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endlessthxxghts · 8 months ago

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Bend Over

Javier Peña x afab!reader || W/C: 4.8k

Summary: Your dresser craps out on you. Your boyfriend, Javier, comes with you to IKEA to buy a new one. Then, he fucks you on it.

Content/Warnings: I think you know what you guys are getting into based on the summary😗. Reader is able-bodied. Slight implied physical descriptors Javi is taller than reader, and the IKEA dresser is slightly bigger/taller than you (everything else is neutral - no size descriptions - ex. "your form", etc.). Pet names (good girl, querida, cariño, baby, baby girl, mama, mi amor). Implied that reader knows Spanish. A little allusion to our favorite contractor, Joel Miller (blink and you’ll miss it). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Public sexual activity (exhibitionism). Finger fucking. Edging. Slight undertones of BDSM dynamics. Javi’s filthy mouth. Thigh riding. Hickey/marking. P in V unprotected sex. Choking. Breeding kink (I’m not sorry). Cum play. Anal play. Brief pussy licking + rimming. Allusion to further sexual activity. I thiiiink that’s it… let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: HIII I’M BACK! I went to ikea to buy a new dresser. And the thots between @javierpena-inatacvest and I ran wild. So, this was born.👹 Also, I no longer have a tag list, but I teased this story TWICE in some WIP tag games, and a few of you were giving me so much love and wanting me to let you know when this story was posted, so I’m adopting the tag list (at da bottom) one last time to say how much I love you all. 🥹 I’m sorry this took me so long. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!!

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG

It was supposed to be just a trip to IKEA. It was supposed to be a productive day of building your dresser and rearranging your room. That is what it was supposed to be.

How it ended up with you getting your guts rearranged on top of said dresser—you’re not so sure. But, considering this is Javier Peña you’re talking about, maybe you have a slight indication of why your day ended up the way it did.

It was early this morning when your dresser decided to shit on you; all you did was slide the door open, and it completely pulled off of its hinge. Now, you don’t mind a doorless dresser, it’s modern, you tried to convince yourself, but when you pulled out the second drawer and the wood snapped in half, scattering your panties all over the ground—yeah, okay, it was definitely time for a new one.

You called your boyfriend after you cleaned up your clothes, and asked if he wanted to come with you on your hunt for the new piece of furniture. Why are you even asking? he scolded as he saddled up into his Jeep and made his way to your place.

He stepped out of his seat in the driver side, rounding the hood to pull you in for a lengthy kiss as he pulled the passenger side door open for you. “Well, hello to you, too, baby,” you giggle as you break the kiss for a breath of air. He leaves a slap to your ass as he guides you by your hips into the passenger seat. He even buckles you in, stealing one more kiss before you two head off.

You thought shopping for a new dresser would be simple: get in, choose a sizable one that could fit everything your previous dresser could, and also make sure it matches the rest of your room’s theme. Simple, right? Wrong. As long as Javier was involved, he took his sweet time really studying each option you were pointing out—analyzing it to ensure it wouldn’t crap out on you like your original one did.

“How long did you have this dresser?” He asked as he was pulling into the IKEA parking lot.

“Mmm, I don’t know,” you thought, “maybe a few years?”

“A few years?!” Javier asked, exasperated. “Where the hell did you find that fucking thing?”

You let a beat of silence pass before you answered. “...I thrifted it,” you admit weakly.

Javier puts the car in park, his face in utter shock at what just came out of your mouth. “Querida, what-” he starts.

You pull him in immediately, shutting him up with your lips against his. It works, of course. “Let’s go?” you ask.

“Y-yeah, vamos (let’s go),” he says, flustered.

“Javi, c’mon,” you whine, feeling exhausted after his analysis on your third option since the first two didn’t pass the Peña inspection. “Since when were you a contractor? The first two were perfectly fine, baby, it’s IKEA for crying out loud.”

He scoffs. “Living on the ranch with Pop,” he replies to your sarcastic remark. “You and I are both aware I know my way around some handiwork,” he adds as he looks back to you, a shit-eating grin creeping on his face.

You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your body ignites to the suggestion laced in his words. “Pendejo,” you mutter to yourself, fighting the heat from making it to your face.

You walk around some more while your boyfriend opens every nook and cranny of the wooden frame, but then right as you turn your body, you find it. The dresser. HEMNES. You quickly make your way to it, running your hands along the dark brown surface, crouching down to open up and see how much space is in the drawers—which, it’s very spacious. The drawer itself is taller than your waistline, probably reaching just at your belly button. It’s perfect. “Baby, wait, come here! I think I found one!” You call out.

Javier follows your voice, intrigued by your excitement—you didn’t show this much enthusiasm with the other ones he was looking at. He rounds the corner and is met with quite a view. You are bending over the top of the dresser, on your tippy toes, trying to feel for the depth of the dresser. He sees you settle your hands at the edges of the top and shake it a little, testing out its durability while also unknowingly wiggling your ass. Fuck me, he thinks. Quickly adjusting his pants, he makes his way to you, situating his body directly against yours as he cages you in.

“Jav-” you softly gasp, not expecting to feel him. Immediately you’re pulling yourself up, still on your tippy toes, but your back is now flush against his chest.

“Ay, Dios mío,” he grunts as he whispers in your ear, “Querida, please get up.” His hands are on your hips, pulling you away from the dresser. You turn in his hold, a giggle leaving your throat as you look at his stressed out expression, realizing why his reaction was so pained.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask him quietly. “Saw something you like, huh?” You pull him in by his neck, kissing the side of his mouth before you pull away from him completely. Gesturing to the dresser, you ask, “Does this one pass the inspection, sir?”

He glares at you before he replies. “Yeah, let’s get this one.”

Your eyebrow quirks up. “You didn’t even look at it.”

“I saw enough, cariño,” he says gruff, looking at the tag on the display and taking note of which aisle the box will be at.

You know your man well enough to know when he’s turned on, and that little unintentional stunt you pulled when making sure HEMNES was the right dresser for you—oh, it absolutely sent him over the edge. You decided to let him brew in his own arousal until you checked out your purchase, but the moment you set foot in his car again, you were set on starting something you wanted him to finish.

“Thank you again for coming with me, baby,” you say as he settles back into the driver seat, your hand taking its seat on his upper thigh.

The muscle twitches underneath your palm. “Mhm,” he mutters, voice wavering at your contact. Just as Javier puts the car in drive, he’s immediately pushing it back to park because your hand slides higher, closer, to the hardening bulge between his legs. His hips softly buck into your grasp; you take one look at him, and you can see the veins in his neck popping. A victory smile graces your face as his turns into a scowl. “What are you doing?”

You feign as much innocence as possible. “What am I doing? I’m just saying thank you, baby, I can’t tell you thank you?”

“Right,” he says unconvinced. Your fingers continue to draw little shapes across the strained material of his pants. You go to cup him entirely, but the strength of his hand stops you.

He releases your hand and gets out of the car, the car still running. He is at your side faster than you can take your own seatbelt off. He’s pulling your door open and giving you no chance for debate, his hand wraps around your jaw and pulls you into a bruising kiss—a messy yet calculated dance of teeth and tongue, and in pulling away he’s biting your bottom lip, pulling the sweetest little desperate whimper from your throat. He clocks the way your hips softly grind into his seat.

“J-jav,” your voice shakes, “w-what are you doing-”

His grip on your jaw tightens, giving you a little shake as he speaks. “You had your fun, cariño,” he breathes. “My turn now.”

His hand leaves your face and snakes down the front of your body, unzipping your jeans as you just stare wildly at the sight below you, your breathing erratic as your body anticipates his next move.

“We- we’re in the fucking parking lot still, Javi!” You whisper yell at him, pissed, even though your body is doing absolutely nothing to stop him. He smirks at that fact. You want this.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep quiet for me, yeah?” His fingers slip past your jeans, past your underwear, and you’re fucking soaked. His middle and ring finger bypass your clit, circling your entrance to gather the wetness accumulating before he comes back up to circle your throbbing bud.

“Oh, fuck,” you yelp out, your eyes rolling back and your hips pushing into his hand as you hiss out in the pleasure. At your volume, Javi’s quick to stop his ministrations, cupping your mound and squeezing you as a warning. If the space allowed, you know he would’ve slapped your cunt. This alternative is equally as dizzying.

“Open your eyes, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open. “You see all these people, huh? You want them to see you? See my good girl getting finger fucked in broad fucking daylight?”

“F-fuck, Jav” you whimper, much quieter this time, as your eyes land back on your man’s as you try and grind yourself on him. Javi’s fingers find your entrance then, sliding in with ease as a new wave of arousal pours out of you.

“Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” His fingers speed up their momentum as he adds his thumb into the mix, hurtling you much closer to your finish line than you anticipated.

“Baby, I’m c-close, I’m- fuck- I’m gonna cum, Javi, I-” you bring your hand up over your mouth to stifle the sobs that are about to leave your mouth.

“Yeah, baby? Gonna give us a show?” He asks, his breathing just as erratic as yours. All you need is one more little push from his thumb on your clit, and then-

“No!” you cry.

Right as you were about to fall over the edge, Javier completely pulls his fingers out of you, standing up straight as he licks his fingers off. Your hips don’t realize he left you as they buck a few more times, chasing the feeling of what could have been.

“Baby, please, I was so close,” you heave, your heart rate equivalent to that of a hummingbird.

Javier leans down into the car, slotting his lips against yours terribly slow; your taste lingers on his tongue. He pulls away. “Sorry, mama,” he whispers. “Only I get to see you fall apart like that.”

He zips and buttons your pants up, leaving you a stunned, aroused, wet mess as he makes his way back to the driver seat and pulls out of the parking spot, driving back to your place as if nothing even happened.

The drive home is short, but it feels like the longest drive you’ve ever had to endure. He rests his hand on your thigh the entire time, squeezing you every now and then as his pinky leaves featherlight touches where you need him most. He talks to you during the drive—about what, you honestly have no clue, but it seemed the conversation was enough for him to sustain alone.

You’re brought out of your daze when his hand grabs your jaw, turning you to look at him. “You okay, baby?” He asks, knowing damn well what’s got your head in the clouds.

The throbbing between your legs remained consistent—worse, even—on the drive home, so no you’re not fucking okay. You don’t tell him that, though. “Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your vocal cords to string together something coherent.

He pulls your lips to his—a lingering one, one that has your mind slipping further. Breaking the embrace, he says softly, “Go unlock the door, amor, while I carry the box in, yeah?”

On wobbly legs, you make your way to your door, missing the hole a few times but eventually the key slides in with ease. You toss them into the bowl on the entryway table, making your way to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water to contain yourself until Javier comes inside.

Apparently, you’re way more distracted than you thought, because one gulp down and he’s behind you—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck. You set the glass down a little harshly, its weight suddenly increasing tenfold with the way he’s on you.

“Baby,” you whine, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “Please.”

Your boyfriend is turning you around then, turning you to face him, and his mouth is on yours, licking and sucking as his body pushes you up against the fridge, your head landing with a soft thud as his mouth starts to descend down your neck while his fingers work your buttons and zipper for the second time today.

He’s pulling your bottoms down to your ankles—they’re loose on your form, so they don’t restrict you too much from opening your legs when he slots his thigh in between you, hitting right against your core.

His lips never leave you, biting and kissing every inch he can reach while his hands find their home at the globe of your asscheeks, securing his grip as he begins a steady pace of your crying pussy back and forth on his clothed thigh.

“Just like that, cariño, I can feel you fluttering on me already, holy fuck,” he groans as he continues his assault on your chest, leaving pretty bruises all over the valley of your breasts. “Making such a mess, pretty girl,” he mutters into your skin.

Your hands snake to the curls at the back of his head, yanking them as he brings you back closer and closer to the finish line. He brings his lips back to yours sloppily, one hand leaving your ass to paw at your chest, his fingers rubbing and twisting at your nipples; they harden in his touch.

Your eyes struggle to stay open, his tight jeans providing the yummiest friction against your clit. “I- I’m gonna- please, Jav, I- I need to cum,” you sob.

His hand at your chest snakes down your body, following the path to your sex. Just as you think he’s about to slip his hands between your legs, his hand changes direction, both hands going up to grip your waist to stop you from moving. His thigh leaves your core, and you’re fighting—your hips chase his muscle, your fingers scrambling to pull him flush against you, but he doesn’t budge. It’s no use. Your high is gone again, painfully forced back to the start line as Javier bends down to grab your panties and work their way back up your legs.

You’re a heaving mess, tears falling from your eyes as pathetic little protests fall from your lips.

Exhausted, you sigh and finally blurt out, “Javier Peña, what the fuck are you doing?”

You can see the faintest shit-eating smirk fall on his face before he mirrors what you did earlier: feign innocence. “Gotta go build your dresser, mi amor.”

“I can fucking build it later.”

“But I’m already here. I’ll do it.”

“Yeah, but your presence is needed elsewhere,” you say, annoyed. You faintly gesture to your sobbing cunt, silenced by your soaked underwear.

“But if I’m here, I’ll do it, so you don’t have to,” he says, placing a chaste kiss to the side of your mouth.

“Javi,” you whine, hoping a thousand different ways of are you fucking serious right now translates to him in the tone of your sexual frustration.

“Just sit pretty for me while I go do it real quick, okay, cariño?”

Not giving you the chance to respond, he drags you by the wrist to your bedroom, forcing you to get settled in the reading chair you have in there—a prime spot to watch him get all sweaty as he works. Great.

You wouldn’t have riled him up if you had known this was the kind of torturous game he had in mind.

Twenty minutes in, and Javier is sweating alright, but it’s not for the reasons you’re thinking. Yeah, it’s a physical strain building this dresser, but this is fucking light work for him.

No, he’s sweaty, sticky, and disgustingly hot because his dick is at his full potential, throbbing and leaking at everything you put him through—and everything he put himself through, pulling you to the brink of orgasm twice without letting you fully submit to it. He damn near always gets off when you do, and teasing you like this teases him just as much, if not more.

He’s almost done, he just has one more drawer to put together and slide into place, but he takes a step back and uses his arm to wipe the sweat across his forehead, his breathing heavy during the action. It takes everything in you not to completely melt at what he’s forcing you to witness, a faint whimper escaping you at the sight of him.

It takes him barely a minute to get the last drawer assembled before he attempts sliding it into place. It goes in with ease at first, but before it can fully shut, the drawer gets stuck, unable to close by an inch. What the fuck, he mutters under his breath, lifting it up and wiggling to see if it’s just a kink inside the railing. Your jaw falls a little open at the vulgarity of his mouth; you are way too wound up and everything he’s doing right now has your pussy doing backflips, somersaults, cartwheels—you name it. She’s very eager.

Fed up with the drawer, Javier completely opens the drawer and then slams it shut, using his hips to give the drawer a full-force push. The slam of the wood is deafening, but it does nothing to hide the sweet little gasp that comes out of you, his cock twitching at the sound.

A high-pitched, breathy squeak of an oh fuck leaves your mouth, and Javier turns to check on you. He sees your fingers skating down your front, running your middle and ring finger over your soaked center, your clit’s fire immediately reigniting at the contact.

“¿Cariño?” He calls, a sternness evident in his tone. You know not to test that tone. Your fingers’ movements pause, your eyes meet his and they’re dark. “What do you think you’re doing?” Jesus fuck, he doesn’t even know if he has the strength to fuck you like he was planning on, the sight of you touching yourself has a fire igniting through every vein in his body.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, nervousness written all over your face. “I…um, I-” you start.

“Get up,” he cuts you off.

“What?” You say softly, your brain already scrambled eggs and unable to register what he just asked of you.

His singular eyebrow raises as he stalks closer to you, his hard gaze looking down at you as your pussy cries even more at the attention. Now his command registers, and you’ll be damned if you have to make him repeat himself.

You remove your hand from your center, lifting yourself off your chair. He snags you by your waist, pulling your body flush against his front as he steals the breath from your lungs, your tongues meeting hungrily. You moan into his mouth, your hands slowly wrapping around his neck, but before you can grip his sweet curls, he’s pulling away from you, your surprised gasps blessing his ears as he flips you roughly but with ease towards the direction of your new dresser, already in its place secured against the wall.

“Javi,” you whimper again for what feels like the millionth time already.

“Dime qué quieres, cariño,” (tell me what you want) he rasps in your ear, his hands skating down your front and resuming what you so desperately started.

“F-fuck-” you start, “fuck me, Javi, please, please fuck me,” you beg, your heart stuttering as he dips his middle finger into your entrance.

He kisses your temple as your eyes fall shut, a contrastingly sweet gesture for the way he’s about to ruin you right now.

“Then bend over.”

Now that sobers you up a little. You start to crane your neck in his direction. “W-what?” But he’s quick to grab your jaw, bringing your eyes back to your dresser. “Go do what you were doing earlier, baby. Bend over that dresser for me,” he says, soft but stern, then he’s taking a step back, letting you get there on your own.

So hooked on his body heat, you can’t help the shudder that leaves you, but ultimately you’re making your way to your new dresser—picking yourself up on your tippy toes to lean over the top, just like you were doing with the store’s floor model. “L-like this?” You ask, voice trembling in anticipation. You stick your ass out a little extra for good measure.

You hear his belt buckle before you register his deep grumble. “Yeah, baby,” he tells you, slowly making his way to your backside. “So good for me,” he breathes, his fingers hooking into the hem of your underwear and letting them fall to the ground. You step out of them, knowing his next step is gonna be to nudge your legs further open—and he does, using his foot to nudge both of yours outwards.

He runs his middle finger through your slick as he lets his jeans fall, your hips push further into his touch, chasing the pleasure you’ve been buzzing for all morning.

“Baby, please,” he hears escaping your mouth.

“Nuh uh, baby,” he tuts, “I told you. You had your fun already, it’s my turn.”

He runs his fingers through your wet seam, properly soaking his digits before he brings his hand to his own arousal, covering himself in your slick. He groans at the feeling. Javier crowds himself behind you, his tip immediately mirroring the path of his fingers. He catches himself against your clit, and he smirks at the wrecked sounds of your heavy breathing.

He pushes himself into you, slow and steady, getting you comfortable in his size. His fingertips are digging little bruises into your hips—his way of grounding himself from absolutely pummeling into you from the get go.

You two have been together for quite some while, but Javi knows he’s big. It’s evident in the way you mewl and convulse every time he’s inside of you. Too big to get used to, yet perfect for the slight tinge of pain he knows you love.

“Baby, please move,” you pant.

“You sure, cariño?” He says softly, his dominant demeanor fading to make sure you’re alright.

You reach back to grab onto his hand and drag it up your own body, settling his long digits around the base of your neck. With a squeeze of your hand over his: “Fuck me, Jav, please.”

At your queue, he’s pushing himself into you entirely. “Yeah, baby?” He snarls. “Want me to fuck you like this?” His hips form a hard pace, your hips digging into the ledge of the dresser. “This what your pretty little pussy wants, huh? What she’s been fucking crying for, baby?”

“Fuck-” you gasp. “Fuck, yes- Javi, yesyesyes! Amor, please,” you wail, your eyes rolling back as the pressure of his fingers on your neck restrict your blood flow, filling your body with a euphoria only he can give you.

His eyes scan down your body, taking in every inch of you with nothing but pure adoration. The sweetness fades when his eyes zone in on where your two centers meet. He lets out an audible moan at the sight, sending your pussy fluttering at the sound. “Look at you, bebita, fucking creaming on me, holy fuck,” he groans, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“I- I’m close, baby, fuck-” your breath stutters. “Touch me, Jav, I- I need you,” you moan.

“Shh, I’ve got you, mi amor.” Javi’s hand on your throat leaves you and coasts down your spine, his grip fixing itself on the globe of your ass.

