#i dunno about those knee rips | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jiminiecrickets · 1 year ago

Text

jeon jungkook ♡ series masterlist

wc. 2.2k

tags. smut | dom top!m!reader, handjobs, praise, shower sex

"you agreed. you pinky-promised. was what you wrote really that bad?"

he shifts on the couch, tucking his feet up to his chin and hiding his face behind it. his face is a very, very dark shade of red. "it's awful. horrible. you'll break up with me if you read it."

"then why'd you write it down in the first place?"

"i don't know!" he whines. "i was feeling brave!"

you set down the controller. on the large flat-screen tv, your characters circle the mario kart track behind the scoreboard. waluigi, jungkook's character, throws a tantrum in his race-car. "give me the paper."

"you'll hate me."

fourth place. fourth place. he can't believe himself. your name is highlighted at the top, neatly settled in first place. he'd been so comfortable, in the lead for the entirety of the match, and his big ego decided that an 'all or nothing' pity round would come out in his favour.

as quick as lighting, you snatch the crumpled ball of paper and unfold it, slapping jungkook's panicked hands away. your brows furrow deeper the longer you look at it.

"you're right. you were feeling brave."

jungkook slumps against your shoulder, his face pinched in embarrassment. "please don't think badly of me because of it, hyung..."

lowering the torn corner of paper, you ask softly, "would you like to do this with me, kookie? i'm interested."

his head shoots up. "what? are you serious?"

"no, i'm batman." he rolls his eyes with a huff and you grin, eyes crinkling as you pull him into your side. "yes, i'm being serious. thank you for telling me – i would never have expected something like this out of my cute little boyfriend."

if possible, his pout intensifies. he crosses his arms over his knees, staring determinedly ahead at the game. "'m not little."

you hush him, tilting his face towards you and pressing a long kiss to those pretty pink lips. he hums breathily, leaning into you with a hand on your chest. he whines quietly when you finally pull away for air, his chest heaving as he blinks at you with wide, dark eyes.

"seven days," he whispers, leaning in and throwing his leg over your lap, caging your thighs with his own. he rocks his hips slowly, savouring your low groan of pleasure. "seven days to fuck me whenever and wherever you want. that's your prize, baby – don't waste it."

eyeing his body hungrily, you grin like a beast unchained. you cradle his tiny waist, and playfully, you lift your hand against it, comparing sizes. "oh, darling, i'm not letting a single inch of you go unloved."

he nibbles on his lower lip as you tug his shirt out of the waistband of his ripped jeans. he's due for his gym session tomorrow – goes every two or three days, whatever he can fit into his schedule – and he'd made lunch for the two of you just a few hours ago. his skin is warm, his tummy soft, and it tenses with a gasp under your palms as they glide across his skin.

"mh... sorry, baby," he whispers, lashes fluttering as he blushes a dusty pink. "i should've done this on gym day..."

"hm? why?" you rock his ass against your lap with a soft exhale. you arch a brow at him. "do you think you're only attractive to me when you're hungry and dehydrated? idiot."

"hey," he whines, a protesting pout adorning his lips. he touches your hand on his stomach, fingers wrapping around yours. "'m not an idiot! just... i dunno... i wanna be handsome for you, hyung, y'know?"

you give him a look. "did i ask you out, or your abs?"

"well, me..."

"i asked you out after we finished three large pizzas at two in the morning. i think we ate about a kilo of cheese each."

he snorts. "yeah, yeah... i guess."

"uh-huh." you squeeze his hips and bring him down to kiss him, lips moving gently together. you part and bury your nose in his neck, lazily moving your hips against one another. he moans softly as you roll your palm against his bulge. "baby, you're always beautiful to me. on gym day or not – i would worship you for hours if you'd let me."

he giggles softly. "that's why i don't. you gotta be more productive than being buried between my thighs from dawn to dusk." he slips your belt free and tosses it – you barely felt him doing it, too busy engraving the sight of his sweet eyes and smile into the backs of your eyelids. "but, you know, a whole week to do whatever you want to me..."

you groan lowly at the suggestion, hastily pulling him out of his pants. you don't do it with half the grace that he does, but he seems to appreciate your enthusiasm, his cock already hard and twitching with anticipation. "mm, that does sound amazing. okay, ground rules: no touching yourself at any point. only i can get you off."

"fuck, o-okay, hyung. agreed."

you pump his cock slowly, capturing his lips hungrily. he drawls out a moan, his fingers drifting up your wrist. his other hand cradles the back of your head and he presses your foreheads together, his breath warm and quick against your cheek.

you flick your wrist and he whimpers softly, grip tightening around the base of your hand. his cock leaks as he bucks into your hand. you hush him, grazing your lips along his jawline. your hand quickens. "how does that feel, baby? good?"

"mm – mmhm," he whimpers. "it does, it does! feels really good..."

you spoil him too much. ever since you got together, he hasn't needed to touch himself – you're always right there, offering to do it for him. he's glad that you do – you can reach places so deep in him that he never knew existed, and you're always so gentle with him, making sure his pleasure is a priority.

he's dated a lot of people, but you're the first one who makes him feel so loved and important. it's almost embarrassing how much he loves you, how much he adores the way you pamper him.

he sniffles softly, burying his face in your shoulder. he grinds into your fist, cock dripping precome down your knuckles.

you hum softly, wrapping an arm around his waist. "you okay, darling? this too much?"

he shakes his head. "n-no... keep going. please. i love you."

it's sudden, and you stop moving for a half-second in surprise. "i love you, too, jungkookie. is everything alright?"

he nods, grabbing your hand and moving it up and down his swollen cock. it's cute and flushed red, twitching in your palm excitedly. "mhm. i just really love you – want you to know that."

who knew that love confessions mid-handjob could be so adorable? you smile into his hot skin and cradle him close as he gasps and jerks into your hand, spilling onto your shirt with a soft whimper.

for a long while, he remains completely lax in your arms, panting softly against your neck as he comes down from his high. when he opens his eyes tiredly, you smile down at him and kiss his cheek, tucking him back into his pants.

he whines quietly, reaching for your belt. "you didn't finish, baby... i can feel how hard you are."

you hum softly, tugging his hand away. "you need a shower, anyway. can i join you?"

his lower lip slips teasingly between his teeth. his eyes sparkle. "mm, of course. you're not getting away so easily, hyung-ah – i'm gonna eat you alive."

you smirk, letting him drag you to your feet and towards the bathroom. his eyes glint with mischief and he pulls you down by your collar to meet your lips with his, one of his hands tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. his thumb is hooked through a belt loop.

you groan into his mouth as he strokes your clothed bulge with a cheeky grin. "baby, don't test me. i'm the one with the week-long free pass to your ass."

he winks. "why d'you think i'm doing this? last one into the shower loses!"

he wins. with the steamy water hitting your back, you cage jungkook against the glass, your arms sturdy beside him. you keep him safe, protected, from the world. not once does he feel trapped – not once does he feel confined in your love. no matter how closely you press against him, no matter how deep you are inside of him – you are his, and he is yours.

there's a certain freedom in being engulfed by your arms. he never expected it. spreading his thighs, kissing his shoulder – you love him like no other has. you love him in all the ways that matter and all the ways that don't because you're overflowing with it, that love of yours. even when you're balls deep inside him – an exciting, dirty kind of love that he blushes about in the mornings – you're smiling into his neck, murmuring about how lovely he is and how he deserves you, deserves your cock, deserves your love and deserves all that is good and bright. it's your turn to lavish him with love confessions and he can barely keep track of them all, his coherent thoughts running down the drain with each solid thrust of your hips.

"hyung," he whimpers, gnawing on his lower lip. he squeezes his eyes shut, fingers scrabbling for purchase fruitlessly against the smooth glass. your cock glides against his prostate and he grabs your hip, pulling you into him with a warbled moan. "f-fuck..."

"what's that, baby?" you murmur against his skin, hot and slick. your thrusts make him unravel, strong and hard and consistent against that spot inside him that makes him see stars. it's mind-melting. "you wanna tell me something?"

he whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as your hips shift against his ass, angling differently. your cock just grazes his prostate and he clenches around you, a warbled cry of your name leaving his lips. he feels so tiny – his feet between yours, your cock buried so deep in him he can practically taste it. he arches his back, tight ass pressing back against your pelvis, and savours your growl and the way your hand grips the opposite side of his waist, gripping the slim shelf of his hip.

"gotta use your words, pretty thing," you husk. with every thrust, it takes longer to bottom out, and eventually your hips still entirely. he whines, high-pitched and wanton, and grinds against you – you keep him at bay with one hand pressed firm to the small of his back. "easy, pretty. can you do that f'me? can you talk to me, tell me what you want from me?"

you step forward, forcing jungkook to stand straighter, pressed closer to the glass. trapped in your arms, he has no room to move, no room to argue. he shivers, chest grazing glass, and can't help the unsteady shuffle of his feet. the hot, steamy water hits your back and glides down your neck, your chest, dripping onto his shoulders.

lifting a hand, you tuck it against his upper ribs, fingers pressed into the lean muscle of his chest. the flesh – pull and push, stroking and caressing. he lets out a whisper of a moan as your warm fingers flick over his nipple, hard and pebbled.

"want you," he whines quietly, voice cracking in the middle when your hand travels down his hot, slick stomach and glides over his throbbing cock. he grabs your hip, fingers digging into you until his knuckles turn white. "w-want you – want you close to me, closer, please, want you closer—"

he breaks off with a babble as you take his hands and pin them flat to the glass. the motion draws you ever nearer – closer, as he'd say, the sweet thing – and your cock reaches so deep inside him, pressing against his stomach. he's dizzy with it, veins buzzing and head detached from his shoulders.

eventually, he hears your chuckle, like a radio knob turned slowly louder. his heart rabbits in his chest as he cracks open his eyes, temple pressed against the cold clear glass. his breath fogs it, and water trails down his cheeks from his damp hair, stuck to his skin the way it always does when you tear him apart and put him back together. his cock is wet and sticky, the heat tingling in his lower spine with a pulsing desperation.

it's all over his tummy, he thinks distantly with a soft whimper. he'd be embarrassed if he could remember the word.

when you finally finish, jungkook's legs feel like jelly. he curls his fingers around yours, lacing them together as he pants against the foggy glass, his hair damp and the air thick with the smell of sex. you kiss him over his shoulder and he moans against your lips, soft and tired. he smiles and closes his eyes as you reach for the shampoo – he leans back against your chest as you smooth your hand down his stomach, gentle and warm. he can feel your pulse through your palms and your heart through his ribs.

