#i learned to bake bread for her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months

Note

i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((

Banner picture credit: @661ave

possession

noun

the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Word count: 7 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint. A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)

He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.

And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none.

He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.

He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any.

Family, or friends, that is.

When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?

It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute.

There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need?

Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir.

She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…

And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.

She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven.

He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?

He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago.

It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus.

He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy.

When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away.

It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home.

Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard.

It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.

His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.

It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube.

Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.

He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her?

And god, how he would fuck her…

Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…

He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob.

He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.

"Scheisse–"

He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.

She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.

He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.

…

She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.

She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of.

Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.

Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things?

But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.

He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.

With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all.

There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.

What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?

He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.

He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job.

The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.

Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.

So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up.

She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…

She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.

"I got you something... Merry Christmas."

"Aw… You shouldn't have…"

She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.

"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.

He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb.

Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for…

"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically.

Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present.

Well, shit. Fuck.

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."

"That’s nice to hear."

"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."

He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.

"You already got me Christmas decorations."

"Yeah, but… You paid for them."

"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"

He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.

"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways.

"I truly did."

She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.

"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying.

"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."

She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.

"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."

"...What does that mean?"

"It means 'Happy New Year'."

"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"

Shit.

Shit…

"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."

She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.

"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.

"Something naughty."

Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too.

"Really…?"

"Yes."

"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."

Playful, naughty, dirty.

She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.

Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening?

"I want to lick your pussy."

There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.

"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"

"Ja."

It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.

Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress.

With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.

When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.

"Go ahead then," she whispers.

He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.

She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.

It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips.

Mein.

Mein…

He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.

Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.

And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.

He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin.

"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"

He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries.

To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.

"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"

She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams.

The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin.

Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined.

Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.

And he's only about to fuck her…

"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.

"Oh–oh god…"

Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds.

"Wait–"

"I will fuck you now."

"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"

She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for.

"Hm. I don't have any."

"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child...

But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.

Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...?

How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?

She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft.

"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.

She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go.

"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"

"I am."

He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.

And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.

He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.

"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."

Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove.

"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"

It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.

"Ok…"

"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"

"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"

The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.

"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.

"O‐oh…?"

"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."

"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"

If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness.

"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."

He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had.

He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely.

"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"

"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"

Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.

He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog.

"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"

He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck.

She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.

"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"

She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.

"Will you stay? For the night…?"

His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content.

"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”

She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity.

She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.

“I'm sorry..."

"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.

For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.

He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…

She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.

She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.

He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.

It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.

The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women.

When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.

"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."

There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.

And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.

"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"

She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…

"Liebling... Me too."

"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."

"Oh I fear a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like… flying, for example."

"But you fly all the time?"

"Exactly."

She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…

"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."

She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.

If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one.

"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"

"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"

"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."

She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in.

He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.

What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs.

This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him.

"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.

"...What?"

He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.

"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.

"What do you mean.”

She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.

"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."

He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.

"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."

Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.

So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…

And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy.

But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…

"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"

"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."

"Well, neither am I."

He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.

"No one is."

"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes.

"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."

"Liebling…"

"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"

"Of course."

She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets.

He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his.

Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…

And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise.

He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.

But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.

"Are you still afraid?"

He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness.

"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #yandere könig #tw: dark content #könig smut

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gutsby · 6 months

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Grow a Uterus and We'll Talk

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluff, an absurd amount of baby rabies, and fluff. Don’t blame me if y’all get pregnant.

“You lay one finger on me and I’ll bite it off, Dixon.”

You’d done the same damn dance once a month, every month for the past two years, and you were starting to grow annoyed with your boyfriend’s advances.

“Would it really be tha’ bad if we tried it out…just once?” Daryl huffed.

“I don’t know,” you answered, shrugging, “Grow a uterus and we’ll talk.”

The archer playfully lunged at you from across the couch, but you easily side-stepped and took residence at the far end of the room. You reached for a stiletto to throw at his head if he came any closer.

“Still on the baby business, huh?” Carol called as she strode past the living room toward the kitchen.

“Ya know we’d make some damn cute crotch goblins,” Daryl yelled back. You rolled your eyes.

“That isn’t for you to decide, Daryl,” Carol’s voice seemed to toughen, even give him a scolding look from a distance away, “And if you knock her up before she’s ready, I’ll string you up by your balls and feed you to the walkers.”

The woman did not fuck around—and you loved her for it. Presently, you stuck your tongue out at Daryl as if to say, ‘See? I told you so’ and the man simply scowled. Flopped down on the couch and propped his dirty boots up on the coffee table.

“‘Course I wouldn’t try if ye weren’t ready,” he grumbled, “Jus’ wanted you ta consider it.”

You joined him on the couch and nudged his feet off the table.

“Is that why you’ve been parading every baby in Alexandria in my face for the past six months? Hoping I’d ‘consider’ things a little more?” you quipped, raising both eyebrows.

Daryl paused a beat, seemed to chew on his thoughts for a moment or two. Then he offered you a sheepish grin and said,

“Rick and Michonne really need the free childcare.”

You were itching to grab that high heel again. Before you could, though, a sound thundered through your foyer and the front door was thrown open wide. In the blink of an eye, Rick had stumbled through your entryway, passed off his infant to Daryl like a sack of potatoes, and raced back to the door.

“Rick, what the fuck?!” you shouted before he could escape.

“Date night,” Rick answered in a ragged breath, gripping the door frame while he glanced over at Daryl.

Daryl smiled and held Judith to his chest like she might’ve been the most precious thing in the universe. You narrowed your eyes.

“He put you up to this?” you asked, tipping your chin in Daryl’s direction.

Rick didn’t hesitate; he said that he had. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Daryl shooting daggers at his friend. Promptly, Judith pawed at your boyfriend’s stubbled cheeks and babbled.

Sensing the tension in the air, Carol gathered her belongings and contemplated baking her bread elsewhere—or at least give you and Daryl some space to talk. She started toward the door,

“Walk a lady home?” she said to Rick.

Rick shot her a curious look but accepted anyway. Casting a sidelong glance to the man on the couch and the woman who was currently staring him down with an irate look in her eyes—you—he quickly surmised it was in his best interest to leave. Hopefully Judith was too young to catch on to any curse words that might be hurled in the next several minutes.

“Be good, you three,” Rick gave his parting words before following Carol outside. The door crashed shut behind them.

As soon as it had, you were back on your feet and traipsing out of the room.

“Come on,” Daryl whined.

He followed your steps into the kitchen with Judith still cradled in his arms. There was a pregnant pause as you rifled through your cabinets, wordlessly searching for some ingredients to bake whatever pastry it would take to get your mind off the discomfiture of this situation—you decided on muffins, at length.

It wasn’t like you hated babies. You loved their big bald heads and their pudgy, wobbling legs. You loved the way they giggled and smiled and dribbled food all over their fronts. You didn’t even mind the thought of pregnancy; carrying a pint-sized redneck in your belly for nine months wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.

It was the world that frightened you most. The thought of a newborn child’s slim chances at surviving a place like this. The fear of that alone was enough to have you fighting that dreadful outcome, tracking your cycle like a hound and fighting Daryl off every month when you knew that day was coming. You’d been pretty successful thus far. But by the looks of the man across the kitchen beaming down at the baby, you weren’t sure how long that winning streak would last.

“Wanna hold her?”

“No.”

“Wanna do her hair?”

“She hasn’t got any.”

Daryl shot you a look of mock indignation and stroked Judith’s head.

“You kiddin’? Little Ass Kicker’s gotta have at least fifteen strands by now,” he retorted, tugging at the short blond tufts as if to prove a point.

Judith smiled a toothless grin up at her Uncle Daryl. You all but had to leave the room to stifle the sounds of your reproductive organs screaming, 'Give that man a baby! NOW!' You clenched your stomach and turned away to start preparing the pans.

Daryl perched Judith on his lap and starting puffing out his cheeks. The infant shrieked with laughter. You assembled the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt together on the counter and sought after a bowl.

“Dada, Dada!” Judith chanted. Trying in earnest to say ‘Daryl’ but ending up sounding like she was calling him dad. You dropped the mixing bowl on the countertop with a clatter.

“Daryl, kiddo, Dar-yl,” your boyfriend tried to teach her, enunciating his name a couple more times.

“Dada!” the little tyke howled again as she fisted his shirt in her fingers.

Milk and oil and— eggs. Where are the eggs?

You tore through the fridge and wanted to sob into the shelves with the sheer force of delirium coursing through your veins. Damn you, Charles Darwin, I am not in a place to be procreating right now.

You tried turning your mind to other things—cooking, crying, contemplating the course of human evolution—but when you turned back with the carton of eggs in hand, you almost sent the dozen of them crashing straight to the floor.

Daryl was pinching her chubby cheeks.

If you weren’t so violently inclined to breed a whole new gaggle of progeny with this man, you probably would’ve chucked an egg at his head.

You sighed as you dropped the last of your cooking supplies on the surface of the kitchen island. You planted your hands flat on the granite and stared shamelessly at the two of them. Daryl was feigning ignorance, tapping Judith’s tiny pink nose with the tip of his finger and watching her giggle. When he leaned down to kiss the top of her head, you spun around to kick the oven door shut and cut the appliance off, immediately.

“Alright, you win, you bastard,” you said in a huff.

Daryl looked up from his present occupation, eyeing you innocently.

“What do you mean, hon—”

You cut him short, raising a finger to halt his speech before starting toward the door.

“Shut up,” you muttered as you headed for the stairs, “Meet me up there in five.”

Daryl deposited Judith in her portable playard in a second’s time and went scrambling up those steps faster than he ever had before.

Silently, speedily, he thanked every one of his lucky stars and his best friend, Rick Grimes.

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fluff #fluff #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #daryl dixon one shot #twd imagine

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i-cant-sing · 8 months

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Okay okay, I have another idea-

Yandere dad Nanami x Nanami reader

I've made yall see the menace Fushiguro reader who we all love and adore, but let's talk about Nanami's daughter who is an absolute angel and polar opposite to Fushiguro reader.

Child reader is just the most well behaved kid, listens to her father always, and since Nanami is raising her, she's also going to be very good in her studies because papa Nanami is a very good teacher. I mean, reader is definitely on top of her class and has a whole wall dedicated to her awards and medals. She just has to show off her math skills when she plays cafe (because obv she's gonna be a baker who bakes fresh bread daily for Nanami to buy and make sandwiches) and uses Monopoly money.

And when I say reader is polite, that is the understatement of the history. She just cannot bear to offend anyone! She has to put "-san" with everyone's name and has to address them correctly. "Yuji-san! Megumi-San!" And "pervert-San!" Which is Gojo, because of course Nanami has told her to beware of him and only address him as "pervert-san".

"But my name's Gojo!" He tells you, but you're so distressed because dad told you to call the white haired man wearing a blindfold/glasses "pervert-san" and it'd be rude to address him as anything else!

And Nanami adores his kid so much. She's such a perfect child, never breaks rules (don't talk to strangers or Pervert san.) and is such a goody-goody. He is a present father, he makes time for you. The Jujutsu sorcerers can wait, the world can be saved by someone else, but he needs to attend your school play at all costs. And even when hes not around for the day, he has raised you to be a very responsible child- like you even go get the groceries on your own when dad is late! (Like that Japanese show in which they send kids to shop on their own)

But of course, there are times when he needs to be away for longer periods, so he needs to hire a babysitter. His top choices: Shoko(although hes a little hesitant since you have a morbid curiosity learning and Shoko would happily let you accompany her to the morgue), Yuta, Maki, Megumi + Yuji + Nobara.

Who is NEVER allowed to babysit you? Gojo.

Gojo babysits anyway. (He fr steals you from Megumi trio)

And Nanami just comes home to Gojo and reader eating takeout and he's just like "Y/n, how could you let Pervert san in your home and eat with him?" And reader's just on the brink of tears and is trying to defend herself "b-but you said to be polite to guests! And Pervert-san bought food for me. Wouldn't it be rude to not share it with him?" *reader's teary eyes* and then Gojo is like "you'd rather let your child starve? Can't you see how tiny she already is?!" *Gojo's teary eyes* and Nanami pops a vein "it's not cute when you do it!"And then kicks Gojo out of the house.

Even though reader can dress herself up appropriately, she still has to have her hair done by Nanami, no matter what age. At some point, reader probably realises that it's something Nanami needs more than she does. It's a tradition, you think, but it's actually a coping mechanism for Nanami to deal with the fact that you're "growing up" and don't ask him to watch cartoons with you or read you bedtime stories anymore🥺

And Sukuna??? He takes one look at you and he's already decided he's gonna be mean to you, but then the more time you spend with him and Yuji, the more he realises.... its just not worth being mean to the only person who is so sweet to him and actually greets and talks to him like he's an individual person and not just a parasite inside Yuji's skin. Like reader just goes "Sukuna-san! I'm painting Yuji-san's nails but he can't pick a color. Will you help?" And he's like "Alright, fuck it I'm taking this brat with me when I comit mass murder. She's safe."

I feel like Nanami will allow reader to have a fairly normal childhood, so he keeps his yandere tendencies at a bay. It's when you start growing up and as he says "the others try to taint you with momentary pleasures" that his yandereness begins to show. Honestly, it's just more of his protective tendencies coming to light than anything else. He thinks people don't have your best interests in and sometimes he's right, but how else will you learn if you don't experience it?

Also, if you do end up having cursed energy and the ability to see curses, I think that's when Nanami starts spiralling down. He does not want you to become a Jujutsu sorcerer, he wants you far far away from the Jujutsu world completely. He can't- he can't allow what happened to Haibrara happen to you. He can't allow your innocence and naivety to be tainted by the horrendous world of curses. He'd rather risk you hating him forever as he locks you away than allow you to put your life at risk for others.

You are his priority. Your safety is his priority. You'll understand in due time why he did what he did, so while his heart does break hearing you cry and beg to be let out of your room, he doesn't regret putting you in there one bit.

Nanami sighs as he continues prepping your dinner. Guess he'll have to add some crushed sleeping pills so that you don't get sick from crying your bodyweight out (or more like he can't bear to see you in such a pitiful state.)

God save the poor souls who do end up kidnapping you.

#yandere nanami #yandere nanami kento #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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golisopod-mutual · 2 years

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The older I get, the more like my grandmother I become

#her house is really warm feeling decorated w rustic country vibes w lots of wood and its a bit small so it feels real warm #unlike those magazine photos of the same style that are all huge cabins sparsely decorated. no its small and brimming with knick knacks etc #and thats really my ideal home decor too. so im already like her in that way #and now I cross stitch (a grandmother's hobby) and I bake too #and I am trying to learn to can which REALLY reminds me of my grandma bc growing up she always had a pantry FULL of jams and preserves #and veggies etc that she made and canned herself #like drop me off in a cozy rustic home and let me bake bread for the rest of my life and I think i'd be happy

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charliemwrites · 4 months

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Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #asset soap #asset john soap mactavish #dub con #non con #rape

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sixosix · 6 months

Text

FOR YOU I WOULD FALL FROM GRACE | LYNEY

warnings blackmailing lol… AETHER PAIMON!!! 3.6k words!

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The bell chimes as the door of the flower shop swings open, and in comes strutting in Rosalie, all dazzling smiles and ostentatious jewelry. Even now, her brown locks are curled to perfection, framing her face beautifully. Even across her, you feel like you’re standing next to an Archon.

This time around, you don’t accidentally freeze the pot of flowers you’re holding from her bursting inside. But you might again tomorrow; Rosalie loves to test you.

Rosalie hums in approval. “Hm, very good, very good. Any customers today, ma chérie?”

“Just one. That guy really wanted to see you,” you reply, eyes fluttering shut as the woman ruffles your hair. You repress the urge to lean into it. “Was he the same guy you met in Café Lutece?”

Her face twists unpleasantly, haunted. “Oh, dear. Thank goodness I wasn’t here. Keep scaring him off.”

You bow your head. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Rosalie bent the law just to keep you, and you’re more than grateful for her generosity. In exchange, you pledged to work diligently for her. You knew that even your hardest efforts couldn't compare to the years of food and shelter she had provided, but this was the least you could do after she didn’t once hesitate to take you in when you confessed you were stranded and alone.

At first, you wanted to repay her by helping out in the kitchen, but you later find that your Vision isn’t the most perfect fit for it. Rosalie’s teeth could shatter from the amount of bread you’ve frozen at the slightest mistake. Your experience in battle doesn’t translate well in handling baking—the heat makes your actions rougher than intended. You get frustrated when you don’t get the results you want. You treat the kitchen like a battlefield. Your hands are too cold; they can’t handle the warm and hot temperatures well.

And the sight of fire… You don’t react to it nicely.

Rosalie suggested you help out in the flower shop. The thought of kneeling over for hours sounds like torture to the posture and grace you’ve perfected over the years, but you can’t quite be picky with under-the-table jobs and nice people who are willing to take care of an orphan who doesn’t know how to act like a normal child.

At least, with gardening, you’ve trained yourself to be more gentle with how you handle living beings. Your hands will always be calloused; they will always have the muscle memory of carrying weighty weapons and tossing them around like sticks—an immutable trait. But you’re trying.

Although Fontaine could never be the safest, it’s safer here. The Fatui don’t have reason to spy against a local flower shop; you’re away from prying eyes, and it isn’t too big of a change because this is still your home.

And you have been safe for years. Rosalie is nothing like The Knave. They have the same fierce protectiveness, but Rosalie is much warmer and open with her fondness, a stark difference from The Knave’s distance. You’re not quite sure how to act around either of them.

You try not to get yourself attached to Rosalie despite her endless hospitality. So long as you don’t reveal your past affiliations and the reason why your hands are rough and why your affections are clumsy, she wouldn’t throw you out. But if she ever does… those are what no attachments are for. You learned your lesson from last time.

“I’ll cook us dinner,” Rosalie sings, heading towards the back of the counter, where it’s connected to her house.

You return to your flower.

You were the one who planted it, and it pleases you to no end that it’s growing healthily. This is the first flower you managed to not— well, kill right off the bat. Or freeze right off the bat, really. The elemental power from your Vision is hard to control, and it certainly doesn’t help that you aren’t doing anything to do something about it, too afraid to even try.

The Lumidouce Bell. It means something about a desire to return. It speaks to you, but not because you long for it—gods no—but because you’ve seen it before. It was probably in a dream, or perhaps a vase back at home, maybe in the middle of the large dining table or in between the fingers of someone with lilac eyes.

The door lashes out once again, the familiar chime ringing in your ears. It had only been two hours since the last customer. Business is doing well today. In comes a floating pixie and a blond with a glow of gold. He’s furious.

“Paimon doesn’t know…” the pixie says, floating behind. “All she knows is that you don’t want to get involved with the Fatui but—” Your hands falter around the petals, “—they said their goals were different, right? What are we doing here again?”

“Paimon,” the blond sighs, and only then do you notice he’s holding a flower. It’s crushed and dried, but it’s supposed to resemble the pot of Lumidouce Bell by your side. “We can’t trust them just like that. We don’t know them.”

“Really…? You think so? Paimon doesn’t think they’re bad people.”

“They’re hiding a lot of things. I don’t want secrets—not anymore. Lyney and Lynette may seem harmless now, but once the time comes where our goals oppose each other’s—well.”

