#look at this man. look at this wet rat of a man. what is wrong with him (so much. so so much.)

[likesummerrainn]

AEW Dynamite | 10.16.24

[uluvjay]

Helpful Ex- L. Norris

Lando Norris x Ex girlfriend! Reader

Your ex finally comes around to pick up his things but finds you in an interesting situation

Warnings?; SMUT, masturbation(f), coming in pants(m), p I v, unprotected sex(use protection!!!), praising, dirty talk, Lando being a little shit, cursing, fingering, literally porn with a somewhat plot

Lightly proofread, sorry for any errors!

A frustrated cry left your mouth at the unsatisfied feeling, the burning in your stomach was so strong but you couldn’t reach the edge. You’d been trying for weeks to get a release but no matter what you did or tried, nothing helped

The knock at your front door was what caused your hand to fly out of your panties, and the ding coming from your phone made you realize who it was knocking at the door.

“One second!” You yelled, jumping out of bed and throwing on your discarded shorts before making your way towards the front door.

“Hi” you breathed up at the blue eyed man

“Hey, you okay?” He questioned, you two had spent enough time together for him to realize the frustrated look in your eyes.

“Uh yeah, just tired. Come in I’ll grab your box” you smiled opening the door wider for him.

Your relationship with the British driver had lasted a loving three years and came to an agreed ending. With you living in London, he in Monaco, and the constant traveling of his job you both realized you’d became more of friends rather than lovers.

You had broken up about four months ago but due to his constant traveling the Brit had only just gotten around to coming back to London.

When you returned you found him sitting at your kitchen island, snacking on the cookies you had baked the night before.

“These are fucking amazing” he praised with a mouth fool of said cookie.

With a small giggle you thanked him before sitting across from him.

“How’ve you been?” You asked

“Good, The teams been doing pretty well so that’s always nice. How about you? Max said you found yourself a little play thing at the club the other night” he smirked.

You blushed at the boys comment, “that little rat. It Didn’t get very far anyways” you shrugged.

“Yeah why’s that?” He laughed picking up another cookie.

“He uh..he came in his pants” you mumbled

“He what?” Lando crackled.

“Lando it’s not funny! We were you know..making out and next thing I knew he was pushing me off and there was a wet spot on his jeans.”

“It’s not I’m sorry! But it’s not that embarrassing I mean you’ve made me cum in my pants. As long as he finished you off that’s all that matters” he shrugged bringing his cookie up to his lips but the look on your face stopped him.

“He did finish you off right?” He questioned slowly.

“Um,no” you blushed awkwardly

“Your joking right?” He scoffed at the shake of your head.

“I’m sorry he got you all hot and bothered, came in his pants and then ran out?” He clarified.

“Yeah..”

“Oh baby” he laughed standing up and rounding the island to your side.

“S’ not funny Lan” you scolded looking up at him as he towered over your sitting frame.

“Your right I’m sorry honey” he muttered looking down at you with darkening eyes.

“S’ That what was wrong when I got here?” He questioned.

“Wa-what do you mean?” You mumbled hoping he didn’t actually catch on to what you had been doing before he arrived.

“You were touching yourself weren’t you? I seen the frustration in your eyes and the blush covering your face. You’ve been trying to get yourself off since that night haven’t you?” He smirked.

Your head dropped at the boys affirmation, he was one hundred percent correct and you couldn’t deny it. You were a virgin before Lando and through your entire relationship you always had him to get you off. Of course you’d touched yourself when he was away but it was always guided by his voice over the phone.

“Don’t go shy on me now baby, it’s okay. You’re just a spoiled little brat that’s never had to do anything for herself before.” He tutted, slipping a finger under your chin you bring your eyes back on his.

Your thighs clenched at his words, you hadn’t gotten a proper orgasm since the last time he’d gotten you off with his fingers in between your thighs while you sat in the passenger seat of his McLaren.

“Lando..” you whined as his fingers slipped down your run over your thighs.

“You want my help baby? Need me to take care of you?” He asked.

“Yes. Please.” You whimpered.

Your confirmation was all it took for the boy to pick you up and take off down the hall towards your bedroom.

He tossed you onto the soft bed before stripping off his hoodie and shoes and climbing over your body. He leaned down to place a teasing peck onto your lips, lightly nipping at your bottom lip.

Tired of his teasing you slipped your fingers into his soft curls and pulled him down for your lips to meet in a deep kiss. A low groan escaping Lando’s throat at the way you slightly tugged on his roots, he missed the way your fingers felt tangled in his hair.

“Missed you so much baby.” He whispered as he detached his lips from yours, beginning a trail down the column of your throat.

“Me too” you whimpered, head tipping back to allow him more access to your delicate skin.

“Can I take this off?” He questioned as he tugged on the hem of your hoodie, that actually belonged to him.

“Mhm” you nodded, smirking at the growl that came from his mouth when he realized that’s all you were wearing on your top half.

“Gonna kill me one day baby” he groaned laying his head against your bare chest.

You giggled as his bright eyes looked into yours before he leaned over and attached his lips to one of your breasts. A sharp whine breaking from your throat at the sensation of his warm mouth, his hand reaching over and pinching the bud between his fingers.

“God lando” you moaned as he sucked on the bud, his teeth lightly nipping at the skin-Just the way you liked.

He continued his assault on your breasts for a moment before finally pulling away and trailing his lips further down your body till he reached the waistline of your cloth shorts.

He looked up at you for confirmation before pulling the material off your body, you gave him a nod and he quickly pulled them down your soft legs.

“So wet baby” he spoke at the sight of your wet panties, moving them to the side to reveal your puffy clit.

You gasped at the feeling of his thick fingers running through your folds, keeping his touch feather light to tease you.

He slowly worked his middle finger inside you, smirking at the moan that broke free from your mouth as he added his ring finger.

His fingers moved skillfully inside you, moving back and forth with such care that he had you withering and crying out above him. Your fingers gripped the sheets as you called out his name over and over.

He worked you till he couldn’t take it anymore, from the way you moaned his name and how tight you were hugging his fingers. He needed to be inside of you, needed to feel you wrapped around his cock again.

“Why’d you stop” you whined at the feeling of his fingers leaving you.

“Gonna fuck you now baby” He smirked as he came up to place a hot kiss on your lips before removing himself from the bed to take his remaining clothes off.

You sat up on your elbows to watch him strip, he removed his shirt slowly-teasingly. Your thighs rubbed together at the sight of his naked upper half, it was obvious he’d been devoting a bit more time to training. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down to reveal his light gray boxers, a small patch had formed from his precum.

He pulled off his boxers revealing his hard cock, it smacked against his lower stomach.the sight caused your mouth to water, missing the weight of it on your tongue.

He crawled his way back up the bed to rest over you, slotting himself between your thighs as he gripped the shaft of his cock, guiding his length towards you entrance, teasing the tip up and down your folds.

“Fuck, don’t tease lan, please” you begged from below him.

“So polite baby, that’s my good girl” He praised as he thrusted his hips into yours and set a slow pace.

“Oh fuck” you cried at the feeling of him being inside you again.

He locked his lips with yours, one of his hands coming up to rest on the base of your throat giving it a light squeeze.

“Feel so good for me baby, can’t believe someone passed this up. Didn’t know what he was missing out on” he rambled above you.

He gripped your legs, wrapping them around his lower half as he picked up his pace, sounds of slapping skin and moans filling the room.

Your freshly manicured nails ranked down his back as his tip hit the spongy spot inside you, “ahh, god. Feels so good Lan” you cried into his neck.

“Yeah? You miss my cock baby? Miss how I fill you up?” He teased.

“Yes, fuck yes I did. Missed all of you Lando” you admitted to the green eyed man above you.

Your moans became downright pornographic as he moved his thumb in circles on your clit, fingers digging further into his skin as your back arched.

“I’m getting close love” he moaned into your neck, placing wet and sloppy kisses along the skin.

“Me to baby, so close” you cried, fingers moving into his hair to tug at the curly locks.

You could feel the tightness in your lower stomach getting tighter and tighter, as his thumb continued to work your clit and his mouth spewed dirty words at you.

You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy as his hands dug into the sides of your thighs, no doubt leaving bruises for tomorrow.

“Fuck lan-I’m gonna cum” you cried out below him.

“Go ahead baby, I’ve got you. Come for me like the good girl you are.” He encouraged as he moved your legs up over his shoulders to thrust at a deeper angle.

And that you did, fingers digging into his skin so hard it caused the man to groan out at the feeling. His own moans getting whiny and whinier as he got closer to his own high.

“Cum for me Lando” you encouraged into the Brits ear.

“Fuck, I’m coming” he cried as he pushed out one more hard thrust and stilled as he spilled inside of you.

He collapsed on top of you once he came down from his high, your hand slipped into his curls as you placed light kisses to his head.

His own lips ran along your collarbone as he nuzzled into you, he always became quite the clinger after sex.

You both laid there for a moment before he pulled his head from your chest and looked up at you with a soft look in his eyes.

“Hi” you smiled at him.

“Hi darling” he smiled back warmly as he reached up the brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Can I spend the night?” He asked quietly.

“You can stay for as long as you’d like” you replied before leaning down and giving him a sweet kiss.

-

[youryanderedaddy]

Bad dog

tw: very trippy and edgy rawr, hinted captivity, hinted abuse, insults, victim blaming

During the coldest nights, as the fireplace tickles your cheeks red, he likes to tell you over and over - with the slightest of smiles, the story of how you two first met. As if you don't remember it. As if you don't regret every second of it.

You with your long raincoat crying, barely coherent, searching for escape, for a savior to run into. Clinging to any stranger who looked kind enough, who had innocent eyes, who wasn't drunk or drugged out of their mind - but in that type of neighbourhood after dark, you hardly met any respectable people. Heavy stench of wet tobacco sinking to the very fabric of your flimsy dress under the cargo (feeling like a whore and looking like one, he often adds with a biting chuckle) - your heart was beating, clapping like a dying bird's wings, and if it could speak with a human voice, it would be screaming. You were being chased.

You don't even recall his name or his face anymore. Maybe an angry lover? A crazed admirer? Your father, drunk and bitter after a fight? Back then you were so terrified you could describe him in your sleep, but now nothing seemed as scary as it did back then. Darkness has become your sanctuary and even the monsters pity you. You were afraid you were losing your mind, once, (don't be silly, he had said. you were crazy from the star, doll.) you could feel his hands on you, but whose hands were they really? Why were you running in the first place?

He was screaming. Threatening to murder you, maybe. You were shaking and wet and you just needed a hug. And perhaps one hundred martinis followed by the most gruesome, toe - curling, humiliating fuck of your life. The type that leaves you feeling filthy, bleeding, and not even in a good way. The type you could control and write down, and fully envision with director cuts and quotes and props, as if come out of your own personal fucked up pink little porn studio.

You needed someone - something. A friend? A kind soul that happened to pass by? You had watched too many movies. You were naive - all those offices, all those mass corporate names, those leather seats at the top floor right next to the big boss, those tears and sweats to climb the ladder and yet, you were still a naive, stupid little girl. Believing in fairytales, in the power of love, tenderness, believing that out there exists someone who might just take you as you are for free. Someone who will hold you without bruising you. Someone who will save you without destroying everything you are. Someone who will fight those fights for you without somehow perversely enjoying breaking down all those walls, all that independence you had created for yourself.

You're not a child anymore. And as you look at the man across from you, with his crazed eyes, with what he thinks is love, you're not sure if you're the naive one. You're not sure if good exists, if love is real or just some commercial bullshit. A lie that communists invented to get free sex, or whatever.

"You looked like a nasty little street rat. You jumped into my arms and I was thinking," He speaks and speaks and speaks, and God, you're tired of hearing. You wish your ears would bleed out before he is finished with the story. "Maybe I should blow your brains out. One less sad whore on those streets." He grips your thighs painfully and you kick him in the groin, but he only groans in return. Freak. "But then you opened that cute little mouth of yours and-"

And you begged him to help you. To save you. To take you away from this miserable life of yours.

"You looked so helpless. I couldn't help myself."

And that's why he decided to chain you like a dog and fuck you black and blue. Because he couldn't help himself. And because you couldn't help yourself, you had invited him. Your body was calling out to him. If you weren't so sad, if you weren't so lonely, so helpless. If you weren't in the wrong place at the wrong time, you wouldn't meet the wrong people. If you had only been a good girl. If you had just stayed put. If you didn't entice bad men - even as a child. Even as you were spilling your guts out, maybe your blood was just that beautiful.

"You basically threw yourself into my arms. It was love at first sight."

Right. It was love all along.

[silence-burns]

The Death of Me //part 3

Fandom: Aquaman

Summary: (very small spoilers for the movie) Finding Orm on your doorstep was not something you expected. Having him move in was even worse. But the effect he still had on every part of your life would be the death of you.

“Try not to drown. It would be awkward.”

Orm watched you disappear into the bathroom, angry or embarrassed to the point of momentarily forgetting about your exhaustion. It was such a relief after spending hours watching your feverish, unresponsive body. He couldn’t help but smile.

He wasn't used to sitting idle, which led him to start cleaning up the house during those few hours and familiarizing himself with the rooms. Orm was now a free man, left to live his life however he wanted. And yet, when Arthur came to him with a certain proposition, he didn't even think before agreeing.

What he's said before was true—Orm did feel indebted to you for everything you'd done over the years. But it wasn't the main reason he dropped everything and allowed Arthur to bring him to the sea house.

Orm used the opportunity of having you out of bed (if it could even be called that) to clean it up and take off the bed sheets. A surprising amount of human medicine rolled out from various crevices of crumpled blankets, which he put on the table to carefully read about later. Human ingenuity managed to surprise him every now and then, and instructions printed on every surface possible were something he appreciated.

He heard the water run in the shower, which was a good sign. So far, no screams, shouts or sounds of a body hitting the floor broke the peaceful evening. Orm wouldn't mind it staying that way.

It took him a few moments to figure out the way human bed sheets were supposed to be used. Everything felt new to him, but he took pride in every step. There was a certain novelty to doing things wrong and not having a whole nation watching.

