#so fucking loud in my left ear and does not appear to be going away any time tonight

[cinnamontoads]

the tinnitus

#so fucking loud in my left ear and does not appear to be going away any time tonight #guess i’m not sleeping tonight #which is awesome i have class in the morning LOL ! #personal

[seraphdreams]

DON'T FORGET ME | BAJI KEISUKE.

⋆˙⟡♡ synopis. going to a concert with your best friend certainly has its perks. and so does hooking up with one of the bandmates.

⋆˙⟡♡ contains. bimbo!reader, rockstar!baji, unprotected sex, pet names, asphyxiation, creampie, semi-public sex, baji being sleazy + eighteen plus, mdni.

⋆˙⟡♡ word count. 3.3k.

“Thanks for coming to tonight’s show! Here’s one more song before we head out!”

You’d never been much of a fan of underground rock music, and quite frankly, you still weren’t. Something about obnoxiously loud vocals backed up with random electric guitar riffs just never settle right within your spirit. In fact, you almost forgot the real reason you stood just yards away from one of the biggest up and coming rock bands.

For one thing, the air was incredulously too suffocating. Bodies upon bodies virtually sewn together despite the spacious arena that held them, and the stage lights abnormally dim—Only a few saffron-hued luminescences casted upon the four males that appeared on the platform. You hardly saw the members in the far back on their guitars but of what you could make out, one had white hair decorated with a small black streak and tan skin that glimmered under the hot lights while the other, with a dark neck tattoo and bold eyes, drank from his half-full water bottle.

Mostly by the front and center of the stage, occupied the drummer and the person who was just speaking out from the mic mere seconds ago.

“That’s my fucking brother!” Your best friend and little sister of the main vocalist, Airi shouted. She was but the replication of her brother; large, emerald orbs dazzled with long dark brown eyelashes and heaps of wavy blonde hair that fell downward to her lower back. Her outfit choice of leather pants donned with a matching corset top left none of her figure to the imagination, an ode to her love of the genre.

Wherever Airi went, you followed, and when she proposed the idea of seeing her brother and his bandmates perform, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity—Not to mention the free front row tickets he offered.

It was clear Chifuyu heard his sister from the crowd, looking down at the two of you with an illustrious smile and gesturing a two finger salute. He inched back with the microphone taut in the grip of his left hand and sent off a cue to the rest of his bandmates. Music followed hastily after and he began to sing.

Throughout the whole show, your eyes remained locked onto the raven-haired drummer. You marveled at each and every ministration he made, how his demeanor seemed to switch with each passing song and how the sweat accumulated on his perfectly toned body. In your head, you could’ve cursed Airi for not telling you about him beforehand, he’s totally your type.

You bobbed your head along to the melody that flowed within your ears and it was evident to Airi that you were enjoying the show you formally told her you “probably wouldn’t enjoy.”

She leaned over to sonorously whisper-yell in your ear. “Having fun?” The expiration of her words practically fell to flat ears had you not seen her in your peripheral view. In all honesty, you were more-so focused on the aggression that sexy drummer displayed while he played. How did he not break the drumset? Surely, he was strong enough to do so.

“Huh?” You peered over at her, vacant eyes meeting her jaded ones. She gave you her signature allknowing look and turned back to face the band.

Soon enough, the music stopped and the venue was filled with its final cheers. The stage went ominously tenebrous and the rest of the audience filed out of the stadium, except for you and Airi.

“Wanna go chill backstage?” Airi proposed. She pointed her thumb in the direction of a hallway filled with staff. “Are we even allowed to?” you started. “The place is packed with security.”

Airi mirthfully elbowed you, that sly smile on her perfectly made-up face. “I’m family, they’ll understand.”

One thing you couldn’t knock about your best friend was her adventurousness. Truthfully, you were just as bad as her, yet a bit more wary of getting in trouble—Especially if the law was involved, but you liked fun. And this was definitely what you needed. “Show me the way then, Little Matsuno.”

And with that, the both of you had set foot on your way to heading backstage.

Which undoubtedly felt like the case until you found yourself stranded among other concertgoers and personnel that you lost sight of your friend. She couldn’t have gotten far so where the hell was she? You continued your search by calling her phone, walking in any direction to pick up the slightest amount of signal.

“Hey.”

The bellow of a deep voice stopped you dead in your tracks and you sheepishly looked up with silent hopes that you hadn’t gotten in it with the wrong person. Much to your dismay (Or maybe it was a blessing), the man you’d been eyeing all night stood tall above you. Long, wavy noir tresses sat at his wide shoulders to match his black tank top that was slightly rolled up at the hem, showing off his midriff and that delicious v-line. His toned and ink littered arms folded across his chest while an undistinguishable expression etched over his features.

“Uh, hi.” You blinked a few times in dubiousness at the circumstance you so gracefully landed yourself in. Proximal distance to his figure led you to tread backward a few steps until you were at a comfortable enough range to take him in fully.

He looked so fucking mean, thick eyebrows pursed together, and sharp, amber eyes narrowed upon your figure.

“What do ya think you’re doin’?”

You had half a mind to drop to your knees and show him what was on your mind, yet you remained to keep yourself where you stood, for his sake of course.

His eyes bored holes into your frame. Whereas you couldn’t keep up with his unwavering eye contact, he managed to take note of every little quirk about you. “Um.. I was looking for my friend.” Your throat felt dry as you began to speak. “She said I could come backstage—Her name’s Airi Matsuno, Chifuyu’s sister.” The words got quieter as you spewed them out. You weren’t sure if it was your nerves or the intimidation, he’s so much taller up close.

“Eh? Fuyu’s lil’ sis?” He looked behind him to one of his bandmates, that same one as before with the blond streaks and neck tattoo. It seemed as though every member had genes blessed by the deities up above. “Tora, does Fuyu have a sister?”

The man you come to realize as “Tora” affirms your claim, adding that he had just seen Airi and Chifuyu leave the venue.

“Damn it, Ai.” You thought to yourself as if she’d actually given one day to not be herself.

The drummer turns back to look at you, this time unfolding his arms and standing somewhat widely. His thick dark brows remained quirked in a perplexed manner. He leans down to meet your gaze, hands hidden in his pockets as he concludes. “Some friend you got there. She left ya all alone.”

“She does that sometimes.” You reply.

He straightened up back to his full height, his expression softening, and a slight crack of a smile on his lips. “Guess i’ll keep ya company ‘til she comes back.”

Any other day, your humility would’ve been disregarded to the back of your mind. In all actuality, you were discourteous and loved attention, yet the feeling of a celebrity seemingly stooping low enough for some lost, 20-something year old groupie in disguise, kept your modesty in perfect condition.

“Oh, you don’t have to-“

Your words were quickly cut off by his cold demeanor as he opened one of the doors in the narrow hallway beside him. “But I wanna. /Ven aqui/.“ Eyes looked into yours like daggers and you couldn’t quite tell if he were vexed at your facade or if he were just blessed with bedroom eyes.

You followed him into what seemed to be his greenroom. It’s complete with a set of drums on one side near the corner and a half opened window, and a leather couch in the middle, not to mention the rack of clothes on the other edge.

“Didn’t catch your name, though. You are?” He questioned, sitting at the drumset in front of you. You made yourself comfortable on the plush couch, pulling the hem of your pink bodycon down in hopes you don’t reveal too much.

“I’m Y/N. And you are?”

He raises an eyebrow then follows it with a hearty laugh. “You came to my show ‘nd ya don’t even know my name?” You felt heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment, but he was right. You didn’t know any of the members aside from the obvious, Chifuyu.

“My friend dragged me here, I just go wherever she goes.” You retort, a cordial grin on your face. He adjusts his sitting position and spreads his legs slightly.

It’s coming. The urge to suck dick.

“Yeah? Name’s Baji. You can call me Keisuke though.”

He pulled the pair of drumsticks from his back pocket and quietly tapped away. “You’re cute.” Dexterously, he twirled one of the sticks between his fingers where you noticed his black lacquered nails paired with the skull-esque designs of the rings that adorned said digits. “You like a college student or something?” Heat spread across your cheeks at the comment. A band member calling you cute was not something you thought you’d experience tonight, but there’s lots you haven’t experienced yet.

“Mhm. It’s a lot though, I'm thinking of dropping out.” More calm your voice was, and he picked up on your energy, sending a stern glance your way.

“Nah, don’t do that.” The melodic tapping from the drumsticks halt. “Ya seem like a smart girl, don’t be like me.”

Curiosity overtakes you, causing you to press forward. “And what are you like, Keisuke?” His name tasted saccharine falling off your tongue and filling your ears with the sweetest music. Keisuke, Keisuke, Keisuke.

“Dropped out at 14, ran around with a few gangs, and now ‘m doing music.” His words register in his mind before he continues. “But ‘m makin’ good money now, maybe you should live like me a little.”

A giggle resonated within the room and he felt his heart swell at the cute laughter. He wasn’t quite sure what urged your joy but he returned it with a smile of his own. You truly do have the prettiest face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Ya know..” His words slipped off his tongue like honey and in turn you gave him the most of your attention, curious eyes locked on his dismal bronze ones. “I got this beat I can’t get out my head. Can I get your opinion?” His expression was glazed over in calculation with a slight pat to his thigh that you seemingly picked up. Instinctively, your body moved on its own and replied to his silent call. As you nestled into his lap, you only hoped that this had been what he was asking for. “Mhm.” Your response was curt and barely escaped under the pressure of your breath.

Your back was pressed against his chest and your core was slotted over his thigh, a relatively intimate position despite the need for cordial relations. He started up on the drums, stirring up the common one-two, one-two beat that emphasized its focus on the round bass drum that sat at the bottom of the set. It was as if with each press to the drum pedal the muscle of his thigh dangerously tensed beneath your heat, eliciting surges of delirium and pleasure straight to the very source. It’s clear he knew what he was doing from the onsight of your glossy lips parting and the faintest decibel of a gasp leaving your lips.

“Y’like it?” Deep voice ghosted over your ear as he leaned in precariously close. “Y’sure it won’t sound better like this?”

The beat he originally created morphed into one of a sonorous, heavier tone. Your body vaguely rocked over his, your tits bouncing from the nefarious rising and falling of his leg in the sweetest, yet most sinister tandem with his flexing thighs.

And all restraint vanished from within you as you diligently rutted your hips. You felt embarrassed. Like a needy nuisance needed to be taken care of, yet again, your humility sat idly by and pride dwindled from your very being.

“That—That sounds nice.” Your reply was breathy and if you thought enough of this through, your little plan of passing your insatiability off as adjusting your position would’ve worked on him. But it didn’t.

The sultry, damp sensation he felt on his blackened denim pants told him otherwise. Baji chuckled to no one in particular, the sharp canines on display while he smirked mirthfully to himself. He’s had his fair share of girls practically throwing themselves at him, and still, you were the most fun to play with.

The flexing and relaxing of his muscles didn’t let up, as with your ruthless humping. You held tightly to his knees with the pressure only gradually increasing when you felt yourself crumbling in his hold.

On the verge of your awaiting orgasm, Baji’s lips press against the shell of your studded ear.

“I saw you starin’ in the crowd tonight—Couldn’t keep my eyes off that tiny lil’ dress you’re wearing.” He moved one hand from the drumset to snake over the front of your garment, calloused hands kneading at your soft and pert breasts. The movement was one of full dexterity. Your nipples ached as he pinched and rolled them between his fingers.

“Knew you weren’t wearin’ a bra.” his lips against your ear trailed down to your neck which caused the helplessly rutting of your core over his thigh, strikingly close to orgasm. You had managed to keep your whimpers low but due to proximity, you left nothing to be unheard. A harsh tug of your nipples pulled you from the hazed out state you were entranced in.

“Gotta tell Tora I won our little bet.”

False lashes fluttered with every move the both of you made. Your voice was soft as you responded, “You’re just so fucking fine, Couldn’t help myself.”

He was used to the attention. He’s a 6’0 rockstar with a checkered past — Any girl would fall for that cliche shtick, yet something within him wanted to toy with your naivety. Would you really believe anything he said?

“I don’t get much attention from fans, but you? You’re special.”

It was that moment that sent you over the edge, a lewd cry followed by your body convulsing, pretty face screwed up in pleasure, letting Baji know your release had hit you, and fucking hard at that.

“Oh ho? That did it for ya, huh?” He watched in awe at the sopping mess of his pants while allowing you to ride out your high completely before those same strong hands bunched your dress up at the hip.

You rested against his back for a while as stray pants waned themselves from your lips.

“Ya poor thing, I ain’t even get to finish my drummin.’” his hands left your tits as he rasped out the words and settled on turning you around to face him on his lap. “Sorry..” you meekly responded. An airy chuckle sounded itself from him as he whips out his throbbing hard length.

It should be illegal to be as thick as a fucking Coke can, yet there he was — The tip flushed a deep mauve, and pretty pearlescent beads of precum streaming down his cock and over the few veins that seemed to run along the shaft. The prettiest dick you’ve ever seen, and you stared in awe until the deep clearing of his throat caught your attention.

Pumping it shallowly, he pushed those cute fucking pink lace panties to the side, revealing your glistening and sticky folds to him. He prodded the tip at your hole, bullying your core that left you aching for his touch.

“Ride it for me, muñequita.”

With no hesitation, you sank yourself down onto his cock, carefully taking him in.

“Fuck—” The low whimper is sounded from you as you began to bounce yourself on his lap. He felt impossible to take and with your hands rested over his shoulders paired with his arms at your waist, slowly pushing you further down, you didn’t think you could take it. “That’s it, baby. Ride it like it’s yours.” He cooed, letting his head fall back as you got him off.

You bit at your plush bottom lip to elicit any moans from flying which reigned ineffective when you picked up pace and rolled your hips, allowing his cock to drag against that spongey spot within your walls that had your resolve weakening.

Obscenities and the reverberation of skin on skin bounced against the walls of his green room. You were tighter than any girl he’d ever been in and much cuter too.

Once you were able to fall into a comfortable rhythm of bouncing on his cock he hastily began to work toward his own release having grown tired of your saunterous riding.

He lifted you up off his length and turned you around so that you were bent over his drumset. “I know you were trying your best,” he followed up his words with a quick slap to your ass before aligning his cock with your slit once more, “But i’m gonna need better than that.”

Baji noticed the way you faltered once he built up his own pace, with more fervor than the previous. You almost fell forward with the trajectory of the thrusts and to his chagrin, your moans amplified.

“D-Deep! ‘S so deep!” You cried wantonly. You felt your guts get turned inside out with his vigor. A scoff was heard from him in response, the inked up hands that rested at your hips now filing up your body and hooking at your elbows, holding you back flush against him as he continued to hit harder within your walls.

You felt unsteady when his right hand trailed up to your neck and gripped at your jaw before his index and middle finger slipped past your lips into your mouth. The metal of the rings tasted metallic and felt cold against your tongue, those being the least of your concerns when you felt your high from previously coil right up within you once more.

Without warning, you were hit with your release that left you limp in his hold, his fingers retracting from your mouth and messily running down your fat bottom lip where he also smeared a mix of saliva and cherry oil gloss down your chin.

