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swordsandholly · 2 months

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Little Death

Incubus!Soap x fem fat reader | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI | cw: dubcon, noncon, drinking, biting, afab reader, blood, PiV sex, cunnilingus, anal, monsterfucking, size difference, kidnapping, dead dove

Word Count: 4.5k

You sit in your apartment on your worn out couch, sipping a glass of shitty gas station wine at some godforsaken hour in the morning. Just like you do nearly every night these days. Love Island plays loudly on the TV while you try to drown out the overbearing silence that seems to cling to you. It surrounds you at all times, everything just a little too quiet. A little too distant.

You knew getting divorced would be lonely. You didn’t expect it to be this bad.

Your eye connects with a piece of paper that’s been living on your side-of-the-road coffee table for the past… who knows at this point. The friend that gave it to you meant well. She intended it to be a funny, light hearted gesture. Instead, you just feel pathetic. The pitiable fat girl that can’t get a date. Not that she’d be wrong. Out of drunk boredom, or maybe sheer desperation, you grab the stupid cut out article. It’s some plasticky, cheap print with the title ‘How To Summon A Lover’ which is probably the laziest headline in the world for a supposed spell.

Are you lonely? The summary asks, Do you need some special company? Just follow these steps and get exactly what you’re looking for!

It’s stupid. It’s corny. Luckily - or unfortunately - you are just drunk enough to take part in stupid and corny. Your eyes graze over the materials list - paper, a red marker, a metal baking sheet, and a stick candle. Your brow scrunches. You suppose you can sacrifice one of your outdated, unused decor candles that sit on your mantle. You gather the supplies with clumsy, uneven steps.

Fuck your ex. Fuck him for making you this sad and pathetic. Fuck him for piling on the insecurity, for isolating you and taking nearly all your friend group. For all of it. You plop down on your rug, items in hand and thoughts swirling angrily.

Step 1: Place the paper on the baking sheet

Step 2: Draw a pentagram

You roll your eyes. Of fucking course it’s a pentagram. You do it, still.

Step 3: Write “I Light The Flame of Desire” on each side of the page

Step 4: Place the candle in the center of the paper

Step 5: Light the candle and concentrate on your intention until it burns out.

You regret picking up such a big candle.

When you wake your mouth is dry and your back aches. The sunlight offends your eyes when you attempt to crack them open. You must have fallen asleep on the floor at some point. You look down at the mess in front of you. The candle burnt the paper into almost nothing at some point. Thank god the article told you to put it on a baking sheet.

You feel so fucking stupid.

You stumble into the shower, allowing the hot water to help rouse you from your hungover, groggy state. That feeling of stupidity tickles the back of your mind. It’s not like you expected it to work - really, what’s making your heart twist and shame crawl up your back is the disappointment, is that it didn’t. At least you don’t have to work today. You don’t particularly feel like being around people. Not that you do the rest of the time.

As you turn to get out, fear strikes through you at a shadow in your periphery through the fogged shower glass. Just as soon as you see it, it disappears. You shrug it off, heart still thumping wildly as you towel off. Something in your gut churns as you do your best to get ready for the day. An unease that won’t leave as you make yourself at least appear like someone with their life together. A feeling that someone is watching makes your hair stand on end.

You send up a thank you to the universe that you managed to get up early enough to make it to the grocery store during quiet hours. While buckling your seatbelt, that shadow comes back. Right behind you, in the back seat. It’s gone as soon as you check the rearview mirror. You let out a shaky breath. It keeps happening. While you get your shopping cart, while you choose produce. Every time you turn an isle, it’s there. It sends shivers down your spine. Some black, effervescent shape that follows you worse than a shadow. That catches your eye even when you consciously try to ignore it. You really need to lay off the drinking.

As soon as you get home, you toss everything from the night before - including the baking sheet. Some superstitious part of you rears its head, telling you to walk the damn thing all the way to the outside dumpster rather than leave it to fester in your personal trash. You don’t believe in ghosts or spirits. You’re sure you just drank too much, that you slept strangely and it fucked with your head. That not speaking to anyone besides brief interactions with coworkers and customers for weeks on end has left you jumpy and off. Maybe you really should see that therapist your lawyer talked about. She’s expensive though, and not covered by your insurance…

You turn over another bottle of wine in your hand, wrinkling your nose. Not tonight. Not when you turn to put the bottle down and nearly jump into the ceiling at some shape moving to the living room from behind you. Only in your periphery, only vague images, leaving you uneasy. You toss and turn when you finally get into bed. It still feels like you’re being watched. Like there’s a camera just over your shoulder, or in the ceiling fan, staring down at you. For the first time since you were small, you bury yourself under the covers and screw your eyes shut, hoping it will save you from the monsters under your bed and in your head.

You stir at a weight dipping your bed. It’s slight, so slight you almost miss it entirely, until it isn’t. Until whatever it is moves again and you feel something brush over your legs. In a panic, still half asleep, you turn onto your back, fists flying through the air only to be caught by inhumanly large hands. You flail, kicking as a scream catches in your throat.

“Shh, sh, yer a’right.” A distinctly Scottish brogue coos, pinning you to the bed without so much as a grunt. You finally manage to open your eyes properly. He’s big - eyes a bright, unnatural blue with a wild light in them. When he grins at you it exposes long fangs where his normal canines should be. Two horns poke out from his head, the shorn sides of his haircut further exposing them. There’s an unnatural red tint to his skin, darkening to nearly pure crimson at the ends of his exposed limbs. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Wh- who the fuck are you?” You squeak, far less threatening than you might have liked.

The beast’s grin only widens. “Donnae ye know? Ye called me, after all.”

Your eyes widen to saucers as you stare up at him. Did- there’s no way that stupid spell worked! It was a cut out from a damn off-brand Cosmopolitan. It was stupid sleepover bullshit. It was - It’s wasn’t- You couldn’t have summoned a real, actual factual demon into your apartment. No, this has to be a prank or intruder or - or hallucination even.

You try to shove at his chest as soon as he retracts his hands, a weak attempt at escaping. Part of you expects to phase through him - to wake up in your quiet, dark bedroom. Except his hands are very much real and warm as they pin your wrists back against the mattress. The silhouette of massive wings block out the little bit of moonlight that might have otherwise drifted through the slit in your curtains. You can barely make him out, now. Those too-bright eyes glint like a cat’s as he stares down at you.

“Now, why did ye call me, little one?” He leans in, nose brushing against yours before ducking his head down to lick a long stripe up your neck.

Your face heats, mouth struggling to form words. “I… didn’t think it was real…”

“Tha’s not a reason.” Too-sharp teeth nip at the shell of your ear.

“I just… why do you want to know anyway?” You spit defensively, thrashing under him in a sudden burst of confidence - or desperation. You’re not sure. It does fuck-all for you, the beast pinning your thighs under his weight. A deep, warning growl rumbles in his chest. You freeze at the sound - some ancient instinct telling you to stop all action and pray it saves you.

“It’s no’ polite t’dodge my question, bonnie.”

You whimper involuntarily, his sharp teeth grazing the soft skin of your neck with just enough pressure to threaten a bite. The words tumble from your lips near incoherently, “I haven’t- I’ve only been with one person… for a long time. I’m nervous… about a second…”

He hums. Something brushes your shin - a tail, you think. You can’t make it out in the dark. “Whit’s yer name, doll?”

You blurt it, a little horrified at giving that information to some supernatural creature. For some reason you find yourself following it up with, “What’s yours?”

He laughs and mulls it over, jaw clenching briefly, as if he can’t make up his mind about what it is. “Call me Soap, aye?”

You snort despite yourself and he - Soap - quirks a brow. “Weird name for a demon.”

“Incubus.” He corrects.

You have half a mind to complain when he tears your nightgown off before you can react. The cloth rips fast, practically disintegrating in his rough hands. That’s until he climbs down the bed, taking one nipple between his lips and flicking the other. Your back arches, hands fisting the sheets. You let out an indignant ow when he bites down on the fat of your breast, leaving a mark just shy of drawing blood. Soap ignores it, continuing to lavish them with attention as he sees fit. Your thighs press together and you can’t help but squirm, becoming desperate for more in spite of the voice in your head telling you to run. He senses it, you think, moving down your body leaving nips and bites in his path before settling between your thighs. He takes your underwear off in much the same fashion, turning them to shreds in barely a moment. His wings disappear into the shadows - there but not simultaneously. Shifting in and out of your vison.

“Look a’ tha’.” He sighs. “Whit a pretty pussy. Cannae believe yer lettin’ her go unused.”

You whimper and attempt to close your legs, failing when those massive hands hook under your knees and push them up to your chest as far as they can go. His nails - near claws - dig into the flesh of your thighs. A gasp tumbles from your lips as his tongue drags through your folds. Soap places a light kiss your your clit before following with a harsh suck that leaves you twitching and whining. Part of you feels ashamed for enjoying this as much as you are - for lapping up the attention from this stranger like a starved dog - but it feels too unreal for you to really care. Too fictional to apply your real world morals or sensibilities.

You yelp in surprise when his tongue flicks over your back hole, causing him to chuckle and mutter, “Tha’s for later.”

He doesn’t leave you time to think on that promise. You throw your head back as he slips his tongue inside. Fuck, it’s deep. Unnaturally long - built to systematically pull pleasure from you just like the rest of him. You find yourself grinding down onto it despite yourself, pent up body giving into instinct and abandoning rational thought. You grab onto his stupid hair to further press him into you. He doesn’t seem to mind as a low guttural sound rumbles through his chest.

A thick finger circles your entrance, replacing his tongue in one swift motion. He doesn’t wait to add a second - the stretch causing you to hiss. His fingers are big. His proportions just on this side of incompatibly large. You wonder briefly, distantly, why his claw-nails aren’t hurting you. It’s hard to care much when the pad of a thick finger presses roughly against that spot that leaves you gasping. His lips wrap around your clit again, sloppily sucking and licking at the little bud as you careen closer and closer to the edge. Your back arches harshly, almost painfully, as you tumble over with a choked moan.

“So easy.” He chuckles. Your face gets hotter, an indignant pout forming on your lips. Rude. Your eyes drift over his body and, somehow for the first time tonight, you realize he’s already naked. Not a single piece of cloth in sight upon his arrival. You let yourself take in his strong torso, the thick dusting of hair from his chest all the way down to a healthy happy trail, down to-

“That’s not gonna fit!” You squeak, clumsily trying to back away. His cock hangs heavily between his legs; thick and veiny and already leaking. His hand on your sternum stops you in place. You’re sure he can feel the way your heart hammers away in your chest - practically beating against your ribcage. For a moment, you think you see sympathy in his eyes. Rather quickly you realize that warmth is, instead, hunger. An eagerness to swallow you whole dances across his sharp grin.

“We’ll make it fit.”

That’s all the warning you get before he’s bullying his cock inside you, inch by inch despite your shaky pleas to slow down. It burns, just crossing over the threshold into too much. Your teeth grind, a deep whine resonating in your throat. Your fingers claw at the sheets below you and your body jerks with odd shocks of pleasure and pain all tied up into one.

“Fuckin’ tight…” Soap groans.

“S’too much!” You practically sob, hips squirming to get away from the intrusion.

“Y’can take it.” His other hand grabs onto your waist to still you. You can’t stop the moan that forces its way past your lips as his hips meet yours.

You expect it to hurt when he fucks you - he doesn’t allow you time to adjust, each thrust practically punching the air from your lungs. Instead, it sends electricity up your spine. Your brows knit together, eyes screwed shut as warmth pools at the base of your spine. Soap hooks one of your legs around his hip, the other over his shoulder. You watch him through bleary eyes, the strange red of his hands contrasting with your natural, human skin. The way his hand nearly wraps around your thick calf. The way his core flexed with every thrust. The pleasured knot in his brow.

Soap lets your raised leg drop, pressing his weight down onto you and bracketing your head with his forearms. He smells so good - spices and trees. It invades your senses, leaving your mind somehow foggier than it already felt. He pulls you into a kiss. It’s not romantic, not emotional, just a searing exchange made up of messy teeth and tongue. He tastes like cinnamon. His fang catches your lip and copper coats your mouth. A light whine escapes him as he licks it up and sucks at the small wound.

“Please, please, please.” You pant rhythmically, chest heaving.

“Please, please, please.” He mocks, chuckling at your begging as he presses his thumb to your clit.

You practically seize, already overdone and so close to another. You’re babbling, you know that much, but the contents of your words are lost on you.

“Gonnae cum f’me?” Soap presses his nose to your temple. “Gonnae cum on this cock?”

You nod vigorously, nails leaving half-moons his strong shoulders. His thumb swirls your clit as he continues to spill filthy words into your ear. Things you’ve never thought of, otherworldly promises no man could keep, and groaned nonsense to match your own. Your climax slams into you. You practically howl, whole body shaking. Soap’s tongue drags up the side of your face, licking up sweat and tears. He’s not far behind, a growl rumbling through his chest; his hips stutter as he spills inside you.

You think, for a moment, as you desperately try to catch your breath, that it’s over. He’ll disappear off into the ether and you’ll wake up tomorrow from this strange dream. All of it a lonely, mentally unwell delusion that you can tell your therapist. After you book her. You really should if your brain is coming up with shit like this.

Except, he doesn’t stop. The slowed rocking of his hips immediately picks up again. He leans up, hands gripping your waist as you let out a long, keening whine. You try to shove at his hands, to kick your shaking legs. They’re clumsy. Weak and used and uncoordinated. The sweat on your palms leaves you slipping, unable to get a grip around his wrist. Soap just laughs - dark and unnatural. Far too entertained by your panic. A malicious spark lights his eyes as he stares down at you.

“S-soap!” You gasp, mind and body going into overdrive. “P-please! You don’t have to - you can - fuck - just stop!”

He laughs again, only speeding up - using the hold on your soft waist to fuck you back onto him. An anger flares up in you and you reel back, slapping your open palm against his face as hard as you can manage. It doesn’t do anything to deter him, his hips still slam full force into yours without so much as a stutter. His chuckle cuts off into a gravelly groan. “Do tha’ again.”

As much as you don’t want to give in to him, you do. You batter your fists against his chest, his arms, anywhere you can even slightly reach. You dig your nails into his hands. He just speeds up, lewd, wet sounds an loud slaps echoing in the room along with your moans and shouts. Soap pulls out just long enough for his arm to encircle your waist and flip you over as if you weigh nothing to him. You hardly get your bearings before he’s forcing his cock back in your cunt. His hands latch onto your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll bruise, if not be crushed completely.

“Please! Fuck - Soap - please - st-” You choke out, barely able to lift your face out of the sheets to breathe. Your whole body tremors violently. You try to reach behind yourself for him - to get some purchase, but all you’re met with his a hand firmly planted between your shoulder blades to hold you in place.

“Whit? Ye think tha’ was all? Jus’ one round an’ yer done?” The beast condescends, voice rough. “Nae, we’ve go’ forever. Well, until yer body gives out, at least. Gonnae shove my cock down tha’ pretty throat next, I think.”

The hand still on your hip lets go. Gathering slick from between your thighs, Soap pushes his thumb against your back hole. You gasp and attempt to lurch forward, to get away, but it doesn’t work. You can’t move out from under the weight of him. You feel a glob of something land there, quickly realizing he spit on you just to gasp as his thumb pushes inside. Part of you hates that it feels good, hates the words spilling from his lips about your unused ass. The rest of you succumbs to the fullness as his thumb is replaced by a finger, then another, working you open.

You whimper, fear mixing with the ongoing growing pleasure in your gut. It’s all too much. You’re overstimulated, soft body bruised and exhausted. Filled to the brim. Soap drapes himself over you, removing his fingers with almost a pop, and sinking his sharp teeth into the crook of your neck. His arms bracket your head once again, nearly flattening your against the mattress underneath him. You cry out, tears streaming as you feel another climax approaching, your pussy drooling down your thighs.

Something deep in the back of your brain snap as you cum. You lose yourself to base instinct. The heat in the room and anger in your chest consumes you. The air burns as it enters your lungs, sparking and electrifying your skin. Your head turns, eyes locking on the strong forearm anchored just above you. On impulse you lurch up, sinking your teeth in as far as they’ll go. A dog with prey caught in it’s maw. Soap growls in your ear - deep and animalistic. His blood isn’t quite coppery, not like yours, it’s far too sweet. It only spurs you on, your fingers twisting so tightly in the sheets you hear threads pop. Your other hand reaches back to dig your nails into his upper arm, to scratch at wherever you can reach. The sounds tearing through your throat aren’t right. Aren’t human. His arm muffles them slightly, the grunts and growls becoming borderline screams as you cum again so soon.