He reaches down with his thumb to gather some of your slick, dragging it up to your tight, more inexperienced hole. You gasp when you feel it, your ass bucking further into his touch. “Oh, my baby girl likes that? You like your ass being played with, cariño?” He taunts, hooking his thumb inside. “Want to me to fuck you there next time?”

“Fuck- yes- please,” you whimper, your pussy fluttering around him at his words. His other hand snakes to your front and reaches for your clit, drawing tight, calculated circles on you. “Oh, fuck-!” you yell out.

“That’s it, baby, fucking- dámelo, fucking soak me, querida” he forces out between his teeth. Your body twitches in his grasp, knuckles stark white against your dresser, eyes clamped shut as you cry out in the overwhelming pleasure consuming every inch of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, your sounds forcing his balls to pull taut. Javi’s fingers speed up along with his thrusts, hurtling you towards your long-awaited climax.

It’s overstimulating, him fucking into you so harshly as every nerve ending in your body pops off like fireworks. Yet, you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you, the way his pace stutters for barely a second, and you know he’s close. It’s overstimulating, yes, but you want, no, need him to continue, you need him to chase his own finish line—you need him to root himself so deep inside you, you’ll feel traces of him for months on end.

“You’re close, I can feel it,” you gasp, building your own rhythm of your hips to help him along. “Need it, baby, need you inside of me,” you pant, your voice desperate. You pull yourself off the dresser and push your back into his chest, both his hands leaving your body to grip onto the darkwood, caging you in.

“Yeah?” you feel his heavy breath fan across your cheek. “Tell me how fucking’ bad, querida, wanna hear it,” he says, voice strained.

You look back at him as best you can in this angle, your lips ghosting his jaw as the slick sounds of you grow louder. “Need you so bad even plan B can’t help us- God- please cum inside of me, Javier Peña, fucking give it to me,” you beg, your moans echoing the walls and rattling every fibre of his being, pushing his body into a state of pure ecstasy as he begins to empty himself into you.

“Oh…fuck,” he grunts, his hips coming to a halt as he nearly wheezes through his orgasm. Once the sensitivity calms down, Javi pumps himself in and out of you a few more times for good measure, pushing his load deep inside of you. You can feel the way he slides in with a wet ease, and it makes butterflies in your belly erupt, a small gasp of a giggle, knowing that the soaked sensation isn’t because of solely your own product.

“Fucking perfect,” he grumbles, slowly pulling himself out of you. He takes a small step back to get a look at your used cunt, puffy and glistening. His mouth literally waters.

Javi drops to his knees, settling his broad palms on each of your ass cheeks to keep the view of you open for him. Slowly, he leans in, the flat of his tongue running over your delicate pearl through your cum-soaked folds, a mix of you and him blessing each taste bud on his tongue. He hears your breath hitch.

He brings his tongue back in, collecting up the salty combination, before he’s on you again, mapping out the ring of your puckered muscle before he softly peppers the area in sweet kisses, your rear slightly irritated with his repeated slamming into you.

He pulls himself away, giving you a moment to turn around; your back is to the dresser now. He places several kisses on your thighs, giving a few more kitten licks to your center before he’s rising to his feet and pulling you in for a deep yet gentle kiss. You can taste both you and him, and it makes your heart want to burst at the seams with warmth.

“You okay?” He asks softly as his lips break away from yours.

“Always with you,” you offer bashfully.

“Good,” he says firmly, kissing the tip of your nose. You hear his hand smack the top of your dresser a few times. “I guess this thing is pretty fucking durable, huh?”

“Mmmm, maybe. I think it needs to pass one more test,” you tell him.

His eyebrow quirks up, you can see his mustache twitch, fighting his smirk. “And what test would that be, mi amor?”

Taking a step back out of his hold, you back up into the dresser again, grabbing onto the ledge and you jump, spreading your legs wide open for him to fit in between.

You can see the way his eyes flash impossibly darker. He stalks up to you again, his hands squeezing your thighs before he’s back on his knees, his head immediately burying himself in your core.

Oh, yeah, this dresser passes the test, alright.

Tagging those who showed interest when I posted the WIP !! @honeyedmiller , @punkshort , @joels-shitty-puns , @bearsbeetsbeskar , @janaispunk , @starry-eyes-love

If you enjoyed this, come check out my masterlist for more or follow my notifs blog @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to get updated on when I post new stories! Much love💚

@pedrostories

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redr0sewrites · 9 months ago

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Hazbin Hotel Characters with a Goth S/o

this is basically how some of ththe hazbin characters would support their goth s/o- as a goth person this is literally so self-indulgent lmao

🥀Pairing(s): lucifer x reader, velvette x reader, adam x reader, alastor x reader

🥀 Cw: fluff!

Lucifer

lucifer is a little confused and intimidated about your style at first, he definitely asks a lot of questions

VERY supportive once u explain it, hes very much the "okay dear" type

honestly i think he would find it super attractive, the way u express yourself is just so admirable to him

i feel like lucifer is very fidgety and is always losing focus, and one tjing that i do is that im ALWAYS fidgeting with thr chains and accessories on my outfits so like imagine him just standing super close to you and gently rearranging your chains and necklaces for you...

he would let you teach him how to do makeup and eyeliner and would definitely let you practice styles on him!

lucifer would also help you get ready too, always willing to offer some positive feedback or help with makeup and hair

i also think lucifer adores it when you give him music recommendations, and would get super into a lot of the bands that you like

i personally hc him as a siouxsie and the banshees fan bc i just feel like the elegant vibes fit him very well, but i also think he'd like strawberry switchblade too and just goth stuff like that

overall very supportive and super sweet and silly when it comes to your fashion

Velvette

gosh she needs more love

you both are fashion ICONS okay like even before you both become official she is blown away by your style and authenticity

she def designs special fashion items just for you, she makes a whole line of clothes based off of u and ur aesthetic

velvette LOVES matching with you and loves incorporating both of your individual styles into your matching outfits, whether youre more mallgoth or romantic goth or trad goth or anything in between, she is totally inspired by you and your fits and will always want to inspire you in return

def buys you things she seed and thinks you'd like or look good in, regardless of price. her gifts range from thrifted maxi dresses abd fishnets to priceless jewelry and makeup LIKEEEEE omg

velvette LOVES when u wear something she bought for u or designed for u as well

yall are always late for social events bc u HAVE to be the best dressed couple there i swear

also if u wear chunky boots or platforms and ur taller than her???? expect her to pull you down for kisses bc URGH seeing you sm taller than her does something to her

guys i have a type help

Adam

adam thinks your hot af if you're goth

hes the type to make big tiddy goth gf jokes im sorry💀

in all seriousness tho he would LOVE a goth s/o

adam def likes alternative/rock music and he would think it's awesome if you introduced him to some goth bands

he would LOVE the scary bitches, death grips, and also sisters of mercy too

i def think goth people would be much more rare in heaven than in hell, and he would get SO defensive on your behalf if anyone said anything about you or your fashion

honestly hes your number one fan and LOVES giving his input on your fits

honestly your closet doubles when you date him, adam loves seeing you wear his rings and punk jewelry and i def think he has a lot of old band shirts and stuff for his band, so he would love seeing you wear his oversized shirts

if u have piercings WOOWHEE bc adam asks SO MANY QUESTIONS

he thinks theyre so hot ngl, and i def think he has a few piercings and will buy u both matching jewelry

adam would learn to play songs you like on the guitar for you as well

i dont think hed be super keen on letting you put makeup on him but he'd fold after a little persuasion

i honestly think he'd like eyeliner and how he looks wearing it but doesn't want to admit it bc he doesn't want to seem too feminine (but u know ofc)

Alastor

before even meeting you he was fascinated by your style and boldness

alastor loves people who are unique, and someone who chooses to stand out so much definitely catches his eye

he'd find you very aesthetically appealing and would often find himself wanting to be around you more and learn more about you, your style, and goth culture in general

over this time period is probably when he started to develop feelings for you

alastor would def like the romantic/vampire goth look, that whole genre in general is just very elegant and classy while also nonconformist, which definitely speaks to him

when it comes to music alastor would probably be a little skeptical at first, especially when it comes to new technology, however if you (like me) have a record player and vinyl, i def think he would like listening to some of your fav goth bands on that

i dont really know why but i gen think he'd be a fan of the cure, sure its pretty basic but the vibe of some of the songs can be upbeat and kinda jazzy, and they just have that "old timey" vibe i think alastor would appreciate

alastor is fascinated with the process in which you get ready, and enjoys just sitting and watching in peaceful silence as uou do your makeup and pick out your outfit

if you (like most goths) are into creepy and unusual decor, he would LOVE to help you decorate your room

alastor has the strangest taste in interior design and loves sharing his unhinged ideas with you

overall alastor loves people with a lot of individuality and would definitely find a goth partner appealing because of that !!

THIS IS GETTING SO LONG HELP IM PROB GONNA MAKE A PT2 W MORE CHARACTERS HEHE- THIS WAS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR ALASTOR AND VELVETTE I HOPE I DID THEM JUSTICE!!! WE NEED MORE LOVE FOR VELVETTE SHES SOOOOO AJSJDJD- anywaysssss hope yall enjoyed!!! feel free to req more, esp if u want a pt2 to this >:D

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hor3nee · 1 month ago

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• 𝐇𝐮𝐜𝐨𝐰 •

A lot changed in the bedroom since you got pregnant; Including Leon's suggestions. Cow lingerie being the latest.

CW/TW: Fem!reader, Smut/Nsfw, Hucow Kink, Lactation kink, Pregnant!Reader, Married sex, Bickering & banter, P in v, Creampie, Lingerie, Kinky idiots in love, Leon Smitten Kennedy, (18+)

Characters: Leon Kennedy x Reader

AN: Reader is described as having big tits but aside from that & being pregnant no physical descriptors.

• Kinktober: Day 2 • AO3 Link • For @ficsforgaza Event •

“Is- Is this cow print?” You gawk, twisting the skimpy fabric in your hand, “are those, ears?” They matched the set, black and white spotted print coating them. A cow’s unmistakably.

“Yeah. Like them?” Leon smiled, as sheepish as the man acted in front of you now, filth was brimming behind his faux innocent eyes. Leon was far from a pure-minded man, but he bared the decency to act orderly and courteous in the bedroom, especially during the later stages of the pregnancy.

When Leon's home, he’s rickety. Shit faced grin and pouncing into the bedroom in the speed of light, giddy. Nothing of the upmost shock. The pregnancy though stressing him initially to the point of near insanity all things considered, had made his heart constantly swell. Same as his dick.

Not to your complaint; Leon was a horn-dog but he wore it well. Attentive and graceful. Rearranging the entirety of the bed before you'd fully been undressed, threading swift fingers into any crevice and shifting you around into whatever easiest position was needed.

There were moments the past coupling months you were tested to devious lengths, though. Always had he a preference for your boobs but it was almost comical recently, meddling with your cleavage in even the most crowded spaces, smothering his face into them and pawing at them in any position. You’d be left satiated but only feeling some sympathy for his wrists and neck the way he'd twist to find place upon you.

The shifts in the bedroom and changes in his behaviour ended there though. Mild inconveniences or more frequent shared intimacy. This? This was out there. Kinky as Leon was, this thinned the edge of your hormonal short-temper.

“And you want me to wear them?” You asked, hissing. Eye twitching.

“Yeah.” He repeated, curling swiftly behind you, kissing your temple and rubbing your stomach. Goading the good graces of you to hopefully humour him. “You’d look really cute. Real sexy.”

Turning your gawk turned to a glare, facing him over your shoulder. “As a cow? You calling me a cow? That I look like one?” This shouldn’t agitate you. Cow lingerie was truly not that out there— it was circumstances that made you offended.

“No, ‘course not.” Leon pouted, twisting into a soft smile. Leon was soft sickly sweet each week passing to months.

Massaging your feet when they ached. Cooing and praising you when your garments began to stretch, no longer fitting your growing body. Singing to your baby nestled inside each night peppering kisses on each mark stretching your tummy out.

He takes your hand holding the skimpy depraved set, murmurs all deep and gentle behind your ear. “But you’re all pretty like this, gotten all soft y’know?” Cups your chest with the other, gives it a squeeze. “For me? Swear you’ll looking fuckin’ beautiful in it.” He purrs.

Maybe that’s what clicks the correlation, it leaves you slightly more offended. But the way he fondles your chest soothes it’s stiffness. They’d been clogging, filled with milk. It wasn’t as apparent as it should’ve been but that’s definitely where the increasing obsession with your chest begun. Leon was still a man. A very filthy man. And you were starting to lactate, with swollen tits.

“This is weird.” You gritted, the top was cut in the middles, enlarged nipples out bare, stiffening in the cold of the room.

He smiled, settled in front of you sat back on his haunches. Complaint falling on deaf ears. Leon was thrumming, face bright red, he looked like he was gonna implode. Whatever sweet calm demeanour he had earlier goading you into the lingerie set had been crushed and gone. Pawing his groin and heaving. Yet to even touch you and the man had been sent to heavens back on the view alone.

The changes in your form always obviously did something to him more than usual sex did. Could be reasoned as natural biological thing, bearing his baby for one, the growing curves in your hips and chest. The ‘pregnancy glow’ and quote others commented on. The breeding kink.

“Weird? You look— Gorgeous.” He laughed in a strained shudder. It was clear now it was everything about you and more— he was entranced by you wholly. Pushed you against the array of pillows cushioning the headboard with the utmost devotion.

“Looking so, so fucking good, sweetheart.” He drawled, instantly all over you— A fly stuck to a sugar trap. Straddling you and rocking his hips, kissing up and down your taut stomach and any skin nearest. He was horridly hard, managed to slip out his boxers before you could catch it. Cant his hips against yours, sliding his already precum sticky twitching cock against you.

You couldn’t reply, the offence at everything slowly dissipating with the movements. You’d fucking Moo for him if he asked, hormones switching sanity in your brain off. Going wet and slippery instantly as he glided against your folds.

“So wet, all for me? Fucking hell, look at you. Such a pretty girl, pretty cow.” That should have been mortifying but you just grew slicker.

“M-mhm.” You nodded, wordless aside from a small moan.

If he wasn’t gonna savour you soon he’d cum before even getting it in. You were sprawled beneath him, wide and soft in all the right spots, the cow printed headband’s ears flopped with your head as you tossed it back. And your tits, nipples poking out the similarly cow print bra were leaking.

“Sweetheart,” he cooed, whole body shivering and brain well about to combust, “can I suck those pretty tits of yours? Milk ‘em.” Tip poking at your entrance at the same time.

Thoroughly melted at the humping, you nod, tugging at his hair— not intentionally but just how he liked it regardless, pulling him down against your chest. You’ve fallen so far down this rabbit hole, might as well indulge the fantasy. “Y-yes Leon, milk me.”

You’re gonna kill him one of these days.

Without needing any further answers Leon latches, suckling. And lord all mighty, nobody told you how fucking good it’d feel to have this sort of relief as well as pleasure from the weight being suckled out. Nipple simulation’s always good but this was breathtaking.

“Mm, tastes s’good.” He mumbled, moaning whorishly against your teet. Teeth graze it, swallowing up the sweet drink. Nails digging into his locks, beckoning him to keep suckling, your stomach protruding and poking his as he leans over to drink— He needs to be inside of you now.

Popping off with a wet trail of milk and saliva, he instantly latches to the other, only pausing to lather his tongue over it whilst it streams milk, you whimper, so does he.

“G-gotta fuck y’now sweetheart.” He announces, before sheathing himself and full body spasming with your nipple in his mouth.

It was gonna be a long night.

#ffg kinktober #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #leon kennedy x you #resident evil x reader #18+ mdni #lmk if I forgot to tag anything/add a warning!#no use of y/n!#fem reader

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sorikufeels · 7 months ago

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i’ve seen people complain about how square keeps making sora more dumb and i get that and agree sometimes because i do think that there are some moments where sora is definitely smarter than depicted. however, i sometimes i think it fits and its not because he is actually dumb but because he’s had his mind messed with a lot. and it was messed with during his formative years. in later games, sora is often forgetful, asking what other characters consider to be dumb questions, and shown being slow on the uptake. these things make sense when you consider that:

a) sora’s had his memories scattered and rearranged

b) had an entire year of his adolescence (an important time for brain development) forfeited to a coma in order to fix said scattered memories

c) has been manipulated and the victim of mind games multiple times

d) incurred heaping amounts of trauma in a very short amount of time

don’t get me wrong, i feel like sora is definitely smart in his own way and deserves to have more moments to shine in that regard, but when there’s moments where he forgets things or isn’t able to connect the dots as quickly as everyone else, it makes sense to me. it feels logical, understandable. when those moments happen and other characters make fun of him, i’m always like this kid’s brain has gone through hell and back, it’s a miracle it’s still functioning at all so give him some slack for fucks sake!

he’s still missing memories and it seems like he’s lost more in kh3 (if we’re assuming he forgot about riku’s sacrifice and the realizations he had regarding riku as the light) and might continue to keep losing them in kh4. his mind has suffered a lot and i wish the other characters would be more understanding. but for me, when i see him acting “dumb,” it doesn’t always feel out of character given what he’s gone through. he’s not dumb, his mind has just endured a lot and it makes sense that there are lasting effects from those events.

i have no idea if this is intentional, though lol if it’s not, then square, stop making him so dumb because he’s way smarter than that and you know it.

but if it is intentional, then i love it because it gives me so much satisfaction when events have tangible lasting effects, especially in ways that aren’t outright stated. it would also be cool if this was intentionally supposed to be a factor in sora’s self worth arc. because of his perceived increase of “dumbness,” other characters make fun of him more, making him feel worthless and wrecking his self esteem even further. it’s not his fault he’s having a hard time but he doesn’t understand why it’s happening and it’s another thing for people to shit on him for and eventually he’s going to snap or break under the pressure from all that shit. if this or something like it is the intended outcome, i think that would sick

#another ramble from yours truly #i talk more about just sora more than i do about soriku sorry lol #sora is my og blorbo and always will be #there are so many things in kh where i’m like if this is intentional my mind is blown #but i also can’t tell if it is 😭😭😭#kingdom hearts #sora #not soriku #i yap #text post #kh rambles

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2024-grimoire-challenge · 11 months ago

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January Week 1

Welcome welcome to the 2024 Grimoire Challenge! Time to really get started everyone! This week will have a lot of stuff all jammed in. So buckle up, grab your grimoire and your supplies, and let’s get to work!

Monday

Name your book - this may seem silly and you definitely don’t need to name your book. Not properly at least. Other than “my grimoire” or “book of shadows” or what have you, which is totally fine. But some of us might feel the need to give it a proper title. “The Basil Grimoire” or “Hazel’s Handwritten Workings” something, anything, that ties the book to you and your craft. Make a title page! If you feel so inclined. If not, that’s fine too.

Definitions (New Page) - ritual and spell. Let’s define a few things. Make a page specifically for definitions, that we’ll add to through the challenge. Let’s start with a couple simple definitions. Define spell. And define ritual. Within the confines of magic, witchcraft and your practice. What is a spell? What is a ritual? What are the differences?

Study (herb) - Pick another herb from that list we made, and dig into the details. Make a page for it on its own, or add its info to another page! Whatever works for your craft. The questions to ask for these study prompts are going to continue to remain the same. Where did it come from, where does it grow, how does it grow, what are its mundane and practical uses. What are the myths and legends and stories surrounding the herb? What are its magical properties and why/ how do you think the other information you've learned about it have influenced its magical associations?

Tuesday

Outline/ index (New Page!) - it helped me a great deal to have an index or outline to my grimoire. I started this as a file on my computer as my grimoire grew and changed I could more easily manage it and rearrange it as I saw fit. Then eventually I could make it into a handwritten copy.

