#The “funny” thing is that he got furious over the fact that he had to take an additional responsibility since mom wasn't home like be fr

[autumn-applepie]

This was probably the worst trip back to my parents house ever but like, I just thought of something. When me and my dad fought, the computer was on and we were fighting in front on the computer...

I'm going to be very stupid (mainly because I'm desperately trying to keep my sanity intact), but it just makes me somewhat giggle that Kinito would've definitely killed my deadbeat dad after witnessing that scene, would've been awesome

[freedomfireflies]

The One Where 404 Harry Gets Jealous:

Harry is mad.

No, Harry is past mad. He’s furious. Irate. Enraged and incensed and staring a hole right through Levi’s head.

You work to bite back your smug smile as you nod along to your date's story. And you pretend to be fascinated, even though you’re more fascinated by the furious man a few feet away. 

He’s been watching you since the moment you and Levi walked through the door. And he’s been fighting his own urge to come over and interrupt, that much you’re sure of. But he doesn’t have any right. And he knows it.

And you can’t help but make things just a bit harder for him. You grin brightly at Levi’s comments. You laugh loudly at his attempts at jokes. You touch his arm and lean into him as you listen to the live band.

And it’s driving Harry up the wall.

He’s moments away from snapping. Subtly but angrily scooting closer with every passing minute. And you don’t need him to snap. Or cause a scene. But if he’s gonna act like a big fucking baby just because you’re on a date, well…

“Which was fine,” Levi is saying. “I didn’t really care for it anyway, but…I sent it back and we’ll see if they can do better this next time.”

“Sure, sure,” you agree half-heartedly, eyes drifting toward the tall, surly man in glasses now somehow even closer than before. “And, uh…you said you were hoping to stick around for a while before heading back east?”

“Yeah, that’s my plan,” he says. He points to the stage. “I like these guys. They’re good. It’s so funny, I’ve never really thought about—”

“What the fuck is this?”

You and Levi both turn as an unexpected voice loudly intrudes on your conversation.

You find Harry, unsurprisingly, looming over you as he glares down at your poor date.

“Uh, this…is Levi,” you introduce slowly, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress another smirk. “And this is also none of your business.”

Harry frowns. “Bullshit. You said you weren’t going out tonight.”

“No, I said I couldn’t go out tonight,” you correct. “Because I already had plans. With Levi.”

Levi blinks.

Harry snorts. “Right. And how the fuck did you even meet this Levi in the first place?”

“Okay, well, one...you don’t have to talk about him like he’s not here,” you scold. “Don’t be rude—”

“I’m not being rude. You’re being rude.”

“I—” You huff. “How am I being rude when you’re interrupting my date?”

“Because this isn’t a fucking date and you know it.”

You cross your arms. Stubborn. “And how would you know what a date looks like? Much less a date with me?”

“Because you’ve spent half the fucking night staring at me,” he says smugly and you feel your skin warm. “So, I’ll ask you again. What the fuck is this?”

You turn to Levi—poor, innocent Levi—and offer a sheepish smile. “I’m…so sorry. I just need to work this out with him for one second—”

“No, don’t worry about it,” he says kindly and you’ve never felt worse. “I get it. I’ll get us some drinks.”

“Thank you, really,” you sigh and he nods before disappearing into the bar. And once he’s gone, you turn back to the outrageously annoying man in question. “Okay, seriously, you need to leave.”

“Why?” Harry crosses his arms now, too, and nudges his glasses back up. “You don’t actually wanna be alone with him.”

“Says who? You?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know what I want. Because I want nothing more than to be alone with him. In fact, I want to be anywhere you aren’t.”

“Bullshit, Princess. You knew I was gonna be here so you brought him just to piss me off.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Cause you’re fucking annoying.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And what would bringing him here accomplish, huh? It’s not like you’re jealous or anything, right?”

He leans back and you’ve got him. “Oh, real fucking mature, Tink. Very nice.”

“What? You’re not,” you argue, shrugging one shoulder up. “Why would you be? We’re not exclusive or anything. I mean, maybe if we were, I wouldn’t have to go home with him tonight, but…good thing we’re not.”

He scowls at you. “So that’s why you brought him here? Cause you wanted to play your little fucking game and try to make me jealous?”

“Of course not. That would never work.”

He snorts and looks away and you finally grin.

“Anyway, you should let me get back to it,” you say, beginning to slip past him. “But this was fun—”

He grabs your arm and yanks you back to your spot. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Back to my date,” you repeat pointedly, slipping his fingers from your skin. “Do you mind?”

“Yes.” He dips down and he doesn’t let you go. “I don’t like games. And I don’t like tricks. You don’t get to fucking play me just cause you’re bored.”

“I’m not bored, I’m single,” you retort. “And I have every right to date him if I want—”

“No.”

You blink. “No?”

“No.” He holds you tighter and he’s resolute in the way he speaks. “I don’t want you going out with him.”

“Yeah? And why do you think I care what you want?”

“Because I know you,” he says calmly, and you can hear the devious undertone even beneath the loud music in the bar. “You brought him here because you don’t want to fuck him. You don’t want to waste your time on a man that talks about the fucking stock market and how much he spent at Erewhon. And you wanted me…to remind you of that.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. He knows he’s right. But you’ll be damned if you ever admit it. 

“The only thing you remind me of is disappointment,” you huff. You take your arm back. “Levi is everything you can never be. And maybe it’s time you realize that.”

You attempt to brush past him again but he stops you once more. He tugs you into his body until your chest is brought to his and everything grows quiet inside your head. Your only focus is him, and his mouth, and his familiar smell, and the way he holds you in his arms.

He’s leering at you—pissed beyond belief—and yet you feel so incredibly warm and safe. Pleased.

“Do not go back to him,” he says and a chill rushes down your spine.

“What?”

“Don’t go back to him,” he says again and you want to smile. “Because you aren’t leaving with him. You’re leaving with me. And tomorrow, you aren’t gonna fucking call him and apologize and set up the next date. You’re gonna lose his fucking number. Is that understood?”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re really fucking annoying—”

He yanks you closer until you can almost taste the lips hovering near yours. “I said, is that fucking understood, Princess?”

You’ve never felt this kind of need before. This kind of yearning for another person and this kind of pain radiating between your thighs. But you’re desperate to fix it—desperate to ride this wave of his anger until it washes you both away. 

"Why?" you whisper and you want to kiss him. God, you want to kiss him, but you resist.

"Because," he says. He breathes you in and then he reaches up to brush his thumb along your lip. "Because how can I let you leave when I know you'll be so unsatisfied?"

Your insides feel like they've been set on fire.

"How can I go home when I know he won't take care of you the way I do?" He brushes his nose against yours. "How can I let my pretty, little Tinkerbell spend the night faking her orgasms when I know how perfect she cums when she cums for me?"

Fuck.

"You can hate me all you want," he murmurs. "But I'm good to you. And you fucking know it."

You can't seem to find a response. Can't seem to make your feet work or your lungs work or any part of your brain actually work.

Instead, you simply exhale, "Okay."

And he smiles.

“Good girl,” he mumbles. He leans back and takes his kiss way. "Then let's go."

He leads you out of the bar and toward his bike in the parking lot and you go without question. He hands you the extra helmet—which he also has to help you put on—then pulls you onto the back and secures your arms around his middle. Just like last time.

“Where are we going?” you yell as the engine comes to life.

There’s something cunning in his eye. “Figured it was about time I took you home.”

“Oh…well, my apartment’s all the way on the other side of town,” you tell him. “It’s kind of a long drive.”

He shakes his head. “Not your home,” he says and your heart instantly lodges in your throat.

Shit, shit, shit.

He smiles. “I want to take you to my home.”

DEDICATED TO MY SWEET BIRTHDAY ANON!!! I HOPE IT'S SOMEWHAT OKAY AND WHAT YOU WERE EXPECTING! I KNOW THERE'S NO SMUT BUT........WE CAN WRITE THAT LATER HEHE

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[dolliethv]

One Of The Girls.

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! Hiii, this is a pretty TO long story, I wanted to write something with a lot of sexual tension and a lot of smut, read it calmly and I hope you enjoy it xoxo!!

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 6k

You weren't sure if attending Jude's party was a good idea, but something inside you—maybe the excitement of Halloween and the thought of celebrating with your group of friends, or perhaps the hope of seeing him—convinced you. Jude's huge, new house in Madrid, decorated with lit pumpkins and fake cobwebs, gleamed in the distance, full of people already enjoying the night.

You stepped inside, and strobe lights danced on the walls, while laughter and music filled the air. You grabbed a drink as you passed by the improvised bar, trying to relax. You hadn’t taken more than two steps when you felt that familiar gaze tracing your body. You slowly turned, and there he was, Jude, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed solely on you.

You wished the ground would swallow you because your damn group of friends was headed straight toward Jude Bellingham’s group. Of course, they all knew each other.

After your friends had chatted enough with the other group, you decided to take the lead.

"Couldn’t you put a little more effort into your costume?" That was the first thing you asked when you finally looked him in the eyes for the first time that night.

Curious about what he was actually dressed as?

Seriously? A simple cop uniform? You could bet your life on the fact that men have zero originality—they always go for the easy option. Lord, give me patience.

You absolutely hated basic Halloween costumes. Anything that took less than ten minutes and minimal effort didn’t deserve attention. It might seem a bit over the top, but given the number of creative ideas this particular holiday offered, you just couldn’t stand it.

Not when you even designed and made your own costume for the occasion.

But it was funny how quickly Jude changed your mind.

Basic is good. Basic is great. Damn it.

"What’s your costume supposed to be, anyway?" Jude continued, his voice calm but his body still a bit tense.

"It’s Suki from Fast and Furious!" Drew, one of Jude’s friends, shouted loud enough that the music barely muffled it.

He wasn’t even trying to hide his blatant staring, but truthfully, neither of you cared. You turned and headed off with your friends to who knows where.

You knew you looked good. You’d worked particularly hard on your outfit for tonight, so you had no reason to hide. Everything was perfectly planned, from head to toe.

Minutes passed, and you tried to convince yourself there was no reason to panic, but there were a lot of people, and your outfit was a bit too revealing. So, when you felt hands around your waist, you were ready to scream for whoever it was to back off.

"It's me."

Oh my God, you almost had a heart attack.

Jude pulled you against him, your back pressed to his chest, his left hand settling on your hip while his right extended around your shoulder to not-so-gently push people aside. The tall, dark-haired boy didn’t take long to start moving you both, making space with his prominent frame when people were too slow to get out of the way, shoving them until he cleared a path for both of you.

Stupid party, stupid Jude Bellingham. It was his fault you ended up there anyway. Jude may not have seen your face, but he definitely felt how tense you were in his arms.

"Why the bad attitude?"

Bad attitude? You didn’t know much about attitudes, but all your limited knowledge vanished when he pulled you even closer.

You cleared your throat briefly, your words followed by a slight shake of your head.

"Am I the one with the bad attitude?" you replied.

Because truthfully, you’d been on your best behavior since you got to that house. Or at least trying.

Jude loved driving you crazy; he thought you looked damn adorable acting tough at barely 5'1".

"By the way, you look amazing."

It was a great move, saying something so flattering to ease the tension.

"Thanks," you murmured, not caring whether he heard, your eyes glued to the back of the guy Jude was elbowing out of the way.

Two stomped-on feet and a "Are you gonna move or what the hell are you waiting for?" later, you were finally out of the chaos.

Well, as far out of danger as you could be at a party and in a house full of mostly strangers.

However, Jude didn’t stop there. He guided you to what you vaguely recognized as the first hallway on the right, his hands never leaving your body. It wasn’t unpleasant for you, not at all, but you both drew more than a few curious stares. It didn’t bother you much now that your closest friends knew. Other people’s opinions of you were never the most positive anyway, but you were surprised at how little Jude seemed to care, considering it was his house.

When you finally stopped, you found yourselves where you’d suspected a few moments earlier, slightly sheltered from the loud music. There were a few other people around, but they were far enough away not to intrude on your conversation.

Jude released you a few seconds before turning you around and wrapping his arms around you again, pulling you close as he leaned against the wall.

"I like your hairstyle; it’s cute," he said, grabbing a lock of your hair between his fingers. "Scratch that. Actually, I love how sexy you look with your hair down."

You were starting to seriously regret the day you told Jude you wouldn’t mind being complimented daily because it was getting out of hand.

How were you supposed to function properly when Jude kept looking at you with dark eyes?

You swallowed hard, shifting your gaze to the side of his face to avoid dealing with the intensity of his stare. You needed to say something and had to do it now.

"People were staring at us."

Of course, your voice trembled, and of course, out of all the things you could’ve said, you picked the one with the most potential to ruin the moment.

Jude was being very open tonight, and while you didn’t dislike it, it was new and somehow made him even more intimidating. All you could focus on was trying to stay afloat, despite involuntarily melting into the warmth of his touch and the comfort of his voice.

"When you look like that, baby, of course, people are going to stare."

You were getting nervous so quickly that it was unreasonable. Your breathing was already picking up, and butterflies were fluttering, one by one, to the point that you could no longer distinguish between those in your heart and those in your stomach.

This was exactly why you shouldn’t stay away from Jude for too long.

"News travels fast, Bellingham. Especially when you’re the footballer of the moment."

But with Jude, you didn’t have to worry. Jude could take care of both of you, and maybe you shouldn’t trust him, but God, it felt so good to be protected.

You desperately wanted to kiss him. Every brush of his thumb against your skin was electrifying. You needed to be closer, needed more, and this time, it had nothing to do with lust.

It was the kind of need you hadn’t felt before, the kind that demanded an exchange of feelings, even if not through words. Even if you tore off your clothes and pressed skin to skin, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, it wouldn’t be enough. You wanted to be inside Jude’s mind, to share all his thoughts, to experience the unknown, to finally understand each other, but you were too scared.

You couldn’t get there just yet.

"Your costume is stupid," you finally said, your voice coming out a bit more determined.

Jude’s lips curled into a smile, which quickly turned into a laugh that disappeared just as fast, but it was definitely something worth remembering.

"You’re so good at flirting," he purred sarcastically. "Tell me more."

You thought you might be able to keep a straight face, but as soon as you saw him smile, you followed. There was something so addictive about it, maybe the fact that you didn’t see it often, but it definitely made Jude ten times more attractive.

And he was already too attractive to begin with. God.

"It really is stupid," you confirmed your own thoughts, your fingers trailing up to fix the collar of Jude’s cop uniform. "But you look so sexy. I don’t know why I’m so into this kind of stuff."

You knew you weren’t the only one. It’s not for nothing that women love men in uniform.

"You don’t like the uniforms; you like the authority behind them. Or should I say, you’re afraid of it?"

Even though you had the same smile, Jude looked completely different, but he was right. You always felt uneasy around any kind of authority figure.

Watching Jude—with the quite noticeable height and body size difference compared to you, with the sleeves of his uniform stretching around his biceps every time he moved—you couldn’t blame yourself for feeling a bit nervous.

And to top it all off, a pair of very real-looking handcuffs hung from his belt.

So yeah, you gave up your principles about liking the basic for one night, but Jude had chosen a really good costume to spark your imagination.

"Honestly..." Jude grabbed your chin and pulled you even closer, his eyes fixed on your lips. "I wouldn’t mind being a cop if it meant I could make pretty things like you tremble."

As if he needed to be a cop to do that. Idiot.

As if you didn’t already find him intimidating enough without the costume. As if your knees didn’t buckle and your body didn’t heat up every time Jude looked you in the eyes for more than three seconds.

"I think that’d be an abuse of power."

Very socially aware of you, but it might be more believable if you stopped looking at him like you wanted him to take advantage of you. You know it's wrong to think that.

Jude hummed, sliding his thumb over your lower lip before pressing it and pulling it down. The movement was so sudden it made you hiss. It was almost embarrassing how willing you were for Jude to do whatever he wanted, to play with your body however he pleased, without questioning the reason.

"It isn’t if you enjoy it."

Their heads tilted to opposite sides, moving closer with lips tingling from the desire to kiss. You could feel Jude exhale before gently pressing his body against yours and brushing his mouth against yours when—

"Bellingham!"

Both grimaced, and you quickly jumped back, your hands starting to smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes. You didn’t turn around or look at Jude; you didn’t want to know if someone had really seen you and didn’t want to deal with it.

Jude’s friends weren’t the type of people he enjoyed talking to, so it would be weird to find yourself in a situation where you had to pretend to be a bit interested in what they had to say.

"Oh, hey," Jude responded with much less enthusiasm as the sound of footsteps grew louder.

"Good party, man."

You recognized the characteristically deep voice and immediately tried to move a little further from the sound. You opted to take the empty space next to Jude, and to avoid seeming rude, you looked up, meeting Trent Alexander’s eyes before giving a small nod in his direction. The man nodded back with a shy smile resting on your lips.

"Hey y/n, you look great!!" He said.

"Thanks."

You knew him, or at least you knew who Alexander was. In your defense, you knew all the people in your circle of unfortunately extroverted friends. You knew he was a guy with too much money, another footballer, not surprisingly—very attractive—and also much kinder than many other rich and attractive people.

However, you started to feel anxious.

Alexander didn’t seem to notice your discomfort, even after greeting you. But then the guy lowered his gaze, not going below the level of your skirt, but enough to make you wonder— is this guy checking me out?—God, men are all so bold.

Suddenly, Bellingham cleared his throat, subtly but enough to move you a little out of Trent’s view.

Oh, okay.

"Sorry to bother you, but my friend here won’t stop saying she wants to meet the great Jude Bellingham."

Unaware of the presence of someone else before, you moved your gaze to Trent, where a model-like tall girl was giving all her attention to Jude.

You were annoyed by how attractive she was. You couldn’t imagine how she looked in Jude’s eyes. You weren’t a fan of the cliché thought of hating other women over men, but damn, this feeling was hard to handle.

"Can you blame me? He looks even better than I imagined," she said loudly.

Then you looked at how that girl was dressed.

She was obviously someone very bold, and you were all for female empowerment, but if she came any closer to Jude, you’d have to break her neck.

If Jude hadn’t noticed her before, he definitely was now, shamelessly scanning her figure until stopping on her chest a bit longer than necessary. When he looked back at her face, he gave her a playful smile.

"She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it. My kind of girl."

Sorry, what? His type of what? Is he really giving me a hint?

A fake and shy smile spread across the unknown girl’s face as she tilted her head slightly and flipped her hair back, exposing more of her neck and collarbones.

"Oh, yeah?" She asked, her voice interrupted by laughter. "What else is your type?"

Me?

The girl started tracing circles with her index finger over the lower part of her collarbone before dragging it down, outlining the beginning of her breasts. They were quite exposed; it was hard not to notice them, but there was no worse way Jude could handle it than staring at them, his expression not hiding what he was thinking.

Bellingham took a step towards her, immediately placing his right hand on her hip without gripping it, just touching a bit, while moving to whisper something in her ear.

There was absolutely no damn way Jude was doing this in front of you, there must be some kind of reality error. No fucking way, you were really holding yourself back from pulling him away from her and giving him a beating.

Once the brunette straightened up, they were both smiling, and you couldn’t hear it, but you read it from the girl’s lips.