Soap flips you again, tearing his arm away from you and planting his feet flat on the bed, using his inhuman strength to help bounce you on his lap. You snarl, nails digging into his pecs to draw more blood. It drips down your lips, onto your chest, it covers the pads of your fingers. It’s animal. You’re just an animal.

“There ye are.” He grins, eyes practically glowing.

You don’t think much of it, you can’t think at all, really. Not in words, or even images. Pure instinct drives every action, your nose flaring at the scent of sex and blood that’s filled the room. Your skin is feverish, limbs shaking. Frenzied. That’s the word. Frenzied and rabid as you reach for strength you don’t have an meet his thrusts.

The two of you keep going that way - for how long, you aren’t sure. At some point you end up on the floor, at another he holds you against the wall by your throat. At another you hear the bed frame crack in two. Claw marks and bruises litter your body - litter his, as well. He pushes his cock into your back hole, not caring about the minimal stretch. You don’t need lube, you’ve drenched the both of you enough. The last thing you’re conscious for is Soap moaning in your ear as your hands wrap around his horns, holding on with all you have as your lips meet.

When you wake, your body feels heavy. Buried under something - blankets, you think. Though, your blankets at home have never had this weight to them. It’s more than quilts - your fingers tentatively running over both the texture of soft cloths and thick furs. It feels luxury, buttery smooth under your touch. Briefly, you shut your eyes again, content to drift back into blackness out of this cozy dream.

When you do peek your eyes open, a shudder runs down your spine. This isn’t your apartment. You shoot up, looking around the odd bedroom. It’s strangely decorated. Modern but with hints of something more scattered about. The smooth, painted walls of a modern home and ornate, lit fireplace of a castle mixed with current and antique furniture alike. A large couch sits in front of the mantle with embroidered, thick blankets hanging over the back. There’s a cracked door that seems to lead into a walk in closet. The area rug covering the far half of the room is a rich emerald green embellished with flowing designs in various golds and darker tones. Drawings and random scrawl are pinned to the far wall. There’s an open sketchbook on top of an old, hardwood desk with similar designs carved into it as the mantle.

Panic begins to surge as you open the massive curtains on the wall opposite the mantle to reveal floor to ceiling windows. They’re heavy like tapestries. You realize quickly that two of the panels are sliding doors onto a balcony, though you hesitate to step out. It would only corner you further. The sky looks like fire - waves of clouds lit in orange and yellow hues. It moves to fast. Streams of flames twist and run across the sky, overtaking one another.

You swing open the only other door that doesn’t appear to be the main exit. All it leads to is a bathroom. Large and expensive but nothing abnormal. Except for your shampoo inside the shower upon further inspection. Memories flood you, the night before comes in flashes. Was it the night before? Time feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. You’re sore, eyes heavy and body weak. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, dressed in some gauzy, black floor-length thing that leaves little to the imagination.

Just as you exit the bathroom to look for somewhere else to hide or run, the main door opens. Soap steps in, adjusting the sleeve of his t-shirt. You freeze, as if he won’t see you as long as you’re still.

It doesn’t work, of course. Those bright eyes lock onto you, thick brows raising. “Bonnie? Yer up!”

He looks… different. Less demonic. Not that anything has visibly changed much besides the fact that he’s wearing actual clothes. He simply fits into the scenery better - the room made to accommodate him. You realize part of the strangeness of it is the furniture size; meant for someone much taller and wider than you. The light helps as well, defining the contours of his face that you couldn’t make out in the dark. You back away from him as he approaches, pressing yourself against the wall as tightly as you can.

“So glad yer up. Are ye hungry? I can-“

“Where am I?” You cut him off meekly, eyes darting around the room.

“Och, my home of course.” Soap grins as if that explains anything.

“Why?” It doesn’t come out like the demand you want it to, more like a plea. Your voice cracks and you can’t meet his eye.

He tilts his head, eyes watching you, raking over you from head to toe. A predator observing it’s prey - deciding how best to catch it. “Ye live here, now.”

“What?” You gasp, trying to back further into the wall as if you could phase through it should you just try hard enough. “No- no, please! You have to let me go home! I need to go home!”

Johnny shrugs far too casually for your liking. “A soft little thing like ye? Nae, think I’ll keep ye fer the time bein’. Never met someone who could keep up like ye can. Go’ a lot of pent up energy in there, hen.”

“I don’t-“

“Yer gonnae feed me fer years tae come.” He continues as if you didn’t say anything at all, “Besides, I’ve go’ some friends tha’ I think would like ye.”

#dont look at me #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #reader insert #reader insert smut #fem reader #fat reader #plus size reader #cod smut #john soap mctavish #soap mactavish #tw monsterfucking #monster fic

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ultralightpoe · 7 months

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Anti-hero - Roy Kent

Authors Note : Based off a request I got {Could you do a Jamie or Roy fic with a girl who feels self conscious as their date to a gala or something? Lots of fluff and comfort! If you don’t want to write it, no worries 💜} A quick reminder that you are all beautiful and truly wonderful. You all deserve the world, and I hope you all find your own Roy Kent. -Ultralightpoe

Word Count: 3,997

Warnings: self doubt. curse words

Requests: OPEN

Main Master list - - Midnights Event List

(Thank you for the gif @50shadesofpemberlypost )

x Enjoy x

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser

Midnights become my afternoons

When my depression works the graveyard shift

All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

It had been an issue for years, one that was directly caused by your mother.

It’s not that she was a villain, and it wasn’t like she knew she was doing it anyways, it was always something that just managed to slip out of her mouth in passing moments . A quick ‘that shows your back fat’ there and a ‘are you sure you like that color? It washes you out baby’. Always said with that tone that made you rethink every decision in life.

She did it out of love.

But the comments she made built up, that and the pressure of school and social media building up. It all took a toll on you. You found your life mixed with new issues. Anxiety, self-doubt, depression, and you became a new person.

It was like a shadow version of you, one that tracked how much she ate and thought about how loud she laughed and how much was too much talking. Every single move you made was tracked and overthought.

But then Roy came into the picture.

At first you did what you usually did, you tried to speak low and not draw too much attention. Tracking how much you laughed and how much you ate. It was fine because your friend group never really realized it, they didn’t know a thing was out of place. But Roy, who had been brought by his sister, was quick to call it out.

“Fucking stop that.” He muttered when you tried to fix your skirt, using his hand to slap yours away. “You look fucking perfect. Take a breath, yeah?”

“I just…. I’m debating the color, everyone else wore pastels and I hadn’t realized that it would be that type of party.” You admit, body hot with embarrassment as a group of girls pass you at the party. But that was the least of your worries, you had eaten too much cake and had tripped on the stairs in front of your friends. Could everyone see your makeup on your neck? Were they laughing at you-

“Do you overthink everything?” Roy blurts, catching your elbow to pull you back gently as a waiter with a heavy tray passes by. “Because I’ll tell you right now that you’re the prettiest fucking woman at this party.”

“You can’t say that at someone’s birthday party.” You laugh, stepping closer to him without realizing. “That’s one of the biggest rules. It’s like saying someone is prettier than Aphrodite. Next thing you know that person will be cursed to marry your father because the goddess hates you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s…. Greek mythology. I’m not going to marry my dad. It… okay. I’ve ruined this so I am just going to-” You move away quicker than he can follow and you think that it was over. But you had not known just how determined Roy Kent was.

Soon enough he was taking you out, one date became 4 which led to a relationship. 10 months in and you were the happiest you had ever been. He saw you, in every outfit and every mood and every way, and he loved you just as you were.

But there was something you didn’t expect, the amount of attention that would come with dating a professional football player. It was a whole new demon in itself.

I should not be left to my own devices

They come with prices and vices

I end up in crisis (tale as old as time)

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

'Cause you got tired of my scheming

(For the last time)

Lunches with your mother were the worst, and yet you loved her more than anything. Today she chose an extremely fancy restaurant dressed in a Valentino outfit and her makeup to perfection as she cut her salad up with her fork and knife.

“Oh this is dreadful.” She sighs, shaking her head. “There is barely any chicken in here. This is insane. Do you see chicken?”

“There is chicken.” Roy shrugs, narrowing his eyes a bit. Lunches with them were always such a weird dynamic considering they were exact opposites. Your mother looked for drama, she thrived off of arguing. Roy chose brutal honesty, he worked best on shutting arguments down before they could even start. “It’s right there.”

“Oh, baby that is a terrible color on you.” She huffs, sitting the plate back down and turning her glare on you as her hand raises to call the server over. “It washes you out. What have I told you about-”

“She looks fucking stunning today.” Roy scoffs, blinking slowly.

“It’s fine.” You whisper to him, trying to defuse the situation.

“No, it’s not.”

“Now I read somewhere that there is a big fundraiser gala coming up, it was in the paper. I assume you both will be attending.” Your mother begins, smiling when the server starts heading over. “You should let me dress you darling. I know how you get anxious about that all and I want to make sure you look your best.”

“She’ll look bloody fantastic in anything-”

“Oh you finally decided to serve your table.” Your mother interrupts him, talking to the server and completely disregarding your boyfriend.

He takes a moment to lean over to you, catching your eyes. “I’m about to stab my fork into my fucking eye.”

“I know.” You smile, leaning in closer to kiss his cheek which makes him growl a bit at the pda but you see the smile he fights off anyways. “We’ll be gone soon.”

“You look great and the dress you pick will be fantastic. Don’t listen to her.” He gruffs out.

“Have you seen those posts of you two? They were commenting on your age difference and I just want you to know that I do not think you are too immature for him. Truthfully honey I am proud, I never thought you’d make it with someone so accomplished. I mean it’s not like you had many prospects.” She laughs as the server sends Roy a wide eyed look while taking her plate away leaving the table once more.

“That’s it.” Roy snaps, slamming his silverware down on the table and pointing his finger at her. “You watch how you speak to her. She’s perfect. And she will be a bombshell at the gala.”

Your mothers face flushes, blinking at him slowly as Roy goes back to his meal like nothing happened while you fight off a smile, your foot rubbing his calf under the table in a silent thank you before you try to pull it back only for his legs to slam shut keeping your foot held there.

He sends you a sharp look, but the corner of his mouth curves up and you know that was his way of showing his love so you take it, smiling right back at him.

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

At tea time, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

The dress you chose for the gala was perfect, you were excited to wear it and truthfully you were excited about the whole thing. This would be the first event you had ever attended with the Richmond team in the public eye, and you wanted to make a good impression.

But your mothers words from the years rang through your head constantly as you waited for their practice to end, leaning against the wall in the hallway as you thought about everything.

“Oh! Hello.” A angelic voice rings out, pulling your attention to Rebecca Welton coming down the hallway, making you stand up quickly.

“Ms. Welton! Hi, hello, hey…. I’m saying hi in too many ways.” You blush, moving to shake her hand. “It’s great to see you again.”

“I was just about to say the same thing. Are you waiting for the boys?”

“I am, yeah. My car is in the shop so I need a ride.”

“Oh lovely, will I be seeing you at the gala? I have been planning it for weeks, my ex husband used to plan it. The wanker.”

“I’ll be there. I just hope I dress well enough.” You laugh slightly, but her eyebrow raises and you panic slightly. Did everyone on this team just see right through all your shit?

“You’ll look perfect. I wish I still had a figure like yours.”

“ANGEL!” Someone calls out before you are lifted into the arms of Danny Rojas, kissing the side of your face as he swings you around.

“Alright. Set her down, will ya?” Roy snaps, coming around the corner and rubbing his knee as Danny sets you down quickly, kissing your cheek one more time before heading away. You lean forward and rub Roy’s knee right where you know he feels the most pain.

“Is it hurting a lot?” You mumble, as he pulls your hand away. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, I just don’t want to moan in the middle of this hallway. Let’s go home?” Before you can even answer he is grabbing your bag and moving to take you to the car.

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby

And I'm a monster on the hill

Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city

Pierced through the heart, but never killed

Roy was in a shit mood the day of the gala, slamming cupboard after cupboard. You knew he was irritated about having to dress up and see the reporters that used to write about him all the time, and you knew in moments like this it was best to let him work through it. But sometimes you just couldn’t stay away.

Shuffling closer, in his shirt, you wrap your arms around his center and shove your face into his back. He huffs out as he keeps swiping the sponge against the counter, but he doesn’t push you away so you take a chance and kiss between his shoulder blades. “It’s going to be okay. What they say about you doesn’t matter.”

He sighs out, letting go of the sponge before turning around in your arms and wrapping his own around you, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You were young and they were assholes for that…. So fuck them.”

“Fuck them.” He repeats.

“You’re going to walk by them in your fine ass suit with your fine ass body-”

“Please don’t objectify me.” He mumbles, but a smile is already on his lips as he leans down to kiss you deeply before pulling back. “And I will have the brightest fucking gem with me tonight.”

“Oh, c’mon.” You blush, trying to pull back but his arms are tight around you.

“I think we need to fuck.” He huffs kisses at your face again.

“Don’t be so crass!” You laugh, trying to escape him and shuffling you both to the bedroom right as your phone rings. “It’s my mother.”

“No. Don’t answer.”

“I have to, or she’s gonna be mad.” You answer back, watching his face turn dead serious as he looks at you. His hands come up to rub at your jaw.

“You listen to me you little rat.” He mumbles, you fighting back a laugh at the nickname. “Don’t listen to a word she says, because you are beautiful.”

“I won’t. I promise.” You promise, kissing his lips deeply and losing yourself to the kiss for a moment before he pulls back and shuffles to continue cleaning the counter. You swipe your thumb across the screen and mumble out a “Hello mother.”

“Oh you’re there! I thought you were about to ignore my call.” She snaps through the phone.

Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism

Like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time)

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

And life will lose all its meaning

(For the last time)

You broke your promise, and you let your mother get the best of you.

Her words from earlier bounce around your mind as you get ready. You debate whether or not your hair looked healthy as you spray hairspray across it. Did it look greasy? Untamed? Could they see your split ends?

Was your nail polish the wrong color? Was there a patch of hair on your legs that you missed? Did the dress color wash you out? Did you look too heavy? Was it too late to cancel?

“You look…. “ Roy blinks, coming up behind you to help zip the dress. “Fuck.”

“Is that good?” You ask, biting at your lip as he leans to kiss the nape of your neck.

“Good? You look bloody amazing.” He snaps, kissing your neck one more time before standing straight. “Now let’s go make money.”

“What are we fundraising for? I never looked into it?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

“Right.” You laugh, turning with your hand in his as he kisses your knuckles softly. “Then let’s go make money for whatever needs money.”

“Make a fortune.”

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me)

At tea time, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Your lip was worn down from the amount you had been biting it.

Walking up to the gala you saw a red carpet with dozens of flashing cameras and begin to panic as you get closer, your hand tightening in Roys as he stands straighter. You would not be able to handle the cameras and see your picture all over the internet. What would people say? They would trash you, oh how bad would it be?

But Roy, ever the perfect man, simply held your hand tight and walked across the red carpet with a confidence that made your skin hot. He muttered to each that called his name, his voice deep and uncaring. “No. No. Fuck you. Fuck off. Fuck no.”

A smile blooming across your face as you let him lead you into the building where everyone is walking about with drinks in their hand.

“I’m going to go get us drinks. Your usual?” He asks, waiting for your nod before heading in the direction of the bar leaving you standing there to take a look around.

You took your chance to look around at everyone around you, smiling at anyone you make eye contact with. The anxieties began rising, as every gorgeous female passed you in their perfect dresses. Was your dress cheap looking? Did you look pathetic?

You were caught up in your thoughts as Jamie approached with his date, a model that introduces herself with a hug that makes you sniff caramel, leaving you with a crater in your chest as you look at her perfection. Jamie talks about the gala, looking around at everyone as a flash makes you blink, all three of you turning to the person that just took your picture.

“The actual fuck?” Jamie scoffs, staring at him. “We were having a conversation, ye?”

“Sorry.” The man nods, moving to walk off and bumping into Nate with another apology. “Didn’t see you.”

“Hi Nate.” You smile, trying to seem calm when he walks up. “You look great.”

