#you look around and see the worst in the world and it just makes you so mad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

meadowfics · 3 days ago

Text

blood on your hands

kang dae ho x f!reader

in which you commit an act so unforgivable, yet reasonable

warnings: murder, death, nsfw!! 18+, minors please dni. smut with plot. oral (dh receiving). switch!daeho. switch!reader. praise. no PinV. VERY long chapter. dark chapter. original plot changes. y/n is used. reader is player 099. reader is the murderer. established relationship with dae-ho before the games. this takes place after the mingle games. the original character in this fic is player 123. I am not responsible for the content you choose to read after you hit, "keep reading"

4.6k words

the bathroom is a mess of bodies and tension.

the air thick with sweat, fear, disgusting body waste, and the sharp buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights. the guards stand at the entrance, their rifles slung carelessly over their shoulders, barely paying attention.

they know no one is dumb enough to try anything here, not after the mingle game.

a game in which you barely survived too.

anyways, you should be focusing on keeping jun-hee safe, making sure she gets in and out of here without trouble, but your mind keeps circling back to dae-ho.

your man.

the love of your life.

the marine’s voice is still fresh in your ears.

"stay safe, no heroics."

all of the women were assigned to all go to the bathroom before lights out. you had smiled at him, something small, something just for him.

"i’ll be okay,"

you had promised, squeezing his hand.

"i'll stay with jun-hee the whole time."

he hadn't liked it. you could tell by the way his jaw clenched, by the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he wanted to argue but knew it would only make things harder. he is super protective about you, even before the games back at home.

in the end, he let you go, but not before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering like he was trying to memorize you.

"come back to me."

you had nodded. you always would.

the two of you had been together for years. your relationship wasn’t new, wasn’t fragile. it was something built, something strong, something that had withstood everything life had thrown at you before the games.

this?

this was different.

this was a nightmare neither of you had ever prepared for.

when you first locked eyes after red light, green light, it felt like the world had cracked open. neither of you had known the other would be here.

neither of you had imagined, in your worst nightmares, that this was how you’d meet again after not seeing each other for days.

after meeting the salesman, the both of you had a plan to pay off each other's debts. unaware that the other had the same exact plan too.

the first game, dae-ho had stormed across the bloodstained ground, past the trembling bodies of the survivors, past the bodies that would never move again, and grabbed you like you were slipping through his fingers.

“why are you here?"

his voice had been raw, panicked.

"how…why…"

"why are you here?"

you had shot back, just as desperate, just as lost.

you both had kept your struggles quieter than you should have, thinking you could handle them alone. thinking you didn’t have to drag each other down.

it didn’t matter now.

now, all that mattered was surviving. together.

which was what led you here…standing in a sea of exhausted, wary women, pushing into the bathroom with jun-hee behind you and hyun-ju in front, keeping them close, like a shield.

you aren’t the only one on edge. hyun-ju’s beautiful eyes are scanning, assessing. she turns around and catches the way your fingers twitch at your sides, the way your shoulders stay stiff.

"you okay?" her voice is low, careful.

you force a small nod.

"just need to pee badly."

it’s a lie.

hyun-ju knows. she reads people too well…probably from whatever special forces training she’s had.

she doesn’t press, just gives you a look before shifting her attention elsewhere.

it’s not the bathroom that has you tense.

it’s her.

player 123.

she’s already ahead, pushing through the group like she owns the place along with her goon’s, loud and grating. she hasn’t stopped talking since mingle. hasn’t stopped running her mouth.

"you see that one triangle guard earlier?"

she crows to no one in particular, shoving her elbow into the woman next to her.

"dude was practically asleep. i bet i could’ve grabbed his gun…boom, game over."

the woman beside her gives a nervous laugh, stepping away. no one outside of her dickriding goons wants to be near her…she’s too reckless, too unpredictable.

your fingers curl into a fist at your side.

you don’t trust her. not after what happened in the six-legged penalathon.

you and player 123 had almost killed each other.

it had been an accident, but that didn’t matter. the two of you had made a mistake, a single misstep, a moment of hesitation that had nearly sent both of you crashing to your deaths. and she blamed you.

the audacity.

when jun-hee came to your group, asking to join. you gave up your spot for the woman. dae-ho protested, but you told him that the pregnant woman needs to live, so being with men will help her.

dae-ho intensely watched you as you approached 123 and her group of 4. player 123 said you could join, since she needed another woman who looked, “as fit as you.”

however, that was a mistake.. since you both nearly tripped when you were running to the finish line.

since then, she hated you..

you weren’t exactly fond of her either.

you keep jun-hee behind you as the crowd shifts into the cramped bathroom. it’s a tight space, bodies pressing in on all sides. no privacy, no safety.

you aren’t the only one feeling it…jun-hee shifts uncomfortably, pressing a protective hand over her stomach. you glance at her, lowering your voice.

"we’ll be quick. i won’t let anything happen."

she nods, trusting.

too trusting.

you can feel player 123's presence, her laughter cutting through the thick air like a blade. she’s talking again, louder now, complaining about everything.

"this is ridiculous," she groans, kicking the bottom of a stall.

"they’re treating us like animals. like we’re not even people."

you bite back the urge to snap.

because that’s the thing...she’s not wrong.

that doesn’t make you hate her any less.

hyun-ju watches you carefully from the side, tracking the way your body tenses, the way your fingers tap against your leg like you’re holding yourself back from something.

"she’s not worth it," hyun-ju mutters under her breath.

you exhale sharply, steadying yourself.

"i know."

that doesn’t stop you from keeping an eye on player 123. doesn’t stop the weight of her presence from pressing into you.

because in a place like this, grudges can get you killed.

the guards stand lazily outside of the entrance, their rifles hanging at their sides, not paying attention.

they don’t care about the many players inside one hot room.

but you do.

you keep jun-hee close, guiding her toward the stalls. she looks miserable, her hand resting over the curve of her belly, shoulders tight with exhaustion.

"y/n, i just need to sit for a second."

jun-hee pulls you towards the first stall.

she goes into one of the stalls, locking it behind her, and you let out a slow breath. your heart is still racing. not because of the guards, not because of the way the other women keep their eyes peeled for weakness…but because of player 123.

you hear her voice somewhere off to the side, barking out a laugh, too loud, too confident.

"these stalls are disgusting, i swear to god. like what do they want us to do? piss outside?"

she’s talking to no one in particular, but the woman next to her lets out a forced chuckle, clearly too nervous to ignore her.

“she is so fucking annoying!”

you think.

your jaw clenches, fingers twitching at your side.

you don’t trust her. you never have.

so when jun-hee comes out of her stall, you decide to go in after her. not because you need to pee, but because you don’t want to have to go later, when things could be worse.

“i’ll be quick," you murmur, passing by hyun-ju, who is by the sinks, watching everything like a hawk.

"stay alert," she tells you.

you nod, stepping inside the stall, locking it behind you.

you sit, but your mind is elsewhere, lost in the horrors of the game.

everything blurs together…the blood, the screams, the crack of bones snapping under pressure. you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your palms into your thighs, trying to push the thoughts away, trying to remind yourself that you're still here. still breathing. still alive.

BANG.

your entire body jolts at the sudden impact against the stall door.

"can you hurry the fuck up?"

that voice.

your blood runs cold.

player 123.

you don’t say anything, don’t react, hoping she’ll just move on, but then

she crawls under the stall.

your breath catches in your throat, horror spiking through your veins as her hands and knees scrape against the filthy tile, her face appearing under the gap before she pulls herself inside, into your space.

"are you fucking stupid?"

you snap, scrambling to pull your joggers up as you stagger to your feet.

she just laughs.

loud, grating, obnoxious.

"oh? oh, look at that." she grins, rocking back on her heels.

"it’s the stupid bitch who almost got us killed!"

your fists clench.

"get the fuck out,"

you hiss, pushing past her to unlock the door.

she follows you.

you storm toward the sinks, your entire body thrumming with rage. she’s right on your heels, her voice sharp and mocking as she keeps egging you on.

"what’s wrong, 099? mad i called you out? mad that you’re such a weak bitch who made it this far? "

you ignore her, stepping toward the sinks where hyun-ju and jun-hee are.

she doesn’t stop.

"you think you’re some big hero? sticking with your little group like you’re different from the rest of us? newsflash, sweetheart…nobody here is safe."

your hands shake. you grip the edge of the sink, trying to steady yourself.

then she says it.

"you know... i started to notice how close you and player 388 are. are you guys together?"

123’s tone shifts, turning cruel, taunting.

you stare at her through the mirror, hoping she shuts the fuck up.

"wait, awee you guys are together! you know.. he’s such a charm. i cannot wait to steal him when you die during the next game!"

that’s it.

before you can even think, your body moves on its own.

you turn, your fist flying through the air, and the impact is satisfying to your mind and knuckles.

CRACK.

your knuckles collide with her face, sending her stumbling backward, her body hitting the ground with a hard thud.

someone gasps.

her goons rush forward, helping her up.

hyun-ju steps toward you, eyes sharp, but before she can say anything—

all hell breaks loose.

somewhere in the room, another fight erupts.

two randome women claw at each other, snarling like wild animals, hair being pulled, screams echoing off the tile.

and then, like a chain reaction, everyone starts fighting.

jun-hee stumbles back against the wall, hiding, pressing her hands over her stomach, panic flashing across her face. she knows she doesn’t stand a chance in this chaos.

hyun-ju moves quickly, diving into the mess, trying to break up fights before they get worse.

you…you don’t get the chance.

because player 123 tackles you.

you slam into the sink counter, pain exploding through your ribs.

"you wanna fucking hit me, huh?"

she seethes, grabbing onto your shirt.

"you bitch! you think you’re tough?"

you fight back, gripping her by the shoulders, trying to throw her off. but she’s strong, fueled by anger, by adrenaline.

you both go crashing to the ground.

she’s on top of you, fists flying.

one punch.

two.

three.

your face is bruised, bloodied.

your vision goes blurry, the taste of iron thick in your mouth as blood pools around your molar teeth.

you gasp, hands scrambling for anything.

you grip 123’s neck, trying to choke her, trying to stop her punches, but she just snarls, yanking at your hair, slamming your head back against the tile.

someone—se-mi—tries to pull her off.

but it’s not working.

you’re losing.

then

something presses against your thigh.

your metal fork.

the one from earlier’s meal. the one you saved, just in case something like this happened

your fingers close around it inside of your pocket.

without thinking..without hesitating..

you move your right hand quickly and plunge it into her neck.

she freezes.

123’s brown eyes go wide.

her hands, her fists, stop.

she limps, her body crumbling.

however, that was not enough.

something inside you snaps.

you stab.

again.

over and over and over until..

"STOP!"

arms pull you back… hyun-ju.

your breath is ragged, your chest heaving.

player 123 is dead.

her body is still.

her blood is everywhere.

you don’t realize what you’ve done…not really…until hyun-ju drags you into the hallway, pushing you against the wall beside a guard.

you’re hyperventilating. those pink lungs of yours cannot seem to catch a breath.

hyun-ju doesn’t yell at you. doesn’t scold you for murder since that would be hypocritical of her. she just takes the bloody fork from your hands, wipes at the blood on your face…though your 099 shirt is already soaked in red.

"breathe," she orders.

you can’t.

"what did i do?"

jun-hee stands nearby, eyes wide, face pale.

she looks at you, then at the bodies inside.

"nothing. since nothing will be mentioned to the others,"

she says quietly.

you nod.

silent.

back to the dorms.. you can barely walk.

your legs feel like they don’t belong to you, and the weight of what you just did claws at your chest, sinking deep into your ribs, making it hard to breathe.

hyun-ju keeps her arm wrapped tightly around you, holding you up, making sure you don’t collapse under your own exhaustion. your shirt is soaked in blood..

some yours, most of it hers.

player 123 is dead.

you did that.

you killed her.

yet, in this moment, all you can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other as you and the remaining women shuffle back into the dorms.

the second the doors open, the tension inside the dorm shifts.

the men had heard everything.

the screams.

the fighting.

the pounding of bodies slamming against the walls, the stalls, the sinks.

the killings.

it was a nightmare.

and dae-ho almost ran after you.

he had almost lost his mind when the first screams from multiple women echoed through the halls, his entire body lurching forward, ready to run, to fight, to protect you, before jung bae grabbed him.

"don’t." jung bae had hissed, forcing him to stay put.

"we don’t know what’s happening yet."

"it’s a fucking massacre, that’s what," young-il had muttered under his breath, his face pale as they all listened.

dae-ho couldn’t stay calm.

he was barely breathing, his hands clenching and unclenching, his mind running a thousand miles a minute.

you had told him you’d be okay.

you had promised.

but then why did the screaming keep going?

why did it sound like hell itself had broken loose in there?

at one point, it sounded like you were screaming.

it was, it was when you were repeatedly stabbing 123 over and over again.

back in the dorms, dae-ho kept trying to reason with himself.

you don’t start fights.

you aren’t reckless.

then he remembered the way you and 123 had argued after your group barely survived the six-legged penalathon…by four fucking seconds.

he remembered 123 cursing you out, yelling about how you should’ve died instead of her almost falling.

he remembered the way you just flicked her off, walking away.

she was a loose cannon.

123 was like thanos and namgyu smashed into one woman.

what if—

the doors open.

the women return.

and it’s worse than he imagined.

the ones who come back look horrible.

some are bloody. some have fresh bruises. some have torn shirts, missing shoes, swollen faces.

but not as many women return as there were when they left.

dae-ho’s stomach drops.

he scans the group frantically.

the marine’s heart hammers.

his eyes land on hyun-ju and jun-hee first…both fine, exhausted but fine.

then he sees you and his blood runs cold.

his baby. his love.

you look destroyed. your face is bloodied. your right eye is swollen. there’s a deep cut above your eyebrow, blood trailing down your cheek, dripping onto your already soaked shirt.

your lips are busted.

your knuckles are bruised and your hands are shaking.

"what the fuck happened?"

dae-ho’s voice is sharp, broken.

hyun-ju doesn’t answer right away.

instead, she tightens her grip on you, like she’s trying to shield you from his panic.

it’s too late.

he pushes forward, prying you out of hyun-ju’s arms, cradling you in his own.

his hands hover over your face, your wounds, your bruises, like he doesn’t know where to touch, where to fix, where to start.

"baby, oh my god, what did they do to you?" his voice breaks.

he lifts you into his arms, carrying you straight to his bed, settling you down gently, as if you might shatter if he moves too fast.

you don’t say anything.

you can’t.

because if you open your mouth, if you speak,you might just say what you did.

so instead, you stare at the ceiling, your breath shallow, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.

hyun-ju and jun-hee exchange a look.

they don’t tell him.

they don’t say what really happened.

that is your place, not theirs.

they don’t tell him that you killed player 123 in a fit of survival and rage, stabbing her over and over again until her body was lifeless.

instead, hyun-ju lies.

"a fight broke out. everyone was attacking each other."

dae-ho’s jaw tightens, his eyes flicking over every bruise, every wound, every drop of blood.

