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𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ⊛ 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 & 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 ⊛ 𝚃𝚒𝚙 𝚓𝚊𝚛
✉ 𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚋𝚘𝚡 . . . . 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚗 ✒ 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 . . . .𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚗
𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 -
The Nerd Boyfriend
The Jock Boyfriend
Crane Atsushi
𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎?
Twisted Mafia AU
The Bunny Boy Club (under construction)
𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎 -
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Atsushi is canonically a feline, and more often than not people in the fandom turn him more cat-like than he might like to be, but since I did his rival it seems fair I gave our beloved tiger boy with inferiority issues an avian fic too.
So, what if Atsushi Nakajima…was a crane?
Imagine—his wings are big, curling outwards from his back and forming an elegant drape on the floor as he kneels down, head bowed in reverence like a paladin in front of his deity. Their color is not the brightest, dull in comparison to other much more graceful birds, but that doesn’t mean they’re less of a beauty to admire—reflecting the light of the sun and making him look like an angel. The black brush stroke that adorn his eyes is small, precise, quirking downwards like a geisha, with his grey/withish lashes that give him this seemingly innocent look. Sun-kissed skin fading from grey to black with just a tip of red at the very end of razor-sharp claws, made to defend the one he loves from predators and other contenders.
Crane Atsushi doesn’t fly often, not because he lacks the power or stamina—he’s got plenty of those in fact—but because his wings are damaged and unsightly to his eyes that he prefers not spread them for others to look at them; he enjoys baths, if it’s only you and him or just by himself, because drying his wings is a chore by itself.
Crane Atsushi reacts bashfully when someone speaks about his wings. He tries to shy away from questions about them and pushes aside the eventual compliments he receives. Even when he tries to pretend he didn’t hear anything his tail feathers poking from underneath the tail veil, standing up proudly like a peacock’s, signaling the happiness he’s too reluctant or embarrassed to show—puffing up when you caress them and his wings. He tries to play it cool but that part of his anatomy mercilessly betrays him.
For the most part Crane Atsushi is indifferent about his wings, but sometimes he finds them really annoying.
Even though they’re damaged and graceless and a bit crooked, they are big—bigger than most of the other bird boys in fact—so much so that his shirts needs to have a large opening for them to fit comfortably, so of course those shirts doesn’t last long; when he’s out his wings sits on his shoulders like a jacket or a cape to avoid brushing the feathers on the sidewalk and road (and every time he does that his shoulders ache terribly at the end of a work day). They might not look like it but they are heavy, other than fluffy.
He doesn’t cover them, not even after the time in the orphanage, where the people there used to pluck them out to the bones and only leave small sprouts of cartilage poking out of his shoulderblades; since those times they’ve grown fuller and somehow softer. Thanks to, and take this first sentence with heavy air quotes, the tortures he’d been through at the orphanage, his wings grew to be pretty desensitized to external touch—if someone grabs at them, or brushes the feathers, he doesn’t bat an eye.
They still shed a bit if he’s under stress but aside from that his molt is under control and he’s capable of doing the preening by himself. If you offer, and insist, he lets you do the preening, which he won’t verbally say out loud but he really, really, enjoys when you run your fingers through the new-sprouting feathers.
Sex with Crane Atsushi is an experience, that’s for certain. With him is like a Placebo Effect: if he’s conscious that you’re the one touching his wings and tail and feathers, his mind will instantly connect the touch with pleasure—he’ll squirm and arch his back, wings opening against his will and more on pure instinct, gasp and choked moans spilling out of his lips like water from a fountain. He sometimes takes you from behind because of that odd feeling rattling his bones when you touch his feathers, hands linked with yours to keep them still. Don’t get him wrong, he likes it when your fingers run through his feathers—God, how much he likes it!—but he doesn’t like the idea of cumming too fast and disappointing you with a poor performance.
Doesn’t seem like it at first glance but Crane Atsushi does have a bit of an attitude. He has a very deep-rooted protective instinct, doesn’t matter if you’re in a relationship with him yet or not. If something’s bothering him he can dish out some sass and sarcasm, but if something’s a threat to you? Boy, he can be fucking scary.
Cranes are well-known to have territorial, and at times, aggressive tendencies. Several nature sites that I have consulted describe cranes performing a “crouch threat”—a low-to-the-ground display that indicates an imminent attack—well, in his case it’s a bit different. He doesn’t fully crouch, he bends over from behind you, never touching you, his face literally an inch from yours, above your shoulder and just stares.
Doesn’t flap his wings, doesn’t voice any avian call, it feels like he doesn’t even breathe at times—his eyes are unmovable, staring at the other person like a psycho and never backing down even when the other Akutagawa reacts aggressively in return.
He may or may’ve not stomped or scratched a few cars or other objects that’ve involuntarily spooked you—I mean, no proof no crime, right?
If you thought normal tiger Atsushi mating season was bad to deal with, then Crane Atsushi’s is your personal infernal circle.
He gets super active during mating season, constantly going for runs and dragging you along with him. He brings you a lot of food, enough to actually feed a sumo squad, and insists you two eat together the whole thing. Expect his wings to suddenly drape over you like a heavy shawl, keeping you close to him and re-directing your body to flow with his, almost like you’re dancing. He’ll bow his head to you, regardless of whether you are shorter than him or not, almost like he’s asking to be petted, and he’ll do it whenever your attention is directed elsewhere—filling out paperwork? Head bowed into your space like he’s trying to read what you’re typing; Trying to read a book? His head will pop out of thin air like a fucking silent jumpscare (he’ll apologize for it later); Busy cooking something? His chin will rest on your shoulder as if supervising what you’re doing.
Crane Atsushi is insanely territorial during mating season. He follows you around all the times, even if you have to run a quick shopping commission; he’ll tail behind you, practically glued to your side or back, and staring absolute daggers at any other male that even so dares glancing at you. If you thought that your home would be better to not trigger any of his overprotective flares, boy oh boy, you are mistaken. Cranes defend the habitat where their mates and nests reside—that means your house. To his mating-season-focused brain everything that comes disrupting the peace of your house is a threat—landlord, neighbors, hell, even the mailman isn’t safe from him.
Did I mention cranes aren’t capable of distinguishing their reflection in mirrors?
Now, Crane Atsushi isn’t dumb, he knows what his reflection looks like, but again, every other male he sees is a threat to you, including himself. If you got any big mirrors or windows in your house, cover them or he’ll smash them, after screaming at it like he’s possessed.
Crane Atsushi is ruthless during his mating season. His normal gentle demeanor is thrown out the window the second he gets his hands on you—his pace is bruising, claws digging anywhere he can grip on, drawing blood, teeth sinking in your flesh, wings flapping in sync with his hips to make each thrust hit deeper and deeper inside you. Cranes mating ritual last even less than swans, but of course stamina isn’t a problem for him, and thus the rounds he can go for…I’m afraid you won’t be able to count them on your hands—if you’re capable of even remember prime numbers once he’s done with you.
He can become a selfish lover, valuing his climax more than yours. When he’s eating you out he can and would easily overstim you, but he won’t stop no matter how hard your grip on his hair or how your thighs close around his head ‘cause he needs much more of your flavor on his tongue. He’ll come before you, his hips going hard and fast against yours, and would smack you hand away if you try touching your clit while he’s still going—if you’re pleasuring yourself it means he isn’t doing a good job fucking you and he cannot let that slide.
Compared to Black Swan Akutagawa Crane Atsushi doesn’t care much about the, quote-unquote, “sacredness of the bedroom”. In fact he doesn’t give two flying pigs on where or which position you two fuck—bent over the counter in the kitchen, doggy-style in the laundry room, full nelson in front of the window, I can keep listing honestly… — all he needs are your pretty lips wrapped around his shaft while he fills you over and over with cum. He is insatiable.
At the very end of the mating stage his behavior does another 180 and goes from dominant to submissive in a heartbeat.
He’ll maneuver you to be on top of him, his head on the pillow, wings spread on the mattress to their full extent, eyes big and glowing and watery as he guides your spent body to ride him. He’s much more gentle while holding your hips, caressing your thighs, squeezing your breast like he hasn’t used you like a stress toy to scratch and bite an hour or so prior.
Groans and whines gets ripped from his throat so damn easily, each time you sink back on his length slowly because your legs burn and ache or when you grind your hips to really draw that orgasm out of him—all while keeping his eyes locked with yours; yes, because he needs to look at you while your body dances on top of him, reaching your own climax.
Hope you came prepared because he’s another where praise kink (giving) and breeding are a strong duo when it comes to him thinking you’ll be the perfect mother to his offsprings—which you should consider yourself lucky ‘cause, unlike swans that lay up to 8, are only two eggs but they’re bigger than one might think.
