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glacierclear · 8 months

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ISN'T BITE ALSO TOUCH? part ii.

fuckboy!leon x gn!reader

content: hurt/some comfort, angst, apologies, reader is sad, brief intrusive thoughts, mentions of alcohol

The seasons change. You can only hope he will, too.

[ao3 link]

…and you didn’t see him for three months.

The shifting grace of Autumn gave way to ice. A once verdant campus green now muddled under gray snow, crunched with grit and soot. Passerbys did not linger. Bundled under layered coats and coiled up scarves, students hastily searched for warmth, leaving the sidewalks barren and lonely.

You relied on consistent distraction. School work that numbed your fingers. A fleeting, creative hobby that lasted all of a week. Outings with peers who’d never consider you a friend. None of it seemed to fix you.

And God, you missed him. More than anything in the world.

But the words looped in your head. The stinging from that night boiled into agony.

I don’t fucking need you.

He didn’t mean it. You knew better than to take his venom at face value. But it nurtured the foulest parts of yourself. Self-loathing feasted like a gluttonous beast, growing fat on the careless anger of his beer-fueled tantrum. Because if there was even the slightest chance of it being true…what had it all been for?

Were you truly just a warm body he used for shallow company? Is it possible you were just as disposable as all the rest?

But those thoughts were never allowed to mature. You snipped the buds and opened another lecture video, paralyzing any hint of an emotional response.

Sometimes you’d see him. In the distance, hovering at the edge of his usual crowd, smiling. Once or twice you even made eye contact, but he’d break it within the first moment, as if he had seen nothing but a fly among trash. It’s on those days that you cried. Cried and cried, until all that remained was bitter apathy.

Angrily, you wished he felt the same. You wanted him to break. You wanted him to regret every moment of that night from the instant his eyes opened that morning. You wanted him lost and abandoned and miserable, just like you.

And, truly, it only confirmed your worst fear. If you were always this hateful beneath it all, he never really needed you.

December bit frost under the brittle edges of your fingernails, and you conquered every day with the determination of an undying plague. Christmas was only a week away, and if you could just make it to the holidays, maybe you’d finally start to heal. There’s catharsis in the new year, meaningless or not. It might’ve been what you needed to forget everything. To forget him.

You trudged back home, your evening class wrapped up and concluded for the day. Friday used to mean something. It meant a weekend with Leon. Drunk, covered in gummy worms, squealing at some god-awful horror movie he rented just to get you to hold him. He used to wrap an arm around you, hugging you tight, promising to the moon and the stars he’d keep you safe from anything.

It was hard to take him seriously with popcorn in his teeth, but now you found yourself fantasizing the memory with teary eyes, although it’s probably just the cold weather.

With rosy cheeks and a dripping nose, you turned your key into the lock, kicking open your door with a disgruntled shove. It was dark. Your roommate left for the holiday early, leaving your dorm hollow and unwelcoming. You hovered in the common area, letting the mask you wore crumble off piece by piece.

Friday used to mean something. Now all you did was rot. You stepped over towards your half of the flat, reaching forward on instinct before a reactionary tug gave you pause. Your door was closed. It wasn’t when you left for class.

You listened, straining to hear beyond the chipped oak, but you received nothing. With a dry mouth, you closed your fingers around the knob, twisting, pushing your way in.

What awaited you inside nearly sent you to the floor.

He sat cross-legged by the bed, curled up on your little, brown rug. All you could see was his back, and the gaudy, expensive headphones clamped shut over his head. His head nodded gently to a beat you could barely make out, and he thumbed slowly through a book yanked off your shelf. It wasn’t the careless flipping of empty words, but the patient turning of pages of someone actually reading.

He never read around anyone but you.

You crept closer, letting your backpack drop to the ground like a lead weight, crashing and jolting Leon out of whatever paragraph he was enjoying. He batted the headphones off his ears, swirling to gape at you with wide, fearful eyes. His eyes.

Your favorite shade of blue.

“Jesus! Scared the fucking shit out of me–” He pressed a palm to his temple, panic easily bleeding away, but in its place you saw him tense, awaiting your anger.

“I scared you? You…how’d you even…did you break into my room?” You met him with accusation, though all you wanted was to hold him.

“...I mean, yeah. Duh. Not like you’d ever let me in willingly.” The dismissive tone of his voice riled you up more than you’d care to admit, and you stepped closer.

“Of course you’d stoop to this instead of just asking. What the hell is wrong with you?” The seasonal chill you felt walking home has all but melted completely. You were a live wire. “How’d you even get in here?”

“Come on. You know I bribe the janitor. We’re bros, me and Jeff.” He donned a cocky smirk.

“Oh, well, that’s great. I’m so happy for you, Leon. Now get the fuck out.” You vaguely gestured towards the exit, glowering down at him with an impatient scowl.

Leon’s smirk dropped. He set down the book, standing to his full height. You forgot how much taller than you he was.

“...no. I’m not leaving. Not this time.” His face hardened into a devastating intensity, prying out your seams one by one. “We need to talk. I need to…fix this.” You watched him flail his hands a bit, attempting to sculpt form to whatever this was.

You knew it would never be enough. No apology or heartfelt confession would repair the damage carved from three months of absence after the worst night of your life.

But you’ve always had shitty taste in guys, and he was the shittiest. You missed him more than anything in the world.

“Fine. Speak.” You settled on an impartial response, arms folded across your midsection. “But I’m really not in the mood for bullshit, Leon. I’m not.”

“I know,” he hung his head. “I know. I…” You were kind enough to grant him patience. The time you knew he’d need. Emotionally stunted didn’t even come close to describing Leon, and any effort on his part to offer honesty is effort you needed to encourage, in your own quiet way.

“I fucked up, okay? I really fucked up. Just like I always do and–” You noticed him halt, sucking at his teeth and wincing as if cinched with pain. “No. I’m not…fuck, listen. I’m not trying to like, make you feel bad for me I just…I always do this. I do, and you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

The words came out stuttered and unsure, as if the mere concept of an apology churned the acid in his gut. And maybe it did. What little you knew of his childhood easily explained his behavior. A blood-red thread woven into his heart like stripes on a cobra.

You nodded, coaxing him to continue. You would not shelter him with yielding platitudes.

“...all that shit I said…I was…god, I was scared. Do you realize what the hell you are? What, fuck, what you mean to me? The most fucking important person in my life and I thought I was gonna lose you over a shitty party.” He was too frustrated to look you in the eyes anymore. You felt cold again. “And you’re right. About all of it. I made you go and I ditched you and then I blamed you for – fuck, and then I didn’t have the balls to do anything for two months–”

“Three months.” You interjected, your lips a thin line, the ice he walked on.

“Three…three months? Jesus, I didn’t…” Leon ran a trembling palm through his hair, wrestling his own relationship with time. “Has it really been that long?”

You nodded.

“...I’ve been a mess. I…my grades are tanking, man, and I can’t even eat.”

Against your will, you deflated with a sad sigh. He did seem skinnier. His face sunken in. His body looked frail under his sweatshirt. You wondered if any of his other friends had noticed.

“You shouldn’t forgive me. I’m not really like, expecting you to. But I…I’m…” The word dangled off his tongue, the teetering step into territory unknown. “I’m sorry.”

For the past three months, you dreamed of this moment. Twisted visions of him crawling back to you on his hands and knees, begging for mercy when he deserved nothing of the sort. Over and over again, you extracted pleasure from the possibility of denying him, turning your back and thriving in spite of him.

You were sure the words would feel great. Amazing, even. But hearing them in person, hearing the shriveled warble of a man reduced to his own imitation, you felt nothing.

The silence stretched for miles. Both of you were too hurt to say anything. From the floor, his headphones faded into quiet before transitioning into another song, lyrics incomprehensible from where you stood, mirroring the noise of your own thoughts.

He broke the emptiness with a cough, and scratched his neck.

“...damn, well, I should…I’ll let you enjoy your Friday, I guess. I’m sorry. I really am, I–”

“You said you weren’t leaving.” The words came out without thinking. Leon blinked.