“Thank you! Mr. Lasso actually bought me this suit.”

“Who?” You blink, trying to see who he had been talking about. It wasn’t meant to be a snappy or snide comment, you had yet to be introduced to the new coach and the name didn’t ring a bell at first. But the second you saw the man with the mustache owning the crowd not far off you knew who Nate was talking about.

But when you turn back to Nate you see a glare set on his features, his cheeks a little red as he blatantly looks away from you. “You look great, Jamie. You as well Keeley.”

Then he walks off, bumping into you harshly as he passes which makes the blonde look at you with wide eyes as Jamie excuses himself for another drink.

“Oh, that was extremely rude of me. I shouldn’t have asked about the coach- that was-”

“What are you talking about?” She blinks, looking extremely confused. “You didn’t do anything wrong?”

“Here you are.” Roy grunts, handing you the chilled glass. “Keeley.”

“Hello Roy.” She smiles before Jamie whistles to pull her over.

“Did he just call her like she was a dog?” You ask Roy as she walks over, and he shrugs.

“He’s a wanker. Always has been and always will be.” Roy grunts out, rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t ever pass the ball. And he is a massive tool. You should hear some of the things he says to-” He begins to explain as you try to smooth out your dress before his hand shoots out to stop you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Your answer was too quick, his eyes narrow and he catches it.

“What happened?”

“I just…. I think I upset Nate because I asked to Lasso was and I didn’t mean to and everyone here looks amazing. But I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

“Did that little fuck say something?”

“No. It’s fine Roy. Everything is fine.” You smile, leaning forward to kiss his lips which he allows before moving back and holding his hand knowing he doesn’t like pda. “Let’s go find our seats?”

I have this dream my daughter in-law kills me for the money

She thinks I left them in the will

The family gathers 'round and reads it and then someone screams out

"She's laughing up at us from hell"

“Hello Roy, you handsome devil you.” A southern voice rings out, walking up to where you and Roy were seated together. “And what pairs so well with a handsome devil? An angel.”

“The devil is technically… well historically the devil is an angel.” You blush, immediately feeling stupid as the fun fact slips from your lips. “Well, I mean- I’m sorry that was stupid.”

“Stupid? Absolutely not. I feel ashamed that I didn’t know it.” He laughs, leaning to shake your hand. “My name is Ted, all my friends call me Ted which means you must.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you. Roy was telling me about all the new techniques at your practices.” You smile, making your boyfriend shake his head.

“I said nothing good.” Roy huffs.

“He said everything good.” You smile which makes Ted smile back.

“You both look fantastic. Have a drink on me, since it’s an open bar.” Ted jokes, moving to walk away as Roy places his hand on your lower back.

“Why the fuck would you tell him that I said good things?” He huffs and your stomach drops.

“I’m sorry. It was just teasing and you do always say great things about him so-”

“Take it easy. You are fine.” He shakes his head. “Are you okay?”

You hadn’t noticed but your fists had clenched and your nails were digging into your skin, his own fingers were quick to make you release the hold and rub his thumb over the crescent marks left on your skin before bringing your hand up to kiss your palm.

“I thought you hated pda.” You whisper, leaning so your foreheads were pressed together as he pretended to roll his eyes.

“Fuck it. I have a gorgeous date and I deserve to kiss her in public.”

“Are you sure? It’s a big move for you.”

“Have you seen yourself? Prettier than the goddess aphrodite.” He smiles and your eyes widen.

“How. Dare. You! What have you done? I’m going to have to marry my dad now. Roy, how could you have done this to me?” You laugh, shaking your head. “I also cannot believe you remember that from almost a year ago.”

“Of course I remember.” He blinks. “That was the first conversation I had with the love of my life. Who would forget that?”

“Oh knock it off.” You mumble, shaking your head.

“Knock it off? Knock what off?” He snaps. “Do you realize how fucking lucky I was that day? The day you looked at me? My life was made. The second best day of my life.”

“Second?”

“Second. My niece’s birth is the first.”

“I’m fucking honored.” You laugh, smiling from ear to ear.

“Did you just cuss?”

“I did. I’m sorry. My mother would kill me.” You blush.

“Can I be honest with you for a second?”

“When are you not?”

“Fuck your mother.” He blurts, which makes your eyes widen. “I hate her. I think she is miserable and you are far fucking prettier than aphrodite and you don’t have to worry about the goddess making you marry your dad because I will be marrying you. No goddess or god could keep me from you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You’re stuck with me. And I need you to stop being to fucking mean to yourself. You hear me?” He asks seriously. “Because that’s the love of my life you are talking about.”

“I can try.”

“Good. Now lets get another round and wait this fucking gala out. Then lets go get actual food because I know you skipped lunch.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You smile before a flash blinds you once more, making you both whirl to the man with the camera.

“You fucker-” Roy begins to stand as he dashes off.

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

It's me, hi, everybody agrees, everybody agrees

You both end up at a late night potato stand, sitting on one of their benches as you both laugh at the memory of the auction that had taken place.

“A fucking grandma bid on me. You know how embarrassing that was?”

“Hey! I bid on you too!” You laugh, body shaking from laughing so hard. “And Keeley!”

“Keeley was pissing that little wanker off.” He huffs, rubbing your thigh gently as you keep his blazer wrapped around you. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”

“Thank you for bringing me. I am sorry I upset Nate-”

“Stop saying sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He mumbles, leaning to dig his spoon into your baked potato and take a big mouthful of it. “Fuck. That is good.”

“You say that about anything I get! You always do this!” You laugh, pretending to pull the potato away.

“You always choose better!”

It's me, hi (hi), I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me)

At tea (tea) time (time), everybody agrees (everybody agrees)

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

“Fuck!” You wake up to the sound of Roy yelling from the kitchen, rushing to wrap yourself in the sheet left on the bed from last night as your feet pad across the floor to find where he is at.

You find him sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, glaring at his laptop, until he sees you coming out of the bedroom in just a sheet.

“Fuck.” Unlike his last curse this one is said with a lusty tone, setting the coffee down as you come closer to the couch and move to sit by him.

“What’s got you so mad, handsome?”

“They posted a picture of me and they said I’m retired. What fucks.”

“Is it a bad idea? To be retired?” You ask, moving to straddle him before he can pull an attitude. “You would have more time with me. More time to hang out and cuddle and sleep and…. You can finish the rest.”

“.....Fuck.”

#roy kent #roy kent imagine #roy kent angst #roy kent fluff #roy kent smut #roy kent x reader #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso apple tv #ted lasso angst #ted lasso smut #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso fic #ted lasso spoilers #ted lasso fluff #roy kent ted lasso

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shadeysprings · 11 months

Text

Deal or No Deal.

—Pete Brenner x F!Reader

Summary — You work hard to entice the biggest possible client for your company, but he has his own ideas for you to make him say yes.

Warnings — implied noncon/dubcon, coercion, power imbalance. There may be more that I forgot to mention but please read with caution.

Word Count — 986

A/N — Another impromptu fic because the muse was calling for it. Plus, the babies were wanting and who am I to say no and not deliver. Un-beta and no editing has been done so may be sloppy. But we all love some slop anyway haha!

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

The bored look on Pete’s face has you feeling even more nervous since you walked into his company. You never should have agreed to take on this project, you should have just stayed quiet and allowed Janice to take it. But no—you had to be proactive, you had to shove it in her face that you are just as good as a sales rep as her, maybe even better. Yet now, as you continue on with your spiel, the presentation you’ve worked so hard on only looks to be going down the drain.

“Next slide.” Pete says, making you stutter in surprise but simply doing as you’re told and leaning down on your laptop to tap the key. The audible groan that emits from him has you edge as you do.

“Our product not only surpasses the ones like it but it’s tested and proven to do more.” You say with the remaining enthusiasm left in your system. “If you can see from the studies we’ve conducted, Jan—”

“Yawn.” Pete utters while actually doing so, leaning against the seat and resting his elbow atop the table, his cheek leaning on his fist. “Is there any version of this where we end up fucking?”

That stops you. Your brows furrowed in confusion with the words that just rolled out of his mouth.

“Excuse me?” You say, disgust and shock curling in your voice.

He chuckles and stands from his seat, exaggeratingly stretching his arms before walking over to you at the end of the long table, fingers grazing over the wooden surface.

“You heard me. That presentation of yours? I’ve seen so many just like it from so many people who, just like you, are desperate for me to say yes.” You hear your heart beat frantically against your chest as he comes closer, your feet taking a step back but no more further as you’re suddenly frozen in place.

“But just like them, I’m going to say no. You know why?”

You don’t know if he’s asking a serious question or simply playing with you, trying to intimidate you with the unknown power he holds over your head.

You don’t respond.

“Let me tell you why. Because it’s boring.” His words are like a vice to your chest. “I’m sure you’ve spent all night perfecting this powerpoint and practicing that speech, but, it just ain’t selling. Nothing about it interests me. Nothing about it makes me want to throw my money at it. And nothing about it makes me say ‘Wow!’”

His large hands trace the edge of your laptop before shutting it close, the room going dim, except for the light coming from the projector as your presentation vanishes.

“Nothing about them draws me in. Except you—” The way he says it makes your skin crawl and you take another step back when you see his eyes run up and down your figure, trapping his tongue between his teeth in the process. “There’s a fire in you. Like you would do anything to prove yourself.” He teases. Stopping just in front of you and framing his hip with his hand, in a way that has you seeing the bulge that has formed in his pants, while his other hand taps against the table, waiting, anticipating your next move.

“So either, you walk out of this room with nothing—a loser like the rest of those chumps waiting outside to talk to me, or you go back to your boss with a big fat sale you can rub onto the one you took this project from.”

Your hand visibly shakes with the tension that’s swirling around you. Is this what you want? To allow this man to order you around and do as he pleases for the sake of your career? What face would you show Daniel if he says no? Pete is one of the biggest clients he’s been chasing and you’ve been stupid enough to try and show off.

Letting out a quivering sigh, you bite your lip and place your notes to the side, looking up at Pete’s face before clenching your fists and looking down at your feet.

“A thousand pieces.” You argue. If you’re losing your dignity, you may as well get something bigger out of it.

“You bend over this table and show me that ass and I’ll think about giving you seven hundred.” He bargains, a playful smirk forming on his lips—a sign of his victory and your defeat.

It’s less yet still more than your initial ask.

Nodding and once more releasing a breath, you lift up your pencil skirt to reveal your backside and lean against the table just like he’s asked. You bite your tongue to stop the yelp that wants to push from your lips when he slaps your ass and whimper in fear and hatred for this man when he grabs you by the waist and presses his clothed erection against you.

“Make it worth my while, Sweetheart. My time ain’t cheap.”

“There’s our superstar!” Daniel says in oblivious excitement when you walk back into your department, Janice and the rest of your co-workers looking at you with expectation in their eyes. “Well?” Daniel prompts. “How many did he get?”

“Fifteen hundred with a possible order next month.” You say in resignation and present him the order slip signed by Pete with a note requesting for another meeting next week. Shock fills his eyes as he stares down at the paper before he punches the air in obvious celebration.

“No fucking way!” Janice says in disbelief, yet the others surround you, bidding their congratulations.

“What did you tell him?” One of your co-workers asks.

“What did you do?” Another.

“She did her fucking best, that’s what.” Daniel says in excitement before hugging you tight. “I never doubted you one second, champ. I’m glad I gave you this account.”

If only you can say the same.

#pete brenner #pete brenner x reader #pete brenner x female reader #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #deal or no deal #pain hustlers #chris evans characters #shadeysprings fics

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bimgtt · 4 months

Text

SP never destroyed anything

so what they wanna proof that blushing sasuke loved sakura but in real sasuke blushing at that time means it's embarrassment nothing romantic, sp didn't do shit

what has changed it is till the same bloody

They did good by showing sakura isn't insensitive jerk to a injured person and giving him space but in manga she is a insensitive prick

when is sasuke blushing, it was shadow of his hair sasuke was actually smiling in anime, plus anime was in 2000s, that's why quality down, so they focus on important things, blushing was like something impossible to add at that for some reason

instead they add a hug so it's not even that important cz sakura forcefully squeezing sasuke's hand

funny angry expression cz he had a vision of his massacre self and angry and now wanna throw at someone bc of curse mark, it's same

what's their agenda with this, it proves nothing negative for sasuke

what's difference, both same expression of gratefulness for a comrade mixture with sad and frustration along with pain of curse mark

again what they wanna proof sasuke even not looking at sakura but drawn from different angle than manga that's why it's misunderstood sasuke is looking to none but towards empty point,

what it proves that sasuke love her, delusion looool

same expression in one sasuke looks more exhausted and nihilist and indifferent robotic face other one more angry,

doesn't proof anything positive for sakra stan to cherry picks

again when opening your mouth is surprised expression with no reaction dialogue, both have same expression with manga had open mouth, sakra stan cheery picks well

sugarcoating like sakra stan, sasuke's face is surprised in the anime too but you have to see very closely to understand that not from far away cz it was drawn in a very small way

studio can't cz the way draw sasuke was different then manga that's why they can't add blushing, it would be inconsistent,

also blushing doesn't mean she likes her but he was flustered for some reason, we know what is the reason but you can't sugarcoat panel without indicating concretely why sasuke felt flustered for sakura or something else or being centre of attention when he said about his goal

lol in manga sasuke even not laughing just looking at her with guilt face not love but in anime he is laughing like he is part of team 7 now,

funny this where guilt tripping of sasuke by team 7 started

at least anime tried to make it like consistent memory while manga proved it imagination of sarada with sasuke having both hand and fat

what does it even proof when it was stated sasuke had no contract with her for decade in your fanfic novel mentioned it so why does it matter if it was present or not cz people will read gaiden not only watch anime

this one is bad

instead they add sakura's badass fight not damsel in distress

in manga sasuke looked like depressed as hell but in anime they made him jolly, should be happy for your stan, sasuke didn't , he did cz sarada did

when novel became canon,

they are same as anime canon fillers,

so be grateful, they even adapted these fanfic which only for shippers

lol at least anime showed the canon sasuke not fanfic sasuke,

sasuke who didn't even care when his wife transported now jealous and didn't even hug her when she wanted lol??

anime did better to maintain consistency of sasuke, sasuke never gets jealous, didn't even care when she stabbed by madara never sent a letter in a decade now suddenly jealous

it was filler they can't add everything

like it' even a problem!!

lol sasuke's jealousy wasn't there when he was contract less with her for decade

they removed the creepy part of sakura

if he can count on her then why didn't he let her beat shin uchiha and sending letter to her, i mean he can count on her so sending letter wouldn't hurt his mission after all he can count on her

they want anime fillers to be treated as arc when SP had tight schedule at that time for boruto

he is having smiling face

the man who doesn't even care to send a letter once for a decade or mentioning his wife name before leaving with boruto

#anti sakura #anti sasusaku #anti ss #anti ss fandom #anti ss stan #anti sakura uchiha #anti sakura wankers #anti sakura haruno #anti naruto ending #SP the great studio

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brandycranby · 1 year

Text

the berry sweetest

pairing: steve rogers x raccoon hybrid!reader

word count: 511

warning(s): chubby/plus-sized reader, no detailed description; mostly fluff and snuggles and kissies, hints of erotic situations; slight dehumanization and dom!Steve

author's note: forgive me, i know not what i did. only what i am, a soggy sad beast who yearns to be cuddled; based off of this text post i did earlier, will write more :))

Something… is touching his ears.

“... wazzat?” Steve’s no stranger to going from dead asleep to battle ready. It's never a bad thing to be vigilant against Hydra sneak attacks even if said Hydra agents are gently stroking him awake.

But it’s only you, the poor little raccoon hybrid he saw in the dumpsters during his morning jog. It was an easy decision, upstate New York is no place to be outside in the wintertime. You were surprisingly easy to lure back to his quarters with only a jello cup and some yogurt in a tube.

“Steve, Steeveeee.” Your pupils shine an eerie yellow in the gloom of night and your wandering hands are almost spidery as they skitter across his naked pecs.

Still, you’re the cutest softest thing he’s ever seen, fairly well-fed by the copious food waste the compound produced. Your lack of winter clothing had been worrisome, your only warmth coming from the soft drape of your tail around your body when he found you. You paw at his face again, a thin blanket around you as you shiver, already halfway on the bed.