Compared to Akutagawa Crane Atsushi is less clingy, but much more annoying—he’ll bring you snacks, water, clean sheets to make a nest with, the carcass of another bird that dared piercing on the window to look at you while you were sleeping…
After the mating fog is dissipated from his brain you’ll have a very apologetic boy kneeling on your floor, cheeks cadmium, begging for your forgiveness like he’s committed the most heinous of crimes; every time you wince he’ll apologize harder for having turned you into a breathing fleshlight for his selfish desires.
Still, if he has to admit it: it was the best mating season he’s ever had—sometimes you’ll catch him staring at a scratch or bite that still has to heal and his wings will puff up and his tail wag.
This Mafia AU isn't mine, it belongs to @twistedmafiaau aka Boss who is indulging my brain worms and feeding them with content while I also give them words to giggle and kick their feet over.
This piece is in collaboration with the Summer Ballroom Chatters Boss is hosting. This is piece 1 of 2 and does fall in universe with our current timeline. The effort I put into this and the brain power, my first time ever writing for a Twisted Wonderland guy, be gentle with me. Mort and Hitman are next on my list, pray to the writing gods cause Ruggie isn't as easy as Jade for me to dissect. I'm like Mort, I just can't read him quite right 😂 -Echo
Want more of Daphne and Amaris? -> Here
Warnings: Daphne's mental mouth, Daphne's dirty thoughts (It's Jade are we surprised she has them at this point? I kept it as vague as possible, she is not easy to reel in), cancer mentions and all the trauma and issues that go with that, body image issues due to cancer, triggering talk of assaults and harassments, Mort's files opened and made public by guess who so warning for their contents. I'm sure I missed something…
Fancy Clothes & Fancy Cars
“Did you hear about The Tacts’s board of directors and sponsors?”
“Yes, that's so sickening. To think so many had their hands in such filth. Associating with the Desmond Family's deep pockets and a public walkout with the police, in cuffs. It was all over the sister news stations. It seems that there is really no loyalty in that business. It's all a cash grab like Mort says. Loyalty is dead.”
“The Tact will probably shut down along with all of its sister branches. Mort will be out of a job, but knowing her, she probably knew. Did you see her photo standing with the board from the auction night back in March? She was stunning, and that necklace… I'm swooning. Just one chance, that's all I need with her. I can show her women are superior to men."
"I can't believe they dared to even look at her like that in the photograph. The audacity to touch her even! She's clearly uncomfortable with the tight smile. See?”
“You're right, it seems Mort does know a thing or two about surviving. Did you hear that someone released the precinct's files from her childhood and found her in The Justice Papers?”
“No, what's in them?”
“Everything. She was a victim and apparently, her uncle pimped her out across the world for some reason as a teen. Even had his way with her until she was eighteen according to the police report where she talked about it back then, but the court cases were seen to not have enough evidence. All of it was thrown. And now the papers, the latest, she was being trafficked until last year still, in that system the Desmond's used. There are countless mentions of her under a three-letter code someone at the precinct figured out. Officer Bellamy I believe, he released the information for study but someone hacked the system and made it public."
"Oh my ...."
"I know. It's disgusting. There are photographs and recordings too. Look at this list a reporter put together. No one is safe from the world's lens, not even Mort."
"Ew, put that away. I feel sorry for her, I pity her. I can't imagine how terrified she must be all the time. Being left to the wolves like that and then getting away. She did get away right?"
"Well obviously, she's here and thriving. She must really be magic in the sheets. I wish she'd give us all pointers instead of playing innocent like she's dense in bedroom play.”
“Well she is a victim, and I don't believe she is playing innocent. She's shown enough times that she's perfectly capable in her blog to get intimate. Maybe the act of intimacy itself is hard for her? She has hinted at several instances where she could have taken things there, but didn't. After all— for all intensive purposes— being a high-end courtesan to the elite had to be triggering. Can't imagine what they paid her uncle for, to do to her themselves.”
“Honey, have you read her blog? This woman has endured more than most women can and stayed sane through it. With Dahlia tailing her, the horrors he's done to her, and other odd things no doubt we know nothing about from this past year, she's a survivor trying to escape from some very big fish. This is probably nothing to her.”
“Thank the Sevens for The Justice Papers then coming out and giving her case validity after all these years, even if her information was leaked.”
“Yeah, in more ways than one. Mort's coverage on the papers and her blog on the Mafia, along with her travel pieces, are single-handedly keeping The Tact floating right now. She's a golden goose, the captain at the helm, and she's carrying it all, creating new structures and programs from ashes.”
“I heard one of the board members tried to get her on the board. Is that true?”
“It's a rumor, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's real. They're trying to save face.”
“Well I hope it sinks and then Mort can find a better job, somewhere she's appreciated.”
“Didn't you hear? Someone bought out all the stocks during the crash in March. They have to be insane. The company is worth nothing now.”
“Poor fool probably got hoodwinked.”
“No doubt.”
Overhearing the women talk about her best friend was hard, hearing them discuss her private affairs was harder. But she had promised Amaris to do better, be better at not flying off the handle, speaking before considering her words. It was turning out to be a chore she hated.
“You look lovely in that Miss Daphne.” Her regular attendant for this particular shop smiled as the pink dove twirled in the mirror. Shimmering gossamer refracted blends of iridescent pearl pink light as the fabric caught the rays of sunshine on her curves. Golden hair splayed around her shoulders.
A gift to herself, since treatment had been going well. Well, as well as one with cancer could manage. Her body had been rejecting treatments, putting on more weight with the meds and radiation making her hate how she looked. Each curve now was settled just a bit more than she'd like, and her old wardrobe was funneled off to different thrift shops in the area to help fund projects for the local community. A new wardrobe was being purchased in the only therapy she knew, shopping.
Nothing was working anymore, even Amaris’s blood transfusions were beginning to waver after all these years and that alone told her soon she'd be counting seconds and not days very soon. Her body was collapsing in on itself and she didn't know what precious time she had left.
But she still hoped, still wanted to stay here and live. There was a world outside waiting to be discovered. People to love and laugh with, places that would make her cry from the beauty. More dresses and shoes to wear. More hearts to embrace and men to kiss. Maybe she'd give women a try? Why not, after all she was a dead girl walking, might as well try everything on the menu. She was a lover at heart and believed everyone deserved to be loved, to have it if they wanted it. Even as she embraced the sands of time to stop fretting as they passed through her fingers that cut her time shorter and shorter. She'd live unapologetically till the day her heart stopped. Love with everything she had.
The world was far too cold and distant. Everyone was wasting precious time. Why waste years when one isn't promised them? For what, assurance?
She couldn't understand those that sat by and waited for it. Amaris was sitting on her hands when she should be kissing a Mafia boy like the stars would burn out. After all, neither she nor her friend had time… she didn't know what her family would do to Amaris after she was gone. Or if Amaris could live after having her body torn apart. Could one live without vital organs? A picture that made her pale flashed across her mind and she wanted to scream. No. She wouldn't let Amaris be a vegetable, a body in a bed to harvest from.
And what of Ruggie? Surely sooner or later age would catch him and he'd end up dead or worse, trapped and unable to be free because of unforeseen circumstances. He could get shot! Life didn't play favorites. Money wasn't happiness, but it did help make things easier. She was very aware of that fact. But that didn't make it worth the price. He was wasting time when he could be in Morocco.
Her hands brushed at spots hidden beneath the slinky dress, puckered scars where organs were taken and replaced like candy bars in a checkout aisle. There were only so many rh-null bodies on earth, fewer willing to sell organs for cash. Few yet in her age range.
She had to think of something to hide Amaris, free her, but how? She wasn't a human being, not under law nor science. Humanity wasn't gentle with things it didn't understand, it destroyed them. And it wasn't like she could find proof that she was the exception to the rule...
The world didn't care about Amaris.
Across the street a few couples walked and she had to rub her eyes, swearing she saw pink hair. This was up-town, dyed hair wasn't exactly the norm. Glancing again she noted it was a feathered head piece. Maybe there was a film shooting nearby?
Shaking her head Daphne rolls a diamond earring between her fingers looking at the mirror once more.
“I'll take it.” Her honey eye slid to the black-clad woman with a name tag. “Pack it for me? And don't forget the other things for Amaris. Her birthday is going to be good this year. I'm making sure of it.” The memory of opening that box—seeing the skull of Amaris’s father— crumbling on the paper was still carved into her mind. She despised Dahlia, but what could she do? Money was worthless against blood and bone. If hiring someone worked, Dahlia would be gone by now …
Stepping back into the changing room she hands in the pieces she'd rejected, pinks and baby blue, a few whites and some sunny yellows with minty accents.
