#understand. no matter what you do hes still himself and he is very clearly playing pretend in a desperate attempt to be anyone other than

[boydyke]

"you can play harry dubois as a communist or fascist or boring neoliberal centrist" Wrong. you can follow along harry as he pretends to hold political convictions but he is forever harry dubois and you cannot change that about him. he has never been a communist in his life & you'll never make him one. he is a cop.

[books-and-omens]

I wonder, too, I wonder when Crowley is going to know. The six-espressos-in-a-big-cup protective hypervigilant Crowley. Ever circling around his angel, snapping at the slightest threat, shielding him from harm.

When is he going to know that he’s been manipulated, too?

And when is he going to know what role he himself played in Aziraphale’s decision?

There are so many things he didn’t tell Aziraphale. To protect him, to spare him, to give him time. Except, of course, all of that also meant that Aziraphale had no time and space to process them.

(And yes, there were things that Crowley could not possibly tell his angel. The cruel disdain of Gabriel’s words at Aziraphale’s execution is burned forever into Crowley’s mind; how could he have taken this dagger to Aziraphale? 

Anyway, shouldn’t the fact of the execution itself be enough for Aziraphale to know?)

But Crowley’s angel is kind, is bright, never expects and is forever surprised by treachery: Rose Montgomery turning out to be a Nazi spy, a countess turning out to not be a countess. Of course Aziraphale’s sheer relief on deciding that he’s been wrong about the Metatron will be a powerful force. He wants to be aligned with something bigger than himself; he wants there to be a point.

For all of S2, Crowley deflects threats from Hell. (Aziraphale, involved? Unlikely, Crowley says with studied nonchalance. And how do you know I didn’t do that miracle?) Out of Aziraphale’s earshot, he threatens and hisses, as he has likely done for millennia. Remember Hell’s book on angels, with everything it says about Aziraphale, with instructions to ‘avvoid’ and report to Crowley? Yeah.

By the end, there are key things that Crowley hasn’t told Aziraphale: his visit to Heaven, Gabriel’s punishment, what it was that Gabriel refused to do. Yes, there were archangels in the room, watching. Yes, Crowley had rather assumed that Aziraphale is as done with Heaven as he is himself. Still, it wasn’t Crowley’s instinct to give Aziraphale all the information. And after Aziraphale’s conversation with the Metatron, Crowley was primed to go ahead with a confession, was interrupted during said confession—so in the aftershock of Aziraphale’s words, he went right back to the path he’d already committed to. Then, of course, it was too late; the pain became too much; neither of them were thinking clearly, neither of them had the time to understand.

Yes, telling Aziraphale of the danger may not have helped. Aziraphale is even better at denial than he is at forgiveness; he might have refused to see what Heaven needs him for, how they intend to keep him in line. (Also, no doubt a worrying thought for Crowley if he was conscious of it: it’s very like Aziraphale to go to Heaven to try and stop the Second Coming no matter the risk to himself.)

But the thing is, the Metatron remembers Crowley. And he must know how rash Crowley is. How impulsive, and how likely to rear up and bite when presented with an offer to be forgiven for an injustice done to him.

So yes, Crowley has been manipulated. Through Aziraphale: through his angel’s indefatigable hope, through his desire to see the best and redeem what had seemed (but surely cannot be!) irredeemable: Heaven itself. Manipulated into storming out, his heart broken, the pain of that kiss still on his lips.

Into, after so many millennia, letting Aziraphale walk straight into danger.

I wonder when Crowley is going to know.

[murdrdocs]

thinking about patrick getting hired by some wealthy rich man to teach his daughter tennis. she's in her 20s and she can't help but be attracted to him and the same goes for him like ... idk

public sex; oral (f receiving); coach zweig once more; MDNI 18+ w/ PATRICK ZWEIG

for the first couple of sessions, it's blatantly obvious that you don't want to be here.

patrick sees it in the way you zone out every few seconds. the way you have absolutely no hustle when you're hitting. the way you're more focused on your chipped nail polish than on his instructions. really, if the check wasn't as big as it is, then patrick wouldn't want to be here either. but the check for one session is enough to keep him going for three months and patrick wants to keep the money flowing. so he's here, and he cares just enough, and he really would prefer it if you cared too.

he meets you on even ground in the middle of the second lesson. you're drinking from an expensive water bottle while patrick drinks from a plastic one. your skin has a light sheen of sweat from it, but not nearly enough in patrick's opinion. he's sure the sweat is from the sun and not your effort.

he kicks the front of your sneakers with his.

"what's your deal?"

you're looking up at him, squinting even though the brim of your visor shields your eyes from the sun. "my deal?"

patrick nods. "you clearly don't wanna be here. so why are you?"

it takes you a second. your jaw ticks as if you're a smoker, or maybe you're used to chewing gum. patrick usually keeps both with him, and he would've offered either to you if you weren't on a court in your backyard.

eventually, you respond. "i agreed to come home for the summer and i could either sit on the board with my father, or play tennis. anything to keep me from lounging around all day."

a small, knowing smile came to patrick's lips. he glanced behind you at the shape of your house. standing here, patrick sees you. he understands you. he, too, learned tennis to escape the future set up by his father. while yours is on a smaller scale, and something more temporary, he still understands.

he caps his water bottle and places it on the bench. "if you put in a little effort, tennis can be fun."

you snicker and place your water bottle next to his, humming noncommittally.

"i'll believe it when i see it."

it isn't long until patrick starts to see effort put into your movements during your sessions. instead of letting the ball fly past you, you're attempting to run for it, sometimes even succeeding. your skin shines with more than a light sweat. you're actually out of breath when you attempt to respond to patrick mid session.

it's nice to see you putting in work. it's attractive when you're bent over with your hands on your knees, heaving for air. it's alluring when you pout at patrick, a plea for a break already on your emphasized lips.

he doesn't know if your sudden enthusiasm is of your own doing, or from the way patrick rewards you. because no matter how much he pushed his desire down, no matter how often he tried to hide it in the name of professionalism, he still found himself drawn to you. glances up your skirt turned to his head up there. fleeting touches to your lower back turned to his rough hands gripping that very area as he took you from behind. watching the sun beat sweat down onto your skin had a completely different meaning when he fucked you on the court, both of you tucked away on the bench and barely hidden away from anyone—notably your father—who could come outside.

it's obvious that you wanted him, too, your sudden need to impress him on the courts whenever he rewarded you with kisses was a testament.

he asks you one day when he'd lightly smacked your ass with his racket when your session was over. "is tennis fun yet?" came his question, and you smiled at him, throwing a hand over your eye to shield your face from the sun. the shadows cast onto your face and your clavicle did nothing to hide the obvious hickey patrick gave you a few days ago and he found his eyes drawn there when you answered.

"dunno. maybe i need a few more sessions."

[hellsslibrary]

IMMA BE HONEST (and if possible, could this be a request?),, the first time i saw Vil when he kept checking his makeup and talking to Cater in the beginning of the game I just KNEW I had to have him whining with mascara colored tears running down his cheeks and his body being flushed red all over while making him face a mirror and telling him how pretty (or even how much of a slut)he’s looking like…

"In the garden of my heart, your love is the most beautiful and enduring flower, blooming every day."

#a.n. : SAME! And... Yay, I've got my earliest requests underway... Maybe I'll post a couple more today, I guess. This was a pleasure to write, by the way. I love this stuff.

MASTERLIST is here.

!!Warnings: top!dom!male!reader, sub!bottom!Vil, mirror sex, praise kink (borders on worship), just romantic and fairly vanilla sex, but for those who like more intense sex I added some light dacryphilia, use of the word "slut", and spanking (literally once), make-up traces, light marking.

"You're so perfect, see? Every curve, literally every part of your skin is so emphasized... I never thought that even now, when I can barely see you, I would still see you so well," escapes your lips, causing Vil's fingers to clench on the smooth surface of the mirror, making a not very pleasant sound, but what does it matter?

How did you even end up here? You were just looking at Vil combing his hair before going to bed. This beautiful strawberry blonde hair with a slight lilac tint... You could admire it forever. And him even more so.

You yourself did not understand at what moment your arms wrapped around his waist, whispering random tenderness in his ear, making him smile faintly. And the next second, he moaned quietly and looked at you over his shoulder with a stern look when your palm was clearly too close to his ass. "What are you doing, hm? We were both sleepy a few minutes ago, if I remember correctly."

And yeah, he's right. You thought you'd pass out the moment you had this physical manifestation of Aphrodite in your arms, but now that he's actually in your arms... How can you resist being a little selfish and taking away his beauty sleep, right?

And here we go again...

"Why do we even need candles? We could do this without any light at all..." You hum in displeasure at that, spreading Vil's cheeks slightly and watching your cock disappear inside him. It was barely visible, but you could visualize it with ease from how many times you've seen it.

"Without light? No. I need to see every part of you... Just look at yourself," your fingers pull his head down from your shoulder, forcing him to look at his reflection.

It was a coincidence that he hadn't had time to wash off his makeup today, and that only played into your hands. It was a huge rarity, those moments when he let you fuck him while his face was still covered in makeup... He didn't like to look sloppy, but who else says he looks sloppy?

His neck is framed with light, rare hickeys that he allowed you. And even a small bite on the back of his head! Usually he only lets you mark his thighs, since no one else except the two of you can see that part. But today he was either generous or tired.

Purple eyes closed convulsively when your cock entered at an angle that was too pleasant. A quiet cry escapes his lips when you give him a light slap on his thigh, and he opens his eyes again, forcing himself to look at his reflection.

A couple of candles lit in the room were indeed on your side. They hid you behind Vil's back, but they showed him completely. He whimpers from his own reflection, a thought flashing through his head about understanding what you can see in him even in this form. "Look at yourself, okay? If you can keep your eyes on me until you cum, then... I'll give you a massage afterwards, okay?" he nods immediately, not even thinking about what you said, just hearing that something good is waiting for him.

His body twitches every time your shaft penetrates as deep as this position allows. It was surprisingly good, even too good. The blond can't remember when your intimacy brought him to this state. It was overwhelmingly good. His brain was boiling, literally turning into mush. Deprived of the last thoughts that flew away like water lilies on the surface of water bodies.

"Bend over for me, please? It will be a little more comfortable, my queen," tenderly escapes from your lips, he instinctively arches, although Vil clearly does not even realize what you are asking for.

His hand slides down, his slender fingers digging into your thigh, his forehead resting on his hand, still on the mirror. Sobs escape his lips as his eyes glaze over. The only thing he knows is that he's crying from pleasure. Pleasure that's too overwhelming.

"Is it okay, Vil? Should I slow down?"

Your question makes him break the vacuum of the pleasure haze he's trapped in, just a little. He shakes his head slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, though knowing that you won't be satisfied, he mumbles,

"Okay... I'm o-okay. It just, agh, feels s-so good."

"Wonderful. I'm glad you like it so much... After all, your beauty is meant to be admired in any state," your loving whisper makes him chuckle, mixed with a whine, as one of your hands reaches just past his hip and wraps around his engorged cock. "So beautiful and graceful, like the paintings of the best masters... Such an incredibly beautiful voice that you want to hear nothing but it. Such a beautiful figure that you want to memorize every curve and every part, to know where it pleases you the most."

His cock involuntarily twitches a couple of times while you whisper your praises breathlessly. He feels such a painful, yet so desirable knot in his stomach, you both feel that he is almost at the limit.

"So what? Are you ready to cum for me, pretty boy? To cum on my cock, like the good slut you are?"

The world seems to stop as soon as it leaves your lips. You call him that without realizing it... He's never heard you say such vulgar things to him before and it's... Surprisingly pleasant, especially mixed with your praise bordering on worship.

His cock twitches in your hand and he cums with a too loud, surprisingly high-pitched moan; his head falls back on your shoulder and his eyes squeeze convulsively, a couple of transparent but black tears fall on your shoulder and white liquid paints the mirror in front of you.

You gently push his head back forward, kissing the back of his head while he lets you make a few more thrusts before you cum inside... Normally he would object, but you're going to shower now anyway, and you'll have to wash him too, so he won't say a word now.

"You... It w-was something. You never... Oh, never ca-called me that," he mumbles barely audibly, sobbing from the remains of tears and only now you realize what you called him and your brain instantly sobers up.

"I didn't m-mean it, I didn't mean it... I'm sorry, I said it unconsciously, I was just too deep in—," he puts a slightly trembling finger on your lips, smiling lightly and moving between your legs.

"I didn't say that I didn't like it, it was just surprising to hear it from you like that," Vil chuckles, turning to you completely and kissing your cheek, and then hugs you around the neck and sighs contentedly when your hands took him under his hips, slowly standing up on legs slightly trembling from a recent orgasm. Oh... Right now you want nothing more than to fall asleep, but the handsome man in your arms will kill you if you don't wash him... Not that you mind that outcome either, hehe.

[jaylaxies]

GLOSSY LIPS | NJM

pairing: fwb!jaemin × fem!reader

wc: 1002 words

cw: smut, public sex, cunnilingus, fingering.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

a/n: i dreamt about jaemin being a sucker for pussy and decided to share it with the world :3

Jaemin isn’t the one to think about decorum when it comes to you, especially when he’s got some sort of odd fixation of having the urge to eat you out each time you go out (you keep his lips glossy and moisturized; is what he says), whether it is a lunch date with your friends or a random outing with Jaemin, he’s gonna make sure to do one thing—eat you out, no matter what.

It was to no one’s shock that you forbade from taking your panties off, especially when you were in public as you were still traumatized by that one incident where you had almost flashed Jeno, simply because Jaemin couldn’t stop himself from stuffing your panties in his pocket after eating you out in the bathroom, which you were glad was clean.

So, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to Jaemin when you gave him the look which was a clear warning as to tell him to not pull any of his stunts this time, but he only smiled the softest of his smiles, the kind that anyone would mistake as the smile of an angel, which is not the case with you as you clearly know about the sin he’s about to commit.

It’s your monthly dinner date with your friend group tonight, the extravagant restaurant only makes it even more special than the usual ones. Hyuck is busy talking to Mark, while Renjun is explaining some theory of his to Jeno and Chenle. Jisung is busy eating, while Karina and Ningning are busy discussing the latest gossip.

Jaemin couldn’t have been more happy that the tables were fully covered with the table cloth, meaning: if he were to go in to play with you a little, then nobody else would be able to spot him inside. It was almost comical the way he crouched down, thankful that he was sat at the corner, which helped him not garner anyone’s attention. You gulped as you saw him grabbing the cloth, holding it up for him to get enough space as he got under the table, careful to maintain the distance with anyone who’s not you, crawling close to your knees with a sinister smirk on his face. You gasped then second his hands separated your legs, and you cursed yourself for wearing a dress tonight.