“Hey, it’s ok. c’mere sweetheart.” With a scoop of his big arm, you’re on his bed, your plush limbs instantly curling around him in a satisfied squeeze. Steve laughs softly as you mewl and whimper little heem heems into his neck. “It's ok, you wanna kiss? Hmm?”

Kiss… you have the vaguest sense of the word, some fuzzy memories of two people in AI uniforms entangled on a bench in front of your temporary den, their mouths touching like they were exchanging food. Confidently, you press your lips against Steve's, squeaking at the sudden pressure of his hands, one around your neck holding you at the perfect angle, the other cupping your bottom, encouraging you to snuggle closer.

Yes! You like this, being very close means being warmer. And his hand is certainly warm, kneading your flesh in confident motions as you rock against him, moving in tandem with his lips to suckle your little tongue, drawing it into his mouth and releasing only when he can feel your chest strain for breath. You quiver, insatiable. “More uhm Steve more?”

Steve huffs. Your yelp at the sudden tug on your stripey tail almost breaks his heart, but he’s responsible for you now. “What do we say?” He gives your winter fluff another warning pull when you take too long to think, drawing out big fat tears that make your eyes sparkle.

“Puh-lease, snff please, Steve, kissies”

How could he deny you? Dizzy and debauched in his arms, mouth swollen from his enthusiasm, little ears twitching, uncertain of all these new sensations but still deliriously happy at your newfound safety.

“Good girl, what a good girl you are.” The praise slips out between messy smacks of your lips, the sound of you being all consumed by him. “I love you so much sweetheart.” He stifles your little squeals again, his own lips as red as berries. “I swear. Nothing bad will ever happen to you from now on.”

---

masterlist

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x chubby reader #steve rogers self insert #my writing #raccoon hybrid!reader

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jeffshusband6969 · 1 month

Text

MY JTK HEADCANONS CUS WHY NOT :DDD

(sfw/nsfw proceed with caution)

SFW:

-he's good at drawing and used to draw way before the incident, he switches art styles varying from 2010s anime to a more sharper cooler style

-hes done graffiti before and has tagged so many places he's lost count.

-has an art desk in his closet to keep all his spray cans/art supplies

-hes actually really nice to people at the mansion, for newcomers he is a little tougher at first until he trusts you. He knows what it's like to be bullied mercilessly so he instead takes it out on his victims not other pastas

-he can play the guitar (sorta)

-he has a scar on his upper nose due to Jane and him getting into a huge fight and he has scratches on his arms from smile dog trying to jump up on him when he gets back from missions

-smile dog is basically Jeff's lap dog accept he's too nice to animals to tell him to get down even though he's getting crushed in the process by this big demon dog so he just accepts his fate

-body type wise he isn't a Twink or starving to death but I see him being fat, or at the very least built like Jason Voorhees he also paints his nails religiously and has a belly button percing he (attempted) to do himself

-he pirates everything he watches and if he can't he buys physical copies of whatever he watches because he quote "I refuse to give my money to those dipshit corporate bastards that will end up taking my media I payed for from me anyways."

-anarchist 100%

-actually doesn't mind Nina unless she touches him without permission then he has an issue

-stoner to the max, bro smells like weed, old spice and cologne. He even owns a bong and ashtray in his room for when he wants a joint or cigarette

NSFW:

-has a tramp stamp and a succubus tattoo, he's also thought about getting nipple piercings but the thought of getting them caught on his fishnet top one day made him decide not too

-sometimes wears tight bondage under his clothes because he likes the way it slowly gets painful over time

-gets off at least once a day, sometimes twice if he's bored

-has a drawer DEDICATED to sex shit (Toys, Handcuffs, lube ect)

-likes to pull hair, praise others and degrade others, mostly Dom but if you pester enough he'll probably submit

-CNC, bondage, knife play, choking, likes spitting into his partners mouth

-has a bad dragon sticker that he put on his car just to fuck with people

- v e i n y

-likes men with veiny hands

-likes women who have the balls to slap him around

-very v e r y kinky man, if he could he'd buy a moby huge just for bragging rights

-def has fucked himself with his knife handle on multiple occasions

-he likes to do body shots and has done one on EJ before

-shaven but not completely, he has fuzz just its not crazy

-likes to shotgun kiss (blow smoke into another person's mouth while kissing them)

Low-key I've found a liking to Tumblr that I've never found before, so I'm prolly gonna stick around for a few until I inevitably forget about this account again

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta jtk #jeff the killer creepypasta #jeffrey woods #jtk #emo #jeff woods

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randomthefox · 4 months

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I’ve spent a long time thinking about the dynamic between the intelligence of Dr. Eggman and Tails in how they’ve both been characterized throughout the years.

I think how it works is while Tails is smarter than Eggman in terms of problem solving and technology, Eggman is smarter than Tails in his ability to understand and manipulate people.

Tails’ creations have lasted far longer than anything the Doctor has ever built (unless you count Metal-Sonic who’s been destroyed and rebuilt multiple times and might not even be the same Metal-Sonic throughout all the games), and he’s been able to hack into Eggman’s tech on multiple occasions. Eggman has tricked Knuckles multiple times into thinking he’s the good guy, tricked Tails into revealing that Sonic was going to hand him a fake chaos emerald in one of his most iconic scenes, acquires money for his evil schemes through various shell companies, and a few more that I’m probably forgetting to mention.

Tails is able to destroy basically every Eggman makes, but Eggman tends to get the upper hand through tricking everyone. Including Tails. It also helps that Eggman just has far more life experience considering he’s 50+ years old while Tails is only around 8. But, Eggman still loses in the end because while he’s great at understanding other people, he’s terrible at understanding himself (undergoing self improvement). This means that his arrogance leaves him with huge blind spots that Tails - for example - can exploit using his expert problem solving to win the day.

Any thoughts on this take? I know it’s a long read.

It's funny because the longer the series goes on the more Eggman becomes a foil to basically every other character in the cast in some manner or regard lol. Like you could draw parallels between him and Knuckles because they're both red and stubborn, between him and Amy because they're both obsessive over Sonic, between him and Rouge because they're both greedy and selfish, between him and Shadow because they both had a pupil relationship with Gerald ect. Eggman being a foil to Sonic is the only one that's really been there since the beginning as an intention thing, and the way he contrasts the others has just kinda developed that way over time.

Like Tails and Eggman weren't meant to be foils at the inception, but by the time of Sonic Adventure 2 that definitely became a front and center textual basis for comparison between the two. They're pitted against each other as the "rival" duo of that game for that very reason.

I honestly think the defining contrast between Tails and Eggman is their self esteem. Tails has too little of it, and Eggman has too much. Tails NEEDS the support and validation from others to feel a sense of worth that he isn't capable of mustering for himself. And even then it can go to an extreme and start giving him a fat head like in Lost World where he was bragging about how effective and capable he was, and it wasn't just blowing hot air either because he was absolutely correct about everything he said in that game - he was at his most Eggman like. But all that was built on a fragile foundation, because once Forces happened and Sonic died in front of his eyes while pleading desperately for Tails to save him with his smarts, it caused him to have a total breakdown. For as high on his own supply as he was, he was dragged down into equally cavernous depths. It's sort of like Prodigy Syndrome, where kids who are propped up as being super special gifted geniuses and given special treatment all throughout their youth because of it inevitably end up failing at something at some point and their entire identity crumbles as a result.

Eggman by contrast is SO self assured and self dependent that it goes completely overboard into delusional mania. He is an EXTREME level narcissist who thinks himself infallible. He doesn't seem capable of having functional relationships with other sapient life forms, and even if he was he wouldn't be interested in maintaining them to any degree beyond how they would personally serve him. This actually makes him WAY more effective of preparing for and dealing with failure than Tails. If something goes wrong, it doesn't impact Eggmans feelings about himself whatsoever because he can just rewrite the story in his head to have it have been someone elses fault. He's able to anticipate things going awry and make contingency plans just in case, and pivots into those contingency's without so much as a complaint about plan A not working out. His megalomania provides him with a shocking degree of emotional flexibility that Tails is completely incapable of without external support. Eggman can roll with the punches that Tails would need someone else to lift him back up from.

I think that shows the root of the biggest difference between Tails and Eggmans intelligence levels and what they use that intelligence for. Tails uses his smarts to service others, Eggman uses his smarts to service himself. Tails will create weapons to defend, Eggman creates weapons to attack. Tails (is capable of) creating robots that function as companions, Eggman creates robots that function as slaves. And the way they interact with others also demonstrates this. Tails will try and explain things to others in a way that helps them understand, Eggman will talk down to others because he assumes they're too stupid to understand. And Tails MIGHT be capable of manipulating someone but if he were to do so it'd only be for the sake of getting them to do something "for their own good" but practically he usually wouldn't be compelled to even want to do so, whereas of course Eggman is only too happy to manipulate anyone and everyone via whatever means would be most effective so he can get exactly what he wants out of them before they're discarded as soon as they're no longer useful.

I think the contrasting idea that Tails is capable of destroying anything Eggman creates is interesting, because usually the idea of a good/evil inventor foil would be that the "good" inventor creates new things and the "bad" inventor only destroys old things. But it's a lot more nuanced with Tails and Eggman. Tails does almost work like an antibody agent to the virus that is Eggman. He can indeed destroy anything that Eggman creates with his intelligence with an equal but opposite amount of intelligence.

But what's funny is in terms of on screen depictions, the things Eggman creates actually benefit the world more than anything Tails creates (barring him creating things to help end Eggmans schemes of world conquest), since we see robots Eggman created being purchased and used by civilians to act as automated security in Sonic Battle. Sure you COULD surmise that those robots might have some kind of latent Manchurian kill switch that will convert them back into being tools of the Eggman Empire, and you COULD headcanon the thought that Tails invents things for greater societal benefit, but in terms of textual evidence Eggman creates things that benefit the world and Tails doesn't. It benefits as an unintended byproduct of Eggman throwing away excess and refuse that is no longer deemed useful to him, but we sure as hell never see or hear anything about Tails making security systems for anybody (to my knowledge).

Even MeteorTech as a company presumably employs people(?) whereas Tails entrepreneurial venture of "Prowers Projects" is just a one fox operation to create planes for his own uses. But of course ultimately Eggman builds to conquer the world and Tails builds to help himself and his friends stop that from coming about which is far more beneficial to everyone else in the long run. Anything Eggman creates that makes life better for another person is unintentional and fleeting, whereas Tails creates things for his own use but whose purpose is making life better for others. But it's still an interesting to look at it from another direction.

It's a tangled tree that branches off in many different directions lol. But insofar as it is possibly to summarize and simplify, I think the root of it comes down to Tails being insecure and Eggman being overly secure. Tails NEEDS others to prop him up and inspire him, Eggman doesn't want or care about anyone besides himself. And that core difference frames and filters everything about how they interact with the world around them and use their smarts to contribute to it. In my view of it.

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #eggman #dr. eggman #tails #miles tails prower #miles prower #eggtails

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burnwater13 · 1 year

Text

Grogu wondered how many times the Mandalorian had said “Take care of the Child” to other people since they had met? Or words to that effect. A hundred times? A thousand? A million? Well, maybe not a million, but it sure seemed like a lot of times. And he really didn’t understand why.

Yes, he was small, but he wasn’t helpless. He could use the Force and lift up a whole mudhorn for crying out loud! That should count for something. Sure, that had tired him out a bit. Well, a lot really, but the mudhorn was the problem, not him sleeping in the pram. He’d slept in the pram a lot and no one else had ever cared about it. Why was the Mandalorian complaining about it?

He also knew that, for whatever reason, people really liked kidnapping him, from the Imp remnants, to other bounty hunters, and other thieves and vagabonds, people thought they could just take him wherever they wanted. Din Djarin had to help him then, but it wasn’t like Grogu had been telling that Calican kid to threaten him and Peli. He was just a sore loser. You can’t beat Peli at Sabacc. Idiot’s Arrays always get to dealt to her. Always.

Then there were all the times that Grogu had to save the Mandalorian. Yup. He did the work. The heavy lifting. The using the Force to either heal the bounty hunter, who should have understood that his armor wasn’t perfect, or to stop some catastrophic event, like that storm trooper who tried to burn them out of the Client’s office on Nevarro. He’d even helped with that awful bug eyed droid, from a certain perspective.

Yet, there Din Djarin was for the maybe the thousandth time saying “Take care of the Child.” That he must have been talking about himself was the only conclusion Grogu could draw from the available data. The Mandalorian certainly hadn’t been talking about him.

Grogu chuckled at the thought of that. Din Djarin as a child. A short Mandalorian. Wearing his armor and helmet and running around some place going ‘pew, pew… pew, pew, pew”. It was hilarious to think about. His reedy kid’s voice saying, “I can bring you in cold, or I can make you late for supper”. He could well imagine Din covered in dirt and cuts and getting in trouble for saying ‘I told him this was the Way to a fat lip.’. Grogu started to laugh out loud.

“Hey, kid, what’s so funny?” The Mandalorian asked as they sat at the campfire.

Grogu looked up at him and just laughed even harder. He’d suddenly thought that maybe Din Djarin hadn’t been the cut up and the prankster but was instead the serious, quiet, thoughtful kid that the rest of the kids picked on. The one who combed his hair neatly before he put on his helmet. The one who liked polishing the armor even though it was a hand me down and didn’t really fit. The one who focused on the lessons with laser like intensity because these were the skills that were going to make the difference between life and death. Uff. That wasn’t funny. It wasn’t funny at all. Womp rats!

Grogu reached out and patted his dad’s hand in a consoling way, no longer laughing, but finding himself on the very edge of tears.

“Buddy, I don’t know what was funny, but why are you sad now?” Din asked, picking Grogu up and holding him closer.

Grogu looked up at the Mandalorian and was about to coo something appropriately soothing, like ‘I love you dad’ or ‘I’m sorry I was laughing at you’ or even ‘I hope I grow up to be just like you’, when he noticed how his image stretched and contracted and shifted in the reflections off his dad’s helmet. He began to laugh again. He wondered if that’s how he looked to the Mandalorian from inside his helmet? All stretched out here and pinched in there? Probably not, but it was a very funny image.

“Buddy, what the heck is going on?” Din asked, almost laughing.

Grogu could hear the laughter in his voice. The Mandalorian thought he was all cool and smooth and emotionless like a droid or a mech, well, really more like a mech, because droids were generally awash with programs to make them sound more like people and since their faces couldn’t express that, their voices did, but Din Djarin was human and his voice always gave that away.

Grogu laughed even more. Because now he thought of his dad as protocol droid and just couldn’t shake the image of the armored bounty hunter waving his arms in the air and saying something like ‘Being shot at by Imps really isn’t fun and games, Master Grogu’. Grogu began to tap his dad’s armor because it was just too funny and he couldn’t explain any of it the befuddled bounty hunter.

“Okay. I don’t know what the Tusken’s put in your bone broth, but whatever it is, you need to sleep it off kid.’ He turned to the other people sitting around the campfire watching them, ‘Hey, can anyone help me take care of the Child?”

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin

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wackybuddiemewbs · 2 years

Text

More WIPpeting because why not? It's Wednesday, after all!

Title has it. It's WIP Wednesday again, and this fic that's not a fic is eating away all of my remaining brain cells. We are at 470k something words and -470% percent of my sanity. Assuming I ever had it. Anyway. Here's to more shenanigan! You can find the moodboard here, and the last two installments for that arc are here and here.

The Worm in the Man III

“So the guy seriously tore down a door?” Chimney gapes.

They all gathered in Chimney’s office to go over the latest findings. And after Buck recounted some of what they found at the gym, Hen is left wondering just what kinds of odd people end up in their city. And how many of them end up in freak accidents that may land them here for identification.

“One swing, and it was out of its hinges,” Buck confirms.

“The wonders of the capacity of the human body,” Chim hums, his eyes drifting off as he surely paints a very pretty picture of that inside his head. And Hen can only hope that he won’t listen to the impulse to draw a comic about that, no matter how beautifully drawn it may be.

It’s rude, and we have to set an example, right?

“More like what steroids can make you do,” Hen huffs, making her disdain no secret. That is no wonder, it’s a damn shame. And it shouldn’t be happening anymore, but God knows it does.

“It was kind of impressive, I’ll have to admit,” Buck ponders, shrugging his shoulders.

“And you didn’t film it for us to enjoy,” Chimney pouts.

Buck holds up his hands. “Sorry, next time he does it, I sure will.”