The lock opened with a mechanical click. You stood in the doorway, looking pale and wet, resembling a wet rat Orm had once seen in a canal. The loose shirt you put on had a lot of soaked spots.

“I can't take it off.”

Orm moved his eyes away from the shirt clinging to your body. “Pardon?”

Your lips formed a thin, anxious line. “The old bandage. Even after I soaked it, I can't take parts of it off.”

Orm knew he'd sooner grow old and turn to dust than hear from you words such as ‘Please, could you help me? I can't do this on my own.’ In any other person, such a trait would endlessly annoy him.

“Let me have a try.” It was a perfectly diplomatic answer that made you walk back into the bathroom.

You leaned over the sink with your back to him and pulled the shirt up. From up close, Orm realized that some of the wet patches on the shirt came from blood. Removing even part of the bandages resulted in aggravating the wounds again, and pulling on the ones that were stuck hard only made it worse.

For a moment, Orm beheld the scale of the task. “What happened to you again?”

“A building.”

It looked as if you were dragged through a few of them. Repeatedly.

“...must've been a big one.”

“Your brother has a talent of making the worst possible choices.”

“Hard to argue with that.”

His heart hurt when he started pulling on the scabbed wounds that had dried with pieces of bandage and dressing inside the wound. He was no medic, but he'd been in enough duels and fights not to overlook unhealed injuries. With lips pressed thin, he tried to be as gentle as possible, but his work was difficult.

He was impressed you didn't flinch or curse. Orm only heard quiet hisses from you and noticed your heavy breathing.

“I'm sorry it's taking so long,” he broke the silence after a while, thinking it would distract you enough. “I wish we had some of the Atlantean medicine that could speed this up.”

“I actually might still have some in the cabinet to your left from that time we fought those necros. Your healers gave me a lot, but I don't remember which is which.”

Orm froze. “And you're only telling me this now?”

“In my defense, I didn't even remember about it until you asked.”

Orm dropped the paper towels he used to wipe the blood off your back into the sink. He found a crumpled bag with a few small, familiar jars. Some of the medicine had already dried out, but the one he was searching for remained intact.

“It's a good thing you didn't throw them out. This one is a special salve; it breaks the bond between dried out wounds and cleans them.”

Orm layered it thickly, working fast and trying his best to focus only on your injuries. Your skin was hot under his fingers and smelled vaguely of soap.

“I tried to soak them under the shower, but it didn't really help.”

“There was not enough water.”

You frowned and raised your head a little to look at Orm in the mirror. He seemed to be engrossed in cleaning the scabs and fabric off. Even though the pain subsided significantly, something still bothered you.

“...I'm pretty sure there was a decent amount of water in the water that I used.”

“Not enough, apparently.”

“In what other terms may I present to you thousands of years of Atlantean technology development that went into producing this salve? Its effects are greatly enhanced.”

“Did you just say my water is too dry??”

“Ah, right. I forgot you're the water experts. Should I start calling you professor?”

Orm tightened the bandage as he caught your eyes in the mirror.

“You can call me whatever you want, as long as it keeps you alive.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and you were sure that despite the bruises and bandages, Orm could clearly see what his words did to you. You cleared your throat, breaking eye contact first.

“I'm sure you think you sound cool, but you might've overlooked the possibility of me abusing such power easily and with a smile on my face, Salve Master.”

Orm chuckled. His fingers lingered around your waist. “You'll be the death of me. But as I've said—whatever keeps you going.”

And then he suddenly turned you around and lifted you over his shoulder. Too stunned to fight back, you found yourself carried out of the bathroom.

[icarusredwings]

It's bed time, kiddo 2/3

Wade's being a brat. Althea ain't having that.

Tw: Mentions of alcohol and voices

Opening the fridge, He leaned over to get a soda. Turning, he kicked it closed, beginning to hum as he popped open the tab. Putting it to his lips, he glanced up, jolting hard. Spitting out the soda, his hand coming to his chest as he fell back against the couter.

"Wade! Jesus fucking christ!!"

"Hi wolvie..."

"You just almost got sliced in half!! What is wrong with you!? Do you want me to hurt you!? For fucks sake!"

"...." his eyes widdened and frowned, pulling Fluffy up to hold tighter.

"Im sorry.. sorry.. I just-" he took a deep breath and sighed. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?" He asks, looking as if he had just seen a ghost, trying to calm down, gripping the counter.

"...My tummy feels sad."

"What? You were just asleep. I saw it."

From the living room, Al spoke up with a soft smirk. "How does it feel? Fuckers so silent. Scares the shit out of me all the time."

"But... my tummy is sad."

"What does that mean??" He squinted some, trying to work out this weird puzzle of words.

"He's either hungry or he's anxious about something." The older woman says. "Now shut up, I'm trying to watch Wheel of Fortune."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Sure you are..." He turns to see Wade looking a little too scared for his liking.

"So... uhm.. Are you hungry?"

But he dosn't awnser, staring at him with such hesitancy as if Logan would snap at him again if he awnsered.

Grunting, Logan mentally stabbed himself. Wade was so sensitive to him yelling. He knew this. All that trust.. so easily taken away. "What do you want to eat, kid? Hot dogs?"

Still, he stares. His shoulders slouch, bringing his hand up to rub his face. "..Come're," he tells him, opening an arm to him. Immediately, he came, starting to sob.

Rubbing his back, Logan let out yet another sigh. "I know.. I know, Im sorry. I didn't.." he didn't mean to scare him. He hated scaring him, actually. Made him want to get his claws surgically removed, but you know, declawing your kitty was unethical. He needed to be able to scratch sometimes.

He had been so freaked out that Logan had to pick him up again, softly bouncing him and telling him it was okay.

"Wade, cut that shit out! You're a big boy remember?"

"He's allowed to cry." The man says, confused as to why Al was rude, seeing as she's the one who told him to be nice the first time.

"Logan, sweetheart.. You know he's faking, right?"

"...what?"

"That boy is pulling a burlap sack over your eyes and water boarding you."

Logan blinked at the woman. ".. I dont think thats how that saying goes.."

"Oh well, anyway, he's fake crying. He does that to get what he wants and he's turning you into a fool."

Logan shifted him to the counter, giving him a suspicious glance. "Is that tru- oh you little shit!"

Wade's face wasn't even wet. Sure, his eyes were glossy but nowhere near the amount of crying he was claiming. Holding fluffy closer to his face, he looked at him like a guilty dog, almost ashamed if it wasn't for the tiny pull at the corner of his lips. He was proud of his preformance.

"Are you happy with yourself? Hm?" He crosses his arms, looking at him sternly.

A soft nod.

Logan snorted softly. "At least you're telling the truth... so what do you want?"

Again he whispers, "My tummy is sad."

Thinking about what Althea said, He rose a brow, beginning to playfully and driamtically sniff over him. A soft squeal and giggles came from him, trying to push his face away. "Noo!! Kitty! Don't bite!!"

"Fucking freaks.." Al grumbled, Petting the rat dog in her lap.

"Hmm.. Okay. You're telling the truth about that. But why is your tummy sad? Does it hurt?"

He shook his head.

"Are you hungry?" He asks again. For a moment, Wade thinks, trying to see if he was hungry.

"Cup?"

Logan shook his head. "Nope. Bed time."

"But.." he was trying to find his words.

"Mommy said I can ask for cup whenever I want."

His brows raised a bit, both surprised and proud of how many words he said. "That's true but I'm not mommy."

Instantly he began pouting, frowning and crossing his arms, mimicing the way Logan did often. "Why?"

"Ppft. Yeah, Logan, why are you not Mommy?" The grandmother asks, teasing him. It seemed that the closer he got with people, the more teasing he got, too. It made him feel home.

"You're not helping." He gives her a quick glare despite the fact she couldn't see it, now turning back to Wade, putting his hands on either side of him as he sat. "Why what? Why no cup?"

He nods with a huff.

"Wade, It's bedtime. No more cups."

"You're being mean." He whines, kicking the back of the counter with a loud grunt.

Rolling his eyes. "It's not being mean, You don't need anymore alchool. You've already had 5 shots tonight. No more. Especially not if you're going to act like that." He grumbles, wishing he didn't act like a brat every time Vanessa came over. She always spoiled him too much.

He whines loudly, being quite annoying. "But you get a lot."

"Im big." Logan says blatantly, having learned that this usually stopped him from questioning any further.

"Oh yeah....." He mumbled, begining to think as he petted Fluffy. "Hmm...can I just have milk?"

"Juice. Take it or leave it."

"In my cup?"

He groans. "Yes in your cup."

"Okay!"

And so, He comes around the counter, opening the fridge once again as he grabs the grape juice, filling up the Spiderman cup after rinsing it out decently well.

Taking the cup, He began drinking it, now kicking his feet happily that he not only caused a scene, got his cup, but also stayed up later, then he was told. To him, that was a massive win.

"There. Now go to bed."

"You come?"

"Sure, why not. If it'll make you go to bed, then fine." By now, he figured he probably wouldn't go to sleep and stay asleep unless someone was in bed with him.

He's gotten used to sleeping with Althea for years now, so it made sense why he wouldn't be able to stay asleep if alone. He usually only slept by himself if it was a sick day and he wanted to be left alone.

"Come on. You want me to carry you?"

His eyes widden as he nods quickly only to pause. "Kitty..."

"What now?" He wanted to lay his head on the counter and just not awnser him anymore but he knew this wasn't a good idea. Then Wade would just get into things and make a mess for them to clean up.

Either that or end up with the whole bottle again to chug what was left of it. He knew that it made his head shut up for a little bit, he knew full well that, that 5 minutes of silence was worth the loss of balance but he didn't want Wade following into his bad habits... He was trying to be a better role model for him.

"Im hungry..." Though the way he says this was as if he knew Logan would be upset with him, smiling sheepishly as he held fluffy tight, close to his face. The cuter he looked the less he thought he'd get introuble.

"What!? But I just asked if you were hungry like 5 minutes ago?!"

He batted his eyes, whining softly. "...I wasn't hungry then.."

So. Here they are. All 4 of the housemates on the couch, Wade with a plate of microwaved hot dogs and ketchup all over his fingers, Logan in the middle trying his damndest not to fall asleep, and Al, who was snoring already as A re-run played on the tv.

Giggling at whatever was going on in his head, Wade seemed happy as a clam as he clapped. At least, that's what Logan thought. In reality, He was sneaking pieces of hot dog to Puppins, who was wiggling her bare tail and spinning in cirlces as well as licking the ketchup off of him.

It wasn't until Wade let out an audible yet giggly "Ewww you're so yucky." From the feeling of her tounge trying to wrap around and eat his finger instead that Logan sat up. "Hey! What did I tell you about feeding her ketchup!?"

Squealing again, He gave her an entire hot dog and shooed the dog. "Run puppy!!"

And so she did, taking her prize from being adorable and doing tricks, running away from them, slipping under the table in which Logan grunted, reaching under to try to get it away from her.

Look- Its not that the hot dog was bad, it was the fact that it wasn't cut and was slathered in vinegar and tomato paste. He didn't want her to puke, nor choke but by the time he got it from her, she has already devoured half of it.

"Damn it, Wade!"

Picking up the little dog, He couldn't stop giggling, the sugar from the grape juice working through his system. "Kitty's gonna get us, Puppy!" He says to her as she barks, happily wagging more as she was having the best time, so many scraps tonight.

Running from Logan, he huffed, glaring. "I'm too old for this shit!" He growls. Catching Wade was like trying to grab an oiled weasel. Slipping through your fingers and biting your arm once you got ahold of them. How Al slept through the chase? Who knows. But when he did catch him, he threw him over his shoulder, carrying him away to the bed.

"Nooooo!!" He whined, reaching out for the dog to save him though she just sat here, panting and wiggling her behind against the floor.

"Traitor!" He called the puppy, whose head tilted and itched her ear, watching her owner get dragged away to his doom (bed time).

[writingsofwesteros]

Dark Viserys and Sub reader.

Otto was always worried about Daemon what of he was worried about he brother when it came to his oldest daughter.

Thank you

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

Viserys wondered if his now dead wife knew about what he did with the hightower girl. The King wondered if his late wife knew he had taken your maidenhead in their own marriage bed. If she knew the nights he brought you in whilst he completely left his wife to her own labours and pregnancies. 

He supposed that did not matter now. His wife was dead - and he still had no heir. “Come in…” Viserys hummed; the sheets covering his body as he rested back against the pillows. “My king…” Oh, his little rat of a hand was here. “Otto…” Viserys hummed; running his fingers through his own locks.

“Is there something wrong?” Viserys had grown tired of the man; but he served his purposes. “My King.. the council is about to begin soon.” Otto whispered; his eyes greedy as he looked at the King in bed. It would be easy to rule through proxy now, especially if he could get the King to remarry.

A sigh escaped the King. Gods, could he not have one day of rest, he thought to himself whilst Otto took his reactions as that of a mourning man. “I shall tell them to postpone for an hour?” Otto hummed and a flicker of gratefulness came over Viserys’ eyes as the King nodded. The act of dismissal followed.

Viserys watched as Otto turned around. The door falling shut behind him, which had the King resting back against the pillows. A gagging noise echoed around the room and had him smirking. “Oh..I had forgotten you were there.” He purred as the sheets fell from him to reveal you.

His fat cock was stuffed completely in your hot mouth. Your face burrowed into his stomach before his hand tugged on your locks. You began to heavily breath as drool fell from your lips. Your eyes were dazed in pleasure whilst Viserys only chuckled. Yes, he had plans of his own now.

“Hmm, such a little slut.” Viserys purred and before you could speak; two of his fingers moved into your mouth. They pushed onto your tongue and had you whining as his eyes moved over your bare body. He could see your sweet pussy glistening with your own wetness. Viserys had truly turned you into a wanton whore.

Slowly, he thrust his fingers inside you again and again whilst his free hand moved to your hip. His cock was lying flat and he was able to move you; your sweet pussy lips parting as he guided you against him. Your moans were muffled by his fingers whilst Viserys continued to watch the erotic display.

Your legs were beginning to shake. The king reached for your ample breast and his hot mouth was soon capturing your pebbled nipple. Your eyes rolled as the pleasure began to pool into your stomach. It was too much…but the words were lost to you. As he sucked on you; Viserys reached for his cock.