It’s been a while since you heard those names. A rush of nostalgia fills you. You hear about them in passing when your (rare) customers gush about their performances, or ladies passing by giggle about the charming young man in the center of the stage, but that’s about it. To think that these two know that they’re affiliated with the Fatui…

Who are they? They look so familiar, like you’ve seen them once and then never again. Were they sent here? What did they do to be involved with the Fatui? No ordinary person would casually indulge in a conversation about the Fatui like that. There is usually a lot more secretive whispers and cautious glances around the crowd.

“Paimon gets it now,” she says, but she doesn’t look too happy with it. It seems she’s really fond of the twins—which you know all too well.

“Besides,” Aether pats her head, then hands her the flower, wondering out loud, “We don’t even know what this flower means.”

As if following a poorly-written script, both pairs of eyes direct to yours. Like they were expecting you to listen in just for that. At your stunned silence, they wait patiently.

“Um—yes. Lumidouce Bells often mean separation or the wish for reunion,” you recite like a good florist, recalling the words straight from the textbook. “Would you like a copy of a book about Fontaine’s Floral Language, sir?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “No thanks. Was just curious.”

The pixie nods her head, studying the flower in her hand. “Yeah! For all we know, this could’ve been some secret code! Apparently not. But wish for reunion…? Paimon heard Lyney only uses that flower. Does he know about its meaning?”

That name again. It seems that their main topic this afternoon is the twins. You want to crawl out of your skin and bury yourself in the soil. You thought you had moved on, but just hearing about him feels as if listening to strangers talk about a friend you’ve lost—not too far off from the truth. The guilt has not left you since; who were you kidding?

“He probably doesn’t mean anything by it,” the boy murmurs. “I mean—I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them. Is Lyney truly a magician? Is Lyney even his name?”

“Snezhevich,” you murmur out of instinct. Son of snow. You’re surprised that you even remember; it’s been years since you tasted the word on your tongue.

The blond hair and the floating pixie are staring right at you, the man slamming an arm on the counter desk and the little one moving her hands to her hips. “How do you know that?” he asks.

You pale. “I—excuse me?”

“I heard it,” he says. “Those surnames… They’re for the orphans in the House. How do you know that?”

Your heart pounds. You want to ask him the same question, but then, upon closer inspection, you realize why they’re familiar. They’re the Traveler and his travel companion, posted all over magazines. You’ve used one of those papers as placemats for dirty work involving soil, catching glimpses of their faces. The Outlander, the hero, Aether, having come all the way from Mondstadt—of course he knows about the Fatui; he has probably gotten himself involved more than you have.

“Don’t think about lying,” Aether warns at your silence.

Weakly, you say, “Is—is it not… in their introductions?”

“No.” And, well, honestly, that was a stupid cover, so you should’ve expected that. They’re only for the orphans, and he’s right. Even when he’s not a local, he seems to know his facts. Locals are getting smarter, dammit.

“Lyney told me,” is what you decide on after a split-second of contemplation. Aether isn’t giving you enough time to come up with a lie here.

“Told you?” Aether narrows his eyes, studying your face. “Why would he tell you about that? He hasn’t even told me. Are you two close?”

Paimon gasps before you can comment about how Aether sounded like an insecure boyfriend. “Is it…like that?”

You blink at her, lost. “What? Like what?”

At Aether’s conspiratorial expression, your eyes dart between the two of them warily. “What are you two on about?”

“Are you and Lyney romantically involved?”

Romantically involved. You think back to all those sidelong glances and allusive remarks. Lyney was definitely and monumentally involved in your life, but romantically? Even the word feels forbidden. Not once have you thought about romance throughout your entire experience as a child under the protection of the House.

Your face feels like lava, and their crowded attention has you feeling even more embarrassed. “How could you even come up with that? Mortifying! You’re both wrong!”

“What else would it be? You seem to know him well.” Then, much to your embarrassment, Aether adds, “And you’re not bad-looking.”

Is the Outlander calling you pretty enough for Lyney to date you? Right now? Just thinking about the implications has your mind screeching to a halt. “No! I was an orphan there!”

“Ah,” Aether grins widely, “I knew it.”

“Gods,” you mutter, burning. Of course he already figured it out. But was that really necessary? “Is this how you interrogate everyone? Embarrassing them to death?”

Aether shrugs. “If it works, it works.” At whatever expression you must be making, he adds, “And I was just kidding about the romantically involved thing. I mean, unless you aren’t denying it. By the look on your face—”

“Enough. Just spit it out. What do you want?” You’ve gotten awfully rusty with dealing with people. Then again, you were rarely sent out on missions in the first place, so this blame is not for you to take. You curse out The Knave’s name and then feel terrible about it.

“What are you even doing here, huh? Undercover?” Paimon sneers. She fails to look even slightly intimidating. “Do you own this shop?”

“No. I work here.”

“Does your boss know about the whole Fatui thing?” Aether asks. You stare at him warily. If he dares to harm Rosalie, you won’t hesitate to fight dirty. “That seems like a no. If you cooperate with me, I won’t tell whoever is taking care of you.”

“You’re blackmailing me.” You laugh dryly. “I guess I can never run from my past for too long; I just didn’t think I’d be blackmailed by the Outlander himself to face it.”

Aether has at least the decency to look a bit guilty.

“Why do you want to know about the twins so bad?”

Aether’s shoulders hike up to his ears just a little. “Lyney and Lynette… they’re very dependent on each other, aren’t they? The Fatui are not good people—they’re powerful ones, too, and getting involved with power like that while you have your family,” Aether’s expression does something complicated, “It never ends well.”

“You’re blackmailing me into helping the twins out?”

“I’m not trying to— Listen, I just need to know if they’re hiding something else from me. Something that tells me that I shouldn’t be trusting them, then we’ll decide if I’m helping them out or not.”

…Something else? “They already told you a lot, haven’t they? You just have trust issues, hero.”

“It’s perfectly reasonable to have trust issues as a hero.”

Aether inches closer. Your hand twitches by your side, instincts screaming at you to pull out your weapon and flee; the man before you is danger, but you don’t.

Aether hums at your wariness. “And you talk like you know them well. Do you have something you want to say to me, retired Fatuus?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I used to be an orphan in the House of the Hearth,” you say, not wavering with how he holds your gaze. This is no lie; you have no reason to falter. “But that’s not my life anymore. For all I know, they’ve completely changed goals.”

Aether’s shoulder sags because he knows you’re right. There wouldn’t be a way for you to know if the House is still operating with the same objective. If he’d really believe the words of a former Fatuus is a completely different story, however.

Aether sighs. “…It’s not right to call me a hero in this situation.”

“Oh?”

“I’m doing this for selfish reasons.”

Aether hesitates. Does he think you know nothing about selfishness? You ran from the House that took care of you because of your cowardice. You’re plenty familiar with selfishness.

“Mhm,” Paimon nods, “the Traveler wants to know if they’re hiding something about his sister.”

“Paimon,” Aether admonishes, then wilts.

“Oh no!” The fairy’s face pales, her hands coming up to her mouth. “Was Paimon not supposed to say it right away?”

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. You can see it in the lines between Aether’s brows, his tense shoulders, and his sharp glare to the floor. “You already blurted it anyway.”

“Your sister,” you repeat, conjuring an image of a girl with the same gold as Aether, the same hardheaded determination. What is it with you and getting into trouble with brothers? “I’ve never heard anything about your sister during my time there.”

Aether shrugs. “That doesn’t surprise me. I only arrived here not too long ago, and from what I’m getting, you were already out of the orphanage.”

“So you think Lyney knows something?”

“I know The Knave knows something.”

How strange. Aether’s certainty that their ‘Father’ would confide in them everything, imply that Lyney is privy to information that only the Harbingers would keep to themselves.

You had this same thought before: Lyney, someday Harbinger, someday who would take Arlecchino’s throne. Now, you feel empty thinking about it. It used to fill you with so much rage before.

You turn away from Aether so he won’t see your face. Your previous affiliation with the House shouldn’t matter anymore—you’ve long since abandoned that life. You shouldn’t care about what the upstanding hero would want with them.

You shouldn’t.

Yet you end up fearing what this Outlander will do if they find out the darker secrets of the House that the orphans have to task themselves with. It’s never the children’s fault. But as a hero in a storybook, they rarely have pity for the bad guys.

If Aether finds out anything remotely wrong, what would he do to them…?

You sigh heavily. “I’ll prove to you that you’re wrong about whatever you think of them.”

Aether smiles. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Rosalie comes out of the counter’s back door a few moments later, holding two plates of dinner. She stares blankly at your frozen figure and Aether’s slack posture.

She hands you the plates. “I’ll get two more.”

Rosalie disappears back into the kitchen, a bright smile on her face as she leaves the scene. There was a skip in her step, too.

You settle the plates down in front of Aether and Paimon. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Paimon gasps in delight.

When Rosalie comes back out, she’s fluttering all over the place, gushing over how adorable your new friends are. She then goes into a tangent about how she was right in telling you that you have a charming personality, and it was about time people realized that.

“Rosalie,” you murmur, steaming from the ears.

Rosalie laughs heartily. “Oh, you’re so cute. Do you kids have any plans tonight?”

Aether casts you a glance. “We’re going to watch Lyney the Magician’s show tonight if that’s alright.”

You breathe in deeply. Aether sure works fast. You haven’t even prepared yourself for the little chance you were going to be forced to face Lyney again. You expected it on much more personal, grudge-driven circumstances, with Lyney taking you in for The Knave to deal with.

Rosalie sips from her glass, turning to you. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to watch it, mon ange? I also would have taken you to watch Mr. Lyney.”

“They came over to give me their spare ticket,” you say before she can start thinking deeply about Lyney, but it doesn’t work.

“Ah, I see! Well, have fun.” She grins. “I’ve heard only good things about Mr. Lyney.”

You down the rest of your drink, wishing it was the strong taste of alcohol instead of the sugary sweet Fonta.

Rosalie gasps, hands on the table as she stands. “Oh! Let’s get you changed for tonight’s show! What if Mr. Lyney’s show picks you as a chosen participant? You have to make him and the audience fall in love with you, Y/N!”

“None of those are necessary,” you say, nearing a whine. It’s embarrassing to have her say that while Aether and Paimon are right in front.

“This is the first time you’re going out—let me please dress you up!” Sometimes, Rosalie acts more like a big sister than a mother.

Rosalie turns to Aether, already pushing you out of your chair. “Give us ten.”

Aether is smiling, looking as if holding in laughter. “Don’t worry. We aren’t going anywhere; we made a deal.”

After rummaging through closets and spilling dresses all over Rosalie’s bed, you're soon ushered out of the door. You witness Paimon's jaw dropping and Aether's eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Whoa…!” Paimon gasps.

“Please spare me from any more comments,” you say, face hot.

Your dress, while nothing as grand as the rest of richer Fontaine women, is still grander than your loose blouse from before. It flows all the way down and drapes gracefully down your legs in a deep shade that blends in seamlessly with those who walk past the busy streets of Fontaine.

Thankfully, they oblige. You can’t handle any more—too much have you a puddle on the spot, and in the most humiliating way possible. Rosalie bids you all farewell, telling Aether to bring you back home before ten.

“I don’t think you can be home before ten,” Aether mutters as he leads you outside.

You hide behind his figure, uneasy from the curious stares of the passersby. It could be because you’re walking next to the renowned Traveler, but a part of you thinks that they know who you are. For all you know, there could be wanted posters of your face, and you wouldn’t know because you don’t go outside.

Aether turns to you. “Can you move comfortably?”

“This corset is a little too tight.”

Aether takes your hand and leads you somewhere off to the side, away from any onlookers. Then, he moves behind you and helps with loosening the corset. You look off to the side and swear that you saw a figure dash past, as nimble as a cat, but that was probably nothing.

“Should we rip off the length, too?” Paimon asks.

“No!” you exclaim, startling the two. “No, it’s fine. This is not my dress. Are you going to make me fight Lyney?”

Aether shrugs. “If worse comes to worse.”

“I’m in heels.”

“If worse comes to worse,” Aether repeats, tying the ends in a neat little ribbon.

“I wasn’t aware that you would start blackmailing me this early on.”

Aether smiles grimly. “There are no warnings when it comes to that.”

You perform a twirl in the new adjustments, twisting around, finding it much more breathable than compared to when Rosalie treated it like her usual fitting.

“Good?” Aether asks.

“Good.”

The conversation doesn’t die down, but it’s much more stiff than before. Paimon tells you that she liked your muddy apron better, and you wish you could agree. But this is who you really are. Nothing genuine like the soil staining your washed-out apron and your hands, or the Lumidouce Bell by the counter you’ve watched grow, but a dress that doesn’t belong to you for a mission that you have to fulfill to save other people who wouldn’t even recognize what you’ve done.

The Opera Epiclese, though you’d never been, looks the same as all the stories you’ve heard about it. Filled with a lively audience, the atmosphere dimmed, and your breath held in anticipation as Aether led you to vacant seats. You sit on Paimon’s supposed seat.

You face Aether. “What now? What do you want me to do? Strut back into their lives and demand all their Fatui secrets as if I never left?” you whisper hastily as all the lights flicker off.

A spotlight centers on the stage.

Aether nestles into his seat. “Prove to me that I can trust them just as much as you do. Who knows, you might get something out of this, too.”

BEFORE YOU STOP READING!! LOOK AT ONCE AGAIN ANOTHER AMAZING FANART BY OUR FAVORITE akagi0021

scene of paimon's "whoa...!" and aether demanding "how do you know that?" !!!!!! 😭😭😭❤️❤️

sorry if my inherent attraction to aether came out a bit for some scenes here. the heart can’t help but want what it wants… and that includes what my fingers end up typing whenever aether is on the same docs LOL

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz @auranny

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 3 months

Text

hey so i finally wrote more witch au!

enjoy, friends!! though it's significantly shorter than the first part

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,004 | rated: T

Mama thinks that Steve’s had a love spell on him this whole time.

“Since when?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know, my dear, maybe since before you were even born.”

“What?! How?! I thought you said there was no such thing as love spells!” He knows that’s not true.

“There are none that are worth the pain.” she repeats, trying to placate him.

“Yeah, well.” Steve huffs, dropping his hands to his hips and heaving a sigh.

“But there are some that are rumored to be true love spells, soulmate spells.” She continues on when she sees the look on his face. “Rumored, Steven, only ever rumors.”

“Okay, so what do the rumors have to say about them?”

“Every spell like that I’ve ever heard of of this nature is specific to each caster.”

“So I’ve had this spell on me for possibly my whole life, and there’s no way to know anything about it or about the caster.”

“...I’m sorry, honey.”

“Maybe there are clues in the words you have.” Robin cuts in, reaching for the notepad and sliding it in front of her.

Steve huffs, “I need to know the whole thing; there’s definitely words missing.”

“Should you eat more bread?” Robin asks, already sliding the previously abandoned plate of bread towards him.

“You shouldn’t overwhelm yourself.” Mama says, pushing the plate back. “We don’t know if there’s a trigger to the spell, or if you and the caster’s paths will just cross one day, maybe they don’t even know they cast it.”

Steve blinks at her. “So I have a true love and they might not even want me?”

“No!” Robin belts out immediately.

“No, of course not,” Mama says, continuing on. “The one known thing about any spell like this is that they only work on those who are receptive to it.”

“So some weirdo can’t put you under their spell?”

“Yes, exactly Robin; Steve, whatever this is, whoever this was, they love you with all that they are. And you them.”

“I don’t even know who it is! How can I?”

Mama doesn’t have an answer besides saying “Your soul must know them already.”; Their conversation was over soon after that.

Steve spends the next couple days silent and brooding. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s what, marked to love someone he doesn’t even know? How’s that fair?

It could be any random person on the street that thought he was hot, some weird old guy or a lovesick middle schooler..He only just turned 25 the day before the bread incident, but he’s saddled with this huge unknown that isn’t going to get better any time soon?

Okay, apparently not just some weirdo according to Mama, but still. Un-fucking fair all the same.

He’s also pissed that he can’t give anyone all the baked goods he’s made within that time. Each and every one of them ending up with a sour aftertaste.

“Damn witch bullshit…” he grumbles to himself, only half serious, as he scrapes another batch of sour sugar cookies into the trash.

He’s salty, okay? Pun intended. If he hadn’t ever learned the truth about the powers over food his grandmother (and now him too, apparently) has, he could’ve just excused the batch after batch being off on bad butter, or old flour.. Something other than his mood being what’s ruining his cookies.

That’s what he’d done every other time something he’s made tasted off, now he knows it was him the whole time.

Mama comes in then, he doesn’t have to look up to know the look she’s giving him.

Steve leaves the bowl of leftover dough on the counter, mumbles out a “I gotta go.”, then tromps out the back door and into the woods behind his grandparents’ home.

He supposes it’s good that they live just outside the city, really, having the trees to escape under like this has helped him before, and he’s hoping will help him now.

Meandering through the underbrush, he strolls along until he reaches the small clearing he’d claimed for himself when he was what, 8? 9? Doesn’t matter. It’s his spot to get away from anything he needs to.

He sits down against the big oak at the edge of the clearing and tips his head back toward the sun filtering down on him through a gap in the canopy above him. He breathes in the fresh air, focuses on the warmth hitting his face, and just exists there for a while, slipping in and out of a soft snooze.

Suddenly, he’s shocked out of his dozing by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot.

If it were coming from behind him, he’d expect it’d be Robin coming to find him here, but it’s not. It’s coming from ahead of him across the clearing.

Steve stands and presses back into the trunk of the tree, wondering if there’s bears in these woods when a person stumbles through the tree line.

The man is thin, about Steve’s age if he were to guess, and covered in dirt, his light wash overalls and his boots are caked in it. His hair is long, pulled half-back away from his face and full of bracken from the forest.

He also seems to be in a daze, staring with dark eyes at Steve with an unfathomable expression.

It shifts soon after, though, warming into a watery smile. “I’ve come home to you.” he says, clear as day, then collapses onto the grass.

“Oh, shit!” Steve rushes forward, kneeling down beside the man and quickly checking him over for injuries.

Steve presses his fingers to the man's pulse confirm it's still there (it is) and there don’t seem to be any bruises or breaks in his limbs, so he goes to his head, feeling quickly under the tangles in his hair for any blood, any knots.

Nothing. There’s nothing apparently outwardly wrong with him.

“Hey, hey, wake up! You gotta stay with me, man.” he says, shaking him lightly.

The other man’s head lolls to the side and his eyes open a crack, his lips quirking up into a smile. “M’love…”

“What is your name?” Steve insists in a slow, clear voice.

Instead of answering, the man raises his hand slowly to cup Steve’s cheek. “...v’wait’d so long..” he slurs, then goes limp again, his hand dropping to his chest.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve gets his feet under him and gathers the man up into his arms in a bridal carry. His steps falter when he feels how light the man is in his arms, how much more thin he is than how he’d looked.

Steve adjusts his hold on him, making sure not to let his head hang backward over his forearm, and rushes back toward the house.

“Mama!” he shouts as soon as he clears the treeline into the yard.

She’s at the back sliding door as soon as he is. “Steve, honey, what—”

He pushes past her, hurrying to the spare room on the first floor with her on his heels. “I found him wandering the woods, I couldn’t just–I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Mama.”

