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imrllytootiredforthis · 1 year

Text

An Undeserved Punishment

pairing: hyunjin x reader

warnings: dom reader, sub hyunjin, dumbification (kinda?), objectification (again, kinda?), oral sex (both the reader and jinnie receiving, the reader's gender isn't specified at all), jinnie's called puppy a few times, jealousy,

wc: 5k

a/n: this was literally one of the first fics that i ever wrote that i found half-done in my drafts, kinda rewrote, kinda just finished it-do with that information what you will~

It’s been a little under a week since Hyunjin has last cum.

A little under a week because of loads of things.

Because you’ve been busy with work. Because he’s been busy with work. Because neither of you have just had time and whenever you did, it seemed that you were never really in the right mood: wanting to spend quality time with him and cuddle and coddle him-with clothes on.

And he supposed he could respect that.

But only because he loved you.

He hadn’t cum in a few weeks because of those things. Normal things, y’know?

Oh, and there was also one more tiny little reason, that wasn’t all that important. Because Hyunjin had apologized and felt bad and grovelled, and well, he still got a punishment out of it-but it wasn’t a huge deal.

No, of course not.

It had a little to do with a few things. Y’know, tons of things, loads of things he could barely control, that honestly didn’t deserve this kind of punishment.

Y'know, you were in a bad mood when you gave him this sort of punishment because now you’d surely be level-headed enough to realize that really, he didn’t deserve this.

Surely, you’d been more angry than normal because you were pent up too, after not getting to ruin your pretty little good boy after so long, or maybe it was that asshole at work that you’d complained about a few times, or maybe you were just stressed.

Or maybe it was because of you, a small voice in his head that sounded eerily similar to you reminded him, of exactly what he did to get in his situation.

How you’d invited him to an important work event, with a bunch of important executives and other people, it was all a snooze, really.

Boring old people that could drop a thousand dollar bill on the floor and not be bothered to pick it up; rich assholes with sticks up their asses and snotty looks on their faces, somehow thinking that they deserved to look you up and down like you were a piece of meat and not someone with a heart and feelings and a high enough position that could probably fire them.

There was also your stupid boss that kept pulling you away from Hyunjin, glaring at him as if he were the dirt under his ridiculously expensive shoes.

All in all, Hyunjin had millions of reasons to act out.

But you’d told him to behave, to be respectful because your boss was there and a few other higher ups that weren’t very many but could essentially could ruin your whole career and that were all easily offended enough to do it with the slightest thing not to their standard.

And yes, of course he cared about all of those things-of course he did, how could he not? Your career was greatly important to you. And if something was important to you, it was absolutely important to him.

But…wasn’t he important to you too?

Your sweet, pretty, perfect boy? Your Jinnie?

Wasn’t he important to you?

Because on that very day, when he was getting out of the shower-the one that he was taking for your very super special job event, you’d teased him and by doing that-I mean, you were just asking for him to act out at this thing.

He’d come out of the bathroom, steam rising out of the doorframe, a towel hanging haphazardly and low on his hips, you seemingly couldn’t control yourself.

So really, who’s fault was it really?

Your's Hyunjin, that annoying little voice reminded him once again.

You’d eyed him up and down, nearly drooling at the sight of him, hands aching to touch him; after all-it had been so long, hadn’t it?

How were you supposed to keep your hands off him?

When he came out of that bathroom looking so very, very sexy? Water dripping from his hair and down his lithe body. His smooth skin just begging to be marked and claimed by you and that damn towel.

Jesus Christ, that towel.

Really, how were you supposed resist?

And he certainly wasn’t complaining as he was shoved down onto your bed, your tongue already down his throat, hands already pushing away that towel by the time his body hit the mattress.

You heard no protests.

Not a single peep, only muffled groans and needy whines between kisses, egging you on further to run your hands all over his body, relishing in the way he shivered and moaned so wantonly, so desperately.

You’d kissed him breathless, kissed him raw and deep and hard, like you were starved and he was salvation.

You kissed him until his breath ran out and yours did too and he began to feel lightheaded.

His lungs screamed for air as he panted, trying to catch up with his thrumming heart until he jolted at the feel of your lips on his chest.

“Lay back baby, let me take care of you,” was all you said, trailing lower and lower down his abdomen, tracing a trail of water that had made its way all the way down.

Lower and lower still, licking over his v-line, smirking as his hands came to grasp at your hair-not controlling-you’d never allow that but simply resting against your scalp.

He’d whimpered and writhed, begged for more-for anything more as you swirled your tongue around his tip, hand pumping along the base of his dick.

“Such a needy little thing for me, aren’t you, baby?”

Yes, he wanted to scream. Yes, for you.

His tongue numb in his mouth, his hands frozen and tense, trying their very best not to shove his cock down your throat.

You’d looked up at him with such a tantalizing look in your eye, promising pleasure or pain or a little bit of both that he would gladly welcome in return for your touch.

Your smile was sly as you took him into your mouth again and again, pulling off right as he was on the brink, driving him certifiably and definitely, maddeningly insane.

“Aww, you’re so cute. So adorable when you’re all dumb for me.”

As per your words, he’d nodded dumbly, how could he not? Because really, in the end, that’s all he was. All he wanted to be. Only a little thing that got so hot and bother by being dumbed down to little more than a mindless toy for you.

Only a slave to the pleasure. An obedient little dog to the commands, chasing and performing and granting every order and whisper for the chance at a treat.

While his hands twitched in your hair, while his dick throbbed in your mouth, while only an endless stream on moans and pleads fell from his mouth.

“So close, p-please, ah! So-so fucking cl-close.”

“Don-don’t stop, pl-please don’t stop, nngh!”

And what had you done?

Stopped.

“W-why?”

You’d only smiled, so sweetly, so cruelly, crooning about how cute he was all blushy and red.

Then you’d gotten up and patted his bare chest, thumb swiping over his nipple too teasingly, lingering for a touch too long for it to be anything but purposeful.

He whimpered, trying to push up into your touch, maybe entice you to stay for just a little bit longer…just enough longer for him to cum and you to cum and perhaps a quick round two?

You hadn’t risen to the bait though, in fact, his neediness just seemed to make you more eager to deny him.

Reaching down and grabbing the towel that you had thrown there, picking it up and tossing it over his chest before crossing the room, feeling his gaze on your back all the while.

He pouted as you had found your place back at your vanity, assessing yourself in the mirror like you hadn’t almost just made him come in your mouth.

“We’re leaving in a half hour Jinnie,” Your eyes had trailed over his bare body in the mirror, eyes darkening for a moment as you practically devoured every inch of skin before just as quickly looking away, messing with your hair a little, making sure every strand misplaced in your endeavour had been fixed back into place. “So I suggest that you start getting ready.”

Hyunjin was hard and needy still throbbing for your touch, certainly less than excited to go to this event. Less than excited to have to tolerate a bunch of egotistical assholes that acted as if they were better than him.

“But-“

“-Hyunjin.” The bratty whine in his tone hardened the last of the lust that was in your eyes, leaving behind a kind of sterness that only made him twitch and bite back the moan ready on his lips.

“Get ready.” You’d turned and walked back over to him, allowing him the last of your kindness with a gentle touch to his face, cupping his cheek and kissing his forehead. “And be a good boy tonight.” You moved on just as quickly, passing him on to go into the bathroom. “Be a good boy and perhaps I’ll give you a treat tonight, okay baby?”

—-

In some world, your words, your promise might’ve been enough for him to adhere to what you told him to do. To be a good boy.

In some world knowing that if he was good, you’d reward him for it later on. Just a little puppy eager at the chance-oh it was almost enough for him to listen. For him to behave.

But he can’t help it. Can’t help the want pooling deep in his tummy, the need to let you have your way with him just as you were doing before. He didn’t care at this point anymore.

You could edge him for hours, overstimulate him to tears, tie him up and tell him what a bad mutt he was. As long as you’d look at him with that dark predatory look in your eye, as long as you’d coo at him as if he were nothing more than a dumb puppy.

Anything at this point could satiate him.

And he had a growing problem underneath his fancy dress pants, steadily making things such as even sitting here even harder.

“Hyunjin.”

You voice snapped him out of it, looking up and out the window of the car to see that you were there.

Already? So soon?

His eyes flickered to the time, seeing that you were fairly early, technically speaking, you didn’t have to be there for at least another half hour before you’d be seen as tardy.

“Ca-“

“Nope.” You cut him off before he could even finish the word, seeming to somehow read his mind.

“Bu-“

“Hyunjin. I said no.” Your voice was stern as you assessed your reflection in the mirror one last time, leaving any possibility until after the party only a fantasy he’d replay over and over to keep him sane throughout the night.

One of the things Hyunjin has always loved about you was how you were able to keep up with him, even maybe surpass him with your sexual desires, able to take everything he gave in stride and give some of your own as well.

Most often you were open to anything he wanted to do, seeing most things as ‘you only live once, might as well make the most of it.’ And you’d never before had any issues doing anything risky regarding the publicity of the act but he could tell you were serious this time.

If only you putting your foot down, talking to him in such a steely manner didn’t make him twitch in his pants.

“Okay.” You finally pushed your hair back, looking to him. “You ready?”

—-

No.

He wasn't ready.

He was anything but ready to be here. Around these people, shifting uncomfortably under the heavy weight of their judging gazes.

They all thought they were better than him, he knew. It was impossible not to know. Impossible to ignore with way they scrutinized him and looked him over, over his expensive clothes he bought with your money-with their boss’s money.

Hyunjin knew they were criticizing him, the way his posture was slightly slouched, the way his hair was windswept and messy because he’d decided to stick his head out the car window on the way over, wanting to feel the cool air glide over his face.

He hated this place. Hated these people.

Hated whatever image of him they had in their mind and wished that they would look at him as if he were actually a person or at least not look at him at all.

But this was for you. For the job that you loved, that you’d tell him about at the end of the day with a spark in your eye, for the pride at the work that you did.

It was important to you. And if it was important to you, then it was important to him.

Even if he did want to rip his hair out of his own skull just to give himself some kind of sensation other than the intruding kind of eyes on him. At least you were here with him.

He clung to you like his only lifeline in this place, his arm threaded through yours, your gentle words pointing out the most important people here, the people you needed to impress and the ones it would be best for both of you to avoid tonight. The ones that would try to make a scene and the ones that would rather not waste their precious breath.

To be honest, he wasn’t listening much to the exact words but your voice comforted him beyond belief, gave him some relief in this kind of personal hell he seemed to be trapped in.

It was him and you. You and him. Facing this together.

Until it wasn’t.

Until you were being swept away by your boss, making it very clear with the way he directly asked you, not even looking in his direction as he wondered if he could ‘borrow you for a second?’ like Hyunjin or you for that matter really had a say in the matter.

And quickly, he was left alone.

Alone with the weight of the stares on his back, the whispers that he heard hushed whenever he turned his head.

Really-what did you expect him to do?

It wasn’t his fault that you’d left him all alone in this place.

Hyunjin walked over to the bar, pulling out his phone to send you a quick text on where he was before ordering something ‘strong’.

Every few minutes he’d check the time, waiting for you to come back to him. Waiting for a time that it would be appropriate to leave an event like this.

He was a few drinks in, a bit tipsy, nothing more, when someone finally approached him.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders, warm breath pressed close against his skin.

“Hey there,”

He stiffened, a kind of wrongness filling him with unease.

Not you.

“H-hey?”

He turned to see a woman holding onto him, clinging to his shoulders, very obviously drunk.

She pulled away and slunk onto the stool next to him, eyes travelling the length of his body.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, what’s your name?”

Drunken confidence or perhaps she was some other rich socialite that normally acted like this, she let a finger run slowly from his bicep to his wrist, smiling in a way that seemed to be seductive but only made that anxious knot inside of him tighten.

“Hyunjin-I, um, I’m here with-“

She shushed him, calling the bartender for another drink before turning back to him. “I don’t really care who you’re here with pretty boy.”

Her voice was slurred, her body slightly swaying as she fell into his chest, making him nearly jump out of his seat.

She was warm against him-abnormally warm like she was a living furnace. She smelled like alcohol and strong artificial perfume, making his head spin in the worst way.

From across the room Hyunjin caught your eye, you glanced from him to the woman pressed up against his chest, arms loosely thrown around his shoulders.

He watched the question in your eye turn into something colder as she nuzzled closer to him, whispering something he couldn’t hear over the roar in his ears.

‘What the hell are you doing?’, is what he got from you mouthing it from a distance. You looked kinda angry-he thought at least, still tipsy, still distracted from this woman who now asked him lazily if he wanted to dance with her.

Well he shouldn’t.

Any other time he wouldn’t.

But you look positively pissed as he takes her hand in his and helps her sit upright.

You look like you’re about to stomp across the room and press him over the bar counter right now.

In front of everyone.

In front of your rich asshole coworkers, in front of your stupid boss, in front of this woman who clings to him.

And he doesn’t think that he’d mind, or maybe that was the alcohol talking,

But all he wanted was for you to touch him-shove your fingers down his throat

You look jealous and hot and he twitches under his dress pants, his cloudy mind coming up with a bright idea he’d know if he were sober is stupid and probably childish.

But in the moment it’s his brightest idea.

His hands find their way to interlock with the woman’s, she smiles at him and he wishes it were your’s. Wishes that he wouldn’t have to go to this length for you to pay attention to him.

“Would you like to dance, milady?” She swoons at that, nodding along with a smile that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably.

She giggles as he raises an eyebrow, trying his best to smile back at her. “I would!”

And so he dances, he twirls her in his arms, he dips her and pretends she’s you, glad that this isn’t the type of outing that includes dances with any kind of grinding. Glad for once that the rich have some kind of class.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye, sneaking small looks over her shoulder as she rambles on about something or other.

You’re in a conversation with your boss and someone else he can’t identify but you’re not listening, you’re not talking or even acknowledging them.

You’re watching him.

And his heart soars at the attention.

The only attention he’s wanted all night.

The only eyes on him that he hasn’t felt uncomfortable with. Even if it’s paired with a hot glare, burning through his skin.

If looks could kill he would be six feet under the ground.

Maybe it would’ve encouraged him to stop if it didn’t make him feel so hot.

You’d ruin him tonight.

You’d make him regret every little second of letting her run her hands all over his body. Every word he’d used to sweet-talk her. You’d touch him and tease him and torture him until he’d be little more than an incoherent slut for you.

And he’d love every second of it.

He’d get high off of it, drink it in like a drug. Like an addiction, a craving that he could never even fathom breaking.

Not when it would render him so much more useless than any alcohol would.

Not when it felt like ecstasy and euphoria in his veins.

Not when he was so completely and utterly obsessed that he’d sink to levels this low to get you to look at him.

Someone said something. Someone close. Oh. Her. He’d nearly forgotten about her.

He hummed, tearing away from you to look down to her. “Hmm?”

She smiled somewhat awkwardly. “You’re a good dancer, you know?”

Hyunjin smiled, taking the compliment. “Thank you-and you as well.” He hadn’t forgotten all his manners after all.

“Why thank you! You know-“

“Hyunjin.” A voice snapped, cutting her off. An involuntary shiver ran down his body and he thought to be ashamed for a second before he realized that he didn’t really care.

“Yes?”

You smiled at her, then at him, trying to seem pleasant. Trying to keep up that facade you’d been wearing all night. “I’m sorry,” you didn’t sound sorry as you gripped his arm, nails digging through the fancy fabric of his shirt. “But would it be alright of I borrowed your dance partner for a bit?”

You didn’t even wait for her reply, pulling him off of her and off the dance floor before the words were even out.

Your voice was a hiss into his ear. The sound like music to his ears. “You’re fucking dead-do you hear me Hwang Hyunjin.”

It wasn’t a question, no, not in the slightest. No. It was a threat.

—-

“Do you have anything to defend yourself?”

He was on his knees in front of you. Your hand in his hair, tugging his head up to look at you, it aches. It hurts and it feels like heaven, it’s where he belongs.

“I’m sorry.”

He isn’t.

“Just wanted your attention.” It could be pitiful the way he says it. Voice shaking, trembling slightly. But that’s not the case.

Because his eyes are alight with glee, relentless triumph that tells you the brat got exactly what he fucking wanted.

This is what you love about him though. The push and the pull. The back and forth. It’s something new everyday. It’s a challenge and it’s fucking hot.

But not tonight.

Tonight was important. Tonight was the one night that you didn’t want this. And you’ll make him pay hell for it.

“Bull-fucking-shit, sweetheart.” Your tone is bitter, cold and there’s no taking the words any other way.

He doesn’t want to take the words any other way.

Your cold tone and the fury in his eyes only proves one thing-he got his way. “You wanted me to punish you-right darling?” He can’t even keep himself from nodding, admitting it all, completely transparent.

You laugh, mean and malicious, promising him pain and pleasure and everything in between. “And guess what?” He closes his eyes as you lean down and brush a hand down his dress pants, pressing the heel of your palm against the hard-on he’s been sporting for half the night. “You’re getting exactly what you wanted.”

You suddenly tug him up by his hair and he follows like an obedient dog as you press him back, the counter of the sink digging into his back in a way that would be uncomfortable.

But he can’t think of that.

Not when you press your lips against his, quips and bratty remarks, smartass responses getting buried into the very back of his mind.

This kiss was different. Not gentle and certainly not soft. Hungry and rough, ravenous and demanding and hard. Practically devouring him, eating him alive, all tongue and teeth and lips.

You let yourself get lost in the process. In the movements. In nothing but pure unfiltered yearning and longing.

And just for a second, only a second, you forget about tonight. Forget about the woman and your boss and these rich assholes you hate almost as much as Hyunjin but can’t do anything about.

You think about how busy you’ve been. How much you want him, how much you’ve needed him. How much you love him.

A feeling you could never begin to put into words so you pour it all into this. Into nipping and biting and turning his brain into mush.

Exactly as he wants.

For a second that’s all there is, not an ounce of anger, filled only with scorching desire.

"I want you,” he whines, hands pressing against your hips, pulling you closer, pulling you into him as you let him slide his tongue into your mouth. “I want you so bad.”

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and his head spins and drool is covering his chin and he can’t get enough.

Of you and your lips and your touch. It’s bliss and it’s so, so much, so overwhelming. He can hardly think straight.

You hiss out when his hands dig into your hips so hard you’re sure that it’ll leave marks. He pushes himself against you and sobs out, lips trembling, legs shaking. “Miss you-please, miss you so much.”

You press his hair back, tucking your thumb just under his shirt, running it over his skin to soothe him, hushing him and holding him close.

He shakes, gripping onto you for dear life, burying his head into your chest like if he were to let go, like if he were to not feel you against him you’d disappear.

He mutters something you can’t hear. Low and unintelligible.

“Speak up.” You pull him back, look him in the eye.

Hyunjin looks shy, that desperate look in his eyes, his uneven breathing becoming apparent in heavy pants as he works himself up even further against your thigh. “C-can I make you feel good?”

He’d do about anything for you in this moment. He’d hang the stars in the sky and make a trip to the moon just for a little extra to see you smile. He’d do anything-anything at all, anything you wanted.

You cup his face in your hand and watch as he nuzzles into it, dumb and desperate and focused solely on you. “Only if you want to.”

He nods and you give him the room to drop to his knees, onto the dirty public bathroom floor, where people still roam about outside.

When you turn and take up his previously place against the counter, pulling down your pants and underwear in one go he whines, a moan rumbling in the back of his throat.

You look so good, so pretty, he nearly cums in his pants from this alone.

Who knew you’d look so good standing above him like this? Legs spread open wide, beckoning him closer with a single finger. He flushes and scoots closer, resting his chin against your stomach. “C’mon, don’t get shy on me now Jinnie.”

That’s all the permission he needs as his hands grab at your skin, no hesitation or teasing before he’s pulling you into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

Finally.

Your moan bounces off the four walls of the venues tiled walls, echoing and leaving you glad you had locked the door when you came in.

"Shit!" You curse sharply as his tongue flicks against you.

You’d forgotten how good he is with his mouth when he’s using it for something other than trying to piss you off.

The tongue on him is like no other and you know he knows that as he licks up and down, knowing exactly where to suck and exactly where the spot is that makes you throw your head back with a groan, gasping for air.

Your thighs squeeze around his head as you groan, knuckles turning white as you grab onto the counter. “Fuck!”

He murmurs something against you that you can’t hear, something that vibrates deliciously against your sensitive skin.

“So good, such a good boy~” You praise him and you know it does something to his head, know that it affects him when he whines, slurping obscenely before shifting closer and pulling one leg over his shoulder.

Your other hand finds its purchase in his silky hair, digging your fingers almost painfully into his scalp, thrusting into his mouth while name after name falls from your lips.

You don’t even know what you’re saying, too absorbed in the pleasure, but he hears each one.

Hears you call him a slut and a pretty boy, your angel and your little whore, your toy, your puppy. His head swirls, as does his tongue and he knows you’re getting closer, with the way your voice grows more frantic and your hand in his hair pulls harder.

He groans and he whines and he whimpers, throbbing, so very close but he can’t touch. He won’t touch. He’s going to listen. Going to be a good boy and wait.

Not give into the urge to fuck his cock into his fist like his hand is itching to do or start thrusting against your calf like his hips are aching to.

He’s a good boy.

A good puppy.

He can listen.

And in this very moment if all you want to do is use his face like a toy, that’s all he wants to be.

A perfect brainless toy, pleasing you, ignoring the way his body craves your touch and aching for any kind of stimulation.

All that matters are your moans, the way that you call out him name. The way that you let out a cry as you see white, thighs trembling before they clench tightly around his head, holding him in place as you pet him like he’s your favourite dog.

He better be your favourite.

You look down at him, eyes hazed, smile lazy.

This is what he is here for. To make you feel good. To be a good puppy for you.

You let him go but he doesn’t move, clinging to your leg, pressing his forehead against your knee as he makes sure to lick up every bit of you.

“Good boy~” He shivers.

You reach down and put a single finger under his chin, pushing his face to look up at you.

His blood runs cold when he recognizes that look in your eye.

“You were so good for me puppy, too bad,” you muse, to yourself really as you smirk down at him. “Too bad my good puppy can’t cum for another two weeks, as per his punishment.”

His eyes go wide.

He’s fucked up.

You look sadistic, sweaty hair sticking out in odd directions but still the hottest person on the planet to him.

“I don’t let other people play with my toys.”

taglist is open here: @lino-jagiyaa, @missrobyn81, @shincode, @laylasbunbunny, @hahagay, @d7dream, @hobihearteu, @imsolovelylovely, @lemonhongjoong, @abcdefgiwsmcty, @xcookiemonsteer

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wheelcr · 2 years

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can you share more about miles from your turning dr ??? he’s just so unique and i’m rlly curios about what his little quirks and preferences are <3

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐑. ✧ ˚ ༘ ゛

hihi whoever nonie this is hello this has been rotting in my drafts for a full week now so sorry about that JSHSJDN

♡. miles is a fucking menace. i'm sure we've established that well enough already ( a hot one though ... ) also the fact that he's not really a menace on purpose

♡. he's also very smart. like he can solve complex equations way faster than i ever could. he also knows how to sew, to bake, to play all kinds of instruments, and he speaks over 5 different languages including, but not limited to; greek, french, japanese, chinese & getman

you bet he speaks in french with flora just so me and kate have no fucking clue what they're saying, little rascals

♡. the thing is, he's a prissy prince, but he's genuinely not aware of it?? he was raised a wealthy boy, and was really young when his parents d.ed and was put into the care of ms. grose who definitely did nothing to fix his attitude

like when i tell miles to clean up after himself he's not like "lmfao that's not my problem" no it's like a genuine "?? but that's not my job???" like mf was raised to believe that, and flora unfortunately has the same exact mindset

♡. not to mention, he sucks at doing basic household shit because of this?? like, he's 15, you'd expect that he has at least a little knowledge on how to do a few chores, right? wrong!!