Just momentarily from the sight of how pretty you looked, convulsing and crumbling because of his doing, he followed suit and filled your insides in thick, hot spurts of his cum, drops dripping down your thigh when he continued to rut inside you, emptying himself of his need.

It took you both a while to settle down, his lips hungrily taking in your neck down to your shoulder.

“Was that deep enough for ya?” He rasped and haziness filled your system when you pant to respond. “I-“

Just before you could respond, there’s a knock at the door and a familiar voice accompanied.

“Y/N! You in here? I’m ready to leave!”

It’s Airi, loud and clear after her awaited reappearance.

“Shit.” Baji cursed under his breath. He pulled you off of him and bent you over slightly, fetching a thick black marker from the table beside him and holding the cap between his teeth.

The uncomfortable sensation of the felt tip on your ass trailing down to your thigh lasted mere seconds as you tried to make out the shapes you couldn’t see. “Here’s my number. Don’t forget me.”

He stood you up properly and fixed your skirt, sending you off with a pat to your ass.

“I’ll see you again, Keisuke?”

“Damn right you will.”

tags - @meena-in-a-nutshell @imkumichan @messofavs @aotdump @saaraunicorn @cloudnitee @saffronity @aasouthteranoswife @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @anahryal @withlovetengen @zuuki @keooooothings @bunnyyamor @koucaine @bluerskiees @ready2readagain @sarnghoe

+ a great big thanks to my moot ! @lovelysho thank you so much for beta reading my love !

– all rights reserved © seraphdreams 2023. do not repost, change, copy, republish, read, translate, or recommend my work on tumblr or any other platforms without prior permission. feedback is widely appreciated!

#tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tr smut #tokyorev smut #baji smut #baji x reader #baji x reader smut #baji keisuke smut #baji keisuke x reader #baji x you #baji x y/n #keisuke baji smut #keisuke baji x reader #keisuke baji x reader smut #baji keisuke x you #baji keisuke x y/n #keisuke baji x you #keisuke baji x y/n #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyo revengers baji #tr x reader #tr x reader smut #tr baji #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev x reader

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 

No. “Thanks.” 

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 

“Hi.” 

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 

“What about Steve.” 

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 

“He… He’s hurt.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 

People don’t just die. 

They don’t. 

He’s fine. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 

He needs a smoke. 

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 

It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 

“Eddie?” 

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 

It’s so fucking surreal. 

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 

And silence reigns. 

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 

Tell me about your favourite person. 

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 

“What, the ice cream parlour?” 

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 

“He saved your life?” 

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 

“In the fire? Were you there?” 

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 

It is, isn’t it? 

You’re so blue, Stevie. 

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice. 

Yeah. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #who did this to you #something has Shifted in this part and i wanna do a literary/meta analysis of it but i dont wanna ruin the fun or be annoying but hhh #also sorry if you don't like this bc it's so different from the other two but the sudden adrenaline crash will do that to ya #we'll get Blue back soon don't you worry 🤍 #also eddie's mind is running in circles and he doesn't have wayne to stop him this time sooo if this feels repetitive and redundant??? #then let's pretend it should read that way actually (and also eddie is an obsessive little guy he'll ruminate forever if he doesn't have #an outlet sooo) #also rambling fumbly robin going deadly still over an injured steve is the hill i will die on actually like that just makes me feral #dio words

[chrollohearttags]

even tho armin so toxic..yall still be having the best make up sex everrr!! Im talking about him like all up in your ear moanin n groanin,telling you how sorry he is and how much he loves that pus pus.Just for him to repeat the same shit again!😭😭

hello!!!! 😭😭😭 because armin is just not going to do right for shit idc! But he ain’t got to when he got good dick.

content warning: toxic ass sex, breeding and pregnancy mention, daddy’s used a few times, dacryphilia, squirting, bulging

you could fight with this man for the entire week. Blowing up his phone, getting into fights and even kicking him out after his ten thousandth screw up but nothing was ever going to change. You were attached to one another in the worst way possible. Especially when he came through after the smoke cleared and made amends in the best way he knew how..

“ ‘Minnnn… ‘s fucking deep in this pussy..shit! Feels so good..”

“I know it does, I can tell by the way you’re squeezing, baby. You don’t want me to pull out, do you?”

a question he already knew the answer to before you even spoke. Your cunt clamping down and spasming with each deep stroke he delivered. Positioned perfectly on his right hip with your body angled ever so slightly onto your side as well so he could hit your spot with precision. Keeping a hand planted gently in the center of your torso, Armin left a trail of kisses along your jawbone, filling your head with all sorts of deceitful things. Promises he never planned to follow through on, apologies that didn’t mean a thing and of course, his favorite thing to say when he had you at your most vulnerable:

“Got me all in your stomach..pressing through that skin. Makes me wanna get your fine ass pregnant—you’d look so pretty with my baby inside of you, sweetheart. I just know it..”

the words causing you to come unglued; breaking at the seams and all of your resolve shattered. You had caved in the worst way. Not only allowing back into your home but your bed, your body and now your mind as well. What was it about him that made you believe every word he said?! He wasn’t faithful, he was always more hassle than he was worth but there was one thing that Armin done better than anyone on this earth and that was make you feel like you were ascending. Fucking you so good, you’d thought you saw heaven! Even if he put you through hell for the rest of the time together..

“You gonna let daddy come in that pussy? Please?…you just feel so warm, I don’t wanna leave it..”

pleading to you all helpless with his hand stroking the side of your face, keeping your gazes locked together. Meanwhile, he was still pounding up into you. His strokes growing faster with each passing second and that slight bump still appearing at the pit of your lower belly. Cream sloshing all around his shaft and making a mess of him and the sheets. Suddenly, a tear fell from your eye and he’d be quick to swipe it away with his thumb and quell you with a barrage of sloppy kisses. Telling you how much he loved you and how sorry he was for stressing you out. But he wouldn’t do it again..so as long as you let him nut inside of you. Right now, you’d believe just about anything if he kept fucking you like this. Reaching down to rub your clit, Armin suckled on your neck and tried to stifle his own moans but to no avail and it was then that you truly couldn’t resist.

“This dick is yours, baby. I belong to you and only you..promise. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes!..fuck..”

“And this pussy? It’s mine, right? No one else can have it..get you this wet. All me?”

“Yes daddy! It’s your pussy..take it.”

all the confirmation he needed because only seconds later, you’d feel him come to a complete halt and suddenly, he’d go quiet. That was until he let out a loud grunt along with a giant load of warm, sticky cum. Pulsating inside of you with rope like consistency. As if he had been waiting all week to do that. The inviting warmth making him drain every single drop into that little womb. Probably fulfilling his earlier promise of making you carry his child. Even so, you were just still floating on your own cloud of afterglow so you didn’t care much about the consequences at the moment. Only being in his grasp and being fed all his pretty little lies.

“Thank you, baby. I needed that so much and I know you did too..I love you, (y/n).”

even if he didn’t mean a word.

#cherry’s asks 🍒 #aot x black reader #toxic armin #armin headcanons #armin imagines #armin drabble #black fem reader #armin x fem reader #armin x black reader #black reader #black reader smut #armin smut #armin attack on titan #armin x reader #arminarlert #armin artlert imagines #armin artlert #armin x black fem reader #armin x y/n #attack on titan armin #armin snk #aot au #armin x reader smut #no way this man got me up foaming like a rabid dog at 7 am #but here we are #cw breeding #cw smut #cw toxic relationship #mature cw #queued posts

[the7thheroine]

Inspired by their Ren hana fanfic where the reader was a stripper @6robotmonster6 go check them out.

Ren hana x Stripper soulmate au

(If your soulmate tries to injure you, it doesn’t work and instead the wound will close right back up as if nothing happened)

As you sat in the changing room, adjusting your costume and fixing your makeup, you could hear the other girls chattering around you about the new owner who had bought out the club recently as of last night alongside the loud bass blasting music outside the door.

“He’s a beast skin! A fox at that too.”

“I heard he’s apart of a human trafficking ring and does some live streams with the people he takes!”

“I heard he’s into some pretty twisted stuff…”

“Im going try and score with him. he gave the girls last night a generous tip. Just for a chat and a kiss! He’s definitely got some cash on him to share out.” Cut in ‘Angel’ putting down her makeup brush before standing up and stretching, throwing you a wink making kissing gestures.

She was one of the most booked dancer and was the old club owners favourite dancer considering her devilish personality. She was sly, always managing to twist the customers into giving her more money, you would consider her a friend if you weren’t constantly competing to get the most customers and money.

You look up at her, she never usually is enthusiastic about performing, so maybe this guy was a serious donor. “Have fun. I’m on the pole for awhile then I’m on the private rooms for an hour.” You chimed in before standing up and doing up your heels.

She turned back to you offering a quick wink. “Be careful alright? Your the new meat and that makes you naive.” She called laughing. “Says you! Your trying to score with a gang leader in human trafficking.” You rolled your eyes. Walking away.

As you walked in you couldn’t help but take a look at the people around the stage. Angel had already made her move and was sat under the arm of the new boss who seemed… very short. The only feature you could see that gave away the beast skin was his eyes and sharp claws that were caressing angels leg and his amber eyes keeping a close eye on her as if she was his prey. Around the both of them sat a circle of fancy, established business men. Many who had seemed to develop… excitement from angels appearance. You couldn’t help but shiver in disgust.

Walking towards the stages you couldn’t help but let your mind wonder. Many of the people who came to the clubs in the city did not have soulmates and were almost always soulmateless or had yet to meet the one they would call their own. It’s not like people actively search out their soulmate by hurting others.. right?

Just before you could reach the pole however to begin your performance, you heard the sound of a cry. “What the fuck is the matter with you?! my leg!” Angel had stood up swaying from left to right, her hand tightly over the flesh of her leg that had been ripped up by the man.

“Well isn’t that a shame.. I’m sure you can get that patched up!” The man smiled, licking his claws where the blood laid slowly dripping. You couldn’t help but shudder.A few girls had made their way over, two supporting Angel to help her into the back room to clean up. “Fuck you! Oh my god my leg how am I supposed to dance!” She cried out as weight was placed on her injured leg.

“Well aren’t you fiery! I’d be careful how you speak to me if you want to keep your life and job.” He chuckled slowly turning around to the now silent club. “isn’t this a great time to introduce myself! As many of you ladies and gents now know I am the new owner of this club.” He smiled and took off his hat pressing it to his chest. On his head laid two fox ears and a head of orange and silver hair.

His eyes traced over the girls before landing swiftly on you. He stood up making his way over to you before shaking an arm around your waist pulling you into his chest “Of course I won’t be running things like your old boss and there will be a few adjustments to the performances to suit the performances for my taste.. but I’m sure you dancers won’t mind as we both have in common our love for performances!” He smirked turning towards you.

You couldn’t help but blink. Did… did he want you to answer? Slowly a fake smile graced your face. “Of course sir we would be happy to do so for you.” You slowly tried to pull away from him, but his grip did not let up. “Huh.. you didn’t sound to enthusiastic sweetheart. I’ll give you another try.” His eyes has seemed to loose its twinkle and had taken on a predatory look.

“I.. Uhmm.. yes sir! We would be grateful for you to change the way it runs and would be happy to serve you!” You tried to smile wider but your nerves from his threat made if fall lopsided and your voice to gain an edge and start to shake.

He tutted, “you don’t sound to pleased, and here I had heard you were one of the best dancers and employees. I think I’ll have to let you go. I gave you a chance and you fucked it up.” His arm tightened around your waist as he raised his other hand up. You writhed and cried trying to escape his hold begging him. “ Please! I’ll do anything! Don’t do this-” his hand slashed over your stomach twice with his nails, creating multiple wounds. You screamed in agony falling to the floor. Oh god.. is this how you will die? In some dingy club on the floor after you couldn’t please your impatient owner? You could hear the girls screaming and the stunned audience whispering. Many of the goons in delight of the blood, some fancy business men in disgust from the lack of show.

“Well.. isn’t this is a twist for the night!” You heard him say. You looked up. You didn’t feel light headed Anymore.. you couldn’t feel your blood or guts spilling out. Slowly, looking at your stomach where the gashes had once laid, they were closed up. The blood still stained the carpet and your costume. But you weren’t bleeding out. You weren’t dead.

You felt two pairs of strong hands pull you up and place your arms behind your back.

He was watching you, a look mixed with love and obsession covered him face. “It seems as if I’ve found my other half.. don’t worry your all mine and you won’t be performing anymore.” His bloody claws reached up caressing your cheek slowly before he leaned in pressing a kiss to your forehead. You tried not to flinch as he pulled away, signalling the guards to take you out the door.

And as your pulled away you can hear the muffled barking off orders to round up all the dancers who witnessed the crime and to have them sent out and replaced by next week.

#Ren hana #Ren #boyfriend to death 2 #boyfriend to death #the price of flesh #tpof #btd #soulmate au #Ren hana x Reader #Ren hana/Reader #fox price of flesh #fox x reader

[alreadyjackbestfriend]

Can you write something about Jack having severe writers block, and the reader does something nice to get his mind off of it? 

writer´s block

A/N: heeyy, thank you for your request <3 sorry for taking so long, hope you like it!

***

Jack has been trying, really trying to write past the three verses he's accomplished in the last few days, none of them bearing any relation to the other.

He had put out his latest album a few months ago, and now found himself on a tour break, so there was really no rush, but he had never gone so long without writing something, the last time he had been able to finish something worthy of a song was 2 months ago... exactly the last night that he saw you.

As he ran his hands over his face in an attempt to clear his clouded mind, his cell phone vibrated on the desk. Jack looked at the screen, his heart skipped a beat as a smile appeared on his face, his cheeks filled with tender warmth, all of that just by reading your name.

“hi, gorgeous” he said immediately after accepting the call.

“hey, Jack” your sweet voice made him smile even more if that was possible, even causing his cheeks to hurt a little.

“to what do I owe the pleasure of you calling me?”

you and jack were almost new to each other, only a couple of months of knowing each other; long talks, a lot of flirting and a couple of kisses, but nothing official. but he was so drawn to you, you could put a smile on his face just by reading your name, you could make his heart race just by hearing your voice.

“a little birdie told me that you’ve been really stressed”

he chuckled, though it seemed more like a sigh. just a few days ago the new year had started and the whole team had at least a few weeks of vacation, so the only one who knew about his condition was urban, who was the only one who had seen him in the last few days locked in his home studio.

“that little birdie is gonna get his ass kicked”

He heard you gasp, “why?! he just wanted to help, and so do I”

“oh, so it’s a “he””

“fuck you jack, you know it was urban”

He laughed out loud, throwing his head back. he probably hadn't laughed since New Year's Eve. he couldn't see you, but you smiled hugely, you knew what you said wasn't that funny, so his laugh meant only one thing: he really liked you.

“so, do you have an hour for me?” you asked, and he raised a brow.

“mmm let me see…” he teased, and he heard you sigh, making him laugh again, “you know I always have time for you”

"That's great, because otherwise I would have to go back home, and it would be very disappointing" you said, behind him. Jack turned around in surprise, and saw you smile with the phone still attached to your ear, but you quickly put it down and ended the call.

