#but on the bright side at least i’m not italian

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door ~ Part 1

A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine.

Summary: John Constantine has a crush on you. He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until you strong arm him into coming over for dinner. Little do you know, this paints a target on your back for the local vampire coven… (I had to write something sweet for my mental health y'all 😆) Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮

You are the very archetype of The Girl Next Door. Well, literally. John Constantine lives in 202, and you in 204. You share a wall, and occasionally, he sort of smiles at you when you meet in the hall.

Like tonight, as your arms are full of groceries, returning home after work. You don’t know what he does exactly, but you assume it’s the same for him, though he is only clutching a brown bag that very poorly disguises a bottle of scotch.

“Hi, John,” you say brightly over a proud sprig of celery sticking out of your bag. It’s almost a running joke between the two of you, your sunny brightness aimed at him like a weapon.

There’s a long pause, like always, before he finally answers reluctantly in his deep monotone, “Hi, y/n. Bye, y/n.”

Before you can engage him any further he disappears into his apartment, closing the door hard behind him, the slam in the air like an exclamation point. You stare for a moment at the space where he’d just been, tall, handsome, his suit rumpled, that tie half undone around his neck. He looked like he’d had a rough day, whatever he does.

He dresses like a professional something, but imagining that man as a door to door salesman with his attitude is laughable, and so is the thought of him working amicably in an office setting.

You go inside and put away your groceries, then spread out what you need to make dinner. It’s Friday night, and you’ve had a long week too. You are making comfort food—it’s kind of a shame to eat it alone.

Half an hour later, while the sauce simmers, you find you just can’t stop thinking about that man next door. He seems lonely, every time you see him. There is something about him that just makes you want to wrap him up in a hug.

He’d probably push you off if you tried, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a hug.

The thing is…you have this thing. He pretends like you annoy him, but sometimes in the hall, or down in the lobby when you’re collecting your mail, you catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not looking. And the look on his face is never exactly lecherous, like you’re used to with most men who eye-fuck you on the street. His look is more…just…lost, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

You’re sure he’ll say no, but your feet seem to carry you of their own accord, when you find yourself at his door, knocking loudly.

Some time passes and you hear him grumbling on the other side before he jerks open the portal just a crack. “Yeah?”

“I’m making my Nonna’s meatballs and marinara for dinner.”

“Good for you?”

“From scratch.”

“Sounds time consuming.”

“Want to join me?”

There is a very long pause, in which he just looks at you. You can tell he’s at least one drink in already; you smell the fumes on his breath. And maybe it’s stupid, and you’re asking for trouble you don’t need, but the thought that that will be this man’s only dinner squeezes your heart.

Finally, he answers with a question. “Why?”

“Why not?”

This, amusingly, seems to actually flummox him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. In the end he narrows his eyes at you, (those lovely brown eyes, you can’t help but notice), like you’re trying to trick him into something truly heinous.

It’s…kind of funny, truth be told, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning. “Come on. I know you can smell it.” Your door is wide open.

“Maybe I don’t like Italian food.”

“Everyone likes Italian food.”

“Maybe you’re a terrible cook.”

“Only one way to find out.”

He actually growls a little, which for some reason gives you a thrill to the base of your spine.  

You really need to get back to stir the sauce. You didn’t anticipate getting this far in the conversation (argument?) with him, honestly.

“Well, door’s open,” you tell him, turning to go. You throw one last little come-hither look over your shoulder, to find he is definitely staring at your ass. Or, glaring, more like.

Maybe you have a screw loose, but you find this adorable.

You go back to your sauce, and lose yourself in the preparation of the other ingredients, watching the pasta to make sure it doesn’t boil over, checking that the meatballs aren’t burning. (Your oven is a dinosaur from the 1970s, and sometimes the temp spikes for no reason).

You are about to drain the pasta, when you find a tall, rumpled man standing beside your rickety thrift store table, looking a bit confused as to how he’d ended up there. He looks so big in your shoebox of an apartment, and if you’re being honest, maybe there’s a little bit of lust tied up with your desire to mother this man.

You offer him a welcoming smile, and for a moment, you swear he looks like he’s drowning.

“Glad you could make it,” you say somewhat teasingly.

“Can I…help?” He says the last word like it’s a completely alien thing to him.

“I’ve pretty much got it under control…” you say, which is mostly true. You peruse the sparse offerings of your 3 slot wine rack, picking a $6 bottle of Chilean red blend. “Want to open this?” The face he makes looking down at the decidedly weaker-than-whiskey beverage is almost comical, but he takes the corkscrew from you as you transfer the meal to serving bowls and put glasses of water on the table.

He removes his suit jacket at the table, rolling his sleeves up over muscular forearms that are, if you’re being honest, totally distracting. After you sit down you fill your plates, and the first few minutes of the meal goes by in semi-awkward silence.

Surprisingly, it’s John who speaks first. “This is really good,” he admits begrudgingly, and you utterly fail to damper your I-told-you-so smile.

“Thanks.”

You make halting small talk. You get the feeling he doesn’t chat much with anyone, of his own free will. When you ask him how his week was, his simple answer is, “Hell.”

You have no idea he’s being literal.

You ask him what he does, and he tells you he’s a sort of private detective, and he can’t really talk about it. He asks what you do, more to get the conversation off of him than anything. You let it go, for now, telling him that you’re a receptionist at an office building for a mega corporation downtown.

“Fitting,” he grumbles, you think because of your innate cheerfulness.

You feel the urge to tell him that half the time it’s just a thing you wear like armor—but you don’t know each other that well yet.

As you loosen up a little with food and more wine, he slowly asks more questions about you, where you’re from, what do you do in your free time, and maybe it’s stupid, but you feel like he’s actually kind of interested in your answers.

You enlist him to help you with the dishes, and as you stand together at the sink you bump him playfully with your hip. He peers down at you, his dark hair in his eyes. He is so tall, and there is a hint of a smile on his lips now. For him, it’s like a full-on toothy grin, and it doesn’t fail to quicken your heart in your chest.

Constantine can’t help but feel…puzzled, by you. Yes, you’re his cute neighbor, who teasingly likes to hail him in the hallway. And maybe he does look forward to the way your eyes sparkle, when he begrudgingly acknowledges you before retreating to the safety of the quiet solitude of his apartment. But you are so…nice. He can just tell, and he has no idea what a girl like you might want with a degenerate demon hunter like him. There are enough assholes in L.A. who would be happy to take you out. Why would you waste your time chasing him down?

And there is that smaller nagging voice in the back of his head. You are damned, and you don’t deserve her.

Fuck if it doesn’t make him want to touch you even more.

Later, he will look back on this as a moment of weakness. You, looking up at him with your big eyes, like you're old friends. You made him feel, for a fleeting moment, like he wasn't some doomed asshole with nothing to live for. Like he was an actual person. A man who could matter, to someone. Maybe even to you.

When you splash him with a flick of dishwater after he insults your favorite TV show he narrows his eyes down at you, and you get the fluttery feeling that he might like to eat you a moment before he cups your cheek in his big hand and catches your lips in a kiss. It’s everything you’d hoped for, even if you never actually expected it to really happen. Maybe the wine helped? Or maybe…he likes you? Luckily you get over your surprise, standing on tiptoe to meet him, looping your arms around his neck.

You yip with surprise when suddenly he lifts you to sit on the sink, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. “Was getting a crick in my neck…”

Your answering laugh is shaky at best. “Sorry.”

“Is this why you invited me over?”

“Sort of?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, waiting for further explanation. You reach up to toy with his collar, tracing the line of his loosened tie, totally distracted by the shape of his collarbone and what’s bared of his neck. This man has a jawline that looks like it was sculpted from stone. There’s no shortage of beautiful people in L.A., of course, but you’ve never met anyone quite like him. He doesn’t seem vain, an oddity in this town, but underneath his rumpled suit this man definitely has the physique of a movie star. You try not to dwell on how odd it is, that he would choose to spend his Friday night with you.

“I mean, I’m definitely not complaining,” you offer with a sly little smile.

However, his answering expression is nothing less than stern.

“I’m warning you now, sweetheart. I’m not boyfriend material, and I’m not going to be your project.”

Even if both of those things may have crossed your mind, your thoughts are too hazy with lust from his lips on yours. Maybe he’s a grouch…but he’s a great kisser.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

He kisses you again, and you melt even more under his exacting touch. Those mitts for hands make you feel small, and you arch against him as they travel the ladder of your ribcage to your spine.

The wine was good, but you know you are mostly drunk on him.

Then he is lifting you again, like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the couch. You settle down into the worn vintage cushions and make-out like teenagers, all lips and teeth and pawing hands.

You’re the one who actually initiates something further, pulling off your shirt, and John blinks as he takes in the swathes of your bare skin. He glares at your lacy bra like it owes him money, and you can’t help but laugh breathily. You haven’t felt thishappy in a long time, truth be told.

“Something funny?” he asks, nipping at your neck. With a flick of his fingers your bra falls away, and your breasts are in his hands, and you forget how to speak intelligibly. With his lips on your nipples you manage to loosen his tie without strangling him, unbuttoning his shirt with an increasing desperation. You sigh when at last the bare skin of your torsos is pressed together, his weight pressing you down into the couch.

It occurs to you, how small your couch is, and this man is definitely over six feet tall. “Would you prefer…the bed?” you ask between kisses.

“Up to you.”

You nod, but find you can’t really stop kissing him long enough to move. You can feel the impressive length of him through his pants and yours, aligned with your center and you dry grind, thinking even that is wonderful. He, however, lets out a frustrated growl, and pulls you to your feet again.

Dizzy with desire, you lead him by the hand to your bedroom, and you make it there eventually between kisses and shedding the rest of your clothing. His thick fingers between your legs are a marvel. “So fucking wet for me,” he groans, and it’s too embarrassing to admit, but sometimes after seeing him in the hallway you’ve fantasized about something like this going down, and it always leaves you soaked.

“I…like you,” you admit, moaning as a second finger finds its way inside you, his thumb circling your clit.

“I still don’t get that,” he admits, but kisses you hard before you really have a chance to answer. It would be a little too crazy, to tell him right now that you’ve always just felt pulled towards him, like the Universe was giving you a nudge any time you saw him. He’d laugh at you, or he’d leave, and either of those at this point would be unbearable.

You are close already under his masterful touch, and you whine even as you flex your hips, all your muscles tightening in anticipation.

“Don’t make me cum yet,” you beg. “I want you.”

He groans in response to that, desperately pawing through the pockets of his pants on the floor for a condom. You watch with stars in your eyes, propped on your elbows as he rips open the packet and rolls it on that impressive length, your lip between your teeth. You feel empty while looking at him like this, longing to be filled to the brim.

There is a moment of raw eye contact between you that sears your soul, as he pulls you to the edge of the bed with those large hands on your thighs. For a fleeting second he looks almost vulnerable. It’s there and gone like a ripple in a pool, then his thick tip is at your entrance, and he is slowly pushing himself inside you.

It’s better than you ever dreamed, and you arch against him, moaning as he works inside.

“Fuck you are tight,” he pants in your ear, your walls clenching around him, seeming to fight him even as they crave the relief of his big cock stretching you out. You breathe deeply, easing him in. When at last he bottoms out inside you, your head rocks back behind your shoulders, blissed out.

“God, you feel good.”

This man actually snorts at the comment, though his voice is pure gravel, rough with need. “He wouldn't appreciate you saying it about me.”

Your laugh is half moan. 

“What, are you on a first name basis?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

You're not sure what to make of that, and you're too cock drunk to even begin to reason it out.

He can tell you're a nice girl. Or at least, that's his perception of you. So he doesn’t bend you at impossible angles or whisper filthy things in your ear. Really, there's no time for it. Just pure vanilla missionary in your sweet little snatch is more than enough to slake his need tonight. He fucks you on your back, his thumb on your clit as he glides in and out of your tight little pussy, your legs wrapped around his narrow hips.

Your pleasure builds in the cradle of your hips, wound so tight you feel like you'll either die, or fly. Usually...alright, it's never like this for you the first time with someone. There's always fumbling, and awkwardness, and half the time, if you're honest, a faked orgasm because you're too shy or too embarrassed to ask for what you really need from a new partner, afraid he’ll think you’re too much trouble. 

Well, that is not what is happening tonight. Tonight, John is taking care of you, and you can hardly believe your luck. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yeah.” Your reply is breathy, and you almost laugh just for the pure, unexpected joy you feel in that moment. “Oh, John...” Your ability to say real words escapes you as your body erupts with scintillating pleasure spreading through your loins. You actually scream, and the fierce clench of your cunt around him brings him too. He loses himself with a groan, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder as he shudders against you.

Afterwards, you are laying against his broad chest, his heartbeat a steady drum in your ear. You don't know it, but this is not something John Constantine usually does. Snuggling. But you are sweet and soft in his arms, and he can't quite bring himself to vacate the premises just yet. In fact, he's so comfortable that he dozes, and you follow close behind him.

In the middle of the night you wake to kisses on your neck and caresses down your curvy side. You sigh, arching into him. You feel his manhood at the seam of your buttocks, his thick head kissing your hole.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he whispers with a shuddering sigh, rolling over to reach for his pants again. How many condoms did he bring? The fact that he's not careless with you, even in the sleepy haze of the early morning second round, is incredibly endearing to you. How many times have you had to insist, and been made to feel like an uncool bitch for not wanting to risk pregnancy or disease in the heat of the moment?

Maybe it's utterly insane, but you're half in love already as he hauls you on top of him, his cock freshly capped with a new Trojan Magnum.

You are still drenched from earlier, and it's no problem to impale yourself upon him.

In the blue dark of early morning your eyes meet his, and again you sense that fleeting vulnerability before he distracts you with that clever fucking thumb finding your sensitive bud. He works you just right as you ride his beautiful dick with your back arched taut as a bow, his other hand toying with your nipple. It makes you cum in record time, so quickly it's almost embarrassing, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Within a minute he's followed along with you, his big hands digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he reaches his own release. Your name on his lips raises gooseflesh all over your body, as though your lovemaking has invoked something powerful, something binding.

You collapse against his chest, and the both of you nearly fall asleep again, with him still inside you. 

“Let me get this thing off,” he requests gently, and with a plaintive little groan you roll off of him, curling in at his side. He knots the condom before throwing it in the general direction of the bin. You are both too tired to care if it actually hit home. 

Again, you snuggle close and the two of you doze tangled together until morning light streams through the window. 

You wake to kisses on your forehead this time. It's a miracle you rouse. You're a heavy sleeper—and he worked you out. 

“I have to go, honey.” 

“Want breakfast?” you murmur, half asleep.

“Yeah, but I can’t. Rain check?”

“Okay.”

Through half lidded eyes you watch as he gets dressed, half way, at least. A good portion of his clothes are still strewn around the living room.

My god, what a beautiful specimen of manhood you bagged last night. Nonna would be proud. She was an appreciator of male beauty, and if you told her that her special recipe had gotten you the best sex of your life with the handsome boy next door she would have cackled with delight.

“See you soon?” you dare ask as he buttons his pants. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, after a pause, bending down to kiss you one more time, with tongue this round. 

“Careful mister, or you'll start round three.”

“Jesus, woman,” he teases with that heartbreaking almost-smile. “You've drained me dry.” 

You look him over appraisingly.

“Doubt it.” 

He huffs with laughter, shaking his head. 

“Bye, y/n.”

You sigh. 

“Bye, John.”

With a surprisingly heavy heart, you watch the best lay of your life slip out the door. You really hope you'll get to do this again, and not just go back to awkward acknowledgements in the hallway.

***

Maybe John Constantine had told you he’s not boyfriend material.

But earlier that day, while he was having a smoke out on the sidewalk, he found himself looking over at the wares of a flower vendor and wondering if you would like them. He didn’t buy any, of course.

He wasn’t a total sap.

But it’s possible as he scales the stairs to his apartment, there’s a lightness in his heart as he thinks of you, and the possibility of seeing you in the hallway.

That's when he finds your door ajar, and your apartment ransacked, and a note in red ink on the table addressed to him.

If you want to see your girlfriend alive again, come to this address.

It’s a place in L.A. that’s deep in vampire territory, and something black and heavy weighs like a stone in the pit of John’s stomach. He’d deported a few big players of the local coven not too long ago, and he’d figured the Master would want revenge, but this?

Fucking diabolical—and just their style.

Goddamn vampires.

Without a moment to lose, he goes to his apartment to get his kit, praying he’s not too late to save you.  

#constantine 2005 #constantine #constantine x you #constantine x reader #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x you #john constantine #constantine x y/n #constantine fic #constantine imagine #constantine fanfic #the girl next door constantine x reader fic

[a-boca-do-inferno]

you already did, part 2 (vincent mancini x reader) [request]

part 1

summary: Vincent is not a man not to admit his faults. He could be violent, stubborn, a little impulsive, too, but never prideful. At least not with the woman he loved.

warnings: angst, swearing, verbal abuse (sorta), fluff (sorta), just rly toxic stuff what can i tell ya

words: 3.3k

notes: this wasnt supposed to happen but yall cant stand just an angst oneshot 😭 cowards. (self-criticism.) and of course this is loosely based on rebel heart by first aid kit because i was listening to it while writing this. enjoy <3

Silence. 

Ever since (y/n) left, Vincent’s life seemed to have gone completely, utterly silent. Soundless were his heavy steps against the wooden floor, so contrary to the natural order of things; as was being away from the only person who ever understood him in this godforsaken world. But to anyone else, he was as bright and strong as ever. Reckless and ruthless as ever, ruling the Corleone empire with an iron fist, a cold heart and little humanity left. And he saw fit that even the last glimpse of his human side would’ve gone away with (y/n). It was as poetic as it was pathetic, and the dense sigh dancing in his lips was as soundless as one would expect from him those days. He felt suffocated. Muted. Silenced. Carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders, yet Vinnie was as free as man can be. 

Shamefully. 

“Dinner’s ready, sweetheart”, a quiet voice comes from the door. His aunt has a soft, inviting expression that’s always there for him, but as soon as her gaze meets his troubled one, Connie frowns slightly. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m just tired”, he grumbles, looking back down at some documents. It’s not long before he huffs in annoyance, pushing them away and taking a deep breath. He can’t pretend, not with Auntie Connie. Vinnie closes his eyes for a second, rubbing his temples. “I’m just tired”, he repeats, his tone a little gentler now.

Connie shuts the door behind her and takes a step towards him, clasping her hands together. “Is it (y/n)?”