"how the— what? how the fuck do you—?" all i could do was stand and watch in disbelief as he grunted, repeatedly putting the soiled bowl under running water

he sent me a pleading look, growing even more frustrated from the expression i was giving him "what?" "miles, you've gotta be kidding me right now—" "this whole thing was your idea! you wanted me to 'get my ass off the couch and clean my own shit'" his voice going higher near the end, mocking my words from earlier

i scoffed and snatched the bowl from his hands "yeah, but did you really think that you wash dishes by just.. putting them in water?" there was a long pause

"yeah..? i dunno, this is commoner person stuff completely new to me" "oh my fucking god"

♡. does this really cute thing where he scrunches up his nose!! idk why he does it but it's fucking adorable like one of the few moments when i don't wanna punch miles is when he does that he looks like a little bunny

♡. he's one of those guys who wears sweaters even on the hottest of days. like in the middle of july he's out in jeans and a fuzzy turtleneck. honestly?? i don't blame him. the sweaters that he owns are all fucking bomb, though you can't expect anything less from a multimillionaire kid. he doesn't even sweat! which makes it creepier bc i swear this kid is cold blooded

♡. miles love love loves the night sky! when me and kate moved into the mansion, i got a guest room that had a clear view of the moonlight, so much so that on some nights, my room would be completely illuminated by the light :o

♡. part of the reason why i didn't like miles a lot at first is because i would wake up in the middle of the night i would see him?? in my room?? like, he wasn't even looking at me, he was, however, faced outside the window ( ngl the soft glow of the moonlight did look really pretty on his face )

turns out the room i had occupied was one of miles' favorites to hang out in, because of the stunning view of the sky. and, y'know, miles being miles, couldn't really communicate that to me like a normal person so he opted to break into my room every night with a spare key just to go stargazing

♡. hence, my tag for him being 'star!'

♡. will never admit it but he's a huge huge bookworm. spends lots of time cooped up in the library which is god knows where in the stupid manor, i've been living there for like 2 weeks now and i still don't know my way around. though i know that if miles isn't jamming out in his room he's either out with samson or sprawled out on one of the couches with his nose shoved in some dusty thriller novel

the nickname he gave for me actually comes from a book ^^

"i'm sorry, uh, what won't do?"

the teen in front of me shrugged and walked a little closer. "your name. flora? we've already got a flora around here," he said, gesturing behind him to his younger sister "that's gonna make things a little complicated"

feeling a little embarrassed, i shrunk in on myself "oh, well, uh, sorry about that, uhm—" miles looked up as if he were pondering for a moment, mumbling my name to himself. "florelise, elise, florelise.. florie, lorie.. lorelei"

"what?" i quirked a brow at him "i'll call you lorelei, like lorelei lee from—" "gentlemen prefer blondes" he gave me a charming grin that sent off dozens of butterflies in my stomach

but then, i realized "wait a second, are you calling me a gold digger?" "dunno, am i?" and with that, miles walked backwards— into the next room, his figure disappearing upstairs

♡. wears jeans a lot, not only because yk they look good on him ig but also because they're quite strong. miles has a habit of scratching at his thighs and knees when he gets agitated, and it used to lead to some tears in his old pants or scratches on his skin

♡. knows how to use a gun. no i will not elaborate further upon this

♡. when he's not waking me up in the middle of the night by breaking into my room, he's waking me up at 4 in the motherfucking morning to the sound of him and his horse samson laughing and running around by my window

which, i'll admit, i did get out of bed early one or two times just to fondly watch him from my windowsill, trying to hide behind the pink curtains

♡. poor boy bottles up his feelings a lot :c given miles' history with anger issues n violence + the fact that he's filthy rich, he didn't have very many friends in any of the schools he went to ( aside from maybe the boys n girls who were all over him ) so he's just gotten used to letting all his anger out on his drums

♡. super fucking touch starved because of this. but he's spent so much time without anybody but flora and their governesses ( who always seem to go missing ) that he's never really known how to interact with people, aside from either babying and doting on them or making fun of them

i remember when we first met, i could tell he was trying to be nice to me, he just didn't know how, so he ended up coming across as flirtatiously snarky? i thought it was his own spin on 'bad boy charm' but no it's genuinely his lack of social skills

♡. often uses spiders as a way to touch people because, again, he just doesn't know how to communicate the fact that he wants to hold me

the hair on my neck was rising, i couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me, and it didn't help that the study was quite cold as the sun was beginning to set

and then, i felt it. a pair of bony arms snaking their way around my waist. a soft "hey there sunshine" whispered into my ear

i didn't even flinch, instead relishing in the feeling for a moment, having grown used to the random displays of affection the weird boy would offer. "miles, what are you doing? i didn't even hear you coming"

silence fell upon us for a few seconds, i could've sworn he was pressing his face into my stomach, and.. his grip on me was getting tighter? before he pulled away, cheeky grin back on his face

"i just saved you from this little guy!" he announced proudly, lifting up his hand to show a small spider crawling along the back. i fought the urge to flinch away as i looked up at him "right, yeah, no. there was no spider on me"

his eyes got all wide and his lips formed a pout, that same look when he was trying to manipulate flora into playing along with his jokes "how would you know, silly, you had your face buried in that book!"

deciding to play along, despite both of us knowing that he had the spider in his pocket just for an excuse to snuggle up with me for a few seconds "i guess so, thanks miles"

♡. he's a huge lover of waffles. yes, exclusively waffles. it only ever will be waffles. will literally whine and cry if he gets pancakes for breakfast because "the syrup doesn't stick to it! it has no ridges, so it just slides off!" which is honestly super valid, i was shocked when he made that point during breakfast

♡. painfully obvious liar. either his excuse is complete bullshit or he cannot meet you in the eyes when he lies. it's honestly quite cute in circumstances like when he's telling me that my outfit looks weird and he just can't bring himself to make eye contact with me. he looks so kissable negl

♡. can i just say that miles is the best brother ever? well, maybe not the best best but, he's done so much for flora. he's never made fun of her for her fear of going out, is so super duper patient with her, is so nurturing and kind and overall just amazing to his sister

♡. miles is honestly a sweet sweet boy, according to the stuff that mrs. grose tells me. though, to be honest, she's not that much of a reliable resource, but i won't complain

she told me stories from before he was corrupted at the hands of quint. how he was terrified of spiders and horses, how he was always the one who made morning coffee for his parents, how his face would flush red and hide when someone so much as looked at him for a few seconds

♡. and y'know? sometimes, i still see that boy, in the moments when he shares his secret stargazing spot with me, in the moments when he hesitates before hopping on samson, in the moments when he makes me and flora hot chocolate on a cold rainy day. he's still in there

in conclusion, miles fairchild quit being stubborn and choose me i can fix you i swear /hj

tagging my girlies @msdiorlvr & @baby-ditzzy bc ik they're waiting on this

#⠀💭 ۫⠀love letters.⠀୨୧⠀· ˚ 𓈒 #— nonnie ♡︎#꒰⠀file : the turning⠀꒱#star!#this was a result of many days of procrastination and brainrot #shifting #reality shifting #desired reality #shiftblr #miles fairchild #miles fairchild x reader #the turning #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #reality shift #mike wheeler #boris pavlikovsky

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cutiedwaekki · 7 months

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mr policeman ♡

— hey mister policeman i don't want no trouble

Changbin x Seungmin

summary : Where a Changbin overwhelmed by work follows the recommendations of his colleague Seungmin. But should he have?

contain : weight gain , weight gain denial , mention of thight clothes , button popping , public humiliation (?) , police AU

A/n : GUYS I'M FINALLY ON HOLIDAY YESS and my arms is a bit better now so here is a long awaited fic that I had in my drafts ♡

Enjoy ♡

☆ミU^ェ^U☆ミ

—I fucking told my mom I'd be there tonight. She's gonna kill me. muttered the brunette as she filled out the paperwork they'd assigned him.

The District 9 police station seemed quiet, but it was full of officer just as passionate about their thirst for justice as they were about their work.

It's very simple: here, Seo Changbin, inspector, had to fill in the case file 143, since Jeongin, who was in charge of the case with him, had broken his arm by chasing the criminal.

The poor man was so stressed, and his poor mother kept sending him messages to make some blind dates for him. In fact, it was another date he'd missed that evening.

—Sunbae, you seem tense, are you okay? Asked then asked his colleague and office neighbor Seungmin.

The two of them had a Tom and Jerry kind of relationship, always bickering, but caring for each other only when things got really bad.

— Oh, it's nothing, but between my mother, the work I have to manage on top of Jeongin's chores and my neighbors who fuck every night, I think it'll be a miracle if I don't throw him in the Han River by the end of the week. The brunette massaged his temple , causing his friend to chuckle, and as if a light bulb had gone on above his head, he suggested something. I've got a good stress reliever I bet that could help. No sooner had he said this than Changbin turned his full attention to him. When I finish a file or feel I need it, I eat a praline, which motivates me to finish quickly and get my fix.

Changbin wasn't convinced, but no sooner had he mentioned it than Seungmin shoved a handful of pralines into his mouth, leaving Changbin to macerate them before swallowing. The sweet taste of the caramel that coated the peanut was a delight, an unimaginable sweetness, it was as if all his problems had vanished.

— See ? It works! exclaimed Seungmin proudly. Yes, I admit it, where did you buy them? Changbin asked curiously.

Seungmin simply smiled wryly, at least he had helped his friend to get better and was no longer preoccupied with his files or the messages his mother had sent telling him that Yeri's appointment was waiting for him.

☆ミU^ェ^U☆ミ

— And another box finished, it's time for what? Praline time. The brunette seemed to have acquired the happy habit of grunting an praline ever since Seungmin had told him about it. He wasn't going to admit it, but from the first day he'd gone to bought some directly, he'd only taken one packet, thinking that given his stress, one would be enough. But when after two days the whole pack was emptied without a single crumb, he went back to the store and took a stock so he'd never run out.

Because yes, one praline was never enough, you needed at least one pignet to get the taste in your mouth, like a lollipop that you suck until there's nothing left.

But is eating so much hard-boiled caramel-coated kosher good for your health when you spend eight hours a day sitting on a chair, doing administrative work to replace your colleague? Definitely not. And although Changbin was a really atheletic, muscular guy, the lack of exercise and time was starting to show. After all, if he had to manage on the runway and go to dates that in 99% took place at the restarant, no wonder he put on weight.

His figure was still just as toned, well, you could still see his broad shoulders, his big arms, but added to that bulging cheeks, a prominent belly to which were added love handles so big they fell to the sides of his uniform and an ass so round and juicy that Seungmin could have sworn he'd seen it wedged into his seat once.

But let's get back to the story. Changbin euphorically swallowing his praline fist

— one praline for this case, another because Changbinie wrote over 200 words, another for-

— Changbin-nim ... about pralines ...

—oh they are sweets fallen from the sky

— yes surely but how to say ... you look quite ... fat

Changbin almost choked on a praline as he glared at hil. How dare he call him fat, he wasn't, uh?

After a few long seconds of trying to sit up, catch his breath after that effort and eat another praline, he pointed at Seungmin. You ... how dare you call him fat, this is a place of work an not a recreation center.

But Seungmin wasn't even offended by these words, he just smirked, concluding with As you wish.

But honestly, Seungmin would be lying if he said this new Changbin didn't trigger something in him. After all, he'd always found him attractive and had already openly asked him out for a drink after work, but it had never gone any further. But now ... ... he found him seductive, sexy and hot as hell.

How could he resist?

☆ミU^ェ^Uミ

—Yes and so in case to this folder I thought- Hey oh Felix are you listening?

-Shh look, Changbin's trying to get out of his chair but he can't it's so cute

Effectively , in the meantime and from eating other bags of pralines, Changbin had put on even more weight, going from a muscular, athletic body to a simple ball of fat, so fat that he'd been on the official administrative charge ever since chase with a crimminal went wrong.

His belly was so massive that you could see it through his shirt, it was so big that it was always resting on his knees. His chest, which he often flaunted with pec movements, had also rounded out and looked bigger than a C or even a D cup . But the biggest thing was still his ass, still round and juicy, shaking with every step he took, now he couldn't take a step without waddling, letting his whole body shake from the shock of his body weight.

But did Changbin seem to notice? No, not so much as to stop his addiction to pralines or to waddle away, as he'd gone from tons of dates to almost none at all. Anyway, he didn't mind, he loved the peace and quiet now.

—Wow, we've got to get this on film. When Jeongin sees it later, he'll be hallucinating.

—Changbin-ah do you need help? Felix asked politely, amused by the scene.

-N-No .. hff... i-i'm fine and finally after an umpteenth effort to get his ass out of the seat, he'd managed to do it, he was both proud and surprised to see that half the office had their eyes on him, the former jock turned to a pig.

—What, do I have something on my face? But the only response he got was from Seungmin, who discreetly pointing his shirt. Indeed, all his efforts had led to his blouse giving way at the seams and popping a few buttons in the process. Come one Sunbae, I'll help you find a solution Seungmin walked over to him and led him to the shop where he hoped to find a solution.

☆ミU^ェ^U☆ミ

Seungmin offered one of the district's XL jackets, which was often lying around for those who had a clothing problem.

I mean, it's mostly when someone get a a coffee stain, but rippint his shirt to the only strength of his fatty body was a first

—Am I fat? Changbin asked, visibly confused, the only one not yet aware of it.

— honestly... yes, you are huge

But Changbin swallowed his saliva, his ego had just taken a hit and now I understood why Mum wouldn't give me a date anymore. Nobody wants to date a pig

—If you think like that, then yes. Changbin looked up at him, confused. His puzzled look denoted Seungmin's confident face.

So confident that he approached him and placed a kiss on his lips.

—If you're looking for someone who wants to date this pig, call me.

Seunglin so left without saying a word

Changbin was perplexed and impressed by what had happened in the last few minutes.

Wait-

Seungmin was asking him out?

#weight gain #my fic #my fics #kinktober 2023 #skz chubby

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inevitablysomber-dark · 2 years

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Idea (Lloyd Hansen)

Warning: Sexual themes, dubiously consensual themes. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY! Minor DNI!

Summary: Lloyd has bullied you throughout your childhood, but it seems that he's taken a different approach at vying for your attention in university.

Author's Note: This is something that I've been sitting on for a while, I found it in my drafts and since I'm not really working on it at the moment, I figured I could just share the outline and see how it's received.

Bully!Lloyd Hansen x Reader

You've known Lloyd since grammar school, and for the longest time, he'd taken it upon himself to be your personal bully through high school.

The Bullying got so bad that you were sure you developed some kind of PTSD from it because everything about him triggered fear in you.

His Presence

His Voice

And in High School, his cologne.

When your senior year hit, you were more excited than anyone else to leave and move on to University.

For the previous 4 years, you'd busted your ass to make sure you would end up at a school that you knew Lloyd wouldn't attend. You drive intensifying with every insult, prank, or joke on your behalf.

And you did it

You got accepted to Harvard University on a partial and conditional scholarship.

Before moving out to Massachusetts, you have all your ducks in a row.

Classes registered, check

Work Study enlisted, check

Part-Time Job employed, check

Extracurriculars researched and ready to apply, check

You refused to repeat your childhood. Being the shy little lamb that you were, you thoroughly planned to break out of your shell and become a fierce bobcat,

The first week was hectic, but you expected and prepared for this, it took about a month to catch your footing in your schedule, and by the second month, you were growing and thriving into the adult you'd always hoped to be

Lloyd wasn't there to ruin anything, so you worked tirelessly to make sure you had the best experience you could at college.

You even experienced fun outside campus, at bars, parties, and houses.

Unfortunately, the fun didn't last.

While in line waiting for your usual drink, Someone called out your name as if it were to make sure it was you.

The voice was eerily familiar, so you turned to ensure your ears were deceiving you.

Unfortunately, they weren't

It was Lloyd, and he greeted you as if you were old friends, as if he didn't spend his childhood making your life miserable.

Lloyd got to Harvard, full-ride, on a football scholarship.

You were fucking livid.

Of course, your luck was shit enough to have your bully follow you into University. Still, you figured, if you hadn't seen him till then, you couldn't bump into him any more often, right?

Wrong

Since that unfateful day, it was as if the stars were aligned to ensure you bumped into each other more often.

Every day, you were constantly bumping into each, and he spoke to you as if you didn't hate his guts.

��When the school year dragged into the next semester, you keeled over when you realized you had 3 classes with him, and in each of those classes, he made sure to sit next to you and engage. Including himself in your study sessions.

As time went on, although you didn't realize it, he was overtaking your life; you were hanging out and attending parties.

Lloyd seemed to genuinely enjoy your company, and his strong presence made it difficult to deny him. Unfortunately, because of this, you end up shrinking back to your shy and timid self.

He also started getting a bit more handsy.

Tickling you more often, long hugs, cuddling, even giving what he likes to call "playful hickeys" because 'they don't mean anything; I'm just messing with you

The whole thing just made you so uncomfortable.

One day you were both watching a movie together, and Lloyd somehow snuck himself between your legs and decided to press his lips to your neck to give you another "Playful Hickey" You tried to push him off, as usual, trying to provide the movie with some attention, but he didn't budge

So you just gave in like you always did, but something about this time was different; he wrapped his arms around your body and squeezed you tight.

He adjusts himself a bit, and you can feel his hardness against you the next thing you know.

You still praying it was an accident, but it's not.

He starts grinding his crotch into yours, building friction, removing his lips from your neck and gently placing them on yours.

How did you get here?

You couldn't stand the man, and now he was using your body to get off?

#Lloyd Hansen #dark fics #bully! Lloyd Hansen x Reader #The Gray Man #dark! Lloyd Hansen x Reader #outline

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who-is-page · 3 months

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I'm ✨~ pranking my partner ~ ✨ and YOU can help!

Disclaimer / TL;DR: This is, fundamentally, an extremely silly prank where I want to buy my partner a MtG deck he'll love, swap out his normal deck for his dream deck, challenge him to a match, and then watch his face light up in delight when he realizes.

(And then I want to watch his face fall into despair as I kick his ass in card games, revealing that I've also swapped out my normal deck for my dream deck! Surprise, motherfucker! Multi-part PRANK! ...but this Ko-Fi is specifically for raising money for his deck, not mine.)

My spouse's current hyperfixation is Magic the Gathering and, naturally, he's in the process of roping our whole polycule into all kinds of delighted card game mishaps and mayhem. His enthusiasm for the game is downright infectious, and I'm not saying that just because most of us are in love with him, either.

My partner and I lost our first Magic decks back when we were crossing the Florida peninsula to get away from Irma in 2017. He lost his Liliana deck; I lost my werewolf deck. We didn't end up buying any new physical cards for around five years, because... well, as corny as it sounds, it's really, really upsetting to lose a deck of cards you've bonded to and have had some really great times with! Hell, it still kind of makes my heart ache to think about, wondering where those cards could be. It's like the emotional equivalency of getting all your data on a game erased after hundreds of hours of playtime. Like, sure, you could replay it (or in this case, purchase new versions of the decks), but it really wouldn't be the same and might just feel like salt in the wound. We were also broke college kids at the time, so we couldn't afford to spend that much money frivolously-- the decks had skyrocketed in price, since it had been just long enough for them to be out of print, so the only people selling them had them at a huge mark-up. (And even now, I think his old Liliana deck is selling for like...$250+. Ouch. I think we splurged and spent like $20 on it when we first got it, for comparisons.)

We'd finally gotten some new decks in the last year, and we started playing on the Magic the Gathering Arena app. The new physical decks are honestly lovely, don't get me wrong, but none of them jive quite the same as our old decks did. My partner, recognizing this, drafted us both up our 🌟ideal decks 🌟 on the app, so we could have fun playing the physical game with the cards we've got AND could still have decks handmade for us that we've bonded to through trial and tribulation. It was super sweet and thoughtful of him to do, especially since none of the decks we physically own are any of my color combinations, and I sometimes get really frustrated playing them.

(For those of you familiar with Magic's color combos, I'm a red/green player who usually prefers werewolves, dinosaurs, and dragons. We have a blue/black fairy deck that I usually wind up with, and a white/blue spirit deck that I'll sometimes use. They're not bad decks by any means, but holy shit is it not my preferred play style.)

BUT THEN I HAD AN EPIPHANY.

I am no longer a homeless college student, having to manage every penny with sniper-like precision and having to make sure that I'm always able to carry my home on my back! I'm a settled adult, in a house with my polycule, with reliable income! If I really want to, I can purchase all the individual cards in our decks!

But here's the thing. My spouse is the king of pranks. We were best friends all throughout high school and when we first started dating and then living together, the jokes and shenanigans only intensified. (Living together with your partner is great because it's like an infinite sleep-over. I am so serious.) So I thought, wouldn't it be funny as hell if I buy his dream deck, swap it out with his normal deck without him noticing, challenge him to a card game, and then watch his face TOTALLY LIGHT UP when he realizes what I've done?

And wouldn't it be fucking hilarious if I also get my own dream deck--which normally kicks his ass in the app when we play together--sneak it into that match, and the totally demolish him??? CAN YOU IMAGINE HIS FACE????

(For background information, I lose a good 80% or more of our physical matches, because I am not a good blue player and he is an excellent vampire player. So this is also some minor catharsis for me.)

So, yeah: the Ko-Fi goal is what I'm hoping to raise to financially soften the blow of purchasing my partner's deck! I have no idea what the cost is going to look like for his, since I still need to sneak my way onto his app and download his decklist, but I'm hoping that $200 will be enough to cover his 100-card deck, since it looks like that's how much I'll need to squirrel away for my own.

#personal #ko-fi #MtG

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blindedguilt · 4 months

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It's been quiet for some time, Leonard had noticed — not unlike the time he spent in the forest. It left him feeling some way he couldn't exactly tell. Was it unease? Possible loneliness? Either one was a feeling he hadn't expected to come back in such a way, but similarly, again, it had dug up a familiar memory of the forest...

Having finished tending to the small bonfire where he sat, Leonard's shoulders dropped and his head leaned back. For the first time since his pact — since meeting Seere — he wished he could be relieved of his blindness if only to confirm he wasn't alone as he thought he was.

The bonfire's warmth kept him comfortable, at least, as did the hope of the momentary thought that echoed throughout his mind: Time would tell.

//So this isn't an easy decision, but after a couple weeks of mulling it over, I've decided to put this blog into semi-permanent hiatus - basically, if things change either with the state of the RPC or my motivation to write I'll be more than eager to return, though it does seem unlikely.

//Things have been quiet lately, and it's of course by no means anyone's fault for being quiet!! (I can't blame them, life and Tumblr bullshit have taken a toll on a large portion of the RPC as a whole lately) But in the end, I think it had more of an effect on my motivation to write than even I expected. I tried for the past year or so to "Get back on my feet", as even now I deeply miss Leonard and being able to write him, but evidentially, I haven't gotten very far QwQ

//That said!! While this could be it for this blog, if anyone wants to discuss plans for plotting or even just chatting over Discord (At the end of the post), lemme know! One of the hardest things about the choice to leave this blog behind is definitely the loss of community that comes with it, there were a lot of people who followed me and that I briefly spoke to these past months who I don't want to cut off a potential friendship with just because of my own personal circumstances!

//And going onto that topic, I won't be shutting down or removing any current drafts or asks in my inbox in the event I ever magically DO get motivation to write again or something changes, and of course, that in turn means the blog itself will be staying as well!! You might have guessed, it goes without saying that this blog and the interactions on it mean a great deal not to just me, but (At least I hope!!) some of you. It's also a bit of why I wanted to "wrap up" the blog with the in-character piece at the top, even given my issues with writing (I may add to it to make it feel more "complete", given I kinda don't like how half-assed it feels currently), it just didn't feel fair to go for what could be forever without letting him speak his final piece. :,)

//I won't spend too long waxing out all the sentimentals, but I've stated over and over how when I first made this blog, I really wasn't expecting it to last much more than a couple weeks before moving onto another character. It's kind of impossible for me to state just how much this blog and all the experiences on it mean to me personally and the impact it's left, both personally, as I mentioned before, but also in my enjoyment and love for Drakengard 1 and 2 and Leonard's character specifically! Being able to dive into his mind and find someone I can put together so easy with such a well-constructed tragedy, it's not much of an overstatement to say that ironically, being able to play and put my own mind and problems away for one I not only cared to look into, but one I could more easily pick apart and explain the actions of while being layered enough and having enough facets to make it interesting. Leonard in a lot of ways was and is a sort of second life for me, but in a way I didn't have to deal with the burden of having a psychical body or firsthand perspective! lmao

//And not to be sounding all overdramatic or anything but as I said, it's letting go of not just what feels sort of like a little hideout or small part of me I like to nurture and keep from falling into rot, but this blog is some of the most fun I've had in a horribly otherwise busy, yes, but very mundane outside life. It's sort of pathetic to admit, but I mean it in the best way I can when I say I haven't really gotten so emotionally engaged with anything in a long time. Just the small interactions and memorable snippets from this blog, both from long-standing partners, people who fell off, or even people I just spoke to once and then never again still play over in my head and definitely spark a lot of joy when I really need it! I'll be honest, there's not one day that goes by where I don't think of at least one interaction I've had here. I remember my pain at being in a different timezone and always falling behind the drama before I went to the US and could finally catch up. To update on that: I'm not doing too well in the US in all honesty, but I'm doing my best to get on my feet and making progress!! One of the first things I always did in difficult situations was, unironically, use this blog to reference some old posts and memes to laugh and think about all the new connections, subplots, and jokes that were going to be shared.

