#Cross-Chain Transfer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

galaxy-stardust · 21 days ago

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Task Force 141 x you

"What in the unholy hell is dark romance?!"

The safehouse was, for once, quiet.

Rain tapped steadily at the windows. Thunder rolled in the distance like a lazy growl.

Price sat in the armchair with his feet up, sipping tea and reading a newspaper like a war-hardened grandfather.

Gaz was on the couch, headphones half in, scrolling.

You were curled in a blanket on the opposite side, legs tucked under, cup of tea warming your hands.

Ghost stood leaning against the far wall. Silent. Watching. Present in that way only he could be - still as a shadow with a pulse.

Soap, unfortunately, was bored.

Dangerously bored.

“Oi,” he called across the room to Gaz, breaking the peace. “I need that video again - the one with the goat screaming like a man. You know the one.”

Gaz looked up, confused. “...What?”

“The goat! It screams, and someone edited it into a metal song. You showed me last week.”

Gaz blinked. “You mean the one with the caption ‘me escaping my toxic romance’?”

“Aye! That one!”

He went back to scrolling.

Two minutes of blessed silence passed.

Then -

“…Wait... the fuck is this?”

Soap froze, thumb hovering over his screen.

Then blinked.

Then scrolled again.

“…Uh. What in the unholy hell is dark romance?”

You froze mid-sip.

Oh no.

Ghost didn’t move, but you felt him tune in.

Gaz looked up again. “Sounds like a perfume. Like... a really expensive, pretentious one.”

Price grunted from behind his paper. “Thought it was one of your metal bands.”

Soap ignored them, brows furrowed as he kept scrolling. “Why are there book covers now? With… masked men and half-naked women?” He flipped the phone around. “Why is this one called ‘Chained to the Reaper’? This is NOT about goats!”

Even Price looked up now, brows raised.

Ghost’s arms crossed, his gaze sharpening.

“I searched for a meme,” Soap said slowly, “and now I’m knee-deep on some site with star ratings and lists like -” he squinted, “- ‘Top 10 Dark Romance Alpha Bastards That Will Ruin Your Life.’ What does that even mean?!”

You looked over your mug, playing innocent. “Oh. Yeah. That’s a thing.”

Soap stared at you. “You knew?!”

You shrugged. “I’m a woman, Johnny. Of course I know this exists.”

He looked betrayed.

“This one - ” He turned the phone again, showing a half-naked man gripping a woman’s chin. The man wore a skull mask. “The title is ‘Ruined by the Reaper: A Possessive Obsession.’ Who’s reading this filth?!”

Gaz lost it. “I guess, you’ve fallen into the masked alpha rabbit hole, mate.”

Price groaned. “Can’t have one night of peace.”

Soap scrolled again, reading aloud. “‘She ran. He hunted. Now she belongs to him - even if it breaks her.’ BLOODY HELL. This is romance?!”

You sipped your tea. “Not my thing.”

Gaz raised a brow. “Sure about that? You’re looking a little too calm.”

You gave a sly smile. “Some people like intensity.”

Soap looked horrified. “Intensity?! This reads like Stockholm Syndrome with a subscription plan!”

Ghost’s shoulder twitched. It might have been a laugh.

Soap scrolled more, muttering. “NO BLOODY WAY. This one’s about a billionaire with a soundproof basement. ‘She signed the contract. Now she obeys.’ Someone get me holy water. GAZ! Get me holy water and a bloody priest.”

Gaz was doubled over now, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“Read one,” you said sweetly.

“I will not - ”

“Do it,” Ghost said. Low. Amused.

Soap blinked. “Did you just - ? You’re encouraging this?!”

Ghost said nothing.

Which made it worse.

Soap groaned, then read dramatically:

“‘His breath was a brand, searing my neck. You’re mine, he growled, the mask hiding all but the feral gleam in his eyes. You don’t run from me. I tried to move, but the cuffs bit into my wrists. My heart beat traitorously as heat pooled low - ’”

“OH MY GOD.” Soap flung the phone away. “I am traumatised. PRICE, SAY SOMETHING.”

Price, not even hiding his exhaustion, muttered, “I need a bloody transfer.”

“There’s fan art. There’s audiobooks. GHOST, BACK ME UP HERE - this is insane, yeah?”

Ghost’s voice was calm. “Sounds like solid tactics to me.”

Soap froze. “...What?”

“Shock. Control. Psychological pressure.” Ghost shrugged. “Useful tools.”

“YOU’RE the reason these exist! This is YOUR FAULT!”

You tried and failed to hold back a laugh. “He does tick a lot of boxes.”

“Don’t start.” Soap groaned.

Gaz wheezed. “You’re living in a fanfic and didn’t know it.”

“I’m gonna be sick.”

You looked back at Ghost.

He was close now. Closer than you expected.

Voice low, just for you:

“…You sure you don’t like that sort of thing?”

You hesitated. “I don’t need it.”

“But?” His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“…It’s fun. Sometimes.”

A pause.

“…Noted.”

Soap shouted, “There’s one called ‘Marked by the Mask.’ IT’S A GENRE. There’s reader-insert?! I am in hell.”

Price stood up. “I need liquor.”

Soap was scrolling again, reading another in a voice filled with pure panic:

“‘He was sitting on the edge of the bed, cleaning his knife - slowly, deliberately. She teased him again, just to watch that vein in his neck pulse. He didn’t speak. Just smiled behind the mask and whispered, Keep going, sweetheart. Let’s see how brave you really are.’”

Silence.

Soap stared at the screen, stunned. “Okay. No. NOPE. That’s it. I’m out.”

Gaz was gasping for air from laughing.

Price pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why am I here?”

You weren’t laughing.

Because when you turned your head, Ghost was watching you again - still as stone. Shoulders faintly tense. Blade in hand, thumb slowly tracing the spine in that idle way he always did when his thoughts ran too deep.

He caught your gaze.

Tilted his head - just a little.

“That one,” he murmured, voice like dark silk, “had potential.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“I already did.”

#cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod fandom #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod fanfic

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nero-neptune · 1 year ago

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“When I went on the expedition with Numa Turcatti and Daniel Maspons, climbing up the mountain, I took the necklaces and chains of each dead person we found. I took every watch, every ID card, all the papers they may have had in their bags: letters, notes, messages, lists, directions, desires, names, loves. I did the same for all of them. I found Carlos Valeta’s chain, which I gave to his parents. I found the letter Gustavo Nicolich wrote to his girlfriend Rosina, the letter from Arturo Nogueira to his parents, his brothers, and his girlfriend. All that history, all those lives which were cut short on the mountain, I carried in a bag. With time that little bag was getting bulky. I had to organise it – here are all the watches and medals, there the letters and documents, the more intimate and personal papers. When that little bag was too full I transferred it to a larger bag, containing the belongings of twenty-nine amputated lives … After [we left], nobody remained up on that icy mountain, nobody at all, because I carried them all away with me.” – “The Dented Cross with the Broken Arm: Gustavo Zerbino” from Society of the Snow: The Definitive Account of the World’s Greatest Survival Story by Pablo Vierci

LA SOCIEDAD DE LA NIEVE | SOCIETY OF THE SNOW (2023) dir. J. A. Bayona

#society of the snow #la sociedad de la nieve #moviegifs #filmgifs #doyouevenfilm #fyeahmovies #userconstance #userrobin #usermarina #userbbelcher #chewieblog #dasakuryo #henricavyll #tuserjyn #dailyflicks #dailyworldcinema #perioddramaedit #userfilm #userstream #myedit #yep. another one #this is one aspect that is obviously shown here and there in the film (gustavo collecting the mementos)#but the book is where it explains the Why #that big block of text (which was all one paragraph in the book so i wasn't gonna break it apart) really stuck with me #even in the midst of Everything (on top of also having to do medical work- despite having only done mostly like #courses in psychology iirc??)#he still made it a point to do something like this. i don't think words like 'thoughtful' or 'admirable' do it justice tbh. it's beyond tha #coloring's inconsistent but hey! we move! (i say like it doesn't bother me a little lol)

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gpcwsl · 3 months ago

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Leah Williamson x Reader

Hey, rockstar!

WC: 4.2k+

MasterList

Warnings: kissing, teasing, mentions of death (brief, kinda), very long.

Song: I found you - Alabama Shakes

It was a crisp January morning in London, the air sharp with winter’s bite. The Arsenal Women’s squad had returned from the break, with the transfer window officially closed. Among their newest additions was Y/N Y/L/N, a 25-year-old Australian signing that had come with high expectations.

You were still settling in, getting used to the cold weather and the rhythm of a new club. Wanting to make a good impression, you had arrived early for training, hoping for some quiet before the rest of the squad trickled in.

Dressed comfortably in an oversized black hoodie with the Arsenal crest embroidered on the chest, baggy grey sweatpants, and a pair of well-worn black Converse, you looked effortlessly relaxed. A silver chain peeked out from under your hoodie, glinting in the soft lounge lighting. Your dark brown wavy hair was slightly messy, curling at the ends as it framed your hazel-brown eyes. You had a ring or two on your fingers, one of them spinning absentmindedly as you settled onto one of the couches.

Placing your foot on the coffee table in front of you, you propped your guitar up on your thigh. It was an old acoustic—scratched and well-loved. Letting out a breath, your fingers skimmed over the strings before you began strumming the opening chords of a song.

“Can you see me? ‘Cause I’m right here,”

“Can you listen? ‘Cause I’ve been tryin’ to make you notice,”

“What it would mean to me,”

“To feel like somebody…,”

Your voice was smooth, rich yet soft, carrying through the empty lounge. You weren’t just playing—you were lost in it, each note sinking into your chest like second nature.

What you didn’t realize was that you weren’t alone.

Leah Williamson had arrived early too. She’d come through the doors expecting silence, maybe a quick coffee before training. What she didn’t expect was the warm, mellow voice filling the space. Stopping in her tracks, Leah’s eyes locked onto the figure on the couch.

You, completely unaware of your audience, were lost in the music, your fingers dancing effortlessly along the frets. Leah leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms, letting herself listen. There was something about the way you sang—like you meant every word. It was different from the usual dressing room chaos, different from hearing someone sing along to the radio. It was raw. Real.

And then there was you yourself. The hoodie slightly oversized on your frame, the way you absentmindedly bit your bottom lip between verses, the way your fingers plucked the strings with a confidence that told Leah this wasn’t a hobby—it was a part of you.

Leah found herself smirking slightly. Talented and attractive. Interesting.

As you sang the last words, letting the final chord ring out, you finally glanced up—only to see Leah standing there, watching you.

Your heart stuttered. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath, sitting up straighter.

Leah chuckled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You—how long were you standing there?” you asked, shifting awkwardly.

Leah pushed off the doorframe, stepping further into the room. “Long enough.”

You felt your face heat up. You’d expected to come in, play a little, and go unnoticed. But here was Leah Williamson—England captain, Arsenal legend—watching you with an amused expression.

