#but if i get fucked good enough maybe ill forget for a bit...

[flowk1ng]

man, fuck ya ex, he sucks. i'll fuck u so good and deep you'll pass out from it. bend over, baby boy

your wish is my command 🥺 im too desperate to be bratty tonight

#anons #answered #inbox me #ask me #talk to me #i miss my ex so much :( #but if i get fucked good enough maybe ill forget for a bit...

[rinhaler]

NOTSCAREDNOTSCAREDNOTSCARED!

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ frat boy!oliver aiku x f!reader

Genre: college!au (mostly shameless smut tbh) Notes: first fic on my new blog and it's absolutely disgusting, enjoy. Warnings: 18+, noncon, somnophilia, drugging, virgin killer!oliver, implied virgin reader, tit sucking, pussy eating, biting, fingering, marking, love bites ♡, creampie, spit, alcohol consumption, lmk if I missed any!! Words: 5.3k

What a naïve little thing you are.

That’s the first thing Oliver thinks when he sets his sights on you. A shy, sweet girl wearing the one and only cocktail dress you probably own. It’s so simple but makes a loud statement. You don’t look like the other girls here. You aren’t wearing designer clothes that fit you like a glove, no. The ill-fitting garment you’ve chosen to wear speaks volumes to your innocent nature and your lack of confidence. You don’t have friends, do you? You’re here, alone, in the sleaziest and most prolific fraternity on campus. Of course, it’s a party, and anyone is welcome to attend. But the fact that you decided to come here, alone, makes him think you might be a little stupid.

But that suits him just fine.

He doesn’t approach immediately, for fear of giving the game away too soon. He bides his time and observes your behaviours and mannerisms as you wade through the crowds. His eyes have followed your longing gaze a few times and noticed how you keep looking towards the kitchen. It’s the busiest room in the house right now, he assumes. That’s where the keg and all of the alcohol is.

But almost as soon as you look that way, you avert your eyes and look elsewhere in search of a place to belong. You’ve tried starting a few conversations with the girls, but Oliver knows how catty and mean they can be. Poor thing, fresh meat like you doesn’t stand a chance.

You’re lonely, aren’t you? You’ll feel better with a little company, yeah?

He carefully walks by you in a way that will cause you to spill the drink from your grasp. And with that, this sinful game can begin. The one in which he tells you how sorry he is for causing an accident and ruining your dress. He’s so apologetic that you just can’t help but forgive him right away. And his attractiveness doesn’t go amiss. The kindest person you’ve met thus far just so happens to be so deliciously handsome.

“Let me get you a refill, it’s only fair.” he winks. And you hate yourself because your stomach flits at the casual gesture. It’s probably a line that he uses on all of the girls he meets at parties like this. It’s plain to see that he’s confident. You’re sure there won’t be a shortage of girls throwing themselves at him after a gesture like that.

But you aren’t stupid enough to be the same.

He seems older, by at least two years. He seems comfortable enough here to get you a drink so maybe this is his party. He could have a girlfriend for all you know that is in another room and completely oblivious. You don’t want to make waves before you even experience your first day of class.

People seem friendlier towards you when they notice you with him. Is it genuine? Or could they be laughing at you? His hand resides in the small of your back as he guides you far into the kitchen; until you’re standing between an island counter and the fridge. Your body is warming, and, fuck, he can feel it. You’re so shy. He hasn’t seen a girl like you in a long time. The slightest bit of attention and touching and you’re putty in his hand. What a good girl you are, he’s going to have so much fun with you.

You watch him, carefully, as he rummages through the fridge and grabs a can of beer.

You’re a little deflated as he cracks it for himself and begins to chug.

“I didn’t catch your name.” he states as his unmistakable eyes watch you intently. He has eyes you’ve never seen before, and you’ll have a hard time forgetting. Mismatched purple and green. They’re dull, but not uninteresting by any means. They’re the eyes of a man who always gets what he wants. Those eyes beautiful eyes… they’re bored because they are a prestigious, all access key to gain whatever his heart desires. You hum, hesitating for a moment until you decide you’re too awkward and uncomfortable to hide your name from him. “Oh, that’s a real pretty name. I’m Oliver.” he introduces himself.

“Hey… Oliver.” you smile, unsure of how to respond. You’re so on edge. His peculiar eyes are examining each and every movement you make like you’re being graded. And your heart is pounding… you can’t help yourself. Nobody here has extended so much as a pitying smile. You want to pass his test, he’s the only person being remotely nice to you. But still, there’s a gnawing feeling eating away and corroding your insides and it makes you feel like a criminal, like you’re doing something wrong.

Like you absolutely should not be talking to him right now.

“You’re pretty too.” he smiles, brazenly. His voice is so deep and charming, a sonorous lull as he knows all he needs to do is utter these three simple words to get a girl like you to be completely and utterly captivated. It’s such a pathetic, insipid sentence and you can’t stand that it’s working on you.

You get a full view of his wide, toothy grin and you sense that he’s trying to extend a gesture of trust to you. And you’re encapsulated by it. Pristine pearls almost blinding you and short circuiting your brain as you arrive at the realisation that he might be perfect. His features nothing short of perfection and accentuate his beguiling persona that you can’t get enough of. You haven’t even noticed the way your chest is heaving as you devour a mind-altering cocktail with him as the main ingredient.

And he can’t help but chuckle when he notices how flustered you’ve become from his words, you adorable thing. Three little words are making you squeeze your thighs together and fold your arms over your chest. And don’t think he hasn’t noticed the quickened breaths you’re taking and the dampening forehead you’re suddenly trying to wipe away. He’s noticing everything about you and making mental notes in his mind he will use later.

Do you know how vulnerable you’re being?

You should know better than to be so visibly rattled by him. He may be handsome but he’s hardly screaming upstanding citizen at you. It’s the facial hair. It’s so grotesque and sleazy and wholly unpleasant. And still, the only thought swirling around your tiny, tipsy mind is how it would feel against your skin as you kiss. How would the scruff feel between your inner thighs as he devoured your petalled flesh. You shouldn’t be thinking like this, you aren’t sure what’s wrong with you.

You don’t know how to act, do you?

“Don’t be so nervous, sweetheart.” he tells you, getting closer. The smell of his cologne invading your senses. It’s familiar, it smells expensive and suits him just fine. The type of fragrance you’d save for a special occasion to make an impact and impress people you’re around. Your nostrils flare as you inhale more. More of it. More of him. You need more.

He angles his head as he monitors your response to his proximity. He grins when he notes that you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Moving them a few times before you decide to grip the overhang of the counter behind you until the skin covering your knuckles are taut, turning white. You want to feel his chest, don’t you? It’s so broad and muscular and peaking under his shirt, he doesn’t blame you. You probably haven’t had much experience with a guy like him.

He's more than happy to show you.

You’re starting to think your heart is packing up its belongings and preparing to flee from your own chest as you feel it beating rapidly against your ribs. He’s so intoxicating, you feel lightheaded and overwhelmed by the mere presence of him. His body is trapping yours against the counter. He’s so damn tall, taller than you could have possibly imagined now that he’s pressed against you like this. Your cheeks fill with heat, and you think you might actually faint against him if he doesn’t move away. “There are bad guys at places like this, y’know? Dangerous place to be so pretty.” he warns you, whispering gently in your ear. The tone rushing through your veins and forcing you to shiver. His eyes meet yours after he speaks, his stare willing you to understand what he’s saying.

“T-Thank you…” you mumble.

“Hey, don’t worry so much. I’m the house president, I’ll keep an eye on you.” he assures you, moving away ever so slightly while keeping a lingering hand on your shoulder. A commanding touch to make your body and your mind focus on him. His hand is cold to the touch and you realise it’s from holding the metal can, cold from the refrigerator. The cooling caress of his fingers is polar opposite to the warm smile he’s offering you. You aren’t sure what to do or say, but you need not worry about yourself anymore. He had intended on doing all of your thinking for you tonight, anyway. “Oh, shit, you wanted a drink, right? Let me get one for you.” he speaks, his body moving to act before you can even answer.

“U-Um…” you hesitate, seeing him grab a bottle of rum and a mixer. You hate spirits because they always get you embarrassingly wasted. There are four prominent occasions in the forefront of your mind as you reminisce on the states you’ve found yourself in after drinking spirits. The smell alone is enough to make you gag, but you do all you can to ignore it. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself, you don’t want to do something humiliating that will be talked about for years to come.

You aren’t a prude; you aren’t opposed to getting drunk. You just don’t think it’s a good way to introduce yourself.

He’s moving so fast, and his back is to you as he pours your drink, the red solo cup obscured from your vision as he fills it to the brim for you.

You dumb little thing.

Isn’t this something you’ve been warned about? Not letting your drinks out of your sight at any point, ever. Of course you have, it’s rule number one of going to parties or nightclubs or anywhere that your drink can be tampered with.

You just aren’t thinking straight.

And why would you?

You’re so out of place in this big, intimidating environment. You’re hardly going to suspect the first person to show you a bit of kindness is actually the shadiest guy at the party. But deep down, you know you should consider everyone a suspect after hearing what he had to say. If the guys here are so shady, why does he stick with them? If he’s the president, why doesn’t he tell them to do better?

These few fleeting thoughts have been nothing but. Passing ideas that you thought of and discarded as quickly as they arrived. You can’t live your life in fear or you’ll never make any friends here. And he’s going to all of this trouble for you. You’re nobody to him, and he’s still finding it in his heart to extend a benevolent demeanour to you and making sure you have a drink and a friendly face to keep you company for the night.

So you aren’t going to think twice that he’s slipped something in your drink, you can’t see what he’s doing, but for some reason, you trust him. Would you trust him, still, if he wasn’t so good looking? Would you trust him less if he hadn’t announced he is the fraternity president? He knows you’d never have trusted receiving a drink from him if he just offered it to you out of nowhere.

He’s happy he didn’t have to work too hard, you aren’t completely stupid, but you’re still dumb enough to accept a drink from him like this. You barely even think about it as he flashes you a beaming smile and hands it to you. Hell, it might even loosen you up. You knock half of it back in three seconds and you giggle after the fact.

He’s laughing too.

But it’s at your expense, you poor, sweet thing. You’re going to be seeing so many stars tonight, a sight reserved for Oliver’s favourite angels.

“You’re crazy, huh? You like to party a lot, baby?” he wonders, taking another swig of his drink as he rests against the fridge beside him.

“No, never! This is my first big party.” you confess, and he doesn’t miss the way you slightly cringe at yourself for saying something you must think is a little embarrassing. “I mean, I’ve been to parties… this one is just—”

“You’ll get used to it.” he tells you. “The first one is always memorable, though.”

“Really? How come?” you ask, curiously.

God you’re so cute, it’s killing him. Even he can’t hide the smirk forming on his face as he tries to conceal it with his beer. He decides to not answer. Instead, he admires the way you look disappointed at the prospect of him losing interest in you. He thinks he could bathe in the watery sheen glossing over your eyes as you worry that you’ve said something so stupid that he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.

He's such a disgustingly vile man. All he can think to do is refuse to put you out of your misery. Instead, he revels in the way you knock back the rest of your drink. The way your eyes widen paints a perfect picture in telling him it was too strong for you. Stronger than anything you’ve ever drank in your life. And that’s without the added ingredient he decided to slip in.

“I— do you have a girlfriend?” your question is abrupt as you wipe the excess liquid from your plump lips. Your watery eyes watching him keenly as you do your best to decipher his intentions.

“No.”

You scoff and shake your head. “I don’t even know why I asked you that, as if you’d tell the truth.” you mumble to yourself, but it’s loud enough for him to hear. And just as you’re about to walk away, he responds.

“I don’t care if you know whether I have a girlfriend or not. I would only care if I was trying to fuck you.” the sentence rolls off his tongue with ease. Like he knew exactly what you were going to say before you even thought of it. And you feel a wave of humiliation crash throughout your body; you feel a current trying to drag you under and suffocate you under the foaming sea.

“Y-You aren’t?” you need to stop talking. You need to stop embarrassing yourself like this. For his benefit. For the other people in the kitchen with you. It feels like everyone is staring at you and laughing at your expense. Maybe you’re just drunk and being paranoid. You should go, you should sprint out of here with whatever small scraps of dignity you have left.

He shakes his head, his hand reaching out to yours to pull you closer to him. It trails, up your side and to your chin as your eyes fixate on his. His thumb smooths over your chin, encouraging you to open your mouth for him. He tilts his can of beer onto your lower lip. The golden, yeasty liquid spills from the metal container and onto your tongue. Your eyes don’t leave his as all you can do is stand there and take it. Your little throat expanding with each glug of the disgustingly bitter drink.

Your body is once again pressed against the counter. He snickers when he feels your body jolt against his as you hear the sound of the beer can he was holding clattering against the tiled floor. And he takes great delight in the way your body melts against his touch as he places a hand on your hip. The other, smoothing the shell of your ear before he levels his mouth with it.

“I don’t need to try, I’m going to fuck you.” he whispers, he kisses against your ear a few times and the sound rushes straight to your clit. You squeeze your thighs together again hoping to alleviate the brewing tension. You pray you were discreet enough for him to not notice.

You weren’t.

And it’s worse as he kisses your neck so openly in front of everyone. He sucks and sucks and sucks until his name is signed in blue and purple blooms against your skin. You bite your lip, internally cursing him for forcing you to have to wear a scarf for the coming weeks until it fades away.

“S-Stop it.” your legs buckle and there is something wrong with your eyes. The room won’t stop spinning. You didn’t drink that much, did you?

“Woah!” Oliver exclaims as you fall into his hold. “You don’t know how to handle your drink, hm? I think you need to sleep it off.”

“T-Tax—”

“No, no. I’d be a terrible host if I made you get a taxi all by yourself. C’mon.” he lifts you with ease, your entire body limp in his arms. And he just can’t believe how lucky he is. How blessed he is to be born so genetically gifted. Because he knows there is no way in hell he’d be getting away with this if he wasn’t attractive. Girls looking at him like he’s some kind of hero coming to your rescue. Him, a hero. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

There’s no way you’re forgetting your first frat party.

He’ll make sure of that.

As he passes a few of his brothers on the stairs, they all share a knowing look. Like this isn’t the first time Oliver has been in this predicament. And it surely won’t be the last. He winks at them as he walks by, and he puts you down as he reaches his door, your body dropping like a stone as he lets you fall with no care.

You can do nothing but groan as he drags you by your underarms and into his room. God you want to go home. Not to your student accommodation. Home. You want to be with your parents and under your own roof, sleeping in your own bed. It’s hard to even tell where you are. Are you still in the kitchen? No, there’s no way.

All you can think about is how tired you are.

Suddenly, you’re in the air, being flung onto a nearby bed. You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you. You’re no longer in control and you can’t move your limbs how you want to. You want to use your legs and walk right on out of here and into a taxi.

But you’re lucky, really.

Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. It’s all his. His to do whatever he wants with. You can’t move, and yet Oliver is going to be kind enough to move you however he likes. Maybe you don’t feel so lucky about it. But you’re just confused right now. Oliver knows you wanted this. Wanted him. The pill in your drink was just a little insurance policy to make sure everyone got what they want.

He prefers girls like this anyway.

Nice ‘n pliant.

“Said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” he smiles, lecherous hands feeling each and every inch of your body. A curious hand reaching up to touch the fat flesh of one of your tits as he massages it over your tiny little dress. “Think you can wear something like this and expect me not to fuck you?” he whispers.

“Mmmpf…” you hum, there’s still a little defiance in you. At this point, he wouldn’t mind if you were on the cusp of sleep. There’s something so special to him about extracting salacious moans from unconscious bodies.

“’m just getting you out of this little thing… gonna find a comfy t-shirt for you to wear to sleep.” he assures you. He wonders if you believe him. He almost believes himself. But as he pulls down the strapless bust of your dress and your supple flesh is revealed to him, the thought of covering it again dies an instant death in his mind. “Fuuuuuck, gorgeous fuckin’ tits.” he moans, his bulge straining against his jeans as envisions himself sucking them until they’re puckered and raw.

He climbs over you, your tiny frame beneath his domineering one. He’s sure you hadn’t neglected to notice how muscular he is before you passed out, even beneath his clothes. He must be some kind of athlete. He’s too beefy not to be. And boy, does he use his weight and size to his advantage when he’s dealing with delicate things like you.

His head practically falls from his shoulder as he decides to let his fantasy come to life. He licks and laves over your tits individually until he gets a little rougher. Softly nibbling the tender buds until they are aching and so sore. His teeth bruise your flesh as he marks them. An assortment of canines and molars as well as decorative love bites.

Any chance you had of forgetting this party are gone.

You’ll know what happened to you.

You might even remember who did it.

But there’s no way a sweet, timid freshman like you is going to have the courage to tell such an unbelievable tale. You might think there are steps in place to protect innocent things like you. You’re a victim, after all. You need protecting. But once again, that would just be so telling as to how naïve you truly are. Drugging pretty girls at college parties is never going to end. The staff, the students, even the police are never going to side with you.

And why would they? These false statements issued by the board, talks of ‘standing with victims’ and offering a listening ear are nothing but lip service. The institution you have found yourself in will say anything to seem like a worthwhile choice. The right and most beneficial choice to you and your future.

But the harrowing truth is that they don’t have time to protect girls like you when they are too busy covering up the messes of men like him.

He pushes your dress up to your midsection, exposing a pair of white lace panties.

“Awe, for me? You knew you were gonna get lucky tonight, didn’t you?” he asks. But of course, you’re unresponsive. His finger prods at the thin material, an involuntary laugh leaving his lungs as he is greeted with the feeling of your soaked underwear on the pad of his digit. “Too dumb t’speak right now… good job your cunt is telling me how much you want me.”

His thumb circles your clit over the material. And even he’s a little dumbfounded at the way your body betrays you. You squirm and your brows furrow as you try to stave off the pleasurable feeling. But for all he knows, you could be trying to fight him off.

He doesn’t care, though, your pussy already gave your true feelings away.

Even he can’t ignore the way his cock is leaking at the sight of your tight heat becoming exposed as he peels away your panties. A slick string connecting your sex to the material.

You must be a virgin, he thinks. Virgins get wet so easily. He suspected it from the moment he saw you. You’re so awkward and uncomfortable around people, but especially guys. You fumble over your words, and you can’t flirt to save your fucking life. But he didn’t care. The thought of your first time being with him was enough to make him want you. And even if you have fucked before. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need to know. The very thought is enough.

He pins your knees to your chest, and he begins to feast on your dripping cunt. You shudder as your body feels the tension building with each suckle and slurp against your clit. It’s unrelenting, he can’t get enough of you. He’s fucking addicted to the taste of your slick and he doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without it. Your left leg ragdolls as he lets go, opting to slip a finger into your unprepared hole without stopping his assault on your swollen clit.

