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dvrktvnnel · 11 days ago

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thirsty ~ bang chan

genre— horror/smut {MDNI!!!}

pairing— vampire!Bang Chan x reader

word count— 2.2k

warnings— blood, gore, very suggestive, choking/gagging, fingering (fem receiving), sucking, blood play/kink, chasing, no protection(wrap it up yall !)

summary— railway inspired fic mwehehehehe

“Thank you for coming,” you said. “I know its not easy to come on such short notice and we’re pretty isolated put here.”

“Ah, it was a rough ride,” Chan answered. “But the train never sleeps.”

You opened the door to let him in, his sleek black coat and leather bag of equipment made him look like a mad scientist. His odd colored eyes completed the look. It suited him well, since he was here to help you study vampires and werewolves. Word of mouth was he knew his shit. If that were the case, then he should be able to help you with a cure.

He walked with you through the corridor. You couldn’t help but notice, and it was so strange, how the other vampires would reach out to him like a savior. With everyone else who’d been here, they were gnashing their fangs and waving their claws at them.

“They must really hate me,” he chuckled meeting your gaze.

“Must, or they think you’re here to save them.”

He shot you a cold look before quickly hiding it behind a cold smile.

“That would be insane.”

You should have doubted him more. It only took a second. You led him to the room filled with vampire blood, hanging from iv racks. He set his bag down roughly, one of his sharp tool pierced a bag. Blood spewed from the tear, and he snapped.

He wasn’t who you thought he was, no, he wasn’t what you thought he was. No vampire would act like that. The way he tore through the guard you called when he shoved the blood bag against his lips was animalistic. He was like a wolf devouring prey.

A hybrid.

You managed to knock him out from behind, running out of the cell and locking it behind you. You stayed and watched him for a while.

He was asleep right now. God was he beautiful, but the blood staining his clothes was eerie. You shivered at the thought of what he’d done to people. What he could do to you.

What he will do to you.

You stood outside the cell he was in. Blood bags hung around him, IVs dripping steadily onto the floor. The sheets were soaked red. Your eyes traveled up his body, taking in every detail of his flawless skin. his veiny arms, his broad chest, his plump lips, his odd eyes staring coldly into your soul. Your blood ran cold, and he twitched.

He didn’t say a word when he got up, thrashing around the room like a wild animal. His eyes were wide with fear, confusion, hunger.

He grabbed one of the blood bags off the pole, biting into it and moaning as he sucked it dry.

You swallowed hard as you watched him. His eyes locked onto yours and he stumbled forward. It was like tunnel vision; all he saw was you.

and God did you look so fucking delicious to him.

You should have turned around; you should have told someone he was awake. But no, you were in a trance. He reached his hand through the bar and stroked your neck with his bloody fingers.

“You look so delicate,” he whispered.

You shivered at his icy touch, the cold burning past your skin. He leaned in closer, his cheek rubbing on the steel bars. You could see the smoke swirling in the air as it burned him, contrasting the cold air his breath blew against your ear.

“Let me taste you,” he whispered again. “I’ve heard so much about you, I want you t be mine.”

You snapped back into reality, and you pushed yourself away. Your eyes refocused, you didn’t even notice they had gone blurry. You took a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“What the hell are you?” you asked.

He laughed darkly, watching you through hooded eyes.

“I bet you scream so pretty,” he said, his voice almost sounding whiny.

He stuck his tongue out, dragging it up the bar that you touched.

You shouldn’t have reacted that way.

You turned around to leave when you heard it. The sound of metal scraping, screeching and bending in ways it shouldn’t be capable of. You whipped around and saw him pulling the bars apart, smiling maniacally.

You didn’t wait any longer, you ran as fast as you could down the hall. You told every guard you passed that he was awake and escaping.

You could hear him coming. The sound of flesh tearing and blood spilling, his growls as he thrust his claws into their necks. Their screams.

You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t resist. You saw him lift a guard with one hand before slamming him into the ground.

He wasn’t struggling. No, he was playing, he loved the chase, he loved it so much. He didn’t want to catch you yet; he wanted to catch you when you were out of breath with your clothes torn and your hair a mess.

So, he let you run and hide.

You reached the door you had come through, but it didn’t respond to your keycard.

“Fuck!” you shouted under your breath.

You don’t know how he did it, but the power was out. The lights flickered before going off, and the cell chamber went on lockdown. You were trapped.

In a second Chan was right behind you, his claws digging into your side and drawing blood. You screamed in shock, trying to break free.

“More please,” he whispered in your ear with a sadistic smile.

You gasped as he dug his fingers in deeper just before throwing you aside. You clutched your wound and got up, running away from him.

He had let the other vampires out, and they slaughtered the rest of the guards. One of them grabbed your arm, but before it could do anything Chan gashed its throat.

“It’ll be safe when its just you and me,” he said.

You scrambled back to your feet and ran again. It was still late at night, the sun wouldnt rise for hours. You managed to find a closet to hide in, the sounds you heard would haunt your nightmares for years. That was if you even made it out alive.

It took all your strength to stay awake, and after a while the sounds stopped. A dead silence hung in the air with the stench of blood. Slowly, carefully, you opened the door. The heavy metal scraped against the cold stone floor and echoed through the halls.

In the center of the corridor, you saw him. He was sitting atop a throne of bodies, his head resting on the back of his hand like a king. His eyes were locked on you, he knew you were there the whole night.

With a burst of adrenaline, you made a run for it. The sun had just started to rise, you could make it outside and then you’d be safe.

He let you run.

You ran down the corridor, passing the bodies left to decorate his new lair. You slipped in a pool of blood, falling onto the unforgiving ground. You felt your ankle roll and heard it pop, the blood you fell in spattering against the walls.

He was on you before you even realized it. His weight pressed you down, the blood soaking into your clothes snd staining your skin.

“Don’t you worry about the casualties,” he hissed.

He took a deep breath in, his hands holding your waist. He teased the wound he left earlier with his finger, tracing the punctures he’d left. He gave you a rough squeeze and blood oozed out again. You yelled in agony, and he moaned against your ear. His tongue trailed up the side of your neck, thick blood spreading across your skin.

“Baby,” he whispered. “Trust me now.”

You broke free and stood up, bracing yourself against the wall.

“I can hear your heartbeat racing, you’re trembling, come with me.”

You clutched your side and shook your head, desperately trying to avoid his enchanting stare. You pushed off the wall and stumbled out into the courtyard.

The sun was blinding, you could barely make out what was what, who was who. The guards rushed to your aid, they were shouting and yelling but you couldn’t understand them. Your head ached and you felt dizzy, everything looked blurry and red.

The sun only got brighter, and it scorched your skin. You fell to the ground and the guards circled around you. Blood sprayed your face as Chan ripped through them.

You were his now.

You could barely see him, tearing them apart and draining their blood. The dry grass was painted a dark red all around you.

A second silence fell, only the hollow wind blowing gently in contrast to the horrors that had happened.

A shadow fell over your face, and you opened your eyes. Chan stood over you with a crazed smile. He lifted his wrist to his mouth, and bit down hard. Blood spurted out, speckling his face. He let it drip off his chin, and you couldn’t resist sticking your tongue out to catch the few droplets.

It was like a drug.

You grabbed onto his leg, and he knelt down, lifting your head to rest on his thigh.

“More, please,” you begged.

He smiled wide, his fangs on display for you. He took another bite and sucked hard. You crawled more into his lap, twisting to face him. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you pulled him down.

He pushed your hands off of him, sliding you off his lap. Before you could protest, he took off his jacket and straddled your waist. With one hand under your head and the other pinning your wrists, he pressed his lips against yours.

Blood poured into your mouth, spilling out from between your lips. You hungrily swallowed what you could, choking on the rest. He didn’t let up, moving his tongue against yours and almost down your throat to make your gag.

His blood was so good, it felt so good going down your throat. You gulped it down, it was like you had been thirsty for years, and he was finally quenching it.

He pushed you down harder into the ground, the dirt turning into a bloody mud beneath you. You tugged on his shirt, needing to be closer to him.

He broke away and you gasped for air, coughing up more blood. Your clothes were torn, your hair was a mess, blood was all over you.

Now he would take you.

He lifted you off the ground and carried you back inside. You couldn’t control yourself, you were clawing at him and biting his neck and shoulder.

You were teething.

He took you to the cell with the blood bags, laying you on the table. He took his shirt off and got back over you. He kissed you again, and you dug your claws into his back. Your scratches left deep, dark red marks.

He killed like an animal, and he feasted like a beast, but he fucked like a demon.

He kissed you like he was just as thirsty as you were. He bit down your neck, growling and kneading your flesh. His hands slipped under your shirt, his claws scratching your soft skin.

Chan moved down your body, his mouth was desperate but his pacing was too slow for you. He slid down from your neck to your stomach, you threw your head back and arched your back when he bit down on your wound.

When he sucked, you moaned lewdly. He returned the sound, his low and deep. His claws dragged down to your pants, pulling them off easily.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispered. “Enjoy the ride.”

His fingers slipped in easily, the sharp points on his fingertips made you scream and he moaned again. He moved back to your neck, biting down hard. His fingers thrust in and out of you quickly, and you bit down on his neck.

His back was nearly raw, and you couldn’t tell the difference between your releases and his blood. He was relentless, you weren’t able to keep up with him. Before long, you were out of breath and exhausted.

Once he wore you out, you felt his fingers slide out one final time. He brought his fingers to his mouth and moaned as he sucked them clean.

He smothered your lips with his again, biting your lip and sucking the blood. You felt him line up, his hips snapping as he thrust into you in one movement. The table creaked and squealed, the force of his movements pushing it up against the wall and thudding loudly.

Your eyes rolled back, and he bit hard onto your bottom lip to keep your head from falling back. You knew he wouldn’t have fit if he hadn’t fingered you so roughly before hand, and you were certain that he tore you from the inside to make room.

You could feel every vein, every twitch, every pulse. He pinned your hands down, keeping you still as he thrust into you. He didn’t stop until you finally felt him cum, his hips snapping into place and going deeper than you’d ever felt.

He slowly opened his mouth, his teeth unpiercing your lip. He released your hands and the fell limply off the table. You couldn’t say anything, you just felt indescribable.

He propped himself up on his elbow, and cradled the back of your head with his other hand. He lifted your head and licked the blood from your mouth, then whispered between his teeth.

“You’re mine now, forever.”

i wrote this in a day help me, i’ve never written a story this fast but i was DETERMINED (so ignore any errors)

i plan on writing more fics i promise🙏

@vampzity @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @losrpark @dollywoo

#bang chan #stray kids #vampire au #skz #railway #fanfic #skz smut #skz x reader #skz fanfic #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #felix #seungmin #jeongin #—❥dvrktvnnel #—❥lixi’s nightmares #—❥lixi’s bedtime stories

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calmcoldevening · 4 months ago

Note

Back at it again with a prompt idea!

What if the slasher/s are trying to kill a victim but they are immortal and keep coming back

And the victim keeps following the slasher only to annoy and be a little menace to them >:3

(maybe they fall in love later O.O)

What ever slasher you choose is fine for me ;)

Art the clown x immortal!reader

Tw: blood, murdering, torturing? well, yeah. Art is an ass sometimes

• Art has always been a fan of violent and noisy 'games' that chilled the blood in his veins. That was his sadistic nature, and the whole of Miles County and people for hundreds of miles around had already heard a lot about it. A strange man in a clown costume, who sent at least a dozen unhappy teenagers and adults to the next world. He loved blood and horror, and no one would dare stand in his way, not wanting to become another victim of brutal violence.

• Maybe it was fate's will, or maybe it was just your bad luck or an accident, but one day Art saw you in one of the cafes late at night. He was watching you from a dark alley, so it's unlikely that you would have seen him even if you really wanted to. He clutched his garbage bag in his hands, and a cruel grin appeared on his face. You were a good little thing and you definitely could have brightened up this cold night for him.

• Without thinking for long, Art hit you on the head at the most unexpected moment and took you to one of his 'game rooms', which in fact was just a room of one of the old factories in the city. He wasn't in the mood to hunt you down and catch you in your own house for a long time. This game was supposed to be fast but colorful.

• The clown involuntarily licked his lips, watching you slowly regain consciousness and open your big innocent eyes. He walks around you like some kind of fancy Christmas tree. You're sitting on an old wooden chair, badly scratched and already soaked in blood from past victims. Your limbs are tied in wooden material with strong leather straps, and thick barbed wire with rusty, blunt teeth is wrapped around your neck, chest and abdomen. There was a smell of dampness and fear in the air, which made the Clown giggle noiselessly.

• Finally, Art stopped right in front of you and gestured at the trash bag to your right. Making a playful, almost pretended sweet expression, or reached into the bag as if looking for a Christmas present for a small child. In the flickering light, a long thin tool with a convex handle and a bizarrely curved metal tip appears, more like a sharply sharpened blade. A man comes behind you and caresses your tense shoulders with almost uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers are rough and rough. The clown's palms slowly descend lower, sliding along your clothed back through the open part of the back of the chair. The movements are slow and measured. Suddenly his movements stop and in the next moment they are replaced by acute pain. Sparks dance in your eyes and you emit a strangled cry, reflexively your body gives way forward, blunt spikes painfully dig into your tender flesh. Art laughs soundlessly, continuing to press the blade deeper into your spine, and then abruptly moves his hand down. With a nasty creak, the fabric of your T-shirt is torn, and at the same time your soft flesh is torn. Art rejoices, seeing how his hands and white gloves are stained with maroon lingonberry liquid, flowing in a thick stream onto the concrete floor. Tears are pouring from your eyes as you desperately bite your lower lip in an attempt to control yourself. Your back, which was once a flawless canvas of pale skin, is now covered with a network of terrible red lines, each of which testifies to the cruelty of Art's tools and his relentless thirst for suffering. There is a pungent smell of iron in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that remains on your sweat-soaked skin.With deliberate slowness, I pick up the razor-sharp instrument again, its sinister curves gleaming in the dim light. Your body is trembling, every muscle is tense with fear, while the man is preparing to inflict even more torment on you.In the flickering shadows, a grotesque smile appears on his painted face, a silent promise of future torment.

• Suddenly, the blade hits the blood-soaked concrete with a ringing thud and bounces off somewhere to the dark wall. Art goes back to his "magic" bag and takes out some kind of leather strap. With a deft movement of his hands, he hooks the clips connected by a strap onto your wet cheeks, the gloves wet with blood rub unpleasantly against your face. Art smiles his creepy smile and gently touches your chin with his fingers. Your eyes were swollen and your cheeks were wet from tears and saliva flowing from your open mouth. But not that you can complain here. All you had to do was mumble something, barely moving your limp tongue.

• An unpleasant crunch filled the half-empty concrete room. With a strong crack, Art broke off a piece of your tooth with pliers, the fragment unpleasantly scratched the already bleeding gum. All you had to do was mumble something indistinctly, to which Art just grinned madly and jokingly grabbed your tongue with the edges of the pliers, watching the despair in your eyes. He broke off tooth after tooth until a dozen teeth had been pulled out in his hand.

• Your throat burned from screaming, and your eyes burned unpleasantly from the tears you shed. You wanted it to be over as soon as possible. Realizing that Art won't get the right reaction from you anymore, noticing your exhaustion, he snorts soundlessly, clearly losing interest. With a graceful movement of his hand, Art deftly takes out an old battered pistol from a trash bag. He slides the edges of the gun over your cheek, drawing uncomplicated patterns. His movements are slow and upward. One. Two. Three. Finally, his hand reaches your head, the muzzle of the gun is pressed against your painfully throbbing temple. You wearily close your eyes, feeling a leaden heaviness in your limbs. His arms and legs were already blue from lack of blood.

• Art blows on the smoke coming from the shower of the gun and throws the weapon back into the bag. The man steps back, admiring his work and your smoking wound on his temple for a couple of moments. After that, he carefully removes the straps from the dead body and puts them in a bag, slowly leaving the building.

• Art pinned a young man to the ground, slowly cutting the meat from his face and putting the skin in his mouth. A soft laugh was heard abruptly behind him, and another pair of hands, softer and softer palms, covered his hands. The man raises his eyebrows questioningly and turns back, meeting your satisfied gaze. Your face still looked tired and tear-stained, and there were bruises and streaks of blood on your neck, but overall you looked almost.. normal?

• Without thinking twice, you grab the scalpel from his hand and with a sharp movement stick the blade into the clown's eye. He screams soundlessly, raising his hands to his face. You step back, watching his agony with a satisfied expression on your face. "You didn't think it would end so easily, did you?" You purred, folding your arms over your chest. The clown frowns, baring his sharp black teeth, and jumps up from the lifeless body. He walks towards you with quick steps and grabs your throat with his cold hands, lifting you off the ground. No matter how thin he looks, the guy has plenty of strength. You giggle, covering his hands with yours. You can already feel the air leaving your lungs, being replaced by an unpleasant burning sensation. Without thinking twice, you reach out your hands, touching the clown's face with your fingers, and scratch his painted face, mixing the paint with the blood from his wounded eye. He presses harder, enjoying the crunch of your airways.

• It quickly turned into a constant game of cat and mouse. Wherever Art was, you were always there. And I was in his way. Art was angry, cursed, and killed you. But you were coming back. Each time, your body was still decorated with old scars, but the man added new ones. He realized that the old scars would disappear. He had to make new ones. It was as if he was celebrating his favorite, best victim in this way. He can't be uninterested in your natural stubbornness and immortality.