"i love you," he whispers against your throat. he means it in every iteration it has ever been.

#top male reader #x male reader #male reader #dom male reader #bts x male reader #dom reader #top reader #bottom bts #bottom jungkook #jungkook x male reader #kpop x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut

601 notes · View notes

vodika-vibes · 9 months ago

Note

I saw that you asked for crosshair requests, and I had an idea I figured I'd run by you in case it gave you any inspiration. I was thinking about a kind of friends to loves situation with crosshair and his casual flirting suggesting a friends with benefits situation, but the reader says no despite clearly being attracted to him, and when pressed confesses to being afraid of falling in love with him if they hook up. idk if that's smth you want to write, just hope you focus on stuff you want to do and don't burn yourself out :)

We Could Be More

Summary: Summary: You and Crosshair are friends, only the emotions are a little…more. You’re not really surprised when Crosshair comes to you with a proposition. Friends with benefits would make sense, it’s not as if the Empire will allow you more. You’re both surprised when you turn him down.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1577

Warnings: Discussions of a friends with benefits type situation, some adult discussion, Crosshair demands an explanation when the Reader says no, discussion of the lack of clone rights

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is close to the idea that you had. I had fun writing it, and I'm so glad that people are feeding my sudden, and surprising, crosshair obsession. RIP me.

You enjoy your job.

You’d enjoy it more if you had your own workshop, or even a workspace that wasn’t a small, unused, section of the ship.

Hell, at this point, you’d be happy with having a chair and a desk so you don’t have to sit on the floor while repairing the mouse droids. You’d also accept a cushion, or a thick blanket.

But no.

You have to sit on the floor with little mouse droids zipping around you while you make sure they work properly.

Still, you like working with droids. They’re easy. Easier than your co-workers.

Well, easier than most of your co-workers.

You flip the mouse droid back on its wheels, and it zooms around you, chattering happily. “Alright, you’re all set,” You say to the droid, “Watch out for more Admirals.”

The little droid chatters and then zooms out the tunnel that leads to your…hallway(?) and you sigh and stretch your arms over your head. Maybe if you send a very polite email to your supervisor you can get a desk…or at least a proper cushion.

“You know,” You yelp at the voice coming from the doorway, “I think you like those droids more than anyone else on this ship, kitten.”

“Don’t do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack,” You say as you press your hand over your pounding heart. And then you drop your hand and glance up at the much taller man, “I thought you were on a mission, Cross?”

“I was, and now I’m not. Funny how that happens.”

“Ooh, you think you're funny, don’t you?” You say with an amused grin on your lips.

“Funnier than most of the people on this ship, yeah.” Crosshair leans against the wall and slides down so he’s sitting next to you, his knees raised and his arms draped over his knees, “Busy morning?”

“Isn’t it always?” You ask with a sigh, “One of the mouse droids was in the way when a member of the Imperial Guard came though, and nearly crushed him to pieces.” You gesture to the side, “It’s over there, somewhere.”

“Bad luck.”

“Tell me about it.” You say with a sigh, “It’s going to take me days to rebuild it.”

“Hm.” Crosshair hums noncommittally. “What’s the Imperial Guard doing here?”

“Hell if I know. You think anyone tells me anything?” You ask with a grin.

“Nah, but I know the mouse droids pick up audio.” Crosshair replies.

“Crosshair, are you implying that I’m spying on my coworkers, because that would be very, very wrong of me.”

“Uh-huh.”

You keep his gaze for a moment, before a grin cracks your face, “Okay, apparently the Emperor’s ship needed repairs, some kind of space debris.” You shrug, “I dunno, I don’t work on ships, I work on droids.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they could fit a ship in your hallway.”

“Excuse you, this is my office, sir.”

“And you can’t even afford a chair, or a desk. Shame.”

You laugh and bump him with your shoulder, “Rude, maybe I like sitting on the floor.”

“Do you?”

“No. I think my butt is numb.”

Crosshair’s eyes glitter with mischief, “Want me to massage it for you?”

“I don’t think you’ve earned butt touching privileges.” You counter with a sniff.

“Shame. You have a really nice one. Very round and squeezable.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a massage. It sounds like you just want to grope me.”

He shrugs, “Same thing.”

“Very different.” You correct him with a laugh.

“Not the way I do it.”

“Oh? You have a lot of practice then?”

“Well, I might be a little out of practice. I haven’t had the chance to practice my skills since the Republic fell.” Crosshair admits.

“Aww, poor thing. How ever will you survive?” You tease him lightly as a new mouse droid limps in and you grab it and flip it immediately.

“I have a pretty good idea,” Crosshair counters as he leans back against the wall, his gaze locked on you.

You hum thoughtfully as you examine the wheels.

You and Crosshair are friends, because that’s all the Empire will allow. It’s illegal for Crosshair to have relations with people. And actual relationships are out of the question. Which is a shame, you’d be interested in seeing where this, whatever it might be, could go if given the chance.

You pull a piece of metal out from the wheel well, and then set the droid back on its wheels, and it scurries away. “Sorry, you were saying?”

Crosshair stares at you, a small smirk on his lips. “I have a…proposition, of sorts, kitten.”

You arch a single brow, “Go ahead.”

His smirk grows, “When was the last time you got laid?”

Your face burns, “I’m not answering that.”

“Come on, kitten, it’s me.”

You fold your arms, “If you tease me even once-”

“I would never.”

“Yes, you will.” You grumble. Crosshair flashes, what he probably thinks is, an angelic look, and you huff and avert your eyes. “...fine, I’ve never actually-”

A broad grin crosses his face, “Kitten, are you a virgin?”

You scowl at him, “You heard me.”

He looks absolutely delighted, and you consider kicking him in the shin for half a minute. “That makes my proposition even better.”

“If you’re about to tease me-”

“How do you feel about a friends with benefits type situation?” Crosshair interrupts you.

Your words die on your tongue, and you blink at him, “...what.”

“You heard me.”

“I did, I’m just trying to process.” You admit, you hold up a finger, “I just told you that I’m a virgin, and you want a friends with benefits situationship. With me.”

“Did I stutter?”

“Just making sure I heard you correctly.”

“You did.”

You frown at him, rolling the idea around in your mind.

It’s not that you don’t want. Because you do. More than you’re ever going to put into words. Crosshair is so handsome and while he’s not kind, he is good. Good in a way that he doesn’t seem to see in himself.

You could love him, if you gave yourself the chance.

And you can’t risk that. You can’t risk him.

So, hating yourself a little, you focus your attention on him, “I’m flattered, Cross.” You say slowly, “But I think that’s a terrible idea.”

“Why?” His eyes narrow at you, “Because I’m a clone.”

“Of course not. That’s never been important to me.”

“Then what? You’re not attracted enough? I’m not nice enough?”

“Cross-”

“You didn’t flat-out refuse, you said it’s a terrible idea. Why is it a terrible idea?” Crosshair demands.

“Because.”

“Because isn’t an answer.”

“Because I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with you, and you’ll get hurt.” You say honestly.

Crosshair pauses, “...You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”

“I’m not dumb, Crosshair. I know it’s illegal for you to have sex with anyone. And it’s even more illegal for you to enter a relationship with someone. And the Empire isn’t the Republic, they will kill you before they’ll punish me.”

He leans back, his gaze calculating, “What if I said that I didn’t care?”

You frown at him, “I care, that’s enough for me.”

He leans in so that his face is only a few inches away from your own, “What if the Empire wasn’t a concern?”

You lean in as well, so that you're even closer, “You can’t bring down the Empire, Crosshair, you’re one man.”

“I could try, if you wanted me to.”

Your gaze softens, “As strong and broad as your shoulders are, that weight would still crush you, Cross.”

He searches your face for a moment, “What if we defected?”

“Please tell me you don’t want to defect simply so you can get laid?”

“I’m not dumb, it’s only a matter of time before they decommission me.” Crosshair says, “The Clones are expendable.”

Your hands curl into fists, your nails digging into the palms of your hands, “Cross-”

“So what do you say? If we defect, would you be willing to consider a friends with benefits relationship?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Hey, if I’m about to risk my life by running away from the largest government entity in the galaxy, I’d like to know if there are some perks on the other side.”

“Oh my god,” You push your hands through your hair, “Okay, fine. Yes. If we defected, and I knew you weren’t going to get yourself killed simply because you wanted to get your dick wet, then yes, I would agree to a friends with benefits relationship.”

He leans back, “Deal. We leave tonight.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Is it a good plan?”

Crosshair just smirks, “How many mouse droids can you call back right now?”

“...all of them, why?”

“Call them back, we’re going to rig them to blow up.”

Your jaw drops, “My babies-”

He rolls his eyes, “You have a better suggestion?”

“...no…”

“Great. Then get started. I’m going to come and get you tonight. We’re going to escape on one of the smaller ships.” Crosshair says.

“And go where?”

“Pabu.”

“I have questions.”

“My batch mates live there.”

“...I have even more questions.”

“They can wait.” Crosshair leans over to you and lightly kisses your temple, “You have work to do, kitten. I’ll see you tonight.”

And then Crosshair is gone, and you’re left feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.

#star wars #tbb #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #18+ fic #answered asks

145 notes · View notes

keeksandgigz · 1 year ago

Text

roll for initiative (part two of lessons in alchemy)

barista!eddie munson x fem!barista!reader AU

summary: You venture into your new position at Eddie's cafe, but you seem to be having a hard time. Eddie gives you hell for refusing to be trained. The confrontation comes to a head after you say something you shouldn't have. A heated game of DnD leaves you wondering about the purpose of this place. Things heat up after you and Eddie close the store alone.

cw: 6.8k words, swearing, modern setting, Eddie and reader being mean to each other, shitty description of a DnD game, teeny bit of angst (sorry), horny sexual tension, smut, spanking, choking, not quite piv yet, fingering, denial this is 18+ minors dni!!

a/n: Surprise! One day early because I'm an impatient little shit. i dunno how to play DnD i'm going off whatever my boyfriend tells me. also kill em all IS the best metallica album, argue with the wall. Debated on making it a two- parter but i wanted to get to the smut <3 pls like and reblog! feedback always appreciated and my ask box is always open if u wanna talk!!!

baby taglist: @corrodedcoffincumslut, @sleepy-bunnie,, @crybabyddl (let me know if you want to be added!)

