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textmel8r · 2 months

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[ DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( eleventh installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , profanity , prostitution , bisexual! toji , smut , spit , gunplay

୨୧˚ an; if there are plot holes, no there aren’t. i just wanted an excuse to write toji suckin on some gun🧌

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

His hair is wet, sopping and adhering to the canvas of his forehead. Back at the hotel, Toji set the record for the world’s shortest shower, forsaking even a once-over with a towel in favor of slipping his clothes right back on. He doesn’t even recall the shitty excuse he tossed at his one night stand, not bothering to stay long enough to hear her response. Quickness was of the utmost importance, the man told himself to justify blowing through four separate red lights.

Oh, the irony. Because now, Toji stands before the grand entrance of your extravagant abode with a palm flat against the column of wall beside the door as he staves off constant hitch wracking his lungs. Unhurried, stagnant, moving as though he was thawing out frozen limbs. The last half hour having been spent on nothing but hastiness, it is at this time when all of these troubles and concerns fight their way to the front end of Toji’s mind.

The most prominent question: why?

Why did you ask him here? What use could you possibly get out of his shriveled husk?

Toji knows where your spare key is. Beneath the clay pot, the one flourishing with a bouquet of pastel Hydrangea flowers. Glaringly obvious to any happening stranger—Toji had barked at you endlessly to swap its hiding spot for one a little less in plain-fucking-sight, and everytime you told him you’d get to it. And you never did. Idiot woman. He steals a glance to the pot once more and notices the flowers’ stems have a lot more limpness in them than he remembers. Wilted. Poor little things.

Toji knows where your spare key is. He knocks anyway. The side of his fist pounding poplar wood once, twice, three times, and then he takes a step back. Blunted thumbnails pick at the callouses welded into the inside of his knuckles.

He can’t even blink before the door peels ajar. Fast, like you’d been waiting nearby for him.

The permanent slouch in his spine corrects itself when Toji stiffens. Shoulders squared, thick fingers curled into iron fists against his thighs. And like the colossal moron he is, Toji doesn’t speak. He just looks at you, standing there in the openness between door and frame. A downy robe obscures you in its rouge silk, cascading down just barely passing the center of your thigh. Your thigh… Toji observes more carefully, noting the bulky extremity protruding out from the side of your shapely leg. A boxy bulge sheathed under a reddish robe; the man scoffs.

“Thank you for coming,” you break the silence first, offering all-too polite benediction. Almost robotic, like you’d recited it from a script you memorized.

“Yeah,” Toji replies, curt.

Mores standing, more silence. Melodic chirps from the crickets fill the chasms of dead air.

Then finally, finally, you make a move. Toeing the door wider with a bare foot, stepping back to accommodate his bulky constitution. “Come inside.” It is a quiet command, the last words you speak before pivoting on a heel and heading deeper into your home. Toji acts on the instruction, plodding in your trail. He kicks the door shut with the outsole of his muddy boot.

“Sorry,” there goes your second apology of the night, “I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn't care much for these pointless I’m sorry’s right now. You’ve guided Toji into the living room—back toward him, shifting weight between legs, plucking at the stitches along the seam of your garb. Toji stands merely ten paces behind, awkward in the way he is uncertain of what to do. What to say. Existing here, in your presence, in your house… it all felt so disgustingly unnatural now. He should've never come back to this place. God, he should’ve never done a lot of things.

“Why am I here?” Toji asks bluntly. Cutting to the chase, because the suspense of anticipating the worst has his stomach coiling in sharp knots. He’s waiting for a fleet of officers to come barrelling down your staircase, ready to gun him down where he stands. Or, alternatively and arguably more dread-inducing, you’ve corralled him here so you can collect proper reparations for all the anguish he’s put you through. Both would be thoroughly deserved.

A glance is thrown from over your shoulder. “I have something for you. Please, sit.”

“Okay.”

Toji settles on the sofa while you pad upstairs. He never cared much for your couch, its expensive leather was stiff and unforgivingly uncomfortable. Like it was brand new. Like you never had time to sit in it with the schedule you worked. That was the setting for the rest of the room, as well—unlived in in appearance, cold and empty.

Footsteps thud. He turns his head and watches you curiously as you reemerge from the second level of the house. A ball of worn fabric swaddles your fist.

Toji sits up a little, looking up to where you stand before him with the puzzling bundle of textile. “Is that my..?”

“Your shirt,” you finish for him, tossing the thing into Toji’s chest, to which it hits before tumbling limply into his lap. Not for a second does he bother sparing a glimpse to the useless shirt; still, he commits to your eyes, hoping that you can decipher the inquisitiveness in his.

Gravelly and mystified, “what?”

“You left your shirt here the last time—”

“What?” A decrepit, holey tee shirt cannot be the reason why he’s sitting on your couch right now. In a bone-crushing clutch, the shirt sits braving force from Toji’s iron fist. He holds it with such conviction that his fingers activate a tremble.

You’re not stupid. You’re the most intelligent, most sagacious woman—person—he knows. So it really fucking irks him when you continue to play oblivious.

“What do you mean, what?”

“I’m not here right now because of a dumb shirt.”

Your lips smack together pensively, looking fixedly at the drab, eggshell walls. To the porcelain tiles now scuffed from being grazed on by two bespattered tactical boots. To your own feet, to the perturbed curl of your toes. To anywhere besides him. Never had you avoided looking at Toji so unmitigatedly, as if locking eyes for even a split second would cause worldwide devastation.

He reflects upon the night you’d thrown him out, discarding him back to the streets where he belonged. “‘Get the fuck out of my home’, she says,” Toji mumbles a recitement of your own words, struggling to keep the muzzle on his distaste. Elbows on his knees, head in his hand, he taps his index to his lip in thought. “You hate me, and then suddenly you like me enough to return my damn shirt… What kind of game are you playing? Just fucking cut it out and be blunt about what you want from me because I’ve had a really shit day and I’m not in the mood to be cute for you, Y/n.”

You bear his outburst in stride, pulling a face of forlorn at his apparent exhaustion. You don’t shout back at him, nor do you comment on his attitude that you’d surely never let slide in the past.

“Okay.”

On tiptoes, you shuffle closer to fit between Toji’s spread thighs. There is a streak of hesitation that perpetually hugs around your body, he realizes, because every which way you turn oozes trepidation in its slow tempo. Jitters teeter down your person, oscillations so tangible that it sways your hair. “You’re shakin’,” Toji annotates, tilting his chin back to gaze up at you. Shaking like a leaf, in fact, and he wonders where all your composure has fled to. “Why’re—”

“I need to…” You take a pause to swallow down the thick ball of uneasiness clogging your esophagus. A sheen glints along your forehead, cheeks, neckline; fucking sweat. “I have to confirm something.”

You are off. This whole situation is off, and Toji can’t pin a point on any of it until…

Slowly, clumsily, your hand glides down the elegant curve of your oblique, toward the ponderous bulk against your thigh. With the brain of a seasoned assassin, Toji pieces the puzzle together with time to spare. Time he could’ve spent lunging at you, pinning you to the floor beneath his body weight, subduing your wrists in the cuffs of his own fingers. But he doesn’t. Be it a product of his own stupidity, his lackluster will to live, or maybe even his inextinguishable urge to devote his trust to you, Toji lets you draw open the curtain of your robe and pull your concealed gun on him.

With heavy puffs of breathing, you direct the barrel of your handgun toward the centerpoint of his chest. It wobbles in a hybrid of uncertainty and inexperience, and there’s a cold, metallic rattle discernible the whole time. Toji admires the gun—it’s a small thing, some flavor of a colt pistol with a cask forged from iron. It looks weighty and misplaced in the palms of your delicate hands.

“Nice piece,” he allots useless, apathetic praise.

Evidently, you aren’t in the mood to reciprocate his quips. “Be serious.”

“I am.”

There is something picturesque about you in this context, it overpowers the innate fear he should be feeling right now. You tower before him like a deus ex machina, his own personal angel of death, granting him divine reprieve from this remarkably bleak concept of life. Toji wants to kneel, call you beautiful, and kiss your feet in appreciation.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I liked you.” Those words contradict the finger you hold against the trigger. You shake your head, contracting the muscles in your jaw. “Was it just a version of you that I fell for?”

Toji concedes. “Yeah.”

“Do I even know you?”

His thick eyebrows furrow at the question. Do I even know you? “There’s so much I haven’t told you yet.”

You sneer, “you mean, so much you’ve lied abou—”

“No.” Toji holds up his hand, a pardon to interrupt. Because he has never spewed untruths in lieu of keeping his double life a secret. He never lied about his job, his addictions, his mental instability—there were no flimsy excuses, Toji had simply pretended his weaknesses did not exist. You made him forget they were even there in the first place. “No, I didn’t lie. Not once.”

“Then what purpose did you have for me at all?” Wetness glistened over rounded eyes, and wistful tears began to collect along your lash line. Toji watches a bead of sadness break loose, hanging from a cluster of eyelashes. Looking up to the ceiling, you attempt to blink it away. “I just… Fuck. I promised myself I wouldn’t sleep with you—wouldn’t get attached—but you… Why did you lay with me?”

The gun still aims to his heart. “I wanted to.”

“I feel like my head is spinning,” you weep, sniffling in the air. So utterly hopeless. “I feel like I don’t know you at all. Or your intentions.” You were a woman of prowess and authority, a real powerhouse in the sense that you always seemed to just know. Knowing what, knowing why, knowing how; he was so strangely drawn to that superlative superpower, finding your wisdom one of the most alluring things in the world. So perhaps that’s why Toji feels worse than cow shit right now, subjected to the awful sight of your realization that you truly don’t know who he is. The reigns were relinquished from your hands. “I’m scared, Toji.”

“Of me?” A stupid question he already knows good and well the answer to, but he asks anyway.

You whimper out your answer with a dejected nod. “Yes.”

The sorrow that oozes from your stare physically hurts, something akin to watching an eclipse with naked eyes, so Toji fixates on the handgun instead. The metallic shine indicates that it was recently purchased and most likely never used. You must’ve bought the thing specifically for this purpose.

“Are you going to kill me, Y/n?”

There’s no response. It aggravates him.

“Are you?” Toji asks once more, projecting a rougher tone. Digging for an answer.

Through tears, you whimper out a little reply, a question to his question. “Will you stop me?”

No. No, he fucking won’t. He sees through your plan; you’re waiting for him to lash out, to fight for his life. You want him to give you a reason to pull the trigger and prove your theories right—theories that he’s nothing more than a dangerous, vindictive animal hell bent on satiating his bloodlust. But Toji isn’t much of anything other than a torpid waste of oxygen. He won’t combat fate, he won’t put his hands on you even in the face of death. Toji takes your shaking wrist into his hand, keeping every last movement slow and sticky. You flinch away upon contact, but the look in his eyes was nothing if not assuaging, so you let yourself be handled. He draws you near, close enough to press the end of the barrel directly against his head. “Aim here,” he instructs with a lulling timbre, and fixes the thing to rest harshly on his temple. “It’ll be quicker. Less blood.”

Horrified, “what are you doing?”

“I ain’t gonna get violent with you.” Toji feels ready. This is okay, to die in a room as pretty as this one, facing a sorry sight as pretty as you. It’ll be a hassle to clean up for you, but you’re sharp as a knife. You’ll figure it out. His other hand, the one not attached to your forearm, rises to touch at your hip. Massaging over the thick robe, holding the dip of your waist with a vice grip. “If this is what I gotta do to prove myself, then fine. I’m ready, so take the safety off and put a bullet in my brain already.”

“N-no…”

“Yes.” He jimmies your arm, coaxing you to shoot. “Fucking do it, I know you can.”

“No!” You roar in his face, lips reeled back in a desperate snarl. “No, you made your point!” A knee sinks into the space of cushion between Toji’s legs, a hand clawing at his forearm. “Stop it, enough already!”

Toji is bemused by your fanfare of emotion. He barely winces as you work hard to pry your wrist from his handhold, scratching overgrown and timeworn acrylics into the tough flesh of his arm. “I can’t keep up with you, woman.” He tuts, observing the struggle. “Y’kick me out, then you call me back. Don’t talk to me for months, but you’re paying my rent. Pull a gun on me, then start crying when I give you a push.” Reaching up, Toji finds the warmth of your neck, cupping his palm to it. Sliding up and up, pushing your jaw with thick fingers because he needs you to stop focusing on the gun and start focusing on him. Your head is steered by his ginger hand, forcing your guys’ eyes to bridge. “You had me fooled. Here I thought you were more mature than whatever-the-fuck this is.”

“You want to talk about maturity?” Like a coin, the doleful effusion you bled was flipped into bewildered agitation. Fire ignites underneath your tongue and Toji braces for its heat.

“Yeah, sure,” ever the impudent asshole, “let’s talk.”

You give him a funny look. A you have a lot of fucking nerve look. “It’s because of your immaturity that we’re here right now!” Getting closer, your other leg fits across the opposite side of his, effectively perching yourself over his thick thigh. Toji grunts under the force in which you sit down. “You and your stupid flirtations. You made me believe that we could have…” Breaking off into a frustrated groan, you shook your head. “How selfish can you be, Toji? To pursue me when you know damn well what you’ve done is unforgivable.”

The tip of his tongue finds his molars, and he looks away for a moment to analyze your question. A moment that is cut entirely too short when you return the favor of maneuvering his head. “No, you need to look at me, too.”

There isn’t any elaborate reasoning he can present to you on a silver dish. When it comes down to the brass tacks of it all, that was just it: Toji is selfish. The only taste of love Toji had ever gotten was when he was young and dumb in his early twenties, spontaneously marrying the first woman who convinced him that he was worthy of tenderness. God, she was gentle with him, seizing his heart in her hands with so much caution and kindness that it made him physically ill. When she passed, he was positive that his heart had been buried alongside her deep in the Earth. That warmth never returned, not once in the years following when he’d find himself falling into strangers’ beds for a quick living. And he’d curse himself, reliving memories of her every night before sleep. So young and dumb, far too much so to appreciate what he had; what he’d never get again.

But then you came along.

Man, what a plot twist you were.

“You make me feel things.” What the fuck is he even saying? ‘You make me feel things’? That explanation was about as insightful as a child would be. Toji has never so directly spoken about his feelings before, this is challenging.

Non-judgemental, you heed his message and urge him to continue. “Good things or bad things?”

“Uh,” Toji thinks for a second, “nostalgic things? I… Haven’t felt like this in a long time.”

“Felt like what?”

There comes a pregnant pause, and Toji takes this time to peer up at you. You sit tall on his leg, head at a tilt while you wait patiently for him to select a word. An attribute that you shock into his system every time you enter the vicinity. It’s a shitty, embarrassing answer, but he spits it out anyway. “Loved.” Using your quiet to his advantage, Toji prattles on. “Or somethin’ like that. I’m a fucking moron though, for thinking I could keep secrets. Selfish is a good way to put it.”

“You’ve killed people for money. You are the epitome of the word selfish.”

“That shit’s behind me.”

You reel, leaning back in his lap to gauge Toji’s expression. “Really?” It’s asked with skepticism, and Toji’s eye twitches.

“What, you think I’m bullshitting?” His hand involuntarily squeezes your wrist, a futile attempt to communicate his sincerity through touch. “No, I haven’t taken a job since last I left your place. I quit.”