//I guess the final point I'd like to make is a short one, but a major argument I had against shutting down when the thought first entered my mind, and the hardest part of all this is the loss of potentiality. I had a lot planned for Leonard, both things that I actively wanted to do and just general questions of "What kind of people will he meet with next? What will he think of them, and how long will they get to develop with each other?" The thought both of meeting new people and the interactions that could be shared with them, as well as all the different interactions and shenanigans that I thought might be in store when the DOD RPC came back was a major motivator in why I kept trying to fight my writer's block, and why I even kept this blog going for the past year with barely any activity to speak of. Even going on Discord, as you might imagine, can be limiting in its setup compared to just being able to search and see who's out there via tumblr - and joining communities can be quite an issue being a Leonard mun, specifically!!

//But either way, I'll be sure to find my way around it one way or another, and hopefully, by some divine miracle, I'll just end up back at this blog anyways!! Again, the chances are slim, but I'm really holding out here dskhffkdbhdkh

//I think that should be it based off what I wanted to say, Leonard's left nice and comfy at his campfire, and it's getting late so with ALL that said, if we've spoken or never have before (ESPECIALLY if we never have, I like to believe you followed for a reason so I'd love to speak to you so we can get to know each other better, plot, or just chat!!), please consider following me on Discord!! I'm usually on there, and always happy to talk (Unless I'm on Do not Disturb, but that's hardly ever lol):

//My discord is: barnabism

//Anyways, I apologise for the downer announcement, but this has been wracking my brain for the past few days so I'm at least glad just to get the hard part over with. :,)

//Thank you all for over two years of writing!! Please don't be afraid to reach out, and as always, if you have any questions, please ask!! ^^

#Important #||OOC||#{/man; im getting all emotional now lmao}#{/ive had this draaft open all day i literally have like 36 tumblr posts to catch up to now.....}#{/in the morning; though; im tired and have a doctors app early today}#{/posting this will hopefully get rid of some of the HUGE struggles I've been having in the past couple days; but... *crumples*}#{/I'M GONNA MISS YOU GUYS SO MUCHHHHH 😭😭}#{nevertheless! that is why I gave my Discord lmao}#{/Goodnight!! And as I said before; thank you all so much :'))

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toonpunk-game · 1 year

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Vehicle Overview

WOO! It’s been a minute since my last post here. Well, I can tell ya, it’s because this post was really, really complex to write. We’re talking about some heavy concepts, not just about gameplay. Let me get into it here.

So when I first drafted the vehicle rules, I’d already put the finishing touches on toonpunk first edition. It was my intention, once upon a time, to release these as an expansion pack; but that expansion pack ballooned up into a whole thing, and then there was a few parts of the core book I wanted to change, and now it’s just part of second edition. In a sense I prefer that: releasing it as part of a core book keeps it from being bolted-on. Players won’t have to dip back and forth between books, and there’s (theoretically) not going to be any dangling rules contradictions.

Vehicles have their own statlines and traits, which you guys are already familiar with from the way everything else works. I’ll let the text speak for itself once the book drops, but let’s talk for a moment about the philosophy behind this section. The idea behind this section stemmed out of a gameplay concept for which I’ve gotten a fair bit of flak. That being the idea of the “van guy”.

For as long as I’ve been developing toonpunk--even longer, actually, because I think this dates back to the first time I started playing roleplaying games--I was fascinated by the idea of the character who helps the crew tick along without being there on the frontlines. When you look at a typical roleplaying game setup everyone is some kind of hacker, gunslinger, ninja, wizard, or whatever. And those are all pretty exciting things to be, sure.

But you look a little closer at any gang of heroes or outlaws, and who do you see standing just behind them? You see Simon Pearson, Samwise Gamgee, Alfred Pennywise--someone who keeps the gang moving through their practical knowledge, while the “Heroic” stuff is mostly other people. Most of the time this critical supporting character stays back at the camp, or the lair, or wherever--so, in the case of a roving gang of cyberpunks, they are the “van guy”.

Everyone seems to agree those characters kick ass. So why don’t more games let you play as them? Well, that’s what brings us to this. Read after the break for more.

The idea of a largely passive and supporting character, who helps the more combat-oriented characters mostly in a logistical and medical capacity, is something that really appealed to me. So the vehicular customization and functionality of Toonpunk grew up out of the idea that this character would have a customizable safe haven, where they help the other characters--being an in the sky, their invisible hand--who would spend most of any given game session watching and waiting, coming in clutch with some obscure skill when they’re needed most. In the book, this role is called “The Founder of the Feast”.

My old co-conspirator pushed hard back on that character concept, categorically denying that anyone could ever find it fun. Me personally, I’m all about it. I love being kind of an invisible hand. Let me show you some of the tricks they get to play around with using the new vehicle section. On one hand, you’ve got things that let you support your teammates’ abilities, like this:

And then there’s some things that let you take center stage, like this.

But all of this is pretty simple. What made this part so difficult to write about? Well, because, simply put--it wasn’t enough, for me, for players to just drive cars. Toonpunk is a game about being a weird wacky character in an impossibly banal fucked-up world. One of the things I wanted--and this was another thing my old editor pushed back hard against--was for players to be able to play as talking cars and weapons. The hard part wasn’t drafting these rules on how vehicles would work; the hard part was figuring out how to integrate them into character creation.

Well, I did that part.

But then I had another, harder thing to do, which I haven’t actually done yet: which is figure out whether or not I actually should include this in the core manual. I like this idea a lot, mind you, there’s some fun stuff in here--we got acidic window-washer fluid, we got unhinging your grille and devouring people whole, we got doing really funny movements to tip-toe yourself through small places--but the core manual is already up to 210 pages and this’ll take on 30 more. So, for the last month and a half, I’ve been drafting, writing, and repeating this process in an attempt to make this thing slim enough to justify including in core but also robust enough to be worth doing.

And so far I’m not really satisfied with what I have. So this devlog ended up being late, and not having as much to show as I really would’ve liked. Sorry about that. But this does have a question, for all you out there in the audience.

Do YOU think this is worth putting into core, even if it beefs up the book? Or do you think this would be better served as a small supplement? I dunno, so...maybe you all do!

#game development #tabletop game #cyberpunk #Cartoons #cars

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dean’s Jeans 2

What better day to post a sweet little family oneshot than Mother’s Day? This is the same setup as Dean’s Jeans, just a different late summer afternoon on your cul-de-sac with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and their cousin DJ. I already have bare-bones drafts of a few other installments for these cuties, especially considering this one got a little deeper than I had intended. Stay tuned!

Title: Dean’s Jeans 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5561

Summary: Spending the afternoon working on the driveway with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and nephew.

Warnings: fluff, some family angst, minor injury, little dollop of smut at the end

It was a big day for driveways and garages.

You had been sitting in the apron of Sam’s drawing loopy pastel paths with DJ and your eldest daughter for your youngest to roll her cousin’s old matchbox cars down, watching adoringly as everyone’s palms and knees got covered in chalk dust. When the concrete was relatively full and the older two started getting a little antsy, you decided to try to stave off any bored bickering ahead of time.

“Babe, is our garage unlocked?” you called over to Dean where he was trying to snake an extension cord out of Sam’s front door and down the porch.

“Should be. Why, what’s up?”

“I thought maybe DJ could take Picasso here over to the park to break in her new bike.” You turned to your nephew, sitting with his arms resting on his knees. He was just barely starting to fill out around the delicate Winchester features that had made him such an angelic looking child, the angle of his jaw seeming to sharpen every day, growing rapidly though you might still be able to throw him over your shoulder in a pinch. Hopefully it was a sign that he wasn’t destined for the late puberty you knew had frustrated Sam so much when he was younger; at least he could have one gift from his other parent, lost otherwise to the wind without as much as a periodic birthday card. Not the time for that thought, you reminded yourself, refocusing on the child’s glossy hair, carbon copy of his father’s with sun-lightened tips this late into summer. Dean would’ve taken him to get a haircut about a month ago, but as you and Sam both reminded him: not his hair, not his kid. It made you smile and likely made Sam proud that at his age, where so many kids were rebelling against their parents, DJ didn’t mind looking exactly like his dad. Somehow you had a hard time believing Sam would want to rush that process of teenage rebellion along. “What do you think, Deej?”

Your elder daughter squealed and threw her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him onto the driveway. “Please please? Maybe Sarah and Davey can come too.” Her inclusion of the Fiore siblings into the mix was smart. They lived between your cul de sac and the park and were pretty similar in age to DJ and your older daughter. You suspected she thought on some level that DJ was on the cusp of being too cool to hang out with his baby cousin, but hanging out with the Fiores as a group gave them a little more social grace. Hopefully she’d realize, as you had, that DJ absolutely adored her and would likely rather catch some flack from his peers than drift apart.

“Yeah but I’m not carrying your bike up the hill if your legs get tired,” he grinned at his cousin, who immediately took off across the street to get her bike from the garage.

Sam and Dean had to move their whole setup from in front of Sam’s garage door so DJ could get his own bike out, the step ladder, extension cord, and electric drill going into the lawn next to the rest of their project, the basketball hoop. He almost got to the end of the driveway, swinging his leg over the seat, before Sam stopped him. “Nice try. Helmet, please,” he called out after his son, who reluctantly dropped the mountain bike onto the pavement and trudged back into the garage to pull a sticker-covered helmet out of a box and throw it on his head. By the time he made it into the street his cousin had done the same, yelling out over her shoulder for you to Mommypleaseclosethegaragethankyou as she tried to pump petite legs to keep up.

You were thankful that your youngest seemed to be fully engrossed in the chalk patterns on the driveway and hadn’t seemed to notice the other kids’ leaving, not interested in having an argument about whether she was too little or not to go with them alone. Trusting the older kids or not, she was small and curious in a way that led to her sometimes running off to explore, and you didn’t want to add that into the mix. After a while, she picked up the green again, moving up the driveway to draw a picture of a dragon and immediately swipe hair out of her face, covering it with fluorescent dust. She got to her feet, and the amount of colorful powder on her made you beyond thankful that it was Dean’s turn to give her a bath that night. Crossing the driveway in a few skittering steps, she wrapped herself around Dean’s legs, practically leaving a silhouette imprint of herself on his jeans as he ruffled her hair. The way they had worn out and lost much of their dye over the years highlighted the contrast.

“Daddy, come look! It’s a dragon!”

Dean and Sam exchanged a smirk and Dean winked at you. “A dragon? Sounds scary.”

“No, he’s a nice dragon,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the driveway, leaving Sam to drill holes into the wood above his garage door.

“A nice dragon, huh? What’s his name?” Dean asked, grinning as he let her lead him.

“Maurice,” she said, so matter of fact it made you laugh out loud. Sam did too, pulling the drill out of the wall to keep from wiggling the holes. “Can you do the fire?”

“’Course I can, princess. How big are we talking?” He eased down to sit cross-legged next to Maurice The Dragon, accepting when you offered him yellow and orange sticks of chalk. You leaned back in the afternoon sun with a lap full of matchbox cars listening to the radio Sam had brought out to the porch, the chalk scratching on the concrete, and the rhythmic drilling of holes into siding for a few minutes.

“Dean?” Sam asked, backing down the step ladder.

“Got it,” he answered, putting a little flair on a lick of fire that went around Maurice’s nose and handing your daughter the chalk. “I need to help Uncle Sammy for a minute but I can come right back, sound fair? Your mom is better at scales anyway.” The girl seemed to consider it for a second then pouted her lips out in agreement, tilting her head to the side just like her dad did all the time. Dean got up creakily and brushed off his hands on his back pockets, the orange joining the other stains like an abstract painting.

“You guys need any help?” you called over to Sam, who was trying to stabilize the hoop with long arms and struggling a little bit to keep it balanced in the light wind, powerful muscles rippling in his forearms and impressing upon you how heavy it must truly be if even he was having trouble with it.

“Actually, yeah, that would be great,” he chuckled, jerking his chin to Dean to suggest his brother help him hold it up. He did, grabbing one side and having to reach up to his tip toes to match Sam’s stretch. They were both standing on a kind of bastardized stool Dean had thrown together for this purpose, a few planks of wood balanced on some huge cinderblocks that had been in the garden holding up one of Sam’s compost setups. “It’s just those 12 screws, holes should already be lined up.”

You climbed up on the ladder with the drill, having to crane to reach over even with the added height. When the last was in, the Winchesters carefully removed their hands. Seeing that it didn’t immediately fall, Dean grabbed the bottom corner and tried his best to rattle it to no avail. “Good job, babe,” he said, lightly smacking your ass as you backed down the ladder.

“Watch out,” Sam said over your shoulder, and you saw him walking backwards a handful of steps down the driveway, being cautious to avoid his niece and her drawings.

“Dude, there’s no way you can—” Dean started, cut off by Sam taking a running jump and leaping into the air, catching the rim of the hoop like nothing and doing a baby pull-up on the metal.

“Can what?” Sam cackled, punching Dean’s arm playfully as he dropped to the pavement. “Don’t be jealous, old man.”

“Jealous of Sasquatch? You can practically reach it standing, Lurch.”

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when you can get up there without a stool and a trampoline.”

You were giggling as Sam and Dean started putting all their tools way when DJ’s bike came flying around the corner. Neither he nor his cousin were wearing helmets, and she was wrapped around his chest like a novelty monkey backpack, her legs circling his waist and her arms clinging to his neck. He had to arch around her to see, but you could tell from the half-block length away that he was saying something to her. By the time they got close enough to get reprimanded for the lack of helmets, or for one of their dads to ask where the other bike was, you could hear the crying.

Sam crossed over to his son in long, purposeful strides, holding his handlebars so he could dismount without letting go of your daughter. “What happened?” he asked, taking the girl from DJ’s arms and smoothing her hair back with a soothing palm. As he turned, you could see the blood trickling down her raw knees and elbows.

DJ was visibly rattled, trying hard to calm his breathing down and tensing his bottom lip when it began to quiver. “Davey and I went down that big hill and, she—she was going too fast, and, um, she fell—I, I told her we could practice later but these guys were saying only babies couldn’t do it, I swear I didn’t know she would—” and then his voice broke, fat tears finally breaking through and crashing down his face. Sam nodded to you and Dean, murmuring some comforting things to your eldest as he carried her up the porch steps into his house. At the exact same time as if practiced—that same rapid, implicit communication they’d had on hunts now used to coordinate hugging their children in tandem, you thought to yourself—Dean wrapped his nephew up in a big bear hug, cradling the boy’s head and sweeping his hand up and down his back.

“Hey, come on, you’re okay. She’s okay, she’s just shaken up, kid. Shhh shhh shhh, hey, come on, deep breaths. You’re okay,” he hummed into DJ’s hair. He gave you a tight nod over the kid’s shoulder to keep drawing with your daughter. Only a few steps away, you could still hear him as he continued. “I’m so proud of you, Deej. Got her all the way home on your bike, that’s pretty badass.” He waited for a few moments of silence until his nephew caught his breath a little. “Probably scared you, right?” he asked, his voice low and calm as DJ nodded through tears into the growing wet spot on his uncle’s chest. “That’s okay, chief, I would’ve been freaked too.”

You noticed he was rocking a little, almost like he did when he was trying to get the girls to sleep as babies, and it really emphasized the way that no matter how wise DJ seemed or whatever signs of puberty he might be showing, he was still a child, still the same baby you’d fallen in love with when Sam had gotten that call however many years ago. It took a few more minutes for the crying to subside to hiccupping breaths and seeming to sense that the moment had passed in some way, your baby girl grabbed your hand gently. “Mommy, is DJ okay?”

“Yeah, sweetie. He was just scared for a minute.”

“That’s why he needs a hug?”

“Exactly. Everybody needs hugs sometimes.” Just as she had before when considering your ability to draw cartoon scales on a dragon named Maurice, she tilted her head and pouted in agreement. When you realized what she was about to do next you almost had to wipe a quick tear away yourself, watching her get up to hug DJ and sandwich him between herself and Dean.

“It’s okay, DJ,” she whispered, the high tender pitch of her voice like one of those unsettlingly extreme medieval harmonies with her dad’s but so much sweeter, the bright welcome sting of lemon juice in a dense poundcake.

A moment later, Sam came out onto the porch with his eldest niece. One of her knees was wrapped in gauze but the other and both elbows had what looked from the driveway like a collage of Spiderman band aids. Sam appeared to have a matching one on his forehead, and both of them were giggling, though her eyes still looked a little puffy and red.

Dean looked up and turned DJ to see both of them, cradling the back of DJ’s head in one palm. “See? She’s okay, just needed a couple band aids.”

Sam winked at his brother as he walked over and patted his son on the back, taking the band aid off his forehead as he went. “Buddy, we’re going to go grab the bike and your helmets. Is there anything else you think you left at the park?”

His son shook his head up at his dad and leaned back from Dean’s embrace to rub his eyes. “Are you mad at me?” he croaked.

“Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?” Sam asked, crouching down to a squat to look up at DJ. You had noticed he tended to do this in sensitive moments with all the children, trying his best to seem less looming. The first time you’d identified it, it made you a little sick to your stomach, realizing it likely wasn’t part of how inherently good he was with kids but because he knew what it was like to have an angry man towering over you. Thinking of it now had the same effect, especially compounded by the emphasis Dean had put on telling DJ he was proud of him even if his daughter had gotten hurt, that he too knew a protective kid was still just a kid.

DJ sniffled hard once more, finally able to take a truly deep breath. “I didn’t wear my helmet home because I couldn’t see arou—”

“Aw, DJ. No way am I mad at you.” Sam hugged his son and stood up, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m proud of you for getting both of you guys home safe. That was really smart, to get her on the bike with you like that.” You caught DJ’s tiny smile of pride at his father’s praise, watched it deepen a touch as Sam kissed his hair again. “So just the helmets and the bike?”

He nodded and rubbed his eyes before peeking around Sam a little bit to see your daughter. “You’re really okay?” he asked, as though he didn’t trust the adults to be telling him the truth and would have to ascertain her safety for himself. You wondered if Sam and Dean would find that nice or insulting, that ultra-fierce, trust-but-verify loyalty.

She nodded sort of sheepishly. “Sorry I didn’t listen about the hill, DJ.”

“It’s okay.”

The moment seemed a bit heavy for a half-second before Sam wrapped a big hand around your daughter’s shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Let’s go find that bike.”

After helping Dean get his wheels back inside, DJ went up to his room. You had to resist the urge to follow him, cuddle up with him like you used to when he was small enough to tuck into your lap. If he wanted to be alone, he was old enough to decide that for himself. Dean put the rest of the tools and things from putting up the basketball hoop away and walked over to you where you were laying on the ground so your youngest daughter could trace your body with chalk.

“I think we need a pick-me-up around here. How do you feel about i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m for dinner?”

You smiled, knowing you only had a bit longer of these spelling secrets left as your baby got closer and closer to proficient reading age. “Works for me. I think we have 2 or 3 kinds in the garage freezer.”

He smirked down at you. “Can you bring him over in about 15 minutes? They should be back by then.”

You tossed him a thumbs up and watched him walk across the street, the way the denim draped around his bowed legs as he went.

It was only five or six minutes later when Sam came up to the driveway, jogging alongside your daughter with DJ’s helmet in his hand. Of course Sam would know that she needed to get back on that bike right away, and of course he’d come up with something to make her laugh all the way home, even if that meant he had to run the entire distance on a late summer afternoon. He was slightly out of breath when he helped her dismount in the driveway.

“My kid okay?” he asked, taking the other helmet so your daughter could go back to what was becoming a pretty spectacular chalk surrealist piece spanning the driveway.

“He’s in his room, I think he will be. Your brother’s got a very Dean style plan for dinner in a few minutes if you’re hungry.”

Sam looked down at his watch. “Yikes, I didn’t realize we were even close to dinnertime. Let me go wash my hands and grab DJ then we can go over together?”

“Sounds perfect to me. And hey—Sam? Make sure he knows everyone thinks he did the right thing.”

He nodded, and you watched his Adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallowed hard. Sam reached down and squeezed your hand, saying thank you without reopening the situation in front of the girls.

They came out a few minutes later, Sam in a fresh t-shirt and DJ looking a little more cheerful coiled into his dad’s side. You bundled up the girls and walked over to your house, tipping your head in thanks as Sam opened the door. The girls were the first to see the spread and took off squealing into the kitchen, where Dean had effectively set up a tiny ice cream shop on your kitchen island. Sprinkles of all different kinds, those 3 tubs of ice cream you’d been right to remember were in the freezer, syrups and whipped cream and cherries and bananas and even chopped up peanut butter cups and Butterfinger bars from the stash Dean hid from the kids. He was already handing out bowls before you got into the kitchen.

“Ah, ah! Hands need to be washed before anyone gets ice cream,” you insisted, shooting Dean a look of teasing reprimand.

He rolled his eyes to your oldest daughter, sending her giggling conspiratorially to the kitchen sink. DJ, presumably having already washed his hands at his place, helped your youngest daughter reach by picking her up to the faucet when her sister was done. You crossed over to Dean, kissing him on the cheek and grabbing his hands for inspection. “Babe, you’re literally covered in chalk.”

“You should be happy about me getting some extra calcium,” he winked, sticking out his tongue at you as you grabbed his ass on the way to the sink. “Mrs. Winchester!” he said in a faux-scandalized voice.

As you washed your hands Sam manned the ice cream scoop, doling out much bigger bowls than he would normally, seeming to know as Dean did that a little levity might help the events of the day pass faster. After all the kids doctored up heaping mounds of ice cream and toppings to beat the band, you and the Winchester brothers stood around the island while they piled onto the couch to find a movie they could all agree on.

“How’s our champ?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low.

Sam shook up a can of whipped cream as he spoke. “He’s okay. Just feels guilty, I think. He says he should’ve stopped her from going down the hill.”

“You think any kid of hers would’ve let someone tell her she couldn’t do anything?” Dean ribbed, accepting the gentle elbow you hit his side with.

“I know that, but you know what it’s like. I think once he sees she’s really okay and no one blames him then he’ll be fine.”

“Poor guy. Feels like that Winchester ‘weight of the world’ thing must be genetic.” You were partly joking but also partly not and they both knew it, looking pitiful and pitying for a beat before trying to cover with smiles. “He’s a great kid, Sam.”

“Pretty much feels like you guys raised him as much as I did, I should be thanking you,” he murmured, drawing a lattice of butterscotch syrup over his whipped cream.

You snaked an arm around his waist and gave him a sideways hug. “No, we’re lucky you let us know him.”

Sam bent over and pressed his lips to your hair. “Seriously, thank you. I’m—I don’t know where we’d be if we didn’t, you know, I mean if we—”

“Don’t strain yourself, Sammy,” Dean smiled affectionately, giving Sam a merciful out. “Tell you what, I sure wouldn’t have made it in damn Themyscira without you two around.”

Sam chuckled down at the counter while you disentangled your arms. You took the chocolate sprinkles from in front of him and scattered a few in your bowl. “Themyscira? The hell is that?”

Dean set down his ice cream exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes so hard he put a backwards bend in his spine, holding onto the island to keep his balance. “Babe. Themyscira. Home of the Amazons? Wonder Woman?”

“Riiiight. I forgot I was married to such a dork.”

“As long as you don’t forget how this ‘dork’ makes you screa—”

“Dude, enough,” Sam groaned, exasperated. Dean waggled his eyebrows at you as his brother followed into the living room with the kids, taking the opportunity of temporary privacy to slip his tongue along your neck where it sloped into your shoulder.

“Dean,” you hissed playfully, pushing his chest away from you. “They’re in the other room!”

“You taste like chalk,” he smirked, before holding your gaze for a gooier beat than you would’ve expected. His eyes softened and he glanced down. “Thank you for letting me—letting us—take that, today. I know you’re better at the Mommy Dearest stuff or whatever, but it sometimes feels like, ah, getting a redo?” He cleared his throat where it had gotten a little thick. “You know, um, like proving that it doesn’t have to be the same?”

