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hello-nichya-here · 2 years

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Favorite Måneskin song?

HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME? Do you have any idea how much I love this band and their songs? DO YOU? You really think I won’t make this a top 10 just to have an excuse to praise more than one? You really think it didn’t quick turn into a top 20? And then a top 25? You really think I didn’t spend three days working on this reply and am still unhappy with it because it didn’t do the band any justice?

25 - Chosen

The lyrics are not all that special, and even though Damiano shines in it as he does in everything, it doesn’t compare to how great his voice is in other tracks... but dear lord, the band is fucking great in it, especially Thomas. Immaculate guittar riffs.

24 - Lividi Sui Gomiti

Whenever I hear this song, it is the very definition of “Better than I remembered.” The chorus is catchy as fuck, I love the beginning and end of it, and Victoria shows exactly why she is THE perfect choice to play the bass. Plus, angry Damiano telling the world to fuck off and let him do his thing is always a win.

23 - Somebody Told Me

As much as I enjoyed seeing their performances on X Factor, plenty of them suffered from the “reality show effect”, in which you watch it, lose your shit over how good it is, and then never think about it again because it only works in the context of “I hope they win this thing.” This version did NOT suffer from that. At all. The band grabbed this song and made it their bitch.

22 - Bury A Friend

Yet another cover that they absolutely fucking owned. As a Billie Eillish fan, it annoys me when people just take her songs, do literally nothing with it except sing faster and louder, and think their work is done. Maneskin actually put in the fucking effort to find a way to add their own twist to the song while also showing that they clearly understand what is so great about the original version. I may or may not smile like a crazy person when Ethan starts playing the shit out of the drums and shows us what this version will be like.

21 - Niente Da Dire

I just fucking love singing along to this one. It’s fun, simple, and the lyrics are pretty damn good.

20 - In Nome Del Padre

Damiano sings that the world and stage are not enough for him, AS HE FUCKING SHOULD! This song just has a way of truly making me feel as if I am seeing all the things the band went through to get to were they are. Also I am not sure it is legal for anything to sound as good as the end of this song with Thomas just going fucking feral.

19 - Supermodel

Like most of the Maneskin fans, I didn’t care for this song when it was released. It didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love it either. The studio version feels like it really muted the band, and left just Damiano’s vocals - good, but come on, we need the whole thing. Then they performed it live and even made an acoustic version and everything fell into place. Thank God we got to hear the amazing song that was hiding behind some very generic production.

18 - Ventanni

One of Damiano’s best lyrics, combined with one of the band’s best instrumental AND one of their best videos. I am surprised it wasn’t even higher on the list and I am the one making the damned thing!

17 - Amandoti

Maneskin REALLY has a thing for just making great covers. I know everybody loves the version they did with their mentor, but I personally prefer the one with Damiano singing by himself. But he is not the one who makes the song so great for me. The wat Ethan will barely touch the drumset in some moments, and then suddenly go for it, like a bomb finally going off, and Vic and Thomas jump in and turn it up to eleven... oh man, it is pure magic.

16 - Immortale

Another one that is just so fun to listen to and sing along. It’s just a great duet and whenever I hear it, I just HAVE to listen a second time. And a third. And a fourth, and fifth, and sixth...

15 - Beggin

As much as I understand that it is super unfair that this became their most well known song despite not fully representing what the band can do and over-play having really killed the song for some people, and even for myself a few times... there’s a reason this is the biggest hit. It’s just great track that keeps on getting better the more it goes on, to the point that even though it can be repetitive, I’m disappointed when it ends.

14 - L’altra Dimensione

Okay, okay, OKAY, who allowed Damiano to have such a great voice? How can he show more emotion just singing “Marlena” over and over again than many artists can in an entire album? Who gave him the right write a track that works perfectly as a celebration of freedom and art AND as an excellent declaration of love?

13 - For Your Love

Once again, Thomas, Victoria and Ethan just go all out, the costant change in tempo lets them show how versatile they are - I was not surprised to hear Thomas say this was his favorite song. But this time, they don’t steal the show, because everytime Damiano gets to last verse of every part of the song, my jaw hits the floor. The lyrics are so simple, but the way he sings them makes it a thousand times more beautiful

12 - Le Parole Lontane

Not to sound like a broken record, but holy shit, Damiano! He really makes the listener understand his longing for his muse - even the ones that don’t speak a word of italian and never looked up the translation. The anguish is so visceral, and the last verse always gave me the impression that it wasn’t that he stopped singing because the song was over, but because he couldn’t go on.

11 - Lasciame Stare

At first, I didn’t like this song. I thought of it as the weakest on the album, and often skipped it. Then one day, right the fuck out of nowhere, whatever it was that kept me from liking it just disappeared, and I listened to it 50 times in a row, and every now and then I just find myself with that damn chorus stuck in my head and there is NOTHING I can do to get it out when that happens.

10 - Un Temporale

This is one of their best covers and genuinely one of the best songs I’ve ever heard, and I am fucking FURIOUS that I can either listen to a extremelly short version with good quality by seeing their performance on X Factor or get the full thing in video some fan recorded with their phone. JUST FUCKING MAKE AN OFFICIAL VERSION AND RELEASE IT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

09 - Mammamia

Damiano being a petty, horny brat, Thomas going off, and Vic and Ethan making me stomp my foot to the rhythym of this great track every single time I hear it... what is there not to love? All that’s missing is a performance with Damiano singing it in a stripper pole.

08 - I Wanna Be Your Slave

The first Maneskin song I ever heard. I was instantly hooked. Insanely catching, unbelievably horny, and the lyrics are a mood. I love the way Damiano shouts, whispers and just straight up moans while singing, and seeing Vic just vibe to the song while playing the bass is great. The video for it is also my favorite and that gave it a lot of extra points.

07 - Moriro Da Re

I looooove the lyrics in this one so fucking much, especially because, once again, Damiano managed to make it a perfect love song AND a celebration of his ideals and goals. I can’t help but get slowly (or not so slowly) unhinged when it gets to “Marlena, vinci la sera” and he sings it over and over.

06 - La Paura Del Buio

Probably my favorite chorus and ending in any of their tracks, and it fucking blew my mind the first time I heard it - and the millionth time as well. Watching live performances of it makes it hit even harder. Damiano was born to be a front-man and seeing Thomas, Vic and Ethan giving it their all is the coolest fucking thing ever.

05 - If I Can Dream

I thought over and over again about how to explain why I love this cover so much, but honestly all I can say is that it makes me incredibly emotional and it is a delight whenever I hear it.

04 - Vengo Dalla Luna

The fact that they don’t sing this song in every single show is a fucking crime. It is the best cover they ever made - so good that I have to keep reminding myself that this isn’t an original of the band, because it suits them ridiculously well. The sheer raw power in every second of the track is incredible.

03 - Torna A Casa

This one is, heart-breaking, heart-warming, hopeful, desperate, pure passion and a desperate cry of pain all at the same time, and it’s on the top 2 best Maneskin lyrics. I absolutely adore it and if I ever have the luck to see them live and they play this song, I might straight up die on the spot.

02 - Coraline

This one is, without a doubt, THE most depressing Maneskin song. It is also one of the most beautiful they ever made, and the best Damiano ever wrote. The way it starts so slow and simple, Ethan jumping in to make the song come alive, Thomas’s solo, the devastating end... It’s no surprise that the fans love this one so fucking much.

01 - Zitti E Buoni

Behold! THE perfect Maneskin song. We got bass, drum, and guittar solos, Damiano rapping, amazing lyrics, and an iconic performance at eurovision. I Wanna Be Your Slave was the one made me like the band, but this was the one that made me absolute love them, and I adore it just as much as I did when I first heard it. I’m not sure they’ll ever top this one - and it is so fucking great that they don’t even need to.

Anyways, anon, I hope you have learned your lesson: don’t ask the bisexual to choose.

#asks #maneskin #damiano david #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi #ethan torchio #long post

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theonetruebangtan · 11 months

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Its been 1 year of Jack in the Box and I am not okay

Cannot believe its been a whole year since J-Hope released his official debut album Jack in the Box. I remember leading up to the release of the More mv I was telling my friend that I thought we were going to go through a Rocktan renaissance. And then Hobi gave us an album that just spoke grunge and old school hip hop. When I tell you those teaser images came out and I was like oh okay, this this is speaking to my angsty childhood.

I sadly didn’t get to appreciate this album as much as I wanted to because on July 11th we had to put down my cat of 15 yrs. But I tried to be tuned in for streaming and votes, and I was more with it by Hobipalooza.

So today we revisit J-Hope, sorry Jay’s, debut album 😂

First order of business, I’m glad that the promotion and release cycle went the way Hobi wanted it to. But I will forever be wanting a cd cover with that KAWS artwork, its just so good!

BTS Episode: Album Cover Shoot Sketch

Standout tracks from this album for me were:

More, = (Equal Sign), What If… and Safety Zone

The Singles

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The first introduction we had to Jack in the Box was through the release of the More mv on July 1, 2022. And the concept was definitely expressed. Hobi talked a lot throughout the promos about wanting to remove himself from the box of J-Hope, and see if he could still make music that would draw in people (paraphrasing), and for me he definitely succeeded.

BTS Episode: More MV Sketch

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The Arson mv released on July 15, 2022, along with the album. It was a good title track to choose because it really speaks to the old - school hip hop with the kick snare beat.

Both of the mvs for this album really invoked to me at least, mvs of the late 90s early 00s. Lots of muted dark colour palettes, close shots and enclosed spaces. For More specifically he’s always surrounded by stuff and contained within 4 walls, illustrating the claustrophobia of being contained. In More he’s still trapped in the box looking for more; whereas in Arson Jack has escaped and has burnt it all.

The choices for the two singles could not have been picked better. They bookend the album thematically and literally. Opening with More showcases the rock elements Hobi will be using, and ending with Arson calls back to his hip hop roots.

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Just recently for festa we were treated to an Arson rock version, and oh boy does it slap. It’s less kick snare, more drum fills and guitar riffs. So if you’re not super into hip hop but love rock definitely check it out!

Bangtan Bomb: JITB Listening Party

lol does anyone remember when we started seeing all the celeb stories about this party? what a time 😂

Hobipalooza

“You can call me Jay”

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J-Hope headlined Chicago’s Lollapalooza on Sunday, July 31, 2022. He made history as the first Korean artist to headline a major U.S. festival. He drew a crowd of 100k to his 70 minute set at Bud Light Seltzer stage. He was A M A Z I N G!

I tuned in on weverse to watch his set and from the moment he popped out of the box he owned that stage. I’ve rewatched it a couple times since and every time its just as good. Highly highly recommend.

BTS Episode: j-hope @ Lollapalooza

J - Hope in the Box

(Can be found on Disney+ for streaming or can be purchased on Weverse.)

I’ve always loved documentaries and behind the scenes looks at creation of art. Watching the inception of JITB and the triumphant conclusion with Lollaplooza, showcased how dedicated J - Hope is to his craft. The contrast between the quiet montage of Hobi staring at his computer in the studio to the boisterous prep meetings and rehearsals demonstrates how his art is not made in a vacuum. It may begin as introspection but it eventually has to be shared and he can not control the reception of others. I really loved the ending where there’s a final ITM of J - Hope in a park on a sunny day in Chicago, having finished his set the night before. He speaks on his thoughts about how JITB rollout went and how it felt to finally perform as a solo act. If you haven’t already seen it you should, BH has always been good at delivering behind the scenes content and the editing on this doc was some of their best.

For the first official solo debut of a BTS I couldn’t have asked for anything better. J - Hope gave us an album that demonstrated a new side to him as an artist. For those who already loved his music, you received more amazing music. And for those who were new to him, you were introduced to a musician who loves to try new things and push the boundaries of his talent when he is already at the top.

Here’s to 1 year of Jack in the Box, and here’s to J - Hope!

If you’re interested in behind the scenes production looks etc. I’ve also linked the relevant Bangtan Bombs/Episodes.

#jitb #happy 1 year anniversary of jitb!!#j-hope #jung hoseok #bts music discussions #when you're a 90s boy and just want to make a punk rock hip hop album #i mean how hard is it #Youtube #bts solo projects

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lifeofal · 2 years

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Family First

INVOLVED: Samuel Evans, Summer Evans, and Eleanor Stone LOCATION: Evans' Estate; Los Angeles, California TIME FRAME: Thursday, September, 29th, 2022 NOTES: Samuel flies into town to surprise Summer and Eleanor.

Samuel drummed his fingers lightly against the glass rail. The sun was almost completely gone, replaced by soft lights of his Bel-Air mansion. He held the cell phone up to his ear, a cool breeze rustling his hair. "Mhm." He nodded, the words coming from the other end of the phone washing over him like waves. In this transaction Samuel only cared about one thing: a legal acquisition. "I don't give a fuck. Just make sure everything is on the up and up" He reminded Benjamin dispassionately. "All I care about is results.." He said, lowering the phone without another word, disconnecting the call.

Eleanor picked Summer up off the ground gently, resting her on her hip she said “what am I going to do with you?” playfully. It was past the child's bedtime, however she almost always refused to go to bed without her beloved father around. Instead most nights she pretends to be resting only to wander around the massive home or bombard her mother with chit-chat about tv shows of her age group. How she wants a pony. Or her favorite “where is daddy?”. Moving down the hallway she said “you must sleep, princesses need their beauty rest you know.” Smiling Summer said “they do?” quizzically to her mother “hmm” she said thereafter the wheels turning in her head. “Can I sleep in your bed?” she asked, beaming from ear to ear. Eleanor shook her head at the four-year-old “no ma’am, you have to sleep in your own bed tonight” and she meant it. She needs some peace and quiet tonight, and her own good night's rest. “Darn it” Summer said, her bottom lip poking out as she pouted a bit. “I want daddy” she whined dramatically falling back in her mother’s arm, “he grants the princess wishes” she told her mother.

Samuel watched the skyline until the last rays of the day disappeared completely. Mentally, his mind worked a lot like Santa Clause. He was making a list and checking them twice. He’d need to call Jason before we went back to Boston. He had plans for upgrading the storage space at the laundromat. He also needed to drive though his new territory. He never trusted the word of anyone, especially not a snitch like Mark. He worked with the man, because there was trust in the belief that the devil you know was better than the devil you did not know. The man was predictable and that was a trait, Samuel like in pawns. He glanced down at his Cartier watch with a smile coming to his lips. Everything was coming along nicely, his shipment should be in international waters right now. Once the second hands reached the top of the hour, he moved away from the transparent railing. Only sparing a passing glance at the massive muted screen that overlooked the pool. It was getting close to his baby's bedtime and what kind of father would he be if he made his princes follow rules.

“Little girl” Eleanor said with nothing but seriousness laced in her voice. “Quit that” she commanded the little girl shifting her in her arms. “You are sleeping in your own bed, and that is that you hear me” she said to her. Summer’s frown grew as she pouted even more at the older blonde. “Meany” she retorted as her mother carried her closer to her own bedroom.

The house was massive. Samuel had fallen in love with it the moment he first walked in. Perfect. It was everything, a lot and too much. Just what he loved. One side was a shire drop off and the approach was one way. Samuel smirked as he strolled through the massive house. Despite the size, he could hear Eleanor’s and Summer’s voices. The small voice was the second reason why he loved the home so much. Here his baby was safe. Samuel slowed his pace as he rounded the corner, “There she is,” He said, taking in the sight of his daughter, “What’s all the fuss about.” He looked down at his watch, “It’s too early for bed.” He said, cutting his eye towards Elanor.

Eleanor turned around to see Samuel, rolling her eyes gently as their little girl all but hopped out of her arms to lung for her dad. “Daddy” Summer beamed as she leaped for joy at the sight of him “I missed you daddy” she said happily, now she could get away with murder and there would be on consequences. Eleanor folded her arms over her chest and said “it’s 8:30” plainly “which is her bedtime” her face stone as she gazed at him. Her disdain wasn’t because of him going against her very direct orders. It was because of his recent absence, she narrowed her eyes at the thought of him dropping back in without so much as a call.

Samuel dropped down scooping the little girl up into his arms. He kissed Summer softly on her rosy cheeks. “Daddy missed you too. And mommy as well.” He said, taking his eyes off the little girl to catch the scowl on her mother’s face. He smirked at the woman shaking his head. “Bedtimes are for regular little girls. Not princesses”. Samuel stood the little girl on her feet, kneeling as he went into his pocket. “Close your eyes.” He instructed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet box with a platinum charm bracelet inside. The bracelet was filled with the charms all little girls would love, unicorns, rainbows, shades, and even a diamond teddy bear. Opening the box, “You can look now,'' he told her with a grin.

His dismissal made her clench her mouth shut tighter, she looked down at the two of them jealousy. She cursed the day she had Summer all she’d done since was still her attention from Samuel and his money. She rolled her eyes again at the bracelet. It was cute she would not lie about that, but where was her gift? Summer stood there bouncing on her little toes, when instructed she closed her eyes and covered her face happily. She knew her daddy would have something special for her. Dropping her hands she began to bounce again “it’s so pretty, like me” she said posing cutely “I love it” she told him before she held her wrist out for him to put it on much like a prince would a princess.

Samuel took the bracelet from the box and sat it on the floor, shaking his head. “No way you’re prettier”, he told the little girl as he clasped the bracelet around her small wrist. “Perfect”, he smiled adjusting some of the charms. He kissed Summer again on the cheek and pulled her into a side hug. Dipping his hand back to this pocket he rose, sliding another long box out. Waving the box slightly at Eleanor, “How long are you going to pretend to be mad at me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Summer blushed her shoulder rising to her ears as she gushed over her father’s words. After he fastened the bracelet on she turned her wrist playfully looking at it. At his question Eleanor bit her lip hiding her smirk as she said “I never said I was mad” lying through her veneers as she looked at the box and then him. “What do you have there?” she asked moving in closer to him, finally dropping her hands at her side.

Samuel's shoulder shook as he laughed at Eleanor’s lies. “Sure.” He said, watching her soften. Thank you lord, he really did not feel like a whole lot of bullshit tonight. Handing over the box slowly, “Open it and find out.” Inside was a diamond tennis bracelet with charms set thought out, a diamond heart, a key and their initials. Handing the box over, she reached down and picked up Summer again.

Accepting the gift from the tall man she opened the box and smiled “aw, it’s so cute” she said looking at the charms. He really loved her, even with all of the bullshit he put her through daily. “I love it baby” Eleanor told him as she moved in for a kiss, planting a loving one right on his lips. “Thank you,” she said. Summer’s fingers played with the charms on her bracelet, she pulled her eyes away as her father began lifting her off the ground. When her mother kissed him she said “eww” scrunching up her little nose.

Samuel was a little shocked Eleanor accepted his gift. Even if she only said it was cute… “I thought you would.” Which was true. He knew she would like it, but he also thought she would want more. Well, with this turn of events he’d save the earrings for another day. Samuel wrapped his arm around Eleanor’s waist, squeezing her gently accepting her kiss. “So, what have you been up to other than bed?” He asked, angling them all back toward the family room. “What is exciting in Summer’s world?”

Eyeing the bracelet Eleanor took it out of its box and placed it onto her wrist happily. Flipping her wrist back and forth, she thought about how jealousy she was going to make her best friend when she saw this new gift. “Uh” she said thinking to herself “nothing much, ballet, swimming lessons” she told him as she looked up at his “shopping” she said slyly “didn’t we Summer” she asked the little girl. Summer looked up at her dad and nodded her head wildly, “I want a pony daddy” she exclaimed, it was never enough right?

Samuel hoisted the little girl up, adjusting her position on his hip. Samuel grinned, glancing at Eleanor, “That sounds about right.” He nodded, assuming as much. “A pony?” Samuel thought the request over, pursuing his list, in mock concentration. Kissing the girl on the nose, “I think I can arrange that. You’ll have to take riding lessons.” Summer was spoiled, rotten. And he was absolutely cool with that fact.

Summer gasped loudly as her daddy confirmed she could get an actual pony after her mother told her no repeatedly in his absence. “Yay!” she exclaimed loudly in the hall, she wrapped her little arms around her father’s neck and hugged him tightly. Eleanor looked to Samuel with raised brows “a pony?” she was shocked, he didn’t even ask her her opinion. She’d been telling the child no this entire time, where were they even going to put a pony anyway. “Anything she wants huh?” she asked him.