Vincent snorts, raising his brows in humourless amusement. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

She shrugs, taking a seat in front of him. “I won’t lie and say that I understand what it is that you see in that girl, not after the spectacle she made before leaving, but I know how much you miss her.”

Connie sounds faintly accusative to his ears, albeit her words are careful. He was well aware his family had a strong opinion on (y/n) from the beginning of their marriage, especially because she wasn’t Italian, but he never paid mind to them. It would be a cold day in hell when he’d let anyone dictate what he did with his life, no matter how unwavering his loyalty was to the Corleone household. He knew how to separate personal matters from work, always did. Perhaps that is why Vincent had been luckier than Michael as Godfather in that area; while he was ruthless, his passion could never be dialled down to serve some grand, ultimate purpose. Not with (y/n). His miserableness without her around was proof enough of that fact. 

“Yeah”, Vincent smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, as his memories can’t help but show the face of his angry ex-wife yelling her lungs out at the most dangerous people he knew. He lets out a low chuckle, looking at the ceiling, “she’s a little crazy, she’s always been, but that’s what drew me to her in the first place. I can’t do peace and quiet, you know me.” He pauses, only to breathe through his nose and glance back at her, with his brows furrowed. “I think I’m going crazy myself without her, anyway.”

He doesn’t usually open up like this with anyone, but his aunt had a way about her that felt like he could lay himself bare, and not hide anything. Apart from that, it was no overstatement to call it like it is: there was a darkness growing inside him with each passing day. And he was alone because he refused to accept it sooner, he knew that much. (y/n) was not one to take ungratefulness kindly, and he admired her for it to no end, even when it meant her letting him go. Vincent knew from the start he married a woman who wouldn’t budge on what she deserved. Maybe that was what hurt him the most; to see things so clearly now. There was no way she could’ve stayed by his side, not without conditioning herself to receive but crumbs of affection.

Connie shakes her head with a little grin, getting his attention. “Then what the hell are you still doing here feeling sorry for yourself?” She nods once, speaking convictively, “go after her.”

Vincent is surprised by the suggestion, and he goes back to staring at the papers in front of him for a moment. Could he, really? The thought had never crossed his mind, funnily enough. As deep as he was in his well of self-pity, any hopefulness from his part just felt childish and petty. Because on top of it all, he understood her decision, mayhaps even supported it internally. (y/n) was worth more than anything he could offer her right now. 

And so he sighs again, leaning back in his chair. He snaps his knuckles, studying his ring, “I appreciate the advice, but I reckon (y/n)’s gonna shoot me on sight if she ever sees me again. We’re done, she told me so.”

His aunt grunts, glaring at him. “Is that any way for a Corleone to talk, nephew? I know you better than this!” She gets up and stands by his side, squeezing his shoulder in encouragement. “Listen to your heart. You’re a dead man walking without that silly girl”, she jokes, pushing him slightly.

This goddamn woman. She can see through him like no one can. Vinnie snorts quietly, rolling his eyes and nodding. “Fine, but I’m sending you my hospital bill.”

Vincent was never a man not to admit his faults. He could be violent, aggressive, stubborn, a little impulsive, too, but never prideful. And especially not with the woman he loved more than anything, but their last meeting wasn’t the friendliest of them all. The last time they spoke to each other, (y/n) sat across from him with her unresting look glued to the table while their lawyers sorted out the divorce agreement. As opposed to his cutting words when they fought, both parted ways each with half of their patrimony — which was mostly Vinnie’s —, despite her protests against putting her hands on his “dirty money”. 

In that last hearing, his soon-to-be ex-wife kept to herself as best as she could, although she did speak up whenever he couldn’t hold his tongue and would make some resentful and sarcastic remarks. The bickering was inevitable with them, but it now left a sour taste in his lips, so agonisingly different from the lighthearted nature of their banter a few months prior. Vincent experienced a sense of betrayal somehow, and his mouth was known to be working overtime when he was unhappy. He was angry then, he just couldn’t help himself. 

And he still was livid, even now; surrounded by striking sorrow and her helpless absence. Vincent was mad at her for making him feel so pathetically small, forced to remain trapped in his own insignificance, only further proving her point of his becoming of a shell of a man because of the family business. And that was all he ever did since she went away, as if the universe’s ultimate laughter at his circumstances: work, work, work. With no soft lips to come home to. With no loving eyes to watch him take off his coat and hang it purposefully on the chair, with the sole motive of trying to get a reaction from her. Vinnie often did. She’d give him one of her fiery, yet sweet stares, ordering him around like he wasn’t the vilest guy in the block. And he complied gladly, crawling into bed the next second. 

For that, Vincent was a deeply angry, wrathful man; because he had lost his opportunity at redemption. (y/n) had slipped away right before his eyes, but he was as blind as they came. Like any angry man, he only saw red. Never her. 

It was almost like nothing had changed, after all.

Tom points at him with his cigarette, pulling Vincent out of his thoughts. “You sure about this?”

“No. But I’m going insane”, he mutters in reflex, resting his hands on his hips as his uncle gives him a short nod, blowing the smoke. 

Dinner’s finished and everyone else has left the table. It was a normal Friday night as any, and he quietly hoped it would continue like this. His week hadn’t been exactly the best one now with the FBI tracking his every move, and he was about to make it even better — or worse, terribly worse — with (y/n)’s certain rejection later on. But it was a change for once, and he couldn’t stand the silence and the dullness of his routine anymore. Besides, he could use some yelling right now. Perhaps it’d make him come back to his senses a bit.

“She’s a nuisance in the business”, Tom’s voice is quiet, level-headed, and Vincent stops his glass halfway through his mouth before his uncle resumes his speech. “She can’t handle this. She’s too soft.”

Vinnie scowls immediately. “Why the hell are you telling me all this as if I didn’t know, eh?”, he snarls, making a sour face as he gulps down his drink in one go. “I fucking married the broad, for Christ’s sake.”

Tom’s face stays neutral and he reclines in his chair. “I’m just asking, Vincent. You gotta be sure about this, ‘cause you already know where she stands.” There is pause, until he adds, “what sacrifices are you willing to make to get her back?”

He meant leaving the business, of course, and Vincent’s knuckles turn white as he squeezes the edge of the table unconsciously. He shakes his head and lets out a fake laugh, his core boiling up with contempt. Vinnie wants to punch Tom, but ends up containing himself. He was getting very good at that. “I don’t even know if she’ll take me back, Uncle Tommy. Let’s be more realistic here, Jesus.”

“Cut the bullshit”, his tone becomes more serious, and Vincent tenses up. It was not everyday he saw this side of Tom. “You ain’t a boy no more, Vinnie. A Don has responsibilities. That girl makes you soft and you know it.”

There it is: the judgement. That was what he couldn’t take anymore. The constant watching his back, always waiting for the next “innocent” suggestion on how to do his job. That the world was out to get him, he knows. But now his own family, the one he swore to protect, the people he’d give his life for? That couldn’t be. He needed some fresh air, and some nice cuddling with his girl. And that’s what he’d do right now. 

Fuck that.

“I don’t gotta listen to this”, Vincent stands up abruptly, grabbing his coat and giving one last glare at his uncle. He raises his voice, widening his eyes furiously, “and I don’t wanna hear you say her name again, got that?!”

He left without another word, marching out the house with his chin up and his usual thug walk. Vinnie got into his car and drove away into the night, enjoying the breeze on his face. (y/n) had moved into her old apartment even prior to the divorce papers were ready, and thankfully he knew where that was. He stepped on the pedal and accelerated, eager to see the face he missed so much. His heart was pounding into his chest. Suddenly, his vision appeared to be clearer and something burned in the pit of his stomach, resemblant to the effect of a drug. Just the thought of his baby close again ignited him in such a way. 

Almost six months without her scent, her voice, her touch. Would she even let him in, he wondered, this late at night? All alone in her house... Or so he wanted her to be. Nevertheless, as much as it made him irate to think of her in the arms of another, Vinnie couldn’t blame her for going out with other people. On the other hand, he just couldn’t fathom the thought of having anyone other than her. Not just yet. So different from the Vincent he was just before they met. She really had left her mark on him.  

He stopped the car in front of her building in a halt. His jacket did nothing to warm him up through the cold wind hitting his face as he got out of the vehicle, shutting the door with a thud that was surely louder than necessary. Vincent took a deep breath and stomped towards her front door, clearing his throat and staring at his shoes for a moment. He adjusted his suit and his hair, brushing it backwards anxiously. Goddamn it, what would he even say? “I missed you, let’s get back together, even though you hate my guts and I can’t compromise because of my family”? He should just leave. This was a bad idea.

He’s turning around when the wooden surface simply disappears from his rear view. The door opened to reveal (y/n) with her hair tied up, staring at him with concern and faint surprise. She had her pyjamas on, like a normal person would so late at night, but his look automatically fell over her bare legs. She looked as beautiful as ever, even more so than he remembered. His heart hammered inside his chest and he tried to appear unaffected at her presence, even though it was useless. 

Noticing his intense stare, the girl cleared her throat, raising a questioning brow. “What on earth are you doing here, Vincent?”

Right, he had to speak. “I wanted to see you”, he breathes out, almost choked up, and it’s pathetic, but he’s past caring about that. Vinnie takes a step closer, uninvited, because it’s so much stronger than him at this point. “I miss you, (y/n).” His voice comes out strained, yet resolute. 

(y/n) pauses, taking in his sudden approach. “Vincent...”

“Don’t turn me away yet. I just wanna talk, okay?”, he spits in a rush, and he looks like an eager puppy, probably, but he’s also way past caring about that. This is the woman of his life. He can bear to look a little stupid in front of her. “Please, baby, you just gotta listen to me.”

His wife closes her eyes and sighs, making way for him to enter. “I’m not your baby anymore, you know?” 

Vincent grins in relief, walking past her to sit on the couch. His palms are sweating and he rubs them against his pants back and forth, rocking his body nervously. He’s got no idea what he’s supposed to answer, he’s never been the romantic type, but the words pour from his mouth anyways, “you’ll always be my baby.”

She looks unfazed by his directness, but her orbs still avoid him. “What do you wanna say that you haven’t already, Vincenzo?” (y/n) crosses her arms and takes a seat across from him, keeping her distance, and he can’t help but feel his chest tighten at this. 

“I miss you”, he repeats, blinking a few times. He’s so bad at this, but he’s got to do it. For her. “You’re my life. I can’t be without you, you know that.” She remains silent as he rambles, and he frowns despite himself, the feeling of being suffocated by the nothingness coming all over again. “Talk to me, (y/n)”, Vinnie’s being too demanding for the occasion, but he’s just so fucking tired of this. 

“I have nothing to say”, comes the noiseless murmur.

Vincent can spot the water fighting to escape her sombre look, but all he can think of is how fed up he is with these games. “Don’t you lie to me”, he growls, balling up his fists. “Don’t you fucking lie to me, sweetheart.”

“Get out of my house”, she stands up in the blink of an eye, glaring at his direction. 

He huffs and gets up only to glower right back at her, ignoring her request. “I won’t leave until we talk this through, okay?” He grabs her arm in a tight hold, mindful not to hurt her. This wasn’t how he was wishing things would go, although he should’ve known. She had left him for a reason. He tries to calm himself with a deep breath and lets go of her forearm, looking into her eyes intently, “tell me the truth, don’t you love me anymore?”

Tears stream down her cheeks, but she doesn’t break their gaze. “You know I do”, she whispers desperately, gripping at his jacket with all her force. 

This very moment has happened before, a few times. The same tension and eagerness to make things just work, swimming against the current. This was so like them; to be running towards each other when they should be running away. He touches her fingertips ghostly, caressing them in silent request. (y/n) gulps and squeezes his hand softly, resting it over her pounding chest. His whole body shivers with their closeness, and he has to try his best not to pull her into a kiss right there. He’s never been one to respect boundaries, and that was yet another proof of just how strong his love for that woman was.

“Come back home”, Vincent coos, bringing their foreheads together. His orbs are as watery as hers now, and he bites his trembling lip, waiting for her assured decline. 

“That house is not my home, Vincent”, (y/n) whimpers, still holding his palm securely. “You know I won’t ever go back to that place.”

“Damn you”, Vinnie sighs, shutting his eyes tightly. He much preferred her yelling than this again, anyday. “You know I can’t leave, honey.”

“But you want to”, she gives him a piercing stare, and their noses are touching. 

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, their bodies flush against one another, and her hot breath made it all okay somehow. He was almost imploding with emotion. (y/n) knew him too well; just one look at him and she had the perfect words, the perfect timing, as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud. The moblife was killing him from the inside out, and being away from her was only the last straw. When she hugged him back slowly, there was nothing but them at that moment. Everything else faded. This was real. 

“They’ll never let me go”, Vinnie considers gently, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Hell, they might even kill me for this.”

“We can run away”, (y/n) smiles, cupping his cheeks and leaving a quick kiss on his lips. He presses himself against her, devouring her mouth with no further ado. It’s been so long. All the anxiety and anger dissipated under her tender touch, and he deepened the kiss hungrily. When they pulled away, she chuckled, “someone missed me, huh?”

“Don’t joke with that, sweetheart”, he pleads, and his words come out smaller than he intended. Vincent pecks her mouth again, biting her lip weakly with a smirk. “I’m still mad you left.”

(y/n) snickers, swaying their bodies unhurriedly. “I had to.”

He lets out a quiet grunt, nuzzling her jaw, “I know.” His fingers reach her hips and he pulls her closer. “I love you.”

“I love you too”, she purrs, holding him delicately.

And then came the silence. Yet this time, it felt like he could breathe at last. In her arms, it all meant something again. Never mind his other half, (y/n) was simply his entire being. More than whole, Vincent was himself in her presence once more. They could take on the world together, and that’s what he was willing to do for them both. He had the answer for Tom’s question now. For (y/n), he’d give his life. 

Shamelessly. 

#the godfather #the godfather x reader #the godfather imagine #vincent mancini x reader #vincent mancini #the godfather part iii #andy garcia #vincent corleone #vincent corleone x reader

[idiot-mushroom]

I would love the Casey lore but I also don't want spoilers, so I'm going to ask a bunch of stuff again!

What are Casey, April, Irma, and Sunita's fashion sense like? Music taste? Favorite food? Favorite type of books/shows/movies? Least favorite food texture? Any specific neirodivergency or mental illnesses? What are they most insecure about? Do they all fight along side the turtles or aid them with their adventures?

Please tell me everything you can about Keno!!!

Do any of the humans get mutated at any point? Why does Donnie create retro mutagen?

Is spike mutant or yokai? Will he eventually be an ally to the turtles? Do have a design for him? Do they acquire other allies? Do you have any character designs we can have a sneak peek too?

Is Bishop and his hole thing in this au? Are the triceraton? Will there be professor Honeycutt/Fugitoid?

Do the O'Neil's have any other foster kids? Do they have an apartment or a house? What the layout of their place like? Which half of them makes April 1/4 Kraang?

In the new lair layout there isn't Splinters room, does he not live with them anymore? Or is it a more separate room?

I swear everytime I do this I feel like a crazy reporter or paparazzi running up to you just asking frantic questions I'm so sorry. Also sorry if these are repeated questions.

Sunita:

has autism swag

kidcore fashion sense (bright colors, chunky jewelry, ect)

they’re mostly insecure abt how she seems to not be able to fit in with human kids as well as with people in the hidden city

she likes hard rock (which contrasts with her personality and everything abt her (i think it’d be funny))

she doesn’t like the texture of celery bc of the fiver strands that make it hard to eat (for her)

she likes learning abt plants :))

her favorite food is mango pudding

she only aids them later on as ‘the man in the chair’

Casey:

he has add swag

the grunge fashion is strong with this one

he likes indie rock and rap

he’s insecure abt his past with his dad and mom, and the fact he doesn’t know much abt his own heritage from his father’s side.

he likes the percy jackson books

he does aid them in adventures as back up and muscle

April:

her brain is on default setting

casual fashion for a casual girl

she likes anything under ‘sad girl starter pack’

she rlly enjoys marvel and star wars

she aids them in adventures as a second opinion and back up

she’s rlly insecure abt her parents not paying attention to her as much with so many other kids in the household

Keno:

country bumpkin 2 da max

half Italian, half Korean

likes making pizza and pasta all day

oldest out of the entire group (in his early 20’s)

has a farm (passed down from his family)

neighbors with Casey’s old house (a mile down from the old jones’s house is keno’s house/farm)

they meet keno during the farmhouse arc

he is very friendly and acts as an older brother

I don’t think that any of them get mutated in the series but j might change my mind idk

Spike (Slash) is my au is a leatherback sea turtle that gets mutated!! She doesn’t ally them, but isn’t a bad guy either, she’s more of a morally grey vigilant.

i have no new official designs rn but after this latest arc i’ll defo post Slash’s design

Bishop will be in this au (still trying to find out his character tho) and yes mr honeycutt is in this au but he’s a robot assistant to irma 👍

these are the rest of the o’neil’s foster kids!! they live in a nice, two story house in the city.

april gets her 1/4 krang from her dad’s side (ik girls going through it)

splinter does live with them in the new lair, he’s just dubs his room as ‘the meditation room’ bc he’s an extra bitch like dat

thank you for the asks btw, don’t feel bad or worry abt it, i’m happy to talk abt my au!!

#sorry this took so long i kept putting it off lol #my au my rules #my au #my tmnt iteration #my tmnt au #teenage turtle ninja mutants #tmnt iteration #ask reply

[i-fondued]

Kinktober 2022 | Ghost - Punishment

When Cardinal Copia catches his favorite Sister of Sin out of bed after curfew, and with Terzo no less, he knows he must dole out the punishment himself…

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin Rating: Explicit Warnings: Dominate/Possessive Copia, spankings, dirty talk, Terzo being Terzo, and once again poor google translate italian A/N: This has been in the works for two days now and I have needed about 5000 mental cold showers, my praise kink is surely coming out with this one ahahahaha enjoy!!!

For those of you who prefer to read on AO3 HERE is the link!

I couldn’t sleep, the thunder outside rumbling and echoing down the dormitory hallways. Tossing the blanket and sheets aside I slipped out of bed, huffing as I pulled on a pair of thick socks.

“Cup of tea and right back to bed…” I grumbled to myself as I pulled on my robe and tied the belt tightly. 