It was a specific vulnerability he doesn’t often let you see, but you could tell by the softness both he and Sam had with all the kids, how they beat themselves up for days if they raised their voice for even a second, that they both thought about it all the time. In so many ways they were still those same little boys who wished they could’ve drawn on driveways with their parents, that their dad could’ve given them Spiderman band aids and told them everything was going to be okay.

He didn’t have to explain further, and you gripped his hand to tell him so. “They needed you two, not me. For what it’s worth, I think you guys were a pretty great team today.”

Dean smiled, and it was almost like the sleepy thankfulness he had on those nights when he got home and you’d charitably done a couple of his chores for him. He closed his eyes in invitation and you leaned forward, meeting his lips with the smell of ice cream in the air. “So come on, Super Dad. Let’s go watch a movie with these great kids everyone keeps talking about.”

The ice cream had gotten put back in the freezer immediately to keep it frozen, but the toppings had all been left out during School of Rock. Sam and DJ had left a bit after the movie, playing a round of LIFE that had been pretty ambitiously started, considering the time, and ultimately abandoned when all the kids’ yawns started to sync up. You came downstairs after trading with Dean for bath/shower duty to get out of cleaning up all the sticky dishes, the girls falling asleep too quickly for a bedtime story after you’d made sure they were thoroughly scrubbed clean and any wet gauze was replaced.

He was rinsing some bowls in the sink, the majority of the toppings slid to one side of the now wiped-down island. You sauntered up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder. “Your jeans are still covered in chalk,” you sighed into his neck.

“Your kid was practically using them as a napkin, so I’m not surprised.”

“Like father, like daughter.”

You felt the rumble of his laugh through your chest where you were pressed up against his back. “Can’t argue with that. They asleep?”

“You’d think I drugged them.”

He chuckled again, putting down the last bowl in the sink and shutting off the water before drying his hands on a dishtowel deliberately. When he turned around, his face was inches from yours. “Is that right?” he asked, and his voice was as smooth and silky as any caramel drizzle you could’ve eaten that night. You nodded into a smile as Dean slid a washing-warmed hand to the nape of your neck and wound into the hair there, pulling you into him where he leaned against the sink and slipped his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like maraschino cherry and chocolate and you pushed up into his kiss hard, jamming him into the counter in a way that made him groan into you, tug that hair tighter. “Careful, baby. Been thinking about scandalizing the mother of my children for hours,” he growled, smirking through a voice rough like the sandpaper calluses of his hands.

You bit his bottom lip and dragged it back, leaning away from Dean just enough to reach over to the island behind you, finding the whipped cream and starting to shake it fast. “That’s funny, because I’ve just been thinking about sundaes,” you purred into his ear, nipping at his earlobe before tipping back. Dean’s eyes practically glittered as his pupils blew wide. His shirt was off so fast you almost didn’t see it, feeling like you blinked and opened your eyes to him already yanking his belt open to shuck off those chalk-covered torn jeans. Before he could, you turned over the whipped cream on top of his collarbone, dripping a stream of white foam down his chest and letting it drift for a second, melt down his skin then lapping it up with a tongue flattened wide. You shook the can again, draping a strip onto Dean’s stomach that trailed to his belly button and laying a palm on his chest, leaning him back to the counter on his elbows to watch as you licked the whipped cream with lazy swirls until you were at the hem of his boxers, sinking to your knees and taking them down his legs along with his now-opened jeans. He was already hard as rock when you took him in your palm, laying one last spray of whipped cream along the length of him and humming in delight at the “holy shi—” that punched out of Dean and fizzled into the ether when you sucked it off.

It was only a few minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore, bending down to kiss you rough and dirty, tongue darting out to get the little dribbles of cream around the corners of your mouth and dragging you to your feet. With one hand Dean flicked open your jeans, using the freed slack to dive into your panties, middle finger dipping into you as he held your jaw with the other palm. He breathed hot and sticky along your jugular. “Not even close to how wet I want you.” The viscous pour of his words onto your neck sent goosebumps spreading over your skin in a delicate fan and you couldn’t help but smile as he scooped under your thighs and lifted you easily onto the island, slipping the denim off your legs as the same time he stepped out of his. You relaxed onto your elbows, watching those long eyelashes drift open and closed as his kissed a path down your abdomen, gripping handfuls of your t-shirt to get to skin. A lazy hand offered Dean the can of whipped cream.

The smirk he gave you, bare shoulders between your thighs as he kneeled on the kitchen floor, might as well have been through a time machine for the way it made you see the cocky playboy you’d first met over a decade ago, before the faint wrinkles of years in sunny cars and staying up nights with colicky babies that accessorized his big doe eyes now. It had the same effect on you in a t-shirt that was older than DJ as it had when you were pounding through shots with eyeliner artfully smudged by the power of hangovers: pooling all the blood in your stomach and making you lightheaded. He slowly bit his bottom lip. “You taste way too good to be adding anything,” he rumbled, and when you threw your head back in a shaky laugh his tongue reminded you exactly why smudged-eyeliner girl was ready to drop her independence, jump in the Impala and follow that mouth to the end of the world.

Dean built the earth up and cracked it into pieces beneath you twice perched on that kitchen island before grabbing the counter edge to haul himself up. “Were these tiles always so fucking hard? Feel like I just took a hammer to the kneecaps.” He shook out each of his bare legs, spring of his erect cock as he did looking silly and out of place with the glisten of his lips and chin, the sultry cast of his eyelashes on angled cheekbones. The juxtaposition made you laugh, breathy as it was with muscles that had been turned to jello, thrown in a blender, and scattered about the room by the deft movements of Dean’s tongue and fingers.

“You’re thinking about your knees right now?”

“That’s how hard these fucking tiles are,” Dean chuckled, deep and still sexy somehow, bending forward to catch your lips. When you reached down to stroke him, a hand wrapped around your wrist. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, I’m nowhere near done with you,” he murmured through kisses, a shade of playful challenge in his throat.

You giggled, leaning back as he dragged a wet path of suction down your neck. “I don’t want to torture those legs, old man.” Running a hand through hair you’d sent spiking in all directions in your writhing, you dragged Dean’s head back on his neck, giving you a chance to meet his eyes, still the same dusted olive they’d been since that first wink. Long past the honeymoon stage when it was appropriate to do that kind of thing, you’d been content to spend hours searching them, cataloguing every spindly muscle of iris for posterity, trying to gather up every grain of him for when he inevitably was lost forever to a hunt or the solitude of the road.

But here he was still.

Here you were still. Living a life—living two selves—you never thought you’d get, lucky to have grown in and around each other like mangrove roots. Those eyes still every inch as beautiful, every spark of that electric heat still there now cloaked in layer after layer of what you’d built together: the complete trust and fanatical admiration he had of you flowing out like fountains of sunlight, strong enough they streamed through any raunchy waggle of his eyebrows.

No time to think about it now with a hungry coil of desire tightening in your stomach. You traced the length of him with your fingertips, feather-light and teasing. “If you give me fifteen seconds to get my sea legs back I’ll show you who’s got tougher knees.”

“All right, that’s it,” Dean said. He tipped his head forward and bit your bottom lip with that impossible pressure that made you whimper. “I’ll show you how old these knees are.”

Before you could react, he’d put his shoulder below your sternum and thrown you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. When you squealed he smacked your ass. “You’re going to wake up the girls,” he buzzed, starting toward your bedroom without a stitch of clothing on, you draped over his back.

“Dean, Jesus Christ,” you giggled. “Get the clothes at least!”

“Don’t need any jeans for what I’ve got planned—quit—squirming—or I’ll give you something to squirm about,” he continued, lowering his voice to a lascivious whisper and giving one of your upper thighs an impish bite as he headed up the stairs.

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no-pucks-given · 3 years

Text

ANTHONY BEAUVILLIER | THE WAY BACK HOME

A/N: Honestly the amount of excitement I received from people when I told them what I’m working on has been amazing. From brainstorming in the middle of the night to finding ‘the perfect sentence’ during dinner, it’s been one hell of a ride together. So thank you to anyone who shared my excitement over this story. I hope you all enjoy this one as much as I did!

Warnings: Angst, a lot of tears, some swearwords, soft Tito.

Word Count: 5.8K

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. They say time will heal all wounds. They say all kinds of things, but you know deep down they aren’t true, it isn’t that easy. Your chest still tightens almost painfully every time his name comes up, every time you hear something, anything about him. It hurts, even after all these years apart.

It wasn’t a mutual decision to break things off, it was your decision. A decision that until this day is the hardest one you ever made, still doubting if you made the right choice. It seemed like the most logical solution, break things off with Anthony so you can see more of the world. Anthony was already drafted, playing his ass off in the league to prove himself. You didn’t and couldn’t ask him to give that up, it was his dream. Just like it was your dream to travel the world and see all the amazing things this planet had to offer.

You can remember the conversation you had with Anthony word by word. It still haunts you, it still makes unwanted appearances in your dreams, nightmares, everywhere. He begged you, oh he begged you to stay, to try long distance, to try anything except breaking up. You cried, trying to get him to see your point, trying to convince him letting go was the right option, even though you weren’t truly convinced yourself.

It was the hardest thing you ever did, leaving both of you heartbroken. His face, swollen eyes, tears streaming down his face still make you tear up whenever it pops back into your mind. Opening the door of your apartment and closing it behind you broke you. Leaving behind the guy you were hopelessly in love with, the guy you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, your soulmate, it was an experience you don’t wish upon anyone. It wrecked you, closing the door, not only to your apartment, but also to him, to his heart, and even to your own heart.

You broke his heart that day, breaking your own in the process. Never, not even a minute, you felt whole again. It always felt like there was something missing and you knew what it was. It was him. You missed him all those years ago, and you still miss him now. Nothing changed for you, your feelings for Anthony haven’t changed. You still love him as much as you did when you were in a relationship with him.

You can’t help but wonder if he ever thinks about you. Do you ever cross his mind? Does his chest still tighten when you come up in a conversation? Does he still scroll through the endless pictures trying to remember all the good times you two shared? Because you do, every damn time. Anthony is like a ghost of your past, always present, never leaving you alone. You’re not even sure if you want him to leave you alone at this point. You’d rather have those memories, those feelings, those pictures than nothing.

It would mean that it’s over for real, and that’s something you aren’t ready for yet. It might sound stupid, keeping hope after all these years. But it’s the one thing that kept you going after you realized your massive mistake. Often you wonder if it’s all been worth it. You traveled the world, visited all the places you dreamed of, ate all the crazy things you could imagine, but you did it all alone. You did everything without him. Sure, you made friends along the way, but it’s different.

It has never been the same, you barely remember what life before Anthony felt like. You sure as hell know how life after Anthony feels like, and you hate every single second of it. As soon as the adrenaline, the thrill of traveling alone wore off you knew. You knew you fucked up, you fucked up big time.

You’ve come to the conclusion you should’ve handled things differently. You try to blame it on yourself, you even try to blame it on Anthony even though you know that isn’t fair, you try to come up with a reasonable explanation, but you were just young and stupid. Oh, you were so stupid. How could you let him go like that? Why did you let him go like that? You could scream, yell, cry, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. Why? Why did you have to do it that way?

Your mind doesn’t stop thinking tonight, making it awfully hard to fall asleep. You twist and turn, utterly frustrated with yourself. Another night spent looking at your ceiling, thinking about everything that could’ve been. It’s almost a habit now, torturing yourself with memories and scenarios that won’t ever happen. You royally fucked up and this is how you cope. Healthy? Nope, definitely not, but it does feel like you deserve this.

You’ve been back in New York for a few weeks, deciding to stop traveling after almost 3 years of nonstop planes, boats and busses. It was only logical to come home. New York still feels like home to you, with or without Anthony. You didn’t have to give it a second thought, until you realized you made it more and more difficult for yourself to get over Anthony. You forgot he isn’t the rookie anymore, who still has to prove himself. He proved himself, and it seems like you can’t go anywhere without hearing or seeing something about him.

The thought crosses your mind for just a second. Just like it did last night and the night before. Your fingers itch to grab your phone and message him, call him even. You have no idea if he still has the same number, for all you know he could’ve blocked you the moment you walked out of that door. You shouldn’t do it, you know you shouldn’t, but you want to, you want to so bad. You just want to hear his voice, his laugh, you just want to hear him.

With shaking hands you grab your phone, the bright light blinding you for a second. You scroll through your contacts, until you come across his name. His nickname brings a smile to your face, it’s been a while since you’ve seen it. Your finger hovers over his number, while you’re trying to collect your thoughts. You have no idea what you’re going to say to him if he picks up. What if he doesn’t pick up? Fuck, no, you don’t need to think like that right now.

“Come on, y/n. Just do it,” you mumble to yourself, trying to convince yourself that this is a good idea. You take a deep breath and press on his number. Heart beating in your chest, the panic rising inside your chest. You bring the phone to your ear, begging, praying you’ll hear it ring. Never felt seconds this long, it feels like hours went by before you hear that dreaded message, your worst fear confirmed.

‘The number you're trying to reach has been disconnected.’

“Fuck!” you cry out, holding the phone tightly against your chest. No longer able to hide your emotions you let it all go. Tears streaming down your face, you grab your phone like it’s your lifeline, like it’s the only thing that will keep you grounded. You sob against your pillow, letting the pain, the grief consume you. It isn’t fair, it shouldn’t go like this, is this what you deserve for abandoning him all those years ago? Maybe this is a sign, a sign to move on, to give up.

At some point you fell asleep, utterly exhausted by all your intrusive thoughts, crying until the early morning light seeped through your curtains. You blink a few times, before groaning into your pillow. You’d almost think you’re hungover, because that headache for sure doesn’t lie.

After failing to fall back asleep you force yourself out of bed and into the shower. The hot water soothes your skin, and you try, you try so hard to keep the tears away. But you can’t stop them from falling, letting the water wash them away. You continue your shower routine through your tears, scrubbing your skin until it sees red. Eventually you calm down again, gaining back some composure.

It’s when you’re brushing your teeth that you look into the mirror for the first time. You would laugh at your reflection if you weren’t feeling so shitty. You’re glad it’s your day off, no amount of makeup can help you with this. You put on your makeup, trying to at least hide some of the puffiness around your eyes. You sigh, while walking over to your closet, grabbing a pair of skinny jeans and your favorite sweater.

You lounge around in your apartment for a few hours, entertaining yourself with some mind-numbing show on Netflix, before you decide you definitely need to get out of here for a while. It’s been a while since you just walked around the city and simply enjoyed the familiar buildings and people. You decide it’s the perfect activity to do right now, making a mental note to grab something to eat later, food is the last thing on your mind right now. Grabbing your jacket on the way out, you head into the city, trying to clear your mind and soul.

It’s funny how much a city can change in almost 3 years, but also stay exactly the same. There are so many new shops, but the sweet man on the corner of the street is still there. You smile at him, while he gives you a nod in return. It’s nice to be outside again, feeling the rays of sunshine on your skin.

Your walk comes to an abrupt stop when you end up on a street you weren’t planning on visiting any time soon. All your daydreaming probably led you to this place. You’ve been walking on autopilot for a while, so familiar surroundings turned into familiar patterns, steering you into the direction you walked every single day for months.

You catch yourself thinking about the possibilities of walking in and knocking on his door, or catching Anthony as he leaves the apartment. “This is a stupid idea, even for you,” you mumble, shaking your head at the fact that you’re even considering it. Without giving it a second thought you walk inside, burying your hands inside your pockets to keep them from shaking.

It’s a weird feeling to be back here, you walked through these halls so many times. There are so many memories here, so many good times were spent in this building. You try to focus on the happy memories instead of the dark cloud that hovers over your very last memory of this place, the very last time you left this place.

You try to talk some courage into yourself, even though the thought of seeing him again scares you more than you want to admit. “You can do this,” you tell yourself, encouraging yourself to either knock on that door or walk away. You slip your hand out of your pocket, softly knocking on the door.

Your breath hitches in your throat, heart beating so fast it might explode when you hear movement behind the door. The moment the door opens you let out the breath you’ve been holding. Not from relief, but from acceptance. Because the guy in front of you for sure isn’t Anthony. “Can I help you?” the stranger in front of you asks.

You smile, shaking your head. “Yeah, no, I don’t know? My boyfriend and I used to live here,” you start, before frowning. “or my ex-boyfriend, it’s a weird situation if I’m being honest.”

The guy in front of you nods, holding out his hand to you. “I’m Simon, and you look like you need someone to talk to,” he chuckles.

You laugh at his bold move, accepting his hand. “I do. I’m y/n,” you say, shaking Simon’s hand. You talk to him for a few minutes, explaining why you showed up on his doorstep. Simon listens intently, only interrupting you to give you some well needed advice.

“If you were looking for another sign to move on, I’d say this is it, y/n,” Simon says, leaning against the doorway, watching you with an empathetic look.

You sigh, smiling at the helpful stranger in front of you. “You’re right about that, this is what I needed,” you nod.

For a man you just met a few minutes ago he’s definitely the support you’ve been missing these past few months. Knowing kindness goes a long way, you try to tell him how grateful you are for his words, for his help, but he simply waves it away. “Do you by any chance know any good places around here that serve some killer coffee and pastries? It changed a lot here, so I’m kind of lost,” you say, chuckling at yourself. Simon directs you towards a new coffee shop two streets down that’s supposedly serving the best coffee in town. “I don’t want to interrupt whatever you were doing any longer, Simon. Thank you for your help and advice,” you say, waving at the kind man.

“Good luck, y/n. It was a pleasure meeting you,” Simon says, waving back at you. You smile at yourself, even though this didn’t end the way you hoped, it still helped you. At least you got some closure now, you don’t have to wonder anymore if he’s still here, if there’s a chance at rekindling. The universe gave you a massive ‘nope’ sign right there.

You find the coffee shop Simon recommended easily. You smile at the cozy looking place, this is exactly the kind of place you would’ve picked yourself. You walk through the door, inhaling the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Greeted by the kind older woman behind the counter you look around, amazed by all the delicious looking pastries. “What can I do for you, love?” the woman asks, smiling softly at you.

You chuckle, excusing yourself for not paying attention. “I’d like one of those strawberry filled turnovers and a cappuccino, please,” you say, rummaging through your bag to find your wallet. You pay for your order, saying a quick ‘thank you’ to the kind lady before finding a place to sit.

You use your time here wisely, enjoying the pastry and coffee to the absolute maximum. It amazes you how relaxed you are under the circumstances, it’s not every day you realize your relationship is really over. It’s not that you’re in denial or anything, but maybe the realization hasn’t set in completely. You knew the ‘perfect’ outcome was a long shot, but you’re glad you at least tried. You can’t blame yourself for trying, it’s all part of the process of getting over someone. It wouldn’t feel right to you if you’d never tried to talk things through with Anthony, trying to clear up some big mistakes.

All the signs you got these past few days might suggest otherwise, maybe it’s okay like this, maybe this is better for you, better for both of you. Would it even be useful to reopen old wounds? It’s probably for the better that it went like this. You’re not proud of how you handled things 3 years ago, but you know you grew as a person. This whole experience has been a true life lesson for you, making sure you’ll learn from your past mistakes.

You spend more time here than you initially planned, honestly this has been the happiest you felt in weeks, maybe even months. Perhaps relieved is a better word, it’s like a weight fell off your shoulders. It’s time, time to move on, but also time to grief. It’s time to give your past life with Anthony a place where it belongs; in the past. It’s no longer part of your future how hard it might sound right now.

You take your time to reflect back on some of the happiest moments you shared with Anthony. No better place to do that than in this cozy coffee shop, right? Your favorite memory is also the hardest one to look back at, even though you’re so proud of him for making his dreams come true. It’s also exactly the reason why you couldn’t ask him to come with you, why you didn’t work out in the end. The day Anthony got drafted was a day filled with so many emotions. Tears flowed freely that day, mixed with the most wholesome smiles you’d ever seen. It was a day to never forget. It was amazing to watch him get picked and drafted, to watch his dream suddenly came reality. It meant the world to you to see him like that, but it also started the downfall of your relationship. You didn’t know that yet until months later.

The day Anthony asked you to move in with him is definitely a second on that list. You always dreamed of moving in with Anthony, living together sounded like paradise. The prospect of coming home to him, or the other way around, was something you really looked forward to. The day he actually asked you that very question came unexpectedly. It happened after a rough game, a loss Anthony took personally. The two of you were lounging around in Anthony’s apartment, his head on your chest, one arm wrapped around you. His fingers were playing with your own, his eyes focused on nothing particular. He moved his head, locking eyes with you. ‘Move in with me?’ he’d asked you, an uncertain smile on his lips. He surprised you with his question, but waited patiently until you remembered how to speak again. ‘I would love to, Tito,’ you told him, hugging him closer to your body. ‘Wouldn’t want to spend another day without you, baby,’ he told you, softly pecking your lips.

You frown at the memory, hating the fact that the exact opposite happened. You shake your head, trying to clear your mind of that very moment. You’ve been completely consumed by your thinking that you didn’t even realize your cup is empty. Deciding to just grab another one to take with you on the walk home you turn your head to look how long the waiting line currently is. Your eyes lock on the ones you hadn’t expected to see today, maybe ever again. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumble underneath your breath. What the hell is the universe trying to tell you? The look on Anthony’s face is one of surprise and shock, he definitely didn’t expect you to be here as well. You stay rooted to your seat, incapable of moving. You’re not even sure what you need to do right now. Breaking off the eye contact you look down at the table, playing with your empty cup.

“y/n?” God, his voice sends chills all over your body, almost bringing tears to your eyes. It for sure is one of your favorite sounds in this whole world.

“Hey,” you say, unsure what to exactly say to him.

Anthony gives you an uncertain smile, scratching the back of his head. “Can I sit down? Please?” he asks. You nod your head, suddenly feeling all kinds of nervous. It’s a weird experience sitting across your ex, across the man you thought you wouldn’t see again, let alone talk to again.

“I didn’t know you were back,” Anthony says, eyes locking on yours.

You want to laugh at his statement, because how could he have known that? “Yeah, I’ve been back a few weeks now,” you say instead, letting your eyes trail over the man before you.

“So you did it, huh? Traveled the world and stuff.”

This time you do laugh, which makes Anthony smile as well. “I did! But nothing felt like home, nothing except New York and...” you trail off, before shaking your head as Anthony raises his eyebrow in question. “Never mind. New York will always be my home, no matter how beautiful the rest of the world is.”

Anthony looks like he wants to say a thousand things, but all he does is stare at you. His eyes follow every movement you make, it doesn’t make you uncomfortable at all. Anthony is still Anthony, his eyes on your body still does something to you. It’s the fact he doesn’t say anything else, while you try to make conversation with him. You talked and asked, while he just answered and listened. Maybe he’s nervous, maybe he’s just not that interested in catching up. Whatever it is, you’re not waiting around any longer. It’s time to head home before it’s getting too dark outside.

You rummage through your bag, trying to find a pen and something to write on. You grab a business card since it’s the only piece of paper available right now unfortunately. You scribble your phone number on the back, sliding it across the table towards Anthony. “If you want to catch up some more or ever need anything, call me,” you say, before standing up and making your way over to the exit, completely forgetting about that cup of coffee you promised yourself.

You didn’t even realize Anthony followed you until you heard his voice. You turn around, facing the man who was once yours. “Was it worth it, y/n?” Anthony asks you, his hand gesturing between the two of you.

You know what he means, it’s a question you asked yourself a lot lately. You give him half a smile, before shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t. It absolutely wasn’t,” you say sadly, before walking out of the store, leaving Anthony behind for the second time in life.

You’re walking around in a haze, it doesn’t do anything to calm your nerves. The events that occurred these past few days have been confusing to say the least. If that was the message the universe tried to send you it definitely worked. By the time you get home you’re absolutely exhausted mentally and physically.

Two weeks go by without a message or call from Anthony. You didn’t expect him to reach out, but you kind of hoped he would. You’re getting more and more used to living in the city again, working your ass off at your new job. It took you some time to get adjusted to the typical city life again, but you’re slowly getting the hang of it more and more every day.

If you’re being honest with yourself, meeting Anthony again puts your mind to rest, it gives you some form of peace, and so did working yourself to absolute exhaustion at work. So when your phone rings at 11am on a Friday night you don’t bother to look who’s calling you, instead you answer without letting it ring more than three times.

“Who blesses me with a phone call this late?” you almost sing out, too tired to even care.

“Uhm, it’s Anthony. I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” Anthony says from the other side of the line. You blink a few times realizing it’s really him.

“No, you aren’t. I’m just too tired to properly function,” you laugh.

