#i was on the fence about him going back to the mafia‚ but i KNEW that he would never kill Hirotsu and Gin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

velvetcloxds · 4 months

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LITTLE BIRD | S.B.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: mafia!sirius, secret agent!regulus (not related to sirius in this au), prince!james, princess!reader, potter!reader, bodyguard!lily, future prince!remus- when I tell you I want to make this a series sooo badly, I've so many ideas

summary: when your parents go missing and hoards of people are trying to get into the palace to hurt you and your brother, you have no choice but to go and get help from the last person your parents would have you be associated with

There was a vibrant hum in the palace as you walked down the stairs, hearing aggravated groans filled with words that you simply knew they’d have swallowed had you already been in the room. You expected no less in your parents’ absence, everyone wanting to have their say in managing the situation at the gate, nearly hundreds of men and women gathering in angry hoards as they tugged at fencing, threw at windows, and cursed into the air. There were many opinions, always were, however, a queen and her husband missing and leaving her children to command her country while she was indisposed, prompted all the more than usual.

The door to your mother’s office opened from inside, strange faces meeting you as you stepped into the doorway, a silence shivering over the small space as James sighed, almost relived as men backed away from the corner, they’d talked him into, merely bowing their heads in acknowledgment of your presence.

“Ah,” he began and brushed his shirt into place as he nodded towards you. “Little sister, I assume you’ve come to enlighten us on the only right way to handle our little predicament?” he mused, and you knew his tone to have a familiar mix of sincerity yet belittlement to it.

Your brother was an odd creature, unlike either of your parents, unlike you for that matter. Never one for the politics of your home, the weight of your family, much rather cooped up in his room with his paintings, he’d have himself starved yet inspired instead of sitting about the throne dealing with issues of state. He was wise in his personal endeavors, but foolish in his belief that the Potter name held no purpose in his life, despite your shared responsibilities he’d always managed to twist your lives to benefit his own, though admirable for some, it left you plastered in his misfitting shoes.

“Consider the problem already solved,” You began and as if on cue, Lily came stumbling into the room behind you, momentarily stealing the men’s attention before demanding eyes fell back onto you. “Though I’m sure my parents appreciate council being offered so graciously to their children, I can assure you that we are capable of managing our own affairs,” You explained and cleared your throat as you stepped aside, hands folded in front of you as you waited for them to understand your request.

“I think what my sister is far too kindly trying to say, is that our mother fairs well without a bunch of old men telling her what to do and so will we,” James agreed and with a tired shrug he plumped down onto the leather office chair, gesturing the gaping men out of the room with an outstretched hand as he smiled at you. “So, what’re you going to do?” he asked once the room had cleared, assuming you’d miss the way his gaze lingered but a second too long on the woman who hovered at your side, hand resting on her gun halter as she looked at her feet.

“What I always do,” you informed him, allowing an arrogant smile to tilt into your lips, knowing it had no place there yet having no control over it all the same. “Clean up your mess.”

It was not long before you were pulling your coat around your body, ignoring the warnings that Lily was mumbling, a well-known mantra much like the one she’d heard from Regulus when he was training her to be your guard and much like you did to him, you paid the words no mind. You pulled the hood over your head as you reread the map on your phone to guide you in your escape, feet leading you past the staff rooms, through the fire escape that led you right into the hidden gardens where James thought he could smoke in secret.

“Princess, your parents wouldn’t approve of this,” Lily whispered, peering around the lawn as you opened the hidden latch that was made by the very person you were running to see. “Now is not the time to take this risk, not when they’re not here to get you out of trouble.”

“I have no choice, you know that, and they’d know that as well,” you bargained, knowing she had no intentions of making you stay when she followed you out of the gate and to the outside, the shouting and stomping growing louder as the two of you looked around for the car that he’d sent for you.

Not a word more was exchanged on the way from the palace, familiar apprehensive looks shared as the driver kept his eyes on the road, only looking down when his phone chimed with a text from the man in question, you presumed. You were unnervingly accustomed to the entire ordeal, knowing that despite the risk you were taking, the reward would be far greater, worth much more as you considered your choices. Lily was right when she spoke about your parents. You were making your own bed, as they’d taught you to, but they’d never approve of who you were inviting into it. You thought you’d have more time, time to butter them up to what was shaping up to be a yearlong conversation in hope for peace, but you’d never accounted for riots at your front door or death threats with blood stains thrown through your window.

The car eased to a still in front of the cold brick building, a hand on your back guiding you out of the street, away from wondering eyes as you looked back to see if Lily was close behind, the route was no different than before, the unhappy glares and whispered musings of disapproval being of no bother as you waited to be taken to his door.

“Princess,” a voice snarled, and you had no restraint as a frustrated breath left your lips, your mission was brought to a stop as a man stumbled into your way. “It’s been quite a while since we entertained royalty on this side of town,” he noted and you mustered a look of faux surprise, shaking yourself from the grip on your back as you looked him up and down.

“That might be true, but I am not here as royalty.”

“Aye? Who are you here as then?” he persisted and you scoffed, knowing that by the sudden silence that sauntered into the air the man in question was not far from the little scene that’d been formed, disrupting his time.

“My friend,” the thick accent fled through your senses as though it filtered through your veins, his frame begging your gaze to drift to him and it obliged, always did, a teasing smirk on his lips as he looked down at you from atop the stairs. “Does anyone have a problem with that?” he prompted, and it was as though the simple words held piles of threats as the men separated to make room for you to walk.

“Princess,” Lily gave a frustrated scoff as she was stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Be careful,” she insisted before you followed the man of the house to the office that you’d spent many nights hiding from the world, debating a settlement for families only known as foes.

“Sirius,” you sighed, closing the door behind you and smiling when he pushed himself onto the empty desk that sat askew in the corner of the bare room, his eyes trailed slowly over your face, trying his best to decipher why you were there without you saying anything, he had a frustrating habit of doing so quite successfully. “I need a favour,” you breathed after a second that seemed to last forever, squirming slightly under his gaze despite it being far from strange.

“I assumed as much,” he teased, nodding for you to go on as you walked towards him, tugging the hood from your head, fingers moving to ease everything back into place.

“There are people rioting in front of my home, threatening us, promising to kill us,” you began and stilled right at his side, looking down at the city as it lay in the streets, cars pulling up and then pulling away after mere minutes, a notion that you would’ve questioned in the past had you not learned to keep your nose from his business.

“I saw,” he leaned back against the wall to see you again, no doubt missing the smile that dipped into your mouth as he proved without much prompt that he cared at least slightly if you had managed to escape unharmed. “How did you get out?”

“Same way you get in.”

“Clever girl,” he tutted, and you’d have laughed at him if you weren’t to be in his debt in the future. “What exactly do you want me to do, hmm? Riots at the palace seem more like a job for the police, no?”

“They’re wearing your name, Sirius.”

You didn’t know how long you were supposed to pause after that. You were somewhat expecting him to jump to his own defense, half expecting him to accuse you of mistrusting him, yet you knew neither was to happen. Trust was a rather strong word to use for whatever the relationship was that you had. You knew he was true to his word, knew he would not allow you to come to any harm and though your power was much less than his own, you’d try to do the very same for him. Though beyond all of that, you knew that as many troubles lay with your name, there were many that laid with his own. He was a criminal, after all, some of the worst of his kind and you were in his home, begging him to help you when you knew it would earn you heaps of problems in turn. Your mother would have your head, she’d have his too. She didn’t take out his family, his entire line of kin just for you to allow their kind right back into your lives.

“They’re not mine,” he offered, and his hand settled on the table next to yours, tilting his head to see what you were looking at, humming as if to acknowledge your train of thought. “That’s part of our little agreement, is it not? Our little settlement of peace? I may not harm your family as revenge for what your mother did to mine, and you let me make a quick buck off taking out the bad guys the police miss,” he sighed at that, noticing the way you rolled your eyes at his almost mocking tone as he mimicked words that you’d spoken out of serious intents to do good. “Those men are trying to hurt you, Y/n, if they were mine then I’d have them tied and beaten already, you understand that don’t you?”

“Of course, I do,” you sighed, and though you should be very much appalled by his words, you found an odd sense of comfort in his reassurance, smiling with him as he nodded at you.

“Good. Now, do you want me to take care of it for you?” he asked and needed no answer to know that that was exactly what you’d come here for. “I sent men down as soon as you texted me. The gate will be cleared by the time you get home,” he explained and chuckled softly at the shock that sifted onto your face. “You think I’m not the first one to know when you’re in trouble, little bird? Though, I’ll admit, you were very brave coming all the way here, would not have known you were nervous had it not been for those,” he informed you as he pointed to your shaking hands, you’d hoped your grip on the table would’ve hidden it, but it seems you were very wrong, warmth spreading across your cheeks. “You’re shaping up to be quite the leader, you know, your mother would be proud.”

“So would your father.”

“Oh, I would not say that, bowing to a Potter is what he regrets most.”

“I’m sure,” you smiled, looking up to the door when Lily stumbled through it, just like before, the same look on her face as she looked between you and Sirius.

“Your parents were just brought home by Regulus and the rest of the CIA,” she explained, holding the phone out to show you the picture of them arriving at the palace and you had to shake your head at the timing, Sirius’ words being anything but empty as there was not a single soul out on front of the place, barely any evidence left behind of the reason for your visit except for abandoned signs and makeshift weapons.

“I have a new car waiting for you outside,” Sirius announced and shrugged when you looked at him with what any normal person would describe as awe, though you’d never dare to label it as such, merely an appreciation for his capabilities. “I’ll call when you get home.”

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oneforthemunny · 8 months

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been on a big mafia!eddie kick lately and i wont lie about it.

his house already has a gothic chic kinda vibe to it (like the godfather and dracula to quote myself lol) so imagine how decked out it would be for halloween. it’s already got the ambiance, ornate candles that drip wax, next to pumpkins and bats.

you add a few decorative skulls, trying to match eddie’s vibe though yours would have been more cartoony and cute.

eddie picks up the skull head made of cheap plastic, gives you a sideways grin. “coulda got you a real one, sweetheart.” he teases. “none of this plastic shit. the real deal.”

you roll your eyes at him, plucking the skull out of his grasp and putting it back on the mantle.

eddie swears he’s not into decorations, that it’s all you. still, when you come home and the long driveway is lined with pumpkins and dark, burgundy mums, you can’t help but be giddy. you know he did it. you didn’t ask for that. you knew eddie wanted the outside to stay undecorated, something about staying lowkey and safe. still, it’s not touchable behind the tall fence and gate, but it is to you.

“i like what you did with the driveway.” you grin, wrapping your arms around him tightly in his study.

“yeah. glad you like it. let me know if you want somethin’ changed. i’ll get marcie on it.” eddie mutters, still looking over the routes in front of him. he doesn’t tell you he did it because the way your face fell when he told you that the wreath couldn’t go outside shattered his heart. he caved, of course, put it on the outside door during the day, taking it in at night because of course he did. you wanted it out there, so you got it.

#oneforthemunny #munnytalks #mafia!eddie munson #mafia!eddie x reader

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allbark-no-bite · 2 years

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Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy || Elvis Presley x reader

summary: Even with two children and life he always wanted, Elvis continues to remind you that he will always be the young twenty something year old you married so many years ago

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ sexual content

author’s note: here’s another Elvis fic for y’all as well as two more coming up! please please please feel free to message me with your ideas!

For a long time, I had thought that Elvis was always going to be too young to settle down. He was just a child when I met him, still a green twenty year old figuring out life.

Of course, at the time, I, myself, was a child, and I didn't need him to be a man. All that I knew was that when he got down on one knee, man or not, he was the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

He had always been loud. And wild. One day I had walked out onto the porch to discover a squabble occurring in Graceland's front yard. Boys who had become known as the 'Memphis Mafia' were caught in some sort of grand game as they wrestled each other into the dirt, playing joyously like big rowdy dogs. In the middle of it all was Elvis, his shoe shine black hair tousled, pants coated in dust, and eyes alight with a boyish trill.

He loved to laugh. In fact, there was rarely a time when he wasn't laughing. Elvis was the life of the party, even when he didn't mean to be. Just his presence had that effect.

He smiled all the time too. He used to do this thing where he would tip his chin up and bare his prefect row of pearly white teeth, and the corners of his blue eyes would crinkle with the effort, his cheeks tinted pink with delight. He still does it from time to time—often when he knows he's in trouble—and I get a glimpse of the boy that he always will be.

But one thing that I hadn't figured out about him until years later was that Elvis Presley loved his domestic life more than anything in the entire world. He would tear the beating heart from his own chest if he had to, bleed himself dry, to ensure that his family would grow up in a home that was warm and safe. Thus, the reason as to why I assumed he had taken to making Graceland a sort of haven.

The immaculate mansion was decorated for each and every holiday, and Elvis saw to it that Graceland was always full of life. And if the house itself wasn't enough, the yard and it's three gardens were always immaculate. A picture perfect white picket fence surrounded it's entirety; all thirteen plus acres.

Not long after he had purchased the property, as we walked around the grounds, I had wondered aloud as to what we were possibly going to do with over thirteen acres of farmland. Elvis, without missing a beat, had replied, 'Well, buy a horse of course."

And he did. That Christmas he gifted me a dun quarter horse, whom I called Jack or 'Jackie'. Not long after came his own horse, Rising Sun. It seemed as though every time I turned around, the stable had acquired another occupant. Soon it was almost tradition for each and every Presley to have a horse. So it was no surprise that Elvis saw to it that his children became involved in this passion of his as well.

"Get yo' self back outside and take those boots off, son. Gonna give your mama a heart attack."

I smile to myself when I hear the hinges of the front door swing open and heavy footsteps come walking down the hall, but I stay put, stirring the honey into my coffee at the counter. Moments later, a pair of strong arms wraps around my waist and soft lips trail gently down my neck. A sly flash of teeth scrapes against the tender skin of my ear, and I can't help the shiver that runs through my body. Elvis must notice because he hums smugly, obviously proud of the effect he still has on me after all these years.

"G'mornin', pretty mama," Elvis murmurs against my cheek with that slow southern drawl of his, drawing me out of the trance he had put me in.

"Good mornin', daddy," I tease back at him, knowing exactly what the name does to him coming from my mouth.

The weight of his body presses into me, the coolness of the morning air still lingering on his clothes. He growls softly from somewhere deep in his chest. His palm slides up my throat to wrap around it, dragging my chin up to meet his mouth in a unhurried kiss. His mouth is warm, a stark contrast to the cold metal of his rings against the column of my throat. Slowly, Elvis' hand slips down my waist so that his palm can encompass the globe of my ass.

I raise my eyebrows suggestively at his boldness, and he huffs in amused irritation when I pull his hand back up to my waist. Thank goodness I do, because Elvis number two comes barreling into the kitchen.

"Mama, c-come—come ride Daddy's horse with us!"

Elvis' only son was the spitting image of his father. From his shiny blue eyes to his button nose, Charles Presley resembled Elvis in every way. Even in the way he talked. Elvis had struggled as a young boy, stuttering when on the odd occasion that his words refused to cooperate, and the troublesome problem hadn't skipped the next generation. It was cute though. The only difference was that Charlie had golden blonde hair since Elvis had taken to dying his own hair black long ago.

Clomping across the kitchen floor in his boots, Elvis manages to catch the five year old by the arm before he can leave any more muddy footprints on the pristine white floors.

"Chuck Presley, what did I tell you about trackin' mud through your mama's house?" Elvis reprimands, pulling the boy off of his feet and gathering him to his hip.

Charlie, unbothered, just shrugs, leaning out of Elvis' arms. "Daddy, t-the horses."

I just sigh helplessly, shaking my head a little at the both of them. Charlie was named after my own father, Charles. I assumed that later on in life, he would take to the name. Elvis, however, called him Chuck. And it seemed as through that name was sticking.

"Hang on, son. Lemme talk to mama first. Go on outside for now," Elvis huffs as Charlie struggles to get out of his father's arms. Muddy boots forgotten, he releases the boy, who runs right back outside.

I turn back to Elvis, who has treated himself to a sip of my coffee. My eyebrows raise when we make eye contact over the rim of the cup. "You could always fix your own," I say, reclaiming the mug as soon as he's pulling it away from his mouth.

"Tastes better when you make it." He leans back against the counter, arms crossed in front of his chest as he relaxes. His ebony colored hair is longer now, no longer slicked back with gel but fluffy and falling into a part down the middle. Along with the tan overcoat and silky green button up with the collar popped, it certainly gave off young dad still trying to live out his twenties. And to be honest, he rocked it. "You comin' with us?"

Instead of answering him, I release a soft sigh, looking him up and down. "Hon, you know you've got a bad back..."

I already know there's no convincing him, but I still have to remind him that he's not eighteen anymore. At twenty-nine, Elvis still looked every bit the young man I had married eight years ago, but his recklessness had caught up with him over the years. Between the antics of his teenage years, and the stress of his job, his back was prone to the occasional aches and pains of adulthood. It didn't help that he had gotten kicked off one of his horses a few years ago, hence my reluctance this morning.

He's already rolling his eyes before I can even finish my sentence, wrapping an arm around my waist to pull me to his side. "Darlin', quit your worryin' about my back." His lips press to my temple before lowering to my ear. "If it was really that bad you wouldn't be walkin' funny this mornin'—"

"ELVIS PRESLEY—"

He's ducking away from me as soon as the words leave his mouth, already having anticipated my reaction. Pleased with himself and choking back laughter, he winks at me before slipping out of the front door. Before I can chase after him, a cry erupts from upstairs, and I have to rush to retrieve the baby from her crib.