“...what? I–”

“You said. You weren’t leaving. Not this time. Are you really going to break another promise, Leon?” You’re not stupid. You understood your challenge was nothing more than a thinly-veiled plea to get him to stay. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your dignity died with the autumn leaves.

“...oh, I was…I didn’t think you’d – yeah. Okay. Yeah, I’m not leaving. Not going anywhere. Swear on it.” Leon puffed his chest a little, the hopeful beginnings of a smile creasing his cheeks. A real smile.

You shuffled closer, breathing in, filling your lungs with mercy.

“Did you really mean what you said, Leon?” It was spoken so softly, and he leaned closer to hear, just as you hoped he would.

He smelled like cedar.

“...what I said?” There’s confusion in his stare, yet he tilted his head, an eagerness to understand.

“When you said you…when you said you didn’t need me. That I was–” Whatever else you were going to say didn’t matter. In an instant, you’re strangled with warmth. Arms latched tight around your chest, your face smashed into the flesh above his heart.

“I need you.” It’s said so easily. And you knew he didn’t need to think twice. “I needed you every day and I will need you every day after today and…every year and…just, so much, man.” Ruefully, you couldn’t help but laugh. Such an indelicate way of speaking. So thoroughly Leon.

Your arms wrapped around his stomach, squeezing with a reluctant pressure. You still couldn’t believe he was real. But here he was.

“Okay. That’s all I needed to hear.” You went slack in his hold, forgoing oxygen in favor of him. He filled your mind and soul, and you never knew you could miss the scent of Irish Spring so much.

“...okay. Is…Is that it? I mean, not that I– shit, are we good? We chill?” He pried you off, cupping your cheeks with burning palms, searching your eyes for safety. Reassurance.

You wanted to give him that. But pretty words and a warm hug were only enough to quiet your demons. They did nothing to heal.

“No, we’re still not friends.” You said finally, staring away, unable to face his reaction.

“Wait, seriously? What…but I–”

“I don’t forgive you, Leon. Not…not yet.” Cautiously, you gripped his wrists, lowering his hands back to his sides. “I missed you. A lot. But it took you three months to tell me all of this. Three. Months.”

“Yeah, but…you’re actually just…gonna leave me forever? For three months?” It’s not anger in his voice, simply the aching desperation of a heart longing for closure. An answer to every question he had.

“Listen, I…we can be friends again, maybe soon, maybe later. I still wanna see you and hang out and stuff, but…it’s gonna take time, okay?” His shoulders sagged. “You have a lot of things you need to work on, and I can’t be the one to fix them. It has to be you, Leon. It has to be different.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him clench his fists. A vein pulsed on his neck, and you braced yourself for the backlash. The brewing storm he hid behind when he was afraid.

But whatever happened the past three months has drained the fight from his body, and he went soft again, his posture slouching.

“I’ll get better. I will. But…can I ask you something? Can I ask you to promise me one thing? Just one?”

You stared at him again. His ocean stirred, but you stayed afloat.

“Sure, Leon.” you whispered.

“...wait for me. Promise me you’ll still be here when I come back. When I’m…when I’m fixed.” He was so close, you could study each twitch and crinkle of his face. All the voiceless ways he loved you. “Will you let me come back to you?”

It wasn’t even a question.

“I promise, Leon.”

And you loved him, too.

#my writing #resident evil #leon kennedy #fuckboy!leon

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

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Dirty Work 44

Joyous Walpurgisnacht: Part II

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Please share your screams in my ask or a reblog!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Laufeyson returns with a second drink. You still have your first, nursing it as you find your head spinning with the activity all around. As more guests stream through, raucous as they meet others they know, the stage hums and the speakers crackle to life.

Bragi begins his set, a brief tidings for the event before he strums into a tune. You wiggle your foot to the beat, peering over at the full band behind the lead. It's all so big and bright.

You turn back, reaching for your glass, as Laufeyson draws from his own. He watches you over the brim, eyes traveling down your body, focusing on the movement of your foot. You still it and uncross your legs, setting your soles flat.

He puts his drink down, half-finished. You sit back and fold your hands in your lap, peering around evasively. He probably saw you slouching or was annoyed by your fidgeting. You blow out between your lips as the party blooms around you.

Voices thrum in ripples beneath the steady rhythms of the stage, hollers go up now and then, piquing your interest as you look over to see a group cluster. They stand around smaller tables framed by two chairs each. You can barely see those sitting at them moving small pieces around the board.

“Hnefatafl!” The cry goes up as Thor stands and the pieces scatter on the table before him. You quickly look away as his head pops up above his audience.

“An old game,” Laufeyson explains, “rather dry for an event like this.”

You raise your brows curiously. You’re almost tempted to ask him more but think better of it. He hardly seems interested. Distant thunks bring another roar from a crowd further down. You twist in your chair to see across the field large round boards set up. A man with blond hair hurls an axe towards the wood, embedding it. You flinch and face the table again.

“Chaos,” Laufeyson mutters.

“Yes,” you agree, your toe tapping on the grass until you stop it again.

You sink into a silence which exists only between you and him. The furor of the party crackles around you, circling you in a whirlwind. There in the eye of the storm, there is no sound. It is deafeningly hollow.

“Ahem,” the clearing of a throat and tap on your shoulder brings you around. Laufeyson looks over your head, fixing his posture as you face Odin, “hiding in the corner?”

“Not exactly, father,” Laufeyson says, once more taking up his drink.

“There is much to enjoy. Your mother’s put in so much effort, I’d for her to see you glowering like this,” Odin reproaches.

“I do not glower,” his son snips.

“Mm, yes, well, you are more than welcome to wallow alone,” Odin replies flippantly, “but you needn’t cast a cloud over others…” he shifts to face you, opening a hand to you, “might I be so humbled as to request a dance from the lovely lady?”

You look up at him and your mouth falls open, “dance? I don’t know… how.”

“Well, then it is a good thing I must take it slow,” Odin insists, “it isn’t so hard to learn.”

Laufeyson sighs and drains the last of his whiskey. He stands abruptly, “I need to top up.”

Odin eyes him tensely but doesn’t remark. He looks back to you, “you don’t need to sit in his shadow all night. One dance, fair maiden of Walpurgisnacht, I see you can barely contain yourself.”

You look down as his gaze falls to your foot, once more wiggling. You still it and accept his hand. You hope Laufeyson isn’t too upset. It is only his father after all, he can’t be too put out.

“Thank you,” you stand and let him lead you away.

Odin brings you amid the other dancers, on a flat white floor laid out over the grass. He guides you to face him and helps you place your hands before he hooks an arm around you. He’s gentle but firm in leading you, counting with the rhythm between directing you how to move your feet.

“That’s it, dear, you’re a natural,” he praises as you let the music guide you, “and a beauty. That dress is very becoming, though it pales on you. You look immaculate…” he continues to sway with you, “my son is a fool not to say it himself.”

“Odin,” you look past him sheepishly.

“It is the truth. You are glowing and he is playing the troll, secreting you away from the light,” he tuts and shakes his head.

“It isn’t my party,” you utter.

“You belong here,” he insists, “don’t you think otherwise.”

“I am the house manager–” you rebuff.

“You aren’t,” he says, “my son didn’t get his senselessness from me. No, that is bred of mistrust. Fear, truly.”

“Odin, it’s true–”

“If he says it, it cannot be,” he counters, “when he looks at you, he is not looking at a house manager. He will claim I do not know him but he is my son. I see through him, it is only a pity he looks in the mirror and cannot do the same.”

You stare at the button of his vest. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to. You’re too afraid to think it could ever be true. Yet how can you tell him the truth? That would be humiliating. You are only half-right, your son wants more of me but only to sate his worst urges. It isn’t sentiment, it is convenience.

“Pardon,” a voice has you tripping over your own feet but Odin keeps you balanced, turning you as another figure stands close, “father, may I… take over?”

“Ah, but we are having such fun,” Odin taunts and twists you away from Laufeyson again.

