#this is so much longer than i thought it was going to be. is any of it even remotely coherent. i hope so bc i've been here for three hours

[suguann]

SAY YOU'RE MINE—GOJO SATORU.

✎.You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. | wc. 1.4k+

tags. fem!reader, age-gap, very shy reader, exhibitionism, reader wears glasses, a/b/o, 18+ only

masterlist

The big, awful truth nobody tells you about hosting your fortieth birthday is how the shine of the day wears off once you see your friends and acquaintances laughing with their loved ones, talking about their kids, showing off pictures of newborns swaddled in soft linens, and making plans for upcoming holidays. 

Gojo sips his drink, pretending to understand. He’s never given much thought to settling down, to take an omega as a mate and fill his big empty house with the sounds of pealing laughter and little feet racing down the many halls.

Forty years old, and he’s ready to admit that living the life of a bachelor doesn’t hold the same appeal as it once did. That returning from a two-week-long business trip might be better if there were somebody to go home to.

Forty years old.

Instead of cozying up in the living room with a family he longs to have, he’s going to spend the rest of his night picking up plates and champagne flutes after everyone leaves because he forgot to hire a cleaning company—all alone in his big empty house, wondering if his secretary remembered to pick up his dry-cleaning for the week.

An unmated Alpha—the reminder chafes as much as the fact he’s getting older.

He finally understands why his late aunt divorced and got married again twice in the same year, why people buy nice vacation homes on white sandy beaches that make the crow’s feet around their eyes worse, and spend too much money on sports cars even though they stay parked for three-fourths of the year. He gets it now.

It’s more or less an epiphany of a sad, pathetic truth that he swallows down with something cold and bitter.

In the middle of his backyard, standing between his neighbor and his pregnant wife, Gojo wishes he were anywhere else. Inviting everyone he knows within driving distance no longer seems like the well-thought idea he’d presumed it’d been.

He makes a few more rounds around the garden before sneaking inside, escaping another conversation about engagements and wedding dates to hide away in his study.

That’s until he sees you out of the corner of his eye, looking through the bookcases in his living room.

A pretty slip of a girl in your modest cocktail dress and wide-framed glasses slipping down the slope of your nose. An Omega, alone, just like him; your clean, sweet, floral scent sticking to the back of his throat like syrup until it settles in his stomach. Enough to make him dizzy.

You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. Not that it really matters because his back straightens, no longer wallowing in self-pity, and he studies you with interest.

After a few moments, you finally glance his way, only for you to hastily return your attention to the book you pulled down from the shelf. Cute.

Gojo adjusts the tie around his neck and feels his lips twitch.

“Sorry,” you say softly, long lashes fluttering against the top of your cheeks. “I didn’t mean—I was only—My friend invited me, and she—”

You are too busy working yourself up over an explanation that you don’t notice when he sidles up next to you and reads over your shoulder. "I have more in my office if you want to take a look.”

“E-excuse me?” You make this breathy, choked sound and peer up at him from under your lashes. This visibly timid type of girl who bashfully looks away at the sight of his smile. For some reason, that makes his mouth go dry—makes his teeth ache. 

It’s rare to be so driven by instinct and rarer to actually listen to that instinct.

“Books,” he says. “Do you want to see them?”

His words take a second to sink in, and he smiles when he sees liquid clarity in your eyes. You blink owlishly, scent spiking, pleased. He stands there patiently, finding how you start rambling endearing, a slight, private grin splitting across his face—silently amused.

He thinks you'd bolt if it weren’t for the fact that he’s probably standing much too close, trapping a mouse by the tail.

“I–I g-guess,” you finally stutter.

It’s too easy: You letting him usher you up the stairs toward his office. 

If Gojo were a better person, a less lonely Alpha—a better man—he might feel bad for how well it works.

It’s no small thing to work the tiny zipper at your back and watch your dress pool around your feet. He barely gets the top three buttons of his shirt undone before you are—delightfully, inexplicably—up on the tips of your toes, timidly pushing your hands through his hair, mewling into the hollow of his throat, close to where his gland sits.

By the time he has you pressed against his office window, you’re this flustered little mess with crooked glasses, fingers streaking the once pristine glass to keep your balance, and breasts sticky and wet with spit.

“Good girl,” he mutters, pulling back to look down at where he’s splitting you open. “Such a good little Omega for me, aren’t you?”

You don’t answer, and he crowds you closer to the window, grasping your chin and tugging your head up until you’re looking at him upside down. He squeezes your cheeks together, your pouty, supple lips pushed out, and kisses your mouth, tasting you—unimaginably sweet.

“Tell me—tell me what a good girl you are,” even though he knows you can’t with his fingers pressing into your cheeks, but you try anyway.

“U-uh but—people c-can see.” 

The base of his cock tingles as he catches a line of drool spilling from the corner of your lips. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, soothing, and you steadily melt against him when he slips that same finger underneath the elastic of your underwear, lightly nudging your clit with the tip of his finger until you’re shivering beautifully again.

“That’s it. Don’t worry about them,” he coaxes lightly, but it comes out muffled because he says it with his mouth wrapped around the gland at the base of your neck, teasing himself with something he’s never allowed himself to have. Not yet. “Just you and me, okay?”

Gojo doesn’t let up until your back arches and shoulders tighten, his knot caught inside your cunt until all he can do is grind the tip of his cock against that spot that makes you squirm and whine. 

He smiles to himself when you hide behind your hands after realizing you ruined his pants, and he carefully falls back into his office chair, pulling you with him so you’re both looking out across the garden, where his guests walk around wholly unaware of the breathtaking little Omega who made his birthday worthwhile.

“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he muses, taking great pleasure in the way you start stuttering again.

On his forty-first birthday, he doesn’t throw his own party but still hides in his office, his pretty wife in his lap, flustered because he never turned the lights off this time. If anyone happened to walk by on this side of the house, they’d be able to see everything—his omega, soft and swollen from a piece of him taking root inside you.

Families are about making traditions, he thinks, and he’d like to start a few traditions of his own; leaving his party to fuck his wife in the quiet of his office being one of them.

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie? || Part 2.

Pairing: Dom!Bucky x Sub!female reader

Summary: After accidentally revealing that you have a masked man kink, Bucky starts taking it to the next level. The reveal!

Warnings: Smut- MDNI please!, unprotected sexual intercourse (p in v), don't forget no glove no love, edging, asphyxiation, fingering, mild dirty talk, language, praise kink, masked man kink, stalking, harassment, implied harm, breaking in.

Word Count: 5.4

A/Ns: Hi babes! Sorry this took an extra day than intended. Tumblr is being super finicky tonight, I’ve edited and re-edited this so many times. If there’s mistakes just ignore. I hope you like the conclusion!

In case you missed it, Part 1

You didn’t sleep much the next couple of nights, and decided to take some time off of work. Bucky finally reached out, and you updated him as to what was going on. He immediately offered to come home, which you refused and started to downplay the situation.

Hailee has been great with letting you borrow some clothes and little things, since you only grabbed a small bag in a rush before heading to her place to stay a few days ago. You’ve been dreading going back to the apartment, scared to find someone in there waiting for you. But it’s at the point where you need to grab some of your stuff.

Walking into the apartment, it was eerily quiet and uncomfortable. But nothing looked out of place, and was exactly how you left it. Deciding not to spend any longer there than you had to, you promptly tossed a large duffle bag onto your bed and started stuffing it with clothes and any other necessities.

Zipping the duffle closed, you felt a light gust of cool air. Scanning your bedroom window assuming it was the source, you realize it’s open. You never open this window. In fact, it’s always locked. All of the hair on the top layer of your skin stands up to the extent it almost feels like tiny pinpricks. Flight mode is instantly activated; before you can even think, you grab the bag and run, practically tripping over your own feet out of the room.

Grappling with the door knob, the pure panic starts to set in. Just as you’re twisting the knob open, you hear a distant bang coming from another room in the apartment. You freeze at the realization:

I’m not alone.

You know when you’re watching a scary movie and yell at the tv, wondering why the one of the characters was so fucking stupid to do something?

Well, you did exactly that. What possessed you in that moment, you haven’t the faintest idea. But, with your heartbeat pounding in your ears so loudly that you thought your eardrums might rupture, you started to turn around to look.

What primitively catches your attention isn’t what you expected, but quickly makes your chest tighten. The fruit bowl on the kitchen counter that is normally overflowing with lucious, red delicious apples, now just has all apple cores.

The flashback of one being on left on the countertop after Bucky had left blazes in your mind. It suddenly makes sense. Bucky would never leave a mess and it wasn't long after that you saw someone outside your window.

Attempting to swallow the growing dryness in your throat, you continue to turn around. And that's when you see him for the first time. About fifteen feet away, stood an obviously immensely tall man. He wore thick, black shiny leather boots that gleamed lightly in the natural daylight within the apartment. Fitted black jeans with a loose, black hooded sweatshirt that failed to hide how muscular and broad his chest and shoulders were with the hood pulled up.

But two things stuck out the most about his appearance. First, was the tight, black leather gloves he wore on his hands that were currently clenched into rigid fists. The second, was the fact that you couldn't make out his face. All you could see was an elongated paleness, caverned by the blackness of the hood, and it seemed... sinister. He didn't move or make a sound. It was as if you would blink and he would be gone, like a cloud of smoke.

But if anyone was going to disappear, it was going to be you. So taking a chance, you ran. And you didn't stop running. Even with the faint vibration in your pocket alerting you to the new text notification on your phone, you kept going.

It wasn't until you got back to Hailee's place and frantically, out of breath explained to her, that you even remembered about the text message.

"Here," You toss the phone in pure detestation onto her bed, "I don't even want to fucking know what it says." You lean against the opposite wall of her bedroom, crossing your arms across your chest in an attempt to control the body shakes as you come down from the adrenaline.

Hailee watches you for a brief moment, still not having said much aside from asking if you were okay. Her expression was soft and sympathetic and yet had an dissenting undertone. You couldn't blame her, this all sounded absolutely insane.

Letting out a small, exasperated breath, Hailee sits on her knees from her previous crossed legged position and grabs your cell. As the screen comes to life, her teeth clench down reading whatever is on the screen.

“What?” The concern is evident in your voice as you pry away from the wall, though still holding onto yourself.

Hailee inhales deeply through her nostrils, faking a tightlipped smile, “it’s nothing,” her tone is flat. She’s lying. Clicking the sleep button on the side of the phone to make the screen go black, she makes her way off the bed, “hey, how about we head down to the cellphone store and get you a new phone and number?” She asks, trying to sound like her usual carefree self as she grabbed her crossbody bag.

“Hailee,” you uncross your arms and step in front of her, forcing her to make eye contact, “what is it?”

Searching your eyes, you can see that she is torn. She wants so badly to do the right thing, but isn’t sure what exactly that is in this situation. On one hand, she could just keep it to herself. Let the unknown and curiosity eat you alive from the inside out like it inevitably will. But only because she wants to protect you, shield you from anything that brings you the opposite of joy. Or, she can show you what you’re actually dealing with, and the two of you can come up with a plan and handle it together. Hailee decides on the latter.

Hesitating, her hand shakes slightly as she holds out the phone to you. It appears that now both of you will take this predicament more critically now. Grabbing the phone a tad more aggressively then you meant to, you unlock it and open the messages. But it's not often Hailee gets rendered quiet. Scrolling through the back to back texts, you understand why.

Taking your best friends advice, you immediately went to the cell phone store. She tagged along as you got a completely new phone and number, not transferring anything over, not wanting to take the risk. You didn't download any social media, deciding to take a much needed mental break for a bit. The only thing you did do, was take a few phone numbers that you needed out of your old phone, and even then you wrote them down on a piece of paper to manually add them into your contacts later.

Walking out of the store, you felt as if a weight had been lifted. Hailee locked arms with you, leading you around the corner to the nearest cafe to get iced coffee. It was her answer for everything. Bad day? Iced coffee. Need a pick me up? Iced coffee. Need to clear your head and just ramble about random shit for a bit? Iced coffee. Your best friend has an apparent stalker and we're hoping that changing phone numbers is the end all solution?! Obviously, iced coffee.

Sitting at a small table outside the cafe, enjoying the slight crispness in the fall air, you let out a huge, relieving sigh that makes your shoulders sink. You take the opportunity to add Bucky to your contacts and text him your new number. Although, you decide not to go into detail about your most recent encounter while he's still away on a mission.

Putting the phone down on the table and not have it incessantly go off with calls and texts, let's you feel as though you can finally breathe. "Thank you for coming with me, Hales, I really appreciate you."

Hailee is sucking the remnants of her drink through the straw as she looks up at you. She gives you a small, genuine side smile, "you're welcome," before smirking, "so I'm supposed to have a date tonight, with that guy Noah I've been seeing..." she leaves it open ended. "But, I should totally cancel after everythi-"

"No, please. Go out and have fun. You've been dealing with my shit enough," trying to make your words sound affirming, even with the lingering dread that you still felt.

That's one thing about Hailee. You never quite really have to twist her arm to do anything.

After showering and changing into your comfy jeans and oversized cropped sweater, it was hard not to feel the slightest tinge of jealousy watching Hailee do her finishing touches for date night in the mirror. Jealousy in the sense of missing Bucky and going out and having a carefree night, not in comparing yourself physically.

She swipes yet another layer of clear lip gloss on before fluffing her beach wave blonde hair. Turning to face you, her thick heels clack on the wooden floor as she starts adjusting her boobs in her sleek, dusty rose colored dress.

"What do you think?" Her hands glide down over her curves, "Dress is okay?"

"That dress is fire," and it is, she looks amazing. By the smile she's wearing, she's feeling it too, "too bad it's going to end up on Noah's floor ten minutes into your date." Hailee dramatically gasps, as if that's not true. It totally is.

You're both laughing until she abruptly stops, "I have to go!" She gives you a quick hug and starts scurrying towards the door, a bit awkwardly in the heels, "Bye! Love you! Lock the door!" As she goes to close the door behind her she yells back in, "don't read too much smut on your kindle while I'm gone!" and the door slams.

Shaking your head with a small laugh, you lock the door. Hailee just gave you the perfect idea of how to spend your night.

About an hour had gone by, you comfortably laid in Hailee's spare bed, a few chapters deep into your latest book. It was quiet, so when your phone vibrated on the bed next to you- you jumped slightly. Assuming it was Bucky finally having the chance to text you back, you pick it up fairly quickly. But the message you received isn't what you expected at all.

Before even unlocking the phone, you had a text alert from Unknown. There was nothing written, but all the way to the right of the alert, you could see a picture was included.

Promptly, you sat up in the bed and stared at the notification. That familiar wave of unease dispersed throughout your body as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head.

This phone number is only a few hours old, how the fuck did he get it already?

The notification banner and you were in a staredown. You had to know what the message was, but you were absolutely terrified at the same time. Your thumbs hover, occasionally twitching over the screen, until you pull the trigger and swipe up.

Us. Hailee...

Driving to your apartment, you broke nearly every single traffic law that there is. The entire time you tried calling Hailee’s phone back to back, just repeating the same mantra; please pick up. Please, please pick up. She never did.

“Hailee!!” You run through your apartment door, not having to mess with it for long as it was already unlocked. You had a feeling it would be. “Answer me!” You yell, breathlessly. The apartment is eerily dark and quiet.

Coming to a halt in the main living space, you whipped your head around looking for clues and try to listen for any signs of distress. But it was so difficult to hear anything over your own breathing and pulse drumming in your ears.

You knew where you had to go, the last picture of your friends dress laid out on your bedspread was the roadmap. The bedroom door was just barely closed over, a creepy orange glow lining it and trying to escape from underneath. Each step closer that you took, felt as if a large spider made entirely of ice was crawling down your spine.

Pushing the door open slightly with just a fingernail, you peered into the room. You knew this is exactly where this person wanted you. For what? There’s only one way to find out.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the room, so you took a few small steps in. The glow was more prominent now, giving the room an uncanny romantic ambiance with numerous amount of white candles lit all along the dressers, night tables, and bookshelves.

Taking a broad step forward, your attention is now focused on the bed. Hailee's dress is no longer laid out like it had been in the picture. Instead, there are flower petals sprinkled across your comforter. The intriguing curiosity drew you even more into the room without you even realizing. Picking up one of the petals, you rub it between your fingers, feeling it's supple and delicate smoothness as you examine it more closely. In that moment you recognize it- the familiarity of it's dark appeal. They're black dahlia petals.

Some of the petals congregated in one particular area on the bed, revealing an elegant, black gift box about the size of a large book. Your lips part slightly as you pick up the box, captivated by it's alluring magnetism. Taking off the lid, your brows furrow slightly in confusion. It's a chain. A long, thick slip chain that looks like a necklace but almost long enough to be a leash.

As your finger smoothes over the cold indentations of the chain, you hear a creak come from the floor behind you. In a startled jump, you drop the box- a slight ringing sound deafens the scene even more from the chain hitting the floor. But that's not your concern. Because as you turn around, you see him.

Within arms reach, you are confronted with the person that's been behind all of this. He's even taller up close, broader. Dressed in all black attire, this time swapping the black hoodie for a black t-shirt and black leather jacket. And without the hood, you're able to see the elongated white face from earlier.

It's a Ghostface mask.

He stands as still as a statue, watching you intently, waiting. Your eyes persist in looking him over as your chest rises and falls deeply. When your gaze meets his face once again, his head creepily tilts ever so slightly to one side.

"What's the matter?" He speaks, his voice deep and low, "you look like you've seen a ghost," the tone almost mocking.

Squinting your eyes, you look at him again. And this time you really look at him. His body frame, the clothes, the familiarity of his voice. Your eyes widen at the realization.

"Bucky?" you gape, completely stupefied. Taking the first fearless step in what feels like months, you wrap your arms around him. He returns the sentiment and you feel safe, for the first time in what feels like forever. It suddenly dawns on you that he's not actually on a mission. And probably never was.

"What- What is this?" You ask, looking up at him, slightly pushing the mask up to reveal his stubbled chin and promiscuous grin.

"There’s just something so dark and exhilarating about an unknown man behind a mask that stalks and is obsessed with you. The anonymity of it..." He repeats back the words you said to him a few months ago watching the Scream movie.

The memory of you how you told him about this kink of yours curls around your mind. That this entire time, you were never in any kind of serious danger, he just brought it to life. Weeks and months of preparation went into this, here, tonight. You should have known all along that Bucky would never have been so nonchalant about you in any type of significant situation. You're safe. You always were and always will be.

The tiny icy footprints that had trailed up your spine were long gone, now replaced with a burning and tantalizing desire. You've missed him, thinking he was away while you were dealing with this on your own. But now he's here, fulfilling your deepest desires.

Looking up, Bucky's Pacific blue eyes are already gazing down into yours, a built up and unsatisfied hunger prominent. Moving up onto your tiptoes and grabbing him behind the neck, you bring down his head and capture his lips.

Your mouth parted his, gliding and massaging his tongue with your own. A low growl reverberated from within his throat with approval, and promise to make everything up to you tenfold. Bucky's intoxicating cypress scent fills your nostrils as your inhaled deeply, pressing your breasts up into his chest. Taking off the leather gloves and shrugging his jacket onto the floor, his hands started to wildly wander around your body, giving light squeezes on your hips before settling and interlacing gingerly in your hair.

That didn't last long, though. There was a sudden and hard tug from where Bucky held your hair, enough to pull the two of you apart. The aggressiveness of the gesture was unexpected, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't fucking love it. His eyes linger on your already swollen lips, now wearing a pursed, provocative grin. His hand releases the tight grip he had on your loose curls, watching the relief from the sting flash across your eyes. Bucky has always been tender, gentle and using your body as a place of worship-but tonight is different.

Grabbing the hem of your sweater, he maneuvers it up and off to join his growing pile of discarded clothes. Dropping to his knees with a loud thud, he undoes the button and zipper of your jeans, pulling them down and weaving his tongue along the freshly exposed skin. Hissing through your teeth, your hips instinctively press forward. He lets out a dark laugh, before grabbing the chain you dropped before. Standing back up, he takes your hand, "Come," he says, leading you towards the cornered edge of the mattress.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, his muscular body causes it to sink slightly. His free hand, still holding the chain, grips his own thigh before giving it a light pat, "Sit," he commanded, again keeping that firm edge in his voice that you weren't used to. You enthusiastically follow his orders, sitting delicately facing outward in just your matching ivory lace bra and panties. It's hard not to notice how you just fit. And how much you secretly love his significantly large frame pressed against your much more petite body in comparison to his.

The soft tip of his nose runs along the outside of your neck, his large hands coasting along your shoulders, down your arms, sides, before settling on your thighs. The calluses on his hands leaving a sensational trail of tingles and heat to disperse under your skin.

"Look," his head nods forward once to get your attention, and now you see the reason why he sat you here. In the corner of the bedroom, just a few feet away, is a full length standing mirror angled perfectly to reflect everything.

You see yourself, already flushed with arousal and breathing heavily as you make eye contact with Bucky in the mirror. His devious smile pins you in place as you watch his hands pry open your legs, entrancingly over his. They willingly spread open wide for him, your restless hips now squirming, aching for more. His fingertips trace small circles on your inner thigh.