He had his fat head pushing against your clit; your body jolting with each touch that had him chuckling even more. He teased your entrance; only pushing his head in and moaning as your wet, fluttering walls clamped around him. “You feel as tight as the first time I took you.” Viserys purred.

He soon bottomed completely inside you. His fat cock pushing deeper with this position. This time, Viserys took his fingers from your mouth and brought them into his own. His free hand came down on your arse as he ordered, “Ride me…ride your dragon.” Viserys hummed and watched you do all the work.

You whimpered; gently placing your hand on his chest as you slowly began to move. “I know you can do better than that.” He taunted you; pinching your nipple that had you crying out and clamping around his cock. So he did it again and again until you were crazily bouncing on top of him.

He began to roll his own hips whilst staring up at you. His pretty, little girl who only belonged to him. “Remember our first time…” Viserys purred as your wetness began to drip down his length. He had taken you on the bed again and again. The next day he had taken you all over the surface of his room.

You had passed out on his cock after the tenth orgasm he had pulled out of you and sill; he fucked you so deep. “Yes you do…” He hummed; your eyes darkened as the memories flashed back. You had been a mess the following day but he had taken you again and again. There was no stopping him.

“Viserys…” You whimpered out so prettily. Your face screwed up in pleasure as you continued to bounce. His cock pushed against your spongy spot with ease as your stomach only tightened in pleasure. Your legs shook some more as you leaned in. Your soft, ample brushing against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around you and kept you impossibly close as the King took over. He began to jackhammer inside you; taking your breath away whilst you could only hiccup in pleasure. “I am going to breed you…take you as my wife.” Viserys whispered his plan to you as you shivered.

You knew that would happen..but it still had you whining out. Your shyness returned as Viserys leaned in. He passionately captured your soft lips, forcing his tongue against your own as you squirted around his cock. Your pussy clamping around him, which he struggled to thrust through before he snapped his hips.

His thrusts quickened as he chased his own release whilst you practically collapsed against him. Viserys’ dark chuckle echoed around the room and had you so prettily whimpering into his ear. Yes, you were to be his wife …you would be his forever, Viserys thought to himself in between the moans.

Your legs shook at the intense pleasure still moving through you. Your soaked walls are fluttering and milking his cock. It was only a moment later before Viserys was spilling his cum inside you, filling you so warmly. Your toes curled in pleasure which had you crying out as he roughly rubbed at your sweet clit.

Your eyes welled up in tears but Viserys only smirked as his soaked fingers slipped over you. He pinched your clit and moaned as you spasmed around him. You looked so ruined already but the King was nowhere near done with you. Your eyes widened as you felt his fingers move between your cheeks.

TAGLIST

@aerangi

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Reader x Konig: I Don't Need You (Ch. 3)

<- Previous - Next ->

Summary: Price has a solution to end the fighting between you and Ghost - permanently.

Chapter Warnings: cursing

Notes: Aaand here's the next chapter. Things are about to get better(?) in the next few. Konig will appear soon, I promise. Ghost will be absent for a bit though. Might write some oneshots for him to keep yall happy in the meantime. But ch. 4 is in the works!!

(Y/N) (M/I) (L/N)

“BONNIE”

D.O.B. 10.22.94 / D.O.S. 10.22.13

Navy Seal, USSF / Sniper / Marksman

-----

Price had knocked on my door this morning, waking me up at an ungodly hour on my day off. “Come to my office at nine hundred. Don’t disappoint me.” He had said. He then walked off, leaving me in the doorway with a rats’ nest head of hair and puffy eyes from crying the night before. I stared into the hallway as I processed his words. Figures… throwing a knife at Ghost wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

I peered out beyond my doorframe, watching as Price stopped in front of Ghost’s door. It creaked open, words were exchanged briefly, and then Price moved on. There was a long pause before Ghost’s door slammed shut, followed by a bang as he punched the wall in his dorm.

What a child…

I looked back in front of me; Soap, whose dorm was adjacent to mine, was poking his head out. He winced mockingly. “Ouch… I think he didn’t like your assassination attempt, lass.” He mimicked me throwing my knife.

I stared at him for a moment, unamused. “Go fuck a donkey, Soap.” I barely caught a glimpse of his pout before I slammed my door shut.

-----

I got there at nine hundred on the dot, my hair still wet from my shower, and for the first time since I had met him, Price was the one who was late. Or rather, held up in his office by someone. But, nonetheless, his streak of punctuality was broken. A bad omen, for sure…

I listened, unintentionally, to the conversation in Price’s office. I heard him speaking with a man I heard called “Jax” – a higher-up, a therapist, someone from the “HR” of the military… I didn’t know who he was. But it appeared he would be deciding how Ghost and I would get reprimanded for the rift we were causing within the team.

“Bonnie?” said the unfamiliar voice. “Like Bonnie and Clyde?” followed by an affirmative grunt from Price. “Why?”

“She’s got looks, she’s small, but she’d blow your head open for the thrill of it. And you’d best believe she never misses, either.”

The unknown man paused, glancing over the file – my file, I could tell – and reading the details. “Sniper, marksman, Navy SEAL…“

Price huffed. “Stealth is her specialty. If her head is in the game, she’s a quick thinker, and an even quicker hitman – she once took out a whole checkpoint on her own. Killed ‘em all in less than a minute n’ a half, never even made a sound.”

The man whistled low in admiration. “How’d you get your hands on her?”

“Military couldn’t handle her attitude,” Price admitted, “but they didn’t want to waste the talent either. Bought her off of them before she could end up in the wrong hands.” He sounded smug.

“Leave it to you to pull an operations team out your ass, Price.”

“If it were that easy I’d have a lot more soldiers, Jax.”

The muffled lull of their conversation continued, and my mind refocused on what I had planned to say to Price. It was never supposed to be this messy. We both made a mistake, and a damn big one. We caused issues for the team, we were only thinking of ourselves… basically, share my side of the story, and admit and own up to it all. It was the truth, after all, as well as the best possible way to come out of Price’s office with my head and my job.

Of course, I’d leave out the part where Ghost insulted me – more than once. Or, where he was the one who started the fight in the hall. I mean, technically I did… but I was trying to right my wrong, he had no reason to go after me. Why did he do that? I suddenly realized that Ghost had been seeking out fights ever since a month ago. At first, we avoided each other, but he was the one who lurked around in places I frequented, just to single me out and argue.

That fucking prick.

The conversation in Price’s office ended, ended, and the door swung open. A tall, burly man stepped out: he looked down at me with scrutiny. I stared back. He chuckled.

I tilted my head up and narrowed my eyes. “Can I fucking help you?”

“I guess we’ll see.” He replied, before walking away with a smirk on his face. I scoffed in disgust just as Price stepped out of the office.

“C’mon in, Bonnie.” He stepped aside and gestured me into the office. I reluctantly stood, stretching my limbs and trying to seem unbothered, and entered. Price closed the door behind us. Feels like I’m a kid again in the principal’s office.

I took a seat in the chair facing his desk and immediately stared at the ground. I was hoping this was just going to be some stern, disciplinary lecture. Don’t let it happen again. Which I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have lashed out at all, if Ghost hadn’t been pushing every single one of my buttons, when he was the one who created this whole landslide in the first place. Honestly if Ghost had just acted like nothing had ever even happened, like I was trying to do –

“- Bonnie, you with me?” Price said, snapping me back to the present. He was now sitting across from me and waving a hand in my direction.

I cleared my throat, doing a poor job at hiding my anxiety. “Yes sir.”

“Alright then. Let’s talk about it.”

I nodded. “Well, after the job in Mexico, maybe about a year – “

“Oh no, no…” Price cut me off with a shake of his head. “I don’t need a recap. I know everything that the two of you have been up to. The whole damn base does.”

I felt a shameful blush rise into my cheeks. If I had any confidence before walking into Price’s office, it was long gone by now. “Oh…” I mumbled.

“‘Oh’?” Price repeated. “Don’t tell me you actually thought you were goin’ under everyone’s nose, did you?” He tapped his pen on his desk with an irritated look. “Aren’t you supposed to be an ex Navy SEAL, here?”

I stared back at him, unamused and unphased by his comment. “Ok, so we may not have tried that hard to keep it a secret. But it was initially just a casual thing.”

Price nodded as he listened. “Initially… so what did it turn into? Because this – “ he gestured to me with a flourish of his pen, “ – is not from something casual.”

I couldn’t answer him. I averted my eyes to his desk, feeling his eyes burning into mine. Into my soul, trying to bring me to the breaking point. But if there was one thing I was perfect at, it was avoiding. So I let myself burn under his gaze, knowing the storm would eventually pass. One way or another.

Price sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Look, it happens. You throw a bunch of people in a room, deprive them for a few months, and stress them the hell out – they’re bound to make mistakes.”

There was that fucking word again.

“I won’t lie, I’ve been there myself.” Price continued, and I raised a curious eyebrow at him. He ignored it. “And I’m not going to try and prevent it, it’ll only muck things up more. But, when it causes such an issue that my entire team is suffering, something needs to be done. And clearly you and Ghost aren’t reaching any solutions.”

I chewed my lip, leaning my elbows on my knees and anxiously bouncing my knee. I wanted to jump in and tell him my side of the story. I knew for a fact that Price had let Ghost spill his guts on the subject. He always listened to him no matter what. I wanted to explain why I was angry, exactly what Ghost had said and how I had felt – but I know he wouldn’t listen. Not to mention, it would have been extremely personal.

“So, going off of that –“ Price reached across his desk and grabbed a pile of papers, “ – I found a solution for the both of you.”

I sighed. Therapy, workplace relationship, probably anger management for me… Honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he suggested one of us moves to the other side of the barracks –

“That man out there? ‘Jax’. Director of a private military group, just like us.” He flopped the papers on the desk in front of me. I hesitated, looking at Price with confusion, to which he tilted his heads towards the papers. “Take a look.”

I sighed and grabbed the documents. He’s got to be so fucking dramatic, doesn’t he. I scanned the first page: Major August Jax, a very decorated ex-marine. Served two terms, now owns a private military special operations force. Based in Arizona, mostly deals with hostage situations –

“I’m sorry,” I toss the papers back onto the desk. “Why am I reading this?” I asked, my tone a little too angry. It gave away that I knew exactly what Price was thinking, feigning innocence just to push it away a moment longer.

“Jax’s got a good team on his hands.” Price began. He wouldn’t look at me. I leaned forward and glared into his eyes, daring him to look back. Fucking look at me when you throw me out the window, Price.

“He’s always looking for the best soldiers to add to his group. We got wind that he’d been asking around for a marksman. I offered him you.” He paused, noticing the hurt and anger building in my expression. “You’re a good soldier, Bonnie. I would only recommend you to the best team out there. And I might not even have half a mind to do this, if it wasn’t for the situation at hand, between you n’ Ghost.” His face showed compassion, although I felt none of it. It was a fa��ade.

Instead, I felt betrayed. Maybe I did deserve some sort of reprimand for the way I’d been acting, but this felt like a banishment. That’s exactly what it was.

“You’re kicking me off the team?”

Price sighed, facing the dreaded conversation ahead. “This is a reassignment, I’m not- “

“You’re getting rid of me.”

“You’re making this seem much worse than it is.”

“How much did he pay you for me, huh?”

“Bonnie.” Price warned. Watch yourself, now. I was treading awfully close to the edge of the knife here, but I knew he had received some sort of payment or trade for me.

I sank into the back of my chair and huffed, folding my arms over my chest. “So Ghost gets a slap on the wrist. I get sent away.” I looked away from Pierce’s stern gaze and chewed my lip. The anger was quickly boiling over. “Like a fucking dog.”

“Ghost will get his dues.” Price said. “You both were causing issues for the team, now you’re both cleaning your mess up.”

I looked back at Price, taking a moment to glower at him. “Then why does he get to stay?” I said.

Price faltered, searching for the right words. “Ghost is a lieutenant, and he’s an important member of the team.”

I scoffed. “Wow, thanks…”

“- and…” he continued, “… because he’s been a part of this team for so long, he’s essential to it. He’s a leader for the 141, and I’d be ripping the group apart if he was the one goin’.”

“I’m waiting to hear how you somehow avoid insulting me in this next part.” I sent him a glare full of daggers.

“You’re not making this easy, girl.” Price leaned back in his chair. He was unphased by my anger; one of the few who were. “You’re a wild card: you’re a damn good shot, and your wit has gotten our missions through on the better side of things, more than once. But no one outside of our team knows that. You’re good at your game, but you don’t stand out – to the enemy, anyways.”

There was a pause in the conversation as Price let me process his words. They scraped the inside of my mind like burning daggers. Why is this such an easy decision for him to make? Did he decide this last night? Or in the last few days? Looking into Price’s eyes, I felt humiliated. Like I was never as important to him or the team as he made me feel. And it felt heartbreaking, watching his unreadable expression behind his locked fingers.

“Sir, I’m not a fucking baseball card.”

“No, you’re not.” He replied. “But it’s easier for you to move teams. No one knows what you’ve been involved in, because you managed to stay under everyone’s radar. And I salute you for that – it takes a lot of skill.”

His words weren’t convincing. They felt like colorful ribbons tied around a pile of trash. I huffed. “You’re a load of horseshit, you know that?” My anger clouded my judgement as I spoke, forgetting that Price was my superior.

He sighed, seeming to fight some internal war. “Jesus, y/n, I don’t want this anymore than you do. But you know this is how it has to be.”

“Is it?!” I raised my voice (something Price seemed to fully expect, as he remained unbothered). “No – you know what? You’re right.” I got up out of my seat, walking to the far corner of the room, pacing in small circles. “Ship me off to whoever gives you the most money, why don’t you? It’s not like I was a part of the team just as much as he is. But whatever, keep your happy little group together, right? Keep your favorites and to hell with everyone else, huh? I don’t care. I don’t fucking care anymore. I just want to get the fuck away from you all, so maybe you’re onto something, John.”