And without hesitation, he’s adding another. He takes his time scissoring you open, and by now he’s convinced you’re a virgin. You’re so fucking tight. There’s no way you’ve had a dick inside of you. Or if you have, it must have been small.

You won’t have to worry about that with him.

Even unconscious, he’s sure you’ll feel how he’s gonna stretch you.

Your lazy groans are like a cheer to him. Your body is telling him what a great job he’s doing. How close you are. How badly you want to cum in his mouth and douse his thick, calloused fingers in your syrupy sheen.

The tip of his tongue lashes over the throbbing button at the apex of your thighs. He doesn’t particularly care if you take him well or not. You’re going to take him regardless. But he isn’t so heartless he won’t try and make it a little less painful for you. He’s urging you to cum for him, his free hand pressing down on your abdomen in a bid to enhance your pleasure. With each whip of his tongue against your clit and every press of your spongy insides with his fingers, he’s trying to drag you over the edge.

Your lifeless body surprises him once more.

He pulls away and observes the way your pussy pulses and your walls tighten around his fingers as you begin to cum for him. Your spent little cunt drooling around his thick digits and coating them in your slick. You even moaned for him. Not loudly, of course. A few tell-tale grunts to let him know you were happy with his work.

His eyes ogle your tits once again, admiring the way your chest rises and falls as he sucks his fingers clean. You’re so fucking cute. You must be heaven sent, the way you stepped into the frat may as well have been a gift with a garish bow from Santa Claus himself.

He unbuckles his belt with one hand whilst squeezing and pinching your nipples once again. They’re so pretty, the prettiest pair of tits he’s ever seen. He’s rock hard in his jeans, leaking like crazy and desperate to be buried to the hilt in your sweet little snatch.

And his heavy cock springs free, the tip leaving evidence of just how desperate he is on his v-neck shirt. Pearly pre shimmering against the black material that is soon to dry and harden and meld with the cotton fibres. But he can’t find it in himself to care. He pulls it over his head and throws it into the corner of his room, he’ll deal with it another time. There’s something much more entertaining lying atop his sheets right now.

“Mmm… think this is gonna hurt sweetheart. But you’re gonna be good ‘n take it f’me, yeah?” he lines himself up with your entrance and gives your still body one final look before breaching your insides with his thick cockhead. “Fuckin’ hell you’re tight. You’re so fucking tight, might cum just from this.” he speaks.

He knows you can’t understand him, but he can’t stop himself from communicating with you anyway. He needs you to know how special you are. That out of all of the girls at the party, he chose you. Don’t you feel special? He’s sure you will when you’re stuffed full of his cum. It’ll all dawn on you tomorrow and you’ll feel so honoured that the one and only Oliver Aiku fucked you open and covered you in so many pretty patterns and was even kind enough to pump you full of his cum.

You have no idea how much restraint he’s showing by not instantly splitting you open on his thick, heavy cock. He can’t help but feel that slowly plunging into your virgin walls is a better display of claiming your body. It’s almost torture for him, easing in inch at a time at an agonising pace.

And when he’s fully sheathed inside your suffocating walls, the pleasure is almost too much, he could shed a tear at the feeling. But, of course, he won’t. He’s prioritising the task at hand.

He holds under your knee and pushes it further into your chest and begins to slowly roll his hips. It’s hypnotising, the way even out of consciousness your eyes can still roll back into your skull. He takes note of how he’s moving when your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Oh baby… right there? Like it when I fuck you there?” he wonders, experimenting with his movement and speeding up ever so slightly. His cockhead is nudging your g-spot so perfectly. It’s so deliciously soft, and those saccharine expressions you’re donning are about to drag him to an early demise.

His grip on your thigh is harsh. Another galaxy of purple bruises forming under his fingers on your doughy skin. He hasn’t noticed. It’s second nature to him to be a little rougher than intended. But it’s part of the fun, right? More little discoveries for you to find in days to come.

He’s entranced by the way his cock vanishes inside of your cute cunt. He’s being swallowed whole by your sticky lips. The sound reverberates throughout the room. The suctioning sounds of you pulling him inside and the tackiness of your pussy and his cock meeting again and again and again.

Your eyes squint as he yanks down your jaw until he sees your tongue. He’s so abhorrent and even at this point he knows this to be the truth himself. He just can’t fucking help it. He wants to do anything and everything to you. He wants to humiliate you because you’re just that special to him. With a cartoonish ‘ptuh’ sound, a glob of spit has landed on your tongue and is slowly sliding down your throat.

With a few more presses of his tip against your sweet spot, you’re spasming around him again. Maybe you liked it after all. You wouldn’t cum if you didn’t. Do you like being taken advantage of by reprehensible scum like Oliver Aiku? Do you like being unconscious while getting your insides pummelled? This might warp your tiny little mind. Maybe you’ll think this is love and this is what you’re meant for. It is, as far as Oliver is concerned. He doesn’t let up humping into your tiny hole. He spits in your mouth again, and it’s the final straw to pull him into his oncoming bliss right along with you.

“Little slut,” he pants, his hips faltering as he feels himself reaching the precipice. “Mine. My little slut. My fuckin’ cunt. H-Hear me? Mine.” he practically growls as he shoots load after load into your unprotected womb. “Ah— fuck. Fuuuuuck—” he finishes, fucking his viscous seed back into you.

He pulls out immediately after, admiring the way his sperm drips and squelches out of your spent cunt. You’re clenching around nothing, poor thing. You must miss him.

But you don’t have to worry. You won’t have to miss him for long. You’re not done, after all. He just needs some time to recharge. He wasn’t just going to fuck you once and be done with you. Not a perfect little pussy like that, no. Those drugs will be in your system for a few hours.

He’s far from done with you yet.

© 2023 rinitxshi

#oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku smut #oliver aiku x you #aiku x reader #aiku smut #aiku oliver x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock smut #bllk smut #tw noncon #tw somno #tw drugging #tw biting #tw marking #tw spit #tw alcohol

[honkytonk-hangman]

In Sickness...

Jake Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Summary: Jake feels his pulse jump and his stomach fly when he talks to or about you. Obviously, this must mean he's gravely ill.

Notes: mentions of a cheating boyfriend, jake convinced he's sick when really he is in loooveeee

Masterlist

“Hey, Hangman, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Jake, despite his usual goal of doing everything in his power to get on Phoenix’s nerves, finds himself ignoring the need to be quite annoying. His antics aside, he knew his fellow aviator well enough by now to recognise when she was up for his shit, and when she absolutely wasn’t.

That doesn’t mean he’s not going to be a little bit of a douchebag, though.

“Give me a second, Trace, I’ll need to start my timer.” he makes a show of observing his watch and starting a countdown from sixty seconds. Phoenix ignores him, and in place of possibly giving him a dead arm, she instead comes to a stop in front of him, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that was just a Natasha Thing, and not actually a sign of closed body language-thing

“You’re going to be at Mav and Penny’s later, right?” she asks, even though he knows he’s never given the impression of having any other plans, and she knows it. Jake simply nods, still pretending to count down.

“Right. Well… maybe take it easy on Cricket tonight, okay?” Phoenix asks him, her voice soft and quiet in a manner that makes Jake mess up his countdown, and subsequently drop his wrist and the bit entirely.

“I’m under the impression that I always take it easy on my favourite member of the orthopteran insect family,” he poses, and it's not untrue. He didn’t snipe with Cricket like he did with the others, mostly because she never sniped back, so trying to maintain a faux adversarial relationship would just be boring. No, Cricket was far sweeter and more wholesome than literally anyone he’d ever met, like Elle Woods had a lovechild with Barbie, and instead of banter, he’d found it irresistible and perpetually rewarding to tease her about her Certified Disney Princess status.

(Jake will never let her forget the time a small child at the beach approached her to ask if she was a mermaid, and that wasn’t even the only instance he’d witnessed something like that happening.)

 Phoenix shifts uncomfortably in front of him and purses her lips.

“Look, just… give her a break tonight,” she pushes. Jake frowns even deeper, his own mood becoming solemn now.

“What's wrong? Is she alright?” the questions leave his mouth before he can really consider perhaps only asking one, to keep some semblance of cool. Phoenix dances from foot to foot again and nods, but then quickly makes the universal noise, gesture and expression of ‘well, no, actually’.

“She, uh, broke up with her boyfriend a few days ago.” Nat reveals, and oddly, it's the last thing Jake was expecting to hear, and the last thing he’d expect her to divulge to him.

“Oh.” he says, a little unsure of what else to say. Blinking rapidly, Phoenix starts nodding again, this time in a sort of commiserating manner, as if they often gossiped.

“Yeah, she came home to find the prick was fucking one of his colleagues…” She all but spits the words. Her hands form fists where they’re still tucking into her folded arms.

“She's actually really torn up about it, but you know Cricket. She’s not very good at not being positive, you know? So she’s just bottling it up, and I figured, maybe your usual game with her might not be so lighthearted right now. You know she would never tell you if you actually hurt her feelings, so…” Phoenix manages to catch herself before she descends into a full on ramble.

In all the years he’d known her, Jake had only ever witnessed Phoenix fully ramble once, several years ago back in Lemoore, when she and Halo had downed eight shots in ten minutes, and she then proceeded to give him a thirty minute TEDTalk about how cockroaches were basically just incredibly simple AI machines, interrupted every so often when she dozed off against his shoulder, only to pick right back up like nothing had happened.

Pushing the memory aside, Jake takes in her words slowly before at last he releases a deep breath.

He actually finds himself a little taken aback by the sheer depth of anger that lances through him at the thought of Cricket being treated like that. Nobody deserves to be cheated on, but Cricket was simply someone that Jake doesn’t believe anything bad should ever happen to. Around the same time he comes to this conclusion, Jake also becomes aware that as his anger simmers down, he’s struck with the need to seek out his squadmate, and comfort her, something which, if Jake is honest with himself, is not something he has much experience with. He was much more likely to offer space to someone in need, so this sudden urge causes his brow to furrow.

Jake chooses to compartmentalise this oddness for now, but makes a mental note for later to figure out when exactly he’d developed such a strong fondness for Cricket, and more importantly, how exactly that had happened without him knowing.

For now, Jake just gives Pheonix a level nod, and what he hopes is an expression she takes to mean he understands. He then tries to get a hold of his rogue fondness and leashes it with what he thinks is a brotherly, friendly reaction, a more normal reaction for him to have towards his squadmate.

“Does she want him punched or something?” he asks, feeling as though anything more would reveal too much of his scattered, fond thoughts. Jake purses his lips when he realises that ‘fondness’ was quickly becoming an understatement he’ll have to address at some point.

Phoenix's lips curve into a genuine smile, and she chortles softly, shaking her head.

“Well, you’ll have to get in line if she does. I’ve got first dibs.” she states, cracking her knuckles and then her neck, making Jake snort, and shrug, glad to know that perhaps he wasn't the only one suddenly feeling protective.

“I’m sure we could come up with a wrestlemania-worthy finishing move, a la The Hardy Boys to sort him out.” Jake chortles, imagining he and Nat in matching championship belts, and ignoring her raised eyebrow. He knows from that one movement alone that she is filing this information about him away to whip out like a trap card, but compared to the other information she might have gleaned from his reaction to the situation, he doesn’t care so much.

(Besides, Jake felt no shame about his love for Attitude-Era WWE, and if he ever gets the chance to repay her for the thirty minutes of cockroach facts he could have lived his whole life without needing to know, well, now he knew exactly what his topic of choice would be.)

Four hours later, Jake, for some reason, cannot stop thinking about his conversation with Phoenix. He tried chalking it up to the fact that it was an unusual request she’d made of him, but he knows that is bull. Jake is far too invested all of a sudden in your personal life, in your feelings, in a way that honestly, he never has been before. Or at least, has never realised before, because the more Jake lingers on the idea that you were cheated on, he has to confront the fact that these feelings might just have been there all along, and that actually, your happiness and wellbeing are extremely important to him.

He keeps his distance when you arrive with Halo at Penny and Mav’s, but he eyes you hawkishly anyway, uncaring if he’s obvious about it or not. He wants to believe that if he hadn’t known, he’d have spotted your much more reserved demeanour immediately, but honestly, he's not really sure of anything now when it comes to you. Jake isn’t sure if Phoenix spoke to the others, if he was just the last to know, but there is an air of tenderness in the way the others greet you, which wasn't entirely unusual in itself, yet the softness is palpable even from where he sits on the other side of the yard.

He watches you put on a good show, smiling sweetly at Penny as she rushes over to say hello, but the moment you dont think others are paying attention, your features fall and Jake decides that it is basically unacceptable for you to look that sad ever again.

When you disappear through the backdoor, to put the share platter you’ve bought into the fridge he assumes, Jake doesn’t even excuse himself from the conversation he’s supposedly in before he’s beelining for the house. Behind him, he can vaguely hear Javy and Payback protest, but he doesn’t pay them any mind.

Jake steps through the sliding back doors quietly, closing the door behind him and shutting out the rest of the barbeque, if only for a few minutes. He moves softly through the small back room and towards the kitchen, once more surprised to find out just how pleased he is when you turn to look at him right away. That was new… or was it? Jake thinks perhaps he should stop trying to figure things out.

“Hey! Jake!” you greet cheerfully, and he’s comforted a little that your smile reaches your eyes.

“I didn’t catch you this afternoon, so I didn't get to find out your fruit platter preference, but Javy told me anything but pineapple–” you launch right away into friendly conversation, and oddly, this small normality brings him comfort too, after his afternoon of quiet worry. Jake nods at your words as you continue explaining your fruit platter, and if he hadn't other things on his mind, he would have voiced his amusement at the fact you’d somehow managed to cut or arrange all the fruits into the shape of jets.

Anger bubbles in him once again, at the idea that anybody would do anything to cause you to be upset. You, who cuts fruit into themed shapes, and who makes sure to ask every member of the team their food preferences, and who, he’s almost certain, has made the yoghurt dip you're currently unwrapping completely from scratch just for this casual get together.

How could any sane person know you, know how sweet and caring and fundamentally, altogether good you are, and still choose to do something that would hurt you?

More importantly, how could a man be with you and want anyone else?

Jake takes a step forward and fixes you with what he hopes is not an expression that reflects his inner anger, but gives off something more like softness. He’s not sure he’s ever really had a serious conversation with you before, especially not one that wasn't about work, so he’s surprised how natural it feels to show you something more genuine than his usual playful amusement.

“Are you alright?” he hears himself ask you, almost regretting it when your expression drops immediately, and you look away from him, back to your fruit platter which you now seem to be pointless rearranging just so you don't have to look at him. You attempt to wave him off after a few moments, plastering a smile on and scrunching your nose as you continue to not look at him.

“I’m okay. Really. Things weren’t right for a while, so it’s sort of a relief, really.”

Jake thinks that maybe in a few months time, those words might actually be believable, but Phoenix was right. You were such a naturally happy and uplifting person, it’s clear to Jake that you were struggling to let yourself be sad or angry about it all.

You seem to be expecting him to speak, because you glance back at him several times before you seem to really get a look at his face, at which point you stop messing with your platter and turn to face him properly.

“Thank you for asking, though, I… I really appreciate that,” you murmur, wringing your hands together, before realising what you’re doing and smoothing them out over your sundress instead. Jake feels his pulse speed up. Or maybe it slows, he’s not sure, he just knows that his heart beat becomes irregular, and before he knows what he's doing, he’s stepping even closer towards you.

“Cricket,” he begins, a frown beginning to crease his brow, which your eyes flicker to consciously, as if you were concerned about his feelings. “Just say the word, and his nose will be irreparably broken. For the rest of his life he’ll be telling people it's an old football injury. Maybe he’ll even need surgery to fix it enough that it’s even remotely normal again,” Jake watches your eyes widen and blink as he speaks, but he makes sure to keep any trace of humour from his voice, so you properly understand just how serious he’s being. “Hell, it doesn't even need to be his nose. I’ll break his collarbone, I've heard that's the most painful in the long run…”

When you let out a soft sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh, Jake almost thinks he needs to rephrase his offer, but your soft smile and the almost shy look you shoot at him before you drop your gaze for a moment assures him you understood that he wasn’t joking, even a little.

“Sometimes…” you purse your lips and frown, struggling to find the right words, but you begin wringing your hands slowly again and the movement seems to lend you some confidence. “Sometimes I really wish I could be more like Phoenix… or, more like anybody else, really–” Jake has to physically clamp his mouth shut to stop himself protesting that point and let you talk.

“Sometimes, I wish I was someone who would take you up on that offer. I… I feel like I should want to want that… but I don’t…” you trail off and sigh again, but this time, the exhale seems to take a weight off your chest, like simply admitting these feelings out loud was what you really needed.

You look back up at him properly, and smile again. Jake thinks his pulse has stopped altogether now, and begins to seriously consider reporting to medical first thing Monday morning.

“But, I promise that if I ever change my mind about the severe breaking of certain bones, I’ll know exactly who to talk to.” Your smile widens just slightly, a little mischievous almost, like even just joking about it was very cheeky of you. Jake on the other hand, just believes it to be the only correct course of action.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you begin talking again, dropping your fidgeting hands to hang more relaxed at your sides.

“A lot of my life I haven’t really been surrounded by people who’ve looked out for me, or folks who I can really trust… and I know we’re not really friends, more like work friends, but–” you suddenly cut yourself off and shake your head with a little chortle.

“It doesn’t matter, ignore me–”

“–We’re friends.” Jake can’t stop himself from protesting this time. You blink at him like this is surprising to you. “We are friends, Cricket… I know I–” Jake cuts himself off like you had just done and grinds his teeth a little. This was not a conversation he went around having very often, if ever, at all. “You know I wouldn’t poke fun at you if I didn’t care. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think we were friends,” he says, hoping his words didn’t give away exactly how much he cared. You seem to search his face, but you’re nodding, as if he was the one who needed assuring in this situation.

Jake starts to wonder then if he was actually becoming seriously ill, and all of his reaction to this afternoon has just been one big fugue episode. That idea is genuinely more believable to him at this moment, that Jake is really, actually currently unconscious in the on base hospital, with a skyrocketing fever and some other terrible things, than all of this sudden personal change and inner realisation happening so naturally and smoothly and without him having a say in it.

But then you’re smiling at him again, bright and genuine and all thoughts of climbing fevers and sudden illness evaporate. As sad as it sounds, Jake would never dream of you smiling at him like that, the sight so affecting and sweet that he could never come up with on his own. However, he does conclude he’ll probably be seeing it a lot in his dreams from now on. He thinks this should cause panic in him, he should not be planning to dream about one of his squad mates smiling at him, but unsurprisingly to him now, panic is the furthest thing he feels about it.

“Well, I just know that I’m not always good at asserting myself, but I know that you guys… you guys will do it for me.” You give a little shrug. Jake feels a little shame then, that he’s worked with you for several months now and has not once picked up on the fact that you were completely aware of your own tendency to be a bit of a pushover.