Samuel squeezed Summer tightly, rubbing her back. He raised both his eyebrows in response to Eleanor, a smug smirk on his lips. Was Eleanor jealous or upset? To his mind it might be both. “Not anything, but most things. She is a princess. She deserves the best.” He said, stepping in the all white, sitting room. “You got a problem with that?” He asked, a sharp edge of annoyance in his tone.

Eleanor rolled her eyes at him, out of all the things he could grant the wish of a pony was not it. Tapping her thigh lightly with the bracelet box, she tested a few responses in her head for a moment. He had some nerve and she couldn’t believe his audacity. “I may” she finally chose as she looked at him “do you have a problem with that?” she asked him, crossing her arms over her chest.

The white room was radiant. Somehow warm in spite of its stark appearance. Not a spot or wrinkled marred any part of the room. He could see the housekeeper scurrying out of sight, leaving a freshly prepared drink for him on the table. Water he knew, with exactly three cubes of ice. He never drank when he was Summer. He liked to have all his wits about him when he was with his baby. Samuel's face was vacant as he regarded Eleanor. He sat, placing Summer beside him on the chair. “Here you go baby. Pick something for us to watch.” He told the child giving her the remote from the coffee table. Foot coming up to rest on his knee, he looked back to Eleanor. “What’s your concern?” He asked, casually.

Eleanor stopped patting her leg with a box, instead she sat it aside once they entered the room plopping down in a chair wildly. She licked her lips, eyes fixed on her nails as she glanced them over. “She’s four” she reminded “let’s wait until she’s a little older” she told him. “Outside of that.. I have none” she told him. Summer toyed with her father’s necklaces for a bit until he sat her down, sitting right next to him. She snuggled his large frame and toyed with the remote for a moment then she said to it “Enchanto”, in which it was brought up onto the screen and she pressed play.

‘Four’ Samuel thought, sometimes he could get ahead of himself. He needed to be brought down to earth from time to time. Summer was his baby after all. He nodded thoughtfully, glancing over at his little girl with a smile on his face. His head jerked back and he shook his head. At least she stayed consistent. “I guess you need to call your daddy and see what he can do about that.” He said, nodding yes to the Summer choice of Encanto. “Anything you want, baby.” He said, truthfully. “What color pony?”

Eleanor looked over at Samuel slowly and she rolled her eyes for one last and final time before she got up. “Enjoy” she said slyly, forcing a smile on her face as she walked out of the room. Samuel annoyed her fifty percent of the time, the other fifty he spoiled her so she tried very hard to keep her tantrums at bay. Especially infront of Summer, she came from a broken home and she vowed never to subject her children to that even if he did press every button she had. Making her way into the large kitchen she said “wine please” to the older woman.

Samuel relaxed back into his seat. He wasn’t exactly watching the movie. He just enjoyed this part of the role of father. He waved Eleanor off, wondering what the nearest stable was to his home. He would need to find an instructor for his baby too. The thought added to his ever growing list. Leaning forward he picked up his glass of water and sipped at it thoughtfully reclining back against the cushions.

Eleanor grabbed the wine glass from the woman after she poured it, feeling no need to thank her for it. It was her job after all. Licking her lips she rounded the corner standing behind Samuel and Summer. Squinting she approached him and said “I am going upstairs now..” taking a sip from her wine glass.

Samuel smiled, chuckling whenever Summer did the nonsense on the screen. His daughter’s laughter is the best part of the movie. When Eleanor came back sulking he knew behind him, he inhaled arm going across the back of the chair. “I’m not ready to go to bed yet. Come sit down.” Family time was important. Eleanor of all people should have known this by now.

Huffing loudly she looked at the back of the man’s head and then to their daughter. Eleanor moved back around the wine glass still in hand and she sat down like he asked, except she made sure she sat down right in his lap. That would do it, all attention would be on her finally. She sipped happily and said “she’s seen this a million times” taking another slow slip.

Samuel dropped his foot to the ground, looking up at the woman as she planted herself in his lap. This should or could have been more amusing. Except this wasn’t the time. He held off a grimace and scratched at his lip with his free hand. “Seems like it.” He nodded, hand moving to grip the woman’s thigh. Damn women were needy. “You’ve been spending a lot of time at the gym”. He mused, squeezing her thigh but not getting much purchase.

His comment caused Eleanor to raise her eyebrow, what was that supposed to mean? She tried to ignore the comment and said “I like being in shape” slyly. “Is that a problem?” she asked curiously. Shifting in his lap she took a long sip from the wine glass once more.

Samuel smirked, eyes twinkling. He left off squeezing her thigh and smoothed his hand over her leg. “I see.” He shrugged eyes going back to the television. “Not particularly.” He sighed, noticing further the muscles of her leg. “I guess you are trying to become a human Barbie. Huh?” He said, smacking her leg playfully.

“Trying to become?” Eleanor repeatedly turned to look him in his eyes. “I am a barbie my love” she corrected without hesitation. “I don’t have to try.”

Samuel glanced up at the woman perched on his lap. He huffed a laugh. Confidence was king, he mused, still rubbing her leg. “Okay…” he agreed, smiling in spite of himself. Barbie? She felt much like the plastic doll. He thought, shaking his head. “Anyway, We will see how much stamina you’ve gained in just a moment.” He told the woman. The amok was still on his lips but all the playfulness had vanished from his voice.

Eleanor turned back around to face the tv, folding her arms and smirking as she leaned back against him now. “I like the sound of that” she mused to herself, it was like taking candy from a baby. She knew he couldn’t resist her, and there were things she could give him that no one else in the house could. It was her trump card after all.

#threads #t: family first #samcedes rp

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valcat--online · 2 months

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CARPET AIRLINES!!! (https://www.instagram.com/carpet___airlines/)

okay, okay, I loved playing for this party!!!! so I'll have a lot to remember!

some (very long) reflections on some topics:

THE MUSIC / THE SET

-I've been wanting for a long while to get more into gear and now I feel like i'm arriving at that place, or im on the journey towards it. this set was the most out-of-the-box (out of DAW) I've been able to get so far. the only thing that was going through abelton was my vocals and the instrumentals for the few tracks I did only vocals live for. I got an elektron rhythm this winter, and spent a few weeks rabbit-hole deep in spread sheets to organize all my samples and rebuild DAW-based tracks into the rhythm. I learned so soooo much during this time and I must say, one of the reasons im so dedicated to music is how nerdy I get to be with it. ngl I love taking notes, reading manuals, and watching lessons online, etc. Josh Cowgirl (https://www.instagram.com/jcow____/) came round to mine to show me some sneaky tricks with the rhythm and explain how he uses it in his live sets. giiiiant shout out and tysm to him for taking the time to do that!

-regarding actually doing the live set... I had so much more fun with this set/the performance than previous ones because I actually go to play more of the music live, rather than having 30 sec chunks to press play between in a DAW. the elektron rhythm is my new bestie fr! even muting drums in and out, so simple, SO much fun.

-after my set I realized, in a final click kinda way, that there's a weird sense of dysphoria I always get after playing, where I realize that a) everyone on the other side of the decks had a different experience at the set than I did, because they listened while I played, and b) I'll never get to experience a set of mine from that outsiders perspective. which is kinda weird and hard to wrap my head around. when people ask me how my set went, im like idk, ask the people who were there!

-given the last reflection, it's clear that feedback is suuuper important to me to understand how the set went. I love when people tell me about their experiences at my gigs and I live through their stories and use those words to decide how I'll go about the next sets. I guess something about me makes people want to tell me as well. lots of people come to me after my gigs to tell me about the experiences they had whilst listening/dancing. I loooove this, i encourage this! one example that was :) was that after my set this time, lewis (whose mixing down my album w me at the moment) came behind the decks, real coach-like, and gave me a run down of how it went. v sweet. i feel so grateful for him and other music makers in our community for giving me such endless support (https://www.instagram.com/tamtam_pda/).

-soooo some other feedback from others that I'm holding onto :) i got some really nice words from friends and strangers who were at the set. I think the thing that came back most often was that people felt the absolute freedom to listen how they wanted to. some people danced. some people lay down in the back and closed their eyes. mikhela said she had a full flash of yellow while she was getting a (?)cranial massage(?) during "dancing in the breeze." I was told by most of the people I talked to about it that carpet air was the perfect party to experience my music at, because of the sense of coziness and freedom to experience the music, the party, the people, in whatever way you wanted. :D from a personal standpoint, it's my fav gig I've done so far in terms of the vibe. the low lighting, the cozy carpets, the alien-y deco. im so grateful. and now i'm out here, like, begging telepathically (and now digitally, and very publicly lol) for carpet air to plllllls book me again!

THE PARTY / VENUE

-I don't think i can even convey enough how in love with the Carpet Airlines vibe i am. most/all of my previous gigs have been somehow linked to exhibitions. the reason is simple - i organize exhibitions. ive loved playing these gigy but I admit i was super grateful and excited for the opportunity to play at a *partiiii*. Anita and Linda (https://www.instagram.com/goofy_cult/) make suuuch a coool vibe with carpet air. they got to the venue at 6am to start set up. WILD! as a fellow installation artist, I must give mad respect to the effort. a big club and a pill aren't enough for most of the people in my community these days. we don't want to go to parties just to get fucked up. we want to engage with our friends, with the music. we want sensory experience. carpet air had masseuses and board games and couches and a dance floor. there were multiple meals available. nothing was too expensive. putting this party on my #insp list. so grateful to have been involved.

-s/o to the studio d.b team for being so fucking cool. after the party ended, I think we hung around for another 3 hours or so, chillling, playing music, etc. the slow descent back down to reality was much needed for me and I'm glad we got to loiter together and steep in the vibes of the day for a weee bit longer.

-also s/o to the studio d.b speaker system, fr! there was a moment during "bounce in the body" where I could feel that the subs were ON. given that "bounce in the body" is an incredibly dubby bassy track, I was on cloud nine hearing it hit the room. punch to the gut type vibes. bless. bruce mentioned this moment to me as well, and said it was as if it was the first time that whole day that the subs were really subbing. woooooooo!

FINNALLLY wanna give a big shout out to my colleagues in the cockpit https://www.instagram.com/bru.glu/ https://www.instagram.com/amanitaa__/ https://www.instagram.com/born_slip_e/ https://www.instagram.com/der_opium__queen/ https://www.instagram.com/buteninanna/

fire tunes. thanks a million!

shutting up now <3

#vc diary

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oznobikhina · 1 year

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Certain amount of them was lost in this unequal fight between the responsibility and sense of contol stuck in the New York Times, Meduza and Guardian headings spreaded in front of ressurrected ego which one used as a drumming stick to scratch my back. Come off. I for one do not need these (inner) scars anymore as they are as illusive as the storms somewhere in Nebraska. A Guy_01 from the library has told me that this is the state of sandhills. This crazy motherfucker is one of my least favourite visitors on the weekends because he somehow decided that we are friends. I mean, the last thing you want after working hours by entering the lab is his face circling around with a bunch of books sorta Celine's volumes in french or Wittgenstein's Tractatus (really). The worst figure, though, is still the deaf-mute Deleuzian okay-guy who always steals two volumes of "Cinema" by Deleuze that librarian _Knyzhny Pajzh_ kindly leaves on the table. Still, the person who saves this pal from being brutally attacked by me (usually in two days before my period starts when I am no longer able to control the electric-like impulses of anger) is a sad female librarian whom I secretely call "Carrie". The thing is that I love her smell and the realization itself makes me feel at my creepiest. Sometimes I imagine us hugging and nose-touching being lesbian separated from everyone in the ruins of the Empire. It's not that I do not specifically like the smell of my mates (I simply do not have them) but the librarian scent calms my nerves down and I take off the phone with the news about mass shootings in Kherson and stuff like that. The only women I'd like to fuck with is probably her. She's like an grown up Aphrodite with curly brown hair touching her shoulder blades and round-shaped toffe-coloured eyes with minimum of eyelashes so that you always throw a guess if she is really upset or this is her 'basic' face. Remarkably, she wears tights under the shorts and always using that odor I cannot decode. Like a peachy pie mannered sort of pleasure that is traditionally served with useless attributes. But this guy is always more distracting than her walking around the shelves and ordering the books.

Duration Cinema Landscape. Well, it is not going to last forever — I told myself this phrase each time I found myself resonating with non-melodic but more of a noisy lullaby that affectively mobilized the consciousness. To be more precised, the parts that are still functioning. There are unbelievably good news for me as the prescriptions say that the prefrontal cortex is forming up to the age of 33 or something. Okay, fine. Maybe then I will buy myself IKEA table to put "Cinema" under. Nonetheless, this guy thinks too much and it's reaching my brain structure. One should definitely forgive herself for the things she has done in the survival mode. I definitely did but then I heard the melody that was dramatically hard to emansiapate from in Bergsonian sense. I mean, he divides this things. Otherwise I would never choose this way of communication. The constellations of the rhythmic pulsations imbued the darkness and teased the spatiality just as Climatic Phase No.3 or even worse Lucio Fontana's paintings. The problem is that the source is usually hidden and you should trust yourself. That's the method. With being overblown one is also lost between the folding successions of structures and sequences of spaces and then it happens occasionally.... let us imagine Max Demian who knows what die to cast in the next round. This part is usually found by myself and I am pretty confident in this sense. Then something falls on the floor of the lab. No one is watching and I find myself in a complete emptiness of someone's architectural thought. Koolhas would never like Husserlian idea to give up tabacco. Well, I think that was the space where Varese has finished his breakfast with banana oatmeal and Bach's 9th and Boulez has shot the Post-was theatrical show. Something heavy was taken off my chest I received that email from Massumi and then I remembered that I have given a vow not to come back ever again. Then, what to do with with 23 pages of 'Magic materialism' paper? Okay-guy is asking if I want to have a coffee. I doubt if he's real but this is definitely "No"

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1kook · 4 years

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commercial break ; THREE

this is a netflix & chill drabble kook’s pov during their argument in d&b !

summary; But Jungkook loves the sun. warnings; post-fight, drinking, heart ache :( miscellaneous; everyone say thank u kim namjoon 🤩 word count; 1.5k

notes; a lot of people wanted to know his thoughts during the iconic d&b fight scene so here’s the closure we all needed </3

He knows he’s said the wrong thing the second the last syllable departs from his lips.

Jungkook doesn’t mean it, that much he knows right away, but even still… there’s a silent moment of shock between the two of you, one where even he is surprised by his own tongue.

You move first, phone whipping across the room.

Now Jungkook has seen a lot of scary things in his life. He’s seen horror movies and walked through a cemetery at night once. He’s come home way past curfew and had to face the wrath of his normally lenient father. He’s sat front row in his first ever college seminar. Yet none of that fear, that anxiety, that dread, compares to the level of emotion he feels wrap around his throat the moment you get up.

“___, wait,” he calls out frantically, hands shaking the further and further you get. He has to tell you he doesn’t mean it, that he would never mean it. But how do you follow up a statement like that? Even when he catches your eyes, beautiful irises colder than the bottom of the ocean, he doesn’t know what to say. He stutters through an excuse he wouldn’t have believed himself and watches you slip further away.

Jungkook can’t let you leave, not when you’re so hurt and he’s so confused, but what else can he say? He doesn’t know, and when you angrily send him back inside he feels every bit the scolded child. Funny how that works.

He calls and calls until he realizes the muted hum from upstairs is the phone you left behind. He’s crazy and in love, desperately scouring through your social media accounts for a sign you’re safe and home. (You were on Twitter three minutes ago, so that’s a relief.) But even then he can’t relax, turning his own words over and over in his head.

Jungkook values a lot of things in your relationship. There’s a beautiful understanding that comes with being in love, a new sense of comfort he’d never felt before. You make him feel warm and in love, keep him grounded when the world threatens to swallow him beneath its surface. You care for him and he for you.

Where those thoughts had come from, he didn’t know. All he knew was that one minute you were picking at the edges of his patience, and the next he was shooting a dagger into your chest.

Self-reflection, Namjoon had always said, the key point to understanding oneself. Usually, that’s followed by some tips on yoga, on calming the mind, but his leg won’t stop bouncing and there’s a boa constrictor wrapped around his throat so that zen mentality will have to wait for now. A harsh exhale, foot thumping against the floor.

Carefully, he unscrambles his thoughts.

There were times you were childish and, for the most part, Jungkook didn’t mind. You brought out the most beautiful things in life with just your laughter alone. You roped him into doing things he never could enjoy growing up, which made him rekindle his love for old hobbies. If sunshine was a person, Jungkook is sure it was you.

You were bright and ever-burning, always with a mission in your head, even if it was something as small as cleaning your windows that day. A star, he thinks, except your smile alone garners the power of ten supernovas combined. The amount of joy and euphoria you’ve brought him this past year was immeasurable. You made him smile, even when you were tired, rising every morning and setting every night dutifully just like the sun.

But too much sunshine could be hot, scorching even.

His mom had mentioned it once, very early into your relationship, how you were a little too childish for Jungkook. He had angrily defended you, stormed out of his parents' house like he was ready to leave them all for you. (Would he? He likes to think so.) But a mother’s advice always haunted one the most.

Yes, your youthful outlook made his life colorful and bright, but there were times he found himself wondering what it would be like to have someone… not as outgoing.

Someone plain and always collected. Someone who would gently remind him of his deadlines, and watch all his favorite documentaries with him. Someone like him, he supposed, who matched his interests perfectly.

It sounds awfully boring.

It sounds terrible to be damned to such a dull life, especially now that he’s had a taste of you. You, who brings laughter and sunshine everywhere you go, his amazing other half. He’d hate it if you always did what he wanted— he loves when you pick at everything he likes because you let him do it back! Jungkook’s head was a never-ending spiral— that much he’s known from a young age. But with you in his life, it became fun and exhilarating. Gone was the dark tunnel and in its place was a twisty slide with loops and turns that defied all laws of gravity. It wasn’t a scary place anymore and it was all because of you.

You, who he might possibly lose forever. His own negligence was to thank, an inability to voice small issues until they piled up and became this big, warped monster that no longer pertained to his original frustrations. It was an ugly thing, so twisted and vile, taking the thoughts he seldom had and weaponizing them against you.

Was that it? Had those mindless thoughts been the root of today’s brash decisions. Jungkook wants to blame it on that, but part of him knows it’s his own inability to share his feelings that led to that spontaneous outburst. There were obviously some things he still needed to work on, but pinning it all on you, his dazzling ray in the sky, was the worst move he could have made. Self-reflection, he repeats to himself.

His heart is still pounding in his ears, drumming obnoxiously loud as if it wants to torture him for his actions. His phone rings across the room and Jungkook lunges for it, hoping and praying it’s you.

It’s not.

It’s just Namjoon calling to wish the two of you a happy anniversary. “You two having fun?” he teases before Jungkook can get so much as a greeting in.

“Hyung,” he chokes out hoarsely, glancing down at the ground. “I-I said something to ___,” he whispers even though there is no one here to hide from but his own crippling thoughts. “And I don’t think she’s coming back.”

His voice cracks a little. He hides it with a gulp so dry it hurts. “What?” Namjoon asks. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook sighs, running a hand over his eyes. “Are you busy right now?”

—

“You need to go to bed,” Namjoon tells him, ambling the two of them up the stairs. Jungkook snorts, sliding against the entire wall on the way up.

“I refuse,” he announces. He has to pause on the next step because he’s pretty sure there’s about four of the same step whirling before his eyes. Beside him, Namjoon sighs. “Hyung, I can’t see.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, deciding the stairs are too much of a hassle and guiding them back to the living room instead. “Couch,” he informs him before rather carelessly dumping him onto it. “Listen,” he begins, crouching down beside Jungkook. “It’s like, 4 AM… and I have work tomorrow. So I’m going to leave,” he says, slowly pointing in the direction of outside. Jungkook nods, even though Namjoon is definitely pointing upside-down backward. “Okay, JK?”

“That’s me,” he agrees, letting his head slump back against a throw pillow. Namjoon groans.

“That is you,” he concedes. “And you need to sober up before you try talking to ___ again.”

The mere mention of your name turns a switch on inside him. “Can’t,” he whines, features twisting up together. “She hates me. Will cut my balls off.”