“You’re good,” Leah said casually, nodding towards the guitar. “Didn’t take you for a musician.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the way your heart was still racing. “Just something I do on the side.”

Leah smirked. “Well, you might want to be careful playing like that around here. Some of us tend to arrive early too.”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “Noted.”

Leah gave you a wink before walking past, leaving you sitting there, gripping your guitar a little tighter.

You hadn’t even been at the club a week, and somehow, you’d already caught Leah Williamson’s attention.

Training was in full swing. The crisp January air did little to cool the intensity of the session as the team moved through drills, preparing for their next match. You had settled in well so far, blending into the squad, but there was still the unspoken pressure of proving yourself. New signings always had something to prove.

Now, you were lined up for set-piece drills, standing just outside the box, waiting for the ball to be whipped in. You steadied your breath, focusing on the movement in front of you, watching as the ball was sent into the air. You took a step forward, preparing to time your jump—

And then a hand landed lightly on your waist.

You stiffened for a second as the warmth pressed against you, and then you felt the slight pull from behind. A voice, low and teasing, brushed against your ear.

“Let’s see how good you are at this… better than singing, yeah?”

Your breath hitched, your grip tightening into fists at your sides as you turned slightly, catching Leah Williamson’s smirking face beside you. She was standing close—too close. The scent of her lingering cologne mixed with the fresh air, and the way her fingers ghosted over your waist sent an involuntary shiver up your spine.

Before you could even react, she leaned in just a little more, voice softer this time.

“You still look pretty playing on the field… just like behind a guitar.”

Your focus wavered. Just for a second. The ball was coming in, but for a brief moment, all you could think about was the way Leah’s breath tickled your skin, the way her presence wrapped around you so effortlessly.

Then, as quickly as it happened, you snapped out of it.

Shoving her lightly off you, you pushed forward, planting your feet and timing your jump perfectly. Your head met the ball cleanly, sending it straight into the top corner of the net. The sound of it hitting the back of the goal was satisfying, and when you landed, you heard the sharp whistle of approval.

“Good job, Y/N!”

You turned to see Rénne Slegers, Arsenal’s manager, watching you with a satisfied smile. Her arms were crossed, her expression pleased—not just because you won the header, but because you hadn’t let yourself get distracted.

As you jogged back to your position, you caught Leah watching you, that familiar smirk still tugging at the corner of her lips. But this time, there was something else there. Something… proud.

“Not bad,” Leah said, nodding slightly.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past her with a small smirk of your own. “Told you I wasn’t just a musician.”

Leah chuckled, jogging after you. “Guess I’ll have to keep testing that, then.”

Something told you that wouldn’t be the last time she tried to distract you.

Training had ended, and the sun was beginning to dip behind the training ground buildings, casting long shadows across the fields. You had worked hard, and despite Leah’s teasing distractions, you had proven yourself. The praise from Rénne Slegers still echoed in your head as you made your way through the corridors, the adrenaline of the session finally starting to wear off.

You walked into the lounge room, expecting the usual post-training silence, maybe a chance to grab your things and unwind for a moment.

But as soon as you opened the door, a familiar sound filled the air.

Strumming.

Your guitar.

Your eyes immediately landed on the figure sitting casually on the couch, legs stretched out, fingers effortlessly plucking at the strings of your old acoustic. Leah Williamson.

She looked up at you, that damn smirk already in place. “Oh, hey, rockstar.”

Your jaw clenched. “Leah.”

Her fingers stilled slightly, but she didn’t stop completely. Instead, she let out a playful hum before strumming again. “Gotta say, she’s got a nice sound. No wonder you sounded good earlier.”

You marched forward, irritation bubbling under your skin. “Get off my guitar.”

Leah grinned but didn’t move. Instead, she strummed again, this time actually singing along. And to your dismay… she was good. Really good.

“Can you see me? ‘Cause I’m right here…”

Your eyes widened slightly. Was she seriously singing your song from earlier? Mocking you?

You lunged forward, but Leah was quick. She jumped to her feet, still holding the guitar, stepping back with a laugh. “Relax, Y/N, I’m just borrowing it.”

“Give it back,” you demanded, stepping closer.

Leah grinned, taking another step away, still strumming. “You chase everyone who touches your stuff, or just me?”

“Leah—”

She laughed, trying to step around the coffee table, but you were faster. You grabbed her by the hoodie, yanking her back toward the couch. Leah stumbled, losing balance as you pushed her down onto the cushions. Before she could move again, you snatched the guitar from her grip.

You quickly checked it over, your fingers running along the wood, making sure nothing was scratched, nothing was broken. You turned it over in your hands, checking every part.

Leah sat up, watching you with a curious expression. “Y/N, I didn’t do anything to it.”

You ignored her, running your fingers along the fretboard, double-checking. Only when you were completely sure it was fine did you let out a breath, gripping it tightly in your lap.

Leah tilted her head. “Seriously, I was careful.”

You swallowed hard before muttering, “It was my mum’s.”

Leah’s smirk faded.

You kept your eyes on the guitar, fingers gripping the edges a little tighter. “It’s the only thing I have left of her,” you added, quieter this time.

Silence settled between you both.

Leah’s playful demeanor shifted, her smirk replaced with something softer, something more understanding. “I didn’t know,” she said, her voice quieter now.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Yeah, well. Now you do.”

Leah watched you for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I’ll leave you and the guitar alone, then.”

You finally glanced up, meeting her gaze. She wasn’t smirking anymore. She looked… sincere.

You nodded slightly before looking away, shifting the guitar back onto your lap. “Good.”

Leah didn’t push, didn’t tease. Instead, she simply stood up, stretching slightly.

But before she left, she gave you one last glance. “For what it’s worth… she’d probably be proud of how good you are.”

And with that, she walked out, leaving you sitting there with your guitar still clutched tightly in your hands.

The next morning, you walked into the training ground with your guitar case slung over your back, your grip on it noticeably tighter than usual. After yesterday, you weren’t taking any chances.

Leah hadn’t meant any harm, but it still stung. That guitar wasn’t just an instrument to you—it was the last piece of your mum you had left. And having someone else’s hands on it, even if it was Leah Williamson, had sent your emotions spiraling.

As you made your way toward the changing rooms, fully prepared to put yesterday behind you, an arm suddenly reached out, grabbing you by the sleeve. Before you could react, you were pulled to the side—straight into the lounge room.

The door clicked softly behind you, and when you turned, Leah was standing there, a small, almost hesitant smile on her face.

“Leah, what the hell?” you muttered, shifting the guitar case on your shoulder.

Leah raised her hands slightly in surrender. “Relax. I just—” She exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck before motioning toward your guitar case. “Can I?”

Your grip tightened automatically. “Only if you’re careful,” you said firmly.

Leah nodded, taking it gently from your hands and setting it down on the couch with an almost exaggerated delicacy. “See? Careful.”

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want, Leah?”

She hesitated for a second before shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. “I wanted to say sorry. About yesterday.”

You studied her, a little surprised. You hadn’t expected her to bring it up again.

Leah rocked on her heels slightly, glancing down before looking back up at you. “I didn’t know how much it meant to you. I should’ve realized—I mean, it was obvious when you practically tackled me to get it back.” A small smirk flickered across her face before fading again. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

You crossed your arms, shifting your weight. “It’s fine. Just don’t do it again.”

Leah nodded, but there was something else in her expression—something lingering. Then, with a casualness that felt almost forced, she said, “Let me make it up to you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Leah’s smirk returned, but this time, it was softer. “Come out with me. Tonight.”

Your heart stuttered slightly, but you kept your expression neutral. “Like… a date?”

Leah shrugged, playing it cool. “Nah, just a ‘sorry.’” But the glint in her eyes told you otherwise.

You let the silence stretch for a beat longer than necessary, watching the way she shifted slightly under your gaze. Then, finally, you sighed.

“Alright,” you said, pretending to be reluctant. “But if this is actually a date, I’m making you pay.”

Leah’s smirk grew. “Deal.”

And with that, she grabbed your guitar case from the couch, holding it out for you with extra care. You took it, shaking your head slightly as you walked past her.

Leah Williamson had just asked you out. Well—just a sorry, as she put it.

But deep down, you both knew the truth.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of training, recovery sessions, and the occasional Hey, rockstar from Leah every time she passed you.

At first, you’d rolled your eyes, brushing it off as just another one of her teasing habits. But as the day went on, you caught yourself waiting for it—anticipating the smirk that always came with it.

By the time the evening rolled around, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, adjusting your hoodie and brushing a hand through your hair as if you weren’t about to spend the night with Leah Williamson.

It wasn’t a date. Just a sorry.

You repeated it in your head, but deep down, the nervous energy twisting in your stomach knew better.

Then, a knock at the door.

Taking a steadying breath, you opened it—only to be met with Leah’s signature smirk and an outfit that somehow made your breath catch in your throat.

She had opted for casual-comfy, but somehow, she still managed to make it look effortlessly good. She wore an oversized grey Essentials hoodie, the sleeves slightly pushed up to reveal her forearms. A pair of well-fitted black joggers sat low on her hips, tucked slightly into white Nike Air Forces, looking perfectly broken in. A small silver ring adorned her right index finger, and a simple chain peeked out from beneath her hoodie. Over her shoulder, she carried a black Nike backpack, the strap hanging loosely in that relaxed way only she could pull off.

Her hair was slightly messy, the kind of messy that looked unintentional but perfect all the same. And when she smiled—soft this time, not teasing—your stomach flipped.

“Hey, rockstar,” she murmured.

You huffed out a small laugh, stepping aside. “You gonna keep calling me that?”

Leah shrugged, stepping in past you. “Suits you.”

You closed the door behind her, turning back—only to find her already rummaging through her backpack.

“I got something for you,” she said, pulling out a small box and holding it out toward you.

You blinked, hesitating slightly before taking it. The box was light in your hands, simple but carefully wrapped. You glanced up at her, eyebrow raised. “Leah—”

“Just open it,” she said, her tone softer than usual.

Curiosity won over, and you carefully pulled at the wrapping before lifting the lid.

Inside, nestled against black velvet, was a delicate silver necklace. A small, finely detailed guitar charm hung from the chain, catching the dim lighting of your apartment.

Your breath hitched.

For a moment, you just stared at it, fingers running lightly over the charm. “Leah…”

“I figured,” Leah said, shifting slightly, “since your guitar means so much to you, you should have something you can keep with you all the time.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, your fingers tightening slightly around the box.

Leah stepped closer, voice quieter now. “Want me to put it on?”

You hesitated, then nodded.

Turning around, you lifted your hair, exposing the back of your neck. You felt Leah move behind you, the warmth of her body so close it sent a shiver down your spine.

She was slow, careful, as she unclasped the necklace and draped it around your neck. The cool metal met your skin first, followed immediately by the warmth of Leah’s fingers as they brushed against you. Her touch was light—almost too light, like she was testing the waters, gauging your reaction.