It dawns on him that every time he teased you for being ‘too nice’, and every time you laughed or shook your head in amusement, the real joke was on him. It’s a joke that Jake doesn't find particularly funny right now. He’s not sure he ever will.

“Sorry, I’m being so dramatic and grim!” you say suddenly, and this time your mood change isn’t fake or put on. Jake shakes his head at you, and at last feels some of his regular programming begin to seep back in. He chooses to make a show of leaning back against the counter and carefully crosses his arms over his broad chest in a way that he knows looks incredibly sexy (Javy has assured him), a small smirk slowly spreading over his features.

“Cricket,” he drawls out slowly, somewhat relieved that he feels more himself again. You double take as you look back up at him from where you’ve started fiddling with your fruit platter again, your eyes blinking rapidly as you now quickly try to avoid his whole side of the room. Jake’s grin grows ever so slightly when he has your attention, even if you seem too nervous to look at him now.

Unlike most of the women Jake had worked with, you didn't seem to try to, or perhaps you simply were unable to, hide the effect Jake had on you, how he could so easily make you flustered. It's not something he’s totally unfamiliar with, after all, plenty of women around the Hard Deck were the exact same, but the fact that you aren't some civilian looking to get laid, and are in fact one of the best aviators he knows, makes it all the sweeter.

(Jake had once tried to reconcile the way you handled yourself in the air, with the way you were at all other times, but he could never quite do the maths on it, so it was better for his brain if he didn't think about it at all.)

Honestly, Jake knows his getting a reaction out of you is an act of self ego-stroking, but he loved making a spectacle of himself, just to watch how you would sputter and go all mushy, and if he’s even more honest, a big part of his enjoyment lay in the thought that perhaps, he was doing you a favour, giving you something to think about, boyfriend be damned. He supposes he doesn’t need to worry about that being a problem anymore.

Jake then pauses then, and wonders when exactly you having a boyfriend had become a ‘problem’, a threat to him specifically, because the more he thinks about the idea now (hypothetical as it is), the more his skin starts to itch under his shirt.

Perhaps he was getting sick after all.

“Yes, Jake?” you ask, still avoiding looking his way, and trying to use a tone of voice that was either exasperated or ignorant, but your slightly higher pitch gives you away.

“You didn’t say that I was your friend, too,” he faux complains, watches you shake your head a little, but fail completely at keeping the smile off of your face.

With your platter now deemed ready, you pick it up and turn toward him, holding it out for him to take. Jake, without thought, does so.

“You are my friend, too, Jake,” you tell him, far more sincerely this time, and Jake feels his pulse do that odd thing again. He swallows thickly, and nods, before you direct him out the back door.

For the rest of the afternoon, Jake can’t help but hover, never moving too far away from where you are, and when he doesn’t have an excuse to linger close to you, he always keeps one eye directed your way.

#jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin #hangman #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

[sadhours]

omg bestie ok I’ll forget this idea so I need to tell u now- if u don’t like it or something always tell me. ILL STOP AFTER THIS HAHAHA

giving dom billy a handjob in a bathtub. You convince him to let you be in charge for once, He’s the little spoon and he’s just so fucking vocal and moaning so much. When he cums you take him by surprise by only stopping briefly before continuing again. He’s so shocked but turned on and he’s starting to losing his dominance, he becomes over stimulated but doesn’t use his safe word. At one point he even says ‘it’s too much’ or something yet he’s bucking himself into your hand and cums even more. It’s the hottest thing ever

ofc he takes payback in another form- maybe the next day?( I’ll leave that to ur imagination to write go wild bestie)

Heheh I love you ❤️

Sometimes Billy allowed you a bit of control. It wasn’t often but occasionally he would let you comfort him. Like now. He had a rough day of classes, college was harder than he anticipated and obtaining his major in marine biology was more demanding than he imagined. He had a lab today, he was on his feet for hours and he mentioned something about being sore. You suggested a bath. And Billy thought, ya know what, he didn’t take enough baths. You had the tub, might as well use it. He was privy to showers but you were an advocate for bubble baths. So he said fuck it and agreed.

He didn’t anticipate you getting in first and insisting he relax on top of you. Billy didn’t usually like being little spoon, he liked being able to hold you. But you insisted he deserved a bit of comfort and let’s face it, worship.

So that’s how he ended up with his back pressed against your chest in the tub. You’d helped wash his hair and torso, admiring the curves of his muscle as you massaged the soap against his skin. Then your hands got lower and lower and well… his thick flaccid cock was just there and you were pretty obsessed with it so you couldn’t not grab onto it. And Billy’s only human, it doesn’t stay soft for long, not with the way you squeeze the base. It’s fun to watch it grow but it also surges heat between your legs. You kiss against his neck, working your hand up and down his length languidly. He makes the prettiest sounds, little whines and whimpers.

Billy has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen. Nine inches— cut. The fucking thing almost reached his belly button it was so long. The slightest curve to it. Thick and heavy, the tip always gets the nicest shade angry red and God, does he get wet! Pale precum leaking from the tip. You find yourself totally captivated by it. It’s the best looking dick. Better than any you’ve seen. You’ve even suggested maybe he had a future in porn, surely anyone who saw it would worship it.

And his balls! You were equally infatuated with them. A good handful, not too low but not too high. They were sensitive, you loved to lick all over them, suck one gently into your mouth. Loved the way he would whine and whimper.

Billy kept himself very well groomed, blonde curls trailing from his lower abdomen to right above the base of his cock; the rest always shaved clean. He told you it felt better that way.

As you stroke him, he lays his head against your shoulder and these gorgeous, lovely moans tumble from his lips. You can’t help but think of how badly he deserves this, his pretty cock is worthy of all your attention and adoration.

You work him over in your hand, watching the motions in a bit of trance. In fact, you’re so enthralled by the view that you barely feel his weight on you. And moments where sex becomes solely for Billy’s pleasure weren’t rare. Because let’s face it, you don’t get any physical stimulation from having his cock in your hand or shoved down your throat but mentally, you were absolutely euphoric. Anything you could do to make him feel good, you would.

You curve your hand on the upstroke, making sure to run the pad of your thumb against his slit down to where his most sensitive spot is, where the head meets the shaft. When you do so, Billy tilts his head back and moans all pretty for you. A smile tugs at your lips as you pepper kisses along his exposed neck, “You like that, baby?”

“Mhm,” he moans softly, “feels so good.”

You bite at his skin while you begin to stroke him faster and he grabs ahold of your left hand, lacing your fingers. The water sloshes around you due the pump of your hand and the minuscule thrust of his hips. Your whole body erupts in tingles, turned on by what you’re able to do to him. Billy gasps out as you squeeze the base of him and hold still, his eyelids fluttering open so he can watch.

Once you know he’s looking, you continue stroking him but this time your grip is tighter and you begin to focus on the top of his shaft, ignoring the head and the base. Your head swims because he’s just so fucking hard and you’re starting to feel a little feral, eager to make him climax.

He whines, a slew of ‘em while his eyebrows shoot up and his mouth falls open. You know he’s close and you kiss his jaw, giggling softly while jerking him faster.

“Shit,” he curses, hips stuttering up while he lets go of your hand to grip the edge of the tub, “gonna c-cum.”

You bite his jaw and begin to include his tips in the strokes, not slowing down even a bit. As he starts to climax, you tightly wrap your fingers along his base and hold it steady. Lips parting with a smile as you watch his orgasm shoot out of him, smoothing your left hand over his hip.

He pants, chest heaving while he comes down from his high but he’s still hard. And you’re curious if he could go again so quickly. You giggle again and kiss his jaw some more before continuing to pump his dick in your hand.

Billy heaves a choked out sound, high pitched and shocked. It’s almost a squeak. His whole body jerks with it but he settles against you, rolls his hips into it as he moans some more. It excites you more, he’s done this to you many times, you know the feeling. It almost hurts but yet feels so good, too good to make it stop. He makes no sounds of protest, so you keep stroking him, using the cum that had dripped back down as lube which makes it even easier to pump him in your hand. You’ve got him whimpering, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps his head tilted against your shoulder.

He gasps out after a minute, “Babe.. too much.”

The way his hips are bucking up into your hand tell you he’s loving it.

“I know you can cum again,” you coo, “I know you’re already close.”

Billy grits his teeth, eyebrows furrowing as he writhes above you. It’s quite the situation to see, your roles reversed. Usually he’s the dominant one, has you crying as he pulls orgasm after earth shattering orgasm from you. The stroke of your hand is a little worthless at this point, he’s fucking himself up into your fist until he’s spilling out for the second time. You keep pumping him in your hand until he grabs a hold of your wrist to interrupt.

“You fucking brat,” he mumbles with a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

“You love it.”

-

You and Billy get home from the bar on campus. The two of you have class in the morning so you behaved yourselves. Only a couple of drinks, a nice pleasant buzz warming your body. You stand at the bathroom counter, tying your hair up so you can get started on your bedtime routine. As your washing your face, Billy comes in and makes his way to the toilet. He lifts the seat and pulls himself out his jeans to pee. It’s all so domestic, the way he doesn’t care that you’re in here. He’s the only man you’ve seen pee and he’s actually scolded you for watching once or twice. But hey, you were just curious. You didn’t have a dick of your own.

He sees you peeking over and he shakes his head, “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I’m not weird!” you defend yourself as you squeeze toothpaste on your toothbrush.

Billy flushes after tucking himself away and turns to you, “Wouldn’t you think it was weird if I watched you pee?”

“No,” you admit around your toothbrush, scooting aside so he can wash his hands.

“Yeah, well I won’t ‘cause it’s weird,” he says, drying off his hands before reaching for his own toothbrush and the paste.

You shrug and the two of you stand side by side, looking at each other in the mirror as you brush your teeth. Billy always gives you this excited, giddy feeling. You swear you’ve never felt this way about anyone ever. Since you’d started first, you’re finished first. As Billy leans forward to spit into the sink, you slide your fingers into the curls at the bottom of his scalp. Not exactly sure why, you just want to touch him. Can’t help yourself. He rinses his mouth out and stands, turning to you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close. His lips meet yours, tongue sliding across your lower lip before meeting your own. It’s easy to melt into it, melt into Billy.

He pulls away with a smile, “Minty.”

You roll your eyes, pushing his shoulder before making the short trip to your bedroom. You change into your nightgown, turn on the tiny TV and crawl into your bed. Billy follows, stripping down to his underwear before crawling in behind you. He grabs onto your waist and pulls you close, kissing your neck.

“Billy,” you giggle, “we have class tomorrow.”

“So what?” he asks, lips grazing your skin while his hand travels down and pushes your nightgown up and over your thighs. Billy’s got this way about him that has you melt against his touch, your legs start to part as you feel his fingertips dance against the skin of your thighs.

“We need to sleep tonight,” you mumble, tilting your head to give him more purchase of your neck.

“Uh huh,” Billy sits up between your legs and peels down your underwear. “You’ll get some sleep tonight…. Eventually.”

He smiles smugly down at you, getting his thighs under yours as he tilts your hips up. Your body ignites in anticipation, giggling softly as you watch him carefully. His eyes meet yours before he purses his lips, letting a trail of saliva drool out of his mouth and down to your cunt. A gasp falls out of your lips, watching him intently while he brings his fingers to between your legs. Billy’s fingers spread his spit through your folds, mixing with your slick while he holds down on your hip with his left hand. His lips tug up in smirk, watching the way your legs tremble at his touch. And he’s barely done anything.

“That feel good, baby?” he coos like you’re stupid, it shouldn’t turn you on the way it does.

You nod at him, bringing your hands up to your chest while attempting to roll your hips but Billy’s smoothing his hand out across your navel to still your movements, pressing you into the mattress while he rubs his thumb against your clit in circles.

“Billy…” you whine out, arching at his touch.

He spreads your pussy lips apart with his fingers, leaning forward to let another pool of salvia drip out of my mouth and onto your folds. Then he slaps his fingers against your cunt, grinning deviously while you yelp out from the contact. It surges wetness from you and leaves you squirming under his grip.

“Billy, more,” you beg and he listens, slipping a single digit into your wet heat. It feels nice but it’s not quite enough. You’re absolutely eager for more, need him to stretch you out. “More, more!”

He tsks, pulls his finger out and looks down at you with his lips pouted, “So goddamn needy.”

You whimper, wiggling your hips in frustration. You knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut but you’re desperate and sometimes Billy drags it out and spends way too much time teasing. He grabs a hold of your thighs, spreads them further apart and looks down at you.

“You won’t get what you want by being a brat,” he tells you with a raised brow.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying to still your hips.

He hums, “You’re sorry?”

You nod, “Yes, sir. I’ll be good. I promise.”

Billy smiles and reaches back down to your cunt, circling his fingers along your entrance and you do everything you can to not roll your hips. In a swift movement, he enters you with his digits. Two of them. Sometimes it actually pays to be a brat. Billy might act like he won’t give you what you want but he’s not going to torture you. He wants you to feel good, he wants to please you.

You moan out softly, eyes fluttering shut while your head tilts back against the pillows. He pumps his fingers slowly, curling them up to press against your g-spot. He presses his left hand on your navel again, holding you down as he fucks you with his fingers.

“Look at me, babe,” he demands, “Wanna see those pretty eyes while I make you cum.”

You obey, opening your eyes to meet his blue ones. His pupils are big, dark with lust. It makes your body even hotter, the way he looks at you.

“There she is,” he coos with a smirk, slipping a third finger inside of you. Another moan falls from you and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

“Fuck, Billy…” you whine.

The wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt is delicious, his eyes glance from between your legs to your face and the satisfied smile on his face is intoxicating. He curls his fingers as he drags them against your tight walls. Your stomach tightens as that familiar feeling erupts through you, makes your toes curl and your face feel hot.

“I’m… i’m coming,” you confess, grabbing onto his arm that’s pinning you to the bed while you come down around his fingers, clenching the digits while you cry out.

Billy doesn’t stop, though. He works his fingers even harder, pulling more cries and moans from you. It’s brutally overwhelming and you whimper out, clawing at his arm.

“Billy.. too much, ah!”

He bites his lip as your eyes meet and then he says, “Payback, baby. You’re gonna cum again.”

You immediately know he’s referring to the day before when you did the same to him in the tub. And while it’s a little painful because you’re sensitive, you’d really rather he didn’t stop. He lowers himself between your legs, still pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt as he licks through your folds. Your hands immediately grab at his curls, back arching while he laps at your clit.

“Oh my fucking god!” you cry out, thighs trembling.

Billy hums against you, lips curling up as he swirls his tongue around your clit. You tug at his hair, back arching up. You’re far past being overstimulated, begging for him to pull another orgasm from you.

“Billy…” you moan, closing your eyes tight as he sucks and licks at your folds.

His fingers work harder as his lips wrap around your clit and it sends you over the edge for a second time. You writhe against him, thighs trapping his head between them while you hold on tightly to his hair. When you come down and release him, he moves up and cups your face in his hands, kissing you deeply. You can taste yourself on his tongue and you wrap your arms around him, sighing into the kiss. As he presses his body flush against yours, you can feel his erection in his briefs pressed against your sore pussy.

You giggle softly, pushing his curls off his forehead as you look up at him, “Fuck me.”

Billy laughs, it’s breathless and beautiful. Like he can’t believe you’re asking for more.

“Ya sure? Can you handle it?” he asks softly, eyes a little glassy.

You nod, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down, “Wanna make you feel good.”

Billy hums and kisses you again, helping kick his briefs off. He reaches between your bodies to grab a hold of his cock, dragging the tip through your soaked folds. Your body jolts at the stimulation, forcing a giggle out of you and he smiles, looking down at you.

“You sure you’re sure?” he licks his lips, “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“It hurts so good,” you defend, “please fuck me.”

Billy exhales sharply, clearly affected by your words before he slips his cock inside your throbbing hole. You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist which only pushes him deeper inside you. He groans, grabbing onto your jaw as he looks down at you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he mumbles, which makes you giggle because you’d told him too much earlier and he didn’t stop. You didn’t say the safe word, though. You never have with Billy. Never needed to.

“Shut up,” you say around your giggles and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Want you to fuck me until I can’t think anymore.”

Billy inhales sharply, thrusts his hips hard against you and don’t miss the glazed over lustful look in his eyes. You know he loves when you talk like that.

“Yeah?” he grunts, “You’re such a good little cock slut. Want me to use this tight fuck hole?”

“Yes, sir,” you manage to gasp out.

His hips piston harder and faster, he pulls back just enough so he can loosely hold onto your throat and hip. The force of his thrusts make your tits bounce, makes your whole body shake underneath him. And he’s true to his word, he uses you like his own personal fuck toy. Billy’s face contorts in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and his adorable nose scrunched up in concentration. You watch his face until you can’t anymore, the sensation of a third orgasm creeping up on you and your eyes cross before they squeeze shut. You’re practically screaming, noises uncontrollable while Billy drills into you relentlessly. Once your body seizes with the third, incredibly tiring climax, Billy pulls out and crawls up so his cock is in your face. He jerks himself a few times before shooting across your face. A few drops land on your awaiting tongue but when he’s so riled up, his sim is shit and he gets most of it on your cheeks and hair.

He pants above you as you swallow what’s in your mouth. You keep your eyes shut just in case. It doesn’t feel like any landed on them but to be safe, you wait patiently for him to clean you up. And after he does, he lays beside you, lights a cigarette and pats your thigh.

“You did good, doll. Always such a good girl for me.”

#billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove smut #request

[steddieas-shegoes]

she runs a tight ship

rated t | for @strangerthingsocweek day 1 "introduction" | 1,573 words cw: mentions of illness (just a cold), mildly suggestive language | tags: future fic, corroded coffin, original character, robin gets to have a girlfriend because i said so

author note: a lot of meg's original backstory also revolves around OCs that other people have created, so I've doctored it up a bit to fit in without pulling the other OCs into the mix.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Meg rolled her eyes the moment she walked onto the tour bus.

The boys, and they were in fact boys since they refused to act like grown men, had left clothes scattered across the floor and couch, empty beer bottles and bags of chips on the table, and a pack of cigarettes on the counter.

Unbelievable.

But actually, totally believable.

They weren’t always like this. It’s just that the first night of the tour was always a celebration when they got off stage and Meg had the unfortunate task of making sure they were alive and prepared for the rest of the tour.

She wasn’t their manager, or security, or really anyone of importance in the grand scheme of things. All of those people were just not good at the job, and she took over quickly to ensure the members of Corroded Coffin didn’t end up ruining their careers before they even got started.

“If I see a single ass cheek when I come back there, I’m quitting!” She yelled towards the back of the bus. It was an empty threat, and they knew it, but she’d seen enough ass cheeks to last a lifetime.

She leaned over to pick up the pile of pants and pair of boots right in front of the door, face crumpling into disgust as she caught a whiff of sweat and weed.