"and she was attacked?"

jun-hee nods.

"we barely made it out."

dae-ho exhales sharply, his hands trembling as he tears a piece of his 388 shirt, dipping it into some cup of water (belonging to gi-hun) before gently pressing it against your wounds.

"fuck, i should’ve been there," he mutters.

"i should’ve protected you."

you swallow.

dae-ho’s words make your chest ache in a way you can’t explain.

he doesn’t know.

he doesn’t know what you did.

he doesn’t know that you aren’t just hurt.

you are a killer now.

across the room, young-il/001/the frontman undercover watches you carefully as he sits beside a worried gi-hun and jung-bae.

his eyes linger.

he knows.

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a scene, but you catch the way he scans the room, the way he takes note of who came back..and who didn’t.

123 isn’t here

he knows.

you don’t look at dae-ho.

you can’t

because then you’d have to acknowledge it. and right now, you just want to pretend.

pretend you didn’t just take a life.

pretend you’re still you.

the speaker comes on and the room freezes as everyone listens. suddenly, the names of the eliminated players in the women’s bathroom echo through the dorms.

"player 037. eliminated."

"player 272. eliminated."

"player 081. eliminated."

"player 410. eliminated."

"player 008. eliminated."

"player 072. eliminated."

and then..

"player 123. eliminated."

the second her number is called, the room shifts in your perspective.

your stomach twists.

dae-ho’s eyes snap to you.

then to hyun-ju.

hyun-ju turns away.

you tense.

but he doesn’t know.

not yet. not yet.

because lights out is coming.

during lights out, you wake up to dae-ho who is looking up at the ceiling. the ceiling where the gold pig sits with all of the money. the money from the dead players.

“baby, is everything alright?”

you ask lightly, putting your hand on his upper thigh as he looks over at you.

the man smiles lightly, brushing a piece of hair off of your forehead as you close your eyes.. taking in his touch.

“i should be asking you that.”

dae-ho responds.

of course you are still thinking about the murder you committed. however, you know that there will not be any legal consequences. the guards and this whole game is illegal itself!

however, you wonder how dae-ho will look at you.

he used to talk to you about a murder that he committed while he was in the marines. the one thing that started his PTSD while serving. however, he was forced to do that.

you were not forced.

well, that is debatable.

since you were acting in self-defense.

you brought your sore lips over dae-ho’s and started kissing him soflty, moving his hands to your ass while you sat your clothed core on top of his bulge.

“y/n.”

he groans through your lips.

“hm.”

you smirk.

“is this alright? i don’t want you to feel uncom–”

“we need a distraction, dae-ho.”

two minutes later, your lips around around his fat tip. the marine’s head laid back against the hard wall, his pants pulled down to his ankles as you took his whole length inside of your throat.

you were distracting yourself. your focus is fully on your lover’s scent, his big dick in your throat, your hands massaging his balls, and the way your lashes batted up at his eyes while you sucked his dick.

this is the only way you can distract yourself from earlier. the murder. the murder you commited.

dae-ho wrapped your hair in a ponytail with his hands while you continued to do your work. you concentrated your tongue on a particular vein on his shaft while arching your back in the process.

"fuck, you're sucking me off so perfectly."

your boyfriend of five years reaches over to massage your clothed ass, groaning softly as you deepthroated his cock.

obviously, sucking his cock during lights out, where a player can easily see you, was not ideal for most people. however, you refused to pull dae-ho into a bathroom and do it. not where you killed 123.

dae-ho’s cock twitched inside of your throat and you hummed, feeling his white load spill inside of your mouth and throat.

the man puts a pillow over his head, so the pillow can block out his loud pornographic moan he spoke out.

you were always so good at sucking his dick, oh how much he missed it while the games were happening.

you helped your boyfriend pull his boxers and pants back on. the man flipped you over and kissed all over your neck, but you cringed.

not because of dae-ho, not at all. you were so desperate for his tongue on your clit but somehow.. you started smelling the metallic blood from earlier.

123’s blood.

tears fill your eyes almost immediately.

when dae-ho realized that you were crying out of fear instead of pleasure, he stopped instantly. he pulled you into his arms as you stained his shirt with your tears.

you started to hyperventilate again.

dae-ho keeps you in his arms, but pulls your head off of his chest in order to help yourself breathe.

“baby, please breathe.”

dae-ho panics, nearly having tears in his eyes too.

“dae-ho, i-i-ca-can’t. i’m ah-a monster.”

you coughed out.

dae-ho frowns.

“no you’re not!”

he mumbles confidently, truthfully.

“you’re my angel.”

you cry more, shaking your head with a frown.

“angels don't kill people, dae-ho.”

you sob, wiping your nose with your blood stained jacket.

“what?”

dae-ho’s eyes widened.

“sh-sh-she was so close to killing me i-in there!”

you start shaking, dae-ho holds your hands as you try to recall the memory.

your lips turn pale. dae-ho holds the back of your head with his large hands as more tears fall down your face.

“dae-ho, i killed 123!!! the fork i-i ha-had when we ate the bibimbap to-together! she almost beat me to death so i stabbed her.”

your hands started shaking to the point where dae-ho had to hold them.

not only was the memory so traumatic, but you were started to think that dae-ho would leave you.

scared that he would not want someone who is a murderer.

dae-ho’s eyes are widened, he cannot say anything.

“puh-pl-please say something! i swear it was in self-defense!! she did this to me-”

you pointed at the bruises and cuts on your face.

“i-i couldn’t breathe before i felt the fork in my pocket. i had to, i am so sorry! please forgive me for being a monster!”

you forced your hands out of dae-ho’s and covered your face, ashamed of yourself.

dae-ho is everything good in this world. even here, in this twisted, merciless game, he treats you like you’re made of glass…like you’re still the same person he fell in love with before all of this.

you’re scared.. now you believe that he knows that the girl he’s holding, the girl he’s protecting so fiercely, is not the girl he fell in love with.

you’re a monster. a murderer.

the blood on your hands isn’t just yours…it’s 123s.

dae-ho holds you again.. and doesn’t let go of you. not even for a second.

the marine’s arms stay firmly around you, grounding you as your entire body shakes, as your chest heaves, struggling to pull in air. your lungs burn, your throat closes, and your vision blurs with the overwhelming flood of emotions crashing down on you all at once.

you can’t stop crying.

you can’t stop the guilt, the fear, the shame from clawing at your insides, making you feel like you’re being ripped apart from the inside out.

"i'm a monster,"

you choke out between uneven breaths.

"i don’t deserve you, dae-ho. i don’t.."

"stop."

dae-ho’s voice is gentle, but firm. the man’s hands cup your face, thumbs wiping away the hot tears streaming down your cheeks, even though they just keep coming.

"baby, listen to me. i understand."

dae-ho’s voice is steady, warm, full of something so deep and unwavering.. it only makes you cry harder.

"i know. it was self-defense."

you shake your head, gripping onto his wrists like he’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely in this hellhole.

"but i still did it," you whisper, voice breaking.

"i still killed her."

dae-ho doesn’t flinch.

his grip doesn’t loosen.

his expression doesn’t change.

"and it would have been you killed if you hadn’t."

his words hit hard, slicing through the noise in your head.

you inhale sharply, shuddering.

"this game… it’s bringing out the worst in all of us." his voice softens, his forehead pressing against yours.

"this isn’t your fault, baby. you were protecting yourself."

you sob, shaking your head violently.

"no–"

"yes." he pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you, his dark eyes full of nothing but love.

"you’re not a monster. you’re still my girl… my angel."

dae-ho’svoice breaks on those last words, but he keeps going.

he wants to cry with you.

"when we get out of here, i’ll get us help." he promises.

"therapy, whatever you need, i’ll be right there with you. we’ll get through this. together."

your face crumples, your hands tightening in the fabric of his 388 shirt.

"how can you still love me after this?"

dae-ho lets out a soft, shaky breath, like he can’t believe you’d even ask that.

"how can i not? you’re the love of my life. bad or good."

your chest shakes as another sob wracks through you, but this time, it’s different.

it’s not just grief, it’s relief.

because he’s not leaving.

he’s not disgusted.

he’s not giving up on you.

"i’m not mad, baby. i’m not mad at you." his lips press against your temple, lingering.

"and we’re okay. i’m still with you. i’m still going to protect you."

"we’re okay?" you whisper, almost afraid to believe it.

he nods, pulling you closer, holding you like he never wants to let go.

"we’re okay."

masterlist

272 notes · View notes

dollyfiles · 1 day ago

Text

you are stalker!rafe’s new obsession

cw: dark!rafe, stalking, being rafe’s prey, obsession, explicit themes, violence, mentions of murder, knifes, blood, killing, inspired by the song “tag, you’re it.” by melanie martinez

you always felt eyes on you.

it started as an unease, a fleeting paranoia that maybe someone was watching. the first time you noticed it was in the parking lot of your favorite café.

you’d been fumbling with your keys when you felt it, that slow, suffocating pressure of being watched. but when you turned around, the only thing behind you was the golden glow of the streetlamp and the empty asphalt.

that night, you convinced yourself that you were imagining things. but then the notes started. small, carefully folded pieces of paper left under your windshield wiper. the handwriting was neat but strangely intimate, like someone whispering a secret in your ear.

“red looks good on you.”

“you shouldn’t walk alone at night.”

“i see you, sweetheart.”

your stomach twisted every time you found one. your friends laughed it off. “it’s probably some dumb guy with a crush,” they said. “creepy, but harmless.” but you knew better. and then there he was..

rafe cameron. he liked watching you. you barely knew him, but that didn’t stop him from showing up everywhere you went.

you looked soft. delicate. the kind of girl who smiled at strangers and said thank you too much. the kind of girl who had no idea how dangerous the world could be. he wondered how you’d look when you were afraid. the thought sent a slow, satisfied shiver down his spine.

it started small. a glance here, a lingering stare there. following you, just to see if you’d notice. but you never did. not at first. so, he pushed further.

one night, you woke up gasping. there was a soft and deliberate sound right outside your window. your heart pounded as you reached for your phone, hands shaking. peeling back the curtain just a bit, you saw him.

rafe.

standing beneath the streetlamp, staring at your window. a slow grin curled across his face as he saw you hiding there, watching. you shut the curtain so fast it nearly ripped off the rod.

good. he thought. the fear suited you.

the next morning, you found a fresh note tucked into your mailbox.

“run, little rabbit.”

your hands shook as you crumpled it, tightness building in your throat. you immediately told your friends. they said you were overreacting. you then told the police. they told you they couldn’t do much without proof.

that was the worst part. no one believed you. no one except rafe. and he loved that. but the real fun started when he got inside..

the first time, he didn’t take anything. didn’t break anything. just stood in your room, breathing in the scent of you—sweet, something floral, something innocent.

a single red rose was placed on your pillow one evening when you came home late. your perfume bottle—half-empty even though you hadn’t used it in days.

rafe wanted you to know he’d been there. that he could reach you whenever he wanted. that you were his.

on the night he finally decided to take you, it rained.

thunder rumbled in the distance as he stood outside your apartment, watching the glow of your bedroom window. you were in there. safe, warm, his. you just didn’t know it yet.

a click of the lock. the back door swung open with ease. you’d been good about locking it the last few nights. he wondered if you’d slipped up—or if you were getting too comfortable.

either way, it didn’t matter. rafe stepped inside, his pulse steady, movements slow. he didn’t rush. didn’t make a sound.

you were in the living room, curled up on the couch, phone in your hand. you were texting someone—he could see the soft glow of the screen lighting up your face.

you had no idea he was right there. he let the seconds stretch, savoring the moment. then, finally—he knocked. soft at first. then harder. persistent. your stomach dropped.

for a long, delicious moment, silence stretched between you. he could picture your heartbeat picking up, that sweet little pulse hammering in your throat.

you didn’t react at first. smart girl. but it was too late.

a low chuckle echoed from the dark hallway. you froze, pulling your knees to your chest. "you hide like a scared little rabbit," rafe’s voice drawled from the shadows.

he was inside.

you immediately bolted. ripping the kitchen drawer open, you snatched the first knife your fingers touched, your pulse a wild drum in your ears.

then his dark figure stepped forward. he was drenched from the storm, his shirt clinging to his chest, his blue eyes locked onto you like you were prey. he moved slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the moment.

"y/n," he murmured, tilting his head. "you weren't supposed to run yet.” your grip on the knife tightened, “get out." you screamed. his smirk deepened, amused. "now, why would I do that?"

the air in the room thickened. then—your phone rang. the shrill sound shattered the tension, and in that split second, you lunged.

the knife sliced through the air, but rafe was faster. he caught your wrist mid-swing, twisting it until the blade clattered to the floor. you gasped in pain. you made it too easy.

"you fight, too?" his breath was warm against your ear as he yanked you close, his grip rough, "i like that." you thrashed, kicking at him, but he barely flinched. the phone kept ringing. you screamed.

"you’re making this way more fun than i expected," he murmured, like this was a game. and you were his favorite new toy. your stomach lurched.

you couldn't let him win.

your eyes darted around the kitchen, searching and then your eyes caught it. the kettle. still full from when you’d boiled water earlier.

with one desperate motion, you threw yourself forward, stretching your free arm as far as it would go—fingers closing around the kettle's handle. and then you swung.

rafe screamed. the sting of boiling water shot through him. and his grip loosened just enough. you wrenched free, diving for the knife. your fingers closed around the handle, and before you could think twice—before you could hesitate—a flash of silver.

cold steel buried into his stomach. his breath hitched. the world around him tilted. his hands shot to the knife, warmth spreading beneath his fingertips, the sting sharp, alive.

and then he looked at you. you were panting. wide-eyed. but not terrified. no, this was something else entirely.

anger. power. something dark, something almost hungry. rafe’s lips twitched, his vision going hazy, but still—he grinned. you were finally playing the game.

you took a step closer, your breath shaky but your grip on the knife solid. "tag," you whispered. and then—you twisted it. "you’re it," you spat lastly.

a guttural sound escaped him, half groan, half laughter. fuck. he felt it all. the blade cutting deeper, the fire spreading through his veins, the sharp edge of death curling around him like a lover.

god, you were perfect.

his vision began to darken at the edges, but he was still grinning, teeth red with blood. his hand weakly reached for you, brushing your wrist, smearing crimson against your skin.

