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wordsbyrian · 2 years

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Overprotective - Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: Part 2 of Team Dad, in which R is an overprotective father.

A/N: This isn't the fic that I wanted to post today but I was an idiot who made the decision to write a 5th holiday fic the day before I post. So you guys get this one which was supposed to be for next week instead but that means 2 holiday fics next week. Also this is barely proofread so sorry about that.

Ever since it became common knowledge that you are the team dad of the Spanish national team, fans have been making a ton of videos showing off your most protective on-field moments.

To be honest, you find the whole thing to be a little ridiculous because any teammate worth their salt should make a fuss when one of their own gets taken down.

But, in all fairness, you might take it a little too far, especially if the number of yellows your mouth has earned you is anything to go by.

Currently, you find yourself in one of those exact situations as you get in the face of the Norse player who just took Pina off her feet.

You’re so focused on verbally tearing the player a new one that you barely register the combined efforts of Mapi and Patri to push you away from her.

Even when your club teammates, Maria and Vilde, come over you don’t cool it.

It takes the ref coming over and threatening to card you for you to walk away from the young Norsewoman.

“Try doing your job ref,” you tell her before walking to get in position.

Luckily Pina seems to be perfectly fine, more than fine in fact because less than five minutes after coming back on the field, she does what she does best and sends the ball soaring into the back of the net.

“La Estrella Bebe does it again,” you say, joining the group hug and patting her on the head, “Let’s finish strong girls.”

And you do, although when Patri gets taken down by the same Norse player that took down Claudia, you can’t help but run your mouth.

“Ref, you’re eyes, do they work,” you ask the center ref, “I’m seriously asking because I want to know. Usually, when someone puts their studs into an opponent's legs, that’s a card. So I’m just wondering.”

“Watch yourself, Y/L/N,” the ref says.

“What, it’s a serious question that I want an answer to because normally that’d be at least a yellow.”

For a moment, you think that your pleas have worked, watching as the ref begins to pull a yellow card out of her pocket. Those hopes are dashed when it’s shown to you instead of the Norsewoman.

“Wrong person,” you say walking away.

When the game ends, after you’ve apologized to Maria, Vilde, and their teammate, you’re pulled to the side for a discussion with your coach.

With that out of the way, you re-enter the locker room only to be greeted by the sight of your teammates recreating your outbursts.

“Ref, do your eyes work,” Leila mimics to the amusement of everyone else.

“Ok tonto, we get it, you’re funny,” you say taking a seat at your locker.

Your protective streak shows itself again later that week during a team outing to a nightclub.

And by this point, you’re certain that the universe really wants to see you punch someone over one of the younger players.

Why do you say that?

Because for the last 15 minutes, you’ve been standing in the corner watching as a guy blatantly stares at Laia and tries to subtly follow her around the dance floor.

Of course, you do realize that she can take care of herself but it's always better safe than sorry.

What you don’t realize is how hard you’ve been glaring at the guy, trying to get him to leave her alone with the power of your mind.

And you don’t realize it until you find yourself glaring at your girlfriend instead.

“Hi amor,” you say, leaning around her to keep your eyes on the strange man.

“Hola,” Alexia responds leaning into you, “What are you doing standing in the corner by yourself?”

Filling her in on what you're doing, you aren’t surprised when she rolls her eyes at you.

“You’re supposed to be having fun,” she says, pressing her body against yours.

“No, I’m supposed to make sure all of you get home safe, especially you drunky.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You’re not drunk,” you repeat incredulously, “So it wasn’t you that untucked my shirt so that you could put your hands up it. A ghost did all that?”

It’s a good thing you weren’t expecting a response because the slightly painful way Alexia rakes her nails down your back lets you know you aren’t getting one.

Rolling your eyes, you pull her closer to you and try to relocate the guy who was watching Aleixandri.

And you do find him.

The only problem is that he’s apparently gathered up enough confidence to approach her and it appears he is not taking no for an answer.

Shaking your head, you unwrap Alexia’s arms from around you and begin walking toward them.

As you walk away, you can hear her yell something about not making any dumb decisions but you’re too focused to worry about the consequences of your actions.

When you get close enough, you place your hand on the back of the man’s neck and yank him away from the City player.

“Hey there, buddy,” you say, turning him around to face you, “This is the only warning I’m going to give you, leave her alone. Stop staring at her from across the room and if you value your ability to chew your food, do not approach her again.”

The idiot looks unimpressed and slightly confused.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that if I see you near her again, I will break your jaw so badly that you’ll be tube fed for the rest of your life,” you tell him, glare firmly planted on your face. “In fact, you might as well go home now because I’ll break your jaw if I see you talking to any woman for the rest of the night.”

He takes a step forward, trying to intimidate you, but the effect is ruined by the way his voice shakes when he says, “You can’t do that.”

“Do you want to test that theory,” you ask him, taking a step towards him in return.

By this point, a lot of attention has been drawn to the pair of you, so you’re not surprised when a few security guards make their way over.

“What seems to be the problem over here,” the taller one asks.

Shrugging your shoulders, you roll your eyes when the idiot begins speaking.

“The problem,” he says turning to the guard, “is that this woman has just threatened to physically harm me.”

“Is that true?”

“Of course not,” you lie, “Ask anyone, I did not say anything to him besides asking him to leave my friend alone.”

The people around you nod in agreement with what you’ve said.

Upon seeing this, the shorter security guard massages his temples and sighs heavily before speaking, “How come every time you come here we have the same problems, Jorge?”

He then grabs the idiot by the shoulder and leads him away.

“So that guy regularly harasses women and he’s still allowed to come here,” you ask the remaining guard.

“His uncle is the owner,” he explains before walking off.

Taking a deep breath, you look over at Laia and see her laughing at something Patri said.

That doesn’t last very long though because you're approached by Jenni who informs you that it’s time to go.

It isn’t until you’re all walking back to the hotel that you learn that anyone heard what you said.

“Do you like to chew your food,” Claudia asks Aitana, recreating the way you pulled the man to face you.

“What are the two of you on about,” Leila asks.

“That’s what Y/N said to the guy who was bothering Laia,” Pina explains.

“No, it’s not,” Ona says, “It was more like this.”

You all watch as Ona stops in the middle of the sidewalk and puffs out her chest in a hilarious mimicry of you.

“Stop staring at her from across the room and if you value your ability to chew your food, do not approach her again,” she says, trying to make her voice sound like yours. “Then she was like, I’ll break your jaw and you’ll be tube fed for the rest of your life.”

You can’t help but laugh at the display because there’s no doubt that you looked that ridiculous while talking to that man.

“Y/N/N,” Alexia says, letting go of your hand, “Please tell me you did not threaten that guy from the club.”

“Alright, I did not threaten that guy from the club,” you say plainly, “I made him a promise, whether he felt threatened by it was out of my control.”

That gets you some laughs from the team but only earns you a glare from your girlfriend.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“None of us know why you’re surprised,” Mapi says. “Y/N spent the entire night standing in the corner like the overprotective papa she is.”

“I’m not overprotective.”

Unlike earlier in the club when everyone agreed with you, this time you’re met with various noises of disagreement.

“Alright, fuck you guys. I’ll just let creeps hit on you from now on.”

The response is as instant as it is simultaneous.

“No, you won’t.”

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #womens soccer #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #espwnt imagine #espwnt x reader

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darklydeliciousdesires · 6 months

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Nobody's Girl - Chapter Three.

Check your girl out over here like Oprah. YOU get another chapter, and YOU get another chapter, and so on! I am seriously so flattered by everyone loving the story so far, and watching you all so rabidly consuming it makes me so very happy :)

With the time off work I have had recently, it's meant the story has virtually written itself, I'm up to chapter eleven in the writing, so what I thought would originally be a shorter series has turned into a longer one, meaning I can update more regularly. Well, I can only hope you like this chapter just as much as the previous two, and if you do, remember to leave me a little comment, or a reblog. You would have my eternal gratitude for doing so!

Previous chapters - One Two

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,300

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Conversation. With a woman he wasn’t involved with. Truly, Luca couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever enjoyed such, but there he was on an otherwise quiet Thursday night experiencing just that. A soft flurry of snow gently drifted down outside, his apartment the warm cocoon he and Emily sequestered themselves within, sitting on the couch, mostly her sharing stories of her life before she’d literally fallen into his.

“I remember there was this one time, back when I first got caught up with them, I was taken for a game at this house in Queens. Joey had loaned me to his brother, Giacinto, but of course there was the issue of how he could get me in at the table. So, he made a bet on a bet, I guess you’d call it. Strode in there and announced that he bet each player two hundred bucks they couldn’t beat me in a game of seven card stud.

“Of course, part of the point of poker is counting cards, but I can do it faster and better, and I did. I won Giacinto five grand in one night, and most of the guys were pissed as hell that I’d beaten them, except for one. He was an older guy, thick glasses, big birthmark on his cheek. He told me I was every man’s worst nightmare, a pretty blonde with a brain, and he respected that.”

