#and he’d be even MORE expressive without the mask bc he’s so conscious of his face n shit

[turqu01s3]

If you look closely at Ghost’s face during cutscenes you can tell he’s so expressive under the mask. When they find out that the missiles are American, you can literally see his jaw drop in shock. I mean y’all remember the face he made when Soap was shot, right? Bro is so fucking expressive it’s probably a big reason why he wears the mask in the first place

[mikwrites-archive]

   ☾ ➵  “honey you're familiar like my mirror years ago / idealism sits prison, chivalry fell on it's sword / innocence died screaming, honey ask me I should know / i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door...” 

          ☾ ➵ vampire!daishou suguru x reader

   ☾ ➵ horror themes, blood, suggestive themes, kind of angst

         ☾ ➵ happy birthday io @writeiolite !! i love u so much 💞💓💖💘💗 my bestie/mother/twin 😌 i hope u like this hehe !! also i doubt anyone will do this but pls don’t take my header pic bc i drew it 😭😭

You’d met him completely on the night of a full moon, the pale light of the lonely goddess diminished in the warm orange torches that illuminated the hall, filled with masked men and women alike, all pursuing the prospect of finding a lover in the secrecy of the night and anonymity. 

It was a festival held yearly in your village, a chance for youths to ultimately match with one another, taking away the aspect of beauty in attraction until dawn struck, everyone revealing their true selves. It was an eager event for many families as well, an opportune way to flaunt their riches or marry off their children traditionally.

You couldn’t care less, donned in your best robes and jewels, the wooden wolfish mask smooth and cool against your features, the earthy, reassuring scent putting your discomfort at ease as you sat in solitude, observing. 

“Not participating in the festivities?”

A voice you don’t recognize seeps smoothly through your consciousness, despite not having heard anyone approach, and you turn to meet hooded chartreuse eyes under a winding mask of carved scales, flickering with mirth. 

“Don’t tell my mother.” Your jest is light and airy, and the man snorts, situating himself next to you on the bench.

“A traditional girl, I see.” 

You hum, gaze roving curiously over the golden chains that were draped along his shoulders and chest, an elegant fur adorning his right shoulder, a brooch resting on his collar.

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t know, do you?” His sardonic response makes you exhale a laugh through your nose; an expected answer for an event where secrecy was key.

“You seem familiar.” 

He doesn’t respond, bowing his head, and you suppose you didn’t leave much room for him to give an eloquent answer, yet you’re spared from providing another compelling conversation topic as the maroon ribbon around his head fell loose, the serpentine fanged creature clattering to the ground, and you catch a glance of his face before he quickly picks it back up, a sly curve to his lips. 

“A bit too early for the reveal.” He murmurs in amusement, and you swallow.

You’d always had a penchant for seeing things you weren’t supposed to, and something screams at you, deep down, echoing throughout your soul that you were never supposed to see him, even once dawn bled into the skies. 

“It was nice speaking with you. I should get going.” He nods at you once he finished tying on his mask once more, eyes glimmering, and you stammer the same, too unnerved to question why he’d be leaving so early.

His gaze lies behind your eyelids as you sleep that night, and you get dreams of a desecrated temple, weeping willows swaying in the breeze, the flash of ivory enamel, deep red wine that ran down skin in rivulets, and a name.

The gods seem to grace you that night with knowledge you’re not sure you searched for in the first place, waking in a cold sweat as you kick off your covers, striding steps flying against the black earth that stuck between your toes, nightgown flowing with the chill air. 

You’re not entirely aware of where you’re running, your body functioning without conscious thought, a hand of the gods that graced you with heavenly dark knowledge leading you on until you reached a forest glade, obscured to the common eye by curtains of willow trees, no path visible, only clawing roots to stumble across.

Two figures lay in the middle of the opening, in the seeming embrace of one another, yet you knew better. 

The roots twist at your ankle as you venture closer, and you yelp, catching his attention as you bite the inside of your cheek to subdue your qualms. 

Bitter cherry red dripped from his lips, tongue darting out at the tips of his fangs, as he grinned at you, and you found yourself frozen in the venomous eyes that held you like a deer in the sights of its predator.

“Can I help you?” He drawls, swiping his mouth with his hand, reminding you of the rouge your mother had put on your lips so delicately that night you first saw him. 

“Are… are you Daishou?” 

“Depends. Who’s asking?”

He places the body in his arms down on the soft grass with surprising care, and squints at you, to which you hurriedly step from the shadows, shivering as the weeping branches brush against you like fluttering hands, begging you to not venture into the monster’s clutches.

“We met that night.” You explain breathlessly. “The festival.”

“The wolf.” Daishou’s voice and expression floods with recognition as he stands, and you nod anxiously while he sighs, sauntering closer to you. “So, you’ve figured out who I am. Or should I say, what I am.”