She gestures him forward to the bed, “Put him there, on top the covers,”

He does, setting him down as if he’s made of glass.

As soon as the man is out of his arms, Mama takes his place. “Nothing seems broken, but he’s so light, he needs food, he needs water, should I call 911? I don’t even know his na—” he rambles on, not even realizing he’d started to pace until his grandma stops him in his tracks.

“Steve, listen to me.” she says, pulling at his wrists gently, removing his hands from his hair. “He will be fine. Now, go get a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and come straight back here.”

He nods dazedly, stumbling backward out the doorway and spinning to the kitchen.

Steve slides to a stop on the tile floor in front of the kitchen sink at the same time Robin gets home from her classes that day.

“I have a date!”

Wait, he needs the bowl first. He scrambles to the opposite counter for the large mixing bowl Mama uses for her damn bread and fishes it out with a clatter of everything that that had been in front of it on the shelf tumbling out to the floor.

“Steve?”

Should he put soap in it?

“Steve!”

No, Mama just said ‘warm water’, not ‘warm soapy water’. He nods to himself and turns on the tap, reaching under the sink next for a washcloth.

“Steven Otis Harrington.”

“Oh, hey Robin, you’re home.” The bowl’s almost full.

“Steve.” She spins him to face her, holding tightly to his shoulders.

He tries to twist back around futilely, “The bowl–”

“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”

He blinks at her a couple times. “Robin!” He pulls her to him in a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe–”

“Steve, the bowl?”

“Shit,” It’s nearly full when he shuts off the tap, so he dumps a bit out and picks it up with both hands, “C’mon, he’s this way.”

“He? Who’s he?”

“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”

“Aw, Steve, you can’t just take in any ol’ stray dog you happen to find out in the wood—-” Robin cuts herself off as they get to the bedroom door. “Ohhkay…so..not a dog.”

“He looks to be dehydrated, but I don’t think he has any injuries.” Mama says in lieu of a greeting when they return. Steve sits down on the opposite edge of the bed that she is, and carefully passes over the bowl of water without looking at her.

The stranger immediately takes in his attention. His soft features, dark brows…Steve starts to pull the bits of brush out of the man’s hair, untangling twigs, leaves, and he can already see one of those pesky prickle things twisted into the hair next to his ear.

Mama sets the bowl on the sidetable, and gets to work immediately, wiping the dirt and grime from the man’s face and arms. “Robin dear, can you grab one of those sports drinks Pa loves so much outta the fridge? And a bottle of water.”

“Of course!” she says, darting back into the kitchen.

“We’ll need to get some food in him too,”

“We should make him scones.” Steve states apropos of nothing. “With chocolate chunks.”

“Maybe after he’s a bit better, sweetie.” Mama scoffs, wringing out the washcloth. “He needs healthy fats first, butter, oatmeal, avocado, things like that.”

“I can do that!” Steve says, jumping up excitedly. His former task forgotten, he rushes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, nearly bowling Robin over in the process.

He gets to work on simple eggs and toast for their houseguest, avoiding Mama’s lucky bread in favor of his own store-bought stuff for now, he can make him his own later.

As he scrambles the eggs, he focuses everything in him on the stranger, on getting him better, making him healthy again. He’s not exactly quite sure how to do what Mama does, but the sour cookie dough says he’ll do it without thinking about it…kinda.

Whatever.

All he knows is that he’s telling the fuck outta these eggs to make his love better. Make him whole again.. Make him—

Wait..

Did he just refer to the random man laid up in the other room as his love?

Is…

The fugue state he’d been in since first laying eyes on the man crackles away just long enough for him to think.

What did he say before he collapsed? "I've come home to you."?

That..sounds right....why is that so famili—

Steve's eyes leave the pan of eggs in front of him and snap immediately to the scrap of paper he'd scrambled for a few nights ago.

Is he…?

And of course, as if the words weren't already plastered permanently onto his grey matter, there they are, plain as day.

tagging those that were interested on the last part!!! @mugloversonly @kittydeadbones @maybequizas @queenie-ofthe-void @newtstabber @angeldreamsoffanfic @eyesofshinigami @sunflower-trashbaby @perseus-notjackson @kaspurrcat @quinns-shadowy-arts

also, idk if this counts for it, but one of february's songs for @steddiesongfics is work song! which is what this fic is based on! 😊😊

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #witch!eddie #witch!steve #work song #hozier #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #st #robin buckley #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve has good grandparents #steveddie #eddeve #witch au #noelle writes

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muchosbesitos · 2 months

Text

beyond love

pairing: miguel o’hara x lawyer fem reader

contents: reader’s emotionally unavailable lol, matthew murdock’s a warning on his own too, implied cheating (not from reader and miguel), smut in future parts 🥸

synopsis: you’d moved to nueva york after finishing up with law school, getting a job at nelson and murdock. one day, one of alchemax’s employees comes in needing your legal expertise. tension arises with one of the witnesses.

author’s note: ended up changing the name bc i’m super indecisive but sorry this took me so long to get out 😓 i hope y’all enjoy though :) i did take some inspo from tasm for this one

word count: 6.8k

"You're hired."

That was certainly not what you were expecting to hear. You were barely getting out your resume from your briefcase, having gone over the list of internships you'd done throughout law school. you blinked quickly, almost as if you were trying to assure yourself it wasn't just a figment of your imagination.

"Thank you, I promise you won't be disappointed," you finally ended up mustering out upon regaining your composure. You stood up, shaking the man's hand. He'd introduced himself as 'Foggy' before leading you to your office space to get acquainted. "Feel free to do whatever you want to the space, just don't make any holes in the walls," he told you before leaving the space.

You'd spent all day going from firm to firm, going through your extensive list of internships during law school to end up getting rejected towards the end. You'd gotten used to the forced smile that one of the partners gave you, whispering a half-assed 'I'm sorry' or 'we'll call you soon' with a pat on the back. Not that you actually expected a call back by any means.

You'd missed the subway to go back home, your heels not doing you in any justice when it came to trying to catch it. And just as your luck would have it, the next one wouldn't be coming for another hour. You ended up walking down the streets dejectedly, your briefcase barely hovering above ground with every step that you took.

Stepping into Nelson and Murdock was a last resort, if anything, just another rejection you were expecting to get added to the list. t

The space didn't seem all that extravagant, but at least it had somewhat decent reviews when you searched it up. "Hi, welcome to Nelson and Murdock!" You were immediately greeted by the blonde receptionist at the front desk, the name tag in front of her reading 'Karen.'

You quickly learned why you got hired so easily. The firm was essentially running off good luck and pure positivity. The debt accumulated by the light bill, rent, and phone service surpassed that of what the four of you combined earned per month. The cases that you took outside of the one regarding Wilson Fisk and his subsidiaries were solely pro bono.

Though you supposed a decent plus from it was that you were never hungry. The collection of baked goods quickly grew in your apartment, each a little token of appreciation from your clients. Items from banana bread, muffins, and chocolate chips cookies had accumulated in your kitchen counter. Your clients' faces lit up at the prospect of a reduced sentence or winning their case, immediately showering you in thanks.

Maybe it wasn't so bad.

Another pro from the job was that you had somewhat of a social life now. You went from buying dinners for one to enjoy while watching Netflix on a Friday night to going out with your coworkers.

Your social life before stepping foot into Nelson and Murdock was practically nonexistent. The only reason you'd ever bothered to talk to anyone during law school was to have some form of a study group, purely for your own self interest. As much as any of the other students there. You hadn't bothered to keep in contact with any of the other alumni after graduation.

Josie’s had become your spot to get a drink with the trio after work, usually on Friday night to have time to recover from your hangovers. The stickiness of the floors and the overwhelmingly bad taste of the drinks was overridden by the company that you were with. Conversation with Foggy and Karen was easy enough to engage in, jokes flowing between you three throughout the night. Matt was more reserved than the two of them, though he indulged you in a game of pool sometimes.

"All I'm saying is that I would have less stress in my life if I would've become a butcher. Nothing to worry about except for selling sausages and meat," Foggy remarked after the four of you started to talk about the developments in the Fisk case. The man was much more methodical and complicated than you anticipated, one step ahead every single time.

"Every time you retell that story, my interest in it just gets peaked more and more," Matt muttered from the side, taking a sip from his drink.

"Really?"

"Absolutely not."

You took a sip from your own drink, watching the exchange between the two of them with an amused smile on your face. You hadn't even noticed that the conversation had shifted until you had two pairs of eyes facing in your direction. “Sorry, can you repeat that?"

"Did you ever think about becoming anything else other than a lawyer? Like I dunno, a butcher?"

You took a couple seconds to think about the question, setting your glass down on the table. You'd entertained the idea of dropping out during your time in law school, maybe pursing something along the lines of starting your own business. Though, it was nothing more than a fleeting thought. Nothing really excited you more than practicing law.

"I did think about it, but not to be a butcher. Something in business, maybe."

Foggy moved on to ask the question to Karen, even going as to question if she would consider a career as a butcher one day. She'd ended up saying yes, for the sake of indulging Foggy in a fantasy where stress wasn't a key part of everybody's life. While the two were talking, you couldn't but notice that Matt was staring into you, almost as if he could see you better than you ever could.

The end of the night approached you quicker than you'd expected, the once socially awkward woman now complaining that the night was ending so early. (it was 1 am) Matt stayed later than the two of them, the two of you sharing drinks and playing a couple rounds of pool before you eventually gave up. "Seriously, how are you so good at that?"

He'd managed to get most of the balls into the holes while the only one you'd managed to get in was due to his assistance. "Just listening to how the balls ricochet, I guess," he shrugged off the win like it was nothing, leaning against the table as he downed the rest of his drink down. The two of you leaned against the pool table in silence, finishing up the rest of your drinks before you headed out for the night.

"Can I walk you home?" You heard from behind you, Matt making his way out of the door. He tapped his cane against the floor, making his way over to you. You nodded, your eyes widening slightly upon realizing your mistake. Matt didn't seem too offended by it, letting out a small chuckle as he held onto your arm. "You just nodded, huh?" He ended up asking, the two of you walking down the street.

"Yeah, sorry about that," you responded, enjoying the silence of the night for once. The streets of Nueva York had seemed to calm down with the two vigilantes in the streets, Daredevil and Spider-Man. While their actions weren’t exactly legal, you'd heard of the police divulging details with one of the two to get help with an investigation. Overall, thefts and petty robberies had gone down dramatically.

You and Matt walked to your apartment in silence, though it wasn't uncomfortable by any means. You always found Matt to have somewhat of a relaxing presence, from the way that his words poured out like melting honey to the way he calmly carried himself around. You did notice however, that despite him grabbing onto your arm, it seemed like he was leading you more than you were guiding him.

"Thank you," you spoke up once the two of you approached your apartment, stepping away from Matt. You walked up the stairs, digging through your pockets to find your keys. It always did seem that the moments where you needed them the most, they seemed to just vanish. Eventually, you'd managed to dig them out after practically stripping your pockets from its belongings.

Before you had the chance to step inside, matt cleared his throat to capture your attention. "Would you like to go out with me? I know this great place," he asked, your movements on the door knob coming to a halt. You'd heard of how much Matt got around, from the trip he took to Los Angeles that ended him up with Jen Walters to the nurse that he ended up seducing. You didn't mean to overhear, it's just that the walls at the firm were relatively thin.

"I'm sorry, I just don't think I should in the position that we're in. With you being my boss and all," you responded after a couple seconds, listening to the faint sigh that Matt let out.

"If it makes for a convincing argument, I promise that I won't let our situation affect what we have going on at work. Those are two completely different things and I'm capable of treating them as such."

Well, yes, you knew that he was capable of hooking up with a co-worker and pretending like it never happened the next day.

But.. you weren't so sure about yourself.

"Just take a couple days to think about it and get back to me, okay?" He ended up speaking up after a couple seconds of your silence, departing your apartment.

Your thoughts kept going back to the offer every single time you had a spare second to yourself. And even with that, the answer wasn't making itself any clearer. You had a duty to yourself to make the best out of your law degree and you liked this job too much to give it up for a cheap thrill. But yet, you still couldn't help but wonder about what it would actually be like to go out with him.

After what seemed to be a week of deliberation, you agreed to go on a date with Matt. A test run, of sorts. Nothing that would end up horribly if it didn't work out well. And well, you had to admit that the place he picked out did have some pretty good food. Conversation with him was a bit awkward, given that the two of you hadn't had a reason to talk to each other outside of work but you found it somewhat fun getting to know him.

"Wait so you learned Spanish in college?" You followed up after he shared his experiences in Columbia, how the whole Murdock and Nelson firm came into fruition.

"I did, it wasn't that hard to learn. It serves me now since some of the people in the community speak mainly Spanish. Often overlooked in the legal system so I try to facilitate that."

"So, could you say something in Spanish now?"

"You know, I kinda tend to hate that question since all the Spanish vocabulary from my head just disappears. Give me a couple seconds to think about something."

You were about to tell Matt to forget it after he divulged into thought for a couple seconds, a bit guilty for putting him on the spot like that. Before you had the chance to speak, he broke the silence first.

"You have a face como un burro."

Your eyes widened slightly upon hearing his pronunciation, the accent coming out relatively well given the situation. He'd even managed to roll his r's when he spoke.

"Uh.. do you mind explaining what that last part means?"

"You have the face of an angel."

You knew that he couldn't see your face, but somehow that made the compliment all that much better. The fact that he thought you were pretty just by the way you acted and the way you talked was enough to get you flustered. Though, a small doubt planted inside your head that maybe it wasn't the true meaning of the phrase. You'd have to look it up at a later time if you remembered.

The date continued smoothly, and eventually, the one date turned into multiple dates. Well, whenever the two of you had the time. It was one of the easier parts of dating a fellow lawyer, that he understood the conflicting work schedules imposed upon you. And while conversations with him began to flow easier the more that you got to him and you grew to enjoy his company with each passing date, you still couldn't help but feel as if something was off.

Your relationship with Matt was.. complicated to say the least. The countless dates that he took you to didn't seem to matter when it came to commitment. He called you his girlfriend in private, whispering sweet nothings and calling you names such as 'darling' and 'love' yet the two of you didn't do much apart from eat together and have sex. He acted like a coworker in public, keeping you at an arm's distance. Never once acknowledging you as something other than your last name.

And yet, every time that you wanted to leave the situation you were in, he managed to pull you right back in his grasp with that stupid smile of his. Whispering empty promises as he slid inside you, promises that would long be forgotten by the time morning rolled around. Promises that kept you sticking around until you doubted him again, repeating the cycle once more.

"Hi," a timid voice from behind you broke you out of your thoughts, making you immediately turn around to face them. You'd gotten distracted thinking about your relationship status with Matt again. The thought of leaving started to implant itself in your head. He'd been making excuses for missing dates, leaving you to try to rationalize his absences. The first thing that you noticed about the man was that he was covered head to toe in bandages, obviously in your office for a personal injury case.

"Hi, sorry about that. Welcome to Nelson and Murdock, can I get you something to drink?" You snapped back into it, making a beeline for the coffee machine. "Just a glass of water, please," the man spoke up, his tone making it seem like it was an inconvenience.

You handed the cup of water over to him with a small smile, hoping to help him get more at ease with the situation. You beckoned him to sit down, taking your notepad out of your desk to begin writing down the details that he would share. The more that you listened to the man's story, Max, the more that your bewilderment grew. Electric eels? No wonder the man was covered up the way he was.

"So you fell into a tub of electric eels while you were working overtime?" You asked after he finished speaking, wanting to make sure you'd gotten the details right. You set down your pen, leaning a bit forward on the desk. "Yes, that's exactly what happened. I’m seeking out your services because I got fired right after the incident and I want to regain my position at the company."

Ah, they'd fired him to avoid a personal injury case. Which was exactly what you were going to convince Max to file.

"You know that you can get some type of compensation for what happened? Given that you got injured in a work space. I can help you get your job back but I believe that you're deserving of much more than that and I can be the one to help you throughout that path."

After a bit of convincing from your part, you'd managed to get Max to agree to the conditions that you were setting in place. You'd managed to get the paperwork rolling to get the lawsuit filed before he left, leaving you only to go to Alchemax and try to get some testimonies. You did a bit of research on the subject, distracting yourself from the thought that Matt hadn't bothered to step foot in his office all day. not even a call to let you know he hadn't died or something.

You weren't sure what you were expecting upon meeting the CEO of Alchemax, Miguel O'Hara. The photo that he had up on the website was a portrait of him with an unamused expression on his face, his brows furrowed as if he were willing for the camera to click faster. The very same expression that he was currently giving you right now. "Hi, I'm the attorney for Max's case. I was wondering if i could get your testimony."

The only sign of acknowledgment that you got from him was a grunt before he turned over to look at Max, his expression softening a bit. An expression that you would've missed had you not been conditioned to look out for every minor detail. "Can I talk to you really quick?" Miguel asked, unwilling to acknowledge that you were still in the room before he walked into a conference room behind him with Max.

You leaned your ear to the door, trying your best to listen in on the conversation. It had been a harder task than you'd expected, a couple employees shooting you dirty looks upon seeing you against the door. You could make out a couple sentences in between their hushed whispers, your brows knitting immediately as you heard the exchange.

“I'm saying is that I don't think she's a good fit for this lawsuit. She looks inexperienced. You know I could get my lawyer for you if you wanted, Max."

"You know I respect your opinion and all, Miguel, I really do. But isn't your lawyer mostly just based on family law?"

"Well yes, but I'm sure he has some lawyer at his firm designated towards personal injury lawsuits."

You stepped away from the door, dusting off your clothes as you let out a scoff to yourself. How dare he. How dare he make those comments without even bothering to have a full conversation with you? The most he'd given you was a glimpse, if you could even count the three seconds he looked in your direction as that. The two men in question departed the room and the first you noticed was the scowl that adorned miguel's features.

"How long have you been practicing personal injury cases exactly?" Niguel's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, like he was the one you needed to convince rather than Max. While your experience as a lawyer was mostly based around criminal law, you weren't about to divulge that information with Miguel. Not when he already doubted your abilities.

"I practice mostly in criminal law now, but I have some experience with those types of cases after completing a internship during law school," you responded, trying to maintain some semblance of your composure. You could tell that max greatly valued the opinion of his superior, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. You had to impress him if you wanted to impress Max.

Miguel's eyes slightly narrowed at the statement but he decided not to question you further, having asked what law school you went to prior to that. "I'll see you later when you take my testimony?" He asked, to which you nodded. He departed the space, leaving you alone with Max. You guided him inside the conference room that he'd been with Miguel a couple seconds back, deciding to host your questioning inside.

You'd gotten the gist of what the lawsuit was concerning from Max when he first came in, but you wanted to make sure you had every detail on paper. From what time he'd clocked in to what time he'd clocked out, what he'd worn to work, small details that would normally be overlooked at first glance. You turned on the small recorder that you brought along, setting in the middle of the table so it would pick up every word spoken.

"So you came in at 5 am and left at 8 pm?"

"I did, yes."

"Were those overtime hours voluntary or were they placed upon you?"

"The boss of the division told me I had to stay behind to work on it when I was getting ready to leave. I was planning on going out and buying myself a birthday cake that day."