“That’s Jimmy Phelan, Irish mob from Philly,” Luca nodded, quite impressed that she’d grabbed his attention.

She clicked her fingers in remembrance. “Yeah, Jimmy. That was his name. I’ve met so many wiseguys that it’s hard to keep up with all of the names. I remember the ones who have curious nicknames, like Carmine the Boots, and Duck Foot Silv. I never asked how they got them, though.”

Luca knew, of course. “Carmine is the boots ‘cuz that’s what he does to those who earn it, fits ‘em with a nice set of concrete boots and sends ‘em off for a swim in the Hudson River. Silvio, they call him duck foot ‘cuz the guy was born with webbed toes.”

Her eyes widened, leaning forward in her seat. “Have you seen the toes?”

“I have,” he smirked, scratching his jaw,. “He does this trick, sticks a quarter on his big toe and flicks it about ten feet in the air.”

She snorted with giggles, sipping her drink and catching an ice cube to chew upon. The sound of her cracking it between her teeth did something to his insides that he couldn’t explain, but was very, very pleasant. “I bet he’s a good swimmer too, huh?”

“Guy don’t need no flippers, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”

He looked at her for a long moment, enchanted as usual by her loveliness. It was so easy with her. She knew exactly who and what he was, and she just accepted it without fuss, acting unguarded with him, rather than either trying to work him out or shrink in intimidation. It made a nice change, to simply experience a slice of normality like that, and especially with a woman. Most only wanted him for his money or the association of who he was.

Or his cock. He was famed for having one hell of a nice cock, after a woman he’d bedded had been very loud in her praise of it one time.

“So yeah, back to Jimmy being nice to me. He gave me a hundred dollars, said I’d earned it, being such a good card player. I was amazed, and I thought the cash was mine to keep, but not according to Giacinto. Copped a huge beating for that assumption, ended up with this.”

Hooking her finger into her mouth, she pulled her cheek back to reveal the empty gum space where her back teeth should have sat, Luca feeling caustic within. How hard must he have punched her to knock a both a double and fucking wisdom tooth out, he had to wonder, remembering how tough his own had been to have extracted by a dentist.

“Bastardo,” he hissed, picking up his drink and knocking it back, refilling it. “Ain’t no big man’s game, sluggin’ a broad. You wanna prove you have cojones? Fuckin’ walk up to the biggest fella in the room and crack him in the mouth. S’what I used to do whenever I got thrown in Sing Sing as a kid, not long after I arrived here from England.”

“Have you ever done serious time for your endeavours?” she asked, lifting the wool shawl where it had slipped from her shoulders, Luca wishing she’d left it. Any chance he got to view more of her beautiful, lily skin, and he shamelessly took it. It had been gnawing at him for the past fourteen days since she’d been there, chewing away at his resolve like a starving wolf.

Usually, he’d have made his move by now on somebody he coveted. Hell, his record was ten seconds upon seeing a woman he desired, walking up to her and brashly asking a simple, three worded question. “Wanna fuck me?” No woman ever refused him. With Emily, though, because of her sheer loveliness, as tempting as it would be to corrupt, he held himself back.

It was a fierce internal conflict he waged war with, his rampant libido dictating he simply take her to bed and bounce her on his cock until she screamed his name, the very little morality left within him castigating such, because of how innocent and sweet the girl was. He couldn’t tarnish something that lovely and pure with the infection of his darkness. Until he could come to some resolve, he supposed he’d have to simply deal with the juxtaposition of wanting to cherish her like a princess and fuck her like a whore.

She was a billion miles away from the latter, though. Hence the conflict.

Also, he got the distinct impression that she was still too scared of him. For the most part, she was settled around him, a little shy still, but definitely comfortable enough to open up to him and talk, just like she was doing on that particular evening. If he showed the weight of his desire for her, though, she’d surely bolt. The last thing he wanted was for her to flee.

“I did a few years for theft, when I was eighteen,” he eventually replied, once he’d managed to finally pull himself back out of his thoughts. “Few times being locked up here and there in the time between, too.”

“Don’t you mafia guys have the police on payroll, or something?”

That was another reason why he held himself back. Would she truly want to remain in the world she’d been held prisoner in, should he instigate anything with her? Then again, at least this time she would have a choice. “We do now, yeah. Hence why I ain’t seen a cell in a while.”

“I think I’d cry if I was ever arrested. Jail sounds scary,” she spoke, sipping her drink, her sweetness making his chest hurt. Why did she have to be the loveliest little thing he’d ever met? It was making him crazy, the want to protect her, the need to fuck her dirty, both colliding with the resolve that he’d solely keep here there until he knew all he wanted about the Calabrese family.

It was a resolve that seemed to fracture away with every second that passed in her company.

She’d given him very useful information so far, too. Safe house locations his guys had duly gone in and looted, details of deals that she’d been made privy to that he’d been able to scupper before they’d had a chance to come to fruition. Because of Emily, he had the upper hand in the war against the family who – in his mind, at least – needed to show respect and fall back into line.

What would happen when the well that was her information dried up, though? What, he was simply meant to let this beautiful little creature, this utter mythical princess of a woman unlike any others he’d encountered simply be on her way, and leave his life with a little less pure, iridescent sparkle in her wake?

He was glad of the distraction when a heavy fist pounding the door below interrupted their evening, Emily nearly jumping out of her skin.

“S’okay,” he assured her as he stood, resting a hand to her shoulder. “That’s Angelo, he has a habit of knocking like he’s the fuckin’ police.” He headed to the stairs, descending, opening the door but remaining out of her sight as he and Angelo exchanged hushed whispers. Luca appeared again after a few minutes, looking lamentable, but also angry as he pulled himself into his thick, black coat.

“I have to go out, something I gotta attend to,” he spoke, Emily rising to her feet.

“Oh, alright. When will you be back?”

He shrugged, not looking pleased at all. “Hopefully not too long, but don’t wait on me, alright?”

She nodded, and then completely on blind impulse, reached for his face, pulling him down to her tiny level and kissing his cheek. “Be careful.”

His heart all but broke the ribs covering it with the force of its rapid thuds. He winked, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. “I will, doll.”

As he walked back down the stairs, he could still feel the soft press of her lips against his cheek, his pulse amped up from even the tiniest display of affection from his houseguest. He truly hadn’t expected it, and when he should have left the building with nothing but business on his mind, instead, it was only getting back to Emily again that occupied his thoughts.

Meanwhile, the girl herself flopped back onto the couch, sighing as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, god help me. I want that man so badly!” she grimaced, groaning with discomfort. Truly, she didn’t know how the hell to play it, either, feeling so conflicted.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with her, but she was too shy to reciprocate it, meaning he’d pull back and cool down with how he acted around her. Other times, she knew only too well he was trying to wheedle information regarding the Calabrese’s from her, information she found herself giving, getting herself furtherly wrapped up in a world she knew truly wasn’t any good for her.

How much danger was she in, though, from her place beneath the albatross-like wings of Luca Changretta? Nobody would be fool enough to touch her. However, that was only if she became more to him than whatever she was, she supposed. Then again, he had told her several times already she was safe with him.

Falling into a silly daydream, she imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her, those big, tattooed hands laying worship upon her, that sultry voice of his speaking his wants and desires. She let her mind wander for so long that she was still partially in a daze when she heard a rapid knock at the door, followed by the creak of it opening, the music no longer playing.

“Luca? It’s only me,” a female voice called, her heeled feet alighting the stairs. Before she could speak, a buxom looking redhead appeared, her face surprised as she took Emily in. “Oh, hi! I’m Maggie, and you are?”

“Hi, Maggie. I’m Emily, and Luca is out,” she spoke, picking up her drink and finishing it.

“Oh, oh alright. I must’a missed him leaving,” she muttered, holding two large jute bags in her hands. “I was just bringin’ up the takings to him, but I guess I can leave ‘em with you. You’re his new gal, right?”

She shook her head. “No, just his, uh, his friend.”

Maggie snorted, placing the takings down on the coffee table. “Luca don’t have gals who are just friends, sweetie pie.” She viewed her carefully, watching the way the young blonde blushed furiously, reaching for the vodka bottle. Only a tiny drizzle remained within.

“Damn,” Emily pouted, “I drank it all.”

“Hey, I gotta load of premixed cocktails I’d otherwise throw out. Fancy coming and helping me drink ‘em while I clean up for the night?” Maggie offered, suddenly feeling like she would be being rude to go and pour it all away, and leave the girl upstairs alone, waiting on a man who would likely be gone for hours. Especially too after she’d blatantly embarrassed the hell out of her by her assertion over her boss and his lack of female friends.

Who was she to judge? Stranger things had happened, she guessed, although she had to admit, she was very curious. If Luca wasn’t giving her a good fucking on the regular, then just what was she doing there? She had noticed her boss not present down in the joint for the last two weeks, with none of his usual rotation of females making their way up to the apartment. Curiosity demanded an answer.