You held your breath as she fastened the clasp, her fingers lingering for just a second too long.

And then—before you could even register it—her lips pressed a feather-light kiss against the side of your neck.

A shiver ran through you, your hands gripping the front of your hoodie as every nerve in your body came alive. Leah stayed there for a second longer than necessary, close enough that you could feel the ghost of her breath against your skin.

Then, just as smoothly as she had come in, she pulled away.

The air felt charged, the tension so thick you could almost touch it. You turned slowly, heart hammering against your ribs as you met her gaze.

Leah was watching you, something unreadable in her expression—something deeper than her usual teasing smirk.

“You good?” she asked, voice lower than before.

You swallowed, nodding once.

She smiled, reaching out to lightly tug the charm of the necklace. “Looks good on you, rockstar.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

For now.

The night had passed in a blur of laughter, conversation, and the occasional lingering glance. Leah had been easier to talk to than you expected—casual, laid-back, effortlessly charming. And maybe, just maybe, you had let your guard down a little.

Now, as she walked you back to your place, her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, you found yourself hesitating at the door.

You weren’t ready for the night to end.

“You wanna come in?” you asked, keeping your voice as nonchalant as possible.

Leah’s smirk was immediate, but there was something softer beneath it. “Obviously.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you pushed the door open. She stepped in behind you, and the warmth of her presence filled the space instantly.

“I was thinking of ordering takeout,” you said, toeing off your shoes. “You want something?”

Leah leaned against the wall, tilting her head slightly. “Depends. What’s on the menu?”

You pulled out your phone, already scrolling through options. “Pizza?”

Leah grinned. “Solid choice, rockstar.”

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, you placed the order, tossing your phone onto the counter before heading into the kitchen to grab some plates. Leah followed, perching herself on the counter like she belonged there.

She watched as you moved, her gaze lingering a little too long when you turned to grab the forks and knives from the drawer.

The moment your back was to her, she moved.

You barely had time to react before Leah’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind, her body pressing into yours. Her voice was low, right against your ear.

“You looked good tonight,” she murmured.

Your breath hitched.

Leah took full advantage, her lips brushing lightly against the side of your neck—soft, teasing. Her hands splayed across your stomach, holding you in place.

“You’re bold,” you muttered, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Leah hummed in amusement, her lips barely ghosting against your skin. “You like it.”

You hated how your body reacted to her—how easily she got under your skin. Slowly, you turned in her hold, facing her. Leah didn’t move back. If anything, she leaned in closer, her eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes like she was already planning her next move.

And then—

The doorbell rang.

You blinked.

Leah blinked.

Then, with a sharp breath, you pushed her away. “That’s the food.”

Leah sighed dramatically, rocking back on her heels. “Terrible timing.”

Ignoring the way your heart was pounding, you cleared your throat, straightening your hoodie before heading to the door.

As you pulled it open and exchanged cash for the takeaway bags, you could still feel Leah’s gaze burning into you from behind.

This night was far from over.

The soft hum of music filled the room as you and Leah sat across from each other at the dining table. The plates were now empty, the meal long finished, but there was still a quiet energy between you. The conversation had ebbed, leaving behind a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the background music and the sound of you both cleaning up.

You stood up from the table, gathering the dirty dishes, and made your way to the kitchen. Leah stayed where she was for a moment, watching you with a quiet intensity, before following you in.

As you began washing the dishes, the familiar motion of scrubbing and rinsing gave you a sense of peace. The water was warm, the rhythmic sound of the sponge against the plates grounding you.

The song changed, and Play Pretend by Alex Sampson started to play softly in the background. The gentle strumming of the guitar combined with the soothing lyrics, and before you knew it, you found yourself softly singing along. You weren’t trying to, but the lyrics just slipped out, natural and effortless. It wasn’t loud—just a quiet hum as you moved around the kitchen, more focused on the task at hand than on the words coming out of your mouth.

What you didn’t notice was Leah watching you, her expression softening as she listened. The vulnerability in your voice caught her off guard. You hadn’t even meant for her to hear it, but she did—and something about it made her heart skip a beat.

Leah remained silent, the tension building between you two without a single word spoken. Her eyes never left you. Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile, but there was something else there too—something more intense, more determined.

The song played on, and as you finished washing the last dish, Leah slowly got up. She moved toward you with purpose, stepping quietly so you wouldn’t notice until she was right behind you.

You didn’t have time to react before she gently took the dish from your hands and set it aside. You froze, her body so close to yours now that you could feel the warmth radiating off her. Leah’s fingers gently cupped your face, her touch surprisingly tender as she turned you toward her.

For a moment, everything went still. Her breath was warm against your skin, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver through your body.

“Can I?” Leah asked, her voice low, almost hesitant, but the sincerity in her tone was unmistakable.

You nodded without thinking, your heart racing as you stared up at her. The space between you two was so small now, the air thick with anticipation. Without another word, Leah leaned in.

Her lips brushed against yours softly at first, testing, as if she were waiting for you to pull back. When you didn’t, she deepened the kiss, her hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss was slow, deliberate, each movement filled with a quiet urgency. You could feel her breath, warm and steady, against your lips as she kissed you again—deeper this time, with more confidence.

Her hands moved to your back, fingers splaying across the fabric of your shirt as if she wanted to pull you even closer, to feel you pressed against her more fully. The kiss was sweet at first, but the longer it lasted, the more the tension between you two built. You felt the weight of it, the spark that had been there all night, now igniting with every second.

Leah’s lips were soft but insistent, the kiss growing more passionate as you both gave in to it. For a moment, you forgot about everything else—the dishes, the music, the world outside. All that mattered was the way Leah held you, the way she kissed you with a hunger that had been building for far too long.

When the kiss finally broke, both of you were left breathless. Leah’s forehead rested against yours, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath.

Her voice was quiet, but you heard the smile in her words. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you simply smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. You couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had felt so right.

The music played softly in the background, but it felt like nothing could interrupt the quiet, lingering moment between the two of you.

You had no idea what came next, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

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hymless · 3 months ago

Text

I can finally release the updated versions! It has been transferred to my new FREE MF Convo ONLY Patreon!

Credit still goes to every original owner! Links below!

All Items have:

BGC

LODS

Custom Thumbnails

Male Frame/ T-E / Occult Enabled

Disallowed for RDM

-Credits & Orig. Mesh Links Below Cut-

DOWNLOAD: SFS / Patreon (ALL have been UPDATED)

-UPDATE NOTES:

ALL Necklaces / Choker have been updated once again. In my game, they lagged really bad while in use. I discovered it was due to the wrong vertex paint color I added. That has now been fixed for ALL items.

Everything has a new Index Number, so they now be grouped together closer to the bottom now

Every Necklace / Choker has now been doubled checked to no longer have breast / nose bridge / nose tip weights

Alien V2 (Misc) should actually show up in game you have both V1 & V2 files

Audascious (Valorous) rings shouldn't drag down now. (I'm sorry for whatever weights I put on that)

Antik (Dainty) has been edited & should NO LONGER clip with the metal tri's

Dawn (Dainty) & Royal Bow Necklace (Dainty) / Bone & Fish Bone (Misc) no longer follow chest weights

-Credits v

EVERYTHING belongs to the original owners! Mesh/Textures. ALL OF IT! EVERYTHING! Got IT?

Set 1 Whimsical:

Hyperion Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Velvet Leaves Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Crystal Moon Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Weightless Necklace by 1-800-Cuupid

Aurora Necklace V1 by BlahBerry Pancake

Aurora Necklace V2 by BlahBerry Pancake

Night Owl Necklace by BlahBerry Pancake

Nocturnal Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Bow Choker by SMSims

Set 2 Desire:

Lust Naughty Necklaceby SMSims

Fehu Choker by SMSims (NSFW)

Ishild Choker by SMSims

Daddy Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Set 3 Lace:

RuffleChoker by BlahBerry Pancake

RibbonChoker by BlahBerry Pancake

InfernalChoker by BlahBerry Pancake

LacedChoker by BlahBerry Pancake

Vintage (Collar) by BlahBerry Pancake

Vintage (Choker) by BlahBerry Pancake

Raveled Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Set 4 Adore:

Gummy Choker by SMSims

Heart Choker by SMSims

Dawn Necklace by SMSims

Holo Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Triple Love Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Peace and Love by BlahBerry Pancake

Gummi Chain by 1-800-Cuupid

Heart Games Necklaceby 1-800-Cuupid

Set 5 Valorous:

Go Bang! Choker by 1-800-CUUPID

AnastasiaChoker by BlahBerry Pancake

Audacious Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Roseanne Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Heartly Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Thorned Heart Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Dead Unicorn by BlahBerry Pancake

Lovett Necklace by BlahBerry Pancake

Division Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Hades Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Clawed Heart Chain Choker by Feyona

Bat Choker by SMSims

Set 6 Dainty:

Pure Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Antik Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Cutie Ribbon Choker by WisteriaSims

Missy Pearls Choker by WisteriaSims

Royal Core Choker by SMSims

Royal Core Bow Necklace by SMSims

Cecily Choker by SMSims

Flower Choker by Enriques4

Satin Necklace by SMSims (NSFW)

Set 7 Vue:

Crossed Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Witchy by BlahBerry Pancake

Violet Choker by SMSims

David Choker by Enriques4

Krimson Choker by 1-800-CUUPID

Set 8 Misc:

Alien Choker by BlahBerry Pancake

Bone Necklace by BlahBerry Pancake

FishBone Necklace by BlahBerry Pancake

Prism Fantasy Glowstick Necklace by 1-800-Cuupid

Olive Safety Pin Necklace by SMSims (NSFW)

Faith Mistletoe Necklace by SMSims

Ty again to all the CC CREATORS! EVERYTHING belongs to YOU!

#The Advets #ts4 cc #ts4 cc download #ts4 custom content

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lovegalor333 · 7 months ago

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lord please save her for me

paige bueckers x fem oc

story info • chapter one

hi bbys! thank you for the love on chapter one, part of me wishes i never started this lmao maybe its my ocd but i hate it already but im gonna keep going but i think ill just stick to one shots once im finished with this 🤓

chapter two:

this is why leni didn’t drink often. the pounding head, dry throat, intense nausea and violent shakes were not worth it. the girl had decided that her day was going to consist of rotting on the couch. she was already wrapped in her fluffiest blanket and had netflix playing in the background. riley had left a few moments ago to go to work and leni was glad of it. she felt guilty about kissing paige last night but not guilty enough to stop fantasising about it.

paige clouded her dreams last night. coming to leni in her sleep like some sort of devine sign. she dreamed of what life was like before when paige was a constant in her life. she woke up in bed alone and cold and questioning everything.

it took leni a long time to even look at another girl after paige. but when riley asked her to go for coffee one day all leni could see was her blonde hair and light eyes. if she couldn’t have paige, she would settle for riley and that’s what she did. riley was a nice girl and treated leni well but she would never be paige and deep down, leni knew that all she was doing was filling a void.

there was short knock at lenis apartment door and she considered not answering it because she was too comfortable but she imagined it would be riley, having forgotten something or the other. wrapping the blanket around herself like a cape, she trudged to the front door and opened it without looking through the peep hole.