Study (gem) - Like our herb prompt, the gem prompts are going to always use the same outline and questions. Where does the gem come from? What is it used for in a practical and mundane sense? What are its physical properties? What are any myths, legends or stories? Where and how does it form? How does all of that relate to its magical correspondences and what does the herb mean to and for you in your craft?

Spellwriting 101 (New Page!) - make a new page dedicated to spellwriting. This is going to be one of those prompts that is focused on you and your craft. How do you write spells? How do you set them up? What components do you use? What is the format? How is it done? What does it require? From materials to timing and circumstances? Write it all out in your lab notebook. Make it a work in progress. Not all spells are going to work out the same or function the same as you perform them, but having a general layout and method helps to focus your practice.

Wednesday

Common tools - What are the common tools in your craft? That is, you don't need to have a list of every single tool ever used in witchcraft, just the tools that you use in yours. Both regularly and less regularly. What are they used for specifically? What purposes do they serve in the magical and practical sense? Are they ceremonial and symbolic or do they serve an actual physical purpose? (i.e. a wand used to direct energy serves many purposes, while an incense burner could literally just be that, an incense burner)

Year outline/ calendar - not everyone celebrates the same days, holidays or even the same holidays the same way. What are the special occasions and days in your calendar? Mark them and when the proper season/ holiday comes around, we can make pages dedicated to those days. This week this will simply be a list of these days, while later we will actually make pages for them individually. Think of it like the Wheel of the Year, Yule to Midsummer and so on. What days are important to you and your practice? Are they actual holidays? Or simply days of power like the full moon? Or is it simply days that are significant for other reasons, like the anniversary of the day you began practicing witchcraft?

Practical - tool usage - practice using your tools. For example if you use a wand. Practice using it to direct energies or whatever it is you utilize it for.

Thursday

Altar design/ work space (New Page!) - make a page dedicated to your altar and its setup. Why are things where they are? The reasoning can be simple as “that’s where it fits” or you can give it a more meaningful reason. Candles in front of or behind something to represent some purpose. Do you have items that represent the elements? Deities? Different sources of power or directionality? Different colors for different meanings? Why is your altar the way it is?

Practical - cleansing space - practice cleansing your space and tools. This is of course a physical and 'energetic' cleansing. Tidy it up, redecorate your space, clean the tools if they have dust or ash or anything on them. Sometimes it is good to have a clean start.

Friday

Personal practices - this is just a thought provoking prompt tied in with the Journal prompt below. What are some of your personal practices that you've brought into your witchcraft? Anything from little habits from your every day life to things brought from religion or family traditions. No matter how hard we try, we carry within us echoes of things not related to our practices into it. And that is totally okay. Recognizing them, acknowledging them, and truly incorporating them can be a huge step toward understanding ourselves, our beliefs and our practices all around.

Journal/ introspective/ meditations - Think about the above and write any of it down that you come to terms with. Self understanding is important in and outside of witchcraft.

Thank you all and I hope this week's prompts aren't too overwhelming! Stay tuned next week for the next set of prompts!

-Mod Hazel

#2024 grimoire challenge #grimoire #grimoire challenge #paganism #witchcraft #witchblr #witchy #2024 gc #book of shadows #dark academia #occult #occultism #magick #magic #witch challenge #witchy challenge #book of magic #grimoire info #grimoire inspiration

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kimsunos · 1 year ago

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perv!sunoo and corruption kink goes hand in hand 🤝

imagine ur his gf and everyone thinks u two look so cute together, bright smiles and even brighter eyes

what ppl don't know is how perv!sunoo would secretly get off while ur cuddling in bed, u asking him why he's so fidgety and he could just bust right there

perv!sunoo who would join u in showers, telling u that it's normal for ppl in a relationship to do so as an excuse for him to feel all over ur body

perv!sunoo who slides his thigh in between ur crotch when ur sitting on his lap, slowly ruining u and feeling the slick that starts to spill out of u

perv!sunoo complying to ur whines abt how it's too uncomfortable between ur legs, him helping u by slipping his hand in ur panties and telling u don't worry, this is the only way it'll go away

he definitely uses the cute image he has on his favor to get away with nasty things 😭

cw: perv!sunoo duh, corruption kink, dumbification, somnophilia, all prior consented, exhibiscionism, mentions of cum, my brain is rotting

as i mentioned in a post earlier, he would love to doll you up! his favorite things to put on you were delicate lacy bras, styling your hair in ponytails with white ribbons and flowy short dresses, sometimes even without panties so he could have easy access to your cunt. he would also not forget to "accidentally" caress your body while he dressed you. and you wouldn't mind 'cause he was so good in making it look like it wasn't on purpose, murmuring a quiet sorry when he grinds his hips on your ass while trying to fit your boobs comfortably in the bra. and when you get needy from all the fondling, saying you "feel funny down there", he just says, with a condescending tone, as if you were stupid: "where, honey? hm? point it for me."

perv!sunoo wouldn't be able to control himself when he sees you sleeping, all safe and sound and ready to be abused <3 if he's feeling kind, he'll just jerk off and finish on your pretty face, but if he's in a bad mood, be ready to wake up with his cock rearranging your guts. "sun, what are you doing?" you would say, scared. "this is just a dream, honey, don't worry."

movie night with the boys? that's awesome! but perv!sunoo is going to have you on his lap cockwarming him all the time under the blanket <3 giving you neck kisses from time to time and sometimes even discreetly thrusting upwards to feel you clenching around him, startled and embarrassed from the unexpected pleasure. everybody thinks you two are so cute, so every weird move you do is brushed off as you guys being the usual lovebirds, and the most you get is some eye rolls from the others. sunoo is for sure afraid of being caught, but even more afraid of not using your body every chance he gets.

"just had my breakfast, sun! <3" what a cute selfie you sent him, smiling brightly and making an adorable peace sign! too bad sunoo's phone is going to be all sticky from his cum, and it's all your fault :( he gets so desperate when you're like that, not a single dirty thing going in your head, you're just innocently sending your boyfriend a selfie after all! but he gets lost in the thoughts of you finding out his filthy behaviors, and how he would switch the situation on his favor, saying "that's normal for couples, baby", taking advantage of how pristine you were.

#sunoo smut #sunoo hard hours #sunoo hard thoughts #sunoo fanfic #sunoo x reader #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #vixen's thoughts #sunoo x you #sunoo imagines #perv!au #vixen's sunoo thoughts

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angelismmm · 2 years ago

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𝄞 — capitano, tartaglia/childe (gn afab reader) — ❝ you're both ours, don't complain. ❞

summary: you were a rather cute secretary that was under capitano, a well known, and mighty harbinger. walking in on your boss and the 11th harbinger having a duel, deciding to have a change of plans the moment you walked in.

a/n: i've been trying to write this for so long but prince kaeya had to come first 😔😔.. ok but i'm so sorry posting some thing later than usual schedule, school finally started and not that proud of my exam scores, writing is fr my only escape <;/3

warnings: nsfw, threesome, dom!capitano, dom!tartaglia/childe, sub!reader, pussy eating,

being capitano's secretary, doing groceries, helping him out with paperwork, is the usual, but every year, there comes a time where capitano gets into the mood, and need to take it out on something, or someone, whether it'd be stress, or sexual frustration. and you.. ohh you.. you were really just the cutie he needed.

tartaglia, the youngest of harbingers. you've met him before, what a pretty man! he was very much somewhat carefree, constantly asking every good fighter he meets for a spar. he always asked your boss to duel a ton too! you understand why though, capitano is quite strong, and big~

although, you definitely didn't know how tartaglia had convinced capitano into sparring with him. maybe he felt bad? oh well. but it was just a normal day, finishing up a bit of paperwork for capitano, wanting to see if they both had finished.

"hi sir! are you.. finished?" peaking through the door of the room, watching them both covered in sweat, tired from fighting, clothing almost torn off fully. getting flustered and apologizing till a huge hand grabs you by your waist

a husky voice whispers into your ears "stay. i believe i need help with a special something. actuslly me and my good friend, childe." pulling you back to the position him and tartaglia were in. "i- anything for you sir?" stammering over your words, yet confused, placing you on his lap, revealing what was under your skirt, nothing (lol), "dirty girl, wanting to be fucked so bad." he said taking off your shirt, chest being revealed, "oh, you must be so excited, already wet for us hm?" childe questions, slowly sinking his tongue into your pussy, licking your clit, as capitano's hands rub over your boobs. chulde lapping at your juices like it's his last meal, or beter yet his first meal in a long time, but it's true that he's never tasted something better than his cooking.

both of them pleasuring you, making you closer and closer to finishing, to reach your high. feeling a knot in your stomach, fonally breaking you cum all over childe's mouth, and he's glad to clean of your mess. "that feel good, cutie?" looking happier than ever, chukde wipes off any excess cum from his face, "i'm very sure my little secretary enjoyed it." capitano replied, he lifts you up so his cock can enter you, feeling his head, what if it.. it didn't fit? how is soemthing so big supossed to fit in your tight hole?

your ass is already so tired, and slowly you felt tartaglia put his cock in your mouth, making you slowly rock back and forth (indeed you are on all fours..), for hours on end. you fainted after they both finally released inside you, next thing you saw, you woke up in capitano's room, as he was reading something to you, "i'm sorry about last night.. we both brought you here, taetaglia would like to give you this." a little box of chocolates, jewelry, and a note that says "sorry for rearranging your insides, please accept this apology."

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dandylovesturtles · 1 year ago

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Leo and Donnie, Treat (also love your works.. i got a prompt at 2am my time IMBI updated, and i woke up in a rush to read it)

Thank you!! A little Leo and Donnie treat for you ^^

Can you tell I didn’t know how to end this one?

No warnings this time

———

Mikey is out with Draxum and Splinter and Raph are out having father-son bonding time and Donnie is in the kitchen getting more coffee which means the sneeze he just heard from the living room has to be Leo.

The initial sneeze is followed by another, then a third and a fourth and a fifth because even with sneezing Leo has to be dramatic.

Donnie stares at his coffee and tries to rationalize. Maybe Leo just breathed some dust - Pizza Supreme knows they haven’t dusted in at least six months. Or maybe he got a tickle from some of Dad’s fur. Or he stared too hard at a light bulb.

Leo coughs, deep and hacking from his chest, followed up with a sniffle, and Donnie sighs and fills his coffee mug.

“Noooo, you can’t be sick,” he says as he walks out. “I’m the only one here to take care of you.”

Leo is sprawled in Splinter’s chair, wearing the hoodie he only wears in the lair in the dead of winter (or when he’s sick) and the fuzzy socks reserved for very cold days (or when he’s sick). He looks Donnie right in the face and says, “Well lucky for you I’m not sick.”

Like a liar.

“Yes you are,” says Donnie, exasperated.

“Prove it.”

“You have a temp of 100.4,” he says, goggles down now.

“I always run hot.”

“No you always run cold, dum-dum.” Donnie flicks the goggles back up, debating getting a mask before he goes any closer. “At least tell me if what you have is contagious.”

Leo sulks down further into the chair, but at least he’s not denying it anymore. “I did a test. It’s just a sinus infection, so, you’re safe.”

Well that’s good for Donnie, but it does not change the fact that Leo is sick. And Donnie is the only one here.

“I’ll make you some tea,” he says, and turns to go back in the kitchen.

“You still don’t have to take care of me,” Leo calls after him, but Donnie ignores him. He’s already going over what he needs.

He sets the tea kettle going, then heads for the train car they’re using as a medbay. They don’t have any antibiotics, so he has his computer search up the ones they need and then hack an order to a local pharmacy, paid for by an insurance company his family definitely doesn’t use. Then he sends a text to Raph asking him to pick it up on the way home.

(Raph texts back a few minutes later asking if they need to come back early, to which Donnie responds with a negative.)

In the meantime he grabs a decongestant and and fever reducer. Then some cough drops, and a box of tissues, because if left to his own devices Leo will be disgusting.

Then he’s off to Leo’s room for his blanket and pillow. When Leo’s sick, he sleeps better in front of the TV.

Finally he goes to their film collection and grabs a few of Leo’s favorite JJs to queue up. Then it’s back to the kitchen for the tea.

When he returns, arms and battleshell appendages laden, Leo is just finishing another coughing fit. He looks up through watery eyes that go wide on seeing Donnie.

“Thought you said you were getting tea,” he says.

“And a few other things.” He hands over the tea and the medicine. “Here.”

Leo takes it without complaint, at least. Donnie hands off his pillow next, then starts up the first movie. The opening refrain of Jupiter Jim Last Trip to the Moon 7 fills the otherwise quiet room.

There is one more thing that makes Leo feel better when he’s sick. If Mikey or Raph were here, Donnie would pass the job off to them, but they aren’t, so it falls to Donnie.

“Scoot over,” he says, matter-of-fact.

Leo looks bemused. And sleepy. Mostly sleepy. “Huh?”

“Scoot. You’re hogging the chair.”

It takes Leo another second, but he catches on. A small smile growing on his face, he shifts over so Donnie can fit next to him, rearranging the pillow so it’s behind both of them and the blanket so it’s draped over all four legs.

Then he reclines the chair a bit and opens his arms without comment.

Immediately Leo has snuggled in against him, head buried under Donnie’s chin. He lets out a long, content (but still very congested) sigh, wiggling a bit to get comfy.

“As soon as my legs fall asleep you’re getting dumped in the floor,” Donnie tells him with no bite.

“Sure, D,” Leo answers, already sounding drowsy.

Donnie does not dump Leo in the floor. Not even when Raph gets home, grinning as he takes a picture.

He can get his revenge for that later.

#dandy fanfiction #dandy trick or treat #rise leo #rise donnie #I wanted to write a lil sick fic so here you go

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billthedrake · 1 year ago

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THE VETERAN

(This is an idea I've been batting around for a while. Thanks to @maturedadsandmen for the inspiration to see it through.)

"This round's on me, Ackerman," Jim Bowers said, with a quick squeeze of my shoulder before he went to get us another round of beers. His blue eyes twinkled, and I could see the wrinkles and crows feet on his weathered, tanned face. Bowers held his liquor better than me, but he was definitely buzzed, too.

It had been a long week, but the summer MLB draft was now complete and a lot of the front office guys - and gals, too, but mostly guys - were out celebrating. Only now, some of the guys were heading off to dinner or going home. A few were in a corner trying to hit on some women at the bar. Which left me chatting with Bowers.

I don't know why Jim had decided to be buddy-buddy with me. Over the last month, the sarcastic putdown of calling me Moneyball had somehow turned into a friendly nickname, when he wasn't calling me by last name. But I leaned into it. The man was a former professional player and a legend in Royals history. He'd coached for a good decade once the boredom of retirement finally sunk in, but then the wave of analytics pushed him out the door. So now he was a special advisor to the GM and the face of the business side of the organization. Not exactly a mascot, but Jim brought in more when his gravitas and old-school knowledge of the game mattered. Which wasn't all the time, and Jim knew that.

I tried not to have the hard-drinking ways that a lot of guys in baseball do, but it was a good occasion to let loose. I was feeling good, and I'd probably get drunk by nighttime. Thank god for Uber.

It was well-earned, but the problem was my sexual thoughts were coming to me with less filter than usual. Jim was making those sexual thoughts come hard and fast. I didn't even go for older guys, at least not that much older, not older like Bowers. The man was in his late 60s, old enough to be my granddad. But there was something powerfully sexy about the man. 6'2" and still had a decently muscled build from his daily gym routine, even if yeah, Bowers was getting his granddaddy on, more by the month.

And, damnit, that day, he was going commando in his shorts. I didn't try to scope him out, I swear, but Jim Bowers had a huge package. Thick, heavy genitals that looked obscene in his khaki shorts. Maybe the man was a show-er and not a grower, but the part he was showing looked pretty damn oversized. I'd forever think of him as Big Jim now.

I wasn't some green virgin. I was 28, with one long term relationship under my belt. I'd gotten my PhD in Applied Math at Minnesota and a plum job with the Royals right off the bat. It was why I'd studied what I'd studied. It was my dream job, doing analytics for a major league baseball team. From my little league days and collecting baseball cards, through playing baseball at my prep school to too many hours spent at college playing fantasy teams... it all led up to this.

My boyfriend Tom wasn't eager to switch jobs and move, and I wasn't eager to do the long-distance thing. We talked it out and, a week before I packed up my belongings, we broke up.

Breakups suck, but the consolation prize was rediscovering the world of hookups in a new city. I'd developed a fondness for Midwestern guys, and as a somewhat nerdy Jewish dude from New England I had fun having a different blond hunk every other weekend. I even hooked up with some older guys. I preferred guys my age but responded to a guy's personality and a shared sexual vibe over looks. And sometimes a daddy fit the bill.... Different looks, different body types and different sexual energy. It was all great.

But for me, Daddy meant like 40. Jim Bowers was rearranging my self-identified age range. Or maybe it was the beer.

"Here ya go," he said as he sauntered back with two beers in hand. Goddamn, the veteran looked FINE. I mean, no one would mistake his body for a 40 year old's or even a 50 year olds. It was mature muscle, but fit. Platelike pecs beneath the man's team-logo polo shirt, and pumped arms stretching the tanned, almost leathery skin that was covered in gray hair, matching the thicker silvery fur on his legs.

And, damn, that package: I could make out the contours of Jim Bowers' junk. There had been rumors of his heyday with the groupies. For all I knew he still had 'em, though maybe not like the current players.

We clinked glasses and the man looked me in the eye and said, "Now that the draft is done, you gonna stop being a workaholic, Moneyball?" he teased. "Maybe you can finally get a goddamn boyfriend."

Everyone in the front office knew I was gay and that was never an issue, but I also didn't make it an issue. No talk about my private life, no mention of the gay thing unless it was brought up. I was the epitome of professional, and when it came to happy hour drinks, well, I'd learned straight-dude male bonding as a way of blending in years ago.

"Come on, Jim," I said. And he knew exactly why.

"I know you got your work self and keep the rest private, buddy..." he said. "But, man, you're not as different as you think sometimes."

I don't know that I resented his words, but they rubbed me the wrong way. How was Bowers to know what I dealt with? Maybe if I hadn't been perving on the guy, I would have been more bothered.

"How so?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Take Campbell," he said, referring to Mitch Campbell, who was one of the scouts. "Good looking guy. Goes on dates all the time, but can't think of a goddamn thing to talk about to girls except baseball." Jim gave a smirk. "Girl doesn't call back, and Campbell's back to Square One."

At another moment, Bowers talk would be too old-school I-told-you-so in its condescension. Now, I was amused as hell. "You got Mitch all figured out, huh?" I teased.

Jim's blue eyes lit up some. "Tell me I'm wrong, Moneyball."

I smiled. "You're probably right," I conceded. Then, feeling my guard let down, I added, "You know, with gay guys, they like the idea of a baseball dude, but it's more the fantasy than the reality, you know?" I blushed as I spoke, but something about the drunken happy hour moment was removing my filter. "Maybe if I were a player, they'd be into the jock thing."

Bowers laughed and gave a smirk. He'd been the recipient of jock worship, even if it was from women. "You're just like Campbell, Moneyball... deep down." He patted my back. "But you're a good looking dude, and a good kid... any man would be lucky to land ya, buddy."

I ate up the words but had to reply, "Not the pep talking I was expecting tonight, Jim."

He reflected a second. "Yeah, I guess I dish out the advice easier than I can take it." Bowers had married three times and was now divorced and, as far as I knew, single.

Our conversation shifted subjects, but we got caught up in talking. I ate up his stories from his pro days, and Jim asked me about the math stuff I did. Maybe the man was right, I wasn't good at talking about much other than baseball, but he was a lifer and his whole life was the game, too.

I emptied my pint glass and had to do a mental calculation if I was gonna have another. I was on the fence. I should go home, but if Jim was having another, I knew I would too.

Instead he gave me a questioning look. "Feel like coming back to my place, Ackerman?" he asked. "We can have another one there."

