#i hated the story i posted yesterday so i felt the need to write something else and get it posted asap
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is it possible that just yesterday your name was not the shape of all my exhales; how could a room without you not be empty?
jh86 x reader: it’s a billet house situation.
(warnings: blasphemous filth (it’s honestly not even thaaaaaat bad), masturbation, oral sex (f on m), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), praise, way too much whimpering, more tension than actual smut (you guys know how i operate), yes the tooth is addressed, idk just please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)
(a/n: my favorites! thank you endlessly for your patience! here we are, with another story about the (newly) toothless wonder that makes him out to be a stuttering, blushing, whimpering mess. as is typical for my jh86 stories, you have all the power (as you do in real life). and, since i always get a little influx of hate whenever i post for jh86, please remember that whenever anyone shares a bit of writing with you, they are putting a part of themselves entirely at your mercy, so act accordingly (i.e. with kindness). i truly appreciate your encouragement and messages and love so genuinely, you have no idea. if some of the details seem a little threadbare here, please don’t look too closely - i know the premise is a bit far-fetched. regardless, the next time i emerge from my cave of teeth, i will bring an offering of either mt19 (welcome, newbie) or am34 (hi, angel), depending on for whom the muses give me more inspiration. anyways, sending so much love to you and your snakes. go canucks even now. see you soon.
you knew your parents had becomes a billet family while you were away at school, although you really didn’t know what that meant. to you, their new arrangement, their good deed, their latest endeavor now that they were empty-nesters, didn’t really involve you or your break.
a young hockey player was staying with them so he didn’t have to live on his own, they had explained. yeah, sure, you had responded, expecting a twelve-year-old prodigy to be living in your house when you arrived home for your extended break. you could be nice to a kid for a while and make an extra portion during lunch. you barely gave it a second thought.
however, when you lugged your suitcases through the door on that first day, there was no twelve-year old prodigy to be found. instead, when you set your bags down with a huff, you looked up to find a twenty-something staring at you from the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in his hand.
he stood there, frozen, almost theatrically still, his eyes holding yours for several seconds as you swiped a loose lock of hair from your face. you straightened up, stretching your back to its full extension, before raising a brow at his odd reaction, or lack thereof.
“uh, hello?” you said, a slight smile gracing one side of your mouth.
he seemed to lose his grip on his bowl at the sound of your voice, dropping it only slightly before fumbling to grasp it again, the spoon making a clattering noise.
“y-yeah, hi,” he said. you felt your smile grow as he flushed a delicate shade of pink. he cleared his throat before speaking again. “they mentioned you’d be coming home.”
you took in his face. his long, soft-looking hair that framed his heart shaped face, his pouty, full lips, the gentle slope of his nose, the surprisingly sharp angle of his jaw.
he was the definition of pretty. and, if you could tell anything from this one interaction, he was pretty and nervous, your favorite combination. fun.
you cocked your head to the side, looked at him, still down the hall, noticed his grip, comically firm around his bowl so as not to drop it again. “so, roomie, do you take the right or left side of the bed?”
your smile only intensified as you watched his brow furrow, his mouth stumble over his words, panic flood his eyes. you let him trip over himself for only a second longer, not wanting to be cruel. too cruel, at least.
finally, you waved him off playfully. “i’m kidding. my room’s down the hall from the guest room, if you need anything.” his little nervous laugh made your chest sing, a bit. “what’s your name?” you asked as you took hold of your bags, began to haul them up the stairs.
“right,” he said, voice shaking only slightly. “it’s jack. my name’s jack.”
you grinned, the action making its way into your voice as you tested out the name on your tongue. you noticed his flush grow deeper, more personal, saw something shine across his gaze at his name in your tone, promising in a lovely kind of way.
you told him your name when he asked, gave him a final lazy once-over. “your spoon’s upside-down, jack,” you called through a clenched grin, bit your lip when you heard him mutter something and the tell-tale sound of a spoon against a bowl.
quickly, you realized that your break had just gotten significantly more interesting.
the one downside, though, came when your parents told you that you would be sharing your car with the newest member of the house.
it wouldn’t be too bad, they said, as he would be practicing or playing for most of the day at the rink just a couple streets down, and if you needed the car, you could always drop him off.
sure, fine, you thought, you could share. you could try not to make him too nervous, even if it was fun. of course, you could play nice.
so, this was you, playing nice, driving him to practice the next day.
after he had settled into the passenger seat, you put your hand on the back of his headrest and turned your body so that you could reverse the car out of the driveway.
his gaze slid to your neck briefly before he flushed, only just.
“so,” you began as you pulled away from your house, facing forward again, “are you any good?”
“what?” he asked, suddenly more bashful, looking down, fidgeting like he didn’t know where to put his hands.
you smiled, kept your eyes on the road. “at hockey, jack. are you any good at hockey?”
he shook his head, let out a light laugh, the melody of which made you scrunch up your nose slightly. he brought a hand to absentmindedly scratch the back of his neck. to your surprise, his mouth actually ticked up into a soft smirk, an expression that was completely new to you.
“yeah, i’m pretty good at hockey, i think,” he replied, his voice probably as stable and confident as you had ever heard it.
you nodded. “huh,” you said, “i wouldn’t have guessed it.”
he turned to face you, looking confused, even a little hurt, his gaze suddenly shimmery with something. “what? why?”
you felt a smirk creep onto your own face as you pulled into the parking lot of the rink. “oh, i don’t know,” you replied with a shrug. “you’re a little too pretty, i guess,” you finished as you put the car in park, turning to him now that you were stopped. “but you must be used to people saying that.”
he scratched his neck again, eyes anywhere but yours. “y-yeah,” he finally mustered. “used to it, yeah.” he fumbled for the door handle, finally opened it. “you’ll, uh, you’ll pick me up at 3?”
you couldn’t help but bite your lip at his reaction. “you told me a teammate was driving you home.”
“yup, i did,” he said, slowly, as if running the words over in his head, nodding as he grabbed his things, hiding his pink face from you. “i did say that. so i’ll see you at home then.”
“see you at home, jack,” you finished as he shut the door, watched him mumble something to himself and shake his head as you drove away.
what a fun addition to your break, you thought, typically so filled with work and school preparation. what a meaningless and harmless distraction from the work you needed to do.
so, when you got home, you spent a large chunk of time chipping away at that work. when you finished, though, you thought you’d take advantage of the sunshine and lay out for a bit, maybe get some color.
you couldn’t have been outside, reading in your bikini, for more than twenty minutes when a car pulled into your driveway.
you pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head to see jack climbing out of the passenger seat, talking to the driver, presumably one of his teammates, before the driver turned his head to look at you. his mouth ticked up in an arrogant smirk as his gaze rolled down your body.
you could have rolled your eyes. “hey, handsome,” you said instead, pushing yourself up and onto your side.
jack stilled for a second before continuing to take his bags out of the trunk.
“hi, beautiful,” his teammate said. “don’t tell me hughesy’s been keeping you a secret, hm?”
you laughed, false and sugary like a diet soda, tilted your head back so your hair would fall to expose your collarbones.
“hughesy couldn’t keep me anywhere if he tried,” you responded, watching jack’s face pale. you smiled at him as he approached. “jack, did you tell your teammate he’s welcome to stay for dinner?”
jack looked at you, searched your eyes for a moment. there was something steely in his. something you liked, something that sparked some heat between you.
his teammate laughed like he knew something you didn’t, breaking the tension. “another time, beautiful,” he called from the driver’s seat, beginning to pull away.
you gave him a pout. “i’ll hold you to it,” you flirted, only turning to jack once the car was completely gone. “jack, before you go in, could you put some sunscreen on my back?”
he fixed you with a look, uncharacteristically serious. his gaze hovered on your chest for a second before meeting your eyes again. he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, gave a slight shake of his head. “i’m not doing that.”
you furrowed your brow. “why not? no one else is home.”
“too bad,” he said, continuing inside.
you rolled your eyes at him, but began to fold up your towel. “fine. if i make dinner, will you tell me about practice?”
there was a pause.
“yeah, sure,” came the response, almost uncertain in tone, like he thought this must be some kind of trick. like no one had asked him that before, as if no one had ever wanted to know.
and as much as you enjoyed playing with him, you actually wanted to get to know him, too.
so, that night, and each night following, this became part of the routine. you’d make an extra portion for dinner, and as you sat together and ate, you’d ask questions about his practice, his day, which would lead to answers to unspoken questions about his life, his person.
“why hockey?” you might ask, to which he would rattle off some media trained answer, to which you would raise your brow in doubt. only then would he give you some real answer about falling in love with the feeling of it, about feeling closer to his family because of it, eventually hinting to an insecurity that he didn’t know how to do anything else.
and he might ask about school, to which you would say what you were studying, to which he would shoot you a doubtful look. only then would you give some real answer about wanting to do something tangible, something that no one could say was pointless, eventually hinting at an insecurity that your work might eventually mean nothing.
harmless, you thought, meaningless. that’s what this was. fun.
meaningless, how eventually you wouldn’t have to tell him you were heading to the car, how you would just know he would be there in the mornings to go to practice. meaningless, how after dinner, he would wash the dishes and you would dry them. meaningless, how each day he would reveal a bit more of himself to you, and you would grant him the same privilege.
until you knew him like he was one of your best friends, and he knew you as good as anyone.
the more you learned about him, and the more you shared, the less meaningless it felt, the more comfortable it all felt.
sometimes it even felt like jack was most comfortable when you were explicitly trying to make him uncomfortable.
you expected the blush, the stammering, you found a type of peace in it, just as he found peace in your innuendos, your comments, your shameless flirting, even if he thought you were only joking, only playing around.
even if he thought you couldn’t possibly want him so explicitly, so clearly. when had anything ever been so straightforward?
so he decided you were toying with him, however disheartening the idea was.
each day, it seemed, a different teammate would drive him home, and more often than not, you would be tanning in the yard.
and his usual blushing, stuttering reaction slowly melted and hardened into a gaze full of desire, poorly veiled.
his ever-present flush was still there, of course, but your focus had shifted to the way his chest would rise and fall, the way his eyes would linger on the elegant slope of your shoulders, settle in the pockets of your collarbones, drip down your legs, so reluctant to glide back up to your eyes again.
and you would ask him to put sunscreen on your back, and he would say no, each time looking more and more confused as to why he was refusing.
the first time his mask of nonchalance truly broke came only a couple weeks in, the day when the teammate who had driven him home on that first day eventually drove him home again.
and there you where, in practically the same place, same state as that first day. with maybe the slightest bit more of a motivation to bring jack to a stumbling, stuttering mess.
you were about to open your mouth, say something like hi, again, handsome, but you didn’t even get the chance to.
as soon as jack got out of the car, he made eye contact with you. there was electricity there, a spark you felt in your bones. “hi, baby,” he said, his voice so sweet and doting your stomach actually dropped at how genuine he sounded. but he couldn’t mean it, right? what was he playing at?
so you shot him a look, scrunched up your nose, to which he sent you a warning glance. you rolled your eyes, caught the smirk his teammate sent his way.
“need some help with your sunscreen?” jack offered as he walked up to you, making you pause. you took your sunglasses off of your head and set them down.
you met his gaze again, tried to figure out his angle. when you couldn’t, you simply stood up, handed him the bottle, gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail and faced away from him. “is your friend staying for dinner?” you asked, more so to the driver than to jack.
the man in the car shook his head. “sorry, beautiful. i wouldn’t want to intrude on date night.”
and suddenly jack’s hands were on you, as close as he had ever been, the chill of the lotion along with the heat of his palms sending a shiver down your spine. despite yourself, your words came out breathy. “date night. right,” you said, trying not to focus on the callused texture of his hands as they worked your shoulders, the plane of your back, up to your neck.
you barely noticed when the car pulled away, could have moaned at how good his touch felt. even when he was done, he kept his hands on you still, one on either side of your waist. you could feel his breath on your neck, suddenly remembered who he was, the weirdness of this whole interaction.
you turned around to face him, hardened any desire into something you could use. something like a weapon. you placed both of your hands on his chest. “feeling touchy today, hm?” you asked, looking up at him, willing innocence and intrigue into your eyes.
and just like that, he was there, again, the jack that you knew. a flush crept up his neck to his cheeks, and his eyes darted around your face as he searched for words.
“‘m sorry, baby, just didn’t want him to think-”
you cocked a brow. “didn’t want him to think what?” you prompted, ignoring the fact that he was still calling you baby, like some kind of community theatre actor unwilling to come out of a role. you weren’t acting.
he tilted his head back, looked to the sky for a moment. “it’s just that,” he looked back at you. “he’s, you know, just-”
you nodded. “what, pretty boy?” you asked, raised a hand to push a damp lock of hair from his face, watched his blush deepen with a vengeance, his eyes cloud with something darker.
he seemed to forget what he was saying completely, the combination of your words and your touch on his face like a sedative.
and you had a feeling that the words that were caught in his throat were something along the lines of he’s not me. but, you figured, if he wasn’t going to tell you that, that was on him. so, instead of kissing him, like you so wanted to, you just gave a disappointed shake of your head, swiping a thumb across his bottom lip before heading inside to shower away the sunscreen you didn’t need, had never needed.
your dinners were common ground, a momentarily truce, before you would go back to your endless quest to see that flush, and he would return to his endeavor of trying to hide it, to hide what you were doing to him, which was only getting more challenging.
little did he know, it was only getting harder for you to control yourself, too. especially when you would be in your room, with the door open, and he would walk out of the bathroom, freshly showered, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
and you would try not to look, try not to stare at the way his hips just barely held up the towel, or how his chest gleamed in the most inviting way.
it became harder still when you realized he was talking to you.
“hm?” you asked, forcing your gaze up to his eyes.
“said i used your body wash, baby, figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair. your eyes followed the motion.
“why?” you asked, brow furrowed. “yours is in there, no?”
his smile was small, bashful. you got up, slowly walked over to where he stood. “like the smell of yours more,” he admitted, looking down.
“and you’re sure it’s mine?” you placed a hand on his bare shoulder, pushed yourself up so your face was aligned with the space between his neck and collarbone, inhaled, felt a shiver start just under your touch. “nevermind,” you said, recognizing the flowery scent. “it’s mine.”
you looked up to meet his eyes, not taking your hand off of him just yet. “’s okay, then?” he asked, that beautiful blush spreading down his neck.
you hummed, slowly pulled your hand off of his shoulder. “if you like it so much,” you said with a shrug, walking back into your room, “feel free.” so you left him, breathless, standing in the hallway. you, too, had to catch your breath, though, when you shut your door behind you and looked down at your hand, seemingly scorching from resting on his bare skin for so long. you could still feel him underneath you, in an instant developing a craving to feel more of him, feel all of him.
still, you understood that you both couldn’t dance around each other forever, that at some point the spell would shatter like a china teacup on the floor. and that’s exactly what it felt like when he asked you if it was okay that the car would be back later than usual tonight as you washed and dried the dishes together. you had already agreed that he would drive himself back from his game, but, apparently, he had plans after the game, too.