In the time it takes get both myself and an infant dressed and fed, the wet morning grass has dried, and all that is left of the fall day is a nippy breeze. It's just cold enough to sting my exposed cheeks and leave Winnie’s runny nose a rosey pink.

As we approach the corral fence, I can hear Elvis' distant shouts and the gleeful laugh of Charlie along with him. They're near the back of the pasture riding Elvis' prized palomino, the large horse dashing this way and that as Elvis guides him with one hand. The other is clutching on to Charlie's fleece jacket, the little boy wedged between Elvis and the front of the saddle.

"Your daddy is going to be the death of me," I mutter to Winnie, who ignores me in favor of reaching out to the golden horse in the distance, her tiny hand grabbing at the air as she whines. Again, I sigh. It was obvious Elvis had instilled his cowboy ambitions within his children.

"There's my Winnie girl!" Elvis exclaims as he trots the horse over to the fence, his cheeks pink from the wind. He slides out of the saddle with ease, lifting Charlie off after him. His smile never falters but I see him stall for a moment, hand grabbing at his back. He plays it off well though, immediately reaching out to take Winnie from my arms. Leaning over the fence, he pecks my lips as he does so, our cold noses bumping together.

"Say 'atta boy Sunny'," Elvis says, as he leans over for Winnie to pat her tiny hand against the horse's nose. In an attempt to get ahead of the learning curve with Winnie, we tried to encourage her to talk as much as possible. Currently, it was a losing battle.

"Say—hey—what'd I tell you about walkin' behind that horse, lil' boy?" He grabs the sleeve of Charlie's jacket, pulling him to his side while still holding Winnie with the other arm. It's a sight to see, him wrangling both children at once.

I hum as I lean against the fence, offering him no assistance. "'Let's have another', he says," I parrot, reminding him of our conversation just last night.

Elvis looks up at me a bit sheepishly, letting out an amused huff as he straightens up. "C'mon now, don't give me that, mama." He pulls up on Charlie's arm, tugging him around to face me. "Chuck, smile real sweet for your mama."

As if trained on queue, the blonde toddler tips his chin back and smiles, his tiny little teeth interrupted by a single gap on one side. His round owl eyes crinkle with the effort.

I have to blink to make sure I'm not looking at a blonde Elvis Presley.

Elvis is grinning proudly, as if he's just proven a point. 'I made that,' he mouths smugly at me.

"Uh huh," I say, humoring him as I take Charlie's hand. "And what about you Miss Winnie? Your daddy got any more tricks up his sleeve?"

The two year old, however, is oblivious to the topic of our conversation and instead just giggles, remaining enchanted with Rising Sun's velvet nose as he nudges her fingers. "Horse," she says more to herself than anyone.

"Say 'bye bye, Sunny'," Elvis annunciates for her. Winnie just giggles as the horse blows air from his nose. Sighing, Elvis cups the side of her head with his large palm and places one last kiss to her face before passing her off to me.

I catch him smiling at us, a twinkle in his blue eyes. "What's that look Mr. Presley?"

He answers me by cupping my own face and leaning over to place a kiss to the corner of my mouth. He then grabs a hand to his chest. "You're just so pretty, hurts a man's heart sometimes."

Flushing, my heart fills with love because I know he loves me, and he makes sure I know it all the time. I reach up to run my fingers under his jaw, caressing the prominent bone there.

"See you inside, cowboy."

He twists his head a little to kiss my fingertips, a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

"Mamaaa!" With Charlie tugging at my hand, we begin walking back towards the house.

Not long after returning indoors, I had put Winnie down for her noontime nap and left Charlie in his room to play. He'd been refusing naps for a while now, so I had resolved to sending him up to his room to entertain himself quietly while his sister napped. I hadn't heard him come in, but Elvis is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He's leaning lazily against the banister, now in a silky button down shirt and dark trousers, having shed his thick coat. A pair of boots lays in a clutter by the door.

I wish there were more words to describe the way he looked at times like these, when he was home for the weekend and the healthy fullness returned to his tired face; when he could enjoy the life he'd built for us; when he belonged to me and only me within these walls.

"C'mere, sweet girl," he invites me, holding out an arm as I near him, and I can't help but laugh aloud as he grabs me by the waist and whisks me from the last step of the stairs. He grunts faintly with the effort, having to regain his balance as he twirls me down the hallway.

Noticing his body language, I hum smugly at him. “I told you ridin’ that horse wasn’t good for your back.”

Elvis laughs against my mouth, body pressed into mine until we find our way into the bedroom. In a sly, heel spinning maneuver, he’s falling backwards onto the jumble of white silk sheets, pulling me on top of him.

“Darlin’,” he begins, his southern drawl thick and honey smooth. “I ain’t the one doin’ the ridin’ here so don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

Swatting at his chest, I can only shake my head. “You and your smartass mouth.”

His hands roll my hips forward, rubbing the rough fabric of my jeans against his hardening length. The friction must do wonders for him because his head falls onto the sheets and his pretty blue eyes flutter backwards blissfully. “God, baby.”

I laugh at both his importunity and his immediately reaction as I continue to move against him. “So this is what you’ve been after all morning, huh?”

Nodding, he’s only half listening, the rings on his fingers scraping against the metal button of my jean as he pops them open. Lifting my hips, I let him tug them down, and I kick them off as soon as they fall to my ankles. Our lips meet again in a slow, languid kiss while he threads his fingers through my hair, rucking down his own pants in the process, his shirt following soon after. Now I can really feel him, hot and needy through the cotton of my panties.

Swollen lips dragging against mine, he whispers breathlessly between kissing me, stopping to taste my lips every few words. “Make—” he kisses me, “love—” his teeth catch my bottom lip, “to me.”

Still grinding against him at an agonizingly slow pace, I relax my tense shoulders, eyes closing. My nose drops to nudge against his. “Did you really mean it?” The question comes out a timid murmur, trying to come to terms with the idea myself. “Do you really want another baby?”

He’s tugging my panties to the side, his two fingers briefly dipping down to gather the slick that’s pooled between my legs. I whimper when I feel his head brushing at my entrance, sending erratic jolts of pleasure through my body.

Elvis catches my chin with his other hand, bringing my eyes up to meet his adoring gaze. “Course I did, baby. You’re such a good mama. So good for me.”

Face hot, I turn my head away from his hand, ducking it into my shoulder, but he doesn’t let go, nudging my chin back towards him. “C’mon, pretty mama. One more. Please? Just one more.”

It wasn’t that I had reservations about having another baby, in fact quite the opposite. I’d loved every moment of raising our children; loved watching Elvis be a dad quite possibly more than anything in the world. But there was something about the intimacy of the moment, Elvis doe eyed beneath me, sweetly asking me for what only I could give him that made me want to hang on to the moment as long as I could. With Charlie nearing six and Winnie already two, it felt as though they were almost all grown up. As tiring as it was, I genuinely missed the days when we were new parents, just starting out.

Finally, I nod softly, giving into him, and he sinks into me without hesitation. My hips buck into him in response, thighs quivering with the effort, and I hold myself up with an arm held against his shoulder. The moan that comes out of him is indescribable as I bear down, and my walls squeeze around him.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me, mama,” Elvis groans.

The fire that had been kindling within my stomach sparks when Elvis’ hands find my hips again, guiding my body perfectly each time he bucks up into me. Overcome with the sensation and trembling, I brace myself against his strong chest, panting into his shoulder as I feel him move within me. Each thrust of his hips feels deeper than the last. If it hadn’t been for his large hands gripping my waist, surely I would have collapsed from the exhausting intensity.

My body feeling electric, I sense the sharp edges of my release nearing. By the unrhythmical thrust of his hip and heaving of his chest, I can tell Elvis is close too. I inhale his homely scent, crying softly in relief when I feel the warmth of his release spill within me, and I let go with him.

Trembling and exhausted, I relax against Elvis’ warm body, content to stay there with him nestled inside me for a while. As his heart rate slows beneath my ear, Elvis rubs his hands along my spent body, kissing the top of my head. My eyes close, threatening to drift off if he keeps at massaging my sore muscles.

His voice rumbles smugly beneath me. “How’s that for a bad back?”

#elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis presley fic #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley smut

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buckysimp101 · 2 years

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Everything the Light Touches (18+) - Chapter Two

Mafia!Bucky x Reader

chapter warnings: language, angst, light sexual content but not really

a/n: so glad y’all are enjoying this fic so far! hopefully chapter 2 lives up to the expectations! let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

“And if there are any other problems with the Stinson boy you bring them to me first, don’t go busting some kid’s head in because he looked at you wrong,” George Barnes spoke with a clear pointed voice, his attention focusing on his son to his right, his literal righthand man. George Barnes had been grooming Bucky to take over the ‘family business’ as he called it since Bucky could walk. If Winnifred had her way, Bucky never would’ve stepped foot into his role as underboss, he would’ve gone to college and lived a happy life with a happy wife, 2.5 kids and a picket fence. But that was not what the universe had planned for James Buchanan Barnes. Instead he learned how to run guns, how to get the cops on his payroll, how to extort whoever he wanted. He learned how to gain power.

The Barnes family name had been whispered throughout the city for half a century, with his grandfather running the business, then his father, but within the last decade it had grown from whispers to a roar. Bucky had helped his father take on more businesses and hide the illicit activity behind honest work. Well, as honest as strip and night clubs could get at least. The Barnes family had created “Barnes Inc.” many years ago, their business venture with every intention of providing legitimate services to the people of Manhattan. The traffickers, drug and human alike, knew better than to fuck with the Barnes family. It was one business that Bucky and his father ensured they would never mess with. But being the underboss of one of the largest mafia outposts on the eastern seaboard meant that Bucky had to sit in every one of these meetings, listening to his dad talk shit about how he handled business.

“Senator Stinson,” Bucky drawled in response, “is no longer a boy, and hasn’t been a boy for a decade. If he wants to make his bed then he can lay in it. I’ll behave myself if he does.” Bucky hated Senator Stinson and his whole family. They were allied with a rival family but were too involved in the upper echelon of Manhattan life to really fuck with. The kid just never knew when to shut up and constantly said things for the sole purpose of getting on Bucky’s nerves.

George groaned and rubbed the center of his forehead with the palm of his hand before adding, “like I said. Don’t let me see his murder on the 11 o’clock news. We got enough shit comin’ our way, we don’t need the death of a junior Senator coming back to bite us in the ass. Leave him alone, James.” With the finality that only a mob boss could have the conversation was over. The rest of the members at the table didn’t have anything to add so George dismissed them, casting a final glance at Bucky before shaking his head and standing up to leave.

“Please, son. Just, for once in your life, listen to me,” he pleaded before walking out the conference room, not giving Bucky another glance.

A low whistle sounded from behind Bucky’s back as he groaned and rolled his eyes at the dramatics his father was playing on. “Sounds to me, like someone ticked off daddy Barnes. What’d you do this time, Buck?” Steve Rogers teased as if he didn’t know about Bucky beating the shit out of the police officer that tried to give him a ticket a week ago, or about the fact that Liam Stinson had been hanging around The Underworld and some of the other Barnes family clubs a little more recently, asking questions of his workers like he was a detective and not the youngest member of the New York Senate.

“Fuck off, Rogers. You know just as well as I do that when the old man gets twitchy he takes it out on me,” Bucky joked as he walked side-by-side with his best friend of over twenty years towards his office. The Barnes Inc. building was huge, almost as huge as Stark Industries, with an extremely coveted view of the city. Steve had teased him about his office a time or two once he started officially working with the Barnes family and Bucky had joked right back that he could gladly give him an office in the basement next to the beaten and bloodied bodies that inhabited the space occasionally, Steve had kindly turned him down.

Shutting the door to Bucky’s office behind him, Steve made himself at home as he plopped down onto the leather couch in the corner of Bucky’s office near his desk. Bucky made the two of them a drink and loosened the tie around his neck. They drank in silence, taking in the view, before their little party was interrupted by a knock and Sam Wilson’s entrance before they could even say anything.

“Wilson, what have I told you about knocking? You knock first, wait for someone to invite you in, then you open the door. I can’t be any more clear. One of these days you’re gonna walk in here and not like what you see,” Bucky teased, knowing that Sam could take it.

Sam merely rolled his eyes at the jest before snidely responding, “Yeah you’d think after that time of walking in on Megan sucking your dick like a lollipop that I’d learn, old habits die hard,” he mocked a disgusted shiver before taking a seat next to a snickering Steve. “Pour me one too, Barnes. I’ve got some news.”

Bucky quirked his brow in question but got up to pour his friend a drink. After a few sips Sam took a breath, taking in the increasingly curious eyes of Steve and Bucky before smacking his lips and pretending like he was admiring the whiskey. “Wow, that’s smooth. What vintage is this, it’s like drinking water,” he drawled, obviously avoiding the conversation that Steve and Bucky wanted to hear, the reason he came into the office in the first place.

“Spit it out, Samuel. We don’t have all fucking day,” Bucky growled lowly, growing tired of Sam’s game. Sam let out a deep sigh before downing the rest of his drink and dropping the piece of information he’d been sitting on for the last hour.

“Y/N’s back.”

Steve did a spit take that would put even the best of Hollywood’s actors to shame, meanwhile Bucky felt like the room had started spinning and his tie was suddenly way too tight. Y/N. A name he hadn’t heard in ten years. What the fuck was she doing back? The last he’d heard she’d refused to ever set foot back in Manhattan. He couldn’t help but wonder what had changed her mind.

Twelve Years Ago

You sat on the couch in Bucky’s parents’ living room. Giggling as Bucky whispered some ridiculous joke in your ear. You always laughed at his jokes, even the ones he didn’t find particularly funny. But you swore he could’ve been a comedian if he wanted to. He was just about to press a kiss to your lips when he was interrupted by the sound of his father clearing his throat. In the archway to the living room stood Winnifred and George Barnes with identical smirks, dressed to the nines to go to whatever charity they were blessing with their presence.

“Do we need to keep a nanny cam on the two of you tonight? Better yet do we need to make Steve chaperone and relay all the details of the evening back to us?” Winnie joked, the smirk on her lips playful as she took in the clear look of embarrassment on your face. You and Bucky hadn’t been officially dating long but you’d been friends for as long as the Barnes family could remember. The day Bucky announced to his family that you were dating was the day Winnifred Barnes saw a different future for her son. One that didn’t involve the violence and darkness that her husband saw on a daily basis. But she knew that it had already begun to creep its way in, grabbing Bucky in a vice grip by the throat before he could drive. But she pushed that to the back of her mind and held onto that hope that you brought.

“Mom, we don’t need Stevie to babysit us, promise. We’ll be good, hands above the waist and all that jazz,” he threw a wink in your direction and he could tell that he wasn’t helping the situation regarding your embarrassment.

Winnie merely laughed at her son before scolding him lightly, “James Barnes, I taught you better than that. Apologize to the poor girl. You don’t say those things about your future wife,” she added the last bit with a wink in your direction.

Bucky grinned evilly before looking at you and pouting his lips in mock sadness, “sorry, princess. I promise only to touch you if you want me to.”

“Alright, James, Winnie that’s enough. James, your mother and I raised you better than that. Apologize sincerely to both of them now so we can leave, and Winnie quit making the poor girl think about her future as the other Mrs. Barnes, it’s terrifying,” his dad’s tone was serious, more serious than his mother had originally been, but it held a little joking intonation. His eyes thought? His eyes leveled Bucky with a look that he’d better take this seriously.

He apologized truly to you and his mother before giving the latter a hug and wishing them a good night. When the front door had shut Bucky turned around to continue where the two of you had left off when a pillow came flying towards his face.

“BUCKY HOW DARE YOU EMBARRASS ME LIKE THAT IN FRONT OF YOUR MOTHER!?!” You yelled indignantly, only half-joking but clearly still embarrassed from the words Bucky and Winnie spoke just moments before.

“And my parents didn’t embarrass you by callin' you my future wife? Just the talk about what I would do to my wife gotcha all wound up, sugar?” He teased you mercilessly, one of his favorite things to do was see what he could say to get you all riled up. You were the one pouting this time, perfect lips pushed out just where Bucky could lean over and kiss them-

“Earth to James? Man wake up and stop daydreaming about some pussy you left a decade ago,” Sam joked without thinking of the words coming out of his mouth. Without a second thought Bucky was holding Sam against the wall by his throat, his friend’s feet kicking trying to get down.

“You don’t EVER fucking talk about Y/N L/N like that again. You fucking know better, Wilson. Say it again and you’re going to the warehouse on the Island,” Bucky threatened, his chest heaving with anger and making eye contact with Sam to make sure he understood the threat was very much so real. Sam nodded his head quickly and Bucky released his grip, allowing Sam to slide down the wall to his knees as he gasped for air.

“Come on, Wilson. You know Y/N’s off-limits. Has been for years. That was low for someone who considered himself one of her best friends,” Steve growled lowly from behind Bucky. Sam still hadn’t found his voice and just nodded his head while keeping his eyes low, avoiding eye contact with his bosses as he let himself out of the office.