"shit," he rasped, his voice slurred, "you finally get it, don’t ya’?”

you yanked the knife free, and he choked, body collapsing to the floor. everything felt distant, fading—but not before he caught one last glimpse of you standing over him, fierce, wild, untouchable.

rafe had never wanted you more.

and as the world went black, the last thought that curled through his sick mind was simple.

you were finally his kind of dangerous.

a/n: something a lil different but im actually very happy with this !!

tags: @dearapril @deansbeer @rafesheaven @rafeysbangs @rafesbowbunny @rafespreciosa @rafesangelita @rafey-baby @plaidcowboy @filthyrafe @figthoughts @drewsephrry @et6rnalsun @dulcescorderitas @littlelamy @inspiredangel @fawnhart @cherrygirlfriend @rafesweetie @hauntedfawnn @starzify

#dollys playroom 🐇#blurbs ₊˚⊹♡#dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #stalker!rafe #stalker!rafe cameron

234 notes · View notes

scoupsakakitty · 2 days ago

Text

Beautiful | idol!Hoshi x idolxReader | angst, fluff

Tw: weight loss, not feeling enough

The rain poured relentlessly, blurring the neon lights of Seoul into streaks of color as Hoshi stood outside the apartment building. His fingers clenched around the umbrella handle, though he wasn’t sure why he had bothered bringing it. He was already soaked, and something about the cold seemed fitting.

He hesitated before pressing the buzzer.

Silence.

Then, a static-laced voice: "Who is it?"

Hearing her voice after all this time nearly broke him. "It’s me."

A long pause. Too long.

"Go home, Soonyoung."

He swallowed. "I just want to see you. Please."

"Don’t you have something better to do? Like catching a flight to Japan?" she said bitterly.

"I’ll take the next flight," he replied without hesitation. "You’re more important."

More silence, then a click. The door unlocked. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and stepped inside.

Y/N was thinner than he remembered. The weight loss was noticeable even under the oversized hoodie she wore, sleeves pulled over trembling fingers. Her once-bright eyes were dull, lips slightly chapped, the kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix settled deep in her features.

Seeing her like this made his chest tighten. This wasn’t the Y/N he knew.

"You shouldn’t be here," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Hoshi ignored the warning, stepping inside fully. "I had to see you. I had to know if you were okay."

She let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her tangled hair. "Do I look okay to you?"

No. She looked like she had been barely holding on, like she had been drowning in something she couldn’t escape from. And the worst part? He hadn’t been there to pull her out.

"I’ve been watching you… on stage, in interviews, award shows. You’re disappearing, Y/N. You’re hurting," he admitted, voice raw. "Your friend reached out to me. She’s worried. And she thought maybe… maybe I could help."

Her eyes flashed. "And what? You think you can just come back and fix me? That your presence will magically make things better?"

"No," he whispered. "But I can be here. I can hold you up if you let me."

She scoffed. "You left, Soonyoung. And now you want to be my savior?"

"I never stopped caring," he said, his voice shaking. "I never stopped loving you."

That was the breaking point. Her lips trembled, and before she could stop herself, she collapsed into his arms.

"It’s so hard, Soonyoung," she sobbed into his chest. "No matter what I do, there’s always something wrong with me. I’m never pretty enough, never talented enough. Always too much or too little. They find every flaw, every mistake. The pressure is… it’s crushing me."

He held her tightly, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Y/N, listen to me. You are the most beautiful person in the world. And not because of how you look. You are beautiful for the way you think, for the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about something you love, for your ability to make people smile without trying."

She clung to him, her breathing ragged.

"I am proud of you," he continued. "I am proud of you for trying, even when it hurts. I wish I could tell you when you’ll finally feel okay again, when your head will be above water, but healing isn’t something you can time. It isn’t something you can measure. But things will get lighter, little by little, as you break through the weight on your shoulders. Keep facing what you need to face. You are getting closer every single day, even if it doesn’t feel that way. And I hope you start to believe that you are worthy of everything you want in this life. You deserve to be adored and cared for in every way your mind, body, and heart long for. You are effortlessly beautiful. You are the embodiment of beauty. Don’t let anyone tell you differently."

She sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at him. "Why do you still love me? After everything?"

He smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "The only feeling stronger than my love for you is the ache that comes with missing you. I love everything about you. Maybe too much. But how could I not love that smile, that laughter, those eyes, that passion?"

Her breath hitched, fresh tears pooling in her eyes.

"I hate you," she whispered, voice trembling.

"I know," he said softly, pressing his forehead against hers. "Hate me all you want. Just let me stay."

She let out a shuddering breath and, after what felt like an eternity, nodded against his chest.

Soonyoung held her, his arms tightening around her fragile frame, and for the first time in months, she let herself lean into the warmth she had been missing.

Outside, the rain kept falling, washing away the past, making room for something new.

136 notes · View notes

angelsndragons · 2 days ago

Text

oh you want discourse? sure, buddy.

the queer characters in tevinter are all part of an underground organization started specifically by said queer characters. they're still underground. ya know, like dorian said way back in dai when he mentioned having no concept of how a queer relationship is supposed to work. of course it's tevinter where queer labels popped up, they literally need those words in a way the rest of thedas doesn't because the rest of thedas generally isn't queerphobic. same sex relationships are fucking normal in the rest of thedas, gender queer presentations and trans folk are just people in the rest of thedas. tevinter's queer population is oppressed in a way it wouldn't be in the rest of the world so yeah, they have fucking labels. also, as an out of world piece of commentary, they gave the roman empire/byzantine based culture our real world labels because said labels in english come from latin. ya know, the language of the roman empire.

the only change that's been made on the queer front in tevinter from what we've heard earlier is that trans folk can now legally serve in the military as themselves. tarquin has a convo about it. that's literally it. krem's situation won't happen again, probably thanks to dorian meeting him and working with mae to make it happen. that's the only change in ten years. mae was in dai in several war table missions, specifically about empowering the lucerni further, and she's been trans the entire time so yeah, there is precedent for queer folks to rise to power outside of veilguard. it doesn't happen often and the establishment took its first opportunity to throw her out but it's there. the queer folk outside the shadow dragons hideout? they're furtive, whispering requests for dates or nervously looking around to see if someone else heard the conversation. i caught four separate occasions where this happened in dock town.

the crows weren't defanged, did you not listen to any of lucanis, ivenci, or viago's conversations? lucanis and rook were tortured as part of their training (literally as children), viago talks about dosing himself with poison since a young age (and doing so to rook), rook and jacobus were kids from the street taken in and brutally trained for assassinations, etc. jacobus starts up his own house to continue the cycle in the save treviso route for fuck's sake. invenci talks about how crow infighting messes up/destroys the country's ability to function, disparages their whole "crows rule antiva" with snide remarks about how countries actually function -paperwork, which so casually dismisses-, and decries them as murderers with no oversight. they're right, the crows are literally doing that outside treviso, where circumstances have forced various houses to work together as a resistance cell. the crows are better than when we last heard of them from zevran, who's spent the last twenty years assassinating the worst of the bunch, but they're not good by any stretch of the imagination. the crows are absolutely presenting their best face to rook but all the factions are. they want the extra help and expertise rook and their team offers so they're trying to put as positive a spin on it as possible.

that stuff you say is a problem isn't if you paying any sort of attention to the game and the world it presents.

Is this a safe space to—HA. HAHAHA. (I'm well aware it isn't but I'm going to share my opinion regardless.)

I think there is a significant correlation between people who are mad at Dragon Age: The Veilguard's queer representation being "too in your face" and "not fantasy immersive enough" or whatever, and people who play Baldur's Gate 3 and other queer RPGs, pretending the queerness doesn't exist.

This is not dissing BG3; lord knows I'm in love with that game. I'm just pointing out that it is entirely possible to go through it and pretty easily ignore its queerness if you're an asshole set on doing so. You cannot do that with DATV. And I think that's why Taash especially gets the brunt of the bullshit reactions, because them being non-binary is such a core part of who they are, it is is unavoidable.

So, yeah. I like the overt queerness. As far as I'm concerned, that's one of the best things about DATV.

#veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #good lord this take is exhausting #maybe just maybe the two open queers in power made a tiny bit of progress in ten years #who'd have thought back in 2005 that ten years later the us would rule gay marriage as law of the land #nobody #the answer is nobody #you waltz up to the queer underground literally magically locked behind two different store fonts #and still think 'yeah tevinter's so queer positive'#literally don't know what to tell you #'oh they're hidden because they're resistance fighters/abolitionists' they're also the queer speak easy #tevinter categorizes literally everything why is categorizing queers such a problem exactly

467 notes · View notes

biblical-chronicles · 2 days ago

Text

Observe

_____________________________________

where you force Noel to carefully observe how beautiful he is [18+]

_____________________________________

It started with a magazine.

Noel hadn’t been looking for it but there it was, sitting on the studio table like it had been placed there just to fuck with him. He wasn’t even sure who it belonged to, but the second he saw your face staring back at him from the glossy cover, he reached for it without thinking.

You looked unreal. Dressed to the nines for some event, standing on a red carpet like you owned the whole fucking world. The headline was some over-the-top nonsense about your “jaw-dropping” look, but Noel barely registered it, too caught up in the image itself. The way the cameras caught the gleam in your eyes, the effortless way you carried yourself—it was enough to make something tighten in his chest.

Then, he turned the page.

And there it was.

Noel Gallagher punching above his weight?

The words hit like a slap. A passing remark buried in some fluff piece, probably not even meant to be taken seriously, but it didn’t matter. His grip on the magazine tightened as his eyes skimmed the rest.

An unlikely pairing, but somehow, it works. Noel Gallagher, the ever-broody Manc, managing to land one of the most effortlessly stylish women in the business? Fair play to him. She could have anyone, but for now, it’s the Oasis man at her side.

For now.

Noel shut the magazine with a sharp snap, jaw clenched, and tossed it back onto the table like it had burned him. Suddenly, he felt like a right idiot for even picking it up.

He’d always known it, hadn’t he? That you were too good for him. It wasn’t a new thought—not by a long shot. But reading it like that, spelled out so plainly for anyone to see… Christ.

It got in his head.

---

At first, you didn’t think much of it.

Noel had always been a bit fo a grumpy bastard, always carried himself with that sharp-edged indifference. But this was different.

He was quieter now. Less present. Kept a deliberate space between you, like an invisible line had been drawn that he refused to cross. At night, when you curled into him, instead of an arm pulling you closer, there was a mumbled excuse, a shift of weight, the warmth of his body leaving yours sooner than it should.

And worst of all?

He stopped observing you.

No more lingering glances from across the room, no more quick, shameless once-overs when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The gaze that once held amusement, desire, was now nowhere to be found.

It went on for a few days. Too many. And now, watching him nurse the same drink for the better part of an hour, avoiding your gaze like it might pin him to the spot, you decided you’d had enough.

You leaned forward on the sofa, elbows on your knees, watching him like you were trying to work him out. “Alright. Spill.”

His fingers tapped idly against the glass. He didn’t look up. “Spill what?”

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t be a knobhead.”

Noel’s lips twitched—half a smirk, gone before it could settle.

“You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“I’ve not been acting weird.”

“Oh, right. So you always act like you can’t stand me touching you?”

That got him.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, his grip tightening around the glass before he slowly set it down. Still, he wouldn’t meet your eyes, staring at the table like the answer to whatever existential crisis he was having might be found in the wood grain.

You sighed, shifting forward, plucking the glass from his hand and setting it aside. Before he could protest, you reached out, fingers curling under his chin, tilting his face up so he had no choice but to look at you.

“Noel.” Your voice was softer now. Steady. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

His lips parted slightly, an answer hovering there, but then he shook his head, huffed out a laugh that held no real amusement.

“S’nothing, love. Just me bein’ daft.”

“Bullshit.”

This time, the smirk almost stuck.

But then it was gone again, lost to whatever was gnawing at him. His shoulders tensed beneath his shirt, his whole body locked up like he was bracing for something.

You exhaled slowly, thumb brushing along the stubble at his jaw. “Come on. Tell me.”

A beat of silence. Then, finally—

“Just… I dunno.” His voice was quieter now, like saying it any louder would make it worse. “You could have anyone, y’know? Proper anyone. And yet, you’re here. With me.”

Your brow furrowed. “And that’s a problem because…?”

He scoffed, barely shaking his head, like he knew how ridiculous it sounded but still couldn’t help feeling it. His hand lifted, raking through his hair in frustration. “Forget it. S’stupid.”

You reached for him again, fingertips just grazing his arm before he pulled away.

“No, it’s not stupid.” Your voice was firm, no room for argument. “You’ve been distant, pushing me away, all ‘cause of what? Some daft insecurity?”

His head snapped up at that, something flickering in his eyes. “Maybe.”

You sighed. Christ. You weren’t going to get through to him like this.

Then—an idea.

“Come with me.”

Noel frowned. “What?”

You didn’t answer. Just grabbed his hand, pulled him up from the sofa, and led him through the apartment, stopping in front of the full-length mirror by the wall, quickly grabbing a chair to sit him down.

Noel just followed you with his eyes as he sat, shoulders tense, jaw set like he was bracing for something. His reflection met his gaze for half a second before he dropped his eyes, exhaling sharply.

“Dunno what we’re doin’ here, love.” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

You ignored him. Instead, you moved behind him, running your hands over his shoulders, feeling the knots of tension beneath your fingers. He was always like this—locked up tight, carrying more weight than he let on.

Your fingers traced along the collar of his shirt before slipping under the fabric, pressing into his skin. “Look,” you murmured.

He shook his head, resisting.

Your grip tightened in warning. “Noel.”

Reluctantly, his gaze lifted to the mirror again.

You took your time, undoing the first button of his shirt. Then the next. Slowly, deliberately, watching his reflection as his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the rise and fall of his chest growing unsteady.

“You never look at yourself, do you?” you murmured, pressing your lips to the side of his neck. “Not really.”

He gave a weak scoff, but it died in his throat the second you slid his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Your hands mapped over bare skin, tracing every dip and ridge, every scar, every inch of him that he refused to see as anything but ordinary.

To you, it was anything but.

Your fingers grazed over his ribs, his stomach, dragging slow, reverent touches across his skin. “This,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “is gorgeous, and it's mine.”

Noel’s breath stuttered.

You trailed your lips lower, along his bicep, over the veins lining his forearm. “Mine.”

His eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back, trying to escape the weight of it, but you caught his chin, forcing him forward.

“Don’t look away.”

His lashes flickered, mouth parting slightly as you guided his gaze back to the mirror. His face was flushed, lips red from biting back whatever wanted to slip out. You could see it, the fight in him—the part of him that wanted to shake this off, make a joke, deflect.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let you tip his head up, let you run your hands over his chest, his stomach, feeling him tremble under your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, lips grazing over his skin. A kiss to his collarbone. Another to the center of his chest. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

Noel’s breath was shallow, chest heaving as you kissed him again, this time with more urgency. His lips parted slightly, allowing your tongue to slide against his, tasting him, feeling the heat of his mouth. His hands clenched around you, as though he couldn’t hold onto you enough.

“Look at me, Noel,” you murmured between kisses, pulling back just enough to study his eyes. His gaze was wild, glassy with desire. His body trembled in your hands, but it was a different kind of tension now, a kind of need you’d only seen glimpses of before. He didn’t pull away. In fact, his chest pushed against you, desperate for more.

Slowly, you ran your hands over his skin, fingertips grazing his chest, tracing each muscle as if you were savoring every inch of him. You could feel his breath hitch when you lightly scraped your nails along his sides, and you smiled into his skin, kissing him softly again, this time at the corner of his mouth, lingering there.

