Not Red Riding Hood
𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You’re not little Red Riding Hood, so why are the wolves after you?
𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Dark!Bucky x Reader, Dark!Steve x Reader
𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: A/B/O dynamics, primal, smut 18+, dark content
𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝐵𝑒𝓉𝒶’𝒹, 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑜𝓌𝓃
A/N: From an old abandoned challenge, def. not my best work. posting in response to an ask.
Do not copy, rewrite, translate or post my work anywhere. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work.
The cracked bell dings as you push open the heavy door to the costume shop. The breeze stirs the musty air, dust floating up catching rays of the afternoon sun.The dull chandelier lights casting a low white glow across the displays. Your shoes squeak as you walk across the uneven hardwood floors.
Walking around the rows of candles and books, you spot the racks of outfits on the wall. Tilting your head back, you scrutinize the different costumes. Your eyes settle on a pale blue Cinderella dress and as you reach out to take it, a gravelly voice shatters the quiet air.
“You girls are always so cliché,”
Startled, you spring back, turning towards the voice. Laughing sharply, nervously as you rub your neck.
An dazzling older woman stands leaning on a curved oak cane, purple robes dwarfing her small frame, her long grey braid pulled over her shoulder.
“Um, cliché”, you ask, catching your breath.
“Yes, you girls always pick the weak ones, the sweet ones” she walks over tapping her cane before you. A hint of jasmine reaches your nose as she leans towards your face, “you’re no weak one”. Her warm smile pushing her wrinkled cheeks out, “you’ll make them earn you”.
“Huh” your brows furrowed as you stare.
She chortles, waving her hands around “ the boys, you’ll drive them crazy”. She reaches behind you and takes a costume off the wall “and you’ll do it in this”
The costume is stunning, you trace the intricate details sewn in the wide skirt, she holds the black lace mask up, the delicate material lining up with your face.The hood tapers off into pointed ears.
“I don’t know” you trail off as you notice how low-cut the bodice is made.The Cinderella is more your style, this is bold, daring.
“Put the mask on” she insists as she pushes the thick, yet delicate material into your hands.
Glancing at her then your hands, you slip over your face securing it behind your ears, the mask settles over the lower half of your face, curving over your nose and up the sides of your cheeks.. The material shimmers as you turn your face, your eyes glow in the mirror. A trick of the lighting, you tell yourself.
“It’s beautiful,” you murmur gently, touching the snout.
“It’s yours” she states, taking the costume to the front of the shop. Her firm words leave no room for arguments, not that you were one to argue, anyway.
You slip the mask off as you follow her. As she rounds the counter, you place the mask on top of the costume.As she opens the small cash register, your eyes drawn to a small clear Mason jar filled with pink candies.
“That will be forty dollars,”
“Wow, that’s not bad,” Looking at the detail in the bodice, you were expecting it to be out of your budget. You pull the cash out of your purse and hand it to her.
“Halloweens tomorrow, so everything’s discounted”. As she gives you the change, her soft, wrinkled hands place a candy in yours. “take one dear, these are special”
You unwrap it, the candy dissolving on your tongue as a sweet cotton candy flavor floods your mouth. “Thank you”, you murmur, unaware you’re swaying as the flavor fades.
She merely nods, neatly packing your costume into a thin black bag. She writes out your receipt in a small worn pad, ripping out your copy. Giving you the paper and the bag with a knowing smile.
You make your way to the door, blinking at the blinding light filtering through the stained glass door. Part of you wonders when it got so bright out, you lean against the door waiting for your eyes to adjust. After a minute, you steady yourself, waving goodbye.
When the door closes, she takes your photo from her pocket and dials the number written in black ink above your smiling face. As the phone rings, she places your picture above a lit candle, smiling as your face crackles and burns.