I peaked out of my door and checked the hallway for any senior sisters. I myself was a senior sister but this late at night it wasn’t always a good thing to be caught out of bed. I closed the door as slowly as possible, the door barely creaking as I shut it. Silently as possible I snuck past Sister Imperator’s room, down the back stairs to the ground floor. I followed the long hallway, past the library I called home, and found the large cafeteria. Creeping in the shadow, I slipped through the galley doors and sighed, knowing I was at least out of sight if someone was to peek in the room.

Putting a kettle on I went through the motions to ready my teacup, two scoops of sugar and two teabags. I leaned against the countertop and crossed my arms while looking out the windows to outside. I could see the storm brewing, lightning flashing every so often. Lazily I let my mind wander, just thinking back on the events of my day and what I had planned for tomorrow, so engrossed that I didn’t hear the doors to the kitchen swing open. 

“Bene ciao, Sorella.”

“What the fuck!?” I jumped what felt like fifteen feet in the air, hand on my chest as my heart felt like it was going to pop right out of my chest. Turning towards the sound of the voice, I couldn’t help but clutch at my robes. “Satan below, Papa.”

“Ah, mi dispiace.” Papa Emeritus III, Terzo, smirked at me. He looked me up and down, coming over to lean casually against the countertop across from me. “I heard the sound of someone moving around the halls, just wanted to make sure no ghoul went…ah how you say? Prowling.”

“No, I’m sorry Papa.” I looked away from his mismatched eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d make myself some tea.” 

“Si, si. I understand.” He stepped towards me and I shied away slightly. His hand came up to brush my hair off my shoulder, I shuttered as my face flushed. “I’ve not seen you with your hair down, Sorella. It suits you…”

I flushed bright red, I’d never been all that close to Terzo like this. Sure, all of us siblings of sin looked up to him as the figurehead of the church. But since I had joined the ranks of the Siblings of Sin Terzo had been on tour and never seemed to have lots of time to spend with the siblings beyond meals and mass. He was hypnotic in the way he moved, his mismatched gaze seeming to pin me in place has he prowled towards me. I felt his hands slip down my arms and slide to my waist. Faintly I heard the whistle of the kettle but I didn’t move.

“Papa, I-“ 

“Call me Terzo, Bella…” He gripped the counter on either side of my hips and began to lean towards me. My heart beating rapidly in my chest, frozen by his eyes locked on mine. I leaned back slightly, unsure of what to do while my eyes slipped from his white eye to his lips.

Suddenly the kettle stopped whistling and someone cleared the throat. I turned away from Papa, looking towards the sound, but he turned first heaving sighing as he moved to brush his hair back from his face. 

“Ah, buena serata, Cardinale.” Papa said jovially, I however wanted the ground to come up and swallow me whole. 

“Papa,” Cardinal Copia spoke, I slipped from behind Terzo with my eyes cast down. “Sorella…”

I looked up at the Cardinal, his face may have looked neutral to anyone else but I knew him too well. He was furious, his face just slightly flushed as he had his hands behind his back. Copia didn’t even look at Terzo, no. His eyes were locked on mine. I noticed he was still dressed in his everyday black cassock, biretta perched on his head. It was silent for a moment, the only sound in the room coming from the steam from the kettle and the sound of leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers.

“Cardinal, you see the Sorella and I-“

“I was just getting some tea and then heading back to bed, Sir.” I blurted, cutting off Papa who looked shocked that I even spoke. “I’ll head right back to my room now…”

Stepping away from Papa, my eyes looking only at Copia, I started to pass by the Cardinal. I felt his hand grab my wrists. I looked down at his hand then back up at his face, feeling the leather of his gloves against my skin as he gripped tightly. 

“You are to come with me, Sister.” 

His voice left no option for argument. I bowed my head to him slightly, unable to look him in the eye. 

“I do not think that is entirely necessary, Cardinale…” Papa started and Copia finally broke his gaze on me to glare at Terzo.

“Sister has been caught out of bed, I will handle her punishment.” Copia gave Terzo a dirty look before leaning closer to him. Papa seemed taken aback by Copia’s attitude, so used to the mousy version of him.

“Cardinale…”

“Go find another Sorella to warm your bed, donnaiolo.” He spat at him, before tugging me along with him. 

I looked back at Papa with shocked eyes, surprised that Copia had the gall to say anything like that to anyone, let alone Papa himself. Terzo just had a wild smile on his face as he shook his head before turning to pour the kettle into my cup. He nodded at me, lifting my cup in my direction in a mock cheers before Copia pulled me along and I lost sight of Papa.

Retracing my path from the kitchen to the main hallways, neither of us said anything. I followed along, struggling to keep up the pace set by Copia, until we turned down a long corridor full of the many apartments of high ranking men of the church. Confused, I pulled back against his grip on me, but despite his size he was incredibly strong.

“C-copia..?” I whispered, he looked back to shush me before he pulled open the doors to the rooms at the very end of the long hallway. The Cardinal practically tossed me into the room, shutting his door as quietly as possible before turning his furious mismatched eyes on me.

“What was he doing down there with you?” He hissed, stalking towards me. 

I couldn’t help but back away from him slowly, a small amount of fear caught in my chest and my throat. I’d never seen him like this before, fury written on his face and his one white eye practically glowing in the low light of the room. Copia’s chest was heaving with ragged breaths, my own heart thrumming painfully in my ribcage.

“N-nothing! I couldn’t sleep because of the storm. I went downstairs to make some tea, Papa snuck up and startled me, that was all.” 

Copia didn’t say anything at first, instead slowly he stalked towards me and forced me to back up into the wall behind me. His eyes drifted from my eyes to my lips, pausing momentarily as he licked his own lips before turning his dark gaze back on me.

“Did he touch you?”

“W-what? No!” I stammered, completely taken aback by his statement. My cheeks flushed and a small spark started something deep in my belly. I would be lying if I said this total change in his demeanor wasn’t doing something to me.

“Don’t lie to me, Sorella…” Copia’s voice was low and deadly as his hand came up to wrap gently around my throat. My heart rate skyrocketed, pulse thrumming in my neck. “I am not someone who shares, ne sono un uomo paziente.”

“I swear Cardinal.” I mumbled, unable to stop myself from the small pants that slipped past my lips. His lips quirked slightly, brow razing as he smirked. 

“Hm…” He murmured, his fingers brushing against the bottom of my jawline and pulling softly at my bottom lip. “What to do with you, Cara Mia…”

Copia’s free hand came to press against the wall, cornering me so I couldn’t escape him. My heart felt like it was going to bust out through my sternum, my eyes frantic as they locked on his. My face was red hot as his fingers gently squeezed my throat, a small strangled whimper slipping past my lips. 

“Cardinal..?” I squeaked, his hand around my throat slipped down pushing my robe to the side and undoing the belt. I stood there, shivering slightly as he exposed my nightgown. I hadn’t worn anything under the soft, simple cotton fabric. My nipples pebbled beneath the fabric as Copia’s leather clad hand skimmed gently over my breast. 

“You have been caught out of bed after curfew, Sister.” He purred, voice dangerously low. “And with our Papa no less…”

“I would never, Cardinal…” I whispered as he leaned in, his hand gripping my wrists again and pinning them above my head. His lips hovered just barely out of my reach.

“I must punish you somehow, cara mia.” Copia’s lips brushed against mine as he spoke and I couldn’t help but squirm against him, my thighs trying to find some relief for my aching core. “…ma come punirti…”

Copia’s eyes locked with mine before he surged forward, lips stealing my breath away as he kissed me. His free hand came up to tangle in my hair at the back of my head, tugging on the curls to angle my head in the way he liked. I moaned into the kiss, my hands scrambling to try and reach out to touch him. He pulled away from me then, I couldn’t help the disappointed gasp that slipped from my lips. He paused for a moment before letting go of me and walking away towards the small sitting room that was in the entrance of his chambers. 

The room was dimly lit by the fireplace, a small fire keeping the room warm but not unpleasantly so. In front of the fire was a small sitting area; a couch on one side of a coffee table with a pair of chairs on the other. The space reminded me of his office with bookshelves filled with his own personal collection. To the side there was a large ornate cage and I could see at least three of Copia’s pet rats curled up in a ball, all of them cuddled together. 

Behind the sitting area I saw a pair of pocket doors, the doors open enough that I could see the slight shape of Copia’s bed. My face flushed, feeling like I was trespassing in his space, as I followed behind the Cardinal. Despite everything he and I had done together, we’d never come to his rooms before. We both had a serious fear of being caught by Sister Imperator or Papa Nihil, and even worse was the idea of being caught by any of the Papas again.

Copia stalked over to the couch, sitting down and leaning back. He sat with legs parted widely, I could see the outline of his cock hard under his cassock and I felt my core thrum with heat. I stood a few steps away from him, blushing furiously as I laid my robe over the arm of the chair and crossed my arms.

“Come, Sorella.” He growled, his anger still simmering below the surface. 

A thrill shot down my spine as he beckoned me forward with his fingers. He pointed to the floor between his legs and I obediently kneeled for him, knees digging into the rich Persian rug on the floor. My eyes looked up at him, the light from the fire casting shadows on his face and his one white eye standing out boldly against the black paint. My hands sat in my lap but they itched to touch him, to convey all my love and adoration for him so he always knew it was only him. I knew better though, Copia was rarely ever the one in control in our encounters but when he was I relished at primal instincts he had.

“Cardinal..?” My voice was hoarse and deep as I tried not to squirm under his eyes. “Can I-?”

“Silenzio, Sister.” He hissed, leaning forward suddenly and gripping my chin. I jumped slightly, heartbeat stumbling, and my breathing grew harsh. “Come.”

He gestured for me to lay across his lap. I moved quickly, slightly shy as I laid across his strong thighs. I could feel under my stomach as the muscles in his thighs clenched as he helped shift my weight so I wasn’t digging my hip bones into him. My top half was at an angle so I could rest more of my weight on the couch, my hands already coming to grip the fabric of the cushion as I looked over my shoulder at the cardinal. His left hand was pressed firmly against the small of my back, pinning me down. My thighs clenched again, I could tell I was already soaked and ready for him. I knew if he even brushed against the apex of my thighs I would have slammed head first into my orgasm right then and there.

My eyes were locked on his as he bit the middle finger of his glove on his right hand, pulling the leather away to reveal his pale hand. I bit my bottom lip, a small shiver running down my spine, as I felt his hand slide up my calf and caress my inner thigh. I moaned softly, burying my head in the couch cushion as he chucked at me. 

“Ten marks I think are a fitting punishment, Si Sorella?” Copia murmured, his voice thick with arousal as he slowly pulled my nightgown up to explore my bare ass. He swore under his breath, something Italian that made my ears burn with heat and embarrassment, as he realized I wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Cazzo, Sorella, you are una ragazza sporca…”

His hand brushed against my bare skin and I couldn’t help as my hips bucked back into his caress. Copia teased me a few times, letting my hips roll against him as I panted in his lap. I could feel his cock straining against the fabric of his robes as Copia tried to remain composed, his thighs just barely flexing beneath me as he fought to keep from pulling me into his arms and sinking deep inside me. 

“I want you to count with me, dolcezza.”

“Yes, Cardinal.” I whispered, his hand caressing me one more time. Before I could even tense up I felt the impact of his hand on my bare ass, heat and sting blooming to life. I gasped, flinching and looking over my shoulder at him. 

“Sister?”

“O-one.” I stammered, fingers clenching the cushion as I squirmed under his eyes. 

Again his hand caressed the spot he just spanked me, a slight burning feeling but not unpleasant and I couldn’t help as I arched my back against his soft touch. A pause and another spank hit me, this time on the other cheek. I flinched, my breath coming out as a hiss and my eyes squeezed shut.

“Two.” I gritted my teeth, my breath shuttered through me. 

Copia’s fingers brushed slightly against the welt his hand left and I arched into his caress. Another moment and another spank, this time he hit the same spot as the first mark. I cried out this time, tears forming slightly in my eyes, and I felt Copia pause before his hand on my lower back caressed my shoulder gently. 

“The count, Cara Mia…” His voice soothed me slightly as the rhythmic feeling of his left hand, still clad in leather, caressed my bare shoulders and upper arm. 

“Th-three.” I whimpered as the sounds of our haggard breathing mixed. I felt his bare right hand drift between my legs just slightly, fingertips ghosting against my soaked slit. I felt him take a deep breath, his thighs clenching tight.

“Santi sotto…” Copia groaned, his hand once again spanking me. I cried out this time, legs twitching against his as rubbed my thighs together. The tears spilled from my eyes this time as I focused on the intricate pattern weaved into the fabric of the couch. 

“Four.”

Another crack echoed in the room, my skin burning while my face felt hot and the warm tears continued. 

“Five.”

“Only five more, Sorella.” His voice was husky, my breathing was coming in short bursts and my fingers itched to touch him. The sensations were too much for my overly sensitive skin. 

“Yes Sir.” I spoke and my voice was low and soft, sniffling slightly. I heard Copia groan as I called him Sir, his hips grinding up against me. I felt his cock stirring against me and I longed to pounce on him but I was deterred to finish my punishment.

Crack.

“Six.”

Crack.

“Seven.”

Crack.

“Eight.”

Crack. 

“Nine.”

I was panting, there wasn’t any way to hide it from Copia, and I didn’t even care. I must have looked like a mess to him; grinding against his thigh to cause any sort of friction to my clit, my nightgown hanging off my shoulders as he had his left hand on my back pinning me down. I knew I had tears in my eyes and wet trails from the ones that had already spilled down my face, I’d been gnawing at my lips to keep as quiet as possible to not wake any of the other clearly members. I felt his hand leave my back and I couldn’t help but turn to look back at him. 

Copia was flushed with arousal, his mismatched gaze filled with lust and heat that made me whimper when his eyes locked with mine. His hand that was previously on my back ran through his hair, his biretta long discarded and tossed onto the coffee table. I was mesmerized as he took the leather glove off his other hand, tossing it behind him as he leaned down towards me. He pulled my nightgown down, snapping the thin strap on one side in the process. He kissed between my shoulder blades, I moaned softly and arched up into his touch as he soothingly caressed the red splotches on my bottom. 

“One more, Sorella.” He murmured as he leaned over to brush the tears from my eyes. “Sei stata una brave ragazza, si, a very good girl…”

Without any warning he spanked my ass, the hardest of all of them. I cried out, louder than before as he scooped me up in his arms and brushed the hair from my face. 

“Ten.” I whimpered, my hands finally reaching up to tug him down to me. He peppered my face with soft kisses as I sniffled against his chest, cheek pressed against his thrumming heart beat. 

“You did very well, mia amata.” He murmured, kissing my forehead and rubbing my back. His other hand came to my chin and tilted my head back. I gasped at the look of his eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal. Copia leaned forward, pressing his lips to mine gently at first before I was squirming in his arms, desperate for more. 

I’d never been so turned on in my life and I needed relief, the dull ache of my redden ass was nothing in comparison with the inferno between my legs.

“Copia, please.” I begged as my hands pulled him to me, kisses becoming more frantic as his tongue slipped into my mouth coaxing and teasing my own.

He pulled away from me and I fought back a sob from my throat. Copia helped me stand, taking my hand and tugging softly towards his chambers. My eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly. The back wall was taken up by three massive stained glass windows which shone in the dim moonlight, his bed was at least a king size four poster made of solid wood with thick velvet curtains that were tied back. His bedding was a deep, blood red and his bed was made with almost military precision. 

Turning me towards him, he slid the one flimsy strap of my nightgown that was still attached from my shoulder. The cotton fabric slipped down my body and pooled at my feet, I stood there naked and squirmed under the intense gaze of the mysterious Cardinal. 

His hands came up to cup my face, and he kissed me like a man possessed. One hand slipped to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair before tugging sharply. I moaned quietly, my own hands reaching out to grasp at Copia’s cassock to steady myself. His lips trailed down my jaw, nipping at my neck before he traced my pulse point with his tongue before biting down and sucking at the sensitive skin. I cried out his name as I pressed myself against him and groaned as my forehead rested against his shoulder. His lips traveled from my pulse to my shoulder, leaving another love bite, before he came to suck and nibble on my collarbone. 

Suddenly he began to back me up towards the bed, the backs of my legs pressing against the edge, and sat me down. I leaned back slightly as he kissed my lips, his hand cupping my face gently. He pulled back and I looked up at him standing above me quizzically. 

“C-copia?” I stammered, heartbeat thrumming in my chest. 

“You are mine, Si, Sorella?” He purred, his voice dangerously low.

“Of course,” I couldn’t help the blush spreading on my face as I reached out to cup his cheek, feeling him lean into my open palm. “Only ever yours, Copia. Nobody else…”

I’m not quite sure what came over us then, if it was the confession or if he finally understood that he had walked in on something innocent in the kitchens but suddenly it was like a race to undress Copia from his many layers. I pulled his ornate belt off, throwing it to the side, as he started unbuttoning the cassock. I started to unbutton him from the bottom, our hands meeting in the middle. He surged forward as I pushed his coat from his shoulders, his lips crashing into mine. 

Our breath mingled, I let out a strangled moan as I pushed the suspenders from his shoulders, nails scraping down his back and leavening marks in his skin through his thin undershirt. He grunted, leaning down as we teased each other’s tongues, to haphazardly pull his shoes off and throw them behind him. I tugged at his shirt to untuck it from his trousers; desperate to finally, for the first time since our stolen moments began months ago, feel his bare skin against mine. Our mouths parted for only a moment as I pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the side before we crashed together again. 

“Sorella…” Copia groaned as my hands tugged at his trousers, unbuttoning them and slipping my hands in to begin to push them down his hip. Copia’s forehead rested against mine, his eyes closed and I smiled, leaning in to kiss his forehead tenderly. 

I leaned back on my elbows against the mattress, sliding back slightly, and locked my eyes with his own as I opened my legs for him. His eyes widened as he watched my hands drift from my breasts, teasing my own nipples with quiet moans, to slide down my body to slip in between my legs. Before I could touch myself however he was on the bed, his hand grabbing mine and pinning them above my head. Copia was leaning over me, his breath coming out in sharp pants as he looked at me with hooded eyes. 

“I do not think you have earned relief yet, Tesoro.” His voice was thick with desire, his hips slotted against mine as he rolled them against me. 

We both moaned, Copia leaning down to lick and suck a trail from the sensitive part of my neck to my breasts. I desperately wanted to thread my fingers through his hair but my hands were pinned to the mattress in his grip, I tugged slightly and whimpered as he slipped his tongue to tease my nipple. I arched up into his mouth, greedily searching out more of the sensation that sent shockwaves to my core. I rolled my hips against him again, a needy sort of whine slipping from my lips, as I felt Copia’s smirk into my skin. 