"I got lucky tonight."

Well, you had never considered yourself a crazy person, or at least not one who acted out of her mind with no regard for social norms.

Nevertheless, at that moment, you could barely stand.

You had no doubt about it anymore; it was too strong not to recognize, too powerful to ignore. You were jealous, so jealous that all you could think about was violence and all you could see was red.

"I’m leaving," Alexander suddenly said, visibly uncomfortable with the looks being exchanged.

You didn’t even have time to thank him mentally before the girl grabbed his arm as if her life depended on it, sweetly smiling at Jungkook and saying:

"I’ll be waiting."

And with that, they left.

The crowd made them disappear in less than a minute, leaving no trace. All you could focus on now was the unshakable smile on Jude’s face.

You despised him.

None of this was part of the plan.

Jude’s plan was to keep you without sex for a while, make you show how much you missed him, make you feel so needy that you’d give in to anything in seconds. Bellingham thought nothing could compare to the feeling he’d have once he saw your desperation, the ease with which he’d let you go, giving him the upper hand in the situation.

He was wrong.

Something better than a proud version of you was a version willing to admit, to admit that you were jealous, and he made you realize it after this little outburst.

"Where were we?" He asked as if nothing had happened, his attention slowly returning to you, clearly displeased at his side.

-I might have overstepped a bit- you thought. Relax.

Since Jude did everything he could to avoid giving you more than a glance while talking to that girl, wanting to make it as real as possible, he was enjoying watching your reaction.

You stared defiantly at the wall opposite them, obviously trying to transfer all your anger to her instead of Jude.

Seeing you cute probably wasn’t what you was looking for, but Jude found it absolutely adorable.

"Is something bothering you, sweetheart?" He gently brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, his voice laced with false concern.

"No."

It wasn’t a very convincing lie with your teeth clenched and a blank expression on your face.

"Mm, I think it is."

"Good for you."

Jude had to stifle a satisfied smile. The way you responded with the first thing that came to your mind showed you weren’t thinking much before speaking.

"Not in the mood for a conversation anymore?"

You closed your eyes.

But you couldn’t do that, not when it was exactly what you wanted to do. He couldn’t be the first to break, admit his lust, show that he wanted to be with you so much that he’d trample his pride.

Not again.

“You know, I never took you for a jerk who got jealous so easily.”

If it were physically possible, your jaw would be hitting the floor. The air caught in your throat and your lips hung oddly open as you looked at Jude and found the lack of concern on his features.

Being honest was the easiest way to get through to him.

“How dare you?” You asked offended, pushing Jude away as hard as you could.

His balance seemed to falter as you failed to move him an inch, but he did successfully sway on his two feet, before Jude grabbed your wrists.

“How dare I what?” He asked you with an amused smirk. “Does she make you jealous? I was just having a conversation, babe.”

“No, not that.” You finished your statement with an irritated groan, violently breaking free from his hold. “You’re an idiot. Go have a conversation then.”

“Should I?”

The look you gave him only said one thing. “I fucking dare you.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to find her?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm. “You didn’t look at her face even once.”

Well, if it wasn’t obvious, you screwed up. The chances of her living without Bellingham mentioning what you wanted him to not notice were now basically non-existent.

“She didn’t put that on so I would look at her face.”

You had never looked so angry, your head shaking in disbelief and fists clenched on either side of your body. You looked like you were really struggling not to slap him and Jude couldn’t blame you. That was the point, after all.

“Oh, wow.”

He was already on his way to calming her down, his hands reaching for your waist, when you raised his in defense.

“Don’t touch me.”

You even pointed with your index finger in warning, wagging it when Jude didn’t stop.

“I’m not joking, I’ll slap you, don’t touch me- mhppm-”

With one hand around your waist and the other pressing against your jaw, Jude had you backed up against the wall in no time. Despite your earlier threats and your bad mood, you surrendered into his arms quickly, melting into the touch, your soft moans being muffled by Jude’s mouth. The longer it went on, the more eager you became, tugging at his uniform, trying to pull him closer despite your bodies already being together.

When he pulled away, you were a mess. It was being a fight for him to refuse your touch.

“We can go to my room…”

He whispered against you, before moving lower.

“Talk…”

He pressed a kiss against your chin

“I’ll make you laugh…”

And then one on the side of your jaw

“I can make you cum…”

You shuddered at the proposal.

You both knew he wanted it, that was not in doubt. The question was how far he would go to get it.

“You will have my full attention.” With sarcasm.

Another kiss, just below your ear.

“All you need to do is ask.” He made sure you were looking at each other when he spoke, eager to see your reaction. “Tell me you don’t want to see me with someone else.”

You noticed how your body completely gave out, all hope in your eyes. Your excitement was replaced with panic as your pupils dilated and your mouth opened and closed without saying a word.

The offer was so tempting, the promise so real, so possible. I hate it.

You wanted it so badly, but it was a matter of pride and even though you were the prouder of the two of you, it was clear that you still had a hard time taking a step back from him.

“If I need to ask for attention, then I don’t want it.” You replied with a dry tone.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Your jaw clenched at the implication. You knew it.

With the girl dressed in a bad porn nurse costume.

(...)

“Can you stop looking at him? I’m talking to you.”

The words of Odessa, your best friend, barely reached your ears, your thoughts overwhelming you in an almost pleasurable way.

You watched as Jude’s hand wrapped around an unfamiliar waist for the umpteenth time that night, causing your own fingers to grip your knee tightly.

This time it was a redhead, dressed in something that was more meant to cover the most private parts of her body than disguise, but who were you to judge? Right?

There was clearly a set pattern that you noticed during the time you spent sitting, gaping and staring in Bellingham’s direction. People would come up to say hello, most often women, their hands touching as much as they could without being inappropriate and a few minutes after sharing a few words they would come over with eyes fluttering in a way that could only mean one thing.

The first few times it happened, your heart nearly stopped beating. You were sure you knew what was about to happen next- Jude would take her by the hand and lead her to his bedroom.

But it didn’t happen. Not with the curly-haired brunette, not with the six-foot-eight leggy blonde, not with the one he was feasting on now.

Is he not interested? You asked yourself.

A raspy growl rumbled somewhere deep in your throat before you grabbed your glass and clumsily emptied it down your throat, not caring how the liquid spilled from the corners of your lips and down your chin.

You called out to your friends, as you abruptly stood up, almost tripping over someone sitting between them.

“Let’s dance.”

Your lips formed a smile at the thought of Jude seeing you with someone else. It was childish, yes, but you didn't really care.

You were about to execute your plan, but when you turned around, you found nothing worth your attention. The spot Jude was occupying all this time now had other people in it, no sign of the brunette in sight.

You wished you could say that it didn’t affect you.

So you turned your back on your friends and walked in the opposite direction, your newly gained good mood now ruined. You thought maybe if Jude admitted to being jealous, you could too. It would make it less embarrassing.

If Jude was here, surely he could get something better.

Yes, if Jude was here. If he wasn't fucking someone else.

"Having fun?"

A familiar voice reached your ears, close enough to feel the vibration of the sound, making you shiver, thanking God the place was too dark for anyone to notice as Bellingham's proximity made your entire body shake.

You kept your eyes on the empty glass in front of you not quite sure how you were going to respond with his mood.

Any words or actions from you from now on could be detrimental.

"Don't you want to talk to me?"

Silence.

"Okay, I'll go then."

Jude didn't even move. He didn't pull away, nor did he lean back. He stood right where he was five seconds ago, the same annoyed, mocking smile on his features.

"You're still not jealous?"

You weren't just jealous, you were seething with it.

"I am, actually. Tell anyone and I'll make sure it's the last thing that comes out of your mouth."

Admitting jealousy was a big deal for you, especially since you didn't know if Jude felt the same way. Also knowing what was coming after this.

"There's not much that can brighten my mood right now."you entered the room, "I just needed courage for what I'm about to do." locking it once the door was closed.

When you turned around, your eyes met and Jude felt something he hadn't felt in a while, it felt like he didn't really know anything about you.

He wasn't blind to the progress you'd made in the different areas of your relationship, but there was still a lot left to say, explain, discover, and - in a situation like this, when you seemed to be a completely different person - he was surprised at how much he still had to get to know you.

"Yeah? And can I know what it is?"

He longed to feel you again on other parts of his body and even more so when your hot mouth landed on his mouth as you said-

"Punish you."

It wasn't that it hadn't crossed Jude's mind that you might do something like this all night, but still, hearing you out loud was enough to bring a smug smile to his lips.

"Oh, really?"

It would be a lie to say you didn't find it fun.

Things were definitely taking a different turn than he had planned, but then again, ever since the party started, all of his plans were ruined, so he was surprisingly not opposed to the idea.

He was actually very intrigued.

You hummed in agreement and within seconds your hands were back on Jude's body, this time being bolder and freer with your movements.

It was the first proper touch that night and Bellingham thought he was ready, but he really had no idea how much he had missed this until he experienced it again. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but the feel of your palms and the heaviness of your fingers prevented him from doing so.

Your hands moved in opposite directions, one sliding down his abdomen and the other circling the side of his neck. With the pad of your thumb, you traced circles on his skin, massaging and releasing some of the tension.

He had a hard time trying to keep from getting an erection from the moment he laid eyes on you when you arrived. Now... now it was impossible.

"You know..." you started saying.

Jude heard your whisper, but could barely register it due to the heat that was beginning to creep steadily down his body, fading only for a moment when his belt got in the way, but then coming back stronger, with a grip more powerful than before. Bellingham would be ashamed to admit that his breath hitched as soon as he felt you where he wanted it most.

“I’d rather have these for myself, but you left me no choice.”

It all clicked, both metaphorically and literally, in his brain and out loud, but Jude couldn’t move fast enough to stop it.

The handcuffs were already dangling from the tip of your index finger as you swung them teasingly back and forth in front of his face.

Oh. Interesting.

The way you could overpower Jude in a mere second was wonderful.

“What makes you think I’m going to let you do that?”

You pursed your lips briefly as if contemplating his answer.

“And what makes you think I’m going to ask for your permission?” You replied.

“Maybe that drink was too much after all,” he looked at you with a smirk. “Looks like you’re confusing roles.”

Judging by his expression, you didn’t share the same opinion.

You pushed him until the back of his knees hit the bed.

Jude didn’t stop you or object, instead sitting on the edge as he was pushed down, curious to see how things would play out.

“Are you threatening me, baby?” He asked, leaning back on his forearms.

You looked perfect from every angle, she was so sure of it now.

Your free hand gripping Jude’s jaw and squeezing it a little in annoyance.

“My name isn't ‘baby’.”

You slid your fingers down the side of Bellingham's throat where the smear of a lipstick still rested on his skin.

As you stared into each other's eyes, you looked so angry that Jude couldn't help the heat spreading throughout his insides.

"Wouldn't that make you even more angry, baby?" He emphasized on the nickname on purpose, arching an eyebrow mockingly.

The sound that came out of your throat was quiet, but he didn't miss it.

-Even her grunts are cute.-

"Shut the fuck up."

It was clear that you weren't usually the type to get angry to that extent, and even if you had been, you were the type to never act on it.

"Keep your hands behind your back if you don't want to lose your most prized possession."

You felt it before you understood it - a pressure of something hard and unfamiliar against your crotch. Something unwanted.

And it came, a sign. Not too big, not too flashy, not too obvious, but painful and threatening.

Your foot moved so abruptly that the tip of your shoe met the tip of Jude's cock and hit dangerously close to his balls.

You did it. I got you.

"Good choice."

With one swift movement, his crotch was free again, but his hands were bound at the wrists by the steel rings.

You pushed him down onto the bed and pulled his shirt open, leaving his chest completely bare.

“Shit,” you muttered at the sight. “You’re lucky to be attractive.”

“And you’re lucky to be able to see me like this.”

You sent him a questioning look. “Oh, I am? Who hasn’t gotten to see you like this? Because from what I’ve witnessed, you don’t exactly have a criterion when it comes to who you let undress you.”

“You seem really upset by that thought, sweetheart. Are you scared of having a little competition?”

“And what makes them my competition? They’re not as pretty as me.”

“But they’re a lot more obedient.” He replied.

Pure shit.

There’s nothing Jude likes more than how disobedient you are.

“You know my legs are always open for you.”

"Baby..."

"You know you can take anything you want from me, anywhere you want... any way you want..."

Every syllable that came out of your mouth was filled with confidence. Your fingers caressed his jaw as if he was teasing, barely grazing the skin before pulling away and touching another part.

"You have such a dirty mouth." The boy said.

"You want it around your cock?"

Holy shit, did you really say that?

"Yeah."

You hummed, acting like you were considering it.

"But I think you acted like shit, I don't think you deserve it."

"You're lucky that I'm tied up right now, otherwise I'd fuck you until you were ruined."

You seemed to take it as a compliment, your thighs clenching tightly around Bellingham's hips to feel him better.

"Oh yeah? You wanna fuck me?"

As if his massive erection wasn't proof enough already.

“Yes, baby. So bad.”

His confession brought a satisfied smile to your face.

“You wanna see what I got under there?”

“Show me how pretty you are.”

But you didn’t take off any clothes.

You just started riding one of his thighs, your movements teasing and slow.

“Shit. Take this off me.” The dark-skinned one said.

“And why would I do that?”

God, this was getting so frustrating. Jude wanted nothing more to do than watch you choke on his cock until you remembered how to talk to him properly. You shifted a little on his lap, creating a small but effective friction.

“Baby…”

“Suck.” You claimed.

Shit. Usually, Jude was the one giving the orders. Usually, you were the one with Jude’s fingers inside your mouth, too. He opened his mouth obligingly and you immediately pushed two of your fingers in, letting them rest on the tip of his tongue before pushing them fully into his mouth.

“You like having my fingers in your mouth?”

Jude couldn’t help but like the mess he was turning you into.

You withdrew your fingers without warning and brought them to your own mouth, sucking and moaning lewdly as you looked directly into Bellingham’s eyes.

“You’re so fucking dirty.”

Your hand trailed until it was just above your breasts, eyes still on Jude’s as you squeezed your tits.

Jude didn’t even have time to react before he saw you move up your own body and rub through the material covering your pussy, touching up and down a bit teasing the boy in front of you, leaving a wet spot when you pulled your hand away.

“Move your hips for me. Can you do that for me?” That innocent tone you set made Jude explode. And he didn't need to be told twice.

He put all of his weight on his arms, his palms and heels sinking deep into the mattress, and he lifted his hips so hard that you jumped a little on his lap.

Without further ado, he thrust up, fast at first, to give you a taste of his desire, but then slower, nicer, dragging his length over your underwear-covered clit.

You decided to go a little further and freed Jude's cock, so damn big and veiny. You pulled off your underwear and started rubbing yourself. It was so damn delicious the difference in size and how the head of Jude's cock rubbed against your clit.

But what kind of punishment would it be, giving him something he so craved? You knew. You had prepared better.

So when you forgot about everything except the repetitive motion you were supposed to follow, when your moans were finally released loud and clear in the way only he had heard them before, when he could already feel the pleasure, you lifted your hips.

Bellingham groaned in frustration, closing his eyes as he fucked into the air, unable to stop his body from seeking the orgasm he had just been denied.

“Untie me this very instant.”

He may not have sounded angry at his ragged breathing, his body still recovering from the denial, but he was and he would gladly show you how terrifying he could be if he gave him the chance.

You smiled sweetly, dropping your weight onto his lap, a movement so sudden it left him breathless.

“No.”

"I wasn't-" He trailed off, a small sound escaping his mouth from another roll of your hips on his axis. "I wasn't asking."

"Fuck, did I tell you how big you are?" You replied, your small body shaking as you pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed. "You should learn not to play with me Bellingham, I'm not one of those girls, don't get wrong with me."

You pulled up your underwear and pulled back up the shorts that barely covered your ass and the small miniskirt accompanied by a pink belt that was hooked with straps to the leggings that reached just above your knee.

"Shit, shit, shit..." He replied frustrated.

"I'm sorry but now you'll have to fix this on your own." You turned around and walked away.

Jude Bellingham is totally lost.

[goldsbitch]

Just don't talk----

-and please bite me like you did before.

p5 to Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. Lando is so bored at a gala event that he overcomes his grudge and makes a request he never expected to make.

warnings: not for minors, cursing, biting kink, typos!!! not checked yet

It was yet another of the FIA gala events that were not to be missed by the drivers. Not even if they wanted to, which was something that Lando had wanted to opt for. But no, he was told specifically to be there - and he didn't respond well when somebody was ordering him around. Unless it was a girl in his bedsheets, especially one specific girl. 

She was sat quite a few seats away from him, which he found to be a relief. He was still mad at her - either at her being a super calculating bitch or at her not having a grip on her own team. Nevertheless, he was still pissed, not planning on going back to fooling around with her and risking his career. She made him mad. The way she just sat there, laughing, looking all cute and innocent. As if she really was. Only he knew how she liked to dominate him in bed, how wild she was and how far from innocent she could be. 

It made him furious. Why did she had be such a bitch? Also, why were all of of the people he was sat close to someone so annoyingly dull? He considered that to be a crime. The worst thing one could do - be boring. 

It must have been a 50th joke he had to pretend to laugh at. At this point, all he wanted to do was to escape. But he was mad, mad at the fact he had to waste time here, angry that this was one of the things that he had to endure in order to have this job and furious that she was flirting with some random executive from a sponsor. As if that guy was in any way a match to him. He wasn't fit, attractive and from the little of what he heard, he was far from funny. Plus, what had he done for Y/N with regards to her regarding her career? Unlike Lando, this guy had done shit. 

My god, was he bored. He couldn't stand one more remark from the guy sitting opposite to him. He had to get out. Fuck it all, he said internally, not being as sober as one should be at these events. 

"Come and meet me at the bathrooms," he texted to Y/N. He burned her with his look until she read the text. She looked puzzled and he just looked at her with a look that suggested she didn't really have a choice. So she nodded slightly and left few moments after him, not to raise any major attention.

She wasn't sure what this was about. Still had their last argument in fresh memory and was not looking forward to living it all over again. But, she felt obligated to at least go and talk to him. She was taken back a lot, when the mood she was met with once she found him in one of the men's stalls was not a look of anger. 

"I want you to bite me again," he stated simply, as it was the most normal thing in the world. 

"What?" she asked, puzzled. Shock wave ran through her. 

He ached from the inside. Needed a hit of any excitement available - and she was the best one out of all of them. Not that he would ever admit it. 

"I'm bored. I'm so bored I'd rather be burning alive waiting in a never-ending line at the grocery store than get back to that table. I am fed up by mediocre conversation, people saying this and that, same shit all the time and I have to sit and smile at the right people. Bite, please" he said, eyes sending shockwaves towards her. She has seen lots of intense looks on him, but not this. It took her a bit by surprise.

"Don't tell me you're not bored out of your mind too. I see the way you look, so desperate for fun. I can show you fun." Without breaking the eye contact, he walked few steps towards her. "I know what you like," he knew she was super sensitive the first time he would touch her during their nightly sessions. Before she got used to his body temperature, she would always shiver a bit. Not from cold or warmth. But the feeling of his fingertips on her skin. With that thought, he slowly traced the line of her arm with a light touch, moving from elbow, to shoulder, where he did few circles and then as a cheeky fuck boy he was, he went for the top line of her dress, right where is covered her chest. 