“Alright, Buck. You know Sam didn’t mean it. He was just surprised to see that the totally-cool-so-not-in-love-with-Y/N-L/N-Bucky doesn’t actually exist,” Steve explained, half joking in the way only Steve Rogers could and not get murdered. Bucky was working on his breathing, trying to pull himself away from the anger he was feeling at one of his friends just moments before.

Tugging at his tie, Steve sighed and checked his watch. “Alright, jerk. Call up Megan, let’s go to Underworld. Have a few drinks. Get laid. Work this tension right out of you, kay?” And with a slap on his back, Steve was pulling Bucky out of the office and towards the car waiting out front.

The bass inside The Underworld beat in time with Bucky’s pulse. The second he and Steve had arrived Megan was walking through the curtain of the VIP section and practically straddling Bucky as she sat in his lap and kissed him with what he was sure she thought was a fiery passion. Bucky sank into the kiss, the first thing that had given him a break from his brain since that afternoon, and invited her tongue to tangle with his. Bucky could barely hear Steve clearing his throat once, twice, three times, but neither he nor Megan cared as she began to roll her hips into his. Steve groaned and took his leave, leaving the two of them to dry hump and make out in the booth.

“Mmmm Bucky Bear, missed you so much,” she panted in that fake, breathy voice that Bucky truly hated. Normally it would be enough to turn him off but tonight he welcomed the distraction. He moved his hand between her thighs but this time is attention was caught by a flash of red hair as the curtain surrounding the VIP section was pulled open.

“Alright, Barnes, if you’re gonna fuck you don’t do it in my club. Go home,” Natasha’s smooth sarcasm rang clear as a bell, acting as a bucket of ice water on his erection. Megan and Bucky both groaned, clearly annoyed at Natasha’s interruption but she merely raised a perfectly groomed brow as if that was answer enough to why she was doing this.

“This isn’t your club anyways, Romanoff. It’s Bucky’s. He can do what he wants. Like fuck me in a booth,” Megan spoke up, obviously feeling powerful sitting next to Bucky, her self-assurance that he’d stick up for her made him roll his eyes and roll her off his lap into the booth next to him.

“Enough, Megan. That’s not your place,” he spoke firmly to her before facing Natasha with a quirked brow of his own, “but she’s right, Nat. It is my club.”

“Well when you start managing it every day then I’ll give a shit. For now, act appropriately. Don’t make me call Thor to kick you out.”

Bucky knew that only a small part of her was kidding. Ever since he’d given Nat control of The Underworld, to help manage it as a legitimate business and provide regular income for the family, she made the rules. And Thor enforced them. Nat didn’t leave right away meaning that she wanted to talk to him, without Megan, so Bucky sent Megan to the bar to get them drinks on his tab. She pouted, obviously hoping that would get Bucky to change his mind, but he just leveled her with the same look his dad gave him when he meant business, and she scampered off in the direction of Clint for drinks.

Nat took a seat in the chair across from him, quietly thinking before speaking softly, “Steve told me. About Y/N. I just…wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Natasha and Steve were the two of his friends that could talk about Y/N and not make Bucky irrationally angry. Sam had practically scrubbed her name from his vocabulary, but Steve and Natasha had been forced to scrub her from their lives the second Bucky made his decision to leave. He’d only ever told Steve why he left you and a part of him had always felt bad about leaving Natasha in the dark. You and Natasha had grown to be as close as he and Steve and by Bucky forcing you out of their lives he knew he’d hurt you both. Over the years Nat had tried to get the information out of him but Bucky was a safe, locked up tight and only he had the key. No matter how hard she pleaded all Bucky ever said was “don’t question my methods if you wish to remain a part of this family, Romanoff.” That usually shut her up.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be? The name Y/N L/N means nothing to me. Just another girl from a bygone era,” Bucky sneered as the curtain to the VIP section was moved to reveal Megan and Steve with a tray of drinks. Steve offered an apologetic smile to Natasha, Bucky could tell he was trying to hold off Megan for just a little longer so Natasha could speak to him but judging by the breasts in the low cut dress pressing against his arm that didn’t work out too well.

“Look Bucky Bear! I got us shots!” Megan cooed, her coo sounding more like a squeal and Bucky forced himself not to roll his eyes. Natasha did roll hers. She never liked Megan and if she had it her way Megan would never set foot in The Underworld ever again. But some things Nat didn’t have completely control over, nor would she ever. Who James Buchanan Barnes brought to his club was one of them. Bucky, Steve and Natasha took the shots from Megan and threw them back before Natasha left to bring them a few bottles before continuing with her work.

The drunker Megan got the more sloppy she became. As the night went on her hands wandered, palming the front of Bucky’s pants as she tried to talk him into going to the bathroom with her or taking her in one of the storage closets. Bucky had half a mind to listen to her when his attention snagged on the dance floor. For the second time that day his heart had stuttered, the collar of his shirt feeling way too tight now, as he watched you dance.

Ten years had passed. Ten years since Bucky had seen you last but you still looked as gorgeous as the last time. In fact Bucky was convinced that you looked even more attractive, if that was even possible. Childhood softness had turned into womanly curves, your outfit clinging tight as evidence. The flashing lights on the dance floor bathed you in shadow one second and illuminated every angle of your face the next. You swayed to the music, drink in hand and not a care in the world. Bucky was mesmerized by the sway of your hips, their intoxicating rhythm drawing his attention further and further away from the woman pressed up against him and attempting to seduce him. Steve noticed the look on Bucky’s face and followed his line of sight to see you on the dance floor, his eyes bulging as he took you in. Bucky seemed fine, albeit a little strung out by your presence, until Caden Smith approached you with his hands on your hips and began moving with you, grinding your ass into his pelvis.

Steve couldn’t stop Bucky fast enough, it all happened before he even knew what was what. Megan was being thrown off Bucky’s side as he stormed his way through the curtain of the VIP section to the crowded dance floor, Steve hurrying in his wake to make sure his best friend didn’t kill anyone, not after the talking to they’d had by George that morning.

When Bucky approached Caden he grabbed the kid by the neck and pulled him off you as quick as possible. You turned around, a look on your face that could possibly murder someone but your words died on your tongue as you stared him down. The fire in your eyes that Bucky remembered from so long ago was still there, except this time it was being directed towards him. Bucky decided to deal with that in a second before turning around to face the Smith kid.

“You’re lucky I don’t fucking kill you for being on this side of the city tonight, kid, But I’m feeling fucking generous. Go back to Pierce, don’t ever show your face here again, and I’ll let your ass live. The next moment I see you in my territory will be your last,” Bucky growled the threat lowly into the face of the newest recruit to the Pierce family’s ranks. Bucky knew that the kid had to have known better than to make himself at home in his family’s establishment, so it was completely possible the kid was sent as a spy. But Caden’s family came from money, the same money as Liam Stinson, himself and you. He couldn’t afford to kill him…tonight.

Caden nodded his head and scrambled away and Bucky turned to face you. Your face was twisted up in anger. He could tell you wanted to yell at him, fuss at him for breaking you away from your dance partner but he didn’t let you. Because Bucky Barnes is an dumbass with a sharp tongue, a mouth that tended to run away from his brain and when he opened his mouth to speak to you, for the first time in a decade and the first time since he decided to shut off all contact between the two of you, he couldn’t have been more dumb.

With a cocky smirk, he spoke in his signature Brooklyn drawl, “you know, L/N, I always thought the first time I’d see you again after all this time would be in a more classy setting, never thought I’d watch you grind on some loser in the middle of my club.”

taglist (comment or message me to be added! and if i forgot anyone let me know!):

@youlightmeupfinn

@la-undercover-latina

@niki-is-a-thing

@gloriouspurpose01

@wintasssoldier

@crazyunsexycool

@the-fool-who-jingled

@missvelvetsstuff

@enchantedbarnes

@asoftie4bucky

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x yn #mafia!bucky x reader #mafia!bucky #mafia!bucky x yn #james bucky barnes #BuckySimp101 #bucky barnes fanfiction #everything the light touches fic

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thehypotensivegrad · 1 year

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The Adviser (14/45) | Bechloe Mafia AU

Underhanded Tactics - Chapter Preview (Read More at ao3) Calamity rode horses and had her own horse in a local stable. She would go horseback riding from time to time. Under the disguise of new stable hands, Aubrey, Chloe, and Emily watched as Beca rode into the scene with her own horse, looking incredibly dashing with an expensive scarf looking like a free-flowing cape behind Beca.

Who knew Beca could ride horses?

"Chloe, you might want to close your jaw a little, you're practically drooling," Aubrey teased, snapping Chloe back to present day as they cleared out hay in the distance.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bree," Chloe replied, nevertheless wiping the corner of her mouth now that Aubrey made her feel self-conscious.

Aubrey chortled next to her, still keeping surveillance of Beca as she made contact with Calamity.

Chloe did the same. It looked like Calamity was taking the bait, she seemed quite smitten at Beca – or rather Bea Bee, because apparently, she liked one syllable names; Beca on the other hand, looked absolutely mortified at the name that sounded more like "baby" than anything.

Chloe's grip on the pitch fork tightened as she watched Beca pet Calamity's horse. Calamity on the other hand started touching Beca on her arms. Chloe was quietly keeping count, pouting by the time it reached ten. Calamity seemed very touchy feely. And then, as planned, Beca's scarf loosens, and Calamity catches it as they had hoped. Beca then tied it around Calamity's neck, paying her a compliment that it suited her.

"Chloe, please focus on the hay instead, anymore and smoke will start coming out of your ears," Aubrey teased yet again.

"Oh, shut up," Chloe replied, stabbing the hay with the pitch fork. "I'll check on things inside, see if I can do anything there," she then said with a huff.Chloe spent the next five minutes trying to figure out what she could do to help in the administrative side of things before she remembered she probably shouldn't. She knew nothing about running a stable and the only reason why they were allowed to work undercover was because Beca charmed the owner enough to let them.

Snap out of this, she thought to herself as she marched into the stables to find Beca sitting on the fence of an area where the horses were kept so they could gallop around, looking deep at thought.Chloe made her way towards her, and as soon as she placed a hand on her shoulder, Beca all but jumped up.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"She wants to have drinks tonight," Beca replied rather monotonously. "I don't think I can do it, Chloe. Just thinking about it makes me shudder. Do you know what she said earlier? I asked if I could ride her horse, and she said he was a wild one, but I can ride him. When I asked why have a wild horse, she said she enjoyed breaking them in. That's her idea of flirting, Chloe," she then said, mortified.

Chloe was too.

And Chloe very much wanted to tell Beca she didn't need to do it. She could stop. But that would mean that Babel will grow more powerful. That would also mean they would miss up on a chance in finding a way to help Dr. Mitchell with his case.

"You don't have to, Beca," Chloe settled on as an answer. "But it might be easier to win her heart if she's drunk. Plus, if you can fake drinking, you can have the upper hand. We'll be close by too."

Beca shook her head vehemently, trying not to speak so loudly. "Nope, nope, I can't do this. No."

Chloe grabbed Beca's shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. "You're the mafia's lawyer, right? Cool-headed and strong. You never let go of your target. You're charming and smart and capable. Think of all her victims? Her and her family? Only you can catch her in your trap. If you can't, then who would?"

Beca visibly gulped and nodded along. "I can do this, I can do this," she then said as she excused herself from Chloe's company, not wanting to keep Calamity waiting.Chloe took a deep breath. She didn't want to, it sucked, but she had to bolster Beca's confidence. She can't let her waver, because at the end of the day, this whole mission isn't about the two of them at all, but all other people who could benefit seeing the so-called powerful pay for their crimes.

"That's right! You can do this Beca!" Chloe cheered on, running around to where Beca was facing, trying to be cheerful.

To her surprise, Beca grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her close to an accidental hug.Chloe stilled for a moment. This was probably the closest she has ever been to Beca, and she didn't know how to act. She didn't even know what prompted that reaction.

"Horses spook easily," Beca replied. As if the horses wanted to prove the point, one of the horses behind Chloe who was tied outside the fences and who was turned away from Chloe, neighed. "It's not safe to startle them from behind, they could kick you, so be careful."

Beca took a step backward and Chloe nodded. "I guess we shouldn't be horsing around here, then," Chloe then said and Beca shook her head and laughed a little before leaving.That little encounter was enough to power her through for the evening.

#chloe likes puns okay #bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #jealous chloe #pitch perfect #bechloe mafia au #bechloe lawyers au #bechloe vincenzo au #beca and chloe #beca x chloe

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piedpiperslists · 2 years

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JJK: Single Parent AU

List of all Jungkook fics under 'Single Parent' AU:

* ¹ - one shot s - contains smut

* Last updated: 12/02/2023

D R A B B L E S

[drabble] by 1kook single dad!Jungkook, enemies to lovers, teacher au

[drabble] by krookedkoo single dad!Jungkook, single mom!reader, rivals to lovers

O N E S H O T S

Give Me Something Good by reliablemitten wc~3k / single dad!Jungkook, neighbors au Summary: Jungkook, his daughter, and their sweet dog Bam, are your tenants. You’ve let them into your home, on Halloween will a scare mean you let them into your heart?

* Tell Me Something Good by reliablemitten wc~5k / single dad!Jungkook, neighbors au Summary: You’ve started seeing your downstairs neighbor and tenant, the very hot Dr. Jeon. Everything is going so well, but is it too good to be true?

“I’m still sore from last night.” by solarwonux s wc~2.3k / single dad!Jungkook, established relationship

If It Isn’t Me by jiminrings wc~4k / angst, single dad!Jungkook, bodyguard!reader, exes au Summary: Protecting Jungkook with your life is your job — raising his daughter isn't. Alternatively, Jungkook's a single dad for the meantime according to his own words, and lowering down his pride will not stop at anything in begging you to help him with things outside of your paygrade.

My Beauty, My Blood by 7cypher wc~20k / single mom!reader, mafia au Summary: With Namjoon out of the picture, Jeongguk has to step up and be the sole successor to the organization laid out before him. However, guilt doesn’t escape him very easily, and neither does your persistence.

T W O S H O T S / S E R I E S

A Still Day or a Hurricane by ahundredtimesover s pastry chef!Jungkook, lawyer!reader, single mom!reader, strangers to lovers Summary: Driven by your perfectionist attitude and need to have everything in order, you planned that by age 30, you’d have made junior partner, bought your own apartment, and have children. You achieved them, of course, and while the last bit required you to take matters into your own hands - no thanks to your ex-boyfriend who dumped you but to your best friend who directed you to a fertility clinic - you’re now a 31-year old who pretty much has her life under control. You’re ready to raise your child on your own, that is, until the 20-something pastry chef flirts his way into your heart, messing up the perfect little life you worked so hard to have for yourself.

Day by Day by hansolmates s single dad!Jungkook, friends to lovers Summary: A series of drabbles about two best friends raising a child together.

Inevitable by ahundredtimesover s baseball player!Jungkook, single mom!reader, exes to lovers, parents au Summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

Rattled by gukslut s single dad!Jungkook, neighbors au

What if I love you too much? ¹ [drabbles] by taleasnewastime s wc~20.6k / single mom!reader, neighbors au Summary: Jungkook. It’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. Before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. And though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. You don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. Because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. All the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.

#jjk list #jungkook fic

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secret-time-is-here · 2 years

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An Error's Journey

Chapter 78

Previous - First - Next - We know

Don't worry, I didn't forget. Also yes I referenced a 20 chapter old joke, sue me.

TW: Implied Dreammare

It was nearly frightening how much changed after Error came back. It was chaotic at first, but oddly peaceful afterward. It was still difficult being in the castle, the rooms still too small for him, but it was easier with others.

Since his return from his realm, there were a few more visiting the castle. While searching for Error initially, Nightmare and Dream set up a truce. There had long since been little to no fights–if you didn’t count Nightmare snagging a treat off of Dream’s plate or Dream stealing Nightmare’s teas from time to time–so it was more of a means of allowing Nightmare and the gang free reign to look about the multiverse for him rather than ending their battles.

Although, Ink mentioned that some people were against the truce, and Hearts filled in the blanks. It was a small trivial group that the Star council was dealing with, but they had been very vocal about their opposition when the truce was announced. Even when it was assured everyone that Nightmare and his gang would more than likely not visit Omega, which settled the many who were on the fence, the group still made a ruckus.

It seemed that after Error’s return and with the truce in place, Nightmare had grown more trusting and open. While the castle wasn’t opening to absolutely everyone, the Star council was free to visit and so was Blue, although they continued to hide that Hearts was aligned with Nightmare. Dream and Ink were too busy focused on Error to notice how easily Hearts conversed with the gang and Chronic, and Blue turned a blind eye with a convincing smile.

What was quickly found out, however, was Ccino’s alliance.

A day or so after his return, a small party was held allowing some of the council as well as Ccino and Hearts to attend along with the gang and Chronic, of course. Ccino was a little late, having to close his shop early for the event, but nonetheless appeared.

Reaper happily took pictures of Dream and Ink’s shocked faces when Ccino ran up and hugged Error. The few council members who attended looked even worse. Nightmare snickered nearby as Ccino also moved to hug him as well, but the cherry on top was the jealous fluster Dream got when Ccino kissed Night’s cheek.

The two of them were old friends, Error knew for sure, but he also knew how strongly Nightmare loved them all.

While some tensions were still left from their battles, it seemed everyone was ready for a new start. Horror opened up, showing off his food at the party and conversing happily with the council much to the council’s surprise. Dust clung to Horror’s side all the while, but over time with people visiting, he grew more open towards others. Getting along well with Fell and Classic and even going out sometimes to visit the Geno on the council. It felt so weird knowing that used to be his name and calling someone else that, but time moves on.