This discovery retires some of that scorn. With a weaker voice than before, “officially?”

Toji gives you a subtle nod. “As much as you want to believe I liked dropping bodies, I really, really didn’t.”

There is a hint of a smile, just barely curling at the corner of your lip, before it droops back down into the biggest frown he’s seen you wear all night. “But then wait a second… Where have you been getting your income from? I stopped issuing checks when we—” You stop yourself from saying it.

“Ah, I’ve just been,” shit, what a dilemma. “Getting some sugar.” It comes out with an awkward chuckle. It’s not a complete lie, sugar baby-ing and prostituting—it was all sex work nevertheless. He isn’t fond of the whorish implication, but you know him. You’ve seen him at his sluttiest, and you weren't disgusted.

“You’ve been having sex?” You veer in toward him. There is no shock or discomfort lacing your words—you know him—only bona fide earnestness.

“Yeah.” Toji feels compelled to say sorry, but he doesn’t. “I needed the cash.” He doesn’t care to rally the question back at you, doesn’t care to know if you’ve fucked anyone else.

It’s subtle, but he can feel the pity radiating off you, seeping into his pores and burrowing under flesh. You look at him the same way you’d look at a scraped-up mutt abandoned on the side of the highway. He fucking despises that look from anyone else, but from you? It’s not so bad. If anything, it’s maybe even a bit soothing, the way you can console him with just your eyes.

“Toji, let go of my arm.”

He does as told, dripping your wrist. The handgun falls to the couch, neglected, but Toji doesn’t get the chance to watch it because you’re shrouding the view. A buxom body nestles against the convex of Toji’s ample chest, two arms coil around his thick neck, fingers scritching over his scalp. You’re hugging him.

“Is this okay?” You must’ve felt him stiffen under the weight of your affections, perhaps you took it as a sign of discomfort. But that’s not it at all; the hesitation was a byproduct of Toji’s emotional stoicism. A defense mechanism he’s built for himself, successful in warding off contingence. Sex was okay. Sex was gritty and rugged and crude, enough to make him forget he was being touched at all. But this? Fucking hugging?

How childish was he for submitting to something so teenage? This was the equivalent of popping a boner from hand holding.

And still… “I like it.” Once again, he lets you tear down his walls. Succumbing to you felt organic, almost as if Toji could just close his eyes and let muscle memory guide his limbs to their place. A heavy head knocks forward, plummeting in the valley between your breasts that have been exposed by the plunging neckline of your robe. Unbeknownst to you, the knot holding it closed had untied itself somewhere in the haste, and it has become more of a loose garnish to your body clad in nothing more than a matching set of dark, rebellious little underwear. Strong arms return the gesture, squeezing you to him so tightly that you must let out an audible oomph as your lungs constrict.

“I like it…” Toji repeats under his breath, nosing a path up to your clavicle. On you, notes of that saccharine, peachy body wash he’d once massaged into your skin. He takes self-indulgent whiffs, closing his eyes to hyperfixate on his sense of smell. “I like you.”

Totally abrupt, no sensibility in the manner, Toji blurts it out. Those three bedeviled words he swore to condemn to the pit of his guts, never to be released aloud. His conscience dictates his actions now, apparently, because the man has no longer any will to swallow his sentiments. After all the terrible, traumatizing shit he’s dragged you through, it’s the least he can offer. You’ve been deserving of those three words for a while now, Toji just never knew how to give them to you. As it turns out, it’s a lot simpler than his imaginations led him to believe.

“You’ve never told me that before.”

He holds you impossibly tighter, hands flat and feeling the landscape of your back. “You knew, though.”

The hand in Toji’s dampened hair clenches when he ghosts his lips over that throbbing neck vein. “Still, you could have said it sooner.”

“I’m sorry.” He kisses you there, then kisses you again. Slow and tantalizing, just the way you liked. “Sorry for being awful.”

Teeth peek out and catch your skin.

“I don’t—” you stop to gasp, cradling Toji’s head and holding him deep into the crib of your neck. “Think you’re awful.”

“Mm.” Blindly, he gropes the cushion beside his thigh, feeling for the discarded gun. Toji taps the cool metal against the chub of your cheek, attentive to the trigger—he never goes near it. Catching you in a lidded staring contest, “you use this on good guys, then?”

You pull a grimace. “I don’t use it at all.”

Toji is thoroughly amused. “You were gonna use it on me,” he chuckles quietly, so close to your pretty face that the point of his nose brushes yours. “Or were you just tryin’ to give me a scare?”

“I…” You trail off into brief thought. “I was afraid. I’m only a normal woman, Toji, it’s not everyday I find myself in the presence of a criminal.”

Again, he laughs, thumb sweeping back drapery that shades your thigh. You make no efforts to halt him, instead just following his line of sight all the way down to the black, leathery holster strapped high upon your thigh. Something about it is so enticing, the way fat pudges out along the sides of the tight strip. Like a garter belt, but a thousand times sexier. “‘Normal’ my ass.” Toji plucks the thing, gauging its limitation to stretch, before releasing it to snap back into place and choke your squishy thigh once more. You yelp, smacking his bicep.

“That hurt, asshole.”

“Sorry,” Toji apologizes loosely. He shakes the gun, hearing its rattle. “So this was a test, then.” There is no quizzical lilt, because there is no question about it. It was a test of trust. The weapon was a mere instigator, a tool to coax Toji into showing his ‘truest colors’; unmasking his supposed violent tendencies. All that trust you placed in Toji’s basket must’ve vanished on that rainy night, in the wake of his confession to murder. All that trust… It soured into bitter doubt.

“A very idiotic, very flawed test,” you sigh, on the cusp of a humorless smirk. “You passed, by the way.”

“I don’t feel like I did. You thought that I would’ve hurt you.”

“I was just preparing for the worst case scenario.”

The way in which he surveyed you was kindred to the nature of religion. Gritty fingertips explored your Holy face, and Toji worshiped every feature. Could you truly not see how sacred you are to him? Toji doesn’t caress the faces of his quick fucks, and he certainly wouldn’t surrender his life to them.

“Put that thought out of your brain. Right now. I will never put my hands on you.”

You look flushed. Your cheek kindles warmth beneath his hand. “I want to kiss you.”

Toji’s instantaneous submission was laughable. Jaw unhinging, scarred lips parting wide, tongue twitching with anticipation. He opens his mouth for you and waits.

His face gets clamped in between two tenacious hands. Nails dig into Toji’s face as he’s yanked in to meet you in a teeth-clanking lip lock. It feels like a breath of fresh air, to kiss you like this again. Suddenly, he forgets what those strangers’ genitals tasted like. He forgets the taste of coke dripping down the back of his throat after snorting his fifth line in one night. Forgets the taste of soupy, liquor-flavored bile. All Toji knows is you and your nectarous little mouth. Your honeyed tongue is a tyrant in his mouth, dominating every wet corner, branding your essence into his taste buds.

“I missed you,” Toji laments into your lips. He grapples with your hips, manhandling them into a constant gyration deep onto the crux of his lap. “I missed us.”

“I can tell,” you mumble and give a sharp grind against him. Against the prominent tent beaming up from the crotch of his pants, and he shudders. Then, you look at him stone cold sober from lust and ask him foolishly, “do you want to have sex right now?”

A nasally exhale huffs out, because you have to be joking with him. “My cock’s hard, ain’t it?”

You’re a beacon of po-faced prudishness, all the while he pants for more. “Your erection is a given, considering the position we’re in,” close-grained and consolidated in intimacy. You tap Toji’s forehead, “how do you feel up here? I’d like to know.”

Such shitty pillow talk, but even still, Toji felt rosy. It made him feel acknowledged; recognized as more than just a dick to bounce on. Fuck, you’re really turning him on with that corny, mushy bullshit. “I’m good,” he tells you honestly. “I want you.”

I want to be inside of you.

“And you’ll let me know if that feeling changes?”

He groans against your cheek, “Jesus, yes, just fuckin’ touch me.”

“Ask me appropriately.”

Here he goes, sounding like a little bitch again. “Please, m-ma’am… Take it out.” Another memory to add to his internal cringe compilation.

Satisfied, you sit up on your haunches. “Lift your ass.” He does so, and accepts your help to shimmy the waistband of those constricting pants down to quarter thigh. Just low enough to make a spectacle of the hard rod straining against the thin material of his snug boxer briefs; gray and breathable and damp with his pre-ejaculant.

“Shit.” Toji huffs, giving a weak jerk when your hands begin the delicate procedure of feeding his slippery appendage through the piss hole at the front of his ruined underwear. He watches you pull him out with grace—he’s privy to the consideration you show to his most sensitive spots when you handle him like this. He thinks it’s endearing.

There his dick stands, tall and proud in the valley where both pairs of hips meet flush with one another. Toji looks down at the pinkish thing, watches the way it drifts back to hit his navel, falling under its own mass. “Rub me,” Toji whispers with his forehead pressed against the shelf of your shoulder, gazing down under heavy lids to watch his own dick drool spittle into his tee shirt. A hand precipitously hangs below his chin, fingers and palm working with each other to create a makeshift bowl. Assuming to catch something.

“Spit, Toji.”

A second hand strokes the back of his skull, and the gesture emmenates patience. There’s only a split second of hesitation before he grants your vulgar request. Toji swishes his tongue around, collecting every ounce of saliva that coats the inner seams of his sticky mouth before opening up. The wet muscle unfurls, and a waterslide of spit cascades down into the palm of your awaiting hand. He’s rewarded for his efforts—good job, Toji—before you get down to business.

His spit is cold when it smears along his tip. Toji bites his lip, sinks his digits deep into the meat of your ass, and fixates on keeping a composed breathing pattern because fuck, your hand was magical. You jerk him off leisurely, maintaining languid strokes that squeeze tighter near the peak of his length. “This alright?” You coo next to Toji’s ear, keeping your free hand busy playing with his raven locks.

Toji makes a pitiful, throaty noise in response. “Do it faster.”

“No.”

He grits his teeth. “Unfair…” Toji’s hands tremble. To combat this, he begins grabbing at the robe still hugging over you, shielding that sexy body from his perverted glare. You make no indications that he should stop, so he doesn’t. Shucking off that expensive, red cape down your perfect shoulders, splitting the front open right down the middle. It’s a black, lacy little number, and the cups of your darling bralette plead transparency.

Toji pulls the thing up without dawdling, sighing blithely at the heavenly prospect of your perfect breasts bared and ready to be taken by his mouth. “God.” He captures your tit in one hand, squeezing it, playing with its weight. Your latter breast gets swiftly tucked between his lips, subjected to enthusiastic teasing from Toji’s tongue. He’s teething, rolling your budding nipple between rows of ivory fangs like he’s trying for milk.

“You’re so hungry for it.”

“You've been depriving me of this,” Toji emphasizes his point with a long, keen lick to your cleavage. “An’ you expect me not to be starving.”

You pull him off your chest by the scruff of his neck, hoisting Toji’s heavy head up at your face level. Saliva moistens his lips, and you take your time swiping up his spit with your deft thumb pad. “Shall we get on with it, then?” Condescension and sympathy duel each other when you speak to him, like he is the unreasonable one for becoming a frenzied mess of sensuality.

Toji is about to answer when it catches his eye. The glinting iron barrel, taunting him. It sits once more at the side of his thigh, untouched and forgotten. Begging to be used.

“I want you to fuck me.” There’s a brief intermission of silence while he collects the weapon, grabbing it by the cask and offering you its handle. You’re inquisitive, staring at the thing with uncertainty, so Toji lays his motives out across the table. “Hold this on me while you do it.”

You chortle, expecting his laugh to come next. But it never does, so you stop and raise a brow. “Come again?”

“You went through the trouble of buying this just for me, yeah?” It was obvious to anyone with two working eyes that you had no experience maintaining firearms. The gun was spotless, brand-spanking-new, and never had you mentioned to Toji that you keep something so dangerous in your home. So yeah, you can try to deny it all you want, but he knows that the only reason you now own a pistol is in case you needed to pop a cap in his brain. “Now I’m asking you to use it.”

“Toji,” you sweatdrop, “I don’t think…”

He takes your hand in his and presses the grip of the gun into your palm before securing your fingers around its silicon. Wide eyes look at him with pure solicitousness. “It’s okay.” Just like before, he steers you into position. “Jus’ keep your arm up like this. Hold it to my head. Yeah, perfect.”

“This is sick, even for you.” Despite your words, you don’t sound too dismayed.

“Been rocking a half chub the second you pointed it at me.”

“Filthy.”

Toji hums offhandedly, peeking down at your panty-clad pussy. Your undies were cute, he thinks, teasing the tiny ribbon bow perched on the waistband with a feather-light fingertip. Twin ebony fibers crafted the panties, just as chiffon as the bra. “Gets me off,” he shrugs, hooking his index beneath the gusset and dragging it to the side where it’ll stay in the crease of your thigh. Toji can feel the blaze of your core grate against his hand. You’re turned on. He looks back at you. “Putting my life in your hands.”

You’re shifting, stretching up a little higher to accommodate his cock. One of your knees props up at a right angle, the other remains firmly planted into the couch. “You’re so insane.” Ruddiness blooms along Toji’s neck when you hawk a wad of spit into your hand and bring it down to rub yourself. Lubricating yourself for him, moaning for him, fuck. He’s holding himself too.

“Aintcha feelin’ powerful, though?” Toji challenges haughtily, slapping his swollen tip against your pubic bone. In response, he feels the barrel of the handgun sink a little rougher into the thin skin on his temple, and it makes him chuckle out loud. “Makes you wanna give it to me harder, don’t it?”

Tacky, spit-soaked fingers catch the angle of his running jaw with a grip so taut, it squishes his cheeks and forces his lips into a reluctant pout. “What am I going to do with that mouth?” You glower, and his mind races with a catalog of hundreds of different risque solutions to propose. However, he doesn’t get one out before your next order: “Put it in.”

And he does right away. A concoction of spit, semen, and cunt juice made the insertion process quick and painless. Without delay, your hips crash down into his lap, and it draws a paltry cheep past his clenched teeth. Fronts stick together thanks to the bone-crushing bear hug he ensnares you in. You give in, throwing your arms over his broad shoulders to attune to the sudden adjacency. He can feel a hard, steely nozzle trace around the circumference of his skull, ending at the base behind his head.

And that’s how you two sit for a while; inside one another, breathing humid puffs of carbon dioxide into each other’s necks.

“I’m… Gonna move now.”

“Please,” Toji murmurs.

Hands walk down your spine, finding purchase on the malleable globes of your ass. Toji kneads like it’s dough; grabbing, pulling, grinding you back and forth. This is how sex should feel, you’ve made him come to realize. Equal parts raw and nasty in perfect tandem with intimacy and comfort. Hell, you have a fucking gun trained at his cerebellum, and even with that unusual addition, this is the safest sex he’s had in months.

You are an expert in the ways of motion, methodically pirouetting those godsent curves in the most salacious degrees. “Oh God, don’t fucking stop,” Toji pleads, lapping against the slope of your neck. It’s killing him, the way you’re fucking his body deep into the couch like you owned it. It’s physically strenuous to keep his teeth at bay. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

The gun clinks against his head, the thud echoing in his mushy brain. “Hey,” you manage to pant out between short grunts. “No marks, y-you know that.”