Price leaned forward in his chair, looking at me with stern eyes. He made it clear that I was dangerously close to crossing a line, if I hadn’t already. “You listen hear and you listen good, alright? We do dirty work in an even dirtier world for people who don’t deserve shit. I run things smoothly by having a team that respects one another. They know they have each other’s backs out there. They work together. You’d best be very careful with what you say about how I operate my team. Now you n’ Ghost have been causing way too much trouble for way too long. It’s been affecting the whole team, and the two of you have been so selfish that you can’t even notice. You in particular have completely lost yourself to your emotions. It’s my job to make sure that my division stays in-tact and on top of their shit. And you bet that the moment I see a flame threatening to burn all that down – I snuff it out. In whichever way gets it done.”

I’d never seen Price so angry before. At least, not with me. Knowing that I had disappointed him – and was currently doing that – felt worse than a bullet to the chest. Price had saved my ass when I was about to be dumped in a military prison; I respected him for that and was forever thankful. So, when I realized how I had just disrespected him, a hint of shame tugged at my mind.

But I forced it down. He was uprooting my entire life from the past ten years and expecting me to ‘take one for the team’. Maybe I hadn’t done as much for everyone as he had done for us, but he said it himself all the time: “Your skills are unmatched.” “We would’ve had a lot more losses without you out there.” “You’re essential for a smooth mission, Bonnie.” The only reason he was doing this was because Ghost had probably talked him up about it. Ghost could really be manipulative when he wanted to… but this still hurt. It still made my blood boil, thinking that Price was so quick to get rid of me, like I was a weed in his garden.

“So that’s it.” I said, defeated, the sting of tears threatening to fall. There was no coming back from this. “I’m out.”

Price nodded, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Afraid so.” He said curtly. He’d had enough of trying to sugarcoat things. I could tell he just wanted me to skip to the acceptance stage and start packing my bags.

I blankly stared at him. I felt my body slump as the realization finally hit. I felt the need to say something, anything, but nothing worth saying came to mind. Instead I looked at Price, sitting behind his desk, hands folded as he watched me process it all. A sudden anger flooded my veins. This is just another transaction for him. He would have done this for any situation. I narrowed my eyes as my mind was brimming with rage.

Price could tell I was getting worked up again. He sighed in annoyance, glancing at the paperwork on his desk. “Look, girl, it’s all said and done. Best you start packing your things tonight, get some sleep before you leave tomorrow.”

Like a weed. Like a thorn in his side. My breaking point had been reached. Crushed. I was back at the bottom of the ladder, where I started out with the 141.

“You know what, sir… “ I leaned over the back of my chair, placing my hands on the arm rests and glowering at Price. “… respectfully- “

“Bonnie-“ he warned, but I didn’t care.

“ -fuck you.” I shoved my finger indignantly in his face, then immediately turned on my heels. I punched open the doors to his office, feeling the buzz of my anger radiate off of me.

Price doesn’t say anything as I storm off. He doesn’t have to. The decision has been made – I could shout and curse and fight all I wanted, but I was being taken off of the team, whether they had to handcuff me and drag me out or not. I felt humiliated realizing that the whole base would be able to guess what happened, and why. I knew that Ghost wouldn’t dare open his mouth about it – but he wouldn’t stop the rumors, either. Price wouldn’t even care.

Fucking push-over. Of course he chooses Ghost. Two peas in a fucking pod, they are.

-----

I didn’t sleep. I had packed everything – my clothes, personal files, knives, and whatever else I cared to call mine – in less than an hour and in three duffel bags, which were now piled by my door. I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at them. My head was empty, unable to process a single thought or emotion. I was spent from my conversation with Price. I didn’t cry after, like I usually did when I fought with Ghost. At least that will be over. I tried to think optimistically, but it was hard. It was hard to think at all. The hours ticked by like minutes as I waited for the dawn to break.

Finally, at seven hundred and nine hours, a knock rapped against the door. I knew who it was. I stood up and swiftly grabbed my bags, opening the door – Jax stood there, a proud smile on his face.

“You said all your goodbyes?” he asked.

“Yep.” I lied. I hadn’t said anything to anyone after leaving Price’s office.

“Great. Let’s get moving, then.” He grabbed one of my bags from me, throwing it over his shoulder. “I’ll give you a hand, young lady.”

Already, I could feel myself hating the reassignment. Already, Jax was treating me like a fragile, sensitive girl. To be fair, the 141 did at first, but they had grown to see me as the skill and potential that I am. An independent soldier. I didn’t want to start over and try to prove myself to a new team. No use crying over it now.

I followed Jax, passing Soap as he stood leaned in his doorway, looking melancholic. I looked back, emotionless. I would miss him. He was one of the only people I would miss at this point, after what had gone down. He was always there to listen, and either offer solutions, or just let me vent. Whichever I needed, he provided. Losing him was going to hurt the most.

But I wasn’t going to let it. I turned my head from him and kept moving.I saw that it looked like Soap wanted to say something. I ignored it.

Beth and Skyline weren’t there. Neither were Gaz or Price. I knew Ghost was somewhere, lurking from the sidelines as I loaded my bags onto a heli. But I didn’t care. I did, but I didn’t let myself look back. If I did I would be in shambles, realizing how much I needed this place and the people here. I felt like a tree being torn out of the ground, roots hanging in the air, searching for a place to ground myself. As long as I didn’t look back, as long as I pushed back the pain and the loneliness, the voice in my head screaming for me to get closure, to say goodbye and get one final look – I would be fine. Or at least, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

I slapped a headset over my ears, sliding into the back of the heli. Jax and an unfamiliar soldier sat in the front as we prepared to take off. “Where are we headed?!” I asked over the deafening sound of the spinning blades. I ignored the sickening feeling of loss that ebbed in the back of my mind.

“Didn’t you read the file from Price?!” Jax turned and looked at me through his dark sun glasses, a smirk resting on his lips. “We’re going to Czech Slovakia!!”

[zeroseuniverse]

Safety First

╚══•●•══╝

Seok Matthew X Fem Reader Word Count: 1K Warnings: None really aside from Reader being Ji-Woong's Sister

If there was one thing in the world that she knew for certain it was that her brother adored her, Jiwoong was undeniably her number one person in this world and if someone so much as breathed in her direction, they would be interrogated like they just committed 3 counts of murder. Even so, he did love the fact that most of his friends took to her like a brother when he wasn’t around, so it wasn’t a surprise when he invited her to go camping with them. She mostly stuck to her brother's side, but Gyuvin, Taerae, and Yujin would occasionally kidnap her to cause some sort of chaos, which is actually what led her to this moment, funnily enough.

The four stood in front of their 6 friends, all four deciding to look at their surrounding areas as if they didn’t see the 6 sets of shocked and amused eyes directed in their direction. “How in the world did you guys end up soaked, there’s no water near here?” Hanbin wondered, causing Taerae to look more sheepish than the others.

“So, remember how you told me to dump the cooler earlier?” He smiled sweetly trying to butter up his hyung, only earning quirked eyebrows in response, which caused him to huff and cross his arms.

“Taerae packed water guns so we used the water to fill up water guns, we had a war, which Yujin and I won by the way!” Gyuvin snitched, earning glares from his accomplices.

“Well, you four will be sitting in Jiwoong’s car since it has seat covers, we already packed your bags into the truck so no change of clothes,” Hao explained earning pitiful nods in return.

“I call shotgun since I won!” Gyuvin hollered trying to run to the front seat only to get pushed back by Jiwoong.

“I don’t sit next to wet rats, You four wet rats can sit in the back, Matthew is riding up front since the truck has minimal space,” Jiwoong stated, earning a glare from his sister.

“Um I’m the only girl, why am I being put in the back with these three giants and how do you expect us to fit?” 

“You will start to smell in about 20 minutes, and I don’t want to be smelling it so closely, You guys can figure it out.”He smiled falsely at her before he and Matthew went ahead getting into the car.

“Sometimes I think he likes Matt more than me,” She grumbled watching as her accomplices tried to gauge the size of the back seat, “At least it wasn’t Gunwook…He’d take up the whole damn seat with his shoulders.” She joked, earning a giggle from Taerae and Gyuvin and a smile from Yujin. 

“How about you lay across our laps?” Yujin offered, which earned three shrugs in agreement, and so the three giants got into the back seat lifting their arms slightly so it would be easier for her to climb over, however, they didn’t anticipate just how painful it would be with her moving across them, her knees and elbows pressing on their muscles in all of the wrong ways. 

“Ow!”The various yelps echoed through the car earning laughs from Matthew and Jiwoong and sputtered apologies from the girl. The girl quickly got off of the boys instead taking position curled up in a ball in front of Yujin leaving all of the boys with a free lap. 

“You guys are seriously going to have her sit on the floor?” Matthew asked incredulously, he looked at the girl in concern.

“She’s the smallest, it’s a tight fit man.” Gyuvin defended looking down at her a little shamefully. Matthew assessed the situation quickly, if he gave up his seat to her there was no way the four males could sit comfortably in the back, if he moved Taerae to his seat, since he was broader, and instead moved to the back he could move her onto his lap so that everyone could sit comfortably, that seemed to be the easiest route. 

“Taerae, switch with me,” Matthew suggested with zero hesitation earning confused looks from the four in the back, he didn’t stop to look at Jiwoong, who had a small smirk on his face hoping this would have happened. 

“No, it's fine! I’m okay right here.” She reassured, Matthew ignored the girl simply giving Taerae a stern look, the switch didn’t take long, Matthew was then sitting in the seat behind Taerae, swiftly hoisting the girl up into his lap and placing her sideways. After a started yelp, she looked at Matthew with wide eyes, but the man was simply reaching for the seatbelt, securing it around both of them, his hands then moving to place themselves securely on her hips. “Matt, I can sit on the ground. I don’t mind, I don’t want to get you all wet.” She stammered only to be met with the sweetest smile directed up at her from below, the man moved some of the wet hair out of her face and as the red crept up her neck and to her ears, he could simply only look at her like she had a face full of makeup and was dressed in a ball gown, it was odd how she had never noticed the look the boy had given but seeing it up close she recognized it.

“Just stay here, it’s safer.” He spoke so softly she barely heard him, and as the road trip began, their position slowly moved to a more comfortable one, her arms now wrapped around his neck, allowing him to rest his head on her shoulder as they both watched TikTok on his phone, giggling quietly to each other about each one, she moved her eyes from the screen for a moment, catching her brothers eye in the mirror, he had a larger smirk on his face and approval glittering in his eyes. She was almost shocked at how okay he was with her sitting on his best friend's lap, but maybe she could understand, he had always expressed how good he thought Matthew would be with a girl, always trying to talk him up to her. She trusted his approval so with that thought she slouched back into Matthews's arms leaning her head on top of his just embracing the moment. 

[random-imagines-blog]

Barking at the Sea {Jonathan Crane x Reader Oneshot} 

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3428 Summary: Your boss sent you to pick up the toxin from Dr. Crane - but what is more stubborn? His will not to give it over until it's finished, or your puppy dogs. Notes: Abuse, blackmail, fear toxin.

The only sound that you could hear, apart from the bruising rain upon the streets, the rooftops, your own shoulders, were your exhalations, heavy, strained. It was never sunny in Gotham, unless you lived in the nicer neighbourhoods, which you so rarely frequented. No, usually you found yourself in the areas like this, where the houses were nice enough but the rats on the street were the size of cats, where a bang was more likely to be a gunshot than a tipped over garbage can, where if you spoke the wrong word, the wrong name, it would be your last. The rain and your breath were so loud, you couldn’t hear your own footsteps, not even as you stepped in the puddles while approaching the front of a sophisticated-looking brownstone, mounting the stairs. There was no shelter, not even there. No overhang to keep you safe from the rain as you knocked frantically on the door. Jonathan Crane - this was where he lived. A more dangerous man, you knew, than his psychiatrist persona showed. 

There was no answer. You muttered a curse to yourself, leaning against the fine wooden door frame, knocking once more, harder this time, despite the fact that your hands had wounds. It felt like every inch of you did. You must have made quite the figure, thinly cloaked in a black hoodie, with your head covered as best as you could, though it did nothing to keep the water from getting through. It was far too cold for you to be wearing such meagre layers, and you knew you were going to catch a chill tonight. 

There was still no answer. No lights from inside. You were left with one of two options now, but neither of them was comforting. You could stay here, sit on the stairs in the pouring rain, which would only make your aches achier, but at least you knew you would be able to catch Dr Crane when he came home. Or you could return back to Falcone, admit to him that you weren’t able to get what you needed from Dr Crane. This would surely end up with you either being merely beat again, or beat to death, and more being added onto the interest of your debt to the mobster. The debt that hadn’t been yours to begin with, and you hadn’t seen a dollar of what was owed. Your brother - your stupid little brother who never listened to you, who got himself into trouble, who fell into Gotham’s wide cracks, had taken it out, and was killed for it. Only they weren’t able to find every single penny that he owed back, and it was up to you, as his only family, to pay it back.  

Quietly, you sat down on the stairs. The hardness of the concrete hurt your ass, but at least you were able to slowly catch your breath. You squinted your eyes to check out your wounds in the rain, seeing that your pants were torn, blood stained, more creating rivulets through the rips in the fabric and spreading down onto the cold, wet concrete. A few of your wounds looked like they needed stitches. Your lungs felt bruised at the very least. You needed a hospital, not a psychiatrist. 

You closed your eyes, letting your head hang low. You could be here for minutes. You could be here for hours. You could even be here for days. The latter would also surely end up with your death, but it was all depending on when Dr Crane would decide to come home. You realized, in that moment, just how sick you were getting of your life always being in the hands of other people.  

Despite wearing glasses, Dr Crane actually had excellent eyes. He made out your figure as soon as his car turned onto his street, a couple of blocks away. He was wary for a moment, driving up to his parking space slowly, peering through the rain to attempt to see your face beneath the drenched black fabric. He recognized it was you when your head shot up, hearing the car come to a stop. 

He didn’t know you, per say. He had seen you around when he had to work with Falcone. It wasn’t as if you were the only person who worked for the mobster, who he had scrambling around doing lots of little tasks for money. You had always reminded him of a timid cat come into a new environment, skulking around, hiding whenever you could, not making any sort of eye contact and avoiding the chance of even brushing against someone.  