You couldn't help but feel a bit of sympathy for Max, your brows furrowing as you wrote down what he was telling you. You shut the recorder off, having collected most of the information that you were looking for. "For what it's worth, happy late birthday Max," you spoke up once you were finished writing, a surprised look on his face as the words registered. Almost as if it was the first time that someone had ever said those words to him.

"Thank you, no one really bothered to remember," he responded, sounding less timid than when he'd first stepped foot into your 'office.' While at first you were simply viewing him as a client, a means to build your expertise, you couldn't help but feel upset the more you talked to him. He'd come into your office, simply looking to get back into the job that had done him wrong. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy, overlooked by everyone in his life.

"Alright. I'll make sure to keep you updated on any developments in the case and when a court date has been established. The company's mostly likely gonna want to settle so it's up to you if you want to accept the compensation that they offer. My advice would be not to, at least not on the first offer," you spoke up, standing up after you were finished. You handed your card over to Max, helping him out of the building.

It was only after Max had left that you made your way up the stairs, looking for Miguel's office. You browsed through the different rooms, his being the furthest one in the hall. The biggest one. Of course. You knocked on the door, waiting for some type of answer. You looked through the window, noticing that all the lights had mostly been dimmed down. You weren't expecting anyone to actually open the door, collecting your stuff to attempt to come back at a later time.

"Can I help you with something?" You heard before you had the chance to get too far, Miguel standing in front of the door. you saw the look of exhaustion on his features, the darkness around him almost emphasizing it. "I was wondering if i could get your statement now but I can come back at a later time if you want."

Miguel didn't say anything, walking back into the room once you'd finished speaking. He had left the door open, though. You took that as a silent invitation, stepping inside the space and closing the door behind you. The sunlight peeking in through the windows helped illuminate your way over to the desk he was sitting at. "I'll take care of a phone call and I'll be back to answer whatever questions you have, attorney."

The statement that Miguel had given you was strangely detailed, every detail regarding the scene memorized. you couldn't help but notice he seemed to mutter out every sentence he spoke, barely making an attempt to open his mouth. The only times he'd spoken clearly were when he had his back to you and even then, he seemed to speak with a bit of a lisp.

"So I'm not saying you have to alter this right away, but you're gonna have to speak up louder in court if you want them to hear you." you spoke up after he finished answering one of your questions, making sure to approach the subject with caution. You didn't know if he would be sensitive towards it.

Even through the darkness of the room, you couldn't miss the glare that he gave you even if you tried. Yup, clearly sensitive. "I can't speak any louder if I tried. I'll try to keep it in mind though," he made more of an effort to make himself sound louder, though not by much. But at least he was willing to take your advice into consideration. You made a mental note to talk to the judge about adjusting his microphone volume.

"¡Papi!" A small girl approached miguel, her arms reaching up to where he was sitting. Miguel was the most vulnerable that you've ever seen him, his angry resolve melting into pure butter at the sight of the little girl standing in front of him. "Hola mija, how was school?" He asked, the two of them getting into a conversation about how her recent math quiz had gone. It was nice seeing the two of them interact, the way he followed up to every statement that she made.

"You don't mind if my daughter stays here during the interview, right?" Miguel asked, clearing his throat as he looked up at you. And just as soon as his resolve melted, it came back. "No, I don't mind since she's not testifying," you responded, watching as Miguel reached into one of his cabinets upon hearing your response. He took out a board game, Operation. he handed it over to the girl, her eyes almost seeming to shine in the darkness enveloping the three of you.

"Gracias papá," Gabriella told him upon receiving the game, skipping over to a lab table to play by herself. You jumped back into the questions after making sure that Miguel was ready, his demeanor seeming less hostile as compared to earlier. He responded to your questions with much more precision, adding in as many details as possible. You could tell just by the way he was fidgeting around that he was anxious to be home with his kid. You wrapped up the process pretty quickly, making swift movements to clear the desk from your belongings.

"Miss Lawyer Lady? Do you wanna play with me? It's just.. my mom doesn't really play games with me anymore," Gabriella spoke up before you had the chance to leave. You walked over to the table she was sitting at, putting your briefcase down. "Gabriella, I'm sure 'Miss Lawyer Lady' has things she needs to do. I'll play with you," Miguel told her, making the little girl turn to look at you with puppy eyes.

And you did have things to get done.

You had to review the evidence you'd collected today. Go through the different voice recordings to make your own recollection of events. Go through countless hours of security footage.

And yet, you found yourself agreeing to play a game of Operation with her. You convinced yourself that you were staying solely because those puppy eyes made you weak. You'd been planning on taking it easy on her but the thing is, she was much more talented than you at the game. While you were making the game buzz time after time again, she took out the items with ease.

"Makes sense why you decided to be a lawyer instead of a surgeon," Gabriella teased you after you messed up on the heart. You reluctantly handed the tweezers over to her, letting out a small chuckle as she struggled with the same section. "Think she might've killed your patient by now, Gabi," you hadn't heard Miguel come by and suddenly, he was standing next to you. "Fine, then you try it big guy," you challenged, handing him the tweezers when it was your turn again.

You almost wished you hadn't bothered to tease him. Despite the size of his hands, he was able to maneuver the tweezers in a way that guaranteed the piece wouldn't touch the board at all. All you could do was swallow your words when you looked over at the stupid smirk directed your way. But at least the scowl was better than the scowl he seemed to have reserved towards you.

“Hey, what does ‘cara de burro mean?’” You asked after a couple seconds, the sentence making itself back into your head. You’d meant to search up the meaning of it months ago but you seemed to forget every time you actually got close to a computer. “donkey face,” Gabriella answered, keeping her attention on the board in the middle of the table. You looked over at miguel for some kind of a reaffirmation, being met with a nod.

Oh, that shocking bastard.

You looked down at your phone upon hearing a buzz, your face immediately forming into a frown once you read the contents of the text. Another cancelled date. Three times these past two weeks alone. you looked up to see Gabriella looking curiously at you, waiting for you to divulge who and what the text was about.

"Just some guy I'm seeing. Cancelled our date again."

"Why don't you dump him already if he's done it more than twice?"

Because you still held out some hope that maybe, by some miracle above, he'd start to put in the effort that you needed so desperately. "It's more complicated than that, he's good when he wants to be," you weren't sure why exactly you felt the need to rationalize Matt’s actions to a eight year old but here you were.

"Just seems like he doesn't know what he has. You're very pretty, Ms. Lawyer Lady. Even though you suck at Operation, you're still pretty smart."

You couldn't help but smile at her words, going back to messing up your round of Operation. Hearing her say that was almost reassuring in a way, that maybe you did deserve more than what Matthew had been giving towards you. You could've sworn you felt Miguel's eyes almost boring into you for a couple seconds, though he had his attention on Gabriella when you turned to look at him.

The three of you spent about an hour playing Operation before Gabriella had to get ready for her soccer practice, leaving you wandering the streets of Nueva York. While Matt had cancelled on your date with him, you figured that maybe it wouldn't hurt to take the date over to him. You stopped by his favorite spot to get noodles from, getting a dinner for two before heading over to his apartment.

The sight in front of you made you regret even spending one more penny on what he wanted.

What awaited you in Matt’s apartment was a sight that you weren't expecting. He was sprawled out on the couch, bruises and cuts adorning his body like a second skin while a black haired woman worked on rubbing some alcohol into the deep marks. Wearing one of his button down shirts. With nothing underneath.

"What are you doing here?" Matt’s voice broke you out of your frozen state of shock, your grip on the takeout bag tightening so you wouldn't drop it. "I came here because I thought that we could share a dinner but clearly I was mistaken," you couldn't hide the bitterness out of your voice as you spoke. You were trying not to yell, knowing how sensitive he already was towards everyday sounds.

"It's not what it loo-"

"No. I don't care what you think this looks like. Because what it looks like to me is that you've been disregarding my texts and my calls to be out with this woman. That you've been cancelling out on our dates but you have no problem making time for her."

Matt and the woman remained quiet, almost as if they both knew that they wouldn't be able to come back with a rebuttal to that. "I can't believe I took time to beg you for a relationship," you finally muttered as you made your way out the door. You stopped by the steps, almost as if you were waiting for the woman and Matt to follow. For matt to beg you to come back to his apartment while the woman left in shame.

Unfortunately, you only stood there like a fool for two minutes. the door remained closed, their hushed whispers bleeding out through the walls. You made your way down the stairs, maintaining the last bit of your pride as you headed back home. The only thing you had to console yourself with was the noodles in your hand, though they were cold by the time you'd gotten home. You'd ended up eating your dinner alone, playing one of the videos of Gabriella playing soccer that Miguel so generously sent over.

Matthew hadn't been lying when he said that he was able to act like nothing happened between the two of you. The next day he was back to handing you case files and asking what you wanted for lunch like the event didn't happen. And normally, you'd appreciate the gesture. But now, all you could feel was infuriated. How much time you begged him to give a relationship with you a chance only to end up crying into your pillow the next day. And now, he acted like it was a glitch.

Like you were nothing more than another average employee.

You were able to act as nothing more than an average employee after taking a couple days to let yourself mourn the loss of your relationship. The evidence that you collected towards Alchemax was overwhelming, almost assuring you a 100% chance of winning the case. You'd made sure to talk to the judge about adjusting the microphone settings and turning off some of the lights to make things comfortable for your witnesses. Well, one specifically.

You could tell that Miguel appreciated those little details, his shoulders becoming less tense when he set foot onto the stand. He made an attempt to try to speak louder into the microphone, even if he was still trying to cover up his teeth. You appreciated the effort that he put into it, making sure to let him know that he'd done a good job. "Just focus on winning the case," he muttered after you were done, but you could've sworn you saw a hint of a smile on his way out.

Or maybe you were just delusional and you were looking for little signs that weren't there.

The countless hours of overtime that you spent reviewing past cases regarding this section of the law, working out drafts of the prosecution that you wanted to present, had come to fruition in the work. Max received a hefty amount upon the jury's decision, the verdict stating that the company was fully responsible in the damages that were caused to him. In turn, the company also took him back and made sure to sign on an agreement where they swore to make their work area more secure.

Overall, a win-win scenario.

"Congratulations. I suppose you're not completely incompetent," Miguel remarked upon seeing you walk in the restaurant, his arms folded across his chest. You planned on taking that as a compliment being that it was the only semblance of praise that he'd given you so far. "That might be the nicest thing you've said to me all day," you remarked, making your way to the table where Max was waiting for the two of you.

He invited the two of you out to drinks after news of the verdict got out, seeming like he needed ideas on how to spend the money he'd gotten. To which you graciously accepted.

"Thank you. For the time that you put into my case, I know how busy you lawyers tend to get," Max told you after greeting you, his gratitude towards you evident. No matter how many times you'd get praised by your clients, you'd never quite be able to get used to the way they spoke to you. They spoke to you like you were a hero, expressing their thanks time after time again.

Max and Miguel got into a conversation about one of the experiments that they were working on, the two of them including you into the conversation whenever you had a question to ask. You appreciated that the two of them tried to include you despite your limited knowledge in the science field. "No, the variable needs to be in a 90 degree room to be able to thrive properly. Otherwise, we just have to go out and scrap the experiment," Max explained to one of your questions, expressing how crucial that aspect was.

While it wasn't exactly riveting to hear the two of them explain the differences of DNA and RNA, you still found yourself having a pleasant time by the end of the night. "Sorry guys, I have to get going. But thank you for coming out tonight and for winning my case," Max dismissed himself around 8:30, giving the two of you a handshake before departing the restaurant. Despite the fact Max had offered the drinks, you and Miguel still chipped in for your individual drinks.

"Y'know, I tried to act cordial around you and treat you as respectful as possible, but you still don't like me. I’m curious as to why," the alcohol in your system loosening up your tongue, the words escaping from your mouth before you even got the chance to think about them twice. Your eyes widened as you looked over at Miguel, expecting him to just leave the money on the table and leave.

Rather, he seemed somewhat amused by the situation. Well, as amused as you'd ever see him be. "I don't like you because you're one of the most unpredictable women i've met. You just make me nervous. And frankly, it’s attractive in a way," he finally spoke up after a while, taking his own drink in hand. You blinked slowly, hoping that with a couple more seconds, you'd be able to register what he'd just said to you.

He continued to speak after your silence, taking advantage of the situation. "Sorry if I'm overstepping any boundaries here, but I feel as though there's some tension between us. I was wondering if you wanted to explore that."

Always the geek, even when he was trying to lure you into his bedroom.

"I'm not exactly looking for anything serious right now."

Your battered heart wouldn't be able to take being treated the same way Matt did to you again. Not even one more single time. You were determined to avoid getting put in that situation even if it meant you were missing out on opportunities.

"I'm aware. But I’m not looking for anything serious either, just something for the night."

Out of all the things that came out of his mouth tonight, that certainly wasn't what you were expecting.

Well, now or ever.

But.. you also couldn't deny it to yourself that you felt some of that tension that he'd been mentioning. Even if the two of you could barely be in a room together most of the time, he was still infuriatingly attractive. especially in the stupid button down he'd chosen to wear, his arms practically bulging out the sleeves when he rolled them up to his elbows. The pants he had on didn't help the situation either, the material accentuating his thighs and his slutty waist.

You wouldn't have figured as much. you would've imagined him seeking out a serious relationship, someone that would be able to properly take on the mantle of being Gabriella’s stepmom. But, in a weird way, you supposed that it also made sense. He and Gabriella both had their own sets of issues after his wife left the two of them behind, both of them wanting that sort of connection without actually putting themselves at risk of getting hurt.

You looked down at your phone when you felt it vibrate, seeing Matt’s name pop up on the screen. as much as you wanted to disregard his call, you figured that it probably wouldn't be the best thing to do. He was still your boss after all. This could be a call related to something about the Fisk case.

"Hey, what's up?" You tried to mask your reluctance as you spoke, though Matt almost seemed to notice it every time that it happened.

He didn't seem to care this time, jumping straight into the case of this phone call.

"I'm calling to see if you want to come over, darling. I mean, breakup sex has to be up on the list for top experiences."

You couldn't help the groan that escaped from your lips upon hearing the request, almost laughing at the audacity that he presented. Though, you figured he would've called an asylum had you started laughing now. He's still your boss. He's still your boss. He's still your boss.

"No, I'm not interesting in hooking up with you. I didn't think I had to tell you but I don't want you calling this number unless you have something related to our job. Goodnight."

You didn't give Matt a chance to respond, putting your phone away in your purse. You were busy mulling over Miguel's words, gulping down the last of your drink. You tried to think of any negatives that sleeping with him would have, but you eventually came up with nothing. You wouldn't have any obligation to see him if this all went south and the two of you agreed beforehand that this was something casual.

So, there was really only one thing for you to do now.

"Sure, let's go back to your place."

tags 🫶🏼: @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @lazyjellyfish300 @pxtched @nympholove @ifiwasaguybrickedup @yournextbimbogf @nixinluv02 @lizaistewdelulu @monarchberrysblog @loser-alert @spiderpapi2099 @sloverr

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vacayisland · 6 months

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Id be so happy if u could write some Branch x reader!! I love when he acts apathetic or like he doesn’t care but in the end will always end up helping the people he cares for. And has a weakness for the one he loves. Secretly insecure but loves looking for ways to impress them.

I dont have anything in particular to ask for, just would love to see some more branch x reader content!

@!; Bakin' with Love! Branch / Baker! Reader

"Summary"! In which Branch met Poppy's baker friend at the grand opening of their bakery and has a self realizing moment. "Tags!" Fluff :( I love Branch so much, he deserves so much better.

@!; "Oh come on Branch!" Branch was, reluctantly, following Poppy across Troll Village; Well, in fact, he was being more tugged along than anything, as Poppy was basically trying to sprint while Branch did his best to keep up, despite being unamused at the lack of explanation he has received. It was, usually, never a good thing when Poppy was dragging him off to some unknown direction. Branch has learnt that from experience, "Poppy! Where are we even going?" And that seemed to get Poppy to stop, digging her feet into the ground as she spun around to look at Branch. Which set him off, coiling away a little as he took in the shocked, jaw-dropping, exaggerated look Poppy held. Did he forget a holiday, an anniversary, a birthday? Branch didn't know, nor did he know of anything special happening on this specific day. There wasn't anything in his colander, which spans the next few years. He hasn't heard anything by mouth of other Trolls, which were always excited to word vomit about anything that might be happening the next day. So Branch only shrugged when Poppy asked, waving her arms around to emphasis her question, "Branch! Do you not know what today it?"

Which seemed to make Poppy ever so more shocked, which was slightly amusing. Though Branch also knew in the next 5 seconds Poppy was going to explode and basically word vomit what was happening to him; in an over-the-top way that he had to learn how to listen to. More like how to break down and make sense of, because sometimes Poppy made no sense when she just pukes words. "Branch!! Troll village is finally getting a Bakery and one of my very, very good friends is opening it! It's the same person who usually makes the cupcakes or cakes or baked good for any of the parties we have thrown recently. They're an amazing baker and it's always been their dream to open a bakery! I cannot believe you haven't heard about this, it's all everyone has been talking about." And there Poppy went, right on time, waving her arms and yelling with the most excited tone in her voice. "A bakery?" Though that wasn't the answer Branch had expected, and he couldn't help but cross his arms and cock an eyebrow up at Poppy. "You're dragging me across the village for a bakery?" "Not just ANY bakery Branch! This is the a bakery by the best baker in the village!" Branch snickered a little at Poppy's excitement, the way she bounced on his toes. He rolled his eyes, knowing and expecting, Poppy to grab his wrist again so they could b-line it for the bakery. "And she's opening today and we cannot miss getting her double fudge, triple chocolate, licorice cupcakes! Oh, oh! Oh her glitter ball cupcakes or- OR ANYTHING!" And Branch, again, was right as Poppy grabbed his wrist and began to rush over to the other side of the village; dragging Branch over to a little half-stand and pod-like building on the ground. There was already a crowd formed around the entrance and inside, with other Trolls sitting around and eating baked goods they had gotten. Branch watched the trolls and their desserts, noticing a wide arrange of different pastries. Some on the more simple side and others more complex, such as cupcakes, brownies, cakes, bread, croissants, and even chocolate souffle. Now that made Branch do a double take, not having expected such a high-skilled dessert coming out from a bakery that just opened. "AH! Branch, this is so exciting!" Poppy was basically jumping up and down on her toes, grinning from ear to ear. And she wasn't the only one who shared the excitement. As Viva, who seemed to come out of no where, popped up besides Poppy with the widest grin. Branch had to coil back a bit, scrunching his nose, as Viva squealed along side Poppy, "I KNOW RIGHT!" "Hey, this is different!" Floyd, with Clay in tow, walked over to Branch, Viva, and Poppy; seeming to have been following Viva before she rushed off to her sister. "It's a bakery," Branch couldn't help but shrug as the line moved forward. "So many trolls can bake, or poop out baked goods. I don't really see the fuss about it." "Well, one it's actually the first bakery we have in the village-" Floyd would start, hoping he could get his brother to understand the excitement a little better. Yet Floyd was cut off by Clay, though he didn't mind much, "And I've heard that their baking is like, THE best in all of Pop Troll village! Viva came back with a dozen of their cookies one time, I had to physically restrain myself from eating them all!" "Oh, great." Clay tilted his head at Branch's sarcasm. "You know anything anyone eats here is sweets, right? I mean it can't be that healthy." The group would reach the front of the line as Branch crossed his arms and shook his head, wondering why the village would need another output to feed such an addiction. Yet, he was only met with a hand on his shoulder from Floyd as Clay rushed forward to order alongside Poppy and Viva.

