him as a smile came across your lips. “Okay.” He repeated back to you echoing your sentiment, he pulled you closer so now there was no space between you as you laid on top of him, you settle in for the night, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm ambiance over your entwined bodies. Even if this was to only last just for tonight you were going to savor every single moment until the sun raised in the morning…

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©Ghosty-writes-23, 2024. all rights reserved. !I DO NOT! consent to translations or replications or reproduction of my work on any other social media platforms and or make AI Bots without my explict consent and permission.

[minhosimthings]

love.

Synopsis: in which Hyunjin comforts you on a hard day

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, heavily self indulgent because I can, hurt/comfort, reader cries, mention of food

A/N: yay I did this finally it's out of my notes Woohoo! Idk when this idea came into my brain but it did and I couldn't stop thinking about it so now it's here. For my loves @chlorinecake and @astraystayyh they are my Hyunjins

Song rec: love by Wave to Earth

The weight of the world on your shoulders.

You had often heard that phrase as a child. It was ridiculous, initially.

The world can't possibly weigh that much.

You were the smartest in your class, you knew the multiplication tables by the time you were five, the capitals of the world by eight, and by fifteen, the weight of nothing but your own shoulders dragged you behind everyone.

University was an easy affair, that's what you told everyone. Someone's got to keep up the smart girl, book child status up right?

Studies were easy, just understand it, write it down better. Yet, fuck, you could feel the words fading by, was it a stalactite or a stalagmite?

Graduation was easy, you were peaking and nothing was in your way!

Then you realised something.

The world did weigh too much.

Everyone weighed too much.

Your mind weighed greater than your heart, something you fought off for eons now.

And diamonds are formed under pressure, but hadn't you learnt that diamonds turn into graphite every now and then too?

You were so smart as a child, what happened?, You wished ever so fervently that you could tell them that you weren't a child anymore.

No longer the child that thought the only thing that she needed to do to be loved was to get a good grade off her papers.

Or was that love starved part of you still inside?

"Rough day, love?"

Love. It was the nickname you most adored. Lucky for you nicknames were Hyunjin's personal favourite job.

"Fuck..." You swore softly, immediately collapsing onto your couch, and wrapping yourself into the warm cocoon that was your boyfriend's arms. You swore you would become a butterfly from your current catterpillar state one day.

The gruesome world always seemed to calm down on its axis of rotation as soon as you reached Hyunjin's touch. As if he was the petals of honeydew calming down the speed of a hummingbird. Would you have been the overactive bird rushing around to cater to the needs of everyone around her?

You could hear your own heartbeat in the moments of silence, when the dust seemed to still and the winds seemed to wait, eavesdropping on conversations old and new. The hauntedness of the thumping sound made you shiver.

The tightness around your throat felt tighter by the moment, like an invisible rope hanging round it. Your heart felt too heavy too for some reason. It's a heart, you tried to convince yourself, you need it to live. But you knew that you could rip it out of your chest at this moment, and you would still keep living on. But did you really have to-

"Want to talk about it, love?"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

A loud sob ripped through the thick air, coating the curtains of the atmosphere in a blueish paint that seemed to have rotted inside it's bucket far too long. Hyunjin was quick to bury your head further into his chest.

You know you smell really comforting?, that went on in his mind, the thing you said on your first cuddle session, in which, he remembered fondly, you described his scent a bit further than most people usually did.

Broken strings of words escaped your lips, I'm sorry—im so sorry! Guilt always flowed through your veins whenever anything like this happened.

But Hyunjin understood, he always understood. And fuck, you both hated and loved that he understood.

One hand lay on the back of your head, while his other caressed your back, rubbing circles on it. As if a magical void would appear and take all your problems away.

Hyunjin was your magical void.

"Can you talk to me?" Hyunjin asked quietly. He felt you shake your head against his shoulder, causing him to tighten his hold on you.

"It's going to be okay love. I promise you."

Another wave of tears surged through you, nearly making you double over at the rush of fresh emotions popping off in your brain, your jaw tensing as you tried to stifle the illegible babbling falling from your lips. 

Hyunjin's words in your ear and his hand rubbing ribbons of comfort onto your back made you catch your breath, and slow down. Silence rose once you had stopped crying, you felt even more tired now and you had to admit, Hyunjin was a nice pillow.

The occasional sniffle and tired breath from you, broke Hyunjin's heart even more. He hated seeing you cry, so much so, he'd always distract you if he ever sensed you were in a depressed mood. Even if there were times that you poured your entire heart out of him in tears, he'd always shed his own tears in private, sometime later.

"Love?"

"Hmm?"

"Want me to run you a bath?"

"With the candles and everything?" You managed to say in a quiet, exhausted voice. Your throat was tired from all the crying.

"With the candles and everything." Hyunjin smiled down at you, pushing back stray strands of your hair behind your ear, "Can we go up to the bedroom, love? Can we do that?"

He was speaking so softly to you, and it was making you want to sob rivers again.

Silently nodding, you felt yourself droop down all over again as soon as Hyunjin got you up, strong arm wrapped around your waist, hugging you to his side.

Pressing a sweet kiss to the side of your head, Hyunjin started with shuffling moments upto the bedroom, which you followed, not even being able to lift your head up from the pure exhaustion.

Sitting on the bed felt like you were hung down by iron nails, while Hyunjin prepared the bath for you. Even a moment without him felt down, and even if it was a bit dramatic , you were willing to admit it.

"Hands up?" Hyunjin looked at you softly, taking off your shirt for you and discarding it in the empty laundry basket, "You did the laundry yesterday? Wow, I'm proud of you baby."

You let out a breathy giggle at his words. Hyunjin somehow always knew every word in the instruction manual of how to make you laugh.

"Is the temp alright?"

You couldn't get yourself to say yes so you hummed what seemed to have been a 'yes'. Your throat was raw, and your face was congested as well as your chest. You sounded like you swallowed a frog, and the frog was also now sick and subsequently congested.

The water truly didn't have any texture or temperature to it when you got into it. The world felt numb again as you relaxed into the tub, which, evident from the scent, Hyunjin had filled with your favourite bath salts.

What seemed like a year's worth of time, passed in silence, as Hyunjin quietly stroked your skin with soap, was it the lavender one or the tea tree one? You couldn't tell, remembering how you often joked that both of them gave off the same perfuminous vapours and that Hyunjin should just buy one of them. The water seemed more mellow now.

"Love, look at me?" Hyunjin's voice broke you out of your seemingly never-ending stupor. Like it always did.

You turned your head and rested your eyes on Hyunjin's softened ones, and you felt that familiar tightening of your throat again.

"Hyun I-"

"Don't you dare apologise." Hyunjin said before you could even get a word out, "You never have to apologise to me. Not for this."

His hands were sickeningly sweet as they ran over your back, washing lathers of soap off of your back, his voice even more so.

“You deserve to relax, you know that right?" Hyunjin said, as he wrapped you up in your purple coloured towel, "“You did so well today and you do so well everyday and you deserve to rest for a while."

Hugging you into his arms again, Hyunjin provided you with a little den, a cave where you could settle into whenever you felt that you were too tired for a lion's hunt. And you were forever grateful to him for him.

"Now-" Hyunjin looked down at you with a cheeky smile, "You are not allowed to leave the bed until you finish every single cupcake I got you."

"You got me cupcakes?" Your lips broke into a smile, a genuine one this time, "What flavour?"

"Beef." Hyunjin joked, sending both of you into a frenzy of laughter, as you pressed a kiss against his nose, making it turn the touched skin like a tomato.

The one thing that you'd have never admitted to anyone when you were younger was the fact that you wanted to be loved. That was a silly notion to you.

But maybe now, under the watchful gaze of Hyunjin as he saw you devour the cupcakes, you'd admit it.

You'd want to be loved, even if it was another weight on your shoulder.

Maybe that'd be a weight you'd like to ephermally lift.

[uplatterme]

Sit Still, Look Pretty.

a/n: i don’t think the doll fetish is a joke anymore *cries*

cw: sub!albedo, dom!reader, amab!reader (gender-neutral terms and pronouns | dollification, mirror sex, slight feminization, orgasm delay/denial

The alchemist stands there, observing his surroundings as he waits for you to get your things. Your room is like any other, quite simplistic besides the few paintings that decorated the walls, paintings that he’d given you as presents.

He’s been here multiple times and usually, everything remains the same. The stack of books on your desk, the mint flower you keep by the window, your sword which always rested laying on your chair.

Usually, is the keyword here.

Now, he finds himself gazing up on one of the shelves, where a doll sits elegantly on a tiny chair.

It’s oddly…human-like.

“I found last week’s reports that you were looking for.” You return to the room, the notebook in your hands.

He takes it from you and checks, it’s just what he needs.

And while he doesn’t really require anything else, his thoughts are captivated by the expensive-looking doll. So, he asks.

Your face turns into worry, although it soon is replaced by a gleeful smile. He wonders what the reason for this is.

“That, right.” He hears you chuckle.

“I happened to get it from a traveling merchant. It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?”

He feels as if there is something else you aren’t telling him.

“How much was it?” Albedo questions.

“Including the clothes? Well, it’s about…”

Once Albedo hears of the amount, he can’t help but furrow his eyebrows from your purchase.

He hears you laugh again, your eyes looking as bright as they can.

“Don’t you find them appealing, Albedo? Lifeless forms whose purpose is nothing but to sit pretty.”

“I suppose.” The alchemist answers.

He really doesn’t.

“I just think it’s neat. Having no other choice but to obey their owners, wear dresses whether they like it or not, pose in whichever way they’re directed to…” You describe freely, grabbing the doll and placing it in his hands.

“And you know what the best part of it is?” Albedo sees your face lighten up.

He maintains his expressionless face, even if he’s taken aback by how close your face is to him, gazing into your spellbinding eyes.

“What?”

“They do it all with a smile.”

Needless to say, Albedo’s thoughts had become occupied since then.

He tells himself that he shouldn’t bother with it this much. 

Your liking of dolls is just like any other hobby, isn’t it? It’s like how Lisa is with her books, obsessive when they aren’t handled properly or returned within the given time.

Still, he sighs. He does receive your tender touch from time to time, but there’s something else that Albedo wants…or needs.

“Which do you think suits her better?”

Albedo snaps out of his thinking to see you holding two dresses right in front of his face.

He absent-mindedly chose the one on the left, and you smile at his choice. 

“Cute.” You say.

He feels flustered despite knowing that the compliment wasn’t for him. It was for that doll.

The only thing he can do is watch you pamper it, brushing its hair and using those fingers of yours to undress it and change it into a new outfit. 

He sits there, an uncomfortable emotion in his chest as he hears you utter praises for something that doesn’t even move.

“I’m sorry, I must excuse myself.” Albedo stands up from his seat to leave, unable to bear your fondness for the doll.

He needs to do something.

The door to your house creaks in as you unlock it. You hum a tune, stretching your arms, a bit tired from today’s schedule.

You take off your coat, hanging it on the wall. You rethink if there’s something else you have to do before going to bed.

“Ah, my mint flower. I haven’t watered it yet.” You say out loud.

With the glass of water in your hand, you step into your bedroom.

“Archons, you scared me!” You sigh, seeing the alchemist sitting on your bed.

While he’s the only other person who has a key to your house, he’s never been the one to visit of his own accord.