• Over time, the clown really begins to look forward to your recovery and return, despite the slight irritation that you cause in him. He feels it in the pleasant piercing of his fingers. His hands crave you, your body, his fingers want to touch your scars and leave new ones.

• Your constant presence in Art's life begins to gradually change his thinking and thoughts, your image has settled in his head like a damn poison.

• Your immortality and lack of fear make you a really worthy partner for Art, he realizes this on an unconscious level. There's something about you. Something that makes his blood boil in his head. He's falling in love with you. Yes, in his own way, but he falls in love. Despite your initial maniac-victim relationship, Art is starting to see you as almost an equal. This is surprising. He loves you in his own twisted way.

• Art and you are in a love-hate relationship, constantly joking and arguing with each other. Despite the constant quarrels, you are united by a deep connection and understanding, which becomes apparent in your communication. You both feel extremely comfortable in such a relationship in your own perverted way (this is especially damn noticeable in sex..)

• Art begins to crave your company and gets annoyed when you are not around. There's something nice about knowing that after a bloody murder, he can properly combine his anger and passion on you. Especially in your intimate moments. Playing with blood, strangulation and other elements of bdsm is an integral part of your pleasure. You are a perfect match for each other, you are feared by all the states in the district.

#slashers x reader #slashers x you #slashers fandom #slashers #slasher x reader #art the clown #art the clown x reader #art the clown x you

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guilty-pleasures21 · 2 months ago

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Halloween special!

Don’t worry, my Jason Todd girlies, I’ve got you covered too!

Credits to @sirencardos for giving me the storyline (p.s. I added a little twist at the end 🤭). Thanks, babe and happy Halloween!

Warnings: none.

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He had to tell you. Well, he had to tell you eventually … He didn’t have to do it right now. His mind ran through all the close calls he’d had in the past year that you’d been dating and his stomach clenched tightly with nerves.

You grin as you sink back onto his sofa, settling in for your weekly movie night, but your features quickly melt into a puzzled frown when you feel something hard beneath your butt. You pull it out and your confusion grows when you see the belt with multiple pouches hanging off it, each one holding a different tool inside.

“Jason?” You hold the belt out to him and tilt your head in question. “What is this?”

You twist the belt around, studying it carefully, then suddenly, your eyes widen in realisation. “Oh my god! Is this-”

“That’s my tool belt!” Jason replies quickly, grabbing the belt out of your hands. “I wear it whenever I’m fixing up my bike. It just makes it easier to grab whatever I need.”

He turns around, shielding the belt from your view, then quickly goes to hide it in his spare room. Shit! How could he have been so careless?! He must have forgotten to keep it away when he’d taken it off after a particularly exhausting mission. What an idiot he’d been! He says nothing more about it when he returns to you and thankfully, you don’t push the subject any further.

You hang your jacket on its usual hook as you walk into Jason’s house, animatedly discussing the drama that had happened at your workplace that day. You’re so focused on your story that you almost don’t notice the creased brown leather jacket hanging off the hook at the end. Almost.

“Jay?” you ask, closing your fingers around the hem and stroking the worn material. It looked … familiar … almost like …

“Oh my god!” you squeal, suddenly realising where you’d seen the jacket before. “This looks just like Red-”

“That’s Dick’s!” Jason lies, snatching the jacket off its hook. He shakes his head and sighs, as if disappointed in his brother. “Can’t believe he left it here again! I swear he’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed onto his shoulders. I’ll keep it in my bag so I don’t forget to give it to him when I see him again.”

F*ck! What the hell was wrong with him?! What if you really had recognised the jacket and drawn a connection between him and the vigilante Red Hood?! No, the thought was too terrifying to consider: you were the best thing that had ever happened to him since he’d come back and he couldn’t risk losing you by letting you find out his secret identity.

“Oh, okay.” You deflate slightly, your expression a little crestfallen as he takes the jacket away, but your features quickly light up again when he asks you to continue your story.

“Jason?” Your sweet voice breaks into his thoughts and he looks up to find you looking at him in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” What had you been talking about? Shit, forget about losing you to his secret alter ego, he’d lose you way before that if he was being a shitty boyfriend. “Sorry, baby, I was just thinking about … this ice cream place I wanted to take you to. I can’t remember the name. I’ll ask Steph if she remembers. What were you talking about?”

He sets his chopsticks down by his plate of sushi and reaches across the table to take your hand in his. The bright smile returns to your face at his revelation that he’d been thinking about you and you repeat what you’d been talking about earlier.

“I was just talking about how much I love Halloween!” you explain excitedly. “I planned my costume out months in advance. I can’t wait for you to see it! I worked really hard on it.”

You squeal at the very thought of your costume and Jason’s lips curl into a smile. He didn’t doubt that you’d put a lot of effort into your costume: he could still remember how detailed your Wonder Woman costume had been last year. You’d really paid attention to all the small things, even getting a lasso that you could press a button on to make it light up! And f*ck, you’d looked so sexy in it that things had heated up between the both of you enough for him to finally confess his feelings for you. “I can’t wait either, sweetheart. You gonna give me a clue?”

You purse your lips in thought, considering his request. Your boyfriend was really smart and he always had a knack for solving mysteries and figuring things out way too early in advance, so even a small clue would probably have him guessing what your costume was within a few hours.

“Nope,” you decide, shaking your head in disagreement. “You’re just gonna have to wait to find out!”

Jason returns your excited smile and you both turn your attentions back to your dinner.

He tapped his foot on the ground as he sat waiting for you to put the finishing touches on your costume. It was your anniversary today, but instead of a date, you’d be going to the big Halloween parade the city liked to throw each year. He didn’t mind, of course - he knew how much you loved dressing up and admiring other people’s costumes - but he’d still gone ahead and gotten you a gift. Jason dug his fingers into his palm as he thought about the helmet sitting in his car, waiting for you to see it: he’d tell you his secret today. That would be his gift to you: his revelation that he was the one and only vigilante Red Hood who prowled the streets at night taking down bad guys. Well … it would be his gift to you if he could work up the courage to show it to you.

“Jay? Are you ready?” you yell at him from your bedroom, the excitement evident in your voice. Maybe he should just get it over with and tell you the truth before the two of you got too involved with one another. He’d had a pretty good track record with Halloween so far, so maybe today was the day he’d finally be honest with you and it wouldn’t backfire on him in a spectacular display of failure.

“Yeah!” Jason calls back, standing up and turning to face you. But maybe he should wait until after the parade: he didn’t want to spoil your fun, after all, and it would be nice to spend just a little more time in blissful ignorance with you before you decided that all the danger wasn’t worth it - that he wasn’t worth it. He pulled another breath into his lungs, then looked up as you walked out of your bedroom. His heart stopped at the sight of you.

“Ta da!” you say, smiling as you proudly display your costume to him. “Isn’t it great?! I decided to go with a mask instead of his helmet, just because I wanted you to be able to see my face, but check out the jacket! It’s, like, the exact same colour as his! And the boots-”

He tuned out the rest of what you were saying, too stunned by the character you’d chosen to dress up as: the f*cking. Red. Hood. You’d dressed up as him for Halloween this year. Ho. Ly. F*ck.

“I just think he’s so cool!” you continue, oblivious to your boyfriend’s sudden moment of malfunction. “He’s my favourite superhero! Well, he probably wouldn’t call himself a superhero, but I think he’s great! He’s just not afraid to bring people to justice when they deserve it, you know?”

You wrap your arms around Jason’s neck, bringing your bodies close together, and fix him with a playful smirk. “Maybe you should dress up as the Red Hood next year. I bet you’d look so sexy in his outfit.”

You stretch onto your toes and catch his earlobe between your teeth, nipping it teasingly, then you lower yourself back down again. You drag your hand down his chest, admiring his broad and hard muscles, and lick your lips appreciatively. “But we probably wouldn’t make it out of the house if you did.”

You give him a suggestive look and Jason feels his entire being melt into a sappy puddle. You would pounce on him if he was dressed as the Red Hood? Drag him into your bedroom and refuse to let him go? Holy shit! This was the best possible outcome he could ever have expected: hell, it was better than anything he could have even dreamed of! It was official: Halloween was the single greatest holiday ever invented.

“Actually, sweetheart, I have something to tell you.” He takes your hands in his and clears his throat as he recalls the speech he’d spent hours preparing. “I … haven’t been completely honest with you. I-”

“Wait!” you stop him suddenly, bouncing up and down in excitement. “Let me guess! You … secretly hate sushi?!”

You grin up at him, mischief gleaming in your eyes, and Jason snickers softly at your joke. “No, I-”

“You’ve been lying to me about your eye colour: they’re not actually green,” you try again, your guess becoming more elaborate. Jason shakes his head and chuckles as a wave of relief sweeps through his entire body.

“No, that’s not it either. I’m actually-”

“You’re actually the vigilante Red Hood and you’ve been hiding your secret from me for the past year because you were afraid that I’d get scared and leave you?” Jason’s jaw drops open in shock as you smile at him softly, a knowing look on your face. What the f*ck?! How the hell …?

“You knew?!” he asks you, eyes wide with disbelief. “The whole time?! Why didn’t you say anything, sweetheart?!”

Your smile widens and you rub your thumbs across the backs of his hands reassuringly. “Because you seemed so desperate to hide it from me, Jay. Every time I tried to bring it up you’d just shut me down and come up with some lame excuse!”

He winces slightly at the truth of your words: his excuses had been pretty lame. But he’d never had someone he’d felt the need to hide his secret from before! Someone he wanted to protect and look after and just enjoy a normal, ordinary life with. He grins at you, all the weight finally lifting off his shoulders. “Sorry. I’m just not used to it, Y/N.”

You raise your hand to his cheek and stroke his skin gently, then you bounce onto your toes again and press your lips to his.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him patiently. “I’m not really used to this either.”

You shoot him a sheepish smile, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “But oh my god, Jace, I was so relieved when I finally figured it out! I was going crazy having all these wet dreams about Red Hood and then feeling so guilty about it after! Honestly, finding out your alter ego was the most … peace-bringing thing I’ve ever found out in my life!”

Jason raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still curled into a stupidly wide grin. “Wet dreams, huh? What kind of dreams, princess?”

You giggle softly as he pulls you into his chest and starts peppering your face with affectionate kisses. “You’ll just have to wait to find out, Jay. You’ve waited this long, right? What’s a few more hours?”

You blink up at him innocently, driving him crazy with anticipation, but he doesn’t push you.

“Fine.” You’d waited this long too, after all, and if the only punishment you were going to give him was a few hours of waiting to pounce you and spend the night ravishing you, then he’d gladly accept it. “Come on. Let’s go show off your costume.”

You laugh as he leads you out the door and down to the street. “Do you like it though? Did I get everything right? I’m not missing anything, am I?”

“You got it perfect, babygirl,” he tells you, swinging his hand in yours as you walk down the pavement. “I actually think you wear it better than I do …”

It was just a quick one, but I hope you guys enjoyed 😋! Happy Halloween/Diwali/Dia de los muertos everyone 🥳!

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x oc #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood fic #red hood fanfiction #red hood x oc #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #red hood x fem!reader #red hood fluff #jason todd fluff

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bloodibambiidoll · 2 months ago

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The Butcher’s Angel ⟡ Cooper Abbott x Reader ⟡

✬ You go to see your bestfriend after a failed hook up and her dad, who you’re just slightly obsessed with, is the only one home ✬

This one goes out to my shawties @cxrrodedcoffin & @babygorewhore ily sister wives🤍

Warnings: Bestfriend’s dad!Cooper, made up daughter, talk of murder(he’s a serial killer, duh), obsessive behaviors, blood, glove kink, spit, blow job, hair pulling, daddy kink, choking, biting, marking, size kink, reader has tattoos and scars, unprotracted sex, pet names (angel, kitty, etc.) 18+MDNI!

Your fist bangs your best friend’s door for the fourth time and you’re starting to think she isn’t home. Which is odd, considering that her car is in the driveway and as far as you know she didn’t have plans tonight. And you tell each other everything. Which is why you came straight here when the guy you’ve been hooking up with stood you up again. As far as you can tell her dad’s car isn’t here either and you really don’t feel like going home to your empty apartment sad and alone. So you decide to just open the keypad on the garage side door and let yourself in. If she isn’t here asleep she’s probably out with her dumb ass boyfriend and will be back later on. You’ll just wait for her. No big deal. Or so you thought.

Mr. Abbot’s car is in the garage and the door to inside is open and you can hear rustling around in the kitchen. Your heart rate suddenly picks up because if she’s not here and he is, that means you’re alone with him. And you might have the tiniest obsession with your best friend’s dad. He’s just so kind. And handsome. He is so tall and firm, you just know you’d feel small in his thick arms. His smile is warm and inviting and there’s always been a place at his table for you for as long as you and Lina have been friends. And you know he’d fuck you like a real man should. Dominate you entirely and make you his. Especially considering that he was the butcher. You know he has some pent up energy to get out. And you’d love for him to use your body to do just that. You don’t care how sick that makes you.

You didn’t mean to find out. You were snooping around in his room one day when Lina was in the shower, just innocent curiosity. But what you stumbled upon was anything but innocent when you opened a hidden drawer in his wardrobe and found a duffel bag filled with tools and sedatives. It wouldn’t have been that out of the ordinary if it wasn’t for the hidden camera monitor. When you turned it on there was a man in a basement begging for his life. You panicked and quickly put everything back exactly how you found it. Afterwards you sat with the information for days. But in the end you decided not to go to the police. Instead your crush on him grew into obsession. You followed the butcher’s every move through the news. You knew his work schedule from the calendar on the fridge. He didn’t have any social media but that didn’t stop you from staring at the few photos on your best friend’s profile, analyzing every detail of his body.

You’d lay in bed at night and fantasize about him coming home after and kill and fucking you covered in his victims blood. You’ve spent hours dreaming about the way his thick cock would feel stretching you out and how fucking sexy his body would look over yours while he pounded you into the mattress. It was starting to become a problem, he was taking over your every waking thought and even your dreams too. You aren’t sure if you want your best friend to be home anymore. Part of you wishes she won’t be. And it’ll be him, waiting to make all your dreams come true.

You take hesitant steps forward, your platform Mary Jane's squeaking against the cement of the garage floor. When you break the threshold you don’t see anyone at first, it’s only when you step in far enough to get a view of the dining room that you see him. Cooper. He’s sitting at the head of the table with his hands that are covered in black leather gloves folded in his lap, looking toward you with a welcoming smile. One not unlike the ones he gives you any other time you come over. But his eyes hold a hint of something else, there’s a tension there, a slight twitch in the corner that you probably wouldn’t notice if you hadn’t spent hours analyzing the features of his face.

“Oh! Mr. Abbot!” You squeak out as your steps come to a halt, your hand raising in an awkward wave. “I didn’t think you’d be home I was looking for -“

“You think you’re sneaky, but you’re not…” Cooper’s tone is warm but there’s a hint of condescendence there. Like you’re a silly little girl that knows nothing while he knows everything and more. “See, at first I thought maybe my daughter was snooping through my things. And that, that, would’ve been an entirely different disaster. But once I realized it was you. Well, I spent some time wondering what to do with you and looking at you now, I think I finally have an answer to my question…”

“I - I’m not sure what you mean?” Your spine tingles and your entire body shakes in anticipation of his answer.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, sweetheart.” Cooper chuckles darkly, his large hands flexing in the leather gloves causing them to squeak lightly and his boot clad foot starts to bounce slightly on the wood floor. Each move he makes only causes your heart rate to increase. With fear or desire you aren’t sure. Probably both. “I know you got into my bag. You thought I wouldn’t notice? You didn’t think I’d notice the way you look at me like you not only fear for your life but also want me to fuck you like a little bitch in heat? Just like you are right now.”

“Mr. Abbot, I don’t know what you’re -“

“Hush. Stop trying to lie to me. Come here.” His tone remains level and welcoming despite the commanding words on his lips and you can’t help but clench your thighs together when he snaps his gloved hand before pointing a large finger to the ground in front of him. Your legs carry you toward him almost subconsciously as you scurry across the room to stand in front of the man that’s filled all your sickest fantasies for months. You stop a foot shy from him and look down at him nervously with your hands folded in front of you. “You’re so beautiful and so naive. You wanna know how I found you out?”

“Sir, listen, I really didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I was just looking for Lina but if she’s not here right now that’s totally okay! I can just go!” Your words are rushed and you talk exaggeratedly with your hands, it makes Cooper chuckle as he shakes his head lightly.

“I told you to stop lying to me.” He smiles up at you but this one is different from before, there’s a twitch in the corner of his eye and in the tilt of his lips. Almost like one wrong word would make him snap. “Don’t act like you aren’t excited that it’s just us here. I know you are. Do you want to know how I know? Say yes.”

“Yes, sir.” His tone doesn’t hold room for argument so you just nod as you wring your hands together in front of you and sway on the balls of your feet.

“I know because you thought I wouldn’t notice you snooping around in my room and taking my things but you were wrong. I know because I have exactly 8 plain black t-shirts and ever since the day things in my special bag were rummaged around I’ve only had 7. I know because you know my deep dark secret, and have for months now. But you’ve still come over here regularly, you’re alone with me and instead of fleeing you came at my command like a kitten to milk.”

