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favorjtecrime · 2 years

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tired

VANCE HOPPER x YAMADA!READER in which y/n yamada is heart broken after the tragic disappearance of her brother, Bruce yamada. so when she finds herself in a dangerous situation on the brink of life and death, she's surprised to find herself being saved by denvers rebel, vance hopper

one | two | three | four

gif does not belong to me ! TW : rapid weight loss, bullying, violence, y/n gets beat up, death is brought up

🐇 ׅ ‌ ࣪ ˖ ❋ ࣪ ◌.⠀⪨

After the disappearance of your younger brother, Bruce, you’ve felt as though you haven't been able to find any peace at all. Your days have begun to consist of going to school and putting up as many flyers of your missing brother as you could everyday. You’d often walk around town at least twice per day as well, stopping in every store, every alleyway and every street to search for him and taking longer to search in places you knew he’d like to go to. Even after weeks had gone by you never gave up, you began to lose friends and your popularity status was slowly going down. You had hardly been eating and had become much weaker. Your skin had lost its glow and was pale with dark eye bags. Your clothes were often reused and whenever you took a shower, you could never remember whether you had put soap on or not. You were so tired, so exhausted and so scared. But you would never give up, no matter how far you have to go, you would never skip one day of putting fliers up and searching all of your brothers favorite places.

You were calling out his name around the cinema, a few days before he disappeared he had gone to watch a movie with his friends and you’d often circle around the cinema to see if there was any sort of trace of him left behind. You were sure that he wouldn't have run away, your home life wasn't perfect but Bruce was a good kid and you knew him like the back of your hand. You were older than him by a year but even then, the two of you felt like the bestest friends. You rotated around the cinema a few more times before calling it a day, the sun had begun to set about half an hour ago and the only people left on the street were the neighborhood punks trying to start fights wherever they went and the sketchy adults who watched you intensely as you walked past their house.

You began heading to your house which was a couple of blocks down. “Hey look! It's the chick that's always searching for that dead guy” a boy said as you passed by him and his friends. You were used to being made fun of, used to being the talk of the town for always looking for your brother, but you didn't care and you would not care until your younger brother was found. “I bet she killed him!” another boy said, attempting to whisper but failing terribly. You flinched at the comment but began picking up the pace of yourself to speed past them. “Yeah, walk faster! Maybe you’ll find Bruce down there” the first boy from before heckled at you. You were tired, exhausted from the lack of sleep and the constant stress that you couldn't even think of a good comeback so you kept your head down. That was until you felt something lightweight hit your back and fall to the floor quickly. You stopped and spent a second thinking before deciding to turn around to pick it up, to your shock it was a missing flier of Bruce with disrespectful doodles all over the face of your brother crumpled into a small ball. You stared at it with blank eyes that watered the longer you stared at it but you held them back because you knew that if you gave them a reaction you’d only feed into their game, he was never mean to others and he had never done bad things, he didn't deserve this. “Geez don't tell me she’s gonna cry over some drawings” one of them said as the group approached you all huddled together, that was when you realized that slowing down was an awful mistake. “..just leave me alone, please” you pleaded while stuffing the piece of paper into your pocket, it was obvious you were in danger and you needed to get out of there quickly. “Or what? You're gonna kill us just like how you did to your brother?” one of them spat at you, the more he spoke the more your heart hurt. Out of anyone in the world, you cared about Bruce the most, and it pained you to hear such accusations that you couldn't even bear to think about.

You couldn't defend yourself, you knew you wouldn't be able to at this point. You were shaking from fear and your body was exhausted, and even if you did have the energy, you'd gone down in pounds rapidly and your strength would be incredibly low. You were helpless, and part of you just wanted to die on this street, because maybe you would be able to find Bruce faster that way. You were too caught up in your train of thought that you didn't realize the several threats coming from all around you, and once you did it was too late as the fist had made its way across your cheek already. You fell back a bit only to be tripped by another boy waiting behind you who pulled on your hair so that you fell onto the concrete pavement. One boy began holding you down as the supposed leader continued to lay punches to you while your head bang against the hard concrete pavement everytime you attempted to get up “This is for bruce!” one of them yelled at you while the rest continued to laugh and mock you with your brother. You wanted to fight back, but you couldn't, all you could think about how badly everything hurt, about how you’d be leaving your mother and father with only one daughter left. About Bruce and how you hoped for him to be found, you thought about your childhood, and you thought that if you were to die here, who would be the one to find you? You felt yourself slowly close your eyes, your nose was dripping with blood, you could taste a small drop in your mouth. You finally closed your eyes, ready to accept fate. But just then you felt yourself suddenly get lighter. Your face hurt and you were in so much pain that it hurt to open your eyes, but you squinted your eyes open just enough to see what had happened, and that's when you saw blond locks in front of you, he had pushed the boy off of you and seemed to be messing him up. The others run off while abandoning their leader because of the sudden act. You saw your mystery savior drop the leader onto the floor with his nose bleeding and hunching over but stomach as some of his lunch came out. You wanted to say something but you couldn't. So when the mystery man got close to you, you realized exactly who your hero was,

Vance hopper.

AUTHORS NOTE not too sure how i feel about this, i kind of hate it but also kind of like it at the same time? very mixed feelings haha. I think if it gets good feedback i'd be open to making a part two but right now im thinking of writing a bruce x reader as he really does deserve more love on this site </33 also i researched a bit online to find the boys canon age but i couldnt find anything so here im assuming vance as 16/17 with reader being the same as him while bruce lays around 15/16!!

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meetmyothersouls · 1 year

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Darling Death

A collaboration with @sufferingstarlight

Warnings: thoughts about death & suicide, dark thoughts, unprotected sex, smut, dirty talk, not proof read

Chapter 7 - Day 7

In all of my years of living, I couldn't recall a time that I felt similar o this. This is what it felt like to truly feel for someone. Want someone. Need someone. I'd never been close with my family, and I'd only had a handful of close friends. Men that I had dated in the past were nothing to brag about, and I realized at that point why. They weren't Timothee. Of course. I'd spent the last thirteen years looking for the person to spend my life with only to fall for the one who was waiting for it to end. The realization brought forth many questions, questions I'd made a mental note to ask Timothee about the next time I saw him. But a singular thought outweighed everything else: would dying really be so bad if it meant spending eternity with him?

I only had six more days left on Earth and I found myself not the least bit upset. The less days I had the more Timothee came around. In public, he wasn't as obnoxious as he had been the last few days and after our sexual encounter under my desk at work, I made him promise not to give me another public orgasm, not with my state being in a precarious spot with my boss. Timothee reluctantly agreed, though he used every opportunity to use is invisibility to kiss or touch my birthmark, which always sent icy hot chills through my body.

On day seven, the library closed early, due to an installation of new carpets. I took in my surroundings as I walked, noticing all the potential threats and ways that I could be taken out. There were so many. It'd be so easy to just...let one happen.

Just as the thought began to sound promising, a cold, lanky arm found its way around my waist, pulling me into him. I noticed instantly that he was allowing himself to be seen. People tended to notice him, with his dark curls, piercing eyes and devilishly attractive features it was hard not to. I pushed myself further into his side as if to say he's mine.

"So, where are we headed to?" Timothee asked.

I smiled, happy that he now referred to us as a couple. "Home? I think maybe we can watch a movie together...maybe a little more."

"Your mortal movies are always so dull and sad. But I'd like you to elaborate on 'maybe a little more' that sounds interesting."

"Sad?! Look at what you do for a living and then we'll talk sad, Mr. Grim Reaper. And you'll have to wait and see!"

Timothee laced his cold fingers in between my warm ones. The metal from his rings, the same ice-cold temperature as his skin stinging my skin. We walked in comfortable silence until we made it into my neighborhood. I wanted to so badly to tell him my thoughts about my death, but thought better of it, recalling his words in the graveyard.

Now that I know you exist, I don't want you to cease to.

"What thoughts are troubling you?" Timothee asked as we approached my apartment.

I dropped my keys, wondering if mind reading could possibly be another one of his abilities. If it was, he didn't let on. I picked them back up and unlocked the door.

"Just...I just have some questions," I said. Immediately, I reach under my shirt and unclip my bra. Groaning at the relief as I slide it out from under my shirt.

Timothee's teeth pushed down onto his bottom lip, and I realized I was already way too comfortable with my reaper.

"You expect me to focus on questions?"

"I'd like for you to, perhaps we make it into a game?" I walked Timothee into my bedroom, and he followed much like a puppy.

"A game?" He asked, shutting my door. He clicked the lock shut and my stomach flipped. His eyes were as dark as the leather he wore.

"Mhmm. A question game. We-" my voice caught in my throat as he began to walk in my direction, his eyes half lidded. He looked lethal. Then his face was inches from mine, his lips barely touching mine as he spoke.

"Game with the dead are quite dangerous, you do know this right?"

"I...yes, but, oh-"

He ran his tongue across my lips then down my neck, stopping at the my birth mark on my collarbone. He swirled the tip of his tongue around it, almost bringing me to my knees. "Mmmm," he groaned, as if his tongue on the mark brough him great pleasure. "Go on then, tell me the rules of your game, I'd love to hear them."

I attempted to regain my composure. "We each ask a question, and if you can't answer you remove an article of clothing."

"How about we skip the questions and just remove the clothing?" At that moment, Timothee sucked hard on the mark. My knees buckled, no longer willing to carry my weight. Timothee splayed a large hand across my back and led me to my bed, lowering me onto the mattress. "Or I can just take you right here. You're more than ready for me." He breathed deep into my neck. "I can smell it."

"Can Grim Reapers have sex?" I ask.

Timothee smirked wickedly, "I can do whatever I please." He slid his hands under my shirt and tugged it off. Starting with this. He reattached his lips to my birthmark, suckling it and nipping it lightly. The sensation alone enough to make me come. I whined in protest when he left it, kissing his way down to my breasts. My back arched as he reached a nipple. He wrapped his lips around it and sucked hard, earning a whimpering moan from me. My back arched off the bed, pressing my nipple further into his mouth. He hummed, chuckling at my reaction, pulling my nipple with his lips as he popped off. "Any more questions?"

"Where will I go when I die?"

Timothee frowned for a moment, then took his shirt off, before hovering back over my body. He placed a soft, passionate kiss my lips. "I don't like that question."

"Why not?"

"Because I told you I'm not letting it happen."

"But-"

"Next question, y/n," Timothee growled. He was leaving soft, quick kisses down my torso, one hand playing with my nipple, the other making its way down to my paints.

"What's so special about me?"

Timothee stopped mid-kiss and looked up at me, his dark eyes now darker than they were before. "Darling," he breathed against my skin. "You are everything. You are both virtue and sin. Life and death. Heaven and hell. You are an angel and a demon, and I will set fire to this world and any other that keep me from you."

My heart was beating at a rapid pace, I could feel it in my stomach, hear it in my ears. "You are meant for me and me alone, y/n. I feel this more than I feel anything else. You bare my number on your skin. That is no coincidence." Timothee's fingers hook into my pants and tug them down. He groaned at the sight of my pussy, dripping entirely for him. He pulled his belt loose from his pants, sending it crashing to the floor, followed by the thump of his boots. He stepped out of his pants and took his length in his hand, pumping it at the sight of me. I gasped at his size, wondering how in the hell it would fit inside of me. Timothee hovered over me, brought a finger to my chin and lifted my face to meet his, engulfing me in a passionate kiss. His tongue swirling with mine again. He moaned into my mouth and pulled me into a standing position. His cock between my thighs, I slid my pussy along his length, wetting it with my arousal. Timothee threw his head back, exposing his beautiful neck.

In an instant he switched places with me, sitting on my bed, his back against my headboard and his cock, jutting out at seemingly impossible length.

"Come now, my queen, sit upon your throne."

"I...I don't know if it will fit," I admitted in a small voice.

"I'll make it fit," Timothee responded darkly.

I straddled his waist, steadying myself with my hands on his shoulders. Timothee held his cock for me, guiding himself into my entrance. I hissed in slight pain as I impaled myself with him. Timothee's head slammed against my headboard, as he arched his back toward me. I lowered myself on him for what seemed like eternity, until finally our skin met. I had so many more questions for him, but they seemed fuzzy now. They could wait.

Timothee's mouth attached to its favorite place, his hands resting on my hips, pushing me, begging me to move. I rocked my hips against him, feeling the head of his cock press against my stomach as I rode him.

"Fuck, fuck, ahhh," Timothee moaned, his fingertips pressing into my skin so hard, there were sure to be bruises on my skin later. "Slow down, slow-" Timothee steadied me on his cock, slowing me to an agonizing pace. "I'll empty myself inside of you right now if you-"

I brought his hands to my breasts, forcing him to squeeze them. Slowly, I rode his cock, picking up speed once his breathing steadied. He kept one finger on my birthmark, needing to touch it at all times. I kissed his lips before attaching them to his neck, sucking lightly as we fucked each other into bliss. One of his hands left my breast and traveled down to my clit, rubbing sweet, tantalizing circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves. I felt my self clenching around him, and Timothee steadied me as my movements became erratic and sloppy.

"Timothee," I whined. "Fuck, I'm gonna-"

"Yes, yes, y/n let it go. Give it to me, baby."

I collapsed on his shoulder, shuddering and convulsing as my orgasm took over me. Timothee wrapped his arm around my back tightly, still thrusting into me as he chased his release. Then, I felt it, cold and warm all at the same time spurting inside of me, filling me completely.

I woke up with a jolt, sitting straight up in my bed. Timothee was gone. My thighs and my core ached, and a strange hollow feeling overwhelmed me. Where'd he go? I padded to the bathroom, every muscle in my body burning.

I half expected when I returned Timothee to be waiting for me, in my bed or hiding in my closet, but there was still no sign of him. I climbed back into my bed, tossing and turned for hours. Finally, at 3am, I felt the side of my bed dip down with weight.

"Missed you," he whispered into my neck.

"Where were you?" I asked, turning around the face him. It was dark, but I could still make all his beautiful features out in the moonlight.

"I had some...business matters to attend to."

I arched an eyebrow, "you're not reaping anyone else, are you?"

Timothee kissed me sweetly on the lips, "It doesn't work that way, y/n, Darling. And if I had to choose, I'd reap you and only you until the end of time."

We kissed each other quietly, lost in the graceful movement of each other's lips.

"So, there are more of you then?" I asked when we reluctantly pulled away from each other.

I saw his eyes search my face, bouncing around all of my features. "There are many."

"So, how did you, out of all the others, end up with me?"

Timothee thought on this for a moment, his finger tracing my birthmark.

"I believe," he said, bringing his eyes back up to mine, "that important events are set to happen, planned out by the souls long before your body sets foot on this earth."

"So you're saying its' fate?"

"You can call it that." Timothee tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "May I ask you a question, Y/n, Darling?"

"Mhmm?" I ask, feeling myself begin to doze off.

"When was your first encounter with death?"

My eyes snapped open at that.

"What?"

"Your mark," he tapped on it. "You said you were born with it. A birthmark."

"Yes."

"I mentioned to you, that you were marked with my number. I didn't fully explain then. This mark on you means you've died before in your lifetime. Died and came back in the same mortal body. It is quite literally, a mark of the dead."

"When I was born, I wasn't breathing. I was dead. For thirteen minutes."

"You were mine from the beginning," he said, pulling me back in for a deep kiss.

I pressed my face into his neck, breathing in his underworldly scent. "Let's go to sleep," he whispered into my hair.

"I thought Grim didn't need to sleep?"

"I don't," he said, "but you do, and I love watching you. I've got you, I won't leave this time. I'm yours."

I drifted off with thoughts of him and how to make sure I'd be his forever.

This has been a sufferingsouls project

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

Text

Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 6: Amor Prohibido

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: angst, swearing, smoking, alcohol use (binge drinking in this chapter), pining, existential crisis, mental health spiral, attempts at jokes, sexual tension, dancing, cheating

Series Summary: In 1993, you met Javier Peña in San Antonio. You made an emotional and physical connection with him. Now it's 1998 and you're starting a new chapter of life in Laredo with your fiancé. And who else walks back into the picture, but the man who left you high and dry five years ago.

Chapter Summary: Our heroes cut loose on a Wednesday.

Notes: Lets climb out of a depression pit then immediately toe the line of infidelity, friends. Chapter title from "Amor Prohibido" by Selena. Spotify playlist for this chapter. Cross-posted to AO3 here (UN: glitter_diety). Update weekly on Sundays.

[ First Chapter ] [ Previous Chapter ]

151 Fir St N, Laredo, TX

June 10, 1998

It takes you about a week to claw your way out of your depression cave. During this time, Dan is irritated with your lack of activity, but he’s accommodating enough. He asks if you want to go to the bar with him, go to church, go on a walk, encouraging any type of activity to get you out and about. But each time he asks, he’s met with a sorrowful, “no, I’m sorry.” You wonder what reason he gives friends and family for your absence. He probably just says you’re sick. Which, you suppose, isn’t wrong .

Claudia calls to check in on you a few times and tries to help you through it, letting you vent as much as you’re able, giving encouraging words, etc. But you’re pretty content feeling sorry for yourself. She lets you know that she’s planning to come visit you in July, so you have something to look forward to. You haven’t been able to spend time in person with her since winter.

Javi doesn’t check in on you. Which, you reason, could confirm your suspicion that he was just humoring you by hanging out. Or he could just be busy? Or maybe you two just aren’t that good of friends? Regardless, you think it might be best to keep your distance until you can figure out whether or not your presence is desired. The last thing you want to do is annoy him.

You’ve been ruminating on your identity, your relationships, your life, constantly. Unable to differentiate between your mental illness and reality: Am I a plague on these people? On myself? On society? Surely, I am. Or am I imagining that I am? You’ve spent a week paralyzed and numb from these thoughts that won’t stop.

But today… today you woke up, you took a shower, ate breakfast, put on clean clothes and some makeup. Today you’re going outside.

The second you step out the door, sun warms your skin. It feels good. Despite the fact that you still feel like a corpse in a human suit, you put one foot in front of the other and start strolling through the neighborhood. You walk past a woman walking her yellow Labrador Retriever; you force yourself to smile gently at them. She greets you and you nod in return. The dog sniffs at you and then continues to follow its owner.

Do they know I’m a zombie? Can they see that I’m rotten and dead inside?

The smile feels so foreign on your lips, you keep it there a little longer, just to practice. You come across the city park and decide to swing for a bit since there are no kids playing.

You walk up to the wooden barrier that encloses the playground sand, and slide your sandals off before stepping over it. The sand warms the soles of your feet; you dig them in a little further until your toes press into the cool damp sand underneath. Trying to ground yourself, you listen to the world around you, and hear birds chirping, a car sputtering off in the distance, trees rustling in the breeze.

You trudge over to the swing set and settle into the rubber seat, which wraps tightly around your wide hips. Gently closing your eyes, you tilt your face up towards the sun, and start taking deep breaths. With each long exhale, then inhale, life starts to return to your body. Your soul is defrosting.

Eventually your hips and ass are almost numb from the constraint of the swing seat, so you decide to go back, and (attempt to) work on cleaning your neglected house.

The phone is ringing as you’re walking through the front door, but the answering machine picks up just before you can get to it.

“Hey, it’s Javi.”

You freeze and your breath catches. Your hand hovers above the phone receiver as you hear him clear his throat. He doesn’t sound as sure-footed as he normally is.

“I’m going to go to the Pour House around 3 if you want to meet me up there. I- I haven’t seen you in a while. So I uh- I’ll maybe see you later then. Ok, bye.”

A small smile creeps across your face. A real one, this time, not a practice one.

After giving the house a half-assed cleaning, you sit barefoot on your patio couch, chain smoking cigarettes, drawing, and reading until it’s 2:45. At that point, you slide on some sandals and walk up to the bar. It’s about 95°F by now and you regret the decision not to drive almost immediately, but you’re too stubborn to change course.

While walking, you get lost in your head, racing through all of the scenarios that could possibly happen once you get to the Pour House, and before you know it, you’re yanking on the front door to enter.

You run into a wall of cold air as the door slams behind you. As is customary, the regulars sitting at the bar tilt their head up and see who the newcomer is. Javier’s face isn’t among them, so you order a beer from Gina and take a seat in one of the booths.

On the chance that Javier doesn’t actually show up, you brought a tote bag, and packed your portable CD player, a small CD case, pencils, and your drawing pad. Gina walks over and gives you the tap beer you ordered. After sitting, sipping, and twiddling your thumbs for a while, you glance up at the neon Budweiser clock hanging beside the bar; it’s 3:06. A sigh escapes your lips as you concede to your backup plan and start rifling through your bag.

As if on cue, light illuminates the bar as Javier saunters in. His hair is mussed up, starting to grow out a little bit since his arrival back in town. It looks like there are the beginnings of curls, which makes your chest tighten. Adorable . He’s wearing a white collared button-up shirt. There are just enough buttons undone for you to see the beginnings of his chest. The shirt is messily tucked into a pair of dark blue jeans. He runs one hand through his hair and uses the other to take off a pair of aviator sunglasses, then hangs them off of his shirt. His dark eyes shift around the bar until he spots you. His face lights up, and he makes his way over to you. Gina asks if he wants a whiskey, to which he nods in the affirmative.

He slides into the booth across the table from you. Now that he’s closer, you can see a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. His scent wafts over and you lean into it. You realize that your heart is racing and your cunt is throbbing.

Touch me, touch me your skin screams, breaking out in goosebumps. Heat starts radiating from your face when you realize how turned on you’re getting by his presence alone. You can barely bring yourself to meet his warm gaze.

Get your shit together.

“Hey stranger.”

“Howdy,” you grin, running your finger through the condensation on your glass.

Gina sets his drink down and walks back behind the bar.

He takes a sip, then rests his elbows on the tabletop, leaning towards you, “Where have you been?”

You contemplate whether or not to be honest in your answer, before playing dumb, “What do you mean?”

He raises his eyebrows, “Well, I haven’t seen you around or heard from you. Dad said you’re always with the Bakers at church on Sundays. I didn’t see you there, either.”

“Oh. Yeah, I- I wasn’t feeling well,” you look down at your hands and start picking at your cuticles.

“Sick?”

“I guess you could say that,” you shrug and look back up at him. His eyes are hard and searching. Anything you can think of to tell him that’s bullshit doesn’t feel right on the tip of your tongue. You sigh and start rambling nervously, “I was going through a really uhh… bad depressive episode. I couldn’t do anything for, I guess, a week? It happens sometimes, it’s not really a big deal or anything, really. Just couldn’t bring myself to leave the house or whatever. It- it’s fine, though, I’m… fine.”

Jesus Christ someone shut me up.

He doesn’t seem uncomfortable. He doesn’t flinch, or wave it off, like you’re used to people doing. Instead, he nods and keeps his eyes on yours. His eyebrows are knit together, concerned, “I see. Are you feeling better now?”