You await his response.

The alchemist stays still and unresponsive, staring past you as if there’s something that you’re not seeing.

“Albedo? Are you alright?” You question the man again, only to receive nothing.

Worried, you come up closer to him.

His eyes looked empty and his breathing was…quiet. There’s nothing wrong with him physically. No signs of any injuries that may hinder his talking nor any sign of trauma to his head.

He looks perfect, actually. And now that you take a look closer, you can see pink powder dusting his cheeks.

Albedo has always been that way. Beauty and brains, truly a perfect mix

You direct his face to yours, wanting him to look at you as you speak.

Albedo hasn’t blinked throughout this whole ordeal.

You get a hold of his chin and bring his lips to yours, wondering if that’ll execute a reaction.

Unfortunately, no results are to be seen.

He doesn’t open his mouth when you kiss him, confusing you since he usually does.

It’s as if Albedo has no sentience. A lifeless being, somewhat similar to that of a statue that served no other use but to be stared at.

…

No. 

You deny your thoughts.

Surely, Albedo isn’t doing what you think he’s doing, right?

You trace your fingers on his thighs, its smoothness surprising you. Almost as if it were made from porcelain, you observe.

“Albedo, you cannot do this to me.” You scold him, each second passing by with him in this state is not good for your heart.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” You stare at him, wanting to see if he’ll say anything.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself if things get too far.” You admit, caressing his emotionless face.

Extraordinary.

“To think you would be that jealous of a doll. It’s adorable, my love.” It’s too good to be true, you think. Albedo presents himself as if he is one too, just so he can garner your attention.

He’s always been smart and reckless like this. He knows this will work. Now, to see how far this ambitiousness will push him…

“Well, a new doll needs a new outfit.” You say to him.

Albedo tenses up at your words.

This is proving to be much more difficult than he expected. Your lingering touch makes him want to buckle to his knees. The kiss on his lips, that led to the core in his chest tightening up.

Has he always been that soft? 

Only having a limited field of vision, he cannot see what you’re doing. But from what it sounded, you were likely looking for something to put him in.

“Ah! Here it is!” You bring the dress to his eyes and he immediately regrets playing this role. This is a bit…embarrassing.

“This was supposed to be a gift for Sucrose’s birthday, but I’m sure you’d do a better job modeling this than her.” You explain.

It was getting difficult to maintain his quiet breathing, especially when you ogled his body as you took off the clothes that he has now. He wants to tell you that you should look away, that he can do it in your stead.

However, he ignores it. He ignores the embarrassment and the warmth rushing up to his cheeks. 

“Your white underwear suits you, Albedo. Although, don’t dolls have no need for undergarments?”

Your voice sends a chill to his spine. He sits there helpless under your fingers, awaiting what you’ll do next to him.

“You’re so perfect, my doll.” Albedo bites back the need to whine.

“Should I set up a mirror so you can see?”

He stares at himself through the mirror, the fluffy dress reaching just above his knee. It’s not of Monstadt creation, that’s for sure. Perhaps it’s a dress from Fontaine?

“Do you like it?” He watches you brush his hair.

“You know, I’ve always been amazed at how gorgeous you are. To think I’m this lucky to own you…I’ll make sure to take good care of you, dear.”

Albedo wants to bury himself underground. He’s enjoying this more than he should be.

It’s strange. He doesn’t get why he’s enjoying this at all. Isn’t his sole purpose to be that of living as a human? Why would he succumb to regressing himself like this?

Your arms envelop his body, your hands traveling on top of the fabric. 

They’re warm.

Albedo seethes when he feels you tug his nipple. No talking, he has to remind himself, even if you fondle his body like this without warning.

His throat is itching for something, a word, or any kind of sound. He hasn’t said a single thing since he stepped into your abode. 

He can do it, he reassures himself.

“My doll isn’t giving up this early, no?” You whisper directly to his ears.

Your fingers slip under the dress and he’s forced to be reminded that you’d taken off his underwear earlier. No! If you touch there, he’ll surely—

“Hmm…” 

Panic settles on his face when the noise unconsciously slips out of him.

“Is my doll malfunctioning? That’s a shame. I thought you were perfect. Do I have to throw you out already?” 

No, no… He stresses.

Give him one more chance! He pleads in his head.

Your thumb rubs the slit of his tip, playing with the already oozing precum. His thighs slightly tremble and he’s begging you to not notice it. He can’t —It’s physically impossible for him to stay still!

Your fingers now move to his shaft, stroking his cock slowly and giving him the right pace that he needs.

Albedo’s mind is getting hazy. It feels so damn good, he’s this close to moaning loudly if not for the fear that he’ll disappoint you.

He bites the inside of his cheek, his eyelids shutting close every now and then.

Your pace hastens, each stroke getting rougher and faster. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold in his scream when he cums. 

“Mmgh–”

His breaths are getting heavier and deeper, his cock ready to burst at any second. 

And then he feels your grip tighten. 

You stop your movement, letting his worry go to waste. It’s painful, being stopped when you’re so close to reaching your high. Still, this is better. He can’t imagine what he would do if he actually did crumble beneath your hands.

Albedo shivers when he feels you touch his tip again, replicating the same movements you had done earlier. His thighs are sticky, the insides of the dress damp and warm. 

The alchemist breathes. Coming to a conclusion that he’ll make less of a noise this way. He hears the way it squelches with each stroke, the noise leaving him greatly humiliated.

His cock aches for a release, the emotionless facade that he wears slowly shattering as he gets closer to an orgasm.

He bit down on his lip, ready to contain the noise, when you immediately stopped. His cock twitching from being suddenly released from the friction.

This happens five more times.

Albedo can feel his sanity going away. He needs to cum. Let him, please. He’s been doing so well, hasn’t he?

His legs have stopped shaking, already used to the same torture that you keep putting him under.

He wants it already, impatient at how long he thinks you’ll keep doing this. Albedo wants it to be all over, he’ll do anything. He’ll suck you off with his mouth if you want, no matter if it ends up with him choking at the end.

How long will he have to bear this?

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You ask the worn-out alchemist.

“You’re already perfect, Albedo. But isn’t there something you’re forgetting?”

What?

“I’ve given you so many chances to guess, and yet you still won’t remember?”

Your fingers cup his chin, and his mind relishes at the fact that he could forget about the one thing you told him that you enjoyed the most.

“Smile for me, doll.”

Albedo’s a wreck as he gets his insides wrecked with your length. His body every now and then writhes as he lets you handle his body even if you push inside him so far that he can feel it inside his guts.

He’s not allowed to move. He’s a doll, he keeps repeating to himself.

The smile on his face looks whorish instead of being elegant. 

He doesn’t know whether it’s because of the mirror but seeing you penetrate him, his hole opening up graciously for you has the poor alchemist wanting to scream. But since he can’t, his emotions overwhelm him and tears start flowing down his cheeks.

Being used like this, as if he’s just some object to be thrown around sends a thrill in his head. Perhaps it’s because of the fact that he would have been, if things didn’t go his way. 

Albedo ejaculates on the bed, the dress sticky with his cum. 

You don’t stop, his walls being mercilessly pounded through, wanting to see how far his limit is until he finally begs of you to stop.

Well, you did warn him before, didn’t you?

His body is weightless in your arms, using his body as if it’s your personal sex doll, you grab him by the sides of his waist, thrusting and hitting his sensitive spot each time.

He loves it.

He’s yours and you have every right to decide what he can and cannot do.

He won’t mind.

Not at all.

[small-sinclair]

Clingy brahms with separation anxiety having a breakdown after reader went out for groceries (malcolm isnt here) and reader coming back to him laying infront of the door asleep with ouffy eyes and then they take him to the bedroom and cuddle with him and he wakes up shaken up and they(reader) comfort him?🥹

Its can be any pronouns ;w;

Alone

Okay, this is my first time writing for him, so let me know how I did!

Gotta love me a clingy Brahms... but what if this is the reader's first time meeting him? What if the reader never knew who he was until they leave?

Brahms Heelshire x gen!reader

You hated to leave the house this time of year. It's cold, wet, rainy, windy, and gross out there, but you have to get a few things. Malcolm wasn't coming to the house until the end of the week, and to add insult to injury, he's come down with the flu. So, why should you risk going out while he got the flu? In this weather?

You wrote a sticky note, telling him where you were going, but you needed to tell him in person. You remember that your parents left without telling you once, and it scared you shitless. Yes, they left a note, but it still wasn't the best thing for you.

You sat the doll down in the living room with some of Brahms's favorite teddy bears, making the warmest cuddle pile that you could muster. "Brahms, honey, I have to go to town for a moment, okay? I promise to be back as soon as I can."

"No," you heard from the walls, the little boy calling for you. "Don't leave Brahms."

You fixed his little jacket and straightened his hair just a tad. "If you are on your bestest behavior, I'll let you have extra ice cream tonight--"

"Brahms... wants y/n," the voice said again on your left. the little voice echoed throughout the living room and it nearly broke your heart. "Don't leave me."

But you have to get some food. You have enough to last two days, but it's Tuesday. You can't have that. What type of caretaker would you be if you let little Brahms starve? What type of person would you be if he didn't have everything he needed? You let out a tired and quick breath and closed your eyes.

You stood up and went to the coat rack. You started putting on your warm jacket when you heard the walls crack as if there were rats. It's been doing that lately. More often than normal, actually. You've been here for a handful of months being the doll's nanny, and you loved it. Everyday was a new adventure with Brahms. Everyday, something new happened between you and the doll. The ghost of the boy even started talking to you more and more. You thought you were going insane, but he made it clear that it was him. The silence between you two was filled with bits of joy and happiness. The more you watched over Brahms, the more your heart swell for the doll.

As for his ghost and the walls moving? You couldn't make out if his was trying to scare you or make you nervous. Either way, a new rule was made: No Jump Scaring the Nanny. After that, Brahms's doll stopped moving from one room to the other, and you were thankful for that. You didn't want to have a heart attack every time you turn around and meeting a still doll looking back at you.

The house never felt empty when you and the doll hung out, you following the rules as close as you could. You and Brahms walked around the house every other day. You would carry him with such care as you talked about anything and everything. You loved seeing the art hanging on the walls, and you loved telling him daring storied behind some of the paintings. The house never felt alone with you around, and you felt as if he was thankful to have you. Maybe you're his first friend? Even at night, in separate rooms, you never felt alone. You always felt as if a guardian angel was watching you while you slept. Sometimes, you would feel as if your angel was sleeping next to you as the end of the bed, sitting on the edge, or leaving a kiss in your hair.

You weren't alone, y/n. Never were alone.

You went back into the living room and your face fell. The doll moved from the cuddle pile of teddy bears to your keys on the counter. He was sitting on it as if he could stop you from leaving, but he had to face it that he was just a doll, not human.

"Brahms," you breathed as you went to the keys. You pick them up then picked Brahms up. You carried him to the cuddle pile again. Turning, you took your jacket off the couch and placed it over him like a blanket. "Can you be a good boy and stay here? Not trash the house like last time?"

The last time you left, it was just to get the mail. When you came back, the library was turned upside down. Malcolm helped put things together while you put Brahms in time out, sitting him in a chair, facing the corner of the wall. That night, you had a heart-to-heart with him not to turn the house inside out whenever you leave. As punishment, you didn't give him his goodnight kiss or read to him. The next morning, you woke up to a drawn picture made out of crayons of some flowers, and there was a written apology on the back of the drawing.