Eddie's right.

You're indeed crashing and burning as you make those stupidly named lattes, but the rest of the crew is nice enough to help you along the way. Virginia really is coming into her own, quickly mastering every drink that is thrown her way.

Yet you can't shake off the feeling of Eddie stalking towards you, his hot breath on your face. How it didn’t scare you, rather, it excited you. You enjoy picking fights with him, ripping him apart and him doing the same to you. It's not healthy, but it helps with your anger.

“Those were three pumps of elderflower. I believe you need four for a large, sweetheart. Crashing and burning so soon?” he comes up behind you, startling you.

“Get the fuck off of me before I throw this scalding hot drink at you” not when you're working. You cannot take his taunts while working.

“Just checking up on you” he shrugs “maybe you might have changed your mind about me training you. I know these are not the dumb little detox drinks you do at your cafe. Which is really what makes the store much more interesting and attractive, doesn’t it?”

“Eddie I swear to God” it becomes more than taunts. He seriously wants to fuck with your brain.

“Jeff” he snaps his fingers towards the guy “I’m gonna go take my lunch, you’re in charge ‘til I’m back” his attention diverts away from you for a second, then back to you. “Could you be a dear and make me an extra hot flat white with almond milk? Add a couple pumps of Irish cream syrup in there. I’m expecting a white dot, after all if you’re so perfect you don’t need training that’s gonna be a walk in the park for ya, huh?” he leans against the counter and he’s so condescending it makes your knees tremble.

“Yeah, duh. I’ll spit in it for ya too. Sounds good?” you panic a bit. Flat whites are not your forte.

“I knew you’ve been spitting in my drinks, sweetheart. Kinda hot, to be honest. But that’s a violation, wouldn’t wanna get Jim involved, do we?” he raises his eyebrows at you, looking down at you, making you feel like a coffee bean on the ground. Kinda hot.

“I was just joking, dickhead”

“Hm. Better be. Another filthy word from you and I’m sending you home.” he whispers. “Alright, going on my lunch. Virginia, you’re off you can go home, Chrissy, take your last break in thirty minutes” and with that, he disappears to one of the tables, watching you make his drink.

That should be a form of cruel and unusual punishment. Just him staring at you, making sure you get his drink right. Pull two ristretto shots.

You aren't buzzing anymore, rather, your brain begins shutting off, drained by all the tension that has been building between you and Eddie. Two pumps of Irish cream. Maybe you actually aren't good enough to be here. Froth the almond milk. Maybe he's right, maybe you are meant to work in a mediocre cafe, making shitty drinks. Espresso first, then milk. You aren't good enough for this level of mastery.

Fuck. No white dot.

You tremble as you walk towards Eddie, sitting at his table, watching you bring him a cup of mediocre coffee.

“No white dot” he says, looking at you with displeasure.

“I’m sorry, I-”he interrupts you.

“You wanna get trained or are you gonna be a little know-it-all and then deliver me this?” he sips on his flat white.

“Ok, fine. Train me, whatever.”Embarrassment overtakes you, wanting a hole to form under your feet and engulf you.

He's right, he has been right all along. Tears begin to prick at your eyes.

“You okay there? Y’know I was joking, right? It doesn’t matter I just-” a spark of guilt lights itself in his throat, you look like you're about to cry.

“Can I take a second?” you say, the knot in your throat threatening to snap any second.

“Yeah, um go- go take your break” he breathes. Fuck, he's made you cry.

You run off towards the back, wanting to disappear. Everything that has happened within those past two days begin to wash over you.

Your cafe is gone, the project you had worked on with your dad before he got sick, gone for the next year. And he’d likely not see it reopen.

Eddie being an asshole, holding a grudge on you because you took his customers, making your life a living hell.

You sit in the back as you wipe some tears that fell from your eyes. Across the room, there's a door that you have not seen before, and it's ajar.

Curiosity gets the best of you, as you walk into a small, secluded room. It's full of beakers and jars of ingredients, really selling the whole alchemist thing. You look through the ingredients elderflower, rose, peppermint, honey, basil. Basil syrup sounds disgusting.

You turn towards the work bench, noticing a bottle full of clear liquid labeled lavender syrup. You open it and immediately smell the astringent flavor coming from the bottle. You pour some on your finger and take a taste. Ew.

He needs a better lavender syrup recipe.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” Eddie’s voice makes you drop the bottle to the floor, shattering and spilling the astringent liquid on the floor.

“Oh- shit sorry! I was just- i just got curious”

“You can’t just come in here and act like you own the place. Curious my ass, you were trying to steal” he accuses, and that hurts you.

“You know I won’t fucking do that, I take my work seriously. Also your lavender syrup tastes like ass, and basil syrup? That sounds foul” you wince, stepping over the broken glass, to make your way back to the front.

He grabs your arm and stops you. “Aren’t you gonna clean that up? Broom’s in the closet” he says, offering you a smug smile.

“Get the fuck away from me, asshole” you reply, jerking away from his grip.

“Alright that’s it” is all he says before he slams you against the wall.

He's close. He's so fucking close.

Your back slams against the brick, hitting a random canvas panel. You can feel his breath on your face, the smell of coffee and cologne inundating your senses.

“You have been a fucking pain in my ass since you opened your dumb little cafe. You’ve been rude, unruly, untidy and down right mean towards me, and I’m fucking over it” he seethes, he has you caged in between his tattooed arms and all you can think of is tracing every line of his tattoos with the tips of your fingers.

“It’s been four fucking hours, y’hear me? Four hours and I’m sick of you. Y’think you’re cute? You’re a fucking brat, sweetheart, and I don’t like dealing with brats like you.” Your stomach feels funny, like you're taking on a challenge rather than a scolding.

“Clean your shit up and go home, I don’t wanna see your fucking face today. Come back when you have gained some common sense in that empty fucking head” he lowers his arms, but you aren't done.

“Or what? You think you’re so scary, Eddie, with your stupid tattoos, your fucking stupid hair and your stupid satanic shirts. I don’t give a shit who you are, I’m employed to work here and you can’t fucking send me home because you don’t like me. I’ll fucking report you, freak”

Freak. His breath hitches at that, years of high school bullying getting under his skin again, making him swallow hard at the unwelcome memory of being slammed against a locker on Monday mornings before class. He stiffens up.

“Alright” he swallows “clean this up and get back to work, I don’t wanna see you right now” you notice that his demeanor has changed, you visibly hit a nerve. Guilt pools at your chest.

“But what about- about the training?” you ask, voice hitching.

“I’ll get Gareth to train you, Virginia should have gone home already. That way we’re both happy. Take tomorrow off, I’ll see you Tuesday” and with that he leaves.

He keeps himself buried in his office until the end of your shift. He can't bear to stand the sight of you, not after you had called him a freak. That stung more than whatever stupid insult you could have flung his way.

When you turn up on Tuesday, Eddie is nowhere to be found.

“He took the day off,” Steve says. And you feel real fucking bad. You're scheduled for a mid- shift from three to seven.

“Hey” Jeff says “we’re closing early today ‘cause we’re doing a DnD campaign after. Since Eddie’s not here, would you mind taking over for me so I can start setting up? We close at six-thirty, so after that you can, like, sweep, do dishes and then you can go home”

You aren't in the mood for a snide remark or a witty comment, so you just agree. “Is Eddie gonna be here tonight?” you ask. You’ve been trying to hound him to apologize for whatever happened the day before, it's clear he's avoiding you.

He was supposed to be on the schedule.

“Yeah uh” he replies “he’s our DM, so we kinda need him” he shrugs.

“DM?” you froth a cup of oatmilk, turning towards him while he's making his drinks.

“Yeah. Dungeon Master?” he gives you a Isn’t that obvious? expression and goes back to his iced hazelnut macchiato.

“Kinky” you retort, he laughs a bit.

At six-thirty you lock up the store and you confine yourself to the back for dishes. Keeping an ear out for Eddie’s voice, hoping he’d show up before 7.

Colette left with Steve to work on the Halloween menu and “I don’t fuck with that nerd stuff” said Steve, fixing his glasses after putting his coat on.

“…no Henderson you don’t get it “Kill ‘Em All” is definitely Metallica’s best album, are you shitting me? …No don’t come at me with that “Enter Sandman” bullshit you’re so basic for that, you fucking poser” your ears perk up at that. It's definitely Eddie.

You peek your head out of the back door to see him set up a big table, followed by a bunch of what look like high school students as they sit down, with their spiral notebooks and pens.

A bunch of small figurines scattered on the cardboard mat as Eddie sits at the head of the table, pulling out a leather bound folder covered in stickers and a cardboard screen.

They're serious about this.

You're too busy staring at the crowded table to notice Eddie running towards you.

"Daddy didn't teach you it's rude to stare?"

You press yourself against the green tile wall to let him pass, words caught in your throat as you follow him into his office.

"Apparently daddy didn't teach you that stalking is bad either. What is it? Need somethin'?" he spits out and you can feel the venom in his words.

"Yeah, I just" you clear your throat. Talking was hard. He cocks an eyebrow at you as he begins rummaging through his desk drawers.

"Well?"

"I just wanted to apologize for-"

"For being a bitch the other day? Took you long enough" he scoffs as he retrieves a small tin box containing what you assume are dice.

"Um- yeah. I guess that" you shrug and turn your feet to leave the door.

"I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. It's not a real apology otherwise, is it?" he has this ability to make you feel so incredibly small with only the power of his words. Like he's talking to a toddler.

"I don't think that's necessary, Eddie, I mean um- I have to get back to work" you protest.

"You can go back to work when you give me a full apology" he's ticking you off, gloating in his victory of you admitting defeat. The white banner you're waving slowly turning red.

"You're being a cunt, take the apology and go play your stupid nerd game" you snap, and you can see his lips curling in a wicked grin. Challenge accepted.