"how...?" he asked, surprised.

"The little birdie…" you replied, feeling brave enough to sit on his lap, and he rolled his eyes with a smile on his face.

"mmm, now that I think about it, I guess I won't kick the birdie's ass anymore"

you laughed out loud, while he admired you. once you stopped laughing, you looked back at him, your faces extremely close. he put his hand on your chin, and with a short movement he brought your lips together. You heard a contented sound escape his throat and you smiled in the middle of the kiss, but you stopped having control of the situation once Jack put his hand on your thigh, making you sigh, you could feel the warmth of his skin even through your clothes.

"You're amazing", he said, making you smile again, "I can already feel the verses floating in my mind"

you giggled at his words, "I'm very flattered, but my main mission was to be able to distract you a bit"

"Oh, you are," Jack replied, trying to kiss you again, but you pulled away, causing his lips to pout and his eyebrows to draw together in disappointment.

"I have something for you" you said, giving him a little peck and taking his hand, both of you went up to the first floor, since the home studio was in the basement, and you led Jack towards the living room

Urban had let you in, and left right after, leaving the place at your disposal. It didn't take long, since a large part of everything you’ll need you had prepared at home. Urban had left the light dim, just as you asked, you just had to put a couple of candles in some places, and then put a tablecloth above the carpet, next to the basket, and then you emptied it, filling the tablecloth with snacks, and a bottle of a fruit liqueur.

It was an indoor picnic, obviously it would have been better to do it in the backyard, but it was impossible, unless the goal was to freeze to death, so you improvised something similar. In addition to the candles, Jack had a fireplace, which was perfect for the occasion.

You knew that it was a much more romantic setting than what you and Jack had shared before, which were usually conversations and kisses in hidden places at some parties, so you were nervous, but you hoped that Jack would take it well.

You watched him carefully while he looked at what you had prepared for him, and after a few seconds that felt like hours, he got you close to him, giving you a tender kiss.

"I love it, thank you"

you sighed with relief, giving him a smile.

"Why the sigh?" he asked curiously, sitting on the tablecloth, copying your movements. you thought for a moment about what to say.

"I was nervous" you decided to admit.

"why?" he replied, truly confused.

"I didn't know if..." you cleared your throat, "maybe this was too much? I know we're not a couple and..." in the middle of your chatter, you saw him smile, "what?"

"nothing" he said, still smiling.

"jack" you said, looking at him seriously.

"I was just thinking how cute you are" he said, and you blushed, making him smile even more, "this is perfect, y/n, you didn't have to be nervous"

"I'm glad you liked it" you said sincerely.

Jack didn't say anything else, he just approached your lips again, and what started as a tender kiss escalated quickly, leaving you lying on the ground, with Jack on top of you. between the heat of the fireplace and jack's body, you began to feel that the heat consumed you.

"jack, we haven't even touched the food" you said, between kisses

"I'm not hungry"

"And I only asked for an hour of your time," you said, raising an eyebrow. he stopped kissing you and looked at you smirking.

"Let's make it five" he replied, kissing you again.

"Jack!" you said, between his lips and your laughter.

"I'm going to write a lot of songs after this anyway"

#jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fic #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow one shot #jack harlow fluff

[aamalaaa]

Lifeline | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: bestfriends to lovers au, hurt/comfort, jk is so understanding, fluff, romance, reader is sad but it'll be ok

warnings: reader suffers from depression but doesn't know it, it gets a little heated but there's no smut

word count: 3.6k

a/n: sooo, this was supposed to be a drabble and yet.. I got a lil carried away. I hope you like this, I've wrote this from my own experience with depression, I hope you can find comfort in it, you're never alone and I love you<3

-

-

It’s been days, weeks now that you’ve been feeling like this. Nothing happened, nothing dramatic. You still go to work, still talk to your friends. On the outside, things seem as normal as they usually are. You seem okay, maybe a bit indifferent. 

You’re not.

You’re not okay, you feel like not enough air gets into your lungs, you feel heavy, tired, like the weight of the world is too much to endure. You still manage to look relatively okay, you shower, put on makeup, make sure your clothes are clean and fit well together when you put  an outfit together. 

You haven’t washed your clothes for weeks though. You only have a few things left in your wardrobe, the rest of your clothes lay on a chair, on the floor of your bedroom, your couch and next to the shower.

You didn’t clean up your room, kitchen, bathroom or anything in your apartment really. It doesn’t look good, you can’t stand to leave the lights on because you’d have to face the mess and feel bad about it. You don’t feel like you’re doing enough, you feel incompetent and lazy. 

You don’t cry though, can’t bring yourself to. Staying awake and going to work is tiring enough, you can’t muster enough energy to cry on top of that. You wish you could, maybe it would help. Fill the empty hole in your chest, make you feel something again, replace the shame and tiredness with something else. Anything not to feel like this, empty, unmoored.

You’re laying in bed when you hear it first, a soft knock. Your ears perk up at the sound but you still stay wrapped up in your duvet, even bringing it up a little above your head, trying to drown out the noise.

But the noise doesn’t stop, it’s at your front door and it gets louder and louder. Though it stays gentle, like the instigator knows you can’t handle more, loud and constant noises make you feel overwhelmed these days.

You groan loudly before throwing the duvet off your body in one swift motion, making you shiver instantly at the contact of cool air against warm skin. You need to up the heat here, or maybe put on something that isn’t tiny shorts and a tank top. 

You barely have anything else in your wardrobe though, goddamn you need to wash your clothes.

You slowly trudge to the front door, hoping the visitor will get tired and go away before you get there. But he doesn’t and you have no choice, someone came up here to see you and you can’t be this ungrateful. Won’t let yourself be.

So you card your hand through your hair to try and tame it before quickly opening the door to its full extent.

The black haired man stares at you with his wide doe eyes, hand stopping mid motion in the air where the door was, a black tote bag in his other hand.

You stare back, shock clearly visible all over your face. If you didn’t expect one thing, it’s to see Jungkook at your doorstep, looking this fucking hot in black sweatspants, a black longsleeved shirt and an equally black baseball cap to match.

“Kook, what are you doing here? Did we have something planned? I forgot didn’t I- Ah shit! I’m so sorry, my mind’s a bit of a mess today..” You anxiously blurt out.

Jungkook awkwardly brushes a strand of hair beneath his ear. “No, no we didn’t have anything planned, don't worry,” He hurriedly says, noticing your nervousness. “I just-“ He pauses. “I hadn't heard from you in a few days and you didn’t respond to my texts so I decided to pay a visit..”

And if his appearance wasn’t enough to make you melt into a puddle of goo, his explanation sure is. Because how could he be this attentionate and caring?

You’ve known Jungkook for a few months, meeting him through your group of friends and you quickly grew closer, became good friends even. And you may or may not have a huge crush on him but that’s another story and you’re not about to admit it out loud, not now, not ever. If he liked you that way he would’ve told you already, you’re not about to burden him with your feelings.

But you’re fine being just friends, he’s an amazing person and you couldn’t imagine your life without him now, he’s the funniest and kindest person you’ve ever known. You can keep your emotions under check, maybe they’ll even settle down after a while.

Though you doubt it considering the way your heart beats loudly against your rib cage only from standing a few feet away from the man. Oh well.

“Oh.. that’s very kind of you,” You breathe out.

Jungkook shoots you a dazzling wide smile and you almost faint at the sight. 

“Sooo, can I come in? I got a few things for you,” He lifts up the tote bag he’s been holding.

Your heart skips a beat, god he’s making it very hard for you not to completely fall in love with him.

“Umm..” You start, unsure what to say. 

He can’t see your place like this, he’d probably run for the hills. “My place’s a bit of a mess and I was planning on cleaning up today-“ 

“I can help!” He enthusiastically cuts you off.

You stare at your feet, wiggling your toes around. “I mean you don’t have to, it’s fine really and you must have better things to do..” He can’t see your place like this.

He snorts. “I have the day off, let me help, I want to! Plus, I brought food!” He says, a hopeful smile etched upon his mesmerizing face.

Goddamn fucking Jeon Jungkook, you can’t say no to him, not when he’s looking at you like that.

“I- Ok but please don’t judge, I’m just very busy,” You step out of his way, motioning for him to come in. His only reply is a nod before he slides in through the door. 

He spends a moment, and only a moment to observe your apartment before heading towards the kitchen counter and dropping the bag he’s been holding.

You’re so fucking embarrassed, he’s probably gonna judge you or worse, pity you. Though he would never say it out loud, that’s not Jungkook.

“I’ve seen worse,” He gets out a few supplies from the bag and puts them on the counter.

“Please don’t lie, it’s disgusting,” You sigh, picking up a few stray clothes on the floor to throw them on the couch.

He lifts up his eyes to you, gaze locked into yours. You hold it for a few seconds before dropping your eyes to the ground, a rosy tint adorning your cheeks. 

“What’s going on?” He gently asks, dropping the broccoli he was holding on the counter and stepping closer to you.

You shrug and nervously fiddle with your fingers, refusing to meet his gaze. You can’t do this, you’ve been really good at keeping your emotions at bay.

You can’t give up now.

But he doesn’t relent. “What’s wrong?” He’s very close to you now and you shyly peek at him before dropping your eyes to your hands again.

He softly takes both of your hands in his, stopping you from fiddling with them. And you can barely hold it in now, you have no distraction to focus on instead of the gaping hole in your heart, threatening to split your whole being in two any moment now.

“Nothing, don’t worry,” You croak.

He drops your left hand to bring his right one up to your chin, tilting your face upward slowly,  forcing you to look at him. 

You feel them, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, ready to spill out.

He stares at you, an incredibly concerned look in his eyes and caresses your chin softly with his thumb. “Talk to me, please.”

And that’s all it takes for you to lose it, tears flowing freely on your cheeks like cold rain on a fogged up window. You bring your hands up to your face, hiding to the best of your abilities behind them. 

“I- I d-don’t know Kookie, what’s wrong with me?” You hiccup, the sound muffled by your palms.

Your heart almost splits in half when your friend takes you in his strong arms, your head laying in the crook of his neck, and strokes your hair in soothing motions. Which only makes you sob harder. 

He doesn’t say a word for a long time, settles on stroking your hair and leaving a few kisses on top of your head.

You manage to calm down after a few minutes, but not before you leave a big wet spot on his shirt. 

“Oh god I’m so sorry, your shirt is ruined.”

He chuckles warmly and leaves another kiss on your head before replying. “It’s just a shirt.”

You nuzzle a bit closer in his neck, taking in the calming jasmine scent. It’s grounding, like a deep rooted tree in the middle of a storm.

“Do you want to sit down and eat?” He asks, voice just shy of a whisper.

You shake your head no, pressing even closer in his embrace, not willing to let go. Which prompts a loud chuckle out of Jungkook.

“You need to eat, we can lay around and do nothing after.” 

You groan, but ultimately step away. Jungkook lets out a small laugh, strokes your hair once more and sweeps his thumbs under your eyes to try and dry your wet cheeks.

You can’t help the furious blush that creeps up your neck and all the way to your cheeks, though you can hide your face behind your hair. So you do.

Jungkook coos before heading towards the kitchen counter, getting to work immediately.

You’re mostly silent, though Jungkook manages to make you laugh a few times with his antics. You eat the meal he prepared for you, not missing the way he constantly peers at you to make sure you’re eating. 

You almost eat all of your plate, you’d feel entitled and ungrateful not to. But there’s so much your stomach can take, and the portion he gave you was twice what you’d usually eat.

“This was amazing, thank you,” You smile.

He smiles back, that bunny grin of his you love so much. “My pleasure.” He replies, a slight blush making its way onto his cheeks. “Got anything you want to do this evening?” He tilts his head to the side before getting up and dropping his plate next to the sink.

“I was thinking of just like, watching a movie or something. You don’t have to stay, really,” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he would stay. 

Which is why your heart swells ten times its original size at his response. 

“I’m not going anywhere, unless you want me to leave,”

You shake your head. “No.. stay.” 

He smiles bashfully before taking your plate and cleaning the dishes he had used for the meal. You get up and join him, picking a rag up and drying the clean dishes before you put them in the cupboards.

It takes a few minutes, silence reigning peacefully over the both of you, the only sounds breaking it being Jungkook whistling quietly and water splashing in the sink. 

When you’re both done, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom and you take that moment to change into a large black t-shirt and slide under the covers of your bed, using the remote controller to turn on the television. 

When Jungkook comes back into the lounge, he chuckles at the sight of you snuggled deep under the covers, a plushie between your arms, scrolling through netflix for a movie to watch.

You quirk your brow at him questioningly when you see him awkwardly standing next to the bed.

“What are you standing there for?” You playfully question.

He cards a hand through his hair, seemingly nervous. “Well.. where do you want me?” 

You stare in shock, mouth agape before you break out into a loud cackle while Jungkook frowns in confusion. “What? What did I say?” 

“Oh Kook,” Your laughter dies down progressively. “It’s nothing.” You pat the empty side of your bed, smiling amusedly at the black haired man.

He shrugs, confused but still hops on the bed, keeping a safe distance from you, much to your dismay. 

“Get under the covers Kookie,” You stare him down.

“O-ok,” He tentatively slides under the covers, fully clothed. 

You press play on the title you chose and scoot closer to Jungkook, feeling him stiffen at the proximity. “What’s wrong?” You question, feeling shy all of a sudden. It’s not your first time cuddling with him, so why is he being weird about it?

He exhales slowly before responding. “I just-“ He stops himself, rubbing at his eyes anxiously. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with this.. I know you’re feeling vulnerable and sad right now, I don’t want to take advantage of that.” He almost whispers the last part, while you can only look at him curiously, not quite understanding what he means. 

“We cuddled before, what’s different?” You question, straightening up.

He shoots you an indecipherable look before scooting closer to you. “Nothing, come on over.”

You giggle and drape your arm around his stomach, your head resting on his chest. The soft rhythm of his heart puts you at ease almost instantly.

You both watch the movie in silence, Jungkook occasionally stroking your hair, making you shiver each and every time.

After a while he breaks the comfortable silence. “Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?” He breathes out against your hair.

You sigh in resignation. Of course he’d want to know, and it’s understandable. You did have a full on breakdown in his arms, after all. You just don’t know what to say, don’t know what’s wrong. You just know something is.

“I’ve been feeling kinda.. off, I guess?” You start, voice uneven. Another gentle stroke of your hair. “Like I have no energy, I don’t want to go out or do anything, I can’t clean up or do anything except go to work..” You feel him shifting his head a bit, probably looking at you. 

You don’t meet his gaze and continue. “It’s silly really, don’t worry too much.”

He sighs and tilts your chin up with his free hand. You slowly lift your eyes, meeting his own. He seems conflicted and hurt. You don’t understand.

“How could you say that?” He observes you carefully. “I care about you, of course I’m gonna be worried. And it’s not silly, it’s important. I want you to be happy, so happy. You deserve it, you deserve everything good. How can you not see that?” He cradles the side of your face with his hand, you blush profusely, your heart beat going absolutely frantic. What the hell is going on?

“I- I’m sorry..” You don’t know what to say, apologizing seems like the right thing to do, seeing the pained look on his face.