Your vocal cords are tight, wound up like an instrument’s strings, being played exactly to Daishou Suguru’s tune as he grips your jaw amusedly. His fingertips are still sticky with rusty red, and the coppery scent makes you exhale sharply as he studies you curiously.

“Why did you come here? Did you tell anyone?”

“N-No. I didn’t. I just… wanted to know if I was right about seeing you before.”

“Liar.”

The purred word makes you gasp, and Daishou laughs at the soft sound.

“You’re a smart one. So you should know you can’t lie to me. I know what you want. But you have seen me before if it satiates your curiosity. I’ll admit, I was surprised when you asked.”

“The abandoned temple.” You breathe, and Daishou nods. It was a few years back, at the death of your grandmother, wanting to spread her ashes at the deserted place of worship as her last wish. You’d caught a glimpse of Daishou in the foliage, but as you turned to show your mother, he’d disappeared. It had unnerved you, clutching onto your mother’s skirt as you viewed one of the crumbling murals that depicted a face exactly like the one you saw prior. 

“I stayed there frequently once it was forsaken. Your arrival was a surprise. I was caught off guard. It’s rare that ever happens, I hope you know, and with you it’s happened twice.” 

You don’t respond, and Daishou finds great delight in the meekness of your character as his lips brush against your racing pulse point, thrumming under his gentle caress as he bares his fangs experimentally, grinning as you shudder.

“So I hope you understand the… interest I hold for you.”

The clouds shroud the slivered moon, as if hiding her pale, yearning eyes as the wolf submits to the serpent.

[ratsetflummi]

Fanfic idea: literally anything that has Peter dressed to impress and seemingly being all smooth with Juno and Juno feeling severely underdressed and scruffy and sporting five o clock shadow... and then the POV switches and it turns out Nureyev is barely holding on bc Juno actually looks really raggedly handsome according to him and he's 2 seconds away from imploding and the only reason Juno doesn't notice is bc he's just as starstruck by Peter

I can’t believe you made me write two fanfics in three days

Cross posted to AO3, because that’s just what I do

Being a private eye is not as glamorous as people think. Not that there’s a lot of pizzazz associated with it usually. But people tend not to be aware of just how much time you spend in dusty and dirty places, digging through that dirt to find the clues you need to solve a case. 

Luckily Juno’s latest dive into a dumpster had been fruitful. And even more luckily it had been several hours ago, so the smell had mostly worn off, and what was left had gotten covered up with dust and sand and sweat and the client’s perfume that clashed terribly with everything else.

Juno’s coat was still in sore need of a wash. As was the detective.

Another thing people don’t consider is the downtime. 

How the time between cases can drag on for weeks without anything to do.

How sometimes you barely get back to start closing the office when another new face pops in.

It wasn’t a new face, technically.

He’d done a valiant job of changing up his contouring to throw people off at first glance, but it was still undeniably him.

Juno hadn’t seen Nureyev in a while.

There had been the whole ordeal with the mask of course.

A few weeks later Nureyev had been back, with a case Juno couldn’t turn down if he wanted to.

And since then Nureyev had been popping back in every few weeks with information on some new, potentially world ending threat.

Juno had never been able to refuse even once.

They hadn’t kissed again in the time they were working together.

They hadn’t even discussed the first kiss.

Nureyev had never said anything, and Juno was certainly not gonna bring it up. He barely knew what he wanted out of this relationship. Wasn’t sure he wanted anything at all.

They hadn’t talked about it, but Juno had thought about it a lot.

It was always there at the back of his mind, and it usually came to the forefront on the nights when Nureyev was around, right when Juno was trying to fall asleep.

And it especially came to mind right now, with Nureyev casually leaning against Juno’s desk, dressed even more impeccably than usually.

The suit made his chest look broader than usual.

The makeup made him look radiant.

The fit of his black pants made it seem like his legs went on forever.

And the corset made it very hard for Juno to resist running his hands over Nureyev’s waist.

Juno had to step a lot closer to smell the familiar cologne over the smell of his own sweat.

Standing next to Nureyev made Juno all too acutely aware of his own messy hair, the stubble threatening to overtake his face, and every single stain on his coat.

“Another case then? Or are you taking me out to dinner?” He asked, making a show of sweeping his eyes over Nureyev’s clothes.

Nureyev shot him a rueful smile, and Juno was certain that his heart would give out any second now. 

“If only it were so… It is a case. And an urgent one at that. With a time limit.” Nureyev kicked off of the desk and made for the door. “I’ll explain in the car.”

-

It had indeed been urgent, but luckily that meant it was resolved in one evening.

By the end of it Nureyev’s clothes, hair, and makeup were still somehow flawless.