Bright colors were her armor, and her shoes were her sword. And she wielded them with the same precision her best friend wielded her pen and lipstick.
The saying was true; give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.
Stepping out, she brought the dress to the counter, soft pink a-line skirt cradling her legs that wore those diamond studded heels still. She settled the slinky fabric along with the shape wear to go beneath as the lady servicing her smiled and made small talk with the blonde. Each purchase coated in tissue paper and boxed with care, taped shut. Those for Amaris were tied with ribbons in deep sapphire, it seems they had read her account preferences, probably had Amaris's name on file since she talked about her so much.
Too bad she couldn't buy what would change lives.
“Oh sir, we take returns at this desk.”
She pulled her pink-cased phone from her coach purse that was hot pink, the shell a rather hardy one, as she popped a hip. Nails tapping away she scrolled and wrote a few lines for a piece on the latest TV show that claimed to be a paradise for love. She adored it, but seeing the same roles play out over and over made her sad. Why play games with so many? Why not just decide to be a poly? Clearly, they were all attracted to each other. She never understood monogamy. Love could be shared, not just possessed as long as everyone communicated and was respectful. Hell, she did it.
Her boys, her perfect and handsome men, flashed through her mind as she side-stepped a rather tall man who stood to her right, scanning a message from Des who was currently organizing her desk like a good intern. Maybe she should get him something… nah.
“Pardon me,” The man says and her fingers pause. Gilded nails arc for the glass as her screen goes back and she sees his face behind her.
Teal hair, with the striking back streak, swept back from mismatched eyes. She knew which pair belonged to which twin, memorizing that months ago. Well-matched and layered clothes impeccable and clean. Face carved like an Adonis statue in Rome with how he watched her from that little back box. His under profile was attractive too?! She gasped and looked back at him, heel slamming on his toe before her back met some part of him she couldn't name because her heart was in her skull and her brain had turned off in favor of the heat she felt running down her spine.
She was a deer in headlights as he shone her with a smile, head tilted, wincing.
Jade Leech.
Crap her heel was on his toe. Move Daph.
“Sorry!” She exclaims and turns retreating a few steps away apologizing profusely in Russian with pink cheeks and busy hands that rolled her phone. “Is it broken? I can call an ambulance. I'm so sorry!”
"You certainly do make an entrance, mi cara*." The corner of his mouth lifted. "Did your friend teach you this as well?” Those words made her rather sheepish as she watched him move his dark Italian leather shoes a bit before returning that dual gaze to her.
She got the color right for her ribbons.
“No-I mean- she could have, it's been so long-” she pauses, closing her mouth and turning away. “No, no, I won't be made a fool again by you.”
It was his turn to blink at her, how dare he act so innocent. “As you wish. I simply wished to say hello.”
She couldn't see his face, but the flash of fabric on his arm made her pause and look back just a smidge. The glossy fabric has her all but swooning. Maria had taste. Or maybe it was one of his other friends.
“It's pretty.” Her voice, crippled in shyness, dares to open the door between them again. “Maria's?”
“It failed to meet her expectations." His fingers smoothed over the fabric. "A tragedy, really. Fancy meeting you, I expected a dull afternoon, not one with lovely company.” His fingers caress and edge and her eyes track them like a biscuit for a hound. All of her self-built hatred was crumbling, gods she hated how easy she caved for a handsome face.
How much she wanted to lick his fingers and have them at her lips, keeping her in check while he did other things to her. This was hell. And his name was Jade.
“Would you be available to help me find something for her to replace it? I'm still learning about fabrics, and you always seem to mesmerize the room with color.” His head tilted, no doubt studying her as she twitched like a crack addict. Is this what Bellamy felt like next to Amaris? No wonder the idiot was so stupid. She couldn't blame the guy either way.
“Sure.” She wanted to scream at her weak will. She had six men, six! Why was he able to just wrap her around his finger…
Amaris was gonna kill her.
“Excellent.” He lays the dress on the counter and extends a hand behind her like a gentleman would in letting a lady lead the way. “Then I shall rely on your expertise.”
Flushed crimson a hand flies to her heart as her previous shopping partner gives her a thumbs up as she set her large purchase aside to be picked up when she and Jade were finished.
“Oh, you shouldn't give me so much credit, really, I just dabble here and there.” She babbles as she starts pulling fabric squares from a rack. “We should start with fabric, then what dress cut she likes. I know I met her before but I feel so bad. I was really sick you see, and I don't remember anything from her helping me. Oh, I'm terrible, I know, who forgets someone who helps another, but maybe this will make it better?”
Pink infused glitter nails hold up some textiles for him. “Silk, cotton, linen, the list is endless really. Does she have a favorite?”
“If you wish to make this an apology gift then you should pick the fabric, yes?” He says from the couch before her having sat down to watch her flit about the show room, that familiar smile, pleasant enough to soothe and unsettling enough to make her wonder what he was thinking. She almost lost air for the sake of paying to keep it.
“I suppose so.” She fingers the fabrics looking them over carefully. “Every woman deserves to feel like a princess at least once in her life.”
He doesn't answer, just smiles, watching her as she talks to herself, admiring patterns and threads before moving on to a cut that she was sure would flatter every body type.
“This is similar to what I got Amaris the first time I bought her something. The universal secret weapon of every woman's closet. You will always feel like a million bucks and look spectacular.” She brings over the dress holding it up for him.
“Do you always choose based on what looks best on another?”
“Of course. My preference doesn't matter, it's not like Maria is wearing this for me.” She explains hanging the expensive gown in view for him. “That is a whole other story and dress.”
“Show me that one,” She could hear the amusement. Shivers running up her neck and scalp as such a tone. Dangerous thoughts purred in her mind. “If you wouldn't mind.”
“What I would pick?” She points to herself and he nods. “But…”
“You do not have to, I was simply curious how you would dress a partner if given the chance.”
Huffing at his clear guilt trip she doesn't stop her hands from reaching into a pile of fabrics. Yeah, she was walking right into this one. She didn't want to be saved. Gods she'd need a drink later, Mafia were so out of her league to mentally spar with.
Amaris would kill her and then bring her back just to do it again. Fuck this was bad, what kind of cuckolded madness was this? Her picking a dress for his lesbian lover.
She smiles as she finds what she was looking for. “I don't know anything about her beyond what Amaris told me. Pink hair, midwife clothes, Italian roots like you.” She fired off trying to bring some sense of intelligence to the conversation. He had to be so bored listening to her rattle on about clothes.
“She said Maria liked using the saints names so I would infer she has a faith, or at least regards herself with it, so maybe cream? Not for purity, but because Italy is hot and the churches are cold if I remember right. Stone and stained glass. The light color would travel well too in other parts of Europe and the sea side. She should have her knees, shoulders and chest covered according to some signs I saw when visiting Italy… so maybe a veil of some sort around her shoulders? Veil isn't the right word… oh, I'm sorry, my English is still a work in progress.”
He rose, joining her in admiring the dress she had chosen. “You have been to Italy?”
“Yes, though not the countryside. Just the main cities. The doctors are quite good, and the sea is…” She paused when his fingers brushed hers, buffering in real time as she screamed internally. His hands were soft, a man with soft hands was unheard of and he clearly took care of them by how he rubbed the fabric between his fingers. She wanted to bite them, lovingly, it was unfair he looked so yummy everywhere all the damn time.
“The sea?” Those eyes of cerulean sea moss and light house glow meet her honeyed ones. She wanted to be a puddle on the floor, melt for him into a gooey mess to play with. Fuck she was screwed and he wasn't single which made things worse, so much worse. “Most people remember the food.”
She didn't do attached men, she didn't do men who had side chicks. She was fiercely jealous unlike Amaris who would just shrug and cut a guy off with no revenge. Something about knowing one's value... She wished she could be so easy going, but she loved hard and when that broke …
“Yes,” she lets the dress go, hands retreating to her heart. “This is what I would choose. It just needs a… veil? And yes the food is delicious, like the pasta and rich sauces without all the additives, but there's something about the water.”
“Shawl I believe is the word you are looking for.”
She clicks her tongue and sighs. “Yes, yes, that's it. Shawl.” Her arms lift to do the motion of putting on such a piece. “Maybe something embroidered with something she likes? I can do it but I have no idea what her taste is.”
“You sew as well. My you are quite gifted.” He tugs a scarf, long and sheer from a display dropping it over the gown. “How does this look? Is it too little? I'm partial to linen, it's a finer weave.”