“That’d be greatly appreciated.”

“So, did you have any luck on the flesh yet?” Buck asks, looking at Hen.

“The bones are cleaned and ready for you to reassemble,” she answers. “The tests confirm what you pointed out after testing the tapeworms: That guy took a mad mix of anabolic steroids. And just so we’re clear on the range: That cocktail he’s been taking would’ve killed medium-sized mammals on the spot.”

How that man managed to stay alive under that regimen is something that Hen can’t determine from the tissue. So she can only assume one thing: It was his sheer will to keep going.

“You’re saying he was shredded.” Chimney flexes his arm muscles for emphasis, which makes Hen’s eyes go for another round the clock motion. She loves Chimney, there is no denying that, but sometimes he tempts her in wanting to tear down a door, too.

“I’m saying he lived a very unhealthy life, just to look like he was healthy,” Hen lets him know. “Or shredded.”

She has seen plenty of those people. Old school friends, girls who glowered at anything that might have contained any kind of fat or carb that couldn’t be accounted for. Hen also saw her fair share of classmates who were so busy working out that they didn’t even realize that this was hardly normal anymore. And it infuriates her to know that there is a whole industry out there that profits off of making people feel miserable and at war with their own bodies. Being healthy suddenly evolved into a status symbol – and, towards that end, into something to make unhealthy or sick people feel bad about for lacking.

“Yeah no, that’s not healthy at all,” Buck confirms. “Essentially, he was underweight.”

“But he still weighed 220 pounds, which is more or less average, right?” Eddie questions.

“Yes, but at one percent body fat and very little hydration levels. His body didn’t get the time to properly regenerate from all those massive changes. Normal is to lose one to two pounds per week if you seek to lose weight and do a moderate to high workout. Jimmy doubled that, at least. The guy hardly ate, and what he ate doesn’t really count as a healthy diet. He was severely malnutritioned and dehydrated by the time he died,” Hen sighs, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “And all of that to fit a certain body image.”

All of that to fit in, to be seen, and not to be regarded as some headless, lazy lump everyone has every right to stomp on for the sole sake of being a certain way. Tell you what, Hen looked inside a great many people throughout her career.

And in the end, safe for some genetic abnormalities, we all look the same underneath the skin. Imagine that!

“And to get his picture hung up on the wall of fame, let’s not forget,” Chim huffs.

“How could we possibly forget about that?” Buck joins in, gesturing with his hands.

“Well, at least we now have a name. James ‘Jimmy’ Granger was a software engineer. He worked for a small company, though he mostly worked from home. Most of his colleagues don’t even know that guy’s face,” Eddie lets them know, reading off of the report he got sent. “Which may also explain why he wasn’t reported missing very fast.”

“The wonders of working remote,” Chimney points out. “That guy probably just never switched on the camera during his transition. Or even before that.”

“The neighbors said that he didn’t go out much,” Eddie continues. “Things shifted about five to six months ago.”

“So when he started frequenting the gym,” Hen concludes.

“Yup,” Eddie confirms. “He never brought someone back with him, that the neighbors know of, at least. They describe him as very kind and helpful. Jimmy set up most of the software and hardware for the people living in the house, as they are mostly elderly.”

“So who’d murder a sweet software engineer like that?” Hen asks, which, she knows, is always the question they have to ask around here.

But it never ceases to make her mad. There are so many good and kind people who are ripped out of their lives. For nothing, really. To inherit that house, to get that money, to settle this quarrel, or pay off that debt. While she has seen enough of that to know this to be fact, it baffles her just how little it takes for some people to take another human being’s life. Though perhaps it’s better not to know, past a certain point.

“Well, maybe someone at the gym was pretty pissed off that he got the prize instead of them,” Eddie ponders.

Hen gapes at him. “There’s seriously a prize for that?”

She knows she shouldn’t be surprised, but Hen still finds herself greatly irritated already.

“Annually.” Buck nods. “They get 10,000 dollars and get to be poster boys and girls for the gym’s very own protein powder.”

“People like that piss me off,” Hen grunts, leaning back in her seat. “They make people like Jimmy feel inadequate, only to get them to buy their products, book the courses, and completely overexert themselves. To the point that Jimmy here must have been in constant pain. I found traces of pain medicine added to the mix.”

That young, sweet software engineer was suffering, he was aching, and he still pushed on. He was being helpful and kind. And all he got was more pain and things that made him sick. And now he is dead. All just to reflect the body standards that are around these days. Because He knows those images are constantly shifting. Because the goal of those body ideals is that they remain unachievable. That’s the point – and perhaps the only truth in it all. The perfect body doesn’t exist.

Because, as our Buckaroo would like to remind us, that’s all just arbitrary bullshit without any scientific backup.

“Small wonder he was in pain,” Buck agrees, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Judging by his knees and feet, he ran way too much and without being properly educated as to how to run without causing injury. Also, bad footwear. Those people at the gym are extremely careless when it comes to their customers, is all I can say.”

“Yeah, look at that!” Chim says, showing some ads on the big screen. “Maximum Leg Press, if your legs don’t burn, you’re not doing it right. X Fit, for those who think CrossFit is too easy. ColLateral Damage, the lateral muscle exercise to get your neck strong and your chest even stronger…”

Hen leans her head back. “This whole thing makes me mad, but the bad advertising makes it impossibly worse.”

At least they could bother to be creative, damn it.

“All of those exercises are risky, even more so when they are executed by people who are not properly educated in carrying them out,” Buck points out, gesturing at the screen. “To me, it’s a miracle that there haven’t been more injuries at that gym.”

“None that we know of yet, though I think the gym has a vested interest not to have that info become public,” Eddie argues.

Buck shrugs. “True again.”

“Video footage confirms that Jimmy was last at the gym when he won the competition, which was two weeks ago,” Eddie continues. “Makes me wonder whether one of the other athletes wanted to be the cover boy and wanted Jimmy gone.”

“Well, I’ll have my fun sorting through the colorful parade Buck promised me,” Hen grunts, making her displeasure absolutely no secret. “Which is to say: I’m not looking forward to that at all.”

“You’re doing the Lord’s work,” Chim teases.

Buck puckers his lips. “I thought the Christian boss man didn’t approve of condoms?”

“The Christian boss man?” Eddie gawks, clearly upset at that choice of words.

Hen chuckles softly, then tells Buck, “That’s the Catholic Church, and those guys should have no say on the down below business of anyone ever.”

“Well, historically, controlling sexuality and sexual practices was a way of exerting power, particularly over women, social outcasts, deviants. And with the institution of the church having a vested interest to maintain their power…,” explains, but she cuts him short, “As I was saying, they have no business in the down below business. God said so. So no, Lord’s work certainly does not lie in that colorful latex parade.”

“He works in mysterious ways,” Chim continues anyway.

“And sometimes they smell of fake cherry,” Buck laughs.

Chimney picks up one of the bags with the condoms and opens it for a quick inhale. “That’s supposed to be cherry? I shall be damned.”

“Stop sniffing them!” Hen cries out.

Which certainly confirms one truth she’s known since she was a young girl: Men are disgusting.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you guys to that. I’ll be talking to the parents. They live in Florida and only arrived today,” Eddie sighs.

Buck opens his mouth to say something, but Eddie carries on before he can, “Buck, you don’t have to come with. I think it’s more important that we get that skull reassembled, see what may have killed him.”

“… Okay,” Buck answers slowly. “On it.”

Hen tilts her head. She can tell that there is something up in that exchange. While Buck’s emotions work in mysterious ways, too, he is terribly bad at keeping his emotions off his face. And there is something underneath that confusion that leaves her wondering what that may be about.

“Okay, great, catch you later,” Eddie says hurriedly. “Call me if you find anything.”

“Sure, bye.”

“Bye.”

With that, he flies out the door.

Hen gets up to settle down next to Buck. “Everything alright? You have that frowny face going on.”

And Buck frowning means Buck thinking. And Buck thinking means he usually goes places. And Buck going places can lead down roads you don’t want to travel, ever.

“Yeah, sure, it’s just… I don’t know… I guess I should be focusing on this, is all,” Buck mutters, still looking at the spot where Eddie just stood.

“You two had a disagreement?” she asks.

“None that I know of. I just… doesn’t matter,” Buck mumbles, lost in thought.” The skull needs reassembly, that’s correct. So let’s focus on that.”

Hen makes a mental note to touch up on that later, but she also knows there is hardly any getting through to Buck when his eyes are set on a target. And that target is now putting that skull back together.

“How did the conference go, by the way?” Chimney asks.

Right, there was something else she was more than pissed about. But everything in time.

“Apparently, Denny has a teacher who’s a complete moron,” she pouts, exasperated. “No way our son is no good in biology. One of his mothers is a pathologist. That man does not know what he’s talking about. And I let him know that.”

“Wait, did you get expelled from parent conference day?” Chimney teases.

“No. You can’t get expelled from parent conference day,” she retorts.

“Oh, so you did,” he laughs.

“I did not.”

“Did, too.”

Hen glowers at him.

“Well, maybe they are covering something in biology right now that’s not human anatomy, which is the subject Denny would have an advantage in, with one of his mothers being one of the country’s best pathologist,” Buck points out.

“Damn, I sure hope I won’t slip on the slime you’re oozing there, Buckaroo,” Chimney laughs, gesturing at the floor.

“What? For pointing out the facts?” Hen narrows her eyes at him.

Chimney bows his head, scratches the back of his head, acting innocently.

“Well, back on topic here: That is why we got those subjects covered with his lovely babysitter who’s all into bugs and slime and flora and fauna,” Hen continues.

Buck grins at her. “It’s me. I’m the lovely guy.”

“Cute,” Chim teases, patting his head. Buck swats his hand away, prompting him to ruffle up his hair even more. Buck makes a shrieking sound as he fends Chimney off, but then breaks out laughing. Hen shakes her head with a soft smile.

Yes, men might be a disgusting, but moments like that let her have a little faith in anyone beside her most wonderful son. Buck and Chimney came a long way. And knowing both their histories at least to a certain degree, Hen will always find it a beautiful thing that the two found a “brother from another mother” in each other, as they will tell anyone who asks.

“I know I’m cute,” Buck grins, trying to ease his messed-up hair back. He then turns to Hen with a mild look. “Well, it’s still possible the guy has to base his teachings on books from twenty years ago. That may explain some discrepancy? Just bouncing some ideas.”

“My son does not deserve a C in biology, period,” she declares. That teacher is clearly out of his mind. Denny has always been an excellent student. Biology was never an issue. So to her, it seems more likely that there is something wrong with the person who just started teaching him when Denny didn’t have any issues before.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Chim huffs. Hen chooses to ignore the sarcastic undertone.

“Which is why I have to figure out how to make that man understand the wrongs of his ways,” Hen lets them know. She made up her mind in the parking lot of the school already – she won’t let that stand.

“If someone can do it, it’s surely you who will unhinge the board of education,” Chimney laughs.

“I don’t need to overthrow the damn empire, I just know that my son is better than what the teacher is giving him, and I won’t stand for that,” she points out.

Buck tilts his head. “Did the teacher say anything about how he acts in class?”

“My son is an angel.”

“Right.”

“And there were no complaints in any other classes,” Hen adds.

What is he trying to get at, hm?

“Maybe he likes that teacher about as much as one of his mothers does,” Chimney snorts.

“You’re saying I’m a bad influence for my son?” Hen glowers at him.

Chimney takes a step back, holding up his hands in surrender. “I never would.”

Hen crosses her arms over her chest. “Good, I better never hear that coming out of your mouth again. And now I’m going to do what scientists do… and wade through used condoms.”

“Hallelujah!”

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

“I see it’s coming all together?”

“You really think that the hundredth time is going to make this joke funny?” Buck huffs as Chimney makes his way inside the bone room where Buck is lining up the skull fragments laid out on the table with the rest of the bones.

“It’s a classic.”

“Starting to feel your true age, I take?”

Chimney chuckles as he punches him in the arm slightly, rounding the table.

“Well, reassembling the skull won’t be that hard. It wasn’t completely broken apart. My trouble is with the remaining bones. A lot got chewed on by the animals, which will make it harder to determine what damage was done antemortem and postmortem. Also, the bones are not in great shape, generally speaking,” Buck ponders, gesturing at the table.

“Well, after they were dog chew, small wonder.”

“That’s not it. I’ve had victims like that before, but the bones took a lot of damage for that only small critter fed on the victim. He landed on rather soft ground, too…”

Chimney tilts his head to the side. “You have that thinky face on again. Do share with the class, otherwise I feel left out.”

“It’s just…,” Buck mutters, picking up one of the bones, testing it with his gloved hands. “They shouldn’t have the amount of damage. The scratches are deeper than they should be. Daisy’s teeth sunk in much deeper than they would for a dog her size. I could only determine the kind based on the jaw outline.”

“Maybe she just got really strong jaws,” Chimney jokes, clicking his teeth.

“No, that’s not really it. Something is up with those bones. They are too prone to damage to…,” Buck says, then stops. “Hold on a sec.”

Chimney watches as Buck walks straight over to the shelves containing human remains behind them. He checks the labels, then pulls out one of the plastic boxes.

“Ugh, Buckaroo. We are working on that lad here, c’mon, focus,” Chimney argues, gesturing at the table. Because he has seen Buck completely lose track of the original task and go on with something else just because his mind commanded him to.

“I just need to confirm something,” the younger man answers. He takes out a femur from the box and then picks up the victim’s femur with the other.

“Weird flex for a workout, even for our lot,” Chimney comments.

“The victim’s bones are lighter than they should be,” Buck says.

Chim frowns. “What now?”

“I took out a bone that comes from someone about Jimmy’s physique. Jimmy’s bone is much lighter,” Buck replies. “Look.”

While Chimney is not the bone guy – pun totally intended – he will have to see for himself. So he grabs some gloves and puts them on with a snap. Buck hands the bones over, his mind already rushing a thousand miles ahead by the second. Chimney tests the weight and indeed they are indeed different.

“What the hell?” he mutters under his breath.

Buck picks up another set of bones for comparison. “Same thing here. This is not just some anomaly on the femur. This is a recurring pattern.”

“How would his bones be lighter, though?” Chimney asks, handing the bones back over to Buck. He watches as his friend places them both back on the table and the box with utmost care.

“They are not as dense as they should be,” Buck ponders, still lost in thought.

“The frowny face is intensifying.”

Buck puts the bones back down. And if the saying was true that the brain was all about gears, people could hear them turn inside the man’s head a mile away. Maybe even more.

A few moments later, Buck’s head shoots up. “Wait, I think I know why.”

“That was fast,” Chimney huffs. Though he has since grown accustomed to the fact that Buck is someone whose brain makes three turns in the time it takes normal brains to make one. Sometimes, it means he’s too many steps ahead. But at the very least, it gets you up to speed fast. That much is for sure.

“Jimmy had osteoporosis,” Buck states.

Chimney blinks. “Why would a kid his age have osteoporosis?”

Last time he checked, that was more of an old-people-disease, right?

“There’s many causes, but steroids can greatly contribute to it, so that might be a possible explanation,” Buck tells him pensively. “Though the timeline is still somewhat off. Hen said that he likely only started about five months ago, with the steroids. But for osteoporosis at this level, it would have to be much longer than that.”

“That poor kid. He just wanted to lose some weight, and now he’s been food for the critters for days without anyone noticing him gone,” Chimney sighs, looking back at the bones laid out on the table.

Much like Buck, he sees faces when he looks at a skull. Part of the job, after all. Now Chimney has also seen pictures, of the few there are from before Jimmy’s transition. And they all confirm that this guy had a nice and kind face matching his personality. And such a nice, kind face was then eaten off by the critters after someone left him there to die and rot. It is their daily business to deal with that, surely, but Chimney won’t ever get accustomed to that. He doesn’t want to either. Because that would mean acceptance, and this not acceptable by any means.

“Yeah, because the people at the gym do such a great job caring about their clients,” Buck huffs, gritting his teeth.

“You’re also pissed off, huh?”

“Jimmy could’ve done with a few pounds less and a bit of exercise, to take pressure off his bones and strengthen his muscles, more so if he had some genetic predisposition for osteoporosis. But he was in good health before he started to get jacked-up. He was a regular kid. And from what Eddie told us, quite brilliant at his job. And now that young man is dead. Just because people decided that his body didn’t fit in with the rest. Yes, that pisses me off, a lot.”