“Meg, good to see ya!” Gareth said as he came from behind the curtain leading to the bunks. “Are we in Cinci already?”

“Yep.” She popped her mouth and continued picking things up off the floor. “Soundcheck in two hours. You guys have to at least try to get your shit together for it.”

“We will! You doin’ okay?” Gareth started gathering the trash on the table, throwing it all in the trash can without even seeing what was full and empty.

“Yeah. Good show last night. Didn’t think you’d do the new one on your first night,” Meg admitted. She’d worked on the song with them for weeks in the studio, curating it exactly to their tastes while still staying true to her own style. She didn’t think it would make the setlist at all, especially since they hadn’t even decided if it would make the next album yet, but sure enough, they performed it last night.

And they’d given credit to their “amazing songwriter friend who made sure they didn’t die or forget to eat.”

She would never admit to the tears that fell when she watched them perform their song.

“Ed and Robin agreed it should be a surprise. I think they both just wanted to see you cry,” Gareth nudged her on his way over to grab the guitar on the couch to put it into its case. “Steve told them not to.”

“This is why Steve’s my favorite,” she joked. Well, half-joked. She considered Steve to be the other half to her Keep Corroded Coffin On Track Team. Without him, Eddie would have been left at a rest stop the first time they went on the road.

“Yeah, that’s no secret.” She could hear the eyeroll in Gareth’s voice, but chose to ignore it. “He was snoring so bad last night, I almost had to consider kicking him off the bus.”

“Wait. Snoring? Steve doesn’t snore unless he’s-”

“Fuck.”

They both realized at the same time what was coming. Gareth looked back at Meg, eyes wide.

“Not now! It’s the beginning of tour!”

“Maybe if I load him up with vitamin C? I have a whole vitamin kit in the van and Robin has that nebulizer for her breathing treatments.”

A round of sneezes came from the back and Meg cursed under her breath.

“He’s gotta get away from everyone. He can take the van with Robin and I’ll bunk on your couch for a few days. Did he have a fever?” Meg was known for being dramatic over small inconveniences, but this wasn’t small. It had the potential to ruin tour dates. If anyone in the band got sick, it could ruin a concert.

“Don’t know. I don’t think so? He seemed fine when we went to sleep. He passed out before all of us though.” Gareth quickly set the guitar down and opened the cabinet closest to the bus door. “We’ve got cold meds. Some cough syrup. Tylenol. Cough drops. You think that’ll be enough?”

Meg nodded. “For now. Let’s see how bad it is first.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Eddie and Jeff came out at the same time, panic written all over their faces.

Meg sighed. “Bad?”

They nodded.

“Okay, stay away from him. It could already be too late, but you guys have to stay healthy.” Meg grabbed the basket of meds and a bottle of water from the fridge. “All of you get outside, tell Robin what’s up, and go with security into the building. I’m gonna get him settled in the van and scrub this place from top to bottom.”

“But I’ll miss him,” Eddie pouted. “How long does he have to stay in the van?”

“Until he can breathe through both nostrils.”

“Can any of us ever really breathe through both nostrils?” Eddie wondered.

Meg blinked at him. “Get a shirt on and get out of here before I make it impossible for you to breathe out of one nostril.”

Eddie threw his head back and groaned. Jeff patted his shoulder and turned to grab a shirt that was still on the couch.

“It’s okay man. Might just be a little cold. Could pass quick!” Gareth tried to reassure him, but Meg could already see how this was gonna go.

She was surrounded by slightly codependent idiots. She loved them all dearly, but she needed them to function individually sometimes.

The door banged open and Robin came up the steps.

“I swear, I sleep in one time and my girlfriend abandons me for her harem of idiot men.” She glances between everyone and tenses. “What’s wrong?”

“You stupid soulmate is sick,” Meg grumbled. “Everyone is in the process of leaving this bus before it happens to them.”

“I’ll wake up Frankie. He’s gonna be pissed,” Jeff sighed. “He got his pillows just right.”

“I’ll get him, you guys go,” Meg shooed them away, waiting for them to all leave before turning to Robin. “Hey, Robbie. Sorry I didn’t wake you up, just wanted you to get plenty of sleep.”

Robin leaned her head on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “It’s okay, babe. Steve gonna make it?”

“Haven’t put eyes on him yet. Think you could go check? I gotta avoid getting sick, too. The less I’m around him, the better,” Meg handed her the basket and kissed the side of her head. “Get him to the van so he can contaminate that area instead.”

“But then I’ll get sick.” Robin pouted.

Meg couldn’t resist leaning down and pulling Robin’s bottom lip between her teeth, smirking when she let out a yelp.

“You’ll be fine. You’ve got a strong immune system. Promise I'll make it up to you in a few days. Maybe we could convince them to let us have a hotel room so we can-,” Meg said, pulling away when she heard shuffling behind the curtain. “Oh, good, it’s you. The rest of the guys are gone. Steve’s sick. Don’t come back in here until I give the go ahead.”

Frankie yawned, scratched his head, and nodded. “Got it.”

He was slowly becoming her favorite just by the fact that he never really argued with her. Maybe that was because he was terrified of her, but she could enjoy her power a little if she wanted to.

He walked out of the bus in his pajamas, probably not awake enough to realize he wasn’t properly dressed, but also probably not caring at all that he wasn’t. Frankie was a chill guy.

“Eddie?” Steve’s pitiful raspy voice came from behind the curtain. “Eds?”

“I’ll go,” Robin gave one final kiss to Meg’s lips before walking behind the curtain.

Meg only caught a glimpse of Steve, but a glimpse was all she needed to come to the conclusion that he was miserably sick and she needed to air this bus out immediately. She could hear Robin gently explaining where everyone was and trying to bribe him to put some comfy clothes on to move to the van.

She looked around and wondered what he’d touched last night before going to bed.

She opened the window behind the couch, and propped the window by the sink open to get some fresh air in the bus.

“Sorry I’m sick,” Steve suddenly said behind her, his eyes glassy and nose and cheeks bright red with fever and congestion. “Don’t know how.”

Meg smiled sadly at him. “Not your fault, bud. Just make sure to keep your distance from the guys until your fever’s gone. Don’t need them all getting sick at once and having to postpone a concert.”

Steve nodded sadly. “Okay. Can you tell Eddie I love him?”

“‘Course I can.”

Steve was acting like he was dying, but Meg didn’t say anything. Robin had been honest about a lot of her past, their past, but couldn’t say everything. She knew why they were all a bit codependent on each other. Sometimes small things like the common cold felt like a monster they couldn’t fight.

As Robin led Steve out of the bus, Meg made a checklist in her head of everything she needed to do before the show tonight.

Taking care of her boys was always top priority.

#stranger things #strangerthingsocweek #writing challenge #original character #corroded coffin #robin buckley #eddie munson #steve harrington #side steddie #gareth emerson #jeff #frankie or unnammed freak who i have decided is frankie

[anxious-witch]

This post specifically goes for my mutuals/followers who have been struggling lately. I see you and I don't always have something encouraging to reply, but if you have been feeling down recently, I hope this will help.

TW for mental health talk, mentions of suicide (this is an encouraging post, but please don't read further if anything of the sort might trigger you. Keeping your mental health intact is more important ❤️)

It's so very easy to get in the spiral of "I am not doing enough, all these people that I love would be better off without me". And convincing yourself those same people would forget you and move on quickly.

It's not true. I understand the sentiment, I really, really do. I used to fully believe that myself. But that's a lie. Mental illness reshapes the way we think and perceive things. And our brain and wired to remember bad things more than good ones. But when you'd write down everything that happened every day, I'd honestly be surprised if all of it was bad. Of course there are bad days, but even then, depression tend to focus on things you did wrong instead of those you did right.

But I am here to talk about the fact that I'd miss you if you were gone, too. Which seems ridiculous. "Rio, you follow 1000 blogs, you wouldn't notice". *loud incorrect buzzer* wrong! I would notice. As long as we ever interacted, as long as you liked and/or reblogged my posts, I'd notice.

When someone gets busy and I don't see them in my notes for over a week, I hope they are okay and just doing something more fun irl. I am not always great at remembering usernames, but as soon as they like one of my posts again I'm like yes!! They are back! I am glad you are okay!

"But I don't even contribute to the fandom!" No? Do you think creating content is the only way to contribute? Even just lurking and liking stuff counts. And I know some of you send really lovely anon messages that have made my day more than once. It DOES matter. Notes help other people as encouragement to keep posting. That absolutely counts.

"We barely post about the same fandom anymore" ah! But I still see you! I have a mutual that I have been following since 2016-2017, I believe. I have no idea what the hell he posts about these days. I can't rven accurately tell you why I originally followed him in the first place, it was either LOTR or Twilight, but fuck if I remember, because neither of hs posts about it!

And I still care. Because his journey ended up helping me. Seeing people's posts about their little achievements always makes my day. And even if you don't feel like you achieved anything in awhile, that doesn't mean you won't in the future. My point is, you are loved more than you know.

And this is only about online stuff. People notice when you walk down the street. Maybe someone likes your hair, or some detail of your outfit. Maybe someone saw you feed a stray and thought how nice you are. Maybe someone takes the same public transport as you every day and takes comfort in the fact you share the same path, if only for a few minutes.

This tumblr post perfectly described it, actually:

So please, if not for your own sake, for the sake of all the people who love you silently, keep going. It will get better. You might be just a bit further away from getting better. But you won't know unless you keep going.

So let's find out together, shall we?

#rio rambles #mental health #tw suicide mention #I think I might be getting way to ahead of myself #but I have seen posts and heard second hand about a lot of ppl struggling rn #so if this makes even one person feel a bit better it's worth posting

[sortofanobsession]

could you maybe write a fic where Jamie gets sick at an away game— whether it be anxiety, food poisoning, flu, etc. Maybe he sicks up in the middle of the night and Dani or Sam (I imagine they room together and are best friends) go get Roy and he’s very very sweet in his own Roy way to Jamie and then the next day on the bus Jamie still doesn’t feel good so he snuggles into Roy in the back of the bus?

I literally love your work so much and would absolutely die if you wrote this (plus my birthday is coming up (Jan 25th) so this would be so epic to read then))

Happy Early Birthday, Anon!

Here is worried Roy Kent, sick and confused Jamie, amused Keeley, #1 nurse Phoebe, and well, everyone else. Hope you like it.

A/N: I'm not a medical expert. I have asthma so I know a few things about raspatory issues. But this might not be the most accurate. And it's unbeta read, as usual.

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Ao3

Pairing: RoyJamie

word count: 4k+

Content warning: Illness, pneumonia, fever, coughing, vomiting (from coughing), panic, angst, sleep depravation, fear, swearing/cursing/cussing.

Fever in the Night

Roy Kent growls at the knock that would have woken him up if he had been asleep. He’d been reading and didn’t appreciate being interrupted. 

“Better be fucking dying,” He grumbles as he opens the door. “What?” he snaps at Sam Obisanya. 

“Sorry, Coach,” Sam nervously says. “But it’s Jamie.” 

And that has Roy moving before his tired brain catches up. He almost forgets to grab his room key and phone, but he isn't a fucking idiot, so he grabs them. Sam relaxes a tiny bit that Roy didn't argue or even swear as much as Sam had expected for it being 1 a.m. Roy feels uneasy when he looks up to see Dani Rojas and Jeff Goodman in the hall, both in the open door of the room Sam and Jamie shared. The four players have adjoining rooms. 

“What about Jamie?” Roy finally asks as he follows Sam.

“He's very sick,” a worried Dani Rojas says. Jeff nods. 

“Okay,” Roy says. He was tempted to ask them why the fuck they woke him and not the team’s doctor, but it was about Jamie Tartt. He'd be pissed if they didn't. He cares about Jamie. And he shoves that thought aside because he really shouldn't think like that. And Roy forgets it completely when he gets one look at Jamie. Jamie’s pale. His stupid fucking hair is sweat drenched and sticking to his face. 

“You two, out,” he says to Dani and Jeff by the door. 

“But-” Dani starts, but Roy glares. Jeff was smart enough to be back in his own room already.

“You have a fucking match, with or without Tartt, so fucking sleep. He'll be fucking fine.” 

The coach weighs his options before handing Sam his own room key. “You fucking too.”

“But coach-”

“Not going to fucking repeat it,” he snaps. 

“What about you?”

“Don't fucking argue.”

“Sorry, coach,” Sam says, but he hasn't moved. The room key and his phone gripped right in his hands. 

“I’ll call the physio team, now fucking go.”

Sam nods and silently leaves. Roy sighs once the doors are closed. As tired as he is, his fucking heart is pounding. Something is wrong with Jamie Tartt. And that twists something inside the gaffer. And despite the protest in his knee, he is kneeling down beside Jamie to get a good look at him. He should call the physio team. He needs the team’s doctor. Roy might know more than your average bloke when it comes to health, thanks to his sister, but he's no bloody expert. But he needs a bit more information first. He reaches up and carefully moves the hair out of Jamie's face. 

“Fucking hell,” he says when just his fingertips can feel the heat of a fever. Just to be sure, he places his palm on Jamie's forehead. And he squashes down whatever feeling is stirred up by how the sick striker shivers at the contact but still leans into it. 

“Fucking burning up,” Roy mutters to himself. 

He winces at the pain in his knee as he stands up. He tucks Jamie's blankets tighter around him. The gaffer is scrolling through his contacts to find the one he needs. He flips the light on in the ensuite and talks to the team's doctor as he grabs a flannel and wets it. As he hangs up the phone, he sets the damp cloth on Jamie's forehead. That's when the player’s eyes snap open. Confusion, followed by panic, flashed across the striker’s face. Because in Jamie's mind, if Roy Kent is there, then Jamie is running late for something, and Roy is probably pissed at him. Jamie hates when Roy is pissed at him. Jamie doesn't like disappointing Roy. 

“Easy, Tartt,” Roy says. “Fucking stay put.” Roy puts the fallen flannel back in place. “Try and relax.”

And as anxious as Jamie is, a command from Roy Kent is one that Jamie will follow. 

“Roy?” Jamie manages to ask. And the coach hates how tired, weak, and utterly confused Jamie seems. 

Before Roy can say anything else, a knock at the door makes Jamie flinch. Without thinking, Roy smoothes the younger man’s hair back in an attempt to calm him as he gets up. Roy’s always been better at physical gestures than words. And if that's what was needed to keep Tartt from panicking or hurting himself, well, then that was a no fucking brainer. He was going to fucking do it.

He lets the doctor into the room and silently hovers as the doctor deals with the striker. 

“Any other player showing symptoms?” the doctor asks the gaffer.

“Fuck if I know, Obisanya, Rojas, and Goodman just seemed fucking worried. Are we going to have a fucking team tomorrow?” 

“Guess we will see in the morning,” the doctor says. Roy gets a rundown on what needs to be done for Jamie. The coach leans his head against the cool wood of the door when he closes it behind the doctor. 

“Where's Sam?” Jamie asks, finally realizing that his roommate’s gone. And that concerns Roy a bit. Jamie is one of his most observant players. On and off the pitch, he tends to keep track of who is around him and where his mates are. He likes knowing where the people he cares about are. He was just noticing Sam’s absence now, which wasn’t a good sign. 

“Sent him off to get some fucking sleep,” Roy says. Several things had been dropped off at the room by either the physio team or hotel staff. Roy had been focused on the doctor and Jamie when it had happened. The gaffer hands the player a bottle of water. Jamie takes it without argument.

“Where?” Jamie glanced at Sam's empty bed. Roy rolls his eyes. 

“My room,” Roy answers, and that seems to surprise Jamie. Before the player can comment on the decision, Roy adds, “Not like I'm fucking using it.” And Roy regrets saying it at the way Jamie gets a sad look on his face. “It's fucking fine, Tartt. My fucking choice.” 

“But-”

“But someone needs to make sure you fucking rest.”

And Jamie hates that because he doesn't want to be a burden to anyone. 

“You don't need to-”

“Already fucking decided,” Roy states. “Just try and fucking sleep.” 

Roy is woken up by violent coughing, and he is out of bed without thinking. Helping raise Phoebe had him trained to be a light sleeper at times like these. Roy follows the sound to the loo. He knocks on the closed door. He didn't know if Jamie had coughed so hard he made himself vomit or vice versa. But from what he could hear, it was painfully obvious one of the two had occurred. The gaffer is glad to find the door unlocked and lets himself in. Jamie tries to argue and kick him out, but he is tired and shaking and can barely move. And that has something in Roy breaking. 

“Not fucking going anywhere, Tartt,” Roy says. As he grabs some water and sits beside Jamie. Jamie accepts the glass if only to rinse his mouth out. Roy can hear the way Jamie's lungs struggle, and that has Roy struggling not to panic. But he manages. He gets Jamie calmed down, cleaned up, and back in bed. Roy ends up texting his sister, who calls him. She asks him if Jamie has been sick recently, but then he remembers what Jamie had told him during training. He'd nearly choked to death at Ola’s over a joke one of the other idiots had told him. And fuck, Jamie couldn't catch a break. His sister tells him it sounds like aspiration pneumonia to her. He should have the doctor double-check, but hopefully, Jamie being a fit footballer will mean he can fight it off without too much trouble. He would need to keep a close eye on him. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to be admitted to hospital. And that had Roy’s blood running cold. A cold and a fucking joke. He sent a message to the physio team and went back to Jamie. 

The only good thing was that pneumonia wasn't inherently contagious. The cold Jamie had before it might be, but it was unlikely to take Sam, Dani, or Jeff out of the game. Jamie wouldn't be leaving the hotel the next morning. Roy really dreaded the idea, but he was already hitting the number on his phone. Keeley would have a lot to say about this at some point. She’d probably see right through him and know he cares more than he should for just being Jamie’s coach. But he needed help, and he knew Jamie trusted Keeley as much as Roy did. 

“Better be good, Roy,” Keeley says. She was clearly annoyed and not a fan of being woken at nearly 4 in the morning. 

“Fucking opposite, it's very fucking bad,” he says, and he sounds it. And she knows if Roy is that upset, it means one of three people was in a bad state. It must be Roy's sister, his niece, or Jamie Tartt. Roy and Jamie might both be her exes, but she knew them well enough to know that they were both idiots in love, just neither of them would admit it. And since it's an away match, it probably meant Jamie was the one having issues. 

“What's wrong? What happened?” She says, all annoyance gone and completely awake. “Is Jamie all right?”

Roy tells her what has happened since Sam knocked on his door. She tells him to keep doing what he's doing. She’ll stay with Jamie during the match. 

“Just let me text Rebecca, and I’ll be there,” Keeley tells him. Roy Kent doesn't argue. 