You aren’t sure what to say because he’s right. You did steal one of his shirts and go through his bag. You’ve done things with that shirt that you’d never willingly admit out loud and you’ve spent countless nights mulling over the content of that bag. Cooper takes your silence as a chance to reach out and cover your hands with one of his large gloved ones. And it’s only then do you realize that the black adorning his hands is covered in crimson liquid. Blood. A small gasp leaves your lips but you don’t move from his hold as you look down at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“But my question was, why didn’t you tell anyone? Hmm? I wasn’t positive until right now. But you don’t mind, do you? You’re drawn to this… darkness. If you weren’t you would’ve gone to the cops. If you weren’t, you’d be running right now.” He tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes roam your figure as if he’s contemplating what to do with you. “I thought I’d have to kill you, you know? I was trying to think of the best way to make it look like an accident, to make sure it wouldn’t come back on me. But I think you’ll be far more fun for me alive.”

“Sir…” You’re shaking where you stand, your entire body feels like it’s on fire. But not with fear. Shock and desire fill your very being and crawl into every crevice of your soul.

“God. Do you realize what it does to me when you call me that, little girl? It makes my cock twitch in ways it shouldn’t. Everything about you makes me want you in disgusting ways.” Cooper’s fingers tighten around yours and it causes his hand to brush against your dress slightly, streaking the white material with red. His eyes widen as he lets out a hard breath through his nose. “Take it off. It’s ruined. Take it off.”

“What?” Your jaw drops as you look down at him, did he really just ask you to take your dress off?

“Take. The. Dress. Off.” Cooper growls, the leather covering his hand coming up to grasp onto the material of your dress and pull you the rest of the way close to him. The look in his eyes is crazed as he stares at the red streaking the soft material. “Take it off and throw it in the fire. It’s ruined. The only thing I want to see ruined is you.”

His tone oozes authority and leaves no room for argument. It has your pussy clenching around nothing as your fingers lace through the hem of your dress and pull it over your head before you even fully realize you’ve obliged him. You’re left in nothing but a tiny pink thong, your little white socks, and your Mary Jane’s. The dress flattered your tits perfectly so you decided against a bra. Cooper groans low in his throat at the sight of your body on display for him. You’re even more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. And he’s imagined you, that’s for sure. He’s spent hours fantasizing about what you’d look like all spread out beneath him or with your pouty, glossed lips wrapped around his shaft. He tried to fight it at first, he’s old enough to be your father but in the end that glint in your eye was what flashed through his vision while he tugged the cum from his cock.

“Go throw it in the fire and then come back and kneel before me, angel.” Angel. This isn’t the first time he’s called you that. But this time his voice is dripping with lust and it makes your head spin. You follow his instructions, you walk to the small lit fireplace on the other side of the dinning room and throw your dress into the flames. You get lost watching it get eaten by the fire for a few moments before the sound of Cooper snapping his fingers brings you back to reality and sends you scurrying across the room to him. You hold eye contact with him as you lower yourself onto your knees in front of him where you fold your hands in your lap and good up at him expectantly.

“Look at you. So obedient.” Cooper smiles down at you fondly as he takes you in. The little tattoos littering your body. Your gorgeous tits. The scars on your body that make you perfectly imperfect. He wants to tear you apart even more. But there’s something else that he’s never really felt there before too. The need to put you back together after. He hand grips your jaw causing the blood covering the leather to smear across your chin and you should be disgusted but it makes your core quiver. “So beautiful. Open that pretty mouth for me, angel.”

You obey, just like he knew you would. He’s had you wrapped around his finger for months and you’ve been none the wiser. You weren’t the only one keeping tabs, he’s been watching you too. Waiting for his chance to pounce and now he finally has you right where he wants you. On your knees, with your tongue hanging out of your mouth, looking up at him eagerly waiting to take anything he will give you. His gloved hand grips your chin before he leans down and spits on your tongue. You swallow without even asking and it makes his already rock hard cock twitch when a little hum leaves your lips. Cooper uses his free hand to unbuckle his belt so he can pull his cock out. Your eyes shine like you just found a treasure you’ve been searching years for as you take in the length and thickness of it, a bead of precum dripping down the tip. Cooper’s hand cups the back of your head, smearing red crimson in your hair as he pulls your head down toward his throbbing dick. It’s perfect, if you’re being honest. No guys your age have even come close to this and you know he’s going to ruin you for any other man.

“Yeah, baby, that’s a man’s dick. Why don’t you be a good girl and suck it for me?” You flick your tongue out and lick him from the base to the tip before lightly taking his head in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. You tease the tip a little more before taking as much of him down your throat as you can and swallowing around him. “Oh, fuck, yes, that’s so good. Good little kitty.”

You pull back to spit on his dick before taking him down your throat again, massaging the underside with your tongue. You bring your hand to pump the small amount of him you can’t fit down your throat in time with the bobs of your head and Cooper thinks he might go insane.

He hasn’t felt like he was going to cum from a blow job this fast since he was in his early twenties. Your free hand comes up to palm his balls that are slick from your drool dripping down his cock and it causes him to practically growl. The hand on the back of your head shoves you all the way down on his cock. He fucks your face at a brutal pace, reveling in the way your drool, gag, and moan around him. He fucks your face until he feels himself nearing his end. Cooper grips your hair into a ponytail so he can pull you off his cock and take you in. Your make-up is running down your cheeks and the blood he smeared on your face mixes with the drool dripping down your chin to between your beautiful tits. Your hair is mused from him tugging on it and you’re looking up at him like you’d do any single thing he’d ask. He’s never seen anything more perfect.

“What a perfect mess I’ve made.” Cooper smiles down at you sweetly rubbing his bloodied hand across your cheek a final time before leaning back to pull the gloves off. They squeak as he takes them off his big hands that you’ve spent hours fantasizing about and your eyes may as well have hearts in the center. His hand reaches out to caress your blood free cheek and he glides it down your jaw, your neck and down your shoulder before continuing down to the valley of your breasts. He traces the curves of them before taking them in his hands and squeezing, pulling the prettiest little moan from you. “You’re so fucking soft. Stand up for me, princess.”

You push yourself up off your knees so you can stand in front of him, your head barely reaching the top of his due to the sheer size of him. Cooper reaches out and roughly grabs your hips, pulling you between his muscular thighs. He leans forward to place rough messy kisses on your tits, one of his hands finding purchase on your ass and the other traveling between your legs. His fingers caress the lacy material of your dripping thong and he groans against your chest. Cooper presses his fingers against your clit through the material and rubs firm circles while taking a nipple into his mouth and it has you throwing your head back with a loud moan.

“Oh, baby, you’re so fucking wet for me.” Cooper pushes your thong to the side so he can run his fingers through your slick pussy lips, gathering your wetness. He pulls his hand up, examining the way your juices shine and string together on his fingers in the low light. He takes them into his mouth and you watch his eyes roll back at your taste. “And oh, so fucking sweet. I bet you’re tight too. Let’s find out.”

Cooper’s fingers run through your folds again before he uses two of them to circle your entrance and thrusts them knuckle deep inside of you. He curls them just right while pressing the heel of his palm against your pulsing clit and it makes you feel like you’re going to cum embarrassingly fast. He pumps his fingers in and out of you quick and deep, hitting all the perfect angles. All while switching between firmly grabbing each of your asscheeks and sucking eagerly on your tits. He lands a harsh smack on your ass right as his fingers caress your g-spot and it has white hot pleasure washing over your body.

“Oh my god, oh fuck, I’m cumming!” You whine as your hips subconsciously thrust against his hand while you ride out your high. Cooper fucks you through it, not pulling away until your body starts to go limp. The sight of him bringing his fingers to his lips again and licking them clean like he’s savoring every morsel of your taste makes you dizzy.

“Mmm, next time I’ll have to taste that sweet pussy from the source. But, right now I need to feel you squeezing my cock. Come sit on it.” He leans back in the chair so he can unbutton his shirt and you literally feel a bit of drool drip out of your mouth at the sight of his perfect body. Cooper folds his shirt neatly and sets it on the table and then he pats his thighs as he looks up at you expectantly. You don’t waste any time straddling him on the wooden kitchen table chair with your hips raised slightly. He takes his cock in his hand and runs it through your wet folds before tapping the slick head against your swollen clit. He lines up with your entrance and you surprise the hell out of him by slamming your hips down flush against his, taking him all in one thrust. The stretch burns, but god, the feeling of him filling you up outweighs it tenfold.

“Oh fuck, you’re so big.” You whine and throw your arms around his neck, pressing your bare chest against his broad one. It pushes him deeper inside of you and you both moan at the feeling.

“And you’re so fucking tight.” Cooper growls in your ear before looping one arm around your waist and the other behind your back so he can grip onto your shoulder. He plants his boot clad feet flat on the ground and starts to fuck up into you roughly. You lean down and place messy open mouth kisses on his throat, you latch your lips onto him and start to suck and he grabs onto your hair and yanks your head off of him in response. “No marks. Don’t forget we aren’t supposed to be doing this.” Those words should disgust you, send you running for the door. But the reminder that this is so fucking wrong only makes your walls clench around him.

“Sorry, daddy, you just taste so good.” You whine and look into his normally chocolate eyes that are now nearly all black. His nostrils flare and he yanks your head further, exposing the column of your throat. He latches onto your neck and bites so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if it left a bruise. If that didn't, the way he was sucking on your skin right now was absolutely going to. His brutal thrusts never let up as bites down again before pulling away and planting a gentle kiss on the mark already forming there.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t claim you. You can blame it on one of your little boyfriends, I don’t have that luxury, sweetheart.” Cooper grips onto you tightly as he stands from the chair and manhandles you onto the table on your back. One of his big calloused hands grips onto your throat tightly, pinning you against the wood beneath you. “And I don’t think you know what you just did with that little nickname. You’re never escaping me now.” He chuckles darkly before slamming his hips against yours so hard the table squeaks and threatens to scoot across the sleek wooden floor. The hand on your throat doesn’t let up as he fucks you with reckless abandon. “Say it again.”

“Daddy! You feel so good! I don’t want to escape you! I’m yours! Please keep me!” You aren’t sure if you’re begging for him to fuck you again after this or if you’re pleading for him to not take your life but you think it might be a little bit of both.

“You’re a dirty little girl, aren’t you?” Cooper’s free hand grips onto your jaw, forcing eye contact. “Obsessing over an old man. A killer. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Anything you want daddy, my life belongs to you now.” And you mean it, even if he decides to kill you after this you’d be able to accept that because of how good he’s fucking you right now.

“Oh, you’d give your life to me?” Cooper looks at you almost inquisitively for a moment, like he’s really taking in your words. “That’s just… adorable.”

He smirks at you before leaning down to connect your lips in a brutal kiss. His tongue snakes its way into your mouth and dominates your own, exploring every inch. He’s fucking you so hard now that the table is tilting on its legs and the hand on your jaw snakes between your legs to find your clit. Cooper sucks your tongue into his mouth and your manicured nails scratch down his back causing him to moan loudly around it. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pressing your heels into the fat of his ass to pull him deeper inside you. Your hips raise up to meet his own as you fuck like animals. Cooper’s hand on your throat squeezes so tight it makes you dizzy and when he leans down to bite your lip so hard it draws blood it sends you over the edge. Your pussy convulses around his cock as your nails dig into his back so deep he wouldn’t be surprised if you broke the skin. He wouldn’t mind if you did. At least he could hide those.

“I’m going to fill this little pussy up and claim you with my cum. You’re mine now.” Cooper grips your hips, pulling your body down to meet his unforgiving thrusts as he chases his own high. It doesn’t take long for his cock to twitch inside you as he fills you with ropes of his cum. He grinds his hips against yours until every last drop fills you before looking down at your fucked out form. “You’re an absolute mess, my perfect fucking mess. My good girl.” Cooper hums and his hand comes up to caress your blood and spit covered cheek as he admires you like a priceless painting. “I’m going to keep you. I ought to lock you up so you can’t ever escape me..”

Divider by @anitalenia

#cooper adams #cooper abbott #trap #trap 2024 #cooper adams x reader #cooper abbot x reader #cooper adams x you #cooper adams x y/n #cooper Abbott smut #cooper adams smut #cooper Abbott fanfiction #cooper adams fanfiction #josh harnett #josh hartnett fanfic #josh hartnett smut #Dolly writes

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armory-rasa · 11 months ago

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COUCH POUCH!! Free Pattern & Tutorial

...called thus because they use upholstery-weight leather for the bag body, that in my case was in fact skinned off a couch. 🤣 Turns out they are relatively quick and easy to make, so I tidied up the pattern for printing and took pictures to document the process when I made another five of them.

First off, print your pattern, 100% scale:

The bag shape was a modified version of the pattern I used for the Morpheus sandbag, but sized to fit in the roughly 11" squares that my couch skin came in. It makes a bag that sits very well on a tabletop, thanks to the flat base.

Though it turned out to not be the most efficient use of material, because that plus-shaped pattern tessellates well, if you're cutting them out of a full hide, but makes a lot of waste when you're cutting them out of squares of material. A more efficient design would have a half-rounded front and back, and a gusset between them, like so:

Ah well. It's not like I have any shortage of couch skin, though for the next round I'm going to experiment with a more efficient pattern.

First step, trace and cut out the bag body from your chrome-tan leather:

Like I said, this was upholstery leather, but anything that's flexible and ~1.5 mm thick will do.

The flap and front need to be a stiffer leather though -- I used 7 oz latigo, but veg-tan would work equally well. (And then you could ✨tool it!✨)

Cut them out, and then use the pattern to mark where your holes are going to be. Mark the holes on your bag body too:

The latigo pieces get hand-stitched to the bag body, so I used a stitching groover to carve out little channels for the thread -- it's not strictly necessary, but it makes your stitches lay a lot more neatly:

Punch the holes shown below:

I used a ~5 mm hole punch for those, and a 1.5" slot punch for the belt loops. Some of the holes on the front piece you're not punching yet, because they need to go through both layers.

I put a dab of contact cement on the pieces (circled in white) to help hold them in place when I go to punch the stitching holes:

(Make sure you're not putting glue between the belt loops)

Wait fifteen minutes for the contact cement to dry until tacky, and then line up the holes and the edges and press the pieces together:

Punch stitching holes:

Saddle-stitch both pieces in place (takes 28" of thread per):

Now you can punch these holes:

(I used a slightly smaller hole punch than for the others, but it doesn't really matter.)

Now press the right sides of the leather together and sew up the seams from the inside:

A regular sewing machine should be able to handle this, though you will need thicker thread, a heavy-duty leather-sewing needle, and a walking foot attachment. (If you don't have a walking foot attachment, it is SO WORTH getting one, even if you don't expect to sew much leather. Seriously, I use it for everything -- once you go walking foot, you don't go back. 💀) Because you can't pin leather without leaving permanent holes in it, tiny binder clips can be helpful for keeping your material lined up.

What they look like when you're finished sewing:

Cut 19" of lacing for the drawstring, and 11" of lacing for the toggle:

I use the 1/8" EcoSoft lace from Tandy, I think it's stronger than real leather would be at that thickness. The only important factor here is that you need something with a bit of texture and friction -- a silk cord isn't going to stay closed, it's going to slip open.

MANY BAGS.

For these I used a wooden toggle -- cut another 8" of lacing, looped it through the toggle twice, and then made a tight square knot on the back:

But another option is putting a concho or a large button on the flap. The bag I copied this design from, in fact, uses a concho toggle:

Thread some beads on the laces to keep the ends from getting lost, and you are DONE! 😁

Happy Bagging!

#instructional #tutorial #couch pouches #liveblogging projects #leatherworking

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focusonkayjay · 1 month ago

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between the ride and the roses (6)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Word count: 4.8k

Chapter Warnings: mature language, mention of injuries and wounds.

A/N: thinking of uploading another story soon and simultaneously updating it with this story. anyways, let me know how this part was <333

part 6: bruises before the blossom

The harsh buzz of the alarm pierces through the silence, dragging Jungkook from a restless, fitful sleep. His head throbs, heavy from the lack of rest, his body aching from tossing and turning all night. The bed feels too cold, too empty, and it’s a reminder of just how miserable he feels.

Even in his sleep, his mind never truly let him escape the images of you... the sound of your voice cracking with anger, the hurt in your eyes, and the way you turned away from him.

He drags himself out of bed, a sigh slipping from his lips as he rubs at his eyes. The entire day ahead seems like a mountain he’s not sure he’s capable of climbing. He’s still trapped in the mess he made.

There’s a weight pressing down on his chest that doesn’t ease, not even when he tries to focus on the simple motions of getting ready. His mind keeps replaying the argument, each harsh word, each painful silence, and his stomach churns with guilt.

The ride to his shop is cold, the morning breeze biting through his jacket. As he rides, all Jungkook can do is replay the mess he’s made in his mind, searching for a way to fix the chaos he’s so recklessly caused.

The hum of the shop’s overhead lights and the scent of motor oil mixed with leather greet Jungkook as he steps into his motorcycle shop, the familiar setting providing a small sense of comfort amidst the chaos inside his mind.

It’s early, and the place is quiet except for the occasional clinking of tools or the sound of an engine being worked on in the back. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it doesn’t help. The weight of yesterday still hangs over him like a dark cloud.

Yoongi’s already there, sipping coffee at the counter, his eyes flicking up when he hears the door open. He raises an eyebrow at Jungkook’s disheveled appearance and his tired eyes. He doesn’t need to ask if something's wrong.... it’s so obvious.

“Wow, you look like shit.” Yoongi comments dryly, leaning back in his seat, the mug still in his hands.