"I want you to see your face as you fall apart, " he taunted, his voice sultry in your ear, still holding your gaze in the mirror. His middle finger skims across your already embarrassingly dampened panties, causing your back to press against his rigid chest.

There was a vague rattling sound, followed by Bucky placing the large opening of the looped chain over your head and around your neck, “Bucky, what are you doing-” you watch curiously in the mirror. Part of the chain dangles between your breasts, which he wraps around his hand once and slowly starts to pull, causing the loop around your neck to compress.

It’s a choker.

Your eyes go wide, nervousness rippling through you as you grasp his intentions, “Bucky, I don’t know-”

“Do you really think you have a choice?” he barked, pulling the Ghostface mask down back onto his face. Talking to you through the mirror, “I won’t hurt you. Trust me,” he whispers, breaking character for a moment to assure you’re safe.

You nod in response, your reflection visibly eases in the mirror as the necklace slackens around your throat. He lets the chain lax too, for now.

Large hands are back to kneading your thighs, a lone finger brushing between your legs when gravitating along the inside. It’s not long until the sensation has you starting to wriggle once again.

Cupping your sex, his hand gently moves up and down, keeping a firm, yet delicate and delicious pressure. Your greedy hips tilt forward, wanting more from his right hand, while the coolness of his left continues to lazily stroke over your skin. But when that icy touch quickly grabs and tears your underwear off in one jolt, you gasp at the tiny bite the ripping cloth left behind.

Now you’re left wide and exposed- to yourself, to Bucky, to the reflections of yourselves staring intensely, watching every movement. The warmth of his hand is back, leisurely gliding two fingers between your already achingly wet pussy. Swallowing hard, your breath hitches as you can not only feel, but see, yourself start to lose composure.

Bucky pulls the two fingers away, holding them up just to your mouth, "wet them for me," he instructs, his voice silk like satin. Taking the two fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirled rapidly around the digits, savoring the salty-sweetness of your arousal. Slowly pulling them back out, you see them shine with your saliva.

Something comes over you in that moment, call it gluttonous, but you pool some extra moisture into your mouth and spit onto the fingers. Just for good measure.

There's a murmured hum of approval in your ear as he spreads your folds, teasing your increasingly sensitive clit between his two fingers. And getting Bucky's praise will only enhance the entire night. Your legs quiver at the deliberate sluggish pace, letting out shaky breaths as the overwhelming throbbing demands more attention.

Finally, the pads of those fingers start to rub your bundle of nerves in unhurried circles. Gripping onto his thigh to steady yourself, your nails clutching his jeans, a whine escapes as your hips try to buck against his hand.

That dark laugh is in your ear again, "good girls don't come until I tell them too," Bucky breathes, overly indulging in how you respond to his touch. It feels like torture, in the best possible way. The combination of his words and caress... you have never felt this good. This wanted.

Your head falls back slightly against his shoulder in small disappointment, whimpering, knowing that he's going to make you beg. And you're getting desperate enough to do so.

The leisurely pace of his fingers picks up, causing your back to arch away from his chest as you start panting. Each swipe building pleasure, layer on top of agonizing layer. Finding yourself in the mirror again, you unapologetically watch as your body vigorously writhes against his hand, your moans spilling from your mouth more and more.

"How badly do you want to come, princess?" The Ghost breathed, his chest rising and falling heavily now, trying to fight off his own desire, evident from the hard protrusion you keep rolling your hips against.

"S-so bad... Please! Please," you pleaded, not caring how desperate it sounds. Adding some additional pressure, your hips stutter. Your breathing practically stops as your moans transform into one long, drawn out strangled whine as you come apart, "O-ooh...oh my god. Oh god!"

Not even fully coming down from the repeated waves, you hear, "God's not here," growled into your ear. In one sudden movement, Bucky stands up with you in his arms before tossing you onto the bed, "just me.” the low rumble emits from his chest. Ripping off the mask, he kneels on the bed and uses his left arm to support his weight. Using those same damned two fingers, he plunges them into your drenched pussy, siphoning a sound from your throat that’s unrecognizable.

“Again,” Bucky breathes, his eyes glazed over with a new kind of wickedness as they lock into yours, “Come for me again. I fucking love all the sounds you make,” With his palm face up, his fingers start pumping you from the inside, running over your g-spot in a come here motion.

Since there was no remission from your last orgasm, the tightness in your belly never fully went away. Watching Bucky, seeing him in the tight black t-shirt while his bicep flexes from working you, his slightly furrowed brow and his lips slightly parted in determination, you could feel it building up once again.

Feeling your walls contract around him, he grinned. He changes his hand motions to going in a frantic up and down movement, and if you know, you know. Your rasped whimpers became silent as you forgot how to breathe and your vision blurred. The build up came on so fast and so strong, the only sound in the room was your ever increasing wetness.

Your mouth dropped open into a silent O, not able to think not a single coherent thought, "Thaaat's it..." Bucky coaxed, "I want you to gush all over my fucking hand," and with his words, your body quivers as you completely shatter with a loud cry. "Goood girl. God, what a good fucking girl," he soothes. You winced slightly as he pulled out his fingers, collapsing back more into the bed as you try to rein in remembering how to breathe. Bucky sits back on his knees, and almost entirely up to his elbow is glistening with how hard you just came.

With a flat tongue, he presses it to his palm, and licks all the way up to the tip of his middle finger, "Perfect," Bucky hums in satisfaction to himself. Your throat goes dry at the sight, being the cherry on top of all the mouth breathing you've been doing. Am I fucking dreaming?

Pushing his jeans down to his knees, his thick, flushed cock rebounds out of his boxers. Bucky grabs you by the hips, pulling you down the bed before flipping you over onto all fours. Each of his hands grabs a fistfull of your ass, before slapping one side. You moan at the bite of the smack, feeling delusional from needing him inside you so badly. He rubs the reddened cheek before dropping a teeth grazed kiss on the sensitive skin.

There's a coolness between your legs, and you realize that it's your juices sliding down your thighs. Not needing any preparation, you feel the tip of Bucky's fat cock lining up to slide into your tight little slit. He rubs the head up and down, lubricating just enough to push himself in. As he started to sink into you, it took every bit of will you had not to collapse as you felt his slight struggle to get in.

"Fuck, you're tight," he sighs. But truth be told, he's just that big. As if he had a direct roadmap, he slides in effortlessly right to the hilt, poking the sweetest spot of all making you choke out a sob, "You can take it, can't you angel?" He breathes huskily, amusement draped around the words as he dragged his cock back maliciously slow, letting you feel the ridge of each vein, every delectable centimeter of his length.

You feel your eyes roll closed, enjoying the all consuming sensation. With one quick thrust all at once, Bucky simultaneously yanks on the chain of the forgotten choker forcing your eyes open with a loud cry to find him glaring at you in the mirror, "Look at me when I'm fucking you," he reprimanded, in a subdued yet stern voice.

He started to move in a merciless rhythm, keeping the chain taut in one of the hands that clenched your hips. Each thrust delivered not only a delectable deep nudge against your cervix, but a small slap of his balls to your achingly sensitive clit. The combination of internal and external stimulation has you singing your own personal explicit cry, almost on the verge of tears with the intensity.

It's almost cruel the way that he fucks you, like he's dismantling you piece by piece, mentally, physically, emotionally. Never have you been treated like such a prize possession and a cheap whore at the same time. Your walls flutter around his cock, swallowing him needing moremoremore. You're body's accepted that this pussy is Bucky's. It's meant for him. It was made for him.

In the reflection you can see Bucky wet his lips, his eyes darting between yours and your ass bouncing off of his snapping hips. He continues to murmur soft, filthy praises as he fucks another orgasm from you. The choker tensed as you came, making the edges of your vision blurry- your walls clenching so tightly, causing each stroke to become more intense than the next. After you completely shattered, the chain went slack once again.

Manhandling you one last time, Bucky lays back flat on the bed and positions you to straddle him. You shake your head in an almost delirious state, "I-I can't. Buck, I-" you whisper, thoroughly cock drunk, "I can't," you pleaded.

"Yes you can, angel," his hands glide over your sweat coated thighs, a lecherous expression on his face. You nod ever so slightly, because even as spent and exhausted as you feel, you want to see him come apart. You want to look down into his eyes as joins you in the fucked out bliss.

You grab the base of his cock, using it to align yourself before sliding back down on top of him. Bucky's eyes widen, watching intensely as your bodies joined one another. All the air releases out of his lungs at the sight of your greedy pussy sucking him all the way in- deeper, your thighs already trembling. His hands clench your hips as your they start to grind back and forth.

His ab muscles flex under your nail piercing grasp- that pressure once again starting to build. He's just so deep, you're still just so wet from coming 3 times in a row, and now his wide tip is nestled so perfectly against your cervix that each motion of your body feels like you're going to spontaneously combust and die. But there's no way that heaven could be better than this. Those painfully beautiful sapphire blue eyes filled with an rapacious hunger that only you can fulfill.

You're mouth opens in attempt to say his name like a prayer, or something as equally dirty, but all that comes out is a sputter of shuddered gasps. Bucky's unapologetically loud moans grow more frequent, turning into their own long, drawn out beautiful melody, "fuck," he whispers, "that's so good."

Leaning down, chest to chest, you capture his lips in yours- swallowing those gorgeous sounds. Bucky takes this opportunity to thrust his hips up, massaging your inner walls as you push back against him. The loud smacking of flesh borderline drown out the sounds of both your orgasms, but you could feel the vibration from deep within Bucky's throat through the kiss. Rope after rope, you could feel his warmth emptying inside of you.

The strokes became laguid as he maintained the kiss- Bucky's hands cupping your face gently, which was such a dichotomy compared to the way he fucked you tonight. You finally pull your lips apart, collapsing fully on top of his body. Laying in silence, all you can hear is each other's ragged breathing and the drumming of his heart in your ear against his chest.

"I am... never getting rid of that fucking mask," Bucky chuckles lightly.

"Just so you know," you prop your chin up on your palm, "there's 5 other movies in the franchise."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist.

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @wintrsoldrluvr

@marianastudiesart @chaosbarelycontained @wonderbreadbucky @amethystviolin @fluffysucker @buckybraneslover111 @crazyf0robx @thorns-fixations @brairslair @dumdumlolly @miss0giarra @nerdytif @am-3-thyst @blondierog @mrsstuckyboo

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Congratulations on 700 followers Mo 😖💗....I really LOVE reading your fanfics☺️

I was kindly requesting Navy hummingbird and sloth please

Eeeek thank you so much for reading! I hope you like this one! (Honestly? I kind of wrote this with the thought of it being Burning Hearts, my Law series, adjacent.) Needy Law is so cuuuuute!

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Prompt/Trope: Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiac x Somnophilia 

WC: 1900

Warnings: oral, sex pollen affects, somnophilia without discussion but let’s assume they have (don’t worry we’re cool!) unprotected sex, p in v sex, prone bone, creampies and breeding baby!

Happy Anniversary, Baby (18+)

— — 

Law was a composed man. Over time, you had managed to worm your way through his hardened exterior to reach his nerdy, compassionate, caring center. Even as he opened up to you, he was still methodical about most things, including sex. He had the motions to make you orgasm down to a science at this point, making sure you were pleased far more than worrying about his own release. He always pulled out. He was the doctor who prescribed your birth control for god’s sake but he insisted on being careful anyway. Even if you begged him to finish inside, he was stubborn. You would never complain about your relationship with Law, he was just the way you liked him. 

Law was up early one morning going over paperwork at his desk. He couldn’t sleep any longer and didn’t want to wake you from your peaceful slumber by tossing and turning, so he decided to get some work done. 

After an hour or so of being engrossed in his work, Law glances at the calendar hanging on his office wall. Todays date had little pink hearts drawn around it in gel pen, by your hand of course. 

“Oh shit.” 

Law had forgotten about your anniversary. 

He had to think of something fast, preferably before you woke up. You were always telling him he worked too much so he couldn’t imagine the ass-chewing he would receive if you found out he forgot your anniversary. 

“Flowers…” He mumbles as he rises from his desk and leaves his office. He headed down the hall to the large closet you had converted into a makeshift greenhouse for your beloved hydroponic garden. 

He rips open the metal door and is hit in the face with moist air and the refreshing smell of greenery. The walls and center of the room were completely covered in carefully curated small plants, vegetables, flowers, and ferns. Law steps in and closes the door behind him. 

“She likes yellow…” Law mutters to himself as he finds himself overwhelmed by all the flowers around him. He was a doctor, not a botanist, he had no idea what any of these plants were so he just decided to choose something in your favorite color. 

He walked up to a large bush on the left side of the room that had unique-looking yellow flowers blossoming all over it. He thought this would be as good as any so he reached out his hand to pluck at the stem of one of the blooms. 

Just as he wrapped his tattooed fingers around the plant, the flower released a puff of yellow pollen right in his face. Law jerks backwards. The particles fly up into his sinuses and causes an uncomfortable tickle. 

“Ah- ACHOO!” Law sneezes violently which triggers the rest of the flowers on the bush to release their own supply of pollen into the air, clouding his vision and irritating his nose further. 

Law covers his face and rubs his eyes, trying to brush any remaining flower pollen off of him. 

“Must be some kind of natural defense mechanism… fuck that.” Law gripes as he wipes the last remnants of the pollen from his tired face. 

Law catches his breath and chooses to abandon this particular, aggravating plant. He spies a rosebush in the corner of the room. He knows what those are for sure, and as long as he doesn’t prick himself on the thorns, it should be less of a challenge to harvest them. 

Law walks over to the rosebush and begins snipping off the beautiful yellow blossoms, keeping the stems just long enough to put in a vase. Once he had around a dozen roses, he left the greenhouse room to find suitable container for the flowers in the kitchen. 

Rooting around in the kitchen cabinets, Law struggles to find anything nice enough for an anniversary bouquet. 

He wipes sweat from his brow and realizes that he’s been having to do it every few moments… why was he so sweaty? Was the boiler on the fritz again? He made a mental note to check the furnace on the ship after he gave you your gift. Law ignores the heat creeping up through him and continues searching the cabinets. 

He is pushing coffee mugs aside just as he notices the warm feeling become even more intense. Sweat was beading at his temples. 

“Fuck…” Law grunts and abandons his quest briefly so he can pour himself a glass of water. He chugs the entire cup in a few gulps and slams it back onto the kitchen counter. His jeans felt tight now. He looks down. His dick was fully hard, straining against the thick fabric of his pants. 

“What the hell…” Law had no idea what was happening to him. He was normally so in control of his faculties, but he now found himself painfully erect for no reason at all. He felt more droplets of sweat trickle down from his scalp to his neck. He grips the countertop and hangs his head, breathing heavily. 

It had to be that plant. He had no other logical explanation for the ache in his crotch and the uneasiness he was feeling in his head. The water didn’t help. He needed your help. You knew everything about the plants in there and would know exactly what to do to make the effects stop. 

Great, Law thought. Not only did he blow off your anniversary, he might have severely injured himself in the process… once again he wins the “Shittiest Boyfriend in the Grand Line” award. You were going to kill him, and at this point Law was so uncomfortable that he would probably let you. He abandons the flowers strewn across the kitchen counter and heads to your shared bedroom, desperate to find a cure to his ailment but also apprehensive of your reaction to his idiocy. 

He pushes open the bedroom door and quietly slips in, so he wouldn’t startle you if you were still sleeping. Before he has a chance to even form the words he wanted to use to explain himself to you, he was stopped in his tracks by your sleeping form. 

You had tossed all the covers off your body since Law had left, and you were laying on your back snoozing peacefully. Arms stretched over your head, Law’s bright yellow t-shirt emblazoned with his Jolly Roger was the only article of clothing you had on. You looked so serene, lost in your dreams, little snores escaping your parted dry lips… but Law could only focus on one thing. His t-shirt had ridden up and your thighs were spread, perfectly exposing your naked sex to him. 

Law felt his entire heartbeat in his cock now. Your plump, outer pussy lips looked so delicious, so kissable, and all Law could think about now was burying his tongue in you as you slept. Without thinking, Law unzips his pants and steps out of them when they fall to the floor, hissing as his dick finally has more room to breathe. He was no longer in control of himself, he could almost smell you from across the bedroom. He needed to have you now. 

He shouldn’t! The last of his sanity was pulling at his brain, begging him to just wake you up and ask you how to diffuse the effects of the flower’s pollen… but your naked cunt before him was just too much to resist any longer. 

Still feeling hot, Law strips himself completely, hat included. His hands tremble with need and tension as he tries to delicately settle himself on the bed between your legs, not wanting to wake you up. He would have a small taste and then let you rest… just one little lick…

He couldn’t help it. He immediately latched his whole mouth around your sex and laves his tongue up from the bottom of your hole to the top of your clit. 

“Hnnnhhh…” You whimper and shift in your sleep. 

“Mmmm…” Law groans into your pussy as your sweet taste helps alleviate some of the pressure he was feeling in his body. He can’t help but hump his hard cock into the mattress below the two of you, no doubt leaking pre and staining the sheets. 

Law notices you begin to stir and squirm underneath his touch, so he gently places his hands on your thighs to keep you still while he lapped at your pussy as if he was desperately parched and your body was an oasis. Becoming increasingly aroused, more of your slick leaked out of your hole into Law’s mouth which he greedily slurped up. The familiar flavor of you made his eyes roll back. He needed more. 

Law pushes himself up and positions himself on his knees between your legs. He grabs his cock and strokes it a few times harshly before lining himself up with your weeping hole. 

“I’m sorry baby…” Law whispers as he pushes himself into you. 

“Oh…” You sigh and your eyelids start to flutter. 

Without giving you time to wake up, Law sets a punishing pace with his hips and hammers into your wet cunt. Your breasts bounce freely underneath Law’s t-shirt and you rub your eyes involuntarily. 

“L-Law?” You sleepily say as you gain consciousness and realize he’s on top of you and balls deep inside of you. You thought you were just having a sex dream but you were shocked to find your partner waking you up with his cock. 

“Needed you now… Had to take you… You looked so fucking good and I just couldn’t stop…” Law grunts out as he thrusts into you with everything he has. 

“Fuck… feels so good…” You whimper out, sleep still heavy in your mind. 

“Shit, I’m gonna-“ Law huffs out before you feel him press hard into you. You then get the unfamiliar feeling of him shooting a heavy load inside of your walls. 

“D-did you r-really just-“ You stutter. You feel his member still twitching and hard inside of you. 

“Fuck why won’t it go down?” Law grits his teeth. 

“W-what?” Before you had time to question him further, Law picks you up by your waist and man handles you onto your stomach, spreading your legs again to make room for him. He pulls your hips up and presses his dick inside you again, your tender hole seeping white liquid out and coating him. 

“Shit! Law!” You moan as you feel him hit your favorite spot from behind. He picks up a brutal pace as he fucks you. “S-slow down, babe!” You try to push a hand back on his abs to quell his fervor. “I’m gonna-“

“C-can’t… I can’t! Fuck!” Law huffs as he grips your hips impossibly tight, surely leaving marks. You had never seen this animalistic side of your boyfriend and you couldn’t help how much it turned you on. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge of orgasm embarrassingly quickly for someone who had just woken up. 

“AH!” You yelp into the pillow below you as you cum, hard. 

“Yes baby, this pussy is so fucking good, squeezing me so tight…” 

You were a babbling mess as Law’s heavy thrusts send you into overstimulation. 

“Gotta fucking fill you again, want you to drip for days…”

You whimper in response. 

“Yeah you’re mine baby, all mine… gonna stuff you so fucking good… FUCK-“ Law almost shouts as you feel more hot liquid filling your insides, surely leaking out around his member. 

Law rides out his second orgasm with a few more deep thrusts before he collapses over you and nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades. 

Finally feeling relieved, Law pulls out of you tenderly before flopping on his back next to you on the bed, out of breath. You turn to your side and snuggle into him as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Happy Anniversary?” Law says tentatively.

“Happy Anniversary indeed. Was that my present?” You giggle. 

“I cut you some flowers, left them in the kitchen, though.” Law says as he strokes your hair. 

“Wait… what flowers?!” You raise your voice as your head shoots up off his chest. 

xx

Mo

[stxrvel]

right here

it was just one of those nights when you had to take care of Satoru since Suguru left… content. au, no sorcerers in this one. mentions of drugs and drug use, angst, curse words, maybe some kind of domestic fluff? implied smut at the end. happy ending? a/n. this is kind of like an au from this fic. not so sad and a little bold. hope you like it either way!! (right here by chase atlantic heavily inspired this)

Satoru was high, again. His dilated pupils were fixed on your body from the moment you entered his field of vision, walking among the sweaty bodies that did nothing but squeeze against each other in that discotheque. His lips had curved into a lewd smile, because you knew he knew you were coming, sooner or later, and his bright eyes roamed your body, even though you were barely wearing a pair of baggy jeans and one of his giant jackets. To beat his stupid ass and take him back home, like always.