Slowly bit by bit, Killer even opened up, Ccino acting as a gateway at first–mentioning the kittens Killer was raising at the party–but soon Killer found himself making unlikely friends. When Killer wasn’t spending the night with Cross, it was with Mafia getting drinks or cracking jokes with Outer.

Cross was a little harder. Since Error’s return, he focused on trying to spend time with Error more than making friends. However, at the least Error could rest somewhat easy knowing Blue and Hearts were doing well with him. And from the sounds of it, they started doing double dates together with Killer.

Then his lovers, all of them were too kind.

Grim spent long nights with him when he couldn’t sleep. The two of them would slink away from the cuddle pile they ended up in each night to go outside. Error loved the stars so much, but his abandoned observatory of a room was still far too cramped. So, as Death put it, they went “back a few centuries” and stole some blankets before flying up onto the rooftops or sneaking away to outertale to do their stargazing. If one of the star council spotted them, they knew better than to snitch.

How he missed simple times like that, it reminded him of ages back, spending that first night on the surface with Hearts. But now, it wasn’t a painful reminder, in fact, it just reminded him of how much things had changed, how happy he’d gotten, and how much everything had grown. Although wrapped up in Reaper’s wings, breathing in the cold night air with warm arms around him, he didn’t think much about it. He didn’t think much at all aside from how loved he felt.

The mornings were for Dream. Sleeping in or waking up early, he was Dream’s. The guardian would shower while Error made his mocha and got a pot of coffee ready for everyone else, and then they would get changed and make their way out to the garden. The sun just over the horizon and cool air wafting around, Error watered the plants while Dream checked up on everything. From collecting whatever harvest there was to checking leaves and growing sprouts, they got it all done just a little after breakfast was done.

If it was a sleep-in day, they pushed back their reading time a little. It was always a rewarding transition, moving around so much in the garden to cuddling close–or as close as Dream could without bursting into a flaming blush and stuttering mess–and just reading. Error reading aloud to Dream or both of them silently didn’t matter, as long as they were next to each other.

The afternoon was time to himself or with the gang. Most days he ended up at his computer, emailing Sydney, replying to marketing execs, denying more and more news stories and appearances. For the time, he just wanted to stay at home and ease back into life. If he can’t handle his own room, he definitely wouldn’t be able to handle the busy crowds of the city or the closed space of the VIP loft. Although, some days he made sure to never touch his laptop, give himself the day off, and just relax in the shade or sun. Other days, the gang refused to let him do any work.

It’s not like he could explain what work he was constantly doing on it, so he fell to whatever whim and impulse the gang had of the day, or what Chronic dragged him to do. Some sweet shop Cross found, a ridiculous action movie Killer insisted they watch, an experiment with Dust, and then napping with Horror.

Chronic was more of the outlier, the little bastard knowing just when work was beginning to annoy and anger Error. Granted, he probably should be grateful for helping him wind down with whatever random activity they had picked out, but he had work to finish! But, all the random things–painting, hiking, fishing, even mini-golf a few times–were fun. They two, or six considering Chronic’s a fusion, started to joke about finally getting around to knowing each other after Core asked so long ago.

That old joke about “two halves of a whole” made sense all of the sudden.

Nightmare stole him in the evenings. Wrapped up in each other's arms snuggled close. Sometimes reading, sometimes talking, other times simply basking in each other's presence. Just simple like that. On occasion, Nightmare would smuggle Chronic to join them, making sure to not let the fusion be left out since they seemed to trail away more and more as time went by.

Then long days were planned out and spent with Ink. Call him lovestruck, but following Ink along the AUs and listening to him rant would never get old.

Ink was still chaotic as ever, and with the truce, they spent a lot of their time taking the gang to the AUs they hadn’t been allowed in before. In addition to that, they began setting up safe traveling between AUs for the more “darker” timelines that were considered by Omega to be under Nightmare’s care. It was a lot of work, and Error and his lovers all stressed over their little partner with how much they were putting their newly found soul into it, but it just pushed Ink to do more. The impulsive lovable idiot.

However, despite everywhere they visited, there was still a place that Error skirted from, and eventually, Ink confronted him on it.

“I just don’t really get it, kitten.” Ink confessed, draping herself over the back of the couch Error had claimed as his some time ago.

“Well, it is hard to explain…” He hesitantly supplied, shrugging as he tapped away at his laptop.

“Then try and explain it!” Ink sighed, walking around the couch and flopping over Error’s lap, effectively making it impossible for Error to work in the simplest way. “No offense, but you do overthink… a lot.”

He rolled his eyes, moving his laptop to the coffee table and pulling Ink closer, letting the shorter nuzzle into his scarf as he relaxed further.

“I… just- ugh.” Even centuries later, his mind was a mess of thoughts, “...it’s Chara- my Chara.” Ink perked up, rewarding his confession with a peck of a kiss. It was almost embarrassing how much that still stunted him, he just blamed it on the centuries of being touch-starved. “Uh- um… I- …I’m pretty sure? I think Intent is my Chara… but I’m still worried about it.”

“Alright, pretty simple then, why are you worried?”

“Well… I guess our relationship hasn’t changed much despite… literal centuries. But- I guess… worried if it’ll change? Knowing that they’re my Chara? Telling them if they don’t know…?”

“But you acted as their puncle slash duncle when you were Sci too, right?”

“Ehh… yeah? They had Tori and Asgore… but yeah?”

“And you’re Intent’s puncle slash duncle now, right?”

“Um… yeah?”

“Then, nothing’s changed, why would it?”

“...I- …I dunno.” Error admitted, and Ink pulled back, their grin lopsided.

“Then let’s go see them, they miss ya, all of the Chara’s do.” Kind and honest eyes stared back at him, Ink always knew just how to help, didn’t she?

When Error finally nodded, Ink bounced up, pulling out Broomy Jr., that little thread chain pulsing with Error’s magic still there, and painted a portal. Standing up and taking Ink’s hand, they walked through together.

Seeing the white void after so long of space and the dull colors of the castle was blinding, to say the least. However, the temporary dizziness and getting lost in the lack of color was worth it when the door thundered open, the chara’s running out in a herd.

As the herd crowded around Error and Ink, Dest made their way out.

“Welcome back big guy, Intent’s in there waiting for you, think you know what room.” They explained shortly, parting the sea of little humans, giving Error a quick escape.

In the door and up the stairs his soul pulsed anxiously, but it was quickly dismissed when he felt the weight of Chronic in his shadow. Down the hall, he stopped at the last door, the door ajar and light on.

Intent sat drumming their fingers, staring at the ground, it was always him to start the conversation, wasn’t it?

With a quick knock, almost like a stick breaking, he walked in and intent’s eyes landed on him.

“...Don’t you know how to greet a new pal?” He eventually spoke, and Intent burst out laughing before jumping up and hugging him.

He was an idiot for not realizing it sooner, but he finally had them back now. Stars, what would Paps think? He was always the one better at puzzles. Although Cross was decent at it, so maybe it was just something amazing people like them were good at figuring out.

“...missed ya duncle.” Intent spoke up, hugging him tighter.

“Missed ya too kiddo.” He pulled them closer.

“Now…” Intent pulled back, and if both their eyes had sprung a leak, they didn’t mention it, “You never told me who your lover was.”

It was Error’s turn to burst out laughing, and he ruffled their hair, “Seriously! Just date those idiots already!” They laughed as their hair was ruined.

“Yeah, yeah. We should probably make that official… ya gotta convince Dream first. He barely cuddles with us, he’d explode if we ever called him our boyfriend out loud.”

“Uhuh, whatever duncle.”

---

Error didn't realize ages ago for this chapter to happen and this chapter only. Although, nearly 80 chapter in makes it more special, doesn't it?

#undertale #undertale au #utmv #error sans #ink sans #nightmare sans #dream sans #reaper sans #undertale chara #intent chara #chronic sans #chronic error #my writng #my works

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heaven-s-black-box · 6 months

Text

Cops and Robbers- Mikayuu

Return to File

Recovery date: May 27th, 2020

Description: the chief of police is married to the mob boss and they have to keep failing to catch each other.

Notes: N/A

Word count: 591

Back to directory

“Freeze!” Yuu called as he rounded the corner after the man he was chasing. The man was climbing a fence and had his hood up. “I said freeze,” Yuu yelled again and shot the man in the shoulder. This caused the man to fall onto the other side of the fence. When the man looked up, Yuu froze. The man’s hood had fallen off revealing a head of fluffy blond hair and when he looked up, his blue eyes were full of annoyance and anger. Behind him, he could hear a few officers approaching and didn’t move to stop the man as he ran away.

“Yuu! Are you okay?” Yoichi asked when he rounded the corner.

“Ya! I’m good!” He tried to sound as normal as possible. “The guy got away though, I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“Damn it,” Kimizuki groaned. “Y’know I’m starting to think you’re going easy on these guys.”

Yuu forced a laugh, “Why would I do that. I won’t rest until every last one of them is in cuffs! Especially the boss.” He may or may not have seen the boss in cuffs a few times before, but that wasn’t important right now.

Then his phone buzzed. He took it out and blushed a little, speak of the devil.

“Aak,” Mitsuba made a gagging noise. “Tell Mika we say hi.”

Mika 5:49 P.M You aren’t getting off easy

Yuu shuddered a little and his team laughed. He was pretty sure Shinoa made a joke about keeping it in his pants. Of course that’s what they thought it was. Unfortunately, he was very screwed, and not in a good way.

---

“Mika! I’m home,” he called as he stepped into their house. It was a little place, just out of the city.

Mika’s face as the mafia boss had never been seen, Yuu helped make sure of that. All of Yuu’s coworkers knew him as Yuu’s writer husband. Mika’s people knew their boss was married, they just didn’t know to who. The only people who actually knew both sides where Mika’s adopted mom and her brother and that was only because they made Mika boss.

As soon as Yuu stepped into the living room, a book hit him square in the face. He stumbled back and looked up just in time to doge a second book. Standing across the room, was a fuming Mika. His right shoulder was wrapped half haphazardly in bandages and he reached over to clutch it.

“So… how was your day?”Yuu asked carefully.

“You fucking shot me!” Mika yelled. Yuu was glad they didn’t really have neighbors.

“Well I didn’t know it was you,” he raised his hands in front of him as Mika reached for another book.

“Oh Fuck you! Now come help me before I make you sleep on the couch,” he growled before plopping down on the couch.

Yuu joined him and found their first aid kit spread out on the coffee table. Carefully, he undid Mika’s bandage and kissed it gently. He smiled as his husband's face turned pink. The bullet seemed to have gone straight through, so he stitched it up after cleaning it. Mika almost never went to hospitals for his wounds, he had to lie too much, and he only went to his men if it was too severe to wait. He much preferred taking care of it himself or with his husband's help.

“Better?” Yuu asked quietly once he finished.

Mika hummed and gave Yuu a small kiss, “Welcome home love.”

#Researcher S's recovery #owari no seraph #seraph of the end #mikayuu #yuuichirou hyakuya #mikaela hyakuya #shiho kimizuki #shinoa hiiragi #mitsuba sangu #yoichi saotome #fluff #oneshot #ONS oneshot

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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 3 years

Text

Mafia! BTS: Their Co-Worker Disrespects You

Jin

You were making small talk with Jungkook in the hallway while Jin hurried to his office to get some documents and then you could go home together. You just nodded at something that Jungkook said when someone bumped into you so harshly that you flew forward against Jungkook. At the very same moment, Jin came out of the office, finding you in Jungkook's embrace, although in truth it was just an accident.

"Jin, it wasn't... I wasn't... It's not..." you stuttered quickly, trying to explain yourself.

You did not realize that Jin saw everything. His hand caught the young co-worker's shirt before he could pass by him and slammed him into the wall. The walls shivered when the impact hit, Jin's face so close to his co-worker's that their noses were almost touching.

"Did you just touch my princess?" asked Jin lowly. His knuckles were white, balled around the co-worker's shirt. He stared up at your boyfriend petrified, his eyes flickering between Jin and you when suddenly he realized what he had done.

"I-I didn't k-knew," he stuttered, yet he was trying to act tough on the outside.

"You didn't know?" asked Jin innocently as his eyebrows rose. He pulled a gun from under his armpit and pointed it beneath the young man's throat. He whimpered under the touch of cold steel, closing his eyes as he stood on his tiptoes.

"Jin," you said quickly when you saw the gun in his hand. You winced towards him, trying to stop him but Jungkook put an arm in front of you like a fence. You stopped, looking up at him but he was far from focused on you.

"Do you know now?" asked Jin and cocked the gun. The young man nodded quickly, a quiet tear escaping down his cheek.

"USE YOUR FUCKING WORDS!" yelled your boyfriend out of nowhere, making both you and the man flinch.

"I-I k-know she's... she's y-yours," he stuttered as his chin quivered in fear. Jin tilted his head aside and glared at the young man.

"If you forget," began Jin, "I'll make sure to remind you."

Namjoon

You were headed up to Namjoon's office in an elevator, wearing a beautiful blue summer dress. You and your boyfriend were going for a brunch to celebrate your recent success.

You walked out of the elevator and made your way to Namjoon's office. You saw a couple of familiar faces and if they remembered who you were, they made sure to greet you politely or at least nod with curtesy. You almost reached Namjoon's office when you absent-mindedly bumped into a young man.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you apologized quickly about to continue your way but he grabbed your elbow and stopped you on your tracks.

"Who the fuck are you? Don't you know where you are, bitch?" a young man paraded in front of you, his face but inches from yours. You backed away against the wall, yet it seemed so preposterous seeing the man acting tough and putting his all into it, whilst a single look from Namjoon could make your knees go weak. Still, the young man was taller and stronger than you. A hard slap from him and he could bruise you for months.

"I could have you killed for disrespecting me like this, you little bitch," he growled against your face. "Don't you know who I am?"

"Who are you?" asked not you but a much deeper, threatening voice. Your eyes shot to Namjoon who was standing behind the young man. He jumped from you immediately and looked at his boss. They had never met before but the rookie knew who Namjoon was even though Namjoon couldn't care less about a small thing like him.

"C/N, sir," said the young man quickly, "This woman bumped into me," he spat as he returned the glare to you and your eyes flickered fearfully between C/N and Namjoon. "There should be a punishment for such disrespect of the mafia," he insisted.

"I agree," said Namjoon darkly, causing your heart to drop to your stomach. You had never been in this position before, when you were the one Namjoon was after. Your eyes watered as he took a step towards you and you winced against the wall. He tilted his head aside and looked at you much more gently than before.

"It's okay, darling," he spoke calmly and caressed your cheek with his thumb. C/N's eyes widened as he realized your relationship to Namjoon.

"I-I'm s-sorry... I... I d-didn't know t-that she's..."

"That she's what?" asked Namjoon and turned around to face him. "That she's your boss? That she's an extension of me? That I am about to kill you for her?" he whisper-growled the last question, towering over C/N before he cocked his gun at his heart.

"No, Joon, don't, please don't," you begged your boyfriend, wrapping your delicate arms around his torso. Namjoon's heart skipped at beat. He was shaking from anger beneath your touch, his jaw clenched so tightly to keep himself from pulling the trigger.

"Every morning when you'll get out of bed, you'll thank my girl that you're still alive. Not me - because if she weren't here, I'd do things much worse to you than a bullet can do."

Yoongi

You were about to take your seat beside Yoongi when you made it to the restaurant. Namjoon and Jin were there as well but Yoongi asked you to come as well. You knew it wasn't going to be a work meeting but a social one instead. Yoongi mentioned two more men would join you and then some outside businessmen as well. He hated these sort of things but with you by his side, it made them at least bearable enough. However, your presence also made the men more comfortable as they did not feel pressured to talk about work because they weren't allowed to really.

"Who the fuck are you? This meeting is for family only, not for some dumb secretaries," scoffed a young man at you when he arrived into the VIP room and took your seat beside Yoongi. You stared at him dumbfounded, Namjoon was playing with his glass of whiskey, a murk look on his face. The corner of Jin's lips curved upwards, a look of amusement in his eyes before he glanced at Yoongi.

"Put those legs to good use at least and bring me a Glenlivet on the rocks," said the young man. Another, older man followed into the room and recognized you immediately.

"Ms Y/N," he said and almost bowed to you. He was one of the counselors for the mafia. "Why aren't your sitting down? Please, have my seat," the elderly man pulled out a chair for you but you didn't even know what to say.

Yoongi was leaning against the armchair absent-mindedly when suddenly his eyebrows flickered upwards and he got up. He buttoned his suit jacket and pulled the young co-worker off his chair. He still hadn't realized what he had done, not until he saw the look in Yoongi's eyes. It was like staring at the devil.

Yoongi slammed him into the wall and let him fall to the ground. He pulled out his gun and was about to shoot C/N without warning but you took his hand instead.

"Don't you fucking dare defend him," he whisper-growled so quietly that only you could hear him. You stared up into his pitch-black eyes.

"I'm not," you lied, "The businessmen will be here any time now," you made up an excuse. Yoongi knew you were lying, you knew you were lying and a part of Yoongi's wrath burned even hotter because of that.

"Fine. Take him out. I'll deal with this fucking worm later," ordered Yoongi to some of the bodyguards by the door. He took your hand in his and helped you sit down.