It was unfair, really. That kiss was still on Juno’s mind, and having Nureyev next to him like… well, like this… hot as always and dressed to the nines, Juno was very much tempted to try initiating another one.

But…

Juno was now covered in a fine layer of Martian sand on top of everything else, his hair had become an entire mess, and he couldn’t smell anything other than sweat and dirt.

And while Juno was usually of the mind that cases took precedence and that showers weren’t a priority, he was starting to feel self-conscious from Nureyev’s gaze that he felt on him constantly but never actually saw, with Nureyev politely averting his eyes just in time whenever Juno looked back.

-

Nureyev was aware that he had caught Juno right on the tail end of a three-day case.

He hadn’t given the detective a moment to clean up, and he was paying dearly for it now.

Juno was sporting slightly more than a five o’clock shadow that Nureyev was dying to feel against his skin. His hair was wind-swept, and there were smudges of dirt and blood littered on Juno’s clothes and skin.

Nureyev couldn’t tear his gaze away from him for more than a few moments at a time, and he was sure that the keen eyed detective had picked up on it by now, but he couldn’t stop himself either.

But he found Juno openly looking at one part of him or another as well occasionally, so at least it seemed to be a mutual feeling. 

The problem of looking at Juno too much got resolved when they made it back to the car and Nureyev had to keep his eyes on the road.

But it didn’t make his previous thoughts go away, and it brought another issue or two into the equation.

Juno was riding shotgun, his legs comfortably spread, and every time Nureyev went to change gears, his hand brushed along the detectives thigh, which really should have affected Juno more than Nureyev, but oh well, here they were.

And Juno smelled like sweat and earth, and it made Nureyev all the more aware of Juno’s body in such close proximity.

It took every ounce of willpower in Nureyev not to pull the car over and ravish the detective, tangling his fingers in messy locks, breathing the lady in more deeply, before tasting him again, feeling the stubble scratch against his skin, only on his face at first, but maybe later he’d be amenable to-

Dammit, Nureyev, focus!

-

They’d made it a habit to go back to Juno’s apartment and have a drink after a successful job.

Juno wanted nothing more than to finally take a shower and get into a fresh set of clothes - appreciating Nureyev’s looks in a more proactive manner was a close second - but he couldn’t find it in himself to ask Nureyev to leave.

Juno should have gone to pick up the glasses and a bottle of liquor.

They should have sat down on opposite ends of the sofa, an appropriate distance from each other, and made some easy small talk and lighthearted jokes.

Nureyev should have been on his way soon after.

And that should have been that for the next few weeks.

Juno didn’t go fetch the drinks. Instead he was still busy despairing over Nureyev’s perfect hair and clothes and face, and wondering since when Nureyev thought less of him for the traces his work left on him.

They didn’t sit down and talk. Instead they unconsciously shifted closer, silently taking each other in.

Nureyev didn’t leave. Instead he took the last step into Juno’s personal space, reaching out to tilt Juno’s head up with one hand.

Nureyev hesitated for a moment, searching Juno’s face, which must have screamed a hopeful yes, with only a slight undercurrent of confusion.

He tangled his fingers in Juno’s messy locks, stopping just short of closing the distance, to take a deep breath, before pressing his lips to Juno’s.

Juno had seen it coming a mile away, but he was still taken off guard. And Nureyev used Juno’s surprised gasp as an opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Juno let himself enjoy the kiss and the hand sliding under his coat and along his back for a moment.

But… That…

When Nureyev had been looking at him the entire evening, was that…

By all accounts, it didn’t make sense.

Juno pulled away from the kiss, to voice his confusion.

“Are you sure you want to be kissing me right now? When I’m such a mess?”

“Juno!” The name came out in a disbelieving laugh, the corners of Nureyev’s mouth curled up. Then his expression changed, like he was looking at something precious. His eyes ran over Juno’s face. “Juno…” It came out as a dreamy sigh this time, before Nureyev leaned back in. “You’re perfect like this.”

[sladedick]

im just creepin on your twitter (as you do) and i wondering if u would ever write some rastim? bc 👀👀

yes!!!!! sorry this too k so long i love ra’stim owo

noncon/underage/switching/violence/black humor | on ao3

           Timothy Drake stares at his American school lunch in the fuzzy security camera. His dark circles are visible under his eyes even from this height, and his hair is visibly unwashed. Equations trail their way up pale arms in smudged ink. He shovels another soggy french fry into his mouth, scratching his armpit with the other hand.

           “Are you sure you want that one, Master?” Ra’s’s assistant inquires, standing meekly next to him as he watches the screen.

           “You dare question the will of the Demon?” Ra’s booms.

           “N-no, master, of course not,” he mutters, looking down. Ra’s turns his attention back to Timothy. He’s facedown in his applesauce, clearly snoring.

           “He’s perfect.”

