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justmediocrewriting · 10 months ago

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“BEACH DAZE,” {v.s}

A/n: I owe so many thanks to @heartfully10 for this beautiful idea. Madam, please, feed me moar!! I read your idea and my brain fucking zoomed I tell you, it zoomed!!! I need more inspos like that <3

Summary: you were a fool to think the day couldn’t get any more perfect, because of course your handsome chef would make sure it did

Genre: fluff with spice

Pairing: Sanji x fem!reader

Requested: ❌ (suggested, requests are open!)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: some spicy themes, massages, established relationship, mixer!sanji, the man’s a chef of course the dude can mix drinks too, flirting, just two people being madly in love on the beach, crew bonding, whipped!sanji, whipped!reader, sensual application of sunscreen, teasing, fluff, it’s just really lovey y’all (and a bit more spicy than I originally intended)

The sun’s harsh glare was tapered by the shadow casted by the umbrella above you, its warm rays only able to caress the skin of your ankles to your toes. Pounding feet over shifting sand, lapping waves, loud splashes, the squeals and laughter of children and adults alike, and the cries of gulls harmonized together to create a symphony that bled nostalgia from your heart — you missed this.

Your eyes had slipped closed some time ago, the warm, lively atmosphere of the beach settling deep into your bones and relaxing you from within, so the arrival of another person in front of you was only detectable by the sudden coolness their shadow offered your toes.

“You seem pretty comfortable there, sweetheart.”

A smile found its way to your face immediately, the smooth timbre of that voice slithering into your ears pleasantly and melting your already sun-baked brain. With a simple flutter of your eyes you were greeted with one of the best sights of your life; clad in only patterned swim shorts and skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration, one hand casting a shadow over his blue eyes and the other holding a sweating glass of something, stood Sanji. Your skin heated ever so slightly and your gut stirred, but you pushed away the sensations and merely patted the space beside you.

“Towel is big enough for two, if you're curious to see how comfortable it is.” You teased silkily, and Sanji’s lips immediately pulled into a smirk. Further prompting was unnecessary, the blond man sinking down almost immediately beside you without a word. You eyed the glass in his hand, curiosity brimming at the oddly brightly colored liquid within.

“What’s that?” You asked, propping yourself up to rest your weight on your elbows and procure a better look at the drink. Sanji glanced down at the drink before shooting you a dazzling smile.

“It’s a drink I made. I call it ‘Little South Blue’.”

“The name fits.” You murmured, eyes taking in the ombré blue of the liquid, neon bright at the top and abyssal black towards the bottom. Flicking your eyes back up to meet Sanji’s, you asked, “what was your inspiration?”

“Have a taste first, love, and see if you can guess.” Sanji tutted, bringing the rim of the glass to your lips. You opened willingly, maintaining eye contact with him as the liquid slowly coated your tongue. Despite its blue color, it carried a heady citrus taste, not tangy enough to be off-putting but just enough to leave a bit of an aftertaste. There were sweet undertones in the current, too, something reminiscent of vanilla buttercream. All in all, it was a perfect blend of flavors, with none overshadowing the next, or standing out blatantly in a way that made the drink hard to swallow.

Once you swallowed down the generous amount Sanji had given you he pulled the rim from your mouth, eyebrows raised and lips quirked in a challenge. You licked the remainder of liquid from your lips, the action of which Sanji immediately zeroed in on, the look in his eyes fanning the ever-glowing embers of desire in your gut, and you pretended to consider.

“It’s sweet, with a citrus aftertaste… rather fruity, if you ask me. Which leads me to believe your inspiration was…” you trailed off, furrowing your delicate brows and jutting your lower lip out ever so slightly in that pout you knew drove Sanji crazy and got you anything you wanted out of the chef, and then sighed deeply.

“Nami.” You deadpanned, amusement zipping through your chest at the look of pure disbelief that overcame Sanji’s features — it was like watching sunlight glisten off of a rainbow trout’s scales, the colors shifting with such speed that the human eye couldn’t dare to identify where or when the shift started or ended.

“I’m speechless, love,” Sanji jested, scooting his body closer to yours and placing a large hand atop your plush thigh. “That you would assume I could even think of another woman when I have all of this right in front of me, any time I want it.” Sanji ended this statement with a firm, yet gentle squeeze of your thigh, sending various feelings and thoughts rushing to the forefront of your mind — memories of similar touches in the dark, picking you apart molecule by molecule and then gluing you back together again, simultaneously.

You sucked in a sharp breath and pushed your thighs together, the habitual movement not escaping Sanji’s watchful eye, and he smirked, skimming his fingers along your flesh. Your skin pimpled despite the heat of the day, and those embers once more flared hotter — gods, how you wanted him right now.

It was dizzying how quickly Sanji was able to alter your moods — with one well placed sentence or touch, Sanji could turn you into a dripping puddle of want, no matter what emotion you could have been feeling at the time, nor the strength of it. It was the same story for every emotion, the man able to influence them so easily, as if they were attached to strings and he were the puppet master pulling them.

And, to be frank, you loved it.

You looked down to Sanji’s hand on your thigh, bringing your own hand up to run your fingers over the bumps of his knuckles. Glancing up at him through your eyelashes, you dropped your voice to a low murmur, the volume prompting Sanji to lean in towards you to hear your words.

“You shouldn’t tease me unless you plan on seeing it through.”

Sanji’s eyes widened fractionally before they clouded with barely-contained interest, orbs darting down to trace the shape of your lips. You mirrored his actions, eyes falling to his lips, electricity skirting along the flesh of your own as you imagined pressing them to Sanji’s. Their dance would be fluid and familiar, as always, consumed by the ever-present hunger you held for one another.

“This is a public beach. Get a room.”

The sudden onslaught of words sliced through the tension swirling around you, and you whipped your body around to face the source; you inadvertently knocked your elbow into Sanji’s arm, dislodging his hand from your thigh and upsetting his balance slightly. You snapped your eyes up to meet the face of Zoro, who wore an expression of mixed discomfort and amusement.

You couldn’t help but flush slightly. You’d been so wrapped up in Sanji that you’d completely lost awareness to your surroundings. That wasn’t much of a surprise, if you were being honest. It had happened many a time on the Going Merry, and you just knew it would continue to happen going forward. That was the effect Sanji had on you. You glanced around to see if your little personal moment with Sanji had drawn the attention of anyone else, but thankfully, everyone on the beach were too busy in their own worlds to really pay you any mind.

“Go mind your own business, mosshead. Take a swim, or something. You need a bath anyway.” Sanji retorted back, but the relaxation of the day must have affected Sanji in some way too, for his words lacked their usual heat. Zoro rolled his eyes but stalked away regardless; Sanji focused his attention on you once more, but Zoro’s appearance had bursted that bubble of intimacy around the two of you, and you couldn’t find a way to work up the same level of desire you had felt just seconds prior. You gave Sanji a morose smile, and the message was conveyed clearly to the man, who simply shook his head with a smile on his face.

No worries.

Despite no longer feeling the urge to clamber into Sanji’s lap and ride him til the sun set, you still felt the need to be physically close to him, so you once again closed the distance between the two of you. Your thighs and sides were bow flush against one another, and you looked out across the span of the beach and rested your head on his shoulder. Sanji responded by wrapping an arm around your waist and placing his chin atop your head. A perfect embrace, one that had your chest feeling light and fluttery.

“This reminds me of home, you know.” You said suddenly, blurting out the same thought you’d had since the Going Merry had docked on the island. Sanji hummed and fiddled with the knot on the side of your swimsuit bottoms.

“You mean back in the South Blue?”

You nodded mutely, lips pulling into a smile as waves of nostalgia crashed over you. “Mhmm. Many islands in the South Blue are a lot like this one; hot, sunny and sandy. Coconut trees as far as the eye can see and enough tiki bars that even Zoro couldn’t drink an island dry.”

Sanji chuckled at your analogy and released his hold on the knot, now tracing shapes into the skin of your hip with his fingertips. Pleasant pimples dotted across your skin from the sensation.

“Was your island like this one?” Sanji asked, using his free hand to bring his drink, Little South Blue, to his lips. You could feel the undulation of his jawline and throat as he swallowed.

You shifted your body closer to his, crossing your right ankle over his left and digging your foot between his. The heat was near scorching, and the proximity of your bodies wasn’t helping, but it felt too nice to not link your skin in some way.

“Somewhat. There’s a lot of activities that I’ve noticed are exclusive to the South Blue — surfing, beach volleyball, free diving. But there’s a couple here that I recognize from my island. The tiki bars, for example, and the sunbathing.”

You pointed to a group of women to the left, splayed out on large beach towels and soaking up the sun’s rays like hungry plants. Sanji made a strange sound, a mixture between a grunt and a chuckle, and before you could question its origins he said,

“Won’t they just burn? It doesn’t even look like they’re wearing sun screen.”

You narrowed your eyes and looked closer at the women; it was hard to discern from the distance, but you could just barely notice the lack of the tell-tale shine of sunscreen. You hummed deep in your throat.

“They probably forgot to reapply it. It does dry up, eventually.”

“Did you put some on?” Sanji asked, palm flattening around your hip and rubbing, as if he were trying to feel the slick oil on your skin. You burrowed your side deeper into his and reached across his lap to pluck the drink from his hand. Sanji unhooked his chin from your head so that you could pull a drink from the rim. That sweet vanilla-citrus bloomed over your tongue again, and you found yourself quite liking the taste.

“I rubbed some in earlier. It’s not too big of a deal for me, since I’m in the shade. This is actually pretty good, by the way.” You took another slow, purposeful drink, letting the liquid linger in your tongue for a few moments before swallowing.

Sanji clicked his tongue, and his other hand, now freed of its previous burden, slid over to connect to your thigh once more. He stroked the plush flesh with his thumb as he rumbled, “of course it’s good. Its creation was inspired by the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

You looked up at Sanji with wide, doe-y eyes, voice sickly sweet as you teased, “awww, that’s going to flatter Nami to the moon!”

Sanji rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, though you could see no real agitation in his expression when he reached forward and slipped the drink from your hand. With a light smack to your thigh Sanji ordered, “alright, that’s enough. Lay on your stomach.”

“What?” You said smartly, amusement flattening quickly to confusion.

“On your stomach. You said it’s been a while since you’ve put on any sunscreen, and there is no way I’m going to let the sun do any damage to your beautiful skin.”

You raised a brow and pointed up at the umbrella. “I’m under the shade.”

“I’m not taking any chances. Now lay down and tell me where the sunscreen is.” Sanji huffed, and you rolled your eyes but complied, rearranging yourself to spread out on your stomach. Sanji’s skilled hands rubbing sunscreen into your skin actually didn’t sound half bad.

“It’s in my bag.” You said softly, crossing your arms in front of you and resting your chin atop them.

Sanji shuffled through your bag for a few seconds before grasping and pulling out the circular container of your sunscreen. Sanji unscrewed the lid and placed the container gently near the side of your head, its strong vanilla fragrance quickly rushing into your nostrils.

Vanilla…

Sanji shuffled beside you then stood, placing either foot on each side of your legs before squatting down to cage your calves beneath his thighs; Sanji made sure to put most of the pressure and body weight onto the backs of his own feet so that he didn’t squash your legs, a rather gentle and endearing consideration of his. Silver glinted in your periphery as Sanji dipped his fingers into the container and scooped out a generous amount — a lot more than you’d personally use, but you didn’t utter an objection to it — and anticipation spiked in your gut when you heard the unmistakable sound of Sanji slathering his hands in the substance.