“paige?” leni was caught off guard seeing the basketball player at her door. hair tied into a low messy bun, grey beanie pulled over her head. she was wearing what paige always wore, sweats and a uconn huskies tee. the silver cross chain that leni was oh so familiar with, hung delicately around her neck. but something leni wasn’t familiar with was the rectangle, clear framed glasses that were perched on the bridge of paiges nose. they were new and it made leni feel something she couldn’t quite place. sadness because it showed change in paiges life that leni had no idea about? attraction because the girl in front of her looked hot as hell with her new accessory? whatever it was, leni had been thinking about it for too long and not heard what paige had said.

“so…” paige trailed off waiting for an answer to her question that had fallen on deaf ears. “sorry- what did you say? actually, what are you doing here? how do you know where i live?” leni asks a series of questions as reality hits and she realises what is going on. paige is at her apartment.

PAIGE is at HER APARTMENT.

“i said can i come in?” paige repeats herself for lenis benefit but she doesn’t wait for an answer before stepping inside. paige looks around lenis apartment, taking in the foreign view. she notices small accents that make it obvious this is where leni lives. the photobooth pictures tacked to the wall, the string lights adorning the window frame, the copious amounts of potted plants dotted around, the place was leni all over.

leni looked different from last night, obviously, but that didn’t bother paige. she always thought the tanned skin girl looked pretty in her natural state. tossled curls, makeup free skin, comfy clothes. lenis beauty had no limit and paige wished she had told her that more often.

“i didn’t actually say yes.” leni mumbles but closes the front door anyway. “how do you know where i live?” after the fallout from her and paige, leni applied to transfer accommodation and her request was granted. in her head, a new space signified a fresh start. somewhere paige hadn’t infiltrated…until this very moment. “it wasn’t easy. money was involved.” paige tells her with a nod of her head. “you paid someone to tell you where i live? that’s the kind of thing that gets someone branded as a creep.” leni says starting to feel awkward, stood in the entrance way, still wrapped in her blanket, curly hair a mess from the night before and her embarrassingly juvenile bunny slippers on her feet.

“i thought it was romantic.” leni rolls her eyes, “paige, please. i can’t have a repeat of last night. i can’t go over all this again. last night was a mistake. we were both drunk and i meant what i said. we need to go back to not knowing each other. it’s-” lenis words were rushed and messy and her heart pounded as she spoke. her body was having an adverse reaction to what she was saying. morally last night was a mistake but for someone who always lead with her heart, it wasn’t.

“i ended it with camilla.” what?

“what?” lenis brain felt like it was turning to mush. from the hangover mainly but also because of what paige had just said.

“i ended it with-“ paige begins to repeat herself but leni cuts her off.

“yeah. i heard what you said. but why would you do that paige?”

“because of you len. for you.” leni shook her head which only intensified her headache, “paige you make me laugh. not because you’re comedically funny but because you’re insane funny. you broke up with your girlfriend for me?”

“yes i broke up with her because of you. not that it matters, but we’ve only been together a few weeks. it was never going to work out. me and her, we didn’t fit. not the way you and I fit, len.” paige gestured between the them and leni understood because she felt the same about riley. both girls were searching for each other in different people. it was an impossible task because to paige no one could compare to leni and to leni no one could compare to paige.

“why now paige? why after all this time?” leni mutters, vlice soft and sweet.

“last night. seeing you. speaking to you. kissing you. i know that all means something. and you think i didn’t try? you blocked my number and my instagram and my snapchat and my tiktok, you even blocked my student email for goodness sake! real mature by the way. you moved apartments. you did everything you could to avoid me. i had given up hope and then last night…”

“last night i was drunk! do you really hate me so much that you can’t stand to see me happy? you just have to throw a spanner in the works?”

“hate? HATE?! leni you are so far off it’s ridiculous. and are you happy? are you really? because you’re doing all this shit that isn’t you. going to parties, getting drunk, you don’t have your nails done and you took your nose piercing out.” leni almost always had her nails done, the most elaborate sets too and her nose piercing was a part of her personality at this point so of course paige noticed when both were absent.

“just because i’ve changed doesn’t mean im not happy.” leni scoffed, taking steps further into the apartment. the close proximity of her and paige was beginning to get to her. she could smell her cologne, vanilla and woody. it was nostalgic.

“don’t give me that bullshit, leni. i know you more than you’d like to admit. tell me you’re genuinely happy. just say the words and i’ll let go. i’ll let you go.” paige had matched lenis steps and was just as close to her, if not closer than she was when they were by the door.

like last night, leni couldn’t say it. leni couldn’t tell paige she was happy because she wasn’t. she was comfortable. she had settled for riley. it was secure and consistent and she was content but she wasn’t happy.

lenis silence only encouraged paiges actions. paige knew if she was happy she would say it- hell, she would scream it. leni was a scorpio and a true one at that. she loved passionately and intensely and she wanted the whole world to know. if she really loved riley and was really happy, paige would have to accept that but that just wasn’t the case.

paiges movements were calculated. soft and gentle, a stark comparison to lenis rushed and needy ones last night. she cupped the shorter girls face, taking a moment to study her perfect features without the the influence of alcohol. her eyes were such a deep shade of brown, almost black. paige truly believed leni could move mountains with a single blink. her lips were naturally plump, with an exaggerated cupids bow that made them so enticing paige felt dread just at the thought of never having them pressed against her own again. her brows were carved into the most precise arches and when she glanced up at paige her lashes were long enough to reach her brow bone. to paige, leni had the type of beauty that the greeks would have carved into marble.

paige traced over lenis lips with her thumb and lenis eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, “paige…don’t.” she breathed out but she didn’t do anything to stop paige leaning down and kissing her. she didn’t pull away, she didn’t refuse to open her mouth to allow paiges tongue to slid in, in fact, she moved her own tongue in accordance. she moved her head to the side to allow paige a better angle. she dropped her blanket and let paige to guide her backwards by her waist, not breaking the kiss. and when her legs hit the back of the couch and paige laid her down, she opened her legs just enough for paige to insert herself inbetween them.

when paige reached for the waistband of lenis pyjama shorts she made a point of looking in her eyes, waiting for the go ahead. leni nodded, in a haze of need and yearning for the girl leaning over her, everything else disappeared. riley. the hurt paige had caused. the months of healing. it all washed away in a wave of pure love. lust. love? lust.

“say what you want, len.” paige needed to hear words.

“fuck me, paige...please.”

thank u for reading baddies! as always let me know if u wanna be added to the tag list 💋

tag list: @unadulteratedcyclepaper @heart4caitlin @jadasogay @avvwritesstufff @bueckersp

story info • chapter one

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #wcbb #wlw #lovegalor333 #lgbtq #fanfic #paige bueckers fanfiction #lord please save her for me #lpshfm #sophs works 🪽

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short-honey-badger · 8 months ago

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Oasis

Pairings: Crocodile x Female Reader

Minishot Masterlist

“Twirl for me, love,” Crocodile rumbles from where he lounges in the private changing room. He had wanted to take a break from busy work and decided that the best way to do that would be to take you out for a little shopping spree. There was always some kind of event going on where you would need a new outfit.

You do it with a grin, spinning around on the small platform you stand on and watch the green gown you're wearing flare out around you in delicate waves. The heels you wear are golden, matching nicely with the dress and the delicate chain that hangs around your neck, a small bananagator charm resting against your chest. Crocodile hums, purple eyes half lidded as he watches you have your fun.

You are his break from the world, his oasis from dealing with the World Government and his duties as a Warlord. His shining jewel in a sea full of sand.

Crocodile stands and lopes forward, transferring his cigar to rest between his fingers and sliding his hook under your chin. You beam up at him, and he leans in to press a kiss to your lips. You kiss him back, small hands sliding around his neck and into his hair as you pull him closer. When he breaks the kiss, you tiptoe to grace him with a sweet peck and a soft grin.

The warlord smirks back with a huff before he settles back down in his chair, crossing his leg over his knee, “Next one, Doll.”

#reader insert #one piece #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile #crocodile

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 22 days ago

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Just Wrap Me Up in Chains (Chapter 1)

Masterlist

Pairing: Daniel Pine x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical John Wick Universe Violence; Allusions to illness; SPOILERS FOR BALLERINA

Summary: Uncle Winston relocated you from The Continental New York for your own safety. At your new location, you cross paths with a little girl. Her presence is a mystery. Almost as big of a mystery as Daniel Pine in room 315.

A/N below the cut! Cause—SPOILERS.

Thank you for your brain @shadowcitrine 🩵

A/N: Fell in love with these two characters: Daniel and Ella Pine. Had to write them. So—notes! No real Daniel in this chapter but we’ll get to him in the next one. I took some liberties with Ella’s age. I found that the original script had her as 6 years old. That may have changed but that’s what I ran with. There aren’t a ton of spoilers in this chapter but there are spoilers. I’m doing my best with John Wick universe lore. I’m definitely no expert but this is fun. I’ll update this if I can remember other things I need to say.

“That going to 315?” You asked, circling the cart. The banana split that was nearly spilling over the silver plated boat was impressive. An extra bowl of cherries sat next to it. There was no whipped cream. That was a pity. It was the best part, in your opinion. “Guy sure does like ice cream.”

“He orders food too.” Tobias shrugged. “Lots of it. He just—orders ice cream more.”

You nodded, stepping out of the way as the cart squeaked into motion, one wheel wobbling in a way most people wouldn’t notice. You noticed. Of course you did. You were trained to see things that others didn’t, down to the finest detail where the hotel was concerned. You were raised to be aware. Your Uncle Winston saw to it.

He wasn’t really your uncle. He was your godfather. When your parents were taken from you at such an early age, you were brought up within the walls of The Continental New York. Over the years, you had watched the best of the best partake in the unique services offered. The weapons, medical, and ‘dinner reservations’. You had also seen it house the worst of the worst.

Winston had protected you without directly shielding you. You were an integral part of the hotel’s functionality. Your jobs were important, but mundane, giving you the appearance of just another staff member. He couldn’t let you be seen as anyone important to him. He had too many enemies to show that sort of attachment. It would have certainly spelled disaster for you.

It was for that reason that you had been sent away when bad blood had bloomed between Winston and John Wick. The Baba Yaga. Not that John—Jonathan, as Winston had called him—couldn’t find you with ease if he saw fit. Winston had to make you seem expendable. Inconsequential. Nothing more to him than an employee transfer.

Prague wasn’t bad. It wasn’t great. The Continental ran under the same rules. The same expectations. Only the manager knew of your true ties to the New York hotel and had pledged you’d be looked after.