Oh. Right. Stupid fucking professional job bullshit…

In the throes of Toji’s desire to swallow you whole, your warning goes in one ear and flies right out the other. “It’ll be fine,” he hushes you, skimming his sharp canines up your throat.

“Toji.”

“How about here, then?” Before you could say ‘knife’, the tip of a tongue prodded into your ear. Swiveling around, collecting your flavor. Even here, you tasted clean. Like soapy chemicals, but not unpleasant.

“Toji!”

You’ve stopped fucking him. Toji blinks, and suddenly, he’s being pushed into the back of the sofa by a hand in the center of his pectorals. It takes a second to catch his breath, but when he does, “what?”

Gawking, you palm your ear and cast a horrified look. “You can’t lick there! That’s dirty!”

“But I felt your pussy squeeze when I slid my tongue in—” He hacks around the foreign object. Did you just…?

“Your fucking mouth.” The barrel now lodges in his mouth, pressing back against Toji’s tongue hard enough to trigger salivary glands. It’s obvious that his nonchalance had rendered you harebrained, but thrusting the gun between his jaws like that was the last thing Toji expected you to do. It appeared that the surprise of it all was mutual—you, too, ogle your hand that holds the firearm. “Oh my—Toji, I’m sorry I didn’t—”

With haste, you move to reel back. But Toji’s reflexes are military grade, so he’s able to snag your wrist and hold you there. The shock subsided, and in its wake was the most intense form of pleasure he’d ever felt. Has there ever been a more pure forgery of submission than this? Choking on the loaded gun of your lover, hinging on each breath, wondering if your next will be your last. The whole concept is giving him a headrush far greater than any drug could. So Toji holds you in place, muffling out his pleas through the metal. Staring at you down his nose, eyes teeming with his adoration.

I want it. And he means it.

Thank God you’re not one of those dumb bimbo bitches he normally fucks with. You understand the message conveyed in his eyes. You see it. You’re not dense, you know what he wants, and you’ll give it to him. “Tap my leg if you need a break.” He won’t.

The humping of his sore cock resumes, and any crumb of fortitude left within him curled up and wilted like the Hydrangeas on your front doorstep. He wilts too, collapsing back into the couch while you use his erection.

You mewl contentedly, bracing yourself with a gentle touch to his pec. A stark contrast to the way your latter hand thrusted the piece in and out of Toji’s willing mouth. He’s not averse to something long and stiff down his throat—desperate times called for desperate measures, and if he had to suck a few cocks to cover the bills, then that’s exactly what he was gonna do. Though this was more enjoyable by miles, he thinks offhandedly while he stifles his gags. There’s no musty stench burning up his nasal cavity, no foul taste of unwashed skin. And a potential bullet was much more appetizing than the inevitable gluey spunk guaranteed at the end of every hummer. Spit bubbles up into a foamy mess at the corners of his lips as he sucks the gun. Sucks it like it’s attached to you, like you’ll be able to feel the way he coils his experienced tongue around the metallic muzzle.

“You’re really i-into that..” Awe infuses each shaky syllable, and Toji hopes maybe in some twisted rhyme or reason, he’s impressed you. Once more, he tries to talk back, but the barrier between his teeth results in utter incoherence.

Orgasm was near shortly after, and the only warning Toji can supply is a broken half-cry, half-cough. His body began to jerk and twitch in strange ways. Like his right thigh, now sporting an uncontrollable tremble. Or his eyes rolling skyward. “You want to cum?” You asked softly despite your own impending climax, and you stroke the clenching muscles in his abdomen.

“Nngh.” Fucking pathetic, but it’s the best he can do.

The muzzle clips the back of his throat, and tears spring into Toji’s trundling eyes. Everything gets brighter, and atmospheric sounds jumbled together into deadened white noise. Very distantly, weight lifts from his legs, and that’s when he can’t stop from diving over the edge of his orgasm.

Toji shakes, then shakes some more. Oh, his mouth is empty. When did that happen? Everything is wet and thick and syrupy. The brightness starts to fade, but even still, he has to cover his sensitive eyes with a forearm while he gasps his way back to reality. “Fu… F-fu… Ck…” You have diluted him down to nothing but a babbling idiot. Jesus Christ.

“—ji… Toji!”

Hazily, he peeks down from underneath his arm. You’re massaging soothing circles into his restless thighs that have still yet to calm down. But you’re doing it all with a quiet grin. “There he is.”

I’m happy.

Because you remind me that I can have good things.

There is your beautiful face, shining at the end of his orgasmic rainbow. Ready to clean up his mess, ready to talk him into slumber, ready to hold and caress under a shared blanket. Maybe he can deserve this—you—if he works hard enough.

Summoning whatever remained of his stamina, Toji lurches off the couch’s back to meet you into a sweet kiss. A simple kiss, devoid of any spit swapping; just his lips to yours.

“Here I am.”

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loversmantra · 4 months

Text

FREE FALLIN' LOVE ADDICT!

synopsis. satoru's fingers look their best soaking wet.

content. gojo satoru x cisfem!reader. smut. minors do not interact. lowkey... househusband satoru and his working wife. making out. fingering. cum eating. drooling. size difference. not explicitly stated but this definitely reads as sub!satoru. foul language. "gojo satoru has the biggest praise kink in existence," i say from the top of my hill. he's kinda pathetic in this tbh but so am i so it's fine.

title from poplar st by glass animals

wc. 2.3k

message from noe. this started as something very different, very wholesome... then it became this. i was fighting demons. sorry. also this is lowkey my first time doing smut be nice to me pls. anyways @neptuneblue dis one is for you twiiin

satoru’s hands are much bigger than yours.

you’ve known this for a long time, of course. as a teen, he never missed an opportunity to remind you you were smaller than him: whether that be by holding something out of your reach or using that creature of an appendage to cover your entire face and muffle your complaints.

he didn’t outgrow his antics. his hands did, however, get even bigger.

but it’s one thing to know, to have the theoretic knowledge of it in the back of your mind. it’s another to have indisputable proof of it: his huge hand wrapped around your own, both warming it and dwarfing it.

satoru’s had his hands on you since the day you first met. rough, teasing — and later loving. soft. and you’re thinking about them a lot these days. you’re thinking of his hands everywhere.

his longs fingers wrapped around your throat. snug around your waist, tight on your hips. deep inside you. you’re thinking about it, a lot.

the wonderful contrast of cherry red flush on his cheeks, down his neck, down his heaving chest. the heat of his breath on your lips, crazed, feverish, delirious. wide smile, all teeth, as he puts his fingers on his tongue and sucks. baby blues rolling back, away from the conscious world and into something he keeps on a tight, tight leash. he’s so beautiful when he gets like this. you want him.

you’re thinking about it so much, these days. you’re thinking about him.

you’re thinking today might be the boiling point.

you’re thinking satoru looks way too good in this outfit… and his hand is just so much bigger than yours.

your workday ended with a text from your beloved, urging you to hurry home, because he had a lil’ surprise for you. knowing satoru, you were fully expecting to find him laying on the bed naked and oiled up, but the sight you were greeted with when you arrived home was very different — though no less delectable.

the "surprise" itself: satoru in the kitchen, preparing dinner for you. he turned to face you when the door closed softly.

and while this might seem strange to anyone — anyone except you — when paired with his text telling you to hurry, you knew exactly where his intentions lied. you’ve been experiencing him long enough.

he wanted to seduce you. and fuck him, it worked.

not like you needed much help there: you’ve been thinking about jumping his bones, among other things, twenty-four seven, for days. you’re wrapped around his finger. head over heels. thoroughly whipped.

but to be fair, who could blame you?

briefly, you pondered. how wonderful it is, you thought, to have this man taking care you after a long day. how wonderful it is, to be loved by such a cosmic being. to come home and find the house clean. to come home and smell dinner cooking.

you pondered — but not for long. something else drew your attention away from his loving acts of service.

black slacks stretched around his toned legs, glorious ass on full display — you could have bitten him right there. his pristine white shirt was tight on his torso, showing off his rippling muscles as he expertly chopped vegetables. his sleeves — struggling to keep his biceps in check, it almost seemed — were rolled up to his elbows. displaying his hands and forearms perfectly. damn him.

to top it all off: an apron tight around his slim waist. picture perfect househusband.

he looked good. good enough to eat.

and you could tell he thought the same of you in your tailored suit. you saw his eyes darken from all the way across the room.

this was all part of his plan, of course.

he smiled. washed his hands, didn’t wipe away the droplets. he raked his eyes all over you, dark, wanting.

“hi, baby,” he purred.

you took off your shoes hastily, hurried to his side, pushed him against the counter and pushed your lips against his…

…to end up here, dress shirt wide open, tongue down his throat, arms pinned to the kitchen island by his large, large hands. his poor apron forgotten across the room.

there isn’t an inch of free space between the two of you — satoru simply refuses to let you drift away. you can feel his impatience all over him, little whines escaping his lips that you drink eagerly, narrow hips pressed to the furniture as if to give himself relief. you won’t have it, you refuse. his relief will be you or nothing.

“how was your day, satoru?” you smile against him.

he returns it, body shivering at his name falling from your lips. his hot mouth trails down to your shoulder, to leave no part of you untouched, untasted. “missed you,” he whispers with a push of his hips against you.

“hm, is that it?”

a hand leaves yours to flatten on your belly — he pushes you down easily and takes his rightful place, right on top of you. white hair tickles your skin as he makes his way back up until… “yeah,” he grins, eyes so dark you can barely breathe. his smile is all teeth. “that’s it.”

without your permission your thighs move to rub against one another. it doesn’t escape him. you try to turn your head away, to flee from his teasing. he follows. he always does.

“look at me, pretty,” he bites into your neck. “you want something from me?”

you do — you want his fingers knuckles deep inside you. and the absolute best part is, you know how bad he wants it, too, to see you come undone with his touch. you see it, you feel it in his every move. the need.

you feel it in the tight grip his hand has on your own, on your waist to keep you pressed against the marble. in the very, very slight tremor of his thighs close to yours, kept tightly under his control. in the tensing, untensing of his every muscle — restraint he’s giving his all to maintain. in the glorious pink of his cheeks, the sweat already accumulating on his flawless skin. he wants it. he wants you to ask for it.

but your satoru’s been quite spoiled lately. he’s gotten used to getting his way every time, little prince. it wouldn’t hurt him to work for it. you want to make him work for it.

you don’t answer him. instead, you keep him busy with your tongue tracing his lips, one hand trailing your nails down the soft hair of his undercut — earning you another full body shiver — while with the other you unbuckle your belt on your own.

it’s easy, after that, to shove your hand under your panties. satoru pushes himself off you, to better watch.

you make a show of it, just for him. making sure to really coat your fingers with your slick. two tight circles on your clit aren’t enough to relieve the pressure, but you trust him to come around and take care of it — he’s so good at taking care of you. you throw your head back with a soft whine, arch yourself into him, and in the hot air you share with him your hand comes back up, fingers glistening.

he looks jealous. already, he’s moving — moving to take your hand in his and taste — but you won’t have it. before he can do anything about it, you pop your fingers into your mouth, sucking yourself off them.

satoru’s eyebrows knit briefly, but his smile widens. his breaths are reduced to pathetic, shallow pants. if you push him a little more, will you get him drooling, tongue hanging out like a puppy? you bet you could. but today isn’t the day to find out. you want his fucking fingers.

he doesn’t let you think about it any longer. “can i?” he rasps, leaning down. his tongue runs over his teeth.

you don’t think about it. you nod your head, and he dives.

licking into your mouth desperately, moaning like he's having the time of his life. it’s so easy to meet him halfway, to suck his tongue in your mouth, to swallow all his little whimpers — so good, baby, fuck — you want it all, so you take it all.

he only stops to rest against your mouth and whine, “you taste so good, i wish you could eat yourself out.”

he catches you completely off guard. you have no answer to that, so brilliantly, you say, “huh?”

he noses at your cheek and explains, “i want to eat your cum straight from your mouth.”

and that’s enough of that — you’ve run out of patience. you think you’ve wrecked him enough, in any case, to hear such things spewing out of his mouth. you feel him throbbing. you are, too.

“can’t have that, angel,” you pant against him. “but you can make me cum.”

you can feel his smile. “i thought you’d never ask.”

his fingers slide down your body, under your pants, taking the same route yours did. only it’s much harder for him — they’re much bigger.

satoru wastes no time. the stretch is immediate, big finger pushing into you slowly. your hand knitted in his hair tugs him down to you. his moan is even louder than yours.

he stays there for a moment, savoring it, licking at your lips, your neck, the underside of your jaw — moaning like an animal in heat, like he could cry from the relief your hot walls hugging his fingers bring.

cherry red on his cheeks, down his neck and the glimpse of his heaving chest his shirt gives you. hot pants fanning your lips. crazed. feverish. delirious. wide smile, canines glimmering in the light. oh, you’ve been waiting for this. you want more of him, you need more of him. your hands move against your will, almost tearing open his clothing. a huff of laughter warms your cheek.

but your love is as impatient as you.

a second finger pumps into you, slow and steady. you mewl, and with your encouragement satoru rises on his elbow to increase the pace.

“feel good, sweetheart?” he pants.

you couldn’t keep quiet if you tried.

“yeah,” you smile. “i feel fucking good.”

then you sink your teeth straight into his neck and delight at the wild buck of his hips, the sinful cry he gifts you.

his entire body moves with him. his hips grind into you, shameless, desperate, following his hand’s movement — and so does his tongue, fucking into your mouth like he wants you everywhere, wants to be inside you everywhere, wants to bury himself into you. drool drops down his chin. you drink it.

every beautiful sound that comes from him, every whimper, every harsh breath, every high-pitched moan is rewarded with a soft murmur of yours — so good, angel, so good for me, so good! his pace increases, his bicep is bulging, his back tenses, his eyes cross, he’s so close, you’ve got him right where you want him.

the pressure in your lower belly grows stronger with every expert stroke. he touches everywhere, a tender caress pumped into you by the strengths of his arm and pelvis together. mimicked perfectly by his tongue tugging at your lips, stroking your own, invading your mouth. you feel it grow, grow, until—

you come undone right there on his hand, in your pants, with a loud cry of his name, digging his nails into his shoulders — in retaliation, and partly to stave of his own orgasm, you’re sure of it, his bites the soft flesh of your neck, a wail dying in the back of his throat.

you come down together, chests rising and falling against one another, hot breaths warming the air around you. he’s still throbbing against your thighs, fingers slowed to shallow thrusting, as if he couldn’t bear to let the moment end just yet. you force him to still by smothering his hand with your thighs.

satoru makes his way back to your lips, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses and a singular bite on your cheek, one you answer with a giggle.

“that was a good one, baby,” he says against your mouth. “how many more can i give you?”

“depends. how many more can you take?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he smiles. his hand resurfaces from your underwear, soaked, glistening. he takes a moment to rub his fingers together, admire the slick, the feel of it all over his skin. you take the time he gives you to admire him.

he’s so beautiful, when he gets like this.

his hand rises, heading for his face. your gut clenches, thighs rubbing together in anticipation, a deep breath filling your lungs—

his tongue lolls out and his soaked fingers come to take their rightful place right onto it. his lips close around his hand. his cheeks hollow as he sucks.

baby blues rolling to the back of his head, satoru trembles, wracked with a full body shudder and a moan so sinfully loud you swear it echoes against the walls. his throbbing cock rubs on your thigh.

he allows himself one, two, three finger-deep thrusts into his mouth, practically fucking himself, gagging on his own hand, putting on the most wonderful show for you. just to make sure there’s not a droplet left.

then his fingers leave his mouth with a loud pop! and he looks back down at you. crazed. feverish. delirious. eyes so dark you can barely breathe.

looking good enough to eat.

later on, after a lot more cum from both parties and a well-deserved bath, you rush into the kitchen, praying your apartment isn’t about to burn down. satoru was, after all, supposed to be making you dinner.

when you lean over the countertops, you find that the stove was never on.