"Just be happy for everyone else, yeah?" And Branch softened a little, seeing Floyd's small smile and sincere eyes. His hard stance broke as Branch relaxed his shoulders for a moment before he shrugged softly and nodded in agreement. "Alright, yeah, okay." Branch mumbled, receiving a pat on the shoulder from Floyd and a slightly bigger smile before he turned to go order. Branch decided to hang back for a bit before he followed, standing next to Floyd as he watched Poppy and Viva basically drool over the confections behind the display case. They chattered and debated which sweets they should get, and whether or not they should just buy one of everything; which Clay was trying to disagree to, claiming it was a waste of money, yet it was obvious he also couldn't choose what to get. Floyd was the first to notice when Branch walked around behind everyone to stand behind Poppy and Viva to look into the display stand. He noticed there was some steam that rose from products, which he guessed where more fresh than others; though he could also deduct that they were all baked between yesterday and today seeing as the scent of everything was so fresh. "I think, for the most bang for your buck, you should get some of the cookies that are slowly crumbling or the ones under steam." Branch pointed out from behind the sister, which caused them to pause and glance over at him. Both confused yet intrigued at his answer. Poppy placed her hands on her hips, giving Branch a challenging look, "Branch! I didn't know you knew sweets!" Branch only shrugged, "Well, the ones still steaming are likely the freshest, and the ones slowly crumbling have a desirable texture of a soft cookie. They're stiff enough on the outside to hold their shape but soft on the inside where they're slowly breaking, a nice balance." "And here I thought you were a crunchy cookie type of man." Viva added, pointing up and down at Branch. Yet they couldn't speak for long, as the back door of the bakery, which separated the kitchen from the front floor, swung open and a Troll carrying a cooling rack of sweets rushed in. They apologized for the wait, not taking a moment to look up, before they opened the display case and slid in the hot batch of cookies. When they finally looked up to greet everyone with a, "Hello! Welcome to Pop's Cookies, my name is (Y/N), how may I help you?" They stopped mid-sentence upon seeing Poppy and Viva, in which the three would share an excited squeal. "Oh my god Poppy! Viva! Hello you two." You exclaimed from behind the counter, moving around the display case and towards the register. Poppy and Viva would follow, "What are you doing here?! I thought I told you two that you didn't have to come!" "Did you really think we wouldn't come to support you?" Poppy quipped as Branch noticed the gleam in your eye. For some reason it made him pause and stare, so much so he didn't realize his brothers coming to stand near him. Floyd softly spoke to Clay about getting a strawberry shortcake brownie slice as Clay tried pitching that he was going to get an almond-cherry explosion cookie. Though they both knew that Clay would much prefer a cherry-lime cheesecake, yet was trying to keep up his 'professional' attituded. "Oh! (Y/N), have you meet Branch?" Poppy's voice pulled Branch out from his thoughts, causing him to blink and shake his head a little. That's when he noticed all eyes being on him. Well this was awkward... and he had to save it. "Hey!" Branch waved his hand once, giving you the only type of smile he could muster on such a short notice. In which, he could tell was a little odd and off, seeing as Poppy and Viva started at him a overly questioning look. While you, you stared at him with a quizzical look; Tilting your head to the side, as you stared at him like you were trying to read the very structure of his being. It was off putting how he felt like you could see right through him and at the same time see him. Branch glanced at Poppy for some sort of help, but she gave him a nervous smile and waved him off.

Branch tried to gulp back his nerves, wondering if he was being tested on his reaction or if you were simply judging him for not being as excited as everyone else about your bakery. It's not like he didn't support it or anything, he just wasn't the overly outward excited type and he hoped someone would explain that. And Branch saw Floyd glance over, seeming ready to say something or hopefully stand up for him. Yet he didn't seem to have to after a big grin grew on your face, "Say, Branch, you look like a soft double chocolate chip cookie with a fudge center type of guy to me! Would you like one? "Oh- uh- sure!" Branch answered with a small smile, somehow feeling rather relaxed despite his earlier anxieties. Though he did notice the shocked look from the others, you didn't seem shocked or disturbed he had agreed. In fact you seemed proud, for whatever reason, as you quickly grabbed a bag, fluffed it open, grabbed a wax paper and opened the case. You mulled over which cookie to select for a moment before taking the one you deemed as 'perfect' and began to bag it. "Braanch!" This is when Poppy spoke up, "You like double chocolate with a fudge center? How come you never told me!" And to that, Branch only shrugged his shoulders once more, "You never asked, Poppy." Branch explained as he walked over to the counter and accepted the bagged cookie. Later, when everyone had ordered and they decided to take a seat inside, Branch took out his cookie and couldn't help but look at it for a moment. Everyone around him was laughing and talking, eating their sweets at the same time, and he couldn't help but feel oddly seen. And by a complete Troll never the less. Usually people assumed he would like hard cookies, or the boring almond and nuts. Usually people assumed a lot about him because he was so different, and despite your slightly unsettling stare you had correctly guessed one of his favorite cookies. One he didn't even realize you had baked every time Poppy brought a dozen over to his bunker. So then that brought up another question in Branch. Did you just correctly guess his favorite cookie or did you remember it from the countless times Poppy (most likely) told you. Either way, why and how? That's probably what confused Branch the most. It's what made him turn around in his seat and look at you, watching as you served another costumer. A chipper smile on your face and an excited gleam in your eye. You weren't doing that guessing game or glare to anyone else. . . was he somehow special? Nah, probably not. But it did make him think as he took a bite into the cookie you had given him. Maybe he should come back tomorrow and talk to you about it. Yeah talk to you about the incident and for nothing else. Just clear up the air and all. Yeah... and maybe get another cookie.

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

#branch trolls #branch x reader #brozone x reader #trolls branch #dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls 3 #brozone #trolls fandom #trolls band together #trolls dreamworks #clay trolls #floyd trolls #poppy trolls #viva trolls #branch #queen poppy #trolls world tour #trolls 1

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khaire-traveler · 2 months

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🔥 Subtle Hestia Worship 🥖

Clean your room/house; keep your home in good condition

Make your space your own; decorate your room/home in a way that makes you feel good

Help out with household chores

Bake pastries for those you love, especially those topped with honey or cinnamon

Drink a soothing tea or hot chocolate; any sort of comfort drink; add honey to it if you can

Eat comfort food, especially from childhood

Have a picture of her in your wallet

Make a bonfire for her; gather around it with loved ones

If you have a fireplace, spend time around it

Have a candle that reminds you of her (no altar needed)

Wear jewelry that reminds you of her

Have a stuffed animal of a pig, cow, or donkey; have any stuffed animal, really

Have imagery of cranes, fire, or kettles around

Try veiling in honor of her, if able

Try growing poppy or hollyhock flowers

Volunteer at a homeless shelter

Make a warm meal for someone in need

Give baked goods to neighbors

Learn how to cook or bake

Care for yourself physically and mentally

Be as kind to yourself as you are to others

Practice modesty (this does not mean never celebrating or taking pride in yourself)

Host parties/celebrations at your home, especially those that welcome in family (found family works just as well)

Read a book to relax

Wear comfortable clothing; robes, slippers, sweaters, etc.

Learn how to make homemade bread

Learn how to crochet, knit, sew, etc.

Support local food banks; donate to them, if able

Donate toys to children in need

Donate clothes to others in need, especially warm clothes

Cook yourself/loved ones a delicious meal

Practice body positivity

Relax and decompress after a long day

Watch comfort movies or shows; engage in media that comforts you

Seek out wholesome stories online; humans helping one another, rescue animal turnarounds, cute puppy/kitty vids, etc.

May add more later on! For the time being, this is my list of discreet ways to worship Hestia. I hope it helps someone, and take care, everyone! May your hearth fires always be kept warm. ❤️🔥

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

#helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #hestia deity #hestia worship #deity worship #paganblr #pagan tips

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heartfullofleeches · 7 months

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Perfectly Sweet

Yandere Candy Harem + Gender Neutral Candy Witch Reader

Word Count: 10.7k

Summary: After a tragic incident resulting in the loss of your bakery, you awake in a land of sweets desperately searching for a way to return to a time and place that has abandoned you.

Warnings: Light body horror, [candy] cannibalism, hallucinations

A/N: A piece A few months in the makings. I hope you all enjoy :)

There once was a witch.

The first of her kind.

“A candy witch? What a silly idea!”

She was sure to disagree.

“It’s my magic. Shouldn’t I have a say in its use? If I can’t do for myself first, I haven’t the heart to do a thing for anyone at all!”

The witchling was the youngest in a lineage of powerful witches dating back to the founding days of their cozy little town. Her mother was the town healer in her prime and her mother’s great-grandmother fertilized the ground for which their town was built upon. The little witch had big shoes to fill, but neither fret nor shied away from what fate had decided. No – she outright rejected it, and sought to fill her dreams and goals much closer to home - right in the pit of her bottomless stomach.

If the girl had one claim to fame before her prime, it had to be her enormous sweet tooth. She started her days with two spoonfuls of sugar, and three more by noon. She was not tied to the restriction of the human diet and did as she pleased to satisfy her endless craving.

“Even tragedy can be sweet if it’s paired with the right treat.” – A saying she swore to remain true to, but behind closed doors the little witch could not carry her own words to heart. As the days of her coronation drew near, she became aware of the whispers around town – how self and cruel she was for abandoning tradition and her people. The kind faces she’d known all her years slowly turned spiteful and bitter – spurning her ambitions, and her turning her back on the community that raised her. The young witch wore a brave face, but behind closed doors she was not as bold as she seemed. She cried and cried, swallowing sugar and honey to ease her pain.

Due to constant ridicule and mockery, the little witch would have given up on everything had it not been for that one person.

On the eve of a new moon, there was a knock at her window. The young child of the town baker came to her with a task capable for her talents alone. With an influx of orders their parents had forgotten to bake a cake for their child’s birthday. Used to the treatment they did not wish to go another year without celebration and fled in the dead of night to the only source who could aid in their troubling times.

The little witch could hardly hide her annoyance. Lack of a party was one thing, but no celebratory desserts to make up for it? No cake? Pie? Not even sweet bread? What fools the human had the misfortune of calling their parents. Could their kind do nothing without the help of hers?

Against her own volition, she acted from the kindest of her heart and sought to fulfill their desperate plea. The little witch brought the young baker into her home, and through the night the two created the most extravagant birthday cake the baker nor anyone in town had ever seen. The excitement they expressed wasn’t held by them alone. The little witch had more fun baking with them than she ever had with a member of her blood. The gratitude and joy on the human’s face was something she had never seen before. Something strange. It made her feel odd. They must have slipped poison into her dish, but even that didn’t seem right.

They treated her as a lifelong friend though their alliance began that very night where it should have ended. Being with that human gave her a toothache unlike any sugary treat could. As their bond grew, the witch would gradually learn that what she tasted that fateful eve was the start of something true. That human cracked the icy cage sheltering her fragile heart and woke her to new desires.

She wanted to see them smile again. She wanted to make others happy in hopes it’d give her that same strange feeling in her stomach again. She’d never feel that exact spark from anyone besides her new found friend, but the warmth in her chest was powerful to keep her newfound goals onward.

The little witch and the baker’s child were inseparable from that day on. The pair grew as one - perfecting the recipes passed down to the young baker and adding a few of their own to the mix. They shared their creations with the town to prove the witch’s dreams were true as any other. Many still opposed, but they could not turn a blind eye to the duo’s efforts. The day of her awakening came and the young witch remained true to her heart – supported by her dearest friend who created an entire buffet of sweets to celebrate their second happiest day together.

Balancing magic and her culinary skills, the then adult witch unlocked feats far beyond that of her ancestors. A witch’s heart was their most powerful tool, and hers was filled with the love she held for sweets, her town, and the baker who changed everything for her. They flourished right alongside her into a kind, strong hearted individual, and later took over their parents' bakery as was tradition in their family. Just as she owed her success to them, they could do little without the aid of their favorite witch and invited her to take ownership with them. She’d be a fool to refuse their offer.

Perfecting her craft in all corners, the witch discovered what wonders her sweets could truly possess with a sprinkle of magic – some more groundbreaking than others, but nonetheless spectacular. Cupcakes that turn hair the same color as their frosting. Hard candies that could cure most illnesses. Cookies that would grant the eater’s truest wish with a single bite. She created an entire house made of sugar and sweetness for her and her dearest friend to live in. The townspeople who relied on the witch’s magic were amazed by the fruit of her hard labor, and the baker couldn’t be prouder which made the witch happier beyond compare. They noticed how hard she worked and only wished there was more they could do for her. The demands of the people piled in by the day, and though she wore a smile everyday they could see the cracks. The witch merely laughed off their worries, and carried on as usual.

She was happy. They were happy. Everyone in the whole town was happy – but the happy days wouldn’t last forever unless the baker did something to aid the woman they loved.

Rumors floated around town of normal humans becoming powerful witches over time. They say it only took a brave heart, a dedicated mind, and a wish. What people didn’t was that there was a fourth element involved. The second most important in a witch’s survival.

A strong body.

The baker pleaded with the witch to allow them to learn magic beside her. She had never been able to say no to them. The baker was a natural. Once she deemed them ready to practice, the human would master spells even she had difficulty with. It was no surprise to her considering their passions were one in the same, and if anyone was truer to their ambitions than her it was them. Together, the two were unstoppable. Untouchable. They worked off each other’s weaknesses and knew the other better than they knew themselves.

Which is why the witch was the first to notice.

It began with a cough. The weather had grown quite chilly so neither thought much of it. A few of the witch’s homemade remedies and they felt good as new. Then - they began sleeping in. They went under spells of fatigue from the littlest tasks. Soon enough, they couldn’t even hold a spoon.

The witch tried every spell in the book to save them. She took on the manning the shop alone so they were able to rest. It was the loneliest she had felt in years, but she’d do anything to save the human she loved. In the end, it was all for nothing.

They died in their sleep while she was away from home – fulfilling the wishes of others while hers died alone at home.

The witch did everything she could.

She cried.

She begged.

She ate till her stomach felt like it was going to burst.

To ease the pain, to bring them back - but even she could not raise the dead.

The cookies she shoved down her throat tasted bland and stale. Nothing was sweeter than the kisses the baker placed to her cheek every morning. She never got to tell them. She never had the chance to express her true feelings.

The witch screamed.

Tore her hair out and cursed whatever horrible force that bound her to this fate. Made her weak.

Please….

She cried over and over.

Take me instead.

Don’t leave me here all alone.

I can’t do this without you.

You said you’d never leave me.

Why?...

Please…

DON’T LEAVE ME!

The townspeople gave her time to grief. It was the only mercy they gave. The knocking began. Their whispers slipped beneath her door. They asked her for more. She’d given them everything. Her heart, her love, her sweet, foolish baker- yet they still wanted more.

Selfish.

Greedy.

Cruel.

That’s all their kind had ever been. They took and took until there was nothing left. No… There was still one thing. She wasn’t going to let them take the shattered pieces. She refused to let them walk over her as they had trampled those before her. She’d take back everything they stole and more. She’d create a world catered to her desires. A place made of cinnamon and sugar, with subjects molded from the same ingredients and just as sweet. Creations who’d love and obey her for the rest of eternity. What the witch didn’t know…

Was they’d betray her worst of all.

“Alright…. I think that’s enough for one year….”

“Awww.. but we nearly reached the end this time, didn’t we?”

“Yes, but – are you really sure this is something you want to hear on your birthday? It’s a pretty tale…”

“Of course! I want to know everything about you, Sweets. Even old fairy tales in older, duster cookbooks.”

“Hahaha, Fine….. Stay with me another year and we’ll finish it – I promise.”

“Better wish real hard then…. Who knows how many we have left.”

“Help me…..”

“Help!”

Smoke pads your lungs. Hands – hardened and calloused from years of labor pound and claw pathetically against solid wood. In lighter years, visitors would joke it’d take a stampede to tear down the door of your bakery. Fresh tears sting your wet eyes at the painful resurgence of memory. You press your apron tighter over your mouth and nose - sucking what precious oxygen remains as you prepare for what may be your last plea.

"Please, help me! I didn't do it!"

You know they can hear you. Over the crackling pops of roaring flames and the walls caving in around, your voice reigns louder than all. You hear their chants grow louder to drown you out. Accusations of a crime you'd lay your own life before than commit.

"I didn't hurt them! I'd never hurt them…. They were all I had. Please don't do this to us!..... At least let me say goodbye…."

Their chorus continues. Doubt seeps into the shouts of many at your desperate cries, but their verdict remains the same.

witch….

Witch….

WITCH.

There's no use. None of them will change their mind. If anyone tries to help you now they'll surely be tied to the same fate. Blinking away tears and the burn from your eyes with one final look at those who had forsaken you, you turn on your heels - rushing back into the flames devouring everything you once knew and loved. There had to be another way out. Every entrance had been board up, but… the windows-

Acting swiftly, you hurry into the kitchen - swiping the satchel used for your deliveries from its hook right before the entire rack is brought down by falling degree.You move as fast as your feet would carry - quickly grabbing everything that wasn't nailed to the floor and small enough to not weigh you down. Jars. Tools. Bottles. Anything to help you restart elsewhere, and remind you what you once had - no matter how much it hurts.

Stuffing towels and broken dreams into your bag, the growing strain on your shoulder tells you enough is enough. Only one more thing left to grab. Your legs wobble as you approach the counter. Rubble and ash fall around you as you reach out. It's still open to that page. There's dough and flour beneath your nails - same as when you were kids just playing around in the kitchen. You swore they loved those cookies more than your friendship. Still you made them every year-

The batch of freshly made treats sits right beside it - packed away in that star shaped tent saved just for their special day. You were just about to make the frosting when they came. When the news was broken to you in the most ways. You barely had the chance to process it all before they started pointing fingers. All the ingredients are right there. All the memories. All the pain. You realize now there is no escape from this - not here.

You pick a cookie from the tent - your entire world crumbling around you as you raise your hand to your mouth. Flames lick the ceiling as you take a bite.

Please… take me far away from here.

A loud snap re-alerts you to your surroundings. A small groan is all that warns of what to come. All at once, the floor beneath you caves in. Feeling the ground disappear from under your feet, your arms instinctively reach for the book on the counter as you plummet. Falling with increasing speed, you clutch the book to your chest as the world above is swallowed by the darkness blanketing your weightless body - a silent scream cast into the void. Smoldering wood joins you as the ceiling to your baker and home finally collapses under the pressure. The last thing you see before your body hits solid ground is the same starless night you've fallen asleep beneath your whole life. .

"Mmm, so good. These are your best yet!"

"That's what you always say-"

"Because your treats just keep getting better and better. You're amazing, Sweets!"

"You know, I never figured out why you call me that."

"Isn't it obvious? You make the best desserts in the whole world! Way better than mama's - I swear it's like she mixed up the sugar jar with the salt one."

"Haha, I guess that makes a little sense-"

"But - there is one other reason… "

"What is it?"