The first stroke across your shoulder blades had you sighing into the warm air, but when Sanji used his palms to smear in the sunscreen you were helpless to the sounds your lips released. Sanji put a gentle pressure into his hands, sliding his palms up and down your back — all the way from the tips of your shoulder blades to the dip of your lower back and back again — repetitive and slow, and your muscles were quickly turning to putty beneath his attention.

Sanji took immediate notice of this, and his intentions of applying sunscreen morphed into a delicate massage, splaying his thumbs so that they gently dug into the muscles close to your spine with every drag along the length of your back.

“You’re tense, love. How long has that been going on?” Sanji asked in a murmur, leaning his body over yours so that he could speak inches from your ear. The combination of sensations had your gut stirring, his deft hands turning your body to putty and his rumbling timbre doing the same to your brain.

“A little bit.” You answered breathily, eyes slipping closed as you allowed yourself to feel — to feel Sanji’s subtle weight against your legs, his hands on your skin, the breeze in the air, and the soft sand beneath the towel — it was a combination that made your chest feel floaty and full, the beach drawing out homesick nostalgia and Sanji’s presence supplying a different sense of home. A sense of home that you only felt with Sanji.

“You should have told me sooner, darling. I’d have been more than happy to massage you.” Sanji gently chastised, and in your dopey state, all you could do was hum in response. Sanji’s hands slipped up to your shoulder blades, his thumbs digging into the meatier sections with a gently firmness, and electricity exploded within your body — you could feel the tension melting out of your muscles, and it felt so good. Sanji repeated this action along the entirety of your back, rubbing and soothing out every kink in the muscles with hands that bordered on sinful.

“I’m sure you probably knew from the start, but Little South Blue’s creation was inspired by you.” Sanji wisped, hands never slowing or stopping their movements. “I’d read in a book long ago that citrus fruits were very common in the South Blue, and that they were the staple ingredient of all kinds of foods and drinks.”

You peeked open an eye just in time to see Sanji dipping his fingers back into the container of sunscreen before returning to your back — now his hands moved up further, grinding pleasantly into the muscle of your nape.

“Vanilla is your favorite scent, and you especially like the taste when it’s used in buttercream.”

Your heart constricted in your chest, adoration flaring strong and consuming. You remembered the vanilla-y undercurrent in the mouthfuls you’d swallowed previously, along with the tangy citrus.

“I decided to combine them in a base of your favorite alcohol; sweet rum. Then I named it after your home sea, so that you could have a little piece of it when we leave here.”

Your heart felt as if it would implode out of your chest; time and time again, Sanji was able to exceed any and all expectations with his generosity and romantic soul, but this felt like it was on another level — one that you were finding difficult to process at the moment. Sanji’s hands felt heavenly on your body, but if you didn’t get your lips on his this instant you were going to combust.

With Sanji essentially weightless on top of you, it was easy to roll onto your back quickly. The movement startled Sanji and he retracted his hands, still lathered in the sun screen, and you slipped your legs from underneath him and sat up on your knees. Grasping both sides of his handsome face you leaned in quickly, connecting your lips to his. As always, the contact sent ripples of electricity through your entire body, and when Sanji’s lips quickly responded by initiating a dance with yours, the chilled embers in your gut roared into an inferno.

You slid your tongue along his bottom lip, phantom traces of vanilla-citrus rewarding your movement, and you groaned against Sanji’s lips, which parted for you quickly. The beach and everything else faded into the background as you slipped your tongue against his, coaxing it into the same familiar dance you’d rehearsed time and time again. The flavor was even heavier on his tongue, and when understanding the very reason behind every ingredient, it tasted like pure heaven, enhancing the natural taste of Sanji that you’d come to love and crave.

You only pulled away when you found yourself getting a bit dizzy from lack of proper oxygen, and by that time you had subconsciously scrambled into Sanji’s lap and had your hands wrapped around the nape of his neck, fingers tangled in the blond strands at the base of his skull. Sanji’s pupils were blown and his eyes were hazy, a subtle hardness pushing into the flesh of your thigh, and you licked your lips.

“You taste a lot more like home than some drink, Sanji.”

Sanji smiled at you in a breathless daze, but the perfect, sensual moment was ruined by one phrase uttered with distaste from behind you,

“Seriously, get a room.”

2 posts in under 24 hours??? I’m on a roll lmao. I just wanted to send a quick thank you to everyone who has sent in requests/suggestions. You guys really helped bring me inspiration and I appreciate it so much!! If you guys enjoyed this please consider liking/reblogging/commenting. Love you all and thanks for reading!

#opla #opla sanji #one piece #opla x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji x reader

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daniisms · 4 months ago

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amoralism | ten

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, description of injuries, use of firearms, a mole in the FBI, Azazel, Asmodeus, crime syndicates, (slightly), pressure, it’s a Kevin and Jo episode guys

Song Inspo: Bones by Imagine Dragons

SERIES MASTERLIST

bilingualism

THREE WEEKS AGO:

The dimly lit operations room was filled with the hum of computer monitors and the soft clatter of keyboard strokes. Kevin and Jo, both were hunched over a desk, their eyes glued to the footage playing on the screen in front of them. The grainy video showed the supposed death of Cain, a case that had puzzled them for days.

Kevin paused the video, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. "Something about this just doesn't add up," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "We've watched this footage a dozen times, and it still feels off."

Jo nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Yeah, I know what you mean. There’s something... staged about it. But I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Kevin replayed the segment where Cain was supposedly killed, focusing on the details. "Look at the way he falls. It's too clean. No struggle, no desperation. It's almost like he knew what was coming."

Jo leaned closer, scrutinizing the screen. "You’re right. And check out the angle of the camera. It’s positioned perfectly to capture the whole scene. Almost like it was set up deliberately."

Kevin's fingers flew across the keyboard, enhancing the footage and zooming in on Cain's face. "See that? He’s looking right at the camera. That’s not a look of fear; it’s... calculated."

Jo's eyes widened. "He’s playing to the audience. He wanted us to see this."

Kevin nodded, a sense of excitement building in his chest. "Exactly. But why? What’s his endgame?"

Jo frowned, leaning back in her chair. "Maybe he wanted us to think he was dead. Take the heat off him, so he could operate from the shadows."

Kevin paused the footage at the moment of Cain's supposed death. "That would explain a lot. But it also means we’ve been chasing a ghost. Cain's out there somewhere, and we’ve got no idea what he’s planning."

Jo ran a hand through her hair, her mind racing. "We need to look at this from a different angle. If Cain wanted us to think he was dead, he must have a reason. Something big."

Kevin started pulling up files on Cain, scanning through his known associates and recent activities. "Cain's always been a step ahead. If he's faked his death, he’s probably planning something major. We need to figure out what that is before it’s too late."

Jo nodded, determination hardening her features. "Right. But first, we need to confirm our theory. Let’s see if there’s any evidence that supports the idea that Cain is still alive."

Kevin brought up a series of reports, focusing on unusual activities that could be linked to Cain. "Look at this. A string of unexplained deaths in the last month. All of them have Cain’s signature—decapitation with a single clean cut."

Jo’s eyes widened. "That’s his calling card. He’s definitely still active. We need to alert the higher-ups."

Kevin hesitated, a frown crossing his face. "Wait. If we go straight to them without solid proof, they might not take us seriously. We need more than just a hunch."

Jo nodded, her jaw set. "You’re right. We need to gather enough evidence to make our case airtight. Let’s start with the footage. There’s got to be something we missed."

Kevin replayed the footage, slowing it down frame by frame. "Look here," he said, pointing to a shadow in the background. "There’s someone else in the room. They’re just out of sight, but you can see their reflection in the window."

Jo squinted at the screen, her heart racing. "That’s it. Cain had an accomplice. Someone who helped him stage his death."

Kevin enhanced the image, revealing the faint outline of a figure. "If we can identify this person, we might be able to track them down and get to Cain."

TWO WEEKS AGO:

The sun was just beginning to set as Kevin and Jo arrived at the scene of the latest decapitation. The crime scene was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, eerily quiet and shrouded in shadows. They parked their car a safe distance away and approached on foot, their flashlights cutting through the growing darkness.

Kevin’s heart raced as they reached the entrance. He glanced at Jo, who nodded in silent agreement. They needed to be cautious; if Cain was on a revenge mission, there was no telling what they might find.

They slipped inside the warehouse, the scent of decay and stale air assaulting their senses. The beam of Kevin’s flashlight fell on the chalk outline of a body and a pool of dried blood. He knelt down, inspecting the scene with a critical eye.

“Looks like the usual M.O.,” Kevin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Clean cut, no signs of a struggle.”

Jo scanned the area, her flashlight revealing the remnants of a violent encounter. “Yeah, but something feels different. This doesn’t seem random. Cain’s targeting someone specific.”

Kevin stood up, dusting off his hands. “Let’s look around. Maybe we can find something that ties this to Cain.”

They moved methodically through the warehouse, searching for clues. It wasn’t long before Jo’s flashlight caught something glinting in the shadows. She moved closer, crouching down to inspect it.

“Kevin, over here,” she called softly.

Kevin joined her, and together they examined the object. It was a medallion, intricately carved with symbols that Kevin recognized immediately.

“This is a syndicate insignia,” he said, his eyes widening. “Whoever this was, they were part of the syndicate.”

Jo’s eyes narrowed in thought. “So Cain’s not just killing randomly. He’s targeting members of the syndicate. But why?”

Kevin turned the medallion over in his hands, his mind racing. “Revenge. Cain’s on a revenge mission.”

Jo frowned. “Revenge for what?”

Kevin’s face grew grim as he pieced it together. “For the death of his wife, Collette, and his brother Abel.”

Jo’s eyes widened in realization. “Of course. Cain’s been harboring a grudge for centuries. The syndicate must have been involved in their deaths.”

Kevin nodded. “It makes sense. Cain’s always been driven by a sense of justice, twisted as it may be. If the syndicate had a hand in Collette’s and Abel’s deaths, he’d stop at nothing to make them pay.”

Jo stood up, her expression determined. “We need to find out more about this victim. If we can identify them, we might be able to connect the dots and figure out who Cain’s next target will be.”

Kevin agreed, pocketing the medallion. They continued their search, hoping to uncover more clues that would shed light on the identity of the latest victim. As they moved deeper into the warehouse, Kevin’s flashlight caught a glimpse of a piece of paper pinned to the wall.

“Jo, over here,” he called, moving towards the paper.

Jo joined him, and they examined the paper together. It was a list of names, each one crossed out except for the last two. Kevin recognized a few of the names immediately—prominent members of the syndicate who had been killed in recent weeks.

“This is a hit list,” Jo said, her voice barely above a whisper. “These are Cain’s targets.”

Kevin nodded, his heart pounding. “And it looks like he’s almost done. We need to warn the remaining targets before it’s too late.”

Jo took out her phone, quickly dialing the number of their superior. “We need to get this information to Sam and the others. They need to know what we’ve found.”

Kevin scanned the list, noting the names and locations of the remaining targets. He quickly pulled out his phone, dialling Sam.

He answered on the second ring. ‘Hey, Kevin. What’s up?’

Kevin took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Sam, we’ve got a situation. It’s about Cain."

There was a pause on the other end before Sam’s voice came through, cautious and curious. ‘Cain? I thought he was dead.’

"Yeah, that’s what we all thought," Kevin replied, glancing at Jo for support. "But we’ve got evidence that he’s still alive. And it’s worse than we expected—he’s on a revenge mission."

‘Revenge?’ Sam’s tone shifted, growing more serious. ‘For what?’

Kevin explained quickly, summarizing the events of the past few hours. "We’ve been investigating a series of decapitations, and we found out that all the victims were part of the syndicate. Cain’s been targeting them because he believes they were involved in the deaths of his wife, Collette, and his brother, Abel."