“It's perfect.” Her fingers adjust the scarf to lay as it would for modest dress, perfect for a church. “And she could wear it anywhere really. The color is stunning. I just wish I knew her jewelry preferences. She needs something to go with it.” She taps her rose painted lips, scanning a jewelry table as she starts picking pieces and setting them in the fabrics he held. “Speaking of, if I gave you a gift for Mrs Moon could you find a way to make sure it reaches her for her baby shower?”
Jade, much to her amusement, followed her around as she piled on assorted metals and gems, pearls and stone babbling about complexion and coloring, asking him questions that weren't really questions but trying to chop her nerves off at the roots for fear she would grow far too comfortable with the Mafia member.
“You seem remarkably invested in making Maria happy. Anyone really.”
“Ofcourse. You asked for my help and I will give you my best effort.” She clicks her tongue and pulls a few sets off and grabs a box to set some platinum moon shaped earrings with a blue stones and a simple necklace. “This is for Mrs. Moon. Someone needs to look after the mom and get her something nice that won't make her feel fat. I can add a receipt so she can return it and get something else if she dislikes it."
She couldn't tell if he'd frozen or just was processing, either way he accepted the box with little delay after a moment. “You are very generous. When choosing a gift, do you generally prioritize usefulness or sentiment?”
“Why not both, that's what makes a gift so good after all. One must be able to use something and also be able to see the sentimentality in it. Otherwise it's worthless.”
By the time they finish and make it back to the front with the dress and all of its many elements she swipes her card and has it packaged specifically with Maria’s hair in mind. A white box with a hot pink ribbon tied in a perfect bow.
She goes to hand him the gift and sees he was already carrying every single bag she had her purchases tucked away in.
“Oh, you don't have to do that. I can call someone.” She holds his box tightly twittering over in those shiny heels that put glass to shame.
“Consider it my payment, Azul makes a fuss if we are in debt to anyone.” His lips go up again and she can't help how her shoulders rise in bashful flattery at his next sentence. “Though it's my pleasure to assist you mi diamante*.”
“I'll drive you to where you'd like as further payment then. Those bags are heavy, I know what I bought.” She plays with her hair, undecided on tucking a few strands or leaving them. “I'm trading in today, so I hope you don't mind coming along. I could always use a second pair of eyes with the dealerships.”
His brow rose and she hoped he didn't find her shallow. Amaris was like him, in a way, and she knew her friend hated going to the dealerships with her. Something about mindless prattle and obvious kiss assery for the sale.
She quite enjoyed it, she loved the attention and feeling taken care of. Some of her best interactions were with such places specifically for that. They were being paid to be charming, and she had money to fork over. After all, she couldn't build with the time she had, so she had to buy it all or miss out. And she hated missing out.
“I would enjoy accompanying you.” He bows a bit, arm shifting and she quickly waves for him to stop, eyes wide in fond adoration. How the hell did he end up with a lesbian? How lucky was Maria to have such a man. He was perfect.
“Please don't bow unless you want to actually, I can't imagine how your back feels at the end of the day, being so tall. Save your spine the effort, for my empathy, if not your own sake.” She leads for a moment moving to get the door before his hand slides against the brass bar to her own, body bracketing hers just enough to register the heat from him. She about blacks out in a swoon for a breath before stepping into the sun.
Maria had to be a saint like Mrs. Moon. They had to be of the same pantheon. It was the only explanation for such men to be so perfect. She was going to cry into a silk pillow case tonight no doubt.
Caught in the golden afternoon she blinks shielding her eyes with a hand, Maria's gift tucked safely against her chest as she watches him hold the door for some elderly ladies who thanked him rather boldly for holding the door for them.
“Are you always like this?” She flushed, balking as he turned to her, falling into step side by side. Of course, he took the street side, mindful of traffic. No man she'd met in the city had known that was etiquette and she was giddy with joy at being treated like a lady. Like something precious.
“Like what?” He counters and she huffs adjusting a bag on his arm that was sagging and cutting into his elbow.
“You are so well-mannered, composed, articulate, and charming in a genteel manner. If it's the mask you wear then… I wish you wouldn't wear it with me. Not unless it's real.” She rolled her lips into her teeth, gnawing on them as her heart spilled out far too easily.
It's silent for a time. Something she knew well with Amaris, it was how thinkers processed, needing space and time to conclude things. Did he like puzzles? He seemed the type to like what was interesting or different and he did say he preferred surprises. How could she be better at that? She'd need to ask Amaris tomorrow about it at work. She'd never dared to talk to, let alone consider, an intelligent type. They usually found her boring and rather plain-minded. But he was here, and he had been showing interest… right?
“In our interview, do you recall what I said about my qualities?” He starts, looking to her face as she frowns and shakes her head, trying to recall the moment
“No, I don't. I'm sorry…”
“There's no need to apologize. I can remember for us both.” His words struck her, no one had ever offered to remember for her. To see any memory worth keeping as precious enough to recall openly, to say he would just made her fall harder for the man beside her. Fuck, so his was polite intelligence, it was subtle and no wonder Amaris had so many marriage proposals herself. Too bad slow and steady was choking her clock.
She wished she had more time to just know him… he seemed worth it.
“I spoke of being pleasant and how it benefitted not just me, but those I interacted with. It's a quality I possess,” He explains. “So you can rest assured my behavior isn't an act. It is beneficial, but not untrue.”
Daphne let his words marinate in her ears, he really was so good at calming her worries. She had known it straight from the second he spoke to her, called her a funny name. He was gentle with her and all she wanted to do was climb him like a tree. Maybe this was what grounded heat felt like?
He wasn't wild like Roberto, or overbearing like Alejandro. And he was far from demanding as Miguel was of her time. Even Brutus and Denny sat behind him in terms of eloquence and stability. He made her heart quiet, not race like so many others. She was hot and bothered, sure, but not like she'd known with Alphonso. Jade was a peace she felt like he had a medicine in his presence she'd been looking for all her life. They had tried but in the end all her boys couldn't handle the weight of her fate. So they ignored it.
Something told her Jade wouldn't, if he liked her enough.
But was it fair to let him in when she could die?
Did she care? A part of her wanted to be selfish and just try to buy him, it had worked with her other boys. Everyone was happy after all. Everyone had a price somewhere and money was its own form of love.
But the other part of her shrank at the idea. She wasn't going to be that way with him. He deserved her best if he gave her his. So she bit her tongue and swallowed her inner harlot.
“I thought you would have shown up at the auction night.” She starts changing topics, clearly rattled a bit by his honesty. She loved it.
“I did, many did in fact.” Her head snaps over.
“What! No, you guys did not. I was at the door.”
“And very distracted.”
“You can't be serious. What were you hiding as?” Vexed and eager her steps quickened into shorter ones besides his strides.
“I was a waiter. Tell me, does your teacher have bad eyes, is it sensitivity to light or the flashes?”
“She hates cameras for that reason mostly. The bright flash— hey! I shouldn't be telling you this. If you hurt her …” The comical visage of a five-foot woman pointing rather venomously at a six-foot-something man was a vision of hilarity. Several people pause to watch the woman fire off in Russian, not having a clue that she was indeed telling him in detail just how fucked he would be if he— or any of them— dared to harm Amaris.
“You give me far too little credit.” He smiles again, and she wants to shake him for being so damn attractive and not terrified of her temper. If he compared her to a Chihuahua she would summon lightning to fry his seafood ass. “Though your loyalty is noted and your method of rage is recognized. I do believe we had the wrong idea about which of you was the Spitfire.”
She continues walking, taking a few bags seeing his arms drop just a bit from the weight. She didn't want to wear him down, especially since he clearly was working, or something. She'd never forgive herself if his arms were too tired from helping her to do his job well. Amaris had drilled some level of self-awareness into her after all these years. There were too many bodies in those years to be blind to the privilege she had been born into. She needed to care about her impact on others, or else she would be just the same as those who hurt Amaris. Worse.
“No. I just have a temper. Someone has to bark at the rats at her back. It's the least I can do. She's more cunning, I'm more explosive.”
His eyes slide to her, catching some light to make them two-toned gems. Fucking hell she wanted him to look at her naked, to see them travel over her figure. “Interesting, you know her well then?”
“Better than most. One just has to pay close attention and she's not so complicated. She's a writer at heart, loves creating pieces for people to read and disappear into. She simply did that in her blog. Lots of red-fish but hey, she loves Agatha Christie when she is not reading smut.”
“Red-fish?” He chuckles and all she wanted to do was hide, face dark in embarrassment. What she witnessed though was Jade's brow lowering, that familiar crease settled between his brows, one she could never quite decipher on Amaris, nor him apparently.