#☆ — by noe #❥ — satoru #☆ — close the door #☽ — jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen smut

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cherrychilli · 4 months

Text

18+ Living painting! Steve x F! reader, supernatural AU, monsterfucking (kind of), lil bit of angst, mentions of blood, mentions of bodily injury, oral sex (f), allusions to unprotected PIV sex

WC: 2.9K

A/N: So, I found the painting in the middle on Pinterest and couldn't help thinking that he looked pretty similar to Steve and this happened to be during the time I became interested in writing a monsterfucking fic of my own. It all kind of fell into place that night and I pretty much fell in love with the idea of a Steve who's a literal work of art that comes to life at night and becomes your secret supernatural boyfriend💛 I'm still figuring these two out but this is what I've come up with so far. Enjoy!

One week had passed and the remains of the old picture frame still sat in the waste basket in your kitchen, the ends of splintered poplar jutting up and out of the rim like jagged teeth.

It taunted you like a sneer but you made no move to empty it. Not until you knew for certain if he'd come back or not.

The new frame you'd selected was made of polished, treated pinewood. Sturdy and reliable, you were assured. You only hoped your glassy eyes had nothing to do with how strongly the sales lady had urged you of the frame's durability. Anything to clear you out before the other customers noticed the beginnings of tears wetting your lashes, a part of you suspected.

But the brand-new frame felt firm in your trembling hands. Solid. Sleek. Unbreakable, you hoped. Now all you had to do was wait while doing your best to disregard the many whispers of your neighbors as you passed by them in your apartment building.

"He must have found someone better", Mrs. Owens had muttered haughtily to her husband as you departed the elevator after exchanging forced smiles with the older couple, never knowing how close she'd come to having one of her gaudy gold earrings ripped right out of her lobe had you not managed to contain yourself at the last second.

"I think they might have broken up", you caught Tiffany from 20F's whisper directed at her boyfriend when you walked by them in the hallway, their tight, sympathetic smiles making your stomach churn as you hauled in your grocery bags containing only beer, instant noodles and a pack of cigarettes. The first pack you'd touched in a long time.

"Seriously? I never even got a look at the guy", he'd whispered back to her in a whine.

Sometimes you wondered what kind of image they'd conjured up of Steve. After all, there's only so much you can imagine when all you have to go by is what you can sometimes hear through the walls of your apartment.

That night, you stared at his painting while you sat at the foot of your bed like you had every night for the past week, waiting.

The rip in the canvas that ran up the length of his forearm stared back at you. Looking at it made your own arm sting, like fishing hooks in your skin.

Around you, your apartment had fallen into clutter but you didn't dare try to dust or clean again until you knew for certain if what you'd done had ruined everything for good or not.

"Please come back", you chanted under your breath as the minutes passed, waiting as patiently as you could for 12.00am to arrive. You hoped he'd come out of his frame like he had all those nights before. You hoped those brushstrokes would warp into flesh and blood once again despite the unintended gash marring the painting's canvas. You hoped to feel his warmth under your fingertips tonight.

You craved it.

You needed it.

But he doesn't come.

The clock ticks past 12.10am and you let your eyes slip shut before the tears start again.

When you wake, you see that the time’s 12.56am once you'd managed to blink the sleep fog away from your eyes, finding a sheet draped over your body and your cheek resting on a pillow you hadn't placed there yourself.

Springing up, your throat grows tight, like rope around your windpipe and you very nearly choke at the sight of the empty framed canvas hanging on your bedroom wall, nothing but swathes of buttery yellows, whites and greys pictured where there once was a pale brunette in the foreground too.

The five inch long cut that'd been made when the painting had scraped against the edge of your dresser was absent from the canvas as well, you notice, frantically kicking off your sheets to begin searching your apartment.

He's peacefully clearing up in the kitchen when you find him, a fresh kitchen towel wrapped securely around his forearm but you can see the blood stains seeping through the pale blue cotton from where you stand.

"You're out of bandages", he smiles when he sees you and it nearly makes your knees buckle, the doorframe holding you up as you lean against it for support.

"Does it hurt?", you manage to ask, eyeing the bloodied towel sadly, guilt scraping at you from the inside out like a saw grinding against your bones. It was all your fault.

"Barely", he answers and you almost believe him. Almost.

It's Steve who crosses the distance first because your legs have grown too weak to do so, reaching out with his injured arm to cup your cheek lovingly.

He notices too late that the blood from his wound has managed to trail down to his thumb. A crimson thumbprint stains your cheek and he attempts to wipe it away from your skin but you stop him before he has the chance.

"Don't", you plead. You didn't want to wipe that trace of him away, not after thinking you'd lost him. Not when you want to wear it on you like rubies.

"I could see you the whole time", he tells you, looking all kinds of apologetic for the worry he’d caused you. "Wanted to tear through that damn frame and be with you. I needed to hold you and tell you that I was okay – that you didn't need to cry anymore but this–" he clutches his injured arm. "I don't know why I couldn't come out sooner– I don't understand this– I still don't understand this", he gestures to himself and it's with a deep pang of sympathy that you understand his frustration.

His entire existence was an anomaly. For all the months you had spent together since you'd first discovered him, the both of you were yet to know how it was that Steve came to be. What had brought him to life? what other kinds of limitations were there? what did this all mean for your relationship? The thing is, none of these questions would be answered tonight because none them mattered to you right now. He was here again and that's all that really mattered.

"We don't have to. Not right away at least", you tell him, fisting the front of his white shirt with your hands, clutching him. "Just promise me you'll always come back", you plead softly, voice cracking as you sniff back a sob.

Smiling again, Steve cradles your face with both hands then, returning your adoring gaze with his mossy, cinnamon eyes. "I promise."

You're quick to lean into him after that, your arms winding tight around his waist as his drop lower to wrap around your back, pulling you in closer as you hold each other for a while.

It's no ordinary embrace. You spend those few blissful minutes memorizing every detail; his scent, his warmth, the gentle beat of his heart as you press your cheek to his chest, relishing all the little things about him that you thought you'd lost forever.

And then you're reminded of his injury, the thin, still bleeding slash running down his arm that the two of you are yet to attend to.

"Let me patch you up", you pull back to look up into his eyes, thinking of the spare first aid kit you had tucked away somewhere deep in your closet.

He only smiles back at you in that way that makes it impossible not to feel so cherished, like you’re the only thing he’ll ever treasure in this strange life he’s been granted.

"Later."

Gently, Steve interlaces his fingers with yours, pulling you into the kitchen and guiding you towards the kitchen dining table.

You watch closely as he pushes the clutter that'd gathered there off the table with his free hand, letting the empty grocery bags and more fall to the floor. You don't even have it in you to feel ashamed of the mess, too relieved to have him back, too pleased to give yourself to Steve as he wraps his large hands around the back of your thighs, lifting you up and placing you down on your table with your legs dangling off the edge.

Neither of you are surprised when things begin to take on a feverish, needy haze as your legs spread further for him to step between. His hands find the hem of your old, oversized t-shirt so he can pull it up over your bare breasts and over your head, stripping you of it and tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties.

Five and a half hours remain until the sun is due to come up and he'll have to climb back into frame again.

It just doesn't feel like enough.

With how badly you've missed him this past week you feel like you'll need an hour just to kiss him, another to let him explore you, one more for you to return the favor and the rest to wrap yourselves around each other – both of you connected, exchanging the same shaky breath back and forth, fanning the flames of each other’s' fire as you take him so deep inside that you'll carry the forthcoming soreness between your legs with a smile.

For now, though, Steve's kisses start off slow and lazy. Soft licks swipe along your bottom lip before you grant him entry into your mouth and his tongue finds yours, wrapping around it all languid and sloppy. It doesn't take long for him to begin sucking on it gently, eagerly swallowing down the many moans that rise up from your throat when his fingers start to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples.

It's impossible to keep from squirming when he touches you like this, knowing exactly where you're most sensitive and how best to stimulate you. It almost feels like he's weaponized all the knowledge he’s accrued during your time together, circling your nipples with his thumbs, bringing you right up to the cusp of just enough but purposefully withholding more – dangling your pleasure out of arm's reach

Unable to tame your greed because, how could you? how could anyone after what you’ve been through? you try to seek out more. You arch your back and push your chest out to meet Steve’s hands but all that does is make him pull away from your lips, a gentle chuckle working its way up his throat.

"Not yet, baby, not yet. Be a good girl and I'll treat you right."

You’re just about ready to pout and give him your most imploring, desperate Bambi eyes but he attaches himself to your neck next, teeth grazing your pulse point, lips forming a tight seal on your skin as he sucks fresh hickeys on to the surface.

Head lolling back, you can already imagine the sour scowl sure to twist Mrs. Owens' face when she sees the result of Steve’s work tomorrow, a grin emerging on your face as you plan to display the hickeys proudly instead of make any kind of effort to conceal them later.

But just as quickly as the thought had emerged, it falls to the wayside as Steve begins to grow less gentle, his lips leaving your neck as he urges you to lay your back flat against the table. Your own touches are growing more insistent as you help him rid himself of his shirt too, running your hands up the plane of his soft stomach, fingers trailing through his thick chest hair, loving the way it tickles your palms when you do so.

Leaning over you, he begins his descent down your body by pressing one last hot kiss at your neck and then two more between your breasts and on your stomach, gently pushing your knees further apart as he brings his mouth closer to your clothed cunt. You yield to him easily, soft and pliant under his touch like a bud unfurling its petals, ready to bloom. Your breath catches as his lips kiss up your inner thigh, his tongue seeking out your core, dragging over the damp cotton of your panties when he finds it.

Your reaction is instantaneous, hips twitching and whining for him just how he likes when he hooks his finger around the gusset of your panties, pulling it up so that it sinks firmly between your folds. The bump of your swollen clit is so obvious and easy to find underneath the stretched-out fabric and the curls between your legs peek out around the now tight, narrow strip of material. It feels so vulgar when he plays with you like this – so right because you’ve come to love it so much, even to the point you can’t imagine being touched any other way.

“Steve”, you can’t help the high-pitched rasp your voice has taken on, hips twitching again when he smirks and pulls on your panties hard enough for the material to drag over your clit and make you yelp.

And even now, when you're both so desperate for each other, he takes the time to tease you – loving the way you try to urge him on by wiggling your hips and the near pitiful way you whimper out "please".

"I promise. I'm going to treat you so good, sweetheart. Can you hold on a little longer for me, please? I know baby, I know – I just need to play with her a little bit first, okay? Gonna have my tongue on you soon", he coos sweetly in an attempt to placate you as he reaches for the waistband of your panties next.

You lift up your hips to help him get them off, a fresh flare of heat surging through your cheeks when you notice how he has to peel the sticky cotton from your cunt, catching sight of the glistening webs of slick that stretch from your pussy lips to your ruined underwear.

That self-conscious burn doesn’t remain for very long though because during your time together you've learned that Steve likes it messy. So, you're not surprised when you look up to find his face bright with delight, spreading your legs again once he's got your panties off from around your ankles, placing his thumbs on either side of your puffy lips and pulling you open.

"That's my girl", he mutters, his face so close you can feel his breath fan over your naked cunt. “So beautiful.”

He watches your wet hole clench and flex with an unquenchable fascination while you prop yourself up on your elbows and bite down on your lip, both of you unblinking when he gently pulls up your hood to get a good look at your throbbing clit.

“Aw baby. You’ve needed me badly, haven’t you?”, he looks up from between your legs, licking the pad of his thumb before pressing it against your swelling clit to rub slow circles into the sensitive bead.

You sigh out blissfully at the much-needed stimulation, thankful for it as your toes curl and you begin to nod your head. “Missed you so much”, you tell him through a whimper, nails dragging across varnished walnut.

At your admission, you see him reach between his legs to rub at the tent in his pants, lightly grinding his crotch into his palm for some relief. "I missed you too”, he tells you earnestly, letting loose a deep groan that makes your belly twist and somersault with want.

Watching him only makes the ache between your own legs worse and as if sensing that, Steve gathers your thighs in each hand, placing them over his shoulders.

"I'll never make you wait again", he promises, leaning down low, his tongue slipping inside where you needed him most and just like that, after a week of feeling utterly fractured, like you were nothing more than a collection of shattered pieces in shambles, you’re suddenly made whole once again.

You hated that he couldn't stay with you in bed, both of you naked, sweaty and sticky, legs tangled together. Steve’s chest is practically pasted to your back as you both lay on your side, his arms around your waist, his soft cock against your bare ass, his cum leaking from between your legs and his lips busy at your neck.

His cut has stopped bleeding too, you were relieved to notice, a layer of scar tissue already forming in its place. Add that to the list of peculiar things you were yet to understand about Steve.

With a quick glance at the clock that shifts into a glare, you realize how quickly Steve must leave you with only ten minutes left until sun up. You wanted those minutes to stretch on as slowly as molasses, anything to keep him here beside you just a little longer.

"Let me help you clean up in here tomorrow", he kisses your cheek, pulling you away from the previous bitter thought.

You can still smell yourself on his lips the same way you're sure he can probably smell himself on yours, your tongue heavy with the taste of his spend as you keep swirling the muscle up against the roof of your mouth, sucking the remnants from it.

"Okay", you sigh contently, nuzzling your cheek against your pillow, pressing yourself against his naked form a little more.

"Don't drop me again, okay?", he chuckles against your skin like he can’t help it, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re quick to pinch him on one of the arms he’s got wrapped around your waist. "Don't even joke about that. I thought I lost you", you turn to face him with a pout, one he's quick and plenty eager to kiss away with a smile.

"You didn't. You won't. I'm yours, always."

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #steve harrington x reader

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annwrites · 4 months

Text

hey, sweetheart, need a ride?

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: billy drives you home one day & asks you on a date. you have a few interactions at school

— tags: billy being a dick after getting rejected. billy pulling out all the stop to impress you in his car. billy doing his utmost to make you jealous

— tw: misogyny

— word count: 2,586

— a/n: i am aware the backseat of his camaro would not have enough room for 2 people to screw, but we're going to pretend otherwise. and, while second generation camaros had the option of an automatic transmission, we're giving billy's car a manual (it's been a min since i watched the show & have 0 idea which his particular car had. the gif i chose makes it look like he's downshfiting, so i assume manual.), bc watching men shift gears is sexy as hell.

i know their english teacher was a man, but as the show never gave him a name, i came up with one on my own.

the name of the ice-cream place is a chain that's in fl that i found while googling, but we're going to pretend they're elsewhere too lol.

"Hey, sweetheart, need a ride?"

You stop in your tracks—currently headed in the direction of the school bus which will take you home—and see Billy Hargrove, reaching across the interior of his Camaro, popping open the passenger side door with a wide smile on his face as he looks at you. He even winks.

You glance to the bus, then back to him.

"Sure my car is a lot more comfortable than the bus," he calls to you.