Share the happy news with your detective

           “Happy engagement,” Ra’s says. Tim blinks at him.

           “To who?”

           “To you.”

           “I’m not engaged,” he says blankly.

           “I am pleased to inform you that you are. To me, the Demon’s Head.”

           “No,” Tim declares.

           “Yes.” Ra’s’s grin shows teeth.

           “No!”

           “This is not a discussion,” Ra’s says. “It is the respectful thing to do before I deflower you, Detective.”

           Tim makes a disgusted face. “You won’t be ‘deflowering’ me. I had sex with Superboy.” It had been an ordeal. Kon’s Kryptonian dick had gained semi-sentience and tried to lay its eggs in Tim. Turns out Clark hadn’t bothered to give him ‘the talk’.

           Ra’s’s lip curls. “How inappropriate.”

           “No premarital sex, huh, but rape is a-okay,” Tim mocks.

           “Victor’s rights, Timothy.”

           “That’s bullshit,” Tim says. Ra’s wags a finger in his face.

           “Language, Detective.”

           Tim sticks his tongue out. “You can’t marry minors without parental consent. Your marriage is null and void. Ra’s! Ra’s, listen to me, we have to be in Alabama—”

Keep excessive amounts of alcohol away from your detective

           The reception is ostentatious, of course.

           Ra’s first notices the problem when Tim’s step is slightly halting at the reception, cheeks slightly redder—always red, really, given how pale his skin is even for a European. They’re even red through the several layers of makeup that Ra’s had his servants apply.

           Tim gives a lopsided grin, showing off teeth that, until recently, had had braces on them. That’s the second sign something is off. Timothy has been pouting ever since he was kidnapped.

           “I want — some more campaign,” he says, quite sincerely. A face, as if he knows that’s not quite right. “Clam pain.” A pause. “Sham veins?”

           “Champaign, dear,” Ra’s says softly. Timothy grabs another glass from a passing server before Ra’s can stop it. The reception is ostentatious, and Timothy’s dress is no exception, in lacy whites and pale greens, showing off his body just enough to tell everyone what Ra’s has that they don’t. And how they should be jealous of Ra’s’s high school concubine.

           “It’s poor taste to be drunk at your own reception,” Ra’s says.

           “Your … fault,” Tim says. He sways slightly. Ra’s catches his arm. “Kidnapped me. Miss my family.”

           “You’ll make a new one quite soon.”

           “Fuck you. Hate you,” he mumbles. “Don’t wanna get pregnanant. Pregant. Prenengant.”

           Ra’s snatches the glass of champagne from Timothy’s hand as the boy slumps slightly against him.

           “I insist,” he says coldly, angrily, “that you be conscious for the consummation.”

           He takes some pleasure in seeing Timothy’s skin lose its redness for the first time that night, falling away to reveal a pale face. Timothy grabs desperately for the alcohol, but Ra’s whisks it away just in time.

           “Absolutely not.”

             2. Keep your detective well entertained

           “You can’t all be monks,” Tim tries to explain. The ninja sat in a circle around him squint at him through the eyeholes in their masks, heavy armor clinking as they shift. Tim repeats it in Arabic for the two that don’t speak English, and then switches to it for good.

           “I wish to be of the shadow subclass,” Ninja No. 3 says.

           “As do I,” adds Ninja No. 1.

           “The point of Dungeons and Dragons is to be something you’re not. It’s escapism.” The four guards, practically brainwashed into the service of Ra’s al Ghul, stare at him. “Nobody is allowed to be a ninja monk.”

           “I will be a warlock,” says Ninja No. 2, waving about the bit of paper that Tim had given him, translated from what Tim remembers of the Player’s Guide. “In service of the great Head of the Demon—”

           “This is a fantastical universe. Ra’s doesn’t exist. See? Escapism!” Tim sighs. “If you don’t cooperate I’m going to tell him you were very inadequate and suggest severe punishment.” He stares sternly.

           The ninja pale. Tim wouldn’t do that, really, because then they would end up dead. He knows exactly how much influence he has with Ra’s. The threat, however, is still good.

           “I will be a fighter,” sighs Ninja No. 2. “In the service of nobody.”

           “Perfect!” Tim grins. He feels like he should patronizingly pat their heads, but refrains. That’s the kind of thing they might only accept from Ra’s.

           “I will be a sorcerer,” says Ninja No. 4, “who works for only himself, and wields fantastic power.”

           Tim nods enthusiastically.

           “I will be a rogue,” says Ninja No. 1, “who overthrows his glorious leader and takes his place, murdering his kin and raping his wife—”

           “Wait just a second—”

           “—and sending all his castles and being to endless ruin, in search of individuality.”

           “I mean,” Tim says, “I’ll allow it …”

           (Ninja No. 1 doesn’t show up the next week. Neither do any of the others. It wasn’t your fault, Ra’s assures him, though please do not encourage individuality, Timothy.)