Jaemin knew he wasn’t allowed to take off your panties, you had made that very clear beforehand, so he simply settled down between your thighs and got closer, his glossed up lips brushing against your inner thigh, leaving a soft kiss right on the same spot, followed by many more as he peppered open mouthed kisses all over, but not where you needed him the most.

“Where did Jaemin go?” Mark asked two minutes after the disappearance of Jaemin, unaware of the activity that was taking place under the table, “oh—he went to the washroom,” you managed to speak up with a shaky tone and he nodded in understanding, “ah—I didn’t even notice him leaving,” he laughed and you laughed back, stopping the second you felt Jaemin’s tongue on your lace panties, right on your clit.

You didn’t allow him to take the panties off, but you sure as hell didn’t say anything about him doing stuff to you while you were wearing them.

You bit on your food a little too hard as he pressed his lips against your clothed cunt, the lace allowing his spit to penetrate easily, causing the fabric to be wet instantly. He tried not to groan with how good you tasted as he pressed his tongue harder, lapping up the taste of you as much as he could, his warm breath fanning your cunt as he pushed the fabric of your panties aside, giving your wet pussy a sloppy kiss, caressing it with his fingers.

He didn’t care about being caught, the thought only made him harder. Jaemin had always been a bit of a freak, and he happily embraced the title, immersing himself as he attached his mouth to your clit, sucking on it as his fingers prodded your entrance, rubbing circles on your slit before pushing two digits in, curling his fingers inside to give you the most unadulterated pleasure he could while still lapping at your juices, almost as if he was drunk in your essence.

Your orgasm was so close as you spread your legs wider to give him more space, his strong arms holding your legs open as they started shaking, and you tried your best to keep up with the conversation happening around the table.

Jaemin was enthusiastic. If someone were to ask him to note down his favourite activities to do, then your name would be on top of that list, and it showed with how eagerly he pressed his face to your cunt, making you see white as you almost toppled over with how good it felt as you reached your high, granting Jaemin with the utmost pleasure of tasting how good he made you feel.

He’d pull the panties back to their place, leaving you all wet as he’d smile at your shaking legs, his eyes almost dazed as he wiped his chin, but not his lips.

He wanted to have the taste of you on his lips, the glossy appearance only made it look as if Jaemin had put on too much lip balm—which was a normal thing for him.

He made sure to be discreet as he got out and sat down on the chair again, successful as no one caught him, his smile only widening when you looked his way, your lip a little swollen with how hard you bit it to conceal your moans.

“Ay dude! When did you come back? Where did you disappear to?” Mark asked, wondering if he was that oblivious to miss Jaemin twice, but he only smirked, licking his bottom lip as he spoke up, maintaining eye contact with you.

“Just went out to get my lip balm.”

permanent taglist: @jaeminvore @hoondrop @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[torukmaktoskxawng]

Hi I love your work! Would you have any sfw + nsfw relationship headcanons for So’lek x fem Sarentu Na’vi? I’m playing AFoP right now and I’m looking for crumbs in every in-game interaction lol

Pairing: So'lek/Fem!Sarentu!Reader

Taglist: @mooniequeen @avatar-lover @neteyamsyawntu

Warnings: nsfw (will be under the cut), minors dni

A/n: Using my favorite picture I ever took while playing AFoP 💕 Imagine that's how he looked when you walked into the room.

Also, my first headcanon request! Yay!

~~~~~~~~~

Sfw:

This man trusts you with his life and therefore trusts you are safe and loyal to him, no matter how far or how long you two are apart. (Doesn't mean he trusts Eetu to keep his overconfident hands to himself)

You're constantly traveling and never in one place for long, and while he used to be the same way, he finds himself staying in a chosen few places for long periods of time so that you can easily find him.

While he isn't much for PDA, he's still Na'vi, and he is going to grab your tail, both publicly and privately.

After losing his own clan, he understands exactly what you need to finally and properly mourn the loss of the Sarentu. He gives you what he wished he could've accepted from others after the loss of his people.

Doesn't like it when people tease him about your love. He takes your relationship very seriously and doesn't see the teasing as lighthearted. Priya learns quickly that he's more broody if your relationship comes up in the conversation.

And it's not like he's ashamed of your relationship. He's very proud of it, thank you very much. Even though he isn't into PDA, he still properly courts you in Na'vi tradition like you deserve. He wants you to experience Na'vi traditions since you never had them growing up.

He forces himself to appreciate the Sky People's communication devices because they ease his worries when he's able to talk to you from long distances. Yes, he trusts you to be safe, but he can't trust the rest of Pandora to do the same.

Takes his role as Big Brother to the rest of the Sarentu (Ri'nela, Nor, and Teylan) very seriously since you clearly trust him to guide your family when you're traveling and away from home.

Nsfw (minors dni):

I've said it once, and I'll say it again, this man has ZERO shame when he's eating you out. He's hungry, and he's messy. He's not gonna care how loud or disgusting it sounds.

I wouldn't be surprised if he spent a whole night with his mouth between your legs. I doubt this man has had any action during his life of solitude and path of revenge, so he's going to make up for lost time. If he's craving your taste, you better let him ravage you.

He's one of those lovers who refuses to pleasure himself unless it's to pleasure you, your care and well-being first and foremost in his mind. He doesn't care if it physically hurts not being able to cum, he's going to make sure you cum first. Please please PLEASE give him just as much attention because he deserves it. 🙏

When you two finally mate and form tsaheylu, he's supporting your weight as he takes you up against the nearest tree, being as gentle as physically possibly even with your gummy walls hugging his cock so deliciously. It takes a lot of his strength and willpower not to rail you right away. Since you're bonding for the first time, he wants it to be prolonged and intense. He wants to take his time.

Another reason why he sometimes refuses to cum is because believe it not, he doesn't have a breeding kink. At least not yet. He's not oblivious of the world around you, and even in his frenzied need to have every part of you, he remembers the war and how it's no place to start a family, no matter how much the both of you might want it.

He refuses to budge on the matter, and you need to respect that boundary. So you try other ways to get him to cum. Having him fuck you between the thighs was the best idea since the human invention of sliced bread. He. Loves. It. You have to hold onto his tail because it's always thrashing wildly behind him as he grinds his leaking cock into the tight space where you clench your thighs.

This man has been so deprived that when he cums, he cums a lot. A LOT. It's a shame none if that goes inside you 🫣 what a shame.

Growls. Enough said.

Actually, no, not enough said. Growls between your legs and the vibration puts toys to shame.

Mating bites 🫦 but they're mostly hidden between your thighs, under your loincloth. You definitely feel them as you walk around, and that is one of the little things in life between you and him that gets So'lek to smile.

~~~~~~~~~

I will happily write more about this!

RULES

REQUEST

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

[thragedys]

CATCH A MOVIE

Sol x Reader

Synopsis: As planned yesterday, you, Sol, and Hyugo arranged to spend some quality time together. Just as you were about to reach the meet-up destination, you are stopped. It appears that plans have changed.

Word count: 3k

Includes: Sol x Gender neutral reader, implied heavy topics (if you have played the game, you will understand what is being referred to), soft Sol, kissing, disrupted intimacy

A/N: i recently purchased the kid at the back vn and adore it! very excited to see what it holds in the future

Planned the day before, you arranged to meet up with Hyugo and Sol on the rooftop for lunch. It’s becoming part of your routine, slowly distancing yourself from your past habits. As the seminar is dismissed, you quickly speed through the crowds of people, making your way up the stairs. Every step caused a creek, a snap, and potentially a crunch. This building is falling to pieces. Reaching the final few steps, you lean to grab the door handle.

…?

An arm extended from behind grabs you, prompting you to stiffen. With furrowed brows, you turn to meet the owner of the hand clutching yours, nerves settling as the familiar green hair sways all negative thoughts from your mind. Sol gazes at you from a lower step, his lips curving up as he watches your eyes soften.

“I thought you’d be out there.” You point to the door with your left hand, since your right is currently held captive by his.

“Change of plan,” Sol speaks clearly, his posture straighter than usual. His confidence is seemingly shining today.

“Did something happen?”

“What? No. Hyugo is… busy.”

The hesitation on the word “busy” suggests that what Sol has told you is not exactly the truth—or at least close to the full extent.

“He’s busy?”

“Yeah, busy. He told us to hang out without him, he’ll join us later.”

“Oh, all right then! What do you have in mind?”

“You told me you wanted movie recommendations, right?”

“I believe I did.”

“Well, I thought it’d be nice to… Watch one with you, like I said I would. My favorites are quite old, so��”

“Will they still be screened in the cinema?”

“About that. I have DVD collections at home, plus, it’ll be more comfortable. What do you think?”

Sucking your bottom lip in, you cross your arms and take into consideration his offer. Since your day is practically over, you have nothing better to do with your time. Due to what’s happening in the city, the better option is to not be alone.

“Okay, why not? It’ll be so much fun! I wonder what your place looks like.”

“It’s nothing fancy. Nothing like yours.” Forgetting himself, he pauses. A hot flush spread across his cheeks as he grabbed your forearm and dragged you down the stairs, continuing his sentence.

“—Your apartment building seems a lot nicer than mine is what I was supposed to say.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. It doesn’t matter where you live as long as you’re safe and have a roof over your head.” You smile at him, an innocent sparkle in your eyes.

“You’re too sweet.”

“A little bit of kindness can take you a long way.”

“There are a lot of people who prey on that kindness out here. Sometimes it’s better to be selfish.”

“As long as I have someone by my side, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll always be—”

Before you could reach the exit, a voice called out from the distance. You spin your head and see Crowe with a pile of books held close to his chest, a pleasant expression on his face. Unlinking your fingers from Sol’s, you hear a scoff. His eyes burn with envy as he glares at Crowe from across the hall, his presence alone repulsing him. You walk towards him and Sol follows closely behind, barely leaving any space between your bodies.

“Hello again.” Crowe greets you, his gaze flicking up to Sol who looms over you.

“Hi! Are you okay?” You scrunch your brows together as you notice Crowe’s features contort into an unreadable emotion.

While it may appear as a mystery to you, from Crowe’s point of view, all he can see above you is the lasering hatred burning through his flesh, straight through his bones.

“Never mind. I’ll talk to you soon, you look busy.”

“We’re not in a ru—”

“Let’s go.”

Sol seems eager. There’s no need to stand around when the conversation is no longer ongoing. His fingers tap against your knuckles and your fist unclenches, allowing him to lock his hold. Firmly.

Deciding to leave that incident unquestioned, the walk back to Sol’s place was filled with conversation. His tone shifted from eerily deep to his usual, soothing voice.

Despite his earlier claims, his apartment building is far from shabby. With the way he made it out to be, you expected his living conditions to be much worse. His room is on the third floor, tucked way back down the hallway. When the door opened, you could instantly recognise who this home belonged to.

It was dark, curtains limiting any spot of sunlight from shining in. There were a few paint supplies littered all over the place—nothing overly messy. You slip your shoes off and hang your jacket by the entrance. Sol disappeared, likely into the bathroom or his bedroom. Wherever he is, it’s not your concern.

You should never snoop around someone else’s home, even if you’re far more than curious about a person.

Falling onto the sofa, your eyes dart to a notebook left on the arm. A few pieces of paper hang loosely out, all pages crumpled. Just as you are about to pick it up, footsteps catch your attention as he returns. His eyes subtly drift from your face to the book he carelessly left out, almost cursing himself for the situation he could’ve wound up in even if he were a second later.

“You can go into my bedroom, that’s where the TV is.” Sol musters a smile, forcing his lips to twist up as he slips past you and subtly relocates the book.

“Should I take my clothes off?”

“Wh—” His mouth opens partially, a violent pink spread across his cheeks, threatening to reach his ears if he doesn’t dispel the thoughts that just entered his mind.

“Ah! I meant because I’ve worn these clothes all day, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to sit on your bed in them. If you have any spare, I wouldn’t mind changing.”

“Yeah… I’ll get you some.” It wasn’t something that he initially planned, but since you were the one who suggested it, who would he be to deny you?

Entering his bedroom, you take your time to look around. Some posters, a few albums, artwork—nothing you wouldn’t expect out of the ordinary from a regular man. Rummaging through his wardrobe, he pulls out a sweater he knows he has worn recently. His scent is trapped in the fabric since he has yet to tend to his laundry pile.

“Do you have any pants?” You add, cuddling the sweater tightly.

“It’ll be long enough to cover you. You can get under the blanket too.” Sol tilts his head askew, analysing your figure before you step out to strip.

It’ll be hard to process that he has you in his bed. Hard to resist. Hard to forget.

Upon your return, the sleeves of his sweater extend over your hands. It covers you well, rather skimpy, but nothing is revealed. He pats the mattress and you climb on, settling down on his pillows as he holds up the disk which contains the unknown movie.

“Do you want to take any guesses?”

“Uh, one of the Conjurings?”

“Session 9. Kind of underrated; it’s still good though.”

He inserted the disk into the DVD player and clicked start on the remote. It began, seemingly harmless like the beginning of a majority of horrors. Cautiously, Sol edges closer to you, slipping his arm around you and pulling you into his embrace. Your frame melted to his almost perfectly, your chin tilting up to see his features.

That put him in a tough position. Those eyes made his heartbeat spike, his body riddled with a chill. Lifting his hand, he held you in his palm, rotating your head to view you from a variety of angles. Your beauty does not decrease, no matter the position or amount of light that illuminates you.

“Is this scary?” You motion towards the TV, but he hums.

“Fear is subjective,” Those half-lidded eyes cause your body to heat up, his cheeks permanently tinted with a twinge of color. “But you have nothing to worry about.”

That was enough to reassure you. Along with his hands tightly wrapped around your waist, and the rhythmic sound of his heart beating close to your ear as you rest your head against his chest.

The movie played out, the psychological horror unfolding. It was perfectly directed, enough to invoke the correct amount of fear and curiosity, almost begging to discover more despite the eerie atmosphere of the asylum. While your attention was glued to the screen, his was stuck on you.

“Come on…” He mumbled to himself, his thumb pressed at the corner of your mouth.

“Hm?”

…

That look spoke for itself. His thumb slid across your bottom lip, pulling it down and letting it spring back up. If Sol wasn’t so handsome, perhaps it would be easier to suppress the feeling rising in your core. The movie drags on as background noise, losing yourself as he leans closer.

“You have scratches on the back of your hand.”

“Forget about them. They aren’t relevant.” His smile was pleasant, easing your investigative nature down before you could interrogate him. “We should do this more often. I like this. Seeing you in my clothes and all. You look comfy.”

“I’m really happy when I’m with you. I usually worry a lot when I’m alone, but—”

“I promise that you will never be alone even when you feel like you are. Stop letting all those negative thoughts into your pretty little head.”

“Sol will always come and save me if I’m ever in danger.” You grin, watching his smile transition to a smirk.