"Bite me, come on. I like it," he said, putting his finger over her lips. She licked it slowly. "That's my girl." He was challenging her with his eyes, had the same look as her had right before a race. "Come on."

Something shifted in her, inhibitions gone away before she could say "stop". 

"Take your shirt off," she ordered without missing a beat. Lando bit his lips, smiling and began on working his shirt off. She just watched, not participating, calculating her move. She loved having his full attention. Knowing that he was waiting, even probably begging for her to do stuff to him. Oh, what a joy to have that kind of a power. 

His shirt was off and he was standing there, anticipating. She knew they had very little time before someone would come in and the risk of a scandal was too big. Yet, she wanted her moment. 

"Say it."

"What?"

"Please."

"Please." he whispered with a need that was so honest it made her wet. She closed their distance and kissed him hard. Her tongue danced with his, having a complete upper hand. Then she bit his lip, hard. He reacted immediately with a slight hiss. 

"That's not it, my dear," she said and swiftly bent down and put her mouth on a piece of flesh on the side of his waist. It was hard to avoid biting into a muscle on his body, she felt like this would serve good enough. And my god, did this send him to heavens. Her teeth digging to his skin, pain shooting through his left side and all the good emotions coming with it. He gave her a rather loud sign when the pain was too much and she stopped immediately. That was when the emotions started really running in Lando. The same cocktail as last time, but now he was ready and looked forward to taking it all in. The pain shifting into adrenaline, relief and dopamine hitting the right spots. He didn't even notice the sound he made when she released her grip.

She watched him, like an artist would observe his favorite muse. Obsessed with him. How he reacted. How he took pleasure in. She would fuck him right then and there, but sadly, reason stopped her. Also, she wanted to maintain the cool aura this got her. Just feel a little cooler. So she walked away, leaving him with his newly forming bruise alone. 

He felt her bite all evening, whenever he turned over to discretely glance over to her, he felt a little tingle in his left side, leaving his constantly reminded of the little slut he was for this girl.

part 6

_________________________________________

@scopeiguess @leclercsluv @sulliamour

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 17 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When you manage to keep your spirits high through a rough patch, Bradley is as supportive of your needs as ever. He's working hard to take care of you in every way, and when he comes home with some unexpected paperwork, it's your turn to be supportive of him.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, mentions of smut, pregnancy discussion

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

"It's funny to me that you think you're being coy right now," Bradley told Jake in the locker room. He was avoiding answering questions about his dates with Cat. Bradley knew for a fact that they went on at least two, because that's what you had told him. And he assumed that Jake or Cat had given you that information directly. 

"Some things are sacred, Bradshaw," he said as he applied his deodorant while Bradley dried his hair with his towel and started to get dressed. 

But you had also informed Bradley that the two of them had agreed to take it a little slow now, especially since Cat and Jeremiah were living with her Uncle Bernie. So as Bradley pulled on his underwear, he knew just what to say to bait Jake. "You fuck her yet?" he asked casually, barely able to keep a straight face. 

Jake rounded on him immediately, green eyes furious. "What the hell kind of question is that?" he hissed. "First of all, it's none of your business, but no. Second, you don't have to be so fucking crude about it, man. And third, I never asked you that when you were following Angel around the Hard Deck and all over base like a lost puppy."

Bradley erupted in laughter as he reached into his locker for his undershirt. "Chill, Hangman. I just wanted to see how serious you are. And furthermore, this is the first time you haven't been crude in your life. And further furthermore, you absolutely did ask me if I nailed my wife way back then, because you were mad she turned you down."

Jake stared off into space with his brow creased. "Huh. Well I am serious about Cat. And Jeremiah. But Hondo still gets a little riled up whenever he sees me. Been avoiding him on the tarmac like my life depends on it. And if I ever asked you for any sort of details about Angel, I deeply regret doing so now. Please, keep that shit to yourself."

"Happily," Bradley replied, thinking about your ass in your khaki pants and smiling. When he headed out to the parking garage, Jake walked with him. And when he got to his Bronco, he realized Jake had parked near him. And Cat was waiting for Jake, leaning against the passenger side door, looking at her phone. 

When she glanced up, she smiled and said, "Jake," with longing in her voice. And then she realized Bradley was there, too and straightened her posture like she was standing at attention. "Hi, Bradley."

Oh, they were both making it way too easy to fuck with them. Bradley grinned as he abandoned his Bronco for Jake's car instead. "How's it going? How's my little buddy, Jeremiah?"

She smiled a little cautiously. "He's great. Obsessed with dogs now from playing at your house."

"Yeah, well he's welcome any time," Bradley said, leaning against Jake's car. "Tramp loves licking crumbs off him. Actually Jake was just telling me all about your dates."

"Was he?" she asked quietly, and Bradley thought she looked pleased. Jake was glowering at him from the other side of the car, and Bradley caught sight of a car seat in the back.

"Oh yeah," Bradley said with a nod. "Jake only looks like an ass, but he's actually okay." Cat snorted, and Jake glowered harder. "Are you guys going to go pick Jeremiah up now?"

"Yeah," Jake said loudly. "Better get a move on."

But Cat just looked up at Bradley and said, "I'm trying to get him in the daycare program on base here, but I'm on a wait list. And the facility he's in now is across town, and it's really not that great. But it's affordable," she said with a bit of a shrug. 

Bradley nodded, giving up his original plan to mess with the two of them. He was pretty sure Jake would pay for a better daycare for her son if they were dating seriously. You'd told him a bit about Cat's ex husband and how she was in financial ruin. 

"Well, you have free babysitters," he told her softly. "Really good ones, too."

She laughed softly and leaned in a little closer. "Thanks. Yeah, top notch babysitters. Especially Tramp."

Bradley laughed, too, and then Jake cleared his throat loudly. "If the two of you are finished over there..."

"Later," Bradley told Cat with a grin. And when he walked around toward the Bronco, he winked at Jake and said, "Nice car seat, man."

Jake flipped him off rather discreetly, but he looked happy. When Bradley pulled his Bronco out of his parking spot, he noticed that Jake had walked around to the passenger side of his car. He and Cat were kissing, and Jake was once again holding his middle finger up behind his back for Bradley. 

When he got home, your car was already there. "Sweetheart," he called out as he walked inside. "I am on the cutting edge of the Jake gossip today." You were on the couch wrapped up in his undershirt and a blanket even though it was May, and you were eating a pack of cookies. "You okay?" he asked softly, but he already knew.

You nodded and met his eyes. "I got my period today." Your voice was bland and emotionless, but at least you weren't crying. You just looked exhausted and defeated. 

Bradley made a beeline to the couch and bent to kiss your forehead. "I love you," he promised as you looked up at him, the faintest smile on your lips. "I'll get your heating pad and some Advil? You want a glass of wine?"

"Yeah," you whispered. He didn't even take the time to remove his boots, and Tramp followed him from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen in search of supplies. 

"I'll walk you in a bit. Relax," Bradley coaxed, tossing a treat that the dog caught in midair. "Mommy needs a cuddle first." And it was like the animal listened to him, because a minute later, you were snuggled up on Bradley's lap along with Tramp and the heating pad.

"How was your day?" you asked softly with your eyes closed. Bradley wasn't sure what he should or shouldn't mention right now. He wanted to make sure you were doing okay, but he didn't want to upset you over your period. He wasn't upset about it at all. 

"My day was fine. Do you... want to talk about anything?"

You sighed. "If you're referring to my period? No, not really. I'm okay, I promise. Just a little disappointed, but I think that's mainly because it came a day late, and I was getting just the tiniest bit hopeful, you know?"

Truthfully, Bradley hadn't been keeping up with your cycle, but now that he did the math, you were most likely ovulating right when he got home from deployment. "That makes sense," he whispered, kissing your hair. But he had been too happy since he returned home to let this ruin his day. "But you still got me."

You snuggled in a little closer and kissed his neck. "What's your hot Jake gossip?"

"Well...." It was his time to shine. He always found out everything late or after the fact, and you always liked to pick on him for it. "He and Cat went to pick Jeremiah up from daycare. Together."

You yawned and mumbled, "Yeah, they've been doing that for the past week or so."

"Oh," he said, slightly annoyed that this wasn't news to you. "Well, he also told me he hasn't even slept with her yet," he added.

"I know. I think he's secretly afraid of Hondo kicking his ass."

"Oh. Well, Jake has a car seat for Jeremiah now. But I'm assuming you already know that."

"Of course I do. But this was a really solid effort on your part, Roo. I'm so proud of you."

He just grunted and helped you readjust your heating pad. "I'm supposed to play golf in the morning, unless you'd rather I stay here and make you breakfast?"

"No, thank you. I feel bad enough already. But after you and Jake play golf, we're going out to dinner with him."

"We are? When did this happen? I just saw him."

You grinned up at him and said, "I was just texting Cat. Jake found a kid friendly restaurant that he thought would be great for Jeremiah. I said you'd probably really like it too. There is apparently a playground inside."

Bradley was quiet for a moment as you ran your fingers up along his neck. "Okay... that does sound really fun. Are there swings? I could push Jeremiah on the swings."

"I think there might be."

"I'm in."

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

You managed to get up and make Bradley breakfast even though you felt awful. But he spent Friday night cleaning the house after he got you in bed for the night with the heating pad, so you figured some scrambled eggs and a toasted bagel was the least you could do. 

"Jesus, Baby Girl," he moaned, as if you had made him a gourmet breakfast. "So fucking good." 

"Thanks for cleaning and doing the laundry," you said before you yawned. But Bradley collected you in his arms and held you. 

"Thanks for being the best person in the world," he replied, scooping you up and carrying you back to the bedroom while you giggled. "Now get back in bed and get some rest. We've got dinner and the Hard Deck later." 

Then he spun his cap backwards and climbed gently on top of you with a grin. "What are you doing?" you asked, but he cut off your words with his lips. 

"Loving my wife for a minute," he muttered, kissing you hard and parting your lips with his. You tasted his tongue as you moaned, and your fingers found their way to the short hair at the back of his neck. His mustache was really doing it for you, but as soon as you ran your tongue along it, Bradley was pulling away from you. 

"Roo," you whined as he rolled off of you and adjusted his pants. 

"I'll be back after lunchtime," he whispered, and just the sight of his hand on his cock through the fabric of his white golf pants had you pouting. "I love you."

You begrudgingly said, "I love you, too. Even though you're leaving me high and dry." Then you rolled over as he chuckled and left. And you thought about his hands gripping his golf club in those soft, sexy gloves until you were able to fall asleep again.

When you woke up hours later, you were starving and decided to eat a sandwich while you lounged on the back patio. You tossed pieces of crust to Tramp and then you wandered back inside, running your finger along the piano keys as you went. The house was too quiet, and it gave you that melancholy feeling that you got when Bradley was deployed. 

For the briefest moment, you imagined a baby in your arms. Someone to keep you company while he was away. A little one to grow up knowing what it felt like to miss their dad and then be reunited with him over and over again. Someone else for Bradley to dote on. You swallowed down the miserable feeling before it could take over. A baby was not more important than your marriage. A baby did not need to happen at this moment. A child would be welcomed at any time, not just right now. 

You drew a bath, and you were barely in there for more than five minutes when Tramp jumped up from the bath mat and ran for the front door. 

"Sweetheart?"

"In the bathroom," you called, and a second later Bradley was in the room with you. "How were the guys?"

"The usual," he grunted as he knelt on the mat and dipped his fingers in the water. "How was your morning?" he asked, keeping a totally innocent expression on his face as he stroked your breast just under the water's surface.

"Missed you. Got myself a little sad, because it felt like a day when you were deployed." 

Bradley tossed his cap on the floor and said, "I'm right here. I'm yours for the rest of the day. The rest of the weekend. Until we have to go to work on Monday."

"I know," you said, your voice sounding so small as you squeezed your eyes shut. "Will you go see Dr. Genevieve with me next week?"

He answered immediately as his hand found yours. "Of course. I haven't been to therapy in years. It'll be good."

You gaped at him. "You've seen a therapist before?"

"Yeah," he replied with his brow scrunched. "College was a very rough time for me without my mom. And Mav pulled my papers. And I didn't feel like I really belonged anywhere. I never told you that?"

You were just in awe of this man and his notebooks and his open honesty right now and the fact that you were always learning more about him. "No. But I'm really proud of you."

He smiled softly and blushed. "We can go see Dr. Genevieve together. We can do everything together. But you're not allowed to make fun of me if I have more fun at the restaurant tonight than the one year old."

You shook your head and said, "It would come as a surprise to literally nobody."

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

"I don't know why he's fussing so much. He's usually a good eater," Cat said, cutting up some food into tiny pieces while Jeremiah remained on the verge of tears in the high chair. Bradley noticed that Jake was looking a little stressed out, presumably because Jeremiah wasn't enjoying the restaurant as much as he had hoped. Jake had spent all morning at the golf course talking about how excited he was.

"Let me see here," Bradley murmured, picking up the rainbow colored fork and tickling Jeremiah with his fingers while he held out a bite of food. In an instant he was laughing, and then he had a mouthful of food. "You love it here, right kiddo? We played on the swings. We drew on the walls. Your mom let you eat dessert first, and Jake won you a porcupine in the claw machine. Now eat up."

"You're incredible," Cat whispered. "No wonder he likes going to your house so much."

"Nah," Bradley said as Jeremiah took hold of the fork for himself. "It's all her and the way she can read a board book like it was written by a Pulitzer Prize winner." He leaned in and kissed you as you beamed at him. Bradley had spent the better part of an hour after your bath rubbing your back while reading some of his notebook entries to you. It always really seemed to make an impact where sometimes his verbal skills escaped him. But when he wrote his feelings out on a piece of paper, it made all the difference in the world.

"Are you coming to the Hard Deck after this?" you asked, turning to look at Jeremiah as he ate. "Well, not you, little man."

"Nope," Jake said with a cocky grin on his face and his arm draped across the back of Cat's chair. "We're going to watch the newest Scooby Doo movie back at my place and enjoy some of the chocolate chip cookies that I definitely made myself and did not buy at the store."

Cat laughed, and Bradley watched as she leaned in to whisper something to Jake as she brushed his hair back from the scar on his forehead. "They look happy," you muttered, taking Bradley's hand in yours underneath the table. 

"Yeah," he agreed, carefully wiping Jeremiah's face as Cat kissed Jake like they were completely alone. "I'll roast him later for this. He always tells me we're disgusting."

"We are a little bit disgusting, Roo."

"Never said we weren't."

When you and he left the three of them a little while later and headed to the Hard Deck, Bradley was in an absolutely disgusting, soppy mood. You were singing along so badly to his favorite playlist while his hand rested on your thigh, and he was just so fucking proud of you for not letting your period take over your mood. Especially when all he wanted was to make you happy, and he knew it would have crushed him if you were being hard on yourself while he doted on you.

When he pulled into the parking lot and put the Bronco in park, he said, "I don't understand how you can sing so badly when you make the prettiest sounds I've ever heard in bed."

"Hey!" you complained with a laugh as you crawled across the seat and onto his lap. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I only have the nicest things to say about you and your singing voice," he promised with an obnoxious smile as you pushed his head back against the headrest and started to gently nibble on his neck. Soon you were sucking a little harder as your hand trailed up and down his bicep. "Oh shit. That feels great. Let's go home."

You moaned softly and licked a trail up to his ear before whispering, "Nope. You tease me, I'm going to tease you right back." Then you rubbed yourself against his cock, and Bradley tried to get his arm around you, but you were already jumping down from his lap to the parking lot. 

"Hey!" he called out with a laugh as you ran ahead of him while he tried to lock the Bronco doors. When he jogged inside, you were already at the bar chatting with Penny. He made eye contact with you, and you smirked. 

Bradley strolled up behind you and pressed himself against your butt, kissing the back of your neck. "Whenever you decide you want to behave, I'll be at the pool table," he whispered. 

You just laughed and said, "You know that's not going to happen."

"Well, come say hi to Nat anyway," he added, laughing softly against your neck. Penny was looking at the two of you together with the softest expression, and Bradley figured that was how he usually looked at you, too.  "You know, I can remember the early days before the two of you were together," Penny said over the buzz of conversation. "All the longing glances and sneaking off together." Bradley set his hand on your hip and said, "Hey, we thought we were being pretty discreet." "Nice try," Penny said with a laugh as she slid two beer bottles across the bar.  "Were we not discreet?" Bradley whispered as you and he walked toward Nat. You beamed up at him. "I guess not." He watched you walk into his best friend's open arms for a hug. And now he was thinking about every way he could be less than discreet with you tonight. You kept touching him, just some fleeting brushes of your hand to his abs or arm while you chatted with the others, but you were relentless.  When the beers were empty, you took his bottle and said, "I'll take these back up to the bar, and then I'm running to the ladies' room." Bradley just grunted as you squeezed his bicep. As soon as you disappeared down the hallway, he dug his phone out of his pocket and sent you a quick text. Meet me outside at our special spot? He waited and waited but got no response. However, when you reemerged from the hallway, you caught his eye and then continued toward the exit. Bradley was in the middle of conversation with Javy about golfing when he suddenly said, "Hey, man, excuse me for a minute."

Bradley pushed his way through the crowd, and once he was back outside in the cool, dark night, he turned and ran toward the steps at the far end of the deck. As soon as his shoes hit the sand, you were reaching out for him. 

"Been a while since we did this," you told him, your voice filled with laughter as he backed you up against the deck post. 

"Too long," he agreed, letting his lips meet yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck. It was amazing how kissing you and just touching you made him feel so good inside. The feel of your kisses was a comfort that he knew by heart, and every curve of your body fit his hands perfectly. His fingers were inside your shirt, his thumbs gliding along your ribs and up to your bra.

You moaned into his mouth, pressing up on your toes and pulling him closer. When he broke the kiss to breathe, you whispered, "I have my period though."

"I know. Just wanted to make out with my fucking hot ass wife. Penny made me nostalgic."

His rough hands were on your lower back, and your head was tipped against the post. Bradley worked his lips along your neck, collar bones and cleavage as you said, "This feels just as good as the first time. Maybe better."

"Definitely better," he murmured. "You're in love with me now."

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

You had no shame. Your outfit was a wrinkled mess, and your lips were puffy when you returned to the pool table some thirty minutes later. Bradley's hair looked like he'd been outside during a natural disaster, and Penny smirked at him when he got two more beers. 

But it didn't matter, because you were so happy. So you let the guys pick on Bradley while you laughed into your beer bottle. And when you got home, you let him lure you into the shower to have sex at one in the morning where he made you cum so hard, your echoing voice scared Tramp. And maybe the sex was better when you weren't trying so hard to get pregnant. And maybe listening to him read his notebook to you every night was doing more than you originally thought.

When you got to work on Monday morning, Bickel was waiting for your help with his most time sensitive projects. "Your ideas are always so refreshing, Lieutenant Commander." 