Roy is an anxious fucking mess throughout the whole match. He does his job. The team does theirs, but everyone feels like there is a gaping hole in the lineup. Even if they physically have a full team, thanks to Roberts. But Isaac had told them to win it for Jamie, and the fucking lads did. That would at least make Jamie feel better about having missed it. Colin Hughes and Dani Rojas had Sky Sports doing replays of goals. And post-game interviews had been more about Tartt than one would think for a game he wasn't in. Roy was just glad he’d had Jamie give Georgie a heads-up that he was sick before he left for the match. The striker listened to his mum as an amused Keeley kicked Roy out of the room. 

The team didn't even ask Roy if he was going out to celebrate the win. The gaffer hadn't even hung back for the bus. He didn't even change his clothes. He let Nathan Shelley to handle the press. He caught a ride back to the hotel, annoyed by the chatty driver, but he was cognizant enough to not verbally eviscerate the guy. He was just doing his job. Tipped the guy well. Not his fault Roy was a shit company. 

“You weren't joking,” Keeley grinned when she opened the door for Roy. Her voice was quiet.

“Said I'd be back after the match,” he stated as he tossed his jacket over a chair in the room. His tone matches hers. “How is he?” 

“Out cold. Whatever the new doctor gave him must be working.” 

Roy hummed. The hotel’s concierge had arranged for a local doctor to treat Jamie so the physio team could focus on the match. And Roy didn't even mind the outrageous fee that was going to cost them. He'd throw all the money he had at it, even though he knew Rebecca Welton would cover it in a heartbeat. She cared deeply for her team these days. And Roy could respect that. He did respect that about his boss. He glanced at the muted TV as Sky Sports blathered on about the game. Roy was glad it was silent. He could ignore the bullshit commentary on his coaching. They won. That's all that fucking mattered. 

“You need to leave?” Roy asked at the way Keeley's phone kept going off. 

“Maybe to take a few calls. Seems the internet is not satisfied with the team's explanation of Jamie's absence.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Roy says as he moves to check on Jamie himself.

“You would say that,” Keeley grins. “But it's my job to answer it. I'm his publicist, after all.”

“Fair,” Roy states, but he doesn't look at her. His eyes are locked on Jamie. He doesn't see the knowing look on Keeley's face. 

“Team should be here soon,” she tells him as she grabs her bag. “Text me if you need me.”

Roy grunts and nods. He finally looks up at her.

“Doctor said he’ll be back up in a few days,” she assures him. “Bus ride might suck, but we'll manage.”

After she leaves, Roy turns off the TV. He was glad he and Sam had switched rooms. He silently changes into more comfortable clothes and pulls a chair up next to the bed. He picks up the book he had been reading. He didn't get very far in his book. He was too distracted by the wheezing sound coming from Jamie. He knew the team was back as the noise level in the hall increased. He was about to go out and tell them all to shut the fuck up when someone beat him to it. There was a quiet knock on the door. 

He opens it to find Nathan Shelley.

“How is he?” the assistant coach asks.

“Sleeping, but it's not fucking great,” he tells him.

“Think he’ll be able to travel?” Nate asks.

“Can't fucking leave him here,” Roy says. 

“That's true, but it won't make him worse, will it?” 

“Not much to fucking do about it.”

Roy had bought Keeley a ticket back so she could meet them when they got back. She complained, but he was ordering her around, but she didn't really mean it. They were both worried about Jamie. And if she could help ease his pain after a long trip, then she would. 

Roy had triple-checked that he had everything packed up for both himself and Jamie. Dani and Jeff had taken their stuff down so Roy could focus on getting Jamie up and moving. No one says anything, but they watch curiously as Roy leads a pale Jamie to the far back of the bus. The players exchanged worried looks. It was going to be a long, tense ride back to Richmond. 

The bus was quiet, as it usually is during these late-night trips, but this was an uneasy silence. The entire bus would go painfully tense every time Jamie coughed. 

They were on the road for half an hour when Roy noticed Jamie was shaking. Roy couldn't imagine how shitty the striker must feel. Fever-induced chill on a fucking crowded bus. 

Jamie's eyes snap to his when Roy feels the ill man’s forehead for what feels like the millionth time. 

“You okay?” Roy asks quietly.

“Cold,” Jamie says. And Roy had already figured that out by the way Jamie not only avoided the cold glass of the window but also the way Jamie sort of chased the warmth of Roy's hand as he pulled away. How Jamie could be burning up but shivering cold had Roy thinking this was a terrible idea. He should have made better arrangements for Jamie. He should have extended their stay at the hotel, no matter the price, and sent the team back without them. Sure, there would be a lot of questions he didn't even want to answer to himself, let alone out loud, but he regrets not doing it. For Jamie's health and safety. Jamie was already wrapped in his usual blanket, a new one Keeley had given him, and Jamie's jacket. But it didn't seem to be enough. 

Roy hummed. 

Jamie's tired eyes watched as Roy dug through the bag he had with him. First, he makes Jamie take more meds. Jamie is vaguely aware of the quiet buzzing alarm on Roy’s phone. As he takes the meds, he sees Roy pull out a jumper from his bag. Roy kept it with him on trips like these in case a hotel or bus had a busted heater, and he needed extra layers. Jamie considers arguing, but he is just too exhausted to actually do it when Roy helps him out of his jacket and into the jumper. Instead of Jamie’s jacket, Roy's much thicker leather jacket, still warm from Roy wearing it, is wrapped around the striker. Jamie almost cries because it's warm and it smells like Roy, and it's overwhelmingly comforting to his fever-muddled mind. Roy must notice the glassy look in Jamie's already bloodshot eyes because without hesitation or protest, even at the odd looks from a few people around them, Roy shifts them both. Roy moves so he can lean against the window with Jamie's back to his chest. One foot on the floor to brace them both. And Jamie manages to get a bit more air than he had bundled up in the window seat. Roy was fucking warm, and Jamie just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep in his lap, but his lungs hurt, and he could barely breathe as is. Thankfully, the bench at the back of the bus they were on was a bit longer than the normal seats, and Roy could stretch his knee out. They still had nearly 5 hours on the bus. Jamie’s eyelids felt heavy when Roy pulled the blankets back around him. The violent chills finally eased a bit. Jamie didn't know if it was from the meds or how blissfully warm Roy fucking Kent was, but he felt just a tiny bit more human.

“Quit fighting it and fucking sleep, Tartt,” Roy said. Jamie chuckles, but it turns into a wheezing cough that earns concerned luck from the teammates who are sitting nearby. The striker doesn't see the way Roy silently waves them off, too distracted by the way Roy’s arm holds him tight, a hand on his chest to keep him from falling to the floor. Roy's other hand starts rubbing Jamie's back until he can pull an exhausted Jamie back against his chest.

“Just try and breathe, Jamie,” Roy's voice is in his ear, sending a shiver down Jamie’s spine. “Let the medicine work. Nothing else matters. Just fucking breathe.”

Jamie whines slightly because all he wants to do is tuck his face in Roy's next and probably cry.

Roy Kent’s heart fucking shattered at the weak noise that Jamie makes, and he can't take it. He wraps his arms as tight around Jamie as he dares with how much the striker is already struggling to breathe. And he plants a kiss on Jamie's temple.

“It's okay, Jamie,” the older man assures. “I've got you.” And that seems to do the trick because Jamie’s hands wrap around Roy's wrist. So the coach adds, “I'm not going anywhere.” And Roy starts quietly telling Jamie about his first time in Newcastle as a kid when he’d been training in Sunderland. His hushed words continue until Jamie is fast asleep against him. 

About halfway through the trip, Coach Beard comes to check on them. He isn't surprised that Jamie is passed out. Nor is he shocked to find Roy Kent wide awake. The gaffer might be exhausted, and on night two, he has no sleep, but he is wide awake. Beard hands him a water bottle. One Roy accepts because he was sort of trapped where he is. 

“You good?” Beard asks. Roy nods because as painfully asleep his leg might be, and as achy his bad knee is, he'd endure it if it meant Jamie slept. Jamie had spent much of the first hour of the trip trying to get comfortable. The fact he had slept long enough for Roy to get sore was good. 

“Fucking fine,” Roy grumbles. 

“You sure?” Nate asks when he appears over Beard’s shoulder. “We could help you-” 

He is cut off by a low growl from Roy. “You fucking wake him, and you’ll be picking your teeth up out the aisle.” 

“Right, yeah, got it,” Nate says before disappearing, presumably back to his seat. Beard just nods and hands him the book Roy had set aside. 

Roy can feel the rattle in Jamie's lungs worsening as the meds wear off, and Jamie starts to wake up. Thankfully, they were only about 45 minutes out from the dog track now. 

Roy gently shushes him as a bump in the road jostles everyone on board, earning a pained whine from the ill man. “It's okay, Jamie,” Roy tells him. “Nearly there, then we can go home and get you in bed.” 

And it's like a knife in Roy's heart that Jamie is too tired and sick to make a snippy comeback or stupid innuendo. Like all the humor and joy was being drained from the player. And Roy hated it. As much as he acted annoyed or put out by Jamie, he fucking adored him. Wouldn't change the man Jamie had grown into for the fucking world.

On the contrary, he'd fucking fight anyone that doubted Jamie. Because Roy Kent was fucking gone on Jamie Tartt. The arrogant prick stole his heart at some point, and Roy hadn't even fucking noticed. His sister and Keeley were never going to let him live this down. And he'd endure it as long as Jamie was okay.

Jamie worried as he watched how Roy had to grip the seats as they exited the bus. Roy is slower than usual. Jamie might be sick, but he knew Roy. He could identify Roy while blindfolded by footsteps alone. The slight limp and the way Roy leans heavily on the railing with each step down makes Jamie’s brows furrow.

“Fucking stop it,” Roy says when his eyes meet Jamie's. 

“Your knee-” 

“Is fucking fantastic. You going to just fucking stand there or what?” 

Keeley's laugh has Jamie looking behind him.

“You two are a sight,” she grins. 

“Did you-”

“Course I did, Roy-o,” she smiles. “Let's get you home, babe,” she says to Jamie, and he is too tired and confused to argue. He nearly panics when he notices Will helping Roy along, but Keeley's warm hand pats Jamie’s chest. “He's okay, just a long ride,” Keeley tells him. “Telling either of you not to worry is a waste, but I can tell you, he doesn't regret it. Now, in you go.” She helps him into Roy’s G-Wagon with little argument. He is surprised when Roy gets in the back beside him, and Keeley gets behind the wheel. Roy doesn't often let others drive his car. But then again, this is Keeley.

“Jamie?” The striker's eyes snap up and he meets Keeley’s in the rearview mirror before Keeley looks away to meet Roy’s. 

“Hmm?”

“She asked if you were fucking hungry,” Roy tells him, and the worried look on Roy's face has a familiar feeling in Jamie's gut returning. 

“I'm knackered more than anything,” Jamie says.

“I get that,” Keeley says. “Be home soon.”

Jamie must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, he's waking up in his own bed, unsure how he got there. He tries to put the pieces together, but he comes up short. 

“Good, you're awake.”

“Phoebe?” Jamie asks because Roy Kent’s niece is in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Hang on, I have to tell my mum.”

“Your mum?” Jamie mutters, but she is gone. So Phoebe and her mum were there. Jamie’s tired brain tries to remember what happened to cause this to happen. 

“Well, your colour's better,” Roy's sister says as she walks in. 

“You're in my house?” 

She nearly laughs at his confused look. Phoebe giggles.

“Well, yeah,” Phoebe says like it's the most obvious fact in the universe. “Uncle Roy let us in.”

“Uncle Roy,” Jamie mutters.

“My brother begrudgingly went to training,” the doctor tells him. She uses a stethoscope to check his breathing. Jamie coughs as she does. “Rough,” she tells him. “But better than it was.”

“Uncle Roy said it was something like popcorn popping while rattling a jar of change, and when you pinch a balloon as it deflated.”

Jamie’s laughs turn into a wheezing coughing fit at the odd description. He startles slightly as a funny mask meets his face, but he looks over at the doctor as she turns on a machine. 

“Yeah, she asked him, and that's how he explained it,” the amused mother said as she looked at her daughter. “Nebulizer,” she taps the machine. “Help get those lungs to open up faster. Make it easier to breathe.” She goes on to tell him how it works. 

“So,” Jamie says despite the mask muffling his speech. “You…have…Babysitting…duty?” 

He doesn't miss the worried look on Phoebe's face as he has to break between each word, but her mum just squeezes her knee, where she sits on the side of Jamie's bed. Phoebe's hands were too busy holding Jamie's hand. And that makes Jamie smile behind the mask. He was always happy to see Phoebe. Sure, this was a weird visit, but he was glad she was there. Being sick was awful. But it was easier when you had people that cared around you. 

“My brother insisted Phoe was the best nurse for the job.” And the smile the girl gave them did wonders to heal Jamie's heart. She was a ball of sunshine. Jamie was still trying to figure out how they got there when he remembered that Keeley had driven Jamie and Roy to Jamie's flat. Roy must have stayed. 

“His knee?” Jamie asks, sure that Roy's sister would know.

“Fine, after he iced it,” she tells him. “Or as fine as it ever is.” She shrugs. “Although if he doesn't start wearing the brace again on bad days, I'm going to kick him in it.”

“That's not very nice, mum,” Phoebe says.

“Neither is your uncle when his knee hurts, so seems fair,” her mum grins. Jamie chuckles. “Medication must be working. We got a laugh that didn't turn into a cough.”

“Yay!” Phoebe cheered, and Jamie smiled. The pair stayed, and Phoebe told him all about the match he had missed. As much as it hurt him to know he had let his team down, the colourful commentary from an 8-year-old made it easier to stomach. 

Roy had let himself in with Jamie’s keys and followed his niece’s laugh to find them all in Jamie's room. His sister turned off the nebulizer. And the icy grip around the gaffer's heart eases slightly at the smile on Jamie's face as the mask was set aside. 

“Uncle Roy's here!” Phoebe announced. 

“How's the best medical team doing?” Roy asks. 

“Great!” Phoebe grins. 

“And the patient?” Roy adds. And Jamie is stunned at the strange dichotomy on the gaffer's face. He looks exhausted. He has bags under his eyes. At the same time, there is a spark in his eyes. A smile on his face as he leans against the door frame. And Jamie feels butterflies when Roy looks at him. It's not the first time he's felt it. He's always craved Roy's attention. Even when they were both playing for Richmond, Jamie would go out of his way to antagonize his captain. Getting to see Roy content with his family was something Jamie always considered special.

“Much better,” Phoebe answers. “He managed to laugh without coughing.” 

“Oh really?” Roy asks with amusement. 

“He had the nebulizer on at the time, but it means we're on the right track,” Roy's sister tells him. “That and his fever finally broke.”

Jamie hadn't even realized that he didn't feel feverish anymore. 

“That's great,” Roy says. The gaffer feels himself relaxed. Jamie was getting better. 

Roy watches as his sister gets up from the chair beside Jamie's bed. She reaches a hand out to Phoebe. “Come on, Phoe, soup-making time,” she says. Phoebe gives both Jamie and Roy a hug as she leaves. Roy can't help but grin at the dopey smile on Jamie's face. 

“Wait, soup making? Do I even have the stuff for that?” Jamie asks, and Roy gets a bit uneasy again. 

“You do now,” Roy says as he moves to take the seat his sister had been in. 

“Since when?” 

And Roy gives him an odd look. 

“Since yesterday.”

“Did Keeley get them before we got back?”

“No,” Roy answers. “Jamie, you've been in and out of it for a couple of days since we got back.”

“What?” And he remembers that Roy's sister had said Roy was at training. They usually had the day off after long travel away matches like that. 

“A couple days?”

“You okay?” Roy asks as Jamie coughs. 

Jamie winces. He felt terrible thinking about how many nights of sleep he had ruined for Roy. 

“You should go home,” Jamie says when he can finally speak again. 

“Already here,” Roy states.

“I know, but…” Jamie starts. “You need sleep.”

“And you need to recover, so here we fucking are,” Roy tells him. 

“I know, but-”

“I can fucking assure you that I will not sleep better in my own fucking bed. Probably worse because no one is here to look after your dumb arse.”

“But my fever broke, and I'm feeling-”

“You just had a coughing fit,” Roy says with a glare.

“But I didn't throw up or pass out, so I’m-”

“Fucking hell,” Roy says, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Fuck it.” A stunned Jamie watches as Roy climbs into bed beside him. “Now will you shut the fuck up and sleep.”

Jamie woke up feeling warmer than he had in a long time. He felt better too. His lungs still felt like crappy, but he didn't care as much. 

#tw: illness #tw: pneumonia #tw: fever #tw: coughing #tw: vomiting #tw: panic #tw: fear #tw: sleep depravation #tw: swearing #tw: cussing #tw: cursing #royjamie #jamie x roy #roy x jamie #roy kent #jamie tartt #prompt fill #ted lasso fic #keeley jones

[xamaxenta]

Xam, I must share MAS brain rot with you, because the fact I have it is entirely your fault.

So, for context - this found me on twitter (it's sfw!) https://x.com/doodledebil/status/1746607751776637380?s=20

It got me thinking of like, caged bird Marco. Captive to *someone*, who cares who for the sake of this, but all done up in finery and jewels, unable to escape, unable to die. Pissed all to hell about it.

Full elegance and beauty, dancing for whoever has him captive, playing along, but like certain lines he won't abide being crossed. So he'll stay in the cage and do the dance, but if someone else comes into the cage thinking they're going to get a piece of ass, the next morning there's blood on the cage and one Really Angry Bird perched over a corpse.

And it's very much a "message received" from whoever has him contained, so you know, we don't do that again. Polly doesn't want a cracker, but polly'll crack a bitch into pieces. (I can just see him with the darkest expression and those terrifying bright eyes glaring back.)

Maybe whoever collected him, collects Ace. But Ace belongs to Sabo. So this new little "bird" is very relaxed despite his situation and he and Marco chat a bit.

Marco: You don't seem to upset, yoi.

Ace: Hm? Nah, he'll be here soon.

M: He?

A: Sabo. I hope you're good with fire, he'll probably light this place up to get me out.