You take a step toward his car, then another, then lower yourself inside, shutting the door, unsure what you're doing. Or, rather, why. He'd not been at Hawkins High long—a couple of months—but he'd already gotten just a tad on your bad side.

He sat behind you in English, and more than once your ponytail had been gently tugged at or yanked. And every time you'd turned around—telling yourself you were going to finally have it out with him over it—he'd flashed you a dazzling smile and said "sorry" or "my mistake". A few times, he'd feigned complete ignorance when you looked back, a blank look on his face, a brow raised, him asking "somethin' you need darlin'?".

You always turned back around, mouth shut, and sometimes heard him then snicker. You just rolled your eyes and sat forward, closer to your desk.

Once you were buckled, you looked to Billy, and watched as his eyes trailed along your bare legs, up to the hem of your sundress which stopped at your mid-thighs, then up your chest, until finally settling on your eyes. "Where to, doll?"

You feel half-tempted to get back out.

You don't, however.

"Just home. Do you know where Poplar Tree Road is?"

His eyes continue to stare into your own, left arm propped against his open window, right gripping the wheel. "Mhm."

Finally, he readjusts, placing his left hand against the wheel, right atop the shifter, and he peels out of the school parking lot.

It's not but maybe a couple minutes later that he grabs a cassette out of the glovebox, slipping it into the player in the dash, and turning the volume up to blast Metal Health by Quiet Riot.

You wince at the sound of the overtly loud music, but say nothing—not that he’d hear you if you did, anyway.

He shifts gears, making the car jerk and the hem of your sundress flutters, briefly flashing your light pink panties underneath and you panic, shoving it back down, holding it in-place, and when you look at Billy—cheeks burning—he’s already looking at you with a satisfied, toothy grin, chewing gum in the corner of his mouth. He shifts gears again, causing you to lurch forward and he looks back to the road.

You settle back against the seat, trying to catch your bearings, until he shifts gears yet again, speeding up—the engine revving.

You glance over to the speedometer, knowing the speed limit through this particular part of town is, at most, forty, and see he’s now going well over fifty-five. You want to tell him to please slow down, but know it’d do absolutely no good. You know that he’s well-aware of what he’s doing.

He’s trying to show-off, hoping to impress you.

The music, the shifting gears and speeding, and flashing you smiles and winks. Instead, all he’s managing to do is scare the living daylights out of you, and make you think of him as utterly reckless. You decide to never catch a ride with him again. How long has he been behind the wheel, anyway? A year, a few months? You worry—or, rather, hope, for the safety of others—that maybe he’ll get his license revoked for such idiotic actions.

Once he’s climbed to sixty, you decide to finally speak up, heart now pounding as you whiz past residential homes and people walking their pets on the sidewalk.

“Could you please slow down?” You yell at him over the radio.

He glances to you, brows furrowed. “Sorry, you say somethin’, baby? I can’t hear you over the stereo!”

He shifts gears again and you lean back, holding onto your seatbelt for dear life as he hangs a right turn.

You notice that you’re on your street and you finally reach forward, turning the music down to a comfortable level. “I live just up here.”

Once Billy has parked on the curb, just in front of your house, you unbuckle yourself with slightly-shaking hands. You grab your backpack from between your feet and look at him. “Thanks for the ride.”

He has his arm propped against the open window again, his fingers drumming lightly against the top of the car. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

You turn to get out of the car, but he speaks. “So, listen, I was thinking.”

You turn back to him.

“Friday Night at the drive-in theater they’re having a showing of Nightmare on Elm Street. I was wondering if you’d want to go with me? Don’t worry, if you get scared, I’ll hold your hand.” He gives you a flirtatious smirk.

You lean back in your seat, clutching your backpack to the front of you. You know what he’s really after, and it isn’t sharing the love of cinema.

You glance out the windshield, then look back to him and sigh. “So, is that was this was, then? I thought you were doing this to be nice. To maybe make up for all the times you’ve yanked on my hair in class and picked on me. Instead, it’s to try and make another notch in your belt. Right?”

He stays quiet, staring you down, all humor now gone from his expression, fingers stilled.

You go to get out of the car and he throws at you, “I was willing to pay for your ticket and everything. Guess I can just save my money for something worth my time now.”

You get out, shutting the door behind you. You lean down, refusing to take the bait as you give him a kind smile. “Thanks again for the ride.”

He turns the car over, revving the engine. “Don’t get used to it—it won’t be happening again. Stuck-up bitch.”

He roars away with that, leaving you standing there, fuming.

When you enter English class the next day, you glance up, noting Billy is already present and seated. You desperately wish the teacher had put you anywhere but in front of him. But, as the class was full, asking to move seats would require switching with someone else, and you were sure such a sudden change in seating arrangements would then generate talk—rumors—among your peers.

So, you decide to continue suffering through it instead.

You walk over to your desk, pulling out your textbook, binder, and other materials, and Billy glances to you, then to Angela Cammers, who sits to your right.

“Hey, Angie?”

She immediately turns back to him with a wide smile, elated he’s finally talking to her after two months of being at school. “Yeah, Billy?” She asks sweetly.

He leans forward, hands folded atop his desk. “You want to go to the drive-in theater with me tomorrow night to see Elm Street?” He gives her a handsome smile.

Her heart jumps at the invitation.

“I’ll even buy your ticket. We can go in my Camaro.”

He glances to you, and your expression remains passive, as if you’d not even heard him, as you choose a pencil for class today. He then looks back to Angela.

She nods excitedly. “Sure, yeah, okay.”

He gives her a wink. “It’s a date, then.”

Finally, you sit without even a minuscule reaction toward him.

He grinds his jaw, burning a hole in the back of your head. Then, he reaches forward, yanking roughly against your ponytail. Hard enough to rip out a couple long hairs.

You immediately reach up, cupping the back of your head, and turn abruptly back toward him. “Ow! That hurt, Billy!”

Angela’s head snaps back in your two’s direction, but Billy pays her no mind as he leans back, crossing his muscled arms and shrugging. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

You continue to glare at him and his lip twitches, which only serves to deepen your hatred.

Neither of you bother breaking eye-contact until, finally, the teacher speaks. “Mister Hargrove, Miss Y/N, is something the matter?”

You slowly turn back around, a pleasant smile now on your face. “No, Mister Barnes, I was just answering a question Billy had about last night’s homework.”

He nods, turning back to the blackboard to begin writing today’s lesson.

And then you hear from behind you, “Bitch.”

You fold your hands tightly together, fighting against finally exploding and letting him have it after weeks of picking on you—it’d started damn-near day one with him—and instead just turn your head infinitesimally to the left and mutter “asshole”, before turning your eyes back to the teacher at the front of the room.

His nostrils flare, muscles flexing as he squeezes his hands into fists. He then slams his boots down on the metal basket under your chair and you bounce lightly in your seat.

The two of you remain silent for the rest of class, both quietly seething.

The next day is finally Friday, meaning you’ll soon have two days away from Billy’s irritating presence.

Same as always, you’re standing before your desk, readying your materials for class, when Steve Harrington walks past you, greeting you kindly.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says with a smile.

You return the gesture. Finally, someone pleasant to talk to. “Hey, Steve,” you reply warmly.

Billy briefly considers giving the “Prince-of-the-School” one hell of an after-school special of an ass-whooping behind the bleachers once the day is through. In the meantime, however, he simply glares at him, which Steve takes note of, but doesn’t let get to him. It’s not as if he likes the guy much in return.

Steve then takes his seat to the right of your desk and he speaks to you again. “Hey, a few of us are planning on going to Twistee Treat after school, you want to come?”

You smile, feeling happy that someone at school was finally asking to involve you in something. You mostly kept to yourself, but Steve had always been nice to you. Nancy, too, in the few times you’d spoken to her. But you weren’t entirely sure what, exactly, was going on with the pair of them at the moment.

“Sure,” you say happily.

Billy’s rage is near-palpable at this point. And he of course injects himself into the conversation. He looks to Steve. “Don’t waste your time, man. She’s a fuckin’ prude.”

You blanch, then fill with anger. You speak before Steve can try to come to your rescue. “No, I just didn’t want to go to the movies with you, Billy. If I’d agreed, and given you what you’re obviously after, I’d end up being called a slut instead. Can’t win either way with guys like you, huh?”

He leans forward, the look on his face now irate. He doesn’t notice Angela now looking at him with a hurt expression. He points his index finger at you. “Listen here, you cun-”

“Alright, class, let’s take our seats,” the teacher calls from the front of the classroom.

You swiftly seat yourself, crossing your legs, expression now serene.

Meanwhile, your body is practically vibrating with anger.

On Monday when you enter class, you keep your eyes focused on your desk as you make your way to it, refusing to look at Billy’s smug face.

But, ever the chatterbox, he of course speaks to you, not just letting things go.

“Hey, Y/N, you have a nice weekend?” He asks with obviously-feigned interest.

You shrug. “It was okay. I had a nice time Friday night. You?”

His jaw flexes. He still has half-a-mind to kick Harrington’s ass. He’d driven by Twistee Treat before going to pick up Angela, and had seen you and Harrington sitting side-by-side, laughing, eating ice-cream, surrounded by his friends. He’d never seen you so damn happy, and wanted nothing more than to ruin the moment, but knew with all Steve’s little buddies with him, he’d be outnumbered. So, he’d instead driven away, his mood soured.

He smirks, leaning back, folding his hands behind his head. “Oh, I had a great fuckin’ time.”

You smile warmly. “That’s good.”

He nods. “Mhm.” He leans forward, closer toward you and whispers, “Even got lucky in the backseat of my car,” he says with a wink.

You give him an impressed look. “Wow, go Angie.”

You then go back to organizing your things on your desk.

That’s all the fucking reaction he was going to get? That was it?

You sit, and he watches as Steve smiles the minute he lays eyes on you.

He snaps his pencil in two.

After class, Angela meets Billy at his locker, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, books hugged against her chest. “Hi, Billy,” she says adoringly.

He glances to her with a raised brow, expression bored. “Hey.”

She barely notices his poor reaction to her sudden presence. “Would you want to come over to my house after school to study? And then, maybe after, we could go get ice-cream at this place nearby?”

He shoves a book onto the top shelf of his locker, now irritated. She wanted to go to the same damn place Harrington had taken you on, what he assumed was, your first date? No way in hell.

“Why would I want to do that?” He asks, tone flat.

Her face falls. “Oh. I just… I guess because Friday night we…y’know.”

He slams his locker closed. “I already got what I wanted. I’m not interested in anything else from you.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “But-”

He steps past her and she watches as he strides down the hall, then reaches out toward you—who is currently occupied talking to Steve Harrington—and yanks on your ponytail. You quickly swing around, yelling at him, meanwhile he sticks his tongue out in an open-mouthed smile, walking backward for a moment, then turning to continue heading to his next class.

She grows even more upset and makes her way to you, reaching you just as Steve steps away.

“Is something going on between you and Billy?”

You look at her, taken aback at being asked such a thing.

“Like what?” You ask, confused.

“Like…do you have a thing?”

Your brows raise in incredulity. Is…is he spreading rumors that you do? “Why would you think that?” You ask, now panicked.

“I saw him. He does it all the time: pulling your hair. Like little boys do when they like a girl. And I heard you say Friday that he asked you to the movies first. Which he told me was bullshit when he came to get me for our date, by the way. He said you were making things up because you were jealous.”

You let out a laugh, which hadn’t been intended. You quickly compose yourself. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you. Just at the notion of me being jealous of someone going on a date with him.” You close your locker then. “I can’t stand him, Angela. Believe me when I say you’re welcome to him, even if I think you—anyone, really—deserves far better.”

You head to fifth period then, leaving her standing there.

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x fem!oc #billy hargrove x female reader

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somanyratsinthewalls · 8 months

Note

Heyy! I’m new here and I absolutely love your writings wksiwksjwjshe is your 300 event still open?

if yes I would love to req a cinnamon + poplar ! hehe thank you! (If it’s already closed then don’t mind me)

*HI sorry this took forever! But I hope you love it ;) Ace is such a filthy boy in this one, EYE certainly enjoyed it*

Pairing: Ace x Fem Reader

WC: 2200

Prompt: “Shh I know baby, I know it’s good. You’re doing so good for me…”

TW: SEX, shameless flirting in public, Ace being kind of a pervert, reader is a bit older than young buck Ace, p in v sex, unprotected sex (don't) creampie (also don't) fingering, teasing, pet names, filthy language. the usual?

— —

You sat at your desk in the medical ward of the ship, up to your ears in paperwork. Blood test results to log, supply order forms to go over, you had so much on your plate and it was eating away at you. The rest of the crew was in the galley drinking but you were stuck working.

Suddenly the door to the med bay swings open and in waltzes the crew’s head doctor.

“Ok little chicken, that’s enough work for tonight.” Marco smiles warmly at you as he approaches your desk.

“Please stop calling me that." You sigh and rub your eyes. "And I still have more releases to sign off on, and the IV tubing we use for Dad is on backorder, so I have to decide if we go up a size or down a size and did you know-“ You ramble on and on while Marco rolls his eyes.

“I’ll handle it. Go out and have a drink.” Marco eyes your tired face. “Gods know you need it, kiddo.”

You sigh. You feign a smile as you rise from your desk chair, the joints in your back and knees popping from how long you had been sitting.

“Was… was that your back?” Marco asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. Shut up.” You say as you push your way out of the med bay. You follow the sounds of music and riotous laughter towards the galley and enter quietly. You slunk between the groups of pirates towards the center of the room and grab a beer from the barrel full of ice. You pull your cigarette lighter out of your pocket and use it to pop the cap off your beer. You stow the lighter back into your pocket.

“Hey, y/n! Over here!”

You turn around and see a somewhat intoxicated Ace waving you over to his table. He had that stupid, goofy grin on his face. You smiled back and headed in his direction. He was standing around a wooden table with Thatch, Izou and a few other Whitebeard pirates and nurses.

“Jeez y/n you look like you’ve been up for a week.” Ace teases you.

“I think I have, now that you mention it…” You say and take a sip of your beer.

“Man I haven’t seen you this down before, y/n. What the hell is going on with you?” Izou asks.

“Well, since you’ve asked! I’m exhausted. I’m bored. I’m stressed. I can’t tell if I want 5 more beers or to fall asleep on the floor! I am wildly overworked and under-fucked.” You finish your rant and slam your beer.

“Anyone else need another one?” You ask to the now silent group of people that surrounded you at the table. You were met with mostly blank stares, shocked at your sudden outburst. You turn and head to grab a new beer.

“I’ll come with you!” Ace is quick to join with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

He follows you like a puppy as you head towards the beer.

“You know I can help you with that, right?” Ace grabs your arm and pulls you to face him.

You laugh.

“I don’t really think Marco would trust you enough to run my blood tests for me, but thanks.”

“No no, the other part. The being under-fucked part.” Ace smirks down at you. Again, you laugh.

“Haha, oh yeah? What are you, like 23? Like you’d know what to do with it if you had a chance.” You smile playfully and wiggle out of his grip, finally retrieving another beer. Ace does the same and sidles close behind you on your way back to the table. Suddenly Ace’s breath is hot in your ear as he leans in to whisper something to you.

“Well I’ve got an 8 inch cock that might change your mind on that…” You stop dead in your tracks and your eyes widen.

“Wha-?”