The last part felt like it was added on to save face. In case I wasn't on the same wavelength. Maybe I'd been dumb in not reading the signals. Maybe I was misreading them now. But that was my first inkling that Jim Bowers was making a pass at me.

I blushed as I replied. "Sounds good, Jim," I said. "But neither one of us is driving."

"Yeah," he admitted. He was buzzed all right. He patted my shoulder. Kind of paternal but with a definite look of sexual interest in his gaze. Damn, this was not what I'd been expecting. He broke that look as he pulled out his phone to get an uber.

The guys had all gone by then and we stepped outside to wait for the car, it was getting dark out. We'd been in there a while.

"Damn, I'm starving," Jim said. "Maybe I can order us a pizza."

"Sure," I said. Hands in my pockets out of nervousness more than anything. This was probably a really bad idea, but I felt crazy attracted to Bowers, more than I'd let myself admit before tonight. This was playing out so different than a gay hookup, so I was feeling out the dynamic. But his touch between my shoulder blades as he guided me first toward the car... that touch alone was enough to make me chub.

Jim's place was big, too big for a bachelor. But it felt surprisingly homey.

"Let me get us some waters," he said. I wasn't overly drunk but he was right, it was good to drink something besides beer.

I chugged down a few sips from the plastic bottle and looked at Jim. "Nice place," I said.

"Thanks," Bowers said. Then with a soft voice, he added, "Damn, you're really fucking cute, Dave." He set down his bottle and stepped up to me.

I hadn't expected Bowers to be into dudes, at all, and I definitely didn't expect him to kiss. But he had no hesitation pulling me into a soft, wet kiss. It was a little drunken, but it was the surprise sexual attraction that made my head light. Fit as he may be, Jim was a mature guy, and I knew I was kissing a 60-something man, a man nearing 70. It was a strange thrill.

"You're into this, right?" the man hissed as he pulled back, giving me an up close view of his handsome features: roman nose, round cheeks, and gray hair growing more silver by the year, cut in a medium-short style. His hairline receded just a little but remarkably he still had a full head of hair. "I'm not looking for any HR issues," he chuckled.

"Oh I'm into it," I answered. "I guess it's just between us, right?" I was asking for his assurance as much as I was giving him mine.

"Absolutely," he said. His eyes were on me but his arm was reaching down. In my peripheral vision I could tell he was unzipping. And pulling out his dick. His grin cocked. "I'm really horny, man," he said.

I looked down. There it was, that pro-veteran baller cock. Heavy was an understatement. Jim Bowers packed a very thick, powerful 8 inch tool that jutted out of his open crotch. It was big and spongy and rock hard all at once. I wondered if he took a pill for his erections. I didn't fucking care. Bowers had an amazing cock.

I gave him one last look, a playful, sexy look, then crouched in front of him. I reached out and touched that meat, holding it. It had a soft give to the erection, but also twitched in my hand. It was my first mature cock, and I decided I liked it. Jim was hot to the touch as I angled his erection down to my lips.

"Oh yeah, buddy..." he hissed. "Lick my cock... like that."

The more I ran my tongue up and down his shaft, the bigger and heavier it felt. He tasted salty but then as I bathed his dick the flavor was cleaner. I finally figured I'd given enough foreplay and pulled that dong between my open lips.

He had enough girth to challenge me. I liked sucking dick, but I wasn't an expert at it. I guess lately I'd gotten more into anal and more into topping in my hookups. Even if I still went down on a guy, as foreplay or the main event, Bowers was bigger than I'd encountered.

But it was like riding a bike, I suppose. My initial difficulties gave way to a steady bobbing on his fat rod, feeling a good four or five inches push the confines of my throat with each motion of my mouth. It was a surprisingly pleasant feeling.

Nothing compared to the pleasure Jim was feeling. "Oh God... hell yes... work my fucking cock, man.... like that, yeah.... "

As I bobbed up and down I could see the silvery hair in his crotch, just a few darker hairs among them. And my hands felt up his mature legs, still strong, and now very furry. I was sucking a 68, maybe 69 year old and I realized I fuckin' loved this.

I always figured old guys took a long time to cum. Jim wasn't a quick cummer, but after about three minutes of giving him head I sensed the telltale signs. The urgency in his voice, the quiver in his quad muscle.

"FUCK! Here comes my fucking load, bud," he announced.

That heavy fat mature dong jerked in my throat as Bowers fed me his seed. I did my best to keep working him through that ejaculation, accentuating his orgasm with my mouth and suction.

He finally pushed my off with a friendly laugh. "Easy there, man... I think you got it all."

I looked up, knowing I felt proud. More than I'd been with my hookups. If I was honest, happier in sex than I'd been with my ex Tom. "Fuck, that was hot," I hissed.

Jim nodded. Face flushed red, his gray hair looked whiter. He somehow looked younger and older at the same time.

"Give me a second and I'll take care of you," he announced.

Not what I was expecting but I wasn't going to turn down the offer. I stood up, feeling drunk and light headed from the BJ. I started undoing my shorts and pulling them and my briefs off.

Jim grinned and reached down to grip my boner. "You 27 year olds are always rock hard," he teased, pulling my dick down to let it thwap up at the release.

"28," I corrected. "And how many have there been?" I laughed.

"Enough," he grinned. He gave my meat another look then said, "All right." And like that, the former baseball star, a man whose card I'd collected as a kid, was now getting down to suck me off.

If it hadn't been for the alcohol, I would have blasted in 20 seconds. Instead, now, I enjoyed getting head from Bowers. The slow suckling, the gentle bobs, the vision of his mature muscled bod in front of me. I ran my hands through his silvery hair.

Grandaddy was gonna work for my load, all right, and that idea was enough to get me to cum.

"Jim!" I gasped, surprised at how quickly orgasm snuck up on me and wanting to warn him.

He was a trooper, readying himself or my cum and then steadily sucking it down as I shot good and heavy into his mouth.

"Like I say," he teased when he finally pulled off. "You fucking need a boyfriend, Moneyball." He gave my leg a gentle pat then stood up. Reaching over he picked up his water bottle. To rehydrate or to wash down the flavor of cum, I wasn't sure.

Sheepishly, I pulled my underwear and shorts back on. Crossing some boundaries with Bowers had been naughty fun and all, but this part felt awkward. I started imagining what life was going to be like in the clubhouse from now on.

But Bowers stood in front of me, unabashed being naked from the waist down. His pJim hung fat and heavy, past his low-hanger balls covered in silver hair. He was definitely a show-er, even if his hard on had measured big.

"The offer for pizza still stands, Ackerman," he said, his blue eyes now normal friendly rather than lusty in their gaze. "If you wanna stay."

"You sure?" I asked.

Jim shrugged. "I'm not gonna be offended if you dash off," he said. "I've done it plenty, you know."

"It's not that," I started to say. Then, "Well, maybe it is.... but if you're OK, I could definitely eat."

That made Jim chuckle. "All right. You a peperoni man?"

****

The drunkenness was wearing off as we scarfed down the pizza. As I worked on the last slice, Jim came in with a freshly opened beer can for me, and one for him.

"I promised you a drink," he said.

"I figured that was just a pick up line," I replied. Something about sex made me feel I could be familiar with the man.

"Oh, it absolutely was," he said. "I'm not the most original guy in my lines."

I looked at his body. Relaxed on the couch. I calculated how his current body compared to a couple decades ago. I liked what Bowers had going on now, the contrast of hard and soft, muscled and aging. "You don't need killer lines when you have a killer bod," I said, flirting some.

Jim laughed but seemed into what I was saying. "You think I have a killer bod, Moneyball?"

I nodded. "Definitely." I looked at him openly. I wasn't gonna bone for round too but I was still feeling sexual. "That bug you?"

"Not at all," he said. He took a sip of beer and seemed to be looking me over, too. "You into older guys?"

"Not really," I answered. "At least not before you." I blushed as I admitted that. "Let's just say you're expanding my horizons, Jim."

He seemed to take that in. "You know, I haven't seen all your goods, Ackerman... feel like showing off a little for me?"

"You wanna see my body?" I confirmed.

"Yeah, I wanna see your fucking body," he said, leaning back into the couch cushion and spreading his legs.

I set down my beer and stood up. I peeled off my T-shirt, then undid my shorts. I spent a lot of time in the gym and had a pretty good body. By most standards it would be considered a great body, but being around professional players, I seemed more ordinary in comparison.

"Nice," Jim said. Genuinely into what I had going on. "Not just a pretty face, huh?"

I blushed. "I try, Jim."

"You do more than try... turn around," he instructed. He took in the view of my backside and my ass, before I turned back to face hi.

"Sorry, I'm getting a little chubbed." My dick was rising up and fast.

"That's hot," he said. With a concerted look he peeled off his polo shirt. I practically gasped when I saw that white-furred muscle. It was magnificent and everything I imagined Jim Bowers would be bare chested. Still had a lot of that ball-player power to him.

"Wow," I gasped. My dick was standing full up at the sight. "OK... I definitely have a thing for older men," I said. Then, "I hope you don't mind my saying that, Jim."

He gave a soft smile. "I don't mind, Dave." He leaned back and showed off his upper body some, inviting my gaze before he reached down to undo his shorts once more. They slipped off easily. I noticed that his legs were strong and sinewed but he had more muscle loss there than his upper bod.

His prick was fully and semi-firm but not throwing hard. "Think I can feel up some of that 28-year-old muscle?" he asked. Scooting down, he lay on the couch, face up and bared in his magnificent nakedness.

I took the invitation and went back to the couch to lie on top of this former star. I still had to pinch myself this was happening. The sex, but the whole evening. We both groaned as I made body contact, my hands on his chest and his on mine, while our cocks touched.

"So, Jim..." I started. "I don't wanna kill the vibe, but what's your deal?"

His hand traveled along my upper chest and over my arms. "I guess I reached a certain age and decided to stop having hang ups. Sex with guys is just easier these days."

"Yeah?" I asked.

He nodded. "A young guy... you can fool around with and he doesn't expect anything, you know?" I could feel his dick move against mine and instinctively I knew our heartbeats were synching up. "I'm not gonna lead you on, Ackerman.... not looking to date or anything, you know?"

"No offense, Jim," I said. "But I probably should stick to guys closer my own age to date."

"Probably, yeah," he laughed. His hands were now openly feeling up my back muscle as I lay on top of him. He was taller than me by two inches and had some more weight to him. It felt comforting and relaxed being naked in this position. Sexual but not we-gotta-fuck-now sexual. "If you ever feel like having fun with an old man, though..." he started.

"I definitely do," I answered. "I didn't think I'd be into this, actually," I blushed.

"Be into what?" he asked.

"The age gap," I said.

He got an impish look on his face. "You into the Granddaddies, huh?"

Fuck, I hissed. It was such a naughty thing, but it made my dick jerk, which made Jim laugh.

He patted my bare ass. "Listen, bud. I'm 69. I'm not gonna be able to get it on twice in one night. But if you feel like staying over..."

"Yeah, I'd like that," I said.

He kissed, softly. And soon we were making out. Feeling each other up. I could have gone for a round two for sure, but I didn't need to. And that made this all the better, just connecting nude body to nude body with Jim's mature veteran-baller build.

By the time we got up off the couch, I was dripping precum heavily on that swirl of silvery hair on Jim's stomach. I was rock hard as I helped him up and helped him tidy up everything and take plates and cans back to the kitchen. Eventually my erection flagged but Jim didn't make a move to put clothes back on, so I didn't either.

I was starting to second guess myself. This was a man I'd see around work. Maybe this was gonna get complicated, real fast, even if we weren't looking for anything serious.

He had a spare toothbrush for me and set out some towels if I wanted to use them. I looked in myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. I often went back and forth in my self esteem, feeling cocky about my looks, then feeling all sorts of self doubt about my body and how I compared to whatever perfect guy I imagined or lusted after. But I saw myself in Jim's eyes. Maybe he went for me because I was an out gay guy, maybe an easy target. Maybe he liked that I had that nerdy but fit thing going on. Whatever it was, I was glad I'd spent the last couple of years hitting the weights and eating well.

He was already under the covers when I joined him in the king sized bed.

"Thanks for a fun evening, Ackerman," he said, his voice now sleepy. It was later than I realized.

"God, Jim, it's been wild."

"I don't normally have guys sleep over," he said. Maybe wanting me not to get any ideas.

"I don't always sleep over when they ask," I said.

He smirked. "All right, bud... ready for some sleep?"

"Yeah," I said.

And I watched his thick muscle bunch as he leaned over to turn off the light.

"Hey buddy," Jim Bowers said as he ushered me inside. I didn't always come over to his place. Sometimes the legendary veteran would swing by my condo for some no-strings fun before work, or after playing golf. I'd enjoying giving him a nice BJ - it was kind of my big challenge and thrill, getting used the girth and length of Big Jim's meat and getting off on our age gap. The latter was just as thrilling when Jim would have me kick back for his turn at reciprocating.

We even snuck in a BJ in a parking lot once, but while the risk felt fun, it was, well, risky.

I'd worried this would mess up things at work. Bowers wasn't my boss, but he held a senior position in the front office org chart, an advisor to my big boss. Yet the man was completely normal after our first hook up. It relaxed me for when he hit me up for a second time. Then another.

Sometimes it felt like a booty call, sometimes we grabbed a bite and a beer after sex. It was all good.

But today was different. Big Jim said he wanted to fuck me.

He was looking incredible now, shirtless and showing off that mature muscle, dusted with silver hair.

"Hey Jim," I said, stepping in. We met for a quick kiss, which became not a quick one. I could tell the ex-pro was really worked up today, and despite my nervousness, I was, too. We laughed a little at how horny we were when I finally broke the connection and stepped back.

"You look amazing," I said.

He flexed a little. Best of all, I could see that heavy dick in his mesh shorts. Not hanging either but boned up into a hard ridge. The man was in heat.

"How much you work out?" I asked. It had been on my mind for a while. For a man his age, Bowers was very well preserved.

Big Jim didn't miss a beat. "A hell of a lot, Moneyball," he said with a smirk. He cocked his head back toward his bedroom. "Feel like getting down to it? Or you want a drink or something?"

My heart fluttered a little bit. "I'm horny as fuck," I replied. "But I won't lie: I'm a little scared."

"Scared? Why?" Jim asked. I realized he was sincere in his question. Like it hadn't occurred to him.

"For starters, I don't bottom much," I said, then nodded down to his crotch. "And then there's that beast you got between your legs."

That made Bowers smile. I probably wasn't the first to compliment his endowment and wouldn't be the last. But the ego boost was appreciated. "You seem to like it."

"Hell yeah I like," I said. "I love it," I added in admission. "But that's a lot of dick to take."

He chuckled, stepping up to me, and running his fingers along my cheek. "You're overthinking it, Ackerman. Let's just enjoy this."

Easy for him to say, I thought. But something about him was charming me. The weathered face, the sea blue eyes, the craggly voice. I was gonna go with it. "All right, lead the way," I hissed.

I peeled off my T-shirt and shorts as I stepped into his bedroom. I'd learned to go commando for these hookups and as I freed my meat, my dick firmed up quickly as Jim pulled down the sheets and then slid down his shorts.

I saw one reason for that massive hardon. Bowers had a cock ring on, which made that dick firmer than normal. He saw where I was looking. "Hope you don't mind the ring, bud. Just gives a little more insurance at my age."

I crawled on the bed and showed how little I minded it. Scooting forward, I let Big Jim guide that hard meat to my mouth.

"Yes...." he grunted as I sucked in a few inches, then choked down another. I was getting better at this. My face blushed as I sucked, my bare ass up for Jim's gaze. I wasn't used for being so bottomy, so open in servicing with a guy, but it was a fun new mode. Particularly as I smelled Bowers' clean soapy scent and could see the silvery crotch hair in front of me.

He put his hands on his hips and let me do the work. The man loved a BJ. I mean, who doesn't? But Jim seemed to really crave oral sex. I half thought he'd change his mind today and let me get him off with my mouth. I'd cleaned myself out and prepped for anal, but a part of me wouldn't have been upset with a change of plans.

But I felt his hand on my head, nudging me back.

"Lie back," he urged.

I scrambled back, letting Big Jim see my naked body. The man got off on my youth, on the fact he had a 20-something stud in his bed. He'd told me as much, but his eyes confirmed it now as he stood next to the bed and pumped some lube into his hand, fisting that rock hard granddaddy meat.

"I hope to god you don't think you're just gonna ram that thing up me," I said in a nervous joking tone.

He grinned and shook his head. "Relax, Ackerman, I know what I'm doing." He got on the bed, his core contracting as he shifted his weight forward. Our lips met for a second and I took a moment to feel up that mature brawn. It was still a head fuck that I was having sex with THE Jim Bowers. Even if he wasn't quite my main childhood idle or on my favorite team growing up, I used to watch watch him play all the time, and it felt like I was in the presence of a legend.

He leaned up and I took in that view of Bowers's strong shoulder muscle and thick arms. He gave a couple of soft kisses along my abs as he scooted down. "Lift 'em up, buddy," he urged.

I was nervous but I wanted this, I decided. It had been a solid year since I'd bottomed, but I was getting in the mood now. As I pulled back my legs, Big Jim was gonna get me all the way there. He leaned in and I felt his breath and his five o clock stubble before his tongue darted out to lick me.

Here was a man of surprises, all right. Jim Bowers was really into eating ass. It tickled at first, and I fought to keep the tickling sensation from overwhelming me. It was just my body's defensiveness. It was half mental, but also the unfamiliarity of having my ass stimulated. But Jim's tongue pressed deeper in, and the feeling changed. Rawer, more overtly sexual.

"God," I grunted. It was a mind fuck, too, looking down at this older man, almost 70, going to town on my hole. And me letting him.

He took his time but I could tell he was horny now. After a minute or so he leaned up and let out a soft growl of approval. "Hot hole, Dave," he said, timing the pressing of his first finger perfectly. It was lubed, and I enjoyed the thickness of his digit entering me. He dug around some, worming my sphincter open more before diving in for another rim job.

"You got nice and clean for me, buddy," he said with approval.

"Yeah," I replied, holding my legs back and letting him prepare me. Alternating rimming with more fingering. Pretty soon he was focused on the latter, two then three then two then three fingers, drizzling more lube at the connecting spot.

He looked down at me, horny. Maybe that cock was viagra-ed up or maybe the cock ring was doing all the work. But it was steel rigid.

He pulled his hand back and lined up that heavy, hard meat. "You got this, man..." was all he said, before I felt that dull stinging of his penetration.

"Fuck!" I cried. Not in pain but more in fear.

He held steady, an inch of that fat dick wedged in my ring. "You're tight as hell," he observed. "Just relax, Ackerman."

"I'm trying!" I laughed.

Jim smiled. God he was so handsome and sexy. I didn't think I'd ever be into a guy pushing 70, but at that moment I knew I really was. He pulled back and fisted that big meat. I felt bad I was extra work to get in. But he leaned in and kissed me some. Sensual, tongue-heavy kissing while his fingers went back down to work my hole again.

I was ready this time. He broke the kiss but didn't pull back entirely. Deftly he placed that dong at my hole and applied just the right amount of force. And like that I had three solid inches of Jim Bowers' fatness in me.

I clenched my teeth and gripped his biceps in automatic response.

His eyes challenged mine. "You got this," he assured me. More confident than I was. More pressure was pushing that very wet, very lubed phallus into me. I was tight but also enjoying that stretching feeling. Maybe because Big Jim was going slow.

He nodded at me, his face now serious, not very sexual and horny. "You feel SO fucking good on my dick buddy," he growled in a low voice. That gravely Bowers voice. "You gonna make your Granddad feel good?"

We'd tossed back the granddaddy term. For me it was an extension of "daddy" - a daddy with a few extra years. Mature like Jim. But now that term hit me in a pervy place. My bowels unclenched and welcomed all of that magnificent cock into me.