"Stay," the boy's voice said again, but it sounded like it was over you. You looked you, jerking your head to see nothing by the ceiling. "Y/n shouldn't leave Brahms."

You looked back at the doll and placed a kiss on his head. You stand and took one last look at the room. "I will be back in two hours, okay? I promise."

"Don't go!" You heard something far in the house break, and it sounded like glass. "Don't leave me! I'll be good! Brahms will be good!"

"I'll be back!" You promised. "I swear!" You opened the front door and left, locking it behind you. As you started down the steps, you could've sworn you felt eyes watching you with hatred and fear. You looked back at the house then went to the car. "I promise," you whispered.

You started your car and left the Heelshire Mansion.

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

As promised, you were back within two hours with a five bags of groceries and fast food. You got Brahms a Happy Meal to make up for leaving. You knew he'll be mad, but you hope he'll understand. His ghost was different to deal with sometimes, but you were happy with it. He wasn't the worst kid you've looked after, but he wasn't a saint either. Some days were better than others, but you always kissed him goodnight and read to him in the rocking chair in the den.

But you would be lying to yourself that you didn't enjoy leaving the house for a while, too. If it wasn't for the wind and the rain, it would be a halfway nice day. Maybe you would take Brahms on a drive once the weather gets better outside. You think he would love to go on a drive to the bookstore and back! He could pick out new books and stories for you to read, and you can get a cake pop and a hot cocoa...

Brahms would love that.

You unlocked the door and pushed the door open. "Brahms!" You announced. "I'm home--"

You dropped the bags as you found a grown man in the hallway of the house. He wore light grey sweatpants and a dirty white cutoff, showing different sized scars over his skin. His dark brown hair was curled and untamed, greasy and wild. You wanted to scream and call the cops, but something caught your eyes. He wore a mask that looked just like Brahms's face. The more you looked at him, the more familiar you felt with him. It's like you've known him your whole life being in the house taking care of the doll.

You closed the door behind you and picked the bags back up. He was out like a light, sleeping heavily in the hallway, clutching your jacket. You could see his mask had tear stained streaks over the clay, and you felt bad for him. If this was Brahms, the doll you've been caring for, you'll have to tell not to sleep on the floor because you haven't swept in a while.

You took the bags to the kitchen and put away the cold items before coming back to him. Carefully, you lifted the man up and hauled him to the couch. You laid his head on your lap and just looked at him. The man looked so close to the doll's face, and it almost scared you. There wasn't a ghost in the house. There wasn't a boy's ghost haunting the doll. There was him, and he's been here the whole time. His parents must've hid him away from the world, and you felt sorry for him.

But you should be scared. You should be terrified that there's a stranger resting on your lap, but you didn't fear a thing. The paintings of a young boy around the house was in your grasp. The mountains that he climbed and the laps he made throughout the house just to be near you must've killed him. You wondered how many times he wanted to hold your hand or hug you. You wonders how many times he thought of you when he was alone.

His parents hid him from the world, and that's not right. That wasn't right.

Well, at least he listened and didn't tore the house apart...

You looked at the grandmother clock in the corner of the living room then back at man. It's dinner time, and you thought of the fast food on the counter.

Gently, you shook his shoulder. "Brahms?" You asked in a whisper. "Brahms? Sweetheart, it's time for dinner... Brahms?" The man curled into the lab and buried his face in your stomach. You almost laughed; he reminded you of a puppy. "Brahms, time to wake up." You shake him a little harder this time, and he stirs. "Honey? Wake up," you say, shaking him again.

Slowly, the man sits up and looked at her with a sleepy gaze. It took him a moment to process where he was. When his eyes met yours, he scurried away from you, backing up from on the couch to the be on the other end. There was a mixture of emotions in his eyes: panic, fear, sadness, and hurt. He looked at you up and down the around him. How could he let you see him? He didn't want to meet like this. Not like this! He thought of showing himself to you in a couple of weeks, but this? No. No! This wasn't want Brahms wanted!

His thoughts stopped flooding as soon as your hand touched his. He looked at your hand then at you. "Brahms?" You whispered. "Are you... Brahms?"

You watched his Adams apple bob then he answered in the little boy's voice that you've been hearing for months, "Yes. Please don't be... mad at Brahms. I was... scared." He wanted to curl up and hide from you forever, but he saw your sad smile.

You tilted your head. "Why would I be mad?"

"Brahms left his spot," he answers shyly. "Brahms's a bad boy." His voice cracked as he remembered you telling him to stay right there in the pile. You told him to stay put but he didn't! He's the worse person for not listening to you! You've been nothing but kind to him.

You shake your head. "Oh, Brahms... it's okay. It's alright. You're not bad." Then you realized how truly big the house was and how he felt. How many years did he feel alone? How many times did he watch his real mother love a doll instead of him? He's alone. He's so scared of being alone. "You've must've been so scared of being alone again, huh?"

He nods. "Always alone. Brahms likes y/n. Y/n doesn't make Brahms feel..." he looked around the living room then at the doll in the teddy bear pile. "...alone."

"Well," you said, coming closer to him, taking both of his hands, "you will never be alone, sweetie. Not while I'm here."

"But you left."

"I came back, didn't I?" You asked, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles. "Right? I promised to come back to you, and I did. See?" You offered him a happy grin. "I didn't break my promise."

Brahms looks at you then down at your hands. He's always imagined what your hands felt like in his, and he melts. Carefully, he brought your hands up to his mask to let you touch the smooth glaze and he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. Under his mask, he smiles and starts crying. He loves you with all his soul, and his lungs filled up with nothing but flowers for you. All for you.

"You were so brave," you praised. "Such a good boy for listening to me. Thank you for not destroying the house."

His eyes locked on yours. "I'm good?"

"Always been good, Brahms." You glanced at the counter where the fast food sat then back at him. "Let's eat dinner, okay?"

"Cuddle after that?" his little voice asked.

You nodded. "After eating. Sound like a deal?"

He nods as he leans forward into your hands, wondering what they would feel like against his skin. But, that'll be for another day. Both of you would have to take small steps before your lips would trace his, before his hands would hold yours every day.

Small steps, y/n, until you both don't feel alone.

[reve-writes]

—dense; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 2,2k words. ʚ you're a bit clueless as to why the dirtyhands do the things he does, like call you schatje and pay you to steal something when he clearly doesn't need to. ʚ fluff. ʚ a/n maybe ooc kaz im sorry. more at the end!

Ketterdam is a marvel from afar, a pretty little flower offering promises of its nectar—new life, new opportunities, debauchery—only to catch you in its trap and swallow you whole. All the way up on the clock tower, roughly centralised in the port city, the Barrel is nothing more than bright lights emanating from bar signs and glittering roofs.

The bell rings, reveberating to signal the change of the hour. It's time to work, finally.

Your boots thump as you make your way down the spiraling concrete staircase, paying attention not to step on the chunks flaking off of the edge. Whoever was responsible for building this was clearly cutting cost, the concrete is about as fragile as clay.

A painting. It is an annoying job to do on your own, but your contractor offered a lot of Kruge for it—perhaps too much, but if Mr. Kikkert is willing to scrape his pockets for it, then you're more than happy to accept. It is more Kruge than you would ever need for a while, so you won't have to scrounge for scraps in this Ghezen-forsaken town. Moreover, it's been a while since your last job and you're frankly not doing too well.

You step lightly over the rooftops, hopping from building-to-building with sure, steady steps. You have done this for most of your lives, to avoid being stomped into the vile muck at the bottom of the Barrel, you learned to hide near the skies.

Where the painting is being kept isn't far from the Canal, just on the rows of overpriced apartments for rent. You were told that it was housed on the third floor of the corner building. Everything is going well. Your journey is uninterrupted and the stadwatch aren't on alert.

Until you spot him.

The familiar curve of his black hat. The high collar of his coat. The shining leather of his gloves.

Brekker.

You strut towards him as if you are neighbours crossing paths on your evening walks. When in truth, his Crow Club is on the other side of the town and you never come to this area without reason. You call his name sweetly. His head whips around immediately, finding you in the dwindling foot traffic of the street.

He says your name in a warning tone, suspicious of your being here.

“What? Can't I come and see an old friend?”

Brekker scoffs. “I don't know. Can you, schatje?”

You almost turn around and leave when you hear the term of endearment. He knows it gets under your skin—it always does. Your heart skips a beat or two and your train of thoughts gets interrupted whenever he calls you that. He means it as a jeering nudge and your head is wholly aware of that. Your heart, though. What a fickle little thing.

“A bit of a walk from the club, isn't it?” you say, falling into step next to him as he turns the corner towards the apartment building. “I assume you must be up to something.”

“Ah, but I'm always up to something.”

“I can't say I disagree,” you snort. “You don't happen to have a job around the area, do you?”

He halts, his cane knocking against the stone pathing. He turns to look at you and your elbows brush against each other. “Do you need anything? I have important matters to attend to.”

You bring a hand to your chest exaggeratedly, feigning a frown. “How callous. Call me schatje and throw me aside. Is this how you treat everyone, Kaz?”

“Only you, mijn schatje.”

You roll your eyes, unsure how to behave. Huffing, you say, “Stop calling me that.”

“I was under the impression that you liked the nickname.”

Oh, you do.

“I'll be going now. I've something to do. Stay off my job,” you warn. “You still owe me literal crown jewels from last time.”

Kaz's neutral expression shifts into fond nostalgia as he recalls the incident you're referring to. The crown jewels in question were under dispute by a pair of soon-to-be divorcees. One of them hired the Crows' help. The other called on you. One thing led to another and the item ended up in Kaz's hands and you went home empty-handed.

“I won that fair and square,” Kaz retorts. “Your current job wouldn't involve a certain painting, would it?”

Judging by his smug thin smile, you know that he knows.

“Tell me it isn't what you're here for.” You sigh exasperatedly. “Stay off of it, Brekker. I can't afford to lose another job.”

You think to be threatening, bluff your way out and tell him you'll tear down his Crow Club if he gets in your way, but you doubt it will work against the Dirtyhands. After all, you're one person and he has the whole Dregs behind him.

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow for a moment and for that terrible moment, you think that he may be there for the same reason you are, but he shakes his head lightly. “Fortunately, schatje, no. Stop looking as if you're going to murder me in my sleep.”

An involuntary smile blooms. “I wouldn't dream of it, Kaz.”

“Go on, then,” he says. “Be careful.”

You bite the insides of your cheeks to keep from smiling. “You too.”

With that, you part ways with Dirtyhands, entering the building. Your acquisition of the painting goes smoothly and the deal is closed swiftly a few hours later. It's too easy. You know it is. You're missing something.

Miss something, you did.

You push open the door to the Crow Club carelessly. The loud chatter mixed with atmospheric radio surges to meet you as you push your way past sweat-slicked bodies and drunken patrons. Your eyes dart back-and-forth, trying to spot the familiar curve of his black hat or the shiny glow of the head of his cane.

Jesper spots you from one of the open gambling tables.

“If it isn't my favourite thief,” he says, inclining his glass towards you. “Fancy a game?”