And when you sat in the lab all afternoon, Cat came over at one point and simply said, "You were right about Jake."

And then Bradley met you for thirty minutes where he got to meet Dr. Genevieve. You told her that you were having a good day even though you got your period, and the three of you just chatted a little bit. 

But you should have known that by the end of the week, you'd be feeling a little different. You were at home on Friday, already lounging on the couch and looking at vacation destinations for your first anniversary in November when Bradley walked in holding two envelopes.

"We need to talk." 

You popped up on the couch and eyed him carefully. "About what?"

"Two things." He struggled out of his boots at the front door as he said, "Admiral Dean's court-martial has a date scheduled. And there's also an upcoming special detachment."

The court appearance for Dean and Slayer was something you figured would be happening soon. But a special detachment? You weren't sure if you were ready to hear about it. "Just tell me."

Bradley dropped down on the couch next to you and gave you a quick kiss. "June 9th," he said, handing you the first envelope. You scanned along, reading the dates and times, and sure enough, Bradley would have to appear in full dress uniform in court that day. 

"Okay," you murmured, "now tell me about the detachment."

He kissed you again and then again, and you realized he seemed a lot more antsy about this bit of information. "Here." He placed the second envelope in your hand, but the paperwork had almost no information on it. And you were surprised to see that it had a classification code above what you were currently privy to.

"This tells me nothing, Roo."

"I realize that," he replied, running his hands through his hair. "It's something top secret. I wouldn't get any of the details unless I'm selected." He turned to look at you with his elbows propped on his knees and his forehead cupped in one hand. "But, Baby Girl... I really want to do this. I think I kind of need to."

And you understood exactly what he meant without him elaborating further. He still thought he needed to prove himself after being named the spare by Admiral Dean, and this was probably the kind of mission that would get his head on straight again and bring back his confidence. But this was also the kind of mission that would leave you at home, alone and worried. Because if he wasn't one hundred percent in the right head space, it could spell disaster. 'Top secret' meant highly dangerous. But it also meant only the most skilled pilots and weapons systems officers would be chosen to participate.

You swallowed down your fear and nudged his bicep until he leaned back and welcomed you onto his lap. "If you want to do it, then I hope you get chosen." You hated that your voice shook and tears filled your eyes, because you wanted to be encouraging for him. 

"Come here," he whispered gently, and you sobbed quietly as he held you in his arms. "It'll be okay. I might not even get selected. But if I do, it'll still be okay."

"I know," you said, sucking in a deep breath. You hated that his confidence had been shaken in this way, but he was among the best, and you were already sure he'd be going. You could feel it in your bones. 

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

I'm hoping Dean and Slayer get what they deserve. And also up next, Roo and BG visit a new bar they've never been to before with an agenda they've never indulged in before. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 18

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[buckyhad]

Sweet

Pairing: Dark!teammate!Max Verstappen x reader

Tw: NC, purity ring, smut, reader is 18, Max is 25, idk what else

Based on this request!

Max just couldn't understand how someone as nice, caring and dumb like you got into one of the most dangerous sport. After getting tired of racing in NASCAR, and almost retiring from motosport, Christian Horner saw the opportunity and got you a seat as their reserve driver.

Nobody thought it would go well, racing in such a different category and skipping all the previous steps to F1, it was just failure in plain sight. But when Daniel Ricciardo, their second driver broke one of his bones and you got in the seat, it was amazing. You loved Danny, he was so funny and such and amazing coworker who loved to tease you.

"What's that ring you got there?" He asked wiggling his brows, making the blood rush to your cheeks, you weren't ashamed of anything, it was a part of your identity, but something about him asking that in front of Max, who you knew would make fun of you, made you blush.

"Mmm, it's a purity ring" you stared at the floor.

"Oh, that's cool" he said smiling.

"A purity ring?" Max scoffed "what time are we in? In the 1800?" He laughed leaving you to deal with the shame in the form of prickling tears in your eyes.

"Not cool mate" Daniel shaked his head.

"Not cool how she's so proud of that thing, like everybody else is worse than her" he shrugged.

You rushed out of the garage, the word shame wasn't enough to describe how you felt right now.

Walking to the McLaren's garage, you saw Lando, changing your path towards the brit.

"Hey sweet" he hugged you sideway.

"Hey Lan" you smiled.

"Want to help me take some pictures?".

"Sure, would love to"

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

Making your way back to your garage to finally get ready to race, starting to feel anxious about facing your teammate again.

You never felt ashamed of your ring, but it was itching in your finger, begging to be taken off and be hidden.

Looking to both sides you decided to take it off and save it on your pocket, finally reaching your side of the garage to start getting ready.

"Good luck sweet" Daniel said, bumping his fist with yours, frowning when he saw your naked finger.

"Thanks Danny, I wish you could be racing in my place" you said hugging him, needing the comfort of your friend.

"Well, I dont, you're going to do great".

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

In fact, it went amazing, taking your first win on the Monza track? A dream come true, except for the part when you had to face Max again, breaking his almost record wasn't in your plans.

Showering and hiding away in your driver's room was the best idea on your mind. Not having to face your furious teammate.

Well it was a good idea, till he opened the door that you didn't lock well.

"Fucking hiding from me? Not even going to apologize for what you did?" Max was towering over you, looking down at you from your place on the sofa.

Starting to tremble a little, not liking how mean he was being "I'm sorry Max, I really didn't mean to" you hugged yourself "But I'm happy I won, it's my first win" you whispered the last part.

"And why should I care? You fucking ruined my record!" You flinched at his raising voice, not being used to be yelled at "You pretend to be so nice and sweet, but then you go and ruin everything for me, and I don't even get a real sorry? You are a bitch" he spat.

"I'm not!" You said standing in front of him "I've been nothing but nice to you, I don't know what you want from me" you saw his face change, frowning and a twisted smile appearing.

"Apologize" he said "You're not a dumb kid that doesn't know how to say sorry, you're fucking 19"

"No, I wasn't wrong, you don't deserve it" you shaked.

"Seat" he demanded.

"Wh-"

"Stop playing dumb, you heard me" he pushed you down "Going to teach you how to say I'm fucking sorry"

You watched in horror how he started to undo his jeans, trying to stand again, failing when he bloked you.

"Be nice" he growled "Open your mouth"

"No, go away Max" you cried.

"Open" he said squeezing your cheeks with his hand, hurting you till you gave in, his fingers pressing down on your tongue, letting you taste your own tears "If you bite me, it would be worse, be nice, like you always are, okay?" When you didn't respond he got his face closer to yours "Okay?" Shaking your head 'yes' to reply his demand.

Finally taking his aching cock out of his tight jeans, proding at your lips "Open" he said once more, smiling when you did as he said "That's it, sweet, so good" you flinched hearing your nickname coming from his mouth.

He started to fuck your mouth at a slow pace, moaning quietly "Fuck, relax, breath through your nose and you would stop choking sweet" he told you with a sigh, keeping his moves going "That's it, much better" he caressed your hair, making you cry even more pushing at his thighs, he pulled out.

"You got what you wanted Max, please go away now" you cried.

"Oh sweet, I just started" he chuckled "Take your pants off" he kissed you cheek "And put the ring back on" watching you fish the ring from your pocket, putting it on and freezing, he sighs "come here" he said pulling you by the loop on your jeans, taking it off himself.

"Max, please, stop" you whispered, trying to cover yourself.

He didn't listen to you, putting his hands on the back of your thighs pulling you on top of him.

"Please, I'm not going to said anything, I swear" you cried.

"Put your hands on my shoulder" he ignored you again, kissing you while moving your panties to the side, thrusting inside you little by little, not letting go of your lips.

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

The next day, arriving to film some content for the team, you went to say hi to Daniel.

"Hey" you hugged him.

"Why the fuck does Max have your ring on a fucking chain?".

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

A/N: Hellooo, more dark content bc is never enough, hope you enjoy it, love yall🤍

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 21 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You toss and turn, of course, utterly unable to sleep.

Your body does not get the memo that it’s a bad idea to fuck a man like John Wick, who is a killer who is holding you prisoner, and refuses to simmer down. You are uncomfortably swollen between your legs, your pussy aching with frustration, and in the wee hours of the morning you are certain you are about to lose your goddamn fucking mind.

 How is he really going to fucking know?

This is the stupid little thought that plays through your tired brain as you writhe beneath the covers, running hands up over your torso, pretending they are his.

Imagining his touch tweaking the sensitive tips of your nipples, his fingers buried inside you, seeking that sensitive place that drives you wild.

Yours are too soft, too small, not long enough or thick enough by half.

You try to trick yourself that it’s his unrelenting touch circling your clit, furious in his claiming of your pleasure as his own…

It’s not enough by half, and the release that washes over you is a paltry consolation at best, a weak pleasure that you know is a sad facsimile of the real thing. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sighing his name, and how has he mind-fucked you so royally in such a short amount of time?

It pisses you off, and in a last act of defiance for the night you flip off the camera high in the corner.

He’s probably not watching anyway. He’s probably asleep, snug in his bed with Dog, the bastard.

Feeling sad and not really sated at all, you curl into a ball and try to finally get some rest. It’s lonely in this big bed all by yourself, and by the time sleep finally claims you your pillow is damp with tears.

-When finally you wake in the morning, you are cold. The covers are down around your waist, and your shoulders ache, your arms at an odd angle out in front of you.

You never sleep like this.

There’s something on your wrists.

You open your eyes, blinking away the blur of sleep. Your vision focuses on something red.

A very neat line of shibari style knots encircles your wrists and half your forearms. They would have been beautiful, in a different setting. Like, not on your body, without your consent.

They’re not so tight to cut off your circulation, but they’re not exactly comfortable either. You strain against the silk rope, and find you can’t budge them.

You are so fucked.

“I warned you.”

John is sitting in the chair in the corner, watching you. He’s wearing all black again, a button down and slacks this time. Looking his best for you, or does he have somewhere to be? It’s not something you would have paid attention to before, but this morning, you can’t help but fixate on the fact that he’s wearing a leather belt.

Because you’re an idiot, you snipe anyway, “Wow, looks like someone earned his merit badge in macramé.”

He just smirks at you, the beautiful bastard.

“I’ve got more than a badge, honey.”

“Very funny. Untie me.”

“You’ll have to earn it, bad girl.”

Your heart skitters around in your chest as you wonder what that means.

He goes on, “Did you really think I wouldn’t see you last night?”

“Guess I assumed you’d be sleeping. It was way past your bedtime.”

He scoffs at the old man dig, leaning forward on his knees, fixing you with that hawkish gaze. “I found out I only sleep well with you in my arms, darling. Wouldn’t that have been nice last night?”

Yes, it would have. However, you just frown at him.

“So, was it worth it?” he pushes.

You sigh, half tempted to tell him how utterly unsatisfying your little session of self-indulgence had been. Rather than answer him, you look at the knots again. They really are beautiful. It makes you think of the book binding shop you’d visited in Florence, and the complicated stitches and knots they used to affix the signatures of pages together.

This man likes binding all kinds of things, it seems.

“Are you hungry?”

Only then do you notice that he has a plate of breakfast foods on the little table beside him. Eggs, toast, and bacon. A little plastic cup that might be water or juice. Your tummy answers with a rumble. Dog did eat your dinner last night, and John never offered you a replacement sandwich. At the time you’d been too worked up about…everything, to care.  

“Maybe.”

He huffs a little laugh at you. “Come here.” He pats his knee, and you realize he wants you to sit on his lap—so he can feed you. A little growl in the back of your throat escapes you, and it only makes his smirk widen.

“God, you’re adorable when you’re angry.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grouse.

You are starving, and you both know it.

“Come. Here.”

There’s that chilling tone of voice again. It does not fail to fill your veins with ice, your heart skipping a beat before skittering irregularly in your chest. You’ve come to understand that it means playtime is over.

You are so fucked.

It is awkward, getting out of the bed with your wrists tied like this. You almost fall on your face, your foot getting tangled in the sheet. From John’s forbidding expression, you don’t think he would have caught you from hitting the floor this time.

You are still only dressed in the thin nightie, and the air is cold on your skin. Your nipples tighten, forming sharp peaks beneath the fabric, the silk lending agonizing friction that makes you want to press your thighs to relieve some of the sudden ache between them.

Last night so did not help you with this problem, and John’s eyes fixating on them does not help either, and you wonder if you’ll be in trouble when you stain his neat looking pants leg with your slick after sitting on him.

“Come here,” he says again, his tone much gentler this time.

Defeated, you shuffle forward, letting him guide you to perch on his knee with a hand on your hip. You barely manage to suppress a shudder as possessively his hand slides just under your skirt, resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. His long fingers are so close to your center, but he makes no move, letting you stew in it.

Bastard.

Only then do you turn to look at him, finding his gaze fixed on your face. “Good morning.”

When you say nothing in return he lifts one eyebrow, and you swear, this man will be the death of you out of frustration alone.

“Good morning,” you finally return, hating the meek timbre of your tone.

“Do you like scrambled eggs?” You nod, and he scoops up a forkful. You notice the fork is plastic, and you wonder if its for your safety, or for his.

He’s clearly never seen Hot Tub Time Machine.

“I would have taken you to breakfast in Venice, but someone had to run away.”

“Well, someone was an insufferable prig the night before,” you return primly, wondering what punishment this will earn you, unable to stop yourself from saying it anyway. He actually smirks at this, though his grip tightens a bit in warning on your thigh. Not enough to hurt, but oh.

You are definitely leaving a wet spot on his trousers, and you hate yourself a little more for it.

You finish your breakfast bite by bite like the good girl you’re apparently not. It was good, if not the weirdest seating arrangement you’ve ever endured. You tremble inside, as you wonder what he has in mind for you next, now that your energy is up and you are trussed like a holiday goose for his pleasure.

You couldn’t be more surprised, than when he deposits you on the bed, kisses your cheek, and bids you, “Have a nice day, sweetie.”

“Wait!” you exclaim, whirling as he is already halfway to the door, swinging his suit jacket about his broad shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You hate it, that hearing this fills you with panic. “Are you coming back?”

“Do you want me to come back?” There is a dangerous glitter in those dark eyes, and you know that is a question loaded with fourteen in the clip and one in the chamber.

You decide on, “I want you to untie me.” Holding up your wrists as exhibit A.

He shrugs a little, and you know that was not the answer he wanted. “Maybe later.” Then he sweeps out of the room, leaving you staring dumbfounded at the door where he’d just been. The man is like a fucking ghost.  

“Bastard!”

You hope he hears you, but you suspect the epithet falls on deaf ears.

-Your first order of business, of course, is trying to undo these beautiful fucking knots. Unfortunately for you, they are tight, and secure, and John was smart enough to make the finishing hitch with the end tails on the opposite side of your wrist where you cannot easily reach them with your teeth.

Sonofabitch.

If he’d left you Dog for company you could have enlisted the pooch’s formidable chompers, perhaps, but no dice on that one.

Fine.

You sit under the covers for a while, because you’re cold. You try to read, but it is infuriatingly difficult to turn the pages of a book and read comfortably with your hands like this.

You are certain lunch time comes and goes, without a peep out of John.

Did he actually leave you?

You hate it, how the thought makes a trill of panic vibrate in your chest.

Fine. It’s fucking fine.

He thinks he can break you with alone time? You? You are the Queen of Introversion. You can go for days without human interaction, happily, so long as you have a sketchbook or a book. Bring it on, Mr. Wick.

He left you the water cup with the straw, and boy is that an adventure to refill in the bathroom when you’re thirsty.

Going pee without making a mess is no small feat either.

You pace the room, just to get some exercise. You look out the window, watching the birds in the trees.

You laugh to yourself, banging your head against the bulletproof glass. How funny, that you’d once fancied yourself Jane Eyre, when it turned out you were destined to be Mad Bertha locked up in the attic by Rochester all along.  

You hate to admit it, but by the time the sun is starting to set behind the trees you are going stir crazy with wondering where the fuck he is.

It’s definitely not because you miss him.

It’s just…these fucking ropes, of course. It’s not those burning dark eyes, or those large sure hands, or that sturdy long body he likes to press to yours. It’s not that the silence of the room feels empty without his deep voice, even if he’s using it to taunt you.

It is late by the time you hear the locks on the door whir, and you have been sitting in your nest in bed feeling listless and way too sorry for yourself. You are half out of your mind with boredom, and your shoulders and elbows ache at the joints from the restraints at your wrist. You try not to show it, but you are ready to climb up the fucking walls.

Like he might have some inkling of this, John pays you a knowing smile, assuming his seat with the confidence of a king in his throne room. He snaps and pats his thigh, no words this time, expecting you to obey.

Someday, you are going to make him pay for this.

But now…there’s nothing for it but to play his twisted game.

He’s prepared some kind of stir-fry tonight, with vegetables, beef, and rice. You are starving by now, and it smells heavenly.

Again, the food is good, simple but filling. He feeds you forkful by forkful with a careful tenderness that could make you weep. Your time with John is like a game of Russian Roulette. Spin the wheel, which John shall you receive this minute?

It’s easy to hate Mean John. Insufferable Ass Hat John, could drive you to murder. But Sweet John? You would do anything, for Sweet John, and you’re afraid he knows it too.

It’s only been a day, really. Is that right? A day? And already, you feel yourself slipping into the mould he’s fashioned for you.

Perhaps in a knee-jerk attempt to counter this, you ask, “Did you used to play this game with Helen?”

He freezes with the fork halfway to your lips, his hand underneath your skirt with his dead wife’s name in your mouth.  

You meant to throw him off, but as far as you can tell, all it earns you is a scoff. “No.”

“Why not?”

He actually seems to consider your question, toying with the food again, re-loading the fork with a different bite. “I was never afraid she would leave me. Funny, how that worked out.”

You feel like he’s handed you an important piece of information. Emboldened by his quietness, you dare push, “And…what do you think she’d think, about what you’re doing to me now?”

“I’d say she lost her vote, when she left me.” The indifference is gone; this is delivered with a stinging bitterness, and you realize he blames her for leaving him. There’s a clue in this too, and you feel like the solution to all this is an illusive thing hovering just barely out of your grasp. If you can find just the right words, push just the right buttons…maybe you can bring him back to sanity?

“She never would have left you on purpose, John. She got sick. You’ve got to forgive her.”

And accept you can’t control everyone around you. Then preferably, untie me! motherfucker.

The only indication he gives that you’ve upset him is the tightening of his fingers digging into your thigh. You’re going to have bruises, but if he’s actually processing what you’re saying, it’s a price you’ll gladly pay.

He just continues to push the medley of food around on the plate, shaking his head in silence. Disappointed in his nonreaction to your question, you sullenly accept the next bite.

Three seconds later, your mouth is on fire.

You squeal with panic, leaning for the plate to spit it out. But John’s big hand clamps over your mouth, a hard glint in his eyes, and you know you’re going to have to swallow it. It takes three tries, but you manage, tears streaming from the corner of your eyes.

You can do moderately spicy food, but that was just fucking diabolical.

“What the fuck?” you hiss between coughs.

“I knew you’d have something smart to say tonight.”

You try to reach for the water cup with its stupid little straw and your stupidly bound-together hands, but John sets it out of reach. “Oh my god, please?”