"All this talk of me kicking you to the curb for your filthy mouth really isn't sticking huh? Sorry sweetheart, can't accept an apology you don't mean" he shrugs, heading out of his office, you follow him suit.

"Eddie what the fuck?! Are you actually mental?" you want to strangle him, shove those dice so far down his throat he chokes and dies.

"I'd recommend you scrub those dishes really hard, I can still see the grime on the blenders. If you'll excuse me, I gotta lead my party through the rivers of Bagodan" he winks and then he walks over to his table, leaving you mortified.

You do a once- over with the dishes, while hearing Eddie's shrill voice screech and laugh every time one of his players miss. What's so fucking funny about a couple kids rolling dice?

"Looks like you've made it to the last river" he narrates in a solemn voice, deeper, hotter "Oh, but what is that? You hear shrieking from a distance. It's a sphynx. To cross the river you have to behead the sphynx and bring it to the king of Bagodan. Only then he will grant you access to the wings of Saurion the Elder, and you... will be... free" he says in a whispered tone.

"What do you do, my brave adventurers?"

"Shit" you hear one of the kids swear, he's tall with black hair. "We don't have enough hit points to kill the sphynx AND get through the king's palace guards"

"You’re astute dipshit, congrats!" says another, a girl, looking much younger than the rest.

"We would have had enough points if Dustin here, hadn't fucking sold his to the market for a stupid cloak" says Gareth, shoving the kid who you assume is Dustin

"it was aN INVISIBILITY CLOAK" Dustin yells. The room booms in laughter at the kid's tantrum.

It makes you think. About how you've never had a group of friends like that. Someone to share a common interest with. Sure, you have Colette, but you've moved to town just fairly recently, and you have lived and breathed work for the first two years. No friends to make when you're cooped up home buried in projects among projects. No friends to make when your dad is sick and you have to take him to the hospital on Saturdays for his treatment. You sigh a bit at that. Maybe your cafe exploding is the catalyst that is gonna bring you a new life, a new perspective.

Coming to a store that has unity as a top value really makes you reflect on how lonely your life has been so far.

"Alright children, let's take a break and you can talk strategy. Anyone want a drink?" He stands up from his chair and walks towards the bar. Startled, you go back to the sink and begin scrubbing.

"Y'know you can join us, right?" he leans against the green tile wall, looking at you.

"Join in on that nerd shit? No, thanks. My shift is over" you say putting the last blender on the drying rack and heading to the back.

He follows you "Okay, whatever. I just wanted to tell you it's gonna be me and you tomorrow. Chrissy said she can't make it. Something about midterms" and you roll your eyes.

"Fucking perfect. Tell me in what world does this shit always happen to me" you say exasperated, taking off your apron, which allows your shirt to rise just enough that it gives Eddie a peek of your tummy. Enough to make him gulp a little. Enough to distract him for ten seconds.

He shakes his head. "Listen, I'm not happy about it either, but let's keep it civil, okay? I do my thing, you do yours, we're outta here by 9 pm" he offers, leaning over the metal lockers.

You're not sure if it was the Dungeon Master demeanor he keeps on for the sake of his game or what, but he feels so tall. The thought of it makes you shiver. You put on your jacket.

"How you gettin' home?" he asks.

"Driving" you lie, your car broke down the day before, but you don't want him offering you a ride.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow for closing, then" he says, giving you a tight smile.

"Yeah, bye" you respond hastily, heading out towards the bus stop. Eddie keeps an eye on you through the store window the whole time.

Wednesday night at the "Mad Alchemist" is busier than you expected. Steve left for the evening, leaving you and Eddie to man the fort by yourselves.

Meaning you have to watch him flirt with every fucking customer. Young, old, boy, girl. His self assured demeanor is like a magnet to those coffee- hungry teens, the older women just blush and deliver him a meek "aw, stop it, Eddie" swatting the air and giggling.

Because you both have been so busy, it has not given you time to run your mouth and deliver him some snarky comment.

By 8pm, the store is closed. You have an hour to sweep, clean the counters, mop and do the dishes while Eddie counts the money at the register.

There is a tense quietness in the cafe. Almost as if you know that if one opened their mouths the world would explode. Or you’d start fucking, whichever one comes first. There is no noise aside from the register opening, the broom dragging across the floor and Eddie whistling.

After a day of talking, listening, screaming, shouting, the last thing you want to do is hear Eddie whistle. You let him do it, one minute, two minutes, five minutes in hopes he would get tired.

“Eddie, please” you whine.

“Helps me count money better,” he shrugs, beginning his atrocious whistling again.

You wait one, two, five minutes again. The noise of the sweep and the whistling and the money become too much for you, so in an exasperated rage, you kick the chair in front of you.

“Eddie shUT THE FUCK UP!”

The noise of the chair is the only sound in the building. Eddie stops counting, and stops whistling.

He's just staring at you. At the fallen chair. At the broom next to your feet. You find the floor to be really interesting.

“Pick it up.” Eddie’s voice is distant. A few seconds go by, and your eyes are still on the floor.

The sound of paper being put down and the stomping of heavy boots follow, until his boots arrive in your line of sight. You can't help but raise your head.

“What part of ‘pick it up’ does not register in that head? Hm? Do you kick chairs at home?”

Defeated, you shake your head.

“Do you call your daddy names?”

Another head shake.

“Do you spit in your daddy’s coffee in the morning?” his voice becomes a whisper, so, so close to your face. So close to your lips.

“I didn’t-” he cuts you off.

“I don’t appreciate liars, sweetheart. Did you spit in my drink?” he's cornering you, making you feel small.

You nod. “Only once, though” you defend yourself.

“Only once” he mocks, chuckling to himself “sixteen.” he mutters.

“Sixteen is the number of times, from the first time i stepped foot in your goddamn cafe, I’ve seen you spit in my fuckin’ drink” he seethes, no, growls.

“Now you’re fucking lying” you interject, finding a small crumb of courage within you.

“Don’t act cute, I’ve seen you. Pick the chair up” he says, his chin tilting towards the chair on the floor.

“I can’t pick it up if your stupid arm’s in the way, can I?” he grunts and moves his arm. You bend over and picked the chair up, breathing through your teeth. You're furious.

“Watch your attitude, here we don’t-”

You snap your neck around “You’re a fucking control freak, that’s what you are” you mutter. There's that word again. Freak.

“Don’t you fucking dare call me that word again” he's furious.

You turn around to face him. It's your turn to be close “Or what? You gonna spank me?” it's barely a whisper, looking at him through your lashes. A challenge.

He exhales, crossing his arms “You know what? That’s the best idea you’ve had since you’ve stepped foot in this place. Bend over the table” He whispers, and you freeze.

If there is a definition to fuck around and find out, you're it.

“Seems you might be a bit hard of hearing, sweetheart. I said bend over.” he says, more gently, yet keeping that domineering aura to him. He nudges your arm.

You quietly follow through.

“Now you’re following orders. Before I start I need to know you’re okay with this” he whispers, caressing your back in an almost soothing manner.

You nod.

He tuts “None of that shit. I’m not doing anything until I have your green light. With words”

“I-” words suddenly become hard. You swallow and breathe through your nose “I’m- I’m okay with this”

There is no denying you're extremely turned on, in addition to being revved up by your previous fight. It feels like wildfire spreading itself from every tip of your body, finding a home right between your legs.

“Alright, good. If you want me to stop we can stop at any time, just say ‘chainmail’” he says, looking around to check if the blinds had been lowered. He has a safeword. He knows what he's doing.

“O-okay” you say with all the power you can muster.

“You wanna act like a toddler, sweetheart? I’ll treat ya like a fuckin’ toddler” he says, before delivering the first smack right on the meat of your left butt cheek.

You’ve tried spanking before, with previous partners, but this is different. The smacks are calculated, like he knows where to hit. A yelp escapes you.

“Need ya to count” he says, caressing the area he just hit.

“‘Kay, fuck. One” you exhale, still feeling his handprint on your ass. The red hot sting from the impact leaving tiny pinpricks through the fabric of your jeans.

Smack. Two.

“How ‘bout this?” he stops, speaking to no one, really. “How ‘bout I give you one spank for every time you’ve spit in my coffee, hm?”

That makes you tremble a bit. Sixteen slaps.

“I dunno if I can, I mean I-”

“Then you know what to say if it gets too much, right? Say ‘Yes, Eddie, I do’” his voice makes your knees give out as his other hand, the one that isn't squeezing and groping your ass, makes its way into your hair and pulls.

“Ow- Fuck, Jesus Christ Eddie!” you yell, but the pull at your scalp makes you wish he’d drop the antics, pull your pants down and fuck you immediately.

“Not what I wanna hear, sweetheart. Try that again” He smacks your ass again, pulling his hand out of your hair to hold your back down from the waist.

“Three, fuck. Yes, Eddie, I-I do” you exhale and prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Good girl,” he says. Good girl. He could easily smack you in the face and that is would shock you less. Where the fuck did he learn all this shit?

By the time you’ve reached spank number ten you think you're ready to tap out. Tears welling in your eyes, making your vision go blurry. You're turned on, but Eddie’s heavy hand is becoming too painful.

He notices you trying to squirm away from him with every hit of his hand, all he says is “You know what to say, don’t you, sweetheart?”

But you let him keep going. Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen.

The last slap feels like the roughest, leaving in its wake the phantom of a heavy hand. His hand rubbing circles on your ass, almost like he doesn't feel ready to stop touching you.

You turn your head around, so you're able to see his face.

“Mmmm, so what now?” you ask, still hazy “Gonna take me home, Eddie? Finish the job?”it's like your brain has forgotten who you are talking to.

“C’mere” he says, sitting you down on the table, your ass rough and sore under the fabric of your pants.

You can feel the slick feeling between your legs through the seam of your black jeans, hoping he’d move you to keep going, take you home, his office, his van, anywhere.

His body settles between your legs as his hands run through the expanse of your stomach, your back. Your hands make their way to the buckle of his belt, trying to quickly undo his jeans. Eddie inhales as if to convince himself to stop you as he grabs your wrists and pushes them to your chest, his belt left unbuckled “Not tonight,” he murmurs.

You pout in protest.