“Yes, it seems so,” Laufeyson says thickly, “perhaps the next song…”

“Oh, don’t be so mopey,” Odin stops you as he chuckles, “I was only trying to pep you up, yes? It’s a party.” Odin raises your hand and kisses it gently, “thank you, dear, for humouring an old man.”

He stands straight and lets you go. He faces his son but you cannot see his expression, only the way Laufeyson’s eyes gleam back dangerously. Odin departs and Laufeyson’s attention flits onto you. He takes a step forward, once more looking you up and down.

The music ebbs and a new song begins. The soft plucking begins, then the reedy tone of a flute. Mr. Laufeyson offers his hand and you accept it, awkwardly coming closer as he sweeps his arm around you, his hand stretched over your lower back. He looks down to place his feet with yours before he begins. He is lithe and graceful, you feel otherwise.

“This is your song,” he says as the melody comes clearer.

You tweak an ear as you follow it, then lyrics begin.

“Moon River, wider than a mile…”

Your heart pulses in recognition. You smile towards the stage. You didn’t expect him to truly do it but it’s wonderful.

“I like it,” Laufeyson says, “it is very… whimsical.”

You turn your head straight, focusing on your footwork, careful not to trod his feet, “it is.”

He’s silent as you feel his gaze upon you, bearing down. He must be annoyed by how you follow his lead, uncertain in your body. How pathetic; never had a birthday cake, never had a dance. You look up and gulp shakily.

You almost stop dead in your heels as you see something less than agitated in his expression. He is fixated on you without a trace of chagrin. His hand shifts on your back, his other on your hip as you hold his shoulder and his upper arm. He is handsome in the dimming approach of the evening.

“When I said before that you look nice,” he begins, “I was remiss. You look… beyond anything I could ever put into words. You are magnificent, pet.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you stutter, “well, you look very handsome as well.”

“I am not looking for compliments,” he dismisses, “and I think I owe you more than that.”

You don’t know what to say. Is it an apology? You don’t know entirely what he means. He’s had three glasses of whiskey, just like that night, and in the morning, he was just the same as before. You won’t count on the kindness he finds at the bottom of a bottle.

A sudden flash makes you squeak. You look over as Yvonne smiles over the large lens. You give a nervous giggle and brace Laufeyson tighter. He sweeps you away from the camera.

“Tomorrow, we will talk,” he avows, “but we can enjoy tonight. It is Walpurgisnacht and it is a new beginning.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He winces and exhales, “can I be Loki for tonight?”

“Loki,” you echo, “yes.”

As the song ends, the heat speckling in your skin licks to flames. You don’t know if it’s being so close or his constant gaze or the thought of tomorrow and whatever you might talk about. You’re sweating and you're uncomfortable and you need a breath.

“Excuse me, um, I need the bathroom,” you gently pull away.

He reluctantly lets you go, his hand lingering on your hip as he points, “there, in the tents, I believe mother had facilities put up.”

“Thanks,” you offer a weak grin and step away from his grasp.

“I’ll be here,” he promises as you go.

You try not to hurry. You don’t want him to see how desperate you are to be away. It isn’t him, it’s you. This is all too much for you. It isn’t you. You’re not one of these people but they treat you like one. You’re just a poor girl born of cigarette ash.

You find your way to the tent housing the stalls. You take your time and try to collect yourself. Your nerves are tingling in your fingertips and where he held you; just along your lower back and your hip. It’s that urge that worries you, the one that made you think of resting your head on his shoulder.

You emerge and use the outdoor sinks set up in front of the stalls. You dry off and measure your breaths. You can do this. You go back down towards the fervour and as the night sets in, the large lights come to life and light the crowd.

You search the clusters of bodies. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? As you inch along the threshold, a shadow shifts to your right. You glance over but the figure disappears. You shake off the eerie sensation creeping down your spine and march forward into the tide of people.

You weave around bodies and tables, dizzy from the flurry all around you. You stagger as you’re nearly stampeded by a rowdy group of guests and you spin around to face a table in the far corner. There you find a scene that makes your heart plummet into your stomach.

You can’t stop yourself as you near the pair. Laufeyson, Loki, sits in a chair, two drinks on the table; his whiskey and another bright purple concoction. But beside him is Sif. She leans forward, her wrist clutched in his grasp as she whispers through the curve in her delicate lips. He stares back at her, eyes fiery, jaw locked.

“Loki, we had something good…” you hear her slither as you get closer. Her blue eyes dance over to you and her lips curl, “I still love you.”

She looks at him again and smashes her lips into his. He winces and turns his head, his gaze finding you as you stop, paralysed as you watch helplessly. You blink and swallow, wetting your lips as you bring your hand up to your sickened stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You turn and race away on clacking heels. You don’t look back as you elbow through bodies, running without direction, without escape. You just need to be away from it. All of it.

You find the pathway into the garden, plunging into the brush as your heels wobble with each step. You stumble and grunt in frustration. You stop and bend to unbuckle the shoes, tossing them away before you hurry on.

You find the stone gazebo, lit only by moonlight, and throw yourself inside. You land on a stone bench and hang your head in the frame of an arched window. You deflate as you hunch over, trembling so much it hurts.

You won’t cry. Why would you do that? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Mr. Laufeyson only said you looked magnificent then turned around to kiss his ex-wife. And why wouldn’t she? She’s much more than you’ll ever be. She fits neatly into their puzzle.

“Ah, little maid,” the gazebo darkens as the moonlight disappears as if a clouds passed over the nocturnal guardian, “what is the matter?”

You sit up and shudder as Thor’s burly silhouette limns in silver. You brace the edge of the bench and stand.

“N-nothing, I was only… having a break, I should head back–”

“It is peaceful out here,” he says, unmoving as you gesture around him. He fills the entire doorway.

“Yeah, but er, I should–”

“How do you like Walpurgisnacht? Are you having fun?” He asks, propping and elbow against the stone.

“Sure, I guess.”

“And did you play any games?” he sneers.

You falter and lean back on one heel. You have a bad feeling. You wring your hands as the air breezes in, a shiver rattling you.

“No…”

“That is too bad. This is a day of fun! Games are fun, aren’t they?”

“Please, Thor, I have to get back–”

“Let’s play a game,” he ignores your protest and steps into the gazebo, “I know a special game.”

“Thor,” you croak as you glance towards the windows. You see the lights above the trees and hear the muted noise of the partygoers and Bragi’s tunes. You look back to him as he takes another step towards you.

“You can be the mouse…” he says, “and I shall be the cat.”

“No, please, I don’t want–”

“You best be nimble, mouse. for the cat is hungry,” he growls as he looms closer, “and ready to pounce!”

He lunges and you jump back. Your shoulder hits the wall and you cry out. You turn and feel around, nearly falling through the opposite doorway as your feet slip over the stone steps. You stumble at the bottom, slipping in the grass as twigs and stones poke into your bare soles.

You hear him behind you, laughing as he makes a steady but easy pursuit. You sprint across the small field towards the row of brush, skirt catching on bramble as you dive into the wilderness. You don’t know where you’re going, you just need to get away.

Your feet slip on moss as dirty sticks to your skin. You puff as you pump your arms, glancing back over your shoulder frantically. He isn’t running, but he is coming. You can hear him laughing.

You swerve around, towards the noise of the party. You just need to get back there. You need to find a path. You don’t know where you are, the further you go, the more lost you are. The noises fade further and further. Oh god, wrong way!

Suddenly, your toe hits something hard and you nosedive forward. You don’t have time to get your hands up as your face crunches into a thick trunk and you collapse to the ground. You roll over as you taste iron on your tongue. Ow.

You sit up and touch your throbbing nose. As you plant your feet to stand, you hear a rustle and suddenly, you’re pushed flat to your back. Thor snickers as he holds you down by your shoulders, straddling you beneath him as he huffs.

“Ah, I’ve caught you, mouse,” he taunts as you squirm and whimper, “now the cat must feast.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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the-xolotl · 1 month

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Darling, Can I Be Your Favorite?

