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chickenparm · 3 years ago

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Dalliance - (Marcus/f!Reader) Pt. 7 (End)

You are freed. Until I get a bunch of requests to do nasty things to Marcus - to add on top of the ones that are already in my box you guys are NASTY

thank you @sweatandwoe for being my big daddy beta reader

previous part AO3 Link

Marcus/f!Reader 2732 Words - NSFW Sex with FEELINGS, P in V

---

There’s an unsettling feeling in your stomach for the next few weeks - weeks that you continued in the same fashion as the previous, where you’d find excuses to be gone from the bar at any point in time. Your acceptance of your fondness for Marcus had evolved into something more painful, biting at you every time you laid in bed, worked at your desk, touched yourself in the evenings to the thought of brown eyes with a taunting glean and strong hands that betrayed their owner with tender caresses.

The turning point was when Sevika had knocked on your door, sounding so similar to Marcus’ that you found yourself hoping he’d come through the door. If Sevika noticed your look of defeat while explaining where you needed to go for the day, she made no mention of it. Though, she did give you a lingering look before she left the room.

So you find yourself in other bars, other safehouses, other brothels where you search for a feeling to fill you up and push away the stinging of this situation you’d let get too out of hand. Feelings weren’t supposed to be involved - it was all purely out of spite. Marcus for your father, and you at Marcus, because eventually Silco would find out and the man would find his life coming to a quick end.

But then it didn’t, and it continued more and more as Marcus dug his claws into you without even knowing it… and vice-versa. You wondered how long he’d been harboring it, how long it took him to cultivate the love that he hinted at.

And you wondered if it happened as suddenly as it had for you.

You take to haunting the same locales, far across the Promenade and away from the view of Piltover in the distance. That is where you stay, fighting and drinking and fucking the days away between jobs, up until Sevika hunts you down and tells you that Silco is looking for you and he is not happy with your continued exile.

You expect to be reprimanded, yelled at, maybe punished in some way despite being an adult. What you get instead is a seat on your father’s sofa, elbow leaned on the arm and one leg crossed over the other as you bounce your foot aloft. Silco is standing at the front of his desk, smoking a cigar and flexing his jaw as he keeps turned away from you.

He’s upset, and all you can do is wait for him to finally come to a conclusion and speak his mind.

“Do you take me for an idiot? A fool, perhaps? Have I blundered your upbringing so entirely that you feel the need to keep secrets from me?”

You’ve been caught, though the dalliance has long been cut off and you’re wondering why he’s realized it just now. Silco turns on his heel sharply, gesturing to you with a single jab of his cigar. You don’t even flinch.

“I give you many liberties. I allow you to come and go as you please, to work at your leisure and pursue your own interests. All that I ask in return is that you be forthcoming with me in all things.”

“So you figured it out, then?”

Silco’s free hand came to the bridge of his nose, pinching it with his undamaged eye clenched shut. A handful of seconds tick by before Silco speaks dangerously slowly. Each syllable is a carefully placed blow, methodically placed to wound you the most.

“Yes. Do you think I’m blind? Deaf, maybe? Marcus is not subtle, especially when his boots go the opposite direction of the exit. Not to mention that it wasn’t a mystery for the ages when you disappeared and Marcus sits in my office looking like his poro has been kicked. Honestly, I raised you to be more responsible than this.”

“What?” You blurted dumbly, your brain feeling like it was short-circuiting as Silco’s good eye opened and he dropped his hand to his side to take a pull from his cigar and blow it immediately to the ceiling as he spoke.

“I’ve known the entire time, you foolish little girl. I saw no point in stopping it - you are an adult, and it benefited me greatly to have Marcus under your thumb. I didn’t account for the fact that it would go both ways. I expected better of you.”

Silco knew. He knew the entire time, probably from the very beginning. Long before it had been anything but two people fucking their frustrations and boredom out into one another. Silco had known Marcus would fall in too deep, but the fact he didn’t expect you to as well… it stung. With shame and no small amount of self-loathing, layered prettily on top of what remained of your dignity.

“Dad, I-”

“Save it,” Silco reached over to stub the cigar out harshly in his ashtray on the desk, “Your blunder has cost me his willingness to follow my orders, and it’s high time you fix this before it gets too much further out of hand.”

Silco fixed you with a long stare, eyebrow raising before he jerked with his chin toward the door. A clear dismissal that had you on your feet in seconds and leaving from the room. You paused with your hand on the knob, and chanced a glance over your shoulder to where Silco leaned both hands on the desk with his head hung.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“...Thank you.”

—

Sevika was not happy when you asked her to send Marcus to your room. The look she gives you is best described as a sneer of distaste and disgust. She'd get over it eventually, but you had a feeling this one would take longer than most.

And then you wait - pacing your room, flipping through your books aimlessly, chewing on your nails. You know he is here, somewhere in the building and you have a feeling Silco has not let on that he knows. It's just his style to way Marcus squirm before he is set free.

You think about what you plan to say, whether you should let him speak first or if you should lay your cards on the table and let him decide if he wants to continue playing this terse game with you.

There is also a passing thought of just jumping him when he walks through the door and fucking him until he caves, but after how your last meeting had ended… that may not be a good idea. So, you settle at the end of your bed and wait. Minute stretching so long you wonder if he bypassed Sevika altogether or if he had simply told her to get bent.

You hadn't heard any fighting, so it was unlikely.

Like you willed it into existence, the sound of heavy boots stopping in front of your door made your heart leap into your throat, pounding in time with three short knocks. Your voice is strained when you call for your visitor to come in.

Marcus looks like shit, honestly. The dark rings below his eyes seem more prominent, his shoulders are tense and his eyes refuse to look at you as the door closed behind him. It sounded oddly ominous to the both of you. You hoped to change that.

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"Marcus," Your voice was too sharp, and you paused to rein it back in, "Stop calling me that."

"What do you want me to call you, then," Marcus' mask was already slipping, his eyes beginning to burn with anger when they turned on you, "Maybe whore? Bitch? Whatever it is, it's certainly not 'mine'."

You watch him with empty lungs, every word punching the air from you until you are left without. Marcus had opened the floodgates, dropping his helmet and respirator to the floor so could step closer and gesture to you with a sweep of his hand.

"Did you call me here to gloat? Maybe get your rocks off one more time before you disappear again? I tried to look for you the first time you ran off, to figure out what I did wrong that night to make you run."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Marcus-"

"Didn't I?" Marcus' voice was tinged with laughter as he came closer, blocking out the light as he stood above you, "I offered myself too quickly and it scared you off. I should have kept my mouth shut-"

"That was an option," You cut him off with your agreement, "One of many. I don't think it was the wrong one."

Marcus looked at you hard, hands dropping to his sides as the leather of his gloves creaked around his fists. Your attention flicked to them, then back to his face. With no small amount of effort, you let your own walls start to lower as your eyebrows pitch up and you lift a hand to reach for his own.

To your surprise, he lets you. You pinch at the fingers of his glove to loosen them before pulling it completely to drop it on the floor. His hand is just as warm as you remember, dwarfing yours as you smooth your fingers across his palm.

"Why are you doing this?"

Marcus' plea stops you. Flicking your gaze up to him, you're startled by the heartbreak in hisbeyes, the longing as he observes your touches. His shoulders are rolled forward, the bravado having burnt itself out.

"Is it a game to you? Fucking with my head?"

That statement hurts you with its implications. Because they're true - maybe unwillingly or unknowingly, but that didn't change the accuracy. Slowly, you pull his hand toward your face to set your chin in his palm, watching him through your lashes when his fingers curl against your skin.

Maybe you hadn't lost him.

"I'm sorry," You started, and there was a beat of a moment where his eyebrows twitched as he felt the harsh swallow of your throat before you spoke, "It was a game for both of us at first, wasn't it? But then we got too deep."

Marcus hones on on that two-letter word, the one that confirms that none of this was one-sided.

"I did get scared, but I did it to myself. I realized that more than anything I wanted to stay in that bed with you and lay your arms while you kiss me awake. To feel safe and wanted. Needed."

It's his turn to forget to breathe as you lean into his touch, your hand curling around his forearm. He's warm through the fabric of his uniform, smooth beneath your fingertips.

"And when I ran… I thought about you every day. Every moment. All I wanted was to be with you. I still do."

The floor shakes as he drops to a knee, the metal pad that protected his joint hitting the floor loudly beneath his weight. Then he's pulling you forward by your chin, fingers squeezing your cheeks as he presses his lips against yours. They're chapped from the chilled air outside, and bitten from his own anxieties, but it's just as perfect as you imagined.

His breath breezes over your cheek as he tilts his head. His free hand comes to your knee, curling around it to squeeze once and make you gasp. As your mouth relaxes, he’s already pressing his tongue against yours in long, slow strokes that have your thighs subtly parting as in invitation.

Marcus takes it.

He’s reaching up your skirt within seconds, fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh with delicate touches so reminiscent of that night you’d spent in his bed. You know you’re already growing wet, leaving a soaked spot on your underwear that he’s already pushing his fingers against, caressing you through the fabric.

Neither of you have to say anything, just allowing it to progress naturally with lazy, unhurried kisses and probing fingers that slip past your underwear and slide through your folds. The calluses on his fingertips are almost too much as he rubs against your clit with torturously slow circles, encouraging you to rock your hips against him with every shift in his movements.

“Please tell me this is real,” Marcus’ voice is muffled against your lips as he guides you to lay down with a hand cradling the back of your head, “I don’t think I could handle it otherwise.”

“It’s not a game, or a joke,” You promise, pulling away just enough to look him in both eyes and reassure him, “I love you.”

“You love me?” Marcus’ voice is one of disbelief, shoulders shifting faster with his breath picking up. You reach for his face, cradling his jaw with your fingertips against his neck - you can feel his heartbeat racing.

Before you can answer, to verbally confirm the love you knew was freely shining in your own gaze, Marcus is kissing you again with hands that turn frantic while pulling at the fabric of your shirt to yank it below your breasts and to pull your underwear to the side. You barely have time to admire the urgency your words gave him before the familiar feel of his cock pushing into you has you moaning at the stretch you’d been missing.

Your mouth is abandoned as he moves to your neck, sucking marks into the column of your throat as he pushes every inch inside of you with one long, smooth thrust. As he settles into you, you arch into his bruising lips with a whine of his name, urging him to take you like you’d been dreaming about for weeks.

“Marcus, please.”

“Say it again,” Marcus urges, rocking against you without pulling out more than a few inches to keep you filled and keening to the ceiling, “Say you love me and I’ll do anything you want.”

“I love you!” You gasp out, just as he tilts his cock to hit you perfectly and make your voice crack with pleasure. Marcus rewards your words with harsher thrusts, his hips snapping against yours audibly as he does so. The sound fills the room, complimenting your cries of his name like a song you remembered so fondly.

“I-I love you,” Marcus’ voice is wrecked as he speaks the words between your breasts, nipping the side of one briefly with gentle teeth, “Loved you since the beginning, couldn’t stay away from you.”

At his confession, you arched into him and reached for his shoulders to ground yourself against his onslaught, his words doing things to you that you didn’t expect.

“Y’called me a stupid bastard and I’ve been yours ever since.”

“You’re still a st-stupid bastard.”

“Not stupid enough for you to keep me outta your bed, huh?” Marcus’ teeth glinted in the light before he scraped them across your skin, biting his way up to your collarbone where he sunk them in with purpose - a real mark to show you were his. You barely last much longer, his fingers slipping between you to rub you to your peak just like he knew you’d need.

Clinging to him with scrabbling fingers, you cried his name out with your orgasm that had your vision growing dim as you nearly forgot to breathe. Marcus’ panting was like fire on your overheated skin as he breathed through his teeth, sounding absolutely feral as he hissed out a string of moans and lewd words that pushed him over his own edge.

The feeling of Marcus’ cock throbbing inside of you with his release was a welcome one, something that you’d missed almost as much as the man himself. Before he could grow too soft or pull out, Marcus cradled you to his chest and rolled over so you straddled his waist.

His hand at the back of your head to hold you to his chest was so soft, nearly lulling you to sleep in his arms as his fingertips carded through your hair. The fabric of his uniform was surprisingly soft, even with its trimmed edges and cold buttons.

The silence lasted for endless minutes, enough that you thought he’d drifted to sleep as well until his quiet voice broke the silence, “I can’t let you go after this. Damn whatever Silco says. You’re mine, and I’ll fight to the death to keep you if that’s what it takes.”

“Oh, he knows.”

“What.”

#marcus #marcus arcane #arcane marcus #marcus x reader #female reader #lemon #minors dni #tell my why my best silco characterization comes from a fic about fuckin marcus

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madlymiho · 4 years ago

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Headcanon for smoker, mihawk, and zoro: they have a short s/o who always wants to be picked up or given piggy back rides— how do they react and what not

They kill them inly...

Joke aside, it’s a very cute headcanon! 🥺 I didn’t go for Mihawk on this headcanon because it’s similar to what I could have already written there

Otherwise this is adorable and I’m super happy to write about Smoker and Zoro again! 😤

Smoker:

• For Smoker, his duty is probably the most important thing in his life, and he can’t act like a fool when he has the flag of the Navy above his head all the time. He’s already surprised to allow someone to share his life, so you should be grateful he’s already making quite an exception with you around

• Honestly, Smoker finds you utterly cute and lovable, your small size always a good reason for him to peer down at you, serious and icy eyes staring at your soul, before he would just slightly expose a more tender nature through a wink or a quick smile. You have something appealing, something he can’t fight... and somehow, he curses himself because he’s the one who gave you this stupid idea in the first place

• Perhaps because you were tired, injured, or too slow for him, Smoker one day agreed to carry you on his back, and since when, it’s like he has opened the Pandora box, releasing your needy nature and the very fact that you just love to climb him like a tree, despite his harsh words and his general cold attitude when he’s outside

• If the first time was an absolute exception, each time you’re giving him those pleading eyes, asking to be carried on his back, he just rolls his eyes and snaps that he doesn’t have time to play around. He’s a rear admiral after all! You can’t expect him to show such a tender side, while he has the entire G-5 to order around... He can’t simply lose his credibility while he has built this serious and severe reputation through sweat and blood

• Most of time, your request are answered either with a cold silent, or either a big no, Smoker definitely flustered because you can’t help yourself being so needy, and desperate because he feels embarrassed one more time ; you have too much power upon his poor and weak soul. He prefers to leave you right where you are, pretending that you’re acting childishly and wouldn’t oblige to such a pathetic behavior

• Even though, you know him enough to already be sure he would lower his guard at some point, and if he would yell at you to get down if you ever dare to climb on his shoulders, he has this reflex to wrap his strong arms around your legs to make sure that you wouldn’t fall... and if you make him notice that he doesn’t seem reluctant to carry you, you will have to deal with a mumbling smoking mess, teeth clenched on his cigars

• Because inly, deeply, and secretly, Smoker is concerned about your health... if you ask for a piggy back ride, perhaps it’s the results of some hidden pains? Maybe you’re tired? His chivalrous nature tends to only appear when you’re around anyway, and even if he tries his best to control himself, he usually fails...

• Though you better be sure that he would never agree to carry you if he has his men around, or any other member of the Navy. He’s not a romantic partner, and if he exposes his most sensitive nature to you, it’s only when he’s certain no one would ever bust the two of you. He doesn’t like to lower his guard so easily... but it doesn’t feel so bad to have you on his back whenever you’re walking with him to head somewhere

• So with time, he would just eventually roll his eyes and nod his head, inviting you to jump onto his shoulders, the ghost of smile floating on his lips while he will surely pretend that you’re just a pain his ass for him...

Zoro:

• Just! Get! Down! He hates it! He hates whenever you’re exposing your neediness like this, especially when there are curious eyes around. Dammit, he’s not a horse! You have legs, why don’t you use them in the first place? You get under his skin, because Zoro doesn’t know how to deal with your attitude!

• First of all, it has been quite a ride for him to accept his feelings for you. He has never been truly opened and aware of his emotions, and he doesn’t like to dwell on romantic feelings because he’s certainly not like that disgusting cook. Falling in love with you wasn’t a wanted part of his adventure as a pirate, but now that he’s stuck with his own romantic feelings, just... don’t push it too much?

• Physical touch and attention are turning this giant pile of muscles into a barking puppy, and surely you’re not helping whenever you’re staring at him with that particular look on your face. He knows you enough to believe you’re up to some mischief and he doesn’t have time for your childish little whims! Just don’t play with his nerves!

• Surely the first time you climbed your grumpy boyfriend, he has been utterly impatient and close-minded to your behavior. Growling like a beast, calling you an “idiot” and so on while he would have put you down in the minute, cheeks turning redder than usual, and his only valid eye sending death threats if you ever wished to come up again... Seriously, why does he have to deal with so many babies?

• Somehow he hates the fact that your new little trick has been a sort of everlasting new thing among the Straw Hat, Chopper, Luffy and even Nami sometimes asking for the moss-head to carry them the way he does accept to carry you from time to time... because yes, with time, of course he has lowered his guard, to the point that he only throws some casual insults when he feels your weight on his back, accepting your presence in the end

• Though, despite his grumpy attitude, he’s a weak man with you, and slowly you manage to turn this nasty habit into something he wouldn’t even pay attention to anymore. After he made sure that no one else among the crew would mistaken him as their new ride, Zoro just sometimes invites you to come up with a little smirk, patting the top of his shoulder with one his sword

• It’s also quite convenient if you need to escape a dangerous situation, and rather than waiting for you to carry on with his pace, he simply squats down and waits for you to jump on him, so you would be able to be safe and sound and he wouldn’t have to worried about you too much... it’s a good way to put you somewhere far from the danger, and he appreciates the idea that he’s your savior (and not that damn swirling brows...)

• Though you’ll have to expect for some uncomfortable and unexpected ride with him... you signed for this, after all, the first time you decided to have a piggy back ride with him! If Zoro wants to carry you for some reason, whether you’d be turn as a potato bag or anything else, head down, legs in the air, you’ll have to deal with you... because no one of your arguments would be valid, Zoro will simply smirk and answer “I thought you like that when I carry you, name...”

#one piece headcanon #one piece imagines #one piece hcs #roronoa zoro #Smoker One Piece #zoro one piece #one piece zoro #one piece smoker #rear admiral smoker #captain smoker #one piece imagine #one piece headcanons #one piece hc #fluffy hcs #fluffy request #anonymous request #queued

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redhawtriot · 5 years ago

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Could I possibly have a scenario with a fem s/o who is constantly high but yet Bakugou can’t help but fall in love :) thanks in advance!

Anonymous- “Can I pls get first date with bakugo and reader goes to pay for her half and bakugo shits her down with some tsundere ass response like “I just know if you pay for this you’re gonna complain you dont have money to buy other shit.”

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

I mashed these two request together!

Enjoy the fluff while it last cuz it’s finna get ANGSTY in this bitch!

HnM💕

How Stop liking a Stoner (Bakugou x Reader)

Bakugou absolutely hated you. Of course he didn’t get along with most people that he met, but the way that he despised you felt different from others somehow.

It all began the day that the two of you met. You had walked into class with a very distinct odor. You considered yourself to be a professional at hiding your more delinquent lifestyle; however, masked away under the layers of fruity and sweet perfumes that you had coated yourself in, was a slight, but very recognizable, dank and smokey smell.

You also had certain mannerisms that could alert even the purest of minds to your…ahem… extra-curricular actives.