“I don't know the term.” She confesses fingers tugging at the ribbon on Maria's gift.
“Red-herring. It's when the author deliberately misleads the reader in one or several directions in order to keep the true secret to the mystery hidden. At least that is what I recall from my school years.”
“Red-herring.” Daphne sighs, face hot from everything but the sun by now. “I'm so embarrassed …you must think I'm a fool.”
"You place a great deal of weight on small mistakes.”
“Small mistakes add up. It's important to be aware of where one is weak, or else you'll get taken advantage of.”
“Another Amaris idiom?”
“Probably.” She shrugs. “She's been by my side for a while now. It all blends together. Becomes a part of you, as she talks about. Changing constantly and becoming better.”
“Ah, yes, I recall you giving love advice. Love doesn't hurt you, a person who doesn't know how to love does.” He recited, making her gawk at him.
“You memorized my words?” She huffs, pouting a bit as they reach the dealership. He simply continues forward leaving her to catch up. It was a luxury brand that specialized in custom orders and trade-ins. It smelled like money and leather the moment they stepped in.
“Miss Daphne, how good to have you back.” A stout man in a pinstripe suit strides over hugging the curvy blonde as she laughs.
“Hello Gregory. Do you have my car for me?” She teases and the man waves a finger at her.
“For you Miss Daphne I will give you the world-” His eyes travel to Jade looming at her shoulder like a silent sentinel. “I see you brought a friend. Is Miss Amaris busy today?”
Slipping into her work mode she began dissecting Gregory's posture and tone. Mostly tone still, she couldn't read people's bodies very well unless it was obvious or something she had trained herself to see. Sadly she was not Amaris.
Gregory was afraid of Jade, no doubt recognizing him as she knew he watched the interviews. Time to make a good impression.
“Oh, this is Jade.” She extends a hand to motion to the tall eel beside her with a kind smile. “We happened upon each other earlier and I invited him along with me. I hope that's alright.” Not a question, a statement. She knew how to get her way. She was born and raised to have everything, and she has been taught how to come across as deserving of it all.
“Yes, yes it's quite alright.” Gregory quickly recovers and reaches to shake Jade's hand and then notices the bags. “Ah, my apologies. But please, do sit. It must be scorching out there today and you both are dressed so nicely.”
“Your kindness is appreciated.” Comes from over her shoulder as she sets her bags down with Maria's package at a chair and goes to get her and Jade some water.
This was good, maybe she could help make connections for Jade's family, create a bond? The idea made her giddy. The Ashengrotto Family likes deals so why not help? Surely it couldn't hurt to show Jade she could make an impact.
Returning she found Gregory quite pale and retyping her contract for her trade-in as Jade lounged in a chair that could hardly fit him. The men looked to be polar opposites, the tall one at ease and rather satisfied for some reason, and poor Gregory looked ready to dig his grave and lay in it willingly.
What had she missed?
"Is everything alright?" She pokes the space.
“Just retyping Miss Daphne. Mr. Leech here found a few errors and I'm so embarrassed to have missed them.” Gregory shakes as his fingers clatter on the keys and she frowns walking over to Jade handing him his water.
"Mistakes? But I wrote it, I made the contract.” Deep amber irises find his mismatched ones. “What did you find Jade?” The sugary tone was a performative one, a classic she weaponized often.
He sits forward a bit, hands closing around the glass, holding her gaze, interested maybe. “It was a fine deal, but you were overpaying, I assumed someone had tried to steal what was yours.”
Ah, that made sense. He didn't know how she did business. It was adorable how protective he was.
“I overpay because Gregory has three kids that he pays child support for. The extra money is his for refilling the account his ex wife has him put money into for them. I give him the price up front and additional for taxes. That way he can study nights and go to college online without going bankrupt. And be able to get a court order to let him see his children.” She takes a sip, not amused he probably intimidated her favorite car salesman.
Those eyes widen a fraction. “I see.”
Gregory turns the screen to her. “Is this okay Miss Daphne?”
Turning away her fingers trace the screen changing things here and there, muttering numbers beneath her breath before nodding as she signs with her finger. “Perfect as always.”
“Wonderful. Now let me show you to your new car. It has the latest specs you requested and more.” The stout man stood, adjusting his suit before leading them across the polished marble floors and out into a private lot where their most expensive cars were kept safely hidden and secure.
He pops the door open on the pearly white car, almost iridescent in reflection off the wax. The door rose above his head and inside the screen flickered to life with pink ambient lighting everywhere. It read: Welcome Daphne. “I took the liberty of getting the specs you prefer installed since you're such a loyal customer.”
She peers inside and squeals, heels bright with joy as her face reflects the glow all too well. “Oh it's perfect Gregory. Thank you so much.” She hugs the man with a little hop and he chuckles patting her back.
“Anytime Miss Daphne. Though I would like to know if Miss Amaris is finally with her mon rêve. Summers are made for romance.” He pulls away and she laughs.
“You know how she is, very busy. I believe she's in Morocco currently. She got asked to write a piece on some horseback experiences. Be in a few desert videos to promote tourists to come visit. I think she's staying with a friend.”
“What a fun time then. Is her mon rêve with her? Do tell me she's with him now, it's been what? Almost seven or so months? Longer? A year maybe?” Gregory pulls his tablet with her contract and she slides her card sealing the payment.
“Sadly no, she'll be back in July, maybe August, she has a few more places this summer that demanded her personally despite her trying to get the interns in, and no they aren't together yet. It's frankly annoying. I just don't get why she's sticking around for a guy that is so slow. She doesn't have forever, none of us do.” She hisses, closing her purse. “She never just sits and waits so he better know how special he is to make an all gas no brakes girl like her heel.”
“I think that much is clear to everyone who reads her blog. She is quite the accomplished young woman. Such a shame she's single.”
“Don't let her hear you. She may write about it.” They laugh and she looks over at Jade noting how he seemed quieter. Her fingers brushed his arm, checking in as Gregory gave her the run down of her new car.
“Are you alright?” She whispers seeing his brow tucked just ever so slightly, thank god Amaris had drilled basic kinetics into her brain.
He didn't answer, instead he motioned to the car. “I don't believe there is enough leg room.” And just like that she mellowed from the Twitter of life and looked back inside playing with the seat controls to see if she indeed needed a different car.
“Thank you for catching that. I have a hard time registering what isn't obvious to me. Well, except for love but what can one do?” She sighs and moves a bit to the side so he could see if it was enough.
“You asked for my assistance, I'm simply doing so.” His voice settled into a framed cover and once more she had Amaris to thank for recognition of such a subtle cue. She couldn't name it, per se, only that his usual ease felt slightly restrained.
“Jade, I can get a different car.”
“An odd thing to say to a man you may never have in your vehicle again.”
“No it's not, it's being kind. And you shouldn't have to put up with less simply because of what I desire.” She argues before her shoulders drop realizing the argument was silly. It was a car for crying out loud. “Besides… I need to be better about considering others in all areas. This is good practice.”
“From what I've seen, consideration isn't something you lack.” She about tripped her way into the car.
They pulled out of the lot in a different car that had Jade far more comfortable, bags tucked away, Maria's box settled in the back like a cherished treasure as Jade took the passenger seat. She waited for thirty seconds before resting her truth at his feet while he pointed where to turn to reach his destination.
“Listen.” She starts in the soft glow of the screen as the day wound down to late afternoon. “I love you, a lot. But you're dating Maria and it's clearly complicated. She's your person and I would never step on that. But I won't not say anything to you. Because clearly you are sending me messages you like me back, and I've learned that if a smart person starts acting like they want you, you listen because they have already gone through all the reasons why it's a bad idea and decided it was a good one. So there. I'm falling deeper in love with you than I already have.”
She continues, hand tight on the wheel as he stills, vaguely directing now instead of more focused as before. The screen light cast him in a blue lighted shadow, it suited him in an odd way, like glowing was a part of what has been missing from his appearance before. Maybe it was his mer-nature she was noticing?
“A logical conclusion, given your way of thinking.” He added briefly and she flushed.
“I move fast, I always have. I make Amaris look slow by comparison. I'm bold with affection and I don't apologize for loving, I'm loud and live life passionately. I don't have time to be subtle. I'm dying and I don't have a lot of time to play with.” She paused, swallowing a bit as her mouth dried from anxiety. “I have cancer and nothing can be done in my case. Just prolonged care, which has been my life since I was a little girl.” She looks over, glancing to check his expression but the honk of a car in the opposite lane brings her eyes back to the road. A fire truck screams by and several police cars follow with an ambulance. She said a quick prayer before glancing at him again.