"Yeah you are," Big Jim hissed.

"God, Granddad..." I moaned, hesitant at first, trying it out.

"I got ya, boy," he said, more aloud as he began his first thrust. Not hard, but a real fuck thrust into me. With Jim's size, it felt like a lot and was rapidly rearranging my previous assumptions - of being mostly top, of not being into grandpas.

His hips swiveled slowly as I held his muscular body and welcomed him into me. I felt like we weren't just having sex. We were mating. I was being owned from the inside out. I didn't normally feel whorish with a guy, but Big Jim was pushing some button deep inside me. Physically and psychologically.

"Fuck me, Jim!" I said, more assertively now. "Fuck me, Granddad."

His lips curled up and he threw more force into his thrusts. I was ready for it now. Unbelievably I was enjoying this. It was intense as hell, like it could become uncomfortable at any moment, but my ass felt alive, and I felt alive beneath this man, who was fucking for his pleasure. The lube on his cock kept my guts from clenching down too hard on his pistoning shaft, or when I did they didn't have anything to grip onto. The man was fucking me unimpeded.

I looked into his wrinkled, weathered, handsome face. Imagining how many groupies he'd nailed over the years. How easy it must have been for him to get laid in his prime. How easy it was for him now.

I didn't think a hands-free cum was a possibility for me. Maybe technically it wasn't since Big Jim's soft belly fur and belly were rubbing against my rigid cock. But I started cumming hard.

"Jim!" I exclaimed, feeling that immense pleasure rising up from deep within me.

That excited him all right. He fucked me and fucked me hard. Fast even, eager to maximize the sensations on his mature cock. "Right behind ya, kid," he grunted.

The idea he was gonna nut in me thrilled me and made another shot of cum push out of my cock.

I love watching men cum and seeing Big Jim in full orgasm was incredible. His older muscle tensing up and his voice sounding older as he cried out. Then him relaxing in tired stillness on top of me for a second before he moved his head to give me a soft kiss and pushed up to relieve the brunt of his bulk on top of me.

I felt that thickness retreat and plop out of me. I felt slutty and maybe not in a good way as Big Jim's cum ran out of my used hole. But in every other way I felt happy and satisfied. Especially seing the smile on the man's face as he rolled off and lay next to me, nudging my chin playfully.

"You were a trooper, Moneyball," he said finally.

"I don't know if I should have enjoyed that so much," I admitted.

"Why the hell not?" Big Jim challenged me.

"Long answer or short answer?" I replied.

"Let's start with the short."

"Maybe I'm a little kinkier than I realized."

Jim shrugged and leaned up, sitting back against one of the pillows. "Nothing wrong with that, fella."

I copied his move, but not before shaking out the cramps from my legs. My ass hole felt loose and wet but the new sitting position made it less exposed. "So the Granddad thing..." I didn't even know what I wanted to ask, but I knew I had to check in with Jim.

He chuckled. "Seems to get you going, buddy. It's a little weird, I guess," he added. "I mean, I have grandkids and all. But I figure this is something different altogether."

"It is," I assured him. I looked down at my body. Dick well sated, cum smeared on my belly and chest. "I'm a fricking mess."

Jim agreed. "Let's get you cleaned up, Moneyball." He slid out of bed and extended his hand to help me up. At that moment, despite being much younger I felt weaker from the sexual exhaustion. "If you have evening plans, that's cool, but I feel like I owe you a nice dinner for putting out like that."

I enjoyed this camaraderie and enjoyed the shower we shared together. A chance to soap up his mature body. A part of me worried if I should be seen in public extensively with Bowers, alone with him, but we did work together and I'm sure could come up with a reason if anyone saw us.

Then as Jim soaped me up from behind and pulled me into his sudsy wet body, that fat dong there, the one that had given me what felt like a second deflowering... I realized Big Jim was right. I was overthinking it.

#drakestories

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padfootagain · 2 years ago

Text

Forbidden Words

Here we go!!!!

We are officially back! I’m very excited for this new beginning, I hope you all enjoy this silly little fic of mine!

We have some hurt/comfort, lots of fluff and cuteness too! You know me, I always write cute things.

I hope you enjoy this fic, and I have to admit that I am quite nervous about posting fics again, so I’d really appreciate it if you could leave a little feedback… please? I hope I’m not too… rusty.

Anyways, enjoy!

****

Sum up : You've been dating Sirius for a while now, and it's been going wonderfully well. However, when you finally confess that you love him, he find himself unable to say it back. It will take time for him to be ready to say these three forbidden words out loud, but if there's someone who can make him overcome his inner demons, it's you.

Pairing : Sirius Black x reader

No warnings, hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count : 5800 words

Sometimes it felt a little strange. A little uncommon. A little worrying even.

There was something about unexpected events that always got under your skin, always made you uncomfortable. Even happy accidents could shake a world, and they generally did.

It felt a little strange sometimes, when you looked up to find Sirius sitting on the other side of the table. A little uncommon to find him holding your hand in corridors. A little worrying, even, to see him smile when you knew he was sad. You had learned after a long friendship to see the signs. Detect the small anomaly in his grey eyes, the ghost of a frown he tried to hide. If you could see the signs as a friend, you acted on it now that the two of you were more than that.

It was a happy accident that brought the two of you together. A note sent by a Ravenclaw to another girl that had landed on your desk by accident, and jealousy had done the rest.

But maybe it wasn't just an accident, after all, that pushed Sirius to confess that he liked you, that convinced him to ask you out. Maybe it was simply the last piece of a puzzle fitting with the rest of this long list of signs that should have shaken some sense into him. But whether or not Sirius's decision to ask you out was the result of an accident, it had shaken your world all the same.

A real earthquake that rearranged all the pieces of your life for the better.

And after a few months of relationship, you still had moments when you forgot you were together. Sometimes the brush of his fingers as you walked down a corridor still surprised you. The sight of him sleeping in your arms, the way he called you 'darling' with the softest voice, the way he kissed you out of the blue. As if you needed to be reminded that all this was not a mere dream. Maybe it was because it was all so familiar. Laughing, and talking for hours, and holding him close… it was natural. It felt right. Like you belonged there, with him.

And the more you thought about it, the more you reckoned that this was the true definition of the word everyone talks about but none can truly define. And you understood why. It was a feeling alright, but a feeling that got so entwined with a person, the two became synonyms. It was love. Love was the way Sirius made you feel, and Sirius was love.

You weren't even scared. You were just happy. You were happy it was him, even if the choice would have been unbelievable for a younger version of yourself. One of the famous pranksters? And the one who seemed almost grim, unreachable, with something about him as dark as his name… him?

As you stared at your boyfriend who was laughing at one of Lily's stupid jokes, you wondered why it took you so long to see the real Sirius behind all the rumours that ran across the Castle about him. But then, it wasn't so surprising. Sirius curated his friendships with great care and caution. He had to let you in first for you to discover him. And you were unbelievably glad he had once done so.

You realized then that despite the few months of your relationship passing in a dreamy bliss, none of you had ever said the three little words. You wondered why. Perhaps a part of you was waiting for him to say it first; the part of yourself that lacked confidence. It would explain why you had never spoken those words, even though you had been meaning them for weeks, months even. If you were to be honest about it, you were already in love when the two of you started dating.

And at the beginning you did doubt his feelings a lot. It was easier that way. If things had to go sour, it would be less painful if you expected a disaster in the first place. But by some strange kind of miracle, everything was fine. Outside of Hogwarts, the world was being turned upside-down, but your own little life was kept safe for a while longer. And Sirius was among the brightest suns to lighten the darkening sky.

So why not say it then?

You were aware of his tendency to bottle up all his emotions. The more you thought about it, the more you reckoned that he would not take this first step, even if he felt the same. And judging by the way he made you feel loved and cared for, you had no doubt that your feelings were mutual.

You reckoned it was time to take that jump.

You finished your lunch, laughing with your friends. James was being his ridiculous self, as usual, while Lily tried her best not to laugh too loudly at his antics, failing miserably. Remus and Peter were caught in a heated argument with Dorcas and Marlene about the best Honeydukes sweets, which ended in a ridiculously dramatic exit of the two girls. It was fun and warm and safe here. And all along Sirius's bark-like laugh made your moments even brighter.

After lunch, he accompanied you to your common room before heading to the Quidditch Pitch. The match opposing your two teams was coming up, it was an easy excuse for both of you to tease the other playfully.

"I can't believe you are cruel enough to support the Hufflepuff team when your own boyfriend is playing against them! Your boyfriend!"

"I'm a Hufflepuff. There is no such thing as friendships or love affairs when it comes to Quidditch."

"I feel betrayed."

"Drama queen."

He laughed at that, and you soon joined him. You couldn't help it. His laughter was too contagious.

"And now you insult me!"

"Only stating facts."

"So… does that mean you won't be happy if I win the game? Not even a little bit?"

You easily caved in as he offered you his most mischievous glance.

"Maybe a little bit…"

"Ha! See! Knew it. A traitor to your own house!"

Your joined laughter echoed through the corridors as you reached the door of the Hufflepuff common room.

"Practice well. Cause if you lose, I will tease you about it mercilessly for months," you warned him, and even though your tone was still humorous, he knew you were not truly joking.

"Better work extra hard then, ‘cause we can't have that."

He leaned down to kiss you, and you welcomed his lips halfway.

"I'll see you after dinner?"

"Your common room?"

He nodded, a grin on his face as he was about to turn around and leave.

But you held him back, crashing your lips together for another kiss. Because you were alone in this corridor and so you reckoned that this moment was as good as any to finally say it.

You gathered every last ounce of your courage while you held him tight, tucking your head in the crook of his neck. He chuckled, the vibrations of his laugh echoing in your whole body.

"Someone's extra needy today, huh?" he teased, although he held you with the same tender embrace.

You took a deep breath and dived. But your voice could only come out as a whisper.

"That's because I love you."

You waited for his answer. You waited. But only silence came.

At last, he dropped a kiss on the top of your head, and you thought he would say it back. But when he spoke again it was as if he hadn't heard you at all.

"Have to go to practice. I'll see you tonight."

And with that he strode away, and disappeared.

Sirius was pacing. He was holding a quaffle in his hands, making it twirl or holding it too tightly. He was pacing, back and forth across the boys’ dormitory while Remus, Peter and James looked at him with worried looks painted on their faces.

They knew what this was about. They knew the reason for his pacing, for the way he held the quaffle as if he wanted to crush it between his palms, for the tears that threatened to escape and for his ragged breathing.

He had told them about your confession. He had told them that he didn’t say a word.

And he was an idiot. A bloody idiot that was what he was. But he couldn’t help it, couldn’t fight it, couldn’t do anything at all about it. The mere thought of speaking out loud these three words made his throat tighten, his heart speed up enough to come close to exploding.

Oh, he could think about the words. He loved you. That was easy enough to admit to himself, but say it out loud? That was a whole other story.

And his friends knew perfectly why Sirius couldn’t speak, why he was on the verge of crying at the mere thought of it. The answer was obvious. But would you understand? You didn’t know him the way his friends did…

“I’m an idiot,” Sirius repeated for the hundredth time. “I’m… I don’t even know what I am at this point? But there’s no way I can say it back… I can’t do it!”

“Pads, you need to calm down,” James instructed his friend as he stood up to force Sirius to sit down on his bed.

“Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down? I’m fucking it all up! I finally have a great relationship, it’s all going brilliantly… It’s more than brilliant even! Bloody perfect! And then…”

He threw the quaffle against the wall in frustration.

He looked at the ball rolling on the ground for a moment, until it came to a stop. He heaved a sigh then, and buried his face in his hands.

“They really are going to just… ruin every single good thing in my life. Even when I finally think that I’m out of this mess…”

“Hey, don’t say that,” James rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Remus and Peter walked to their friends to sit by their side on Sirius’s bed.

“You’re free now, Padfoot,” James reassured him. “You ran away from this hellish place. You have nothing left to do with them. It’s over. You have your own family now.”

“You have us,” Peter agreed.

“And you have Y/N. You should just… tell her about this,” Remus advised.

“Easier said than done,” Sirius mumbled, finally letting his hand fall to reveal his face again.

He was paler than usual, but there were no tears, or any sign of panic on his face.

“She loves you. She told you so! You should explain it all to her, I’m sure she would understand,” Peter encouraged his friend.

“How?”

“She knows already that your family sucks. Bastards, all of them,” spat James.

“She knows some of it, not all of it,” Sirius corrected him. “She knows I ran away because of the way they treated me, she knows I live with you now. But she doesn’t know what happened. She doesn’t know why I can’t say it back.”

“Then explain it to her. She’s sweet. And as Wormtail just said, she loves you. She’ll get it. As long as you explain it to her, show her that you care… she’ll understand.”

But Sirius was not convinced.

“I’m not sure I can explain it either. I haven’t talked about it in a while.”

Silence settled upon the room. Three friends looking for a way out, a defeated boy struggling against his old demons - the ones he had thought banished for good – sitting between them.

“What if you write it down?”

Sirius looked up at Remus, frowning but not rejecting the idea just yet.

“I don’t think I can write… it down either,” Sirius finally argued.

“But the reason why you can’t express it at all? Do you think you could answer that question on paper?”

Sirius contemplated the offer for a moment, before shrugging.

“I can try.”

“Maybe he simply didn’t hear me.”

Dorcas and Marlene exchanged an unconvinced glance, but didn’t dare to argue. They didn’t want to break your heart. And besides, they didn’t really understand either why Sirius had not said these three little words back. It was obvious that he was head over heels for you, no mystery there. So… why not say it back? If you had taken the first step, why not say that he felt the same, when he clearly did?

“Maybe I should try again.”

“Maybe he wasn’t ready?” Dorcas offered an explanation with all the caution she could muster. She didn’t want to make you suffer even more than you already did.

“You think so?” you asked with a shaky voice.

“Well… you know how Sirius can be sometimes,” Marlene added. “He does have a tendency to… bottle it all up. You know?”

“Yeah… that’s true.”

“His parents fucked up with his head. I think that… since then… he has a lot of trouble talking about his feelings.”

“But I thought he loved me…”

“Oh, he does,” Dorcas reassured you, and she couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “He’s crazy about you.”

“Then why not say it? I don’t get it. He just… walked away.”

“That… was a mistake.”

“It was.”

“But there’s no need to be dramatic about this, you should simply talk about it with him.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, your voice firmer than before as you finally sat up on your bed and traded your sad eyes for an expression filled with determination. “I’m going to go see him. I’ll say I love him again, and this time, there will be no chance for him not to hear me. And if he doesn’t say anything again, I’ll ask him why.”

“That… was not exactly the plan we had come up with…”

“And I won’t cry!”

“That part is great! Keep that part of the plan! For the rest…”

“I’ll do it now!”

You stood up before your friends could stop you.

“Don’t you think you should wait for Lily to be back from her prefect meeting? I mean… she’s kind of the wise one in the group,” Dorcas argued, but you weren’t listening anymore.

No, instead, you were striding across your common room, and you opened the door wide to step in the corridor.

You were determined. A strong, independent and determined young woman. You could do it.

But you had barely reached the corner of the corridor that led to the magical staircase that you bumped right into Sirius…

“Ouch…” you mumbled, suddenly trapped in Sirius embrace.

“You’re okay?” he asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

“Yeah. You?”

“I play beater, remember?”

“You’ve got a point.”

You couldn’t refrain a smile, even if you were upset, and neither could he. You remained like this for a moment, standing still in the corridor while you stared at each other. A long moment passed, filled with silence and the way Sirius made butterflies gather in your stomach. He did so every time he was close, every time he stared at you like this… every time…

“I love you.”

You spoke them out loud again. The three words. Three marvellous, meaningful, forbidden words…

Sirius didn’t say anything, he merely closed his eyes with a pained expression painted all over his features.

You were ready to cry.

“So… you did hear me, earlier. The first time I said it, you did hear me.”

Slowly, in silence, Sirius nodded.

“You just don’t feel the same…”

He opened his eyes again, frowning hard.

“No… that’s not that at all.”

“But you’re not saying it back.”

“I know.”

“Because you’re not ready?”

He shook his head, clenching his jaw.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“You want to break up with me?”

“What?!” he looked at you as if you had gone mad all of a sudden, and there was also a hint of fear in his grey eyes. “Of course I don’t want to break up with you, are you crazy?”

“I don’t get it then…”

He finally let go of you, reached for something in the back pocket of his trousers.

He handed you a folded piece of parchment, and you frowned at him. But you took the note anyway. Looking at it more closely, you noticed that it was a letter.

“I… I really struggle with… these things,” Sirius tried to explain everything, but the words stumbled from his mouth and came out all wrong and distorted and clumsily spoken. “So… thought I… could try to explain by writing it down. It was Moony’s idea, actually. Not sure it worked that well. But I… did my best, I guess…”

You made a movement to open the letter, but he stopped you before you could unfold the parchment.

“Wait, don’t… not… not while I’m here. You… you can read it on your own, I don’t want to see you read it. I’ll be in the Gryffindor common room. I’ll wait for you. You… you read this, and you take some time to think. I’ll wait. All night long, if you need it.”

Before you could protest, he had turned around and was disappearing again.

You spent a long time on your own. You had hidden yourself in your favourite spot, a small gap between a statue and the wall of an alcove on the third floor. You could be alone there, no one could see you from the corridor. Only Sirius knew about that hiding spot, and you didn’t want to be disturbed. You needed to think. You needed some time to assimilate all the information Sirius had entrusted in you.

He didn’t go into details. You reckoned he never would. You had understood a long time ago that his parents had done terrible things to him. That his life at Grimmauld Place was hell. But he had revealed, through this letter, a few glimpses into his childhood, and you didn’t know what to do with it all. What to do with the knowledge of so much undeserved pain?

It explained why he didn’t speak out the words you longed to hear though. Why these three little words were banished from his mouth, if not from his heart. Why he couldn’t gather the strength to explain it all in person. You understood, or well… you didn’t understand what he had been through, but you could fathom why he carried the struggles and pain he kept carefully hidden.

No details in this letter of his, mere fragments in an attempt to explain it all, to make you understand, even if just a little bit. He was scared to lose you. The feeling oozed from every line traced in dark ink, appeared behind every word.

The final explanation was enough to sum it all up.

They never said these words to me, and I’ve never told them to anyone either. Worst, they changed the meaning of these words I longed to hear to make them feel like pain.

I can’t say it. I can’t write it down. It needs to fully change back into its original meaning first. But I do care. I do want to be with you. I just… can’t express it right.

You brushed a tear before it would escape your eye as you read the last words of his letter one more time.

Forgive me.

You shook your head, before standing up, and finally walking down the corridor towards the Gryffindor tower.

What a silly boy he was, sometimes…

Sirius had remained awake most of the night. He thought at first that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, but then exhaustion caught up with him. He did go to Quidditch practice for over two hours after all. That, and the emotional tiredness that day had brought him… it weighed too much on him to stay up all night. He fell in Morpheus’ arms around midnight, without noticing.

When you walked in the room, he was there. None of you had gone to eat dinner in the Great Hall, you could see the half-full plate the boys must have brought up for Sirius while he waited for you. You felt bad for taking so much time to think.

He seemed peaceful when he slept. Long dark hair a mess, half-hiding his face. Breathing soft, gentle, steady. Eyelashes drawing two dark lines above sharp cheekbones.

You loved him. It was enough.

You picked up a blanket from one of the armchairs along with a cushion. You lifted his head with caution, trying not to wake him up as you put the cushion under him to get him more comfortable. You covered him with the blanket to keep him warm. You didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

You brushed away from his eyes a few strands of hair, gesture tender and gentle, before dropping a kiss to his cheek and turning to leave.

You were stopped before you could take a step towards the door, fingers wrapping around yours.