His hold on your face gets stronger as his eyes widen. “Why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong, except thinking so poorly of yourself.” He exhales. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad about it, I’m sorry.” He strokes your cheek tenderly.

You can’t stop staring in his big eyes, like under a spell of some sort. It’s just hard not looking into them when they seem to hold the whole galaxy. 

You open your mouth to speak, but close it soon after. He sends you a questioning look.

It takes you a few seconds to reply. “I don’t know what to say..” You murmur.

“You don't have to know what to say, we’ll figure it out together,” He gently replies, shooting you a soft smile in the process.

You almost cry again as his words register in your head. You inhale shakily. “Why-“ You gulp. “Why would you do that for me?”

He brings his head down, fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. “Why do you think?” He whispers, a peachy tint appearing on his cheeks. 

You frown in confusion, using your hand to stop his movements. “Because you’re a good friend? Why are you being so cryptic?” You ask, completely lost

Jungkook chuckles fondly before looking back into your eyes. “I’m really gonna have to spell it out uh,” He cradles the side of your face once more before timidly smiling at you. 

“I guess so?” You unknowingly snuggle closer into his hand. 

“Will you let me show you?” He strokes your hair with his long fingers, spurring on a shiver out of you.

You send him a puzzled look. You’re so fucking lost. “Um, I guess yeah?”

He looks at your lips before gazing into your eyes again, then stares at your lips once more.

And your heart might leap out of your chest because then, he gets a little closer, his face a few inches away from yours. His breath fanning over your cheeks makes you shiver.

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs, so close you can almost feel the vibration of his voice onto your skin.

“Can you what-“ You squeeze his hand on instinct, the one you were still holding. 

“Kiss you,” He replies cockily, raising a brow.

“Uh, what-“ What’s going on, and why are you so socially inept. “Why would you-“ You loudly gulp, not finishing your sentence.

He nervously chuckles. “Because I-“ His voice cracks, and he tries to move further away from you. You scream internally. “It’s ok if you don’t want to. God I’m sorry I didn’t-“ 

You cut him off by tugging on his arm and crashing your lips onto his before even realizing what you’re doing. The angle is awkward and your lips collide almost painfully. You don’t care though, can’t bring yourself to.

At first, you both stay there, lips pressed against the other’s, unmoving, surprised by the sudden closeness. But soon enough, Jungkook kisses you back, sighing happily while his soft lips caress yours. You start moving along with him almost immediately, it’s almost like a dance, really. 

You feel him shift as he adjusts your position, laying you down backwards and hovering over you, tilting your head back a few inches to deepen the kiss. 

Your brain is foggy, you can’t even think or do anything but kiss back hungrily. Like his lips are a lifeline and you’re lost at sea. Latching onto him with unrivaled passion, your hand gripping the hair at the back of his neck pleadingly, soft whimpers escaping your throat only to be swallowed by the man holding you together like glue.

You fist the front of his shirt so forcefully your knuckles turn white while Jungkook nibbles at your bottom lip. You can feel him smirking against your mouth when you let out a loud whimper. He uses that moment to slide his tongue against yours, groaning in the process, lapping at your mouth like a dehydrated man. 

And if this is a dance, then Jungkook is a master dancer. And the avid apprentice you are, you’re willing to learn every step, over and over again until you know them by heart.

You slide your hand under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his bare skin and defined abs you thought about more often than you’d be willing to admit. You notice him shivering at the contact of your hand on his stomach and that only serves to spur you on even further, up his ribs and chest. 

It goes on like this for a long time, parting for oxygen from time to time, only to come together again. Jungkook and you battling for the lead, though you always end up happily losing the battle. And after a while it gets softer, gentle caresses and long, languid strokes of tongues intertwining together in complete harmony. 

Jungkook slides his thumb above your eyebrow, leaning away for just a moment before leaving a quick peck on your lips. When he lets go of your lips, you try to chase his own needily, only to hear a gruff, quiet laugh from the man you just spent the better half of an hour kissing. 

You open your eyes and pout at him, which is apparently really funny because he laughs even harder.

Your pout deepens and you try to push him off with all the strength you can muster, which is admittedly not a lot.

He coos at you before leaving yet another soft kiss on your lips, making you sigh happily.

“I guess you wanted to,” He confidently comments, a small smirk lifting the side of his red swollen lips.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Great guess, Sherlock.”

Jungkook settles down next to you, tugging you closer to him as he does. You wrap your arm around him and lay on his chest, just like you did earlier. Except now it feels more intimate and the butterflies in your stomach roam freely around your body.

You don’t even notice you’re dozing off until a strong hand gently shakes your shoulder, you hum in response.

“Do you want me to go?” You hear a scratchy voice murmur in your ear.

You frown and shake your head. “Nuh-uh, stay, please..” You’re barely able to get the words out in your sleepy state.

“Okay, I’ll stay,” He responds, snuggling even closer to you. You suspire contentedly. 

 As you slowly slip into unconsciousness you ask one last question.

“Are you gonna be here when I wake up?” You slur.

You barely register a soft peck being laid upon your forehead.

“Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.”

-

-

a/n: this is the link for the general taglist for my writings<3 click here!

#bts x you #bts fic #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts au fic #jungkook drabble #jungkook oneshot #bts one shot #jeon jungkook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook #bts comfort #jungkook comfort #mental heath awareness #mental health

[dollywheeler]

September 27th, 1996

Dear diary,

I fumbled.

I fumbled and almost made the wrong turn and I could have died.

I could have died on the spot and it would have been less awful.

It's so embarrassing I can barely think back on it, but I can't stop. It keeps playing through my head again and again.

Everything started so great - the gymnasium was loud and colorful and bright, and everything I love about game days.

The gymnasium was crowded too - every student and teacher, and even some of the girls that graduated last June. Hell, mom and dad were there. Of course they are there when I mess up! I wanted them to see how good I was getting, not fumbling around like a complete idiot!

I really don't know what happened; I've never made a mistake like that ever. I'd been so looking forward to it, working so hard to make sure I knew the routine by heart. I should have been able to do it in my sleep.

I just managed to keep it together until the game started up again and I could sneak out into the hallway. I'm sure at least one of the girls saw me leave, but they know I usually do this when I fuck up so they let me be. I haven't needed to since Freshman year - I've been working so hard exactly so this wouldn't happen again.

I still don't know why I do it. Obviously it's better to hide, where no one can see me until my skin stops itching and I stop feeling like everyone is staring at me. But I also know it's counterproductive. I know it just makes me sink deeper into my failure, know that I'll just be miserable and alone if I run away. But I can't stop it - I just can't stand being around that many people anymore.

The last time had been at an away game - some school closer to Chicago that I can't even remember. The best I could do there was some alcove in a dark hallway. At home I knew where to go. It had been a while since I had gone out there, but the bench on the far side of the building was still there, far enough from the gymnasium that it was always quiet and empty. No one wandered far enough from the game to find it.

It was starting to get dark, the sky a deep purple, which was nice but also strange. Usually it's already fully dark out, and it feels like there's more cover. I still felt too exposed now, even sitting there curled up with my arms wrapped around my knees. I'd forgotten my jacket.

"There you are." I jumped at the sudden voice, not expecting anyone to have followed me. Even if I had, the last person I would have expected to see was Mike. He was slightly out of breath as if he'd had to run to catch up to me. I hadn't even noticed he was at the game, though it stood to reason he wouldn't have sat with the other teachers just yet.

He came to a stop in front of me, suddenly slightly awkward as he looked me over. "Hey."

I honestly didn't know what to say so I just stared at him, baffled he was there in the first place. No one ever followed me. And suddenly Mike had appeared out of nowhere, blipped into existence when I had spent the last few years trying to forget he even exists. He's not supposed to exist - just a negative space in the last seven years of my life.

"I know you're not a fan of me but-," he started, fumbling over his words as he inched closer to the bench. "I just wanted to check up on you."

"I didn't even know you were here." I frowned, swallowing against the knot in my throat, my voice shaky even to my own ears. I wanted him to leave. I didn't want to be alone. "I thought you had plans this weekend."

"Uh, yeah - the party's back in town. Well, everyone except Dustin because he has some conference or whatever, but... uh, yeah, we were planning to come to the game. We wanted to come see your show. El and Max are here too. Lucas tried but he's not really a fan of basketball anymore so he left early..."

He rambles a lot, I noticed, sounding nothing like he does when I overhear him talking to just Will. In class, he rambles a lot too, but at least there he's doing so with purpose, knowing what he's saying and when to stop. It made him look awkward and out of place, as if it's me that's making him nervous. As if I'm not just the little sister that's nine years too immature for him, shoved into the corner of the room with a pile of dolls so I'm out of the way.

"Great," I told him, my misery finally making me cave and scooting over to make space for Mike on the bench. He seemed surprised, hesitant still to join me, which I had to admit was kind of funny. Still, I sobered up again quickly enough, a shiver running through me at the memory. "At least one person that didn't see me completely humiliate myself."

"Come on, Holzie." Mike nudged my shoulder, and I was thrown off guard by the new nickname, pulling my attention away from my spinning thoughts. "It really wasn't that obvious. I noticed at least two girls that were out of step the entire routine - you made one tiny mistake that no one will remember."

"It's that I made the mistake at all," I corrected him, and to my dismay and complete mortification, my voice cracked. "I'm not the best if I make stupid mistakes like that. And if I'm not the best I'll never make cheer captain and I'll just be one more girl on the cheerleading team that no one really-" cares about is what I was going to say, but luckily I cut myself off before I could finish. I know it's stupid. Know everyone is important. There's not a girl on the team I wouldn't miss - but that's because they're my friends.

For once I want people to notice me for me. I want to make a mark to people that don't know me at all. Want people to see me, notice me, because of me, not because they already know about me.

Worse, I started crying in front of the last person on earth I wanted to cry in front of. The only person in the world who I've spent my entire life trying to convince I'm not a baby anymore. There's just something about Mike that always makes me feel younger than I am. Inadequate.

"You will," Mike assured me, "no one works harder than you."

I was confused what made him think that. How he would know. It's not something I like to advertise, and it only made me cry harder. Because that's the point - I have to work twice as hard to be half as good as everyone else. Everyone else gets it with the six hours practice we have a week - they're flawless, make no mistakes at all. It's just not fair.

And I'm so tired of trying to catch up.

I desperately tried to wipe my tears away as quickly as possible as we sat in silence for a while, Mike leaning closer and handing me a tissue he pulled from his pocket. For some reason, it always helps me stop crying once I can wipe my face dry, physically putting myself together, so I was grateful even if I was completely embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I used to be good at this," Mike chuckled, trying to lighten the mood as he nudged my shoulder again. "It's been a while."

If he were, I don't remember it.

I told him we should get back inside, even though that was the last thing I wanted to do. But Daniel was still playing, and I couldn't stay gone from the team forever either, so I sucked it up. I just hoped I could stop by the bathroom to make sure I didn't look like a complete nutcase - which was a terrible idea because of course I did, now I just knew exactly how fucked I looked.

Before we entered the gymnasium Mike stopped me.

He told me he'd seen me practicing on the field sometimes.

After everything I seriously couldn't be any more embarrassed so I just shrugged and confirmed it, even though I was confused as to where he was going with it. I also hadn't considered anyone showing up early being able to see me, so it was good to know for the future.

"I know I can't tell you what to do but... please don't practice without the team - at least not the crazy gymnastic jump things." I blinked at him in surprise, perplexed at his request. It's not like I was in anyone's way or bothering anyone, but he explained it was dangerous and didn't want me to fall and get hurt with no one around to get help. And it didn't feel like a scolding - I mean I felt stupid for not having thought about that myself, but for some reason i didn't care about any of that.

I promised I wouldn't anymore, and as we entered the gymnasium I automatically searched out mom and dad. Dad was watching the game, but mom is usually bored by the game itself, so it wasn't a surprise that she'd been looking out for me, immediately noticing us by the door. It stood to reason she'd already deduced Mike had been at the game too, but she seemed content to wait for the dinner to talk to him again because she just smiled at us before looking at the game now she knew we were okay.

Mike asked if I wanted to come sit by him and his friends for a bit. Now I knew to look for them I found them easily enough in the left top corner of the bleachers on their side of the court - Max was the most obvious with her bright hair, and from there it was easy to find Will and El sitting on either side of her. I know El the least out of all of Mike's friends, which I've always found strange because I'm pretty sure they dated at some point and before Mike and Will had moved back, she'd been the one hanging around Hawkins the most often. Even from that far away I could see her expressive features, and she hadn't had those pink streaks in her hair the last time I'd seen her. They suited her.

I'd like to talk to Max again, thank her in person for helping Mike pick out my birthday present, but of course, even if I wanted to take Mike up on his offer, I couldn't, having to go sit with the rest of the team. I could already see Dylan smiling at me and beckoning me closer, so I just dismissed Mike. I thanked him though, because even though he hadn't been much help in making me feel better, it had been nice that he'd followed me. That he'd sat with me.

Maybe tomorrow I'll get my sense back.

For now I'm too worn out to be angry.

At least I think writing has helped me calm down enough from my embarrassment to sleep.

Love, Holly

#holly wheeler #mike wheeler #the third wheeler #stranger things #fanfic #byler #the party #karen wheeler

[sirowsky]

Don't Die

Here comes the last of the prompts I've gotten for this celebration, and we're wrapping up with a heartbreaker! I got this ask by an anonymous sender, where the prompt was "You can't die. Please don't die." with Din x Reader, so naturally, my head went to angsty-land...

Now, as this concludes the 400 Challenge, I just wanna say thank you to everyone that sent me prompts and helped me to mark this occasion! I love all of you <3 And I'll always accept asks, requests and prompts, if I feel comfortable with the subject, so please don't hesitate to ask.

Rating: Mature Warnings: ANGST, Din Djarin x female reader, mostly Din's pov, AU. Grogu, Cobb Vanth, Peli Motto and Greef Karga appears. Word Count: 1500 Author’s Masterlist

   “He’s pacing. He never does that…” Cobb says, as he observes the Mandalorian from an alley a few doors down the street.

   “Well then, I guess he’s real anxious bout that filly. What about it?” Peli huffs where she stands next to him, arms cradling the child that anxiously coos while he watches his papa.

   “Just creeps me out,” Cobb explains, still not taking his eyes off the man.

   “That’s it? Go talk to him, then. Ask him what’s going on,” she counters, throwing an arm in Mando’s general direction, but The Marshal just scoffs, raising a pair of incredulous brows at her.

   “I’d rather wrestle a mudhorn,” he shoots back, before turning to leave.

   “Scaredy-cat!” she shouts after him, but without much conviction. Because she sure as shit ain’t gonna over there either.

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

   He waits. That’s all he can do. You’re in the hands of healers, your only chance of surviving, and yet he feels like there’s something more he needs to do for you. Not that he has a clue what that might be.

   You weren’t supposed to be there.    Why where you there?!

   He’s asked the question a million times by now, even though his own mind doesn’t know the answer and remains befuddled.    He’d left you on Nevarro weeks ago, under the pretence that Greef needed help with the rebuild, but really just because Din needed to know that you were somewhere safe, and then somehow, you’d found him in the middle of a fucking firefight.