Smiling, Emily rose to her feet, stuffing them into her shoes. “Sure, that’d be nice.” Following Maggie back down, she was ushered over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the high stools, the clean up in full effect as people swept, tidied and mopped, the band disassembling their instruments and returning them to their respective cases.

“Here, I hope you like Manhattan’s,” Maggie spoke, pouring a large measure into a copper mug and passing it over, topping off her own and holding it out. “Cheers, Emily.”

“Cheers.” She took a swig, the alcohol hitting her throat so hard, she almost coughed, the redhead throwing her head back.

“Sorry, sugar. I make ‘em potent!” she smirked, taking a soapy cloth and beginning to clean down the bar. “So, you and Luca. What’s the story, darl?”

Emily didn’t really feel comfortable with revealing the whole truth to a perfect stranger, even though obviously she was a trusted person by the man himself. She wouldn’t have been working in his speakeasy if she wasn’t. “I’m staying with him for a little while.”

“And you ain’t knockin’ boots with him?” she was then asked.

“No, definitely not,” she replied, taking another sip of the rocket fuel in her grasp.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, beginning to pick up liquor bottles from behind the bar and clean the runs and drips away with her cloth. “But you wanna, amirite? Everyone wants to fuck Luca, ‘cept me. I like ‘em a little prettier.”

Watching her wink as a cute, almost angelic looking blonde saxophone player walked past and waved goodnight, Emily caught her drift immediately. Turning back to Maggie, she shrugged lightly. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m his type.” By that point, she’d seen a picture of Filomena, his ex-wife when he’d shown her some photographs of his children. She was dark haired, buxom, Italian and glamorous. Everything she wasn’t.

“True,” Maggie spoke, pausing to light a cigarette, her cleaning endeavours finished. “But men like somethin’ a lil’ different, they’ll find themselves urging for a taste of the unfamiliar when it’s presented to ‘em. You should give him a go, darl. I hear he’s good with his cock.”

It was an unfortunate time to take a sip of the lethal Manhattan, Emily half spraying it back into the mug at her brazenness. Maggie couldn’t resist in teasing further. “One of the dancers here was fucking him a while back. Said he was hung like a bull and had the stamina of a guy half his age.”

Emily felt herself shrinking with every word, Maggie throwing her head back and laughing hoarsely. “Oh, ain’t you a cutie! Gettin’ all shy. Sorry, I know I’m brash. I’ll behave.”

Perhaps having a female perspective into her predicament might be helpful, she then pondered. Maggie seemed nice, friendly, too. It wasn’t like Emily had a whole lot in the way of friends, either, no gal pals to run her thoughts by. “Okay, so the truth is, I do want to,” she began, Maggie’s face lighting up as she leaned over the bar, huddling close.

“Tell me more, sugar!”

Pausing, she took another sip of her drink for courage. “I want to, but I never have before. With any man.”

The barmaid’s eyes all but fell out of her skull. “Really?”

She nodded.

“But... why? Sex is amazing with the right guy!”

Just then, a door flew open down at the other end of the room, one of the dancers striding out, mid-tirade. “It’s the fuckin’ same with all you fuckin’ Italian jerks!” she screamed, the guy following her looking nonchalant. “All of youse expect us to fuckin’ suck dick, but when it comes to returning it, nadda, nothin’, no sale! Would it fuckin’ kill you to eat me out just once, Luciano?”

He shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “I ain’t about that.”

“Yeah, me and my thirsty kitty cat know only too well, you two-bit fuck! We’re done!” She was out of the joint in a blur of sequins and fury, Emily and Maggie sharing a wide-eyed look at having front row seats to such a show.

“Yeah, he ain’t the right guy,” the latter snorted, jerking her thumb in the direction where Luciano, one of Luca’s street guys had just walked in, softly cussing to himself in Italian.

“To answer your question, I don’t know, really,” Emily confessed, thinning her lips momentarily. “I’ve never found anyone I like enough to do it with, I guess. It’s like I’m a beacon for shitty guys with bad intentions.”

Her confidant didn’t truly know how to answer that, since Luca did seem to go through women like they were entering and exiting in a revolving door. However, there was a plus point. “Well, if you decided to, at least it wouldn’t be a lousy first experience for ya. He’s forty-three, the man has heaps of experience, so it wouldn’t be like my first. Two pumps and a squirt, baby. I was so disappointed,”

The women both snorting laughing, Emily throwing her head back as she truly began to cackle loudly. Oh, she was funny, this brazen woman who had taken her under her wing and plied her with lethally potent cocktails. While she was beginning to relax and find herself making a new friend, the topic of their conversation was walking into a speakeasy in Bushwick, his crew around him.

“Luca, glad you could join me,” Giacinto Calabrese spoke, leaning back in his seat. “Drink?”

“No thanks,” he drawled through the chew on his toothpick, “won’t be stayin’ all that long. So, Angelo here tells me you gotta deal for me, huh?”

His adversary gestured to a chair, Luca taking a seat, his eyes never leaving the man as he felt his mood darkening, looking at his hands. Those were the knuckles that had smashed the teeth out of her mouth. “I do, because you have somethin’ of ours we want returned to us, but I’m a fair man. I’m happy to exchange.” Lifting his chin, he pulled his cigarettes out, lighting one up. “Give me the girl, and I’ll walk away from the warehouses in Yonkers. You have my word.”

He rolled his tongue against his cheek, chuckling a deadly hiss. “Your word is worth shit, and Emily ain’t for sale, pal.”

“Oh!” The wise assed man laughed, entertained. “On first name terms with the little puttana now, huh? Wait, I can’t call her that, though. Bitch is more frigid than a fuckin’ nun!”

Luca remained still, but his eyes moved with all the intent of a predator locking onto its target, slowly pulling the toothpick from between his lips. “The fuck you just call her, stronzo? A bitch?”

“Yeah,” Giacinto laughed, “I called her a bitch, and...”

That was as far as he got before the lion that was the head of the Changretta mob pounced, grabbing his collar and pounding his head down onto the table, their respective guys all drawing their weapons.

“You’re outnumbered, fellas,” Angelo rumbled, tutting. “Put ‘em down.” The men fell back, all watching the scene unfold before them.

Luca loomed like a shadow of death, his hand holding Giacinto fast against the smooth, dark wood. “Did you call her a bitch when you knocked her fuckin’ teeth out? Did ya? Tell me, how hard does a guy like you have to slug a tiny little thing like her to crack the goddamned teeth from her jaw? This hard?” His fist met his face in a sickeningly strong blow, the piece of shit beneath his grasp grunting in pain. “This hard?” He punched him again, this time loosening one of the teeth he was aiming for, Luca hauling him up and beginning to lay repetitive punches to his face, Giacinto flying back to the floor.

With his rage pumping like water through a broken dam, Luca loomed over him, pulling a flick knife from his pocket and releasing the blade, holding it so hard against his cheek, his blood began to seep from beneath the press. “You ever speak her name again and I will cut your fuckin’ tongue from your head. The Yonkers warehouses are mine now, too, just for the fuckin’ gall of you. Give your fuckin’ father my goddamned regards, Giacinto.”

“Fuck you, Luca!” he spat, shame and rage coiling through him.

“Fuck me, huh?” he laughed, low and deadly. “Nah, kid. Tell me, you right-handed? You are, aren’t ya? It was your right hand you used to beat her, wasn’t it?” Wrenching his arm up, he grasped his wrist, bringing the knife down between his third and fourth fingers, beginning to slice through skin, sinew and tendons. Giacinto screamed, Luca holding the knife towards Angelo, needing both hands to grab the second and third, then fourth and fifth fingers, grasping hard before literally ripping his hand apart.

“Can’t go punching little girls no longer now, can you?” Standing, he left him screaming on the floor, looking to his guys. “Step down from the warehouses as of tonight, or I do worse to all six of youse.” With that, Luca and his eight cohorts left the speakeasy, heading back to their cars, Brooklyn bound. Entering his apartment just under a half hour later, he made sure he was quiet, not wanting to wake the beauty in his bed.

Hanging his coat and jacket, he unlaced his shoes, removing his tie as he walked over to the bed, just about able to see her outline there curled up, sleeping soundly. Reaching toward her face, he gently swept the platinum strands of hair that had fallen loose back behind her ear, tenderly stroking the apple of her cheek with the back of his fingers.

He realised right there that she could never again utter anything about the Calabrese’s, and he wouldn’t care at all. He didn’t need her for information. He just needed her to be safe.

The twisted irony wasn’t lost on him, though, that the very person she wasn’t safe from was the one whose bed she slept soundly in, but for very different reasons than what the Calabrese’s represented. He lingered there only a moment longer before going to the bathroom and undressing, pulling on his grey and white striped pyjama bottoms, heading for the couch.

“Luca?”