“Save you, yeah? That sounds good.” He rests his lips on your forehead, securing a peck before pulling back. “I’ll never need to save you again though. Fuck all of that, I’ve learned from those mistakes. You will never leave my sight.”

Your eyes widen as his nose presses against yours, gently rubbing them together. It was intimate yet also affectionate, an ideal combination to weaken you further. Though he was not immune, he was also crumbling.

“If you keep me safe, I’ll look out for you too. In any way I can.”

“You don’t need to, but I know what you’re like. You’ll do it either way.”

“Where are your plushies?” Your breath hits his face and he closes his eyes momentarily before reaching behind the pillows and pulling one out.

“I hid them, they’re here. This is my pony that Hyugo couldn’t keep his mouth shut about.” The plushie is clearly in well-loved condition, likely a source of comfort for Sol when he felt he had no one else to rely on.

“It’s very cute. It’s lucky.”

“Is it?”

“It gets to cuddle you. Probably every night.”

“You…” Sol can’t help but beam, his face a bright shade as he places the pony under his chin. “If you want to cuddle me every night, I’m not the one stopping you. Feel free.”

“I don’t get a lot of opportunities to.”

“We can make some opportunities then. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great plan. I’ll be waiting for more details.”

“When I cuddle,” Sol shifts, his hands on both sides of you, trapping you under him. “I like to get all of my emotions out. That’s something you should know.”

“I can handle that.”

“Can you?”

It didn’t sound like a question, more so a challenge. Pulling down the neckline of your sweater, he revealed the crook of your neck. Two of his fingers lightly rub against the faint bruise, almost captivated at the mark he left on you. You didn’t even know it was there, but he did.

He’ll make sure you know this time.

Dipping down, he connected his lips with the damaged skin. Your body shuddered from the sudden contact, his hand slowly travelling to your arm to pin you to the mattress. He opens his mouth, instinctively latching his teeth to you. It stung. The force his jaw clamped down on you was something you weren’t expecting, causing a cry to flee from your lips.

He wants this mark to stay. He’ll make sure it never has the opportunity to fade.

“Sol—”

Recognising that breathy call, he is quick to replace his rough actions with desperate kisses. Inhaling your scent only drove his urges wilder. It was almost animalistic, pure desire and drive. The way his tongue swirled around your wound almost felt like an apology for breaking through your skin.

When he pulled away, he smiled down at you. A display of sincere adoration. Your chest heaved, matching his. Breaths filled the silence of the room, the movie paused while the remote was discarded from the bed. Hoisting the blanket back, Sol revealed your legs which are tightly pressed together.

“Did it feel good?”

“Mm…” An agreeing sigh.

Prying your legs apart, he moves between them. Your face is cupped in his tarnished hands which somehow remained soft to the touch. You wondered how his lips would feel against yours, if they were soft too. It’s hard to deny the rouse of your emotions, your body is begging for something more.

It seemed like he read your mind, or perhaps your body language. His lips forced their way to yours, overpowering you in all physical ways. He was devouring you, craving you to silence the anguish he had been enduring.

It’s just not fair. You’re his, aren’t you? Why should he have to watch as other people attempt to make their moves on you? It enraged him, they have no respect. You were never anyone else’s, only his.

His hands began to tremble, the full weight of his body collapsing on top of yours. You were gasping for air, stealing his since he refused to take his lips off of you for even a second. The cool material of his piercings contrasted with the warmth emitting from his body, making all hairs rise.

He couldn’t believe you were kissing him back. It’s so different when you’re awake.

The rattle of the front door was unbeknownst to you both, too endeavoured with tending to one another’s needs. Sheets rustle, hardly audible moans trapped inside of the locked bedroom door. Another world created, separated from regular life.

“Guess who! It’s been such a crazy day. I hope you didn’t miss me too much.” Hyugo calls out to both of you and is met with silence.

“Hellooo?”

“Sol? Did you go out without me?” He whines as he takes his shoes off and struts through the apartment. “You wouldn’t ditch me without telling.”

Noticing the locked door, Hyugo pokes his tongue to the side of his cheek as he fiddles with the lock. It didn’t take much for the weak door to open, revealing Sol lurking over your body. His hands under the sweater that covers you groping your flesh, his lips still joined to yours as the collective grunts are now freed.

“Oh, gross! What the hell?!” Hyugo’s eyes widen as he exclaims in shock, causing Sol to go still.

“Shit…” He murmurs, placing his forehead against yours with a disappointed glint in his gaze. “Hyugo.”

“You could’ve told me. I called out way more than three times!”

“You did?” Sol’s hands savour a final grip on your chest before agonizingly sliding out from under the fabric.

“Duh! I thought something might have happened to you two, but I was wrong. Clearly.”

“Sorry… We’ll make it up to you, I promise.” You glance over at Hyugo and he scoffs, covering his eyes with his hand.

“What? Are you both going to fund the therapist I’ll need after walking in on whatever that was?”

“Hyugo,” Sol snickers, rolling off of you and lying down by your side. “You can sit down.”

“Do I want to sit on that bed after what you’ve just been doing?” The plastic bag in Hyugo’s clutch rustles as he plops onto the mattress, keeping his distance from both figures present.

“Anyway. I got what you asked for, and I also got us all a gift.” Hyugo opens the bag and pulls out a fresh sketch pad for Sol, as well as a miniature pony plush, similar to his bigger one.

“This one is for you.” Hyugo passed you a teeny black kitten, its eyes almost bigger than its face. You make sure to thank him and he nods.

“I got myself a giraffe because it looked cute. Oh, yeah. I also got this. It’s like I have built-in sensors.”

Hyugo reveals the last item in the bag, a box of condoms, and slides them over Sol’s way. His face glows a bright shade of fuschia and his eyes darken, shooting daggers through Hyugo’s teasing being. Sol leans over you and shoves them into his bedside table drawer, simmering with embarrassment as he notices your flushed expression.

“Well? Are we gonna watch the movie or what? I’m sure it can’t be scarier than what I just saw.”

“Enough.” Sol reprimands him, pointing down to the remote which remains on the floor close to Hyugo.

“Oh, you were really into it, huh?”

“Hyugo!”

In response to Sol’s yell, his devious chuckle rings out. The DVD begins where it left off and the remote is returned to the centre of the mattress. You remained in Sol’s embrace, his arms securing you to his broad frame.

Time slips away, the end credits of the movie rolling out leaving Hyugo with more questions than he initially intended to depart with this evening. He places his bowl of popcorn down and speaks.

“I’m confused by the ending.” Hyugo huffs, reaching for the remote to switch to a new channel.

With a peek from the side of his eye, he found you and Sol passed out, fast asleep in each other’s arms. He pokes Sol’s cheek a few times—neither one of you has plans of becoming conscious anytime soon judging by his brief assessment.

It was sweet in a way. Hyugo’s heart warmed seeing Sol with you, he seemed so content. A pleasant change from his usual stoic expression—he’s at peace. Before escorting himself out, he was sure to drape the blanket over your bodies. Someone has to take care of the two of you. As long as Sol has you, Hyugo could rest peacefully knowing his vulnerable heart is in a safe place.

[ryomens-vixen]

Yandere!Gojo Satoru -Drabble?

❤️‍🩹 CW: Gojo is a Warning, Cheating, Slight NSFW, Yandere Tendencies, threats, dub/noncon?

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 🤷🏾‍♀️girl idk...no wc today.

❤️‍🩹 Author's notes: This was COMPLETELY out of no where, I was bored and instead of finishing this Toji fic I randomly decided to write Yandere Gojo. So enjoy and don't ask me to write for Gojo 🙄 this is a one time thing...

I don't think y'all understand how TERRIFYING yandere Gojo could actually be- like I'm not a Gojo girlie, but I pay attention to him enough to know this nga is real deal terrifying. Like let's say you and him had a bad break up and he pops up at your house after you blocked him on everything, trying to explain himself and you close the door in his face. Now the RATIONAL thing to do would just be to leave. But Satoru? Chile his only rational thoughts are he either hollow purple the house or simply teleport inside and continue where he left off. Cause what the fuck does he look like letting you go?

Nah, he'll teleport in the house and of course scare tf outta you- and whatchu gone do about it? Nothing, you can't even touch this man. Like yeah you can scream, shout, throw shit at him all you want, but it's not like you can touch the nga. You gone hear him, you gone listen to every word he has to say and even if you do decide to reject his advances he WILL stay in your house, all up in your face, all up in your bed, eating your food, etc. He's gonna make you take him back whether you like him or not, but you not leaving him. Whatchu gone do? He's the strongest, nobody can step to him except Suguru, but where is he? Nobody knows. So really all you can do is deal with him being there, annoying you, trying to talk your panties off, the mood swings I mean really you have to watch what you say to him cause his cheerful mood can switch to unhinged so quick and you know exactly how bad he can get so it's better to just play along with him until you're no longer mad at him.

I mean just the other day he told you he loved you so much but you- you clearly forgot who you were dealing with and slipped up saying you didn't love him. Now why would you slip up and say that to him? Now he's all eerily quiet and you were standing there washing the dishes like you didn't just piss off a monster? Next thing you know he's got your head in the dish water and his dick buried in your pussy, His blindfold restricting your hands, every now in then he feels you pushing your head against his hand he pulls your head up from the water only to ask you in a serious tone of you love him or not. Now... There's a right answer for everything so even if you didn't love him it would be very.. Wise to say you do- unless you want this blue eyed, white haired demon to drown you?

Or the time he caught you swiping on tinder? Are you out of your mind? You have to be- ain't no way you forgot who's in your house. Gojo had half a mind to trap you in his infinite void for a second, but listen- he's trying, he's trying to not be so impulsive, trying to communicate better, trying to not show you how weak you are compared to him. He tried to communicate to you how much it hurts him to see you on tinder, and what did you say to him?

"We're not together so it doesn't matter, Satoru. "

It's something wrong witcho dumbass like do you just forget how much danger you're in fuckin around with Gojo? THEE strongest? The Six Eyes? Head of the Gojo Clan? Now you're sitting here wondering why you can't breathe and seeing stars. He literally took you're phone and shattered it, now he's knocking the Sonic Rings out your pussy. Do you still wanna keep playing with this man? Because after this you're sure as hell going to watch what you say or do around him now.

Only after you get done getting the Chaos Emeralds knocked out your pussy. I mean he is ruthless, turning your ever which way but loose, knees always behind your heads while he's quite literally bullying your cervix, but the way that you're a babbling mess underneath him turned him on even more, but I guess that's you're fault you should have watched what you said, and now here you are getting stuffed to the brim with his cum, those bright blue eyes, that crazied smile stretched across his face, forcing you to make eye contact with him. Gojo enjoyed seeing that expression you were making, he knows he's the only only who could ever fuck you like this, his dick is the best you've ever had nobody could compare to him no matter how mad you were.

"That's right baby, you're my girl, aren't 'cha? Mine, Mine, Mine. You.. Fuck.. You and this pussy mean so much to me!"

"Say it, Y/N, Say you love me baby, say it, say it, say it!"

"Fuck- This pussy s'good, s'good baby, just for me."

"You'll t-take me back, be a family again, you'd like that wouldn't you? Putting a fuckin baby in you- wouldn't you?!"

Out of everything he said that's the only thing that caught your attention, your panic? You were never ready for a baby- But what were you gonna do? Deny him? You've already fucked up denying him a relationship, Yeah he cheated, but in your current situation was it really ever that deep? He never showed his crazy until now and too be honest it was scary and arousing at the same time. But you had to come back to earth before he ACTUALLY baby traps you. Maybe tricking him into giving you a break? You had just the idea, asking him in strangled moans to let you ride it, damn near begging.

Surprisingly- it did work, you were engaging with him instead of fighting against him, Gojo thought to himself as he sat up pulling you on of him. His demeanor seemed a bit more cheerful than deranged like earlier. But now that you've come back to your senses and realized who you're fucking with.. It was time to play along, maybe even reason with him. Once you were on top of him finally able to catch your breath- your fingers interlaced with his, impatient as ever he bucked his hips up into you making you plead with him to wait a second.

*Pant* "Sa- Satoru wait, just a second lemme talk!"

He looked so annoyed, so irritated with you, but way not he'll bite.

"Fine, what more important than me putting this fat cock in your stomach?" Oh that devious look only his face.

"Satoru, you're right, I do wanna get back together, I was just being jealous, Toru- I wanna fix us before we ever consider having a baby, okay? Please?" God he loved the way you pleaded with him, even saying please? Man it made his dick jump, but it also mad him so happy, you wanted to be with him again.

You watched his facial expressions in worry since he hadn't said anything yet. That was until he bucked his hips into you again ... Repeatedly. But at least he had on his usual joyful expression- he seemed happy now. Nothing could ruin it just as long as you were cautious about the things you say or do. There's no use in being petty or angry with him because will always without missing beat show you his crazy.

But you should be glad you don't live in an apartment, because babeh.. The noise complaints y'all would be getting right now, I mean the headboard is literally banging against the wall. Your screams were nothing to talk about either you two were being so loud right now, you were his again and even though he didn't respond to your statement beforehand, his actions would surely speak for him. Like instead of his baby trapping you Gojo pulls out cumming all over your stomach and himself.

"My Girl.. Now how about we try for a baby when you move in with me tomorrow?" He said so cheerfully like it was nothing.

"HUH?!"

Yeah... Gojo Satoru was insane and you're the only person that has EVER seen this side of him. You're stuck with this monster now, but at least his dick is good, right?

Tags: no tags this time we'll see what the algorithm does with this and again do not bother asking me to write more Gojo I literally hate this dude. 💕

[atopvisenyashill]

what do you think of waymar 😭 george wanted us to dislike him?

no, i don’t think george wants us to dislike him at all! rather, i think waymar is our introduction to the themes george is most fond of - the arrogance of the noble class, the concept of a true knight, and the randomness of death.

our introduction to waymar royce is kind of quintessential spoiled little lordling. his clothes is too fancy, he’s dismissive of the smallfolk who clearly know better than him, he’s got that shiny knighthood but he’s not all that impressive, he doesn’t even have the right type of horse for ranging! he mocks both gareth and will, despite them being more experienced than him, and despite gareth being an “elder” of a sort. for waymar, the idea that gareth could have a better understanding of the situation is unthinkable. when gareth tells the story of frostbite in an attempt to get waymar to turn back, waymar dismissed him wholesale. he leads them, unknowingly, to their doom because he is simply too arrogant to see the sense in what gareth is saying. not only is that entire dismissive attitude prevalent in the story, but someone marching themselves and several innocents straight to their doom over their pride is a HUGE issue throughout the series as well. just as varys says - it is always the innocent, the peasantry, who suffer the most and here, poor gareth and will are forced to pay a price for the foolishness of someone they KNOW is less experienced.

and then the others come.