“I can see this isn't something you disclose lightly, or regularly.” His voice bled with what she hoped was sincerity.
“I'm not saying this to pressure you or scare you. I don't even need an answer right now, though it would be nice to have it. I just wanted you, Maria and your coven of ladies to be able to talk and discuss this stuff. It's heavy, and there is no for-sure cure for blood cancer at my stage with my needs and limits.”
She lets out a shaky sigh, telling people was never easy for her, never quite something she got used to.
“So I get if you are upset with how I was in the dealership. It was childish to be so bothered by Amaris’s love life. I just hate watching people love and never get anything from it. It's wasting time, precious time. I'm done now.” She adds and lets silence return. No radio to crowd the space, she lets what she dropped linger in his lap, let's him digest it.
“I see.”
Something in his expression settled before he asked her to pull over, a side street near what had to be a territory marker of some sort. She didn't care about that though, she cared that he heard her and had all the pieces to make his own choice. She could only ask him to be as honest when he was ready, if he wanted more from her.
When he shuts the door and leans down to the window she gives him a smile. “Be safe. And no rush but rush… as soon as you know your answer just get it to me. I don't care how. I just don't want to be waiting when I could spend my time elsewhere. Expiring clock and all."
He bows his head, hair sliding into his face before he draws it back with a large hand. “I will do my best to do so. Thank you for telling me this, it's been very informative.”
“I hope it fills in some gaps.” She taps her keys that had plenty of charms hanging off them. “I personally hate being blind in a situation I need to see clearly in. And I would never try to trick you Jade. I decided, when I came here to this country, I would leave that world behind. I want to be a good woman and love hard with what I have left. But that doesn't mean you have to be a part of that.”
“I can see why you move the way you do..” That smile was back and she wanted to kiss him as he held out a hand to her and she easily gave him her small one. Her pink glitter acrylics sparkling against his skin as he leaned down to kiss the back. “Good night piccola guerriera*."
And just like that she was reminded of a world that she missed. Fine gentlemen in suits, polite manners and crystal table settings, live music playing and of course the fated kiss to the hand on arrival and departure. She missed Russia so much, sometimes it felt like a part of her was gone and she didn't know if she'd get it back. Yet, here was Jade. Giving her a moment she had forgotten meant everything to her.
She wanted to grab him by the collar and figure out how to close that height gap, car or no car. A vehicle would not dissuade her. That would be her favorite problem …along with sex but she was getting ahead of herself.
“Oh, Jade!” She calls after him from the window, the soft glow of the screen lighting her face for him to see. “Tell Maria if you both are interested, so am I. I’m polyamorous, you just have to be clear with me. And I've never been with a woman but if you like her I can try. Okay?”
His eyes glowing in a street light and he gives her a toothy grin, box under his arm. “I will be sure to tell her.”
She nods and puts her car in drive pulling away from the curb. “See you around!” She calls and once more the wind is the only thing that answers her as she makes her way home. To luxury counter tops and plush white couches clean of Des’s shoe stains.
She sets a hand in the passenger seat, the leather still warm as her eyes tear up.
Oh she hoped this didn't just all go up in flames. But she would move on, she had others …others she paid.
Acrylics turning on the radio with a tap the first thing that comes on is a news report of a female citizen visiting Morocco escaping a potential lethal stabbing.
She had never dialed Amaris’s number so fast. As she waited for her best friend to pick up one thought slipped across her mind.
Gods she hoped Jade and Maria were interested… otherwise she just made things awkward.
“You got played.“ Amaris giggles through the phone as Dove stands there with her mountain of bags the next day in the reporters apartment with an ear piece in. She tucks a few gifts into a corner and puts a few more on the couch where Des crashed. Rub it in his face a bit. “Oh dear sevens you got played and he was happy to let you set up the game.”
She paused half aware until it clicked that she was talking about her and Jade's outing. “What?!”
“He likes you.” She listened to her brunette friend's voice fill with what had to be amusement. “He likes you enough to let you decide something for Maria. Daphne he is flirting with you. Not to mention he asked you a lot of stuff.”
The blonde stands there mortified. Replaying the day as it became clear. Horror coats her expression. “Oh my God I bought a dress for his girlfriend and he thanked me for it! I took him home in my car! I confessed to him! I told him so much about me and I know nothing about him!”
Amaris is choking on laughter, bent over most likely in the most undignified position to date. “You are so innocent. Oh Daphne he really really likes you.”
“Then why doesn't he just say so! We could have made out! He could’ve called Maria and we could have had a threesome! He missed an opportunity!” She exclaims half pissed at being strung along again and half angry at the man for not capitalizing on his benefits. She could have had sex with two gorgeous souls that vexed her.
Shouting in Russian as her heels stomped across Amaris’s floor the whole room was covered in the reflection of diamonds, scattered like the pulse of a very angry Dove.
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The content of this drabble is meant for people of 18+ and not below. Blank blogs and Minors DNI.
The Jock Boyfriend is that one who could easily blend in with other jocks like him but that, surprisingly, stood out because he’s built like a four-door wardrobe; big shoulders, big forearms, big man-titties torso, the whole powerhouse. Sometimes people wonder what sort of anabolic his parents put in the baby formula to make him grow that much.
The Jock Boyfriend is the one who only wears jerseys, and if he doesn’t he is decked out in full sports wear; is not really his fault that normal clothes don’t last long with him, or rather with his intense training schedule. Not that the whole female population in the campus has anything to complain about—those clothes are certainly elastic but also tight enough to magnify his muscles. A sight to faint for.
The Jock Boyfriend is the one whose brain essentially goes blue-screening from start to end of classes. He stays sat at his desk, eyes lost somewhere that is far from the blackboard with all those complicated math formulas, expression blissfully lost and hand firmly planted on the blank page of the notes he will not take. His ass is not listening. It’s not ‘cause he’s lazy or stupid—mind you he’s got A’s in other things other than P.E!—“It’s just that this professor makes it so very boring and I really can’t keep my mind in the class whenever he opens his mouth!” he’ll whine all the times he needs to borrow someone’s notes.
The Jock Boyfriend is that one coming at you with big, pleading puppy eyes, asking you to tutor him—“You’re really smart and I could really use your help. I can’t afford to fail this exam another time. Pretty please?” he whimpers on his knees and hands tied together as if he’s begging God Himself. You don’t have it in your heart to turn him down. You half expect him to be the worst teaching experience of your life, him being less smart than a fifth grader; surprisingly he’s a very good student—he’s a fast learner and hangs on your every word, quickly getting the hang of all those concepts he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around previously. He gets so excited when he gets a question right that he resembles a very happy puppy.
The Jock Boyfriend is such a sweetheart when you get to know him. Jocks have this reputation of being bullies as big as buffalos and equally idiotic, who push random people into lockers and make fun of the weakest ones just for the fun of it. He’s the opposite of such a stereotype—he listens to people, he’s kind and helps those in need; he remembers small details and gets really curious about activities outside of sports—heck, he even has a Nerd as his best friend. If someone’s rude to his friends for no good reason he goes into “mama bear-mode” and believe me when I say that, even if he doesn’t raise a single finger, his glare can easily throw you against the nearest wall if you don’t eat your words back. He doesn’t tolerate shit like that.
The Jock Boyfriend is a party animal, always invited to some sick party. He brings lots of friends with him, the more the merrier right, and even if he wasn’t invited—who cares? He brought beers!; one can literally see sparks lighting up his eyes when he sees you from the other side of the room, invisible tail wagging a mile a minute. His smile gets wiped off the second he sees you looking less than amused and another guy bothering you, asking for your number, boy oh boy, he never crossed a room faster—“Sorry pal, you might need to look for a hookup elsewhere. She’s with me.”. His voice is this close to resemble a growl and the way he has his arm around your waist is borderline possessive, and God, the way you just want to jump on him for being this damn sexy without trying…
The Jock Boyfriend looks like a virgin however is anything but. His cherry has been popped long before you two met, though from outside it doesn’t look like it; his ears gets so hot when he’s holding your hand for the first time, he sweats like he’s playing the most important game of his life when you head rests on his shoulders, his face looks on the verge of exploding when you wear his jersey that’s way too big for you. He blushes that cherry red up to his hairline when you mention you could do more intimate couple stuff—“Like kissing and stuff? Oh! Y-You meant sex… I’m not opposed to it—I mean, if you really are okay with it!” he would sputter nervously, cheeks turning red in a matter of seconds.