It isn't until you stop by his table that he sees the downward slope of your frown and the sharp glare you're giving. He instinctively sits up straighter, taking his shoes off of the corner of the table.

“Where's Brekker?” You ask, to-the-point, without indulging in your usual chit-chat whenever you visit.

The other three patrons on the table freeze—sensing the tension on your shoulders, too. They look between you and jesper, both confused and intrigued to know more. What is Ketterdam if it doesn't have rumours and secrets whispered about?

Jesper's brow furrow. “Are you okay? What's going on?”

To Jesper's knowledge, you and Kaz are on friendly terms, despite the frequent bickering. Hell, he assumes you're more-than-friendly, with the way Kaz gives you a nickname—an endearment, to be specific. Is it possible that you're going through a lover's spat?

“Brekker, Jesper. Where is he?”

A familiar rasp cuts through the rowdiness. “Here.”

Your head whirls around and you shoot an accusatory stare at the source of the voice. You stomp your boots as you make your way towards him. As you pass by him, you tug on the sleeves of his coat.

“We need to talk.”

“Hold on, schatje,” he says, still trailing after you. His cane knocks against the hardwood of the floor. “About what?”

You make your way up the stairs, to the second floor and swing the door to his office open as if it belongs to you. He has an eyebrow raised when he enters after you, closing the door behind him. He leans back against it, waiting for you to speak whatever it is that's on your mind.

“Kikkert,” you snarl. “You paid him to pay me.”

“That's quite a conclusion. How did you come to it?” His voice is level, not betraying whether or not you've spoken the truth.

You're pacing in front of him. “He says, and I quote, ‘If you're so close to Brekker, why doesn't he ask you himself to do this?'”

His eyes furrow and he runs a hand through his combed hair. He sighs, holding a hand up in a you-caught-me gesture. “Kikkert clearly has no idea what discretion means.”

You glare at him. “Do you think this is funny?”

He seems taken aback. “I don't see why this is a big deal, schatje. It's a job. You're paid. I get the painting. What's wrong with it?”

“Why are you doing this, then? Pay me for something you clearly are able to do yourself? Hell, whose painting was it? Was it yours? Did you pay me to steal from you?”

He doesn't reply, but the way he shifts his gaze away from you let's you know. It's as clear as a verbal admission.

“It was yours. That's why you were there. From your safehouse, wasn't it?” You stare at him in disbelief. “Is this amusing to you? I'm sorry if I don't quite see it as such.”

“Schatje—”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

You can't wrap your head around Kaz Brekker's thinking process. He pays someone to pay you to steal a painting he already owns. What's his plan in the long run? To embarrass you? Hurt your pride? Is this some sort of ploy to rope you to be indebted to him?

He sighes. “You were struggling. I only wanted to help.”

“Dirtyhands doesn't help people. You don't run gangs the way you do charities,” you retort.

Is that all you see him as? The demjin? The one who's willing to stain his hands for the right price? Is there no other version of him in your eyes?

“You're forgetting the man behind the monster here,” he says softly.

“Am I?” You approach him, leaving a little over two steps in-between the two of you. “Who exactly is the man behind Dirtyhands then?”

He pushes himself off of the door, taking one step forward. The thump of his cane practically echoes in the room. The hustle bustle of the Crow Club is nothing more than a muffled sound. There's a sudden tension in the air—the same one that hangs over you whenever he calls you his schatje, but this one is heavier due to your lack of light-hearted banter to parry.

“Do you really not know?” he asks, as if the question is staring at you in the face. As if it's the most obvious thing in all of Kerch. His stare is heavy, dark irises acting like magnets that pull you in. He scoffs, “You really are dense.”

“Well, enlighten me, Brekker! None of this is making a lot of sense to me.” You let out a frustrated huff of breath. Your hands move wildly to stress your points. “You know what? Whatever it is, I don't want to know. Just — quit doing it. I'll never take another job from Kikkert. I'll stay away from your damned club and all your friends. I'll stay away from you. I'm a capable enough thief without your pity, Brekker. I don't need it. You can shove it up your—”

His gloved hand wraps around your wrist as it's flailing in the air. Your speech immediately comes to a halt and your eyes widen.

“You are impossible,” he says.

You snort. “And you aren't?”

“At the moment, no,” he retorts.

His stare is intense. It isn't until then that you realise you've taken a step forward during your rant, decreasing the perfectly amicable distance and turning it into a heart-thundering one.

“It wasn't pity,” he says. “You're capable, I have never doubted that, but even the most capable ones struggle sometimes. My intention is to help. Trust me on this. I know you're too prideful to accept any, so I paid Kikkert.”

“But why? Why bother?”

“Why?” He blinks, sighing loudly before continuing. “Why? Have you ever stopped and thought, for a moment, that I've been calling you schatje. Do you think that was out of pity?”

You bite the insides of your cheek and shake your head. “It was something else.”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that it's because —ghezen forbid— I may actually harbour fondness for you?”

You blink once, twice. Kaz thinks he much prefers breaking into the ice court than having this conversation right now. His hand trembles when he brings them to brush your cheekbone lightly. He lets out a relieved sigh when you don't pull back. Your hand wraps over his gloved one, the leather cold on your skin. You lean into the touch.

“I thought it was one-sided,” you say finally. “I'm quite fond of you, too, you know.”

“You do a horrible job of showing it.”

“Says you,” you argue. “Just—don't do it again. Let me handle my own problems, Kaz. I'll let you know if I need your help.”

He hums in agreement. “You'll let me know.”

“I will.”

The two of you jump apart abruptly when there's a loud knock.

“Boss?” Jesper's voice sounds muffled through the door. “Everything okay? I hope ___ hasn't murdered you yet.”

“I haven't,” you answer, half-chuckling. Turning to look at Kaz, you say, “It's funny how he doesn't assume you'll murder me instead.”

Kaz shrugs. “He knows I can't.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Can't or won't?”

“Both,” he answers. “Can we not talk about murdering each other after what just happened?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. What just happened is you practically professing your little (well, maybe not-so-little) crush on him.

“So, is Kaz okay?” Jesper shouts again.

“Fine,” Kaz answers. “You can go back to your table.”

[ ]

i wanted to write something cute. schatje is taken from google and inspired from a kaz fic i read that used 'schatz' as a nickname. the plot is slightly ehhh? because it didn't really end the way i intended it to and i didn't proofread (when have i ever?). i was hoping to turn it into a two or three part series, but this is what we've ended up with & im quite happy with it. thank you for reading!

[witchpassing]

a request written for a kind patron, under the prompt "catgirl seeks help in the practice of Stillness, as she wants to part time as a maneki-neko".

The shop bell jingles as Jun shoulders in, shaking snow from her cloak, huffing against the cold. “Welcome to the Golden Coil Medicine Shop, young miss! How may this one serve - oh, it’s you. Hi, Jun.” The doll running the counter slides out of its ramrod posture with an inelegant little yawn. 

Jun snorts, hooking her hat onto the stand. “Aw, Ginseng, you’re not going to take my coat? I’m nearly a fully-certified witch now, y’know. You should keep it up with the young miss stuff, get yourself into the habit.” 

Ginseng sticks out a teal-blue tongue in answer. “The usual, it assumes,” it says, turning to the dark wall of lacquered drawers behind the counter, each one’s contents labelled in print-perfect doll handwriting. 

“The usual.” While Ginseng goes through the monthly routine, stepladder and scales and brown paper bag with label and seal, Jun’s eye wanders about the shop. Ginseng is always changing something or other about the decor in here - pre-Becoming, it was probably an interior designer or something - but the new addition this time is… really something. A poured-gold statue of a beckoning cat, the full shape and scale of a felinid woman kneeling upon a cushioned pedestal. Its upraised paw swings almost hypnotically, as if to the beat of an unheard metronome. 

A folded paper bag is pushed across the counter by finely jointed fingertips. “Crushed extract-of-venus, five grams. Enriched black cohosh, ten grams. Thank you for your custom, young miss.” Ginseng curtseys just slightly too deep to be sincere, the sarcasm of gesture that dolls do best, and Jun snorts. 

“See, now you’re getting it.” She folds the package into the witch-pocket beneath her coat, but she just - can’t take her eyes off that cat statue. “Hey, uh - what’s with the maneki-neko? It’s a bit, I don’t know…” 

“Striking?” Ginseng says, hopefully. 

“... Gaudy?” 

“Hey!” says the statue, and Jun jumps about a foot in the air. “Rude!” Its tail switches about the base of its pedestal, aggrieved. In motion, the glinting gold of its skin reveals itself to be… a considerable amount of fur-safe paint?

“Oh, what the fffff –” a witch must never swear, “- Cleo?” 

“Yes! Cleo!” says Cleo. “Aw, fuck, Jun, you really think I look gaudy?” 

“Uh - no, no, you look - gold’s a good colour on you. What’s going on?” 

“Oh, you two know each other?” Ginseng leans its elbows on the counter. “How droll. Jun, she’s the new part-timer. It’s really nothing to get worked up about.”

“Uh... huh. Cleo, I know you’re not getting the kind of money out of Ginseng that makes sitting on a pedestal all day worth it. What are you actually in this for?” A roll of glass eyes, as if Jun, having helped out here once or twice a week back before her workload got too heavy to manage, isn’t entirely qualified to opine on how Ginseng pays its shop’s part-timers.

“Well, y’see. I’m lucky now,” Cleo says, as if that explains it completely. Jun waits for some sort of elaboration on the thought, but she just takes advantage of the lapse in kayfabe to start preening her fur. 

"The customers have been petting her," Ginseng supplies. 

"Yeah! That too!” Cleo chirps.” C'mon, c'mon, you know you wannaaa-" 

As she tilts forward on her knees, head seeking Jun’s touch, the silver-chased bell hung upon her neck ribbon stirs into a chime; a high, pure tone that is somehow, for the two seconds for which it hangs in the air, the most important thing in the shop. When the sound fades, Cleo has rocked back into her luck-beckoning pose, swishing tail and twitching ears statue-steady, her eyes cloudy with the kind of deep, thought-ending calm that freewilled creatures do not attain without magical intervention.  

"I thought that bell looked familiar," Jun says. 

"Then - then you know as well as this one does that it's perfectly harmless!" Ginseng says, detecting the baleful note of consequences in the junior witch’s voice.

"You have attached a category-four cursed object to our mutual friend - which I loaned you, from my mistress’ collection - so that she can part-time at your master’s shop as a good luck charm." 

“She was so eager to start! And, and she’s been a huge hit with the customers, and you can’t expect a cat to master Stillness on her own overnight-”

“I’m telling your Miss.” 

“Noooo, Juuun.” 

“I am. You’re not wheedling me out of this, you wretch.” 

“C’mooonnn, it’s fine, she likes it…”

“I should kick your ass myself! Another shift’s worth of this and she’ll Become right here in the middle of the shop, and then what are you going to do, huh, tell your Lady she just walked in and did that–"

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • III

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 5.4k

General fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares

Authors note: Chapter Three - One of Us is Broken Glass (EDITED 09-03-24)

new? start from chapter one here

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

+

“What the fuck are you doing?” I whispered-yelled, furrowing my brows at him in distaste.

“Kiss me,” he pleaded, kneeling in front of me again with an expression filled with fear and distress.

“Excuse me?” I now yelled a bit too loudly as the door below us rattled once more.