Alastor x gn!Reader

ღ Itty bitty snip !

ღ A/N: my fyp was a lot of that one audio “i can be whatever you want me to be” and i felt it really had Alastor vibe.

summary: anyone would find it odd how keen you are on the Radio Demon given his reputation but he’s more intriguing than scary. when admiration turns to infatuation, and your ego gets a little too big makes you make the wrong move.

—• WARNINGS: none? technically, no use of y/n, gn reader, no physical desc of reader, romanticization of unhealthy dynamics, unhealthy infatuation, everything is a red flag 🚩, proof read :D

Part I | Part II

You and Alastor can’t be categorized as friends, not really. Alastor already rarely uses the word to describe, well, anyone besides Miss Rosie as far as you knew. But he did enjoy your company from time to time, you were the most tolerable out of the bunch with the ability to actually make good conversation with the Overlord.

For once Alastor appreciated a reverent admiration rather than straight up fear from an individual. Because you not seeing him in such negative connotations had led to some actually very engaging conversations between the two of you; often about his little hobby of serial killings between his radio shows back when he still roamed the earth. You had shown intelligence, common sense and dignity before him so he deemed you acceptable.

However things began to go a little askew when he started to noticed that admiration had formed into something different. The demon isn’t that oblivious, his aversion to such frivolous things didn’t mean he didn’t know how to spot them or pick them up, especially when they were directed at him.

Even with such vague gentle treatment, it made you feel special that he gave you a different treatment than most. It felt good to be on his good side, that you simply effortlessly got along with him in loose terms, truthfully. Shared interests and his frequent visits to your or his quarters for a late cup of tea or coffee only made your infatuation grow, bordering on obsession. You sought him out more and more.

It started subtly, even you hadn’t noticed. If someone was to ask you to trace back to when you had started to see him differently, started desiring and craving a different kind of closeness to the Radio Demon, you honest to Satan couldn’t say when. It just happened. After the increased amount of time spent talking sometimes late into the night sharing a drink you realized he isn’t as unpleasant as many others think.

That had been the first sign things had begun steadily going downhill. The second one was getting comfortable. Being on the sinner’s good graces came with perks; which were mostly him being more cordial to you than others and small favors. Something akin to friendship. That’s what you told yourself, and pride does come before the fall.

You let the gentlemanly treatment get to your head, reading into signs that weren’t really there, etc. It was beginning to be troubling for Alastor it saddens him to lose another little bit of fun he got while at the hotel. He avoided you after a while seeing him less and less. Disappeared every time you came around almost every time.

Admittedly it was hurtful, made you upset enough to confront him about it. Which brought you exactly where you are now; in his quarters demanding answers he didn’t owe you nor that he wants to entertain. You are basically begging for his attention at this point. A pitiful display if he’s ever seen one. Seeing you so desperate for a silver of his time or affection, affection you’d never obtain no matter how hard you tried either way. He hasn’t been interested in relationships even when he was alive, that certainly didn’t changed after death.

This was going nowhere, but you refused to give up, “I can be whatever you want,” your hands fidgeted at your sides, “Just tell me what you want and I’ll be that for you.” Your voice trembled a bit, you knew you’re hitting a dead end, probably also treading a fine line on his patience with you.

Alastor stalked towards you in his typical cool-calm fashion and snatching your face. His hand enveloping your jaw, squishing your cheeks with clawed fingers, “You foolish little creature,” he said, voice full of condescension.

Your gaze locking with his, with so much helpless hope behind it, “I could be that.” It came out more as a plea than an affirmation, you tried to smile up at him but his nails digging into your cheeks make it hard and a little painful.

“You have nothing I want, my dear,” He said feigning sympathy, “I don’t take low hanging fruit. It brings me no joy, no entertainment to be had from such an easy grab.” He lets go of your face and walks right past you towards the door, opening it. “You may leave now. This conversation is over.”

Despite giving you his polite smile, it didn’t quite reach his eyes like other times you’d been around him. Your hands balled into fists. In other words he was calling you easy. That stung more than a bit. “I could give you my soul. You’re into deal making, aren’t you? Let’s make one.” Brave wasn’t a word he’d use to describe you at this moment, more like reckless. Something he disliked even more.

He simply laughed to your face. Laughed with his whole chest, the laugh you’ve heard from him after talking about how pitifully his victims had fallen for his traps and deceptions. Full of ridicule, glee. “Your soul? Oh dear you sure know how to make me laugh,” he said wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye, “No, no. I don’t have a need for neither you, your services nor your soul. I get absolutely nothing from it!”

There’s a tightening in your chest and a stinging feeling around your eyes as you let your gaze fall to the ground. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, blooming on your face a bright red. Ouch. You couldn’t help the anger that began to rise, but you couldn’t even speak. What do you say after that kind of humiliation?

You had idealized a relationship that didn’t exist in your own mind and got humbled with 0 hesitation. “I’d suggest you retired to your own quarters and get some rest, darling. You’re not acting like your usually delightful self,” he said with a big grin, still being sarcastic. Silently you walk out barely murmuring a simple good night. “Good night, sweetheart.”

As soon as you stepped out he shut the door without another word. Leaving you to walk back through the dimly lit hallways back to your own room with silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

You weren’t about to give up just yet, though.

ღ A/N: thanks for reading ! this lil scenario had been playing around my head for a few days and i just needed to get it out there. hope it was still an enjoyable read :))))

⤷ dividers : cafekitsune ✰

#alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #fanfic #fandom #writters on tumblr #alastor fanfiction #reader insert #self indulgent #self insert #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fanfic #alastor x reader #hazbin fanfic

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traumxrei-archive · 24 days

Text

【 ii. rose petal wounds 】

summary: from the confines of their study, yuu spots riddle doing an odd task— trimming roses in the garden. wait, why was riddle doing gardenwork…? was this another prank by floyd? either way, yuu had to find out.

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: idk if you can tell, but i absolutely love teasing riddle hehehe (also doesn’t dumple’s art of riddle look so cute ?)

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

Distraction, it seemed, came in many shapes and forms. And for Yuu, it came in the color red. There was a flash of red in the corner of their vision. And they allowed themself to be distracted, their gaze following the color to their window.

Yuu was supposed to be putting together the final expenses list for the butler. But never mind what they were supposed to be doing.

What they saw beyond the window was far more interesting.

"Kalim?"

"Oh! Yes, master?"

"What is Riddle doing in the garden?"

Beyond their window was a view of the estate's garden. Part of the ball would be held there, amidst the rose bushes and fountains. And lo and behold, wading through the rose bushes with a pair of pruning scissors was...Riddle.

Riddle was Riddle. Prim and proper, befitting of the Roseheart name. Always ready to help straighten someone's apron at a moment's notice, with conduct and rules at the tip of his tongue.

He was also a bit naive and a lot stubborn, a combination that made it impossible for Yuu to guess why he was in the garden. Maybe it was another prank by Floyd. Or maybe it was his own bullheadedness leading him down another rabbit hole.

"Well," Kalim seemed to hesitate, his earrings jingling as he tilted his head closer. "Riddle told me not to tell you, but..."

"But...?" They prompted, trying to sound innocent to Kalim's ears. They were sure Kalim would let down his guard soon.

"But well...he wasn't satisfied with the roses in the garden!" Once Kalim started it was hard to get him to stop. "We were on a walk yesterday whilst Master was away— just checking on how the flow of the party would be, because that’s important, Riddle said— when Riddle found the rose bushes needed more...pruning."

They folded their arms, "What about the gardener?"

"The gardener...aha..." Kalim looked even more nervous now. "She stormed off after Riddle's questioning."

Ah. Now that was a problem indeed. Riddle wasn't the most unfriendly person, but his words came across as quite confident at times. Confidence and arrogance tread a thin line in the eyes of others, especially those who aren’t familiar with Riddle’s mannerisms. It was possible that the gardener got fed up with being questioned.