"I think that's pretty obvious too…You're the sweetest person I've ever met."

"Mm…. Ngh…"

Your head feels like it's split in two. You can't move - every limb stiff as stone. Darkness still surrounds you. Even breathing is a labored task that siphons all your strength for a single breath. Breathing…

You open your eyes - clamping them almost immediately as bright light beads down into them - assaulting your shot sense with its rays.

"Ach.." Steadying the air flow through your chest, you wiggle your fingers and toes - channeling circulation to the rest of your extremities as your heels and fingertips dig at soft earth. Rolling onto your side, you push yourself off the ground and upright; the weight of your satchel hindering your movement. You blink a few times to let your eyes adjust to the environment, rubbing at the sore joints in your neck.

"What… happened?"

As soon as the words leave your mouth it all rushed back to you. The fire. The fall. Your eyes dart around, perplexed by the lack of ash and dirt walls around you. Grass scratches your bare legs as you pull them to your chest. The sun's harsh rays beat down on you from above. Tree leaves rustle in the strangely syrupy scented wind. Footsteps imprint in the soft earth - trailing away from where you lie. Did… someone save you? Something feels off. You draw a hand to your face; the freedom of your arms alerting your senses to a troubling particument - more troubling than the one you've found yourself in now.

Your book. Where is it?

Where is it. Where is it.

The strength in your limbs replenishes at such speeds it gives you a headrush as you spring to your knees. You sweep your hands across the dirt floor around you, searching the barren land around you before you lose your mind wandering through the forest. Dirt catches beneath your nails as they scratch at the soft earth. The texture of the soil - it doesn't feel right. It squishes between your fingers, rich and moist like it is after fresh rainfall, but there hasn't been rain in weeks nor does the scent of rain linger in the air. All that resides is that sweet stench. A whiff of cocoa passes in the gentle breeze as you wipe sweat from your forehead.

Your legs fold beneath you like a stack of cards as you attempt to stand. Using a nearby tree as a crutch, you pull yourself to your feet - stumbling on wobbling knees and driving your shoulder into the bark of the tree as you fall against it. A nut wrestles free of its branch from the force and lands directly on your head.

"Ouch!" You rub the sore spot of your skull, looking down and drawing your foot to vent your frustration on the pour seedling-

"Huh?"

You plant both feet steady on the ground. Where what should have been a seed sits a bright red candy wrapper nestled safely in the grass. Curious, you pick it up- inspecting the foil casing. There's nothing of note besides a star pattern printed right where the seams meet. You wedge your nail beneath the fold, peeling back the wrapper to reveal a piece of candy with a similar crimson color to its outer layer. It fits between your fingers no bigger than a small apple. Drool dampens your lips as your image shines in its reflection. You hadn't had a single thing to eat since breakfast and even then you only ate enough to last you for the period rather than the long day of work ahead of you. Popping the candy into your mouth, you bite down without a second thought.

Solid and firm on the outside, the candy bursts like the gooey filling of warm pie filling under the pressure of your teeth. Nutmeg and cinnamon overwrite your senses of taste and smell, followed swiftly by the taste of baked apple coated in a sugary glaze. It's been a while since someone has asked you to make an apple pie. For a moment, you think of making one when you return home before it hits you have no home to go back to. You're not even sure where it once stood. It's clear by now you are not where home used to be. Then where are you?

Snap!

Collecting - a twig snaps somewhere off behind you. You turn your head in the direction of the sound. "Hello?"

No one answers your call. Without making a sound, a figure steps out into the tree lining. Lanky and bent at an odd angle; standing just enough into the shade and bushes all you could see was below their chin. Their skin is an odd shade of pink; likeness akin to freshly chewed bubblegum. Couldn't be a sunburn, but you chalk it up to be a trick of the sun. A bright red bow wraps tightly around their neck, poking out from the collar of the puffy sleeve white shirt they wore beneath a striped, chestnut colored vest.

"Hello….."

Their voice was low in pitch and wet - revoltingly sweet and syrupy thick just like the air; almost drowning in their chest as they spoke.You swallow your nerves as you pose your dry lips to speak. "Excuse me, but I think I'm lost…. Have… have you seen a book anywhere?"

The figure tilts their head, twin, bright pink pig tails dangling from the sides of their head - drooping over their shoulders like melting wax. Even the angle of their neck is off. How can it bend at that sharply?

"Would you…. like some taffy?"

You quickly toss the half-eaten fruit in your age as you take a step back. "I think sugar is the last thing I need right now-"

The figure stills for a moment - calculating their next words carefully.

"Would you… like some taffy?~"

A tiny giggle erupts from their chest. "No, I already said that. Look, I really need to-"

"Are you looking for this?..."

The stranger pulls a rectangular item from the bushes - aged leather cover barely intact with its spine. You notice that two fingers on their left hand appear to be stuck together, pinky finger nowhere to be seen. Cautiously, you take a step forward, extending a hand.

"Yes… That's exactly what I'm looking for.. May I please have it?

"I'll give it to you if you do something for me…"

"Please, it's very important."

"It's been so long since I've had company… it won't take too much off your time"

You chew at your lips. "What do you need me to do?"

"Come closer…I just want to get a good look at you. You're so pretty from afar"

You take a step forward. Just grab the book and run.

"Closer…"

Another.

"closer."

You stand right in front of them. You make a grab for your book, but their reflexes are quicker. The figure grabs you, locking you to their chest in an iron tight grip. Their head rests on your shoulder as they stroke their longer fingers down the length of your back - humming with a softness foreign to their tone before then. You bring your arms up to hug them back. It's then, at a close proximity, you're able to see the large chunk of flesh ripped from their neck.

"Thank you…."

Thin digits run up your arm and face, stroking the line of your bottom lip as they giggle softly. You cringe as a hand latches onto your chin - prying your mouth open.

"Now, eat up~"

Before you have time to react, the creature shoves two of its fingers into your mouth - palm slamming into your chin and locking your jaws around their skin. Opening your eyes, you're met with the swirling insanity of their orbs as your teeth sink into their flesh. Spiraling red and white irises like the swirls in peppermint candies. Their lips seem to almost be melting together - a small hole torn through the outer wall of their left cheek. Crimson blush paints their cheeks - an impossible wide smile reveals cherry red teeth.

You squirm and struggle with all your might - attempting to wrestle yourself from their grip, but their hold is too strong. Their skin melting against the heat of yours makes escape all the more distant. Your teeth slice through the meat of their fingers like hot butter as you're forced to bite down. Their skin doesn't break like normal flesh. Queasiness hits your stomach like a rock as they're completely severed from seemingly non-existent bone. Even worse, you feel the severed digits inch their way towards the back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes as their flesh sticks to your teeth. You try to scrap it off with your tongue, only smearing it into your gums and against the roof of your mouth. Expecting the copper taste of blood - the flavor that bursts on your taste buds unlocks a core memory in your mind from your childhood.

It's taffy.

Cherry taffy.

You'd recognize that chewy taste and texture anywhere. The fiend notices the flicker of familiarity in your eyes as your muscles temporarily ease from the confusion. Their bizarre smile stretches as you chew at their flesh almost by reflex - swallowing them near whole. More fits of laughter bubble from their throat as a bubbling warm settles in your chest, spreading throughout.

"Tastes good, doesn't it? I knew you would like me once I saw that page in your book. Humans like candy after all..."

Your limbs lock up as they had when you woke as that warmth spreads throughout your body, creeping back up your throat and out your mouth in a tiny hiccup of laughter that has the taffy creature grinning from ear to ear. Your heart hammers against the shaking cage of your chest - laughter echoing from every corner of the forest. It's soon you realize the laughter is your own coupled with the fiend's cackling shrieks and the far off rattles of the trees.

"Your voice is so pretty… I like you.. I like you!.. Hey, you'll eat more of me, right? Candy is supposed to be eaten by humans. Are you listening?"

You try - but everything that comes out of their mouth is so funny you can't hear a thing over your laughter. What's happening? Lost in the swirling spirals of their eyes, the rawness of your throat barely registers in your weary mind as giggles are yanked and pulled from you. The convulsions in your stomach built into a deep ache in your abdomen. The tears in your lashes pour down your face - caught by a sticky tongue that leaves a trail of pink slick up your cheek.

"Oh!- Giving me a treat? You're too kind… please don't cry… I'll let you rest for now. I'd hate for you to get sick… see you soon…."

Your body falls back to that weightless, floating state. You can't tell if you're standing, fallen over, or something else entirely. The trees close around you - snuffing what little air passes through your chest. Your jaws hang slack as a hand reaches out from the horde. Your lips close around fluffy air as your vision fades to black out once more.

"Ta-da!"

Fire snaps and pops within the confines of a handmade pit. In the flames, you see the two of you as children - piling books on top of chairs to steal the matchbox their parents hid in a cabinet too tall for either of you to reach. Where you excelled beyond your years elsewhere, they had always been a master at building the perfect campfire among other things. They were so proud of their skills. Crickets chirp and stars twinkle brilliantly in the pale blue night sky…

Stars?...

"One S'more hot off the stick - courtesy of your bestest friend in the whole wild world."

They take a bite out of theirs, gooey marshmallow fluff oozing from the crackers. They sport a toothy smile, burnt fluff sticking to their lips and teeth. They chipped a front tooth on a jawbreaker right after it had grown in when you were little - yet their smile is without imperfection. They lost the roundness in their face and shape the person next to you has as their condition got worse. While their body failed, their hair and skin never got that pale either - nor did they have horns. Short, stubby little horns peeking from fluffy white tufts of hair framing their chubby, freckled cheeks. It's not them, but at the same time your mind clicks the familiar pieces of a night similar to this and for you that's all it takes. The heat of the fire kisses away your tears.

A bright blue blanket keeps you joined at the shoulder with them. Tiny yellow dots mirror the shining stars hanging over you.

"Mmm… s'mores are so good… Hm? What's wrong? We can't all be talented bakers, I'm trying my best here. You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Tightness grips at your chest. Despite their appearance, it's still their voice if not a bit softer than you recall. "Addie…. You…."

Their smile falls - sad, tired eyes drooping behind heavy lids. Their voice mellows into a tranquil whisper of what it once was. If it weren't for the stress and the fact you were already dreaming you might've drifted off to sleep as they spoke. "I know…. I just wanted you to have a good dream… I like this place, but you shouldn't be here right now. Maybe someday in the near future you can show it to me again and we can talk more about this.. Addie person."

"Who are you?"

"I'll tell you when we meet in person. Can you do me a favor when we do? I think my blanket fell off me, but I had such a nice time here with you I don't think I'll wake up anytime soon.. I'm a little cold now, so can you please tuck me back in?"

"I'll… see what I can do."

"Thank you. I hope we can become closer the more we see each other. It's nice to have someone to dream with. You really should wake up soon…"

Their fingers intertwine with yours, placing the S'more in your open palm.

"But it doesn't hurt to dream just a little longer."

You take a bite. Charred fluff explodes from between the crackers and onto your tongue. You always had to stop them from turning your marshmallows to near ash as they preferred theirs. You chew slower to savor the taste as their head rests on your arm. You close your eyes - letting everything melt in.

The taste of burnt marshmallow.

The chilly night air.

Them.

You chew and chew - opening your eyes to find yourself right back where you once were. Stickiness clings to your lips. They feel a bit chalky too. You scrap it off with your nails, wiping marshmallow fluff onto your stained apron.

Your book sits a few inches in front of you in the dirt. You pick it up and inspect it from to back, checking each page to make sure everything is still there. There are pink fingerprints on a page detailing a recipe for hand pulled taffy. They curve into the arches of a heart at the bottom of the paper.

Riiing.

Somewhere off in the distance - a bell chimes. The instrument falls from the wielder's hand to their hip as they watch you. The bill of what looks to be a mailman's cap blocks you from direct eye contact or even a glimpse at their face. A satchel of better quality than yours hangs at their side - what looks to be a chalkboard dangling from their neck.

After the last encounter, you're hesitant to speak to anyone you meet in this place, but you have no choice. "H…hello?

Same as with the other once, there's no response at first. The figure takes hold of the board around their neck, dragging their fingers along its surface. They turn the board to you - an arrow pointing to their left. As if to further get their point across, they raise a hand in the same direction. Each of their fingers appears to be a different color. Yellow. Pink. Blue. Green. Orange. They tip their hat at you before spinning on their heels and heading the opposite way.

"Wait!" You toss your book into your bag as you stand - giving chase as they dart around a tree. Wind nips at your exposed flesh as you sprint after them. By the time you reach where they once stood they're already leagues ahead of you. Sharp turns drive a deeper wedge in your distance from them. The faint jingle of their bell grows further and further away the closer you get - your voice drowning out its final chime.

"Please - wait! I don't know where I am. I just want to go home. Where are you trying to send me? Please, I need your - wahh!"

Eyes straight ahead, you completely overlook the obstacle in your path until it sweeps the air from beneath you. You fall forward as your ankle connects with something hard jutting out of the earth. You throw your arms out to cushion your landing as your body is cruelly shoved into the dirt by gravity.

"Ow…." Flipping yourself over, you lift up your apron to check the damage to your stinging right leg. The pants leg itself is torn, but your leg looks to be relatively okay besides the start of a bruise. Looking closer - green spots stain the fabric of your slacks around the mouth of the tear in them. You glance over at the cause of your tumble - blood chilling in your veins.

Sprawled across the forest floor was an entire human skeleton encased in some greenish, gel-like mass. Its hollow eye sockets gaze apathetically at nothing; arms curled to its chest. They stare straight through you and your shivering self feet away. The sludge that surrounds it almost fits perfectly to its thin frame, but there are some outliers in its shape. Two circular mounts sit atop its head like the ears of some animal. The gel bunches around their arms and neck like the sleeves and hood of a jacket. It seems to mimic both skin and clothing. You swallow the scream in your throat and use the energy to kick yourself off the ground as you flee - stopping dead in your tracks as a tiny voice calls out.

"Please don't go…."

A tiny sniffle sounds from the body behind you. Its chest rises and falls slowly as its head tilts up to look at you. You freeze - stiff as a board.

"I'm… not going to hurt you if that's what you're afraid of. I can't do anything really right now. I can't move.. It's getting darker… I just want to go home…"

Their words strike a chord with you. Against every muscle screaming otherwise, you turn to face them again. "What… are you?"

"My name is Gumi… I'm a boy - if you were wondering. Like most of the things you've probably seen by now, I'm made out of candy. Could you please just stay here until my sister comes? She can help fix me and we can take you back to town. The forest is pretty large though, and I can't remember where I am so I don't know how long it will take her to find us."

"Gumi…. I'm sorry, you have to understand how crazy this is for me… Let me help you sit up." You walk over to the candy body - scooping your arms beneath his and dragging him over to a nearby rock. Your fingers sink into his squishy flesh as you help him sit upright. Despite being made of sweets, he definitely had the weight of a human being. It's hard for him to sit up all the way - possibly due to the empty space in his abdomen leaving little support for his gummy flesh. There's a red misshapen mark in his chest where a heart would be, the organ obscured by the walls of candy around it.

"Thank you… What's your name?"

You glance at the ground. "Just… call me Sweets."

"Sweets…." Gumi parrots, "That's a nice name.."

"What happened to you?"

Gumi weakly pulls his arms tighter to his chest. "My spine… was taken. There's someone like me out here - a candy person, I mean. Their body can't hold a solid form, so they steal from other people in exchange for things to eat to keep it."

You place your bag on the ground, kneeling as you search through it. All of this is giving you a headache, but you can't just leave him out here after being stuck for so long. "What do they normally eat?"

"Anything that will help them, really. Sugar, syrup, jam- but there's been talk of them drinking hu-"

Jam. Thank heavens you switched to plastic jars as soon as you were able to get your hands on some. "I have something I can trade. Can you tell me which direction they're in?"

"W-what?!" Gumi's soft body tenses - falling forward into your arms. "No, it's too dangerous! I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me! Especially not someone who's been nice to me so far…."

You place a hand on his back, guiding him back against the stone. "Like you said, it's getting darker and we don't know when your sister will find you. I'm sure we can come to an agreement with them. Not to brag, but I'm kind of the best - and only baker in my hometown."

"I…but-..." Gumi trips over his words- searching for a rebuttal, but finding nothing. He sighs. "Okay…. But take my head with you. If anything happens I can distract them long enough for you to get away…"

"Won't that..hurt?.."

"No…. I'm sitting here without a spine, aren't I? It is pretty gross in my opinion, but my bones can be pulled apart and snapped back together easy. Watch." Gumi places both hands on the sides of his skull, twisting his head and the bones attaching it to his shoulder until it's loose enough to pop right off. His headless body passes his head off to you as it smiles meekly.

"Creep… I know."

You gently take his head from his hands. "After the day I've had, I'd hardly consider this the worst part. If you ask me, I think it's kind of cool."

"C…cool?" Red bleeds from the center of his face all the way to the ears atop his head.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah… Nobody, besides my sister and a few others, have ever been this kind to me… The cave they live in is that way."

His body points in the same direction his eyes do. You move his head into one arm as you reach into your satchel. You pull out your book and tuck wit beneath your other arm as you remove your apron. You stuff it into your bag and place his head instead.

"Is this comfortable for you? I'd hate to trip over something else and accidentally drop you.."

"Yes, but - could you please carry me in your arms. I-if I'm not too heavy of course. Humans have soft skin…. Was that weird to say?"

"I don't think so. I'll gladly carry you, but we should get going now. Can your body watch my book for me until we get back? It's important to me and I'd hate for it to get more damaged than it already is. It's pretty old considering it's a family heirloom"

His voice softens. "You really trust me with something that special to you?..."

You smile. "You haven't given me a reason not to."

"okay…. O-Okay! I'll guard it with my life then." He holds out his hands and you set the book in them - leaving it in his possession. His body hugs it to his chest, waving as you and his head walk off.

Walking towards the cave, the silence gets to you before long. "So… you have a sister?"

Gumi looks up at you from the corners of his sockets. "Yeah… a little sister - we think. Her name is Lollie. We aren't actually related, but it's nice to have that bond. She has a bit of a temper, but she sticks up for me and I try to keep her out of trouble."

"That's so sweet… Can you tell me a bit about the town you guys live in?"

"There's not much to say about it.. It's all we've really ever known after watching up one day and finding each other before being picked up by the others. Chip repairs us the best he can when any of us breaks. Kreme makes clothes for those who wear them and made me and Lollie matching bracelets for our birthday. Valentine makes deliveries to everyone and collects things we need from the forest. There are others in town, but a few I don't see often and the rest are… not the kindest"

"Deliveries… I saw someone with a bell and a carrier satchel earlier. Could that be them?"

"Probably… Val can't speak so they carry a bell and their chalk board to communicate with people… We're here…"

Leaves crunch beneath your feet as you stop before the gaping mouth of a cave. The dampness of the opening rolls off in waves, fanning your face like a dying breath. You catch the scent of artificial strawberries as you readjust Gumi in your arms.

"Well… no time like the present." Breathing in, you take your first step inside the cave. Your steps echo down the narrow passageway as you traverse deeper into the hollow den. Darkness envelops you, but it no longer holds control over you with company - sparkling stalagmites soon brightening the dim path. You chip off a piece of the jagged crystals as you pass by and stick your tongue against the flat surface. Rock candy- grape flavor to be exact.