There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Ser Waymar met him bravely. "Dance with me then." He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night's Watch.

The Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. They fixed on the longsword trembling on high, watched the moonlight running cold along the metal. For a heartbeat he dared to hope.

He won’t win this fight. He knows it, the Others know it, and Will knows it. But the fact that Waymar has doomed himself and his men to death doesn’t matter here; what matters is that he doesn’t give up! When faced with a monster from a story book, an impossible nightmare, Waymar picks up his sword and he fights, and for a moment, Will has hope.

That’s why it’s Waymar in the prologue. He’s not an exemplary sort of man, he’s not particularly smart or skilled or kind or even overly cruel or stupid. He is a very normal, common type of man who led a very normal life until this moment. But he still tries.

And so does poor Will! And so does Gared! Will is terrified as he hides in the trees, watching Waymar fight and die, knowing that going to help will just get them both killed. He’s not particularly brave, but I would say he’s smart! Genre savvy even, when he knows the fight is hopeless and makes the decision to keep hidden and fight another day. Gared flees (and it’s interesting that we have the theee main fear responses here - fight, hide, and flee) but he’s so traumatized by what he’s seen that as he’s questioned he can’t give a good, clear answer. And then he’s uselessly, needlessly killed by our shining example of chivalry and honor in Ned Stark, his head kicked like a toy by Theon Greyjoy. As Jon says, he only dies “well” because he’s shell shocked - he is confused and deeply afraid in his last moments.

the three of them - gared, will, and waymar - are the entire series diluted down to one chapter, to three unextraordinary men. but with them lies a lot of the point of the whole story. and waymar specifically, for me, is about all those moments of bravery in the face of unbeatable odds. he’s a very normal, very flawed person who reaches down deep in himself and finds something good and brave at the very end.

[hihhasotherfixations]

Kinktober Day 6: Cockwarming - Price x Reader

Kinktober masterlist

CW: gn!reader, cockwarming(obv), power play (captain/sir kink), bit of voyeurism (ish) cause you get walked in on, threat of getting caught

I’m quite happy with this one :3

Word Count: 1359

Breathing out slowly, you were trying to focus on the papers in front of you, your eyes hazy and your breath coming out stuttered.

“Come on, right here.” A deep voice rumbled from behind you, tapping at a paragraph on the paper. “Pay attention now, darling.”

And just from his words, you could hear the smirk on his face.

This was supposed to be a quiet afternoon finishing paperwork. Yet your captain had had other plans, knocking on your office door and walking inside with a confidence that had your mouth dry in an instant.

And now here you were, his cock nestled deep inside you while you sat on his lap.

“John-“ You whimpered but that earned you a warning tap on the outside of your thigh.

“Manners. Come now, you know what to say.” He purred into your ear, his lips tracing the shell of it while his left hand moved to your front, starting to toy with you, which had you clamp up around him, a wanton moan escaping your lips.

“C-Captain.” You tried again, this time getting an approving hum. He was listening. “I can’t focus like this.” You begged in a whisper and Price chuckled, kissing behind your ear.

“It’s why we need to practice. You must be able to keep focus out in the field no matter what. You clearly can’t.” He spoke, pinching his left hand which had you jolting on top of him.

“I-I can, just not with this.” You whimpered and Price hummed, leaning forward to press his front to your back, shifting his hips up into you, slotting himself even deeper into your tight heat.

“Which is why you need this exercise. Now come on, focus.” He spoke, tapping the paper again.

You whimpered but did as he said, focusing back on the paper, though it was even harder than before now that he was teasing you on both ends.

Biting your lip, you picked the pen back up, feeling Price shift with you to look over your shoulder, still pressed so tightly against you. As he did however, the head of his cock pressed tight against your walls, making you whimper at the white hot pleasure that shot up your spine.

“Keep going.” Price encouraged and you nodded, breathing heavily as you felt your body heat up more and more.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and your head shot up.

“Lieutenant? Do you have those reports about the last mission?” Gaz’s voice came through and your heart leapt into your throat in panic.

Immediately, you tried to get off of Price but the man was faster, tightly gripping your right thigh while his left hand shot up to hold your waist, keeping you pinned down on his lap.

“Don’t you make a peep now, love.” The man whispered into your ear, pushing the desk chair forward so that your lower halves were both hidden by the desk completely. “And you better do something about that flush.” He smirked, kissing your cheek before turning to the door. “Come on in, Gaz. It’s almost ready.”

In a panic, you reached for the camo-print bandana that decorated your desk, slamming it over your mouth and nose and tying it at the back of your head in record time, right as Gaz opened the door.

“Oh, you’re both in here, captain?” The sergeant spoke, his eyes landing on you very obviously sitting on the man’s lap.

It was no secret within the 141 that you and the captain were dating, the boys even making a sport out of it to catch you two or get you two in awkward positions.

And there was none more awkward than this, even if Gaz was unaware.

“Are you okay, lieutenant? With the-“ He finished his sentence by pointing to his face, referring to the bandana you were now sporting.

“That’s my mistake I’m afraid, Gaz.” Price chuckled, throwing you a bone. “I smoked before this.”

Nodding in understanding, Gaz chuckled. “You torturing your own lover then?” After all, he knew first-hand how strong the smell of Price’s cigar could be, lingering on the man for at least twenty minutes after he smoked.

“Don’t get cheeky. I already have to deal with a stubborn bastard.” Price knocked the side of his head into yours at that, tugging at your bandana and you blushed even harder, for while he talked so casually, his right hand was squeezing and fondling your thigh, moving inward.

“Sorry, sir.” Gaz grinned, not in the least bit sorry and Price hummed, knowing.

“Have a seat. Should be done in a minute.”

With that, Gaz sat down in the chair opposite your desk while Price leaned in, his cock - thick and stretching you out beyond belief - pushing against your walls in a way that had your eyes nearly roll back in your head.

It had been too long of this, being filled up but unable to move, not even allowed to pleasure yourself, causing every single move and twitch to rocket your sensitivity up to sky-level.

“Sorry about this, Kyle.” You managed to mumble while you picked up your pen. To him, it was just an apology for the wait. But for you, it was an apology for the situation your very own captain placed the both of you in.

As you focused on the text on the paper, Price’s hand began its path back up, rubbing your inner thigh before creeping higher and higher, making a shiver run up your spine that had you clenching down on the man.

“You should change the decoration in here.” Gaz then commented, making you painfully aware that he was right there. “It’s starting to look more like the captain’s office than your own.” He mused before smiling cheekily at Price. “That or you need to spend some more time in your own office, cap.”

“Cheeky git.” Price shook his head as Kyle ignored his warning from before, clearly in a teasing mood.

Before Gaz could answer, you slammed your pen down. “There, done. Go ahead and take it and-“ You were picking the paper up to hand it to the sergeant only for Price to grab your wrist.

“Hang on, you missed a bit, darling.” He smiled, making you put the paper back down as he leaned into you, pointing. “Right there.” He spoke it so low directly by your ear, yet what did you in was how he rocked his hips into yours at the last word, disguising the movement with his forward lean.

As fast as you could, you bit down on your tongue, only making the softest of sounds at the back of your throat while your eyes squeezed shut.

“See?” Price hummed, seeming completely unbothered and not for the first time today, you cursed him, pulling the paper back towards yourself where you quickly scribbled the correction into the margin before shoving it over to Gaz.

“Right, thanks.” The young man hummed as he got up, grabbing the report from the edge of your desk. “See you at supper.” He smiled before taking his leave, closing the door behind himself.

The moment the door closed and his footsteps faded away, you tore the bandana off your head and turned around the best you could, ready to rip Price a new one, yet before you could, his lips slammed to yours.

Squeaking, your eyes fluttered shut while Price greedily kissed you, starting to rock his hips for the first time in hours.

Breaking the kiss, he was panting, keeping one hand on your stomach to keep you pressed into himself. “God, you were gripping me so tight. You liked that, didn’t you?” He accused, though from the smile on his face, it was closer to praise.

“You’re an ass.” You managed to whimper out, feeling the man grind his hips up into you.

“You’re an ass, sir.” Price corrected for you, his right hand leaving your thigh to instead grip your chin, making you face him. “Be good and I’ll give you what you’re craving.”

And well, when you’d been so desperate for so long, how could you refuse?

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 2 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 6.7k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 2 ► they say i got no purpose, they say i got no cause, but i’m loved by all my people, i’m the leader of the lost

Tipsy Jungkook was usually known for his wit, maybe his charm, but never great ideas. Hence his plan to win the bet early—and he was certain he would win—as he knocked on the door of your hotel room at eleven-thirty that same night.

The long flight was already far behind him, but it wasn’t behind you as you opened the door of your pitch-dark room only several minutes later. He thought he got the wrong room until he saw you, squinting at the violent light coming in from the hall.

“Jungkook?” you mumbled, too disoriented to understand the pointlessness of your own question. His knock had woken you up from what was supposed to be a ten-second rest of your eyes. “I thought we’d agreed on a text.”

“We did,” he said, suddenly very aware of how difficult it was to choose words now that he was actually standing in front of you. “But I figured I’d report to you live. So, that’s why I’m here.”

“Okay,” you said slowly. Your words felt heavy, your mouth too tired to voice them. “Well, uh—thanks. You should—”

You were already in the process of closing the door of your room, but he grabbed it, startling you. His gaze was cast low, however, and he did not notice the widening of your eyes.

“I was thinking—what if you came down for a drink?” his question was quick as he fought a battle against his sober mind that was catching up to him.

Eventually, he looked up at you. Your eyebrows were rising, then fell quickly as you tried to play your surprise off. It was this look on your face that—finally—gave him a pause.

It caught up—the sober part of him—and he blinked, fully grasping what he was doing and regretting it immediately. He hadn’t really thought he’d come up here, ask you out, and you’d jump at the chance. He knew you wouldn’t. But he supposed that, maybe, against nearly all odds of the years between you, he still had a glimmer of hope that you’d agree, after all.

“How much have you had to drink?” you countered—and whatever hope he’d had dimmed completely.

You wouldn’t have said no to a drink under normal circumstances, but these particular ones were hardly normal. Not to mention, they involved Jungkook’s so-called friends, and you’d have sooner shrivelled from thirst than considered drinking with them.

You assumed Jungkook knew that.

“Barely anything,” he told you truthfully enough. There was, of course, the matter of his brain being clouded, but he figured alcohol had little to do with it. Looking at you more closely, he took in your dishevelled hair and droopy eyes and bit his lip before asking, “did I wake you?”

“No,” you lied, but for a good cause—the protection of your dignity. “Are you feeling alright? Your eye is twitching.”

Looking down again and bringing his fingers over his eyes, he groaned under his breath. This was jetlag. It threw him off his game.

Turning his head sideways to hide his flustered face, Jungkook attempted to get himself together in under a second—and failed, of course. If anything, he only became more aware of your suspicious gaze as he rubbed his eyes continuously.

Fucking Sid and Jude. He’d clearly acted too big-headed in front of them, and now he was outside of your room, having whatever the hell this awkward silence was with you, and his fucking eye was twitching.

He loathed this.

“I’m great,” he said without looking up at you. New plan, new plan, new plan. “Going to bed now. Night.”

He turned so abruptly, it took you a moment to realise that he meant he was going to go to bed right this second.

“Do you want water or—?” you called after him, voice faltering as you lost confidence in your phrasing. Water felt a lot like suggesting turning the device off and on again when it began to malfunction.

You watched Jungkook’s back as he hurried down the hall, shaking his head. He threw one hand up – as a gesture of refusal? Gratitude? Goodbye? You weren’t sure – before disappearing inside of his room down the hall, only daring to peek at you over his shoulder before turning away again.

There were several thoughts in his head, all of them far less eloquent than the one before, full of words starting with “F”. He realised that he couldn’t possibly just ask you out. That was outrageous; you’d knock him unconscious and kick him off the band.

Leaning against the door of his hotel room, he decided he’d have to find an excuse. Some sort of an occasion. Something laid-back, yet serious—something he could present as casual to you, but meaningful to his friends.

His eyes lit up at once. He realised he might have something, hidden in the back of his personal email, long forgotten due to the clashing of schedules. But if he made it work…

He’d have to try, he decided. This might be the only way to get you alone.

Back in the hall, you closed your own door, retreating to your room. You chose to blame the nerves on this barely two-minute-long conversation that had to be one of the weirdest ones the two of you have exchanged over the years.

He was anxious about the tour – it made sense.

You decided that, if this persisted, you’d talk to him the next time you saw him—preferably not in the middle of the night in an empty hotel hallway.

The next time you saw Jungkook was at the restaurant downstairs. It was early in the morning and the staff of the hotel was only preparing the buffet. Everywhere you looked, people were either yawning or dozing off in the eating area.

“Morning,” you announced yourself by the buffet table where the crew and the band were choosing what to put on their plates and chatting with the hotel staff in hopes of some warm cinnamon buns. “Did everyone sleep okay?”

“I left my melatonin spray,” Yoongi mumbled, appearing next to you. His eyes were redder than the shirt he was wearing. “So, no.”

Concerned, you pointed your index finger at him. “You’re coming back to the hotel after the rehearsal for a nap.

He nodded. But before you could add anything else, his slightly shapeless form glided away towards orange juice, putting an end to this exchange. He did that sometimes. He didn’t realise that his perception of the flow of conversation—namely, that it ended—could have differed from the other person’s; didn't realise that they might still have something to say.

With Yoongi gone, you looked over at Hoseok and Taehyung. “What about you? Did you get enough sleep?”

“I’m perfect,” Hoseok said. He’d rather sell both of his arms and a leg than ever admit that something was wrong with him, so you looked at him especially long as he spoke, “can’t wait to get this going. First show tonight!”

His excitement seemed genuine, so you met this palm with yours in a high-five and turned to Taehyung. He’d been standing next to you, chewing something, even though his plate was still empty.

“I’m fine, too,” he said, catching your eye. “I did try to order room service at four in the morning, but they weren’t very—well, it’s my bad in any case. I just wanted a sandwich.”

Your face was compassionate as you patted him on the arm. “Wait until we’re on the bus. We’ll all be cooking ramen at midnight.”

He smiled back wryly. “I’m looking forward to it now, but I know it’ll get old very quickly.”

You were about to agree when you felt someone’s hands on your shoulders. Flinching lightly, you turned your head until you caught sight of Jungkook’s profile.

“If anyone’s wondering,” he said, “I slept fine, too.”

“I was getting to you,” you replied, managing to get yourself out of his grip—graciously enough—so you could face him instead. “Your head’s alright?”

“It’s perfect,” he replied, beaming. “Keep telling you I know how to drink.”

You squinted your eyes, but chose not to question the last conversation you’ve had – he seemed normal enough now.

