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skywarpie · 11 months

Text

Eye For An Eye

words: 7,267

Content: Dad Copia with a lot of angst because I can’t be normal about him.

Summary: Consumption, also known as Tuberculosis --- A disease caused by bacteria that usually attacks the lungs. Highly contagious and almost always fatal.

AO3 Link

this started as a small dad copia fic and i went off i guess

April - 1875

Rain pelts the city for the third day in a row. Not uncommon for Italy this time of year, but certainly cumbersome to the inhabitants. The fat drops bounce off the cobblestones with a vengeance and then pool into ever growing swamps that litter the streets. Street lamps do little to illuminate the night as the rain comes down in sheets, making it almost impossible to see.

A figure weaves its way through the throngs of people, only to break out into a break neck speed once freed of them. It’s only then that the figure realizes they’re right in the middle of the street. They stay frozen in place as the low light illuminates an approaching carriage.

“Shit!” The driver yanks the reins to his horse in a poor attempt to stop. It doesn’t work

Wide fearful eyes stare at the beast that’s now rearing on its hind legs, front legs kicking through the air. And – oh, oh no. It's coming down in their general direction.

The figure, a man, lets out a startled yelp as the spell is broken. He dives out of the way, fearful of hooves connecting with his head. In the process his foot gets caught in his red cassock, tripping him and sending him face first into one of the dirty piles. (Well out of the way of the horse, thank god.)

“Fottuto idiota!” The cab driver screams as he directs the horse back on its path and they stamp off down the street.

The Cardinal sputters as he draws himself to his feet. Something easier said than done when stuck in a soaked cassock. His nose hurts from where the bridge of it connected with the street stones but he doesn’t have time to worry about that. He snatches his biretta from the puddle and starts on his journey once again.

The house (if it can even be called that) that he rushes to is small and derelict. He’s tried to do some improvements himself but they haven’t turned out the way he wanted. The cost to hire someone is something that he hasn’t saved enough coin for just yet. He’s still newly appointed as Cardinal, meaning his pay grade hasn’t seen its increase just yet. (Not that he cares. That’s not why he became a Cardinal but god knows it would help.) The main thing is that the house is warm and dry. He had made it his first job to ensure all holes in the roof were repaired. The last thing they needed was to catch colds.

He yanks the door open with more force than necessary as he drags himself inside, listening to it slam behind him. The Cardinal takes this small moment of ease to gasp for air. Since he left nearly two hours ago it’s felt like he hasn’t been able to expand his lungs to the proper size.

“Finally! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back. Did you get it?” A small portly woman rushes toward him expectantly.

He nods as a gloved hand rakes wet hair from his face. The leather squelching in the process.

The woman looks him up and down. “You look like shit.”

His brows furrow.

“Sorry Cardinale.”

“Is she alright?” His voice is tight.

The woman looks at him for a long moment almost like she’s deciding if she should tell the truth or not. “Do you have the horsetail?”

That would be a no.

“Yes.” He holds the plants out toward her. “It was harder to find than expected.” Remorse fills his voice at the thought of prolonging the suffering of the women in the other room.

“It’s alright.”

It’s not though, is it? The Cardinal can tell by the tense mechanical movements of the small woman before him. The way she puts too much force into grinding the plants with the stone.

“She’s dying.” His voice is flat as he says it. It’s a fact both of them had known for some time. “No cure for Consumption .” The doctor had told them. He remembers panicking and then shouting at the man how there must be something that can be done. “ Copia.” She had laid a soft hand on his forearm. “It’s okay. Let’s just make the most of it.” Her smile was weak as he stared at her with bewilderment. He had opened his mouth to argue but she had beat him to it. “ It’s in God’s hands. Isn’t that what you tell your congregations?” He had felt physically sick then and it was the first time he had actively reconsidered his faith. Would God really take something so important away from one of his most devout followers? The only reason they were allowed to remain married was due to the simple fact that he had already wed her before climbing the clergy ranks. They hadn’t been happy, but Copia was told as long as the two of them lived well away from the church, then he could keep his position. That and don’t mention her to anyone and pretend to be total strangers in public, something that proved to be harder than said.

“Yes.”

The woman’s voice brings him back to reality. She’s staring at him with – remorse…pity? Copia isn’t entirely sure which it is. He opens his mouth but he’s silenced.

“I think the baby should be fine. We just need to make sure it enters the world with as few issues as possible.”

Copia nods as he swallows around the lump forming in his throat. He remembers when they found out. The pair of them had been ecstatic to be parents. “They will be the most spoiled bambino in all the city!” He had proclaimed as they laid in bed in the aftermath of love-making. “Isn’t that against some sort of rule or something for clergy?” Her giggle had filled his ears and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard – it’s not heard very often these days. “An exception can be made. ” He kissed her then and in that moment he had actually believed the lie. That the three of them would be able to live in quiet peace. But it was an illusion. Copia had known from the first mention of it that the baby would have to remain invisible. The church had allowed him to keep his marriage but he wasn’t so sure they’d be so accommodating with an added babe. But he had been able to live with that because at that moment it seemed like everything would work out. However, in reality the pregnancy had quickly proved to be too much on her already weakening body.

“I can see her?” It comes out like a question. A ridiculous thing since it’s his home and wife but just barging in without explicit permission seems wrong somehow.

“Best wait.”

His stomach twists at that but he nods in agreement. Out of the two of them, the midwife is the one who knows what she’s doing. The only thing he’d do is get in the way.

“I’ll come get you when it’s done.” She disappears back into the back room.

Copia finds himself trying to focus on anything but what’s currently unfolding in his home. Their home. The one that even though it had been less than desirable, she had worked to make it feel as homey as possible. She’d collected flowers that one weekend they had traveled to the countryside. The doctors had said the fresh air would improve her health. It hadn’t but Copia loved to pretend it did as he’d watch her traverse the fields, collecting flowers she thought were pretty and bringing them back home. “ I can dry these. My mother taught me how and then we can have some decor!” Her smile was contagious. “I think they’ll look good in the kitchen. How about you?” The kitchen was nothing but the main room to the house, a small hearth occupying the center that allowed for cooking and warmth. “ Si.”

When he’s anxious he fidgets. It’s something that he’s done since childhood. Something that the nuns at seminary were all too happy to beat out of him. However, it didn’t appear to work. Nervousness is part of his nature and it always will be.

He twists his biretta between his hands. The only thing this does is wring the water out of it. It soaks his gloves, more than likely ruining the leather. But he doesn’t care.

Copia loses track of time as he makes laps around the room. His mind racing with thoughts of how she’ll recover and when she does the three of them will move out of the city. He’ll give up his position in the clergy and get a simple trade job. He’s not too skilled when it comes to working with his hands, but he is good at financing. Copia knows all too well there are tons of little shops throughout the country that want a good bookkeeper. He can be that. The new house they will move to will be ten times better than this shack that they seem confined to. Everything will work out. Everyone will be okay. They will be happy.

He’s barely finished that last thought when a blood curdling wail bounces off the stone walls. His head jerks in the direction and he slides on still wet boots as he scrambles to their bedroom. It’s something he almost immediately regrets.

The next moments are a blur to him. One moment he’s at the door. The next he’s by the bed tears blurring his vision as he shouts at the woman tending to the newborn. Then he’s grasping his wife and there’s blood everywhere. It seems impossible but it looks like blood is filling the room. There should not be that much blood. That’s bad. There shouldn’t be —

“Here!” The midwife shoves a wailing infant into his arms and shoves him out of the room, the door slamming in his face.

Copia stands there numbly. His eyes stare blankly at the door. Then, several moments later, almost as if in a haze, he blinks and looks down at the babe in his arms. His brows raise as if to ask “How did you get here?”

That’s all he remembers before the walls close in on him and everything around him turns to darkness.

—------

July – 1875

She’s lingered far longer than either he or the midwife originally thought she would. Copia isn’t complaining about that, he’s more than happy to still have his wife around. Though he’s not so thrilled about the suffering she’s continued to have to endure. Most days she doesn’t leave their bed. On good days she’s awake and coherent, but for the most part she sleeps and coughs. She coughs a lot.

Her coughs are very different than they were when they first started. Then she had coughed up mostly phlegm. The doctor had said that was common but as the disease progressed so would the cough and it seemed just that was happening. Copia found himself grimacing each time he heard it. It was wet and harsh and there was blood.

“ For the most part you will be coughing up the normal things. Phlegm. That’s about it. As it progresses there will be blood. A lot of it. At that point your lungs have had all they can handle.” The doctor had said it so calmly like Copia hadn’t been sitting there with his world crumbling around him. Once again she had reassured him. “ It’s alright. We don’t need to worry just yet.” Then she smiled and Copia had felt nauseous.

Her ever worsening condition had made it hard for Copia to travel to the other side of the city for work. Between her and the babe, he felt obligated to remain with them. There was no way that she could care for their daughter on her own. His absence had been duly noted by other clergy members and the days that he had managed to make it back to work, they made sure he knew how troublesome it was becoming.

The issue with hardly working was the fact that in return he was receiving hardly any money. And with no money came no food which was something he was desperate to still be able to provide her with. It was also becoming abundantly clear that he would have to find a wet nurse for the baby. That also required money.

It was also becoming clear that he was overworking himself. Funny really considering he wasn’t actually working per-say.

On one particularly warm July morning when Lia, his wife, was feeling well enough to sit up in bed and cradle the baby she had talked him into going into work, even if for only a couple hours. “We will be fine.” Her smile had no radiance in it. It felt hollow. In that brief moment Copia nodded in agreement and grabbed his biretta. “I will be back home before sunset.” It had been a promise that both knew wouldn’t be kept. The church would work him overtime for missing his duties. But he was good with numbers and quick with financing. He would be done in no time. Is what he had told himself. In fact, I will make the effort to surprise her and get home earlier than i anticipated. Copia had smiled to himself, mind set.

When he had returned home that night, well past sunset, he was greeted to the sound of a wailing baby and a dead wife.

—--

September 1880

A stack of papers is dropped on his desk with a loud thud. Copia awakes with a start, head shooting up and eyes full of alarm as he looks around for the sound of the intrusion.

In front of his desk stands Cardinal Paolo. His expression is one of irritation as he glares down his sharp nose at Copia.

Copia has always thought the man looked like a fox. Acted like one too. The last person to be trusted with any secret information would be Paolo.

“Sleeping on the job is not allowed.”

Copia’s upper lip twitches. If he weren’t so exhausted he’d gladly provide a witty retort but that requires brain power he doesn’t have right now. “Apologies.”

Paolo continues to sneer. There’s another reason for this impromptu visit. He knows.

“Cardinal Alessio wants you in his office.”

Ah, there it is. Great. Copia gives a sigh of defeat. “Grazie.” Paolo stands there a moment more with narrowed eyes, almost as if waiting for him to take the bait. He doesn't.

The other man leaves his office with a sniff of disapproval. Surprise. Another person that's disappointed in him is added to the ever growing list. Though Copia doesn't think Paolo's disdain will hurt his own feelings too much.

Reluctantly he pulls himself to his feet. He sways momentarily, a hand shooting out to grab his forehead. Even though he's working once more, his earnings are meager, at best. That doesn't mean he has any less of a work load. In fact he'd bet he probably has the most out of anyone and it's solely out of spite. How very Christian of you, dear Pope. More often Copia finds himself questioning his relationship with religion these days.

After what feels like an eternity, Copia drags himself to Cardinal Alessio’s office. He knocks once and is met with a gruff. “Entra!” Oh this is going to be fun.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself. Smooths down the wrinkles in his cassock and places his biretta on his head. Then he paints on the most authentic smile he can muster. It isn’t much.

Cardinal Alessio looks up from his desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Ah, Copia. How nice of you to join us.”

Us? His face turns to confusion until he spots Paolo off to Alessio’s left. Oh great.

“Mi dispiace.”

“Hmm.” Cardinal Alessio motions for him to take a seat in the chair on the other side of his desk. Copia really doesn’t want to but there’s no feasible way to argue his way out of this. So he sets, bunching his cassock so it doesn’t wrinkle under him.

“Cardinal Paolo tells me that you have been slacking on your duties.”

Copia’s faux smile falters immediately. “Mi scusi?”

“It seems your hearing is also beginning to fail you, Cardinale. ” The title is meant as an insult, seeing as he’s rarely referred to it by now.

“I do not know what Paolo told you but I am working as quickly as I can.” God why did that smug bastard have to be in the room too.

“You call sleeping at your desk working?”

Copia chews his lip.

“Asking the kitchens if they have any leftovers to spare?”

He feels like shrinking in on himself. He’d asked a couple of the nuns that worked in the kitchens if they had any spare food only a handful of times. It had been the times that he hadn’t had enough coin to bring something home for dinner. “I’m sorry Cardinal, but we are not allowed to do that.” Several of them still seemed to respect him enough to use his title. “Wait — it’s not for me. It’s for – for –” And Copia had hated the look of pity he received. But it had worked in his favor. One of them had given him a small chunk of bread and bid him farewell. Copia could have nearly cried from joy at just being given that.

Now he swallows. “I don't always make enough to a-afford food for us.” He hates how his voice waivers and the smug look that settles on Paolo’s face.

Alessio steeples his fingertips under his chin as he leans forward against his desk. “As for sleeping?”

“I – I don’t always get to rest.” It was true. He had caught himself doing odd little jobs here and there for a meager coin. After that there was hardly any time for sleep.

“And what would you recommend the solution to this issue be?”

Copia perks up immediately. It’s something he’s been meaning to bring to light. “Per–perhaps if I were allowed to receive at least half of my original payment. It would solve many problems.”

“You do have the work given to you and you expect to be rewarded?”

His face falls, hope immediately diminished.

“Perhaps it is God that you should be speaking to, Cardinal. After all, you have not been that faithful in your vows to him. Taking a wife, your biggest fault.”

“She’s dead.” His voice is flat, lacking any emotion but getting his point across: don’t speak about her.

“Then worse yet, he has that bastard child living in his home.” Paolo chimes in. “Another vow to God you’ve broken.”

Finally he can bear it no longer and Copia jumps to his feet, chair hitting the ground as it falls behind him. His hands plant themselves on Cardinal Alessio’s desk. “You will not speak of her like that!” His timidness from earlier long forgotten. "She is not a bastard. Her mother and I were married!"

"And who performed the ceremony, Copia?" Alessio’s voice digs its heels into him.

"I – I hardly think that matters." He's faltering now.

" You did." It's accusatory and it makes the blood chill in his veins. "First you break your vow of chastity to God. Then you ' marry ' a woman and sire a bastard with her." Alessio rubs at his chin. "And now you sit here trying to put blame on someone else for your lazy work methods."

Lazy? Copia swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. He's anything but that. He's given every waking moment of his life to the church.

"The way I see it, this is God finally holding you accountable for your actions." He feels like he's looking down a tunnel as the words sink in. "Cardinal Paolo will take over your position immediately. Your services are no longer required."

"You – you can't –"

"I believe he just did." Pablo's voice says. "Now do as the Cardinal says and evacuate your office immediately." There's a sickly sweet smile aimed at him and it suddenly sinks in. He orchestrated this whole thing. The man has been after his position for years. He's been accumulating incidents to prove to Cardinal Alessio that Copia's unfit.