His chest heaved with every breath, his hand twitching at his side, desperate for some kind of release. You could see the struggle, feel the shift as he began to let go of that ever-present wall he built around himself. Slowly, carefully, you reached for the button of his jeans, your fingers tracing the waistband before you slipped your hand inside, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric.

He stilled, a shudder running through him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” you whispered, voice breathy, filled with adoration as you pressed your lips against his neck, slowly biting down gently, hearing him gasp in response. His hands were on your back now, his fingers digging into your skin as he instinctively pulled you closer.

You pulled away to look at him, gently brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, watching as he struggled to meet your gaze. But you wouldn’t let him look away—gripping his face gently, guiding him to meet your eyes again.

"Look at yourself," you whispered. “You’re perfect.”

His eyes flitted to the mirror, catching the sight of his flushed cheeks, the way his chest heaved with each breath. His expression wavered, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but then he softened, leaning into your touch.

As you kissed him again, you did so deeply, fully, showing him how much you craved him, how much you loved every part of him. The pace of your kiss grew more fervent as you worked your hands lower, skimming over his skin, watching his body arch into yours.

His head tipped back slightly, his eyes flickering between the mirror and you. You could tell he was struggling, trying not to let go. But there was no stopping the way his body responded to you.

“Watch,” you breathed against his lips, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, forcing his face gently so he couldn’t look away. His eyes were wide now, reflecting the intensity of the moment as he watched the way you touched him. Your hand steadily stroking him with the occasional press just below his head making him moan.

With every tender caress, you gave him nothing but praise. “So fucking beautiful. Everything about you is absolutely breathtaking.”

His breath hitched as the intensity of your touch and words drew him closer to the edge. He moaned softly, trying to hold back, but you weren’t letting him. You picked up your pace and pressed your lips back to his, barely able to kiss him through his string of moans.

As you pulled away a thin strain of spit connected you, both of you looking at it before it broke, soflty landing against his chin.

“Look at yourself, Noel,” you said softly, pulling his face toward yours with a steady hand, guiding his eyes back to the mirror as you continued stroking him, now picking up the pace. His chest heaved as you kissed him again, soft but insistent, whispering into the kiss.

“Can’t look away, can you?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear, the teasing note in your voice making him shiver.

He let out another low moan, the sound more strained now, a desperate acknowledgment of what was happening. His eyes stayed fixed on his reflection, unable to tear away from the sight of himself at this point.

Then you stopped for a moment, only to start again, faster now, his body bucking instinctively into your touch as he let out a breathless cry.

You knew it wouldn’t be long now, so you kissed his neck, your hands continuing their relentless movement, keeping him on the edge, making sure he stayed in the moment.

And then it happened.

A breathless gasp escaped his lips as he came undone, his body shuddering under your touch.

As he came down from the moment, you continued to kiss him, each press of your lips a promise. “I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, “You’re gorgeous… Every inch of you, never doubt that.”

_______________________________________-

hope you lot liked this, sorry for the later than usual upload, love ya !!

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #oasis band #britpop x f!reader #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x f!reader #noel gallagher smut #noel gallagher fanfiction #noel gallagher x reader smut #noel gallagher x f!reader smut #oasis fanfiction #oasis fic #britpop x you

63 notes · View notes

republicansaredomesticterrorists · 2 days ago

Text

They are trying to illegally fire tens of thousands of Federal workers at the worst possible time of year. These are middle class to lower middle class people in DC and probably about a third or so of them voted for Trump. Contrary to publican opinion nobody gets rich working for the Federal government, especially in a major city where the cost of living is very high as are mortgages and rents. A disproportionate number of them are African-American, women, and other marginalized people since government employment is a safe haven for them with the added safety of being largely Unionized. To be honest there aren’t a lot of jobs open in the DC area with the pay and benefits of a unionized government job.

Musk is trying to run the government as if it were a business and that model does not apply. Government is not supposed to make a profit or pay dividends to shareholders. The primary purpose of government is to SPEND money to improve the lives and safety of all Americans.

Mass firings will not only ruin the lives of those removed from employment but it will have a ripple effect throughout the greater DC, Virginia, and Maryland area. All retail outlets will suffer immediately from lost business. Community and social services will be strained to the breaking point by hordes of people becoming unemployed all at once. The housing and rental market will collapse. Banks and Credit Unions will be stressed by loss of revenue. Families will dissolve and suicides will increase and so on. For those of you who don’t have sympathy for Federal employees, wait until the inconvenience of having almost no government services available to you strikes home. Think of the benefits that will be cut off. Think of the aid you won’t be able to receive when something goes wrong in your. Wait until you try to call a government agency to correct something to find out it doesn’t exist or is run by a skeleton crew.

You can look up the salaries of the rank and file workers and see it’s not great especially for one of the priciest markets in the country. This is a cold and heartless move which will have a devastating impact on large numbers of real people. It won’t just be in DC because they plan on spreading to field offices around the country so the pain will begin to seep into every county in the nation.

Government is not as simplistic as a business and can’t be run like one or by business people, entrepreneurs, oligarchs, CEO’s etc. Republicans, and other thoughtless people, need to separate themselves from the notion that someone who runs a business can run a country, or even a government agency. Diplomacy for example is much more complicated than a simple business deal. Diplomats spend lifetimes working on treaties and international agreements that will be in effect for decades or even centuries. It takes detailed knowledge of the past, current demographics and their needs, and years of forethought to play out every possible outcome of a treaty. Each word and phrase is excruciatingly analyzed for months or even years to achieve the desired effect and avoid any misinterpretations, misunderstandings, or vagaries of translation.

Treaties and national policy can’t be rationally drawn up by amateurs over a drunken round of golf, or a drunken steak dinner, or an amateurish conference call with the complexities of foreign languages which required highly skilled diplomatic translators who know the particularities of not only the mother tongue but each regional accent and dialect to avoid any posssible faux pas.

Trump and his henchmen are arrogant, poorly educated, unqualified, and often inebriated bigots and racists trying to run the world’s largest and most complex governing body as if it were a chain restaurant franchise.

Have you noticed yet nobody is talking about cutting aid to big energy companies, airlines, big pharma, or virtually any big corporate enterprise. Felon Muskrat says he’s uncovered billions in corruption and waste at every federal agency, in only a week. Felon hasn’t offered one scrap of documentation or proof though and neither had Trump. The media reports their claims of billions in waste and the Republican voters accept it as true. After a few weeks of hearing it in the news many of you will accept the lie as truth simply because you’ve heard it so often.

They are deliberately trying to overwhelm you, distract you, and wear you out. Democratic lawmakers trying to enter the very Federal agencies they fund have been locked out and kept at bay by armed private security wearing no identification and unwilling to state their names. Unwilling to say anything except you can’t enter.

They are pushing back but most of you seem to have forgotten that they became the minority party in both houses of Congress and the minority doesn’t have the ability to win a vote and pass anything or do anything other than protest and try to delay. Fortunately majority labor unions are out protesting in front of all the major agencies being targeted so far. Protests are also happing in some big cities but you’d never know it because it is virtually ignored as always by tv news.

#USAID #dismantling American government #this only benefits oligarchs and foreign adversaries #causing widespread unemployment and lack of services #republican assholes #maga morons #crooked donald #traitor trump #Felon Musk #republican family values

71 notes · View notes

witherby · 15 hours ago

Note

Heyyy

Soo this is a random / weird question, so feel free to not answer it.

I was thinking about how kids need to be taught proper hygiene / how not to be stinky and traumatized kids sometimes aren't taught. How do you think the bats would talk to Punchline about hygiene while making her feel comfortable and not being mean? Or would've the Joker taught her?

Sorry this is long

I think the Joker, despite winning World's Worst Dad by a fuckin mile, would at least teach her basic hygiene. Man rocks around in color-coordinated suits and has a theme/image to maintain. A stinky little girl isn't gonna help him with that, and I don't think he'd want to smell her all the time either.

But let's play in the space a minute. Let's pretend he taught her the absolute barest minimum. Punchline will brush her teeth, but not longer than 20 seconds. Punchline will shower, but doesn't use soap, just rinses off and scrubs her body in a half-assed manner. She can kind of style her hair, but any severely tangled/matted sections just get cut away and the remaining hair styled to hide it; she doesn't know about detangling or conditioner or cutting off the split and dead ends. Dirty clothes get dunked in some water and the stains a minimal scrub, then dried and re-worn. So on and so forth.

Alfred notices this first. When he comes by to read to her some more, he watches her take the provided toothbrush, wet it with just water, lightly brush it against her teeth, and then put it down again. He restructures his visits to include little lessons as well as reading. Luckily, she is very receptive to following orders.

Alfred got her teeth situation handled — with no cavities in sight, because she simply doesn't eat enough for it to be a huge risk.

Dick, as the one with the best looks, gets her hair under control. She gets introduced to the magic of clarifying shampoo and hydrating conditioner. He also introduces her to deodorant and perfumes.

Damian, red-faced, is the closest to her in age, so he teaches her what body wash is for and the best application practices for it while he's in a pair of swim trunks.

Bruce reaches her how to do laundry, trim her nails, and how to change the sheets on the bed she doesn't use.

At this point, Jason doesn't see her as worth the effort, and she isn't receptive to Tim being around, so they don't contribute to this stage in her rehabilitation.

It takes a little bit of trial and error — her gums bleed every time she brushes for a few weeks until her mouth acclimates to routine care, and a washing machine had to be replaced entirely because she used way too much laundry soap — but soon Punchline can be found carefully brushing through her emerald hair and changing into a new set of clothes every single day.

#el speaks #punchline au #batfam x reader #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #damian wayne #dick grayson

68 notes · View notes

cntloup · 1 day ago

Text

toji x fem!reader

angst, bold italics indicate flashbacks, parenthesis are the character's thoughts

this pic of him makes me sooo 😵‍💫🥵

if anyone knows the artist, please let me know 🙏🫶

it's a saturday night and you've been invited to a ball tonight by your close friend, shiu.

you thought what would be better than to unwind with some friends after a long week. what you didn't think would happen was to see him.

you mentally curse shiu for not mentioning anything about him coming here. you thought it was a given that he wouldn't invite both of you.

you spent months crying, trying to get over that guy. and now, he's standing right in front of you, looking dashing as ever, in a suit no less.

you suddenly feel nauseous, as if all the emotions you thought were gone kept rushing back to you.

"you'll have to excuse me..." you mutter lowly to shiu who was just about to introduce you to some clients as you ignore him calling out your name and quickly walk out of the venue, mustering all your power to keep yourself from having a full-blown breakdown in the middle of the room.

as soon as you walk out the door, you break into uncontrollable sobs and start hyperventilating, clutching your chest in a desperate attempt to calm your pounding heart.

"hey... you ok?" suddenly, the world stops... and there's only that voice, the one you know all too well and haven't heard in over a year.

"the hell does that mean?!" he barks at you, his blood boiling as pure rage fills the hollow shell of suppressed emotions, trying to bury the bitter taste of heartbreak.

"I've tried, toji. I really have, to make it work. but I don't feel like you love me. you say you do, but they're just words. I feel like I'm just a maid. and a mom to megs. I don't feel loved for me. I don't feel like myself anymore..."

you let out a gasp and your head turns around as if on autopilot until your eyes meet his.

his already concerned expression softens even further as soon as he witnesses your disheveled look, bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks which he has caused.

he feels the gnawing grasp of guilt in his heart for hurting you like this, all the memories of him in the past year coming back to him, how he was absolutely and completely shattered to pieces over your breakup. and now he can only imagine how it must have been for you.

he was an absolute wreck after you; always beating himself up over pushing you away so much to the point that you doubted his love, ('how did we end up like this?') he kept drinking his sorrow away until he blacked out every night and gambled all his money away even more so than usual without a care which shiu noticed and toji figures now that must have been the reason why he invited both of you.

you were his everything. you proved him wrong when he thought he was done with love after the death of his wife. you dragged him out of the pit of despair and held him through the turmoil, in your loving embrace which became his home.

the silence weighs heavy on your chest, thick tension filling the room as the leaden weight of the words that have just been uttered settles in your heart, and his.

"y-you're leaving?" his quivering voice is laced with a bleak desperation, as if trying to grasp at even a sliver of hope that this is not happening, his worst nightmare.

"goodbye, toji." you swallow the lump in your throat, 'I will always love you...' the words play out in your mind, but they never leave your mouth.

"what are you doing here?" you wipe the tears furiously with your hands as you think he shouldn't see you like this, ('please hold me')

"I could ask the same thing." he takes a step closer to you, carefully as if not to scare you away, ('still love you...')

"fuckin' shiu..." you shake your head, ('can't live without you')

he chuckles dryly, ('take me back please... i promise to be better... for you, i will')

you both stand there, staring into each other’s eyes for what feels like an eternity, feeling yourself nearly getting lost in his eyes, before sensing a surge of emotions rushing into you and overwhelming your heart, causing you to avert your gaze from him and mumble a quiet 'I need to go' and quickly make your way towards your car before he has any time to react, ('please stay! curse me, hit me, anything! just please, stay!') still shocked by seeing you after so long when he thought he was over you. what a fool.

oh, how you wish you could have stayed. how you wish he wouldn't have let you go in the first place. and how you wish you had the heart to let it all out instead of just leaving...

you notice him running after you in the rear-view mirror, but you know it's too late now as you drive away with tears in your eyes, your loud sobs mixing with the roars of the heavy metal music playing in the car.

#toji #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #toji zenin #toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk angst #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #Spotify

45 notes · View notes

joonjuul · 21 hours ago

Text

kiss it better. pjm

pairing: bestfriend!jimin x victim!reader

wc: 6.4k

warnings: soft!jimin, gentle!jimin, victim!reader, reader is in an abusive relationship, light blood, hitting, bruising, cheating, fingering (f receiving), shower fingering????, multiple orgasms, pet names, unprotected sex (wrap it up yall), soft sex, some fluff/aftercare, reader’s boyfriend is unnamed, jimin basically takes care of you after your boyfriend hits you

a/n: saw an edit of jimin to kiss it better by rihanna last night and had this idea, absolutely obsessed with soft jimin, reqs still open!!

╋━

you feel the second blow land on your cheek, your eyes welling up more as you notice the blood rushing to your once gentle skin.

like always, it was your fault you were in this mess. you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress out, you knew you would be actively disobeying your boyfriend’s orders, but for once you wanted to feel like you were free, knowing damn well you were whatever he wanted you to be. you made a mistake, and now you were facing the repercussions.

“i don’t want to do this, you know that.” you watch as your boyfriend leans down, your eyes meeting as he matches your stance on the floor, allowing you to see eye to eye. you’re unable to gather a response, only look up at him through teary eyes as you wait for another strike.

he brings a hand up to your face, gently running a finger along the scattered marks on your cheek. the touch, although subtle, only making the burning worse. you wince in pain, slightly pulling your head away and watch as he notices your response and returns to his feet, his expression cold and distant.