The tight walls of the cave open into a room fully illuminated by glowing rock candy. A pool of crimson awaits in the room's center - a deep chuckle bubbling from its murky depths.

"Well, well - you sure took your time, but since you've brought a new face I'll let it slide this time."

Gumi shakes in your arms. Feeling your hold strength, he swallows his nerves as he speaks. "M, please give back my spine. We'd like to make a trade with you."

"Yes, yes - we've played this little game many times before with that sister of yours.. Allow me to slip into something more… comfortable."

A hand shoots out from the pool, smacking down on the stone floor with a wet crack. Along with the hands forms an arm - weaving into shape by use of the syrupy fluid it bathes the. It drags itself from the vicious sea of red - pulling the tides along with it. A lower half of a head emerges from the pit, waters depleting as its torso and left arm take shape. You watch as the fluids snake around the stolen spine as the empty space of their chest closes to form mostly smooth skin. Their flesh drips and hangs at their fingertips, right shoulder hanging lower than the left as they crawl their way out and stand up right. Their head finally morphs to shape to the best of its capabilities with what little fluid it has left to work with - the entire left half of their face from eye to jaw missing.

"That's… a little better. Excuse me for taking so much of your time, but I am almost ready."

There's a slight limp in their stride as they saunter over behind a curtain of sharp rocks. The slip of fabric meets your ears as they hum to themselves - image reflected on the wall behind them. You see as they slide an arm through the sleeves of a shirt, buttoning it up to the second to last collar. They place a cap atop their head as they step back out to greet you -heeling clicking sharply against the hard floor.

The figure wears what was once a white nursing coat and hat. Red hand prints dart the entire length of the garb down to where it hangs just above their knee. It rises to mid-thigh with every step they take. They pin a name tag to their chest as they stand before you - red blocking out every letter of the name that was once there besides one.

M sighs. "Ha… Much better. I do pray my appearance doesn't alarm you much, but considering you are carrying the head of this whiny little creature I'm sure my looks hardly bother you. Maybe.. interesting you perhaps, hm?"

You nervously chuckle. "About the trade…."

They clap their hands together. "Ah yes- It is one I am quite excited for. It's been so long since I've had a nice cup of red wine. I'll be needing a sample to decide how much of you is worth trading the only useful part that boy in your arms has."

"I… have something else in mind." Reaching into your bad, you pull out a freshly made jar of jam made the night before in preparation for a cake someone had ordered. You shake the jar lightly. "Do you take raspberry?

M folds their arms over their chest. "I guess we'll just have to see." They snatch the jar from you and twist off its lid, inserting their index finger inside. They spread the jam over their middle finger and thumb - eyeing it closely as they shove their fingers past their lips.

"Hm…."

They take another taste.

"Mmm…."

And another - this time dipping their entire palm into the jar and shoveling the jam into their mouth.

"This… is good…I've never had anything this good in ages." M sucks the jam from each finger before pointing at you. "You! - Tell me you have more of this…. Heavenly concoction."

"I don't… but if you promise to give Gumi's spine back and never take it from him again then maybe I'll find a way to make more for you before I leave."

"Deal!" M takes one of your hands and shakes it vigorously as confirmation of your contract. They reach into their chest, ripping out Gumi's spine and passing it off to you. Once their deed is done, they pour what remains of the jam down their throat - tapping the bottom of the jar and licking its walls to get every drop. The left half of their face fills out as they chew; straight locks of hair flowing from beneath their cap and stopping at their neck.

"I await our next encounter, my dear. As a token of my appreciation, you may come back even without your delicious jams as it does get rather lonely all the way out here by myself. I'd like to keep this container as a reminder of our first meeting. Until we see each other again, my sweet little friend. Thank you for the meal - and dessert.

M sweeps a finger across your cheek, catching the drying blood from a cut you must've gotten from one of your many falls. It's a surprise that it and the bruise on your leg is all the damage you've gotten so far. They place their thumb into their mouth with a small hum of satisfaction - winking as they turn away.

"Come by soon~"

You walk out of the cave with Gumi's spine and head in hand. "That was…interesting.."

"I'm just glad neither of us got hurt.. Let's get back to my body before… oh… oh no….. no no no no.

Your emotions conflict between confusion and terror - an imperfect balance of the two. "What? What's wrong?"

"We have to get back - now."

Racing through the trees, the commotion sounds before you even see it.

"Come on, lemme read it - Lemme read it! Is it your journal? Your diary? I wanna see, I wanna see!"

Gumi's headless body narrowly avoids the swing of a sledgehammer wielded by a girl nearly two size smaller than the weapon she holds. As she throws it back over her shoulder, the hammer end of the tool is revealed to be a giant, lollipop the same glossy pink as her skin. She chases after Gumi's body as it attempts to crawl away - skipping after him as if playing a leisurely game of tag. As she makes another grab for your book - Gumi shouts.

"Lollie! Cut it out! The book isn't mine! It belongs to Sweets!"

The girl snaps her head in your direction - stomping her feet excitedly in place before sprinting straight at you.

"Gummy-worm!"

Lollie plucks her brother's head from your grasp, spinning in circles as she giggles. She hugs him close, pressing her hard cheek against his. "Where have you been?! I've been looking for you all over and here you are with some human. Don't think I won't tell Jaws about you hanging out with fleshies again. She's still pretty pissed about what the last one did to her, y'know."

Gumi groans, his body dragging itself across the ground to return your book to you. You take a knee as you take it from him - patting his arm as a token of your gratitude. "Please don't call me that in front of them.. They're nothing like the last one, or any of the humans that we've met recently."

"I would find that hard to believe…. If they weren't holding your spine. If Bloody steals your parts one more time I'm gonna-" She exhales. "Well, you know what I'll do." She faces you. "HI. I'm Lollie, Gumi's sister, but I'm sure he's already told you all about me."

You nod. "He's told me a few things. You can call me Sweets."

"Sweets… Cute~ Normally I'd chase you all the way to the ocean, buuuut since you help my brother and you have a cute name I'll help you out as well. Let's get Wormy here back in one piece and we'll take you back to town."

With Lollie's aid, you reattach Gumi's head and arm. Standing on his feet, the boy sheepishly rubs at his arm. "Can… Can I hug you? It felt nice to be held by you…"

"Of course." Pulling him in, the two of you share a brief hug before you're ripped away by Lollie who holds onto your hand tightly. Gumi could've gone another hour in your arms. He accepts his loss and takes your other hand as Lollie attempts to drag you both along.

"Come on, come on - we gotta get there before everyone turns in for the night!"

Together, the twins guide you through the forest back to their home. Walking with them, you finally take pause to look at the world around you. With everything going on, you never stopped to notice it all. Cotton candy bushes. Lollipop flowers. The bark of the trees surrounding you reveal themselves to be made of some mass of woven candy strings. The soft earth beneath you becomes solid as you step down on hard, stone bricks.

Gumi speaks up. "Do you think anyone is around?

Bright lights and friendly chatter answers his questions for you all. A small crowd of people stand at the entrance of the town - conversing amongst each other as one, familiar face scouts out the brick road. They grab the bell from their belt, giving it a hard shake.

As you approach, a lone figure departs from the pack. They wear a burgundy apron, longer than your own as it drapes at their ankles, and carry with them a wooden blood. Their skin and braided hair remind you of unbaked dough - large, brown spots sprinkled through their person.

"Welcome home, you two. And to your new friend. My name is Chip, and it is a pleasure to meet you. You must be hungry after your journey. If we had more time to prepare, I would've made more, but I hope you enjoy stew."

As he holds out the bowl, the mail carrier creeps up from behind. A red heart marks the entirety of their face. They flip their board around for you to see as they cock their head to one side.

"Welcome. :) (sorry for running off earlier.)"

Lollie huffs. "Dang it, Val - you ruined our big surprise."

You smile faintly. "It's alright. My name is Sweets and while I appreciate the gesture, I think I've had enough candy for one day, Chip."

Chip pushes the bowl into your hands. "Just take one bite - if you would be so kind."

Unable to refuse, you bring the bowl up to your lips - sampling the broth. Where you expect to be met with soda or some other sugary drink is instead the hearty taste of root vegetables and spices. Whatever your stance on vegetables was as a child meant nothing now. You open your mouth wider to allow the potatoes and carrots through, broth dripping from the corners of your lips as you greedily inhale the stew. You turn away to wipe your face as the filling meal settles in your stomach.

"Thank you… That was…."

"Real vegetables?"

"That… but also good. How do you-"

Chip laughs. "We have the means to grow foods fit for your kind here as well. Can't make a cake without milk and eggs, can you? We're able to grow normal fruits from the trees you've seen outside, but livestock are a little hard to come by. Had I known of your arrival I would've prepared one of the chickens or cows I tend to for you."

"This is more than enough. Thank you, again."

Wheels clack over the stone pathway as another town's person rushes forward - picking at your tattered and burned clothing as they skate around you. You catch glimpses of what look to be two donuts sprouting from the sides of their head like puffy, hair buns - decorated in blue icing and rainbow sprinkles. The large hole in their stomach peaks from beneath their crop top. They pull to a stop in front of you, hands placed to their hips as they look at all the stains on your apron.

"Whoa! Your clothes are all burnt and torn up! Dirty too… I think I have some clothes in storage that'll fit you until I get the chance to patch them for you. My name is Kreme. Come by soon, kay?"

"Oh, um… okay!"

Kreme bows before zooming off down the empty streets presumably back to their place of work. The next to approach you wears fishnet leggings and a red bomber jacket. Wispy locks of bubble gum pink hair mask his eyes. His skin teeters on off white, but still holds that faint pink glow freshly chewed gum has. There are tiny bites taken out from his arms and hands. By the slight movement of his jaw something tells you those wounds may be self-inflicted.

They bowl a bubble, popping it with their teeth. "Marina. Things can get pretty hectic around here. Ever need to relax, I could let you pass with a bite or two."

You raise your hands, doing your best to keep your smile from breaking. "I think I'm good."

"Your loss." Marina shrugs, spitting out the piece of himself and taking a fresh bite from his arm as he walks off.

"This is ridiculous..'

The figure standing over by the welcoming sign finally speaks out. A sour candy belt wraps around their neck and head like a scarf. "LockJaw's never gonna allow another human to live here after what the last one did. We shouldn't even let them in the first place."

Lollie blows a raspberry at them. "Malick, don't be such an ass. LockJaw may watch over us, but she isn't our boss."

"Where is Lock by the way?"

Thud.

The ground quakes beneath you as a body crumples to it behind you. Cracks splinter the road around them - your teeth chattering from the heavy force of their landing. Spots of red, yellow, and blue pepper their paper white skin. Their right arm falls at your feet - detached from their body. A good portion of their torso is missing as well; both injuries revealing the layers of color overlapping like the rings of a chopped tree to make up the inner works of their body. You don't remember who's the first, but soon enough they all flock around them. Gumi shakes them roughly.

"LockJaw? Lockjaw! What happened? C-can you hear us?"

The body twitches - the fingers of their missing arm moving sporadically.

Chip takes a knee beside him and gently pulls his hands off of her. "She'll be fine. We need to get her inside so I check her wounds. Sweets, I hate for this to be your first experience with us, but could you please grab LockJaw's arm and follow us? She is quite heavy compared to the rest of us, so we need all the hands we can get."

Nodding, you pick up LockJaw's arms as the others pick her up off the ground. Her face is a mostly smooth surface. No eyes, nose, or even lips - until her face is fully lifted off the ground. An eyes rolls sluggishly in its socket from the crater in the left side of her face - rainbow teeth clenched so tight you're afraid they might break as her eye falls on you.

"Human…. Leave."

Chip throws her arm over his shoulder. "Now isn't the time for that. Follow us, please."

With Lollie holding her right side, Gumi and Marina supporting her from behind, and Malick behind them for extra support - you trail behind them as they all carry LockJaw into the nearest home which appears to be Chip's if the sign out front is anything to go by. They all lower her to the ground, stepping back as Chip inspects the brunt of her damages. Her single eye remains on you - unblinking. His lips press into a thin line as his expression darkens.

"I'm… afraid there isn't much I can do for her… Bandages won't fix injuries this severe… I'm sorry, Lock..."

"What?" Lollie shrieks. "There has to be something we can do!"

Her hand balls into a fist against your chest. You look around you, racking your brain for a solution. LockJaw… Jaws.. "Chip, do you have a stove, pot, water, and sugar? Maybe a rolling pin as well?"

"Yes. Yes, I have all of those things. This way." Chip leads you into his kitchen. Grabbing a pot from the cupboard, he places it on the stuff as he searches around for the remainder of the items you asked him for. Once obtained, you pour water and sugar into the pot - stirring the mixture together before lighting the flame. Sweat drips from your face as it soon begins to bubble. You quickly remove it from the eye and hurry back to where LockJaw lays - pouring it slowly over the gaping hole in her chest. You rave between the kitchen and living room - preparing more pots of boiling sugar you pour over her. As the wound fills out and matches level with the rest of her skin, you take the rolling pin and roll it over the cooling final layer - evening it to make. You dip her right arm and its stump in the next batch - attaching the two and keeping her arm in place until you're sure the makeshift glue holds. You get up to make another to work on her face - a hand grabbing the tails of your apron as you rise. Even she seems surprised by her movements as she pulls her hand away - flexing her fingers.

"No… you've done enough… ugh…."

LockJaw climbs to her cheek, standing a head taller than you. Her eye still lingers on you as she's hugged from behind by Lollie.

"Jaws! You're okay! Didn't you say it's best for us to stay in numbers? Why do you get to go off on your own?!"

LockJaw pushes the smaller girl away. "Don't touch me."

The strength and mobility of her right arm still throws her off as Chip rejoins you. "LockJaw, I see you are well. I'm glad. Considering your recovery is most in part thanks to our new friend here, it wouldn't be a crime to let them stay for a little while, would it?"

LockJaw looks away. She cannot close her eye so it's the best she can do. "For now. The minute they cause trouble I want them gone." The jawbreaker woman squeezes past Malick and Gumi, walking out of the open front door.

"Woo-hoo!" Lollie throws her arms around her, beckoning her brother to join as she hugs who tightly who sheepishly complies. "Looks like you'll be staying with us for a while. You'll bunk with me and Gumi, right? We can go on all sorts of adventures together and get to know each other better-"

Chip cuts into the conversation. "While that does sound lovely, we will talk about their permanent board in the morning. There are some things I'd like to discuss with them before the night is over. I think it's best if everyone returns home for now."

"Aw…." Lollie sulks, yet abides to Chip's order. She drags Gumi along with her who calls out as he's pulled along-

"Bye, Sweets! It was really nice to meet you! You'll visit me…. Us! In the morning, r-right?"

You call back. "As soon as I wake up you'll be the first I see!"

Chip waits for everyone else to leave before he speaks again. He walks over to the front door and shuts it, turning the lock. "Sweets… I must confess that I lied before. I have fixed LockJaw and others to the best of my power in the past, but I know your aid was the only way she'd allow you to stay. Valentine told me about some of the things they saw in the book you possess. You are a baker, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yes… My shop was burned down by people I once called family. I fell through the floor and woke up here. This cookbook is all I have now."

Chip nods. "I am sorry for prying. It's just that even I am unable to do what you have done."

"What do you mean?"

"My fixes are… cosmetic at best. Sometimes, functions fail to return if a limb or other part is completely severed, or recovery takes a long time. You were able to repair LockJaw's arm and mobility to it in record time. I am unsure what this means, but either way you are welcome to stay with us until you are able to find your way home… If you ever want to return after what happened."

His final sentence hits you like a weighted brick. What will you do when you return home? It's not like you can go back to the town. Your survival will only prove their claims, but even then it's all you've ever known. You gaze outside the window- stars shining in the pale moonlight.

"Stars…." The word slips from your lips before you realize. Your eyes light up - hand placed against the glass.

Chip laughs. “You've spent the day in a world made of candy, and yet it seems this amazes you more. Have you never seen them before?”

“No…Not anywhere besides picture books at least. When I was little I used to collect little scraps of dough left over and shape them into stars to pass out to other kids around town… We made up a little game that if you ate one and wished just like you would on a real star all your dreams would come true… I think…. They’re why I’m here now.“

They would have loved this - and probably everything else in this world. That reminds you.. "Chip? There's someone I need to see. They had fluffy hair and short horns and they were wrapped in a blue blanket if I remember correctly. Do you know someone with that description?"

"I suppose you've met our little dreamer. Come with me."

Chip leads you outside and to a house with baby blue walls and white frosting decorating its borders. A blue star is printed on the front door. Chip knocks twice before it opens for you. You both enter and he guides you to a bedroom with marshmallow pillows littering the floor and a canopy bed at its heart. The figure from your dreams lays on their side - blankets covering only half their body and hands holding a white index card and blue pencil. You take the card from them and read it to yourself. It reads the name-

"Marlow."

You pick up the covers and pull them over their shoulders, tucking them beneath their chin. "Marlow, thank you for waking me up earlier. I'd like to dream with you now, if that's alright with you."

Deep asleep, their lips curl upwards as their body moves to make room for you. You look towards Chip who wishes you goodnight with another nod - shutting the door behind him. You climb into bed with Marlow, an arm falling over your chest as you stare out the window - falling asleep beneath a blanket of stars for the first time in all your life.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere oc #yandere harem #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere drabble #yandere writing #perfectly sweet

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maculategiraffe · 8 months

Text

so it is my understanding from books that it used to be that you went to the grocer(y store) and went up to the counter and told the grocer or the grocer's assistant your list, and the grocer was like "cool" and went and grabbed everything off the shelves and brought it to you while you waited at the counter. (either that or you could telephone the grocer with your list and send someone else to go pick it up for you. your husband or your daughter or your children's magical nanny as the case may be.) also the milkman came to your house and brought you milk and the butcher's assistant brought you meat on his little tricycle and the baker's assistant brought you bread. on like a subscription service

okay so I don't like the way we are doing things now. I don't like having to walk past miles and miles of scented candles and birthday cards and kitty litter and vaginal deodorants and mylar balloons and craft IPAs and erasers shaped like hamburgers just because I am out of eggs. and I don't want to pad out the amount of groceries I need to make the delivery trip worth the while of some anonymous underpaid overworked algorithm slave. I want to leave a note on the door asking the butter and egg man to bring an extra dozen eggs next time. and then I want the butter and egg man to go home and gossip to his wife about how I must be trying to learn fancy baking again because I have doubled my egg order and his wife will be like nice :) let's go out to dinner on friday and toast old miss giraffe's fifty-seventh attempt at learning to make her own macarons. who do I write to about this

#psir

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deliciousangelfestival · 29 days

Text

Flour Power - 2

Character: Amnesia!Bucky x Baker!Female Character

Summary: A baker helps a stranger, only to discover that this individual not only aids the bakery but also brings trouble along with him

A/N: Because Bucky got amnesia, his name was temporarily changed to Bob.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , End

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

With each passing day, Bob's strength began to return. He wasted no time putting his newfound energy to good use, eagerly diving into his tasks at the bakery. Rising early, he matched your dedication, lending a hand wherever needed.

In the kitchen, Bob proved himself a quick learner, diligently tackling each task. Whether he was cleaning, lifting heavy bags of flour, or manually whisking dough, his commitment never wavered.