There was another pause as Sam processed the information. ‘That explains a lot. But if Cain’s alive and out for revenge, that means we’re dealing with a Knight of Hell who’s hell-bent on destruction.’

"Exactly," Kevin said. "We’ve already secured the remaining targets on his hit list, but we need to find Cain and stop him before he kills anyone else."

Jo stepped closer to Kevin, speaking up. "Sam, we’ve got a lead on his location. An abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of town. We’re gearing up to head there now."

Sam’s voice was firm, filled with determination. ‘I’m on my way. Don’t do anything until I get there. We need to handle this carefully.’

ONE WEEK AGO:

The evening sky was a wash of fading orange and deepening purple, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse with the tension of the impending confrontation. Sam led the charge, his expression grim and focused.

And hoping his hair wouldn’t fall in his face.

The intel Kevin and Jo had uncovered suggested that this dilapidated farmhouse was Cain’s hideout. After weeks of relentless investigation and countless dead ends, they were finally closing in on the man responsible for a series of brutal murders, each victim a former member of a notorious criminal syndicate. Cain’s revenge was nearly complete, and they knew they were running out of time.

Sam motioned for silence as they approached the front door, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of movement. Kevin and Jo flanked him, their weapons drawn and ready. The tension was palpable, each agent acutely aware of the stakes.

Sam took a deep breath, then kicked the door open, the sound echoing through the empty farmhouse. They moved in swiftly, clearing rooms with practiced efficiency. The air was thick with dust and the lingering scent of decay. As they reached the living room, they found Cain seated calmly in an old armchair, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Looks like you found me,” Cain said, his voice low and steady. “But you’re too late.”

Sam stepped forward, his gun trained on Cain. “Where are the others?”

Cain shook his head, his smile widening. “They’re gone. All of them. My revenge is complete.”

Kevin felt a chill run down his spine. They had been too late. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Jo’s eyes were locked onto Cain, her expression a mix of anger and frustration.

“What do you mean, ‘they’re gone’?” Jo demanded, her voice tight with barely restrained fury.

Cain leaned back in his chair, his eyes cold and calculating. “I’ve taken care of everyone responsible for Collette’s death and my brother Abel’s betrayal. Every single one of them.”

Sam tightened his grip on his weapon. “This ends now, Cain. You’re coming with us.”

Cain’s smile faded, replaced by a look of somber resolve. “You think I’m the biggest threat you’re facing? You’re wrong. There’s someone within your own ranks, someone who’s been working against you all along.”

Kevin and Jo exchanged a confused glance. Sam’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a mole in your organization,” Cain said, his voice carrying a weight of certainty. “Someone who’s been feeding information to the syndicate, undermining your every move.”

Jo’s eyes widened in shock. “A mole? Who?”

Cain shrugged, his expression inscrutable. “I don’t know their identity. But I do know they’re close. Closer than you think.”

Kevin felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach. A mole within the FBI could explain the many setbacks they had faced during the investigation. But who could it be?

Sam took a step closer to Cain, his voice a low growl. “Why should we believe you?”

Cain met Sam’s gaze, unflinching. “Because I have no reason to lie. My revenge is complete. I have nothing left to lose.”

The silence that followed was heavy with tension. Sam exchanged a look with Kevin and Jo, then holstered his weapon. “We’re taking you in, Cain. You’ll have plenty of time to tell us everything you know.”

Cain didn’t resist as Sam and Jo cuffed him, his expression one of resignation. Kevin’s mind was racing, trying to process the implications of what Cain had revealed. If there truly was a mole within the FBI, they needed to find them before more lives were put at risk.

Back at the FBI headquarters, the atmosphere was charged with a mixture of frustration and determination. Cain was secured in an interrogation room, under constant watch. Sam, Kevin, and Jo convened in a conference room, the gravity of their situation weighing heavily on them.

Sam paced the length of the room, his mind clearly racing. “If Cain’s telling the truth, we have a serious problem. A mole within our ranks could explain why this investigation has been so difficult.”

Kevin nodded, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. “We need to re-examine everyone. Look at their access, their movements, any anomalies in their behavior.”

Jo leaned forward, her eyes sharp with focus. “We’ve already ruled out the usual suspects. We need to think outside the box. Consider people we haven’t scrutinized as closely.”

Sam stopped pacing and turned to face them. “We’ll need to do this quietly. If the mole realizes we’re onto them, they could cause even more damage. Let’s start with access logs and communication records. Anyone who’s had unusual access to sensitive information.”

Kevin pulled out his laptop, quickly accessing the FBI’s internal database. Jo began sifting through recent case files, looking for any discrepancies or unusual patterns.

FOUR DAYS AGO:

Kevin and Jo sat across from each other in the dimly lit interrogation room, the sterile walls echoing with their frustration. The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, reminding them of how little time they had left to uncover the mole within the FBI.

Kevin sighed, rubbing his eyes. “We’ve gone through the files a hundred times, Jo. There has to be something we’re missing.”

Jo leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. “I know, Kevin. But everyone we’ve investigated so far checks out. There’s no indication of anyone working against us.”

Kevin flipped through a thick stack of personnel files, each one meticulously marked with notes and red flags. “Let’s go over the interviews again. Maybe we missed a detail.”

Jo pulled out a notebook, the pages filled with hastily scribbled observations. “We’ve already ruled out Sam, Benny, Cas, Meg, and Ruby. They’ve all got alibis and their stories check out.”

Kevin nodded, his mind racing. “But what if the mole is someone we haven’t even considered? Someone under the radar?��

Jo tapped her pen against the table, deep in thought. “Like who? We’ve gone through everyone in our immediate circle.”

Kevin stood up, pacing the room. “Maybe it’s someone who’s not directly involved with us but has access to sensitive information. A support staff member, a janitor, someone who blends in.”

Jo’s eyes widened with realization. “You might be onto something. We need to broaden our scope. Look at everyone who’s had access to classified information, even if they’re not directly involved in our operations.”

Kevin nodded, feeling a spark of hope. “Let’s start with the cleaning crew. They’re here late at night when no one else is around. It’s possible someone could have overheard something or found a way to access our files.”

Jo jotted down a list of names. “Alright, let’s split up and start interviewing them. We need to be thorough.”

They moved with renewed determination, ready to uncover the truth.

THREE DAYS AGO:

The break room was quiet, the usual hum of chatter replaced by the soft buzz of the vending machine. Kevin and Jo sat at a small table, reviewing the cleaning crew’s schedules and backgrounds.

Kevin sipped his coffee, his eyes scanning the list. “So far, everyone we’ve talked to seems clean. No suspicious behavior, no access to restricted areas. Cleaning crew was a bust.”

Jo nodded, tapping her fingers on the table. “But we need to keep digging. There has to be a connection we’re not seeing.”

Kevin set down his coffee, leaning forward. “Let’s think about motive. Why would someone want to betray us? Money? Blackmail? Ideological reasons?”

Jo frowned, her brow furrowing. “It could be any of those. Or something we haven’t even considered. We need to think outside the box.”

Kevin’s eyes lit up with an idea. “What if it’s not about the usual reasons? What if it’s personal? Someone with a grudge against one of us?”

Jo looked thoughtful. “It’s possible. But who would have a personal vendetta against us?”

Kevin pulled out a piece of paper, jotting down names and potential motives. “Let’s make a list of anyone who’s had conflicts with our team in the past. Even minor disagreements could be a clue.”

Jo grabbed a pen, joining him in the brainstorming session. “Alright, let’s start with recent cases. Anyone we’ve crossed paths with who might hold a grudge.”

They worked in silence, their minds racing as they compiled the list. It was a long shot, but it was the best lead they had.

TWO DAYS AGO:

The FBI archives were a labyrinth of files and documents, stretching back decades. Kevin and Jo had spent hours sifting through the records, their eyes tired and their bodies aching from the constant strain.

Kevin pulled out another box of files, setting it on the table with a heavy thud. “There has to be something in here. Some connection we’ve overlooked.”

Jo flipped through a stack of papers, her fingers smudged with ink. “We’ve reviewed all the recent cases. Maybe we need to look further back. See if there’s a pattern.”

Kevin nodded, opening the box and pulling out a file. “Let’s start with cases that involved multiple agents. Larger operations where more people were involved.”

They worked in silence, the only sounds the rustling of papers and the occasional murmur of realization. Hours passed as they delved deeper into the archives, their frustration mounting with each dead end.

Jo suddenly looked up, her eyes wide. “Kevin, look at this.”

Kevin leaned over, peering at the file in her hands. It was an old case, one that had involved a large-scale operation against a powerful criminal syndicate. Several agents had been involved, including some who were still with the Bureau.

“This operation was a mess,” Jo said, pointing to the notes in the margin. “Several agents were compromised, and there were allegations of a mole even back then.”

Kevin’s mind raced. “But they never found the mole. What if it’s the same person, still operating within the Bureau?”

Jo nodded, her excitement growing. “It’s possible. We need to cross-reference these agents with the ones currently on our list.”

They worked quickly, their energy renewed by the potential breakthrough. If they could find a connection, they might finally be able to unmask the mole.

ONE DAY AGO:

The surveillance room was filled with monitors, each displaying different angles of the FBI headquarters. Kevin and Jo watched the screens intently, their eyes scanning for any sign of suspicious activity.

Kevin pointed to one of the screens. “There. That’s Agent Harris. He’s been acting strange lately, always staying late and avoiding eye contact.”

Jo nodded, making a note. “And there’s Agent Parker. She’s been spending a lot of time in the restricted areas, even when she’s not on duty.”

They continued to watch, their suspicions growing with each observation. They had compiled a list of agents who had been involved in the old operation and were now focusing their surveillance on them.

Kevin glanced at Jo, his expression serious. “We need to be careful. If the mole realizes we’re onto them, they might make a move.”

Jo nodded, her eyes never leaving the screens. “We’ll keep watching. Sooner or later, they’ll slip up.”

Hours passed, the tension in the room growing with each passing minute. They monitored every movement, every interaction, hoping for a clue that would lead them to the mole.

Suddenly, Jo’s eyes widened. “Kevin, look at this.”

Kevin leaned forward, his heart pounding. One of the agents on their list was meeting with a known associate of the syndicate— Azazel, no less, their conversation hushed and secretive.

“No way.” She whispered, grabbing her phone and rushing to make a call while Kevin stared wide eyed at the screen.

“That’s it,” Kevin whispered. “We’ve got our mole.”

NOW:

You felt numb. You felt… you didn’t know how to feel. In fact, your feet were barely carrying you towards the interrogation room, where you met Sam. He gave you a small nod, reassuring in hopes to calm the rising of bile, venom and blind fury that rose in your gut, threatening to boil over, but you shoved it down for the sake of it.

“He’s in there.” Sam nodded through the door, but stopped you before you could go in full guns blazing, pulling you in for a brief hug, his chin on your head. “Keep your cool, ok?”

“I will.” You assured quietly, and made your way in, your blood turning to ice.

There he was, at the interrogation table, cuffed to the desk. Smirk playing at his pouty lips, sandy hair slightly tousled from not having come quietly, red flannel and knowing look on his face. Green eyes following your every move, every slope of your body as you walked, tongue now tracing his upper teeth.

Dean Winchester. Dean was the mole in the FBI.

“Took you long enough, sweetheart.” He chuckled in a gravelly voice, which you ignored, taking the case file from Kevin with a small nod that said ‘well done’ to him and Jo. They’d been working the case while you were out playing a part in some badly written romance movie.

You cleared your throat, looking him in the eye. “So. It’s you. Why didn’t I see what you were doing?”

“I don’t think you were ever that perceptive, eh?” He grinned at you, clasping his hands together. “Ain’t no game that’s worth it if you ain’t the winner, am I right? But I played you good.”