His breathing is heavy as he trembles slightly. Not from fear but anger. "How will I provide for her if you deny me of my job?" Despite himself, Copia hears his voice raising. "She'll die! I barely have enough to feed her once a day, and now you want to take that away?!"

"That is out of our control. It is in His hands now."

And that's what does it. That's what breaks the damn that's slowly been building for years, letting everything its ever collected seep through. "And you think God would will the death of children from starvation?! The last time I checked we were here to provide alms to who ever needed it. And now – now you want to stand here and lecture me about how I have failed God?" Copia sucks in a ragged breath between his clenched teeth. "You all think you're better, that your position puts you in higher authority. I've seen how you all take from the offering plates when you think no one is looking. I'm the fucking treasurer, for God's sake! At the end of the day the numbers don't match up and there's only one way that can happen."

"You over sell yourself. No one is good enough with numbers to count the coins as they're collected." Paolo's voice wavers slightly.

"I am!" Copia knows he must look a sight. He breathes heavily as his usually slicked back hair has worked itself free in several spots. By the way he clenches his teeth, he feels like he could break them all into jagged little pieces from just the pressure.

"You are a selfish man Copia, and for that you must now reap what you sow."

—---

He walks home that night a defeated man. Even being fired (something he was unaware could happen to a Cardinal) he still isn't going to make it home before total darkness sets in from the setting sun.

The darkness of the streets feels like it wants to swallow him whole and Copia at this moment would gladly let it. He thinks of ways to play this off. It helps that his daughter is still young but she's smarter than her age would imply. He's seen the way she looks at him on nights where he goes without food. " Aren't you hungry, papa?" Her tiny voice had chimed in and Copia had simply shook his head. By this point he's gone without so much that the emptiness that's constant in his stomach hardly even bothers him anymore.

Now he would have to break the news that even small parcels of bread would be more than wishful thinking.

It's in His hands. A cruel joke at his expense once more.

Copia rids himself of his sour attitude as he finally approaches home. He takes a minute to settle himself with a few deep breaths before he's pushing the door open.

"Papa!" A little redheaded girl is clinging to his leg before he can even shut the door. "Look! Look! Andrea has been teaching me to write my name!" She proudly holds up the small crap of paper to show him.

"I can see that." For the first time that day he's wearing a real smile. His little girl always seems to make everything better.

She giggles and then takes off back to the small wooden table in the far corner to finish her penmanship. To the left Copia catches the girl that Accalia is left with for majority of the time these days. Andrea, a girl of no more than sixteen stands off to the side wringing her hands. It's a nervous habit one that he had noticed almost as soon as he'd met her.

He'd been traveling through the worst parts of the city to provide God's word to the less fortunate, as the clergy described them. Copia had been sent to a bordello of all places. It was there that he'd found Andrea, a child of eleven at the time, playing on the floor. It had honestly shocked him to find a child living in such conditions. " My mother owns this place." She had boasted proudly when he'd asked her why she was there. It had immediately concerned him. The child seemed to be totally unaware of the place she called home. It was after that that he decided to make frequent visits to this place. Each visit he would spend an hour or more teaching her to read. She had been very good at it and he'd found himself swelling with pride at knowing he helped her achieve that. "You can't keep coming around here." Was what her mother had abruptly told him one morning. " It's bad for business if the John's keep seeing a holy man lurking around." The two of them had hardly ever spoken three words to each other before that. " Miss, if you would allow me, your daughter is very bright. I think with the right education she could establish a well to do life for herself ." Apparently it had been the wrong thing to say because he had gone home that evening with a broken nose, much to Lia's concern. After that his wife visited her and taught her penmanship, another thing she'd picked up on extremely fast. Each night his wife would recount the stories of how well the girl did her studies. It made him happy. Andrea was a lovely girl and the thought of her having to spend her life laying on her back to earn meager scraps was something he wanted to ensure she'd never have to endure.

"I hope it isn't an issue. She said she wanted to practice and I –"

Copia holds a hand out to silence her. "Thank you." He smiles but it's weak and lacks any livelihood.

Andrea frowns. "You look unwell."

Well, that's not the worst thing someone has ever said to him. "It…it was just a bad day."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head no. "I don't think you'll have to worry about coming back to watch her anytime soon." Copia sees the way she furrows her brow in confusion before it clicks.

"Oh Cardinale, is there anything I can do?"

Get that fucking idiot Paolo to die. Instead he shakes his head no. He catches the way the concern on her face only deepens. "Here." Copia takes one of her hands and places something inside of it. "It's the least I can do to show my thanks."

Andrea's eyes grow wide as saucers as she looks at the gold ring in her palm. "Oh Cardinal, I can't take this!" She makes to hand it back but he refuses.

"It's real gold. It should fetch a pretty decent amount of money if traded." It's the last remaining piece he has of his wife. Copia knows he should save it and pawn it to help themselves but he just can't bring himself to do it. "It should give you enough to get out of the city and to the countryside."

Her face falls. "I can't take this. You've already done so much for me. It seems –"

"Please," he tries to smile again. "Use it as your ticket to a new life." He thinks back to earlier how he was called selfish. Maybe he was and this was his subconscious trying to get him to make up for it.

Andrea hugs Accalia and then the Cardinal before she leaves and they never see her again.

—--

December – 1880 – Present day

It's an exceptionally cold December day when it happens. Copia has just gotten back from helping one of the vendors in the plaza set up to sell their fresh vegetables. They come every other day and he lends them a hand in exchange for some root vegetables. It isn't much but he's more than happy to accept it.

He kicks the snow from his boots as he enters the small home they live in. His coat hangs on one of the kitchen chairs to dry. "Accalia?" Odd. She usually meets him at the door.

When there's no response Copia begins to feel panic set in. Did she leave? Did something happen? He has to shake his head to make the thoughts stop.

"Accalia?" He enters the small bedroom the pair of them share and immediately he knows something is wrong. Copia rushes over to her.

Immediately her breathing sounds wrong. It grates on his ears. When he places a hand on her forehead and feels how warm she is, he really begins to panic. She hasn't even woken up.

Despite being so warm, Copia notes how she shivers. He wastes no time wrapping her in their blanket and rushing to the main room of the house. He arranges a small place for her in front of the fire. Not too close, he doesn't want her to get burned.

He's looking around frantically for something he has no idea for. He doesn't have enough to call in a doctor. Maybe if he can just get the vegetables warmed up and in a thin stew then —

A wet cough takes over her as she struggles to sit up. Copia helps her into a sitting position and immediately freezes. No. Oh no. No. No. No.

There's blood on her lips. No. No. No. Please you can't take her too.

"Papa, I don't feel so well." Her voice is hardly a whisper.

"I know. I know, baby." He cradles her in his arms as she drifts back off to sleep. He thinks about how when Lia was sick he read dryer climates were easier on consumption sufferers. Apparently in America the newly formed western territories had become a safe-haven in a sense for those suffering. It prolonged the disease and let them have decent lives.

There's no way he can afford tickets on a ship to America. He can barely feed both of them.

Think. Think.

He suddenly remembers talk of a small village not far from here. Copia bites his lip nervously. When he was a Cardinal they had been advised to stay away from that area at all costs. " Satanists call it home. It's honestly disgraceful." He recalls a former coworker stating.

But – but he's also spent enough time within the poorer parts of town to hear the stories passed around. " They are so much kinder than that horrid man in charge of the Vatican." He'd overheard one woman saying. " A shame they can't be as caring." Her friend had added. There had also been talk of miracle work. Blasphemy in his church's eyes but seeming like a beacon of hope in his moment of need.

Copia wracks his brain. If he leaves now then they should make it there by sundown tomorrow. They don't have many belongings and as long as he wraps her warmly in the blanket and his coat, she should be fine.

He's on his feet instantly, slipping on his coat and ensuring Accalia is securely wrapped in her blanket. Copia gathers her into his arms and makes his way to the door but stops. There's a lump in his throat as he turns to take in their small home. Something the both of them will never see again. It makes him feel like he's being dealt another death. The loss once more of something so dear to him.

Copia lets his eyes wander the room slowly, drinking in every little detail and saving it to memory. Then he's out the door with not a single glance back.

—-

The thought that this was a stupid idea enters his head for the third time that evening as he sticks to the streets. At least until they run out and turn into dirt paths.

It's dark and this is no doubt unsafe. The thought of someone attempting to rob them flashes briefly in his mind but he pushes it back. There's nothing for them to take.

People aren't the only issue though. It had started as small flurries and quickly progressed to fat snowflakes that were quickly accumulating on the ground. Copia flexes his fingers around the bundle in his arms. They're numb and the continuously dropping weather isn't doing wonders for the rest of him. He ignores it and continues onward. Even as the same thing begins to happen with his legs. He tells himself it doesn't matter. As long as he can get them there, then they can help his daughter. If he has to be the casualty in this equation so be it.

Eventually the sun begins to rise but the snow doesn't let up. It seems to get worse. There is something he can make out in the dim light though off in the distance. A window? A steeple?

The church.

He's given a sudden burst of energy as he nearly shouts with joy. "We did it! We're here. We –" Copias words die on his lips as he looks at the bundle in his arms. Accalia's lips are a purplish-blue. When did that happen?

With renewed vigor Copia pushes himself up the steep cliff side until he's at the door. Or rather crawling to the door, for lack of a better term. He's unsure how they take to strangers. He never saw a reason to ask. It wasn't like he'd be going there.

Ha. Some luck .

With his last bit of energy he slams his fist against the large wooden door. Its design is intricate and if this weren't life or death he'd be mesmerized by it.

There's a long moment of silence that stretches on and it has Copia thinking he's made the trip for nothing. At least until he hears the door lock being undone and bright light engulfs them. He has to raise a hand to his eyes to shield them.

A woman in her late seventies stands in the doorway and it takes Copia a moment to realize she’s staring at them with a tight expression. The woman glances left then right.

“Are you alone?”

What kind of fucking question is that? Of course we’re fucking alone!

He nods quickly and sees how a visible sigh releases from the woman. “Come in. You’ll both die out there.” Her accent is different and it takes Copia a moment to place it.

“You’re American?” Why this is the first thing out of his mouth, Copia will never know. The woman looks at him skeptical but he ignores it. He thinks he should ask her if what he’s heard is true. That the dry climate of the western half of her country is good for the sick. He should ask but his eyes feel heavy. He’s barely slept in the past few days and he’s so cold and the church is so warm.

He should ask, but instead he falls to the floor in a heap.

—-

Copia sits up as he gasps for air like a fish out of water. His breathing is heavy for several moments as he looks around the room. Nothing is familiar. Where is he?

There’s a sudden pain in his left eye and he cries out as he clutches at it. It feels like someone is driving an ice pick through his skull. He briefly remembers reading somewhere that’s how lobotomies are performed and oh god did he finally have a mental breakdown and did they finally —-

“You’re awake.”

It’s a woman’s voice and he whips his head up to see her standing at the foot of the bed. Copia feels dizzy from the action. He needs to do things slowly otherwise he’ll end up making himself sick.

It takes a moment but he’s finally able to remove his hand from his face. The vision in his left eye is blurred and at first he thinks he sees wrong but — no. The woman is wearing what looks like a masquerade mask, her mouth the only part of her face exposed. Funny. He doesn’t remember being at a party.

“You should rest.” Her voice is gentle. “At least until you get used to it.”

It? What the fuck is it?

“It’s rare for them to turn a complete stranger. You must have had a very compelling argument.”

“I – I don’t understand.”

“It’s alright. It’s all new. It’s going to be troublesome.”

Copia wants to ask her what the fuck are you talking about? But he remembers why he’s here. “Where is my daughter?!” He tries to keep the panic from his voice but he knows his face gives him away.

“She’s fine. She’s –” The woman is unable to finish her sentence as Copia bounds to his feet. He sways and feels like vomiting but he pushes it down.

“Accaila?” He pushes past the woman and stumbles into the hall. “Accaila!?” Copia feels the woman’s nimble fingers clasp at his upper arm, trying to steady him.

“Papa!” The little girl rises from her game of marbles on the floor with several more masked figures and runs over to him. She clutches onto his leg and Copia is taken aback. The last time he had seen her she was — was dying but now here she was playing like a normal child and —

“What happened to your eye?” He’s clutching her tiny face between his rough hands. Copia feels another round of panic set in as he sees the pigment has drained from her left eye, leaving it entirely white.

“Isn't it neat!?” She attempts to smile in his grasp, chubby cheeks bunching up.

Actually, no it isn’t. It reminds Copia of the old man that had once visited the church. He had been blind and his eyes were this milky white but there had been a cloud over the pupil. There wasn’t one here. “Does it hurt?”

Accaila shakes her head. “I can actually see better!” Her expression turns serious. “Is it not working for you?”

Now he’s totally lost. Him? He doesn’t have one his eyes are – they’re —

Copia whirls on the woman holding him. “What did you do to us!?” Her expression is unreadable.

“You asked for our help and we gave it.”

He feels another headache building behind his eyes. This was a mistake. He should have never come here. If they weren’t damned to hell before they sure are now. “I need — I need to lie down for a moment.”

—--

It takes what feels like ages for him to actually grasp the concept of what he’s been told. “The pair of you were half frozen when you showed up here.” Papa Emeritus the Third had explained to him. “ It was obvious what was wrong with her. We see many consumption sufferers seeking relief here.” Then his expression had softened. “Typically I would not have even worried about you, rather make you earn the gift. But it was against my better judgment to let a child slip into being an orphan.” The most hilarious thing was that this wasn’t even the most absurd thing he had been told.

“Vampire!?” Copia’s voice had raised in pitch as he stared with wide eyes at the Third. These people were insane and he had fucked up coming here, but the man had continued explaining and much to his own irritation it had slowly begun to make sense. Not only had his eye changed color but he was acutely aware of the fact that his teeth were sharper. It had made talking incredibly difficult at first, he kept biting his own tongue. “ I know what you’re thinking and no, you do not have to live off blood. Rather just consume some every so often. For the most part you should be able to eat as normal.” Had that been to comfort him? Because it sure as hell wasn’t comforting. Hell, even learning about the ghouls had seemed less daunting than this.

However, as the days progressed, Copia found himself worrying less and less about this issue. Seeing his daughter running and playing again was the only thing he could focus on. The idea that this was an act of selfishness still floats in his brain. Did he do it for her or for himself? Perhaps Cardinal Alessio had been correct and he was a selfish man.

“Pondering too much can be bad for the mind.” Copia blinks out of his stupor. The First, Primo, as he’s called, takes the seat on the bench beside him. “What’s on your mind fratellino?” Copia had found it increasingly odd as over time the three Emeritus brothers began to refer to him as their younger brother but it was comforting also. He’d never had a family and having people around who cared for him felt nice. He hadn’t felt that since Lia died. Even Sister Imperator, the older lady that had opened the door for them, as he later learned, had taken a shine to him. Once she had found out he was once a Cardinal she had started calling him her Cardi or simply C. It left a warm feeling in his chest and he’d quickly began viewing her as a mother figure.

It had also been exceptionally easy for him to earn an income. “You’re a Cardinal?” Terzo had looked at him as if in disbelief. “ Well I w-was.” Copia laughed anxiously. “ But I worked in the treasury and I’m very good with numbers! Uh – that’s if you have a position available.” Terzo had cocked a brow to think and then agreed. “ Deal. But I think it may be better if you become a Cardinal in our church.” And so he did.