Just as it had been back home, you worked as the head of housekeeping. Most of your work was managerial, so a short flowy black dress and lightweight cropped blazer were sufficient in lieu of a standard hotel uniform. It was your duty to oversee that the elegant rooms remained on the level of reputably unimpaired—not one speck of dust, nor a single bead of blood. Crisp sheets, fully stocked minibars, and the plushest towels were your weapons in the Underworld.

Most of the patrons welcomed your staff, eager to be pampered and catered to during their stay. But not 315. Not Daniel Pine, as the occupancy list had indicated his name to be. He allowed no one in his suite. And he never left. Not once in just over a week. Sheets, towels, food, toiletries, and other amenities authorized by The Manager were left outside the room. Furthermore, the door never opened while anyone remained in the hallway.

Never.

It certainly wasn’t the oddest behavior you��d witnessed given the surroundings of your profession. So, it was with a shrug that you carried on about your own business and left Mr. Pine to his.

That was, until the Dvorak brothers incident. Three rooms left in shambles. Two employees killed and several others injured, leaving the hotel shorthanded until The Manager could pull off a miracle.

“There is no one else.” Dominik pushed the cart towards you, a wheel trundling up onto the toe of your impractical stiletto.

“Ow! Why can’t you do it?” You asked, fingers wrapping around the curved handle. You already knew the answer. Dominik was security. It had been a miracle for the kitchen staff to convince him to lay hands on that cart at all. Sensing the futility of questioning, you waved a hand and begrudgingly wheeled the thing towards the service elevator.

The ascension to the third floor was silent, the audio system still inoperative since yesterday’s incident. Somehow, it seemed to compound the strange feeling that was stirring in your gut. Anxiety, maybe? You felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, wondering if you’d catch a glimpse of Krampus.

The doors parted and you found the first corridor empty. Unsurprising for that time of evening. The patrons were likely out seeking their next bounty or hiding behind closed doors to ensure their own bounty wasn’t collected.

There was a reason no business was permitted to be conducted on Continental grounds. After all, the hotel was open to the public. Certain floors, like the one you currently navigated, were used by members of the Underworld. As were a number of the lounges. Even if only one side was aware, the two worlds coexisted without much of a problem. Most of the time.

Regardless, that hardly mattered when you were delivering a room service ice cream medley to a dangerous assassin with an apparently massive sweet tooth.

You positioned the cart just so outside the door, ensuring it could be pulled through the entryway without an issue. Knocking firmly, you called out “room service” before pivoting on a heel to return towards the elevator. As you walked, you pulled your access badge from the inner pocket of your blazer. With your usual grace, you fumbled the card, cursing in a whisper when it tumbled onto the floor with a soft sound just before you rounded the corner. Rolling your eyes at your own carelessness, you turned and crouched as ladylike as you could to retrieve your keycard when you heard the click of the lock disengage just down the hall.

You blinked. Once. Twice. An arm was extending from the door, a large hand wrapping around the handle of the cart. The ring he wore was dark against his tan skin and clinked lightly against the metal. But that wasn’t what held your attention. It was the small girl standing just inside the door. Her eyes mirrored your own, wide and curious. Stunned. Neither of you looked away, even as the door closed.

Who was she? Why was she there? There was no record of a kid being on that floor and it wasn’t ‘bring your child to work day’ in the Underworld. Your first thought was to fear for her safety. She was in a room with a dangerous man, after all. However, she hadn’t appeared to be afraid. Just—surprised to see someone near the door.

There was a sound from down the hall. It wasn’t the lock, but something was happening inside the suite. Muted clicks and thumps before it all went quiet. You stayed put, still crouched with eyes narrowed and ears straining while building a myriad of scenarios by sound alone.

You finally heard the little girl giggling from the room followed by a scrape of a spoon on the porcelain bowl that had been provided. A man’s voice, distinct in its dark, rich timbre. Another giggle and then the faint but familiar tune of Under the Sea from The Little Mermaid. If the little girl was there against her will, she was being spoiled rotten.

Fetching your badge and rising to walk away, you told yourself to stay out of it. It was none of your business. Uncle Winston would have granted you a two hour lecture if he had even an inkling of knowledge that you were merely curious about the affairs of anyone wrapped up in the life of the Underworld.

But Uncle Winston wasn’t here.

So you had no problem volunteering to deliver the meals and ice cream the next day—after a trip into town for something that could hopefully go unnoticed by Mr. Pine but draw the eye of the little girl. If she was in trouble, it would be a message to inform her that she had been seen. If she wasn’t, then it was just a gift.

Beneath the serving dish of ice cream, barely noticeable, you left a sticker. A rolling pin with eyes and a smile that said you’re a-dough-rable. You weren’t sure if she could even read but the image was cute enough. After delivering the dessert, you waited downstairs, busying yourself with your duties. If Mr. Pine had noticed, he’d surely make a call to the desk. Or maybe he wouldn’t. There was no way to know for sure.

But when you collected the cart and dishes, the sticker was gone.

At dinnertime, there had been no contact. So you left another sticker: a teapot with a smile that said you’re a cu-tea. When the cart and dishes were returned this time, the sticker had been removed and the adhesive paper had been left behind. Smiling to yourself, you made a decision.

In trouble or not, this little girl was going to know she had a friend in The Continental.

You continued to hide stickers on the cart with each food delivery. One day, a smiley face born of red crayon had been left for you on a napkin. It was a small gesture but it was enough to ensure you knew your efforts were appreciated.

Things continued this way until today. You were walking by the concierge desk when you heard Josef speaking into the phone.

“Mr. Pine? Mr. Pine, are you there?” He appeared to wait, his expression unreadable.

You froze, keeping your eyes averted while straining to listen. The concierge hung up, only for the phone to ring again with the same outcome. Something was fishy. “What’s going on?” You queried, leaning on the opposite side of the desk. You strived to appear mostly uninvested, likely an endeavor you were desperately failing.

Josef sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Room 315 has called about seven times. There’s no response when I answer. I’m gonna have to send up a tech to check the phone lines.” When he picked up the receiver, you watched his fingers begin to dial an extension. Something was definitely off.

“Did he order food and ice cream today yet?” You asked, rounding the desk. Josef didn’t answer for a moment before roughly hanging up the phone.

“No one’s answering in maintenance.” Now he was pinching the bridge of his nose, frustration etched into every line of his face. “No. No orders today.”

Shit.

The phone rang and you snatched it up before Josef could even flinch. “Concierge desk.” You were met with silence. Licking your lips, you glanced at Josef before angling yourself away. “Mr. Pine, would you like your normal ice cream order?” No answer aside from quiet breaths on the other end of the line, too soft to be that of a grown man. Lowering your voice, dropping to a whisper, you added “I can send two stickers this time.”

“I need medicine to make daddy better.”

Your eyes shot wide. It was her. And Mr. Pine—was her father. You took a deep breath, risking a glance at Josef. He was watching you with a furrowed brow and curious stare. “I apologize for the inconvenience with the phone lines, Mr. Pine. Let me call you from my personal line and I’ll handle this issue myself.” You didn’t wait for a response before replacing the receiver on the base. “I think I know what the issue is. I’ll take care of it.”

“You sure? When did you get so tech savvy?” He chuckled, his tone teasing.

“Shut up. I dealt with these kinds of issues all the time in New York. I got it.” You shook your head and pulled out your cellphone. Running a finger down the occupancy list, you found the direct line to room 315 and swiftly dialed it. Playing it cool, you gave Josef a thumbs up and walked away, pressing your back to the wall around the corner. The call connected but there was no answer. “It’s me.” You said, your tone calm and hopefully soothing. Still nothing. “My name is Y/N. What’s yours?”

A beat passed. “Ella.”

“Hi, Ella. Thank you for the smiley face drawing.” When she didn’t respond, you continued. “Ella, can you tell me what you need?”

“Daddy’s sick.” Her voice was small, but remarkably even.

“Okay, what’s wrong with him?” You began walking toward the service elevator, pulling your badge from your inner pocket.

“He’s hot.” You could hear her moving around. “And he’s not waking up.” The rustling of the sheets. Then a barking cough.

Definitely not good.

“Okay, I’m coming up and we’ll figure something out together. Are you okay with that?”

Once again, there was an extended silence. “You can’t use the door.”

The elevator opened and you stepped inside, your finger hovering over the button. “Why can’t I?”

“It’s dangerous.”

Finally pressing the button, the elevator lurched as it began to ascend. “How can a door be dangerous?” It wasn’t the strangest thing you’d ever heard out of a kid’s mouth, but it was up there.

“It just is.” You could have laughed at the indignation in her tone. “And you can’t tell anyone daddy’s sick.”

This was just becoming more and more of a mystery. “Why’s that? We have a doctor here.” The silence stretched to the point where you thought she might have hung up. Lowering your phone from your ear, you glanced at the screen. Still connected.

“He says we can’t trust anyone.”

Narrowing your eyes, you stepped out of the elevator after the bell chimed. “Then why are you trusting me?”

“You gave me stickers.”

You did chuckle this time. “That’s not exactly sound logic, kid.” You reasoned as you traveled the halls toward room 315.

“I’m 6.”

Stopping outside the door, you balanced the phone against your shoulder and grasped the door handle with one hand while your other held the badge. You were seconds away from passing the card over the reader before you let go and stepped back. “Okay, then how am I supposed to get in if I can’t use the door?”

“I’ll open the window.” Ella stated matter-of-factly.

Your jaw fell open. “To the balcony?!” Her problem solving skills definitely needed work if this was her solution. That or she needed to cut back on the cartoons.

“Mhm.” You could hear movement coming from inside the room. Another cough, a low groan. “Can you hurry?”

She wanted you to scale the ledge from the next room. What the actual fuck? Was this some sort of trick? Were you getting too close? So close that Mr. Pine was planning something and willing to use a little girl to do it? “I—”

“Please?” That word in her little voice shifted something inside you. Something you didn’t really like but couldn’t ignore. You thought back to those big eyes meeting yours from the doorway; the red smiley face napkin. If this was some ploy, this girl was a damn mastermind.

“I’m not Wonder Woman, kid.” You ran a hand over your hair, trying to reconcile what she was asking with the urgency of the situation.

“You have to be careful.” It was as if she hadn’t heard your last words at all. Like she knew you had already made up your mind to help.

“Well, yeah. It’s a balcony. On the third floor.”

“No. Not that.” Ella whispered as if someone might overhear. “Sometimes there are bad people outside.”

“You mean—” Of course she meant snipers. You wouldn’t be surprised if some had just taken up permanent residence on the roofs of nearby buildings. Probably even split the electric bill with the owners.

“Please hurry.” Her voice had begun to wobble. It was when you heard the quiet it’s okay, daddy that your resolve absolutely crumbled.

Jesus fuck, what were you getting yourself into? “Okay.” You sighed. “Okay, but I’m in heels. This might take a minute.”