“You sure did.” You replied, being cold about it the best you could. Your arms folded, jaw set and staring him dead in the eye. “But why did you do it?”

He laughed, throwing his head back before he looked back to you with a smirk. He cracked his Cheshire grin and gave you his best cocky-ass smile, one that made him look like the Devil. But there was only one thing worse than the Devil and that was the Devil in lion's clothing. “Because it’s fun.”

“You had sex with me because it was fun?” You frowned, folding your arms. “You wanted to get me this big win, is that what you wanted? Is this your idea of a big win?”

Dean smirked, leaning forward. “It’s my big win, darlin’. I said I’d get you a win, never said who’s.” Then he chuckled. “My patience’s worn thin. Adiós, sweet thing.”

His cuffs dropped from his hands, a Bobby pin clattering to the floor as the officers yelled out in surprise. Before they could react, they were knocked out with a clean few punches, and Dean had tackled you to the floor, the impact of your head hitting stone making your vision go blurry and the corners of it black.

You felt his lips on yours, further kissing what felt like the life out of you before he pulled back, hearing his footsteps disappear into the hallway along with hells and grunts that followed.

Your vision turning black.

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thepenandthepistol · 1 month ago

Text

Fragile Machinery (Mumbo x reader)

This has been a long time coming. You've felt his death being sown through the land in every failed trap attempt and close call. With a single mistake, you are helpless in preventing it.

A/N: Honestly, did not know I had this fic in me. I was already kinda sad and pissed with some other stuff and watching Mumbo explode has made me a little sadder than it has the right to. Haven't watched everyone's pov so player positions are probably inaccurate. Reader and Mumbo aren't platonic or romantic in this, but are the secret third thing. Also reader is an avian. Again. (1270 words)

Art by @/YongyiMoon on Twitter and dividers by @saradika-graphics

You thought Mumbo was finally safe. For the last few weeks, you’ve followed him like a shadow, dark wings and hood obscuring your face like a damned shade. Most people haven’t chanced a hit at Mumbo, not after Jimmy’s stunt and your subsequent presence. Thankfully, that’s given you the chance to parse out the competition, the dark green names and their hideouts, your neighbors, above and below. From the distance, wild shades of pink fly in the air. Lizzie’s set of lives calls to you from your place atop the highest of Mumbo’s bridges.

You hear him sit beside you, but don’t manage a word; there’s a silent type of dread in the air, the type you’re afraid to speak into existence. He looks you over, and despite all the unease, the sweet smile on his face drips through the cracks of your tough facade. You recognize it now, the emotion. Terror.

“We need to get you another life.” The only thing you can get to leave your mouth is the obvious. You steady your trembling fingers at your side before encasing his hand. It’s gentle in a way you’re not experienced in being.

“We will. We’ve got my mace. From here on, it’s smooth sailing.” His eyes crinkle, and his goofy mustache draws upward from his smirk.

“You can take one of mine.” The phrase leaves you before you can word it in a less desperate way. The warmth from Mumbo’s hand only partially eases the chilling anxiety that races through your veins. He looks at you and can only frown. “Get another kill with the mace, and you’ll be back to green. Besides, if anyone here should try their hand at fighting, I think I’m our best bet.” Silence follows.

“No. I- Genuinely, I don’t think I can do that.” He says it, laughing almost. Like the thought of sacrificing yourself for him is some unthinkable deed.

“Alright... I’ll help you get your kill, then.” This is your promise, and it weighs so much heavier on his shoulders than it should. It’s new, this type of arrangement. He could only recall being taken seriously through faint memories of another life, even then surfacing only in death.

He rests his head against your shoulder, and you pretend not to cave into docility, your gaze still like a hawk’s, following the rats below.

The next day, preparations start early and eat into another evening. As the air cools with the sun’s descent through the horizon, you trail your friends from above. Grian talks casually with Etho and BigB, but he often glances up at Mumbo upon the wall, betraying his unease. No one suspects your dark form in the pitch black sky above until a trivia bot glides down and you dash behind the taller cobble pillar with Mumbo.

“I can’t hit anyone from here.” He checks around the corner and down into the commotion. An idea strikes you and paints a mischievous grin on your face.

“I can help with that.” You suddenly yank him into the air from under his armpits and hover over the clearing. Mumbo goes limp in your hands but then tightens his grip on the mace once again. A green heart glints from a speck on the ground, and with a nod from Mumbo, you let go.

A bone-breaking crunch reverberates as you hear your friend’s victory cries. You zoom out to join them through the castle’s front gates as the others yell out in shock. Mumbo runs for his life, but even in the chaos, you clearly see his heart stay the same forsaken yellow.

With a glance behind you, the terrible realization catches up. Gem’s body. You dropped him in the wrong spot.

The entire way home is spent in an even worse silence than before. Mumbo laughs it off, but your mind can picture it so clearly now. His own body, bloodied and cold.

You begin fervently building the tower alongside Grian. Its threatening presence is a small reprise from the vulnerability of defeat. You run your fingers along the cool deepslate and look out onto the meeting room.

Skizz and Mumbo are messing with a trivia bot, pushing him around while he boops and bleeps. Scar makes his way down the mountain, obviously up to no good, and steals Skizz’s bot. He rows off the platform in his little wooden boat, and you scoff at the absurdity. Mumbo looks up at you, and it only takes a second to send you both into laughter. Skizz drops into the water below after Scar before Grian can yell out a coherent answer to his bot’s question.

You can’t really believe it when you feel levity in the air. The sun begins setting one last time, but you, Grian and Mumbo, move around the tower, now turned turret, and make shots at the people on the ground. It’s incredible how a killing machine can inspire such giddiness, but finally, there is hope. There’s more than hope. This thing is bound to kill someone at one point. Its range and the recklessness of the teams in traversing the mountain assure you that if not green, Mumbo will go back to a healthy yellow.

Faraway cries draw your attention back downward as a massive group stands right in the traps danger zone. Your eyes shine with wonder as you turn back and face Mumbo. He takes a step back hesitantly, and Grian questions him without losing sight of Gem, ominously standing in the middle of a past crater.

“Jimmy’s there as well.” Shit. Restlessness returns to your stance as the perfect chances make their way up the cherry wood stairs and leave range one by one.

Instinct drives you to fly into the air. Straight up into the cloudy, dark sky, leaving a gust of wind in your wake. Mumbo looks up at you with furrowed brows before you dive toward the crowd. Like a bullet, piercing the space between you both, your arms quickly wrap around Jimmy. The others present jump back in surprise as you take off just as quickly as you arrived. Eyes focusing on those pink braids, you brutally knock Jimmy’s flailing body into Lizzie. She stumbles into a puffer fish trap, giving you all the time you need to safely get Jimmy into the air, outside the blast radius.

The sun begins to rise behind the turret; time seems to slow. Grian woops and yells from the tower’s parapets. He eyes you with mirth in his pupils; they dilate as he places the explosive minecart, and Mumbo sends it chasing its own tail to power up. Lizzie has decided to go for the worst course of action and climb back down into the dead center of the craters from past failed attempts.

Your wings are heavy as you fly overhead while Jimmy continues to struggle in your grasp. He doesn’t seem to have a sword, and the blunt cobble he uses to scratch your talons is only secondary to the relief of Mumbo’s eventual kill.

He smiles, wider than you’ve ever seen him, and in a single distracted moment, Jimmy manages to land a hit to your wings. You yell, more from surprise than hurt, and catch a glimpse of Mumbo pulling out a bow and arrow, taking the stance to shoot, putting his foot back just barely on top of the powered track.

Your yell is bloodcurdling. Mumbo hears the minecart stop at his side. Terror fills his eyes, and in the split moment he has, he reaches a desperate hand out toward you.

#hermitcraft x reader #mumbo x reader #platonic!mumbo x reader #mcyt x reader #x reader #don't mind me editing this a day later because i wrote Skizz's name wrong #i should keep a fic at least one day after i write it and before posting it so that doesnt happen

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voidwritesstuff · 2 months ago

Text

Camcorder Stories.

Cw: War being self deprecating. (No surprise there)

Summary: The Four happen to be travelling with a human survivor who is a devoted learner of all things cinema. They're learning about human culture one way or another, even if they dont like it.

>A/n: Inspired by the lovely @darkdemeter and her amazing Darksiders writings. As A film student, I felt like I needed to share all this knowledge that has changed the way I watch films and other multimedia content. To share the hard work involved and the appreciation I have for it :DDD.

The horsemen had no concept of what Film was. Not even Strife,who was the most acquainted with humanity even before the end times.

But now the riders found themselves with a young human who had dedicated a good portion of their years to studying cinema. And much to their chagrin or excitement...

This human carried an old camcorder with them. And with tapes to spare.

Death:

Not even theatre was of particular concern or interest to the pale rider. He was never one for the arts,other than the art of necromancy, so at first he pays the human no mind when they begin talking about film.

"Oh hold on,I need to film this. Stand there at the edge of that cliff...I just need to fiddle with the ISO. So bright..."

Death was just looking at the Valley below,the sickly sun of the kingdom of the dead shone on his cold skin. The warmth was sticky and awful. But hes never been one to complain.

The tall bone towers stood on the far distance on each side of him, a perfect frame of Demise between the reaper himself.

His human companion fiddled with buttons and he could see the lense of the strange device the mortal held. He saw how it opened and closed like a predator's Gaze.

"Okay! There we go. Finally. Please stand there,Im going to do a traveling, then a zoom in And finish on a medium close up...you just stay there like in a reverse shot. " the human made a pause,as if thinking about their words "stay still,look Cool. Back to the camera and look forwards to either of those towers"

Death doesnt know why he indulges in these outbursts of cinematic inspiration. He thinks it helps his companion Keep their sanity..and it keeps them tame and less prone to trouble.

He can hear the mortal slowly walk to him. His ears catch the sound of their footsteps from his right. He can guess theyre putting most of their weight on their heels so they can turn upwards and close in on him to somewhat eye level.

The sound comes from his right to then begin walking a Straight line behind him. Thats the travelling.

This "useless" knowledge of film has been drilled into his mind against his Will. He knew a travelling meant this human would slowly move towards him from either of his sides.

After comes that close up. Those always put his hairs on edge. Like theyre sneaking behind him. He absolutely hates it. Even if theyre not even a threat.

Finally,the medium close up meant the camera would only film from his shoulders up.

He can hear the whirring of the camcorder as it takes in his form.

It cuts when the camera is right on his left shoulder.

"Satiated?" He asked,a gruff in his voice. The annoyance bellows from the base of his throat.

"Very..." he turns to see the human look at their recording"I know you hate doing second takes...I know you think this is silly but...I'd like one more take. Please? . Its not often that outside light behaves,usually its better to do all this in a studio-gives you more controll over the lights and shadows.. but this is almost a golden opportunity.."

He asks himself again why he indulges the mortal on these things. But he looks at how their eyes glimmer at the prospect of connecting with something so tied to them and their people that went on a horrible decline by the hands of things older and more powerfull than them.

And he cant squander their happiness.

Perhaps hes grown soft, perhaps hes intrigued by such arts.

"One last 'take'. Make it count,human"

The smile they give him could melt any Ice. And if the Creator willed it,maybe the one that wrapped his dead heart.

"Okay! Ill do my travelling from the left, then a zoom and finish on your right shoulder. I know theres not much difference but the sun is coming from the left...I think its going to be more dramatic that way!"

Death couldnt help but let out a low,low chuckle"One of these days,I'll make you show me all these things youre...filming"

"Death,after this take I'll show all of them to you. I promise" the human's voice sounds the happiest hes ever heard since meeting them "I think all this Will make a smashing docu-series. Ill give you credits of course, though putting "Special thanks to the literal horseman of the pale horse" sounds a little weird"

Another chuckle left the old reaper "With everything your people has been through,thats your concern?"