“sure,” you said instinctively. “for what?”
something curious burned alight in his eyes as he said, “just seeing a friend, should be back later tonight.”
and something green burned alight in your stomach as you immediately became alert. you knew a friend. you had several a friends. “yeah?” you asked. “who?” you hated the way your voice, usually so steady and confident, took on only the slightest of creaks at the end of your question. you felt like it exposed you entirely.
he paused, searching your eyes for a moment before looking down again. “just some girl,” was his answer, almost uncertain, continuing to run a rag over a glass.
you felt that feeling bubble up inside of you, hot, blistering jealousy, but also pure anger. how could he not love this game as much as you did? how could he end it, throw the board away so easily?
but you just gave a slight nod, refusing to look at him.
unfortunately, you realized, you two had grown close enough that he knew you, truly and deeply, and of course he would be able to tell that something was off.
“what?” he asked, turning to you. “what is it?”
you shook your head. “nothing. hope you have fun.” but your voice came out short, snappy, sort of mean.
he furrowed his brow. “wait, what?” he said. “what is this?” he gestured to your general presence, to which you put down the plate in your hands and sighed, finally looking at him fully.
you crossed your arms in front of your chest.
whatever he saw in your eyes made the slightest of pouts grace his lips. he gave a nod of understanding. “oh,” he began, “you’re jealous.”
you huffed. “i am not.”
“you are. i know you are, baby.” something flashed briefly through his gaze, making his pout deepen. “what, so you’re allowed to fuck around, but i’m not? how does that work?”
fire roared inside of you as you grabbed a fistful of his shirt, brought him down to your level. “fuck around? is that what you think i’m doing?” you watched him swallow, swore you could feel his heartbeat under your hand, willed pity into your eyes and shook your head. “oh, sweetheart,” you tsked, “thought you were smarter than that.”
you let yourself look at his lips one more time before letting go, turning to walk away.
“go ahead and fuck around, if you want to,” you called over your shoulder. “but i don’t think you want to.”
and you must have been right, because after the game, at the time you had originally expected, you heard the car in the driveway, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.
you heard him come up the stairs, close the door behind him, settle into his room. and you left him to whatever he was doing, for a while, maybe an hour or two. until you decided you were going to take a shower.
you walked out into the hallway, a towel wrapped around you, and began to make your way to the bathroom. and you would have made it there, if you hadn’t been stopped, completely frozen, by the soft noises coming from behind jack’s bedroom door.
noises that sounded like stifled, breathy moans, like whimpers trying so desperately to be hidden.
you inched closer to the door, listened through the wood, although your suspicions were all but absolutely confirmed already.
your throat began to tighten as the noises became clearer, less controlled, and if you didn’t know better you thought they could have been mistaken for teary sobs, if not for the undeniable baseline of pleasure and desperation that threaded all the noises together.
and you knew it was normal, for a young man to touch himself, and you told yourself that you would have walked away, stalked back to your room, completely unsatisfied.
but when he clearly moaned out, “fuck, baby, like that,” the sound bursting out of him like a confession, you knew you weren’t going back to your room. not when he had called for you, had begged for you, was so obviously thinking of you.
so you opened his door, met his hooded gaze immediately, saw alarm and shame flash through his eyes, watched his hands fumble for his blankets in an attempt to cover himself up, to which you could have scoffed.
“no, no,” you cooed, approaching the side of his bed. “‘s okay, baby.” you relished in the way that beautiful blush of his blossomed like a peony in late spring, full and all-consuming, making him look so deliciously vulnerable.
his exhale was shaky, a rockslide of emotion. “baby, you weren’t s‘posed to-” he didn’t finish his thought. “i didn’t mean to-” another breath. “tried to be quiet, i swear.”
as he spoke, though, you squinted at his mouth, noticed how swollen his top lip was, finally recognized that his front tooth had chipped, seemingly right in half.
you gingerly took his jaw in one hand, tilted your head, concern lacing your voice. “does it hurt?” you asked, mesmerized by him, the physical evidence that he was alive, that he could hurt, and could still desire you so blatantly.
his eyes, before glazed over, took a moment before understanding filled them. he immediately looked down, tried to remove himself from your touch. “not anymore,” he mumbled. “know it looks bad-”
you scoffed at this, traced your thumb along his lip, felt the swell and heat travel through your body. “you think it looks bad?” he gave a bashful nod, setting your blood ablaze. “oh, jack,” you said, shaking your head, “you could never be anything but pretty.”
and he looked at you like he would endure all the pain in the world, if only so you would tell him he looked beautiful while doing so. you smiled at how he glowed under your praise, smiled into his lips as they met yours in a kiss that felt much too long overdue, and yet felt so familiar, almost nostalgic. he kissed you with a hunger that surprised you, given the tenderness of his lip, but he moaned into your mouth, so you figured he didn’t mind too terribly. you ran your tongue along his teeth, your fingertips dancing along his jawline before pulling back, only just.
after a breath, heavy with want, you sunk to your knees beside his bed, looked up at him, took one of his hands in your own. your stomach stirred at how he immediately clutched back. “let me help you, hm? i’ll make you feel so good, jack, i promise.” you tried to dull the teasing in your tone. “know you were thinking ‘bout me, before.” your voice became a rasp at the memory. “when you were touching yourself, yeah?”
he blushed, but shifted towards the edge of the bed, closer to you, his swallow rough and audible. he squeezed your hand in a silent plea. “please, can i touch you, pretty boy?” you asked. “let me suck you off, hm?”
he nodded, a whimpered “please?” escaping him as you pushed his covers aside, spat into your hand and took him into your grip, hot and hard under your touch, the result of weeks of pent up lust, fantasies he had assumed dead suddenly being jerked awake. you peered up at him, wanting to see every reaction he could give you.
as soon as you touched him he squinted his eyes shut, lost in the sensation of you, here, exactly as he had imagined you so many times. his grip on your hand tightened when you took him in your mouth, felt the weight of him, the weight of his longing, through your entire body.
“fuck, baby,” he cried, using his other hand to gather your hair in a fist, as you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock before teasing the tip. “your mouth feels so good.” his voice was a shudder as you hummed around him, making him moan deeper.
he grew harder in your mouth as you hollowed out your cheeks, drew your head up and down, losing yourself in the rhythm of his breathing, tethered to this reality only by his hand on yours.
before you knew it, you could feel his thighs clench in telling as his exhales grew tight. “y-you need to stop, baby,” he whimpered, eyes glassy, “’m gonna cum if you don’t.” his voice was pleading.
you didn’t stop immediately, only looked up at him through your lashes, making him curse, his brow furrow. “please,” he begged, “don’t want to cum yet, baby, please.”
you thought for a moment, part of you wanting to feel him in your mouth for a little longer, but the part of you that wanted to know what he felt like inside of you won out in the end.
you reluctantly pulled up off of him, melted at the gratitude that mingled with the desire in his gaze. “what if i want you to cum?” you asked, rising from your knees, grinning when he pulled you on top of him.
“you first,” he said before kissing you again, bruising and potent with feeling. “need to feel you cum around me, baby.”
“yeah?” you said against his mouth. “is that what you were thinking about before i came in?”
he hummed a noise of affirmation. you bit your lip at his confession, plainly delighted at the reminder that he thought of you, that you occupied his mind the way he did yours.
you pushed his chest back, positioned yourself on top of him. “been wantin’ to fuck me, hm?”
you bit your lip again as you sunk down onto him, closed your eyes at the stretch. “so bad, baby,” he groaned, “so, so bad.” you both stayed completely still for a beat, basking in the feeling that you both had been craving for what felt like ages. you placed your hands on his stomach to ground yourself, felt his muscles clench underneath your palms as he grabbed at your hips, the warmth of his hands sending a shiver up to your neck.
“fuck,” you moaned, finally adjusted to the size of him, needing him to move, needed some release to the impossible tension inside of you. “please fuck me, jack. need you to.”
and of course he wanted nothing if not to do exactly as you asked. he bucked his hips up into you, creating an immediate rhythm as you rode him, meeting his every thrust. the rhythm was not perfect, but every slip up felt predestined, too, a reminder that you were both human. a reminder that even through imperfection, everything felt perfect solely because it was between him and you.
“you feel so perfect, baby,” he bit out. “fuck, can’t even tell you how good.”
you moaned at his words as he brought one of his hands to thumb at your clit, making you groan and clench around him, tilt your head back at the sensation.
he gave a series of especially deep, slow thrusts, making you bite back your moans, squeeze him harder.
“look so pretty, baby,” he said, breathy, barely audible, “so fucking pretty like this.”
you locked eyes with him, groaned at the look in his, completely focused on you, his flush, this time from exertion, not embarrassment. you felt yourself grow close, just there. he continued to tease your clit as you ground down on his cock.
“‘m so close, jack,” you cried out, “gonna make me cum, yeah? just like you’ve been wanting, hm?”
his thrusts grew erratic at the prospect, his breaths shallow. “please cum for me, baby,” he all but begged, “want to feel you. need to feel you cum on my cock, yeah?”
at his words, combined with every overwhelming sensation you were feeling, you felt that wave of pleasure finally crash, sweeping him up with you as he came, spurred on by you squeezing him so tightly, your nails clawing at his stomach.
you collapsed on top of him, both of his arms coming to wrap around you, holding you to his chest, where you could feel his inhales and exhales as if they were your own. a glistening sheen of sweat settled on both of you like a gloss as you laid together, such a raw and deep desire having finally been truly recognized.
you stayed quiet for a while, so utterly content to just exist in each other’s space. when the silence broke, you barely noticed.
“you really don’t mind my tooth?” he asked, his voice rough as he rubbed his thumb across your back.
you gave a drowsy smile, hummed, loved how his voice wasn’t shy, how he was growing so comfortable with you, even still. “i love it,” you said honestly. “looks hot.”
he rolled his eyes at you, flushed, to which you placed a gentle kiss on his chest, where the color started. “being serious,” you said, smiling. “besides,” you added, “i’ll love your mouth as long as you let me kiss it.”
he laughed at that, shaking his head, obviously pleased.
and how beautiful, to be the one to evoke such a reaction from him. to be the one he even cared to ask such a question to in the first place.
fin.
#nhl#nhl smut#hockey#hockey smut#smut#dirty imagine#jack hughes#jack hughes smut#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes x y/n#jack hughes imagine#new jersey devils#Luke Hughes#luke hughes smut#trevor zegras smut#trevor zegras#trevor zegras x reader#quinn hughes#quinn hughes smut#quinn hughes x reader
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Chapter Two - Backpack, Backpack
SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.
Warnings - Mentions of Bucky’s ‘Old Life’, talks about slight “Violence” (Bucky’s past), talks of a first aid kit, feeling “scared” about being a little, fluff! Obviously!
Word Count - 2164
Note - I've finished all of Bub and Buck's story now, and I have to say it's been crazy going back and blending chapters/blurbs together to create a more cohesive story. It's been fun, and crazy, and honestly I missed this little place that I loved so much. Cafe BigNSmall is the beginning of so much, not just this account. It was the first little writing thing I put out that really got traction and that led me to where I am now. Going to school in January for creative writing, beginning the process of writing my own book. This little fic that has brough comfort to so many, myself included, is so much bigger than just a fanfiction or just a writing process and I'm so thankful for everyone who has stuck by my side, who has liked, reblogged, and sent asks about it. I love every one of you, I love who you've helped me become, and I've loved every minute of re-writing this series and I hope you love re-reading, or even reading it for the first time. I just have so so so much love in my heart for this and for you <3
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Bucky sat at his same table for the umpteenth time, but this time he sat with a smile knowing someone was on their way to sit with him. For the first time in a while Bucky wasn’t sitting and watching everyone while feeling jealous, instead he watched as a Caregiver hugged their Little and felt hopeful that he might get to have that one day.
“MR!” Y/n yelled from the entrance like she couldn’t believe he was there, sitting at their table ready for whatever she wished to do. “Hi!” She smiled at him when she got to the table, her usual overalls and t-shirt combo covered by a heavy sweater. He was happy she had covered up more than yesterday, the sky grey instead of blue, and the colder.
“Hi.” He smiled back, Bucky was sure he looked goofy with how big his smile was but he didn’t care. “Chilly?” He asks as he watches them shiver slightly when the finally sit down.
“Yeah.” Y/n tilts her head to the side as she seems to contemplate something. “I think ‘m gonna get a hot chocolate.” She rummages around her bag before finding her wallet and pulling out a five dollar bill. Bucky was quicker though, already on his feet and in the line. “What are you gonna get?” Y/n asks as she joins him in the line.
“Well, I think I’m going to get a hot chocolate too.” He looks down at her, a silly grin on her face as she nods her head. “Their cake pops look good too.” Bucky points to the glass case full of baked goods and premade sandwiches.
“I know!” Y/n practically jumps. “I had one once.” They frown. “But I never have enough moneys for one, maybe next week I’ll get one.” They nod their head, agreeing with their idea.
Bucky already planned on buying Y/n a cake pop, but wanted to make sure she actually did like them. Finding out she’s only had one because she can’t afford them has him vowing to always buy her one whenever she’s here.
The money Bucky got from the government after his treatment went public often sits in his bank account unused, he has what he needs, and most of what he wants, and he hates spending the money on useless things. Yet as he watches Y/n’s eyes flicker to the case full of sweet treats with a frown on their face he’s happy to know he finally has something, someone worth spending money on.
“Hi, what can I get you today?” The barista smiles at Bucky, giving an extra sweet grin and a wave to Y/n.
“Can I get two medium hot chocolates, please?” Bucky places his hand on Y/n’s shoulder to get her attention before asking. “What kind of cake pop do you want Bub?”
“I can’t.” They shrug their shoulders, clearly not aware that Bucky’s already ordering for her.
“I’m buying you one. Which one do you want, Bub?” He adds some clarification, leaning down slightly to be at Y/n’s height, pointing to the cake pops in the case. “I love vanilla, I think I’ll get a vanilla one.” He says, hoping that him getting one will make Y/n feel less nervous.
She begins playing with her hands, twisting her fingers together, something Bucky’s noticed she does when anxious. “Um, I like chocolate.” She whispers, looking back at Bucky with weary eyes. “But I don’ wan’ you to buy it, I -” Bucky doesn’t let her finish her sentence, instead he stands and orders both cake pops before paying.
With both hands on Bub’s shoulders he moves them over to the wait station. “When you’re with me I’ll be the one buying things, okay?” His tone is sweet but also somehow firm, hoping his words make sense and are final, but also hoping he doesn’t seem too overbearing.
“Like a, like when.” Bub stumbled over her words before turning around to face Bucky, his hands dropping from her shoulders only for her to grab his left, glove covered, hand to fidget with it like she does hers. “Like a caregiver?” She asks, finally meeting Bucky’s glance.
“Exactly like that.” Bucky nods. “I’ll act like your caregiver when we’re together, okay?” He regrets using the word ‘act’ the moment he says it, Y/n somberly nodding at his words. He wants to be her caregiver all the time, he doesn’t want to just act as one while around her, but he met her yesterday. Neither of them know each other well enough for that kind of trust, yet Bucky seems to feel like they both are on the same wavelength. Like they’ve waited long enough for someone to be their other, why wait a little longer.
“I’d like tha’.” Y/n nods, turning back around in Bucky’s arms to wait for their cake pop and hot chocolate.
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For a whole week Bucky and Bub met up everyday, getting hot chocolate and cake pops. Y/n kept giving Bucky colouring pages to take home with her signature at the bottom, his fridge now covered in them after a frantic late night trip to buy magnets. Walking into his house and seeing the fridge coloured in pictures made him love the fact that he bought a huge fridge able to store at least another week's worth of pictures without having to remove anymore of the ones he’s already been given.