“Mi dispiace.” Copia casts a sideways glance at the older man.

“No need to apologize. Something you wish to speak about?”

Copia chews his lip. “I was just thinking.” He sees Primo shift in his seat. Copia turns to face him. “Do you think I made a mistake? With all of this.” He motions with his hand to the area around them. “I – I don’t mean that rude, sorry if it sounds –”

“Cardinale, relax. No one is passing judgment here.” And how odd that was. His original church preaching these same things but never practicing them. But this church, a satanic church, is doing the opposite. “You did what you thought needed to be done.”

Copia sinks in his seat. “But does it make me selfish?” He’s never mentioned it to anyone before. Always keeping his shame buried deep down. “That I did this instead of letting her die. Do – does that make me selfish?” His voice waivers and he has to fight back the tears he feels pricking at his eyes.

Primo’s features soften and Copia feels like a kicked curr. “I think,” he starts slowly, “that you did what you felt was necessary.” A cold hand settles on his shoulder. “Not many fathers would do what you have. I know mine wouldn’t.” Copia nods, desperately wanting to believe those words.

“What if she hates me for it when she gets older?”

“I see the way she looks at you. We all have. I hardly think that she will ever hate you.”

Copia nods and turns his attention back to his daughter who plays with the ghouls in the garden and he thinks that maybe being selfish isn’t so bad.

#the band ghost #skywarpie writes #ghost bc #ghost band #okay to reblog i guess

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babblydrabbly · 2 years

Text

Day 14 | Wade Wilson x Reader

a/n - @flufftober

prompt - truth or dare

fluff - 800 words - warnings: language. jumping off a roof. body image issues (deadpool). food and drink mention. one smoocheroo.

“Your turn.”

You shake up your Icee and fiddle with the straw as you consider your options. It’s one of those odd fall nights. The kind when the last warm days of the year get swept away on the cold evening wind. Your fingers are stiff as you grasp onto your convenience store drink.

“Hm, truth.”

“Oh, come on!” Deadpool whines.

You arch a brow at him from behind your domino mask. “What?”

“You’re just gonna be the guy that picks truth the whole night? Do a dare.”

“Fine. Dare.”

“HM.” You chuckle as you watch the vigilante kick his feet in thought. You’ve never once seen him give a shit that he’s up so high above solid pavement. The cars far below honk and stop at the light on the corner, their distant sounds so faint you can barely hear them above the wind. “I dare you…to… jump off this building.”

You huff. “What, like just fall?”

“No. No no no. I’m talking olympic dive. Make it snazzy.”

You set your cup down with a sigh. “...Yeah, okay.”

You stand up from the edge of the rooftop and dust off the seat of your uniform. Deadpool claps giddily as you walk some ways back- enough to get up to a full sprint.

With your hands on your hips, you ponder until you settle on a little combination in your head. Deadpool’s eyes stay on you as you remove the two short batons from your utility belt and set them down onto the gravel at your feet carefully.

You go all in. Lining up your stance, you swing your arms above your head and hold them there for a moment.

“And here we have our very own New York City native: The Kestrel.” Deadpool announces, and it’s enough to get you giggling. “She comes in at about- what? Five, ten pounds?”

You snort.

“Don’t be fooled by the small stature and big doe eyes. This little bird of prey is still technically a part of the falcon family. Apparently.”

“Can I go now?”

“And she’s off!”

Finally your cue, you push off at full speed. You fall into a cartwheel, then as many back handsprings as you can until you sense you’re at the building’s edge.

With one last push, you hear Deadpool’s whoop as you tuck your arms in and leap. You don’t know what to call the several twists and turns you make as you dive headfirst down toward the street below, but you do know that you can’t stop grinning.

Deadpool is on his back in a fit of laughter when you float back up to his perch. Stopping to hover there, you coyly nudge your way between his splayed legs until he sits up, breathless.

“What’s my score, judge?”

He wipes away at the corner of his eye- as if that will do anything with his mask on. “Whew- solid nine out of ten.”

“A nine?!”

Extending his legs, Deadpool hooks his calves around the back of your thighs to draw you closer- until you’re wedged right up against him. “Always room for improvement.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright. Your turn. Dare or dare?”

“You know it, baby girl.”

“I dare you… to take off your mask.”

He throws his hands up in disbelief. “Is that really it?”

“If it’s so easy, then do it.”

You witness the hesitation unfurl. The slight glance away- the dropping of his gloved hands into his lap. In moments like this, you remember there’s a surprisingly guarded guy named Wade under that mask.

Treading carefully, you slide your hands up his chest and around to the space where his mask is fastened securely. With a simple tug of the fabric, Wade lets you pull it up until it’s over his nose and mouth.

“Was this enough foreplay for you?” You tease. “It’s getting cold up here.”

His kiss is warm and languid. In fact, kissing Wade Wilson seems to be the only time you can get him to shut up and slow down. Almost. His large arms slide around your waist and hold you squarely enough against him that you don’t have to use your powers- Wade’s strength is enough to keep you there at the roof’s edge.

Carefully, you tug the rest of his mask off as you deepen the kiss. You forget about the chilling air and cold fingertips- your mind only on the way Wade’s body temperature seems to shield you perfectly from the cold too.

The two of you sit there like a pair of teens making out for a few more minutes when Wade jerks away abruptly. “Okay, ten out of ten- but you’re disqualified.”

“Why?!”

“The board found out you’re screwing the judge.”

You slap his chest with his mask. “Yeah, well you lose truth or dare.”

“Excuse me?” “You didn’t take off your mask.” You point out smugly. “ I did.”

#flufftober #flufftober 2022 #deadpool #mcu #wade wilson #deadpool x reader #deadpool x you #mywords*#im gonna say neutral reader because I can see Deadpool calling everyone guy and baby girl in the same convo

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bullet-prooflove · 2 years

Note

Babe fabulous job on that Otis fic 👏🏼👏🏼 !!! He is sexy & adorable af 😍 looking forward to more now that he’s been added. May I pretty pls request one for myself? Not a prompt but I’d really love a Brian “Otis” Zvonecek x fem reader where they get married tons of fluff, I’ll leave all the other details up to you so you still have creative freedom.

Thank you so much for your wonderful words, I am very grateful! I hope you enjoy this one. It was entirely inspired by the above GIF

A Companion Piece to Bodyshots

Tagging @lovinblueheart99

It was late when Otis made it back home to your shared apartment. He was coming off the back of one of the busiest 24-hour shifts of his career and he wanted nothing more than to climb into bed alongside you and wrap his arms around your beauteous form.

He was surprised to see you sitting at the kitchen table, your hands wrapped around a steaming mug of camomile tea, something you only drank when you had trouble sleeping. You were clad in his grey faded Battlestar Galactica t shirt, and navy-blue sweatpants that heralded from your days back at the police academy. Your hair was still damp from the shower you had taken earlier and tied up in a messy bun. Your silver wedding band glinted in the low light on your right hand, tucked neatly under the sapphire of your engagement ring.

There were mornings when he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Two years ago, you had agreed to become his wife, now you had been married three months and he didn’t think things could get much better.

“You shouldn’t have waited up for me.” He said in a hushed tone, placing a tender kiss upon your forehead.

The scent rich scent of ylang ylang clung to your skin, that sweet floral fragrance embodying the entire essence of you as a person. Soft, feminine and just a little bit dangerous. He revelled in it for a moment before collapsing into the chair close to yours with a groan. His muscles were tight and sore from hurling equipment throughout the duration of his shift. His fingers sought out a particular tense spot at the base of his neck, he rubbed at it with the palm of his hand as you slid a slender white stick towards him.

His gaze dropped to it apprehensively, his tired eyes blurring as he struggled to make out the detail. His brain snagged on the word ‘Positive’ on the digital display before he raised his eyes. “Is this some kind of new Covid Test?” he asked, picking it up and squinting at the device. “Is that why you’ve been so tired lately?”

You laughed. The noise started him, causing his eyebrows to furrow as you reached out a hand and placed it on his wrist, gently drawing his attention back towards you.

“That, my love, is a pregnancy test.”

He stared back down at the slender stick clasped between his hands before reading the word ‘Positive’ once more. A well of emotion rose within his chest, he swallowed past the lump in his throat as his eyes burned.

“I’m gonna be a Papa?” he asked you, his voice quivering just a little.

Your thumb stroked gently over the indentation of his wrist.

“You’re going to be a Papa.” You confirmed, biting your lower lip.

He sprang out of his chair with a speed that startled you. He wrapped his arms around your, clasping you close as he peppered your face with reverent kisses.

“How far along are you?” he asked, sinking to his knees alongside your chair so that the two of you were face to face.

“About ten weeks,” you told him. “Remember that night in Molly’s when we had our own private lock in after you closed up.”

“A little music, we both got a little tipsy…” he trailed off, his cheeks colouring as he recalled the aftermath.

Licking salt from your heated skin, the taste of tequila on his tongue before plucked the lime from between your lips. You’d made love right there on the bar, no barriers, no boundaries, just the two of you driving each other delirious with pleasure.

“I know it’s a little early, we were talking about maybe in a couple of years…”

“No.” he said cutting you off. “This is perfect, just perfect, you’re perfect.”

He kissed you with a tenderness you felt all the way down to your core. You were beautiful, radiant and he wanted to convey how much you and this baby meant to him, how happy he was that you were building something together.

“We’re not calling it Molly.” You told him when you separated, his hand coming to rest on your abdomen, imagining the little life nestled in there.

“That’s up for debate.” He told you before focusing on your stomach, his dark eyes bright with wonder. “I can’t believe we’re having a baby.”

#otis #brian zvonecek imagine #brian otis zvonecek imagine #brian otis zvonecek x reader #otis chicago fire #chicago fire

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redeyedroid · 1 year

Text

Scots generally don't go much for cricket. Which I find odd, considering how consistently terrible England have been for most of my life. If there's one thing that brings the people of Scotland together, it's England losing at sport.

Cricket's eccentric as hell; the objectives often incomprehensible and bizarre, even to people who follow the game; it's impenetrable terminology has multiple ways of labeling the same things; the simple idea of who is winning and who is losing may be undiscernable for days; it can go on for five days and still end in a draw and they only decided to end matches like that because once, decades ago, a test match went on so long one team risked missing their boat back home; a series of five or more matches can go on for months; people are forced to keep playing long after the result has been decided; bowling and batting require completely different skills and techniques, yet some players master both; it's greatest trophy, The Ashes, is only contested by two nations and is, essentially, a self-deprecating shitpost; and one of the greatest memes of all time originates from a dropped catch in 2019.

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But, because the people of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka love it like nothing else, it is the second most popular sport in the world. And I love it, too. Be it Mitchell Starc clean bowling Rory Burns with the first ball of the 2021/22 Ashes, beginning a series of quite staggering English ineptitude; or Virat Kohli, the greatest batter of this generation, hitting back-to-back sixes off Haris Rauf in front of 95,000 people at the Melbourne Cricket Ground while leading India to an extraordinary win against Pakistan at the 2022 T20 World Cup, cricket offers dramatic moments of brilliance with a regularity other sports struggle to match.

If you want an idea of exactly how popular cricket is in India, Kohli has 60 million more instagram followers than Brady, Serena and LeBron combined. His is the 16th most followed account in the world. The only sports stars with larger followings are Messi and Ronaldo. Like the greatest players in any sport, time appears to slow down around him when he's at his best, his balance and timing perfect as he makes an almost impossible task look like the easiest thing in the world (batters have a fraction of a second to react to a ball being bowled at them. Against the fastest bowlers, they might not even be able to see the ball at all, instead relying on triggers and clues and experience to hit it.)

I picked up a love for cricket from my dad, who himself picked it up one rainy summer afternoon (what do you think happens in summer in Scotland?) when he was young and there were only two TV channels. He loves the great West Indian team of the 1970s and 80s like no other. They're probably his favourite thing in sporting history. A found love, rather than the familial support for Hibs he inherited from his father.

(For that, I'd recommend the excellent documentary, Fire In Babylon. No knowledge is needed, beyond that in cricket, unlike baseball, there is no restriction against a bowler aiming at the batter's body. And the West Indian team had a succession of players who bowled at the speed of light and terrorised batters across the world. They also had, in Gordon Greenidge and Viv Richards, the two great batters of the - possibly any - era).

I missed much of their quarter century of dominance, being too young or not actually alive, but I do remember their last great bowlers, Courtney Walsh and Curtley Ambrose, while the great Trinidadian, Brian Lara, twice set records for the highest individual score in test cricket, first scoring 375, then an unbeaten 400, a record that still stands today and which may now never be bettered. Of course, both those scores came against England.

There was a lot of listening to cricket on the radio, driving places when we were on holiday in the summer. It was a summer sport then, coverage only following teams when they came to England. In the winter, when England went away, we got little, for this was the age before wall-to-wall sports TV.

For instance, I remember bits of Australia's 1993 Ashes rampage coinciding with daytrips along Hadrian's Wall, among other places, but I have no memory of the following, equally one-sided series in Australia in 1994/95.

Not that test cricket is at all rampageous, containing, as it does, breaks for lunch and tea, and even at it's most fast paced only has a ball bowled every 45 seconds or so, this being repeated about 500 times a day, with maybe 1 in 4 actually being scored from. You can miss great chunks of matches only to find nothing has fundamentally changed when you return. One man dressed in white hurls a small red ball at another, who most often declines the opportunity to hit it as it whizzes past. It is often as close to being a day-long nap as any sport can be.

Today, like football, the sport is played everywhere, all the time. The South Asian nations have spread it across the world, far beyond the borders of the British imperial possessions where the colonial administrators introduced it. Wherever there is a strong community of people from the subcontinent, cricket will be found and while there are less than a dozen full members of the ICC, there are now lots of associate members all competing against each other (the USA is the 18th-ranked men's ODI team, for example). There's almost always something to watch somewhere.

Powered by TV money (rights for the Indian Premier league are, on a per-game basis, now the second most expensive sporting event in the world, after the NFL) the compressed, high-scoring excitement of T20 has become the most popular format of cricket, which is bad for me. Because my preference is for the full-fat, slow-motion weirdness of a test match. It's what I grew up with and in my mind, the game is not for the swift. There's a reason they're called tests. The game should be an examination of technique and concentration and endurance that lasts for ages and ends with two poor bastards trying to scratch out a draw by batting for a day and a half because their side trails by 450 runs and the other 9 players on their team are idiots who got out in ridiculous ways. And then, after they inevitably fail, they do it again a week later. And maybe they lose horribly two more times and their team finds itself 3-0 down with two matches to play, but those matches still get played, even though they won't change the result of the series, because that's also part of the test. Or maybe it rains all summer and no matches are played, because the English, with maniac optimism, like to invent games that cannot be played if it's raining (see also: tennis).

I recognise that this is churlish of me. The women's game, like in so many other sports a niche afterthought, is being supercharged by an influx of cash from India, as the men's IPL has this year expanded into a women's tournament. The TV rights for this sold for £95m, the 5 franchises sold for half a billion. The top players - most players, probably - will make more from it than they do for the rest of the year. T20 is an extraordinary boost for the women's game, where tests are rarely played.

This is A Very Good Thing, but I'll always prefer tests.