When you turned back towards Sirius, he was rubbing his eyes, trying to chase away the remnants of sleep that lingered there.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled, his voice made rough and deep by sleep. “Have you read the letter?”

“Yes, I did.”

He sat up, moving so you could sit by his side on the couch.

“Are you mad?” he asked, his voice shaky.

But you rested your head on his shoulder, and he felt reassured all of a sudden.

“Of course not. I’m not mad at all. I mean… not at you. I think I could commit a murder though. Several, actually.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arm around you to pull you close, and you melted in his embrace.

“That’s… kind of hot. Not gonna lie.”

It was your time to laugh.

“I thought you would be mad,” he admitted after a short silence.

“Of course not. It’s okay. Nothing to forgive. I understand. I’ll wait. All the time you need. And if you never feel ready, that’s okay too. I know I’m not the problem, it’s them.”

“I feel like… like I’m failing you.”

“Of course not. Don’t feel like that, okay?”

“You should be able to hear it…”

“It’s okay. Now that I know, I don’t mind at all. I promise.”

He leaned down to kiss you, and you welcomed his lips with relief. Things were back to normal again.

“Can I ask you one more question?”

Sirius gave you a warm smile, and merely nodded as an answer. He brushed his knuckles across your cheek in a tender gesture.

“You said that… they have never told you they loved you… is it true?”

“I mean… They don’t. Love me. Why would they lie?”

“Right…”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re the first to speak these words to me.”

“I’m the first? Ever?”

“To really mean it? Yeah… you’re the first.”

“But James…”

“The boys are my family, but we don’t confess our undying love towards each other on a daily basis, and certainly not so… plainly.”

You played with the collar of his white shirt. His tie was long gone, his sleeves rolled up along his forearms, the first few buttons of his shirt undone.

“Do you mind if I say it again, every once in a while?” you asked after some time.

“I won’t be able to say it back. Not for now.”

“I get it. That’s okay.”

“Then… if you don’t mind that I can’t say it back… Of course, I don’t mind. It’s a nice thing to hear. The best thing, actually.”

The two of you exchanged a smile, and you lost your gaze to the flames dancing in the hearth before you while Sirius dropped a kiss to your forehead.

Yes, things were back to normal.

And you loved him. It was enough.

A few more months passed; it was the beginning of Spring. Or rather, the end of Winter.

Snow had melted, the grass was green and muddied by the heavy rains. Skies grey and trees covered in boughs. It was the beginning of a new cycle filled with life. Soon, it would be warm enough to spend afternoons on the grounds, help Hagrid with his garden, wonder through the woods where it was forbidden to go.

But for now, the sky was grey still, a rainy afternoon during which the droplets fell with a rhythmic pattern against the windowpanes. You studied hard with your friends, even though Sirius and James were less and less focused as the afternoon passed by.

It was that afternoon that something finally clicked in your brain, and you realized what had been right before you for a long, long time.

You had to refill your bottle of ink, but were too lazy to get up and walk all the way across the Gryffindor common room to get your bag. You were too comfortable sitting there, legs crossed on the warm carpet before the fire, your back resting against Sirius’s arm.

You turned your head to check how much ink was left in your bottle, but frowned at the sight.

The bottle was full.

You looked around, spotted an empty bottle next to Sirius’s bag. He had replaced your bottle with one of his own. You smiled at the sight, ready to discard the act as a cute attention from your boyfriend when you realized that Sirius had not said a word about it.

He had replaced the bottle in silence, as if he expected you wouldn’t notice. And the more you thought about it, the more you could think of many occurrences of these sweet attentions. Little acts of care and kindness he performed without having you asking for it, without bringing it up, almost hoping you wouldn’t notice it at all.

Like… the way he always carried the heavy piles of books you burrowed on a weekly basis to the library. The way he brought you your favourite cookie every Wednesday after your arithmancy class because you had a long afternoon that day and he knew you were craving for sugar after so many classes. The way he picked up your scarf and folded it back into your bag whenever you forgot it, which happened very often. The way he handed you one of his hairbands when you were nervous and started fidgeting. The way he gave you extra chips at lunch because he knew how much you loved these. The way he…

… the way he loved you.

As you stared at this ordinary bottle of ink, all the pieces suddenly started to fit together.

He loved you. Truly. He couldn’t say it, but he showed it instead. He had always done so, for months. You should have understood it before…

When the bottle of ink was empty, Sirius almost threw it away, but you stopped him, filling it again instead with some new ink. Your boyfriend raised a surprised eyebrow.

“If you want to reuse the same bottle each time from now on, you need to buy a proper one at least…”

“No, I keep this one.”

“It’s… just a bottle. Why would you keep this one?”

“Because you gave it to me.”

He chuckled mockingly, shaking his head.

“You’re mad.”

But as he turned around, faking to look for something in his bag, you did notice the tip of his ears turning red…

You were both drunk, but Sirius was drunk. You… you had just overcome the stage of tipsiness, but were not full-blown drunk yet. Sirius was though.

Nothing surprising. The last match of the season was over. Gryffindor 190 – Slytherin 60. A celebration was in order, and the Marauders were not ones to fail their reputation, especially when it came to celebrating winning the Quidditch cup.

It had been a fun evening, but it was time to call it a night. At least, it was for you. Many of your friends were still celebrating in the common room, but you pulled Sirius up to his feet and helped him up the stairs to his dormitory despite his protests.

“You’re very drunk, that’s enough,” you admonished.

He tried to argue, but you pushed him down on his bed. He groaned, making you laugh.

“You’re evil.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Very much so, I’ll admit…”

Alcohol made his words slow and slurred. His voice was deeper too, which made you blush uncontrollably. Luckily, Sirius was too drunk to notice your reaction and tease you about it.

“Come on, you need a good night of sleep,” you admonished. “I’ll see you tomorrow, if you’re sober enough to get up on your own again by then.”

But he stopped you as you walked towards the door.

“No! Stay! I’m not even sleepy.”

“You can’t even keep your eyes properly opened.”

“I can! I don’t want you to go. Stay. Stay for the night.”

“Babe… that’s against the rules.”

“Who caaaaaares?” he whined, and you could hear in his voice that he was rolling his eyes.

“You’re drunk. Nothing is going to happen tonight.”

“I mean… I wanted cuddles, but if you want more… I’m all for it.”

You laughed, but complied anyway. You always caved in, after all.

“Alright, just cuddles. Move over.”

He grinned up at you and soon you were lying with him, holding him close. He soon closed his eyes.

When he spoke, his voice was a mere whisper, already half drowned in sleep and slowed down by the liquor.

“You know… I can’t say it but… I do feel like that. I feel the same. I feel like that for you. Like… a lot. An awful lot.”

You didn’t need any more explanation to know perfectly well what Sirius meant, what he was talking about. You smiled the brightest of smiles.

“I love you too, Sirius.”

But he had already drifted to sleep…

It was your last evening at Hogwarts.

The NEWTs were over, the year had gone by too quickly. It was the beginning of Summer. Or rather, the end of Spring.

Clouds had lifted, the grass was green and dry and soft, just the way you loved it. Flowers grew over slopes and bushes and trees had found back their glorious shades of green.

It was a happy season, with sunlight and laughter. But it was coming to an end.

You would not be back at Hogwarts. It was your last day. And you felt sad about it. The next day, you would carry your suitcase for the last time to the train station, and take the Hogwarts Express never to come back home.

But rather than to spend your last day being depressed, your friends had planned a series of festivities and games to make sure that your last memories in the Castle would be worth remembering. And they succeeded. None of you would ever forget this day. Pranks rained over the Castle, last gifts from the infamous Marauders. Parties, and games all afternoon. So much laughter, enough to fill up entire rooms.

It had been magical, and you were thankful to have encountered such a happy mess of people during your stay in this school.

Outside, the world was dangerous and uncertain and dark. But you had been granted one last day under the sun, and you reckoned that it was enough for now. It would be enough to get by for a while; for as long as you needed to endure to see the sun shine brightly again.

Dinner was over, and you were taking a walk with Sirius across the grounds. It was past curfew, but you weren’t worried about being caught. You doubted any teacher would tell you anything, let alone punish you on your last evening.

You sat down together by the shores of the quiet lake. Above your heads, the night sky wore stars by the hundreds, the thousands even. You could guess the purple shades of the Milky Way far above. There was no moon, but there were so many stars shining that night that it didn’t really matter.

Sirius stared at you while you watched the sky, the two of you wrapped in a comfortable silence; this intimate kind of quiet that made him feel safe and warm. He stared at you, with your head thrown back to look up at the shining lights, and the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He wished he could stop time for a while, so he could keep on admiring you like this. A simple moment that made his heart swell like never before.

You had a talent, really, to make the world brighter. A real earthquake that had reorganized his life for the better. You had shaken all his boundaries, all the darkest parts of his mind, to shade a bright hope on his life. One day, he would heal. He believed in that now. He had started to believe he could escape his family when he found his brothers. Then he found you, and you promised him something that even his best friends could not have granted him: hope for peace and quiet.

He smiled at the thought. Most people would not think of peace and quiet when thinking about his plans after Hogwarts. Joining the fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Buy that motorcycle he had been dreaming about for months. And build a home with you that he would fill with his leather jackets, his rock music and his bark-like laughter.

It would be quiet though. In his mind and heart, it would be peaceful, like never before. Because he would move in with you, in this apartment you had already found together, and it would be a home. A brand-new home, just for the two of you, where your friends – your family – would always be welcome. A home with you.

He was sad to leave Hogwarts and all the wonderful memories he had gathered along the years, but he was excited too. It was a brand-new chapter in a book he would keep on writing with you. And it felt right. Like he belonged wherever you were.

And the more he thought about it, the more he reckoned that this was the true definition of the word everyone talks about but none can truly define. And he understood why. It was a feeling alright, but a feeling that got so entwined with a person, the two became synonyms. It was love. Love was the way you made him feel, and you were love.

When the words finally formed on his tongue, he found that he was ready. You had rewritten their meaning.

“I love you, Y/N.”

#sirius black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfic #the marauders #marauders era #hp fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #imagine

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7grandmel · 13 days ago

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Rip of the week: 21/10/2024

Through the Bad Apples!!

Season 8

No Album Release

Bad Apple!! (UK Version) - Touhou 4: Lotus Land Story

Ripped by Ellie53 (@ellie53real)

youtube

Made legendary through Guitar Hero III, Through the Fire and Flames is a song known far and wide across the internet; a piece of mainstream music that pierces through to the most shut-in of nerds due to the gaming legacy tied to it. It was the ultimate challenge for play in the ultimate Guitar Hero release, an absolutely unmissable part of pop culture of the 7th generation of gaming, and of course an absolute shredding banger in its own right. It's a natural fit for the SiIvaGunner channel, and ever since around ~Season 5 or so it's seen a pretty notable uptick in appearances - you may remember my writing of the legendary Through the F-F-Fire and the F-F-Flames, championing its ripper for his incredible ambitions and efforts made to make the rip feel as complete as it does. Its the typical fun of SiIvaGunner arrangement rips, the age-old question of how to transfer one song's intensity into the framework of a different song or video game's sound; Float Islands (Kirby 64 Arrangement), FEEL SO FINE STUCK INSIDE, and of course medley rips like SNES Mini Circulation all show just why it's such an appealing prospect. And so, we've seen a fair few rips aiming to do just what Through the F-F-Fire and the F-F-Flames did: take the legendary song and rearrange it in the style of a different game.

While the SiIvaGunner channel comes with a lot of repeating gags and bits, the ways in which they employ these can vary a fair bit. The channel's foundational meme, the ever-present funny Flintstone man Grand Dad which I wrote about on Waluigi Pinball (Beta Mix), is a simple leitmotif of just 15 notes, which makes it incredibly flexible; it can be employed as a standalone joke as practice for greenhorn rippers, or be wormed into the middle of more complex project. Memes like We Are Number One meanwhile have a very funny sound to them, yet require a lot of time and care to get to sound as good as rips like Robbie's Rotten Mine or Ska Cha Cha (Rotten Mix). And then, on the side of the spectrum completely opposite to Grand Dad, we have the jokes that feel more like a complete and total flex on the part of the ripper employing them. These "bits" are the ones that aren't necessarily reoccurring due to being funny, but rather due to being bangers with a complexity inherent to their composition, which makes any rip employing them feel like a big event. The main example would be Final Fantasy VII's One Winged Angel as featured on rips like I will Never be a Redneck, yet perhaps just as impressive are rips utilizing Dragonforce's legendary Through the Fire and Flames; rips like, indeed, Through the Bad Apples!!.

In large part, that is what Through the Bad Apples!! also does to great effect, imbuing the track with the distinct sound of the Touhou franchise. You can read the entries on V.NR. One Was Four? and Beautiful! ~ Curveball of Sean Kingston to learn more about it, but to keep it concise it's a sound that I very much admire and enjoy despite having very little knowledge of the Touhou series as a whole. One Touhou song I'm most DEFINITELY aware of, however, is Bad Apple!! - perhaps the series' most virally spread anthem, and one that I officially fell in love with all the way back in Season 3 of SiIvaGunner through Imperial Touwer. It is, in many ways, a song just as legendary and known to the video game mainstream - if not moreso - as Through the Fire and Flames. And so, in some sense, it was only logical for Through the Bad Apples!! to instead flip things on its head.

Indeed, the rip isn't an arrangement of the Dragonforce track kept to the soundscape of Touhou 4; uniquely, it's instead the other way around, an arrangement of Bad Apple!! using the instrumental sound of Through the Fire and Flames. Upon relistening to Through the Fire and Flames a few times before writing this post, I had forgotten just how video game-y the original track actually already sounds, with a chirpy synth accentuating several key moments of the performance that just oozes 90s video games. As a result, the two tracks feel closer to one another than you'd once think; and Through the Bad Apples!! as a result manages to feel less like a straight interpretation of one into the other, and more like an even blend of the two sounds.

I'm yet to cover much of what Ellie53 has done on SiIvaGunner before this post, but she's been a constant presence on the channel since the tail end of Season 5, no doubt soon becoming aware of the rising prominence of Through the Fire and Flames rips. She's also tinkered around with Bad Apple!! in particular with Maçã Ruim!! back in Season 7; and so, I suppose it only makes sense that one would eventually put the pieces together and try their hand at mixing the two into one. Through the Bad Apples!! feels WELL worth the wait and is a shining example of Ellie53's growth as a ripper, and I'm hopeful that Through the Fire and Flames sticking around on SiIvaGunner for the foreseeable future can continue to inspire rippers just like Ellie53 to keep finding new ways to experiment with its sound.

Long live Dragonforce!

#todays siivagunner #season 8 #siivagunner #siiva #Ellie53 #Youtube #tentative rip name #dragonforce #touhou project #touhou #guitar hero #guitar hero 3 #rhythm games #bad apple #Bandcamp

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antialiasis · 11 months ago

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Chess (2018 Kennedy Center revival)

So I was just going to briefly mention all the other different versions of Chess I have consumed in the big essay post I’ve been writing on and off, but there was just too much to say about this one which made it really awkward to fit it in, so fine, here is another individual chesspost. Nearly 7500 words of rambling under the cut, oh my god.

This production represents the latest official full overhaul of Chess. It sports an all-new book written by Danny Strong, also known as the actor who played Jonathan on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which is some whiplash (Sarah Michelle Gellar is apparently a big Chess fan, too). It was later staged again as a concert with some further modifications in 2021, but I listened to an audio bootleg of the 2018 version. (There exist some videos of it online, but only scattered bits.)

The Story Changes

This version has London’s basic plot structure with the distinctive two chess tournaments (this time four years apart, which is neither the original number nor the actual number of years between world chess championships), but rearranges Act I, adds a lot more quippy dialogue and swearing, reinterprets the characters, and recenters real-world politics in the whole thing — sort of the exact inverse of what Chess på svenska did with the material. It opens with “Difficult and Dangerous Times” to set the scene in the Cold War and features the Arbiter narrating with sardonic omniscient commentary between songs/scenes throughout, which does feel a bit more consistent than the Arbiter suddenly having a narrator role for the duration of one song in Act II.

All the main characters in this version are reinterpreted with significant new background context, which is a very interesting way to rewrite it that I definitely dig in principle. For example, Florence’s first scene here involves Walter threatening her with deportation from the US unless she can make Freddie behave for the duration of the tournament. Most versions of Chess make the political scheming very symbolic and vague — exchanges of mostly unnamed political prisoners or handwaved concessions — but this version is noticeably specific, with specific nuclear arms treaty negotiations that the CIA believes would be negatively affected if Freddie keeps openly antagonizing the Soviets. She tells Walter to go fuck himself (told you it adds more swearing) and that nobody can control Freddie Trumper, but ultimately she doesn’t have much of a choice but to reluctantly play along. This addition recontextualizes her character and her interactions with Freddie in Act I a fair bit — it’s pretty significant, after all, that she is under threat and may lose her home if she doesn’t somehow control what she really can’t.

Meanwhile, Freddie himself here suffers from a full-on mental illness which he takes medication for. Walter asserts on a phone call early that they’re dealing with a “genuine paranoid schizophrenic”, but then later calls him a “bipolar bitch”; I take the blatant inconsistency combined with the obviously insulting nature of these remarks to mean probably we’re not meant to take either of them at face value, but these two lines from Walter are the only ones suggesting any specific diagnosis. (I unfortunately suspect Danny Strong didn’t have a specific condition in mind and research it so much as just slap him with a Generic Ambiguous Mental Illness for which he takes Pills.) One way or another, Freddie’s ambiguous mental illness gives him bouts of intense paranoia, driving him to do things like trashing his and Florence’s hotel room to look for listening devices at one point. Florence keeps insistently, frustratedly telling him to just take his goddamn pills even as he’s in genuine distress; it’s pretty uncomfortable, and also definitely one of those things that are at least more human when his episodes could cost her the only home she has: she’s desperate and in distress too.

(I do kind of feel as if this whole bit would make more sense if Florence and Freddie had a strictly business relationship here to start with, instead of being explicitly portrayed as a couple — when they have a committed intimate partnership going on, one would think Florence getting deported would also be pretty obviously significant for Freddie, and Florence quietly playing along with the CIA and crossing her fingers that she can indirectly coax him into behaving with seemingly no serious thought given to whether it’d be better to just tell him why he needs to stop feels stranger. The scene with Walter sounds like Walter/the CIA are not aware of their romantic relationship and Florence wants to keep it that way — they both refer to Freddie strictly by his full/last name and as “her player” — so I guess Walter would have assumed she wouldn’t tell him, but surely the calculus would at least look a bit different to Florence herself. Even if it just prompts her to realize Freddie would still be liable to react by becoming even more erratic and vocal about his paranoias, that feels like it’d be significant enough, at least for her feelings on this relationship going forward, that it never actually coming up or being suggested within the story starts to feel marginally odd. Not a major complaint, though, just a bit of overthinking.)

Freddie in general is noticeably portrayed much more sympathetically here than usual throughout. Where other versions of Chess tend to present Freddie as an attention-seeking drama queen who plays up ludicrous arbitrary demands for money and press, here things like his walkout from the first chess game are made to come from a much more genuine place: he has major sensory issues and is intolerably thrown off balance by distracting noise and lights (which really are deliberately arranged to sabotage him). “Florence Quits”, the song with the misogyny verse, usually reads as being triggered by his jealousy and inability to accept that Anatoly’s just playing better than him, but this version makes it feel more about how he feels persistently gaslit about the ways he’s being sabotaged than anything else: he accuses the Soviets of having a hypnotist in the front row to throw him off (which they do, and Freddie literally saw him and recognized him) and Florence of working for the CIA (which she has been, if not by choice) while they deny it and brush it off, and the tense opening notes of the song play under him desperately yelling “You’re lying to me! You’re all lying to me!” (Which doesn’t make the misogyny okay, obviously, but it does make it feel more like a desperate, paranoia-fueled lashout where you don’t know how much he really means all that.)