“Hi, Mr!” Y/n smiled as she sat down on her booth seat, her backpack placed on the table as she got comfortable. “I made you something.”
“You did?” Bucky unpackaged her cake pop and placed it on a napkin, sliding it over to her along with her hot chocolate. “Careful it’s hot.” Bucky warned as Bub went straight for her drink the moment it was in her line of sight.
“Otay.” She blew a breath onto the cup, though Bucky wasn’t sure how helpful her hot puff of air would be in cooling it down, instead pulling it back to himself and blowing cold air on it for her. “Here.” She placed a piece of paper onto the table.
This picture wasn’t one from a colouring book, but one on regular plain paper, drawn by Y/n and coloured by her to. Two figures stood hand in hand with a box of crayons in the middle. One person was obviously Bucky, the other Y/n. Even if he couldn’t tell Bub had written their names “Mr” and “Bub” below each of their persons. “I love it.” Bucky smiled, sliding the, now less hot, hot chocolate back to Y/n, her taking a sip immediately and humming in content. “I’ll have to put in on my fridge.” He said aloud, though he meant to keep the words to himself, not sure if it was wrong to admit he had grown attached to Y/n enough to want her pictures on his fridge.
“Really?” Her usually playful voice grew serious, her eyes filled with tears. “My drawing?”
“Yeah, Bub.” He smiled, glad she seemed happy over the idea. “I have a few of your drawings on my fridge already.” He admitted. Before he could place it in his bag Y/n was up and out of her seat sliding into Bucky’s booth before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “Oh.” Bucky lets out a surprised sigh.
“I like you, you nice.” Y/n said as she pulled away, though didn’t leave the booth.
“You’re nice too, Bub.” Bucky said in disbelief. He knew the two of them were making good steps towards fully being comfortable around one another, Y/n seemed to slip further and further into regression, showing she felt safe around Bucky, and she had even asked him if he was the Winter Soldier and hadn't run when he said yes. But he hadn’t expected her to feel comfortable enough to hug him, yet he wasn’t going to argue or complain.
Y/n eyed his bag for a minute or so before asking a question. “Wha’s in your bag?” She asked, this being the first time she had truly seen it.
“I’ll show you what’s in my bag, if you show me what’s in yours?” He offered, having been wondering what she brought with her to the cafe everyday. “Deal?” He asked, and she perked up, agreeing before sliding out and back onto her seat, something Bucky frowned at.
“Otay!” Bub squealed, opening her green backpack before digging around a little bit. The first thing she pulled out was a small zipper pouch, the fabric printed with frogs and plants. “This has m’ keys, an’ my phone.” She pulled both out, her phone being secured in a bag inside her bag making sense as to why it took her so long to find it when her alarm went off. “An’ it has my tic tacs in it! D’ you wan’ one?” She asked with a smile, holding out tropical tic tacs to Bucky.
“I’m okay, but thank you Bub.” He smiled, proud of her manners and willingness to share her things. He knew he couldn't take credit for her good behaviour, or her manners. She was a sweet girl even if he didn’t remind her here and there of her manners, yet he was still extremely proud of her.
“M’kay.” Bub nodded her head, popping a few tic tacs in her mouth before moving on. “Dis, um, dis is my frog.” Bub’s once very confident attitude dulled slightly as she brought the frog stuffie out, like she was waiting for someone to say something rude.
“He’s very cute.” Bucky reassured her, his hand brushing against the stuffed animal's foot, his fur in perfect condition. “What’s his name?”
Y/n still seemed on alert, but opened up a little more. “I call him Green Bean.” She pats his head.
“That’s a perfect name.” Bucky chuckles, loving how creative his Bub is. “Where did you get his outfit?” He asks, referring to the knitted overalls and t-shirt, identical to Y/n’s everyday outfit.
“I made dem!” Bucky was happy to see her peppy spark come back as she spoke about her stuffy. Giving him the rundown on how she made them, and made clothing for all her other stuffies at home. Then she gave him the rundown on a bunny stuffie she really wanted that was identical to the one she has at home. Though “He’s no’ the same Mr! He’s a different colour!” something Bucky quickly made a mental note of.
Bub only had her wallet and a sweater stuffed at the bottom of her bag, and a small bag of long forgotten goldfish that Bucky immediately threw out left to show. “Your turn.” Y/n reminded Bucky, gesturing to his backpack.
“Well.” He started, opening his bag, pulling out his wallet, keys and phone. “These are the things I have on me at all times.” He said, watching Y/n pick up his keys and fiddle with them, clearly loving his accumulated keychain and key combo from the last 100 years. “Then I have a First Aid Kit.” He pulls out a bulky box, a few things banging around inside.
“In case someone ge’s hurt?” Y/n asks, concern dripping from her expressions.
“Exactly.” Bucky answers, though he doesn’t admit that he mainly carries it out of fear that he’ll hurt someone and need to patch them up, but he hopes that Y/n’s just thinking about scrapes and small cuts and not the carnage he’s left behind.
“Do you have princess bandaids?” She asks with all seriousness.
“I have princess ones, paw patrol, and starwars.” He playful one ups her, the two of them laughing before he continues. “Then I have extra crayons, colouring pages, and a couple water bottles.” He pulls out the extra things, Y/n’s hands immediately going to the colouring pages.
“Can I do this one, please?” She asks, bouncing in her seat, her frog underneath her arm.
“Of course, Bub.” He smiles, the frog page she chose the one he printed off last night in the hopes to give it to her.
After the small show and tell the two of them sat together eating their cake pops and drinking their hot chocolate. Everytime he looked up Bucky realised just how lucky he was, to have found a Little who was as chill as Bub was, and as sweet as she was too. He realised that while he wished he could have met her sooner, he was happy he waited.
“Why don’t we go to the park tomorrow?” He asked, thinking it could be good for them to get out somewhere other than just the cafe.
“Yes!” Y/n practically jumped out of her seat at the idea, the two of them chatting about how excited they were for their adventure tomorrow.
#buckys little belle#age regression fic#age regression#little!reader#bucky x reader#bucky x little!reader#bucky barnes x little!reader#bucky#cafe bignsmall#bignsmall#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes age regression#little fic
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It’s so important that you read this disclaimer/TWs. I am a southern woman and I will be until I die. When I was a CW major for a decade almost all I wrote were southern gothic pieces, and this does not read like any fic I’ve posted here. This is very much Auntie V’s old writing style. I am taking you to my roots. The other main character in this piece is black. This is your one reminder that I am a black woman. Don’t start no shit - won’t be no shit in terms of my descriptions. Second - I really kinda put a spotlight on Noah at his lowest as far as my writing goes in the beginning. There are a few potentially triggering mental health allusions; some regarding hygiene, and I just wanted to make sure you understand that you aren’t alone. TW: Religious talk, mental health decline, one singular mention of a baby dying with no details, blood mentioned right after that. Oral sex f receiving, D/S dynamic if you squint. I would actually go as far as to say there's a smatter of angst up in this bitch. Supernatural shit. Noah kinda spirals toward the end and slips into madness. Absolute smut because it's me and I have never written anything else here. Let’s get spooky. WC: 6k (I chopped it a lil bit so that’s why it’s all one)
NoahxOC? Is she really my OC? You be the judge.
It’s been exactly three hours and forty-one minutes since Noah decided that if that one dude in Pirates of The Caribbean could become one with the ship, he could become one with his mattress. No coral or sea stars to adorn him for the rest of his ever, just sweat and a little bit of deodorant, but nothing pretty. Thinks maybe he’ll turn to dust or something easily sweepable. No words and barely breathing. Continues inhaling the smell of incense he didn't light, and swallowing down saliva and self pity. Continues laying. Wallowing. Hits the play button on his memory bank and lets the hate scroll behind his purpling eyelids.
“It’s all autotune”.
“He was so shaky at the Cleveland show dude idk”.
“They started all that mysterious bullshit with the masks and the no socials and his vocals went to shit immediately. Fuckin’ wild”.
“Noah needs to let Jolly just …”
A well aimed throw from Nicholas ends with a pen hitting Noah in the middle of his back. “Snap the fuck out of it dawg. Since when have you listened to what people say about your singing? It ain’t true and you know damn well I’d tell you if it was,” Nick sighed as he leaned his acoustic against the desk. There isn’t much to say here. Nicholas has been there, albeit never there in the physical sense of not bathing for over a week and ignoring his best friend’s phone calls until the aforementioned friend threatened him with a welfare check from either him, or the cops.
People often forget that “blood is thicker than water” is a bastardized phrase. “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” but it is not thicker than the knots that Nick spent an hour combing from Noah’s matted locks after he threw him in the shower and helped him scrub yesterday. Do not speak to Nicholas Ryan about that fucking covenant. He wrote the anthology and dedicated it to Noah long ago.
“Remember the story your grandma used to tell us when we were younger? Robert Johnson? Maybe you can just sell your soul to a demon and bam. Never miss a note again in your life,” he pokes the last vowel into Noah’s kneecap as he tries to lift the soggy and molded blanket of depression off of that moment. Off of his best bud. “I’m telling you bro, it’s - it’s real. I feel like it really happened,” Nicholas cuts his eyes to Noah for a split second before continuing to thumb the strings of his guitar.
“You also felt like you had Covid that one time, but it was just the jalapenos on that sandwich fucking with your tastebuds so …" Noah dismisses Nick’s 2 AM Red Bull fueled theories and rolls over on the bed to face him. “Besides. If that shit was true I would have done it ages ago,” he chuckles a little bit, and the clearing in his throat reminds him that he hasn’t done that in awhile.
—---
I ain't goin’ to state no color
“The lynch mobs ran his family outta town when he was a boy. Been a travellin’ man against his will his whole life. Learned to play in a dark graveyard, though the dead can hear like us”.
But her front teeth is crowned in gold
“Went by many names, Robert did. Women and whiskey stole his soul long before he sold it to the devil at them crossroads. Only a beast would howl the blues like that”.
She got a mortgage on my body
“His wife and baby died bloody and hollerin’. They wouldn’t let him see the child that lived for that. Your loved ones are never spared from your debts, child”.
And a lien on my soul
“He was poisoned like a field mouse in a corner basement. Ulcers in his throat where the demons took their chords back one by one. May death be kinder now.”
—---
Noah shudders at the mental reel of his grandmother spinning that story from her recliner like a textile through her vein-blued fingers. He doesn’t hold on to many memories of her, and knowing that Nicholas is holding them for him settles in his gut like concrete blocks on the ocean floor. May death be kinder now.
“I think it works anywhere too. Johnson held up a guitar at the crossroad and the devil just popped up. I believe in you,” Nicholas whispered the last sentence while catching Noah’s knuckles with the flat of his palm. “I’m going to bed dude. Taking the couch because if you kick that one spot on my shin again I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he bites through a yawn as he drags himself over to the couch by the door. The unspoken knowledge that he would just be there until Noah was Noah again laid itself over the pair along with the dark as the LEDs timer faded out.
—---
The alarm on his phone vibrated under Noah’s pillow an hour later.
Gently kicking the blanket off of his body, he turned it off and put the flashlight on the lowest possible brightness. Through the white haze he could make out Nick’s chest as it swelled and fell with quiet breaths. No snores to give away his slumber, but his cracked mouth and the arm hanging down to the carpet told Noah that he was knocked, so his plan was still greenlit.
Listen. If anyone asked Noah - yeah, it was a weird fucking time to be taking a walk, but his mental health was in the fucking gutter and he’d happily have his band mates vouch for that if he got into trouble. A 3:30 AM walk was better than no walk at all. Fresh air was better than the stale and dust-littered cloud that hung in his bedroom that he’d been choking on for god knows how long. Stretching his arms into his faded navy hoodie (no shirt because they were all in desperate need of some laundry detergent and some scrubbing) and stepping into some gray joggers, Noah gently padded across the floor and thanked some God that the door was cracked already. He patted his pockets: phone, knife, lighter, cigs, keys. He popped his feet into some slides, opened the front door, and Noah Sebastian took off into a humid Appalachian night.
The stars looked something like crumbs swept from a placemat in their scattering.
Fireflies peeked through bushes like sun does clouds, and they swirled the same.
Noah thinks thoughts that adults would. This new asphalt they paved looks great. Glad the holes are gone. Anything to keep his brain moving. Not stuck. It’s kinda hot for this time of year. I guess August is still considered summer, though.
See, the rollercoaster of fame was something Noah had been standing in line for since he was 13. He’d been growing and stretching and waiting his turn, but he hadn’t anticipated the steep incline to success. All the eyes were on him all the time, and the urge to spread them around and give them to his bandmates had never been stronger. He thought he wanted this, but the critics came on strong and took the form of delusional children on the internet wavelengths from reality. He felt like shit because, at this point, his arch nemesis was probably a twelve year old that had never seen a concert and he was the grown man assclown that let it get to him.
Noah had been bracing himself for the inevitable drop that must come, but the only thing he knew for certain was that he absolutely couldn’t handle it. If it all came speeding down and stopped with screeching brakes and smokey sparks, he wouldn’t be the one in control and going off the rails with it all seemed like his only out.
Shaking his head from the fog, he noticed that the jagged white line of paint on the side of the road seemed to fade out. He pins it on a bit of “lazy painters” and a lot of “not my fuckin problem”.
Keep walking.
His complaint about the heat must have been heard by some alien brainworm because he’s suddenly quite grateful for the hoodie and the breeze that rummages through the leaves like a searching hand in a kitchen drawer. Feels good.
Keep walking.
The cicadas had stopped screeching. The noise, akin to a violin being played after all of its strings have broken, was gone. Maybe all things must sleep. Maybe they got picked up by an owl. May death be kinder now. Head down. Hood up.
Keep walking.
Head up. Hood down.
There is no dot of red inside a white paint can, there is no water droplet in an inferno, and Noah is certain that there is no fucking desert in the middle of Richmond, Virginia.
And yet.
He finds himself staring out at nothing. There is sand, and clay, something red and dusty and on the horizon there is nothing. Noah whips his head backward and sees the same scene behind him. The road was narrow now, and there was another narrow road of black going straight through it a few feet in front of him. No street signs. Nothing. He rubbed his eyes with his palms as one would if they were waking up from a bad dream, but when his lids opened again he found that nothing changed. Same dirty slides, same clothes, same desert of nothing. Noah walked forward. His steps felt real, and his stomach immediately started to ache. He remembered the story. Remembered the absolute conviction and strength in his grandmother’s voice and teeth when she told him that the crossroads come to you when you need them the most.
She pointed her finger at him in a way that Southern women do when she told him that praying and practicing, Jesus and magic, and your footpath and your heart’s blood compass could all align somewhere in this world. “All the trees aint your friends, and they keep their secrets in the Spanish moss”.
Noah grew up on gravel, backwoods revivals, and a fear of God that was overcome through alcohol fueled tears and some screams ripped from his chest by the man himself. Maybe God took a rib as payment, and maybe he yelled like Adam. He didn’t have long to think, because the tornado of realization and helplessness took him down to his knees. The blacktop dug into his skin as he threw his head back. Noah didn’t know what he was feeling, but he had accepted some sort of … fate? Was it fate? Did he deserve whatever was about to happen, and what did he do? Why did it seem like this road was lit up by stadium lights that he couldn't see? Questions on questions, so he closes his eyes once more, places his palms on the tops of his thighs, leans his head back so the ends of his hair brush his heels, and he parts his lips.Tries to breathe. He did not repent in his last moments, but there were pictures floating of Jolly, Nicholas, Nick, and there were late nights and popsicles and beer cans and being young and dying young and that’s all very okay. Noah’s life was okay. May death be kinder now.