“I just got home from a game, so that makes two of us,” Anthony chuckles. You smile to yourself, enjoying the sound of his voice. “I can call you tomorrow if that’s better?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his voice.

You shake your head at his question, he’s always so caring. “You don’t have to, we already got this far,” you tell him softly, not wanting to let him go already. You can hear him chuckling at your answer from the other side of the line.

“I wanted to ask you something actually,” Anthony says, making your heartbeat a little harder in a mixture of fear and hope.

“Yeah?” you ask him, urging him to go on.

You hear his deep intake of breath, the slight stutter in his voice. “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow at my place? Maybe watch a movie or something, catch up?”

You want to scream a ‘fuck yes!’ into the phone right now, but instead you take a deep breath collecting your thoughts for a moment. You’re scared to see this as a positive thing, scared to look too much into it, while on the other hand there isn’t another reason for him to invite you over than that he really wants to see or talk to you. “I’d love that,” you tell him, closing your eyes while you wait for his response.

You hear the breath he lets out, and you know he’s smiling on the other side. “I’ll see you at 6 then? I’ll text you the address.”

You hum your agreement, smiling at the perspective of seeing Anthony tomorrow. “I’ll be there at 6. Good night, Tito,” you tell him softly, cursing to yourself for using his nickname. If Anthony noticed your slip of the tongue at all he doesn’t show it.

“See you tomorrow. Sleep well, y/n,” he says, before ending the call.

You lay on your couch for a few minutes, smiling to yourself like some idiot. This evening for sure took an unexpected turn. You hadn’t expected him to call you, you for sure hadn’t expected him to call you and ask you to come over for dinner and movies. The talk however worries you, you know there is a lot unsaid, at least from your side. You’re pretty sure Anthony has a lot to say as well, and that’s exactly what worries you.

You decide to call it a night, tomorrow is a brand new day. A brand new day full of exciting events to look forward to, full of life changing conversations, and most importantly full of hope. Hope at better times, hope at peace and closure, hope at rekindling old flames, there are a lot of things to hope for, you just have to wait and see which one will come true. For the first time in months, maybe even years, you fall asleep without overthinking, without playing happy memories over and over in your head, because for the first time in years you have something to look forward to, something to hold on to. That something being Anthony all over again.

The soft morning light wakes you up out of your deep slumber. It’s been a while since you felt this well rested, and for a moment you forget the reason for your peaceful night of sleep. Just for a moment though, because as soon as you grab your phone from the nightstand you remember. Anthony. A text message with his address flashes across your screen, making you smile. So you didn’t imagine everything, huh? This is really happening.

You spend your whole morning cleaning your apartment, a nervous habit you inherited from your mother. There’s just something soothing and mind-numbing about deep cleaning your kitchen, bathroom and toilet. The smell of all the cleaning products infiltrate your nostrils, making you sigh contently. There’s nothing you like more than a spotless apartment. Cleaning equals happiness. Well, that’s not completely true, but it sure as hell helps a lot.

Before you know it’s time to get yourself cleaned up and ready for the evening. You’re tempted to just throw on some sweats, but decide against it. Picking out some black skinny jeans and a yellow sweater to wear later, you make your way over to the shower. The warm water soothes your skin, washing away all the chemicals you used today. The smell of your favorite soap replaces the almost bleachy smell. You can’t help but reach for the razor, making sure your skin is absolutely as smooth as possible. Not for him, but for you, this is all for you.

You decide to skip the makeup for the night. It’s not like Anthony hasn’t seen you without it before, and if this evening decides to take a turn down memory lane, it might be nice to just be able to wipe your eyes without smudging your makeup all over your face. You roll your eyes at your reflection in the mirror. There are so many ways this evening can go, so many possible outcomes. Getting nervous about all of them is some absolute bullshit. “You’ll be fine either way,” you tell your reflection sternly, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves.

It’s a little after 5:30 when you leave your apartment, the Uber driver already waiting outside for you. The drive to Anthony isn’t that far, but you’d rather be a little early than late. If there’s one thing you absolutely hate it’s being late to anything. When the driver pulls up in front of an impressive looking building you can’t help the nerves that settle in your stomach. You thank the driver before heading inside.

The moment you reach Anthony’s door you take a deep breath. It almost feels like a deja vu if you think about yesterday. The only difference is that this time you know he’s here, you know he’ll be the one to open the door when you knock. So that’s exactly what you do, your knuckles hitting the door in a certain rhythm only Anthony will understand. Patiently you wait until he opens the door, his smile greeting you as soon as he opens up. “I already thought that was you,” he chuckles, inviting you into his apartment.

“Old habit.”

You hand Anthony your coat, while simultaneously kicking off your shoes. You follow him further inside of his apartment. The view over the city leaves you absolutely speechless. “Damn, Anthony. Hockey sure did you some good,” you chuckle, looking back at him. You catch him already looking at you, which makes you only smile some more.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Anthony answers, turning his head to look across the skyline.

It’s weird how easy the two of you seem to fall back into familiar patterns. There are no awkward silences, it’s simply you and him again. You’re seated on his couch, when Anthony comes back into the room with a bag full of food. “I hope you still love that place downtown, y/n,” he says, smirking when he sees the look on your face.

“I do! I haven’t been there in forever,” you laugh, holding out your hands for your portion of the food.

Anthony picks some random movie on Netflix you both haven’t seen yet. The two of you eat your food in silence, simply enjoying the moment. “It’s weird that it almost feels like nothing has changed, huh?” Anthony says, turning his head to look at you.

You sigh, putting your leftover food back on the table. “It does, but we both know a lot has changed, ever since...” you trail off, not sure if you should talk about that right now.

“You left me?” Anthony finishes your sentences, his eyes locked on yours.

He doesn’t look mad, he looks like he’s simply stating facts. You frown, thinking about your next words, but Anthony is faster than you. “I’m not mad at you. Yeah, you could’ve handled things better, a lot better. But I just let you go as well, I didn’t try harder,” Anthony says, a painful look crosses his face. You open your mouth to say something, but he holds up his hand, indicating he isn’t finished yet. “You followed your dreams, just like I did. I can’t blame you for that. Trust me, I tried, but it isn’t fair of me to think that way when I also followed my own dreams,” Anthony says, shaking his head.

You ponder over his words, there’s a certain truth behind them. The two of you did follow your dreams, it wouldn’t have been fair to neither of you if you had stayed. “Why didn’t you try harder?” you ask, almost feeling stupid for asking this, because you didn’t try harder to right the wrongs until you got back to New York.

Anthony smiles at you, stretching his arms above his head. “Because I knew you’d find your way back to me one day.”

You tilt your head, letting his words sink in. “Just like that?” you ask.

“Just like that.”

You let your eyes travel over his body, taking in his whole appearance. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to look at him, so you’ll take all the time you need to get familiar with him again. Until your eyes fall on a very, very familiar piece. The chain you gave him for your 2 years anniversary. “Anthony?” you ask quietly, eyes locked on his chain. Anthony hums, indicating he heard you. He looks at you, while you can’t help but bite on your bottom lip. “You’re still wearing the chain?” you ask, even though it isn’t really a question, you’ve seen it with your own two eyes. Anthony simply looks at you for a moment, brushing his fingers through his hair before he answers.

“I do, I do, y/n,” he sighs, his fingers closing around the chain.

“Why? Why do you still wear it?” You can’t help but ask the burning question, you need to know his answer. Anthony looks at you, his large hand closing around your much smaller one.

He smiles softly at you, squeezing your hand. “Because I always belonged to you. Even after all these years,” Anthony says, his eyes showing there’s nothing but truth behind his words. You can almost feel the color drain from your face, out of all the things he could’ve told you this definitely was the one you didn’t expect. You can’t contain your tears any longer, the relief flooding through your body.

“No, no, don’t cry, baby,” Anthony whispers, pulling you close to him. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, his familiar scent flooding your senses. The moment his arms close around you, pulling you impossible close to his chest, you remember. You remember how home feels like. This is it, this is home. No matter how many years will pass, how many times you hit rock bottom, home will always be here in Anthony’s arms. The place you feel the safest, the place that gives you all the love you need and deserve, the place that brings you the most happiness.

There’s still so much that needs to be discussed, so many things left unsaid, but all of that can wait a little longer. Being back in Anthony’s embrace and keeping him close to you seems like the better choice right now. All that matters for now is the fact that you’re finally home again.

#anthony beauvillier #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier fic #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #tito beauvillier

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notmrskennedy · 4 years

Text

Noticed

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - Howdy! Here’s another little something from my drafts. It’s a draft and a half again so be gentle with it. Also, I’m touch averse and I would be so happy to find someone I wasn’t upset with touching. But c’est la vie! I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary - The touch averse agent starts getting touchy....

W/C - 2.5k

Warnings - none I think, but lmk if there is something

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

If Morgan was being honest with himself, he thought you were dying. Or maybe ill. Or so feverish you’d abandoned every single principle you had. Because he’d been there that first day of yours, waltzing up from the coffee machine to see you nervously trailing behind Hotch. It was painful to watch, he remembers, so terribly nervous you’d envy the kid on one of his bad days.

He had smiled at you and stirred his coffee and remained optimistic that someone so obviously terrified would be a decent field agent. (You’d been decent and then some, especially in an interrogation room). There’d been one non-committal wave—distinctly reminiscent of a certain genius—and the first full sentence of, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t do the touching thing. Handshakes included.”

Every little touch plagues you. You’re six inches away at all times, lest someone accidentally bump into you or get the wrong idea that you might be willing to brush shoulders. There’s no friendly pats. No high fives. Certainly no hugs. Garcia is furious in her attempt to loosen you up—to no avail—but Morgan knows better than to push. Something makes you hate skin to skin contact and he’s not looking to share trauma stories with you. Not yet.

So this, Morgan thinks as he wanders into the bullpen while stirring his coffee, is a sign that you’ve lost your mind.

He watches as you carefully extend one palm to one Dr. Spencer Reid. Perched on the edge of his desk, you’re a regular fixture, just another cute figurine to add to the collection. It’s the end to some wild discussion he could hear in the kitchenette, full of flailing limbs and butchered sentences. Everyone always thought it was cute, if you stripped away how irritating it could be.

This is the point where you two are caught up in whatever moment you’re having, so much so that you extend an upturned palm between the two of you. Reid threads his hands through his hair, stunned at your peace offering. Or maybe an offering of something more than friendship. Morgan assumes its something more; not only because you have the softest grin he’s ever seen, but because your fingers are practically begging the kid to hold your hand.

Reid’s careful in how he asks his question—Morgan doesn’t know what it is, but he can just tell. The wide eyes. The scared contemplation. The are you sure parting the kid’s lips.

Grinning and blushing, you just wiggle your fingers. Murmur something that Morgan isn’t allowed to hear. Something only for Spencer. There’s surprise before he grips onto your hand, wriggling all ten combined fingers together. You giggle as you spin him around in his desk chair and get tangled up.

Dropped jaw and grinning, Morgan can’t believe you, so touch averse you, are willing engaging in such risky behaviour. There’s a weird few moments when he wants to remind both of you to wear protection in such endeavours.

And as he’s wondering if hands need condoms, the two of you let go and move on like nothing’s happened. You go back to punctuating your points with your flailing hands. Spencer goes back to distracting from his blush with paperwork.

Morgan goes to get more coffee, trying to stop imaging that you two were his kids, growing up without his consent. And maybe also the hand condoms.

It’s shortly after JJ’s wedding—about midnight as the cleaning crew are picking up the straggling drunks—both Hotch and Rossi notice. They’re leaned up against the bar, each smoking a cigar, watching a slightly tipsy you teach an awkwardly sober Spencer Reid how to swing dance.

It’s no secret that you and Reid get on like a house on fire, two nerds that couldn’t shut up about whatever weird ass shit was on your brains. Rossi never made much move to care. Hotch was too stressed to think about what the pair of you did off company time. Everyone, them included, imagined that what time you did spend together was three feet apart. In museums. Wherever. No one questioned what kind of weird nerd shit you did, especially stuff that they couldn’t really be bothered to care about.

Now, they’re forced to carefully consider the implications of how touchy you’re getting. With Reid.

He’s even more gangly and uncoordinated than normal, as Hotch and Rossi watch on, getting thrown around like a rag doll. It’s kind of adorable, Rossi thinks and shares a well meaning look with Hotch. The two of you would be cute and he’s hoping that you do get together. Rossi always knows about these things, even if Hotch is positive that you two are just friends. And as two professional gentlemen do, they made a bet.

Twenty bucks.

Your laugh—one that no one gets tired of hearing—echoes around Rossi’s whole yard, even into his house. Reid’s voice is about two octaves too high as you spin him around on his wobbly feet. You go from three feet apart to chest to chest and back again. Rossi remembers high school dances vaguely and Hotch absently thinks about Hayley’s old infatuation with Grease.

Rossi takes another long drag from his cigar, grateful for the indisputable proof that you two are shacking up. There is no way that two people so touch averse could be touching this much without prior exposure. The yard is a ruckus of both of your laughters, year after year of awkwardness falling off you both in sheets. They’re no denying you two shut in nerds are finally having some fun.

It’s warming both Hotch and Rossi’s hearts.

And their bet.

Penelope notices next. Who knew that such a simple interaction could leave her speechless? Stammering and stuttering over not even a full minute of insanity.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten sick, or what she’d come down with, but the only thing that was keeping her in her work chair was you. And the endless buckets of soup that you kept pouring down her throat. Without a case—thank god—for the last couple days, all that you’ve done is sit in the bat cave, keeping her and her soup warm.

It’s as you are finishing some corny ass joke that she thinks how sweet you are. How loving. Penelope’s love language has always been touch—she’s given too many hugs to count—but it’s taken her a minute to figure out yours. And as she stares into the chicken soup in her hands, she realises that it’s everything you do for her. Your love is literally palpable.

It’s in the bright keychains you bring back. Or the crazy pens. Or the way you always drive her home after drinking.

As she’s opening her mouth to tell you, tell you just how much she appreciates everything, when Reid pops his head in, whole body following. He’s got too much of a grin this early. But when he’s far enough into the room, he spreads his fingers out over your shoulder and squeezes. Says something about a case and you follow behind him with a wave of your hand at Penelope. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like Penelope hasn’t been the one furiously trying to break you out of your shell. The predetermined first to get a hug in the office.

You’re still up and still waving and by the time she’s got her wits about her, she’s asking, “You let Reid touch you?”

The empty room and the closing door don’t answer.

JJ is nearly the last to find out. Well, your little touching relationship with Spencer has been the only topic of gossip between anyone for the last six weeks. They can’t believe they hadn’t picked up on the little bits of affection passed between the two of you.

Hand touches. Shoulder squeezes. Quick brushes. The mystical hug Morgan claims he once saw.

For the rest of the world, you and Spencer were nothing but friendly. Maybe even best friendly. To the team of highly trained profilers who had been friends with the pair of you for a combined 15 years, this was marriage material. This was you and Spencer screaming the pair of you had eloped.

You two crazy kids had to be together, but the team was left to sussing it out for themselves. Neither of you two would ever say anything, never give anything up. But surely, the three of them—using Penelope would be cheating of course—could figure out when you two had started up. Because you had to have. There was no way all of this was just friendly.

And it isn’t. That much is clear when JJ gets a phone call from you while she’s looking a crime scene over for what feels like the gazillionth time. Some un-sub with the usual cocktail of daddy issues, anger issues, and a healthy dose of narcissism.

It’s rare you call anyone without good reason. You aren’t the type to just chat—everyone has speculated you got enough of that from Spencer. And once JJ says hello, you start bawling.

You’re sobbing and JJ has no idea what to do.

“Y/n, y/n,” she tries, hoping you’ll calm down enough to breathe properly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s—it’s Spencer,” you hiccup. JJ can hear you sniffling into your sleeves. Can hear the blinkers go as you change lanes. “He’s not answering—not answering his phone. And he said he’d—that he’d call, but he hasn’t. And JJ something’s wrong.”

By the way your breath hitches and your sobs crackle into the phone, JJ knows exactly how bad it has to be. Spencer, however, is supposed to be following up a lead with Emily. Some paint huffer in his mom’s garage—nothing more than a routine witness report. She almost can’t believe something would go wrong.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“JJ,” you sniffle before the flood gates open again, “I can just feel it. Something’s wrong.”

JJ’s mind scrambles. As much as you played it off, you had a sixth sense. Every time, every countable time, someone got hurt, you knew before it happened. You had a gut for these things and JJ didn’t want to think about how bad this was going to be. How bloody. So she scrambles for her car and doesn’t wait for the other detectives to figure it out.

JJ’s halfway to the witness’s house when you make it there yourself. You’re still on the phone, doing a horrible attempt at trying to keep each other calm. You’ve traded the sobs for hiccups, thankfully. JJ can hear you climbing the porch stairs. She’s taking corners at 65 miles an hour.

Nothing seems fast enough when JJ hears the phone clatter to the floor and the shout of “oh my god, Spencer!”

Nothing is fast enough when you’re sobbing out, “You can’t die on me like this.”

Nothing is fast enough when JJ quietly but distinctly hears, “I love you too much for you to fucking die, Spencer Reid.”

Spencer Reid always thinks he’s the last to find out. He’s blunt and oblivious and thinks too much to just see what’s in front of his face. He was so sure they had all seen how in love he was, just how desperately he was clinging to the hope they wouldn’t notice. If they didn’t notice, you wouldn’t. Not while wearing the same sort of blinders he wore.

But once everything had come out? He was positive everyone else had known. That he’d come into work one morning and there would be a cake engraved with the words, “Congrats on Shacking Up!”

It never happened. No cake. No lights. No surprises. No one seemed to know or notice or anything. Spencer and you went on like nothing had changed—it really hadn’t anyway. He liked to laugh when you told him the two of you had been practically dating since the first time he’d offered to take you to a Korean film festival.

Two years later and he’s become very aware of you. And also the ache. All of the very dull and consistent ache in his body. Another scar to add to the collection, he bitterly thinks, out of anaesthesia enough to know that he’s in a hospital. That he’s been hurt. That someone’s holding his hand.

It’s calloused and soft and just perfectly latched onto his. A hand he’d waited to hold for too long. One that he’d be holding for the rest of his life.

Attached to the hand is you, sleeping haphazardly between his bed and a plastic chair. Your fingers are tangled in his, head rested on the crook of your arm and the bed. There’s too much of you curled up in a chair. It’s one of his favourite bits about you, just how dedicated you could be. How you were always there when he woke up and always would be.

He smiles and chuckles despite the pain in his ribs. You wake with a start, one startled gasp followed by a shuddery exhale as you realise again where you are. That nothing’s changed. That everything’s changed.

Through lidded eyes, he watches your eyes light up, matching you grin for grin. He watches the anger flash across your face for not even a second, and he knows exactly how bad you want to murder him for scaring you so bad.

Instead, you press frantic kisses to the back of his knuckles, message fully received. You missed him. You’d been terrified. You’d cried so hard, he can still feel the salt on your lips.

“Spencer,” you breathe, giving his hand one more kiss for good measure and pressing his knuckles to your cheek. “God, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m alive, y/n, I promise,” he whispers back. Hoarse and adorably okay. It’s one thing to expect to get shot going after un-subs. It’s another to get attacked by a PCP addled grandmother.

He wiggles a finger against your cheek. Even though he can’t see your red rimmed eyes or the dark tear tracts on your cheeks, he can feel the tear that pools on his finger. But before he can reassure you one more time, you shush him and tell him to get some sleep and that you’ll both worry about this later. Maybe over jell-o.

He grins.

The team, visiting the next morning, doesn’t have the heart to wake up either of you. Reid looks happy for the first time in—years—with you carefully curled into his side. Sure, there’s a scratchy hospital gown and some pesky lines overriding everything, but it’s cute. No denying that. Thank god you two knuckleheads are finally being open about it. Even if you’re sleeping.

Emily smiles to herself as she readjusts her sling. Morgan and JJ are trading exclamations of shock, while Hotch passes Rossi twenty dollars. You readjust and Reid’s arm moves to rest across your cheek. JJ isn’t subtle when she takes a photo, sniggering.

Emily is even less subtle when she snorts. “I guess I can finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Everyone perks up; she swears she sees Reid open an eye.

“Nearly six months ago, y/n drunkenly confessed to dating Reid. She’s a real wild card on tequila, let me tell you.”

“You knew?” Morgan screeches, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Emily shrugs, winces with her busted up shoulder. “Does it matter? Didn’t we all know?”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #mgg #mgg fluff #fluff

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mintugiyuu · 3 years

Note

oh! its okay, i'll try to word it as close as possible to the first time.

may i please have the main group with a trans male reader who is stealth and kind of scared of how they'll react coming out to them?

(gosh i hope thats close enough, my memory is not the best,,)

thank you so much!!

thank you so so much for resending this!! I’m so sorry it got deleted the first time around, it was early in the morning and I wasn’t using my noggin when I was trying to draft it ;3;

for the kamaboko squad, I left it so it could be interpreted as romantic or platonic! for nezuko I did it more platonically, I hope that was ok! thank you for requesting and I hope these are enjoyable to read! I hope you’re well <3

꒰🌤꒱ — as it’s always been.

sfw scenarios + head-canons

➥ characters || kamado tanjirou, kamado nezuko, hashibira inosuke, agatsuma zenitsu

➥ warnings || none

➥ synopsis || the reader hesitantly comes out as trans to the kamaboko squad, nervous to what they’ll think and say; here is how they would react.

➥ kamado tanjirou:

- Tanjirou has a great sense of smell, so there’s no hiding your anxiety/nervousness about coming out. He’s most certainly going to ask you what’s wrong, nothing but concerned for your state of being.

- As you’re explaining and officially coming out to him, he’s very attentive; nodding and making sure you knew he was listening.

- He knows this must be very hard and nerve-wracking for you, so he lets you finish speaking before responding himself.

- Tanjirou, being the sweetheart he is, immediately reassures you that he thinks no different of you and still loves you through and through!

- If he’s honest, he’s a bit surprised. The boy definitely wasn’t expecting this, but regardless he’s very glad that you’re happy with who you are and honored that you trust him enough with this information.

- Expect lots of words of support and small actions of comfort/affection. Tanjirou immediately pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back as he tells you how proud he is of you, and how the information you told him will stay between you two (unless/until you tell the others; he knows it’s not in his place). He’d hold both your hands to his chest as he promises you that nothing has changed between the two of you, giving you his infamous gentle smile.

- Like he promised, nothing changes between you two. Everything is as it was before, and unless you want to talk about the topic at hand, he won’t even bring it up. It just goes to show he doesn’t mind what so ever and supports you all the way!

➥ kamado nezuko

- When it comes to Nezuko as a demon, she doesn’t really have a true understanding of anything that’s going on around her; she goes with her emotions and the emotions she’s picking up around her. Of course, she can tell when there’s danger and understand basic conversations. But other than that, all she really can understand is protect, sleep, and head pats.

- So you wouldn’t outright come out to her, knowing she probably wouldn’t understand regardless. It happens by accident, kind of.

- She spends her days in a dark room of the butterfly mansion as the others are healing, either sleeping or doing her own thing. You’re probably pacing around the room, trying to plan out how to officially tell the other boys and properly come out to them.

- Nezuko notices your distress from where she was playing with a handkerchief you gave to her after one of your missions.

- “Hmmmph!”

- In other words, she’s grabbing your attention, looking lost to why you’re pacing. In a “hey! what are you doing?” kind of way.

- When you didn’t notice her attempts, she huffs, hopping off the bed and making her way to you. She’s in her small form currently, trying to regain her energy but wanting to be awake to be in your company.

- You’d feel her tug at your uniform, making several muffled questionable noises at your pacing. If you tried to brush her off, telling her “it’s nothing”, she’s calling you out on your bull and tugging you to the bed.

- Sit criss-cross and watch her crawl into your lap as a toddler would do to an older sibling (for she saw you as another big brother), grabbing your arms and making it so you were hugging her.

- This gives you no room but to explain yourself, so you did. As you come out to her and explain how you’re nervous to tell the others, she’d.. not be the most understanding.

- Understanding as in she doesn’t comprehend what you’re telling her. But she does her best to listen, feeling how important this is to you and how anxious you’re reacting.

- She cuts you off of a nervous ramble of all the bad outcomes with a head-pat to your head, closing her eyes with a small “hmhmph!” coming from under her muzzle.

- Expect a good ole Kamado hug, tiny edition. And she’s not letting you go, not even when it was time for dinner.

- She calms you, knowing in your heart that even if she’s not completely aware, she still loves you and hopefully the others will as well (they will of course).