Namjoon goes to protest but eventually stops himself. “Yeah, well. Probably.” Jungkook wails at his friend’s poor attempt at consoling him. “Sleep a little and then head over to hers, okay?” He pats him on the cheek once before finally making his exit.

Jungkook can’t believe this. How embarrassing. If you saw him right now, you’d clown him for getting this drunk off wine. But he truly understands it now. It was the devil’s drink, so sweet and cooling only to suddenly slap him across the face with his own insobriety. Oh, his head was going to ache badly later.

Well, that was a problem for later’s Jungkook, he decides as he slinks off the couch and back into the kitchen. There’s a new box of cherry vodka he’d bought just for tonight—or last night, technically—because he knows it’s your favorite. And well. He misses you so much he’ll do anything to feel close to you again.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the floor, swing after swing going down his throat until he’s got three extra fingers and a new middle name. Just that when the sun finally filters through, so warm and bright, he finds himself missing you again. His feet take him out the door before he can think twice.

The morning rays bring with them a wicked headache that almost has Jungkook throwing up into his bushes. Part of him, the last droplet of reason, tells him he should change. He’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday and they reek. Furthermore, the sun is hellbent on soaking up every inch of his black clothing.

He should change if he doesn’t want to suffocate in this heat, under this blazing sun in the sky.

But Jungkook loves the sun.

He walks on.

—

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jjk fic #mine

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beyondd-dazedd · 3 years

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I LITERALLY COULDNT NOT DO THIS POST NOW!! so hsmtmts stans, portwell nation, literally everyone who wants to read me practically screaming for 10 paragraphs here is the hsmtmts season 2 finale EPISODE👏 REVIEW👏

starting off strong with redlyn. my beauties. my loves. my sunshines. i LOVED that the whole cast knew about red’s plan. just carlos, ricky and ej being like ah yes locker letters😉😉 and everyone being all smiley and knowing SO CUTE!! i hated seeing ash sad but GOD RED SPENDING THE WHOLE NIGHT MAKING THIS THING TO SHOW ASHLYN HOW MUCH HE APPRECIATES HER?? GOD TIER. also the crew just wATCHING FROM THE DOOR WHILE REDLYN IS IN THEIR OWN WORLD?? MY HEART they’re just such a genuine couple. i love their sweet awkward moments. i also love that lights is their reoccurring thing. it just makes me so happy. y’all just KNOW red calls ashlyn his sunshine and i don’t take criticisms on that. i also really wanted an i love you confession there but they’re so cute that i will allow it to wait

HOWIE AND KOURTNEY!!! at first (bc ep. 11) i was like HOWIE NO YOU CANT HAVE DONE ALL OF THIS STUFF TO HELP EAST AND THEN STAB THEM AND KOURTNEY IN THE BACK but the fact that he was literally just in awe of kourtney and so nervous to be around her because he thinks she’s so talented mADE MY HEART RACE truly incredible. also loved kourt standing up for herself. we LOVE and STAN a straight forward QUEEN also their dorky arm in arm walk was so adorable. also drum rolls being their thing. also honorable mention to kourt’s (dara’s) mom WE STAN

ej helping mr. mazzarra get that job?? I LOVE THEIR RELATIONSHIP SO MUCH.

PORTWELL ANGST SCENE I CRY. ALSO DID I CALL THAT SCENE OR DID I CALL THAT SCENE?? if you read the fic i posted like 7 hours ago you’ll know what i’m talking about. anyways back to the show. gina joking around and then realizing that ej means not rescheduling ever and her just pretending like she’s fine with it?? OUCH OUCH OUCH i would’ve rather her immediately been heart broken. DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON EJ’S FACE AFTER SHE WALKS AWAY. matt absolutely killed that part. you can tell he waited just long enough for her to walk away when he lets his face fall and IT HURTS YOU CAN LITERALLY SEE HIM WANTING TO STAY CRYING BEFORE HE TURNS AWAY

rini moment. not the dressing room parallel. it was PAINFUL. the juxtaposition between the scene in the s1 finale and this scene?? OUCH. ricky saying if we’re literally on the same page (something they struggled with throughout the entire season) and nini saying just for a moment. i just wanna talk to the writers I JUST WANNA TALK BECAUSE THAT WAS RUDE.

seblos being cuties and ms. jenn on some fuck shit. she was having a MOMENT. like chill it’s high school theater it’s alright sis.

GINA LOOKING IN THE MIRROR AND SOBBING I HATED IT. I HATED IT.

gini moment?? i loved it. also nini’s right. portwell is so powerful for so many reasons. period sis. and she’s right WE ARE LUCKY TO KNOW GINA. i loved their moment of solidarity and friendship. imma be honest for like 0.1 seconds i thought if portwell doesn’t work out gini might be the move bUT DONT WORRY IM A PORTWELL WARRIOR FOREVER also y’all called gina talking to nini about jamie and her music. YALL CALLED THAT SHIT

i liked ms. jenn and ricky’s moment. i loved josh’s acting in this scene because it’s just so well done. like doesn’t seem like he’s acting at all and it translates so well in this scene. it was very heartfelt and such a mature moment for ricky. so reflective. i love ricky

second chances GAVE ME CHILLS the whole staging, the vocals, the core four. CHILLS. the acting from all of them for this song WAS INCREDIBLE. it was so simple but really made the scene. i’m also a sucker for songs structured like this. with like the rounds and the switching lyrics over top of each other. LOVE.

ok literally all of them booing when lily and antoine showed up sENT ME because me too THE FUCK. antoine saying “big red. you were also in it” mADE ME SNORT. ricky literally shooing them out made me laugh and lily’s whirling turn and ricky like startling back a bit made me laugh. i hate lily but her confession was literally me. like i like his big brown eyes and his big brown hair too you ain’t special bitch. antoine’s thumbs up was SO FUNNY. andrew was hilarious in this role.

also i didn’t love that they were like well fuck the menkies after that was a major plot point of the season but like also i get it. just being like MEH the stress isn’t worth it. EJ’S SPEECH HES LITERALLY VOICE BREAK JUST THE FUCKING GROWTH THAT HES HAD I LOVE HIM

jennzzarra flirting in front of the kids?? kinda cute ngl. also am i muted? SENT ME. also love that howie is just chilling there while they’re talking about dropping out. KOURT SAID LETS BURN THOSE RESULTS

benjamin being BOLD BOLD good for him

big star nini?? good for her!

ashlyn being like YIKES i’m sorry i didn’t realize you thought of ej that way and her being like hahah ok... wait WHAT? but i KNEW ash was going to progress that along somehow. like obvs ej and gina were sulking and ashlyn HAD to be the one to step in. she do be the #1 portwell warrior. thank you for your service ma’am

i will only allow ricky and lily to be a thing IF it’s a summer fling, if it means antoine gets to stay around and if it pushes rini back together and if none of that happens then wtf is even the point of pairing those two up. but we already know ricky is a sucker for misunderstood competitive women (minus nini)

GINA CHASING AFTER EJ!!! HIS FACE OF JUST OH GOD PLEASE LET ME BE HEARTBROKEN!! YOU GOT BAD INTEL!! THE CAN I... CAN YOU WHAT? CAN I KISS YOU with her little giddy laugh and her smile GIRL YOURE GLOWING and then ej’s swallow as he turns to fully look at her. WILL YOU BE MY FIRST KISS!!!! HIM JUST SLOWLY SMILING FROM EAR TO EAR AND DROPPING HIS BAG TO WALK TO HER AND THEN THEM RUNNING WHEN THEY GET CLOSER AND GINA’S LITTLE GIGGLING I CANNOT EVEN

i am so so SO HERE FOR SUMMER FLUFFY IN LOVE PORTWELL

overall am i a little sad it was so short? yes. do i understand the insane restrictions they were working under? yes. am i confident about a season 3? absolutely. i am HERE for a summer season.

anyways PORTWELL IS CANNON!!

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts spoilers #portwell #redlyn #seblos #rini #kourtney x howie #ej caswell #gina porter #big red #ashlyn caswell #carlos rodriguez #seb matthew smith #ricky bowen #nini salazar roberts #kourtney greene #brenn’s hsmtmts shitposting

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stevesharrlngtons · 4 years

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it’s just what you do.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: “my problem is that if you bring anymore whores around and it’ll start to feel like a brothel in here. and i am far too young to be a madam.”

word count: 6.0k

a/n: if you’ve read some of my st stories, you know i have a little bit of a love for bratty, bitchy readers lol so here ya go! a bratty bitchy reader in the hg universe! (though the reader is pretty tame for what i usually write for a bitchy!reader) i hope you enjoy, and if you do let me know in some feedback (:

You padded down cold stairs in bare feet, yawning as you did. You could already hear Roman and Peter talking quietly at the breakfast bar over cold cereal and sleep graveled voices as you reached the bottom landing. You stretched your arms above your head with a resounding squeak that announced your entrance.

As you push away unruly strands of hair from your face, you rub your cheek, still sheet streaked and warm to the touch.

“G’morin’ (Y/N).” Peter greeted through a mouth full of milk soaked Sugar Crisp.

“Morning, love.” You replied, placing your hands on his bare shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.

You let your hands linger on his skin a moment longer before you stepped around him and to the pantry.

“Good morning,” Roman called after you as he watched appreciatively as the hem of your short negligee dusted the tops of your thighs.

You acknowledged him with a hum, but gave him no further greeting. No good morning, no kiss, no smile. Just a hum as you rummaged around searching for your box of oatmeal.

Roman hadn’t come to bed until just before dawn the previous night, only furthering the animosity you felt for him. The new, deep and unrelenting displeasure you held for him now that he had let another woman into your home.

“What? Peter gets a fucking endearment and I don’t get anything?” Roman griped. His voice grated on your ear drums and his angry breathing only served to churn your disdain for him.

You kept mute, clenching your teeth as you gathered a bowl and some milk to make your morning oats.

You pictured turning around to spit in his face, and how it would feel to watch his reaction as your saliva splattered his skin. You’d then tell him to go fuck himself, maybe break a glass while you were at it, anything to get his attention. Or maybe you’d go hop on Peter’s lap, place his hands on your bare thighs and stick your tongue down his throat. That was probably better than any tantrum you could throw. Your boyfriend was nothing if not possessive of what he deemed as his. You fell under that laundry list of Roman’s possessions, though you were unsure if you were soon to be erased and replaced with five new letters.

Because it had been a little over a week since Annie had taken residence in the second guest bedroom. A fucking week of seeing her and Roman eye fuck each other and share whispered conversations. A week of her connecting with Roman on a level you couldn’t understand, of being a part of schemes, of helping him and Peter (something you were never allowed to do) and talking about Nadia. You’re fucking daughter. You swore the next time her mouth began to form the syllables to the child’s name, you were going to strangle her to death. Upir or not, you were sure your pure maternal rage would be no match for her.

And, it had been a goddamn week of you sulking and pouting and seething without Roman taking even the slightest notice, or if he did, not caring a bit. That, more than anything else, is what was truly making you irate.

“(Y/N)? What the hell?” Roman cursed again as you slammed dishes around in cabinets.

Before he could say anything else, another pair of footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Good morning!” Came her happy french lit as she bounded toward the three of you.

You didn’t acknowledge her presence, simply continued on with your oatmeal.

“I still haven’t gotten over the water pressure here. It’s so wonderful,” Annie says, and you’re sure Roman is half hard at her stupid compliment.

You still haven’t looked at her, but you’re picturing her with damp hair and ruddy cheeks from the hot water. Her face smooth and freckled with youth. Her damp hair turning her already light sleepwear see through and sticky.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Roman chimes and your neck prickles with anger.

The ice he was treading on with you was growing thinner and thinner by the moment. Melting under your fiery ire for his behavior. When he finally fell through, you hoped he’d drown.

“What are you planning on doing today? Do you have work?” Annie asks.

“I do, but do you need me for something?”

You scoff much louder than you had anticipated and you can feel three pairs of eyes on your back. You square your shoulders and turn toward the group, but don’t look at any of them. The stupid Hardy Boys with their brand new Nancy Drew, resigning you to be the villain, you supposed.

You walk around the breakfast bar with purpose, turning your body obnoxiously to avoid touching Annie as you pass. You weren’t close to her as she leaned against the counter, but you wanted her to know just how much you loathed her. So much so, that the idea of touching you made you recoil.

“Uhm, no. I was just making conversation.” She replied, her voice wavering after your subtle outburst.

You held back a pleased expression as you went to the couch, sitting at the farthest corner from the kitchen and taking the throw blanket from the back and wrapping yourself in it. You took your first bite of oatmeal and clinked the spoon loudly back in the bowl in protest.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” You hated how your name sounded so melodic coming off her tongue, “Are you feeling alright?”

You don’t reply, just continued to eat your breakfast, looking straight ahead. The tension was palpable in the room as Annie shifted her feet and waited for your response. You wish she would pick up on your clear animosity toward her and quit trying to engage with you. Her efforts were admirable, you’d admit, but with the way she looked at Roman, and the way she spoke to him, there was absolutely no way she could possibly expect you to indulge her.

You could feel Roman’s glare on you, his green eyes burning holes through the knit throw to sear your skin with displeasure. Peter was still turned toward the island, shoulders tense with discomfort at the scene you were creating. You almost felt sorry for him, it wasn’t his fault Roman was being an oblivious asshole (and that you were retaliating the way you were). He didn’t deserve to be caught in the awkward crossfire. Maybe you would sneak him into a corner and feel him up for a bit? He did deserve some pleasure for living with Roman’s pain (and hey, if it made Roman jealous in the process, that would just be a bonas of your good deed).

Soon, Annie recovered from your echoing silence and moved back to talking with Roman and Peter. You could see her out of the corner of your eye, sleep shorts hanging low on her hips and flimsy white t-shirt you had imagined, dipping down from her relaxed stance, giving both men a perfect view down her top. You didn’t have to be looking at Roman to know he was stealing glances.

You stayed on the couch, trying to eat your breakfast, but the oats were soggy and not as good as when Roman made them with cinnamon and maple sugar. You toyed with the beige mush until Roman announced he was off to The Tower. He gathered his jacket and briefcase before saying goodbye to Peter and Annie.

“I’m leaving,” Roman called over to you.

You kept your vow of silence and pretended to be interested in the curdling food before you.

“Jesus fucking-- fine! Goodbye.” He spat, irritated.

You continued to fold your oatmeal around your bowl until the front door slammed shut and Annie spoke after a moment's pause.

“I think I’ll be off, too. I have some errands to run.” Biding you both a quick adui before she exited the kitchen for the stairs.

You huffed to yourself. She could only stand to be around you and Peter when Roman was in attendance.

“I feel like I’m in a high school cafeteria and Annie just took your seat next to Roman.” Peter joked, having heard your annoyed sound.

“Well, she should know I always have an assigned seat next to him,” You said, setting your bowl on the coffee table and crossing your arms.

“Oh my God, (Y/N)! Do you hear yourself?”

“I do, and I know I sound childish but I’ve lost the will to care.”

You hear Peter sigh, then the sound of him getting up from his stool to come sit next to you.

“What’s next? Are you going to spread a rumor about her to make Roman think she’s icky?”

“Like anything I said could make him stop mooning over her,” You reply with disdain.

“He loves you, you know that. He’ll ask you to prom, buy you the most valentines and all that shit.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.” You pout with a furrow of your brows.

“Have you considered just telling him how you feel about Annie staying here?” Peter asked.

“If he can’t figure out on his own why I’m so angry, it’s not my problem.”

“Do you really think that’s fair?”

“No,” You tighten your arms across your chest, “But it’s not my fault that your gender has no emotional intelligence or inference skills.”

Peter chuckles, “All the more reason to just come out and tell Roman how you’re feeling.”

You roll your eyes and give him a half hearted glare, “Don’t you have a job to be getting too?”

“Yes, but I want to make sure you at least mull over my option first.” He nudges you gently with his knee

You give a small pause before a small smirk breaks out over your lips, “I was actually thinking about making out with you to make him jealous. Would you be willing?”

Peter claps his hands down on his thighs and pushes up from the couch, “And with that, suddenly I’m late.”

“Oh c’mon!” You giggle and get up to follow him, “Not even a little peck? Just put your hand on my ass!”

“I would rather keep all my limbs attached, thank you very much.” Peter says as he trouts up the stairs.

“You’ll like it!” You call up after him with a laugh.

“That was never in question, sweetheart! I just like my head on my shoulder and not on Roman’s mantle.”

“It’s my mantle, too.” You mutter, going up the stairs after him and heading to the master bedroom in hopes of avoiding Annie before she left for the day.

You had taken an angry nap until noon and then went downstairs to your office to get some work done. It was during this time that Jane, Roman’s new housekeeper after Anna, informed you there were some nice cuts of meat that would be going bad soon, and if you’d like it for dinner that evening.

“That sounds wonderful, Jane. Thank you.” You replied, peering at her over your computer screen.

“Would you like to ask Mr. Godfrey if he would like steak for this evening? Or if another night would be better?” Roman was known to work late, so this question wasn’t unreasonable to ask.

“I’d call him and ask, but unfortunately I am about to hop on a conference call and don’t have a spare minute. Would you mind calling to ask?” You asked in your sweetest voice.

“Of course, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Anna gave you a smile before she parted from the room.

You sighed, and went back to your riveting game of solitaire.

That night with burgundy stained lips, you sat at the head of your long dining table waiting for Roman to return for work. The beautiful reclaimed wood table that you had excitedly picked out at an estate sale that you had seen Annie sitting on just two days before. Swinging her legs like a child and eating a peach while letting Roman ogle her as the juice dripped down her flawless skin. You had slammed the front door so hard that the frame shook.

As you guzzled down your third glass of Merlot, Peter kicked your foot. A silent plea to slow down, so this evening didn’t explode with your loose lipped temper. But, you paid him no mind. You mostly just thought about how much you hated Annie for making you hate her. Hate her, and Roman. Because, really, you weren’t one of those women who stewed in jealousy or was in a constant fear of their partner cheating. Maybe that was because Roman had always been clear in his devotions to you. Sure, his eyes would wander when an attractive woman passed, but you knew he never acted on it. You had a trust in him that had never wavered until now.

You didn’t want to be one of those women who hated other women or demonized them for having your boyfriend’s attention. You didn’t want to be the girlfriend that men could point at and make stereotypical remarks about your possessiveness and label you “crazy” because of your actions in this scenario behind the three of you… but you were near the end of your rope and the woman had barely been staying with you two weeks. You were starting to question that unmoving trust you placed in Roman and it made you sick. All you could hope was that you were wrong… or at least that Peter would have told you if something happened between Annie and Roman by now.

Half way through your fourth glass, the front door sounded open and in sauntered Roman, with Annie in tow.

“Nice of you both to join us,” Peter teased, though you saw a split second of panic cross his features. You knew he didn’t want to play into your paranoia and had just done so unwillingly.

“Oh yes, we just happened to run into each other in the driveway,” Annie said, throwing a beaming grin over her shoulder at Roman who offered her a smile.

“How coincidental,” You offered over the rim of your glass.

Everyone in the room darted their gaze to you, clearly surprised that you had decided to end your silent streak.

“Yes, I suppose it was.” Annie replies, her smile still intact, “Now what’s all this then?”

“Jane noticed some food that was going to go bad in the fridge and offered to make a nice meal for us.” You said evenly.

You remembered when us just meant you and Roman.

“How thoughtful,” Annie said, looking to Jane who thanked her quietly.

“Ms. (Y/L/N) was a great help with it as well,” Jane said, opening another bottle of wine as you had almost polished off the one she had originally opened for the evening.

Ms. (Y/L/N). Not Mrs. Godfrey. You were easy to be rid of, exiled at a moments notice.

Jane was been modest. You had sat with her while she cooked and idly chatted, handing her utensils and chopping up garlic, but nothing else. You were sure she was trying to get Roman to take notice of your efforts, which you thought was sweet. You hadn’t come out and explicitly talked about your problems with Roman to Jane, you were sure she had figured it out on her own.

See that Roman? Your housekeeper knows more about what’s wrong than you do!

“Well, thank you, (Y/N). It looks wonderful.” Annie said.

You might have even thanked her through gritted teeth, had Roman not just pulled out a seat for her and gently pushed it back in. Instead, you settled back into your discontented humming and poured what was left of the original bottle of wine into your glass.

Peter could sense your inebriation level bordering on dangerous, so he quickly raised a glass in distraction.