The corners of your mouth tug gently upwards, “Yeah, I think I am.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” He rubs a hand across his mouth, shifts in his seat a little, then looks down at the table, “I was a little worried about you.”

He was worried about me? He was worried about me.

You can't help but widen your smile and blush a little. He looks back up and your eyes meet again, only momentarily before you chicken out and stare at your beer, “I appreciate that. And I appreciate you inviting me out today. I didn’t know if you’d want to hang out with me again-“

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I uh- I don’t know. I can be a little bit… much for people, sometimes.” Your heart starts racing again and you feel your stomach lurch, “I guess I didn’t think you would like to… be around me? Like um… you would have figured out that I’m a loser and…” you trail off, feeling silly for exposing this part of you.

Your confession is met with silence. You wait a few beats before looking up at him, cringing at your own insecurity. Head tilted, eyes narrowed, he’s staring at you like you’re speaking in fucking riddles. He scratches his chin and leans closer, “I like being around you. I’ve never not liked being around you. I know we just started actually hanging out but… it’s nice. And you’re my friend.”

“Ok,” you nod rapidly, trying not to get too intoxicated by his intensity.

“I did reconsider after you kicked my ass in rummy, but-“ he crosses his arms, raises his eyebrows, and cracks a small smile.

“Why am I not surprised that you’re a sore loser?” you smirk.

“But really,” he reaches over and captures one of your hands in his own, squeezing gently. They’re warm and rough, and the contact makes you gasp quietly. It doesn’t go unnoticed; you see his face soften at the sound, “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a bullshitter. So if I tell you that I enjoy spending time with you, that’s exactly what I mean. Do you understand?”

The sternness with which he asks do you understand? makes your body tingle with pleasure. You try to keep your cool and remember that there’s a good man taking care of you, giving you all the material things you want, and he’s going to marry you.

But is that what you want?

“Yes, Javi,” you coo, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He throws his head back and licks his bottom lip. You can’t help but smile.

Bad bad bad-

“Good girl,” he finally purrs. He gives your hand one more firm squeeze before releasing you.

Your lips part. You feel lightheaded and your entire body is flushed. The feeling of guilt, knowing you just crossed a line, rises to the surface briefly. Then you recall how long it’s been since you’ve felt desire… since you’ve felt desired.

It’s harmless flirting. Dan won’t find out, it’s fine.

You motion to Gina more drinks please. She acknowledges this. When you turn back to Javier, you notice he looks just as flustered as you.

You shake your head and laugh nervously, “You’re an unbelievable bastard.”

He fucking giggles at this, and it seems to ease the ( sexual ) tension between you.

“So,” Javier clears his throat, lights a cigarette, and offers one to you; you accept. He continues, “No movie today? It’s Wednesday.”

“Mmm no apparently not. This seemed like a better choice. What about you? Done with work for the day?”

“Sí. I’m all yours,” he winks.

You roll your eyes playfully at him, even though his wink lights a fire inside you. You’re pretty sure he knows that.

Fucker.

The two of you talk about this and that while continuing to drink. He tells you about working on the ranch, which you find fascinating. You ask him far too many questions about cows, then tell him about your last class at school. Then you play a few games of pool. Javi kicks your ass each and every game, which is super annoying (in an endearing way) because he’s just as sore a winner as he is a sore loser. Y’all have quite a few ( too many? ) drinks before you’re both hovering over the CD jukebox, flipping through the Pour House’s collection, arguing about which song to play.

“No no no, see, this is such a good song, we have to get this one,” you plead, pointing to ‘Come As You Are’ by Nirvana.

He tips his head back, puts both hands on his hips, then groans theatrically. His shirt is untucked and he’s undone at least one more button since he arrived at the bar. He’s disheveled and drunk, and so are you. You turn around to lean against your back against the jukebox and snicker at how riled up he’s getting. He puts one hand up, palm facing you, “Fucking- Nirvana ? Seriously? No. Listen, cariño, this isn’t even a discussion.”

He digs in his pocket to get a few quarters, then reaches around you to kerplunk them into the machine. You concede and turn around so your front is facing the jukebox. His hand moves up to the selection panel, which is next to your head, and he starts flipping through and humming to himself. You feel the warmth of his body right behind yours.

“Am I in your way?” you ask.

Javier puts his free hand on your waist gently just for a moment before it retreats, “No no, not at all.” Then he gasps, finding “Amor Prohibido” by Selena. He punches the digits into the jukebox, “Here we go.”

A burst of sugary sweet pop music blasts through the speakers. Javi takes one of your hands and spins you around to face him, then lets go and starts dancing in a drunk, but shockingly fun and uninhibited, manner. You do your best to have fun and not worry about what you look like as you join him.

To your surprise, he starts singing along to the music in a falsetto.

“Amor prohibido murmuran por las calles; Porque somos de distintas sociedades”

You squeal and clap with delight. He sways closer to you to grab your hands and put them on his shoulders, then he puts his own on your waist. His touch is firm and guides your movements to be in sync with his own. You look up at him, and he sings to you, quieter and lower now, a serenade only you can hear. You’re completely and utterly enraptured.

I want to kiss him.

The song fades away, and you hear Gina start clapping from behind the bar. The sound brings you back to reality. You jump back, laughing and trying to put distance between the two of you.

“Alright, you two. It’s been entertaining but it’s time for me to lock up,” her gravelly voice calls.

“Really? What time is it?” you ask while walking to get your things from the booth.

“Only 11, but you’ve been the only people here since 9 and I have to open tomorrow, so-“ she blows a raspberry and jerks her thumb towards the door, “Hey Javi, you want a ride home?”

“No, that’s ok. I’m going to walk her home, then walk back. By the time I get back I’ll be fine to drive,” he turns to you, “if that’s ok with you, anyway.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You and Javier emerge from the bar into the dark night. Both of you light a cigarette and start strolling at a leisurely pace. It’s so quiet all the time in this town, but especially so at night. He’s humming the song that you were dancing to for a while, and the melody fills the air around you.

“What does cariño mean?” you ask.

“It’s like sweetheart or love,” he explains, “why?”

You smile from ear to ear as your heart skips a beat, “you called me that earlier.”

“I did? Oh. I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like it,” you cast your gaze over and witness him smiling happily to himself, even though he doesn’t respond to you.

You walk about a half a block before he breaks the comfortable silence. He sounds much more serious than he was just a minute ago, “Can I ask you something?”

Your heart starts to beat faster. You turn your head towards him, “Yeah, what’s up?

“So, what’s the deal with Dan?” he asks in a low voice.

The balls on this man.

Your hands start tingling and your stomach drops to your feet. Which isn’t terribly distracting since your body is feeling very… sloshy, anyway.

“What do you mean?”

His forehead wrinkles as he watches you, “Does he make you happy?”

You bite the inside of your cheek and take a deep breath.

Does he make me happy?

“Well…” you search through your liquor-inhibited brain for the right answer to such an unbearably complicated question, “I love him. His family is practically the only family I have. He… provides for me.”

He doesn’t say anything. It says everything.

About a minute passes before you admit quietly, “The answer is… I don’t know.”

“But you still want to be with him?”

You start kicking a rock along the road in front of you. You sigh, “Yeah… yeah.”

He laughs and shakes his head, obviously unconvinced, “Whatever you say.”

You would be offended if you didn’t know that what he’s implying is true. Your relationship with Dan is not fulfilling your needs. It’s something you’ve been able to look past, because you do love Dan. He gives you a house to live in, supports you financially, and promises that you’ll make your own family together. You can trust that he won’t leave you. He’s not that kind of person. It is not in his five year plan to start over with a new person. So… the person is you. And that’s the best you’re going to get.

Are you happy?

I mean… I’m happy enough. Right?

Right?

“Ok Mr. Relationship Expert,” you scoff.

“Touché,” he admits.

“Anyone you’re seeing?” you ask, to shift the conversation away from Dan. You’re not entirely certain you want to know the answer, but, this is what friends do, right? Talk about their relationships?

“No, not really.”

He seems hesitant, so you prod further out of curiosity, “There has to be someone you’re interested in, at least?”

“Besides you?” he raises an eyebrow at you.

A sharp nervous laugh burst out of your face that echoes down the street, and you’re not sure what else to say except, “Yes, besides me.”

“Well… There was this night at the bar… Kimmy Baker was trying to get me to take her home.” He shoves his hands in his front pockets and looks over at you, “I don’t know that I’m all that interested in her, though.”

“What happened with her?” You try to keep a tinge of jealousy out of your tone. But you’re sure by the way he smirks at you that it doesn’t work.

“You really want to know?”

You shrug, “You don’t have to share, I’m just being nosy.”

“She was way too drunk, so I walked her back to her place,” he scratches the scruff on his neck, “She came on to me, and we kissed, but it didn’t feel right, with her being plastered and all. So I went home.”

“Oh, is that the move, then? Walk the girl back to her house from the bar?”

He chuckles, “I don’t know, is it working?”

You’ve reached the end of your driveway; you turn and face him, “Thanks for walking me home.”

“No problem,” he steps towards you and rubs a hand against his mouth, hesitating a beat, then steps back, “Have a good night, now.”

You bite your lip to keep from asking if he wants to come in. You know you couldn’t keep yourself from him if you did. There’s this magnetic quality to the air between you that makes the temptation unbearable, and you have to walk away right now.

“Bye, Javi,” you walk up the driveway, putting space between you and him as fast as you can.

[ Next Chapter ]

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sorryiapologized · 9 months

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County line, I'm counting down mailboxes until my house. This place had a heartbeat in its day.

There aren't the words to describe the ache of nostalgia that gathers in your chest swirling around the pain of trauma until it becomes one all consuming tornado. That's how it feels when I drive back into the small town I grew up in. It's a town I didn't think I'd escape from, a town that became me as much as I became it. When I drive back home I drive backwards through my life there.

My chest tightens as I come down the big hill and see the downtown buildings come into view. I drive past the college I attended. Memories of shame fill my brain as I remember trying to hide the fact that I was a "townie." I felt like a loser compared to all my peers who were experiencing freedom for the first time.

I keep driving north. I go down the hill where my dad witnessed a car crash that left a sixteen year old boy dead. The boy was the same age as me; went to my rival school. My dad stood out on the side of the road and watched the life drain from his eyes. The boy was hit by a drunk driver. My dad called me to tell me he'd be home late. He didn't rush home to his child to hold her. He rushed to a bar to drink away the trauma.

I drive past the grocery store that was just a little too far to walk to when I was growing up. That store was the first sense of freedom I had, the first time I felt pulls in two directions. I could finally drive, I could go anywhere. I had a little bit of money. Unlike my friends who would drive to make-out spots or the one bar in town that let underage kids in, I spent my time and money driving to that store to get food for my family. I paid for my groceries at the self check with my "coin sock." I'd collect every penny I found and hope that it was enough to cover the bread and milk I was bringing home. My dad always said he'd pay me back, but never did in full. He thought I was lying when I told him how much I spent. If I didn't have enough for everything I'd secretly leave my abandoned items at the self-check avoiding the shame and judging eyes of a cashier.

I pass the horizontal road that every public school I attended is on. My elementary school and middle school share a yard. A turn to the right and I'd be back there. A turn to the left and I'd be at the high school where I spent four years worrying about fitting in, fretting over every tiny social interaction. I thought I'd miss school once I left it. I was the kid who used to cry on the last day of school in elementary school because I was going to miss my teachers. On the last day of high school all I felt was relief. A sense of hope burned in my chest, even though I knew I'd spend the next four years in that town, I still held hope that someday I'd get out.

I take the curve under the bridge that my sister used to call "the high road" when we were little kids. Mom would ask us which way we wanted to take back from the store, the high road or the low road. I always said the low road just to be contrary.

A left into the neighborhood. Past the church that looks like a frog. Down the street where I used to speed when I was running late. Past the house where my dad's best friend lived. He died of COVID a few years ago. It finally inspired my dad to get the shot. A left at the mailbox. One year my sister and I made an igloo there on a snow day. When I was four my mom and I used to walk the dog down there to get the mail. I couldn't reach the box back then.

We pull up the street. The street where I learned how to ride a bike. It was a pink princess bike and I hated it. Dad said he picked it out for me because it had animals on the seat. It's the street where I used to go sledding. My dogs would pull me in my little plastic green sled. My cousin once laughed so hard she peed in that sled. Its the street where I'd pull my sister around in a green wagon. Its the street where we'd do our snow dance and pray for a white Christmas. Its the street where I met my childhood best friend. Where we'd play soccer in the road, where I skinned countless knees, where I invented my own version of baseball.

I can no longer park in "my spot." In high school and college I'd park my car on the right side of the driveway. Now my dad's girlfriend has claimed the space. I park in front, where guests used to. The purple bushes that turn red in the fall are gone. The green shrubs where I lost my favorite stuffed animal for years has been replaced. The big tree I helped my dad plant in the front yard was cut down years ago, now. Even the front porch is different. No more hanging flower pots.

The house doesn't smell like me when I walk in. And I don't just walk in anymore, I knock. There are portraits of his girlfriend and her kids up along the walls. The walls that sat bare for years after my mom left. There's food in the fridge, now that a woman lives there again. My bedroom walls are no longer the bright robin egg blue I painted them when I was eleven.

On the outside, the house doesn't look much different. The town isn't much different. But I can hear the heartbeat louder than I ever did when I lived there. It's the same heartbeat that echoes in my ears when the anxiety rises. No matter where I go, no matter how it changes I am still a version of this town. I am a version of this town that does not exist anymore, a version I may only remember. There's an ache in that, an isolation, to know a place that nobody else has ever seen so intimately.

#small town #home #paul revere #noah kahan #stick season #sorry for the rant #20 something #coming of age #growing up #nostalgia #change

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imtooscaredforthis · 2 years

Text

Halloween Surprise

A Halloween Special;

Michael Myers x Reader Smut

Summary: While your friends are out partying, you spend your Halloween night alone, drinking, binging junk food and watching horror movies. But are you really alone? Judging by the crashes and screams you hear outside, you aren’t.

Mentions of: Knives, Stalking, Violence, Choking, Alcohol, Drinking, Dubcon/Noncon, etc.

A/N: ITS FINALLY HERE Y’ALL I WAS WORKING ALL DAY ON IT LMFAO ENJOYYYY

Word count: 2.5K

Tags: @gloomyladyy @froegis

Shutting the car door, you got to your feet, letting out a soft sigh. The whole neighborhood was flooded with children trick or treating, like it always was on Halloween night. And as usual, you managed to squeeze past the tone of kids and go towards your house, only getting bumped a few times.

That was until some stopped you, standing in your way. It’s a group of three or four kids, all dressed up like pirates, without parents. You recognized the group, seeing them come to and from school together. And man, they are a bunch of little shits.

“Hey, why aren’t you giving out any candy?” One of them whined, the children all now staring at you, eyeing you as if you were some anti-Halloween witch or something.

“Well, I just got home from work and-”

“Sam always gives us candy. Where is he?” And of course, the little brats bring up your ex boyfriend, who’s much better with kids than you are, who you’ve tried to avoid thinking about all day.

You know what? Fuck it. I’ve already had a long enough day as it is. Might as well have fun and scare the shit out of them.

So you bent down to the kid’s level, putting your hands on your knees. “You know what happened to Sam? He was killed.”

“No. You’re lying.” One of them interrupted, making you look over at them. It’s the oldest, it seemed, the leader of the group, judging by how he was acting. All big and bad, like he’s not scared of anything, but you knew how to break him. You stared him down, until he started squirming under your gaze and growing uncomfortable.

“Oh no, I’m not. You know why? Because I’ve seen it. I know he was killed by the boogie man. Every Halloween, he stalks in the shadows and eats people, anyone that’s in his way. And you know what his favorite appetizer is? Ungrateful little brats who have lots of candy. So you better get running, or he might getcha.”

You jumped at the kids at the last second, making them scream, and run off. You smirked to yourself in satisfaction, before turning away and heading into your home.

To be honest, you were impressed with yourself. Most of that story was made up from the top of your head, the other parts taken from bits and pieces of stories that you heard kids telling each other. And it seems that “The Boogie Man” is a big thing around this time of year.

After unlocking the door, you walked inside, putting your jacket on the hook and turning on the lights. It was just another long, boring day you spent working at your dead-end job. Thankfully, it was over, and you can finally relax.

The first thing you did was go to your room and get changed, tugging at the collar of your tight blouse and unbuttoning each button one by one, before wiggling out of your pencil skirt, leaving you in your underwear and pantyhose. You searched your room, trying to find something comfortable to wear, bending over and going through the clothes you had in your dresser.

Suddenly, there was a small crash just outside your window, making you jump. You quickly covered yourself up, grabbing a robe and walking over to the window, opening it. There was nothing there, just one of your plants, once on your terrace, now on the ground, the pot shattered.

“Fucking brats.” You muttered under your breath angrily, before shutting the window and locking it, pulling the blinds down.

Then the phone rang, making you jump yet again. You let out a small sigh, running a hand through your hair, and shaking your head, calming yourself. “C’mon (y/n), get your shit together. It’s nothing, just some kids.”

Grabbing an old shirt, you threw it on, heading downstairs and going to answer the phone. Heading into the kitchen, you pulled it off the hook, bringing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“(Y/n), babe, why aren’t you here? We’re all having such a good timeee. It’ssss so funnn.” It’s one of your friends, Sherry who’s currently at a Halloween party and is clearly drunk.

“You’re wasted aren’t you? I’m glad you’re having a good time, but you know I can’t come. I’m just going to stay home and watch some horror movies instead. And hopefully get plastered while doing it.” You told her.

“But that’s so boringgg. C’monnn just grab a costume or something sexy and get over here.” She tried, but you’re still resistant. “I don’t even have anything, just- no, okay? I can’t.”

“There are tons of hot guys here, plenty to help you get over-”

“I have to go. But I’ll talk to you later, bye.” You interrupted her, putting the telephone back on the hook and ending the call. God, why is everyone talking about your ex tonight?

You know exactly why. Today marks the one year anniversary from when he dumped you. At a fucking Halloween party. After the years you spent together, he dumped you at a Halloween party. It was ridiculous.

You two had been Highschool sweethearts, together since junior year. And right after you both graduated, he didn’t want to go to college or anything, no. He wanted to start a life with you. So you bought a house here, in the suburbs of Haddonfield, got a job, and began your new life with him.

But as years passed, you both realized you wanted different things, and that’s when the arguments started. They would happen often, barley ever coming to a resolution, and eventually starying to escalate and escalate. Everything peaked at that one halloween party, and he broke up with you, moving away to a big city to start new again, and leaving you all alone, in the home that was once both of yours, once warm and welcoming now just an empty ghost town.

You would move, but you don’t have enough money saved up. To this day, you still can’t believe you wasted years of your life on this guy. So now, while your friends are all out partying, you’re stuck at home, trying to forget everything.

Walking over to the refrigerator, you grabbed a beer, or three, taking them all over to the couch in your living room, grabbing some candy and the remote. You turned off all the lights, and sat on the couch, flipping through the channels, stopping at one that’s playing the classic horror movies.

A good hour or so passed, and you’re halfway through your fourth beer, (at least you think it’s your fourth, you stopped counting after two) when you are really wasted. The whole world is starting to spin, and you’re growing drowsy. It only took a couple minutes for you to pass out, the soft sound of the movies playing in the background soothing you, as well as the sound of breathing. You’re too drunk to realize it isn’t yours. That you’re not alone.

You woke to feeling a heavy hand on your shoulder, shaking you like a rag doll. When you finally came to, you noticed the man towering above you in a dark blue jumpsuit, wearing a Halloween mask.

“What the fuck?” You shrieked, jumping. The man didn’t move, didn’t say a word. After a moment, you took a breath, looking at him again.

It’s hard to make out any distinguishable features, due to how dark it is, so you assumed this is some sort of prank or something, considering the teenager living across the street, Ryan, loved pulling shit like this, especially on you. He probably is the one who broke your plant, too, that asshole.

“Ha ha very funny, you got me, you little shit. Now get out.” You said, pushing him. He didn’t respond. Just stood there and stared at you.

Feeling your discomfort begin to grow, you got to your feet, trying to walk past him. “Isn’t it past your bedtime? Go back home, kid.”

Before you can make it past him, he grabs your wrist, pulling you back. “Ryan, this isn’t funny.”

Once again, no response, instead, he only grabbed you harder. That’s when your drunken brain finally reached some sort of clarity, and you realized that this isn’t Ryan. This isn’t the dorky teenage boy who lives across the street, no. This is someone else. Something else.

Just as you tried to pull yourself out of his grip, he let you go, instead grabbing you by your throat with both of his hands, lifting you up in the air. He’s inhumanly strong, strangling you so hard that you feel like your neck is going to snap in half.

You tried fighting him off, kicking and kicking, wanting to scream, but the only thing coming from your lips being gasps and cries for air. Your eyes searched around for something, your arms reaching out, before the tips of your fingers brushed against something smooth. A vase.

Your throat feels like it’s burning as he squeezed it even harder and your lungs feel like they’re about to collapse. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and right as things started to go dark, you managed to grab the vase. Using all your might, you smashed it on his head, making him drop you, stumbling backwards.

You fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for air, finally being able to breathe again. Getting to your feet, you tried to go for the front door, but the man pulled you back right before you could reach the doorknob.

He held you by your stomach this time while you flailed around, screaming, begging for your life, your voice hoarse from being strangled. “Let me go you fucker- Let me go! Help! Help!”

He put a hand over your mouth, trying to keep you quiet while you continued struggling, arching your back and pushing yourself against him in attempts of getting him away. You continued pushing, until you realized you were pushing against something else that was..hard..and you heard his breathing grow even more shaky, turning into grunts and groans.

The brief shock from what just happened made you pause for a moment, but it isn’t long until he’s carrying you over to the kitchen and bending you over the table, pinning your wrists behind your back with one hand. Your face is pushed against the cutting board and suddenly, he slams a butcher knife right next to it, making you flinch.

“No- no- wait-” You tried, he still didn’t listen, instead ripping your pantyhose open, along with your panties.

This has to be a bad dream. You’re too drunk for this. There’s no way that you’re about to get fucked by this man, this monster, whatever he is. It can’t be real.

But the way he painfully plunged two of his thick fingers into your entrance made you realize it unfortunately is. He thrusted his fingers inside, his thumb nudging against your clit and making you moan slightly. You tried fighting him, but that only made his grip on your wrists tighter.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to hide your moans, trying to stay as stoic as you could be. But despite the pain, he’s starting to make you feel really good, noticing the way you jolt every time he rubs against your clit, doing it faster.

The room is quiet, besides the ragged muffled breathing coming from him and the squelching noises of his fingers thrusting inside your now drenched cunt.

Your legs feel like they’re about to fall asleep, but you can’t deny the shocking pleasure that’s running through your body. You feel so dirty for enjoying this, for letting someone like this do this to you, but you also feel so fucking good.