“Aww, you’re pouting” he mocks, a dry laugh escapes his lips. It brings a twang of embarrassment "pouting 'cause I'm not letting you take my dick in your mouth, sweetheart?" he taunts.

“I‘m not pouting” you mutter, looking at the floor. His hands grab your chin, lifting your eyes to make you look up at him. He looks so tall standing over you like that, eyes still glossed over, pupils blown from the spanking he’s just given you.

“You look at me when I speak to you, yeah?” Oh fuck. You know better this time.

“Yeah” you croak out, nodding your head in case he doesn't get the message.

“Yeah? You liked getting spanked? Being put in your place?” his demeanor never fails in making you feel impossibly small.

The hand that holds your chin travels down your neck and you lean into his touch, in the way his hand wraps itself around your throat, warm and rough. Who are you to say he isn't gonna strangle you and kill you?

But the feeling of his hand around the column of your neck, covering its whole surface area feels too intoxicating, like you want him to make you stop thinking. Your breath hitches.

“You’re lucky I didn’t have my rings on. With the way you’ve been running your mouth you would’ve more than deserved it” his grip on your neck going from resting to actually applying pressure to the sides of your throat. You gasp.

He just watches you, eyes glossy and desperate while you try to press your thighs together to relieve some pressure. Poor thing. He almost feels bad for you. The way he sees you keen into his touch, labored breath, watching your chest rise and fall slowly.

“We can’t do this here, Eddie. The health violations” you say, barely a whisper, mustering whatever breath and thought you can. Your brain feels foggy and fuzzy with the slight pressure of air being constricted. He chuckles.

“Didn’t you go to UCLA or something? Aren’t you supposed to be really smart?” his tone is mocking, you swallow at the embarrassment, hand letting up on your throat to grab your hand. He isn't here to be soft with you. He is here to make a point.

“Me choking you got you actin’ all dumb already?’M impressed. C’mon get off the table, we can’t be here” he says, making you stand up.

“Where- where are we going?” you feel winded, and you haven't even done anything. He leads you through the cafe, the bar, the back of house, where the drying dishes sit abandoned on the rack. Right at the threshold to his back office, the cold green tile arch pressing against your back.

“I don’t know, but I really wanna kiss you right now.” and you feel like your breath has just gotten knocked out of you. He wants to kiss you?

"You wanna- huh?" he slams you against the wall, just t prove a point "Shut the fuck up" he says as he puts his lips on yours. Famished, animalistic.

There is no room for gentleness. No room for sweet caresses and soft praises. His hands groping and feeling your hips, grinding into him. The friction against his tattered jeans make a whine escape you. Too much and not enough.

His teeth clash with yours as you both open your mouths, the way he tastes made you dizzy. His mint gum and cigarettes inundate your senses as you pull at the hair tie that is keeping Eddie's unruly hair in place.

Reaching under the mane of hair, you pull at his nape, where his curls are smaller, more defined. He groans.

His nose skims your jaw and licks at the hinge between the bone and your neck, making you yelp. A small oh escapes you when his hands work to untuck your shirt out of your jeans, his cold hands sneaking past the barrier of clothing to touch at the skin of your stomach, the sides of your breasts.

His mouth is warm against your neck, tracing every ridge, every line, every mole, 'til he reaches the juncture between your neck and your shoulder and he bites.

"Eddie, you fucking freak don't bite me" you hiss, head thrown back as he lifts your shirt up, leaving it completely abandoned on the floor.

He moves you off the wall and into his office, mouth not stopping his assault on your neck, stumbling towards his cluttered desk. With one move, a space big enough for you to sit is created. His shirt comes off in the process. His pale chest, skinny, but toned and littered with tattoos, is the only thing you are able to pay attention to.

"I hear that fucking word come outta your mouth again I'll-" he begins.

"You what? More spanking? Consider me terrified" you interrupt, all an evil plan to egg him on. Blinking your eyes up at him. He is seething.

"God, do you ever shut up?" he asks, a groan leaving his lips continuing to kiss you, teeth and tongue and spit, his hands coming out from under your shirt to grab your chin.

You look up at him, hair wild and unruly, eyes blown out, a wicked glint in his eye, almost like he's plotting something.

“Open your mouth” he says, and you looked at him, a puzzled look on your face. He squeezes your cheeks in response, forcing your mouth open. “You fucking brat” he mutters.

You keep your mouth open, expecting his finger, something. Instead, a glob of spit makes its way onto your tongue. He spit in your mouth. You throb.

“Eddie what the fuck-” you begin, but he interrupts you.

“You didn’t seem to mind spitting in my coffee, did you? Consider this a payback. Swallow it.” he smirks against your lips, lightly tapping his fingers on your cheek, not quite a slap. You obey immediately for the first time that night.

His hand travels down to the seam of your jeans, your breath becoming more labored with all the building tension from the night.

“Eddie…please” you whine, arching into his hand, not wanting to pull back anymore. You want release, brain hazy with the feeling of being under him, the way his rough hands are touching you, exploring you, grabbing and groping at the curves of your body as you arch into him.

His hand begins moving back and forth, the heel of his palm making direct contact with the seam of your pants, forcing a strangled whine out of you.

You grind your hips in sync with his hand, as the other sits on your cheek, cupping it, moaning in his mouth at the small amount of friction he's giving you. “Can I take your pants off?” he asks, soft against your mouth. You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

He quickly makes work of taking your shoes and jeans off, pooled at his feet while his hands caress and grope their way up your thighs.

“You’re cute when you’re not being a cunt, you know that?” he whispers against your mouth, hand ghosting over your panties, practically feeling the heat radiating off of you.

“Fuck you, Eddie,” you say through gritted teeth, motioning to hit him in the chest. He stops you, grabbing your wrists with his hands.

“I suggest keeping that filthy mouth at bay if you really want me to do something about that big, wet patch on your panties, hm?” he whispers, licking your bottom lip, his hand still keeping an iron grip on your wrists.

“How ‘bout you stop being a cunt and fuck me?” you’ve had enough of his teasing and taunting.

“Who said anything about fucking?” he chuckles, his hand moving down to grope at your ass. “No, see, that would be improper, don’t you think? Fucking your boss in his office. You kinky bitch” he delivers a sharp smack down to your ass, reviving the dull sting from the spanking earlier.

“You’re not my fucking boss, Eddie. Stop talking and- ohmygod”

His other hand begins massaging over the crotch of your panties, making direct contact with your clit over the fabric. “Made you this wet from spanking you? Think you might have actually been the freak this whole time, sweetheart.” He hooks his fingers on the sides of your panties “Lift.” He taps your thigh, you immediately lift your hips to let him take your panties off.

He laughs when he sees the mess that he’s made of your pussy.

“Fuck stop- stop laughing” you whisper out while his hands begin to spread your legs further.

“I think you secretly love me laughing at you. You think you’re so tough, bein’ all mean, callin’ me a freak like it doesn’t turn you on just imagining how much of a fucking freak I really am, huh sweetheart?” he skims your jaw with his nose, his words making you shiver as you clench around nothing.

His free hand sneaking its way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you squeak.

Your hips lift off the desk, looking to find some kind of stimulation aside from Eddie’s cruel teasing touches.

He looks at you through his dark lashes “What is it, baby?” baby. baby. baby. The nickname makes your head spin.

“Eddie, I- fuck- please! I need-” your hips arch off the wooden surface as you feel his fingers prod your entrance.

“You need my fingers? Can you ask me nicely?” you want to kill him. He's reveling in the torture that he's putting you through.

“I f-ucking ah hate you” but you aren't really sure if you believe that yourself.

“You hate me sweetheart? I’m hurt. You won’t mind then if I just leave you here, do you?” he caresses over your inner thigh, the tips of his fingers coated in slick, clear arousal.

“No!” your hips lift once again “your fingers…please” His smile is pleased as one of his fingers enter you.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good girl.” He's making your head spin, a choked noise leaves your lips as he pumps his finger in and out, finally getting the stimulation you need.

“More” you whisper, his other hand still on your throat.

“So greedy. Y’gonna thank me? Say ‘thank you, Eddie’”

At that point you can't even think about acting up. “F-fuck. Thank- thank you Eddie” and with that, he adds another finger.

God, you already feel so full and teetering the edge.

“Good girl. Now that I think about it, I believe you owe me an apology” he begins, his fingers working mercilessly inside you, while a string of breathy ah ah ahs are all the sounds you could muster.

“You were so mean to me the other day, I didn’t appreciate your tone while you were trying to apologize” he taunts, his fingers prodding deeper inside you. A small yelp escapes you.

“You were- you were ah” his fingers curl on your g-spot and your vision goes white.

“What was that? I was what, baby?” he begins to thumb at your clit, smiling like a maniac at the state he's reducing you in.

“Oh yes there” no idea how you're gonna finish your sentence.

“Feels good huh? Needa finish what you were saying, sweetheart, can’t have you going stupid on me just yet” his hand on your throat moves up to your cheek, delivering a couple light smacks to your face. You clench.

“Fuck, uh, you we-were being a oh god cunt” you say, mustering all the mental strength you can.

“Is that right? Funny how my fingers are in yours right now and you don’t seem to complain.” He laughs to himself, his thumb speeding up its assault on your clit.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I just need you to say ‘Sorry Eddie, I won’t be a bitch to you again.’ Can you say that or is your brain too fucking far gone to understand a single word i’m saying?” he teases, which briefly brings you back from the ecstasy of Eddie’s fingers working wonders on you.

“Fuck you, Eddie” you hiss through your teeth, immediately regretting it at the feeling of the coil in your belly beginning to tighten.

“Oh. It’s like that then. Alright” he simply says as he picks up his pace. Head thrown back as you revel in the feeling of nearing the edge of your release.

“Oh shit, get-getting close” you breathe.

“Apologize and I’ll let you cum” he smiles, a wicked show of bared teeth that only makes you both want to punch him and fuck him.

“Fuck n- Oh God- ‘m not apologizing for- for shit” you arch your back, trying to make yourself cum before he changes his mind.

“Fucking apologize” he insists.

“Fuck you” you say, followed by the unwelcome feeling of emptiness as he takes his fingers out. You really thought he was bluffing.

An empty ache grows in your stomach, feeling unfulfilled and disappointed. You sit there in disbelief, as he cleans his fingers off with a tissue.