When he subsequently forfeits the match against Anatoly, he makes a speech that sounds absolutely despairing where he says chess has been taking a toll on his health since he first became champion at eleven years old, and he doesn’t feel he can trust anyone, even himself. In Act II, before “The Interview”, he even actually apologizes to Florence for how he treated her; heck, his motivation for going so hard after Anatoly in “The Interview” itself is portrayed as being that he is genuinely disgusted by Anatoly leaving his family so callously (which is a lot of fun given Freddie’s own issues about his father leaving him and his mother behind) and wants Florence to hear the truth about what a despicable man he is, which is still unpleasant to her but clearly comes from a much more sympathetic place than either simple spite or reluctantly complying with Walter’s orders.

As for Anatoly… he was taken from his parents when he was a small child to be groomed by Molokov and the KGB into becoming a chess champion, and he’s well aware from his very first scene that the state had killed the previous Soviet champion after Freddie unseated him. (Freddie excoriates the press early on for not covering why the former champion disappeared off the face of the Earth because they’re too busy bashing Freddie, which sounds like paranoia, but the narrative has actually told us Freddie is right and they really did execute him but no one but Freddie seems to notice or care — another way in which Freddie is jarringly sympathetic here. In general, Freddie is portrayed as paranoid, and the other characters treat him like he’s just paranoid, but the narrative keeps proving Freddie’s paranoia right.)

Anatoly, though, isn’t afraid of the same fate, because “The state cannot execute a man… that is already dead.” (This general sentiment could press my buttons, but it just feels super corny and melodramatic the way it’s presented and performed, especially with that dramatic pause in there.) He is deeply depressed, thinks his marriage to Svetlana is fake and his kids hate him, and says repeatedly in Act I that he hates chess and just wants to be free of it, though he also describes a particular championship match he watched as the only time he’s felt love. At the end of Act I, he defects to the UK along with Florence as usual (his defection fully blows up the treaty Walter was worrying about despite Anatoly’s victory, so Florence’s refugee visa is indeed revoked, and that’s why they end up in the UK). Theoretically he should be free of chess now, but it bothers him intensely that he only won by forfeit (here they never finished playing a single match), resulting in him returning to defend his world champion title, and win it ‘properly’, four years later in Bangkok against Viigand.

Unknown to Anatoly, by Act II, after the election of Ronald Reagan, the Soviets are extra on edge and believe a planned NATO military exercise is actually the US mobilizing for a full-scale invasion of the Soviet Union. Walter tries to convince Molokov it’s just an exercise; Molokov insists unfortunately the generals are going to believe it’s an invasion and be ready to retaliate unless Viigand wins the championship (if Viigand wins they will take it as a ‘sign of goodwill’ from the US, which will change their minds on the apparent invasion because, uhh, unclear). Throughout Act II, the larger stakes in this version are set up to be that if Anatoly should win the match, the Soviets are liable to start a nuclear war.

Does Walter go to Anatoly to frankly tell him that apparently the Soviets have lost their minds and are basically threatening nuclear war over a chess match and try to convince him to throw on that basis? Does Molokov realize that if he’s telling Walter to go rig the chess match so the generals will call it off, he clearly doesn’t actually believe that the US is about to invade, so probably he should be trying to convince the generals not to go for the nuclear option himself? No, of course not; this is Chess, so we have to have the songs that are in Chess. So instead, Walter and Molokov just go through the same indirect schemes as usual to unbalance Anatoly and convince him to throw the game, with some minor twists. Molokov actually actively threatens Svetlana with being sent to a gulag to die if she doesn’t convince her husband to return — and Svetlana does straight-up tell Anatoly this, only for Anatoly to brush her off and tell her they won’t do that. Florence learns the same from Walter and initially dismisses him, and fully doesn’t believe him about her father being alive, but does ultimately sympathize with Svetlana and worry for her, which I like. But Anatoly is obsessed with winning this championship above all else and fully convinced Molokov is bluffing.

In the end, he plays the game to win, oblivious to the nuclear threat; as he checkmates, Walter makes a desperate phone call to his superiors to call off the training exercise. (Why he didn’t just do that immediately when Molokov told him the Soviets were taking it as an attack, instead of spending all this time playing along with this elaborate chess mind game, is a mystery.) Only… they don’t, and the Soviets watch with their fingers on the nuclear button, but ultimately they don’t fire. The Arbiter’s narration informs us this was the closest the world ever came to destruction, even closer than the Cuban missile crisis, and that this then served as the wake-up call that prompted negotiations about nuclear deescalation.

Anatoly, meanwhile, returns to the Soviet Union as usual, this time successfully exchanging himself for Florence’s imprisoned father, and Walter gives Florence and her father visas so that they can return to the US together.

Broad thoughts

I feel profoundly weird about the mixing of real-life history and completely fictitious alternate history here — you can’t just assert in narration that the fictional events in your musical were what taught the US and Soviet Union that maybe they should just talk to each other, while making a specific comparison to an actual thing that really happened, after spending the musical asserting that the Soviets murdered chess players for losing the world championship. I think mixing history and fiction can work fine if we can imagine that for all we know this is what really happened, or alternatively that this is what might have happened in some alternate universe similar to but distinct from ours. But here, we’re creating highly significant and publicized events that are obviously fictional, making it absurd to pretend this is what really happened, while also presenting these fictional alternate-universe events in objective hindsight narration alongside real events that happened in the real world and as a supposed cause of them. This ending narration just feels like it’s weirdly trying to have its cake and eat it too.

All in all, though, I think this is definitely one of the most interesting efforts to rewrite Chess. It definitely has something it’s going for, there are several neat ideas in it, and in particular I appreciate that it tries to give extra attention to the characters, more context to their actions, and more messy, humanized depth, inner conflict, and complicated motivators and stressors behind what they do. I genuinely enjoy what it’s doing with Freddie in Act I, in particular, even though it feels somehow both jarringly like it’s woobifying him (I genuinely think he ends up coming across as the most sympathetic of the three mains here, with so much of his erratic, childish and unpleasant behaviour being recontextualized to be more understandable and the way his hatred of the Soviets keeps being validated by the narrative) and like the narrative is weirdly harsh on him (this much more sympathetic Freddie who suffers from an actual mental illness is treated like absolute irredeemable scum by every other character including the fourth-wall-leaning narrator, even more than usual).

I also think the restructuring of Act I was pretty solid for the most part, though there’s definitely some awkwardness, like how Freddie’s expanded encounters with the press sort of clumsily repeat the same beats a bit. On the one hand, I can get what Danny Strong was going for in choosing to introduce everyone first and then go into “Merano” instead of doing several minutes of narrative meaninglessness before the main characters are even introduced; on the other hand, that kind of just half-defeats the sole original purpose of “Merano”, which is to provide a very jaunty more stereotypical musical theater song so that Freddie can be introduced via barging in and interrupting it with his very different vibe, and if I were Danny Strong I would definitely have just removed “Merano” at that point. But the “Difficult and Dangerous Times” opening works great, and it nicely avoids the “almost nothing of note happens for nearly forty minutes” and “several meaningless fluff songs in a row” problems of the London script, introducing conflict and stakes early and keeping the narrative going.

Ultimately, though, a lot of what it’s trying to do doesn’t quite come together to me, and some of it is variously misguided or just strange.

The Politics

To start with, I can definitely get wanting to emphasize the role of Cold War politics in the narrative, and I basically enjoyed the increased political focus and higher stakes in Act I — but I don’t think making Anatoly unwittingly almost start a nuclear war works here, or fits properly into this narrative at all. The Soviet generals have to be holding idiot balls; Molokov has to be holding an idiot ball; Walter has to be holding the biggest idiot ball of all; and most importantly, the ludicrously massive stakes being pasted on top of the match despite none of the main characters even knowing about it means we zoom thoroughly out of the character drama of the situation: “Endgame” just becomes grotesquely trivial with that hanging over it without Anatoly’s knowledge, rendering the actual drama of the climactic song completely irrelevant to what’s really at stake.

I also dislike, in a version that emphasizes the politics, how distinctly slanted it is. One of the things that I like in the London strain of Chess is that Walter and Molokov are both slimy, manipulative bastards in different ways, both sides’ political actors cruelly toying with the lives of the players for their own impersonal ends; the righteousness of each state as a whole doesn’t really matter to this story, only the impact that the whole conflict and the mutual scheming has on the main characters’ lives. But in this version, the Soviets and Molokov are cartoon villains who literally abduct children to force them into chess camp and then murder them if they don’t win the world championship, while Walter may be a condescending asshole who’s willing to threaten Florence but is distinctly the ‘good guy’ in his interactions with Molokov, which comprise most of his screentime, especially in Act II. Walter even gets a humanizing moment where he explains he has a nine-year-old son and has nightmares about him suffering a nuclear winter (Molokov, meanwhile, tells Walter in Act I that Anatoly is like a son to him but could not more obviously not care about Anatoly at all when he proudly presents his new champion material Viigand in Act II). I just find it really detrimental to Chess’s narrative to make it about Soviets Bad, US Good, and more so the more you focus on that — to whatever extent you highlight the politics in this story, it should be done in a way that’s about how the political machinations of the Cold War impact the character drama at the center of it, and it’s distracting when instead you make it into a loosely related B-plot about Walter’s desperate diplomatic efforts to stop the evil Soviets from destroying the world with their shortsightedness.

I think a successful more politically-focused Chess could definitely exist, but I think it’s always going to function best if Walter and Molokov feel at least narratively like just about equal scumbags. It’s not even impossible to imagine nuclear weapons and mutually assured destruction coming up in the course of it — but it needs to be using that to make us enraged at all of this on behalf of Anatoly/Florence/Svetlana/Freddie, not enraged at Molokov on behalf of Walter.

The Character Work

Meanwhile, I do basically like the setup and recontextualization done for all of the main characters in Act I, but unfortunately none of them quite delivered as well as I hoped in the end.

Let’s start with Florence. I actually quite liked the deportation threat, putting Florence herself under personal pressure in a way she usually isn’t. I dig characters being put through the wringer and making decisions under stress. But the story doesn’t quite do anything with that other than using it as silent context behind her early interactions with Freddie and technically as the reason she and Anatoly move to the UK offscreen. We don’t, for instance, ever see Freddie learn that that’s why she moved or that he was unwittingly indirectly responsible for that, or otherwise address that in any way, and as far as Florence in the rest of the story is concerned, it might as well never have happened — we never see her having any kinds of feelings on it, or even confronting Walter about that nasty little part he played in her life when she meets him again (she doesn’t even comment on it when he offers her the chance to go back to the US at the end!). To an extent this is, of course, because Florence being deported was never originally part of the story of Chess, so of course it doesn’t come up in any song or have any significant specific impact on the core series of events — but if you’re going to add it in at all, you really ought to be taking that somewhere in the rest of your additions that isn’t just briefly handwaving that she gets to go back at the end.

Like Long Beach, this version brings Florence’s father back at the end — but unfortunately, it feels really unearned here. Compared to other London variants, it actually ditches the bit of “The Deal” where Florence is tangibly emotional and riled up by Walter’s offer of her father — she fully dismisses the idea of her father being alive as bullshit, and instead it’s Svetlana who moves her to have doubts when she sees her begging Anatoly to return on video and realizes Svetlana still loves him. I do really like that, by itself, and it’s probably my favorite thing about this version’s portrayal of Florence; her empathizing with Svetlana to the point of feeling genuinely guilty for having taken her husband from her, and believing maybe the right thing to do would be if he went back to Svetlana for her sake, is actually very good, serves as a great lead-in to “I Know Him So Well”, and makes Florence’s character feel far more sympathetic in a production where she’s otherwise pretty lacking in that department. But it leaves us with no emotional connection whatsoever to Florence’s father — we’ve only heard her mention him twice before Walter’s offer, very briefly, in Act I, and not really with any sense that she misses or is all that invested in him. Seeing her reunite with him means nothing for her or her arc; it just comes out of left field, and winds up being another thing slanting this version towards Good Guy Walter, Bad Guy Molokov, what with Walter offering her visas back to the US for both of them seemingly out of the goodness of his heart.

It would have been possible to actually build up to this in a way that would make it satisfying. Florence and Anatoly have several conversations; we could have used some of those to have Florence actually talk about her father and how she feels about him being gone, and that could have been part of building up her relationship with Anatoly, made it meaningful that Anatoly’s parting gift to her is to ensure her father’s return. I suppose Danny Strong’s thought process may have been that if he built up Florence’s father too much, that should become her main concern once Walter brings that into it, and he wanted her concern to be about Svetlana instead, which I guess is fair; it also means Anatoly only really has to dismiss the potential harm to one other person in his obsession with winning the game. But if you do make the decision to not build up her father, then bringing her father back is not an ending that makes any sense, and there was no need to do this — they could have easily cut out all suggestion of her father being alive entirely and it would only have made things smoother. I think the only reason she gets her father back in this one is in some hasty effort to make Florence’s ending less bleak, but because it doesn’t have any emotional resonance, it’s just not the right way to do that here.

Speaking of Florence and Anatoly, the romance here… once again has some neat, interesting things it’s going for but doesn’t quite come together as a whole. The two of them do have some actual conversations where they bond a bit, which is already a marked improvement over the default London script — but their very first conversation features Anatoly asserting out of nowhere that Florence has “a way of brightening his spirit”, despite not even knowing her, which isn’t super convincing and just comes off kind of creepy-awkward. Florence asserts a few times that he’s sweet and kind, but we don’t really see much of him actually coming across as sweet or kind — his lines tend to be either melodramatic or sardonic moping interspersed kind of jarringly with awkward jokes. He’s less charming or sweet and more like a lonely, kicked dog, which is fine if Florence is into that but doesn’t quite make her descriptions of why she likes him ring true.

This production actually goes back to the concept album a bit when it comes to Florence and Anatoly — namely, more than political manipulation and external pressures forcibly tearing them apart from the outside, there’s a more substantial internal tension between them as Anatoly genuinely simply prioritizes winning the chess match over her and dismisses her as she tries to question him about Svetlana. The two approaches can both work but do different things for the narrative; this internal approach puts more focus on the personal conflict and character drama and makes the relationship more interesting, which is definitely good, and in principle I think this is built up to in a pretty solid way here — Anatoly, raised to become a chess champion to the exclusion of all else, being maddened by the notion of not actually beating Freddie in Act I and needing to prove he deserves the championship to himself in Act II before he can feel “free from chess” works as a coherent reason for him to be so strikingly, unhealthily obsessive about it.

But I think the biggest problem is that Florence and Anatoly individually don’t hit well enough as characters to create investment in them. Florence is ultimately not developed enough and mostly just acts kind of unpleasant, especially to Freddie, all the way up until that Svetlana bit in Act II. More importantly, I just can’t like or understand or sympathize with Anatoly at all, beyond recognizing that core of what his arc is going for. Part of it is probably down to the writing of his lines, which I’m just not a fan of in general. I already named one example from his first scene. Here’s how Anatoly and Florence’s very first conversation starts:

ANATOLY: It’s not his fault. This game drives us all crazy. FLORENCE: I’m fine. Aren’t you even a little bit scared? ANATOLY: Of Trumper? FLORENCE: No, that they’ll kill you if you lose. ANATOLY: Oh. To quote the great Leo Tolstoy, “Even in the valley of the shadow of death, two and two do not make six.” FLORENCE: What does that mean? ANATOLY: I don’t know exactly, but it is very Russian.

I just don’t find this dialogue very convincing. Why is he reciting a dramatic irrelevant quote if he doesn’t know what it means and just thinks it’s “very Russian”? It feels like a generic quippy exchange off a snarky TV show. Does Anatoly use humour to cope with his situation? Not really; this is pretty much the only time he says anything that might be taken as that. This feels like a joke that’s there only to get a laugh out of the audience, not because Anatoly would actually tell it — and consequently, it doesn’t tell us anything real about Anatoly. Meanwhile, Florence responds to this with “Oh, you’re funny,” as if that’s one of the reasons she falls for him when I would decidedly not name that as a character trait he has. I feel like most of his dialogue just doesn’t have a great sense of character — in stark contrast to Freddie, who oozes character. I can’t get a good sense of who he is and how he thinks. He’s just there. And this also makes it harder to see what Florence sees in him and believe in the relationship.

Moreover, this Anatoly just comes across as kind of a terrible person, not in the fun coherent intentional way Freddie is a terrible person but in a flat, confusing and kind of unintentional-seeming way. Svetlana here is actually really sympathetic, with lovely little additional bits of dialogue that make her feelings hit harder (her voice as she tells Anatoly that “You left us!” breaks my heart), and this is possibly my favorite version of Svetlana in any Chess. But Anatoly is really, really terrible to her, by which I don’t even mean the cheating on her but the bit where he keeps angrily insisting to her face that she never loved him and she brainwashed their children to hate him and of course they’re not going to kill her (hey, Anatoly, guess who’s already well aware that the Soviet government in this universe is not above executing people over chess?).

And even that could be made understandable, given his situation — he could just be in hard denial about it because the thought of them having been suffering with him gone and being punished for his actions is so horrific he just shuts it down — but there’s never any sense that that’s what’s really going on. We don’t see him privately upset about the possibility later, for instance — he just keeps insisting the same and dismissing Svetlana to Florence, too. We know it’s not that it’s true — we see Svetlana admit to Molokov that even though he ruined her life and she never wants to see him again she still loves him, and we hear her sing “Someone Else’s Story” and “I Know Him So Well”. Nor do we ever get any hint at exactly what Svetlana or his kids did to make him think this of them, if anything (his own kids!). Anatoly just seems to sort of bitterly, adamantly believe this for no reason at all. And that makes it impossible to empathize with. Okay, sure, Anatoly, you were taken from your family as a child, but that really doesn’t even start to explain any of this. There could have been ways of making it feel at least believable, tragic in a deeply fucked-up way, but the story here just doesn’t do the work. And once again, Anatoly being so unpleasant for no reason just makes it harder to feel at all invested in his relationship with Florence or sad when they part.

The best fix here isn’t quite obvious, and I can’t say I envy Danny Strong trying to put all his neat little ideas together and make them work. If Anatoly were to appear substantially conflicted about Svetlana and put any real stock in Molokov’s threat, that would render “Endgame”, where he doubles down anyway, kind of jarring and inexcusable as he’d be not just refusing to return to her but refusing to care if she is killed. So in order for this to properly work with “Endgame”, he probably does need to be very deep in denial about whether they’d really kill her. I think what I would do, if I were writing this plot where groomed-as-a-chess-champion Anatoly knows the Soviets killed Boris Ivanovich and they’ve threatened to kill Svetlana too, is to emphasize better how irrational Anatoly is being and try to show it more as a consequence of growing up among the constantly plotting KGB.

Let him go off on a proper paranoid rant to Florence about the reasons why he thinks Svetlana is just plotting against him, and some innocuous things he saw his kids do once that mean she brainwashed them. When Florence tries to challenge him on how batshit he sounds, he just storms out, saying she’s being taken in by their lies and just wants to sabotage him, and disappears — and she doesn’t see him again until he appears at the final game and plays this manic, desperate match while insisting to himself that Svetlana and Florence both just never understood him and hated his success. Afterwards, we can perhaps see him finally, quietly asking Molokov if they’re really going to kill her, showing that on some level he already knew the threat might be real and had just firmly blocked it out (in the actual ending as it is Molokov simply tells him unprompted that she really will be punished unless he comes back, and he just asks why with no addressing of his previous adamant insistence that that wouldn’t happen). His and Florence’s final conversation could then involve a bit more of a reckoning with that and with what his relationship with Svetlana was really like, through a more honest lens.