He speaks calmly, as though the lining of your mouth is not being eaten away like you took a bite of rice laced with battery acid. “You keep speaking about Helen like you knew her. I suggest you cut it out. Unless you would like all your meals seasoned like this.”

You blow a long breath of air over your tongue. It only sort of helps.

Mother. Fucker.

You glare daggers, but for now, you’re wise enough (broken enough?) to keep your epithets to yourself.

He sits back in the chair to regard you, tossing the fork into what’s left on the plate. You’re still hungry, but you’ll be damned if you eat anymore from that dish. You flinch as he reaches for you, though he is not cruel as he grips your hair at the base of your head. Just…exacting, and he guides you to perch on the edge of the chair between his legs, your bare ass fitted against his crotch.

It feels good as he starts to braid your hair, a jarring contrast to the pain still simmering in your mouth. You whimper a little, despite yourself, arching into him behind you. You didn’t even mean to, really, but it wins you a low groan that fills you with forbidden warmth.

This is so fucked.

Nothing you’ve experienced in your life has prepared you for handling this.

When he finishes he wraps the new handle of your plaited hair in his fist, pulling you back against his chest. He is warm, and solid, and you fail royally as you try not to enjoy this contact. It’s ridiculous, but all you really want is for him to hold you.

He speaks against the shell of your ear, his other hand lightly encircling your throat. “I’ll never let you leave me.”

Your heart drums frantically in your chest; he means business. You can just tell, there is an unyielding hardness in his tone that somehow wasn’t quite there before. You thought you could reason with this man, but maybe you were wrong, or maybe you only succeeded in pushing his sanity the other way, further into the red.

Maybe there’s nothing left to reason with, and that is the thing that finally, truly scares you.

“Maybe you need something else to fill up that sassy mouth.”

With his improvised handle he guides you down to sit between his splayed legs. Your eyes are drawn to the newly erected tent in his pants, that formidable bulge that should be the stuff of your nightmares, but still inspires a maddening longing inside you.

Why do you have to feel so empty, when he’s near?

Frustrated by the unfairness of it all, you glare daggers up at him. You know what he’s angling to extort out of you, of course. It makes you sad, but not for the reason he might have expected. It makes you sad, because you would have rubbed your knees raw sucking him off, if he’d just asked you nicely.

“Thanks, but I’m full.”

He snorts at that. “Yeah? Someone doesn’t want her hands untied that badly.”

Now, that is something you want, and maybe you’re willing to play with that on the table. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who is easily led, but he is good at manipulating you. It makes you wonder if any of it was ever real, or if this is just a game he’s been playing with you from day one.

The thought makes you sigh, and you rest your cheek on his lean thigh, closing your eyes.

He looks down at you like you’re a puzzle he’s not quite sure how to solve.

Welcome to the club, Mr. Wick.

“Were you planning this all along?” you ask. “When you were so sweet to me? Am I that fucking stupid that I didn’t see this coming?” Obviously, from the clothes in the closet, he’d hoped you’d come stay with him at some point, but all the rest? It feels spontaneous, like the way something hard can suddenly crack with too much pressure. But then again, maybe just because it took you by such fucking surprise.

He strokes your hair, and that gentle touch just makes it worse somehow. You feel the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, because that gentleness is all you wanted from him. The ironic part is that he wouldn’t have had to do any of this shit, just to keep you.

You do not love easily, but once you do…it is a total, and all-consuming thing.

“I don’t know,” he answers begrudgingly. “I just…couldn’t let you leave me.”

You think about how he’d been an orphan. He’d lost his parents. He’d lost his wife. He’d lost his dog. He’d gone on a rampage and slaughtered an entire Russian Bratva…for the loss of a dog.

In perspective you guess he’d actually behaved rather tamely, at the threat of losing you. This man does nothing by halves, and the only thing John Wick fears, it seems, is losing those he loves.

Is that what he’d meant, when he said his love was a curse?

It doesn’t excuse it, but there is a key somewhere in that, you reason. A key to freedom, or the gates of Hell, you’re not really sure.

You do your best to blink away your tears. Maybe it’s stupid, because you’re not half as tough as he is, but you don’t really want him to see you cry.

He lets you sit like that for as long as you want, stroking your hair. It’s almost sweet, and it gives you time to collect yourself.

Someday, he’s going to figure out it’s best not to give you a chance to plot your next move. It occurs to you that maybe you have one last card to play.

You sit up slowly on your knees between his legs, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze weighing upon your skin. You reach for his belt, brushing his erection through his pants, his manhood twitching in anticipation. For just a second, he allows himself to close his eyes.  

Maybe you have power too. You just have to figure out how to use it here, and maybe not lose you mind over how thick and wonderful he just felt beneath your hand. That unhelpful pulsing between your legs casts its vote. You try to unobtrusively squeeze your thighs for some relief, but you fear this man sees everything.  

Good for you, that your voice sounds almost steady. “I have to say, you’re a brave man, Mr. Wick.”

It is not easy to work the buckle of his belt with your hands bound like this, but somehow you manage, even pulling it from its loops. You fight the urge to throw the damn thing across the room, but settle for resting it at his feet.

“How do you figure?”

“Well...” You flip open the top button of his pants, your fingers shaking slightly. “If we are engaging in that time-honored exchange of a favor for a blowjob... and you just essentially carpet bombed my mouth with napalm...wow, you do like to live dangerously.”

He sits still as a statue for a good few moments, weighing what you’re telling him, gauging if the capsaicin would transfer through your saliva to what is arguably the most sensitive area of his body. You’re 98 percent certain they would, and a part of you hopes he’ll opt to try it even after you warn him.

It would make for a neat little slice of revenge.

But then, what you really want is out of these ropes, and you hope your honesty will win you some points with him.

In the end he catches your hands, as you are awkwardly trying to work his zipper.

“Maybe we'll skip that for now.”

“You sure? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He narrows his eyes down at you, and you wonder if you’re inventing it, or is there a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes?

“In my other pants.” 

In the end he pulls you back up into his lap with a grumble.

You suspect you’ve only delayed the inevitable, but you feel some satisfaction for your little coup.

“I’ll be back,” he tells you, (threatens you?), depositing you on the bed, gathering the dishes and sweeping out of the room. You have a feeling this interaction was not half as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be.

Well, good.

Bastard.

-When he returns, he brings you a cup of milk. Though most of the pain from the chilis has already subsided by now, you accept it for the calorie count if anything.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a hand on your cheek, looking you over appraisingly.

Thinking this might be your best moment, you lift your bound hands with a pitiful pout, blinking your eyelashes innocently.

“Will you untie me now?” you ask in your sweetest tone, words loaded with contrition.  

“You think you’ve earned it?” he asks, and you sense this is a perilous path you’re approaching.

“I’ve been good.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on. I mouthed off. You punished me. You had your fun. And rather than give in to my initial vindictive impulses, I saved you from a very uncomfortable evening. It’s the least you can do.”

He actually chuckles at this, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He seems softened by your bright little tirade, but then this man’s mood can change on a dime.

“And, it’s starting to hurt,” you add.

It’s not a lie, and it seems that is the thing that makes him pause.

“You don’t like my knot work?”

Your heart lodges in your throat, and you know you must proceed with caution, or you’ll be wearing this shit for a week at least.

“Your knots are very fine, Mr. Wick.”

Your captor practically purrs at hearing that, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest, his hand burying in your hair. It sends a tingling thrill all across your scalp.

You’ve come to reluctantly love his fixation with grabbing your mane.

You really are losing your mind.

“I’ll make you a deal, kitten.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll untie you…if you will take a bath with me.” His tone is the low rumble of a jungle cat, and your heart leaps into your throat. You knew this was coming, eventually. Maybe you just didn’t expect it tonight.

Looking back, you’re not sure why.

“NowI get to see you?”

You are still puzzling over the way he’d outright prevented you from undressing him, in Venice. It was almost like he’d been afraid, and you don’t understand at all. He’s fucking gorgeous, and you’re pretty sure he knows it. So…why?

“I told you, you weren’t ready then.”

You suspect the real answer is that he wasn’t ready, but for once, you don’t contradict him.

He runs a finger down the line of his neat knots that are starting to bite into your flesh. It’s starting to affect the feeling in your fingers, and you know that can’t be good.

“So? What do you say?”

You crane your neck to look up at him, drinking in the lines of his handsome face, his straight nose and proud lips, and the delicately drawn sweep of his eyes. Even with the shadow of a black eye, courtesy of you, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You shouldn’t want him, after everything he’s done to you. You shouldn’t, but you feel yourself inevitably drawn to him, like the moon pulls the tide.

You feel like you’re signing a piece of your soul away to the devil on the dotted line, when at last you nod.

He puts a hand to his ear with a smirk. “What was that?”

Your groan comes out like a growl.

“You have a deal, Mr. Wick, sir.”

His low rumble of approval gives you chills, and when he turns your face up to kiss you sweetly you utterly melt beneath his hands, jarred by the contrast from earlier, but not questioning it. You bask in the press of his soft lips, greedy for his tenderness, hoping stupidly that this is the way things will be from now on. Then you yelp with surprise as suddenly he scoops you up with his hands on your thighs, carrying you into the bathroom.  

[empress-simps]

Scribbles and Sketches

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader

CW: Just two idiots in love with each other and the occasional swearing.

Genre: Fluff with a sprinkle of angst

Summary: Sirius has a habit of drawing in every possession he owns. It also doesn’t help the fact that it’s the way his crush finds out his feelings.

Note: This is inspired back then when my crush (at that time) sat next to me did a sketch of me while in Biology class. Enjoy! Photos used are from pinterest, credits to the owner!

Sirius loves to doodle, whether it was little stars on his converse shoes, some random quotes he found funny that he decided to write in the back pages of his notebooks, or how there’s always a little scribble of ‘S.O.B’ on the first pages of his books (that he never really read, he just saw you once or twice holding or reading as you pass by him).

Walburga hates it, when she saw Sirius’ expensive hard bound books have his name scrawled out messily on the side, she was furious. She called it ‘Vandalizing’ and would punish Sirius back then for acting like a ‘mudblood’ and disgracing the beautiful pristine books with a childish scrawl.

Did he do it again numerous times before leaving to spite his birth giver? Yes, definitely, and certainly.

The night he left, he made sure to splash black paint onto the walls, carpets, and curtains— basically everywhere, he even managed to get the ceiling too. He could only imagine the horrified expression and the shrill scream Walburga did after discovering the thrashed room. A smirk of satisfaction never fails to appear on his face every time he thinks of it.

“Drawing her again, Pads?” James looked over Sirius’ shoulder, wanting to take a peek at his friend’s journal. Sirius hissed, shooing him away. “Go away, Prongs. I’m busy.” James lets out a snort, “Yeah right.”

“Just ask her out already, pads. You’re always ogling at her during classes it’s a bit creepy.” Peter teased, laughing at Sirius’ offended face.

“Sod off, wormtail.”

Remus took a break from reading his book to look at his squabbling friends. Seeing the journal in Sirius’ hands, he got curious. Placing the book down, he walked over to Sirius’ bed where James, Sirius, and Peter are. “That’s actually a pretty good sketch of her, mate.” Remus’ eyes travelled down to the right corner of the page, eyes bugging out at first then emitting a loud laugh.

“My future Mrs. Black? Really?”

Sirius grumbles, clearly embarrassed as a light blush coated his cheeks. “Don’t judge.”

“You’re such a sap, Pads!” James laughed, slapping his thighs repeatedly, finding it completely hilarious.

“Yeah, we’ll see who’s the one laughing on our wedding day.” Sirius grumbles, closing the journal and placing it in his school bag absentmindedly.

“If you even get to speak a simple ‘hello’ to her without tripping over your feet that is.”

The only thing keeping Sirius passing out and snoring in his boring Divination class is you humming next to him as you write in a blank piece of parchment. Merlin, he feels grateful and all that, but really? In the one subject he has no motivation for? Sirius grumbled; if it was transfigurations, then he could’ve shown off to you.

You didn’t fail to notice his grumbling state. Misunderstanding his actions, you thought it had something to do with you. Negative thoughts swirled around your head. Does he not like being your partner?

Putting your quill down, you felt nervousness settle in the pit of your stomach. You discreetly look to your left, seeing Sirius with a bored expression on his face. Alright, maybe you were overthinking things. He probably just finds this Divination class bollocks like you do, but you still folded the paper and placing it back into your bag, feeling a bit paranoid that he might see what you wrote.

Classes soon ended, and students hurriedly piled out, eager to get out of the boring class, muttering among themselves. You began to pack up your things, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sirius standing and about to exit the classroom.

“Sirius, wait!” You hurriedly grabbed him, your hands on his wrist. You blushed, trying to ignore how you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach and the tingles that you felt when you made contact with him.

A look of surprise and a light blush coated his cheeks. “Y-yeah...? What’s up?” He stuttered. Sirius heard his friends howl in laughter outside the door, clearly spying on them. Thank Merlin that you didn’t notice (or didn’t care if you did notice) as you smiled warmly at him.

“Um, so are you free this Saturday? I figured it would be best if we both worked together on the essay since... we’re partners…” Oh for the love of Merlin, please have mercy on these two people who are too coward to say they like each other. Sirius blinks—not once, not twice, but three times. You can hear Marlene snickering in the background at the exchange.

Was he hearing this right? You? Asking him out? (Okay, not really, but in his mind, it still counts as you asking him out) He was pulled out of his thoughts when you chuckled nervously, awaiting his reply. “Sirius...? You in there?” Sirius cleared his throat. "Erm, yeah! Yeah, see you at the library then?”

You smiled warmly, and Sirius thought he had been blessed by Merlin himself. “Yeah, see you at 9:00 a.m. Bye!” He watches you go to Marlene and Lily, both looking at him with knowing looks.

“Bye.” He breathes out, still looking at you.

“Merlin, Padfoot is whipped.” Peter shakes his head, smirking.

“That he is.” James laughed, watching a pink-faced Sirius make his way towards them. “Cat got your tongue, Pads?” James teased, elbowing Sirius who tried to shove him off. “More like Y/n got his tongue.” Peter snickered; Sirius turned redder.

“Nah, how could Y/n even get his tongue when he couldn’t even get a kiss on the cheek.” Remus laughed, joining in the teasing.

“You guys are terrible mates.”

“We love you too, Pads.”

You bit your lip, looking at both outfits sprawled out your bed. “Lily! Please help me pick one!” The said girl looked up from her charms essay, standing up and walking towards you.

“Are you going on a date, Y/n?”

“No, just doing some divination work with Sirius.”

Marlene perked up, her smirk evident on her features. “Are you sure it’s just divination? Not something else?” Lily scolded her “Oh hush Marlene! Y/n isn’t like that.” She turned to face you, “I think the red sweater and ripped jeans will look good on you.” She smiles, you smiled gratefully. “Thanks Lils, knew I could always count on you. Not like the other person here.” You teased, eyeing Marlene jokingly who pouted “Hey!”

Sirius groans, plopping down his bed. It seems like he couldn’t get a single wink of sleep. He tried everything, even taking a walk outside into the wee hours of the night. Remus throws a pillow at him, grumpier as the full moon is only days away. “If you don’t wanna sleep then at least let us get a fucking good night’s rest, Pads.”

He ignored his friend but kept quiet not to disturb his friends. “Merlin, the things you do to me woman...” he grumbled, rubbing his hand exasperatedly over his face. Opening his trunk, he decided to mull over what he was going to wear for the next day.

“Alright, do I look presentable?” You turn towards your two friends, dressed in the slightly oversized red sweater and ripped jeans Lily had recommended, topping it off with a maroon converse with little flowers and leaves embroidered around it. Pretty basic but eh, it works.

“Kinda meh, let’s put on some make up, yeah?” Marlene gestured to you to sit down, looking at the mirror, you frowned. “I only know how to do blush and lips though...”

“That’s where I come in, let’s make Black drop on his knees and fawn over you.”

Sirius glanced nervously at his watch, uncharacteristically quiet and early; he was a whole hour early, a huge change for the boy who’s always running late and calling it being ‘fashionably late’. By the way he was behaving it looks like he got stood up on a date, which was quite amusing to other students who are seeing this new side of him. Just sitting and having nothing to do makes him even more impatient, so he did what he did best— sketching you.

He took out his journal which he surprisingly brought and took out a pencil and an eraser he stole from Remus. He pictures you in his head, how you hum while scribbling something in a parchment next to him during your last divination class. He started to sketch, expertly drawing you as he did hundreds of times before. It took him about an hour to finish it, even having the time to detail it. He smiles lightly, adding ‘My love.’ in the right corner. It was not just some sketch as he likes to call it, it’s an art piece.

You are his muse— much like he is to your poems.

“Sirius, hey.” You smiled, sitting down beside him quietly, oblivious to a drawing he made that was practically glaring at you, waiting to be noticed. “Sorry I was late.”

Sirius blinks, looking at you “Ah, it’s no problem! I just got here too.” you smiled, pulling out some quills and parchment they would need for the study session as Sirius grabbed the books from his bag. What you both failed to notice was the little piece of parchment containing a painfully obvious poem about him.

Ah, talk about being blindly in love.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. I would seriously drop out of this class next year...” She mumbles, grabbing Sirius’ books without much of a thought.

“I’ll go start with the reading about tea leaf reading then- what’s that?” She stopped in her tracks, staring at what seemed to be a perfect drawing of her. Sirius blanched, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. Shit, you were definitely not supposed to see that. Sirius wanted to cry and disintegrate on the spot.

Your eyes scanned the page quickly, eyes catching the words “My Love” in the corner in Sirius’ handwriting. Your face quickly heated up as your heartbeat went faster, your stomach doing flips. You were speechless, eyes gravitated to the drawing. Sirius quickly slammed shut his journal, pulling you out of your trance.

“It’s not what it looks like!” He tries to save face. Although he immediately wanted to punch himself as he saw you visibly deflate at his statement. He can already feel Remus whacking him upside the head while James scolded him. As if Potter boy would do any better when facing Lily Evans. You bit your lip “Oh.”

An awkward silence ensued for a few moments, Sirius looking anywhere but you and you looking down biting your lip. “Uh, I know you said it’s not what it looks like…” You started, making Sirius whip his head in your direction. “But I just wanted to tell you… That I fancy you.” She saw the poem she wrote during divination class poking out of some of the blank parchments, Marlene and Lily had probably placed it among your parchments. She carefully hands it to him. “I’ll just do the rest of the essay, don’t worry. I know you don’t like this subject.” She quickly packed her things up and headed straight to the exit.

He sat there dumbly, reading the poem you gave to him, eyes widening when he realized it was quite obvious that the love poem was about him. Merlin, he done fucked up his chances of being with the girl of his dreams.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Remus grabbed his wrist and dragged him to a section of the library where not many people are to see the rest of the Marauders with disappointed looks on their faces. “Really, padfoot?” James frowned. “You’ve done it, pads.” Peter sighs, shaking his head.

“Just what the fuck was that, Black?!?” Remus hissed, Sirius bit his lip and looked away. “Lily told me how Y/n was excited, she’ll kill us for sure.” James shivered while Peter gulps “Don’t forget about Marlene.”