Fuck me i had an entire reply typed out and tumblr didnt fucking save it all it was rly long too 😭😭😭 why…

Ill try remember what i said but YEAH huge agree a beautiful immortal and FURIOUS phoenix Marco unable to leave unable to die and only able to serve is so delicious, he’s started to forget what life was like outside of the gilded cage hes displayed in and loathes his own existence and foolishness for being caught in the first place

And then Ace a new little bird- adorable- i love this foaming crazy at the mouth over him being a little pretty bird, but hes neither little or a bird but he certainly is so pretty with his dark soft hair and pretty grey eyes so stormy and defiant aughgg on my knewws JUST ONE CHANCE I KNOW IMMA BE THE FOOL WHO GOT INTO THAT CAGE AND GOT TURNED INTO BLOODY PASTE BCT DBSB AWOOGA anyway enough of that lol

Marco wants to tell him it doesnt matter what he does they cant be free

Sabo will come though, Ace doesnt seem to be particularly bothered that Marco is so cagey and unwilling to see that this wont be his prison for long, who can blame him though its been years centuries even and Marco expects to go mad within these bars long before he even gets a taste of freedom again

Ace however sits pretty and doesnt do as hes told :3c

#MAS #AUGH THAT DESIGN IS REALLY LOVELY

[hornyhornyhimbos]

EMMY MY LOVE

I'm so excited for your freaky friday posts you don't even understand! So in honor of that and us being whores, may i request c0ckwarming with Eddie after a hard day. I've talked with you a little bit about how my mental health is no bueno rn. And just coming home after a long day of class and exams to come sit on his dick while he plays video game or whatever is so hot and comforting. Maybe falling asleep curled up on his chest and him just looking at you all full of love saying something like "ill never get tired of holding you". Also daddy kink...if you're comfy with it. I went on a tangent sorry love

you are so real for this 😌✋🏻

pov: eddie helps his sleepy little girl get some rest after a long day 🫶🏻

18+ duh, AFAB!reader, cockwarming, unprotected piv sex, slight somno but not really, cum eating, daddy kink obviously, nicknames (baby, good girl, angel; daddy)

filthy fridays | ask box

your body felt heavy as you trudged through the door and into your apartment, tossing your backpack in the general direction of the hook it normally hung from.

as you slipped out of your shoes, inked arms snaked around your waist, a pair of familiar lips making contact with your neck. "bad day, baby?" eddie asked, your exhaustion apparent on your face.

"mhm," you pouted, swiveling your head to face him. you barely puckered your lips out for a kiss before he caught your drift, his plump lips landing on yours.

he tugged both of you toward the couch, pulling you into him as he hit the cushions. "wanna talk about it?"

you shook your head, allowing yourself to fall into the familiar scent of his embrace. your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck, leaving a ghost of a kiss on his soft skin.

he held you like that for a moment, running a hand over your hair, letting you decompress in his arms. his lips met the shell of your ear, nibbling at the spot you loved most.

"you need daddy to fix it, hmm? make you forget all about how bad your day was?" he said in a whisper, finishing his question with yet another soft kiss.

you nodded, the only thing it seemed you could do at that moment. however, eddie, being ever the gentleman, softly demanded, "use your words, please. i won't make you say anything else. just need to know you absolutely want this, ok?"

you gave him a soft smiled, letting out a content sigh. "please, daddy. make me forget today."

he lifted you up from the couch, just long enough to remove your pants and undies, kissing a trail up your leg and ending at your now sensitive clit.

you shook your head, your legs squeezing shut around him. "uh-uh," you tutted, and he met you with confused eyes.

"what is it, baby? let daddy know what you need," he cooed, placing a hand softly on your thigh.

"need you," you answered softly, struggling to get the words out. "wanna sit on your cock."

without hesitation, he slid out of his jeans and boxers, before pulling both of you back down onto the sofa. "good girl, always telling me what you want."

he tugged at your hips, helping you settle on his cock, your mouth falling open as he eased into you. you fell onto his chest, your walls spasming as his dick bottomed out.

"you need daddy to fuck you to sleep?" he asked before leaving a peck on your forehead. "or are you good like this?"

"this," you answered, your arms resting over his shoulders as you lay your head on his chest, a smile appearing on your lips as you basked in the closeness.

one of his hands rested on your butt while the other sat on your hip, rubbing soft circles into the bare skin. he pulled your top over your head before peppering your shoulder with kisses. "such a good girl," he whispered against your collarbone, "keeping daddy's cock all warmed up. could never get tired of holding you like this, baby."

his lips wandered across every inch of exposed skin he had access to, leaving open-mouthed kisses in all the places he knew you loved most. his hand moved from your hip, his fingertips gliding up and down your back, taking the time to memorize every freckle, every mole, and every divot of your spine.

you weren't sure how much time had passed when your eyes started to slowly fall closed, and you weren't sure you could stay awake for much longer. not that you'd need to, though. with eddie, you were safe, and you were home. he'd protect you no matter the cost, because you were his girl.

"you ok like this, baby?" he inquired again, his lips meeting your skin for the millionth time.

slowly, you shook your head, your lips falling into a pout once more.

"what's wrong?" his lips pecked at your collarbone again.

through nearly closed eyes, you whispered, "want daddy to fuck me to sleep."

he smiled softly, holding your hips tightly. "gonna flip us, ok? daddy's not gonna hurt you. promise."

with that, you nodded your head as he flipped the two of you over, his large, tatted body hovering over you, and your head sinking back into the cushions.

he slowly pulled out, and the friction felt so nice that you almost came right then. his lips met the crook of your neck as he slid back into you, eliciting the softest moan from your lips.

"feel good, baby?" he asked, suckling on your sensitive skin.

you nodded, reaching for his hand ever so lightly. you didn't even need to say the words—since he already knew what you wanted—before he interlaced his fingers with yours, pushing your hand against the sofa.

he fucked into you slow and sweet, and before you knew it, you were fluttering around him, your orgasm washing over you like a wave of relief. your eyes slowly closed, and the last thing you felt before you fell asleep was his dick twitching inside of you, on the brink of his own release.

"sleep tight, baby," he smiled against your forehead, holding back a string of profanities as he spilled inside of your hole. "such a good girl, angel."

he removed himself, and even in your sleep, you pouted at the emptiness. he chuckled to himself before his mouth met your cunt, licking up every last bit of his cum, nearly becoming hard again as your body squirmed in your sleeping state.

he pulled his pants back on before hovering over you again, leaving one last peck on your hairline, and pulling your favorite throw blanket over your dreaming body. "sweet dreams, daddy's sleepy girl."

-> taglist: @rupsmorge @dungeons-are-too-cold @esoltis280

#blurb #blurbs #drabble #drabbles #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson drabbles #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things blurb #stranger things blurbs #stranger things drabble #stranger things drabbles #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #hornyhornyhimbos filthy fridays #filthy fridays #hornyhornyhimbos

[ryuichirou]

Replies

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Anonymous asked:

I’m sorry you went through all that crap. I hope things are better for you. ):

Oh, if you’re talking about the situation from my past, then yeah, it’s much better now! Thank you so much for your concern <3 It is very sweet of you.

However, we do have a more serious situation on our hands right now, but I won’t go into details. This blog is for discussing the colour of Idia’s nipples, not this.

Speaking of which…

Anonymous asked:

I want to lick Idia’s chest. Apologies.

Quickly, Anon, Ortho is holding him just for you to lick! Ahh shoot he ran way…

Anonymous asked:

a lot of people tend to forget we’re asking you about /your/ hcs. and it’s perfectly ok if we disagree! what fun would the internet be without different opinions (the only valid hc is rook’s love language is stalking lol).

anyways who out of the cast do you think would own yaoi manga/doujins? personally i think idia would. maybe. if it’s physical/paper he can hide his naughty stuff from ortho and his mom…

Exactly! A lot of things influence the way people come up with ideas, this is such a complex thing, of course not everything is going to cater to everyone – this is simply impossible. Picking and choosing and reading stuff that interests you while avoiding things that annoy or hurt you is always the way to go.

(Rook’s love language is stalking, fuck yeah lol)

Oh, that’s a fun question. I feel like Idia would be the only one, and he would also probably have this excuse/explanation, like he really isn’t into BL, but this particular work is just very good, it has great art style, good writing + Idia’s favourite artist was influenced by this manga/series of doujins, so of course he had to get it, this is an important otaku artifact! And OF COURSE it’s paper, that’s the whole point! Even if it’s smutty, it’s art!

Ortho could start getting into BL himself; he would start by reading this one manga that Idia owns lol Idia was sure he’d hidden it well.

The rest of the cast strike me as normies… but hey, Lilia could have some! If he has any manga at all, I can imagine him owning a BL book just ‘cause. But since he probably bought it years ago when he was traveling around the TWST equivalent of Japan, it might be a bit outdated lol And probably a little cursed, which is why Lilia got so into this book back then.

Anonymous asked:

I just think it’s cool how you’re so detailed with the characters and their personality/psychology etc. You could even explain how each of them would go skydiving and I’d think, “yeah, they would do that.” Toodles.

Thank you so much, Anon! It truly means a lot. This is one of the most fun parts of writing replies and drawings stuff, to be honest: the cast is so good that the jokes write themselves sometimes lol

If only I knew enough about skydiving to write or draw something about it…but thankfully, we have a lot of other things to do. 💪

Thank you for enjoying our stuff, I am very happy to hear that.

Anonymous asked:

That's just fucking wrong. Jade is EXTREMELY well behaved for a Leech. "ill behaved" my ASS!!!

+Anonymous asked:

TO BE CLEAR IM JOKING JADE IS A FUCKING FREAK MENACE

LOL YOU’RE GOOD ANON, no worries! <3

“For a Leech”!!! Exactly! Which means he isn’t well-behaved at all!

Anonymous asked:

my guy, my friend,, my buddy,,,,

a hetalia mention? in 2024? why would you do this to us? 😭

Anon dear… Hetalia is a party that is never over 🥳🥳🥳 It forced itself into our lives in 2009 and has been there ever since.

In all seriousness, we do come back to it from time to time; some of the drawings that we have for it are pretty recent!

#replies

[romanarose]

Congratulations bb!!

May I request a small humble Drabble with any of the moon boys + “quick, kiss me!”

Could be anything ❤️❤️

"Quick, Kiss Me!"

Moon Boys x Reader

Romana's 1000 follower celebration

Bold is Steven's thoughts, Italics is Marc, Red is Jake

Summary: A guy at the bar won't leave you alone, luckily you see someone recognize... you think.

Warnings: Creepy men, mentions of drinking.

************

You would think he could take a hint.

Okay, so maybe you shouldn't have convinced him to change his offer to buy you a drink into buying you the loaded nachos you wanted for the outrageous price of 16.99, but you were hungry! And you did intend on chatting with him while you ate. Unfortunately, not long after the chicken nachos arrived steaming at the bar top, he get leaning in too close and not even trying to not stare at your body.

THEN he should've gotten the hint, because you began to try and make every excuse possible to get out of there, your attempt to get up being met with his arm around your shoulders. He didn't grab it or anything like that, but it was enough to bring you back into your seat.

That's when you saw him, you're knight in shining amour, Steven Grant, your coworker. Was it a bit strange to see the man you had a crush on and thought you knew so well, standing in a crowded bar dressed in clothes that were very much not him, but hey, maybe he's different outside of work, right? Either way, you trusted Steven, and knew he'd help you in a pinch.

"Oh! There's my boyfriend!" You say, grabbing your trey of nachos and sliding out of his grasp before speeding off towards Steven.

"Your what- hey! I paid for those!" You can hear him stand up and as panic seeps him, you pick up speed.

Oh shit, Jake, that's her Steven said in the head space.

Steven see's you, greeting you by name but notes the worried express on your face. "What's-"

Give me the-

Before either had a chance to finish their sentence, you cut both Steven and Jake off.

"Quick! Kiss me!" You whisper, still clutching your food as you wrap your arms around him.

Jake Lockley was not one to say no when a pretty girl wanted to kiss him. Taking your mouth into his, Steven (Jake) kissed you passionately, moving at the pace you set and tasting the shitty fake Mexican bar food on your lips.

Jake! Marc chastised. You know damn well Steven has a crush on her!

Well, he's still technically kissing her.

Sweet, innocent Steven was an erotically good kisser, and you briefly forget the purpose of the kiss; you are reminded when you hear yourself moan embarrassingly, and quickly pull your mouth away.

"Sorry." You said, not able to look at him while he still held your body to his. "That guy wasn't leaving me alone."

Jake looked up to see a man glowering at you, and briefly forgot to pretend to be Steven. "Aye! Are we gonna have a fucking problem?" Jake shouted, causing a chunk of the bar to turn to him, and he swelled with pride at having such a pretty girl in his arms at the moment. The man scampered off pathetically, and Jake released you as Steven took the body.

"You alright, love?" There was such soft concern in his eyes, he seemed almost a contrast from the version of him that had so vehemently threatened the man causing you problems.

"Yeah, I'm fine" Your mouth was already full of your food. You glance back to him. Beautiful. "You're a good kisser, Steven."

I could show her what this tongue can really do

Behave

Steven chuckled. "You sound surprised."

"Maybe a little." You giggle back, then gesture at your ill-gotten gains. "Wanna finish these with me? There's a fuck ton."

Steven almost declined on account of the food choices, but Marc took the body before Steven could protest to the cheese and chicken while Jake complained that he could make 'real' nachos for half the price.

"Of course, who am I to turn down a pretty girl like you?" Marc faked the accent, but he couldn't fake Steven's mannerisms quiet as well.

Weren't you just scolding me for kiss her?

I'm not kissing her, but I'm gonna set things up for Stevn too

And set things up, Marc did.

***********

Take a shot every time Romana's blorbos protect the reader from bad men

(don't do that you will be drunk)

#jake lockley reader #steven grant reader #marc spector reader #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #protective jake lockley #marc spector is a wingman #moon knight #moon knight reader #moon knight drabbles #Romanas 1000 follower celebration

[fancifulplaguerat]

Sharing some thoughts about Clara because she deserves more attention and I’m obsessed with how the other two protagonists are these twenty-something medical men while she’s this circa fifteen-year-old saint girl who’s actually twelve days old who’s actually as old as Earth itself with magical hands. She’s the literal plague incarnate, an instrument of natural law, but she becomes Clara because she cares about people and her capacity to heal them so much she just denied her very identity. I adore the reveal that she’s branded a thief because she stole her own fucking name like can I ever express how much I want to scratch and bite (affectionate) when Spichka says to her, “You steal something and can’t remember it afterwards. Must’ve been something important—or else something you don’t just put in your pocket. Someone’s name, maybe?”  

And it’s painful to me how characters like Yulia/Andrey belittle her faith and question if she even believes in God, since faith/sainthood/etc. are what Clara clings to to define herself as a good person. So much so that it’s what allows her to be a miracle-worker—when Artemy talks to the Rat Prophet in his route, the Rat tells Artemy not to reveal Clara’s identity to her, because it’s only Clara’s belief in her holiness that makes her a saint: 

“She is, as a matter of fact, the disease. The Sand Plague personified. But—heads up!—she doesn’t even know it. And so she performs miracles, branding herself a miracle-maker—because she believes that she is one [...] everything she believes in comes true. And so she’ll forget how to do it as soon as she learns the truth.”

And on that note I have to include this interaction with Andrey because it devastates me: 

Andrey Stamatin: [...] I don't know what God you believe in, but I don't think you're even old enough to have a concept of one! And you are either a lying imposter—or an abominable Changeling, a temptress, a thing from hell, a shabnak-adyr, a maneater, made of dead bones and dirty clay!

> You heard me! You know the reason! *

> Don't yell at me, don't call me... that! I'm leaving... I'm leaving!

Andrey Stamatin: Shut up! What do you know about faith? What do you know about religion? You had barely been born and already you got your head full of the ravings of a failed prophetess—who's writhing her hands in desperation and envy as she's watching a new star rise—and here you are, thinking you can lecture me, even daring to accuse us of heresy and a revolt against God!

Though I never survive this interaction I think it’s one of my favorites in Clara’s route because it so poignantly encapsulates her conflict, while gesturing to her struggle to define/rewrite herself. Because despite what the Rat says, the Cathedral quest suggests that Clara’s wherewithal isn’t *always* enough. Ough. When Clara tells everyone to take her hands and not to be afraid, that nothing will happen, but we know how it all ends from the Bachelor/Haruspex Routes just. Devastating gameplay. It fills me with dread when Clara is tasked with getting water because of the Bachelor Route, when Anna says that the shabnak “cried” on the ill and Saburov says that the carrier put some sort of liquid on the plague victims’ lips. 

But tragedy aside Changeling Clara is so entertaining to me. I love being able to say shit like “I am death” and “Don’t make my angry... or I’ll bite!” to people. Very much enjoy getting to be the Horrors, or when the Rat Prophet says to her, “Greetings, plague dear! Wait just a bit more, we’re almost done embellishing your throne. The very heart of the town shall become the temple of the pest. You’ll have the world at your feet soon.” Lavish. Sumptuous. She is such a fantastic character the intrigue the tragedy the high drama of it all 

#pathologic #clara saburova #patho.txt

[multifandomgrabage]

Random and non cohesive HB thoughts, particularly season 2:

I don’t condone or support Stella’s actions, but I am very disappointed in how she is written. Im fine with her being a villain, and I’ll even let a lack of a backstory slide! My main issues with Stella are:

A) Being 1 dimensional. Please, give her traits outside of “bitch” and “angry at Stolas”. The majority of the fan base already is (somehow) in support of Stolitz, you don’t need another prop to keep your ship going. (subpoint to a): Also, not a fan of the “wife finds out that her husband is queer” trope, but whatever, she is a villain. Its pretty fucking basic though.

B) Her lines. My fucking gosh, her lines are so fucking flat and weightless. You’d think that something an abuser says would stick and sound intimidating, but no. We get “I LiKe ToRmEnTiNg YoU”. For fucks sake, what was that?! As someone who grew up with an abusive mother, I can confidently say that no one will say that. Its like they didnt respect their ADULT audience enough to figure things out and felt they had to have a giant ass neon sign screaming

“LOOK HERE, THIS IS ABUSIVE, SHE SAID SHE LIKES HURTING HIM! A-B-U-S-E! NOW GO AND FORGET ABOUT ANY TERRIBLY TOXIC THINGS STOLAS OR BLITZO HAVE DONE”

Clearly the show is meant for adult audiences. We don’t need to be told what is and isn’t abuse. Why not do a little something called “show vs tell”? Some alright examples they have previously done are the portraits usually having just Stolas and Octavia, or a pissed Stella. Or seeing how she threw a fucking imp butler across the room.

I got a bit off topic, but here are some ways id probably write her:

A narcissist. To the outside world, she is friendly Stella, who just likes to party and smile. She has a perfect family, and everyone loves her. But under the surface, in order to feel superior she puts Stolas down constantly, through verbal abuse and perhaps some physical. Her love for Octavia is conditional, she is only pleased as long as everyone is doing everything to her command. All this possibly stems from an inferiority complex that she desperately covers through a high ego, false confidence and making sure others feel lesser to her.

Some possible lines?:

“You are nothing without me. You think you can make it on your own without me? You cant even take care of Octavia, what makes you think you can handle yourself”

“You would choose a lowly imp over me? I guess I shouldn’t have expected more from someone as low as you”

“You don’t even deserve to have me, consider yourself lucky that I am willing to stay”

“You look so damn stupid like that, singing in your self pity. Had you stuck with me, you wouldn’t have been in that position.” That or someone else mentioned Blitzo and Stella being childhood friends, her being arranged with Stolas, and then having the cheating incident

whoever had that idea is a genius.