             3. Be assured your detective is sexually satisfied and interested

           Tim sits on one side of the wooden table, idly tracing the patterned texture with one

finger. Ra’s sits stiff and regal as always, a few slips of paper right in front of him. This is obviously a Meeting. Ra’s is always around Tim, but a Meeting is different. Ra’s has something to talk about, and Tim probably doesn’t want to hear it.

             “Beloved,” Ra’s says.

             “Ra’s,” Tim replies. His voice is considerably cold. More tired.

             “I’ve been doing some research,” Ra’s says. “You have been quite uninterested in our sexual activity.”

             “It’s because I object to the rape,” Tim says.

             “Ah, I think not. I think you’re simply not … stimulated enough. So I found out what you might be interested in.”

             “Please don’t—”

             The papers are slapped onto the table like a death warrant, and Tim is stared in the face by his last six months of search history.

             man turns little brother gay big dick blowjob looks back at him like the antichrist with flaming, doomed eyes. Tim pales. He tries to think of exactly what he’d been searching on PornHero before Ra’s had caught up with him, but his mind is suddenly completely blank.

             bears rail twink anal dp rimming glares accusingly at him. Tim knows that Ra’s has a perfectly neutral expression on his face. He always does. But Tim can’t force himself to meet the green eyes, not even on the pain of losing some of his pride.

             “And some more enlightening content,” Ra’s adds, putting another piece of paper on the table. Tim can barely bring himself to open his eyes and look.

             batman fucks robin hard in the ass, batman and robin blowjob, batmanxrobin—

             Tim covers his eyes. He can’t take it.

             “You’re particularly understimulated in the bedroom. Would you prefer that I don a suit in the manner of your adopted father? Would you enjoy referring to me as—”

             “No!” Tim almost screams. He wants to cover his ears. “Ra’s, please. Please don’t, okay? I’ll be good, okay? I’ll pretend I like getting fucked. Just please stop.”

             Ra’s makes a little humming sound. “This is not a punishment, Beloved. I am simply curious.” The rustling sound of papers lets him know what’s going on. “Though perhaps you can explain this? Superboy x reader fluffy love fanfiction?”

             Tim turns white.

             “I’m going to kill myself,” he declares, and he’s not sure if he’s joking or not.

             4. Install safety bars on windows; learn modern youth jargon

           “I’m going to kill myself,” Timothy says.

           It’s something he says a lot. Quite a bit, really, typically any time something goes even a little wrong. Timothy had explained to him, a sullen glare in his eyes, that it was a joke. Ra’s had eventually been persuaded.

           The fact that Timothy is crouched on the window ledge, the mountain wind making long-grown dark hair—tended to with the most expensive shampoos—swirl out behind Timothy, makes the thought of him joking much less likely.

           “That is a choice you will regret,” Ra’s says coolly. He could try to grab him, but Timothy would fall out of the window and die anyways. Then when it came time to punish him properly, Timothy could attempt to childishly shift the blame.

           Timothy flips him off.

           Ra’s raises an eyebrow. “How rude, Beloved.”

           “Yeet,” Timothy says. Ra’s assumes this also means I’m going to kill myself because right after Timothy does it, he’s falling through the air. Ra’s doesn’t hear the crack of his bones or see the blood spatter, but he sees the broken body splayed in the snow below, certainly dead.

           “How inconvenient,” Ra’s says, to nobody in particular. Except, perhaps, the three guards who monitor Timothy at all times. He makes a mental note to have them executed.

             6. Discourage your detective from staging coups

             “Fuck,” Tim says.

             “Indeed.” Ra’s’s teeth are perfect, pearly white. A wickedly curved sword at his side slowly drips blood into the oceans pooled around his feet, the corpses’ blood eking its way towards Tim’s booted feet.

             Tim stomps. Blood splashes, staining the bottom of his robes. “Fuck!”

             Ra’s sheathes his sword. The front of his shirt is crimson, showing that he, at least, did not escape unscathed. Tim draws some small satisfaction from that, even though he feels the guards still loyal to Ra’s grab at his shoulders, yanking his arms behind his back and holding him still.

             “A valiant attempt, Detective,” Ra’s says. “Next time, I suggest purging your dissenters’ ranks for spies more carefully.” He moves forward, and Tim sags slightly in the arms of the guards.

             “I’m sorry?” Tim offers.

             “You’re not.”

             Tim sticks his tongue out.

             7. Properly reprimand your detective

             “I’m sorry,” Tim whimpers, head hanging between his shoulders as he stares down at the bed beneath him, fingers curled in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

             A hand cards gently through sweaty hair. “Shh, Timothy, it will be over soon,” Ra’s murmurs. The back of the boy’s thighs and buttocks are covered in red switch marks, from the birch thing that Ra’s holds in the hand that does not hold Timothy. The skin burns red and pink and parts bleed. Timothy won’t be able to sit down for a month without remembering this.