"Alright. I'll be taking a break in the gardens then," They brushed off their slacks, neatening their desk before standing. "When tea time arrives, please tell Ruggie to serve it in the garden."

"A picnic! Yes, Master!" They very gently patted Kalim's head, careful not to disturb the ribbon that they were sure Jamil worked hard to tie.

It wasn't very hard to make their way to the gardens. And it was easier still to find Riddle. The garden was empty save for the single maid wielding the shears with a vice, muttering to himself lightly.

"-unacceptable state," Riddle muttered as he snipped off some overgrown leaves, bending down to get a fallen rose. "Master wouldn't be happy about– ah–!"

Yuu's eyes widened at the sight of blood staining Riddle's glove red, and before they could think about it they had stepped forward, taking Riddle's wrist in their hand.

Riddle blinked, "M-Mas...ter?"

"Ah, it's getting on your apron," They tugged Riddle's hand closer, blood dripping onto the grass. "Does it hurt?"

Bewildered, Riddle shook his head, "It…stings."

"Slowly take off your glove, and sit down," They instructed, turning toward the house. "I'll get some bandages."

"Y-You shouldn’t!" Riddle's uninjured hand grabbed their sleeve. "It would be my failure as a proper maid if I made my Master do such a menial task.” Ah. Riddle's stubbornness tended to pop up at the most inconvenient times, it seemed.

Yuu sighed. When Riddle got like this, there was only one thing to do.

"Maid Rosehearts, I would like to treat your wound personally, as you were injured tending to my gardens," Yuu said with a smile. "I hope that you will listen to your Master's selfish wishes."

Riddle looked torn. There was an adorable frown on his face as he continued to think. His obedience to rules and courtesy made this trick handy for more than one occasion, and the outcome was always the same.

The maid finally opened his mouth, "...Of course, Master. Please do as you wish."

It didn't take Yuu long to get the bandages and disinfectant, especially after they ran into Jamil. (The longhaired maid sighed, "Was it Kalim or Silver this time?" They smiled sheepishly before answering, "Actually, it was Riddle." Even the ineffable Jamil had a hard time keeping his expression neutral when he heard that.) And it only took another moment to get back to the garden.

Riddle was sitting on the grass obediently, his back pin straight as they approached, "Welcome back, Master."

Yuu sat down and took his hand again, "Let's clean your hand first." They carefully used disinfectant to clean off the blood around the wound, before cleaning the wound itself. Riddle flinched slightly. It seemed that they should quicken their pace. They carefully wrapped his hand with the bandages.

"All done," They looked up to see Riddle staring. How long had he been looking this way? The red-haired maid immediately looked away with a cough. His cheeks tinted, and they vaguely wondered if it was due to the heat or embarrassment. Either way, it was a lovely look on the usually stern maid.

"Thank you, Master," Riddle bowed slightly, flexing his hand. "If I may ask, how did you know that I was here?"

"I was working when I saw you from my window," It wasn’t necessarily a lie. It was a white lie. They weren’t going to throw Kalim under the bus, since they did get effectively distracted by Riddle’s hair. "I also got these."

They dropped a pair of gardening gloves onto Riddle's lap, "Gardening...gloves?"

"If you want to keep pruning, I want you to do it safely. And besides," Yuu grinned as they pulled out another pair of gloves and shears. "I'll help you out this time."

"Master!" Riddle looked absolutely horrified at the thought. They almost chuckled. "You are going to inherit the Duke's title soon, you mustn't spend your time doing something so trivial as gardening!"

"Then what if I ask you to teach me?" Yuu said before they stood up, dancing away from where Riddle was trying to take their gloves. "As a way to broaden my horizons?"

Riddle huffed, brushing off his skirts and petticoats, ready to go after them, "A maid cannot teach their Master."

"I give you permission to," They waved over Riddle's shoulder. "Is it tea time already?"

Ruggie looked to be carrying a picnic basket, "We're getting to it, shishishi~"

Ruggie's laughter made Riddle sputter slightly, "T-Tea out here?"

"Riddle! Did you get hurt?" Kalim was also running toward them, his apron flying wildly behind him. It seemed that he had a tray of cakes in his hands. It was a wonder that none of them fell as he was running.

Riddle sighed, clearly defeated, "I am fine now. Master has tasked me with teaching them how to prune roses." Yuu beamed at Riddle’s cooperativeness. It seemed that Riddle had finally given in.

Ruggie spread a picnic blanket over the sunny ground, just as Kalim set down the cakes. And Riddle… He started on the tea. Tea was his specialty after all. They sat on the blanket next to Ruggie as they waited. There was a time for arguing over technicalities, and there was a time to serve. For now, they would look forward to Riddle’s tea.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

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#/trau writes #riddle rosehearts #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst

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peeweekey · 2 months

Text

i visited idiot street and everyone knew your name!

part i, part ii, part iii

synopsis: the three times you friendzoned Alhaitham, and the one he made damn sure you didn't.

tags: alhaitham/reader ; school setting ; valentine's day special ; reader likes sewing ; miscommunication

Valentine’s day comes rolling around the next year, and you are sadly not present to witness Alhaitham lengthen his trail of broken hearts. A shame, really. This year, you were looking forward to bringing popcorn for the occasion—just to see him squirm.

You’ve been cooped up in the homeroom lab for the better part of the week, sewing and snipping away at one of the costumes for the school’s fair. Unlike last year, you don’t have your seniors to help you pin fabrics right or to assist in hand stitching plastic beads, as the newly appointed tailor's club head you have a lot more duties to take on.

It’s exhausting, you feel the deep creases underneath your eye—dreading to head to the bathroom and accidentally look into the mirror to face your own haggard appearance—and the dull ache in your hands and back is blocking any sense you could have.

The club room is otherwise quiet if not for the lo-fi beat playing from your phone’s speaker and the rhythmic snips of scissors gliding over fabric. You focus all your brain power on the task—fabric is not cheap and you don’t have enough mora in your wallet if you lose focus and mess up—and remain blissfully unaware of any potential distraction.

To be honest, it hadn’t even registered in your head that you weren’t alone in the room anymore, until the gentlest tap on your shoulder has you snapping your focus away from the brocade.

The sight of just who has you unconsciously gaping your mouth like a blubbering fish in shock—Alhaitham.

He stares at you blankly, his gaze is so intense it’s a little unnerving, you freeze up before him, and probably make yourself look like an idiot in the process.

Suddenly, the state of your appearance becomes a presiding worry. Having skipped lunch in favor of patterning tulle perfectly on the dummy mannequin. Your uniform is crumpled, creased with the lack of motion, stray threads and fabric fibers cover you head to toe similar to lint. It’s almost humiliating to be seen so disheveled by Alhaitham—when he himself looks like the epitome of put-together flawlessness.

“Haitham,” you start, smoothing out the fabric laid out on the table, it’s soft and smooth under your fingertips. “Need something?”

He spares a glance to whatever you’re fidgeting with behind you then to your face, which in turn makes you fist the work-in-progress fabric tighter in your hand.

Alhaitham seems to search for something in your expression, his gaze feels like it’s poking and prodding in your soul. Your hands itch to cover up whatever’s he’s fixated on, but you settle on the second best option; staring back just as hard and ten times more intensely.

“The second button of my shirt,” he says, Alhaitham points at his stark white button up, right where a button lay missing. You arch a brow at that, he’s most definitely only here to ask you to mend his shirt. No other reason.

And you are definitely not disappointed right now too.

Swallowing hard, your eyes drift to his face. “Do you need a replacement button?”

A crease forms between his brows. “No.”

Well.

“O-kay,” that stumps you, “What about it then?” you shoot him a puzzled look, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

That makes him pause. “I wanted to check if you wanted it.”

“…your button?”

“Yes, that’s why I came over here.”

He must be kidding. The two of you are standing in the homeroom lab, there’s a surplus of small white buttons, you’d rather pick from there than have him ruin a perfectly good shirt.

“Uh no thanks,” you scratch at the back of your neck, extremely confused. “I have a lot more buttons in the drawer, there’s no need to take one off your back.”