All of a sudden, Noah felt two slender fingers slip past his lips, glide over his tongue, and purposefully gag the shit out of him. He felt cold rings catch behind his front teeth as the owner tried to wrench the fingers back from the wet of his mouth. His eyes flew open with immediate tears as he sputtered and coughed - the fit his reflexes threw landed him on his ass with one arm bracing himself. He hums and spits and jerks his head back and forth. His nose burns now.
“What the fuck,” he yells as he glares up. Noah catches a glimpse of the veins in his hand as they pop and flare under his tense skin.
“That’s a naughty word, boy,” the figure blew smoke from its mouth with every word effectively stopping Noah from seeing it clearly. It threw the cigarette to the side and cocked its head. “Try ya words again,” it spoke slowly.
With the smoke haze gone, Noah got a better look at what he was sharing this space with. If he wasn’t already on the ground he might have been sent there again. His eyes started from the ground up, and they turned around and went down from her head again so no detail would be missed.
She was at least six feet tall. She stood barefoot, toes painted honeycomb yellow and some symbols tattooed on the tops of her feet. Gold anklets, bangles, and various types of black cord wrapped each ankle. Her legs were long and brown like cattails, and they spoke to unearthly strength as she stood flat footed.
Noah couldn’t stop himself from memorizing the way the stretch marks on her exposed hips moved like sawgrass on a marsh plain when she shifted her weight. She wore a tattered skirt made of dull black leather and some other sort of hide. Her stomach pudged over the sides of her skirt, and he saw the same symbols her feet carried spread across it. Her chest was hidden by a bandeau made of the same black leathery material, but Noah caught the curve and fall of her tits and committed them to memory immediately. Her skin was the color of cassava and it held a sparkle. It could have been a sheen of sweat or something ethereal. Her arms ended in hands that held scars, a black hobo bag, and the same tattoos. Her fingertips were ink black, and her fingernails were short, and the same goldish yellow as her toes. Golden rings covered in ash and gems clung tightly to her digits, and her hair was piled high on her head; a beehive weaved of black locs adorned with glittering beads and small animal bones that hung and fell with the breeze surrounding them. Noah still swears he saw a Carolina wolf spider crawl around one. Her face. Her face was composed of freckled cheeks, sharp eyes the color of pitch, and that same mysterious tattooed symbol on the bridge of her nose. The plumped two-toned lips she had curled into a smile and revealed the gold capped fangs on her canines. A forked tongue shot out and licked over one, and he couldn’t help but assume it was some sort of warning.
“Try ya words. Again,” she spoke.
“This shit can’t be real,” Noah mumbled as he leaned his forehead on the palm of his hand. “Who are you and what the fuck is going on?”
She chuckled and shook her head at him, her necklaces rattled as she explained, “I am … well, the humans call me a few names. I know who you are though, Noah,” she sneered again as his pupils blew open.
At this point, he was ready to swing on whatever the fuck this thing was. She was a deadly brand of unconventional gorgeous that brought the fog right back to his brainspace, but he’d convinced himself that it wasn’t considered hitting a girl if that girl was some ancient all knowing being.
“They call me ‘The Tempter,’ ‘The Accuser,’ ‘Belial,’ ‘Satan,’ among others. I’ve never been one for formalities, love. Call me Luci. I am the one that they presumably told you to fear,” she said as she knelt down to Noah’s eye level. “... boo,” her fingers wiggled around her face as small flames erupted from the tips.
“You’re - you’re the …” he stuttered as if he’d been backhanded.
“The …” her eyebrows raised with the octave of her voice.
“The fucking devil? I’m gonna pass the fuck out. This isn’t … you’re not real. You’re not real. This isn’t fucking real,” Noah rose to his feet from shaking knees. Every childhood Sunday was spent under a weather-beaten willow tree memorizing historic ways to shame the devil. To shame her. There was no pulling him out of this dream state, though he wished to hell and back that Nicholas would. He was sure his body should be flailing if it was still on the bed at all. Surely Nick could hear the curdling screams he was trying to emit.
Luci brought a hand to Noah’s now tear streaked face, black smoke rising around them in billows. “Nicholas is - he is not going to make this decision for you. There’s nothing to be saved from because you’re not dreaming. I think you know why I’m here Noah. I know what it feels like to fall from grace, and I can pull you back from that ledge. You have somethin’ that I need, and it’s just a snap of the fingers,” she delivered a gleaming half smile and a raised eyebrow.
Was his soul that valuable? And why did the preachers leave out that the devil watches people like some sort of demonic pervert? Was she just a demonic pervert?
“I resent that,” she frowns over at him. “Trying to stop me from reading your thoughts is kinda dumb. Blueberry muffins, Pepsi, fuzzy blankets … grass flip flops?”
Noah decided that if he talked words with his mouth that his brain wouldn’t think too hard. Maybe. He’d accepted death twice that night already, and his music was his reason for breathing. Figured if his music career advanced, if he won, and he took the boys with him that … well, that all of his important things would be safe. No one could harm them. Call it selfish and narcissistic, but he felt that there was quite literally nothing on this mortal coil that he would be afraid to lose aside from them. As painful as it hit him, this wasn’t the first time he’d thought about this so there was no split second decision here. “So … what do I have to do to keep from falling? Like … to keep the fame?”
Luci wasn’t taken aback at how expeditious he was with his decision. She’d been tasting the drive and hunger that he held in his chest for years through the atmospheric ether, and she craved it. He was so much more powerful than he would ever know, and she cursed his maker for the insecurities he plagued him with. They were insecurities that Noah thought she’d caused for a long time, and it couldn’t have been further from the truth. She was never the harbinger of the dark that nestled in his ligaments. “It’s not the way you think. It’s a bit more … personal and up close,” she mused as they looked each other dead in the eye - crow’s feather black to cracked chestnut brown. Luci reached a hand out and placed it on Noah’s flushed cheek. “Now,” she licked his pulse point, “I will give, and you will do the taking. I will speak, and you listen,” her voice flows out with another puff of smoke, and the smell of burning pine straw floats between them.
Noah mentally thumbs through the brain file labeled “Dumb As Fuck Things That Nick Folio Said While High,” and his mind pulls the page titled “Fear Boners,” to reference his current state. The devil was always shown as hot, but the realization that she was a leather-wearing tribal goddess that could kill him with a singular blink was a lot. May death be kinder now. This information was apparently well received by his conscience, and his cock.
Noah swears he feels her jagged fingernails carve a home in the nape of his neck, but her hands remain on her curved hips. He can make out whips and whirls of some sort of mist floating around her fingers. He feels his sweat dampened lips part open as the pressure around his throat increases and her stance stays the same. Unwavering and violently sure of herself, Luci relaxes the hold and speaks.
“Take it off,” she doesn’t ask. The devil doesn’t ask when she can smell how desperate someone is for her unholy helping hands.
He makes quick work of throwing his hoodie to the eastern wind, and he had a hand in the band of his sweatpants before it stopped him. It - that misty glitter magic she was using … “The Force,” or whatever the shit from Star Wars was. Is she where they got the idea for - regardless. Luci’s magic brought his hand to a halt.
She lifted her foot up and tapped the asphalt they stood on, her bangles gently clattering. The hard surface of black grit became a softer patch of Kentucky bluegrass; green, lush, and dew sprinkled. Luci walked behind Noah and let her hands wander down his torso. She stopped to pluck at his already hardened nipple, and the goosebumps Noah had been pricked with seemed to multiply.
Her fingertips danced over the happy trail Noah was suddenly made well aware that he had. The feeling of her magic and the warm southern breeze twirling through the light hairs there told Noah that she might break him, and that he would beg for nothing less. “That’s a good portrait of Grim,” Luci quips as she moves to kneel at Noah’s feet, “we go way back,” her golden fangs scrape the tattoo that spreads across Noah’s torso.
“Fuck yes,” he groans as his hips buck up at nothing.
Luci drags his pants down his legs slowly, just enough to let the band catch on the head of his dick before letting his cock spring up to smack against his stomach. She wanted to hear that hiss she knew Noah kept under his tongue. “Tell ya what,” her forked tongue darted out to catch the small pearl of precum that had gathered at Noah’s untouched tip, “I’m gonna have my fun, and you’re gonna let me know why you deserve to be up at the tippity-top where the angels play, hmm?”
She rose to her feet and met Noah’s eyes again. One finger underneath his chin, the smell of the pine straw again, and the gathering mist were enough to bring his mouth forward and onto hers. He moaned so deeply it would have been some type of embarrassing if he was anywhere else, but the feeling of sucking in her plump bottom lip and licking over her teasing tongue with his own was sending Noah to a different plane of feel-good.
Luci pulled away before she snapped her fingers and brought about a chair from some other universe. Nothing remarkable about it, Noah thinks, just plain brown wood. It looked like the broken seats that he’d seen off to the side of his grandma’s kitchen. No use sitting on it - those seats were for old newspapers and grocery bags and not the devil, but what the hell did he know? “Ya mouth may not always sing perfect, but you can come show me what else it can do,” she crooked a finger at him and pulled him over and to his knees in front of her. She sat in the chair and with a dismissive wave of her hand, her skirt caught the wind. Luci leaned back and spread her thighs open.
Noah knelt in a way that said that no object forged by man would keep his body down, and levitating up to her spread before him would be the only honorable end to this. May death be kinder now. He took in the glistening lips, the way the brown gave way to the pink of her core, and the way that his tongue felt magnetized to that spot. “Looks like honey,” he mumbled as wrapped an arm under each thigh and pulled Luci to the edge of her seat. Noah brought his mouth about two inches away from her cunt. He took in the dark patch of curls above her slit, the way that they faded where her puffy lips started, and the way that he knew he’d have to work to get to the heart of her.
Luci reached a hand down and used her middle and index fingers to spread herself further. Gathering a string of slick, she dangled it above Noah’s now open mouth and like a traveler finding water in the Atacama he took it down with a groan. Tasted like honey and something dark. “Come talk to her. Tell her why you deserve it all,” Luci threads her hand through Noah’s hair and beckons him forward with a tug.
The tip of Noah’s tongue applies so little pressure that you wouldn’t have known he made contact with her folds if she hadn’t arched her back off the chair. “I uhm. I think I deserve it because,” he pauses to give her clit a kiss, savoring the way that her bud fit perfectly between his pursed lips, “because I know I've given this all that I have to give. I’ve already given it my heart and soul,” he licks around it in a wide circle before stopping his sentence with one more peck.
“Keep going,” Luci mumbles as she lets her head roll back. Her locs fell around her as she let him worship her pussy. Feminine power brought the best of these mortal men to their knees, and she was not new to this. What she wasn’t prepared for was the stark smell of his yearning. This one didn’t just want to trade his soul for fame like the rest. A few touches below the belt and they were too bound by greed to be of any use at all. Luci couldn’t smell the green of that greed at all. Not just brimstone and hot guilt … he was all jasmine and cold water, moonbeams and sawgrass. Noah smelled like all he wanted to do was stay down on his knees with his lips on her lips, and it made her veins swell. She was losing her grip on her own magic, and bowing to the mercy of his.
“And I think that the world needs to hear my voice,” Noah sucked one of her lips into his mouth and softly pulled while she pushed his face further into her pussy. His hands gathered as much of her ample thighs as they could, and his fingertips pressed into the muscles until small circles formed. Anything to ground himself and keep him from floating up to the wispy clouds where his head already was. “And I think that I’m multi-talented. I write and produce my own shit ya know,” he brings her throbbing clit back between his lips, starts a slow suckling pace, and moans from the back of his throat. Noah’s eyes close, and the only thing that changes his rhythm is Luci’s bucking.
She brings her feet up from the grass to the rungs on the bottom of the chair and uses the leverage to lift her ass off the seat a bit. “Yes. Lick that fucking pussy,” she grits from behind clenched teeth as she brings both hands to his head and grinds her hips into his busy mouth. She was gone. The feeling of Noah working over her pussy with an expertise only found before in the mouths of gods was all but too much. “You're gonna make me cum on that tongue. Please make me cum on your tongue,” Luci feels the muscles in her upper back flex as she continues the filthy pace she’s set against his face.
Noah can feel her wetness spreading across his cheeks and down his chin as she does so. He knows he could drown in it, and he left the graceful art of giving two fucks back at home. This entire time he’s been ignoring the ache in his dick - scared that, at this point, he might be so hard that it would literally hurt to touch. In another universe, if this was some sort of sleep paralysis episode, he knew he’d wake up covered in his own dried cum. Wondered if he’d wake Nick up with the moans because he was probably humping the mattress, or fucking against the blanket.
Noah didn’t have to beg for her orgasm with his words. The burn in his bent knees, the panting breath he hadn’t been able to catch since her juices hit his lips, and the act of accepting of a distinguished death by drowning screamed at her - yelled with all their might to flood plains in the way that monsoons do.
Luci braced herself with one hand on the back of his head, and one hand gripping the side of the chair with such force the wood splintered. She came with a hard roll of her hips and a cry that could have stretched from one asteroid to another - wide and ringing. She thinks, for sure, that she obtained some humanity through it all. She offered Noah communion in a new way, and let him thank her for the gifts in a sense. Blood and body. May death be kinder now.
Noah never let her thighs go, but he traded his grounding grip for patterns rubbed in softly by satisfied hands. “I’m not saying I thought about it before, but the movies ain’t got shit on this”, Noah licked the inner crease of her thigh with a restless tongue and delighted in the jolt. He watched her regain her breath and thought about how, no matter the outcome, the power trip he’d just taken wouldn’t be matched. He, Noah Sebastian Davis, had made the devil herself fall apart underneath him. He was a force of nature that wasn’t to be questioned. He was the fucking king.
He remained knelt at this altar.
Devotion be damned, this one was holy to him.
That old song tangled through his bones like the veins on an arrowplant leaf. Noah could hear it thrum internally as it traveled around his chest cavity and flew behind his eyes.
I ain't goin’ to state no color
But her front teeth is crowned in gold
She got a mortgage on my body
And a lien on my soul
Thank you! We may see a part 2 if enough of you ask for it? But that definitely wouldn’t star Noah *cough*.
#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens fanfic#bad omens fic#auntievwroteit#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian fanfic
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Hi Squiggly! It's the bish anon who requested the Kokushibo x reader for tickletober! I saw your mini-vacation post. I hope you're doing better...If you feel up to it, can you please consider writing a 'cuddle' fic with soft lee! Kokushibo x Ler! Reader? I'm sorry, the six-eyed terrorist makes me melt more than he should😭. Get well soon!
Koku my beloved! I've gotcha covered, anon! :D It's time we give our six-eyed demon some much needed love, shall we? :3
Cloud 9 (Taglist)
@cupcake-spice13, @thatbigbisexual29, @duckymcdoorknob @wolfyeatstacos @gladdygirl18 @baby-tickles2022, @backy-san @t-wordiiish, @sarahmaystock5578
“Good evening.”
Kokushibou froze, the sheath holding his sword halfway towards its destined spot. Slowly, he peered at you, finding you standing by with a furious glare. “Good evening, (Y/N)...did you sleep well?”