- Before you have to go, she grips onto your sleeve and pulls the muzzle off her mouth, giving you a sharp toothed smile. Before you can tell her to put it back on, that you don’t want anyone to see her with it off, but she gets one word out with the biggest beaming smile.

- “Oniisan!” (“Big Brother!”)

- .... and pats her head. She wants head pats too. Nothing’s changed, you’re still the best head pat giver she knows.

➥ !! spoilers for chapter 204 !! bonus: after the final battle, if you were to come out to a now human Nezuko, she’d react much like Tanjirou; just a lot more bubbly with more bright smiles. Unlike Tanjirou, she’d be more.. “aggressively” supportive. Basically, she wouldn’t hesitate to throw hands at anyone who says something purposely ignorant. It’s terrifyingly sweet; no one messes with her big brother.

➥ hashibira inosuke

- Inosuke has very sensitive skin, so he’s getting goosebumps from the anxiety your giving off. It annoys and confuses him, not understanding what’s going on for you to be so nervous.

- “Oi! You’re making my skin prickly!! Stop that!!”

- It’s his way of asking what’s wrong, wanting to know how to stop it.

- Your anxiety hits an all time high as you let it out, officially coming out to him.

- ... But he doesn’t know what “trans” means, so he’s confused. He stands there, blinking under his pig mask.

- “... What? What the hell is that?” He may sound brash, but he just hates not understanding things. He wants to understand more than everyone else, after all, so don’t take it personally.

- After a long bit of explaining it clearly to him, you two are sitting on the ground, Inosuke with his hands in his lap as he stares at you.

- He’s surprisingly silent the whole way through, and not being able to see his true facial expression just makes you all the more nervous.

- If you were to nervously ask him to take his mask off, you were expecting a hard no. What you weren’t expecting was for him to hesitate for only a moment before taking it off, setting it down in to his lap.

- Inosuke’s eyebrows would be furrowed, his mouth turned down as he looked at you closely. Bracing yourself, he responded.

- “So?”

- That definitely isn’t what you would be expecting.

- Now he didn’t mean this in any negative connotation at all. He fully understands what it means now and what you told him - and to note he’s completely fine with it - he’s just confused to why it’s such a big deal. (If anything he respects you even more, finding you extremely strong.)

- Inosuke doesn’t care how you were born or what you choose to be; at the end of the day you’re his favorite sparring partner! Plus, he has to keep you around. He wants to understand the warm fuzzies he gets in his tummy when you do nice things for him.

- “Doesn’t matter what you are, I can still kick your ass!!” He says as he tackles you to the ground.

- All’s well ends well, and much like Tanjirou, it seems nothing would change between you two.

➥ agatsuma zenitsu

- The high-pitched anxiety sound emitting from you is giving Zenitsu a headache; he’ll make sure to complain about it loudly so you know.

- If you apologized for it while fidgeting, he’ll soften his whining tone and ask why you’re so nervous anyways? It’s day, so it’s not like you have demons to fear.

- You hesitate, stuttering around the topic before officially coming out, explaining that to him and why you’re so nervous.

- Zenitsu.. definitely was not expecting that. He’d go wide-eyed, clearly shocked at the information.

- “HUH??? YOU’RE WHAT???”

- If you were to flinch at his shouts, he’d pause and look to you; watching how you curled up on yourself, scared you looked for a bad reaction.

- Instead he immediately goes to reassure you.

- “IM SORRY!! I-I didn’t mean it like that!! PROMISE! I just wasn’t expecting that!! I wouldn’t ever have guessed!!- I MEAN-!!” He’s talking way to fast for you to even understand, so the more you looked lost the more Zenitsu feared he messed up the trust you must’ve had for him in order to tell him that.

- Eventually he’d break down, getting on his hands and knees while bowing his head to the floor, gripping your pant leg all while begging you to forgive him.

- You’re the one who originally needed comfort here, not him. Smh Zenitsu.

- In all seriousness, reassure him that he’s ok. He meant no harm by his reaction, he just tends to be over-dramatic with his reactions and emotions.

- Once he’s calm, he’d sniffle and be sitting next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

- Zenitsu gives it a few minutes before asking questions, making sure he’s understanding 100% and not getting anything wrong.

- The blonde-boy knows about how hard struggles in life can be; he’s struggled his whole life when it comes to finding a home and a place of belonging, being homeless for the first 3/4’s of the life he’s lived so far. He knows he can’t compare his struggles to the things you must’ve gone through, but he can clearly and easily sympathize.

- He reassures you that he thinks no different of you, if anything he admires the way you could be so brave about it.

- It’s a quiet moment between the two of you as Zenitsu continues his rambles (still scared he ruined whatever is between you two a moment ago), circling over the same couple topics; how he supports you, will support you through anything, that he sees you no differently and that nothing will change.

- Please place your hand over his mouth or he’ll keep going all day; his anxiety rambles are said to last hours.

- This has only made you two closer, the others finding you and Zenitsu sticking/hanging around each other more and more frequently. In the end, your happy you told him.

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denkamis · 3 years

Text

bnha characters as cheesy valentine’s day tropes.

masterlist. | valentine’s day event masterlist.

warnings: none! some swearing, but a lot of fluff for the best boys

characters: shouto todoroki, denki kaminari, eijirou kirishima, tamaki amajiki

notes: dedicated to @nekomanagers / @meilbox ,, for being the most supportive human being in my life and undoubtedly the reason i have been posting so much of my work here on this blog. thank you for dealing with all of my shenanigans on and offline, and for picking me up when i felt like i couldn’t. <33 i love you.

shouto todoroki

flowers & chocolate as gifts

he’s one for the classics

he buys you the most gorgeous flowers, ones that are most definitely your favourites mixed in with an arrangement of others that all have particular meanings to them

he also got you expensive truffle chocolates, and also some cheaper ones that you really like to snack on

he’s so thoughtful, it makes your heart melt

literally so sincere as he gives it to you too, has a whole ass speech prepared

shouto came home after work a bit later than you had expected him to. perhaps he got caught up with some hero work, a report that needed to absolutely be filed today or a villain that just wouldn’t let up. either way, when you heard the front door to your shared apartment open, you came running over to greet him. as you turned the corner to see the front door, there stood shouto with the most breathtaking bouquet of flowers you had ever seen in your life. it was a myriad of colours and petals of all kinds standing out against the white of his suit. since when did he have time to change after work to surprise you like this? his usual aloof expression was replaced by a soft smile, one that was reserved for you and only you, “happy valentine’s day, my love.”

he strolled over to you, initiating a kiss that was slow and passionate. it made your heart melt right on the spot, your face erupting in nothing but pure warmth. “shouto, these are beautiful,” you told him as you took a moment to admire the different flowers that went into assembling the collection in his hands. “these ones mean gratitude, and this one here means love. truth is the white coloured one,” he pointed out, guiding you through the meaning of each individual one that made up your special gift.

he snuck a glance at you, your face radiant with how much you were smiling at his thoughtful present. “i also bought you a few of your favourites,” shouto gestured to the vanity you two kept by the door. you turned to see a very expensive box of truffles and a few hershey's kisses paired with more of your favourite corner store chocolates.

“it wasn’t too much, was it?” shouto asked quietly, watching as your jaw dropped at the sight of the truffles. didn’t you hear a rumour once about how those ones literally had gold integrated into their wrappers? “no no, it’s wonderful. this is.. you’re so sweet,” you giggled, tapping his chest as a signal for him to lean down so you could kiss him again. no matter how many times shouto gifted you flowers and chocolate on valentine’s day, you got the same butterflies as you did when he first gave you these heartfelt gifts back in high school.

denki kaminari

fancy dinner date at an expensive restaurant

the entire bakusquad was EGGING HIM ON for something good on valentine’s day okay

he’s been talking big game about some kind of secret plan he had in store for the both of you

he bought you an outfit that not only suited your style, but was elegant and absolutely stunning as it complimented your figure

he pulled out all the stops for you

he wanted to be classy, so he reserved a table for two at one of those rooftop restaurants so you two could dine and enjoy each other’s company

“like grown ups” as denki says

you were sat at a candlelit dinner for two near the edge of one of the most highly rated restaurants in your area. denki had really gone all out, wanting to treat you like the resilient and beautiful partner you were to him with a night that would be unforgettable.

and unforgettable it was.

you two were arguably the loudest ones at the restaurant, laughing and overall just having a good time amongst such high class individuals. denki was making faces at you across the table, making you choke back on the red wine you were having. “and then bakugou slapped that dude! it was crazy, y/n, super fucking wild,” he laughed as you nodded your head in agreement. denki sure knew how to talk, filling in conversations with anecdotes and playful conversation topics sprinkled in with compliments for you. he loved you so damn much, he felt like his electricity quirk was on all the time with you from how much you turned his brain to mush.

he couldn’t get over how gorgeous you looked tonight, with your hair done and your outfit styled to perfection. like, that was all his? and a personality to match? damn! he felt like for once, he was doing something right in his life for you. he wasn’t the dumbass everyone constantly made him out to be. he was trying to be the best for you, and if he could make you happy for the rest of his life, then nothing else mattered to him.

your waiters came back with two platters in hand, with outrageously small portion sizes that could feed maybe a small cat at best. the two of you stared at each other with blank expressions. oh no, this would not be enough to appease your appetites. each of your plates were worth twelve thousand yen, so you really couldn’t get more. on top of that, denki had prepaid everything for tonight anyways. what was worse was that the food tasted like a rat’s ass, yet the two of you dined like kings regardless. well, you pretended to at least. as you were suppressing your disgusted expressions out of kindness to both the waiters and the other guests, denki couldn’t help but stare at you. you were his person, and although the dinner wasn’t exactly all it was cracked up to be, he knew that you dealt with so much more of him than anyone else was willing to. that meant more to him than words could even express.

that, and he immediately bought you apology mcnuggets after you two left. then you two really ate like kings.

eijirou kirishima

long captions to their s/o on instagram

this mfing SAP

he has everything planned, he made like 3 drafts beforehand and even had bakugou proofread it for him

he had all the different pictures he wanted to post too

this is a little unrelated but mans definitely showed up to your house with red roses and a suit

LIKE A GENTLEMAN

your phone buzzed, indicating that you had received a new notification from instagram. after taking your phone off the table and entering in your passcode, you tapped into the instagram app and saw what had caused the tiny ping.

eijikirishima has tagged you in a post!

the first photo was an oldie, but a goodie. it was of you and eijirou at prom together back when you both graduated from ua. he looked absolutely stunning in the darkened suit he had bought, right beside you in a matching colour scheme. though the picture was in fact a meme in itself, as he posed like that one will smith picture gesturing to you with the goofiest smile. you remembered telling him that he was absolutely banned from wearing crocs that night to the dance. it was a good thing you had saved him from that utter atrocity.

the next picture was a photo of you with the puppy you had adopted together. you had named him bean, to which eijirou had expressed was the manliest name he had ever heard for a tiny pomeranian puppy. you were pressing a kiss to bean’s nose, the angle of the photo showing off your loving nature that he had fallen for.

the last was a picture of you sleeping against him during a long train ride for a mission. it wasn’t the most flattering picture eijirou had of you, but it was certainly one of his favourites. you looked so at peace, cuddling against his side with a tiny line of drool running down your chin. he was smiling in the picture, his eyes solely trained on you with the most wholesome look on his face. he was so utterly in love with you, and this picture couldn’t have showcased that look any more clearly.

the caption read as follows:

Hey bros! It’s Valentine’s Day, which means that it is my duty to post about the most amazing person I’ve ever had the pleasure of dating for about five years now! Y/N, we’ve been through so much together over the years, we’ve had ups and downs and everything else in between but I’ve been fortunate enough to remain standing here as the person you can confide in, much like you are that person to me. You’re my rock. I continue to find so much more to love about you every single day. I hope I get to spend the rest of my days with you, my best friend, my partner throughout everything. I love you so so much, pebble. I hope we get to stay just like this forever, and grow as we go along.

needless to say, many happy tears were shed that day.

tamaki amajiki

love letters in their shoe locker

for all the days leading up to valentine’s, tamaki put a different letter in your locker

mirio hyped him up asf to even get him to write what he was feeling towards you

and he was still nervous as hell and had mirio stand guard so that you didn’t accidentally walk in on him shoving weird notes in your locker

but unfortunately for tamaki, mirio isn’t a very good watchman

and so you caught him in the act, right on valentine’s day ironically

it was the end of a long, rather eventful day at school. you had gotten a few confessions from some other students, to which you turned down due to someone else being on your mind. for the past few days, you had begun collecting small letters in your shoe locker. the notes were short, handwritten with small doodles and even a recipe or two for you to try. it seemed like this person was reaching out to you to express their true feelings, their intimate and romantic feelings, towards you. and you couldn’t help but feel the same towards them, whoever they were. this admirer unveiled small details about themselves to you, yet hadn’t revealed enough for you to piece together a name. so here you were, sprinting down the hallway as soon as the bell went to try and catch a glimpse of this mystery individual who had been leaving you such sweet writings for you to cherish.

you rounded the final corner and there you saw him. before that happened however, you first you ran into your classmate and good friend mirio, who let out a tiny “oof” at the sudden contact. you apologized to him in a rush, explaining in a rushed tone that you needed to go meet someone. he nodded and waved to you before realizing that he had one job and tamaki was definitely going to kill him later.

only slightly out of breath, you saw a mess of indigo hair and shaky hands sliding your latest note into your shoe locker. as he turned to leave, his face drained of colour at the sight of you. he slouched further, retreating into himself. he looked around nervously for an excuse as to what the hell he was doing shoving letters into your locker. though, you beat him to speaking first.

“it’s you.”

tamaki’s throat felt scratchy and swollen, his entire form shaking as you slowly, calmly made your way towards him. “i- i can explain, y/n,” tamaki barely murmured, his nerves beginning to get the best of him yet again. “your words, they were so intimate. you were so well spoken on paper, i just had to meet you in person,” you confessed to him with a patient smile on your face. you stood a relatively safe distance away, not wanting to overwhelm him by your presence. you had just caught him in such a compromising act, after all.

“i read all your letters,” you went on, “every night before bed, i read them, tamaki. i even tried out the udon recipe you gave me and it was the best udon i had ever had. everything you said in your letters, the confessions and the other, more personal stuff… is that all true?”

tamaki, though he felt frozen beneath your warm gaze, had the courage to nod his head. “i didn’t know how else to tell you,” he admitted, hands now covering his face in shame. suddenly, gentle fingers grasped at his shaky ones as you uncovered his face to the light that was you. “i like you too,” you said finally. it felt like a chord had snapped inside of tamaki’s mind and all his feelings came crashing down in a deep crescendo of emotions all for you. it was all that he had ever wanted from you: a response.

all works © denkamis 2021.

tags:

@meilbox

want to be on the taglist? see this post!

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #kaminari x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #amajiki x reader #denkamis.scenarios

142 notes · View notes

santigarcia · 3 years

Text

Knockout Blues

a 1940s mob au blue jones x f!reader fic~

word count: 8k

rating: m/e - for smut, canon typical violence for sucker punch and mob movies, some slight non con, themes of a abuse and a major character death - pls only read if you are 18+!

summary: You’re hired by the mob to sing at a nightclub, and you fall in love with the devilishly handsome nightclub host~

a/n: this one has been in my drafts for a long time, i’ve worked so hard on it!! i hope you all enjoy it!! thank you to @sergeantkane for this header!!!

The nightclub Knockout Blues is lively tonight. You walk inside arm in arm with your boyfriend Sam Miller. You’re greeted with the smell of smoke and alcohol and strong perfume. There’s a bar along the back wall. The floor is full of round tables with chairs. The stage is on the far right of the entrance. Waitresses are buzzing about, men in fine suits sit at tables as they drink. Scantily clad women dance on the stage, fringe dangling from their breasts and hips, as large feather fans tease the audience.

It was much quieter when you came in earlier this week to audition.

You’re a singer, and the owner of this club expressed interest in hiring you.

You know this club is a front for the mob. Your boyfriend Sam is one of them. You don’t know what it is that he does, but it scares you. You want to end things with him, but you’re too scared to leave. You aren’t sure what would happen to you if you were left to fend for yourself.

You can’t worry about that tonight though. Tonight is your first show.

You part ways with Sam to head backstage. He gives you a sloppy kiss and a smack to your ass on his way to the bar. A nearby patron smirks at you. You can only scoff. Your dreams of being a famous singer will not be ruined. You are determined. You might have to suffer some bad gigs before you’re able to move up the chain.

Tiptoeing backstage, you see a whole other world. Costumes, make-up, wigs, props of all kinds are scattered about. Performers are getting ready, women powdering their noses. You can faintly hear the cheering from the small audience, the sound is drowned out from the bustle back here.

There’s a man in a silky white coat kissing one of the dancers, his hand is grasping her ass and stroking up her thigh. You try not to stare, though you’re not exactly shocked – just intrigued. This isn’t what you were anticipating.

Wandering around like a lost child, you freeze when you see a door with your name scrawled on a piece of paper taped to it. The door is slightly ajar, and you nudge it open. You turn on the light switch revealing a small vanity with a mirror surrounded by lightbulbs. There’s a rack of clothes with a single red sparkly dress on it. There’s also a schedule taped to the mirror with your name circled on each date you’re to perform for the rest of the month.

“You have twenty minutes,” someone with a clipboard pokes in your room and tells you. You’d only just realized you didn’t close the door behind you.

You lock it, and frantically begin to undress and change into this dress. It’s a perfect fit and flattering to your figure. But it’s a little more revealing than you’d prefer.

There’s a light switch on the wall by the mirror and this turns on the bulbs, you flick it on and get one last look at yourself before you are to go on stage.

The same person with the clipboard bangs on your door and tells you to follow them. The dancers who were on stage earlier brush past you on your way up front. You stand on the side now, looking on stage.

The same man who was kissing one of the dancers is speaking, he’s making the crowd laugh. Then you hear your name from his lips. He’s announcing your performance. Nerves shoot down to your toes, and you’re not so gently nudged onto the stage. The man walks with more swagger than you’ve ever seen past you, he gives you a little wink when you make eye contact. His slicked-back black hair, thin mustache and gorgeous smile have you dizzy for a moment before you realize there’s an audience staring at you.

Some men whistle as you step forward to the microphone. When you nod the band begins to play, and you begin to sing.

The spotlight on you is just a little too bright for you to see out in the audience, you can only make out shapes of patrons at tables. There’s a thick layer of smoke high in the air also hindering your view.

You let your voice carry and it’s a release. Release from the stressors and fears. All apprehensions about taking this job are forgotten in this moment.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

The setlist you’ve been given is short, with a promise of more songs the longer you’re here. You are content with this – a couple songs for your first night at this club isn’t bad at all. In fact, you’re quite proud.

There’s a spring in your step when you head back to your dressing room. You’re all smiles, proud of a good performance. The bustle backstage doesn’t bother you as you breeze into your room.

It’s there you’re met with a shock. The man from before, with the thin mustache and white silk coat. He’s sitting in the chair in front of the vanity, smoothing his eyebrow down as he looks in the mirror. He makes eye contact with you in the reflection. His eyes are dark, but then a genuine kind smile flashes across his face.

“Hey, sugar. That was a hell of a show!” He stands, spinning to face you. He straightens his tie and practically glides over to you. He’s quick to take your hand in his and he plants a kiss to the back of your hand. His eyes flick up to yours, and he grins devilishly at the shy look in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you manage to get out.

“I’m Blue. Blue Jones.”

“You’re the owner?” The double meaning of the word owner is not lost on him, but he shakes his head no with a smile.

“No, no, that’s not me. Demetrius Fontana is the owner, I’m what you’d call a ‘figurehead.’ They call me ‘Blue’ because I’m the host of the show here at Knockout Blues,” he said as if he’s said this speech a thousand times.

“Have you met him? Mr. Fontana?”

“Boss? Course I have. He’s the one who hired me, sugar. He hired you too.”

“Did he?” You don’t remember meeting any mob bosses at your audition.

“Tall guy? Quiet? Scar under his eye? He wouldn’t have spoken. Only smoked a cigar at one of the tables.”

You nod, you remember seeing this man. It fills you with a nauseous feeling.

“Don’t worry,” Blue smiles, reaching to touch your arm, seeing your obvious discomfort. “He must have liked ya or else he wouldn’t’ have hired you.”

You don’t know if that’s better or worse. Somehow you get the feeling it’s too late. You can’t back out now. Dating Sam is one thing, you don’t want to anymore. But this? One of New York’s most powerful and feared men knows your name.

“Should I be scared?” you whisper. You don’t know why you’re asking him this, but he seems to know all the ins and outs of this place.

“Nah. Just don’t piss ‘em off,” he winks. “You’ll probably owe him a favor though.”

“Favor?”

“Yeah. A favor.” He says it so casually, but you don’t like the sound of it. “You didn’t think you got this job just because of your talent, did you? I mean you are damn good and gorgeous. But sugar, when these people do something for you, they expect a little something back.”

If you weren’t filled with dread already, now you really feel sick. You can only imagine what your favor would be.

“So, do I need to take you home or call you a cab?” Blue keeps on talking, as if nothing he’s said is worth fearing.

“Oh, my boyfriend is going to take me home.”

Blue nods, “well it was nice to meet you sugar. I look forward to working with you.” Another little wink.

A tune is on his lips, he whistles as he leaves your dressing room. Then he’s gone.

It’s not long before Sam comes to pick you up. You’ve had time to change into your regular clothes. He comes in drunk and lipstick smudged on his mouth and shirt collar. Another woman’s perfume is heavy in the air.

“Did you even see my show?” you ask.

He must think about it as if he can’t remember. He pushes you out the door and into the hallway. You hit the wall with a grunt. Down the hallway you see Blue with another dancer. The last one was a red head; this one was brunette. But he stops kissing her when he hears you.

“There a problem?” he calls down to you and Sam. The woman is kissing his neck while his hands rub up and down her back. His eyes are checking to see you’re ok.

“No,” Sam snarls, angry that Blue is interfering. “Come on,” he yanks your arm and pulls you down the hall past Blue and the brunette dancer. She’s still kissing his neck, and her knee is sliding up Blue’s inner thigh. Blue looks at you over this girl and gives you yet another wink.

It makes your face warm. His charm and charisma are enough that you’re already looking forward to coming in again despite any apprehensions you might have about favors from the mob.

When Sam fucks you that night, you wish it were Blue. You think about those hands and his eyes. Maybe it’s a foolish fantasy. But fantasy or not – you’re already developing a very real crush on Blue Jones of Knockout Blues.

Weeks pass and your crush on Blue is growing. It’s become quite the infatuation. He’s always pleasant when he sees you, and his touch gives you a thrill. Maybe it’s the idea that you shouldn’t, or that he’s nicer to you than your actual boyfriend.

So, your Blue crush keeps you eager to come back. You come early to the shows now to catch him sing. He’s always the opening act.

And the more time you spend at the club, the less scary it feels.

You’ve even met the…owner. Briefly. He was at the bar one evening. You’d just finished a performance and you stuck around to get a drink. He gave you a nod and bought your drink before he left. You’ll take that as a compliment.

You spend more time here at the club than you thought. Your evenings are busy with performances, but even after you’re done you hang around. In the afternoons you stop by for the occasional rehearsal.

You’re always on the look out for Blue, and he’s always around. Always with perfect hair and an easy smile. You’ve become friends of sorts, he’s always friendly. But you can’t help but want more. You can only assume he doesn’t flirt with you because of who your boyfriend is, which makes you want to break things off with him even more.

At least you have some interactions with Blue.

Tonight, he pops into your dressing room while you’re finishing your makeup.

“You ready for tonight?” He asks picking up your tube of lipstick. He pops the cap and rotates the stick in and out.

“Blue,” you smile at him. “I need that.”

“May I?” he grins.

“Okay,” you shrug casually, but inside your heart is pounding.

With his thumb and forefinger pressing on your jaw, he tilts your head back and opens your mouth in one movement. With his other hand, he sweeps the red lipstick across your lips. Then he reaches in his silk coat and pulls out a handkerchief. He cleans the residue of the lipstick from the corners of your mouth. He folds the small piece of fabric and tucks it back in his pocket.

“It’ll stain!” You gasp, still flustered from how close he was to you just moments ago.

“It’s a souvenir,” he clicks his tongue with a wink. He stops then and his eyes linger on your lips.

“What is it?” you turn with a furrowed brow to look in the mirror.