Only three nations now have the economic power and talent pool to devote equal attention to all three formats of the game. Only England, India and Australia still play full test series against each other. The rest now play two- or maybe three-match series and only occasionally. The form the future of the game will take is in doubt. The West Indies might fracture amidst a proliferation of T20 franchise leagues, their players - naturally and understandably - touring the world and playing in half-a-dozen dozen leagues, their talents auctioned and drafted and paid far more than they get from tests.

But today I'm going to ignore the question marks about cricket's future and the maybe slow death of anything other than T20. Because today, one of the last remaining marquee matchups begins. Tomorrow, the women's T20 World Cup starts in South Africa. In a couple of months I will consume as much of the two IPLs as I can. In the summer, England will host Ashes series for both men and women that promise much. Australia's men currently holds the ridiculous little urn and are the top ranked side. England's men are actually very good right now and have many fine and likeable players, and a part of me finds that very irritating. Either or neither could win. For the other, England's women are also good, but Australia's are much gooder (for real. Ellyse Perry should be counted among the greatest female sports stars of all time. A world class bowler and batter, she has represented Australia at World Cups in both cricket and football).

All that is for tomorrow and beyond. Today, Australia's men begin a 4-match test series in India. India will probably win. It is incredibly hard to win anywhere as a touring team because weather and pitches vary a great deal from country to country and strongly favour the home team, no matter how lowly they are ranked. The West Indies comfortably beat England last year, and Australia struggled to a draw in Sri Lanka. And of all the places to tour, India is the hardest place to win of all. A series win in India is a rare and treasured thing.

The problem with touring India are the pitches. They are slow and dusty and - like most subcontinental tracks - favour the arcane arts of spin bowling, where a bowler uses his fingers or wrist to put spin on the ball in the hope that when it hits the pitch it grips and it's trajectory changes, deceiving the batter. Pitches are prepared to take advantage of this and push India's home field advantage as much as possible. Teams who play warm-up matches before tests in the hope of acclimatising will find placid, grassy pitches that offer not a hint of the demonic conditions the test series will likely bring. Cricket has never been a gentleman's game.

Australia have one, very very good spin bowler in Nathan Lyon and a number who are either untested or not good. They are likely to suffer against Indian batters who have known how to play spin since picking up a bat. India have Ravichandran Ashwin, also a very very good spinner, but in Ravindra Jadeja, Axar Patel and Kuldeep Yadav they have several who are merely very good and likely to prosper against Australian batters who are less good away from Australia (Jadeja, injured for most of the last 6 months is arguably the best all-rounder in men's cricket today. A prodigiously talented bowler and batter, he is also among the best fielders in the men's game).

youtube

Australia have barely toured anywhere since the pandemic began, but their team has played very well at home and their glitchy batting goblins Marnus Labuschagne and Steve Smith are incredibly good. I have hope they make the series competitive (though for me, their approaches to batting are too angularly idiosyncratic compared to the gloriously pure techniques of Kohli and Babar Azam of Pakistan). But I also hope that Kohli finds form and has a series for the ages.

The man's due.

PS Old Deadspin did a decent primer on cricket years ago and you can still read it, if you don't mind giving the site clicks...

#cricket #virat kohli #India v Australia #Youtube #Pez #border gavaskar trophy #Andy and Cricket

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tryst-art-archive · 1 year

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Suite Francaise Creative Writing Assignment

I remember almost nothing about Suite Francaise other than it was assigned reading for AP English. Apparently there was a creative writing assignment based on it? Anyway, here that is:

“One moment everything’s fine, and the next we’re stuffing our crap in suitcases,” she muttered. Where was her sweatshirt? Was it in the wash? She needed her sweatshirt!

The girl pounded down the stairs to the first floor and then down to the basement, rushing past her mother who was hastily flying to the master bedroom with a load of bathroom products in her arms. The girl dashed into the laundry room, dug hastily through the clothes scattered on the floor and let out a groan. She checked the clock – two hours until they had to be gone. It might be enough to wash the clothes they needed.

She gathered together the dirty laundry, destroying the careful separation of lights, darks, and whites and threw the mass into the washing machine. She hastily set it, filled it with detergent, and sent it running before speeding over to the gaming system. The cabinet she flung open, and the memory cards for the games she took and shoved into her pockets. The older games – the games from the last version of the system which was now some ten years old – she gathered together and held to her chest.

She stood, bouncing from foot to foot with the sense of urgency that flooded her senses. Was there anything else she needed from the basement? What down here couldn’t she replace?

Nothing came to her mind but she hesitated a moment longer to be sure. Still nothing.

She ran back up the stairs and into the computer room, pausing here to gather up her flash drive and the disks on which she had backed up her important files. It occurred to her that the art, writing, and web projects that were saved on those disks did not include the last month’s work so she stopped and began the process of burning a new disk.

While it burned, she looted her school bag for anything worth saving. Out came iPod and sketchbook followed by her wallet and her cell phone – the later only because she thought she might have need of it later. She debated grabbing her digital camera, decided to bring it, and hung it off her wrist from its strap. Then she turned to the bookshelf and took off the binder containing drafts of a novel and all of the other notebooks containing her works and notes that happened to be there. The disk finished burning and she dashed back upstairs, struggling not to drop any of the mass of items she carried.

She dropped the objects on her bed, emptied her pockets, and rushed to the corner of the room in which she kept her tens of sketchbooks. She lifted them up with some effort and dropped them on her bed as well. Then she turned to her filing cabinet and removed some seven years’ worth of drawings on copy paper from its draws, placing these on her bed as well.

The girl paused then, listening to the sounds of her parents’ rushing to and fro in their own effort to save what was important. She turned to her suitcase and forced the mass collection of her creative works into its body. There was some space left so she unplugged the twenty-five-year-old gaming system from the thirty-year-old TV in her room and placed it in the suitcase as well. It was followed by its associated games and wires.

This filled the main body of the suitcase so she zipped it up and began to fill its outer pockets with the sketchbooks and cartridges and disks that did not fit into the main body. She then rushed to the computer room once more, taking a pocketbook from its place on a door handle. In moments, she had returned to her bedroom and was filling the pocketbook with her iPod, her wallet, her current small sketchbook, and the other paraphernalia that she carried with her wherever she went. Even her house key found its way into her bag, though she doubted she would have need of it later.

The girl scanned the room, looking for other irreplaceable mementos. Her eyes fell on her collection of Beanie Babies – much loved as they were. Her immediate urge was to pack the lot of them, but there simply wasn’t space in her baggage for all one hundred of them. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and picked the six that she would miss the most if she lost them: Flip, Chip, Snip, Zip, Nip, and Doby. They had been the center of the “town” she had imagined, back in the day, and they had been her favorites. She needed them.

The six plush toys were deposited into her old duffle bag from back in the days when she lived in Stoughton and attended the Dawe elementary school. Another scan of her room added the Beanie Baby Howl to the mix. He was, in turn, followed by a stuffed fox that was of some significance due to a particular raccoon-fox exchange between the girl and her best friend. An anthropomorphic rabbit in Victorian garb was soon plucked from her shelf and placed in the bag as well even as the two largest stuffed animals – PJ Bunny and Frederick the Dalmatian – were removed from the bed and placed atop the suitcase.

Having removed these essentials from harm’s way, the girl returned to more practical matters. She took her various small, glass sculptures, wrapped them in a scarf, and, reopening her suitcase, shoved them into what seemed to be a safe corner. She then gathered the small metal pieces she had constructed and, wrapping these as well, placed them in her bag. Her clothes she forced into tiny spaces in the suitcase and duffel.

Her mother was taking care of the bathroom accoutrements so the girl ran her hairbrush and other necessary morning items over to her mother to be included in the bathroom bag before returning to her room. Here she grabbed a selection of necklaces from her jewelry box, stuffing them haphazardly into her bag.

She checked a clock. An hour left.

The laundry must be done by now.

Half a moment later, she was in the basement, forcing the half-washed clothes into the dryer and setting it running. She returned to the ground floor in time to scoop up her cat and place the animal in a carrying crate. She then ran to the fish tank, dumped half a container’s worth of food into it, and hurried to a closet to gather her coat, a serviceable pair of sneakers, and any other necessary outdoor items.

She paused again. What about her flute? She hadn’t played it in an age, there was no space for the music books, and she couldn’t play it without notes written before her…

She grabbed it and dashed upstairs.

How she found a single inch of space in her bags to place a single item that she carried was a mystery, but she achieved the packing feat nonetheless. Presently, she began the process of bringing her bags to the dining room on the ground floor. On the way, she realized she was missing all of her photographs, artworks given her by her best friend, and a host of other paper memorabilia.

She bit her lip, shook her head. No. She couldn’t fit it. There was too much of it. A crateful not to mention what was on the walls, and if she brought one thing she’d have to bring it all…

The walls! She herself had artwork on the walls!

And the folder with her portfolio materials behind her bed! There was that too!

The girl performed a dance usually reserved for those in dire need of a toilet and then dashed around the house, gathering the images from the walls, adding them to her suitcase. She flew back to her room, grabbed the portfolio, massive though it was, and added it to her pile of baggage.

Oh, there was far, far too much.

She glanced at a clock.

Half an hour. The laundry wouldn’t be done yet.

What else was there?

She thought, irrationally, about bringing her bicycle. She shook the madness from her head and attempted to think more seriously.

Utterly irrelevant items popped into her brain. There was something, she knew, something that she was forgetting, something she would miss. What was it? Why could she only think of snacks and glow sticks? She shook her head again. It would not clear. Her mind, which under normal circumstances could keep her awake from midnight to three a.m. with no difficulty, ran at full-tilt. It was quite possible that thoughts were flying through her mind at the speed of light.

“Cat food,” she said. She grabbed the bag of cat food and, as an after-thought, also went in search of one of the jingling balls that the cat adored. These, along with a harness and leash which she had bought with the intention of bringing her fearless indoor cat outside, she placed in a plastic bag.

There were now ten minutes left.

She bolted to the basement, stopped the dryer, and dumped her damp clothes into another plastic bag. Too bad if they stank.

Five minutes left.

She flew up the stairs, grabbed the bags she could carry, and began forcing them into the trunk of her mother’s car which was already partly full of her parents’ things. The rest of her things she put in the back of her father’s truck and in the back seats of the two vehicles. She planned to be in her mother’s car and, thus, ensured that the manuscripts, art pieces, and disks would be with her.

As she gazed at the over-full vehicles, it occurred to her that there simply wasn’t space for the cat’s crate. The thought of leaving her cat behind sent her into panic. She dragged the harness and leash from her baggage and returned to the house. She opened the cat’s crate, chased and cornered the animal, and forced it into the harness with no small amount of difficulty. After another chase, she got the leash hooked onto the harness, picked the cat up, and deposited her in the car.

She faced the house. Her parents were dashing out of it, their last bags in hand, and locking it. Her father ran for the truck which contained the majority of the collective baggage while her mother hopped into the car. The girl got in on the passenger’s side, bringing her anxious cat into her lap.

The two vehicles rolled out of the drive, shaken by the blast wave of the first bomb which fell a mile and a half away.

This is archival work from my teens. You can find my current work @tryskits and @tryskits-art

#writing archive #TrysKits work #prose #fiction #assignments #old writing #oc writing #war #00s #2008 #Age 17

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solidwater05 · 4 months

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I dreamed that I was reading some sort of wiki article? It was about an old cartoon or something. The characters were a blonde girl with short pigtails (who was said to be deaf but it didn't come up) and a boy with short brown hair. Pretty generic

One of the episodes was called 1234 and supposedly it was called that because the girl picks up a cat and counts their legs? I think that did happen, but they got sidetracked immediately because they saw ants and wanted to see where the ants were going

So they started following the ants, and Inspector Gadget (specifically the animated version) joined them for some reason.

When they got to the ant hill, a lot of ants started approaching them in waves? Like, the ants were all traveling in an outwards circle. This was said to be a way to scan the terrain and that if one ant detected movement it would alert the others. So the three characters had to stay very still. I think Inspector Gadget moved a bit and the ants noticed, but I can't remember what happened after that

The next thing I remember is an explosion. There was some sort of fight going on. I caused the explosion on purpose. As I ran away from the scene I saw a bear that was supposed to be wounded by the explosion, and my enemy accused me of having no honor for hurting bystanders just for the sake of winning. I didn't feel like getting my ass kicked so I started running faster but I was running so fast that I ran into a wall at full speed and woke myself up immediately.

But it was 7 am so I went back to sleep :P

In this other dream I was walking around a place that looked like my school but bigger, and it was a public space.

Something was happening but I don't remember what. I think there was an event that we were going to. Many people seemed to be doing the same

More parts I don't remember, and suddenly I was at a supermarket parking lot with a whole lot of trucks. They were all waiting for the event. To participate in the event you had to go through a specific area, and apparently you couldn't park in the normal parking lot if you wanted to participate, so they had a special one but something went wrong and everyone got stuck waiting for hours. Yes, even the people without trucks

When they finally fixed everything I went into the basement and dropped down the entrance to the event. A screen appeared in front of me and I had to write my name, pronouns, and draw myself because I would appear with that outfit in the event. Except that I do not know my own name and pronouns and I hadn't planned any outfit so I panicked

I ended up getting some kind of masc leaning outfit but I was having one of my rare fem days so it was meh. But I think I modified it with mind once inside the event

The event was just clothes shopping. No idea what made it so special. Oh, and I was with my friend again for this section! We saw a trans flag in one of the shops so we checked that out but that part of the dream didn't last long

There was also something about a plushy but I can't remember the context. I think I was with my brother and at least one of my cousins? We were being given plushies, maybe as some sort of apology for some trouble? My brother got a black one with golden eyes I think. I can't remember what it was. I think I got one with a light color but I really can't remember much of this part

#ice speaks #brain cinema

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thestrangestinthisstrangeland · 2 years

Text

As We Lay Dreaming- chapter 5

warnings- none

summary- we can be anyone when we sleep, even our true selves.

AN - So I know this is a dreamless (ha!) chapter, I hope you'll stick with me because I just can't tell a story without the plot being well fleshed out, forgive my little indulgences I promise there's a reason and fingers crossed you'll all think it pays off in the end. If you're still here, you're awesome and thank you!

The one and only Mr. Gaiman has been one of the biggest inspirations behind my writing and my desire to get my stuff published one day. I just felt it necessary to add that if you haven’t read American Gods, please, add it to the top of your list. The idea of forgotten gods is something I think we’re all familiar with but the way he does it is just incredible and that book broke my brain and put it back together. This is and will remain a sandman fic but being able to slip in some nods to AG has been almost too much fun.

masterlist

AO3

"We were kings. We held power in our palms. We seeded the earth, and from those beginnings, such greatness grew."

In sleep, even old men find lost memories of who they once were, and in the back office of his grocery store –the finest in five counties– old Josiah Brown sleeps, and he dreams…

Black sparkling sands shift underfoot. They are the forgotten shores left empty by the stolen ones– but in dreams they are remembered.

"Our true names were known by all. Rich, poor, farmer, tradesmen, politician-- beggar." A voice as strong as the ocean current fills the broad brown chest and echoes out over the quiet scene. "It made no difference. Our names were spoken out loud! No one was afraid to say them when we were Kings!" He is boastful and takes a proud stance with his arms bent, fist at his waist, gold arm bands gleaming in the light of a thousand stars that fill the night sky. He's shed the skin of Josiah like an old coat, forgotten and tossed aside on the soft sands. Let me breathe, he thinks, inhaling deeply. Let me feel this air in my lungs.