“Please…Copia.” I begged, tears of frustration back as he took his time to tease me till I was panting beneath him. His free hand slipped between us and ghosted over my aching core. I moaned loudly, hips surging forward to find any sort of friction. Copia moved his fingers so they barely brushed against my soaking wet slit.

“Ah, mia bella, is this all for me?” He crooned in my ear, his lips brushing against the outside of my ear. A shudder ran through me and I thought I was going to simply combust if he didn’t touch me. “You are so wet for your Cardinale.”

His fingers finally slipped into my wet heat and my back arched as they slid against my clit. I cried out, wrists tugging against his vice grip, and closed my eyes as I felt the warm sensation of my slowly approaching orgasam coming. He teased me, my cunt clenching his fingers every time they just barely entered me. When he pulled his fingers away entirely I practically sobbed till I felt the head of his cock sliding up and down my sopping wet slit. 

“Copia, please…” I pleaded, my finger scratching at his hand as I desperately fought to get out of his grip.

He didn’t answer me; instead he gripped my right thigh, hiking it up over his shoulder before he slammed fully inside me. I practically shrieked as he bottomed out inside me, our hips pressed flush together. He groaned, burying his face in my neck to suck and bite at my heated skin. He pulled out of me almost completely before snapping his hips and slamming back into me. I moaned his name, over and over, as my ass throbbed below me from sliding against the bedding beneath me. 

He set a brutal pace, the sounds of our bodies coming together were borderline obscene in the quiet of Copia’s bedroom. The heat settling in my belly was consuming me, my body felt flushed and hot as I writhed underneath him. Copia’s free hand came to rest next to my head, he pushed himself up and finally let go of my hands as he tossed my other leg over his shoulder. His hands came to grip my hips tightly, pulling me along to match his thrusts, and he groaned deeply. My hands reached out to touch the exposed skin of his chest, nails raking through his chest hair and down his belly before I let them drift to grip onto his forearms. I held onto him, nails coming to dig into his skin, as I panted. 

“Copia…I’m close.” I groaned, back arching as his hands moved to grip my shoulders, pinning me beneath him as his pace quickened.

“Sei mio, Sorella. Only mine.” He grunted above me and I nodded my head.

“Yes,” I panted, the coil in my belly curling tightly as my orgasam approached. 

Suddenly Copia stopped, pulling out of me entirely. I cried out, the inferno in my belly blowing out to only a dull ache. Before I could physically attack him, Copia flipped me over on my hands and knees with strength I didn’t know he possessed. He curled around me, taking my wrists and pinning them down again in his hands as he slipped into my aching cunt. He slammed his hips against me, pace brutal as he fucked me harder than he ever had before. 

The feeling of his hips slapping against my bruised ass was just on the right side of agony when matched with the feeling of his cock hitting deep inside me. I felt the tears pricking in my eyes. I felt like I was going to lose my mind, all I could focus on was the feeling of the man behind me who was using my body in such a delicious way. 

“You cannot come, Sister. Not till I tell you too.” Copia’s voice was strained but dangerously low. 

I nodded, not able to trust my voice but I felt his hand let go of mine and wrap around my throat. He squeezed firmly, a shockwave running down my spine and turning the coil of pleasure in my belly tight, I let out a strangled cry.

“Say it, amore.”

“Yes, Cardinal.”

“Who do you belong to?” He panted, hips shuddering in his rhythmic thrusts. I arched my back against him as he curled around me, his mouth coming to press frantic kisses to my shoulder. 

“You Copia.” I cried, tears now streaming down my cheeks as I fought my orgasam. I was right on the edge, my cunt clenching against his cock as I tried to hold back. 

“Who can touch you?”

“Only you.”

“Chi possiede la tua fica?” He growled in my ear, teeth digging into the flesh where my neck and shoulder met. 

“Y-you!” I cried out “Copia, please! I-I cant…”

I felt a shutter building in my core and my hands reached back, digging my nails into his strong thighs as I panted below him. His grip on my throat tightened and my cunt clenched against his cock, a strangled cry slipping from my throat as he cursed in mumbled italian. His free hand slid between our bodies, his weight crushing against my back, and as his finger brushed my swollen clit he mumbled in my ear. 

“Vieni a prendermi, Principessa.”

The grip on my throat flexed again and I felt the spring in my belly snap suddenly, I came harder than I ever had in my life. I practically screamed Copia’s name, muffled by my face buried in the bed at the last second. I felt a sharp pain bloom in my neck as Copia drilled into me, he had bit down on my neck so hard I knew I would have teeth marks for days. I didn’t care, I was barely coherent or even on this planet. Faintly I was aware of his thrusts losing his rhythm before his hips snapped roughly into me one more time. I felt his cock twitch as he came sharply, thrusting weakly through our aftershocks as shutters ran down my spine.

“Cara mia…” he whispered, his lips pressing soft kisses to my bare back as he eased me from my aching knees to my belly. His hands rubbed the back of my thighs as he pulled out of me, coming to curl around my body. “My good girl, absolutely perfecto…”

“Copia.” I murmured, a soft smile on my face and my eyes barely open as I turned on my side to face him. I felt his strong arms pull me towards him, our legs tangled together as we basked in the afterglow together. “That was…”

“Si, si.” He chucked, leaning forward to press a kiss to my forehead. “I-I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay, Cope…” I mumbled, burying my face in his chest as he smoothed my hair back and away from my face. I didn’t even register that I’d given him a pet name. “I think I could get used to that…”

“Oh mio amore…” Copia sighed, hand brushing against my cheek. “Stay tonight?”

“I don’t think I could make it back to my room if I tried…” I laughed, my eyes drifting open to look at his face. His paints were a complete mess and I smiled at him. “Go wash your face, I’ll fix the bed.”

He kissed me softly, fingers brushing against the love bite on my shoulder before he stood and walked over to where his bathroom must be. I couldn’t help but watch his thick thighs and ass wobble as he walked away, a familiar ache starting in my belly again. While I listened to the water running I slipped from the middle of the bed to the top, sliding under the covers to find silk sheets. 

The rhythmic sound of the water made my eyelids slide closed, I didn’t even notice Copia come back into the room till I felt the bed dip slightly. I fought to open my eyes but he kissed my brow, tugging me to him again.

“Dormi, amore.” He chucked as I stifled a yawn. “You need rest.”

“Goodnight, Copia.” I mumbled as I buried my face in his chest, my legs tangling with his. 

“Goodnight, mio amato.” He murmured in my ear as he kissed me softly. I was asleep before his lips left mine.

#Ghost #ghost band #Ghost the band #ghost bc #ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia x reader #Cardinal copia fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #popia copia #copia x reader #cardi c #papa emeritus x reader #LORD HELP ME FOR I HAVE SINNED WITH THIS ONE #JUST YOU ALL WAIT #THIS WILL BE WHEN THE BFFS BROTHER FINDS MY TUMBLER AND FINDS MY FILTH

[thedeal-if]

Aaah the Dante drabble....

But... but... sorry, I HAVE to!

Soo...

This:

"He eyes the bouquet like it has personally offended him—knowing him, it has. Dante holds his hands out, you hand it to him almost on autopilot. The Aeshma takes a step back, and you watch as he sets the flowers ablaze with the palms of his hands. That’s the moment the stranger decides to run."

Well... but what if MC proceeds to be upset at him (in a sad - not angry - way), because these were such pretty flowers, and since they were already cut it is only right to at least care for them and allow them to live as long as possible before they wilt, instead of burning them like that. Aka, the MC is a sweetheart golden retriever type of person who genuinely feels upset about the flower burning.

OMG THIS 😭 I totally see it, poor MC... I'd say Dante's wrath would be hard to deal with even when it's hardly directed at them. He has an interesting internal monologue when that anger disappears so I present to you babygirl's pov post-Flower Incident✨

The stranger runs away. And Dante has no appropriate place to wipe the ashes on his hands, they dangle awkwardly for a few seconds, and then he dusts them off in his pants, staining the black leather with the grey remains of his jealous rage. It’s almost as if nothing happened in the first place: the stranger is gone and what remains of the bouquet...

Is going to be a bitch to clean.

Dante mutters his go-to curses—they roll off his tongue easily enough, as Italian often does. His shoulders relax with a final painful ache, the shadow clouding his judgement lifts. To Dante, the clarity often feels like dipping his head in cold water after a heatstroke.

His pants may be ruined, Dante sulks quietly. At least the flower-giving dickhead got the hint and ran away. The Aeshma tilts his head in your direction, he sees your frown, your eyes so full of disappointment—

Oh, shit. Dante fucked up. Again. The demon’s throat tightens.

“(Name)?”

“Let’s just go home, okay?” you sigh, and Dante much prefers the fire of your justified rage, it’s something he can match and return. But you’re not terrible like him, you’re not a mess. You’re beautiful and bright, like the sun, but in a good way. In the best way. You don’t sunburn, you are the rays that sunflowers chase greedily.

Dante hates the aftermath, the consequences of his own rage. He hates making you sad.

“(Name),” Dante whines helplessly “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Though you force a smile, it’s not sincere and it only makes the Aeshma feel worse. Dante wants to touch you, to hug you, he almost does—but the image of you recoiling roots him to the spot.

“It’s— It’s just some stupid flowers,” you frown at his words, he fucked up again. Again. Dante feels like he’s been kicked “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

Dante has no idea what you’re thinking about when you tighten your lips, pupils fluttering up and to the sides, he’s too busy watching all your little ticks. It makes noticing your more sincere smile much easier, and it’s only when you brandish it in his direction that Dante feels the tightness in his chest relax.

You explain, you always do, you’re patient and wonderful like that.

“Flowers are alive like you and I. It’s— It’s such a waste not to let them live, Dante,” you breathe “I know you can’t control Wrath. I’m not mad, either, but...”

“I’ll be careful,” Dante promises even though he’s not really sure it’s an oath he can keep “I’ll, uh, I’ll say sorry to the witch.”

Villanelle would probably be furious in your stead if she learnt what happened—to you and to the flowers.

At least that idea makes you laugh. Dante cracks his knuckles to relieve the tension.

“I forgive you,” you conclude sweetly, you reach out confidently, weave your fingers together with his own “Don’t do that again, okay?”

Your skin has always been cold to Dante. The change is refreshing.

#the deal #the deal act 1 #inferno #the deal if #ask #dante #mc #scenario #ros

[rsedits9420]

A little angsty bur getting into a fight with Estapa

I’m leaving

Word count: 1.8k

Mark Estapa blurb

Masterlist

Y/n

“Hey! Have you guys seen Mark recently? He was supposed to meet me at this Italian restaurant for our 6 months, but he never showed up.” I ask my boyfriend’s roommates. They all look at me puzzled. “I haven’t seen him since he left for class this morning. It’s weird that he didn’t show. Definitely not like him.” Ethan responds. Well I guess they aren’t going to be much help. “Oh ok. Well, I’m probably going to just go home then. If you see him, tell him to call me please. I'm worried.” “Hey y/n I’m sure he’s fine. Don’t worry.” Luke says. They all say their goodbyes, and I leave.

Mark has never done this. It was definitely not something he would do. I mean we have been talking about it for weeks. The worst part is I got all dressed up, to just sit and eat alone. I sit by my phone hoping that he will call. I mean I have been calling him for hours, but I’m met with no response. But for some reason, I can't help but assume the worst. Maybe he’ll call me back.

Mark

A few hours earlier

I hate sitting in this business lecture. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike the subject, but it’s the instructor I can’t stand. He’s always yapping about something other than the actual lesson. And because of that I have a 74 as my grade. I need to get it up to at least a B, or my parents will have my neck. Even when I’m 21, they still cares about my grades. That’s the life of someone who has teachers as parents. Right now I’m zoned out thinking about the upcoming game this weekend. We play Ohio State, and it’s going to be rough.

I’m brought back to reality, when Mr. Davis announces we are doing a partnership project. Damn it. The one class I have nobody I enjoy talking to, we get a project with a partner. All of a sudden a beautiful blonde girl walks up to me and asks,” Hey Marky! Do you want to work with me? I heard you are super smart, and I might need some help?” It’s Tori. I’ve heard of her from y/n. She seems okay, she's gorgeous that’s for sure. “What class are you?” I ask. “Oh Mark, I'm a sophomore, you silly!” What the hell. How does she even know I’m a sophomore? I’m pretty sure I’m making a face, when she says,” Oh don’t worry. I’m not a stalker or anything, I just watch you on the hockey team a lot. You are really good by the way! You're super hot too, so that gives me another reason to watch” She says the last part while twirling her hair. “Uh thanks.” I responded. “Well, do you want to go work on it at my dorm? My roommate should be gone anyways.” She asked. “Uh okay. I’ll meet you there, just write down your address.” I say back. This all reminds me of y/n. I haven’t heard from her today. I wonder why? Eh it’s probably nothing big.

I get to her dorm at around 5. I stopped by the rink to talk to the coach real quick. He had talked about my penalties. Always the penalties. Tori had said she stopped to get coffee, and she picked me up a coffee with 3 sugars and 2 creams. I have no clue how she knew that, but I’m not going to waste my time and find out. She asked me to sit on her bed with her and I complied. Her dorm is pretty small with just a bed and a desk on her side. My 6 '2 self doesn’t fit in those tiny desks so, the bed it is. I can’t help but to wonder about y/n again. She still hasn’t texted, so maybe she’s busy. I look at my phone to check when I get the 5% battery notification. Dammit I should have brought a charger. I turn down the brightness and put my phone on low power mode. Hopefully that will help.

After about 20 minutes of her talking my head off, we finally started. She also can’t stay still. She keeps moving from the desk to right next to me. She’s been sitting next to me on the bed for almost 15 minutes so maybe she made up her mind. We are both slightly laying while also sitting up propped up by the head board. She gets her laptop so we can start the project. We have to make a slideshow on how partnership can positively and negatively affect a business. We have to provide a famous example for each. I’m probably going to end up doing it all judge on how Tori can’t stop talking about random things. “Did you know you have pretty eyes?” What the fuck? Random. “Uh no.” I say. She bats her eyelashes at me and says,” Well you do, pretty boy.” I ignore her and continue on the project. I go to look at my phone and it turns out I died. You’ve got to be kidding. “Marky!! Her look!” She quickly pulls out her phone to snaps a picture.” I try to see what it looks like but I can’t fully see it. Eh, who cares. I go back to working on the project for the next hour.

Y/n

I’ve been trying to distract myself. I’ve tried watching movies, cleaning my apartment, and now listening to music in my bed. He still hasn’t called or even gone home. It’s currently 9:24 and he’s yet to be seen by anyone. I’m borderline paranoid. I can’t help but feel like something happened to him. I grab my phone to check again when I’m met with a text from Dylan.

Duker: hey y/n. Um I don’t know how to tell you this but I know that I should. This is what some girl posted on her snap story an hour ago. All the boys have tried to get in touch with him and they haven’t gotten any responses. We are sorry. If you want to come over we will all be here for you.

He sent an image of Mark next to this blonde in a bed. It’s fucking Tori! The one who will flirt with him right in front of me and doesn’t even care that I'm there. They are sitting awfully close too. She’s practically laying on him. My stomach drops. He has his hand on her thigh. She even captioned it “study dates with this hottie”. We’re they on a date?!? He skipped out on our 6 month anniversary dinner to go hang out with some girl in her dorm?!?! I feel betrayed. I’m trying my hardest to choke back sobs but it’s no use. I’m bawling. I thought I had it. He treated me so well too. He had me fooled. I’m stupid for believing that this wouldn’t happen. I should have known. I quickly grab my keys and head to the boys house. Who cares, it doesn’t look like he’ll be coming home anytime soon anyways. I get in my car and go.

Mark

I finally left 20 minutes ago. I’m rushing home so I can get to bed at a decent hour, when my phone finally turns back on after being in the charger. I look at it and see 45 missed calls and 67 texts. What the hell?!? I went back to call the last person who called me and it was Mackie. The call connects when he says,” Man. You need to get your ass home now. You’ve got a shit ton of explaining to do. She’s pissed at you, Mark. And honestly we all agree with her.” Then he hangs up without letting me get a word in. Who’s pissed? Is it y/n? What did I do?

I rush into the apartment when I’m met with Mackie, Ethan, and Nolan?!? Why’s he here? “Dude what the hell?!?” Nolan shouts. “She waited on you for 2 hours and you never showed. Instead you were on a date with some fucking puck bunny.”, “I’m your best friend, but you really fucked up Mark.” E says. “What did I do?” I question. “What do you mean? Look at this!” Dylan shows me a photo of me and Tori. She’s sitting next to me with my hand on her thigh. Wait? She had my hand on her thigh?!? “Not only this, but you fucking skipped your 6 month anniversary dinner to hang out with whoever this is! I mean Mark what the fuck?!?” Moyal says. “Where’s y/n? I need to talk to her.” I ask. “She's In my room asleep.” Luke comes around the corner to say. “She’s not taking this well, Mark. You fucked up bad.” All of a sudden I hear a door screech. “Hey. It’s alright guys. Can I just talk to him alone.” Y/n says with tear stained cheeks. The guys leave and I take her to my room. “Y/n-“ I start but then she says,” Lisen Mark. I want to hear your side of the story, I really do, but I feel like I’m going to get a shit ton of bullshit answers. You fucking forgot our anniversary. Then I find out you were with a girl, who by the way flirts with you every single time she sees you, and then I see that you're at her DORM with your hand on her thigh, and you're basically letting her lay on you! How would you feel if that were me huh?” She says. “ Not good…” I say shamefully. “I'm sorry. I forgot. As for Tori. She’s my partner for a project. She invited me to do it at her dorm and I said yes. I didn’t think she was going to take a picture. I swear we didn’t do anything. I promise.” I say back. “ It sure as hell doesn’t look like it. Mark… this is a lot. You knew I didn’t like her, yet you still basically blew off our date for her-r. Is it because she’s prettier? I knew it! I thought you’d be loyal, but I was too naïve to see it.” She says in tears. “No it’s not, it’s just-“ she cuts me off to say. “Don’t make excuses! Mark I love you but I don’t think I can do this right now. I actually know I can’t. I'm sorry but I’m leaving. Can I have my things?” She says softly. I hand her, her phone, and car keys as she turns to leave. “Bye Mark.” She says as she walks out.

I can’t move. She just left. Walked straight out the door. I don’t know what I’m going to do? What should I do? How does someone come back from this? What do I do?

Keep sending in requests!!!!