Your body is trembling at this point, the knot tightening in your stomach, and your opening clenching his fingers. His fingers brush up against your g-spot making you break and moan out. “Oh shit-”

After a couple of moments of helping you through your orgasm, he pulls his fingers out, raising them up in the air and eyeing them seeing how your juices make his fingers glimmer in the moonlight. He stuck his fingers under his mask, and into his mouth, sucking on them, and making your face grow warm in embarrassment.

And then, he’s zipping down his fly and you can feel his length pressing up against you. He feels big, bigger than anything you’ve ever had before.

It isn’t long until he forces his way inside, stretching you painfully and making you moan. He groans in unison with you, thrusting inside your heat, roughly.

“Slow- Ah- Slow down.” You tried to tell him, but that only made him speed up. His free hand held your hips tightly, his other still holding down your wrists.

After a while, you managed to get accustomed to the pain, the pleasure starting to grow instead. His hand moved down to your clit, starting to rub it, while his other moved away from your wrists, moving to your side instead.

His chest pressed up against your back, keeping you from moving. You eyed the knife beside you, noting to take it once he’s done in your head. But you can’t exactly think straight, due to the fogginess from the alcohol and how filled you feel every time he thrusts into you.

You grabbed onto the edge of table tightly, as if you were on for dear life. It honestly felt like it, considering how he’s growing even faster, leaving you a moaning shaking mess. Your legs are shaking even harder, and if it isn’t for him holding you up right now, you’d probably collapse to the floor.

He ran his fingers through your hair, pulling your head back, and making your body off the table, groaning in your ear. His hand then moved down to your throat, squeezing it and making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Yeah, just like that.” You managed to get out hoarsely, as he continued rolling his hips, rubbing at your clit. His hands then moved inside your shirt, moving up to your chest and groping your mounds of flesh roughly, slipping his hands under your bra.

You let yourself lean back into him, let yourself indulge in the pleasure for a bit, and imagine that this man wasn’t the man who just tried killing you. That he’s anyone else. Your eyes fluttered, and you felt yourself grow close.

“Fuck, fuck ‘m gonna cum-” You bucked your hips against him, letting him continue to use you as you finished. But just as you started to come down from your post orgasmic high, you realized he’s throbbing inside you. “No, no, not inside-”

You pleaded, but it’s too late. He filled you up with his seed, fucking it deep into you, making you cum yet again from all the overstimulation and being filled yet again. He pulled out and stepped away from you, watching as his cum fell out from between your legs, using his fingers to push it back into you, making you jolt yet again.

He released you, watching you fall to the ground, your body growing limp as the exhaustion overcame you. You laid on the kitchen floor, panting softly, your eyelids growing heavy, while he just stood above, watching you.

Little did you know what he actually is. Little did you know of what evil that’s now growing inside of you.

#dead by deadlight #dbd #dbd killer #dbd x reader #michael myers #dbd michael myers #michael myers dbd #michael myers x reader #michael my beloved #halloween 1978 #halloween #killer x you #killer x reader #slasher x reader #slashers #smut tag #dbd smut

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f3itansgirlygirl · 3 years

Text

drivers license - suna rintarou

part 2 right here

inspired by the song driver's license

his house is right there, right in front of me.

sitting in the car biting my lip holding back the sob that threatened to escape, how did it become like this? how did i end up sitting in here alone while you went off with her? that was supposed to be me, you said you would wait?

suna rintarou

a beautiful boy, his smile never failed to warm your heart. the way he would hold you in his arms, pout when you weren't paying attention, brush your hair behind your ear, the way he would kiss you and buy you your favorite drinks or take you to that little park you loved so much as you guys watched the sunset and fell in love all over again.

then how did it get like this?

----------------------------------------------------------------

“hi my name is l/n y/n and i'm your new manager!,” you introduced yourself. was a first year at inarizaki and needed to get into a club, atsumu decided to introduce you to the coach and give in a few words.

looking around the team you felt a nice presence, and that's when your eyes landed on his, those green piercing eyes. having his knees to his chest laughing at atsumu for trying to punch him for showing him something on his phone.

the way his laugh died down but kept a smile as he looked at you.

you blushed but became distracted as kita called you over.

“thank you guys for accepting me have a good night!,” you said grabbing your bag and leaving. “wait up i’ll walk with you,” you heard a voice behind you say. you turned to hear the voice and it belonged to him.

you guys walked under the stars, you shivered forgetting a jacket and that's when he looked at you and smirked. “the old jacket technique huh let me guess you want me to take mine’s off and give it to you,”

you gasped and looked right at him, “no i actually forgot you weirdo whatever i guess i'll walk faster,” you said speeding up. “wait i’m just teasing here i have a hoodie it’s my sleeping in class hoodie so better not ruin it.”

you took it hesitantly but put it on either way, it was big and burgundy and my god the scent you can still remember to this day how good he smelled like. “looks good on you maybe i’ll let you keep it,” he said as you guys continued to walk.

that was your first interaction, your first words to each other and one of the many nights you guys have come to spend together

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everything else came easily, even though having a age gap it didn’t stop your feelings whatsoever, and also never stopped him from showing affection.

you still remember your first kiss

how he kissed you by surpised on the slide of a old park where you guys sneaked out to get ice cream.

still remember how he started bringing extra hoodies and hair ties since you had a habit of forgetting both.

still remember that night under the stars in the backseat of his car when he looked at you and told you he was in love with you.

you teared up staring at him as he giggled softly caressing your face, holding your waist even more closer to his chest as your bodies connected.

“i love you rintarou,” you smiled crying softly.

he looked at you rubbing your tears away, “and i love you y/n l/n,”

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how it was such a good 6 months. looking back you should have seen the way you guys would only hang out around the night or weekdays.

how he wouldn't hold your hand in school or only be affection around the team.

and how you guys weren't exactly official, never asked you officially to be his but hey because of the memories spent together you thought of course your his and he’s yours.

you first saw her when she came through the doors, holding his notebook as she apologized but nevertheless gave him a smile and he gave one back. she was pretty- like really pretty.

pretty blue eyes, blonde long hair, beautiful body.

“so this is what overthinking feels like huh,” you mumbled as you shook your head and went back to setting the net up.

after practice you and suna as always walked home

you guys decided to take a detour heading to your park where many memories were made.

“hey rin,” you asked as you looked over the river that was by the bridge. “yes love?,” he replied. “what are we?,” you asked him.

please say im yours...

“well your younger than me, i want you to be mines and you already are, always and forever sooo how about this,” he turned to look at you and bent down so his head was right at yours. “when you become a 2nd year and get your driver's license we can officially be together yeah? i'll get down on one knee and ask you to be mine,” he rolled his eyes as you giggled.

he stuck out his pinkie and you stuck out yours. “you’ll wait for me?,” you said.

he wrapped his pinkie around yours, “always, make sure you just don't crash don't want you dying before your mine but yes i promise i will wait for you l/n,” suna smiled grabbing you and pulling you in for a kiss.

-------------------------------------------------------------

finals came up and yes you and suna got distant due to you studying, yet you weren't nervous you were excited to finally walk down the halls holding his hand.

looking back you should have seen the signs of him not texting you often or wanting to help you, you shrugged it off maybe he was struggling in some classes too.

finally the day was here, texting osamu all morning about how you would pick them up for school so you can show off to suna.

laughing driving up to school with the twins, you got out the car and seeing suna’s back against one of the walls

you were about to call out for him until you saw her again. this time she was wearing the burgundy hoodie, and he was the one holding her hand. he was smiling? the smile he gave you specifically to you he was giving to her.

tears filled your eyes.

“y/n chan.. i’m-” , “its okay atsumu just get to class okay?,” you turned around hand shaking as you hold your keys, tears spilling down your eyes. “i'm going to be okay,” you smiled. “no, you’re crying,”

“i said i’m okay, i’m just going to leave,” you said running to your car and getting the fuck outta there.

leaving you saw atsumu go up to suna and scream at him.

your heart felt like it was being pulled, this can’t be real?

you headed home, slamming your door and falling to the ground, how could you rin?

flashes of him and her passed your mind seeing how happy he was.

you looked underneath and saw a photo on the ground. your grabbed it and sat on your bed, it was you and him in a photobooth smiling and then kissing. underneath in his handwriting he wrote “my love always and forever,”

you felt like throwing up, so this is what heartbreak feels like.

you were hurt mad even at the fact that before anything was able to happen it was already ruined. you cried yourself to sleep wanting to ignore the pain/

---------------------------------------------------------

you woke up around 9 p.m, you were confused but remembered all that happened today

“so that wasn't a horrible dream?,” you tried to laugh it out but really couldn’t.

you needed fresh air, you changed into sweatpants and a baggy shirt.

going for a drive blasting music, you didn’t know where you were going but you just needed to feel the air flowing past you. you stopped at the red light, everything was getting blurry tears now leaving as you hit the steering wheel.

you kept driving and ending up parking in this neighborhood, being very familiar but automatically knowing where you ended up. you looked to your right and saw his house.

you were about to get off trying to get closure you said, needing answers still trying to doubt everything and thinking maybe this was a horrible joke from the twins and him but then you got all the closure you needed. seeing as the door opened revealing the girl coming out.

your heart dropped seeing how happy they were and dare you say actually look good together. he smiled down at her and grabbed her for a kiss.

you gasped as a heart wrenching sob escaped your lips, she walked away as he never took his eyes off her figure.

that was me.

he then looked turning his head and made eye contact with you, you just silently laughed as you shook your head at him and turned on the car leaving. “y/n wait!,” you heard him say as you left.

you headed to the small park and sat in the slide looking up as you laid down and finally let everything out. “never knew your waiting was just a short trial did i have to pay for millions of hours?,” you cried as you looked up in the sky seeing your memories replay in your head

‘Cause how could I ever love someone else’ And I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever now I drive alone past your street’

your phone dinged as you look who texted you

suna rin: y/n we need to talk... suna rin: please, i am so so sorry just hear me out. suna rin: i really did wait i just, please let's just meet up.

you texted back

“im really happy for you suna, goodbye rintarou.”

you then deleted his contact as you took a deep breathe and sat up.

“i still see your face

In the white cars”

you grabbed your head, “was i not good enough?,”

“We crossed I still hear your voice In the traffic We're laughing”

flash back

“you know i think we're meant to be,” suna said from your bed as you were on your laptop finishing some things. “wow such a hopeless romantic,” you smiled at him as you were putting back your earphones. “just maybe right person wrong time,” he said softly. you looked back at him, “i'm sorry did you say something,” you asked him. he just shook his head, “nothing i was just saying your a nerd,” he said as he threw a pillow at your face. “you know what,” you got up and jumped on top of him both laughing.

flashback over

‘God, I'm so blue Know we're through But I still fucking love you, babe’

you finally realized what he said, right person wrong timing

you looked up at the cherry blossom tree and softly smiled

“your right suna we really were meant to be just right person, wrong time.”

i guess not every love story is meant to be complete.

the end.

#suna #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintaro x you #suna rintarō #inarizaki #heartbreak #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #angst #suna rintarou #suna rintaro hcs #suna rintarou x reader #haikyu x reader #atsumu #miya twins #x reader #sad #romance

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

Text

Moniker Origin

PAIRING: Sirius Black x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

SUMMARY: Befriending a stray dog not only leads to a routine rendezvous every midnight but also the story of how Sirius got one of his many names.

WORDS: 5.5k

WARNING(S): Just fluff but involves cursing, name-calling, nicknames, mentions of celebrities/characters from the 70s, mentions of eating and food. || SECOND PERSON

A/N: can u tell this is kind of an indirect prequel to i’m a dreamer hsjsiw anyway i hope u like it!!! for @meiitanoia my beloved sirius black lovebot <3

[NAVIGATION] [MASTERLIST]

You woke up with a start. The curtains to your four-poster bed danced gently, as if attempting to put you into a trance. It worked: You watched it, transfixed more than ever until you slowly gained proper consciousness, or at least enough to let you yawn.

You reached out to push the curtains a bit to find that it was still night-time. You could hear light snores coming from your roommates, but you ignored it in desperate hopes of falling asleep again. You couldn’t; not that you didn’t want to, because you really did. The reason for your tossing and turning at this late hour was most likely because you slept around six p.m., an unideal hour for sleep on a weekday. You’d passed on dinner, and told yourself you’d just take breakfast early in the morning.

Giving up, you threw out your feet off the bed, feeling the cold surface of the floor. The clock told you it was half past eleven as it kept ticking and ticking and ticking.

Before you knew it, you were trudging down the deserted halls of Hogwarts, half-melted dark chocolate in one hand and your lightened wand in the other. You bought it from Honeydukes just last weekend on your visit to Hogsmeade. You didn’t know where you were going, but you just wanted to be somewhere else, maybe even do something exciting.

For cautionary measures, you looked in every direction every time you reached a turn in fear of getting caught by any roaming person of authority. Peeves would probably make a sound that’ll draw Mr. Filch’s attention; Mrs. Norris could appear, and that in itself is bad news already; Mr. Filch himself could catch you and start throwing insane threats; or maybe someone from the faculty could catch you and put you in detention, and you knew full well you did not want to spend time doing an absurd task.

When you managed to slip out unnoticed, you walked over to the bank of the lake, the rocks crunching under your feet. It was probably one of the things you find in horror movies when all is still, all is sleeping, and the monster is yet to come—

Your pulse skipped a beat when the sight of something running away from the forest shuffled past. You realized it was just a dog, but it gave you a shock nonetheless. Just a dog, you thought. Just a dog.

You pulled out the chocolate from your pocket, unwrapping it carelessly. It wasn’t until you took your first bite did you realize the dog was right behind you, watching you with curious eyes.

“I’d give you some but dogs aren’t allowed to eat chocolate,” you said to the dog, who then whined in response as it sat down. “I really can’t, I’m sorry.”

One might think a big black dog sneaking up on you in the middle of a night would cause a fright, but it was strangely more comforting than eerie. After all, it was just a dog.

Just looking at the creature reminded you of Snuffles, your very own dog who died while you were away from home and sitting in History of Magic, unaware your best bud had passed. You looked down hopefully at the dog in front of you.

“Snuffles?” you inquired hesitantly, reaching out your hand. Please don’t bite, you chanted more to yourself than to the dog. To your relief, it approached you gingerly and let you pet its head. “Is it you?”

Highly unlikely, you knew that, but it wouldn’t hurt to hope that it was, right? You’d spent your entire childhood with that dog: Sleeping together under a poorly done fort until daybreak; getting lost in the neighborhood together, earning disapproving opinions from the neighbors; and most of all, countless birthdays.

Well, just to name a few.

Maybe it was the moonlight reflecting off of the lake’s waters, but you could’ve sworn you saw the dog wink. You took your hand back to rub your eyes before studying the dog. “Are you Hagrid’s?”

The dog simply sat there, looking at you curiously. “Right, like a dog’s gonna talk back to me.” You chuckled, laughing at yourself. “Come, I’ll bring you back to him.”

It didn’t move. “Look, I can’t give you chocolate. Maybe I can sneak you some steak or something next time if you’re still here. I’d give you dog food but they don’t have that around here. But I reckon Hagrid has some, though. Do you want me to get you food?”

Once again, maybe (just maybe) it was only your imagination, but you got the sense that the dog disagreed. You didn’t push it any further and so you simply made yourself comfortable even under the rocks. You set down your cloak under your bottom to serve as a mat. It didn’t do much, but it was better. You gestured for the dog to come closer.

“I’m gonna call you Snuffles now,” you said as you picked up a stone. “Watch this.” With a swing of your arm, you sent the stone flying into the lake, skipping three times. “I used to be able to do four. You’d know, you were there!”

Snuffles your dog from years ago indeed was there with you when it happened on your family trip to your lake house, but this was not Snuffles; this was your very own classmate and Housemate, Sirius Black himself. He’d never talked to you before, much less noticed you, so it was a surprise to him that he’s spending his time with you at this late hour.

Nevertheless, it was a time well-spent even when it was mostly (entirely) just watching you skip rocks down the lake as you talked about the aforementioned Snuffles. He didn’t know how long you two sat there, but sat you did anyway. Twice he thought of a joke to tell only to be disappointed for of course, he couldn’t voice it out.

“I named her Snuffles because she used to cry a lot when we first brought her home from the shelter and mum didn’t want us to call her Sniffles so I went with the next best thing.” You put your legs in front of you. “Poor little thing.”

It wasn’t until the sky brightened a bit did you realize you were thirsty from all the talking you were doing. You would've stayed for the sunrise but, well, schedules would tragically overlap.

“Crap,” you thought as you began picking up your cloak, “I’ll end up dozing off in class! Anyway, I’ll try and bring you steak later, Snuffy.”

With a wave, you ran away from the lake, cloak in your arms, unaware that you had left your wand behind. Sirius was watching you until you disappeared from sight before he spotted the wand, which he then picked up.

He de-transformed on his way just a bit by a wall, and as soon as he did, he tucked your wand into his own cloak. He glanced back just for a second before running back to the castle. By the time he got to the painting of the Fat Lady, he halted at the sight of the girl from earlier — you.

“—you know me already, ma’am. I just forgot the password is all. Please let me in.”

“No password, no entry,” spat the Fat Lady. “And it does not do to wake up a sleeping person.”

“Well, you’re just a painting,” you mumbled. And if Sirius could hear it from where he was standing, the Fat Lady probably heard it too.

“Hmph!” exclaimed the Fat Lady. “Children are foul.”

“They are, aren’t they?” you chimed in hopes of getting on the Fat Lady’s better graces.

“I was talking about you, child,” said the Fat Lady with disdain. “Now scoot!”

You were about to walk away when Sirius decided to walk in. You froze.

It was only until then did it dawn on Sirius that he did not know your name because you had not told him anything earlier. He turned to the Fat Lady.

“Spondulicks,” said Sirius. The Fat Lady merely grunted as the painting swung open to reveal the room. “After you, m’lady.”

It was like he was seeing a different person; you refused to meet his eyes as you hurriedly walked into the opening of the painting, arms crossed. He was almost about to give you your wand but realized what a bad idea that would be, and so he kept his mouth shut.

You kept walking straight ahead, and Sirius had to stifle his laugh at the sight of you missing a step on the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, especially when your pace quickened after this.

That morning at breakfast, you were nowhere to be found. Sirius took his seat next to James while skimming the length of the Gryffindor table.

“What’re you looking for?” asked James, curiously scanning the table as well.

“This girl with [Y/H/C] hair,” Sirius replied absentmindedly as he slowly settled down, still looking for her.

“A girl? You’re gonna have to be more specific, mate. But bagsy snogging her.”

“What — you can’t bagsy her, you haven’t even met her,” spat Sirius. James was rather taken aback but still seemed to be stifling his laugh at the outburst nonetheless. Sirius cleared his throat. “And need I remind you that you’re trying to get Evans?”

“Mhm, I was just trying to see how interested you were in this girl to be preoccupied with looking for her instead of petting your hair.” More and more people began to file in to the common room and Sirius’s attention went to the door after determining you were not seated in one of the tables.

“It’s called combing, and you should try it.” Sirius ran his hand through his hair. “It would do you good to look fresh at least once.”

James snickered. “What can I tell you, Pads? The ladies like the rugged look.”

“I don’t think they do,” remarked Remus.

“Oh trust me, Remus,” James started with a smug grin. “They do. The key to it is—”

But Sirius never found out what ‘the key to it’ was; at least, not today. After a group of younger Ravenclaws walked in, he finally spotted you right behind them and his back straightened even more. For what, he did not know.

You took your seat beside a couple more Gryffindors and helped yourself to food on your own plate. You were busy rubbing her eyes, giving Sirius more time to watch. When you finished, you caught him looking at you, but he didn’t break the eye contact; instead, he smiled.

“Oh, her?” exclaimed James, trying to get a better look. Sirius gently kicked his foot at how obvious he was, but he nodded in confirmation. James blew a raspberry. “I can’t bagsy, can I?”

Sirius scowled. “No.”

“Then I call dibs.”

“Wha — that’s the same thing! You can’t just call dibs.” Sirius cleared his throat once more, for James was raising a brow to signify he’d proved his point. “You can’t.”

“Wouldn’t hurt you to go on over and talk to her, would it? After all, you do it all the time.” James stretched out his arms and made gestures of triumph. “Hook, sink, liner.”

“It’s actually ‘Hook, line, and sinker,’” said Remus.

“No it’s not. Get a load of this guy,” James joked (or not). “Anyway, come on, I’ll come with you. But I apologize in advance if my hair works better than yours.”

When they made it over to where you were sitting, you appeared to be manually wiping your plate with a tissue.

“Excuse me,” started Sirius, gesturing at the plate, “May I?”

Hesitantly and still not meeting his gaze, you handed him the plate. Sirius pulled out his wand and with a small flick, he said, “Tergeo!”

When he handed it back, you simply nodded your head in thanks and began to stuff it in your bag.

“Wait, are you stealing a plate?” James asked with a grin, on the verge of laughing. “You wouldn’t want to do that. See, our friend’s a Prefect and he’ll totally tell Professor Meownerva — pun courtesy of Peter, by the way.” James snickered. “I wish I’d thought of it first be—Ow!”

Sirius had stepped on James foot. “I’ll take it from here, Bambi.”

James managed a scowl before leaving the scene. You didn’t know what to do; so in your mind, you started devising ways to get yourself out of that situation: Make a run for it or melt on the spot; neither seemed like a good option.

“Why are you stealing a plate?” he asked.

“Er — long story. Have a good day.” Then you stood up and began to walk away, backing up a bit to grab a piece of sandwich before completely storming off.

When Sirius returned the other three were there, laughing out loud together.

James leaned closer. “Her name’s [Y/N].”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” exclaimed Sirius, annoyed.

“Hook, sink, liner,” said James confidently.

Remus cleared his throat again. “Again, it’s ‘Hook, line, and’—”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” dismissed James.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

On your first class (Transfiguration), the two of you clearly could not at all suppress your yawns: Sirius was doing fairly better compared to you, for he had the decency to not let his head plop face down on his desk, but he was sleepy nonetheless. This was no surprise to Sirius. After all, he hadn’t slept that morning. As for you, he did not know whether or not you slept but according to your peaceful and sleeping face, he kind of had a clue.

He wasn’t listening, and so when everyone brought out their wands, he just cluelessly followed the others. Professor McGonagall approached the middle row and stopped just right next to you.

“Miss [Y/L/N]?” started McGonagall. “If I’m not mistaken, bedtime ended hours ago.”

You merely grunted. McGonagall cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Miss [Y/L/N]?”

The professor put the back of her palm against your forehead. She lifted your face off the table and her eyes widened. “Heavens! Child, you look positively ghastly. Remus, kindly take—”

“I’ll do it,” said Sirius. “I’m her. . .” As he trailed off, all eyes went back and forth from you, McGonagall, and him. He opened his mouth again to add, “friend. We’re friends.”