“Not at all. I was too busy worrying about my husband. See- he hadn’t come to bed yesterday morning. Or the previous morning. Or the mornings before that.” You kept your voice low, but your temper sharpened each statement until you were practically biting them out. “From what I’ve gathered- he’s been out training from dawn till dusk.”
“That…certainly is an issue.” Kokushibou placed the sword against the wall, turning so he was facing you. An outsider would likely find this comical- the highest rank moon being scolded by a lesser demon. Of course- Kokushibou would have had their head for even thinking of you as anything less than his equal. Regardless of hierarchy and Lord Muzan’s blood; to Kokushibou, you were just as strong as he.
And in a game of wills; even stronger.
“Yes, it is. Tell me, my dear husband- have you already forgotten what you promised me?” You tried to keep your anger, but the longer you looked at him the more soft you felt. He was clearly ragged, the visible skin along his arms bruised and scratched. His clothes were dirty, and his hair was a wild mess of twigs and leaves. It was his own fault, sure, but that didn’t mean you were completely shut off from the visible aches.
“...That I’d return when the sun began to rise so I could rest and in turn spend time with you.” Guilt touched his eyes, and he bowed his head in apology. “Forgive me, (Y/N).”
Your anger melted away as you shook your head, walking to your husband. “I always do. But my forgiveness isn’t going to help you in the long run. If you overwork yourself, you’ll be sloppy. Isn’t that what you told me when you were training me the first time?” You reached out, tracing his face with your hands. “Come on- let’s get you out of these clothes and into something comfortable. I’ve already got a bath running.”
~~~
“I can do this myself, (Y/N)...”
Despite the words, Koku’s voice lacked any real argument. You sat behind him in the bath, combing through his mangled hair gently as you removed the various twigs within. It took some mild persuasion to get him to let you help. “You’re my husband; don’t be so modest,” You teased, even though you knew why he hesitated on you seeing him nude. The water reflected the scars along his skin, old and fading- full of stories. You didn’t pry about them; instead choosing to wait for the day he was comfortable sharing.
“Nope. I haven’t seen you in days. This is our time.” You smiled as you pulled the last tangle free, watching his hair pool around him in soft waves. “Besides- for all that patience of yours, you’d give up not even halfway with your hair.”
“Hm.” Was all he said in response. You grinned as you picked up a washcloth. Victory was yours.
After he was bathed, dressed and clean, you pulled him along to your bed, pushing him gently into his side before sitting behind him once more, tugging at his robe. “Take this off- I have something for you.”
“Didn’t you just insist I put this on?” He asked as he did as told, shedding the upper half of the robe. “So indecisive.”
“Hush.” You pinched his bicep before reaching over, gathering up a bottle of oil. Daki snagged it on her last mission but hated the smell, giving it to you because “It seems like something you’d like.” Sure enough- you found it pleasant. “I’m gonna give you a massage.”
“Oh?” Kokushibou blinked, looking at the bottle curiously. “(Y/N)...You do know we regenerate. Muscle aches are no longer a thing for any of us.”
“There’s more to massage than just ache relief, love.” You told him after he investigated the bottle, returning it to you with suspicious eyes. “You’ll see what I mean.”
Kokushibou didn’t argue as you gathered his hair up, tossing it over his shoulder and out of the way. Nor did he complain when you pressed your now oil bearing hands into his upper back, gliding them across his skin. If anything- he seemed to have suddenly lost the will to fight, his tense shoulders easing almost immediately.
“Feels good?” You asked, grinning when he groaned in response. Another victory for you.
~~~
By the end of your massage, Kokushibou was puddy in your hands.
Lying beside you, he didn’t argue as you scooted closer, pressing his head against your chest as you stroked his hair, humming a song you remembered from your time being human. There was a twinge of sadness with it, but it was nothing compared to the sight you got to witness.
Kokushibou felt so sturdy yet so vulnerable in your arms. You didn’t say anything when tears dripped against your chest, only wiped them away as they came. Just how long had it been since someone held him? The thought made your soul hurt far worse.
As if sensing this, you felt your husband squeeze you tighter, his way to reassure you. He always seemed to know when your mind began to wonder. No words were exchanged, you just leaned down and kissed his crown.
Eventually, his tears dried and the ache you felt had eased. The two of you were just lying there, entrapped in each other's arms. You were happy- it felt so good to finally have him back with you.
At the same time however, all the petty revenge schemes you made when he was gone came to mind. You were no longer angry, yes- but that didn’t mean you were completely over it. Feeling sneaky, you let the hand stroking his hair drift down to his back, keeping your touch feather light as you traced along the back of his ribs.
“Hm!” Kokushibou made a noise resembling a muffled laugh. Then another. Eventually, you felt him shake against you, muffled giggles creeping out his throat as you carried on tracing his ribs up and down. He didn’t pull away and you didn’t press in- neither of you wanted to break the serenity of this moment. “(Y/N), pleahhahahahse.”
“This is what you get for overworking yourself.” You told him simply, kissing his crown once more as you danced your fingers over his lower back. Again- you earned a round of muffled giggles, the sound deep and rich that vibrated your bones in the best way. “I missed you- and I missed your laugh. Don’t leave me alone like that again.”
“I prohooohohmise! I prohooohohmise, my mohoohoohohon, now stahahhhap thathahhahat!” He laughed out, relaxing once more when you stopped, returning to his hair. “Heh…you are a devil, (Y/N).”
“I’m your devil.” You smiled, feeling him take your chin in his hands before his lips found yours, kissing you deeply.
“And I love you for that. I’ll…be more aware. Of my limits going forward.” He traced your face with his thumb, taking it in like it was the only sight in the world worth looking at. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”
“It’s okay…as long as you come home, that’s what matters.” You pulled him into you, returning to your serene state. “I love you, my great swordsman.”
“As do I, my beloved moon.”
Thanks for reading!
#demon slayer#kokushibou#reader insert#kokushibou x reader#fluff#soft tickles#this is mostly loving Kokushibiu hours if I'm to be honest#he deserves the love I swear#thanks for reading!
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i was a bad person and here is my big message about it
even tumblr couldn't hold this much of a post so i made it under the cut. well. i was trying to write it for YEARS sooo i guess it's a little hard to squish in something small
i am frightened of seeing your reaction on this post but. it needs to be made. i wanted to make it for years. if not now then when?
long story about one fundamental thing i deeply regret and want to leave in the past and move on, and today is the perfect time to talk about it.
so. as i told, yesterday was my 26 birthday. and it was a special one. cause i gave it concept
26 years. 25+1. for me it means that half of my life is behind me. (maybe 1/3 if i will be lucky). i decided my 26 birthday will be beginning of my new era. i will leave my past behind and will go into my. present.
the problem is that my past is soooo fucked up
i did a lot of cringe bad things, WHICH I DEEPLY REGRET ABOUT but i want to tell you about one, which is haunting me the most. i thought about writing post about it sooo much times, i tried, but i couldn't do it everytime because then i thought about it i felt soooo ashamed and just burning in selfhate
so what's the thing and why exactly this thing I want to tell you about above all of the things which i regret?
well because now i am totally opposite person to that mindset which i am ashamed of
so! pls keep in mind that i REGRET having that mindset. i think i realized that it's something not good in my 19 years old (my 19 years old is my turning point in life in general), now i am one day 26, but it's still was hunting me!!! 6 fucking years of constant shame and hating myself!!! at this moment i got rid of this thing in my mind and actions completely, and i want to put the final nail in the coffin by this post.
so!!! i.. H A D (NOW I DON’T!!!)... fat fetish :c
( * internal screaming full of fear, selfhate and realising that i can hurt someone's feeling by that * )
i almost always had complicated relationships with fatness. first anorexia, but, at the same time then i hated my body i realized that i find fat people beautiful, hot even? (mostly masculine dudes? i don't remember that i thought about others?). and then i got into my horny ~18 yeaaars and ehhhh
i was exploring my horny feelings and preferences.
i was deep diving in that fat fetish content, i even made sooome drawings (I think I posted, ~2 on internet AND I HATE THE FACT THAT THEY EXIST SO MUCH). and. next thing will sound naive. but. people who do bad things are always dumb and don't realize basic shit. so. i haven't seen anything bad in fat fetish. and at this time i already had my own moral compass, which i still have AND it helped me get out of this
my moral compass: if it hurts someone - it's bad. if not – then it’s fine.
and my depiction of fat fetish was reversed in my head. i thought that people participating in it.. feeling sexy and validated? that it's something powerful (I DON'T THINK THIS WAY NOW!)
but then i saw one post
it was a person, saying, that they saw a content with fetishization of their appearance and they felt uncomfortable and humiliated by it
and i was like "wait what??? fetishes make people sad??? IT SOMETHING WHAT HURTS SOMEONE??? It's!!! It's... a bad thing!!!"
and i think since then i started to go away from it?
and it's not a second, day or month. you know that getting rid of cigarettes is hard and takes time, right? imagine how hard and how much time will take getting away from moral mindset mistake
if you do something bad it usually means that it is deep in your life
it's hard to go away from people with same mindset, your actions in the past which you thought was fine are now your shame etc etc
but!!! i've been working on myself. i don't want to hurt people, and yeah, hurting someone's feelings counts too.
sooo time was going by and it was less and less fetish content in my corner of internet. i realized that fetish is NOT something powerful and cool or sexy. representation is!!! you can draw gorgeous powerful sexy person without fetishization. actually people on fetish art... well, sometimes they don't even look like people. more like fucked up sex toys. it's so wrong, so bad and i am so ashamed that at some point of my life i thought it's something not awful
then i got into art community, more queer and bodypositive, i learned how to love my body, accepted it at 100% beat the fuck up anorexia. my feed in all the social media are now queer/bodypositive/artists usually all at once. if i see fetish blog reblogging me (i can't check every one but sometimes it happens) i ban it and
and now i don't watch any fetish content, don't have fantasies or dreams about that. now even if i see some content by accident (then you are in internet, you sometimes see shit which you don't want to see, like idk, some fetish blog relogging my art) it makes me feel uncomfortable and i don't turn on at all.
it was the last thing of this to defeat - physical desire. It’s like addiction, sometimes i wanted to watch Fetish Horny Content sooooo bad that it literally was on physicall level, and i just, well, watched and blamed myself for that after
and here is a little strange part, because one day it just... disappeared? with all my libido. aand honestly, it's fine, maybe i can't get turn on at all, but better not feeling libido at all then having it and having this shit in the head. aaaand also i have kiinda same emotions from... art. like cool art. in general. like, show me a good dramatical movie, some cool music, some touching piece of art, cool fucking made edit - i am shivering and crying tears of joy. i have this sooo, yep, it's enough for me, and i can survive loosing libido, if it's price for taking fetish from my head - shut up and take my... libido (okay that part turn out kinda goofy but like, let’s take it as lightning the mood because all the post is some fucked up dark shit)
so yeah. long story short, i was a cringe bad person and i regret that. i've done many cringe things but i decided to tell you exactly about this one because it is fundamental thing in my life and, as you can see, my art
as you could notice, all my characters are fat. and i am trying my best to draw them respectfully. goal of my life is trying to be good person (trying because you can never be sure that you are 100% right. you need to listen people and be ready to change. it's never ending road. what's why i use word "trying". you can't "be" good. only try) goal of my art is to bring people happiness by art, and representation is my method.
i feel very ashamed of that fact that i was participated in phenomen like fat fetish and now i make opposite thing - draw art, based on representation of fat people (and also queer and having other features but this post is not about that)
aaand yeah, sounds not very nice
but... i just hope that you can see that i am drawing fat people with respect. yes, a lot of time my characters presented as sexy. but i am trying to draw fat characters sexiness in respectful way. i've seen fetish art - and i am trying to draw NOT like that.
i learned my lesson. i don't want EVER draw fetish art again. i want!!! draw good things which brings people joy. i deeply sorry for that fetish thing was in my mind. but it's gone. I fought it in me for years, i won, fuck this thing. i want this thing stay in the past!!!!!
and brain, stop fucking hunting me with "whEn thEy wIll KnoW thEy Will Be All DissApoinTed in YoU!! ALL YOUR ART INFLUENCE WILL ZERO OUT THEN PEOPLE WILL FIND OUT!!!" these thoughts were been killing me for YEARS
so
i am deeply ashamed of having fat fetish phaze. but it's over. i learned that it's bad, i don't want to have it in my life ever again. and i don't want my drawings of fat people be part of it. i do it for different reason - to make representative art, which bring people joy, not hurting them.
i was carry this self-fight for years. and this day, my 26 birthday, seems like perfect day to finally leave this shit in the past and move on. i mean, i realised that it's a bad thing ~5-6 years ago. but my brain didn't let go thoughts about that. i am done with this. i want to break free from this shame. i hope i can have a second chance on that...
i really hope that you guys will be able to get joy from my art after that. i got rid of this shit in my mind, i promise. just. please don't turn back from me because because of this mistake. if you can.
(pls, if you have words of support, leave a comment. idea of this post was hunting me for years, and now it finally written. it's finally out of my chest. i want to get free from this. thank you)
#sorry if the thing turned out messy#last parts are the most messy i guess#but i hope#it have. like. meaning#i want to get this skeleton out my closet#i was writing this all day#there was a moment then i thought i delited the note on the phone with this by accident in the evening#then i was almost done#and i was so furious#but no i just get it in archive or smth#anyway#i am just dumping the info now#i need to sleep#pressing “post” button and going to bed#eh#i feel so shitty#ehhhhh#but. some day i had to make this post
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Not Okay | Renjun Imagine #2
Title: Not Okay
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Warnings: mentions of a make-out session, self-harm, mental health stuff :/
Word Count: 747
Author's Note: Firstly, thank you to the person who requested this. Honestly, I just started this story yesterday. But I was contemplating whether I should actually post it. Thanks to @flowerjun, I found the motivation to finish it today! As for the story, I have to warn you that what happens is not pretty. I don't even know what I was thinking about writing this. But I will admit that the emotions of the reader are mine. I've been in a very dark place recently, and I hope that none of you experience that. It's awful and sickening, and I hate myself every day. Mental illness is no joke, and if you are hurting, please please don't suffer in silence. Right now I'm secretly hoping you guys skip this author's note because I think this is the most real I've been on here lol. I'm so sorry.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
The smacking of lips was the only sound that could be heard. Not that anyone else was there to walk in on possibly the steamiest makeout session you and your boyfriend have ever experienced. With you laying underneath him, and your arms wrapped around his neck while his hands were glued to your waist.
Just a few minutes ago, you were cuddling on the couch, and talking about his day. But when he tried to ask how you’d been, you leaned in for a passionate kiss. He was caught off guard because you rarely initiated affection due to your reserved nature, especially kisses. So as much as Renjun wanted this moment to last, he could sense something was off.
At first, you thought Renjun just needed some air when you felt him pull away. But then he moved off of you. Though the room was dark, you could see a hint of concern in his eyes.
“(Y/n),” He breathed. “What’s wrong?”
His question instantly caused knots to form in your stomach. But you tried to play it off with a suppressed laugh.
“Nothing! I just…I just missed you, that’s all.” You weren’t entirely lying. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you were together for more than an hour.
Regardless, Renjun didn’t buy your response. He wasn’t going to let you brush him off so easily.
“Are you sure that’s it?” He asked gently. “Sweetheart, you can talk to me.”
Almost defensively, you pulled away when he took your hand. Dozens of curses were already flying in your head. You knew very well that Renjun wouldn’t let you go now.