The human laughed,a sound so heavenly"Alright,alright,fair. C'mon. Stand there again and We'll wrap this up faster than you can say 'action!'"

Fury

Her opinions could make even the saltiest of film critics cry. And shes not ashamed on telling his human companion how pointless and useless their outbursts were.

But then she saw how cool she looked,and it fed her ego so much she changed her tune.

"Youre going to kill me because of this,Fury. But move to that lightsource there" the human Pointed at one forwards down the Hall of arcane lights they were in.

"Whats wrong with this one, mortal? " the she-horseman asked with her hands on her hips and a little annoyed glare in her white eyes.

"I can tell from how it looks here in the camera that this is an incomplete spectrum lightsource "

"English,human "

The mortal sighed,putting down the camera "Incomplete Spectrum Lights dont do well with colors that are a mix of two others. Your hair is magenta, the middle between blue and red. Depending on where you stand, its taking the color of your hair from bluer to redder. Not a nice look,and not the one im looking for "

She relented and Walked further down the Hall. She raised her hands in annoyance and said "Well? "

"Perfect!! Do something cool with your whip! -Oh I need to change the obturation velocity. "

"...human" Fury scowled.

"How quickly the lenses Open and close to register the image. The quicker it opens and closes the clearer the image of your whip moving Will be"

Fury saw them click a few buttons on their camcorder. The tech was foreign to them,only her watcher seemed to be aware of how they worked. So,when the human wasnt listening, the shadow being explained to her mistress what a camera was and how it functioned.

"There! Ready. Im not sure on what shot to use.."

She did say she didnt care for film knowledge. Shes heard it enough times against her Will but...

"Medium length shot. Didn't you humans call it an 'American Shot' too?" she asked,grabbing the Hilt of Scorn.

The human smiles,the glimmering of their eyes like theyre finally being acknowledged

"Or 'cowboy shot' yeah. You...you remembered! "

"Just because you said it a thousand times. "

By now,her mortal companion had grown used to her dismissal. "Uh-Huh sure. Ahem, alright. 'Fury being awesome ' take one! And...action!"

Just a few takes later,The human approached the horsewoman and showed her the display screen of the camera. Within it she sees the last take they did, which seemed to be the best one yet.

There truly is an art and a skill to it. How they move about to catch each angle, evading any lightsource that May betray their shadow and ruin the film.

Fury catches the warmth and pride in the human's eyes. This is the first time shes seen them so content. Mortals needed little to be happy.

It made her heart squeeze. She almost felt...guilty for being so critical and mean about this,admitedly, unique art form.

"Not bad. Perhaps you'll even make this into something worth watching" she ruffles their hair to add her usual emotional distance, but the human is inmune to It.

"When I do,you and your siblings are invited to the red carpet premiere. You Better dress your best"

"I never dissapoint,human".

Strife:

The horseman of the white horse loved any and all things human related. Was this his way of making up after his failing at protecting humanity from corruption? Maybe.

Or maybe he just really likes the culture.

Not like he'd tell his human companion about why he seemed so interested in their filming.

"Okay heres a fun bit of info for you. Did you know we had an art form called stop motion?"

"I Didnt know, how does it work?"

He listened attentively as the mortal told him about the millions of variations of puppet models,the replacement, the neat little tricks to make things move and seem Real.

To him,stop motion animation sounded like a real labor of love.

"I had to make one for a class once. It was painful but fun"

"Do you still have the recording?"

"I...dont sadly. We made it on a digital camera and god knows what happened to it after this shit show"

"Oh...".

"But if you give me a few hours we can make one together"

Strife knows himself enough to be aware of his lack of patience. But he accepts the deal if only for the experience.

He sees his human companion,his Friend, work away at making a few tiny little puppets that they can pose. They use pine cones,Grass,rubble, anything that they can get their hands on.

The mortal sets the camera on a rock,making sure it cant be moved. Then, they spent the Next few hourstaking pictures and making the puppets move and do silly little things.

Strife defenetly didnt have the patience for this, but it was all worth it when he saw the animation they made together. How the doll moved about in its little scenario,how the arms hoist up some pebble.

" Ive never done anything like this" he had admitted as he cleaned his guns. This was his way of unwinding. "It was fun, but painful. You sure its not some human torture method?"

His friend laughed,shaking their head as they press record on their camera and begin to move it delicately to drink in all the details of the horseman's hands cleaning the gun

The campfire beside them gave the shot a dramatic light that flickered and danced in a way that made the metal glint. And with a low ISO (aka the camera's sensitivity to light) there was no oversaturation to ruin the recording.

"Watcha doing'?" The gunslinger asked, not stopping the cleaning of his weapons.

"A detail shot. Usually its for props. In this case, the props are your guns." They explained "I personally love detail shots. They showcase the love put into the props by the art department"

"Theres an art department?"

"Ya. Theres also a lights department, writers,directors, producers, special effects- like a fake wound-, a costume/clothes department.-"

"So Many people for one movie?"

"Mhm! I can tell you all about it "

"Sweetheart,we've got nuthin' but time. 'M all ears"

War:

Creator help the human that the red rider travels with. He knows little of things like theatre and magic and tech are a mystery to him in so Many ways. Had it not been for the watcher, the behemoth in crimson would have no clue and think its an elaborate human prank.

"Okay so in a movie,you'd have four stages. Pre- production,where the story and list of resources needed for the film get made. Production,which is getting everything on the list plus actors and catering and a bunch of other things. Filming,the fun part. And post-production, where everything comes together"

War raised his brows in surprise, his expression would have been hidden if it wasnt for the slight widening of his shining white eyes and his voice as he says "I...was not aware of how much was needed for such a seemingly simple thing"

The human was unaware of the expression he was making,seeing as their back was to his chest. Ruin trode lazily over the broken pavement.

"Yeah! You need a lot. Think about this,you need a scene in a home.." they begin,opening Their camcorder to put a tape within It "you can either make it within a studio- which means making everything from the ground up- or get a house with the furniture inside it "

He listens attentively "Im sure its more complicated than that...You'd need...lights? You have said that. And you told me natural light can be...tricky"

"Yeah!! " they sound so happy at his remembrance "For a home you manage to "borrow" you need to block out the Windows- unless theyre shown in the shot- and replace the light with artificial ones. But you'd also need people and services to haul the equipment to that home. "

They made a brief pause "a big guy like you would be useful. You May have a spot on the industry after all!"

"I dont see myself-"

"It was a joke,War"

"Right"

"Thats joke 1000 and counting" they breathed out,before turning on their camcorder. "Hey...I want a birds eye view of Ruin's head. Can get on your shoulders?"

He sighed "very well. Be careful"

The human climbs on him with ease. His armor provided foot holds and places to grasp. And its not the first time this happened...

War barely registers their weight on him. He looks up past his hood to see them record the sunset,turning side to side slowly in a panning motion.

"Natural light can be finnicky...but things like these can be breath taking...Wonderful shot"

At this,something comes to the rider's mind. "Why do you...record all these things? Arent they painful reminders? Do you do it to inmortalize yourself?"

The mortal looked down and smiled,shaking their head"in film,we tell stories. I want to tell this story...our story" the camera bends down to record him. And he huffs,all afluster.

"The nephilim are not worthy of remembrance".

"But you horsemen are. Your stories are worth sharing. And im making sure they happen. Your voice deserve to be heard"

"What makes you so certain?"

"I...Im not sure. Its just a feeling.."

He saw the way the human's brows knit together. They chew the inside of their cheek and turn the camera to take the view of Ruin's firey mane.

"Wonderful films have been made out of less. Sure,your stories are amazing and interesting- but thats not quite It. We have all seen stories of guts and glory,of massacres...but you horsemen are different. Unique."

"We're the accursed union of Angel and Demon. We're unique because we shouldnt exist "

He feels them kick him with the heel of their foot. "Dont say that about yourself. Good god" they sigh,looking at the sunset "theres nobody in this world like you four, youre unique in a wonderful way. You are a union of angel and demon but youre nothing like them. Youre uniquely independent, in a League all of your own. I seek to understand it I guess- I want to tell your stories because..."

The words are on the tip of their tongue. So annoying...

And War sounds almost...meek in asking. He hopes of acknowledgement, of being seen, as deep down as that feeling is.

"Because theres simply nothing like you,and I think everyone deserves to know how noble,how kind and how strong you are. Maybe we can even learn something from you for. Your courage and disposition are unmatched. As scarred as you May be,as hurt even...I just think you deserve to be shown and appreciated for your uniqueness"

The rider was unsure on what to say. They are perhaps the only being in existence that appreciates the four in this way. And...he quite likes it.

"No doubt you'll make it far in your carreer" he complimented after a long silence."few beings in existence have the heart that you do..."

He heard them chuckle, their shadow moving as they hook their feet under his armor to stand up and bring their camera further up,showing the low brush and lushness that begins to overtake the landscape. The blue hour fully setting in.

"Will you come watch what I make?"

It was so obvious there was a slight hint of humor. He could tell the human wasnt at all convinced he actually cared for their art.

Too bad he means to show them he does

"To see the fruits of your hard labor? Of course. "

He hears the slight sniffing,he feels the slight trembling..."Ill- ill get you the best- best seats at the theatre. I promise"

War raised his normal hand to wrap around their calf, as a comfort but as a steadying force. "Ive no doubt you'll uphold your word"

#darksiders #darksiders fury #darksiders death #darksiders war #darksiders strife #darksiders horsemen #darksiders x reader #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #darksiders genesis

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 1 year ago

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vampire king

pairing: dick grayson x batgirl!reader

wc: 745

warnings: blood i think. should be clean

A/N: idea came from the dc comics event DC vs Vampires. yall should read. prompt "one way or another, you're gonna die tonight" from@nightprompts

divider from @firefly-graphics

masterlist / dick grayson

🎧 vampire

vampires were taking over the streets of gotham. it was quiet at first, only the upper class had already been the mythical creatures or they were turned at the idea of mortality the greed of being young and rich forever.

slowly people were disappearing off the streets only to come back looking ghostly, sunken cheeks and pointed teeth baring two holes into victims skin to suck them dry of blood.

when you first heard batman talking about it you thought it was some prank he was actually in on, but when you visited the ME office and saw the bodies for yourself you quickly realized the severity of the situation.

batman called the justice league for a worldwide level emergency. gotham was the main priority since it was quickly being swallowed by the monsters, you and the others could only do so much with only gadgets and stun guns.

“nightwing and batgirl, both of you take lower gotham. the docks, shipping yards, junkyards. any place dark and dangerous for the normal person.” batman gave commands to groups and duos quickly, everyone split up to their locations.

“you think theirs a higher up?” questioning nightwing through your helmet comms. your motorcycle zipping through the top quiet streets while heading to a north-east shopping yard. the two of you were side to side, nightwing zooming just a little quicker ahead.

“probably. usually there always needs to be one to grow more vampires. they always need a king or queen.” he sounded bored while replying. “keep your head clear, almost there.” then revved his engine and sped off.

powering down your cycle killed the sound and lights leaving you in a dimly lit space with only the sounds of the water close by. pulling your helmet off slowly and clipping it to your handles, you noticed he wasn’t anywhere nearby. it kept you on alert.

“nightwing,” pressing on your wrist com. you waited two seconds before calling his name again. “nightwing, come in.” cautious steps deeper into the maze of shipping containers.

a sharp thud stopped you short, gadgets at the ready. no noise followed so you continued further in. then it came again so you called out, “come out and this will be over quickly.”

no response. “i’m not here to play games. either cooperate or get ready for a fight.” flicking a batarang open.

a deep lifeless chuckling filled the air, a large shadow stalking over white and green containers. “you’re very funny, batgirl.” small knocks echoing out, “thinking you're a threat to anyone. such a small human, weak boned girl. i can easily snap you like that of a toothpick.”