#hockey #michigan #michigan hockey #umich boys #umich wolverines #umich hockey #mark estapa #mark estapa blurb

[ficsofabotchedmind]

I think I'm in hell 4

Summary? Eheheh, no. 🤭

Warnings? Yep.; mention of torture, talks of blackmail, clear sexual innuendo, Wednesday smiling & blushing, talks of decapitation

Translations (If I’m wrong, please tell me.):

Cara mia - My beloved in Italian

Ma chérie - My darling in French

Notre loup - Our wolf in French

Chapters 1 2 3

——————————————————————————

Chapter 4

It was clear to see which way Wednesday went, all Enid had to do was follow the path of cowering students and scratched walls.

It was clear to see which way Wednesday went, all Enid had to do was follow the path of cowering students and scratched walls. 

Inside the room 

Enid carefully pushed open the door and could see and hear Wednesday who was pacing back and forth and mumbling to herself. It was clear to Enid the girl was beyond mad, but at least she knew it was only at the fact that Morticia and Gomez were now a part of the faculty. 

Wednesday, hearing the door open, whirled around and hissed, “You knew? You knew that Weems had hired my parents?” 

Enid flinched, not because she was scared but because she knew she had lied, “Yes, but only because I accidentally found out! Mom made me promise not to tell you or anyone!” 

Wednesdays eye twitched, “She blackmailed you?” 

Enids eyes widened, “No! No, she didn’t blackmail me! Wednesday, I just didn’t want to disappoint her like I disappointed Esther.” 

Wednesday softened at that, and she knew Weems had no clue of Enids thought process about that issue. While the girl is very bubbly and outgoing, she also holds certain things close to her chest and will not let anyone see, even her mother. 

Wednesday approached a guilty Enid who had her head hung and carefully cupped the sides of her neck and placed her forehead against the colorful blondes, “Cara mia, I am not mad at you, I promise you that and I will certainly not fault you for your feelings pertaining to the matter, and I will not go after Weems for this because she does not know of your feelings on the matter.” 

Pressing a gentle kiss to Enids forehead, she then gritted out with a menacing smile, “Hiring my parents as teachers? I can and will blame her for that and make sure from here on out her life is miserable, and not in a good way.” 

Enid sighed, “But Wednesday, we need a new botanical sciences teacher and with your mom’s knowledge of plants, she’s perfect for the job. We also need a weapons instructor, and the only reason mom named it that was so your father would say yes.” 

Wednesday, still unmoved, “That makes me even angrier and instead of making your mother's life miserable, I’ll take hers, my mothers, my fathers, and my brothers heads on spikes.” 

Enid chuckled and then had a bright idea, wrapping her arms around the ravens waist, pulling her closer, she gave her a long kiss and when she pulled back, “Think of it this way, my tiny raven. With your parents now here and not 6 hours away, you get to torture them and Pugsley on a daily basis and instead of dreaming of the screams and reactions, you get to see it all unfold in front of you.” 

Wednesday, a bit fuzzy and red from the kiss, took a second to think and finally, after a few minutes of thinking, “Fine, you have a point. I would enjoy hearing the screams of my brother whenever I please and watching my mother get driven crazy having to undo any spell I may cast or cast out any demon I may summon. My father, making him lose in fencing in front of the whole school and damaging his pride definitely sounds appealing. Weems, I’ll cause so much trouble, she’ll be ripping out her hair.” 

Enid, seeing no other avenue to explore, confirmed with the raven and said with a smirk, “Now, how about I make it up to you?” 

Wednesday, knowing exactly what that means, agrees hurriedly with a big, dopey smile and bright eyes. 

Meanwhile, back in Larissas office 

Larissa, still sitting at her desk, had the look of an animal who’s been cornered, “See, I told you I was dead! The child will murder me in my sleep!” 

Morticia laughed and carefully approached Larissa, wrapped her arms around the blonde’s shoulders, and placed a gentle kiss upon the platinum blonde halo. 

Gomez looked towards Larissa and then nudged Pugsley, “You know, I wouldn’t have expected you to be such a chicken, Larissa.” 

At that, both Larissas and Morticia's heads snapped towards Gomez. Morticia was wearing a look of shock, but Larissas eyes narrowed, “Did you just call me a chicken, you bloody gnome?” 

Morticia knew that if she didn’t intervene there would be an argument and the arguments between Larissa and Gomez were very petty and someone would get their feelings hurt, mainly Gomez. 

“Now, that is enough. You’d think I was dealing with two children instead of two adults!” Morticia spoke sternly 

Both Larissa and Gomez had the decency to look ashamed at what they had both said, but obviously neither of them were. They only do things to make Morticia happy, that’s at least one thing they can agree on. 

Morticia spoke up again, “Now, why don’t we go see the girls and talk about this?” 

Larissa scoffed, “I’m not stupid, I know that Wednesday as a full arsenal in their room, and against my rules might I add. I feel much safer in here, where I know all objects that can cause death are safely put away.” 

Pugsley was about to speak up in agreement as was Gomez, but before either one could say anything Morticia silenced them both with a look that clearly said they were doing this. 

Morticia carefully pulled Larissas chair from her desk and sat in her lap, “Ma chérie, you would earn Wednesday’s respect by being brave enough to step into her domain. So, what’s say we all go, hmm?” 

Larissa, seeing Morticia's point, said, “Fine, we’ll go to them.” 

Upon hearing Gomez snicker, Morticia simply said, “Gomez, enough.” 

Larissa, already being ill with the man, said, “Shut it, you gnome.” 

Pugsley, not ready to be decapitated, wisely suggested, “Why don’t we give them an hour? That will give a higher chance of Enid calming Wednesday down.” 

Larissa, Morticia, and Gomez shared a look, all three knowing that if they walked in now the poor wolf would be scarred and Wednesday would throw many of her knives at their heads. 

That all spoke at once, “Agreed.” 

1 hour later 

“Well, I think that should be enough time, let’s get going. Chop chop!” Morticia spoke 

All Larissa could do as they all left her office was think, “God I hope they are finished, I really don’t want to witness that.” 

At the girls shared room 

Everyone saw it best if Morticia knocked on the door, so as she knocked and called out, she couldn’t help but think, "This family is made entirely of chickens.” 

Inside the room 

The girls heard the knock and the sound of Morticia's voices calling out to be let in. The girls, having just cleaned up, nodded to each other. 

Enid opened the door as was greeted by Morticia's kind smile, “Thank you for letting us in, notre loup. Were you able to calm Wednesday?” 

While Enid stood shocked at how Morticia could know what just took place while Wednesday, not shocked at all, spoke up, “Mother, enough. Get in before the whole dorm finds out.” 

Morticia chuckles, puts her hands up in a call of peace, and enters alongside the three chickens, “Now, how about we talk about everything that’s happened and will happen?” 

Without a beat Larissa grumbled under her breath, “Not bloody everything.” 

Now that earned the blonde a sharp look and with that, she shut up knowing that it was best, because she knows she could lose certain privileges. 

“Now children, do you have any questions pertaining to the relationship between Larissa and I?” 

A chord of no’s was heard and that truly confused the adults, so Morticia spoke up, “Are you sure? We know this is a big shock.” 

The two teens and the pre-teen looked at each other and gave a shake of their heads along with Wednesday adding her opinion on the matter, “It was only a matter of time that you two would come to your senses. I could see it at the first meeting and mother?” 

Morticia looked to her daughter, “Yes, my little bat?” 

“The look of shock when Weems said you two were roommates did not help your case at all and neither did “stately sequoia tree”. While you tried to make that name sound bitter it didn’t work, I saw right through it. Never say that name around me again or I will put railroad spikes through my ears.” Wednesday said through gritted teeth and a roll of the eyes 

With that, Morticia and Larissa looked towards each other in what was not quite shock or surprise but more so of an oh. 

Larissa then spoke up, voicing her worries to everyone, “None of you truly mind?” 

Enid spoke first, “I’ve known you for a while, Principal Weems and I’ve seen how much of yourself you put towards this school in that time and here recently, I’ve earned the pleasure of calling you mom and also seeing how much you put everything towards the school and the students and none towards yourself. You deserve happiness, mom and if Morticia can make you happy then I accept it.” 

Larissa gasped a bit, tears shining in her eyes she called forth the bubbly blonde she now calls a daughter and brought her into the tightest hug she could and placed a gentle kiss on top of her head. 

Pugsley just smiled at Larissa and said, “Welcome to the family! If you make mom happy and can help me give Wednesday hell, then you’re ok with me.” 

Larissa let out a wet laugh and beckoned him forward to join the hug to which he happily did so, “I’ll happily do all I can.” 

Wednesday spoke last, “While you have done nothing but be a thorn in my side since I have arrived, I have nothing bad to say. But this does give me more of a chance to make your life miserable in many more ways now. I am going to give you hell, Weems. Mark my words.” 

Larissa, very relieved, let out a wet bark of laughter, “Give me your worst.” 

Both Larissa and Wednesday smirked at one another, knowing there was a lot of hellish fun to come. 

“Now,” spoke Morticia, “about your father and I joining the faculty. How are you feeling about it now that you have had time to think?” 

Wednesday glared at them and gritted out, “I am not happy about it, but I will manage. Enid bought up some very good perks to having all of you here and I couldn’t help but agree.” 

Curious, Morticia asked, “What points are those, my little bat?” 

Wednesday let an evil smirk cross her face, “You will see in due time mother, all in due time but don't expect me to not treat you and father like every single one on faculty. Neither of you get special treatment." 

Gomez and Morticia looked at one another, nodded, and looked back to Wednesday and Morticia said with a smile, "Deal, we expect nothing but hell from you, our little killing machine." 

Wednesday looked at the adults and Pugsley and sized them all up, gave a wicked smirk, "I'm going to make your lives miserable." 

The Addams family smirked while Larissa, who had turned sheet white, could only say, "Oh God, my own personal hell." 

#larissa weems x morticia addams #wednesday x enid #wednesday addams x enid sinclair #morticia addams x gomez addams #larissa weems #morticia addams #gomez addams #pugsley addams #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #larissa is enids mom #fight me

[ezlebe]

if ur still up for prompts: tom & greg are forced to take the subway/tube/metro/underground

Rome

“Greg, buddy,” Tom says, looking up at the jamb of the subway car with a highly cocked brow, mouth slipped into a sideways grimace, as he raises a brow over his shoulder. “I think this may be another one of those things they build without you in mind.”

Greg nods a few times into his chest, staring at his feet; he is quite aware, and pretty sure he’s ridden more trains than Tom, too, at least recently. “The, uh – the upstairs was nice, though.”

“Rome?” Tom clarifies, sharply, then barks out a laugh while straightening his coat and grabbing at a pole for balance. “Yeah, bud, Rome is pretty damned nice.”

Greg tries to tuck his elbows in closer, inhaling a shallow breath while more riders shove in around him. The train starts to move, a few moments later, and he finds himself grabbing around Tom for the same pole, and then trying not to think about how close they’re standing together.

“It does make me feel like I’m on the run from something in a Bond film,” Tom says, gesturing briefly with both his hands around the pole in front of him, as the train attains speed between stops. “The Italian announcer on the speakers, the terrifically dressed public, the sideways stares everyone and their mother is sending you like you’re in here with a gun to your head.”

“Why can’t we have a car?”

“We do, Greg,” Tom says, mouth flattening and nose flaring, as he looks up to Greg with a cock of his head. “But Hosseini and Furness are quietly strangling all the fun out of being a C-level by only giving us one and stealing it from us.”

“No, I-I mean, you know… just get our own?” Greg says, leaning in a bit closer to Tom, trying to ignore a whole group of teenagers who are, for sure, openly gawking at him. “You have a credit card?”

“You have a credit card,” Tom repeats, mockingly, as his eyes peek briefly to the announcement over the door with a twitch at the corner of his eye. “Why the fuck didn’t you volunteer this bright idea three stops ago?”

Paris

Greg runs a hand through his hair, looking over his shoulder at the platform, then in front of him at the wall.

“You should ask,” Tom says, his voice rounding around the words in a distinctly taunting manner. “So I can… watch yet another snooty Parisian frown at you like they understand as well as me.”

“It’s, like… just an accent, you know,” Greg says, lifting a hand and scratching his nails along one of his brows, as his eyes trace dubiously from… He thinks this is the tunnel with the – Fuck, could this station have multiple like levels? He glances quickly to Tom, who is, in addition to being really unhelpful, faintly rosy cheeked and loose-limbed with wine. “I-I think they just don’t hear it a lot.”

Tom scoffs under his breath, muttering a mocking taunt. It abruptly leads into an odd sort of hum, attention plainly shifting, as he elbows Greg in the side. “You know that can of worms everyone is always talking about?” He whispers hoarsely, lurching forward and jabbing a finger toward the rail map and tracing down a red line with his fingertip – one that is for sure, at least, not in this station. “This is where they dumped it out.”

Greg exhales a weak laugh, tilting his head in agreement. He looks sideways at a tickle at the back of his neck, catching a flat-mouthed woman about a foot and a half shorter than him glaring at Tom; he presses his own mouth into a tense smile when she peeks toward him. It just earns him a harsher frown.

Tom offers a goofy, spooky sort of hum, grabby hard at Greg’s bicep. “If you stare at it long enough, the lines feel like they move.”

“You’re so drunk, Tom,” Greg mutters, giving up and pulling out his phone, which he probably should’ve done before they even walked down into the tunnel. “And we’re, like… like, so lost.”

Tokyo

“It’s short for everyone, Greg, don’t whine,” Tom says, ducking under the barrier, then pointing at the kanji above the yellows and black padding on the wall. “See this? It says watch your head.”

“This whole like station is short for me,” Greg mutters, reaching up and scratching at his nose with a harsh breath.

Tom raises his brows, slow, glancing up and down Greg with a click of his tongue. “Oh, have we hit the threshold?”

“What?” Greg says, dropping his hand, tucking it under his opposite elbow, as he begins to hunch.

“Are you finally so hungry that you’ve reached pitching a fit levels of surliness?”

Greg rolls his eyes with another near-scoff.

Tom slips his hands into his pockets with a slow tilt of his head.

“But it’s just really – ” Greg makes a pinched, pouting expression, now lifting both hands to hard through his hair. “We didn’t have to go to that like super old hotel, you know? I felt like a-a freak, Tom.”

“It was a piece of history,” Tom says, a bit curious to what point Greg is going to begin to pace; he gives it about thirty to forty-five seconds.  “We should start staying at three hundred year old hotels everywhere to expose you to more culture.”

Greg is quiet for a few beats, then his feet move a step back, then forward, which is nearly a pace. “I-I’ll just stay home. Whatever.”

“You liked that hot spring – stayed in it long enough to make yourself a bit of Greg-stew,” Tom says, feeling a grin curve the edge of his mouth with a quiet huff. He had almost thought Greg had drowned. “That was a good time.”

Greg exhales a deep breath, shoulders visibly slumping, blinking down at the floor. “…Yeah.”

Tom furrows his brow. “What now?”

“You never came down,” Greg mutters, looking up at Tom, then back away, and his bad temper seems to have shifted from broad-spectrum to pretty damned pointed.

“Oh,” Tom intones, as he wets his lips, glancing down the length of the tunnel. “I… didn’t get a chance. Busy, busy.”

Toronto

Greg leans into a pole, arm wrapped around it and hand in his pocket. “It just smells like home.”

“I want you to say that to your mother,” Tom says, from where he’s sitting sideways on the seat, as he sweeps a hand back and forth. “Even she would be offended.”

Greg shakes his head, looking down at the scuffed lines on the floor. “No, I mean, uh – we used to ride it a lot. She like the… I don’t know, but doing it made her feel better?”

“Oh?” Tom says, raising his brows with a sharp tut.

“We used to get off and walk around at random stops, too,” Greg says, turning his head toward the window, watching the tunnel lights whiz by alongside the track. “Grandpa would like send people to get us, sometimes… The one I liked best was this one near a park… Like, Jack Park, or something.”

“Rewind a bit there; you would –?” The train slows to a slightly uneven stop, and Tom jerks up and forward, as Greg loses balance, reaching up and steadying with hands on his waist when he threatens to fall. “Hey, now! You could crush someone, there.”

“Sorry,” Greg mutters, feeling faint heat flush up his neck.

“You good?” Tom asks, peering up with a furrowing brow. “Not finally succumbing to vertigo?”

“Yeah – I mean, no,” Greg says, leaning a little into Tom, who doesn’t seem to notice, nor does he let go. “Just, uh… wasn’t watching?”

Stockholm

“The trains here should be like… bigger?” Greg says, as people pile into the car seemingly without end, truly making the train feel like a sardine can. “Right? They’re a… a larger people.”

Tom rolls his eyes in a glance to where he has an arm wedged along Greg’s back, as the only thing between him and some other big bastard. “I think that might be the problem.”

Greg mumbles something low and unintelligible, then exhales a raspy yelp, as he’s shoved, promptly turning in closer to Tom with his chin practically in his ear. “The, uh – it’s rush hour?”

“Seems that way,” Tom says, tucking his arm more deliberately, holding Greg against him and the pole and acting as balance for both of them. “Would probably help of you were less addicted to that thing.”

Greg blinks down at Tom, then further down at the phone clutched between them in his folded hands. “I’m reading the news.”

“Sure, sure,” Tom says, eyes rolling, looking toward the windows with a low huff. The dumb little puzzle game is literally right under his nose. “What’s the headline then?”

“Uh,” Greg intones, and tucks in somehow impossibly closer, head ducking, as his thumbs swipe plainly to another app. “Uh… The gift-card conundrum: Convenience with an environmental cost.”

“That does sound like your kind of headline,” Tom says, dry, “That a hint – no gift cards for Gregory? You only want diamonds and cashmere?”

Greg huffs slightly, heavy against Tom’s chest, and rubs at his face with the back of his hand. The train lurches and he grimaces, thumb fumbling in the phone. “The sweater from, uh –”

Tom exhales a snort; he knows exactly the one. “Leret Leret.”

Greg looks up with a nod. “– I like that a lot; it’s, like… visually interesting?”

Tom pats with an awkward turn of his squished hand against Greg’s back. He ignores the sideways frown of the other rider that he accidentally elbows in the side. “More cashmere it is.”

New York

Greg frowns down at his phone, sweeping against the street between the stop and the – He swallows a weak yelp, as a hand grabs his ass, and he is a little resigned at himself for the fact he doesn’t even suspect it’s some mystery groper, let alone really flinches away.

“Hey, no –” he mumbles, grabbing Tom’s wrist and tugging the hand away from his ass. “You, like – it’s like super public?”