"If you'd let me finish him off now, he'd go quickly. But there's much more I'm planning for him," said Yoongi against your ear, furious that you'd defend a maggot such as C/N.

Hoseok

Your boyfriend got detained at work on date-night, so he sent his new driver to come pick you up and take you to the restaurant where you were supposed to meet.

You fixed your dress that looked more like diamonds woven together than fabric. It was a gift from Hoseok and it looked absolutely breath-staking on you. You hurried downstairs and found the car waiting for you. The driver was leaning against the door of the car, scrolling through his phone. As you stepped down the last stair, he heard the click of your heels and looked up.

"Holy shit," he muttered to himself and ran his thumb over his bottom lip. You shifted uncomfortably and went for the door yourself as he did not move from the spot. But in the end, he beat you to it and opened the car door for you. His hand took the small of your back and slid further down, gropping your bum.

You winced away, staring at the driver wide-eyed but he only smirked and closed the door behind you. Your heart was beating madly the entire ride because you kept on thinking what you'd do if he did not actually take you to the restaurant. He was glancing at you in the back mirror, blasting atrocious music on the radio.

When he stopped the car in front of the restaurant, you hurried outside without waiting for him to open the door. After almost running inside, you saw Hoseok ordering a bottle of wine for the two of you.

The hostess took you to his table. His eyes sparkled when he saw you wearing the dress he bought you and showered you in compliments. You squeezed Hoseok's hand tightly and kissed his cheek as you were now both sat at the table.

"You okay, baby?" he smiled at your affections. You stared at him for a moment but you knew you could not tell him what happened. You nodded instead and forced a smile. Hoseok knew something was off but he did not persist if you did not want to talk about it.

After the dinner, you held Hoseok's hand as he led you outside. The car was already waiting for the two of you. Your stomach twisted into knots at the sight of the driver. You squeezed your boyfriend's palm so tightly you nearly left a bruise around it. Hoseok frowned, wondering what was going on with you.

He opened the door for you but when his hand touched your waist, a flashback shot through you immediately. You winced around and gasped, backing away against the car.

"What the hell's going on?" he asked you. His eyebrows were furrowed together and his lips parted as he studied you closely. You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Your arms went around his neck instead as you stepped on the tips of your toes and hugged him. You whispered what had happened earlier, trying to be discrete, although there was no need for it. When you pulled away, Hoseok was frowning frighteningly. His hands left your sides as he closed the back door and asked you so sit up front.

"It's okay, trust me," assured Hoseok as you looked at him with big petrified eyes. You did as he said. Hoseok closed the door behind you and fixed his suit jacket as he turned to his new driver.

In an instant, Hoseok grabbed the back of the driver's throat and slammed him face front against the hood of the car. You jumped in your seat when you saw the blood pour down the driver's mouth and chin. He dropped to his knees before Hoseok kicked his knee against the man's head and knocked him out cold. Your boyfriend was about to leave him but he stopped himself and send another heavy kick at his abdomen.

Hoseok sat at the driver's seat and started the car. You were at a loss of words but not in a good way. Hoseok knew how you felt about violence and his work, so he took your hand and kissed the back of your palm to reassure you some. You looked up into his eyes and he smiled gently.

"It's going to be okay, baby," he spoke softly and caressed his thumb over your knuckles.

Jimin

You made your way to Jimin's office when an unfamiliar face suddenly stopped you on your tracks.

"Are you here to see me, babygirl?" asked a buff young man. His remark made you spin around on your tracks. You were quite familiar with Jimin's employees because you guys were almost like a family but you had never seen this man before.

"I... um... I actually came..." you tried to collect your words into a sentence as you pointed at Jimin's office but the young man wasn't paying it any attention.

"You came to what?" he smirked and towered over you as he took a step closer, "You came to see me, right?"

His eyes lingered on your red dress and matching heels. It was one of Jimin's favourite outfits on you but the man disgustingly thought you were a high-end call-girl.

Your back hit the wall, making you wince. You froze on the spot and looked around for an exit but the man trapped you with his arms on each side of your body.

"Please, let me go," you tried to convince him rationally. "I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Yeah, you are," he smirked disgustingly and traced his fingers up your thigh. You jumped and escaped under his arm when suddenly you hit a wall. You stumbled backwards but a familiar hand caught your waist. It was not a wall but Jimin's chest. His perfume filled your nostrils as you steadied yourself and held on to his arm. A large weight fell off your shoulders at the sight of your boyfriend. He saw the distress on your face and glanced at the newbie.

"What's going on?" asked Jimin soberly as he pushed you behind him.

The young man frowned, his thick eyes flickering between his boss and you.

"She... I... but..." stuttered the newbie, pointing at you. A murk frown fell on Jimin's eyes as his jaw clenched. He could see the entire picture the moment he saw you hide behind him.

Jimin grabbed his gun but you put your hand on top of his, stopping him before he could do something irrational. Jimin glared at you.

"Let go, sweetheart," he ordered darkly.

"Not you," you whispered, begging him not to stain his hands with blood. "Please," you asked as you held back your tears. Jimin stared at you motionlessly and gave into your request. He nodded lightly and looked down at your stunning outfit.

"You look wonderful, sweetheart," he told you gently and kissed your cheek.

You did not even know when or how, but two of Jimin's men grabbed the new employee who disrespected you and dragged him away. Your chest gave a painful nudge and you squeezed your boyfriend's hand.

"It's okay," he reassured you, "Come, let's go." Jimin put his hand on the small of your back, caressing it with his thumb once in a while as he led you to his car.

Taehyung

You knocked lightly on Taehyung's office and peeked inside. He was in the middle of something with two other man; one older that you knew by appearance and a young one that you had never seen before.

Taehyung's eyes smiled at the sight of you.

"Oh, hello," you greeted all three of them, "I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"

"Yes, you are," the young man cut off Taehyung before he could invite you in and send out his co-workers. The older man's gaze flickered between his young associate and his boss. "But since you're here, get us some drinks; I'll have a scotch on the rocks," continued the bold young man and glanced at the others.

You were taken back, not knowing what to say. Your lips parted as you glanced between Taehyung and the young associate.

"It's okay, come in," said Taehyung, disregarding the kid in his armchair. You slowly stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

"Why are you letting a woman into this meeting? She can't even-" began C/N disrespectfully.

"What do you mean?" your boyfriend cut off the foolish associate. "You don't mean because she's a woman she's worth less than you? Or because she is my woman?" asked Taehyung as he played with his prey. You could tell immediately because you knew him so very well by then. Taehyung got up from his leather chair and came around his desk.

"She's worth a thousand times of any man in this company," he growled as he suddenly grabbed the young man's throat and slammed him against the wall.

"I'll show you right now how much you're worth to me."

Taehyung pulled a slick silver gun from behind his belt and cocked it against the young man's cheek.

"No, Tae, please don't!" you said quickly as you went to him, but it was too late. The shot was fired and blood spattered all over Taehyung's face, his clothes and some even stained your own features. The body fell to the floor as blood poured out of it like a waterfall.

You gasped and jumped away, your hands clutched across your mouth.

"Don't look," ordered Taehyung as he turned around and saw you watching the corpse. "Don't look, jagi," he repeated himself much more gently now before he cupped your cheeks and forced you to look at him instead.

The older man scrammed from the office inconspicuously.

"No one can disrespect you like that, Y/N. No one," assured Taehyung and brushed a spot of blood off your lower lip.

Jungkook

You made your way up the stairs to Jungkook's office. You were going to invite him to lunch because you were celebrating a great success with your studies.

You smoothed your hair on the way down the hallway. Only one turn separated you from Jungkook's office but a young man stepped in your way.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he asked harshly and grabbed your elbow. You stopped on your tracks, completely startled not only at the unknown face (because you knew almost everybody at the company now) but at the rough treatment - in Jungkook's office out of all places.

"It's okay, I'm-" you tried to explain your relationship to his boss but the man cut you off immediately.

"It's okay? Who the fuck are you to say 'it's okay'?" the man snapped at you, making you wince from the sheer closeness to your face.

"Do you want to die?" he snarled and grabbed your throat. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist but you were helpless. Suddenly, the grip loosened on your throat and you could breathe again but the young man was slammed into the wall so hard that the plaster cracked and sunk in. Jungkook was at his throat like a dog with rabies.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" growled Jungkook against his face. Shivers ran down your spine at the tone of his dark voice.

"She... she..." stuttered the co-worker, pointing his finger at you.

"She is mine," snarled Jungkook as his nostrils flared. Realization hit the young man. His eyes widened and he tried to stammer out an apology but it was already too late. Jungkook's fingers were wrapped around his throat, squeezing so tightly that the man was turning purple.

"No, Jungkook, don't, please don't," you begged your boyfriend as you saw what was going on. You wrapped around arms around his waist and hugged him tightly from behind.

"Please, it's not worth it, Jungkook, please..."

Jungkook struggled with himself but let go of the scumbag at last. The young man fell to the floor, coughing his lungs out as he clutched to his throat.

"You better thank her every day for the rest of your life that you are still breathing because she's the only reason that you're not already dead," warned Jungkook as he glared down on him.

Your boyfriend placed his palm gently on top of yours, still locked against his chest. He slowly turned around and cupped your cheeks, inspecting you for injuries.

"Are you okay, baby?" asked Jungkook concerned.

"I'm okay," you nodded quickly and swallowed back your tears. "Come, I'm treating you to lunch," you changed the topic immediately as you pulled his hand and rushed him towards the elevator in efforts to forget what happened.

"You're treating me?" asked Jungkook as the elevator door closed and grinned. You nodded and explained what happened.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," he spoke reassuringly as he kissed your temple and squeezed your palm. You returned your arms around his waist and hugged him once again until the elevator reached the bottom floor.

1K notes · View notes

dreamwritesimagines · 3 years

Text

Burn The Witch 12 - Bad Surprise [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Sometimes plans have to change.

Series Masterlist

Every job required something from people, and your job was no different.

Being a spy was not a conventional profession, everyone knew that. You were expected to be on the move all the time, be a good liar, be a good fighter, be whatever the job told you to.

And most important of all; never show fear, which you were usually fine with. You had learned long ago how to keep your calm in times of crisis. You had even managed to keep your calm facade when your last mission required you to play Russian Roulette with a target in order to keep your cover.

But this? This was something else.

Bucky cleared his throat to stifle a laugh as he looked down at you.

“Is it just me or are you using me as a human shield against a peacock right now?”

Your eyes snapped up at his for a moment before you turned your gaze to the peacock again, taking a subtle step to Bucky’s right to keep him between you and the animal.

Coming to the zoo was his idea, and you thought it could be a fun experience. You had never been to a zoo before, and it would count as one of the old times dates, so you were almost giggly by the time you got there.

Right until now.

“I think peacocks don’t have souls.”

“Alright.” Bucky sipped his coffee while you tried to ignore the fear bubbling at the pit of your stomach, eyeing the peacock that walked around the area behind the fences.

“I’m serious,” you insisted “What if it attacks me?”

“It’s not going to attack you Y/N.”

“It could,” you said, “It looks like it wants to attack me.”

The peacock fanned out its feathers all of a sudden and let out a squawk, making you jump out of your skin.

“Fuck!” the curse left your lips and Bucky’s eyebrows rose, an amused grin pulling at his lips.

“Sorry!” you said quickly, “Sorry, I…I don’t trust peacocks.”

“You got mugged in a dark alley and got shot, and a bird is where you draw the line?”

Correction, you were once held at gunpoint by the Italian mafia and peacocks were still where you drew the line.

“That’s not a bird.”

“….Peacocks are birds.”

“No, that’s the devil looking like a bird,” you said, “In-in bird shape. Bird shaped demon.”

“Okay, how about we see some other less threatening animal?”

“Let me check—oh my God Bucky they have sharks, I love sharks!” you said, waving the brochure in his face and he pulled his brows together.

“Sharks fall under the less threatening animal category?”

“Of course they do!” you said, looking at the brochure before looking around, “I think the aquarium is over there, let’s go.”

You grabbed his hand to entwine your fingers with his as you both started walking towards the huge blue structure.

“So I feel like I shouldn’t ask because I know you can’t exactly tell me the details,” you said, “But you’re not going on another mission soon, are you? This week?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, “Why?”

“I’m kind of planning something.”

He tilted his head, “What are you planning?”

“Not a club, relax.” you said, “Although I find it quite ironic that you’re this unstoppable brave superhero with super strength who gets intimidated by dancing.”

“I’m not intimidated…” he grumbled under his breath, making you giggle.

“Whatever you say,” you sang, and reached the entrance of the huge building and you pulled your hand out of his.

“Excuse me sir, is the aquarium still open?” you asked the security guard by the door and a small smirk appeared on his lips.

“Yes but it is closing in ten minutes sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

Jesus Christ….

You smiled politely at him, batting your lashes.

“Oh—“ you took a look at the sign, “I just want to see the killer shark and we’ll be out. In five minutes. Please?”

He eyed you up and down but seemed to snap out of it when Bucky cleared his throat behind you as if warning him, making the guy gawk between you two.

Even you had to admit you seemed like a quite unusual couple. You were wearing a short white sundress with ruffled sleeves and sweetheart neckline with your hair loose while Bucky looked as if he was there to kill someone, a complete opposite of you with his dark jeans and black leather jacket as well as leather gloves.

You didn’t even have to turn your head to know that he was glaring at the guard before the guy shifted his weight, then stepped aside.

“Enjoy.”

“Thank you!” you said, grabbing Bucky’s hand as you led him inside. He followed you without any objections whatsoever, in complete silence as the sight of blue filled your vision along with many fish swimming behind the glass.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” he asked softly and you pulled your brows together.

“Hm?”

“Does anyone ever say no to you?”

You approached the label by the glass, “You do.”

“Do I?”

“All the time,” you nodded, still reading the label but your head shot up when you felt him tug you by the hand. A giggle escaped from your lips as he turned you around so that you could look up at him, then wrapped his arm around you to scoop you up, making you squeal.

“Bucky!”

“All the time?”

“Put me down!” you said, your laughter echoing in the empty aquarium halls and he tilted his head.

“Not until you explain yourself,” he teased you, “All the time?”

“Sometimes, sometimes!” you said quickly, “Very rare times I might add!”

“Mm hm, I thought so.”

“If you drop me, I swear to God—“ you started but was cut off when he pulled you into a kiss, making you wrap your arms around his neck. He took a step with you still in his embrace and you gasped as you felt your back hit the thick glass, but every single protest you could think of seemed to disappear from your mind as you lost yourself in the kiss. You raked your fingernails over the nape of his neck, making his grip around you tighter-

Then someone coughed.

Bucky pulled back instantly and you turned your head to see another rather annoyed technician leaning on her hip, watching you with her brows raised.

“Aquarium is about to close,” she said, pointing at you, “Take it elsewhere.”

Bucky put you down and you tried to fix the skirt of your dress, trying to look presentable.

“Sorry!” you said as Bucky mumbled an apology beside you as well, and the technician shook her head and walked away, talking about how she wasn’t getting paid enough for this. You covered your face and let out a whine but Bucky chuckled, causing you to lower your hands to stare up at him.

“Why is this entertaining for you?” you exclaimed and he held your wrist, gently steering you to the exit.

“Come on.”

“We can never come here again, ever.” you insisted as you followed him outside. It didn’t escape your notice that he bumped his shoulder into the security guard’s quite hard, almost knocking him over on your way out and your jaw dropped.

“That was mean!”

“Nah, he had it coming. Are you hungry?”

“But you could get in trouble. Besides, he was a nice guy—“

“Uh huh, a nice guy who was ogling you.”

You pulled your brows together, pretending to be confused, “Oh I’m sure you misunderstood.”

He tilted his head and pulled you closer to wrap his arm around your waist, then brushed his lips against yours, making you sigh.

“Bucky, it was mean and you can’t just kiss me to distract me—”

“I can try,” he murmured to your lips before kissing you again and you looked up at him when he pulled back with a grin.

“Fine,” you admitted, still pouting. “I’m hungry. Starving actually, let’s eat something.”

***

You were finding it harder and harder to convince yourself it was time to go home after every date with Bucky.

Scratch that, you were finding it harder and harder not to invite him upstairs.

But of course, you would have to report it back to the General and discuss the further strategies with him and for some reason, it felt more of a betrayal than this whole thing.

Surprisingly enough, it was something you wanted and not something you would will yourself to do because of the mission. There was no denying it, he was an attractive guy and you really liked spending time with him and you kept having dreams about him and whenever you were with him you had this lightness in your mind, as if you were a different person.

A better person, maybe.

You shook your head at your thoughts and left your apartment to knock on Keith’s door.

“It’s me, open up.”

You heard footsteps before he opened the door and a boyish smile pulled at his lips at the sight of milkshakes in your hand.

“Jesus, finally!”

“I made it at home, can’t promise it’s good,” you said as you walked past him into his apartment and stepped into the living room, “What are you watching?”

“James Bond,” he grinned at you, “Hey, have you ever tried milkshake with gin?”

“No?”

“Me neither, let’s try it.” He said, taking the big glasses from you to pour gin into them. You sat on the couch and took a look at the screen.

“How many times have you watched this again?”

“Like a hundred,” he handed you your glass and you took a sip.

“Not bad,” you commented, putting your feet up on the coffee table. He sat beside you, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“What did you do today?”

“Had a date.”

“With Barnes?”

“Yeah. At the zoo.”