“Satoru.” you spoke in reprimand, and his fucking friends around you barely gave you a sideways glance, some blurting out obscene words they thought you couldn't hear and others booing because you were going to take away their source of amusement. “Time to go.”

“Ah, y/n, can't you wait a little longer?” Shoko was at Satoru's right side, holding his arm as if she wasn't ready to let him go.

You only liked Shoko when she was sober, so you pay her minimal attention as you approached your white-haired friend. His smile hadn't disappeared, and it seemed like those moments were the only ones where you could glimpse a bit of real emotion in his eyes.

“Come on.” You grabbed his arm, ignoring the way Shoko wanted to cling to him and how his other friends were booing louder. Satoru's limp body slipped through your fingers, because he was damn heavy, falling against the couch again. “Please.”

His body gave way, moving with a new strength of resolve the moment that word left your mouth. His eyes, as bright as they were dangerous, were fixed on yours as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Will you shut the fuck up, Choso?” Satoru spat, averting his gaze for a moment to devote a deadly expression to the friend who used to boo you the most whenever you went looking for him. You and Choso used to get along well, but from a while back things had changed too much.

Even six months ago you didn't think you'd ever have to go into a nightclub at two in the fucking morning to look for your friend because he wasn't answering his fucking phone.

You dragged Satoru to your car, and even though he looked so stoned from the way you could barely make out the blue in his irises, he walked like he was sober beside you and buckled up judiciously.

“You were late today.” was the first thing he said as you pulled onto the freeway heading towards your apartment; the apartment you shared with the airhead you had for a friend.

"I was asleep. You were supposed to write me if you were here any longer.” you gave yourself a moment to turn to look at him, his gaze clouded with drugs. “What did you get into?”

��Nothing I haven't tried before, don't worry.”

“Why do you have to do this every time?” you whispered, but his perceptive self caught every word that came out of your mouth and let out a chuckle in response.

“You shouldn't worry so much, y/n.”

“I'll worry as much as I damn well please, you hear?”

Your aggressive tone of voice only caused him to laugh again. He didn't answer back, but with his head resting against the window you knew he'd fall asleep soon.

-

Satoru had become uncontrollable since Suguru left. Six months ago, the love of his life, the person he swore he would spend the rest of his life with, had given him nothing but a poor excuse to end what they had built for four years and kick it all over his face as he turned his back on him and disappeared; totally. The day Suguru walked out that door, neither you nor Satoru ever saw him again.

It was clear why you were coping better than Satoru. Suguru hadn't promised you a lifetime together or given you a promise ring. Satoru had been broken since the day he left and it had been a constant battle trying to keep him afloat. Only that nigh Suguru left, Satoru dared to be vulnerable with you and spent the whole night crying himself to sleep from exhaustion. Afterwards, he reconnected with friends he had abandoned since meeting Suguru. And with old habits, too.

You did what you could, but there was enough you could carry. Still, you didn't have the heart to leave him alone. He was the most important thing in your life and you couldn't let him fade away, even if his friends hated you; even if he hated you himself. Whatever you had to do, you would do it.

“You smell so good.” Satoru spoke in his sleep, the moment you dropped him on your bed, because he had never dared to go back into the room he shared with Suguru. He usually slept in the living room or brought the couch into your room when he felt too lonely. “Have you always smelled like this?”

His head lifted from the pillow, trying to follow the thread of the scent of your perfume wafting from your neck.

“Yes. Now hold still.”

“Is it time to undress already?”

"Yes, Satoru. And you should take a bath. You smell awful."

"What the…? Of course not."

The white-haired man stood up long enough to try to sniff his own shirt, which emitted a smell of alcohol mixed with cigarette and who knows how many other things. His nose wrinkled and for that reason alone he let you unbutton his shirt without a complaint. Usually Satoru would get too commentary when you undressed him to take a shower, but that time he kept quiet, his narrowed eyes following your movements and flinching when your fingers touched his skin.

“Are you going to fix dinner?”

You looked up at him through your lashes as you undid his black pants.

“Are you hungry?”

“I think it would help me regain consciousness.”

"In the fridge are the leftovers from dinner. I can heat them up while you bathe."

Satoru clicked his tongue, moving to sit up when you took him by the shoulders.

“We were supposed to have dinner tonight.”

Ah, in all and in the midst of his lethargic state he remembered.

“Doesn't matter.”

“I'm sorry, y/n.”

"Get up. The tub's ready."

Satoru stood up with a pout, his eyes crystallizing as he moved behind you in the direction of the bathroom. He didn't stray for a moment like he did before.

“Ah,” Satoru almost groaned as he sank fully into the water, letting his eyes close as you wet his hair a little, “this feels like glory.”

“You could feel like this more often if you didn't go out so much.”

Your friend frowned, half-opening his eyes to look at you as his hair got soaked. “Are you implying something specific?”

You didn't respond, letting silence dance between the two of you, until your friend groaned loudly.

“You know I'm slower when I'm drunk.”

“Then you should stop being drunk so often.”

“Not fair…”

“Take a bath,” you left the soap between his hands, “I'll go heat up your food.”

Walking in the direction of the exit, you still wondered why you had let things go this far. Satoru called out to you, his left hand outstretched outside the tub, as if reaching for you, trying to get to you. His bright eyes still lacked that glowing blue, but you could see a little more lucidity in them now.

“Thank you.”

-

You sat across from your friend as he dove into the dinner you had prepared. Satoru loved your food. Back when Suguru still lived here, you would prepare banquets to spend a day or the whole weekend with endless platters of food while having series or movie marathons.

Maybe you wanted to convince yourself that Suguru's departure hadn't affected you as much as it had Satoru. Maybe it had, but if you weren't the rational one in the relationship you were left in with Satoru then probably neither of you would survive.

“This tastes amazing.” Satoru complimented you, scraping the crockery to eat every last chip.

“It was more delicious freshly prepared.”

You let your chin rest on the back of your hand as Satoru looked up heavily, the blue glowing a little brighter after the shower and with some food in his stomach.

He gulped. “I'm sorry-”

“Whatever,” you didn't want to hear it; you'd lost count of the number of times he'd apologized and the number of times he'd promised you that next time it wouldn't be like this, “finish quickly to go to sleep. I can't feel my eyes anymore."

You got up before his whiny voice could reach your ears and finished organizing the kitchen by the time his plate was left in the dishwasher.

“The rest will be organized by tomorrow's sober you.”

Satoru lifted a shoulder. “It's only fair.”

In the room, silence engulfed you once again. You didn't close the door because you knew he planned to sleep there that night, but his body remained standing in front of the couch when you thought he'd already gone to bed. You changed, as usual, as you usually do while he sleeps, in front of the closet.

“Hey, do you think I can sleep with-? Wow.”

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat because you swore he'd gone to bed; it was what he did every time, you didn't even have to ask him to do it. But when you cautiously turned to look over your shoulder, he was standing in front of your bed, with a direct view of your bare back and full coverage of your legs because you were only in your underwear.

“Satoru! Turn around!”

“Ah, yes, sorry, sorry…”

His body turned reluctantly, returning the poorly disguised stare about three times until his back was completely turned to you.

You changed in record time, barely putting on one of the white shirts you had stolen from him months ago and closing the closet. When you turned around to see him, his back was still turned, playfully kicking some lint on the floor, trying to distract himself while you finished changing.

“What were you saying?”

Satoru turned suddenly, his eyes finding you with trained ease, walking in the direction of the nightstand to prepare you, once again, for sleep. His silence intrigued you, and when you turned back to see him after plugging in your phone and setting your alarms, you found him staring at your legs.

“Satoru.”

“Yes?” his large, not very innocent eyes returned to your face with embarrassing speed, and from the hardness in your gaze he cleared his throat before speaking again. "Ah. Mmm. Actually, I wanted to ask you if I could sleep with you tonight, but I don't know if it's the most appropriate thing to do right now…"

You arched an eyebrow at him, massaging your hands with a moisturizer as you settled in between your sheets.

“But you sleep here every night.”

“I mean,” Satoru shifted, pointing to the empty side of your bed and then to himself, “to literally sleep with you.”

“Ah.”

You looked at the empty side and at your friend, taking more time to respond than Satoru had considered. He thought you'd straight up tell him no and even send him to sleep in the living room, but it seemed like you genuinely considered it.

“I wouldn't mind.” you finally replied, and you missed seeing the way his shoulders relaxed as you turned to turn off the room light. “Just try not to snore too much.”

“What?” Satoru stopped halfway into the bed, and you smiled imagining his offended face; if you focused properly you could see it through the darkness. “I don't snore.”

“Uh-huh~”

Satoru finally threw himself on the bed with a grunt and you could only laugh in response.

“Go to sleep already.”

Satoru cowered on his side of the bed, unaccustomed to sharing a bed with someone for several months now. His tense body stayed in the position he fell into, face up, barely feeling your movements on the mattress as you found your favorite sleeping position. Your bed was small, barely fit two people, and if Satoru got any closer he could feel your breathing against his neck.

“y/n?” Satoru spoke a couple of minutes later, when he thought you had fallen asleep.

“Mmm?” you hummed in response, trying to hold back sleep until you were sure your friend had fallen asleep first. Usually that wasn't a problem, because Satoru pretty much came in asleep from the car ride, but that night he seemed to be full of surprises.

“Do you miss him?”

Your chest ached for the tiniest second, the fond memories of their nights the three of you together in that apartment raiding your mind. Maybe you had mourned Suguru's departure as much as Satoru had when he wasn't seeing you, but that was something you were going to keep to yourself alone. There was no room for forgiveness and that attempted of a man didn't deserve a single tear from both of you.

So you swallowed that pressure like a wet rag and frowned, even if your friend couldn't see you.

“Not as much as I'd like to strangle him.”

“How do you do that? How do you stay strong?”

His voice, so low, soft and vulnerable, you couldn't help but let it pierce through to your heart. You opened your eyes, and for some reason you felt his blue eyes on yours.

“I do it for you.”

You listened to his breathing, loud, choppy, the slight startled intake of breath. You moved your hands over the mattress and didn't have to go too far to find his hands and cradle them.

“You don't have to think about that,” you murmured now that you were closer, feeling his heartbeat through your grip, “you don't have to think about him.”

“I don't know what to think about anymore.” Satoru replied, his voice matching yours, almost as if he was running out of air; like his last prayer for salvation.

And you didn't know, even some time later, what had moved you that night. His closeness, his vulnerability, that you no longer knew what else to do to help him… but you moved closer to him and pressed your lips against his.

Satoru was probably moved by the same thing that moved you, because he didn't hesitate for a second to kiss you back with the same fierceness and passion, letting go of your hands and wrapping his long arms around your waist.

That night something changed between the two of you. You didn't know if you were seeking comfort in each other's arms; trying to fill a void that someone else had implanted in both of you with his departure, when he had taken a part of each of you with him when he left; maybe because you were both the only thing the other had; maybe because you knew Satoru would never do that to you; maybe because he knew you would never do that to him.

Whatever the reason, Satoru never let go of you all night, his lips swallowing every moan of yours and his hands always intertwined with yours.

Whatever the reason, Satoru had found something else, something different, something that didn't even compare to drugs… something he didn't even know he could have.

And he wasn't about to let it go this time.

[imaroyalburneraccount]

Past, present, future

a/n: well, writing creativity hits me at the worst times. Including when I have a concussion! This one is for my silly moot @fortheb0ys

Minors DNI

Phillip was stressed. If stressed was even the right word. He was tired, and bored, and yet constantly busy busy busy. It was starting to make his head swirl so damn much that he decided to toss off his work and jobs to his poor second in command and go back to his little home town in the middle of nowhere Texas

He wasn’t there to see family, hell no. He had put his parents in a retirement home in Dallas years and years ago. He was going just to fish where he used to fish and enjoy how little that town changes- as if time was slowed there. He pulled up to his hotel happy as a clam and practically running to the local bar, enjoying as many drinks as he wanted to calm down, until he saw you walk in. Oh fuck

he hadn’t seen you since high school, since he left the whole backwater town to try his luck in the military, and told you by note. By note! He really did regret that now, how he had probably shattered you. Sure you two never ‘dated’, his parents would have slaughtered him for something like dating a man- but you two sure did everything a couple could. Nights spent together hidden away in a camping tent, secret kisses and hickeys littering him in the morning… he had really felt like shit having the nerve to show up here now, feeling wheezy and sick to his stomach.

he sat nervously next to you at the bar, letting you look him up and down as he drank a shot of whiskey, then two, then three. And a conversation started between you, about how your lives had ended up and how you’d stayed in the little country town and definitely flourished- calloused hands and well built figure filling in where you once were younger and softer, and the more he drank the more comfortable he felt around you, chuckling at your jokes and leaning into you as if he was head over heals again.

Four shots, five shots, six,

he was feeling real sick now, he wasn’t a lightweight by any means. But he had definitely lost track and gone above any standard he usually had. He felt Ick all over, barely wanting to walk out the door let alone leave you and go to his hotel- not that he could walk that far in the state he was in. He needed you in more ways than one, so he begged you pathetically to carry you home. Your grip and warmth grounded him enough that he got a grip while you carried him, softly nuzzling into your chest and hoping you’d stay just a little longer and indulge him just a bit more.

he didn’t deserve you, he knew that. You were his a long time ago and he had royally fucked up- but he missed everything about you, every little detail was making his mind spin with old memories he had thought he had forgotten. He let you carry him into your house without a single protest- too in bliss and too drunk to bother you with the idea of carrying him back to his shitty hotel, especially when your house smelt of your cologne and safety.

he almost melted in your bed; whining and pulling you next to him before utterly dozing off, and clinging to you as if you would disappear if he let go

he woke up with an utterly pounding headache and a hangover worse then death himself- sitting up with a groan before remembering where he was, and that he was in your jacket from the bar… he has definitely made a fool of himself in front of you. But he supposed it was better then being alone in your apartment- he laid practically on top of you, feeling your even breathing as you slept. He had missed the feeling of being oh so close to you, but he still wanted to be closer- okay sure, it might be a bit wrong but he couldn’t help himself but kiss down your neck softly, his hands wondering and his body slipping down a bit, in no hurry to wake you up- just wanting to feel you.

he mouthed at your boxers a bit, shaking you awake enough to get a groan out of you and a tired nod as you tossed your head back on the pillow tiredly, still half asleep as he tugged your boxers down your legs and wrapped his pretty lips around your cock-head, taking you inch by inch slowly and choking a bit until he had every inch in his mouth, little gasps coming out of his stretched lips as he breathed you in, tears and spit dribbling down his face. He was focused on solely you, only little grinds of his hips against your leg giving himself physical pleasure

he hummed softly at the feeling of your hand grasping in his hair, before getting thrown off rhythm at a rough tug from you, pulling him off- a small drop of pre-cum and spit connecting his lips and your soaked member before you forced him back all the way down. You had gotten a lot rougher, and it felt so so good to be gasping as those big blue eyes of his poured with tears- looking like a mess. But he was your mess again. Yours.

he choked and gagged every so often, but worked you up until you were grasping his shoulders tight enough to bruise, painting his throat white as he swallowed every drop down, cumming in his own pants untouched before he pulled himself away and rolled beside you

“missed you, sugar.” Was all he could mutter as he caught his breath

[marauroon]

best friend james figuring out he actually has feelings for the reader??????

I G N O R A N T — JAMES POTTER!

james potter x fem!reader | fluff | 1.2k | masterlist!!

ignorance is bliss. or that’s what james keeps telling himself anyway.

cw — one singular mention of james having a suggestive dream

an — this kinda sucks lol sorry

James often found himself finding excuses to touch you any time the two of you were together.

He’d been physically affectionate his whole life, a product of the amount of loving he was given by his parents, but when Sirius and Remus were complaining about him being so touch-forward with them—even if it was light-heartedly—it made him feel a little bad.

So he always came back to you.

He’d hug you from behind, pulling you tightly to his chest, or find reasons to be close enough he could take your hand in his.

It made him feel a little confused sometimes—the way he craved being near you every second, how his heart would race when you walked through the door of the common room.

No one made him feel the way you did, and no one ever would.

As the ‘loud’, playful kid who never took anything seriously, the way James craved your affection and acceptance was almost foreign, yet it’d become such common place that there were times where he didn’t even blink at its abnormality.

James just needed you, in a way that had become very apparent to everyone in the Gryffindor tower by the time the two of you were in sixth year.

When the two of you were alone, especially, things often got more affectionate and intimate.

Subtle touches lingered longer as the years went on, a casual arm laid over your shoulder sliding down to rest at your waist, him brushing your hair absentmindedly out of your face progressing into chaste kisses at your temples.

There was nothing innately romantic about it, even as your bodies laid together with James’ hands resting on the small of your back and in your hair. Your eyes closed, his glasses crooked on his nose, always ending with one of you pulling away when the lines of friendship became a little too blurred.

And then the cycle would begin again.

You would laugh, push him away, both of you would make a joke about how long you’d just ‘spiced up your friendship’, and it would repeat. Over and over.

James had never pushed for more, never let his hands wander too far or his lips to dip below your cheeks. There wasn’t anything to rush about. The two of you had a pace, and you stuck to it.

A slow, devastatingly languid pace that managed to fit you both perfectly.

James’d tried getting into casual relationships before, to redirect his inherent need for you onto somebody else, but it was always too rough, to rushed, like the only end goal was get the two of them out of their clothes as quickly as possible. He didn’t like that kind of relationship. It just felt wrong to him.

So he found himself going back to you – always.

He didn’t like anyone more, no one made him feel the way you did. So who cared if what you had was a little outside the ‘traditional boundaries’ of friendship? The two of you were close, best friends.

You just happened to need each other.

The two of you made a promise when you’d started to add kisses into your ‘friendship’, that no matter what happened between you two, you would always be friends first and foremost.

James would never be anything less than your best friend, he couldn’t — he cared about you too much, and just the thought of losing you, losing his best friend, made his stomach twist like someone was wringing his insides out.

The Marauders? They were a great distraction, but the other three could never compare to you.

Sirius knew he was as gay as rainbow and was completely out, Remus already had a very ‘colourful’ love life, and Peter had his fair share of crushes from time to time.

James had none of that, he just had you.

But that was all that he needed.

You’d never know he’d started to look at you a little differently anyway, James prided himself on having a perfect poker face, almost as good as Sirius’, if not better at times.

So you’d go back to being the best of friends, and James would ignore how his heart beat faster anytime you were alone together, or how his thoughts strayed to your lips whenever there was a moment of silence.

He couldn’t imagine being without you.

It was just a fact.

The sky was blue. Fire was hot. You and James Potter were destined to be a pair.

Because if he didn’t have you, his beautiful, kind, brilliant best friend, he didn’t know what he’d do.

So the two of you continued as usual, you shared jokes, played pranks together, played with each other in the corridors when the marauders were around, and shared chaste kisses and cuddles when you were alone.

You were best friends, and you always would be.

Because that’s what it was.

A friendship.

The two of you weren’t ‘dating’ and, despite Sirius’ teasing that it was only a ‘matter of time’, it would never be anything ‘more’ than that.

You knew it. James knew it.

Because you’d promised each other. The two of you were friends above everything. Just friends.

Best friends, who knew everything about each other.

James knew what you ate for breakfast everyday, what time you showered, when you slept and how to wake you.

And you knew James’s exact routine after a bad day - what music he played when he didn’t want to think, when he needed company and when he wanted to be alone. You could count the number of times you’d seen James cry on one hand, but you’d been there to dry his tears every time he had.

You were a part of each other, two people who’d fit so perfectly together everyone around you expected you to just ‘click’ eventually and start dating, but you’d never considered it.

You were fine as you were, as best friends with an affection that bordered on being more, it was comfortable. Safe.

Even if James started to wake from increasingly detailed dreams of you, panting and blushing, with heat coiled tightly in his stomach.

He never thought about it.

He’d continue to live in his ignorant bliss just to keep your friendship going, and that was more than okay by him.

Because who cared that James Potter was in love with his best friend?

Not him.

It was just better for him, healthier for him, to stay ignorant of the true depth of his feelings for you and enjoy the friendship the two of you shared. It was better than losing you.

It was easier to just keep things platonic, to laugh about the jokes Sirius made about the two of you ‘being something more’ and ignore the way his heart raced whenever he felt your breath against his skin as you whispered in his ear, and it was easier to act as though your heart didn’t flutter whenever James would wrap his arms around you and press you tightly to his chest.

Ignorance was bliss. And the two of you were revelling in it like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

[barnesafterglow]

first burn

summary: your crush on peter may burn you alive

pairing: mcu!peter parker x avenger!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: not canon compliant (no snap, everyone is happy and healthy and no one did anything stupid), peter is of age and well within his rights to fuck!!, a little tropey for a second (brief "fake dating" and "only one bed" to move the story along), smut [unprotected sex, pull out method oral (f receiving), just some sweet love making dude], listen i'm here for a good time not a long time

a/n: two fics in a year?? who is she

main masterlist - i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary for updates!

Peter Parker was going to be the death of you.

With each grunt that echoed through the gym in Avengers Tower, your eyes flicked to his sweaty form. The goddamned death of you.