“you did this to yourself, y/n.” you watch him carefully from the ground as he turns around, bringing his hands under the sink to wash specks of blood off his knuckles, which were now painted in velvet, ironically your favorite color.

“you know how much i love you, right?” his back is facing you as he speaks, his voice laced with what can only be described as fake as he reaches for a towel, drying his hands carefully.

“i know.” you mumble, your voice breaking as you feel yourself holding back tears, your throat almost on fire by how much you want to cry, but you knew better than to let him see you in this state.

he turns back around to face you, throwing the paper towel out and leaning down to your fragile state, using his hands to pick you up and stand you on your feet. he placed a finger under your chin, moving your face to the side to carefully inspect your wounds. you watch his face contort, his eyebrows furrow as he looks at the destruction he inflicted on your once perfect skin.

“tsk tsk, gonna have to wear a mask to work tomorrow, tell people you’re sick.” he speaks normally, unaffected, as if he doesn’t care, and begins walking away.

“when is this going to end?” you turn back to face him as he’s halfway towards your shared bedroom door.

“excuse me?” you watch as his feet shift, your eyes meeting as he stands across the room, his demeanor now more angry than he was before, if that’s even possible. you knew talking back was the worst possible thing to do in this situation, but you were tired, unhappy, and down right over it.

“i’m tired of this. tired of being pushed around, hit, unable to do anything or exist. im not happy anymore.” you watch as his face stays stone cold but you know his brain is turning.

you feel yourself back up instinctively as he approaches you, his steps swift and powerful as he stops right in front of your face.

“if you’re tired of it then stop doing things that you know are wrong.” god when did he become so mean? he was the sweetest boy in the world to you, it wasn’t until you moved in with each other about a year ago that he began to act like this.

you scoff at him, walking past him as you brush his shoulder in the process, picking up your jacket and heading towards the door, not even putting on shoes in the process.

“so what just like that you’re gonna leave?” he questions, watching as you put your hand on the doorknob to your once hope filled apartment. you turn back to face him, throwing your jacket on as you feel your eyes begin to well up again.

“i just… need some time.” you say as you begin to turn the doorknob, taking a step out of your apartment as you feel his hand on your wrist, turning you around to face him.

he’s mere inches away from you, his face contorted with rage as he grits through his teeth.

“if i find out you end up somewhere you shouldn’t be tonight… we’re done.” you examine his expression, your eyes dancing between his lips to his furrowed brows and then down to his hand around your wrist.

without another word, you pull your hand away and make your way out the door to the elevator.

despite his yelling from behind you about god knows what, you refuse to turn around, refuse to face him.

once you feel the cold cement against your bare feet, and the smell of the new york city air at night, you can’t help the tears that stream down your cheeks as you break down completely. and before you know it, you’re running.

it’s completely subconscious when your feet end up carrying you 10 blocks down, your chest heaving and your eyes swollen shut from the cold air combined with your overwhelming amount of tears. but here you were, collapsed on his door step.

this was the last place you should be, and you knew that. you remember your boyfriend’s words as you were leaving, you knew exactly who he was talking about, and yet here you were.

you’re unable to knock on his door, only lay sobbing on the cement stairs leading to his building. he was on the first floor, and you prayed he could hear you, sense you were here as you were unable to move anymore. your body completely overrun with exhaustion and pain as you fought for your breaths.

and then, as if it was a miracle, or maybe a sign, you heard the door creek, and the sweet familiar sound of his soothing voice as he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around you and carrying you inside.

“are you okay? what happened? what’s wrong?” his voice was so gentle, so soothing, and although you were breathing too heavy to provide a response, you were still grateful for his thoughtfulness.

he laid you down on his couch carefully, his eyes quickly falling to the bruises and cuts on your face.

“oh my god y/n, what did he do to you?” you feel the tears begin to fall again at his words as he quickly went into his kitchen and grabbed a wash cloth, running it under some water and returning to your place on the couch.

he leaned before you, sat on his knees as he brought the towel to your face, the wetness soothing your marks much more than your tears had been doing as he places a hand on your chest in an attempt to calm you down.

“shhh just breathe, it’s okay, just breathe.” something about him always calmed you down, and before you knew it, you weren’t crying anymore, and instead were sitting across from him obediently as he tended to your wounds.

“what happened?” he questioned, and without the tears clouding your vision, you were able to see his beautiful sculpted face in front of you, his blonde hair sat messily on top of his head, slightly wet as if he had just showered, and his beautiful pink plump lips that you always stared at a little too long.

“i wore that dress you got me… for my birthday.” you spoke quietly, watching as your best friend’s face changed from soft to angry, almost infuriated at the idea that your boyfriend would lay a hand on you. jimin was your best friend, of course he knew things like this were happening, but he never knew the extent of it, and he never got involved because you begged him so many times to leave it alone. but things had gotten worse the past couple months, and you hadn’t been able to see him due to your boyfriend’s restrictions. he knew how much jimin cared about you, and knew that if you ever had to chose between the two of them, you wouldn’t chose him.

he brought a hand up to your face, carefully tucking a hair behind your ear as he scattered soothing strokes across your cheek that had yet to be marked.

“im so sorry, y/n. i should’ve never given that to you. god i should kill him for this. i should fucking kill him.”

“stop, jimin. this isn’t your fault and you know it.” you bring your hand up to his, taking his fingers within yours as you relish in the feeling of his warm skin against yours.

“i told him i needed time to think. i left. god i don’t know what im going to do.” you cover your face, trying your best not to cry again as you question whether or not you made the right decision. he would never leave you alone, he would track you down, go to your work, show up at your apartment. it happened before. where would you even live now that you’ve moved in together? you felt your head begin to spin with all the uncertainty and jimin quickly noticed, cupping your face with his hands as he brought your head up to look at him.

“hey, listen to me. you do not need to make a decision right now, okay? im here, im not leaving you. we’ll get through this together, okay?” you almost want to cry at his words. you had never met a man who cared about you as much as jimin. your whole life you had been pushed around and bullied by men, even by your father. and jimin came along and licked up every one of your wounds, he cared about you when no one else did.

you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a hug, the feeling of his hands wrapping around your waist made you only melt deeper.

“thank you. im so sorry i know you like your quiet time and your space-“

“are you kidding? i haven’t seen you in weeks, you’re more than welcome here and you know it.” he pulls away from the hug smiling as he leans in and kisses your forehead, standing to his feet and walking over to the kitchen.

“now, let’s get you out of that dress, yeah? as beautiful as you look i doubt you’re comfortable.” he throws the towel down onto the counter as he walks back to you, taking your hand in his as he leads you to his bedroom.

“does this mean i can raid your closet?” you ask excitedly. you always loved stealing his t-shirts, you didn’t know why but they were just so damn comfortable.

you heard him laugh gently, “of course.” and you can’t help but use your last bit of energy to jump excitedly, running to his closet and quickly finding a t-shirt that you think you’d like the most.

as much as he was happy to see you, jimin was doing his best to keep his composure right now. he was insanely protective of you, and the fact that your piece of shit boyfriend was possibly going to get away with this drove him mad. this was the first time he had seen you smile in months, and he refused to let it be the last. he was going to keep you away from that man no matter what it took.

you turned to face him, holding the shirt up before receiving a nod of approval. you smile before your face turns slightly, watching as jimin stands across from you.

“umm hello? a little privacy?” you tease and watch as jimin chuckles lowly in response.

“why don’t you take a hot shower, it might help.” he walks closer to you, taking the shirt from your hand and leading you to the bathroom.

“come on i don’t want to use up all your hot water like i did last time, you know i take long showers.” you protest, but they’re no use as jimin leans into the tub and turns the shower on, the steam quickly filling the confined space.

“trust me, i’ll be fine.” he laughs again, before heading to the door. you feel a strange pang in your chest at the thought of being alone. it was a strange sensation, but it made you feel like your head was going to explode. you quickly grab his hand before he’s able to exit, turning him to face you.

“im sorry it’s just… i don’t really want to be alone right now.” you say meekly, looking down at your feet in embarrassment.

jimin’s blood runs cold at your proposal, but he was a good man, he wasn’t going to take advantage of you in this vulnerable state.

“i’ll be right on the other side of the door.” he says again, tapping your hand reassuringly before trying to leave again, only for you to pull his wrist harder.

“please.” jimin feels his dick twitch as your gentle begging, but quickly removes the thought from his brain. he stands still for a moment, looking at your state before landing on your eyes, they were full of desperation, not in a lustful way, but in a painful way. you had been through so much. he felt his heart break gently before turning his body around completely and shutting the door completely, now enclosing you both into the small space.

“okay.” he watches as a small smile appears on your lips.

“no looking though.” you tease as you place your hands on his shoulders and turn him around to face the door.

“yeah yeah.” you loved how you could be playful with him, it was something you never experienced with your boyfriend, he was always so serious all the time, never tried to make you smile or do little things to keep you happy. jimin was like a breath of fresh air, everytime you looked at him you could feel your heart flutter in your chest, he was more than just your best friend, he was your soulmate.

you carefully peel your dress off, checking occasionally to make sure he’s not peaking, but of course, he’s not.

you carefully step into the shower, pulling the curtain back and feeling a wave of warmth wash over your body. the gentle sting of the water against your wounds barely noticeable due to the pure relaxation you felt, your body being consumed by the heat of the shower.

“okay you can turn around now.” you say from behind the curtain, which concealed you from his view completely.

jimin turns around, carefully making sure you’re not visible, before taking a seat on the toilet and leaning back, allowing himself to relish in the humidity and warmth of the small room.

“how does it feel?” his voice is so perfect and sweet, the sound mixed with the subtle scent of his soap, and the heat of the shower sending shots to your core. his presence in the room felt so intimate, even though you weren’t touching.

“mmm it feels good.” you hum, leaning your head back to wet your hair completely, your body feeling fully at ease as you feel the knots in your back loosening, all stress from the day, from the last couple months washing away and swirling down the drain beneath you.

you enjoy the silence for a moment, knowing that jimin was close to you and still providing you with comfort despite the fact that you weren’t speaking. you begin to wash yourself carefully, starting with your hair, before landing on your body. you didn’t particularly want to clean yourself with men’s body wash, but you didn’t have much of an option, plus it was jimin’s, so you’d at least smell like him for a couple hours, and that thought alone made you feel completely full of love.

but you were missing something, a wash cloth.

“jimin do you mind grabbing me a wash cloth?” you ask through the curtain. you don’t hear a response from him, only the rustling of some drawers before you see his shadow approach the curtain.

you pull the side of it back slightly, and poke your head out to retrieve the towel, quickly realizing how close he was to the curtain, your faces only an inch apart as his eyes land on yours.

you’re unable to conjure any words, the closeness now feeling more intimate than you could’ve imagined, and you feel your core begin to tingle at the thought of his beautiful plump lips enclosing around yours.

you swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes tracing down his body and landing on his hand, which gripped the towel tightly, his knuckles white as opposed to the dark velvet of your boyfriend’s.

you bring your hand down, gliding it across his wrist gently as you note the subtle goosebumps that appear under his skin, before landing on the towel and slowly pulling it from his grip.

you bring your eyes back up to his, now slightly lidded as he looks down at you, his cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted.

it took nearly every bone in his body to keep from kissing you. he had always felt something special towards you, something he was never able to quite put his finger on. you were everything to him, his entire world, his best friend, his soulmate, but never once had you crossed the line and been anything else. you’d never even kissed each other, it was always strictly platonic. it was part of the reason why jimin always felt you had such a strong relationship, because you didn’t let your male-female instincts get involved. but right now, he wanted to cross the line, he wanted to show you what real love felt like, he wanted to ease all the pain in your body, take care of you in more ways than one. it was killing him.

you feel your cheeks blush as he brings a hand up to your face, his fingers cold as they run against your hot skin, the contrast quickly stirring something within your stomach.

“jimin.” your voice is a hushed whisper as you look up at him. you weren’t sure what you were begging for, whether or not you were begging at all. but you were overwhelmed with the tension between you too, it was more than you could bare.

he feels his dick twitch in his pants at the way you said his name, it was like an angel was stood before him, it would be almost sinful to now show you how much you meant to him.

his hand fully encloses around your cheek as he leans in gently, his eyes dancing between yours to look for any resistance, but he’s met with none. in fact, he notices how you gently lean in too, your eyes hooded as you feel your lips connect with one another, and just like that, everything else melts away.

his skin was cold against yours, his lips dry as yours were wet and warm, the contrast overwhelming you completely as you feel yourself fall into him. he brings his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, your wet hair tangling within his fingers as he pulls you deeper into the kiss, his tongue quickly swiping past your lips and into your mouth.

it was unlike any kiss you’d ever had, it wasn’t rough, in fact it was just the opposite; it was soothing. it felt like every wrongdoing you’d ever experienced in your life no longer existed, like you and jimin were the only two people on earth, like your souls were meeting together for the first time. it was pure passion, pure affection, pure love.

you moan gently into his mouth at his touch, his other hand slipping past the curtain and falling on your waist, rubbing gentle circles along your wet skin. your body was on fire, it was as if every move he made, every touch you felt was heightened, and you couldn’t get enough.

you bring your hands to his shirt, pulling him towards you, signaling for him to join you. jimin pulls away from the kiss slowly, his eyes falling on yours as you watch his lips turn a deeper shade of pink, his face slightly wet and shirt covered in small droplets of water as he looks at you deeply.

“are you sure?” his voice is velvety smooth as the words roll off his tongue, and unlike anything your boyfriend had asked of you, you knew jimin meant it.

you nod at him, feeling his hand fall from the back of your head back to your cheek as he gently rubs his fingers over the cuts and bruises, watching as you wince slightly from the pain.

his face turns slightly more serious now, his head tilting to the side and you know he’s worried about your mental and physical state. he’s a good man, and you loved that about him, but right now you wanted him to put his morals aside, just for tonight.

“im okay, i promise.” you reach up and grab his hand from your cheek reassuringly, and watch as he takes a step back from you before bringing his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

you admire the way his body is sculpted perfectly. of course you had seen him shirtless before, but never like this. it almost made him look more attractive in your eyes, and you found yourself noticing small freckles and moles you hadn’t noticed before, it was like your eyes were opening to what had been in front of you all along.

he brings his hands to the button of his jeans before looking up at you, his eyes silently signaling for you to turn around, and you roll yours in response before shutting the curtain and returning to your warm enclosure, hearing the sounds of his zipper and his pants being tossed carelessly off his legs somewhere in the background.

you close your eyes as you feel the water run down your chest and over your stomach, relishing in the tranquility of the situation for just a moment, until you hear the curtain pull back slowly, and small patter of his feet hitting the water before he joins in behind you.

you keep your eyes shut, your hands running through your hair as you allow the water to explore your face, running along the cuts and scrapes carefully, as if not to hurt you. and after what feels like hours, you feel a pair of hands land on your waist, rubbing gentle circles along your skin.

it feels like heaven, even the slightest touch from him is enough to overwhelm you completely.

you hear him take a step closer to you, his breath hot against your neck as leans down and places gentle kisses against your shoulder, lulling your head back against his chest.