   Something had exploded, you’d both been thrown like ragdolls, and where his beskar had protected him, you’d been broken.    He’d ignored the rest of the fight, crawling to you when screaming your name yielded no response, only to find your body in terrifyingly unnatural angles.

   And now here he is, pacing outside the healer’s hut in Mos Eisley, told that the damage might be too bad, but that they’d try.    He’d told them to succeed. Not asked. Demanded.    As if life could be saved by willpower alone.

   “Mando…” a familiar voice breaks into his consciousness, and he turns to seek out its owner.

   Greef’s hands come up in a gesture of peace as Din immediately stalks towards him, grabbing his clothes over the chest and harshly tugging him right up to his own visor, with the sudden anger that floods his blood.

   “I left her with you! You were supposed to keep her safe!!” he screams as much as growls through the modulator, but Karga looks only sad.

   “I’m sorry, my friend. She asked if I knew where you were… If I’d suspected, even for a moment, that she’d steal a ship to come find you…” he tries to explain, shaking his head at his own failure, “I’m so sorry.”

   Din’s anger still boils, but the man in front of him isn’t the real cause for it, and he lets go of him, stepping away again, back to the spot by the door that he’s all but carved a trail into with his incessant pacing.

   He wants to tell Greef how it’s all his own fault, for not telling you the truth, for not confessing the depth of his affection, the real reason for leaving you there.    And he wants to tell him how he’s dying inside at the thought that your life might be ending because of his own cowardice, but he can’t.

   He can’t say any of it out loud. Because this is for your ears, not Karga’s. You’re the one he needs to explain himself to. Make amends with.    Nothing else matters now.

   The heat within him instantly gives way to ice when the door suddenly opens, and the healer steps back to let Din’s broad frame pass.    But now his legs feel heavy and sluggish, his chest constricted, and his hands start to tremble while a cold sweat is absorbed into the fabric around his neck.

   Once inside, he’s shown into a room where a figure lies on a medical bed, with a sheet pulled up to the shoulders. All limbs seem to be in their correct places, and the large open gashes to the skin have vanished, undoubtedly a courtesy of the bafta-tank.

   Standing in the doorway, he’s too far away to see if you’re alive, and his knees seem to fill with nails, torturing him at every step, but he has to know.    As he gets closer, he can see the slow breaths and he wants to be happy, to believe that everything will be okay, but the healer looks too apprehensive to set his mind at ease.

   “I wish I could tell you that she’s all fixed, but the fact is… I don’t know,” the healer says, and his voice trembles, “Her body is fine, the broken bones and sores are easily put back together, but her mind… She was technically dead for quite a while before you got her here and I just don’t know if her brain can survive that.”

   He listens, tries not to hear, not to accept. And in the end, what lingers in his mind isn’t anything the healer said at all.    It’s everything Din himself hasn’t said.

   A small sideways swipe of his head is enough to communicate that he wants the room, and the healer and his assistant both leave without another word.    Willing his knees to move again, he comes to the side of your bed, digging your arm out from under the sheet as soon as he’s close enough.

   He’s barely ever touched you before, but now he has to, to feel the reassuring warmth and softness of living tissue.    But now that he has the chance to say all those things that he thought about outside, that he swore to himself that he would tell you if he ever got to see you alive again, all die on his tongue.

   Now that you’re there, only one thing matters anymore.

   “You can’t die. Please don’t die,” he whispers, desperation, pain and fear leaking into the words, making his voice crackling and brittle.

   It’s as much as he can get out, so he prays that it’s enough. Begs the stars to let him have another chance to tell you everything, swearing that he won’t let any cowardice stand in the way, if he can just have one more conversation with you.

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

   “Nononono! Come here, you little womp-rat,” Peli admonishes, as she rushes to snatch the child up before he sneaks out of the hangar. It’s only his twentieth-something attempt.    “I know you’re worried, kid, but you heard your dad, you gotta stay here til he comes and gets ya. Ain’t nothing I can do about it.”

   The kid coos unhappily, pointing at the door, and those big sad eyes finally become too much for the tough-skinned but soft-hearted engineer.

   “Oh, alright! We’ll go and see that he’s still there, but that’s it! We’re not gonna bother him, you understand?” she demands, and the child just coos again, tilting his head a tiny bit to the side.

   She growls to herself, and then sets off in the direction of the healer’s hut, but upon arriving there, finds the alley where she and Cobb loitered earlier that morning, occupied by both him and Greef Karga.

   “Anything happen?” she asks as simply as if spying on one of their friends is a common pastime for them, as she joins in, while the kid twists in her arms, trying to see better.

   “He went inside hours ago, that’s all we know.” Greef answers with a shrug, and she sighs.

   “Sorry, kid. Looks like we’re still at a stalemate. Unless one of you boys wanna mosey on over there and find out what the blazes is going on?” she challenges, and both men turn their heads to throw indignant looks at her.

   “You mosey on over there,” Cobb counters, and she quickly points at the kid.

   “Hey, I’m the baby-sitter! I gotta do everythin’ round here?” she retorts, and then twitches as the child suddenly shivers and whines.

   Vanth doesn’t notice that and is about to retort when he’s cut off by the door to the healer’s hut opening, and they all freeze, staring down the street.    Peli feels the child shiver again, before his ears begin to droop, just as Mando slowly appears through the door, his right hand holding the wall to keep him steady, but it only works for a few steps.

   He falls to his knees. Slumps. His normally so intimidating frame seeming to shrink before their eyes.

   “Oh, no…” Peli whispers, feeling tears sting her eyes.

   They all stand there, unmoving, unsure of how to possibly help anything, but feeling increasingly heartbroken at the scene before them. Because Mando deserves good things. So, so much.

   Suddenly, the kid’s ears prick, and begin to rise again, as if he’s heard something interesting or fun. But what could that possibly be?

   Then Mando lifts his head, looks up at the stars and says:

“Thank you.”

–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–

Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging, I would greatly appreciate it <3

@deadhumourist @idreamofboobear @tanzthompson @winter-fox-queen @tiffanyleen @shsoba05 @toomanystoriessolittletime @nolanell @myfavpedrothings @harriedandharassed @bruxasolta @tintinn16 @littlemisspascal @sj-draws00 @gallowsjoker @spishsstuff @little-mrs-morales @bilibiche @thelion-sroar

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din x reader #din djarin angst #angst! #din and grogu #sirowsky 400 #400 followers celebration #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[mimssides]

Victory

Roman is beaten. Roman is borken. Roman is bruised. And Roman fights. Aka I got inspired by the recent birthday photoshoot Thomas just posted. Happy birthday my favourite boy❤️ (672 words)

Link to the story on AO3 | Masterpost | Taglist

I'm beaten, I'm broken, I'm bruised. My legs hurt and my head throbs.

Thomas' hair was falling out and we had cut it short now. I felt naked and helpless. So exposed to the world. More exposed than showing the world part of my inner workings on a silly comedy show. I hid in the imagination. I sat and my head felt cold and my ears were ringing.

I don't feel like a prince anymore.

Then change.

What?

Then change. The imagination whispered. You are his sense of self. You can change as he does. You can evolve when he does. Change.

To what?

Into anything that you wish. Into anything that makes you feel whole.

I didn't know what it was. But I knew what it wasn't. I threw down my sword. I stood up. The clothes were wrong too. There was heat in my chest.

I can change. I can imagine a world how I want it to be. I am the one to form this place. To form myself. I can transform.

And I can ask for advice when I need it.

I walked through the Imagination. The grass went brown and the flowers black. The air smelled like sulfur and smog. I inhaled it deeply and felt the heat ripple through my skin. Something in me rejoiced.

His steps were loud and unapologetic. I turned my head to the side his morning star an inch away from my nose.

"Where's the sword, Ro-oaf?"

I looked at the mace, at the moustache, at the frilly bow he had wrapped around his head, celebrating the new haircut.

"At the same place, where I left my title at."

He stared and his hand remained still and unyielding around the handle of the morning star.

"Why'd you leave behind what makes you, you?"

"Because that trait isn't all I am and it's not helping. It's not helping. I'm beaten, I'm broken, I'm bruised and I've got enough. I don't want to do nothing anymore. I want to fight and you fight. You fight and you show me how. I- I ask you to show me how to fight, without hiding behind that fucking mask."

The morning star dropped. He tilted his head and scratched his chin.

"You wanna fight."

"I wanna fight."

His face split into a wide grin. He lifted his hands and suddenly the world changed and we stood somewhere else. It looked like a cellar and I wanted to look around and he grabbed my jaw and made me look back at him.

"How do you want to fight? What do you want to fight?"

The answers burst out of me without a single second of hesitation or consideration.

"With my bare hands. Everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything." I growled.

He chuckled and let me go.

"Good then change into an outfit in which you can fight everything, Romy."

I looked down at myself. I didn't know. But then I did. The white gone, the shirt hiding my bruises and scars gone. The dress pants and shows vanished for shorts and bandages wrapped around my feet. No sash. No crown. No royalty.

My eyes were burning. He handed me the red boxing gloves and the ring appeared around me. He counted me in. A figure showed up.

My ears are ringing. My legs are throbbing. It's comment after comment. Punch after punch.

It hurts. It swells. It bruises.

But I punch back. I disagree. I fight. I have a split lip, I bleed in the ring, I scream, I fall, I get up.

I win after the fifth round.

The next one comes and I fight.

I'm beaten, I'm broken, I'm bruised.

I win after the sixth round.

I fight. I fight. I fight.

No, I can't anymore but I'm not giving up now. I'm not giving up.

I'm worth more than they can see. Every scar, every black eye, every beat is worth it.

It's worth it, because I'm worth it.

I fight. I fall. I get up.

I win.

___

Taglist:

@vexelore

@exhaustedfander

@alexisrealgay

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@mychemically-imbalanced-romance

@whattheremus

@regalredrose

@spellingwillbethedeathofme

@sarenicide

#sanders sides #ts roman #ts roman birthday #roman's birthday #sanders sides fic #fanfiction #eir writes #please reblog #please interact #roman sanders

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Fic title: Vesemir's Bunny

I cackled so loudly my cat left, Leaf. For this, as tempting as it would be to put him in bunny ears, I'd probably write a mature sugar daddy AU, Vesemir/Guxart:

Modern AU, Vesemir is still a Witcher.

It's several years since Mignole passed away. Vesemir always knew it would happen, but it still hit him like an absolute freight train.

He's now extremely wealthy, but lonely as all hell.

Lambert, annoyed by his moping, jokingly suggests a sugar daddy service. At least Vesemir would get laid (not that Lambert wants to think about that: fucking yikes).

In a moment of weakness, Vesemir searches for it on the internet and falls down a rabbit hole.

Most of the "sugar babies" looking for someone are far too young and he closes the window at least four times in self-disgust.

Then, he happens upon a website where all the pictures are of older people. People like him, sometimes a little younger.

One photograph in particular catches his eye: a tall man with tawny skin and bright green eyes. His hair is lightly curled salt and pepper, and he looks absolutely dashing in a three piece suit.

The biography offers a name: Guxart, or Artie to loved ones.

The biography tells a familiar story: Guxart worked hard all his life, but he's looking down the barrel of a penniless retirement, because every Crown he made went to his extensive family.

(wow, Vesemir thought his family was large; Guxart has children and grandchildren in the double figures.)

Vesemir tells himself it's foolish. But he keeps returning to Guxart's page. Over and over.

Vesemir writes his number down and stares at it for several days.

And then he calls.

The man that picks up sounds tired, but brightens when Vesemir explains why he rang. They talk for a little bit: Guxart is funny and charming, and Vesemir loves the sound of his voice.

The words call out of Vesemir's mouth before he can stop them: would Guxart be available for dinner next week? The answer is an enthusiastic but surprised 'yes'.

They meet at one of Vesemir's favourite restaurants: an old Ofiri place just outside Novigrad.

He arrives first and orders a nice red wine for their table, and watches the door. He half expects to be stood up. After all, he sent a picture of himself so Guxart could spot him upon arrival.

But Guxart arrives. He tugs nervously at his jacket as he appears in the doorway, and straightens his tie. He looks even more dashing than in the pictures, his dark curls neatly arranged, his short beard trimmed.

He shakes Vesemir's hand and smiles warmly, but Vesemir can tell he's nervous. He touches the cutlery like Lambert does when he's straightening them to avoid eye contact, he touches his face once or twice and chooses a salad off the menu.

After a while, Vesemir can't stand it any more. He asks Guxart why he's so worried.

Guxart's lips press together tightly, the laughter lines around his eyes crease a little: he doesn't want to ruin it. The last few appointments didn't go so well. He was too old for one, too loud for another, the third was... well, he doesn't want to talk about that one.

Vesemir tells him that he's looking for a companion. Someone who he can talk to, share a bottle of nice scotch and fall asleep by a fire with. Most of his friends are dead; he lost his best friend several years ago.

It's hard to make new friends at their age. Vesemir's just desperate for a friend. He will pay, of course. That's how the whole thing works.

Guxart blinks once or twice, and then the tension melts away with a single breath. Yeah, he wouldn't mind a friend.

After that, the meal goes well. Vesemir takes Guxart back and they share that scotch on his balcony. Vesemir buys Guxart a cab home, and they agree to meet again soon.

They message each other in the days in between. Vesemir feels a warmth growing in his chest.

The next time, they play chess and discuss botany.

The time after that, they go to a beer tasting and end up snoring on Vesemir's sofa.

After that, they attend a theatre performance and there's another meal, then a country walk, then a horse trek, then a poetry reading, then...

...a kiss. On Vesemir's balcony. Guxart cradled against Vesemir's chest, a hand in his hair and another at the small of his back.

Guxart damn near purrs, and Vesemir asks whether he would like to stay a little longer than an evening.

Guxart ends up staying a whole lot longer than an evening. Forever, in fact.

#vesemir #guxart #vexart #guxart/vesemir #tw3 #the witcher

[bananahoneycomb]

I Know a Place

I recommend reading on Ao3 as it follows 'To make a Friend' and I'm doing it as a series. I'm not sure how dark I will go with this series but this part isn't bad.

Rated: T Words: 915

Eddie Munson and Gareth Friendship, altered memory

Gareth stepped quickly. The roads home were too broken to bike and it was getting dark, or darker. The sky had been pitched with what the NEWS reports had called smoke from a chemical fire caused by the quake. It was strange to walk down this street he had been down so many times and see nobody. So many houses had been left empty. The folks who remained now stay in, especially at night. 

BAMF! 

“Shit!”The sudden sound made Gareth jump. 

He would not have noticed it, but without the once normal sounds of cars and kids playing there wasn’t anything to hide it, couldn’t mistake it for a car with a messed up exhaust or something. He turned to see what had made the sound. There was someone stepping to hide behind the tree in front of the Miller’s boarded up house.

BAMF!

It was the same sound but Gareth didn’t see anything that could have made it. He hesitated for a second, but then called out.

“Hey! Who's there?”, and walked towards the tree. He kept back a bit, enough that he thought he could book it if the guy meant to jump him. When he got there he was alone. 

“What the-”

BAMF!