I’m actually pretty tickled by this scenario because that would really drive home a pretty fun parallel between Anatoly and Freddie — which in hindsight I think this version must in fact have been trying for, but didn’t quite do in a focused enough way for it to really hit. Anatoly and Freddie are both chess players with deeply abnormal childhoods and bouts of paranoia that cause them to behave in toxic ways, which ultimately drives Florence away from both of them.

This production shows the first chess game as the “Chess Game” instrumental playing under Freddie and Anatoly having alternating inner monologues about the game and their issues, deliberately drawing a comparison between the two of them; they both say they hate chess, that they don’t feel like real human beings. It’s not exactly subtle, but I liked the way this was used to build up their respective brain gremlins and was intrigued by the parallel being set up. I didn’t feel they ultimately did much with the parallel, though, because the story then didn’t really continue leaning into it much from there. By emphasizing this Anatoly’s paranoia as paranoia and not just as him legitimately thinking the marriage was never real and the KGB wouldn’t kill her, we could properly build the story around that parallel, and I would genuinely dig that.

The one place after the chess match where the actual thing does sort of try to get at the Anatoly/Freddie parallel again is in the dialogue scene that precedes “Endgame”. This scene is not sung (though it has the “Chess Game” instrumental in the background, which connects it neatly to that previous bit comparing the two of them), but it’s clearly based on “Talking Chess”: Freddie approaches Anatoly to tell him Viigand’s weakness lies in his King’s Indian Defense, and:

ANATOLY: Why are you helping me? FREDDIE: Jesus Christ! Am I the only one who cares about this game? ANATOLY: It’s more than a game now. There is so much more at stake than who wins or loses. FREDDIE: No! No, winning is everything. Fuck politics! Fuck the KGB, fuck the CIA, fuck them all! We are the ones who have dedicated our lives to chess. We are the ones who have given up everything for greatness — our childhoods, our sanity, our loves. Anatoly, we’ve sacrificed everything. They’ve sacrificed nothing. What’s the number one rule of a chess champion? ANATOLY: Play to win. FREDDIE: As long as you do that you can never lose, even if you do.

Much as I love “Talking Chess”, though, this on the surface similar scene just didn’t feel right in this context when I listened to it. In Anatoly’s last scene here, he told Florence firmly that he just wanted to win and that his marriage with Svetlana was never real and it’s all KGB mind games. Him going “It’s more than a game now, there’s so much more at stake” suddenly now comes out of nowhere — if he believes that now, it could only be if he actively reconsidered something offscreen, but he doesn’t say anything elaborating on what he’s thinking now or what he might have reconsidered or why, just that vague, generic line that contradicts everything he’s expressed up until this point. It’s another example of Anatoly’s dialogue just feeling really flat and meaningless to me — his lines here don’t say anything, just serve as vague filler to prompt Freddie onward. And because unlike London proper the setup leading up to this is all about him already being absolutely determined to win the game at all costs, this just feels redundant, unnecessary, going through the motions of something that’s in London without realizing that with the changed context it doesn’t quite make sense anymore.

I think that’s unfortunately the case with Freddie a bit here too. I enjoyed Act I’s quite different take on Freddie, and his establishing narration for Act II petulantly stating Anatoly won the championship last year “by forfeit, I might add”, and “The Interview” is recontextualized in a very fun way as I mentioned before — but after that it feels like Danny Strong doesn’t quite know what to do with Freddie anymore and just has him sort of arbitrarily go through the motions of London in a way that doesn’t necessarily hang together with everything he’s established of Freddie so far. It made sense that this Freddie, despite being decidedly hostile towards Walter and the CIA, conducted the interview to show Florence what a bastard Anatoly is — he’s not doing it for Walter, he’s got his own reasons to want to do it once Walter’s shown him the Svetlana video. But I find it a lot harder to swallow that this Freddie — whose usual problem seems to be that he’s compulsively blunt about how he really feels — would then be easily persuaded to play his part in “The Deal”, which involves exaggeratedly trying to be all buddy-buddy with Anatoly. Maybe if there was better setup around it, like with “The Interview” — but “The Deal” only has seconds of kind of half-assed leadup here, and from there it moves directly into “Pity the Child” (after a segue featuring the recording of Oppenheimer quoting the Bhagavad Gita, because nuclear war).

Freddie’s next appearance after that, then, is this “Talking Chess”-esque dialogue where he’s realized the parallel between the two of them, how they’ve both sacrificed everything for chess and the political schemers have sacrificed nothing and that’s why he should play to win. I can appreciate how the low point of “Pity the Child” would trigger that particular realization, contemplating how much he lost and sacrificed to achieve his status in the game and perhaps afterward realizing Anatoly is the only other person here who might understand that. That feels like it basically tracks and is interesting.

But… it also means that fun very specific contempt for Anatoly in particular based on him having left his family like Freddie’s own father did is just kind of… gone, I guess, or at least Freddie doesn’t consider it relevant enough for it to stop him from going out of his way to pep Anatoly up for the game with no mention or hint of it. (At least Freddie probably isn’t aware of the threats made against Svetlana in particular, so he doesn’t know Anatoly winning would shatter his family even further.) And we’ve lost the bit in “Talking Chess” where the notion of the political scheming actually leading to Viigand winning the match just personally offends Freddie because Viigand is not even that good; instead Freddie is just putting forward “Play to win” as some kind of general inviolable chess principle, which is kind of generic and not nearly as characterful, in my opinion. I’m not saying we ought to have had the “Viigand is mediocre” bit here — I don’t think it would quite fit in for this Freddie, whose feelings about chess itself are very conflicted and who is more concerned with showing up these political hacks who have sacrificed nothing while they sacrificed everything — but as a Freddie moment I would really have wanted to end on something stronger there than this vague assertion that “The number one rule of a chess champion is to play to win.”

Like in London, this is Freddie’s last substantial scene, but he does have a part in “Endgame”, and it’s also an interesting one: he gets Sixty-four squares / they’re the reason you know you exist (but not the preceding How straightforward the game…), but also a couple of other verses usually sung by the chorus, and the lines he gets are clearly very purposefully chosen to reinforce that final resolve regarding the sacrifices they’ve made for greatness, which I really appreciate: Listen to them shout / They saw you do it / In their minds no doubt / That you’ve been through it / Suffered for your art and in the end a winner and They’re completely enchanted / But they don’t take your qualities for granted / It isn’t very often / That the critics soften / Nonetheless, you’ve won their hearts / How can we begin to / Appreciate the work that you’ve put into / Your calling through the years / The blood, the sweat, the tears / The late, late, nights, the early starts?

All in all, Freddie is still definitely my favorite part of this Chess, but while the parallel itself is neat it’s too muddled and I find the second half of Act II pretty uneven for him. What would I do if I were writing this bit?

I’m not totally sure how I’d want to tackle “The Deal”, but as for the “Talking Chess”-but-not scene: I would ditch the bit where Freddie is trying to advise Anatoly on strategy and the bit where Anatoly is apparently suddenly not determined to play to win just so Freddie can then tell him he should be again. None of that is contributing anything in what this version has been building up. Instead, they just sort of bump into each other, Anatoly fresh off his paranoid rant to Florence about Svetlana, Freddie fresh off “Pity the Child” and the strange realization Anatoly might be the only person who’d understand him a little bit. At first they just sort of stop and look at each other. Freddie starts, guarded, with some kind of oblique accusatory prod about the leaving his family thing, which he still deeply resents.

Anatoly has calmed down now, but he tells him what he told Florence: that it was always a fake marriage, a fake family, that the video was just a lie set up for him by the KGB, that Svetlana had brainwashed their children to despise him.

This incidentally plays into Freddie’s existing preconceptions pretty well. He’s probably not instantly convinced but it checks out enough he’s willing to reluctantly leave it alone for now. Probably mutters something like, “Fucking Soviets.”

Anatoly says something like, aren’t you going to try to make me a deal to get me to throw the match and go back? Freddie says no, fuck that. Says the whole bit about how we are the ones who have dedicated ourselves to chess, who have sacrificed everything, childhood, sanity, love, and they’ve sacrificed nothing. Why should we listen to those CIA and KGB assholes? Draws out that parallel. The two of them are probably standing in symmetrical positions on the stage.

Anatoly just nods slowly, agreeing. “I would have beaten you.”

Freddie scoffs and says, “Dream on,” but not quite with the spiteful arrogance he would’ve said it in Act I.

Then they part, and we move on to “Endgame”. The scene isn’t about Freddie helping Anatoly, or about Freddie convincing Anatoly to go for the win; it’s about the Freddie/Anatoly parallel, about Freddie realizing it and in his profound loneliness finding a smidge of connection with this guy he hated because he’s the only one who sort of Gets It, and about showing how Anatoly’s conviction has developed since the first chess match where part of his inner monologue went, “I can’t beat him, he’s too good.” Anatoly is so ready to prove that he really is the world’s best chess player.

Conclusion

Man, this version is so interesting. It’s a mess, but it’s a fascinating mess with a bunch of tasty potential and a real sense that Danny Strong had some genuine thoughts on what the show was missing and how to rework it to fix that, even where his attempts were ultimately confused and don’t succeed. In some ways it’s the most me-core version of Chess and in other ways it’s deeply antithetical to me and in most all ways it’s trying to do something neat but does it in a flawed way. Special shoutout to this Freddie, who honestly deserves better than this Florence.

#musicals #chess musical #chess the musical #ramble #review

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bambooshrimp · 11 months ago

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FNAF The Silver Eyes Adaption (WIP)

The main four: Carlton Burke, John Gorodetsky, Charlotte “Charlie” Emily, Jessica Riley

(Long comments under the cut!)

So update: I’ve been held back by college this year from making progress for this project. I’m in the process of sketching right now, and thankfully, I have a solid script to work with. I’m still debating whether I should make Charlie an Asian-American or not, but I’m loving their designs so far! I also made their colors more muted to fit on the vibes I’m going for with this comic.

As for the changes I made…

With Charlie:

As I said, she’s most likely going to become Asian-American in this comic. No specific reason for this change other than I just get bored of drawing characters of the same euro-centric ethnicity.

No, we’re not doing the robot thing.

Let’s give her trauma so bad, she had selective amnesia instead

Self-loathing club Member #1

She’s 18 in my adaption

With John:

The sweetest boy you’ll ever know. He just wants to be there for you, dude.

Russian-American

Also 18

With Jessica:

The baddest bitch on the block.

She’s more motherly-type now on top of being the leader, and the only active braincell in the group

Have an ever-lasting beef with Carlton (she still cares for him tho)

She’s 19, which is maybe the reason why she’s acting more mature than the others?

With Carlton:

Aw man, he legit became my favorite character in this iteration

Irish-Mexican

Self-loathing club Member #2

Beefs with Jessica for shits and giggles.

Has an even bigger beef with Dave (serious)

I gave him trauma so bad, the tea was BOILING with his family by the end of the series

The plot:

As I said, no cyborg Charlie concept! Definitely no Baby appearance too! I’ll add other characters from the games to substitute for Baby’s omission, can you guess who they were? 👀

Carlton plays a bigger role in my iteration, but I’ll make sure to give everyone a spotlight in the plot!

I tried not to cut as much from the original novel as I did, but I rearranged and added more dialogue into their interactions! I’ll be honest, I may have indulged myself a little too much with the (lowkey) found-family dynamic I gave them

Can I say how much of a babygirl Dave is in my script? No? Awww. Ok :(

My brain is too fried to think of what other changes I made in the plot but my ask box is open right now if you guys are curious about my fan-comic! I’m going to upload Dave, his assistant, and some plot-relevant info dump next (hopefully)!

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf fancomic #fnaf fanart #fnaf the silver eyes #the silver eyes #charlie emily #fnaf john #carlton burke #fnaf jessica #illustration

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fairyniceyeah · 5 months ago

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🧭🐺🦊Day 13: "Wait!"

Sacrifice/Adrenaline/Cornered

@juneofdoom

Day 12: "I can't stand seeing you like this"

Summary: Jeongin nearly falls off the stage.

CW: minor injuries, guilt

Whumpee: Jeongin + Chan Caretaker: Stray Kids ensemble

“Be careful”, Minho said as they spread out on the stage. It was the third week of concerts in Europe and they were checking out a new stage - again. Jeongin knew that it was important to get used to the stage before they performed, the grip, the ability to slide, the size itself, tripping hazards and more stuff they needed to know for a smooth performance.

Nonetheless, the maknae was tired of reworking their choreo to fit a new stage every second or third day. With all the travels he had even forgotten the name of the city and the country they were in. He’d have to ask Chan later.

“The stage is much smaller than we are used to”, the dance leader added worriedly, looking around.

So much was true. It had been some time since they had performed on a stage that small. It was definitely a sign of their success but it was also a reminder of the old days.

Once the stage was inspected they got into positions for the first song. They had to rearrange a few minor things but it went well. It went suspiciously well.

Jeongin, having a lot of excess energy from sitting around at the airport all day the day before, couldn’t help but enjoy the dancing. It felt good to move around. His hyungs weren’t all as enthusiastic as he was and multiple times he was reminded that he should not overuse his energy and save some for the show tonight. But he couldn’t help but use the energy to annoy them.

Seungmin rolled his eyes at him, the moment Jeongin poked him during Case 143 and distracted him. The older vocalist was on vocal rest so Jeongin took the opportunity to bother him without retribution.

Felix was having issues with his back and so he did every movement very carefully - Jeongin tried not to get in his way. Hyunjin was focused on his dancing but also managed to look bored to death during it. He seemed scary that way, so Jeongin stayed far away. Minho was totally focused on dancing and … well, butt-hunting, but he also had a hawk eye on any issues that might arise from the stage size. Jeongin was always surprised by his ability to multitask but didn’t dare test if he also could stuff tissues into his mouth while dancing perfectly during the dance break in Miroh.

Han was about as energetic as Jeongin felt and a few times they snuck up on Chan, messing with the older rapper, acting innocent as soon as he turned around. Changbin - who had just gotten over a bad bout of the flu and was to rest before the show tonight - was monitoring from the side, conversing with a manager.

Maybe Jeongin went too far when he stole Chan’s prop mic shortly before the rapper needed it - kind of like he had seen with Mingi-hyung and Hongjoong-hyung on their Better-stage - but the exasperated yelp and the “I.N.-aaaaah” was indeed funny. The next moment the maknae had his own “oh-shit”-moment. Chan - in a moment of playfulness, indulging his youngest member - decided to give chase, ignoring the protest from Minho when he broke position, and ran after Jeongin, yelling fondly but annoyed nonetheless.

They laughed, chasing each other around the set. Changbin and the manager were shaking their heads, as far as Jeongin could see but he also heard cheers for Chan and himself. He turned around to look who was on his side.

That was when Chan yelled: “Jeongin, wait!” The maknae laughed, thinking it was in good fun. He realized a second too late that his hyung’s face was twisted into worry.

Then he was in limbo.

It was like slow motion - he felt himself falling but also not. A jolt went through his body, a rush of adrenaline maybe, but then he realized that somebody had grabbed onto him. Chan pulled him into his direction and, at the same time, turned his body for a better momentum.

Suddenly everything sped up again and the first thing the Jeongin registered was the pain he felt when his body connected painfully with the stage. Hands were upon him and he was rolled onto his back, blinking up at his hyungs, dazed.

“Minho-hyung?”, he asked, confused. He didn’t quite understand what had happened.

“Are you alright, Jeongin-ah? Are you hurt?”, the dancer asked, a frown on his face. Jeongin took stock of his body. His side and his arm hurt, having fallen onto them but that was it. He shook his head.

“Only a bit bruised if even that”, he replied, a bit breathlessly. “Hyung, what happened?”

Minho’s frown deepened. “You don’t know? Did you hit your head?” Immediately hands were in his hair, searching for a bump on his scalp. Jeongin swiped at the hands - Seungmin - he realized, like an annoying fly.

“I didn’t hit my head, hyung”, he said hurriedly. “I just … wasn’t I just running away from Channie-hyung?”

“Yeah”, Hyunjin said, kneeling down next to them - after a moment of careful consideration - as well with a sigh. It was suspicious really, like he was trying to block Jeongin’s view. “Why don’t we go backstage and rest for a moment?”

“Hyung, I’m not hurt”, he said and as Minho glared at him, he added a soft, “okay, not that badly hurt. What are you hiding?”

That was the moment he heard the protesting voice of Chan. “Lixie, I am fine, relax.”

Shit. Was Chan…? Had he …?

With that Jeongin was able to puzzle together what had happened. The stage, much smaller than they were used to, had ended where he had run trusting it to be bigger as usual. Chan must have saved him from falling down. And where the stage was smaller than normal, it was also higher - a terrible combination really. Had Chan fallen? That must have been two meters at least.

“Channie-hyung?”, Jeongin called, uncaring of his hyungs around him tensing. He jumped to his feet - ignoring the slight pain he felt and rushed to the edge of the stage. Below him, Chan was propped up against the side of the stage with Changbin, Felix and Han hovering around him.

The rapper had a hand pressed to his shoulder which he quickly took away the moment he noticed Jeongin peering down at him. Changbin was fussing over him, looking at the hand that wasn’t holding onto the injured shoulder, trying to move the fingers. Even from above Jeongin saw Chan wince and the way he went paler. His pinky, ring finger and middle finger were all swollen and blue.

“I … I am so sorry”, Jeongin stuttered, falling back onto his butt as he leaned away from the edge. “I … if I hadn’t …”

Tears rushed to his face and he, for once, did not make a move to wipe them away. Hyunjin pulled him close, sitting behind him and nuzzling his chin into the maknae’s hair.

“It’s not your fault, I.N.-ah”, he said but it fell on deaf ears.

Jeongin had never intended to hurt his older brother. He hadn’t thought that a simple prank could turn into this … his hyung falling down the stage and getting injured. All because of him.

“It is”, Jeongin potested, whimpering. He had never felt so guilty in his life - not even when he had accidentally spilled coffee on Chan’s laptop. The data on the laptop had been fine after all - unlike Chan was now. He didn’t want to hurt his leader. Again.

“Well, you shouldn’t have run on an unfamiliar stage without looking around. Your spatial unawareness surprises me everyday anew”, Minho said. He didn’t have a scolding tone but it still made the maknae feel smaller than he ever had.

Then his voice got gentler as he added: “But you didn’t mean for him to fall. You wanted to make practice fun and it was. Mistakes, accidents happen. And Chan chose to save you, you could have gotten really hurt this unprepared for a fall. He was prepared and he will be fine.”

“Still, I’m sorry”, Jeongin whispered.

“Why don’t we go to the waiting room so you can see for yourself that he will be fine?”, Seungmin suggested, breaking his vocal rest and earning a loud slap on the butt for his troubles from - who else? - Minho. He glared at the older and stuck out his tongue in defiance when Minho turned away.

“I saw that, Kim Seungmin”, Minho said. Jeongin giggled at the terrified expression on Hyunjin’s face - he seemed much more bothered than the culprit himself.

Seungmin rolled his eyes and tucked on Jeongin’s hand - clearly not keen on talking and getting slapped again. Come with me, his eyes seemed to say.

Their fingers interlocked, his best friend led him to the waiting room where Changbin was still fussing over Chan while Felix and Han were … fighting over a cookie? Jeongin really didn’t want to know.

“Channie-hyung”, he whispered as he saw the older man. His hand was getting splinted by a medic and Changbin was pressing ice to his shoulder. Neither of these circumstances stopped the leader from spreading his good arm and calling: “Come here, I.N.-ah. Next time, please be more careful. For now - as punishment - you need to cuddle your old hyung.”

Normally not a fan of skinship at all, Jeongin found it wasn’t that much of a punishment really.

Day 14: "What were you thinking?"

Masterlist link: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's June of Doom 2024

Notes: for the amazing @dudadragneel

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