Although McGonagall appeared to be reluctant, she let you go, advising you to visit Madam Pomfrey. Sirius risked a smug look in James’s way before following you out the door, eager to speak with you.

“So you’re feeling unwell?” asked Sirius.

“Look, buddy, I appreciate it but I honestly just want to go to bed.”

“Didn’t Minnie McG tell you to visit Madam Pomfrey?”

You halted. “I’m not sick.”

“What do you mean? What about the drowsy eyes and the head hurting and the red nose—?”

“Okay, now you’re making my head hurt.” You faced him, hands on your hips in defiance. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Black: I’ll go back to my room and you’ll take a walk to the Hospital Wing and back to class.”

“But you’re sick.”

“Buddy, I’m really not,” you said with an irritated laugh. “I haven’t slept yet and I lost my wand. How do you think I’ll be able to go to class without a damn wand?”

Sirius scoffed. “Then what about your runny red nose and teary eyes?”

“Really? Are purebloods really that dense not to come up with basic ways to get out of class?” It was almost ironic. After all, you’d heard tons of brilliant things pureblooded wizards could do. Clearly they weren’t as crafty. You snorted. “Do you really want to know?”

“Do I? Of course I do.”

And with a bit of consideration, you recounted your gimmicks: collecting two chili peppers from the table and lightly patting your finger under your eyes to make it teary (it badly hurt), pinching your nose as soon as you left the Great Hall and sprinkling a bit of pepper on your sleeve to get yourself to sneeze, taking a quick hot shower without getting your hair wet, and more.

“Wow,” he exclaimed under his breath, astonished. You shrugged in response, turning around to walk away. “Wait, then why did you agree for me to take you instead of Remus?”

“Eh, well, your friend who’s trying so hard to be Michael Landon said that the Remus guy was a Prefect so I figured that he’s probably a snitch.”

“Trust me, he’s not a snitch,” Sirius said with a laugh. “Wait, I don’t even know who Michael Landon is but could you say that thing again but to James’s face tomorrow morning at breakfast?”

“No.” You turned your back on him, walking away. “May we never talk again.”

“You’re welcome, by the way!” He watched as you made a turn, disappearing from view before making a face. “Ungrateful chick.”

That entire day, you spent your time in bed, tossing and turning to keep yourself awake. Whenever someone came in during vacant time, you made sure the curtains to your four-poster bed were sealed shut while pretending to sniffle.

It was Friday, so you were thankful for the time to rest. You were thinking of just looking for your wand tomorrow when you remembered the dog. You shifted in your bed as you slowly stood up, peeking through the curtains of your bed. Your roommates were probably still in the common room, so you peeked your head out to grab your bag from beside your bed and pulled it in before shutting the curtains close.

You pulled out the plate you got from earlier that morning and waited.

Waited for your roommates to come in and chat for a while.

Waited until the lights went out.

Waited until the only sound you could hear was the ticking of the clock in the room.

You were about to fall asleep when what you could only assume was a bird hit itself against the window, jolting you awake.

It was dead silent. And just like you did hours ago, you threw your feet out of your bed. Going out at this hour without a wand felt threatening, but you reassured yourself, just thinking over and over that it would be just like old times back when you didn’t know you were a witch.

There was no one in the common room by the time you got down there. You tightened your grip on the plate in your hands, thinking about how good a weapon it would make (it probably wasn’t, but it was good enough to make you feel like you had a chance).

You slipped out, unaware once more of the same boy you had talked to the night before following you.

The walk down the halls and stairs without a light made your tour all the more frightening: Jumping when you accidentally graze your hand too much on one of the paintings which often earned an angry grunt from them, feeling for the next step of the stairs in fear of tripping over, and so on.

Sirius resisted the urge to just approach you and give you your wand, resorting to just staying behind to make sure you got out safely. He was about to keep going straight ahead when you made a turn, confusing him.

It took a few more turns for him to realize you were headed for the kitchens. He had to wait outside until you came back out a short while later with something in the plate.

Laughing silently to himself, he followed you again to the grounds, your wand in his cloak pocket, feeling like a hundred pounds weighing him down.

You went back to where you were last night, scouring the rocks in hopes of spotting a distinct shape among the round shapes. You cursed under your breath in disappointment as you set the plate of steak aside, your eyes falling to the dark surface of the lake. Gulping, you tied up the pant legs of your pajamas, mumbling inaudible words to yourself at what you were about to do.

Only your feet were in the water when you heard a loud bark, causing you to jump a bit, toppling backward at the sight of the black dog. You felt the water soak your back and a bit of your head.

“Snuffles?” you asked the dog whilst shaking yourself dry as you stood up. “There’s steak over there. It’s for you.”

If it weren’t for his physical state, Sirius would be laughing right now. The least he could do was walk your way, sitting right beside the plate of the steak.

“I know it’s not as good as I promised but it’s the best I could give, I’m sorry,” you said to the dog as it looked at you curiously. You bent down to pick up your cloak, drying yourself and wrapping it around you. With a huff, you squeezed the water out of your hair and sat down on the rocks once again. “I only came down here to look for my wand. It probably rolled down to the bottom of the lake already.”

You yawned. The lack of sleep was already taking a toll on you and you couldn’t let the sun rise before you could lie down in bed.

“Do you not like the steak?” you asked again. “You know, I got that plate for you.”

The dog’s ears perked up, and you reached out to pet it.

“Thank Merlin I got away from that fruitcake.”

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

“I’m a fruitcake,” Sirius told his friends that morning as they fell in line for their Hogsmeade trip. James looked at his friend as if he had gone mad (well, one can say he’s halfway there). “Out of all the things I could be, I’m a fruitcake.”

“Took you long enough to figure that out,” said Peter, who then brightened when James burst into a laugh.

“You sure?” said Remus, adjusting his tie. “If you are, then you’re far too salty to be one.”

“Guys, I’m ser—” He cut himself off, aware that they were waiting for an opening to pick fun at his name. “I am not joking.”

“Because you’re. . .?” James said, encouraging him.

Sirius let out an exasperated sigh. “Serious.”

And just like that, the entire group howled in laughter. Rolling his eyes, Sirius scanned the crowd again, but it was the same thing as yesterday — you were once again nowhere to be found.

“Wait, where did you get this fruitcake comment from?” asked Remus.

Sirius recounted your past encounters with him, earning a whoop of cheer and a pat from James.

“I have a plan,” said Sirius. “I’ll just so happen to ‘run into’ her in Hogsmeade and she’ll think I’m charming because I did my hair better today.”

“I don't know, I reckon it’ll be hard to jump from fruitcake puppy to charming knight and shining armor,” said Remus.

It wasn't until they were near the front of the line did Sirius realize there was still no sign of you. He then stepped out of the line, earning sudden protests from the rest of the group.

He made a show of waving at the other three as he disappeared from view before darting down the halls and up the stairs until he made it to the common room, where he plopped down on the couch. A couple of first and second years were gathered by the window playing chess.

Sirius kept his head down as he waited for you to come out until finally, about almost ten minutes later, heavy steps came from the girls’ dormitory as it descended down the stairs. Sirius kept his face down so as to hide himself for you, cursing at himself for being too. . .what’s a nicer way to put creepy again?

He followed you again like the night before, going over the things he wanted to say.

Hello, I’m actually Snuffles.

I’m Snuffles.

Hi, I’m not really a reincarnation of your dog because I’m actually a fruitcake!

It just kept getting worse in his head the more that he dwelled on it, and so he resorted to just focusing on his step when you halted, causing him to run into you.

“You,” you started, stopping with your finger pointed right at him, daring him to speak, “why are you following me?”

“Because. . .” Sirius trailed off. Why was he following you?

Because I'm Snuffles and I have your wand. Because I can turn into a dog. Because while I am Snuffles, I'm also not really Snuffles. Because—

“Because I found your wand,” he blurted out. “Well, consider it as a token of appreciation.”

“For what?”

“For being a good friend. . . ?”

“As far as I know, the first and only time we ever even talked was just yesterday,” you said, gesturing with your hands. “What’s your deal?”

“I want to take a walk,” Sirius relaxed, grinning at you.

“Then do it yourself!” you exclaimed.

“With you, I mean.”

Sirius’s tone calmed you down at least a bit, and so you cleared your throat. Come to think of it, he’s probably not that bad.

You began to walk with him on your way out to the grounds. “And what do I get out of this walking thing of yours?”

Sirius waved his hand with a flourish as we jogged ahead to stop right in front of you, tipping an imaginary hat. “Bragging rights, madam.”

You halted. “You’re gonna have to try better than that, Vinnie Barbarino.”

“Er — that’s good, right?” he asked, tensing up again as he composed himself.

“Depends on how you look at it.”

“Well, does he have nice hair?”

“Again, depends on how you look at it.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“You and me both, Vinnie,” you told him with a huff as you two set foot outside.

“It’s certainly better than fruitcake,” he muttered under his breath. You leaned in closer, your brow raised in question. He shook his head and told you it was nothing.

By the time you made it to the bank of the lake, you found yourself unconsciously searching the rocks for your wand.

Sirius snorted. “You can keep looking but it’s not there.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

He watched as you bent down to pick up a rock and moved closer to the lake. Just like you did a few nights ago, you swung your arm to skip a rock. It was kind of like a movie for him; the way your shoulders sunk a bit after getting only three skips. “I used to be able to do four.”

I’d know, Sirius thought as he grinned at the irony. I was there. Maybe I really am Snuffles.

“So, when are you going to give me my wand?” You turned around to face him again, dusting your hands as you did so.

Sirius wanted to tell you about his alter-ego badly. But at the same time, it was right there and then Sirius realized something. He normally hated the idea of a routine; loathed it, even. But he figured that maybe, just this once, he could make an exception. He didn’t mind going out every single night as Padfoot or Snuffles if it meant the world to you to have something to look forward to. In fact, the line was starting to blur between all his names: Sirius Black, Onion, Padfoot, Snuffles, Fruitcake.

Sirius cleared his throat and told you, “Monday morning when you have breakfast with me.”

“I’m not gonna have breakfast with you.”

“You are now because you’ll get a coupon.”

“What coupon?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Bragging rights for spending time with me — Sirius Orion Black.”

“You’re awfully presumptuous.”

“Why are you so mean?” Sirius feigned pain by clutching his chest, making a show.

You bit your cheek in attempt not to laugh. “Look, just give me back my wand.”

“Give me your word that you’ll have breakfast with me first.”

“Fine,” you told him. “Now will you give me my wand back?”

Sirius let out a long sigh before taking a step forward and bending down to pick up a rock. He swung his arm backward as he made a shot.

One, two, three, four.

He faced you. “Hook, sink, liner.”

“It’s ‘hook, line, and sinker,’ how could you mess that up?”

“Damn it, James,” he cursed under his breath. “Anyway, here’s your wand.”

This definitely took you by surprise, especially when he pulled it out of his coat pocket and handed it to you with only a friendly smile and without any hesitation.

You grabbed it as fast as you could just in case he changed his mind at the last minute.

Sirius fought the urge to pick fun at the fact that this was close to what one may call fetch.

Wow, he thought. Merlin, I’m literally Snuffles. Sirius could hear his friends’ jeers light years away: Playing fetch with her, Snuffy? Will you also let her walk you? Oh, wait, you already did!

“Thank you,” you told him. “I was literally prepared to dive down there just to get my wand. I know what a big hassle it is to get it replaced and everything.”

“I know,” he said, pertaining to how he knew the lengths you were ready to go to just so you could find your wand, but you took what he said an answer to what you said last.

Sirius began walking again, and you followed. “Why didn’t you go to Hogsmeade with the others?”

“Eh, I’ve been there a lot of times. We’ll go there next time. I’ll take you to—”

You halted. “Woah, woah, who said I’ll be coming with you?”

“Time,” Sirius protested. “It tells you things even you wouldn’t be able to know.”

You scoffed as you kept walking alongside him. “Eh, well, we got Professor Trelawney for that. What do you say we visit her classroom and play with balls? I mean, orbs. No, stop laughing.”

But he didn’t stop. And honestly, neither did you; not even when you completed a turn around the grounds.

That night was a brilliant one: You were headed back downstairs, this time keeping your wand tight in your hand as you did so.

Just like as far as always can go, Snuffles sat by the lake, looking at the ripples that danced along its surface. Why did the dog suddenly look familiar?

You stood right next to Snuffles, who was now looking up at you curiously.

“I can’t stay for long,” you told the dog. “I have to sleep early, you know. I mean, you don’t, but — whatever.”

You bent down to pick up a rock again, watching it skip three times. You cursed under your breath, “How’d he do it?”

Snuffles, originally Sirius himself, snorted. You turned to the dog and shook your head, telling yourself it was your want of sleep playing tricks on you.

“Fruitcake’s actually not that bad,” you started as you picked up another rock. Sirius looked up again. “I think I’ll give him a chance.”

When you finally gave up on skipping rocks, you sat down right next to the dog. “He kinda left a ring of his, see?” You showed the dog Sirius’s ring. The dog blinked. “I’m not planning on keeping it, I’ll give it back to him on a good day.”

A bird flew by, causing you to jump a bit. “Yep, I’m gonna need to sleep this out. Go to Hagrid’s will you? Actually, no, come with me.”

You lead the dog to Hagrid’s hut and told it to stay there. Sirius thought it was funny seeing you boss him around in a gentler manner.

With a wave, you ran back to the doors and dashed up the stairs until you reached the dormitories, where you hastily got in your bed and tucked yourself in.

When breakfast came and you casually sat down right across from Sirius and beside James, a thought came to Sirius’s head again: He wanted you to know him as Sirius Black, no disguises involved. Sure, maybe he’d learn more of you if he continued doing it but . . . he wanted you to learn more of himself, too.

As for telling you his secret identity (not Batman), he decided that it’d be best to let his future self deal with it and just enjoy breakfast with you, which is hopefully just the first of many.

One last thing, though: Snuffles grew on Sirius. Safe to say that he got attached; so much that even when time told new people new fates, he found a way to let the name stay by using it as a safe codename as an attempt to become a lovable stray in the time of danger.

But that doesn’t matter just yet, not when the group was busy having one of the most brilliant Mondays to date.

Taglist: @gingerale2017 @sfdlm @maybanksslut @hey-there-angels @elevatorsdoor @mrzweasley @gwlvr @1-800-itsfreerealestate @marrymetheonott @booksarealwaysbettersworlds-blog @sexysirius @turn-to-page-394-please @greenlyblue @henqtic @badass-yn @meiitanoia @gaycatlord-stuff @just2bubbly @awakendevildays @dracomalfoyposts @crazy-beautiful @adoreyou976 @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Bankrupt | dark!40′s!Stucky x reader

Your husband’s gambling addiction quickly got him in hot water with the mob, and you by extension. When some debt collectors come by to settle what is owed, you realize that you have a lot more to worry about than money problems.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: non con, dub con, DP, anal sex, coercion, a lil bit of knife play, basically everything awful you can imagine, please don’t read if you would find it upsetting.

@hnryycvll thanks for watching me write this live lol

moodboard by @nsfwsebbie

You knew something wasn’t right when Bruce left in the morning. He kissed you on the forehead, which was normal, but just before he stepped out for the day he turned back.

“You know I love you, right honey?” he asked nervously.

“Uh, yes, of course I do,” you answered with a raised brow, “I love you too.”

“Good,” he nodded, stepping out the door again.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” you smiled.

“Of course,” he agreed, and shut the front door behind him as he walked to his car.

You’d seen that look before, and you knew he’d done something. But it felt different this time. You wouldn’t be shocked if he came back with a few bruises, claiming he had tripped when you knew he had been roughed up by mob thugs over his gambling debt. He had told you before that he’d settled the debt and that it was going to be fine, but you weren’t sure you could really believe it anymore… after years of lying and stealing to feed his addiction, you had lost a lot of trust. But you always tried to stay positive.

That said, a knock at the door an hour later made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You really considered not answering it, and yet you were already unhooking the latch and turning the knob before you knew what you were doing.

Two men stood outside, dressed much nicer than a visit in this sort of neighborhood merited. You nearly had to crane your neck to look at them: they were so tall. And you could tell that underneath the three pieces, they were carrying a lot of muscle.

You’d seen guys like this hanging around before. You knew what they did.

“My husband isn’t home,” you instantly informed them.

The blonde one standing in the front smiled. The dark-haired one in the back took a last puff of a cigarette before dropping the butt and stomping it with his shoe.

“That’s no trouble,” the blonde explained. “Why don’t you let us in and we can talk to you?”

“You can go hassle him at work, if you want,” you shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“We’re not here for your husband, sweetcheeks,” the other one interjected with a tone of irritation.

“Just invite us in for a drink, won’t you? It’s hot out,” the blonde requested.

You didn’t get the sense you had much of a choice. You stepped back and opened the door. The two of them nodded as they filed in, giving your living space a cursory glance as you shut the door. You knew it wasn’t much. You hoped they felt guilty for taking all your money and leaving you with so little that you had to live in a place like this.

When you turned back to face them, you caught their glances moving up your body. You tried to ignore it.

“Do you want ice water? I think I might have some tea--” you began.

“It’s fine,” the blonde dismissed, “we’ll make this quick. We just need to have a little chat with you.”

“What about?” you asked nervously.

“Your husband owes a lot of money to my employers,” the dark-haired man explained through a thick Brooklyn accent.

“I don’t see why that’s my problem,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

“It’s about to be,” the blonde chimed in, his tone lacking in any sense of mocking or deridition… which somehow made it even more sinister.

You did your best to keep a brave face, not show any fear. You knew that’s what they wanted, and you had no intention of giving them anything they wanted.

“What, you gonna beat me up?” you asked incredulously, rolling your eyes.

“No, sweetheart, that’d be a waste of a pretty face…” the dark-haired man looked you up and down with a grin, “...and a great body.”

“Let’s start from the beginning,” the blonde suggested, cutting through the tension. “I’m Steve, and my associate here is Bucky. We’ve become quite acquainted with your husband.”

“Heard a lot about you,” the other-- Bucky, apparently-- added as he took a seat on your sofa like he owned the place.

“Only good things, I hope,” you chuckled nervously.

“Only great things,” Steve confirmed.

“Come sit on my lap, doll,” Bucky smiled, patting his leg.

“N-no, I’d better not,” you denied, stepping back only to bump into Steve’s towering form. He pressed his body against you and you gasped as you felt the hard outline of a gun by his waist.

“Go sit on Bucky’s lap, sweetheart,” Steve recommended with a low voice, his eyes scanning you hungrily.

You nodded a little as you obeyed, watching Bucky’s face as you uncomfortably stepped towards him and sat on his knees. He slipped an arm around your hips and pulled you back until you could feel what you hoped was a gun against your thigh.

“You seem like a good wife. Obedient,” Steve praised, stepping a little closer.

“Loyal,” Bucky added, his voice reverberating over your neck as you felt the heat of his gaze. “Stickin’ with him even when he spent all your money. You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

“Yes, well,” you swallowed, “marriage requires… sacrifice.”

“You’re more right than you know,” Steve laughed.

“I don’t underst--” you began.

“Buck, hold her legs open,” Steve commanded as he started to reach for his fly.

Before you had a chance to attempt to squirm, Bucky obeyed and grabbed your legs, wrenching them apart with a brutal strength that you had no chance against. Your skirt rolled up your thighs and you tried desperately to cover yourself but it was futile.

“No, please,” you began to beg, the illusion of fearlessness finally cracking.

“Does your husband ever get rough with ya?” Bucky asked with a low voice right against your ear that sent crawling chills up your spine strong enough to make your back arch. “This’ll be like that. Only better.”

“No, no please, you don’t have to do this,” you rushed as you saw Steve step forward, pulling his cock out from his trousers. You looked away, though as you did you realized you should look at it to prepare yourself as best you could. You gave it a glance only to whimper and look away again; it was big, and thick, and he was stroking it to its full size with ring-adorned hands. He laughed a little when he saw your intimidation.

“Don’t be scared, sweetheart, I bet you’ll like it.”

“Please, I’m sorry, I’ll get the money if you need it, just don’t--”

You were interrupted by Steve’s hand roughly grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look him in the eye.

“You think this is a negotiation?” he growled. “It’s not. The negotiation happened yesterday, with your husband. He traded you for forgiveness of his debt. Don’t you understand? It’s over. You’re ours now.”

Before you had even fully processed the meaning of his words, tears were welling in your eyes and you began to sob. “It’s not true,” you denied, “you’re lying. He would never…”

“I’m a lot of things but I’m no liar,” Steve frowned. “Buck was there-- he sold her right? You remember?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, “and pretty quick, too. It was his idea, actually. We didn’t even lay a hand on him before he offered you up. Showed us a picture and everything.”

You fought against Bucky’s grip again as you cried but it was useless: he managed to pull your legs up higher, hooking under your knees, and grab your wrists too. The position was uncomfortable but you couldn’t really worry about that as you screamed and cried at the feeling of betrayal. “No, it’s not true, it’s not true…” you sputtered, not making much sense anymore, and not really believing your own words.

“You look pretty when you cry, doll,” Bucky purred. You tried to kick at Steve and Bucky pulled at your legs harder, sending pain to your hips and causing you to yelp.

“Stop fucking fighting,” Steve hissed. “You understand that if your husband isn’t good for the deal he made, we’ll kill him, don’t you? So you’d better behave if you want to save his life.”

You froze. On one hand, this was the guy who had apparently traded you to these awful men as if you were his to give away, and you hated him for all the years of lying and sneaking around and, most notably, gambling away all your money until he was deep in the mob’s pocket.

On the other, you still, for some reason, loved him. You couldn’t stop yourself from loving him. You’d promised to stick by his side for richer or for poorer. You hadn’t known then that this was the poorest option, let alone one you would have to choose. But you couldn’t let these men kill him.

Steve held your face with his hands in a way that was both dominant and soothing-- or at least, an attempt at soothing.

“You’re going to be good, aren’t you? For your husband’s life?” Steve pressed.

You shivered a little, but took a deep breath and nodded. He smiled and patted you on the cheek.

He pulled a knife from his jacket and quickly sliced off your underwear. You sniffled as you tried to stop crying, fighting the urge to try to close your legs as Steve kneeled to look at you closer.

“Such a pretty little pussy,” he cooed. “You know, at first I wasn’t sure this was a fair trade. I mean, he owes us a lotta lettuce. But now I’m thinking he’s the one getting screwed.” Steve stood up and wiped a tear from your cheek. “You know, besides you of course.”

“Just get it over with,” you whispered. They both laughed.

“What’s with the pessimism, sweetheart? Behave yourself and I’ll make it good for you.”

You whimpered a little as he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, focusing instead on the hard grip Bucky had on your arms and how it would probably bruise tomorrow-- it wasn’t a pleasant feeling either, but much easier to handle than a near-stranger’s cock about to plunge into you.