Ace passes by you and goes to join the table again. “Only if you want, though! Come on, let’s have another drink!” Ace beckons you over like he hadn’t just whispered the most crude, filthy thing in your ear 30 seconds ago.

Convincing yourself you had imagined it, you snap out of your trance and return to the table to drink.

You enjoy a few more rounds of drinks and you notice with each beer, Ace slides his body closer and closer to yours. You could attribute this to the size of your party shrinking as people headed off to bed, but at this point he was basically pressing his side into yours, occasionally grazing his warm hand over your hip.

His touch was fleeting, but hot… it made you crave more. You found yourself leaning into him and he pulled you closer in return. He felt you shudder.

“Oh man, y/n, you must really be tired. Do you need help getting back to your room okay?” Ace looks down at you with a devious smirk. You knew what he was really asking.. and you were far too quick to respond.

“Yes, I think I’d like that, Ace.” You smile and he wraps his arm around your hip and pulls you away from the table.

Ace is all but giggling as he brings you back to your room, pinching and squeezing your skin anywhere he could tease it. He stops at your door and looks at you expectantly.

You laugh.

“Would you like to come inside, Ace?”

“Hell yeah!” Ace practically jumps into your room behind you and slams the door shut.

From the instant the door is closed, Ace’s lips are on yours. You barely had time to react to the kiss before he started tugging at your clothes. You laugh and pull back from the kiss.

“Haha slow down! We have all night Ace… I’m not going anywhere.” You purr at him and stroke his cheek. What a sweet, eager little thing he was.

Ace nuzzles himself into your neck and plants a wet kiss.

“‘M’sorry, just hate seeing you like this…” Ace continued licking and biting at your neck. You whimper. “Gonna fix it… gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

Your cunt clenched in anticipated of what he was about to do to your body. Ace pulls your dress over your head and tosses it to the floor. He distracts you with more kisses as he unclasps your bra and pulls it off of you. Ace kisses down to your stomach and gently pulls your panties down. You step out of them and realize you’re completely bare in front of your friend.

You covered your breasts instinctively. Those doesn’t go unnoticed by Ace, who was coming up to meet your eye again. He pulls your arm gently away from your chest and smiles.

“Aww are you shy, baby?” Ace coos at you. You blush so hard you think your face might be on fire. Why was he having this affect on you? He was a young blowhard at least 5 years your junior, and yet he ended up with all of the control in this situation…

“That’s ok, come here…” Ace gets on your bed and sits up with his back against the pillows and headboard. “Let me show you why you don’t need to be shy.” He smirks and holds out his arms to you.

You lick your lips and climb into Ace’s waiting lap. He positions you with your back again his chest, sitting between his legs. This position reminded you how Ace was still fully clothed and you were completely naked. Something about being so vulnerable in front of him was intoxicating…

“Spread your legs, sugar. Show me that cute pussy.” Ace whispers in your ear as he pulls your legs over his own, spreading them as far as they could go comfortably.

“Ace…” You whimper quietly, trying to turn your head away. You were embarrassed at how aroused he had made you, all while barely touching you… but not nearly embarrassed enough to ask him to stop.

Ace wastes no time before his hands are on your dripping sex.

“Holy shit…” Ace glides a finger up and down your slit. “Look at how wet you are, pretty.” His one finger turns to two fingers as he collects more of your slick from your hole and brings it up to rub firm circles onto your clit.

“Ace! Fuck!” You throw your head back, body feeling like it was filled with static electricity. He had you so worked up that every little touch felt like it was amplified by 100.

“You’re so wet that I bet I could just slip my fingers in..” Ace smirks and swiftly plunges the two digits into your hole. You moan. “And I bet that if I do this…” Ace begins to firmly pull and tap his fingers into that delicious spot inside of your cunt. “… you’ll cum.”

“Shit, fuck, Ace! O-oh my- Ah! ACE!” You cry out and explode all over Ace’s arm and the bed in front of you.

“Looks like I was right, huh baby? That’s a good girl, give it all to me.” Ace playfully reacts as he rubs at your clit to prolong your orgasm.

“Fuck… Ace…” You lay heaving on your bed in Ace’s arms, the spasms from your climax finally ceasing.

You feel Ace smiling into your neck as he peppers it with sweet kisses.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with it, huh???” He chuckles into your damp skin.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You roll your eyes.

Ace gently moves you out from between his legs and he rises from the bed to remove his vest and shorts. You audibly gasp at the sight of his huge member springing free from its confines.

“Jeez you weren’t kidding…” You say softly, eyes not leaving Ace’s cock in front of you.

“I’m a pirate, baby, not a liar.” He flashes you that stupid grin again. “Now face down, ass up, sugar.”

You quickly oblige, grabbing a pillow to cushion your face that was now stained with mascara. The first thing you feel is a warm hand sliding up your spine and massaging your skin, then you feel the prodding of Ace’s thick cock at your sopping wet entrance, the heavy mushroom tip barely breaching your hole. Ace dipped his tip teasingly in and out…

“Ace…. please…” You whine as you push your hips back to entice him to fully enter you.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give it to you, you don’t ever need to beg for me, pretty.” Ace plants both hands on your hips and pulls your ass flush against his pelvis, sinking his cock as deep as it will go into you.

Strangled moans leave the both of you as he bottoms out. Ace pulls out slowly, looking down to admire the wet mess you’ve already left on his cock. He pushes back in and you moan again, squeezing him involuntarily.

“Gods you were right… this tight little pussy is under-fucked.” Ace speeds up his thrusts and you gasp, the wind nearly knocked out of you. “Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna make sure that never happens to you again… gonna fuck you every day… make you feel so fucking good…”

Ace was slamming into you at an animalistic pace and you felt a second orgasm creeping up on you. You could feel the droplets of sweat from Ace’s face splatter on your back, as well as the crazed, possessive grip on your hips almost certainly leaving bruises. You couldn’t form words, only broken sobs and shrieks as your lover drilled into you, dead set on making you cum again.

Tears fell from your eyes against the pillow and you whined, so close to reaching your peak again.

“Shh I know baby, I know it’s good. You’re doing so good for me…” Ace coos at you. “Cum on my cock and I’ll fill you up, ‘kay sugar?” Ace leans forward and presses his chest to you as he continues his brutal assault on your pussy. He reaches one hand from your hip down and around to rub at your clit. The stimulation sends you over the edge and your orgasm rips through your whole body. “Ace!” You scream out and lurch forward, no longer able to hold your torso up with your arms anymore.

“Good fucking girl! Now I’m gonna make you mine…” Ace praises you.

You try to mumble out “please” but you truly have no idea if you were saying anything coherent.

“Haaa, fuck!” Ace cries out and spills his load impossibly deep into your warm hole. You whimper as you feel rope after rope of Ace’s hot seed filling you. Ace rubs firm circles into your hips as he calms down from his release.

Suddenly, Ace pulls out of you and flops back into your bed and pulls you to his chest. You nuzzle into his sweaty pecs as you throw a leg over his hips. Ace pulls the blanket over the two of you, briefly leaning upwards to make sure your whole body was covered and comfortable before settling back on the pillows.

“So you were serious?” You ask quietly.

“About what, baby?” Ace answers as he strokes your hair.

“About fucking me every day?” You chuckle.

“Mmhmm…” Ace kisses the top of your head. “Tomorrow. And the next day.. and the next day… and the next day… and the next… and…”

You hear Ace start snoring and smile.

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thecapricunt1616 · 6 months

Text

Balessan - (c.b. oneshot)

𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 (𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒):“The Cub takes down The Bear at the 20 yard lineee!!” Mikey shouts ferociously, jumping up and pouncing on Carmys chest in a bodyslam. Carm groans, “Ohhh you little cheater- when did we start wrestling?! They don’t do bodyslams in football, kid” he wraps his arms around Mikey, caging him in and tickling his sides, causing him to squeal and laugh wildly.

♡ O.S Inspo: Balessan ; Also known as: Poplar Buds, Balsam Poplar, Balm of Gilead, Mecca, Mecca Balsam, & Bechan - This Magickal herb can be used to bring forth; Love, manifestations, protection, healing, de-stressing, and assisting in healing from the loss of a loved one. Use in love sachets; carry for healing, protection, and mending a broken heart. ♡ Summary: This amazing, big brained, fabulous & wonderful request is inspired from this ask from my beautiful flower @daysofyellowroses - Thank you my love. -- In this O/S You & Carmy spend a day with his nephew at the park!

♡ W/C: 4,200

♡ Posted Date: 03/19/2024

♡ A/N: Aaaa! look at me pumpin' these one shots out like hot cakes!!! Get your requests in folks I have a long weekend ahead hahaha!! This was BEYOND fun to write, thank you so much again Rose for such an amazing request. I hope it's everything you imagined!! I lovee love love writing mushy happy Carmy, he deserves all the love in his life!! I totally see him being the pushover uncle just like this, Happy Meals & Ice Cream for daysss!!! <3

♡ Warnings for BTC: NONE!!! Well... carmy smokes a cigarette at the end? That's all hahah - ***NO USE OF Y/N - AS LITTLE PHYSICAL DESCRIP. AS POSSIBLE - READER IS CALLED 'BLOSSOM' IN THIS O/S :)***

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Carmen had never felt true love before. He didn’t think he’d ever know what that felt like. He’d heard stories of parents meeting their newborn babies for the first time, saying that ‘it was an indescribable feeling of holding the entire world in the palm of your hands.’ And that to him, sounded like bullshit.

It was sweet and all, but considering the way his mother and father treated he and his siblings growing up- that moment was fleeting at the very least.

That was what he’d thought, until that is- he got the call that would change his life, forever.

Sugar and Pete had kept the gender of their baby a secret, Carmy was very excited for them, and though Pete wasn’t his favorite person- he knew in his heart he’d be a great dad. Better then he could ever do at least, so that had eased his mind for the new blood of his family.

Pete had called to inform him that Sugar had given birth, finally, he thought to himself. He didn’t realize that the labor process could take days. Sugar had went into the hospital on Tuesday, in the early afternoon when her water had broken- it was now 4 pm Thursday evening. It was about time for the kid to make an appearance.

He’d made his way down to the hospital right away, no questions asked. It was Sugar after all, and after Pete had told him she wasn’t having any visitors, but had requested that he specifically come see her- he wasn’t gonna let her down.

He’d even stopped at the 24-hour deli convenience store on the way, getting her a club sandwich that she’d been moaning about not being able to have for months - something about pregnant people not being allowed to have lunch meat? He wasn’t sure what that was about.

When he got in the room, it was so quiet, he could hear his heart thumping in his ears. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous- it’s not like the kid was gonna have an opinion on him…yet. But still, he knew first impressions were important. He also didn’t want to fuck anything up, he wasn’t very sure how to hold a baby- he’d never held Eva when she was young, and he heard babies necks were super floppy, so he was really nervous he’d hurt them by mistake.

“Hey..” he said softly, and Sugar sits up. She looked utterly exhausted, she was pale, her hair was knotted and sweaty all stuck to her forehead, and her eyes were bloodshot from either pain or being so tired, he wasn’t sure which.

“Bear! You came!” She said quietly, opening her arms for a hug. He walks over to her, carefully wrapping his arms around her as he wasn’t sure if her stomach would be hurting or not, and kissing her cheek lovingly.

“Y’re amazing Sugar, you did so good, thats fuckin’ crazy- you had a baby, Sug” he tells her, rubbing her arm gently. Carmen didn’t know much about pregnancy and birth, other than what he’d learned from Sugar over the past year or so. The only thing he really knew about the birthing process was what he’d seen on TV, and the fact that birth hurt like an absolute bitch, and that there was no way around it.

“Thank you…is that-“ she asked, picking up the bag he’d placed next to her on the bed. He smiled a bit, pulling the sandwich out.

“Club sandwich. Don’t say I never listen to you” he teased and she pouted, tears filling her eyes and she pulled him into another hug.

“Y’re the best Bear.” She said. “Sorry…I’m gonna be hormonal for like..another year” she laughed a bit.

He chuckled softly, rubbing her back. “I’m used to it by now.” He teased.

The door opened, and a nurse wheeled in a bundle of white striped blankets in to the room, lying in a bassinet.

“Oh! Uncle is here! Okay so baby did great, they’re all set. We got all the bloodwork we needed, took their k shot, everything is looking wonderful. I’ll let you get acquainted” she said, being sure not to give away the baby’s name or gender before they were ready, leaving the little bundle next to Sugars bedside before heading out and closing the door quietly behind her.

The baby coos, making sweet adorable little noises. Carmen took the bag of food for Sugar, placing it on her bedside table as she carefully picked up her baby, cradling them in her arms.

Carmen was in awe. Everything about them was so…tiny. So pure, so untouched by the world. He carefully nudged the blanket down so he could get a better view of their face, the babies teeny little hand peeking out. He couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped his lips as the babe curled their whole hand around his forefinger.

“Sug” he whispered, tears pooling in his eyes and falling to his cheeks before he could try and hold them back. “Oh god…” he said softly, stroking the baby's tiny fingers with his thumb.

“Michael Anthony Lombardi” she said softly. He looks up at her, jaw dropped.

It was totally something sugar would do, so sentimental. Naming her first son after her 2 brothers. But now, Carmen felt even more attached to the little guy. He was carrying his name- he had to take care of him, protect him, the same way Michael had done for him.

Carmen sniffles, kissing her head and resting his cheek on top of it as he looks down at the beautiful little baby. Well- maybe not beautiful physically- yet. Carmen always thought brand new babies looked fairly weird, of course he’d never tell Sugar that, though.

But, beautiful in the sense that he knew what this baby meant for them, for their family. It was a brand new beginning, and maybe- just maybe…this would be enough to get his mother to clean up her act enough to be the grandmother for this baby how she couldn’t be a mother to he and his siblings. “Nice to meet you, Mikey” he said with the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle, vision blurry with tears.

It had been about 6 months since you and Carm had met, and one of the things you loved about him was what an active, engaged uncle he was with his little nephew, Michael.

He’d grown plenty now since the first time he and the little cub met, being ‘a whole hand and a thumb’ as Mikey proudly told you the time you’d met the little firecracker at the first family dinner you’d attended.

That little boy was Carmy’s sun, moon, and all of his stars. He was constantly spoiling him with new toys, clothes, taking him out for “Mikey and Bear” days, the kid was the lockscreen on his phone for crying out loud. If you weren’t dating him, with the way he talks about that boy- you’d think he was a single dad.

Sugar very much appreciated it though, she never wanted to stop working when she’d gotten pregnant, so being able to balance four different days off with 3 adults, rather than just split the duties between her and Pete- it helped their lives as a couple run a lot smoother overall.

It took a while for Carmy to even introduce you to Mikey. He’d been nervous, reverting to his old ways of ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’ and nothing would crush him more, then introducing his favorite little guy to someone, getting him used to them, and then them leaving him.

He could handle that rejection- but he damn sure wasn’t gonna subject Mikey to that same pain. If there was one thing Carmen swore, it was to protect the child with everything he had.

This was the third time you’d be meeting Mikey. Carmy had asked if you wanted to take him to the park together for a picnic after he’d picked him up from school, and of course you agreed. There was no better way to spend the afternoon than sharing snacks with your Bear under the shade of oak trees from the late spring sun, and chasing around Sugars mini-me until he clonked out on the blanket for a nap.