“Pity” he shrugs “Get dressed, I’m taking you home” he turns around, heading towards the front.

You throw the box of kleenex at his head. You miss.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you jump off his desk, ignoring the dull throb between your legs as you put your panties and jeans back on, following the trail of your clothes he left in his wake.

“Could’ve said sorry” he just says, closing up the register, while you put on your shirt and shoes “C’mon my van is around the back” he offers, grabbing his keys.

“I’m not fucking getting in your car. I can drive” you protest.

“Yeah, uh huh, you and what car, you fucking liar? Saw you at the bus stop the other day, and your car isn’t in the parking lot. You either let me drive or you can sleep in here tonight.”

You let him drive you home. The sound of Judas Priest blaring through the speaker only makes the stubborn silence between you two louder.

The ten minute drive to your house feels like an hour, as you itch to get off the dingy van and take care of what he left unfinished.

He finally parks up in front of your house, you quickly book it towards your door as he shouts “You’re welcome sweetheart” before you fumble with the keys and enter inside. He stays there until you do.

Your dad was asleep already, so you crack his bedroom door to check up on him. You sigh. Everything seems to be alright.

Once all the lights are off, you run towards your room. Still in disbelief of what happened with Eddie, you strip off your coffee- smelling clothes, wincing at the thought of Eddie’s hands sneaking under your shirt, his fingers hooking on the sides of your panties.

The feeling of hatred and arousal battling each other off while you recall his stupid smiling face as he removed his fingers from inside you. The dull empty ache as you came down from the euphoria of his touch and words.

That night, you kick yourself for not saying sorry to him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fluff #stranger things fan fiction #eddie munson au #barista!eddie munson

198 notes · View notes

nisuna · 1 year ago

Note

ok but what about choso x yuji x reader??

I'm on the floor salivating rip me🪦🤤🤤🥵 I LOVE IT (and you for making me think of one of the best scenarios ever😈😫❤) Gaaahhh♡

Thank you for your take!!<3

<3masterlist<3

~short drabble~

TW: double penetration, vaginal and anal sex, Choso has a big brother kink you can't convince me otherwise, makes you call him Nii-chan, Choso-nii, nii-san even tho you're not related, yuji and him are brothers tho!, nipple play, reader has a big ol dump truck, consensual groping, name calling, hair pulling, lube and anal fingering, tit sucking, spit, boob guy in the front ass guy in the back 😋

So here's the thing: Yuji and you knew each other since you were little, you even called Choso big brother due to that. And you couldn't lie that you had a bit of a crush on Choso, because he was a few years older than you two, typical stuff you know. But here it comes, as time went on and Yuji got older you noticed him getting manlier and more handsome?? And you definitely did notice when he started to get bigger. I'm talkin big arms, buff chest, toned abs. He could throw you around with ease if he wanted to and you began to notice his physical superiority over you. Not gonna lie it made you weak in the knees.

However, you were now in a moral dilemma, as you were crushing on two different guys at the same time and it was definitely about time, that you sorted those feelings out. What you didn't notice tho, was that they also paid attention to you when your breasts swelled and hips widened. The way they wanted to touch your soft squishy thighs and plump ass.

Choso was a boob guy and Yuji loved ass, so when you blurted out one night that you want to fuck both of them to see who you liked better, they knew exactly which position to try.

"Will you be okay?"

"Don't worry, I can take you both."

"In a fight, right?"

"Definitely not."

Choso was on his back with you straddling him and Yuji was perfectly slotted in from behind. As Choso was busying himself with your tits, Yuji prepped you pouring a generous blob of lube on his fingers and circling your asshole gently, not pushing in yet.

"It's a bit cold and it might feel a little weird at first, but I promise I'll make you feel good."

"Mmhh.. 's fine how bad could it possibly be ah-", you yelped as Choso put one of your hardened nipples in his mouth twisting the other one with his fingers. "I'll try to distract her."

"Alright, relax for me.", with that he slowly inserted his finger in your ass. He definitely didn't lie about it feeling weird and it stung a bit. "You still with me?"

"Mhm", you tried to hide your discomfort, which only made you clamp down on his finger harder.

"Want to take a break?", he asked while slipping his finger out, rubbing your ass in comforting circles.

"Noo 's fine I can take it. Give me more."

"Okay, I got you. You good down there Nii-san?"

Choso reluctantly pulled his face out of your tits sucking in a deep breath. "Never better", he stated going right back in to groping and sucking. The chill atmosphere helped you relax a bit as you arched your back to spread your ass for better access.

After Yuji deemed you stretched enough he poured some of the lube onto his dick stroking it. "You ready?", he questioned and as soon as you gave them the okay they sank their cocks into your ass and pussy respectively. During, you all let out embarassing moans making you giggle.

"Now please fuck me stupid."

"Aye."

With that they picked up the pace rutting their hips into you.

"Shit you're so tight. Feels like you're suffocating me. You feelin' good?"

"Yes, so good.", you mewled out slurring the next part as you felt your tongue loll out. "I'm so full. I can feel you in my tummy. Please harder." As you were saying that Choso latched his mouth onto your neck, making sure to leave a mark.

"Which one of us do you like better huh? Who's fucking you better?"

"I dunno, both so good!"

"You gotta decide, sweetheart. Besides, you liked me first right, you like your Nii-chan a lot right? I know you do. You're dripping all over my cock, coiling around me nicely."

GAH. Your mind was spinning both making you feel good so differently, how were you supposed to decide?

"Hey!", Yuji brought you back with a spank to your ass, the tingling sensation making you moan. "Pay attention to me too. You like me too right?", he sulked. But before you could answer any of them Choso pulled you into a sloppy kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth. You whined into the kiss, spit dribbling down your chin from how messy it was. You were at a loss of words as they both fucked into you harder, trying to prove themselves. And in the meantime all you could do was mewl pathetically and let them have their way with you.

"You'll definitely choose me if I make you cum."

"Nuh-uh me first."

"Too late, little brother." Choso was already snaking his hand between your legs finally paying attention to your neglected clit. You squirmed at the contact pressing your ass against Yuji, who took that as a sign to speed up.

You felt so full, your mind fuzzy as they both continued to plow into you. You didn't even notice when you came with a silent scream of Yuji's name. His ego was boosted as he pulled your hair and made you look at him.

"That's it, that's a good girl. 'M gonna fill your tight ass up, gonna cum until you can't take it anymore" your pleas drove him right over the edge as he came inside pulling on your hair even harder, breathing heavy as he bottomed out. Your scalp stung after he finally let go of your hair, pulling out of you. As you felt his cum spill out of you, you directed your attention back to a sulking Choso.

"Want your cum too Choso-Nii, pretty please.", how cruel must someone be to say no to you while you looked so pretty and fucked out. Of course he will give you his cum, anything you want. And as he too pulled out after stuffing you to the brim, out you felt like you were gonna pass out, feeling sticky and sweaty.

Yuji was already there cleaning you up with a warm, wet towel as you opened your eyes sighing contently.

"Have you made up your mind yet?"

After all that you definitely wouldn't be able to decide. Yet.

"Will need a second round of testing to finalise.", you hummed basking in the attention they were giving you.

-----

Feel free to send me your Hot Takes as well ^^

#takes with nini♡#jjk smut #choso smut #yuji smut #yuji x reader #choso x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk headcanons #jjk scenarios #jjk drabbles #choso kamo smut #itadori yuji x reader #itadori yuji smut #yuuji smut #yuuji x you #yuuji x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you

245 notes · View notes

cthulhusstepmom · 1 year ago

Text

It's dark in the cellar, has been since they were tossed down here however many days ago. Hard to tell time without regular meals. Completely windowless, there's no place to spend his usual half hour basking under the sun. It had been a matter of hours before his coldblooded body had started to slow in the cool subterranean temperatures. He'd tried to keep it to himself, deal with it quietly, but there's no way to hide it from Gid, steadfast loyal Gid. Kremy had found his sluggish form gathered unceremoniously close to the living furnace that is his right hand man.

The heat may have stabilized his body temperature but it would do nothing to improve his mood(well maybe just a little bit it's hard to be too miserable when you're so nice and warm no matter the dire circumstances). Gideon took care of light well enough too, illuminating a circle around them with dancing warm firelight, though that was extinguished as soon as Kremy saw it start to waver and flicker, can't allow his partner in crime to burn himself out now can he? And so they sit in an almost peaceful silence, have done for who knows how long.

"Y'know it's not the worst bind we've gotten ourselves into. The gang will be along soon enough to bust down the door." Gid pauses in thought. "Probably not Twigsy. Or Frosty. Or Gricko unless he's a beasty. Probably down to Torbek to do the door busting come to think of it."

Kremy grunts noncommittally.

"Ah don't be like that, can't be worse than the time we had to climb out of the window of that inn."

"The snake oil heist on the western bank?"

"Nah the one with the innkeepers daughter, Felicity? Franny?"

He remembers that particular scrap well, if only because of the god awful wig.

"Felicia. How that veil covered my snout I will never rightly know."

Gideon snorts.

"Oh yeah. Sure would've been nice to know Gricko was an ordained minister before hand but it's not the first time we've been married."

Kremy hums. "Can't say it's the worst contract I've signed."

The warm body next to him rolls with deep, hearty laughter. The room goes silent for another spell before Kremy sighs.

"I dunno Gid, you ever get the feeling that we've taken it too far? Finally poked the bear that's gonna rip our throats out?"

"Nah man, I know you'll get us out of anything 'fore it gets too serious. Even if we end up knee deep in Fae tomfoolery. And I'll punch any bear that tries to bite us square in the body till it dies, no problemo." He pauses. "I trust you Kremy Lecroux."

That knocks the speech right off of his tongue.

Trust.

On a conceptual level he got that there was some form of reliance between the two of them, and sure some trust if you had to put a non-ironic label on it. He knows that Gideon cares for him, has stated it on many occasions in many different ways. And if you had to be so crass as to put it into words, of course he cares for Gid too, wouldn't have bothered keeping him around this long if he hadn't(lord knows the food bill would be enough to sway his opinion if he wasn't entirely too attached by now).

But trust?