Now, you weren’t a complete noob. You could handle the high well enough that you weren’t overly quiet, or loud, but you did often find yourself in situations that could expose your habits: such as when Mina asked you to feel how soft a furry piece of her hero costume was, and you ended up petting it for a few uncomfortable minutes before someone called you out, snapping you out of your trance.

Bakugou, being the ever perceptive grump that he was, noticed any of these sorts of slip ups and drew up the conclusion that you were indeed a stoner.

But that wasn’t even what he could bring himself to hate about you. No, it was the way that you made him feel whenever you were around that made him wholy despise you.

When you stupidly giggled at every slight occurrence, he could only replay the sound in his head over and over. Disgusting. When you absentmindedly swayed your body in a slight dance during lectures he couldn’t help but to watch you with a terrifyingly light feeling in his chest. Fucking gross. Even as you sat chomping on the insane mountain of snacks that you brought to class, he couldn’t fight the urge to steal glances at the little smile that was perpetually plastered onto your face. Absolutely adorable. WAIT? WHAT THE FUCK?!

God, he couldn’t stand your ass.

The furious blond found himself sitting at his desk, glaring at his laptop. He sat in thought for a moment before violently popping his knuckles and leaning into the search engine in front of him, allowing his fingers get to work.

Is marijuana bad for you?

Bakugou scrolled along the first page and found many differing views on the subject, but most scientific articles and studies mostly said the same things: “maybe”, “it depends”, and “we don’t know.” He groaned in frustration, before trying another phrasing of his question,

Can smoking have long term effects?

The teen was surprised by the overwhelming amount data that appeared, before realizing that they were mostly referencing to cigarettes and cigars. He growled and angrily smashed his fingers against his keyboard to correct his question.

Can smoking weed have long term effects?

As he eyeballed his screen he was once again disappointed by very vague and unclear answers. He slammed a fist onto his laptop in frustration. How the hell could you put that shit into your body without knowing what it would do to you later?!

Wait. A better, more pressing question shoved itself into his mind.

WHY THE HELL DID HE CARE SO DAMN MUCH ABOUT WHAT YOU WERE DOING?!

Bakugou groaned in frustration and roughly snatched a fist full of his hair, as if he were trying to rip you clean out of his mind. He knew for a fact that mind-altering wasn’t your damn quirk. So why the hell does he give a fuck about you? You weren’t even around him, yet he found himself having his thoughts wander to your well being. It pissed him off.

Bakugou once more smacked his fingers against his keyboard as he typed one final question,

How to stop liking someone?

As soon as he saw the words flash across his screen, it was like the weight of the entire situation finally cracked something inside of him. Shit. He did like you. The boy suddenly slammed his laptop shut and threw it away from him like it had suddenly disgusted him.

He then decided that he was going to pretend like the last hour of his life just didn’t happen. Yeah he was gonna “control, alt, delete” the fuck out of every thought he just had.

God dammit, he didn’t have time to dwell on crushes if he was going to be the number one hero! That stupid, delinquent girl wasn’t going to get any more of his time or thoughts!!

But.

It seemed like fate had something else planned as you hurriedly walked to your classroom, 1-A, the next morning. You absolutely couldn’t risk being late today. You hadn’t had enough time to grab your eye drops that morning and Aizawa would certainly notice your altered state if attention was drawn to you.

The hallway ahead of you moved in choppy frames before you finally whipped a turn to enter the door of your classroom. As soon as you turned into the class, you were slapped with a warm sturdy object, sending you flying back onto your butt.

Bakugou immediately thrashed his body around to confront whatever idiot just knocked into him, “HEY WATCH WHERE YOU’RE…” he trailed off as he recognized your figure. Your lunch box that you had been holding had spilled its contents all over you, but the dirty sight of you was somehow still enough to make his heart throb, “…going.” he finally finished.

“Sorry, Bakugou,” you apologized as you rubbed the side your your head, trying to stabilize your whirling mind, “Oh, man! My food!” you sadly exclaimed as you recognized the pathetic mess of snacks and small meals you had prepped for your day all over the floor and yourself.

The sight of your frown in contrast to your usual happiness gave Bakugou’s chest a twinge of pain. He growled at the emotion as he glared at you on the ground, “Well, maybe you should get your head out of the damn clouds and watch where you are going!” he yelled before stiffly turning on his heel and heading to his seat.

You blinked in surprise at his retreating figure. Well, you hadn’t exactly expected him to apologize or help you or anything, but you also didn’t expect to see the blush that creeped across his face before he stormed off.

Huh.

You cleaned yourself up easily enough. Honestly, the situation and Bakugou’s subsequent outburst had helped you make it through the day without getting suspended, drug tested or expelled. By the time you cleaned yourself up and made it back to the classroom, your eyes had pretty much returned to their normal state.

Today might not be so bad after all!

GrrrrRRRrrRRrrr, your stomach screeched, causing almost all of your classmates to whip their heads toward you in surprise.

Shit…

You hurriedly grabbed your stomach with a nervous laugh, trying to console the despairing little monster; however, you still spent the rest of the school day with your tummy loudly yelling at you. Watching everyone eat during lunch was absolute torture as your stomach cursed at you for being so damn clumsy. You honestly could have died.

Death by munchies.

However, it seems as if the cannabis lords took pity on you that day and you actually made it through your last class. You were the first one out of their desk as you rushed out of the classroom and down the hall— the thought of food on your mind, but suddenly you felt a heavy hand snatch your wrist,

“Hey, idiot!” When you looked back your eyebrows shot straight up at the sight of Bakugou’s hardened expression, “Let’s go grab some food.”

Um… hWhat? The suggestion completely threw you off balance. You shook your head as if the vibrations that just came in through your ear needed some readjusting, “Like… together?” you tilted your head in shock. You’ve never seen Bakugou willingly hang with anyone else besides Kirishima, let alone initiate an event with them!

Bakugou fumed at your questioning appearance, “Are you really that stupid!? I could hear your stomach growling from across the classroom!!”

You giggled at yourself in embarrassment, not quite sure of what else you could do in the moment, “…Why do you care?” you laughed.

Your laughed sent a searing wave of heat to his face. You’d… never directed this display of happiness toward him before, and for some reason it made him feel extremely hot,

“I don’t!” he yelled as he tried to fight the warmth away, “I just knocked your food down earlier and… I don’t want to owe you anything,” he suddenly noticed that he was still clinging to your hand. The heat in his face doubled as he snatched his hand away from yours, “So where do you wanna go? I am not taking no for an answer,” he began as he walked away from U.A.’s campus with a rigid nod for you to follow him.

You paused for a moment. Is this real?

A large smile began spreading itself across your face– the cannabis lords once gain raining mercy down upon you, “Maybe a… Mcdonalds!” you happily suggested as you skipped into a light jog ran to catch up with him.

“Mc.. donalds?” Bakugou threw you an expression that resided in an area between horrified and disgusted for a moment before correcting himself back into his comfortable anger, looking at the ground as the two of you walked.

“Yeah, like the clown place!” you added. Bakugou growled at your answer. He wasn’t a fucking idiot he knew what a damn McDonald’s was. You laughed at his response as you continued, “You’re not scared of clowns are you, tough guy?” you teased.

“Fuck you,” he simply huffed, refusing to even entertain your accusations.

“Wow, on the first date?” you boldly retorted with a stifled laugh, causing him to falter in his steps for a moment. He snapped himself out of whatever stupid emotion he felt at your words,

“IT’S NOT A DAMN DATE!” he roared, causing you to simply shrug, a pleased smile on your face as you continued to walk without him.

“Where are you going, you idiot?! There is a Mcdonald’s right there!” he angrily gestured to the golden arches the other direction of where you were headed.

“I like the one by my house better,” you explained, “It had a gas station attached to it, so I can grab some snacks on the way out.”

….

G-gas Station McDonald’s….? Bakugou could have thrown up right then and there.

“DISGUSTING!” the blond screeched, “I am not walking all the way over there just to walk back to the dorm! Are you an idiot?!”

Alright. Who the fuck did this to him? Made him crush on a complete loser?! Cupid? God?! He was gonna fight whoever the fuck it was!

“Fineeee,” you laughed and the two of you walked over to the inferior McDonalds. Bakugous eyes widened in repulsion as you ordered both a Big-Mac meal and a twenty piece chicken nugget with a dozen cookies.

As soon as you happily reached out to give the cashier your money, he swatted your hand away and shoved his own cash at the associates face, “No, take mine.” he harshly ordered. The employee shakily agreed and accepted his money.

You threw him a confused glance but before you could even open your mouth to question him, he spoke up, “I just know that if you pay for this, you’re gonna complain that you don’t have money to buy other shit,” he explained, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

You noticed this red tint, but decided to tease him instead of pointing it out, “Yeah, like gas,” you nodded with a sly smile.

“Gas? You’re fifteen and don’t have a damn car, you idiot,” He argued, but the boy immediately paused as soon as he saw the suggestive expression that you held on your face. Things finally clicked as soon as you wiggled your eyebrows towards him. Gas… you meant weed. He angrily snatched the two soda cups that the cashier was extending out as he loudly yelled at you, “FUCK! YOU MAKE IT SO DAMN HARD TO BE NICE TO YOU, YOU KNOW THAT?!” He screamed as you cracked up at his uncharacteristically slow uptake.

The two of you had decided to eat at a booth near a window. You found yourself being really surprised at the quality of this McDonald’s chairs. Bakugou loudly chastised you for gawking at the chairs like some freak before the two of you promptly began eating your food.

It was mostly quiet between the two of you as the textures of the meal performed on your sensitive tongue until Bakugou finally spoke up, “Why do you put that nasty shit into your body?”

“Uh,” Your eyes danced away for a split second, “McDonalds?” your faced crinkled in confusion.

“No, you dumbass!” Bakugou fought the urge to facepalm, “marijuana!” he angrily corrected.

Oh… you felt yourself deflate for a moment, as the question absorbed into your mind. You suddenly let out a giggle, “I don’t know. It makes me feel good, I guess.” Bakugou had to fight another blush at the sight of you adorably shrugging your shoulders.

“That’s a stupid answer. You can’t feel good on your own?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it for a moment. Of course, you could feel good on your own. Just take a look at you! You weren’t even very high anymore, yet you were still on cloud nine right now for some reason, “Well… I feel good right now with you.”

That did it. His adrenaline flared up in an instant. Bakugou couldn’t even come up with fluid words as a series of death threats and curses instinctively flooded to the forefront of his mind, “S-shut up.”

You giggled at his loss for words before letting the conversation die again. The two of you once again found yourselves in silence as you sat with a smile on your face.

This time, it was you who broke the silence, “Thank you, for hanging out with me today. I really appreciate it.”

“Whatever, loser. Don’t get used to it,” he huffed, angrily stuffing a few fries into his mouth.

“So…. there’s not a second date ahead?”

“I didn’t say that,” he grumbled, snatching his glare away from you and out of the restaurant window.

So it was a date. A huge smile once again spread across your face for the millionth time that evening. You happily plopped another fry into your mouth at the sight of him blushing once more.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou imagine #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagine #mha imagines #bnha x reader #mha x reader #420 #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #mha #bnha

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rafivadafreddy · 5 years ago

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Pretty Little Psycho

A Nevada Ramirez and Nettie Perez Story. Part Two.

Part One

Summery: Nettie waits for Nevada to bring her bag back. When he never shows up, Nettie decided to take matters into her own hand and go after Nevada.

Word Count: 2,018 Warnings: Cursing. Talk about drugs and blowjobs. Nettie gets aggressive. Some explicit talk. Spanish!

The next few days had Nettie anxious. She had not only back talked to the Nevada Ramirez but lived to tell the tale. Just at the thought that she would even dare tell anyone what had happened Nettie let out a pretty ugly snort as she stood at the café. Trying to figure out a way to retrieve her bag. Surely Nevada would have been kind enough to return it, or have his minions bring it back. Hell throw it at her through the car window. No need to stop. She just needed the fucking bag back.

Her phone, medication, gun and her last three paychecks were in that bag. Along with her wallet that had her I.D. Those shit were a pain in the ass to get made again.

“Mother fucker… hijo de puta…” she would mumble under her breath as she worked, honestly not caring since she maned the front of the café alone. Dalvin would always be in his office working on the finances and Camila would be baking.

As the day slowly came to an end, Nettie said goodbye to the two owners and left. On a mission. After asking around on her walk home, Nettie found out where Nevada or Trujillo usually hangs around at night. It was a Saturday, so she hoped he would be there.

Checking the time, Nettie narrowed her eyes and went to get a shower. Once clean, shaved and feeling a little better. Nettie started to get ready. Blow dying her hair, leaving her dark locks in semi-straight. She pulled her hair in a few braids but tied it off in a ponytail instead of braiding it all the way. Grinning and doing something simple with her makeup, Nettie put on mascara, foundation to hide the dark bags under her eyes, blush on her cheek bones and some liquid eyeliner on her eyelid, deciding against the cat eye look. Once that was done, she added a bit of pink lipstick and went to put on her clothes.

Black leather shorts, a simple black tank top underneath and her black studded leather jacket. Nettie was on a mission. Slipping her feet into four-inch heels that had a strap. Making it easier for her to walk and not worry about her heels slipping out of her feet with each step. Once ready, Netter lathered her lips with some gloss and left her house.

Walking to where the club was, Nettie suddenly felt her palms become sweaty and she started to rethink her decision. ‘What the fuck am I thinking…’ she thought to herself and walked right up to the bouncer at the door. Putting on a flirty smile, she whispered a few things in his ear. Mostly flirting while rubbing his arm up and down. Soon enough, she was let in with a smirk.

Looking around the dark club, Nettie furrowed her eyebrows and pushed her way to the bar. The club was so loud she almost couldn’t hear herself think. But once at the bar, Nettie grinned at the bartender.

“What can I get you linda?” he asked over the music.

Shaking her head, she leaned over the bar. “I’m looking for Nevada Ramirez.” She yelled back and saw the guys eyebrows raise.

“Look…” he started and sighed. “You seem like a good girl. You don’t want to get mixed up with Nevada and his stuff.”

Nettie almost laughed, knowing how it must look. Her asking to see Nevada. The druglord and ‘King’ Asshole of Washington Heights.

“I don’t want anything like that!” she yelled out. “His bodyguard, Miguel helped me a few days back and Nevada gave me a ride home! They have my purse and I need it back!” She explained and the bartender just looked uneasy.

But instead of saying, he pointed to the side where there were some stairs. A guard, well… guarding it and the bartender shrugged. “Take this up there…” he told her and handed over some papers. “I was going to go, but it’ll get you up there.” He smiled and Nettie suddenly felt grateful.

Taking her jacket off and the bartender placing it behind the bar. He winked at her and Nettie grinned. Pulling her shirt down further, giving a nice few of her cleavage and her practically see through lace bra. She turned and headed over to the stairs.

“I have papers for Nevada...” she held them up and after the guard looked over the papers quickly. He let her up and Nettie almost giggled.

‘this is going way too easy…’

Once up there, she rolled her eyes. Men sitting around, girls giving lap dances almost naked. Some doing a line of coke, others drinking. One even seemed to be giving some guy a blowjob. But Nettie paid them no mind. She quickly found Nevada and walked over to him. Throwing the papers down on the table in front of him. Ignoring the fact that the papers spread over the table and two even fell to the floor.

“Mira quién apareció.” He laughed and Netter rolled her eyes once again.

“Si, Si… I showed up. Don’t go creamin’ your pants now Nevada.” She taunted, smirking while her arms crossed over her chest.

Watching him lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Nettie watched as Nevada licked over his lips. His eyes trailing over her body. Looking at her exposed legs, that looked a lot longer thanks to her heels. Her bare arms and chest that was slightly thrusted outwards thanks to her arms being crossed under her bust.

“Now mami, we don’t want a repeat of last time… do we?” he questioned, and Nettie gritted her teeth.

“Mira aquí, Nevada. I didn’t come here to chit-chat.” Nettie stepped forward. “I came here to get my purse that was left in your stupid looking escalade.” She laughed, this whole situation was an honest joke. “So, can I please have it back then I’ll leave and never come face to face with you unless absolutely necessary.” Nettie bargained, tilting her head to the side.

Nevada just sat there, a little confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Jose took that bag back to you two days ago.” Nevada waved her off.

Nettie just threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, yeah. OKAY. That’s why I’m here. Cause your guy brought my bag back. Yet, here I am. Telling you I don’t have it. Last time I saw it was when I got in YOUR escalade.” She exclaimed, voice raising now.

Taking a step back when Nevada got to his feet. Miguel stepped forward and Nettie was soon being dragged somewhere. Had she not caught her footing; Nevada would have ended up literally dragging her.

Entering a office, Nettie was pushed into a seat and Nevada ordered Miguel to grab Jose.

“I am really fucking tired of your pretty little mouth, mami.” Nevada sneered and Nettie sighed.

“If it was up to me, Trujillo I wouldn’t even be here. But I fucking need my bag.” She eyed him and leaned back against the leather seat.

Yet, before he could say anything. There was a knock and soon Jose was pushed inside.

“AH! Jose… Jose, Jose, Jose... I gave you a job to do the other day. You told me you delivered the bag.” Nevada stood up and walked around his desk to sit on the edge of it. “Now, I got little miss mami here. Saying she wants her bag back, which is hilarious. Cause, you told me you returned it to her.”

Nettie stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Where the fuck is my bag?” she asked, glaring at the man in front of her.

“I… I gave it to you, crazy puta.” Jose tried to sound tough, but Nettie wasn’t having it.

She stepped forward; Nevada didn’t even try to stop her.

“Oh, you gave me my bag. Huh. So why am I here then?” she asked him.

Jose just let out a laugh, one that sounded like a nervous chuckle. “The fuck should I know. Probably trying to get Nevada to pay you or something.” He looked over her shoulder to Nevada. “You know these putas are loca.” He laughed, but it turned into a painful groan in just two seconds.

Nettie was standing in front of Jose; her knee having encountered his dick and balls in one swift upwards motion.

“Call me puta… one more time. I will personally cut your dick off and shove it up your ass, making you my little bitch.” Nettie grabbed Jose's hair with a fist and hissed in his ear.

Miguel had to turn his head and let out a few very suspicious coughs that sounded like laughter to Nettie. Not that she was paying him much attention.

“FUCK… fine! I have your shit. Spent your money as well. Hoes like you deserve it. Thinking they a bad bitch!” Jose said in a painful grunt as Nettie pulled harder at his hair.

With wide eyes, her mouth dropped. Lifting her high heeled foot, she kicked Jose in the chest. Sending him flying back to the floor. Only to turn to Nevada. “I am going to murder him.” She told the man through her clenched teeth.

Shaking his head, Nevada looked at Jose before glancing at Miguel. “Go teach Jose here some manners… find out where her stuff is and bring it back to her.”

With that, Miguel picked Jose by the back of his shirt and pushed him out the door forcefully. Jose knocking into the door frame only to be pushed out.

Rubbing at her tired face, Nettie sat back down in the chair. “That fucker spent three months’ worth of my pay.” She scoffed and stood up. “If you could, get Miguel to bring me my stuff at my place? I need to get out of here.” She mumbled and headed to the door.

Nettie never stopped to see what Nevada would say. She just left. Pushing her way down the stairs and to the bar. Grabbing her jacket. She waved at the bartender and quickly left the club. The cool air outside felt heavenly against her skin.