Buck moves back to the shelf to return the bones he compared to Jimmy’s, his facial expression hardening with every step. He and Chimney always shared in that notion. In fact, everyone at the lab does. But Chim saw since the early beginnings of Buck working for the Jeffersonian that this guy refuses to get used to people disregarding human life, whatever shape or form it has.

Because to Buck, that’s all just window dressing. For Chimney, it’s the other way around. For him, the bones are the way to get a face. And the face is not just something on top of a bone. For him, truth lies in a person’s face. For Buck, truth always lies underneath it.

Chimney has worked with forensic anthropologists before, duh, but working with Buck has changed his way of working entirely. Not just because the guy is a big oddball. But because Buck has a view on what is around him that Chim never saw with anyone else he worked alongside with.

And sure, no two people look at the world the exact same way, he knows that much. But Buck’s view on the world has always been a peculiar one. Chimney can still remember the earlier times of Buck working for the Jeffersonian. He thought the guy was a goner within a week, which he was correct about, until Bobby brought him back. Though truth was that he was disappointed when he heard Buck had been fired.

Most of the time, when the science folks hear of what Chim does, they roll their eyes at him, at best. Once they understand what he can actually do, once he’s proven it, Chimney is sure to have their attention and respect, but it’s always a process of getting there.

That wasn’t so with Buck. On his first day, Buck came to his office and gushed about that online gallery walk Chimney had done to present his digital art. He wanted to know all about it. How he does it, what his method is. Chimney never would’ve called it a method but a technique. Though he understood that for Buck, his art was science, a way of sense-making. To him, it was real science without the label on it.

And then Buck kept asking questions for about an hour, nonstop. He wanted to know if that type of reconstruction was something he could do, if there was a program of his design to analyze bones under these circumstances and those other circumstances. He didn’t just ask what Chimney could currently do, but Buck instantly started scratching at what else he might do with his method.

Chimney didn’t need Buck’s approval or praise. That’s not it. He’d since learned his value to the Jeffersonian, all the more thanks to Bobby and Hen. But it really is as Buck said before, about the bones from Tibet. How it makes a difference how you approach an object. How it changes through your perception, through the knowledge you have of where it comes from. Because it creates pictures in your head, ready or not. And Buck came without any pictures, any filters, it’d seem, safe for his sheer excitement for Chim’s work, his method, and the possibilities ahead, some of which still need another three laps before they can be realized.

So he was genuinely relieved when Buck returned and has remained with the Jeffersonian since. Because also thanks to Buck, Chimney found new ways of looking at that which is before him, of learning new techniques, creating entirely new methods. By learning to see things like Buck, he finds new ways to look at the world around him, look at the victims, and see something that’s underneath the skin, right down to the bone.

And while he knows Buck and he will always look at the world differently, Chimney always has the feeling that when it comes to looking at human remains, they get each other on a level most others don’t. And he wouldn’t ever want to miss that, even less so since that same guy grew to be such a close friend of his.

But he is also a giant pain in the ass. So it’s always a give and take in the end.

“People are brutal when it comes to body images,” Chimney ponders, looking back at the bones, looking back at the remains of Jimmy Granger, of a guy with a kind face, and even kinder face, whose life ended way too fast and not at all on the high note it was supposed to.

He’s seen plenty of that during his art studies. Searching for the perfect body type for portraits, for photo projects. A fellow student did a wonderful project on different body types that he helped create the website for. Though those are very often the exception. Instead, they get a weird high from watching obese people on TV getting beaten down for having the audacity to have a different body type, or maybe even lead a lifestyle that’s not 100% healthy.

Most people can’t look beyond what’s programmed into their brains to consider as beautiful – both by nature and nurture. Because sure, we find particular beauty in symmetry. That’s coded into our DNA, as Buck loves to remind whoever dares to ask. But we are also taught what’s beautiful, what’s ugly, what’s norm, what isn’t.

And Chimney always found that when a subject likens itself to be the free arts, the place for free spirits to thrive, it seems awfully delimiting to only focus on what’s the norm.

“Those people at the gym keep pressuring perfectly healthy people to bust their body fat to come close to ideals set out by magazines and websites making it seem like this is healthy. It’s not. Women don’t need thigh gaps,” Buck grumbles. “Men don’t need a six pack. The strongest men on the planet don’t look like Jay, trust me.”

“Well, he still tore down that door,” Chimney jokes.

“That, he did,” Buck sighs. He picks up the skull for inspection again.

“Jimmy was helpful and polite. And he went to those people for support. But in the end, all they cared about was to boost their stupid business. Jimmy deserved better than to have his picture on a wall to tell him that only with one percent body fat he’s of value to anyone else,” Buck continues, his grimace tightening. “People don’t need to optimize their bodies to be… valuable.”

He puts the skull back down and moves along the table. It always looks like a chase when Buck is in that mood. Like he is closing in on the target.

“Yeah, there’s a whole industry profiting off of making people feel miserable, only to present them with some magic powder that can make them look like what they are told is the only way to look,” Chim snorts.

Buck stops in his tracks, the motions closer. “Huh.”

“What? Said something that got you thinking?”

“Not really,” Buck replies bluntly. “I just noticed a scaphoid fracture.”

Chimney grins at him, choosing to ignore the underlying criticism out of goodwill. “Let’s pretend I didn’t know which bone that is.”

“It’s part of the base of the wrist,” Buck says, picking said bone up to show it to him. “Here.”

“What’s odd about it? If he fell down before he died, that may explain it, right?” Chim argues. He’s run countless scenarios of just that kind before.

“That injury is older, though. It already started to heal. See, there’s traces of remodeling on the bone. I’d say he sustained the injury a month prior to his death,” Buck explains, gesturing at the bone. “He didn’t have it treated, though. It wasn’t immobilized as it should’ve been. So he went on training without a splint or brace regardless.”

Chim furrows his eyebrows at that. “Doesn’t that… hurt?”

“It does. But judging by the gym’s teachings, it just shows you that the workout works, so he may have thought it’s all part of the process. Or just ignored it to run that extra mile.”

“Those guys should run an extra mile into a lake.”

“I agree,” Buck huffs. “He didn’t sustain any more injuries to his hands when he died. He fell down face-first.”

“Ouch.”

“He definitely broke his nose in the process,” Buck mutters. “Though Jimmy may have been unconscious or dead by the time already. It’s hard to tell. But it would explain why he wouldn’t shield his face before impact.”

Buck looks back at the screen for any more signs on the bones he missed. Because there is always more to learn, as he keeps reminding everyone, till the day he dies, surely.

“What strikes me is how stiff he was when he fell,” Buck continues. “If he had a heart attack or something to that effect, he’d normally go down slower, maybe even go to his knees first, and then collapse forward.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Chimney agrees. “That’s not the usual pattern for a fall. I can run some scenarios, if that helps.”

Buck nods his head. “That’d be great. I’d say it’s best to focus on scenarios of him having been shoved or him receiving a hit to anywhere but the head. Since I find no markings on the skull, the impact would’ve had to be on some of the bones the animals already took. And of course scenarios of him simply collapsing, for comparison.”

“Alright, will do,” Chimney agrees. “I’ll see what kind of body type or possible weapons that’d give us, if someone else was indeed involved.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, hi there,” Eddie’s voice rings out as he peeks his head inside the bone room.

“Hi,” Buck replies, eyes set on the bones.

“I’ll see you later, then,” Chimney says, tapping him on the shoulder, but Eddie is moving into his path. “Maybe you could hang on a bit longer. I might have something for you to take a look at.”

“Oh, sure. I wasn’t in a hurry as Buck has not yet unleashed the tapeworms again.”

“How are the parents?” Buck questions.

“They are devastated, of course. That’s not what you want to hear about your son. He really was a good kid. He paid for them to fulfill their dream of having a small shop down in Florida. They never had much, but they still paid for his tuition and all, so he could get proper education. Jimmy made for a decent living as a software engineer, but he gave most of it to them. He only took enough to pay for the rent and food and such. The rest went all to fulfilling his parents’ dreams.”

“Which makes it all the more infuriating that their son is dead, and it may very well be thanks to the changes he wanted to surprise them with – and the people who didn’t teach him how to do that properly,” Buck grumbles, still not bothering to look at anyone other than Jimmy, really.

Because that’s Buck’s focus – always.

“The parents said they noticed that he was rather distant the past couple of months. He didn’t wanna video chat, only called,” Eddie continues. “Looks like he wanted to surprise them with his transformation.”

“I don’t yet know what exactly killed him. There’s no obvious injury that’d serve as the final blow – at least on the bones that we have here,” Buck tells him. “I can tell you Jimmy fell pretty hard two weeks before he died.”

“Which he left untreated,” Chim adds.

“Yeah, he didn’t see his doc at all. I called the practice earlier. Obviously, they can’t tell us much. But I was told he hasn’t checked in for about half a year,” Eddie replies.

“Which would match the time of him starting the training,” Chimney ponders. “Seems like he knew his doc wouldn’t be pleased with that.”

“Chim will run scenarios for us to determine possible ways in which Jimmy may have fallen,” Buck informs him. “That may give us a clue about how he actually died.”

Chimney grins at Eddie. “Because I’m amazing like that.”

“So you think it’s possible it wasn’t murder at all?” Eddie asks.

“It’s possible that Jimmy simply died from the side effects of his massive workout routine. But it’s also possible that something happened prior to the event that brought him to the point. Or that he was killed – and we just don’t know because those bones were carried away by the animals. It’s hard to tell,” Buck answers.

“Hm. I’ve checked in with Jimmy’s boss as well. There didn’t seem to be any beef with anyone. Since he mostly worked remote, hardly anyone knew him.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you went to the office,” Buck says, his eyes still firmly planted on the bone, but Chimney can tell that he’d like to look Eddie in the eye right now. Hen noted it earlier already, and Chim can long since see it. Something is at odds here.

“It was basically on the way from the FBI to here, you know, after talking to the parents,” Eddie answers.

Chim tilts his head. He can’t say he is particularly good at reading people. He’ll gladly leave that to the agent. But there is something on his face that he can’t miss – because that’s his perspective. There is a curl on his lip that makes his features look tight, like they are closing in on themselves.

“Okay, sure.” Buck purses his lips. “So what’s the next move, investigation-wise?”

Chimney can tell that the wheels are turning inside the young man’s head, which is not always a good thing, especially if he tries to make sense of a situation. Buck is ridiculously smart, but he is not people-smart, by his own admission. And his method is always to get to the bottom of it. Though some people don’t appreciate that one bit.

“I wanna check out the gym some more,” Eddie explains. “If someone envied Jimmy for winning the big prize, someone may have overheard him arguing with someone. Or we find the one who did.”

“I still find it hard to believe that someone would kill someone for a few grand,” Chim sighs. It gets him every time, reading the reports. How often it’s petty things like money, jealousy, or just because a guy thought he deserved to have power over a woman because he has a dick and most certainly doesn’t know how to use it correctly.

“Sadly, for many people, morality ends where the money begins,” Eddie exhales.

Buck twists the skull he took back into his hand, not looking up for even just a second. “And for Jimmy, that’s where his life ended.”

“You said you had something for me, too?” Chimney asks Eddie, frowning. Because this sounded more like something he’d only need Buck for. Not that he minds, but he does have better to do than just hang around – at least when he is not himself choosing when to hang around.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. The parents gave us a permit to search Jimmy’s private laptop. I thought that maybe you could have a look. As far as we can tell, he was pretty high on the security standards,” Eddie explains.

Chimney nods with a grin, pleased. “Nice. That should keep me preoccupied for a while.”

“Okay, that means we’re all set here,” Eddie says, clapping his hands together. There is determination now, Chimney can tell as much. But the moment his eyes dart towards Buck, the determination shifts to something else he can’t quite place.

“So you want me to come with,” Buck says, asks, really, but he seemingly doesn’t want to sound surprised.

“Maybe someone shoved Jimmy prior to his death for the wrist injury. You might be able to figure out who’d fit the profile, right?”

Buck shrugs. “It depends.”

“Then yeah, you should come along,” Eddie says, nodding his head.

Buck licks his lips, looks at him for a long moment, then looks down again. “Alright, then.”

Chimney keeps studying his friend as he takes off the gloves. His brows are furrowed, his lips pursed, there is a crease that normally only reveals itself when he is thinking too hard. Chim can tell that much because to him, the face is the way to what lies underneath, but right now, he is not exactly sure what he is looking at.

Though knowing Buck, it’s only a matter of time till they will find out. Because where Buck likes to only look at the facts, only just the bones, his friends look at the world from their own angles, and from their angle, Buck is always there, sometimes at the center, sometimes at the periphery. But he is always there. Because they changed each other’s way of looking at the world. And that means he is part of their perception as much as they are part of his.

We keep an eye on each other, simple as that.

“See you later, Chim,” Buck says, grabbing his jacket.

“See ya.”

We always make sure of it, don’t we?

#buddie #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #evan buckley x eddie diza #eddie diaz x evan buckley #fanfic #in smol #buddie fanfic #buddie au #wip wednesday

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pwblogarchive · 2 months

Text

February 2002

February 7, 2002

“my fascination with life begins and ends on her lips.”

welcome to the story of those down on their luck- we’ll make the worst feel pity for us. we’ll start a band and everyone in the room will chew the fat until they choke. i’ll just wish i was in different skin the whole time. we won’t wait for you tonight. we’ll start the van and leave this town wasted behind us. tonight draw the curtain and watch us mock those who smile and nod like everything is alright.

blah blah. nothing much to say. we are out one van, one drummer, and one practice space. i think the shows for this weekend are off. that sucks.

deadxstop number something is out now- it’s pretty sweet ass. thora birch is extra hot. i’m scared that i’m gonna lose one of my bestfriends over a fucking band.

and she took a stab at reason and ambition on her way out the door so i don’t want them anymore.

i won’t wait for you tonight.

love pete

February 21, 2002

“this as an expirement, has failed.”

so i have been waiting to write an entry in here until: a. i was in a better mood and b. when i had something to write about Arma. neither has really happened.

“you want to know who i really am? yeah, so do i”

i have been in a bad mood all week. kind of like i feel like i miss someone or something but noone is gone- just kind of lonely. i cried for the first time in years the other night, it was ultra lame- i don’t recommend it. i don’t know. i figured it was partially cause my mom was out of town for awhile and i’m a total wuss, like i eat only cold cereal until she returns. i dunno i feel like i need to figure myself out and the people in my life aren’t really giving me that chance, cause they’re scared they’ll lose me or for whatever reason- i think i’m going crazy haha. but that’s not it- fall out boy has been recording for our full length all week, its pretty bomb. it’s funny how tattoo studios and recording studios are the only places where you pay to pretty much hang out half the time- like the dudes just sit around most of the time and then sometimes work, it’s pretty hilarious if you think about it. anyway, i tracked bass yesterday and it sounds fresh so check it out when it comes out.

as far as Arma goes, we have dropped off a couple of shows as we get ourselves resituated- we are going to record a jam or two on march third with the new drummer. i guess we can release who it is now, Andy from racetraitor will be taking over roadwarrior/god of thunder duties for us- if you remember racetraitor and kill the slavemaster than you know this kid can play crazy good- think heavy. hopefully, we will still be on the bloodlet show in march to unleash the new fury. we’ll then look at our touring schedule and all.

do you have people in your life that are just too nice to you? it drives me insane. they just do shit for you all the time regardless of what going on, they’ll always be there?

anyways, this one made no sense. i promise i’ll give you a better one soon.

i’m gone like virginity on prom night.

petey

ps- count chocula is just cocopuffs with marshmallows in it, don’t believe the hype.