He actually jumped a little, hearing her soft voice suddenly sound through the dark. “Yeah, doll?” Turning, he watched her sit up, peeling the bed clothes back as she shuffled over, patting the mattress. “It’s freezing. You can’t keep sleeping on the couch. I don’t mind sharing.”

He hesitated only a second before walking over, climbing in next to her, his heart beginning to race. Her warmth was the most alluring intoxication he’d ever felt near to him, wanting nothing but to wrap himself around her, meld his body to hers, tell her in no uncertain terms that Giacinto Calabrese would never dare touch her again.

Lying there, Emily could feel the tension radiating from him, not knowing why he was in such a state, but sensing it all the same. Had something happened, while he was out, something to spark his temper, amp his ire? She felt him turn away from her, turning over herself and hesitating a moment before putting the advice she’d had from Maggie to good use. ‘Just move on him. You’re beautiful, sugar. He won’t turn you down.’

It wasn’t necessarily a sexual advance, as Maggie had been specifically advocating, but it was a step in the right direction. Wrapping her arm around him, she pressed herself against his back, resting her hand to his chest. Her heart almost leapt into her throat when she felt him grasp her hand, thumb stroking, placing a kiss upon her fingers.

He clutched her hand tight, feeling her breath flutter against his shoulder blades, his heart still hammering. If he turned to her, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to hang onto the bull within him, goring against the very last of his soft flesh in a bid for freedom. Flesh that had softened for her.

He remembered how he’d felt, punching Giacinto repeatedly in the face, until he had expelled blood with every groaned breath, all for her, because of her, because no man would ever make the sweet little darling curled against him feel less than all she was ever again.

But still, he didn’t dare turn over. It’d be like Satan himself defiling the purest of angels. If only Luca knew, though, as he wrestled with the beast within, that the only thing the angel pressed against his back wanted was to feel the burn of his lust against her skin.

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x ofc #luca changretta fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fic #luca changretta fic #nobody's girl #luca and emily

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octuscle · 11 months

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My boss keeps talking about how scary it is seeing all these dyed hair, pierced, tatted up punks. He keeps saying they're going to be the downfall of society... Is there any way you could show him a real scary Halloween season? I'd love for him to eat his words.

My boss keeps talking about how scary it is to see all these dyed, pierced and tattooed punks. He says they're going to be the downfall of society…. Could you show him a really scary Halloween season? I'd like to measure him by his words.

The costume for your boss looks completely harmless. Nothing but a pretty harmless looking ring. Okay, with a skull on it. All we need is for him to put this ring on. And then we can activate his costume.

You put the ring on his desk. Between his mail. As expected, he picks up the ring, turns it back and forth. And puts it back on the desk. This is repeated four or five times. Only after the office building is almost empty does your boss put the ring on his ring finger. Too big. It fits on his thumb. He looks at the ring. And the trap snaps shut.

Your boss doesn't notice, but his body gets younger and younger. Slimmer, more athletic. His suit fits snugly. And the expensive dark blue virgin wool slowly becomes a cheap polyester check pattern. The first piercings appear in his nose and ears. And the craving for a cigarette grows. Actually, your boss doesn't smoke. But his mindset has already changed in this regard. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter can be found in his coat. He throws on the coat and goes outside to the front of the building. And lights a cigarette. And he sees his reflection in a window pane. His coat has turned into a studded leather jacket. Underneath is a Sexpistols T-shirt with heavy chains over it. Something like the ones that hang down like suspenders from his plaid pants. And his feet are in DocMartin's with red laces. His face is still his face. Younger. Slimmer. More piercings. But that's still clearly your boss. Even when the transformation comes to the finale. His stuffy haircut gives way to a gorgeous mohawk. Shit, he dropped his cigarette in shock. With trembling hands, he wants to light a new one. But the pack of cigarettes is gone. All he has left is loose tobacco and cigarette paper. Your boss rolls a cigarette with astonishing routine. And realizes that he no longer has a lighter. "Excuse me, could you please give me a light?" your boss wants to ask a passerby. "Mate, ya got a light?" comes out of his mouth instead. Most passersby quicken their pace. It takes minutes before someone takes pity.

When he has kicked out the cigarette butt with his boot, he wants to go back to the office. But his door card is gone, as is his entire wallet. There are a few coins in his pocket, that's all. He rings the night bell. After a few minutes, a night watchman comes and opens the door. And yells at him to fuck off, he can't scrounge money or food here. Your boss still wants to say that he pays the night watchman's salary. But the door has long since closed again. "Fuck ya" yells your boss and shows the middle finger. Between his boots is an army backpack full of patches and scribbles. Hopefully he still has a beer. Thank God, yeah! The beer is warm. But it's better than nothing. Air is getting cold. And he's getting hungry, too. Shit, there are also a few of these miserable punks loitering around at the bus stop and mooching off passers-by. Disgusting and lazy riffraff. "Mate, dee ya hav anutha 'eer for us?" asks one. Your boss realizes the seriousness of the situation. He sits down with the punks on the sidewalk and shares his beer with people who are his last hope.

Three days later. Halloween. The party is raging in the condemned house where your boss has found a place to sleep. Somehow enough beer, booze and weed always come together. The tattoo artist, who your boss blew for a bit of money, has promised to tattoo a Union Jack on his neck tomorrow for free. Your boss doesn't know yet that tomorrow at 08:00 he will wake up in his old body again. Let's see if he likes it….

#male tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #leather tf #punk tf #halloween tf

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complexsaviour · 6 months

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Milgram 4th Anniversary Art Analysis Part 1/3: Mikoto, Kazui, Shidou and Fuuta

I'm going to post these in a few parts since my analyses ended up getting so long...oops. Here's the first! Please let me know if I've slipped up at all or if you have anything to add.

Mikoto

Mikoto is standing very straight and to attention with his feet together, in the same way that he carefully curates his public persona and tries his best not to stand out. His suit jacket seems to be fully done up, all neatly and presentably, and he's similarly removed his stud earrings. Trying his best to come across as unproblematic, respectful and polite. But he's also standing a bit like a corpse in a coffin, holding his flowers like a dead man in his grave. This is probably related to Mikoto's associations with the Death tarot card (which does not in fact signify death but a new beginning — rebirth in a way) and his VD being titled 'John Doe' (that is, the placeholder name for an unidentified dead body) — perhaps a part of him died when his alter John was born? But that part of him was also reborn as someone bolder and stronger...Mikoto could also be considered a dead man walking, perhaps, working himself to death...he holds his bouquet in front of him in full view, just as he presents himself and his supposed crime since he has no memory of it — believing he has nothing to hide, trying to come across as trustworthy.

Kazui

Kazui is standing in contrapposto as he often does, only leaning his weight on half of his body — refusing to lean into both sides of himself. He also has his jacket half buttoned up, affording it a slightly more casual visual effect, and I think his tie is slightly loosened (half loosened?) in keeping with his half/half theme and general deliberately casual approach to most things. As seen in Cat and in other artwork of him, he is wearing a waistcoat underneath his suit jacket. I find it interesting that Kazui is consistently depicted with that extra layer in formalwear. Maybe I'm reading into things too much, but I wonder if it's to do with his devotion to trying to fulfil a masculine ideal — the three piece suit is often considered one of the most masculine forms of attire. It's also often associated with performance imagery, like the magic tricks we saw him doing in Cat. Unlike the others, he insists on that extra layer beneath his jacket — almost as if just to make sure he's really playing his role to the best of his ability. An extra layer of constriction, even beneath his jacket...anyways, he holds his bouquet with one hand — with only half of himself — sort of nonchalantly. His pose sort of reminds me of the way an actor might hold a prop he is planning to gesture with, which brings to mind Kazui's performative nature. Kazui holds his bouquet in front of himself, but his holding it with one hand makes it sort of feel like he's holding back a little. He isn't exactly outright presenting it to the viewer like some of the characters do, but he's also not actively trying to hide it (anymore?), which seems to be his attitude to the circumstances of his supposed crime as well — just as he implored us to find out and uncover the truth about him in his second voice drama.

Shidou

Shidou's body language is more open and relaxed than Mikoto and Kazui's, sort of reminiscent of the way his sprite's body language opened up in Trial 2 when he settled into his saviour/healer role in the second season. I also get the impression that his tie is the least loose of the five male characters, though I'm not exactly a tie expert — very intentional and meticulous, just like Shidou and his actions. Like Mikoto and Haruka, his buttons are all done up as far as I can tell (it's sort of difficult to see behind his bouquet to be fair, but that seems in character). I think this reflects how the three of them have a more decisive and resolute attitude to their crimes: while Mikoto insists he didn't do anything, both Haruka and Shidou admitted to killing from the very beginning, and all three of them were initially very accepting of their circumstances (albeit because Mikoto was in denial). Haruka and Shidou already committed to dressing up for the funeral from the very start— they both accepted their circumstances wholeheartedly, at least to begin with. Interestingly, he's the only one whose jacket is double breasted. I looked into this to see if there might be any particular significance to this choice, but I don't think I found anything of particular note except that it makes him stand out a bit, kind of like his straitjacket design's turtleneck style collar and long coat do. Double breasted jackets are associated with the navy, but I don't think that has much relevance to him as a character. As for Shidou's bouquet, he holds it just like a baby, cradling it close to himself with a sort of parental tenderness. It's in full view of the spectator and he makes no pretence about it. I think this reflects his attitude to his victims and to his crime — perhaps it implies that he considers his own children his victims, too? But I could also see this just reflecting his general attitude to lives — at least those of other people anyhow.