Two hours later, Nettie was laying on her couch wearing a shirt three times too big for her and a pair of girl boxers that hugged her ass. Sipping from a wine glass that was filled halfway with the boxed wine she had in her fridge. When there came a knock to her door. Nettie stood up slowly and dragged her feet over to the door.

“Hola mami…” Nevada grinned when she opened the door. One of his hands held a cigar and the other her purse. “I believe this is yours.” He held it out to her, and Nettie smiled slightly.

“It is… thank you Nevada.” She grabbed the straps of the purse and frowned when he didn’t let go. Only pulling at it so Nettie stepped closer to him.

Nettie watched as Nevada licked over his lips as he glanced down to her lips. “Do I get a thank you… for returning your shit?” he asked, Nettie almost laughed in his face.

“Nevada… it was your men who didn’t return it in the first place.” She reminded him and shrugged. But instead of saying anything else. She gave him the softest kiss she could muster up. Her lips barley brushing against his. “Thank you… have a nice night now.” She slipped her bag from his hand and stepped back inside her home. Closing her door easily and letting out a breathless chuckle.

Locking the door. Nettie looked inside her purse, only to freeze when she saw it was filled with money.

‘Here’s Jose’s next three pay. Don’t spend it all in one place- Nevada.’

Read the note on top of all the money. Shaking her head, Nettie rushed over to the door and unlocked it. Pulling it open, she cursed when she saw that Nevada had left.

Throwing her purse on the couch, Nettie went to sleep. Deciding to deal with all that money in the morning.

Tagging- @the-baby-bookworm I am having so much fun writing this. If you’d like to be tagged!! Talk to me. <3 Don’t forget to Heart and Reblog!

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waitedforgarridebs · 5 years ago

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Radio (1994): Merrison & Williams

The 3GAR adaptation that’ll shatter your heart into a million pieces

Clive Merrison and Michael Williams were the first pair of actors to play Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson who got to dramatise every single story of the entire canon – all four novels and 56 short stories.

In 1987, Bert Coules pitched a screenplay of HOUN to the BBC, which was greenlit and produced for radio with Roger Rees and Crawford Logan as the two lead actors. As this show ended up being a great success, Coules suggested to keep the series going, and the BBC agreed – however, they insisted on recasting. Eventually, the popularity of the show led to the decision to adapt literally every single canon story, and for the first time they actually managed to successfully achieve this feat over the course of the next 9 years. The Merrison-Williams-series ran on BBC Radio 4 from 1989 until 1998.

As Williams unfortunately died way too young in 2001, he could not continue his part as Dr Watson for the series of original stories written by Coules, “The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”. This sequel still got commissioned during his lifetime, and while the production team set everything on hold to wait until Williams got better, sadly this never happened. He eventually was replaced by Andrew Sachs for the last 15 stories of this series.

While Coules remained as lead writer of the show, he was supported by various other writers for this quite massive project. The adaptations of the stories are in their core quite true to the books: The characters’ lines were updated to a more modern sounding language, and filler scenes were written to expand especially the shorter, less dense cases to the runtime of 45 minutes per episode.

For Coules and his team, the Holmes stories are not primarily detective stories. They are stories about a detective – and, more than that: They are stories about a detective and his only friend. Watson isn’t considered to be a bumbling sidekick, but an actual co-lead.

(And yes, I am basically quoting Coules himself from an interview done for the “I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere” podcast, so I do not know if Moftiss nicked that pitch from him or vice versa.)

In order to stay true to every story’s essence, the writers were “imaginatively faithful” to the original cases. They would, for example, sketch out the backstory and all the inciting incidents leading up to a client’s inquiry at 221b, and dramatise a bit of the story Doyle only mentioned in passing, but never actually wrote down. Or they would invent new scenes, sometimes even new endings, whenever they thought the original version wasn’t as effective as it could have been.

The reason I am putting all of this over the cut is to make you aware of the fact that the changes in the story were all done with a purpose – in this case, to amplify its emotional impact.

Because, without this background knowledge, their changes to 3GAR appear to be absolutely devastating. Cruel, even.

Can I just start by saying that I love Merrison’s Holmes and Williams’ Watson?

Their chemistry is incredible. They breathe so much life into these two characters! They banter, they laugh, they at times even mock a particularly annoying client when said client can’t hear them – and sometimes even when they can *coughs* Killer Evans – and I regret not having listened to their entire work as of yet.

(But that’s a good resolution for the new year if there ever was one!)

And, one thing I can say for certain: This Holmes is 100% in love with his Watson.

It is the “desperately unspoken” dynamic of TPLoSH all over again, but maybe a little less repressed. Also, Watson – again – has his three-continent-reputation to defend. They are stupid idiot boys, they don’t fucking TALK to each other, and it’s driving me up the wall, but at least they do very much consider each other family, and that is a really great step into the right direction.

That being said, do not listen to this version of 3GAR if you don’t have the time to be emotionally compromised after finishing it.

This adaptation first aired on October 26, 1994.

As mentioned earlier, the writers – in this case David Ashton – did add a bit of backstory as well as some filler scenes to stretch the episode over the entire runtime: the introduction shows how Evans shot Prescott, featuring seemingly indifferent, almost John-Mulaney-esque barkeepers, who are so very chill about the entire murder-thing happening in front of their eyes. “Oh, what is it about Friday nights, ey?”

Ashton not only gives characters like Saunders lines, but writes whole scenes just for them, and even paces longer exposition bits quite nicely by, for example, having the American John Garrideb start the explanation about the search for the third Garrideb in Baker Street, and Nathan Garrideb finish it by excitedly rambling about his impending fortune at the exasperated Saunders.

Not only pleasant filler scenes like these were added, however.

You see, there is a running theme throughout this episode: At the beginning, Holmes is quite his usual self, and mocks the concept of love, human connection, and relationships. He and Watson see a young couple in the park, the bloke teasing the girl and playfully stealing ... her ... hat ... *muffled screaching noises* ... and Holmes compares the couple to pidgeons: “The male puffs out his chest and the female runs around in circles.” Watson, as ever, doesn’t seem too opposed to the idea of having a woman in his life, and Holmes simply ends up pointing out that the couple is having their date quite close to where the gallows used to be. Charming as ever.

Throughout the episode, Holmes is confronted with the idea of love and companionship again and again, in very different scenarios, and gradually warms up to it. Which, looking at where the episode is headed – Watson realising that there is a heart behind the cold mask – is actually a beautiful thing to do, and certainly does make sense.

However, one morning Watson has business of his own to attend to. And that’s where the heartbreak sets in: In an added scene, they show Watson ring-shopping.

(Not for Holmes, obviously. He seems to have met someone and plans on getting engaged, again. Very rude.)

So, while Holmes keeps realising that being alone all the time is not good for him, that he actually wants someone in his life, the only person who could fill this void runs around with a little box hidden in his coat pocket.

But, it gets worse.

Remember when I teased in the post about the Hobbs-Shelley-adaptation (x) that there is yet another way to include Watson’s internal realisation after getting shot? As in, neither putting it as a summary at the beginning nor at the end of the episode?

I was talking about this one.

Merrison’s Holmes, in my opinion, has the most emotional reaction to Watson getting shot. He literally panics.

(And the fact that there are a couple of seconds of complete and utter silence after he rushes to Watson’s side really does not help!)

HOLMES: Watson, you’re not hurt! For god’s sake, say you’re not hurt! WATSON, in pain: Ugh... oh... almost worth it. HOLMES: ... what!? WATSON: The pain. To see that look on your face. A great heart... as well as a great mind. HOLMES: Nonsense... I was merely worried about the surgeon’s bills. WATSON, bellows out a single laugh. HOLMES, tenderly: Here. L-l-let me look. WATSON: Oh no, it’s nothing Holmes. I should know it. It’s just a scratch. EVANS, groans in the background. WATSON: Did you shoot the fellow? HOLMES: No. The second shot was his also. But I laid my revolver along the side of his head. Wild West, indeed. – Watson, you are certain? WATSON: It’s just a scratch, Holmes. Honestly.

Then, Holmes first turns into the Hulk and then towards Evans, and if I ever heard a man speak through gritted teeth, then this is it.

And that following exchange features, honestly, the best non-canonical line of dialogue in Holmesian history:

EVANS: Say, what did you hit me with? HOLMES, not missing a single beat: JUSTICE!

But... it gets worse.

Evans gets arrested, and we get to see Watson and Holmes in Baker Street after the incident, where Holmes dresses Watson’s wounds – or at least he tries to, until Watson insists on doing it on his own, because Holmes is rubbish at it. Holmes then starts pacing around in the living room like an expectant father, “But is there nothing I can do??”

Watson tells him that he’d very much like to smoke a cigar, which leads to Holmes rummaging in the pockets of Watson’s coat.

And you’ve guessed it: Of course he finds The Box.

Cue: awkward moment where Watson tells him, for the first time, about his plans to get re-married.

And Holmes starts sulking, because Watson is about to leave him alone. Again.

But, it gets worse!

Suddenly, Lestrade calls. Holmes at first thinks this is about a case mentioned in passing earlier in the episode, but it is actually news about Nathan Garrideb: As you know, he didn’t take it too well that he never found a third Garrideb in Birmingham, and Lestrade now informs Holmes that Nathan got sent to a mental asylum.

And... Holmes and Watson visit him there!

They happen to meet Saunders in Nathan’s room, who sadly ponders about the fact that Nathan was always so lonely during his lifetime, and that this isn’t healthy, and that this certainly contributed to the fact that his mind now snapped.

Nathan eventually has a moment of clarity and recognises Holmes. After gifting his collection of bees to Holmes (...), he hopefully asks if Holmes came to tell him that he found the third Garrideb after all. Holmes, of course, has to decline, but he promises Nathan to find the man, if he exists.

But how, Nathan then exclaims in despair, can Holmes not know this! Holmes must know! He must know everything!!

So, the episode where Watson realises that Holmes does, in fact, love him, ends with an emotionally crushed and forsaken Holmes pondering about his retirement and keeping bees.

And that, my friends, is the most heart-breaking adaptation of 3GAR I have ever listened to.

#Sherlock Holmes #3GAR #Garridebs #Clive Merrison #Michael Williams #Bert Coules #History of Garridebs #Johnlock

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new2otomelol · 4 years ago

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What if... I save them? A KBTBB fanfic - Part 3

"Hey, Yui, we got a new shipment out back; get on it!" I nod to my boss and head out back to help unload the beer truck. It's been a month and life has not been easy since the escape. I knew the bidders would be looking for me, so I decided to blend in to the Shinjuku district where they would have a hard time finding me.

I had very little money on me when I escaped, so I was in need of a job. That fateful night I had wondered the streets of the district, which are safer than most. I headed into a bar that was hidden in one of the alleyways and ordered a drink with the last bit of money I had, I honestly was out of steam, out of luck and just needed something to relax me. A rather large Mexican man served me my drink and ended up conversing with me. He could tell I was having a hard time, but I couldn't tell him exactly why.

"So, you seem to be in trouble young lady." He told me after snuffing out his cigar and sighing. "You can stay here, but you will need to work. Time to put some muscle on those bones and change the way you look, if you're being hunted. That's what I did mija, I had to flee Mexico city... made it all the way over here to get away from some of the narcos."

He's an older gentleman with a fatherly figure aura about him. Don't get me wrong, he looks like he can snap a man in two being 6 foot tall, muscular and stocky, but for some reason I felt at ease with him. I remember crying that night and letting it all out after he closed the bar. He patted my back and told me "you'll work it out later. Go get some rest, I have a cot upstairs in a small room. You can stay there until you get your bearings back. Come on little one."

Thanks to Rafa, I feel like I'm slowly gaining some sort of stability again. A couple of times I have seen some of Soryu's men flashing pictures of me to people, but since my appearance has been altered, I've remained unnoticed. My once brown hair is now jet black; my eyes shine blue once again, I use to wear brown contact lenses for years to fit in more. My arms show signs of muscle forming thanks to helping Rafa unload items to storage and cleaning the bar. I have had to hide under the bar a couple of times just this week alone, thanks to that Inui guy that took a liking to the place, but I can't leave, not yet.

I go to the back of the bar and put on my glasses and gather my hair into a bun; the delivery man and I begin unloading boxes of beer. "Hi Yui! How's Rafa doing today?" He asks. "Same old, same old. He had a rough night last night with a couple of Chinpiras, damn Yakuza wannabe's." He shakes his head, "you know, you should go a few rounds with Rafa, he can teach you to defend yourself." That is actually not a bad idea; I need to learn to defend myself more. "Yeah, that might be something to look into." I wink at him. "Thanks for the idea Ren, I'll catch you around next time." We finish getting the shipment down and bid each other farewell.

As I start to lower the gate I notice a young woman down the alleyway being pushed by a guy in a suit against the wall. It's too early for this shit. "HEY! DICKHEAD! LEAVE HER ALONE!" I yell at him. He looks my way and laughs, "yeah, and what are you going to do about it sweetheart?" I walk towards the man and begin to ball my fists "call me that one more time, I dare you." The girl nervously shakes and cries as she stares at me and him, back and forth, anticipating the worst. "You're asking for it bitch!" He takes a swing at me, I evade and land a punch hard on his chin. The man falls back and on to the ground, the girl runs. My fist burns in protest and I shake it off. "YUI! Muchacha! what in the world are you doing?!" I hear Rafa yell as he comes out of the bar.

"This peace of crap was bothering another girl, I just stopped him." Rafa looks at the man who is starting to get back up. "Hey! you leave and go back to your boss. We want no problems here." The man spits out blood and recomposes himself. "You're both in deep shit. I work for the Ice Dragons, better watch your back, bitch!" He turns around and walks away. Rafa rushes me back inside the bar.

"Yui, I told you to be careful!" I place an icepack on my knuckles. "I know Rafa and I am sorry, but man did that feel good." Rafa laughs and then looks straight at my chest. "RAFA! What are you doing?" He quickly looks the other way and apologizes "sorry mija, your clothes got disheveled and I just noticed that scar on your chest. Where did you get it from?" I completely forgot about that. I fix my shirt and try and think back on it all... "I'm not sure Rafa. I just remember waking up in a small-town hospital; my chest was bandaged up due to burns that I could not recall, I couldn't even remember my real name, still can't."

Rafa's eyes grow wide. "Well, why don't you start there Yui? Go back to the hospital, find out about your past." I walk around cradling my hand with the icepack, thinking about it all, should I? I was adopted shortly after I left the hospital and was blessed with wonderful parents. "Think about mija. You owe it to yourself." I sigh. "You're right Rafa and I want to go and investigate, but maybe after things settle down." Just then we hear a loud bang as the front door is busted in. That man from the Ice Dragons, Inui, comes rushing in, holding his stomach with both hands which seems to be covered in blood. "HELP ME, please Rafa!"

I quickly drop the ice bag and rush to help him lay down. "Calm down, it's going to be okay. What happened?" Inui shakes in pain. "G...g...got st..tabbed! Guy we k...kicked out from drag...gons..." I feel bad for the guy, he seems so sweet and innocent. "Shhh, shhh, okay. Stay with me. Rafa went to get help." Inui quickly shakes his head. "Nnno, no, please, I can't go to a hosspital." Damn it all. Rafa rushes back in an instant, "Mija, here, use these towels and keep the pressure for a moment." He hands me things as he settles himself down to work and injects Inui with some morphine. "Okay, Yui, help me clean him with the vodka bottle I brought, I'm going to stitch him up."

Time passes by slowly for me, but in reality Rafa works quick in patching up Inui. After cleaning the bar and preparing it for tonight, we take turns to check on him. "Yui, mija, what do you think we should do?" Rafa asks me as we whisper to each other, trying to not wake up the uninvited patient passed out on my cot. "I don't know Raf, I'm scared he'll discover who I am and turn me in." He shakes his head and sighs. "Do me a favor, stay here with him. I'll work the bar tonight and think of something." Rafa pats me on the back as he passes by me and heads downstairs.

I close my eyes for a second and run my hands through my hair, just trying to focus and breathe. "Miss, you're Sara, aren't you?" I hear Inui say. I open my eyes in panic and quickly turn to face him. "Inui, please, please listen to me..." He weakly holds up one of his hands. "Shhh, it okay princes, I won't say a thing. You saved my life, and although I value my boss above everything, I owe you and Rafa." A wave of relief crashes over me and I kneel next to him.

"Look Inui, I didn't ask for any of what happened that night. I'm not property, I'm a human being and..." he raises his hand once again to stop me. "I understand, but boss was only trying to help you. He's not a bad man, none of them are. You see, you were going to be bought by some bad people, they all wanted to help you." He tries to sit up, but I push him back down.

"Thanks for telling me Inui. I just can't trust anyone that feels it is okay to treat someone the way they did to me that night. I mean, make me choose someone to buy me? Being taken to that auction? everything! Plus, your boss is in charge of dipshits like the guy I punched earlier." Inui's eyes widen. "Wait, did you punch a man that was wearing a black suit and grey tie?" How did he know? "Wait, how did you?" Inui shakes in anger. "That's the bastard that stabbed me. Boss was mad because he found out the douchebag was beating up his wife and hurting others all in the name of the Dragons and wanted him gone. I found him in the alleyway with a bloody mouth and delivered the news to him that he was no longer a part of our gang, he stabbed me quickly." Shit, this is a small town.

Inui's phone suddenly goes off and Soryu's name pop's up, he quickly answers the phone like the loyal man he is, "boss?" Inui pulls the phone a bit away from his ear as the sound of gunshots and other loud noises can be heard, even from where I am. "Get to the warehouse! We're surrounded and need backup, won't last much longer!" the line suddenly goes dead. Inui closes the phone and tries to stand. "No! You can't Inui, you won't make it!" He fights me and attempts to sit up. "But princess, if I don't go, they'll be taken out, I can't let that happen, Boss, he saved me many times too!"

Damn it all. I push Inui back down and take his gun. "Then I'll go!"