He had to push pretty hard to get it to go in, barreling past the resistance of your walls until he was sliding into you. You gasped and cried out, feeling Bucky’s cock harden underneath you in response to the sound.

“Fuck, so tight,” Steve groaned. “If I had a wife like you I’d’ve never let you go, sweetheart. Wouldn’t even let you leave the house. Not when I could fuck this perfect little pussy all day long.”

“It’s that good?” Bucky asked with a husky voice.

Steve buried himself in you completely and savored the feeling of your muscles fluttering around him. You bit your lip and fought your tears.

“You’ll get your turn, Buck,” Steve promised, “but I can’t promise I can give her to you in one piece.”

He pulled back out nearly all the way before slamming back in, making you choke on a scream. He set a brutally hard, yet slow, pace as he fucked you senseless, stretching you open more than you’d thought was possible. You hoped you weren’t as loud as you seemed to sound in your own head.

“You like my cock, don’t you? See, this was what you always needed,” Steve purred. “A real man. Somebody to fuck you like a whore, just how you like it, huh?”

“Hnng,” you gurgled in lieu of a reply.

You relaxed into Bucky’s embrace as best you could, letting Steve use your body and hoping it would all be over soon.

“You ever gonna let me get a piece of that?” Bucky growled at Steve.

“Soon,” Steve nodded breathlessly, “just a little more… fuck, it’s so good.”

Steve made a noise when he pulled out like he was mustering all his restraint to do it. He gripped his cock once it was free, stepping back and watching Bucky adjust your body on top of him as he freed his cock from his suit pants.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be good, right?” Bucky pressed as he angled you to slip onto his cock. You nodded feverishly as he finally pushed into you, rougher than Steve had, making you wince. “Oh god,” he groaned, “you’re so wet. Your pussy feels amazing, doll. Jesus.”

You felt an unexpected sense of pride warm your chest. You refused to believe that you actually wanted to make him feel good. You decided it was just a tactical thing-- the more you pleasured him, the sooner this would be done with.

“Good, right?” Steve asked with a smile.

“So fucking good,” Bucky agreed, leaning you forward a little. “Come on, baby, bounce on that cock,” he encouraged. You set your legs on the ground and balanced your hands on his knees, lifting and dropping your hips with stuttered breaths as his cock brushed against something inside you that made your legs shake and quiver.

Bucky leaned back and watched you work, occasionally taking a moment to squeeze or slap your ass. His hands wandered over your back, your shoulders, even your thighs; Bucky’s touch explored you until you felt his thumb circle over the puckered opening of your ass and you jumped a little in shock.

“Not there,” you begged, stopping your movements. “Please, not there.”

“Wherever I want,” he corrected sternly. You whimpered a little as you felt him press ever so slightly, your tight rim expanding to accept the tip of his thumb.

“Say it,” he demanded.

You forced your eyes shut. “Wherever you want,” you repeated. “Wherever you want, Bucky.”

He hummed in approval, and pushed his digit in to the first knuckle. You suppressed a gasp.

“Did your husband ever fuck you here? Or did he try, but you wouldn’t let him?”

“He never… we never…” you began, shaking your head.

“Seems like a waste,” he replied in a low voice, pushing in a little deeper. “You’ve got such a great ass. First thing I noticed when I walked in.”

“Is this what you were thinking about?” you asked with a gulp. “Is that what you wanted to do the whole time?”

He chuckled darkly, and it was answer enough.

He pulled his cock from your pussy and you hated that you’d supplied plenty of lubrication all on your own. He held you up as he started to press the head against your tighter opening, watching himself penetrate you with dark eyes.

He pushed his hips forward, adding more and more pressure until he was able to break past the tight ring of muscle, and you gasped like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“Fuck!” he yelped, his head falling back against the top of the couch. “So fucking tight.”

It stung like nobody’s business but you tried to keep your breathing steady as he pulled you down to the base of his cock, which was apparently even thicker and so much harder than you seemed to remember.

“Aw, I’ll be gentle, baby,” Bucky soothed as you whimpered, moving you on top of him slowly. “I don’t wanna break you. Yet.”

The pain took what must have been hours to subside, your toes involuntarily curling into the shag rug-- which made you realize your shoes must have fallen off at some point. Even when it hurt, you felt the pleasure underneath it all, his cock managing to stimulate places inside you even through the layer of your body in the way.

“She’s dripping, Buck,” Steve observed with a predatory grin. “She loves it.”

Bucky slipped his fingers between your legs and felt the wetness for himself, indeed as plentiful as Steve had promised, reacting with a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Fuck, you like my cock in your ass, don’t you?”

You shook your head even as you felt your hips moving with his involuntarily.

“Just admit it,” he growled, wrapping a hand tightly around your neck. “Admit that you love getting fucked in the ass, because you’re my dirty little slut.”

You sobbed, choking from the tightening grip on your throat. “Bucky,” you whimpered, trying to plead with him but not getting very far into it.

“Do it for your dear old husband, huh? God, what would he think if he saw you know?”

You closed your eyes, trying not to imagine the answer to that question.

“He’d probably be wishing he’d known sooner that his innocent little wife liked it up the ass.”

They laughed and you winced, feeling Bucky graze his teeth over the shell of your ear.

“Say it, doll,” he whispered, “say it just how I told you to.”

“I…” you began, but trailed off. You yelped when he slapped you right between your legs, sending a shock of pleasure-pain through your body. “I love getting fucked in the ass,” you finally stuttered out, “because I’m your-- your dirty little slut.”

Bucky moaned right into your ear, thrusting faster and deeper into you. “Yeah, that’s right. Dirty mouth on ya, too. Gonna fuck you there another day.”

“Please,” you whimpered, not entirely sure what you were asking for.

Every slam of his hips into yours made your body shake, and you whined when he stopped thrusting to hold you down and grind against you.

You moaned with every movement, unable to stop the tears from flowing as the pain and the pleasure became indistinguishable.

You were so lost in it that you didn’t realize Steve was standing in front of you again until you felt his fingers pressing into your pussy. You were so wet that it took almost nothing, but you still gasped.

“Damn, so wet for us. Such a good girl,” Steve groaned.

Bucky pulled your legs up again, stilling inside you to hold you open for Steve.

“You can let go of her now, I reckon,” Steve informed Bucky. “She’s done fightin’. Look at her, she loves it.”

Bucky nodded and let go of your legs and arms. You did try to shut your legs a bit, not out of any notion that this would stop: you were just trying to relieve the soreness in your hips.

It didn’t last long as Steve pushed your legs apart, freeing Bucky to wrap his arms around your waist.

You hadn’t even known it was possible to fit two cocks at once, especially two cocks like this.

You made a noise that was purely inhuman as Steve pressed into you again, feeling full beyond the brim, incapable of taking anymore-- and there was still so much of him left.

“I can’t,” you began to protest, but it fell on deaf ears as Steve continued to slide into your pliant body. “It’s too much! Steve!”

That got his attention, and he looked down at you with bared teeth. “You’re gonna take it, whore. You’re gonna take our fucking cocks. And you’re gonna say my name just like that when I come in this ruined little hole.”

You sobbed as he bottomed out, feeling your holes clenching around them as you struggled to fit their girth.

Both of the men groaned a bit as they felt your struggle, Bucky licking and kissing at your neck while Steve tore your blouse open and roughly palmed at your tits.

“So fucking perfect,” Bucky praised before pushing your face to the side, pulling you into a deep and sloppy kiss. You reciprocated instantly, though you struggled to put much thought into it as all your attention was on the peculiar and powerful feeling of two men inside you at once.

You heard your moans get louder and more unabashed as they were lost in Bucky’s eager mouth, echoing back until you weren’t sure who you were hearing anymore.

Steve’s thumb roughly rubbed at your clit and you nearly screamed from the overwhelming sensations flowing through your body; your head fell back on Bucky’s shoulder again, who kissed your temple and cheek in a way much too delicate for the situation.

“Didn’t I say I’d make it good for you?” Steve growled. “Tell me how good it feels.”

You would look back on this moment and try to convince yourself that you were immersed in your role, that you were just saying whatever he wanted to hear for your own safety. You would repeat over and over internally that you hated it and that you were just a hell of an actress with a strong sense of self-preservation. But you would know that it was a lie. Because what you said next was the honest-to-God truth, and deep down, all three of you knew it.

“It feels so fucking good!” you screamed. “Please don’t stop, oh my god, I’m going to-- fuck!”

“Yeah baby, come on my cock,” Steve praised. “His cock, too. Come for us.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around Steve’s neck to brace yourself, “yes, yes, yes!”

Every part of you tensed up and tightened, your entire body like a spring pulled to its limit. And as the tension released and you felt yourself shatter in their arms, a gush of wetness pulsed out of you.

“Fuck,” Steve grinned, “look at our girl, coming so hard for us.”

“Bet her husband’s never made her do that,” Bucky laughed. “She’s clenching around me, Steve, I don’t think I can take much more.”

“Want us to come in you, baby?” Steve growled, nipping at your jaw. “You wanna be so full of us, don’t you? Wanna make us come?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, exhausted and weak, limp in his arms, “yes, Steve, please…”

Bucky lost it first, holding you so tight that you could barely breathe. He babbled praise against your ear as he spilled inside you, telling you how good you were for him, how you were gonna make him feel good from now on, whenever he wanted. You could barely process that as you felt Steve follow suit, moaning weakly as he pumped into you with stuttering thrusts, painting your insides with his spend.

“Yes,” Steve hissed as he began to come down from his high, both of them buried in you as deep as they could fit, all three of you panting like you’d just run a marathon.

You winced as Steve pulled out of you, your face feeling hot as you felt his cum begin to leak out of you.

Bucky helped you stand up and adjusted your clothes a little until you were covered up again… but you were sure you must’ve looked completely fucked anyways. He scooped you up into his arms; an hour ago it would’ve terrified you, but now you leaned into his shoulder and curled up into a ball in his embrace. He carried you out of the house and laid you down in the backseat of their car, with a tenderness you wished he had shown a little sooner.

He sat in the back with you while Steve drove you to Bucky’s apartment: your new home, they informed you excitedly.

The movement of the car rocked you to a place between sleep and wakefulness, and you tried not to listen to the men talking about the plans they had for you, or the ‘assignments’ they needed to complete this week. Steve talked about needing to go out of town, and they decided that he would take you with him to relieve his stress. “I’ll miss you though,” Bucky cooed, stroking your hair.

You were crying but there were no sobs, just tears flowing silently as you tried to think about the lines they were leaving on your face and not the fluids leaking from the rest of your abused body.

When the car stopped and you were carried into Bucky’s apartment, you felt your locket slip from your neck and fall into a grate. A picture of your husband was inside that locket. You got the sense you wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

#dark!stucky #dark!stucky x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky smut #dark!steve smut #chris evans x y/n #chris evans imagines #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans headcanons #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan headcanons #sebastian stan imagine

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hi!! This is based on a reddit post I saw where a woman found her husband's "secret stash" of all the love letters/cards/post it notes she had written for him through all the years that he kept!! (🥺) and I would love to see it rewritten with Coops, if you want! Thanks for all the stories you write. I v much appreciate u

Okay so I looked up the story you’re talking about, and that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever read. My god. I’ve mentioned that Remus leaves notes in a couple of past fics, so this was just a perfect ask! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Hattie is mine!

For the anon who watched a sad video in their class: Have some coops fluff to dull the pain!

Remus sneezed as he shifted the nightstand a smidge to the left, exposing a dozen dust bunnies that were starting to look more like dust rhinos. He pulled and rocked and pushed, but the small table refused to move far enough for the vacuum cleaner head to fit through. “We need to clean this more often,” he muttered, opening the top drawer to unload some of the weight from inside.

Three books, a handful of pens, a spare toothbrush, a waterbottle…Remus shook his head at Sirius’ collection of oddities, smiling to himself. The nightstand moved a bit more when he wiggled it, but not quite to the point he needed it.

The lower drawer was bigger, and scattered with whatever Sirius had left in his pockets at the end of the day—Remus found three different packs of gum and laughed a little at the knickknacks they hadn’t been able to fit on their dresser. Part of him wanted to put everything back and ask Sirius to go through his own shit, but it was kind of neat finding souvenirs of their everyday lives.

Remus paused when his hand hit something solid and smooth before the back of the drawer. He felt around blindly, then carefully pulled it out. A box? His curiosity got the better of him before he could debate the nosiness of opening it; he lifted the shiny lid, tingling with anticipation, then frowned.

Paper. The box was full of slips of paper.

Lined, colorful, plain white, even some of his old PT stationary—everything Remus could think of, including a few cards at the bottom. He took a piece off the top and unfolded it, then nearly dropped the whole container when his own handwriting stared back at him.

Left @ 8 to see Leo. You were still out cold—sorry for wearing you out (not😊). Will be back around 4-ish. Love you! <3

Remus blinked at the note in shock for a moment. He remembered writing it on the old bookmark the morning after they went to the trampoline place and spent five hours jumping until they could hardly feel their legs. “But this was last summer,” he said aloud. “I—what?”

He poured a few more into his palm and set the box down gently, then sat back against the side of the bed and began to read.

Crock pot turned on. Pls remind me to take it off @ 5 pm. If I’m not home, pls unplug it @ 4:45 was written on a corner of printer paper.

Happy birthday baby! You are wonderful in every way and I love you so much <3 Here’s to hoping all your wishes come true! Love, Re, on a birthday card he had picked out because the dog on the front looked just like Hattie.

An entire conversation, complete with doodles and sarcastic comments from both of them, written on a piece of lined paper from one of the many conferences they had attended together.

- Eggs

- Chicken

- Bread

- Sweet tarts (for my sweetheart)

- Oreos (there’s a sale this week, coupon under note 😊)

- Pasta (twirly kind)

Love you <3

in his loopy half-cursive, with the shape of a fridge magnet still indented at the top near the crumpled edges from being shoved in Sirius’ back pocket.

“Well, shit,” Remus said, sniffling despite the fact that no tears dampened his eyes. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Dozens, if not hundreds, of little papers stared up at him from the open box and he blew out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to the one in his hand. He hadn’t realized just how many notes he had written over the course of their time together, and he skimmed his fingers through the rest before carefully putting the ones he had taken back in and closing the lid. The box fit into the drawer with ease and he leaned his head on the wood for a second to slow his heartbeat.

The nightstand moved the last few inches once the rest of the clutter was strewn across the floor and Remus quickly vacuumed the dust elephants before dumping it all back in. As much as he itched to throw some of it out—the empty wrappers and pen caps didn’t seem to have a use—he was afraid he’d accidentally toss an important memento. Hell, the note box had looked like a pile of confetti at first.

The front door opened just as he began lugging the vacuum cleaner downstairs. “Re, I’m home!” Sirius called, then broke into a bright smile when Remus appeared in the stairwell. He was soaked in sweat and Hattie was breathing hard; she collapsed on her bed with a dramatic groan after drinking a few mouthfuls of water, too exhausted to do more than thump her tail on the floor.

“Heya, handsome.” Remus’ heart picked up its pace again. You kept all my notes, it shrieked happily, doing its best to break right out of his chest with affection.

Sirius tilted his head when he saw the vacuum and the dust on Remus’ pants. “Were you cleaning?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to get under the bed for a while, and I didn’t have anything else to do.” He shrugged. “You’re welcome to do it next time, if you like.”

“I’ll do the dishes to make up for it,” Sirius said as he leaned in for a kiss.

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t. But I will dust the bookshelves and wipe down the kitchen.” They both laughed and Remus stood on his tiptoes for a second kiss, sliding his teeth over Sirius’ lower lip and drawing a noise of surprise from his mouth. “Hi. What was that for?”

“Love you.”

Sirius glanced down at himself, then raised an eyebrow. “…because I walked the dog? Or is it the sweat?”

“It’s definitely not the sweat,” Remus snorted, smacking his rear as he passed. “You can take yourself right upstairs with that. Where did you even go?”

“Around the neighborhood, then to the park. She grabbed my hat and we played keepaway for a bit.”

Remus hummed as he bent down to plug the vacuum into the wall socket. “How the hell did she—oh, ew!”

“What?” Sirius asked with mock-innocence as he lifted Remus higher off the ground and tucked his gross, sweaty face into his neck. “You don’t want cuddles?”

“You are literally dripping! Get the fuck off,” Remus said around his laughter, swatting at his shoulder when Sirius started swinging him back and forth slightly. “Sweat monster.”

“C’est vrai.” Sirius kissed the hinge of his jaw and set him down, then headed toward the stairs with a final grin. “Thank you for cleaning, mon loup.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Remus said, rolling his eyes playfully. A soon as he heard the bathroom door close, he let go of the vacuum and did a happy dance in the kitchen, much to Hattie’s amusement. He would have to remember to leave notes more often.

251 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

I’m not sure if you have something planned for this already but wouldn’t it be the height of irony if Tooley got monched on by a starved Chris when he forgot to drug him? Just opens the door and whoops! He eaten!

CW: Whumper death, drunkenness, some dehumanization, blood drinking, bit of gore, vampirism, some very light catholicism

New York City, 1936

KING EDWARD VIII ABDICATES THRONE British Monarch to Wed American Socialite Wallis Simpson

Tooley kicks at the sodden, half-frozen newspaper stuck to his shoe, grunting with the effort it takes to dislodge it. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his thick woolen coat, and he ignores the envious stares of others whose threadbare outfits are patched, whose gloves are little more than rags wrapped around their not-quite-frostbitten fingers.

Instead, he pulls his scarf up higher, tucks his chin beneath its knitted warmth, and finally manages to send the scrap of paper with its water-stained black-and-white image of a stern-faced soon-to-be ex-king and his Baltimore lover into the street, where it sticks in a puddle and soaks clean through.

The old-timers say a heavy rain is coming, citing their aching joints and bones. It's been a wet winter already, and the absolute last thing New York needs is more rain.

Tooley plans to be holed up in his nice warm little house for the whole of it. He's sold three paintings in a month, and he can spend the next few weeks on the next one until his hands want to drop right off his wrists without having to distract himself with petty concerns like money.

The liquor bubbles warm inside him, and even with the frigid air he's broken a sweat along his back, trickling to his waistband, almost a tickle. He stumbles a little, catches himself, coughs out a laugh as the cold air burns deep into his lungs. It can't penetrate the hazy heat of the drink, though.

Mel's always has the best whiskey, and Tooley has the green these days to pay for the very best indeed. He's spent what might be a whole month's pay - if he weren't the luckiest artist in New York - in a single night.

You might say he's made a deal with the devil.

He pulls the brim of his fedora down, shielding his brow from the bit of freezing moisture speckling his cheeks. He struggles not to giggle like a child.

"Got a bit to spare for a hungry man?" A rasping voice calls out from an alley as he passes. "Help me feed my family, sir? I'm out of work, sir! Got three little ones with hungry bellies!"

Tooley ignores him.

There are crowds like that everywhere these days, always pressing for help, for a little something more and more and more. Men out of work, men in bread lines, women with tired faces and sad children. He's had just about enough of it.

They're calling it a depression, and he finds the term apt enough, considering it seems the whole country's been tumbled into a hole and can't find its way out.

He'd take his muse to Europe and paint there if it weren't for the echoing tension that bleeds over across the sea. Every nation he's idolized for their arts is trying to posture at each other. Rattling sabers while the people sigh heavily and keep washing their laundry, like always.

Tooley was a child when the Great War tore his own family apart - losing an older half-brother to the pointless trenches, a father to the mustard gas that ate his lungs to pieces, a mother to her desperate, sharp grief at her husband and stepson's loss.

The War had rendered him alone in the world before he was even twenty, though he'd been too young to hardly understand it and it had had nothing to do with him.

Wars were for rich men to send poor men to fight in, and Tooley is hoping to have enough wealth to maybe just float right past a new one, if the rumors beginning to swirl came true and Europe is going to erupt. Surely, though, no one would let a second war as horrible as the last happen.

Surely not.

Still, even so, he can simply disappear if they try to call him up to fight. He has no one left to lose, after all. No one to fight for, no one to care for. No one but his pretty little model, all locked away, his to keep.

Tooley takes a sharp left and the streets begin to change from the harsher gray of the city proper into neighborhoods, houses crammed tightly together. It's not the best part of town - Tooley's parents weren't the wealthiest, and he doesn't live like a gentleman, he's got no need to, it's not how he thinks a proper artist should live anyway. Have to keep up the image of the nearly-starving creative genius, after all.

There are still lights in some windows, despite the late hour. Tooley isn't the only one drunk at midnight and still moving.

It's a mile or so from the start of his street to where his house is nestled between two others, close enough he could reach out his kitchen window and touch the brick of the home next door. He smiles a little. His nose aches with the cold at the tip of it, but that's nothing to worry himself over.

He's home.

It takes him four tries to unlock his front door, the key jabbing into wood and brass too far to one side or the other. He laughs, breath puffing white clouds into the air, his ears burning with the cold where his hat doesn't quite cover them.

Good thing he's not with a woman, tonight, if his aim's so bad with just his hands.

The thought makes him laugh harder, nearly a guffaw, loud enough that he's sure he's woken a neighbor or two. It's not the first time.

Finally, the key slides home and the lock clicks and Tooley moves inside. The house is chilled in the entryroom, but as he slides his coat and fedora off to leave them on the coat rack and moves into the kitchen, towards the back, he can feel the warmth slowly trickling from the ticking radiators along the walls.

He's due for a coal delivery in the next couple of days, and boy, he's going to need it with the weather the way it's been.

Tooley heads for his perfect little secret, the vampire held in the backroom, once a sort of servant's bedroom for some family that had owned the home even before his own parents did. It's his studio, now, and the place where the little vampire boy is kept.

He unlocks that door, too. A key, a deadbolt, a little sliding lock at the top for added safety.

"Here, kitty kitty kitty," He slurs, and laughs again, delighted at his own little joke.

There's a scrape and a rustle, and Tooley steps back to let the vampire boy move forward, out of the freezing unheated room - Tooley only turns the radiator on in there when he himself is working, it's not like dead things care about being warm after all - and into the kitchen proper, with its little two-person table.

The boy is looking dirty - he's due for a bath, long overdue honestly. Good things he doesn't sweat enough to stink.

His hair hangs lank in his eyes, closer to dark copper than the new-penny shine Tooley prefers. There are smudges along his cheeks, marring his perfect freckles. He's draped in a sweater patched badly where his elbows have worn holes right through, pants that are tied with a rope since Tooley sure isn't going to waste money on a belt for a corpse.

"Is, did, did you, um, did you bring me food?" The vampire boy looks up at him, eyes glinting a little in the dimness, that unsettling cat-like glow-in-the-dark effect. His little fangs flash, too. "I'm... I'm, I'm hungry, Tooley."

"I know you are, bloodsucker."