Jungkook drops his bag onto the counter with a heavy sigh. He doesn’t even respond right away, simply running a hand over his face in frustration. The guilt is eating him alive, gnawing at the edges of his every thought.

Jungkook remains silent, pulling up a stool and sitting down beside Yoongi. He leans forward, elbows on the counter, his gaze unfocused. “I screwed up, hyung. I fucking... I fucking messed up.” he starts.

Yoongi furrows his brows, not quite sure where this was coming from but he watches Jungkook carefully for a moment, before placing his mug down and crossing his arms. “What happened?” he questions.

Jungkook swallows hard. “We… we had a fight. Last night... me and Y/n... And... and I...” He pauses, grimacing at the memory of how he’d snapped, how everything spiraled out of control. “

"I didn’t listen. I said things I shouldn’t have, Hyung. Hurtful things. And the worst part, we weren't even alone. People were watching...And now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The way she looked at me when she walked out…” His voice falters, a knot tightening in his throat. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Yoongi’s expression hardens slightly, the disappointment clear in his eyes. “You messed up that bad, huh?”

Jungkook nods slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he grips the edge of the counter. “I don’t even know why I acted like that. I just... got so caught up in my own head, I didn’t even think about how she was feeling. And now… she’s pissed. Probably doesn’t want to see me... ever.”

Yoongi exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. “Listen, Kook… sometimes you really act like a damn idiot. But come on... you know better than this. She didn’t deserve that. I don’t care how stressed you were, how tired you were… there’s absolutely no excuse for treating anyone like that, especially her.”

Jungkook flinches at the words, but he can’t deny the truth in them. Yoongi’s never been one to sugarcoat things, and right now, his bluntness is exactly what Jungkook needs to hear.

“I know...” Jungkook mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really know. I just… I don’t know what to do next. How do I fix this?”

Yoongi lets out a long, resigned sigh. "I know I helped you out last time, but this time… I’m afraid you’re on your own, Kook. You’ve got to figure this out yourself." He shrugs, not sparing the younger man a single glance.

Even though his words sting, Jungkook knows Yoongi’s right. This time, he has to take responsibility for his actions and find a way to make it right on his own.

The morning stretches on, but Jungkook’s mind is stuck in an endless loop, the weight of his actions from the previous night pressing down on him with an unrelenting heaviness. He keeps glancing over at your shop, the stillness of the street on your side, unsettling, your shop’s "Close" sign glaring in the quiet morning light.

Something’s not right. You’re never late to open. His thoughts spiral, consumed by guilt. Did his words hurt you so much that you’d decided to close for the day? The weight of the uncertainty gnaws at him, each minute dragging him deeper into the pit of regret.

As the clock ticks on and the day wears into afternoon, Jimin and Hoseok finally arrive at the shop, both as lively as always, their energy contrasting sharply with Jungkook’s clouded mood.

They step inside, their footsteps echoing on the concrete floor, but they immediately halt when they see his expression... dark circles under his eyes, shoulders hunched, and the tightness of his jaw.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he watches Jungkook. “What happened to you? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Hoseok, ever the teasing one, chuckles as he makes his way to the counter, but the moment he catches a glimpse of Jungkook’s face, the humor fades. “Man, what’s with the face? You look like a kicked puppy.” he worries.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker up to meet theirs for a moment before they quickly drop again. His heart is too heavy to lift his head properly, too consumed by the thought of you. He can barely form the words, his chest tight with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Finally, he exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sinks onto the stool, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Y/N’s not opening her shop today...” he mutters. Jimin raises both eyebrows, the concern immediately evident on his face. “And that’s got you looking like you’re about to collapse?” he questions.

Jungkook nods, his voice strained as he continues. “I… I messed up last night. Badly. I...” His voice pauses as he struggles to form the words, the guilt threatening to choke him. “I hurt her. I said things I shouldn’t have. And now… she’s not even opening her shop. I think… I think I pushed her too far.”

Hoseok steps forward, his expression hardening as he leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “You hurt her? How? What did you do?”

Jungkook’s eyes are glassy, filled with regret. He hesitates, his mind racing back to the argument, to the harsh words he’d thrown at you in the heat of the moment. He swallows hard, before narrating the entire incident from last night.

Both Hoseok and Jimin listen to him intently and Jungkook can't seem to ignore the disappointed look on their faces.

Hoseok, places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You can’t undo what’s been said, but you can make things right. It’s not going to be easy, but you need to give her space. Let her process everything. Don’t push her.” he says.

Jungkook nods slowly, his throat tight. All he can do for now is just wait and see when he's about to be gifted the opportunity to talk to you again and set things right.

You pull the blanket tighter around you, cocooning yourself against the world as you lie in bed. The echoes of last night’s argument reverberate in your mind, pressing down like an unbearable weight. It’s not the anger that lingers... it’s the shame.

The shame of losing control, of letting your emotions boil over in front of him. You hadn’t meant for him to see that part of you... the part you keep carefully hidden, locked away behind walls you’ve spent years building. Now, the memory of it stings, and the question gnaws at you: Will he ever see me the same way again?

Today was supposed to be a normal day. You’d planned to open the shop, lose yourself in the routine of arranging flowers and greeting customers. But the idea of facing the world... facing him...feels unconquerable.

So you stayed in bed, letting time slip by as guilt and self-doubt festered. The shop, your sanctuary of independence, momentarily feels like a burden, a tether pulling you towards a confrontation you’re not ready for.

Your thoughts churn, trying to make sense of everything. The tears, the words you shouted in the heat of the moment... they feel too raw, too exposed. You wish you could take them back, even as a part of you knows they needed to be said. But guilt has a way of distorting things, making you second-guess what was right, what was wrong, and what was simply human.

As the sun dips lower in the sky, Taehyung and Juwon show up, their familiar faces offering a much needed reprieve. They find you exactly where they probably expected... in bed, unmoving, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Taehyung doesn’t ask questions, he simply sits beside you, his hand warm and steady as it rests on your arm. Juwon mirrors his quiet support, settling on your other side, their presence wrapping around you like a shield against your own thoughts.

They don’t press you for answers or force you to recount the night. Instead, they coax you out of bed with gentle persistence, presenting the takeout they’ve brought like a peace offering. Though you can’t bring yourself to talk about the turmoil brewing inside, the quiet comfort of their company begins to lighten the heaviness in your chest.

Taehyung eventually puts on a movie, something lighthearted and familiar. As the scenes play out on the screen, you find your mind wandering to tomorrow.

Closing the shop today might have been necessary, but you can’t keep hiding. There’s a business to run, responsibilities to shoulder... even if the thought of seeing Jungkook again ties your stomach in knots.

The anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface. What he said, what he did... it wasn’t excusable. But a small, stubborn part of you wants to hear his side, to understand why. Will you ask him? Probably not. Not yet.

For now, all you can focus on is how to avoid him tomorrow, how to navigate the day without letting his presence unravel you all over again.

A week passes, and you’ve become somewhat of a pro at ignoring Jungkook. Each time he walks past the shop or lingers in the vicinity, you manage to find something else to focus on, your eyes never straying in his direction.

He doesn’t approach you either, which you figure is his way of giving you space. Though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you’re grateful for the unspoken truce.

The planning meetings for the town fair have stalled, but you push the thought aside, convincing yourself it’s not worth worrying about right now.

It’s Friday evening, and the shop feels unusually quiet. Taehyung had called earlier, practically buzzing with excitement. He’s sold one of his paintings to a famous singer who not only bought the piece but also promoted it on social media. The result?

Tae's art business exploded overnight. To celebrate, he invited you and the rest of the group to a jazz club, and there’s no way you’re missing it.

You decide to close the shop early, flipping the sign on the door with a small thrill of rebellion. The usual routine of tending to customers and tidying up can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you’re determined to let loose.

You brought your outfit with you earlier, knowing you wouldn’t have the time to go all the way back home, just to change and get ready. You head into the storeroom, a quiet hum of anticipation filling the air as you change out of the clothes you're wearing.

The dress you’ve chosen is simple yet striking, a dark, elegant number that hugs your figure perfectly. You smooth it down, catching glimpses of yourself in the small, dusty mirror propped in the corner. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do.

Once dressed, you grab your makeup bag and head to the washroom to finish getting ready. The harsh fluorescent lights are far from flattering, but you lean close to the mirror, carefully applying your eyeliner and adding a touch of highlighter to your cheekbones.

When you finally step back to take in the full picture, you pause, a small smile tugging at your lips. You look... radiant. The shadows that have clung to you all week seem to lift, and for the first time in days, you feel more like yourself. The heaviness that’s been following you takes a backseat, and you let the excitement of the evening take its place.

With one last swipe of lipstick, you grab your clutch and flick off the washroom light. Stepping back into the shop, you take a moment to glance around before locking the door behind you.

The cool evening air greets you as you step outside, a soft breeze carrying the promise of a night to remember. For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to look forward to something other than your next obligation.

Tonight, it’s about celebrating Taehyung and, for just a little while, forgetting everything else.

Once you lock the door behind you, you’re ready to leave the day behind and immerse yourself in the celebration waiting for you. But just as you turn to head down the street, you stop in your tracks.

Sitting on the curb a few feet away is a figure so familiar, your heart recognizes him before your eyes fully process it.

Even with his face tilted downward, you know it’s Jungkook. His dark hair falls in loose strands over his forehead, and the slump of his shoulders speaks of exhaustion. He’s completely still, almost like he’s waiting for something... or someone. The sight makes you pause, confusion flickering across your face. What is he doing here, sitting outside on the curb, right outside his shop?

You take a hesitant step closer, the sharp click of your red pumps breaking the silence. The sound alerts him, because his head lifts slowly, and suddenly, his gaze meets yours.

In that instant, it feels like time itself stops. His dark, expressive eyes hold yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to fall away. It’s the first time in what feels like an eternity that you’re truly seeing each other.

You take a sharp breath as your eyes scan his face, and what you see makes your stomach twist. A nasty bruise blooms across his forehead, his split lip is still raw, and the faint trace of dried blood lingers at the corner of his mouth.

He looks like he’s just come out of a fight. Panic rises in your chest, questions swirling in your mind. What happened to him? Who did this? And why is he sitting on the curb like this? You remember he was like this the other night too... the night he snapped at you, the night you snapped at him.

While your mind races, Jungkook sits frozen, too stunned to speak. He’s captivated, his eyes drinking in every detail of you like it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you. Your long hair cascades freely down your back, glossy and catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

The sleeveless cherry red satin dress hugs your curves with a perfect balance of elegance and allure, the thigh-high slit teasingly revealing the smooth length of your leg with every subtle shift of your body.

He can’t stop staring, his eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders, the way your dress glides effortlessly with your movements, and how your red pumps seem like they were made just for this moment. You look breathtaking. Ethereal. He almost forgets the pain in his body, too lost in the sight of you.

“You look…” he begins, but his voice falters. Words seem inadequate for what he wants to say. His throat tightens as he tries again, but nothing comes out. His eyes do all the speaking for him, wide and reverent, as if he’s looking at something impossibly beautiful.

Your heart hammers in your chest, torn between the storm of emotions his presence stirs and the worry that knots your stomach at the sight of his injuries. “Jungkook…” you whisper, your voice soft but tinged with concern. “What happened to you?” you question softly.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze still fixed on you, as though he’s afraid to look away and break whatever fragile spell this moment holds. But you don’t miss the faint twitch of his lips, like he wants to say something but can’t.

The silence stretches between you, charged and heavy, until finally, you take another step closer, your concern overpowering your hesitation. “Jungkook...” you say again, firmer this time. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you step towards him, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. Without a second thought, you crouch down beside him and gently place a hand on his arm, your fingers curling against the fabric of his jacket.

“Come on.” you murmur softly, your worry overpowering the tension that had hung between you for the past week. Jungkook stiffens slightly at your touch, caught completely off guard. He hadn’t expected you to come near him, let alone help him.

But before he can process it, he’s distracted by something entirely different... your scent. It envelops him, warm and sweet, with a faint floral hint that makes his head swim. It’s intoxicating, like you’re some kind of drug, and for a brief moment, he forgets the sting of his bruises.

You carefully pull him up, his weight leaning against you as he stumbles slightly. “Let’s get you inside.” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument. He doesn’t protest, letting you guide him towards the entrance of his shop. With one arm wrapped around his waist for support, you open the door and step inside, the small chime above the entrance ringing softly in the quiet.

It’s your first time in Jungkook’s shop, and as you help him inside, your eyes instinctively wander. The space feels intimate, yet rugged, filled with the unmistakable smell of motor oil and leather. Rows of polished helmets and sleek motorcycle parts line the shelves, glinting under the dim, warm lights.

A large workbench sits towards the back, cluttered with tools and blueprints, while a sleek black motorcycle stands proudly in the center of the room, gleaming like it’s just been polished.

For a moment, you’re almost in awe. You’ve passed by his shop countless times, but stepping inside feels like stepping into a part of him you’ve never seen before. Each detail seems to hold a piece of Jungkook... his precision, his passion, his identity.

But while you’re busy taking in the space, Jungkook is busy watching you. He leans slightly against you, his gaze fixed on your face, illuminated softly by the warm light.

The way your eyes dart around, curious and intrigued, makes something stir in his chest. Even now, with everything that’s happened, he can’t believe how stunning you look and how easily you take his breath away.

Finally, you spot a counter against the wall, and with a quiet urgency, you guide him to it. “Sit here.” you say, your voice firm but gentle. He lowers himself onto the stool with a wince, and you step back slightly, taking a proper look at him.

His face is a mess of bruises, and his split lip looks worse under the harsh lighting. The sight makes your chest tighten with worry.

“Look at you...” you murmur, shaking your head. “You’re hurt.” In that moment, it’s as though all the unresolved tension, the arguments, and the awkward silences are erased. The only thing that matters is him and the pain he’s in.

“Where’s the first aid kit?” you ask, your voice steady but laced with concern. Jungkook hesitates for a second, his eyes still glued to you. It’s impossible for him to look away... the way the soft red of your dress clings to you, the shine in your hair, the way you’re moving with such care for him...it’s overwhelming.

Finally, he clears his throat and gestures toward a cabinet near the workbench. “Over there.” he manages to answer, his voice hoarse. You move quickly, locating the box and pulling it out with purpose.

Taehyung’s jazz party, your plans for the night, everything fades from your mind as you return to Jungkook’s side. Setting the first aid kit on the counter, you pull out antiseptic wipes and gauze, ready to tend to his wounds.

As you gently dab at the cut on his lip, he flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he watches you intently, his gaze softening with every careful motion you make. The way you focus on him, your brows furrowed in concentration, makes his heart ache in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries.

“Why didn’t you take care of this sooner?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence as you work. You don’t look at him, your focus entirely on cleaning the dried blood from his forehead, but your tone carries a mix of frustration and worry. “You shouldn’t be walking around like this.” you add.

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his lips twitch into a faint, rueful smile. “Didn’t think it mattered.” he mutters, his voice barely audible. You pause at that, your hand stilling for a moment before you continue. “Of course it matters.” you say firmly, your tone soft but resolute. “You matter.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotion. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Jungkook feels something warm begin to thaw the cold wall between you.

You want to ask him what happened... why he’s in this state, all battered and bruised, like a fragment of some untold story. But the words falter before they can leave your lips. There’s a hesitation you can’t shake, a fear that prying might break whatever fragile tether still holds the two of you together.

So instead, you focus on the tangible, the here and now, pouring your attention into tending to his wounds while your questions remain locked inside.

For Jungkook, the proximity is intoxicating. Your scent is subtle but distinct, wrapping around him like an embrace, a drug he knows he shouldn’t crave but can’t resist. Every small movement you make draws him in deeper.

The way your long hair cascades over one shoulder, framing your face, the delicate piece of jewelry resting at the hollow of your throat, catching the faint light like a whispered secret. You look like something out of a dream, and he wonders, for the briefest of moments, if this is some cruel trick his mind is playing on him.

“Why are you all dressed up?” The words escape him before he can think them through, his voice low, almost reverent.

You glance at him, your fingers pausing for just a second before resuming their careful work on his bruised knuckles. “My friends and i are going to a Jazz club. Just a small celebration.” There’s no irritation in your tone, no sign that his question was unwelcome. Just calm sincerity, as if speaking to him like this is the most natural thing in the world.

The weight of guilt suddenly bears down on him, sharp and unrelenting. “I’m ruining your plans.” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to the floor, his voice tinged with regret.

You shake your head, an easy, unthinking gesture. “You’re not.” you reply softly. “There’s still time.” The simplicity of your words only deepens the ache inside him.

How can you be this kind, this patient, after everything? The warmth of your presence, the gentle tone of your voice... it’s disarming, unraveling the careful composure he’s trying so hard to maintain.

As you place the last bandage on his forehead, smoothing it down with a tender precision, he can’t help but watch you. Every detail, every gesture, is etched into his memory like a masterpiece he’ll never get tired of admiring. And then, as you pull back, your hands brushing against his ever so slightly, something in him snaps.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, his hand finds your waist, pulling you closer with a delicate urgency. The motion is fluid, instinctive, and you freeze, startled by the suddenness of it all.

Your heart skips a beat, your breath hitching as you find yourself standing between his legs, your hands bracing against his shoulders for balance. His touch is firm but hesitant, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

“Jungkook…” you whisper, your voice fragile, barely audible.