#kbtbb fanfiction #kbtbb fanfic #kbtbb soryu #kbtbb inui #kbtbb mc #Voltage

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dani-camp · 4 years ago

Note

“ if i don’t leave now , i will never get away . ”

prescott, arizona, 1885

he’d found her in a saloon. he’d all but dragged himself from parker’s deathbed at the inn to the bar, covered in dust and dirt and flecks of blood. everyone ignored him except the bartender, on account of his appearance and the shotgun strapped to his back. he drank whiskey after whiskey for an unknown amount of time, ignoring the tinny piano music and the girls with their breasts pushed up to their ears and the clunk of boots of the men as they sat nearby and stared, wondering who he was or what he was doing there. it was possible that someone recognized him, or at least recognized what kind of person he was. it was also possible that the saloon was a “whites only” establishment and he hadn’t taken the time to notice or care.

his entire crew was dead. they’d robbed a general store somewhere south of prescott nearly a month earlier, one that had gone horribly wrong and left innocent people dead. the lawmen had ambushed them a few days before, riddling their hideout with bullets while jackson was out gathering supplies and he’d come back to two of his fellow outlaws dead and his partner on his way there. the bullet was lodged just so to ensure a lengthy and painful death and the people had lynched the leader and now jackson was really truly alone. and he couldn’t survive alone, that much he’d learned in the west. jackson had just begun to think so when laney grabbed his attention, her bold makeup and ribboned corset doing nothing to hide the signs of her youth or easy upbringing--unblemished skin, stark white teeth, unmarked hands.

this was made all the more surprising by the fact that she had easily plucked the wallet and revolver from the pockets of one of the men at the poker table, and held it only a foot away from his heart as she pulled bills from the wallet, enough to cover what he owed her and then a little more for her trouble. all eyes were trained on her and no one moved to stop her even as she expertly removed the bullets from the revolver and placed the disemboweled gun back on the poker table. everything about her shouted that she could’ve done worse and the john was lucky that she had simply chosen not to. laney handed the bullets to the bartender demurely, like a child handing over a slingshot they’d been forbidden to play with, and another saloon girl sidled up to the bar between them so jackson’s left ear could hear “don’t worry, we won’t let him show his face here again, dee,” before she disappeared. laney and jackson’s eyes met on either side of the now-empty space and held them for a very long time, long enough that only jackson’s drunkenly watering eyes could force them to break.

the next night, he came prepared. he’d stolen a horse from a farmer a little ways off and plucked the farmer’s daughter’s dusty clothes from the clothesline. parker’s guns were cleaned and ready for gifting. it was only a matter of convincing the girl, who looked soft and small as a peach but could be tough-as-nails. it actually took very little convincing once he’d gotten her alone in a room with him, already beginning to undo the garter on her thigh before he quickly explained that he only wanted partnership from her. she was the perfect conman with her sweet young face and high voice, unafraid of men or guns or going to sleep with an empty belly. laney had traveled to the west for exactly this; adventure and travel and something that was not being a rich man’s daughter and then becoming a rich man’s wife and then becoming a rich man’s mother. it was just that adventure and travel was hard to find when women could only make their own money inside the walls of a bedroom. it wasn’t as bad for laney as it was for others. but she’d seen enough--girls bleeding out, girls drinking laudanum, girls getting pregnant--to know she wanted out.

they would not kill anyone if they could help it, that was the agreement. it was easy for jackson to agree--though rumored differently, he had not in fact ever killed anyone. the goal was always to make enough money to one day live honestly but running was expensive. he said he was known as jumpin’ jj, on account of how high he could make a horse jump. she said she was dee deadwood. they both knew it was not their real names.

they traveled through the desert slowly at first. the nights were frigid and their food was canned and the horses needed half of it if they were going to get anywhere. then they ambushed their way into ownership of a wagon that covered them from the sun and jackson shot down an antelope that cooked nicely over a campfire and laney was quick enough to grab the money out of the tailor’s register when he turned away to box her hat, and they were well on their way to land that was green and near the ocean. the concept of an angel-faced girl lying her way into crime was crazy on it own, absolutely sensational when partnered with the lone survivor of one of the most notorious gangs in arizona, and within a matter of a few newspaper publications, they were known as jumpin’ jj and danger dee, outlaws of the wild west.

sometimes ‘partner’ was just another name for ‘lover’ and both grew steadily more aware of this fact. jackson stopped only watching the tree line when laney bathed in rivers and laney did not always pull her body away from his when she woke up before him in the mornings. after a stolen night of dancing and drinking and smoking cigars in calico, he admitted his name was jackson collins, only he didn’t like his last name because it had also been the last name of the man who’d owned his parents. much drunker than him, laney said, nonsensically on several counts, “we can get married and you can have mine.” the following day, with their wagon pulled of the road to allow their horses to graze, they shared a can of apricots. they poked their fingers in the can to pinch a piece of apricot out one-at-a-time at first, careful not to cut themselves on the edge. then they were chuckling because theirs hands had bumped one another’s above the can, forgetting whose turn it was, and then jackson playfully fed laney his apricot, brushing her tongue with the pad of his finger and then laney was doing the same to him, and then they were kissing and kissing and kissing. “delaney o’neil,” laney said just as they parted, like she’d been trying to tell him all along and only a kiss would set her secret free.

they ransacked empty houses on their way to the coast and had sex on the beach. laney wrote half-true letters to her family back east about jackson, about how happy she was and how well she was doing. they took a room at a boarding house while jackson tried his hand at mining for silver and laney helped the landlady clean for rent (and to keep her from gossiping about their presence there). nothing was wrong but it was not what laney wanted out of life, and after jackson came back to the room dirty and empty-handed several days in a row, he agreed that they should move on elsewhere. after a particularly joyous session of lovemaking, laney convinced him of her plan. they would rob the local bank before heading north. she’d watched it for days and all of the bankers headed to the nearby saloon across the street at the same time to take advantage of the free lunch, locking the door behind them. laney would start a fight at said saloon, providing a distraction while jackson shot the lock open and grabbed everything he could and laney would join him and grab everything she could. then they would have enough money to do whatever they wanted, to build a horse ranch or their own saloon or their own city along the railroad. it would work, it would work.

it did not work. bounty hunters were already on their way to them, asking after them at the saloon as jackson approached the bank. laney realized what was happening and greedily, desperately, shot at the lock anyways, drawing them even nearer. she was so tired of having to hide and run just because she wanted things young women were not supposed to want. jackson only had time to fill one sack with money before he lost his nerve and raced back to the wagon, finding a suddenly-screaming laney being bound by a bounty hunter with a nasty gleam in his eye. jackson could’ve held him at gunpoint to make him get away from her, or punched him, or pistol-whipped him, and bound him, too. but jackson loved laney too much to let anyone touch her like that and so he shot him instead, spattering laney’s front with blood. jackson cut her free, reassuring her she was okay, and laney kicked the corpse in the stomach. gunfire rained down on them as they lurched away in their wagon.

the way north was blocked; the bounty hunters had the lawmen on their side now. they went back towards the desert, where at least familiarity would be on their side. they used their wanted posters as kindling for fire at night. the wagon fell apart as they rumbled their way too quickly over canyons. no one kept guard when they bathed in the river because they were too busy looking at each other like it’d be the last time. jackson tried to use some of the stolen money to buy her clothes that weren’t blood-stained, which led to lawmen shooting one of the horses down and he almost couldn’t convince laney to leave its side. fires and robberies in cities they’d never been to were blamed on them in the papers. jackson had nightmares that were so bad laney could not wake him from them. laney admitted it aloud one night, watching him attempt to cook a desert lizard over a fire. “we can’t stay together if we want to live, can we?” jackson only kissed and kissed and kissed her. later, unheard over the hiss of the wind blowing through the mountains, a rattlesnake struck her on the thigh as they gazed at the stars.

returning to prescott was possibly the worst thing jackson could’ve done for himself, but it was the only thing he’d known to do. the madam of the saloon laney used to work in had become an abortionist in the past year and might know how to save her. he rode with her limp against him for hours and hours, ignoring those that gave chase, until the horse died of exhaustion on the outskirts of prescott and then carried her into the saloon and up the stairs. she was awake and breathing, but barely. she was so pale and sweaty and small-looking that it was as if she hadn’t been in the sun for the past year, falling in love and becoming famous and going on adventures. the madam worked away at her leg even as shouts were heard below, saying jumpin jj, saying danger dee. “jackson,” laney breathed, her fingers twisting for him. he kissed her on her forehead and told her clearly so she’d understand in her delusion, “if i don’t leave now, i will never get away.”

he was right, the madam later told laney, whose panic immediately followed her first real bout of consciousness, not knowing how to cope with waking up without her partner. he’d run out of the room just as boots came clunking up the stairs, she’d been told, just as empty-handed as he was when he came the first time. everyone who asked after danger dee had been told she’d died, which laney supposed was true. her brother appeared at the saloon a few days afterward, having seen her wanted poster and come to collect her body only to find her alive. laney didn’t have it in her to fight anymore when he said he was taking her home back east. jumpin’ jj was never heard from again either. and though it was probably better that jackson was never jumpin’ jj ever again, that was how laney thought of him until her dying day; flying by on a horse, sneaking looks at her naked body over his shoulder, feeding her apricots by the side of a road, staring at her from a foot away as they both leaned on the saloon bar like she was the best thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

#ask meme you say?#NO full-fledged short story i reply #we love a wild west au #adc-writes #about: jackney #ask meme

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waywardaardvark79 · 5 years ago

Text

No Strings Attached Part 11: Refresh my Memory

Summary: Your roommates old friend moves to town and the two of you quickly strike up a no strings attached relationship. How long will the two of you be able to hold up what was supposed to be a simple, uncomplicated arrangement?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: language, smut

A/N: Updates should be every few days. No set schedule.

You were relatively quiet for the rest of the appointment, answering the doctor's questions with the fewest amount of words possible. You found yourself barely listening as she rattled off an impossibly long list of do's and don'ts. Who knew having a baby came with so many rules? You tuned back in just as she was finishing her speech, "Do you have any questions?" she asked.

You smacked your lips together, "Nope, I think I'm good to go." you said, aching to get out of there already.

"Ok, well, if you happen to think of anything you can always give us a call. All of the numbers you will need are located there." she said as she pointed to the stack of papers that Dean was holding. "Ok, guys, just stop by the reception desk up front, and tell them I'll need to see you back in four weeks." she said as she started inching towards the door.

You nodded your head, and eased off of the exam table. Once your feet touched the floor you grabbed Dean's arm, and pulled him out the door. "I gotta get out of here." you whispered as the two of you made your way down the hall. You pushed through the door, and in your haste to leave you almost walked right by the reception desk, Dean's hold on you stopping your abrupt exit. "Shit." you muttered as you realized that you had to schedule another appointment. "I'll go do that, and you go get the car started." you said to Dean before walking to the desk.

You burst out the door, the little appointment card clutched in one hand as you scanned the parking lot for Dean. You spotted him backing out of the parking spot, and soon he was pulling up in front of the door. You opened the door and jumped inside, eager to get out of there. You noticed the stack of papers sitting next to him, and you tossed the appointment card on top before leaning back in your seat and closing yours eyes.

Your life had been an utter train wreck ever since Charlie had burst into the living room that day holding that stupid bag of pregnancy tests. You went from thinking that Dean and Charlie were completely insane for even suggesting the idea that you might be pregnant, to taking the tests and being forced to face the inevitable. The inevitable being that you were pregnant, not with one baby, but two, and you honestly didn't know what you were going to do.

"Hey, Freckles, you've seen Alien, right?" you asked, the thought popping into your head out of nowhere.

"Yeah." he nervously said, that question being one that he didn't expect at all.

"You remember what happened to John Hurt?" you asked, still not facing him.

"Y/N." Dean sighed, knowing exactly what you were implying.

"What? I'm pretty sure that is in my not so distant future." you said, finally turning in your seat to look at him.

"You're being ridiculous. It's a baby, not an alien." he said.

"First of all, it's two babies. Secondly, have you seen the size of you and your brother? I mean, Jesus Christ, I was worried about how one was going to fit in there, but now I got two half Winchesters in there, and you guys run big. How am I not supposed to think of John Hurt?" you asked, completely serious.

Dean glanced over at you, a smile on his face, "You're telling me, that of all the things you could be thinking or worrying about, you're number one concern is ending up like the chest burster guy from Alien?" he asked, turning his attention back to the road.

You dramatically sighed, "Of course, I have other concerns, but that just popped in my head, and it's the only thing I can focus on right now." you said, the scene playing over in your mind on a loop.

"Sweetheart, if there is one thing that I can promise you would never happen, it would be that. You can knock that worry off your list." he said.

"Yeah, that's what the people in Alien thought too." you said as you picked up the stack of papers that the doctor had given you. "But, I guess, I'll take your word for it. Hey, where are we going?" you asked when you noticed that Dean didn't take the turn that led to his apartment.

"I was gonna stop by the pharmacy and drop off those scripts she gave you for nausea." he said.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the pharmacy a few moments later, "I'll be right back." he said as he grabbed the scripts and climbed out of the car.

You started to flip through the stack of papers, trying to kill time until Dean got back. You started to read through each one, shivering at some of the facts you were taking in. You were so caught up in the nightmare that was pregnancy, that you didn't even hear Dean open the door and get inside. "You want to take one of these now?" he asked, shaking the bottle of medication.

"What?" you asked, tearing your eyes away from the papers long enough to glance at him.

"Do you want to take one of these now? It might make work a little more bearable." he said.

You held out your hand to him, too busy reading off the list of do's and don'ts to say anything. You felt him drop a pill into your palm and you popped it into your mouth before grabbing the bottle of water you had brought with you. " I'm not working tonight. You know there is basically a mile long list of things I can't do." you finally said.

"Like what?" he asked as he started the car and headed for home.

"Go by my place first. I need to get some more clothes." you said before looking down at the paper to read it off to him. "Well, there is a fuck ton of stuff I'm not supposed to eat. When the fuck did a hot dog ever hurt anyone? No smoking or drinking, can't sit in a hot tub or sauna, can't clean the cat's litter box, not supposed to drink a lot of caffeine, don't do any strenuous activity, but I should work out, stay away from paint and pesticides, basically don't do anything." you said as you slumped down into the seat.

"That doesn't sound that bad. I mean, you don't smoke. We don't have a hot tub or a sauna, so there goes that one. We don't have a cat, so there is no litter box for you to clean. I don't think I've ever seen you eat a hot dog, or use paint or pesticides. The only thing you are going to have to stop doing is drinking, and to be fair, I'll quit too." he said trying to make you feel better.

"Ugh, you and your logic. I know I don't do a lot of that stuff, but now I CAN'T, which makes me want to do it, and yes, I know I am being completely ridiculous right now." you said.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of your building and shut the engine off before turning to face you. "As soon as you have these babies we'll do all of that stuff." he said.

"All of it?" you asked.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, "Sure, we'll eat hot dogs in a hot tub, paint some shit and then kill some stuff with pesticides. Hell, I'll even find you a litter box to clean, and when we get through with all of that we can celebrate with a shot and a cigar. I think that covers all of the bases." he said.

You looked over at him, a little shocked at just how far he was willing to go to please you. You felt a smile start to creep onto your face, "I honestly think that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. You really do like me, don't you?" you asked.

"Well, I wouldn't offer to eat hot dogs in a hot tub with just anyone." he teased, and you couldn't contain your laughter.

You scooted over in the seat towards him, "I know we don't do the whole touchy feely thing often, but I just want you to know, that I really do love you. I know I can be a stubborn pain in the ass, and that's putting it mildly, but you've hung around this long and I really appreciate it." you said before gently pressing your lips to his. "Now, come on Freckles, let's go." you said before sliding back over in the seat and opening the door.

Dean sat in the car and watched you for a moment, a soft smile on his face, before getting out and walking to your side. He laced his fingers with yours, "I really love you too, honey." he said.

You jerked your head to the side, and looked up at him, "Honey?" you asked.

"What, am I the only one that gets a ridiculous nickname?" he asked.

"Oh, you can say it's ridiculous all you want, but we both know you secretly love it. Besides, it fits you, and no one but me is ever gonna call you that. Honey is too common." you said as the two of you walked through the door and started up the stairs.

Dean scoffed, "You can't pick your own nickname." he argued.

"I'm not. I'm just telling you that you could do better." you said. Dean was quiet the rest of the way up the stairs, and you could tell that he was desperately trying to think of something he could give you as a nickname. "It won't come to you if you dwell on it." you said, as you dug out your keys and unlocked the door.

"So, Freckles just came to you?" he asked as he followed you into the apartment.

"I mean, it wasn't the first thing I thought of, but it was the only thing that would be appropriate to say in front of other people. I was trying to get into your pants that night. I didn't want you to think I was weird or too forward." you said as the two of you walked down the hall to your room.

Dean flopped down on your bed while you started to gather up some clothes, "And you thought callin' me Freckles would get you into my pants?" he asked, a smirk on his face.

You looked over your shoulder at him, "It worked didn't it?" you fired back.

"I'm pretty sure you could have called me anything, and it still would have happened since you kinda begged for it." he said as he folded his arms behind his head, knowing his comment would rile you up.

You turned on your heel, "I begged for it? I think you have your facts confused. I don't beg." you said, as you tossed a few t-shirts onto the chair and walked over to him.

"Oh, I clearly remember you begging for it." he said, a smug look on his face.

"Excuse me, but you kissed me first." you said, standing at his feet and looking down at him.

"Yeah, cause you climbed into my lap." he argued.

You walked from the foot of the bed to the side he was laying on, "Hmm...I seem to be having some problems remembering what happened after that. Maybe you could show me." you said.

Dean dropped his cocky demeanor for a moment, "You sure? You know we don't have to do anything if you don't feel like it. I know how nauseated you've been." he sincerely said.

You crossed your arms over your chest, "You gonna refresh my memory or not?" you asked, Dean's eyes darkening the moment the words left your lips.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, "Well, for starters, you weren't wearing so many clothes." he said.

You grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it over your head, released your hold on it and let it fall to the ground at your feet. "Better?" you asked.

Dean ran tongue along his bottom lip, "Mmm hmm, but you need to lose the pants too." he said, his eyes roaming your body.

Your hands fumbled with the button of your jeans, "Now you're just making stuff up. I clearly remember wearing pants." you argued as you slid your jeans down your legs, kicked off your shoes, and stepped out of them.

Dean shook his head back and forth, "No, you were wearing these short little shorts that your entire ass basically hung out of. Trust me, that's a view I won't soon forget." he said.

"What happened next?" you asked.

Dean crooked his finger, beckoning you to come closer. You closed the gap between the two of you and stood with your feet in-between his, "I'm pretty sure you climbed into my lap next." he said, his hands coming up to rest on your hips, helping to guide you into his lap.

You crawled into his lap, one leg on either side of him, so that you were straddling him, "Hmm...this seems vaguely familiar." you said, a coy smile on your face. You leaned into him, your mouth inches from his ear and whispered, "What happened next?"

Dean slowly ran his hands up your sides, taking his time getting to his destination. You leaned your head back, biting down on your lip to stifle a moan as his hands cupped your breasts and gave them a gentle squeeze before sliding up a little higher and grasping onto the strap of your bra. "This is the part where you kiss me." he whispered, as he pulled you towards him.

Your mouth was inches from his, "I think you meant to say, the part where YOU kissed me, but I'll let it slide this time." you whispered before crashing your lips to his. You opened your mouth for him, the kiss quickly deepening, and you found yourself rolling your hips against him. You pulled back, "Pretty sure this is the part where we went to the bedroom." you said, your chest heaving.

Dean grasped your legs behind the back of your thighs and stood up, a soft moan falling from your lips. Dean chuckled, "Yeah, I remember you being pretty impressed about this part." he said before spinning you around and easing you down on the bed.

You looked up at him, one eyebrow raised in question, "I think you're skipping over some things, Freckles. Trust me, I remember the next part. It's in my highlight reel." you said as Dean crawled over you.

"Your highlight reel, huh?" he asked, a smirk on his face.

"Of course, that made the highlight reel. You're cheating. You can't skip over things." you said.

Dean gently turned your head to the side, giving himself plenty of room to kiss your neck. "Don't worry Sweetheart, I'm not skippin' any thing." he said as he started to trail sloppy kisses down your neck, stopping at your collar bone to give it a little nip. He worked his way down your body, and placed a gentle kiss right under your belly button, his hand coming up to splay over your stomach. He looked up at you with a soft smile on his face before hooking his fingers into the top of your panties and working them down your legs, "You weren't wearing these that night." he said as he flung them over his shoulder. He settled himself between your legs, placing a few kisses on your inner thighs before licking a teasing strip through your folds.

You sucked in a breath, anxiously waiting for him to continue. You released the breath you were holding and raised your head to look down at him. He was looking up at you, a smug smile on his face. "No teasing, Freckles." you gritted out.

Dean chuckled, "And this is where you begged for it." he said before lowering his head, delving into you like a man starved.

You were going to say something along the lines of you never begged, but right now you knew that if he stopped you would beg him not too. You felt him run his tongue through your folds before stopping at your clit, flicking over it a few times before pulling it into his mouth. You arched your back, your hands coming down to tangle in his hair, a pitiful whimper escaping your lips.