“why don’t you step out of the shadows and follow thru with that threat.” shuffling your feet and legs into a combat stance.

another low chuckle followed by a sign, “oh i will. can’t wait to see your reaction to this news.”

your face screwed up and before you ask what they were talking about, they step out the shadows and stood illuminated by over headlights. hands held out at their sides, a twist grin.

“dick?” body relaxing itself. not understanding what was happening. “this- this isn’t funny, dick!”

his grin twisting further, “oh, this isn’t some joke, y/n. you were asking about a higher up. so i thought you deserved to know who that was.” stepping further in, your heart pounding.

“i’m the king. and no matter what happens tonight, your gonna die. whether that be permanent or immortal is up to you.” hands sitting on his hips with his head cocked. white eyes emotionless and face stone still.

you couldn’t help the quiver to your lips or the crack in your voice, “this isn’t you, dick.”

he pouted and kissed his teeth, “oh sweetheart, this is me. well, dick has been gone for a long time, probably six months at this point. but that doesn’t matter, time is nonexistent when you’ve been alive for thousands of years.” he took slow, calculated strides closer. his hands now held behind his back, still carrying himself strong and high.

a sniffle of your nose before sitting back to your defensive position. eyes steeling hard and flexing your muscles hard, the sharpest point of your weapon aimed at the enemy. dick, the vampire king stopped short of a foot away. arms still held tight behind him as he cocked his head again, a mirthless quirk of his lips.

“are you ready to die tonight, mighty batgirl?”

#dick grayson angst #dick grayson fic #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #nightwing imagine #dc comics nightwing #nightwing angst #nightwing x reader #nightwing #dc comics imagine #dc comics dick grayson #dc comcics x reader

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dearly-somber · 1 year ago

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Sharp Teeth | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. fluff, angst, unrequited love, pining, f2l (friends-to-lovers), high school!au

-> w/c. 1172

-> rating. 13+

-> a/n. Heavily inspired by the Sharp Teeth animatic on YouTube created by Dead Sound. The song I listened to while writing this was a song included in the animatic by Wes Hutchinson called One Down Dog. Give them a watch and a listen.

-> warnings. N/A

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Wed., Jun. 30th, 2022 @ 18:18

-> fin. Wed., Jun. 30th, 2022 @ 19:18

-> edited. Mon., Jul. 18th, 2022 @ 23:35

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

Jungkook’s mother let her son cuddle into her side as he so often did before bed, showing him the book cover. Jungkook’s eyes sparkled at the sight of a particularly intriguing and somewhat familiar sketch of what he recognized as wolf canines. The book was bound in burgundy leather, the image of the canine carved into the cover so when his fingers brushed over it, it sank before evening out again. His mother turned to the first page and Jungkook got transported into the story, imagining himself in an open field with grass growing green and a gentle summer breeze, somewhere quiet and calm.

The point of view shifted from the delicately flowing grass stems to a herd of sheep gathered by a river’s edge, grazing peacefully.

On the opposite side, however, an ewe laid; looking curiously at two lambs curled into her side.

Jungkook’s mother read, “‘Are you… mine?’”

The ewe blinked carefully at the little lamb who stood on four shaky feet, tail wiggling excitedly at its mother.

“Mother is confused. She’s looking for a sign.” Jungkook waited with bated breath for his mother to continue, looking on as the ewe stood up herself. She nuzzled into the limp lamb’s side before pulling away slowly. “The rest seem unmoved.”

On the next page, the ewe turned to the eager little lamb, nuzzling and licking it before pulling away. Jungkook’s mother continued narrating in a chipper voice.

“‘Yes, you are mine!’ The mother stated with glee. ‘You’re small, and round, and helpless, but I can tell; from your blunt teeth.’”

The lamb baaed in response. Jungkook tilted his head in slight confusion. Blunt teeth? He brought his hand up to touch his teeth experimentally. He pulled them back after feeling around his mouth. No, his teeth weren’t blunt. Sure, some of them were blunter than his canines, but they were significantly sharper than what was considered ‘normal’.

Mother sheep lead her lamb to the riverbank, an establishing shot showing other animals on the opposite side of the river, grazing and whatnot.

“‘Most outside are friendly—the swift’,” a group of deer. “‘The strong,’” a herd of horses. “‘Who fly.’” Swans overhead. “‘Being so close to ground, it’s nice—to have more eyes.’” The lamb looked at its mother timidly, its weak legs quivering with fear.

“‘Don’t worry!’” Its mother soothed at the same time Jungkook’s mother brushed a hand over his head. “‘Blunt teeth, and beaks, and four feet… none here have sharp teeth. Just stay close to me.’”

As Jungkook’s mother turned to the next page, the illustrations took an unsettling turn, zooming in on the animals opposite of the mother and her young. “The swift ones run away, the strong ones turn around—both with heightened senses, and stuck so close to ground.” The point of view shifted back to the mother and her lamb.

“Will make them run in fear? Mother is confused. An evil monster is near! Her young as she cannot lose.” The ewe stood defensively next to her lamb. Panic seized her heart.

“Mother is to defend—slow but tough and firm—her young one not so behind her, the young bones. Every twitch another monster mother is convinced! She’ll never leave her youngster, even monsters do exist!”

A wolf rushed out of the shadows, snapping its jaws around the helpless little lamb.

“The young one cries out, but mother was too late. The evil monster lunged, and sealed the young one’s fate.” Jungkook instinctively held his mother close, lower lip quivering and tears glossing his vision. The ewe fell to her knees, panting fearfully by the river’s edge.

“Mother’s instincts shattered, scared. Confused of what became. So round and small and helpless, with only herself, to blame.” Jungkook sniffled, appreciating his own mother when she gave him a moment to recover. She paged over: a wide-shot of the wolf walking with a lifeless lamb hanging from its jaws.

“With this broken mother, seems the evil does no good. But the evil doesn’t eat—the young was not its food.” Jungkook frowns quizzically, his mother sparing him a glance and smiling fondly at his confused pout.

She turned the page a final time, opening the last two pages. “The evil, has it’s own young.” Jungkook’s mother brushed her thumb over the page with the wolf standing over a pair of pups, each small and round and helpless, with a whine slipping between their teeth. “Evil, could these be?”

Jungkook opened his mouth to protest when his mother closed the book gently, but hushed quickly when she brought him into her lap. She cupped her son’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbones tenderly with a loving sparkle in her eyes.

“‘I think not,’ says their mother. ‘Simply born,’” Jungkook’s mother leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, “‘with sharp teeth.’”

Jungkook’s eyes closed unwillingly as she whispered the words into his skin. He pulled away to look at his dear, beloved mother with freshly stained cheeks, smiling adoringly before throwing himself forward in a tight embrace.

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

Jungkook’s hearing slowly refocuses, two warm palms pressing against his cheeks.

“—hear me? It isn’t your fault you were born with sharp teeth, I promise I’m not ma—“

Y/N lets out a surprised yelp as Jungkook falls into her, nuzzling into the crook of her neck while weakly wrapping his arms around her waist. She stands in shock for a moment at his shaking shoulders, before she eventually maneuvers her hands around his torso, rubbing calming circles into his back.

Jungkook is unsure of exactly how long they stand there, but he pulls away when her scent starts to cloud his senses. She smells like daffodils and raisins—an addictive combination.

Cupping his cheeks again, Y/N brushes away rogue tears with the pads of her thumbs. “You alright?”

He smiles softly at her, nodding his head in a small motion. They stare at each other for a second—Y/N with a comforting half-grin and Jungkook admiring her thoughtlessly. He eventually brings a hand up from her waist to place it over the hand resting on his cheek, hesitantly pulling it away from his face to place a close-eyed kiss to her injured palm. He only realizes once his lips touch the fabric of the bandaid that she had wrapped it, guilt forcing him to leave his lips there a second longer than necessary.

When the shifter pulls away, he watches her staring mystified at her palm, light pink hue dusting her cheeks. “I really am sorry about your hand. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Y/N shakes her head, wrapping her arms around his neck to capture him in a hug. “I told you already that I forgive you, dummy. Like I said,” she smiles knowingly into his shoulder. “It’s not your fault you were born with sharp teeth.”

Jungkook allows a reminiscent smile to grace his features while he rests his chin on Y/N’s shoulder, holding her close. She smells so nice, he could probably just… fall asleep.

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crappy-writings · 3 months ago

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Keeper of Shadows

Wanda Maximoffxfem!Reader // Series

Series Summary: An odd series of fatal attacks in Upstate New York piques your interest, especially when they seem to be related to the strange powers you received when you were 10 years old. By some stroke of luck or misfortune, the Avengers too are investigating the case, and you are their number one suspect. In a temporary alliance, you work together to discover why people are dying, unraveling a line of love, secrets, and betrayal.

Chapter 3: The Portal-Jumper

(Chapter) Summary: You got away from the two Avengers, but for how long. Besides, you can’t escape the past.

Trigger Warning: Cursing, Injuries, Burns, Death, Anxiety

Word Count: 3,213

A/N: Exposition heavy chapter, sorry in advance. I promise I’ll get the plot moving soon, just bear with me for a bit.

<- Chapter 2 // Chapter 4 →

KoS Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Reblogged Fics

Dropping into the portals was a dumb idea. Actually, no, opening the portals in the first place was the dumb idea. But when you were staring into the eyes of two Avengers, there was nothing else that came to mind.

You tilt backwards, letting yourself fall into the open portal beside you. Time felt like it froze as you fell. You see the very top of the forest trees and fading blue of the sky before the first portal closes. The scene changed into a dark, barren land, tall structures of rock and stone set the background, only accented by a dark, gray sky. A creature like the one you fought moments ago spots you and bares its sharp teeth at you

But as quickly as it saw you, you were already falling into the second portal.

The wind is knocked out of your lungs as your back makes an impact against something big and metal, a loud clang sounds off in the dirty alleyway as you fell against a dumpster. The portal in front of you closed with a bright flash the moment you were through.

You cough and gasp for air, an intense cold settling into your bones despite the beads of sweat that rolled down your face and back. A sick feeling settled uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach, your hands were shaking intensely, and your body ached. For a few minutes, you could not move your body at all, the strain from the fight and the portal jumping leaving you completely and utterly exhausted.

Stray beams of fading sunlight covered you in an orange glow, lighting up the rest of the alleyway you laid in. Mixed hues of blue, pink and orange dance between white clouds with purple-ish underbellies. The sounds of New York City were loud in your ears, cars zooming past the streets and honking incessantly, engines revving and screeching tires bouncing inside your skull. You lay your head against the filthy dumpster, closing your eyes in search of respite.

To your left, dark, wispy figures floated around within the darkness of the alley. The small figures lacked any particular shape or depth, their forms contorting differently every other second as they fluidly swam between the shadowed walls and ground. You had not noticed how they slowly began to merge, gathering at the very edge of the shadow to loom over you like a tower.

You clenched your jaw as you stared at them, forcing your body to move away from the alleyway’s shadow and remain in the fading sunlight. They stand tall in their intimidation attempt as you move away from them. They remain still, waiting. They wanted to leave, to travel away from the alleyway.

A shudder rips through you as you continue to stare. You don’t want a Shadow hitching a ride with you, not now, not today. You rose on shaky legs, taking care to make sure your own shadow would not converge with the alleyway’s.

Your hand raises to tip your hat forwards so as to hide your face, but your fingers grasped on to nothing. It was not there. You left your damn hat in the forest.