Regardless, he felt quite annoyed, and troubled, to see you outside of his house. His laboratory was in there, and if you had gotten in, you could have ruined everything.  

He opened an umbrella through the open car door before stepping out, remaining dry despite the vortex of rain that seemed to be centred in this neighbourhood. He took his time to walk up to the steps, watching you as you used the railing to climb up onto your feet. Once he was closer, he was able to see the black eye that you wore, the split lip. He imagined for a moment what other kinds of open wounds you might be hiding beneath your poorly-thought out clothing.  

Before you could so much as open your mouth to tell him why you were here, his arm cut across your front, pushing you against his sturdy door. His forearm was close to your neck, just a little adjustment and he’d be able to block your airway. “What are you doing here, and how do you know where I live?” He asked, still holding the umbrella. It was the only break you’ve had from the relentless downpour in hours. Your thoughts began to swirl inside of your head, startled by the closeness, and the irritation of your wounds from the pressure he was putting against your chest. You choked out a response. 

“Toxin - Falcone - sent me to - get it.” 

He regarded you for a moment, his startlingly blue eyes boring a hole into yours. To you, he was utterly terrifying, and it felt as if he could see into your soul, and just draw all the knowledge of your many fears by being close to you. But to him, you looked like a little kitten, drowning in a river. This didn’t endear you to him. He found it annoying.  

“You can tell him it’s not ready,” he said, moving his arm, only to take hold of your sweater and pull you away from his door. He kept you at that arm’s length so you wouldn’t go running inside of his house, looking for shelter, like the stray that you were. He unlocked his door and then stepped inside. He even had the audacity to shake his umbrella out in your direction, splashing you with it.  

“W-wait, please, if I go back without it-” You started to plead, but the only thing that you got in response was the door closed in your face, and the sound of the locks sliding into place. Once more, you felt absolutely kicked while you were already down.  

You knocked weakly a few more times before giving up. You slid back down onto the stoop, leaning your head against the door. Going back wasn’t an option. You didn’t move for a while, having nowhere else to go to. Falcone would go searching your house first when you didn’t come back right away. You just had to hope that eventually, the door would open, and you could catch Dr Crane when he left next.  

It was four hour later when he did indeed open the door. He had been watching you through the cameras that he had set up outside of his front door, in case of intruders. Or more so, in case of thugs and henchmen of other villains around the city of Gotham. There was always some thick-headed small-brained idiot trying to prove himself by going after anyone, just to build up his reputation. 

What he had watched you do was sit there, and start to have a panic attack. He had seen them often enough in patients, in victims. The way that you had pulled your knees up to your chest to make yourself small. The rocking back and forth. The shaking breath. You almost sounded like a flock of damn birds with the squeaky wheezing that you were doing. Seagulls, or something. And though he was still quite unamused by your showing up at his home, by knowing his address, he saw potential there. 

His mistake had been seeing you as a pet. 

When you would make the perfect lab rat. 

You toppled back, hitting the floor hard once the door had been opened. It shocked you even more, causing more of a panic. You attempted to scramble up, to get out of this situation, feeling the need to fight or flight and going with the latter, but your hands combined with the smooth tiled floor of the entryway, made you slip and fall right back down again. It faintly reminded Jonathan of the old slapstick comedies. He didn’t offer to help you up, just watched you struggle. 

Finally, you were able to grab your footing and got onto your feet, avoiding being close to him by pressing your arms against yourself. You stepped back out to the rain but froze like a deer in headlights when you heard him speak. 

“The toxin will not be ready until tomorrow,” he said, in his smooth, deep voice. It was hypnotic, it stood out against the sounds of the rain - or whatever liquid passed for rain in this polluted city. “Come in. You can bring it to him when it’s ready.” 

Despite yourself, you stepped into his home, where it was nice and dry - and when the door closed, quiet. It was still dark inside, none of the lights save for one in the kitchen down the hall seemed to be on. There was no music, no television. Only a sudden shrill whistle from a kettle, a sound that made you realize how cold and uncomfortable you were. How every bit of your clothing was stuck to your body, as if you had submerged yourself underwater.  

“Take off that sweater,” Dr Crane ordered. Fight or flight flew out the window at that moment. You were still panicking, but your mind told you to obey instead. Don’t rebel. Don’t run. Just do what they tell you to do, and that’s how you stay alive in this town. Unless you’re sent on a suicide mission, which this very well could have been. You unzipped your soaking wet sweater and struggled to get out of it. It clung, stuck to your wounds and had to be peeled off. You felt naked without it. Worse, somehow. Exposed. 

He looked over you calculatingly, as if you were one of his patients. He didn’t have empathy for your situation, as far as he was concerned, you had gotten yourself into this mess. And yet - there was something so ... drowned puppy about your expression that was endearing. Cold blue eyes, looking up and down, the water droplets hanging off of your hair, the blue tinge to your lips, your shivers. You looked downright pathetic. And it made him curious how you would look terrified. 

He put a hand on the small of your back and led you, still drenched, towards his bathroom. You followed, still shaking, your eyes cast down on the fine wooden floors rather than up at him. You only looked up when he stopped, and looked around the room that you were in. A toilet. A shower and bathtub combination. A sink. Black towels - for some reason, you kept looking at those black towels. 

“Take a shower. Warm up,” Jonathan said, curtly.  

“But -” you said, lower lip quivering again. “I’m just here for the -” 

“Take a shower,” he said, again. “I will not have you be sneezing around my house because you’re stupid enough to stay on my doorstep when it’s raining.” 

You went to protest again, opening your mouth but that obedience came into play again. If you just do what he says - he might give you the toxin - and you can go back to your boss with it. And a few more dollars might be shaved from what you owe. You took a deep breath in an attempt to steady yourself, feeling weak from the toll that the panic attack had on your body. “Okay. I’ll take a shower.” 

“Good,” Jonathan said, and then left you just as abruptly as he had let you into his house. You looked back at the black towels again and very gently, as if you were dismantling a bomb rather than trying to warm your fingers, you touched it, the soft material helping your numbed digits. When you started being able to feel the texture, you finally moved back and turned on the water. Warm water. It felt like you haven’t had a warm shower in ages. Your landlord never got the pipes fixed, no matter how many complaints that he got. 

It felt amazing. It seemed to touch at the cold that was right inside of your core, a place that warmth hadn’t touched in a long time. It permeated through you, making you stand up a little taller, not looking as ready to dart behind the nearest thing to hide from your boss’s rage. You felt better. You felt good. 

When you got out of the shower, you were surprised to find your sopping wet clothes were no longer on the ground. The puddle was still there, but someone - Jonathan - must have come in when you were behind the shower curtain, enjoying the heat. In its place was a thread-bare bathrobe, one that had obviously seen better days. After drying yourself off with the towel, you slipped it on, feeling the worn through black material, tying the belt tightly around your waist so it wouldn’t open and show off everything.  

This was a day of ups and downs. The hot shower was the biggest up - but this was another down, the humiliation of having to go and see your boss’s associate, Scarecrow of all the villains in Gotham, wearing his old bath-robe and nothing underneath. 

Jonathan was waiting downstairs. When you had come down into the kitchen looking for him, he pushed over a steaming bowl of oatmeal, fresh from the microwave. He didn’t seem the type to eat very healthy. Or very much at all, given his long, almost skeletal frame which had partly given him the nickname Scarecrow. “Eat.” 

You did as he said again, picking up the spoon and started to eat. It might just have been some quick oatmeal from a box but it was the first thing that you had eaten all day, and the best thing that you had tasted in weeks. He watched you as you ate, making observations, taking notes in that brain of his.  

“Thank you,” you said, after you finished, even running your finger inside of the bowl to get the bit that was stuck to the ceramic.  

“You’re welcome,” he said, though there wasn’t warmth in his voice. Just curiosity. “When did you last eat?” 

“Yesterday morning. I think it was around two am,” You admitted, finding yourself being honest when perhaps you should have lied. Everything you did or said was a representation of your boss, and if you seemed to be ungrateful ... you could definitely be punished.  

“I see.” He spoke. “Tell me - little one, what are you afraid of?” 

So many things ran through your head just then. Enclosed spaces. The constant sound of bombs going off in Gotham, and the way that the ground would tremble underneath your feet. The clown masks that the Jokers’ men wore. The pitch-darkness of an alleyway. 

“Gotham.” 

Because that’s what it all boiled down to. This goddamn city. It had it’s claws in you, and they were sharp, and deep, probing around your ribcage, to your very organs. The Gotham air had tainted your lungs, making them black with the smoke and soot and pollution in the air. Your heart had to be hardened because you had seen so many people on the streets, dead and alive.  

“Gotham?” Jonathan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Fascinating.” 

He dug a cellphone out from his pocket.  It was old-fashioned, almost like he seemed to be. As you looked around the kitchen, nothing seemed to be new. Even the microwave looked like it was a relic from the seventies. His phone was a flip-phone. It even had the little antenna that stuck out the top.  

“Your little dog showed up at my door today,” he said, staring into the phone, staring at you. You realized, suddenly feeling quite cold again, that he was talking to Falcone. The fragile calm that had come over you with the help of a shower, and warm food, was completely shattered. “I told you; the toxin isn’t ready. When it is, I’ll have your mutt deliver it to you.” 

Mutt. Dog. They weren’t said affectionately, and yet, they didn’t sound insulting either. You knew that in the grand scheme of things, you were below Scarecrow - you weren’t even a crony or a thug, you were just Falcone’s gopher in a sense. It was a reminder to you of that. But not a cruel one. 

It was your turn to stare at him as he spoke on the phone, and he noticed this. His blue eyes bore into yours, like this was a game of chicken that he wasn’t going to lose. He didn’t blink.  

“- no. I’ll be keeping them until I’m ready to give you the toxin. That’s the price for your annoying persistence. Until then, I will consider them to be ... my own personal assistant. Don’t bother me again.” 

It was extremely strange to see the man that you knew was Scarecrow flip his cellphone closed like a girl in an early two-thousands teen movie.  

“Wh-why did you do that?” You asked, your nervousness returning. You were anticipating punishment already. No doubt when you did return to Falcone, there would be a slap, a punch, a kick, a tantrum waiting for you. And yet Dr Crane had said all of this without the least bit of concern for you.  

“I need an assistant, temporarily. And your clear dedication in your given tasks proves efficient enough for my needs,” He spoke smoothly, removing his glasses and setting them down atop the table. You never realized how blue his eyes were before until he did that, when there was nothing between your eyes and his. You blinked away your awe and faint attraction before he could catch on, though knowing him, he probably had.  

“What do you need me to -” 

“Asking these endless questions is not a part of your job description,” Dr Crane said, his voice still as smooth as ever. “You’ll do what I tell you to do. And you’ll do it when I tell you to do it. In return, you can have a room here, and food.” He looked over you again, at how pathetic you looked. At how fearful you looked when he had made the phone call. He knew all about Falcone, how he dealt with people. “And - you won’t be battered for it.” 

Battered. Such a strange word that he used. You’ve never thought of yourself being in that position, being ‘battered’. It was merely being punished to you. 

“Thank you,” you said, quietly. He gave you a curt nod, and then his eyes went to the clock hanging in his kitchen. “I’ll come fetch you when I need you. Until then, do not go wandering around. You can stay in this room, the living room there, the bathroom you had taken a shower in, and the bedroom down the hall to the left. If you go anywhere else, your behaviour will have to be ... corrected.” 

The threat was inherently evident through the tone, and in the pause before he said the word corrected. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded your head submissively. “Yes, Dr Crane.” 

“Good,” he said, touching his fingers to one another, creating a steeple beneath his chin. “Yes, I think you’ll be most suitable.” 

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

[mrsmiagreer]

EA SPOILERS

“boo” THE SCREAM I LET OUT OMGGGGG I LOVE IT ALREADY

I feel like milo would have sm fun with super speed

“Shhhhh” “I said hush” OMFGGGGG

Rebane territory?

who in the fuck is sweet lips ?!

THE POUTY VOICE 😫😫😫😫

Mock pity >>>>>>

AND NOW HES TEASING US “I just gotta know, oh- actually don’t tell me…lemme guess—”

“I hit ya nail on the head?” Well since we’re talking about heads—🤷🏽‍♀️

If this is a role reversal, is it possible that Milo’s taller than me??

“NO😲….oh this is too good”

First off who you callin rat motherfucker

“You picked the wrong house to fuck with sweets, oh i’m about to ruin your fuckin life…this is my lucky night bitch”

FML MILO COME RUIN IT RIGHT NOW ILL DO ANYTHING FUCK I CANT TAKE THIS

who the fuck is dimitri

“Like king like prince” ?

This bitch just call me a flop??

“Oh so now you look away” mf i���m looking away because the longer i look the drippier my panties get. This is called self preservation

“Oh i know im close…ya welcome” THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK Y-

“I’m not even touchin” yall know what i gotta say

“I know i look good, but I shouldn’t be the last thing you see”

“I’m serious. Breathe. ” I CAN’T

“Ya gonna fuckin pass out” YOU’RE RIGHT

I personally think Milo’s still ripped asf as a vampire honestly 🤷🏽‍♀️

“If PORTER finds out about this i’ll never hear the end of it” PORTER MENTION‼️

The attention snaps🧎🏽‍♀️

“You look at me, AH- now. Look at me.” I love this version of Milo’s dominance and authority😫

Wet blanket fuck boys😭😭

“Excuse me? I’ll say fuck as much as i fuckin want to. Thank you very fuckin much. Fuck you! How’s that”

“I’m not that fuckin soft” Prove it🤷🏽‍♀️😅

Did this man just say “That’s it” to QUINN FOX

TALBOT PACK ?!

Head back to your place you say🥰

“Unless of course, you uh…end up likin what you see at my not so humble abode, and decide you want to stay a little longer, like overnight if the mood strikes.”

YES YES YES YES THE ANSWER IS YES I VOLUNTEER

he thinks i’m pretty yall🤭

HOUSE OF REBANE ?!

“Look at this face. Look at this body.” i’m looking baby

ONE NIGHT STAND LETS GOOOOOO

Is he just like carrying around business cards or sum. How tf we get his number like that?