February 24, 2002

“even if i crashed my car into a wall or weighed myself to the bottom of the sea-”

i would still find a way to disappoint you.

dude. i have to say matt fox is one of the nicest guys in hardcore hands down. we went to shai hulud the other night and those guys were so cool. we talked about playing some shows together and other nerdy stuff. my friend tony plays drums for them now too which is rad- if you see them harass him for arma angelus. word.

we’re practicing this week and recording some stuff on sunday for our friend philly shawn’s comp. if you get a chance go check out the site www.spookcityusa.com - shit is fresh.

badjournal entry. sorry i am in a good mood. nothing to bitch about. i’ll catch you peeps later.

twenty years from now- arma angelus reunion:

chris- the dude will be like 47 and saying he’s still 19. the fonz isn’t cool when he’s old and fat.

adam- still pissed at the world. teaching a class or leading a cult, choose your own adventure.

todd- rocking out in some shitty bar with the killing tree- still.

pete- lives at home with his parents. goes to shows where the girls stay the same age. seriously it’s not cool, he is still in college.

andy- in jail for something or another. keeps the edge, loses his anal virginity.

still full of hate.

in between the sheets my eyes are clumsy, our limbs are tired and pretty entwined. tommorrow the phone will be a noose. goodnight is goodbye.

love pete

#fall out boy #pete wentz #livejournal #pete wentz livejournal

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triviareads · 1 year

Text

Releases on May 19th

Summary:

Jordan, Earl of Emerson, has inherited an estate bankrupted by his half-brother. Now he owes an enormous debt to a loanshark, and marrying the loanshark's daughter Odessa is the only way the debt will be forgiven. Odessa does not want to marry a suitor of her father's choosing and has gone to great lengths to keep these men at bay. What she doesn't count on is that Jordan is far more clever than the others ever were, and what more, there's a very convenient attraction between them...

My review:

I am a recent Kathleen Ayers fan, so it was interesting to see how this book measured up to others I've read recently. I would say the chemistry and romance aspect of the novel was pretty solid, but there wasn't as much of a plot in comparison. I could be wrong but at a little less than 200 pages, it felt shorter than her other books. The plot can be summed up by Jordan adamantly continuing to court Odessa in order to save his siblings and erase the debt, while Odessa puts on a fat suit and blackens her teeth and eats onions (so many onions) to make herself as unappealing as possible. It's funny for a while until it isn't quite as much.

Jordan is an excellent example of a more jaded, world-weary hero who's not above fighting dirty when needed. The best way to describe Odessa is that in the modern era, she would deffo be a true crime girlie and possibly an occultist. She's probably one of those heroines some readers would find "annoying" but I liked her. You can't help but be sympathetic to a woman who's basically her father's pawn, despite how much she asserts herself or tries to outmaneuver him. I'd say the main draw of this book is the chemistry between Jordan and Odessa which is present from the very beginning despite Odessa's best efforts to make herself as unappealing as possible. It's a large part of what made the book work. Speaking of chemistry—

The sex:

Well done, and despite the length of the book, there were a few solid scenes. Here's what worked for me:

a) Odessa is a Knowing Virgin (thanks Aunt Lottie). Also a Ready Virgin because as Jordan comments she has a... "natural sensuality"? I think is what he said. But basically, she knows what's up and I loved that.

b) This deserves a note of its own: She has a hand fetish (hot) which Jordan quickly clocks and uses on her

c) There is some light choking during their first (proper) kiss. Also, they 100% would have gone all the way in the middle of that party if they wanted which, again, Jordan notes

d) This may be a bit of a spoiler but people in historical romances do..... Stuff in the place they had sex for the first time, but they don't often go all the way (especially because she was a virgin), so I was pleasantly surprised when they did, but also, it tracks for them as a couple.

Overall:

I would recommend it to anyone looking for a quick, light historical romance that doesn't skimp on the sex. It's also worth noting the book set up Jordan's siblings (the other "Sins" in this series): There's the sister who races horses against men who're partially there to see her in trousers, the brother who's probably a gigolo, another brother who's probably a spy, and their baby sister who's so sweet she deserves a dastardly hero of her own. I'm looking forward to reading all their books.

Thank you to Dragonblade Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for my review.

#netgalley #arc #arc review #kathleen ayers #historical romance #Dragonblade Publishing #romance novel #romance novels

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violetrainbow412-blog · 3 years

Text

Makeup [S.B]

Sirius Black x plus size!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: a toxic relationship history and a bit of insecurity because of it.

A/N: I did a questionnaire a few days ago to see what kind of reader you would like me to do. This is the first one I do base on that questionnaire and I want to say the following:

The only reason the reader is specified as "plus size!reader" is that if there is someone who fits this description, feel comfortable.

You will never see something like "her FAT body" NO, NEVER

Much less that the One shot revolves around their weight (neither nationality, nor gender identity, nor sexuality nor all the things that they put in that questionnaire). I only write about NORMAL people in normal situations. All bodies are beautiful, we are all beautiful.

So, if you are a plus size person, welcome. If you are not, you can also read it without feeling left out in any way.

I really hope that you feel comfortable with everything I write and that you know that I seek to be as inclusive as possible. Without more to say, thanks for taking the time to read my stuff. Tell me your opinion, if you want!💕

You looked in the mirror one last time.

Sirius, the boy of your dreams, had asked you out on a date and you wanted everything to be absolutely perfect.

You had met him because you both lived on the same floor of the condo block and it was inevitable to bump into him from time to time. It wasn't the best place to live, it was small and a little dirty, but it was the only thing you could afford and the fastest you could find after that happened.

You liked the way Sirius smelled because when he crossed the corridors, you could perceive a mixture of leather (you supposed it was due to all the clothes he used of this material) and an elegant cologne that drove you crazy.

At first, it scared you a little to see him with that piercing in his eyebrow and his multiple tattoos, but later you realized that he was really nobody to be afraid of, on the contrary, he turned out to be a very tender and sweet boy.

The first time you spoke to him it was because you were struggling to open your door while carrying boxes and bags that you had brought from the supermarket. The boy noticed you were having trouble and walked up to you to offer his help, so (still a bit wary) you said yes.

Once he held your purchases, you could open the lock, but when you turned around, you noticed that Sirius was secretly looking at the contents of your bags and when he realized that you had caught him, he blushed.

"Sorry I'm a little gossipy," he said shyly "I'm Sirius"

"I thought you were a gossip"

"No, my name is Sirius" he laughed and it was your turn to blush.

"Oh, sorry"

"Okay, anyone can get confused" he murmured with his charming smile, handing you what he was holding in his hands "I live in the 512" he informed you. Of course, you knew he lived in that apartment; you had seen him come into its thousands of times "In case you need anything. You know, some plumbing or things that have to do with tools and that shit of men" he murmured kindly. You frowned a little and then he quickly added "I mean, it's not that girls can't do that and it's okay if you know how to do those things, you seem like a smart and capable person. It's just that sometimes it's tedious and requires strength... and it's not that you don't have strength, I mean...” Sirius couldn't continue because he heard you giggle and then realized he was looking like an idiot “Just call me if you need anything and if you want to do it, yes?” he explained to you and you nodded with a smile.

"Thanks for offering your help Sirius" you replied, looking at him over your bags.

"You’re welcome, miss..."

"Y/N" you completed. He smiled and wrapped a dark curl around his finger that fell unruly from his ponytail.

"I'll see you later then, Y/N. It was nice to greet you" he said by way of farewell and you nodded to respond.

You haven't felt like this with any guy since you met your dear (sarcasm) ex-boyfriend. The insecurities that he had created in you kept you from thinking about having something else later and you honestly didn't feel ready to have your heart broken again.

But Sirius continued to be kind to you. Whenever he looked at you, he made an effort to have a topic of conversation, even if you were not so eloquent, and little by little, he was gaining your trust and your affection. As the weeks went by, you became good friends who chatted in the elevator or occasionally (when you weren't late for work) went downstairs just to share a little more time.

Until one day Sirius showed up at your door with his clothes stained with something that looked like paint, his hair tied up in a messy way and smelling of burned food. He was so beautiful in his own way and you were so afraid of falling in love with him because you knew beforehand that having something else would be impossible.

After all, no boy would ever love you. It was something that your ex-boyfriend had commissioned to get very well into your head.

"Go out?" you asked a little confused after he asked you. You didn't want to misunderstand things.

"Yes! We could go wherever you want. For ice cream, to dinner, to a park, to the cinema... I don't know, wherever you can think of”

"Why?" was the first thing that occurred to you to ask. Now it was Sirius' turn to look confused.

"Well, I thought it would be an opportunity to meet and... spend more time together" he explained and although you had understood the idea it seemed impossible to think that the boy had any kind of interest in you "But it's fine if you don't want to, I don't pretend be upset"

"I'd love to," you rushed to say, fearful that the opportunity would slip through your grasp. You saw him smile and after exchanging a few more words he left with a smile that you couldn't see, but that was pure joy.

Finally, the day of "go out" arrived and you were about to tell him that you could not go. You were nervous, more than nervous you were anxious about what could happen or what he could say about you.

You had searched your entire wardrobe for something decent to wear and after pulling and removing and taking out the clothes and trying them on, none of them convinced you. You looked in the mirror and didn't feel like it was enough of an outfit to date a man as handsome as him. In the first place, you did not even know why he had chosen to go out with you, because, although you considered yourself a nice person, you could not boast of being the most interesting.

Don't think about it, don't think about it, you kept repeating yourself as you continued to get ready and looked at the wall clock waiting for the time for Sirius to knock on your apartment.

Once you were with your outfit ready, you looked yourself up and down and although he did not completely convince you, you decided to tell yourself that you looked beautiful. Still a little nervous you looked at the makeup bag that was under some things on your dressing table. You hadn't put on makeup for years, because you were still scared to hear the comments in your head with that horrible voice.

You look like a whore.

You shook your head to ward off all the negativity and taking a breath you plucked up the courage to open the zippers and remove the beautiful makeup that you had abandoned. When you were finishing and without giving a chance to regret there was a knock on the door that took you by surprise. You went out and found Sirius wearing a striped t-shirt and ripped jeans that reminded you of that blond singer... Kurt was his name?

"Wow" you heard him say and he caught you staring at him adoringly. But you noticed that he looked at you the same "You are beautiful" he said with a smile. You frowned, again a little afraid that he was lying, but you tried again to push away those ideas of self-sabotage and smiled widely.

"I'm glad you like it. You look very handsome, you look like...”

"A rock star? I know” he said winking at you and managing to make you laugh “It's a joke, thanks for the compliment, sweetie” he replied, with his pretty smile of sealed lips. Just when you were smiling at him you watched him pay special attention to your makeup and put on a face that completely terrified you, taking all your confidence.

"Something wrong?"

"Your makeup" he pronounced. You felt your heart squeeze a little.

"You do not like? I can go take it off if you find it ugly or something like that…”

"Ugly?" he asked offended "No! It’s beautiful, but I feel like it lacks a touch. You know, the cherry on the cake that stands out in your eyes” he explained. You looked at him confused for the third time and he snapped his fingers as if the answer had suddenly come to his head "Eyeliner"

"Eyeliner?"

"Of course! Don't you like to use it? " he said kindly, turning his head to the side. You denied.

"I never learned how to do it" you lied. There was a bit of truth to it, but it also had a lot to do with the fact that he kept repeating that you looked vulgar with the eyeliner.

“I'm good at it! Come with me,” he murmured. He took your hand carefully and dragged you gently through the hall until they reached his apartment. You were a nervous wreck when he invited you to join him. "Sorry about the mess, I'm really the most distracted person on the planet and I forget to arrange things," he said with an embarrassed smile. You looked at some vinyl lying around, clothes, food packages, paintings, a guitar. There was a certain peace and beauty within all that mess, completely reflecting the boy who was desperately searching for his favorite eyeliner.

"Come," he asked once he left his room. You sat in a red leather chair he had and he leaned in your direction, very close to your face "Raise your head and look slightly down" he asked you and you listened. He took you by the chin with one hand and you saw him stick his tongue out just a little bit (as a sign of his concentration) while drawing on your eyelids. When he indicated that he had finished you saw him smile from ear to ear, which you imitated when he saw yourself in a mirror.

"Wow..." you whispered. Years ago, you loved putting on makeup and especially eyeliner, so seeing you again like that you were surprised. Besides, he was right, his hand was excellent at it.

"Now it's perfect, right?" he said excitedly. Perfect, that's how Sirius described what was in front of his eyes.

"Yeah... it looks much better" you admitted shyly. You couldn't believe that Sirius could make you feel so comfortable and calm, as well as help you maintain your confidence in yourself.

"I just hope I don't meet jealous guys for not having someone so pretty accompanying them," he said flirtatiously, making you laugh because of your nerves and making you blush "Shall we go?" he asked smiling and extending a hand to help you up.

You looked at him, still amazed to have found someone like that in your life, and took his hand with a smile.

Who would say that sometimes love stories begin like this?

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taechaos · 3 years

Text

Web of Lies

from Textbook Love drabble series

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: Soyeon is honest, Taehyung is using his last breaths to tell you the truth, and Jungkook is lying. It seems that everything you know boils down to Jungkook lying.

warnings: angst, panic attack, dry humping, the TINIEST bit of fluff

word count: 4.3k

Obstacles are inevitable in relationships; there’s always something that must go wrong. They can come in the form of arguments, disagreements, actions, or people like Taehyung. One physical obstacle that always knows when Jungkook is with you.

A few days after the fight between the two close friends, Taehyung’s nose somewhat healed and Jungkook doesn’t shy away from you as frequently. What’s the point when the people he tried to hide you from found out about his relationship with you anyway? The only reason he doesn’t approach you every time he sees you is because: 1. He doesn’t enjoy being clingy; that would mean he likes being around you all the time which he refuses to admit. 2. You would probably get tired of him and stop loving him. 3. He kissed your friend who always sits next to you outside.

Now that he’s taking most of his opportunities to talk to you, and maybe kiss you, Taehyung is growing restless. Every time Jungkook is with you, so is Taehyung. Some. Fucking. How.

To name one of the busts: when Jungkook was kissing you in the university’s hallway two days ago, Taehyung popped in out of nowhere and shouted, “Get a room, you sluts!” It made for a good laugh between the students, especially when Jungkook ran after him out of the building.

Another time is when Jungkook was watching you work in the yard and Taehyung joined you two to ask about that “one hot friend of yours”. You ended up telling him about Soyeon and Minnie while Jungkook glared at Taehyung that conveyed a clear message: Don’t. So, he didn’t. It didn’t have anything to do with getting elbowed when you weren’t looking.

It was because that would ruin the fun, and he has a sense of purpose while roaming the entire campus to make his fourth bust of the week. He’s searched the hot and empty spots, but he just can’t find the passionate couple anywhere. If he can’t keep disrupting their displays of affection, how will Jungkook get annoyed enough to spill the truth to you? You deserve that much, and if you still accept him, then Taehyung’s out of the picture.

Why can’t Jungkook see that?

For starters, one of the reasons is Jungkook is distracted and growing very irritated by the heavy stare he feels digging into his skin. Who the fuck is watching him? He thought it would be nice to keep you company in the main campus library by controlling your hand under the table over his clothed erection while you skim through your textbook for a light revision, but a pair of eyes behind a bookshelf won’t stop glaring into his soul through thick frames that he can’t see.

He blows out a breath and screws his eyes shut. His jaw clenches and you immediately catch on, worriedly asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s fucking watching me and I can’t get off,” he grits. Your cheeks heat and grow crimson when you glance down at your occupied hand, palmed by his bigger one in a tight grip.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, “we can go to my dorm, if you’d like? Whatever you want.” In an act of comfort, you stupidly start caressing his length until he stands up.

“Gotta confront the fucker.”

Right when he raises his foot to take a step in the direction that his senses lead him to, Taehyung joins in on the mission. “Who are we confronting?” he asks casually with an arm over Soyeon’s shoulder, who is trying to suppress a grimace at the intervention. Jungkook glances at him and then your friend before sucking his teeth and rolling his eyes.

You grin brightly at the greeting and explain, “Someone's watching him. He’s going to find the stalker.”

“Might’ve been me, oops,” Taehyung raises his brows guiltily before slumping on a wooden chair adjacent to you, looking around the spacious area that makes him feel too loud. When he notices Soyeon still standing, he tells her, “come, sit,” and pats the seat next to him. She does so timidly. “Isn’t it so wonderful—”

“Why are you here?” Jungkook interrupts, but Taehyung continues, “—that we’re forming a friend group of our own? We’re all so familiar with each other.”

“Oh, Soyeon hasn’t met Jungkook yet.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at you with a scrunch of his nose. “Sure about that?” Jungkook strides behind his chair and starts massaging his shoulders; a very harsh massage that has him holding back a wince. “Oh, Kook, that’s a bit rough. Tell me, is he like this in bed too?”

You gape at him in surprise, bashful because your lover doesn’t kiss and tell, and he doesn’t look too happy about it either.

“Tae…” Jungkook snarls.

“Well, is he, Soyeon?”