“LAPD! Open up!”

“I need you to kiss me, please,” Noah's intense gaze locked onto mine as he begged, “Just this once Y/N.”

I hesitated for a moment but ultimately gave in to Noah's desperate request. His hands gripped the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he pulled me towards him. With complete desperation, Noah kissed me intensely.

+++++

NOAH

My earbuds blasted music as I strolled along the sidewalk, glancing at the houses Y/N and I had passed by earlier. A few of them still had lights on despite the late hour, so I kept walking until I reached a cul de sac lined with townhouses. Putting on a ski mask and pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt, I adjusted my backpack straps and began scoping out each house, searching for a potential target. My eyes eventually landed on one with a dimly lit living room and the sound of a cat meowing at the door. Normally, I would avoid houses with lights on, but something about this one drew me in. Was it the cat? I've always been a sucker for felines.

As I approached the front door, I scanned for any security cameras while listening to the cat's cries from inside. When I confirmed that no one was home, and it was just the cat waiting for its owner, I knew I hit the jackpot.

Sighing to myself, I accepted that this was the house I had chosen for tonight's target. Maybe I could take a few minutes to pet the cat before the guilt sets in. Unzipping my backpack, I retrieved my metal tools and got to work on picking the lock. With my phone in hand, I timed myself to see how quickly I could do it; it was the only way to make this mundane task somewhat enjoyable.

Using a tension wrench and pick, I twisted and turned, feeling for the springs and listening for the pins to drop into place. It took some trial and error, but after twenty-eight seconds, the lock clicked open and I stepped inside.

The cat greeted me immediately with loud purring and winding itself between my legs. Kneeling down, I scratched behind its ears as I flipped through its collar with my covered fingers. The cat was large, with an orange-gray coat and white markings that swirled around its

As I stroked the orange cat, I couldn't help but smile at the name - Juice. The cat purred loudly, enjoying the attention. I stood up, knowing I had to get to work quickly. Grabbing my flashlight from my bag, I made my way into the living room. As I went to turn off the lamp to avoid drawing attention, my eyes wandered over the walls adorned with various band posters against the light green paint. My gaze stopped on the sleep token poster above the couch, bringing memories of Y/N's smiling face flooding back into my mind.

Well, I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear

Shaking the lyrics out of my head, I took it for a coincidence, before looking through various drawers. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I made my way through the first floor of the house, scanning each room for a bathroom, and searching for valuable medications that I could sell for a profit. The guest bathroom offered no luck, so I decided to head upstairs.

The stairs creaked under my weight as I ascended to the second floor, and once I reached the landing, I spotted another bathroom and eagerly opened its medicine cabinet. My heart raced with excitement as I saw various prescription bottles inside: Diazepam, Adderall, Zolpidem, and even cough syrup containing Dextromethorphan. This was my lucky day, but I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.

Stuffing the bottles into my bag, I moved through the hallway towards the nearest bedroom. Juice followed me, meowing loudly at my every step. I tried to shush him, but he remained persistent in his demands for attention.

Pushing open the bedroom door, I was hit with a familiar scent of perfume. It took me a moment to place where I had smelled it before.

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked around, trying to figure out where to start searching; until my eyes landed on a collection of polaroids taped above the oak wooden bed. I walked closer, and my heart sank at the sight of a woman's smiling face in each photo.

It was her house - Y/N's house.

I couldn't believe it. Out of all the houses I could have broken into, it had to be hers. Whatever sick strings fate was trying to pull, it’s turned the one good thing that’s happened to me, into a twisted game.

Feeling guilty and scared of being caught, I quickly scanned her room for any valuables before turning to leave. But just as I was about to make my escape, I heard someone opening the front door. Panic surged through me as I fought to think of an escape plan, and my hand instinctively covered my mouth, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Juice?”

It was her. Fuck.

Looking around the room frantic, I debated where I was going to hide. Closet? Bathroom? Under the bed?

“Juju baby? Where are you?”

I heard Y/N's footsteps fade towards the kitchen and took this as my cue to make a move. Every step I took across the room was accompanied by a loud creaking sound, and I cursed myself for not being more stealthy. She must have heard me; there's no way I could make it to the bathroom now.

Juice watched me with curious eyes from the corner of the room, but it was too quiet downstairs, and I knew Y/N was listening. Suddenly, Juice's head snapped towards the door at the sound of Y/N's muffled footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart raced as he ran out of the room, leaving me alone and anxious. I quickly slid behind the closet door, peering between the cracks.

The hallway light flickered on and my breath caught in my throat. Y/N screamed before her laughter echoed through the house.

"Jesus Christ, cat! You scared the shit out of me!" she exclaimed.

Oh god, what am I going to do?

Juice came back into the room and landed on the bed, staring at the closet with wide eyes. As soon as Y/N entered, I knew I had to get out of there.

"What? Are you hungry? Your bowl is full," she said, shaking her head as she pulled off her sweater. This was my chance to escape.

I carefully slid out from behind the closet door while her back was turned. But just as I was about to pass by her, she threw her sweater into the hamper and turned around. In a moment of panic, I grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth with my hand to stop any screams.

She struggled against me but I held onto her tightly.

Why didn't I just run? Why did I think this was a good idea?

With a racing heart, I turned her around to face the mirror, hoping she would see that I meant no harm.

But tears fell from her eyes as she whimpered, looking back and forth between my masked face and the gun in my waistband.

Of course, she would be afraid.

I was a masked vigilante with a gun.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said softly, my voice trembling. I knew I had to run as soon as I let go of her. She would never know it was me, and everything would be okay because I could just delete her number and never see her again...right?

Y/N's body trembled in my arms as I held her tightly. Even though I squeezed her for comfort, I knew she was far from being soothed.

"I'm going to leave, and you're going to let me. Got it?" I stated firmly, taking a deep breath before closing my eyes and preparing myself to leave this house forever.

"Please don't make a scene," I added, releasing my grip on her body slightly. As I began to step away, Y/N turned around and kicked me with all the strength she had.

"Fuck!" I cried out, doubling over in pain and protecting myself with my hands. As I tried to recover, Y/N fled the room. I knew I had to follow her; there was no way I could escape without her knowing what happened.

"You fucking creep! You followed me!" Y/N yelled, her voice dripping with anger as she pointed a knife at me when I finally exited the room. ""You're a lowlife piece of shit! Get out of my house or I'll call the cops on your sorry ass…Noah."

I locked eyes with her, feeling a wave of shame wash over me as she spoke my name with complete disdain. How did she know it was me? My clothes were different and none of my tattoos were visible.

My body shook with pain and I hunched over, leaning on her door for support.

"Please, Y/N, don't call the cops," I begged desperately.

"Why shouldn't I call the cops?" she screamed back at me, tears streaming down her face. She reached for her phone and began to dial 9-1-1, causing my stomach to drop even further in fear. I couldn't get caught - I had too much at stake.

I pleaded once more, but Y/N pressed the button and I could hear the faint ringing of the operator on the other end. Panic set in and my hand instinctively reached for the gun tucked into my waistband. Y/N's face went pale as she noticed the weapon, her lips trembling in terror. I had never seen anyone so afraid before - not even the woman from our job weeks ago.

"Hang up," I managed to whisper through dry lips. "Y/N, hang up please."

But it was too late - Y/N had already spiralled into a panic attack, gasping for air. We sat there in silence until we heard loud knocks on the front door.

"This is LAPD!"

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, frantically thinking of a plan. Usually, if you call 9-1-1 and then don't answer their call back, they send someone to check on your location to make sure you're okay. But I didn't expect them to come this quickly.

Y/N looked between me and the door, wiping away smeared lipstick from her face. Do I hide? Do I surrender?

My gaze landed on her lips and the smeared lipstick. If only we had been making out... Wait a minute. If we were passionately kissing and she accidentally called 9-1-1, it would explain everything. I quickly removed my sweater and tank top to make it look like we had been getting intimate.

Please play along Y/N, please.

+++++

Y/N

I pulled away from Noah, trying to catch my breath as I noticed the lipstick smudged on his lips. His request was so outrageous that I couldn't help but scoff at him.

"Come answer the door with me and pretend we were just making out," he pleaded, his doe-like eyes pleading with mine. "I'll tell you everything about myself if you do this for me."

I hesitated for a moment, before nodding quickly and allowing Noah to take my hand and lead me down the stairs. He held onto my belt loop as we approached the door, opening it to reveal a uniformed man standing there.

"Hi officer?" Noah said in a confused tone, panting heavily as if we had just been in the middle of a passionate make-out session.

"Evening," the man replied, his eyes darting between us in concern.

Noah pulled me closer and wrapped his arm around me, while I played along by giving the officer a puzzled look and placing my hand on Noah's chest with false admiration.

"We received a call from this location and wanted to check in to make sure everything is alright," the officer explained, eyeing us both suspiciously. Noah must have sensed it, because he pulled me even closer and I rested my head against his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. Despite everything that had happened between us, our bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, an undeniable chemistry between us.

The officer scanned my lips before turning to study Noah's face, analyzing our deception.

"Oh really? That's odd," Noah furrowed his brows and looked down at me. I chimed in, reaching into my pockets for my phone.

"I didn't call anyone," I said,"I must have butt-dialled while you were...pushing me against the wall," I whispered through gritted teeth, loud enough for the officer to hear.

Noah's lips curled into a sly smile and he even winked at the officer. "I was away on a trip for two weeks, you know how it is."

The officer coughed awkwardly and began to look away, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "Alright well, stay safe you two. Have a good night."

"We will," Noah gave him a breathy laugh.

I apologized to the officer as I pulled Noah away from the door and closed it behind us. Noah let out a breath of relief, his tense muscles relaxing.

I took a few steps back, still wary of him.

"Okay, now get your shit and go," I demanded, glaring at him. "I never want to see you again." I wiped my lips, trying to forget the feeling of his hands on me just minutes ago, his mark staining my body.

"Please, let me explain," Noah pleaded, holding out his hands and taking a step closer to me. I could see the genuine concern in his eyes and it made my walls start to crumble. But I couldn't let myself trust him again so easily, so I took another step back.

"Fine," I conceded with a sigh. "You have five minutes. And put your shirt on, it's weird that you're standing here half-naked."

I led the way into the living room and plopped down on the couch, motioning for him to join me when he came back down the stairs.

Noah sat as far away from me as possible, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. We sat in silence, both feeling a sense of deja vu after our earlier encounter in the park; this time was different though.

"So," Noah began, looking at the carpet.

"So," I echoed, watching him cautiously, "you didn’t strike me as a professional criminal."

"That's what makes me good at it, I suppose." A small laugh escaped Noah's lips before he stifled it. I rolled my eyes at him.

"I know you don't believe me, but I didn't follow you," Noah said, covering his face with his hands. "The odds are astronomical, Y/N. I genuinely have no idea how I ended up at your house instead of any other one in the neighbourhood."

"Then why did you choose this house?" I asked, raising an accusative eyebrow.

Noah shrugged, "I don't know. There's no method to it. I saw your light on and heard your cat, and chose it. That's all."

"Sure," I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest, "maybe one day you'll admit that you're actually a stalker."

"No," Noah shook his head, "are you even listening to me?"

He sat up straight and leaned over his knees, staring intensely at me. "I swear on anything- God, Satan, whoever you want- that I had no idea this was your house.