You tried to backtrack, to see when these feelings first started as a small burning in the back of your mind that had turned into a raging wildfire every time you were in his presence. It had to have been the mission in London.

It was normal - or as normal as any Avengers mission could be. 

You had just stumbled through the throes of midtown London, hand in hand with your boyfriend, looking with every bit of wonder like neither of you had ever seen the delights it had to offer.

Then, as soon as you stepped through the hotel door, Peter dropped your hand as if it had burned him the whole time. 

Maybe it started then, with that glimmer of disappointment. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend and he would never take the time to take you around tourist London like he had just done. 

And then that pit in your stomach grew as the door to your room opened: only one bed. Jesus Christ, Tony. 

“I know,” came the response from beside you; you must have spoken out loud. “It’ll be fine.”

Those were the last words he spoke for a long while, as you both got ready for bed, then slid in beside each other. The tension was palpable, and you didn’t know if it was your slowly mounting feelings or the clench of his discomfort, but regardless you slept fitfully for hours until you finally stumbled into a deep sleep.

You woke up to a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle - somehow pressed there in the dark of the night - and the world spun around you as you shot up.

Peter was alert in seconds, standing by the bed assessing for a threat, when his eyes met yours - utterly confused and you had no real answer for him.

“Bad dream,” you mumbled as you headed to the bathroom, the door clicking with a sort of finality behind you.

And it was fine, really it was. You definitely didn’t think about the way press of his body against yours and how sexy his bed head had looked. Nope. Not at all. 

And you definitely didn’t imagine what he would have looked like if you were the one who made him sweaty and flushed like he was right now.

Snapping out of your borderline impure thoughts, you stood from your spot on the ground where you had been warming up and - before your mouth said something you could regret - you walked out of the gym.

With your back turned, you missed the way Peter’s eyes followed you the whole way.

-

Saturday nights were girl’s nights, as Wanda so boldly claimed. And girl’s night came with a lot of complaining.

Throwing the shot back, you groaned, not even wanting to voice your thoughts aloud.

“I shouldn’t even think about it,” you said. “He’s practically a kid.”

“Not to impede on your self-loathing, but he’s not a kid anymore babe,” was Natasha’s response. She nodded across the bar where Peter was sipping his beer, laughing at something Sam had said. Right, he was 22 and totally within your age range, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still see him as the 16 year old kid who had fought by Tony’s side. “Plus you’re not that much older than him. We used to call you a kid too, you know.”

Dragging your hand down your face, you stood from the table to order another drink, ignoring Nat and Wanda’s laughter at your misery.

As you leaned against the bar waiting, Peter dropped down into the stool beside you.

“Alright, what did I do to you?” His words were casual, joking, but you could hear the hurt laced within. That was never your intention, and your heart sank.

You and Peter had been friends for a long time, since Tony had first brought him in after the air had cleared with him and Cap. You bonded over being the youngest Avengers and what that meant for your lives. The two of you understood each other on another level that no one else truly did. And here you were, ruining everything over a little crush.

“Nothing, Pete.” You ruffled your hand through his hair and his face lit up in a blush that he tried to hide behind his beer bottle. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad, I guess,” he replied, then looked down at you - when had he gotten so tall - with an unreadable emotion on his face. “I miss you.”

Right. And you were back where you started. Admittedly, you had avoided him for the most part since that London mission, only saying hi in passing and at the occasional movie night or debrief. You weren’t exactly proud of it, but you didn’t know what else to do.

“I miss you too,” you whispered, shame coating your words. You never meant to hurt him - honestly, you didn’t. “Listen, kid, I just-“

“Don’t call me kid.” And the anger in his words surprised you. “I’m not that kid you met six years ago - when you were barely any older, might I remind you - and you know that. I know you know that. So don’t use that as an excuse to stop whatever is going on here.” His hands gestured between the two of you. 

Strong, capable hands that you had seen hurt and save, had seen run through his hair, had seen play video games. Hands that you had imagined for weeks now. Hands that you couldn’t help but grab out of mid air, clasping one in your own. 

“And what’s going on here, Peter?”

He leaned in close, breath hot on your ear. 

“I see the way you look at me.” Your breath hitched, then stopped altogether. “But I don’t think you see me looking right back.”

Body all of a sudden hot and raging with emotion, you squeezed his hand and took a deep breath. 

“Take me home.”

-

Your apartment was closer, so you walked the handful of blocks from the bar in tangible silence. Every brush of fingers was an electric jolt through your body and every bump of shoulders sent heat through your core. By the time you reached your front door, the tension was pulled so tight it was bound to snap at any moment.

And snap it did.

As soon as you had the apartment door closed behind you, Peter was on you, his hands everywhere all at once. He crowded you, pulling you close to him when you winced at the door knob digging into your side. One hand came to rest on your hip, rubbing soothing circles there, while the other cradled your face, eyes searching for permission.

You didn’t know what you were giving him permission for, but you nodded anyway.

The world around you stopped as Peter placed a searing kiss to your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs. The hand on your face moved to gently tug your hair and he took your gasp as an invitation to explore your mouth. God the boy knew how to kiss.

His tongue pressed into you, tasting every inch while your hands roamed his body. When he pulled away - not for air, not to leave you, but to place hot kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of burning fire in their wake - you tugged on his t-shirt in a silent plea for him to take it off.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him without a shirt before. Between missions and training and plain old gym sessions, you were thankfully no stranger to a shirtless Peter Parker. But in the dim light of your living room, with those brown eyes boring into your own, everything was suddenly different.

You just stared - for far longer than necessary, you were sure - until he took a step back towards you, his fingers intertwining with your own. Nodding at him, you started to lead him towards your bedroom, not making it more than two steps until his hands were once again exploring your body.

When you finally made it - a trail of both of your clothes left in your wake - your breaths were heavy and panting, aching for more of him.

He stood there for a moment just looking at you, taking in the red lace of your bra and underwear. Unable to contain himself, he ripped it off of you in two quick pulls, leaving you bare before him.

You expected him to jump on you the second you were naked. Instead he pressed his front against your own - you gasped at the contact of your nipples against his bare chest - and lightly traced shapes over your exposed back, moving down to trail along your legs, then back up your arms. Everywhere he touched burned the memory into your skin.

Finally, finally, he gently pushed you against your bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft bounce, and he peeled off his jeans and underwear before manhandling you towards the center, moving your body as if you weighed nothing.

You truly didn’t need any foreplay, the tension on your own end built up these last few weeks on top of Peter’s heated discovery of your body made for an easy transition, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

No, Peter Parker was a fucking tease.

He started by kneading the soft skin of your breasts, touch light and gentle as if you were something precious. Even when he leaned down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, he still only gave you quick nips, nothing as satisfying as you needed. He made his way down your body, placing lover’s kisses everywhere he could reach, before finally settling down on his stomach between your legs.

You thought that this was surely the moment you would get some reprieve, some kind of real touch that may or may not send you over the edge, but no. He wasn’t done with you yet.

He kissed the inside of each thigh, alternating until he was breathing right where you needed him most. When you thought you were about to explode, he finally lowered his mouth to your core.

The feeling after so long of teasing was euphoric, and you swear if you were a weaker woman you could have come from the first swipe of his tongue against your clit. You held out as his tongue made its way in circles and figure eights, then he pressed a finger against your entrance, eyes looking up through dark lashes to silently ask permission.

Once you had given it, he sank a finger into you, pumping it a few times before adding another. With that, both his hand and mouth picked up speed until you were grinding on his face, chasing your orgasm.

You were on the edge, ready to jump off, when he pulled back. You whined at the loss of contact and tried to sit up, but one large hand pushed you back against the bed, the other starting its assault all over again.

This time, he didn’t stop until you were coming all over his face, and you think you blacked out for a second because the next thing you knew he was over top of you, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before kissing you, driving his tongue in and swallowing down your moans.

He ground his hips against you, his cock sliding easily through your folds, and you both whined as his tip caught at your entrance. He continued his movements, getting closer and closer to fucking you with every pass, but never quite committing.

Sick of his teasing, you pushed hard on his shoulders and, in his surprise, were able to flip him so he was on his back.

“Stop teasing, Peter,” you whispered in his ear as you straddled his waist. “I need you.”

You pulled back, eyes searching his, before he nodded and wrapped his hands around your hips. Taking that as permission, you grabbed his cock, lining it up and slowly sliding down.

He was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and you had to take your time before he was fully seated inside you. Once your hips were flush together, you took a breath, practically feeling him in your throat. 

He looked up at you - almost adoringly - as you adjusted to him. You leaned down, pressing your chest against his, and kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of emotion you possibly could into it before starting to move your hips. Now more adjusted, the burn of the stretch turned into a pleasure that had you melting against him and hands guided your hips to move you along his length.

For long minutes you let him move you as he wanted, content to hang on for the ride. You didn’t expect for Peter to flip you over and start pounding into you.

“Fuck,” you gasped out as he settled your legs over your shoulders. “So fucking deep.”

All you could do is hold onto him as he fucked you, alternating between hard thrusts and slow grinds until you were dizzy with pleasure, chasing an orgasm that wasn’t going to come unless Peter damn well wanted it to.

And when he did, when he reached down and rubbed harsh circles into your clit, you exploded around him. The clench of your heat around his cock spurred his own orgasm, and he pulled out at the last second, his come coating your stomach and tits.

That on is own was hot enough, but Peter fucking Parker did not come to play. He swiped two fingers through his own release before pressing them to your mouth. You opened up for him, cleaning off his fingers as he groaned, and you could see his cock give an interested twitch, like it was already trying to go for round two.

The weight of his body disappeared from yours and you whined, reaching out for him even with your eyes closed. He quickly returned with a warm rag and cleaned you up before maneuvering you both under the covers. 

Regaining a semblance of strength, you turned so that you were facing him, suddenly very aware of each of your nakedness.

“What now?” Your voice was hoarse-sounding, it’s only use in the last bit from moans and gasps.

“Well,” he started, once again tracing shapes along your bare skin, “I think we maybe skipped a step in the middle of all this.”

“What do you mean?” If he was going to say what you thought he might, your heart would implode.

“I mean, I’ve liked you for a really long time, longer than I’m going to admit, and I took this chance because I didn’t know if I would ever get it again. But if I’m right - and I think I am - then you feel the same way I do. So, I want to take you on a proper date. I want to make this work.”

His confession made your heart stutter-step and you couldn’t even find the words to tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Instead, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, hoping every emotion he had just poured out to you was matched in the press of your lips against his.

“I’m taking that as a yes, then.”

“Yeah, Pete, it is.”

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Gojo's s/o ignoring him and not making him sweets after he made them mad? Not in a mean way, they're grumpy but still want him to live longer so they still pack lunch for him. Just no more sweets.

Gojo opened his bento for lunch with his precious students, and frowned immediately when he saw there was no dessert in his lunch box.

For the past few days now, [Y/N] had been mad at him. He couldn’t figure out why and at this point he was too embarrassed/concerned to ask. They acted fairly normal, but the shift in their demeanor had subtly shifted. They would push his arms away when he tried to hug him. They slept on “their side of the bed” instead of in the middle with him like they always do. They hardly texted him at all through out the day other than maintenance text like ‘what do you want for dinner?’ ‘when will you be home?’ ‘pick up milk.’

The kicker though was that they weren’t packing him any treats in his lunch box. [Y/N] knew how much of a sweet tooth Gojo had. They usually thought it was cute. But the past few days he had been without homemade treats, and he had to resort to store bought vending machine snacks to get by.

Still, Gojo ate his bento in its entirety. Because despite the lack of sweets it was still very good and he wouldn’t waste it. When he got home that evening, he decided to take the bull by the horns. Gojo would have to ask what was going on and fall on his sword for an apology.

He just hoped their wasn’t a real sword involved.

“[Y/N], can you tell me what’s wrong?” Gojo asked. Just jumping right in when he came through the door and saw them doing dishes.

“What? What are you talking about?” They weren’t playing dumb. They were literally caught off guard by his question.

“I know something is up. You’ve been distant lately. Cold.” He watched as they put down the sponge with a sigh.

“I’ve been distracted.”

“Too distracted to put snacks in my bento.” Gojo muttered to himself quietly. He knew it was petty, but he needed those sweets to function. “Look, if you just…tell me what’s wrong, I’ll fix it. I’ll apologize. We’ll move on. We’ll go get ice cream.”

“I don’t want ice cream.” ‘Well not everything is about you’ He wanted to say, but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. “You didn’t do anything. Not…technically.”

Gojo arched a brow. “What does ‘not technically’ mean?” Usually if he did something, he 100% did it and there was no question that he did it. Gojo never claimed to be the model of temperance, patience, or restraint, but he’s also never been ‘kind of in trouble’ for something.

“I’m pregnant.” That left a haymaker in his gut. “It’s why I’ve been distracted. I was trying to figure out what to do and how to tell you, and I guess I thought I was playing it cool. Sorry if you felt left out in the ‘cold’.”

Gojo rubbed his head. Oh shit, he felt bad for that now. But there was an overwhelming feeling coming up inside him. He rushed over to [Y/N] and scooped them in a hug. “Why didn’t you just tell me?!”

“Well…it’s not like we planned this. And I wasn’t sure you wanted kids.”

“What are you talking about?! I love kids!” He was the best teacher in the whole world.

“You love teenagers you only have to spend a few hours a day with.” Fair. “A baby is…different.”

“Yeah, but it’s our baby.” He told them. Leaning in to press their foreheads together.

This was a much surprise than anything he could have hoped for in his lunches. He and his beloved were going to have a baby. There was no sweeter treat than that.

[saintjosie]

Hey, sorry for setting a bit of a depressing tone with this ask but im a struggling baby trans girl

Do you have any advice for coping with the thoughts of "i will never manage to mold my body into a woman's body"?

Right now i am unable to start transitioning due to multiple reasons - both social (especially family) and hrt accessibility related - and my biggest issue with my body is that it's just.. annoyingly masculine. Ever since i was 14 my legs had more and longer hair than my 30-something old cousin's husband. Ever since i was 12 i started feeling too ashamed of my body to wear short pants and it was only this year that i started feeling a bit more ok about it (I will not disclose my age publicly, but i am in university).

And it's like. It's so exhausting to look in the mirror and not only not recognise the face as my own, but often actively hate it. To look at my body and to barely tolerate it anymore

There are some things that i've tried. I've trimmed my leg hair (to a fourth of its original size), and the instant my parents noticed they mocked me. I'm trying to let my hair grow but not only am i getting bombarded with questions of "when are you gonna get a haircut/let me give you a haircut" from all members of my family, it's also in that incredibly awkwards state which i know i will have to push through, but it still makes it even harder for me to look into the mirror

Once again, sorry for the tone of this ask, but do you have any words of hope or advice?

im sorry youre going through all of that. its incredibly difficult and i feel for you. i think that one thing that i frequently see from people in the earliest stages in transition is the struggle of feeling like they will never see themselves in the mirror. and i get it. i was 29 by the time i started hormones and a big part of why i was scared to do it was because i also thought that i was never going to look the way i wanted to. and whether or not we like it, there is safety in being able to say, oh if i dont look the way i want to, then its better for me not to try at all. its a horrible feeling but its one that you've lived with for years and there is safety in the familiarity.

but that's the thing - no one ever looks 100% the way they want to. i dont know a single person who hasnt had the struggle of looking in the mirror and wishing they could change something. and yes, we as trans people face that much more than most other people but it is a human experience to want to change and better ourselves.

after four years of being on hormones, i still look in the mirror and see things i want to change but also that feeling is much much less now. and its not just the hormones either. i like the way i dress because i wear what i want to. i like my hair because i decided i wanted to grow it out and change the color. i stopped molding my appearance to fit other people's expectations. and in doing so, i found that liking something about myself mattered far more than if other peopled like it. so shave your legs! grow out your hair! when people ask you questions, dont answer or tell them to fuck off! you dont need to make excuses for yourself because you dont need an excuse to be who you want to be.

im gonna be completely honest with you - it will not be easy. and youre not going to wake up tomorrow and suddenly find that your entire perspective has changed. in fact it is very likely, and very human, to continue to question the decisions you make. but always remember, you know who you are. and if you dont know, then only you are capable of finding out. and so i say with all the love in the world, i hope you find yourself and learn to love yourself in the process <3

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

message/comment/ask if you'd like to be added!!

[heartfullofleeches]

[Request] Reader caring for a sick Remmy [Dollmaker Yan Oc]

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.1k

-

“Remmy isn't home right now…. Please come back later.”

Could this day get any worse?... Weeks, months even, building up the courage to ask you to hang out with him. It wasn't like he asked you out on a date or anything, not yet anyway. He still needed to test the water a little longer, make sure the signals he had picked up from you weren't figments of his imagination. All that time, all those embarrassing hours spent in front of the mirror practicing what to say given any outcome - flushed down the drain in one night. 

Remmy could hardly open his eyes the morning you were intended to meet. You didn't even recognize him over the phone at first. In his heightened state of delirium from the fever racking his weary mind, he hoped the same would happen as you continuously rang his doorbell - demanding in the softest voice you could manage for him to open up.

As if he could be that lucky….

“And where, pray tell, would someone hacking up a lung over the phonean hour ago be right besides the hospital? It's not that far away. I can head over right now and check.” 

….

“Open this door right now, Remiel. You're not going to flake on me twice today.”

Did you have to phrase it like that? Kicking a sick person while he could barely stand was cruel - even if you did come to check up on him. 

“O…okay…. Remmy is- I'm going to unlock the door, just…give me a minute to clean up my room. I have some stuff out I really don't want anyone to see…”

The muffled shuffling of plastic splices between the click of the lock as Remmy unlocks the front door. 

“60.”

“Crap.” 

Hobbling away from the front door, Remmy clings to the hallway walls as he makes a break for his bedroom. The straight path twists and bends as his stress levels skyrocket from the very real fear of you finding out what he had stored. There wasn't enough time for him to hide everything. His top priority were the worst offenders - items he couldn't excuse as being a result of his relatively harmless hobby. Doll clothing fashioned after clothes you'd yet to wear for the public eye. Others you never owned and probably would never wear, unless they were for a partner or to make yourself feel good. Pictures of you hung up on his walls. So much to bury in such little time. 

“They can't see that…That one either. God, they'd kill me if they saw-”

“Saw what?” 

A hoarse yelp claws its way out of Remmy's aching throat. Standing in his doorway, you balance two separate bags in your arms - awaiting his response. Remmy hurriedly pulls the corners of his blankets over the space beneath his bed. 

“I…threw up a bit ago. Guess I'm feeling worse than I thought when we spoke over the phone.” 

In the blink of an eye you're by his side. Remmy flinches as you press the back of your palm against his forehead.

“Oh, Rem….” Concern oozes from your words as you set your bags down, taking hold of his arm. You're burning up. Come on. Let's get you back in bed.”

“You don't have to go through all this for me, Y/n. Really, I'm-” His sentence falls short as you scoop him off the floor, sitting him up on his bed. Were you always this strong - or had he always been this easy to carry? In that moment, Remmy felt just like one of his dolls. His head spins at the very thought. You take the opportunity to gently ease him down against the mattress, rolling the discarded sheets up to his waist. You pick up the plastic bags, setting them on the small table in the center of his room as you rummage through them.

“Got some chicken soup from this dinner down the street. If you can't keep anything down, maybe the broth will be a good place to state. Oh!- picked up some ginger ale too. That might help with your stomach too. Cough drops, cough medicine…. Do you prefer liquid or pills?” 

Remmy turns his head away from you as he coughs into his fist. “...whichever…whichever you brought is fine.”

“Well,I actually bought both, but I can just return the other on my way home later. I'll go grab you a cup real quick.”

Heading for the door, Remmy’s meek voice calls out to you - barely about a whisper. “Y/n?”

Hand on the doorframe, you gaze over your shoulder at him. “What's up? Need something else while I'm in the kitchen?”

“No…” Remmy shakes his head, the pressure of a headache hammering at his skull. “Agh… Remmy… I just wanted to thank you…for this. You really didn't have to come over…” 

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “Don't think I did this for nothing. Gotta make sure you're well enough for our date next weekend. The park is nice and all, but that's where we always go. I expect to be taken somewhere else for our first date.”

“Date?” He couldn't have heard you right. But, you said it - twice. You disappear down the hall before he can properly question you. Was this all a dream? The conjurings of his ill mind as the sickness took hold? This felt better than anything he could imagine- Your hushed voice as you reenter the room confirms it. You wiggle your arm behind his head, helping him sit back up just enough to place the cup to his lips without him choking while swallowing. A part of him wished this was a dream. One that he'd never wake up from if he had the choice. Another dream come true was waiting for him once he got better.

“Remmy?...Rem?”

Soda spills onto your hand as the weight of his head crashes upon your shoulder. Did he…. fall asleep? Just like that? You hadn't even given him his medicine yet. At least the sleep will be good for him. You should probably go put everything else you brought up to pass the time until he wakes up. 

“Mmm…”

Remmy’s face scrunches in discomfort as you part from his side, lowering his head onto the pillows as you stand. Your foot touches something soft beneath his bed. You reach a hand underneath - completely forgetting about his earlier warnings as your fingers wrap around the squishy item. A doll with instantly identifying features stares back up at you as you drag it from its prison. Funny - you don't remember wearing this shirt around Remmy. You only bought it a few days ago. You planned to wear it today before he told you the bad news.