Fuuta

Fuuta's pose sort of reminds me of how a petulant teenager might stand at the funeral of a distant relative, irritated by the proceedings. It's quite open, like Shidou's, but much more defiantly so, leaning back slightly on one leg as if to challenge the viewer — sort of like a 'so what?' — much like he acted in Trial 1. He's not making much of an attempt to present himself formally or respectfully — his jacket is only half done up and his tie is the loosest of all the five male characters, one hand stuffed into his trouser pocket. I think this reflects Fuuta's general tendency to chafe against convention and expectations, but also his initial refusal to accept his circumstances and responsibility. He holds his bouquet behind himself but largely visible — refusing to accept responsibility or be open with the viewer, but still self-aware enough that it's not exactly hidden — I think this reflects how he acts standoffish but ultimately is only really superficially in denial. He does hold his bouquet a little like a weapon, but he doesn't seem fully committed — he's not really holding it like he's seriously trying to threaten anyone. He's the only one who isn't smiling at all, which is just like him.

#milgram #milgram project #ミルグラム #analysis #character analysis #mikoto kayano #milgram john #kazui mukuhara #shidou kirisaki #fuuta kajiyama

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itssotragic · 6 months

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12. “Did something happen to you that I don’t know about?” with maybe Rhea/Damian/Dom 🤔

Rated: T Tags: References to past sexual assault, therapy, nightmares.

Prompt List

Quiet nights at home were few and hard to come by. There was always something that needed to be done—unpacking, packing, getting ready for the next show, traveling, training, press. Rarely did the grind stutter to a stop long enough to be still and breathe. But somehow, they'd managed to find one of those precious nights among the chaos—a respite, a chance to simply be and be together. Damian cooked, they ate, then JD and Finn disappeared into the back bedroom with a few soft murmurs exchanged in the leaving. Both had looked so exhausted that Damian had no reason to doubt they really were turning in early.

And so five became three.

They shifted to the living room, where Dom curled up against Damian's side, head resting in his lap as if he belonged there—which, he mused, maybe he did—and Damian held him close as they put on a movie Rhea had rescued from a discount bin somewhere last week. It didn't take long before Dom was half-hidden behind a blanket, peering over the fringe and clutching onto Damian's hand with every jump and pop of noise. Damian was only half paying attention, idly carding his free hand through Dom's hair, his thoughts and gaze both drifting to where Rhea had plopped down on the floor in front of the sofa, meticulously hammering studs and rivets into a trim expanse of black leather. He had no idea what event it was for—he didn't even know if she knew—but he liked watching her work. Once in a while, her tongue would poke out from between her lips, poised at the corner of her mouth, her brow furrowed in concentration as she lined up sharp bits of metal, measured with her fingertips, counted, then swept the whole mess onto the floor so she could start hammering again.

It was hard for him to imagine a more perfect night than this—to have not just one person who fit so well into every crevice of his life, but all of them. The warmth of Dom pressed against him, Rhea always lingering just within arm's reach, Finn and JD safely tucked away in the other room. It was a kind of contentment he couldn't even imagine until he'd met them. One by one, they'd slotted into place, and a sense of peace had wrapped around him like a heavy blanket.

He had half a thought lingering somewhere in the corner of his mind—something he'd been about to say, a notion that hadn't quite formed into words yet—but it was lost in the rustle of Rhea suddenly rising to her feet. She cracked her neck and stretched her arms above her head with a soft groan and a little pop of something somewhere at the base of her spine. Dom reached out and batted at her hip, and she stepped out of the way of the television with a laugh, pivoting on her toes, practically dancing between the piles of tools and fabric and supplies.

"You headed to the kitchen by any chance?" Damian asked, watching as she flicked the hem of her shorts back into place around her thigh.

"I think I need glue," she answered.

"You wanna grab me another drink on your way back?"

"Please," she teased and wiggled her fingers at him as she reached for his empty glass.

He rolled his eyes. "And thank you," he offered, handing it over with a small, fond smirk. Their hands brushed, his touch lingered, thumb grazing over her knuckles before he let go of the glass and let her slip away toward the other side of the space.

Damian's gaze followed her, tracking every movement through the room, lingering just long enough to see her slip around the corner of the island counter. Then he turned back to Dom, fingers sliding into his hair again, scratching gently at his scalp beneath a mop of dark waves. Dom hummed softly, a barely audible noise, tilting his head into Damian's palm and shifting ever closer against his side. His focus slipped, settled, sank—grasping onto nothing in particular, at least not long enough to matter—shifting from Dom to Rhea and back again with ease. Rhea's footsteps pattered softly against the tile, punctuated by the glide of drawers as she rummaged around. But even that faded into the background after a moment or two—a rhythmic pulse like a metronome, a steady beat for him to track her by.

Time slowed to a crawl. The movie played on without him; he didn't care. His eyes slipped closed, lashes heavy, comfort guiding the way towards a drowsy sort of almost-rest. Then Rhea's fingers brushed against his shoulder, cold and damp with condensation off his glass, and he hummed a soft sound of acknowledgment as she passed. He heard her nails scratch softly over Dom's blanket, skipping down his side and hip before he felt the couch cushion shift as she settled down and rest her back against it again. A gentle silence settled over them like a fog, warm and comforting, thick enough to sink into and soft enough to mold around his body.

He drifted, lulled by the feeling of Dom's fingertips brushing slowly up and down the side of his arm, tracing shapes that felt nonsensical at first until one curved and glided just so, and his attention honed back in on his own body. Slowly, the shapes Dom was drawing began to make sense. The swoop and arc of his fingertips traced tangled serpents and caressed the side of Medusa's face, almost—maybe entirely—unconsciously. His gaze was focused on the television, one arm tucked up against his chest, while the other hand simply trailed the lines as if he had them memorized. Damian's fingers stroked down the side of his neck, thumb tracing over his collarbone and shoulder before slipping back into his hair again, and shifted his arm a bit closer, easier to reach.

"Have you seen Adam's show?" Dom murmured, turning just slightly to look over his shoulder at Damian, his big, dark eyes wide and gentle and curious.

He couldn't help but laugh. Of course, to Dom, it was Adam's show, even though he was only in—what?—three episodes. But he nodded, twisting one long strand of hair around his finger. In his gut, he knew what question was probably coming next, but he still offered a soft smile and said, "Yeah, why?"

Dom shrugged. "Just wondering if that's why you got her—" His fingers swooped across Medusa's face again, then down towards Damian's wrist. "Because of the story, I mean."

It was innocuous enough that Damian probably could have skirted around the subject if he wanted to. But it felt—maybe not pointless, but unnecessary. There were parts of himself he'd always kept hidden away—for good reason—and Dom's innocent question brought one of those shadowy things stumbling out of the dark to sit in the center of his chest. And, somehow, it didn't feel as heavy as it once had. Maybe time did heal all wounds or some trite, cliche shit like that; or maybe the salve they'd been applying to it over the last months—years, in some cases—had finally started to heal something. Either way, it didn't feel as deep as it had three years ago when he'd sat down in a tattoo parlor, across from a woman with the prettiest rose-colored hair he'd ever seen, and spilled the entire story over the course of a six-hour session.

He swallowed around the knot that tried to form in the back of his throat, the phantom tingle of needle pricks flaring up along his arm, and nodded again, his smile soft and genuine even if there was a heaviness still sitting just below the surface. But Dom had already seen the flicker in his expression, the slight deepening of the lines around his eyes, the way his fingertips stuttered then stilled where they rest on the arc of Dom's shoulder.

"I'm not supposed to ask that, am I?" he said—timid, a little hesitant, a trace of worry in his voice that he had upset Damian.

But he just shook his head and gathered Dom a little closer, watching Rhea out of the corner of his eye as she set her tools down and shifted around to face them both. "No, no, it's alright, hermano. You can ask. It was a really long time ago, and I'm mostly okay now."

"Mostly?" Dom echoed, looking up at him again, searching his face, trying to find an answer in his expression.

There was no reason to try to hide anything—not with them. They didn't need the pretty version of things—the glossed-over, watered-down, sanitized truth. It was messy and ugly and uncomfortable, but they were safe, and that was the only thing that mattered. Still, he felt that hard throb in the center of his chest, the last dying ember of a fear he'd spent years trying to extinguish and couldn't quite snuff out completely. He'd learned to live with it, to maneuver around it, and it remained largely inconspicuous if still softly smoldering somewhere in the distance. But here, now, he felt like he could pick that ember up in his bare hands and not get burned by it. It was as small a spark as it had ever been.