He wants to speak, to apologize, to address the distance that’s grown between you, but the words just won’t come out. He’s too distracted by the feel of you so close, by the way your wide eyes meet his with a mix of surprise and something else, something he can't really read.

He opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, to say something... anything... but the words die before they can form. Instead, his gaze drops to your lips, the space between you charged with an intensity neither of you can ignore.

He drinks in the sight of you... the soft sheen of your skin, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly. He’s utterly lost, caught in the gravity of this moment, and he doesn’t want to be found.

You, too, are caught in the pull, your thoughts hazy and disjointed. Your eyes trace the curve of his lips, lingering on the slight swelling from his injury, and before you know it, you’re leaning in. The distance between you seems to disappear on its own, like some invisible force is drawing you together.

Jungkook’s heart is pounding, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your waist. His mind is a whirlwind, and yet, everything feels perfectly still. This is it, he thinks. This is the moment where everything changes. He’s so close now, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours, and he swears he can feel the faintest ghost of a connection with you.

But then, like a cruel twist of fate, your phone rings. The sound is loud, jarring, shattering the fragile bubble that had enveloped you both.

You jolt, startled as you harshly step back, breaking the connection. Your cheeks flush as you fumble for your phone from your clutch that was placed on the counter, the spell broken but the aftereffects still lingering. “Sorry.” you mumble, your voice shaky as you glance at the screen. It’s Seokjin. Of course, it’s Seokjin.

“Where are you?” his familiar voice, laced with concern comes through the line once you answer.

“I... uh...I’m on my way.” you stammer, trying to steady your voice. “I’ll... I'll be there... I'll be there soon.” You hang up quickly, your hands trembling as you slide your phone back into your clutch.

Turning back to Jungkook, you open your mouth to say something, but the words won’t come. Instead, you hold your clutch close, your movements rushed and uncertain.

“I...ummm...I have...I have to go.” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turn and run for the door as your heels click against the floor while your heart pounds against your chest, your mind trying to process what just happened.

Jungkook doesn’t stop you. He stays where he is, leaning against the counter, his hand still tingling from where it had rested on your waist. A faint smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and filled with longing. He can still feel the warmth of your presence, still smell the faint traces of your perfume lingering in the air.

His heart is a riot in his chest, his mind replaying the moment over and over like a movie he can’t turn off. He tries to calm himself down and to make sense of it all, but one thought keeps cutting through the haze. You were there, with him.

And even if it was for a fleeting moment, everything....everything felt right.

taglist: @kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey (if i missed someone, pls lmk !!)

<- part 5 // part 7 ->

series masterlist

#jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #bts fic #enemies to lovers #jungkook fanfiction

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breadbrobin · 1 year ago

Text

friendship bracelets

leo valdez x reader — heroes of olympus

[gn!child of demeter reader]

summary: friendship bracelets are a love language in themselves. it’s a shame leo can’t wear the ones you make him.

warnings: little bit of swearing, possibly ooc leo, fluff, food and eating, leo forgets to eat sometimes.

word count: 1.2k

(so i wrote a leo fic too uhhhh. anyway. i love him and i have always loved him and i will always love him, so here’s a lil gift from me to you and uhhh yeah enjoy!)

——————————————

you’d given leo two bracelets. one was at the wilderness school. it was flimsy and made of red and yellow beads, held together by an elastic tie you’d smuggled into the school. the second was after your first quest. you’d managed to get some leather straps and made a braided leather bracelet for him.

he thought you’d made them for your other friends too, but he soon found out that he was the only one to get a matching leather bracelet with you.

“i don’t have enough for everyone,” was your excuse as you hid your rolls of leather threads and straps under your pillow. “i wish i could.”

that was good enough for him.

he soon realised, though, that he couldn’t wear them.

the risk of them burning was far too high, and after he nearly melted the beaded one when he got too excited one day, he decided to stop wearing them.

they held pride of place on his bedside table though. they were right beside his three-day-old water glass and the shrivelled pot plant you’d given him that you swore he’d be able to keep alive.

“it’s a cactus, leo! you can’t kill a cactus.”

he killed the cactus. or, at least, he mostly killed the cactus. you’d even named it jeremiah in the hopes that it would make him remember to water it, but he’d known a jeremiah once and hated his guts, so it hadn’t really helped much.

so leo valdez was a plant-killing, bracelet ignoring bastard. what was new?

oh, nothing. just the fact that he was madly in love with you.

maybe it was the bracelets, or your insistence that he would be able to keep a little cactus alive, or your uncontrollable laughter as he showed you the wilted plant, or maybe even the way you used your influence over plants to heal the little cactus and bring it back to life.

whatever it was, he was totally screwed. so screwed, in fact, that he took to staring at the two bracelets on his table every night before going to sleep, wishing he could wear them to see the look on your face.

leo worked hard. he always did. once he got into something, he didn’t stop until it was finished. sometimes, that meant ignoring his body’s need for food and water.

you marched into bunker 9 with a bag in hand. “leo valdez!”

he looked up from his workbench. “what did i do? whatever it was, it wasn’t me. i swear.”

“yeah, you didn’t do anything. like eat! i didn’t see you at breakfast or lunch!” you sat on his workbench beside him and placed the bag down in front of his busy hands. “it’s three o’clock now, so i bought you food.”

“i really have to—“

“eat? yes, you do.”

“no, but—“

“and drink water? that too. there’s a water bottle in there.”

“y/n—“

“leo, if you don’t eat your food i’ll break your hands so you can’t work anymore and then i’ll spoon feed you chicken soup every day until your hands are better.”

he looked up at you, offended. “i hate chicken soup.”

you smiled and leaned forward. “i know. so eat your fucking food.”

he raised his hands in defeat. “okay, fine.” he set his tools down and opened the bag with a teasing roll of his eyes. “if it pleases you so.”

“it does, indeed.”

as he ate, you walked around the bunker as you did every time, your hands behind your back like you were at an art gallery. to you, it was a gallery. bunker 9 was like the inside of leo’s mind: chaotic, messy, always moving and changing, and covered in memories of you. there were polaroid pictures that you’d given him pinned to a cork board. the whiteboard beside it read: ‘meet y/n for campfire’. there was even a note you’d scrawled to him in Ancient Greek a few weeks ago: ‘don’t forget to eat, dumbass.’ Apparently, he hadn’t listened to that one.

you walked back over just as he finished his food. he made to hand the back bag to you, but you stopped him. “you didn’t get everything.”

he frowned and opened the bag again, looking inside. “what are you— oh!”

he reached in and pulled out a leather bracelet. it was similar to the one you’d made him before, but tidier. you’d clearly gotten better at making them. “it’s beautiful, but, y/n, you know i can’t—“

“you can’t wear them because you’ll burn them. i know. put it on.” you smiled knowingly.

he put it on warily. it was nice, and his heart fluttered a little at the gesture, but he still couldn’t wear it out of fear.

“now burn it.”

his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. “what?”

“burn it.”

“i’m not gonna—“

“do you trust me?”

“sometimes, like when you tell me to burn your hard work, i don’t, no.”

you stepped forward and tightened the bracelet on his wrist. “leo. burn it. or i will.”

he frowned up at you. “you’re very scary today.”

“thank you,” you smiled, stepping back. “just trust me.”

he sighed and shook his head, but lit his hand and lower arm on fire, watching forlornly as the bracelet melted to nothing—hold on. he extinguished the fire. the bracelet was still there. “how did you—?”

“talked to lou ellen. there’s a spell on that one. i had to get her to do it as i made it, but it won’t burn. it’s magic.” you smiled proudly, rocking back and forth on your heels.

he looked at you in shock and stood up. “you made a fire resistant bracelet for me?”

you shrugged. “of course, i did. and look!” you extended your wrist to him, showing a matching one. “i made a better one for me too!”

he looked from your wrist to your face with his signature impish grin. “thought you didn’t have enough to make anymore.”

you shrugged. “maybe i underestimated myself.”

“maybe you did.”

for a moment, you just smiled at each other, and he thought he could have kissed you right there and maybe (just maybe) from the look on your face you wouldn’t push him away, but then you slipped your hand into his and pulled him to another work bench. his hand was still warm, as always. “now, tell me what this is, because i have no idea.”

so, as he explained how one of his many projects worked and you hung onto his every word and held his hand tightly, he couldn’t help but feel a little warmer than usual.

and maybe, when you left that afternoon, leaving him to continue his work, pressing a kiss to his cheek like you always did, he could summon the courage to pull you back in for a kiss on your lips, like he’d always wanted. and maybe your friendship bracelets would turn into something more.

but, even if they didn’t, he knew he’d fall asleep that night without staring at his bedside table. he’d stare at his wrist instead. and he’d never take that bracelet off. ever. not even if the gods themselves required him to.

#leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #pjo x reader #hoo x reader

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indulgentdaydream · 1 year ago

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I may request something for our Jason boy, what about a nurse!reader where he saves her and she just goes 'so, do you're the guy who makes my job a living hell'?

If you can't do it, it's fine luv 🩷

of course I can do it!

Meet Cutes

Jason Todd X fem!nurse!Reader || Fluff Word Count: 1,035

Sorry this took a couple days, university is being rough :(

Warnings: blood, death, injuries, medical tool use (needle and sutures, etc.), drug mention, broken glass, stitches

You worked for a small Gotham 24-hour walk-in clinic. You always tried not to think too much about who was coming in and out. Some patients would stumble in, covered in blood and bruises, yet not have a scratch on them. Where did the blood come from? You never asked. You would treat whoever was assigned to you and then be on your merry way.

The clinic was closer to Crime Alley than anyone would have liked, but it settled for good service. Especially once the Red Hood started patrolling. Your very first day at the clinic had you stitching up five bullet wounds on the same patient. Your first patient of the day, at that, who had stumbled in at five in the morning. He was mumbling the whole time, swearing and cussing out Red Hood's entire legacy.

Over the months you had now worked there, bullet wounds were your most common injury. Followed by any kind of broken bone. Most of them babbled about the Red Hood, saying how he gotten them. You never asked any further, hoping to never poke your neck out to far in order to gain any attention.

You stood in the back, cleaning up one of the clinic rooms after having sent another probable criminal on their way with stitches and bandages. A crash rang out from the front, making you swivel your head.

You ran out to the lobby before freezing in your tracks. A robber stood at the prescription counter, gun in hand, pointed at the pharmacist. The shattered glass of the divider lay out on the floor around them, the pharmacist assistant cowering in fear as the robber yelled at her for certain drugs.

There weren't any patients in the waiting area. There were none left in the back. No other employee had been hurt. Only badly scared.

The robber hadn't see you yet. You were close to the reception desk. You inched sideways, trying not to make a sound or any sudden movement. There was a panic button under the desk that you could press, easily alerting the authorities. It was a clinic. They would prioritize you over all other petty Gotham crimes.

It was sad, but true.

The poor pharmacist assistant, Cindy, was slowly sorting out the drugs the robber was asking for, placing them in the bag he had thrown at her. She was trying to drag things out. That much you could tell.

You were behind the desk now, reaching for the button ever so slowly.

The automatic sliding front doors of the clinic opened. The robber changed his aim. Staring down the figure in the doorway.

Red Hood aimed his own gun, his shiny red helmet reflecting the florescent lights overhead.

Both of the shots rang out at the same time. Cindy screamed, dropping the bag of pills onto the floor.

Red Hood's shot landed true. Right between the eyes. The robber's had gone astray, but still managed to shoot through the out side of the Red Hood's leather sleeve, making him flinch back as a result.

You were frozen, hand hanging over the panic button. Did you press it? Or did you let the vigilante do his work?

You were still deciding as Red Hood walked over to Cindy, making sure she was alright. Two other nurses and another pharamacist ran out to help her. You watched as Red Hood stepped back, letting them take over.

He turned around, placing his gun back in his holster as he started to walk back out. He moved his hand to his arm, clamping his hand over it.

He walked past the reception desk.

"Wait," You said.

He paused and turned to look at you.

You nodded to his arm, "Let me stitch you up."

Surprisingly enough, he followed you into the back. He sat down on the cot you told him to. Took off his jacket when you said.

You found it awkward, standing in silence with the Red Hood. You decided to speak up as you started the first stitch, "So... you're the guy who makes my job a living hell?"

He turned his head to look at you, those white eyes of the helmet boring into you. You wished you could see some sort of facial expression of his.

When he spoke, his voice was modulated, "Did I not just save your clinic from a robbery? How is that a living hell?" There was a tone of sarcasm to it.

You smiled a little, "We get a lot of criminals coming in here post-fights. I've gotten pretty good at sewing up gunshot wounds that were your doing." You glance up at the helmet's eyes, "No offence."

"You fix up those assholes?"

"I fix up those human beings," You retaliate, finishing the last stitch. You step away, "I don't know them or their pasts. To me, they're innocent people that just need some healing."

You can see the confusion in his body language, his head turning down to ponder at how quickly you had stitched him up. He stayed quiet.

You turned away from him, gathering some bandages to wrap his arm up, "Though... I will say how most of them will rant to me about how much they hate you. More often than not admitting their own faults as they do."

Something like a chuckle filters through the modulator, "You know what? I hear the same stuff."

You can't help but laugh back. You bandage him up before nodding, "You're all set."

He nods in thanks, slipping his jacket back on. He extends his gloved hand for a shake, "What's your name?"

You give it to him, a little surprised at his firm yet gentle grip, "You may want to leave out the back door. I pressed our panic button before bringing you back here."

Red Hood nods in understanding, before walking out.

This would not be the last you saw of him. Because now he had a personal nurse.

The day after every visit of his, a bill comes in from Wayne Enterprises. You look at your colleague, "This guy is straight up stealing money from the rich to pay for his medical bills."

"As he should."

"Agreed."

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hollowed-theory-hall · 19 days ago

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Interesting facts about how Gringotts vaults work...

How you access Gringotts vaults is interesting, and felt oddly inconsistent to me throughout the books, so I want to take a look at it. As in, all the times Gringotts vaults are accessed and how they are accessed. Becouse a lot of fanon and Weasley bashing fics put a lot of emphasis on vault keys, but I don't think vault keys are that important, especially not with the older vaults.

In the books, we only see vault keys in Philosopher's Stone and after that they are shockingly absent.

“Morning,” said Hagrid to a free goblin. “We’ve come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter’s safe.” “You have his key, sir?” “Got it here somewhere,” said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter... [...] “Got it,” said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key. The goblin looked at it closely. “That seems to be in order.” “An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. “It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.” The goblin read the letter carefully. “Very well,” he said, handing it back to Hagrid, “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!”

(PS, Ch5)

Our first encounter with Gringotts is in PS, even this early we see two means of identifying yourself as someone who should have access to a vault:

Vault key - for Harry's trust vault from his parents

A letter from the vault owner.

This suggests that the key, rather than the only means of opening the vault, works as an identification method to show the owner gave the key to access the vault to whoever is trying to access it or is accessing it themselves. I will note it's odd the goblin doesn't identify Hagrid or Harry as who they are since a key could hypothetically be easily stolen.

It's why the letter seems to make more sense. It's a letter of temporary power of attorney signed by Dumbledore that gives Hagrid the right to access a vault in his possession. This is actually something that makes way more sense than the key, which I'll come back to later.

But the point of it all, is that Gringotts cares more about identifying who the person is and that they're allowed to access a vault than if they have a key. The key seems to be just one tool to do so.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank’s underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys’ vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag

(CoS, Ch4)

In CoS, we don't see anyone bringing up a key, and it's likely they just identified themselves in the bank by other means. As I mentioned, what matters is a person's identity, not the key.

At the beginning of PoA we see further evidence of how the key isn't really that important:

Once Harry had refilled his money bag with gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts from his vault at Gringotts, he had to exercise a lot of self-control not to spend the whole lot at once.

(PoA, Ch4)

As Harry's able to access his vault without it.

And Harry seems to be aware he doesn't actually need a key to access his vault, since he plans to do so when on the Knight Bus:

The sky was getting a little lighter. He would lie low for a couple of hours, go to Gringotts the moment it opened, then set off — where, he didn’t know.

(PoA, Ch3)

So the fact a key isn't really needed for vault access at Gringotts is common knowledge in-universe.

But the most interesting implications regarding vault access, come from the ending of PoA:

There is something I never got around to telling you during our brief meeting. It was I who sent you the Firebolt — [...] Crookshanks took the order to the Owl Office for me. I used your name but told them to take the gold from my own Gringotts vault. Please consider it as thirteen birthdays’ worth of presents from your godfather.

(PoA, Ch22)

This is from the letter Sirius sends Harry at the end of the book and the implications are fascinating to me. I stumbled upon this quote when looking for something else and decided to draft up this post just because of it.

Like, Sirius sent a letter to Gringotts with Crookshanks, identifying himself as Harry (did he forge Harry's signature? Did he do something else? Do they have magical signatures?) to access his own vault. This has so many implications.

Again we see what Gringotts cares for is the identity of the person asking to access the vault, not any magical vault key.

Either the signature Gringotts has for Harry is incorrect or Sirius leaned to forge Harry's signature. both options could be hilarious for fic purposes.

Harry, at the age of 13, can access his own vault and Sirius' vault with just his identity.

That last one implies two things:

There is no minimum age for Gringotts vaults access or, if there is, it's something low, like 11 or 12. This means wizarding children are essentially treated as adults when it comes to banking since Harry had to exercise self-control over his own money at the beginning of PoA and there were no vault rules or laws that would limit his access to it.