Shrugging, you raise Remmy's arm - tucking the doll against his chest. His face melts into that of peaceful bliss, body curling around the doll as his other hand strokes its face as if on auto-pilot. You press a kiss to his forehead - shutting off the lights in his room as you depart for a second time.

[pepperyhoney]

COLLEGE END TERM EXAMS ARE KILLING MEEEE but

I saw someone saying that he is blaming himself for something that is not his fault completely because he always does (re: AM retirement), and that katsuki is showing how much he is a soft person at heart. And how he is not to blame for this. But i have a slightly different interpretation from this.

i think Katsuki was not a soft person. and I think that here was not a show of how much he loves to blame himself. it is stated again and again how much of him is brash and callous and arrogant, and like his mother and himself said, he is given too much praise and never really tasted rejection or failure—except from himself. and even then, he never dwells too much on it and just keep having the mindset of improving and one upping everyone including himself. the sigma grindset, if you will. Even though his outward theatrics shows how explosive he is and how he gets so agitated at many things, he has shown that he has more emotional control in battle than even Midoriya-I-Will-Go-Berserk-Over-My-Endangered-Lover-Izuku. like he even has to remind Izuku to not dwell on things lest it kills him.

Then he came back from the dead.

The death itself is a significant factor. "Can I still catch up to you?" as one of his last thoughts, was something he now consider his reality, his acceptance of himself and Izuku. He reframed the way he tasted failure and rejection of what he thinks the way he is - of how he perceived Midoriya and that what he rejects about him in the first place then came to reject him in return-into something that once again motivates him to win and to always have a goal, his newborn northern star.

When All Might retires, he blames himself because all might is the symbol of peace and people around the world now lost it and there's a new imbalance that he feels are a part of his responsibility. But truly, regardless of anything, all might will retire anyway due to his injury. It is not his fault. He just hates the feeling of "failing" to save himself, that he needed to be saved. He doesn't want to accept that.

Then we get a narrative of how quirk is viewed by the world, the sides of it, and the darkest part of it. Izuku is shown to be affected by this too, while relying on his own belief that stems from all might idealism (the vigilante era). But then his class shows how much that idealism is no longer sustainable, and repeating the same things aren't going to do anyone any good. Katsuki, despite the lack of narrated inner thoughts, is a part of crowd who instill it to izuku as well. Then he apologized. He knows that Izuku is this self sacrifical because of him. That he thinks he can't truly save anyone without giving a part of himself. Which circles back to how he accepted izuku as a rival and a partner. He now see him as he is and accept the part of it was his fault. Katsuki went on with life because he thinks that now Izuku can always change for the better, like he always do, and he will be there on his heels, to be with him and to accept his hand, and i quote, "for the rest of their lives".

When izuku has to give up OFA to try save Tenko, when he really showed how much he is willing to give up anything- even the greatest gift and his raison d'etre that is propelling him to this point along with Katsuki himself (because you know, izuku extend his hands to everyone and that starts with his extension to Katsuki), That is really what hits home to him. That they're so interwined with each other, that izuku has always been a hero to him as much as he is to Izuku, that the extended hand he swatted all those years ago, is the same hand that still give a part of himself away to tenko shimura in an attempt to save him. Izuku was always a hero because he will not hesitate to save anyone.

Now that he saw Izuku as a rival, and saw izuku as what he is, he truly sees how much saving is tied to the act of being saved, that everyone has to help each other to truly win, that to protect someone, you have to be willing to be protected to save yourself, too. Now, the hand he rejected all those years ago, the person he rejected again and again, is unable to save himself from fate, and the worse part, he can't protect him from fate and himself. He saw how much his actions truly meant, he saw how apology only grazed the surface wound of the consequence of a childhood ignorance. Now he truly understands that all he wanted was to protect Izuku; that it was all a misdirection of what he truly wants, to be a hero that protects people. that misdirection in turn bites him in form of losing his hero that saved him from himself. So, with tears of realization too late, "no... just what the hell did i do to you?".

the despair he feels is because he has so much respect for izuku and that bittersweet feeling of knowing that izuku choice is going to change everything, as well as knowing he has a part on it. He can't take back anything, and izuku has to live with it, and how does it truly feel to see the one you now saw as your equal, goal, northern star, to rise and dim because of you?

Katsuki was not a soft person. he is, now. Because he is saved by the people around him. Thats why his wish was to save izuku, too. He wishes there was another way, he wishes that the fate izuku has didnt have to enforce izuku's already self sacrificing beliefs. He wish that he is saved from the fate. He cries because he knows he is inseparable from it all-even if it wasn't truly his fault. He loves and respect him and knowing he is inseparable of what makes him love and respect him is making him realize the gravity of the situation. He changed so much from the brash and arrogant kid he was, that now instead of being angry and challenging at fate not going his way, he yearns for them to change so that the person he truly cares about is saved. His admittance and heartfelt confession is one hell of a leap and show how much he changed, and reducing it to him blaming himself for something not his fault is kinda redundant and insulting to his character development.

[jksarchives]

BROKEN FUTURE

college students! jk x reader

tags/warnings: established relationship, pregnancy, arguing, logic vs feelings, blood, heavy angst, minor character death, talks of abortion

word count: 9k (excl. synopsis)

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯! 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦!

𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗟𝗬 𝗡𝗢 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗚𝗜𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗠 𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗦𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

SYNOPSIS;

You and Jungkook were the epitome of young romance ever since the early days of high school, with dreams of a shared future that included graduation, exciting careers, and a life filled with love and adventure. Your bond was unbreakable, or so you believed.

𐚁₊⊹

You stumbled backwards, your legs weak and unsteady, and your back collided with the cold surface of the wardrobe. A gasp escaped from your mouth, sharp and involuntary, as the reality of the situation struck you with full force.

You blinked rapidly, hoping that your vision was somehow deceiving you, that the line would fade or vanish altogether.

But it remained, bold and certain.

“No, this can’t be happening, not now” you kept chanting to yourself.

You paced back and forth in your room as tears streamed down your face, marked by sobs that echoed through the confined space of the thin walled apartment that you shared with your boyfriend. Your heart was pounding against your chest like a trapped bird desperately seeking escape, and your tear-streaked face betrayed your inner ruckus as you tightly clutched the small white stick in your trembling hands.

A positive pregnancy test.

The longer you stared at it the more breathless and disoriented you felt.

You remembered laughing and dismissing what your friends, Hana and Mina, had to say about your stomach protruding more than it usually was. But now, the two distinct lines displayed upon its surface confirmed your greatest fear. It scared you how much of a blunt reminder it was of the life-altering consequences that awaited you.

The room, once a haven of comfort, now felt like a suffocating prison, closing in on you from all sides. Louder and audible sobs escaped your lips, intermingling with short gasps for air, as panic consumed your thoughts.

The weight of the situation bore down on you, colliding with your dreams and aspirations. You had invested countless hours into your education, many sleepless nights, and gave your everything to strive to become a nurse. You didn't want it all to go to waste.

How would Jungkook react? What would he say?

Jungkook wasn’t just any college student; he was ambitious, dedicated, and entirely focused on his dream of becoming a lawyer so he could build the future you both planned together. He had worked tirelessly since his early days, excelling in every class, every extracurricular, all with the singular goal of being accepted at a top law firm. You remembered the long nights he spent studying, the countless sacrifices he made to stay on top of his game.

You didn’t want to ruin what he worked so hard for.

But the problem didn’t just end there.

What would your parents say?

You were the only child, the apple of their eye. They had worked tirelessly and sacrificed so much to provide you with the best opportunities. Your mind flooded with images of your parents’ faces — the pride in their eyes when you were accepted into your dream college, the joy in their voices during frequent phone calls, and the unshakeable support they had always shown you.

They had high hopes of you making them proud, often reminding you of the bright future they envisioned for you. They trusted you to be miles away from them, pursuing your dream with their hard earned money.

But now?

What do you tell them now? You were barely 21.

Your heartache intensified with every step you took, your feet echoing in the silence of the room. “What do I do?” you cried to yourself as you sat on the bed, bouncing your legs up and down.

Just as despair threatened to overwhelm you, the front door creaked open, and a familiar voice echoed through the hallway.

“Babe, I’m home!” you heard.

Jungkook returned home after a long day of classes at the university, and he stepped into the apartment expecting a quiet and peaceful evening. However, as he switched on the main lights, he heard the sound of soft cries coming from the bedroom.

“Babe?” he called out once again, his brows furrowed in confusion as he took his shoes off.

Hearing no response, he made his way towards the bedroom. There he saw you sitting on the bed with your face buried in your hands. Your tear-streaked face and trembling shoulders immediately sent alarm bells ringing in his mind. Concerned, he dropped his backpack and speed walked over to your side.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked, taking your hands away from your face. Instead of answering, you threw yourself into his embrace and wrapped your arms around his neck, breaking down even more.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Come on, tell me” he asked, his voice soft and filled with genuine worry.

“I…I think w-we messed up Jungkook” you cried in between your sobs.

“What do you mean?” he frowned, pulling away and looking at you confusingly.

You looked up at him with your red puffy eyes, filled with a mixture of defeat and anxiety. It took you a moment to find your voice, but you had to tell him. Breathing out a shaky sigh, you revealed to him the white stick that displayed two red lines on it. Your voice quivered as you uttered the words he never expected to hear.

“I'm pregnant” you finally muttered out, your voice barely above a whisper as you felt yourself choke up with overwhelming emotions.

Jungkook’s eyes widened, and his initial shock soon transformed into a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

“W-What?” he stuttered as he shifted his gaze from the pregnancy kit to you. A wave of emotions crashed over him, and his mind spun with conflicting thoughts.

“That day…you didn’t use a condom, a-and I forgot to take the morning after pill” you then said, adding to his fear.

There was a long uncomfortable silence, and you saw the way Jungkook’s gentle gaze shifted into sheer panic and disbelief. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice shaky and unstable. And you simply nod, sobs continuing to escape from your mouth.

“Fuck! This can’t be happening” he abruptly stood up, startling you. You eyed him anxiously, his breaths became shallow and he began pacing around the room as he ran his fingers through his brown locks.

You and Jungkook had dreams of your own which you were both set on achieving to live up to the future you both planned. And the idea of a baby entering the equation threatened to disrupt everything you both had worked for, and he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility that accompanied parenthood.

“I’m scared, Koo, I never wanted this to happen” you whimpered, “I don’t know what to do” you bit down on your nails.

“Abortion. Y-You need to get an abortion” Jungkook blurted out without thinking twice, stopping in his tracks and turning to you.

You felt your entire world stop, his words hitting you like a physical blow. The thought never crossed your mind, but now having to be confronted by it, it made you feel sick to your stomach. It felt too cruel to you.

You looked at him in disbelief, “are you serious?” you asked as you stood up.

“Does it look like I’m joking to you Y/n? I don’t want my, and our, future to be ruined by a drunken mistake we’ve made” he said, taking a few steps towards you.

“But it’s our baby Jungkook, we can’t kill something we both created” you argued, feeling more tears flood down your cheeks.

“So then what the fuck do you want me to do Y/n? Stay and raise the kid with you?” he raised his voice.

“I’ve been studying so hard and spent so many sleepless nights wanting to become a lawyer, and I’m almost there. I don’t want to have it all going down the drain over a child I don’t even want” he spat.

“And you think I do? I’m all the way on the other side of the country, Jungkook. I made a promise to my parents to work hard and make them proud. I’ve been working just as hard as you. Do you think I want to throw it all away too?” you cried.

Jungkook let out a deep frustrated groan as he pulled onto his hair, “then what do you want to do Y/n? If you’re going to keep the baby, you know it’s going to ruin both of our futures, and none of us want that” he tried to explain.

But you lightly shook your head as you sat back down on the bed, “but I can’t kill it either. I just can't, it’s our baby” you cried, hugging yourself around your womb.

However, as you expressed your decision to keep the baby, Jungkook’s anger erupted like a dormant volcano finally reaching its breaking point. His frustration swelled as he confronted you, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and despair.

“What are you being so damn selfish?!” he exclaimed, causing you to flinch.

“You fucking know this is not the right time! We're both in university, away from our homes and barely making ends meet. How can you even think about going through with this knowing it’s not what we want right now?!” he raged.

Your eyes widened at his outburst, feeling your heart sink to the pit of your stomach. Tears welled up in your eyes as you fought to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

It was as if it was a battle between logic and feelings. You knew he was right — bringing a child into your chaotic, uncertain world would be a huge challenge and put your hard work in jeopardy.

But you didn’t have the heart to go through an abortion. You couldn't explain it, but despite the logical reasons, doubts and the fears, you felt a deep connection to the life growing inside you.

The look in your eyes and face scared Jungkook.

You were a person of deep emotion and empathy, traits that had always guided your actions and decisions. And now, faced with the reality of an unexpected pregnancy, he could see those same traits overwhelming you to make decisions that would put all your hard work and future at risk.

He knew that you knew he was right, but he also knew that an abortion was not an easy decision for you. Everything that connected you and him, you’d protect. And the baby somewhat served as a symbol of your long and unbreakable bond.

“I know it's not an ideal situation Jungkook, but I just can't” you whimpered. The room seemed to shrink around them as their opposing perspectives clashed. Jungkook’s anger surged, fueling his words.

“Okay fine, but what about my life? What about our plans? This is going to ruin everything we've worked for Y/n. We won't be able to finish our degrees, pursue our careers, or have any stability. How can you be so selfish and inconsiderate?!-” he continued raising his voice.

“I’m not forcing you to stay!” you yelled almost instantly.

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you both. Jungkook felt his slowly anger subside, and his shoulders slump in surprise and defeat as his teary eyes stared into yours.

Both of you were passionate individuals, deeply committed to your goals and aspirations to build yourselves a future you both planned ever since you were kids. But in the sudden unexpected turn of events you found yourselves at a crossroads, your paths diverging before your very eyes.

The heart that was once one was torn into two, each piece slowly drifting away from each other and into the unknown path ahead.

The silence was deafening, too loud and suffocating to speak into. And you mustered up the courage to soon break that silence.

“I said what I had to s-say…and I n-never said that you had to s-stay” you cried through your trembling voice. But who were you kidding? You and him both knew how badly you wanted him to stay.

“You’re right, this isn’t what I expected, let alone wanted, but life is full of unpredictable shit Jungkook. I’m scared of the future ahead of me, but I can never have the heart to kill a life we both created, whether you choose to stay or not” you sniffled, placing your hand over your womb.

“Y/n-” Jungkook tried to speak as he stepped forward, but you were quick to cut him off.

“I’m sorry for ruining everything we had planned, okay? But please…I can’t do this. It’s difficult for me enough” you cried.

Jungkook struggled to find words as tears began to stream down his cheeks, mirroring the anguish in his heart. In that moment, the love you both had for each other felt tested and strained under the weight of your diverging paths. You both grappled with difficult choices and the uncertainty that lay ahead. Despite the heartbreak, you had to confront your individual desires, knowing that your decisions would irrevocably shape your lives.

Without saying a word, Jungkook heaved out a deep sigh before storming out of the room. Hearing the front door slam shut, you dropped down on the ground and broke down into loud heart wrenching cries.

You felt torn. Confused. Overwhelmed. You loved Jungkook more than anything, but you couldn’t deny the connection you felt with the life blooming inside you despite your fears.

You knew that carrying this baby to term would cost you your future, your hard work and your parents’ money, but you couldn't shake the feeling that terminating the pregnancy would be an act of betrayal against yourself and your unborn child.

You yearned for Jungkook’s understanding, for him to see things from your perspective and be with you in this journey. But you knew he wasn’t ready to become a father, not when he was close to achieving his dream. And the last thing you wanted to do was ruin everything he was working for.

As you gazed out of the window, you wondered if you could find a way through this. At the same time, you questioned your own strength, your ability to raise a child against all odds.

Perhaps you could seek support from your parents, lean on their shoulders to seek guidance and stability. But you knew you couldn’t do that. They’d hate you. Perhaps they might disown you, too disappointed and ashamed to have a daughter like you.

You had Hana and Mina, but even with them, you felt as if in the end there was no one who knew you like Jungkook did. No one who could comfort you like he did. But the person who knew you the most and loved you the most was now abandoning you, and you were scared.

And deep down, you prayed he came back, telling you he would stay.

As the morning light streamed through the curtains, you slowly opened your eyes, your eyelashes weighed down by your tears. You had cried yourself to sleep, your heart heavy with emotions. The soft warmth of the bed provided a fleeting comfort, but the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne that still lingered in the sheets and in the air brought you back to the painful reality and the memory of last night.

As you sat up on the bed, a wave of nausea washed over you, causing you to wince and clutch your stomach. You stumbled toward the bathroom, your body still plagued by waves of morning sickness. Dropping down in front of the toilet, you hunched over and began vomiting.

But it wasn't just the nausea that burdened you; it was the painful realisation that your dreams, your relationship, and your future had suddenly become entangled in a web of your overwhelming choices.

On the other hand, the front door unlocked, revealing Jungkook, looking weary and disheveled, as if he hadn't slept at all last night. As he pushed open the front door, his footsteps echoed through the quiet hallway as he stumbled in, a haunting reminder of the fracture in your relationship.

An uneasy stillness hung in the air, accompanied by the distant sound of you heaving and gagging in the bathroom. His heart clenched with guilt and conflict realising the physical toll pregnancy was already taking on you, and he knew you needed him now more than ever.

With hesitant footsteps, Jungkook made his way to the bathroom, where he found you hunched over the toilet, your face pale and your eyes looking tired. The sight tugged at his heartstrings, the realisation of the life growing within you engulfing him with conflicting emotions. He couldn't deny the love he had for you, nor the bond you both had formed over the years.

It wasn't that he didn't care for you; rather, he struggled to envision a life where he could balance his aspirations and provide care for a baby. He just wasn’t ready yet.

With a heavy sigh, Jungkook felt his firmness crumble. He couldn't ignore the sight of you, doubled over in discomfort, emptying out whatever you ate yesterday. Kneeling beside you, he reached out tentatively, his hand coming to rest on your trembling back and rubbing it in a gentle manner.

Your vomiting eventually subsided, and you slumped back, exhausted and pale. Jungkook stayed beside you, his hand never leaving your back as he kept you steady. As your breathing steadied, he wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder.

He could feel the tension in your body slowly dissipate as you leaned into him, finding comfort in his embrace. He pressed a soft kiss on your neck, the familiar touch stirring a mix of emotions within both of you.

“Are you okay?” you asked, his lips brushing against your neck in another soft kiss. You nodded weakly, your eyes welling up with tears.

Yet, even as he held you, Jungkook’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He felt a crushing guilt for your pain, but also a deep-seated fear of losing his dreams. He loved you, without a doubt, but the thought of sacrificing his future for a child he wasn't ready for filled him with dread.

As you turned to look at him, he saw vulnerability mixed with a flicker of hope. It was a plea for understanding and support, for unity in the face of an uncertain future. He knew at that moment that his decision would shape not only your lives but the life growing inside you.

Conflicted and divided, Jungkook realised he had a choice to make.

He could choose to run away from the responsibilities that lay ahead, escaping the challenges and embracing a life of comfort and ambition. Or he could confront his fears head-on, standing shoulder to shoulder with you, embracing the unknown together.

There was an unspoken understanding between you as you both stood looking at each other — a realisation that your paths had diverged. Deep down Jungkook knew he didn’t want to stay. He couldn’t be the partner you wanted, nor the father the baby deserved.

He knew he had hurt you with his words and what he was about to do next, he was guilty, but he couldn't stay.

You knew Jungkook for years. You could practically read him like a book, especially what his eyes displayed. And staring up at him now, and the look in his dark and tired eyes, you knew.

You knew.

You knew he wasn’t going to stay. Whatever that was happening right now, it was the least he could do to offer you some kind of comfort before he leaves you. Out of pity at least. And that was what hurt you the most.

“Jungkook-” you tried to say, but he beat you to it.

“Let’s get up first and wipe your face” he said and he stood up, and he held your arm as he helped you up to your feet.

Grabbing some tissues from the nearby tissue box, he passed them to you and you began wiping your mouth. You then tossed the tissue and flushed the toilet before you followed him out to the living room.

Your tears didn’t stop, and neither did your eyes leave his. You waited. You waited for him to say something — anything.

Jungkook’s shoulders were slumped, and he looked as though he had aged years in a single night. There were bags under his eyes, face pale and puffy as if he hadn’t slept at all. He sighed deeply and hung his head, unable to meet your gaze. He fumbled for words, the silence stretching unbearably between you.

“Y/n,” he finally managed, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I don’t know what to do. I really don’t” it then cracked.

“Baby I love you, and I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, “but I can’t do this. I can’t stay. I’m not ready to be a father just yet” his lips trembled as he spoke and tears building up in his eyes.