When you’d arrived to the park to meet them, you spotted Carm’s large black blanket with his backpack and 2 matching big and small Nalgene water bottles, adorned with stickers from different water parks and amusement parks they’d been to together, but he nor Mikey were nowhere to be seen. But you couldn’t miss them with how loud Mikey was being.

“No! No! I call foul!!” Carm laughed boisterously. You continue on, seeing them come in to view past the blockade of a large tree- to find Carmy rolling in the grass as Mikey tackled him for the football he was holding.

“The Cub takes down The Bear at the 20 yard lineee!!” Mikey shouts ferociously, jumping up and pouncing on Carmys chest in a bodyslam.

Carm groans, “Ohhh you little cheater- when did we start wrestling?! They don’t do bodyslams in football, kid” he wraps his arms around Mikey, caging him in and tickling his sides, causing him to squeal and laugh wildly.

“Wow! Uncle Bear has been lacking at the gym, thanks for takin’ care of my light stuff Mikey” you said teasingly with a big smile.

Mikey quickly got up, running over to you “Blossom!!!” he squealed, crashing into your waist, nearly knocking you over in the process. Blossom had become your nickname in the family, since the first time they’d met you, Carm insisted you’d smelt like cherry blossoms, to which Sugar and Richie agreed, so from then on- you were Blossom.

“Woah! Kid you’re getting strong huh? Peewee football training been gettin intense?” You give him a big hug.

Carm chuckled, getting up and dusting the grass and leaves from his hair and shirt, coming over and greeting you with a peck on the lips. “Tell me ‘bout it- Thanks for meeting me, kids got crazy energy today.” He said, ruffling the boys curly soft brown hair lovingly.

“Nowww can we eat our lunch?” Mikey looked up at him, his pretty blue eyes sparkling in the afternoon light. He really did look like Mikey, and Carmy mixed together in the best way. The Berzatto family genes were mighty strong, at least on the men’s side.

“Yes Cub. Y’know…you scammed me into a happy meal before we got here, how can you be so starved?” He teased, causing you to giggle.

“Again? Wow Carm, you’re going softer and softer as the days go by” you teased, sitting down with he and Mikey on the comfortable blanket under the shade of the trees.

“Well it’s hard to tell him no. Did you know he got a 100% on his spelling test t’day? Mikey, tell Blossom how to spell ‘water’ ” he told him with a grin.

Mikey looks over proudly “w-a-t…” he stops for a moment, looking at Carmy nervously.

“You got it bud, keep goin’- sound it out, what’s next?” Carmy encourages gently.

“E! It's E! w-a-t-e-r!” Mikey finishes proudly and you both clap for him excitedly.

“Oh my goodness! You are such a smart boy. Good job Mikey!” You gush, giving him a high five.

“That’s right the smartest. First spelling test of the year, and you nailed it bud!!” Carmy praised, hugging him and kissing his head sweetly.

“Mommy’s gonna be so excited!” He said, sitting crisscross as he opened up his pb&j Carm packed for him.

“She’s gonna be stoked, Cub. Absolutely stoked” you told him, taking the sandwich Carm had offered you.

“Oh! Blossom I learned a new joke- listen, so you say who’s there when I say ‘knock knock’ got it?” Mikey asks and you nod with a smile.

“Alright, thank you for my lines ahead of time, Cub” you joked, earning a chuckle out of Carmen who had surely heard this joke one million times since he’d learned it, considering he saw the kid no less then 5 days a week.

“Knock knock!” Mikey said, looking at you expectantly.

“I’m doing the dishes” you said, causing Mikey to burst into adorable giggles and Carm to follow suit since he couldn’t help himself when Mikey got started.

“Nooo! Blossom!” He giggled “you say ‘who’s there’ this time, ok?” He said and you nod.

“Okay, okay. I’ll make sure to be not so busy this time.” You teased with a giggle.

“Knock knooock!” He said again.

“Hold on just a second! I need to feed mister mittens- my cat!” You said and he laughs again, shaking his head.

“You promised! Blossom! It’s ‘who’s there!’ “ he giggled.

“Okayyy! Okay! Whoooos there?” You oblige.

“Harry!!!” He said happily, popping a grape in his mouth.

“I don’t know a Harry- so scram!” You teased and he laughed so hard he snorted, causing you and Carmy to crack up in a fit of laughs together.

“You’re bad at jokes Blossom, here watch, Bear will do it right f’me. Bear, knock knock” he looks over at Carm.

“Who’s there, Cub?” He said, taking a bite of his own sandwich.

“Harry” he smiled big, “listen blossom” Mikey urges, causing you to giggle.

“Harry who” Carm said with a large grin. “Harry up and open the door it’s raining out here!!!” Mikey said, bursting in to a fit of giggles which of course caused you and Carm to join.

“Ready or not here I come!” You hear Carmy say. You hold your finger to your lips, holding Mikey tightly in your lap in the tube slide so you both won’t fall and give up your ingenious hiding spot the two of you had come up with.

“Shhh! We gotta be quiet Cub or he’s gonna find us- the bear will eat you!” you joked and he covered his mouth quickly to contain his giggles.

“Where are youuuu!” Carmy called from the other side of the playground, you giggled quietly to yourself.

“We picked a good spot bud!” you whisper proudly and he nods, hugging your arm sweetly. Leg suddenly cramps up from being in such an awkward position in a tube meant for children much shorter then you, and you gasp quietly, moving your foot to relieve it but in the struggle- your flip-flop slips off, sliding down the tube slide and you hear it thump on the ground below, blowing up your hiding spot.

You and Mikey look at eachother as you hear Carm laugh, “Ohhhh! Dead!! You’re both dead!” he said and you quickly lift Mikey behind you.

“Go Mikey! Save yourself he’s gonna eat you!!!” you laugh and he scrambles out of the tube as Carm climbs up from the bottom, grabbing your bare foot.

You squeal in laughter as he pulls you down the slide by your feet, catching you at the bottom and kissing all over your face and neck, nibbling as he goes. “You’ve been caught” he growls playfully, pinning your arms above your head and kissing where your shirt rode up over your stomach leaving playful lovebites on your hips.

“Hey!” Mikey yells, running up and hugging Carms leg, hanging on it like a little monkey. “Thats my best friend! Leave her alone you big grizzly bear!” he yells through his giggles, playfully hitting Carmys leg.

“Ohhhh you’re dead Cub, dead meat buddy” he pulled away from you, scooping Mikey up and swinging him around. “Y’think y’can just beat up y’re best uncle mm little man?” he holds him upside down by his legs holding him carefully and dangling him in front of your face causing him to laugh wildly. “I present your savior Blossom, he’s been defeated” he sways him teasingly causing him to laugh more.

“Oh noooo! Cub! The Bear got you! I forgot to tell you….he and I were working together in secret- mwahaha!!” you laugh evilly, tickling his exposed belly and he wiggles screeching in laughter.

“Not fair- Not fair!!!” he said between giggles. Carm carefully laid him on your lap so he wouldn’t get sick from being upside down and checks his watch for the time.

“Alright- we got 15 minutes, do we want swings, slide, or playing a game?” Carmy asked, causing Mikey to whine.

“Noooo! Bear! It’s not time yet!!! It’s not even dark” he pouted, pointing at the sun, causing Carm to smile.

“Y’re right, its not dark, but bein’ a big man in kindergarten means you got big man responsibilities now, like goin’ home and doin’ homework w’Dad yeah? He’s gonna be waitin’ on you, Dad’s not a man I can reason with m’friend, Higher rank on the totem” he ruffled his hair.

“Fiiiine” Mikey grumbled. “I wanna do swings, race me-” he jumps up from your lap, sprinting towards the swingset.

“Wha- hey! You’re supposed to say 1,2,3, go! Those are the rules cheater!” Carmy laughs as he jogs after him. You slipped on your flipflop, going after the two boys.

“I beat you! See Blossom my new shoes make me so fast!” Mikey called to you proudly, hopping up and sitting in the swing as Carmy finally caught up.

“I did! Super fast Mikey!” you agreed with a giggle making your way up to the swingset.

“Oh! Oh! Blossom, let’s see who can get higher!” Mikey said happily and you oblige, sitting on the swing next to him.

“Alright, Bear- you’re the judge I guess” you smiled, starting to pump your legs.

“I’m a tough critic, I expect perfect form outta you” he teased, sitting down on the picnic table in front of the swingset as he watched.

“I’m gonna win” Mikey said confidently, already getting a few feet higher then you had.

You giggled, “Yeah- cause you had a head start” you counter, pumping your legs harder trying to gain more momentum.

“It’s lookin’ good for Mikey babe, keep it up kid y’re doin’ great” Carm encouraged, resting his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out as he watched.

“Bear can I jump off and you catch me?” Mikey asked hopefully to which Carmen laughs.

“Noooo way kiddo, I’m not takin’ a trip to the ER t’night, I got work in the morning and either i’ll end up hurt, or y’mother will kill me” he said, causing you to laugh as well.

“You’re gonna break your neck kid, don’t do that at school, did that once as a kid and I broke my ankle” you giggled, gasping as your flipflop flew off once again and hit Carmen right over the top of the head, causing you and Mikey to burst out in a fit of giggles.

“Hey!” Carm said, rubbing his head jokingly with a chuckle.”Those things are proving to be a horrible choice of park footwear, baby” he snorts, setting the shoe next to him on the bench for when you got off.

“I’m sorry! My work shoes were a worse choice and these are all I had in my locker” you giggled, the wind whipping your hair as you get higher and higher in the air.

“Bear! Bear! Look how high I am!!!” Mikey said proudly to which Carm nods with a big grin.

“That’s right bud! Y’re so high right now, bet you could touch an airplane if it was flyin’ over huh?” he said, digging his phone out of his pocket to take a video. “Say hi to Mommy!” he said and Mikey laughed happily, waving at Carm.

“Hiiii Mommy! I love you!” he said sweetly with a giggle. “Am I beating Blossom? Huh Bear? Am I higher?” he said and Carm chuckled.

“Mhmm- sorry baby, I think Mikey has ya beat this time around,” he said, ending the video and slipping his phone back in his pocket.

“Well how could I beat the best huh?” you mused, stopping pumping your legs so your swing would slow.

“I told you!” Mikey giggled, digging his heels into the woodchips to come to a hard stop and running up to Carmy, giving him a big hug. “Can we get ice cream bear?” he asked and Carm laughed, shaking his head.

“You don’t stop, huh kiddo? No ice cream, It’ll spoil y’r dinner. How ‘bout, if y’really good at school this week- When I get you on Friday, we’ll go you ‘n me yeah?” he pats his back and Mikey nods with a pout.

“Pinky promise” He holds up his pinky and Carmy hooks his own around it, kissing Mikeys hand, and Mikey kisses his.

“See? Deal” he ruffled his brunette curls and got up, grabbing the flip flop and coming up to you, crouching down grabbing your leg and kissing down your calf causing you to giggle before he carefully put the flip flop on your foot.

“I want a piggyback!” Mikey said, jumping on Carmys back to which he caught his balance with his forearm.

“Woah! Okay! Alright piggyback it is bud but y’gotta tell me yeah? We don’t want anyone gettin’ hurt” he told him, hiking him up on his waist as he stood up, Mikey wrapping his arms around his neck securely.

“Ok I’ll tell you next time” he replied. You hopped off the swing, taking Carmy’s hand and interlacing your fingers as you walked, swinging your hands together happily. The weather was absolutely perfect today. Not a cloud in the sky, perfect humidity, 72 degrees, you were surprised there weren’t more people here at the park other than the fact it was a Wednesday afternoon.

The three of you made your way back over to the blanket, and Carmy gently sets Mikey down to fold it up and pack up his backpack with the remainder of the food we couldn’t finish. “Blossom look! Look! I can jump so high in my new shoes!” Mikey said, tugging your pants to look at him and you obliged, keeping him busy as Carm tried to get everything situated to pack into the car.

“Alright little jumping bean, time to go home d’you wanna race to the car, or I’ll carry you?” He asked, putting on his backpack and carrying Mikeys for him.

“Race- 123go!” Mikey said quickly before taking off and you laughed. Carm shakes his head with a smile, holding your hand as you both walked after him to the car.

The ride back was full of laughter and singing Bluey songs, of course. That was Mikey’s favorite show at the moment, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way Carmy sang with Mikey along to every word. Carmy had even gotten a little Bluey air freshener that hung on his rearview mirror, just another little piece of Mikey that hung around, alongside his carseat that permanently lived in the back, the polaroid of him, sugar, and Mikey on his dash, the many toys scattered along the backseat. It was more than clear that the little guy held his entire heart in the palms of his hands.

“Alright buckaroo” Carmy said as he pulls into sugars driveway. Mikey unbuckles himself, flinging forward and wrapping you into a hug.

“Bye awesome blossom, thanks for playing with me” he said sweetly. You smiled, ruffling his hair and wrapping your arms around him.

“We’ll do it again soon, bud. Be good yeah? Listen t’your momma” You told him, patting his back. Carmy got out, grabbing his bluey backpack for him, helping him out of the car and carrying him up the steps, opening up the door and heading in to drop him off.

You opened up the center console, digging out Carm’s cigarettes and a lighter, knowing he was gonna be craving one bad when he got back in the car. Sugar didn’t even have to ask, as soon as the baby was born- if he was gonna be around the baby he wasn’t smoking until after he’d left, so there was absolutely no chance of any secondhand smoke being passed on to him.

Cracking the window, you lit it, taking a drag as he shuts the door behind him and comes back to the car. You offered the cigarette between your fingers and he smiled, taking it after he buckled his seatbelt. “Have I reminded you today, how much I love you my perfect angel” He leaned in, giving you a sweet lingering kiss on the lips.

You smiled, humming softly at the sweet gesture. “Yes- well- not in person today, but, you did text me - good morning, I love you when you went to work, so that counts” he smiled as he took a drag, backing out of the driveway carefully.

“Well, I love you baby, What are we doin’ f’r dinner? Am I cookin’ er we goin out?” he cracks his window, ashing his cigarette before having another drag, resting his tattooed hand on your thigh, stroking gently as he drove.

“I’m in the mood for some Berzatto Family Pasta” you hum, resting your hand out the window to feel the cool kiss of the spring evening breeze. “Family pasta it is, Blossom”

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #the bear fic #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #the bear fanfiction #the bear #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmen x reader

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ovenbakedbones · 4 months

Text

JASMINE!

chapter 2 !

pairing : mafia!yoongi x (eventual) str1pper!reader

genre : romance???? mystery? smut??

summary : yoongi gets tired of seeing you only once a night for a few minutes, so he takes it into his own hands.

note : sorry this took so long ! i’ll start uploading frequently i swear ‼️

thank you for enjoying chapter 1 !