"It's, it's been, um, it's been weeks, Tooley-"

"I know, I know. Shut your trap." Tooley ruffles his hair, then pulls his hand back with a grimace as he remembers how dirty and greasy it's gotten, walking away to go to the sink and wash his hands. "We'll get t'that. I met with someone very important at th' bar tonight, and first things first, you and I are going to celebrate."

The boy moves slowly, staying half-crouched - he's been hit before, when Tooley didn't want him to stand all the way up. He settles himself against the wall, head tilted to the side. His cheekbones cut sharp angles in his face, edging down to his narrow chin.

Those big green eyes follow Tooley everywhere he goes.

"Celebrate what?" He asks, and Tooley wonders just how old the ridiculous little thing is. He'd said early aughts, hadn't he, on when he was turned? So he'd be, what, in his forties really?

Funny.

Was he locked up during the Great War?

He's still a pretty teenager, but he's probably closing in on fifty. Tooley's twenty-some years younger and looks infinitely older, in his own estimation.

Tooley should look into vampirism, seems an excellent way to hold onto your looks, doesn't it? He wonders if the boy knows how to turn him. They could make beautiful work forever...

Hm.

Something to ruminate over when he's hungover in the morning.

"New commission. I'm taking a few weeks off, give us both a break, but I've got the basic details. I'll pick up a broad, get her all set up for modeling, we'll make us a mint, sweetheart." He moves to the counter, picking up the half-full bottle of gin he keeps there, taking a swig and grimacing, coughing. There's a rattle in his lungs these days he doesn't like much.

"You'll, you'll kill her?" The vampire watches him. He looks hungry, with all those sharp lines emphasized, as though he were a painting himself still in progress, with the outline still written in graphite showing through the colors. He's pale, painted in wash, not yet turned to vivid velvet intensity with oils.

"'Course. You think any of my models would stay alive anywhere near you?" He laughs at the very idea, missing the vampire's little flinch as he turns away. He pulls a loaf of bread from the breadbox, already starting to stale but that's all right, he's going to toast it over the stove anyway. The world swims around him from the liquor, and he catches the counter with one hand to keep himself upright.

The feeling brings another laugh out of him.

The little vampire smiles faintly in echo of it. He has to work to get the stove to gas, narrowing his eyes as it struggles, sputters, before finally a little flame flares up. Just enough to give off a little heat for the toast.

"Fuck. Drank too much. Or not enough." He laughs again, and pulls a knife from the knifeblock, the sharp serrated thin blade best for slicing through the heavy sourdough he buys from a woman down the block. Bit of toast, pat of salted butter, that'll get him through to morning when he can head down for eggs and bacon at Paulie's diner.

Maybe he'll even buy some extra for the hungry men who hound around the doors. He can be a philanthropist.

As he slices, the knife slips off the stale, hard crust and cuts right through the back of his hand, a long line immediately welling with bright red blood. He groans, irritated, and sets the knife down, turning to run cold water over it as the pain flares bright, but slightly muted from his drunkenness.

There's a rustle behind him, and Tooley's mind only belatedly begins to allow alarm to trickle through the warm fuzz of the gin and whiskey. He slowly turns around.

Where the vampire boy had been curled against the wall, a bundle of skinny bones and too-big clothes, there's... nothing.

Tooley glances to one side and sees the boy crouched on the floor by the edge of the lower cabinets, his hands pressed into the ground. He moved five feet in less than a second.

His eyes are flared, wide and with pupils burying the iris in black. He clicks, softly, tongue against teeth in an inhuman way.

Click-click-click-click.

click-click-click.

How'd he move so fast?

"Shit," Tooley whispers. "When's the last time I fed you?"

The vampire doesn't answer, only stares, unblinking, muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. He clicks again.

His lips pull back from his teeth and those fangs that seem so cute and little on every other day suddenly look long, like daggers, dripping a shimmering venom to the ground.

Tooley tries not to blink, too, but his eyes dry and dry and dry and eventually he can't help it. His eyes close, a fraction of a second, and flare open right away.

Not fast enough.

The vampire leaps and Tooley grunts at the impact of the small bony body against his own, his lower back smacking into the line of the counter with a flash of pain. The bread and knife both clatter to the ground.

Panic comes, but it doesn't help. He's still groping to get at another knife when the vampire's fingernails dig into his scalp, grip into his hair and jerk his head to the side to bare his throat.

"Hungry," The vampire boy hisses. "Hungry, Tooley. Hungry."

"I-I know, just, just don't blow your wig, gimmee a minute, I can get you something, just hold on-" Tooley's voice is thin from the harsh angle his neck is being held at, and he swallows, seeing in a bleary haze the way the vampire's huge eyes are focused on the movement of his adam's apple, the bob of his throat.

Can he see the blood pulsing there?

He puts his hands up against the vampire's chest to try and push him off, but it's like pushing against rock. He thinks about painting the vampire as a kind of young Prometheus for a dandy from Boston, tied naked to a rock to be pecked at by eagles, and wonders if the mythological man ever tried to push the rock itself, and if it failed as miserably for him as it does for Tooley now.

"There's blood in the shed out back, just let me go and I'll grab it for you." He pitches his voice soothing and slightly patronizing, like speaking to a whining dog. "Okay, kitten? Just two minutes and you'll be fed, right as rain."

The vampire pauses, hesitates, and Tooley feels his hands working at Tooley's hair and one shoulder, like a cat kneading into your lap before they settle. His little stray. His breathing starts to ease, his heart to slow down, the first rush of panic subsiding.

The world still spins a little, but the rush of adrenaline is settling things into something more solid, wiping away the liquor.

"I'll put you back in your room and go get it for you, it's right outside, good and cold," Tooley coos, and realizes too late it isn't what he should have said.

"There's blood right here, and and and, and, and it's living," The vampire boy says, eyes wide and inhuman, and he's absolutely gorgeous. "Your, your, yours is hot."

Tooley would paint him like this, all feral instinct overwriting the living corpse of an anonymous Irish immigrant who died dozens of years ago. A metaphor, maybe, for the way some of the children who come here lose all their European culture and get boorishly American, and-

The vampire bites down, and all thoughts of art and culture flee from Tooley's mind.

The liquor holds off the pain so long the venom hits before he even feels the way those sharp teeth have breached his skin. He goes limp, dropping in a heap to the floor. He thinks he hits his head on the loaf of bread before it knocks into the floor.

They feel about the same level of hardness.

The knife is right next to his head, lying there, shining in the yellowed lamplight, with its carved wooden handle.

All he has to do is move his hand a few inches to reach it.

Just a few inches.

He tries, desperately, to tell his fingers where to go.

The vampire sucks hard at the wound in his neck, pulling blood from his veins like a man drinking an egg cream after a long hot day's work, and Tooley groans. He can feel the press and pull without the pain, and it's the strangest thing he's ever felt. Stranger than those he's gone to bed with.

The venom makes his limbs feel like stones, weighed down to motionless. He struggles even to swallow saliva, to take a deep breath. His heart never races again with panic. He isn't able to feel it any longer.

Those sharp little fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, the weight of the vampire settled on him, straddling him. A little flirty thought - at least buy me dinner first - makes its way across his mind, barely coherent, slow as molasses.

The vampire starts up his soft rumble, the vibration filtering in through into Tooley's body. It seems like it makes him feel even more frozen, heavy as the ocean and weightless at once.

His eyes are on the ceiling, and he realizes how long it's been since anyone cleaned the corners where cobwebs have grown and grown. They need swept away.

Funny how he never noticed before. Too busy with his art.

There's a moment where Tooley is surprised to look down at himself, as if he's floating somewhere near the ceiling staring down at his own open eyes. When he needed not to blink, he couldn't stop himself, but now the body he is looking at just stares and stares and stares, unseeing, unblinking, unbreathing-

Oh.

As soon as the realization hits, Tooley's awareness of himself as a body he can observe is gone.

There is darkness, and then a point of terrible final light. He feels the grasping of bloodied hands.

And he's gone.

The vampire drinks until the blood stops pumping, until the heart beneath his kneading hand is still. Then a rough tongue laps at the wounds, finding the last few droplets there that still sing with life.

The vampire pulls back, skin flush with life, no longer white as snow. His freckles stand out, scattered like constellations of stars over his skin. The dead man beneath him has all the paleness he had before, they are switched, swapped death for life.

He wipes the blood from around his mouth and looks slowly upwards, breathing in deep gulps he doesn't need but which feel so, so good.

He moves to the stove, to turn it off, but he doesn't quite turn it off all the way. An odd smell fills his nose and the vampire's nostrils wrinkle, but he doesn't know what the scent is, and he simply pulls Tooley's coat on before he leaves, door unlocked.

A few minutes later, a man with his hands over a barrel fire looks up to see a redheaded teenager in a woolen coat far too large for him move under a streetlamp, pausing to look up at it as if surprised by how bright its light is.

He blinks, and the man squints.

The young man's mouth is open, as if scenting the air by letting it roll over his tongue. Before the man can quite understand what he is looking at, the boy's mouth closes and he turns to look at the man. As his eyes shift from being lit by the lamp to draped in shadow, though...

They glow.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," The man whispers, crossing himself hurriedly. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, b-be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil-"

The boy looks right at him, head tilted. The flames of the barrel flicker, hissing a little when raindrops start to fall. His lips pull back from his teeth and there are an animal's fangs there, plain as day.

The man feels pure horror at the sight of a demon walking free and unfettered in New York City. He grabs at the cross he wears around his neck and holds it out, his voice trembling. "May G-God... rebuke him, we humbly pray-"

"I, I, I hope that works for you," The boy says, and his voice is soft, and there's almost a lilt of the old country there that the man recognizes, not quite his own but not far off. "It never d-did for, um, for me. Don't worry. I'm... I'm full. You're, you're, you're in no danger from me. When, when, when, when... when did you come here? To this place?"

The man swallows around a lump in his throat, and yet he finds himself compelled to answer honestly. "Two years past, give or take. Came with m'wife and baby girl."

"From where?"

"... Kerry," He says, against his will. He can't seem to hold back the words. "And my wife grew up in County Cork."

The boy smiles, and his horrid teeth disappear when his lips press together. He looks for all the world like any other young man, a bit skinny perhaps and in need of a good meal or three, but no danger to anyone.

But the man has seen the demon that he is, and he finds himself grateful for the fire between them and the cross still in his hand, the shield of St. Michael and the cloak of Christ Himself.

"My, my, my, my parents were from County Cork," The demon boy says, lightly. His lilt is slightly stronger. "Wonder if we're cousins, your your wife and I. Maybe so. Stay home, um, after dark. Don't, don't, don't work when the sun is, um, is down."

The boy turns and walks away.

The man realizes with a start that in the midst of a chilly December night, the boy's feet are utterly bare. He steps over ice like he could walk on water.

There was blood smeared on the back of his coat.

The man flinches as he hears a sudden boom, close enough that he feels it in his chest as well as hearing the sound. A moment later a woman runs by shouting that a house has caught flame, to call for help.

The man looks back at the way the boy went.

He's gone.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

116 notes · View notes

curiouschild · 3 years

Text

Twin Butterflies

|| Jean Kirstein x fem! reader one shot ||

Summary: You’re taking a private moment on the morning of your wedding day with butterflies in your stomach when it’s interrupted.

Warnings: f l u f f <3

____________________________

No one else stirred in the cabin you were renting for yourself and your bridesmaids. It must have been a little after 6 in the morning as you could see the promise of dawn on the edge of the horizon. The wood was cold beneath your bare feet as you headed down the hall. In the haze of the morning fog that misted your brain, an invisible string seemed to be tugging you towards a large oak door. As you approached it, your nerves crackled beneath your skin as you gripped the metal handle, pushing the door open.

In the middle of the room with several large gaping windows was an elegant draping of white tulle and lace giving off a faint luminous glow in the early morning light. Wandering over to your wedding dress, your hand dips into the fabric of the skirt as if you could find the promises you would be making with Jean Kirstein could be found in its depths to calm you on one of the biggest days of your life.

Basking in the elegance of the most beautiful dress you will most likely ever own, you began to think of your soon to be husband who was sleeping in another cabin with his groomsmen. The two of you thought it would be lovely to get married in a wonderful little clearing in the woods that was owned by the family of your friend and bridesmaid, Sasha Braus. There were a few cabins as well that she offered to let you and your fiancee stay in before the big day. It was all so incredibly generous of her to accommodate yourself and your fiancee.

Your lips tug upwards as you thought about Jean. Was he peacefully sleeping? Was he about to get up for his usual morning jog? Or maybe he was starting a breakfast for his friends since he always loves to cook for people he cared about.

These thoughts made your heart flutter as you realized the mornings to come would be spent experiencing any of these scenarios with him. The serenity of those thoughts were clouded by the increasing amount of butterflies humming in your stomach. Even though you knew that no matter what, today was going to be special.

A quiet *tap tap tap* on glass had you reeling from your thoughts. Your eyes flicked towards one of the large windows where the noise came from. Your face pinked when you found warm hazel eyes watching you. Jean smiled softly, waving at you from outside. You returned his smile, loosening the fabric from your hands as you made your way to open the window.

“Good morning beautiful,” he greeted. Up close you saw that he was wearing a simple workout tank and loose sweatpants hung low at his hips.

With no screen in the way, he propped his long arms on the ledge and leaned his head through the window. His considerable height made his eyes remain almost at the same level as yours even as he slouched.

“Hi there. This is a surprise,” you said.

“A pleasant one I hope,” he chuckled. He opened his palm up to you and you slipped your hand into his, enjoying the warmth of his touch. “I woke up before any of the guys and felt like going for a walk. I couldn’t help passing by your cabin. What a lucky thing for me to see my beautiful bride before anyone else on our wedding day,” he murmured as his eyes studied your face in awe. He seemed to love drinking in the sight of you despite your clearly just-woke-up appearance.

“It’s certainly lovely to see you before everyone’s buzzing around getting ready,” you agree, your free hand reaching up to softly trace his jaw. The pads of your fingers grazed stubble. “I can’t even believe I was able to sleep. I’m so nervous about today- I think the worrying woke me up.”

His brow crinkled at your comment. “Why are you nervous, love?” He cupped his hands around yours and his fingers began to massage the back of your hand in soothing circles. You pause for a moment as he continued to knead into your skin carefully as you considered the question.

“There’s two things that come to mind,” you start. “Firstly, that I’m going to trip down the aisle. I wonder if that’s every bride’s fear, honestly. It seems like such a long walk and even if we laughed it off what if I ruined the dress? Or worse, stumble and trip into someone like your mom?”

You thought for a moment Jean would laugh at you for coming up with silly what-if’s, but he only continued to press his fingers into your palm. His hazel eyes were slightly amused, but he only said, “And what is the second thing my bride is worried about?”

You inhaled slowly before saying, “Well.. secondly, I’m nervous everything will pass by in such a blur that I won’t take in the moment.”

At this, you could see his handsome face become sympathetic. When he didn’t say anything you went on, “It feels like I haven’t seen you much this past month and all of the last minute planning has felt like such an onslaught of emotional and mental energy to the point where I don’t remember much of anything. We went sent out invitations and suddenly we’re here. I don’t want today to flash by like our engagement has.”

Jean brought your hand to his lips and softly pressed them across your knuckles before he asked quietly, “Come with me?”

You glanced down at your small silken robe that barely hit the edge of your short pajama shorts. “In this? I don’t even have shoes on.”

Jean smiled. “We won’t go far, I promise.” He tugged his hand and you laughed a little and muttered a small “oh fine.”

He stepped back, keeping your hand in his as you began to slide yourself through the window sill. The grass was still dewey as the two of you walked shoulder to shoulder and hands intertwined.

The jitteriness you had been experiencing on and off were left behind as you let Jean lead you towards a hidden path behind the cabin. There was a calming stillness, and neither of you felt the need to say anything. Your eyes glanced over every now and again to Jean’s face. He was keeping his eyes up, watching the tops of the trees. When you two were younger, he was often chatty and talked about himself until he was blue in the face. When he joined the regiment, he changed from being self centered, to a man who would do whatever it takes to protect those he loves. It made him more reflective. Humble. And one of the most passionate people you had ever known.

It wasn’t long before you two arrived at the clearing where your ceremony would be held. This was the first time you had a chance to see the seats set up along the trail of stepping stones that marked the path you would be taking to Jean later in the day.

You almost forgot to breathe as you took it all in. Jean squeezed your hand softly. “I can’t believe I get to marry you here,” he said softly before he moved into the last aisle to take a seat. You joined beside him in the innermost chair.

The blush returned to your face and you couldn’t help pressing your cheek against him. “It feels wrong to be here before the ceremony starts.”

You felt his laugh in his shoulder. “That’s what makes coming out here fun. Besides, if I can take your worries about our wedding away, then it can’t be that bad.” His eyes wandered up to the alter ahead and the two of you basked in the silence for a few moments.

“I sure do love you,” he finally said, tightening his hand around yours. “I loved you for the last several years. And I’ll love you if we’re saying our vows in front of everyone, or if we say them right here in our pajamas and skip the entire ceremony.”

Your eyes widened and your laughter rang in the clearing. “We aren’t skipping out on the wedding!”

The corner of his eyes crinkled at your laughter. “I know, I’m just being reassuring. You know what I mean though.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you teased him, lifting your head to press your lips against his cheek

“And yet, you’re still here with me,” he mused.

You bit your lip a little bit. His endearing charm always made you feel a bit like a school girl. “I couldn’t see myself here with anyone else.”

He rolled his eyes. “Now who’s the cheesy one?” He bumped his shoulder against your playfully. His hand left yours so he could wrap his arm around you.

“You told me earlier you’re nervous about walking up the aisle.”

You nodded shyly.

“Well, let me tell you that if you trip, I’ll just come to you.”

“No!” You quickly exclaimed. “That would emphasize the embarrassment.”

He smirked a little. “Then I’ll just have to trip on my way to helping my future wife. Then all of the attention will fall on me. And as far as you tripping into someone like my mom, it would be okay.”

You groaned at the thought. “If I trip into anyone I will die on the spot.”

His lips pressed into your temple affectionately. “I can’t let that happen. If you trip and fall into anyone, I’ll run to you in the aisle. I can just grab your hand and we’ll run away together. If your dress is ripped, I’ll carry you as we book it out of here.”

You shook your head, unable to stop grinning picturing him doing everything he can to help you in these imaginative situations.

“As for fearing about today going by in a blur,” he went on, his head turning to gaze into your eyes lovingly. “I think starting the day with just you is keeping me rooted in the moment. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He pressed his nose sweetly against yours and you felt any last of your butterflies quiet. It was quite something to remember the glow of your love for each other.

“I’m jealous that you haven’t had anxiety like I have. You’ve been so comforting.”

Pulling back, you were surprised to see a gentle flush in his face.

“Oh I’ve got my own butterflies, but for you I can ignore them.”

You tucked your head into the crook of his shoulder once more and you felt his head rest over yours.

“Well let me comfort you this time. What is my sweet Jean afraid will happen on our special day?”

“That our friendly neighborhood suicidal maniac is gonna do something stupid at our wedding,” he grumbled.

Through your giggling, you managed to say, “That’s what you get for making Eren a groomsmen.”

You heard Jean let out a scoff. “I knew you couldn’t sympathize,” he said in an exaggeratedly hurt voice.

The two of you talked and laughed together a little longer as sunlight danced over the tops of the trees. And in the moment, there was only the bond between you and Jean with the rest of your lives ahead of you.

#jean kirstein #jean kirschtien #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x you #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirschstein x you #jean kirstein one shot #jean kirstein fluff #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #listen yall i was in my FEELS this week #and needed a pick me up #jean kirstein one shots have been my main comfort drug #also I didn’t know what I was gonna name it so there

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underkita-archive · 3 years

Text

polyester

kita shinsuke | w.c 2k

a/n: sigh pain,, this is inspired by the song heather by conan gray! i was walking my dog when the song came on and i was like huh, what if i just write a leetle something? which became u know,, 2k words,,,, anyway uh note that this not really an x reader fic,,,

now with the companion piece cotton

set post-timeskip

warnings: just sad, poor use of past tense honestly i struggled so hard, unrequited feelings/love, some tears being shed, feelings of regret

On the second day of your first year of high school you meet Kita Shinsuke.

Quiet, collected, Kita Shinsuke.

It had been completely by luck of the draw. You could remember your nerves, still afraid of navigating the ins and outs of high school when there was a gentle tap on your shoulder in the first year hallway.

“You dropped this.” He’d placed the notebook in your hands before you could stutter out a thank you, left to watch as he approached the Miya twins with a stern look.

To call it love at first sight may have been an exaggeration, but at the time you couldn’t help but color it as such.

His cool demeanor and dedication to a sport that hardly rewarded him was far more admirable than you would’ve liked to admit. So you had found yourself at few more volleyball matches than someone who never cared for the sport.

And when Miya Atsumu came careening into the classroom one frigid morning spouting nonsense and demanding one of the girls in your class volunteer to be the volleyball club’s team manager you couldn’t have stopped yourself from raising your hand if you tried.

He wasn’t even captain yet, but the two of you worked closely. Staying behind to clean up after the raucous first years, careless second years and overworked third years.

The only ones dedicated enough.

Somewhere in between those late nights cleaning and those early mornings prepping, between the quiet whispers and watching him become more and more dependable.

You had fallen in love.

It hadn’t surprised you, you knew you were doomed from the start. Since that one lucky day in the first year hallway, you knew it had been a matter of when not if.

There had been more than enough opportunities to confess your feelings, to free yourself of the endless nights of pining, of being tormented by all the what ifs and almosts.

Yet you watched in perfect silence as your first year melted away. Watched as Kita earned the right to being called captain, and let yourself be consumed by the role of the doting team manager.

Once again you had found yourself letting the months roll by, allowing your feelings to rot away at your insides, suffering in the way he seemed to form a kind smile solely for you, living for the quiet praise and approving nods he’d occasionally offer.

“Why don’t you just confess?” Your friend had said, tired of the sad way you would carry yourself after a particularly taxing day of spending too much time in Kita’s proximity.

“Nationals, I’ll tell him when we win nationals.” You promised, trying to convince yourself that it would be the right time, a poor attempt at trying to conjure up a speck of bravery.

By the time Nationals had arrived you had prepared your heart to the best of your ability, ready to see your team take their rightful spot as the champions.

And when they didn’t, whatever courage you had cobbled together shattered. So you sulked. Standing on the balcony of the hotel, staring up at the light polluted Tokyo sky, shaking from the biting cold.

“You’ll get sick like that.” You hadn’t thought your blood could run any colder until his voice interrupted whatever pitiful thoughts had been running through your mind.

“I-It’s...fine.” You hoped he chalked down the stammer in your words from the weather over nerves.

“Mmm. Don’t stay out here too long.” You nodded your head, keeping your eyes focused on a flickering star struggling to make its presence known when there was a weight on your shoulders. You couldn’t help but snap your eyes down, the familiar shade of maroon now hanging over your body.