Dean raised his head to look at you, "You begged for it, right?" he asked. You looked down at him and were tempted to stand your ground and argue with him for a moment. You bucked your hips, and tried to guide his head back to where you wanted him, "Nuh uh, not until I hear you admit it." he said, that stupid smug look on his face.

You sighed loudly, "Yes, I begged for it." you said, Dean smiling from ear to ear. "Now, get back to it, Freckles." you demanded, giving his hair a little tug causing him to moan softly. He lowered his head and quickly got back to work, turning you into a writhing, moaning mess in seconds.

"Fuck, baby, you taste so good." he before dipping his tongue into your entrance. "Mmm, so fuckin' wet." he moaned before running his tongue back up and circling around your clit. He sucked it into his mouth, his tongue flicking furiously over it before slipping one finger inside of you. You gasped, and gave his hair a hard tug, causing him to moan, the vibration from it pulling a similar sound from you. "That's it baby girl. I know your close." he said as he slipped another finger inside of you, crooking them just right, so that he hit that sweet spot inside of you with each movement. "Come on baby, wanna feel you cum." he said before returning his attention to your clit.

A few more flicks of his tongue had you seeing stars, "Oh God, fuck, fuck, fuck." you panted out, your legs shaking and attempting to close around his head. Dean gave you one last slow lick before raising his head. "Take you're fuckin' clothes off." you said as you sat up, desperate to have him inside of you.

Dean got to his feet and pulled his shirt over his head. You quickly made your way to him, your hands fumbling with his belt, trying to get his pants off as fast as you could. "Turn around." he said, his hands moving yours out of the way and making quick work of undoing his belt. You looked up at him, an impatient look on your face. "I said turn around." he repeated, his voice deepening to a growl.

You turned over faster than you thought possible, and crawled to the middle of the bed, looking back over your shoulder at him. Dean pulled his jeans and boxers down to mid thigh, and climbed up behind you, his hard cock throbbing. You wiggled your ass a little, trying to entice him. You felt his hand come down on your ass, and you moaned. "You did ask if I was gonna spank you that night." he said before landing another smack on the other cheek.

You looked over your shoulder, "Harder." you said. You turned back around just as his hand made impact, the sound of the smack ringing out through the room. You moaned at the stinging sensation, "Again." you begged. Dean landed another smack, the outline of his hand standing out in a bright red against your skin. You shifted backwards, desperate for him to be inside of you. You couldn't wait any longer. "Don't be gentle." you said, echoing your words from your first night together.

You felt him rub himself through your folds, coating himself in your slick, "Wasn't plannin' on it." he said, as he thrust into you in one quick motion, the both of you moaning when his body was flush with yours. He pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside of you, his hands tightening their grip on your hips as he thrust back inside. "Still. So. Fuckin'. Tight." he said, punctuating each word with a hard thrust.

Your hands were stretched out in front of you, gripping onto the covers for dear life, "Harder." you begged. Your request spurred him on, and he picked up his pace, slamming into you so hard that the bed started to inch across the floor. "Fuck, baby don't stop. God, don't fuckin' stop." you pleaded as you pushed yourself backward meeting him thrust for thrust.

"Play with your clit." he growled. You worked your hand underneath your body and started to rub fast, hard circles against your clit, still managing to push your body back to meet his. "Fuck, I'm gonna..." he trailed off. You increased your pace and sucked in a quick breath when you felt the coil snap, and your pussy squeezed around Dean's cock, milking him for all he was worth.

"Oh, fuck! You could at least close the door!!!" someone yelled out. Your head snapped up to see Charlie reaching for the door to close it.

"Oops. Guess we forgot that part." you said as Dean eased out of you.

You rolled over on your back, still trying to catch your breath as Dean tucked himself back into his jeans and plopped down next to you on his stomach. "So, did that refresh your memory?" he asked.

You nodded your head, "Oh yeah. I even got some new stuff for my highlight reel." you said, a blissed out smile on your face.

Dean leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to your lips, "Love you." he said.

You looked up at him, your hand coming up to gently touch his cheek, "I love you too, Freckles." you said. "Guess, we better put some clothes on and go make sure we didn't scar Charlie." you said before stretching your arms over your head.

Dean gave you another quick peck, "Ah, she's probably fine. I bet she even asks for details." he said as he pushed himself up off the bed.

You chuckled, "You're probably right. I know, I had to give her the play by play after our first night." you said as you sat up.

Dean pulled his shirt back on and tossed you your clothes, "I don't doubt that one bit." he said as he gathered the clothes you had pulled from the closet. He looked down at them before turning to you, "Why don't you just move in? You are always there anyways. We haven't slept here since I got the place, and it would be a lot easier than having to stop by here every time you needed something." he said.

You looked over at him, "Sorry Freckles, I don't do that whole commitment thing." you said with a straight face.

Dean stared at you, a look of bewilderment on his face, "Well, in case you forgot, we haven't spent a night apart since that first night, and then there is the fact that oh, I don't know, you're pregnant with my kids. If that doesn't qualify as the "whole commitment thing" then I don't know what does." he said.

You bit down on your lip, trying to stifle your laughter, but it was to no avail. You burst out laughing, your whole body shaking, "God, I wish you could have seen your face. It was priceless." you said as you wiped a tear from your eye. "Of course, I'll move in with you." you said.

Dean tossed one of the t-shirts he was holding at you, "You're not funny." he said.

"I think I'm hilarious." you said as you stood to pull your jeans up.

"You're just lucky you're cute." he said, trying not to smile.

You finished getting dressed, "We better go check on Charlie, and then tell her that I am officially moving out." you said as you walked to the door. Dean opened the door for you and the two of you walked out.

"Charlie! Where you at?!" you yelled down the hall.

"Kitchen!" she yelled back. "Wait, the two of you are fully clothed, right?" she asked.

"Would it matter?" you asked as you walked into the kitchen.

She shook her head at you, "Guess I don't need to ask for any details this time." she said as you pulled out a chair and sat down, Dean taking the seat next to you.

"So, how did the appointment go?" she asked as she sat down across from you.

"It was fine. It turns out that there is actually two of them in there, and I decided to officially move in with Freckles." you said, unloading everything on her at once.

Charlie looked between the two of you, her eyes wide in shock, "Two?" she choked out. You and Dean nodded your heads, "Two babies, and you're leaving?" she asked, trying to grasp onto the information you dumped on her.

"Yep, two of them." you said before turning to Dean, "Where is the picture thing we got?" you asked.

"It's down in the car. I'll go get it." he said as he stood up and walked out of the kitchen.

Charlie shook her head slowly, "Two babies." she muttered before looking up at you, "How are you handling it? You look like you are taking it pretty well, which is something I never would have expected." she said.

You shrugged your shoulders, "I was freaking out at first. The chest burster scene from Alien was a big focus point for a minute, but then I was just like, there is nothing I can do about it. I can't change anything, so I'm going to try not to freak out about it. I'm sure that will probably change on a daily basis though." you said.

Dean walked back into the kitchen a few minutes later and handed Charlie the ultrasound. She looked down at it, a smile stretching across her face, "Well, those are the two cutest little blobs I've ever seen." she said. She looked up at the two of you, "I remember that first night that the two of you met, and I had the whole keep it in your pants talk with the two of you. I was so scared that you would run my roommate off." she said, a soft smile on her face at the memory. "I'm, I'm really sad to see you go, but I couldn't be happier for the two of you." she said.

You got up from your chair and walked around the table, pulling her into a hug, "I'm not that far away." you said, trying not to cry.

Charlie wrapped her arms around you, "I know. I'm still going to miss you." she said before turning to Dean, "I really should be pissed at you for running her off, but I guess I'll let it slide this time." she said.

"Don't worry Charlie, I'll take good care of her." he said.

"You better." she said before releasing her hold on you.

Dean loaded the last of your things into his car, and Charlie walked you down the steps. She pulled you into a hug, "You know I'll always be here if you need me." she said.

"Charlie, I'm literally fifteen minutes away. You will see me all the time." you said as you pulled back from her.

She nodded her head as Dean came up behind you and wrapped his arm around you, "Ready?" he asked.

You looked over at Charlie and she gave you a small smile, "Ready." you said as you let him guide you to the car.

You climbed in, and waved at Charlie as Dean cranked the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

Dean had carried in all of your things, and even helped you put most of it away before telling you that the rest could wait until tomorrow. You were climbing into bed when Dean walked into the room. You watched as he stripped down to his boxers, and made his way to the bed, but before he climbed in next to you, you saw him prop something against the lamp on his nightstand. You raised up, and saw that it was the ultrasound. You smiled to yourself as you settled yourself back into bed, Dean climbing in next to you and pulling you towards him.

"I'm really happy that you officially moved in." he said as he tangled his legs with yours, his hand resting over your stomach.

"Me too." you said, as you patted his hand.

"Get some sleep, Sweetheart. I love you guys." he said, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your stomach.

"We love you too, Freckles." you said.

Tags: @vicmc624 @flamencodiva @divadinag @heyyouwiththeassbutt @deans-baby-momma

#supernatural au #supernatural #dean x you #dean winchester #dean x reader #reader insert #dean #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #spn #smut

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years ago

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How do you feel about full length beards? I’m not into a lot of facial hair. I like some scruff, but that’s it. Have you ever been to a circus? Yeah, once. I was naive and didn’t know about the abuse that went on at the time. Do you know anyone who’s gone to a Fat Camp? No. Do you use Facebook IM everyday? No. I don’t even remember the last time I used it. How many surveys have you done already today? This is my first.

What’s the WORST show on Adult Swim? I don’t care for the Adult Swim shows. Family Guy and American Dad is okay, but after that it gets too stupid and weird for me. Sorry. Like once I saw this show, Mr. Pickles, and uh... wtf. The episode I saw was very disturbing. I don’t get the appeal of Rick and Morty at all. And why the hell is Mike Tyson Mysteries a thing? That’s just to name a few. I see previews of other shows and I just... wow. Do you have any relatives that have shunned you, or vice versa? No. Has anyone ever posted a HORRIBLE picture of you for everyone to see? Not maliciously or because they thought it was horrible and wanted to embarrass me, but yeah. My mom has posted photos where she didn’t see anything wrong and she thinks I looked fine, but I was like EW NO take that down it’s hideous. I reallyyyy don’t like photos of me taken by someone else. I have to take my own photos if I’m going to take one at all because I know the angles and lighting and can add a filter. Plus, I can take a ton before finally settling on one. If someone else takes the photo and they want to post it, I have to approve. Which grade in school was the most fun for you? I enjoyed elementary and middle school. High school had its ups and downs, but there were parts I liked. I liked the last 2 years the best. Which would you rather have, a new puppy or kitten? I wouldn’t want another pet right now to be honest. We have our doggo and one suits our family best right now. Does drama seem to follow you everywhere you go? No, thankfully. I have other issues I struggle with, but not drama. Do you ever just want to go away to a new place where no one knows you? I don’t live in a small town where everyone knows everyone and I was never Miss Popularity, so apart from family and a few other people, not a lot of people know me. However, I do want move away to a new place. My family and I have wanted to for a long time, we just haven’t been able to. A change of environment and scenery would be really nice. You’re ordering a pizza, you can have any kind of toppings, what are they? I’m a simple gal, I just like white sauce, feta and ricotta cheese, garlic, spinach, and crumbled meatballs with pesto drizzled on top. Do you hit ‘quiet’ or ‘ignore’ on your cell? Which one usually? Nah. If my phone rings and I don’t want to answer it, I just let it ring. Do you ever regret giving your number to people? I have before with some people. Have you ever been told that you’re afraid of your own shadow? Haha yeah. Have you ever tried Gouda cheese? Nope. Does/did your high school have pop machines? No. They decided to remove them the year I entered high school, which I was mad about. Do you use a public computer, or do you have your own? I have my own laptop. Do you ever find it odd how you type LOL when you’re not really laughing? >> No, because I understand that its function has moved far beyond representing actual laughing-out-loud. <<< Yeah. I remember discussing that in a class once. Have you ever gambled? A couple times. Not my thing. Although, what really made my experience unenjoyable wasn’t so much the gambling, it was that the casinos I’ve been to allow smoking and I don’t do well with cigarette smoke. At all. It gives me a killer headache, makes my heart rate go up, and makes me feel dizzy and sick. It’s awful. The smell in the casinos was too overbearing for me, so I spent very little time inside. Do you know anyone who’s won the lottery? No. If you could work at any retail store, which one would it be? I really don’t want to work retail. And that’s not shade toward retail workers AT ALL. I salute you, honestly. You deal with a lot of shit. What’s the shortest you would ever cut your hair? I had a “bob” for a few years. Do you listen to any deathcore? No. Do you subscribe to any teen magazines? Which ones? No. I’m also 30 years old. Do you know someone who never smiles? Never? No. Has anyone ever made you feel uncomfortable at work? I’ve never had a job. Do you still watch South Park? I never did. I mean, I’ve seen bits here and there before because my brother used to watch it, but I was never into it myself. Tell me one movie you’ve seen recently that sucked: My mom, brother, and I recently watched this movie on Netflix called, The Platform. It had potential and was interesting at first, but the ending was just... no. It seemed abrupt and I was just really confused. Have you ever carved something into a dinner booth somewhere? No. When’s the last time you were carded at a bar? When I last went to the bar, which was almost 10 years ago. Do you smoke little cigars? Have you ever tried them? Nooo. You’re babysitting, what do you expect per hour for pay? Pfft, no I’m not babysitting. What’s the last thing you returned at a store? I very rarely return things so I have no idea. It’s been a long time. What’s the name of the last cat you pet? I don’t even recall the last time I petted a cat. Do you still look at clouds and make shapes of them? I haven’t in a long time. If you had to dye your hair for one year, what color would you pick? I already do, I dye it red. Who’s got your heart? Me. What’s your television addiction? I have several shows that I’m into. Have you ever stringed green beans before? No. What do you do to make yourself more relaxed when you’re nervous? It’s hard to calm myself when I’m anxious, but I try to distract by talking to someone, listening to ASMR, watching TV or something on YouTube, or reading. Do you cook? If so, what’s the last thing you made? The only thing I cook is ramen. Oh wait actually I made a grilled cheese sandwich the other day. ha. Have you ever had any painful dental work done? If so, what? Yeah, a few things. How do you usually spend your Saturdays? I spend all my days and nights the same, really. Do you make your own jewelry or clothing? Last year I briefly got into making beaded bracelets. I made a few. What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re bored? I do the same things everyday whether I’m bored or not: spend time on my social medias, watch YouTube, read, watch TV, scroll through Tumblr, do surveys, just lie there.... ha. Somedays just feel like they’re dragging and going by extra slow and the things I listed above that I like doing just don’t cut it so I just lie there mindlessly watching TV or go to sleep. Do you use drawing to describe what you’re feeling? No. Do you like the smell of new school supplies? As a kid I did. Like getting a new box of crayons. Do you give everything you do 100%? No. I certainly haven’t with life... Do you shop at any independent music stores? No. I don’t shop at any music stores. How do you feel about mainstream music? I like a lot of it.

What song lyrics describe your mood at the moment? *shrug* Do you have healthy eating habits? No. My eating habits are messed up. I have issues with appetite and other issues.

If you could transform into any kind of animal, what animal would you be? A dog. Are you superstitious? If so, what are you superstitious about? I do the knock on wood thing, but it’s just out of habit, really. If you could travel anywhere in the world where would it be? There’s so many places I’d like to visit. What food disgusts you the most? I don’t do seafood at all. What is your favorite thing to cook? Ramen. One place you would never want to get lost in in the dark? I wouldn’t want to get lost anywhere in the dark. :O Are you claustrophobic? Yes. What is your worst flaw? Oh where to start. One thing that always creeps you out? ALL bugs. What is your biggest fear? Losing loved ones, death, never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life and just wasting away... If you could be reincarnated, would you come back as another human or an animal? If an animal, what kind? I don’t believe in reincarnation. Ideal way you’d like to die? Obviously painlessly, but jeez. If you could be roommates with anyone of your choice, who would you pick? I like living with my family. What is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard? Uh, a lot of things. Your favorite kind of dog? I love doggos, but I definitely have a special thing for Labs and German Shepherds. Do you have any scars? If so, how many? I have a lot of scars. I’m not going to count them. What is your favorite scary movie to watch in the dark? I don’t watch them in the dark. Unless I’m at the theater, obviously. I love scary movies, though. Would you rather be buried or cremated when you die? Cremated. What is your favorite thing to drink? Alcoholic and non alcoholic? Coffee and Starbucks Doubleshot energy drinks. That’s also coffee, but you know what I mean. I don’t have a favorite alcoholic drink, I don’t drink. What is your favorite food around the holidays? I love either ham or turkey depending on the holiday and mashed potatoes with gravy, stuffing, and rolls. Easiest way to scare you? I’m such a jumpy, easily scarable (it’s a word, shh) person so you could really just say hi and I’ll jump. haha. Like my back faces my bedroom door and if I don’t hear anyone coming in or they just poke their head in to say something I’ll jump. lmao. Tell me one of your biggest secrets? Nah. What was your last nightmare about? It’s been awhile since I’ve had one, thankfully.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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eldritchsurveys · 5 years ago

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637.

Do you ever judge people based on if they believe in God or not? >> You know, it’s funny -- I’m more likely to make snap judgements about atheists than Christians. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met my fair share of annoying proselytisers and hateful fundamentalists, have had “exorcisms” performed on me, the whole nine. I am definitely wary of Christianity as an institution, with good reason. But I’m really tired of the superiority complex that atheism seems to encourage (again, just like with Christians, not all atheists are like this -- but enough are). The fact that I dare to interpret my life and my reality in a non-materialist, often-arcane fashion immediately puts me at odds with a lot of atheists because their first thought about anything other than strict materialism is “only idiots believe that”, and I’m not going to let some other equally-in-the-dark human being treat me like an idiot because of something this personal (and this arbitrary!). Somehow, Christians telling me I’m going to hell because I listen to death metal or masturbate or whatever is less deeply irritating to me than that.

Do you ever brush your teeth in the shower? >> No. I can see why you would, though.

Has your printer ever stopped working at the last minute and you had a paper due the next day? What did you do? >> ---

Are you sometimes scared to express your opinions in fear of what others might think? >> It’s more like... I don’t feel like dealing with other people’s baggage, you know? Their inflexibility of mind, or baked-in prejudices, or superiority/inferiority complexes, or whatever. It’s really not worth it all the time. I could be putting my energy to better use than fielding off other people’s contempt. So I wouldn’t say my reticence is fear-based as much as it’s... boredom-based. lmao

Do you have a girl that is strictly a friend that isn’t related to you that you can go to? >> Yawn.

Have you ever painted your nails on only one hand, forgetting about the other one or getting side-tracked? >> No.

Have you ever tried sucrets? >> I don’t think so.

Would you date someone that smokes? >> I don’t date, but in general being a smoker isn’t something that puts me off a person. Being rude about smoking and not accepting that not everyone wants to breathe in their secondhand cancer air would, though. And if you smoke cigars, no thanks. Cigarette smoke is bad enough but cigar smoke is twice as bad.

What about drinks? >> Again, it’s not the act of drinking that puts me off a person, it’s to what extent their drinking affects their life and the lives of those around them.

Have you ever gone to one of those parties where everyone is falling around drunk everywhere? >> I don’t think so. I mean, maybe one or two people depending on their tolerance? But not the whole damn party.