#murda writes #daniel pine #daniel pine x reader #daniel pine fanfiction #ballerina 2025 #ballerina movie #ballerina #daniel pine spoilers #ballerina spoilers

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takingchences · 3 months ago

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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 𖤟 killer queen

Where Savanna Rios, the reigning queen of Beacon Hills High, learns that while she may be at the top of the social food chain, she's not the only predator prowling the halls.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x siren!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language, dark themes, death, blood/gore, attempted assault

series masterlist + other works

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Junior year was supposed to be a return to normalcy. After the tumultuous events of last year, Vanna was hoping that her remaining time at Beacon Hills High would be smooth sailing from here on out. She should've guessed that her peaceful summer was nothing more than the calm before the storm.

The new semester started with a bang. Literally.

The cheerleader entered her first period class, which happened to be Advanced English. She was surprised to see Scott McCall there, but then again, she didn't know the boy very well. The rest of the troublemakers were also present, the only two available seats near Stilinski and Greenberg. She chose the lesser of the two evils, sighing heavily as she dropped into the open chair behind Stiles. The sheriff's son turned in his seat to greet her. "Hey," he smiled.

"Hi." The ravenette responded without looking up from her phone. Just Danny asking if she going to Heather's party after tryouts were over. She declined, pointing out that she hadn't spoken to the girl in years. The blonde had transferred to another school at the end of sixth grade. Crashing her birthday party didn't seem like the best idea. The drama that would ensue wasn't worth the free booze.

"How was your summer?" Stiles had an elbow on her desk to prop his head against.

"Alright." She set her phone down on the desk. "I spent most of the break on the beach." Despite living in the small town of Beacon Hills for half of her life, San Diego would always be her true home. She visited as often as she could, going swimming and hanging out with her old friends from cheer camp. Her mother refused to return to the city, but kept their old beachfront house for old times' sake. This year's trip had been extra fun because Danny had tagged along. He'd unfortunately had to cut the vacation short for a week of Coach Finstock's mandatory lacrosse boot camp.

"Right, yeah. Danny mentioned going surfing." He scratched his temple nervously. "Well, you didn't miss much. It was actually pretty boring around here."

She shook her head with a wry smile. "Beacon Hills? Boring? I doubt it."

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a number of ringtones. Vanna flipped her phone over as Stiles dug his out of his pocket. There was a new text from an unknown number. A dark-haired woman walked into the classroom holding her phone up as she quoted Heart of Darkness. Savanna crossed her arms, her mocha-colored eyes narrowed into slits as she observed the woman. She introduced herself to the class as Jennifer Blake, their new teacher.

The lesson had hardly begun before Scott was pulled out of class. The rest of them were quietly taking notes when Stiles noticed a bandage on Lydia's ankle. "Lydia-"

"Do you mind?" Vanna glared at him from beneath her lashes, her glitter pen poised above her journal.

"Sorry." Stiles glanced back at the cheerleader before leaning over to get Lydia's attention, making sure to keep his voice down. Savanna tried to ignore them and pay attention to the board as Stiles grilled the redhead about her dog. "Has it ever bitten you before?" Lydia thought about it before shaking her head. "Okay," Stiles shifted in his seat. "What if it's the same thing as the deer? You know, like how animals start acting weird before an earthquake or something?"

The redhead arched a brow. "Meaning what? That there's gonna be an earthquake?"

"Or something." Stiles insisted, sensing that she wasn't fully convinced. "I just... maybe it means something's coming. Something bad."

Lydia looked dubious. "It was a deer and a dog," she shrugged. "What's that thing you say about threes? Once, twice-" A loud bang on the window caught everyone's attention. Vanna dropped her pen when she saw blood splattered on the glass. Ms. Blake moved towards the window to investigate. The panicked cries of the bird made the cheerleader shift uncomfortably.

The cries grew louder and more frantic as hundreds of crows flew towards them, their black bodies blocking out the sky. Their teacher jumped back as a second bird crashed into the glass, then another and another until the cracked surface finally gave way. Dozens of birds forced their way into the classroom, causing a full-on panic. The students ducked, throwing their arms over their heads for protection against the sharp beaks and talons. "Get down!" Ms. Blake screamed.

The squawking, combined with the screams, was near deafening. The ravenette winced, pressing her palms against her ears to block out the noise. Stiles shoved Lydia's desk aside and moved to duck underneath it when he noticed that Savanna hadn't moved. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were parted in a pained scream as she clutched the sides of her head. "Van!" He yelled over the noise, grabbing her forearms and pulling her down to the ground with him and Lydia.

"Van, come on!" He cradled her head with his arm, using his other to protect the redhead beside them. He laid his head on top of Vanna's, keeping her pressed against his chest as he tried his best to shield the girls with his body. Much the same as last year, she realized, when they'd been trapped inside the school with the Alpha... which she still hasn't received an explanation for now that she's thinking about it. Stiles had stuck by her side that whole night, consistently placing himself between her and the danger they faced. Even now, he didn't hesitate to prioritize her safety over his own.

He was warm and his lean frame felt surprisingly muscular as she and Lydia clutched onto him for dear life. His chest heaved up and down rapidly as he sucked in short breaths of air, shouting reassurances to both girls as he fought to be heard over the cacophony.

It felt like hours before the last bird crashed down onto the linoleum, lifeless. The students slowly peered out from their hiding spots. Blood and feathers covered every surface.

Savanna slowly peeled herself off of Stiles, her willowy frame trembling from the adrenaline. She stared at the carnage around them in dazed confusion, softly shaking her head. Everything felt hazy, like her mind was caught between sleep and consciousness. "Van," Stiles' voice sounded muffled despite his proximity. There was a sharp ringing in her ears, making it impossible to concentrate. "Van, hey, look at me." Stiles spoke louder, gently cradling her face and turning her to face him. "Shit."

"What?" Lydia leaned around him to look, her voice cracking.

"She's bleeding." Red rivulets ran down her neck from her hairline. He pushed the thick, black hair aside frantically, looking for any fresh cuts only to find nothing. More blood dribbled down the side of her neck. "Where does it hurt, V?" She squinted at him, softly shaking her head. His voice still sounded like he was underwater, but it wasn't as bad as before. Vanna slowly raised a hand to her ear, only to touch something warm and wet. When she pulled her hand away, her fingertips were stained crimson. Lydia and Stiles stared at her hand in shocked horror. "Van? Where does it hurt?"

"It doesn't." Her voice was soft, quiet. The opposite of her usual self.

Stiles urged her to go to the nurse to be checked out but Savanna refused. She grabbed her bag before going to the locker room and wiping the blood off the best she could with a wet paper towel. Her hearing was already back to normal, the momentary tinnitus thankfully gone. She could almost believe that the whole thing never happened... that is, if she ignored the dried blood on the collar of her letterman jacket.

Most of the students involved in the incident chose to leave early, but the Rios girl stayed. Cheer tryouts were scheduled to start right after school let out and as captain, she needed to be present. Danny stayed glued to her side for the rest of the day, constantly asking if she was okay. She had a sneaking suspicion that Stiles had run his mouth about her "injury."

Tryouts lasted for hours, with Vanna drilling routines into them as the sun sunk lower in the sky. Eventually, she called it a night, noticing their exhaustion. If she pushed them much further, then someone was bound to get hurt. The cheerleaders were dismissed and Vanna loaded her bags into the backseat of her car before checking her phone.

Stiles, Danny, Scott, Allison, and Lydia had all texted to check on her, with Stiles being the most persistent of them all. She secretly appreciated their concern, even though she vehemently denied being friends with most of them. She honestly didn't even know how Scott or Allison had her number.

Please text me so I know you're alive, was the last real text Stiles had sent, which was thirty minutes ago. He'd then proceeded to send her different emojis with zero context to the previous conversation every two minutes to bug her into responding faster.

She shot the boy a quick message telling him she was headed home and to stop blowing up her inbox before starting the car. Vanna turned into the preserve, taking her usual shortcut. The Rios home was in a secluded area of woods bear the lake on the edge of town. Her mother valued their privacy and wanted to enjoy the tranquility of the nature around them. The shortcut shaved about seventeen minutes off her commute.

The ravenette frowned as her car suddenly rolled to a stop. The lights of the dashboard died and her headlights flickered out, shrouding her in pitch black. She cranked the keys a couple times, waiting for the engine to roar back to life only for nothing to happen. Her car was still fairly new and was checked regularly. The gas tank was nowhere near empty, so she was stumped as to what the problem was. She grabbed her phone and left the car, turning on her flashlight. She popped the hood and held up the flashlight, looking for something out of place. Everything looked fine, which only confused her further.

Savanna jumped, her phone slipping out of her hand as the car radio blasted to life, filling the quiet air with eerie chanting in a foreign language. The headlights suddenly turning on momentarily blinded her, forcing her to shield her eyes. "What the hell?" She grabbed the hood of the car and closed it. There was a rustle of leaves and a cool rush of air behind her before she was struck in the back of the head.

The cheerleader cried out, her upper body crashing against the front of the vehicle. She slid down until she was on her knees, her head throbbing. A thick cord wrapped around her neck and squeezed, cutting off her air supply. She gasped, clutching her neck. She scratched at the gloved hands gripping the cord, clawing at her attacker's hands and arms as her body thrashed wildly. She tried to scream, but it was nothing more than a strangled whimper.

A cool press of metal against her neck was the last thing she remembered before her entire world went dark.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

A rusty red truck slowed down as the headlights caught a figure walking robotically along the side of the road. The driver checked the time, noting that it was after midnight. From the back he could see that it was a slim girl with long legs and straight black hair wearing a maroon cheer uniform."Hey, sweetheart," He whistled, rolling his window down and banging his hand on the side of the door to gain her attention. "You lost?"

The girl ignored him, continuing to walk forward mindlessly. Mud and dirt stained her clothes and golden brown skin, while leaves and twigs were tangled throughout her long hair.

The man glanced around, not seeing anyone else nearby. He couldn't even tell where she'd come from. There wasn't a building or an abandoned car anywhere nearby that he'd seen. "Come on, doll. Why don't you let me take you home?" He trailed after her slowly in his truck. "A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be left out here all alone."

The girl stopped, still facing away from him.

The truck crawled towards her still figure, the man's confidence growing. He pulled over and parked, leaning over to open the passenger door for her. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. He hadn't yet caught a glimpse of her face in the dark, her features indistinguishable in the dim light. His truck was old, the dashboard lights shot to Hell. The man pressed down on the gas, propelling them forward through the light fog forming.

He reached over and ran a calloused hand over the skin of her exposed thigh, squeezing the flesh beneath the hem of her cheer skirt. She felt cool to the touch despite the reasonably warm weather out. "Didn't your mamma ever teach you not to get into cars with strangers, little girl?" he cooed. The cheerleader remained silent, motionless. He grabbed her hand and pulled it over the armrest, forcing her to palm the growing bulge over his jeans. He leaned over to sniff her hair with a low groan, biting his lip before chuckling darkly. "I hope you aren't this quiet in bed. I wanna hear you scream."