You heard him suck in his breath. He truly hoped that you weren’t doing what he thought you were doing. But judging by your body language, he feared his suspicions were correct. A familiar heartache filled him.
“(Y/n), you didn’t…” His voice trailed off.
The warm gaze he was giving you, was the same as the first time you opened up to him. You wondered how someone could look at you with such unconditional love. How could he still love you who was so…broken?
Once he felt the resistance gradually leave you, he cautiously reached for your hand again. Panic arose in your chest when he took hold of your wrist.
He paused to look up at you. “Can I?”
A shaky breath left you, before nodding. You didn’t say anything as he rolled your sweater sleeve up to your elbow.
Renjun’s heart broke when he saw your pale arm, marred by past scars and…the next ones. The cuts were deeper this time, even though you didn’t mean for them to be. Tears welled up as his fingers ghosted over the angry crimson lines you inflicted on yourself.
“(Y/n)...”
You shook your head. “I lied. I’m really not okay.”
That was all Renjun needed to hear before he took you into his arms. He understood how hard it was for you to admit that. He held you closer as you sobbed into his shoulder.
Renjun always gave the best hugs. Even though it hurt to let out all the emotions you’ve been bottling up, the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around you felt good. A part of you longed to stay in his embrace forever.
Once you cried it all out, Renjun would search for your first-aid kit to tend to your cuts. As he did, you’d finally speak about all of your pent-up stress.
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.” You whispered at the end.
He didn’t let this slide for a second. “You can never be a burden to me. All I want is for you to be happy and healthy, (Y/n).”
You watched as he finished with the last bandage and closed the red and grey pouch. Then he raised your hand to press his lips to yours in a tender kiss that melted your heart.
“I’m here now, and we’re going to get through this together,” Renjun said affirmatively.
Never again. Never again would he let your dark thoughts capture you again, Renjun told himself. He knew better than anyone how detrimental having poor mental health could be. You might not be okay right now. But with him by your side, you knew you were going to be.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
#nct dream imagines#nct dream angst#huang renjun#renjun x reader#renjun scenarios#renjun imagines#injunnie#nctzen#nct fics#renjun fic#czennie
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Okay so! I’m gonna be working on tkl tober fics rn! Also this fic is heavily inspired by @matchacowbee with her South Park fic, so make sure to go follow her and check out her amazing art work 🫶
This story is based on if Jenna ever found my tumblr account!
Warnings: tickles, light sweating
Characters: Lee!jenna Ortega, ler!melissa Barerra
A/n: I absolutely hate this😭
𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒔 (𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒚𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏?)
It was an early afternoon on the set of scream 6 and Jenna was sat in her trailer. On her break as she wasn’t needed for anymore scenes for a couple of hours. So she just decided to get her laptop out and scroll aimlessly through the internet. Jenna always thought it was funny to scroll their media posts about her, she offended giggled at the fanfics, some of them were really cute and well structured and the others were.. interesting, so she decided not to read those ones. She found it so interesting about how everybody across the globe could interpret her in different ways and write it in a fanfiction. She liked to read some of them in her free time. Not because she was big headed but because she enjoyed seeing what her fans would write her and she appreciated them a lot. Jenna liked to read some of the.. more out there ones. She liked to see people’s creativity and what fandoms they were in and put her in.
She Usually scrolled through fanfiction sites but she decided to skip Wattpad because of the majority of them were smut. So she usually scrolled through fanfiction.net or the new app she discovered. Tumblr. She typed up “Jenna ortega fan fiction” and her eyes with met with an array of stories all concluding her. She skim read a few and found some really enjoyable stories. Stories about her dating the reader, about her character wednesday being a detective or just interesting story lines in general. She spent around 15 minutes reading a few stories before she found an account holder that piqued her curiousity.
“Blushyeleven” she found this account after seeing a post “new jenna fic out tmrw!!” That was posted yesterday. So she clicked on the account and read the bio. “Jennas gf” she saw the name of their header was and she giggled, continuing to read their bio and she stopped at “tk reader/writer” she raised an eyebrow “tk? What’s that?” She thought to herself and she scrolled a little down their account and found the fic that they posted today so Jenna read the description of it. Again, she stopped when she saw something that made her eye brows raise in confusion “warnings: tickles” she giggled again but just brushed it off and decided to read the story anyway. mindlessly reading through the paragraphs. She didn’t understand where the story was going until she saw a sentence that made her stop in her tracks and her face react with a piercing blush. “Jenna then reached over and started tickling your sides making you squeal and fall Into helpless laughter” what the… she just nervously chucked and continued reading it, she quickly came to realise the whole story was about her.. tickling somebody?.. she snickered at the idea and felt herself become flustered. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the silly smile plastered across her face. She just couldn’t get over the whole ordeal. Tickling?. A fanfic about her.. tickling somebody. She wasn’t weirded out, she actually found it quite amusing.
Jennas curiosity was bubbling, so she decided to scroll through the account to see what other kind of posts she could find. She saw a few more fics which again.. had her tickling somebody or somebody tickling her. Even her characters had fanfics based on tickling. She just scrolled, carefully reading each post, seeming as all of them were about her. She then stopped again when she read the title “Jenna ortega tkl headcanons!”. Jenna wasnt unfamiliar with headcannons, she was use to seeing them about her characters.. but these ones were obviously different. They were assumptions and guesses about Jenna based on the recurring theme of the account.. tickling. she was absolutely dying from embarrassment, . Curiosity killed the cat, after all, even if the cause of death was embarrassment.
She was about to start reading them until she was abruptly stopped by a quick, soft knock on her trailer door. She adverted her eyes away from her computer and got up to the door to see her older co-star. Melissa. she wasn’t needed for any scenes for a while either. So she came up with the idea to accompany jenna.. with whatever she was doing. “Heyyy!!” Jenna smiled, welcoming her in. “Hey! You good?” Melissa said, stepping inside her trailer seeing jenna looked a little.. flustered? “Oh yeah! Sorry.. I’m all good!” She walked through her trailer to sit back on her desk chair. “Okay okay.. so.. what you up to?” Melissa asked after seeing jennas laptop open on a website she didn’t recognise. “Oh- well.. funny story actually..” Jenna trailed of.. giggling slightly. “I was just searching and reading stories of myself untill I found this account..” she told Melissa and watched as her eyebrow quirked slightly. “Well.. what’s on this account then?” She questioned, already assuming the worst. “It’s.. it’s a whole account about me.. and tickles..” Jenna said rather flushed and nervously chuckling. Melissa’s let out a loud laugh, obviously not expecting that “pffft, what?!” She stated and watched jennas cheeks fade into a bold pink. “yeahhh..” Jenna couldn’t help but smile as Melissa was clearly shocked.. yet puzzled and clearly intrigued. “Let me see!” She said almost immediately and got of jennas bed to stand by jennas wooden desk. Jenna spun her chair back around to her laptop, her screen still on the headcanons.
“Jenna ortega tkl headcanons” Melissa read. The older girl wasnt always caught up with the new online slang and the words that fandoms would use, so Jenna often had to fill her in and explain to her certain words.. and because of jenna, Melissa vaguely knew what a headcannon was. “Oh! This is the.. one were they guess things.. right?” Melissa asked to which jenna nodded. Mellisa had the biggest smile on her face, thinking how ridiculously hilarious this was and how unusual the account was itself. Under the big, bold, italic title was a list of text, small sentences. She then saw the first sentence which made her snicker “because of jennas height I recon it’s easy to pin her”.. again jenna nervously chuckled at this, her face splashed with crimson red. Melissa turned to see jennas reaction and smirked, reading the next one. “As much as she tries to hide it.. the poor girl cannot handle being teased” Melissa reads again; she sees jenna looking down, away from the laptop screen. Her whole face, chin to forehead, smeared in a vibrant blush. Melissa was clearly enjoying how entertaining this was. She couldn’t even believe what she was reading, although she found it hysterical. Her eyes then were met with the next line of text. “I think jennas worst spot is her ribs but she’s also very ticklish on her stomach” to this, jennas eyes widened slightly and melissa turned her head to see her surprised yet flustered reaction. Melissa let out a flurry of giggles “wait.. is that true?!” She asked, with a stretching, mischievous smile prominent on her face. Jennas eyes met Melissas for a Split second and then looked back at the floor, her blush increasing in intensity before finally speaking with a rather quite voice. “n-no..” was all she could manage to say. Her co-workers smile turned into a smirk, obviously seeing through her poor attempt at lying. “Oh? Are you sure?… I think it might beee…” Melissa’s tone was extremely teasing and playful. The 5’1 actress had no comment or reponse, she just looked anywhere but at Melissa.
“Well you know I’ve gotta test it now!” Melissa giggled before reaching out her hand to quickly scribble at jennas ribs for a few seconds and pulling her hands away for a short moment when she heard jennas ear-splitting squeal. “Melissa! Dohont!!” Jenna put her hands out, infront of her ribs. The older girls eyes widened at jennas reaction. Clearly not expecting it to be that bad. “Fucking hell jenna!” Melissa giggled in shock. She then decided to re-place her fingers again, spidering the black-painted acrylics across jennas sides and near her stomach. Shortly after, jenna burst out into high-pitched, child like laughter. “BAHAHA MEHELISSA!!” Jenna then just effortlessly attempted to push at Melissa’s hands that was now zooming around jennas stomach. Her hands were to quick for Jenna to keep up with, changing spots every few seconds so Jenna couldn’t get use to the feeling. Melissa was loving this. She never would have thought that Jenna was this ticklish. She then leant down so it was easier to reach shorter girl, using both her hands to scribble at both of her sides. Jenna just leant back on her chair, her head tilted back slightly. Overflowing with ticklish laughter. “AHAHAHHAHA FUHUCKK!!” Although, as much as she would complain or protest, she couldn’t wipe the smile that was beaming on her face. She also couldn’t help but kick her legs slightly, swinging them back and forth as she tried to cover her stomach with her arms. Melissa just took the opportunity to hastily move her evil, nimble fingers to jennas ribs. Speedily scratching at them, causing Jenna to burst out into explosive laughter. “BAHAHHAHAHAH NOHOHOHO!!” Jenna squeaked and shrieked through helpess laughter as Melissa left no sign of stopping or giving up. “Wow jenna, that headcanon was right after all!!” She teased, seeing jenna clench her eyes shut as the laughter freely poured out of her mouth.
Melissa’s fingers them crawled back to jennas stomach, clawing at it mercilessly. “AAHHAH MEHELISSAA!!!” Jenna shrieked to which her co-star snickered and mimiced her “jehehennaaa!!” She said, sarcasm and playfulness dripping from her voice.. and to that Jenna again just blushed and didn’t say anything back, she just let herself give into the laugter and the endless amount of tickles she was receiving. Melissa decided she had a few more spots she wanted to try out on jenna before she let up. “AHAHAHHAHA I CAHAHAHNTTT!!” Was jennas reaction when the dreaded fingers moved into her armpits. “BAHAHHAHAHAH NAHAHAHAH!!” Jenna was trying to focus on calming her laughter down but all her brain would focus on was the ticklish sensation coursing through her body. Melissa kept her fingers in jennas underarms even if it was proving to me difficult after Jenna had squeezed her arms to her sides. Trapping Melisa’s fingers in her armpits. Notheless she still found a way to wiggle and squirm her fingers in jennas armpits. Keeping jennas giggles a high frequency and volume. “HAHAHAHHAHA IHITS SOHOO BAHAHADDD!” Jenna complained. “Well yeah it will be! Your like.. super ticklish!” Melisa stated. “SHUHUT UHUP!!” Jenna bursted out with, finally, a comeback after all this time of staying silent at the little teasy, snarky comments that were thrown her way. Although, as if Melissa would let her off easily for that. Instead she quirked a brow and moved her hands back to jennas ribs. Eagerly wiggling her fingers in the spaces between. “PFFTT FUHUCK!! BAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAH” jenna was practically screaming with laughter. The noise echoing of the trailer walls and probably heard all the way from set. Mellisa kept digging and wiggling her fingers into jennas ribs and also decided to scribble Into them aswell. “AHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH- NAHAHAHAH- SHIHIT- I- BAHAHHAHA….”
Jennas laughter then went silent, with a few squeaks and gasps for air. Followed by her eyes watering slightly.. and that’s when Melissa let up. Removing her hands. Looking at jenna in the giggly puddle she had become. Jenna then desperately tried to recollect her breathe as she wiped the water from her eyes with her sleeve. The short actress just took big gasps of air while her whole face was a vivid and distinct shade of red. “f-..fuck you..” jenna joked, seeing Melissa giggle. “I was just testing out the headcanon!.. that account is actually hilarious” the older girl smiled down at jenna as she nodded and then took a gulp of her water bottle.
After her and Melissa spent what felt like hours together they were eventually called into set to which nobody mentioned jennas echoed laughter. Instead they just gave her small smirks every now and again.
#tickle content#tickle#sfw tickle#sfw tickling community#tickle fic#jenna ortega#jenna ortega tickle#melissa barrera#melissa barerra tickle#i hate this#sorry it’s so basic😭
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Okay I was gonna ignore this but I just wanna set the record straight for this blog
So yesterday us girlies were discussing Aaron picking reader up, altho I was a bit sceptical imma be real with you but I'm more open to the idea now. It was fun and nice and I just love to be able to discuss with other fellow fat ppl abt hcs that suit us!
And then I received this ask:
And I just 🧍
There's a lot to unpack here.
First of all, I wanna make it VERY clear that while I haven't specifically put this anywhere (altho I probably will now) that this blog is surrounding plus-size readers, THIS BLOG IS CENTERED AROUND PLUS-SIZE READERS. So PLEASE assume I'm talking abt a plus-size reader unless stated otherwise.
When I got this ask, I won't lie to you but it really soured my mood. I was having so much fun talking to my lovely anons and rb stuff and just overall a great time but then this showed up. And I was scared and felt bad that I felt this upset by this but listen.
Fandom spaces are NOT made for anyone except short, skinny, white girls. That's just an undeniable fact. Your average fanfic blog for characterxreader fics has one specific type of reader as the default. You can't say they don't. When I joined this fandom I could count on one hand the amount of AH x plus-size!reader fics there were. And so I thought hey I should maybe contribute and bring more out because we deserve to read something and KNOW we can picture ourselves in the stories too. Even if I haven't put on the asks and gif posts plus-size reader just please assume that's the type of reader I'm talking about.
So onto the content of the actual ask. First of all, stating you KNOW weight and image is a sensitive subject but still telling me DIRECTLY abt how much you weigh and how "bony" you are is fucking unacceptable. You know what you are doing is wrong but you did it anyway. What do you expect me to say to you about how much you weigh and how skinny you must be? Why do I need to know this specific information?? You don't see us fat ppl going around like "oh I weigh THIS amount and uwu my chunky arms and stomach are soooo detrimental to other ppl's comfort 🥺🥺" because why? The only exception is the B-belly anon and fic I wrote for them because I have the same stomach type and understand how they feel.
And if you're actually THAT concerned about your health like you claim to be? Go to a fucking doctor. I'm not a fucking doctor. I'm a 23 year old dumbass in 2nd year of uni doing illustration. It's the attempted manipulative language in this whole ask that just left a sour taste in my mouth.