C: Why is her design so damn good? I love fancy pigeons and they made her a fancy pigeon. (this isn’t a complaint but a thought)

Moving on from Stella, lets get to S2 E2…

I was so excited to have an episode where it wasn’t the Stolitz shipping show. I got my hopes too high. The one positive thing Ill say is that I enjoyed the adoption flashback. Maybe I read too much into it but it feels kind of like a commentary in how shitty the adoption system is, especially to teenagers. Any kid really, as they’re treated like literal dogs, and then kicked out on the street.

Back to me complaining about shit:

For one, why did we spend so much fucking tome in that stupid ass sitcom? If Stolas is such a caring dad, shouldn’t he just leave and look for Octavia? So much character growth could have happened in that time.

I know that Loona didn’t just tell Octavia to just deal with her dad neglecting her just because “he’s trying”. Its HIS responsibility as a parent to take care of his kid, and Octavia has every right to be upset st him and her circumstances. Her parents have been unstable, but after a divorce, even more so. Her dad has straight up ignored her, in favor of arguing with Stella. She did nothing wrong and has nothing to apologize for. I got so excited when Stolas started to apologize, but then Octavia apologized.

Did I mention that there was 4 minutes of Octavia and Loona together at most? Despite the thumbnail? Yeah, that blowed.

Honestly the only reason I keep up anymore is because of the animation and the weak dying hope that it’ll get better.

thats all ig, please don’t be rude in the comments. You can disagree but keep it civil. Going to bed now, bye

EDIT: So Imma randomly add a brainbarf of thoughts here too, because I do not feel like organizing shit. My brain's thoughts just expand everywhere, so bare with me.

Another reason why Stella's abuse doesn't really land is because Stolas just... doesn't seem afraid of her at all? For someone who claims to love tormenting someone, she sure is doing a shitty job at it. The way that Stolas would just have the balls (or cloaca ig) to keep going out using Blitz, worry free despite his wife doesn't give the vibes of "Victim of Domestic violence, verbal and physical abuse" to me.

To continue on why her abuse doesn't land, it has to do with the nature of this show and how it portrays stuff. It gets very confusing. Loona assaulting Blitz, Blitz and Asmodeus (on separate occasions) touching Moxie's groin area (without consent) and Multiple characters using slurs against Moxie is supposedly "funny".

Personally I don't find it humorous, but I do get somewhat jaded and desensitized to stuff like that happening. Not to say that it's acceptable behavior, but you do kind of get used to it and take it a little less seriously in the context. In S1E2 Stella is seen screaming and throwing shit around. This *can* be seen as portrayal of abuse, but given that many characters do similar shit it can also be seen as another unfunny attempt at humor.

Fast forward to season 2, if you've lasted that long you should expect some edgy shit like that to be written in a way that tries to excuse it. But all of a sudden, we get "Actually, abuse is bad. Feel bad for Stolas because he is abused by his wife. Yeah, we constantly make our characters do abusive things too, but it's funny when they do it, just ignore it and feel bad for Sad Gay Owl Man."

What? The fuck? Is the deal with powers, especially human disguises? Initially I thought that maybe only Succubi and Incubi, as well has hellhounds had the power because some hellborns are more powerful than others. How would that work if Hellhounds are below Imps in the hierarchy though? By that logic, shouldn't Imps also get that power? So that idea doesn't work. I don't fucking know why or how any of this works. Theres no storybuilding or explanation for it. For something that appears so often, I think there should be. The purpose of a human disguise is to blend in among the human world, so I can see Succubi/Incubi having that power because I'd assume they're some of the only demons allowed to go to the human world. I wouldn't know why a hellhound would come to Earth, but I guess they just have the power too?

Speaking of rules about demons on Earth that weren't explained!

Stolas is able to summon himself in some big scary owl demon form without his book ANYWHERE near him in "Truth Seekers". Yet in S2E2 he can only conjure up a poorly designed human form because now his powers are attached to the book? HUH?! Where is the consistency?

Also, given that IMP is big enough to get a commercial, how have they not gotten in trouble for breaking what I assume is one of hell's only rules? We know that they aren't supposed to be there, and yet this seems to have no consequence? Having them have to try and fly below the radar in hell would raise stakes a lot more imo.

But whatever, fuck the rules, because there are none!

______________________________________________________

Unrelated rambles, but still kind of relevant and similar? I just don't want to make a separate post.

I don't like Andrealphus' design. It's way too bright and saturated and honestly has my eyes strain a lot, despite not being red. I kinda wanna redesign him. Also I feel like he's gonna be yet another gay stereotype, which is always fun to have /s.

Lucifer's design is underwhelming. Not necessarly because the design is bad on its own, but because of two things:

A) Too many characters look like that. We have too many skinny white Tumblr Sexyman Twinks. We have too many characters with that copy paste smile. Too many characters in suits. He just doesn't stand out. This leads me to my next point.

B) His design doesn't say "Lucifer, King and Ruler of Hell, Fallen Angel". It says "Generic Vivziepop Snarky Guy with a quirky interest". BEFORE SOME OF YALL START SAYING "B-but ackshually he pwobably haz a more dwemwonic fowm 🤓", respectfully, no. I feel that the leader of hell should have a default design that commands some kind of respect out of fear, it doesn't have to be crazy, but it should be intimidating, and stand out. What kind of king just blends into a crowd of his own people? Especially in a fantasy? This is fiction, and there is no reason to hold back and not try something new. In fact, 90% of the characters being skinny could actually be used as an advantage, because then you could just make Lucifer's bodyshape different from the default and he'd already stand out much more.

Fuck it, two redesigns coming up. When I'm done I'll link them here.

#helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss stolas #helluva boss critical #helluva boss octavia #helluva spoilers #helluva loona #anti stolitz #helluva stella #rambles #not edited #now its edited #anyways uh #if anyones wondering im not really an anti of the show #but im not really a fan either? #ill see it come up and watch it casually and have thoughts

[somecunttookmyurl]

Hi, do you have a sec to talk having a cat for a pet? I've been wanting to hit up the shelter and see if I can't take one (or maybe a pair) home for a good while now and while I have a smidge more money than even a few months ago, I'm still arguably Poor Enough that I've also been checking and rechecking to make sure I've thought about all/most the costs that are connected to cats.

Is there anything that you think people often forget about when they try to do the budget maths that's a bit more past the regular upkeep and standard stuff like surprise vet bills, insurance, 'fuck you I'm not eating this brand of food anymore', and periodically replacing stuff that either breaks or wears down?

I would hate to commit only to realise I don't have the funds after all, y'know?

ummm not really? remember to budget for regular yearly vaccinations. even if cats are 100% indoor you can still bring stuff in from outside so they could still get those illnesses and a lot of insurance doesn't cover routine care

honestly i don't have pet insurance at all because most of them cover fuck all for the first like... year (and 2 years in the case of dental which like. what) and the list of things they don't cover is ridiculous. if you're in the UK and financially struggling (you do not have to be unemployed or on benefits) you can register with the PDSA for reduced cost vet treatments. otherwise just hit up the least extortionate one and keep a separate savings account for potential vet bills.

(insurance won't even insure 2 of my cats because bean is FIV positive and siouxsie has a slightly dodgy kidney. i mean slightly. she doesn't even have to take meds for it that's how slightly. but these are "pre existing conditions" that invalidate them like again. what. is the point. of you)

but no you've not forgotten anything. outside the initial "buying everything" expense cats really aren't that spendy as far as pets go. if you can afford it i'd recommend buying food in bulk and larger bags of litter. it normally works out quite a bit cheaper to get like... 120 pouches of food once every 4 months than getting a small box every 12 days yanno (by the time the next shipment rolls around you'll definitely have enough if you just keep x aside a week for it it's just that first one that gets you) oh. boyfriend pointed out having a little treats budget too. sweeties.

good luck also please show me the baby i need to see the baby

#if you keep your cat indoors (PLEASE KEEP YOUR CAT INDOORS) the chances of some kind og #horrific accident or injury needing emergency care is siginificantly smaller #idk man i just found pet insurance to be extremely not worth it and it cost me more than not having it ymmv though #bf also doesn't have insurance bc they refused to cover his cat for the preexisting condition of 'being a persian'

[theswaggyrat]

Knotted Strings

Joel Miller x F! Reader // The Last Of Us cw ~ spoilers // angst // comfort // unedited tw ~ vulgar language // mentions of death plot - he was angry with you. then you were angry with him, and he was not good at communication.

Ellie grasped your hand in hers as you entered the town in which Bill lived. You had fumbled earlier, mumbling something about forgetting where he set his traps. It had been years since your last visit, and albeit Joel was generous enough to guide you around each trap, the nausea in your gut had not left.

You could see the ache in Joel's shoulders with every step, the crinkle in his eyes at the doubt coursing through his veins. There had been nothing the two of you could do when Tess got bit; and maybe that was the cause of the ill in your stomach. Yet it was so recent, you could hardly believe Joel was still pushing through. His loyalty for the woman went farther than you believed his hardened heart could ever go.

Ellie's fingers were soft from her time hiding with the Fireflies. Ellie's soul was soft from her time with the Fireflies. Joel, in a state of anger and grief, directed all of his newfound emotions upon the girl. You shunned him fairly quickly, to which he waved you off with a scoff and the usual shake of his head. The reaction was normal — you knew he wasn't to blame — but the girl was simply trying her best to live alongside them. She wasn't to blame either.

And acknowledging that fueled Joel's anger.

At first, you had presumed any anger Joel had towards you would soon vanish — you thought he was upset that you felt differently than him. Unfortunately, each misplaced step and stumble you made riled him up enough to curse you out multiple times. It was confusing before, but now infuriating as you recovered from almost tripping over a small rock.

"That could've gotten us killed," he hissed, gripping the handle of his gun tight enough to strain his fingers. "How many times do I gotta tell you, woman? Watch your step."

"Watch your tone," you grumbled, clenching your jaw as you pressed forth. From beside you, Ellie quieted, kicking at loose pebbles in the ground. They skittered off and cracked into pieces.

Joel grit his teeth together, slowing his walk and turning around to face you. "Am I the only one who wants to get us there alive?" He asked, eyes alit with spite, "or are you going to put on your big girl pants and help?"

Your fingers fell from Ellie's and you cocked your head at the man, completely and utterly disgusted by the word's that had fallen from his lips. "Excuse me?" A laugh erupted from your throat, echoing throughout the surrounding alleyways. "And who the fuck gave you the right to talk to me that way? You don't think I'm trying my hardest to get us to safety?" You questioned. Being beneath his hardened gaze left you uneasy. "It isn't our fault Tess-"

"Yo!" Ellie interrupted, "can we, um, pick this up later?" Her voice fell meek as angered eyes darted to

her figure. If not for her, you might have been doomed. A chorus of mangled screams sounded from a few miles behind. "You guys can argue like kids after, when we're alive."

Joel's eyes flit to you once more before he grunted and turned back around. "Let's go."

Finally, a down moment came where you could rest your head and soothe your uneased nerves. Ellie was peering into her bag at a stack of comics she must've stolen from Bill. On the other hand, Joel was discussing their problem with Bill. You wondered if he said anything about Tess's death.

Bill was not thrilled to lead you on this quest for a car battery, and was more so reluctant to allow you into his home — or base, whatever he wanted to call it.

Eventually, Joel shuffled away from Bill, hands stuffed into his jean pockets.

"We go now. We're going deep into town, so don't do anything careless," Bill stated bitterly. "And then you leave and you do not touch any of my things." His eyes drifted toward Ellie with his last statement, who huffed and jumped to her feet.

"Yeah, yeah. Got it."

Bill folded his arms over his armored chest and turned away. "Good."

You pressed your palms into the cool pavement and stood up. Wind hollered through the cracks in the old base, its whistle sending chills up your spine. Joel clenched his jaw before ambling over to you as you dusted yourself off. He took a glimpse at Bill and Ellie; the girl was off in the corner, toying with Bill's equipment, whilst the man himself was grumbling something furious about them as if they couldn't hear him.

"You good?" Joel asked, his voice quiet against the wind. You shrugged your shoulders, averting your eyes off to some pile of hoarded junk. His lips parted to sigh and the man grumbled, "come on, y/n. Don't be like this."

"Oh," you spoke, "so I don't get to be like this. But you can." Your soles scraped against the ground as you shifted a step away from Joel. "I don't get what your problem is. I know you've got an attitude-"

"y/n," he warned.

"-but something's up," you whispered, taking a more subtle approach to the issue as to not rile him. "If it's Tess, you've got to let it go. But if it's something else, please just tell me."

Your beg struck something inside Joel, his mouth twitching down painfully. His tattered plaid shirt reflected the dampened look in his iridescent orbs. Joel's eyebrows synched curtly, but then his eyes softened. "We can't talk about it here." Your eyes found his in a peaceful gaze. "We can't."

You nodded accordingly before responding, "then let's talk about it somewhere else."

Joel sat on an old musty couch, colored a dusty navy blue. It's furnishing had been scraped and ripped apart from it's days of abandonment. He patted the space beside him, to which you reluctantly accepted and plopped down. A loose spring popped up by your side, aiding you with assurance of a fortunate fortune.

"Do you..." Joel drawled, fixing his hands atop his lap. They were calloused with the work of time, bruised and beaten. The man searched for his next words expectantly, as if they'd just appear out of thin air. He was no good at communication, but he did not want to lose you. Not like he lost Sarah; not like Tess; and certainly not like Tommy.

"Joel," you called. His eyes darted to your own, a plea hidden within those entrancing orbs. "No one is judging you. It's me — you know me. Just say it."

He did know you.

"D'ya ever get scared you'll lose someone? So much so that you might else well be losing them anyway?" He murmered. It's meaning was slow at first, but eventually realization smacked you stark in the face. Joel noticed in the way your cheekbones sunk that you had gotten the message. He swallowed thickly.

Your hands found his in a silent connection. "I think 's just you," you teased quietly, "you suck at communication." The man grunted something rough before turning away from you, earning him your bubbly laugh.

"I get it." The pad of your thumb brushed against his chafed knuckles and you squeezed. "Unfortunately, I don't plan on going anywhere," you whispered solemnly. Joel returned his gaze, his lips crinkling up into a small smile.

"You gotta swear it."

"Oh, come on, Joel."

He offered you a pointed look. "Do it."

The couch squeaked as your weight shifted above it. "I swear it, Joel! I swear it."

Those soft orbs of his came circling back, encasing you within it's trance; telling you, "I love you", and you received the message well enough.

"Mmh, I get it," you sighed, "now you best get up and get to it before your puppy eyes start something you won't be able to stop."

He chuckled briefly and gave your shoulder a harsh pat. "Next time."

#joel #joel miller #ellie #ellie williams #tlou #comfort #angst #fluff #joel x reader #romance #fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller x reader

[chocominnie]

Redemption  04 — JJK. (M)

→: This is book two to my story Desperado. Read that one before continuing on to read this one.

→ pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

→ genre: Angst, smut , a bit of fluff

→ Word count: 4k

→ summary:  It’s been 4 years since everything that happened. If he could re-do everything he would, but cannot. With Won-Shik dead, and everyone’s back’s turned against him.. what can he do? You took a toll on him to the point where it’s hard to function without you and everyone’s concerned. Another gang has entered their teritory and is giving them a run for their money. The heir to the mafia thrown is now in charge with everyone waiting for his first big move. Yet, how can someone so broken inside take care of business though?

Warnings : This honestly isn’t for the light hearted and the weak. Drug dependency, drug mentions, high angst, mental illness, depression, anxiety, assault, gore, guns, usage of weapons, daddy kink, bigdick!jk, hair pulling, soft sex, rough sex, squirting, mouth fucking, overstimulation, consensual drunk/tipsy sex, protected & unprotected sex. I may be forgetting some so sorry in advance!

Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken.

As if the raging headache you woke up with wasn't enough, the lucid dreaming you had last night, due to the consumptions of so much alcohol, was just enough to send you over the edge once you’ve awaken. The sun blares through your window onto your face making your eyes strain and a single hand coming over to cover it. Slipping out a small groan of annoyance, you gradually pick yourself up to sit up correctly onto the bed. 

Last night was a lot for you to remember, but you sure as hell remember some of it. What you don’t remember is you asking Sungmin to stay the night with you. So to your surprise when you open your bedroom door, a shirtless Sungmin is up and moving around your kitchen. There he is with a single chest tattoo and muscles you never thought he would have. His biceps strong, and his abs are evident along with his v-line protruding out. You hadn't noticed his freshly tattoo’d left arm last night but in your defense he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt. You watch him whisk whatever is in that bowl with determination and the faint sound of a youtube video can be heard playing in the background.

The way his arms flex when he whisks, and his hair tied up messily into a small but decent sized bun with some stray strands of hair here and there, he looks way too good. That jawline of his flexes consistently, especially when he softly bites his lip and furrows his eyebrows. When he doesn’t understand something said from the youtube video, he reaches to play it back again. It’s as if he’s doing it on purpose because maybe, he knows you’re peeking from behind your door.

Nonsense. If he saw you he would have greeted you... right? You’re too caught up in your thoughts and dazed off to realize he has looked in your direction with amusement to see you peeking around like a lost puppy. It’s adorable. He doesn’t say anything though, Sungmin smirks to himself and continues to pour some sort of batter into a pan. 

He looks way too sexy doing that too.

Ultimately you decide to close the door because for whatever reason, blaming the liquor from last night, that familiar throbbing down in your region begins. You mentally curse yourself for getting all worked up over absolutely nothing but a man cooking. That man being Sungmin.. who’s cooking. Sungmin, the one you never wanted to persue things with because back then you felt guilty for liking two boys at once and he deserved someone better than you.

But that was back then.. and this is now.

Now, he’s in your home cooking you breakfast shirtless and he knows exactly what he’s doing because he did in fact see you. He saw you from the very beginning. Hell, he saw you last night when you were very much so drunk and started stripping and giggling in-front of him. Of course he didn't let you get far because when you started pulling off your pajama shirt is when he pulled it back down and dragged you to your room. You laid there sprawled on your bed giggling yourself to sleep. Needless to say, Sungmin did sleep on the couch to prevent another encounter from happening between you two. 

You can’t blame yourself though, Sungmin has turned into a fine man. As a woman yourself, it can’t be helped to have these lewd thoughts after witnessing a god himself in your kitchen preparing for you.. right? You hadn’t noticed you did not close the door fully, so when you bring your hand down to the hem of. your pajama pants and underwear, that breathy shadow peeps down at you. 

You hadn’t heard him come inside because you're too busy trying to inspect the wet mess you’d made inside your panties. That is, until that familiar voice speaks up once more, making you jolt.

“ Breakfast is ready.” He cheekily says, chuckling when he turns around to make his way out of the room.  The cold wall meets your head and you bang it several times softly out of embarrassment. Him catching you in the act was the least thing you need right now.