“Did your exchange your braincells for your fucking hair, padfoot?!” Remus still hasn’t finished scolding his friend. “I know I know, Moony. I fucked up.” He grumbles, looking at his Doc Martens. “To think that we even planned this with Lily and Marlene…” Remus grumbles.

“What? What plan?”

“Setting you up with Y/n, we thought this will be the perfect time.” James told him, “Apparently not” Remus grumbles. “Y/n’s got a crush on you for ages, Pads.” Peter told him. “And how would you know this?” Sirius found it hard to believe.

“Aside from the fact that she practically confessed to you earlier, Lily accidentally slipped up and told me.” James shrugged. They watch as Sirius practically scrambles out of the library, presumably off to find you. Remus folded his arms to his chest.

“Well at least he saved one braincell just in case.”

“Y/n! Hold on!” Sirius called, seeing you were about to enter the girls’ part of the dormitory. You ignored him, continuing to walk. He managed to catch up, holding your hand to stop you. “Y/n please…” You turned to him, eyes swimming with disappointment. “What is it, Black?” He visibly winced. “I-I take it back.” He told her, you raised one eyebrow in suspicion, “Take what back?”

“What I said earlier, in the library.”

“I don’t need you to feel bad for me.”

“I’m not, believe me.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, conflicted. Should you believe him?

“I’ve also been hopelessly in love with you, Y/n.” Your eyebrows shot in surprise. He continued, “I… I was so embarrassed and panicked since… my journal was full of you.” Sirius confessed. You were about to reply when he opened his mouth again. “And your poem; fuck, it made me feel things. Merlin, I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry love-”

“If you really are sorry then just shut up and kiss me, Black.”

[damiansgoodgirll]

Can you please write about being jey and jimmy adoptive little sister (so we can feel more included about not looking like them honestly) , reader is like 18/19 and being completely heartbroken about the fact that all reader wanted was for her family to be together and now both jimmy and jey want attentions from her but she won’t chose and this thing is breaking her, and like she’s friend with rhea or the judgment day so she comfort her (sorry for my english i’m from poland!)

Thank you so much if you take my request

the usos x sister!reader

‼️fighting, reader having a panic attack and breaking down

broken pieces

you always had a special bond with jey and jimmy. you were their little sister and they felt overprotective about you. they didn’t want anything or anyone to cause you harm.

but what if they were the ones hurting you?

they both saw it on your face almost a year ago, when you were watching front row jey against roman at summerslam.

the betrayal on your face when jimmy sides with roman, hurting jey and hurting you. they both looked at you and realised something in you just broke.

jey was hurt and confused like you were. jimmy felt tears in his eyes when he met your heartbroken look. you were his baby sister after all, the one he promised to protect with his own life.

and now you couldn’t even stand to be in his presence.

but no matter what you tried to do, they now hated each others and that made you even more furious and sad. those big men were your big brothers, your bodyguards, the people you loved the most and now all you had was a broken family.

almost a year later and things didn’t got any better, in fact, their constant beefing backstage was tiring anyone.

“i can’t believe this” jimmy kept screaming as he wanted to punch jey right in the face.

you didn’t even know where this argument started from but, like every single time you found yourself stuck in the middle of it.

“if only you weren’t so self centred…” jey screamed back at jimmy.

“me? me? are you fucking serious? me? self centred? aren’t you the one going around and wanting to be called main event?” jimmy laughed “so i am the self centred one uh?”

“you going crazy man!” jey spat back “are you planning to ruin every single moment of my career like you’re doing every week on live tv man?”

“stop it stop it stop it!” you screamed at them. you were witnessing this stupid fight and knowing you couldn’t do anything to get to stop was hurting you. so, as you predicted, they kept screaming at each others.

“i ain’t ruining no one’s moment man, it’s just you who can’t accept some people are way better that you anyway” jimmy responded back, making jey laugh.

“so you’re better that me? that’s funny man, so why, if you’re that better than me, why, aren’t you getting booked? uh? cat got your tongue man?” jey sarcastically laughed making jimmy angrier.

you couldn’t stay there any longer.

“fucking stop it!” you screamed once again, tears falling from your eyes “stop fighting like goddamn children! i-i can’t do this anymore, i really can’t” you looked at both at them “all you do is fighting and fighting and i can’t do this anymore…i just want my family back”

jey, sensing your anxiety, tried to take a few steps close to you but you stepped back, not wanting to be close to anyone.

“i’m so sorry y/n…” jimmy apologised, hating to see you cry and hating himself even more, knowing he’s the reason you are crying.

“i don’t care if you are sorry! you always say you guys are sorry and then fight again and again and again and i can’t deal with this shit anymore! i just want my brothers back…i-i…” you were having trouble breathing “i just want this to be over”

“y/n, love, why don’t you sit down a little?” jey suggested when he saw you were struggling to breathe. he knew your anxiety and he knew you struggled with panic attacks and he was hating himself for being the reason you were struggling right now.

“no! no i don’t wanna sit here and hear you fight again! i-i…i don’t wanna…” your head was dizzy and the look jimmy gave jey made them understand each other without sharing a word.

“sit here love…” jey slowly walked you towards the little black leather couch inside his changing room “breath with me y/n…” you did as jey told you to do and you felt all the energy leaving your body.

“you feeling better?” jimmy asked, sitting next to you while jey was knelt in front of your sat position.

“why do you have to keep fighting?” you asked them, your voice breaking a little, now your tears falling down your face again “and don’t say you’re sorry” you warned jimmy.

“we will try to stop okay?” jey smiled at you. deep down he knew he couldn’t keep fighting with his brother forever but at the same time it was hard for him to forgive him so quickly.

“i don’t want a “we will try” jey, i want my brothers back…i want to spend time with you together like we did last year…” you cried harder, your breathing getting worse again “you just don’t understand this…i-i hate seeing you fight every day, i hate seeing you punching yourselves, i fucking hate having to share days with you like you are my divorced parents!”

“hey hey keep breathing slowly sweetheart” jey reminded you.

jimmy and jey both had no idea how this family feud was affecting you. they just discovered it now and they were both hating themselves for hurting you that much.

“you just don’t understand…” you whispered.

“no words can’t express how sorry i am love…” jimmy softly whispered with teary eyes. seeing you having a panic attack was the worst thing he ever witnessed. you were his baby sister who he was meant to protect so why would he hurt you that much?

same thing was for jey.

“i just miss you…” your voice broke a little.

jey cursed himself “i know things between us aren’t the best but our feelings for you will never change. no matter what, you will always be our baby sister and we’ll love you forever…i will try my best to not fight with jimmy okay?” you simply nodded while his soft hand wiped your tears away.

“i promise you we will be better” jimmy went and you nodded again, being happy with their responses.

“now, i’m pretty sure you have work to do so i’ll go back to my hotel room…but, if you’re free tonight can we have a movie marathon like we always did when i was younger?” you asked them, hope sparkling in your eyes.

they couldn’t say not to that.

so they said yes.

they knew they had a lot of work to do, especially when it came to them but, no matter the circumstances, they would always have your back.

[silverview]

maybe the details of art are common knowledge, but i only read up about it yesterday. it's interesting! it opened in the west end in 96 & was something of a popular hit

it's about three old friends who fall out when one of them buys an expensive painting that's an almost-blank white canvas (a quiet night in); one of them aggressively disapproves, calling it pretentious; and the third is caught in the middle trying to keep the peace

had a ton of casts – a new one every three months. (the effect of this is interesting – more on that below.) tlog were selected to be the last lot before it closed in 02. if you don't already know, who do you suppose played each role? it has nothing to do with the weirdly deceptive promo pics. answers & more below the cut

mark played the friend who buys the painting, steve played the one who disapproves, and reece played the guy caught in the middle. i wonder how that decision was made. i wonder if they considered any alternative configurations (bf had steve & reece switched, which i think makes a lot of sense). as always i'm like. but what does the character say about YOU

they got mixed reviews. nearly every review singles out reece's delivery of this monologue, though they disagree on whether it was good or not. perhaps surprisingly, they don't uniformly characterise it (or his performance in general) as particularly angry. not to be dramatic but i would kill and die to have seen it, just that monologue alone

so below i've collected the most interesting parts of surviving reviews. the last one is my fav. some of them have interesting things to say on the effect of the rotating cast, sort of the opposite of the in9 meta-character effect, which i think is pretty funny & fitting

BBC

Reece Shearsmith is a little too giddy with Yvan's furious diatribe about his impending wedding - the laughs are landing so hard that some others are being lost in the process. But he is a particularly touching and vulnerable go-between, desperately sitting on the fence in the conflict that erupts between his friends Serge (Mark Gatiss) and Marc (Steve Pemberton), and finding - as you do - that those who sit on fences are liable to get splinters.

GUARDIAN

[A] play as bland and flimsy as this requires actors who are not only heroically talented but who also have formidable technical skills. Pemberton, Gatiss and Shearsmith don't. They are likeable, even mildly engaging but you are always aware that they are putting on a performance. What's more, they are far less funny than the two other casts I've seen. Shearsmith, for example, flunks the timing of his long monologue so instead of making an audience rock with waves of laughter, he gets only one big laugh right at the end. The silences in the evening, in particular the famous olive scene, are not eloquent, just empty.

THEATREGUIDE

I've heard, though, that other casts have had other dynamics. With some, it plays as light comedy, satirising everyone's pretensions to high passions. Others make it a touching study in the fragility of friendship and all three men's hitherto-unrealised need for it. The cast changes every three months or so [...] Just be prepared for the fact that the show you see will be different in tone and effect from the one your friends saw last year, and will probably be a glib skating over the emotional issues and implications it raises. [...] And while the laidback, indeed colloquial, approach of Mark Gatiss (perky Serge), Steve Pemberton (laconic Marc) and Reece Shearsmith (wickedly neurotic Yvan) may not be to everyone's taste, it's undeniably perfect casting to complete the spectrum of wall-to-wall talent that's made the show such a feature of London's theatrical landscape. [...] Playing cheekily with rhythms of speech and timing, they create a very English rendition of what is essentially a French play, substituting the de rigueur dramatic devices and flourishes with frighteningly real personalities that transcend the dramatic crutch of Yasmina Reza's Continental-style philosophizing text and sub-text. Admittedly the first ever cast of Courtenay, Finney and Stott all those years ago set the benchmark for the production (though I found them yawnsome and wooden) - and the League have the advantage of tapping into the accumulated performances that followed.

i think "laidback," "colloquial," "cheeky," "English" and "real" might be euphemisms for northern – more on that below

CIX

Having now seen Art three or four times (to be honest, I forget which), I've begun to muse that in some strange way it's a metaphor for itself. It's not just the performance dynamics, our impression of the trio's relationship, that varies from cast to cast... it's the very sense of how much real content there is in Reza's play, of whether it takes its thematic concerns about inherent versus attributed qualities (whether of a painting or a person) very far or not. In a sense, the performers are the series of diagonal white lines painted on to the white canvas of the play. And like the lines in the painting on stage (or so we're told), they're not pure white: some are vaguely yellow, some are sort of ochre-ish... In the case of the League, the bizarrely unrelated publicity images make clear that what's hoped for is a kind of fake-blood crimson tinge. So although there's no real indulgence, director Jennie Darnell allows the three to turn in a slight caricature of the naturalism with which the piece has usually been played, that little unreality often seen in the kind of sketch comedy where the group cut their teeth. The elegant apartment set is a world away from the League's fictional town of Royston Vasey, but the casting of the individual members plays to respective strengths familiar from their various screen guises. As Serge, who has paid 200,000 francs for the picture, Mark Gatiss exudes an appropriately smug and supercilious cleverness. As Marc, who faces off against Serge by declaring the canvas "shit", Steve Pemberton is more mercurial, with an air of suppressed violence. Reece Shearsmith, the relatively cuddly one [sic], succeeds in focusing audience identification on Yvan, the less smart piggy-in-the-middle. All three are of course skilled performers, and you can see the rapport gained from up to fifteen years' collaboration in, for instance, the way Gatiss and Pemberton trade facial "mugs" as they first consider the painting. However, this very affinity with each other enables them to skim over deeper elements in the play. When Shearsmith gabbles out Yvan's great bewildered set-piece about the complications of his wedding arrangements, we applaud the high-speed delivery but don't pick up enough of what he says to engage with Yvan's travails.

kissing this reviewer on the mouth for specifically describing what he thinks their respective strengths are & especially for describing reece as THE CUDDLY ONE like... idk if it shows but i'm obsessed with how people see them, and how they see themselves & each other

EVENING STANDARD

Not so much a piece of headline-grabbing stunt casting as three trained actors flexing their thespian muscles [...] bona fide drama graduates, not comedy chancers. This immediately shows, from their poise, projection and presence. Only the dimple-chinned Pemberton as intolerant Marc comes close to his rogues' gallery of BBC2 personae during moments of rage when he cannot come to terms with Serge's purchase of an overpriced minimalist painting. By contrast, Mark Gatiss as the punctilious, pretentious Serge is the epitome of restraint, as cool as his sharp, charcoal suit. The comic moments are all in context. Shearsmith, as the boyish Yvan, is increasingly troubled by his imminent nuptials. This eventually spills out in a breathless pseudo-Pythonesque rant against marriage that is as funny to witness as it is difficult to say. But throughout, the trio respect Reza's text, sidelining their insatiable appetite for the grotesque that has made their their brand of humour so distinctive. This may, however, be problematic. Having sold out in the West End with their sketch show a couple of years ago, some of the threesome's intensely passionate fans may see Art as a follow-up and feel shortchanged. The eye-catching poster may compound the deception, the chopper, axe and chainsaw being wielded suggesting some Grand Guignol flourishes which never materialise.

BBC AGAIN

The northern accents do not quite ring true in the sophisticated setting of a Paris apartment and often lead to flat performances, where one gets the feeling their brand of wit is not quite enough to portray Parisian conceit. The strongest display by far comes from Mark Gatiss (Serge) - the eerie butcher in League of Gentlemen - as the tall, slightly effeminate doctor who acquires the painting, striking just the right balance of preciousness and acerbic wit. The diminutive Reece Shearsmith is adequate in his portrayal of Yvan, the put-down-upon soon-to-be-married stationer caught in the middle of the feud between his two friends. But the biggest disappointment comes from Steve Pemberton, who plays Marc, the critical compadre who takes Serge's indulgence for contemporary art as a personal slight. Pemberton, normally the trio's strongest performer, well-known for his brilliant turn as Pauline in the League of Gentlemen, seems ill at ease in the role. His northern persona cannot quite stretch far enough to inhabit the part of Marc, an angry homeopathic freak whose insecurity finds it hard to cope with his friend's show of independence over the painting. Like the painting, the play does not remain colourless throughout however. One of the highlights is Shearsmith's 10-minute tirade about the difficulties of coping with the women in his life ahead of his impending wedding.

yeah this one is definitely my favourite. casually calls them ALL scallies, then calls each of them out INDIVIDUALLY for being a) gay b) short c) shit. absolute legend. did they ever find this reviewer's body

related, from this article in the guardian:

"When we first did Art, a review said 'Yes, but can they act?' and that made me angry," said Shearsmith. "I remember thinking 'What have we been doing in The League of Gentlemen? It's not standup."

in 2013, reece said art was his favourite ever play to do. highlights from the replies

[ccycloneblogging]

Idk way but seeing catnap chasing dogday is quite funny.

But idk way but I can see player/angle. Just standing there like it a normal day like there not even trap in the factory

I had a lot of fun drawing that little chase, but you are also so right.

In fact, that inspired me to actually write some fanfiction! All below the cut, but sadly no drawings to go along with it (for now).

"Angel!!!" It was a screech, mixed with a pitiful whining and another plee for help.

Only to be promptly followed by heavy footsteps and the sound of furious hissing.

Angel gave a heavy sigh, leaning against one of the upright picnic tables as they simply watched the scene before them.

DogDay, a small cartoon dog with sunny orange fur and a personality to match, was bouncing around. Desperately, he was trying to avoid the large purple paws of the feline chasing him down. Every clawless swipe had missed so far, but the cat's aim was getting better.

"Angel, Please!!!"

Angel sighed again, raising a hand to rub their temples. Two hours. Two hours ago, Angel had first found this little pup handing in a rotting cell. Two hours ago, they freed him and returned his legs. Two hours ago, their life was quiet.

They had begrudgingly allowed DogDay to follow them, concerned the pup would be helpless. They were pleasantly surprised to see he could handle himself, but his looney behavior leaved much to be desired. Simple tasks became jokes, stealth was no longer an option, and Angel was almost positive they could hear a faint laugh track playing every so often.

The worst part?

Ever since they freed the dog, CatNap became unpredictable. Ollie had warned them that this monstrous cat would hide in the shadows and hunt them, but this? This wasn't something any of them had expected.

CatNap gave a rather loud hiss, lunging forward with a powerful pounce. The orange pup was helpless, unable to dart to the side this time, and was tackled to the ground.

The two toppled over, again and again as they came to a stop on the hard paved floor of PlayCare. Once more, CatNap returned to a smaller size like DogDay, though he had him pinned to the ground.

DogDay wheezed, trying to force air back into his lungs. It wasn't easy, as CatNap firmly sat on his chest.

"Apologize." CatNap's voice was distorted, thanks to his voice box being broken long ago. His white eyes narrowed, his tail thrashing.

"You took my legs."

"You lost our game. You knew the risks."

"But you chained me to a wall! And left me there!"

"I came back for you." The cat huffed, his purple ears flat against his head. "It kept you safe from the minis. Or so... I thought it would."

"Angel!" The dog whined, tilting his head up to spot the human a few feet away. Without hesitation, he shot them the most pitiful looking puppy eyes he could manage.

Two hours of this.

Angel would have theorized that CatNap was simply territorial, but frankly? They didn't need to guess. Yes, CatNap wanted to serve the Prototype. Yes, horrible things occurred and he made efforts to stop Angel from cutting off the red gas.

But CatNap made no attempt to hurt them.

He watched them running around, only providing small obstacles to stop them - which only encouraged DogDay's wackier side to show more. Angel was convinced that this cat, though loyal to the prototype, had his heart set towards something more.

"You two are acting like children." They frowned. They shouldn't be scolding their enemy - if they could even call CatNap one. "If you two are going to do this, can you at least play a little quieter?"

"I thought he had died!" CatNap hissed. "You stole him from me! I thought -!"

"...What?" This got DogDay's attention as he snapped his head back to look up at the cat. "Angel freed me, and we were chased around by the minis for a bit. They saved me."

"I... I saw the human." CatNap's frown deepened as he flexed his claws. "I needed to see if they harmed you, so I went to your cage. I found minis, eating and bloodied orange fur scattered around the cell. I found your belts, torn and cut. I thought..."

"Oh, Moonbeam..." DogDay's voice softened, reaching over to the cat to gently pull him in for a hug.

Angel rolled their eyes again.

At least Huggy had been simple. Hungry beast, shove off catwalks. Miss Delight? Hungry creature who went insane? Smash into a wall.