             The next one whips down with a wicked noise. Timothy chokes, spasms, arms shaking. He gasps, tears clinging to his long, pretty lashes like pearls.

             “You are free to cry if you like, Beloved,” Ra’s says softly. “Forty out of fifty. You’re almost finished.”

             8. Curb attempts to relate to the youth

           Ra’s throws his sword. It impales the man through the gut; a wound that will leave him squirming for hours in agony before he finally expires.

           “Yeet.”

           (Timothy doesn’t speak to him for a week.)

             9. Keep track of possessions around your detective

           “Is that my cape, Detective?”

           Tim wraps the green folds further around himself, his small form almost disappearing inside of it. “Maybe.”

           “Are you going to return it?”

           The high collar hides Timothy’s face, and slightly muffles his answer. “No.”

            10. Take very good care of your detective, and give it nobody else to turn to when it hurts

           Timothy’s eyes are wide, blank oceans, full of a sort of pain and sadness that Ra’s knows will pass, but he still almost dislikes seeing in his consort’s eyes. Ra’s’s arm is wrapped around him, fingers splaying dark hair around them, Timothy warm against his chest. His eyes are closed, the two of them wrapped in Ra’s’s cape. Before, Timothy would flinch away whenever he was to be held. Now, he almost begs to be touched with his eyes, even when he is too proud to ask.

           A shift of him. Ra’s stays still, doesn’t move, enjoying the fact of Timothy against him. A hand slowly pets his hair.

           Something is wet against his chest, where the neck of his shirt is cut down to reveal his chest. Ra’s almost has to pry Tim’s face off of him, and it comes away teary.

           “How do you fair, my love?”

           A hand rests on Ra’s’s shoulder, pale fingers against dark, tanned skin. The eyes look past Ra’s.

           “I hate you,” Timothy whispers. It’s not an accusation. Simply a sad, broken confession.

           “I know,” Ra’s says, almost, almost sympathetic.

           A pause,

           A long, long pause.

           “I love you,” Tim whispers, and it’s even softer, barely audible. And then he’s diving back against Ra’s’s chest, Ra’s’s head tucked above Tim’s.

           “I know,” Ra’s murmurs.

           The look in his eyes is the stare of a man who has killed millions, and will kill millions more.

[jhopesjawline]

Stress Eating

Request:  an angsty scenario in which jungkook is feeling stressed bc of their busy schedule and starts stress eating and gains weight pretty fast and the fans start commenting mean stuff abt him which makes him feel like he has disappointed the fans?? thank u!!

A/n:  I saw your request last night and was super pumped to write it, although I hate the thought of a sad kookie, everybody has their times and I’m sure he does too :’( without further a do, here’s the angst jungkook scenario I’ve prepared for you! - Amelia

Genre: Angst Members: Jungkook Word Count: 2384

Masterlist

“Hyung, can you pass me another donut?” Jungkook whined. The palms of his hands were placed in front of Jin, with his fingers wiggling in anticipation.

Jin looked up from the box with a look of ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ “Jungkook, you’ve had five.”

“I know but I’ll work them off tomorrow at practice.” He reasoned. Jin, believing whole heartily in the Maknae’s words (because Jungkook usually keeps his word), gave Jungkook another donut.

“If our manager knew I just gave that to you, he’d kill both of us.” Jimin chuckled from across the room. “He’d kill us all if he knew any of us had even one…”

“True…” Taehyung nodded after hearing Jimin’s statement. “…at least we’d be dying with our bellies full of white powdered goodness.” Laughter erupted from the group of boys as they talked through the night. They discussed the upcoming stage and new album, everything from incomplete lyrics to the hardest dance move. None of them seemed to notice Jungkook’s growing appetite… Because after all, he had just turned 20, he’s a growing boy?

The next day practice was cancelled, something came up and a few members had other things added to their schedules. Jungkook stayed in the dorm alone, his anime buddy (Taehyung) was busy with drama promotion. He binge watched another sports anime by his lonesome, while snacking on whatever was in the cupboard.

He wasn’t allowed to go to the gym. Although he loved working out, according to society, building any more muscle than he had was repulsive; thus he could not work out. His free time was very limited to begin with, sometimes going out was a hassle. He loved his fans but sometimes he wanted to go out without having to wear a mask. He loved his life and career but he hated the restrictions that were placed upon him. Most days he tried to look on the bright side of things, but these days his worries were increased.

With their rise in popularity, he had more people to please. There was more expected of him. Everything he had before had inflated. The feelings that swirled inside him were on a new high. Everything he felt, he felt it to the max. Everything he did, didn’t feel just right.