“you gotta earn that baby”

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

VERY PLEASED WITH THIS AUDIO YALL

[hope-to-hell]

When the dam breaks (carry what you can). John Wick x August Walker, aka the crossover that nobody asked for but is happening anyway. Two bedraggled men meet in a bar. They’re cold. Wet. Miserable. It’s a good time to find a warm willing body. Smut, oral, handjobs, angst (dammit this was not supposed to happen), over abundance of water metaphors.

———

John and August are unlikely companions, if you can even call this companionship. It’s the natural outgrowth of a chance meeting, two souls brushing against each other in a bar that’s seen better days. It’s silence, save for the soft thump of glass on wood after each sip. It’s the faraway drone of rain and the droplets sliding down John’s cheeks before he pushes his hair back with a sigh and folds himself down onto a barstool. You look like shit, he says, with a sideways glance that cuts to the bone and spreads out warm beneath August’s skin.

Says the drowned rat. August isn’t exactly fresh as a daisy either; he’s been drifting, friendless, washing his socks in one motel sink after another for weeks. Can’t go home to Langley, can’t go crawling back to the Apostles and beg to be accepted into the fold. Either way he’s a traitor; either way he can expect a long imprisonment somewhere far from the light, followed by an unmarked grave and an eternity of rotting into worm food. He rubs thumb and middle finger together and considers his next words. Buy you a drink?

Yeah.

Of the two of them, August is the talker, all bravado and schemes within schemes within schemes. He can weave a tale so riveting that he’s long gone before you notice there’s nothing at the center of it but empty air— or at least that’s how things used to be. Poor fucker doesn’t have a soul loyal to August the man anymore; he’s been written off, 86’d, thrown to the dogs. John Lark the myth is another story. There’s probably someone already stepping into those shoes, shedding their old name and taking up the mantle of Lark the Apostle, Lark the world-ender, Lark the killer of innocents. He’s got revolutionaries lining up around the block to suck him off while he reads from his beloved manifesto.

You really believe that shit?

Yeah. No. I mean. What he means is that he wants— wanted— to excise the rotten core of the world, to cauterize the wound and find a new way forward. What he wanted was the impossible. What he got was— what? Chucked off a cliff, crushed and incinerated in a lonely valley? Nah. If he’d done that, then he wouldn’t be here, bottle dangling from his hand, doing his damnedest not to let his leer slip into a grimace. Fuck it. If I wanted to spend the night feeling sorry for myself I’d just sit here until I float away. Nevermind the chorus of coward coward coward that stands behind his every thought. Nevermind the moment he lost his nerve and bailed on the last leg of the mission.

Was it cowardice, though? To stand on the precipice of the world’s undoing and feel that gnawing sense of wrongness? August says it is, but he’s a liar even to himself. Easier to tell himself he was too shit-scared to go through with it than to face the years he’s spent doing it all wrong. Come on. August leaves the bottle and makes his way upstairs. John follows a half step behind, shedding pieces of his suit until he’s no longer bulletproof, heart hammering away with only a sweat-stained shirt to keep it contained. And soon enough that, too, is gone.

Everything in this room is tinted red from the neon sign that blinks and fizzes outside the window; its light pulses in time to the need that ratchets their breath higher and faster; the slow steady exhale-inhale-exhale that leads up to the kill shot has no place here. This isn’t a dance; the burn of stubble is artless, honest, cutting swaths of mine across their skin. There’s a scar below John’s clavicle that still carries that strange sensation that vibrates between numb and burning; August fills its shining red hollow with tongue and teeth, biting down and working his jaw to make John buck his hips and growl.

(What’s the last thing you want to see? To hear? To feel? What sensations are you going to carry with you when you leave this world?)

Fucking and fighting are much the same at their core. There’s the sweat and straining limbs, the tight-knotted elation of movement, the rough raw physicality of it all. And there’s blood smeared on the sheets, scabs torn off from the friction of bodies sliding across the bed; John looks down at August and there isn’t a sneer or a smirk or any kind of twisted lip to mark his conquest but it’s clear all the same. And so they stare at each other, wild-haired and panting, until August speaks because of course he’s the first to break the silence.

We gonna fuck or what? There’s no waver in his voice, of course not. Probably not. Aw hell. He hears it plainly and maybe it’s just been too long. Maybe he’s still burning from the inside. But it’s strange: there’s no shameful heat across his cheeks, no ache from grinding his teeth in the aftermath of cracking himself open like this. Maybe it’s the way John watches quietly, somewhere between assessing and patient, free from judgment. But he is thinking all the same, lips parted around words that have yet to take form. He speaks like he moves: thoughtful, purposeful, much like the sea in the moments before nascent islands break its surface.

It’s…been a while. Seems there’s always gravel lodged in John’s throat these days. The pad of his thumb is rough and callused; he draws it over August’s mustache and down, arousal sparking through him at the feel of August’s teeth as he bites onto John’s thumb and grins. It’s easy enough to shove his way further, pressing down hard on August’s tongue; need glazes those pretty ocean blues and maybe it’s a risk but he’s going to spit right onto August’s tongue, blood and bourbon leaving their sting.

The thing about taking a risk, about actions that could have repercussions beyond your wildest dreams, about taking a bat to a beehive for that sweet sticky honey, is this: you have to ask yourself, is it worth it?

(That’s the problem with you, John. You know what the fallout is going to be and you do it anyway. You’re a damned fool.)

Yeah, it sure as hell is worth it, if only for the unh that rips loose from somewhere deep in August’s gut. And maybe it’s been a while for John, but he’s not the only one. August’s hand reaches out and it’s shaking, maybe mildly enough that in any other situation it would go unnoticed, just like the gnarl of breaks set and reset, the fingernails that never grew back quite right, the deep white line across his palm. But it does shake. John sees it all, and folds it into his understanding.

John rests his forehead against August’s belly; he breathes and thinks only of this moment, savoring the twitch and jump of muscle beneath him, shoving away thoughts of anyone or anywhere other than this. Easy, he mouths, clever fingers reaching down to grasp August at the root. Gotta want it bad enough.

Didn’t. Ah. Didn’t realize you knew how to be patient.

I got a little perspective. It’s a hell of an understatement, coming from the guy who wakes still wrapped in dreams of the world beyond the world: not white clouds and angels, not burning agony, but merely quiet— until the waking world filters in with its noise and chaos pulsing bloody at the edges of his thoughts. But still, somehow, he walks back into the world. Better days may never come again but he shrugs back into his suit and finds his way from one day to the next.

(Don’t rush it. Time means nothing except the long stretch between stab and scar.)

It’s— oh, fuck. It’s been a while for me, too. Laced between August’s words are the hitched breaths of too much, too soon but he is sweating from ears to asshole and when he says I want it’s the wrecking ball before a failing dam; when he says I need it’s the shiver and groan of cracking concrete; he closes his hand tight over John’s and his fourth finger slots into the gap between John’s third and fifth. Their grip skips and stutters; it’s rough with calluses and scars, the marks of lives hard-lived. But their hands are strong, steadying and falling into rhythm; the susurrus of skin-on-skin is the sound of river stones tumbling as the current carries them along.

It’s a dry burn, and this time when John spits it’s to ease the way, to give brief respite— and perhaps, a bit, to admire the way it slides down August’s shaft— mingling with precum, foamed white with friction.

Orgasm isn’t even the point of all this, although it’s good— better than good, with August’s eyes first screwed shut and then opening muzzy and unfocused— and though John pulses hard and wanting, he holds back; he drinks deep from the well of a mind devoid of thought and for a moment he, too, finds himself purely empty and still. Their hands are still joined, sticky with seed, til August disentangles and reaches out. His hand is almost steady when he says now let me get at you.

And now their places change; the coverlet crumples beneath them as John rolls to his back and hooks one arm behind his head; neon light pools in his navel and in the hollows of his many scars. Words unspoken hang about his lips, caught against sharp fangs. Easy there, he mouths. There’s nothing to prove and nowhere to hide here; their lives are written in tightly shining ink across their skin, and the sum of all those scars is this: we’re here. We survive no matter how we feel about it. He strokes a hand over the back of August’s head, not pressing down but weaving through soft hair. And there— just there, right at the base of August’s skull where every nerve seems to converge— his hand settles in a weightless grip.

August laps up salt and musk, letting the taste burn its way onto his tongue. If his eyes are wet it’s from the effort of swallowing John inch by inch. The red streaked across his cheeks and throat is just from the strain of cataloging every twitch, every rolling groan. It can’t be more than physical, it can’t. It can’t. Absolutely not. Aw, fuck.

Alright? John’s voice is level despite the hitch of his hips, chasing after warmth and that slick clever tongue.

Yeah. It’s just. Just what? It’s like I said. Just been a while. August’s lips are spit-slick and shiny and when he speaks the words are roughly prickled. Now zip it. Gonna give you something you won’t forget. He descends again and keeps his word: he is artless, messy, and above all unforgiving. There is no room to breathe, no finessing John to the edge and back; he swallows hard and with a press of his tongue he ends it. His mouth is filled with bitter come that drips pearlescent from his ruddy open lips; he glances up and he is caught— they are caught— bound and drowning in this moment. He is seen, and in turn he understands.

(Nothing is permanent. How can you stand it?

You don’t. You hold on to what you can and grieve the rest.)

There is time, tonight, to take it slow; the room is paid through the night and anyhow it’s lousy weather. Here beneath the burning shower spray, draped over the back of a chair, tangled in the pile of their own discarded clothes, stillness waits for them. And rain is falling on the river somewhere far away.

[quietwingsinthesky]

(@transmasc-rose) Hmm... 11Simm, Simm is around for his Baking Period instead of going back to the war, and this affects our Doctor.

alsjfjglsjfk okay im assuming by baking period you mean immediately post-regeneration and what im saying is that this got wildly out of hand, here’s 1000 words of eleven & simm & amelia pond

Amelia Pond remembers, a few months ago, when it rained so hard that the streets outside of school flooded. It hadn’t been so bad, even though no one had come to pick her up so Mels had promised Rory when his dad came, “Don’t worry, I’ll walk her home.” By then, his dad’s car was already making huge waves as it drove away. Neither of them had an umbrella or raincoats, so they’d sprinted between trees and bus stops as it continued to pour down. The streets became rivers, and when they caught their breath on Amelia’s front porch, they’d turned back to look at the unrecognizable world of their neighborhood almost underwater. Mels’ cold, wet hand in hers, Amelia had watched two rats swimming across the street, scrabbling over each other with tiny splashes and biting their tails to stay together until they got to the other side.

Anyway, that’s why she thinks Mels would understand her letting the men from the blue box into her house once she saw that they were soaking wet and why Rory would probably tell her she shouldn’t try to pick up rats because they might have rabies.

“If he’s the Doctor,” says Amelia to the man who stole all of the Doctor’s leftovers, (or was it stealing when no one wanted them?) “then who are you?” She’s been thinking of him as the rude Doctor, seeing as they both came from the same box, but that might be unfair. To the Doctor. She can’t just go assuming two men from the same box share a name.

“The Master,” he tells her, shortly. Amelia squints up at him.

Amelia doesn’t care much about politics because her aunt doesn’t care much about politics. Still, there are all these newspapers that someone must have bought that sit in the lounge and they both forget to clean up.

“Why do you look like the Prime Minister?” At that, the Master grins. His teeth are too sharp.

“Because I ate him.” Amelia wrinkles her nose at him. He’s going to have to try harder. Mels is much better at scaring her than he is.

“Stop that,” the Doctor tells him. “She’s-” He looks over Amelia curiously and guesses. “…Five?”

“I’m eight,” Amelia corrects and stands a little taller.

“She’s eight, and there’s a nasty crack in her wall that’s scaring her enough. You don’t need to make it worse.” The Master huffs and crosses his arms, but he does glance down at her again. She doesn’t think he’s decided to be nice, exactly, but maybe that he’s decided even if he isn’t lying and he does eat people, that Amelia wouldn’t be very tasty. He extends a hand to pat her on the head, and Amelia bites at it. She doesn’t manage to get him, but he snaps his hand back. He grins at her.

“She should be scared. I’m surprised she’s even still here.” Amelia frowns at him the same time the Doctor does.

“What do you mean?”

“Explain that, Master,” the Doctor’s voice flips from fun to serious very easily. She likes that about him. Most adults never use their serious voices around Amelia, only the fun ones, even when they have bad news to deliver.

“You’re counting the doors, Doctor. I’m counting the bedrooms.”

“So?”

“Amelia, you said you only live with your aunt?” the Master asks, pointedly. Amelia scowls at him, even though a part of her is delighted that they were paying attention to what she said.

“Yes.”

“So, why,” he emphasizes, “are there too many beds in this house?” The Doctor stops examining the crack and turns to him. Amelia watches a wave of something awful wash over his face. It makes her squirm, and despite herself, grab onto the Master’s hoodie.

“Oh, Amelia,” the Doctor says, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She doesn’t like it, any of it, not the crack and not the feeling in the pit of her stomach that something’s gone terribly wrong. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows- She knows- She can’t remember why she’s crying. The Master’s hoodie is grimy enough already, so she sticks her nose in it to wipe her face clean. He smells like a wet dog.

“First things first,” the Doctor says, “whatever was in the crack is now out of the crack.”

“I know. I can smell it.”

“So, we take care of that. Amelia,” he addresses her again. Amelia pulls her face out of the Master’s hoodie to look at the Doctor. “Do you mind if I pick you up?” Amelia is too big to be picked up anymore, at least by her aunt. Still, she nods. “Good. I’m going to put you in the safest place I know.” The Doctor picks Amelia up easily, like she would pick up one of her stuffed animals, and then deposits her, without hesitating, into the Master’s arms as he protests.

“I don’t want her. Take her back.” Amy wriggles, but despite that, he doesn’t drop her.

“I wasn’t lying. Whatever prisoner zero is—I’m working on it—you’re far more dangerous.” At that, the Master hums, pleased with himself. Amelia thinks the Doctor might be even more mad than she’d assumed. “Which also makes you safe.”

The thing is, Amelia thinks, the Doctor isn’t wrong. She looks at the crack, and she looks out her bedroom door down the hall they say contains a monster, and nothing scares her.