The library’s silence graces your table as everyone falls quiet, if you don’t count Taehyung’s groans at Jungkook’s bruising hold that is. Soyeon’s jaw drops and her eyes widen at the sudden switch in your gaze, searching for answers from her. “That’s not funny, Taehyung,” she breaks the silence with her blunt statement.

“Don’t mind him, baby, he has brain damage,” Jungkook spits and brings a hand up to Taehyung’s hair to yank it back. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he whispers in his ear.

Your features begin to soften from its hard expression until Taehyung smiles wickedly at you. “Oh yeah, it wasn’t sex, was it? It was a tongue battle-” His voice cuts off the moment Jungkook starts choking him with his elbow, and his gags fall on deaf ears. Soyeon tries to push him off, but you’re just blank because Jungkook isn’t denying it; it was as if he was expecting it, trying to stop him all along.

The sudden interest in your friend, the constant interruptions, the hits…

“Soyeon?” you call quietly with welling up tears. “Did you kiss him?”

Your best friend doesn’t lie, and apparently neither does Taehyung. Does Jungkook lie? You’re conflicted between living in bliss, ignoring the dying man in front of you because your boyfriend might have kissed Soyeon, and facing reality by asking the hard questions.

Her hands are still tugging on his shirt to save Taehyung, but her persistence weakens when she looks at you: guilty and… exposed? “I didn’t know it was him,” she confesses. It is indirect, and doesn’t reveal much except that she kissed the one man she wasn’t supposed to.

“When?”

“The party,” Taehyung wheezes as he struggles against Jungkook’s arm, his nails drawing blood on his skin. His face is red from the lack of oxygen but he isn’t worried about dying.

“Oh, he put you up to this, didn’t he?” Jungkook speaks through clenched teeth to Soyeon. “They’re setting me up, and who the fuck is watching me?!”

You stand up slowly and close your textbook with a soft thud, packing your materials so graciously. Your hands are shaking, but the tears blurring your vision don’t matter to you. Soyeon is honest, Taehyung is using his last breaths to tell you the truth, and Jungkook is lying. You sling your bag over your shoulder and trudge to the exit, counting your steps to calm down. You ignore Jungkook asking you where you’re going, Taehyung gasping for breath, and Soyeon telling him to leave you alone. It’s all muffled and you’re too sad to care.

It’s a case of he said she said, but your heart is siding with your friends with how painfully it pounds against your chest. Your trust in Jungkook couldn’t have been that fragile, could it? Why did it break with one sentence?

Heavy footfalls follow you beyond the exit, but you’re too distracted by trying to move your legs steadily to notice. It isn’t important enough to distract you from someone calling your name though, or the light weight of a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hm?” you say without looking up, frozen in your steps.

“A-Are you okay?” A smooth voice asks.

“I’m a bit sad,” your voice cracks and wavers from holding back a meltdown, “hurt.” You want to recognize the blurred image of the man standing next to you, so you blink and a tear sheds from each eye. “I told you to never talk to me again, Jimin.” You feel overwhelmed, and yet the memory of the blackmail has little impact on your mess of emotions, but it doesn't help you feel better either.

“Sorry,” he breathes, “I still don’t understand why, but you can do the talking for me. Wh-what happened?”

“Why do you ask? So you can use that against me too?” you scoff through the lump in your throat. Confusion washes his soft features, so you add, “maybe another handjob for it?” You shrug off his hand and continue your walk of shame.

“I-I’ve never used anything against you, what are you talking about?” He’s chasing after you and it’s a bit of help in swaying your thoughts in a different direction, and your emotions towards anger and disbelief instead.

“Does a video ring a bell? The one you threatened to leak if I didn’t touch your…” You groan to yourself and quicken your pace towards your dorm. Maybe you could mope comfortably in there without the annoying presence of an arch enemy, who is feeding you more lies than you’re capable of consuming in one day.

“What? I never— Listen, I deleted that video the second I received it. Whoever told you that was lying, please!”

It seems that everything you know boils down to Jungkook lying. His love was a lie too, apparently. Maybe the Jungkook you know is just one big fat lie who can’t seem to tell you the truth in any moment you’ve been with him. How many times do you need to hear from others and yourself that Jungkook is lying?

“I know,” you whimper and run off.

Once Taehyung catches his breath after coughing for a minute straight with a fresh bruise blossoming on his neck, he interrupts the hushed argument between Jungkook and Soyeon by asking, “Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know, but you’re going straight to hell once I fucking kill you for good,” Jungkook fumes with flushed cheeks.

“If you die by murder, you go straight to Heaven. How do you not know this?” His voice is low from the assault and his throat aches, but he still attempts to lighten the mood.

“I swear to fucking God, Taehyung—” Jungkook stops his threat when he sees Soyeon sneakily walking away. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Air,” Soyeon vaguely answers.

“Bullshit.” Jungkook tries to go after her, wanting to be the first to find your dorm so she doesn't say more about that night, but Taehyung holds onto his wrist to stop him.

“She needs time—”

“Fuck off.”

When Jungkook begins to walk off after yanking off his hand, Taehyung immediately searches around the room and takes out a pen from a cup on the reception desk before jumping Jungkook from behind just as he was about to leave. They struggle against each other and start rolling around, but Taehyung is driven by adrenaline as he grounds himself on top of him. He holds him down with his legs and uncaps the pen to start writing on his forehead.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Everyone in the library peeks at the commotion due to Jungkook’s loud yell, but neither of them pay mind as he tries to move away from the pen.

“See if she takes you seriously with dick written on your forehead,” Taehyung chuckles before sprinting off with him hot on his tail. Jungkook is stronger, but Taehyung is much faster as he loses him pretty quickly by hiding in an occupied lecture hall. The professor looks at him questioningly but he thinks fast and breathlessly asks the students, “Is Jeon Jungkook here? The headmaster is looking for him.” Some people search for him, but when no one makes a peep, he escapes the room and Jungkook’s wrath.

Now to go to your dorm before Jungkook scrubs off the ink…

“I didn’t know his name,” Soyeon murmurs while fidgeting with her fingers. When she came in the room, you were muffling your sobs with your pillow and all she saw was your jerking shoulders. She tried to comfort you, to hug you, but you weren’t exactly being friendly, and the setting is pretty much the same except she’s sitting on your bed while you still cry. “I asked people what he looked like, but it was just a description of every guy in the room. He wasn’t around for them to point at, and so I thought maybe he didn’t come. Then this guy kisses me on this couch, feels guilty about it, and tells me his name. I-I didn’t know it was Jungkook. He left for you anyway…”

Her attempt at consolation is fruitless because it only makes you cry harder. She rubs your back soothingly before standing up. “I’ll check up on you later. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” You nod against your stained pillow.

The moment she opens the door, Taehyung’s fist misses her head by an inch. “Oops,” he says before gently pushing her aside by her shoulder and entering. His eyes fall on your fetal position first thing and he pouts at you. “Aw, baby—”

“She doesn’t want to talk right now.”

“I’m good company,” he dismisses her with a flick of his wrist, “you can go.”

She rolls her eyes before shutting the door, and it’s only you and him now. Your hiccups fill the room as he sadly watches you, a quiet sigh leaving his mouth. “I tried to tell you. Well, I tried to get him to tell you.”

“Y-You said,” you snivel against the sheet, “th-that he was whipped for me.”

I said that to get you to open up. Even in his head it sounds cruel, so he rethinks his response with a grimace. “Jungkook told me he liked you.” Maybe shifting the blame wasn’t exactly much better, especially since he told him that after the claim, but you have enough on your plate.

“H-He told me he loved me,” you hiccup, releasing your death grip on the poor pillow. It’s a mask rather than a silencer now. Taehyung widens his eyes to himself and purses his lips. He takes Soyeon’s former seat and turns you on your back. His heart sinks a little when he sees your face: red nose, heavy lids, bloodshot eyes and quivering lips with messy hair. You look really pretty to him right now. “He lies so much. H-He even made me give Jimin a handjob.”

“Made you?” he repeats with his thumb drawing circular patterns on your collarbone.

You nod. “It’s a long story, and I don’t want to talk about it. It was horrible.”

His brows furrow at your tone. “That’s so fucked up... Man, you need to avoid him.”

“Jimin?”

“Jungkook. That’s too twisted, even for him. You’re an angel…” his palm reaches for your cheek and his thumb continues its soothing motions. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you,” you mouth and fresh tears brim as you try to swallow. It feels like you’re sick all over again, except there’s no misunderstanding to clear this time. He wipes a stray teardrop and smiles down at you; it’s a relaxing gesture. You close your eyes and hold onto his wrist, snuggling into his warm hand.

“I sound really cheesy, don’t I?” he chuckles. “Can’t lie, wish I had someone call me an angel after I caught my ex cheating on me.”

An involuntary giggle erupts from your mouth at his joke. “You’re an angel, Taehyung. An angel in disguise.” You peek at him before fluttering your eyes shut again. A pursed smile graces his lips, and he’s convinced he isn’t interested in you romantically, that it was just an invisible force drawing him closer to you, that he wasn’t the one aiming for your lips until a pound on the door resounds in the room.

You flinch away from his hand and he pulls back instantly; both of your heads shoot to the source of the noise.

“Open up!” Jungkook yells and continues fisting the door. “Open the fucking door!” Taehyung holds a finger against his lips, signalling you to stay silent until he leaves. “I want to talk. Open the door… please.” Neither of you say anything.

“Fine,” he agrees, “don’t talk. I’ll talk, but at least give me a sign that you’re here.” Before Taehyung can stop you, you rush to the door and knock once. You hear him slide down the door, presumably leaning his back against it and sitting on the floor. “Okay. I’m sor— They were lying—” you slam your fist against the door in denial. “Okay! But they weren’t telling the whole truth back there. I was um… on drugs. I was really fucking high, okay?”

“Yet your high-self still managed to yell at me! Clearly you weren’t high out of your mind,” you snap menacingly. He flinches at your sudden shut-down; he’s never heard you yell at him before, nor has he ever been the victim of your anger. It makes his heart drop.

“That was like, three hours after I got high! I was practically sober, plus, you weren’t talking to me that day!”

“I had lost my voice! I didn’t want you to get sick—"

“I DIDN’T FUCKING KNOW THAT!”

He gulps at your silence and inhales a deep breath to calm down. He hears you sniffle on the other side. “I-I didn’t know that. You wouldn’t kiss me, wouldn’t talk to me, and I didn’t know why. I thought you stopped loving me and… that really upset me.” He sighs to himself because he’s never opened up so honestly and it’s difficult, but he doesn’t exactly have a choice. It just feels so embarrassing.

Taehyung opens the window of your dorm and climbs out. You don’t see or hear it happen, too invested in your argument to even remember his existence. “Do you remember what I told you the night we did it for the first time?”

His face scrunches as he tries to replay the events beside the sex. The corner of his lip tugs upwards when he recalls you calling him a slut, but he’s still clueless as to why you’re bringing it up. You don’t leave him in the dark for long. “I told you I wouldn’t forgive you a second time.” He gnaws on his lip as his palms feel clammy with nervous sweat.

“W-We weren’t dating then,” he tries to justify. “I didn’t need forgiveness then. You’re so unfair!” He stands up and knocks with his fist again. “Let’s talk it out face to face, I’ll explain everything. You’re putting me at a disadvantage! Don’t you want clarity? Don’t you want this to work out?!” He starts chanting your name when you don’t answer. “I will break down this fucking door if you don’t open it,” he doesn’t sound nearly as intimidating as he usually does when threatening; he sounds more like he’s a second away from breaking down himself. “No, no… please. I-I’ll kiss another girl if you break up with me! You don’t want that, right? So just open the door.”

His tough façade crumbles the longer you ignore him, and he can’t believe the heavy weight he feels all over his body wants to leave in the form of tears. It stings in his eyes but he doesn’t dare let them fall. “You’re so fucking cruel!” He twists the door handle violently; desperately. A dry sob escapes him as he kicks the door one last time. “Oh God, oh God…” he tries to breathe but it doesn’t enter his lungs. It’s like being choked with a noose as he gasps and a tear runs down his cheek. His wheezes become so loud that you start hearing them and grow concerned.

You consider the possibility that it’s one of his tactics, trying to manipulate you, but you open the door anyway. It’s a slight crack and you barely get a look at him before he pushes it open completely and forces his way in. He sits on your bed and his shoulders hunch, breaths still shallow. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t like her, never did, I only— I was mad, and I couldn’t go through with it, and I’ve never shown you affection b-because I’ve only ever received it from you—” you hush his rambling with a hug, but he continues with his head against your stomach anyway, “I’ve never been in a relationship and I’m a fucking mess and I understand why you wouldn’t want to be with me, but please don’t leave me. I’ll do my homework, I’ll stop being mean, I won’t even talk if you don’t want me to, but please don’t stop talking to me.”

“Jungkook…” you trail in shock. “I’m here. Take a deep breath.” When he tries, it’s so shaky that it makes you tear up for the umpteenth time. You’re a mess with him. “In and out, love, in and out.” You would do it with him like an instructor, but it’s not possible when he’s squeezing your waist so tightly. It takes a few minutes for him to relax his grip and he looks up at you pitifully. “It’s okay,” you assure and pet his hair, “you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most,” he exhales. “I mean… I realized that night, that I only want to be with…”

“I get it,” you whisper to comfort him, knowing he has struggles with expressing himself, but he doesn’t stop. He wants to get it off his chest, and he quietly tells you, “I kissed another girl when I wanted to make you jealous, and then another to forget. I don’t want to do that, I mean I only want to kiss… you.”

You initiate it first by leaning down to peck his lips, and you don’t pull away too far. You peck him again, and then start kissing him. He’s never been this slow with you before, but the panic attack must have drained him. It’s the way that he doesn’t immediately turn it heated with the intent of taking it to the third base that warms your heart. He’s hesitant and taking his time, mindful of your reactions because you’re in control for once. You’re aware of how vulnerable he is being with you, and he conveys that with the gentle press of his lips.

He whimpers into the kiss, and it’s so quiet and mournful that you lean back but he chases after you. He doesn’t want to stop like you’d assumed, so you place your knees on either side of him and hover over his thighs. Even his hands are hesitant as he lightly sits you down on his lap by pulling your waist. You smile against him and with his submission, you swipe your tongue across his lip. He opens for you. You roll your tongue around his, and he eventually begins to suck on yours. There’s a pit in your stomach that confuses you; is it arousal? Flattery? You feel so special because you know he hasn’t been like this with anyone else; so powerless and passive.

It’s passionate. You inch your body a little closer to him and he grunts when you brush against his crotch before settling down. This isn’t about sexual needs, and you don’t treat it as such but your body has a mind of its own with its constant shuffling that turns him on. He doesn’t want to feel that way, but his hips have a subtle way of thrusting beneath you. His hums rumble and you kiss him harder, losing all your senses except for the warmth of his skin. You don’t notice him controlling the movement of your hips because he’s taking it slow, and you don’t need to know why he’s quietly moaning into you.

At least no one’s watching him now.

You pull back in surprise when he groans loudly, and you know he’s back to himself as his actions grow rough. You’re practically jumping when he grinds on you with his spit all over your mouth because of his explorative tongue. From past experience, you’ve figured out that Jungkook is more honest when he’s in the heat of the moment, so you inquire against his lips, “Why did you lie to me about Jimin?”

“That fucking freak,” he growls, “I needed a reason to get you to hate him. He didn’t stop you when it happened, did he?”

Still manipulative. “Will you do the same with Taehyung?”

“No, I,” his thrusts slow down, “I’m gonna, err…” He looks at you for help.

“You’re gonna be a good boy and talk things out with him, right?”

“Right,” he breathes, “talk.” He slams his lips against yours again, and it’s not long before he sighs at his climax with your cooperation. There’s a small patch growing on his pants through his underwear, and he cusses when he notices it. He pecks you one last time before hugging you and laying on the bed, cuddling you like a blanket. “Do you forgive me?”

You rest your head on his chest and feel his pulse to contemplate. He brings a hand up to your hair and starts running his fingers through it, unbothered by your lack of answer. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says. “Do you…” he clears his throat, “do you maybe want to have dinner with me?”

“Like a date?” you tease with a grin.

“Yes.”

“There’s my answer,” you lift your head to wink up at him. “But if you test me again, I’ll break your heart just as you did mine. Don’t worry though,” you whisper, “I’ll never leave you.”

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