Every practice, he felt sluggish. He wasn’t doing as exceptionally well as he had before. He was still doing ok but he knew he could do better. When the day of their comeback stage arrived, he wasn’t satisfied with himself.

He picked up another soda cracker, and then another and another until Jimin looked down at the plate and gasped. “Jungkook-ah! You’ve eaten almost an entire sleeve of crackers! We just had lunch. Where is all that going?!” He jokingly patted the Maknae’s stomach then his expression changed from his chimchiminy smile to subtle look of shock. Jimin removed his hand from Jungkook’s shirt. A tender smile replaced his shock.

“Jungkook. When did your stomach get that big!?”

“What?” Jungkook acted confused, embarrassed by the change from his muscle tissue to soft squish.

“Aish, Jungkookie is so cute! Are you reversing in age?!”

Jungkook tried to laugh sincerely, but he was afraid of this… That someone would notice his sudden weight gain over the past month. The guys were with him all the time, so they wouldn’t pick up on his change in appearance that fast… But he didn’t know what the fans would think. His biggest concern with the performance was how his body moved with the new choreo. Dancing wasn’t the same for him, he was nervous that it would show.

He grabbed another cracker from the tray with elegance, holding it in his hand like it was a delicacy. He bit off one of the corners hoping that if he ate the cracker slow it would last him until the moment before they needed to appear on stage. That wasn’t the case though and he consumed 3 more crackers after that one (finishing off the sleeve) each with the same excruciatingly slow pace.

Just before the group finally hit the stage, Jungkook took a big swig of a fountain soda and rushed to his place. He hadn’t felt this nervous since their debut stage. Maybe he felt more nervous since he was extremely self-conscious in ways that he wasn’t before. He felt like throwing up, soda and soda crackers didn’t always agree with each other. Jungkook knew that subconsciously but didn’t give a damn about his stomach. All he cared about was completing the stage with a satisfied audience.

When the lights hit his figure, he visibly cringed. The darkness right before the music blasted was the most pleasant experience of the day. He had the time to collect himself. Once he heard the crowds cheers he lost his composure, displeasure was written all over his face and the fans definitely saw. He couldn’t help it, he felt sick. He wanted to throw up but of course if he did that there would be so many complications. He held the queasy feeling inside of him, a sweat broke out faster than usual and he looked like a mess.

When they were reviewing the stage on their phones Jungkook looked over Yoongi’s shoulder at the image of himself on Yoongi’s screen.

His close up came on and he looked worse than he thought. His hair was dishevelled and his skin was extremely shiny. Whenever a light hit him he illuminated from the sweat. His tight leather pants showed the size change in his thighs and his baggy shirt wasn’t giving off the illusion of toned abs. Yoongi scrolled through the comments after the video ended. His lips had been pursed. He didn’t bother to utter a word of advice or criticism throughout the whole video.

Hoseok, Jimin and Taehyung were still reviewing the performance on Jimin’s phone. Jin was off eating food in the corner, and Namjoon was probably somewhere doing something important.

“Good job today.” Was the only thing Yoongi said to Jungkook as he got up and walked away. He values his Hyungs’ opinion more than anything, and he could tell that Yoongi didn’t mean what he said.

Jungkook remained in the same place. Frozen. He has disappointed the Hyungs. He most likely disappointed the fans. Yoongi had scrolled too fast through the comments, and from his angle he couldn’t read any of them. But from Yoongi’s salty reaction, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what they said.

Jin called him over, snatching him away from his thoughts.

“Jungkook! Come here! I’ve got something I think you’ll like!” Jungkook spent the rest of the time eating with Jin and trying to keep an upbeat attitude which he failed at miserably. Jin tried to compliment Jungkook, he tried to joke with him and make him feel better but nothing worked. So that night Jin had a talk with the other members. Operation: resurrect Jeon Jungkook.

The next day the dorm was empty. All that was on Jungkook’s schedule was dance practice. They had to promote their first single this week but they also needed to practice for the next one that would be coming shortly. Namjoon texted him, saying that the dance practice for the next single was moved up an hour ahead of schedule. He spent the morning reviewing yesterday’s comeback stage and actually going through the comments. After such a ‘bright’ start to his day, he drug himself out of the dorm to the studio.

The dance studio was practically empty… Even though he was a few minutes late. Namjoon sat in the corner on a stool that he acquired from another room. Each step he took toward his senior was heavier than the last. What was going on? Usually when Jungkook got to the studio, Hoseok was waiting. Hobi always showed up first… Namjoon was one of the people he didn’t expect he’d be greeted with.

“Hey, how was your morning?” Namjoon asked, smiling at him once he put his phone back in his pocket.

“It was ok. …but Hyung, where is everybody else?”