“Let’s make a toast! We don’t get to have such a fancy dinner this often, y’know?” He smiled through his unease, and if you weren’t almost five glasses deep you might have even caught the desperate looks he was throwing you.

The please-for-the-love-of-god-don’t-start-a-fight-with-me-here looks.

“Well, how about to (Y/N) and Jane? For making this feast?” Annie offered, raising her glass to match Peter’s.

“Yes,” Roman said, his voice tight, “To (Y/N). And Jane of course.”

His eyes bore into you, both of you on opposing heads of the table. He raised his wine in the air like he was challenging you to a game you weren’t sure the rules of. You had never felt so uncomfortable in his presence ever before, and suddenly the idea that something was really wrong between the two of you seemed more plausible.

You raise your glass to your honor, but don't cheer’s anyone, just simply place the glass back to your lips.

Everyone then went around dishing out food on their plates and passing bowls to each other. Annie was always sure to pass to Roman first and he was always the first to offer her what he was holding. You felt like you and Peter were intruders on the romantic dinner that you had cooked for them (well, helped cook).

“Oh, I have some of Pryce’s plasma left in the fridge, do you want any?” Roman offered to Annie as she took a dish of mashed potatoes from him.

“If you wouldn’t mind. Thank you,” She accepted his offer so meek and polite you almost gagged.

Maybe this was meant to be? She was the perfect little wife for Roman after all. Sweet, attentive, was just subversive enough to seem interesting, an upir. The latter was likely the best contender for why Roman would be kicking you to the curb soon. It made sense, they were the same and she was new. And don’t all men want some new pussy after a while? You were no stranger to Roman’s reputation, and you had been reminded by many a peer of his serial adultery in the past… you had just hoped he’d outgrown it when he fell in love with you.

Roman came back with the plasma and leaned over Annie’s shoulder to fill her glass. You heard her take a sharp intake of breath at his closeness and watched as she glanced up at his face, which was mere inches from her own.

You ground your knife hard into the porcelain of your plate, and the sound broke her from her Godfrey trance. You pretend nothing happened and put a green bean in your mouth.

You tuned out the table’s conversations about their days and recent events, feeling isolated and somber. The wine was no doubt contributing to your sadness, but the residual feelings of neglect and rejection were getting to you. Because if Roman really cared, wouldn’t he have pulled you aside by now and just asked you if you were alright? Why you had been avoiding him, why you wouldn’t kiss him goodnight or good morning? Or did he just truly not care at all? Had you been replaced so easily?

You continued to sulk and play over a fictional break up in your head when a topic caught your attention.

“Any news on Nadia?” Annie asked as she swallowed a piece of bread.

Not the baby. Not your baby. Not the child. But Nadia. This woman who was trying to usurp your place in Roman’s life while you were still very present, had just again spoken your daughter's name. Like she had the fucking right.

Before Roman could answer, you pushed up from your seat, again causing all eyes to attach to you. You walked over to the fridge and obtained an old bottle of steak sauce (that you didn’t even want, you were just angry) and returned back to the table with a scowl.

And it seemed this most recent outburst was Roman’s tipping point.

“What the fuck is up with you?” He bellowed, throwing his hand in the air with similar fervor.

“Nothing.” You replied with a snap.

“Sure as shit fooled me! Because you’ve been acting like a fucking brat for the past week. So, why don’t you share with the class what’s on your mind, hmm?” Roman leaned back in his seat and dramatically gestured for you to speak.

“You wanna know my problem, Roman?” You bit out.

Peter was likely already planning his escape.

“That’s what I said.”

“My problem is that if you bring one more whore into this house, it’s gonna start to feel like a brothel. And I am far too young to be a madam.”

And there it was. Grievances were now aired, and unfortunately in front of your two house guests.

Roman’s jaw tensed and flexed as he stared you down, “Peter. Annie. Would you excuse us?”

Both stood without any more prompting and scurried to the stairwell as you and Roman continued to glare at each other in silence. When you heard the twin sounds of doors shutting, Roman finally spoke.

“So you’ve been a fucking nightmare because Annie is staying here? Are you kidding?” He scoffed.

“Don’t belittle me,” You ran a hand through your hair and looked away from his piercing gaze.

“What? Like you just did to Annie?” He motioned to where she had sat.

“Oh,” You mock, “Roman, her knight in shining armour. I’m sure it’s hard to save her when you’re up on your high horse.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about this fucking obsession you have with this woman! This obsession your culviating right under my nose and in my home.”

“Are you fucking serious?” He spits.

“Yes, I am. And don’t play so god damn naive. If the roles were reversed, you would have thrown a fit by now! Fuck, a fit! Fuck any amount of tantrums I could even begin to think of throwing! You would have murdered someone by now.” You seethed.

Roman looked at you with a bewildered expression, his eyes bugging and his mouth agape, stuttering for words, “So, you’ve really just been jealous? Fucking Christ!”

“Like you wouldn’t be if the tables were turned.”

“Fuck off about if the tables were turned. We’re talking about you, not me.”

“No! We are talking about you, Roman. This is just as much about you as it is me.” You shout, “And it has everything to do with the tables being turned. Because if I invited a man to stay in this house -- our house -- and all he ever did was fawn over me and I batted my eyelashes at him and giggled at everything he said while in nothing but a towel you would give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Roman snarled.

“Can you tell me with absolute and utter certainty that if I offered some guy a room, then spent all my time with him, had little inside jokes with him and touched him, you wouldn’t be angry?”

Roman doesn’t respond, just resets his jaw.

“So, if this man told me how beautiful I was, flirted with me and would never shut up about how similar we were, you wouldn’t be mad?” Roman just clenched.

“What if you started to suspect that I was fucking him, huh? What if you started to think about him inside me? Kissing me? Making me cum? Making me--”

Roman’s fist connecting with the tabletop cut you off.

“Enough! You win, OK? I would hate it, alright? I’d fucking kill him.”

“Thank you! That’s all I wanted. I just wanted you to see my side of this fucking story. Why I have been so mad.” You deflate against your chair, though you know this fight is far from over.

“And you didn’t just tell me, why?” Roman inquires.

“Because you should have known! I know that sounds ridiculous and I can see you rolling your eyes, but you should have known that I was upset and asked me what was wrong.” You said, tears bubbling up, causing your throat to constrict.

“I did ask you! I asked you this morning.”

“Yeah, in front of fucking Peter. Like I was going to tell you then… and you didn’t even mean it when you asked. If I would have told you, you would’ve just yelled at me and made me seem like I was crazy. I wasn’t going to open up to you when I already thought you thought I was being stupid.”

“You thought that I thought? Jesus… I have no idea what you want from me…” Roman sighs, reaching around the back of his chair to retrieve his cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“I want you to hear me when I say that having Annie here, a woman who so clearly wants to fuck you, bothers me. A woman who you are clearly attracted to, a woman who is clearly attracted to you. It hurts me that you’re letting her stay here, especially when you didn’t even ask me if she could.” You were barely holding off the overflow of tears from your eyes at this point and you knew the second you started to cry this would all be over. Because you would start to blubber and Roman would get irritated that you couldn’t get a word out.

“Let me get this straight: I’m attracted to Annie, she’s attracted to me? So I’m going to have sex with her? And what? Leave you? Is that right?” Roman puffs around his cigarette, the condescension in his tone unbearable.

And your dam broke, the tears threatening to breach your lash line were flowing freely now. Why Roman wasn’t able to just see that something was hurting you and help change, was beyond you. You decided right then and there that you refused to let him have the satisfaction of watching you cry. You were done, for an unforeseeable amount of time.

“You’re so fucking mean.”

You sucked your teeth loudly before pushing up from your seat and heading for the front door.

“C’mon, what are you doing now?” Roman groaned, turning to watch you leave over his shoulder.

“I’m done. I’m going to Destiny’s.” You said curtly, taking your purse and keys from the hook in the entryway.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I’m done, Roman.” You slung your purse of your shoulder and clutched your keys tight.

“What for tonight or forever?” He asked like he was calling your bluff.

“If you can’t understand why I am so hurt, then I don’t know. Maybe forever.”

“Hey, woah, what?” Roman’s voice was startled as he got up from his seat and rushed to the door, “No, you aren’t leaving. This conversation isn’t over.”

He planted a large hand on the door handle, preventing you from opening it. You could feel his hulking figure behind you and you wanted to shrink under his size, but stayed strong.

“Roman, move your hand.”

“You’re not fucking leaving. Let’s just talk this out, OK?” He bargained.

You tried to pry Roman’s long fingers from the handle, but even with all your might working to untangle their hold, he was just too strong.

“I’ll listen, OK? I’m sorry, just let’s talk. Let’s talk about this.” His knuckles were turning white below you. You could see his bones threatening to break the surface of his reddening skin.

“Are you going to listen to me, or just dismiss and make fun of me? Because if you do Roman, I’ll just go out the back door.”

“I will. Promise.” He sounded sincere. Maybe now that he knew you were serious, he was more receptive to what you had to say.

You turned to press your back to the door and look up at him. The fear on his face was surprising to you. You hadn’t expected him to be so scared at the prospect of your leaving, he sure hadn’t cared that you were around since Annie arrived.

“I’m mad at you.” You stated frankly.

“Yeah, I caught that.” He sighs.

“I don’t like how you act around Annie. It’s disrespectful to me. I’m not a woman who cares when you look, but when you start to flirt and threaten to touch? I’m done, Roman. I’m not kidding.” You raised your eyebrows as Roman listened intently.

“I never touched.” He swore.

“Yes, but you’ve flirted and “innocently” touched. Flirted, touched and now you are starting to look at her like you looked at me.”

“I have never looked at her the way I look at you.”

You scoffed, then pantomimed his love lorn expression for him, clasping your hands over your heart theatrically.

He just rolled his eyes, “I’ve never looked at Annie like that.”

“Trust me, you have.” You say, ducking under his outstretched arm to walk back to the kitchen.

“Baby…”

“Don’t baby me, I’m still pissed.” You started to gather the abandoned plates to put in the sink for Jane.

“Then what can I do, huh? How do we work this out?” He asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Let me just ask you something,” You abruptly turn from the sink to face him, “Do you want to fuck her?”

Roman sucks in a deep intake of breath and opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly.

Your tears threaten once more. You already knew his answer was yes, though all but hearing him say it was worse.

“Ok, let me ask you something else. Have you slept with her?”

“No! Absolutely not, baby. Never.” Roman said, taking a step toward you.

“And why should I believe you when I know that you want to have sex with her? Hm?” You crossed your arms.

“Because you know I love you. Because you know that I can’t even stomach the idea of my life without you,” Roman says, his tone frighteningly serious.

You look at him for a long moment, his eyes pleading for you to speak while you collected what you wanted to say next.

“Do you want to leave me for her?” You finally said, trying your best to sound collected.

“Baby, hey--”

“No, just listen Roman,” You took a breath, “Because, you know, if you wanna be with her, be with her. Just do it. Don’t string me along because you’re scared of losing more people. Because I get it, I mean I do. She’s an upir, you’re an upir... You have shared experience and she can teach you about what you are and just… Roman if you leave me just don’t be a pussy and cheat on me. Just break up with me.”

Roman looked at you bewildered and once again stammered for his words. For a moment, you were planning on looking at the price of U-Hauls; on how long you could stay with Destiny before you were intruding; if you would stay in Hemlock Grove because it was less expensive or just go straight to shopping for places in Philly?

But Roman doesn’t sigh and tell you it’s over. He doesn’t let you down easy or even scream and stomp his feet.

He just says:

“I love you more than I have loved anyone in my entire life. Family, friends, whatever. It doesn’t matter because you win. You always win. I’m not breaking up with you, alright? Jesus fucking Christ, nothing sounds worse to me than that.” Roman takes a long stride toward you to look soulfully into your eyes.

“Yeah, I think Annie’s hot and yes, she’s an upir. So fucking what? I’m not going to leave you because of that! I could give a shit about either of those things when you’re right under my nose.”

Your pick at your nail polish as you listen to him, feeling embarrassed. But Roman doesn’t let you wallow as he tilts you by the chin to look at him.

“I should’ve asked you if she could stay, I’ll admit that. I shouldn’t have been so chummy with her, either. And yeah, I probably should’ve just asked you why you were being so fucking moody. But you should have told me what was wrong without pouting.”

“I just wanted you to come to me and ask… for some reason I convinced myself if you asked me what was wrong, it was a sign that you still loved me.” Saying it out loud made your face heat uncomfortably.

“I love you, but that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Roman chuckles.

“Don’t be rude,” You huff, pushing him gently by the shoulder, “Letting another random woman stay here was the real stupid thing.”

“How about we call it a draw?”

“I think I can handle that…”

“Ok, then it’s a deal. I’m sorry, you’re sorry, it’s all good.” Roman pinches your chin lightly to hold your face in place to place a soft kiss to your lips.

You hadn’t kissed him in days, and the feeling made you whimper.

“Is there anything else you need to get off your chest crazy lady?” Roman asks, his breath dusting your mouth with a smirk on his face.

You push him again, with more strength this time.

“I don’t like when Annie mentions Nadia. She is our daughter and hearing that woman say her name makes me go into like, hyper lioness mode and all I think about is punching her.”

Roman’s eyes widened.

“I do not need another woman sticking her nose in our business with our daughter. May I remind you that’s how we got into this whole mess in the first place?”

Roman sucks in a deep breath through his nose, “That’s fair.”

“I already miss her, I don’t need some woman who’s trying to hop on my boyfriend’s cock talking about her.” You were starting to get angry again.

And fucking Roman, he just smiles.

“Hearing you call her our daughter, calling me your boyfriend, all while being on a little jealous rampage? I gotta admit baby, it’s got me hard as a rock.”

“It always comes back to your weird primal possession,” You roll your eyes.

“Eh, you knew that from the beginning.” He shrugs.

“You’re still not totally forgiven, y’know?”

“Yeah? And what do I have to do to get out of the dog house, baby?” His smile turns devious.

“I want Annie out of this house,” You began.

“Done.” Roman cups your face as he started to walk you back toward the counter.

“I don’t want you seeing her without someone else present, or without telling me first. Not because I don’t trust you, but because--”

“--You don’t trust her. Got it,” Roman says, firmly pressing your lower back to the marble slab now.

“You know I have an intuition about these things,” You purse your lips in a pout as Roman begins to trail kisses across your jaw, “You should really be thanking me. I just know Annie’s going to turn out to be bad news. I have a feeling.”

He laughs, “Is there anything else, baby?”

“Yes…” You pause, “I want an inground pool. You promised me one when we moved in and the plans keep getting pushed back. I want to go swimming.”

“I’ll get the plans drawn up tomorrow,” He sucks on your pulse point.

“And you have to buy me as many bikinis as I want, designer ones, and I don’t want to hear one peep out of you about the price.” You crane your neck to give him more access to continue his sweet assault on your skin.

“I’ll leave you with my credit card so you can order as many as you want.”

Roman moves from your neck to look down at you, his cocky persona flickering for a moment so you can see the sweet eyes of a lovesick boy hoping for forgiveness.

“Like I don’t already know the number,” You smile, letting him know that it had been granted.

He groaned, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I love you, too.” And you reached up to kiss him fiercely.

i hope you enjoyed! this was fun to write, i love writing a moody!reader lol. if you did enjoy, let me know with a comment or reblog (: ‘til next time, ily! *lets hope third times the charm and this ends up in the tags lol

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plush-rabbit · 4 years

Text

Love Bites

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: I love this demon so much,,, I wanna touch the horns (and tiddies)(*´﹃｀*)

Mammon loves his brothers. How could he not? They’re his cute, lovable little brothers and then there’s Lucifer, the big brother who he absolutely adores. Who he quite literally followed him into the depths of hell. Of course, he’ll never say it out loud unless he was forced to but he does- the love and admiration for them is and will always be there.

But even he has his limits.

They're all so close to you, constantly nuzzling into your side and holding your hand, dragging you away for a cuddle-slash-nap session. It’s insulting to him. More than usual. He’s your first- he gets to have the say on who and how you spend your time with. He’s Mammon. Second most powerful of the brothers and the Avatar of Greed. And here he is, arms empty because Asmo quite literally snatched you out of his arms and carried you off to his room while he ignored the cries of protest from him.

He’s had a long week and all he wanted to do was spend the last day of the weekend with you but he can’t even do that. He just wants you. That’s all he wanted- to take your time and have it for himself.

He can feel his greed take over, his hands curling and pupils dilated with want and take.

His steps are quick and he doesn’t bother to knock when he enters, door bouncing off the wdor stopper and he can hear the hiss of an insult and a threat to tell Lucifer. Azure eyes darken as they glance over you: Asmo is above you, straddling you and his hand cups your face while the other rests next to an opened makeup palette.

“Ugh! You already had your time with them! Plus I want to doll them up a bit,” the younger brother huffs, champagne colored hair delicately framing his face while he pouts.

His little brother can throw his fit, can beg and fight as if he were a child all over again, but the only thing in Mammon’s mind right now is his greed, the avaricious feeling inside of him that’s threatening to take form as he plops you over his shoulder and stalks his way to your room where he tosses you on the bed.

You yelp first and then giggle, straightening out your hair that was ruffled in the process. “Mammon,” you giggle out his name, sitting up on the bed. You look at him where he has his back turned to you, a hand clamped over his face and the aura around him darkens, magic bursting and bubbling and the hair on your arms stand on end. “Mammon dear, you all right?”

“You’re always so close to them.” His words are muffled through his hand but you can hear the bitterness in his voice.

“I don’t mean to be.” You throw your legs over the edge of your bed and watch him with careful eyes. “Are you mad at me?” You raise yourself on your forearms and watch him.

“‘Course not.” His reply is curt and he rolls his shoulders, loud popping sounds fill the room and a part of you trembles in fear while the other in excitement.

“Then?” You lay back on the bed and you’re thankful that you wore a skirt, legs parting open.

“You forgot who I am.”

“I could never Mammon.” You lose your breath with the simple sentence, desire taking over and when he stiffens his shoulders, you’re certain that he smells it too. You let your head fall back and you sigh.

He can smell your lust, and when he turns around, his horns protrude from his crown and his wings flutter and they spread wide, ruffling themselves and slowly, they come to a close behind him.

His legs hit the bed, and tongue peeks out to lick his lips. Watching you, he bends over, his hands toying with the bottom of your shirt. You squirm under his touch and he smiles softly. In a quick motion, your shirt is lifted and stuffed into your mouth. Your back arches and you whine, words muffled through the fabric that darkens with your spittle.

Warm hands run up your torso, washing over your belly and his fingers hook into the cups of your bra; long, nimble fingers peek inside and white painted nails ghost over your hardening nipples. You bend towards his touch, your eyes half lidded, glazed over with want and he pulls his hands away from you, dipping them towards the middle of you and mutters an apology. In a quick movement your bra is torn off of your body, ripped threads are tossed to the side and your brows furrow in anger.

“Tch. I’ll get you a new one.” His teeth peek behind his grin, sharp canines that could break your skin make you twitch in anticipation. “Think of it as payback for letting Asmo take you.” Your breasts bob, nipples pebbled and goosebumps trail across your skin.

Your skirt is pulled down, the fabric scratching and pulling at your skin as it falls to the floor. He kicks it off the side and his hand covers your heat, fingers drumming along the entrance and you breath deeply, your arms bent and creating a mock halo around your head.

“Mammon, don’t tease,” you plead, words garbled and broken.

“You really don’t have any authority right now,” he says quietly, his fingers hooking into the side of your underwear and stretching it to watch your sex that drips with arousal. “‘S a real nice pussy.” You squirm with his words and your face burns with his bold words. He’s never been shy to tell you what he thought while fucking you but even now you still aren’t used to it. “You’re gonna take my cock, right?” You nod your head. “Yeah, I know you are.”

He grabs himself, and presses the tip of his cock on your clit, swiping it up and down, eliciting a shuddering breath from you. His warmth leaves you and a whine sounds in the back of your throat that’s overshadowed by a loud spit sound.

“Did you-”

“Spit on your pussy?” His eyes widen and he bats his eyelashes in a mock innocent fashion. “Yeah.” He gives you a smug grin and with a breath, he presses himself inside of you.

His length stretches your walls. His tip is enough to make you cover your mouth through your shirt, a gargle cry when he pushes himself inside, the base bulging out, a sharp sting where you kick your legs out and breath harshly through your nose.