It was just behind him and not just loud, there was a shift in pressure and his ear popped like they did the one time he flew in a plane to see his grandparents. 

“Hey Gareth, don’t turn around just yet”, someone directly behind him said. Gareth froze. That was Eddie’s voice. Eddie was dead. They had said Eddie was dead. Even Wayne had stopped putting up the missing posters. 

“Eddie!” Gareth said and, ignoring Eddie’s actual words for the surprise of hearing his voice, he turned around and launched himself for a hug. In the split second before he had his arms around Eddie he noticed a strangeness of Eddie’s skin but he thought it must just be the tears blurring his vision.

“Ha! You never listen man. Even way back to your first campaign. Still jumping in,”Eddie admonished fondly and hugged back.

“Eddie what, you, how,” Garath couldn’t speak, the words were all fighting to get out at once.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m okay. The reports of my demise were, well not completely wrong, but, ah greatly exaggerated. Don’t worry,” Eddie said.

“What the fuck does ‘not completely wrong mean?” Gareth asked and tried to pull back but Eddie held him still. “Hey, what-”

“Sorry just- wait. Please?” Eddie asked.

Gareth let out a breath but relaxed, “Fine”.

“It’s just, I didn’t want to scare you. I look a little different now. I sorta did die, just a little, but it’s still me. Promise,” Eddie said.

“How do you die just a little bit? And if you didn’t want to scare me, maybe quit with the smoke and mirrors bullshit. You know I don’t care what you look like,” Gareth said. This time when he pulled away Eddie let go.

“What?”, Gareth said and his mouth just hung open.

While Eddie had always been pale, now his skin was a blue-gray and shiny as if he had just stepped out of a shower. The skin seemed to thicken in places and it almost looked as though Eddie had horns peeking through his dark curls. He was smiling and his teeth 

“You good man?” Eddie asked. It was the same way he’d always ask whether Gareth had gotten harassed by assholes at school or just had a shitty day. It was so Eddie, it snapped through what apprehension Gareth felt at his changed appearance.

“Ah yeah. I’m good,” Gareth said. He looked Eddie in the eyes, so warm and a little sad. Those at least were the same as ever.

“Yeah, it takes some getting used to. Especially this,” Eddie said and turned around as if he were showing off a new patch on his vest or something but the vest was gone. 

What Eddie did have was a dusty blue tail, as long as Eddie was tall. It had a diamond shape flair at the end that was now bending and unbending across the middle like a hand waving.

“Hello Gareth”, Eddie Eddie said in one of his high pitched DnD voices, “I’m just a little tail don’t mind me”.

Eddie turned around laughing.

“Fucking metal but what the hell happened?”, Gareth asked.

“That’s a reeealy long story and I don’t think we have time right now but I will fill you in later. Promise. Some reeeeealy bad shit is going to go down soon. I know a place that will be safe and I’m not going to leave any of my little sheepies behind”, Eddie said and slung an arm over Gareth’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, I already got your mom, dad, and Doug. I’ve just been waiting for my favorite Dwarven party member.”

“Ok, umm, so should I pack something? Where are we going?”, Gareth asked.

“Don’t worry about packing. Henry has a place set for those who didn’t get the fancy makeover” Eddie said and his tail whipped in front of them to wave again, “I haven’t been yet, but you know how quiet Henry can be about things.”

“Wait, who’s Henry?” Gareth said, brow knitted in confusion.

BAMF!

The street was suddenly empty. The streetlights came on. The one closest to where the two boys had been talking blinked violently a moment before it glowed a soft yellow in the quiet dusk. 

#eddie munson #gareth stranger things #stranger things fanfic #my writing

[flowercrowngods]

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now.

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard.

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work.

“H— Hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“

“Of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone.

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened?

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself apparently.

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?”

No. “Thanks.”

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening.

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she—

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees.

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again.

“Hi.”

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.”

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe.

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again.

“What about Steve.”

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth.

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.”

“He… He’s hurt.”

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.”

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“

“I am. Coming. Over. And you tell me everything.”

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now.

“‘Kay.”

The next second, she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall.

🤍🌷 sneak peek of who did this to you pt. 3 (part 1 | part 2)

#steddie fic #steddie #who did this to you #i am battling this writers block or so help me!!

[kinnenvy]

qaf drabble #1

early season 3 break up small little drabble that i need out of my drafts :) , brian centric

Brian is on his third cigarette and his second beer. It’s Wednesday and Woody's tightly packed, but Brian's head is too all over the place to truly pay attention to the crowd around him. Not about its quantity nor its quality.

Unfortunately, despite his inability to acknowledge his surroundings, all the whispering happening around him easily reaches his ears. He can't escape the judgment being directed his way. Callous words about how tired, how haggard he looks, how dispirited and pale. How the god of Liberty avenue has stumbled and fallen to the depths of the worst kind of hell. Lonely and apathetic and too tired to hide himself behind his shell of glamour and charm.

He lights a fourth cigarette and instead of a third beer he gets himself a glass of whisky.

"Hey… Brian." Someone sitting on his left strikes a conversation, or at least tries to. Brian glances at him and hums. "Do you remember me? We… Met at Babylon last Sunday." 

Brian rarely remembers, but he looks back at him anyway. The mole on the skin beneath his eye vaguely reminds him of the backroom, of loud music filtering through the air and mingling with Justin's voice in Brian's ears.

He's the last guy they've had together and Brian is not sure whether he wants to fuck him or make sure to never see him again.

He doesn't try to do either, he just goes back to gazing into his drink and smoking his cigarette.

"We've been looking everywhere for you!" Ted and Emmett appear out of thin air and unknowingly save him from finally giving in and taking the guy home, just to hear his voice, look at his mole and pretend there's three of them in his bed.

"Yeah, it's pecs night at Babylon, what are you doing here?" Emmett sits beside him in a way that’s entirely too deliberate. He very openly reaches for Ted's hand, he glances at Brian in a way that he probably thinks must be subtle, and joins their fingers together, likely expecting Brian to point and sneer at them just to distract himself. Brian has to look away instead.

He picks at the damp label on one of his empty beer bottles, he stays there until it’s deep into the night and waits, he's not sure for what.

"This new account is bullshit." Brian groans in the agency corridors, Cynthia snickers and rolls her eyes as she walks next to him fidgeting with all the new documents they've acquired in the meeting.

"Why would they launch a new cassette player in 2003? And why do they expect them to sell?" She, as she often does, speaks out Brian's exact thoughts.

"I don't know and it's coming from one of our oldest accounts, so I can't even tell them to fuck off. They better pay me before they go bankrupt." He massages his temples and wipes off some of the tinted moisturizer he's started packing over his face. Wordlessly Cynthia helps him fix the patch of skin he's uncovered and Brian slams the door of his office harder than he should because of it.

Two days later a copy about nostalgia comes across his desk: You only know what you'll miss, once it's already gone. The accompanying images of Walkmans knockoffs and cassettes don't do much to divert his thoughts from blond hair and blue eyes.

When Brian comes home that afternoon he notices his wardrobe only has his clothes in it, he scans the loft and it takes him just a superficial glance to be able to tell that Justin sneaked in during his office hours and took away most of his things. His eyes linger on the computer and the graphics tablet he got him still sitting where he last left it. 

There's a feeling he'd rather not describe sinking to the pit of his stomach, it reaches so low inside him that Brian convinces himself his only choice is to bounce back and start looking up again.

He cleans up and for the first night since the Rage party, he wears his best fuck clothes and skips Woody's to get himself right to the backrooms.

The next logical step is to steal Michael away from his quiet evenings with Ben and let him distract him from the turmoil inside him. Allow his company to patch him up and hold him together, like he used to do when his dad got too drunk and Brian had to wear bruises for weeks, when his mom was too distracted by her own listlessness, to realize Brian needed her comfort.

"We can't stay too long, Ben has to wake up early tomorrow." Michael shouts in Brian's ear so he can hear him over the music and the yelling happening on the Babylon dancefloor. From this close he can see he still has a dark spot around his left eye from the blow he delivered to his face, without thinking Brian traces it with the tips of his fingers.

"What? The professor's working on a Saturday morning?" He asks, mostly just to fill the silence that can't be hidden by the loud bass beating and pulsating in the air around them.

"He's got a check up at the hospital." Michael says it like it's nothing special, but Brian has always been able to see right through him with ease. They dance a little closer after that, their hands gripping tightly each other's clothes.

"You better take him home then. It's already time for my scheduled backroom appearance anyway." Brian pushes him away only a handful of minutes later, Michael looks up at him and pats his shoulder.

"Listen, I know I behaved like an ass… But be careful, okay? Don't let this whole thing drag you down." Michael says, but can't look directly into his eyes anymore. Brian knows his outburst during Linds and Mel's party is still haunting him, even though letting his emotions get the best of him is Michael's specialty, just like hiding them is Brian's.

"What thing?" Brian furrows his eyebrows and shrugs, feigning ignorance, "I've never felt better."

"...Right." Michael releases a sigh between exasperated and amused, then kisses Brian's cheek and walks back to the bar where Ben, Emmett and Ted are deep into conversation.

Brian watches until all four of them decide to leave and start moving towards the wardrobe. Emmett looks back into the crowd one last time and raises a hand to wave at him, Brian raises his chin to acknowledge him, then he turns on his heels and lets himself be dragged away by the first man who hits on him.

Things slowly start to settle again. Brian stops paying short, blond twinks to wear baggy clothes and lay flat on his bed, while he rams them from behind. Hopefully soon he'll also stop seeing Justin in every trick he brings home.

For now he's cursed to see his face every time someone begs for his cock. Also whenever he steps into the diner.

Brian is starting to question the amount of money he's spending to put him through school, considering how he seems to be working every shift from Monday through Friday. He doesn't comment on it though, or on anything else, and he purposely gives his order to another server.

He's started going to tanning salons again, he's cut his hair and he is generally looking much better than he did weeks ago. Despite all of that, he keeps his sunglasses on, not wanting Justin's furtive glances to see anything he isn't supposed to. Also to shield himself from seeing how little his own ailments seem to be reflected in his inquisitive blue gaze.

#fic #drabble #brian kinney #qaf #queer as folk #qaf us #timeline is a little weird

[poeticandvaguelysweet]

Prompt: #255 - Halloween (explicit)

THIS IS SET PRE-JURASSIC WORLD AND DOES NOT CONTAIN DOMINION SPOILERS FOR ANY LOVES WHO HAVE NOT SEEN IT YET

I first wrote and published this fic in November 2018. Someone left me a rather lengthy review complaining about how bad it was and how disappointed they are (not constructive criticism) on my birthday when I was already having a shit time. It got to me so badly I deleted this fic. I was thinking about it recently, and after having two conversations about it with two different people I have decided to repost it. It’s been lightly edited, but for the most part remains the same. 

Summary: Owen and Claire fuck after a halloween party.

AO3

HALLOWEEN

Halloween, 2014

Isla Nublar

Parties, especially staff parties, were not Claire’s thing. She felt awkward, lingering in a room full of staffers she barely spoke to. Zara’s smile was bright, grinning at Claire like she knew her secret. ‘I'm so glad you decided to come!’ Zara half yelled over the music, her elbow tapping Claire’s hip. ‘You look ravishing.’ She winked again making Claire wonder if she had revealed her intentions to Zara without realising. Her assistant leaned in again, this time letting her finger slip between the bands that scattered down the side of her skirt. She pulled it tight, letting the fabric go as it snapped back into place with a satisfying sound against Claire’s skin. ‘I'm going to go get us some drinks, do you have a preference?’ She asked, stepping away with a small laugh as she marvelled at her boss wearing something so unexpected.

Zara disappeared into the decorations, cobwebs and plastic spiders hanging from doorways and sconces. Someone had plugged in a smoke machine, setting off an eerie atmosphere and thick air. She couldn’t see the walls anymore, just faint outlines of spooky decorations and the faint knowledge that tombstones scattered the space here and there.

The Monster Mash played at an obnoxiously loud level as employees dressed in varying costumes moved to the music, drinks in hand and conversation on their lips. She didn’t pay them much mind beyond a quiet smile, happy to see the tension from the command room slip away and the high pressures of a popular theme park disappear into a quiet night. Claire didn’t know them well, but she knew they deserved this. Time off to celebrate amongst themselves without the pressures of their jobs. 

Her eyes washed over them, peering through the manufactured fog, looking for one face and body in particular. She wasn't sure if he would be there, but free booze always seemed to be a lure for Owen Grady. Claire wondered briefly if she poured herself a glass of tequila if it would be enough to summon him. Like the smell of his favourite liquor would be enough to drag his nose through the room until he was standing at her feet, wondering why on Earth she was holding something she once denied. Surely, just to prove her wrong he would appear, telling her the drink wasn’t approved by her diet with a smirk and a self-satisfied chuckle. She hoped he would, so she could roll her eyes and feel the familiar warmth slide down her spine. He was a jerk. But he did it for her. 

‘Please tell me you just had this lying around.’ Like he felt his ears burning or sensed her tequila thoughts, Owen appeared. His hand ghosted over her hip, too scared to touch her fully as his fingers made contact with her skin in the gaps of her skirt. His voice was low, warning and weak. Claire knew all she would have to do is nod and he would be jelly at her feet, his hands all over her as he pulled her body into his. 

It felt so easy with Owen. Easier than it had ever had been, easier than all the times she wanted it to work and the relationships she tried to salvage. But he made it feel so good and so effortless, even when she wanted to hate every second of it.  Even when she tried. The man had talent even she couldn’t dissuade and now she was yearning for it, missing him like another limb. She hated herself, if only a little, for being drawn into the spiders’ web but she also knew Owen was harmless and had the highest of senses that he was into her enough to want to do it again. 

Claire tried to pretend she didn’t feel a shock of electricity at his touch, her heart pounding instantly as her mind wandered to delicious thoughts. The scratch of his voice made her recall when it had been pressed directly beside her ear, his breath ghosting past the cartilage and setting her on fire. 

‘Sorry?’ Claire asked, playing stupid to his words as she looked him up and down. He wasn’t wearing a costume. Still dressed in jeans and the leather vest she always saw him wearing at the paddock he wreaked of dirt and something specifically Owen. It was nice to know he didn’t scrub up for parties as well as dates.

He nodded at her attire, Claire suddenly feeling self-conscious about her choice. ‘I’m just trying to figure out whether this is something that’s always lived in your wardrobe or if you bought it for tonight.’ She watched his eyes as he watched her, smoothing up and down the lines of her body in a way that made her skin hot. Usually, Claire would be repulsed, annoyed at the blatant cockiness of the man. But, Owen … she wanted this from him. She realised, a little too late, that she was likely setting women back twenty years in choosing to dress specifically to be ogled by a man. Claire was hoping the payoff would be worth it. 

Her hands smoothed over her hips, sliding across the fabric in the front of her skirt.  

The skirt was knee length, a leatherette and held together by individual elastic straps down each side. They were a few inches apart, leaving pale skin to the mercy of eager eyes.  She wore a laced corset underneath it, more skin on show as she covered herself with a neat blazer, leaving the rest to temptation. 