Trusting Kremy Lecroux is a bad idea on any number of levels. He's a cheat by profession and a liar by lifestyle. Hell he's sold the souls of those around him in exchange for power more than once. There's nothing worth trusting in him, he's a coldblooded criminal and he's never gonna change, not for anybody. And here Gid is announcing it with his full chest. It's one of those things that's so endearing about him, he never holds back; Gideon Coal has never made a promise he doesn't fully mean. But since he's a man of contracts and business dealings he at least wants to give him a fair shot, a head start, a warning to keep that fiery heart close.

"You sure about that Gid? Those kinds of words have a power to em you know that."

"100% man, I'll follow you to the end of the world."

Kremy struggles to get air into his lungs, it takes a minute, two. When he finally gets enough to speak, it's frustrated and tinged with melancholy.

"Well I'll gladly let you do just that, if we ever get out of this fucking place."

"Hey." Kremy offers no response. "C'mon man don't be that way, the crew are all out there figuring their way in as we speak, fact I can smell the Torbek already."

He says nothing.

"I know what'll cheer you up."

A large, warm hand cups the bottom of his snout, gently directing his face up and to the side. Before he can think to protest, his eyes are drawn to the sudden lick of flame dancing on the tip of Gideon's finger. Not unlike when he lights cigarettes for him, except now he's pressing the pad of the digit to a small twig from the rocky floor until it smolders dully. Blowing on it, Gideon brings the small stick towards his face. It's warm but not uncomfortably so (he'd never had a doubt in his mind that Gid would hurt him). Carefully, precisely, with hands steady from working on the delicate innards of machines he can't begin to comprehend, Gideon draws the ashen tip of the stick across his upper lip in two swooping lines.

"There you already look more like yourself!" He proclaims proudly.

And god if he can't help the smile that breaks across his face.

"You're a crazy son of a bitch Gideon Coal, you know that?"

"Been told once or twice." he chuckles.

#“Gid when we walk outta here I need you to go first.” “Why?” “Cause you're my light at the end of the tunnel. Always will be.”#Once Upon a Witchlight amiright?#god im obsessed its bad #theres not NEARLY enough fan content for this and it is is a CRIME #to any of my followers or mutuals: if you like banter if you like funnies if you like gay subtext if you like found family #i am BEGGING you to check out once upon a witchlight and gush with me #its done by Legends of Avantris on youtube and twitch #moustache moment in ep.26 my beloved #once upon a witchlight #kremy lecroux #gideon coal #coalecroux #legends of avantris

249 notes · View notes

cowpokeomens · 5 months ago

Text

Good morning I saw this post and it rotted all three of my remaining brain cells because

Word gets around to you that sweet Matty is a virgin, and by no means are you one to take that lightly! But :-/ you know as well as I do about his MCE, and you just wanna take the horse for a ride 😔🫶 and he’s been flirting with you for months now in his own weird passive-aggressive mean way! So it’s not like your feelings aren’t reciprocated! It’s fine! You’re fine! Nothing morally corrupt to see here! So yeah just imagine your shorts get shorter as the months get warmer :-/ you ditch the hoodies for crop tops, then you ditch those for bralettes because “it’s sooooo hot Matty what the hell is up with this weather??” And you know you’re getting under his skin with the way his hands linger on you, at the small of your back, direct skin to skin, as he guides you in front of him somewhere busy; the way his eyes are absolutely lingering on your legs in your tiny little shorts :-/ you laugh at his jokes with your chest because you know it makes your tits bounce :-/ you press your whole body against him in a way that never mattered when you wore hoodies and sweatpants, but makes him shove you off now with pink cheeks. It all comes to a head when you’re getting ready to go out with some gal pals. He’s hanging out at your place while you get ready; once you’re done with your makeup and changed into your clothes, you do a little twirl to show him your outfit- which is absolutely lingerie and a mini skirt :-/ your fishnets have a few suggestive holes ripped in them, the boots you wear elongate your legs without having you teetering on a heel precariously :-/ Matt sighs, which makes you genuinely frown. You ask “What is it, Matty?” To which he responds “I dunno, it seems like you’re dressing really… provocative lately.” And you try not to focus on how that hurts because he is right after all!!! And you’re gonna respond when he mumbles “it’s distracting.” And oop! Wrong thing to say Matty! Because you drop your eyelashes and walk over to him slowly, sitting so close to him you’re practically on his lap. “Distracting? How?” It sounds innocent enough, right? No ulterior motives here! And his cheeks are sooooo pink omg baby is soooo flustered by your proximity and your question and your everything. But he’s nothing if not honest! So he says “it’s just, like, I’m straight edge, right? So the idea is that you avoid…. Promiscuous sex. But like-“ he pauses and you nod to encourage him, sensing something big is coming, “I’m just not sure what constitutes as ‘promiscuous’ if that makes sense? Like do you have to be married? Do you just have to really care about the other person? What are the parameters?” And you can’t help but tuck a little piece of hair behind his ear, thinking before you respond. “I think,” you begin slowly, “that sex is a natural part of being alive. It’s fine if you don’t want to have it, it’s fine if you do what to have it. But it seems unfair for some straight-edge higher being to decide what the ‘healthy’ limit looks like, because that limit will be different for everyone.” And his wee shoulders relax a bit which makes you fight back the urge to beam with pride but then he says “I’ve never- I haven’t like, done it before. What if I’m not good? What if no one wants to stick around because I suck at it?” And your little heart just breaks because :-( Matty :-( so you tell him that anyone who only cares about sex obviously has different priorities and isn’t worth keeping around! And then you can’t fight the urge to say “but. If you want to practice. I’m always here for you < 3” hehehehehehe and his eyes get all wide bc?? You’re so hot?? And he just admitted he’s a virgin?? And you offered to fuck him??? And maybe :-/ maybe you offer to take some of the edge off for him :-// maybe he just needs to relax :-/// and he seems perfectly willing to hear you out so you slide onto to floor between his knees and his breath hitches as you start to palm at him where he’s absolutely chubbed up and you were right- Monster Cock Energy! Yippee!

Anyways! You pull his cock out and it’s so pretty and pink and you want it in your mouth so you flutter your eyelashes and ask if you can suck on it and he stares at you open-mouthed for a minute before saying “it doesn’t. It doesn’t count, right? Because I’m not fucking you. So it doesn’t count.” And you nod because that’s what he needs right now and reassure him that no, it doesn’t count, Matty :-) what you don’t say virginity is a social construct that you can hit reset on whenever you want bc it’s not real but that’s a conversation for another time bc right now Matt’s cock is in your mouth and it’s hot and heavy on your tongue and you think he might actually pull a muscle with how hard he tenses up :-/ he’s soooo vocal ugh never learned that men are supposed to be stoic and silent so he’s moaning so so so prettily and clawing at the cushion underneath him as you take him deeper and deeper and when he hits the back of your throat he’s gargling out shit like “holy fuck, oh my god, you’re perfect, you’re so hot and perfect and I’ve thought about this for weeks now-“ and you’d be bashful if you hadn’t been so intentional in your seduction! Oops! He’d manage to get a hand into your hair and it’s over from there, once he gets a taste of fucking your mouth he’ll never recover I fear! It’s wet and messy and there’s lipstick all over your face and mascara running down your cheeks and his thrusts are erratic and fast until he finally cums with a loud, breathy moan, pulling you down to the base and keeping you there for a solid 10 seconds as he shakes through his orgasm :-/ doesn’t hesitate to pull you right into his lap to kiss you deeply, smearing cum and lipstick all over himself now too :-/ anyways that’s all I just wanted to share thanks for letting me have the conch bye!

#ramblin gal #matt dierkes fanfiction #matt dierkes x reader #matt dierkes smut

57 notes · View notes

atsadi-shenanigans · 2 months ago

Text

What Shall We Become 20 - Enlightened

The rogue has questions.

On AO3.

She’s choking. Not on something; this is a desperate, strangled sound, likely because the intruders are above her. The one holding the rope Astarion knifes first. The man—smells of cave and something like dust and that odd, almost leather his struggling leader is now wearing—gasps as the blade punches through a lung.

His gasp turns to a gurgle as Astarion’s other dagger finds his throat and opens it down to the bone.

Before that one can fall, he’s on the second. Leaves one knife still stick in the first man’s ribcage. His fingers find a flailing arm. He drives his left dagger up, under that arm, to puncture a vein and rip into a second pair of lungs as well. And then, because this is likely some form of thinking creature and he can still scent that maddening woman, Astarion wrenches this one close and bites hard on the neck.

His target sputters something, but then hot blood spurts to the back of Astarion’s throat. His unseeing eyes roll back and he loses himself a moment. Some time later, glutted and gasping, and he finds himself crouched over the warm but dead target.

“Darling?” he says.

She coughs and retches. Has been doing that a while, he realizes.

Hers is the only heart beating. He gives the closes body a swift pat down, finds the length of slim, silken rope leading to the edge of a small crevasse. They must have snared her.

He scrabbles down. Lands in a loose rockslide next to her. She’s on her knees, still making awful sounds. Being noosed will do that, even to someone who doesn’t need to breathe.

He finds her pack, wrenches it open, and digs around until he finds smooth glass. He’s not sure what kind of potions she has, exactly. He certainly hadn’t been the first person brought to that half-mad little shit with the knife. Gods know what she looted as he lay healing.

“Drink,” he says, using the simplest verb form (which makes it rather a rude command).

She reaches out and taps one of the bottles in his grasp. Tries to take it. But he doesn’t let her. Dangling from the neck hurts like the hells. And even being undead, that sort of thing revives dim instincts of living that overrule things like thoughts.

He uncorks what he assumes she was clever enough to choose, a healing potion, and hands it over. As he thought, her hands shake so hard she nearly drops it. Has to take small, careful sips, making unhappy noises as she swallows.

So as soon as she finishes that, he says, “Which one Chondathan?”

He almost expects her to argue. Save them for some “true” emergency or some such nonsense. But she is a practical sort (when she’s not infiltrating a fish cult trying to murder him, only hours after seeing a memory of his abandoning her to her death). And they need to talk.

She downs that one slowly at first, before gulping the rest.

“Jesus fuck,” she says and only half of that translates (her people swear so charmingly).

“What happened?” he says as she picks herself up.

“Dunno. Got my water, was heading back. Then it was like walking into a spider web, but face first, and then the web turned into a fucking noose.”