Dropping his chin, Josiah-who- is-not suddenly finds it strange that he should be standing near the ocean and not in the middle of his well-tended crops, but perhaps he'd come this way after toiling under Liza's golden might, her rays bringing life to his harvest. Yes. That must be it.

"They brought gifts and sang." He reminisces . "From every corner of our great kingdom, they came to see the ones who ruled." He would have gone on, enjoying the sound of his own voice if not for the reply. It was unexpected, but when we least want answers, there they are.

"We were more than that old love. We were gods."

He stops, hands dropping, head back and slack-jawed.

Spinning to look up at the swirling galaxies overhead, Josiah-who-is-not opens his arms; tears sting his eyes. "Yemaya?" He runs aimlessly in the dark. "Yemaya!" He feels speed come back to him as it did when he was still strong, and his body was more than this earthly form– this brittle shell. "My love, please!" Asleep and awake, on the shores of the place they were forced to, he has not heard her voice in so very long.

"Stop running, old man. It is just a dream. I am just your better self, telling you to remember who you were, who you are. We were gods and gods we will always be, with or without the love of the people who no longer know our names."

He draws back, knowing in that instant that she's right. Of course. Yemaya is always right, and-- she is gone. She was silenced by the cruelty of oppression and erasure many years ago.

"But. You know what you feel; you know what you saw. Things very old, much older than yourself, even older than me, have come to this place, and all of it is because of her. She is a woman who bears heavy burdens, but compared to us she is only a girl." Yemaya went on. "She can not do this on her own. You must remember this dream and who you are, protect her and help her remember too. It is the least you can do."

He lifts his head and looks up to the cosmos, anger and loss intertwined. "Ah. Retribution for the sins of the son…." Heavy is that weight still, even in sleep, and Josiah-who-is-not hangs his head.

"No" The disembodied voice of the goddess he once loved replied. "Not retribution. Guidance for a child because you are not the son. You are the father of the son. You are not him Oko. Now. Wake up. Go and do what you can."

"I can do nothing. Give what I grow. Care for what is rightfully mine." He shrugged.

"That is good old love.That is a start. Do not shut them out,"

"Them?"

" The oneiromancer. The one called Morpheus and the beloved child, your granddaughter Glory. They're young love must survive."

He looked away. "The Dream King is as old as the first thought, you said so yourself."

"Yes, but this love he feels, that they feel, it is new. It is good! When have you ever known one to love an endless without it going badly?"

"I do not care what happens to the endless."

"Ahhh. You never paid attention to such things. But you will care now. They need you Oko."

He would not argue. Not with her. Even if she was no more than his own subconscious, he would take her anyway he could.

He remembers walking through his fields of gold to her shores of green and blue. Hand in hand, two worlds two hearts. They had acomplished so much together, even the other god knelt to them. Those times were lost, nothing but memories within dreams that he would lose on waking.

"Well?" She asked and he smiled. She never waited long for him to answer.

"Yes, of course, I will do whatever I can."

Yemaya's spirit had been asleep inside the shell of so many women for so many years, that to hear her true voice was a gift. He would not squander it on trivial details such as how this moment came to be, especially not after Selma... losing Glory's grandmother to the state she was in now was like losing his first love all over again. She had been the closest match the goddesses true nature.

"Then be well Oko. One that I once loved. And go peacefully,"

The stars begin to rise like a surging wave curling over on itself as she turns away. The black curve of space bends and folds as she leaves him to remember this night, which he already knows is always so much easier said than done. Josiah feels the ache come back to his bones, the joints twist and swell. His vision begins to blur just enough that the stars fade. The pains of age bind him to his mortal skin once more. If he's not careful, he will forget.

He must not forget this time!

"We were kings... we were Gods. We were love before the first beating heart could break and I will remember."

Tonight, for Glory he would try.

#sandman netflix #sandman comics #sandmancentral #sandman fanfiction #the sandman/original female character #dream of the endless/original female character #dream of the endless #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless/original female character of color #original female character #woc characters #woc beauty #african folklore #gods and goddesses #the endless

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angelamajiki · 3 years

Text

PARINGS: Shouta Aizawa x Reader

CW: yandere, stalking, rape/noncon, pain kink, pain play, mild scent kink, home invasion, gags, restraints, virginity kink, scumbag aizawa, pet play, humiliation, cum stuffing, fingerings, snowballing, voice kink

SYNOPSIS: You have been calling the same phone sex operator for months, creating stalker and CNC fantasies. What happens when he rings true to his words?

AN: this is very dark, be warned! just had to make a fic out of the little idea I had <3

It’s always you who requests him. He can tell you're a virgin, the way your voice wavers when you feel like responding to him. Sometimes you don’t, letting your breathy moans do the talking for you.

“Good little girl.”

“Getting off to a phone call from your stalker? What a whore.”

“Cum for me, pretty girl.”

”Do you like that, pretty little kitty?”

He never had a knack for giving nicknames, but he had to make it known that he remembers you. Remembers that voice. Hopefully, he’ll be able to remember your body one day.

Tracking you down was easy enough; you didn't bother to block your number and public records was just calling his name. God did he love untouched girls like yourself. So wet and pliant, so easily manipulated, so naive to believe everyone had good intentions.

Cameras were placed around your house so he could watch you when he couldn't hear you. If it was a stalker you wanted, he was going to give it to you.

You called often and asked for him always—such an obedient girl. The live feed from your bedroom streamed in front of him whenever you rang, but he was tired of playing games this week.

“Just look at the way you’re kneading yourself; you like to tease yourself. Don't you, kitty?”

Your breath hitched, but he knew it wasn't from pleasure. Looking around, he chuckled at your confused expression.

“You got a real cute face, you know that kitty? I can't wait to fuck it one day.”

Be rational, you told yourself. Its all part of the fantasy, right? He can’t actually see you.

“That’s a cute bed spread you got there, I didn’t take you for the type who liked lilies. You always keep roses in your kitchen vase.”

Okay, he was definitely listening to you now.

“Say, you live on 14th Street, don't you? Why don't I come down and give you an in person session?”

“What do you say, kitty? Or should I just break in like I always tell you I would?”

The phone hung up after that comment. Sure, you were up to the fantasy of being stalked and raped; that’s why you called him. It was too embarrassing to tell a partner your fantasies, not like you had one. Or roommates for that matter.

His voice is what soothed you after a hard day, but now it kept ringing in your ears. Listening to his breathy chuckles sent shivers down your spine, but you never expected to feel them there.

Three raps came from your bedroom door before it opened. You were buried in your sheets, hopelessly, desperately attempting to be asleep. Like that would stop him.

“I know you're awake.”

An “ah” of realization came from him.

“Unless you sleeping peacefully is part of the fantasy. This is new, but I can indulge you in that kitty.”

The bed dipped and creaked with his weight, fear sinking into your heart further as a hand smoothed itself over your shoulders.

“So tense.” He tutted. “I’ve got something that can help you relax.”

His tongue lapped at the outer shell of your ear; arm slung over your blanketed body.

“Such a naughty girl. Tell me, how many times did you get off to the sound of my voice telling you I was going to take your virginity by force.”

A hand snaked its way up to your throat, squeezing gently enough not to cause pain but enough to cut off part of your air.

“Tell me you want me to rape you, here and now. Or I’ll take you out to the alley and make a display of it.”

His voice barely reached above of a whisper the entire time, the same soft sound he used over the phone. Hot breaths tickled your ear and neck as you squirmed, gasping at straws for air.

“I promise to be gentle; I know you like a tender man who takes what he wants.”

Your throat restricted even more under the hand to the point where you felt light-headed.

“Please!” You gasped, using your nails to scratch at his wrapped fingers. The pressure withdrew.

“Please what, kitty? C’mon, you can do it.”

“P-Please rape me.”

A sharp laugh came from behind you.

“Is that any way to address me? I thought we were using special nicknames here.”

He let you have your moment, apparently amused to see you choke for air as he stroked your back.

“Please rape me...sir.”

“Atta girl.”

The hand made its way back to your throat, only resting there as the thumb stroked over your tender flesh. The other one snuck under the blanket and groped at your chest.

“You're a virgin, aren't you, kitty? Don't worry; your owner is going to talk you through it. Nice and slow so you feel everything I'm giving you.”

Fingers wiggled their way under your bra and began pinching at your nipples, tugging and pulling at the hardening nubs.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you up. You'll get your treat soon enough, kitty.”

You yelped after a particularly rough tug, tears springing in your eyes. His one hand managed to rip your bra apart, giving better access to his perverted fingers.

“I know you like it, the way I knead your pretty little breasts. Come, take your clothes off. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Everything came off before he instructed you to stand at the edge of the bed for him. He circled you like a predator, making inspections.

“I have to make sure my kitty is well-groomed and taking care of herself.”

The weight of his hot breath on your skin weighed down on you, pulling you further under his spell. He lifted your arms and smelled your scent.

“Lavender deodorant? What a shame; I wished I could have smelled your natural musk.”

Humiliation flushed your face hot. Disgusting pervert, it seemed he was into everything as long as it wasn't consensual.

“Sit down on the bed, legs spread.”

The baritone of his voice shook you to your core, but not in the pleasurable way you're used to.

“Don't make me ask twice, pet.”

His command was hard to ignore after following them for such a long time; it was practically instinctual to do as you were told. Shaking legs spread as you turned your head to the side. Another tut rolled off his tongue as he gripped your cheeks with one hand.

“Don't turn away from me. I want to see the look in yours when I take you and make you mine.”

You hadn't even realized before that he had brought a bag with him. From it, he took a bar spreader, rope, and a spider gag, all of which he put on you. The gag made your mouth uncomfortably wide, leaving nothing to his imagination.

Rough fingers pull you tongue from your mouth, his own coming down to lick at before spitting down the back of your throat.

“Swallow.”

You did.

“Good kitty.”

The name didn't comfort you anymore. Nothing about him comforted you anymore. Not his voice, not his nickname, and certainly not his breath, which you felt like was burning all over your body.

“I’m going to be nice and leave your throat alone today. However, if I give you a treat, you will swallow it. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded, terrified at the notion that he intended to come back after tonight. Crouching down in front of you, he inspected your wet pussy before spitting on it as well. Gingerly moving your lips, he circled your tight hole and stood up.

“That should do.”

Watching him undress himself seemed to make time move slower, knowing that he was about to take your virginity within minutes. His hard cock sprung out from his boxers and hit his happy trail, bobbing slightly against his abs. Not only was this man toned, but he was also huge.

“In we go, kitty.”

Not even taking the courtesy to gather some slick from you, he pushed in, taking his sweet time as he locked eyes with you. He went agonizing slow, grinning as you wailed in pain.

“Hurts, doesn't it? Let's see how painful we can make this.”

You were hardly prepped, only having wetness left behind from your previous phone call. It stung, and it stung bad. Your eyes wept as you looked up at him with a pleading gaze, hoping he would take mercy on you. He did no such thing, pinching your clit between his fingers and rolling it with intense pressure. Moaning, he watched as you convulsed and twitched in pain beneath him.

“Being such a good girl for me, kitty.”

Another glob of spit landed in the back of your throat, making you gasp and choke on your sobs. He loved that you were an ugly, messy crier. It only served to make his dick harder.

Once he bottomed out, he stayed there for a while, letting you feel the fullness of his thick cock.

“The name’s Shouta, by the way. I'm sure you must have been curious.”

He spoke so casually, so calmly. It made you furious how collected he was while you were a whimpering, sniffling mess.

“Don't worry; we’ll have all the time in the world once we’re done to get to know me.”

Goddamn, that voice. That hypnotizing, nauseating voice. It's the reason you're stuck here underneath a fucking phone sex operator that turned out to be your stalker. What a mess.

A tap to the temple pulled you back to the present.

“Keep your focus here, kitty.”

Hips drew back and snapped into you, not letting you take a moment to adjust as he set a brutal speed.

Oh, how you wished you could leave your body, but if anything, your senses were all the more enhanced, taking in every last drop of your surroundings. The sounds of the bed creaking under his pounding, his grunts and breaths, the skin slapping against skin, your own cries of misery. The feeling of his breath, how your once silk sheets now felt like sandpaper across your skin, the metal of your binds, and the burn of your rope. Everything and nothing all at once.

The minutes seemed to draw themselves out into hours as he continued his assault. He, or Shouta, you supposed, wasn't lasting very long. It didn't suit him; he seemed like a man of stamina. Maybe it was because he played out a sick fantasy of his that made him cum in minutes.

Unprotected, he came deep inside you before sliding out, giving your pussy a slap as he made his exit.

“Such a tight little kitty you've got there.”

Fingers at the ready, he stuffed his cum back inside you, toying with your clit all the while. He was quick to make you cum, making you see stars at the intensity of your orgasm.

“Don’t worry; I'll make you cum on my cock next time. I have plenty of games planned for us when I take you home.”

Pulling his fingers out, he pushed them down your throat to clean them before getting up and dressed again. He left you there, tied up and gone without a word.

In reality, he was just getting his car ready for you, but who was he to deny himself the pleasure of seeing your panicked face when he came back?

You were going to make a fine pet for him.

#yandere shouta aizawa #yandere shouta aizawa x reader #yandere aizawa #yandere aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #yandere bnha #tw: noncon #tw stalking #yandere x reader #yandere

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guillotoinette · 3 years

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My Little Clown

Being the Joker's girl isn't easy. If anything, it's a curse. To constantly be up at night thinking about the future, me and The Joker's. Gotham's dark knight has the two of us in his palm, It's only a matter of time until The Joker gets caught. God knows what torture they have awaiting him.

The thought of his suffering made me feel sick. His poor, hurt soul. Whatever did they do to you?

...

Despite the horrible things he'd done, I can't leave him. I can't. I never will. Why do I love you this much? A murderous lunatic, making me feel loved. Like I'm the happiest, luckiest girl in the world. Jack is the only person that makes me feel like this, like I'm somebody, and not just some puppet. The sheer thought of his bruised hand on my cheek, his scarred lips brushing against mine.. It makes me feel like I'm in heaven. I can't seem to come down. It's like he drugged me, pricked me with a love poisoned arrow.

But he doesn't want to admit it.

At least, not yet.

You're a dangerous drug, but oh god you're addicting. So addicting.

I lay in my bed, feeling like I'm in the sky as I think of more scenarios with Joker. The fluffy bed makes me feel more ecstatic.

"When are you coming home?"

I took a glance at the clock hanging on the wall.

12:15

Just as I was about to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, I hear the door creak open, and my head quickly turns to my right.

My eyes met his, a small grin can be seen blending in with that blood red lipstick. Oh how it tastes so intoxicating.

I stood up the bed, running towards his arms that are open wide for me to jump into.

I feel my chest rub against his leather suit, feeling his slow beating heart. His dark eyes stares into my soul, and I couldn't help but look back at them. Those two dull marbles, they don't scare me anymore. Not like it used to. In fact, just looking into them is enough to make me feel at home. They're comforting.

I stood on top of my toes to give him a kiss, but before I can even reach him, I feel his lips on mine. They're soft, and warm. They made me melt completely, losing my balance and catching myself by wrapping my arms around Joker's neck.

"Aww.. Looks like someone missed me."