Rhea leaned her elbow against the back of the sofa, resting her chin on her hand, looking at Damian with a softness that made his heart ache, but he couldn't quite bring himself to meet her gaze just yet. Instead, he shifted a little and tugged Dom upright, coaxing him into his lap so Rhea had space to move up onto the couch next to them. He slipped into the space between Damian's thigh and the arm of the sofa, legs draped over and between his, shoulder tucked just under his arm, blanket folded around their limbs.

He felt Rhea's lips fall against his cheek as she rose and took her place on the other side, her legs tucked beneath her as she reached for him and tangled their fingers together. Part of him was glad it was just the three of them, then. It wasn't that he didn't want Finn and JD to know, just that it seemed easier to deal with when there weren't so many people staring at him. The wound had healed, sure, but it had scarred, and some of those scars were thicker, deeper than others. It was hard to know where to start sometimes. He cleared his throat, blinked a few times, and stared up at the ceiling.

"Truth is," he started, gaze gliding back to the television and the credits rolling there. "I wasn't fully aware of what was happening at the time. There were just a bunch of whispered conversations I don't think I was ever meant to hear, and then, all of a sudden, I was being shipped back to New York. I didn't understand why I had to leave—just that everyone was upset all the time, and all I knew was that I was at the center of it. I thought I was being punished for something, but I didn't know what, and I didn't know how to process everything that was going on either—so I just didn't."

Silence hung heavy for a few seconds, but Damian needed that pause to ground himself—to settle into the warmth that surrounded them, the feeling of Rhea's thumb brushing over his knuckles, and Dom's hand curled softly in the front of his shirt.

"I didn't start dealing with any of it until a lot later," he continued, still staring at some vague spot in the middle distance. "I had a coach who basically told me to get my shit together, then shoved me in the direction of a therapist. I hated it. I thought it was stupid and pointless—that there was nothing I could benefit from knowing—that it was gonna be a massive waste of time. Then, little by little, it started to help—even if, eventually, it opened up a can of worms I didn't realize was actually full of snakes. Once I started digging, I started to remember, and it hit me like a fucking truck. I had nightmares for weeks. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I could barely make it to practice. I was a wreck. And, thankfully, a lot of people gave me a lot of grace while it was happening. They didn't know—no one did—they just knew I was trying to get my head on straight and that, hopefully, I was going to come out the other side of it better."

His throat was dry, and he could feel his voice faltering, but he forced himself to keep going. It was cathartic, in a way, like taking a hot knife to an infected wound and prying it open so the poison could drain out.

"There were things that had grown around that initial memory, though—rooted into it, branched off of it—things that needed to be handled separate from everything else. But by the time I moved to Vegas, I'd gotten a hold of most of that, too. The real bone-deep pain wasn't there anymore. Every once in a while, something still flares up, and I have to sit with it for a bit, but..." he shrugged, "but at least I can sit with it now. I can look at it and acknowledge that it's there, and it hurts, and that's okay. Most of the time, it's just phantom pain, anyway; something that aches because it remembers, not because it's still bleeding."

Rhea's palm slid against his cheek, cupping his jaw as she guided his face towards hers, and he felt the slightest sting in the corners of his eyes. That was residual, too—a reflex left over from all the times he'd secluded himself in some small, dark place, hoping he might feel safe enough to cry through the pain. He blinked it away and leaned into her touch, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. He could feel her eyelashes flutter against his, her fingernails gliding softly through his beard, holding him there as he breathed deep and steadied himself. When he pulled back, he found Dom's dark eyes still watching him, quiet and curious and unassuming—a dozen different questions lingering in his gaze. Damian carded his fingers through his hair, tucking loose strands away from his face, tracing the line of his jaw with his thumb. Dom's lips twitched into a soft smile, and he pressed his cheek into Damian's palm.

"Is that why you've always been so good with me and my bad dreams?" he asked.

He laughed and nodded, his smile finally softening into something more natural. "I'm sure it has something to do with it, yeah. But you're easy to take care of."

His smile faded for a moment as he shifted his hand to curl around Dom's shoulder, holding him snug against his chest. If he'd noticed the flicker of emotion on Damian's face that time, he didn't let on; he just tucked himself in closer, drawing his knees up, and nuzzled into the solid expanse of Damian's chest. Sometimes he wondered how alike the two of them were and how much Dom kept quietly closed off for the sake of everyone else around him—to continue being the bright little ball of sunshine they all knew. But it wasn't the right time to start digging into that. He could only hope that offering this small fragment of himself would be enough that they might also feel safe in unburdening their darkness with him—more than they already had. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dom's head and shifted his gaze back to Rhea, catching the soft, sidelong glance she cast in his direction.

"I'm proud of you," she said, her voice low and warm, gentle as she drew her fingers through his hair and grazed her thumb along his temple. "You know that, right?"

Damian hummed, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat, and nodded, turning his face to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "I do," he murmured, reaching for her other hand again. "But it's still nice to hear sometimes."

#damian priest #dominik mysterio #rhea ripley #the judgment day #poly judgment day #wrestling #tragically written #mature audiences only #no beta we die like men #you should know #i had leonard cohen on #the entire time i was writing this

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nonobadcat · 1 year

Text

For @oklolnoty

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Whole story TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, severe quirk based discrimination, binge drinking, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (give/receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

Chapter 3: Choice - 4.1k words

TW: Oral (giving), mentions of quirk discrimination, non-con in entertainment media, and sexual harassment

At exactly 1:56 PM, you turned the corner from the main street onto a wide, concrete alley. Low, overcast ceilings hovered down around tall, glossy buildings. Vermillion hues, a product of human smog more than mother nature, washed the bottom of the clouds. From below the eaves of a grey high rise, a pair of narrow eyes, the same color as the sky, glared at you.

Shigaraki kicked off the hard wall, scratching his neck. “Aren’t you supposed to say something like: ‘Sorry, did I keep you waiting?’”

You hiked your bow-studded messenger back over your shoulder and sauntered to his side. Wrapping your hands around his arm, you smirked at him. “Why? I’m not sorry and I didn’t keep you waiting.”

Tomura stiffened. “What are you doing?!”

Huh… That reaction? At his age? Guess his mentor sent him to the hostess bar for a good reason.

You clamped down on him and sneered. “It’s 13°C and I’m in yoga pants. Shut up and be grateful for the view.”

Shigaraki’s gaze raked over your outfit. Tactically unzipped to the perfect level, the oversized hoodie gaped open to reveal a grey, ribbed tank almost as touchable as your ears. Its plunging neckline promised more cleavage than it delivered but the way it hugged your tits more than made up for the tease. The yoga pants in question smoothed your thighs and butt into sculpted perfection. Chunky, black sneakers with rhinestone accents added a girlish kick to the casual clothing. Taking a page from Lola Bunny, you wrapped your lop ears high on your head in a velvet bow.

“Hot, right?" you taunted. "It's too bad the club has a formal dress code. I think I causal-up really cute."

He scoffed.

You tugged his arm. "Third floor. Come on."

You dragged your date across the bland, grimey tile and past the money exchange service. A short ride up the cramped elevator carried you to the third floor. The bright, blue and red sign proclaimed “24 hours/365 days a year”. Beyond fingerprint-pocked glass doors lay the hidden depths of “MyStyle Manga Cafe”. You strolled in and dug your membership card out of your bag.

“I have a reservation for the VIP flatbed pair suite.”

The balding middle age manager scanned your card before handing you a ticket. “Room ten, just next to the copier. Payment is due when you leave.”

You nodded, tugging your victim's arm. Cherry flavored lips brushed against his ear. “I got the one with the locking door. It costs a little more, but you don’t mind paying for the upgrade, right, Tomura?"

Your date inhaled as if he’d been shot in the leg.

Oh. This was going to be fun.

Only about eight steps from the check-in desk, room ten was a cramped space, barely big enough for two adults. You flopped onto the thick, black floor pads and shoved the foam-stuffed pillow chair aside. The lock clicked from behind. New weight shifted the mat beside you. You rifled through your bag, humming the “item get” tune from Zelda as you produced a cheap USB drive. Within seconds, a pop colored menu burst to life on the computer screen.

“Animal Attraction: Tails of Love!” five different girls cried out from the crackling speakers.

Red eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

“You wanted the real me, right? Today, extra special for your royal pain-in-my-tail, I’m giving you the side I don’t show clients.” You held out a pair of cheap, padded headphones to him and flashed him a crooked smile. “Chase the cat girl, and I will claw your eyes out.”

A few hours later, a fluffy, white haired girl with blazing red eyes and tall rabbit ears stood at the back of an empty lecture hall. She picked at the heart shaped buttons of her pink sundress, refusing to look the player in the eye.