“I have dreamed of becoming a lawyer ever since I was in elementary school, you know that, and I have come a long way working hard towards it. And I know you tirelessly worked hard for your dream too. But this is too much Y/n. Balancing our academic life alongside parenthood, I can’t do it. I just can’t!” he gritted his teeth and pulled on his hair in frustration.

“I know I’m being selfish, but I’m scared Y/n, just as much as you are” he said, his teary eyes finally meeting yours.

“I’m scared. I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked for, but I can’t stand the thought of losing you either” he sniffled.

Your heart shattered at his words, knowing that you were both trapped in a situation with no easy answers. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable and broken, shattered your willpower to stay strong. You had never seen him so scared, so utterly defeated. And you wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but your own fear and sadness held you back.

The weight of your predicament hung heavily in the air, and for the first time, you realised just how fragile your future had become.

There was no right or wrong solution in this. And it shattered you both completely that maybe it was best to just part ways and live with the choices you both made. No matter how badly you wanted him to stay, you knew you couldn’t let your decision on keeping the baby weigh him down. And as much as it hurt you, you knew you had to let him go.

“I…” you tried to speak but found yourself choking on your sobs. You shut your eyes tight and clenched your hands to tight fists by your sides as tears continued to flood down. You took a deep breath and fluttered your eyes open to meet his gaze again.

“Like I said, I’m not forcing you to stay Jungkook” your voice was weak and barely audible, but Jungkook could still hear you clearly. And it somewhat angered Jungkook that you were still adamant on keeping the baby knowing the consequences.

A deep frustrated groan escaped from his chapped lips as he ran his inked fingers through his messy locks.

“Y/n, it’s not like I don’t want a family with you, of course I do. I do want a baby with you one day, but just not now. We can have all the babies we want when we’re settled with our careers!” he said, his breathing fast and ragged.

He walked over to you and hastily cupped your face in his, leaning his forehead against yours as he looked down into your eyes.

“You’re the only woman I picture my life with, no one else. And I do see a future with you. I do see us with a family of our own. But this is all too early my love. We’re barely standing on your two feet right now” he tried to persuade you. You felt his hot breath fan over your quivering lips, absorbing everything he was pouring out to you.

“I know this is not easy for you. I know we created this baby. But please, please think with your head and not your heart for once” he then said. And somehow his words rubbed you the wrong way.

With the little strength you had, you shoved him back, taking him by surprise.

“Why can’t you just accept that I don’t want to get an abortion Jungkook?” you cried.

“Maybe you don’t have the heart to understand how hard it is, but I do. Whether it was a drunken mistake, we still created a life, and it’s growing inside my womb. And killing something we created? I just can’t, okay?” you slapped him with your words.

Jungkook stood stunned for a second before his features morphed into total defeat. At this point, the two of you were just going round in a circle with no end. And Jungkook didn’t see the point in trying anymore, because either way, the two of you had already made up your minds.

He didn’t know how to respond to that outburst. All he could do was stare at you silently crying. “Right…okay” it was all he said before giving you a teary glance and walking away.

You watched him walk into the bedroom, and you felt your heart sink to the pit of your stomach. Your world was slowly crumbling down and there was nothing you could do.

He wasn’t staying.

Using the walls to guide you, you staggered your way to the bedroom where you heard shuffling. You stood silently in the doorway, your heart aching as you watched Jungkook furiously stuffed his belongings into the suitcase.

The room felt heavy with tension, but none of you spoke a word. You stood there crying silently, a torrent of emotions coursed through your veins.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was aware of the presence by the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. His heart was torn apart. He never wanted to be faced with such a dilemma, but his determination to fulfill his dream was much stronger.

Although you didn’t want to force him to stay, you felt yourself give in to the fear of being alone without him by your side.

And you found yourself trying once again knowing the obvious answer. As tears cascaded down your cheeks, you mustered the strength to break the silence that engulfed the room.

“Jungkook,” you whispered as you walked inside, your voice trembling with sorrow.

“I’m sure we can find a way to make this work. Together” you said Jungkook paused for a moment, his hands frozen in midair, caught between the task at hand and the plea of the woman he loved.

His eyes were filled with hurt and unspoken emotions when he looked at you. “We can't Y/n” he finally replied, his voice hoarse and tinged with regret.

“I can’t have a baby that would ruin everything I’ve worked hard for. Please try to understand” he added.

With every shirt stuffed into the suitcase, your heart sank deeper into despair. The realisation that you both were headed towards a heartbreaking separation became more tangible with every passing moment. And as he closed his suitcase, the sound of the zipper sealing your fate seemed to echo throughout the room.

You watched, your eyes following his every movement, as he picked up the suitcase and walked towards the door. The weight of your shattered dreams lingered heavily in the room, overshadowing the memories of your once-happy days.

“I hope you find the success you're searching for Jungkook, truly" you said with a small smile on your face as you followed him to the door, your words filled with a mix of sadness and hope.

Swinging his bag over his shoulders, Jungkook gave you a look of guilt and disappointment through his teary eyes. “I love you Y/n, I always will, but I’m sorry” he whispered.

Jungkook didn’t exactly know what he was sorry for; for choosing his dream over love, or for how cruel fate was. With one last glance, he picked up his suitcase and walked towards the door. You felt a lump form in your throat as the door shut behind him, the ache of loss enveloping you.

The room grew quieter, emptier, and as the door closed behind him, you knew that your relationship had entered a new chapter, one that would require your own cognition, healing, and a willingness to rebuild what had now been broken.

You were scared. The bright clear you and Jungkook had planned was now all dark and blurry. And the possibility of your parents disowning you terrified you even more.

But even though fear was following you like a shadow, you were determined to protect what was now a symbol of your lost love.

“Momma will protect you baby” you cried, caressing your abdomen.

2 YEARS AGO

──────────

Hand in hand, you and Jungkook strolled along the deserted sidewalk, your fingers interlaced as you both savored the aftertaste of the delightful dinner you just had to celebrate on you getting into your dream college — the same one Jungkook was going to go to as well.

Your footsteps echoed softly against the quiet streets, a soothing rhythm that mirrored the calmness of the night. The night air was cool and breezy, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from nearby gardens.

Jungkook pulled you a little closer, feeling you shiver from the gentle breeze that rustled the leaves of trees. Your lips curled up into a tender smile as you glanced at him, and he returned the smile followed by a soft peck on your forehead.

You walked in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound being the rhythmic tap-tap of your footsteps on the pavement. Wanting to light up the mood, Jungkook gave you a light nudge and a playful look.

“Wanna hear something funny?” he asked, and you raised your brow in curiosity. He leaned in and whispered something into your ear, and seconds later, you found yourself laughing hysterically as you doubled over clutching your stomach.

Your laughter rang out into the quiet streets, earning a few curious but admiring looks from people who passed by. Your laughter was music to his ears, a symphony of joy that he cherished a lot.

“Jungkook! Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that!” you playfully elbowed him, looking at him a little surprised.

“What? It’s true though” he reasoned, giving you a shrug. Jungkook continued cracking more jokes, and your laughter continued to echo through the tranquil night.

Soon enough, you both found yourselves walking up a hill. As you reached the summit, your laughter gradually faded into silence, replaced by a shared sense of awe.

Reaching towards the edge and leaning against the rails, a deep overwhelmed sigh escaped your lips as you gazed at the scenery in front of you. The twinkling lights of the metropolis created a breathtaking view, as if the stars had descended to earth.

You and Jungkook stood there, side by side, hand in hand, each lost in your own thoughts. No words were needed as you both admired the breathtaking view.

The view felt like a canvas of dreams and aspirations, and in that moment, it felt as if the world was yours to conquer. The night had shifted from chaos to serenity, and your connection with Jungkook felt deeper than ever.

The cool breeze continued to brush against your cheeks, but now it carried a sense of calm, as if the city itself was taking a deep breath, ready for another day of challenges.

You tilted your head upwards, your gaze fixated on the starry sky above. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you admired the celestial beauty that shone light at the dim earth. Your eyes began to water, and your shoulders drooped a little, feeling a sudden heaviness weighing upon your heart.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Jungkook turned to look at you, his smile faltering as he noticed your glistening eyes.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked as he pulled you closer.

You gave him a weak nod, “yeah, I just…I miss my grandma” you answered as your voice cracked.

Jungkook felt a tug in his heart, and his hand moved up to your waist, giving it a gentle comforting massage as he leaned into place a kiss on your forehead.

“I know she’s proud watching how strong you are” he said, and his words brought comfort to your heart as you imagined her among the shining stars in the heavens above.

“I hope she is” you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder.

You knew she was.

It had been almost three years since your grandmother had passed away, but the memories of her and all the time you’ve spent with her were still vivid and precious, engraved deeply in your heart. She was more than just a family member. She was your best friend, and your life mentor.

Growing up, you had spent countless hours at her house. Her grandmother always had a way of making everyday moments magical.

You recalled the countless hours spent in the garden with your grandmother, tending to the vibrant flowers and vegetables. She had a way of turning mundane tasks into magical experiences. She taught you the names of each plant, explaining how they thrived under different conditions, and in the process, imparted lessons about patience, hard work, and the beauty of nature.

Your grandmother’s faith in you had been a guiding light, especially during the dark days of grief and doubt. When you received your acceptance letter to nursing school, your first instinct was to rush to her house to share the news. But she was no longer there. Her chair by the fireplace was now empty, and her presence remained a cherished memory.

As you closed your eyes, you could almost hear her gentle voice, filled with warmth and affection.

“You can be anything you want to be, darling. I’ll always be proud of you no matter what. Never forget that strength is in your blood.” she would say, her eyes sparkling with confidence. “Believe in yourself, and the world will open up to you.”

You were pulled back to reality when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, offering silent comfort. Feeling the love and warmth radiating from his hug, the tears you had been holding back now flowed freely.

“I miss her so much,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I know baby” Jungkook murmured while stroking your hair gently, tightening his embrace as he rested his chin on top of your head.

“But you know she would be so proud of you. You’ve become everything she believed you could be” he said.

His words brought a fresh wave of tears, but also a sense of peace. You knew he was right. your grandmother’s legacy lived on in you, in the way you cared for others, in your passion for nursing, and in the love you carried in your heart.

If not for yourself, you wanted to work hard and make her proud.

1 MONTH LATER

───────────

It was a cold winter morning and the air was crisp, biting at the young man's cheeks as he walked alone, lost in his thoughts. Jungkook, his breath visible in the frigid air, trudged through the frosted pathway towards his lecture. The icy wind whipped through the campus, reflecting the chill in his heart.

It felt like an eternity, but it had been a month since he had broken up with you. A decision made out of fear and a desperate need to protect his dreams. It had been a month since he last talked to you. A month since he even saw you. He had been avoiding you completely as if you didn't exist, yet he still wondered how you were doing. Part of him felt like he lost the right to, but his heart was still there in your hands.

As he made his way inside the building, his steps felt heavier than usual, burdened by everything that had happened a month ago. Every day has been a challenge for him. He barely took care of himself anymore like he used to when he lived with you.

He never wanted this to happen, for things to turn out how they were, but he was so torn between his dreams and his responsibilities.

“Jungkook!” he heard a manly voice call out for him from behind, breaking him out of his thoughts.

He stopped in his tracks and turned around, and there he saw his best friend jogging his way towards him. As he finally reached him, the short male threw his arm around Jungkook's neck as they both continued to walk.

“What's your plan after your class finishes? You only have a two hour lecture today” the boy asked.

Jungkook sighed and turned his gaze back to the front, “I don't know, just do a few grocery shopping first and head back to the dorm” he answered.

His routine ever since he moved out of your shared dorm has been the same — wake up, attend lectures and head back to the dorm to continue studying. On his days off, or if he had hours to spare, he would do a little shopping or go to the gym.

Anything to get his mind off you. But as days passed, he felt himself grow weaker and tired, maybe because of not having you by his side.

“Ehh? That's it?” the boy cringed.

“Then what do you want me to do Jimin? And besides, it's freezing cold” Jungkook sighed once again.

“Me and Taehyung are planning to head out for a karaoke night and have dinner there as well. We booked a room, so you should join us” Jimin suggested.

But Jungkook shook his head, “thanks, but I'll pass,” he told him.

Jimin's face dropped in disappointment, “come on Jungkook, loosen up. You can't keep living in the dark like this” he said.

“But what if I want to live in the dark like this?” Jungkook stopped and turned to the blond one.

Jimin stayed silent and stared at his best friend with a heavy heart. Despite Jungkook's efforts to be silent about his pain, Jimin could see through the facade, recognising the hurt and weariness in his best friend's eyes.

Jungkook gave Jimin one last look before turning around and walking away.

“Because you're guilty Jungkook,” Jimin said, loud enough for Jungkook to stop almost instantly.

Jungkook's fists clenched, and his jaw tightened, but it wasn't anger that boiled within him; it was a mix of shame, regret, and frustration. Jimin walked towards Jungkook to catch up with him, and placed his hand on his broad muscular shoulder.

“I know you're still thinking about whatever happened between you and Y/n. And I know you're still hurting thinking about her even though you're doing everything to avoid her” he began to speak.

Jungkook's heart clenched at his best friend's words. He was right.

“But you can't keep running away like this,” Jimin added, “and can I tell you something?” he then asked as he turned himself to face the weary man.

Jungkook raised his head to look at his best friend who paused for a moment as he nibbled on his bottom lip.

“You need to talk to Y/n, and I mean properly” he began, and Jimin could see how almost instantly his face fell hearing your name. The silence that followed was loud, and Jungkook could feel his heart starting to pick up its pace.

“We did, Jimin, but it didn't work out. Clearly we already knew what we’re choosing” Jungkook told him.

“I know, but just…” Jimin sighed as he trailed off.

“She's struggling a lot, Jungkook. Her friends said she's barely attending her classes anymore. But when she does, it's like they can't even recognise her anymore. I saw her yesterday and it made me worry about her even though we’re not close. She's gotten paler and thinner, and has bags under eyes like she hasn't been sleeping for days. I tried to talk to her a few times but she just didn’t want to talk, she didn’t want to talk to anyone” he explained.

Jungkook's heart sank to the pit of his stomach, and his walls around him came crumbling down.

“You and her may be on different terms about the baby, but she really needs you more than anything right now. I know all of this is sudden, and that you're not ready, but you can't run away from your responsibilities forever. Go and talk to her, you'll both figure something out, I'm sure of it” he said as he placed his hand on his best friend's shoulder.

To Jungkook, it was easier said than done. But right now, he couldn't endure the heaviness in his heart as the realisation was soon settling in him as he began to acknowledge how his actions had caused you pain. And everything Jimin had told him began to make sense. He was right, he needed to talk to you again — to see you.

Jungkook quickly blinked away the tears before they could fall, and he relaxed his clenched fists as he zoned back to reality.

“You guys aren't completely alone in this, okay? You have us, always” Jimin reassured the boy who looked like he was carrying the weight of the world. Jungkook's heart warmed at his words, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful to be surrounded with amazing people in his life.

Jungkook hoped to see you find you during the rest of the day so he could talk to you, but you were nowhere to be found. He tried to approach your two friends, Mina and Hana, but they scowled at him and walked past, ignoring him completely.

Jungkook sighed and gave up, and decided to wait until tomorrow.

THE NEXT DAY

──────────

It was another crisp winter morning, and amidst the frost-kissed streets, Jungkook clung onto his bag as he made his way to the university. His heart was heavier than yesterday and his steps were uncertain.

His thoughts were consumed by what Jimin told him yesterday. It was all he could think about. After failed attempts to get a hold of you anywhere at the campus yesterday, Jungkook hoped that he would get to see you today at least.

As he reached inside and into the hallway, he heard a loud, shrill cry that pierced the air. It came from the corridor that led to the female toilets.

Confusion and worry consumed him as he quickened his pace. But when the screams and yells began to sound familiar, he heard your name. He heard those familiar voices desperately calling for you to wake up, and in that moment his heart stopped and his fear intensified. His heart began to pound in panic, and without a second thought, he broke into a sprint.

As he reached the entrance to the female restroom, he pushed the door open, and there he saw a sight that made his heart drop. There you laid on the tiled floor, looking paler than he had ever seen you, your face blank and eyes half open.

“Oh my god! Mina, call the ambulance!” Hana yelled at Mina. Your two friends were kneeled huddling around you as they tried to get you to consciousness, but you were barely giving any response.

That's when Jungkook noticed the blood that ran down between your legs, staining your skirt and the floor beneath.

He ran towards you and pushed your friends aside, gently scooping you and cradling you in his arms. Your body was so cold that he almost flinched.

“Y/n, hey, wake up!” he gently shook your body. You were barely conscious, and he could see you trying to keep your eyes open.

“J-Jungkook?” you struggled to speak as your hand slowly made its way up to his sweater. You tried to grab hold of him but your body was too weak.

“I’m here, I-I’m right here baby” he whimpered as his hug tightened.

“W-What’s happening?” he trembled as he looked at the two panicked and crying girls.

“I-I don’t know. We were just talking a-and all of a sudden she collapsed, and now she’s b-bleeding” Mina explained.

“Jungkook,” Hana looked at him, “I-I think she might be having a miscarriage” she stammered tearfully.

“The ambulance is on its way right now” Mina said.

Time seemed to come to a stop as Jungkook felt his world crumble. It was in that moment, with his heart in his throat, that he feared the worst and hoped for the best, ready to confront the unexpected turn of events. The voices around him blurred into the background as he focused on your pale face.

“I’m sorry” he whispered as tears pooled in his eyes, “I’m so sorry” his voice cracked in the end. He wished he could turn back time, undo the pain he had caused, and be there for you in every possible way.

“O-Our baby, she’s g-going to be o-okay, right?” you stammered, trying to focus your gaze on him, but all you could see was blur. Jungkook’s chest tightened at your question, and he didn’t know how to answer, and instead just hugged you to reassure you.

A few moments later, the paramedics finally arrived. Jungkook felt his body suddenly lose its warmth as they took you from his arms and placed you on the stretcher. He silently watched you finally lose your consciousness, and the paramedics quickly rushed to place an oxygen mask over you.

“We need to get going, now” one of them urged, and with a nod from the rest, they all made their way back to the album with the stretcher.

Jungkook didn’t think twice to ditch his class and rush to his car to follow the ambulance with Mina and Hana deciding to tag along. At that moment, he didn’t care about anything. All he could do was pray for you and the baby to be safe.

As Jungkook and your two friends rushed through the corridors of the hospital, his heart violently pounded in his chest. “She’s going to be okay, right? A-And the baby?” he asked, looking at the doctor desperately.

“She’s going to be alright. But we can’t be too sure about the baby since she’s well early into her pregnancy, and bled quite a lot” the doctor answered honestly before rushing inside the emergency room, leaving the crying boy standing numb.

All he knew was that if anything happened to the baby, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Jungkook sat himself down on the chair with his head buried in his hands, lost deep in his thoughts. That was until he heard Hana’s angry voice.

“This is all your fault!” she yelled as she marched towards him. Jungkook didn’t react or lift his head to look at her, instead, he let her say whatever she had to.

“If you weren’t such a selfish fucking coward none of this would’ve happened!” she screamed.

“Hana, calm down” Mina told her. Hana glared at him and backed away before sitting on the chair opposite him.

But she was right, he was a coward.

Time crawled by as he anxiously paced the hospital's cold floors, continuing to question his past decisions and praying for the baby to be okay. He had never felt more helpless and regretful. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity.

And finally, the same doctor emerged from the emergency room, his face a mix of exhaustion and relief. Jungkook rushed over to him, his heart filled with a mix of fear and hope.

“D-Doctor, are they okay?” he asked.

“She’s okay. She’s stable now, we managed to stop the bleeding” he began, “and miraculously the baby is okay too” he added.

Jungkook’s tensed shoulders finally relaxed as relief flooded over him.

“It seems like she collapsed because of stress and weakness. I encourage her to take some time off and stabilise her health first, because she’s at a very vulnerable stage of pregnancy — so anything can happen” the doctor explained. Jungkook nibbled down on his lip in guilt. It was all his fault.

“She’s resting, but you can go and see her” he gave him and smiled before leaving.

Jungkook turned and looked at your two friends, they gave him a look that they wanted to go first.

So he let them. And as he sat there feeling relieved that both of you were safe, he thought back to that day. He couldn't believe the situation he had created, the pressure he had put on you to get an abortion, and how close he had come to losing you both. He realised the magnitude of the situation that his fear and immaturity had created, and the innocent life he was so willing to abandon.

He couldn’t deny the connection he began to feel between his unborn baby.

Thirty minutes or so passed.

After Hana and Mina were done visiting you, Hana gave him a hard glare as she walked past him.

“If you really love her, Jungkook, you better make it right” she said, before leaving.

Jungkook clenched his jaw as he watched them leave, but then his attention went towards where your room was. He took slow and hesitant steps, and when he finally reached the room, pushed the door open. There he saw your pale and fragile form on the hospital bed. Seeing the tubes and monitors surrounding you, his heart grew heavier.

You were awake, sitting up when your back rested against the pillows. Your expression was unreadable as you blankly stared at the plain white wall in front you. The sight was a clear contrast to the vibrant girl he had once known.