What he just said made me red. Goosebumps scattered across my skin as his gloved hand caresses my cheek ever so slowly. I couldn't help but smile back at him, my face resting on his palm.

He lets go, leaving a small squint in my eyes. He takes off his coat and throws it on the ground.

"Today was, ah.. Tiring. Boring, even."

Then, his gloves. He walks over to a desk and places them there, and I couldn't help but notice his hands. They were bruised.

I opened my mouth finding words to say to him, but his deep voice interrupts.

"Those mobs were no fun at all.."

His left hand rolls up the sleeves on his right arm while he walks slowly over to the bed. He falls comfortably on the edge, patting both of his thighs as a gesture for me to sit on him.

I obey, sitting myself on his lap. I can feel his hot breath on my bare nape, sending shivers down my spine. He gently wraps his left arm on my waist, pulling me even closer to him while his right hand meets my hair, playing with random black strands. He's so childish.

"So, sweet cheeks.. What have you been up to?Hmm?" He sounded so gentle. It's unusual, yet it's so reassuring.

"Jack.." These words escape my lips. I turn around to face him, forcing him to back up and make space for me to sit on.

I place both my hands on his shoulder, looking directly in his eye. Nobody has ever dared to stare at the Joker, but I can tell. I can tell that he loves it when my brown eyes look into his.

"I.. Wanted to ask you something."

Oh God. What the hell am I saying?

"Jack.. What exactly do you feel.. About m-"

He silences me by pushing his lips on me, this time, it was harder. More passionate. His embrace made me fall on him, now making me on top of him as he lays down on the bed, his stringy hair messy against the white pillow below him. I pull away giving him the chance to answer my question.

"I thought I've made it obvious enough. I love you, (Y/N)."

His once dark eyes now twinkled with the stars out the window. He smiles. A genuine, pacifying smile spreads across his cheek.

"You are my purpose."

Before I even knew it, a tear sheds from my watering eyes. I'm crying. I'm crying over what the world calls a monster, what I called a monster. The rogue they so feared and loathed turns out to be my savior from the salvation this society had to offer me. For all my life. He's all I ever yearned for.

My destiny. My Joker. My Jack.

I felt myself becoming more weak, eventually collapsing on to his chest as I continue to sob.

He softly brushes my back, giving me a light kiss on the forehead.

...

It felt like 15 minutes until I finally caught up to my breath. Jack's gentle strokes really helped me calm myself down.

I stand up the bed, with him doing the same.

"Shh now, dollface.. I'm here.. Everything's ok." He whispers, leaning towards me and kissing my shaking lips. He bit and tug my bottom lip, causing a soft gasp to leave my mouth. The sensation made me lust for him uncontrollably as his tongue draws circles on mine, faint whines escaping my lips.

"You don't have to worry about anything. Tonight, you're all mine. And I'll be sure to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk." He groaned, his voice now a bit lighter than before.

"You're such a kidder." I teased.

"You think I'm joking?" He glares at me, and he couldn't help but smirk.

"Well, they don't call you The Joker for nothin'."

He laughs, and I laugh with him. It's such a feeling to share chuckles with him, especially when it's just the two of us.

"As I was saying.."

In a flash, he pins me down the bed, both of my hands trapped in his. He kisses my neck and I can't help but moan at how sweetly he did it. But it didn't last for long, the sugary kiss was now salted with a bite. I felt him suck the spot where his lips used to be. It's painful, but god, it's oh-so gratifying.

I want more. I want more of him.

He stops and pulls away to have a good look at the mess he made. My neck was burning with purple and red.

"Now that is, uh.." He licks his lips. What a sight for sore eyes.

"A mark. A mark to label you.. Mine."

His hand meets the ribbon of my dress, undoing it until it was nothing but rags on the floor. He reaches to his pocket to grab a knife, the point pressing on my underwear ripping my bra and panties off, now exposing my naked body. He gazes were flaming, and I can feel him examine every part of me.

It's embarrassing, I'll admit, but I know how much The Joker loves to draw little smily faces on my skin with his soft fingertips, so by now I have no reason to feel like this. He's remembered every bit of me, and the both of us know it.

"My little clown."

His hand was now on my breasts, fondling them tenderly. His thumb draws circles on my tits and I let out a moan in his ear, making sure it ringed in his eardrums, memorizing the tune I made for him. My fingers dug on his back as he made his way down my torso, over to my hips, and eventually toying with my folds. His fingers are so warm it was sure to leave me melting over his touch again.

"Ah..? You're already this wet..? We're just starting, you little slut."

He continued to rub against my flaps, and he didn't hesitate to slide a finger inside. I gasped, I certainly wasn't ready for that.

He's extra stern tonight. He knows I like it that way.

His finger slowly pushed in and out, a moan slipping out of my throat. When Jack saw how I looked like absolutely gratified by his touch, he picked up the pace, now going as fas as light. He pushed another finger inside, then another. I'm getting ripped and I hate how much I love it. I grasp onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his wrinkly shirt, moaning in pure bliss.

"God, you're- ah.. Sooo tight. Soo wet tight for me."

"J-Jack! I'm gonna cum!"

"Oh no you're not. Not yet."

And when I was just about to, he stops. He pulls out his fingers, licking my liquids off like a thirsty cat.

He shoves his thumb, rubbing it inside my inner cheeks. And I'm not gonna lie when I say I love the taste of my fluids mixed with his spit. I squint my eyes, sucking and biting on him.

Jack stands up, giving me some time to sit up the bed and catch up on my breath. I look at him, catching sight of his hard erection, tightening and visible through his pants.

He unzips his violet bottoms and carelessly throwing them in the corner. I kneel down in front of him, pulling down his boxers to reveal his long, veiny cock leaking with pre-cum.

"Now, open wiiidee"

I obey, and before I can even start to suck the tip, he shoves all of it inside my mouth all the way to my throat, thrusting it rapidly as I desperately try not to gag. Eventually getting the hang of it, I swirl my tongue around, earning a loud moan from him.

"Fuck. You feel so good. You're doing so good, dollface." He groans. I look at up him to see him leaning his head back while he fucks my mouth, his eyes closed and his lips slightly open to let out quiet moans and groans. He opens his eyes to catch me sightseeing at his view, I look away to focus on my job, but then I glance back to him as my ears were met with his charming laughs.

"You're so cute, (Y/N)."

I blushed and smiled back at him.

My chest, thighs, and the floor was all covered in saliva and juices.

A few thrusts later and he picks up the speed, becoming more hasty and shaky. I can tell he's close.

He groans finally, his deep nasally voice spoke

"I'm gonna cum, (Y/N), and you're gonna take it all in like a good. little. doll."

I nod.

"Fuck!"

Then, he releases it in my throat. I swallow it all, not a drop dripping out of my lips. He puts a knuckle on my chin, pulling my head up to make eye contact with him, now kneeling in front of me.

"Where, uh.. Where'd ya learn how to suck dick like that, hmm?" He whispers, and I let out a giggle.

"Did I do good?"

He kisses me, our tongues colliding and he pulls out with a spit still on his mouth.

"You did amazing, doll. But now.."

He lifts me up the floor and throws me onto the bed once again. He rests his knees in front of me, hoisting my legs up and wrapping them around his neck.

"Now.. You're getting your reward, as deserved."

He rubs his tip on my swollen clit, exchanging heavy breaths with each other. My eyes are on him, not leaving it once. He leans in front to be closer to me, and I quickly pull him in, kissing him on the lips.

"Hey. Better stay in your place, sweets. Otherwise tonight's 'session' is gonna be longer than expected."He mutters.

"But daddy-"

He stops stroking.

"What- uh.. What'd you just call me?"

Now I'm hitting his weak spots. He loves being called that nickname, like I love being called his good little girl. He loves dominating me as much as I love being commanded by him.

"Daddy, plea-"

"Oh you're fucking getting it."

He strokes one last time before pushing his cock inside me. He's so big. I can remember the pain I felt when we first had sex, he stretched me out so much and I bled all over white sheets. But it was all worth it. Once he hit my sweet spots, I was in heaven.

I let out a moan, leaving him to do the same. He slides in and out, making lewd sounds that echoed around the room, blending with our whines and whimpers.

"Oh Jack yes! Fuck me! Please! Fuck me harder, daddy!"

"Awe, is my little doll enjoying herself?"

"Oh yes, yes I am!!"

"Let's see just how long you're going to last me, you pathetic little whore."

He turns me around and I feel a hard smack on my ass, leaving me wailing. He continues to thrust, slapping my cheeks the same time our hips collide when he bangs me mercilessly.

I feel his chest on my back and his breath at the back of my shoulder. He bites down on my shoulder blade, his yellow teeth deepening in my skin and sucking it. I cry and whimper to no avail, as he continues to mark my shoulder bone with purple and red.

He pulls back, blood dripping from his teeth and swallowing it. Jack continues to fuck me from behind while looking at me, close-up.

"You look so beautiful, even when you're getting your brains fucked out." He cackles in glee.

"You enjoy being messed up by my cock that much, don't cha?"

"Very much!"

"Then cum for me. Cum for me, you pitiable fucking nymph! Cum for daddy." He groans, his voice so deep that I can feel the air vibrate. He pulls on my hair while he places his left hand on my loin.

Those words were enough to make me do what he wanted, cumming in pure euphoria and those stupid butterflies fluttering inside my stomach. He turns me to him and I arch my back, giving Jack full access to my hips, grabbing them and pulling me closer to his pelvis, fucking me even faster than before.

I had just came, so my clit was really sensitive, and that, Jack knew very well. He puts his thumb on the spot, rubbing it bluntly.

The rhapsody I felt was slowly fading, but Jack had no plans on stopping.

"Jack- Jack it hurts-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry my angel. It's almost over, alright? Keep your eyes on me."

And I do so. I put my hands on his cheeks to softly caress it, causing his eyes to flutter and sparkle. I smiled at the sight, almost forgetting the discomfort between my legs.

"Mhmm.. Fuck..!" Jack curses.

I felt the hot spurts of cum he planted inside me as his cock twitches uncontrollably. He pulls out, some semen left dripping on the bedsheets and on my stomach.

He lays down beside me and I put a hand on his chest. I scooch closer to him but he already pulls me in for our last kiss tonight.

"You.. You were- ah.. You were okay."

I let out a small chuckle on how bad and ridiculously he tried to deny what he felt.

"I love you, Jack."

I turn around and he spoons me in his big arms. I squirm around and purposefully rub my ass on his crotch.

...

His dick is still hard.

#imagines #the joker #joker #joker smut #heath ledger #heath joker #ledger joker #the dark knight #batman #fanfiction #joker fanfiction #fanfic #heath ledger joker

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tsukishumai · 3 years

Text

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x gn!reader wc: 2.1k+ summary; impatience is definitely not a virtue, and just one look at Ushijima Wakatoshi, you knew that there’s no way you could have waited until you got home. warnings; MINORS DNI, nsfw, smut, oral m receiving, road head, alcohol consumption, slight voyeurism, the actions in this fic could cause serious injury pls do not imitate lmao

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Ushijima got the call at around two o’ clock in the morning.

The shrill ringing of his cellphone had abruptly yanked him from his admittedly shallow rest. The empty space beside him screams that he should answer, so he quickly grabs the phone and slides his finger across the screen.

“Hello?” His voice was still thick with sleep, and he rubbed at his eyes as he sat up. The sheets pooled around his waist and he shivered when the cold air hit his bare chest.

“Toshi!” Your voice blasts through the speaker, barely distinguishable from the heavy bass and chattering voices in the background. “You answered!”

“Are you alright?” were the first words that had croaked out from his throat, Ushijima already in the motion of putting on a pair of sweatpants and throwing on a shirt.

“Yess, ‘m alright, Toshi,” you spoke with an obvious slur, tripping over your words in very much the same way Ushijima imagines you tripping in your shoes, “But can you come pick me up??”

Ushijima’s keys were already in his hand, slamming the door behind him before he jumped into his car.

“I’m on my way.”

You had sent Ushijima your location hours ago, a habit that he had unintentionally drilled into you once you had started dating. He had never once stopped you from a night out with your friends, nor had he ever given you a hard time for getting drunk at a random bar on a Wednesday night.

But still, that didn’t mean he never worried, and this was the perfect caveat to satisfy all parties.

And it has been your saving grace time and time again, allowing Ushijima to simply check his phone whenever you called for him to retrieve you, and you were too drunk to remember where you were.

The lounge you were in tonight happened to be in downtown, just a thirty two minute drive from your shared home, but the empty streets allowed Ushijima to arrive in only twenty seven.

He rolls the car to a stop as he arrives at his destination, shifting the gear into park and turning on the hazard lights. He shoots you a quick text, and not five minutes later, you stumble out of the corner building, laughing at a joke one of your friends must have said.

You smile widely when you spot him, pointing excitedly at his car before bidding your friends farewell and running to open the passenger door.

“Toshi!” You practically screamed into his car, the volume of your voice echoing in the otherwise silent night air, “I can’t believe you came.”

“You called me,” he answered, “Of course I’d come.”

You drop yourself into the passenger seat disgracefully, shutting the door before reaching over the center console and throwing your arms around Ushijima’s neck. He pretends to flinch when you press a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say when you pull away.

Ushijima smiles as he pats your head, then reaches over your lap to buckle your seatbelt in for you.

“Your friends don’t need a ride?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, they’re going to another bar down the street.”

Ushijima tilts his head in confusion, “You didn’t want to go with them?”

“It’s late already,” you respond, watching Ushijima pull the car back out into the street, slowly starting the journey back home, “Besides, I missed you.”

He spares you a glance before reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. His fingers instantly caress the bare skin, exposed by the outfit you had chosen to wear for your evening out. Your eyes trace the way his jawline clenched in tandem with when he squeezed you.

“I missed you too,” he replies

You lay your hand on top of his, playing with his fingers before moving them further up your thigh.

“No, Toshi, I missed you.”

Ushijima’s mouth felt dry at the insinuation in your tone. “We’ll be home soon.”

You lean over the center console once more to draw circles on his chest, a smug smile growing on your lips when you see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

You cup the side of his face as you dip your head down to nuzzle in the crook of his neck.

Beneath your touch, Ushijima trembles as you slowly drag your tongue from his neck up to his ear, whispering, “What if I can’t wait until we get home?”

Ushijima audibly gulps as he turns down the street, nervously asking, “What do you mean?”

Your hand moves to trail down his chest, tracing his abs before you palm the bulging hard cock that rested between his thighs.

Ushijima fights a groan, slowing down his speed as he tries to regain his focus. He fidgets in his seat when you start to stroke the outline of his grey sweatpants, and he couldn’t be more thankful that there were hardly any other cars on the road.

“Y/N, what are you…”

“Is it alright, Toshi?” you whisper as you slip your hand beneath his waistband. Ushijima lets out a soft sigh when your fist begins to slowly pump the entirety of his length, and you smirk at how hard he was trying not to take his eyes off the road. “Can I…”

There was a part of Ushijima that knew this was a terrible idea. That he should pull your hands out of his pants and focus on getting the two of you home safely. But he was just a man, and even when he wasn’t under the influence of your skillful strokes, he could hardly ever tell you ‘No.’

He said nothing, and against his better judgment, he bucked his hips into your fist — a silent urge for you to contine.