“Okay. Have a good meal, guys,” you redirected your attention back to the rest of the band—and the staff around them. “We’re leaving in forty-five.”

Most of them nodded—some grunted, too, expressing displeasure at the tight schedule—and you were finally able to grab a plate for yourself.

Jungkook, oddly enough, stayed by your side.

“Try these,” he said before you could ask him why he’d lingered. He picked up two strawberries with a fork and dropped them on your plate. “They’re so much sweeter than what we have back home.”

You looked down at the strawberries like he’d plucked them straight from an alternative universe where this gesture—dropping them on your plate for you to try—was normal.

“I don’t really eat fruit for breakfast,” you mumbled under your breath, the words—like this whole situation—inappropriate somehow.

“You should,” he replied. “They’re good for you. And the strawberries go well with a croissant. Chocolate? Your favourite.”

You stood there, barely blinking, as you watched him fetch a chocolate croissant—your favourite—for you.

He smiled proudly as he did this and even seemed surprised when you asked, “did Sid and Jude drug you last night?”

“Why would they?” Jungkook countered, but did not wait for your response as he pulled you away from the buffet table by tugging on your forearm softly. “Let’s get a seat.”

“Okay, hold on,” you took a step backwards, away from his touch. “What is going on? Are you buttering me up, because you’re going to tell me you’re addicted to meth?”

“What?” he stopped, too, looking at you with as much confusion as you were looking at him with. “Of course not.”

“Are you leaving the band?” you guessed next.

“Hell no.”

“Are you—”

“I am literally walking to get us seats at a table, so we can have breakfast,” he said. “Or, actually, trying to do that. Since you’ve stopped and won’t move.”

Still suspicious, you eyed him for half a minute longer, and then forced yourself to keep walking. He nodded, relieved, and followed your step towards the table.

He sat down next to you, which took Namjoon—one of the producers on tour with you—completely off-guard, because he was the one who usually sat with you when Rated Riot were touring. Out of everyone here, Namjoon was one of the few people—the other ones being Yoongi, the de-facto leader of Rated Riot, and Seokjin, the stage manager—that you could count on to keep everyone in check, so the two of you had a lot to talk about over breakfast.

But this morning was already starting off weird.

Hesitating for a second, Namjoon looked around and sat down on Jungkook’s other side, shooting you a confused look over the band member’s shoulder.

Jungkook didn’t notice, momentarily preoccupied by the waffle on his plate. You shrugged briefly in response to Namjoon and ripped off a piece of your croissant, scattering crumbs everywhere on your plate and the table.

You didn’t feel very hungry, to begin with—the anxiety of the band going on their first European Tour was really showing its’ full face today—but Jungkook acting unusual only made you more unsettled.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke up—bless him—as he, like you, avoided actually eating anything that was on his plate, but kept playing with the stems of his strawberries. “Nervous about tonight?”

“Not more than usual,” Jungkook replied, his tone nonchalant even though you could feel the restless bouncing of his leg against yours under the table. “I know we’ve got a great crew here. We’ll be fine. Right?”

He looked at you as he said this last part—an innocent, expectant smile on his face. But there was a conspicuous glint of mischief in his eye. You couldn’t tell if he was up to something, or just nervous.

“Right,” you said, chewing the piece of the croissant you’ve broken off. It didn’t taste like anything.

“First show’s a sold-out, so that’s a good start of the tour,” Namjoon continued. “Can’t wait to see you guys on stage.”

“Can’t wait to be on it,” Jungkook echoed, his voice empty somehow, until he turned to you. “You’ll be at the soundcheck, right?”

He was watching you again—truthfully, he never even looked at Namjoon; when he spoke to him, he looked down at his plate and only peered at the producer through his peripherals—and you shifted in your seat awkwardly.

“Of course,” you said. “It’s my job.”

“Right,” Jungkook said. “Of course.”

You glanced at Namjoon, your eyebrows furrowed slightly. He looked back at you with an almost identical expression.

“Guys,” was the next thing you heard, followed by a very agitated slam of a plate against your table. Alarmed, you looked up to see Seokjin next to you. “The owner of the venue only speaks Czech. I called, but I could not get any information from him whatsoever. I even tried negotiating in German.”

You lifted your eyebrows, but Namjoon beat you to the most important question at hand, “you speak German?”

Seokjin sat down with a defeated sigh. “I don’t. But I’m desperate. I know how to say hello, I thought it’d break the ice.”

Jungkook watched the exchange in silence, curious. He wasn’t usually present at these backstage meetings where you discussed the logistics of the tour; it all distracted him from his plan.

“I’ll try to talk to him,” you said, wiping your hands on your legs to lose the crumbs. “What do you need to know?”

“Well, everything,” Seokjin replied. “I’m going over there right after breakfast to fix the place for the soundcheck while the guys rehearse, and I don’t even know how many loudspeakers the place has.”

You nodded as you got your phone out of your pocket and considered your next course of action. It was a crisis you expected before you came here—language translation had always been a problem in foreign countries, especially in venues that had terrible internet connection—so you checked your schedule and decided on the simplest way to solve this: teamwork.

“Let’s both go over there,” you said. “We’ll figure out a way to communicate face-to-face.”

Seokjin was mid-nod when Jungkook extended a hand, making everyone freeze.

“Hold on,” he spoke in a rush, “I thought you were coming with me.”

There was offence in his words. You felt Seokjin glance at you and did not need to turn your head to know that the look on his face was questioning—did you have plans with Jungkook this morning?

“I’ll be at the soundcheck,” you spoke slowly. “You hardly need me at the rehearsal, too.”

“I—well I do need you, as a matter of fact,” Jungkook said. Then, responding to the surprise of everyone at the table (Seokjin was actually grinning), he added, “at, uh—at the rehearsal, I mean.”

There was a warmth under your skin that felt prickly and uncomfortable.

“You’ll deal,” you said simply enough and took another bite of your croissant—properly this time, because you had to get going soon.

“And what if I forget the lyrics?” he pushed. “Who is going to yell at me if you’re not there?”

“Yoongi,” you replied, your mouth full, “he’ my befft—” you paused to swallow, “my best replacement.”

Jungkook huffed in exaggerated disappointment, but he dropped the topic, allowing you to finish your breakfast in peace. Instead, he handed you a napkin to help with the chocolate on the corners of your lips, all without a comment.

Another minute later, he watched you and Seokjin leave together. And, with you gone, he realised that he did feel nervous.

One part of the reason why he was by your side this morning was because of the bet, that was true. But the bigger part was because of what he’d said to you – he really did want you there at the rehearsal and at the soundcheck.

Tonight was the first show of the band’s European tour. Your presence made the wait for the concert feel less massive and easier to grasp.

The bet had distracted him, too, and it gave him a reason to talk to you. But now that it was him and Namjoon left at the table, he had to find a way to bite, chew, and swallow, despite his stomach turning inside out.

Namjoon was talking about Prague to him, reading about previous bands that performed at Malá Sportovní Hala before moving on to bigger venues the next time they toured Europe—and all of that only made Jungkook bounce his leg harder.

He decided he couldn’t eat anymore as soon as he finished another waffle. With no one else distracting him from the upcoming concert, he needed to do something himself.

“Excuse me,” he said to Namjoon, who looked up in time to see him stand up with his plate and walk away. The producer thought Jungkook had looked pale, and concluded—like you had last night—that the weirdness of this morning was prompted by anxiety.

Jungkook was someone who had a captivating, effortless stage presence. Someone who put on a show until he collapsed, until he had to be dragged backstage because his legs no longer worked. Or until he climbed on the railing of the balcony and the owners of the venue, witnessing this in horror, went to fetch you, pulling on your sleeve and asking you to put a stop to this, threatening legal measures.

Jungkook performed like every night was his last. But there was so much that went into it: rehearsals, soundchecks, warm-ups, herbal throat remedies, and, most of all, anxiety. He was aware of all the what-ifs—what if my voice cracks, what if I forget the lyrics, what if my in-ear monitor lags—and they all weighed on him.

He worried. He said he didn’t, he laughed and jumped around—and all of his energy was mistaken for excitement, not stress. But he jumped because he couldn’t not jump, his whole body was tingling.

Therefore, wanting to do something else—something that would give him a reason to still feel excited even if he messed up the band’s performance tonight—Jungkook sat down on an armchair in the hotel lobby and pulled his phone out.

It was time to carry out the plan he’d come up with last night in order to win the bet; this would give him something else to focus on.

The plan was this: Kihyun, one of Jungkook’s old friends from university—and, coincidentally, the fiancé of your friend from university, Chloé—was getting married in Paris in a few days. Initially, you and Jungkook both said you couldn’t make it to the wedding because the date coincided with Rated Riot’s tour. But now this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

He'd checked his schedule beforehand, so he knew that the band had a day off right on the day of the wedding. He struggled to calculate travel time, but he figured Poland wasn’t that far from France—you could make it there and back in time for Rated Riot’s next show.

However, this was very last-minute—and he had already sent the pair a wedding gift—so he wasn’t very hopeful as he dialled Kihyun’s phone number. That being said, Jungkook knew he could be persuasive—when he wasn’t drunk and you weren’t standing in front of him in the doorway of your hotel room, that is.

But as it turned out, he didn’t even need to use his charms.

As soon as Kihyun picked up the call, he joked, “Jungkook! Change your mind about the wedding?”

And, after Jungkook admitted that he had, in fact, changed his mind, that he was in Europe, and, actually, he was thinking of bringing you as his date—Kihyun was more than happy to extend you both an invite.

Worriedly, Jungkook asked if Chloé wouldn’t mind, but Kihyun assured him—assured him!—that, if anything,  Chloé would be excited. She was, apparently, hoping to see you again at her wedding and felt bummed when you said you couldn’t make it.

That was enough for Jungkook, but ever-polite Kihyun continued: the fact that you and Jungkook managed to find time in your busy schedule to see them on their special day—Jungkook cringed here, guilt creeping in—meant a lot to them both.

And so, easily enough, the plan swung into motion. Ending the call, Jungkook exhaled in relief as though he’d already invited you—and you’d said yes.

He did want to see his old friends again. And he did, really, want to take you with him—so perhaps he wouldn’t even go to hell for this. And if he would, then perhaps it’d be worth it.

After all, everything fell into place so effortlessly, it seemed like this was meant to be. And now he could go to the rehearsal, do the soundcheck, perform at the show, meet his fans, and win the bet—in this particular order.

You and Seokjin got everything settled faster than you’d expected—the owner of the venue didn’t speak any languages that the two of you spoke, but he seemed to be fluent in pointing-at-yelling, which, coincidentally, Seokjin also excelled at, so it all worked out. You still had some free time left, so you returned to the hotel before the soundcheck.

But as soon as you entered your hotel room, you felt an unsettling sense of guilt somewhere in the pit of your stomach.

What if Jungkook really needed you at the rehearsal? Not because he, clearly, had some sort of ulterior motives—covering up the fact that Sid and Jude recruited him into a cult?—but because he was genuinely nervous or unsure of himself.

It made sense—all the members of the band could have felt this way; tonight was the first show of the tour, after all. It could be that this was the only way Jungkook knew how to approach you, too prideful to ask for help directly. Perhaps you should have taken him more seriously.

Sighing, you turned around and left your room as soon as you came in.

But your journey back to the venue wasn’t smooth – security had changed shifts and there was an unfortunate mishap: you and Seokjin had gotten your credentials mixed up. Somehow, Seokjin managed to enter with your pass, but you, for some reason, couldn’t enter with his.

Half an hour later, you were finally allowed inside and found the band members about ten minutes before soundcheck was supposed to begin.

They were in the hallway leading to the stage, ready to go out—some of them were doing stretches against the wall, others were browsing on their phones while balancing water bottles on their knees.

“Hey,” you approached them from the empty stage while doing a head count to make sure all four of them were here. “How was the rehearsal?”

“The rehearsal? It was fine,” Taehyung was the one closest to you and he was the one who replied. He appeared a little thrown off by your question. You realised you’d never had to ask before—if something went wrong, they usually told you right away. Otherwise, you assumed everything was okay. “Nothing unusual. Why?”

“No reason, just curious,” you replied, hoping your voice sounded neutral enough. “Looking for reasons to worry, I guess.”

“Ah. Well, here comes the usual reason.”

He nodded his head at something behind you and you turned around to see Jungkook cross the stage towards you, dragging a mic stand after him.

“You’re finally here,” he said, stopping by the exit from the stage. “We missed you at the rehearsal.”

Taehyung was picking his bass up from where he’d rested it against the wall when he stopped, suddenly, and lifted his head. “Uh, did we? No offence.”

The question was for Jungkook—who awarded the older boy with a glare—but the last part was for you.

“None—uh, none taken,” you said, then turned to Jungkook. “I was told the rehearsal was fine.”

“Oh, sure,” he replied, “but you know me. I adapt to hardships very well.”

You looked back at Taehyung. “What hardships?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he said. Your gazes ping-ponged back to Jungkook again, almost accusing.

“I mean the hardship of being by ourselves,” Jungkook said in a frustrated voice. As if this was obvious and he felt stupid having to explain this to you. “Unmanaged.”

You raised your eyebrows. “With all this staff with you, you’re hardly ever unmanaged.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there.”

“Okay, honestly, did you need me there?” you asked, directing the question at Taehyung, because you were more comfortable with his responses. They were less cryptic.

Feeling a bit like a third-wheel after the back-and-forth between the two of you, Taehyung looked at you, then at Jungkook, then back at you again.

“No,” he said finally. Then, nodding at Jungkook, he added, “I think he’s doing the job of giving you reasons to worry about.”

Jungkook didn’t open his mouth in time to cut in, and you spoke up first.

“He always is,” you said to the older boy. When you looked at Jungkook, he was already watching you with a face so dramatically displeased that it was clearly an act.

So, he seemed to be doing well, then.

“Get back to work,” you said with a gentle smile—Jungkook needed that smile even if he put up a front. “I’ll be with the sound operators if you really need me.”

The soundcheck and the VIP Meet & Greet afterwards, unsurprisingly, went by without either member of the band needing your assistance, so you were able to have a coffee-and-ice-cream break with Jimin, the lead sound technician on tour. It wasn’t really a break, because Jimin had to be present for the soundcheck, but things were going well, so when he mumbled how nice it’d be to have some ice cream right now, you left to get it.

This wasn’t Rated Riot’s first time doing this, of course – and they may have acted like they had fallen off an alien spaceship sometimes, but, at the end of the day, they were professionals.

You were too busy yourself before the show, so you barely got to exchange more than a few words of good luck with the band. But as soon as the opening act – a rookie band with a fitting title of Poison Tongue, considering how much they cursed in their songs – finished their performance and Seokjin’s team prepared the stage for Rated Riot, you made sure to find a spot on the side of the stage.