“Y/n” he whispered your name as he slowly walked towards you, the sound barely audible in the quiet room.

But you heard. And before he could draw nearer, your voice pierced the silence, cutting him off sharply.

“Get out” you commanded.

Your words were like ice, sending a shiver down his spine. You didn't even glance in his direction, your eyes remaining fixed on the empty space before you. The coldness in your tone struck him, differing from the warmth he had always associated with you.

But who was he kidding? He made his choice and he knew you were going to hate him, especially after everything he had said to you. You were upset, heartbroken, and you had every right to be.

But why did it hurt so bad?

He stood there clenching his fists, paralysed by your rejection, feeling the ache of his heartache like a physical pain in his chest. Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over, he searched desperately for something to say, some way to bridge the gap that had opened up between you.

“I’m sorry” he finally whispered.

It was all he could say. It was a pathetic attempt to reach out, to offer some sort of comfort or apology, but he knew deep down that mere words could never erase the pain he had caused.

In all honesty, deep down you knew he wasn’t entirely at fault. But you were angry. Angry at him. Angry at yourself. You were angry at the world.

You heard the rawness in his voice, the guiltiness.

But you were afraid he was going to fall in the trap of your doomed fate, and you didn’t want to ruin or burden his life any more than it already was.

“Just get out Jungkook. Go. Go live the life you want. Don’t let us hold you back” you said, finally turning around to look at him with your glossy eyes.

And as he stood there, shattered and empty, he realised that in that moment, he had lost not only you, but a piece of himself as well.

“I’m sorry Y/n” he said once more, lowering his head as he slowly broke down.

“Me too” you replied before tearing your gaze away from him. there was some silence between you both as Jungkook stared at your silently crying form.

“I love you, and I’m sorry” his voice cracked.

With a final longing gaze, he turned around and walked away with heavy footsteps. It was a matter of seconds that once he stepped his foot out of the room, he would be leaving behind the girl he loved and the life you had once dreamed of together.

When you heard the door closing with a soft click, your shoulders dropped. With a shaky sigh, you clenched your eyes shut, unable to contain the flood of emotions any longer.

You began to sob.

And each sob grew louder as seconds passed by, echoing outside the corridors. Jungkook heard the heart wrenching cries, and it took him so much to not stop and run back in to engulf you in his arms.

His eyes, filled with tears, shut tightly, as if closing them could shield him from the reality of the pain he felt. His breathing was ragged, each breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. The sobs that he tried to choke back rose uncontrollably from his chest, shuddering through his body.

He felt a raw ache in his throat, the bitter taste of the partition of your years long of love. He bit his lower lip and clenched his jaw, but the sobs broke free, escaping in rough, broken bursts the further he walked away.

Everything was over.

And despite that, you both knew deep down that a piece of your hearts would forever remain with each other.

𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗗

@𝗷𝗸𝘀𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰

©️

(insta: jikooksrkive)

[pizzapottah]

homecoming

summary: it's been almost three years. can james make up for the lost time?

pairing: james potter x slytherin!slughorn!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 5.4k

warnings: language, injuries, the marauders' usual stupidity....

author's note: oof. this was a whole lot of work. i know this was supposed to be much longer, but there's a specific part (the one about james and reader getting together) that i just could not manage to finish. this can count as last chapter, but if i manage i will finish the other about them being in love and blah blah blah. unfortunately i am in a terrible writer's block so i don't know when or if i'll be able to finish it.

as always, my requests are open, so please feel free to request anything. bridgerton, hotd, got, hp, pjo.... ANYTHING. please help me get out of this writer's block lol. enjoy the reading even if i'm not really satisfied with it and, as always, english is not my first language, so constructive criticism is pleasantly accepted.

runaway | homecoming

James is utterly, unmistakably and without any doubt going to fail Potions. 

It’s not his fault - not really. He doesn’t actually like Potions. He took the class, even after fifth year, for two reasons: his father and Lily Evans. The latter is the same reason why, right now, he’s failing it. 

Fleamont, his father and a renowed potionist, looked so happy when James passed with the grades needed to take the class for the last two years. He didn’t actually think of taking it, but he looked at him like he expected him to do it and- it’s not like his parents ever forced him to do something he didn’t want to, but he was just so happy. James told himself that he could take Potions for just two more years if it meant them being so proud about it. 

Besides, there was Lily Evans in the class. How could he deny himself of even more hours spent in her presence? 

Well, guess what? Slughorn doesn’t grade based on who stares the longest time at Lily, apparently. 

James stares at the burning red T on the parchment of his assignment. Troll. Until now, he thought that this achievement wasn’t within his reach, both because the grade Troll always sounds like an urban legend when other people talk about it and because he never had anything under Acceptable in his assignments. When Sirius hears about this, I’ll never hear the end of it. He didn’t even think Slughorn was able to put less than A, always too kind to his students. 

“Man, what did you do to get Troll?” Marlene whispers beside him, frowning at his paper. James peeks at her test; a green O stands in the same place where his T is. “I suck at Potions, Potter, suck. And my dad surely didn’t invent the Sleekeazy’s Hair potion, so, tell me, did you do it on purpose? There’s no other reasonable explanation.” 

The bell rings; the students immediately get up, happily chatting about the good grades that apparently everyone but him got, and James finds himself putting away his things without the usual vigor, already dreading the time when his friends will inevitably find out. Slughorn approaches him, taking pity for a boy which he saw grow up. 

“Potter, it’s not the end of the world, don’t worry.” he tries to reassure, but his eyes say something else. They say ‘How the hell did you manage to take a T in my class?’ “I’m, erm, I’m sure you’ll be able to get better.” he looks at Lily, on the other side of the class, like he’s trying desperately to help him. “Evans, maybe you could give him some lessons?”

Lily sends an apologetic look at the professor, then a glare at James. “Sorry, professor. I would, but not for him.” She bids him goodbye and exits the class, Snape right after her. As Slughorn turns again to look at his students, he’s clearly concerned. “Merlin, Potter. What did you do to get Evans to hate you?”

He dramatically sighs. “I don’t know, professor. If you happen to find out, please let me know.”

The man sighs, taking out a napkin from his pocket and gently patting his forehead. “You have to get better, Potter. If you fail as a student, that means I fail as a teacher, too. Godric… this is the first Troll of my career. What will your dad think of me if you fail my class?”

James isn’t sure he wants to know. He’s never disappointed his parents before. “We have to find you a tutor, Potter, and a good one. I can’t give you extra lessons, I’m already busy enough as I am…” Yes, with the Slug Club, James almost replies; but then Slughorn looks like he just had the idea of the century.

“But of course!” he exclaims, happy to have found a solution. “My granddaughter!” he says your name, and James suddenly feels like a soldier being sent back to war. “She’s a year younger, but she knows everything, you see, I made sure of it… she’s more understanding of this subject than some licensed potionists out there, she could help you a lot, yes, yes… and you were friends, am I wrong? Good, good, she already knows you, I’m sure she won’t refuse…”

James is actually sure you will refuse. 

Why? Because the last time you ever talked to each other, it ended up with a broken arm, a broken nose and two bruised egos. And even if technically, it wasn’t his fault, it doesn’t mean that your friendship magically mended itself over the years. 

You two never interacted at school after what Remus calls The Accident, not really - the only form of contact you’d had was from Quidditch, where you were both playing as Chasers in your respective Houses, and more often than not during games happened to hit each other in a not-so-fair way. More than often professor McGonagall herself had to reprove him - and not only him, but Sirius too - for playing an unfair game. And when they tried to protest, saying that you surely weren’t innocent either, she just huffed. 

“Miss Slughorn is not my responsibility; she’s professor Slughorn’s, and I’m sure he will make her understand her mistakes and she will not try again. But it is my duty to punish you for your deplorable behavior and lack of sporting spirit!”

It seems like McGonagall’s reprimanding did little, because Quidditch games become carnages. 

It feels like Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry is at its peak, and suddenly the violence reaches the school, too, and hallways are no longer safe from the squabbles of the students. Students who hang each other upside down and constantly cause fights to break out, ruining the usual peace of Hogwarts. 

It looks like the teachers aren't really sure how to handle it. Dumbledore gives a long, heartbreaking speech about friendship, loyalty and helping each other, but it doesn't help much; a search for whoever told Dumbledore about the fights is started between the Houses, with the intention of… well, not making them say anything about it next time. 

It honestly feels like war. Even Hufflepuffs start to attack to avoid being attacked - that's what happens when you constantly get picked on because you don't defend yourself, you guess. 

Nobody is safe, but it's like between Gryffindor and Slytherin there's a feud. It was always there, ever since Godric and Salazar created their Houses, but it's getting out of hand.

The straw that breaks the camel's back is the last game of the year, fought between those two Houses. 

In the first ten minutes, already three players were on the ground and wailing in pain. After a threat to disqualify anyone who dared to cheat from Madame Hooch, the game went on without much problems for a while; that was until James saw the golden snitch. Because apparently, you saw it too.

You both launch at the snitch, who keeps flying, unbothered, and even if you want to make James fall off the broom in the most violent way possible, you're able to hold yourself back. You follow the snitch, almost shoulder to shoulder, hands stretched out to catch the little flying bead.

A quaffle almost cuts your heads off. Thrown off balance, James falters for a moment, slowing down, and gives you some advantage; you clearly see the snitch going under the stands of Ravenclaw, creating a hole in the big banners of the House. You don’t really have time to think - you just go for it. 

You speed towards the banner and tear an ever bigger rip on the poor Ravenclaw flag. James is fast to get back on your tail, though, barely dodging the wood beams that are holding together the structure. And suddenly you’re shoulder to shoulder again - for real, this time  - pushing each other. Hooch can’t see what you’re doing, anyways. 

It takes a moment to adjust to the lack of good lighting, but then you see it: the golden snitch, speeding right in front of you, blinking in the little light, almost mocking you. You hold your hand in front of you, and already can imagine the victory - oh, suck it, Gryffindors-

The snitch takes an abrupt turn, hitting James right on the nose, knocking him out and making him fall from the broom. Except, before he actually falls off, he manages to take a hold of the cloak of your uniform, taking you down with him.

Meanwhile, Madame Hooch notices that not only one, but both Chasers just disappeared in thin air. “Black!” she yells, not really thinking about the fact that there’s two Black in the pitch right now, “Go and tell them to get out from under the stands, dear Merlin…” 

Regulus and Sirius speed at the same time towards the rip on the banner, which now is basically a full-on opening to under the stands, clanking shoulders in the process. 

You don't think you've ever felt pain like this before. Your left arm is throbbing, feeling like it’s going to fall off any minute now, and your head has never hurt so much since you can remember. A sob falls out of your lips before you can hold it in, and suddenly you’re crying out in pain, not really knowing what to do. James is hovering over you the second you start sobbing, worried as you’ve never seen him, taking a hold of your face as gently as he can. Blood is gushing out of his nose, going over his chin and staining both your uniforms. His glasses lay somewhere near, surely broken. 

“What hurts? Is it- oh dear Merlin, your arm, it’s-” well, if not even James, who suffered countless Quidditch injuries over the years, can describe the condition of your arm, then it’s probably not something you’d ever wish upon your worst enemy. 

You try to regain your self-control, even if your sight is blurry from the tears and your voice feels like it’s gone. Then, before you can try to say anything, yells come from the direction in which you both just came.

“I told you, she was looking at me!”

“Yeah, dumbass, like we weren’t side to side when she yelled our surname!” 

“Aren’t you tired of always following me? It’s a miracle you didn’t convince the Hat to put you in Gryffindor, you little rat-”

“Oh, so I’m a rat? What about your friend that literally turns into one?” “I see Snivellus has filled you in with the details-”

“You know, it’s pretty given since one of your friends could possibly hurt us just because the moon is big-”

“Remus wouldn’t hurt a fly, you little shi-”

They both come to a stop once they see you two, looking like a living crime scene, but even then they don’t really stop arguing - they never will, probably. Regulus is by your side in a moment, pushing away James, all the while screaming at his brother. “Why do you always have to be like this? Can’t you just shut up for once, you son of a-” “We’ve got the same parents, dipshit!”

“No we don’t! According to your words, you found me in a dumpster, remember?”

Sirius winces. For what is maybe the first time in years, he looks sorry. “Aw, c’mon now. You know I was kidding.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that now, but you didn’t tell that to the Gryffindors that started teasing me about it, nor did you try to correct them.” Regulus stares at your arm, who is in an unnatural position, and starts asserting the damage. “Merlin. Can you get up on your own? C’mon, I’ll help you,”

He helps you get up and wipes away your tears, while your sobs reduce to muffled sniffs, and takes your broom from where it fell so that you can return to the pitch. “We’ve gotta take you to the infirmary, it’s not looking good…” he spares a look at James, “And maybe you should visit Madam Pomfrey too, Potter, but if you die from blood loss I’m sure we’ll manage just fine without you.”

As Reg helps you stabilize yourself on the broom and to get back out there, James feels completely numb. 

He once was the one that managed to make you stop crying, that helped you back up on your feet when you fell and scraped your knee. The one you’d look for when you searched for help, comfort or someone to talk to. Now, as he watches you fly away with Regulus, who holds a hand on your back to keep you stable, he barely hears the screams of the students in the stands and the words of Sirius, who’s trying to snap him out of his daze. 

“James? Hey, mate, you okay? You’re covered in blood.”

He barely even sees him - his vision is clouded with tears, tears that he desperately tries to hold back. Taking a deep breath, he collects the remnants of his glasses and takes his broom, knowing that if he talks, he’ll start sobbing. But Sirius doesn’t get the memo. 

“Did she throw you off? I bet she did, but karma has your back. She deserved it, believe me, she had to learn her lesson in a way or another.” James hopes that he stops there, because the guilt’s already eating him alive and he just wants to lie down and let the floor swallow him whole. Hearing Sirius insult you for something you had no fault in doesn’t help the already disastrous situation. But his friend apparently still has many things to say left in his repertory. “She has to be terrible to befriend by brother. Saw how she was crying, like she’s the victim? I swear-”

“Could you please fucking shut that trap, man?” James bursts. “I made her fall, okay? It’s my fault she was hurt. Stop insulting her.”

Sirius glares at him. “What is your problem, man?”

“What is my problem? My problem?” James laughs in disbelief, tears streaming down his face. “My problem is that you always think you know what’s going on, don’t you?” 

His friend is about to reply, but he doesn’t let him. “No you don’t! You have no idea what we went through together, nor what happened between us, nor what person she is! So you have no right to criticize her for everything she does, even when she has no fault in the matter!”

James ends up in the infirmary with a fractured nose, barely two beds away from you, who actually have no intention of talking to him at all, and made sure he knew that. You stayed there a lot more days than him, but your friends visited every time they were able to, bringing sweets and flowers. They also skillfully ignored James, who instead laid there sulking while you got pampered by Lily. 

He did try to talk to you after you were dismissed from the medical ward, at least to say sorry for having broken your arm, but you ignored him with all your might. Regulus became your mediator, always telling him off, never leaving your side when he saw James near.

Him and Sirius didn’t talk for a while, but it didn’t last long. Soon they got back to talking like normal, never addressing the things that were said during that game. Sirius stopped talking about you, going as far as avoiding his brother too to not cause any more damage than he already did. 

He made a last, desperate attempt at your forgiveness by writing you a letter - I know you don’t want to talk to me, but if you ever happen to need a friend, i’ll always be there for you - and sending it to you with his owl.

You never replied. 

That was a year ago, and that’s also why James is sure you’ll say no. 

Except you say yes. 

James is at Sprout’s class when Slughorn knocks and pokes his head in. “I’m sorry, Pomona, could I borrow Potter for a moment?”

Professor Sprout stares disappointed but not surprised at James, motioning for him to go. “You better not have set the Slytherin dormitories on fire again, Potter,” she hisses. Slughorn happily shakes his head, “Ah, don’t worry, Pomona, he still hasn’t done it again, I’m here just to discuss a little something with him.”

Once he’s out of the class, Slughorn happily takes out a letter from his pocket and gives it to him. “My granddaughter agreed to give you lessons, and gave me some days and times that go with her schedule. She’s often busy studying for the O.W.L.s, as you surely know, so it’s a tight fit, but I’m certain you’ll manage.”

James is honestly dumbfounded. All this time ignoring him, acting like he didn’t exist, and suddenly you’re aware of him and his struggles? He must be dreaming. He opens the letter and reads the schedule:

Monday — 18:00 - 19:00

Wednesday — 15:00 - 16:30

Friday — 11:00 - 12:30

Sunday — 13:00 - 15:30

You must have read his weekly schedule, too, because it all strangely fits well with his lessons. Under the voice Sunday, there’s a little note: All lessons will take place in the library, except for Sunday, when we’ll go to professor Slughorn’s class to practice the actual making of the potions. 

The idea of spending so much of his free time making potions is almost revolting, but the thought of making it up to you makes it all worth it. He’ll spend time with you - almost eight hours a week - until his grades are decent enough or you get tired of him. I won’t let it happen, he promises to himself. You won’t get tired of him, and if he has to seal Sirius’ mouth shut to keep you around, then he gladly will.

He comes back to the class with a triumphant smile plastered on his face, making his friends frown - even if no one is more confused than professor Sprout. “Potter, are you alright?” she asks, worriedly. Usually when he got called out of class it was because of some prank gone wrong, so it wasn’t strange for the teachers to just take their time to yell at him. He nods, shining with anticipation. “Never been better, professor.”

“You didn’t set the Slytherin dormitories on fire, did you?”

“Absolutely not, professor.”

“A- alright.”

But it’s only when he notices that James stopped looking at Lily Evans that Sirius actually gets worried. He bumps his shoulder, whispering, “What did Slughorn tell you?” he waves him off, “Nothing important, I’ve got extra lessons in Potions.” He still hasn’t told any of the Marauders about the Troll, and he’s surprised himself on how well he managed to keep the secret. Even more surprised at Marlene for not telling anyone - he’ll probably have to buy her something as a thank you, as she rarely does something for him for free. 

James spends the rest of the week waiting for Monday, often thinking about it with a dreamy look on his face, always making his friends frown and then check if Lily was around. Strangely, more often than not she wasn’t even in the same room.

Monday eventually rolls around, and James has never been happier to enter the library. He may have entered it like, two times since first year, but as of now he’s ready to live in it if it means seeing you more. 

He waits at one of the tables feeling like an idiot, and maybe he is, but also a lucky one. You’re late by almost ten minutes, and he thinks that this may be the first time a girl stands him up. 

But, surprisingly enough, you show up. 

You're with Regulus - and that makes him seethe, but he's ready to make a point of bearing his presence if that's the price to pay to get you back. 

Talking about you; your hands are full of books that stand in a shaky pile leaning on your chest. You're chatting with your friend, your brows furrowed, the strap of your bag almost falling off of your shoulder. You notice James, then, and as he grins, your brows furrow even deeper. You look tired - he’s not really surprised, he remembers the struggle of the O.W.L.s; he’s surprised that you’re able to stand up, as he vividly recalls not being able to do that last year in this same period of time. 

“Potter,” you and Regulus greet at the same time. You let the books fall on the table, huffing, and he interjects, “For you it’s James,” he replies smiling cheerfully. Then he turns to Regulus, frowning, “To you, it is Potter.”

The boy rolls his eyes, “Yeah, that’s what I called you. Even if to me, you’re Dickhead.”

You blink, not amused, at James. “Keep insulting my friends and I’ll do my best to make you fail Potions.”

James lets out a squeal. “Please don’t.”

The first lesson is strange. There’s tension in the air - maybe it’s just the glares that Regulus and James are sending each other the whole time - but it feels refreshing to have your presence near again. You don’t even seem to hate him anymore; you just act… indifferent. You don’t laugh at his jokes, not even when he bashes Sirius - even if he sees Regulus holding himself back from laughing - and just explain everything he did wrong in his assignments to him, explaining some concepts and basics. 

Once the clock ticks to 19 o’clock, you’re already putting your things away, chatting with Regulus about dinner; you barely spare James a glance as you exit the library, He’s feeling lost - suddenly he would like to ask his little self how he would feel about you not being friends with him anymore. He’s sure that eight-years-old James would cry for a week straight and then beg on his knees for forgiveness, and is also sure that you probably wouldn’t have forgiven him nonetheless. 

But that’s okay. He never liked easy challenges. 

If it wasn’t for your grades in Transfiguration, you would have happily let James rot in the depths of Hell. 

When your grandfather asked you to please help the Potter boy, you had been against it. Refusing profusely, like your life depended on it; you promised to yourself you’d never let him back in your life, not after he pulled that stunt on the Quidditch pitch, a stunt of which your grandad is still blissfully unaware of. But then again, Horace Slughorn is still Horace Slughorn, and he pulled one of his many favors like you were one of his prizes on the nightstand. 

One of his many friends is, apparently, the inspector for the Transfiguration trial of the O.W.L.s. He promises that he can make him give you an O on the only subject you’re barely Acceptable in. 

It’s wrong. Maybe. But it would be stupid to pass down an opportunity like this just because of a personal grudge. You’re not ready to ruin your whole grade sheet just by refusing. Because of what? Of a boy? Not happening.