Once you said that and saw the expression on his face, you knew immediately that it was the wrong choice—even if it wasn’t a test question. Alhaitham does not pout, but that’s something he would say. If you were asked, the way his lips twitch downward slightly is pouting.

“I understand,” he says shortly and starts to turn back and reach for the door. You cannot hide your bewildered expression, pinching your brows in confusion.

“Wait—hold it right there,” you call, stepping a step or two following him. You, not wanting your conversation to end on such an unusually awkward note. “What’s up with you?”

“It’s nothing,” he says and you practically hear the sulky edge to his voice—something you swore he left back in middle school—still, he turns back to face you. “If you don’t want it, I won’t give it to you.”

Sighing, you step even closer to close some of the distance, holding your palm out impatiently to him. “Come over here, grumpy. I’ll take the button.”

He eases up slightly. “Don’t force yourself.”

Why you ought to wring this man by the neck. You place your free hand to rest on your waist. “You’re not forcing me, now hand it over.”

Alhaitham stands his ground, but eventually cracks, offering a compromise. “...I’ll leave it on the table.”

“Okay,” your eyes flutter shut in exhaustion and slight irritation—confusion more than anything. “See you, Haitham.”

He bids you goodbye, calling your name softly.

You hear the door slide open, then shut.

When you open your eyes, a singular translucent white button sits on your working table—along with a box of fine confectioners chocolate.

What a loser, you think. Though your smile betrays that thought.

You skip back to your work and suddenly, you aren’t so exhausted anymore.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham genshin #alhaitham #genshin impact #x reader #fanfic #key's-vault

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darthgloris · 8 months

Text

Our Padawan III

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x fem!Jedi!reader

Warnings: death, heartbreak, angst, grief, sad Ani, traumatized Ahsoka

Summary: After the chaos in the gorge, Ahsoka and Anakin descend the cliffs to look for Y/N. The young girl finds her sprawled out on the ground and hopelessly tries to get her to wake up. When Anakin finds his Padawan trying to make her get up, his heart crumbles. As he grieves the love of his life, Ahsoka guilts herself into believing it was her fault.

A/N: and here comes the saddest one of them all! A moment of silence for Mufasa and Y/N. I promise that after this one I'm publishing lots of fluff!

Song: Mufasa Dies - Hans Zimmer

Our Padawan // Our Padawan II

☆☆☆

Ahsoka hopped down from the rocks and the thump of her feet echoed through the dead-silent gorge.

She tried to look for her Master through the clouds of sand and dirt. She caught sight of a silhouette under the broken tree and her heart clenched as she walks towards it. She takes slow, careful steps as she inspects the unmoving figure.

Y/N was on her side, hand curled on the floor by her face, hair tousled up and drooping over her forehead. She looked peaceful, almost asleep, except something felt different... she didn't have that spark of life.

No.

She has to be okay.

"Master?" Ahsoka looked at her, desperate for a sign of life. "Y/N, come on."

She walked closer and pulled on her arm, "You gotta get up." Completely still and a bit cold, her arm flopped back into place.

"Y/N..?" She whimpered. "We gotta go home..."

The young girl moved to stand near her head and tried to shake her awake.

But she wasn't moving.

"Help!" She called, her hopeless yell echoing through the gorge, now fallen onto deaf ears. "Anakin!"

Ahsoka walked back and forth through the gorge, screaming for anyone to respond. "Rex! R2..!"

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, but she still refused to admit her Master was gone. Forever. "Help..." her breath shook as tears filled her eyes, but she didn't let them spill. Instead, she walked over to Y/N's still figure and knelt down next to her, resting her head in her lap. "Come on, I know you're still there... you have to be..."

Footsteps echoed through the silence and her head snapped up, looking for the person. "Snips?"

"Master!" She said and rushed to hug him.

Anakin's heart crumbled and seemed to never be able to be put back together again.

The love of his life, his angel, his Y/N... lifeless on the floor like an animal.

He dropped to his knees beside her, defeated, devastated, destroyed.

Every moment they ever spent together flashed before his eyes like a movie: all the secret meetings and the kisses and the nights spent together... all gone. It was all gone.

His eyes filled with tears as Ahsoka tried to grab onto his arms and pull him towards her. "Master, help, please... I can't get her to get up..."

"Snips..." he couldn't even put the words together. He couldn't. "She's... she's not going to get up..."

The girl seemed to get lost in herself for a moment, and Anakin pulled his favourite person's dead body onto his lap, holding her close for the last time. He held her cold, peaceful face over his chest, right where she would rest after a long day. He started sobbing uncontrollably as he clutched onto her for dear life. He couldn't bring himself to let her go.

"I'm sorry, Master..." Ahsoka spoke up, her voice heavy with tears.

"Snips, don't do this, please..." Anakin begged. "You have nothing to apologise for."

"It's... it's my fault..." She said as she looked at her broken lightsabers in the distance.

"No, it's not, Snips, don't say that..." he denied without missing a beat.

"She'd... she'd still be alive..." she thought out loud, trembling as she took a few steps back. "I can't, I'm sorry..."

"Ahsoka, wait!" Anakin called, but she had already taken off running. His breathing quickened as his eyes flickered from the dust his Padawan kicked up to Y/N's pale and tranquil face. He couldn't take it anymore.

He let out a blood curdling wail of grief. And then he kept screaming. He screamed until his throat ripped raw, until he felt his voice dying into his trachea.

Anakin felt numb. He felt as if he lost the sense of time, place and touch. He couldn't get up, he couldn't pull his skin away from hers. He just couldn't. Because he knew that if he let go, he'd never touch her again. If he walked away from her, he'd see her once more at her grave and then never again.

...

Ahsoka's step faltered as she heard someone speaking and a response by commlink.

"Did you do it?"

"I did. She's dead."

She gasped silently as she poked her face out from the wall of stone. Dooku was on the line with someone... with Palpatine?

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Skywalker's screaming over his loss and the little girl felt so guilty about it that she ran away."

"So what are you waiting for? Go find her and kill her!"

As if on cue, the Sith turned around and caught the girl spying. She yelped and stumbled away, rushing back to look for Anakin.

She reached the broken tree and saw the ship waiting for Anakin to get inside. "Master!"

"Snips! You're all right!" He said, relieved, as she threw her arms around him again. He held her tightly as he felt a sudden wave of affection for her. He was going to protect her with all he had, at the cost of his life. His last attempt to keep a part of Y/N alive.

"Go on, go back to the ship." He said and she obliged wordlessly.

As he picked her up bridal style and walked inside the ship, he felt like it was the longest walk he ever took. With the love of his life still limp in his arms, he pressed a button to send a message to Obi-Wan.

"Y/N's gone, Obi-Wan. Alert the Council."

#star wars #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars anakin #ahsoka tano x reader #ahsoka tano #tcw ahsoka #tcw anakin #star wars the clone wars

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gweninred · 4 months

Text

melissa schemmenti

comfort? idk

"Okay, which one of y'all ordered this big stack of social studies books?" Ava asked, walking into the teacher's offices, dropping a box on one of the tables. Melissa and I are trying to get the printer to work. Everyone immediately ran over to the principal. "Oh my goodness! They're only a few years old." Janine picked up one of the books. "Oh my God! They have Brexit! And the Flint water crisis. And Hamilton." She read, looking into one of the cameras. "These aren't for Abbott Elementary. They're for Addington Elementary." Your wife reads from the box, her red reading glasses sitting on her nose. "Oh, the school down the street?" Asked Jacob. "New books. One of the perks of turning into a charter school." Answerd Barbara. "They went charter and went up. From 2012 Khloe K to 2022 Khloe K like that." Ava snipped her fingers. "Unreconizable." I picked up one of the books and looked at it. "I heard they got a lot of good stuff over there." I said, leaning against Melissa's shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around you.