Are you “the good guy”, or “the bad guy”, or somewhere in between? >> Yes.

Do you ever erase the numbers off of surveys just because they annoy you? >> No, the reason numbers tend to disappear off surveys when I take them is because when I paste the survey into this text box, tumblr automatically formats it like a numbered list, and when I unformat it the numbers go with it.

Person you like shows up at your house: you … >> ---

Last person you talked on the phone with? >> ---

Do you think you will have the same best friend a year from now? >> ---

Do you have siblings over the age of twenty-one? >> No.

Will tomorrow be better than today? >> I mean, today’s going to be pretty good. I’m going to play video games for hours to make up for the fact that I couldn’t all weekend.

What do you hear right now? >> Nothing.

What was the last thing to go into your mouth? >> Water, I think.

Do you usually tell people when you’re mad at them? >> I operate under the assumption that most people won’t care whether I’m upset with them or not, so I don’t bother informing them. That might be a maladaptive way of thinking, but so far I haven’t had much cause to question the notion, either.

Honestly, how is your heart lately? >> Beating.

Do you miss anyone? >> No.

Are you waiting for a phone call? >> No.

If an ex said they hated you, what would you say? >> I wouldn’t say anything. That’s their business, not mine.

What would you do if you found out your most recent ex was in a relationship? >> Hope that that person doesn’t go through what I went through. And if they do, hope that they have the presence of mind to leave sooner rather than later.

What do you think when someone kisses you on your forehead? >> First of all, who is doing that...

What do you usually do right when you wake up? >> Look at my phone to see what time it is.

Are you looking forward to anything? >> Yeah, playing WoW.

How late did you stay up last night? >> I got home at around a quarter past eleven, so I think I got to sleep shortly after midnight.

Do you truly hate anyone? >> No.

Would you ever get a tattoo? >> Of course.

In the past forty-eight hours, have you hung out with a girl? >> I hung out with a lot of people on Sunday.

Were you happy when you woke up today? >> Yes, very happy to be back in my warm comfortable bed and not in that janky loud motel.

If someone liked you, would you want them to tell you? >> I mean, it’s not going to change anything on my end, but I wouldn’t act weird about it if someone told me.

Would you rather go back a week or go forward? >> ---

Would you ever smile at a stranger? >> I’ve done so.

Who was the last person to text you? >> Sparrow.

What are you doing today? >> Playing video games, vegging out. Just enjoying being home.

Truthfully, is there someone you used to date that you miss? >> Not right now.

Have you ever gotten burnt by a cigarette? >> Yeah, on purpose.

Have you ever been so bored that you started drooling on yourself? >> What...

Do you brush your teeth right away when you wake up? >> Not right away, but soon enough after.

Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell everything to? >> ---

Want to get smashed tonight? >> Nah, I’m good.

What time are you getting up tomorrow? >> I don’t know, whatever time I wake up.

Are you happy with the choices you’ve made? >> Like, throughout my entire life? Some were fine, some were mistakes, some don’t even register in my memory anymore.

Think back to last June; were you single? >> No.

Have you ever made someone laugh when they were crying? >> Probably. That’s my only method of consolation -- distraction.

Describe how you feel right now. >> Neutral.

Would you date someone three years older than you? >> ---

Do you prefer to shower at night or in the morning? >> In the morning.

Do you think more about the past, present, or future? >> The present.

Are you okay with the life you live? >> Sure.

Could you handle living with the last person you texted? >> I do live with the last person I texted.

Was the last book you read for fun, or was it for some type of assignment? >> Everything I read is purely for my own interest/delight.

Have you accomplished any goals you set for yourself this year so far? >> The only “goal” I ever set is that Goodreads reading challenge, lmao. But even that’s just for fun -- if I don’t read 50 books in a year, it’s not like I consider myself a failure or something. Quantity doesn’t even mean anything. It’s just something to keep track of, I guess. (Also, when I do those end-of-year book surveys, it’s easier to just go look at my challenge because then I can see at a glance what books I read that year.)

If you could go forward in time and see your life 5 years from now, what would you hope to see? >> ---

Are there still movie rental stores where you live or have they all gone out of business? >> There’s one down the road from me, like a 10-minute walk. Family Video just refuses to go down without a fight, I guess. They jumped on the CBD bandwagon really fast, too -- revenue is revenue, I guess, lmao.

What was the last thing to annoy you or make you upset? >> When I realised I’d left my laptop and phone chargers in the motel room. *facepalm* Thank god for Amazon one-day shipping.

Do you think you would be a good match for your celebrity crush/es assuming you have one? Why? If you don’t have one, who was the last person you saw that you found attractive? >> There were a lot of attractive people at Elle’s wedding.

When looking for something to watch on TV do you tend to pick shows you know you like, or try new shows that look interesting even though you’ve never heard of them before? >> Either. Just depends on what I’m in the mood for.

Have you ever been ditched by someone only to find them out and about with someone else? >> No.

How old were you when you had your wisdom teeth removed? >> ---

What is the last song you sang out loud? >> I don’t remember.

Where was the last job application you filled out sent to? >> ---

Have you ever been fired from a job? >> No.

What do people tell you your voice sounds like? >> I don’t recall the last time anyone commented on my voice at all.

What financial class are you? >> Poverty class.

What poster is hanging closest to you? >> It’s not a poster, it’s an art print. It’s called “Heimdall” and that’s basically what it is, I guess. But very, very intricate and multilayered. One of those “stare at it for five hours and still see new things” kind of artwork.

What time did you go to bed last night? >> Sometime after midnight.

Do you watch any reality shows? >> Not regularly.

Are you more comfortable with men or women? >> ---

Do you think you’re fat? >> Sometimes I do. It’s all just societal bullshit, though, because I’m technically not fat (and it really shouldn’t even be a big deal if I was).

Have you ever borrowed money from someone and never repaid them? >> Probably.

Do you have a pet cat? >> Yeah.

What is worse: physical or emotional pain? >> I’m not going to rank one as “worse” than the other. Pain is pain.

If you had to get up at 6 AM tomorrow morning, would it be painful? >> Probably. It’s not my normal getting-up time.

How is your hair? >> Fine.

Who was the last person who called you? >> ---

How long does it take you to fall asleep at night? >> Not long, because I don’t go to bed until I feel good and sleepy.

How many people have you had strong feelings for in the year of 2012? >> You know what I had strong feelings for in 2012? Drugs.

What are you doing for your next birthday? >> I have no idea. Probably going to Chicago like usual, although the idea of going to Canada is still on the table if we can get passports by that time.

Would you go on a date with someone right now if they asked? >> Not unless it was explicitly understood that I am aromantic and this is a platonic outing.

Do you believe that if you want something bad enough, you’ll get it? >> Sometimes that narrative is fun to entertain.

Last movie you watched? >> The Nightingale.

Who were you with? >> Nobody.

Who came over last? >> ---

Have you ever wanted to be a ballet dancer? >> No.

Does your family keep tons of leftovers in the fridge? >> I do not.

Favourite FRIENDS character? That is, if you like it. >> ---

Skullcandy headphones, yay or nay? >> Yeah, I like them.

Are you thinking of getting another piercing? Where? >> No.

Do you love when people remember little things about you? >> Sure, it means people actually paid attention to me and cared enough to remember, which goes against some of my less helpful self-talk.

Do you ‘bless’ strangers when they sneeze? >> No.

How many phones have you gone through? >> Too many.

Have you always lived in the house you currently reside in? >> No.

Do you think your future will be a good one? >> ---

#surveys #survey #random survey

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kensboytoy · 5 years ago

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The Classifieds Ch. 1

Title: The Classifieds Fandom: Beetlejuice (Movie) Pairings: Beetlejuice/Reader Ratings: Explicit Chapters: 1/? Summary: A curious leaflet falls into your possession on the day you move into your new place. You decide to call on the services of one 'bio-exorcist' and realize that you might be crushing pretty hard on a dead guy. How seductive can a sleaze like Beetlejuice really be?

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Moving into a new place was already a pain in the neck. Moving all by yourself? The worst. Well, except when you donated all your furniture to Goodwill because you knew that you weren’t strong enough to lug it up the teetering second story floor where your new place was. So, three big poofy comforters, several dozen pillows, stuffed animals, and many, many boxes full of weird 80’s toys later… Well, you collapsed in your makeshift nest and enjoying the rest of your busy evening in total silence.

The only lights you had were battery-powered string lights because the electric company hadn’t turned the power on yet, so you made it a lazy, comfy space all your own.

But without power, you couldn’t sit down and edit on your laptop or even use your phone (you’d need it to be on power-saving mode until the lights came on.) So you tried reading. That worked until the sun went down and your shitty vision was impaired. Then you tried sleeping but every creak of the apartment settling gave you a fright.

You idly flipped through the leaflets you had gotten in the mail around, squinting to see if there were any coupons to use. A small business card fell into you lap:

Betelgeuse: The 'Bio-Exorcist'

Call BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE!

You snorted. It was cute! Maybe you wouldn’t throw it away. But… there was no number on the back? You flipped it around and held it to the light. Nada.

“Pft. Like a dorkier version of Bloody Mary.” There was a smile on your face and you folded the paper up neatly to put in your wallet.

With a yawn and a stretch, you arose from your nest and waltzed into the bathroom to brush your teeth. The only light you had was a pocket flashlight you had gotten along attached to a rape whistle from some medical center long ago. You stared into the mirror for a moment as you patted your face with a warm towel.

“Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you. Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you. Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you.”

You waited. Nothing. You shrugged your shoulders. That myth had been scary when you were younger but it never yielded any results.

As you started brushing out your hair, you continued.

“Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice…”

Another yawn and you closed the medicine cabinet before you changed into your nightgown and waltzed back into your bedroom. You flopped into your makeshift bed and stared at the card once again.

“What the hell is a Beetlejuice?”

Had you been looking at the mirror for a moment longer, you would’ve seen Bloody Mary, hair done up in curlers and charcoal face mask covering her very surprised expression before flickering away the moment you began to speak the words for the other spirit.

He was… stronger? Maybe that was the wrong word. Mary only had a passing interest in terrifying people, whereas Beetlejuice?

He thrived on it. Hell, almost got off on it, if he was honest. There was something delicious about scaring the living shit out of breathers.

So, Mary never stepped in when it was clear that the person had moved onto summoning him, instead. It’d be rude.

And summon him you did.

The lights flickered for a moment before shutting off, throwing the entire room into a pitch-black darkness that shouldn’t have been possible. Some of the light outside should still have been filtering in, or at the very least there should have been moonlight. Something. Anything. but all you got was darkness.

Darkness and the faint feeling that you were no longer the only one there.

After a brief moment, there was the distinctive sound of slithering and something crawled across your foot, wrapping around it as the lights flickered back on to reveal a… guy?

Well, a slob. He was normally built everywhere except for his stomach where he was decidedly bulky enough with a round beer belly. His hair was wild and all over the place - you couldn’t decide if his hair was white, blond, or green from the moss covering every inch of him. He looked like a bad Halloween decoration you’d leave on the porch to scare neighbors away from trick-or-treating.

“Why hell-o there, sweetcheeks,” he purred, voice somewhere between when you inhaled a fat cigar and the flush of a toilet. “You called?”

You yelped, flinging your blanket off you in a state of panic before grabbing your phone and fumbling to turn the camera light back on. You didn’t have a chance. The lights came back on to illuminate the figure in front of you and you shrunk in your seat.

And then you squinted.

“What the fuck?” you managed to gasp. “What the ever-loving fuck.”

Your hands instinctively reached for a pillow to cling onto for dear life and to use as a potential weapon if he got any closer.

“Holy fuck, there’s a fucking crazy homeless man in my fucking house and he looks like Riff-Raff from Rocky Horror fucked a pile of moss. What the fuck.”

Had you not been completely terrified, you would have said he was kinda cute. Kinda. If you were into creepy corpses with shit-eating grins.

“I understood-” Beetlejuice paused, counting on his grimy fingers for a moment and having to think about what he was about to say. “More than half of those words, I think. But I’ll go ahead and treat ‘em like compliments, babes.”

There was a wide grin on his face that displayed his crooked teeth and showed off some of the most prime real estate for bugs that existed in this or any other plane of existence. It would have been charming to a certain type of people, but as you had not taken any hard drugs in your life, the chance of you being one of those types of people was slim.

Spitting into one hand and using it to slick his hair back in a manner that usually turned a few stomachs, the ghostly, grody apparition leered down at you in what could almost be likened to a man leering at his hangover-curing breakfast after a long night drinking.

“Beetlejuice, at your service. Bio-exorcist and professional haunter since the late black plague.” He swiftly bowed and smirked. “What can I do for ya, little breather?””

“Oh, you’re Beetlejuice? I mean, I guess… that makes sense.”

You paused and sat up, staring at him over and over again, your heart still racing. He certainly made the place smell damper than an apartment in this neck of the woods usually was.

“Uh. Your ad - well, I found your ad in my mail. It was pretty vague. It just said to call your name three times-”

You reached out and touched his leg and then quickly recoiled. Oh, he was real. You were not dying.

“What the fuck. Am I really seeing you? I swear to God I don’t use coke or anything weird and - holy shit - you’re real.” You poked at him. “You’re actually here and not some Hatsune Miku hologram what the fuck is happening.”

You scrunched your face up and furrowed your brow.

“Bio-exorcist? …Living exorcisms?” you frowned. “Shouldn’t it just be ‘exorcist’?”

Pursing his dangerously chapped lips, the poltergeist frowned at you and let his bushy brows furrow into a look of confusion, mimicking your expression.

“I’m real, dollface. What, you didn’t think my business card was serious?”

Oh, now that was worrying. He’d spread those out as much as possible during his last visit to the world of the living, and what if people were just calling him up for no reason other than thinking it was just some prank?

“Just ‘cause I ain’t flesh and bone doesn’t make me any less real.”

Then the subject of bio-exorcism. Oh, one of his favorite topics, aside from how good he was with his tongue and how easily he could drink anyone in any dimension under the table. Despite the fact that sometimes, he did drink under the table.

Not a lot of bars liked that. Wasn’t really a good party trick either.

“I'm here for spirits, y’see? If some living jackass moves into their place, I chase ‘em out. Keep the crib empty. Make sure no one’s tryin’ to regular-exorcise them.”

You frowned.

“Well, like I said, it was pretty vague. Slipped in with the coupons you usually think you’re going to use but never end up using.” You took out your wallet and removed the slip before handing it over to him. It was one of his more vague cards that left out the specific details of his gig. “There was something about it that just made me… I dunno.”

You, being the sweet young thing you were, blushed and cleared your throat gently.

“I’m really sorry - honestly I am. But I… Well, how to put this very gently and in a sincere way… I personally don’t believe in ghosts. Not saying they can’t be out there, especially not after that crazy weird stunt you just pulled.”

You held up your hands defensively, trying to show that you didn’t mean any harm.

“If I did, I think that’d open a lot of gates to my already hard-to-deal-with trauma.”

Then, you sighed and slumped back in your big cushion of a bed to stare up at him. You were studying him in what little light there was now that it was back on. He didn’t really look like he was fucking around.

“But I guess this might shake that idea up.” Your eyebrow perked up in inquiry. “Are you some sort of ghost advocate? Like… their protector?”

“Their… protector?”

Beej stared, open-mouthed and slack-jawed for a long moment before leaning back and slapping a hand across his knee as he let out the world’s loudest hoot of laughter and fell into hysterics.

Oh, first you didn’t believe in ghosts, and now you thought he was there to protect them? That was absolutely rich.

Just because he worked for them didn’t mean that he was suddenly their protector.

Tears of absolute mirth rolled down his ghostly cheeks, the spirit having to try a few times before he could actually stop laughing. Chuckling and wheezing a few more times before he could actually calm down enough to answer you, he glanced down at you and let his face fall utterly blank.

“No.”

A wave of his hand and a cloud of smoke, a pair of reading glasses appeared perched upon his face along with a booklet in his already outspread palm.

“I am solely here to facilitate the removal of pre-mortem nuisances from the property of any spirits, hauntings, or those of the ghostly persuasion,” came the weirdly educated, prim and proper voice before it dropped down a few registers to rock tumbler. “I boot living folks out of ghost homes.”

You shrugged, not fazed by his childish behavior. Sure, you thought he was weird and yeah, it was freaky to have a stranger in your house. But for all you knew, he was harmless. Annoying but harmless.

“Well, I’m not a ghost and there ain’t one here, my dude. I don’t think I need your services…” You frowned and opened up your wallet again, this time grabbing a couple twenty dollar bills and handing it to him. “I feel like an asshole for calling you. I was gonna use that for take-out but I think you should have it. Y’know. For showing up to perform your services of, uh, removal. Like a cancellation fee you gotta pay if you fuck up.”

You thought for a moment. And then uttered words you never thought you’d ever say:

“Or you could hang around here for awhile. Lights aren’t on and there’s no cable… But I could order that food for two-” Wait. “Uh, if you eat? Sorry. I don’t want to seem ignorant. I just. This shit is a lot to process.”

Annoyed at yourself, you rubbed the bridge of your nose.

“What I’m saying is that even though there aren’t ghosts, you can kick it if you don’t want to go back to wherever I summoned you from. Can’t imagine it was pleasant.”

“No ghosts, huh? What 'm I, chopped liver?”

As if to prove his point, Beetlejuice kept very steady eye contact with you as he reached into his torso and stuck a hand out the other side, the other moving to yoink off his head and alas-poor-Yorick with it.

Practical effects were good. But to do that on the fly? And as convincingly as he did?

That wasn’t really… something possible.

Beetlejuice pulled his hand back through and replaced his noggin as he stared right at you, one grimy brow lifted as he wordlessly pocketed the bills. Even if he didn’t typically use living money, there was still bartering worth in the paper. He could always sell it to some sentimental dumbass who missed the green of the living world.

Which were… far more people than most thought. Most would assume that the first thing you’d do when you died is embrace socialism.

But apparently not.

You grimaced. Not because the sight was scary to you - you had grown up on horror movies. It was just the suddenness of his motions that unnerved you. You ran your fingers through your hair and shook your head before he continued.

“And we do eat. it isn’t something we need to do, but it’s… fun. Little reminder of breather life.”

“This is nuts. I’m talking to a dead guy on my first night in my new place. Who the fuck even prepares you for this shit?” You sighed and moved towards the edge of your bed. “Look, man, I’m going to play the dumb living human card a lot tonight and I’m sorry but…”

You eyed him up and down again curiously.

“I didn’t even think there was a God or an afterlife - to me this just feels like some drug trip. But… you’re real.” You stood up to walk around him. Your hand gently touched his lapel, fingers sliding down the fabric before you pulled away. “I’m having a fucking existential crisis with some zoot zuit wearin’ - pimp? - showing up because I said his fucking name three times.”

Your eyes locked with his briefly.

“I’m guessing say it another three times send you back to - Hell? Purgatory? So I won’t, ‘Juice. Unless this is painful to be here.”

Annoyed at the situation, you rubbed your tired eyes. Without another word, you unlocked your phone and pulled up a Chinese delivery place's menu.

“Well, dinner’s on me. I promise not to ask you anymore super stupid questions if you stay. Lord knows I’m too dumb to get this shit. But, uh. Company would be cool. If you want.” You blushed. It wasn’t like you were asking him for a date. But you were curious if you could learn more. “Or I could send you back to whatever bliss awaits you. Uh. Dealer’s choice?”