Ushijima kept his attention laser focused on the stretch of highway in front of him as you made quick work of his length, pulling his waistband down until he sprung free, lightly slapping against his abs. You wet your lips as Ushijima lifts his arm, giving you access to lower your head onto his lap. The streetlamps that illuminated the roads had been your only source of light, and even in the dim lighting you could see beads of precum dripping down his tip.

Without thinking you dart your tongue out, tracing the underside of the head and running it along his slit. You could feel the slight quiver of Ushijima’s thighs as you closed your lips around his head, lightly lapping your tongue at the angry red tip until you’ve licked up every drop of his arousal.

Ushijima resisted the urge to roll his eyes to the back of his head as you moved your lips lower and lower down his hard cock, barely managing to take in half of him. Your hand wraps around the rest of his shaft, pumping in tandem with the way you bobbed your head up and down.

Lewd sounds bounced off the walls of his vehicle, moans escaping from your lips and spit dribbling down your chin as you took Ushijima in inch by inch. He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth when your hand cups his balls, massaging them gently in your palm. He drops his head back onto the head rest when he feels your tongue swirl along the underside of his cock, hissing when you start to suck on it.

This time, Ushijima lets out a groan, gripping the back of your head as he softly bucked his hips into your mouth. He could feel every inch go past the soft caverns of your mouth, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as your silky throat massages the length of his cock.

“Fuck,” Ushijima whispers, hand gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles began to turn white. Ushijima’s labored breathing urges you to bob your head faster, tears in your eyes beginning to form as his thickness invades the back of your throat.

Just five more minutes until the two of you arrive home, Ushijima thinks as he rolls to a stop at a red light. He takes the moment of reprieve, allowing himself to squeeze his eyes shut for just a moment as he fights to keep his composure. He feels himself getting lost in how eagerly you take him all in, your hands grabbing at his thighs like they were the anchor that kept you on earth.

When Ushijima opens his eyes, his heart drops seeing a pair of headlights approaching in the rear view mirror.

His grip on the back of your head tightens, fingers tangling in your hair as he pushes to keep your head down.

“Stay there,” he whispers, grunting when you nodded your head on his dick.

The intruding car pulls up to a stop in the lane to Ushijima’s right, awkwardly positioned in clear view of his window.

The occupants of the vehicle had no idea of the events happening right beside them, unaware of the monster cock that was now obstructing your airways. You could feel Ushijima twitch each time relaxed your throat, taking him further down than he thought possible.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured under his breath, moving his hand from the back of your head to wrap around your throat, “Keep that pretty little throat full, okay?”

You try to mumble an agreement, but it was difficult with the way he filled you completely.

The light had finally turned green, and Ushijima let the car beside pass before he lets his foot off the brakes.

As the car accelerates, you begin to suck harder, faster, throat constricting and relaxing around Ushijima’s cock, he had no idea where he was any longer.

You could feel him quivering beneath your touch, hips jutting in a broken pattern against the back of your throat. He lets out a strangled moan, and an unevenness begins to settle in his breathe.

“Baby, wait, I —“

Your hand pumps faster as you continue to massage his balls, swirling your tongue until you could feel his veins throbbing against the inside of your cheeks.

“I— I’m gonna —“

Ushijima lets out a low, deep groan as you feel spurts of thick, hot cum against the back of your throat. His hips begin to shake when you swallow his entire load, sucking at him until he was dry.

Ushijima’s arms fall down slack against his sides, his chest rising up and down as his heart races to catch his breath. His head lolls down to the side when you disconnect from his softening erection with a loud pop. You quickly sit up, grabbing a tissue from your purse and wiping the mess around your chin.

Ushijima sighs deeply, reaching forward to cup your face in his hands. He offers you a soft smile, before pulling you in for a gentle kiss.

You grin up at him when he pulls away, and you finally are able to take in your surroundings.

“Toshi, when did we pull into the driveway?” You ask.

He looks out of his car window confused. “I… don’t really remember.”

You giggle as you smack him on the chest, calling him ridiculous as he pulls his pants back up. He tells you to stay where you were, and quickly steps out of the car to run and open your car door.

You gratefully take the hand that he offered, supporting you up out of the passenger seat. He holds your hand until you get to the door, letting go only to turn the key into the lock.

Ushijima is quick to kick off his shoes before kneeling down on the floor to help you with the straps of your shoes. Your heart melts as you watch him perform these little gestures, small and silent ways to let you know he loves you.

He tosses your shoes to the side, and he looks up at you from his position.

You give him a lopsided grin. “Thank you, Toshi — hey!”

Suddenly, Ushijima leans forward and wraps an arm behind both of your legs. He held on tightly as he stood up, and you let out a whiny yelp when Ushijima threw you over his shoulder.

“Toshi! What are you — put me down!”

Ushijima ignored your protests, silently climbing up the stairs two at a time. Though, you had to admit the view of his ass looked almost better upside down.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi, if you don’t —“

But your words were cut off by the loud slam off Ushijima’s foot kicking the bedroom door open. Before you could make sense of what was happening, you were swiftly thrown onto the bed.

Your tongue laid heavy and dead in your mouth, lolling out the side as you watched Ushijima shut the door behind him. He turns to you with fire blazing in his eyes, and his muscles flexed in the shadows as he pulls his shirt above his head.

He throws the thin fabric to the side, not once taking his eyes off your body, deliciously splayed out against the mattress for him.

“You didn’t think you were the only one that gets to have fun tonight, did you?” He asks.

You could feel something tingling at the pit of your belly.

You were in for a long night.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

rbs appreciated <3

#maybe I just wanna s*ck ushi’s d*ck #shumai.nsfw #ushijima x you #ushijima wakatoshi x y/n #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x you #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima smut #ushijima wakatoshi smut #ushijima drabble #ushijima wakatoshi drabble #ushijima x y/n #ushijima fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu imagines

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plsimsuchasimp · 3 years

Text

cheating.

part 2 here

Ft: Suna Rintarou x !gn reader, a little bit of atsumu miya x !gn reader

Genre/warnings: one (1) curse word, cheating, brief implied sex, angst, hurt/comfort, fighting

Wc: 1.8k

NOT PROOFREAD!

a/n: i’m so sorry for this angst but i had to do it for y’all... didn’t have it in me to write a happy ending, maybe later.

The rain was pouring down, clattering against the roof of the gym. You, sitting against the wall in a corner by the benches, watched Suna’s team play, smiling slightly at the way they seemed to seamlessly move together. Your boyfriend looked concentrated, green eyes flickering from one player to another.

His phone buzzed beside you, and you picked it up, intending to set it to Do Not Disturb so you could do work, but the notification caught your eye.

“Hey!” It read, “it was so good to meet you >;) you made me feel good <3″

Instantly, your heart drops into your stomach. Silently willing for the notification to disappear, your eyes cling to the screen as yet another popped up. “I miss you babe, we should do that again”

Your eyes begin to burn, trying to deny the obvious truth of what you saw in front of you. Suna Rintarou had cheated on you, and from the looks of it, with a stranger. You swallow, hard, as the lump in your throat grows and tears begin to form in your eyes. No wonder he’d been overly affectionate in the past week, he probably felt guilty.

What hurt most wasn’t that he didn’t tell you, pretended that everything was fine; no, it was the realization that you just weren’t enough for him. All the time you’d spent on him, everything you’d done, the words of confirmation and the countless amount of love and affection you’d given him, it all wasn’t good enough.

You were bad enough for him to seek loving in a stranger’s arms.

Clicking the phone off, you put it down and stared into space for a moment, fighting the tears that threatened to spill onto your cheeks at any second. Practice was wrapping up, and you couldn’t face Suna right now. Luckily for you, he was on cleanup duty this week, so he had to stay late.

Trying to shake the rigidity out of your limbs, you gathered your things and stuffed them into your bag, not taking the time to organize them so they all fit. Head down, you headed for the door, hoping that Suna wouldn’t look over. Opening the door, you were faced with another harsh realization: It was raining and Suna was supposed to drive you home. That wasn’t happening today, for sure. Glancing around, you spotted Atsumu pulling his umbrella out of his bag, and rushed over to him.

“Hey Atsumu,” you said, attempting to keep your voice steady, “Can I catch a ride with you?” He was going to ask why, when Suna had a perfectly good car, but then he caught a glimpse of the tear streaking silently down your face and decided it might be better to wait until later.

Unusually serious, he agreed and put a comforting hand on the small of your back as you two hurried out of the door under his umbrella. Opening his car door for you, he let you in and then went over to the driver’s side, sliding in and turning on the car so it would warm up.

Stealing the occasional look at you, he noticed you were shaking and turned up the heat in the car although he was warm from volleyball practice. He started driving, sensing that you didn’t want to talk. Jaw clenched, he drove in silence for a couple minutes, then dared to speak.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hearing sniffles from your side of the car and seeing your shoulders shake, he pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. Gulping, he awkwardly reached out a hand to pat you on the back, but this only made you cry harder.

Looking up to face him, tear streaks staining your cheeks, you tried to stop shivering from shock. “S-Suna,” you mumbled, fighting to keep your voice from completely breaking, but another sob escaped before you could get anything more out.

“Wha’? Suna what?” he prodded, brow furrowing in concern. You rarely cried, so he knew this was something really serious.

“Suna c-cheated on me.” The last couple of words were whispered, your voice breaking, and Atsumu’s mouth dropped open. Of all the things he’d expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Your relationship with Suna had always seemed perfect. He’d seen the way Suna looked at you, his eyes soft, seen the way his behavior changed around you, seen his eyes light up whenever you smiled. This wasn’t possible.

He opened his mouth, shutting it again when words failed him. You were hunched in the passenger’s seat, shaking so hard he could hear your elbows accidentally hitting the car door. Without a second thought, he took his sweatshirt off and covered you with it, hoping that it would warm you up at least a little bit.

“I- I’m so sorry,” he muttered, unsure how to comfort a clearly distraught you. As soon as your shudders subsided, his mind turned to Suna and what he would do next time he saw him. No doubt he deserved to be beat up for what he did to you, hurting you like that, but it just didn’t make sense. Suna was totally in love with you, and it was obvious to any outsider.

He started the car again, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your shoulder, trying to calm you down. “Y/N, I’m gonna drop ya off at home, okay?”

A quick nod from you reassured him, and you two drove with just the raindrops crashing down on the roof of the car. When you arrived at your house, you made a motion to give back his sweatshirt, but he just waved a hand and said “Don’t worry about it. Ya can return it to me when I next see ya.” Your lips trembled and you turned away from him, making the way to your door and letting yourself in. He didn’t leave until he saw that you were inside, then started driving back to the gym.

You shed your jacket and turned on the heater in your house, not bothering to turn on the lights or draw the curtains. Kicking your shoes off, you crawled into bed and under your blanket and let the tears come, hugging the pillow that smelled too much like Suna.

Meanwhile at the gym, Suna was just finishing up and wondering where you’d gone to. The guilt of his mistake still hung with him, and he was looking to take you out to dinner tonight and spend some more time with you. However, when he saw his phone laying faceup, the bold words in text still plainly on the screen, he knew that you’d found out, and his heart contracted. Sinking to his knees, he struggled to breathe through the upcoming panic. He was in love with you, and he had no idea what had possessed him to fall into someone else’s arms for the night.

The feeling surged when he remembered that one of your biggest fears/insecurities was not being good enough, and a short gasp fell out of his mouth as he realized just how much he’d messed up. The gym door swung open, banging against the wall with the sheer force of the push. There stood Miya Atsumu, a murderous expression on his face.

“Suna!” He barked, and the middle blocker glanced up briefly before returning his attention to the phone clutched in his hands, frantically pressing the call button as it once again went straight to voicemail. The sound of your voice was almost too much for him to bear, his breathing accelerating and his head pounding.

y/n please pick up please i’m so sorry i swear i didn’t mean it they mean nothing to me i love you i love you so much please don’t leave me

His fingers speed across the keyboard, hoping against hope that you’ll talk to him. Any sort of contact. The phone is suddenly knocked from his hand by Atsumu, the look on his face nothing short of furious.

“What the fuck were ya thinking?” He spits, rage evident in the bulging veins of his neck. “You hurt y/n so badly that they had to drive home with me rather than face another second of ya.”

His words stung Suna, because they both knew they were true. He doesn’t resist when Atsumu pulls him to his feet, glaring at him and shoving him towards the wall.

“You’re pathetic. Y/N is the best person ya will ever meet, and ya ruined it all.” Once again, Suna doesn’t reciprocate, his eyes falling miserably to the ground. Atsumu’s fist comes up and hits Suna straight in the stomach, forcing the breath out of his lungs as he collapses to the floor. Atsumu looks at him with an expression of pure disgust, walking away to leave Suna where he is, slumped against the wall.

His eyes are dull, the life drained out of them, because he knows Atsumu is right. A notification causes his phone to buzz and he picks it up immediately, hoping to see anything from you, but it’s just another text from the fling. Hatred for himself and the person fills him, and he slams his phone down, allowing his head to sink into his knees.

He needs to see you, so he grabs his stuff and rushes to his car, barely remembering to lock the gym on his way out. Going ten miles above the speed limit, he makes it to your house ten minutes after you had.

Walking up to your front door, he knocks urgently, over and over again. He hears shuffling from behind, and the door opens to reveal you in an oversize sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to him and sweatpants, eyes red and puffy from crying.

The instant you see him, time seems to stop. The hurt is written all over your face, and the regret all over his. He can’t seem to move, can’t do anything besides whisper your name.

“Y/N.”

You shake your head, new tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and turn away. “I don’t want to talk to you, Suna.”

With those words, his heart shatters a little bit more. He was your Rin, your Rinnie, never Suna. “Please-” the door slams in his face and he hears the lock turning, signaling the final goodbye. He screams, pounding on your door as the panic overtakes him.

“Please! I love you! I’m so sorry, just please don’t leave me! I’ll go insane if you do!” Tears stream down his face and yours, mourning each other on opposite sides of the door. His words wrack you, tempt you to open the door and forgive him, but you can’t. He already showed you he didn’t care.

Half an hour passes, with the yells from the door fading into whimpers. Finally, you hear a car door slam, and you allow yourself to sob, held immobile on the floor.

You’re broken, and it’s his fault. His head falls onto the steering wheel, not caring that it sets off the car horn.

Still, the rain patters on the roof, both of you less than three hundred feet apart, but forever separated.

He’ll never love anyone like he loved you.

#suna rintaro imagine #suna x y/n #suna x reader #agh im sorry for this angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#atsumu scenarios #atsumu miya #suna rintarou #suna angst #atsumu x reader

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strawberrywritingfiction · 3 years

Text

Golf Outing

Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Synopsis: Invited by he and his family, you go golfing with Tom

^^^

You were sat at the dinner table among the Holland family members. Having met the twins, Harry and Sam through friends, and having had brief interactions with Tom, the eldest- You were invited as more or less a family friend. At least, the boys’ parents were interested in you, and in the exchanges you’d had with the boys through work and mutual connections. Plus, you thought you were a relatively pleasing house guest. Nothing abnormal about it, you thought.

“You play any golf Y/n?” Harry asked you, amidst the dinner conversations.

The rest of the boys’ heads snapped up at the question posed by Harry, most of the bunch being avid golfers and all.

“Well, sort of. But I’m nowhere up to the boys’ level.” You said with a laugh.