“It’s a little early for us to adopt,” the Master mutters.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too busy hunting an intergalactic fugitive. You’d know all about that. Amelia, did you know he’s wanted dead or alive in over two hundred galaxies? In multiple time periods.” Amelia looks at the Master for confirmation.

“Two hundred and fifty-three,” he says.

“What’d you do?”

“Everything.” He carries Amelia out, following the Doctor, and only gets interrupted telling her a story she’s not sure she believes about taking over an entire planet when the monster shows itself.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Ok, part 2!

Part One Here

(Warning for brief violence)

"Okay!" Daxter snapped, flinging a piece of a lever to the ground in disgust, "That is the last time I ever, ever, touch any more stupid Precursor crap!"

Jak would have responded, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the strange place they had fallen into. Hard stone covered the ground in even, flat surfaces, like walking paths made of one solid piece. They matched the gray of drab huts built four or five levels high -- fortresses? -- with equally flat tops and windows covered in a thin, reflective material of some kind. Everything smelled like rotting garbage and the exhaust fumes of his zoomer! What kind of dead ruin was this?

A ruin, perhaps, but hardly a dead one.

Zoomers in bright colors and sleek shapes darted back and forth overhead, mesmerizing the small boy. There were more people on them than he'd ever seen in his life! People walked along the streets in crowds! Was this what Uncle called "city"? It was so much bigger than the villages! And if he stood on the tips of his toes, Jak could see more structures that were even taller!

"There he is!" a harsh voice rang out.

A group of -- were they people? They were covered in armor with goggles that reminded Jak of the giant Precursor robot -- marched towards him, carrying strange weapons. The long, thin things reminded him of the Yellow Sage's blunderbuss. Some forgotten instinct told him that these things were deadly, and never to be played with.

Why were they coming towards him? Had he done something wrong?

Oh no! The broken pieces of the Rift vehicle must have hurt someone!

"Move in!"

In mere seconds, the red warriors had completely surrounded them. Part of Jak wanted to fight, but if they were just protecting their city from what probably looked like an attack, maybe it would be better to stay calm. Jak didn't want to find out what those weapons could do at such close range. But as the circle closed around him, Jak looked up into the face of their leader, and his stomach turned.

This wasn't a misunderstanding. These people were looking for trouble. The tattooed man smirking down at him had the same unreasonable gleam in his eye as Gol Acheron. He didn’t want to talk. He was going to hurt them whether or not they gave him a reason.

Jak took a step back without thinking as his pulse began to thunder in his ears.

What does he want? I didn't do anything to him! Why is he looking at us like that?!

"Step away from the animal!" barked a soldier.

Whoever they were, they understood that Jak was more powerful with Daxter supplementing his attacks. But Jak had never seen these people in his life!

Had he?

The boy cast a frantic look down at Daxter as a soldier began to move towards him.

Run! Run, Daxter!

With a shriek, the ottsel dodged the armored hand and dove between the man's legs.

"GO GO GO!" he screeched, darting off down a side street.

But Jak couldn't follow. The men crowded closer, fencing him in as their sneering leader snapped, "Forget the rat! The Baron wants him!"

Me? Why?! What's a Baron?!

A cruel smile twisted the leader's face as he signaled the man beside Jak.

"We've been waiting for you," he cooed.

Something slammed into the side of Jak's head, dropping him like a stone. Lights danced behind his eyes, and he couldn't think past the pain. Why? Why were they doing this? Were they friends of the Acherons? Rough hands grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to his feet, ignoring his soft whimper. He had to escape. Had to find Daxter. Somehow Jak knew that if he let these people take him, he might never see his friends again.

His throat pulsed and spasmed, but he couldn't force the sound past the lock in his mouth, couldn't cry out for help. Someone! Please, please stop them! Precursors! Somebody!

Somebody answered.

There was an awful, wet sound. Claws through cloth, and flesh, and the horrible, high screams that always followed.

Jak knew that sound. When the Lurkers attacked village outskirts and Samos sent him to clean up the mess, he'd learned what it sounded like when someone was being ripped apart.

His head was swimming, but Jak forced himself to look up. Through leaking eyes he caught the blurry figure of a...a someone, covered in armor. Their head -- or maybe a helmet? Hopefully a helmet -- looked like the skull of the monsters that had flown out of the Rift Gate, complete with the shining yellow thing on the forehead. They were attacking the leader man, the one who hadn't been wearing as much armor as the others.

It seemed the leader wasn't accustomed to close quarters fighting.

He screeched again as the newcomer raked long claws down his face, then bodily lifted him. With a grunt that sounded more human than monster, the creature flung its victim into the soldiers surrounding Jak just as they raised their weapons. There were three flashes of light at once, then panicked shouting and more screaming. The eco that shot out of their weapons had hit their leader as he was thrown, by the sounds of the yelling. "Commander Errol" continued to scream like he was dying. He probably was.

Abruptly the two men holding his arms let go. Still disoriented, Jak staggered and fell to his hands and knees. More yellow eco blasts roared over his head, adding to the ringing in his ears, and the stench of blood grew stronger. Maybe he could crawl out of the way, escape down the side street Daxter took. Maybe-

The creature shot out a red hand and caught Jak by the wrist, pulling him to his feet so quickly his head spun and his stomach lurched. He tried to pull free, but the monster's grip tightened.

"Can you run?"

A man's voice. Was it a creature? Or was this more armor?

Jak wobbled and groaned, and the man-thing seemed to take that as an answer. Without another word, he ducked down to sweep Jak's legs off the ground. He bundled him close to his blood-spattered breastplate and began to run. The jarring of boots against stone did nothing to allay the pounding in Jak’s head, radiating from where the red soldier had hit him. What on earth was happening to him?!

"Hold on tight, Jak. Going to get a little tricky here," his rescuer said.

Wait. He knew Jak's name? How did he know Jak's name?! Did he know one of the sages? Maybe the Yellow Sage, since he seemed like some kind of wild man. If he knew the sages, he'd know how to get back to Sandover! Jak struggled to make a sound the man would recognize as a word or question. Grownups never understood signs, why would this one be different?

"Wait, Jak. We're not safe yet," said the man sternly.

Jak stilled. Whoever this was, he didn't sound like the kind of person you ignored.

Streets flew by as the man ran down alleys and around more corners than he could count. Then his steps slowed. There was something metallic and green -- one of those unusual zoomers that had been flying around, wide enough for two people -- sitting unattended. The man made an exclamation of triumph and hurried over to it. He deposited Jak into one of the seats with a surprising gentleness, fastening two strange belts over his chest with a click.

"That commander's access pass will get us into the agricultural sector," his rescuer said, as if that meant anything to him, "then we'll be out of the city and into the forest. Just stay close to me, no matter what, understand?"

Jak stared at his mask with wide eyes and didn't answer. The man sighed, rattling behind the skull.

"I know. I know you don't recognize me, little one."

Strange, he sounded kind of sad.

"I promise, I'll explain what's going on when we're in the forest. Now: hold onto something."

The wide zoomer, it turned out, was a lot faster than his a-grav zoomer back home. It could hover a lot higher, too. If Jak's head didn't still ache, he would have been a lot more interested in the vehicle. But as it stood, he was pretty sure he was going to throw up. Was this how Daxter felt when they were running around?

Nah. Daxter was one of the toughest people Jak knew. He could roundhouse kick a Lurker in the face and flip back onto Jak’s shoulder without even getting dizzy!

Wait! Daxter!

Frantically, Jak waved his hands as the zoomer careened through and around other drivers, scraping paint more than once. Even though he didn't expect an answer, he signed, "Go back! Go back, my friend is back there!"

Predictably, the man did not go back. But to Jak’s surprise, he did answer.

"We're not going back," he grunted, throwing the craft into a climb that left the engine straining. "That plaza will be swarming with guards now."

Then, a little gentler, he added, "Don't worry so much about Daxter. He's a smart boy, he knows how to keep himself safe until someone comes for him."

Not only did this person know who Jak was, he knew Daxter?

A smart boy. He called Daxter a smart boy.

No one had ever said anything that nice about his best friend before. Especially not adults. Jak had never understood why everyone but Ollie and Mrs. Perch seemed to hate Daxter so much, but it had always frightened him. If they hated a kid who never did anything to them, that meant Jak was on a tightrope every day to keep them from deciding to hate him, too.

But the scary man who grabbed him, he knew Daxter's name. He didn't call him a rat or an animal, he called him a boy! He called him smart! Jak’s previous fear began to melt away. Anyone who talked about his best friend like that had to be a nice person, right? And he was a fun driver, too! Too bad Jak's stomach was trying to crawl up his throat at the moment.

After a tense few seconds, the zoomer leveled out and shot past a fancy fountain, over the heads of people in nicer clothes than what Jak had seen before. A few shook their fists and complained as they flew past. Slate gray paths gave way to the first green he'd seen since first getting into the Rift craft. A long, narrow expanse of grass held several plots of unusually large produce. The plots were being tended by exhausted looking people in much dirtier clothes than the people by the fountain. They didn't even glance up when the zoomer sped by.

They pulled to a stop at a high, forbidding wall. The door shaped vaguely like a skull only added to the sense of foreboding around it, as if it was a warning. A quick glance around revealed that the wall extended as far as Jak could see, so high that nothing was visible beyond it. How could these people stand it? It must be like living at the bottom of a silo!

Jak was snapped from his thoughts by the man yanking the strap things off him with a click and pulling him out of the zoomer. It took him a moment to get his feet under him, but at least he didn't feel like he was going to tip over.

"Hurry," said the man tersely. Almost as if he wasn't thinking about it, he reached down and took hold of Jak's hand. He tugged Jak after him and walked swiftly towards the door.

"Not a little kid!" Jak protested with his free hand as best as he could.

Although, he had a feeling his rescuer could argue to the contrary, considering Jak barely stood as high as the man's ribcage.

"Now leaving Haven City," said a woman's voice above their heads as the door rolled shut behind them. Jak looked around for a talk-box, but couldn't tell where the lady was speaking from. "Haven", eh? Didn't seem like much of a Haven to Jak.

A second door opened in front of them, and a weight lifted off of Jak's shoulders.

Trees, ancient and massive, sprawled across hills and around a creek running placidly down to a lake. Nature didn't care about soldiers and cities and people hurting each other. Nature kept growing and being born and dying and being reborn in an eternal cycle of eco. It was a relief to see none of those entombing walls before them. Strange though, Jak didn't see any signs of wildlife. One bird chirruped several trees away, but everything else was eerily quiet.

The armored man lifted an oddly shaped talk-box to his ear and turned away from Jak.

"Satellite One, this is Lighthouse. We're clear."

"Copy that, Lighthouse. Wait, who's "we"?"

"Oh. Jak. The kid Praxis was trying to ambush?"

"Kid?! Wait, you didn't tell me you were going to grab someone's kid!"

"Don't worry about it," the man said casually, "Focus on the mission."

The person calling themselves Satellite One was quiet for a second, then relented. "...right. I'll...I'll bring him home, Damas. I swear it."

"If anyone can, it's you." The man -- Day-maz? Is that what Satellite called him? -- put the talk box away and took in a deep breath through his nose. Then he pivoted to kneel in front of Jak.

"Alright, let's have a look at you."

He unlatched the mask or helmet and slid it off, revealing a human face beneath a hood. He pushed it off and shook his ears free with a grumble.

"Bah. This disguise is a necessary evil but I can't say I'll be sad to see it go."

The clawed gloves followed, and then rough brown fingers lifted Jak's chin carefully, checking for injuries.

"Look up? Good. Pupils...ah, mmhm. Jak, can you tell me if you feel dizzy or nauseous right now?"

"Yes."

Thin, almost invisible eyebrows rose over violet eyes. "Yes you can tell me, or yes you feel dizzy?"

"Yeah, that one." Jak frowned. "There's no birds."

The Day-mas man released Jak's face and clicked his tongue. "Well, you may have a mild concussion, little one."

Jak's ears drooped a few seconds after the words caught up to him. Aw man! But those take forever to go away without eco!

The thought of avoiding running and climbing for a few weeks was torture!

"There's a green eco vent a couple miles into the woods if we keep going northwest. For a slight brain injury you really need a full vent, but I can give you a little now to make walking easier."

The man pulled off more of the scaly armor and searched around a belt full of pouches before coming up with a tube of some kind of paste.

"Hold still."

Eco in paste?! How did he get it into a jelly?! It sat cold on Jak’s skin, numbing the place the guard had slammed his weapon into. Jak shivered as his mind cleared a bit. With the adrenaline beginning to wear off, he was starting to notice the cold. He'd need to find some yellow eco to raise his core temperature. Absentminded, he signed a thanks to the man and looked around.

"Who are you?" he asked, then belatedly remembered to add, "How do you know me and Daxter?"

With a weird, sad, smile, the man sat back on his heels. "My name is Damas," he said quietly, and then spelled it with his hand.

"You sign?!"

Jak thought adults just weren't capable of understanding signs!

"Yes," Damas signed back, "It's very common where I come from. Come, we need to get you more eco. Explanations can wait until you are fully healed."

He stood and held out a hand.

"I'm not a baby!" Jak complained, but he took the offered hand anyway.

Damas chuckled warmly. "No, you're not a baby. But you are quite small, compared to me. I wouldn't want you to get lost out here in the unknown. You never know what you'll run into out here in the woods."

"No birds," Jak commented again, frowning into bushes and trees as he was tugged along.

Entirely too cheerfully, Damas answered, "No, no birds. You're keeping track of your surroundings, good! There are predators nearby that have scared them off."

"Wha?!" Jak yelped, looking around again.

Damas squeezed his hand and began to make his way along the creek. "You don't need to worry about them, alright? I won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

Jak made a skeptical sound, but squeezed back and let himself be guided deeper into the woods, and further away from the world he'd left behind.

[peakypolly]

All Is Forgiven | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: @runnning-outof-time

Summary: Tommy seeks comfort from Y/N after a job for Campbell results in the murder of an innocent man.

Content Warning: talks of violence, talks of murder.