“Work through it baby.” He starts moving slowly, his face flushes and the cocky grin remains. “Remember how god it feels. How you’re being stretched out and fucked.” His thumbs circles your clit, pushing the bundle of nerves around. “Just like that baby.” He glances down and meets your eyes. “Fuck doll, I’m gonna cum inside of you.” Your hips jerk upwards. “Is that what you want?” He breathes sharply through gritted teeth. “Want me to fill up your pussy? Breed you like the bitch you are? Huh?” His pace quickens and he bites his bottom lip. “Fuck,” he spits out.

His hand pushes through your shirt and it drags against your teeth as it’s pulled out. A hand is wrapped around your throat, palm pressing down and fingers pressing deep on the sides of your neck. You make a choking sound, and your face grows a deep hue, tears springing in your eyes while you tighten around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, rutting against you. “Would ya look at that? Fuckin’ tight. You’re gonna swallow me whole aren’t ya? You fuckin’ slut.”

His words make you whine, your cunt squeezing him with every word and noise that slips past his lips. He thrusts inside of you, his thickness twitching with every movement in your gummy walls. His grip is tight and your body seizes around him, holding him tight while black spots fill your vision and the little air that you have left depletes, and you claw at him, begging for air, choked gasps leaving your mouth.

His head lowers to your shoulder and his grip on you loosens, sweet air filling your lungs again and you gasp for it, greedily taking it in. You rasp his name, croaking it out only to cry when his teeth pierce through your skin, his own moans muffled into your shoulder. He laps at the wounds, tongue swirling and when he rises again to look at you, a drop of scarlet stains his lips. You quiver underneath him and he gives you a smug grin before dipping his head back down his teeth marking your neck with love bites.

“Bend your legs,” he whispers against your ear, placing a wet kiss on your neck. He gives you an appreciative bite when you do as you're told. You whimper at the angle, he hits at your cervix, little cries that are muted when his lips mesh into yours.

His wings expand, the ends twitching and a shiver runs up his spine and spreads throughout his wings. Your hands shake as they reach up and grab at his horns. Your curls your fists around, thumbs brushing against the twirls and he purrs at feeling.

You cry his name and he urges you to continue. His name leaving your lips is music to his ears. A heavenly grace that he has experienced in such a long time and he wants to melt into your touch, to coo and purr into your neck, to feel the warmth that you emit. But when he smells a scent that isn't from qhim nor you, he growls and slams his hips into you. Your breasts bounce and hands leave his horns and slide down his face and onto his chest. You cup his chest, fingers pressing into him and grazing over the white tattoos that adorn him.

A sharp sting rings through your clit and makes you jerk, crying out a mess of his name. He huffs and his wings move towards you, the bat-like wing fluttering and ghosting over your leg, curling inward when they make contact with your skin.

“Fucking demons getting near you,” his teeth are bared, teeth glistening and deadly, “you’re mine. All mine and if I have to put you in a collar and leash, I fuckin’ will.” His words are rushed, spitting out as he moves inside of your velvety walls. “Maybe then they’d all learn their place and stay the fuck away.”

You mewl at his words, eyes misty as he gives another slap to your sensitive pearl. He’s pitiless with his slaps, making sure that you cry, every slap increasing in intensity and making your toes curl while he edges closer to his high.

His hands slip between yours and he pinches hardly at your nipples, twisting them in hand as you arch your back and loll out your tongue. You clench tighter around him, pulling taut on his cock and you beg for release from him.

“Gonna fill you with my cum babe. Let all those demons fuckin’ smell me on you. Your tits are gonna be full of milk and fuck, every” he pushes himself deeper in you, “last demon,” he breaths hot air onto your collarbone, spit dribbling past his mouth and coating you, “is gonna know you belong to me.” He pushes himself deep in you and his cock twitches and jerks. He keeps his head down, feeling your orgasm wash over him and spill out of you; his own cock squirting his seed into you, his shaft plunged deep as to not let a single drop go to waste. He whispers out your name, and slowly, he pulls back, hissing at the sensitivity and your hands fall from his chest and rest over yours that bloom a shade deeper due to his previous abuse. When his seed threatens to spill, he plunges his digits inside and pats at your hips when you tense and close your legs. He wipes the excess of his load on your inner thighs and gives a chaste kiss to your twitching pearl.

With a shaky hand, you touch your neck and whine at the contact. “Mammon, you left marks.”

“Maybe it’ll make everyone back off.” He tosses you a grin and with a pop of his neck, his horns and wings disappear. “They make you look cute anyways.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m glad you enjoy them at least.”

He gives your thigh a sharp slap. “Damn right I do.”

#om mammon x reader #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #mammon #i wanna touch his horns and tiddies #dia is the ultimate goal

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aliasimagines · 4 years

Text

luke patterson x fem!reader

a/n: saw this post by @deadpoolgirl23 and felt like i had to write this.this is set a few years after they played the orpheum and ‘ened up being huge’ so it’s set in the late 90s. disclaimer; this pretty much shows the boys(alex, reggie, bobby) in a negative light to match the song’s theme.

warnings: negativity from loved ones/not getting support from them. angsty fuff?

word count:1k

Everyone. All their friends, all their family said it was wrong.

You shouldn't date a rock star. They aren't loyal. I mean, do you really know what he is doing every night when he is on tour? Don't you wanna have a normal relationship? you could hear your parents' voice as if they were right beside you.

Are you sure you need a girlfriend, right now? Why not focus on touring and making more albums? I don't think the female fans would like that you have someone. Luke could hear his manager's voice as if he was right beside him.

Luke grabbed his notebook and scribbled the lyrics that came to him a few seconds ago.

People say we shouldn't be together, too young to know about forever

But I say they don't know what they're talk, talk, talkin' about

You move next to your boyfriend's side and put a cup of coffee next to his notebook but didn't look at what he was writing. You don't like looking at his lyrics without his permission.

"You were up early." you stated, sitting next to him at the kitchen table. "You couldn't sleep?"

As he only noticed you right now he smiles at you.

"I had this idea for a song in my head. It’s about us." he grabs the mug and lifts it to his lips. "Thank you, baby."

Your lips curl into a smile and you nod instead of saying ‘you are welcome’.

Luke has been sleeping at your place for about two weeks now. He had some sort of argument with the boys and he decided to temporarily move away from their shared home. You know he is hurt. His friends don't disapprove of you. You know how the boys mean everything to him, you can only imagine how it hurts for him to know that his family is not supporting him. After Reggie’s fiasco with an obsessed fangirl-girlfriend they didn’t think it was a great idea for Luke to date you. You don’t see how you liking their music is a bad thing, and Luke doesn’t see it either. He knows you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. But his friends don’t know it. No matter how close they are, how they think of each other as brothers, as family, they just think Luke is being stubborn and stupid.

But Luke knows that you are his end game. His soulmate if you will. He never met such a genuine person in his entire life. As soon as he landed his eyes on you he felt this indescribable connection. Why would he let go of you just because you were a fan? Is it such a huge problem that you love and support his passion for music?

Cause this love is only getting stronger

So I don't wanna wait any longer

I just wanna tell the world that you're mine girl

Luke didn’t even notice his hand picking up the pen and writing again. His other hand put down his coffee and started drumming a melody.

You got up before he could say or do anything. You didn’t need words. You never felt like you needed them. Both of you could understand each other from day one without them. It kept surprising both of you but by now, as 3 months has passed since the beginning of your relationship, you were kind of used to it. So when you got up to get Luke his acoustic he wasn’t surprised at all to find it next to him when he tried to get up and grab it.

They don't know about the things we do

They don't know about the "I love yous"

But I bet you if they only knew

They would just be jealous of us,

Your family keeps going on that you should date someone with a normal life, a normal job. No matter how many times you explained how much you love Luke they just wouldn't believe you. Thinking you are too young and naive to know what real love is. Your friends think Luke is only using you to pass time and when he gets bored with you he will just simply throw you away. You never doubted Luke. You know, you feel, he loves you. Just like him, you felt that way since the very beginning. And that feeling only got stronger since then. You were both hurt by the people that were supposed to believe in you, to love you unconditionally but that only made your connection to each other stronger.

In these three months you felt like you lived more than you did in your whole life. You did crazy, spontaneous and adventurous things that you normally would never have but you have no regrets. Every second you spend together is better than the last one, even if you feel like nothing can top Luke’s crazy date ideas.

The first time you said I Love You to each other was when he took you up to the Hollywood sign in the middle of the night just so you could watch the sunrise later together. He climbed up on the letter H and shouted “Y/N Y/L/N I am so in love with you,I didn’t think it was possible to feel this much love” into the night. He didn’t need to say it. You felt the same way. But you copied his action and climbed up next to him before reassuring him that you very much feel the exact same way.

You thought this kind of love only exists in romantic novels and movies. Yet here you were in this dream-like relationship.

They don't know about the up all nights

They don't know I've waited all my life

Just to find a love that feels this right

Luke started to play a soft tune on his guitar and you hummed along. He met your gaze and grinned at you. He doesn’t know how he got this lucky. What are the chances that he met you that day? You two could have easily avoided each other in the crowd. But you didn’t, proving the invisible connection you two had.

Just one touch and I was a believer

Every kiss it gets a little sweeter

It's getting better

Keeps getting better all the time girl

After your first date he walked you home. The two of you were in a heated conversation when you arrived to your home. Neither one of you wanted the night to end so you kept talking outside your front door. But you can only stand there talking about Nirvana for so long. You stood there in silence until you went and grabbed his hand. You ran a finger up his bare arm. He looked at you, speechless, suddenly forgetting how to breath too. You look at him, questioningly pulling up an eyebrow. He leaned and kissed you.It was like a lightning, the electricity striking both of you as your lips connected for the first time.

Thinking back to that day Luke puts down the guitar now to pull you in for a kiss. Every kiss is better than the last one. Every damn one and he does not get how it’s possible.He reaches to cup your face to pull you closer, to deepen the kiss. Your hands find their way to his hair, which he decided to grow out and you start to play with a few stray locks. He lets out a quiet moan which is muted by the kiss. You only stop when you need to catch your breath. With foreheads pressed together you look into his deep green eyes. And you say I love you, wordlessly, without opening your mouth and in his eyes you can see as he says the words right back.

They don't know how special you are

They don't know what you've done to my heart

They can say anything they want 'cause they don't know about us

#its 4:12 am and I am fighting to stay awake just so i can post this 😂#so if anything is messy it's because i feel like a zombie #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson one shot #luke patterson oneshot #jatp one shot #jatp songfic #jatp imagine #julie and the phantoms imagines #Julie and the phantoms one shot #Julie and the phantoms x reader #they don't know about us #songfic #luke patterson songfic #sunset curve x reader #sunset curve imagine #sunset curve one shot #alias imagines

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albino-whumpee · 3 years

Text

A little talk

Let´s get right to the spicy things.

Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker

CW// Pet whump, dehumanization, implied torture and dubcon, noncon touch, creepy whumper, creepy caretaker, touch starved whumpee, mind games, conditioning and manipulation.

A few weeks passed quicker than Albus had imagined. He quickly understood his Mistress had a quick paced life hard to keep up with.

She was someone that was hard to read.

One morning she could be the tough, unforgiving business woman that would scold him for every misstep and another she would cook him her favorite breakfast “just to know if you would like it”, she had said.

His heart had warmed up at her words and had taken a mouthful of the dripping-with-spicy-salsa eggs that set his mouth fully on fire.

“Delicious, th-thank you so much, ma´am.” he said sniffing away the burn on his tongue as his eyes turned glassy “Thank you for cooking for me, ma´am” he had said before Zarai rushed to stop him and then flew to get him milk. He had profusely apologized for not being able to handle spice, as it was something his owner had treated him to.

The boy had felt something fuzzy settle on his chest when Zarai told him he was allowed to refuse to eat something if he didn´t want to. And when he did left food, he had surprised himself to find it on the fridge for him to take when he wanted.

It didn´t take him long to understand food wasn´t given as a reward, nor was earned, but it did take time to not check on the fridge every few minutes to reassure himself he wasn´t dreaming.

From then on, Zarai kept in mind Albus diet shouldn´t include anything too spicy. He would plummet down on his bed at night remembering in the middle of night that he had to change.

However, there were also be times when he would stay up all night with a dictionary and practice books laid all over his desk, every night more cluttered than the one before. During those silent moments, he would twist the collar between his fingers and slide his eyes to the sketchbook. Allowing himself to wonder what would Sann be doing. If he was fast asleep, safe and calm or awake on Robert´s arms wearing that fake smile or trying to hold a scream.

He shook the thoughts away and tried focusing on work.

There was no point in worrying, he told himself over and over. If anything, he could only hope that if their owners allowed it, they would meet again. Mysteriously, that thought alone pulled him to try to play the role of “Albus Serra, Zarai´s assistant” better.

He thought he was doing a good job at it. Eating lunch with Tony and Sasha, slowly relaxing more around them, enough to hear Tony confess he had bet he would be fired on the first day and along the rest of the department, had to pay to one lucky winner a second salary.

When Albus received his paycheck, he thought the correct thing to do was to give it to his owner. What use would a pet have for it?

However, when he extended the envelope to her, she simply pushed it to his chest. The boy had blinked at her in shock.

“It´s yours. What do you wanna use it on?” she had asked him in the sweetest tone he had ever heard her talk in.

He clenched his fingers around the paper. “I-It´s really…mine?”

“You earned it” She had told him.

He remembered feeling an itch on his legs. As if in preparation to break into a sprint towards the first bus station he saw. But handler Harry´s snapping his baton on his leather gloves cracked through his memories, making a shiver ran up his spine.

He decided spending it on the pencil for his tablet and saving up the rest was the smartest move to deal with suddenly having so much liberty.

Albus was unusually cheerful, already getting used to the throbbing behind his eyes at the constant exposure to reading. He had a smile on his face as he walked back to the office to finish the task Zarai had entrusted him with, but his mood took a dramatic turn when he recognized the person inside the lift.

Every veteran in the office stared at the man making his way through the maze of desks with a surprised, confused smile. The shabby looking man stepped into the office with outmost elegance, despite the smell of weed permeating his clothes.

“Is that Robert Glass?” a woman whispered to the man on the other cubicle.

“Yep. He hasn´t put a foot here in years” Albus learnt through Sasha that after an incident, he had somewhat vanished.

All eyes were in the man halting to a stop in front of the increasingly growing stiff albino.

“Mister Robert” Albus said. Feet glued on the entrance of Zarai´s office.

“Hey! It´s been a while, Albus” The boy simply stared at him. Nobody watching could know if it was fear or hate what made him curl his fingers into a fist. “Is Zarai there? I have to talk with her”

“No, sir. She is on a meeting. Ma´am will be back in an hour” The boy responded with palpable hostility despite his poker face. The man seemed unbothered by it.

“It´s alright, then I will wait inside” he said already walking into the office. Albus chest puffed up a bit, before staring down and then walking inside. Closing the door behind him, made the rustle of murmuring dance in the air.

Robert paced around Zarai’s office. Touching every surface with slim fingers. Knowing fairly well red eyes followed his every move.

“Don’t worry, I won’t steal anything” Robert grabbed a book from the shelf glancing for a second at the albino, before putting it back “I’m just here to have a little chat” he made a twist and sat on her desk. Facing the boy “You know, talk with you a bit”

“With me, sir?”

“Yes” he drummed on the wooden desk “Do you like games, Albus?” He asked the suddenly mute boy. “Do you remember if you liked them before becoming a box boy?” He pulled an eyebrow up.

Albus blinked rapidly. Trying to keep away the headache starting to form behind his eyes “I don’t… I don’t remember, sir”

“That’s very sad. Don’t you even remember your own name?” The man asked with fake concern. Albus shook his head.

“No, sir” Albus eyes dropped for a second before lifting up again “Box boys don’t have names”

The man couldn´t hold a smile before turning it into a dramatic sad face.

“Pity” he said before lifting himself up and walking to Albus “You know? I came to check on Zarai’s assistant because as you may know, she’s isn’t very attached to them and loves to see them get fired” he patted his head, the boy didn´t express discomfort. Completely pokerfaced as the man lowered his hand “Well done. Good to see the handlers at the company made a good job with you”

Albus swallowed, as images of men with the collar’s remote on their hand and a cane on the other appeared on his head. Yelling at him with the cane held above their heads in anticipation for not doing a good job on the extra conditioning.

Memories flooded his senses. The white uniform and the uncomfortable chains around his feet. The needle of the tattoo gun piercing his skin and the haziness of hunger made him dizzy.

“Thank you sir” he managed to say, keeping himself from swaying, putting effort into not showing vulnerability. If something had stuck from the facility that wasn´t protocols, was to not show you were weak. They loved weak, and he wouldn´t give them it. “I´ll keep working hard”

The man stared at him for a second. “That´s the spirit” he went “Now listen well, Albus” he pointed his index up “I want you to be the very best assistant she has ever had. So let me give you some tips, alright?”

Albus´ eyes snapped open in shock.

“The first thing you got to know is read everything you get handed. Don’t even dare skip a word” he continued with an inquisitive tone that made him nod immediately “You don’t wanna sign something that would put Zarai in a bad situation would you?” Albus actually began to pay attention as the man talked. Cautiously keeping him at an arm length.

Albus frowned, studying the man´s face carefully “Why are you helping me, sir?”

The man stayed quiet for a moment, before a grin appeared on his face.

“Is that what you say to someone lending you a hand, boy?”

Noticing his slip up, the boy rushed to say the words. “Thank you, sir”

“What a good boy” the man ruffled his hair and delighted himself in how slightly he leaned into it “If you work hard, I´ll make sure to reward you”

Albus couldn´t know what he meant before he continued reciting his tips and advice. By the time Zarai came, Albus had a full list of new business words to search on the dictionary.

She was certainly confused and irritated to see him, but kept her composure as she sat at her desk someone knocked on her door and Albus was quick to get it as Robert settled on a chair.

“What are you doing here?” She asked not looking up from her computer.

“Oh, you know, just checking up on the fresh meat and giving him some advice” he pointed at Albus reading something on his hands. Squinting at the words and blinking them into focus.

The boy gave back a paper to the person and shook his head until the other went away with a slow impressed nod.

“What did he want?” Zarai asked.

“It was a budget, ma´am” the woman tilted her head.

“And why did I not see it?” She asked with a suddenly pissed tone that peaked Albus nerves for a second.

“It didn’t have coherence with the data I sent yesterday and didn’t follow the calendar of activities for Dune’s project, ma´am” she lifted an eyebrow up “he’ll bring it with corrections in an hour” she stared at him and then at Robert before going back to her computer.

“Alright, well done” she said before he could breathe finally. He made sure she didn´t notice though.

Robert lifted himself up and patted the boy’s shoulder before looking at her.

“He’s not so bad huh?” She shot him a glare before he giggled and went away “Goodbye Albus. Ah I was forgetting it. Zarai” his expression suddenly softened as he kept the door half open “I’ll go next weekend, with Claude. It’s been a while since we paid a visit. All three…Will you come?” His voice was oddly respectful. Albus sneaked a glance at the woman. She looked grim.

“It’s already that time of the year?” She said with a hush. She stayed silent for a moment before typing again. “Yeah, only us though” she warned.

Robert’s eyes sparked for a second. A spark Albus recognized from his handlers. The ones that liked to play games with the trainees and promised no good.

“You won’t have a problem if Albus keeps Sann some company for the weekend?” He asked her. Albus made a conscious effort to breathe normally through the churn of his stomach.

“We will talk it out later” she said after squinting her eyes slightly.

“I wouldn’t trust anybody else” he said giving the boy a smile before waving goodbye.

Robert walked out of the office with a gentle smile that got ruined when the elevator´s doors closed. He started humming to himself. Pleased. He loved games that took time. One that needed meticulous strategies that involved messing with the fragile psychology of broken people. Juggling around box boy´s minds was his new hobby and Albus was looking like quite a fun toy.

Zarai knew better than to believe the man´s act and promptly ordered Albus to sit in front of her desk as the door closed. The boy did as he was told and waited for instructions.

“I don´t know what he wants, but try to keep a safe distance from Sann, ok?” Albus shot his eyes open, before knitting his eyebrows together “I have a bad feeling about this sudden…invitation. You heard?” Albus opened his mouth, closing it in resignation.