His face contorted at the mere mention of the other side. Sure, it wasn’t eternal damnation. but it also wasn’t blissful. It was… mostly like being alive. Paperwork and jobs and having to still deal with money.

Capitalism didn’t stop along with someone’s heartbeat. No, the fucking system stuck around post-mortem. Perhaps there was some special place where the really exceptional people went - to some sort of good place - but Beej’d be fucked if he ever saw it or even heard mention of anything like that.

“Eugh. No, the longer I can stay topside, the better, dollface,” he grimaced, one eye following you as you walked around and examined him. And sure, he tried to look his best, puffing out his chest and sucking in the gut he had. After all, he did that around any pretty little thing he saw, on the off chance that… well…

That you’d wanna hitch a ride on the B.J. Express. First and only stop: Fucksville.

Christ, that line was probably why he never got laid unless it was through the exchange of some cold, hard cash. He nearly owned a huge stake at Dante’s at this point.

“I'll stay with you,” he proclaimed, then as if he could read your mind, “Consider it a date. I'll pay ya back for this.”

“A date?” You didn’t sound repulsed like a normal person should have been. No, you were more perplexed. “A cool ghost pops into the world of the living and wants to go on a date with some random human - no wait, what did you call me, a breather?”

You laughed softly and handed your phone over to him, the menu pulled up. You rested your chin on your hand as you looked up at him quizzically.

“Not trying to presume anything, but, uh. I heard demons and shit were hot, right? I mean, you guys can have orgies and orgies without fear of STDs or baby-making. Plus, again, demon girls are hot. Now you’re stuck on a date with a breather?”

Figuring it was a joke, you shrugged.

“Whatever floats your boat. You don’t gotta pay me back. Like I said, I could use the company.” You flashed him a smile. “You are pretty cool, after all. It’d be nice if you stuck around…”

“Oh, yeah, no. Don’t get me wrong, succubi are great. They’ll ride you until you can’t see or walk straight. But, uh.”

Rubbing the back of his head, he tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t be an outright lie, but that wouldn’t make him seem like too much of a creep. After all, most folks didn’t go for creeps. And those who did? They were usually into the stereotypical “hot stalker” creep. No, he couldn’t blow this shit with his usual molestation and upfront attitude. He might actually have a chance here.

“They don’t tend to be my type. Waaaaaay too aggressive. I prefer to be the one in charge,” he said, glancing at the living human to see what sort of reaction that would have on you. To see if you scoffed, turned red, or both.

To see if you would be into banging.

You blushed. Well, you had asked so you couldn’t be mad. Not like you were. Beetlejuice seemed gross and weird but… no alarm bells were ringing yet.

“So I was right about the pimp suit?” you chuckled. “Well, if you wanna live lavishly like a King then by all means, order whatever you want. Just be careful ‘bout the duck. It’s the fanciest thing on that menu but…”

You waved your hand flat out as if to say so-so.

“Not worth it. The kung pow chicken? Super bomb.”

You relaxed back in your cushions and waited for him to place his order.

“I get more of a switch vibe from you, Juice. But I’ll believe you. I’d be confident with a cool suit too.” You pursed your lips for a moment. “Did you die in that suit or do you get to pick your outfits in the afterlife?”

A switch?

Oh, that was entirely true. Hell, if anything Beej could be a pushover if someone batted their eyes and pursed their lips in the right way. But would he ever admit to it outside of either regular or sexy torture?

Never.

...well, maybe. But he’d have to be either overwhelmingly drunk or high to do so. He didn’t like to admit that there was any part of himself that was anything other than a smooth-talking, dominant, seductive casanova, but he knew that secretly there may have been something that wasn’t wholly dominant about him.

However, he wasn’t about to let this pretty young thing know. Not unless there was a whip or stilettos involved.

“Nah, doll. I'm all daddy.” He thumped his chest at that, shooting you his best smile. Which was more like looking at a pane of broken glass.

“And this old thing? Buried in it, but can change if I want. I just think it adds a certain charm, don’t you agree?”

You giggled, delighted that this old dirt bag used such a trendy title. Sure, older gals used to call men Daddy all the time, but the way he said it wasn’t exactly in that context. It was more like the horny millennial fad.

“You must have been fucking some younger spirits to get that lingo, Daddy-O,” you teased, purposely using the outdated version of the name.

At his narcissistic question, you decided to indulge him just a little bit.

“I like it. Not everyday someone pulls off stripes so well,” you complimented to boost his ego. “If only I could see you properly, but all these little lights can only show me just a little taste.”

Maybe he could light up the room. If you goaded him with compliments… Free utilities were free utilities, man.

“I guess a Daddy does need a suit. Maybe a nice belt…”

Oh, you hoped it was too dark to see your clever little smirk. You liked playing this game with a dead man.

“But it depends on what kinda Daddy you are, Juice. The word is so carelessly used nowadays. So many wimps using it to sound cool.” Woah, hello sudden confidence. It was nice to feel like you weren’t some meek geek. “There are lots of ways to wear the name up here in the living.”

Oh, but he wasn’t going to fold just like that. Even if you were acting so confident, Beej still had enough ego to topple civilizations. Granted, had you taken the lead and pushed him over, that would be a completely different story.

But as it was? He could deal with words.

At least until you either started pointedly giving commands or begging for his cock. Either of those - anything that was explicit and couldn’t just be mistaken for simple flirting - and he would be a goner.

With a snap of his grimy fingers, the lights buzzed and came on. Not with their usual electric glow, but with what almost seemed like candlelight from within. He wasn’t really turning the power on - he was using them to conduct a different light source.

And from there? His suit was all the easier to see. Along with the very obviously hard cock that pressed against the front of those striped slacks.

“How’s about it, dollface? Like what you see?” he purred, running a hand down his body for either your amusement, or for your enjoyment. Depended on whether or not you were just teasing to be a tease, or if you would actually go for a roll in the hay. “Does Daddy measure up to what you were thinking?”

You gawked. You stared! Your eyes were round like dinner plates. That blush burned your face so suddenly that it was an obvious tell. And your heart nearly skipped a beat. That was very unexpected, despite you explicitly trying for this very result.

Beetlejuice was gross. But in a very, very attractive way. A slob with charm.

“O-oh wow,” you murmured. Bashfully, you looked away and grabbed the pillow you were holding earlier. You bit your lower lip. You didn’t find it wrong to embrace being dirty, but part of you felt like it would be too ‘slutty’ of yourself to start flirting harder. The ghost just met you - would you really want to mess with someone who would hit it and quit it?

“That and more,” came the soft reply. “You sure I called a bio-exorcist and not some other dirty line?”

Cautiously, you sat forward in your seat and looked up at him. God, he was cute.

“I can see lots of us living folks calling you up.” You wet your lips eagerly. Then, you paused. And blushed even harder.

It was then that you realized that you were only in your pajamas. No underwear underneath, nada! Just the thin fabric of your shirt and pants. It was pretty revealing in this light if you could look at yourself the way he was leering at you.

“I-I feel very underdressed compared to you… Um. Sh-should I change into something nicer? I, uh, don’t want you to think I look like a trash goblin.”

Oh, he could instantly see that you were hardly wearing anything once the lights flickered on, his eyes doing a full sweep of your body and taking in your warm, plush form as he felt his cock twitch. Hell, it was probably something that was very visible.

A slow grin spread over his face, Beetlejuice leaning in and reaching out to touch your thigh as he gave his lips a long lick. Entirely done just to draw attention to how long and talented his tongue looked. Just wanting to spur you on and encourage the little slut to get up and climb over and onto his lap.

“Oh, not at all. I think you look good enough to eat, babes.”

Slut? Was that already what he was thinking of you as?

Well, given that some of his favorite folks were sluts? Including himself? He thought of slut as a term of honor - the way some folks might call their pals bastards.

Almost immediately, the hand on your thigh slid further inwards, pressing against the clothed flesh of your cunt. Straight to the point. After all, as much as Beetlejuice did love himself some good bush, he hated to beat around it.

His thumb set to stroking you through the thin fabric of your pajama bottoms, the lights beginning to dim a bit more. Grow hazier. Grow more seductive. in line with his mood and actions.

“In fact… I think i could forego dinner for somethin’ sweeter.”

You stared at that tongue for a moment and let your face feel hotter. It was clear you liked what you saw. There was a small piece of your mind telling you not to let some creep get it on the first date, but...

He was cute. Gross. Very, very much so. But he was a poltergeist just looking for fun.

When he touched you, you gasped involuntarily. Your back stiffened along with your now hardened nipples and you froze. What should you say to that bold statement?

“Do you do this to all the humans who summon you or did I catch you in a mood?” you breathed. It wasn’t a denial or a refusal. And from how the thin fabric clung to your wet self, that very much indicated that you were already turned on from the sight of him.

“You haven’t even been here ten minutes and you’re already so handsy.”

You tried to be as playful as you could despite being so nervous.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna skip foreplay and try and get to it… Why, that would be no fun at all, Daddy.”

Oh, you were playing with fire now.

“Well, when I see such a cute little doll, surely you can’t blame me for being so eager to get to know you,” he purred, fingers slipping past the fabric as soon as he could see that you wouldn’t put up a fight and plunging knuckle-deep into your soaked little cunt. Getting a good feel for what he’d be fucking later.

And then you insinuated that he wasn’t gonna give you any foreplay. Beetlejuice didn’t take kindly to that. He may have been a pervert, a scoundrel, a knave, a bastard, a…

He forgot where he was going with that.

Oh, right. he may have been all of those things, but he was also an egotistical prick. Meaning that if he could have someone begging for his cock after being teased for hours, then he would put in the extra effort.

So one of his striped tentacles slipped forward, curling up your shirt to wrap around your tits and mimic fucking them.

“Are you gonna be good and let me have what I want, babes? Or does Daddy have to take it?”

With your cunt throbbing and body aching for his touch, you moaned abruptly as soon as he entered you with those dirty digits. You squirmed and let your tight hole wrap around him, tightening as he played around. The tentacle was what really caught you by surprise. There was a small squeak from your lips and you tensed up before allowing him to continue.

Oh, was he threatening you?

“Well… what happens if I struggle?” you asked curiously. It was clear you were a little freak who enjoyed the idea of both. “Will that tentacle make sure I join you in the afterlife?”

You were pouting a bit up at him. Your body wanted him to continue, that was clear. But you wanted to know which side of the dice to roll.

“I wanna know what Daddy’s capable of - if he’s mean or if he wants to be playful…”

“Depends on how you act, sweetheart. Daddy’d love to just be playful, but if you don’t behave…”

He leaned in at that, rancid breath blowing in cold clouds along your skin as he chuckled to himself. Wondering what your reaction to his next words would be; if they would repulse you, or if you’d be hornier than ever.

Thankfully, he was already buried knuckle-deep in the best lie detector there was when it came to something like that.

“Daddy’s fucked dollies that were unwilling before. That fought and screamed and cried.”

Oh, he didn’t even touch on if he would kill you for not behaving or not. He was a vengeful spirit, of course he would. He knew that there was life after death, so dooming a toy to forever have to be fucked by him? Essentially creating his own undead sex slave? It’d be like heaven for him. honestly, it was kind of a wonder he hadn’t done it yet. Well, he did like it when they were warm, after all.

“But Daddy knows best.”

Your heart started to beat faster at that. You weren't scared - no… quite the opposite. Thrilled? You were playing with a powerful being now. One that could kill you in an instant but was deciding to indulge your dirty fantasies. Maybe he could sense what freaky shit you were into. The more likely thing was that he hadn’t had a proper fuck in awhile and now had a prime toy to test out.

Your cunt constricted around his fingers, being the dead giveaway that he needed that you were indeed a little freak.

“What does Daddy like best? When they cry or when they give in easily?” You watched him closely for a response, your teeth raking over your bottom lip. “I…”

You were very embarrassed at the next words that fell from your lips:

“Wanna make sure ‘m good enough for you and can keep up..”

Beetlejuice grinned at that. Because even if he did enjoy forcing himself upon people and watching as their will slowly drained away until they were nothing but pliant little fuckpuppets… He had to admit to being charmed by obedience. It was pretty rare that people actually begged for him. Most were disgusted by, well, all of him. The only good lays had been at Dante’s and those were paid for. Having a willing, breathing slut? Oh, that was priceless.

And so, he stroked your hair. Rewarding you for being so good for him so far. Good enough to make his cock throb and leak. Leak a nasty green, glowing ooze.

Ectoplasm. It wasn’t just something that the dead produced on their flesh when trying to scare the living. No, since their bodies technically couldn’t produce real cum, it made do with the closest thing it had.

“I like both. but you’re being such a good doll for Daddy. I'm thinking being willing’s gonna be the hottest thing you can do.”

You could see the bulge in his pants, your eyes widening like two full dinner plates. Eagerly, you wet your lips. His fingers were still curling and uncurling in you that you almost found it so unfair that you couldn’t see what he had in his pants. Your imagination was running wild! Was it a tentacle like the one groping your tits? Or maybe it was something even more peculiar? Dude was a straight up ghost! He could have anything.

Whatever it was, you were eager to have it be inside you.

So you sidled up closer to him and gently sat on his lap, not wanting to crush the poor poltergeist under you. You had no idea what his limitations as a now corporeal being really was so you played it safe.

Shyly, you fiddled with his tie and bit your lip, worrying the skin until it broke. How was one supposed to flirt with a ghost that was knuckle-deep in your pussy? God, he was so handsome…

“Good,” you murmured, mouth so dangerously close to his. “I wanna be good for you, Beej.”

#Works of Oz #Writing #Beetlejuice #(Yes I plan to do ALL versions of Beetlejuice for my fics soon!)#Fanfiction

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tippitv · 6 years ago

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Supernatural TippiTV Recap: 14-13 “Lebanon”

Okay before we get started. This is a long one and while I think it's pretty funny if I do say so myself, there's also a lot of me just... frickin ranting about John Winchester and rushed plots. If you loved this episode and don't want to see someone snarking about it, this might not be the recap for you.

On the other hand if you're like me and come from the TWoP tradition of snarking about the things we love most, then come on in!

THEN!

Two children talk about how their dad is on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a while.

Oh wait... holy crap it's Sam and Dean. It took a sec to recognize them without the gravelly voices and almost 14 years of soul-crushing despair.

We also get a reminder of very recent episodes, including the one where Mary learns about the time John threw young Dean's food away because it reminded him of her. It's important to remember what an abusive, hardened asshole John Winchester was... so that we can forget it! Forget it all!

[insert video of recapper letting out a Klingon scream]

NOW!

Sam and Dean mosey on into a pawn shop that I'm positive is in the US because they never leave the US but there's a sign that says the shop buys "jewellery" which is how they spell it in places that also spell "flavor" with a u. Dean flashes a big wad of cash to get the broker to show them "the good stuff."

By this, he means the magical goods, although the secret room looks like a high school drama department prop closet.

Dean says they're looking for the skull of a woman who was executed during the Salem witch trials. While the broker goes looking for it, Sam picks up a teddy bear from, you know, a shelf full of cursed and magical items because it's not as if stuffed animals have ever been dangerous. <cue ironic flashback>

Luckily he's warned away from it before he can unleash some kind of... Pooh demon... probably.

Anyway, it turns out having the skull proves that the broker killed a friend of theirs or something... Honestly, very little of this is going to have any bearing on anything. Long story short, fisticuffs ensue and Dean shoots the broker while he's expositing to Sam. "They always talk too much," Dean says.

Sam and Dean decide to take a bunch of magical items home with them. Although... what if they rightfully belong to other peop---ah screw it.

Okay now... here comes a long, boring subplot about teenagers back in Lebanon, Kansas. The main thing that's pertinent to the show is that Sam and Dean have a certain reputation around town. And no wonder! They park right in front these teenagers and start talking about shit they would never want anyone to hear.

They head into the world's skimpiest liquor store and the owner addresses them as "the Campbell brothers." Say whaaaat? Have they been using their mom's maiden name for a while and I just missed it? I mean, I guess it makes sense because... Actually, I don't remember how much stuff is still in their world about the infamous Winchesters. Like I legit can't remember if Charlie or someone erased their FBI/police records or if it was just some fanon someone told me about.

Also, nothing says "real liquor store" like shelves of bottles turned so that their name brands don't show.

Anyway, Sam stage-whispers to Dean about an ancient Chinese pearl that grants "what your heart desires."

The plan is to get Michael out of his head, but they notice someone is driving off with the Impala. They run out to confront one of the teenagers about it. He confesses that a girl named Max is the culprit, so that we can spend several minutes on this subplot instead of the much more emotional and important main plot.

I mean, we go from the post office to a pizza joint to an old house on the edge of town to catch up to the Impala. Max has apparently brought all that lethal “secret” stuff inside for a party. The camera lingers on that teddy bear again as if it's going to be important to the plot later.

Max, the car thief, has a crush on a girl and ISTG I was prepared to be mad if she died. Like I don't even want this whole subplot at all but I'd be puh-hissed if they had queer characters on just to kill one. Luckily I was wrong and neither of them die. However, the dialog is killing me. "I'm sooo excited for pizza." Tell me you can't imagine Lumpy Space Princess saying that.

Apparently the ghost of John Wayne Gacy (sigh) was waiting for the kids to go in search of pizza before oozing out of a cigar box the Winchesters brought from the pawn shop.

Why is his ghost dressed as a clown? I mean yes I know Gacy was a children's party clown, but it's not like he died in that outfit. Aren't ghosts supposed to be wearing what they died in? OH GOD WHY DO I CARE.

The Winchesters show up and scoot everyone out of the house, but not before at least one kid sees the ghost. Sam zeroes in on the cigar box and Dean points out how Sam's love of serial killers and hatred of clowns are in conflict.

Of course, some of the kids come back in just as the ghost goes up in flames. Sam and Dean decide to just... tell them the whole truth instead of just lying. Like..."Yo, one of the things you stole was secret holographic tech and you could face prison time if you talk about it." See? Easy peasy. Instead, they just trust the kids to never talk about ghosts being real and meeting actual ghost hunters.

I briefly wondered if this was some kind of back door pilot for teen hunters, but I haven't heard anything about that. Granted I didn't actually look that hard.

Once back at the bunker, Sam finds the magic pearl but it's kinda... chalky and medicinal looking. It looks like something Goop would sell to stick up your hoohaw.

Dean decides there's no time to wait because we've already spent too long on teenagers playing hooky. Like, even Sam doesn't really know how to use it. "I guess you just concentrate on what your heart desires," he says, scrunching his face uncertainly. I mean what if this had happened

The music swells dramatically. The lights flicker off dramatically. A shadowy figure approaches... dramatically. Fisticuffs ensue! It's a nice callback to Dean and Sam fighting in the dark in the pilot episode because ta da! It's actually John Winchester! Which we all knew because this was foretold in promotions.

The lights come up, showing... just a whole lot of things for me to process.

Now, at first, things don't seem that weird. We've seen people come back from the dead so many times, it's basically as surprising as buying socks at this point. Except! John isn't back from the dead at all! He's traveled through time! He eventually tells us he's from the year TWO THOUSAND AND THREE. TWO ZERO ZERO THREE.

He's both three years younger than the last time the bros saw him AND 13 years older, because for Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and all the rest of us mortals, time has marched on. Consequently, John Winchester looks like he got stuck in a wormhole for a good while.

Now, kudos to John for recognizing his sons, especially Sam, who looked a little something like this the last time they saw each other.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Palo Alto?" he asks Sam. "And also not a middle-aged man?" he doesn't ask, but I bet he was thinkin' it.