“Even over the dead bodies of my parents."

His eyes bore into mine as he spoke and I felt a lump form in my throat. The pain in his expression made my heart ache.

"You have dead parents too?" I asked quietly, the tension in the room dissipated, filling with a sense of knowing.

Noah licked his lips and furrowed his eyebrows. He snapped his gaze away from me and slumped back over his knees, staring at the floor.

"My mom died of cancer," he began, "and my dad couldn't handle it so he killed himself. I was only twelve years old, but luckily my best friends took me in. They're like brothers to me."

My mouth felt dry as I listened to him. It suddenly made sense why he didn't say sorry when I told him about my own parents' death in the park. He knew that apologies wouldn't change anything and sympathy would just feel like pity, especially in this situation.

"So why were you in my house in the first place?"

Noah avoided my gaze, clearly ashamed of his actions. "Stealing, larceny, thievery - whatever you want to call it. It's one of the easiest ways to make money on the streets besides dealing drugs."

"So you're a burglar," I said, nodding and forcing a smile. "You really know how to pick 'em, Y/N," I mumbled under my breath, finding some humour in the situation.

"I wouldn't be doing this if we didn't have to," Noah replied, sinking back into the couch with his tattooed neck on display. "We owe a lot of money to a dangerous man, and this is our only way to keep up with his demands."

"Who?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my attempt not to stare at the intricate snake design on his neck.

Noah closed his eyes. "I can't tell you for your safety."

I let out a dry laugh. "My safety was gone as soon as I offered you to sit on my couch."

"Touché," Noah chuckled. "But that's one thing I won't disclose."

"How long have you been...doing this?" I watched him closely as he turned his head.

"Long enough," he answered cryptically.

"How long, Noah? If that's even your real name."

He raised an eyebrow. "It is. Noah Sebastian, if you want to be specific. My friend Jolly always referred to it as "the grand fuck up," and it all started when I was fourteen. Since then, we've been paying off our debt every month.”

"And what exactly is 'the grand fuck up'?" I asked, noticing the letters on Noah's knuckles for the first time as he ran his thumb over them.

"It was my first job, and Jolly said I needed to do it to become a man and join the pact," Noah explained, his eyes fixated on the letters. "I stole an expensive car without knowing it had something valuable in it. The car belonged to a notorious criminal who caught us, giving us two choices: death or working for him. We chose to work off our debt and be free once it's paid off."

"Who is included in 'we'?" I inquired.

"My three friends and me," Noah replied with guilt evident in his voice. "I screwed us all over, and it's been seven years of nothing changing."

Noah closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears and the guilt that consumed him. My heart softened, wanting to comfort him and take away his pain.

"What does your tattoo say?" I asked, shifting the topic.

Noah looked at his fingers again, blinking rapidly. "Bad omens."

"Bad omens?" I repeated.

He moved closer to me and held out his hands for me to see. Without thinking, I took his hands in mine and studied the words etched onto his skin.

"An omen is a sign of things to come," Noah explained, watching my fingers trace over the letters. "But everything that comes our way seems to be bad."

"That's no way to live," I shook my head, turning sideways on the couch to face him.

"I've always lived that way," Noah shrugged, giving a small smile.

My heart ached at his words, reminding me of my former self stuck in a cycle of hopelessness and despair. A year ago, I would have said the same thing if someone had talked to me about possibilities and starting fresh. But I had worked hard to leave that behind and create a new life for myself. It was possible, but Noah was still trapped in his never-ending cycle, unable to see any glimmer of hope or change.

“I don’t even feel real anymore unless I’m in pain,” He confided, the agony evident in his voice catching me off guard. “It's not like I enjoy this cycle of suffering, but it's become my norm. I don't know how to function without it.”

Noah scoffed and looked away, trying to distract from his words. “Sometimes I wish I could just give up. Maybe then I'll see my dad again.”

My chest clenched at his words and I sat up on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. “What keeps you going?” I prodded, intrigued by this mysterious man.

“My brothers. I have to fix things for them and make up for what I've done.”

“And after that? What then?” I pressed, completely invested in his enigmatic words.

Noah fell silent, his gaze fixed on the ground, lost in his thoughts. I wanted to know what was going through his mind, but we sat in silence once again, the only sound coming from the soft ticking of the living room clock. Juice had emerged from hiding and cautiously made his way into the living room. He let out a small meow and jumped onto the couch next to Noah. After sniffing him, he rubbed his head against Noah's sleeve.

“I don't know,” he finally whispered in a despondent tone, raising his hand to gently pet Juice's fur. The hair on my arms stood up as I watched Juice melt into Noah's touch - immediately accepting him and showing him love.

“You look like you could use a hug,” I surprised myself with the offer, standing up and opening my arms to invite Noah into my personal space.

He looked at me with surprise, asking "Huh?"

"Come here," I motioned for him to stand up, and after a moment of hesitation, he did.

Noah’s lanky figure approached me, and I wrapped my arms around him, pulling his body towards mine in a protective embrace. I stood on my tiptoes to place my head in the crook of his neck, squeezing his body against my chest. Noah’s breath hitched in his throat as he held himself stiffly before easing his body into our entwined limbs. His arms held me close, his head resting against my own. As his chest shook through his complacency, I breathed deeply, sighing into our hug. Noah joined me in a deep exhale, listening to our breaths as we held onto each other, exchanging memories through our hold.

I’m sorry you lost your parents. I’m sorry you’re stuck. I’m listening.

“You don’t have to carry it all yourself. Humans aren’t made to be solitary creatures.” Boldly, I held my hand against Noah’s head, capturing him and all of his wounds. As I ran my fingers through his hair, Noah’s shoulders began to shake.

Can one of us be saved?

I can't forgive you, but I can't look away I have to tell myself it's better, better this way It's killing me

Soft sobs left his lips, his body vibrating through his tears.

Don't wait for the light Just fall asleep, embrace the night

The man crumbling before me was not a terrible person. He was merely a lost soul, fastened to routine and never-ending affliction.

Perhaps, I can be another step to helping him find himself. He reminded me so much of my past; I couldn’t leave him.

Even if I got hurt in the process.

+++++

NOAH

Y/N's arms were a haven, comforting me with her gentle embrace. Her fingers ran through my hair, unearthing deep-seated memories as she held onto me.

It was hard to believe that just an hour ago, everything had been a chaotic mess. Yet here I was, crying in this woman's arms. I didn't deserve such kindness, especially after invading her privacy and trust like I did.

I hadn't opened up to anyone in a long time. My only family were Ruffilo, Folio, and Jolly; they were the only ones who saw my pain. But Y/N's touch had broken down all of my walls, causing me to completely shatter. It was baffling how someone I had only met less than 24 hours ago could have such power over me. Yet here I was, vulnerable and exposed in her embrace.

How could she be so kind and selfless? She listened and understood. Her parents were gone too. She knew the feelings of abandonment.

Keep telling myself that I was the victim You were the one that pulled away I've got a cold heart, this is the sad part I don't think I can change

But the difference was that I was corrupt. I was not the good guy; my presence was tainting her.

Can one of us be saved? I feel like I'm better, better in a grave Better in a grave Better in a grave

“What’s the next step from acquaintances?” she tried to lighten the mood, giving me a small laugh.

I pulled away, my body already infected with the remembrance of her touch against my limbs. I wiped my eyes, face reddening at the embarrassment. I can’t believe I just cried on some girl’s shoulder. She was no longer just some girl.

“I mean, I don’t know if we should even be considered friends. I broke into your house.” I scoffed, wiping my nose with my hoodie sleeve as I sniffed.

“What about acquaintance-squared?” Y/N said, “I think now that I know you’re not just Noah, we’ve upgraded.”

I laughed, “Level two friendly strangers?”

Y/N joined me, the sound that left her body angelic. Part of me wanted to listen to her melody forever.

I knew then that I was fucked. Her hooks snagged me this morning, but now they were embedded, scars bound to be permanent. There was no way I could just leave her as a forgotten memory as I had thought earlier.

She knew too much.

“Sit down. I’m going to make you something to eat.” Y/N said, smiling kindly. My phone began buzzing in my pocket; I knew it had to be one of the boys.

I immediately shook my head in protest, “No Y/N, I should go.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t deserve your hospitality.” I pulled my phone out and checked the caller ID. It was Ruffilo. 32 missed texts.

Jolly: You alright?

Jolly: Almost done?

Jolly: It’s been almost two hours since I’ve heard anything.

Jolly: You should’ve been done within the first hour.

Jolly: Your location says you’re still there; where are you?

Jolly: Noah answer your fucking phone.

My anxiety must have been visible on my face when I saw the messages because Y/N noticed and asked, "Where do you live? Can I at least give you a ride home?"

I shook my head, "It's fine, I can walk."

But when Y/N checked the time and saw that it was three in the morning, she insisted, "Noah, it's not safe for you to walk alone at this hour."

I almost scoffed at her concern, but instead placed a hand on her shoulder and reassured her, "Y/N, I'll be okay."

She made a frustrated face and pouted her lips, which for some reason sent my heart racing.

"Noah," she marched towards the front door and grabbed her keys while slipping on cow-shaped slippers. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight.

"Let's go pretty boy."

"I'll walk," I said firmly, putting my phone back in my pocket.

Y/N furrowed her brows again and glared at me, causing butterflies to stir in my stomach. What is happening to me?

"You look cute when you're angry."

Y/N opened the door and pointed outside. "You think I'm cute when I'm angry? Then I'll be fucking gorgeous if you're not in my car in two seconds," she seethed.

I raised my hands in surrender and chuckled, "Okay, okay, I'm coming."

We squeezed into her small silver Chevy Spark and I joked about its size. "Could you have gotten a smaller car?"

She turned up the heat before fiddling with the music, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I must say I didn't expect to have an over 6-foot-tall thief in my passenger seat."

I rolled my eyes, knowing she had a valid point. The guilt gnawed at me once again. Y/N pressed play and the song blared through the small speakers. She turned to me and asked for the address.

"If you know where the Marlborough Motel is, that's where we're headed."

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she looked at me. "Wait, you actually live near there?" Her expression crumpled in sympathy when I nodded. But I refused to accept her pity. We lived in that rundown motel, but it was still better than nothing.

She drove out of the driveway and towards our destination while one of us listened to the song blasting through the car speakers, its lyrics piercing my ears.

You played the cards, you know I wanted to see Behind the curtain, always pulling the strings in my head

But now I think it's time to cut the ends I won't make the same mistake again

Once she dropped me off, I would leave her behind forever. I had to, for my sanity, and hers.

“I mean, housekeeping must be a blessing?” Y/N said gently, giving me a quaint smile.

“Yes, I enjoy the smell of cheap laundry detergent and a stranger filtering through my stuff.”

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I gazed out the car window, taking in the rows of illuminated houses and streetlights as they passed by. Exhaustion weighed down my body, but I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes. Jolly was going to have a fit when I got home - especially now that I had dragged someone else into this mess and failed a job. Just another checkmark on the list of my screw-ups. And to top it off, I had nothing to show for all the trouble I went through.

But then my mind snapped back to reality as I remembered my backpack - the one with the gun inside. The one I had carelessly left behind at Y/N's house. Panic set in as I realized she would find it, along with all her prescription medications neatly stored inside. My heart raced at the thought of her finding those bottles.