‘Fuuuck.’ Frustration rises within you, exacerbated by your injury and exhaustion. At least the pain in your shoulder had dulled enough not to bother you too much. Instead, you duck your head, staring down at the ground as you leave the alleyway. Sparing one last glance at the tower of Shadows, you watch as they crash down backwards like a tidal wave, returning to their shifting dance.

Making a right, you walk alongside the rushing cars and taxis of the city in an attempt to walk home. You took off the shitty FBI jacket you got from a joke and costume shop, taking care not to jostle your shoulder too much. Turning the jacket inside out, you brush off leaves and dirt before putting it back on. The small notebook you carried stuck out slightly from the inside pocket of the jacket. A gentle breeze blew past you, making you shiver more than you already were.

You were still testing this newfound portal jumping ability, but the limitations of it were incredibly taxing, not to mention dangerous. Having used it only a handful of times, it first manifested during a boring graveyard shift, where you were desperately wishing you could go home.

A white flash at your side startled you, the barren lands of what you assume is a different dimension revealed itself. Further within, a second portal stood, revealing your dinky apartment. A few Shadows began spilling into the gas station you worked at, scurrying to find dark corners to hide in. Some of them did not find them in time, evaporating under the fluorescent lights of your workplace.

Within a minute though, both portals shut in the blink of an eye, and weakness had spread throughout your body, sending you to your knees with a sick feeling making its way through your entire body.

Another time, you opened a singular portal and stepped into the other dimension. It was cold, black and gray rock formations were visible in the distance. Scattered throughout the landscape in front of you were smooth, glass-like stones, along with small, deep green grass patches. The sky was a gray-ish color, but not as dark as you had seen it before. It was empty, too, no Shadows nor Runners were in sight. You attempted opening a second portal in there, to no avail. The original portal also began to waver, and the weak and sick feeling began to haunt your body. You jumped out of the darkened dimension before you could lose your grip on the portal and potentially be sealed away in there forever.

A dark silhouette zoomed past you in the corner of your eye, snapping you out of your thoughts. It began slowing down its speed along with the rest of the cars as they stopped for the red light. As the silhouette stilled atop a yellow taxicab, you were able to take in its form. This particular figure had a human-esque appearance, lacking any particular defining features like a nose, lips, or hair, but its white eyes remained wide and attentive. Its iridescent skin appeared to be alive as it clashed and shifted around its figure like waves of the ocean.

The creature, or a Runner as you had dubbed them when you were 10, stared down at a blue car that stopped at the red light, waiting. You look closer at the same car and make out the shape of a small child, staring out the window at the creature. When the traffic light finally switched to green and the blue car started riding away, the creature continued to run after it, jumping between the car roofs and streetlights in its path.

A soft sigh escapes you and for a moment, you were taken back to the fight that had happened not even fifteen minutes ago.

That particular Runner was larger than any of the ones you had seen. It had a canine-like appearance but was larger than a bear. It had been stalking the crime scene, circling around the unaware agents as if they were prey. Odd vein-like lines protruded from its skin, shifting around with the rest of its outer shell. Curiously, it was out in the daylight. They usually were out at sunset or sundown, but the sun’s heat typically burned their skin if they were out during the day. This one was also abnormally aggressive and freakishly strong. It’s almost as if it had gotten a shot of whatever the Hulk got.

Were it not for the fact that it was, somehow, already injured, you would not have been able to defeat it. Its oil-like skin had begun to melt, wrapping around your neck and shoulders and slowly but surely running down your arms. It dug its claws into one of your shoulders before gunshots distracted it from its attack.

Had it not been for Natasha Romanoff’s distraction and Wanda Maximoff aiding you with your blade, you would very much be dead. You remembered accidentally making eye contact with Maximoff, an odd feeling of warmth running down your back both times you had done so. The same feeling had occurred when your blade had suddenly flown into your hand. The arrival of the two Avengers at the crime scene cannot be a coincidence.

You had not noticed the pedestrian light had switched to the white, walking figure until a man dressed in casual clothes walked past you, prompting you to follow. Thoughts of the last 20 minutes bounced inside your skull, making sure to keep as many of the details at the forefront of your mind until you could document them.

It took about 10 more minutes for you to arrive at your apartment. As you walked, you saw a variety of Shadows scurrying between objects and people’s, well, shadows. Runners also jumped between buildings, cars or streetlights, some following cars, others making their way through the city.

A small, musty, dark studio waits for you as you step through the door. A cramped kitchen stood to the left at the very end of the apartment, an equally cramped bathroom right next to it. A tall lamp stood beside the bathroom door, its positioning being able to light the entire space. Beside you was a small twin bed with plain blue sheets, a drawer right beside it, stacked with a few notebooks and sketchbooks on the top, along with a desk lap overlooking the bed. A compact window hung above it, a dark gray curtain shielding the inside from the outside sun and fluorescent streetlights of the city. Directly in front of you was a wooden dining table with two plastic chairs, a wooden chest not so well-hidden right underneath it.

A groan escapes you as you lean against the door, renewed exhaustion settling in your bones again. Worst of all, you had a graveyard shift tonight at the local gas station. The only relief of the night was knowing you would not have to stare at Ethan’s dumb face. Ethan, a 25-year-old man who still made “Yo Mama” jokes and thought himself the last Coke in the goddamn dessert, despite being an asshole who only worked at a shitty New York City gas station. Maybe you would not be so annoyed by his presence were it not for that fact that man never fully completed his shift responsibilities.

You push yourself off the door, peeling off the dumb jacket and dropping it on top of the nearest kitchen chair. You also pull off your shirt, slowly so as to not aggravate your shoulder, as you turn on your lamp before entering the bathroom. Dropping the tattered shirt on the bathroom floor, you ducked to look for the first aid kit you knew you had somewhere in your cabinets, finding it at the very back alongside an elastic bandage and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Placing the kit on top of your sink, you finally take a look at the damage left behind by the Runner you fought not that long ago. Three puncture wounds starting at your shoulder that extended into three downward gashes, stopping just above your chest. You wince as you feel the telltale stinging of first degree burns on the very edges of the puncture wounds. The ends of the wounds were still bleeding. You figured that it wasn’t too bad though, some water, alcohol prep pads, and gauze should be good enough, no stitches or invasive procedures required.

You take a shower first, washing off all the dirt, blood, and Runner gunk off your body. After drying off, you dress your wound with some rubbing alcohol, disinfectant and gauze from the kit. Having changed into some warm, comfortable clothing, you sit at your kitchen table with your laptop, a large notebook with all your notes about the case, as well as the small notebook you had brought to the crime scene.

You transcribed your recent notes into the larger notebook, detailing the victim’s wounds, or the ones you could see, as well as the location he was found in. There was one thing that had caught your eye. The man, Elijah Brown, had something in his hand, but you had not been able to get a good look at it before forensics took it away for evidence. Details of the Runner you encountered were also included, making sure to add in how its behavior was different from the ones you had encountered before.

Runners had never been particularly dangerous. Most of the time, they completely avoided adult humans, including you. They did seem to play with young children though. You weren’t quite sure why nor how, but some kids were able to see them, besides you. They eventually age out of it though and eventually cannot see them anymore. Regardless, the Runners seem to entertain the young ones, particularly during long car rides. Years of observation made you notice an odd game they played, which consisted of them following high-speed vehicles, jumping between cars, buildings, streetlights or whatever stood in the way, as if they were following some arbitrary rules that only they knew of. Other than that, you have not quite figured out exactly why they are around.

Shadows were a different story. Although they did not forwardly attack humans, they did feed on fear. Most people do see them without realizing it, catching them as something moves in the corners of their eyes, only to turn around and see nothing and no one. The fear of being in the dark and odd feeling of being watched when nothing is there is often a Shadow hiding within murky corners. When they are particularly hungry, they’ll sneak into a victim’s rooms at odd hours of the night, waking them by paralyzing them and taking the shape of odd, unsettling figures to thoroughly terrify whoever was unfortunate enough to have crossed its path.

Any pertinent information you gathered from news stories had been marked with a yellow highlighter, drawing matches between what you knew about Runners and what details of the case had been revealed to the public. While researching, you managed to find some of the leaked S.H.I.E.L.D. reports from last year. The government had tried wiping those off the internet, but many people had managed to download the files and reproduce them everywhere.

Within those documents, you found a copy of a partially blacked-out file detailing the death of a park ranger found within a National Park’s office in Pennsylvania, sporting similar injuries as the current victims. The death of that park ranger had been blamed on a coyote, despite the fact that there was no evidence of such an animal breaking into the park’s office. Whatever has been going on during the recent months is not new, but it only seems to be getting worse now.

A frustrated groan escapes your throat as you shut off your computer. Your notes about the case felt lackluster at best. Despite going to the crime scene in search for answers, your notes were scarce, and you had no explanation for the trail of dead people or the altered behavior of the creatures only you could see.

What are you doing? Why are you trying to play vigilante when you don't even know where to start? You don’t know what you are doing, you don’t know what you’re looking for, and worst of all, you’re probably on the government and the Avengers’ radar.

Your eyes slowly glide towards an old wooden chest, given to you after your grandmother unexpectedly… passed away. You press your lips tightly, a sigh escaping you as you stare at it for what felt like an eternity. You walk towards your dining table, sinking to your knees to pull out the chest from underneath. Fiddling with the old, somewhat rusty latch, you manage to open it without ruining the lock’s integrity. The smell of metal and wood hits you as you open the lid. You push away a family photograph of the entire family reunited at your grandparents’ house that sat at the very top, as well as old family movies and photo albums. An old porcelain doll that belonged to your grandmother stared at you with dead, glassy eyes, sending a chill down your back. You turned it over so it would not look at you.

At the very bottom, you find the object you are looking for, covered up with a piece of white cloth. Removing the cloth, you stare at the thick, dark leather-bound book, your heart sinking in your chest. You run your fingers along the edge, your hands shaking subtly, debating whether or not you should open it. For a moment, you felt like you were ten years old again. Your mind flashes with the old memory you had not thought of in a long time. The one you did not want to think of.

You swallowed heavily, a burning mixture of anger, guilt and anguish licking at your heart like a flame. Your breath had picked up without you noticing, and you wanted nothing more than to not see that book again. Covering the book once more with the white cloth, you dropped it into the bottom of the trunk once more, abandoning any thoughts of opening it and potentially finding answers there. There has to be another way for you to find more information. These odd deaths have been happening for years now. There has to be a way for you to find that information elsewhere. The key to the answers must be somewhere besides in that stupid, fucking book.

The book radiated malice, and it had already cursed you once. You don’t plan on making the same mistake twice. Not unless the situation becomes dire enough for it.

You will figure this out. You have to. This got started because of you. People died because of you. You had to figure out what was happening, you had to make things right.

Your mind momentarily drifted to the two Avengers that saw you in the forest. There was no doubt in your mind that they were hunting you down right now. A conflicting feeling sat heavily within you. On the one hand, you were completely out of your depth trying to solve this problem by yourself. Maybe aiding each other is the answer.

On the other hand, you do not know how they will react to you and your powerset. They probably think you’re the one behind all this. They can very easily decide to throw you in a cell and hand you over to the government, deeming you too dangerous to be out in the world, unaccounted for. No, you cannot get found, you do not want to take the risk.

It was nearly 8:30pm when you checked your phone. It was a few hours before your shift, and the bone deep exhaustion you had managed to stave off was coming back with force. You will figure things out tomorrow.

You set up an alarm an hour before your shift, before dropping face down on your bed. You fell asleep within the minute.