‘The truth is… the professor makes me feel uncomfortable,’ she explained, shifting nervously in her strappy sandals.' ‘Why? Did he do something?’ the player replied. She shook her head. ‘No. Not really. I mean, maybe I’m just imagining it but it just feels wrong. It makes my hair prickle and my stomach hurt when I’m around him.’ Fat tears welled at her pale lash line. ‘He asked me to go to his office hours today to discuss my grades but I... I just… I don’t know. I can’t put it into words.”

Choice:

Calm down. You’re just imagining things.

Your grades are fine, right? Just skip the office hours.

If he makes you uncomfortable, I’ll go with you.

Tomura clicked option 3.

‘Oh no!’ she protested. ‘He hasn’t done anything. I swear.’ Chewing her soft lips, she began to shake. She forced a smile. ‘Anyway, I’m sure I’m just being stupid. I’m sorry to have worried you over nothing.’ As she turned to bolt, the player grabbed her arm. 'Don’t say that about yourself! You’re not stupid!' Hard teeth bit quivering lips. Her nostrils flared. All at once her beautiful face contorted into pure pain. The camera panned high. A detailed CG filled the screen. Crumpled into her thighs, the heroine wailed at the top of her lungs. ‘I know I’m not! Everyone thinks I am just because I’m a bunny girl!’ she shrieked, grabbing at her ears. ‘I’m so sick of it. Day in, day out it’s ‘Smile for me sweetie. You’re so much prettier when you smile’ and ‘wow… isn’t a bachelor’s degree kinda hard for you?’ and ‘You want to join our club? No problem. Why don’t you grab us some drinks and you can sit here so everyone can see you?’' Twin fists slammed hard against the tile. ‘I’M A PERSON, NOT A MASCOT.’ The player kneeled beside her, their hand hovering for a moment before they pulled it away. “That sounds rough.” ‘It is rough,’ she agreed, fumbling for her abandoned purse. The player held out their hand towel. ‘Here.’ Watery eyes stared up at the player. ‘Look,’ the player continued. ‘You really aren’t stupid. If you say something is wrong then something is wrong. Even if you don’t want me to come, don’t go by yourself.’ She took the towel with a bright smile and shook her head. ‘No. I want you.’ Red eyes slipped shut as she buried her nose in the terry cloth. ‘I trust you, Tomura.’

Beside you on the floor, the real Tomura sneered. “100% guarantee the professor is a perv.”

You hummed, resting your head on his shoulder.

His body went rigid.

“Something wrong?”

He coughed, tilting his legs so that his lap remained hidden. “It’s a pretty lame plot device. She should just drop-kick him through a window. Problem solved.”

You clicked your tongue. “It’s not that easy. She’s a senior in college and he manages her internship. If she makes him mad, her chances for getting a reference go up in flames.”

Boney fingers raked his neck. “That’s a load of crap.”

“But realistic,” you argued with a finger wag. “Despite being an indie project, the game got really good reviews specifically because the bunny girl route was such a realistic portrayal of sexual harassment.” A dark shadow filled your face. “Though there were some complaints.”

“Such as?”

Your eye twitched. “Apparently, the bad end wasn’t bad enough. If the player tells her to calm down, she quits school and leaves town, never to contact them again. Several reviewers insisted the professor should have on-camera raped her to really drive the point home that sexual harassment is bad.”

“...so they wanted to watch her get raped so they could whine about how rape is bad?”

“Yup,” you explained, flipping down onto the mat.

“That’s stupid.”

You laughed. “I know, right?! You need to just own your kink at that point! Don’t pretend you don’t like it just to feel morally superior.”

“You wrote this, didn’t you?”

“Oh no, no, no. I wrote AND coded it.” You slapped the computer and pointed to your head. “There’s more than good hair between these ears.”

“Good hair or good hare?”

“Hares are not the same as rabbits,” you reminded him.

Tomura snorted. “Okay. Okay. I got it.”

“You better!” You shoved his shoulder. “I have no interest in stupid guys.”

He stared down his nose at you. “So why play dumb yourself?”

“No matter what they claim, people have expectations based on appearances,” you muttered with a frown. “A hostess is selling a fantasy. Turns out customers don’t fantasize about smart bunny babes.”

“They should.”

You flashed him a coy grin. “Are you saying I’m not so boring now?”

He scoffed and turned his head, but you caught the pink tinge at the tip of his ears. You hummed knowingly. He scowled and pointed at the screen.

“Why even work as a hostess if you can do this? Was the pay crap or something?”

"No one wanted me."

Tomura raised a peeling brow. "Huh?"

"Well, not for my brains anyway," you huffed, crossing your arms. "One look at my bunny ears and suddenly everything on my resume might as well have read, 'S class whore'. Women whispered behind my back and men kept staring at my tits. No one bothered to hear what I had to say."

Tomura glanced back at the screen. Shining with tears, the bunny girl in the game peered at him from above her declaration of affection. His eyes rolled back to you. "So when did you make the game?"

"College, during my internship." You scowled. "Didn't go so well in the end either."

"The professor?"

You shook your head. "Two 'friends'. One kept demanding I write stuff about heat cycles in the bunny girl route to 'spice it up'. Bunnies don't have heat cycles. They have receptive periods. I tried to explain and he told me I was just being nit picky."

"Receptive periods?"

"Bunnies and cats are induced ovulators, meaning mating causes ovulation. Cats go through a period where they are super horny called a heat. They'd bang anything," you explained, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Female bunnies just become more tolerant of mating for a few days a month called a receptive period. They don’t crave it. It's totally different!"

"And outside that period they claw your eyes out?" he teased.

"Google it if you're so curious."

"So what happened with the other 'friend'?"

“He backed me… At least until I told he figured out I wasn’t just a pussy-machine that you put kindness coins in until it dispensed sex. Then he sided with the other guy.” You pulled your knees to your chin. “I don’t like shallow guys like that, so it wasn’t much of a loss.”

Dry lips pinched into a thin line.

A mischievous glint sparked in your eye. “Aw… not going to ask me what type of guy I do like?”

He scratched his neck, turning back to the game.

“Now who’s boring,” you muttered, pressing your cheek to his boney shoulder.

Mechanically, Tomura tapped through the dialogue line by line until the two characters reached the professor’s office. The love interest knocked twice and fixed her companion with a nervous smile before slipping inside. Listening at the door, the player was privy to only half the words shared between the two.

“...concerned for you… Your grades are...” “...doing my best!” “...under a lot of stress.”

Chapped lips quirked into a cruel smile. “Bad flag.”

“Professor! What are you doing!” “...calm down. Just let me—” “No!” THUD.

Tomura whistled. “That escalated quickly.”

You winced at the choices. “This is one of the parts where we got into a debate about the ‘true ending’.”

Choice:

Open the door

Make some noise

Leave. This is not your job.

He tapped the quick save in the top corner. “Two arbitrary choices and an obvious bad end? Pretty typical to me.” He clicked the first option.

The door knob refused to budge.

He save-scummed and clicked the second option.

No one inside the room heard a word.

“Oh.”

You crossed your arms. “The other developers thought the best way to win her heart was to go all ‘hero to the rescue’. However, if you were to do that, she won’t get a reference for a job.”

Red eyes shifted from you to the screen. With two taps, he quick-loaded the choice again. “Don’t be heroic, huh?” He sneered. “I like it.”

Tomura tapped the last box.

The player headed down the hallway, and around the corner. One screen shake later, they found themselves face first in the Dean of Students’ chest. Armed with an authority figure and a set of skeleton keys, the player returned to the scene of the crime. “You lead me on, you little slut!” “No! I swear I didn’t—” “You want to pass this class, right?” “Please don’t!” “Shut up and just—” The Dean shoved his keys into the lock before throwing open the door. “What on earth is going on here?!” Within seconds, the love interest threw herself into the player’s chest. “T-Tomura. I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Work smarter, not harder,” you cheered.

“Chcc…” Brittle nails raked his scabbed neck as he clicked into the next scene.

Down a long, winding side street, the player walked their love interest back to her home. When they reached the gate, she paused for a moment, digging her toe into the chipping sidewalk. Orange light streamed through the fluffy purple clouds. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at the player from under long lashes. "You walked me so far just so I wouldn't be scared." A warm flush flittered over her button nose. "Would you… would you like to come in for a snack before you go home?"

Choice:

I'm not hungry.

Sure.

A manicured hand slapped Tomura on the back so hard he jolted forward. Your claws pointed to the second choice as you cheered. "GET SOME, PLAYER!"

Tomura stuck his pinky in his ear, jiggling it to clear out the ringing noise. "Could you be a little more loud?!" he muttered, selecting the latter option.

You hummed and rolled your eyes.