The Jock Boyfriend tries his best to please you but he’s oh-so greedy. His fingers twitches and tremble when grabbing your thighs, your hips, your breasts, attempting not to grip the flesh so hard and possessively to leave purple indents in your skin; when he eats you out he prep-talks himself inside his head to only let you orgasm once on his tongue, but you taste so damn good he keeps going until you’re squirming and trembling and unable to form a coherent sentence—he uses your clit as a lollipop and he savors your cunt like it’s his last meal. When he finally get to be inside you, you can clearly see the veins prone to popping underneath his skin as he tries so hard not to fuck you dumb, unable to properly walk, and failing to do so—between us, you don’t seem to mind all that much. Bonus points if there’s that bit of size difference between you two.
The Jock Boyfriend, despite his greedy nature that he can’t seem to keep under wraps, is a Soft Dom; likes it when you’re the one initiating, showering you with praises when you manage to fit all of him inside you. When you’re on top he’s the one guiding your movements, needy, deep, pressing down at the bulge forming in your belly and watching amazed the way you dance on top of him.
The Jock Boyfriend is always supportive when you decide to go to the gym with him, but will most likely act like your personal guard dog, glaring at every guy that even so dares staring at your ass when you’re doing squats; he swears he isn’t a jealous guy, let alone possessive of his girl, but you know better when he’s drilling his hips into you right in front of the mirror of the locker rooms, as if he’s trying to wipe all those lecherous stares from your sweaty skin.
The Jock Boyfriend often tells he has a good control of his sex drive, when in reality he’s very easy to rile up; he doesn’t really need you to show your breasts or ass in public, nor he needs specific gestures to get him in the mood—most of the times is just you wearing a pretty skirt that shows off your legs, paired with his much-bigger-than-you jersey, or you absentmindedly chewing at a candy, or twirling your hair around your finger while deep in thought that really, really, gets him hot and bothered. When that happens you better find a quiet and secluded place in the next five minutes—and you better have a change of clothes ‘cause he’s going to ravish you.
The Jock Boyfriend is like a big teddy bear—soft and cuddly—and you know what they say about bears: their glutton knows no bounds.
The party was loud. Loud music, loud people, loud drinks…
The bass that feels like a second heartbeat that much is booming, people of all genders bumping into one another due to the high level of alcohol in their veins trying to dance, only to move like uncoordinated inflatable mascots in the wind. The level of modesty is thrown out the window too, considering all the couples one can find grinding against each other behind every corner, kissing like the other’s lips are oxygen, incapable of finding a private corner in time for the passion to flood the gates—not that anyone cares at all.
No one really pays mind when a Jock is gone from his group of friends, just like no one questions when a solitary nerdy girl disappears in the overwhelming sea of people.
When your boyfriend corners you in the bathroom the whole place feels so much smaller than what it normally should be.
He hoists you up to the sink and wastes no time roaming his hands on your legs and thighs while his tongue dances with yours, sloppy, carnal, needy. “New skirt?” he asks breathlessly, parting his lips from yours a little too soon for your licking. You can only nod, mind fuzzy and drunk of kisses much like you’d just drank a whole bottle of vodka.
“Thought you might like it…” you mutter, and the way you purse and pout your lips to further spread his flavour makes him more excited than he already isn’t.
“It’s pretty. I love it,” he purrs. The sound makes pleasant shivers crawl down your spine, gooseflesh blooming even though the temperature in that small-like bathroom is scorching, heat pools in your abdomen and you know he knows what he does to you.
He resumes kissing you.
You smell like him, his jersey like a cardigan a dolly would wear, and—God!—how much he likes it. That possessive side of his growls, like an hungry wolf, bursting with pride when no guy dares come close to you just because you’re wearing something of his. Even that one mean girl in your class had nothing acidic to say, meaning if someone’s messes with you they mess with him.
The kiss is pure heat. Your hands travel up and down his broad back, gripping his shoulders, the shorter hair at the base of his neck where you know makes him feral. The guttural growl climbing up his throat is proof of that.
“God, I wish I could take off your clothes and bang you, right here right now…” he says breathless, looking at you, a beautiful mess, like an artist seeing the Venus painting for the first time, taking in all the details to burn them in his mind. You tilt your head to one side, “Then why don’t you do it?” you ask in that sweet, feeble voice that he definitely hasn’t set as his alarm clock ringtone.
The redness spreads up to his hairline. “Well…I mean, yeah, we could, just…” he sputters, in between embarrassed and excited, “...the bedrooms were all occupied and, you know, stripping butt naked in a bathroom that we can’t lock it’s a bit…”. He pauses. You keep looking at him with those languid eyes and he feels his thin self-control fraying.
“I don’t like the idea of someone barging in and seeing you the way I see you…” he admits, the pout he does makes you wanna pounce on him that much he’s adorable.
You pinch the cotton of his shirt—the short sleeved shirt that you still don’t know how it sits so tight on his figure yet that makes his muscles absolutely perfect—looking up at him with red cheeks and shining eyes.
“I want to do it,” you say, pleading, “Please?”
His brain short-circuits for a moment, the blush spreading to his ears and neck. He takes one big breath, running his hands on his face, then sighs, lowering them to give you a look. “Clothes stays on, deal?” he bargains with the same confidence as an insurance agent, the same serious look. You nod, tongue glued to your palate, words failing you—not that you have any need for them now.
Your lips press together, tongues dancing, breaths shortening and warming up with each smack that echoes in that bathroom that seems much smaller with him inside. His hands roamed up your thighs, squeezing the flesh, the thumb getting caught in the elastic of your panties. Your hand, instead, went to grab his glutes, a moan got lost on your lips as his body jumped at your sudden boldness—his ass is firm but oh-so-soft, you start kneading the fabric of his pants, wishing, imagining it’s his bare skin.
He slides your panties down your legs, the cotton rolls and twists on the sweaty skin. Chilly air hits you where you’re most sensible, your legs instinctively trying to close and curl to keep the heat, but instead they close around your boyfriend’s hips. You try to speak, telling him that panties are considered clothes but the words never left your mind palace, now besieged with lust.
His knuckles brushes against your labia, ghosting over the clit; he groans against your lips, satisfied. “You’re so wet…” he mutters.
His fingers delve inside you, curling and scissoring; you whimper and pant and moan softly, while his lips nibble and kiss from your ear to your neck, leaving lovebites however he pleases. The sounds that fill that small-looking bathroom are wet, carnal, indecent yet neither of you cares enough. A displeased sound leaves the comfort of your lungs as the metal of the sink presses harder on your back, your butt slipping in the concave shape—the marble cold and uncomfortable against your sweaty skin—away from his warm touch.
Your boyfriend notices, the same sound of yours leaving his lips. He makes you latch your legs against his hips, shifting positions. He pushes you against the wall, his back to the door, and resumes stimulating your walls. He doesn’t stifle your moans, nor he tells you to be quiet—you don’t try either—he basks in your cute sounds, gets turned on more when your muscles tightens around his fingers, when your lips brushes his ear and your voice sings to him how much pleasure you’re feeling.
But he’s greedy. He’s so damn greedy.
It’s a challenge for him balancing you between the wall and his legs while unzipping his pants and pushing them down along with his boxers—but he does manage.
“Please hurry,” you whisper in his ear. And he wants to give it to you, all of him, pounding you until your moans and screams overtop the loud music downstairs. But he knows he has to be gentle with you or you’ll break under the uncontrollable force of his greed.
He enters slowly, the veins of his forearms bulging due to the amount of self-control he’s putting on himself. When he finally bottoms out, said self-control gets thrown out of the window, after a few mild and deep thrust you hit him with those three words—a plea to him: “Please, go harder.”
And harder he goes.
His hips slam into yours with such intensity you’re afraid the wall you’re leaning on is shaking.
He grunts and praises you, hands grabbing your thighs so hard to leave bruises of nasty violet. You moan and whimper with every thrust, pain mixing with pleasure in a concoction you grew to be addicted to. You’re each other’s drug and neither of you wants to quit.
His breath crashes on your ear, his moans and grunts filling your brain like the best of songs; his back muscles jump under your fingers in such a delicious way, so much to wish you could shred his shirt and leave red stripes all over his skin. His body both curling protectively and tensing to avoid sending you to kingdom come as his pace starts losing rhythm, his breath hitching and chest rumbling with growls you’re pretty sure a human couldn’t possibly make.
You come first, body spasming and clinging to his like he’s a solid anchor during a storm. He climaxes a split seconds after you, doing his best not to fall on you with all his weight, elbows and knees scraping the wall to keep himself straight.
You’re both panting heavily, lips smacking, dry; you bury your nose in his neck—he smells of sex, perhaps you do too.
“Shiiiit…” he mutters into your hair, head now out of the lust’s fog. “We forgot the condom. And I didn’t pull out…”
You chuckle. “I took the pill before coming to the party,” you reassure him, messing up his hair, damp with sweat, even more.