“You’re the one who wanted to go to this ‘fancy donut’ place,” Tom says, lifting his voice and playing at aloof, wriggling his fingers in Greg’s grip, and tugs his arm in a way that’s plainly more to draw Greg off balance than jerk away. “The least you could do is let me have some cake.”

“Tom,” Greg hisses, feeling his face heat, playing into the movement, like he’s reluctant, while leaning into Tom’s shoulder with his other hand. “Shut up.”

Tom could a brow. “Skipping out on a work day.”

“You’re like the boss,” Greg says, feeling his face heat worse at the sight of a fellow rider plainly bobbing their brows at the comment.

“Does that still apply when I’m following you around?” Tom demands, but it’s teasing, tugging Greg down a bit further, and chin lifted while a toothy smirk curls his lips. “You’re the reason we’re in this tin can instead of a car.”

“It, uh – it’s like quicker,” Greg insists, though he’s not really sure of that this time of day; he just knows the donuts are just a few minutes across from the station. He also – he just… Okay, so he knows Tom gets sort of extra touchy on the subway. He doesn’t ever like lean along Greg’s whole body in a car. “You know?”

“Sure, uh-huh,” Tom says, looking past Greg for a brief moment; he clicks his tongue, then nearly unbalances Greg for real, standing up from the seat while the train slows to a stop with a mechanical whir. His other hand reaches around and finds Greg’s ass, again, at the same time he bodily urges him toward the doors with a check at his hip. “I think you’ve just tricked yourself into liking these little tastes of a hell of man’s own making.”

“I guess, if you mean trains,” Greg mutters, a bit flat, feeling his mouth twitch with a smile when Tom glances up with a narrow look. “Sure.”

#tomgreg

[moralesispunk]

A nice day for a White Wedding (Marcus Pike x soon-to-be Wife! Reader)

Summary: You and Marcus decided to spend the night before your wedding together, fuck tradition

Warnings: pure fluff, kisses, established relationship, mention of reader’s Mom

The room was already bright when you woke, the thin material that covered the window doing nothing to hide the early morning Italian sun. The golden light was spreading out across the room, bouncing off the stone coloured walls and beige decorations but, despite the sun already making its way to being high in the sky, the room was still cool; the delicate sheets covering your body letting the breeze pass through as you curled up closer to the warm body beside yours.

You had thought you would have been more nervous today, a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies settling deep in your stomach so you would be unable to eat anything until forcing yourself to swallow at least a mouthful of the dinner that cost more than you cared to remind yourself of, but as you took stock of everything you were feelings nerves weren't even on the list.

As Marcus’s hands began to run up your back, his large palm resting where your top had rode up in sleep and his chest warm where your head lay, a contented hum came from the back of his throat.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice even deeper and raspier at this time in the morning with the smile clear in his words.

“Morning,” you yawned, resting your chin on his chest and smiling up at him, his hand coming up to hold your cheek as he stared back into your eyes. 

Marcus was always someone who bordered that neat-messy look; he did his hair before work every morning but no matter how hard he tried he still had those patches that would stick up, his top button would be done and tie neatly resting below it as he walked out the front door but by the time he walked into his first meeting it would be undone and his tie loose, the cuffs of his sleeves that were closed with cuff links were covered in marks of blue and black ink from where he had dragged his hands through the reports scattered on his desk. When he first woke up, though, he was perfectly on the side of messy; his hair standing in all directions, his jaw covered in a stubble that would be soon shaved, his body radiating an almost uncomfortable heat as he pulled you closer against his chest. 

“How did you sleep?”

A rasp caught the end of each word and you shuffled up the bed, resting your head next to his on the pillow as he turned on his side. 

“Good, better than I thought I would, you?”

He smiled at your words, his hand settling on your hip beneath the covers and stroking mindless circles against your skin. Instead of answering with words he nodded, lifting his head from the pillow and pressing a kiss against your forehead while reaching across your body with a groan for his phone. 

“9:03,” he checked, flopping back down beside you, “what time are the girls coming?”

“10, I’m sure.”

“Are you having breakfast with them or…”

You shook your head, smiling and reaching back for the small welcome card and handing it to Marcus. 

“Have a look at the menu.”

He kissed your temple, holding it back so you could both read and mumble orders before he called down for it. You watched as he sat against the headboard, phone cord twirled between his fingers as he mumbled Italian down the line - a fact that has surprised you when you first started to plan the wedding and he had taken over all calls overseas. His eyes were still puffy from sleep, his chest bare after he had pulled off his t-shirt at some point in the middle of the night with a complaint of being too warm, and his hand scratched along his collarbone as he looked down at you with a smile. 

As soon as the call was finished, another kiss pressed to your shoulder before he rolled out of bed and into the shower, you finally got up and made the bed. The white sheets and decorative pillows were back in place just as the breakfast arrived, a tray handed over to you as you called into the bathroom over the sound of the shower where the door was left slightly ajar so Marcus knew it was here. 

The balcony was only just hidden from the sun, the tiles still cool as you walked around barefoot while setting out the fruits and pastries, pouring coffee and fruit juice. With the shower turning off you sat on one of the chairs, lifting some fruit into your bowl and scanning across for the pastry that most took your fancy before Marcus joined you. 

The towel was slung low on his hips, his hair still wet as he let one hand rest on your shoulder and kissed your cheek before sitting by your side. 

It was quiet as you ate breakfast, watching the army of matching white shirts set up the day - the chairs all facing the front, the flowers being tied at the end of each row, the table ready to be set with champagne - and behind the marble-tiled ground was a sky blue sea of water, sparkling in the sun. At the other end of the water was a bright green hill spotted with a winding road and tin-coloured houses, the backdrop for the rest of today.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, finally breaking the silence. 

Marcus shook his head over the small cup of coffee, a smile on his lips as he swallowed. 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I thought I would be, but… but it just feels right,” he said, shrugging and nodding towards you. 

“Same,” you said, smiling back and placing your hand in his upturned palm on the table. 

You truly meant it. You had thought you would be nervous today - stories shared by friends and co-workers of how ill they felt the morning of their wedding - but you felt perfectly content. Excited, yes, but not nervous. You may have felt different if Marcus wasn’t here, staying in another room on the other side of this building the night before the big day, but from the minute you started planning today you knew you didn’t want to be apart.

It was fought with a little resistance from both sides of the family but Marcus stood strong for you both, telling them it was your day and you wanted to be together for as much of it as you could. You would be getting ready separately, so your walk down the aisle would be his first glance of your perfectly fitting dress, but you had spent the night and morning together - exactly how you wanted to spend the rest of your lives.

The silence covered you once more, hands held on the table as you finished the rest of the fruit and coffee before a voice called through the apartment. 

“Knock, knock,” they called and you smiled, your Mom’s voice finding you outside. 

“I’ll clean this up,” Marcus said and you nodded, stopping to press a final kiss to his lips - lingering for a moment as you took in your last kiss before the first as husband and wife. 

You walked quickly through the bedroom, closing the door behind you to find your Mom and bridesmaids setting up in the living room. A collection of squeals and screams met your ears when they all turned to you and you waved them off, a mimosa passed into your hand the second you joined their circle. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Did you get a good sleep?”

“Have you showered yet?”

“Good. Yes. And no,” you answered them in order, sipping on your drink as they went back to setting up and running over the plan for today. 

They chattered loudly and you got lost in the mix of it all, looking around at the people you had chosen to spend by your side.

“So if the ceremony starts at 5 what are the guys doing till then?” One of your bridesmaids asked, trying to refill your drink already but you waved her off. 

“I think golf? Marcus’s dad and brother found a course not far from here.”

“Does Marcus like golf?”

“No,” you snorted, remembering every time Marcus dramatically sighed when you had visited his family and they put golf on the TV, “but I think it's an excuse to have a few beers before they have to get ready.”

You found a quiet seat in the corner as they continued to move around chairs and mirrors for hair and make-up and you reached for a table plan - one you had to double check before they set up the tables for meals. 

“You know how I felt about you and Marcus staying together last night…” your Mom’s voice came from beside you and you rolled your eyes. 

“Mom,” you sighed but she stopped you, taking your face in her hands. 

“No, no, I was wrong,” she spoke slowly. “I know you always struggle to… relax…,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “and I was worried about how you would be this morning but you just look… happy.”

“I am happy,” you said, “I would have been happy whether or not I spent last night with him but… I don't know if I could have slept without him here last night. It just made today feel… less of a big deal.”

“I know,” she smiled back at you, nothing more said before she stepped back and went to help the bridesmaids. 

You were still scanning over the table setting when you heard a knock at the front door.  Everyone else was too busy to notice and so you hopped down from the stool, opening it to find Marcus’s younger brother, sharing the same mischievous eyes as your soon-to-be husband, and his other two groomsmen.

Steven - Marcus’s brother - smiled at you, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“The big day has arrived,” he said and you sighed contently, “where is the groom anyway?”

His eyes scanned around the huddle of women who were already opening the next bottle of champagne and you shook your head with a smile.

“He’ll be right out,” you said and as if on queue the bedroom door opened, Marcus stepping out in a t-shirt and shorts.

A chorus of whistles and cheers came from the bridesmaids and you laughed, stepping back from the door.

“Hello ladies,” he called, an over-excited return of hello Marcus called back.

He bent down and pinched one of the strawberries that were now laid out on a plate, surrounded by your family and friends and getting lost in the controlled chaos before your Mom made her way over to him.

“Okay, out, out, out,” your Mom swatted at his chest and Marcus laughed, catching her hands and spinning her around in a dance as he walked towards the door, singing a slightly jumbled version of “Wishin’ and Hopin’” as she threw her head back.

You could hear their laughs over the whoops and cheers of the grooms party, Marcus’s face lit up with a smile as your Mom rolled her eyes at him.

“Wrong one, Marcus!”

“Getting his dance practice in early!”

He stopped at the door, pressing a kiss to your Mom’s cheek before scanning the room for you. When he finally caught your eyes you smiled back at him and he leaned against the doorway, the groomsmen grabbing at his t-shirt and pulling him away as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth while you blew a kiss over at him.

“Do you have any plans for today?” He called across the room and you smiled, tilting your head as though you were thinking about it. 

“I think there's something… I just can't remember what…”

“Can't be too important then,” Marcus teased, his head resting against the doorway, “free for a date at 5 then? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Hmm,” you brought your hand to rest on your chin as the bride and groom wedding parties looked back and forth between you, “I think I can work something out.”

He just smiled back, winking before his brother gripped his t-shirt and pulling him back. 

The last thing you saw before he was dragged away from the doorway was his mouth moving in the familiar pattern you had seen a million times before, three words passed through the room towards you.

In less than six hours you would be promising to love him unconditionally for the rest of your life, through sickness and health, and he would promise you the same, an exchange of rings and shared kiss before you would be announced as Mr and Mrs Pike.

//

tags

@phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes  @queridopascal @sfr99 @rosiefridayrogersunday @tintinn16 @pilothusband @voteforpedro09  @dihra-vesa @frankiecatfish @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @transias @peoniarose @pjkimrn @fangirl-316 @niki-xie @potted--ivy​  @phandoz @janebby @athalien​ @xocalliexo​ @amneris21​ @lavenderluna10​ @iamskyereads​ @spacenerdpascal​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @dumplinshee​ @jitterbugs927​ @gracie7209​ @lovesbiggerthanpride​ @lowlights​ @notabotiswear​ @alexxavicry​ @harriedandharassed​ @bport76​ @fangirl-316​ @1andthesame​ @pedrostories​ @nyfeeer​ @hb8301​ @agingerindenial​ @adriiibell​ @darnitdraco​ @nolanell​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @quicksilvermad​ @kirsteng42​ @mandos-riduur-reading @dins-cyare​

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x moreno #marcus pike #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike fic #the mentalist #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike x y/n

[copperbadge]

One of the nice things about the Shivadh romances is that even though I obviously care about them being reasonably well-written, they’re also very much written to satisfy the emotions, so I can kinda wander into whatever part of the book I want, write something self-indulgent, and wander off again. 

So if you wanted an update on what’s going on with the Wine Hole from Infinite Jes, there’s one coming up in Twelve Points...

Out in the bunker's main room, Noah was sitting at the conference table, working on something on a tablet. Michaelis was with him; Caleb wasn't sure he was ever going to get used to seeing the King Emeritus slouched in a chair, feet up on the conference table, glasses perched on his nose and a book in his lap.  

"Noah, we need your help," Caleb announced. Noah looked up. "We need to take a pretentious dramatic album cover type photo."

"Wine hole," Noah said.

"Beg pardon?" Buck asked. 

"Come on," Noah said, rising. "I'll show you the wine hole, I can take the photo for you." 

"If you die, don't come running to me," the King Emeritus said mildly, without looking up from his book. 

"Nobody's going to die, it's been reinforced," Noah assured them, as Caleb and Buck followed him curiously down a hallway. "The bunker used to be like an actual bunker, with food supplies and stuff. There's a wine cellar, we call it the wine hole because the first time we found it I kinda fell in," he added. "It's super atmospheric."  

There was a roughly shored-up gap in the hallway wall about halfway down, and inside was a small room full of support scaffolding, with a dimly lit gap in the floor where a series of steep steps led downwards. Caleb followed Noah down, then blinked when Noah flipped a breaker and the room was illuminated. 

"Whoa," Buck said, when he reached the bottom. 

The wine cellar was actually a cavern, a huge oval shape with an arching natural roof; empty wine racks had been grouped into a mass to one side, and bright bare bulbs hung from support scaffolding, thick electrical cords winding up and down temporary metal columns. Noah led them through it, picking up a lantern on the way, and slipped through a large gap in an elderly brick wall at the back of the cavern. 

"Here ya go," he said, holding up the lantern. 

Someone had carved something deep into the rock, at what would be eye level for someone slightly taller than Caleb. Two lines of text, and a rough oblong shape below them. Buck leaned in close. 

"What's it say?" he asked. "It's not in English." 

"It's Latin," Noah said. "Michaelis says it says We have conquered both above and below." 

"Latin? Like...from ancient Rome?" Buck asked. 

"Well, someone could've put it there any time before the forties, I guess," Noah said. "That's when the wall went in. But the archaeologists are pretty sure it's from at least 1800 years ago. Maybe older. That's when the Romans were here. And there's the dick." 

"The what," Caleb said. Noah pointed to the oblong shape, which on closer inspection had a specific bend to it, and two ovals beneath it. Buck sniggered. "Well, someone had a high opinion of himself." 

"Michaelis says I have to ace my Italian exam this year before he explains the Latin to me, but I'm pretty sure the literal translation says something a lot more obscene than 'conquered'," Noah said. 

"There," Caleb said, pointing to one of the words. "Futavimus. Fottere in Italian means -- ah, it's a rude word." 

"We've fucked 'em both above and below," Buck inferred. 

"Taking your picture with a Latin engraving automatically looks cool," Noah said with a grin. "And if anyone does read it..."

"I'm pretty sure we can't put the dick on Photogram," Caleb ventured. 

"No, but you can block it out. Here," Buck said, gesturing him forward. He held up his hands, and Caleb nodded; Buck guided him into place with a light grip on his shoulders, turning him so that he was in profile, his head blocking the carving. "Stay put," Buck said, and moved around behind him, passing his phone to Noah. 

"Oh, I see," Noah said, snapping photos. He moved the lantern around a few times, taking more.

"Come on, get the good shot," Buck said.

"Can't hurry art," Noah replied.

"I do that all the time," Buck replied. 

"Just hold still for the love of -- Caleb, hang on, don't move your body but turn your head," Noah said. Caleb twisted a little, looking at Noah. "Okay, right into the lens -- there. Pretentious, gorgeous, perfect." 

He hadn't realized how cool and dry the wine cellar was until they climbed the ladder back up into the warmer, humid air of the bunker, which had an almost plantlike smell to it compared to the cavern. 

At the conference table Buck and Caleb both leaned over Noah, studying the photos. In them, Caleb and Buck stood back-to-back, at one end of the inscription; Buck's head was next to Futavimus, and Caleb's neatly blocked out the obscene image below the rest of the inscription. Most of the shots looked dramatic and interesting, but Caleb couldn't deny the best one was the last, where Buck was still looking off to one side, but Caleb's face was turned to the camera, his eyes big and dark as he looked into the lens. 

"That's the one," Buck said. Caleb nodded. A hand came into view; Michaelis, still not looking at them, reaching out for the phone. Noah rolled his eyes and put it in his palm. The old king held the phone and studied the image, lips twitching upwards. 

"Caleb told me what Futavimus means," Noah said, tone reproachful. 

"It's always good to have two sources for your data," Michaelis told him. "I know Photogram has an obscenity filter, but I don't think it speaks Latin. Approved," he concluded, and passed the phone back to Buck. 

"You can't adopt them, they're too old," Noah said, as Buck dropped the image to Caleb, who opened Photogram and stitched it onto the audio file. 

"I can adopt anyone I please, I'm incredibly old," Michaelis replied calmly. 

#shivadhverse

[rxgueone]

LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG PT. 2

Word count: 3,230.

Pairing: Austin Butler x oc

Summary: Aurilia (oc) is drunk as hell. She calls Austin to come pick her up. When he spends the night with her.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, substance use, death, angst, fluff (?). All I can think of.

Tags: none.

Note: PT. 1 PT. 3

—

“You should dress nice for the occasion.” Nik suggested as they were both walking to the address. They were about to turn into the next block before Nik stopped them.

Austin turned to face him in silence, Nik took his flannel off. Handing it to Austin with a lazy expression plastered on his face. Austin raised a brow, but took it without asking. In turn, he had given Nik the black ragged xxl hoodie he always wore. Nik grabbed the cigarette in his mouth to hand it to his friend, who held it for him as he put it on. Taking it back and popping it into his mouth, he looked over at Austin.

They both had continued walking after. Austin’s breathing became heavy, emptying his mind of all thoughts. The smell of a fresh smoked cigarette filling his lungs. Nik, who was only 19 started smoking at 16, going to an ID-less smoke shop to get a pack of spirits. At the time his addiction was awful, smoking almost three packs a day. Now just one pack.

Nik would push his limit’s back then. Chain smoking at least 2-3 cigarettes at a time. Admittedly, Austin hated it. However he admitted in his mind it’d only be a matter of time when Nik would start. In spite of him worrying, Austin and Nik signed up for this life at just 12. He was pushed by his older siblings, and for Nik? He just didn’t want his ride or die to be scared and alone while dealing.