“He took you to the zoo?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And peacocks are fucking scary,” you muttered, “And hey, we learned that Bucky is the jealous type.”

“The guy was dating people back at 40s, I could tell you that much myself.” He snorted, “Chloe says you went on a mission with Julian?”

You slipped a little on the couch, “He’s an asshole.”

“I know. Is he really that bad in bed?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Nah as much as I hate to admit, he’s pretty good. Unfortunately.”

“So top or bottom?”

“He goes either way to be honest, that comment was more about me.”

“About you?”

“Yeah, I like to be on top.”

“Suddenly everything about you makes sense,” he murmured and you took another sip of your milkshake.

“Don’t try that with Barnes though, the guy is from 1940s. He’s probably used to missionary only, you don’t want to give him a heart attack,” he wiggled his brows, making you scoff.

“Shut up.”

“Chloe is right, maybe you should go full on vintage on that when the time comes.”

You turned to look at him.

“Speaking of Chloe,” you said, “Anything you would like to tell me?”

Keith’s grin faded slightly and he shifted his weight, “Like what?”

“Bringing her coffee, taking her out to the field…” you trailed off, “What gives, man? I thought we had a deal.”

“We never had a deal,” he defended himself, “You slammed me back during training years ago at the academy and told me not to even think about it when you saw me looking at her.”

“No,” you shook your head, “Five years ago, in Ireland. That undercover job, the one that almost got you killed? We made a deal.”

He swallowed thickly, looking down at the milkshake before taking a sip. “Y/N…”

“Keith, you can’t,” you insisted, “She deserves a normal life, a normal family and kids and a dog and stuff.”

“I know,” he ran a hand over his face, “I know.”

“Then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a spy,” you said, “You said it yourself, spies die like flies.”

“Not all of them,” he said, “General is still alive. He has a family.”

“Yeah, one in a hundred,” you said, “Face it. That’s a very low possibility for us.”

“You don’t think you’ll get to grow old and have a family and all that?”

You pulled your brows together.

“No,” you said, “Of course not. I’m probably going to die in one of these missions.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Keith, I can’t have any of those,” you said, “I can’t. I…it’s impossible.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you muttered, “I made my choice ages ago.”

“Y/N,” he sat up straighter, “Do you want to?”

With a very bad timing, your imagination went overdrive and a strange scene flashed before your eyes. You laughing in Bucky’s arms, watching two kids playing in the garden-

You shook your head, trying to shake off the thoughts.

“I could never have that,” you stated simply, “You might love Chloe and you might also be lucky enough to have her love you but…it’s not the same with me.”

“I’d say Barnes loves you.”

A bitter smile pulled at your lips and you bit inside your cheek, taking another sip of your milkshake.

“He loves someone who doesn’t exist,” you managed to croak out, “He loves my cover. He could never love me.”

***

Spending the night at Keith’s and drowning your sorrows in gin and milkshake meant that you would have a killer hangover the next day. Unlike Keith, you didn’t have the luxury to sleep until the noon, seeing that you had a cover job to keep so for the whole day until noon, you walked around like a zombie.

Coffee helped though. Just a little.

Thankfully it was a slow day at the shop. After serving a couple of people, you had nothing to do other than seriously considering sticking your head in the freezer to get rid of the hangover.

“Long night?” Tara asked as she walked past you to put the straws into the cup and you nodded, groaning.

“Remind me not to drink, ever.”

“I make that promise to myself every Monday, does not seem to work.”

You chuckled, “Have you ever tried to mix gin into milkshakes?”

“No?”

“Don’t,” you shook your head as you helped her to move an empty milkshake container into the kitchen. “It’s a terrible idea and I’m experiencing the consequences of that mistake right now.”

“That sounds like a fun night though.”

“Fun night, terrible morning,” you let out a laugh as you walked out of the kitchen but as soon as you did, your eyes caught the sight of the man in the shop. Your smile was wiped off your face as the familiar anger filled your system.

Jesus Christ, this day sucks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked and Julian had the audacity to shoot you a grin.

“Whoa cute outfit,” he said, eyeing you up and down, “Holy shit I didn’t even know I was into this whole thing, I’m having an epiphany.”

You looked over your shoulder to see if Tara was still in the kitchen, then turned to Julian.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was craving milkshakes,” he stated, “Hey, would you recommend Lavender Macaron?”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“I think I’m gonna go with Lavender Macaron, makes me think of France,” he said, “Fun times.”

“Fun for you maybe.”

He shot you a look, “Come on Y/N, we didn’t leave the honeymoon suite for two days. That was the greatest-“ he lowered his voice, “Mission I’ve ever had.”

“You’re putting this entire operation in—“ you started but stopped talking as soon as Tara walked out of the kitchen. Julian raised his brows for a moment before smiling at her and you went under the counter to grab his arm.

“Y/N, is everything okay?”

“Just peachy,” you said as you dragged him out of the shop, and he heaved a sigh, following you.

“No I’m serious…” he said with a chuckle as soon as you both stepped outside, then motioned at the uniform, “This is something else.”

“Why are you here?”

“I heard that it was good, I did not think it was this good.”

“I’m seriously two seconds away from punching you.”

“How come you never dressed up like this for me when we were dating?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you insisted and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I was around.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Believe whatever you want,” he said, “Your shop has good rating, although I’m beginning to believe it has less to do with milkshakes and more about the waitresses.”

“Julian I swear to God—“ you started but you were cut off when someone cleared his throat, making both you and Julian turn your heads. Your stomach dropped as soon as you saw Bucky watching you two with a frown and you withdrew your hand from Julian’s arm.

“Bucky,” you breathed out, “Um-hi.”

“Hi,” he said without taking his eyes off Julian, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

He was trying to decide whether he was a threat to you.

“I didn’t…I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I figured I could drop by,” he said, crossing his arms, “What’s going on?”

Fuck.

Fuck, you had no idea how to turn this around. Thankfully neither of you had said anything about the mission, so it was more than likely that Bucky just knew you knew each other, but other than that, your cover wasn’t blown.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, he’s just—“ you stammered, trying to come up with an explanation, “He’s um—“

“Oh come on Y/N, don’t be one of those secretive people,” Julian said, “You hate secrets. You’re Bucky, right? I heard about you.”

Bucky just raised his brows, his glare on him unwavering but even if it was quite chilling, Julian was a trained assassin just like you were, so he was used to it. Instead he curled his lips, looking between you before offering him his hand.

“I’m Julian,” he introduced himself, shooting you a grin as if you two shared an inside joke “The evil ex-boyfriend who’s gonna take her from you.”

Chapter 13

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #tfatws #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #bucky barnes x you #the falcon and the winter soldier

635 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want?

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic.

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days.

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours.

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much.

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment.

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

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Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk.

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog.

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them.

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway.

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine.

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care.

You were comfortable and content.

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered.

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too.

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes.

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion.

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by.

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse.

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance.

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows.

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures.

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly.

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger.

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished.

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego.

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office.

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood.

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk.

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods.

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up.

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way.

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control.

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath.

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks.

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on.

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.”

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants.

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you.

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you.

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you.

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming.

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state.

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold.

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe.

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body.

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?”

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment.

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you.

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you.

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut.

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically.

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back.

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed.

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him.

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides.

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty.

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?”

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock.

“Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.”

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best.

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him.

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded.

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way.

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily.

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit.

“You’re my good girl.”

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his.

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably.

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god.

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.”

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw.

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been.

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness.

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips.

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted.

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings.

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech.

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue.

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right.

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back.

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet.

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them.

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained.

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat.

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full.

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in.

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer.

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest.

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it.

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks #hawks smut #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo smut

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ginjithewanderer · 2 years

Text

South. Hill. Prison — Play Translation 4/4

Ren is imprisoned for the crime of murder, having killed members of an opposing mafia group. Shaw, as his only known family, receives a call informing him of Ren’s death.

Characters:

Juza Hyodo as Shaw

Azami Izumida as Ren

Omi Fushimi as Douglas

Banri Settsu as David

Sakyo Furuichi as Renato

Taichi Nanao as Miguel

This translation is a collaboration with Ranka, proofread by kamebunfactory!

Posted in four parts due to the length of the play.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Translation under the cut

Douglas: The hole opens up at this garbage dump.

Shaw: So that’s why Ren died here.

David: Hey, what’s that?

Douglas: A letter...? It’s addressed to Shaw.

David: He could’ve just mailed it.

Ren: I didn’t know your address.

Shaw: I didn’t even tell him my address after I cut him off. This letter... You were too late, idiot.

Ren: I don’t wanna hear that from you.

Shaw: What do you two plan to do from now on?

David: I’m headed straight to my dad’s hospital.

Douglas: I’m gonna get as far away from here as I can. You?

Shaw: I’m gonna visit my Ma’s grave. I guess this is farewell.

David: Don’t get caught.

Shaw: You too.

Douglas: Thanks, Shaw. I’m glad I met you brothers.

Shaw: Thanks for being friends with that idiot Ren.

The three exit the hole and find themselves at the garbage dump where Ren died. They find a letter addressed to Shaw, wrapped tightly in plastic so it won’t get wet, caught in the fence.

They split up, each heading towards their own destination—David to his father’s hospital, Douglas to get as far away as he can, and Shaw to visit his mother’s grave.

Shaw: This is the first time the two of us have come to visit Ma’s grave together, isn’t it?

Ren: It is.

Shaw: Is this where you planned to put your letter?

Ren: Yeah. No matter how coldhearted you are, I knew you’d find it here eventually.

Shaw: I should’ve come to see you sooner. I wasted so much time for nothing.

Ren: It’s my fault as much as yours.

Shaw: I’m sorry, Ren.

Ren: That’s the first time you’ve ever apologized to me.

Shaw: Don’t be an idiot. I’ve definitely… Wait, Ren, your body’s—

Ren: Oh, looks like my time’s come. See you on the other side, Aniki.

Shaw: Selfish until the very end.

I’m not sure what to write in this letter, but whatever. It’s been a while. Heard you got promoted again, and now you’re the boss? You really are cut out for the mafia. I didn’t fit into that crowd the way you did. I wonder why we’re so different, even though we’re brothers. No, that’s not what I’m writing this for. Here’s what I’m trying to say: thank you. Talking to you face-to-face would’ve ended in another fight, so I’m putting it in a letter. Well, since I don’t know your address, I was wondering how to get this to you. I thought I’d leave it to Ma. Even you visit her grave, right? Honestly, ever since Ma died, I feel like I was nothing but a pain in the ass for you. The only thing I remember is your pissed off face. At the time, I thought my life would be better without you around. But now I understand you thought about me a lot. Guess I’ve grown up too, huh? I mean, before now, I wouldn’t have said this even if someone put a gun to my throat. Maybe the time I’ve spent here has changed me. ‘Cause I have this friend, Douglas. He’s pretty quick-minded, and he’s a good guy. He’s the one who came up with this jailbreak plan, too. I was supposed to escape together with him, but I thought it might be better if I got out for a while to make sure it’s safe first. I’m gonna leave this letter here and go back to South Hill Prison. The next time we meet will be after my prison sentence is over. Only if you’re up for it, though. Well, see you on the other side, Aniki. From: Ren. To: my lovable, piece-of-shit Aniki.

- END -

#thank you ranka for giving me the opportunity to translate this play #i'm absolutely in love with it #the ending fucking broke me #both the event story and the play are just so damn good #a3!#south hill prison #a3! translation #an's translation

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comfy-whumpee · 2 years

Text

Merton Street

@iaminamoodymoodtoday (the shadow realm is forever), @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash

The retribution came quick. Alfonse was driving to a meeting at the docks, gliding along the road in the black night, each streetlight bringing him into visibility and out of it again; his car was black too, of course. He didn’t often go to these meetings, but it was important to show his face every now and again, make sure nobody believes he thinks himself above the jobs that were his first rung on the ladder.

Merton Street was quiet at this time of night, a straight dagger through the buildings and car parks of the industrial dockyard, each one of obscure purpose with only small signs on each fence to describe them. Alfonse knew several of them, either businesses he controlled or worked with, or in a few cases, has been working to undermine and absorb into his own operation. One such business was the site of his meeting tonight, a property in the south-east quadrant that boasted an extensive concrete basement that should be an excellent place for storage of unwanted guests.

Not that he had any of those at the moment, he reflected as he drives, fingers tapping on the wheel to the tune of James Brown on his car speakers. Lillian was long gone, shipped overseas to start a new life or die trying. Fred Reed had gone to ground even deeper than usual, knowing that Alfonse would put him six feet under next time he threatened the Dechart family home. Other names were keeping their heads down, knowing something was happening with the Silkrunner mafia.

James Brown was singing about feeling good, and Alfonse hummed along. Like sugar and spice.

Delphine Cox’s party had been a couple of weeks ago. Lillian, a month before that. It had seemed like a good moment to get out of the house and make sure everything was smooth with his income operations. Too early for a comeback.

It had seemed like such a good idea, Alfonse thought, as a silver car swung out of the parking space he had just passed, suddenly alive with headlights bearing down on him. Such a peaceful night, it had been, until another three cars appeared, at each of the four directions of the crossroads Alfonse was approaching.

I feel good.

Alfonse switched to cruise control with one hand as the other pulled the body armour from the back seat. Steadying the wheel with his knees, he pulled the heavy vest over his head. From the glove box, he took his gloves, sliding them on and feeling the cool press of metal along his knuckles, silver gleaming through the leather. He rolled his bad shoulder and then slammed the breaks, pulling a hard turn into a large car park with a squeal of tyres.

The silver car followed suit a moment late, grazing along the fencepost with a crunch, as Alfonse threw the car into reverse and braced himself for impact. The noise would attract the attention of his group, and they’d come to help. He believed that.

So good!

The rear of his car slammed into the one behind, crashing together and launching him forwards against the wheel, his grip on the dashboard barely stopping him from busting his clavicle. He grabbed the stick and threw the car into drive, before flipping it back and executing another ram.

So good!

The impact this time smashed the windscreen of the silver car, and Alfonse threw the door open to leap out, running low for the driver’s seat. The other three cars were trying to fit in but Alfonse had stopped the chase too early for them to converge, and the silver car blocked the way.

Cause I got you.

There was a body in the front seat, and Alfonse pulled open the driver’s door to grab it by the face, tilting it back to look in the eyes and check the breathing. Only the whites were on show, so he tossed them to the ground. Out of action. One down.

His phone buzzed against his hip twice. A text. Probably from the team waiting for him. He pulled back into the shadows, into the overhang of a service door, and thumbed his phone awake, tilting the screen against his front to hide the glow. He typed, trouble come, and sent.

Footsteps crunched across the loose gravel of the car park, and Alfonse drew back, glad that he had worn an all-black suit for the outing. Quickly, he tapped another text to Sinclair. Late for supper x

Then the phone went away, volume button clicked softly to silence it.

Three silhouettes prowled through the dark, traced only from the silver car’s broken, refracted headlights. In the near-silence of the sea breeze, a tinny voice sang, it’s a man’s, man’s, man’s world.

Alfonse loved that song.

He launched out of the shadows, barrelling into the closest attacker and pushing them against his car, punching them in the side of the head with the same momentum, before they could find their arms to fight back. There was a cry from the second person, who saw the shadow pass and nothing else, and the alarm was echoed a moment later by the third.

Alfonse delivered a punch to the nose that would put anyone down for a few minutes, then ducked to sidle along the fence. Torches swept across the night as they tried to locate him, even as he used the silver car as cover. The torches gave away their holders. He squinted, trying to see past the light, but he couldn’t make out the shapes clearly enough. On his other hip to his phone, his handgun rested, but without a clear shot, he’d just give himself away -- and escalate. If this was only meant to be a scare, he’d be overreacting, and they’d probably defend themselves. If they wanted to abduct him, he’d only be increasing the force needed to take him down.

A torch swung towards him, and he dropped flat. This wouldn’t last. They were moving, and one of them would circle around sooner or later. He had to move.

Heart in his mouth, Alfonse forced himself to wait for the right moment. The attackers walked through the car park and circled the building warily. For a moment, they were both facing it, and Alfonse moved, sprinting across the gravel as lightly as he could to duck behind the second car, where they hopefully wouldn’t think to look.

His footsteps scraped over the loose, tiny pebbles and he flattened himself down as one of them shouted and both turned, light slashing towards him.

“Boss!”

Alfonse’s heart leapt almost out of his chest at the call, as his people descended on the scene. The short-rangers, serious Lucy and happy-go-lucky Hector, waded into the fray immediately, as his thinker, Asma, directed others to close escape routes. Feet pounded over the concrete and the cat-and-mouse devolved into an all-out brawl, fists flying in the night. In the ensuring chaos, Alfonse slipped out, into the shadows outside the border of the ambush.

Keeping his tread as soft as he could, he jogged down the narrowing road, past the gleaming car of the ambusher who had approached from the coastal side. In a few turns he was at the planned meeting place, letting himself into the one building that was unlocked, despite being as lightless and still as all the others. Up a set of thin stairs, and he was in the meeting room, a cosy, carpeted space where two were already waiting with cups of tea and biscuits.

He could trust his people to clean up without him.

Ms Norman rose immediately at the sight of him in his vest and gloves, her blue eyes wide with alarm. “Mr Dechart, what happened?”

Her companion, Sven, stayed seated, watching with curiosity.