My throat felt tight at the realization, but I swallowed the nerves, reminding myself that I’d never see her again after today. I’ll forget about her, and this. I won’t need to see her disappointment.

You got what you deserved And that was me You saw me at my worst You saw the worst in me

We arrived at the motel and I sighed, realizing the light was still on. No doubt the boys were still up waiting for me. Y/N and I sat quietly for a moment before she turned to look at me.

“Well, level two friendly stranger.” Y/N coughed, breaking the awkward silence in the cramped vehicle. I looked at her and forced a smile. She smiled back, but my heart ached with the realization that this would be our goodbye. I studied every inch of her face, trying to imprint her features into my memory. I knew I couldn't face her again after this.

"Thanks for this wild adventure," she chuckled. "It was definitely a confusing situation, but I'm glad you were my first criminal experience."

Unsure of how to respond, I attempted to make a joke. "And thank you for being my favourite victim."

My own words stung as they reminded me of my past felonies, but I supposed she truly was my favourite victim. If it wasn't too messed up to say something like that.

"Will I see you for your usual coffee?" She asked, hope seeping through her eyes. How could she want to see me again?

"Yeah," I replied with a forced laugh, lying through each breath. "See you then."

I stepped out of the car and turned to wave before opening the door to the motel room. My heart ached as Y/N drove away.

Goodbye.

Tell me that I'm wrong Tell me that I'm wrong

Chapter four

Tags:@crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

@princessmarshmallowx @laurpartyprogram @cookiesupplier @nojoyontheburn @lacktoesandtoddlerant

@veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs

@flowery-mess @mentallynot-here @judging-from-afar @darkmxgician @badomensls

@hoe-for-daddywise @philomenie @xxkittenkissesxx @venturethroughtheveil @thefallennightmare

@blend-in-with-the-madness @reyadawn @deathblacksmoke @Anameunmusical @sitkowski

@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

[boundinparchment]

Vertigo Eyes - I

Armed with only a new-found sense of purpose, Sunday makes a trip to the Belobog History and Culture Museum after the Express receives a request for consideration. History is so often writ with blood that should never have been spilled and the mistakes of those who think they know best. And Sybilla is running out of time. Sunday/Original Female Character; slow burn, liberties taken with world building and lore, eventual smut. Posted on AO3 here. This fic is one of my sponsored WIPs for @/ficsforgaza. Please consider donating to a vetted fundraiser to sponsor this or another fic on my list.

Hotel Goethe was quiet at this hour despite the bustling traffic outside. Although it was nothing in comparison to the Reverie, he found the dark wood and high windows to be charming and homey. The staff were attentive but mindful and despite the blue sky and high sun, an attendant always saw to it that no one left without their coat. A holdover from the Stellaron days, undoubtedly.

He’d been prepared, of course. He dressed as he always did, with meticulous care and consideration. Some things would never change and Sunday took solace in fixing the sash pinned at his chest and smoothing his lapels. How anyone could simply present themselves to the rest of the world while their clothes were wrinkled and their eyes were laden with sleep was beyond him. How would anyone take another seriously if they appeared to have rolled out of bed?

The notion of arriving to the museum only to give this contact the first impression that the Crew was not detail-oriented and dedicated did nothing to settle the tightness in his chest. Belobog and Jarilo-VI were only just finding their feet again under the leadership of Lady Bronya Rand and with the assistance of the Astral Express. Sunday was acutely aware of the gravity that circled such circumstances and liked to think that, for once, his preference for procedure and order won out.

This meeting was his first time representing the Express on his own. Ms. Himeko and Mr. Yang must have seen something in this particular request, else they would have sent the younger members. The trio always uncovered something through their wanderings or re-connecting with old friends. He wasn’t quite suited to it, not yet at any rate, and he still had much to learn.

All of this over a painting of Nanook.  Strange tales of Destruction in its wake.  Never surfacing on public auction lists.

The air was cold, refreshingly so compared to Penacony; the Hours that offered activities such as skiing or snow-tubing were still nothing more than the impression of the environments and relied on pre-existing notions to make the visitors feel as if they were chilled. Sunday tucked his wings in closer beneath the scarf around his neck, strategically placed to both hide his wings and keep him warm. It was humbling to feel the stone beneath his boots and see the bustle of the morning. Employees on their way to work, the remnants of checkpoints without Silvermane Guards.

Penacony practically shook with energy while Belobog offered a steadfast hum. From the way the Trailblazer spoke of the planet, it was almost provincial in some areas, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Recovery was apparent, prosperity close at hand, all without the IPC’s interference.

A sentiment he shared with Lady Bronya. It could have been Penacony’s Path, too. Perhaps it still would be.

The halovian closed his eyes to escape the rush of people and cars around him and listened as he stood on the curb. Even now, his mind yearned for Ena’s frequency, the presence of others, the way the notes used to dance alongside Xipe’s tune in a subtle resonance that no one ever noticed. In much the same way that there were those who never picked up on a harmony or a melody in a song, plenty of individuals might never have known the difference between Ena and Xipe.

The crowd around him stirred and someone jostled him from behind. He barely had time to think before he felt himself falling forward---

Wind rushed around him as a blanket of stars gave way to a bright, new dawn cresting over the horizon. He felt no warmth from the vibrant star painting the sky with a pink so soft, it might as well have been fine-spun cotton sugar.

Brother...the dream is over.

Once, her embraces were comforting, a counterbalance to re-center himself. Before his halo grew too heavy. He could only feel echoes of it now, an itching at the back of his skull that crawled down his spine. His body remembered what his heart was unable to bear.

Darkness grew ever closer and drew him deeper into its embrace. What was the point of it all? Living only meant unending sorrow, constant cycles of existence that never promised anything more than the same exact suffering as the day before. People came to Penacony to dream, to have a taste of a fleeting moment that made all the pain worth it.

It was better that way, was it not? To be supported, promised a better life, entrusted to another to provide?

Sunday’s heart pounded in his chest, a raucous Charmony Dove protesting in its cage, as he felt a force on his jacket yank him backwards just as a car whizzed past, horn blaring. He blinked, breathing heavily, observing his surroundings as he tried to steady himself, pushing away the thoughts about torn seams or wrinkles when the hand on his jacket relented. Before he could identify the owner, the crowd moved properly and he was once again lost in a sea of people.

An arm brushed his and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of ashen brown hair and a cable-knit scarf, soft ochre against a long beige coat. As if sensing him, the stranger’s head turned just enough to flick up hazel eyes and offer a ghost of a smile, before blending into the crowd again.

They succeeded, for as soon as Sunday blinked, he was unable to spot them.

Maybe the stranger was a dream. An invention of his mind to protect himself and he’d truly caught himself all along.

We all must wake up at some point. If we are asleep, too lost in our dreams, we miss what it means to live, were the words that accompanied an invitation and a way forward.

Those words etched themselves in his mind and came alive every daybreak. It didn’t matter whether there was a sun to be seen. They greeted him the way Ena had. Like clockwork, his body was attuned to the start of the new day and another beginning in which he would swallow the guilt and pretend it ever properly settled in his stomach.

Perhaps today, it might sit in his chest, heavy and leaden. Or it would crawl up his spine, claw at his mind, and leave him a little light-headed.

Regardless, he was certain they would now be accompanied by a face without a name, and he was so tired of being haunted.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐊𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Been letting this poor one rot :(

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You return back to your home town and visit a very familiar Bakery; not knowing that a rather gentle robbery would be present.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝐒𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐂’𝐬: Brother Roland Lichtner and his Bäckerin(NonCanon Name: Becky) by @/kit-williams.

TW // Attempt of Robbing.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Chapter II}

Cold wind blows at the layers of your clothing as you make your way down the dim lit sidewalk, night time beginning to rise. The new snow under your boots crunching underneath your weight, packing it more into the glossy, white sidewalk: used by many other people and Astartes walking the streets from the light of day. The different prints of sizes and shapes in the snow telling you the differences between the two, even from loyalist, chaos and inbetween. It was funny however, to see how big the prints were compared to a human in the snow.

Breathing in deeply and pressing your hands in the coat of your pocket closer to your body for better warmth. You catch a whiff of something warm and fresh passing through the cold, crisp air. Pleasing your senses as your stomach lowly grumbles at you. Reminding you that you haven’t eaten much of anything today besides a few snacks as you were too busy trying to get settled in your hotel rather than prioritizing your hunger. Trying to get yourself checked in as the woman at the counter stares at you weirdly, like she’s trying to remember you, and she honestly might.

This town was once your hometown, and it has changed a lot from the last time you have seen it. There definitely has been some Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists roaming about now than before, from what you remember. Designing some new structures here for the people and their bonds, their bigger, eccentric creation is not very hard to miss. Also, there have been a lot more people moving here as it has suddenly became a hot spot for more loyalists and a few acceptable chaos for their bonds. Leading for you to believe and question this area might be protected or have a loyalist base nearby. Not that you didn’t know that already, but where in the area is the question.

Your stomach growls at you again, trying to sway you to follow the yummy scent. Telling you to eat something already and stop thinking of matters at hand, you have got to get some fresh goods to eat and now. Your belly isn’t liking its neglect, for the disinterest in food all of the sudden as you kept yourself rather well fed most of the times. Needing to always keep your proteins, nutrients and other things high as not only do you burn all that off, but you’ve been scolded by your medic once or twice before. He was not happy about it; including his Astartes.

Sighing and unable to deny such demands from your stomach. Your breath makes a cloud of carbon before you slowly follow the scent, taking your time as you walk. Not wanting to suddenly slip and fall in the snow and be absolutely winded by it. You already have done that a couple times going down a hill, but at least you have gotten to some places faster by just sliding down a sidewalk because you had fallen to the damn packed snow. It was horrible to not be able to breathe because of it, but it was kinda worth it at the same time.

Your stomach grows for the third time in a row, impatient, clutching at you. Your eyes just spotting the warmly lit up bakery up ahead and to your side. The warming glow coming from the windows of it very opposite to the darkened day. The big, red brick walls of the bakery definitely have been made by the hands of an Imperial Fist or Iron Warrior with big one sided windows on it (you can’t look in, but you can look out.) The frame of the windows being painted black. Half side columns of black being embedded into the brick walls between the entrance door and the windows, making the building pop out more. You honestly would bet yourself 20 bucks that it looks just as pristine inside just as it was outside by just looking at the exterior of the bakery.

Shuffling through some snow to just get up to the bakery’s door. You open the door with a little bell ding, not really expecting it to open as you figure that whoever works here would be closing up shop. It was getting late or rather is late. Perhaps, the worker here had just lost their time?

Gently shutting the door behind you as to not let the cold, snowy air in and the snow itself, you look up and all around you. Observing the bakery, swearing that so much has changed inside of the bakery since you had lost saw it. Your lungs inhaling deeply at the smell of the freshly baked goods this place was coated with, and maybe with just a dash of coffee beans lingering in the air.

You remember how this place used to feel so, so big to you (it still does.) How minuscule you felt just by standing next to one of those Astartes-sized beanbag chairs that sit in the corner next to some book shelves. There has been so much more added here since the time has passed, but you definitely could still feel all the warm coziness this bakery still brings. That, was undeniable.