“Don’t know whether to call you my angel or my devil…”
You chuckle again when he makes that adorable pout of his, leaning your head to kiss him; he does the same, lips brushing against yours before—
A loud knock bursted the bubble of post-sex cuddles built around you two. The knocking grew more insistent.
“Whoever’s in there, can you hurry up? I need to take a leak!” yells a guy. Your boyfriend groans, annoyed at the interruption.
“We should probably come out now,” you whisper, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “Not until you get cleaned,” he replies, putting you down gently.
“What about the guy outside?”
“He’ll wait.”
“I don’t think he will. Besides, the door’s unlocked—”
“And if he dares come in he’ll find me, pissed after being interrupted from post-sex cuddles with my girlfriend. I dare him to try.”
“Well, if you want to cuddle some more we can...ditch the party and continue somewhere else. What do you say?”
He stared at you for a little while, eyes narrowed and pout everpresent. “Your place or mine?”
“Are you two done having a moment in there or what?! I’ve got a bladder like a soccer ball!” yelled the guy from the other side of the door.
Your boyfriend huffed. You chuckled at his expression.
“That guy seriously needs to learn to read the goddamn room…”
Hey so I’m curious, I saw you write smut of the first years and I was wondering if there’s a canon timeskip where they’re adults? I’m a bit new to twst so I haven’t gotten that far. From what I know all first years are 16-17, and most second years are 18 later in the story with the exception of Kalim and Riddle
The game of Twisted Wonderland, as far as I'm aware, does not have a time skip where everyone are adults but I do write them to be all 18+ when writing smut.
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the apartment felt unfamiliar in a way akutagawa couldn’t explain.
he had lived here. walked these floors. memorized every corner. yet now, as he stepped inside behind you, something in his chest tightened like he had entered a place he no longer fully understood. his gaze flicked from the couch, to the table, to you, then immediately to the small bundle in your arms.
“…be careful.”
his voice was quieter than usual, but still firm. you glanced back at him, tired but amused, adjusting yami slightly against your chest.
“i am being careful.”
“that is insufficient,” he replied without hesitation, already moving ahead of you. in seconds, he had fixed the pillows on the couch, straightened the blanket, and cleared space that didn’t need clearing. it was too precise, too controlled, like he was trying to impose order over something he couldn’t control at all.
you sighed softly but sat anyway, easing yourself down with a wince. his attention snapped back to you instantly, sharp and alert.
“…does it hurt?”
“a little,” you admitted. “that’s normal.”
his jaw tightened, clearly dissatisfied with that answer, but he said nothing. instead, he hovered close, arms crossed for a moment before uncrossing again, unsure where to put his hands or what to do with them.
for a long time, he simply stayed there. watching. listening. making small adjustments, handing you water, fixing the blanket again, checking your posture like he was afraid you might break if he looked away too long. it was stiff, almost awkward, but there was something deeply careful in every movement.
“you can sit, you know,” you murmured at one point.
“i am fine.”
“you’ve been standing for like twenty minutes.”
“that is irrelevant.”
you huffed a quiet laugh, too tired to argue, and let your head fall back against the couch. for a moment, everything was calm. then yami shifted in your arms, letting out a soft, fussy sound.
akutagawa went rigid.
“…she is distressed.”
“she’s just waking up,” you said gently, adjusting her. “it’s okay.”
his eyes didn’t leave her. “i will handle it.”
you blinked, a little surprised. “…you will?”
there was a brief pause, the smallest flicker of hesitation crossing his expression. but then he stepped closer anyway, extending his arms with careful precision.
“…may i?”
your gaze softened instantly. “of course.”
you guided yami into his hold, helping him support her properly. he followed every instruction exactly, his movements controlled but cautious, like he didn’t trust himself not to do something wrong. the moment she settled against him, he stilled completely.
for a few seconds, he didn’t even seem to breathe.
“…she is… small.”
you smiled faintly. “yeah.”
his thumb hovered near her cheek before finally brushing against it light, almost hesitant. yami stirred, then leaned slightly into the touch, her tiny body relaxing against him.
that was all it took.
something in his posture shifted. not dramatically, but enough that you noticed. his shoulders lowered a fraction, his grip becoming less rigid and more natural. his gaze softened in a way you had never quite seen before, still intense, still focused, but no longer sharp.
“…yami,” he murmured, like he was testing the name again.
you watched him quietly, your chest warm despite the lingering exhaustion. “she likes you.”
“she recognizes me,” he said, almost thoughtfully.
“of course she does.”
he didn’t respond right away, just kept looking at her like she was something fragile and irreplaceable. then, without much warning, he moved.
closer.
you felt it before you fully processed it, his shoulder brushing yours as he sat beside you. it wasn’t something he usually did. akutagawa wasn’t the type to seek contact so easily.
but now, he didn’t stop there.
slowly, almost cautiously, he leaned into you. not heavily, just enough that his head rested against your arm. his face pressed lightly into the fabric of your sleeve, careful not to disturb yami in his hold.
you went still for a second, surprised.
“…akutagawa?”
he didn’t move away. if anything, he settled slightly more, his voice quieter when he spoke.
“…stay.”
it wasn’t an order. not really. it sounded closer to something fragile, something he wasn’t used to asking for.
your expression softened immediately. “i’m right here.”
“…good.”
silence followed, but it wasn’t empty. it felt warm, steady, filled with soft breathing and the faint movements of yami shifting between you.
akutagawa’s thumb continued its slow, careful motion against her cheek. his eyes never left her for long, only flickering up to you occasionally like he needed to confirm you were still there too.
“…i will protect her.”
his voice was low, certain.
you smiled gently. “i know.”
a brief pause.
“…and you.”
that made your chest tighten slightly. you turned your head just enough to look at him, though he didn’t lift his own. his face remained half-hidden against your arm, but you could feel the way he leaned into you, subtle, grounding.
“you need to recover,” he continued quietly. “do not overexert yourself.”
you huffed softly. “you’re already giving orders?”
“i am stating necessary precautions.”
you smiled, too tired to tease him properly. “i’ll take it easy.”
“…you must.”
his tone softened at the end, losing some of its usual edge. for a while, neither of you spoke again.
yami eventually settled completely, her tiny breaths evening out as she slept in his arms. akutagawa adjusted his hold instinctively, more confident now, more certain in every small movement.
and still, he didn’t pull away from you.
didn’t create distance.
he stayed exactly where he was, leaning against your arm, holding your daughter carefully, keeping both of you within reach.
where he could see you.
where he could protect you.
where, for once, he allowed himself to rest without resistance.
“…stay like this,” he murmured again, softer this time.
you smiled, eyes drifting closed as exhaustion finally pulled you under. “okay.”
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Here is a small set of rules to interact properly with my blog and “do”s and “don't”s when requesting.
contents
While there are some sfw fics and drabbles, my blog is mostly nsfw so minors, please, refrain to interact with those specific fics.
Dark content, while I might not be the best at writing it, is not shamed on in here, but please handle it with caution.
when sending a request
Don't spam the same ask over and over, it will not automatically guarantee you a response. Don't overflow my inbox when I don't respond, I am an adult with a job and responsabilities and writing takes time.
Don't send a two-words request, I don't accept those, nor biblical-long pharagrafs. Too little or too much takes the fun out the writing experience, find the middle of the two things.
You can send a request for single and multiple characters.
When sending a request specify what gender you want the reader to be: female, male or gender neutral, there's love for everybody! If you don't include that my default option is female.
Blurbs and ideas, both brainrotting smut and theet-rotting fluff, are always welcome.
fandoms
The main fandoms I write for are:
my hero academia
twisted wonderland
haikyuu
jujutsu kaisen
bungo stray dogs
(There are other Characters I like from other fandoms but haven't included them here or the main masterlist beacuse I only like one or two in the entire roster, so it hardly qualify as a “whole fandom”)
kinks...
I have written plenty and red my fair share of “obscure” ones, so these are the ones I don't write for:
necrophilia
full bestiality
scat/piss
underage with adult
gore
public humiliation
incest
yandere/stalker behavior
torture
extreme bondage/roleplays
...if I find more I'll update the list.
...and delicate things
When writing angst to fluff (beacuse full-on angst is my greatest enemy) there are some things I wish you all to keep in mind: a sprinkle of trauma is thumbs up, a full phsyciatrist conversation is not okay.
no hate no problem!
Don't spread hate, don't harass people and don't shame anyone's interests. Hate anon comments are deleted and users blocked. This is a safe space for everyone and I don't allow bullies in here.