“I told you to come early. I had something I wanted to talk to you about.” What does he want to talk about? A million little things ran through his head (mainly little things from yesterday), and Namjoon sensed this because next he said “It’s nothing bad.” Jungkook sighed in relief before taking a seat on the floor. Namjoon got off his stool and sat cross legged in front of him.

“You’ve seemed off for 2 months. I just want to make sure everything’s alright. I never said anything before because I wasn’t sure of the problem myself. But this has been going on long enough. I think it’s time we deal with this.”

“Deal with what? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” He tried to act confused but he really felt trapped, caught.

“Jungkook. Almost every time I see you, you’re eating. And if you’re not eating, you have this horrible look on your face.”

“No I don’t. Since when have you been thinking that?”

“I told you, it’s been around 2 months.”

“Well, I don’t do that. I have no reason too.”

“Jungkook. I know it’s hard to admit but if you don’t talk about what’s going on we can’t help you.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. All of the members are extremely worried about you, but none of them know where to begin. So I thought I’d try talking to you today.” Namjoon leaned back on his arms, stretching himself out before continuing.

“It seems that my approach isn’t working either. Jungkook, I need you to think about why your appetite has increased. You can’t deny that fact. We all see it.”

“Fine Hyung. If you really want to know that I’ve noticed it too, then fine. I just eat unconsciously. If I’m not doing something, I go look for food.” He snapped. His face became red, and his eyes were fogging up. He placed his head in his hands and kept going. “…And I feel so sick and gross. I just.. I don’t know what to do…” Namjoon was silent, he nodded his head acknowledging the words the Maknae said.

“It’s like I can’t breathe anymore. Everything I see makes me uncomfortable. I’m always reminded of things that I don’t want to think about… They’re just too hard to think about.”

“What’s too hard to think about? I’ll think about them for you… I’ll help you, ok? All of us love you, we’ll help you through anything.” Jungkook didn’t answer; he couldn’t answer so he stared at the scuffed floor.

“If you don’t want to say them, that’s ok. Since you don’t want to think about them, I understand if you just want to become more comfortable with the idea of sharing.” Jungkook’s heart was racing a mile a minute. He thought about telling Namjoon for a moment. He thought about pouring his feeble concerns onto their leader and releasing all of his pent up emotions. But he couldn’t let them go yet.

His worries were deeply rooted inside himself; they’d become a part of him. He wasn’t sure how to disconnect the roots from the tree without killing the tree. Because isn’t that impossible? Is there a way to maintain them? Jungkook didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d never forget the feeling these fears instilled in him. He’d live with the memory of them forever.

“Hyung. I’m scared.” They weren’t just fears he could forget about. They could be applied to many situations, and he was sure he would experience some of them again. He didn’t look up. He couldn’t bear to see the concern on Namjoon’s face which was so apparent in his voice.

Am I to ugly? Am I the reason the others are having a hard time? Did I do something wrong? Will we split up? Am I no longer good enough? Have I lost my charm? Do the fans no longer like me? Am I bringing the group down? Will I be ok? How much longer will I feel this way?

Every single comment on their comeback stage was either, ‘wow nice choreo fatasses’ or ‘I like the song but… The performance wasn’t that great…’. There were a few straightforward ones like ‘what happened to Jungkook?’

It became harder and harder to break the silence in the room. He knew if he looked at Namjoon he would break apart. All of his worries would spill out; he would be too embarrassed to look at him after too. Could he ever look at his team again?

“I think you’ve graduated from the Golden Maknae.” He heard Jimin say. The sound of shoes scraping on the floor next, then door to the studio creaked shut.

“You’re like the Platinum Maknae now.” Hoseok tried to joke as he sat down beside Jungkook.

All the other members followed, sitting down on the floor beside Jungkook.

“Jungkook.” Yoongi was next to speak. “I meant what I said yesterday. You did a good job. Regardless of the pain you were in, you did the best performance you could.”

“Jungkookie, no matter who you become one day or who you’re becoming right now… Our armies will remember the Jungkook who did his best.” Jin chimed, trying to pick up the atmosphere.

“Jungkook. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I wish I had more time to spend with you, but as you know we can’t make up our own schedules. If we could, I’d have Jungkook time every day.” Taehyungs voice was solemn. His head hung low as he spoke, Jimin patted his shoulder and took over for him.

“We all want the best for you. So if you have worries you’re allowed to burden us with them.” Jungkook finally looked up, his eyes full of tears.

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” he sniffled before finishing, “You’re the best Hyungs I could ask for.”

Hoseok grabbed onto Jungkook enveloping him in a huge hug. He felt Hoseok’s tears stain his shirt sleeve and then he felt more weight added on top of him. Soon the whole group was in a pile on the floor, laughing and crying rolling around in a fit of giggles.