Sirius made Harry his heir before he was sent to Azkaban. It was always my headcanon, but this is evidence of it. I mean, if Harry wasn't Sirius' heir there would be no reason for Sirius to be able to use Harry's identity to access his own vault legally.

Now, I know Weasley-bashing fics love to use the fact Molly buys Harry stuff with money from his own vault as evidence of theft:

“Look, here’s the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she’s got some gold out of your vault for you . . . and she’s washed all your socks.”

(GoF, Ch10)

But that doesn't seem to be the case. Harry isn't surprised she did it, and Molly told Harry she would be buying him things the day before. It's possible he even gave her a letter to let her access his vault himself. If Harry wasn't aware of it happening, I think he would have mentioned it's odd. Harry's pretty perceptive and not stupid, so I think it's likely he had given his permission to that since he knew of the plan ahead of Molly going to Diagon whenever it happened.

(Mostly I think JKR didn't feel like writing everyone shopping in Diagon Alley again every book so it was an excuse to have it happen off-page)

The final occasion of vault access I want to examine is with the Lestrange Vault in Deathly Hallows:

“Madam Lestrange!” said the goblin, evidently startled. “Dear me! How-how may I help you today?” “I wish to enter my vault,” said Hermione. The old goblin seemed to recoil a little. Harry glanced around. Not only was Travers hanging back, watching, but several other goblins had looked up from their work to stare at Hermione. “You have . . . identification?” asked the goblin. “Identification? I-I have never been asked for identification before!” said Hermione. “They know!” whispered Griphook in Harry’s ear, “They must have been warned there might be an imposter!” “Your wand will do, madam,” said the goblin. [...] “Make him press his hand to the door!” Griphook urged Harry, who turned his wand again upon Bogrod. The old goblin obeyed, pressing his palm to the wood, and the door of the vault melted away to reveal a cavelike opening crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of strange creatures

(DH, Ch26)

Again, what Hermione is asked for is identification, not a key. From Griphook's reaction, it seems asking for identification is usually not necessary. I assume, usually Gringotts goblins have another way of knowing who stands before them, it would explain why the characters are never really asked for a key after book 1 — the goblins just recognized Harry and let him enter. (I'd get to why they didn't in PS later)

Also from the above quote, we see that a Gringotts goblin can just magically open even the oldest, most high-security vaults, making the vault key from the first book completely moot. We also don't really see keys used since then in, well, any of the books. We do see Harry mention it in DH:

“I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he’d have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the Wizarding world....”

(DH, Ch24)

But no one seems to be using them.

I think having a key to a vault means you have the physical key, yes, but it's more symbolic than something you have to have with you to open your vault. It's like a token that says you have vault number 687, not that it's the only means of accessing the vault since clearly, your identity is enough.

So, the question is, since vault keys or wand IDs aren't the usual means to identify oneself, how do goblins know? How do you usually identify yourself? How do they know who can access which vault just by looking at them? And why was the key asked for in PS?

Well, I have a bit of a theory/headcanon/speculation about this based on the evidence I mentioned above:

A Gringotts key is essentially a signifier for the ownership of a vault (goblin ownership, the vault is borrowed by wizards, and whenever vaults switch hands wizards likely have to pay for them again).

In book 1, the key was needed since Harry has never stepped foot in Gringotts before. The key acted as an identification for Harry who didn't have a wand yet and who the goblins just met for the first time.

After Harry was identified once, the goblins just recognized him. As they do everyone else. (Since a letter from Dumbledore saying Hagrid can access his vault is enough, they didn't ask Hagrid for any identification (not that he has a wand he can give them)).

I believe goblins just have a brilliant memory for faces and once someone enters the bank once, they are remembered from then on. (I also assume you need to sign something so they have a handwriting sample to identify your writing by. Which they also have a great memory of).

I think goblins are just magically really good at remembering details. It fits what we see about goblin-made artifacts which are very detailed and ornate. How goblins just remember who owes what and who took what. So, I think the identification method at Gringotts is goblins' really good memory.

That's why The Thief's Downfall is important. It removes enchantments that change someone's appearance which is how goblins identify people.

All this means Sirius learned how to forge Harry's handwriting to buy him a Firebolt, which is a fun concept. (Where are all the fics of Sirius being brilliant at forgery?)

This is a bit of a random tangent, but I found it interesting.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #hollowedtheory #harry potter meta #wizarding world #gringotts #gringotts wizarding bank #wizarding society #wizarding world of harry potter

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eevees-hobbies · 6 months ago

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oh oh oh eve how do you think sakura, ume, togame, and kiryu are reacting to seeing the girl they’re 👀talking👀 to in a cute lil sundress for the first time 🤭

Author’s Note: Hi, Anon! I wasn’t sure if you meant talking as in the “relationship is still brand new” way or “we talk and do OTHER things” way, haha, so I wanted to be safe! If you want NSFW, I can do a part 2!

Content Warning: Some minor suggestiveness in Umemiya’s and Kiryu’s, but no smut anywhere in this post. I’m shocked, too.

Word Count: 900 words (short and sweet, like you!)

Haruka Sakura

Sakura was convinced that all dresses looked the same.

When you asked him to explain what he knew about which types of dresses existed, he rolled his eyes at you as though it was a burden to explain something so simple,

“Yeah, you got the floofy ones, and those that…are less floofy?”

But when you asked him if you could model your sundress for him, he gave an almost apathetic shrug until you pranced out in front of him, giving him a twirl and sticking your tongue out at him. As you complete your circle, you throw your hands up and ask, “What do you think, Kitten?”

Sakura’s face is bright red as he looks at your dress, scanning the areas where it hugs you in all the right places and where it leaves little to the imagination.

“W-what kind of dress is that?!”

You sigh and place a hand on your hip in exasperation, “Don’t you listen? It’s a SUNDRESS! Do you not like it?”

He mumbles something barely above a whisper; in return, you cup your hand around your ear, “Huh?? Can’t hear you.”

“Are you….are you crazy? Of course…I like it! It looks great on you,” he huffs and looks away. “I think you should wear that thing more often.”

“Oh, Kitten!” You throw your arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m so glad you said that because I needed an excuse to buy more, and you can carry all of my shopping bags.”

“I didn’t say-“

“Because you’re so strong! Look at these muscles!” You pump his bicep with your hand, which causes him to blush.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll carry all your sundresses.”

Hajime Umemiya

Gardening during the Summer can be brutal! You often help Umemiya in his garden, and no amount of spraying each other with the water hose is enough to keep you from drenching the soil in the collective sweat you both produce.

While putting away the gardening tools in the shed and removing his brown leather gloves, Ume offers a solution: “Hey, maybe you should wear something more comfortable tomorrow?”

So you take him up on his offer and show up the next day wearing a light blue sundress, comfortable flats, and a wide-brimmed sun hat.

Ume has to shield his eyes from the sun when he looks up at you, but his heart falters when his vision focuses. Umemiya doesn’t usually care about what you wear—to him, you are perfection personified. But in that moment, he realized he might have a thing for you in sundresses.

“A-are you sure you want to garden in that? It looks like it might get dirty easily?”

He so desperately wants to reach out and feel the fabric against his fingers and pull you closer to feel your shape against him, but what you have is so new that he’s trying to be as much of a gentleman as possible.

“Ume, I can still get down and dirty,” you joke and turn away to grab a watering pail.

You leave Umemiya nodding to himself as he watches you walk away, “Y-yeah, down and dirty.”

Mitsuki Kiryu

When Kiryu sends you links to a few sundresses he found online, you get the feeling that he is trying to tell you something.

“These are cute, yeah? Sent you some money for a few. Surprise me with your favorite one on our date?”

You check the links, scrolling through the name-brand dresses with price tags that make you sweat. Kiryu has impeccable taste, though, so you put some in your cart and place your order in time for the movie date.

As you approach the cinema, briefly feeling self-conscious of what Kiryu might think of you, you consider texting him to say you’ll be late to give you time to go back home and change. Those unnecessary feelings melt away as Kiryu waves at you, a grin on his face as though you are responsible for supplying the planet with light.

“You look so beautiful! I think my heart stopped when I saw you turn the corner.” He takes your hand in his and presses his lips against your knuckles.

“It’ll be hard to control myself in our seats, but for you, I’ll do my best,” he says, looping his arms around yours. Then he walks you into the theater, inquiring if you saw more dresses you’d like to buy.

Jo Togame

Togame laughs the first time he sees you in a sundress. Literally, uncharacteristically doubles over in rapturous laughter.

“Togame-” with the sole warning of his name, you pick up your purse, fully ready to swing.

He reaches out and grabs your wrist, wiping a tear from his eye, “Hey, calm down. I’m laughing because I feel like the luckiest man alive.”

He pulls you into his arms; your head rests against his chest, allowing you to hear his heart beating loudly against his ribcage.

“You look like the type of girl I’d be too afraid to ask out, and somehow, I’ve tricked you into dating me.”

You scrunch your nose up, “tricked? Togame, please don’t talk like that. You’re hot and the man of my dreams.”

“Even with Choji?”

“Yes, even with our throuple.”

He laughs again, but this time, you know it’s a laugh to be shared rather than at your expense.

“Can you twirl for me? I can’t stop lookin’ at you.”

And it’s true. You're so ridiculously pretty that Togame can’t believe someone who looks like you gives him the time of day. He’s obsessed with your sundress look, pointing you out to his friends and saying almost nonchalantly,

‘Yeah, that’s my girl. Doesn’t she look cute?”

Choji waves at you from where he’s standing next to Togame, “I know what your girlfriend looks like.”

“Sorry, thought you could use a reminder.”

#anon fulfilled #request fill #sakura x reader #togame x reader #mitsuki kiryu #hajime umemiya x reader #request

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corusretails · 5 months ago

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#tool bag #punching bag #asolf hand bags #leather bag #laptop bag #laptop bags #up the baguette #zak bagans #ita bag #qsmp bagi

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waitforyrlove · 10 days ago

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slytherin ! matt doesn’t let you break free from his game.

you were running late for Herbology, the kind of late that made your stomach twist with anxiety. As you rushed into the greenhouse, your hands frantically dug into your bag, searching for your herbology knife—the one essential tool for today’s class.

it wasn’t there.

panic set in as you rifled through every pocket, your fingers brushing over parchment, quills, and an array of useless things that weren’t what you needed. The knife, the one Professor Sprout insisted you always bring to class, was gone.

“Everything alright?” your friend asked from the workstation next to you, a curious look on her face.

“No,” you muttered, shaking your head, “I can’t find my knife.”

“Did you leave it in your dorm?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, though doubt was starting to creep in. You never misplaced that knife—it was practically second nature to check for it before every Herbology lesson.

your eyes darted across the room as you scanned for any sign of it, but something—or rather, someone—caught your attention instead.

Matt.

he was leaning casually against one of the greenhouse tables, his sleeves rolled up and his trademark smirk firmly in place. His green-and-silver tie was loose around his neck, and he was twirling something between his fingers.

it was your knife.

your stomach dropped, a mixture of anger and disbelief bubbling to the surface. You didn’t even need to look twice to confirm it—it was unmistakably yours. The silver blade glinted in the sunlight, and the worn leather grip bore the tiny scratch you’d accidentally made during your first Herbology class.

you stormed over to him, your heart pounding with irritation. “Is there a reason you’re holding my knife, Matt?”

he looked up at you, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. “Oh, this is yours?”

“Yes,” you snapped, crossing your arms, “Give it back.”

Matt tilted his head, as if considering your request, but the smirk on his face only widened,“You really should take better care of your things, sweetheart. Leaving them lying around for anyone to take?”

“I didn’t leave it lying around,” you hissed, your voice low to avoid drawing too much attention. “You stole it.”

“Stole is such a strong word,” he replied smoothly. “I’d say… borrowed.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, your patience wearing thin, “Whatever you want to call it, I need it back. Now.”

he chuckled, leaning in slightly so his voice was just for you, “What’s the rush? Herbology’s barely started.”

you clenched your fists, your frustration mounting, “Matt, I’m serious. Give it back.”

“Hmm,” he mused, leaning back against the table and twirling the knife once more, “I could give it back. Or…” He trailed off, his smirk taking on a mischievous edge.

“Or what?” you asked warily, already dreading his answer.

“Or you could do something for me first,” he said, his voice light, but his eyes sharp.

you groaned, already regretting every life decision that had led to this moment, “Why can’t you ever just do something without making it into a game?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he countered, his smirk never faltering.

you stared at him, your anger battling with the realization that you didn’t have a choice. You needed that knife. Herbology was one of your better subjects, and you couldn’t afford to fall behind—not because of him.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

his smirk deepened, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I need some information. From Ravenclaw.”

“Information? About what?”

he straightened up, his expression growing slightly more serious. “I need information. There’s someone in Ravenclaw—Connor Ashworth—who’s been running his mouth about me, talking shit, I want to know what he’s saying and who he’s saying it to.”

your jaw tightened at the word harmless, but you bit back your retort, “So you want me to spy on him?”

“Exactly,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “Find out what you can, and then your precious knife is all yours.”

you glared at him, hating how easily he manipulated the situation to his advantage, “And what happens if I refuse?”

he twirled the knife one last time before slipping it into his pocket, “Then I guess you’ll be doing today’s lesson without it.”

you stared at him, your mind racing. Every instinct told you not to give in, not to let him win. But the thought of standing in front of Professor Sprout empty-handed, trying to explain why you didn’t have your knife, made your stomach churn.

“Fine,” you said at last, your voice heavy with resignation, “I’ll do it.”

“Atta girl,” Matt said, his smirk widening as he straightened up, “I knew you’d see reason.”

you didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, you turned on your heel and stormed back to your workstation, your mind already working on how you were going to pull this off.

the next day, you found yourself in the Ravenclaw common room under the pretense of borrowing a book from one of your friends. It was awkward at first, trying to subtly steer the conversation toward Connor without raising suspicion. But luckily, your friend was more than happy to gossip.

“Connor’s been acting so smug lately,” she said, flipping through the pages of her Charms textbook. “I overheard him talking to someone about Matt the other day. Something about a duel? Or maybe it was a bet. I’m not sure.”

you leaned in, feigning casual curiosity, “What was he saying?”

“Mostly that he got the better of Matt in some argument. Honestly, it sounded like typical Connor—blowing things out of proportion to make himself look good.”

you nodded, trying to piece together the information. Matt hadn’t mentioned anything about a duel, but it was clear that whatever Connor was spreading, it was enough to bother him.

for the rest of the afternoon, you lingered around the Ravenclaws, picking up snippets of conversation here and there. By the time you returned to your common room, you had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

that evening, you found Matt waiting for you in the corridor outside the library.

“Well?” he asked, his smirk firmly in place, “What did you find out?”

you crossed your arms, glaring at him, “Connor’s been bragging about a duel with you. He’s telling people he humiliated you.”

Matt’s eyes darkened, his smirk faltering for the first time, “Did he say anything else?”

“Just that he’s been talking to some Hufflepuffs about it. Apparently, he’s trying to make sure the whole school hears about it.”

Matt let out a low laugh, though there was no humor in it, “Interesting,”

“Now give me my knife,” you said, holding out your hand expectantly.

he glanced at you, his smirk returning, “Oh, I will. But I think you’ve earned a little reward for your hard work.”

“I don’t want a reward. I just want my knife.”

Matt pulled the blade from his pocket, holding it up between his fingers, “Fine,” he said, stepping closer. “But you have to admit… we make a pretty good team.”

you snatched the knife from his hand, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment, “This isn’t a team. This is blackmail.”

he chuckled, taking a step back. “Call it whatever you want, sweetheart. You’ll come around eventually.”

you glared at him, slipping the knife back into your satchel, “Don’t count on it.”

as you turned to leave, Matt’s voice followed you down the corridor.

“Careful out there,” he called, his tone light but laced with something darker, “You never know when you’ll need my help again.”

you didn’t dignify him with a response, but his words stuck with you as you made your way back to your common room.

no matter how much you tried to distance yourself, Matt always seemed to pull you back into his web. And as much as you hated to admit it, a small part of you wondered if you’d ever truly escape.

the days after your reluctant deal with Matt passed in a haze of frustration and unease. Every time you saw him, whether it was in the corridors or during meals in the Great Hall, he gave you that infuriating smirk. It wasn’t just teasing—it was a reminder. He knew he was in your head, and he wasn’t about to let you forget it.

you tried to go about your life as normal, but the weight of Matt’s games lingered like a shadow. And deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over.

it wasn’t over.

it was a Thursday evening, and you were in the library, trying to focus on your Potions essay. The soft scratch of quills and the faint whispers of other students filled the room, a soothing backdrop that helped you push aside your annoyance with Matt—at least for a little while.

but, as always, peace didn’t last long.

you heard the sound of footsteps approaching your table, and before you could even look up, a familiar voice broke through your concentration.

“Working hard, I see.”

you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to face him. Matt stood there, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, his green-and-silver tie hanging loose around his neck. He looked relaxed, but the glint in his eyes told you he was here with a purpose.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice flat.

Matt slid into the chair across from you, leaning back like he owned the place. “Don’t look so thrilled to see me.”

“I’m not,” you said bluntly.

he chuckled, unbothered by your tone, “You wound me, sweetheart.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to keep your temper in check, “If this is about Connor, I already did what you asked. I don’t owe you anything.”

“True,” Matt admitted, tilting his head slightly, “But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have something else in mind.”

you groaned, dropping your quill onto the table, “Of course you do. What is it this time?”

Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he studied you with a look that made your skin prickle, “Let’s call it… an opportunity.”

“An opportunity,” you repeated, skepticism dripping from your words.

he nodded, his smirk widening. “There’s a little… gathering happening in the Forbidden Forest this weekend. A few of us are planning to check out some magical creatures that are supposedly nesting there.”

you raised an eyebrow, “And what does this have to do with me?”

“Well,” Matt said, his tone light but calculated, “it just so happens that I could use someone with your… resourcefulness. You’ve proven you’re good at sneaking around, and you’re surprisingly quick on your feet. Plus, if anything goes wrong, it’s always good to have someone who can keep a cool head.”

you stared at him, disbelief etched across your face. “You want me to sneak into the Forbidden Forest with you?”

“Half of the fun, yeah.”

“Absolutely not,” you said, shaking your head, “I’m not risking detention—or worse—for one of your ridiculous fuckin’ schemes.”

Matt’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he looked even more amused by your resistance, “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure? It’ll be fun. You, me, and a couple of others… what could possibly go wrong?”

“Everything,” you shot back, “Everything could go wrong. And I’m not getting dragged into another one of your messes.”

Matt leaned back in his chair, his smirk softening into something more genuine, “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you spend an awful lot of time thinking about me.”

You froze, heat rushing to your face, “I do not—”

“You do,” he interrupted smoothly, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “And that’s okay, sweetheart. I’m flattered, really.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but no words came out. He always had a way of throwing you off balance, and it drove you insane

“Think about it,” he said, rising to his feet, “We leave Saturday night. Meet me by the edge of the forest if you change your mind.”

“And if I don’t?” you called after him, your frustration bubbling over

Matt glanced back at you, his smirk firmly in place, “You will.”

and with that, he was gone, leaving you fuming at the table

the Saturday night came faster than you’d expected, and despite every logical argument you’d made to yourself, you found yourself standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, your heart pounding in your chest.

Matt was already there, leaning casually against a tree with an air of nonchalance that made you want to strangle him.

“I knew you’d come,” he said, his smirk lighting up the dim surroundings.

“Don’t make me regret it,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

“Oh, you will,” he replied, his tone teasing, “But it’ll be worth it.”

as he led you into the dark, twisting trees, you couldn’t help but wonder how you’d gotten yourself into this mess—again. But one thing was certain: when it came to him, there was no such thing as simple.

the night air was cool, the thick canopy of trees above blocking most of the moonlight as you followed Matt deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Every snap of a twig underfoot felt louder than it should, the silence pressing in around you, heightening your awareness of everything—especially of Matt, walking just ahead, his movements confident and sure.

“So,” you broke the silence, trying to steady your nerves, “What exactly are we doing here? You haven’t exactly given me details.”

Matt glanced over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, “Patience, sweetheart. You’ll find out soon enough.” His tone was teasing, but there was a hard edge underneath it, something that told you he wasn’t entirely joking.

you rolled your eyes but didn’t press him further. The last thing you wanted was to get caught up in one of his games again, but part of you—damn it, part of you—was already intrigued. That damn curiosity of yours had a nasty habit of getting the better of you when it came to Matt.

he led you through the dense forest, your footsteps now muffled by the thick undergrowth beneath. The deeper you went, the more the sounds of the castle faded away, leaving only the occasional rustling of leaves and the faint hoots of owls overhead. Your senses were on high alert, the air around you thick with an eerie tension. You could feel it creeping up your spine.

finally, after what seemed like forever, Matt stopped in front of a small clearing. A large, ancient oak tree loomed at the center, its branches twisted and gnarled like something out of a nightmare. The atmosphere was heavy, and for a moment, you almost regretted following him.

“Alright,” Matt said, turning to face you, “Here’s the deal. I want you to stay here for a bit, keep an eye out. I’m going to check the area around the tree for any… potential problems. If anyone shows up, you’ll need to be the lookout.”

“You brought me out here just to… stand guard? In the middle of the night?”

Matt’s smirk deepened, though there was something darker behind it now, “You’re good at sneaking around, aren’t you? You’ve proven that before. This isn’t a job for amateurs.”

you couldn’t help but scowl at the implied insult, though you had to admit, he had a point. You had been sneaky, both in the library and when you’d stolen the book from his dorm. But you weren’t about to let him get under your skin.

“So,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest, “you’re just going to leave me here while you do whatever shady thing you’re planning?”

“Not exactly,” He stepped closer, his voice lowering, “While I’m out there, you’re going to make sure no one follows us. You’ll be the eyes on the ground, and when I’m done, we can go back to the castle without anyone suspecting a thing.” He paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on yours, “And in return, I’ll consider our… little arrangement settled.”

“I’ve already done more than enough for you,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I know,” Matt replied, his lips curling into a playful grin, “But you’ve got something I want, sweetheart. And you’ll do this for me. Because you don’t want to know what happens if you don’t.”

his words sent a cold shiver down your spine. You hated that you felt the weight of them. Hated that you couldn’t just walk away from this. But despite your protests, you nodded. What else could you do?

“Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll stay here. But don’t expect me to stick around if this goes sideways.”

“Gooood girl.”

and then he disappeared into the darkness, his footsteps light but purposeful as he vanished from your view.

the clearing fell silent once again, and you were left standing alone in the cold night air, your mind racing. What the hell was Matt up to this time? What kind of trouble was he getting himself—and you—into.

you strained your ears, hoping to hear something, anything that would clue you in. But all you could hear was the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that you were missing a piece of the puzzle.

minutes dragged into what felt like hours. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, trying to stay alert. The longer you stood there, the more uncomfortable you became. Your stomach twisted, and your thoughts raced, replaying every interaction with Matt up until this point. His games. His smugness. That damn pull he seemed to have over you.

you rubbed your arms to ward off the chill, your eyes scanning the shadows for any movement. Nothing. Still nothing. Was this some kind of twisted test? Or was he really just out here checking for threats?

the sound of footsteps broke your focus.

you snapped your head toward the noise, your heart slamming against your ribs. A figure emerged from the darkness, cloaked in shadow, moving toward you with deliberate steps.

you held your breath. Was it Matt? Or someone else? A cold sweat trickled down your spine as you instinctively took a step back, the forest suddenly feeling like it was closing in around you.

“Matt?” you called out softly, not sure if you wanted the answer.

the figure froze. Then, you heard the unmistakable voice of Matt, low and smooth in the dark, “You should relax a little. You’re doing fine.”

you exhaled, almost too relieved to speak, “What took you so long?”

“Just making sure the area is clear,” he replied, stepping into the clearing. He seemed to have been gone longer than expected, and there was something different about his energy now. His movements were a little more guarded, his smirk a little more controlled.

“You didn’t run into anyone, did you?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but your nerves were getting the better of you.

Matt studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “No,” he said slowly, “I didn’t. But I’m starting to wonder if I should’ve brought someone else. You look a little too tense for my liking.”

you shot him a glare, irritated by his usual arrogance, “I’m not some pawn in your little games, Matt.”

his lips curved into a smile, though it was less playful now and more dangerous. “Of course not,” he said, stepping closer, “You’re much more than that. You’re a challenge.”

the air between you felt thick, charged with a tension that made it hard to breathe. He took a step closer, his presence closing the space between you until you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You didn’t move, didn’t step back, despite every instinct telling you to run. There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled you in despite everything you knew about him.

you swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as he leaned in, just a little, his breath warm against your skin. “You don’t realize it yet,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper, “but you’re already a part of my game, sweetheart. And you’re playing it just the way I want.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, your lips parting slightly in surprise. You tried to ignore the way your body seemed to betray you, heat creeping up your neck, a flutter of something unfamiliar settling deep in your stomach. You didn’t want to be pulled in. You didn’t want to care. But his presence was intoxicating, his proximity making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, you both just stood there, neither of you speaking. His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, and something shifted in the air between you, a promise lingering in the space.

you could feel your pulse racing, could feel the dangerous pull between you, the way he was slowly drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You should move away, you should pull back, but the words were stuck in your throat, and your body felt frozen in place.

Matt was close enough now that you could feel his body heat against yours, his every breath seeming to sync with yours. His eyes darkened as he tilted his head slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, his warm breath mingling with yours.

“Don’t tell me you’re not tempted,” he murmured, his voice like silk, dark and enticing, “You feel it too. I know you do.”

you felt it—the electric charge in the air, the undeniable pull. It was maddening, how easily he could make you forget your own thoughts, your own boundaries. His lips were so close. If you just leaned in a little more…

you didn’t know how long you stood there, your heart racing, your breath shallow, but the moment felt like it stretched on forever, thick with uncertainty and temptation. You could feel the weight of the decision, the gravity of what was happening, pulling you down into it.

then, just as you thought you might give in, he pulled back, his smirk returning, though this time it held something more, something predatory.

“I thought you had more sense than that,” he said, his voice low and mocking, as though he’d just tested your limits and found them wanting.

you didn’t know if you wanted to punch him or kiss him, and do whatever intrusive thought you had in your mind. Instead, you took a step back, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to regain control of your emotions.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

he only chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving you, “I always do.”

with that, he turned and began walking back toward the path leading out of the forest, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing, your mind a blur of confusion and desire.

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˙ . ꒷ 🪽 notes from author ˙— 3 days in a row slytherin ! matt??? who’s this

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munson-blurbs · 10 months ago

Text

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: What started as a quest to prove Eddie's 'manhood' ended with a gesture that had you hurtling towards your future--ready or not. (5.4k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, lots of bees, mention of parental illness, brief mention of sex work, finally some actual physical contact between them, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter five: float like a butterfly

For the first time since you’d started working nights, you didn’t dread the sound of your alarm ringing. You’d always appreciated its stillness, with only city noises and the occasional guest puncturing the perfect silence. There were some nights where you didn’t speak a word for the full eight hours of your shift; you just read or wrote or daydreamed until the clock struck six.

Except for last night, of course, when you’d passed the time by talking with Eddie and minimally contributed to wallpaper removal. Your mind flickered back to the way he’d placed his hand on yours. The sensation of his palm, calloused but warm, lingering a beat longer than necessary.

The whole moment could have been deemed unnecessary, in theory. Surely he could have modeled the action on his own and then handed you the tool so you could imitate him. Was it truly to show you how to scrape off glue, or did he have a more gratuitous intention?

Shaking your head, you eschewed the idea almost as quickly as you’d considered it. He was just being polite, a rarity among most of your male guests. Maybe that's why you were so hyper-focused on it; years of clipped conversations and crude comments had you mistaking kindness for something more flirtatious.

Speak of the Devil…

Eddie stood in the lobby, his guitar case slung across his back. He kept one elbow perched on the desk as he spoke to your mom. Whatever he said was making her laugh, a genuine one that brought a light to her eyes. She noticed you first, and when she waved you over, Eddie turned around to see what caught her attention. His smile shifted from open-mouth to close-lipped, more thoughtful and discreet without losing any of its charm.

Slinging your bag off of your shoulder next to the desk, you feigned a casual demeanor and asked, “What did I miss? Serenading my mom?” You nodded towards the guitar case, biting back a smile.

Eddie shook his head, his curls falling in his face. “Tried to make a couple bucks down at the subway station.” He shrugged, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Not enough for a ticket home, but it’s a start.”

Home. Obviously he was going home. New York had nothing for him, had chewed him up and spit him out like he left a bitter taste in its mouth. He had no reason to stay.

Oblivious to your disappointment, Mom laughed again. “Mr. Munson–”

“Eddie. Mr. Munson is my uncle.”

“Eddie,” Mom quickly amended, “was just telling me about the time he ripped his pants while he was on stage.”

Rosy red seeped into Eddie’s cheeks, evidently not expecting your mom to share that information with you. “And that was the last time I wore leather pants,” he said. “Lesson learned.”

Deeming this conclusion insufficient, you inquired further. “How exactly does one rip leather pants?” You stifled a giggle, just imagining him feeling a sudden breeze mid-concert.

“Well, ya see,” he started, crossing his arms over his faded Metallica t-shirt and smirking, “I’m what’s known as an enthusiastic performer. And as such, one might find that leather can be quite restricting.”

“So…you got really sweaty and they ripped.”

Eddie hid his face behind a curtain of curls, all but confirming your suspicions. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Heiress,” he warned with a smile, cocking his pointer finger in your direction.

Mom took that as her cue to leave, quickly clasping your hand and excusing herself. Thick tension set in without her there as a buffer. Her presence prevented any conversation from dipping too deep into flirtation; now, there was nothing stopping it.

Except, of course, the looming fact that he was a guest. And like all guests, he was a temporary fixture in your life.

“The new wallpaper didn’t come in yet,” you blurted out. Dad had insisted on ordering it from a family friend, saving money but forgoing the promises of timely delivery afforded by bigger suppliers.

Eddie shrugged, unbothered by the information. “I know.” He placed a cigarette between his lips and held out the pack in offering, but you shook your head. Without missing a beat, he put his own cigarette back and returned the box to his pocket. “Your mom was saying how excited she is for you to finish your classes and take over the motel.”

Panic flooded your lungs and constricted your breathing at the potential crisis he might have inadvertently caused. Did Mom seem upset? Her usual signs were noticeably absent: narrowed eyes, set jaw, lips painfully taut in a silent roar: we’ll discuss this later.

There was none of that. She was laughing. Happy. Not a hint of disappointment. Yet anxiety still hooked its claws into your skin, a stinging reminder of the anvil dangling over your head.

“You didn’t say—”

“Not a word.” Eddie waved away the thought. “Just smiled and nodded.”

Your chest went concave with relief, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him into a hug. His arms held a surprising strength, as evidenced by his wallpaper removal abilities, and you wondered how they would feel wrapped around your waist. Did he hug tightly, not letting go until all of the air had been squeezed from your lungs? Or did he prefer a softer, lazier embrace, one with a hand free to stroke up and down your back?

Why did it matter?

“Is there a reason you haven’t told them?” he asked. The sound of his voice invaded your senses, pulling you back to reality in an instant. “I mean, they seem nice enough.”

Stooping down to grab your notebook, you nodded in agreement. “That’s part of the problem, I guess.” Your teeth scraped along your tongue as you considered your words. “If they were shitty, I wouldn’t feel so bad about letting them down.”

“Letting them down?”

You nodded, feeling that familiar pit that formed in your stomach whenever this subject arose. “Yeah. I can’t be a social worker and run the motel. And if I don’t stick around, they’ll have to close this place for good.”

Eddie breathes out with a low whistle. “Pretty high stakes.”

“You can say that again.” Resting your elbows on the desk, you buried your head in your hands. “How did your parents react when you told them you wanted to be a rockstar?” you asked, your voice slightly muffled.

He took so long to respond that you looked up, wondering if he’d up and left while you weren’t watching.

“My dad’s, um, not in the picture, and my mom died when I was a kid,” he finally said, using his left thumbnail to pick at the right.

“I’m sorry.” And you were: for his loss and for prying into his history. Mortification bloomed and prickled sweat under your arms, and you clenched them to your sides in a feeble attempt to hide any forming stains.

“S’okay. I mean, you didn’t know, so…” his shoulders moved up and down, his mouth drawn into a forgiving half-smile, “now you know.”

Now you know. A little slice of him, presented to you like one of the cakes the local bakery kept locked behind a pane of refrigerated glass. The ones you admired as a kid, reveling in their perfectly smooth icing and intricately piped pastel flowers. They’d always seemed too delicate to touch, so you’d skipped over them in favor of sprinkle-laden cookies.

Logically, you know that the cakes were made for consumption. All you needed to do was ask for a taste. But you could never bring yourself to ruin their beauty. Not then, and not now.

And so, as always, you stepped away and chose the easier path instead.

“Did you really rip your pants on stage?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkled at the sudden subject change, but he recovered quickly. “Sure did. Split right down the seam.” He puffed out a short laugh through his nose. “Poor Gareth got an eyeful that night.”

“Are you sure that isn’t the real reason you left the band?” Picking up the nearest pen, you poked the capped end into his forearm.

He play-winced, rubbing the spot the cap touched, and shook his head. “Nah, this was my high school band. Corroded Coffin.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Oh, yeah. We were terrifying.” Eddie widened his eyes in mock-horror. “The backbone of Indiana’s satanic panic, actually.”

You raised your brows. “Impressive.”

“Mhm. We only broke up because our bassist went to college out of state. Princeton.” He lowered his voice at the name as though relaying confidential information.

“Not the Ivy Leagues!” You pressed your hand to your heart, clutching metaphorical pearls.

Eddie grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’ve heard Princeton is known for their demonic studies program, so that tracks.”

This is nice. This is easy. No mention of schoolwork, or the motel, or parents—or lack thereof. You could do this all night.

A throat clearing followed by a hacking cough took you both by surprise. Peering over Eddie’s shoulder, you found Phyllis standing in the lobby doorway.

“There’s a wasp nest outside my window,” she said, tugging up one drooping shirt sleeve. The odor of stale cigarettes grew stronger as she walked closer to you and Eddie; even if she quit smoking today, the pungency would always cling to her.

Uncapping your pen, you reached into the desk drawer and grabbed the stack of Post-Its. “I’ll make a note to get some insecticide spray tomorrow,” you promised, poorly curbing your exasperation.

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.

The older woman didn’t put up any argument, but Eddie was obviously displeased. “Like hell you will.” He glanced around, pent-up energy overflowing as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “You got a baseball bat around here?”