Tip-toeing out of your bedroom, you peak around the corner to your dining room table to see everything laid out perfectly. Cloud pancakes, fruit assortment, orange juice. He'd made your plate for you, the fruit sits onto of your pancake with a smiley face and whipped cream smile. It makes you giggle at the thought of Sungmin, a grown man, still having his childish ways.

“ Care to join me before it gets cold?”

Biting your lip, you can’t help but to still be flustered from getting caught. “ I can eat at the island counter..” You say, to avoid any further awkwardness between the two of you. 

Sungmin smiles, “ I missed that. You’re still adorable when shy. Listen I’ll forget about what I saw if I can have the honors of catching up with you, properly.”

Sounds like a deal to you. 

“ So you went back to...” Sungmin pauses before sticking some fruit in his mouth, waiting for you to finish. “ Canada. Then to NYU where I’m currently studying and doing the exchange program here.” 

He nods in amusement, eyes still watching you like a hawk to make sure you eat. “ Well, we completed highschool. I had transferred schools in high school to finish up while the rest of them stayed. College came along and nobody was close anymore, to be honest. Crystal does this candle light thing for you each year and that's when everyone comes together as a whole, except for Jungkook.”

You nearly choke on your pancake amongst swallowing it. Jungkook not coming to your candle-light? That one hurt. “ W-why doesn’t he come?”

Sungmin shakes his head lightly, grabbing the orange juice pitcher and pouring the sweet, citrus fruit juice into your glass cup. “ We beg him and he doesn’t want to each year. He’s... really fucked up about you. Heavier on the drugs and just stays in his office all day.”

“ And the kid?” You have to keep mentally remind yourself that she’s actually Jungkook’s sister and not daughter. You’d never imagine Jungkook being an older brother, hell even just a brother to begin with. 

“ Jeon Naeun , or Nari is what we call her. She’s 4 years old and gives him a run for our money, especially his. “ Sungmin chuckles, finishing up the last of his pancake. You take a sip of the juice and can’t help but to smile at that comment.

“ The two are inseparable. She’s the mini version of him but instead of being cold hearted she has now mastered the toddler manipulation by using her cuteness.”

Imagining Jungkook being a care-giver for his little sister only leads you to think of what kind of father he would be. Again, you’d never expect for him to even want a child but the thought of a big boss mafia man having a weakness for children is amusing to you. 

Yet Sungmin sits right infront of you and he can’t get enough of you. The way you smile, the way you talk, the sound of your voice, it’s all so nostalgic for him. Meeting you in high school was the highlight of his life back then. Now to have you, not dead, and cooking breakfast for you in your own apartment has him thinking things. Things about how he doesn’t want to lose you ever again, but he also understands this can be a lot for you and not to rush things and push your boundaries.

Sungmin breaks the small silence, “ Can I.. Can I take you out today? You left for a while and I think that you should at least get familiar with Seoul again. Theres this new art museu-”

An abrupt sound of hard knocking at the door cuts him off. It makes the two of you jump but you weren’t expecting any guests today at all. The only person who knows your apartment is Sejun and Zico.. and you hope and pray its not either of them and just a random package delivery. By the look on your face, Sungmin gets the memo that you didn’t know who was at the door. Getting up from his chair, he furrows his eyebrows walking over as the knocking gets persistent. 

Your heart feels like it can pound right out of your chest right now. Quickly, you grab the empty plates and used dishes and dash over into the kitchen where you can’t be seen. What if it’s Jungkook? What if he’s actually found you? Your hands tremble while scrubbing the dishes in the sink, the thoughts of the worst case scenario swarms through your head to the point where you tune out everyone. 

You don’t even hear the arguing at the door and the multiple footsteps shuffling inside until someone comes within your view, waving their hand in your face to snap you out of your numbing trance. The calling of your name seems to slowly bring you back to reality. 

“ Yn! Yn!”

Once your vision clears back up to the person calling your name, your eyes go wide in fear like a dear in headlights. It can’t be. How.. did he know to come here? The apartment is listed under Sejun’s name due to this exact reason of hiding your identity. There’s no way he could of asked around for you in the lobby because you speak to nobody there and they certainly don’t know your name. So how?

 The cup in your hand shatters onto the floor creating a glass breaking sound capturing everyone’s attention. Taking a look around your apartment, there’s Sungmin, another female, and that other male person with a concerned look on his face. Your throat gets that familiar sore lump in it, the one where you know you’ll cry any second but you can’t. Not in-front of them. 

You quickly crouch down onto the floor and begin picking up the glass pieces with your bare hands, sniffling to stop the stray tears from falling. “ Be careful, let me get it-”

“ No!” You push the hand away from you but in the process knick your finger against a stray shard of glass sticking up on the floor. You wince, harshly pulling your finger away and inspecting it. The blood seeps out rather quick but not life threatening. 

Sungming scoffs, “ I think you guys should leave.” He says, jogging over the kitchen sink, carefully avoiding the glass, to grab a wet paper towel to wrap your finger in.

You wanted nothing to do with anyone in this very exact moment. You just want to be alone again, and maybe meeting Sungmin last night and having him stay was a mistake. Foolish of you right? To not think about the consequences of your actions. He’s Jungkook’s brother for fucks sake. What did you think would happen?

“ We can’t. Jungkook knows.” is the next sentence that Casper says that makes you want to throw up. Jungkook knows about your whereabouts. If it wasn’t for Sungmin holding you while wrapping your finger and pressing on it, you’d of surely passed out by now. 

Sungmin’s beyond pissed. The red on his face shows it and the way he curses under his breath only for you to hear. “ Tell him to stay the fuck away from her, Casper.” He growls. 

He lets out a frustrated sigh and the woman next to him rubs his back to calm him down as well. You take notice of the dark red lipstick she wears upon her lips. Such a bold color. “ Knowing Jungkook, he won't stop. What she needs to do is pack up and go.. like yesterday.”

“ I’m sorry but who the fuck are you?” You narrow your eyes at the lady, getting up from Sungmin’s grip on you. She’s taken aback by your sudden dominance in your voice, but smirks knowing that you aren’t bold enough to take that any further. 

“ Val.. Casper’s wife and you must be the infamous Yn.” 

You’re not sure of this lady, and something about her makes you wonder. Since when has Casper been married? Casper also did not seem like the type to take a hand in marriage for someone. This is all too.. weird for you. Everyone seems to just had grown up and matured and you did miss it all. 

“ Can we discuss all this.. perhaps in the living room area?” She asks, pointing in the direction of your cutely decorated space. Uneasy but curious, you nod your  head slowly in approval. 

Once everyone has gathered on your grey “L” shaped couch, you made sure to sit closely next to Sungmin who puts his arm around you in support. Ironically he's the only one you trust and feel a bit more comfortable with. The last thing you wanted was a reunion.. let alone in your very own living room. 

“ So.. Yn.. you were supposed to stay as far away as humanly possible from Seoul. I thought we made a deal that you’d never come back as long as I provided for you financially for the remainder of your life.” Casper’s death gaze upon you would have killed you right now if looks could kill. 

“ She has every right to live the life she wants after what you and my brother did to her.” Sungmin fires back at him, the look of anger on his face only getting stronger. 

Throwing his head back and letting out a deep sigh, Casper is not surprised by his comment. “ Oh shut up Sungmin, you know it would’ve been best for her if she stayed put.” He shoots you another glare, “  Looks like the dead doesn’t rest after all huh.”

You had no words because it is true. You and your parents had made that deal with Casper, but that was four years ago and you're absolutely grown enough to make your own decisions without your parents input. 

“ I.. wanted to do the exchange program and I honestly don’t even look the same anymore. I had a few surgeries and thought if I stayed low-key.. I could graduate and go on with my life.” Which only part of that is true. Yes you had a few surgeries that made you look slightly different and not to mention the hair color change, but you can’t let them know the real reason you came back.

That’s going to ruin your plans. 

“ Yeah and how is that working out for you now hmm?” Casper’s not pleased with your dumb response. A deal is a deal and you broke the deal. “ I don’t need your money Casper. If you want it all back I’ll repay my debt but I am allowed to live my life freely!”

Casper lets out one of his sarcastic chuckles, “ Repay your debt? You were never indebted to me or any of the Jeons. I wanted you to live comfortable as possible. Keep the money. Go back to Canada.”

“ No.” It would be a waste of everything if you’d just up and left now. Besides, this is the first time you’ve been in the presence of someone you like. Back home in Canada you did make friends but only till you moved to NYC and you didn’t make much long-term ones there either.

“ Doll, you don’t understand how much Jungkook is really attached to you. He has multiple paintings of you, has kept your pictures, currently working on a sculpture of your face, and still has nightmares about you. He needs professional help and you being here isn’t really the best time to enter his life again, if that’s what you plan to do.”

Sculptures? Paintings? That’s a bit much.  You understand the kept pictures part but the rest does seem very drastic. You’ve never had someone that overly obsessed with you before. Your last boyfriend from Canada, before you had originally moved to Seoul, had only gotten professional portraits of you and him. Courtesy of his mother, it was only because you two had went to junior prom together. You two were just teenagers being teenagers. As for you and Jungkook, you two were just lost in lust and not knowing what you two were doing but just...doing it. 

You're an adult now, and independent one at that. So whatever you want to do, you can do it.

“ I’m staying here.” Your voice is firm enough to where they know that's your final decision. Sungmin squeezes your arm a bit, reassuring you and sticking right beside you. 

Casper lets out a deep sigh once again. He knew you were stubborn but thought you would have been past this phase. Its no use of arguing with you. Your consequences have actions and he did try to warn you. It’s above him now and since you want to make wrong decisions, this time he’ll let you. You reap what you sow. 

His tattoo’d hand rub’s his forehead in annoyance of your persistant answers. He’s tried his best and can’t do anymore. “ Fine. Just know, I tried to warn you.”

The silence and tension in the room could be cut like thick slice of cake. You’re content with your decision and can’t seem to understand why they think you can’t handle yourself by yourself. Casper stands up along with Val, the two look at you disappointed but sorry for you. Maybe they are right on this, maybe you didn't think it through.

“ Well, are you at least going to attend the reunion? The group... should know you’re alive if you want to continue living freely.” Casper holds his two fingers making quotation marks around the last two words. You roll your eyes at his remark.

“ Reunion?” You turn to Sungmin who’s currently escorting Casper and Val out the door. You didn’t expect for him to shoo them out so quickly but he says his goodbyes and the door finally closes. That beep sound gives you a wave of relief over your body knowing your home is now secured and locked. The anxiety that had once settled in you can be felt going away.

Leaning against the door, “ I wasn't going to go. I don’t really talk to anyone but my sister. I wanted to take you out because I wasn’t going to attend. The group was personally invited to attend, we got our invitations 3 weeks ago.”

“ Your parents still own that school?” From what you remember, Sungmin’s parents were the one that chose you and gave you the scholarship to attend that high school. 

He nods his head and deeply sighs once more, “ Unfortunately, yes. I dislike saying this but they covered up your death and Jungkook’s ass pretty well. To them and our class, Jungkook was also the victim as disgusting as it is. My parents couldn’t afford to lose their perfectly clean reputation, as you know they are also in the limelight as well.”

Of course. Jungkook being painted as the victim when you’re the actual victim yourself. It’s predictable at this point and he probably ran with that narrative until after he’d graduated and everyone moved on. 

“ Listen.. you don’t have to go. I really wasn-” “ I’ll go. It’s better they know im alive. I can’t keep faking my identity and pretending to be dead while im here. I just.. want nothing to do with Jungkook.” 

A lie. This is the perfect opportunity to lure Jungkook in. 

It catches Sungmin off guard when you say that. The least he expected is for you to agree to go near the people who betrayed you.  He thinks It can potentially be mentally unhealthy for you but also facing your fears could do you a bit better. It’s a 50/50 chance but not exactly a win-win situation.

Sungmin tilts his head to the side resembling a confused small puppy which makes you smile a bit. “ Are you sure?” He questions, still in disbelief.

No. No you aren’t. 

“ Yes.”

The day had gone by pretty fast hanging around Sungmin. He went back home to change his clothes after your guises conversation and came back fashionably late to pick you up after cleaning yourself up as well. The two of you had a pretty big reasonable amount of fun and catching up. It turns out Sungmin had learned English abroad for a bit as he also did an exchange program in the US his junior year. He revealed to you that he lives in the Jeon Mansion with his mom and Jungkook. You were worried about that as well but, Sungmin reassured you that he wouldn’t tell a soul where you live and will act like you two only meet up at cafes. You made him swear on it and if he breaks that promise he’ll be blocked on snapchat.

Now here you two are, standing outside of the school at 6pm after a day of driving around and Sungmin showing you some worthy instagram picture cafes and shopping places. You had bought a few things, nothing too over the top. Some new shoes, a couple of clothing items, and a brand new watch because you had been meaning to get a new one since your old one broke.

“ You sure you wanna do this?”

The school looks the same to you. It floods back memories when you two begin walking into the entrance. That same entrance where the Bangtan Boys came in and Jungkook stopped you because you were in his way of walking. The first time you had laid eyes on each other and then realized you both hated each other.  It still smells the same, clean but sweet. The school is vacant except for a few adult people here and there who seem to pay you no mind at all.

With each step you take down the hallway, you’re reminded of the memories you made. The lockers where you’d meet up with Ayami and Sungmin, the bathroom you came out of and Jungkook waited outside for you, and upcoming is the art class. The sound of voices and laughing can be heard the closer you get. Perhaps some left-over students from school today? Sungmin movements become a bit slower, as if he doesn’t want to pass the classroom. 

“ We can go back and visit the music room? If you want.”

Now you’re curious as to why he won't pass the room. Surely it’s just some teens right? You shake your head no with furrowed eyebrows, butterflies settling inside your stomach.  Swallowing hard, you take one last step towards the entrance of the art room and your stomach almost drops at the sight you see. 

The room is beautiful, it really did have a make-over, but the people inside shock you the most. You didn’t expect them to be here right now. You expected them to be coming later on, not lounging around the art room. Most of all, you weren’t ready to see him in general. He stands there by the window, hair longer than you remembered, ripped jeans, doc Martens, a black shirt and leather jacket. When he sets eyes on you, he doesn’t freak out but he just looks at you with sorrow in his eyes. He understands that this moment is could break or make anything so he keeps his mouth closed while admiring that you’re really in-front of him. The rest stare at you with shock, as if they’ve really seen a ghost.

Crystal is the first to curse under her breath with wide eyes and a smile. She runs over to you with open arms and when you do connect with them physically, it feels weird to hug her back but she understands this is a lot to process. 

“ I knew it was you. I knew it was you when I saw you in Manhattan! Holy fuck you’re actually alive!” Her grip only gets harder, as if she could squeeze you to death like an orange till you burst. You watch Sungmin prop himself up on the desk and sit quietly. He feels awkward in all this, and now you feel bad.

“ So you faked your death. How does it feel to be selfish?” 

You knew that one was coming from him. Turning towards the voice, you decide not to fuel the fire this time. “ I’m sorry. I also did not have a choice given the circumstances..” 

The room falls silent. Jungkook, Namjoon, Crystal, Yoongi, Sungmin, and Ayami. They’re all here. All staring at you as you stare at the ground out of pity. Maybe this whole faking death thing was a bit far. Casper could have came up with a better idea than this. Your past was soon to catch up to you. 

“ I forgive you.” Crystal breaks the silence, smiling at you to make you feel somewhat better. “ So do I. I’m sorry for contributing into that situation as well. No words can express how deeply affected I am from it and I do hold myself accountable.” 

You’d like to accept his apology, you really do, but at this moment you cannot as the wounds still hurt. The traitor, Ayami sits in the corner of the room at a desk. Her arms crossed as she looks outside the window, barely paying you any mind. Although you dislike her presence as she did betray you, It hurts a lot to know she honestly doesn’t care about you. 

“ I’m not sorry. You don't know the damage that you’ve done to Jungkook do you?” Yoongi’s voice is stern yet pissed off. With every inch he gets closer to you, it makes you want to ball up and run away.

Until you two are inches apart from each-other and he lets it all out on you.

“ We had to deal with him for years of depression, anxiety, he doesn’t sleep, barely fucking eats, and our business is possibly ruined all because of you. We don’t have a fucking sane enough leader because you wanted to be selfish. We all thought you were dead. Fucking DEAD. You don’t just do shit like that! You could of just left Seoul quietly but to be that fucking dramatic? Come on. Everyone was affected by your drama scene and now you think you can magically just show up like things are okay? It's not.”

It can’t be helped that the tears are flowing from your eyes and the quiet sobs let themself out. You feel just as guilty as they are and it sucks because you’re the victim and they aren't.  Coming to this was wrong. Now at least they know you’re alive.

“ I.. should go. I just wanted to apologize for my actions.”

“ Wait, you don’t have to go yn.”

But it was too late. You quickly walk out the room as fast as you can while wiping the hot tears coming down your face. People in the hallway look at you funny but you keep your head down. That familiar feeling in your chest settles in. It hurts. It feels like your heart has broken into a million pieces. None of this was how you expected it to go however you weren’t even supposed to come anyways. 

By now your feet are tired of walking and each time you blink its blurry. This place looks familiar. The flowers align the trail along with some trees. The school’s little garden trail. Mascara runs down your face. It hurts. It hurts a lot. Being in front of everyone like that was a bold move and to have Yoongi yell at you was embarrassing as well. The pain in your chest feels like someone is stabbing you over and over in your heart. Your heartstrings feel like they can give out any second. At this point you didn’t care who sees you sobbing loudly. All you want is to take everything back about what you said and should have just agreed to stay home.

“ Yn?”

You ignore it. The sobbing becomes louder and your keep trying to wipe your swollen eyes to rid the tears. It doesn’t stop.

The person sighs, slowly inching closer. You know that scent all too well. It’s him. What is he even doing here anyways? Why did he think it was okay to follow you out here? Something touches your hand but you turn around to face him and jerk your hand away. He was offering you his handkerchief. You look at him with hatred in your eyes. This all feels too familiar.

Jungkook sighs, nodding his head slowly while retreating his hand. “ I’m sorry. I want to apologize to you in a million different ways but I understand that we’re broken. I broke you. I did those things to you. I take responsibility. No words can explain how badly I fucked up. If I can go back and change everything I would in a heartbeat and do everything correctly.”

You take a minute to analyze his face. You’ve never seen his soft side of Jungkook. The way his face tells it all, lets you know he is sincere. To know he’s also been suffering makes you feel even more guilty. You won't accept it though. He will never get an acceptance of any sort from you. 

“ I hate you.” You sniffle. 

“ I understand.”

“ No Jungkook, I really fucking hate you.”

Was all you said before grabbing his jacket to pull him down into a passionate kiss. The two of your tongues fight for dominance as his left hand goes to your waist and his right up to your face. He can’t help himself but to deepen the kiss. Your lips taste like pure honey to him and he wants to devour you right then and there and never let you go.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.. 

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