"Well, that building was made by the same World War II architect as this one, so it can't be that great." Janine smiled once again into the camera, trying to see the positive side. "Why don't we walk over there and find out for ourselves during lunch?" Barbara requested. "Well, Melissa and I actually planned on lunching somewhere today, so I don't think—" I couldn't finish; Melissa was cutting in. "No, we're going, hon." I gave her a glare. "What? I want to see inside." She put her glasses back on her head. "Sure, let's do it!." Janine said.

Later that day, we walked into Addington Elementary with Janine carrying the box with books. "Did you all feel that?" Barbara asked. "That is some good AC." A young man walked past our group of teachers. "They even got a young Mr. Johnson." Gregory waved at him. "Do you smell that?" I gripped Melissa's hand, my love language being physical touch. "I don't smell anything." The redhead said. "Exactly!" Then Janine cut in: "You know what? No. It's not that great here. I mean look, the ceilings are smooth. Isn't that what floors are for?" She tried to cheer the group up.

"Hey!" We heard a voice. "Tina!" The old Abbott teacher walked up to us. "Look the crying bitch." Melissa whisperd. "That's Ms. Schwartz, the teacher you replaced." Jacob whispered to Gregory. "The one who kicked a student?" He asked, shocked. "Oh, I don't do that anymore." She laughed. "Because of therapy and anger management, also, at a charter school, there's a lot less oversight in the hiring process, so it's been pretty sweet." Tina was proud. "Well, sweetheart, it's nice to see you, and the school is wonderful." Melissa chuckled at that. I knew from Melissa that Barbara didn't like Tina. "Yeah. Are those my books?' She pointed at the box in Janine's hands. "Oh yeah!" She handed them over. "You guys want a little tour?" The group laughed. "Yeah!" they said. "So, this is the language lab." The teacher led them to the closest class room. "The kids are currently learning French. Bonjour!" She greeted the class, and the class greeted her happily. I heard Melissa say, "Awh." Tina continued. "Over there are our restrooms. which are awesome because the banos don't attack you here." Janine cut her off. "Oh, I fixed that toilet, so..." Tina laughed awkwardly.

Then there came a kid running down the hall, followed by a blonde-haired teacher. I recognized the woman immediately, and so did Melissa. It was her sister, Kirsten Marie. Melissa let go of my hand, gripped her bag tighter, and straightened her posture. "Hey, Kya, you gagootz, keep it movin'!" Kirsten yelled at the running kid. She stopped in front of Melissa, glaring at her. I placed my hand on the small of my wife's back to comfort her a little. Since the fight with her sister, they hadn't spoken to each other. Kirsten scoffed at her sister. "Okay, come on." The redhead said. The group of teachers looked at the two women before the blonde started to walk away. "Let's get out of here. Come on." Melissa walked, grabbing my wrist and dragging me with her. "Melissa, that's like your charter school doppelganger." Jacob looked back at the other woman. "It is because they are sisters!" I whispered to the group, but Melissa heard anyway. "I said, Let's go!"

Now you were walking outside, and Melissa was walking at a pace the group could barely keep up with. "She's your sister? You have the same mom?" Janine almost yelled at the other teacher. "Yeah, yeah, good. You know what sisters mean. Glad you're making good use of that Penn education." She was mad. "Melissa!" I hissed. "What did I tell you about being so rude?" I squeezed her hand, like giving her a warning. "I'm not saying another word about this." I looked back at the group and held my shoulders up. "Can we at least walk at a slower pace? I think we're far enough now." Jacob said, but Melissa was not having it. "Okay, we will see you at school." Me and Melissa continued walking.

"Baby, don't let her ruin your day now." The redhead groaned. "And I understand you're upset, but that doesn't mean you have to be so rude to Janine or to anyone." Melissa didn't answer, but I knew she would come around. We've arrived back at school. "And I didn't bring any lunch." Melissa sat down at our regular table, grabbing her bag to pull out a few dollars. "Get something from the vending machine." She mumbles. "Great." I sighed. "What do you want?" My wife sat with her arms crossed on the table, her head leaning on her arms. "I want to go home." She groaned. “I didn’t mean that, you know that, Melis.” I got noodles for both of us and some boiled water. I walked up to her and placed my hands on her shoulders, slightly massaging. I parted her red locks around her neck and placed a kiss on her exposed skin. "Don't stay mad now." I moved my hands to her front and hugged her, placing kisses on the back of her head. We were the only ones in the teachers lounge since everyone decided to eat out. Melissa sat up, placing her hands over yours. "I’m sorry." She mumbled, turning her head to kiss me on the lips. The position was quite awkward. “Don't say sorry to me, you should apologize to Janine." I whispered against her lips. She closed the gap, pressing her red-painted lips against mine. In a few moments, I pulled away. "Noodles." I reminded myself and turned around to finish up the food.

Pouring the boiling water into the cup of noodles, you felt two arms wrap around your waist, Melissa hugging you from behind. Normally we aren't so touchy at work, but Melissa turns more clingey when she feels bad. I finished up the noodles and told Melissa to sit on the couch instead of at the table. She sat down next to me, her thighs touching mine. We ate in silence, and when we were done, she snuggled up to me.

Around 20 minutes later, the door busted open, and teachers slowly came inside. I noticed the redhead falling asleep, her head resting on my shoulder, and her mouth hanging open. "She asleep?" Barbara asked, and I nodded. "I guess seeing 'stupid' family members is exhausting." I giggled and slightly stroked the side of her face. "Well, I'm going to head out of here before the dragon wakes up." Jacob rushed out of the room before I could say anything. I gasped at what he had called my wife. "I don't think she means it. Everyone says things they might regret later when they’re mad." Janine held up her books before leaving. The bell rang, waking Melissa up. She rubbed her eyes and straightened her posture. "Shit, I didn't mean to fall asleep." I smiled, kissing the side of her face. "You probably needed it. But come on, we're already late. I forgot the time too."

Later that day, Melissa apologized to Janine. "You have her wrapped around your finger, y\n." Barbara said to me, looking at the interaction between Melissa and Janine.

#abbott elementary #gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #chessy #larissa weems #fanfic #larissa weems x female reader #larissa x reader #larissa x y/n #larissa x you #lesbian #principal larissa weems

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world-of-aus · 8 months

Text

Safe With Me - II

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky x MobDaughter!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Feels.

Author's Note: I am so sorry that this has taken me so long to get out! But here we are installment II of Safe With Me. I am looking at two more parts total for this small series. I hope you all enjoy this piece, happy reading Buns!

The tension was overwhelming, the silence deafening as you and your father stare one another down. Bucky stands frozen at the door, face void of any emotion as he awaits further instruction from your father. There’s an ache sat in your chest from the night before that he was here for him, his job, and not you.

“Are you going to say anything?” you almost dare the gray-haired man before you.

Bucky watches as your father shakes his head, his frown glowering further, “what would you like me to say,” he snips eyes burrowing further into yours. “Rumlows out of your life a year now yet you still allow the bastard to dictate it, still allow him to play you like some pawn!”

“You’re one to talk, he plays you all the same.”

Bucky catches the moment your body jolts in fear at your old mans fist meeting the desk “Watch your mouth daughter, you are my blood, you are my next in line, this,” he gestures to the office, “is to be yours, do not let him take this from you!”

“He’s not taking anything from me because I don’t want to be the next in line!”

Your words have stunned your father into silence, pain and betrayal pulling at his features. “What did you say?”

The scoff slips past your lips “you’ve never been one to hear me. I said I don’t want this, I’ve never wanted this, you and Nico have decided my fate time and time again, I have had no say, have had no voice!”

“Don’t you dare!” he hisses chubby wrinkled finger pointed at you at the mention of your late brother.”

“Be real for once father,” you argue back, “I was never your first option, I’ve probably never been, but you were left with no choice, you dealt your own cards!”

The second the chair flies into the wall as you father stands in fury Bucky is behind you his hand resting on your shoulder. An anchor of comfort. “How dare you,” your father hisses, “I am your father y/n and you will respect me as such!”