And what should’ve finally been said that night was left in the air, left struggling like that little star in the sky.

With a heavy heart you watched him graduate, watched as time kept moving without bothering to let you catch up.

◇ ◆ ◇

Years later you can say with confidence that your school girl crush has aptly faded, telling yourself that there was never a need to confess.

Until your phone beeps late one Thursday night.

Engagement dinner.

Your eyes scan over the text, once, twice, again and again until you lose count, until your chest feels tight and your face burns and what were once feelings you thought had faded start rearing their ugly head.

You won’t allow whatever leftover hormonal thoughts poke and prod at what you’ve built up. You’re older, wiser and most importantly you’ve moved on.

So you clean up nicely, put on something nice but not too nice, just a touch of perfume and only check twice in the mirror before you walk out the door to call a Lyft.

The restaurant is unfamiliar, nestled in a cute little neighborhood. It’s fitting for Kita, it’s homey and cozy but nice enough for the occasion.

You try not to choke as he approaches you, a grin too large splaying across his usually serious face, oddly enough it fits, furthermore it hurts.

It takes you a second too long to notice the woman beside him, the sight of his arm tucked behind her back as she curls into his side, she offers you a shy yet refined smile. You barely catch her name, the overwhelming sensation of the past creeping up on you, tearing down whatever walls you had carefully built over the years.

They show you to the table, Aran, Akagi and Gin already there with their charming and familiar smiles, yet the lovely reunion is unable to distract you from the way he pulls out her chair, making sure she’s properly settled before he takes his place beside her once more.

You think of the maroon jacket that had weighed so comfortably on your shoulders that freezing Tokyo night, you think of the words that laid on the tip of your tongue, so close yet so far as Kita patted your head and returned back inside.

The lost opportunity.

Only to have the once sweet memory dashed away at the lightness of your left ring finger, as you’re forced to witness the woman beside Kita rest a perfectly manicured hand atop his, the ruby gemstone set on a golden band gleaming so beautifully in the low restaurant lighting.

“Captain! Sorry we’re late! Congratulations.” Miya Atsumu with his usual loudmouth tears through your concealed pity party, a small smile finding its way to your lips at the way Osamu trudges behind him with that special irritated look reserved solely for his brother.

“It’s just Kita, I haven’t been your captain in years.” He rises from his seat, taking his bride-to-be’s hand and introducing her to the ever famous Miya twins.

“Sure sure, manager-chan! Looking good!” He’s by your side in seconds, thick arms already pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“You’re gonna break her ‘Tsumu.”

“Shut it ‘Samu, I would never.” His hold only tightens at the statement, the rippling of his muscles against your body causing an undeniable rush of heat to bloom across your body.

“Enough of that.” You laugh, wiggling out of his grip with an exasperated laugh.

A few more former players of Inarizaki pour into the restaurant, old memories tossed around with endearing fondness and one too many congratulatory toasts leaves your heart aching worse than before, regret eating away at you, the inevitable question of what if cycling though your thoughts.

“Doing okay?” Atsumu’s closeness is nothing new, somewhere over the years your boundaries had skewed, his face being a little too close was to be expected at this point.

“Sure.” It’s a noncommittal reply that Atsumu would normally call you out on, but he accepts it only after letting his gaze linger on you for a moment.

The minutes tick by as Kita retells the picturesque proposal he had carefully planned, unfiltered adoration and fondness adorning his eyes.

Lovestruck.

An expression you had wished this man to have focused on you just a few years ago.

What if?

The question taunts you, what if you hadn’t been a coward? What if you had said it that night? Or any other moment spent by his side? Would it be you?

Another sip of the bitter wine offers no reprieve from the taunting thoughts, whatever mask you had been donning the entirety of the night starts to wear down, you can feel it slipping out of place.

“Boy am I sweatin’!” Atsumu barks out, knocking his shoulder against yours, true enough his cheeks are tinted a soft blush, eyes glossy from one too many beers.

The exclamation causes a few snorts and chuckles around the table, a scathing comment from Osamu and a faux jeer from Suna.

“Maybe you need a walk.” You mumble, picking at the food you had long abandoned earlier in the meal.

“Ya know what? You might be onto somethin’, let’s go.” His fingers are around your wrist before you can register what he’s saying.

“Atsumu what?”

“C’mon, say bye!”

“Atsumu!”

“You be safe, thank you for coming.” Your head spins as Kita offers that same smile, still a little too wide as he offers a nod and turns back to his fiancee. Atsumu tugs at you again, only for you to shake him off, turning properly to the happy couple.

“Congratulations Kita-san. I wish you both,” You swallow the bitter lump in your throat, “I wish you both unending happiness.”

You’re turning on your heel before you can receive a reply, biting back whatever pent up emotions threaten to spill over as you rush out of the restaurant, practically running down the sidewalk fueled by the desperate need to get as far as you possibly can.

“Hey hey slow down!” You don’t bother slowing, let alone stopping, knowing fully well the professional athlete chasing after you will catch up in a matter of seconds. “I said slow down.”

The second his hand touches your shoulder whatever walls left standing come crumbling down.

“It hurts.” It’s nothing more than a whisper before he’s turning you around to face him, a hand still planted on your shoulder as the tears that have been welled up for nearly five years begin to fall. The tears you hadn’t allowed yourself to shed.

“I know.” His voice is pained as he draws you closer, letting you close the distance as you lean against him. The trail of tears burns against your cheeks, they’re filled with shame, with unspoken words, with unrequited love.

It’s almost poetic, the way you two stand there in a broken silence under the flickering light of one of the odd stores dotting the street. It feels like hours pass by, the initial ache in your chest starting to lessen as you meet his gaze.

“Could you... consider me?” There’s something profoundly sad in his eyes, an exhaustion from years spent quietly resigned from confessing a truth that you were all too familiar with dotting his expression.

“I,” can’t, “don’t know.”

“I know that I’m not him, I don’t think I can be anything close, but just, do you think you could?” There isn’t the slightest trace of his boyish charm nor the cool demeanor he normally holds in serious situations. He feels smaller, more exposed and for the first time in all your years of knowing him.

You can see weakness.

“I can’t make any promises.” It feels almost too soon, a little rushed for you to be able to make sense of anything that’s transpired, you don’t want to hurt him, you don’t want to lead him on.

“I can wait,” a wistful quirk of his lips rekindles the ache from before as an expression you’ve surely worn in the past washes over his face, “I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

And in a matter of two, maybe three seconds, the world seems to tilt, just a few degrees, just enough for the angle to change, for that memory of the muddled Tokyo sky to shift a few inches to the right from the struggling star to the one shining in softly in the distance.

Your hand moves before you can even think, fingers curling around Atsumu’s chilled ones, intertwining them carefully as you offer him something akin to understanding, something a little deeper, not quite sure what you’re truly conveying.

“Just for a little bit longer.”

#miki writes #sad miki #angst #under.kita #inarizaki #i honestly hurt my own damn self w this #honestly maybe it's not that bad and i'm just sensitive?#idk i just #this was v therapeutic to write #i've been hating writing as of late and this just #idk it made me write #and i liked that?#there's going to be a companion piece to this at some point #idk when #but yeah phew #sorry for my sins

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luminnara · 3 years

Text

Victor Zsasz x Reader NSFW | 18+

Fandom: Birds of Prey/DC

I don’t see nearly enough BOP!Zsasz appreciation here, so I’m determined to change that. Reader is fem, but if there’s interest I can definitely write stuff for male or nb! The reader also has a whole backstory because I’m way more into world and character building than I am reader inserts so this is practically a little OC fic lol

This is sort of set pre-Birds of Prey, don’t worry about it too much, it’s just fun

Warnings: Violence, Zsasz being Zsasz, reader is an assassin who unalives people, light smut

This is short because I’m testing the waters! If there’s interest, I’ll write a part 2!!

Requests are open!

When Roman announced that he was hiring a new girl, Victor was less than thrilled. He liked what they had going--Roman was the money and the brains, and Victor was the muscle, the devout follower, and the one who loved to spill blood. They didn’t need anybody else, especially not a new hitman, and especially not a girl.

You had grown up in Gotham City’s East End, a district that was infamous for harboring all sorts of crime. You knew every street, every dark alley, every burnt out shell of a once-great building. The East End was a far cry from Gotham’s nicer neighborhoods, with their shining skyscrapers and big fancy department stores, but what could you say? The East End was home. It was dark and gritty and dangerous, but you loved that about it.

Besides, it’s not like you could really go anywhere else.

You had developed quite a reputation for yourself over the past few years. Places like the East End have a tendency to breed criminals, and you were no exception--as soon as you left home, you followed right in your mother’s footsteps and became a gun for hire. Thanks to your family name, you had no trouble taking on the odd merc job here and there, working for mob bosses who didn’t mind the mess you tended to leave behind. Silent, sneaky kills weren’t really your thing, but you never really got into the whole...artistic thing that a lot of other killers did. You didn’t sit there and fuck around with the blood and guts, you just...weren’t very tidy. You were quick, but you weren’t clean. If somebody wanted their enemies taken out quietly, they knew not to even look in your direction, because you were not the girl for the job.

If somebody wanted to make a statement, though...

You were more than happy to crush some skulls and splatter some blood across the sidewalk for the right price.

Of course, so much killing got to be exhausting after a while, and even brutal assassins like yourself needed to relax every so often. So, that’s how you found yourself finishing up a job and heading back to your modest little apartment, hopping in the shower, and scrubbing all the blood and dirt off your skin as if you had just spent a long day at the office. It was all normal for you--the killing, the shady bosses, the weirdos you worked with--and you treated it the same way any of those prim and proper office people in Old Gotham treated their day jobs. It was a way to make ends meet, something to pay for groceries and take care of the bills...only, in your case, you were generally paid fully in cash, and sometimes that cash had some suspicious stains on it.

But hey, work was work, right?

That night, you headed to a club you had yet to check out. Done up in a little black dress and wearing some very expensive pearls you had nabbed off of a target a few months back, you took a cab and found yourself entering The Black Mask.

It was a nice spot, the booths and bar all packed with socialites and crime lords. Waitresses and shot girls flitted around, there was a band playing on the stage, and the atmosphere seemed to be cheerful. Honestly, it wasn’t what you had expected, given what you’d heard about its owner.

Roman Sionis was a businessman, as he liked to call himself, who had been steadily growing his empire. He practically owned the entire East End now, and word on the street was he was looking to expand further into the rest of Gotham. You had never met the man, but you had enough mutual connections that Roman knew exactly who you were the moment he spotted you at the bar.

“Zsasz, go get her,” he said, gesturing towards you with a gloved hand.

Zsasz followed his gaze and tilted his head slightly. “You got it, boss.”

You were minding your own business, ordering yourself a gin and tonic and elbowing drunk men out of your way as you carved a little spot for yourself at the bar. They were rambunctious, leaning towards you with wide grins and beady eyes that told you they were hoping to get lucky tonight.

As you were getting ready to throw another elbow, the men suddenly scattered, vanishing into the crowd as if something had scared them off. The bartender set your drink down in front of you, and just as you raised the glass to your lips, the scent of musky cologne filled your nose and you looked up to see none other than the notorious Victor Zsasz standing before you.

“Boss wants to talk with you.” He said simply, his voice rough and hoarse.

But you were too busy taking in his facial features to really listen to his words. His short hair was the lightest blonde you had ever seen, almost snowy in color, a stark contrast to the black stubble that covered his jaw. He was wearing a silky dress shirt the color of red wine, or dark blood, the kind that was thick and coagulated and dripped off of knives so beautifully.

As he stared right back at you, you saw the scars that cut into his face, straight, meticulously carved lines that you were sure he had given himself. After all, just as you did, Victor Zsasz had a reputation, and while you had never met him, you had heard plenty about the sadistic assassin who kept tally marks of all of his victims.

Part of you wondered just how many he had.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his. “I only just got here. I haven’t even paid for my drink.”

“On the house, courtesy of Mr. Sionis.” Zsasz said, regarding you with heavily lidded eyes as he looked down at you.

Just as you knew of him, he knew of you. Even though he was pretty much locked in place with Roman now, Zsasz heard plenty about everyone else in the East End. You practically ran in the same circles, and he had to admit, he was a tiny bit curious about the lady assassin everyone was raving about. He almost admired the messiness of your kills, but he also thought that you were sloppy and too quick, never taking the time to truly appreciate what you were doing.

Now, as he glanced down at the swell of your tits as they practically spilled out of your dress, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill you, or fuck you, or both.

“It’s rude to stare, Mr. Zsasz.” You teased as you caught him.

“It’s rude to keep the boss waiting.” He shot right back.

“Fine.” you sighed, pushing away from the bar. “Lead the way.”

He offered his hand and you took it, holding onto him gingerly. The crowd parted for Zsasz in a way that they never would for you, smoothly and easily, club patrons giving him polite, frightened nods as he pulled you past. His grip on your hand was tight and harsh, squeezing as if you might try to run, but in all honesty, you were marveling at how warm his skin was around yours. You didn’t hate the way he led you over to his employer, and you knew that he was being gentle, or at least his version of it.

When he brought you before Roman Sionis, he immediately let go of you, moving to stand next to his boss. Roman himself was sitting in a booth, sinking into the lavish red velvet upholstery as he held a drink in his gloved hand. He regarded you with a calm smile, immediately gesturing for you to take a set across from him.

So you did, and the rest was history.

Roman Sionis had heard of you, and when he realized that you lived in the East End, in his East End, he had to have you. He had to own you. So, he did what he always did with people, and he bought you. All you had to do was complete one little, simple job for him, and he would keep you around on a regular salary, giving you all the benefits of joining his tiny little family. You passed his test with flying colors, taking out your target faster than Roman could have hoped for, and the next thing you knew, you were spending your days lurking around Roman’s penthouse.

You stayed quiet and obedient, not wanting to give Roman any reason to get rid of you. It was a good, steady gig, one you didn’t want to pass up, but you could tell that Zsasz wasn’t pleased. He scowled at you, always waiting for you to trip, always ready to watch you fall. You got the feeling that he viewed you as an intruder, someone who was messing up his life even though you gave him more than enough space. He would raise his lip in a sneer whenever you passed, showing off gold teeth in a maddeningly handsome way that always had you hoping and praying that he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks sometimes flushed. He never seemed to care, as he never made any other moves. Maybe he was under strict orders not to fuck with--or just plain fuck---you, or maybe he legitimately didn’t want to.

You didn’t know why you had started to care so much.

You didn’t know about the way he watched your ass when you walked away from him, or the lewd way he sometimes palmed himself right out in the open. You never heard his pants and moans as he got off to the thought of you wrapped around him, and you never got to hear your name rolling off his tongue as he spilled into his hand, hips rocking of their own accord.

Yeah, Zsasz was pretty much head over heels. He was fucked.

He didn’t know why he liked you so much. There was just something about you, something about the way you walked and talked that always made his cock hard. He had reached the point where you would enter a room, and his pants would grow tight. Did you even know? Could you possibly fathom the torture you were putting him through every single day in Roman’s penthouse? Zsasz wanted to grab you and bend you over something, anything, hike that cute little skirt up and just go to town on your cunt. He dreamed about it at night, he wanted it, he craved the taste of your pussy...

But he couldn’t have it.

Not yet.

He would wait. He could be patient. After all, Roman came first. Roman always came first. Zsasz needed to focus on keeping his boss calm and happy, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted, no matter how much he wanted to press you up against the windows and fuck you so that the entire East End could see who you belonged to.

No matter how badly he wanted it, Zsasz would wait.

#victor zsasz #victor zsasz x reader #zsasz x reader #bop zsasz #birds of prey zsasz #birds of prey imagine #birds of prey x reader #roman sionis #dceu #dc imagines

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yeoandmoon · 3 years

Text

you are now listening to graceland too by phoebe bridgers! ( yeosang x f!reader )

fluff, burnout!yeosang, bassist!yeosang, writer!reader, childhood friends 2 lovers but also idiots 2 lovers, yeosang and reader run away, seongjoong are engaged, wooyoung + yeonjun have a band, there is only one bed, yeosang has a nose ring, it’s implied reader has a bad relationship with her mother, wc is 3.1k

NOTE: happy yeosang day! this was a doozy to write, but i hope you all enjoy it! its based off one of my favourite phoebe bridgers songs! :)

There’s a mural on the wall of the hotel lobby. It’s a warm toned painting of a forest, with a hint of a bright blue sky peeking out from the top of the trees. There’s a moose standing at the forefront of the mural, and a little fox sleeping on a rock towards the bottom, surrounded by colourful flowers and leaves.

The mural confused you, if you were being honest. The hotel you worked the night audit at was situated in the busy downtown centre of the city you lived in, and there were barely any forests for miles around the city - let alone any wildlife, like moose or foxes. Hongjoong said it was to make guests feel more ‘in touch with nature’ and to help people forget about the ‘problems of the real world’, while Yeosang claimed it was ‘just another scam in the tourist trap’.

You, on the other hand, was sure the mural was put there to torture you. You would spend nights having staring contests with the moose (which, to your surprise, you always lost), or you would spend hours on Google with Hongjoong trying to find out what species of fox the sleeping fox was (you were sure it was a cape fox, while Hongjoong swore up and down that it was a gray fox). The blue sky between the trees teased you; a reminder that most of your days were spent in the library at your university, or in this dimly lit lobby.

Sometimes, it felt like the only time you saw the sunshine was when you were with Yeosang.

Despite the occasional burnout and the lack of seeing sun most days, you didn’t mind the job. You were always more of a night person, and your classes were always later in the day so you did manage to pull in some sleep. Due to the late hours, you usually only dealt with customers in the first hour or two of your shift, and most of that was just directing confused Ubereats delivery people and pretty Tinder dates to hallways and rooms. It was the perfect job to work on your writing, and get your school work out of the way without listening to your mother cry about how you’re throwing your life away like your sister.

Plus, you could think of a hundred worse people to spend the night shift with than the nighttime valet, Hongjoong. Hongjoong often kept you occupied with his latest reforms and art projects, and stories about his fiancee, Seonghwa & their friend, Yunho (who he kept insisting you needed to go on a date with).

“Your emo boy is coming.”

Well, you could think of ninety-nine worse people to spend the night shift with than Hongjoong, who sat next to you at the check-in desk.

You scoff, “He’s not my emo boy.” You mumble, glancing at the street entrance to see Yeosang walk in with an ice coffee on hand.

Despite your words, Kang Yeosang was your person (you wouldn’t quite use the term ‘emo boy’, even if it did fit), and he had been since your family moved in next door to his family when you two were children. Although your friendship lately had been reduced to these late night meetings while you two were on break on your respective graveyard shifts (you at the hotel and Yeosang at the convenience store down the block, of course) and occasional meetings in the garden when you were both running errands for your families, you still considered Yeosang one of your dearest memories.

It was hard not too, you suppose. He had been there for many of your firsts, and was always cheering you on. Yeosang always made you feel powerful and important - like a powerful heroine, and not his bratty next door neighbor who cried on his doorstep after being dumped by her first year partner. He always made you feel wanted.

Yeosang grinned at you as he stepped into the lobby (if your heart fluttered in your chest, you ignored it). He had on a backwards dad cap, and he had recently changed his nose ring out for the gold hoop San had bought him for his birthday. You could just faintly see his birthmark peeking out from where his bleach blonde hair curled under the hat.

“Hello, Sunshine.” He greets you, setting the coffee down on your desk.

You set the pen you were holding down, “Hi Yeosang.”

Upon first glance at Yeosang, you can tell he’s buzzing about something. He’s leaning over the check-in counter and chewing on his lip while making small talk with Hongjoong about the tourist season.

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your coffee as Yeosang turns back to you, “Do you remember Wooyoung and Yeonjun?”

You nearly choke on your coffee at the mention of your other neighbor and ex-boyfriend. Wooyoung had moved onto your street a few years after you had, and quickly became apart of the little bond you and Yeosang had formed. He moved to the coast with Yeonjun, your ex, the first chance they had gotten, but Wooyoung’s family remained in the neighborhood.

“I babysat Woo’s brother the other day…” You watched your friend, “Did something happen? Mrs Jung didn’t say anything the other day.”

Yeosang grins, and it’s his scheming grin, “Their band got signed,” He tells you, “They need a new bassist, and Wooyoung showed them that video you took of me from that show last month. Their label wants me to come down; play a few shows with them, record a couple demos. See if we have chemistry, basically.”

Your eyes widen - both out of excitement and fear. You were happy and excited for Yeosang! This is the opportunity he had been wanting for years, but you were also terrified.

You were terrified in a horrible, selfish way because you knew if Yeosang left to join Wooyoung and Yeonjun, he’d never come back to you.

“That’s… That’s great, Yeo!” You manage a grin whilst trying to shove the selfish thoughts away, “When do they want you there?”

Yeosang’s smile falters, just for a moment but you still catch it, “Monday.”

“F-Five days?”

He nods, “I’m leaving Saturday morning, so I can be there Sunday afternoon.”

You can see it in his eyes; he’s terrified too.

Before you can say anything else, Yeosang leans over the check-in counter and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, “I have to get back to work, Sunshine.” He tells you, his voice quiet as if he’s giving you a secret, “I’ll see you later.”

He’s already halfway down the lobby when you swear and move out of your chair, you quickly call his name as you move out from behind the desk. You rush over to where he’s standing, and look up at him. He’s confused.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when you pull him into a tight hug, “I’m proud of you, Yeo.”

Yeosang wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. His chest is warm, and you’re sure you could spend hours here. He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head, “I know, Sunshine.” He pulls away, his hand on your arm, “I really do have to go, though. I’m already late for work.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around your torso as you watch him leave the hotel and turn down the street to go back to the convenience store. When you turn back around, Hongjoong is watching you with an amused look on his face.

You glare at him as you walk back to the desk, “Don’t you have a fiance to call, or something?”

----------------

You were tired.

Friday nights were always busy, but tonight was draining and loud and you could only take so much of Miss Liu’s incessant phone calls about mundane things at 3am. All you wanted to do was go home, and fall into your bed and sleep for hours.

Hongjoong didn’t help your mood either. It was an innocent question about Yeosang, asking if you’d seen him since he visited you on his break but it pushed your mood down to a low point. You had been so busy the past few days, and if you were being honest with yourself, you had been avoiding Yeosang.

You weren’t ready to see him leave. You knew it was selfish, but you figured avoiding Yeosang was easier than admitting you didn’t want him to leave you behind. You would just simply watch his life through Instagram and consider the ‘what-ifs’ in your life.

You shouldered your tote bag after clocking out before yelling a good-bye to Hongjoong. You could see the beginning rays of morning sun hitting the other buildings in the downtown core as you stepped out the employee doors, and then you were hit by the sight of Yeosang leaning against one of the pillars.