The longer this life continued. It wasn’t if they’d get jumped for dealing and cutting out, it was a matter of when they’d get jump. When they’d lose their life. It’s already almost happened before, he could remember clear as day when the cops got called on him. Looking up at his towering friend, Nik exhaled smoke. His black messy hair covered his eyes, and like usual he seemed relaxed.

Aurilia waited for Austin to come by. A strange man had offered to walk her home. But she rejected, yeah she was drunk. But not drunk enough to think this man was Austin. They were rambling on and on about something she didn’t care for. She didn’t go to this party alone, she was the side bitch. Just the acquaintance, her dorm-mate didn’t want to go alone. But now that same dorm-mate was occupied with a guy. And frankly? Aurilia was bored. Her friend had ditched her for a guy whilst this other stranger was bothering her.

Just in the distance she could spot a duo walking side by side. Her vision was a mess, but she saw blonde wavy hair and a tall figure. That must be Tin Head… and his friend Nik. She thought. Clearing her throat, she stumbled over her heels. “Ey, ey, ey! Be careful!” She heard the man yell at her.

Quickly swishing around. “My friends are here.” She protested. “I’m fine.” Flicking him away like a pest, she swiftly turned her back on him. Stepping forward, she bumped into something. “Hey, watch—“

“Hey Ricky,” a deep voice snapped her back to reality. Looking up, she could see Austin standing in front of her, “hello to you too, Lia.”

“Hello,” she hummed, “how’re you?” She had a bright grin plastered on her face.

Austin’s eyes kept looking down at her, he didn’t bother to move his head. “I’m fine.”

“Hey Aus, you know this chic? She’s been tryna walk home alone. I’ve been keeping an eye on ‘er.” Ricky had a typical Italian New Yorker accent. But, he seemed close to Austin, which had confused Aurilia.

“Yes, she called me to pick her up. I apologize for her behavior.” He answered solemnly. Aurilia like a dog, went to Austin’s side. Leaning onto his shoulder as he conversed with Ricky.

“Nah ‘s alright pal.” Ricky shook his head, looking back at the house. Nik looked down at Aurilia then at Austin. “So, Nikkie!” Looking at Nik, Ricky seemed interested. “Could make some paper here if you get my meanin’ y’know.”

“I’ll stay here.” Nik claimed. Austin didn’t protest to it, Nik was no longer needed for the night. “If I didn’t, Al would kill me.”

“Alright, I’ll see you two later.”

“Cya man.” Ricky and Nik both pulled away from Aurilia and Austin. Austin could see Nik flick the cigarette away, only to grab another.

“You okay, Lia?” He looked at her flushed face. She was lost, but nodding to his question. He sighed, rolling his eyes. Stepping back, then swiftly turning around. He walked a few steps forward, then waited for her.

This was done repeatedly until he had enough. She kept falling behind. “Lia,” he held his hand out, but she was out of her mind. Not noticing his hand, he grabbed hers. Their fingers interlocking with each other, he pulled her to his side. Narrowing his eyes, “keep up.” He said under his breath.

They both walked side by side. Aurilia hugging his whole arm. “Hey Tin head,”

“Hm.”

“Thanks for picking me up.” She looked up at him. Austin and her stopped walking, and he turned to look back at her. His head craned down to look at her face closely. She reeked of alcohol, specifically of scotch.

Her eyes widened in awe. His left ear was pierced with a black hoop. She could feel the warm rings he wore on his left hand tightly pressed against her palm. His eyes were examining her face, while hers were staring at his face. Sniffling, “yeah.” He looked away as they resumed to walking. “I’ll drop you off at your place.”

“Don’t you have a place?” It was a question of genuine curiosity. She always saw him outside, away from the neighbors. After dropping her off, he’d always leave the dorms immediately.

Hesitantly, he answered. “No.” Bringing his hand to the nape of his neck, he had breathed in to process everything. He didn’t know how to explain this to her. “I uh…” clearing his throat, “the streets are my home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Y’know,” he let out a sigh, “I live out here. I don’t got a home.”

“You’re homeless?”

“Yeah,” he gave a nod.

“Is that why you never smile?” He cocked up a brow, confused why she would say that. “We’ve been friends for a month. You never smile.” She claimed, tilting her head to the side. “Smile.” She ordered.

As she watched him. His lips quivered a bit, as if he was struggling to smile. He brought up a sheepish smile. “You look cute.” It was a genuine compliment, his face drooped down instantly.

“C’mon.” They both went back to walking. Aurilia was swinging their hands together.

“You should stay over.” She suggested, glancing up at him to see his reaction. Which was a simple deadpan expression.

“Where would I sleep?”

“With me.”

Austin had no issue with this. He knew he’d do nothing with her and just stay up all night. Plus, it would feel nice to lay in a bed again instead of constantly hanging his head. For Aurilia? She trusted him. She knew he wouldn’t do anything. Plus, she was incredibly bored. She knew Austin would keep her entertained. Not to mention, he smelled of pure cigarettes. He needed a shower. “You sure?” He wanted to double check with her. She was drunk of course, but he wanted her to be sure.

“Yep yep.”

A heaving sigh was all she needed. She knew he was gonna say yes. And she had the brightest smile.

—

Aurilia was staring at Austin who was laying beside her. She had washed his flannel, which apparently belonged to his friend. His hair was fluffy, just washed. He smelled of strawberries, which was odd cause he usually smelled like the city. She wasn’t use to it yet. After a few moments, she fell asleep beside him.

Austin, who had been awake the whole time. Opened his eyes, his eyes gliding to the side to look at her. She was sleeping peacefully. Slowly sitting up, he wiped his face. His face turned to hers so he could take in her features. He had never gotten a good look. He was a simple walker, would meet her at 5:30PM, sleep at her table, after that he’d walk her home. What would he do after? Just live off the streets.

His life was complicated. His brothers had a place, he could always stay with them. They were paying for his college too. But, his college was just a formality. The only reason he got into it was so he could deal. After all, college kids love to party, love to rebel.

Turning away from her. He sat on the edge of the bed. His elbows rested on his thighs, hands covering his lips as he hunched over. Live fast, die young, live fast, die young. He would repeat these words in his head for the rest of the night. It was something his brothers taught him. To accept this life, he was going to die young.

Aurilia stirred awake, poking her head up from the pillow she smeared with her makeup. She could see a shirtless boy in front of her. His bare back facing her, with the smell of fresh coffee filling the room. She looked at the night stand beside her bed, a mug of coffee sat waiting. With a few packets of sugar and creamer.

Looking back at the bare back, everything from last night hit her. She had asked Austin to stay over. What day is it, what day is it. Her hands looked for her phone. Which she had found due to Austin handing it over to her. “Mornin.” He greeted.

“Good morning,” she croaked.

“It’s ten-thirty on a Sunday.” He told her everything she needed to know. “Made you coffee.” Rolling her eyes to the back of her head. She blinked repeatedly, as if she was trying to snap back to reality. “You look awful.” Austin commented. She scoffed at that, however she couldn’t deny this. She felt like vomiting.

“Shut up Tin head.” Getting off the bed, she grabbed his head to keep her balance from falling.

Pushing her hand away, he got up, standing beside her. Wrapping his arm around her waist to hold her, she put her arm over his waist as well. “I’ll take you to the bathroom then make you an ice bowl to wake up.” The pair stumbled to the bathroom. Aurilia almost tripping over herself repeatedly.

She kneeled over the toilet seemingly to hang onto it. He stepped back, leaving her alone if she were to throw her guts up.

Austin came back with a bowl of ice water. Aurilia dunked her head into the bowl, and he sat beside her to watch. Pulling her head out, she spat water at Austin. Who simply wiped it off calmly. Breathing like there was no tomorrow, she had looked at Austin. “Thanks Tin head,” he looked tired, but he nodded. Studying his face for a moment, she could see his eye bags, “did you sleep?”

“No.” His tone was firm. Grabbed the bowl, he poured all the water and ice out in the bathroom sink. Aurilia got off the floor, watching him walk out the bathroom to put the bowl away. She had followed behind him. Her eyes pondered after him. He slipped his black shirt on, as well as the flannel he wore last night.

“There’s no class today.” She said, sitting on her bed. “We could hang out and get you some new clothes.” Aurilia was admittedly tired of seeing her friend in the same boring clothes. Seeing him in a flannel was different, sure. Only issue was that it stunk of cigarettes.

Austin looked back at her. He couldn’t do that. Not after yesterday. It hit him like a truck that he had to call Al, after all it was the first night of selling something different. Not just that but it was Sunday, a day that was important for Al. “I can’t. I have family I need to see.”

“Can I come?”

This question took Austin back. Nobody except for Nik had met his family. He looked at her clearly, debating. “Sure.” It wouldn’t hurt. Aurilia would just have to stay in the bar.

—

Austin walked with Aurilia by his side. He seemed focus on something. Walking in front of her, their hands were intertwined. Austin wanted to hold hands with her because she was a slow walker compared to him. He took long strides, while Aurilia took short ones, causing him to walk faster each time.

He opened the door to the bar. Holding it open for her to walk through, he followed swiftly behind. “Hey Joe,” Austin pulled up in front of the bar tender who was an older gentleman.

“Your brothers in the corner.” Joe seemed to already know what the blonde was going to ask him. His head flicked forward to show where Al and Keith were. Austin pulled out five bucks from the pocket of his black sweatpants, pushing it to him. Joe took it quickly, slipping it in his pocket.

Austin turned to Aurilia. “Stay here alright?” He had a gentle tone. “Ol’ Joe will watch you. He’ll take care of you. I just gotta talk with my brothers over there.” He pointed to the table.

“Okay.” She nodded to him, confirming that she’d stay here with Joe. Watching Austin walk away, she sat down on a stool. Her eyes moved to where Austin’s brothers sat. They both didn’t look much like him. The one with blonde hair was growing a stubble, but he did have blonde hair and blue eyes. But unlike Austin’s eyes, they were a deep shade of blue. It popped out due to having such light colored skin. The other who sat beside him, also didn’t look like Austin.

As she watched, one of them had seemed to get mad. The blonde one was glaring at Austin, and she saw them flick their head towards her. Austin dipped his head, but he froze in place. For some reason, he looked terrified out of his mind. The blonde one brought out a bottle of water with another bottle of powder. Austin shook his head. His hands that were placed onto the table were frantically shaking. He was losing his mind.

Then a suitcase was pushed towards him, Austin took it without any hesitation. Right after he got up, so did the other one with black hair. He handed Austin a bag, who took it without any emotion displayed. Grabbing the back of Austin’s head they had brought him close, leaning down to whisper something. He gently pat Austin’s head after, stroking his hair. Nodding his head, Austin pulled away.

From acting terrified, he had a stoic expression. His eyes narrowed, strutting to her. He stood in front of Aurilia, holding both the bag and suitcase. “We should get going.”

As he held the door open for her. Austin looked back at Keith and Al. Al wasn’t even looking at him, but Keith kept his cold expression onto his kid brother.

—

They were back at her place. Austin put the suitcase and bag down, reaching into it. He pulled out a suit that was tailored just for him. “Were those your brothers at the bar?”

“Yes.” He had a solemn tone. “Their names are Keith and Alphonse. Alphonse is the blonde one, Keith is the black hair one.” Quickly taking his shirt off, he grabbed the black vest, swinging it over his shoulders. “Alphonse is the oldest while Keith is the second,” glancing at her as he pulled his sweatpants down to replace them with black slacks, “we’re all half brothers.” Zipping his fly up, he began buttoning up his vest. “Their mothers abandoned them so my mother took them in. Later on when I was twelve, eight years ago, our mother died.” Grabbing the silky blazer that was on Aurilia’s bed. He also quickly threw that on. Aurilia noticed how he said ‘our’ meaning that he did see his brothers as kin. Genuine real kin. “Luckily for us, Alphonse was eighteen. So we were able to stay under his eye. Keith was sixteen, I was twelve.”

“So eight years ago…” Aurilia muttered under her breath, amazed by this. He was twelve when his mother died. Now he was here, homeless. A street rat. She figured his mother’s inheritance was paying for his college. But if that was so- why didn’t Austin buy a home?

Quickly grabbing a bottle of gel. He started to do his hair, looking in the small mirror that was on Aurilia’s nightstand. He breathed in deeply. “Tell me something I don’t know.” Aurilia asked, sensing that Austin would be leaving soon.

He paused for a moment. “You can make over seven bars of soap with the human body.” He began, putting the bag and gel away. “You gotta use human fat though. It makes the best soap.”

Aurilia scowled, blinking a few times to actually process what she had just heard. Not only that, but at how casual he was about it. “How do you know that?”

“School.” He grabbed the suitcase and stared down at her as she sat on the bed. Austin was meeting up with someone in his brothers place, which was why he has dressed so fancy. It was shocking for Aurilia to see him so nice. He wore black on black. The silk blazer didn’t even look like a blazer, it looked like a jacket. His black vest was made of cotton, with a deep v neck. It was exposing half of his bare chest due to him not wearing anything underneath.

Two black bands on his left hand, one on his middle finger, the other on his ring. With a black hoop piercing on his left ear. Now that she was examining his look, she could see a scar on his left side. It went from the back of his jawline down past his chest. As if someone slashed him there.

“Do I look presentable enough.” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good— I’ll see you at the coffee shop.” He promised, tightly holding the black suitcase before he left.

—

Putting the suitcase down onto the glass countertop. He leaned over it, looking at his surroundings. He felt the gazes of many that seemed to be staring at him. A woman who was behind the counter approached him. “Hi, may I help you?”

She gained his attention immediately. He raised his brows, putting on an act. “Hi, yes. I’m here to drop something off for a man named Alphonse Butler— I’m his little brother. He couldn’t make it. So he made me take his place.” He explained.

“Oh yes!” She got out a sheet of paper just from underneath the glass counter, which was on full display. “Al called and said.. what was your name?”

“Austin Butler, ma’am.”

“Yes! Yes okay good! You are legit.” The woman seemed happy. “Can you open the suitcase please?” She had a playful tone.

“Of course, ma’am.” Without any hesitation, he grabbed the locks of the suitcase. Effortlessly flicking them up, he opened the suitcase. And he was greeted with bars of soap. Where he would sell these to the woman.

#austin butler #austin butler x oc #austin butler imagine #austin butler angst #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler series

[hqbaby]

chapter five — moments

long time running, oikawa x reader Love is a mistake that Y/N and Oikawa just can’t seem to stop making.

previous — masterlist word count! 1.9k — content! fluff

“So I wait for you like a lonely house, till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.” — Pablo Neruda

You pick up a box of cereal and drop it into your basket. At least, you think it’s a box of cereal. Your Portuguese isn’t quite there yet.

Taking your time, you walk through the aisle of pasta, reading through their names carefully as your flip-flops tread against the linoleum floors. You take a pack of fettuccine and grab your usual can of tomato sauce—it’s on sale and you feel very proud of yourself for saving a few reals.

“Y/N?”

You shift your gaze from the shelf to the man walking towards you from the other end of the aisle.

Oh, you can’t help but think to yourself. It’s you.

“What are you doing here?” Tooru asks, his voice bright.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you say, dropping your arm to your side and letting your basket swing.

He smiles. “Just visiting with the team,” he tells you. “Now, come on, what brings you here?”

“Needed a break from everything,” you say. “And I guess I just wanted to see the world.”

His brows furrow with concern. “Why would you need a break?”

You feel a little awkward now, just standing around. You offer him a shrug and try to laugh. “Lots of things,” you say. “I guess I haven’t really spoken to you in a while.”

“Two years.”

“Two years,” you echo, nodding. You look down at your basket and raise it for him to see. “Why don’t I pay for these and we go get some coffee?”

He looks a little taken aback.

You shake your head, suddenly feeling like you’ve forgotten how to speak to people. “If you’re not busy, I mean,” you say, embarrassed. “You know what, forget it.”

“No,” he says, waving his hands a little. “I’m free all day. Come on, let’s get some coffee.”

You stir your drink and watch as people pass by the window of the little coffee shop. It’s a nice place beside your apartment run by an old Italian couple that moved to Brazil when their kids were grown. They’re kind to you and always seem to treat their customers with care. You just think it’s really nice, that’s all.

“But why?” Tooru asks.

You take a sip from your cup and avoid his eyes. “It just didn’t feel right,” you try to explain. You know you’re not doing a very good job at it. “I had the ring on my finger and I just knew it didn’t feel right.”

He frowns, looking down at his cup of coffee. “It’s not… because of me, is it?”

You can’t help but laugh. Not mockingly or mean-spirited, just a laugh. “No,” you assure him. “We just weren’t meant for each other. He was sweet but it wouldn’t have worked.”

“But you must’ve thought it would,” he says. “I mean, you said yes when he asked you to marry him.”

You nod. “Yeah,” you tell him. “At that moment, it felt like it would’ve worked. But, the more I thought about it, the more I looked at our life, I just knew I wouldn’t have been happy with it. And he didn’t deserve that.”

Tooru considers you for a moment, looking at you with intent eyes and his lips pulled into a line. Then, he nods. “I think I get it,” he says. “What about your work though?”

“Still there,” you tell him. “I can go back to the firm if I decide to. Or I can leave. I’m not really attached to anything right now.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You look out the window. A little boy is pestering his mother for some ice cream and, by the looks of it and the amount of candy the kid’s already holding, it’s going to be a hard no.

“Yeah,” you say, watching as the child and his mother walk away. “I think I like uncertainty now.”

You turn to look back at Tooru who’s watching you with a strange expression on his face. You don’t think you’ve seen it before, or maybe you’ve forgotten it. It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten to talk like this.

“What is it?” you can’t help but ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “You just look so much older now.”

You chuckle. “Do I have wrinkles now or something?”

“No!” he says, suddenly panicking, worried that he’s offended you. “No, it’s not that! It’s just… you look all grown up.”

“Oh.”

You do feel all grown up now. Everyone around you seems all grown up too. Most of the people you know are married or having kids or doing really well in their careers. Everyone seems more stable than they did in your early twenties and you feel like you are too.

Tooru looks down when you don’t say anything else. “Sorry,” he says. “That was weird.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you tell him. “You look all grown up too, Mr. Olympics.”

He beams at you. “You watched, right?”

You feel yourself soften at the way he lights up over what he’s passionate about. It hits you that’s one of the things you love about him. Loved, you try to correct yourself. But part of you knows that’s not what you really think.

“Of course I watched,” you say. “Iwa would’ve strangled me if I didn’t.”