You’re defiant now that Bucky is there to ground you, “why should I, did you respect the wishes of Nico, my wishes? This life got him killed, and you’re resigning me to the same fate. If it wasn’t for begging, no pleading you to see what Rumlow was doing to me I would have met the same fate! I begged you for a year, a year father, and no number of bruises laid upon me could get you to see, to hear me. It wasn’t till Bucky found me that night, the night you miraculously seemed to think of me that you finally saw me.”

Bucky visibly tenses at the mention of that night, his jaw locks, and the hand that isn’t rested against your skin clenches into a fist at his side. Rumlow had every intention of ending your life that night, and had he not arrived when he did, he doesn’t even want to imagine. It was almost like fate that he got to you just in time, he had been your only hope at escaping the grasp of death.

Some nights he can still recall your weakened grip, your barely there pained cries as he all but pleaded with you to hold on for him. Those nights he holds your hand a little tighter, brings you closer to make sure you’re still there, that you’re safe. Safe with him.

“Rumlows moved on y/n, he has a wife, a child on the way, he’s just trying to scare you, that’s always been his tactic when he feels threatened.”

You want to scream because he’s doings it again, he’s not hearing you.

“With all due respect sir it would be wise of you to listen to your daughter.” Bucky speaks up from beside you. You fight the urge to glance up at him, eyes locked on your fathers gaze which has found the eyes of the man that stands tall beside you.

“Not you too,” your father mutters, the urge to scream intensifies.

“You’ve been witness to what he’s capable of,” Bucky reminds, “on not only one occurrence but a second as well, do you really want to take the risk?”

“You say I’m not hearing you, but it’s like you’re not hearing me either, that is my blood,” he points again. “My line, my legacy, she is made for this, to take over it, you’re asking me to give it all up for what? An empty threat?”

“An empty threat? Is that what you think of Nico’s death?”

Your dad’s eyes flicked to yours, and you know that if you hadn’t been his blood there would have been a hole shot right between your eyes. “What do you want from me? Have I not given you everything? Have I not lived up to what you wanted?”

No. You think.

He’s given you nothing, but he’s taken everything.

“I want you to find someone else.”

You’re sure your father’s considering grabbing the gun he has nestled in his drawer. He flicks his hardened gaze between you and Bucky. “Leave us y/n.” You gape, “excuse me?” his eyes land on yours, “I said leave us, I need to talk to James alone. Go.” He admonishes you when you don’t move. Bucky gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze his way of saying you’ll be okay. You stand wordlessly ducking your head as you move towards the door, heart hammering in your chest, a knot lodged in your throat as you step out into the hallway.

The door clicks behind you softly, your back pressed against the wood as you will your ears to hear. The only sound that can be heard though is that of your shallow breathing and the racing of your heart. It’s gone quiet in the hallway, the only sound now is that of your pacing too loud for your ears as you go one way, only to go back and re-track your steps the other way.

Minutes tick by with no sign of your father or Bucky to be heard behind that closed door. You’ve lost count of the times you’ve retraced your steps in the narrow hallway by the time that door pulls open. There was only one time that you can recall not being able to read Bucky and that was on your first meeting with the brunette, it’s strange now to look at the man you’ve come to know, come to trust so deeply, to look at him and not know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling.

He pulls the door open wider, you take a step forward wanting to ask if he’s okay, if everything was alright, but hesitation sat heavy. Each step taken into your dad's office feels weighed down by a cinder block. The waiting chair is execution, and your dad the jailer waiting to deliver the lethal dose.

You take your seat, bucky feet behind you, your father doesn’t speak as he slides a paper forward. Your eyes catch on the word Contract at the top of the page, they flick up to your dad, “what's this?”

“Read it.”

You lean forward fingers pulling the contract closer, the office is quiet, suffocating as your eyes scan the words printed on the document. Your heart plummets when you see the signatures bonding the contract. Your eyes meet your dads, “what is this?” You ask again needing clarification that what you’re reading on the page before you is real.

“You wanted me to hear you.” He answers.

“I – and you think this is hearing me, signing away my hand?”

Your father scoffs, “there’s no pleasing you is there? I’ve done what you asked me y/n, you don’t wish to be next in line, so I’ve made it to where you don’t have to be, like you’ve asked of me.”

You’re unsure of what to do, what to say, you look over your shoulder the unreadable expression on Bucky’s features now makes sense you think. “And you agreed to this?” He nods stiffly, the bile rising in your throat, you turn back to your father, “I won’t agree to this, you can’t make me.” You barely get out.

He settles back in his chair, “unfortunately your name isn’t on the contract for you to be able to make that decision. My hands are tied daughter, this was the only way I could give you what you wanted, while still ensuring my lineage was taken care of.”

“You think this is what I wanted, what he wanted?!”

He looks down at the contract that took minutes to draft up and seconds to sign, “his signature is on the page is it not? Besides, there’s no one I trust more. I trusted him with ensuring you safety for a little over a year now, I think that qualifies him enough, he’s taken care of the thing most precious to me.”

“Do you not stop and think?” Your fathers looks surprised, “have you ever stop and thought of anyone other than yourself?” His surprise slips, cold demeanor returning. “I will not let you take the one thing I have worked for my whole life y/n; I will have my lineage continued; I will have a next in line.”

“So that’s it, neither of us have a say?”

Your father rubs at his chin, “I think enough has been said, it’s time to move forward, by the next meeting you shall adorn a wedding band and a new last name, and I will have my next in line.”

You want to argue but your father wastes no time in ‘moving forward’, “James I will take of everything for you and my daughter, make sure she is tended to tonight, it is obvious her feelings are on a fritz.”

“Of course, sir.” Bucky answers and you had never imagined there would ever be a time that you wanted to scream at the brunette.

Your father sees the two of you out, Bucky leading the two of you to the car. Neither of you speaks as the engine starts, your father's home a speck in the mirror the farther you drive.

You had only ever been to Bucky’s cabin one other time, the wooden lodge a home away from home for him. It’s still as breathtaking as the first time you laid your eyes on it. The scenery that you watch from the windows seems to be the only thing that has calmed you since you arrived hours ago.

Neither of you has spoken yet, unsure of what to say, where to start. Should you scream, cry, damn everything to hell? Would anything fix what your father has done?

You know the answer and it’s not one you like.

You shut your eyes leaning your head against the cooling glass, this wasn’t how you imagined this would go. In an alternate universe you’d have fallen to your knees in tears, cries of joy leaving your lips at the thought of marrying Bucky Barnes. But this wasn’t that universe, the universe where you fell in love. This was your father once again taking eveything, but this time he wasn’t only taking from you.

A hand on your shoulder pulls you from your mind, your eyes opening to the breathtaking scenery once more. His hands guide you, turning you softly till you’re falling into a warm embrace. Your hands curl around his back, head finding his chest. His lips press to your head, you were safe.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your hair.

His apology takes you by surprise, and you pull back slightly to meet his eyes, “what ever are you sorry for, if anyone should be apologizing it is me.”

He shakes his head, “I went against what you wanted this afternoon, I thought of nothing else other than your safety when I put that pen down on that paper. I should have stopped to think how you might feel, I took your voice away.” Your head shakes vigorously in return as if the action might show him just how wrong you thought it was. “The only person who went against my wishes was my father, when I called this meeting with him, I was not expecting him to make the demands he did, he had no right, he may have taken my choice away but he took yours as well.”

The brunette's brows furrow in question, “you didn’t ask for this Bucky,” you answer, “you were given the sole task by my father to protect me for as long as you could, and you’ve done just that, I could never thank you enough for it, but that should have been all that this was. Now he demands that you take my hand, he’s ripping away that choice from you. He’s taking your choice of a happy future by making you take my hand, and his lineage.”

“Would you have chosen differently?”

You want to say yes, you would. You would have changed the way you met him, would have changed his role in your life. You would have done it all differently, and you tell him just that asking him the same question in return.

His answer surprises you, “I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Because I'm not sure you and I would have ever crossed paths otherwise, and I don’t want to think of any other possibility.”

“Why?”

“Because you might not be in it.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au

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