Alfonse unstrapped the vest and smiled. “Just a scruffle, being dealt with as we speak. Some clever little group tried to corner me on the way here, but they didn’t bring enough muscle.”

He pulled the gloves off and tucked them into his back pocket, flexing his fingers, though he wouldn’t roll his shoulder and show weakness in front of the guests. “Are you well, Greta?”

“Oh, yes,” Ms Norman agreed, still visibly distracted. “I’m well. Are we - safe in here, Mr Dechart?”

“Perfectly safe. They won’t know which properties are mine, let alone the one we’re using. I wasn’t followed and they’re in capable hands.”

“That’s good to hear,” Sven put in cheerily. “Shall we get to business? I have our performance update, and then we can talk strategy for a quarter one acquisition.”

Alfonse exhaled, letting his heartrate settle. He wished he was out there with the brawlers, making use of the gloves that hung heavily in his back pocket. But there was business to be done. “Let’s. Give me just one moment.”

He checked his phone. Sinclair had responded: How late?

Ten minutes.

They left him on read. He smiled, and tucked his phone away. “Alright. Thank you for waiting.”

#'whump'#ambush #collision #fistfight in a parking lot time haha #gun mention #alfonse #mafia whump #mob

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unhinged-summer-fun · 3 years

Text

triptych

The Thief x Marcus Pike x F!Reader (22+)

chapter 1: the heirophant

series masterlist | taglist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: A thief, an artist, and the head of the Art Crimes program in the FBI all share a soul-bond. What could go wrong?

Series tags/warnings: Sexual content, art crime, light angst, art history and criticism, soulmate-identifying marks, slow burn, f!reader, a reader who doesn’t always do the right thing.

Chapter warnings: none.

More notes at the bottom! Referenced works linked in the text.

also on AO3.

Special Agent Marcus Pike wasn’t having a particularly good week.

To be perfectly honest, it was less depressing for him to think about this week being not good instead of the more brutally-honest alternative: that things hasn’t been any semblance of good since October, and the fiasco with his ex... well, calling her an ex-fiancee seemed a bit too overstated, considering their engagement lasted for all of three hours and ended over a text message and a blocked number.

Not that he was dwelling on it.

This specific week was a whole other story than his own, however. Thankfully.

Another piece of high-profile Baroque art had been stolen, this time from a gallery in Vaduz. While INTERPOL was investigating on location in Liechtenstein, he was being copied into every break in the case, meaning that by quitting time in D.C., he was still well past his bedtime, and new emails were coming in at one in the morning from the art theft agents on site.

Information about the painting taken kept him awake in addition to the regular bureaucracy of coordinating International Art Theft resources. It was from a lesser-known apprentice to van Dyck, and included studies of Charles I at the Hunt on the back of the wooden board, in addition to a long-debunked smudge which had caused quite a stir when art historians falsely claimed it had been a lipstick kiss. Still, the photographs the Vaduz gallery had supplied caught his interest.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been drawn to light. Specifically, light in art, until that interest had morphed into a general affection for art itself, and later a career in art theft prosecution. Whether it was a romantic notion, borne from the outline of the triptych shape that made up his soul-mark over his heart, or simply pure personal interest, Marcus didn’t know. But what he did know was that there was something about Baroque and even Rococo art that caught not only his eye, but his breath, at times. When he’d been a child, newly 18 and on a trip around the museums on the East Coast, he’d been... well, lucky wasn’t quite the word for it. He never considered himself lucky, no. He had a strange relationship with timing, is all.

He’d been one of the last people to lay eyes on the works stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum before they vanished five days later. He’d seen them on his birthday, and within a week they’d vanished, with a hundred little traces no one wanted to follow. Maybe that was the push to focus him into art history in college, and then criminal justice for his masters. Perhaps it was the frustration with the lack of real headway or investigation into the heist, and then the overwhelming coverage about the mafia trial happening in Boston following the scandal. Thirteen priceless pieces of art culture, gone forever.

The same helpless frustration had come over him in 2003, just over nine years since his 18th birthday, with the looting of the National Museum of Iraq in Baghdad. He knew much of the chaos had been brought from fear of American forces invading, which had made him second-guess his intention to get into federal criminal justice, until the FBI stood up the Art Crimes Team in offices across the country. His frustrations then had an outlet.

An outlet, which of course, only served to upset him even more. Most of the recovered works they did find in the ACT were damaged beyond repair, fences having been spooked into destroying the pieces rather than catching heat for selling them. Marcus had stood with his hands full of broken idols, and felt just as shattered a dozen different times.

The only hope he really ever held was looking in the mirror, staring down at the simple shapes that made up his soul-mark. His mother had been concerned about its never-changing status, despite him traveling all over for his job. He didn’t share that one time because he’d rather quite forget it. It never filled itself in, not how her mark had filled in to become brilliant orange poppies when meeting her future husband for the first time. Even after all these years, after he had died, that mark was still just as deep and rich, a garden where her love grew no longer.

His father had described the experience of his mark filling in quite simply: “I met her, and it felt like all the light I’d looked for had finally been let into my soul.”

It was no wonder he was so obsessed with artwork that focused on the play of light across stones, through trees, between clouds. It was no wonder he didn’t mind the east-facing windows in his tiny D.C. apartment, nor the heat which came with it. He kept crystal light-catchers and stained-glass art in the windows, sending rainbow prisms across his room, across his skin every morning. He’d look where the colors filled in the mark over his heart, and he’d hope and dream and pretend until he could get out of bed in the morning.

All this being said, the painting was that of a sunrise.

Two lovers had been painted over in the long grass at the focal point, hidden by paint strokes to keep their morning rendezvous a secret, even by this apprentice. For a piece of Baroque art, it wasn’t stingy with the colors, adding an almost-anachronistic hint of Impressionism to the scene. It was the kind of piece that Marcus knew he’d need a chair to look at, which made it a shame that he was sitting in a desk chair, looking over details on his laptop, while the painting could have been anywhere in the world.

At least his French wasn’t as bad as it had been before.

“The canvas dimensions match those of common briefcases, I doubt there’d be many opportunities at border checkpoints to uncover it, unless we asked every man in a suit in Europe to show us his paperwork.” The INTERPOL agent on the other line barked a laugh at his logic.

“Perhaps not that paperwork, no.”

Their teleconferences occurred several times a day with high-profile cases such as these. Most of the time, curators had no idea something had been taken from their galleries. The smarter burglars came prepared with forgeries, counterfeits ready to go while the actual art left with them out the door. The fact that this piece was noticed missing so soon gave the team an advantage, the theft having taken place less than a week ago - the start of the not a very good week.

Marcus may not have been a behavioral analyst, but he could tell when Jean-Pierre was frowning over something else.

“What is it? Something else come up?” Marcus asked, sipping his coffee.

“Yes,” Jean-Pierre said slowly, like he was still turning over the thought in his head. The fact he’d switched to English wasn’t a good sign. There was a brief moment where the INTERPOL agent didn’t speak, which made the hairs on the back of Marcus’s head stand on end. Jean-Pierre was typing in their WhatsApp thread, alleviating none of the anxiety which had sprung up in a particular office in D.C.

JP Benoit: Veduz had a Bernini.

Those four words made too much sense in their shared line of work, and Marcus sighed, rubbing at his temples. He tapped out a response back.

M Pike: Which Bernini.

JP Benoit: David.

“Fuck,” Marcus muttered to himself, standing from his desk but keeping an eye on his phone. No wonder Jean-Pierre couldn’t say anything out loud. “Fuck,” he repeated, realizing that he didn’t have enough coffee for this. Jean-Pierre still had that look of I haven’t gotten to the worst part yet, which made Marcus frown even deeper. “You think it’s him.”

“I don’t know why, it’s... smells like him.”

Marcus let out a dry laugh. “He doesn’t leave enough for us to smell.”

There was a crack theory among international art theft investigators, some kind of urban legend responsible for most of the unsolved thefts in the last thirty years. Marcus didn’t know if he believed it - most gangs and thieves were caught within a decade or so, braggarts all. This list of unknowns had sprouted legs and walked off with some of the most beloved paintings galleries had to offer. Fragonard’s The Swing. Francesco Hayez’ watercolor Il Bacio, and all three pieces of his Vendetta triptych. Aivazovsky’s Constantinople Sunset. Van Gogh’s unsigned but popularly-attributed Cafe Terrace at Night. Several Ladell still-lifes. A metric fuck ton of Henry Fox Talbot photographs. All of these pieces had several things in common - scenes of love, and scenes of light. Hell, Jean-Pierre had once told him the thief had walked off with five of Monet’s Charing Cross Bridge paintings. The most popular attribution was that of the thirteen pieces from the Gardner.

That last theory had been enough for Marcus to dismiss the concept entirely, and Jean-Pierre kept his conspiracies to himself after that.

Until this week, though.

“When can you get on a secure line?” Marcus asked, wanting to know more about the missing six-and-a-half-foot sculpture.

“Sometime tonight,” Jean-Pierre sighed, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. “You need some more sleep if you’re going to hear about this from me.”

“That I do.” Marcus sighed in the same manner, shaking his head. “Alright. If... if you think he’s taken what he’s taken, then I trust you. It’s your case. Send me everything you have on him and I’ll get spun up.” He didn’t apologize for his initial brush-off of the concept of such a prolific thief, but if they were going to catch them, they needed to be on the same page.

Jean-Pierre wisely didn’t send any of the profile for several hours, knowing Marcus was a light sleeper and practically lived on his phone in the middle of a new case. This allowed the agent to get at least a few hours of sleep in, shoddy as they were, what with the neighbor’s new baby being extremely displeased at existing most hours in the day.

Me too, kid, Marcus thought dryly, before passing out.

With at least the pinpointed moment of his bad week in the calendar, Marcus watched his bad week extend to a bad month. The Bernini, and Lovers at Sunrise, and now three more pieces from a private collector had all vanished, traceless save for the conspiracy. The photos provided by the collector - a rather unpleasant man from Menlo Park, New Jersey who considered federal investigations, in his words “gauche” - only made Marcus more suspicious. It felt like he was seeing things in a new light, when applying this masterful thief theory to the story.

He was good, Marcus knew. Too good. He didn’t pay off guards, didn’t break down doors or windows, he instead breezed past tripwires and security protocols with little more than a small gasp in the security system. Whoever it was, they were a real thorn in his side, and a walking migraine for all involved.

JP Benoit: We obviously can’t follow him. We have to trap him.

Marcus smoothed down the mustache he’d grown out of stress, too distracted to trust his normally-steady hands.

M Pike: I might have an idea.

He did more research, and didn’t bother querying online, or even over the phone. An agreement like this was bound to be sniffed out sooner or later, so keeping things on paper or simply in the air would be safest. He got approval from his superiors, and drove to a little loft in Shaw.

He almost missed the building three times, the colorful brick buildings and decorated industrial edifices catching his eye in the early-morning light. He was quite-but-not-quite undercover for this venture, a suit and jacket replaced by a hoodie and jeans, his briefcase now a worn blue backpack, and his shoes one of the pairs that still fit him from grad school. He still felt too exposed, like this. Everyone knew that feds walked every street in D.C., a fact he was a bit too aware of as he pressed the buzzer next to the...

What?

Next to the buzzer for number 313 was an empty triptych.

“Hello?” your voice came through, and Marcus found himself freezing up on the sidewalk. “Uhh did I order food?”

Marcus scrambled to respond. “No, no. This is uh.” Oh Jesus, why did he use his middle name for this? “Ithas.”

A few seconds passed in silence, presumably with you laughing behind the mute button on the speaker. “Come up, O Prometheus, and bring your thefted flame.”

He had no time to recover before the buzzer for the door sounded, and he caught it before it locked again. The inside of the building was just as... interesting as the outside. It must have been some kind of artist collective, common in the artsier enclaves in D.C. He was a little sidetracked, when ascending the tiled stairs, he caught sight of a massive and detailed mural of The Swing, though with considerably less clothes, and the mistress in a sex swing. He blushed furiously, and went up to the third floor.

The door to 313 was propped open by a large cement frog, and as Marcus drew closer, he heard a grunt and something dragging across the floor. Warily, he knocked on the spot below the numberplate, and poked his head in. “Hello?”

“Prometheus? That you?” You walked around the corner, dusting your hands off on a dirty blue apron. Your hair was in some kind of style that may have once been a bun, and your makeup looked left over from the previous night. Maybe meeting a creative type on a Monday morning wasn’t the best idea he’s had. You looked him up and down, expression morphing from curiosity to intrigue in a few seconds. “You don’t look like an Ithas.”

“It’s a, uh, it’s a middle name.”

Your eyebrows pushed up. “Ooh, codenames before coffee. You must be a fed.”

Marcus didn’t have too good of a poker face, especially around people as beautiful as you. You take in his nonverbal answer and laugh, throwing your head back.

“Oh, wow. Please, come in.” You disappeared around the corner you came from, and he stepped in. The murals on the walls in the hall bled into - or perhaps from - your apartment, which was an open-plan loft with lots of windows and natural light streaming in. Several canvases and half-formed clay sculptures sat around the space more like clutter than actual decor, but Marcus found his eyes distracted, bouncing from one beautiful thing to another, yet always skipping back to you. “Do you drink coffee, fire-stealer?”

Marcus grimaced. “You can just call me Marcus. And yeah, if you’re offering.” He sits at your counter, at the safest place that wasn’t covered in sketchbooks, supplies, and a slightly-terrifying pile of bills. He didn’t like knowing so much about people all at once, but his training had another idea.

“Marcus,” you said, tilting your head to the side and considering him again. He fought the urge to shiver at the way his name sounded on your tongue. “Yeah. Marcus. You seem more like a Marcus to me.”

“...Thank you?” he said, unsure how to respond. You barreled through with the rest of your train of thought.

“Sometimes people grow into their names, and sometimes their names become them. Middle names are a bit of a mystery, though. In Ancient Rome, middle names, or cognomen, were related to the branch of your family line you were raised by. Well, unless you were a woman. Over time, it became a means of honoring deceased relatives, or providing individuality in an aristocratic family that just named everyone John. Yet somehow, my mother came upon Titania, and decided that I needed to fill the shoes of Shakespeare’s queen of the faeries.” You pushed the coffee cup over to him, with a small tray of cream and sugar in little mismatched cups.

“You’d think fairy shoes would be small and thus easy to fill,” Marcus said, recovering and adding in probably a little too much cream and sugar to qualify his drink as coffee. He won a small smile from your lips, like he’d passed a test of some kind.

“Surely none as large as Prometheus.” You drank from your own mug, smiling as you sipped.

“I don’t think I ever let my name determine my path in life. I’m certainly no thief.”

“Certainly,” you echoed, before setting down your drink, a serious glint catching in your eye. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of Uncle Sam at my door? The tax thing was handled years ago.”

“I’m-I’m not that kind of fed,” he stuttered, fishing his badge out of his pocket. “Special Agent Marcus Pike, FBI Art Crimes Team. I’m the head of the International Art Theft squad, and it’s a bit of a story.”

Your once-open and playful expression had shadowed some. Marcus wished he could take back the words that dulled your sunshine. He floundered a little more. “I’m not here to arrest you for anything. In fact, I need your help. Oh, this is all backwards.”

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching over and stilling his flustered hands from where they were trying to pull on the stuck zipper of his bag. He looked up at you, all big brown eyes and pouty lips. It floored you for a moment, how little he tried to hide of his feelings. It made your fingers twitch, and something near your heart burn. “It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I’m not worried about all that. You work in art theft. I’m an artist. You’re trying to catch someone.”

He deflated, relieved you could infer as much. “Yes,” he said simply. The bag finally opened. “There’s been this... anomaly.” He scrunched his face up at the word, which you found endearing. His face made a lot of different and interesting lines, and you loved it instantly. He explained the theory about the thief, and pointed out the pieces attributed to him. There was a shadow investigation coordinated among INTERPOL, Scotland Yard, the FBI, and the Ministry of Intelligence in England. As he was the only one in the U.S., aside from the Director, who knew about this squad, he couldn’t tell you, but he could tell you what he needed, and hope that smart mind did the rest.

“So why come to me? I know it doesn’t look it, but I’m not a thief.”

The paintings and sketches and sculptures you were working on, or kept stored and in sight, all shared styles with other master painters. A cubist recreation of a blue sedan could have been a Picasso, if he’d ever seen a Honda Civic. The short wax ballerina flipping off the viewer was so close to a Degas sculpture that Marcus had to take another look just to be sure. The lovingly recreated and cheekily altered Fragonard in the hall had your mark on them as well. You were a painter of styles not your own. Your hands remained ill-at-ease unless they were mimicking another, rhyming with the past.

“I know that,” Marcus said. “What I’m asking is... I’d like to commission you. Three pieces, inspired by the pieces we think he took. To be safe, probably a sculpture, a scenic painting, and whatever other media you think would attract him.”

“You want me make art with the goal that it will be stolen,” you deadpanned, lacing your fingers together and resting your chin on them. “Am I getting this right?”

“We’ll have trackers built into the frames, the paint you use, the materials you need. If he takes them, we’ll be able to track him a lot better than the historic masterpieces he’s nabbed before.” You looked at him like he’s grown another head, because the idea was so obviously crazy that you had no idea how it would even work.

“I have rates,” you said after a moment, and he grinned. “I’m charging more because it’s the government.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” he said joyfully.