Word Count: 1,002

A/N: Thank you to K for the request! This is my first imagine and I had a lot of fun thinking up this story, I hope it does Fluff! Tommy the justice he deserves <3 

The house had been quieter than ever before, Shelby Company Limited was in full swing and you were left to your own devices while Tommy was out on business. He was always somewhere else, he left early and came home late. What bothered you the most was how distant you had become to him, he was never truly there anymore. You had heard stories from Polly about how he used to be, long before you had ever met Tommy, long before France. How his smile used to light up the room and how his laugh could be heard from miles away. You thought you were beginning to bring him back to life, to how things used to be. You accepted him long before you were wed, you knew what you were getting into. 

The clock read a quarter past midnight, with nothing else left to do it was time for another drink. You moved towards the makeshift bar Tommy had installed in the living room, grabbed a glass from the wooden shelf, and poured the whiskey. 

“To you Tommy” you mutter as you toast to the empty room.

 Another night and another drink without him. You thought it odd that you were never invited to the Garrison for a drink with your husbands family. You had heard stories from Esme about how loud and rowdy the boys could get, Tommy always kept his composure. You wondered if he ever joined in on these nights without you. Whenever your absence at these family events was a topic of conversation, Tommy’s only excuse was that it was for your own good, as if being purposefully excluded was best for anyone. Esme went to family meetings, you didnt, that thought alone was enough to prickle your eyes with tears. Your spirits lifted however when you saw him. He had entered so quietly, you didnt hear his boots pound against the wooden floors. You were about to tell him how you felt about being left alone every hour of the day until you noticed there was something different about him. The way his eyes sunk into his face, how his head tilted slightly towards the floor, his shoulders slouched. 

“Tom?” You spoke softly, gripping the arms of the chair and raising yourself up, walking over towards him. He brushed his fingers over his chin as if he were thinking hard about his next words.

“(Y/N) I need you” He murmured as he held his arms out for you, then wrapping them around your waist pulling you into him. In return you threw your arms up around his neck, kissing his cheek lightly. Holding him, you felt his muscles which were tensed seconds earlier loosen around you.

“The plans were wrong” He whispered defeatedly 

“What plans Tom? What happened tonight?” you asked softly, you knew better than to ask such personal questions about his business, the business which he kept so closely to him and so far away from you. Tonight was different, the air drier, the walls around you closer, and the atmosphere heavier. You looked up at him, his face red and wet with tears.

“I killed a boy, a young boy- couldnt have been older than twenty. He wasnt supposed to be there, the plans were wrong we had the wrong man, Campbell told me it was the right place he said-” He recounted. 

“Campell?” You interuppted “Inspector Campell? The copper sent from Mr. Churchill? I thought his business here was done?” 

“He weasled his way back into my life like the rat he is, told me to go to this address at this time and kill a man that Mr. Churchill needs dead” He spoke rapidly “I did what he asked and now an innocent man is dead”

You  brushed your fingers across his face wiping away his tears, you had seen him cry before albeit on very rare occasions but not like this, never like this. You felt your heart shatter for him, you knew your husband had killed before but it always had a purpose for the betterment of the family. This time was unlike any other you had seen before.

“Oh Tommy” you mutter, as he sobbed silently into your shoulder. “It will all be sorted out, this blood isnt on your hands, it’s on Campbells he must have sent you there on purpose, i’d kill him if I could”.

“I pulled the trigger (Y/N) not Campell, this is my fault” he sobbed

“He sent you out there, this is his fault darling not yours” you grabbed his hand 

“I’m the devil (Y/N) you married the devil himself” he whimpered

“No, I married you, you are the strongest, smartest, and kindest man I know. Thats why I married you, thats why I love you. You have never made me think otherwise, and nothing,not even what happened tonight could change that”

You lead him over to the couch and sat him down, handing him a glass and pouring his favorite Irish Whiskey into it. “Drink this my love, this too shall pass, and tonight we will honor this man together, we will toast to him and you can let me take care of you Tom” you spoke gently, taking your seat next to him on the couch.

Tommy nodded, taking a swig of his whiskey and sinking down into the couch. You wrapped your arms around him, kissing him gently.

“I’d quite like that, i dont know what would come of me if I didnt have you my beautiful girl” he spoke, his eyes held less darkness than before. 

“There wouldnt be a me without you, and with time you will be okay and I promise Tommy, you are forgiven” you smiled. 

This was the first but not the last of many midnight conversations between you and Thomas, he stopped hiding things from you because he knew you could take it. He knew you would love him no matter what he did because you knew he did it all for you. 

[verlaines-corner-archive]

as we’ve talked a lot abt before, fyodor is gonna be super reserved and take a long time to warm up to his partner but once he does he is so clingy and pathetic little man

he’ll get so clingy sometimes and demand cuddles and will get so whiny when you get up even just to go to the bathroom or get some water like why do u have to leave :( he’s attached to you like a starfish and is not afraid to whine about it

just for funsies even if it’s not the most canon i like to imagine him kinda pathetic if he’s sick with just a common cold just being so dramatic and basically act like he’s on his death bed when he just has the sniffles. he has a fever 1 degree above normal and he’s begging you to hand feed him soup and give him sponge baths

he shows his vulnerable and less dignified side to you and that side is very pathetic wet rat meow meow

Absolutely! It takes Fyodor a long while to even really become proper friends with you, to start seeing you as something beyond what you can provide him. And then for an actual relationship and then all the time it takes to get used to affection and so on? Yeah, you need the patience of a saint.

But yes, as we have discussed before he is pathetic rat meow meow scrunk once he gets comfortable. Fyodor is, as seen in canon, a very playful man at times. And while this often comes out in a more mature manner it can, at times, manifest in an almost childish manner, whining when you don’t give him what he deems to be ‘sufficient’ attention. It definitely kind of hurts his ego the first few times, but once he sees that you like it and it gets him want he wants [that being your affection] he’ll absolutely play into it.

And yeaaaah, he’s definitely whiny when cuddling. Every time you get up he makes some jab about how you so obviously enjoy the company of the fridge more than you do him, which leads to the almost ooc threat of him saying he’ll ignore you if you leave, because you obviously don’t want his company at all [he’s just trying to get you to ask for his attention so he can give it to you without seeming too needy] [it is very obvious what he’s doing].

And I agree with the sickness one actually haha.

I think at first Fyodor very much denies ever being sick. He could be sitting at his laptop looking like the embodiment of death, running the highest fever known to man, but will still have the audacity to deny anything is wrong at all. Which makes the change even funnier, once he realises that “oh hey being taken care of is nice” then yeah, he is such a fucking whinger.

Though he’s not the most over the top about it in the way that say, Kolya would be, he’s mainly just very grumpy and passive aggressive, and though he acts like the world is ending and he’s dying it’s in a comedically serious manner.

His vulnerable side is so sweet I love him

[justjams2003]

Blossoms-12

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Haircutting? Kidnapping? Mentions of sexual themes, angst, and fluff too, kissing, drowning, fights. Tell me if I miss anything

Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

Part 11~Part 13(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Tags: @rclector @jordanmunson3 @ssssssws-world

Have I been down this tunnel before? The stone of the underground all begins to look the same. There aren’t any defining features to the grey walls. Not to mention it is oh-so-very quiet. There aren’t even any sounds of rats chittering or bugs on any of the walls. I can’t hear the music in these dark tunnels like I could in his cave. 

That is of course, until I hear the click as I take another step forward. “Oh no,” I can’t help but mutter out, my imagination begins running wild. It doesn’t happen suddenly, I’m frozen in my spot. Scared that if I were to move an arrow might fly at me. Worse though, the walls begin closing in.  

Panic rises in my throat, and I can already hear my breath rising. My frozen state is interrupted when the walls begin moving faster around me. I book it, I pick up my dress and run as fast as I can. My legs seem to be just a bit to slow compared to the walls.  

A sour taste forms as bile threatens to pour out. My shins burn and I can feel my heart in my ears. My vision turns darker, partially from panic and partially from the walls creeping in my peripheral vision. But then, there is a light at the end of the closing tunnel, quite literally.  

I don’t look where I’m going. I just need to get out. I need to escape the closing walls. And then suddenly, the floor falls out from underneath me. I can hear the walls that I was running from close with a loud thud. And then I too, hit the floor with a similar noise. My arms and legs are now covered in scrapes and bruises.  

A loud ting noise is heard, and I snap my head up. A grate now covered the hole I’ve fallen into. My head hurts, I can hear the thudding of blood rushing into my ears. “Oh my fucking god!” I yell out, slamming my fists against the walls. I never curse, I hate it but this does seem like the perfect moment.  

My head is in my hands, and I grip onto my dark brown locks. It’s a bit longer now, sitting just above my shoulders. I can’t help but let the tears fall, now that I’m alone. Why did I say that? Why the fuck did I say that? I want him, I need him to write. He fuels me and lights my passions and now I’ve opened my big mouth and pushed him away.  

What have I done? He holds my heart, my excitement and my passion. He’s the key an adventure and yet at the same time he feels like home more than my own home ever did. And now I’ve scared him off! I’ve called him dubious and myopic, after comforted my soul.  

Then again, I’m not wrong. I can’t spend my whole life comforting his fragility and assuring him of his worthiness. I’d much rather spend the time laughing and loving. Intertwining bodies rather than reassuring his insecurity. Yet, he also does the same for me. Abating my dislike of certain parts of me that he sees even when I try to hide it.   

Can’t he just love me without worry and I the same?  

A new sound causes my tears to dry up. Water. Water running. Then I feel it, the wet slosh on my bottom. The hole I’m stuck in is filling with water. “No. No, no, no.” Again I start panicking. Is the whole thing going to fill with water? But the top is closed up, I can’t escape.  

Now is the time to act and there is only one person who knows I’m down here. I jump up, too short by a meter to even touch the grating. “Erik! Erik, please!” I hate screaming if it’s not with joy. My voice is filled with worry and despiration and I hate it. I start jumping up and down, trying to see any way to escape.  

But there is none and the water is flowing even faster. “Erik, please, I’m sorry!” I’ll eat up my words if it means getting out of this alive. My birthday is around the corner, and I don’t plan to die at 18. The water is at my waist now and soon it might just be shoulder heidth. Now I’m really becoming hysterical. Screaming my head off and trying to throw out as much as I can.  

It doesn’t help though. The water is rising fast and soon I won’t be able to stand anymore. “Please, Erik, help! I can’t swim!”  

Sobs rack through my soul and my whole body curls up into a ball. I grab my mask and throw it as far from my me as I can. I can hear it jump from the walls and clatter across the floor. I don’t want it anywhere near me. I don’t want to be reminded of my horrid, disfigured face. More so the way it makes me feel.  

It makes me feel gross. It reminds me of the people who laughed at me as a child. It reminds me of the people who beat me, whipped me and ruined my body for someone as beautiful as her. It reminds me that people have made be believe that hurting her is better than allowing her in.  

It makes me feel safe. And she is anything but safe. She with the golden-sand hair and the sea-blue eyes. She is adventure. She is a sailboat traveling 100km/h in the direction that not even the captain knows. Her parents would hate me, I’m sure. I can’t always give her the sunlight, but I can at least give her my heart. Can’t I?  

Help! An echo bounces off the walls of the tunnels and all the way into my cavern. My head snaps up, into the direction that the young girl had walked. Then I hear it again, this time much louder. My feet scatter across the floor and my mind is only one thing.  

I know the exact route she took, as long as she keeps calling for me. The tunnels wind and twist and I just thank whatever god sent her to me that she did not take the route of arrows. “I can’t swim!” Now I truly move faster than I ever had before. The higher the water, the faster it flows.  

I open the latch that enter the trap and instantly turn the water valve shut. I yank the metal grid from the floor, over 100 kilograms and I sent the damn thing flying. I bend over and pull her from the hole by the arms. She’s soaked from the shoulders down, her whole body is shaking. Aurora clings to me, refusing to let even a centimetre of my fabric go.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She repeats over and over. It’s hard to even make out what she’s saying merely because she’s crying so much. I wrap my arms around her, rubbing her bare arms and pulling her as close as I can. All while I continue to hush her.  

“I can’t die, please, I have so much I have left to do.” She mutters, her racking now died down. Only small whines of begs and pleas for her life exit her mouth. “Hey, I won’t let that happen. You’re safe. I won’t let you die, not while you’re still such a little flower.” She lets go slightly, wiping the snot and tears from her face.  

“You promise?” She asks and then lift her head to look up to me. Her words trail off and her eyes seem to go wide. She doesn’t move an inch. Anon, her look of shock turns to one of wonder. A smirk, not a laugh or a face of joy, but a smirk of wonder and dare I even say something else?  

Then is hits me, I forgot my mask in my alcove. And yet the look she gives me makes me so warm inside. It doesn’t make me feel stupid or hideous. Rather, I feel a blush creep across my ears. Soon after she smiles, it drops again. Mariposa lets go of me, and pulls herself up.  

The young girl wraps her arms around herself. She avoids my gaze and turns her back to me. “Please, take me back...” Her voice is small and shy and hurt now. Long gone is the naïve girl who doesn’t fear a handsome stranger. Now, someone who demands to protect her heart, even if it’s from someone who she trusts with her life.  

Fix it, Erik. Fix it the mistake of previous past. I don’t think. I don’t think of the insecurity of my bare face. Or the embarrassment I may cause her. Or the people in my past telling me I’m not good enough to be loved. I grab her by the wrist and pull her against me.  

My lips land on hers without any hesitation. My hands entangle into her dark blonde waves and land on her soft waist. I can feel her kiss back in the same passion and lust as I do her. Both our tongues intertwine, and our souls connects, and, in that moment, I know I mustn’t let her go. 

Except when we must come up for air, there is a moment of bliss and then she shoves me away with all her might. “You can’t do that, Erik! You can’t call me your Clementine, you can’t take me on dates, you can’t invite me in your home and you can’t kiss me like that if you don’t allow me to fall in love. You are playing with me. I am young, I know, but I won’t let you break my heart like this again.”  

Her words cut deep, except the it’s more truth than harsh words. “My Aurora-” I go to hold her again but she raises her hand. “No, you will take me back.” And so, I did, knowing I could not change her mind. And when she was safe, she forbade me from following her and I listened, not knowing if she would ever let me see her again.