“you’re so beautiful.” his voice is whispered as he continues to kiss up and down your shoulder before stopping at your neck. you feel your heart skip a beat as he breaths into the sensitive crook, almost as if he’s restraining himself, holding back. you bring your hand up to the back his head and pull him down into your neck, allowing him to roam free of your body, and he does just that. gently sucking and kissing every patch of skin he can find. it was completely different than what you were used to. your boyfriend was always so rough, marking you, bruising you in any way he possible could, but jimin was different, every touch, every kiss was deliberate, intricate, passionate. everything you could’ve ever dreamed of.

you can’t help the moans that slip past your lips as his hands begin to wander around your body, exploring your stomach, hips and waist, all while burying himself into your neck. it’s almost too much to bare.

you take a step backwards, now fully pressed against him as you feel his hard on slide up your back, earning a deep groan from him into your neck. you smile to yourself as you feel his movements become more needy, before finally landing between your legs. he stops for a moment, his hand trailing up your thighs as he waits for any signs of resistance, but you only spread them slightly to allow him better access.

he starts small, easy, bringing a finger up to your folds and tracing them carefully, watching as you moan and twist your body in response. to which he dives between your folds, taking his time on your clit, rubbing torturous circles on your bundle of nerves before falling down to your hole, prodding it gently as he watches your body melt against him.

he uses his other hand to move your hair to the other side of your neck, allowing him better access to your skin as he sinks his head closer to your ear.

“are you sure about this?” his voice is so sweet, so gentle, barely a whisper as he places another kiss on your neck, circling your hole gently and noticing the distinct difference between your slick and the wetness of the shower.

you nod again, not able to audibly respond as you feel overwhelmed with need and pleasure.

“gonna need you to use your words, love.” he begins to circle your cunt slower now, placing another gentle kiss behind your ear as he brings his other hand down to your hip, holding you against him in a way that’s firm, but still gentle.

you nod again, “im sure, jimin.”

he scans your face again for any signs of discomfort, but doesn’t notice anything, he only notices the way your eyebrows crease together the slower he plays with your cunt, the way your butt instinctively wiggles against his dick, and the way your legs subconsciously spread for him the closer and closer he gets to your entrance.

he smiles to himself before placing another kiss on your neck as he slowly inserts the first finger.

you feel a moan slip past your lips as his digit stretches you out carefully, slipping past your entrance with ease as he quickly lands on your g-spot, curling his fingers perfectly to release another moan from your throat.

you allow your head to fall against his chest again as he places another kiss on your shoulder, his other hand steadying you against him as he sets on a tireless but gentle pace within your cunt.

you feel like he’s kissing every wound you’ve ever felt, even with his fingers as you allow yourself to completely and fully submit yourself to him. you trusted him more than anyone else in this world, even in such a vulnerable state you knew he’d never do anything to hurt you.

“there you go, shhh it’s okay, im here now, i’ve got you.” he mumbles into your neck as he watches you come undone completely, fully falling into his grasp as he works his skillful fingers in and out of your cunt. you feel your legs shake gently at the knot building within your stomach, something you hadn’t felt in a very long time. in any other scenario you would be embarrassed by how quickly you began to reach your high, but not right now, not with him.

he notices how your legs begin to shake, how your moans begin to get louder and breathing increases, and he knows you’re getting close. as much as he wants to torture you, make you beg to cum, throw you over his leg and finger you until you can’t breathe anymore, he knows that what you need right now is relaxation. and if that means making you cum as many times as you want, he’s more than willing to oblige.

“close, baby?” he rasps against your ear, wrapping an arm around your stomach to better stabilize you as he continues to finger you, curling the single digit occasionally to only further your high.

you nod your head aggressively, getting lost in the way he feels, the way he talks, the feeling of the water against your chest, his dick poking your back slightly, his arm around your waist, and with the final curl of his finger, you feel yourself come undone completely.

you double over, your upper half only being held up by his arm around your waist as you tighten around his finger, pulling and pushing him out simultaneously as moans and hushed nothings spill from your lips.

“that’s it, good girl, good girl baby.” he praises, pulling his finger out of you and pulling your upper body back against him as he allows the water to run over your face and chest, bringing his hand up to your hair to push it out of your eyes gently, doing anything he can to soothe you during the intense wave of feelings.

you allow your breathing to stabilize as you relax against him, your legs shaking gently as you feel the water rush over you.

before you’re able to respond, you feel him lean in front of you, wrapping his hand against the knob and turning the water off.

you turn to face him, looking confused. “i-i wasn’t done.” your voice still shaking slightly from your interaction.

he shoots you a look, but still holds a slight smile on his face. “let’s be honest baby, you wouldn’t have been able to get anything done after that anyway.” you’re unable to gather a response as he begins helping you out of the shower, wrapping the towel around your body to dry you before carefully pulling the shirt over your head and body.

you stop for a moment, your eyes trailing down from his wet messy hair, to his chest, down to his perfectly pink throbbing cock.

you reach towards it, grabbing the head gently and watch as his knees buckle in response before quickly looking up at you and grabbing your hand, pulling it off carefully.

“don’t.” he shoots you a look, his voice sounding more serious than normal as he begins to dry himself off now, his eyes peaking through his hair occasionally and you admire how perfectly made he was. everything down to the very last detail, how could someone be so perfect?

“i want to.” you mumble, your eyes never leaving his.

“no you don’t, not tonight.” he breaks the eye contact as he puts the towel on a hook to dry, picking up his clothes from earlier and putting them back on.

“no, i do.” you take a step closer, placing a hand on his to stop his movements, pulling the clothes from his grip and dropping them back on the floor.

he looks at you for a moment, realizing your seriousness, and he knows he’ll only be able to restrain his desires for so long. without a response, he turns around and opens the door, walking back to his room as you hear him fumbling with some clothes in the closet as you quickly follow suit.

“you won’t hurt me, im okay.” you say popping into the room quickly. but still, no response.

he throws a clean shirt over his head and a pair of boxers over his legs as he faces the closet. you walk up behind him, admiring his shoulders for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head against his back.

you’re still for a moment, allowing yourself to relish in the moment, in his scent, he doesn’t respond, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable, it never is with the two of you. you’re about to close your eyes when you feel him quickly turn around, his hands finding your cheeks as he attaches his lips to yours, the kiss much more heated than it was earlier as he backs you up towards the bed, laying you down on your back, but his lips never once faltering.

he pulls away to carefully observe your expression, which although surprised, is not upset. he examines the marks on your face one last time, before watching you nod your head reassuringly, this was something you wanted, and you knew he wanted it too.

he leans off the bed, pulling his boxers down swiftly as his cock springs free once more, and he returns to his place above you, a hand going in between the two of you as he aligns his cock with your entrance.

he brings the head between your folds, rubbing it up and down, collecting as much wetness as he can before stopping on your clit and pressing against it gently.

you moan in response, feeling more desperate than ever as he brings his cock back down to your hole, carefully nudging it and watching as your face contorts with pleasure.

“promise me this is what you want.” his eyes scan your face, dancing between your eyes as you nod your head in agreement, bringing a hand up to his cheek to stroke it gently.

“i promise.”

he leans down to kiss you, his lips feverish as he pushes his cock inside of you slowly, allowing your walls to stretch around his girth. you moan into the kiss, the feeling of his cock filling you up making your head spin with pleasure.

he continues to swallow your moans before bottoming out completely, his head nudging perfectly against your g spot as he adjusts his hips, rubbing against it teasingly, making you squeal out of sensitivity.

jimin pulls away from the kiss, looking down at your perfect face before leaning down and kissing the marks along your cheeks gently. he pulls his hips back as he begins to fall on a perfect pace, not too slow but not too fast.

“let me make it better.” his voice is almost a beg as he continues to kiss your cheek, one hand steadying himself by your head while the other holds your hip firmly in place.

you can’t help the noises that leave your body, the pleasure completely consuming you between his praises, and the way his cock perfectly fits inside of you.

“jimin.” you moan, your breath hot as he pulls back from your face and dives into the crook of your neck, continuing to place gentle kisses along your skin as his hips keep their pace perfectly.

your hands land to his hair, gripping it tightly as he works his magic on you. it was almost euphoric. the feeling of his cock stretching you out, the perfect words falling from his perfect lips, the trail of wet kisses along your body, it was pure bliss, and it was more than just sex. he wasn’t fucking you, you were making love.

he pulls away from your neck, his eyes landing on yours as his hips begin to roll into you, your eyes falling to the back of your head as he watches your face contort with pleasure.

“doing so well, baby. so perfect for me.” his praises shoot straight to your core as you feel another knot begin to build in your stomach. you wrap your legs around his waist, angling his cock directly into your g-spot as the pressure begins to build deeper and deeper, causing your moans to only increase in volume.

jimin carefully brings a hand up to your mouth, muffling your moans as his hips move faster.

“as beautiful as you sound, i still live in an apartment, baby.” he chuckles, feeling your breathing against his hand increase as you approach your second high of the night.

you feel your legs begin to shake again as you tighten their hold around his waist, causing his hips to stutter gently, the feeling of your walls constricting around him only making it harder for him to hold back.

“fuck, you’re close again, aren’t you?” he looks down at you, your eyes half shut as he removes his hand from your mouth to allow you to respond, but still, you only moan and nod your head in return.

“okay baby, it’s okay.” he says soothingly as he brings his now free hand between you to land on your clit, rubbing circles around it as his pace increases more now, watching as you begin to writhe in pleasure beneath him. he can feel how close you are, the way you tighten around him, the way your legs shake gently, and it’s only pushing him closer to the edge.

“fuck you’re gonna make me cum.” he groans, ducking his head into the crook of your neck as he ruts into you, feeling your walls constrict one last time as you release onto him, his cock now soaked with your juices as your body flinches beneath him.

his hips stutter for a moment at the feeling of you tightening around him again, and he barely has enough time to pull out of you before painting your stomach white. he would do anything to cum inside of you, coat your walls with his seed but he would save it for another time.

he collapses on top of you, both of your bodies heaving and sweaty as you hold each other close, the feeling of your breathing against each other being the most intimate moment of the night.

he pulls his head back to admire you for a moment, your cheeks flushed, your body panting, his cum perfectly scattered on your stomach, before quickly running off and grabbing a towel, returning as soon as he can to clean you off properly.

he pulls your shirt down over your body before laying down beside you and pulling you towards him, your bodies now meshed together perfectly as you fit into one another, your breathing still somewhat quick as you come down from what was probably the most intense moment of your life.

he looks down at you, a small smile on his face as he realizes he might’ve made your decision to leave your boyfriend a little easier knowing you had someone who actually loved you, and wanted to take care of you in any way he could.

he begins to draw small patterns on your arm, holding you close as he allows you to drift off into sleep on his chest, staring at the ceiling as he listens to your breathing slow and small snores escape your lips.

silently thanking the gods above that you fell on his doorstep that night, and not anyone else’s.

#bts smut #bts #jimin scenarios #jimin x reader #jimin au #jimin smut #softcore #bts jimin #park jimin #jimin #jimin fic

36 notes · View notes

multi-fandom-imagine · 2 days ago

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲.

Y/N Weasley may be a devoted mother, but before all the little Weasleys took over your world, you were Bill’s wife first.

And no matter how chaotic the home becomes, no matter how many little hands tug at you for attention, you never let Bill forget how much you loves him.

You had a thousand little ways of showing it—each one making Bill fall for you all over again.

1. Your Soft, Knowing Touch.

•No matter where they are, you always find a way to touch him.

•A hand on his arm when you two talk.

•Fingers tracing over his scars absentmindedly.

•Running a hand through his hair when he lays his head in your lap.

•Bill could be talking about work, reading a book, or even just sitting quietly, and you’ll lean in and rest your forehead against his—just because.

•Whenever he’s stressed or lost in thought, you cup his face in your hands and whispers, “Still with me, love?”

•It always brings him back to you.

2. The Way you Look at Him Like He’s the Only Man in the World.

•Bill catches you staring at him all the time, and when he asks why, you just smirk and say, “Just admiring my handsome husband.”

•You love watching him with their children—when he’s carrying Felix on his shoulders or dancing with Lila around the kitchen, you just stop and soak it all in.

•Sometimes, you’ll just lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, whispering, “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

3. How You Melt for His Scars (And Makes Him Love Them Too).

•At first, Bill was insecure about them, but You? You loved them from the start.

•You trace them with your fingers, kisses them softly, and tells him, “They don’t define you, but I love every part of you.”

•When he jokes about looking too wolfish, you just grin and pulls him close—

•“I don’t know, Weasley. I find your wolfish tendencies very attractive.”

•Whenever he’s shirtless, you run your fingers over his scars like you're memorizing them.

•If he ever doubts himself, you grab his chin, makes him look at you, and reminds him, “You’re still the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”

4. Your Teasing and Flirty Nature.

•You may be a sweetheart, but you're also a menace when you want to be.

•You whispers flirtatious comments in his ear at the worst times, just to see him flustered.

•“If you keep looking at me like that, love, we’re going to be late for dinner.”

•If he’s working too much, you steal his quill and sit in his lap until he gives you attention.

•You wiggle your eyebrows at him when the kids aren’t looking.

•If Bill ever gets too cocky, you lean in close and whispers,

•"You talk big, Weasley. Care to prove it?”

•And he always does.

5. The Way You Always Find Your Way Into His Arms.

•Bill’s favorite thing? When You seek him out just to hold him.

•If you two are in a crowded room, you always find him and leans against him.

•When you're lying in bed, you pulls yourself against his chest, fingers absently tracing over his skin.

•If he’s sitting? You sit between his legs, rests your back against his chest, and sighs like it’s the safest place in the world.

•If Bill has a long day, you just wraps yourself around him like a blanket and whispers, “You don’t have to be strong all the time, love.”

6. The Late-Night Kisses and Pillow Talk.

•No matter what happens during the day, you never let him sleep without reminding him you love him.

•You trail your fingers over his chest, talking softly in the dark about everything and nothing.

•Kisses his scars, his cheek, his nose, and finally his lips.

•“Sleep well, love. You’re everything to me.”

•If you wake up before him? You just lay there, tracing your fingers through his hair, smiling.

7. Your Fierce Defensiveness Over Him.

•No one—NO ONE—says a bad word about your husband and gets away with it.

•If someone insults him, your sweet demeanor disappears instantly.

•“Excuse me? That’s my husband you’re talking about, and I’d suggest you think twice before you continue.”

•Bill secretly loves it, watching you go full protective lioness mode.

•When a woman once made a passing comment about the scars, you firmly but politely corrected her.

•“They don’t make him any less of the man he’s always been. If anything, they make him even stronger.”

•Bill never forgets that moment.

8. The Way You Support Him in Everything.

•If Bill doubts himself, you won’t hear it.