Your “Uh, no,” overlapped with Phyllis’s nonchalant, “Yeah, of course,” and she left to fetch it.

A sigh escaped you, hinting at your mounting irritation. “Eddie, absolutely not,” you insisted. “Just wait till I get the spray and you can do it then.”

He clicked his tongue with a note of condescension that you didn’t particularly appreciate. “Don’t worry about it, Heiress. I’m from the Midwest; our wasps are like your rats. This’ll be nothing.” When you remained unconvinced, he adopted a teasing grin. “I don’t tell you how to do your nerd stuff, do I? So leave me to my man stuff in peace.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva. “Your man stuff?”

“Yes. Very strong and burly.” He flexed a bicep for emphasis and you threw your hands up in defeat, trying to ignore the soft fluttering in your stomach at the vein bulging through his skin.

Phyllis returned with the bat, the wooden neck clenched between arthritic fingers. “It’s right around the side,” she told Eddie. “Just look for the giant nest. And don’t forget to give this back when you’re done; I’m working tonight.” She thrust the bat into Eddie’s hand and padded back to her room, slippers thwacking against the linoleum.

Eddie twirled the bat, threading it through his fingers and catching it smoothly. He smiled, unable to camouflage his pride. “See? I got this.” His grasp was determined without a hint of tenderness, a stark contrast to the way he’d held your hand the night prior. Tucking it underneath a denim-clad arm, he took a deep breath and pushed through the front door like he was preparing for battle.

You watched him leave, shaking your head. Evidently, he had a point to prove, but you doubted the chances of his success. Part of you wished you could leave the desk to watch him in action. Another part was relieved that you had the excuse to avoid witnessing this disaster as it unfolded.

As you predicted, not even half a minute had passed before you heard Eddie yelping, his footsteps thudding towards the motel’s entrance. He flung the door open with enough force that it smacked against the wall, scrambling to slam it shut behind him. His chest heaved under his jacket as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He swatted around his head at some lingering wasps. “Son of a bitch!”

Sucking your tongue to your front teeth, you bit back an I-told-you-so. “How’s your ‘manhood’ or whatever?”

Maybe that wasn’t much better than outright gloating, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Eddie made a closed fist with only his middle finger sticking up, and he winced almost immediately. “I think one of those little fuckers got me.” He cradled one hand in the other as you walked towards him for a closer inspection.

Sure enough, a stinger was poking out from the side of his forefinger.

Phyllis came shuffling back from her room, pink lipsticked mouth pursed in concern. “Jesus, kid. Were you trying to piss them off?” The loose skin under her neck wobbled when she chortled. “You swung at that nest like you were Babe Ruth!”

Through a tense smile, you asked her to get a soapy washcloth so you could clean out the wound before it could spark an allergic reaction. “Unless, of course, that interferes with your man stuff,” you said to Eddie, all-too happy to throw his words back in his face.

“Fuck off.” A traitorous chuckle broke through his stoic exterior despite his very real pain. His eyes followed your movements as you grabbed the first aid kit.

You took his warm palm in yours, gently turning it to assess the afflicted finger. The stinger was lodged under his skin, already turning the surrounding area an angry red.

“Oof, he really stung you good, huh?” Your tone was all sympathy; you figured he’d gotten enough jabs from the wasps.

Eddie gritted his teeth as you gingerly scraped at the stinger with the edge of your notebook, taking care not to squeeze out any of the venom. You tightened your grip to keep his hand in place, feeling the soft but steady thrum of his heartbeat between his wrist and his thumb’s tendon. It had a melody of its own.

Slowly, meticulously, you eased the stinger out from where it was wedged.

“Sorry,” you said softly, noting the way his eyes clamped shut as you drew out the stinger and brushed it onto the desk.

“S’okay.” He managed a small smile, one you returned without hesitation.

The night was still for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft but eager.

“Tell me more about Izzy.”

Apparently, you weren’t the only one with a penchant for rapid subject changes.

At once, your head was filled with memories of her: the pigtails held in place with thick rubber bands, the popsicle juice-stained pink t-shirt, the giggles that melted away your stress from a succession of ungrateful customers. He said something else, but you were too engrossed in your own thoughts for the words to register.

“Hmm?”

“The little girl you helped.” Eddie cocked a quizzical brow, suddenly worried that he’d remembered incorrectly. “That was her name, right?”

You nodded. “She was only there that one day. I didn’t see her again.”

Her mother was probably too embarrassed to stay any longer and found another motel. If you could go back in time, you would have reassured her, maybe even offered to watch after Izzy while she worked. You might have informed her of programs where she could find a job that didn’t put her or Izzy in harm’s way.

Eddie continued talking, for some reason persistent in his quest for answers. “But you said she talked to you while she was drawing. About her favorite stuff?”

Phyllis returned with cloth before you could answer him, and she rested it on the desk with a sigh. “I’m gonna head out,” she said, pointing at Eddie, “but my bat better be in my room before I get back, Yogi Berra.”

He nodded, absently massaging the nape of his neck. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” One burgundy-painted fingertip pointed at Eddie, then at you. “I like this kid.”

How do you even respond to that? An honest, ‘me, too’? An overly sarcastic, ‘he’s alright’?

You opted for a small, unassuming smile and the reminder to be safe, which was absurd when you really thought about it. Phyllis had been doing this, as she put it, “since my tits were above my belly button,” yet you were telling her about safety.

Bringing your attention back to the sting, you clutched the sopping wet washcloth. Phyllis apparently hadn’t wrung it out; water dripped down the side of your fingers and splashed onto the floor in an uneven plop-plop-plop.

With an abundance of care, you swiped the cloth over the sting site. It was already starting to swell, the skin raised and angry.

Eddie reflexively pulled away, the tension evident from the way his front teeth formed grooves in his lower lip.

“Fuck, that hurts.” His free fist pounded into the desktop with so much force that, for a split second, you worried that he might leave a dent.

“I know, but we have to clean it out,” you said.

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath; you weren't sure you even wanted to know what he said. “Yeah, yeah.” He winced as the frayed fibers grazed him again. “So…Izzy?”

“There isn’t much to say,” you answer honestly. “I mean, she just told me she loved McDonalds french fries and Muppet Babies. Especially baby Fozzie Bear.”

“Anything else?”

You thought back for a moment. “Her favorite animal was dogs, but only the little ones. She said the big ones scared her because they barked too loud. Oh, and her favorite color was light purple.”

The memory is bittersweet, bathing you in both comfort and a dull ache. It was almost six years ago but the little girl had made herself at home in your mind. You thought about her on a daily basis, wondering if she and her mom were still bouncing from motel to motel, or if they’d found a permanent place to settle. Every ounce of optimism you possessed worked to help you believe that they were safe and that she didn’t remember when safety wasn’t guaranteed.

“I knew it.”

You looked up from applying calamine lotion, dabbing the pink-stained cotton ball over any excess dripping off of his finger. “Knew what?”

“I knew you’d remember everything she told you.” His thumb relaxed and fluttered down until it rested on yours, the pad of his finger on your knuckle.

You reached for a Band-Aid before realizing that opening it required two hands. With more hesitation that you anticipated, you let go of him. “And what makes you say that?” You wrapped the bandage around his finger, careful not to press too tightly around the sting. “There. Good as new.”

Eddie smiled his appreciation. “I, um, had a similar experience when I was a kid.” He swallowed, picking at the Band-Aid until the adhesive side began to bunch up. When he allowed himself to glance at you, he saw you looking back at him, silently encouraging him to tell his story.

“My mom got sick when I was in kindergarten. The treatment made her tired and nauseous, like, all the time; when she wasn’t sleeping, she was throwing up.” His eyes clouded over and his voice cracked slightly; he cleared his throat and continued. “I was at school one day, and the social worker asked me if I had anyone at home who washed my clothes for me. And when I told her no, she asked me to bring any clothes I needed cleaned with me the next day. So I did, and after school let out, she took me to the Laundromat.”

If you told him that he didn’t have to keep talking, he'd stop. He’d wipe away any residual tears and excuse himself, and you’d once again spend your shift alone. And so you didn’t say anything, just stood there as his gears turned in recollection.

“She had this game: she’d hold up a piece of clothing and ask if it goes in the ‘lights’ or ‘darks’ pile, and she would get faster and faster until I was laughing too hard to answer.” Eddie exhaled a short laugh and swiped his tongue over his top teeth. “The whole time, I’m thinking that it’s all fun, that this is a normal thing that every kid did. I didn’t realize until years later that it was because my clothes smelled, y’know?”

Sheepishness colored Eddie’s face in pink splotches as he shifted from man to boy and then back again.

“Anyway, your story about Izzy kinda reminded me of that. And she might not remember your name or even what you talked about, but she’ll remember someone being there for her. Someone who didn’t act like she was a bother or a charity case. Just a kid who wanted to play.”

His words left you without any of your own. There was so much to digest; chiefly, your newfound glimpse into Eddie’s past. And though you’d only ever known him as an adult, you were still picturing him as a child. He sat atop a counter where others folded their clothes, his brown eyes–looking even bigger than they did presently, given his small stature–gazing up at the woman in wonderment as he giddily sorted his laundry.

And then, of course, there was the delicately embedded compliment. The reassurance that you had been a positive force in Izzy’s life, even through one brief encounter.

It was the only part that you could elaborate on without intruding on his privacy. He’d shared something so personal, and while you were desperate to learn more about him, you didn’t want to barge past the boundaries he had so carefully constructed.

“Yeah, I…just wanted her to feel safe, I guess.” You’d devised a plan while you drew flowers and Care Bears in case no one showed up to find her. Everything had to be done so that she remained in the dark about the situation’s severity; you’d have Mom or Dad check the room, only calling the authorities if Izzy’s mom was unresponsive—or worse.

In the end, there was no need for you to worry. Her mother was alert and Izzy herself was none the wiser that anything was wrong. You hadn’t even told your parents about the situation despite their potential involvement. Eddie, of all people, was the only other person who knew.

He nodded and reached over, giving your hand a subtle, tender squeeze.

“You did.”

Reassurance drifted through the air and clung to you like the sharp scent of tobacco on his jacket. Receiving compliments wasn’t your strongest suit, so you pivoted topics to avoid stretching the ensuing awkward silence any further.

“The calamine lotion should help with the itching, but you can take some Benadryl if it’s still bad.” Rummaging through the first aid kit, you searched for the medication but only managed to scrounge up a bottle of expired ibuprofen. “There’s a pharmacy a few blocks down. They’ll have some there.” A little mom and pop shop that sold candy and cheap wine in addition to different over-the-counter medicines, it had been a community staple since before you were born.

The corners of Eddie’s eyes crinkled, lips turning upwards in amusement. “An heiress, a social worker, and a nurse? What can’t you do?”

That was a loaded question, and you were relieved that it was rhetorical so you wouldn’t have to list all of your shortcomings. You settled for flipping him off with an accompanying smile of your own.

“I should probably get that bat before she gets back,” he said, glancing towards the older woman’s room. He lowered his voice and continued. “She kinda scares me.”

“Oh, I definitely would not get on her bad side,” you agreed. “Phyllis’s wrath will make that wasp sting feel like a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” His laugh was music that stirred up a desire to dance, to be carried by the melody like a strong gust of wind, and then he was out the door.

Immediately, you were inclined to find something new to talk about when he walked back in. You’d had two days of companionship and had been spoiled by it; the thought of another night in solitude suddenly seemed lonely.

You couldn’t ask about his parents or the social worker who’d taken him to the Laundromat; that was too personal, too soon. Same with his old band. But music–his favorite songs, musicians, albums–that might be safe enough to explore.

The door opened and brought with it a cool evening breeze. Eddie returned much more confidently than he had the last time, Phyllis’s bat slung over his shoulder.

“Apparently, I actually managed to knock the nest down,” he reported, sounding as surprised as you felt.

He stifled a yawn, denim creasing at the elbow when he lifted his hand to cover his mouth. It was then that you noticed the way sleep tugged at his eyelids, dashing any remaining hope of having a conversational partner this evening. Asking him to stay awake for you was just selfish.

“I’ll see you around, Heiress. Let me know if there’s any more man stuff you need from me.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk twice in quick succession and started towards his room.

“Night, Eddie.”

Opportunity slipped through your fingers as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps eventually too muted to hear. You shoved your disappointment beneath the surface. Eddie wasn’t your friend; he was a guest who happened to be friendly. Asking him to stick around and chat would be unprofessional.

If he happened to stop by the desk while you worked, you could make small talk. Otherwise, it would be business as usual.

Minutes were hours and hours were days. Another trucker needed a room for the night, and you checked him in around four o’clock.

You thought about the certainty in Eddie’s assurance that Izzy had felt safe with you. He didn’t know her; he barely knew you, and he wasn’t even there when it all happened. Yet his approval illuminated from the inside out and you replay it over and over.

You did. You did. You did.

Izzy was safe with you and she knew it. If you swallowed your fears and forged your own path, you could help other kids just like her. But it would come at a steep cost unless your parents could somehow miraculously afford to hire a new employee.

Your stomach turns just imagining the motel’s windows shuttered, a For Sale sign propped up in the door, ready to be snapped up by a major hotel chain for a mediocre sum that would barely pay off the overdue bills. It haunted you.

How long could you do this? How long could you push off your own dreams in favor of your parents’? At what point did you cross that fine line between selflessness and martyrdom?

Exhaustion crushed your body, strong enough to overpower the churning anxiety. Still, your sleep was fitful, and you woke up before your alarm feeling wholly unrested. Achiness radiated through your bones as you dragged yourself out of bed.

You knew what you had to do.

Dad noticed your earlier departure, so used to you leaving at 1:45 every day like clockwork. His brows pinched with perplexity as he determined whether he’d forgotten about a change in your schedule.

“Just running an errand before class.”

His confusion faded, replaced with a grin. “Thought I was losing my mind.” The way he stood under the lighting accentuated the gray flecks in his hair and mustache and solidified that he was, in fact, aging. His eventual retirement loomed closer, more of a when than an if with each passing day.

“Can’t lose what you never had,” you teased weakly. Dad met your joke with a wink; if he had picked up on the falter in your voice, he was gracious enough to ignore it.

You took a slight deviation from your usual route, walking past the bus stop and turning the corner until you reached the mailbox. It beckoned you, taunted you, sneered at your cowardice. The stamped envelope mocked you tenfold; innocuous on the surface but held the weight of betrayal.

It contained your admissions letter to NYU with the “accept” box marked and a deposit check that nearly drained your savings, ready to go.

The mailbox hinge creaked open so loudly that it seemed to echo. All you had to do was drop the envelope down the chute and pray that you made the right choice.

Regret surged through your veins the moment the envelope left your fingertips. You acted on instinct, shoving your hand back down the box to reclaim your letter, but you knew it was a fruitless effort before you’d even failed. It was already lost in a sea of bills and birthday cards.

“Shit!” Yanking your arm out before someone accused you of mail theft, you tilted your head back in an attempt to stop the impending tears.

With one stupid decision, you’d heaved a shovel into the dirt and begun digging a grave for the family business.

What the hell were you thinking?

As though it had a mind of its own, your foot swung out and smacked against the tin drum with all of your might. It took a beat for the pain to hit, the throbbing in your toes matching the reverberating metal.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You didn’t care who saw, who heard. Anger and self-loathing bubbled over like boiling water and scalded you in shame. Everything was so far out of your control, and you couldn’t rein it in. The world kept spinning fast, faster, too fast—

“Kicking it won’t make the mailman show up, y’know. ‘S not like rubbing a genie’s lamp.”

Eddie stood on the other side of the mailbox. A plastic bag dangled from his hand, the box of drugstore brand antihistamine peeking through its translucence. His playfulness morphed into concern when he noted your dewy lashes. “Heiress? You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You swiped at your cheeks and sniffed back the mucus that collected in your nostrils. You probably should have been embarrassed that he’d caught you in such a state of distress; maybe you would be once the dust settled.

He wrinkled his nose dubiously. You couldn’t blame him; why would he be convinced when you were assaulting mailboxes and swearing at the air?

“Seriously. Just having a bad day.” And it was going to get even worse if you missed your bus—again. “Thanks for asking, though.” You managed a grateful smile to prove your sincerity.

Grabbing your backpack from its spot on the ground, you zipped it back up and hoisted it over your shoulder before starting back towards the stop.

“Hey, wait a sec.” Eddie called out to you, shuffling over until he was by your side. “You, uh, your makeup…” He trailed off bashfully, raising his thumb but stopping before it touched your skin. “May I?”

You nodded, breath hitching as the pad of his finger grazed just below your eye. He gently rubbed, tongue poking between his lips while he focused on removing the smudge without hurting you.

He was close, almost too close for comfort. There was a small cut on his chin where he must have nicked himself shaving, and you forced yourself to stare at that instead of his wide eyes.

“There…we…go.” He held up a mascara-stained thumb as evidence. Without thinking, you pressed your own thumb to it. The knuckles of your remaining four fingers slotted between his until you pulled away.

Eddie laughed, apparently amused by the odd gesture. “I’ll take that as a thank you.” He wiped the residue on his shirt, not caring if it left a mark. “Don’t miss the bus; wouldn’t want you to be late for your nerd stuff again.”

“Mhm.”

You harnessed all of your strength to unglue your feet from the sidewalk. Your body operated on autopilot to its destination while your mind only thought of the heat that leapt from his thumb to yours, or maybe yours to his.

It was cyclical, you surmised as the bus approached, with no clear beginning or end.

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