Am I saying skinny/slim ppl can't be insecure? Fuck no. ANYONE can be insecure. But the world is more willing to support and uplift skinny ppl than fat ppl. So we have to uplift each other and ourselves. And so because of that if the conversation isn't relatable enough for skinny people then they feel the need to directly insert themselves and make it all about them. I'm sorry but no. Not here you're not. You want to feel uplifted abt your fave character? Go read the hundreds of other fanfics that exist with your body type in mind. And if you disagree with this take then like. I don't really fucking care. Block me.
To the anon who did write this and if you're reading this post now:
I don't hate you. But this was not very nice and not okay to do. Again, if you're that concerned abt your health then talk to a doctor. This is HOPEFULLY the first and last time I'll need to talk about this.
If you've read this far I thank you and apologies for making the dash a bit sour. But I just couldn't keep this out of my mind.
#a speaks#important#aaron hotchner x plus size reader#aaron hotchner x plus size!reader#plus size!reader#plus size reader#fandom spaces#x reader#tw body image
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In Which Percy and Nico Actually Talk About Their Feelings
I found him in the woods, by a big dark oak, readying his gear for capture the flag. He actually smiled when he saw me. That was new.
“Just like the good old days, huh, Percy?”
“Only this time we're playing on opposite teams.”
His grin turned impish.
“What do you think I was referring to?”
I laughed, and he laughed when I laughed. Has it really been so long? It feels like yesterday he was that hyperactive kid with the stars in his eyes. I didn't realize how much I missed seeing him like that—happy. Genuinely happy.
Maybe that's why I've been avoiding him all this time.
Laughter died in my throat, and he noticed.
“What's wrong?”
“Listen, I just wanted to say...” I rubbed the back of my neck. I was never that good at talking about feelings. “I'm sorry, Nico. For... not being there. I guess I wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility.” I sighed, feeling like something was pressing on my chest. “I've never had to... look after someone. I mean, I've had Tyson, but that's different. And now, with Estelle—“
He put his hand on my shoulder, stopping my rambling in it's tracks.
“Percy, it's fine.” He smiled. “Like, actually fine. You did look after me. Without you I'd never realize Minos was playing me. When Bianca died, you were the only person who comforted me. You rescued me out of Tartarus.” He looked me in the eyes, tilting his head, like he couldn't believe how stupid I was being. “Dude, you invited me to your birthday.”
I still couldn't shake the guilt off.
“That whole thing the arai showed you... I'm sorry for thinking that.”
His smile disappeared. “It's fine. I know I was an annoying kid.”
“Dude, I was an annoying kid! You weren't even half as obnoxious as I was when I was your age.”
Nico narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“I don't believe that.”
“My teachers hated me.”
“I know. Alecto complains about you a lot.”
Of course she does.
“This one time,” I whispered to him, like I was sharing some forbidden knowledge, “she sent me to the chalkboard, and she was getting so frustrated I couldn't solve the problem, she went 'Now, honey, that equation is so simple an idiot could solve it'.”
Nico nodded.
“And you turned to look her straight in the eyes and said, 'Then why won't you?'.”
My eyes went wide.
“She told you that?!”
“Hello, prince of the Underworld? There are no secrets I don't know about.”
I rolled my eyes. I suppose if any demigod deserved a boost to his self-esteem, it was Nico. Even if it made him a little smug.
“Look, point is, if you ever need to talk, I'm here, alright?”
He beamed at me, and his eyes looked shinier than before.
“I know.”
I smiled.
“Good.”
“There is actually something I wanted to tell you for a long time,” he said, his face turning serious.
I felt my body tensing up. If he was about to tell me he stumbled into yet another evil plot, I was making a formal complaint to the Fates.
“Shoot,” I said, feeling a little nervous.
“You're a son of Poseidon, right?”
I looked at him.
“Uhm... yeah, you know that, why?”
His eyes sparked mischievously.
“So... can you surf really well or not?”
“Oh my gods!”
“I'm curious!” He laughed, running off to his team. “By the way, we're gonna destroy you, straight boy!”
“Don't count on it, you little gremlin!” I yelled after him, my cheeks hurting from the huge smile on my face.
This is a fragment of a bigger fic I'm writing. It retells the story of Heroes of Olympus if some time traveler went back in time and stomped on a bunch of butterflies.
By which I mean some divergence points are wild. Piper had a Disney Channel show. And Leo has an even more tragic backstory.
I'm currently covering the events of The Lost Hero, but people liked my posts about Percy and Nico, so here's a sneek peek of stuff that I might never get to cover. This would take place after Nico's confession, which would also happen differently than in the book.
You can read it here.
#percy jackson#heroes of olympus#pjo#hoo#percy jackson and the olympians#nico di angelo#i just wish they freaking talked about their feelings for once#memoria damnata#writing#heroes of olympus fanfiction#percy and nico friendship
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I probably will regret writing this during a brief period awake in the night instead of when the brain is refreshed, but the thoughts are gonna be honest so here we go.
It's going to get personal. Apologies in advance.
I'm feeling pretty jaded. Over a lot of things.
It's hard when "Stuff's happening" applies to fandom, work life, real life all at the same time and there's not any one person I can talk to about all of those things. I'm really starting to hit my limit. I cried yesterday because my dog was upset with me trying to move her into a more comfortable position. And I can just tell the fuse is going
Everyone has their stories on the other side of this digital world, and it's silly I know for me to come in with "I'm not having a lot of fun anymore" but that's what it is.
Focusing on writing - Without delving too far, I work too hard to make my writing what it is. I've tried to handle situations with grace and kindness and respect, and I'm sorry I can't pretend I am unhurt. I'm sorry I can't smile it away and do the easy thing. I will not talk about this any further because it's not fair or right too, but I feel I can absolutely acknowledge how I've felt on my tumblr space.
So meanwhile I've looked at my open doc of wips countless times to stare at the emptiness in front of me. Day after day of "not feeling it" and I've started to feel between all that that what even is the point.
Everything in my life recently has shaken any semblance of confidence. The ideas feel like sandpaper against my skin because I want them out but I can't write them.
I don't have the energy to interact and let things slide by on tumblr. And more than ever I'm going to need the online community coming up here soon. It just doesn't feel like something that will help right now. I don't know what to do with all that. I hate that I am here writing this post.
So I'm sorry I guess. I'm feeling a lot of feelings.
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Characters, and writing
I've talked before about lifelong struggles with shyness and embarrassment when it comes to talking about my characters. Recently, though, I've been able to work past some of this, and come to terms more with the connection that I have with these fictional characters and their stories.
Something that I've finally admitted to myself more fully, is just how deeply I view Bracey as a "comfort" character, in a way that can feel very vulnerable. I really do feel a sense of warmth and love when I think about him, almost as though he was a real person. This is something I felt a lot of shame towards in the past… both since he's not "real", and because I've received some really hurtful treatment from people who did not like his inclusion in the project. It really, really messed me up that my former collaborator somehow accessed the site when it was under password protection, and wrote such a hateful callout post… after that happened, it really did leave me feeling so unsafe to express myself, and this has taken years to really come to terms with and start to recover from. But, I don't want to keep blaming myself for other people's actions and interpretations, and I don't want to beat myself for something that brings me such comfort.
So, here's some writing I did yesterday; switching between 'prose' and 'essay' sections. Semi-NSFW, but nothing explicit.
Bracey's with one of his "dolls" again, in the plywood-walled backroom he's gated off with corrugated metal over a locked chain link gate. Always the handy-man, he smirks and steps towards the bound-up stranger. "It's just you and me." It squirms against the belts that keep it tied to the drain-rig, and matte-vinyl skin bulges around tight ropes. Its mouth can't open, and its limbs can't move; but none of that matters, when he touches it, and in an instant, it goes limp, head slamming on the bars.
The dissembler runs his hands up its thighs; the flesh ripples when he can't help but give it a little squeeze. It shouldn't tickle, but it tickles – but, it doesn't tickle him. The thing it shakes up is the psychic that's drifted on through and settled right inside the empty space where the stranger's self and feelings aren't.
If Bracey knew, he'd think Default had made them all just for him.
Really, though – they're what's trapping him here.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
He's the 'fantasy ideal' – the partner with the same weird sense of humor, provider of unlimited psychedelics, and a predilection for rough sex. He provides a way to fulfill these cravings in a fantasy world; but, the ideal only exists in a fantasy, and Bracey can't exist in the real world. The drugs he provides are tied to the strangers, and the strangers are tied to the fictional world.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Bracey's been in there for an hour now; draining the raw sludge from the collection bin, and siphoning out the topmost layer of oil. There are four bottles of unfiltered psycholy already sitting on the crooked table he'd dragged in two weeks ago from a curb a few blocks away. He only has two more bottles to fill.
He taps his fingers nervously as he watches the fifth bottle fill, drop-by-drop. The high from the last joint he smoked has started to fade, and, that was his last joint. He knows he needs to stay focused. He's almost done. But all he can think is: He's not supposed to fuck them. He's not supposed to fuck them. He keeps telling himself; it won't make anything go faster. But he's just so fucking bored.
Besides, it's not like Default's here to get him off – and there's no one else around to interrupt him. It'll be fine, he thinks, as he puts the hard metal end of the siphon-hose down on the edge of the table. He has just enough time to get off, if he's quick about it; and after that, everything will go so much smoother. So he unzips his jeans, and reaches into his boxers; black, with clover print.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
It's exciting to think of him being this 'bad boy'. There's a head rush when I think about him doing these weird, pervy things with the strangers. It really wouldn't be enjoyable if they were alive, though. The strangers very specifically are not in possession of an internal experience. I'm not a sadist… and neither is Bracey. He doesn't enjoy causing pain to living things. When he roughs Default up, it's not because he wants to hurt Default. It just feels so fucking good to let go, and not have to worry about anyone but himself.
There's a parallel to the experience of playing a villainous character in a horror role-playing game. The player might occupy a character whose role is that of a serial killer, or a cannibal surgeon. But, that doesn't mean that the character reflects the player's real world motivations. The context of the world gives these characters a safety that isn't present otherwise, since the question isn't "if you could do anything, would you be bad?", but rather, "if you were a bad guy, what would you be like?"
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mini ramble ⤸
so, i know that no one is interested, but years ago, i studied eng lit and creative writing at uni, and because i was constantly writing, with very little appreciation, i ended up falling out of love with it. i didn’t write for years after i graduated, and it was only when i joined tumblr last august that i decided to give it another shot.
i know that most—if not, all—writers go through periodic phases of disliking their works, or lacking the motivation to create pieces, and i am guilty of doing this myself. when i first started writing again, i was proud of myself for breaking away from that abstinence, and although my writing style will probably change over time, for the first time in literal years, i was beginning to feel proud of the writer that i’ve become.
now, as both a reader and a writer, i know how hard it is to remove yourself from the habit of comparing yourself to other artists/writers, and yet i can also appreciate the effort it takes to create something that you’re proud enough to share with the world.
lately, i haven’t been feeling very confident about both my current and previous works—something which, again, many fellow writers will sympathise with—and although i have my own personal doubts about my works, i try to remember the positive feedback that i’ve received over the last few months, and i know that even if i’m not as happy with them as i was when i first posted them, somewhere out there, someone is.
however, yesterday, someone decided to basically confirm what i had already felt: that my efforts aren’t good enough.
i know that people say that you shouldn’t listen to anonymous hate, and i completely agree, but in this instant, whilst i was already feeling pretty rotten, reading that anon truly hurt my feelings.
because, yes, i know that my works aren’t for everybody, just as other people’s works aren’t for me. and yes, i am aware that whilst i have favourite authors on here, the sentiment probably isn’t felt about me, but i still worked very hard to be the writer that i am now, and it cuts deep when someone says that not only will you never be as good as others, but that all of your hard work is for naught.
not only have i aimed all of my studies towards reading and writing, but my interests were heavily influenced by my mum’s talents as a successful screenwriter. i wanted to be like her so much, that my earliest story was written when i was still a child. this has literally been a passion of mine for most of my life.
i may not be your favourite author, nor may my works be your cup of tea, but i’ve worked too fucking hard for someone to tell me that all of my efforts are a ‘waste of time’.
it costs very little to scroll past something that you do not like. it costs even less to be a decent human being.
all of this being said, i hope that no one ever makes you feel the way that you made me feel, but unfortunately for you, i shan’t be following your advice. you do not—and will not—decide whether i give up or not. i may have allowed my emotions to get to me when you first sent that anon, but i can assure you that it won’t be happening again.
i will continue to ‘waste my time’.
maybe you should ‘waste’ yours upon some very much needed self-reflection.
#♡ jordy is thinking ♡#i have been wallowing#but no more#thank you to those who have always supported me on here#you’re all very much appreciated
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My little Welcome Home OC Segment featuring my OC, Pinkie Patience! It's formatted like a forum post asking to find the episode.
If y'all wanna participate in this challenge (that I created because I just love how creative some of these OCs y'all are making are), go right ahead!
Here's the link to the post explaining it:
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LOST WELCOME EPISODE PLS HELP????
So, a little about me: I'm a disabled man, trying to find this one episode of Welcome Home. This show was kinda my comfort as a kid. I was put in a wheelchair due to an accident from a really young age and the positivity this show exuded was very welcoming and comforting. I mean, it was literally called WELCOME Home! One character, however, really helped me out. His name was Pinkie Patience, and he only appeared in a few episodes. He was disabled, like me, and made me feel understood. Like I had a friend in him, because we were similar. I've heard similar stories from other people online who remember him and are disabled. It kinda seems like he was the bread and butter for disabled kids, back then.
There was this one episode, however, that kinda made me realize that I had more friends than I thought. I always felt like I needed to stick with other kids that were disabled, because a few of the "normal" kids made fun of me and the others. They made fun of my wheelchair, made fun of my friend's leg braces, made fun of anything they could. Especially when it was a visible difference. It really made me feel bad about the fact that, not only was I disabled, I was VISIBLY disabled. Kinda like I couldn't make friends with able-bodied people, because they wouldn't want to be seen with me. This episode, which for the life of me I cannot remember the name of, made me realize otherwise. It made me realize I COULD make friends with able-bodied kids, that, if they were a good person, they wouldn't feel ashamed of being seen with me. I want to find this episode, so I could show it to my kid, who recently had to get a back brace for scoliosis. They hate that people can tell they are wearing it, even if they hide it with clothes.
So, I can't remember the name, but I remember the specific segment that involved Pinkie. It was actually a Wally segment, with him painting. The other characters got involved, too. Let me write out what I could remember.
So, Wally starts out the segment like normal. Instead of asking the viewer what to paint, however, he says something like "I want to paint something for Pinkie. He seemed upset, yesterday, and still seems upset today." Then, he went on to explain how everybody was playing a game yesterday, accommodating for Pinkie's limited movement and joint pain. However, partway through, Pinkie had to stop playing, because his joints got worse and his leg brace broke.
So, Wally begins painting a picture of Pinkie, specifically Pinkie in his leg braces. This is important for later, but isn't really mentioned. Anyways, Julie ends up interrupting the segment, knocking on Wally's door. Wally let's her in, with Julie mentioning her concerns for Pinkie. She joins in on the art segment, drawing a picture of Pinkie relaxing in the sun in crayon. It repeats with each character, with Frank and Eddie working together to make a paper chain of something, Sally writing a play about... Something I also don't remember, but I think she mentioned making sure it wouldn't be too taxing for Pinkie to play the lead role. Howdy and Poppy worked together to make Pinkie a cake, making sure to not put any chocolate or peanut butter in the recipe, because Pinkie was allergic to those foods. I don't remember what Barnaby did, but I do remember him making a joke about how people seem to think Pinkie doesn't do much because of his disabilities, but in fact, he probably does more than the people who think that way about him.