On screen, the player followed their love interest up a short flight of stairs to a violently feminine bedroom. Pink polka dots and chubby cartoon carrots splattered the bedspread like some sort of kawaii-pox. Impractically sheer curtains provided no privacy from the tall windows. Taking a seat on the heart-studded floor cushions, the player listened as nervous rambling poured from their love interest’s lips. “—could get you some tea if you want? You know, like green tea? You like green tea right? Oh, wait, you might prefer barley… Do you? I don’t know if I have barley but I could go get some really quick from the convenience stor— er… oh… but that’d be rude to leave you alone since there isn’t anyone here right now.” She flushed pink from head to toe, furiously waving her hands. “Not that I planned it like that or anything! I mean… well… maybe I did but it wasn’t for that reason, I swear! I just have something to tell you and it was too embarrassing to say in front of people. Oh crap! No wait! No! I mean, I’m not embarrassed by you or anything! I-I’m just not confident in myself!” She melted into her palms, steam pouring from her ears. “Ohmigosh what am I even saying?!” Confused silence was her only reply. A low thumping vibrated from the speakers. The girl quickly gripped her long leg, forcing it to stop tapping the ground. Red eyes looked everywhere but on the screen. Glossy lips trembled. “I… I’m in love with you!” she blurted out, clipping the old speakers.

Choice:

I love you too

I prefer cat girls

The mouse hovered over the second option for a moment.

“You’re horrible!” you laughed, elbowing him in the rib.

He sneered at you before clicking the first line.

“Tomura… Can I… Could I kiss you?”

A gentle pop smack popped from the speakers.

“M-maybe… just one more?”

Small tongue clicks matched with a well timed lip bite, kept the IRL Tomura’s eyes glued to the screen.You reached for your purse.

“One more?” she begged, her voice raspy with need.

Tomura shifted, tugging at his pants. The back of your hand grazed his thigh. He didn’t budge. Satisfaction filled your stomach. You leaned in for the kill.

On screen, an erotic CG filled the screen complete with a covert cleavage shot and animated drool pooling at the corner of plush lips. Wet sucking noises split the needy whining. “Ah… Tomura… I feel so hot.”

“Ah… Tomura… I feel so hot.”

Your prey jolted as dual bunny girls echoed in his ears. His head snapped to you. You smirked at him and cupped his thigh.

His breath hitched.

Peering at him from below your lashes, you shuffled to your knees.

“What—” he gulped, leaning away “—are you doing?”

Your moist tongue flicked out, tasting your cherry lip balm. “That depends.”

Red eyes flashed to your lips. “On what?”

You chuckled, angling your chest until your top gaped open. Manicured nails dragged down bare skin into the valley between your breasts. “How much do you want?”

“How much of what?”

A fake, high pitched giggle rapidly devolved into a sensual sigh. Your lips grazed his ear. Warm breath tickled his cheek. “Of the truth?”

The mouse hit the floor mat with a soft pap.

“Like all truths, there’s a pretty part and an ugly part.” Walking your fingers up his thigh, you pressed onward with your tease. “The pretty part is I always wanted to try something like this with my boyfriend.” With a nod to the computer screen, you nuzzled baby blue locks from the edge of his jaw. “But of all the guys I’ve dated, you're the only one I know is nasty enough to be down for it.”

You snapped the button on his jeans open. He groaned.

“Neh. Tomura. You know that hostesses can get fired if they sleep with their clients, right?”

His zipper fell. Your hand slipped below his elastic band. Warm sweat beaded in the pile of wiry, pale curls. You combed lower. Something firm jumped at your touch.

“After all, men pay for the chase. If they catch you, they have no reason to come back. No club wants a hostess that loses clients.”

Tomura’s eyes lulled into his lids as you wormed your way down the shaft. More on instinct than rationale, he leaned into the cushion behind him and arched his hips. Little by little you wiggled him loose from the confines of stretch denim and into the cool air. Musky arousal left a sticky trail up your palm.

“But the ugly truth is I don’t want you to come back. You cause too much trouble, crusty boy.”

Crinkling foil caused his eyes to drift open. You wagged the pink rubber in front of his face, before lowering it to his weeping, red head. Gripping his thigh for balance, you leaned down and wrapped your mouth over the strawberry flavored plastic. You tongued it down his shaft. He gasped.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Tomura.”

He squinted down at you through watery eyes.

With a smirk, you nodded to the screen. “Keep going.”

Click.

“T-tomura… Ah! Wait! When you touch me like that I—!”

Keeping your lips tucked over your teeth, you teased down with pressure, making him fight you just enough to squeeze into your mouth. One hand cupped his shaft as your fingers made a firm ring. The other slipped lower, gently threading his balls between your rolling digits.

He moaned, closing his eyes.

You popped off his cock, giving him a long stroke. “Keep going.”

Click.

“Ah… Your tongue! Hah… so wet. **gulp** It’s so different from when I— ngnn!”

You tugged his shirt and caught his gaze. Your tongue fanned wide, taking a languid taste of artificial strawberry. Saliva pooled at the tip before dripping onto him. With rapt attention, he watched the droplet wind its way between every crease of the condom. When it bulged over the rolled rim, his cock throbbed against your mouth.

Click.

“—feels so hot.”

You plunged down over his length, sucking in your cheeks.

Click.

“M-my brain is kinda… ahhhhh… mu-shy…”

Angling him for mid-throat, you pressed on until coarse hair tickled your nose.

Click.

“Just like that! Ohmigosh Tomura I need—”

Who knew crusty boy was packing a good cock? Not some hentai-worthy pussy destroyer or anything but the curve would have been nice to ride. Too bad the girth made your jaw ache.

Click.

“Tomura. Oh, Tomura. Right there! Please. Hah. S-so close.”

She wasn’t the only one. Half of Tomura’s hand clamped down on your skull. Sharp nails pricked your scalp as he curled most of his fingers into your hair. Insistent tugs set a punishing pace. Your neck burned. Salty snot dripped from your nose. A stream of garbled cuss words slipped from his lips.

Click.

“—gonna! Mmmm gonna—!”

As the screen flashed white, Tomura stuffed you into his crotch. His swollen head pressed hard into your tender throat. You gagged. He groaned. Cum-filled condom ballooned at the back of your tongue. You jerked your head to the side, trying to free yourself.

He ripped his hand away. “Don’t do that!” he snapped.

Hacking into your fist, you glared at him. “Then d-coughcough-n’t choke me, moron!”

Beady eyes narrowed. He grabbed your shoulder and wrapped his legs around your thigh. The world flipped. Your head collided with the hard mat. Vision spinning, you coughed again through painful tears. Tomura snatched up the torn wrapper, dangling it over your chest.

“Watch,” he commanded.

One at a time, he brought his fingers down onto the pink foil. After four exaggerated pinches, nothing appeared to change. You opened your mouth to tell him off just as all five fingers touched the packet. All at once, dry ash fluttered through the air. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Welp, that explained why he seemed so touch starved.

“Understand now?!” His hard fist smacked the padding beside your head. “I could have killed you, idiot!”

Between a tight throat and breathless lungs, no words could escape. Ice snaked through your veins. For the first time in a long time, terror rippled across your skin like a shock from a cattle prod. You swallowed, sniffing back tears.

With a deep breath, Tomura rolled off of you and shuffled away. He picked at the drooping plastic like a child picks at bell peppers. Cracking lips pouted. “How do I get this thing off?”

“O-oh…” You shoved off the mat and kneeled beside him. “Here. Let me—”

When your hand bumped his, every hair on your body prickled.

He pulled his arm away and averted his gaze. “Whatever. Don’t force yourself.

You grunted before lunging for his lap. One hand caught his jaw. The other circled his now drooping cock. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before turning him to watch.

“Not uh. Not until you understand.”

Centimeter by centimeter, you carefully dragged the condom free. Your fingers brushed his weeping tip. It jumped from the contact. The hand on his face trailed down his chest, following every dip until it bumped its twin. Three deft twists and a tight knot secured the payload. You swung it back and forth from your fingers and fixed him with a sultry grin.

“Don’t tell a professional how to do her job,” you warned.

Tossing the condom over your shoulder, you wrenched his face to yours and locked him in a blazing kiss. His eyes bulged. Your knee slipped between his as your tongue dove through his defenses. Nip after nip, you coaxed him into your clutches.

A low groan vibrated from his chest. His hands slid up your hips.The hair on your neck prickled. You ignored it, pressing slow, sensual affections deep into his skin. A whiff of your perfume slipped by your nose. Something twitched against your pants. Your toothy grin pricked his chapped lips.

Got him.

Careful to peel away rather than pull, you scooped up your bag and the evidence of your little ploy. Through heaving pants, he shot you a pointed look. You nodded to the computer clock. It read a quarter to nine.

“I have another arrangement at nine thirty, so I have to get dressed. Make sure you clear out by midnight or they’ll charge you extra.” You nudged his now swollen cock with the tip of your toe. He shivered. Manicured nails clacked on the door handle. “Hope the rest of your night is less boring—” You flashed him a wink. “—Tomura. ❤”

You swung your hips and strutted away.

Violent curses chased you down the hall.

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Next Chapter Expected: July 30th, 2023

Expected Completion Date: Mid-Aug 2023

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