‘It’s new.’ She offered, trying for a seductive smile and a heavy bat of her lashes. 

‘What are you supposed to be anyway? Sexy corporate kitty?’ Claire felt heat climb across her cheeks and slither its way down her neck. She had forgotten about the headband with cat ears she bought and the whiskers she drew on herself with a kohl pencil, trying to keep up the pretence that she had a costume and wasn’t just wearing lingerie. Sexy rolled from his tongue, dancing in her ears and setting her skin on fire. 

He wasn’t hesitant, but confident, choosing his words wisely as Claire swore she caught a gleam in his eye. ‘And what are you supposed to be. Yourself?’ 

Owen shrugged, ‘Thought Raptor Trainer would be a good costume’. She rolled her eyes, unable to help herself against his cocky grin. He thought he was so clever. Owen was interesting, easy to peg and easy to concur but he was interesting to Claire. Different from others certainly didn’t give up and even though he crossed the boundary line on a few small occasions, for the most part, he knew it was there. Above it all, he never seemed to give up on her, no matter how many times she tried to push him away. ‘I honestly didn’t think you would go for this kind of dress-up at all.’ 

He was stuck on it, fascinated, his eyes sliding down her body once again, hands twitching at his sides. He wanted to touch. Claire had him hook, line and sinker. ‘Well, I saw it and thought it would look good against your bike.’ She saw him swallow hard, fingers curling into fists as he held himself back, trying not to launch at her. It was faint, but she heard the rumble of a growl in the back of his throat, fading itself out with the chatter and the music around them. 

Her body had been humming since she got dressed that afternoon, knowing full well that if things went to plan she would have a lot to be excited about. That hum had built to a slow burn, tingling under the surface that now, at his reaction, lit itself alight and started to rush across her body. 

‘You, ah, want to go outside and see if your theory was correct?’ He asked, nervous as he gestured towards the door somewhere in the fog. Claire liked surprising him, he was always breathless and thrown off when she said the unexpected. To think that she could keep a man on his toes, thrilled her. Not once did he show he was intimidated by it. Owen always recovered quickly, showing her a flash of confusion before that smirk grew across his cheeks and he challenged her right back. 

She barely managed a nod before he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the throng of people. He stopped at the make-shift bar, asking her if she wanted anything and not moving until she shook her head. Claire wasn’t there to drink.

His bike was sitting outside, away from the other vehicles. There was no streetlight, only the silver wash from the full moon, shining off the metal of his bike’s engine. She felt her heart pick up a beat as her feet carried her across the footpath, Owen by her side making idle conversation. 

‘Didn't expect to see you at a party like this.’ It wasn’t organised by the higher-ups. One of the herbivore trainers was huge on Halloween and couldn't stand that nothing was being done for employees. There was plenty for park guests but nothing they would want to go to in their downtime. So, Pete or Mike or whatever his name was, set this up. Owen was surprised Claire even knew about it. 

‘I’m full of surprises.’ Nonchalant, she shrugged, stepping ahead of him as her shoes hit gravel without pause. His bike was cool under her fingertips, the leather soft and well worn as she grazed her touch up and down the seat before it rose over the cold metal of the handlebars. 

Owen was quiet behind her, admiring her ass no doubt as she leaned over the machine in her admiration of it. Motorcycles were something that had thrilled her, once upon a time, the danger of them felt more real than that of living on an island full of dinosaurs and the fact that Owen insisted upon having his here, with him, drew her in quicker than a flame called to a moth. 

Her fingers danced, gentle as they pasted the plaque branding, ‘Triumph’ pressed proudly in silver decorating the fuel tank. 'You want to hop on?' Owen’s voice was strong behind her, deeper than she had heard it since the last time their bodies touched. She turned, ever so slowly, unsure if the blood rushing south was making her dizzy enough to fall over. Her smile was shy but challenging as she bent, fingers finding the hem of her skirt. Claire could swear she heard Owen swallow, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as his feet scratched across the gravel.

‘God, Claire, you don’t have to straddle it.’ His hand appeared at her thigh, fingers warm against her wrist as he tried to stop her. The wounded, if not startled look she threw him was enough to make him retreat. His hand was still on her wrist, but his touch was no longer meant to discourage her. 

She stepped back with the audacity to look wounded before her features softened into a small smirk. ‘So, just like this then?’ Claire asked, straightening as her skirt remained crumpled, pulled halfway up her thighs. She looked dishevelled, not unlike herself, as Claire took a step back towards the bike, waiting until she felt the coolness of it against her back. She hummed, leaning herself against the machine as Owen stood watch. 

‘Yeah,’ He sighed, breathless, unable to fill his lungs with the cool air that surrounded them. She was a sight and a half, stretched out in front of his bike, her hands propped up behind her. Her blazer was pulled tight over her chest, one button holding it in place, straining for release as her skirt sat just as snug, promising him so much more. ‘Almost perfect.’ He found his feet, boots kicking the gravel as he stepped forward. ‘You been drinking?’ He asked, not unfamiliar to a drunk Claire, a little looser than the corporate woman he saw from day to day. This wasn’t her. She shook her head, holding his gaze in the moonlight. ‘Good.’ The answer was rough as his hand raised, reaching for her. His fingers found the button of her blazer, flicking it in a fluid motion to set the fabric free. It breezed down her sides, revealing the corset Claire wore, black lace, sheer in places. Owen’s breathing grew deeper, eyes closing for a split second as she stood there, ignited by the moonlight. ‘Much better,’ he muttered, stepping closer, his large hands found her waist. 

It was Claire’s turn to feel breathless, lost in his warm touch as her body shivered. She wanted to ask, a question poised on her lips. Instead, their eyes did the talking, dancing their dance as green met green. She had told him she didn’t want a second date, that she didn’t see the two of them as compatible. That, given enough time, he would get sick of her. She needed him now, more than she needed air and the feeling had been bothering her for weeks. 

‘Just once?’ He asked, reading her mind, and falling prey to her plan. He had to be the one to cave. Maybe, if only for a minute, Claire wanted to hold the power over him. For once, she wanted to be the cocky one self-assured by her wiles and his want for her. Just for a minute, Claire wanted to feel how Owen had felt when she had hissed at him before pressing up on her toes and giving in to a needy kiss. 

She nodded and it was all he needed. Before they knew it, Owen’s mouth was on hers, soft lips and warm stubble against her silk cheeks. Claire opened to him easily, her walls crashing down before they touched as she revelled in the feeling of his arm sliding around her back to pull her body flush with his. She didn’t mean to whimper, but the sound released itself from her throat before she even felt the need. He had pulled it from her so effortlessly, one hand on the small of her back while the other slid up into her hair. His large thumb was stroking at her neck and behind her ear, hitting the base of her headband with every upward stroke. It fell from her head within seconds, toppling down the back of her skull where Owen finally freed it and tossed it into the night. 

Claire wanted to be consumed by him, standing in heels in the gravel, pushing up onto her toes, her hands gripping onto his shirt, his vest, the bare skin of his neck and finding strands of his hair, here and there, everywhere all at once and not at all. She needed purchase, felt that maybe she could stand on the seat of his bike and tower over him like a goddess. She wanted to be with him, near him, one with his heart beating in his chest. She had always wondered what it would feel like to be so deep in desire that the only need that throbbed within her was to crawl into the cracks of another body and bury herself inside of them. She wondered if he felt like that when their clothes were gone when he had the chance to push the core of himself into her warmth. Did he feel whole? Did it shroud him in a blissful feeling or only partly? Could she do that for someone and could she feel loved in the same way?

She stopped her hands on his cheeks, lips pulling away from his as Owen chased her mouth. This wasn’t love, Claire needed to remind herself. Gulping in deep breaths she let the chill of the night wash over her. This was lust, pure and raw but nothing more than that.

‘You alright?’ He asked, breathless and panting. There was a heavy hand on her hip, long thick fingers having slid themselves inside her skirt, sitting against her bare flesh and burning there. Her nod was easy as she filled it with a reassuring smile. She was drawn away for a second, worried by her thoughts before she pushed back into him, meeting his lust with hers and challenging the strength of the man’s worship.

Impatient hands found the zip on her skirt, leaving fat fingers to pull on the tag. She was almost ready to shimmy out of it when laughter met her ears and Owen’s body tensed around hers. She couldn’t move. Only stood still as the sound of people past them. ‘They didn’t see us.’ He offered, redoing the zip as his hands slid around to the front of her waist. ‘But, do you … ah, do you think we should take this elsewhere?’ Even in the light of night, she could see the warmth on his cheeks and arousal in his eyes. 

‘Is your bike safe?’ She asked, partly stepping away from it as she assessed his vehicle. ‘I’ve never ridden one before.’ Her statement was almost an insinuation. Even though her car was in the lot with everyone else's nearby, Claire was choosing this. 

‘Mostly.’ He answered with a shrug. Sometimes it stuttered, faltering at high speeds and promising to send him flying. Hell, it was a motorcycle. It wasn’t all that safe. She could see his hesitancy, wasn’t sure if he wanted her on it. Didn’t know if he could keep her safe. ‘My bungalow isn’t far from here.’ And yet, they could just as easily walk to her apartment. ‘I’ll go slow.’ He told her with a wink, his hand lingering on her hip as he moved for the bike. ‘You want me to teach you?’ He asked, more so he could get her to ride in front of him. Owen knew too, that Claire was a curious creature and if a learning opportunity showed itself, she would be more than happy to take it. 

He dropped to his knees when she nodded, kneeling in the dirt as his hands found the backs of her thighs. She had tried to push her skirt up earlier, ready to climb onto his bike and Owen stopped her. Now, he was sure the action was necessary as his hands found the fabric and slid it further up her thighs. 

‘You’re not wearing underwear, are you?’ He asked, the question lingering on his mind. 

Looking down at him with her teeth on her lip, Claire shook her head. Owen’s groan was animalistic, his forehead falling to her skin. She could feel him concentrating on deep breaths as his hands gripped tightly to her skin. ‘Fuck,’ drifted from his lips quietly, mouth grazing against her thigh before he kissed the skin there, just below the fabric of her skirt. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

She grinned, ‘Maybe’. 

Just like that, he was on his feet again, patting the seat of his gunmetal Triumph Scrambler and telling her to hop on. 

His bike was broad and thrilling beneath her thighs but was nothing compared to the feeling of Owen behind her. His chest was strong, solid as he wrapped himself around her, holding her to him tightly as his arms reached for the handlebars. The machine roared to life, eliciting a short gasp from Claire in her surprise. She had been too focused on him, the man around her, rather than the thing they were on. Owen chuckled in her ear, the sound deep and vibrating with the bike as it send shivers down her spine. It pooled in her gut, building with white-hot arousal as she lost herself in the feeling of his cheek against hers. 

‘Hold on tight.’ His words were punctuated with the squeeze of his arms against her sides. The engine roared, rumbling beneath their bodies as Claire felt a shift in Owen behind her.

It was with unspeakable ease that Owen navigated them though barely used service roads. He was the only thing down that way of the island. Claire was sure that one day the park would extend to his little alcove and encroach on his space, eventually pushing Owen out and into apartment living. She wondered if he would still be there by then or if the choice between his job and his solitude would be what it took to make him quit. 

She had to give him kudos for the location. It was peaceful out there. Still. In the distance she could hear the calls and chatter of ancient beasts, happily settling down for their quiet lives away from entertaining. The first time she was out there the serenity and raw purity of it reminded Claire of her early days on the island before it was finished when the waterfalls and jungles were left to that of bright-minded interns. Now, they were overcrowded and tainted by the footprint of tourists. But, Owen’s bungalow and the land it sat on seemed to have that untouched feel. It was just him out there, his bike, and the fish in the lake. He lived around the dinosaurs, able to hear them but never see them like they were a closely guarded secret that hovered over his life. She lived for the magic of it and wondered if she had known this could have been a choice, would she have asked for a house of her own in a secluded part of the park? He might just let her share it, if she asked nicely, setting out a plot of land across from his bungalow where she could build a more liveable abode. But then, it would mean Owen Grady was her neighbour and Claire wasn’t sure how close she wanted him. Then again … in situations like this night, it would have been handy having him only a few steps away. 

‘You alright?’ Owen asked, his body peeling away from hers until he was standing in the grass by the bike, concerned eyes watching her. Smudged on his cheeks was the faint hint of her drawn-on whiskers, his nose marked too. She hadn’t noticed it before they left, her mind a little dazed from their kisses, but now she saw it as clear as day. Claire grinned, feeling every inch of the fond and joyous emotion that filled her as she leant in to kiss him once again. 

She had missed him, even in their short ride. Her lips had almost forgotten the warm pressure of his and the impatient push of his tongue. This was it, they were alone now, left to the vacancy of his island home where they could do and be as they please without disturbance. Claire didn’t miss a beat. With her arms around his neck, she lifted her leg, sliding it past the fuel tank as she drew her body closer to his. Owen stopped her before her foot joined the other, her heel clicking against the tank as his hand touched the skin of her knee. ‘I just gotta …’ He mumbled against her lips, breaking their kiss as he dropped to his knees. His lips peppered kisses up her legs, jumping from one to the next as his hand held her knee still bent above the body of his bike. 

It was her easy laughter that caused him to smile, grinning as he climbed up her legs with fat kisses until he met the twitching skin of her upper thighs. Her giggles faded into an easy moan when Owen closed his mouth over her sex. 

Fingers scratched the leather of the bike seat, Claire desperate for something to hold onto as her body teetered on the edge. It felt like the world was moving around her in slow motion as Owen dragged his tongue across the sensitive flesh of her labia, setting Claire into a world of impatient agony as the fire within her kept sparking but failed to ignite. It wasn’t because she wasn’t thrilled with what he was doing, but because he was moving to torture her rather than pleasure, stroking but not quite hitting the spot that would send her into oblivion. 

Owen shifted, moving his weight on his knees so he could reach his hands up her back, holding her steady as Claire leaned into the touch, trapped in her position as her hips cantered against his face. She moaned sound long and low stretching out into the silent night air around them without a single worry of being overheard. 

He had freed her, sexual liberation wracking her body as Claire threw her head back, leaving her neck bare to the skies and filling the stars with her impatient cries. She felt brave, lifting a hand from its indent on his bike seat to bury it in Owen’s hair. Her nails scratched, trying to convey in movement what her throat wouldn’t let out. He was grinning, sly as a fox between her thighs with a chuckle on her skin that made her fingers dig deeper. Owen pulled it from her, beckoning each cry with a flick of his tongue, the hand still holding her thigh, rubbing soothing lines against her skin as she grew louder and less restrained. 

Owen didn’t let up until she had doubled over, hands clinging to his back as she lay bowed over his head. She was panting in his ear, leg shaking in his hand as her fingers twitched against his back pulling on the shirt he wore before briefly releasing it. It took Claire several minutes to catch her breath and find her strength before her hands pushed against Owen’s shoulders to right herself. He was grinning when she met his eyes, looking up at her like she held the world in the palm of her hands.

‘There’s my kitten,’ he grinned, voice rough as he pushed himself up into a stand. Claire had thought, back at the party, that Owen had discarded her cat-eared headband. But, when he placed it back on her head, pushing her bangs back with it she realised that assumption had been wrong. 