It took some effort, too – you tried not to block anyone by the barricade, but also not get in the way of photographers, coursing right by the stage. Especially Maggie, another one of your friends on tour, and easily the boldest photographer here—she wasn’t above hanging off the second-floor balcony to get the perfect shot.

But you couldn’t find her now. Fortunately, when you found a spot by the stage, Luna—Taehyung’s girlfriend—joined you there, so, at least, you weren’t by yourself.

For once, the two of you were able to actually enjoy the concert. Normally, you kept interrupting Luna’s videos as you had to scold Jungkook’s friends for chatting up people who came to watch the show. Tonight, thankfully, Sid and Jude weren’t here – they were picking up Minjun, another one of Jungkook’s friends, at the airport. You hoped they’d get lost on their way back, settle down in Prague, and never bother you again. Poor people of Prague, of course, but maybe they’d be the ones who finally taught them a lesson.

You’ve seen Rated Riot perform countless times at this point: at restaurants, company events, nightclubs, and, eventually, concert venues – but there was nothing about their performances that could have ever made you feel bored.

You filmed them on your phone as Hoseok nearly broke the platform on which he played the drums—with wild screaming in the background—as Taehyung fired water guns at the audience—the screams turned thundering—as Yoongi performed his solo guitar part on his knees—the screaming was ear-splitting—as Jungkook returned for the encore shirtless, his tattooed skin glistening with sweat, his voice hoarse, his eyes burning—the screams were deafening.

The audience sang along to every song, there was never a quiet moment in the concert hall. Objectively, you knew that around 3,000 people had come, but the ringing in your ears made the audience feel twice, even three times as big.

The support was overwhelming, and all of it came in response to the unstoppable energy on stage. Two songs in, Jungkook had already climbed and jumped off the largest loudspeaker on stage. By the fifth song, Taehyung stage-dived right during his bass solo.

By the end of the show, the members were drenched in sweat, barely able to breathe as they tossed their guitar picks, the drumsticks, and the towels into the audience, and took their final bows—promising, of course, a quick return, and hoping, silently, that this promise would come true.

This was Night One of Rated Riot’s first European Tour – and you felt giddy as you already waited for the next night.

The band went to change into something more comfortable backstage, and then headed back out to meet some fans who’d lingered behind, buying merchandise and hoping that the members of Rated Riot would come out to meet them—and they did, always.

You worried, a little, about what you’d have to do with the gifts—the plush toys and, most importantly, the letters—that the fans gave them. The thought of throwing them out or, simply, not taking them, had never crossed any of your minds, even though that was what the label suggested.  

This was another thing that you had to fight with Jett Records about. You knew that the band actually read the letters, especially when they were tired or lacked inspiration. That’s when the words from their fans became their source of motivation. Their purpose.

They were doing this because they loved it. But when they got tired, they kept doing it for them.

And, because of this, you figured you might end up having to rent out a separate bus for gifts alone, once you’d toured enough countries.

This thought was supported by Rated Riot returning with hands full of mementoes from fans. You took them and, while everyone gathered for traditional shots of gin & tonic backstage, you went outside with some of the crew to load the equipment—and the gifts—into the buses.

You had a six-hour drive from Prague to Krakow ahead of you, but, when you returned to the venue, the whole band was jumping around the room. You knew they wouldn’t sleep one bit tonight.

Hence your lack of surprise when, several hours later, when you were already on the bus, you went to find Jungkook, and he was sitting in his bunk, scrolling on his phone.

You were hoping he’d be awake, so you could speak to him. You couldn’t risk there being something deeper about his weird behaviour earlier today, even if he did give an outstanding performance on stage.

“Hey. You’re up,” you said, pointing out the obvious, because it was a good enough conversation starter.

Jungkook lifted his head.

“Yeah.” He put his phone down and patted the bunk next to him. “You can’t sleep either?”

You nodded, taking the invitation and sitting down next to him. “I have something I want to ask you.”

He was surprised. Really, he should have been the one saying this to you; he hadn’t had a chance to ask you to Kihyun’s wedding yet.

“Go ahead,” he said calmly enough.

“Are you really okay?” you asked, choosing not to beat around the bush, because it was three in the morning—not the time for that. “You’ve been acting weird the whole day.”

He looked away, not having expected this, evidently. “Oh.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” you explained, “but then I couldn’t help myself. It’s my responsibility to know if there’s something wrong with any of you, so I felt like I had to ask.”

Jungkook closed his eyes and leaned backwards until the back of his head touched the wall of the bus. “I’m fine. Just—adjusting, I guess. This is new. Europe.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, bending your knee under yourself as you got more comfortable on his bunk. “It’s new for all of us.”

“Yeah. So, maybe, I guess, I’m worried,” he said clumsily.

Even though this wasn’t why he’d acted weird—and, really, he was appalled that you found his behaviour “weird”; he truly was off his game—it was the truth. He did feel anxious. So much so, that a part of him appreciated Sid—not for suggesting the bet, per se. But for giving him something else to focus his mind on.

“Well, about what?” you asked. “Maybe talking it out would help.”

He looked at you, but then moved his gaze towards the bunk opposite his—empty right now because Hoseok was at the front of the bus, taking pictures through the window and, probably, chatting up the French bus driver.

“About not being good enough,” Jungkook said after a minute, his words coming in the form of a deep sigh. “This is Europe, it’s a different audience for us. I mean—realistically, I know it’s not. If people are buying tickets to our shows, they probably know us. They like our music. But still. Most of them have only ever seen our performances online. Hearing someone sing in a YouTube video is so much different from hearing it live.”

You merely nodded, not wanting to interrupt, because, although he’d paused, it didn’t sound like he’d finished.

“So, now I’m thinking all these things, like…” he continued, “I don’t know. Not living up to their expectations,” you saw him swallow before he kept talking, “what if these people have been listening to Rated Riot since we started? From the very beginning, you know? And now they hear us live, and they think I’m doing a half-assed job. And they’re disappointed—they’ve waited to see us for so long and we didn’t deliver. I didn’t deliver. I don’t want that. I want them to remember this night, not just because we may be their favourite band, but because they’ve truly had a good time. You know?”

He needed reassurance—and asked for it repeatedly—so you nodded again, more eagerly.

To be fair, this wasn’t the first time that the two of you were talking about this. Years before he joined Rated Riot—before you broke up—you’d had multiple conversations about the one genuine fear that Jungkook had: disappointing others.

“But you are showing them a good time,” you said. You scooted backwards and leaned against the sideboard adjacent to him; it seemed like you were going to stay here a while. “I’ve watched you play tonight. You guys were brilliant.”

“Thanks,” he said, sounding noncommittal. “I know the guys are always—they don’t fuck around. They come and they tear that stage up to shreds.”

“So do you,” you reminded him.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I know this isn’t insecurity speaking,” you said, “because we both know you’re great—”

Snorting, he interjected, “that part’s true.”

“—so, you’re worried you’re not doing enough. Not giving enough,” you concluded. “But do you feel like you’re holding back?”

He considered this for a moment. “No. I feel like I cough up my lungs and my heart, and toss them right into the crowd after the show. I couldn’t get off stage if I didn’t feel that way.”

“And it shows,” you said, softer now, as you watched the spark return to his eyes. Memories of the concert played back in his mind. “Performing is in your blood. It’s always been.”

“Right,” he said. “So, I should have nothing to worry about, then?”

He had a sardonic smile on his face, and he was, essentially, asking you if he should have stopped complaining. This wasn’t at all what you were trying to say.

“No, you have every right to still feel worried,” you said. “What I mean is, don’t forget that you know what you’re doing. You know it well. Fortunately for you, you were born to do this. I know it sounds like a nice thing to say to someone, but you know I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t mean it.”

He looked down. “I know.”

Then, hesitating for a moment, he pulled his lower lip in and brought his teeth over his lip ring. He added, “thank you.”

“I’m here to listen if you need me to,” you said. “And to remind you that people see your effort. They appreciate it. You guys are doing well.”

“We’re doing well,” he repeated—and did it while inhaling, like a mantra. Then, exhaling again, he joked awkwardly, “in any case, I can always fake it ‘til I make it, right?”

You shook your head, disagreeing immediately. “You’re the most genuine you’ve ever been when you’re performing. You guys have got nothing to fake.”

Coming from anyone else, he would have called this nonsense—he was a performer, so how would anyone know what was genuine for him? But you would. You were the one person who knew.

Slowly, a small smile crept onto his face as he asked, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echoed, feeling your own lips stretch into a smile. You added, “you’re my favourite band.”

He snickered and rolled his eyes. “You’re our manager, you have to say that.”

“Very true,” you did not argue, “but again, I’m saying that because I mean it.”

He gave you a look—not necessarily doubting your words, but having a hard time wrapping his head around your serious tone. He’d always assumed that the only reason why you paid any attention to his band, was because you had no other choice.

“You’d still listen to Rated Riot if you weren’t working with us?” he asked—a question long overdue, but he supposed he’d never really cared that much about this before. All that he cared about was that you were around.

“I’d even come to your shows,” you said.

He laughed, amazed for some reason. This was what you should have said to him from the very beginning; there were no signs of prior anxiety left on his face now.

“Wow. Okay,” he said in uncertain delight—as if he feared he’d misunderstood this and got excited about nothing. “Thank you.”

Calmer now that you’ve made him smile, you reached out to pat his knee amicably. He felt goosebumps on the skin of his arms and crossed them over his chest immediately.

“Don’t forget that, okay?” you said. “Part of the reason why so many people love you—why you have this opportunity to perform in Europe in the first place—is because you give away so much of yourself on stage. And, actually, I don’t think this is something you can control. It comes naturally to you.”

Jungkook watched you as you spoke, an almost forgotten warmth spreading in his chest. It’s been so long—so impossibly long—since he’d felt it. He wasn’t sure if he was even aware how much he’d missed it.

“Thank you,” he said once more—breathless this time. Wistful.

You nodded and asked, “you feeling better?”

“Definitely,” he replied, but it was hard for him to tell if this was true. He felt less anxious, yes. But now he felt confused.

He hadn’t expected this conversation, even though, reasonably, he should have—your work ethic required you to be reliable and trustworthy, to take care of those around you. And that was what you were doing.

But this conversation didn’t feel official. It didn’t feel like you were doing your job. It felt friendly and familiar.

And exciting, his rapid heartbeat whispered.

Yes. It felt exciting, too.

“Good,” you spoke, scooting back towards the edge of his bunk. “Now go to sleep.”

He snorted; your return to the role of his manager did not let him bask in nostalgia much.

“Alright,” he said, crawling to fluff the one remaining pillow in his bunk. “You’re the boss.”

“And stop acting fucking weird!” you added as you stood up. He laughed at the sudden outburst. “Nearly made me call a therapist for you.”

“Why would I need a therapist when I have you?” he teased. The brightness on his face was so honest, so infectious, that you had to look away to hide your own smile.

“Because they do not pay me enough for this,” you retorted.

Clutching his chest in mock-offence, he asked in a sorrowful voice, “am I nothing but a client to you?”

You picked up a pillow that had fallen off his bunk and tossed it at him.

“You’re my favourite clients,” you replied. He caught the pillow before it hit his face and grinned—despite knowing that Rated Riot were your only clients at the time.

“You’re my favourite manager,” he returned. This, finally, got a laugh out of you as you walked back to your own bunk.

Left alone, Jungkook didn’t even realise that this could, technically, count towards winning the bet. He didn't even remember the wedding at first; your questions, your reassuring tone, you had distracted him from bringing it up.

But he felt calm. He knew that he could afford to worry about this later. For now, he was busy replaying your conversation—and the part of it where you laughed—in his head.

chapter title credits: palaye royale, “king of the damned”

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[alotofrandomfangirling]

hi, could you do a x reader oneshot on live action Roronoa Zoro from the live action One Piece series!

Roronoa Zoro x reader oneshot (Netflix live action)

Summary: you tend to Zoro's wounds after he is hurt on a fight

Warnings: cursing, a bit suggestive, mentions of blood, me pretending to understand medical matters 🤡 (sorry about that, it was for fangirling purposes only ajskajakja)

A/n: hello anon! Thanks a lot for the request 🥰 this is probably set after s1? Sorry for any plot or grammar mistakes 🙏🏻 i hope you like it 🩷

The salty sea breeze hit your skin as you looked out the Going Merry trying to spot your friends.

The straw hats had left to a village to try to confront another crew. Apparently another annoying guy was threatening Luffy and he was not going to let that pass. It was stupid, you thought, but, when Luffy had something in mind, absolutely no one could convince him otherwise.

Luffy had asked you to stay on the ship in case anything happened. Being the crew's doctor, you had to be prepared for any emergency regarding the crew's well being.

Yep, you were the doctor in the straw hats crew.

You had met when Luffy saw you helping hurt people in the middle of a fight at the small island you lived. He was so impressed at how good you were, how you helped everyone with ability but also with a kindness in your eyes that he had never seen before in anyone.

Having lived your entire life with your doctor grandparents, you had learned from them and was just as skilled as them, so you were always ready to help those who needed.

But you were also a dreamer and wanted to go around the world meeting new people and new places, so when Luffy asked you to join his crew you happily said yes.

- we already have a navigator, a cook... we could use a talented doctor like you. I just know it's you. So, what do you say? - he asked, with that excited smile of his.

And that's how you became a part of this special crew. Everyone was so nice to you, so it didn't take much time for you to get along with them all, specially with their cute swordsman.

Yeah, it was like you clicked. You started getting closer, closer... and before you knew you were dating.

That's why you were specially worried today. You were really afraid your boyfriend was going to do something stupid and get himself hurt again (you still had nightmares about the whole Mihawk thing).

You were lost in your thoughts when you heard your friends coming back to the ship. You immediatly ran to check on them.

- is everyone okay? - you asked worried.

- we're fine, we were lucky. Can't say the same about your man over there - Sanji said and your heart dropped. What did this stubborn do this time?

- shut up, Sanji, i'm fine - you heard Zoro say as he entered the ship too.

You ran to him doing a quick check up with your eyes. That's when you noticed the big red stain on the side of his shirt.

- oh my gosh, Zoro, you're bleeding! - you said terrified.

- this? Nah, this is just a scratch - he said shrugging and trying to play tough, even though you could clearly see he was in pain.

- no, it's not! - you said, in a stern way - come on, we have to bandage you up.

You carefully led him inside and brought your medical kit to start tending to his wounds. He sat down as you began.

- take your shirt off - you ordered.

- Wow you're that eager, huh? - he said smirking, but instantly regretting and wincing with pain.

- Zoro! Will you stop being a brat and let me take care of you? - you said angrily - i can see you're in pain and you're not going anywhere until we fix that up!