“Yes, ma´am”

“I feel sorry about him too, but we can´t do much about it” she said going back to her laptop. Ignoring the boy´s fingers rounding his thumbs in a nervous gesture.

“T-That means I can´t see him ma´am?” he asked trying to not sound as terrified of speaking out of turn. She lifted her eyes and stared at the albino that went completely stiff waiting for her answer.

She went back to work “That´s why I said safe distance. Just don´t fall for him”

Too late.

“Yes, ma´am” he said instead, in an act of defiance he made himself swear would keep hidden from her.

#you came back a stranger #pet whump #captivity #tw dehumanization #creepy whumper #bbu #box boy universe #wru #oc #original fiction #tw slavery #slave whump #hurt comfort #angst #emotional whump #whump #my writing #writing #whumpblr

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quarantineddreamer · 4 years

Text

a little fall of rain

aka: it’s my fanfic and i’ll make myself cry with les mis!zutara if i want to

Day 4 @zkfanworkweek: Angst. Hello! For those of you who know me as quarantineddreamer on AO3 a heads up that this one-shot is very different from my usual style. I experimented with present tense and I’m still not sure how successful I was with it, so I hope it doesn’t totally disappoint the wonderful artist who inspired me to write this!

In any case this amazing piece by the talented @firelord-hotman is worth checking out even if my writing cannot do it justice! I saw it and immediately got all the Zutara feels --along with a certain song stuck in my head...

There’s an uprising in Ba Sing Se and she is dressed proudly in blue.

The color is noticeable even in the shadows of night. It is a challenge, a dare, thrown boldly to the troops that have gathered and are waiting, arms at the ready, for the students behind the barricade to disperse. Or else.

She is dressed proudly in blue and it fills Zuko with a dread so deep he can feel it in his heart like a drum, pulsing with each step he takes further into the tense silence.

He wishes she would dress as the others he passes have, in muted browns, greys, and greens, but of course, her bravery and passion are as much a part of her as the curls that move like water across her back as she turns to speak with another rebel --and he loves every part of her.

He has loved her since the day they met. The day she found him curled in the street, clutching his face, and without a second thought took him to a healer. She is more selfless than anyone he has ever met. More selfless than he will ever be. She is always thinking of others, always dreaming of a better world, and now here she is, ready to fight for that vision. Zuko thinks maybe, in another life --a life where the enemy’s face was not burned so intimately into his every nightmare- he could be more like her.

Zuko has always carefully avoided conflict. He was taught that when tension fills the air it is best to mind your own business and look the other way or severe punishment will be dealt. It is a lesson he learned when he was young. It is a lesson he has carried within him ever since the day he met Katara. He has tried to teach her this lesson of self-preservation, because his worst fear is seeing her hurt, but it is not in her vocabulary.

“Where does the barricade still need reinforcing?”

Katara glances at her friend Toph before examining the earth wall before her. “Aang!” she calls.

A boy in orange robes comes forward. Zuko has been envious of this boy ever since they met. He is like her, courageous, decisive and he has seen how she smiles at him. The same look of admiration crosses her face now as he confidently instructs Toph on the best place to bend next.

Coward, Zuko calls himself, as he avoids the light of the lanterns, but continues to follow them from a distance, observing.

Katara is walking alongside Aang, he has looped her arm through his. Together they are checking on the members of their revolution, soothing nerves with just the power of a few words. Eventually they settle around a small fire with several other rebels.

You need to tell them, he thinks, but he feels so out of place here. He has been helping Katara organize her movement for years, but always discreetly. Scrounging up useful information and stealing supplies from behind the safety of a mask. He never thought he would be here, undisguised, sneaking into what will soon be a battleground. It has been years since he last stood directly in his father’s path. Yet here he is and beyond the barricade are his father’s men. It is an undeniable and terrifying truth that turns his veins to ice.

He wonders what fresh torture his father might dream up for him if he is discovered. Banishment will not be enough. Perhaps obliteration will do.

“Sokka, Suki, seriously, get a room! I can hear you smacking lips from here,” Zuko’s thoughts are interrupted as Toph groans at Katara’s brother and the girl who sits beside him.

“Toph, there’s no rooms around here and we don’t know what tomorrow may bring. If you don’t mind I’m going to kiss my girlfriend.”

“She has a point,” Aang coughs.

“Oh please, I know you and my sister will be sneaking off before the night is done.” Sokka rolls his eyes, but he and Suki have separated and a playful grin is on his face.

Zuko’s stomach twists. Katara’s head is resting on Aang’s shoulder and a slight blush has appeared on the face Zuko knows so well. His nerve is failing with each passing second, but Katara is wearing blue and time is running out.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to steady himself. In his mind he sees a day from years ago. One of his favorites. When they walked to the park together to feed the turtleducks. It had felt so easy with her, so carefree, like for the first time in his life everything might just be okay. He remembers the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed at his jokes. He recalls the warmth of her hand in his as he walked her home along rainy pavement shining like silver… but Katara was a storm, a tempest, beautiful and strong and he hadn’t been able to find the courage to tell her, afraid of what might happen if he confessed how he felt. Of the loss that might follow. The loneliness. What would he do without her?

Now the years of friendship are a sort of regret, because it was safe, yes, but it is another who is tucking a strand of her hair gently behind her ears, and he might never know what could have been, but she must know this…

“Katara…” Zuko steps forward.

Everyone jumps and reaches for weapons, but she is quick to assure them. “Zuko! What are you doing here?” Her eyes take in the red of the uniform he wears, but they do not narrow in suspicion as the others have. She trusts him.

“I have to tell you something.” He pauses only briefly, watching her face for a moment before the rest of the words tumble out, “I snuck into the palace--”

“You what?!” Katara is shocked. She knows what that place means to him, the marks he still bears from his years spent behind its walls. Though she is clearly still trying to figure out what has possessed him, she lowers her voice. “Why would you do that?”

For you, for you, everything I do is for you, he wants to say. “I know what you have planned and I knew my f--.... I knew the Fire Lord would retaliate.”

Aang is regarding him with a cautious curiosity. His arm settles protectively around Katara’s shoulders and it takes everything in Zuko not to visibly cringe. “You still haven’t answered her question. What are you doing here?”

Her eyes are locked onto him. They are the moon in the darkness that has been his life, illuminating everything, making him feel seen when it would be all too easy to disappear into the abyss. They are blinding and perfect and he does not want to see the disappointment in them when he shares the intelligence he has gathered. When he pleads with her to stand down. Still… you must do this.

“The Fire Lord does not intend to fight you fairly. He does not intend to fight you at all. He intends to kill anyone who remains behind this barricade. You need to get home. All of you…” He speaks only to her at first, but then turns his gaze to the others sitting beside her. When they do not react he tries again. “They do not intend to wait much longer. They will come before sunrise and they will not show mercy.”

“What are you saying?” Sokka asks.

“I am saying if you do not leave these streets will run red with your blood. I’m saying today is doomed, but you can still save tomorrow if you go now.”

It hurts that Katara looks away from him and turns immediately to Aang, for guidance, for comfort, for all the things Zuko wants to give her.

“We can’t go. This city needs change. The people need us to change it.” Katara faces him again, resolve in her eyes. It makes his spirit spark, speaking to something inside of him only she can bring out. It reminds him why she is a voice for the helpless, a leader of people, a warrior. He knows that she has taken his warning into consideration, but has stubbornly decided she will not betray her values. “I will never turn my back on people that need me.”

“Katara pl-” but Zuko does not finish his sentence. He has spotted a lone Fire Nation soldier perched at the top of the barricade and taking aim. Her target is clear. She is aiming for blue. She is aiming for Katara.

For the first time in Zuko’s life he feels he is doing what he was meant to. For the first time in his life fear does not rule him as he jumps between Katara and the lightning that comes shooting from the soldier’s hands. It tears through his body sharp and sudden. He is grateful she will not experience the agony he does in that moment.

Commotion erupts. Toph bends the barricade higher with the help of other earthbenders, Aang charges towards the soldier with the lightning, and Sokka and Suki scan the area for more soldiers, but it is only the one for now. Zuko’s message has reached them just in time.

Katara drops to the ground beside Zuko, but he does not quite understand why her hands, usually so sure and steady, are trembling. Why her voice wobbles as she speaks. “No, no, no… Zuko, no...”

He smiles at her. “It’s okay, Katara.” And it is. It always is when she is with him, because she makes him feel safe --like the home he never had.

“I’ll mend this wound, you’ll be fine, y-you’ll be.”

She reaches for the pouch of water that is always at her side, but Zuko takes her hand away and places it against his chest, against his wound, against his heart. The heart that he wishes she knew he had given her long ago. Her tears are falling freely, they land on his face like rain and roll down, but he does not join her in sorrow.

“Just stay with me,” he whispers. “That’s all I need.”

“I won’t desert you now,” Katara promises, voice breaking. “I’d never desert you.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No, of course not…” She presses her free hand to his cheek, the other hand bends water towards his chest. It begins to glow, but it provides no relief. “Zuko, you have to live. You’re going to live.”

He knows he is not. He wants to tell her with the time he has left how much she has meant to him, but he hesitates, unable to find the words. Wondering if all the courage and purpose he would ever feel in life were intended for that moment of sacrifice that has already passed. Besides, what good would it do now except to cause her more pain?

“Remember the day we went to feed the turtleducks?”

“Of course,” she murmurs. “You held my hand and walked me home, I thought… Well, I hoped that you were going to…” She stares at him for a moment and he watches emotions play out on her face that he never in his wildest dreams thought he would see there.

They have been there all this time he realizes, but he has not allowed himself to believe it, because he is still not sure he is good enough --that he, a banished prince, is deserving of a heroic spirit like her.

Katara bends down and presses her lips to his and he has just enough strength left to place a hand in her hair as she does so, marveling at this dream come true, the only dream, and the last.

It might not be worth as much now and it’s not how he wanted to say it, but he says it anyways, softly, reverently, a prayer. “I love you.”

“I love you, too…” She cradles his head in her hands, he can feel the tremors of grief running through her --it is the only thing he feels, the only thing that still hurts. “I’m so sorry…”

I’m sorry too, but all the years spent in hesitation, in fear are nothing now. All that matters is that he has finally said it --and by some miracle so has she. It’s the greatest day of his entire life. In his euphoria he does not notice the hitch in his breathing when he tries to inhale nor the stillness building where a strong heartbeat should be.

“Zuko, stay with me,” Katara insists with a sob.

He wants her to understand that she has made him so unbelievably happy. He wants her to feel this way too. It is all he has ever wanted. There’s very little air left in his lungs, but he fights to tell her anyways, to assure her that all is well.

“Don’t worry...it doesn’t hurt anymore…”

#zutara fanwork appreciation week #zutara fanfic #zutara #zuko x katara #tw: major character death #ZFAW 2020 #ZFAW #zkfaw #firelord-hotman #im soooo nervous posting this gah #b writes #angst #angsty angst

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invaderlynx · 4 years

Text

Booker and La Campagne de Russie

I just watched The Old Guard and honestly, it was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a VERY long time. Of course, now I’m having all sorts of thoughts about the whole thing and particularly about Booker because his backstory intersects perfectly with my historical interests. I know that all the immortals in The Old Guard have experienced all sorts of terrible trauma, but because I am a history major with an affinity for the Napoleonic period, especially the Russian Campaign (and because Booker is my favorite character), I’d like to give you guys an idea of just what sort of torture he faced even before the pain of losing his family (also for fair warning, I have not read the comics):

Please place yourself in Booker’s shoes. You are one of over 600,000 men mustered to march into Russia. You’re serving in an army you never wanted to join, taking up arms for the glory of an empire that’s never done anything for you. You’ve been separated from your three beloved sons and your wife whom you love more than life itself, and have been sent off to fight in a foreign land that’s nothing like the home you’ve left behind. That much becomes evident immediately.

The invasion starts in the summer of 1812 and it is hot, unseasonably hot. You feel it, laboring as you are under the thick heavy materials of your sweat-soaked uniform. Each step is its own torture in the heat as you struggle through mud left behind by hard summer rains. More than a few men kill themselves at this point and although this is just the beginning, you can hardly blame them. Some of your comrades get the bright idea to start discarding some of their extra layers of clothing—underthings and the like. Perhaps you join them, anything to lighten the load. You can’t be expected to carry all this over the long miles ahead. You’ll live to regret that decision.

The fighting itself is worse than the conditions. You never quite get used to the violence. No matter how many times you’re thrust into battle, your mouth still goes dry, your heart still thunders as loud as the military drums’ tattoo, you still choke on that thick gunpowder smoke. You nearly threw up the first time you killed with a bayonet. You remember sticking the man in between the ribs, a swift stab and he is bleeding out. It is only then that you see his face and realize just how young he is. He is a boy, maybe a few precious years older than your eldest. He cries as he falls. You didn’t speak Russian at the time but you didn’t need to to recognize the word “Мама”.

The only thing that makes it possible to keep putting one foot in front of the other (besides your family, of course) is your comrades-in-arms. Against all odds, you’ve found friendship here, men with whom you can share stories and jokes and drinks. You find a few men of around your own age with families, wives and children that they lovingly speak of, but many of these soldiers are young, young enough to be your sons, far too young to be out here slaughtering and being slaughtered. Over your meager meals you tell stories of home and it is enough to hold off the impending horror, at least for a moment. When that doesn’t work, you turn to drink. You drink an awful lot.

The conditions of this foreign land are mercurial at best and your woes are only compounded by your lack of proper supplies. The Russians have been scorching nearly everything in the wake of their retreat, making it difficult for you to forage for food. Your search parties turn up very little by way of provisions and your food supply continues to fall in tandem with the temperature.

Borodino is hell. You see the man to the right of you receive a cannonball to the chest and fall in a spray of red, you see the man to the left crumple as a shot rips through his handsome, hard-lined face. One of your friends, one of those boys that you’d come to regard as a surrogate son who was barely old enough to grow hair on his chin, catches a bullet in the leg. He dies in agony four days later, one of the thousands of casualties of that damned battle. In your lowest moments, you wish you would have joined him.

You were never a particularly happy man, even before the war. Prone to fits of melancholia, they would have said back then. Your darling wife and your three sons certainly helped to alleviate that heavy, aching emptiness that resided in your chest, but it never went away, not fully. It resurfaces with a vengeance now. Sitting with your gun in your hands and far too much liquor in your belly, you think about ending it all. How easy it would be to put a bullet in your brain and finally die. In the end, it’s your family that saves you again. You may not want to live for yourself, but for them- for them you can keep fighting. Besides, Moscow is only 70 miles away and once you take the ancient capital, Russia will have no choice but to surrender. That’s what everyone is saying and you force yourself to believe that it’s true.

Moscow was a lie. You took the capital but there was no peace. There was no food either. The Russians took it all when they abandoned the place, leaving almost nothing for your starving army. Nothing but liquor, which you are very grateful for at least. Your superiors probably aren’t, you think wryly as you raise the bottle to your lips and drink, drink, drink.

Moscow passes in a drunken haze for you. You drown yourself in Russian booze, drinking yourself absolutely insensate. There are entire days you spend propped up against the wall of some ramshackle Russian establishment, surrounded by empty bottles, too drunk to even stand. You remember bits and pieces, shattered memories drifting in and out of the fog. The looting and the things you took (a fine scarf, a silver flask, maybe more), a ladies’ fur shawl wrapped about your shoulders to keep out the chill, the burning heat of a terrible fire and the screams in French and Russian, the acrid taste of bile in your mouth as you splutter sick all over yourself only to raise the bottle to your lips again for another drink. In the end, you’re forced to leave Moscow as the position becomes untenable, the abandoned city burned to a shell of its former self. You never do learn who first started the fire, even years after the fact.

The retreat is hell on Earth, worse than anything else that came before. La Grande Armée is hardly an army any longer, you’ve lost practically all discipline. By now, you’re just a bunch of exhausted, cold, starving men who want nothing more than to just make it home alive. Most of them won’t. The temperatures have dropped to below freezing at this point and you are wishing more than anything that you still had those infernal layers that caused you so much pain in the summer months. The clothing you and your comrades drunkenly plundered in Moscow—silken scarves stolen from abandoned trunks, heavy furs pilfered from store inventories, ladies’ shoes that hurt your feet but do a better job of keeping out the slush than your tattered boots—help, but not enough. Your fingers stiffen to near icicles in the cold as you try your damnedest to massage even a little warmth back into them, your face is wind-chapped and scabbed. You feel as though your very marrow has frozen, and you are one of the lucky ones. Men freeze to death in their sleep in less than an hour. Fifty men will sit down at a fire and only the twenty or so closest will ever get back up again. You all begin to loot the bodies of the dead and—as you grow more desperate—the dying as well. Corpses are stripped naked and left in the snow as the survivors squabble over their threadbare uniform pieces. Sometimes the corpses still twitch and moan but you try to ignore that.

There’s no food either. In addition to freezing, you’re starving too. The lot of you fight and quarrel over moldy crusts of bread, and in some cases even kill each other for them. The more clever turn to other sources to fill their writhing, empty stomachs. Some eat their boots, but there isn’t much leather left in any case. Some carve their meals off the horses as they walk, tearing bits of bleeding flesh off of the warm, moving flanks in a short-sighted attempt to get even a few morsels of meat in their bellies. Others, in mad desperation as the march (if you can even call it that any longer) wears on, turn to each other.

Perhaps you take part in this, perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you sidle a man out of the way to get closer to the fire, perhaps you take a coat off a corpse that you don’t know for sure is dead yet, perhaps you accept a piece of meat that you do not quite know the origin of. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

In the end it doesn’t matter. You die anyway. You don’t really remember how it happened the first time. Maybe you were finally picked off by the advancing Russians, maybe it was exposure, exhaustion, starvation, sickness, any of the hundred ways that you could die in this frozen wasteland. All you know is that one moment you were on your feet, shambling mutely forward, the next you were lying on the icy ground, gasping air back into lungs that had fallen completely still. Four faces are burned into your memory and from one you can still hear the gurgling, watery screams.

That’s when the dreams start, after that first death. Though, you wouldn’t classify them as dreams, they’re far more alike to nightmares. You see that screaming, drowning woman often. You feel her fear as she slams her body against her metal coffin. Even awake you can’t get the sound of her choking out of your head. Sometimes there are soft moments interspersed with the horror. You see a woman with short hair (it reminds you of a coiffure à la victime) laughing, you see two men resting in each others’ arms, foreheads pressed together gently, blissfully happy. To be quite honest, these ones hurt worst of all because they make you regret ever waking up.

You die a few more times before you finally decide to desert. You can’t take it anymore. That tyrant Bonaparte has abandoned this army, why can’t you? You take flight under the cold cover of night, trying to get to the Russian border. You don’t make it very far. You are dragged back—aching, tired, and hungry—and are hanged by the road as a deserter. Perhaps there still is a little discipline left in these ranks, at least enough to allow these soldiers to kill their comrades in the name of orders. You have to wait three days for the road to clear before you can finally run. In that time your body is almost entirely picked clean by looters. You continue your desperate trek back home in spite of it all and die many more times in the weeks (or was it months?) that follow. It never gets any easier.

It’s near the border into Prussia that you finally meet one of the figures from your dreams. Perhaps it is the woman with the short hair who offers you a drink and a coat to put around your shoulders, and tells you bluntly but not unkindly that you’re immortal. Perhaps it is the curly-haired man who helps hold you upright when you stumble and is careful and caring with his words as he gently explains the situation. Perhaps it is his lighter-haired lover who catches you when you fold in on yourself from the weight of his words and offers you affirmations and condolences in a voice reminiscent of a priest. Whoever it is, they ask you to come with them and explain that there are others like them- like you out there.

“What about my family?” you stutter out, almost unconscious of the words as the tumble from your mouth “My wife? What about them?”

They favor you with a sad smile and try to explain, but you will hear none of it. They do not stop you when you tell them that you are going home, and you are glad for it.

With the supplies they give to you, you manage to hobble your way back home. You’ve been taken for a dead man, you realize, everyone you pass seems to think you’re a ghost. You don’t care. You only have one person on your mind.

Your wife answers the door dressed in black. She starts to cry when she sees you and throws her arms around your neck. You nearly crumple, weak as you are. “Bastien, Bastien,” she sobs against your shoulder “What happened?”