It's just... sigh. I might as well get it all out now. I get what they were going for here. It's the 300th episode and they wanted to have John show up. But because everything is so rushed, they just gloss over anything remotely realistic to the characters. John is all softness and awe the instant the lights go up, instead of bristling and suspicious. Why wouldn't he think it was a djinn or some other creature's doing? "Well we don't have time for him to be as flinty and wary as John would have been in 2003, because we need to get to the part where he spends quality time with his family!" YES EXACTLY. The show is three hundred episodes old now and it deserves more than this speedy treatment put together seemingly for the concomitant promotional opportunity.

Anyway they have a Sit-n-Chat to catch John up on what they've been doing, including the living situation there at the bunker which includes an angel and the son of Lucifer. Goodness only knows what John is picturing.

Now that I think about it, the brothers should be hella wary too. I mean, what if the pearl is cursed? What if John is actually some shambling interdimensional beast masquerading as John? What if the whole thing is just a hallucination brought on by nefarious moon herbs in Paltrow's pookie pearl? They just uncharacteristically seem to rely on the pawn broker's ledger.

Fine! Fine! I’ll drop it.

They talk about how they met John's dad via time travel, too, but don't mention that's why John never saw him again after childhood. They talk about the Men of Letters, finally killing old Yellow Eyes, saving the world... Then just when they're about to tell him that Mary's back from the dead, she actually shows up and starts calling to her sons. What a coincidence! John is pained.

It seems like they didn't tell her, either? Did they just tell her to come over for a surprise or did she just happen to be on her way there anyway? Anyway John and Mary start in on a smoochy reunion so Sam and Dean quietly leave the room.

Sam's like, "How'd this happen?" And Dean's like, "We spent too much time on the teenager subplot instead of looking into this potentially dangerous thing, is how!"

For some reason, John is perusing the library alone instead of... um... making up for lost time with his hot wife. Sam goes to talk to him and finds out Mary's off writing a shopping list for Dean so she can make that emotionally important casserole again. This leads John to admit he fucked up with his kids. Sam is reluctant to blame John because he's had almost 13 years to get over it.

I hate that everyone's acting their little hearts out and all I can think is how painfully contrived the episode is. Whatever problems I have with the writing and the premise, I don't have a problem with the job the actors are doing. Okay, okay, I'm really letting go of it this time.

John rubs Sam's shoulder and tearfully says, "Son, I am so sorry." The cellos of sadness play sadly. "I'm sorry, too," says Sam. "You did your best, Dad. You fought for us, you loved us... that's enough."

It's one thing to decide you're going to move past the shitty, shitty things someone did because you're in the midst of the enormity of what's going on RIGHT NOW. But it's another thing for the show to minimize the past. John did NOT do his best. For fuck's sake, he left a little boy in charge of an even littler boy! Dean knew his Dad was possessed because his REAL dad would never be proud of him! When Dean stole food to feed Sam, John abandoned him to face the consequences!

God damn it I guess I'm not going to let it go, after all!

Anyway, Sam and Dean head into town for groceries and time paradoxes. The liquor store owner no longer recognizes Dean, which is the surest sign that something is Very Wrong. Dean is flabbergasted. "It's me! Dean Campbell! I come in here like... always!"

As Sam heads back to the car, he sees a wanted poster for his bro. It's the old Blue Steel one except I think Sam used to be on it too? He's not anymore. He heads back to the car to tell Dean, but Dean's already been a-googlin' on his phone.

He plays back a video of Sam as a turtleneck-wearing lawyer espousing a raw food diet with plenty of kale. Good lord how much raw food does someone the size of Sam have to eat to fulfill his daily caloric needs?

They kind of hand-wave how these new versions of themselves exist at the same time as the OG versions. "Our timeline is changing to this new one!" Sam says. He says they need to put things back the way they were or they'll be stuck. It's nice of the timeline to work slowly enough that they can figure this out.

Somewhere nearby, the angel Zachariah appears. Castiel moseys up beside him and he's brought some old friends.

They decide to head into the nearest pizza place. The teenagers are there because not even a paradox will get rid of this subplot. "Can I help you?" asks the waitress. I think the usual question would be, "Can I get you a table for two?" but whatever. Zachariah asks her who's been messing with time. "We sensed a disturbance in the, well, let's call it the Force," he says. Naturally, she's very confused, and even more confused when he says they're from Heaven.

He says he'll have Castiel murder everyone if they don't tell him what's going on. To emphasize this, Castiel whips out his angel mojo.

Sam and Dean see the bright light from across the street and come running in. Sam's like, "Zachariah?!" and Dean's like, "Cas?!" and Cas is like, "Is that with one S or two, and also who are you?"

Zachariah exposits that Heaven had big plans for the Winchesters but then their dad suddenly disappeared in 2003. Why wouldn't the angels assume the disappearance and the time event are connected? Why'd they have to just start asking questions in a random pizzeria? Fisticuffs ensue!

Zachariah force-chokes Sam while asking him for an explanation. Why do villains always try to make people talk while they're choking? Pick one or the other! But this gives Sam a chance to surprise Zachariah with an angel blade in the heart. Oh, Zachariah. Destined to die by Winchester in every version.

Meanwhile, Dean and Castiel are still tussling even though I'm pretty sure Castiel could kill them both pretty quick. Sam joins in for a bit, but gets flung into a table. If there's a table around, someone's getting flung into it. Then he goes back to strangling Dean instead of finishing off Sam, giving Sam a chance to make one of those angel-vanquishing sigils with his own blood.

They go back home. Dean explains the whole paradox thing to John. If he doesn't return to 2003, Dean will live the same life but alone, Mary will never have come back to life, and Sam will devastate kale crops like a moose-sized locust.

John agrees to go back. "Me versus your mom, that's not even a choice." That's... a weird way to phrase that dilemma. At the same time, Sam is delivering the news to Mary. He says "the lore is pretty clear" that if they destroy the pearl, everything goes back the way it was. What lore? They knew jack squat about it before they used it. Mary has some questions.

John tells Dean he's proud of him and I slightly expect Dean to whip a gun out on him. "I never meant for this.... I guess I hoped that eventually you get yourself a normal life..a family..."

WHAT.

WHAAAAAT.

He did nothing to prepare them for a normal life! Leaving your kids in motel rooms, never letting them settle down in one school, issuing ultimatums when Sam wanted to go to college? Man, Dean should've been like, "Nah, that was your other son, Adam, who got to live a normal life... at least until a ghoul ate him and his body was used by an archangel." But Dean is nicer than me, I guess. "I have a family," he says.

They decide to eat dinner even though who knows when the timeline is going to snap into place permanently. Oh my God they even take the time to wash the dishes after. They have a nice chat and again, everyone's acting their little hearts out and I'm trying not to be distracted. Dean tells Sam he doesn't want to change the past. "I'm good with who I am. I'm good with who you are." Please let that stick with no reversions to self-loathing and I'll retroactively like this episode more.

They cut to this shot and for a second I thought it was Sam and Dean holding hands at the sink.

Of course it's John and Mary. Sad piano plays sadly. John's not going to remember anything, but the rest of them will. Oh man what if John got Mary pregnant during his visit. Sam and Dean were out shopping for a while. I wish I hadn't thought that, but now that I have, you all have to be witness to my horrible brain's meanderings.

John reiterates that he's proud of them. So this time Sam pulls a gun on him! No, he doesn't. They all hug and cry genuine tears before John goes back to holding hands with Mary. Sam reluctantly smashes the pearl to bits. Seems like Dean would have to be the one to smash it since he's the one who made the wish, but it works and John slowly fades out of the present.

Everything goes back to normal, including the teenagers remembering and loudly discussing the existence of monsters in public.

Castiel returns to the bunker in his newer, homelier coat and less erotically tousled hair. "What happened?" he asks. The response in my brain:

Back in 2003, John wakes up in the Impala to the sound of his flip phone ringing. Smart phones are great and all but man I miss the battery life of my flip. It's the Dean of the day calling to check on him. John, although he's not supposed to remember anything from the future, seems to have experienced it as some kind of dream. He seems nicer, too. This will probably have no bearing on the timeline, though... right?

I mean, is that 2019 casserole still in his stomach? Did the wine turn back into grapes? Probably not but these are the kinds of things I think about.

Sigh.

I feel the episode does a disservice to its main characters. I've already ranted more than enough so I'll just pick one example:

If Sam had gone on to live a normal life, he would've become a cold-hearted douchebag who tells people that hobbies and families are a waste of time. Like, ha ha yes it's amusing that Sam is the leaf-munching Steve Jobs of law, but what's the meaning here? Are we saying that wanting to get an education for himself means he's a selfish asshole? Like this is the alternative to the codependent relationship with Dean that formed because of their father? Argh.

The John apologia is just so clunky and unnecessary. John could've said, "I should've done more than teach you to hunt monsters... prepared you for a normal life so you could have a family." Then Dean ccould say, "Being able to kill monsters kept us alive long enough so that we figured out things for ourselves. And we do have a family." Bam! It lets John be rueful without rewriting the past or having Dean swallow all the years of hurt and it even acknowledges that knowing how to hunt isn't a bad thing.

Thank you for sticking with the recap to the end! I do still intend to recap past episodes but things have been kind of stressful. Just staying afloat has been a chore some days.

For updates and info you can check here: https://www.gofundme.com/winter-rent-and-dog-care

I also have a virtual tip jar of sorts here: https://www.paypal.me/tippiblevins

#spn snark #supernatural #spn recap #tippitv #recaps #lebanon

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brooklyn-anon · 7 years ago

Text

They Was Coronas!

Word Count : 2123

Summary : Albert and Race meet at the family smoke shop.

Warnings : Mentions of smoking, death, and a single swear word.

Authors Note : This is longer than I planned but I had a good time with it!

Tags : @frenchiefri @elmer-s-s0cks @brooklyns-here-enthusiast @the-broadway-anon @notes-the-newsie @newsies-whosies @thatloginceshipper @sickeningly-sweet-honey

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No one would expect a 15 year old to know much about cigars. But then again, Albert DeSavilla was always an unexpected kind of kid. His family owned a smoke shop tucked away in the depths of Manhattan. Had Albert wanted to get involved in the cigar business? No. But his grandmother down in the Bronx got sick and someone had to step in to help keep the shop standing while his parents took care of her.

It was a spring day just like any other when a scrawny little blonde walked into the shop. The ginger haired boy frowned. What was this kid doing inside a cigar shop? Instead of calling the blonde out, Al chose to sit and watch him. He didn't seem to know exactly what he was doing. He never came over to ask for help though. He just searched the shelves with a focus and drive he had never seen in young person before. Apparently he found what he was looking for though, because the boy gave out a little cheer and came bounding over to pay for it.

“Uh….. How old are you?” Albert asked as he calculated the total. This kid was way too young to have a smoking problem…..

“15.” He answered. “It’s for my mom. My dad kind of sucks and it helps her deal with him.” Albert nodded and handed the paper bag over the counter. “Do you always work at this time?”

“Only on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.”

“I guess I’ll see ya tomorrow then.” Without ACTUALLY introducing himself, the blonde boy was out the door. Albert stared at the door with a small smile on his lips. Huh. What a kid…….

The next day had Al bouncing up and down. He was anxious for the boy from yesterday to come back in. Why??? Honestly he wasn't sure. There was something about him that was…… intriguing. The sound of the door shutting pulled him from his trance. The blonde boy from the day before bounced up to the desk.

“Hiya!” His blue eyes sparkled and his lips twisted into a huge smile. His smile was infectious apparently because he found himself smiling back.

“Hey there!” Al leaned one elbow on the counter and rested his chin on his fist. “So, I didn't catch your name yesterday.”

“My real name doesnt matter. Just call me Racetrack. And what name can I call my favorite ginger boy?” Wait…… was he flirting? Um…. Uh…. How…. Response?

“Albert.” His response was short. He was afraid that if he said anything more he might start rambling. Why was he nervous?!

“Well Albert, I'm going to take the same thing I did yesterday and be on my way.” Just the same as the day before, Albert rang a single cigar up and handed the bag across the counter. This time though, the boys fingers brushed. The copper top yanked his hand back and bit his lip. What was this?! These feelings things??? This wasn't supposed to be how he felt…..

Race looked down at his feet and smiled a bit. Alright Albert. Get yourself together. Whatever this was, might as well embrace it. As Race walked backwards he waved at his new friend. Taking a giant leap of faith, Albert winked at his friend and waved back. A red tint perked up his pale cheeks as he stumbled backwards out the door.

This continued on for almost a year. Race would come in a few times a week and buy a cigar for his mom. Every once in awhile the boys would flirt back and forth. Race would compliment Albert on how nice his hair looked (and how great it must feel to have someone run their fingers through it) and Albert always noticed when Race was freshly showered because of how incredible he would smell.

The first time they kissed was on Christmas. Albert watched from the window of his apartment, which was above the shop, for Racetrack. It was a Saturday after all. When he saw the familiar blonde boy, he had ran downstairs to great him. A very cold and out of breath Race pushed a small box in his hands, pressed his lips to Al’s, and whispered merry christmas. Albert yanked him back to kiss him again before his friend (friend????) ran off again. That day would forever be engraved into the ginger boys mind. The pink color of Race’s nose and cheeks from the bitter cold. The dark gray hat that concealed his blonde curls. Winter seemingly stole colors away and blanketed them in white, so the blue of his eyes popped more than usual. The fact that his lips were warm despite the freezing temperatures. Inside the box he had been gifted sat a hat like Race’s. It was brown and a little wrinkled, but it was perfect the way it was.

That was the last time Albert saw Race for a few weeks. The first day he wasn't there wasn't a big deal. The second day made him a little nervous. One week went by and Al was panicking. He knew about Racetrack’s father. He knew what an awful man he was. Did something happen? Was Race okay? Was his mom okay? What in the world had happened? Weeks passed and the ginger boy gave up on ever seeing his friend again. If he hadn’t been back in over a month, he wasn’t coming back at all.

That changed on a dreary Monday. A torrential downpour of rain was coming down outside. The streets of New York were dead. Well, dead for NYC. The only people outside were tourists. Albert was sitting behind the counter, as he did every Monday, with his feet propped up on the counter and his hat covering his eyes. No one was coming in, so he was using it as a chance to get a nap in. He was right about to fall asleep when the front door opened. The freshly turned 16 year old didn’t even have time to groan when he heard the voice of an angel.

“That cap suits you better than I thought it would.” His feet came off the counter so quickly, the poor boy nearly fell over. He turned his cap backwards and stared at the person in his shop. Racetrack looked taller, but carried himself differently than before. His eyes were red, but not from the cold. Oh no…. This was something else. Albert jumped over the counter and walked over to the boy he was convinced he had lost. Was……. Was he really here? “Backwards. That suits you even better.” He tried to laugh, but he knew that the boy before him could see right through the act. So, instead of fighting it, he reached out to bury his face in his boy’s neck and just cry.

Albert, who was not at all good with emotions, stood motionless for the longest time. What was he supposed to do?! Wait……. Ever so slowly, he wrapped his arms firmly around the lanky boy’s frame. He felt Race lean into his arms, a sign that he was doing the right thing. He could feel cold drops of rain dripping off the ends of the blonde curls and dripping down the back of his shirt. He could also feel the hot tears dripping on the front of his shirt. Soon, he was gently rubbing Racetrack’s back and assuring him that everything was going to be okay. All he had to do was calm down, breathe, and explain what happened.

“My mom’s gone.” He eventually said. “She caught pneumonia and on top of her smoking, she just couldn’t-” Race choked on the last few words. “I feel awful Al. If I didn’t help her smoking along, this might not have happened. And the only reason she stuck ‘round so long with my pops was because of my sister and I and he’s the reason she smoked. I can’t help thinkin’ that this is my fault, or I could have at least done somethin’ different.” Albert quickly hushed him and pushed his friend (who wasn’t a friend but sort of a friend) back far enough to press their lips together softly. The blonde clung onto his ginger like his life depended on it. And while his life may not depend on it, his emotional stability sure did.

“There is nothing you could have done differently. And this ain’t your fault. If you’re father wasn’t such a piece of shit then she might not have smoked. She still might have, though. And getting sick is Mother Nature’s fault. Don’t you dare put this on you.” Racetrack ended up hanging around the shop all day long. He hadn’t known where else to go, and his feet took him to the shop before his mind could think it through. And now he didn’t want to go anywhere else. So the boys sat on the ground and played cards all day, sharing little touches and lots of laughs as the storm raged on above them.

“Hey, can I get a box of cigars, plus one loose one? I want my mom to be buried with the thing that helped her get through the pain for all those years. And I want one for myself so I have a piece of her with me all the time.”

“As long as you promise me you’ll never light it. Coronas?”

“I promise. And yeah, Coronas.”

Race left that day with a box of cigars in his hands, and one hanging so perfectly from his lips that Albert knew he would never look at a Corona cigar the same again.

Tragedy struck in the DeSavilla family not even two weeks later. Due to the shop not doing well enough, the family had no choice but to close and sell it. Albert’s parents were heartbroken. They said that they were going to go move in with his grandmother. A huge fight broke out in the family over that idea. Albert wanted to stay. He never once said that the reason he wanted to stay was because of a pair of blue eyes and a cigar, but he fought to stay for a million other reasons. His parents fought to leave. They pulled every single reason out of the book, straight down to “you live under our roof so you will do as we say.” But he still fought.

Al was sitting on the steps of the smoke shop on Saturday when his regular visitor stopped by, cigar between his lips. Just like the ginger had done for him, he knew that something was wrong. But he didn’t pry. Just sat and waited for him to open up and talk on his own.

“The shop’s closed. We’s’ll be moving to the Bronx next week. And I don’t want to go. I love…. Manhattan, and I uh, can’t imagine living anywhere else.” Real smooth Albert.... Real smooth.

“Come live with me.” Race said without missing a beat. Albert whipped around to stare at the boy beside him. WAS HE INSANE?! “No, no, sorry! I live in a lodging house. Me and a bunch’a other boys sell papes on the streets and live off that. It really ain’t a fine life, but it could at least be halfway decent if ya came along. Maybe you’d even get to be my partner.”

“Selling partner,” Albert asked, “or…. Partner partner?

“Whatever kind of partner you want to be.”

The idea was pitched to his parents. He could stay back and sell papers. Make a living for himself. He was only two years away from being an adult. Maybe it would get him a good job, and he would be able to afford to get a shop open again, or at least a nice place to live. He would save up so they could just blow some dough and go full on delux. Albert’s mother and father had grown tired of his persistent pleading, and the two never really did have that great of a relationship with their boy. If he wanted to live on the streets so badly, then fine.

Racetrack brought him to the Manhattan lodging house that night. They ignored all the boys who jumped up to ask who he was. They pushed past half naked teenagers, twelve year olds learning how to gamble, and more than a few things being slingshot across a room. All the way on top of the roof, a boy in hat just like the one Race wore and had given him for Christmas stood to greet them.

“Albert Im guessing.” Albert nodded, confused on how he was already known. “It’s nice to finally meet’cha. Racer here won’t shuddup about ya.” A blush hit his cheeks that was so red it almost matched his hair. Thank goodness it was dark! “The name’s Jack Kelly, and from here on out, you’s a newsie. Welcome to the family.”

#ralbert #ralbert one shot #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #newsies broadway #newsies #newsies live #newsies imagine #newsies oneshot #brooklynanonwrites

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