“I’d love to kiss those lips sugar.” He stays, standing behind you. He’s looking at your lips now in the mirror, then he leans down to whisper in your ear. “I know you want me too.”

“Blue, I can’t!” You stand up to move away from him. “Sam…”

“What about him? He doesn’t treat you right. Let me take care of you.”

“I can’t. He- won’t let me.”

“Let you?”

“I have to finish getting ready Blue. Did you need something?” You sniffle, trying not to smudge your fresh makeup.

“I wanted to ask you; would you sing a duet with me tonight? I know we haven’t practiced but I’d love to sing with you sugar. I’ll pick a song you know.”

“Really?” you look at him, your sad eyes turning bright. “I’d love to!”

“I’ll see you on stage in a few then?” His hand cups your elbow gently, his fingers leaving a heat on your skin.

Then quick as a wink, he’s out of the room whistling cheerfully. He’s always in a good mood, and it’s infectious.

Can this be happening? Are you about to sing with him? You fell deeper in love when you heard him sing. Now to be on stage with him? Seeing his stage presence up close? Your tongue feels numb.

Buzzing, you finish getting ready and dart down the hall to wait your turn. When Blue announces your name, it feels more personal this time. He’s looking right at you when he says it. The way he’s looking at you right now sends a shiver down your spine, it’s carnal.

He offers his hand, and you walk on stage happily, your game face on. Your eyes and small are bright, and the spectators cheer when they see you, you’re a new favorite.

The song begins, and thankfully it is one you know well. You’ve not even practiced with him, but the rawness that comes from it works. He holds you close and twirls you around. It’s an intimate dance, your bodies and voices intertwine as if you’d be lovers for years.

His smile is devilish, and he holds you so close you shiver. There’s a heat of excitement blooming between your legs, especially when his hand rounds your ass for a squeeze.

The song ends too quickly for your liking – but before you can even turn to exit the stage, Blue pulls you to him. He dips you down low and plants a searing kiss on your lips. His tongue delves between your lips, and his mustache tickles your upper lip. Those watching seem to cheer even louder, and when he straightens you back upright, you feel dizzy. The lights and sounds are all a blur. You can only see Blue and that wicked grin.

He lingers on stage to announce the next part of the show, while you float back to your room. You don’t even remember walking in there. Your heart feels like it could pound right out of your chest. You dance, you dance in circles around the room. You wish you could bottle up this happiness.

A knock on the door pulls you from your daydream, and with a grin you turn. Expecting to see Blue. Only you don’t see Blue – it’s your boyfriend Sam. You can smell the alcohol on him from where you stand.

“Sam, I-“

“Nice show tonight. You been practicing that?”

“No. Sam-“ he takes a step closer to you and you back away, there’s an anger in his eyes. The anger burns, and with a backhanded swing his hand hits your cheek. The skin stings and you feel blood trickle down, a small cut left behind from his ring.

He leans back to punch you this time, but you duck out of the way. His fist crashes into the mirror, breaking it, the shards fall with a loud crash.

The sound brings unwanted attention, and in moments you see Blue. Fontana is behind him. When Sam sees who is standing in the doorway, he backs off. He ducks out of the room without an apology, but you’re glad he’s gone.

Blue is at your side in an instant. Fontana is quiet, he gives you another nod when he sees Blue is with you.

“Are you alright?” Blue looks over your face, shushing you when you fall into his arms.

“Get me out of here,” you sob into his shoulder.

Blue wraps his arms around you, shielding you from prying eyes as you exit the backstage door. You leave in such a hurry that you forget your change of clothes. There’s a chill in the alley, and your sparkly red show dress does nothing to keep you warm. Blue shrugs his silk coat and wraps it around your shoulders.

“Come on, sugar. I know where we can go.”

You don’t walk far before you’re at the large hotel near the nightclub. You never even dreamed of staying here it’s too expensive. But Blue walks right in. Several people say hi to him, and it’s the first time you realize how popular his performances are – and how many connections to the mob there are.

He doesn’t even stop at the front desk; he guides you over to an elevator and presses a button. He presses the button to the top floor as if it’s nothing, but he’s puffing out his chest a little – he’s proud.

“The top floor?”

“Fontana suggested it,” Blue shrugs.

“What kind of favor did you do to get this?” you ask with wide eyes.

“I hope you’re not afraid of me,” he looks at you, his eyes softening. You know he must have done something big to get a suite on the top floor, but you do trust him.

“I’m not,” you tell him.

“Good,” he reaches for your hand and squeezes. “This life isn’t what you think it is.” He sounds almost sad, and it tugs at your heart. “I don’t want you to see me as someone in the business.”

You shake your head. No, of course you don’t. He’s been nothing but kind to you and honest.

The elevator bell dings finally, and his hand is on your lower back guiding you to his room. He fishes for his keys in his pockets and smiles at you when he slides the key into the lock.

You gasp when you step inside the room. It’s big and beautiful. So much space! It’s bigger than your apartment.

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” he says warmly.

“You’re not staying?”

“I thought you would want to be alone,” he offers, taking a step towards you.

“I want you to stay.”

Trembling, you reach for his hand guiding his warm palm to rest on your cheek. His touch is soft, a whisper over the growing bruise on your face. Tears well up in your eyes, the gravity of the situation finally catching up with you.

“I won’t let him hurt you again,” he says smoothing his thumb over the bruise.

Feeling bold, you place your hand on his chest. His eyes flick down and he reaches up to hold your hand.

“What is it sugar?”

“I want you Blue, I need you.”

His eyebrow raises in question, you know what he’s asking. If you do this if you fall into bed with him there’s no going back. An affair of this magnitude will have consequences. But you’re ready to be rid of Sam, you want Blue.

When you close the gap further and trace your knee up his thigh, Blue pulls you in for a searing kiss. The flames lick at your body, his tongue a fierce passionate intrusion into your mouth. His hands are already working on the zipper of your dress, and he hums in delight when he feels the bare skin of your back.

He pushes your dress down then, exposing your breasts to him. You’re truly a sight. He pulls you back in for a kiss and his hand cradles the back of your head – leaning you down on the bed. Fingers dance along your body, his thumbs brush over your nipples as they pass by. He’s quick to slide off the rest of your undergarments, now leaving you naked in front of him.

He’s quick to undress himself, and you gawk as each part of his suit drops to the floor. His cock is aching with need, and he pumps himself lazily – his pinky ring catches the light, and you groan.

Blue crawls over you, kissing his way up to your mouth. His hands are everywhere. One hand cups a breast, the other teases your slick folds. His mouth is all over your neck and jaw and face. He nibbles your ear. His fingers bring you to pleasure embarrassingly quick.

“Sugar,” he bites your neck, “you did need me, didn’t you?” he purrs.

When he finally pushes himself inside after all the teasing, he whines in your ear.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck!”

Your hands slip into his perfectly gelled hair and pull. You kiss at his neck. He growls and thrusts harshly. His rich cologne is in your nose, mixed with a hint of smoke and sweat. His body moves on top of yours in strong fluid motions. You’re coming again quickly, just as he spills into you.

You groan together, the sweet music of you pleasure intertwining.

Blue makes love to you all night. Heated and rough. Slow and sweet. Passionate and electrifying.

You’re overly sensitive and have tear stained cheeks before the night is over.

It’s close to 5 am when you’re finally still and tangled in the sheets with your new lover.

“I want to run away with you.” You tell him. Your fingers tracing shapes on his chest while he holds you.

“I’d love that too sugar. But we can’t.”

“Why couldn’t we though?” you sit up. “Why couldn’t we just run away right now?”

“Too many obligations,” he smooths his hair back. “You know it and I know it.

“What? As a performer?”

“I can at least help you get away from Sam.”

You flop back down on the bed. You know he’s right. You can’t just leave, even though it’s what you want. But you’d never be able to rest, you know they have people everywhere who would find you.

So, you begin to plan. It won’t be easy to end things with Sam. It makes you nervous, and after such a good night with Blue, you can hardly stand to think about it. You fall asleep in Blue’s arms making plans for your future together.

When you wake, you’re alone.

The curtains are closed but you can see the sunlight trying to peek in. The clock on the wall tells you it’s close to noon. With a groan you sit up and stretch. There’s a note on the bed where Blue slept. The ink is dark blue and in perfect smooth cursive.

‘Meet me tonight, sugar. After your show. xx Blue.’

You hold the note to your chest and sigh happily. You collect your things to get dressed, but you pause when you see the giant bathtub in the bathroom. You draw yourself a bath and sink into the tub. You’re sore from last night, not just sex with Blue – but Sam hurting you. But you try not to think about that part.

Hunger and the water cooling pull you from the bath. You take a good long look at yourself in the mirror. There are hickeys and slight scrapes from a certain mustache all over your skin. But Blue was careful to only mark you up in places that would be hidden by your dress. Your bruise and slight cut on your cheek are healing, but still hurt. They can be covered with makeup, but your face is still a little swollen.

Tears well up in your eyes, you try to think about Blue’s tender touch instead.

You get ready as best you can, realizing you need to go back to the club to get your clothes. You’re sure it would be alright if you grabbed a meal then too.

It seems so different now to go down the elevator alone, and to walk alone in the daylight to the club. You make your way in the alley to the backstage doors. Two stagehands are having a smoke break, and the door is propped open. They don’t seem to notice or care that you trot up the stairs and disappear inside.

Returning to your dressing room after last night sends a sick feeling to your stomach. All your make-up is on the floor. The mirror is broken. It’s a complete mess. But you wipe your tears away and change out of your dress into your regular clothes from the night before. Carefully, you pick up the make-up from among the glass.

That’s when you hear two voices. They’re hushed, speaking right outside in the hallway. One of them is Sam. You feel sick. You quiet yourself so he won’t know you’re in here.

The other voice you don’t recognize. But what he says scares you.

“You have to do it tonight Miller. You have to kill him.”

“I know,” Sam hisses back. “I fuckin’ know.”

You can’t catch anymore because their voices fade as they walk down the hall farther from your room. You sigh to yourself, but bristle at the thought of who they are planning to kill. You need to tell Blue.

You forget to stop by the bar to get food, instead you ask around if Blue is in the building. No one has seen him, and you take no comfort in that. The thought of Sam seeing you here fills you with dread, so you make a hasty exit back to your apartment.

You’ll go back to the club early tonight. Warning Blue is all that matters. Even the promise of another night tangled in the sheets is pushed from your mind from the fear.

But you’re exhausted. Your entire night last night was full of emotions and physical moments. Even if your night had not been filled with Blue, you wonder if you would have slept after such a fight in the dressing room.

You sit down on your bed for a moment, and the next thing you know, you wake with a gasp.

It’s after dark.

Panicking, you grab your purse sprinting out the door.

You make it to the club, but you’re late. You gasp a little louder than you intended when you see Blue is alive and well onstage.

You make your way backstage and look for him when he’s done with his act. You see him entering your dressing room before you can catch up with him. You run, scared there might be a trap waiting for him.

“Blue!” you gasp running into the room only to see him standing in front of a new mirror smoothing down his hair. The room is completely clean, it looks nicer than it was before. There’s no evidence of what happened last night.

“Yeah sugar?” he turns with a smile. “Something wrong?”

“It’s Sam,” you run to him, hugging him tight. “He’s going to kill someone. I heard him talking.”

“Where is he?” Blue looks angry. He moves like a man on a mission out of your dressing room. You follow behind him as he makes his way out onto the main floor looking for Sam.

He’s at the bar having a drink. It’s all a blur after Blue grabs Sam’s shoulder. Punches are thrown left and right. You watch in horror as Sam gets his punches in. You don’t know if he’s supposed to kill Blue, or if he’s angry Blue has taken you away from him.

A few men pull Blue and Sam apart, and Blue tells you to go.

“Go to our hotel, wait for me. It’ll be alright.” He slips the room key into your hand, and tears well up in your eyes. “Go.”

As you’re leaving, Sam breaks away and goes at Blue again. A brawl is breaking out in the club. You leave with tears pouring down your cheeks. You’re scared for Blue’s life.

For the second time today you’re alone in that hotel. The walk there is a blur as you’re crying and shaken with fear.

Your hands are trembling when you unlock the door, you can barely get the key in. Being in this room after last night has you feeling comforted and frightened all at once. There’s so much Blue in the room, it feels like him. But what if he gets hurt? What if you don’t see him ever again? About a million thoughts race through your mind for the next few hours.

You grow sick with worry.

Where is he?

It’s late into the night when you finally hear a knock on the door. You jump out of your skin. You look through the peephole and your gasp hurt your chest. Opening the door, you see Blue- standing there with his hands covered in blood.

His white silky jacket is gone, and his shirt has bloodstains on it. His hair is a mess, and blood is splattered on his face. His hands are the worst though, completely red. The blood has long dried and he seems visibly shaken.

“What happened?” you gasp pulling him in the room. “Are you hurt?”

“Your boyfriend, Sam, I-“ he looks down at his hands, “I killed him.”

All the air is knocked out of you. Sam is dead? As in? D-e-a-d? And Blue is the one that did it? What could have happened?? What are you supposed to be feeling right now?

“I’m sorry,” Blue cups your face with his bloodstained hands. You feel the sticky drying blood on your cheeks, a reminder of the life that used to flow in Sam’s veins.

“What happened?” you grab Blue’s wrists, securing his hands to your face. You want to know. You did love Sam long ago, you think. But there’s been so much fear and pain, you’ve grown to despise him. You decide his death now means your freedom, and a future with Blue. You want to know what happened, every gory detail.

So, he tells you.

Blue tells you how he was mingling in the crowd after his performance, trying to act casual. Someone threw a punch at someone, then it was a big blur. That’s when Sam made his move for Blue.

“He was after you this whole time?” you gasp. “Why?”

“Sam was a fuckin’ mole this whole time. He was rattin’ on us, giving up secrets to rival mobs.”

Your hand flies to your mouth in shock.

“Why was he after you?” your lip trembles.

“Hey, shh,” he traces his thumb over your trembling lip. “Don’t tremble, sugar. I’m safe. See?” he spins around showing you that he’s fine.

He continues his story, painting an awful picture of Sam charging for Blue. He had a knife out, ready to stab Blue.

“And he almost did, nicked the sleeve on my shoulder. But I got to him first.”

“How?”

Blue pats his breast pocket, “I keep a small knife in here, you never know.”

Your rational mind tells you this is dangerous, that you should leave. But killing Sam wasn’t murder, just self-defense.

“Then what happened?”

Blue stabbed Sam. Then the mob does what they do, swept the whole thing under the rug.

“Is this our chance? Blue are we free?”

Blue sighs heavily. He turns from you, pacing back and forth in the hotel room. Now you notice the ripped sleeve on his shoulder, and just how much blood is on his white silk suit jacket. His arms and hands are deep red. You feel a little dizzy.

“Boss gave me a bigger job, they’re proud of me.”

That’s the last thing you hear Blue say before you pass out.

When you come to, you’re lying on the bed. Strong, rich cologne wafts into your nose, and you slowly sit up to see Blue. He’s sitting next to you on the bed, wearing a white robe with black trim. His hair is wet and slicked back. His hands are squeaky clean.

“There she is,” Blue whispers and leans down to press a light kiss to your forehead. “You alright?”

You nod, feeling a little dizzy.

“You’re in shock,” he tells you standing up. “Let me draw you a bath? Would you like that sugar?”

“We’re still stuck Blue. Stuck in this life!” You feel like you’re going to be sick.

“Sugar, hey woah, deep breaths for me. I’m in good with them right now, we don’t have to worry.”

“But what if you screw something up?” you gasp at your own words. “I’m sorry.”

His jaw ticks and he looks angry, but then you see a soft smile.

“I understand, I do. But right now, there’s nothing we can do. Let me draw you a bath.”

You know he’s right, so you let him. The bathtub is huge, and the water is the perfect temperature. He sits on the edge of the tub and you let him wash the blood off your face.

“Blue?” you blink up at him. “What if you kill the boss?” You’re too scared to even say his name, as if he could hear you in this room. With the mob, who knows. There could be bugs in here.

“How would that help?” Blue crosses his arms and leans back a little.

“I don’t know,” you shrug and look down. “I just thought, you’ve killed before why not do it again.” You whisper.

“Wait, wait sugar you might be onto something.” He sits up. “If I kill him then I could take over! Damn, sugar. How would you like to be a mob boss’s wife hmm? Oh baby,” he pushes up his sleeve and sticks his hand down in the water between your legs. “I would spoil you rotten,” he grits his teeth on the last word to emphasize, all while his fingers tease your sex.

He brings you closer to orgasm with his fingers while he fills your mind with promises of your future together.

“I’d kill for you, sugar. I’d burn the world down if I could give you what you want. Tell me, what do you want?” His fingers circle your bundle of nerves harder, and then he thrusts his fingers inside.

“You, Blue. I want you,” you moan as you reach your high. You whine, and he smirks. His eyes raking over your body in the tub.

When you’re done with your bath, Blue helps you out. He chuckles mischievously in your ear when he wraps a plush robe around your body. You surprise him then and nudge him back into the bedroom.

You untie his robe and shove him back on the bed. You shrug your robe and drop to your knees.

“Sugar- “

“Blue, let me. Let me suck the cock of the future boss.”

He lulls his head back at your words, and he groans even louder when you put your lips on him.

“The power you’d have,” you moan and kiss his thighs. “We could do anything we want,” you lick a stripe up to his tip and he jerks his hips. You mingle your praises with the actions of your mouth, teasing him.

He’s loud, desperate. The hunger for power and the hunger for his release have him writhing against your touch. He’s hungry, and he’ll take what he wants. He thrusts up into your mouth and comes with a loud moan.

When he sits up, his hair is disheveled, a wicked grin is on his face. You know the look; he’s got an idea.

“I know how I can become the boss.”

Blue is balls deep in your heat when he goes over the plan one last time. His thrusts are hard, erratic. You’ve come twice already and he’s nearing his end. Your thighs burn and your lungs struggle to catch a breath. This time it’s different, you both know.

Tonight’s the night.

Tonight, is the night Blue takes over the club and becomes the boss.

You’re nervous though. There are too many parts of this plan that could go wrong. But this is the only way that you and Blue will get your freedom – is if he’s in charge.

“No one,” he grunts, grabbing your hips, “Will hurt you again-“ He moans spilling deep inside you. Your walls flutter and you come a third time around him. The rush of knowing you’re going to be part of a murder scheme floods your veins. It feels so wrong, but Blue feels so good.

Blue lets himself collapse onto you, his mouth already seeking yours for a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth and he moans, he twitches inside of you.

“Blue?” you purr and rake your fingers through his hair. “You getting hard again?”

“You’re all mine,” he growls and kisses all over your face and neck. “Don’t forget what I said. Be in the office right after the show ends.”

You want to stay with him, but he pulls out. There’s something on his mind. You wonder if he’s nervous about tonight.

“Stick to the plan,” he says.

The plan.

The plan is to do the show like normal. The boss will be there tonight. After the show, go in his office for a private meeting. Blue will follow behind and while he’s staring at your figure, Blue goes for the kill.

Should be simple enough right?

Wrong.

You’re trying to get dressed in the bathroom but your hands tremble. You just know you’re going to get something wrong tonight.

“I’m scared Blue,” you call to him. You’re looking at your reflection, waiting to hear his reply.

“C’mere sugar,” you hear him. He’s quick to greet you with a smile. His hands reach for your hips and he pulls down your hose. “You were right,” he growls. “I was getting hard again.” You look down between your bodies to see him stroking himself. Loose strands of hair are in his face, the veins in his neck pop from exertion as he jerks himself off over. His cum splatters all over your stomach and your bra.

“That’s my only one!” you gasp but moan, feeling yourself grow slick.

“Guess you’ll have to go without,” he smirks and buries his face between your thighs. His voice comes out in a gravelly whisper, “you’re going to be perfect, sugar. There’s nothing to mess up. You sing, and you look gorgeous.”

Blue’s mouth on your heat distracts you from the nerves. But only for a moment.

Even when you peel off your bra and clean off yourself your hand has a tremble. You can’t even apply your lipstick properly.

“Here, let me,” Blue sweeps in, swiping the red stick across you lips. “Remember this?” he grins affectionately. How could you forget? Though it seems like a lifetime ago.

Blue gives you a wink, an unspoken reminder that it’ll be alright. You want to believe him, you truly do. And you think on this on the short walk over to the club.

It wasn’t too long ago it was your dream to be a famous singer. Now you’re dating a man planning to kill and then become a mob boss. Your dream of fame seems meaningless now.

You remember that singing always calms your nerves, you hope it does tonight.

Your fingers tremble as you get dressed in your dressing room. These clasps have never been easy due to the tight nature of your outfit, but tonight it seems more difficult. Murder. You’ll helping to assist a man with a murder plot. This isn’t you. Or it wasn’t you. You look at yourself in the mirror and see the guilt and shame.

You picture Blue here. What would he say if he were with you? That Fontana is a bad man. He’s killed people. Hurt people. You’re doing the world a favor right?

Then you think about the promises Blue made to you. Being a mob wife, being spoiled with riches and affection from your doting husband.

Your face warms thinking about marrying Blue. You can picture what your wedding would be like. Him taking you somewhere fancy for your honeymoon.

Yes.

This is what you want. You’re going to help Blue with this. Besides, you’re not the one doing the actual killing. Blue has killed before, and he can again.

It’s almost showtime and you’re ready. As ready as you’ll ever be.

The backstage tech comes to get you, telling you it’s your cue. You give them a smile. This show is going to be killer.

You don’t make it a habit to look out in the audience when you perform, but you do tonight. Just to make sure the boss Fontana is there. And he is, sitting quietly near the middle.

You give it your all in this performance, it might be your last one for a while. You’ve not talked to Blue about it, but you wonder if that would be a bad idea.

You sing your heart out, and when the show is over you feel a rush of adrenaline as you head backstage. Blue is waiting for you in your dressing room with a big smile.

“You were fantastic, sugar,” he strokes your arm and gives you a deep kiss. “You ready for the second act? I’ll be right behind you, don’t be afraid.”

It’s hard not to be when you walk towards Fontana’s door. You’ve never been in here before. You take a moment to gather yourself. You smooth down the lines of your outfit and breathe. You knock on the door, and before you can even put your hand down – one of his guards is opening it.

The room is dimly lit and it’s hard to make out Fontana. There’s a window behind him. The shades are drawn but on the other side of the window you can tell is the bar.

You stand frozen, unsure of what to do when a guard puts his hand on your shoulder, pushing you back a little.

“Let her in,” you hear a voice.

It sounded like….

Blue?

As your eyes fully adjust to the light, you can see Blue sitting at the desk. He must have done it! He didn’t need you as a distraction after all!

“Blue?” You take a step forward. “Are you alright? Did you do it?”

“Do what sugar?” He chuckles softly and looks to the man standing to his right. It’s only then that you notice this man is Fontana. You gulp, you feel your blood run cold. Something’s not right.

“I thought-“

“You thought what?”

“Blue! Answer me!” You cross your arms over your chest. He’s not usually one for games with you like this.

“Sweetheart, no one tells me what to do.” He tuts with a frown that turns to a malicious smile. “But I suppose…I should explain to you what’s going on.”

A guard closes the door behind you with a click, and you hear the lock turn. You’re scared.

“You see, sugar-“ his voice sounds poisonous, not the one full of smooth honey and sensuality that you’d come to love. “We knew that Sam was the mole. We needed to get to him see? So I knew pulling you away from him would expose him.”

“You used me?”

He nods with another wicked smile.

“Oh, and I’m the boss. If you haven’t guessed that one yet. Always was. Did you really think they’d name a club after a random nightclub singer?” He laughs and so do his men. “Fontana here was my figurehead. And you fell right into my little trap sweet thing.”

“I-“ you feel betrayed. You were betrayed. You turn to leave, but a guard grabs your arm.

“I did NOT say you could leave. Sugar.” Blue yells and slams his hand on his desk. The action causes his perfectly gelled hair to flip down onto his forehead.

“What use do you have for me?” you feel hot tears pouring down your cheeks.

Blue looks up to Fontana with another wicked grin. “Well,” Blue starts and gets up, walking around the desk to face you. Two of his guards have their hands on you, keeping you still. Blue comes over to the front of his desk and leans on the edge looking at you. “You have two options.”

“Which are?” you sniffle and your lip begins to quiver.