So, Wally making a painting turned into planning a surprise party that was being held in Wally's house (AKA Home, because his house was alive). Eddie ended up going and getting Pinkie, who was brought in in a wheelchair, due to his leg braces still being broken. Everybody presented their gifts to him, trying to cheer him up. I don't remember how he reacted at first, but by the end, he was happy.
Everybody left one by one, until it was just Pinkie and Wally. Pinkie turned to leave, but was stopped by Wally, who hadn't given him his painting, yet. This was the part where the painting became really important. Maybe not to the episode, but to me.
Wally gives Pinkie the portrait, with Pinkie looking a bit shocked. Then, Pinkie smiles and goes on one of his long rants. I still remember it, almost word for word, despite it being a bit long imo. I mainly remember it because I rewatched the episode to write down what he said and I still have that paper. My writing was messy, though, and my spelling was a bit off. So I kinda had to decipher it would write it down. I made sure to write it down, because this was the exact moment that made this show, especially this episode, Pinkie, and Wally Darling, so special to me.
Pinkie said "Man. Thanks. You know, sometimes, I wonder why anybody would find me appealing enough to draw or paint a picture of me. People tend to find it hard to draw things like my braces or my wheelchair. Also, I just think that they look unappealing. Then, I think to myself, "Wow! Imagine all the people in the world who think the same thing! All the beautiful people who also have braces, wheelchairs, or a difference they think is noticable from people who aren't disabled? I know that if I saw them, I would think they are beautiful people, so what makes me different? And I know that you think I am a beautiful person, Wally, be cause you always say so. The same with the rest. Everyone here always tells me how nice I looked that day, how nice I look today, and how nice I'll look tomorrow. You guys always cheer me up when I'm down. It's why, most of the time, I feel good about myself. It makes me sad to think about all of the lovely people who feel down because they are different, and they don't have others to cheer them on."
There was then this moment of silence, like the two of them had this silent understanding. Then, Wally looked to the screen, saying "It's always nice to cheer others up, no matter who they are and what they are going through. You may feel like you have nobody, or that you can only be with others like you, but that isn't true! The world may be a bit mean sometimes. People fear those they don't understand... but avoiding what you don't understand only makes it so that you'll always fear it! You need to go out and meet others who are different, no matter how scary it may seem, at first. Then, you'll eventually meet the people who are nice and want to understand you just as much as you want to understand them."
The show then ended. Wally's segment was at the end of this episode. If it helps out in finding this episode, I think this episode might've been dedicated to someone in specific. I remember the end card having a subtitle saying it was dedicated to someone, with my mom mentioning that it was the kid of a set member on the show who was recovering from polio and had to have knee braces because of it.
I have a few books with Pinkie, like the one about his birthday and the one about not being afraid of going to the doctor. This episode, though, is the only thing I remember that directly talked about how some kids feel when they have to use a visible aid or if they have a visible disability. Please, I really want to find it! I already contacted the Welcome Home Restoration Project people on the website, but I think having extra people searching could help!
#welcome home#welcome home arg#my ocs#welcome home oc#welcome home oc segment#welcome home oc segment challenge
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I wanted to thank you all for all of your amazing asks yesterday from fun world building with primary wizard schools to your questions about Brumous to shit talking about Hermione. For the first time in a long time, I had fun on tumblr.
Stop reading now if you don’t want to read something sappy. I’ve warned you.
It’s no secret I’ve had a hard time in this fandom for the past year. I’ve been attacked by anons, had my stories and characters attacked, and even been disappointed by some people. I almost didn’t post Brumous, thinking my time in this fandom was coming to an end. I was just discouraged and sad all the time. What brought me joy no longer was bringing me joy. I began to question a lot.
But, I posted. You guys came out in droves to support me. I look at my review totals for each chapter and just smile. I’ve read and reread your reviews so many times. Yesterday, tumblr was fun again. There were so many asks and it felt like we were just chatting and having fun once more.
I know there are some people who don’t like me. I’ve seen people write how they don’t like me. I know I don’t get rec’ed often, but I do get super giddy when someone actually does.
I guess I just wanted to thank everyone who has supported me and actually likes me and for those who have reached out privately to me when I needed it. I’ve been doing a lot better with the hate and criticisms because of those of you who are so quick to send love. I’m getting teary eyed writing this because I finally love my hobby again and I’m having fun writing once more. You all made that happen and showed me so much love. I just want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart that made that possible.
I’ve started cutting out toxic accounts. I’ve even been taught how to block IP addresses of hateful anons. I delete the trolly reviews on ff.net. And I focus on all of you wonderful people.
Thank you and I love you.
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can I say a confession. I kinda lost all my interest in the MCU not even the prospect of zendaya and tom returning in sm4 is exciting to me obviously I would eat up a press tour but not the movie. I dont post end game this MCU has been rather flat and dull. No hate to people who love the MCU, I really hope the MCU delivers yall some magical stuff. Its just watching other major blockbusters and seeing their quality like top gun or mad max or dune or spiderverese like Im reminded at what cinema can be when creators are given time and freedom to build their own worlds and create unique moments story telling or when we see great cinematigraphy and sound design.
Like Im glad I opened myself to see smaller things or films I've never thought I would watch like poor things, american fiction, la chimera, all of us strangers, past lives and just being transported and experiencing something amazing and emotional and feeling rewarded as an audience member. I dont know I feel like mcu is kinda lagging behind and I feel lile audiences deserve better products and the MCU just dont deliver anymore.
Thanks for your confession Anon. 😊
Idk if you meant for me to hold this "Confession" off until Sunday so that you could have immunity lol 😆, but I saw this posted to my inbox yesterday, and it didn't say to hold off from posting until Sunday, so I assume you wanted me to post it. 🤷🏾♀️ If I misunderstood, I apologize.
Anyway.....
I'm definitely a self-proclaimed "Marvel Girl" (always have been 😊), but I also love DC comics as well. I'm not one of those who feels like fans HAVE to choose btwn one or the other. 👀
With that said, Marvel to me is like the fun, exciting, "junk food" of cinema. Like eating junk food, watching Marvel movies is fun to digest, it's enjoyable, it's exciting, you feel GREAT while watching it, and you can't wait until you see some other new films coming out.
But, you can't exist SOLELY on junk food and be healthy, just like if you're truly a fan of film, you can't ONLY watch Marvel films and be 100% satisfied in your movie-viewing life. 🤷🏾♀️ You need a balance.
It sounds like you're definitely a fan of film, and you watch a variety of stuff. That's awesome! 😃 👍🏾☺️
While I love Marvel, I too have noticed that some of their more recent films have left some fans a little disappointed, and just feeling a little "Marvel Fatigue".
I honestly think that they got worried that after they killed off most of the OG Avengers, that fans would lose interest, and so they started just churning out more and more films and series in order to put out the "next phase". But in all honesty, I kinda feel like after NWH and Wakanda Forever came out, I sort of feel like Marvel should have taken a little bit of a BREAK, and allowed the fans to miss them (sometimes, absence makes the heart grow fonder), and really taken their TIME in writing better films going forward after resting for a few years. 👀
Cuz you're right, some films are feeling a little sloppy and rushed, and honestly, when you compare some of the newer Marvel films to films like "The Dark Knight" , or even "The Batman", or shooot.... even "Spider-man 2" lol 😆, you can kind of see the STARK difference. (No pun intended lol)
Obviously, Marvel films aren't going to be like "Poor Things" or "All of Us Strangers", so I wouldn't even compare them to those types of films rofl 🤣
But yea, like when you even compare some of the Marvel films to a movie like "Top Gun: Maverick" (which was AWESOME and brought back old school style Hollywood filmmaking), you can tell the immediate difference in how you feel when watching it, the writing, the cinematography, the MUSIC, everything....
I think Marvel reigned Supreme for many many years (over a decade), and so maybe they got lazy or felt that MORE content more OFTEN was "better", but I actually think the opposite. 👀 🤷🏾♀️
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hey, i hope life's treating ya well this week! i finished y6 yesterday and came to share some thoughts if you don't mind :)
i think kiryu tried to project on his kids what he wanted kazama to be like as a father, but ultimately kazama'ed all of them, especially daigo. i found the ending of y6 very touching, but that's because i like daigo in all of his bland npc glory, and i agree with a lot of criticism of that ending being somewhat weird, especially when we had so little interaction with haruka, who just. you know. woke up from a coma. i wrote this already in my blog, but i'll repeat myself: that ending would've made much more sense if we had just more of daigo in general amd/or saw his transition from his y2 version to his version later in the series. like, we know haruka and kiryu are close, and we assume daigo and kiryu are close too, but i'd love to see more evidence of it in the actual text. that one substory in y0 clearly wasn't enough. i wish we could have more of haruka, MUCH more of haruka, too. the lack of her agency in y6 after y5 felt frustrating
i did enjoy the game, though. i really liked the callbacks to the previous games. as for side activities, it never seizes to amaze me how the eroge minigames are become just more and more unhinged. but all the missed storytelling opportunities, man
(it's also v funny that daigo's sr card code in clan creator is kiryusavemepleaz. i don't speak japanese and therefore haven't played rggo, but i know about a story where majima lets daigo win him on purpose or something? also the situations daigo's often put in (which are mostly near death experiences), him never getting any kind of resolve with ryuji as well... i think yokoyama kinda hates daigo lmao)
Heya! I sure love thoughts and I sure love talking about Daigo :]
On the note about 'Kazama'ing his kids, I'm going to be ugly and take a minute to interpret what that means if you don't mind.
When it comes to what Kazama did to his kids, he allowed Nishiki and Kiryu to join the yakuza despite knowing the dangers of it at their insistence. Ergo, we see Kazama prioritize the yakuza, telling Kiryu to leave the Dojima situation in Y1 alone. Moreover, despite Kazama lacking faith in Nishiki's abilities as a yakuza, he still expected him to be able to lead a family by himself while he took care of Yumi in hiding.
As for Kiryu and his kids, it was evident Kiryu wanted to be able to parent the kids at Morning Glory- to speculate, maybe as a way to atone of Kazama's messy paretning without outright admitting Kazama had faults. However, his bond with those in the yakuza inevitably kept him coming back, especially in regards to Daigo (who, of course, we find out he sees as a son. In this, it's a case of Kiryu still wanting to be a good parent, but the priorities aren't exactly there). In this (and I've discussed this in a post prior), Kiryu's attempting to spread himself thin when it comes to his family: he wants to help the Tojo, if not predominantly due to Daigo's presence there, but he also wants to father the orphans at Morning Glory. Unfortunately, since Kiryu can justify leaving the kids as Okinawa's a safer setting and he's admittedly at his best in a fight, he ends up leaving for Tokyo every time action's needed.
It's actually Kiryu's constant leaving that had me assume he was writing his letter to Haruka at first during Y6's ending, specifically when he was talking about how he lamented not spending more time with her. On the subject of Haruka, Y6 really did her disgustingly: as soon as she was of age, she becomes a mother and, on top of that, she gets hit by a car and is in a coma the majority of the game and doesn't even get to properly spend time with Kiryu before he vanishes. I genuinely wish and- foolishly- hope one day Haruka can actually get the respect she deserves after having been such an important, prominent, and interesting character throughout this franchise.
To talk about Daigo and Kiryu, the main subject of this ask I feel, I think RGG did as much as they could when it came to demonstrating Kiryu and Daigo's relationship. In Y5, it's revealed that Kiryu believes that people who become close to him suffer (and in this scene in particular, he's referring to Daigo after he gets shot on the roof)- how long he's had this mentality I couldn't definitively tell you, but I wouldn't be surprised if this has been a thought since everyone's deaths in Y1. Because of Kiryu's fear for others' well-being, it can be reasoned that Kiryu might have wanted to keep his distance from Daigo as much as he could lest something go wrong (but of course, he also feels responsible for protecting others, leading him to take action where he should probably leave things be). In Y4, we can see the buds of Kiryu regretting not being there for Daigo when he needed him most, outright apologizing to him for putting him in the position of chairman without any proper training or time. Considering all of this, Kiryu's letter to Daigo aligns with what we've seen: even if Kiryu wasn't able to be close to Daigo and properly guide him like he should have, he still confesses that Daigo was incredibly important to him and he regrets letting that fear stop their bond from deepening.
Daigo on the flip side, we become very aware that he values Kiryu immensely. To return to Y5, at the end of his taxi ride he tries to reassure Kiryu that he's able to carry himself without his help (i.e. 'I'm trying my best to walk this path' after Kiryu kicks him out of the car). Daigo's need for Kiryu's approval is also evident in RGGO: the story with Majima you're talking about is one of his character stories where he first becomes chairman. In this story, Daigo struggles to understand what Kiryu's intention was entrusting him to the Tojo Clan, but once he realizes it, this is his turning point to stop being the brute he was in Y2. To extend on RGGO shining light on Daigo's feelings for Kiryu, during his initial meeting with Mine in Mine's story, he lets Mine know he was so ardent in watching the Tojo at first so he could make 'the man' who put him in that position proud, and later during their bar conversation in another one of Mine's stories, he lets Mine know that while he doesn't consider Kiryu family at this point, he still considers him someone incredibly close to him (and as we see in Y6, Daigo will do a hard 180 on this and proudly call Kiryu his father). To jump back to Kiryu for a second, we can argue that Mine's whole 'what could Daigo see in a man like you' line could have contributed to Kiryu's want to distance himself from Daigo. Because what if Mine had a point: what WAS there to admire in Kiryu? What could Daigo POSSIBLY like about Kiryu, and would it not just be better if he wasn't in his life after- inadvertently- getting him put in a coma? To end this segment on a goofy note, Daigo's clan code being 'kiryuhelpmeplz' is super funny with the father/son lens: Daigo's gotta call his dad to help him out </3
EDIT: In regards to the RGGO story I mentioned here, I misremembered the exact quote and that drastically changes the scene and meaning I'm referencing, and significantly portrays the relationship between Daigo and Kiryu differently from what I've said. For the correct quote and sentiment, please refer to this ask here (x)
In all of this, it's reasonable that RGG couldn't expand on Kiryu and Daigo's relationship, but that's what makes Kiryu's letter so significant. We see from Kiryu and Daigo's sides individually that they saw each other as family, but neither of them were able to confront that fact directly for one reason or another (Kiryu, again, with is fear of hurting those he loves and his general inability to express his emotions perfectly. Daigo might have thought seeing Kiryu as his dad was inappropriate, especially after having had to believe he killed his actual dad). Kiryu lamenting the bond they could have had wouldn't have had the same merit if Kiryu and Daigo were actually able to bond more, but because they didn't and we see they still cherish each other, the impact's there.
My long ugly ramble aside, I'm glad you still enjoyed the game! I don't know if you have any more of the games left to play, but if you ever get around to them I hope you enjoy them!
#long post#snap chats#if you guys ever want any of daigo or mine's RGGO stories i do have them bookmarked and saved so ! ask away and ill link em to you :)#this is a lot of disjointed rambling forgive me i just have a lot of thoughts about daigo and kiryu and daigo and kiryu#yokohama hates daigos ass fr LMAO
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