“So?” he prods, like an excited child. “What did you think?”

You shrug. “I think you were great,” you tell him. “And that pass you did in the second set was just—chef’s kiss, I gotta tell you.”

He grins. “Right?” he says. “Man, it was so much fun. And beating Ushiwaka and Tobio was pure poetic justice.”

“It was,” you laugh.

He leans back in his seat. “So,” he says, a little cautious. “Are you attached to Brazil?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Tooru clasps his hands on the table. “Do you wanna come to Argentina with me?”

A beat.

“Yes.”

You hang clothes on the line, reaching to get them from the basket at your feet then clipping them up beside each other: a green sundress, a Godzilla hoodie (you make a mental note to return it to Iwaizumi), a pair of boxers with tiny aliens printed on the band, a fuzzy sock missing its pair, a blanket that costs more than your first year at university.

In your ears, your earbuds blair a crappy romance audiobook that the sales clerk from the supermarket down the road recommended. Your lips part in a shocked gasp as the leading lady in the story reveals that her husband is having an affair.

An arm wraps around your waist.

“You’re sweaty,” you whine, trying to escape his grasp.

Tooru buries his face in the crook of your neck as he pulls you closer. “This is what you get for dating an athlete,” he tells you, his words muffled against your skin. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Why? Are you making?” you ask, pulling your earbuds out. You clip the last shirt up on the line and turn around in his arms, pressing your forehead against his and leaning in for a kiss.

“No way am I cooking on my day off,” he says when you pull away.

You roll your eyes and chuckle. “We can go to the bakery then,” you tell him. “After you take a shower. You really are sweaty.”

Tooru lets his arm slide away from you as he sighs. “Fine,” he says. Then, he raises a brow and smirks. “Wanna join me?”

You stick your tongue out, picking the basket up and holding it at your side. “I don’t shower with sweaty guys.”

“Fine,” he groans, turning around. “I’ll be done in a flash.”

“You always say that, but you honestly shower longer than me,” you say as he begins to walk back into the house.

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

It’s four in the morning and you’re wide awake. You lie on his chest and listen to his heart as it beats, steady and strong, and lift your hands to trace your fingers on his skin. You press yourself closer to his side.

“Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “I drank too much coffee.”

“I keep telling you not to drink coffee at night,” he scolds, sounding almost like your mother. “You should really listen to me. I got the best science grades in high school.”

“Right,” you laugh, lifting your head up to look at him. “I had a thought.”

Tooru reaches a hand to stroke your back. “Oh?” he says. “Wanna share it?”

You hum, pushing a strand of hair from his face. “Let’s get married.”

“What?”

“I wanna marry you,” you tell him. “Do you… wanna marry me?”

His expression is unreadable. Before you can even say anything, take your suggestion back maybe or offer something else, he sits up, careful to make sure your head doesn’t hit anything when his chest moves. He opens his bedside drawer and reaches inside to pull out a ring.

You gape. “What—”

“You weren’t supposed to ask first,” he chuckles, holding the ring out for you to see. It’s a simple thing with a silver band and a diamond set in the middle. “But, yeah, I do wanna marry you.”

You stare at him. “You don’t think it’s too soon?”

He furrows his brows. “How is it too soon?” he asks. “I’ve loved you forever.”

“Yeah but,” you shrug, “we’ve only been together for a year.”

He leans back against the headboard and cups your face in his hands. “Well, timing’s never really been our strong suit.”

You hum. “It really hasn’t.”

He holds the ring out and you take it. Slowly, you turn it between your fingers, watching as the diamond glistens in the moonlight. You turn to look back at him.

“How long have you had this for?”

You can see his face flush as he tries to avoid your gaze. “A while,” he tells you. You give him a look and he relents. “I’ve had it since high school.”

“Are you serious?” you ask. “Tell me you’re joking.”

He looks back at you and gives you a toothy grin. “I’m not,” he says. “I mean, I was being young and stupid back then. It’s not like I could’ve asked you to marry me when we were eighteen, but… I just felt it in my gut that it would happen someday and I wanted to be ready.”

You sit up and glance between him and the ring. “I can’t believe you,” you say, hitting his chest lightly. “Why’d you believe in us so much? Even back then, when we were making a mess of everything?”

He shrugs. “Because I knew I’d always love you.”

You put the ring down and kiss his stupid, stupid face.

“So?” he asks, pulling back a little. “Are we getting married?”

You slip the ring onto your finger and hold it up for him to see. You shrug, grinning at him. “According to your eighteen-year-old self, we really have no choice.”

You hold each other, his arms wrapped around your waist and yours around his neck. It feels like all the time in the world has passed and you’ve managed to stay still, never really letting go of one another no matter how far apart you seemed to be. Everything feels good. It feels right.

And, for the first time, you think you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

author's notes! i know this series has had a very pessimistic view on love but i think this chapter just summarizes how i feel about it—it's easy to forget what love is, but it's just as easy to remember what it was.

if you wanna read the end notes for the series, you can find them here.

#hqbaby.ltr #hqbaby #haikyuu #oikawa tooru #oikawa #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru fic #oikawa fic #haikyuu fic

[buttered-baguette-writes]

Day 1: Fireworks

Modern/Muggle AU

They had just finished devouring take-out food, lounging on the couch in Potter’s apartment when the latter started talking about fireworks.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen fireworks?!” Harry exclaimed.

Draco rolled his eyes but answered anyways. His parents thought it beneath them and everyone else in their pompous high society. Thus, Draco had no interest in seeing them, not bothered after he moved out and away.

Potter had then promptly begged Draco to go with him this year.

“No,” Draco said sternly. But then Harry tackled him in a hug on the couch with a big smile and puppy dog eyes that he faltered as his heart fluttered. “At least take me out on a date,” he deflected, focusing on the position they were in.

Potter smirked. “Straight after the fireworks,” he promised, and Draco caved.

Which led him to his current predicament.

Draco stood on the edge of a large crowd of people. Everyone was wearing their most festive sweaters and hats, making him seem bland in his plain, dark green sweater.

He scowled at the coldness, tugging his scarf closer to his neck, hands returning to his pockets instantly.

He could not believe that he had agreed to this only for Potter – the git – to be late! The only reason he agreed was because Potter promised food and drinks afterwards. That was the only reason… absolutely nothing to do with the git’s eyes and smile. Preposterous.

A body knocked into his and Draco turned, fully prepared to give the person a piece of his mind.

Except, he turned to find Harry standing there, a bundle of flowers in his hand, and a stupidly bright smile on his lips.

“Sorry I’m late, there was a line at the florist,” Harry explained. He shifted nervously when Draco didn’t respond right away, gray eyes wide. “Uh –”

“Are those daffodils?”

The smile fell from Harry’s face as panic took over his features. “I asked for Narcissa’s! Not daffodils! I asked and she gave me a funny look and I said they were for a friend and –”

Draco cut him off, accidentally letting a laugh escape his lips. It was nothing but pure fondness for the man in front of him. “They’re the same flower,” he chuckled before sobering up. “Why did you get flowers?’

Harry looked confused and Draco begrudgingly found it cute.

“For our date,” harry said with a small pout. But as Draco stared at him blankly, he broke. His brows furrowed and concern clouded those green eyes. “Is… is this not a date? Oh no. Did I mess up?  Were we – have we not been flirting? Bly me…”

Draco gaped at him. “This is a date?”

Harry’s hands fell to his sides, flowers no longer proudly presented. “No?”

Draco shook his head. “You wanted this to be a date?”

Harry glumly nodded in reply.

“I was joking,” Draco said, absolutely gutted when Harry’s mood fell even more. “Perhaps… maybe I didn’t want it to be a joke,” he finished.

Harry’s eyes shot up, hope clear. “So, do you want to go on a date with me?” He asked, holding up the flowers towards his favourite blonde.

“Yes.” Draco answered just in time to hear an announcement that the fireworks were about to begin.

Watching the show, Draco was amazed. He loved the colours and how it fizzled out.

Harry was happy the blonde like it. He went and saw fireworks every year, no matter what. He loved when the people he cared about went and enjoyed themselves.

“I can’t believe my parents hate that!” Draco exclaimed as he and Harry strolled to the restaurant the latter had reserved a table at. They walked linked at their elbows, smiles bright and eyes warm, fond. “That was fantastic, thank you.”

“Glad you liked it.”

Draco glanced at him, holding the flowers close to his own body. “Where are we going?”

“An amazing Italian restaurant. We go every time we see fireworks here.”

~~~~

Day 2

#drarry #fanfic #December #31 days 31 prompts #a drarry december #fic #harry x draco

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

The Lost Boys OCs

Oc Count: 6

Name: Elizabeth Becca Carlton 

Birthday: July 20, 1859

Species:  Vampire 

Likes: Heavy bass, movies, carousels, stargazing, Paul lol flying 

Dislikes: Loud noises, sunlight, quiet, coffee, being afraid 

Personality: Kind, nurturing, sweet, loyal, passionate 

Ship: Paul

Side note(s):

This is just a forewarning, there isn’t much lore on when the guys were turned into vampires so I’m just guessing that they’ve been around for at least a few centuries

She was turned by Max (essentially the Lost Boys’ Sire/leader but they’re usually on their own) and when she was 19 then was went with him to meet the boys, who had already been turned 

She’s like the female version of Dwayne; very calm and mellow (and a little shy). It’s the perfect match against Paul’s rowdiness and flirtatious tendencies 

Name: Julie Anne Burton 

Birthday: November 23, 1968

Species:  Vampire

Likes: Fairs, cleaning, going to the park, cute jackets, stuffed animals

Dislikes: Fast rides (at the pier), messes, silence, being lazy, crowds

Personality: Optimistic, genuine, nice, loyal, caring

Ship: Dwayne 

Side note(s):

Julie was actually recently turned by Dwayne not long after figuring out their secret

Most people didn’t see them being together because she’s the definition of sunshine because she’s always bright and cheery 

It was very hard for her to be turned because she absolutely loved sunlight but I’d she even got a sliver of it on her now she would be hurt 

Name: Wendy Lyla Miller

Birthday: October 7, 1967

Species:  Vampire 

Likes: Physical affection, music, taking chances, long walks, riding on a motorcycle 

Dislikes: Rain, lightning, rudeness, lying, multitasking

Personality: Affectionate, caring, curious, observant, doting 

Ship: David

Side note(s):

Wendy is part of Edith’s (see below) coven, having been turned by her

She and David met when she, Heather and Edith moved to Santa Carla to look for Max after their Sire (the person who turned Edith and Heather into vampires and urged Edith to turn her into one) died

Name: Heather Louise Brown 

Birthday: August 9, 1900

Species:  Vampire 

Likes: Pottery, cotton candy, travelling, sewing, fashion

Dislikes: Chalk, hospitals, being alone, sour candy, citrus scents 

Personality: Fashionable, devoted, trustworthy, calm, genuine 

Ship: Marko

Side note(s):

Heather was turned by a man named James while dying in a hospital (hence her fear of them)

She met Marko when she, Wendy and Edith moved to Santa Carla to look for Max after their Sire (the person who turned Edith and Heather into vampires and urged Edith to turn her into one) died

They bonded over Marko’s uniquely styled jacket then began dating shortly after 

Name: Edith Maria Jackson 

Birthday: April 26, 1900

Species:  Vampire 

Likes: Peace and quiet, card games, thrifting, her coven, jokes

Dislikes: Change, feeling weak, fire, smoking, mist/fog

Personality: Careful, kind, loving, witty, funny

Ship: Michael 

Side note(s):

Edith is sort of the leader of a second vampire coven consisting of Wendy and Heather. Elizabeth could also count as per of her coven technically but she mostly stays with the guys and Edith often takes Julie under her wing when the guys are out 

It’s basically like a joined coven sort of thing even though the girls were turned to vampires by someone else 

Name: Joanna “Jo” Alicia Dolivos

Birthday: May 14, 1971

Species: Half Vampire 

Likes: Taking walks, comics, Italian food (funnily enough), nightlife, designing 

Dislikes: Fireworks, rudeness, oceans, feeling alone, competition 

Personality: Creative, eccentric, witty, pasitheatic (personification of relaxation), caring

Ship: Alan Frog

Side note(s):

Jo, as previously stated, is a half vampire, though she had no idea who she was before becoming one and doesn’t even remember how she came to drink vampire blood. Edith, Heather and Wendy sort of took her in, allowing her to not fully become a vampire until she was ready 

She met Alan when she moved to Santa Carla with the girls

#the lost boys #tlb #the lost boys (1987) #the lost boys imagine #the lost boys fanfiction #the lost boys ocs

[returntosaturn271995]

Friday, June 16th: 10/10

“and I think we make gods who look like us for a reason. I think, in spite of it all, we trust we can be believed in.”

Excerpt From You Better Be Lightning Andrea Gibson

I’ve been known for the occasional 3, 5, and 7 day streak, but usually the weekend has a habit of snatching good routines and well-intentioned alarms right out of my nail bitten hands. 

Today was the first time in a long time I’ve successfully hit 10 days straight of hitting my goals. So I’m celebrating that, because it wasn’t easy. There was rejection, reality checks, and pillows Lumos peed on. But every day I also gave myself the following. 

Yoga: 20 minuets today- achey knees, and I’m always wobbly on my left side. But I signed in and moved my skeleton around in a way that would make Jenny Slate laugh. 

Walking to the beach: It’s finally fucking sunny out. I threw on a white sports bra and some leggings I cut in to spandex shorts and lapped up the rays like puppy at his water dish. Mmmmm. Speaking of skeletons: Today I saw a bright turquoise vintage car, a vintage man at the wheel, and a full skeleton chilling next to him. It was a blink and miss it moment. 

Reading: Finished Andra Gibson’s “You better be Lightning”. Totally cried my eyes out at story she told about being so excited to wear new shoes to basketball try-outs only to have the other kids make fun of them and then she had to pretend she didn’t like them and her better shoes were coming in the mail. This women also writes about chronic illness and death, but something about childhood enthusiasm and pride being mutilated by embarrassment and shame cracks how my whole chest open. When I was at the DMV today I made a point to tell the little girl I was sitting next to that I liked her sparkly pink crocs. She smiled, said thank you, and hide behind her knees. 

Meditation: Staying mindful, feeling your breath in your chest as though your own body is being breathed in by the universe. I put my headphones on at the DMV and just tried to be present. To see humanity in all of its weirdness: exhausting and beautiful. 

Political Awareness: Oof. We’re in a post-Dobbs world and republican monsters are coming for the queer kids during pride month. It’s not enough to know though. I want to do something, how I’m not sure yet. Back burner. 

Writing: Here I am. Stuck in the middle with you. Writing down jokes I think are funny, dreaming of screenplays. Might be time to tell a story where I’m not both the narrator and main character. 

Cooking: Today I ended up making the Chicken Stir Fry. Spilled rice all over the kitchen listening to MFM recap Terri Broome murdering an Italian asshole (somewhat justified) and Bernie Lito murdering an elderly widow so he could live a lavish lifestyle as a closeted gay man (alllllso somewhat justified but I’m a sick fuck so don’t listen to me). 

Cleaning: Bleached the life out of my walls and have been running that dishwasher to my hearts content. Fresh bed linens, folded laundry. 

Dressing well: Killing it. Today’s plan: 90��s pearl choker, white eyelet crop top, flared jeans, vans. Lately been living in the blue striped terry-cloth set. 

Reduce drinking: Not a drop, sugar tits. And in general never alone. 

Sunscreen/Skincare: Aging like the wine I’m not drinking

Running: At least 3-5 blocks of each walk. Building up to 4-6. 

Therapy: Kicking my ass. Making progress. 

Music: My head is a radio station. 

[24ny17az]

happy? return?

So, a lot has happened since I last logged in. 

I got my Art History degree, then i instantly got my 1st job, which was traumatizing. It was in my town, which was fine, if it wasn’t because I worked for the town hall, which my parents have a past on so everybody knew them, and accordingly formed an opinion about me or treated me differently when they met me. Also, it felt like wasted time, doing nothing, or at least without a purpose. I did not feel valued. Sure, the money was nice but, damn, it was my first job, and it was related to my studies and it fucked me up. (Also, I was about to go to Italy for the 1st time when they called me and they ruined my plans). 

At the same time I started the master degree in my area (museums, heritage)... it was great, got to meet a bunch of nice girls, got a little more social, the job fucking ended, slowly but steadily i was feeling freed and more confortable with myself. I was about to start the mandatory trainee time and boom! COVID... Well damn. 

I mean, I bet I don’t need to tell what that time felt like. I wanted to crawl out of my skin, I couldn’t take any more pressure from living with my parents. I started studying for the competitive exams of the state museums (exasperating) as well as applying for any job I could fit into. Also, studying C1 english and B1 italian to get the stupid B2 level in order to ottenere la patente di guida turistica, ho conseguito il livello B1 ma non riesco a passare l’esame parlato del B2 perché sono idiota. I got the C1 in english though. 

Anyway, I eventually got a new job, slightly related to my studies, in a town 25 away but again in a new created possition, in a town hall, everything is slow and little depends on me, so, although the new people I’ve met, generally, have been nice to me, I still feel useless and worthless. 

But before starting in my new job, haha  bloody terrific, my childhood dog died, well, I had to put her down before she suffered more. It has been 8 horrible months since when but i finally don’t cry whenever I think of her, although I do tear up a little. And I just can’t stop thinking that maybe, if I hadn’t been so occupied, studying, being sad, maybe I would have noticed something was wrong with her sooner, and maybe she would have lived a little longer (I mean, she was almost 17, I had been preparing for this since I left for college, thanks anxiety! But still hurt like hell), or would have suffered less. 

On top of that, it’s been a little more than a year since my boyfriend moved 3 hours away for work. We have been seeing eachother at least once a month if not more but he’s what keeps me sane and I just miss him so much, being with him but most of all living with him. Having lived with him for 5 years (college and master’s degree) got us, I feel, into a great intimacy and daily routine that suddenly vanished. :(

The bright side this year was definitely Our Flag Means Death, also I’ve been quite excited for The Rings of Power, all the Marvel and Star Wars Stuff and House of the Dragon, Star Trek... What a year for fiction! Yey! Distraction! But I can’t really take the toxiticy and negativity in Twitter anymore so I came back here. Hoping to find less of that a more of beautiful takes, details, astonishing quality gifs to appreciate the beauty of it all. 

Well, I don’t really think anyone actually reads this but um, yeah this is just like the introduction I would give to a therapist if I ever go to see one (someday...)

(Also I think I’m giving up on italian.. lol)