His presence brought a renewed sense of energy to the bakery. Bob's help made the workload lighter, and the atmosphere buzzed with productivity.

As you watched him work, you couldn't help but feel grateful for his assistance, realizing that having Bob around was a valuable asset to the bakery.

As the day progressed, the usual hustle and bustle of the bakery continued. Bob, wiping the counter with a thoughtful expression, broke the silence with a question, "Why is it so quiet here?"

With a hint of bitterness in her tone, Tammy pointed her fingers towards the bustling bakery across the street. "That's because our loyal customers got stolen by them," she lamented, her frustration evident.

Bob's gaze followed Tammy's gesture, his expression a mix of curiosity and disbelief as he saw the crowded shopfront.

"The ungrateful not only stole the family recipe but also put this bakery into debt," Tammy continued, her voice tinged with resentment.

Bob's sense of justice was stirred. "Not fair. This bread is more delicious," he remarked, his loyalty to the bakery evident in his words.

You couldn't help but feel gratitude towards Bob for his unwavering support. "Thanks, Bob," you interjected, a sense of appreciation coloring your voice.

"You want to learn how to make croissants?" you asked, noticing that each time you prepared the flaky pastries, Bob's gaze would inevitably drift towards you, silently observing your technique.

As you spoke, you could see a flicker of curiosity in Bob's eyes, his interest piqued by the prospect of learning something new. His shoulders straightened slightly, and he nodded in response, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Bob's face lit up with childlike excitement as you extended the offer, his eyes shining eagerly. "Can I?" he asked, his enthusiasm palpable.

You nodded with a smile, touched by his genuine interest. Your family had always believed in sharing their knowledge with others, and Bob was no exception. Teaching him how to make croissants would strengthen his bond with the bakery and equip him with valuable skills for the future.

"Of course," you replied warmly. "My family has always believed in passing on our baking expertise to anyone who's eager to learn. You're no exception, Bob."

You gestured towards the work surface, inviting him to join you. "Come on, I'll show you," you said warmly, your voice filled with encouragement.

As Bob diligently worked on crafting the croissants, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation, eager to see the results of his efforts. But as the baking process unfolded, it became apparent that things weren't going as expected.

🥐

"This isn't what I expected," you remarked, disappointment coloring your tone as you examined the misshapen and oversized croissants that emerged from the oven.

Bob's attempts at normal-sized croissants had ended in failure, but to your surprise, he had inadvertently succeeded in creating jumbo-sized croissants. The sheer scale of the pastries was impressive, a testament to Bob's determination and creativity in the face of adversity.

Tammy's arrival only added to the excitement, her eyes widening in amazement as she beheld the oversized croissants. "Whoa... This is incredible," she exclaimed, reaching for her phone to capture the moment and then upload the photo to her Instagram.

"How did you upload it so fast?" you asked, surprised by Tammy's quick actions.

Tammy shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "You know me," she replied coyly, her fingers flying across her phone as she shared the extraordinary sight with her followers on social media.

The 'Ping' of notifications continued incessantly, and you couldn't help but grow curious. "What's that?" you asked, glancing at Tammy as she retrieved her phone.

Tammy's eyes widened in astonishment as she scrolled through her notifications, her expression a mix of disbelief and excitement. "I've never received this many notifications this quickly," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with awe.

One comment: "Omg, is that real?"

Another comment: "Can I try? I think it's perfect for brunch with my girls."

"Oh, I know this bakery. It's called Sunrise Bakery. I used to go there with my mom. I should go there."

Another comment: "Eating and coffee time with friends? Sign me in."

You and Tammy exchanged a glance, realization dawning upon you. Could Bob's oversized croissants be attracting attention on social media?

With a shared nod, you turned your gaze towards Bob and the jumbo croissant behind him. "Alright," you said with a newfound sense of determination. "I think we could do this."

🥐

The jumbo croissant and coffee craze continued to sweep through the neighborhood, and your bakery became a bustling hub of activity, filled to the brim with eager customers clamoring to get a taste of the viral sensation.

Jumbo coffee, expertly crafted by Tammy, only added to the allure, drawing in even more patrons eager to savor the perfect pairing of freshly baked bread and aromatic brews.

But amidst the excitement and flurry of activity, a new phenomenon emerged – the presence of Bob, the enigmatic baker behind the scenes. His silent demeanor and skillful craftsmanship had captured the imaginations of many, particularly the female customers who flocked to the bakery in droves, hoping for a glimpse of the mysterious baker.

Because of your best efforts to maintain privacy and respect Bob's wishes, the allure of the elusive baker only seemed to intensify. You banned taking photos of the employees, hoping to preserve their privacy and dignity.

But rather than deter them, the ban seemed to fuel the customers' curiosity, sparking a fervor that only drew more attention to the bakery.

You felt a surge of gratitude as you served the bustling crowd, the familiar hum of activity reminiscent of the days when your grandparents had run the bakery.

As you delivered a loaf of bread to an elderly couple, you noticed they were foreigners, likely Japanese.

The elderly man nodded at you and spoke in Japanese, his request catching you off guard. "Sumimasen, koko de keitai o juuden shite mo ii desu ka? Watashi no keitai no battery ga shinde shimatte, hon'yaku appu o tsukau koto ga dekimasen." ("Excuse me, can I charge my phone here? My phone battery died, and I couldn't use the translation app.")

Feeling momentarily lost, you quickly excused yourself and approached Tammy. "Can I use your phone?" you asked urgently.

Tammy shook her head. "My phone is live right now, showing it to my followers," she explained.

Realizing your phone was also out of reach, you returned to the elderly man at the table, feeling helpless.

"Sumimasen," he said, following you to the cashier.

Confused, Bob suddenly appeared and approached the grandpa, asking in Japanese, "Doushite? Nani ga okotte iru no?" (What's going on?")

You explained the situation, amazed to hear Bob conversing fluently in Japanese. "Dekinai desu ka?" ("Is it not possible?") the elderly man asked, his expression crestfallen.

Suddenly, Bob's revelation left you and Tammy stunned. "Nanika o tasukeru koto ga dekimasu ka?" Bob asked in Japanese. ("Is there something we could help with?")

The elderly man's face brightened as he explained his predicament. "Watashi no keitai no battery ga shinde shimatte, koko de juuden dekimasu ka? Watashi no teburu no chikaku ni denki no soketsuto ga mienai node, keitai ga nai to hon'yaku appu o tsukau koto ga dekimasen." ("My phone battery is dead. Can I charge my phone here? I don't see any power sockets near my table. Without my phone, we couldn't use the translation app.")

Bob extended his hand. "Wakarimashita. Anata no keitai o kudasai. Koko de juuden shite kudasai," he offered in Japanese. ("I understand. Could you give me your phone? You can charge it here.")

Grateful, the elderly man bowed his head. "Arigatou gozaimasu," he said sincerely. ("Thank you very much.")

The Japanese grandpa told Bob "Arigatou. Mae no pan'ya wa koko mitaina basho ni wa tetsudatte kurenakatta yo." ("Thank you. The bake shop in front were not helpful like this place.")

Bob replied "Maa, bokutachi wa kanojo-ra yori umaku iu." ("Well, we're better than them.")

The grandpa laughed and went back to his table.

You and Tammy approached Bob with a mixture of surprise and curiosity evident on your faces. "Wait? You could speak Japanese?" you asked, incredulous.

Bob seemed equally surprised by the revelation, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I did?" he echoed with a hint of disbelief.

"How come you didn't realize? It was you who was speaking?" you asked, your brow furrowing in confusion as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"Wow, Bob. You're amazing," you exclaimed, unable to hide your admiration.

Hearing your compliment made Bob's ears turn slightly red, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Without a word, he turned on his heel and dashed back to the kitchen, leaving you and Tammy to exchange bemused glances.

"What was that?" you asked, still trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

"Hmm..." Tammy mused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face as she watched Bob disappear into the depths of the bakery.

🥐

Luck seemed to be on your side with the Japanese grandpa's glowing 5-star review, praising the bakery's hospitality towards foreigners and the elderly.

This drew in a wave of foreign customers eager to experience the warm welcome for themselves.

Equipped with a translator app, you managed to communicate with foreign customers, though sometimes the language barrier proved challenging, especially with fast speech or colloquial expressions. In those moments, Bob became your secret weapon.

To everyone's surprise, Bob displayed an unexpected talent for understanding and speaking various foreign languages like Mandarin, French, Spanish, and Turkish. His proficiency was impressive, though he couldn't explain how he acquired it.

Speculating that his past self might have been bilingual, Bob's newfound linguistic skills proved invaluable in connecting with foreign customers, enhancing the bakery's reputation for hospitality and service.

As business flourished, you couldn't help but marvel at the mystery of Bob's talents and how they'd unexpectedly contributed to the bakery's success.

With the influx of customers to your bakery, the business's overall income increased significantly. This allowed you to pay off your debts on time and provided the means to give bonuses to both Tammy and Bob for their hard work and dedication.

However, when Bob received his bonus, he seemed unsure what to do with the money. "I don't deserve this."

He hesitantly handed it back to you, expressing his belief that he didn't deserve to be paid since you had provided everything for him.

You stopped him in his tracks, shaking your head. "You deserve it, Bob. The success of the bakery is in large part because of you. Your hard work and dedication have made all the difference."

Despite Bob's initial reluctance, you insisted on him keeping the bonus as a token of appreciation for his invaluable contribution to the bakery's success.

Grateful and touched by your words, Bob accepted the bonus with a humble smile, understanding that his efforts had truly made a difference.

As you stepped outside to take out the trash, you were unexpectedly blocked by someone. You let out a sigh of annoyance when you realized it was Rick, the former employee who had stolen your family recipe.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your tone laced with frustration.

Rick wore a smug expression on his face as he replied, "Oh, nothing. Just checking on you, who stole my customers."

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. "Funny you should say 'stole,' considering it was you who stole in the first place."

Rick laughed dismissively. "I was just putting it to good use. I knew I could do it better."

You scoffed at his arrogance. "Even though you stole it, it still tastes flavorless."

Rick snorted in disdain before turning on his heel and walking away.

As Rick left, you couldn't help but feel a surge of indignation at his brazen attitude. Despite his attempts to undermine you, you remained steadfast in your commitment to your bakery and its loyal customers.

Tammy's eyes narrowed with disdain as she watched Rick's retreating figure. "Was it him? Next time, call me. I'll hit him with my Louis Vuitton heels."

You winced at the mental image. "Ouch."

Bob, sensing the tension, interjected with concern. "Is he bothering you?"

You shrugged, trying to downplay the encounter. "Just my mortal enemy. Forget it. He always stops by to throw an insult."

Despite your attempt to brush it off, Bob could see the frustration etched on your face. With a sympathetic nod, he silently vowed to watch for Rick in the future.

🥐

As you lay sleeping, a loud crash shattered the stillness of the night, jolting you awake. Instantly alert, you noticed Bob also opening his door simultaneously, both of you exchanging a concerned glance.

"A burglar? Or a cat?" you mused aloud, your voice tinged with apprehension.

"I don't think a cat could destroy a window," Bob replied, his tone serious.

Your eyes widened in alarm, and without hesitation, you reached for your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed 911.

Intent on investigating, you moved to go downstairs, but Bob's firm grip on your arm stopped you in your tracks. "Stay here," he commanded softly but firmly.

"But—" you protested, the urgency of the situation driving you to action.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Bob insisted, his voice laced with concern for your safety.

Reluctantly, you acquiesced, remaining on the second floor as Bob descended to confront the intruders. For a tense moment, the house was eerily quiet, broken only by the muffled sounds of a struggle downstairs.

Unable to resist the urge to see what was happening, you cautiously approached the railing, peering down to the first floor. Your heart skipped a beat as you witnessed Bob engaging in a fierce battle with the masked intruders, his movements swift and calculated as he fought them off one by one.

Despite being outnumbered, Bob displayed remarkable skill and determination, his body language exuding confidence and strength as he defended your home against the would-be burglars.

With each precise strike and well-timed block, he gradually gained the upper hand, ultimately emerging victorious in the intense confrontation.

As the last intruder fled into the night, Bob stood tall and triumphant, his chest heaving with exertion but his gaze steady and unwavering. With a sense of awe and gratitude, you realized how fortunate you were to have someone like Bob by your side in peril.

"I'm here. Oh my god. Who would want to steal from this bakery?" Tammy exclaimed, rushing over from her apartment in a daze. She had been deep in slumber when you called her.

Surveying the damage, her eyes widened in shock. The bakery window lay shattered, tables and chairs lay broken, and the bread display case lay toppled on the ground. It was a heartbreaking sight, a stark contrast to the care and effort you had invested in preserving the legacy of the bakery.

As Tammy took in the devastation, a mixture of anger and disbelief crossed her face. "This is terrible. How could someone do this?" she muttered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Just then, the police arrived on the scene, their presence adding a sense of urgency to the situation. As they began their investigation, one of the officers turned to you with a questioning gaze.

"So, it was your employee who beat up all four of these burglars?" he inquired, his tone incredulous.

You nodded firmly at the officer's question. "Yes, officer. He saved me and this place."

The mention of saving the bakery seemed to catch the officer's attention, and he glanced around at the damage with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "Do you have insurance?" he inquired, his voice softening slightly.

You nodded again, a sense of relief washing over you. "Yes," you confirmed, grateful for the reassurance that you would not face the financial burden of repairing the damage alone.

"Good, I will give you a letter from us as soon as possible, then you can send it to the insurance," said the police, offering you a reassuring nod.

"Thank you," you replied gratefully as the officers began to depart, their presence comforting in the wake of the chaos.

You approached Bob, who stood with his head bowed low, his expression weighed down by guilt and regret.

"I ruined the bakery," Bob muttered, his voice heavy with self-blame.

As you drew nearer, you could see the turmoil etched on his face, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Approaching Bob, who stood with a troubled expression, you offered a gentle smile. "You didn't ruin the bakery, Bob. You saved it. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stopped them. Thank you," you said sincerely, your gratitude evident in your voice.

Glancing at the tools the burglars had brought – gasoline and a lighter – you couldn't help but shudder at the thought of the destruction they had intended to unleash upon your cherished bakery.

Tammy's voice broke the silence, her tone filled with awe and admiration. "Did Bob really fight all of them?" she asked incredulously.

You nodded emphatically. "Yes. He's amazing," you affirmed, your pride in Bob's actions evident.

Bob blushed at the praise, his humility shining through even in the midst of the chaos.

Tammy smirked mischievously. "He can bake, speak foreign languages, and fight. I think his old self was a Jack of All Trades," she remarked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You considered her words thoughtfully. "That means your brain and muscles still remember. Do you start remembering something?" you asked, hoping for a breakthrough.

Bob was quiet for a moment. He shook his head sadly. "No," he replied, his expression filled with frustration at his continued lack of memory.

Tammy's eyes lit up with excitement as she proposed a new idea. "How about we enroll him in acting classes, poetry classes, singing lessons? Perhaps he's good at those too, and it could trigger his old memories," she suggested eagerly, her enthusiasm infectious.

As you considered Tammy's suggestion, a sense of hope stirred within you. Perhaps there was still a chance to unlock the secrets of Bob's past and help him reclaim his lost memories. With determination, you resolved to explore every avenue in the quest to uncover the truth.

🥐

As the bakery underwent renovations, you decided to accompany Bob to try new activities in the hopes of triggering his old memories. Despite your efforts, there was still no progress in unlocking his past, but you couldn't deny that his instincts and strength seemed to be growing stronger by the day.

"Perhaps you were an MMA fighter? Or a boxing player?" you suggested one day, pondering the possibilities.

"Really?" Bob asked, his interest piqued by the idea.

Determined to explore this further, you took Bob to a boxing trial class. As you watched him don boxing shorts, you couldn't help but gulp nervously, realizing you had never seen him shirtless. His well-defined six-pack muscles and faded scars on his back hinted at a past filled with physical prowess and strength.

The trainer eyed Bob skeptically from the ring and asked, "Are you sure he's a newbie?"

You nodded, though the trainer seemed unconvinced. From a glance, he could read the muscles rippling beneath Bob's skin, indicating a level of proficiency that belied the term "newbie."

"Let's start," the trainer announced, motioning for Bob to step into the ring.

In the blink of an eye, the trainer let out a pained cry as Bob delivered a powerful punch, catching him off guard.

"Ouch!" the trainer exclaimed, clutching his stomach in agony. "Get out of here. I'm banning you both from this place," he declared, his voice strained with discomfort as he struggled to recover from the unexpected blow.

As you walked home together, laughter bubbled between you and Bob, the sound echoing through the quiet streets. Despite the challenges you faced with the bakery being closed for renovations, you couldn't help but feel a sense of lightness and joy in Bob's company.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that you would be able to laugh during such a difficult time. Yet, with Bob by your side, everything seemed to fall into place, and the day's worries melted away in the warmth of his laughter.

🥐

After two weeks of renovations, the day finally arrived for the reopening of the bakery. As you unlocked the doors and stepped inside, a wave of apprehension washed over you. Would anyone still remember your bakery? Would the customers return after the temporary closure?

To your surprise and delight, as the day progressed, a steady stream of people began to trickle in through the doors. The familiar aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, and the sound of chatter and laughter once again filled the cozy space.

You couldn't believe your eyes as you watched the tables fill up with eager customers, each one eagerly sampling the delicious treats on offer. It was as if the temporary closure had only heightened the anticipation, drawing even more people to your bakery than before.

As you busied yourself behind the counter, serving up delectable treats to the eager crowd, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction in the resilience of your beloved bakery.

Many familiar faces returned, offering their condolences for the recent ordeal the store had faced. Their gestures of support were deeply appreciated as a reminder of the strong community surrounding the bakery.

Amidst the familiar flow of customers, however, a sense of unease settled over the bakery as a tall man with blonde hair rushed in, commanding attention from all who watched.

His hurried movements and searching gaze drew curious glances from the patrons, their eyes following him as he made his way through the crowd.

His attractiveness is on the same level as Bob's. That made female eyes at the bakery follow him.

Suddenly, the man stopped beside Bob, arranging a new batch of bread on the counter. With a relieved sigh, he enveloped Bob in a tight embrace, causing gasps of surprise to echo through the bakery.

"Huh?!" you exclaimed, along with Tammy and Bob, as the unexpected display of affection unfolded before you.

The blonde man spoke, his voice filled with emotion. "Bucky, I finally found you," he declared, his words hanging in the air.

The implications of his statement dawned on you, and a sense of confusion and apprehension washed over you. It was clear that this man knew Bob, but the nature of their relationship remained unclear.

Bob, visibly uncomfortable, pushed the man away and stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't know him," he stated firmly, his expression betraying a mix of confusion and disgust.

You couldn't help but wonder about the connection between Bob and the blonde man. Was he a friend? A relative? Or perhaps something more?

Sensing your silent question, Bob moved closer to you, his gaze meeting yours with a silent plea for understanding. "Don't look at me like that," he murmured, his tone filled with unease.

Before you could respond, the blonde man approached, his eyes fixed on Bob as he repeated the name again. "Bucky."

Bob's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his tone devoid of emotion as he addressed the customer directly. "Who the heck is Bucky?" he demanded, his words sharp and pointed.

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