So you have to agree, and your grandfather is eager to shower you in kisses and hugs, gushing about how you saved his career. You’re pretty sure the Troll hurts James more than him, but choose not to say anything about it. You go through your schedule and his - just so that he can’t complain about the time and start arguing with you again - and manage to find some hours where the both of you are free, even if it was pretty hard considering all the study groups you took part of in preparation for the O.W.L.s. 

The first lesson is unbearable. He tried so hard to be funny and he didn’t even understand that to you, he is not. You don’t think he will ever be to you again. Everytime he opened his mouth you just thought about every time that he called you stupid just because you were making friends on your own, friends that he didn’t like. 

You know that sometimes kids say stupid things, wrong things, just because they are kids and don’t really know the real weight of words. Maybe he regretted it, as Remus often tells you; in-fact, despite the bad experience with his friends, Lupin actually became somewhat of a friend to you, sometimes updating you on James’ life. 

(“He broke his ankle going down the stairs,” he told you once. You had snorted, “Really? I wish it was his face.” 

He actually laughed. 

Sometimes you think Remus is too smart for the Marauders; too sensitive to be with friends like them. But you don’t dare to say anything, because if you did, you’d be no better than James.) 

Thankfully on Tuesday there’s no lesson, but you do have a study session with some Ravenclaws to put together Sprout’s notes to try to understand whatever the fuck she taught last lesson. On your way to the garden, it’s actually Remus that stops you. 

He looks terrible. His eyes are red, his hair mussled, and his uniform looks more wrinkled than usual. “Please, just get this over with,” he pleads, and for a moment, you think he’s about to fall to his knees and beg you. You blink. “Get over with what?”

His left eye twitches. “Do you have any idea of what I went through last night, woman?”

You raise an eyebrow at his antics. “No. Should I?” 

He lets out a scream that holds all the stress of sixth year in it, and that makes many students in the hallway turn to glare at him. “Your bloody student! He talked my ear off all night! All night! I didn’t get a blink of sleep, he made sure to usurp my bunk and knew how to keep me there! I have an important test today, and I swear, if I fail it, I’m gonna say to McGonagall that it’s your fault!”

You gasp. “But I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, tell that to James, because he probably hasn’t understood that your lack of response to his jokes isn’t because you’re reminiscing about your friendship, but because you simply don't find them funny!”

You notice something and try to stop him. “Remus-”

“He spent hours talking about how he’s so happy to finally be able to be friends with you again! Hours! I haven’t slept in three days because of my exams and now this! Could you just tell him that you didn’t agree to the lessons because you want to be friends with him again, please?”

“Uh…” the voice comes from behind him and Remus freezes, recognizing James’ voice. Your face is contorted into a frown, knowing that you tried your best to warn him. You don’t care about the fact that he heard that you have no intention of becoming friends with him again; you care about the fact that he has heard one of his friends talking about him like this.

How ironic is it that he warned me so much about my friends, but the first one to dismiss his feelings like that is one of his closest friends? 

Remus pales. James’s usual tan complexion is a bit paler than usual, too; it probably isn’t nice hearing all your thoughts and hopes being screamed in the hallway, for anyone to hear. “James, I…”

But he’s already going the opposite direction, and you’re pretty sure that you saw tears in his eyes. Remus runs after him, spluttering a spring of apologies, and then they both disappear behind the walls of the Castle. 

Pandora, who was near there when Remus started shouting, approaches you. “What happened?”

You sigh. For the first time in years, you feel bad for James - maybe you even pity him. And that is not a good thing. “Dunno, Dora,” you mutter, deep in thought. “Men are strange creatures.”

Xenophilius Lovegood passes by, and Pandora sighs dramatically. “Oh, don’t tell me.” 

You almost expect James not to show up to the lesson the day after, but he does. He does and this time he’s silent, not joking around, only opening his mouth to ask you questions. Now, you do pity him; you know he has really bonded with the Marauders. James is one of those people who manage to be friends with everybody, but not actually friends; he doesn’t bond that easily. He has a lot of acquaintances and knows nearly every student, yes, but he can count on the fingers of his hands the people he actually considers to be his friends.

It’s strange how you know so many things about him, even after all this time. You fear you may never be able to forget them; that James will remain etched on your brain, a stain in your younger years that never managed to go away. 

“I’m sorry about what happened yesterday.” you mutter, not even knowing where the words came from. He looks surprised, not expecting them either from you, not after all that Remus said. 

“Yeah,” he blurts out. “I… should’ve expected it, actually. S’not like you have ever actually shown interest in me after… y’know.”

Your thoughts go back to the letter he wrote you: I know you don’t want to talk to me, but if you ever happen to need a friend, i’ll always be there for you. You know it’s not much, but you think that maybe, just maybe, you can put your grudge away for a moment, just because he really looks like he needs a friend right now, and since Remus at the moment is out of the picture, Peter isn’t really good with these types of things and Sirius is… well, Sirius, maybe you need to step in. 

You hastily get up, going around the table and sitting right beside him. “Remus said things he didn’t think in a moment of stress,” you try to console him. He’s flushed from when you sat down next to him, probably not expecting this move from you, but pleasantly surprised. 

He blinks at you for a moment, and you almost want to take everything back. But then he smiles, a smile so tender that it could melt ice. “You always tried to make me feel better when we were younger, too,” he sniffs. You put a tentative hand on his shoulder, “We can try being friends again, James, and I mean it. But this time the Marauders have to stay out of it. You, of course, can stay friends with them, but you have to understand that I've got friends out of us just as much as you have friends out of us.”

He nods, but then his lower lip trembles and his eyes shine with tears. “You know,” he starts, stammering, “I don’t think anyone gets me like you understood me.”

Of course they don't, you want to say. Something like our friendship happens one time in a lifetime, James. You don’t get to grow up with your best friend every day. James sniffs, “Sirius maybe comes close to it. But I can’t talk to him about you because that’s when he starts to not understand me. Remus… well, I found out yesterday that he actually can’t stand my constant yapping. Peter always looks at me like I’m crazy.” he suddenly looks up, an alarmed look on his face. “Am I? Crazy, I mean.”

You wince. “I mean, you look sane enough to me.” no he doesn't, his eyes are blood-shot and he looks like he hasn't had a moment to relax since yesterday. But you can't just say that to him. “James, I think you rely too much on your friends. Usually it's a good thing - it means you trust them and all - but sometimes you just have to make decisions by yourself. Remus can listen to you all you want, but he can't solve your problems for you.”

You know that him and Remus will probably resolve and then get back to their friendship like nothing happened, but James looks at you with eyes full of unshed tears. He looks like a baby deer. “Are we solved?” 

You melt. “We can be.”

[randomfoggytiger]

The Evolution of Gillian Anderson's Friendship with David Duchovny

Early friendship:

He was an experienced actor when they started The X Files, she had been receiving unemployment benefit and had been in front of cameras only once before.

And she admits: "I desperately needed someone to show me the ropes and David did. He was wonderful."

There were rumours of a secret romance, which would have got them both fired on the spot. It is a strict studio rule that there will be no intimacy between the stars - off screen as well as on.

But Gillian did find love on The X Files, in the shape of assistant art director Clyde Klotz. And she did turn to Duchovny for advice after acting spontaneously on her wedding night, taking no precautions and finding herself pregnant.

She was horrified, believing she would get herself fired and ruin her career.

[“I went into his trailer,” she recalls, “and I said, ‘David, I’m pregnant.’ It looked like his knees buckled.... And he asked me if it was a good thing. I said, ‘Yeah, it is.’]

But her co-star, who was the only person she confided in apart from her husband, put Gillian's mind at ease.

He advised her not to have an abortion - that things would work out. And they did.

He kept her secret while Gillian thought things over for a month.

1995:

David Duchovny is not happy.....

Anderson, sensing Duchovny’s mood, looks down at his hand on her left shoulder and tries to brush it away, as if it were a mosquito. Then she turns and jumps into his arms, laughing, looking like a little girl making trouble for a protective older brother. Startled to be holding her, the smile on Duchovny’s face is forced no longer.

...“We really trust each other,” Duchovny says simply.

There is, between these two, a real-life camaraderie born of necessity, a friendship strong enough to survive too many work hours, and a chemistry powerful enough to rearrange the atoms on-screen. “Whenever we’re acting together,” says Anderson, “it’s there.”

1997:

But in real life, Duchovny and Anderson have a relationship as much a conundrum to outsiders as any X-File.

“We have a relationship that is completely odd and fabricated,” Duchovny says. “We’ve been thrown together, two people who don’t know each other, and we’ve been forced to spend more time together than married people do. So you can’t describe our relationship as ‘like’ or ‘dislike.’ ”

Sounds a little frosty.

“It is frosty,” Gillian Anderson agrees when she is read Duchovny’s description of their relationship. “But it’s accurate.” She laughs. “It’s not that we don’t like each other. It’s complicated.”

2008:

Question: Can you talk about getting back into these characters after a five or six year period?

David Duchovny: The first two weeks I felt a little awkward and I didn’t really feel like I wanted to do longer scenes. I was just fine running around. Then as soon as Gillian and I started working and it was Mulder and Scully, then I kind of remembered what it was all about and that relationship kind of anchored my performance just as I think the relationship anchors this film.

Shock: What’s that like with David now that you’re not with each other 16 hours a day on a series?

Anderson: It’s great, but it was great then, too. This is like a sibling relationship and I never had siblings.

What is your favourite thing about each other?

Duchovny: Gillian just doesn't give up.... She'll hang in there 'til we get it right.

Anderson: ...The easiest answer, I guess, is his sense of humour. He's always looking at the funny side of things, especially when he's around other actors who are comedians or funny themselves - it can turn into a bit of a contest to see who does the best impressions and such. But aside from that, there's a gentleness inside him that comes out every once in a while that is quite disarming and lovely. It's rare, but very nice.

2014:

Q: Was there a sense of almost a bunker mentality where you were at least going through this process with David? You mentioned he had more experience, he had done some bigger films but still the phenomenon that emerged within the first couple years was pretty remarkable. Did it help to have him there too and kind of like “Are you getting this too? Are you going through this too? Is this weird?” 

A: No. No, not really. We talk about the fact that it’s crazy that we didn’t. And that we didn’t take advantage of the fact that we had each other but it was complicated. These were long hours that we were working. We spent more time in each other’s presence than we did with our, you know, spouses and children, etc.

But also, you know, I think we pissed each other off, quite frankly. And I have no doubt that after they’re waiting – we’re gonna roll and somebody has to come in and redo my lips and the difference between the maintenance for guys and gals and we’re shooting in all weather – you know, we never shut down except for one day for weather in the entire show.  We were shooting up in Vancouver through rain, sleet, everything. And my hair would frizz up to here in between takes and they’d have to get the blow dryer out under the tent and we’d be waiting for Gillian’s hair to do another take. You know, that pisses you right off. It adds up. So I, you know, I’m sure there were plenty of things he did that pissed me off too. It just wasn’t, you know, but on the other hand.. NOW, we get to talk about that and we’re probably closer than we’ve ever been. 

2015:

Not surprisingly, she and Duchovny also became the story – according to the press, they were having an affair, hated each other or both. “I mean, yes, there were definitely periods when we hated each other.” She starts again. “Hate is too strong a word. We didn’t talk for long periods of time. It was intense, and we were both pains in the arse for the other at various times.”

How was Duchovny a pain in the arse for her? “Erm ...” Ten seconds pass without a word. Meanwhile, her smile gets wider and wider till it’s halfway up her cheeks. “I’m not going to get into it. I’m not even going to begin to get into that. But we are closer today than we ever have been.”

2016:

Anderson on working with Duchovny “Our relationship has definitely become a proper friendship over the last few years. I think we’re more on each other’s side. We’re more aware of the other’s needs, wants, concerns, and mindful to take those into consideration— and just sharing more about our experiences in the moment, under the sudden realization that we’re both in this together, and wouldn’t it be nice if it were a collaboration?”

2018:

They've worked together for 25 years but Gillian Anderson wants to make one thing clear: David Duchovny does NOT feature in her Ex Files.

While on screen their relationship left viewers wondering whether they would ever hook up romantically, Gillian says that off camera they were never very close.

In fact, she goes so far as to admit: "I don't know much about David Duchovny. If you asked me 10 things about him I'd probably get nine of them wrong."

...But now Gillian sets the record straight, saying: "We were never close. It's true we spent more time together than we have in any other relationship but it doesn't mean we were close.

"Very often when you're working long hours you may have a chit-chat between scenes but you're not really standing around talking about personal lives.

"And very often you don't have meals either at work or outside of work together because you're in each other's company all the time.

"So I actually don't know very much about David Duchovny, but we appreciate and respect each other."

2021:

Stella made a new friend today.

2023:

A huge congratulations to my old friend @davidduchovny on the world premiere of his film Bucky Fucking Dent @tribeca which he wrote, directed and stars in! A massive accomplishment and can’t wait to see it. (ps I’d say some of your prior writer / director gigs with me went pretty well and this was all just yesterday, right? 😉) #Tribeca2023

2024:

Awww Double D I’m so sorry. He was your guy. RIP Brick Duchovny

Lastly but not least,

a comment from David, 2024:

"My former X-Files costar Gillian Anderson and I are really good friends. ...When you share a seminal kind of experience in your life-- the huge success we had with that show-- only we know what it's like to be in the center of that. It's almost like being in the same family...."

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Robbie, Playoff Willy, various Scouts; pull yourself up by the jockstrap

For the prompt: A little more of Robbie's time with the Scouts - Cup party, with the Tweedles and Willy, maybe Julius & Erin. Your choice - just more of that.

(I'm not here, but the tumblr queue is! Well. Probably.)

“Now, I know I have no right to talk about maturity,” Robbie says, then promptly ducks the jock that comes flying at him, the rest of his message going undelivered.

“No throwing shit at teammates’ heads during playoffs!” Playoff Willy yells.

“It wouldn’t hit him in the head if he wasn’t so short!” Bender says. “I misjudged!”

“Misjudging is not acceptable during playoffs!” Playoff Willy says. Robbie wants to write a book of his sayings. Like Sun Tzu but for maladjusted athletes who don’t know how to lose. Which is pretty much all pro athletes, in Robbie’s experience, so it might even sell.

Robbie nudges at the limp jock with his socked foot. It looks sad. Defeated, even. “Bro, when was the last time you replaced this?”

Bender looks to Playoff Willy, like he’s waiting for Robbie to get yelled at, though Robbie’s pretty sure Playoff Willy cares a hell of a lot less about feelings than he does about potential head injuries. Or like — anything. The only feelings Playoff Willy cares about are like, motivation. And probably bloodlust.

“Pike has a point,” Playoff Willy says. “That shit is falling apart.”

“But I wore it in!” Bender says. “None of the other ones fit right.”

Robbie pokes it a little further from him. The visitor’s room floor is sketchy as fuck, but he doesn’t think he can do the thing any damage at this point.

The elastic snaps. Well, snaps is a strong word. The elastic’s too damn worn for that, so it’s less a dramatic death and more feebly giving up on the last thread of life remaining.

“Whoops,” Robbie says. Maybe he should have considered that the thing was an antique before he started poking at it.

“Willy, look what he did!” Bender says. “That was my lucky jock!”

“How lucky can it be when we just lost the game?” Playoff Willy growls.

Bender is, thankfully, smart enough to realize that’s a rhetorical question.

“Still up a game, Playoff Willy,” Money says, and Playoff Willy shoots him a glare, but doesn’t say anything.

Robbie’s still impressed that Money’s got the balls to call him Playoff Willy to his face, and even more impressed that Playoff Willy lets him. Everybody knows Money is his favorite, but as the playoffs have gone on, that seems to buy less and less leeway. Money told him from the get-go that the longer the playoff run, the worse Playoff Willy got. Robbie didn’t really believe him, or maybe didn’t want to, but he’s got to say, Playoff Willy during the Conference Finals is a whole different beast than the first round. Emphasis on beast, there. If he mauled someone Robbie wouldn’t even be surprised. Unless they were playing well, he guesses.

Thankfully, Robbie’s been doing okay for himself, shutting down the guys he needs to shut down, so he’s also currently in Playoff Willy’s good books, at least enough that he doesn’t fear mauling.

“I’ve had that for eight years,” Bender moans.

“That’s fucking gross, dude,” Robbie says. “Genuinely. I did you a favor.”

Bender throws a glove at him. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear to have been around for two presidential terms.

“If I have to leave next game because I got nut shot, that’s on you, Pike,” Bender says.

“Bro, if you go onto the ice without a jock Playoff Willy will cup check you himself,” Robbie says.

He winces, but either Playoff Willy didn’t notice the slip, or Robbie’s earned even more grace than he thought.

“He isn’t wrong,” Playoff Willy says. “Normally I wouldn’t, since it’s a chickenshit play, and an auto major, but I don’t think they really care if it’s your own teammate.”

“Refs won’t give a shit,” Scratch says. “Social media probably won’t shut up about how he slept with your wife, though.”

“I can make it look like an accident,” Playoff Willy says. Robbie does not doubt him even a little.

His brow furrows a moment later. “I don’t have a wife,” he says, sounding almost unsure.

That would be kind of suspicious, but Robbie’s learned that’s just how Playoff Willy talks about anything non-hockey related, like first he has to go consult with normal Willy, who’s being held hostage somewhere inside him.

“That could not matter less to idiots on twitter,” Scratch says.

“Last round they said I slept with your wife,” Money says.

“Why did you sleep with my wife?” Playoff Willy asks, then, after checking with kidnapped Willy again, “You’re openly gay.”

“Like I said,” Scratch says. “Could not care less about your actual relationship status. Or sexuality, apparently.”

“Scratch is still mad about it,” Joey says.

“I’m not mad about it,” Scratch says. “I just think people should do basic—“

“I fixed it!” Bender says. “I fixed it, guys! All it needed was a little super glue.”

Robbie has such a bad feeling about this. Bender’s honestly lucky his balls have survived this long: that elastic was literally holding on by a thread.

“You don’t want kids, right?” Robbie asks.

“Oh yeah,” Bender says. “Not quite yet, but Lacey and I are—“

“Oh, give me that fucking thing,” Playoff Willy says.

Super glue isn’t going do shit to save Bender’s jock after Playoff Willy and a pair of scissors get through with it.

“Have some respect for your testicles,” Playoff Willy hisses, and then marches the remains of Bender’s jock to the trash can.

That one's an instant classic. Robbie is adding it to the book of Playoff Willy for sure.

“That’s one for the book of Willy,” Harvard says. Obviously Robbie didn’t need telling, but he does appreciate that it’s becoming a collaborative effort.

“Hah,” Robbie says. “Testicles.”

“Willy,” Harvard agrees.

“What are you two giggling about?” Playoff Willy growls.

“Nothing,” they chorus, ducking their heads so they don’t accidentally meet Playoff Willy’s eyes. That’s a mistake Robbie isn’t making again.

“It was so comfortable,” Bender mumbles. “Like wearing nothing at all.”

“Yeah, buddy, we know,” Scratch says. “That was kind of the problem.”

“So comfy,” Bender whispers.

*

Robbie’s never been to a funeral for a jock before, but he guesses there’s a first time for everything.

“R.I.P.,” Money says. “Like rest in peace. Not like rip. Though that is what you did.”

“Before getting hacked to pieces by a madman,” Scratch says.

“May you find peace and serenity in—“

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Playoff Willy says.

“Scatter!” Money says, and they all flee. Well, Robbie doesn’t. Not because he doesn’t want to, but he’s fucking exhausted. Plus, he blocked a shot last game, and anything faster than an amble makes his leg throb like a bitch.

“What the fuck were they doing?” Playoff Willy asks.

“Funeral for the jock we murdered,” Robbie says. Well, Robbie’s crime was jockslaughter at most, but that’s not important.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Playoff Willy says, then bows his head, eyes closed. He doesn’t move for a good minute, and Robbie’s shifting uncomfortably, wondering if he's finally snapped just like the jock did, and if getting Money will help or just make it worse.

He startles when Willy speaks, murmuring, “Sorry I killed you.”

Presumably — hopefully — he’s talking to the jock, rather than saying it to Robbie just before he kills him. Robbie reminds himself he’s safe. He blocks shots.

“It was for his safety, and the greater good,” Playoff Willy says. “Thank you for your years of service.”

He opens his eyes then, and Robbie accidentally meets his eye.

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to do that. He doesn’t think he was supposed to see that either.

“I won’t tell anyone about this,” Robbie says.

Playoff Willy’e eyes narrow.

“Because there’s nothing to tell,” Robbie says.

“You’re a quick learner, Lombardi,” Playoff Willy says. “I like that about you.”

“I block shots too,” Robbie says, just to make sure Playoff Willy remembers his utility.

“You block shots too,” Playoff Willy murmurs, then nods to himself.

“Integral part of the team,” Robbie says, then, aware he’s over-selling it, he awkwardly shoots Playoff Willy two thumbs up.

Playoff Willy’s brow furrows, then, after a long consult with the normal Willy tied up in the basement of his brain, he gives Robbie two thumbs up back.