Your eyes widen, “Yeosan-”

“Come with me.”

You stop. Your words are left in your throat, “W-Wh… Go with you? To the coast?”

Yeosang nods, “Come with me,” He steps forward, taking your hands in his, “What do you have here? A degree you don’t care about? A job you hate?”

You frown, running over his words in your head, “I-I have my mom. And… I have Hongjoong!”

He raises an eyebrow, “Y/N, Sunshine… Your mom will barely notice you’re gone, and Hongjoong can visit us.” He cupped your cheek.

You’re so busy having an internal crisis you hardly notice the usage of ‘us’. You’re considering the logistics in your head. Yeosang was right; you didn’t care about your degree, and all it would take was an email saying you quit for them to find a new front desk person. Your mom would be upset for a few weeks. She’d probably make some passive aggressive Facebook posts about you before acting like your best friend again.

“Yeosang…” You look up at him, your hand coming up to circle around his wrist.

“Your sister is there, and you could write everyday.” Yeosang adds on, “I did the math, Y/N. Between the two of us, we’d have 6 months to figure it out. 6 months, and we’ll come back here if nothing works out.”

You stay silent for a moment.

“Sunshine, I promised I’d show you the stars, didn’t I?”

You gasp at the promise. It was a silly promise he had made when you were both kids; something you’d almost forgotten about.

It hits you quickly: there’s no one else you’d rather run away with. There’s no one else you’d trust to run away with.

You look up at Yeosang, “Yes.”

He grins, “Yes?”

You nod, “Yes, Yeo. I’ll go with you.”

----------------

An hour. An hour was how long it took for you to turn your life upside down for Kang Yeosang.

In an hour, you had emailed your program advisor and told them you wouldn’t be returning for the next semester, and you had called your manager and told them you wouldn’t be coming in for your next shift, or any shift after that (which was promptly followed by a phone call from Hongjoong, who seemed more excited about this than you were). You had packed up most of your clothes and important belongings, and they were loaded into the back of Yeosang’s shitty car. You left a note for your mother, and before you knew it, you were sitting in the passenger’s seat of Yeosang’s car.

----------------

You had fallen asleep barely an hour into the car ride.

The rolling hills and fields outside your window made your eyes feel heavier, but you tried staying awake to keep Yeosang company.

“Go to sleep, Sunshine.” He tells you, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Yeosang’s promise was all it took for you to succumb to your exhaustion.

You don't usually remember your dreams. Though today, there are flashes of a beach, and a smile that takes your breath away. There are blue skies and if you try hard enough, you can just faintly smell sea salt.

You wake up hours later, smiling. True to his word, Yeosang is still there when you wake. He’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, and tapping his fingers to the beat of the song on the radio.

Yeosang smiles when he notices you’re awake, “I talked to your mother.”

Your eyes widen, “You talked to who?”

He laughs, “You didn’t answer your phone, so she called me.”

You frown, glancing at your phone in the free cup holder. You could imagine the amount of calls and texts that were in there.

“She wasn’t very happy.” Yeosang continues, “She wants you to call her when we get there.”

You nod, “Thank you, Yeo.” You say softly, looking over at him.

Yeosang throws you a smile, “Of course.”

“Not just for talking to my mom…” You watch him, “For not leaving me behind, too. Thank you.”

Yeosang reaches over, taking your hand, “I’d never leave you behind, Sunshine. You’d have to try really hard to get rid of me.”

----------------

The car ride was long, and full of Yeosang’s early 2000s emo playlist & fast food. You called your sister, who was ecstatic to hear about your plans and had immediately offered you and Yeosang her beach house. She made a comment about how ‘she always knew you two would end up together’, and it made your heart flutter when you glanced at Yeosang.

Yeosang told you about Wooyoung’s band, and how excited he was to play with Wooyoung. You smiled, listening to him fondly talk about your old friends and their music.

It was getting late though, and you could see it in Yeosang’s face that he was getting tired.

“We should stop for the night.” You tell him, “You’ve been driving since 6am, Yeo.”

He huffs, “We could drive through the night.” He proposes, “We’d make it to your sister’s place in a few hours.”

You frown, “Or... We could stop for the night, shower, and then leave first thing tomorrow morning. We'll get there by noon tomorrow.”

Yeosang glances at you, going to protest. He ends up yawning instead, his nose wrinkling slightly, “Fine.” He pouts.

You laugh, reaching for your phone to google the closest hotels. There's a comfortable silence in the car, filled with the occasional beat of Yeosang’s fingers on the steering wheel. You feel at ease, even if it's just for a moment.

“There’s a motel off the next exit.” You tell him, stifling a yawn of your own.

----------------

Sure enough, there had been a motel off the next exit. It was small and slightly rundown, but cheap and had an available room. You waited in the car while Yeosang went into the check-in office, promising to be back in a moment.

He came back dangling a key in his hand, and a slight frown on his face as he opened the car door to let you out.

“So... There’s only one bed.” He broke the news, a blush growing up his cheeks, “It’s all they had, unless we wanted to drive another hour down the highway.”

Your eyes widen, “O-Oh.” You glance at the key, and then back up at Yeosang, “I’ll sleep on the floor, or something.”

Yeosang frowns, shaking his head, “We can share for one night, Sunshine. I think it’ll be okay.”

Which leads you to here; lying almost nose to nose with Yeosang. Your hair was soaking wet from a shower in the tiny bathroom and the small motel bed wasn’t comfortable, but you didn’t seem to mind as you took in the man in front of you. You pushed the strands of bleach blonde hair out of his face, and your fingers softly lingered on the birthmark next to his eye.

His breath stuttered, “Y/N,” He says, his voice a mere whisper, “We’re free.”

You let your hand rest against his cheek. Your eyes lingered on his lips before you caught yourself, moving your gaze back up to his eyes.

Yeosang only smiled at you. He gently held your wrist as he tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on your palm, “I’m going to kiss you now, Sunshine.”

“Yes please.”

You felt every nerve in your body light up when Yeosang kissed you.

A small part of your brain told you that this is where you’re meant to be: in Yeosang’s arms.

You felt this way the first time Yeosang had kissed you too, all the way back on that roof in 11th grade. You two had been talking about the future; about your writing and Yeosang’s music. You looked up at the hazy night sky, and you asked Yeosang if you’d ever get to see the stars.

He smiled at you, telling you that he would show them to you one day before he kissed you so sweetly.

Yeosang still kissed you sweetly. He kissed you like you held the secrets of the universe in your hand for him to take.

You pulled away, “I think I love you.”

He smiles against your lips, rubbing soft circles into your wrist, “I think I love you too, baby.”

—————-

You had this assumption that the next morning would be awkward; that you would be stuck for the next 6 months with someone you could barely look in the eye because of a late night confession.

Instead, you awoke to Yeosang kissing your head and placing a bagel & ice coffee down for you. He had quickly ushered you into the shower, before you put on a change of clothes and were quickly led out to the car between bites of your bagel. This all happened over Yeosang telling you how you only had a few hours before you reached your sister’s beach house, and he wanted to try and make good time so you could enjoy the beach today.

You giggled at his antics before settling into the passenger’s seat for the last few hours of your journey.

You sipped your ice coffee as you watched out the window. The countryside on the highway zoomed by you, and the car was full of sunlight from Yeosang’s sunroof being open. There was a Fall Out Boy song on the radio, and you felt a sense of calm brush over you as Yeosang took your hand in his.

The sunshine had never felt so nice on your skin as Yeosang pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

taglist: @vanishingboots @sunsethw4

#ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #kang yeosang fluff #kang yeosang imagines #b.

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abbacchiosbelt · 3 years

Text

Hold On | Prosciutto x Reader

A commissioned fic for the wonderful Shae!

CW: Misogynistic comments [not from Prosciutto], oral sex. NSFW, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.3k words.

The sunlight filtering through the apartment’s cheap blinds forces you to blearily open your eyes, your gaze immediately falling to the man in the bed next to you – Prosciutto. The night you’d spent with him had been more than you’d ever dreamed of, especially with a man of Prosciutto’s caliber. Handsome, mysterious, and clearly well-off by the price of the dinner he’d taken you out to. Though he’d waved you away when you asked for the price, you managed to catch it out of the corner of your eye. Prosciutto had even spent the night with you, letting you fall asleep on his chest while he stroked your hair. It was tender, intimate – not something you necessarily expected after a single date.

Prosciutto stirs, as if he knew you were thinking about him, his eyebrows knit together and his mouth pulled into a frown. When he catches your eyes, you see a brief hint of a smile before he sits up and immediately stands to start gathering his clothes.

“You’re leaving already?” You sit up, pulling the covers over your chest. Prosciutto nods but doesn’t look over at you. Your stomach falls, but you should have expected it. At the very least, you wouldn’t have been opposed to him staying for a light breakfast. Once he’s fully dressed, he finally turns to look at you. His eyes are steely, portraying no emotion.

“It was…” He waves his hand in the air, searching for the word. “Very good. But, ah,” Prosciutto hesitates, watching your expression. He remembers the text Illuso had sent him in the middle of the night; a line in English to use when he left in the morning. “I’m a busy man, cara.” It’s only a little clunky when he speaks, the pet name afterwards flowing smoothly from his lips.

It was like that, then – his warmth from the night before must have been an act. You don’t bother trying to pretend that you’re okay with his behavior, instead giving him a cool look in return. You tilt your head towards the doorway, affixing him with a look that said everything he needed to know. “Ciao, Prosciutto.” The words are no longer kind like when you saw him on the sidewalk and stopped to talk to him, instead sounding final. He sighs and gives you one last lingering look before he steps out of the room. You don’t move until you hear your front door close.

“Bastard,” you mutter under your breath, flopping back down on your pillow. You cover up the side of the bed where he’d been sleeping with your comforter, ignoring the lingering scent of his cologne. You were tempted to waste the day in bed but instead decide to strip your sheets, throwing them unceremoniously in the washing machine and adding in too much fabric softener. At least the scent of him would be gone. A part of you feels foolish for being so upset, and yet another part of you can’t let go of how genuine Prosciutto seemed. While you didn’t want to deal with it today, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that there was something more to your night with him.

Prosciutto stubs his cigarette out on the ground, frowning at how many cigarette butts were littered around the front doorstep of his home and workplace. He could have cleaned it up himself, but he wasn’t the only smoker in the group, so why should he have to? The filth sours his already dour mood, the blonde muttering curses as he unlocks the building’s door. It hadn’t been his first choice to live with his teammates, but since the loss of Sorbet and Gelato, the close quarters provided them with an extra layer of safety.

Prosciutto groans in annoyance when the first faces to pop up into his view are Melone and Formaggio, the pair staring at him expectantly. Melone was lounging on the dingy couch he’d brought with him when he moved in, his laptop perched on his legs. Formaggio was sitting in the large chair that Risotto usually claimed, both of them looking like the cat who got the canary. It irked Prosciutto that they were staring at him like they knew something, and he wondered if Illuso hadn’t blabbed about the whole thing. It wouldn’t be unlike him.

“Welcome back,” Melone says, practically purring. The way he spoke made Prosciutto’s skin crawl – Melone always had a certain tone to his voice when he was going to say something inappropriate. “So, the neighbor girl? What was her name again? Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t remember now.” Melone’s mouth curls up into a smug smile, his tongue poking out. Prosciutto bristles, and Formaggio lets out an obnoxious snort.

“Knew you’d get to her first.” Formaggio whistles, wiggling his eyebrows. “Was her ass as good as it looked?” Prosciutto glares at Formaggio, his eyes darkening. The banter around who his teammates were fucking was something he should be used to, despite the fact Prosciutto didn’t enjoy participating in it. Something about this time, though, was filling him was anger. Formaggio continues, ignoring Prosciutto’s expression. “I bet she was easy for you. You pretty bastards practically make those easy slut’s panties fall off just from looking at them.”

“Ooh, and how was that pretty mouth of hers?” Melone chimes in – unlike Formaggio, he’d noticed Prosciutto’s growing rage, but took pleasure in upsetting the blonde. Prosciutto growls and steps forward, Grateful Dead rising from behind him. Before he can advance on them, a voice cuts through—

“Aniki! Y-you remember what Risotto said about Stands in here.” Pesci’s unsure voice breaks the tension in the room, Melone and Formaggio recoiling back at the sight of Prosciutto’s deadly Stand. Prosciutto takes a ragged breath before recalling his Stand, Pesci’s intervention forcing him to remember where he was. Pesci nervously steps over to Prosciutto; afraid he’d made him even angrier. Prosciutto claps Pesci on the shoulder.

“You’re right,” Prosciutto says. His cool demeanor is back in an instant. He doesn’t bother to look at Melone and Formaggio when he starts to walk back towards his room, saluting Pesci with two fingers before he shuts the door behind him. Prosciutto lets out a deep breath when the door is securely locked, kicking off his expensive shoes. He preferred to spend as much time as possible away from this place, but there were no errands that needed to be run nor any missions that he and Pesci were suited for at the moment. He had a rare few hours to himself before someone would inevitably knock at his door to bother him. Alone time was something sacred to Prosciutto, but with the thoughts boiling over in his head about her, it was something he was dreading. He glances at the English dictionary Ghiaccio had (loudly) snuck into his room, his stomach twisting.

There was no denying that Prosciutto had fallen for her.

Feelings were a dangerous thing for an assassin to have. Prosciutto was trained from a young age on how to push his feelings to the back of his mind – he was primed for Mafia life. Passione and completing the missions given to him came before anything else, especially his own personal life. Prosciutto had lived that way for years. Emotions were drowned in cheap booze and cigarettes, any fleeting feelings he may have stamped out by his own harsh nature. He had never spent a second night with anyone he’d slept with in the past five years, and that was going to be how he lived until he died. Prosciutto was well aware of the dangerous life he lived – he was cold, but he wasn’t cold enough to put someone in harm’s way, even if he wanted them more than anything.

Even if they had made warmth bloom in his chest for the first time in years and made him truly feel something.

Prosciutto closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as he sits on his bed, fishing another cigarette out of his jacket’s pocket. He preferred to smoke outdoors, but he can’t be bothered to care in his current emotional state. Prosciutto lights his cigarette and takes a deep drag, letting the smoke burn his throat before he exhales. He thinks about the previous night – how lovely his company had been and how much she’d made him laugh. How well they clicked despite the language barrier, and how easy it felt with her; her demure smile before he’d taken her to bed, and how easily she had made him fall apart.

Prosciutto knows he should ignore his feelings. It’s what he was trained to do, after all. It’s what he should do – but he knows he can’t. Not this time. He stands from his bed and opens the small window in his room, tossing his half-finished cigarette out.

He’d give her time – a week for both of them to cool their heads. Even if she didn’t want to see him again, he had to try.

The next few days pass by without incident. You go to work and continue life as it was before, frustrated but determined to move on. Your phone stays silent, and you try to ignore the part in you that hopes it will ring.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. It was just one date.

When you hear a knock on the door one week to the day after your date with Prosciutto, you’re cautious. The neighborhood you lived in wasn’t known for its safety, and it was rare that anyone knocked on your door. Clad in loungewear, you peek through the eyehole to see the last person you were expecting.

There stood Prosciutto, shifting from side to side. You unlock your door and crack it open, watching as Prosciutto’s eyebrows shoot up for a moment before his face returns to its grumpy looking state. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to answer.

“Can I come in?” Prosciutto asks, quiet. You hesitate, wondering exactly what he could want. He doesn’t pressure you, waiting in silence while you deliberate. You knew you might regret it, but you open the door and usher him in. He shuts the door behind himself and leans against it, biting his bottom lip. You hadn’t known him long, but you had never seen him look so anxious. “Bella, I…” He starts, trailing off.

You stop him before he gets too far, crossing your arms. “I don’t want some apology you give to every girl.” Prosciutto frowns but doesn’t interject. “You hurt me.”

Prosciutto nods, and you raise an eyebrow at him. He pauses for a second while he thinks about what he wants to say. “Mi dispiace, Shae.” His eyes meet yours, the sound of your name coming from his mouth making your heart pound. It was almost criminal how easily you wanted to forgive him, but you needed more than just an apology. Prosciutto takes a step forward and holds his hand out. You place your hand in his, hesitant. He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss against the back of it. “Can we… try again?” Prosciutto is earnest when he speaks, your hand still resting in his. He threads his fingers through yours, a soft smile on his face. “Per favore?”

As tempting as it was to accept his apology, you refused to let him back into your life without making sure Prosciutto knew how you felt – about how you wouldn’t just be tossed to the side again. You keep a hold of his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Prosciutto, I want to, but…” He raises his eyebrows, but his deep blue gaze doesn’t leave yours. “Tell me the truth. Do you want me?” Prosciutto opens his mouth, but you use your free hand to press your index finger against his lips. He looks surprised, but he keeps his mouth shut. “Not just now. But in the future?” You think for a moment that you might need to translate for him, but Prosciutto nods eagerly. He pulls you into him, wrapping one arm around your waist.

“Sì, Shae. I want you,” he leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. “Now. Tomorrow. Costantemente.” He breathes, ghosting a kiss across your lips. “Can I?”

You close the gap between your mouths as an answer, Prosciutto’s responding groan as his warm lips found your own making your lower half ache – you’d been dreaming of feeling his touch again. Prosciutto lets go of your hand and grabs the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. He was more vocal than he’d been last week, his moans needy as you slide your tongue across his lower lip.

For the first time, Prosciutto felt like he could let his walls down around someone – he can barely think with your lips finally on his again. Never had he ached so much for someone. To Prosciutto, you felt like a lover he’d been with for years. He wanted to make it up to you for being such a fool, to treat you like the goddess he saw you as. He slides his hands down your body and squeezes your ass before hauling you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. The surprised noise that you let out makes Prosciutto’s already hardening length twitch, but it was the last thing on his mind. The only thing he could think about was hearing you cry out for him as he buried his face in between your legs. He maneuvers you to your bedroom like he’d been in your home a million times, gently laying you down on the bed before hungrily looking over you.

The fact you only had loungewear on while Prosciutto was dressed in his usual outfit makes you feel self-conscious, but the blonde barely seems to care what you have on. You squirm as his eyes rove up and down your body, Prosciutto grinning at your reaction.

“Sei bellissima,” he purrs. The words affect you just as much as they had the first time you heard them from Prosciutto, your heart thumping in your chest. To be called beautiful by someone as handsome as Prosciutto felt unreal, but you knew by the look in his deep blue eyes that he was sincere. Prosciutto crawls over you on the bed and puts his fingers under the hem of your shirt, waiting.

“Take it off.” Prosciutto hums, pleased at your eager response, and wastes no time sliding your shirt up and off. He bites his lip at the sight of your freed breasts and uses his hands to cup them, softly rubbing his thumb over your hardening nipples. The soft touches have you arching into his fingers, greedy for more. “Please,” you beg, and Prosciutto smirks. He leans down and captures your right nipple in his mouth, his warm tongue circling around the bud before he flicks it, repeating the rhythm before moving to your other breast. One hand travels down your body while he works your breasts, his hand trailing over your hip bone and dipping slightly beneath the fabric covering your lower half. He pulls back and admires his handiwork, his cock uncomfortably hard in his pants now. Prosciutto ignores it, focusing on you instead.

Prosciutto trails kisses down your torso until he reaches your lower stomach, his eyes flitting up to look at you under his dark lashes. “May I?” He asks, playing with the hem of your pants.

“P-please,” your voice is wobbly – he hadn’t done this last time, and you were a little nervous. Prosciutto presses a kiss to your stomach and lifts his head, your anxiety obvious to him. You know he’ll ask you if you’re sure, so you beat him to it, your cheeks darkening. “I want it,” Your eyes don’t leave Prosciutto’s. “Please, Prosciutto.” Asking for what you want is enough to make your cheeks blaze even harder from embarrassment, but Prosciutto’s wide smirk is evidence that he enjoys how forward you were being.

Prosciutto slides your pants down and off your legs with ease before he moves back up and gently spreads them apart, exposing your glistening pussy. You feel embarrassed at how wet you are, but it was impossible not to be with Prosciutto’s masterful kissing and touching. He licks his lips as he gazes at your sex, using two fingers to spread your lips apart.

“P, Prosciutto-” you whisper-shout, flustered. If you could see his mouth, you’d see the grin on his face.

“Hm?” He replies, leaning forward. You can feel his warm breath on you, the sensation making your body feel hyper aware. “Perfetta.” You shiver, remembering his words from your previous encounter – despite the embarrassment from being exposed in front of him, you were dying to know how his mouth felt. Your wish is granted when Prosciutto suddenly licks a long stripe from your perineum to your clit using the flat of his tongue, a growl coming from his throat as he tastes your juices.

“Oh!” You shout, the feeling of his tongue almost too good. Prosciutto doesn’t give you a chance to think before his mouth is back on your pussy again, the combination of sloppy kisses and practiced flicks of his tongue on your clit driving you crazy. He uses his arms to drag you forward so that your legs are over his shoulders while he works at you like a man starved – he uses his tongue to fuck your pussy as deep as he can, rutting against the bed for his own relief.

Prosciutto’s jaw is aching, but he refuses to stop – and how could he, when you looked so beautiful writhing above him? The heady scent of you combined with the divine taste had his cock leaking precum in his slacks. All he wanted to do was take his own cock out and fuck you until his name was the only thing you could remember, but he refused to do so without finishing his apology to you with his mouth. He feels your legs shaking around him and switches tactics, using his tongue and mouth on your clit, groaning when he feels your hands tug at his hair. He allows you to push him in just the right spot, his own body buzzing with pleasure as you use him.

You cry out and press yourself hard against Prosciutto as his tongue finally takes you over the peak that’d been building up in your body, your eyes clenching shut as your legs clamp around him, white hot pleasure coursing through your lower half. Your body feels like it’s floating as you come down, your legs and arms going limp with relief. Prosciutto lifts his head from your pussy, face glistening with your juices and a smirk plastered across his face. He gently eases himself out from below you and sits against the pillows resting against your headboard. He moves so that you can rest your head against your lap, Prosciutto gently brushing through your hair with his fingers.

“Prosciutto,” You murmur, your mind still hazy. “Let me take care of you.” He shakes his head from above you, giving your head a pat before he goes back to stroking your hair.

“Later, tesoro.” The pet name makes your stomach flutter, and you give him a lazy smile. He smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling. It’s the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him. You close your eyes, eventually falling asleep to Prosciutto’s soothing touches.

When you wake up, you’re covered in the comforter. There’s something warm wrapped around you – when you look over, you see Prosciutto snoozing away, his hair loose and spread around the pillow. You smile and settle back down, warmth flowing through your chest when Prosciutto cuddles closer to you in his sleep.

This time, you knew he would be there in the morning.

#my writing #commission #not sfw #prosciutto #jojo's bizarre adventure #prosciutto x reader #vento aureo #la squadra #cw misogyny #jjba #jjba fic

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