———————————————————————————————

yoongi spends the next week spending as much time with you as possible. its not enough.

everyday, he sits at the bar, nursing his whiskey until the lights turn red and the music slows. he sits in the leather chair thats centre stage, not too far back, but not too much to expose him. just enough for you to notice him. thats all he needs.

he studies you while you sing, taking note of every mole and freckle that paints your perfect skin, and how your hands wrap around the mic stand in front of you. his favourite part of the night is when your eyes travel towards him. you’ve noticed how he started coming in every night, you’ve heard from the other girls that he has no interest in watching them dance or taking them to a private room, and most importantly, you’ve heard of how he always dashes through the dressing room and to the back door in hopes of catching you.

it is pretty cute how badly he wants you.

namjoon has proved useless at finding information about you. jasmine was clearly a stage name and it’s pretty hard to find someone who disappears after 3 minutes. yoongi has debated putting his men in front of the back door so he has no chance of missing you, but namjoon convinced him that it would probably creep you out.

it’s now a sunday night and yoongi is sat at the bar, waiting for you to perform. jin is off flirting with some of the dancers and yoongi cant help but feel a little stupid obsessing over a woman he knows nothing about. his thoughts are interrupted by the dimming of the lights and he walks to his usual seat, his eyes skimming over the crowd.

there is a certain type of crowd that comes to a strip club on a sunday night, and yoongi isnt especially happy to be lumped in with them. unemployed losers who throw their money at women who want nothing to do with them. he chooses to ignore the irony that he is doing the same thing. if not, worse.

his eyes are glued to you as you take the stage and the music begins to play. you’re wearing a black off the shoulder dress that finishes near the top of your thighs. yoongi cant help but admire your collarbones and the way your hair falls onto your shoulders. you look perfect, as always.

but something about your eyes today look different. almost sad.

family (with suzanna son) - the weeknd, suzanna son

arms like the branches of a poplar tree

eyes like the ocean or the great big blue sea

love just like my mothers with a price, its not free

the music starts playing and yoongi notices that it’s slightly off too, it still has the seductive undertones that you use regularly, but something about the lyrics unsettles him. the rest of the crowd are too busy drooling over your bare legs and figure to notice, but yoongi cannot tear his gaze away from the somber look in your eyes.

voice like my fathers, when he screams the house shakes

dreams like my brother’s, oh, we pray for his sake

hopes just like my mothers, only last till her wake

there’s something eerily beautiful about the way you’re singing tonight. your focus seems to be on the back of the room or the floor instead of eyeing up the customers as if you’re interested. how can someone so melancholy look so beautiful?

thats my family

oh, we dont like eachother very much

oh, im okay with that

but it breaks my mothers heart

yoongi furrows his brows, trying to not listen to the lyrics and soak up the little time he has with you, but he cant help but go over the lyrics in his heart and wonder what happened to change your personality so completely. he’s seen you perform at least 6 consecutive nights, so what is so different about today?

he spends the rest of the song overthinking and his eyes dart up when the music fades out. he blinks and you’re leaving the stage, the money that you collected tucked away into your dress.

he gets ahold of himself and half heartedly walks towards the backstage area. he knows you wont be there but he cant stand the possibility of missing an extra moment with you.

the dancers are used to his presence so they ignore him barging through their space and pushing open the back door and looking down the alley.

his eyes widen and his heart stops when he sees you leant against the brick wall with a cigarette in your hand.

he blinks, half expecting you to disappear, and is pleasantly surprised to see you still standing there, one arm wrapped around yourself and the other hovering near your mouth while you take a drag from your cigarette.

he doesnt have time to think before you notice him and lift your head up, tilting it slightly as you take in his appearance, finally not hidden in darkness.

“guess you finally caught me” you tease and take another drag from your cigarette.

yoongi has to clench his jaw in order to keep it shut. how was your speaking voice as beautiful as your singing voice?

he wants to punch himself for how starstruck he must look. he is in charge of hundreds of people, he deals with criminals on a daily basis, he gets any woman he could ever want. why does he feel like a teenage virgin whenever you look at him?

he clears his throat and leans on the wall next to you, speaking up in a raspy voice.

“oh yeah? you been hiding from me?” he smirks and lights a cigarette of his own.

you smirk and shrug and yoongi forces himself to look away from you. he cannot be one of those losers who can’t even speak to a woman without cumming in their pants.

“i see you’ve become a regular. any particular reason?” you ask innocently and look up at him.

fuck. he’s whipped.

he chuckles and blows some smoke towards your direction “you know damn well why”

you smirk and nod while looking away from him.

“yeah, i have an idea”

yoongi bites back a smile. he’s glad you’re as intoxicating to talk to as you are to look at.

“any particular reason you decided to grace me with your presence this evening?” he says while taking another drag.

you laugh a little “decided to put you out of your misery, i’ve heard enough stories of how you try to beat me here every night”

okay. that’s a little embarrassing. fuck those dancers for snitching on him like that. but at least he can finally talk to you now. maybe he should thank those dancers then?

“yknow, you get caught up in your thoughts alot” you say while looking up at him

he smirks “how observant of you. and here i thought you were too busy eye-fucking me to notice”

you laugh “don’t feel special, i eye-fuck all my customers”

“do you have little after-hour chats with all your customers too?”

you roll your eyes “okay, maybe you can feel a little special”

he smirks and puts out his cigarette.

“so what was with the song today?”

you turn to face him with a raised a brow “what about it?”

“dont bullshit me, it was different than the other days i’ve been here” he scoffs

you turn to press your back against the wall again “now whose the wobservant one?”

“come on, angel. be honest with me”

you tilt your head at him “angel?”

“im not calling you jasmine. i’ll either call you your real name, or angel” he grunts, hoping you’ll tell him your name so he can feel at least a little closer to you.

fuck mystery. he wants to know you.

you smirk “angel is fine”

fucking brat.

he rolls his eyes “so? fess up”

you sigh and put out your cigarette.

“its my birthday”

this catches yoongi off guard a little. he doesnt want to bombard you with questions that you most likely wouldnt answer, but he cant deny his curiosity about why you were so sad on your birthday.

so instead, he settles with ….

“oh. happy birthday”

#bts #bts fanfic #kpop #mafia bts #suga #yoongi #yoongi x reader #agust d #bangtan #bts army #bts jungkook #bts smut #min yoongi

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pokegalla · 2 years

Note

Hi! Is it alright if I request any of the brothers with a S/O that looks like she just came out the 70s? Like there room is styled, all their clothes they even have old gaming consoles and phones? Like every week they just go thrifting or to a vintage shop to pick up some things? Thank you!☺️

Sorry for the late response! I closed requests and lost all motivation in writing for awhile but I has finally at least returned to finish the writing I owe! You and a few others are getting your requests done!

Any Skellie bros with a 70’s style S/O

Lust:

* Omg he loooooooves your outfits and accessories. I always thought this guy loves fashion and he is loving your style! The colors, the patterns, the designs! What’s not to love? Give him some pointers and he’ll be styling with you!

* Your room definitely surprised him. It was the definition of groovy! He’s definitely digging the peace signs and colors. It’s so pretty! When you show him your phone and gaming consoles, he was pretty intrigued. There was so much cool stuff in the 70’s….

* He’s definitely tagging along with you to the thrift shop man- he’ll be paying for you sometimes. He enjoys seeing your smile when you get new stuff to add to your collection. He’ll even find some new outfits for himself!

Poplar:

* You caught his eye pretty fast with your outfits. He’s pretty knowledgeable so he knows a bit about the 70’s. He thinks you’ve nailed the looks from back then and look amazing!

* He is INCREDIBLY impressed by your room. You had so many nicknacks and collectables in your room. Not to mention the atmosphere: it captures the vibe perfectly! He is definitely excited to check out the gaming consoles and your phone while giving you insight on the history of the 70’s. (He may or may not studied more for you ☺️)

* His eyes were shining when you took him to the antique store. He was looking everywhere, saying bits of information as he examined everything that catches his eye socket. He does get a little embarrassed when he talks too much….but if you tell him you like hearing him talk, it’ll make his soul flutter~

Red:

* Your style to him is well, pretty much opposites. He jokes that you look like a hippie (but he be bullshitting because he DOES find you adorable in your little outfits). One time you made him try on an outfit. He hated it. (He actually kind of liked how comfortable it was but didn’t want to admit it-)

* Your room was….kind of cool. He really likes the lava lamps. He calls them weird but he likes how it glows and moves. You knoooooooow he’s already loving those games you got. He tries acting nonchalant but you sometimes can’t get him off it! Really wants to replace your phone….or buy you a new one.

* Usually you end up dragging him to the antique store. Like you guys go to a mall for one thing. You drag him to the antique store for more things. He’d be pissed….until he sees how happy you look. Damn your cuteness-

Papyrus:

* I think he would be very interested in your outfits! Since he does notice your outfits is much more different then other humans. You tell him a bit about 70’s fashion and he’s already super excited to learn more from you.

* He is literally jumping all over the place in excitement, questioning and examining everything! He loves trying out the games and your neat little phone! He could stay in your room for a whole day if he wasn’t so busy! Makes frequent visits!

* First time taking him to the antique store, he thought it was a wonderland trapped within time. There were so many trinkets and thingies and whatchamacallits! He would be very curious about all the stuff and enjoy his time with you! After all, you looked so happy finding new things to collect! He thinks that was the best part of the trip.

#my writing #undertale au #fluff #lust sans #bhc poplar #horrortale papyrus #underfell sans #bhc red #papyrus #bhc papyrus #undertale au x reader #undertale au headcanons #request answered #70’s style reader

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blackkat15 · 2 months

Note

since you are writing Papyrus x Reader porn may I please ask that you write for Poplar from Bonely Hearts Club?!

PWWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEE

🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐

be more specific

also this mf sounds like Richard Ayoade (no hate btw)

#kat says stuff #poplar bhc #papyrus x reader #bonely hearts club

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xjulixred45x · 4 months

Text

succumbing to the Brainrot of Hades (the more Gameplays I see, the more I love the game, both as a fan of Greek mythology and of video games in general) I am going to do a couple of jobs related to the game. Here it would be the first.

Zagreus(Hades) x Leuce! reader

quick context: Leuce was a nymph who was Hades' lover before Persephone, but since she was "mortal" (which doesn't make much sense? since she was the daughter of Oceanus and Thetis?) when Hades died, he immortalized her in the white poplar tree that there are in the Elysian fields.

Taking this as a reference, I imagine this Leuce! reader OBVIOUSLY she would not be a lover of Hades here, she would probably be a nymph native to the Eulisseum and who is especially related to healing (the poplar can be used to cure fever) and in general she tried to go unnoticed, due to the bad luck that usually have nymphs that are related to the celestial commotion.

She is like an Aurora in a way, she has a great connection with the Shades that live near her and follow her (similar to Melinoe) and together with her sisters and Cocito (one of the rivers of the Underworld) they dance and sing old stories .

It is around these times that Zagreus comes into her life. precisely because of his attempts to escape from the Underworld.

When one day Zag arrives at Elysium especially hurt and tired, he decides to "rest" (the poor guy gets tired) and when he regains consciousness he only knows that he is suddenly much better. without injuries, with energy, what the hell?

Leuce, although he knows that Zagreus is somewhat infamous in the Underworld, could not simply leave him dying. She swears she won't do it again, but as soon as it happens again (Zag probably had a bad time with Astherius) she does it again.

and after that Zagreus has no doubt, someone is helping him. and being him, he wants to know who it is.

Which wasn't that difficult, but it did take some patience. Zagreus arrived at the Elysium, not that hurt, but he pretended to be unconscious, after he felt he was better, he took a little look and saw Leuce from behind.

a nymph huh.

It's a shame that when Zagreus tried to get up to greet her, thanking her, he scared her and she ran away :,)

On another occasion he decided to take a look at where Leuce had gone and he could just find her singing, dancing or taking care of the poplar trees that were in Elysium.

In general, his interactions at first would be short due to Leuce's fear of the gods or retaliation for her actions, but with time and Zagrues assuring her that he rather wanted to thank her for the help, she relaxes and opens up little by little.

I imagine that Leuce is the only nymph of Elysium that is not scared the most when they see Zagreus 😅 her sisters run and scream when they see him but Leuce stays to greet him 🤣

Leuce's home is a safe place in Elysium, not only because she can heal Zag, but because in general he can forget a little about the outside problems there. hell, sometimes it even seems like he just lets himself get hurt so Leuce can take care of him.

When Leuce is not taking care of him/healing him like I said, she likes to dance and sing, maybe to inspire her a little (similar to what he does with Orpheus) he tells her some of his fights to date and myths about his relatives (Leuce would die laughing when hearing the myth that Dionysus and Zagreus are the same person).

Also even Leuce could offer to teach him how to play instruments! The nymphs were very good at all kinds of arts, so it wouldn't be very difficult. Besides, it would be nice to be the one teaching after all.

Zagreus and Leuce dancing gives me some sleeping beauty vibes. again.

If we talk about terms of relationship in which Leuce lives in the house of Hades, it gets even cuter.

Imagine Leuce and Dusa having a platonic relationship! o Dusa not only having a crush on Zag, but also on Leuce since she helps him clean and feed Cerberus

or Leuce dancing every time Orpheus starts playing and singing, also encouraging some of the nearby shades to do the same😭 it definitely livens up the house quite a bit before Persephone's arrival.

Leuce wearing House of Hades themed clothing!

I don't know which would be more difficult to win, Hades with Leuce or Zagreus with Leuce's sisters😅

At least Hades would accept Leuce because 1- now he has a better relationship with Zagreus and wants to see him happy and 2- he is not going to provoke Persephone's wrath. Who, by the way, is delighted with Leuce. It's like a small parallel of her and Hades if they could have met under other circumstances. so she is very supportive of her relationship with Zagreus and how happy they make each other.

Zagreus will have more problems related to Leuce's sisters because of the above, they are both scared of Zag and convinced that he is planning something horrible with their sister. It will take a lot, a LOT of time and help from Leuce for them to understand that this is not the case.

Even if Leuce tries to help and maintain a certain formal air in the house, Zagreus tries to make her feel as welcome as possible, probably with some help from Hypnos, Cerberus (best boi) even Thanatos. that she lose her shyness and feel that, after all, it is also HER home now.

Did you see that in the Underworld Persephone has a Garden? imagine if Zagreus gets Leuce one of her own🥺

Definitely Zagreus (and in general several other characters like Dusa for being a sweetheart) is not going to tolerate any type of discrimination towards Leuce due to her origin as a nymph (we know that there are gods who took mortals as spouses, but the only nymph who married a god that comes to mind now is Amphitrite) and he would gladly ask Cerberus to go "play" with whoever made any out of place comments :)

They might as well go to the surface together! Of course, neither of them really know how to interact with mortals or how certain things work up there, but I think Zagreus could use some help taking care of his mother's garden while he's there. Who better than a beautiful nymph?

Overall, a pretty endearing pair. and gives some visibility to a very forgotten nymph :,)

Shares, reglogs and comments are very welcome!

Question related to my next work: Someone knows how ALBINISM was treated/seen in ancient greece?

#drabble #headcanons #hades zagreus #hades #hades game #hades supergiant #supergiant hades #hades zagreus x reader #zagreus x reader #zagreus #fem reader #nymph reader #incorrect greek mythology #hades 2 #hades ii

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sebastianswallows · 6 months

Text

The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient #whew here we go 😭#I dread to think of adapting the masterlist for this lol #I might make a separate post just for all of its chapters #there will be 40 in total

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ataraxiaspainting · 10 months

Text

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering.

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.” You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so.

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes.

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap.

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web.

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet.

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it.

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles.

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything.

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed.

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark.

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run.

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo.

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room.

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun.

Run. Run. Run.

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic.

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath.

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop.

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves.

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out.

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes.

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette.

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.”

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace.

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you.

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life.

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen.

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement.

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid.

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat.

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

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