She turned her head to face him just as they passed under a flickering streetlight. The man cursed, flinching back. "Holy fuck!" He stomped on the brakes.

The teenager looked like she'd just crawled out of a grave. She sported a deep laceration spanning the width of her throat. Her hairline was matted with blood as fresh crimson liquid wept from her neck wound, coating the lower half of her neck and staining the top of her uniform. Dirt and dried blood was smeared across her face... but it was her eyes that unnerved him the most.

The pupils and irises were gone, leaving only milky white orbs. The way her ghostly eyes bore into him reminded him of a predator observing its prey. Her mouth curled into an eerie smile, her teeth glinting in the moonlight. They were stained red and looked unusually sharp.

He scrambled backwards in his seat so violently that his back crashed against his door. He fumbled for the handle, nearly tumbling backwards to the ground as he finally wrestled the door open.

He bolted for the trees, dialing 911 with shaky hands. "Hello? I-please! Help me. There's-" he shouted in surprise as the undead girl appeared in front of him. Her small, icy hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed, sharp talons digging into his flesh. He dropped the phone to grab her wrist as she lifted him off the ground.

She cocked her head, as if observing him. He screamed in agony as her sharp, pearly white teeth ripped into his flesh.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

The police cruiser parked behind the abandoned truck on the side of the road. Officer Tara Graeme stepped out, taking in the scene. The engine was still running, soft country music spilling out from the the driver's window that was rolled down. The stuffing was poking out of a few holes in the stained seats. Rust-colored smears could be seen on the passenger side door handle.

They'd traced a call to the emergency line to this area. An unidentified man had called, babbling hysterically before the line disconnected... but not before they'd heard bloodcurdling screams and animalistic growls. The officer circled the vehicle cautiously, spotting a prone figure slumped in the passenger seat.

Tara yanked the door open, reaching out to feel for a pulse when the girl's eyes suddenly shot open. Her expression was completely blank, her dark eyes empty as she looked straight through the officer. She was covered in blood from head to toe, some parts dried and flaky while most of it appeared to be relatively fresh. There was no outward reaction from the girl as Tara radioed for an ambulance. There was also no sign of the man that had placed the call, but the amount of blood at the scene told the officer that there likely wasn't much left of him to find.

Officer Graeme had a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach, remembering all of the vicious animal attacks that had plagued their quiet little town last year.

"Unidentified female, Hispanic, approximately 16 to 17 years old." She placed her free hand on the gaping neck wound and applied pressure. "The victim appears to have severe lacerations to the face and throat, as well as multiple contusions to the face and head." Tara spoke quickly and calmly, not wanting to frighten the traumatized girl further. "Honey, can you tell me your name? What happened here?" Savanna didn't acknowledge her presence whatsoever, continuing to stare through her blankly. The only indication that she was still alive was the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

"Hang in there, sweetheart." She said in a soothing voice, both hands now on the girl's throat to prevent her from bleeding out. "You're gonna be just fine."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Scott and Stiles arrived at school none the wiser of the events that had transpired earlier that morning. They met up with their friends and Derek before class to discuss what was happening with the local animals.

The pale boy frowned when he spotted Vanna's vacant seat in English. He made a mental note to text her later and see how she was doing after yesterday's reenactment of Hitchcock's The Birds. Lydia glanced at the empty seat as well, remembering how she'd screamed herself awake last night. She snuck a peek at her phone while Ms. Blake read from the textbook.

No response. It was normal for Vanna to ignore or respond late to messages from anyone that wasn't Danny or her mother. She tried to tell herself that she was being silly and that there was nothing to worry about. But after cornering the lacrosse goalie during lunch, the redhead learned that he hadn't heard from their friend since yesterday also, which caused Lydia's anxiety to skyrocket.

The black-haired beauty momentarily slipped her mind after Lydia unintentionally drove to the public pool and found the mutilated body of a lifeguard later that night. Stiles was the first number she dialed after 911, which he did not appreciate. After giving her statement to the police, Stiles drove her home, not wanting her to be behind the wheel in her current state. She had her hand on the door, ready to jump out, only to hesitate. "Have you talked to Vanny today?"

"No," the hazel-eyed boy frowned. "Not since last night. Why?"

"I felt..." Lydia shook her head, her eyes burning with tears. The knot in her stomach grew heavier, making it difficult to breathe. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Lydia?"

She slammed the door shut, cutting him off. Stiles watched her head inside with a look of confusion. He backed out of the driveway, contemplating driving over to the Rios house, when he received a call from Melissa McCall. The nurse asked him to come to the hospital before quickly hanging up.

He pulled up to the hospital doors within ten minutes and went inside. Due to the late hour, not many people were around. He made a bee-line for the front desk, where the dark haired woman was flipping through papers. "Hey."

"Hey," she rounded the desk and grabbed his arm. "Over here," Melissa spoke in a hushed voice, as though she was worried someone might overhear. She led him down a hallway, smiling tightly at one of her coworkers as they walked by. They stopped outside the morgue as she swiped her keycard. "If you tell anyone I showed you this, I swear to God I will kill you slowly and painfully."

Stiles wasn't remotely fazed by the death threat. "Why do you want to show me a body I've already seen?"

"Because you haven't seen everything." Melissa pulled on a pair of medical gloves and pulled back the white sheet covering the body of the lifeguard. She pointed at one of his wounds. "See this around his neck?" Stiles leaned in to get a closer look. "That's a ligature mark—that means he was strangled with something, like a cord or rope."

"Okay, wait a second," Stiles held up a hand. "What kind of werewolf strangles someone? You know, that's not very..." he struggled for a better adjective before settling on, "werewolf-y."

The woman nodded. "My thoughts exactly." She rounded the table to stand by the man's head. "Then there's this," she lifted his head to show Stiles his fractured skull. The boy gagged, pressing the back of his hand to his nose and mouth. "God, man, what is that? Is that brain matter? Yeah, it's brain matter. Of course."

The McCall matriarch, ever the professional, didn't so much as flinch at the gory sight. "See the indentation?" She continued, tracing the outline of the wound with her finger. "He was hit in the back of the head hard enough to kill him." This peaked the boy's interest. His disgust was overridden by his curiosity, drawing him back over to the body. "In fact, any one of these could've killed him. I mean, somebody seriously wanted this poor kid dead."

Stiles licked his lips. "All right, so this couldn't have been Cora or Boyd, you know? They wouldn't have done all that."

"You're right," Melissa nodded, moving on to another body. "Because two girls were brought in with the exact same injuries. The first two victims were attacked just after midnight last night, which means they were attacked-"

"Before the full moon." Stiles finished

Melissa nodded and waved him over to the second body, pulling the sheet aside. "This is victim #2. The ME said this one wasn't just strangled. Whoever did it used a garrote, which is a stick that you put through the rope and you just kind of keep twisting."

Stiles stared at the dead blonde in shock, his eyes welling with tears. "Stiles?" The nurse asked, worried. "God, did you know her?" Stiles only nodded, wiping under his eyes quickly. Melissa rushed to cover the girl back up. "I'm so sorry. I didn't even think."

"I was... I was at her party." He struggled to get the words out around the sudden lump in his throat. "It was her birthday. Her name is Heather."

The brown-haired woman sighed. "Okay, we need to call your father because you're a witness." Stiles stumbled back, his hazel eyes flittering back and forth as his mind raced. "Stiles?"

He gasped, as if he'd just come to a huge realization. "You said there were two girls that were brought in, right?" Melissa agreed. He ran his hands through his hair as he paced in a small circle. "Okay, the first victim. Where is she?"

"The third floor."

He stopped pacing to gape at her. "She's alive?"

The pair took the elevator up to see the sole survivor, with Stiles bouncing on the balls of his feet as his mind raced with the possibility that these weren't random killings, but something far more sinister. He squeezed through the elevator doors before they were even fully open, Melissa rushing to keep up as he practically jogged down the hallway. "They brought her in around one in the morning. The officer on the scene originally ruled it as an animal attack, but no animal did this. I saw her chart. Cerebral contusions, throat slit, and bruising consistent with being strangled." She counted on her fingers. "The same injuries as the other two."

"It's a pattern," Stiles whispered to himself, shaking his hands at his side anxiously. He turned to face the woman with a manic look in his eyes. "Has anyone else been through here tonight? Any other bodies or even anybody missing?"

"Uh, no. No bodies, but, um..."

"What?" Stiles asked, growing impatient.

"Two girls," Melissa explained. "They brought the first one, Caitlin, in for a tox screen and then I overheard that her girlfriend, Emily, just disappeared." The woman shrugged. "I mean, they were out in the woods, and-"

Stiles' mind continued to work overtime, piecing together the information like a jigsaw puzzle. "Nobody's found her yet?"

Melissa shook her head helplessly. "I don't know."

They came to stop, just a few feet away from where a uniformed officer stood guard outside the victim's room. "Okay, the girl...?"

"Caitlin."

"Is she here? Is she here right now?"

"I-I think so?"

"Okay, where? I need to talk to her next."

"Okay, wait. Just wait a minute." The woman held her hands up in timeout, preventing an annoyed Stiles from forcing his way into the guarded hospital room. "Please."

He groaned, throwing his hands towards the closed door. "I have to talk to her."

"And why's that?"

"Because I think I know what's happening." He left her, quickly approaching the police officer stationed in front of the door. "Hey, Wayne."

"Stiles," the old cop greeted back, looking mildly amused. "Visiting hours ended a while ago. Does the boss know you're here?"

"No, and I'd prefer to keep it that way if you don't mind." Stiles pat the older man's shoulders, trying to slip around him but Wayne's massive build completely blocked the doorframe.

"I don't think so, bud. Why don't you head on home and come back tomorrow?"

Melissa nudged the teen out of the way with a strained smile. "Hi. Nurse here," she pointed at her name badge. "I just came by to change her bandages for the night." Wayne nodded, stepping aside. She thanked him, turning the knob, only to be stopped when Stiles tried to follow her inside.

"Stiles-" the guard started, holding up a hand.

"It's okay," he insisted. "I just want to talk-"

"Stiles."

The boy sighed, recognizing the voice as his father's. He turned around slowly, his face pinched in annoyance. Noah approached the group with his hands on his hips. "What are you doing here? It's a school night."

"I, uh... just stopped by to say hi to Melissa here." The sheriff crossed his arms as the teen faced Melissa. "So... hi," he trailed off awkwardly, scratching his temple as the two parents simultaneously rolled their eyes.

Noah glanced between his son and the door before a look of understanding passed over his features. "You heard, huh?"

The boy's face scrunched up in confusion, exchanging a look of surprise with the McCall matriarch. "Uh, yes?"