You were usually a very chill person, but you couldn't stand seeing your friends and loved ones in pain. That activated a side of you people were even a bit scared of lol

- okay, boss - he said, a bit annoyed but finally giving up.

The way he called you 'boss' made you feel all tingly inside. You were sure going to have to talk to him about it later (and maybe share some ideas 👀) but now it wasn't the time. You had a wound to treat.

He took his shirt off and you couldn't help but take in a sharp breath at the sight (even though you had seen it before lol). Boy was sure shredded.

Focus, (Y/N).

You checked him and noticed he had a knife wound just above his hip. It was ugly, but you could do it.

You grabbed a piece of cloth to start cleaning the wound.

- my love, i apologize in advance, but this is going to hurt.

You started the cleaning.

- shit, that hurts! - he hissed.

- i know, i'm sorry.

You knew you had to do it, but you couldn't stand seeing the man you loved suffering like that. You had to distract him out of it so you could finish your work.

- umm baby, could you tell me again about that time you beat three pirates at once with only one sword?

- what? Now? Why? - he looked so cute furrowing his brows in confusion.

- it's just that... i like to work listening to your voice - you quickly made that up lol

Well, it wasn't totally a lie, you did enjoy listening to his voice, but of course it was mostly to keep him distracted ajskjakaja

He was still a bit suspicious but started telling the story since you asked him (trust me, there was nothing you asked Zoro he wouldn't do for you). Your strategy worked cause you cleaned the wound and bandaged it without him wincing too much.

By the time he finished the story, you had finished your work too. You also gave him some painkillers for him to feel better soon.

- there you go - you said softly and kissed his forehead.

He closed his eyes and melted under your touch, not only because of how tired he was, but also because he felt super safe with you.

- thank you, (Y/N) - he said squeezing your hand.

You smiled at him.

- now please lay down and try to rest a bit, or this thing won't heal - you said in a stern tone, but nearly begging for your boyfriend to take care of himself.

You gathered your medical stuff and were starting to leave the room when he said:

- (Y/N), wait!

- what is it? - you asked, worried he was starting to feel pain again.

- I... I might not be feeling 100% yet. I think you should stay and lay down with me just in case it gets worse - he said in a really nonchalant way.

You rolled your eyes at his completely obvious attempt, but couldn't help smiling and blushing a bit at the thought of the great Roronoa Zoro wanting you to stay with him.

- you're the worst, Zoro - you said playfully as you carefully laid down next to him and put your hand on his chest.

- yeah, but you love me - he replied with that smug smile of his and that deep voice that drove you crazy.

You chuckled at his response.

- yes, I do - you said smiling.

His next words came out merely a whisper, but were enough to give you a thousand butterflies in your stomach:

- and I love you more.

[emmie-writes-stuff]

So the new chapter is out and GOOD GOD do I have some thoughts and a lot of them don’t make a whole lot of sense but I can’t not talk about this chapter

Firstly, Kaiser looks adorable (never thought I’d say that about him outside of my head but here I am)

Secondly, holy hell my heart hurts

He didn’t deserve this, no child deserves this

The fact that he had to “go to work” and just steal

HE HAS NO SHOES his little feet have got to hurt, or they’ve completely calloused up from not wearing shoes, but even then (speaking from experience) it still hurts to walk on hot ground and rocks and other stuff on the street

Yknow, I understood him hating milk before (because milk is disgusting) but now I get it even more

What a stupid reason to get upset, imma kick this waste of space excuse for a father in the fucking face AND balls because ITS FUCKING MILK

Eat some damn fiber or somethin if you got constipation issues

Who let this absolute scum of the earth reproduce???

HES LITERALTL TWELVE YEARS OLD

All the other shit went down before he was even double digits

But dangerous situations create smart kids, and Kaiser was very smart to start saving his own money

I used to have my own stash in case I ever had to run away (long story, we’re not getting into my family issues in this post, but yeah)

At least he has shoes now, protect those feet plz, they’re what keep you upright and moving

Soooooooo are we gonna acknowledge that he treats the soccer ball the same way he’s currently treating Ness orrrrrrrr

But like, it’s nice that he has an outlet to channel his anger into that isn’t a person (at least for now smh)

It’s really interesting seeing how each of the characters came to play soccer

(Side note: but he throws the ball at a picture of a woman, could he maybe be imagining this woman as his mother?)

His mother also deserves a kick to the face if I have anything to say bout it

I have no words for this

Just, can I steal him? Please? I’ll give him a good life

Fuck the snitches, how dare they

Also, you can clearly see his ribs defined, and that hurts me

I love that he was willing to let go of everything

He was ready to start fresh with getting money, was cooperating with the police, until the soccer ball was threatened

Because that is his most valuable possession

The money doesn’t matter, but the ball is a symbol to him of something that won’t leave him or hurt him

It’s a very small sense of independence and stability in this very unstable and controlling environment

The ball is heavily implied to be the first thing he ever bought for himself, it’s what defined a key part in his life

Taking that away is like taking away his soul, his outlet, and comfort, and Kaiser just couldn’t stand for it

There’s so many more things I’m thinkin and I have way too many incoherent thoughts for tumblr, but these are the ones I was able to clear up and make sense of

This chapter hit very deep and while my past doesn’t involve much physical abuse and struggles to this level, it was hard not to empathize and relate my own experiences with abuse with the ones in this chapter

I don’t wanna get into shit, it’s not somethin I exactly wanna put out in the public, but there’s so much here that I could understand and relate to and it just made everything so much more difficult to read (in a good way I guess)

Just, GOD, why did I have to become a fan before this chapter came out???

Okay, that’s my ramble for this, bye before I start going on even more tangents

[appocalipse]

can i please request a worn teddy bear + dusty love letters w/ steve harrington? 🥹 maybe steve feels insecure about his scars and reader makes him feel better and it's all 💗❤️💕🥹

i love this idea! tysm ♥ | cw: a little suggestive but no smut, 0.9k

amy's flea market ♥

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

"Stevie, do you...w-what's going on?"

You stop by the door, leaning against the frame as you watch him, confused at first, not sure what exactly you're seeing, then concerned when finally you do. He is standing in front of the mirror, his shirt off, hands pressed to the sides of his ribs like he's trying to force himself to see something different than what's before his eyes.

Steve's heart skips a beat as he follows your gaze down. His cheeks flush red. 

He shrugs, trying to play it off. "Nothing, babe. It's just... I dunno. It's been a while since anyone's really seen them, y'know?" He gestures vaguely to the scars on his abdomen.

You feel like your heart might break just looking at him, the way he's so clearly struggling with himself. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice, and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Steve," you whisper, pressing your cheek to his back. And because you don't know how else to explain how much you love him and how much those scars mean nothing to you, you reach around him, gently tracing your fingers over each one, and repeat, "Steve."

He sighs, leaning back into you just enough to let you know you're not upsetting him. "You really don't have to..."

"I want to," you insist, pressing a kiss to the spot between his shoulder blades. You grin. "You know, I actually think they're kinda hot."

You know that Steve's looks have always mattered to him in a way that no one else might be able to quite understand. It's not that he's particularly vain or anything, more like...he still finds it difficult to see his self worth beyond the image he sees in the mirror everyday, beyond his physical appearance. He is still trying to figure out who he is now, outside of being 'King Steve'.

He laughs softly and you can feel him relax a little as you run your fingers over his scars. The tension in Steve's body seems to ebb away. "Really?" he asks, turning his head slightly to the side, gazing at you over his shoulder with a grin.

"Oh, yeah, really," you say with a smile, tracing a finger along the edge of one of the scars, feeling the raised, puckered texture beneath your touch. You gently tug on his arm to turn him around to face you, meeting his gaze with a grin of your own. "I think they make you look tough."

He raises an eyebrow. "Tough?" he repeats, quirking a smile. "I'll take that."

You grin back at him, leaning in to brush your lips against his. He feels so good against you, warm and solid, and you want nothing more than to kiss him until he feels better and the rest of the world fades away. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his skin and the soft give of his abdomen where the scars are. You wonder, briefly, if and how anyone could ever find them unattractive.

"Mhmm, very tough," your lips gently trail down his neck, nuzzling at the soft skin just below his earlobe. You can feel him shiver ever so slightly, tightening his grip around your waist, fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you gasp. You move down to his chest, kissing his collarbone, sucking on the tender skin, your tongue flicking out to trace a line down to his abdomen. You press your lips against the top of his stomach and glance up at him through your lashes.

Steve sucks in a sharp breath as you kneel in front of him, looking down at you with newfound curiosity. He chuckles. "Baby, what are you..."

But then your lips are there, warm and soft as you gently kiss the center of his stomach. Steve tries to remember how to breathe. You chuckle softly as you nuzzle against his skin, pressing tiny, teasing kisses along the length of the scars on his sides, feeling the vibration under your lips as he, too, laughs.

"See?" you whisper, looking up at him with a wide grin, "Sexy."

He laughs, a real, unrestrained laugh that makes your heart swell. "You're insane," he tells you, but there's no sting in the words. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your lips. Steve's eyes are soft, and he gazes at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "But I'll take it."

You smile up at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. You reach up, twining your fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently as he helps you stand. "Thank God," you tell him, laughing softly. "And...seriously, Steve, I love you and I love every inch of you, but we don't have to go to the beach with our friends if you don't want to."

Steve frowns, looking thoughtful for a moment. "No, I do want to," he says slowly. "It's just...sometimes I feel like everyone's looking at me, and I just..." He trails off, shrugging a little. "It's stupid, I know."

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. 

"It's not stupid," you say. "I get it. Sometimes I feel like people are looking at me, too, and I'm not sure why. But we don't have to do anything we don't want to. If you want to go, we'll go. If you don't, we can just...have a quiet day at home or something. I don't mind."

Steve looks at you, his expression softening. "You really are the best thing that's ever happened to me, sweetheart."

[angelstate]

“Broken People, Broken Things”

Broken!Simon x Kind!Reader

In times of need it's difficult for him to speak up, a nagging feeling on his chest, a sinful voice in his mind that tells him he doesn’t deserve the help he needs, that after going through so much in life he should've learned to not ask for help.

an alack sentiment filling his head, a loss of hope so profound that makes him feel hollow, no amount of soil can fill the hole in his chest. is terrifying, the absence of himself on his body, as if he can only be the shell of what he once was.

a stray dog who bites the hand that tries to feed him used to be hurt rather than helped. He knows it’s not all his fault, that life wasn’t kind to him from the very start but guilt still manages to spill through crevices, straining his sanity.

it doesn’t matter how much you try to pull him out of his self-depreciation state, his already too far gone into his own head, thoughts of self-hatred already engraved for him to be eaten alive in the middle of the night.

it’s a cannibalistic situation, being the consumer and the consumed, harming himself until he’s bleeding then wincing at the pain, licking the blood of his wound like a harmed animal, self-sufficient and self-destructive, infecting himself with more pain than he already was in, a cycle of torture with no easy ending to relieve him from the pressure in his chest.

in a world where people's opinion of you controls the way your life plays out, he understands clearly why he didn’t amount to anything worth praising, he can recognize that his life was meant to start and end in one painful motion, surrounded by nothing but despair.

He finds it comical, how life pulls his strings and leads him to suffering when he hasn’t recovered from past wounds, like the universe wants to see how clever he can get to salvage his worthless life, how badly he wants to survive despite having no motive to live.

“Are you listening to me?” you speak, voice soft and kind, pulling him out of his thoughts, like being pulled out of the ocean by a kind stranger who saw him struggle to swim, being helped to fill his lungs with air and not water. he looks down to meet your gaze, your doe eyes always holding a warmth to them, your smile of understanding and patience he doesn’t think he deserves.

“Sorry, I got distracted for a second” he answers, voice low and gruff, tongue rolling with a heaviness created by his thoughts, he should’ve listened to you speak rather than lose himself in his mind, you are the only normality his life still has, the only thing he doesn’t associate to a bad memory.

“s’okay..it’s late either way, I should let you go to sleep” you reply, sounding apologetic as you always do, looking down with what he can only guess to be embarrassment, you shouldn’t feel that way, you should never feel ashamed, he knows you never mean any harm, only acting on love and friendliness.

“I’m not tired yet” he lies, he is tired, his body is aching and begging to rest but his mind feels more active than ever, two entities disconnected and acting on their own accord, he wants to lay down and rest but he doesn’t want to leave, not yet…please, not right now.

He remembers when he was a kid, not older than 4 years old, and terrified of the night, fearing something was hiding in it, waiting for the perfect moment to attack, to kill him. His father's screams in the other room and objects crashing against the walls only fueled his fear, that when the sun goes down, the world knows no peace, that monsters come out and are searching to kill him, to kill his mother.

He never grew out of that, he knew monsters as he believed before weren’t real, but that doesn’t mean that a similar evilness isn’t around, a sort of plague, a parasite that spreads every time he blinks. nights for him didn’t get much better either, something about the quietness didn’t feel right, a wave of doom he couldn’t escape on his chest, he could only stare at the door of his room while waiting for the sun to rise, only then being able to sleep.

“I thought you would be tired, you worked so hard today” you comment, it had been mere seconds that passed until you spoke but it felt like ages, like the time slowed down, once again the universe toying with his sanity. 

you always acknowledge his efforts, his actions, and his reasoning even if you are far off of what he intended, you’re always so nice to him, pretending the rumors and whispers about his past and intentions don’t reach your ears, that you aren’t aware of them when he can’t begin to remember the amount of times he heard about them, too many to count, that’s for sure.

“it was nothing…don’t worry” he answers, but oh how much you worry, concern filling your mind every time your eyes land on him, the tiredness in his eyes evident, his heavy steps a clear sign of his body tired of carrying his weight around. you wish you could lure him into his room, put him to sleep, be able to grant him a good night's rest.

Does he want to rest? Does he deserve to rest?

he feels numb at times, something lacking in his brain, stopping him from fully connecting and experiencing his feelings. It doesn't get any easier with every passing day, hours blend together and before he knows it he’s back by your side, your praises for working so hard and doing things he doesn’t find enjoyable for the sake of everyone else around him.

“Want a cup of tea?” you offer, tilting your head to the side, voice softer and sweeter, like one that people use to lure an animal close, trying to capture him and give him a home. It’s unsettling to him how good you make the idea of being welcomed in a home and not being terrified by the people living in it, like that’s a possibility, like if he lets you put him in that cage he won’t regret it.

“would appreciate it if you made me one” he replies, hesitant and doubtful even if you have never shown a sign of evilness, but anyone who offers him something must want something back, he knows it, he was taught that was how it worked. he doesn’t know what you want, what he can give you, and that terrifies him more, he doesn’t want to owe you anything.