•“You are the strongest, smartest, most wonderful man I know. And if you don’t see that, I’ll remind you every day until you do.”

•If he’s nervous about a mission, you press a lingering kiss to his lips and whispers,

•“Come home to me, Weasley.”

•If he gets frustrated, you ground him with a simple touch.

9. How You Give Him Your Whole Heart.

•Bill has never once doubted that you adore him.

•When he walks into the room, you light up every single time—even after all these years.

•If he’s talking, you listen like he’s the most fascinating person in the world.

•When he tells stories, you watche him, memorizing every expression.

•If you're in a crowded room, he knows you're thinking of him when you give him that smile—the one that says “You’re still my favorite person here.”

10. The Words You Whispers That Make Him Weak.

•“You’re everything to me, Bill Weasley.”

•“You gave me this beautiful life, and I’ll spend forever loving you for it.”

•“There will never be anyone else. Only you, always.”

•“I love you more today than yesterday. And tomorrow? I’ll love you even more.”

You are the Woman Who Loves Bill Weasley Best

You never let Bill forget how much he means to you—with your touch, your words, and the way you chose him every single day.

And Bill?

He falls a little more in love with you every single time.

#hc #hcs #preference #preferences #imagine #imagines #bill weasley #william weasley #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley x you #william weasley x reader #hp x y/n #hp x you #hp x reader #HP #JKR is a hoe #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you

41 notes · View notes

fourtyforever · 2 days ago

Text

I knowwwww I'm supposed to be working on emergency care but I have the absolute brain worms for the ballet au from opening night so here's 3.5k of ballet max verstappen being the bane of ballet nico rosberg's existence

---

The worst year of Nico’s professional ballet career was also the same year they moved that prodigious blonde freak up from the junior company, which in hindsight might have had something to do with it.

He showed up to the first rehearsal of the season in his uniform shirt and black tights from the junior company, even though company dancers were allowed to wear anything they wanted, and he stood ram-rod straight at the barre while the rest of the company lounged around waiting for class to start. He had the ugliest haircut Nico had ever seen, but he was good--good enough that Nico understood why they brought him up early, even though he knew that must have sucked big time for the other dancers in the junior company who were his age.

It hadn’t really registered to Nico, because there had been bigger things on his mind. Things that spent the whole class on the opposite side of the studio from him, looking, frankly, upsettingly good in a loose tank top with the arm holes cut even wider to show off the muscle he had built at that summer intensive in Brazil. Lewis avoided eye contact with Nico, and Nico did the same, but it was a little impossible not to look. Their last season hadn’t ended well, and it didn’t feel like time apart had healed any wounds. Still, Nico didn’t really have attention left over to pay to the new kid until Seb mentioned him after class.

“That boy’s going to give us all a run for our money this year,” he said, following Nico out of the studio to the dressing room. The kid in question was still gathering up his things just out of earshot, totally oblivious to the conversation about him going on just a few good steps away. “Are you worried?”

“No,” said Nico, very confidently, which turned out to be a mistake. “There’s always new dancers. He doesn’t seem that special.”

“He’s good,” grunted Kimi.

Seb nodded. “I can see why he got moved up on his own.” He looked over at Nico out of the corner of his eye as Nico tried his best to ignore him. “Do you think Lewis is worried?”

Nico shouldered open the door to the dressing room, trying to let it close in Seb’s face. It didn’t work. “I don’t think any of us need to be worried about some moderately good teenager,” he said as Kimi and Seb pushed through the door behind him.

“You’re talking about Max?” asked Daniel. Like usual, he was butt-naked in the middle of the dressing room, forcing Nico to make very pointed eye contact. “He’s pretty good, isn’t he?”

“Someone ought to take him under their wing,” said Seb, elbowing Daniel in the ribs.

Nico scoffed. “Nobody ‘took us under their wing’ when we were starting out, and we turned out fine,” said Nico.

“Michael,” said Kimi, simply.

“Yeah, you’re really gonna sit here and say Schumi meant nothing to you?” added Seb, and Nico had to acquiesce. But it had been years since Michael retired, and these days he didn’t feel all that advantaged by the older dancer’s mentorship.

“We also didn’t get moved up to the company by ourselves out of nowhere,” said Daniel. He looked thoughtfully back at the door that neither Max nor Lewis had come through yet, dick still out for all the world to see. “Must be tough. He could probably use a friend.”

“Save your pity for the kids that didn’t get moved up,” grumbled Nico. He had hoped to get to bitch about Lewis to Seb a little bit, who was always a good listener even though Nico knew he talked with Lewis just as much as he did with Nico. But if everyone wanted to instead focus on the new wunderkind, that was, well, whatever. Nico didn’t care.

---

Nico certainly noticed Max at their first joint mens’ class with the junior company, because it was impossible not to. The kid was a freak. Nico had always been a turner, but Max very nearly matched him when they did à la seconde turns side by side. Then he put the whole junior company and a good chunk of the senior company to shame when they did jumps across the floor, hitting the kind of split in midair that Nico usually only saw from the company ballerinas or from Lewis. His musicality was kind of shit, and his port de bras clearly needed work, but there were certainly worse things to be bad at.

The only time he made eye contact with Lewis was when Max replaced a single pirouette with a quadruple out of nowhere, meeting and matching Lewis’s shocked face out of force of habit. He regretted it as soon as he looked, but there was a weird sort of comfort in knowing that Lewis was just as unsettled by this new guy as he was. At the beginning of last year, which felt like a lifetime ago, he would have been standing next to Lewis and whispering under his breath about how insane the new kid was. For now, though, he had to be content with stolen glances and ignoring Daniel’s appreciative whistle from behind him.

---

At the company mixer and pizza party, Nico sat across from Lewis at the same table they always sat at since they started in the lowest level of the junior company, entirely ignoring each other. Max, of course, sat right in between them, with Seb on one side and Daniel on the other.

“Who do you think will be the cavalier this year?” he asked, his mouth full of pepperoni pizza. He had loaded up his plate with nearly half a pizza, fucking kids and their impossible metabolism. He wasn’t about to break a nearly-a-year vegan streak for some subpar pepperoni pizza, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a little jealous.

“It’s barely August,” said Nico, hating how Lewis looked up at the mention of the Sugar Plum cavalier role. He probably thought the part was as good as his, secure in two years of being cast in the top role while Nico was passed back and forth between Snow King and the Nutcracker prince. The Nutcracker didn’t matter as much anymore, but Nico couldn’t afford to give anything less than his full effort, not when casting for the spring performance came out barely a week after the last Nutcracker show. “It’s too early to be worrying about that.”

“Auditions are in a month,” said Max. “I want to be prepared.”

“Playing guessing games isn’t going to make you more prepared,” said Nico.

Max shrugged. “Neither is being so uptight, but we of course all have our own strategies.”

He stuck another piece of pizza in his mouth, and Nico fought the urge to get up and slap his paper plate across the room. He had to settle for glaring at the top of the kid’s shitty hair. Lewis went back to his phone and his vegan mushroom pizza which he wasn’t even pretending to enjoy, while Seb smiled that toothy smile that meant he could sense drama unfolding and Daniel laughed like Max had told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. Pathetic.

“You know what we all used to call him?” said Seb, a truly mischievous smile spreading across his face.

“Nico?” said Max. “No. What?”

Nico kicked Seb under the table, but it made no difference. “Britney. Because of his pretty blonde hair.”

Honestly, Nico could not imagine what would possess Seb to tell the awful child that. His eyes lit up as Daniel giggled and even Lewis looked up at the mention of Nico’s nickname. “Britney,” Max said, the name sounding already way too comfortable on his tongue. “Like Britney Spears? I can see it.”

“I’m not doing this,” announced Nico, picking up his plate and storming off to join a random gaggle of junior company dancers at the next table over.

---

Nico was cast as the Sugar Plum Cavalier, but he still couldn’t really enjoy rehearsals, not when Lewis was getting just as much of the praise as the Nutcracker Prince. He especially couldn’t enjoy the full-company rehearsals where he had to watch him dance, graceful and majestic as he’d always been.

“Why do Britney and Lewis hate each other?” stage-whispered Max from behind Nico. He was doing such a bad job at being quiet that Nico almost thought it was meant for him to hear. In any case, it was enough to distract him from watching Lewis rehearse the fight scene with Fernando.

“There’s, like, history between them,” was Daniel’s just-as-loud whispered response. History was an incredible oversimplification. Lewis had been the first friend he ever made in ballet, the only other boy in his beginning dance class when he first started out who made him feel like he might actually belong there. They had been each others’ rock moving up through the dance school and then the company, the only constant in the chaos of that world. He had been Nico’s first crush, the first person to know he was gay, his first kiss, first everything.

Not that any of that mattered now.

“What kind of history?” whispered Max. “Were they, like..?”

Nico couldn’t see what kind of gesture Max did to finish that sentence, but he could guess what it was based on Daniel’s barely muffled laugh. “Uh, yeah,” said Daniel. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Oh,” said Max. “Well, that is very stupid, then. What, did they just break up and now they can’t talk to one another?”

Nico wanted to turn around and give the shit child a piece of his mind before he realized that the absolute last thing he wanted was for either of them to know he had been listening in. “I guess it was a little more complicated than that,” said Daniel, at least doing the bare minimum of coming to Nico’s defense. “But hey, I guess that’s what you get for dating a fellow dancer.”

Maybe he was right, Nico thought. Maybe it was a doomed idea from the start. Maybe that was something Nico should have realized when Lewis had reached for his hand that first time and Nico had taken it, that this would hurt them in the long run. It made something wrench in his chest to think that, something small and bruised and soft but still alive no matter how hard he tried to squash it, that cried out that what he and Lewis had had to have meant something. But it was hard to believe that now, when they could barely look at one another.

“I think they might just be stupid,” whispered Max. “There’s nothing wrong with dating a fellow dancer if you’re not stupid.”

Incredible. Nico had to close his eyes and count to ten to keep himself from punting that blonde bastard straight across the studio. The Coffee Princes dance that Max and Daniel were both in could not come soon enough, he thought.

---

It was nice that the studio tended to hire the same handful of guest choreographers every year. The jockeying for their favor was always a little less pronounced when everyone knew who they would pick as their favorites.

However, that meant that everyone--Nico included--was completely fucking blindsided when Horner picked Max out of all people to have a solo in his latest contemporary piece, passing over Nico and Lewis and his former favorite Seb to put the kid in the front and center. It was completely out of nowhere. Nico had been expecting to be competing with Lewis and Daniel for the top solo in a Christian Horner piece, but not once did he imagine being overlooked in favor of fucking Max.

He didn’t even develop an ego over it, which was kind of the worst part. Dancers that got a taste of success and then walked around like they owned the place were sure to crash and burn at the slightest provocation, and Nico would have been happy to let the terrible child wear himself out and then fade back into oblivion. But Max acted like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he was used to getting all the best roles and therefore wasn’t especially affected by this one. And the worst part was that in Horner’s position, Nico might have done the same thing. Max continued to be unreasonably, unbearably good, in a way that sometimes made Nico want to pull a Tonya Harding on him, bash in his kneecaps after class (though he’d have to do it in the rare moment where Daniel wasn’t annoyingly attached to him). The only consolation he ever got was that Lewis looked just as happy to be there as Nico was, which was not much at all.

Though sometimes Nico thought that Max was more aware of his unique position than he let on. “I really don’t know why everyone always complains about the contemporary pieces,” he said one day while they were getting changed after rehearsal. “I think this is actually a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, I bet you would,” Nico muttered. He thought he might have heard Lewis snort under his breath at that from the other side of the dressing room, but he wasn’t sure. He would obviously never look up to check.

“What was that?” asked Max. It was impossible to tell whether he was being genuine or not, which was even more aggravating.

“Don’t mind Britney,” said Daniel, putting an arm around Max’s back that was maybe a little bit too friendly. “He’s just jealous of you.”

Nico was going to kill them all, including Seb for telling Max that fucking nickname. He threw his shorts into his bag with a little more force than necessary. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he sneered, aiming it more at Daniel and reveling in the sudden look of confusion that came over him before storming out, slamming the dressing room door.

---

The spring show was Don Quixote, and for some asinine, unbelievable reason, they had decided to double cast Lewis and Nico in the role of Don Quixote, so that they had to go to all the same rehearsals and switch off every other run. Maybe they thought it would be better for the two of them to be in equal standing, but all it meant was that every single rehearsal was like reliving their falling out from start to finish. It was made so much worse by the fact that Max was cast as Basilio -- way higher of a role than anyone should expect for their first spring show.

“You need to move forward here,” Max told him after they finished a run but before Nico could swap back out with Lewis for the next one. “Always you are in my way, and if you don’t move I might crash into you next time.”

It was a little much to deal with while Nico was still catching his breath. He still couldn’t understand why Max was never so much as winded after this much dancing. “What?” he gasped, just to give himself a little more time to breathe.

Max huffed indignantly. “When you’re finished with your solo. You need to move out of the way faster, because I’m starting my next part right behind you.”

“He’s got a point,” said Lewis, staring directly at Nico.

Nico sneered at him. “I only have three steps before the last couple of jumps to get across the stage. I am already traveling as much as I can.” He spared a look at Lewis, looking him up and down and pointedly lingering on his legs that were shorter than Nico’s just because he knew it would hurt, twisting that particular knife. “I doubt you’ll have an easier time getting there.”

He could see that he had struck the nerve he was aiming for, Lewis’s lip curling just the smallest amount. Part of him wished it hurt more to hurt Lewis, instead of the sickening satisfaction he was left with. But there was still ground to be gained--they hadn’t yet chosen which of them would get to dance 7 shows and who would only get 6--so Nico didn’t really have sympathy to spare. All he felt was bitterness, whether he did better than Lewis or worse. The fact that they were forced to be so close together made it harder for Nico to feel anything else, the love he had for dance that brought him here almost foreign to him now. Sometimes it felt like too much, like the horrible wanting he felt--wanting to be better than Lewis, wanting to hurt him, wanting him back, wanting to prove something, wanting things to go back to the way they were--was poisoning every moment he spent in the studio.

“Well, you need to be farther forward somehow,” said Max, putting his hands on his hips. Nico could strangle him. “Otherwise I’m going to run into you one of these times.”

“Boys,” said Toto, looking back and forth at the three of them disapprovingly. Max backed down slightly at his voice, but not very much. One of the only things Nico had to look forward to was the day that kid finally mouthed off to Toto (or god forbid, Director Wolffe herself) and got absolutely eviscerated. Nico would laugh. Lewis might laugh with him. “We only have time for one more run tonight. Max, begin your solo farther upstage. Lewis, swap with Nico.”

Max rolled his eyes, but did as Toto said. Nico didn’t meet Lewis’s eyes as he stormed back to the corner of the studio to watch the two of them dance.

---

It was all too much. Nico needed someone to vent to.

It couldn’t be Lewis, for obvious fucking reasons. He found Seb in one of the smaller studios, but he was busy teaching the townspeople dance to some of the junior company dancers. “Sorry, I really have to finish this,” he said. “You can complain to me in half an hour, though. Or you can go talk to Kimi?”