But CatNap? He seemed to love only two things. The prototype, and this odd dog. Even the severed legs hadn't been an issue. They were in the next cell over, casually walking around on their own. DogDay hadn't experienced any pain reattaching them. The belt on his waist and some torn fur were the only signs that he had been ripped in half to begin with.

It didn't make sense to the human, and it certainly wasn't adding up how this cat needed comforting from the same one he had torn and held captive - or even why the dog was providing such tender moments so easily.

CatNap looked furious, still trying to stare daggers at the human. Though... It was impossible to take him seriously as DogDay nuzzled into him. Even more so when a soft purr escaped the cat.

Whatever.

So long as the cat wouldn't try to kill them, and Angel could escape this hellhole, they wouldn't ask any further questions. All they really wanted was to go back home and sleep in their own bed, preferably away from any sort of cartoon.

...Though deep down? Angel had a feeling that dream would be impossible now.

[jhugas]

‘PROVE IT. I’- Jeon Jungkook

Masterlist

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Genre: smut

Pairing: rival!athletic!Jungkook X afab!athletic!Reader

Summary: You and Jungkook both got 1st place in a competition, and as a prize you’re both invited to a luxury hotel. The thing is, you both hate each other. What will happen when Jungkook who believes you’re a slut, gets drunk with you?

Word count: ~2k

Warnings/tags: penetration, clit play, heavy make out, curved dick!Jungkook, jk slut shames the reader (she answers), having sex while drunk, con sex, f gets two orgasms, rough; sloppy sex; make out, mentions of being filmed/ photographed by paparazzis while doing it, very slight aftercare but at least it’s here, unprotected sex (be safe), cums in her, you’re both pretty famous.

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You and Jungkook are enemies. It’s simple, from the moment you both got the 1st place at a competition and the same score; war has been declared.

During separated competitions, you’d always get similar scores. So many people would compare you two to each other and said they wanted you two to be against each other. But now that it happened… you got the same score and you couldn’t be more furious about that. You and only you deserved this place. He was an asshole, a complete bastard. He kept on sending you messages on Instagram saying he was about to win, that you weren’t good enough and other shits like this. Let’s not lie though, you did answer to his insults and tried to humble him, but he’s just too full of himself.

The competition was 3 days ago. Pictures of you two were posted on the competition’s official account, and let’s say everyone noticed the tension between you two; you were both staring at each other fist clenched and ready to fight.

This kept going till you both left the field, but this wasn’t the end. Having two winners wasn’t part of their plan, but they couldn’t just change the rules. So as a prize, you won a trip to « The Grand Deluxe Pool Villa », a huge hotel that’s luxury and famous. Not to mention the gorgeous view you have and the perfect pool. Indeed, it is the perfect destination, but you won’t be alone. This competitive, full of himself boy will also be there. And the worst is; you’ll both be in the same bedroom.

Well… at least you got different private jets.

Today is the day you have to leave, you just finished your baggage and you’re ready to go. Not your first 1st place but your first private jet for sure. You can’t help but be annoyed at the fact that he’ll be there. Fun fact, he’ll arrive an hour before you, so from the moment you leave your apartment, you can say bye bye to your intimacy and peace. On the way to the airport, the taxi driver recognized you, you took a picture with him and from the moment he posted it, there were already comments like:

“I can’t believe they’ll be stuck together”

“this whole thing is so funny to me”

“ain’t no way they’ll survive with a pool beside them… one of them is definitely about to drown”

So it was official, everybody knew you’ll be together and everybody knew that you hated each other.

The private jet was gorgeous and the travel was fine. Only drawback; there wasn’t any food? So after all these hours, you were dying of hunger. All you wanted to do was to arrive to the hotel, and eat. Another taxi driver brought you to the hotel and you were finally there, in front of the big door that’s the entrance of hell and heaven simultaneously.

‘Why you taking so long’

A deep voice said through the doorbell. Shit. It had a camera. You huff and tell him you don’t have the damn keys.

‘Beg to get in’

‘Shut the fuck up and open the damn door.’

He laughs and opens it. He doesn’t even look at you that he starts going back to the pool. He was only wearing his bathing shorts, and some bruises over the competition a few days ago now. You close the door, put your baggage down and immediately go to the kitchen. To your surprise, he cooked. Some little dishes were on the table. You ate all of them then decided to join him. You changed and put on your bikini then went to the pool.

‘Dressed like a slut I see’

The man says while looking at you up and down.

‘You’re talking? You think you look hot with all of them tattoos?’

You cross your arms

‘I do, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about.’

He answers and frowns his eyebrows.

‘You really think I don’t know you fuck everyone in the team? Your opponents… arbitrators… huh? You won’t get me though.’

He assumes full of himself. You can tell this dork is proud of what he just said. It was obviously fake, you never fucked anyone just to get some points or a win. All of your wins existed thanks to your efforts. You truly deserved all of your prizes.

‘I never fucked anyone to get a win loser. I won thanks to myself for believing in me and giving me every chance to win. And guess what? Next time I play against you, believe me, you’ll be crying in your 2nd place with your poor medal.’

You said confidently. You meant every word you said. The night goes on and you’re now both of you sitting beside each other on the couch, alcohol on the small table in front of the TV, a romantic movie playing but you don’t pay attention. You both love to drink, and especially after big efforts and wins. So you won’t stop yourselves and you take multiple shots till you get drunk as hell.

‘Fuck! This shit is burning my throat’

Jungkook said as he turned around to look at you, waiting for your reaction. You lick your lips, tasting the sweet flavour of the drink you just drank and look back at him lazily. You’re too drunk to act normal, so you just stare at him. Nothing in mind.

‘Ha, you really think you can get to me huh?? Licking your lips, staring at me, making me drunk and exposing your body like you always do. You’re just a fucking slut.’

He says as he grabs your chin and gets closer to you and as you can smell his strong, masculine perfume he put on right after the pool. You also get closer, crossing your legs and your cleavage naked, open to the man in front of you.

‘I am not. A slut. So stop treating me like one.’

You said, clearly trying to stop all of this.

‘Sure little thing…’

He whispers as he gets even closer to your face and places his lips only an inch away from yours.

‘Prove it then.’

Is the last thing he said before smashing his reddish lips into yours. Slowly sucking your top lip while you’re slowly trying to keep up with his pace. He’s kissing you eagerly, leaving all of his problems behind, or maybe just putting out his emotions in it. He closes his eyes, frowning his eyebrows as he tilts his head to the side to get a better angle and to get a better taste of you.

The kiss is sloppy, imperfect, but there’s nothing you can do about it, he was all the way in. He assumed every move he was doing, licking your lips, switching in between your top and bottom ones, biting on your bottom ones from time to time. It’s like he had planned all day long to make out with you all night long.

He brings his hands to your waist, hips, neck, and hair. The kiss was also slow, romantic and passionate. He grabs you like someone was trying to steal you away from him. He tastes you like you’re his last meal. And kisses you like he’s been in love with you since forever. It’s like you were the only thing he cared about at that time. Was it winning against you? Or winning you?

He starts going “mmh” in his kisses, going deeper and bringing you closer to him. You pull out to breathe but it’s like he needed you to live. He pulls in back immediately and carries on with what he started. You start moaning into the kiss, your pussy’s starting to get wet and he knows it.

So he slowly gets one of his hands to slide down from the back of your head, to your cleavage, breast, massaging it a little, to your tummy, the hollow in between your hips and thighs, and finally, your throbbing pussy. He starts playing with your clit through your shorts. Going slow then fast, sliding his skinny, long fingers to your entrance occasionally, and caressing the edges. His hand play is too good. You already feel ready to cum. Your body heats up and starts shivering. All he does is pull back, look at you and nod as you stare at him, incapable of kissing back. An electric feeling going up your spine as you finally reach your highest and cum in your little panties. He watches you carefully, squinting his eyes, proud of how he’s making you feel and admiring your pretty face too. You slowly come down but Jungkook isn’t finished. He grabs your ass firmly and brings you to the luxury bedroom. Kissing your jaw, and going down to your neck, leaving purple marks on purpose. Wanting to embarrass you with his very own hickeys. It smells good, everything is so clean. The bed’s sheets already in disorder from Jungkook before you arrived. He throws you on the bed and takes off his clothes.

‘Can I?’

He asks while looking at your clothes. You nod and he starts taking them off too. You’re now both naked, with nothing separating you two. He first admires your athletic body; this is the first time he’s ever seen a body like that. Totally his type. You also observe his body, including his tall, thick cock standing on its own. He gets on top of you as you put your legs around his waist, already tired from being drunk and your previous orgasm and take a deep breath.

He asks you if you’re ready, you answer yes and here it is. Everything he wished he never knew.

A tight cunt, wet and ready for his big and curved dick. He slides in, finally getting to feel a warm feeling from you around his cock and he watches your reactions; your nose scrunching, eyes closing firmly, and moans slipping from your wet, swollen lips. You probably taste like him now, he thought. He pushes himself in out your tight walls, squelching noises resonating in the bedroom along the night birds outside. The curtains weren’t close, anybody could see you, and it wouldn’t be surprising that a paparazzi was filming or photographing you two. But you didn’t care, this was a chance, and a chance you’d take legs wide open like the slut you are.

Slapping noises and moans breaking the weirdly comfortable silence. He whines and says your name under his breath, like he’s sort of ashamed of actually getting pleasure. And nothing could prove this more than him starting to get sloppier as he starts moaning louder. Seeing him like this and his dick hitting all the right spots makes you approach your orgasm faster than you thought.

You close your eyes, making sure to capture this actual warm, welcoming and peaceful atmosphere around the room. Then before you can think about it, you’re both reaching your highest, approaching a strong orgasm and finally releasing your semen in the same spot. His cum meeting yours as he stares at you deeply. His cum slides down to your asshole as he slowly pulls out, making sure to not wake you up too soon from this unreal feeling you’re going through right now.

And just when you open your eyes, he falls on top of you and lazily hugs you close. After a moment, he gets up and carries you to the toilet then tells you that you’ll shower together tomorrow. Right now, you’re both too tired and drunk to do pretty much anything. He brings you back to your bed, already asleep, and you drive off in a deep state of sleep while being cuddled in Jungkook’s strong arms.

What will happen when you both wake up tomorrow?

If you liked it, please like or reblog <3

Masterlist

Prove it masterpost

PART II HERE :)

[stvrpst]

The amusing part about the whole “shipwar” issue was how bummy shippers painted buddie shippers as these nasty individuals who had no business being upset or furious.

Like any other fandom, I acknowledge that there are people in this one who are utterly repulsive and say questionable things, but what bothers me about the bummies, is how they exaggerated the situation. Because, in my opinion, what I saw when the shit was going down was actually very mild.

Like I genuinely have seen worse.

Now, personally, I never liked Tommy and was never neutral about him. I've been here since the beginning of the show, and I've seen that little dick behave like a racist, misogynistic jerk. So, no, I've never cared for him and never will.

Obviously, my natural reaction to other people's displeasure with Tommy's set-up was not to be upset. Because, as I previously stated, he has treated members of the 118 with such contempt. I thought it was very understandable that people disliked him.

But the way the bummies made it seem like not liking Tommy was a forbidden sin, and then couldn’t comprehend why people viewed liking Tommy—again, a racist/misogynistic man—as a bad thing was wild.

Of course people are gonna think you’re a weirdo for liking him, SOLEY because he kissed Buck, and then dismissing his shitty behavior- behavior that is sadly a lot of women and people of colors reality that they have to deal with everyday.

I was not surprised to find out that the vast majority of people justifying Tommy’s behavior were white people, cuz they LOVEEE dismissing shit like this for no reason. As long as it’s not an issue that affects them.

It is weird and bad that you would want Buck to be with a racist and sexist man with no redeeming qualities, just to satisfy your mlm desire. But, nah, let's be furious at the ones who have legitimate reasons to despise that dick.

And then making it seem like we didn't care about bucks bisexuality because we didn't agree with the idea of that dick stick being bucks LI? We didn't want Buck with that dick because we care deeply about his bisexuality and believe he deserves to explore himself with someone other than a huge fat bitch.

Somehow they managed to twist it and accuse us of homophobia.

I have never understood, and I never will, the pressure on others to like Tommy. That, in particular, was the most perplexing thing to me, and it helped me to realize that not everyone can think rationally.

Because there are valid reasons for people to detest a character, how are you going to get upset and start saying stupid shit just because people don’t like Tommy, because he engaged in behaviors that women and people of color experience in real life?

But all they had to say was

(1). “Y’all don’t care about bucks bisexuality”

(2). “Buddies are homophobic”

(3). “Let people ship who they want!”

(4). “Let us enjoy this!”

Over some asshole too.

They actually acted as if others were jumping them for no reason. They genuinely couldn't get how jumping ship because your favorite dude kissed a racist, misogynistic man and not exhibiting ANY concern that he kissed a RACIST, MISOGYNIST MAN just because Buck got to kiss a man is fetishistic as fuck.

They acted like the victims the entire time because people refused to tolerate it. So they altered their argument to "we jumped ship because of buddies behavior," and to this day I'm still trying to figure out what behavior they claimed was so terrible other than the fact that people were calling all their asses for being so fucking odd.

They were apart of the buddie shipper fandom weeks ago. They were apart of the group that “ran Oliver off twitter.” They were apart of the group that “ran the women off the show.” Crazy how when they were apart of the fandom, they didn’t speak up about the shit they’re not pulling out of their asses.

But now that they’ve jumped ship, oh it’s a big issue now.

And it’s so funny because they constantly tell on themselves all the time😭 the jokes be writing themselves.

“I didn’t jump ship because Buck kissed a man, I jumped because he was finally happy.” But when I go on your tumblr, Bree, to go see some of the support you showed when Buck was with Taylor since he was happy then too, I don’t see it? Why is that? So you just pick and choose when bucks happy right? As long as it fits your narrative right?

“Buck and Eddie are not co parents” but when I scroll down 5 months ago, everybody and their moms was calling Chris Bucks son and Buck a dad/second father figure.

“Eddies not a good dad/person” but you have Buckleydiaz as your username?

“We didn’t like Bucks other LI because they had no chemistry or build” but when Tommy pulled up out of ass crack with zero chemistry or build up, y’all still folded.

“Eddies a bad friend!” Yet, when I scrolled down your profile, all your asses were buddie shippers regardless.

“We didn’t like Taylor because she was bad.” Yet, tommy has treated members of the 118 like shit just like Taylor, in fact, maybe even worse. They both have treated members on the 118 horribly, interesting how they’re only excusing one of them tho. I wonder why.

They’re a bunch of losers I swear, and the vast majority of them are a bunch of old hags beefing with minors/young adults online over a damn fictional ship. Shits embarrassing. (No offense to all the good older people in the fandom, ily<3)

That weirdo Bree literally has kids and she’s out here triflin over a ship and going at it with literal teenagers. Get your shit together and maybe start putting food on your kids table because I know they’re hungry. you’re a whole grown ass messing with teens/young adults whose frontal lobes aren’t even fully developed while your kids are starving at home.

They would be so much more bearable if they literally didn’t try to dismantle every single dynamic between Buck and Eddie every single day.

And for no reason at all too. They want bucktommy endgame because they’re a bunch of fetishistic weirdos, and we want buddie for Actual LOGICAL reasons that makes sense and has substance.

Not only that, let’s not forget how

(1.) when Ryan Guzman did that podcast, talking about is mental health and past suicidal thoughts, a bunch of them were in the comments saying they wished he would’ve went through with killing himself.

You don’t have to be a fan of Ryan, and it’s 100% understandable if you’re not, but to fucking wish death upon a real living fucking person is disgusting, and suicide at that.

(2.) they decided to justify Tommy’s behavior by calling us ableist and claiming he’s autistic. I cannot even put into words how weird and nasty that is. Like you actually have to be dumb as fuck to go that low and justify an assholes obvious disinterest and behavior and double it down to “autism.”

Even if he was autistic—which he’s not—that doesn’t justify anything? You can be autistic and still be racist and misogynistic. That’s the shit y’all love to pull. The first time, they said Tommy’s behavior was justified because he was a closeted gay. When they realized people weren’t falling for that shit, they tried to switch it over and call us ableist and claim he was autistic.

It’s actually funny cuz it’s the complete opposite, cuz to associate shitty behavior to be autistic is so unbelievably ignorant.

(3.) They decided to contact and invade Tim’s privacy multiple times to the point Tim had to make it known that he only responds to not be rude.

(4.) They started bullying Oliver stark for not posting about bucktommy to the point that Oliver ended up allegedly blocking someone who asked why he wasn’t talking about it. (Which proves they were the mfs who ran Oliver off twitter)

(5.) They started to actually ship Lou and Oliver, two real life people.

(6.) They told people not to participate or donate to a charity event that was helping the people in Gaza just because one the mods in the server didn’t like bucktommy.

(7.) They thought it was okay to speak on Ryan and his characters identity claiming he was white and doubling him down to just that, while trying to erase his Mexican identity saying he wasn’t Mexican(he is.)

(8.) They started harassing journalists because they only mainly talked about buddie when they have stated multiple times that they’re buddie shippers, always have been even before tommy showed up and Oliver and Ryan have no issues discussing buddie anyways.

(9.) Completely dismissed the idea of having an openly queer MEXICAN character for other Latino/hispanic people to relate to because it would get in the way of their ship.

(10.) Called fans/stans of Eddie Diaz—a main Mexican character— “beanstalks.”

I’m still so shocked about this one because it was so unbelievably racist, and the person who came up with it is disgusting.

I’m sorry to any Mexican fans who had to witness that.

(If you’re confused, just to clarify, there is a slur used against Mexicans that starts with bean and ends with an er. Since Eddie is Mexican, they thought it would be funny to give Eddie fans an extremely racist under-toned nickname, hence “beanstalks” :/ )

(11.) They love to weaponize Ryan’s past actions as a way to deflect from the fact that Lous ass is just as fucking bad, but in reality don’t actually give a shit about what Ryan did or said and are only bringing it up to use Ryan’s past shitty behavior to deflect Lous shitty ass. Which is literally insane and stupid.

The list goes on. Yet buddie shippers are the bad ones, okay.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚 ✧₊∘

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

Day 2: Frottage, Sexual Frustration, Virginity

𝐀 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x FEDRA!Comandante Veracruz | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 973 (yay I did it!) | CONTENT: frottage, power dynamics, degradation, Sir kink, failed attempt at sexual coercion, dark!Joel | SYNOPSIS: What happens when a FEDRA officer working his way up the command ladder makes the grave error of crossing Joel Miller?

Joel’s heaving breaths echoed roughly in the brick alleyway. The coarse scrape of the FEDRA officers back against the jagged wall should’ve been the loudest thing unless they wanted to get themselves caught and censured.

“Stop makin’ so much fuckin’ noise,” Joel grunted as he thrusted himself into the cradle of hands that enveloped his cock against the other. 

Both tips were steadily weeping precum, and Joel was going to be furious if his partner couldn’t keep it down for long enough that they could both get their release.

“I’m–uuhhhhnnn, I’m f-fucking… AHH,” Veracruz groaned, picking up the pace of his hips as he fucked himself against Joel’s cock faster. 