“Okay” you say and leave the room with quiet steps, he doesn’t dare to move from his place, eyes focused on the place you were standing a few seconds ago, he’s alone in the room, being able to hear you open the kitchen door and move things around.

he knows you’re only a few feet away, in another room, the door open and your movements are skilled and soft, but you’re still a person in another room, and he is standing alone, in the darkness remaining because the lamp on the corner table does nothing but illuminate the objects that resting on the surface, everything else is dark.

everything else makes him remember when he was a kid and he was scared, he doesn’t want to be scared anymore.

He stumbles for a second, his foot taking a step back before he can realize he is moving, losing his balance and regaining it quickly. It feels like he’s falling apart from the inside out, a pillar inside of him deteriorating to the point he isn’t able to stand the weight of his past.

He doesn't know what to do, why it affects him so much your kindness and why now out of any other time he feels like he can’t stand the fact you’re in another room, you’re not his father, you're not dangerous, you’re not his mother, you’re not in danger. So why is he so worried he feels like suffocating? 

you affect him in ways he doesn’t like, it makes him feel self-conscious about everything he's gone through in his life, he doesn't understand why you bring that out of him, you are not linked to his past, you’re part of the fresh start he created for himself because of guilt.

maybe you remind him of the kindness he was denied, you remind him of what he could've had if life had been any kinder to him when he needed it when he was just a kid, when he feared his father would kill his mother and him one night, in the middle of the dark with no one to save him.

God, you shouldn’t be kind to people like him, who know nothing but to tarnish everything and everyone around him, he is poison and you’re too pure to even associate with him, your kindness shouldn’t be wasted on him he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve you.

He hears something shattering and follows not even a second later a scream of pain that could only come from you, his eyes dart towards the door, the hallway dark and the winces of pain continue.

For a second, a small fraction of a second he doubts the legitimacy of your injury, thinking his memories are getting to him, making him imagine something that isn’t at all happening, then he hears you fall to the ground, sobs ripping through your mouth and he knows it’s real.

He leaves the room with heavy steps, he’s adjusted to the darkness of the place but moves around, turning lights on with a freakish fear, wanting to have a clear vision even though he’s going straight towards his fear.

He reaches the kitchen and enters, his eyes moving around until he spots you on the floor, curled into yourself, hand bloody and burned, the broken cup and hot tea not even a meter away from you as you sob, holding your injured hand out as to not further damage the wound.

the image brings back memories he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in, moving around till he reaches you, grabbing the wrist from your injured hand with a sudden move, making you scream for a second before realizing is him who grabbed you, his eyes are strained on the wound, your skin looks irritated and half of your hand is soaked in blood.

“What happened?” he asks, tugging at your wrist as if the pain will make you speak any faster, he isn’t the kindest but he doesn’t mean to be harsh either, the panic is just too much on his bones to not let it out somehow, you’re the only person he knows is able to stab yourself with his sharp edges and survive to forgive him.

“I slipped and the cup fell on my hand…tried cleaning it but I cut myself” you explain through sobs and whimpers, trying to get your hand out of his grasp but every movement makes the pain of your wound stronger.

It’s stupid, how you managed to get yourself to fuck up something as simple as a cup of tea, it wasn’t a hard task, the floor hadn’t been mopped since hours ago and yet you still slipped and injured yourself like a baby deer with unstable limbs.

you shake your head, embarrassment once again plaguing your mind, he doesn’t differ with you, he doesn’t think you shouldn’t be ashamed of your mistake, you should be, you are ashamed and he agrees with you but for different reasons.

He thinks you should be ashamed of not calling out his name for help, for sitting on the ground and crying instead of asking for his assistance, you deserve to be helped when injured, and you deserve to be taken care of despite having made this mistake before.

you can make the same error again and still deserve to be forgiven and aided.

Because you’re human, and most importantly you are you, the woman who rescues everyone from their troubles like they are trapped in a burning building, you do everything and anything to make sure the people you love are safe and happy.

He can begin to understand why you think he’s worth the effort, maybe it’s pity, maybe with just one look at him and his reputation you can make out everything there is to know about him, every past trauma, every scar, every emotional issue he can’t let go of.

“It's fine…we’re going to be fine” He says, looking into your eyes, a silent promise you can’t decipher, you nod, pretending that you didn’t notice he aligned himself with your struggle, making himself a part of the situation so you wouldn’t be alone.

he doesn’t want that sort of faith for you.

He softly guides you to stand up from the ground, moving you towards the sink, standing behind you as he turns on the faucet, holding your injured hand and letting the cold water wash away the blood and cool off your irritated skin.

his breathing brushes on your neck, and the warmth of his chest spreads across your entire body as traps you between the counter and himself, it doesn’t have any malice in his touch nor does he mean anything sexual by it.

It’s the worry that has his body glued to yours, the need to surround you so you won’t get injured again, as one hides with their siblings somewhere in the house when your parents begin fighting again, it’s something natural that comes to him, used to protect and preserve the people he didn’t want getting hurt.

“I'm sorry for screwing up your tea” you apologize with a soft whisper, eyes focused on the blood washing away, it doesn’t hurt a lot anymore, just a small sting that lingers a bit uncomfortably, tolerable but not ideal.

you’re truly apologetic, you knew he didn’t get much sleep, that resting wasn’t something he usually did so you had tried to help him but in the end, it seemed you only caused more panic in his soul, his pupils still blown out as he assisted you with cleaning the wound, as if he was doing it for more reasons than just kindness.

maybe he was, you don’t know his full story after all, maybe you remind him of someone, of something he had buried a long time ago that you brought to the surface again and left him with anxiousness on his chest and worry in his mind.

“s’alright… it’s too late for tea either way” he comforts you the best he can, the best his words and feelings will let him right now, he isn’t upset about the mistake you made, anyone can fall, anyone can break a cup, he didn’t care about that, messes get cleaned up, a cup of tea isn’t as valuable as your health, you should know that.

It's too late for tea, and it’s too late for the amount of tears that continue to pour out of your eyes even though the pain isn’t overwhelming anymore, this time is your feelings, your physical state has nothing to do with the tears falling out and you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“I wanted to help you…I'm sorry Si” you speak again, a small hiccup interrupting your words but you don’t let that stop you from telling him how sorry you are that you managed to mess up one of the only things you knew he liked, tea.

“wanna make another one then?” he asks you, offering to let you try again, a second opportunity he knew you deserved and wanted, and even though he wasn’t in the mood for tea or anything at all, he was going to drink what you want to make him, even if it’s the last thing he does.

you shake your head, sniffling as you close the faucet softly with your noninjured hand, looking down as neither of you moves away from each other or makes the attempt to gain some distance. You didn’t want to make it again, didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself and making the same mistake, this time in front of him.

“don’t want to screw up again” you answer him, voice low and full of shame. He understands you, maybe second chances aren’t always appreciated and he accepts that you don’t want to try again tonight.

He sees himself in you more than he wants to right now, more than he thought he ever would actually. He guessed that even someone like you could come from a not-so-pretty background, one where making mistakes is a sin that cannot be let go of without punishment.

different houses, different torture, same ending.

because of that, some part of him has to care for you, you deserve that, he cannot believe it enough even though he won’t say it out loud, don’t want to be caught by other people and have you end up being a outcast like him, you don’t deserve that, you don’t deserve that ending.

He makes you turn around softly so you’re facing him, his hands wiping away your tears with a gentle touch, he wished he could do more, turn back time and help you make the cup of tea, or go even further and stop whatever made you believe making a small mistake was such a high offense.

“Are you alright?” he asks, aware you aren’t but it feels cordial to make the question either way, giving you an opportunity to express more than you normally would, he knows you don’t talk enough about your feelings and it’s time you do.

“It’s not fair that you suffer so much and I can't even do something to help you” you reply and his heart stops for a second, the blood on his vein also coming to a halt as he feels himself being delirious of your words.

you did not hold such sentiment for him, nobody did, nobody has and nobody will. That was his life, a never-ending cycle of being looked down upon and having to do everything by himself because why would anyone want to help him or even try to? it’s stupid, you’re being stupid.

“Don’t say that darling..” he shushes you softly, his hands moving to caress your hair, he shakes his head, not wanting to believe you actually care, not wanting to get hope out of lies, it wouldn’t be pretty if he did and you broke his heart in the end.

“years of pain always lead up to isolation, you don’t deserve that” Captain Price once told him after a tough mission, and the words replay in his mind as he has you in his arms, the water mixed with droplets of blood on your hand staining the kitchen floor as he holds you gently.

He's living like his dead, and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like he drags you to that same misery every time you’re around him but he doesn't want to let go of.

what is not devotion but to become a better person for the one you love?

“I appreciate your intention sweetheart…” he says as the silence from you eats him alive, wanting to make the ache on your chest disappear, he had never wanted to make you suffer, even unintentionally.

he is ready to repair everything broken so you won’t get harmed ever again, he’s ready to repair himself for you.

He had never wanted to become what he hates, a lover, a sentimental person, and yet as he finds himself becoming all of that and more, he can’t help but enjoy it, especially if it means never letting go of you.

Love wasn’t something he knew much of, never got the chance to learn when he was a kid and for a very long time he thought it wasn’t real, a mythical feeling everyone lied about existing so they wouldn’t be alone for the rest of their lives.

Your existence and kindness prove him wrong, your persistence in trying to make life easier for him, the way you laughed, the way you acted, your personality, your likes, and dislikes, everything about you showed him that love was real and he was experiencing it with you.

even if it took a lot of time for him to realize it he did now, and he loved you a lot, more than he would ever let on, more than any piece of literature could ever describe.

Tomorrow is a new day, and another cup of tea can be made, you cannot cry for what was never lost, and his gaze never falters from you so you don’t have to worry, he will always help you, you’re his air and he is yours.

Love cannot easily be tarnished and he swears he will never let anything happen to the one the two of you share, even if that is the only thing he does with his final breath.

(little reminder: I'm taking requests if you guys want me to write about something specific xx)

[sunflowersbones]

The Hand That Feeds - I

Warnings: This fic will contain eventual NON-CON, eventual DUB-CON, abuse of power, violence, emotional manipulation, guns, alluded to Mafia!Bucky. My warnings are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.

18+ only. This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary : Your best friend’s and yours entire lives have revolved around violence, death, greed and fear. You’ve always had each other and took comfort in the fact that none of this was your doing; you never had a choice. But what happens when time winds its roots around you, such that even when given the opportunity to leave, he neither leaves nor lets you leave. {mafia au}

NOTE: So this is my very first fic on tumblr!. i wanted the first to be a one shot but, oh well. Do feel free to send me your thoughts!. Reblogs are really appreciated, this is tumblr after all. I hope you enjoy!.

DIVIDERS: @firefly-graphics 

*

You’ve always loved Bucky, since the very beginning and you’ve always known it, he was your best friend after all. It was your responsibility to love him, to protect him, and to take care of him— you’ve always tried your best.

Whenever Steve would take it upon himself to start unnecessary fights with the older boys, Bucky would step in to support him, to save him and both idiots would end up getting their ass’s whooped. You were the smarter one you knew how to pick and choose your fights, you would run to find the nearest teacher and complain about the senior boys and they would take care of the rest.

So you always knew that, when he needed you; you’d be there for him. But you never knew if he felt the same way, or if he even liked you at all, Steve always did seem to be his first priority.

You were badly jealous of the boy, but you never wished ill on him, especially because of how frail he was and how often he’d fall sick. You supposed everyone prioritized him…

Both your father and Steve’s worked for Bucky’s dad. Considering how dangerous it is and how enemies would stoop so low as to hurt the children, Steve’s mother’s paranoia seemed valid.

But you were too young to realize all of that; after all, there’s only so much an 8-year-old can understand. You seemed quite content with your life; little did you know that everything would change soon enough. 

You remember that day very clearly, even now, long after the incident. You’d had a big fight with Bucky, about him leaving you to see Steve because he was sick again! In his defense, he did ask you to come, and you did want to visit Steve. But Sarah was not your biggest fan; she simply tolerated you and was more often than not, not very welcoming of your family. You remember your mother saying something about them being more rich due to old money.

Although you supposed that it was mostly, due to the fact that while other kids were out playing; her son was more than often stuck in bed.

As you opened the door and entered your house, you hadn’t noticed the stillness in the air. The house was very quiet, but then again, it always was. Your dad was out for work, your mom; busy with the housework, you were quiet the small family.

Just as you enter the kitchen, you’re alarmed as somebody holds you and covers your mouth, and just as you are ready to scream; as much as your trembling voice will allow you to, you stop. Mortified to see your wailing mother screaming and crying to let you go, her hand’s tied; as 3 men stand around her.

You had never seen her so scared before; seeing tears in her face scared you even more; she had always been the brave one, the one you run to, whenever you had a nightmare.

Right next to her was your dad, his forehead bleeding and his lips split. The man questioning him seems to have stopped in your presence; he stared at you and his face seemed to hold a mixture of pity and guilt.

He continues to question your father. It’s all too much; Your mother’s cry, your father’s helplessness, and the tight grip of the man holding you—your mind starts to get hazy.

All of a sudden, the front door crashes open, a ear-bleeding, loud bang resonates through the air, and the person holding you falls on to the floor. By now, a lot of men are in your kitchen, their guns pointing to each other.

You hear none of their conversations; you try your best not to look at the dead man lying beside you; you get a glimpse of the blood splattered on the wall, terrified; you close your eyes for a second and look straight ahead, only to find the man questioning your dad on the floor, his head underneath the sole of Bucky’s dad’s feet.

Somebody helps your mum up, and she runs to your side; she holds you close to her as they escort the two of you outside into a black limousine. Just as you climb up, you hear another gunshot; you no longer wish to know who was shot.

Time seems to be moving in a different pace and before you know it, you’re at the Barnes household. Your parents seem to be discussing something but you couldn’t pay any attention to it.

All you could feel was the ringing sensation in your ear.

Bucky entered the mansion just around that time, his initial reaction to seeing you at his place was surprise; a small smirk forms on his face, but it slowly turns into confusion as he looks around.

He slowly comes up to you, takes your hand in his, and leads you to his room. As you sat on his bed, he prepped his pillows up to make you more comfortable and sat down next to you.

You assumed that he would ask you what was wrong or what happened. Your disheveled state would have made the distress obvious. But he never did; he just sat next to you, staring at you, yet you felt more comfortable sharing this silence, than you did the whole day.

Eventually he left and came back after some time with a glass of water in his hand. He gave it to you as he sat down next to you, even closer this time; and hugged you .

He’d been out for much longer than what would be required to get a glass of water.

So you assumed that he must have pestered around and made his mother spill everything. Mrs. Barnes was a sensitive women and Bucky always had his way with people.

He hugged you a little tighter as he said “It’s OK; you’re safe now. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you, ever.”

And in that moment, you realized that he loved you back as well.

~