Claire wanted to roll her eyes and tell him she wasn’t his. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. She liked being his in situations like this. Claire felt treasured, adored, respected even. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be his full-time. But for brief moments, she enjoyed what could come from being in Owen’s inner rings. 

He kissed her, distracting Claire from her thoughts as she tasted herself on his needy tongue. 

‘Inside. Now.’ She growled against his lips, pushing against him a little as she found the strength to challenge him. The sound he made in response was a mournful whimper. She felt it settle against her bones as his hands held her hips tightly. If Owen had his way with it, he would have fucked her against his bike to fulfil some playboy wet dream. For now, she was happy to deny him. ‘It’s cold,’ She whined back, shivering for emphasis as she nipped at his bottom lip.

The rest was a blur. Moving from the bike to Owen’s bungalow, shedding their clothes and landing in his bed. She could remember him faltering with the clasps and ties, the inconvenience stalling them for a minute until he figured it out. His frustrated grunts puffed against her neck, sending goosebumps down her spine as she sat patiently waiting to be undressed. 

If anything, Owen was overqualified in making up for the lost time. His touch was hot, heavy, and knew exactly where to pinch, flick and soothe. He was everywhere all at once, overwhelming her senses now that she didn’t have to worry about falling off his bike. Her skin was bare and sensitive to him, his calloused hands, his coarse hair. He was bigger than she was dizzyingly so as he hovered above her. 

‘You ready?’ He asked like his fingers weren’t currently sitting sticky on the outside of her thigh. She could feel him, just there, hovering, hesitating, waiting for Claire to make the call. ‘I remember it wasn’t a comfy fit last time.’ There was concern in his eye but mirth on his lips. The bastard was happy with himself that he was almost too much for her. She gave him a small nod, affirmation but chose to not entertain his last comment. His ego was being stroked enough with her presence.

She gave him a small nod as she rolled her eyes and forced a scoff in response to his last comment. ‘You’re too much.’ 

‘I mean, you didn’t exactly complain last time. And, here you are, in my bed again. I’d say, Claire Dearing, I’m exactly what you want.’ He kissed her cheek, the gesture fond and familial more than any of the others had been. ‘You like that too-full feeling, don’t you?’ He punctuated with a sharp thrust forward, one hand holding her hip down as the other guided himself inside of her. She grunted, eyes rolling again, this time in a mix between pleasure and pain as Owen withdrew. A second grunt game with his next thrust, twisting into a moan as he slid deeper, stretching her inner walls in a way that had her coming back for more. 

He wasn’t wrong. She was an addict for it, driven for the next opportunity as her body longed in between each experience. They had only had sex once and yet she was sniffing him out, luring him into it just so she could see if that slight discomfort would return for a few seconds more. And oh, how it did. 

Claire couldn’t feel anything beyond the throb of the man pushing in and out of her centre. His erection was hot and showing no signs of relenting as she rolled her hips against his, adjusting to the feeling. Owen lived for every pant and moan that escaped her lips with each inward thrust. The sigh she released when he pulled out of her fully, body relaxing for a split second before he pushed forward again, pulling another grunt from her throat. He groaned, sound gritty and dry as he succumbed to the warmth of her body. 

Owen knew he needed to savour it. That the first time was sheer luck and, this had to be an impossible daydream. It was Halloween after all, maybe some island witch had put a spell on him and he would wake up naked, alone and feeling all too empty. Claire Dearing wasn’t the kind of woman who lingered in the presence of men. She struck once, like lightning, shining white-hot energy into his life for a flash before she was gone. A second go-round? This was rare enough. He had mapped every freckle on the inside of her legs, from the small patch on her stomach up to the ones that speckled her chest. She was without imperfections, perfect from head to toe in silk-like skin that smelt like a dream. Maybe it was a dream, she responded to every touch, every push, every twitch and every graze of his hand. Her body sighed, moaned, whimpered and cried. She arched into him, pushed back or rocked her hips in time. Surely, he was dreaming all that? He couldn’t be that good for her. Not the elusive Dearing. Not the woman he wanted to bag but knew he never could. 

Distracted, Claire managed to overpower him. Owen’s back hit the mattress before he realised what had happened. She was grinning above him, happy as a fat cat as her lips tugged on his bottom one, teeth not letting him go. Owen growled, hands squeezing at her thighs. He didn’t like having his power taken away, not as she set the pace above him. But, this was Claire, stretched out, sitting in his lap, nothing but smooth skin from the plains of her stomach to the curve of her breasts. This he liked, this he could live with if it was Claire taking him out for a ride. 

Her hand was cautious on his chest, fingers barely touching as she rocked her hips against his. She was trying to hold herself up, to keep herself steady as she set a torturously slow pace. He wanted to overthrow her, regain control and show her how it was done but there was a concentration set on Claire’s brow that stopped him. 

She was close, unbearably so. Claire’s eyes were pinched shut and her bottom lip was held between her teeth, slightly gnawing on it as she moved her weight towards the hand on his chest. Her hips moved over his, rolling and moving in figure-eights as he tried his best not to buck into her and throw the woman off. She was mesmerising. Not that she wasn’t already. Owen had been infatuated with her for years, but this felt like a special viewing. Like he was privy to a side of Claire not many had the privilege to see. He watched her, feeling lucky that he had the chance, head surrounded by his pillows as the moonlight snuck in through the blinds to illuminate her hair. 

Men in the navy spoke about sirens, beautiful women who lured them into the sea. Owen wasn’t sure they existed, along with any mythology but he was sure Claire had it in her. A sirens song, beckoning him to the depths of nothingness on false promises of forever with her. She was a goddess, full of power and strength. A woman unlike any other. 

His hands were soft on her hips, thumbs rubbing easily lines against her skin until one drifted, broke away at the sound of her frustrated sigh. Something just wasn’t hitting the spot she needed, Claire grinding against him relentlessly, searching for the release they were both expecting to receive. His hand slid past her belly, flat palm to her skin as he felt the muscles beneath it twitch at his touch. Still, she didn’t sense what he was doing until his thumb rolled over her clit. 

‘Fuck,’ she swore into the dark of his bedroom, the word and feeling overtaking her. Owen did it again, slower, purposely driven. She hissed, body leaning into his touch. He felt something inside her clamp down, the warmth of her body gripping onto his. The sensation alone nearly sent Owen over the edge, his arousal suddenly returning to him like it had been living behind a veil for the last few minutes.  

Owen echoed her sentiment, overcome with his need as his body honed into every inch of hers. His thumb rolled once again, flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves on the return to its resting place. She jumped, body caught off guard by the electricity he sent sparking through her nervous system. She rocked forward, chasing the sensation as her cries stung together in a needy, desperate sound. She was right on the edge, rocking herself harder and faster as a brave hand found his wrist and pushed it down her belly. She wanted his hand right where her desire was pooling, sure his touch could set off the release she was looking for. 

He was never one to deny the primal urges of a sexual partner. If that’s what she wanted, it was what she got. Most of the time those urges are never wrong. Owen’s hand was steady, broad as his fingers slid past her slick skin, feeling where their bodies met for a brief moment before he drew his touch back to the epicentre of her lust. He could hear it, the end of oblivion mounting her cries as Claire’s back straightened and her neck laid bare to the cool air. 

She fell from the heavens, shuddering as she persisted in keeping herself upright. Owen was nothing but a spectator. He brought her to that ledge and tugged her over it. What he would give to continue to be a bystander to this glorious oblivion, her moan echoing in his ears as Owen swore he heard his name whispered on her lips. He was high on it, head spinning as she twitched, hips rolling slowly, trying to chase the ends of her orgasm, prolonging it for as long as she could. 

The patter of rain on his roof startled him but not as much as Claire’s sweet breathless chuckle. The sound radiated from her as her body returned from its high, slowly crumbling into a neat, vanilla-scented pile on his chest. The rain carried on. 

‘Can I stay here tonight?’ She asked quietly, hips shifting with his erection still straining inside of her. Owen hadn’t thought about how she would get home or where exactly her car was parked. All he knew was that he drove her here. Maybe she had planned to walk and the rain had now ruined that idea. Nevertheless, she was asking if she could stay here at his bungalow with him. 

His hand snaked down her bare back, counting her ribs as he tried to distract himself. ‘Yeah,’ he cleared his throat, a lump forming around his words. ‘You can stay. Whenever you want, always, hell, you don’t even need to ask.’ Owen couldn’t shut his mouth, words flying here and there, his body useless to catch them. Claire smiled at him, her head propped up by her hands as she leaned on his chest. Her kitten whiskers were still in place and the smudge on her nose stubbornly remained. It made her smile all the sweeter as her green eyes shone just for him. 

‘Good.’ Claire hummed, moving to press her lips to his as she sat up once again. Owen was mournful of the loss of her body against his and then deeper again when he felt her pull away from him. She wasn’t gone long. Her fingers picked up an immediate trail just below his belly button, nails dragging south. 

He flinched when her lips met the base of his cock, sliding around his flesh as her nails dug into his thigh. He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to, that he didn’t expect it. But, one-touch and he was an addict, drawn to the velvet of her lips and silk of her tongue. His head fell back, eyes closing when he felt her take him into her mouth, lips sliding down his shaft as Owen felt the tip of his erection touch the back of her throat. It was all sensation after that, he couldn’t speak, could only roll his eyes into the back of his head and gasp for air. It was like their roles had reversed. It was now Claire with the impatient touch and the greedy kiss. Each move was calculated, her hand twisting, applying pressure to the base of his cock as her tongue worked on teasing the sensitive tip. He felt her everywhere, his skin on fire with her touch, never wanting it to end but desperate to kiss her again.

Claire was goal orientated. Nothing was getting between her and Owen’s orgasm, even when he pulled at her arms with needy little sounds. She only shook her head or stopped to level him with a menacing glare. He was weak for it, trying again just to catch the stern glare of her gaze so he could link it back to all the times she had looked at him in that way outside of a sexual setting. He was going to find himself with an erection every time he stopped listening in a project meeting from now on until the end of time. 

It was the thought of Claire glaring at him in one of her tight business skirts, not unlike the one she wore tonight, that finally pushed him over the edge. He got that. Corporate woman putting him in his place, making him weak at the knees, letting him fuck her. That Claire handed herself over to him willingly that night. The setting would have been all the sweeter if it had been in her office, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and Owen was just as happy with his bungalow. Not to mention his bike. 

She grinned at him like the cat who got the canary, his ejaculate dripping down her chin. Owen still wasn’t sure who was smiling down on him as he reached for her, taking her face in his hands and she crawled back up his body until they were chin to chin. ‘Sorry,’ Claire apologised. ‘I really wanted to do that.’ 

He had no complaints. Maybe he had one. She would eventually get up from his bed and never return. He wondered briefly if it was too late to make an offering to whichever spirits were currently haunting their island. 

Owen didn’t want to force Claire to stay but he certainly wanted to see her return of her own accord. Then again, he had seemingly learned enough about her to maybe woo her once again.

#clawen #jurassic world #clawen fic #Claire Dearing #Owen Grady #pre jw #despite the odds

[ryuzakemo128]

The Angel Of Death

Chapter Fifteen: Tomorrow Is Just Another Day Away

<- Previous Chapter / Next Chapter ->

Chapter Summary: Red discovers that her mother's echoed voice isn't leaving anytime soon. Her father appears before her eyes, before a change in leadership on either side of the Red is apart of. In the contrast of loud booming anger and questions that neither one of them have answers to them. An unfortunate death and fortune left to Red.

Trigger Warning: Angst, Drug usage, Cursing, Mention of Death.

"Is that enough truth for you Thomas or maybe I should you a heap more for good measure?" Red asked him, "I mean you wanted me to tell you the truth about my mother, about what happened before she died and how my parents finally died. I don't understand how out of all that, you had an issue with fourteen year old me picking up a gun and killing three guys who had their hands on my mother."

'Thank you for telling me Red, I suppose I should have known you wouldn't hold back any details. I suppose I should have known that part as you never liked liars or the act of someone lying to someone else." Thomas paused for a brief moment, looking over to her, "you never failed, ever. Don't bring that part up again, not to me or the rest of us, another thing, just ask for help next time"

"Try to listen next time Thomas" Red responded, "Try to fucking listen before it gets worse next time. Galina, Thomas and I need a word, in private and I'll inform you if it concerns you."

"You didn't do what I think you did Red, please tell me you didn't do what I think you did." Thomas said to her, "I told you not to do it Red, what have you done?"

"I got into contact with the Russian Mafia Thomas, they said they knew who shot my parents and it all it took was a few favors that might need me to do their killing for them." Red paused looking back at him again, "I didn't ask them for help for Ivan Thomas, I asked them for help so I won't have to listen to my father's yelling in my head and my mother's crying in my ears. They needed peace, I needed peace of mind"

"You really have done it now, you up and leave for a few months after Grace dies. Miss out on what happened with Father Hughes-"

"Guessing Michael killed him, yeah?" Red says interrupting him.

"Yeah, I promised I let him." Thomas says taking out his cigarette case of his coat pocket. "May I smoke?"

"Go ahead Thomas, don't let fear stop you." Red responded, "besides we still have a lot more to unpack either way. So get comfortable, you'll be here for a while." Red continued as he lit his cigarette.

"I suppose we do Red, I suppose we really fucking do"

As the day came to a close, Thomas and Red continued to speak on past ventures and business partners.

"So Alfie double crossed you and you still go back to him, just like that?"

"Just like that. I suppose I would too, with the lovely character traits he has, I suppose I would have too."

"Arthur's temper got in the way again."

"As it usually does, I suppose I'd be rather pissed if something like that happened." Red paused, "although his temper is something you can see coming from a mile away Thomas. Yours is a lot like Alfie's explosive and has more of a build up. Both can be either quiet or loud."

"What about yours Red?"

"I have no clue because it scares me most of the time. If it's just minor, small and tiny thing, I usually shrug it off. Keep note of it for later and move on from it."

"And something major?"

"It usually end up bloodier than it needs to be most of the time."

"Fucking hell Red, you should have told me this earlier on."

"I don't think you would have hired me if you knew."

"well, better late than never."

"I certainly hope so for your sake"

"Why my sake and not yours?"

"I'm not worried about dying or being shot or finding out your own body is slowly killing you from the inside. Your safety is my priority, it'll remain that way until I die."

"Are you trying to flirt or be nice?"

"Both maybe? I don't know."

"You haven't done this song and dance for a while have you?"

"Not for a long time Thomas. Not for a real long time"

#peaky blinder #peaky blinders #peaky fookin blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders au #thomas shelby #imagine #fanfiction #Fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x female reader #peaky blinders x fem! Reader #Thomas Shelby x Female Reader #Tommy Shelby x Female Reader #Thomas Shelby x Fem! Reader #Tommy Shelby X Fem! Reader #Thomas Shelby Angst #Tommy Shelby Fluff #Tommy Shelby Angst #Thomas Shelby Fluff #Thomas Shelby Fanfiction #Thomas Shelby Fanfic #Tommy Shelby Fanfiction #Tommy Shelby Fanfic #Thomas Shelby Imagine #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Red (Female Reader)