“If you don’t shut your goddamn mouth, I will break your jaw and shove my cock in there to make you quiet,” Joel warned.

Veracruz panted and smiled as he tilted his head against the wall. His thrusts never faltered. “Not when you need my security clearance for your little smuggling trips,” he taunted back.

Joel’s hand barely covered the span of Comandante Veracruz’s throat, but he had enough purchase to get his point across. He began squeezing hard and watched as the smug look slipped from his partner’s face.

“I’ve killed better men for much less than what you’re messin’ with right now,” Joel snapped. He slammed his hips forward until their bodies were flush. “So I suggest you keep those hands real tight while I fuck ‘em, or I’m gonna have your ass so wrecked your dumbass FEDRA buddies are gonna be askin’ you all week why you’re walkin’ and sittin’ funny,” he seethed.

“Fuck,” he gasped. His cock twitched at the thought.

“Fuckin’ pathetic,” Joel sneered when he felt the bodily response to his threats. “You wanna give me ‘n Tess a hard time, try to fuckin’ blackmail me into suckin’ your dick, and now look at ya. Tryna act like you’re still in control.”

Veracruz’s nostrils flared at the challenge. He had in fact intended for this to go differently. Possibly coercing a handjob or blowjob out of Joel. Maybe getting Tess involved the next time. He’d made the rookie mistake of underestimating Joel Miller, simply because he was about 15 years older and weaker than Veracruz himself – or so he’d thought. His lips pursed with the disgrace of having been bested.

Joel openly laughed in his face. “Little boy wants to play war general, huh? Thinkin’ he’s got the biggest dick to swing.”

Joel’s thrusting picks up pace as he grabs two rough fistfuls of hair on either side of Veracruz’s head, mussing the gelled back and neatly combed style. He winces at the manhandling and bites back the choked whimper of pain – a last ditch effort to salvage what little ego and self-respect he had left after his botched effort of dominating Joel.

Joel’s brow furrows in pleasure. Thwarting Veracruz’s attempts to blackmail him and Tess was always going to happen, but he hadn’t expected the nice addition of blowing his load all over some too big for his britches FEDRA prick who no doubt had successfully conned, assaulted, raped, and god knows what else to other residents in the QZ who found themselves in his sights.

“Get on the ground,” he snaps, yanking the fistfuls of hair downward.

Veracruz moans at the pain but does as he’s told. He’s already way in over his head. He should’ve listened to his fellow unit officers when they cautioned him against fucking with Joel Miller or his partner Tess. He should’ve heeded their warnings that Joel wasn’t the type of guy to take threats lightly, and he certainly wasn’t the forgiving type.

Hands splayed in the dirt to keep himself upright, Veracruz glances up to find Joel’s face a mixture of fury and ecstasy. He’s jerking himself quickly with his free hand leaning against the wall.

“Don’t fuckin’ move,” he snaps.

“Yes, Sir,” Veracruz nods, slipping too easily into the honorifics that FEDRA drilled into their soldier’s heads when addressing their superiors.

“Fuckin’ pathetic,” Joel jeers with a dark smile. His mouth opens as his face contorts. He leans over Veracruz and watches as his cum drenches his face and hair. He pumps himself until he’s completely empty and tucks himself back into his jeans.

“Wipe it up across your face ‘n fix your stupid fuckin’ hair with my cum, you worthless piece of shit,” Joel snaps.

Veracruz swallows hard and rubs his hands on his face. He works Joel’s cum through his hair and smooths it down like he does every morning.

“Good as new,” Joel taunts with a nasty grin. 

He bends at the waist to leave his departing words. “I’m not even gonna warn ya about tryna fuck with me again. You already know I won’t hesitate to fuck you on all fours and blow your brains out from the back when I’m pumpin’ ya full of my cum. But if I hear even a fuckin’ whisper of you tryna get in the way of me ‘n Tess’s business, I’m gonna make an example outta you for all your other

FEDRA buddies. We clear?”

Veracruz nods curtly and tries to control his breathing. He’s still rock hard and hasn’t come yet.

“Yes,” he replies quickly.

Joel tilts his head expectantly, the twisted glimmer in his eyes letting Veracruz know this man had a much darker past than he’d ever know. He understands what Joel wants from him now.

“Yes, Sir,” he agrees quietly.

“That’s what I thought,” Joel murmurs. “Have fun washin’ me outta your hair tonight, you useless cumrag.” He draws up a swell of saliva and spits it directly onto Veracruz’s face. He turns and walks off without another word.

Veracruz wipes it from his face and uses it to finish pleasuring himself, spilling onto the ground with a pitiful whimper.

[besideprimroseshade]

ᴳᵒᵈ ⁱˢʰ ᵀʷˢᵗ ˣ ⁱᵐᵐᵒʳᵗᵃˡ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ CH: 2

CH: 1

"I'm getting excited on the contrary"

TW: Suggestive comments

    Y/N's current alias:

    Ell Clocke

    Alias No. 161

    Date: 1300

    "Why would you pick that book out of all?  I mean, it's nothing more than some fanatic's fantasy.  Nothing worth contemplating about".  He sighs and you shoot back Will you shut up for a few minutes?  I'm trying to read, you know, do something actually productive.  Instead of listening to whatever crap that comes outta your mouth.  Idle chatter should I say?"  He huffs "Ugh!  This is why you dropped out of school, my professors would be sorely disappointed in such a lackluster person like yourself".  You remember what page you're on and set your book to the side "Good thing I don't suck up to professors then, unlike someone here.  People actually enjoy my presence, dunno if you've noticed, but everyone here would kill you if it were legal".  He blanches and mutters something "Y-you're wrong, such a notion is inconceivable.  The people adore me, a brain such as mine surely deserves respect!" you shrug "Tell that to the townspeople, everyone here fucking hates you, and the fact that you with your great brain can't see that your holier-than-thou attitude is the reason why you don't have anyone who would actually care if you died is something..."

    "Wait... are you revealing to me that you wouldn't care if I died?" he freezes, a sort of realization washing over him.

    "Wow, the great mind finally realized.  What did you expect?  Me to cry when you die?  The guy who said that I'll be nothing 'cause I got B's and not A+'s?  The guy who every day told me that my dreams weren't anything, that mom and dad just had me to compare my dullness to your brightness?  You should've been a comedian instead of a scholar, 'cause that's too fucking funny".  Your words cut like the sharpest of ice, frigid and unforgiving.  

    "I... I was joking!  Of course you couldn't take a joke, you're too sensitive..." comes the attempt to shake away the guilt.

  "At least I can feel things…” you quip back.     He takes a furious sip of his tea and coughs it out “W-what curious concoction is this?  This is surely not my tea!”.  Your eyes move to the snow white Persian cat in the corner of the parlor, lazing on her pillow.  Cotton, your mother’s most prized pet, a spoiled cat given as a gift from your father.  “Oh, Cotton peed in the cup, it must’ve slipped my mind to inform you…”

    The memory fades as you fade back to your tea, the faces swirling like the milk in the tea.  “That damned dipshit” you utter before grabbing a broom and flinging open your front door.  Your porch was decently decorated, with starch white paint on the walls and the beams supporting up the thing.  Thankfully the paint did not contain lead, or maybe it did, that might’ve explained why the townspeople avoided you like you were crazy.  A few plants in pots stood in neat rows by the front window, delicate little flowers grown from a variety of seeds.  But now was not the time to admire your handiwork.  Angrily sweeping your front porch and ignoring the clouds of dust that plague your vision.  Your brother never did get his dream…     You learned that for all of his labor, he was only remembered as a pretentious wannabe who tried so hard to make it big in the world of knowledge that he ended up only becoming famous for his attempts.  A local legend of your town.  After centuries of him being dead, you were still petty.       Continuing your furious sweep you barely notice the child staring at you from behind one of the poles.  Only stopping your sweep to take a few breaths, “What do you want kid?” You turn to meet their gaze.  A tiny lanky thing, who probably didn’t even reach your hip, with striking eyes the same shade as the blazing garnet ring your least favorite aunt always showed off.  Thick dark hair that reminded you of ink, silky and black, cut short above their shoulders.  Their outfit prim, with a neat white shirt dark brown pants.  Their ears confirmed that they were a fairy, small and pointed.       “You appear to be angered with something” they observe with a voice so quiet it seemed hardly a whisper.  They stand there, hiding, unsure of whether to approach the curiously angry stranger, or run off back into the forest.  “Just blowing off some steam” you reassure them before leaning your broom against the wall.  “I’m not gonna hurt you, ‘sides, you’d probably be more of a threat to me than vice versa” you admit, watching as their grip on the pole lightens, a few creaks from the wood reverberating off the porch’s roof.  “So uh… what brings you to my place?  Pure curiosity?  Or did I anger a fae?”  You continue, waiting for any sort of reaction.         “I hast stumbled upon your abode by chance, tis an interesting place.  Any sane human would place their home as far as possible from a fairy.  But your abode is right in the middle of our territory.  I can feel the magic everywhere” they respond at last.     

    “I’m not like most humans…” you say, half joking half seriously.  “I can feel that, there is something heavy around you.  Many feelings are wound up inside you, like a boiling pot of stew, ready to bubble over and burn at any second” comes their swift response.  “Thanks for the reading… but I don’t have anything to give ya’ unless you’re hungry for some leftover bread and cheese from this mornings meal” you admit.  They shake their head, “No thank you, my lady said to never trust strangers.  There is no shortage of people willing to take advantage of you”.  You nod slowly “Your lady is right, tis better to be safe then found dead in a ditch I suppose”.       “Shall I call you something?”     “Fae never give out their names”     “That’s right, you’ve got good instincts too”     “Are you going to give me your name?”     “Nah”

    That was the beginning of your encounters with that little faerie.  He never did give you his name, but simply told you that it was similar to a flower.  You ended up telling him your name though, so that he would stop calling you the ‘abnormal human’.  He wasn’t wrong though, normal humans weren’t immortal.  Normal humans didn’t challenge gods in hopes of death.  Normal humans didn’t use their fathers invitation to a school and assumed his identity.  You learned more about your little visitor.  He was a servant of nocturnal fae’s princess.  A little bat fae at the very bottom of the fae hierarchy, raised in luxury.  Trained to serve his lady’s every whim.  What a dreary existence… you thought. 

    In exchange for tidbits about his life you gave him some from yours.  How you challenged a god and got immortality in return.  “You are an idiot” he thought aloud as he took a spoon from one of your cabinets and grabbed a dish labeled for him.  “What is this?” He inquired suspiciously “A treat, leftovers from a friend’s party” you reply.  The little fae sniffed it curiously before digging in.  “Pear…” he said at last before finishing the dessert in a few seconds.       “Someone’s hungry” you grab a few cherries from a basket full of farmer’s market goods.  "That is none of your concern" he comments.  "Damn, you're quick to anger" you slightly tease.

    That was the last time you saw him that small, he never did grow much taller.  But there was something different about him, not just that he was visibly different.  But he seemed different, bore a different air about him, something sickening, but you could never put a finger on it.  It was unsettling, the curious gleam in his scarlet eyes faded away in favor of a hateful sheen.  His slit pupils constantly in a state of fury.  How he shook off your concern with a glare, was this how your parents felt with you?  His hair was now welcome to dyed streaks of red, a unique choice for sure. 

    You dabbed one of his more severe wounds with a cotton ball.  "Humans can never keep their hands to themselves" you mutter as you rub a salve on his injured arm.  Tone akin to a chiding parent's as you clean and bandage his arm.  "Tut tut, I told you not to play with those mean boys and their toys", the boys in question being men and the toys being weapons.  "You're not my parent dumbass" to which you shake your head teasingly "I know, but seeing you grow up to be such a strong fighter has certainly had some sort of parental affect on me".  He side-eyes you "That's so fucking sweet it's annoying...".  Playfully wacking the top of his head you smile "Language little one..."

"Fuck you" he mutters irritated.

"No one will sadly..." you respond with a sigh.

"I hate you"

"Such is the fate of every parent, I suppose.  Whatever happened to that sweet little faerie I encountered?  Now there's just this crass thing in his place"

   •✧• Centuries later •✧•

    Current Alias

    Hanakoto Y/N

    Orientation went smoothly, you personally didn't care which dorm you were placed in, so long as you'd be left alone for the most part.  You rolled your shoulders back as you stepped up to meet the gaze of the Dark Mirror.  For some reason the Ceremonial Robes felt heavier upon your arms.  As if they were weighing you down... pulling you away from your fate.  Feeling the hundreds of eyes staring at you with a variety of emotions.  The weight of their gaze not helping. 

    You stared at the Mirror as it boomed the familiar words to you that it had to many students before you.

   "The shape of thy soul is..."

   "Tenacious... therefore you are fit for Pomefiore"

    As you walk down the steps to the crowd of Pomefiore students, you hear a scoff.  Turning to face the student you're face to face with some pretty blonde student with tacky violet ends and amethysts for eyes.  "Is there a problem?" you scoff back.  He glares at you before turning back to see what new students would be joining him.  Grumbling about "potatoes".  You take an empty spot between a couple of fellow first years.  "The fuck is his problem?" you mutter glaring daggers at the back of his head. 

    Vil Schoenheit could feel holes being bored into the back of his head, probably from that insolent potato that he just bothered to stare at.  What was their problem?

   The dinner at your new dorm was luxurious, it felt like the dinners that fae had described to you, while the Queen of Briarland was entertaining nobles. There were plates piled high with delicacies, food that you had only read about, it was absolutely delicious, but that damned student from earlier kept shooting you glares.  As if everything you did earned his ire.  Like he was personally offended by your existence...  You were from a family of farmers but damn, his attitude towards you was worse than those falsely compassionately officals that pretended to take pity on the plight of farmers.  The same people that made it possible for them to stuff their faces with rich sauces and soups, those addicting desserts and prized drinks. 

    Not to mention that blonde with the bob who sat next to him kept smiling and complimenting him, lathering on the praise for him until it creeped you out.  You could've mistaken him for your brother, always showering famous scholars that he encountered with so much praise you thought that he was in love with them.  Those crusty old men who sat pondering alongside other crusty men who agreed with their every word.  This guy was more of a devout worshipper than fellow student.  What made him so good that someone would treat him like a god, or perhaps, what made him so rich?  So worthy of being praised, so worthy of being devoted to?  How curious...

    You were currently writing down your record of the first week of school, the classes, the teachers, the many students from all walks of life.  Finishing each sentence with a flourish.  You set your journal down.  You learned that the blonde with violet eyes was some model named Vil Schoenheit.  And the blonde with the bob was Rook Hunt.  Two insignificant people that you'd probably forget in a couple of centuries... or well, that's what you assumed at first...

    Resting your back against the wall you inhale quietly, your mind taking you back to the memories of a bygone era, a bygone you.  "Whatever became of that faerie?" you mutter standing up from your spot.  Stretching your arms you toss the journal into your bag.  You hadn't heard much about him after he left, you never learned his name after all, it was hard to look for someone when you didn't know a basic fact about them.  Did he die in the war?  Did he have a family?  Those questions would continue to go unanswered most likely.  You missed him, that nocturnal fae that you watched grow up, the fae brought up by royalty, a mere peasant by hierarchy's standards.  But status didn't matter to you, and he appreciated that. 

    That was then however, this is now.  Seeing the students rush to classes, take their time chatting with friends, and teachers exchanging lesson plans.  The similar sights of your school back when you were mortal.  You sat by yourself at lunch time, occupying yourself by listening in on the busy chitter.  Sitting silently as you picked at the your meal for today, pondering at the pangs in your chest that struck as you reminisced about a time no longer.  Idly poking at the lukewarm pile of mashed potatoes with your fork, taking small bites of the tender steak.  Too caught up in your memories to savor the flavors of the meat. 

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

Author's Thoughts

Scarlet-eyed fae - 'A good kid. Deserved better in life'

Vil Schoenheit - 'Nothing worth mentioning, dunno why he's famous'

Rook Hunt - 'desperate, fucking desperate'

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

A/N: thank you guys for being so patient!! have a wonderful day/afternoon/night :>

[heretherebedork]

Honestly Mew is abusive as hell. To be honest, I don’t even consider they were already dating when Top slept with Boston. Yes, Top wanted to date Mew and was loud about it when he was still fooling around with Boston but he was not in a stated relationship with Mew. But Mew is so adamant to say that they were boyfriends and that he was cheated on. He was in the exact same situation as Nick but it’s funny how only one of them was seen as the injured part. I am aware that they reacted differently as I stated earlier, Mew said out loud that he was cheated while Nick was doing everything to not upset Boston. I am more talking about the outside looking in, that only were furious for Mew. Now Mew is using Boston/Top one night stand to abuse mentally and physically the two of them. I think it’s really problematic that he threw a drink in Top face and pushed in the water, it’s literally abuse and the fact that they are going to get back together without any of it being addressed is kind of like condoning abuse because it’s a same sex relationship. Even here with Boening, he pretended to push him away in my opinion, he still knew what he was doing as I believe he pushed him away way too late. I believe that Mew is in love with Top but I also think that he want to make sure Top suffer as much as possible and that he has taken his revenge so that he can forgive him and I think it’s toxic.

You know, anon, I don't have much to argue. But I will also say that Mew is... exactly what his friends are. They're all young and messy and messed up and doing their best but not really living up their best.

And Mew has never been confronted because everything he does is in terms that most people consider moral. He was cheated on even if they weren't exclusive yet. (I think of @respectthepetty every time I think of this.) But if he says Top cheated, if he accepted Top after the act and knew he was going to accept him and was only holding off to prove Boston wrong. So does that count? Who's right? They're both a mess, frankly. They're all a mess.

Mew was withholding the relationship label because he wanted to prove that he would win Top over Boston's three month prediction. Nick was clinging to Boston despite Boston's declaration that they weren't in a relationship. And they both got cheated on in a way but also not.

And Nick understands that. Nick was more worried about Boston leaving him entirely than Boston's sex. He just wanted to be with him. But Mew took what happened and turned it into something that he can keep holding against Top.

Honestly, Mew should not keep giving Top chances because if he's going to hold this over his head for as long as he can... he should just stop. He should give him up. He should stop because giving Top a chance is one thing and giving Top a chance... but also holding the supposed cheating above his head and in the middle of their relationship the entire time.

Every single character in this show is toxic and, frankly, that's why we're watching the messy gay show. They are all wild and messy and toxic and they're hurting each other.

Now, frankly, I'm more upset about how Mew is treating Boston than anything else. Because he knows that Boston is in the closet to his father and that someone had Boston's sex tapes and that he was afraid of being revealed and that it makes no sense for Boston to be blackmailing someone else when their secret getting out would also be his.

(Look, did Boston fuck Top when he knew he was trying to get together with Mew and then try to push Ray hard enough to make him decide not to out that event? Yes. Yes he did. But I think he's one of the least toxic in this friend group because he's also honest about being nasty and filthy and just wanting to have one night stands and that doesn't make him a villain, that just makes him a slightly amoral slut.)

But anyway.

They're all a toxic mess and I'm very glad they are. And I hope more people are seeing that they're all different and all toxic and that no one is perfect or better just because of their moral code or the way they present themselves.