“And my process is unique and important to me. I’m not going to half-ass art that’s doomed to be hidden forever.”

“Of course.” He nodded, smiling so hard the corners of his eyes crinkled up.

“You really wanna catch this guy, don’t you?” you asked, tilting your head the other direction than before. Marcus didn’t correct you, but you could tell this was getting a bit personal for him, just by his reaction. “Alright, I’ll... I’ll see what I can do. Give me a week to think it over, and I’ll meet up again to see what you think.”

“We can’t meet at the office, unfortunately. This is a very off-the-books kind of investigation, and we’ll need to make it look like a legitimate commission.”

“Then breakfast.”

“What?” he asked, losing the thread for a moment.

“Then we’ll meet for breakfast next Monday. For all intents, it’ll look like two friends meeting for pancakes. You like pancakes, right?”

“I love pancakes...” he said, some kind of faraway look in his eye. He wanted to ask about the symbol on your call box, but the words died on his tongue at your sweet smile.

“This is my number,” you said, writing it on a scrap of paper nearby. “I’m awake pretty much all the time except when I’m not.” He exchanges your number for the envelope of pictures he’d brought for reference.

“This is all the pieces we know of, in case you need some inspiration.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s also $3,000 in there.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He got up and looked around a little more, before awkwardly waving and making his goodbyes. He was nearly out the door when the mark on his chest surged and burned. He turned to look at you. You were watching him with another strange, curious look in your eye. He almost asked, again, but chickened out once more. “Did you—? Did you paint the—”

“Les Hasards heureux de la sex swing?” you answered, smugness apparent on your lips. “Yeah, about four months ago. You a fan?”

“I think I could be.”

“Have a good day, Marcus Ithas Pike.”

“And to you, Queen Titania.”

Authors Notes:

- I have only watched the Marcus Pike crumbs of the Mentalist. I don't give half a shit about the rest lmao. - Some of the pieces I reference are actually stolen, but not all. A lot of them come from @moodsworks's art she made of the Thief among his hoarde, which is the main inspiration for this whole nonsense. Please please go look, I'm eternally in awe and I'm hanging this piece in my home as we speak. - Prometheus was nicknamed Ithas or Ithax by a 5th century grammarian Hesychius. It's where the placename Ithaca comes from! - Titania is the name of the Queen of the Faeries in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Her husband's name is Oberon. You can tell where I'm going with this. - All the drivel about middle names is true. - The real-life FBI Art Crimes Team was stood up in 2004 because of the looting at the National Museum of Iraq in 2003. I'm pretty sure it's currently run by the same woman who started it then. I don't think there's an actual International Art Theft department, but governments often help one another out in these kinds of high-profile incidents. - Learn more about why the Gardner heist was such a headache in the Netflix docuseries This is a Robbery. - The referenced stolen painting in Vaduz is made up, as is the sex swing painting. - We meet the Thief in next chapter, and he's going to eventually have a name, sorry. If you want a fic where we don't ever know his name, I've got one of those too.

#marcus pike x reader #the thief x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike/reader #the thief/reader #unhingery #self insert #dean mccoppin voice: ART!#triptych #marcus pike x the thief x reader

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sasuhinasno1fan · 3 years

Text

The way you had your hair reminds me- Zutara Week Day 1

My second Zutara Week though I hope I can actually finish it this time. I decided I really wanted to do something with Katara doing rhythmic gymnastics so I decided that since most of the prompts fit, I’ll do a sort of Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo AU. It’s a good kdrama if you’ve never heard of it. trying to fit 16 hour long episodes into 7 days is gonna be interesting. I’ll warn you now and let you know there will be onesided LuTara but for like a day maybe. I haven’t written that day yet so we’ll see. This will end in Zutara happieness, I promise. Anyway, enjoy. Hair

Zuko crawled carefully as he wiped down the windows. Most of his classmates didn’t want him anywhere near an open area, especially with his limited vision but he’d just gotten his bandaged taken off and he wasn’t about to let it hinder him.

Without them on, he didn’t see Mom flinch at the sight of them, though the massive burn wasn’t any better. The fights between his parents weren’t either and Azula’s teasing was starting to be hurtful more than playful. He wanted it all to stop. If he pretended that things were ok, maybe they would be eventually.

“Hey scarface!” Zuko looked over, 3 of his school bullies storming over. He tried not to flinch, already knowing what they were going to yell at him about. They’d been doing it all day. “We lost the race thanks to you!”

Zuko used to be more confident. But after the burns, a few harsh words and he’d start retreating back down into himself. These bullies took advantage of it. During their Sports Day yesterday, Zuko had dropped the baton in the relay race and ran in the opposite direction, away from the bullies yelling at him.

“Mr. Reversal, can’t believe you’re so stupid.”

“You need a walking stick, scarface? Huh?”

Zuko felt one of them shove him and he expected to hit the window frame. Instead, he went flying out the open window. Years later, Zuko would mostly remember him being caught by an older man with darker skin, most likely from one of the Water Tribes, with kind blue eyes, who held him as he burst into tears and two younger children. The boy patted his back, telling him not to worry because his sister would take care of it and the girl screaming up at the bullies from the ground floor. Her long braid swung back and forth as she shook her fists and threatened to do violent things to them. her eyes seemed bluer than her families, like the clearest ocean.

He didn’t know they’d slip back into his life years later. That the little girl who threatened bullies for a boy she didn’t know, would become so much more important to him.

________________

Zuko unlocked his bike, trying not to feel discouraged. It was hard not to when he’d been disqualified from another competition for having a panic attack. Every time he walked onto the mat, his hearing would go wonky and he’d start seeing double, not to mention his heart beating like it was trying to escape his chest. As a result, he’d always forget to sault his opponent and the referee.

Along with being propositioned to train an up-and-coming fencer to get onto the national Olympic team – which he refused because how was he supposed to help someone when he could even finish a match – all he wanted to do was collapse onto his bed. He could already tell that during training tomorrow, he’d have to deal with snide remarks from Jett. How that guy became captain, he’d never know. He knew if he just beat him in training like always, it would piss him off even more and with the school’s Sports Day coming up, he was not in the mood to do the worst event for the Fencing Department.

He climbed on his bike, adjusting his kit sitting on its place but stopping himself from peddling back to campus when his phone rang.

“What Sokka?”

“So, the results of the match went up. Jett wants to talk to you; says he’s got the prefect thing for you to do to make up for your loss. The rice lifting challenge.”

Zuko had to bite his lip to keep from screaming. The idea of the lifting challenge was to carry as many bags of rice and the industrial size, like the one the school cafeteria ordered and hold it for as long as possible. Usually, the Karate Department would be the one to win, fencing never even coming close.

“I’m not going.” Zuko said, making up his mind.

“What?”

“I’ll hang out at Lu Ten’s office or something, but I’m not going. Not to the crapshot of a meeting or to Sports Day. I don’t care what he threatens me with. I’m only coming back to drop my kit off.”

“Um, well I actually heard Mai was back. Didn’t make it past the preliminaries for the national team I hear.”

This day couldn’t get any worse.

“Screw it, I’m not coming back for the next few days. I’ll be with my uncle if you need me.”

“Wait! Ask Toph to do your event for you. it would put the Weightlifting Department in danger of losing but most of those guys don’t like her anyway. She’d love a chance to get back at them. come back to campus and ask her and then I’ll take you out for lunch. At my dad’s restaurant. You love his marinated salmon.” Sokka said, trying to entice his roommate.

Zuko sighed. “I want two orders. And you’re paying.”

“Done! Get here soon.”

Zuko didn’t bother answering, stowing his phone away and pushing off, heading towards Republic City Sports University.

______________________

Effortlessly, Katara grabbed her back leg and straightened it as she did her pivot. She kept her balance as she came out of it and continued to twirl her ribbon. Her coach nodded.

“Very good. You’ve been practising. Your balance is better. Now I want to see if your fouettés have improved as well. If you want a chance at placing first and getting noticed by our sponsor and qualifying for the national team preliminaries, your routine can’t have any mistakes. Ty Lee, pay attention. I’m testing your fouettés as well.”

Katara looked over at the girl dressed in pink, who was pouting down at her matching hoop, Suki patting her on the shoulder. While Katara and Ty Lee weren’t friends, it was hard to not bond over being singled out by their coach.

Katara stood at the ready, twirling her ribbon as she readied herself when the door burst open.

“Azula!” Ty Lee cried.

Azula Lung was the student with the most sway in the whole school. Her father was the Prime Minister of the Fire Nation and while he didn’t hold much power in Republic City, since all powers were equal, that didn’t mean much at the University. She got the best room, private transport to competitions and rules didn’t apply to her. She could boss around any coach, even though she was in the Karate Department. There’d been rumours that her place was bought, until her first competition where she creamed everyone. She was her department’s ace. In fact, she managed to take the Weightlifting Department’s old gym for the Karate Department, which started a massive feud between them. she was rude and arrogant and somehow, one of Ty Lee’s best friends.

Katara noticed a girl standing next to her. She was dressed in all black, the only colour being the red of her nails. She looked incredibly bored and only looked annoyed when Ty Lee launched herself at her.

“Mai, you’re back!”

“Mai has returned from her qualifying competition for the national team. We’ll be taking Ty Lee with us. Problem?” Azula announced.

“No of course not. Except, Ty Lee, you were supposed to show me your routine for Sports Day? Since you’re our department’s cheerleader.”

Azula scoffed. “Sports Day, waste of time. She won’t be attending. You, blue peasant.” Katara balked at that and narrowed her eyes. “You’ll be taking her place. Problem?”

Katara opened her mouth to say, yes big problem, but all the girls of the Rhythmic Gymnastics Department crowded around her, suffocating her with their hands.

“None at all.”

“Thanks Katara!” Ty Lee said, scooping up her bag and dashing off, Mai following and with a raised eyebrow that spoke of her superiority, Azula leaving as well.

“You can’t argue with her Katara.”

“She’d have you removed from the school. I heard she got a person’s whole family business shut down for pissing her off. Do you want that for your dad?”

“Her dad might be the Prime Minister, but he’s practically a mafia boss.”

Comments like this floated over her head, as well as ones telling her they’d help with making a routine for Sports Day, which was in a few days. All Katara could think about was how completely unfair this all was.

And she let it out too once training was concluded for the day.

“It’s completely insane how she can just lord over them like that!” she said, harshly untangling her hair from its bun.

“Easy, you’re gonna rip your hair out.” Suki said, stopping her from tugging at it more and helping to pull half of it into a bun like she usually wore it.

“She’s a student. A sophomore at that. Where does she get off acting like she’s the greatest thing in the world? Just cause her dad is a Prime Minister? So is mine!”

“I thought Water Tribe issues fell under Yue’s dad’s jurisdiction?” Toph, a member of the Weightlifting Department asked, her hand holding on tightly to her guide dog’s harness. She was just as well known as Azula, due to the fact that she was blind but was still one of the highest climbing Weightlifting competitors at the school. She beat all the senior’s bests within her first month.

“Yeah, only because the South is smaller. That’s not the point! The point is, she does whatever she wants and doesn’t get in trouble for it and it extends to her friends too. I have a competition coming up soon and instead of working on my routines for that, I’m going to be learning choreo for a routine for one of the dumbest traditions of Sports Day.”

“Oh,” Toph said, a massively mischievous smile on her face, “well you won’t think it’s stupid when you hear what I heard. Wanna take a guess as to who’s the Fencing Department’s cheerleader?”

Katara looked over at Toph, who’s smile was growing maniacal. Usually that meant someone was going to get embarrassed as hell. It usually tended to be Sokka.

“Wouldn’t it be one of the girls?”

“Nope.” Toph shook her head, popping her p.

“Is it-?”

“Katara, watch out!”

A guy on his bike and panicked look as he turned the corner, thankfully started the veer off course at the sight of her. She still stumbled over her feet and fell to the floor, her hands pricking in pain as they were scratched. Thankfully though, her jacket took most of the damage. The guy on the other hand, had to shove his bike off his feet, rubbing at his shin.

She took in the pale skin, paler than Toph’s and dark hair surrounding his face. It didn’t stop her from noticing the large burn surrounding his right eye. she noticed that his school jacket was the same one Sokka wore, meaning he was in the Fencing Department.

“You should be more careful.” She meant for it to come out a bit nicer, but the anger from dealing with Azula slipped in.

clearly the guy didn’t enjoy being yelled at as he snapped back. “I didn’t see you.” he seemed to rethink his anger and continued in a calmer voice. “Are you ok?”

ok, now she felt bad about snapping at him. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, what up Sparky?” Toph asked, seeming to brighten as she figured out who almost crashed into them. her guide dog Badger, lead his owner over and with surprising accuracy, Toph punch the guy on the arm.

It was a little scary how well she could do that.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Hey, tell me. Seen his skirt yet? I know he doesn’t shave his legs so please tell me he’s going all out for this.”

The guy sighed. “Thought Sokka told you not to tell anyone.”

“Sokka? He’s the Fencing cheerleader? That’s why he’s been borrowing my hair pins? Those things are expensive.” Katara interrupted.

Toph burst into laughter, clearly enjoying herself while Suki looked thoughtful.

“So that’s why he asked for makeup advice. Suddenly Sports Day is looking a lot more fun.”

“Speaking of which, I’m going back to my room before Jett finds me to let me know my event. Oh, Toph wanna annoying your department?”

“Always.”

“Take my spot for the Rice Lifting event. I’ve dealt with way too much to even put up with Jett today.”

Katara furrowed her brow, wanting to say something about the fact this guy wasn’t going to participate but then she noticed Toph’s smile dropped a little and her punch was definitely softer the second time she hit him.

“Done deal Sparky. Tell your old man I’ll see him later.”

“So who was that?” Suki asked as the guy finally took off.

“Zuko Lung, not related to the royal brat. I go to his old man’s tea house sometimes. He’s Sokka’s roommate apparently.”

“Oh yeah, he’s a pretty good fencer from what I hear. Weird though, I haven’t seen his name in the announcement of students placing.” Suki said.

She had a point. Katara never remembered seeing anything either. She also found it a bit strange Sokka never dragged his roommate to meet the rest of them. there was something about Zuko though that seemed familiar. It was on the tip of her tongue but nothing came to mind. Oh well, for another day then.

“Hey, let’s go find Sokka. Maybe if we catch him off guard, we can get him to agree to let us wax his legs.”

__________________

“I hate you.” Sokka mumbled, hiking his cheerleading skirt up. Katara bit her lip to keep from laughing at the crop top he was in. apparently, he pissed off their department captain by telling him that Zuko wasn’t participating and Toph was taking his place, so his new uniform was worse than his last.

She tossed her braid behind her, trying not to think about how young she must have looked. She had her hair like this when she was younger since it was much easier to put it into a bun. Her own uniform was rather pink for her taste, but Ty Lee basically guilt tripped her into wearing it since it already been bought. She was still annoyed at this, even more so when she found out her new roommate was Mai. The dark and depressing girl was apparently in the Archery Department and Sokka, who’d been in that Department before transferring to fencing, said she was undefeated. Yet she didn’t get past the first round of preliminaries to get onto the national team.

“Hey Sokka!” Aang, a member of the Track and Field Department came bounding over, his own skirt floating around his legs. “Katara, you never told me how much fun a skirt can be. Took me a while to find boxers that weren’t too long but still.”

“I’m glad your having fun Aang. At least someone is.” She said, smirking at Sokka.

“You deal with 3 hours of having your hair ripped out and then come talk to me.” Sokka snapped. “Ugg, I’m gonna kill Zuko. This is all his fault.”

“Wow.” A familiar voice said. Zuko was in casual clothes, carrying a cooler. Next to him was a man, with a squarish face, the same gold eyes and dark hair as Zuko, though his hair was pulled back into a top knot. “See if I bring you anything ever again.”

“You know Jett will kill you if he sees you.”

“He can’t do anything. My uncle called to pull me out for the afternoon. This is work, we’re delivering ice tea for the Fencing and Track and Field Departments. Aang, next time, don’t put your order late at night.”

Aang looked embarrassed. “Sorry. You were already gone when I got back from training. I was going to order for the Rhythmic Gymnastics department, but I know how conscious your coach is about sugars and such.” He said, looking at Katara.

“It’s ok. I’m stealing one though, I deserve the extra sugar for being in this outfit.” She said, walking over to Zuko and opening the lid on the cooler. She noticed he was staring intently at her face.

“What elementary school did you go to?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Did you go to Ba Sing Se Preparatory?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“You screamed at those bullies.”

Bullies? Wait. It hit her like a thunderbolt, why he looked so familiar. His burn was a bit more faded but she couldn’t believe he forgot him. He’d been pushed out the window by bullies and her dad, would come to drop off lunch for her and Sokka, managed to catch him before he hurt himself and she’d screamed at the bullies from the floor.

“Holy crap. That was you!” Sokka said, “you had like no hair then!”

“Sokka!” he’d disappeared from class for a few weeks and when he came back his hair was cut so far back that it made his bandages stick out more.

“Yours was in a braid then.”

She was confused for a moment when she realised, he was talking to her. Yesterday her hair had been out but now it was in the same style she had it in as a child.

She’d always wondered what happened to him when Zuko suddenly disappeared for good one day. She’d didn’t think she’d find out now.

#zutara week #zutara week 2021 #weightlifting fairy kim bok joo #AU #rhythmic gymnasit katara #fencer zuko #fencer sokka #weightlifter toph #runner aang

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