Noah sighed tiredly. "Look, kid. She's not in the best shape right now, but seeing a familiar face might do some good... maybe help her open up so she can give us an idea of what happened last night. I'll give you five minutes with her, but only if Melissa thinks she can handle it." He held his hand up palm out towards the younger Stilinski. "I don't want to upset her in her condition. Five minutes, Stiles. Capiche?"

Stiles nodded eagerly, his curiosity growing. "Yeah, yeah. Got it. Ten minutes."

"Stiles."

The teenager hovered closely behind Melissa as she gently knocked on the door, pushing it open. The room was dim, a bedside lamp in the corner the only source of light other than the tiny bulbs on the machines. The steady beep of her heart monitor was the only sound. "Savanna, honey? Are you awake? You have a visitor."

Stiles froze in place, feeling like he'd just been drenched in ice water. "Wait... Savanna?"

#teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #hell is a teenage girl #lydia martin #allison argent #scott mccall #melissa mccall #beacon hills #stiles x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski #noah stilinski

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caesariawritesstuff · 4 months ago

Note

🌹💔 6 and 9 for Killer Croc from the "𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪…" 𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨!!!

Like a Monster

Summary: Waylon wants to tell you something, but he can't get it out.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: I hope you enjoy this! I've never written much for Croc before, so this was definitely a first, but I had fun writing it!

Waylon Jones was not the kind of man who often had eyes for someone else.

Or, well, a man at all, really. Not anymore. It had been a long time since he’d looked any kind of normal at all. In fact, he could hardly remember what normal looked like. When he saw himself in the mirror, all he caught was the monster staring back at him: yellow eyes like a reptiles, his green and scaly skin, a massive body several times the size of any normal humans. Razor sharp teeth that could bite a man’s head off, tear flesh from bone, protruded from his mouth, the taste of blood and skin often lingering in his mouth.

Or, at least, it usually would.

But today, something was different. Today, Waylon had cleaned himself up. He’d picked the flesh from his teeth, using shards of bone to do so. He’d scrubbed at his scaly skin in an attempt to wash away any sewer water and grime, making sure it didn’t look so dull. There was only so much a Croc like him could do to make himself look presentable, and this was all he could manage, considering he was still stuck here in Arkham – this wretched hell hole of a place he could barely call a home. He longed to be back in the sewers, gliding through the free water as it waded across his skin. Anywhere but to be around those that laughed at him, ridiculed him, made him feel like he was less than…but there was one person who hadn’t made him feel that way – and that was you.

As soon as you’d been transferred as his new doctor in Arkham, he’d believed you’d be just like all the others: frightened away by his looks. He’d even tried to scare you away, just to make a point, to reiterate the fact that no one would ever see him for more than his outer skin. But you’d stood firm, standing your ground against him, and there’d been something about the look in your eyes – so fierce, so full of determination, that captivated him beyond words. But sitting across from you know, he found he couldn’t even speak. His wrists were bound in heavy chains, resting against the metal table before him. Words died on his tongue, and his eyes cast downwards at the table.

“Something wrong, Waylon?” you asked him. “You’re awfully quiet today.”

“No, nothing,” he said quickly, his voice rough in his mouth. He could barely even look at you today. For the last week, he’d been trying to gain the courage to talk to you – to tell you how he felt. To let you know just how much these sessions, months and months of sessions, had meant to him. The way you looked at him, how you’d reach across the table and gently touch his arm, your fingertips soft in contrast the roughness of his scaly skin.

You would assure him with kind words and gentle touches, looking at him with eyes as bright as stars in the sky. You made his heart leap into his throat and his insides squirm and tense with a strange warmth that he had not felt in a long, long time. He yearned for you to touch him now, for your gentle, soft fingers to graze his skin – but nothing happened. Your hands remained folded on your lap, the white lab coat of yours enveloping you, one of your legs crossed over the other. You gazed at him with a curious look in your eyes.

“Are you sure?” you asked him.

“I’m fine,” he said again, a little rougher this time – but he immediately regretted it when you eyes narrowed, and your brows furrowed with that concerned look he’d come to know so well. Regret pulsed through his veins, and he reached up, scratching at the back of his collar.

How was he supposed to tell you how he felt? How was he supposed to let you know that he was desperate for your touch – for something more? For the warmth you provided, for the gentleness in your gaze, for you not to look at him like…

Like he was a monster.

So many people looked at him that way. You were one of the very few who didn’t.

Waylon opened his mouth. “I—” he started. Shut his mouth. Swallowed the thick lump in his throat. The words died on his tongue, hanging there. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing. He hadn’t done this in such a long time – and certainly not with someone as pretty as you.

“It’s okay,” you said. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He nodded solemnly, and opened his mouth again. “I—” he began again, but nothing came out. He bit down on his tongue, cutting himself off.

What if you laughed at him? What if you told him this was highly inappropriate? What if you jumped up in fear and ran out of this room like so many others did? What if you told him he was disgusting creature, an animal who belonged in a cage? He’d heard those words before, but each time, they stung just as much. He knew what he was. He knew what he’d become. He knew how he looked to others – but that had been for so long, and he was used to it by now.

Everyone else could look at him like an animal, as long as you didn’t see him that way.

He opened his mouth again. “I want you to know something,” he started.

“Oh?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, and he caught a whiff of your sweet perfume radiating off your smooth skin. The smell made him tremble with delight.

But just as quickly, the words he wanted to say faded away once again. He leaned away from you, a rush of embarrassed anger running through his veins. He was a fool, an idiot. This was never going to work – he was only going to scare you away.

“I’m hungry,” was all he said instead.

That made you laugh, and the sound was like music to his ears. Shaking your head, you continued on with the session. But the entire time, he kept himself quieter than usual, all he wanted to say lingering in the back of his mind. And when the session was over, you walked him to the door and saw him out as he was escorted by guards. But with each step back to his lair, back to that lonely place he called home…he couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if he’d had the courage to tell you the truth.

And if he did, would you still consider him a monster at all?

#caesariawrites #waylon jones #killer croc #arkham killer croc #waylon jones x reader #waylon jones x you #waylon jones x y/n #killer croc x reader #killer croc x you #killer croc x y/n

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thisisallthehattersfault · 9 months ago

Text

The newspaper — the South Sea Gazette, apparently — is so old it practically crumbles under Ace’s fingers, the paper yellow and powdery with age, the edges disintegrating into nothing from however many years of being picked up and handled. The headline reads: Maniac Schoolteacher Slaughters Classroom. The photo on the front page shows a small schoolhouse, showing signs of wear and hodge-podge repair, like the town it belonged to couldn’t afford it’s upkeep but did their best anyway. The stairs leading up to the front door are bloody, and there’s more blood streaked across the windows from the inside. One small hand can be seen poking out the edge of the doorway, flopped limp across the floor. A group of Marines drag the “Maniac Schoolteacher” away from the scene of the crime in chains while he flails and struggles.

It… It’s Jiru. A very young Jiru, he can’t be any older than, god, maybe his early twenties? If that? He looks like he’s barely Ace’s age in this photo, and his face—

It’s not the face of a maniac who just went on a bloody rampage and murdered a bunch of kids. His hands and clothes are streaked with blood, but not nearly enough to account for the carnage implied behind him, and his face is wet with tears. The look in his eyes is one of such gut-wrenching despair that Ace has to tear his eyes away. The rest of the article is just — bullshit, Ace is sure, and the letters are dancing around and he doesn’t want to read it anyway so he doesn’t bother trying to make them quit goofing off and get back where they go. He just… stares blankly instead at where his hands are digging into the paper, crumbling it more under his grip.

“Ah,” Jiru says. “I should’ve put that away.”

Ace startles, whirls around. The fourteenth division Commander is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and shoulders slumped, eyeing Ace with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry,” Ace says, scrambling to put the paper back where he found it. “I’m — sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. I was coming to see you about watch rotations. Pops said you’re in charge of that?”

“That I am.” Jiru enters his room. Ace has to scramble out of his way when he walks to the desk, lifting the newspaper up delicately — not like he’s handling something precious, but like he’s handling something that disgusts him. Or, maybe, something that bites. Something that hurts to touch. “The transfers from the Moby 3 haven’t been added to the Watch Rotation yet, and won’t be until we know how long repairs will take. That’s not why you were taken off the night watch. You were taken off of the night watch for your narcolepsy, and Tate scares me, so you’re not going back on the night watch unless there’s an emergency.”

“But—”

“No buts. She will stab me with needles.”

That’s… probably true. Ace still scowls at the unfairness of it all. He focuses on that — on the absolute crime that is all these damn people caring about his health and his wellbeing and his safety — so that he doesn’t have to focus on the paper while Jiru carefully slides it into an empty drawer and then locks that drawer shut. The key gets hung up on a hook by his desk, where it’s immediately covered by the fabric of the cloak that’s also hanging there.

“… You can ask,” Jiru says, after a moment. “It’s not a secret.”

Ace startles again, tears his eyes away from the closed drawer. Jiru’s face is still unreadable, but he doesn’t look angry, really. Ace bites his lip.

“What… happened?”

Jiru snorts. “Not did you do it?”

Ace snarls, “You didn’t do it.”

Now Jiru smiles. It’s a really shitty, awful, sad little smile, and Ace kind of hates it. “No,” he confirms. “I didn’t do it.”

He walks to his bed. Takes a seat. Scrubs a hand over his face. “… You ever hear that rumor about Gold Roger having a kid?”

Ace goes very, very still.

Jiru must see his reaction, but he must misunderstand it, because his smile grows — not sad anymore, but bitter and hurting and furious. “Yeah. Wasn’t ever anything but a rumor, mind you. Stories and gossip. The Marines didn’t have any leads, didn’t have any proof. Didn’t have anything but ‘somewhere in the South Blue’ and ‘somewhere between the ages of eight years old and literally an unborn fetus’.”

Here he chokes a laugh, flicks his fez off to scrub a hand over his shaved head. Takes a slow, shaking breath, and then another one. “… It wasn’t my kids,” he says. “Every one of them had fathers known and accounted for. It wasn’t any of my kids. But, hey, what’s logic in the face of justice?”

From somewhere far away, Ace is aware of the sensation of his own tongue, clicking dry against the back of his throat. His own voice, echoing down a distant tunnel. “If — if one of them was Roger’s son?” He hears himself ask. “What would you have done?”

Jiru looks at him for a moment, considering. Scratches over his head again. “Aw, hell, Ace, I dunno,” he says finally. “I’d like to say I would have scooped the kid up and ran for it, but… back then…” That fucking smile, all bitterness and regret. Ace really does hate that smile.

“Back then,” Jiru says, “I just wasn’t fast enough.”

#One Piece #Portgas D. Ace #Portgas D Ace #Fire Fist Ace #Speed Jiru #Whitebeard Pirates #rubs my angst-loving hands all over your undeveloped side characters #hippity hoppity your backstory is now my property

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