That question fills you with icy dread. Your stomach drops as you realize you cannot explain to her what you’ve been through, not in a way that she’ll understand. Even if you explain the immortality and she believes you, she won’t understand the horrors you’ve seen. No one will. A soldier’s burden.

You stay silent and instead cradle her closer as your boys appear in the doorway. You have them and, for now, that is enough. You won’t forget, you will never forget, but for now at least you have this.

#there we go #i made myself sad #you see what this poor bastard had to go through #it does not excuse what he did #not in the slightest #but it explains why he wants to die at least #there are very few things that i would want to go through less than the russian campagne #the old guard #tog #sebastien le livre #booker #andromache the scythian #yusef al kaysani #niccolo di genova #quynh

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assassins-and-hidden-blades · 4 years

Text

Interrogation

15/06/2020: Sooo, hi there. Me and @marshmallow--3 were talking (once again) and we got to talking about how assassins would react while being interrogated. Naturally, I like my dark fics + my hurt/comfort fics, so this came out. It’s an experiment than unashamedly spans 4.5K words, but I enjoyed writing it and after a bit of convincing I decided to post it. I worked surprisingly hard on this. I also like putting my characters through their paces. This can also be considered as an ‘asshole writing 101′ course for me bc everyone knows I need it lmao. Okay, enough justification; just... here -- have Jacob needing a lot of hugs :) heed the warnings, friends -- you have been warned. Spoilers for the fic in the warnings, btw

Feedback is greatly appreciated :D

Also, mainly GN!Reader (apart from the first scene) :)

Italics are thoughts bt-dubs.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, beaten for information, abduction, sick mention, PTSD mention, Night terrors, naked mention (sfw we good)... Yeah I got a bit carried away here :3 (if I missed any please lmk)

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“Jacob, we need that intel.”

“Why does it have to be me? I prefer to have my weapons on my person, if you don’t mind.” Jacob was sitting at the desk everyone was talking around, feet crossed on the desk.

“Maybe it’s because it’s a Gentleman’s Club, and women don’t necessarily fit in; if they find a single blade on you, the entire mission is compromised.” Evie looked pointedly at her brother.

He looked to you for help, but you held your hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me; she’s got a point.”

Sighing, he rose to his feet, leaning against the wood and drumming his fingers against it. “Fine. Who am I tailing again?”

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“Weapons, please.” Evie stopped him before he could go anywhere.

“What weapons?” He smiled innocently at his sister, while you scoffed amusedly from behind her.

She said nothing, and instead held her hand out expectantly. Obstinately, Jacob relented, pulling out his cane sword and giving her his thigh holster. “All of them.”

His kukri came out of his waistcoat.

“All. Of. Them.”

His gauntlet was reluctantly confiscated. As was his revolver.

Evie raised an eyebrow. “Alright, fine!” He reached into his boot and pulled out another knife. “How did you know?”

“I saw you hide it.”

When they were finished, you walked up to him. “Be back by tonight. Alright?” You kissed him softly. He broke apart and gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ll barely notice I’m gone.” As the train came to a stop, you watched as he blended into the crowd at the station, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

----------

The courier Jacob was supposed to tail wasn’t too hard to find. Bowler hat, stocky build, weird scar on his cheek… All he had to do was get close enough to hear the password, get in and get out.

But first, he had to follow him there. In unfamiliar territory. No gangs, no Rooks.

Jacob left his top hat on the train, opting for using his hood as an added source of anonymity as he stalked his target. The streets were busy, and he lost eyes on the man’s bowler hat once or twice, but all in all, it was going smoothly. They were halfway down a street when the target crossed the road and went into an alleyway, sparse of people.

Jacob looked both ways before crossing after him, walking through as naturally as possible, in case he runs into people he would rather avoid. The road took him into a clearing blocked in by buildings, but not a man in sight. His brows furrowed, confused at where his target could have gone. Looking around, he saw that there was only one exit, and that was behind him. There was no way the target could have circled back around without him noticing.

“Wait a second…”

There were multiple small clicks, before multiple people came out of nowhere, all pointing firearms at him. Jacob raised his hands in surrender, taking small, calculated steps backwards. “Let’s just take it easy for a moment; I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

“Our boss wants you alive. I couldn’t really care. It’s best if you cooperate, Mr Frye; I’m thinking you’ll put up less of a fight dead.” The hammer was pulled down with a resounding ‘click’ for good measure. The more Jacob observed, the more Templar crosses he could find.

Oh, for the love of--

Before he could react, two feet came into contact with the back of his knees, and he was forced face down to the ground. His shoulders were pinned as his arms were forced behind his back. He blindly managed to hit someone with his elbow, but it never released any pressure as he felt thick rope cinch around his wrist and knotted tightly, lest he manage to break free of them. “Are you certain we can’t come to some sort of agreement?” His words came out half mumbled, as his face was pushed against the mud.

All too suddenly he was pulled back up to his knees, a very gruff sounding “Get up,” mumbled in his ear. The one seemingly in charge of this whole operation stood in front of him. Sounds of an approaching carriage came closer. Assessing the distance between the two, Jacob smirked. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m spoken for.”

The man standing over him didn’t react. “Do it,” he said to the people holding him.

Jacob’s jaw was prised open before a rag was forced in, a bag coming over his head a moment after. He was pulled roughly to his feet and couldn’t get a stable footing before a force threw him backwards, landing on the floor of the carriage with his hands trapped under him. A noise escaped his throat. Jacob could only hope to use his sense of hearing as he shuffled backwards to lean against the door behind him, as multiple people entered the carriage and shut the door -- to supervise, no doubt. The wall was hit two times, and the horses began to trot.

The journey was the only time he could hope to escape; who knows how they’d be keeping him once they arrived.

He couldn’t help cursing himself under his breath, but it was only comprehended as a random noise to the others in the cab. Jacob began to wiggle his fingers, digits searching the wall behind him for something sharp, like a nail or some splintered wood. His fidgeting must have been noticed, because someone lightly kicked his leg. “Don’t even think about it.” He felt something cold press against his temple, a click sounding in his left ear. He held an involuntary breath as light chuckles rippled around the carriage.

“Forgive me for not finding this funny…” he quipped inwardly.

The gun barrel mockingly shoved Jacob’s head to the side, a silent threat, before withdrawing.

He had a three mile long argument to have with Evie after this.

He tried to swallow, pushing down the rising anxiety in his throat. Is there a way out of this that wouldn’t end with a bullet in his brain?

There must be.

His fists clench and unclench restlessly as he thinks. Or, tries to think.

All he could decipher was the carriage turning right, pressing him against the wall behind him, before stopping. There was a long moment of waiting, before the door he was leaning against opened. He fell to the ground, the air knocked out of him. Without giving him a moment to collect himself, hands grabbed his arms and pulled. His orientation was in shambles; he couldn’t figure out which way was where.

There were momentary pauses as doors opened, and just as he had begun to breathe properly, he was shoved. His balance was thrown off, and wood bit into him as he rolled down an incline. He hit the floor ungracefully, half haphazardly dragging a knee up; he was pushed down some stairs. Stifled groans were muted by his gag as they yanked him up again, pushing him down onto a chair. Multiple people tightly bound his ankles to the legs and his wrists between the rungs, the pressure pinning him down causing his heart to skip a beat.

He hated this feeling of restriction; of being exposed. He knew he had no control. He knew he was fucked.

His head began to throb, no doubt an injury from his tirade with the stairs. As the people around him left, he tested his bonds. There was no give whatsoever; the rope bound his wrists to the rungs behind him, pulling his shoulders taut. He tried lifting his leg; he could bounce them, but that was it. It was instinct; the restless energy needing a bigger outlet. His anxiety was palpable, and he found himself exhaling through his nose multiple times in an attempt to calm himself down. He tried to look around through the material over his head, increasingly desperate, though he knew his chances of escaping were low now that they had him exactly where they wanted him. He briefly wondered whether he’d ever see natural daylight again.

… Shit.

He had no idea where he was; if he got out, then what? He’d have to cross that bridge when he comes to it.

If he comes to it.

Resigning himself to wait, he sat straight, challenging his bonds every now and then, hoping that the next time would be different.

It didn’t take too much longer for the door to open again, but the fear inside him was painful, squeezing his heart in an iron fist. He strained his ears, and heard multiple light footsteps, followed by a distinct pair of slow and heavy ones. They screamed authority as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The bag was pulled harshly from his head, light blinding him as he squinted, trying to acquaint himself with the area around him. Jacob tried to swallow his anxiety as he took in the newcomer’s appearance; easily over six foot, and built of pure muscle.

Bloody hell.

Someone came up to him and pulled the gag out of his mouth. He tried re-introducing saliva as the man came closer, his small entourage disbanding around the room behind him.

“If this was so urgent, couldn’t you have booked a bloody appointment?”

The man chuckled, though there was no humour in his tone. He rubbed his wrist before he swung at Jacob’s cheek, whipping his head to the side.

His jaw was seized and pulled to lock eyes with the six foot tall interrogator. “I won’t stand for that; understand?” His voice was low and rumbled maliciously. Jacob glared at him defiantly, heart pounding in his ears. He responded by spitting blood in his face. The man recoiled violently, wiping the substance out of his eyes. Jacob exhaled amusedly through his nose.

Once the man recovered, he chuckled again. “Cute.” He walked over to Jacob, bending down to his eye level as he rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s start with an easy one; what’s your name?”

“Ethan.” He was met with a punch to the gut.

“I forgot to tell you; these first few questions? I know the answers to them. I know when you’re giving me bullshit.” He grasped his hair and harshly pulled. “Let’s try again; your name.”

He said nothing and was considering lying again, until the man gave another rough tug, threatening to yank his hair right out of his scalp. “Jacob.” He relented through gritted teeth, seething in frustration. His hair was released.

“Nice to interrogate you, Jacob.” The man took a step back and leaned on a table a few feet away. “I’m the Boss around here. See how easy things are when you cooperate?”

The assassin rolled his eyes.

“Now, I was told that you were, as you put it, ‘spoken for’.”

Jacob raised an unimpressed brow as he tried to hide the hitch in his breath.

“Who is it? A woman? A man?” Jacob left his expression unchanged. “I don’t judge!” The ‘Boss’ raised his hands. “I bet I can guess their name: Henry, Evie… Y/N, perhaps?” Jacob raised his chin and clenched his jaw, an involuntary defensive move as he listed his closest friend, his sister, and his lover all at once.

“You see,” the Boss sighed, pushing himself off the table. “Even if you don’t say anything, you’re just as good to us as bait. If you speak now, you could be saving everyone a headache. Just remember that.

“Now; why were you tailing that courier?”

----------

The session ended with a condescending backhand. “We’ll pick this up again later.”

Jacob smiled mockingly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Once he was finally alone, his defiant front dropped, and he allowed himself to feel the pain in his torso. He groaned as he shifted in his seat, his ribs aching from the inside. He knew he wouldn’t give them any information, no matter how hard they tried to extract it. He instinctively tried to hold his side, but to no avail. His tongue ran over the cut on his lip, busted open time and again.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been; hours or days. But he’s tired, thirsty, and in pain. He can barely keep his eyes open, but his anxiety has kept him awake; an insomnia he could never quite shake. He was too tired to expend any of it physically; it was brewing inside him like a bad cup of tea. He couldn’t stop thinking about the threat of you, Evie, and even Henry. Even so, unless he could be sure his information would be able to counteract that, he kept it to himself.

His chin rested on his chest, and he was on the verge of passing out when the door opened again, causing him to jump and tense at the sudden loud noise. “Sorry I’m late; this is the only time I could slip in.”

The Boss took in Jacob’s tired eyes. “Did I wake you? Such a shame.” He laughed at his own quip.

“It’s fine; my schedule was open.” Jacob tried to bite back.

“Seeing as you weren’t doing so well answering our earlier questions, I decided to start on some different ones, this time.”

Jacob furrowed his brows. “What makes you think that I’d tell you anything?”

The Boss revealed items he was hiding behind his back. “Are you thirsty?”

Jacob tried to smirk at the jug and glasses, though it wasn't as wide as before. “Kind of you to offer.”

The Boss poured out all the water into a few glasses. “You can have as much as you want; just tell me what I want to know; what have you learnt about our current… agenda? Any heists being planned that we need to know about?”

There’s a few moments of silence, before Jacob spoke, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “We’ve decided to go on holiday for a few weeks, actually.”

The Boss huffed humorlessly. He grabbed a glass of water and brought it near to Jacob, before chucking it over his face. Trying not to react, Jacob only flinched. The liquid made the cuts on his face twinge. “That’s for lying.” Discarded on the table sat a pair of brass knuckles, spiked and gnarly. He picked them up, sliding them over his fingers before clenching a fist to test his comfort.

“I’m going to ask you this one more time…”

----------

“You’re going to be here for a long time, Frye. Get comfortable.”

Not likely.

The last words spoken to him felt like hours ago. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, his body forcing him to sleep by shutting down. Slumped forwards in his chair, his arms were the only thing holding him upright. His shoulders were numb. He tested his bonds again, as if they would magically loosen after all this time. Fingers stretching, he tried to get blood black in his hands. He rotated his wrists, wincing as the rope pinched his raw skin. His leg began to jump of its own accord once he was faced with his own hopelessness again.

How long would they keep him alive for? How long until help comes? They must have realised that he was missing by now, right?

He heaved unsteady breaths out of his lungs; keeping his composure was becoming increasingly difficult, and he was looking at the increased likelihood of coming face to face with his own mortality a lot sooner than he would have liked.

The only reason why he hadn’t starved was because of someone who came to feed and water him once a day, though he can barely stomach solids. “It will get easier if you tell them the truth.” They kept saying the same things over and over again.

“Stop it.” Jacob didn’t want to hear any more; his mind was conflicted -- whose side were they on?

“Just tell them what they want to hear; it will make it so much better for you.”

Jacob clenched his jaw and remained silent.

“Otherwise, they’ll keep beating you.” They prodded Jacob’s ribs, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain, refusing to make a sound. They took off his coat a while ago, exposing his body for more beatings. “Food for thought,” they said as they left him in silence once again.

The only other time he would get contact with another human being is when they’d take him out of the room for a bathroom break; they’d undo the rope before rebinding his hands in front of him immediately, dragging him to the bathroom before he’s forced back into the same chair again, waiting for the cycle to repeat.

The familiar tell of nausea was growing, and his stomach had stopped holding down the food he’d been given. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

----------

He was awoken by a series of noises that blended into each other, incomprehensible from the next.

The door opened, and the Boss walked down the stairs, a serious expression on his face. “You have visitors, Jacob.” A fist came into contact with his gut, and for the first time his pain was vocalised. Though still stifled, the noise was noticeable. “It’s a shame, really. We were getting somewhere with you. Hopefully those allies of yours won’t be as stubborn.”

He grabbed a cloth and balled it up, being met with almost no resistance as it was pressed into Jacob’s mouth. “Not a sound.” He crossed the room at pace, unsheathing a knife as he closed and locked the door behind him.

The aftershocks of the assault on his gut still had him wincing, but as he heard gunshots and cries above him, he began to panic.

People he cared about could die, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

With every bang that erupted above him, his heart rate increased. He tried to weakly pull at the ropes again, and made a hopeless noise through the fabric in his mouth as he got nowhere. He was frustrated, anxious, and scared. The future was completely out of his control.

His body wouldn’t listen to his mind; it was slumped in the chair, all but exhausted. He couldn’t breathe. Fear clouded his mind, the adrenaline pushing him to his limits. It wasn’t until he tasted the salt in the gag that he realised that a few tears had escaped. He closed his eyes.

This wasn’t him. He needed to stay calm.

I’m not usually the praying type, but if anyone at all is up there, keep them safe…

Please…

“Please…” It sounded like a groan but he said it; he was never one to beg, but he’d do anything to know what the hell was going on up there.

Everything stopped when he heard it.

“Jacob?”

He barely moved, his mind clouded, but his heart swelled in relief at the voice -- a relieved noise that became stifled in his throat. But then, he remembered what was said to him.

He was bait.

He flinched as the door was kicked down, fists weakly clenching behind him. Footsteps came down the stairs.

He heard someone kneel in front of him. “Jacob? Hey, it’s me.” His face was taken into gentle hands, and the fabric was taken out of his mouth. “Jesus… Can you open your eyes, Jacob?” Slowly, he did, eyes heavy with exhaustion. You were in front of him, visibly relieved at his responsiveness.

“No… Please, leave.” He tried to pull his face out of your hands.

“They’re dead, Jacob. We’re safe; you’re safe now.”

The ropes around his wrists broke, and he gasped in pain as he fell forward into you, hands slowly coming up to grasp your arms. Evie had moved to Jacob’s ankles, quickly cutting his bonds. “We were given false intel from the beginning; it was always going to be a trap.”

You pulled back. “Can you walk?”

Jacob nodded, the action dizzying him. You pulled his arm over your shoulders and pulled him to his feet, hissing in pain at the movement in his torso. You stood him up, but he began to crumple almost immediately. Evie half caught him, copying your movements.

Slowly but surely, he was brought out into the open. It was overcast and miserable outside (not the greeting he was expecting). His vision swam with flecks of green. How you managed to bring Rooks out here, he didn’t know.

Gang members helped him into a carriage that was parked out in front, and you followed, helping him onto the seat. You lowered him down so he was lying on his back, his head in your lap. “How did you find me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s a long story.” You pushed his hair out of his eyes, observing his wounds in worry. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner.”

Jacob smiled softly and grasped your hand, rocking with the gentle movement of the carriage. “You came; that’s what matters.”

The soothing motion of your thumb over the back of his hand finally convinced his brain to shut down, engulfing him in the comfort of sleep.

----------

He was back in the cellar. Except this time, he wasn’t alone. There was someone across from him, he couldn’t tell who it was, but they were familiar. And they were screaming. There was no way for him to get them to stop, even as he began to beg, to plead, to volunteer information if they would just stop hurting them…

He startled himself awake, gasping. His eyes were open and alert, with his skin covered in a sheet of sweat.

He wasn’t in a cellar; he was in a bed.

Deep breaths, just take deep breaths. Everything is fine...

He tried to sit up, but before he moved an inch a pained gasp left his lips. He clutched at his torso, as if holding it would stop the pain. Once it began to subside, he lifted the sheet off of his body. He was shirtless, and he was wearing clean breeches. He raised an eyebrow, but that was low on his list of priorities. Instead, he saw green, blue, and purple bruises saturating his skin. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his chest, no doubt securing a few broken ribs. He threw his legs over the side of the pain, pausing at the fresh wave of pain washing over his body. His eyes were closed as the door opened somewhere, causing him to jump slightly. “Jacob, you’re awake!”

He looked up and smiled when he saw you come towards him. “How long was I asleep?”

“Over a day. Um, did you call for me, just now?” You heard him scream for you, most likely in his sleep.

“No, why?” He furrowed his brows as he watched your expression.

You decided to not pry, and instead let him tell you of his own accord, whenever that may be. “No reason; I must have been hearing things. Listen, you need to rest for a bit longer. You’ve taken a lot of damage.”

“Nonsense; I’m fine now.” He went to stand up, but sat back down as his world began to spin. “I’m not staying here… wherever we are.”

“We’re in Lambeth Asylum. We took you straight to Florence Nightingale.”

“Where’s Evie?”

“I finally got her to rest; she hasn’t been able to sleep at all since…”

“Sounds like her.”

“What happened, Jacob? When you didn’t come back that night, I thought you went to the pub or something, but you still weren’t back by the next day. How did you end up outside London?”

“Haven’t the foggiest. One moment, I was following a man in a bowler hat, and the next I was ambushed by about fifty Templars.” Your lips quirked at the exaggeration.

“I was so worried, Jacob. They almost killed you.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than fisticuffs to take me out.”

You took his face in your hands. “While we’re here, you need a bath.”

“And here I thought you were going to be romantic.”

“Aha. Cute.”

The word echoed in Jacob’s mind as you prepared the hot water. Absently, his hand ran over his bandages, replaying the memories in his mind.

“Jacob!”

“Huh?” He didn’t realise he was staring off into space until you looked at him with concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine.”

You went over to him and helped him up, supporting him over to the tub. “Get in.”

“If you wanted to--”

“Don’t finish that sentence; we’ve seen each other naked enough times.”