“Kimi’s not going to let me complain,” said Nico.

Seb laughed, and some of the dancers around him laughed too. They followed him around the studio like ducklings, and sometimes Nico was jealous that Seb had been able to move so peacefully from the studio’s top dog into more of a mentor for the younger dancers. “I think Daniel’s done, though. I just saw him going into the dressing room on my way here.”

“Perfect. Thanks,” said Nico, shutting the door to the studio and stomping off towards the mens’ dressing room. He and Daniel were okay friends, and he had a reputation as the friendliest guy in the company for a reason. He might have to leave his gripes with Max out of his rant, but that was fine when his complaints were more to do with Lewis anyway. Maybe he could even get some gossip about the kid out of him if he played his cards right.

The studio was loud with the sounds of concurrent rehearsals going on in studios all around them, so Nico didn’t have any warning about what he was walking into until he opened the door--which was a little stuck, but the old doorknobs always opened eventually if you jimmied them the right way--and stopped dead in his tracks. Seeing Daniel Ricciardo’s bare ass in the dressing room was not even slightly out of the ordinary, but what definitely was out of the ordinary was seeing him pinning someone to the wall, pale, muscled legs wrapped tight around his waist and hands buried in his curls as he thrust upwards, his shorts discarded on the floor next to a suspiciously familiar white T-shirt and pair of black leggings. The person he was fucking against the wall of the dressing room lifted their head from his shoulder, and Nico was shocked, dismayed, and horrified to be looking into the eyes of Max fucking Verstappen.

Daniel, at the very least, had the common courtesy to look mortified when he turned his head and shoulders around to see who had walked in on them. Max very much did not, looking almost pleased with himself as Daniel scrambled to cover both of them with his body. “Shit--fuck, sorry Brit--Nico, sorry, I thought I locked the door.”

Nico slammed the door shut. After a bit of shuffling, he heard the old lock click shut and heard a metal chair screech against the floor until it was resting in front of the doorknob, and then the sounds--which he hadn’t been able to pick out of the rest of the noise of the studio before, but which he could definitely hear now--started up again. Nico fought the urge to scream. He didn’t even have a leg to stand on to yell at Daniel, not when he had been among the small group who walked in on him blowing Lewis in a dressing room at the theater back in junior company.

Fuck this, then, he thought. He stormed back the way he came, passing Seb as he walked out of the other studio. “Don’t go in the dressing room,” he growled, picking up his ballet bag and marching straight out to his car.

None of it really mattered, in the end. He would perform Don Quixote and prove for once and for all to Toto and to Lewis and to whoever else that he was and always would be the best dancer at this fucking studio. Then he would attend every summer audition he could find, take the first offer he was given, and get the fuck away from this place and hopefully never see Max Verstappen’s fucking face again.

---

also on ao3

#my fic #brocedes #maxiel #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #sorry but max being nicos worst nightmare is literally my favorite thing #ballet au #f1 fic #formula 1

41 notes · View notes

fayelero · 2 days ago

Text

ⓘ 03. MY STRANGE ADDICTION !

⤷ FIC ﹫ timeskip!kenma x fem!reader ﹫ angst/fluff ﹫ toxic au!

⚠︎ I really want to warn this one cuz it is really a heavy subject!!! I do not want hate so only read if you’re okay with the disclaimers: really toxic, obsession, corruption of reader, suggestive, fluff, insults, smoke, drugs, identity loss .ᐟ.ᐟ

Kenma wakes up to the sound of soft rain tapping against the massive windows of your penthouse. The sky outside is gray, overcast, the city below blurred by the misty drizzle. It feels like a dream—like he’s caught in that space between sleep and waking, where reality and illusion blend together.

And then he sees you.

You’re standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, wrapped in nothing but the silk robe he bought you last week. It hangs off your shoulders carelessly, draping over your body like it was made for you. Your hair is slightly messy, the kind of perfect disarray that makes you look like you just stepped out of a painting. A cigarette dangles between your fingers, the faint glow illuminating your nails, perfectly manicured, expensive.

You don’t even try, and still, you’re the most effortlessly beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Kenma doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just watches.

You do this sometimes—wake up before him, stand by the window, lost in your own thoughts. Maybe you like watching the city move beneath you, knowing none of it touches you. Maybe you just like knowing you have all of this, that money is nothing but numbers to you, that luxury is just a natural state of being.

Or maybe—maybe you just like making him feel like he’s in a fucking fever dream.

Your lips part slightly as you exhale, slow, smoke curling past your lips, disappearing into the air. Then, as if sensing his gaze, you glance over your shoulder, half-lidded eyes locking onto his.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

Kenma exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his already-messy blonde hair. “You look fake,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

Your lips curl at the edges, amused. “Good morning to you too, baby.”

You turn fully now, walking towards the bed with that slow, unbothered grace that makes his stomach twist. Like you know exactly the effect you have on him. Like you enjoy it. You flick the cigarette into a glass ashtray before crawling onto the bed, hands splaying over the silk sheets as you hover above him.

Kenma just looks at you.

God, he’s fucking obsessed with you.

It’s not normal. It never has been. From the moment you met, it was like something chemical snapped inside both of you—like magnets being forced together, something too strong, too immediate, too much.

Five years, and it hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s worse.

“You didn’t sleep,” you whisper, fingers brushing against his jaw.

Kenma doesn’t deny it. He never sleeps well without you, not unless he’s exhausted to the point of collapse. Even then, his body searches for yours in the sheets, muscle memory guiding him to where you should be.

You hum, leaning down until your lips barely ghost over his. “Bad habit,” you murmur against his skin.

“You’re my bad habit,” Kenma mutters back, and he hates how much he means it.

You are. You’re the worst kind of addiction, the kind that doesn’t destroy you outright but sinks into your bones, corrupting you slowly, beautifully, until you can’t tell where you end and where it begins.

Neither of you are cruel, not to each other. You don’t fight. Don’t scream. There’s no chaos, no violence—just an obsession that runs too deep, a love so consuming it wraps around your ribs like vines, tightening, squeezing.

Kenma knows it’s not healthy.

You never go anywhere without him. He never goes anywhere without you. Even when you’re apart, you’re not—you text, call, send photos, constant proof that the other still exists. The longest you’ve ever been away from each other was three days, and by the end of it, Kenma felt like his skin was too tight, like the world was too loud, like nothing made sense anymore.

You came back, and he remembers the way you just collapsed into his lap, burying yourself in his hoodie, inhaling him like you needed him to breathe again.

He remembers whispering never again into your hair, and he remembers the way you nodded, nails digging into his back like a silent promise.

Never again.

You’re pressing lazy kisses to his jaw now, soft and slow, like you have all the time in the world. You do. Time is irrelevant when you have everything.

“You love me,” you murmur, not a question, just a fact.

Kenma exhales, fingers tightening around your waist. “Too much.”

“Good.” Your lips ghost over his. “Me too.”

That’s the problem. You love each other, but it’s too much, too intense, an all-consuming fire that doesn’t burn out, just keeps raging. You don’t fight because you can’t—hurting each other isn’t an option. The thought of it makes Kenma feel physically sick.

But it’s not normal.

It’s not normal to panic when he wakes up and you aren’t there. It’s not normal to have to touch you constantly, just to make sure you’re real. It’s not normal to hate the idea of other people looking at you, talking to you, existing in the same space as you.

It’s not normal to be so deep in someone that you forget who you were before them.

Kenma doesn’t care.

Because even if it’s wrong, even if it’s unhealthy, even if it’s an addiction—

He’s never fucking quitting you.

It started slow.

Kenma likes to think he didn’t do it on purpose, that he didn’t set out to ruin you. But deep down, in the part of himself he doesn’t like to examine too closely, he knows that’s a lie.

Because the truth is—he wanted to ruin you from the second he met you. Don’t get him wrong, he never wanted to arm you or make you feel bad.

You were too fucking perfect.

When he first saw you, you were everything he wasn’t. Innocent in a way that wasn’t naïve, but untouched. Untainted. You weren’t fragile, weren’t weak, but you carried yourself with an effortless grace, a beauty so natural it made his stomach twist. You were kind without trying, soft in a way that wasn’t fake. You weren’t like the world he knew—cold, cynical, hollow.

You were warm.

And Kenma—Kenma, who had spent years keeping himself at a distance, who had built walls so high no one had ever been able to reach him—wanted to ruin you.

He wanted to pull you into his world. Wanted to see that warmth twist into something darker, something for him. He wanted you to be his.

And he got exactly what he wanted.

At first, it was little things.

The first time he handed you a cigarette, you wrinkled your nose at it, hesitant. “I don’t smoke,” you had said, voice soft but firm.

Kenma didn’t argue. Just shrugged, took a slow drag, let the smoke curl lazily from his lips.

But then you were kissing him, and his fingers were slipping into your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue slid against yours, smoky and slow.

You tasted it.

Didn’t pull away.

And he knew then—it’s only a matter of time.

The first time you actually smoked, you coughed, eyes watering, nose scrunching in a way that made something deep inside him ache. But then you tried again. And again. Until it became natural, until the scent of tobacco clung to your skin like perfume, until he could press his lips to yours and taste it on you like a promise.

Then came the drugs.

Not an addiction—never an addiction. You weren’t stupid.

But you liked the feeling. The way it blurred the edges of the world, made everything a little softer, a little less real. You liked the way it made your skin hum, the way it made you feel invincible.

You liked the way Kenma would watch you when you were high—like you were something unreal, something ethereal. Like he couldn’t believe you were his.

You liked being his.

You had always been confident. You had always known you were beautiful. But Kenma—Kenma made you something else.

Something dangerous.

Because there was a difference between being beautiful and being desired. And no one had ever desired you the way he did.

The first time he touched you, really touched you, it was slow. Worshipful. Like he wasn’t sure you were real. Like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. But as the years passed, it became something else—something desperate, something obsessive, something hungry.

You were addictive.

Kenma was never the type to lose control. He was calculated, always two steps ahead. But with you—with you, he could never get enough.

You learned how to play with him, how to push his buttons. How to wear something too short, just to see his jaw tighten, his grip on his phone turn white-knuckled. How to let your touch linger just a little longer, just to watch the way his pupils would dilate.

You liked it.

Liked watching him fight to keep his composure. Liked knowing that you were the only one who could make him unravel.

It was a game.

A dangerous one.

Because if Kenma was possessive before, now he was something else entirely. You never questioned it. Never pushed against it. Because the truth was—you liked belonging to him.

Even when it was too much.

Even when the world started to feel smaller, reduced to just him.

Even when you realized you didn’t have any friends anymore. Didn’t go anywhere without him. Didn’t want to.

Because why would you?

When Kenma was your world.

When you were his.

Five years.

Five years, and now, when you look in the mirror, you barely recognize the girl you used to be.

The girl who didn’t smoke.

The girl who didn’t do drugs.

The girl who didn’t need him to breathe.

But that girl is gone. And what’s left is something else—something sharper, something darker, something that only exists in relation to him.

You should be afraid.

But you’re not.

Because if this is a mistake, if this is wrong, then you don’t want to be right.

Because this—this obsession, this madness, this love—

Is all you’ve ever wanted.

The morning is slow, stretching like golden syrup over the silk sheets. Kenma watches you move through the bedroom, and he can’t help but think about how different you are now.

How different you’ve become.

The girl he met five years ago would’ve wrapped herself in a blanket after crawling out of bed, would’ve worn an oversized hoodie, would’ve sat beside him with bare feet tucked beneath her, warmth radiating from her skin like the last light of a setting sun.

This version of you—his version of you—doesn’t do that.

You don’t bother with modesty anymore. The silk robe you wear barely clings to your body, loose enough to slip off your shoulder, short enough to reveal the curve of your thighs. It’s barely even tied. You don’t care.

And he fucking loves it.

Because you weren’t always like this.

You used to wear pretty dresses, elegant but never loud. Never anything too short, too tight, too much. You used to cross your legs carefully, sit with your hands in your lap, tuck your hair behind your ear when you were nervous.

Now? Now you stretch your arms above your head, making the robe slip further down your body, rolling your shoulders like you know he’s watching. You don’t even bother tying it properly. You don’t need to. You live in a place where money shields you from judgment, where you only leave when you want to, where Kenma is the only person whose opinion has ever mattered.

It’s not just the way you dress.

It’s the way you carry yourself now—completely unbothered, effortlessly sexy, indulgent in the way only people with everything can be.

You pad across the room, barefoot on the marble floor, fingers trailing over the cool surface of the vanity as you pass by. Your reflection stares back at you, and for a brief second, you don’t recognize yourself.

Not because you look bad. No—you look beautiful. Too beautiful.

Your lips are a little fuller, a little darker, the faint stain of yesterday’s lipstick still there. Your eyes are sharper, half-lidded, lazy, with a sleepy kind of sensuality. There’s no innocence left.

It should scare you.

But it doesn’t.

You glance at Kenma through the mirror, and he’s already watching you, amber eyes tracing the curve of your spine, the bare skin peeking through the loose silk of your robe.

You smirk. “You like staring at me, huh?”

Kenma doesn’t even blink. “You make it easy.”

Your smirk widens. You grab your cigarette from the ashtray and light it again, the scent of burning tobacco filling the air. You never used to smoke, but now it’s second nature. You love the way it makes you feel—like time slows down, like the world bends around you.

Like him.

Because that’s what Kenma does. He warps reality around himself, makes it impossible for you to think of anything else.

You take a slow drag, exhaling through parted lips. “You used to hate smokers.”

“I used to hate a lot of things.” Kenma’s voice is lazy, low, like he doesn’t even have the energy to pretend otherwise. “You make everything look good.”

You laugh, slow and syrupy. “Even addiction?”

“Especially addiction.” His gaze drags over you again. “It suits you.”

You should roll your eyes. You should say something sarcastic, should push against the way he owns you with just a look.

But you don’t.

Because he’s right.

It does suit you.

Everything he’s made you into—all the little corruptions, all the ways he’s reshaped you into something that belongs only to him—it fits.

You weren’t always like this.

You used to have boundaries.

Used to go out with friends, used to laugh without a cigarette between your fingers, used to kiss Kenma with soft lips instead of ones stained with nicotine and remnants of last night’s lipstick.

You used to be someone.

But that girl is gone for the best.

And the version of you that’s left—this spoiled, indulgent, obsessive thing—is so much more beautiful.

Kenma shifts on the bed, stretching, the sheets pooling around his waist. You take another drag, watching the way his muscles flex beneath smooth skin, the way his hair falls into his face, strands of blonde and brown mixing together in messy waves.

You were never meant for something normal.

Kenma knew that before you did.

So you take another slow inhale, lean against the vanity, and exhale with a smile. “So what now?”

Kenma watches the smoke curl between you, head tilting slightly. Then he smirks, slow and lazy, before reaching a hand out toward you.

“Come back to bed.”

32 notes · View notes