In all honesty, you were just a child back then, so of course things were much more bigger than regular. Everything felt like you were in a damn castle, but you mostly took most of your time enjoying the baker lady’s presence, carefully watching her bake as she wouldn’t allow you next to the ovens and mixers. Though, she would always give you some free little snacks of bread when she was finished with the bread, closing the bakery or even when you ran over to visit her for a quick snack before running off again. It was honestly a… sorrowful shame you can’t remember much of your childhood anymore. You don’t remember the lovely lady’s face, but you definitely felt that she was like a second mother to you, and damn. You would be proud of her if she was your first.

Shaking your head of your memories, you come forward to the counter. Your eyes taking in the coated wood before gazing around you once more. Patiently waiting for someone to either tell you the shop was closing and they wouldn’t be selling anything anymore until they open up again or they will actually take your order at this time of night. Where you just realize you are the only one in this homey bakery. Your thoughts questioning if there was a curfew set in this town.

“Hello! How may I help you today?” A woman pokes her head out from behind the kitchen area, gathering your attention. Her form walking over and dusting her hands off of flour as she smiles at you. Her hardworking hands then settling on her hips while she stops right behind the counter. Telling you that she is rather experienced on what she does here.

“I’m not imposing your time, am I?” You ask her gently, not wanting to order something if she was going to leave and lock the place up. You would feel kinda bad if that is what she was on the verge of doing.

“Oh, not at all!” She dismisses you with her floured hand, shaking her head. “I was just making the next batch for tomorrow, and I don’t mind customers surprising me when they do this. Some Night Lords do it all the time with a few teenagers here and there.”

“Are they troublesome?” You engage in some small talk, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. This woman feels open to talk to; trustworthy.

“Um, sometimes.” She nods, settling her hands back on her hips. “But mostly the teenagers are here to get some bread to calm down their hangovers either by tonight or by tomorrow so their parents won’t catch them. The Night Lords just like to scare, but leave once they have their share.”

You nod at that, a little amused by the fact there were teenagers coming in at night. Hoping to make their hangovers disappear before their parents would catch them. The Night Lords however? You like to think that is common for them to do. They had always liked the thrill, the scent of their hunt.

“Well then, is there anything I can get you young one?” She asks again. Trying to dust off her hands once more, and then just smeared the flour over her apron.

“May I get a traditional kipferl, please?” You answer her, looking up at the order board, and down and over the baked goods in their display cases. Taking note the kipferl was the freshly baked one tonight and decided to go easy on the lady.

“Yes you may, just give me a moment, I’ll have your order right out there for you.” She nodded then held up her pointer finger, inching to go back into the kitchen. No doubt having to attend to some more breaded goodies back there. “Feel free to have a seat.”

Nodding at the woman. You back off and twist around to find a spot that you might like. Your eyes glancing over the many booths in front of the windows. Deciding the booth all the way in the right corner next to some of those bean bag chairs would be nice to sit at. Your back would be protected, it may be a lot quieter and you can see everything that will be going on in front of you. Ready for anything possible.

Happy that it was available,(even though the bakery is empty. You just like the solitude it was giving and it was just ripe for the picking.) You go over and take your seat right in the middle of the booth seat. Making yourself comfortable and gently resting your arms on the table, your fingers intertwining, and looking out at the dark, snowy landscape. Watching as snowflakes begin to fall to add more to the snow.

You wait and stare out the window for a couple of moments. A feeling of nostalgia washing over you that makes you shift in your booth seat. There was just something about the comfort of this place that made you feel sad but happy about it. You can’t tell what it is as your memories of your childhood are a bit faded, but eventually in time you believe you’ll remember it just like you remembered what the baker lady did with you in that past. You still don’t remember her face or her voice, but it’s her actions that count, right?

“Right, here you go.” The lady sighs softly, gathering your attention while you lean back; hands coming off the table. The woman puts down a beautiful baked kipferl on a small, glass plate with little vines and crosses circling the rim of the plate in front of you. Her still floured, fingers adjusting it slightly so you can look at the more glowing side of the baked good with a bit of powdered sugar on top. A little steam rising off of it too. “Here is one kipferl for a lovely lady.”

“Thank you.” You nod again at her again, coming forward to observe the kipferl closely. Taking note of how the woman seems to hover at your side by your peripheral vision. Taking you in before taking her leave back to the kitchen with her hands folded in front of her.

You, however, were not too bothered by her stare. You had plenty of people around staring at you all day, trying to remember who you are. You were just more focused on the big and powdered sugar, looking kipferl in front of you. The perfect golden brown bread smelling ridiculously tempting to just gobble down your raging hunger for the piece of beautifulness that just sits an inch in front of you, teasing you for all that you're worth.

Your mouth begins to heavily salivate the more you continually get the whiff of the freshness of the bread, and it’s like you were waiting for a prayer to be said before you can dig into it as you didn’t want to absolutely ravage the whole kipferl in one impossible go. You have impeccable manners and you are going to use them, no matter how temping things and food can be. You were better than a deprived-striken cannibal waiting for their next meaty dessert.

Gently picking up the kipferl, you sniff it and almost sneeze. Quickly regretting and practically inhaling the powdered sugar on top of the kipferl, but you still bite into it. Loving how the powdered sugar dissolves on the top of your mouth. Its buttery yet vanilla-like taste melting in your mouth with a fluff and light crispness to it for the texture.

Oh-ha-ho, you are definitely coming and running back here for more delicious, warm baked goods! This tasted and felt like a ratatouille dish! Just with bread!

Taking another savoring bite from the kipferl. You hear the bell on top of the front door ding while someone else enters the bakery at this time of night. Your eyes unbothered to look up at who and what it might be. This baked good was more important than anything at the moment, and your stomach was enjoying the bread you were offering it. No longer growling at you all grumpily.

Happily just munching on your baked good. Your happiness is suddenly diminishing when you hear these familiar, metal clicks. Your fingers twitching on your kipferl as you slowly set it back down to your plate after you almost bit back into it. Your gaze finally wandering up to the newcomer that stands just off to the side of your table with a pistol in his hands.

“Money, now.” A male voice comes out of this man dressed in full black: including those wonky ski masks, demanding assets. His gun pointing straight at your forehead, and gesturing for your pockets with it.

You take a… unlogical moment to study this sudden robber. Noticing how slim his figure was, not starving wise, they just had a slim figure. Not only that, but he was also kind of short for a male so this has to be a teenager or just a rather small male. Oh, and they were inexperienced with the way their gun was still on safety, probably didn’t even have bullets either.

“Hmmm, no.” You deny with a stern gaze. Looking them up and down as they seemed rather surprised at your denial, not expecting that. Their gun lowering a bit before rising back up.

“What? Why?” They ask, clearly having no experience in robbing someone. They would have been more hostile than this; not asking questions. “I’m robbing you.”

“So?” You shrug, taking a chance to shuffle out of your seat and stand up next to the robber. Your eyes practically looking down at him as he shuffles back a little, his gun still pointed at you, almost looking shameful of himself. It was almost amusing and a bit bitter.

“So? You should be giving me your money.” They counter back with a smaller tone. Turning their gun at you and holding it like some sort of gangster. You fight the urge to roll your eyes in order to not make this rather easy looking situation worse. This person will be redeemable if this was their first time (and it is judging by how soft this person was being) trying to do these types of acts. “I’m pointing a gun at you.”

“With a gun, that is on safety?” You question him with a risen brow. Glancing between their face and the gun while they seemed even more puzzled by your statement. Tilting his gun and looking at it; noticing that it was in fact, on safety.

“I…um…” The robber stutters in both the fact that he feels embarrassed by himself for not knowing how to use a gun properly, and for the fact that you don’t even seem all that afraid of them. Most would cower and lay themselves down on the ground when they would see a gun pointed at them, even a toy one, but not you. You were not even fazed, just unamused. The robber doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“Give me the gun.” You simply say, sounding like you're a disappointed parent. Holding out your hand and waiting for the robber to place the gun into your opened hands.

The robber can’t help but dip his head in shame and embarrassment. Flipping the gun to its side and handing over the gun to you as you check the magazine in it. Amusing yourself as there was no rounds in the magazine, just like you had thought.

“Will I be charged?” The robber asks once more, twiddling with his fingers. His head still lowered while he glances between you and the lady behind the counter that had been watching the whole thing since you’ve gotten out of the booth.

“No.” You simply say, lifting up the back of your coat and putting the gun behind you, slotting it at the waistline of your pants. Your eyes watching the robber in front of you; more amused than anything now with them. You have never had such an… innocent encounter before. It makes you wonder why this person was trying to rob in the first place. This attempt-to-be robber was definitely not meant to be one. “But you will need to justify your actions.”

That spurs the person a little bit, jumping in their skin with worry. Their body tensing up while they look back down to the ground again. “You mean go to the police station?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You hum at him, coming forward to grasp at his shoulder firmly, but not restrictingly so. You kinda felt bad for this person. “It’s just how the law goes.”

“Aw, come on!” The robber pouts, but willingly moves when you push him towards the door. “I didn’t really threaten anybody!”

“Pointing a gun at somebody is a threat.” You inform the robber of his crimes. “Including attempted robbery.”

The robber huffs then shivers when a blast of cold air comes through the door as you open it up. Mumbling something about how they should have worn a warmer coat before begging. “Can I please not go to the police station?”

“No.” You immediately say, closing the door behind you and hesitating a bit afterwards as you forgot to pay the lady for the golden good she had given you.

“Can I try and sway you on the way there?” The robber tries again, glancing back at you while you shake your head, pushing him forward through the snowy landscape. You’ll be coming back here from more of those goods, you’ll pay when you come back.

“…Sure.”

“I swear I have seen that woman around…” Becky hums mostly to herself. Finally in the comforting grasp of her Space Marine while she lays on top of him; her chest up against his as he traces his fingers up and down her back.

“See who around?” The big man below her mumbles. His voice vibrating through his body and rumbling lightly against Beckys’ own body.

Becky shifts a little bit on top of him before looking up at him. Her cheek resting on top of his pecs; watching her fingers as she traces her own fingers against his chest. Gaining a quiet, loving purr from her Marine.

“There was this lady that came in at the bakery at night while I was making goods for the morning.” She starts, her eyes going a little distant as she remembers the lady walking in and ordering a simple kipferl. “She was surprisingly sweet and well… familiar.”

“Familiar? How?” He hums almost tiredly, his interest peaked a little, but not by much. If anything, it may just be one of those pesky, drunk teenagers again.

“I don’t know, it’s like I know them from somewhere.” Becky says, shaking her head lightly in a form of denial. “Like I have known them before.”

Roland rumbles at that, vibrating his chest. Questioning this stranger a bit more. His fingers getting slightly tangled in Beckys’ hair. “Do you have any details on this stranger?”

Becky nods, leaning up right on his chest and gives him the appearance of the lady. Giving him every single detail of the lady as she could while his fingers suddenly stops on her back. His mind instantly recalling his memories of what Becky provides him with. Remembering a little child that has the similarities with this lady, and a fellow Black Templar Chaplin that has been suffering the effects of an intense bond since that little lady was sent out… for 10 years… wait.

“Oh, and there was a robber.” Becky says so casually and suddenly. The Black Templar underneath her tensing up. His head quickly straining up from his pillows to look down at Becky. A long silence capturing the air.

“A what?!”