He chuckled, undressed and slowly sat in the warm water, with help from you. “What about the bandages?”

“I’ll replace them afterwards; they’re there to keep your ribs in place.”

As Jacob washed his lower half, albeit slowly, you got a clean rag and dipped it in the water before turning his face towards you. You wiped the grime away from the open wounds on his forehead and lip. “Ow.” He didn’t flinch, but he still voiced his pain in a deadpanned tone.

“Sincerest apologies,” you teased, for a moment it was silent, with Jacob watching you intently, before he nudged your hand away, leaning in to kiss you. It was a kiss he never thought he’d give you so soon; the ‘I-thought-I’d-never-see-you-again’ kiss. You broke apart, knowing exactly what he was feeling. “It’s alright now,” you reassured, swapping the rag for hair oils. He returned the smile you gave him, allowing himself to breathe.

You poured water over his head as you tilted it back, shielding his face from the liquid. Then, you massaged his scalp, watching as he slowly became more relaxed.

“What do I have to do to get this more often?” he murmured softly.

“Just ask,” you laughed.

“What do I have to do... to do this for you?” You washed out the suds in his hair, sweeping it back.

“Again, ask -- wait until you’ve healed though.”

“If I must.”

----------

On the outside, Jacob was healing fine.

On the inside, scarring was plentiful.

He was back on the train after a few weeks, glad to be somewhere he could call home. Though his mind always seemed to be somewhere else.

Walking around the carriages, he was mostly doing desk work; Evie’s way to keep him off the streets until his body was healed.

Night terrors frequently plagued him. He’d bring you into his arms at the end of the day, but as he fell further into his subconscious, he began to heave out frightened breaths. You would sometimes wake up when it was at its height, but other times his cries for help, his begs and pleads and calls of your name as he startles, would sit you up straight. You’d wake him up as gently as you could, waiting patiently for him to realise where he was and who you were, the fright slowly dissipating.

“It’s okay, it’s alright.” You’d hold him as tightly as he held you, as if you’d never hold each other again. “You’re safe; I’m safe. We’re okay.” These were the only times Jacob revealed just how hard the recent event had hit him, preferring to lock it away and pretending it wasn’t there instead of facing it for what it is.

Slowly, he’d recover.

Slowly, he’d heal.

Slowly, everything will return to normal.

#Hope you had fun reading this #just a small experiment #if people like it i might do it with the others #but you know #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye oneshot #jacob frye imagine #assassin's creed #assassin's creed x reader #x reader

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subarubi · 4 years

Text

The List

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Everyone’s got a submission to his list. Watch this. Read that. Go there. But you’ve never given him anything. Not a single idea of what it is you like, what makes you feel at home in this world. Never made an effort to bridge the gap between the 40s and now, and yourself and him. And it oddly bothers him.

Word Count: 3.6 k

A/N: this is my very first reader insert i’ve written and am posting, so i’m excited :) appreciate anyone who takes the time to read!

Everyone’s got a submission to his list.

Watch this. Read that. Eat here. Go there. I Love Lucy. Moon Landing. Berlin Wall. Steve Jobs. Disco. Thai food. Star Wars. Nirvana. Rocky. Troubleman Soundtrack. Things he absolutely must do if he wants to call himself a modern man. Which, he does. But kind of doesn’t? Doesn’t even matter much now anyway.

You don’t.

Have a submission to his list, that is.

You’ve never been talkative anyway, he reasons. You’re quiet, reserved, and a bit of an outsider in this haphazardly thrown together group of extraordinary people.

Not that you’re ordinary, not in the slightest. You’re a comet. Your power, palpable. A volatile missile, ice and dust carving a hole through space. Nucleus, hard body amalgamation of granite muscle and tungsten bones. Tail, a whipping flurry of wild hair, muted decimation in its wake. No, you are far from ordinary.

You just... stick to the walls.

With arms-- arms he’s seen bring men to their knees-- crossed over your chest, face set in marble. Not unfriendly. You’ll talk nice when prompted, smile when appropriate, but you never initiate.

You seem to prefer a distance, a line between work life and personal life. A line that just doesn’t exist with the Avengers. Somehow, though, you manage to maintain the separation. Natasha’s prying questions, Stark’s intentional invasions of your personal space, Sam’s harmless but persistent flirting.

It’s all so easily deflected.

Made even easier now that the family you’d always resisted has been fractured.

You don’t care to foster intimate relationships with any of these people. And you definitely don’t care to put in a submission to Captain America’s To-Do List.

Everyone, everyone has something to add to his list. Even Bucky, Bucky, who has spent the better part of 70 years in and out of cryo, brain pulled apart and replaced with a new, foreign synapse each time, said something about a movie he’d seen somewhere.

It bothers him. It shouldn’t, but it does.

Steve can physically feel it-- that’s how much it bothers him. A now permanent path of his eyes to your form in a room. An itch in his fingers for a pen and paper anytime you say anything. A burn on the tops of his ears, hot and red, if you smile softly at some reference he doesn’t understand. Is that a signal? Would that be a suggestion if you actually talked to him?

Regardless, he trusts you. A boundless amount. Unexplainable given just how little the two of you have actually spoken.

You don’t make suggestions for the list, and it only really bothers him because he does trust you. He wants to know what you have to say, what you think is important for him to experience. What you like. If, perhaps, what makes you feel at home in this world could help him too.

It’s a Thursday and he’s thumbing the pages of his notebook when Natasha gets the idea.

The quinjet cabin is filled with a heavy, pregnant silence that no one can bear to cut through. Full-term. Unbearable pressure on the sciatic nerve-type silence. 9 months discomfort and anxiety, stifling their words.

A mission gone right, but leaving a bad taste in their mouths.

Bucky sits near the front, aimlessly bouncing a tennis ball against the starboard wall. Sam is in the co-pilot seat, trying to read a book with a red cover and yellow spine. Nat’s knuckles turn white on the yoke, keeping the quinjet on track even though it could pretty much fly on its own.

You like music, Steve thinks. You there now in the back corner-- fingers drumming to the private beat on your thigh, eyes closed and head tipped back, white of earbuds in stark contrast with your dark combat suit-- is a frequent sight. He imagines your recommendation might be an album for him to listen to.

Steve’s fingers ghost over the familiar scrawl of his list; some crossed out, some recently added.

He decides it could use more music.

You should just ask her, Natasha smirks, jutting her chin your direction. When she moved to sit next to him, Steve didn’t know. But, she is, after all, the spy. He’d been otherwise occupied anyway. He lifts his bowed head up to fix her with a puzzled look. Nat gives him that smirk and Steve has to fight back a groan. Knocking her knee against his, she teases, you know, she can probably feel you staring.

His eyes shoot over in your direction, sighing a little in relief when you seem to still be lost in the music pumping in your ears. Steve realizes Natasha isn’t talking about the list. Years now, and she still hasn’t given up on playing his personal matchmaker. It’s slowed, surely, due to circumstance, but she’s never satisfied. A date. He should ask you on a date, is what she means. He’s suddenly as red in the face as the tips of his ears and Natasha’s hair.

Steve’s not blind.

You’re attractive.

Soft and hard in so many ways. Lips, pink and pillowy and parted ever so slightly. Sharp line of your jaw clenched, brows furrowed. The gentle curve of your neck, warm skin disappearing beneath a dirt stained, hole ridden suit that hasn’t seen mending hands in months. Not since you followed him in his free fall from grace.

You’d followed. Wordlessly. Burned out, abandoned by coworkers and the public, you resigned yourself to this life of Motel hopping and operating outside of the realm of what’s legal. Though not outside of what’s right.

Pondering what any of that could mean feels forbidden to Steve.

The hard shell of a man, not any less great, but perhaps less sure.

He looks back at Natasha with a low shake of his head, abruptly shutting his notebook. She sighs, but takes the hint. Enough. Not now.

Almost a year later, he does ‘just ask’.

It’s kind of like a date, in barely-there ways. You’re left alone, facing each other in a booth, knees brushing. You go to the bathroom, Steve orders for the both of you. Kind of like a date.

Stuffed in the sticky booth of some diner in Middle America, alone together. Natasha gone off on her own again. Bucky recovering in Wakanda. Sam out like a light on a creaking Motel 6 mattress-- hard, just like he likes it. Your muscles like jelly, stomachs rumbling with the dull ache of hunger, soaked head to toe from the torrential downpour outside. No idle chit chat for you two. Steve stares out the window, impossible blue eyes following the path of a raindrop. You ring the bottom of your shirt out onto the small bit of floor between two pairs of feet. It splatters on the ground loudly.

Not a date.

You risk a glance at him over the piping hot brim of your coffee mug. Silently marvel at just how much he’s changed through thin white wisps of steam. More than longer hair, more than a handsome and disguising beard, more than the ripped out star of his suit sitting in a heap on the motel room floor. You can’t say how, it’s more a feeling.

He’s a lot quieter now. Like you.

Steve’s always been stoic. Passionate when needs be, but not exactly loose with his emotions; never as restrained now. His voice was always strong and sure, but never quite so gruff from frequent disuse as in this past year. You suppose it’s partially your fault. With Natasha gone much more now and Sam talking enough to carry a conversation himself, you’re not exactly great company. You might be one of the reasons he speaks less and less.

A pretty waitress is smiling wide at him, a signal that she knows. A beard and hat pulled down as far as possible would never be enough to hide those golden boy blue eyes.

Those eyes millions of women would gladly melt into a puddle of rainwater on the dirty floor of some diner in Midwest America for. You’d have to ask for a mop later to clean up the mess. Yours and the one spilling from ‘Molly’s lips.

I heard you have a list, she smiles coy. You tuck in to the plate of chocolate chip pancakes doused in maple syrup as she bats her eyelashes down at him.

Steve shifts, glancing over at you seemingly uninterested in the conversation. He’d given up on you having anything to do with the list weeks ago. He may be a fugitive-- may no longer be an Avenger, Captain America-- but he’s still a nice guy.

Yes, he laughs kindly, hands clasped together on the table top.

You sniff and his eyes snap to yours again, tense. You’ll have to leave soon. Now that ‘Molly’ from the midnight shift at Red’s diner has seen Steve Rogers and his pretty blue eyes, you’ll have to wake Sam from his long overdue sleep and be gone before dawn. You wish he could’ve been left longer. It’s just how things work these days. A long shot from living plush, courtesy of Tony Stark. But you can wait long enough to finish coffee and breakfast.

Can I make a suggestion? she leans down and speaks in soft tones, a wicked grin hidden beneath those sweet, innocent looking red lips.

You raise a brow when Steve politely nods, pulling out his trusty notebook from his back pocket. Steve asks to borrow a pen which she hastily holds out to him, purposely having their fingers brush in the exchange. Surely he knows she’s flirting, he’s not that naive. There’s no way. He’s a nice guy, maybe too nice.

She’s young. You imagine she has spent more than a few nights looking up at a poster of his face, clean shaven and perfect, playing this exact conversation in her head. That she has carefully thought over what her input would be.

You should definitely watch ‘Friends’ when you have the time.

You snort. Loudly.

Molly instantly shrinks in on herself, deflated. Steve gives you an odd look, which you brush off and promptly resume shoveling the sweet breakfast food into your mouth.

He’s so kind, it’s downright disgusting.

Steve makes a point of writing it down underneath ‘Stevie Wonder’, smiling, Thank you. And for good measure, when he returns the pen, Captain America runs his ring finger across her knuckle. Oh, he knew. So considerate, you almost want to smirk when you catch it.

She’s gone now to wait on the other late night stragglers, blushing and gently ghosting her fingers over the spot he’d touched. Your hurtful mocking isn’t enough to dampen the feel of being caught in Steve Rogers’ warm glow.

His knee presses along the inside of yours again when he shifts to shove the small book back into his pants. You take a measured sip of coffee.

Steve raises a brow in your direction, Did you have a better suggestion?

There. He’s asked.

Maybe he could finally breathe in your presence now.

No luck considering you simply shrug and break from his gaze. So unreadable. It’s frustrating. He has half a mind to write ‘shrug’ underneath ‘Friends’. Are you? Friends, he means. You’ve known each other what feels like a lifetime now. At whatever this is for a year and a half. He can count on one hand the amount of conversations not involving a mission you’ve shared.

He trusts you with his life, which, after everything that’s happened, is a rare commodity. He’s sure you feel the same.

You’d say that no, you’re not friends. You probably wouldn’t deny the unfathomable trust in each other, though. That’s comforting at least. You sleep a bed away every night after all.

Steve doesn’t really sleep.

He doesn’t know you know that; you don’t sleep either.

He’s staring, maybe he doesn’t realize it.

You’ve abandoned your fork, suddenly feeling sick with it. That fucking blue. It split you like butter and might’ve knocked you over had you not been tightly gripping your knee under the table.

So handsome it hurts.

How could anyone be that pretty? Heartbreaking. Even before the serum-- you’ve seen the pictures. Breathtaking. The beard. The beard is really something. So so pretty. Adonis and Aphrodite. Michelangelo’s David. Torturous.

It’s been almost a full minute now. Of him, just staring.

You clear your throat in hopes it might pull him out of whatever it is that has claimed him. It doesn’t work. You talk just to end it. You know for certain that will surprise him.

Why do you even keep up with it? The list. That stupid goddamned list.

You can see the flush on Steve’s neck when he does realize that he’d stared at you, through you, in you, for the longest two minutes in history. He coughs into his fist.

What do you mean? his brow furrows, and you almost want to touch the crease between them to make it go away. It’s a ridiculous thought. One you shake away with another measured sip of coffee.

Doesn’t it seem... you shrug, and there’s an urge in him to grab you by the shoulders and beg you to stop fucking shrugging so goddamned much. Steve thinks he might go insane if he sees those shoulders twitch up again. I dunno, kind of pointless now?

In a way, yes, it is.

Steve can’t exactly pop in a film or binge watch a tv show like this. And sitting down to listen to read a book doesn’t really seem right.

He doesn’t answer. You watch him finally pick up his own fork, cutting into an omelette more cheese and meat than egg.

It still rains down hard.

Steve pays the bill, smiling tightly at Molly when she lays her hand on his bicep. He tips her well, she was sweet and young and still half terrified from just you snorting.

You follow a few paces behind him out of the diner, mindful of maintaining that distance.

Neither of you bother to fight against getting soaked.

You’re both immediately set on edge when three cars pull into the parking lot, tightly together. It’s the kind of thing you’d been trained to be suspicious of. The kind of thing that never means anything good when around people like you. It means they have come for you both. It means you'll probably have to fight.

He pauses underneath the buzzing neon sign. His back is to you, the tense expanse of muscles outlined by the wet shirt clinging to his skin. A breath. Another.

Giggling.

You hear giggling of all things, bubbling through the parking lot. Girls, a whole crowd of them, spilling out of the cars, hushing each other. His name is on their cherry chapstick lips. Not his name, his title: Captain America. Molly had texted them, that’s clear now.

It’s better, at least, than your previous estimation. But it’s trouble nevertheless.

Steve turns to face you and somehow, the soft glow of red on his face only makes his eyes bluer. He takes a step forward. You understand. You always understand in the absence of words. There’s a link between the two of you when you’re in that working mode. That trust, tangible in how you too, step forward.

It’s procedural. You fall into it so easily.

His head ducks, yours raises. Eyes locked in one another, but ears elsewhere, listening. Not touching, but near to it. A breath away. Swaying in the rain. You feel it sizzle on your skin, see it coming off him in steam.

No one bothers the two lovers, obviously too occupied with each other to be superheroes. Natasha had taught you both that.

It pours harder yet.

The giggles fade into nothing, drowned in the monsoon-- no space between the fat drops pelting the earth. They couldn’t see the two of you now even if they tried.

Why did you come? You never really said, he has to shout, the rain is so loud.

You’ve left a lot unsaid. Some things are better that way.

Steve’s hands, large and powerful, stop your shoulders mid shrug. Don’t, he squeezes his eyes shut, drops of rain trickling down the slopes of his nose, For the love of God, don’t fucking shrug.

Everything is heavy: your drenched clothes, his hands still gripping your shoulders, the crushing weight in your chest-- the rock lodged in your throat with all the things you’ve never said for the sake of some stupid credo about not letting things get personal. You’ve let the words die on your lips and for what?

It did nothing. The lines blurred anyway, out of your control.

The truth: there hasn’t been a distance greater than the width of his notebook between the two of you for a long time now.

You pretend.

You both pretend that absence of any extended conversation means you haven’t already learned everything about each other just by watching. Stealing glances when the other is turned away.

Steve pretends that the reason your input in the list matters so much to him is because he wants to know the people he’s trusting with his life.

He already knows you. Not your favorite color or band, but you. Your outline in the darkness of a thousand motels. The smell of you under layers of grime and sweat and blood-- you’re scrubbed clean with the same soap he uses. Your breathing patterns: one when you’re resting with your earbuds in, head bopping to songs he’s not been privy to; another when you’re side by side in combat, moving together like one; the most prominent, when you’re both laying in bed staring at the ceiling, too lost in thought to even care about sleep.

You know him too.

His question. How do you answer? You followed. Wasn’t that answer enough?

Where’s your notebook? You ask instead, though it’s more of a call in this downpour.

Steve’s brow furrows again, left hand flying back to pat the small book in his pocket. This time, you do reach out, though you don’t have to go very far. His breath quickens when the pad of your thumb brushes against the wet crease of skin pulled together in uncertainty. He swallows hard, rifling through the pages a little messy because he can’t stop looking at you. Your hand stays there until the pressure releases. For a good second after, too.

When he finally opens it up to the two pages worth of ‘to-do’, the ink is running. Black to blue. A melted mess of jumbled letters on delicate paper one wrong twitch away from ripping.

You take it from his hands, gentle, because you’re pretty sure this notebook has been a lifeline for him. Grounding. There’s sketches in there that you’ve only caught glimpses of.

You lament now that it has been ruined by the rain.

I don’t have a pen, he says softly. Softly, because he’s closer now than you’ve ever been. You’ve never heard him so soft. So cautious that his voice might scare you away.

You spare a languid glance up to see just how close he is. It must be only inches because you can hear him through the rain. You tilt your chin to the sky, heavy lids widening slightly.

He’s closer than even that. Not inches, centimeters. If you hadn’t been swaying in synchronization and instead leaned forward at the same time...

You don’t even know what you’re doing. For the first time in a while, you’re scared.

The book is closed between your palms, the list shut. You’ll deal with it another day. You’ll help him remember everything that was on there so he can rewrite it.

Steve leans in more. Not enough.

I’ll just tell you then, you nod. Steve’s chest brushes against yours as you both suck in heavy breaths. You press the notebook there, against the hard swells of his front, closer to his heart.

Which question are you answering? Why did you come? Or did you have a better suggestion?

Bob Dylan.

What?

Bob Dylan. Bringing It All Back Home. 1965.

Oh.

The stupid list. For years now, that’s all he’s wanted to hear. But there, under the neon sign, in the parking lot of Red’s diner, drenched in the deluge of rain, it’s not enough.

We’ll listen to it together, you smile and he’s never seen it quite so big or bright.

Together. It is enough.

Your lips taste of rain and maple syrup. He’ll remember it for a while. Forever, maybe. And him, you don’t recall something ever being so rich in your life. Steve’s mouth, so decadent you could die with a sated smile still. It’s all the sweeter, the press of your lips together; in it all those words left unsaid. You breathe them into his mouth, warm and red and waiting, and he sears them back into yours with the delicate slide of his tongue. Mouths together form lost sentences and sing. A crescendoing flurry of soundless vowels and consonants that only the two of you will ever hear.

Steve faintly hears the notebook fall in a splash at your feet and you can feel the grin in his lips by the scratch of his beard against your chin. You’ll feel guilty for dropping it later, but your hand had been hellbent on curling itself under his arms and around his shoulder. His own hands cradle your neck and face, slipping across the rain wet planes of your face. And those forearms, like hams, rest heavily on your shoulders-- so that you can never shrug again. If you can’t find the words, Steve’s content to have you speak them on his lips.

Everyone’s got a submission to his list.

But yours come with a kiss.

Yours is the only one that he’s ever really cared about.

Sam complains weeks later that he’s sick of hearing Bob Dylan.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #fanfiction #self insert #marvel #one shot #captain america x reader

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