<- Chapter 2 // Chapter 4 →

#marvel #marvel fanfic #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fic #keeper of shadows

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daandyli0n · 4 months ago

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more Rewrite Refs, y'all!! this time: MCI edition!

it is going to become apparent that my favorite Ghost Trope is the "whatever caused your death shows up on you as a ghost" thing

(warnings: child murder/death, blood/gore, bruises, somewhat obvious broken bones (in Felix's ref), eye injury (again, Felix), eye contact, bright colors/eyestrain, disturbing imagery)

this isn't in order of their deaths, but like. animatronic order, i guess

(click on the images to zoom)

design details!! yippee!!

Gabrielle/"Gabi"

the second of the murders.

soul inside of Freddy

transfem, fun fact!

shy and anxious; pretty much the reason Freddy sticks to the shadows.

biracial! mother is from Mexico and her father is black.

family wasn't too wealthy; her clothes were from her older sister.

was one of Elizabeth's friends, and was a kid that Cassidy was close to in the aftermath of Liz's death.

a "popular girl," mostly due to being friends with Naomi and Liz.

died on June 24, 1982; her birthday :(

Baker

the third of the murders.

soul inside of Bonnie.

the youngest; thought he was being taken to see Bonnie :(

AuDHD. no i will not elaborate.

one of Kelsey and Cassidy's closest friends.

one of the calmer spirits, surprisingly.

he thinks the fact that he became Bonnie is one of the coolest things that could've happened (Charlie thinks that it's either a coping mechanism or due to the fact that Baker was too young to really comprehend what happened).

died on June 25, 1982.

Naomi

like Susie, she was The First.

she wasn't the first to die; she was still alive when Gabi was murdered. she was the first victim of the MCI.

soul inside of Chica.

"popular girl," but not...mean. she Does complain about people who annoy her, though. but it's not too often.

like Gabi; best friends with Liz and close to Cassidy.

died on June 24, 1982; tried to warn Gabi, but was stuck inside of Chica and hardly able to even speak. the most she could do were raspy breaths; think along the lines of the noises Chica and Bonnie make when they enter the office in Fnaf 1.

Felix

the fourth of the murders.

soul inside of Foxy.

big fan of Foxy and pirates in general.

the oldest of the original MCI. (Charlie is 12, and three kids in the '87 Murders were 15-16).

genderqueer; "Idgaf what ye call me tbh. Call me whatever ye like, Matey, I don't care-"

was one of the more skeptical kids being lured; wondered why "O'Hare" was leading him to a back room to see Foxy...

was the only kid who really fought back; led to some...worse injuries (bruised, several smaller cuts, hand got broken, missing an eye).

Angry™

died June 25, 1982.

Kelsey

the final murder

one of the souls in Fredbear.

liked to draw! still does, tbh.

shy and anxious (cough autistic) kid.

close friend of Baker and Cassidy.

doesn't...come from a good home.

was at Fredbear's the day he died.

wandered to the Parts & Service room...where William was. got springlocked.

odd, cut-like wounds are from where he was y'know. a young kid in a springlock suit.

William cleaned the suit up and dumped Kel's body in a lake since he couldn't hide him in the suit.

him and Cassidy have a sort of "Comedy/Tragedy" thing with their masks. Kelsey's is much paler, is frowning, and leaks blood instead of the Black Liquid.

fun fact: Kelsey is technically transfem! didn't get to figure it out, unfortunately...but y'know.

anyway!! @that-darn-clown and @hello-there-world if y'all wanna see this :D

#fnaf #fnaf rewrite #fnaf missing children #my art #Dandy's Interesting Fnaf Rewrite #this took me ages. changed coloring styles halfway through. got a mini art block. yeah...#but hey!! here it is :]

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elryuse · 8 months ago

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May I request Yandere Neighbour Song Hayoung x Male reader? Hayoung is really obsess with the male reader to the point that she stalks you everyday.

Hello Neighbor.

YANDERE HAYOUNG X MALE READER

Hayoung pressed her forehead against the cool glass, the expensive telescope amplifying the image across the street into a disturbingly intimate scene. Y/n, his dark hair backlit by the warm glow of his apartment light, sat across from a girl with cascading, dark curls. Hayoung's stomach churned, a cocktail of possessiveness and primal jealousy bubbling up inside her.

It had all started with such innocent curiosity. The first time Hayoung saw Y/n, he was unpacking boxes on his porch, a shy smile gracing his lips as he met her gaze. Over the past few weeks, Hayoung had become his silent shadow. Nights were spent crouched under the bushes outside his window, a camera her constant companion. A sleeping Y/n, a discarded coffee mug, anything that held a trace of him – these were her trophies. She even left him anonymous love notes, filled with saccharine poems and pressed wildflowers, signed simply "Your Secret Admirer."

But tonight, the sight of him laughing with another woman filled Hayoung with a murderous rage that sent chills down her own spine. "Who is she?" Hayoung hissed, the words barely audible above the frantic rasp of her breath. She zoomed in on the girl, her features hardening with each detail. Long, dark hair, a bright smile – everything Hayoung wasn't. A low growl escaped Hayoung's throat, a sound more animal than human.

The girl leaned in, whispering something in Y/n's ear, making him laugh again. Hayoung's vision blurred with a mix of fury and a horrifying sense of longing. He should be laughing with her, Hayoung. She was the one who knew his coffee order, who left him those notes expressing her undying love. Determined, Hayoung grabbed her laptop, the familiar hum a soothing counterpoint to the storm raging inside her.

Days blurred into nights as Hayoung scoured social media, her obsession morphing into a terrifying fixation. The girl's name was Mina, a bubbly aspiring photographer with a penchant for capturing sunsets and stray cats. Hayoung learned her favorite band, the cafe she frequented after work, even the name of her childhood teddy bear – Mr. Snuggles. Information was power, and power was what Hayoung craved.

The apartment transformed into a shrine of warped devotion. Walls were plastered with newspaper clippings detailing Mina's life, maps with routes highlighted in red pen, and a crowbar glinting ominously in the corner. The stench of bleach and desperation hung heavy in the air. The night Hayoung put her plan into action, the moon cast a sickly glow on the deserted street. Mina, humming a cheerful tune, walked home alone after her late shift at the cafe. Hayoung emerged from the alleyway, a dark wraith materializing from the shadows.

The scream, sharp and sudden, echoed through the night before being abruptly cut short. Hayoung stood over Mina's crumpled form, a sickening sense of triumph warring with a coldness that seeped into her bones. Her hands shook as she dragged the body away, the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air.

Back in her apartment, showered and clad in fresh clothes, Hayoung collapsed onto the floor. Tears mingled with the faint traces of blood staining her clothes. A horrifying realization washed over her. The thrill of the kill was a fleeting ember, quickly replaced by a hollow emptiness. She had eliminated the competition, but at what cost?

Silence blanketed the street now, broken only by the rasp of her ragged breaths. In the distance, a police siren wailed, a sound that sent a fresh jolt of fear through her. But Hayoung barely flinched. Her gaze drifted towards the window, drawn to the familiar glow emanating from Y/n's apartment.

He was alone. Relief and a twisted form of satisfaction washed over her. Hayoung grabbed her telescope, a chilling smile playing on her lips. He was hers now. And she, his devoted, if eternally creepy, neighbor, would be watching, always watching. She imagined his relief at finding Mina gone, a relief that would soon curdle into suspicion as he received anonymous notes signed with a single word: "Alone."

The next few days became a maddening game of cat and mouse. Y/n started leaving his lights on all night, his curtains permanently drawn. Hayoung left cryptic messages on his doorstep – a single red rose, a shard of broken glass. She even started playing haunting melodies on a rusty music box at precisely 3 am, mimicking the lullaby she saw Mina play on her guitar once. Sleep became a luxury Hayoung could no longer afford, replaced by a constant vigil.

One afternoon, while peering through her telescope, Hayoung noticed a change in Y/n. His smile was gone, replaced by deep shadows under his eyes. A sense of morbid satisfaction bloomed within her, a twisted sense of victory. But as she continued to watch, a new horror dawned on her. Y/n wasn't alone. He sat across from a woman, but not Mina. This woman was older, her face etched with worry lines. Her voice, low and strained, carried on the wind.

"Y/n, honey, you need to tell the police! This can't go on!"

His voice, hoarse and barely audible, drifted across the street. "But who would believe me, Mom? The police already dismissed it as a runaway case. What proof do I have?"

Hayoung's blood ran cold. This woman was Y/n's mother. The realization hit her like a physical blow. In her twisted obsession, she hadn't considered the collateral damage. The pain she inflicted on him wasn't just his loss of Mina, but the gnawing fear for her disappearance.

A fresh wave of paranoia washed over Hayoung. If Y/n confided in his mother, the police might get involved. They might find the crowbar, the bloodstained clothes Hayoung had shoved deep into a hidden compartment in her closet. Panic clawed at her throat. She had to stop him.

The following night, under the cloak of darkness, Hayoung found herself lurking outside Y/n's apartment building again. This time, however, she wasn't there for Mina. She was there for his mother.

Hayoung slipped a note under the door, her carefully disguised handwriting scrawled across the page: "Don't believe him. He's dangerous. Stay away."

A twisted sense of satisfaction filled her. This would plant a seed of doubt, keeping Y/n further isolated. He wouldn't dare tell his mother about the strange notes, fearing she'd think him delusional.

The next day, Hayoung watched from across the street, a sickening thrill coursing through her veins as Y/n's mother left his apartment in a flurry, fear etched on her face. Y/n stood at the window, his silhouette a stark contrast to the bright sunlight streaming in. He looked defeated, a flicker of recognition crossing his features as his gaze swept across the empty street.

The game continued, a macabre dance of manipulation and fear. Hayoung left cryptic messages for Y/n too, playing on his growing paranoia. A single red rose with a single thorn pricked through the center left on his doorstep. A dead sparrow, its neck snapped, tucked into his mailbox.

One particularly stormy night, Hayoung upped the ante. Power flickered across the neighborhood, plunging the street into an inky blackness. As the first flicker of lightning illuminated Y/n's apartment, Hayoung pressed her face against the window, a wicked grin plastered across her face.

There, hanging from the ceiling fan, was a grotesque marionette, its porcelain face a crude mockery of Mina's smile. Its vacant eyes seemed to stare directly at Y/n, a silent accusation.

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the night, a sound that sent shivers down Hayoung's spine despite the twisted pleasure that bubbled up inside her. She had finally broken him.

But as the days turned into weeks, a chilling realization dawned on Hayoung. The thrill of the chase was gone, replaced by a suffocating sense of emptiness. Y/n remained a prisoner, yes, but so was she – a prisoner of her own twisted obsession. His constant fear, his vacant eyes staring out the window – it mirrored the hollowness that had consumed her.

One morning, Hayoung woke to a deafening silence. No flickering lights from Y/n's apartment, no sign of him leaving for work. Panic seized her. Had he finally confessed? Had the police arrived?

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Hayoung raced across the street, her heart hammering against her ribs. She pounded on his door, the silence stretching into an eternity. Finally, a weak voice rasped from inside.

"Go… away."

Hayoung's world tilted on its axis. The fear, the isolation – it had broken him. He no longer cared, no longer lived. Her twisted victory tasted like ashes on her tongue.

Tears blurring her vision, Hayoung stumbled back, her gaze falling on the single red rose she'd left on his doorstep days ago. It lay wilted and forgotten, a stark symbol of her own decaying love.

Hayoung turned and walked away, leaving behind the scene of her twisted obsession. She knew there was no escape from the horrors she'd inflicted, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for redemption on the other side of her journey, a journey far, far away from the man she'd loved and destroyed in equal measure

#hayoung #oh hayoung #hayoung fromis 9 #fromis 9 #fromis 9 hayoung #yandere roleplay #yandere blog #yandere stories #yandere #kpop yandere #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #apreciation post #icons

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