“You should join us for a round Y/n, we’re having a go at the nearby course tomorrow,” Tom said with a smile.

“Yeah, just a casual one, for extra practice.” Sam chimed in.

“I really couldn’t. Can’t even remember the last time I held a club - I’d have to practice in advance to get remotely close to being able to play you all.”

“Nonsense,” said Dom, “We’d love to have you join- and you wouldn’t even have to play if you’re not up for it. You can just have a few hits at the range down there, If you’d like.”

Finding it difficult to say no, and feeling Tom’s gaze held on you, you impulsively agreed to join.

This brought you to where you were now- driving mid afternoon on a Sunday, having just been to a sports store trying to pick up an appropriate looking golf outfit that fit the course’s, ‘formal attire requirement.’ Along with purchasing various balls and tees. Thankfully though, you hand a spare set of clubs at home.

Upon arriving, you met the boys in cheerful spirits, clad in their golf attire. Prepped and ready for play. So, you and the Holland clan got out on the green quickly. First hole, and your driver shot was unmistakably crap. You were glad the boys hadn’t winced at the horrible shot. You tried to play off the embarrassment with conversation between hits when being driven in the cart. The boys had 2 carts out. You sat alongside Harry and Sam in one. Tom in the other with their dad.

1st shot on the second hole though, and it was equally as bad as your previous. But luckily, the boys were distracted and missed the poorly executed swing. Finally after arriving at the beginning of the third hole, however, you stepped up to the tee, and hesitated.

“Listen guys, I think I’ll step out on this one- maybe head back, or tag along for the rest, but I think I’m out on playing. Don’t want to hold you guys back,” you said with a light chuckle. You definitely had the highest score of the bunch, and you were aware that the boys were just being polite, waiting for you to hit your past chipping shots and putts, as you were moving at a slower speed than the rest of them. Then again, they could practically be pros.

“You’re not holding us back, this is all good fun, so there’s no worries if you do continue. Otherwise, one of the boys can step out of the game and join you up in the cart, to go back to the front.” Dom said, looking to his sons. The twins made no effort to offer, which was fair, as they were in front with the lowest scores. But, to your surprise, Tom offered.

“I’d be happy to, I’ve been playing a shit game anyway,” Tom said with a laugh, placing his club back in his bag and hoisting it on his shoulder, “Only, I’d be willing to play with you on the rest of the holes for practice, If you’d be up for it. I’d... I’d Like to help improve your game.”

“My game?”

“Yeah, I think with some slight improvements to that swing of yours, you could be looking decent.”

You scoffed, “You sure? I don’t think you’ve noticed, but if you continue on with just me, you’ll be here for another few hours.”

“Time well spent.” Tom said with a smile.

The rest of the boys wished you well as they drove off to continue playing, leaving you and Tom with the remaining cart.

“Right well, you have a go first.”

“Alright,” you said, fishing through your bag for a wood club.

Interrupting as you removed one from it’s bag, Tom said, “Er- hold on, let me check.”

He too dug through your clubs before picking another one- “I reckon this one here’s a good fit,” he said, handing it to you.

“Ok then, I trust you,” You said, stepping up to the tee, “you got any other tips Holland?”

“Maybe. Give me a practice swing and we’ll take it from there,” he said, stepping back from your side.

You did as you were told, and Tom kindly gave you his input.

“Right well- this arm,” he said motioning to his own, “you’ve gotta keep that straight even on impact, no getting flimsy elbows before making contact with the ball there.”

You were trying to correct yourself, copying his directions, but upon your confusion, Tom walked up behind you to help demonstrate. “Okay so this arm,” he started, his hands gripping both of your own from behind, “You’ve gotta keep it like this through your back swing,” he said, drawing your arms back behind your shoulder. You couldn’t help but loose brief focus as he gave his directions soft spoken from behind.

He stepped back to examine your practice swing, “right that looks better, but uh- may I.”

“Go for it,” You said.

“Right, so-“ he placed his hands on either side of your hips “-you wanna kind of turn your body this direction, and move the opposite knee forward as you do.” You did just as you were told.

After the few tips, and Tom was satisfied with your practice technique and form, you took the swing, proving to have a much better result.

“See? That’s so much better! Your swing will be looking like Tiger Woods’ in no time, I bet it,”

You laughed, “All thanks to you Coach.”

Next, Tom stepped up to take his own swing. You watched, and to no surprise his form was practically perfect, landing him a nice spot on the green. You complimented his swing as the two of you hopped in the cart to head over to the next ball.

You drove the cart, and the cart rides throughout the day gave the two of you an opportunity to talk. Also, on each hole Tom continued to give you tips. You admired that he was so patient, and never got frustrated with you, or exasperated if you didn’t happen to pick up his directions quickly. He claimed you significantly improved by the end of the day. Surely enough though, by the time you got out of the course, the rest of the Holland’s had left, and it was practically dark.

The two of you carried your clubs to the car park, utterly exhausted. What was meant to be casual, fun and quick, felt as if it were never-ending.

“You got a ride Tom? You asked.

“Shit, well- no, really. Harry and Sam must have taken my car back to our shared apartment,”

“I’m happy to drop you off- least I can do. You practically gave me lessons for free today, forfeited your game too.”

“Nah, It was good fun, and I’d prefer to have forfeited than to have lost another game to those twats this month,” he chuckled.

The two of you continued to chat, and on the car ride home you both stopped for some takeout at a drive-through, seeing as now it was dark and neither of you had had anything for dinner.

You thanked Tom again once whilst dropping him off, “I’d love to do this again, actually,” he said, fumbling with the strap of his bag of clubs slung over his shoulder.

“I don’t think I’m up to anymore golf for a while,” You said, with an awkward laugh.

“Well, we won’t do golf again then,” he smiled, “maybe just a dinner.”

“Sounds good,” you agreed. Saying good night, you left to head home and upon arriving, you immediately began to receive messages from the rest of the boys.

* Sam H - Already, he won’t shut up about you 😐 9:37 pm.

* Harry H - 10 bucks said he’d be too much of a wuss to ask you out before the end of tonight and I lost 🙄 9:41 pm.

^^^

#tom holland x reader #strawberry writes #tom holland fluff #tom holland #tom holland x you #tom holland golf imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #🍓#oneshot #tom holland one shot

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

Tranquility

A/n about time i wrote something for my privateer,, my love, Nikolai Lantsov

Summary: You and Nikolai are masters of being a couple without actually dating, and the only thing threatening that is the way Nikolai gets after having a nightmare.

Tranquility. So rare for a world on the cusp of war. I guess that’s what the difference between a world at war and a world only boarding on it, the occasional glimmers of goodness, peace. I shift cautiously, careful to not disturb Nikolai. He is tranquility, especially in the few moments in which he allows himself to rest. Not long ago, I found his trips to my bed in the middle of the night strange. But now I only think of the oddness of it when I can’t fall asleep and I find myself enjoying the peaceful lull of his even breaths more than I should. I think a lot of things we do are more indulgent than they should be.

Nikolai only comes to visit me when the bags under his eyes become noticeable and his humor falls flatter than normal. I tell myself he takes my comfort because he trusts me to some extent and I give it to him willingly when he seeks it. I’m not fully innocent. I take his peace, his touch and warm sentiments, when they are offered to me. But now I’m bordering on something else. Something much more devastating.

This isn’t something I can afford to think about, to weigh on. Not now when war is on its way and Nikolai already has so much to worry about. Perhaps I’ll mention this to Alina and she’ll manage to give me some type of perspective, but that isn’t something I should do now. When the world has ended or is made safe, then I will sort through the significance of the way my heart stalls or speeds up for him and him alone.

I should just try to fall asleep again. If I do, when I wake up again Nikolai will either already be gone because of his duties or he’ll make some kind of joke about how fortunate I am to wake up to such a sight before trying to coax me back to bed. I shouldn’t want that.

Ugh. He’s so pretty, I hate it. It’s unfair--one cannot expect someone to have someone like Nikolai dote on them, playfully or otherwise, and not catch some type of connection. Even in sleep, with his golden hair disheveled, parted lips, and fluttering eyelids he’s unfairly attractive. I sigh, the irony of the situation twisting my stomach--if he knew my thoughts his ego would bask in them.

As if he can feel my conflict, his defined eyebrows draw together, his placid expression turning harsh. I tense, watching as that look only hardens. Is he...okay? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had some kind of nightmare. Nikolai’s lips press together, and then he makes a noise. A sad, discomforted sigh.

The remnants of my drowsiness disappear at that. I place a hand on his shoulder thoughtlessly, shaking him once. “Nikolai.” I keep my voice low and soft. His expression stays hard, “Wake up, it’s not…” He lets out another broken sound. I shake him a little more determinedly. “It’s not real.”

Nikolai’s eyelids flutter once more, and he’s pushing himself upwards, sitting up and breathing harshly. My hand falls off his shoulder, but I think it’s better this way. He needs space to realize that he’s safe.

Taking two shallow breaths, Nikolai turns his head. I watch him carefully, resisting the instinctual urge to help him, to comfort him and chase away the darkness that wants to engulf him.

“Y/n?” His voice is so fragile a part of me doesn’t recognize it as his.

I nod my head once, folding my hands in my lap to avoid reaching for him. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.”

His gaze flits from my face to the ruffled blankets draped over me. He’s silent and still. Two things he should never be for a long period of time. Nikolai shifts slowly, as if still trapped in a daze. I let his hand take mine from my lap and pull it towards him. He squeezes my hand once, bringing my knuckles to his lips. I inhale sharply as he exhales, warm breath burning my skin. And then his lips brush against each knuckle. I let him, fighting not to let myself be reduced to a puddle.

Nikolai lifts my hand, coaxing my palm open before placing it on his cheek. I brush my thumb down his cheek. He lets out a breath, the sound is soft yet it leaves my heart raw.

I don’t say anything as he moves his hand down my arm, fingertips leaving my skin electrically charged as he always does. He pauses once his hand is on my shoulder. I let him grip me harder than I normally would. It feels like I am an anchor, weighing him in place so that the dark cannot take him away from me.

My lips part, but I have no words to offer him, not when I don’t know the extent of his torment. Nikolai’s hand brushes past the sleeve of my nightgown and across my collarbone. I swallow once, dropping my gaze to avoid the sharpness of the look he’s giving me.

“You’re heavy sometimes,” I keep my voice low, “I wish I could--”

“You do,” his voice leaves no room for argument. The tone is filled with a tension that he has never used on me. “You do everything.”

“And you are everything.” His expression softens at my words. It feels like a reward in a way.

Nikolai moves forward, the bed makes a noise as he rustles the sheet. I don’t bother asking what he’s doing. He’s always touchier than usual after a nightmare, breaking even more social rules than normal. I let him place his head in the crook of my neck while ignoring the warmth that pushes itself into my chest as he adjusts himself against me. I hesitate before placing my hand on his back even though I know he’d never reject me. He lets out a breath at the additional contact, adjusting himself so that he’s even more against me. I move my hand up and down his back.

The urge to ask him about what his dreams are about bubbles in my chest, but I ignore it. If he wanted to speak about it, he would.

“Things are easier with you.” His voice is so delicate it’s almost hard to bear. His hand presses into my side and my breathing stiffens as a result.“I’m glad you’re here.”

I meet his gaze as he tilts his head upwards. “Of course I am, how could I ever resist someone as wonderful as you?”

The corner of Nikolai’s lips tug upwards, a sign that he appreciates my attempt at humor. “You’re not wrong, darling.” I roll my eyes as he grins, ignoring the way my stomach tightens as he presses his face into my shoulder to hide his amusement. “You’re the wonderful one.”

I smile slightly, sarcastic retort dying in the back of my throat as something in Nikolai shifts. His eyes have taken on a simple, dark quality. I’ve seen this tension in him before, but I’ve never understood it. Nikolai tilts his head slightly, regarding me with more intensity than I know how to deal with. He shifts closer until I can feel his breath on the edge of my jaw. And then I feel his lips brush against skin. Testing, cautious. I don’t move. He must take this as a good sign because he then presses his lips further up my jaw. Again and again, always gentle, always fragile--always more welcomed than it should be.

I close my eyes, indulging in the feel of his touch, and then I feel him touch my cheek. The contact is feather light as my eyes flutter open. He’s close in a different way now, lips two centimeters away from mine.

This means nothing to him, this is nothing to him. It is just a way to push through pain he refuses to share with me. “Nikolai.” It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out as a breathy sigh. “Nikolai…” A little stronger, he pauses, face a centimeter from my face.

“Y/n.” My name is soft grace on his lips.

My eyes shut. “You can’t--you can’t kiss me just because you need to be distracted.”

His eyebrows draw together and then he straightens. The distance between us leaves me colder than before. “Do you really think that?”

I press my lips together. “We should just go back to sleep--”

“Y/n,” he sighs once, “Is that what you think?”

I stare at the blankets, gripping the fabric. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” His voice is hard, losing all touches of irony. “It matters.” I stay silent, avoiding Nikolai’s gaze. “Out of all the reasons I want to kiss you, being distracted isn’t even on the list.”

My head snaps in his direction. What is he implying? “What?”

“Y/n,” his hand is on my arm, warm and tempting, “I want to kiss you because when you smile it feels like all the bad goes away. I want to kiss you because you bite your bottom lip when you’re thinking and then that’s the only thing I can think about. I want to kiss you for the same reason I come to your room whenever I want to rest. You’re my tranquility.” My eyes soften at his words, my mind racing at the implications of them. “You’re biting your lip again, darling, and it’s torture.”

On instinct, my lips part slightly. He doesn’t move closer or farther away. I exhale slowly, trying to push away the electric current the potential of this moment is stirring. Nikolai’s hand moves up my arm and settles on my cheek.

His thumb brushes against my cheek, making me melt. “I want to kiss you because when I’m with you all of the bad, all of the uncertainty disappears.”

Nikolai leans forward slightly, breath warm near my skin. “Is that all?”

If his touch wasn’t so enticing I’d roll my eyes at such a blatant attempt to get a compliment. But his touch is all consuming, especially when he moves to run his thumb across my bottom lip. “No--you’re also ridiculously enticing, but something tells me you don’t need me to add to your ego.”

He grins, shifting impossibly closer before finally letting his lips meet mine. The contact is everything I’ve ever needed, his lips warm and inviting and eager. I kiss him back easily, melting into him like that’s where I’ve always belonged. Nikolai pulls away slowly, drawing out the kiss and letting his teeth graze my bottom lip.

“For the record, you’re the only ego boost I need.” He smiles lazily, hand not leaving my cheek. “You’re my peace, y/n,” he exhales flatly, “Please remember that.”

There’s something strangely sleepy yet revered about his tone. “Of course I will,” I hum, letting him rest his head against my chest, “You’re my peace, too.”

“Sometimes when I dream I see you and then I lose you.” Nikolai’s tone leaves my heart sore as he adjusts against me.

“You’re not losing me,” I whisper, eyes fluttering shut. “Ever.” He exhales gently. “Get some sleep--you never get enough rest.”

He squeezes me once, pressing a quick kiss to my collar. “Whatever you want.”

I half roll my eyes, too tired to to call him out on his teasing, the lull of sleep strengthened only by the weight of him against my chest.

general tag list: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone show #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse imagine #grisha #grishaverse x you #my works #six of crows imagine #grishaverse imagines

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