“Aww, look at that lip,” he chuckles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he claps his hands together and you jump. “You want your two options.” He sighs heavily and his thumb smooths over the edge of the desk repeatedly. “You can either marry me, be a mob wife. I’ll give you anything you want. Remember? When you were sucking my cock?” he chuckles and palms his dick through his pants. “You moaned sugar, you wanted to be my little mob wife. Well, now you have that chance!”

Tears are pouring down your cheeks, your face is hot with embarrassment and you feel like you could throw up all over the floor.

“But the second option…well, that’s not as fun. Since you’ve seen too much….well. I think you can guess your second choice.”

“I don’t-“ you sniffle again. You certainly don’t want to die, but what kind of life will you live if you’re Blue’s wife? Did he ever really love you?

“C’mere, sugar,” he beckons you over and the guards release their grip. You step over to him, he’s fully seated on the edge of his desk now. He reaches for you and smooths his hands up and down your arms like he has so many times. “You’re scared. I know. But you want to marry me right?”

“Did you ever?”

“Love you? No. But I did love fucking you,” he smirks. “It’d be a shame to give that up.” He pulls you forward and hovers over your lips with his own. “And remember, you owe me.”

“Owe you?” You pull back.

He hops up and goes to sit back in his chair. He looks through files on top of his desk and hands you a piece of paper. It’s the paper saying that you were hired by the club.

“I hired you. Yeah, your voice is good, but see we needed you. And hey! You got the gig!” he sits up and pulls you around to him. “But you OWE me.” He says pulling you down on his lap. You can feel him hard between your legs. “Feel that sugar? Do you wanna give this up?” He rubs himself against you and you want to pull away.

“So you’ve made your choice then?” he asks, grabbing your face to look at him.

“Blue, no-“

“You have.” He tsks and frowns. “Such a waste of good pussy. Ah, well. I can find another.” He reaches then in his breast pocket for the knife you know he keeps in there. He’s fast, you see it for a split second before he plunges it into your chest.

“Such a waste. She really was a knockout,” he strokes your cheek gently before you fall limp onto his desk. Your blood trickling over the fallen paper in your hand.

Blue stands and he motions towards his men. He snaps his fingers, “take care of this.” He turns looking out the window and he spots a waitress he’s had his eye on for some time. “Bring her to me, I have an itch I need to scratch,” he chuckles palming his hard dick.

Blue repeats looking at your lifeless body as the men carry you off, “she really was a knockout.”

ps....don’t spoil the ending for those who haven’t read it yet!!

tagging: @punkpascal, @sergeantkane, @pascalz, @wasicskosgirl, @tintinwrites, @velvetmel0n, @huliabitch, @mandoplease, @mylifeliterally, @shadow-assassin-blix, @bisexual-space-slut, @writefightandflightclub

#blue jones #blue jones x reader #sucker punch #mob au #my writing #IT'S FINALLY DONE

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wordsinwinters · 3 years

Text

Then Again, Part 26 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 50,293

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25,

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs.

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

A/N: This isn’t my favorite chapter, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I figured if I don’t post it now, I’ll never move on to the next. Additionally, as always, I live for feedback. 😉

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 26:

(Words: 2,825)

The bus ride will probably get boring soon, or at least as long as the girls stay asleep, but even as quiet as it is, it’s almost a perfect morning. Being early (around 6:00, I think?), there’s barely any light except street lamps and car lights, but some of the clouds on the right have caught a pretty bluish purple tinge. It reminds me of that Rainbow Fish book Aunt May used to read to me as a kid. To make it better, the morning air is chilly enough that the driver turned the heaters on low so it’s wrapped-in-a-blanket-while-it-snows warm in here. Although that also might be why, apart from general dirt and old gum, the strongest smell on the bus is salty grease— since the nearest heater is under the seat Flash spilled french fries and chicken nuggets in yesterday. It could be worse, though. I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad smell and the traffic isn’t horrible. It’s not the best, but it could definitely be louder and a lot slower. The field of flowing red tail lights ahead of us is oddly comforting, like a snail-slow pasture of mechanical color.

All in all, it’s a pretty cozy start for a dreaded five hour bus ride. It’s giving me quiet time to think. So that’s where I’m at. Or should be. I got some stuff organized in my head last night even if I keep getting distracted now. Well, it was more like a couple hours ago, since I wasn’t able to get to sleep for so long after we said goodnight. But anyway, I’m trying to focus. It’s just hard, even with both of them sleeping.

From my and Ned’s spot behind them, watching the girls’ heads gently shake and bump against each other as the bus shudders through potholes is kind of calming. They seem so peaceful from this angle, like two people who’ve never pranked me and Ned to the point we were nearly suspended, or kept us awake and annoyed by asking paradoxical hypothetical questions because they know how Ned and I will argue for days if we don’t agree on an answer, or anything else like that. It’s like finding two mischievous cats sleeping, curled up on a chair. It’s easier to appreciate them when they aren’t causing chaos. But it’s not that hard to appreciate them when they are anyway.

Though Ned and I won’t admit it when they’re fully awake, seeing their heads smack into the seat in front of them each time the bus lurched to a halt at stoplights (during the first ten minutes after they’d fallen asleep) was funnier than it should’ve been. Even knowing then that we wouldn’t mention it later didn’t stop us from exchanging silent laughs when they leaned back up, muttering unintelligible complaints before settling their heads back onto one another. For the last couple stoplights before the highway, at least, we decided to be better friends. We both stood up with one leg on the floor and one knee on our own seat so we could easily hold their foreheads back each time it happened. Again, I wouldn’t admit this out loud, even to Ned, but it’s a little bit funny that Ned was a split second slower than me, so while I kept catching MJ’s head before the stop, he half-smacked Y/N’s forehead, like a really-close-to-the-floor basketball dribble, and made a wincing face each time. A lot of times. But it did stop her from colliding with the seat, and she didn’t wake up or complain.

As nice as it is with them and almost everyone else sleeping through the dark, quiet first hour of the bus trek back to New York, I am excited for her and MJ to wake up. Whenever that is. I’ve missed them.

But anyway, I really need to focus. God. I’m not doing a great job of that this morning. Apparently. So I’m focusing now. It’s like Ned said. I need to be honest with myself.

Okay.

Alright.

No distractions.

I’m going to set myself straight now, before we get back, so I can make a game plan and be more decisive and make less mistakes. Fewer? Yeah, fewer mistakes. She’s told me that half a dozen times this since she read that grammar book last summer. But that’s not important.

If I’m being honest... I think I’ve avoided the real possibility that things could work out between us because it felt too risky. And I make some dumb, impulsive choices. So that’s saying a lot. If she said no, what’s the worst that could happen? May and Ned have been asking me that for months, and it’s been so frustrating. The answer should be obvious. The worst thing wouldn’t be the rejection, it’d be if it made her uncomfortable and she broke off our friendship. Or, even if she stuck around, if our friendship changed and I had to watch her get more and more distant, knowing it was my fault and nothing would ever go back to normal.

Those were the worst — and, I thought, most probable — possibilities. For months I’ve been certain that if anything changed, everything would, and it’d all go to shit. So I kept dodging it. And dodging her before the trip. But, then, things did change this weekend. Things are changing. We fought, and it was super shitty and awful and a total nightmare fiasco, but we made up. And she seemed almost as relieved as me when we did. Now we even have this pact about spending more time together. I know it’s officially only in the name of friendship, but something’s… different. I feel it, and I think she does too. And it doesn’t seem bad. That’s the craziest part. I mean, she even kissed me last night. On the cheek, but still. “Keep it.” Maybe May’s not ridiculous: she really might feel the same way.

I’ve been texting her this morning, actually. Aunt May. I had to admit that I’m happy she forced me to do the forehead kiss thing last night. As annoyed as I was that she and Ned ganged up on me like that, I can’t dispute the results. She kissed me! Kind of. (To be fair, she did hit my mouth a little bit even if it was an accident.) At first it made me wonder if she heard any of Ned’s shout-comments before I could turn the t.v. up to cover what he was saying. But I doubt it. Even if she felt the same way, I know her too well to think she wouldn’t freak out more and enough that it’d be noticable. Yeah, no, I’d definitely have been able to tell if she’d heard him saying things like, “Nobody’s saying you have to tell her that you googled the probability of high school sweethearts getting married that time she saved your ass on that Bronte essay, but yeah, Aunt May’s right! Just ask her to come over and either talk to her or do the hair/forehead thing!” Anyway, May’s on board with her coming over a lot this week and next week and giving us some space. So are Ned and MJ. Ned said they agreed on giving us two weeks (starting tomorrow) without them hanging out after school. And who knows, if the dance goes really well, maybe it’ll be normal for us to hang out, just us, without the whole group. Because… well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself.

I’ll admit, they’re the best friends I could ever have. All three of them.

And it’s nice to have them all here now, Ned to my left and the girls in front of us. It’s even nicer to be outside of class or the city or crazy study sessions and have had a short breather from all that (despite the shitshow before we smoothed things over and could enjoy it). To be somewhere chill together. Yesterday and today probably feel even better because the last few days, or even weeks… no— months, if I’m being honest— have had me in a kind of less than happy place. But that’s over now. We’re all here and things are finally good. I just wish the girls would wake up, especially since Ned’s back on his phone. Again.

Yesterday, everybody hung out for most of the afternoon, but being in the whole decathlon group isn’t the same as just being the four of us. Or two.

Speaking of two— Ned being away during this next week or two is going to make everything so… unfiltered. New. Without his interference and being able to talk to him as often as normal, it’ll mostly just be her and me. Nobody to distract attention or blame stuff on or help me out when I’m doing something dumb (which is often). Like, for example, last night when I maybe let my excitement get the better of me and I might’ve jumped on the bed and thrown a pillow that accidentally broke the lamp on the nightstand. While I don’t really think writing that “Bill Mr. Harrington” note with the school’s address was Ned’s best idea, it helped me not care too much, enough that I didn’t do something dumber like actually tell Mr. Harrington. It might come back to bite us, though. Still, he was genuinely helpful this morning when Flash showed up too.

While we were hanging out in the girls’ room waiting for them to finish packing, there was a knock on the door. I figured it was Mr. Harrington about to yell at me and Ned for the broken lamp, so I motioned to Ned to shut up and move closer to the head of the bed we were already sitting on where, courtesy of the wall between the bedroom and bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to see us as long as he stayed by the doorway. MJ gave us an odd glance before she got up to answer it. Her annoyed, “What are you doing here?” didn’t immediately disqualify Mr. Harrington, but the sound of Flash’s voice saying, “I, uh, brought you guys some muffins,” made me tense at the first syllable.

“The free muffins they give us for breakfast?”

MJ’s dripping sarcasm nearly made me laugh even though I couldn’t see her, but Y/N turning from her suitcase and walking over to join them killed it still in my throat.

“Nope,” he said. “They’re fancy muffins from a bakery a few miles away.”

I wanted to roll my eyes out of my skull.

She may not like him, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about him being into her. What a dumb way to impress someone. “Fancy muffins.”

“Expensive?” MJ asked. Even without seeing her face, I could tell she was giving him the squint death stare. It’s scary to have to respond to that face if you don’t know what the right answer is.

“Yes, especially with the delivery fee,” he said, sounding prepared for the question, “but they’re from a small local place, not a chain, which I figured you guys would appreciate. Actually, I think you’d like the woman who owns it, she was super grouchy and hard to convince.”

“Convince?”

“They don’t normally deliver at 5 in the morning.”

“Oh, so you thought you could just—”

“What kind did you get?”

That’s one of the things I like about Y/N. She knows how to manage tempers and when to jump in; she has Flash and MJ down to a science. In that moment, though, I wanted MJ to fire her most confrontational questions at him with no mercy.

“Well, they’re all apology muffins—” I heard MJ scoff. Exactly. She gets it. “But I got blueberry, chocolate, obviously, coffee, cranberry orange, maple, I think that one has chicken in it or something, and banana nut.”

Ned and I turned towards each other with silent smirks at the last one. It’s a dumb joke, but under normal circumstances we’d never resist—

“Cool. Since you’ve brought so many, you can come in.”

Sometimes MJ drives me up the wall. This was one of those times.

I mentally took back my agreement with her scoff.

The three of them came into the room, and for a couple seconds, Flash didn’t see us. The girls were closer to the window than they were to the wall and the bed Ned and I were sitting on, and he didn’t look behind him. Until MJ pointed us out directly.

“You can give them some too,” she said, her expression bordering on smug. “Apology muffins, right?”

Flash froze for a second. I straightened my back. Neither Ned or I said anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.”

Surprisingly, he shook his shoulders like a bug just buzzed by his head and walked over, opening a giant rectangle of a box up to us.

“Take however many you guys want.”

I stared at him, not moving. Nobody flinched. Then I realized he was tapping the side of the box with his thumb. Not in an asshole come on, hurry up way, but in an anxious way. Just as I started to reach toward the box, Y/N asked:

“Why’d you get so many of the coffee ones?”

Flash looked away at just the right second.

Did I technically cave first by reaching into the box? Yes. But did anyone see? No.

Although, I guess he technically caved by offering us the muffins in the first place. Ha. All the same, I took a blueberry one.

“They’re my dad’s favorite. I wanted to surprise him, you know? But I can’t even get a hold of.... Um, are your guys’ parents going to pick you up when we get there, or are you actually staying for school?”

“Staying.”

“All of you?”

He looked around to ask all of us, even me and Ned. We all nodded. When he looked at me, though, his eyes twitched. It’s a face I’ve gotten a lot before. He realized he said parents.

“You said these are orange cranberry?” Ned asked, pointing.

Flash nodded.

“They’re solid, though the banana nut ones are probably the best.”

As I said, under normal circumstances, like if one of the girls had said it, I would’ve laughed right then, but I’m not used to laughing around Flash. Ned, who usually follows that same rule, shook his head and grinned, if a little bit... nervously?

“Hell no!” he said, pretending to be mildly outraged. “I’m not eating banana-bust-a-nut muffins.”

A second surprise: Flash tilted his head and paused, clearly as stunned to be told a joke by Ned as the rest of us were to witness it— and laughed. So did everyone else. It was only for a few seconds, like literally three quick seconds, but for the first time for as long as I can remember, all of us were laughing with Flash. It stopped almost as soon as it started.

Tension crept back in soon so he left pretty quickly after that with an awkward, “See you guys in a few.” Thank god.

The girls finished tidying their room and going over the homework that’s due today (which we did last week since we knew we’d never get it done on the trip), before forcing me and Ned into the hallway so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t need to check our room for us and potentially find the broken lamp.

And then, pretty soon, we ended up on the warm bus, loaded in with everyone else. It seemed like everybody but Ned and I were too quiet and sleepy and squinty to be able to talk much before dozing off or staring blankly out the window or scrolling social media on their phones, the latter two options leading to the first in most cases. At this point, I think Ned, Flash, and I are the only ones still awake.

I’m going to work at tolerating him. As long as he doesn’t cross any lines with anybody from now on, I won’t bait him either. (Admittedly, I’ve been guilty of that, especially recently.) I mean, his comment about his dad was hard to miss. And even when he said it, it wasn’t a shock. Everyone in our grade at some point has had to listen to Flash’s rambling excuses for his parents ignoring or forgetting to show up for school events. Maybe being a dick is just hereditary for him. Or a family tradition.

I don’t remember how I got so off track. Where was I before? Oh yeah. Risk. Possibilities. The almost-worst case scenario that turned out not so bad. It’s been a messy weekend with plenty of re-evaluating, but the point is simple: I think I’ve got to give a few new things a try, and I’m excited to have a chance over the next couple weeks.

Next update: God only knows.

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tallys-train-blog · 3 years

Note

Can you please make some dating headcanons for the Star Tugs, please? (You can do the Z-Stacks later if you want to)

*screaming* IM BACK

I've been working on this for like 2 months, it sat in my drafts box for about a month and a half with just TenCents' and then Big mac was added like a month ago LMAO

Why not make it an even longer post?👀

Star Tugs, Z-Stacks character relationship headcanons

Sorry about the massive post ya'll hope you enjoy

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Star Tugs

Tencents

General

Very loving throughout the whe relationship but can be very hardheaded/stubborn.

Will bring you flowers when ever he can or leaves notes on your door/office.

Loves to cuddle and watch movies at night.

Favorite dates are sitting at the end of the doc and talking with you.

Beginning of relationship

Thought that you would never like him or want to date him so be kind of acted cruel when feelings arose.

And then something happened

You were pushed off one of the tugs once and without thinking TenCents dove into the frigid water after you and pulled you out.

He held you in his arms until medical personnel could show up and he broke down when you left in an ambulance.

He showed up to the hospital the next day with flowers and when he saw the tubes and wires he cried

Throughout your stay he cringed a little as tubes and such were taken out.

He stayed by your side and held your hand until you woke up and kissed you the minute he could.

He told you how much he loved you and how he felt so bad for being such an ass and he ended up spending the night curled up in your hospital bed with you.

Oj and Hercules still have the photos

Big Mac

General

Veey sweet man

Loves to tease you though so be prepared.

Will give you kisses on the cheek as a way to show love or as a goodbye if he's in a rush.

Kind of protective, specifically when it comes to the Z stacks.

Beginning of relationship

You never expected him to have feelings for you. Not because he does what TenCents does, but because he shows his love in ways that you really have to look for.

You work with him? He'll help you and work with you whenever he can.

You live with the fleet? Will try and help you with meals or cleaning or just keep you company.

He vents to you a lot and thats another way you can tell you've learned his trust.

When he asks you out it's more or less a "would you like to see a movie together?" Or something along the lines of that.

Your first "date" was very sweet and he did did his best to spoil you and make you feel comfortable.

The first time he said i love you, you bith looked at eachother stunned and then smiled

10/10 amazing man.

Otis Jones (O.J)

General

Very sweet and traditional lover.

Will compliment everything, your eyes, your smile, your laugh, you hands, anything he can compliment he will atleast twice.

Is traditional in the sense that you aren't officially dating until he takes you out a few times

Holds your hands and give you kisses on your knuckles whenever

He also does this little thing that if your hands are scuffed or dried he'll put lotion on them for you.

Beginning of relationship

Very upfront with his feelings as he knows that keeping them hidden can only hurt your relationship with eachother.

Very politely asks you while making dinner or cleaning the dishes with you.

Doesn't want to tell anyone until your officially together and comfortable with it.

As i said before he wants to take you out and test the waters a few times to see how you feel about dating.

Brings you daisies and always holds your hand when showing you something.

Top Hat

General

Shows his love through buying gifts and surprisingly, dancing!

Is like Otis in the sense that he wants to take you out a few times before being official.

Little side note, your first kiss was on the stern of his boat as the sun went down to the song You Send Me by Sam Cooke during a party.

Beginning of Relationship

Grampus and Billy were the first to find out and Tophat was slightly pissed.

His love language is very much physical touch and buying gifts so things like slow dancing, soft touches, and new jewelry.

Kind of rubs that whole thing in Hercules' face

Doesn't want kids but very much loves yours if you have them or your nieces and nephews.

If you have siblings he will definitely have a drink with them and have long conversations with them so long as they are smart and can be sarcastic.

You have a promise ring with it, it's a thing for if he ever has to go out to sea you know he's with you.

Plans on marrying you as you are the only person he's been very attached to.

Warrior

General

Very much a himbo but he loves you so much.

Fell very hard very very quick and Big Mac kimd of teased him for it but definitely cheered him on.

Very very in love with you and was the first to say I love you.

Beginning of relationship

Isn't good at dancing or with his words so he told you he loved you by writing it out in a letter.

Walks down the docks while you take about your day and how you're feeling are his favorite "dates".

Loves to hear you laugh so very much, it never fails to make him smile.

Will give you kisses randomly and that's how the rest of the fleet found out.

He had a job with SunShine and as a way to say good bye he ran up to you, grabbed you, and kissed you and ran.

50/10 very loving and genuine man.

Hercules (my most developed character LMAO)

General

O h t h i s m a n i s a f l i r t .

Lives to make you flush.

Gave you a necklace with a photo of him and TenCents in it (TC is basically his son).

Gave you little hints that he was smitten with you right off the bat.

Wasn't afraid to ask you to dinner but you weren't official as he wanted to test the water bc past relationships went to hell.

Everyone knew he had actual feelings for you, he was sweeter on you and seemed to trust you more, and smile at you more than the others and is always more goofy around you.

Beginning of relationship

Took you to a bar to go dancing and the song Sh-Boom - Life Could Be A Dream came on and when he dipped you at the end of the song he kissed you and held you close as the next song came on, foreheads pressed together.

Definitely sleeps with you in his arms every night and his two cats sleep with you. (TenCents and Sunshine have konked out with guys a few times.

Dates where you lay out a blanket in a field and read or look at the stars are very common (he does this thing when if you're on your stomach reading he'll lay his head on your thighs or ass)

Again, lives to make you blush and he'll do basically anything to make you turn as red as TenCents' Scarf.

Loves to dance and sing.

Dusk is sometimes spent dancing on his boat.

Loves to dance to hound dog with you

Sunshine

General

Relatively mature lover.

Very gentle and sweet on you and loves to make you laugh and smile.

Could be covered in grease or dust after work and would still bring you flowers or a sea shell he found if he got the chance.

"Oh boy, here comes lover boy Sunshine!" -tophat

Big mac definitely soothed him into telling you about his feelings.

Beginning of relationship

Very nervous to tell you and stuttered a little when talking to you.

Grabbed your hand by accident one day and thats when you turned to him and told him you had feelings for him.

Poor man almost passed put and fell into the water out of pire relief.

Nights spent watching movies or sitting on the beach talking about dumb things together are his favorite ways to spend time with you.

Z-stacks

Zorran

General

Oh god you never thought he had feelings for you.

He was a complete asshole and seemed to live pissing you off.

So when he asked you out you were stunned and almost turned him down, but decided you would give it a shot.

Very difficult man, but he was a lot softer on you after a little while.

Beginning of relationship

This relationship definitely started by you snapping at him over something hime dod and him leaning down to your face and saying something like "well aren't you a cutie"

You just about smacked him and then it settled in that he was basically flirting with you.

First date consisted of a walk down the streets of San Francisco (yes this au is in SF CA bite me.)

He took you into a shop and pointed out a cat stuffie that you said looked like one you had when you were little and he bought it for you with a red bow on it a few days later.

His love language is definitely gifts.

Zebedee (my love)

General

Absolutely lover man

Basically the Hercules of the Z-stacks just a little harder to read.

Has a son. His name is Zip. You are a parent now.

Zebedee was brought up in a weird house hold so he works very hard to make sure you are comfortable and he doesnt make the relationship miserable.

Beginning of relationship

Was quite open about the whole thing and surprisingly practically cussed out Zorran when he started with his shit.

Very much a sweetheart and would do anything with you if he could.

Zak

General

Dickwad. Doesn't know how to show his love for you, but it's there.

Shows his love by being protective and always being aroune basically.

Very rarely actually smiles but when he does cherish the fucking moment.

Beginning of relationship

"Sir wtf everyone thinks you hate them" kind of vibe.

Thought he just wanted to get to know you but now you're a week into the relationship and holy fuck i want to get married.

Wants to hold your hand most of the time and just hear your voice.

Zug

General

Little bit of an asshole but tries his best

Buys you little things like journals if you like to write or seeds if you have a garden.

Wears ties and always has you pick them out and if you aren't around he wears the one with your favorite flowers or colors on it.

Beginning of relationship

Teases you and acts like a big man when you first get together but then he realizes how much he loves you and becomes a big softy.

Loves to cuddle randomly and Zorran is a little piss baby about it

Loves everything about you, especially your eyes and he always makes it known.

Zip

General

Kind of a ditz but you have to love him for it.

He was a stuttering mess when he told you he had caught feelings and held out a single sunflower for you to take.

Loves to lay his hedon your lap as you play with his hair and talk or watch a movie.

Likes to write stories, a lot of them involve you, and he reads them to you! He's a very good writer and so many of his characters are really well developed and beautifully designed.

He has a little brother named Zacary (Xacary?) and his brother often helps Zip set dates and such up

Beginning of relationship

I have a little headcanon that Zip might have partial autism but he has ADHD and he was abused as a kid so the relationship is a little rough for him at first.

Adjusting to the whole thing of hey they love me, i love them, i can trust them.

But as he warms up he helps more, and dances with you more, and begins to really thrive in the relationship.

Is definitely in love with you even if he forgets to tell you some days.

He's trying his hardest, give him a little time

Zorran definitely had feelings for you qnd was pissy when you fell for Zip and Zip fell for you

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Gonna add Boomer, Lillie, Billy, Grampus, and Cappy on later in a reblog.

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