He finds said noose on the ground. Smooth and cool and well made. Feels almost like…silk.

And a horrible thought occurs to him.

The man said something as Astarion drained him. Gurgled, actually. And his blood had smelled similar to that lingering on the carnage field they’d discovered. Plus, he’s gotten a feel of the man’s armor as he tore that throat out, and it felt exactly like the strange leather he’d altered for his hardy leader.

“Darling,” he says. “Those elves you found. The dead ones you looted. What did they look like?”

“Elves,” she says, like it’s obvious. “Pointy ears, pale hair. Them statues was maybe a couple inches shorter’n us?”

“I meant what color were they?”

She pauses. Then, slowly, “Y’know, that kinda question has some real nasty implications where I’m from.”

Which makes absolutely no sense, so he flails a hand about to speed her along.

She sighs. “I really hope this ain’t a race thing. They was kinda purple, I think? Gray-ish?”

He was right to be exasperated. “And you didn’t think to mention that part?”

“Karlach is red. Lae’zel is green. I bet you was eggshell pale even when you did have a pulse.”

He was, actually. With a silver undertone, even.

“There aren’t any purple elves, darling. Not out on the surface, anyway.”

He has the distinct impression she stares at him, flat and unamused. “And I’d know that how?”

She’s from a different plane and can’t even tell the difference between a gnome and a halfling (even he struggles now and then—at least the taller races have the good graces to have more pronounced distinguishing features; one isn’t going to mistake a human for an elf).

He rubs a hand over his face. It feels wet. Why…right. He’s not a terribly fastidious eater in battle.

“Take us up there, then,” he says.

So she does. She’s moving faster than before. He wonders if the healing potion did anything for whatever symptoms she’s having. The blood scent only thickens, though. And then he wonders if she took anything after she insisted he feed from her, because they lose blood during all of this, and if she was traipsing about with blood loss of top of all that…

But that makes him feel bizarre again, and he has to redirect his thoughts.

“Do these ones look like those others?” he says after they make their way over to his kills. It’d be easier if she just let him use her eyes, but after what he let slip last time…and her feeble, human sight is horrifying. She’s spent her entire life running about half-blinded, the poor thing.

She shifts. Scuffs a boot against the ground. And he knows she’s going to say—

“Yeah?”

“Gods below,” he mutters. And fine, yes, she wouldn’t have known the difference. And fine, yes, he should have wondered which was more likely: a band of sun elves prancing about the Underdark, or his companion not recognizing, “Those are called drow, darling.”

“The fuck’s a drow?”

“That’s a long answer, but the simple version is a group of dark elves who live in the Underdark.”

“…so a type of elf.”

“I wouldn’t ever say that to any other elf you meet. They’ll take it as a rather serious insult.”

She makes a low sound. It’s usually accompanied by an eye roll, her throwing up her hands, or some version of I hate this realm.

“Do I wanna know why, or is this gonna be another stupid racism?”

The last word translates…oddly. He’ll think about that later.

“They’ve a reputation,” he says. “Mostly for abject cruelty, manipulation, scheming, and murdering. That sort of thing. It’s rare to come across one that doesn’t at least try to stab you in the back once or twice.”

“Is that a generalization? Cause generalizations fall into ‘stupid racism’ more often than not.”

He nudges the nearest body with his foot. It flops. Then he kneels down to trace the chest plate down to the clasps on the side and get to work freeing it. “I’ve only met a handful myself, and every one of them tried to kill me. Even when I was at my most charming.”

Next the shoulder clasp. This is the one he drained. He’d noticed they were of similar height and build, which was unusual for a drow, but oh. A chance to wear drow armor? He’ll not pass that up. It’s a literal tragedy he doesn’t have the sight to admire himself in it.

“I notice you said ‘other elves,’” his intrepid leader says. She has a talent for wringing her words utterly dry. “I take it that don’t mean you?”

The last shoulder unbuckles like it’s been waiting for him. Astarion tugs the armor free of the now-cooling corpse. Yes, this is going to fit him beautifully. “A people known for murder and backstabbing? Darling, I’d be flattered.”

“Shouldn’t even be surprised,” she mutters.

Still. They’ve run into two groups of drow down here. Which means that this must be a highly trafficked area. And for all he admires the deep elves, they hold a historical hatred for his kind. And they’d likely kill his leader sooner than speak to her.

“I suggest you grab anything you can and we get well clear of here,” he says. “Best be long gone before any others turn up.”

#these two shitheads #what shall we become #astarion fic #astarion pov #tavstarion #slow burn #i love him your honor #he's trying #so hard #and yet...

23 notes · View notes

piratefishmama · 1 year ago

Text

Crossing The Line | Part 14

Said metalhead was wearing a leather jacket, black, ripped at the knee denim jeans with a wallet chain dangling from a belt loop draped round to his back pocket, a bullet belt, that shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was, combat boots, and an iron maiden tee.

His hair was its seemingly usual unruly mass of dark brown curls, and he had lightly smudged dark eyeliner around his eyes to make his eyes pop. That was the extent of how much effort Eddie had put into his outfit. And yet he looked like the tastiest little snack Steve had ever seen in his life, he loved it.

They were like polar opposites style wise but from the look on Eddie’s face they were both exactly what each other wanted.

“Sweater vest for Eddie” Steve parroted with a warm smile and a bashful little, “I figured… I mean… I thought you’d like it.”

Now, Eddie had turned up at that apartment, with the intention of figuring out whether or not Steve was wearing ear plugs at his gig and just lying to him to get into his pants (which, flattering, but also rude), and going from there.

But then Steve opened the door in that sweater vest. With that smile. Claiming he wore it because he thought Eddie would like it and his heart just did a series of pathetic flip flops and any hope of Eddie ever being mad even if he did wear earplugs went out the window because what the fuck. What the fuck.

What the ever-loving fuck.

How was this man real?

He needed to send Mike Wheeler a goddamn gift basket for sort of introducing him to the guy although he was pretty sure Mike would blow a gasket knowing he was severely crushing on the guy who apparently ‘ruined’ crazy train.

He didn’t even ruin it, it was just… a different style than Crazy Train was supposed to be in! “I love it… suits you way more than the metal look, definitely should have worn it for the gig.” Would have stuck out like a sore thumb but by god he’d have been the prettiest thing there.

Cool as a cucumber, Steve leaned himself against the doorframe, that bashful smile turning coy with just the raise of a brow and the flash of teeth “I dunno, then I’d have missed the look on your face just now.”

“Well I mean, sweater vests, cute glasses, slippers, are we having a cosy night in, Stevie?” Be cool, be cool, be super cool, don’t be a weird little nerd, don’t be a weird little nerd.

Steve reached out, warm hands taking Eddie’s own, then gently, he tugged Eddie inside. “Well, we can if you come in.” And he was hit by a wall of something delicious. A smell so delightful that his stomach just had to rumble in protest over the fact that he wasn’t already eating it.

Ear plugs? Who gave a shit about ear plugs really?

Okay no, he had to stick to some morals, even if his stomach was angrily telling him to wait until after dinner because then at least if Steve turned out to be a very sneaky asshole, he’d at least have gotten a meal out of the night.

“Wait wait” the door was closed but at least Steve seemed to pause, that smile dropping, replaced by curiosity, god how did he make that look cute? Stupid knitwear an glasses combo. “Okay so… this is probably gonna sound dumb, but Frank noticed it, y’know Frank, our bassist? He uhm… he noticed you were wearing what looked like ear plugs at the gig and uh…” oh god the eyes widened, his eyes widened, Eddie wanted the floor to swallow him whole. First real date in god. How many years? And he was fucking it up by bringing up something nobody else would bring up on a date with Steve Goddamn Harrington. “…Were they… earplugs?”

Fuckers would probably just be happy to be there. Could wear those big ol construction site noise cancelling headphones and nobody else would bat an eyelid, but it was about PROFESSIONAL COURTESY, Eddie was a musician too!

He didn’t want to be on a date with someone in the industry (wildly different success rates with it but WHO CARES) who was lying about liking his music to get in his pants.

It could have gone a few different ways, gaslighting being one of them, but Steve smiled, he had such a pretty smile good lord. “Mmhm, c’mere I’ll show you.” Steve was still holding his hand, so Steve had the full capability of pulling him through the entryway toward one of the two bedrooms in the obviously temporary apartment, probably just rented for the time they were there like an Air BnB situation. The room was pretty tidy, save for a little dressing table covered in hair products. “Theeese are them.” And he produced a little silver cannister from his bag and deposited it into Eddie’s hand.

Curious snooping was pretty much accepted in that situation, so Eddie unscrewed the top and emptied the contents into his palm, two sets of black earplugs with a little hole running through the centre, fitted with a sort of white mesh material which sat snuggly within the hole.

“…What am I looking at here, Steve?” Steve just breathed a little laugh and took one from him, then popped the centre circle out of one, the little white mesh disk sitting perfectly in his palm.

“So, short story long, I was a dumb teenager. Rich kid surrounded by bad influences, y’know the whole stereotypical drill, pretty much every magazine in the country and some outside of it painted me as kind of an asshole, ‘King Steve’ they’d call me. I hated it but it’s kind of like quicksand in those old adventure movies, y’know? Just dragging you under, inescapable. Anyway, I also walked headfirst into a low set doorway ogling Chris Hemsworth’s biceps so... I’ve had a few brain injuries.” He tapped the side of his head with his index finger twice in rapid succession. “That uh… it has side effects… brains are tricky, a few too many concussions can get you hearing loss, sight loss, it can get you chronic migraines, aversion to sound, lights, it can do a lot of invisible damage… I… struggle with sound sometimes. And my sight too hence the glasses, but sound is the relevant one here.”

Eddie tilted his head a little in question, a silent motion to continue, research had given him none of this information. Maybe that he was a shitty teenager once but nothing else.

“Sharp noises, like uh… electric guitars played in a certain way, speakers turned all the way up, I get migraines basically and these are designed to filter out certain pitches to make things easier on my ears. Maybe… maybe I missed a few chords here and there, maybe some of it sounded a little off, but I can still hear through the plugs just fine. Robin got them for me, they’re supposed to help people with tinnitus, sensory issues, migraines…” he took the plugs back one by one, placing them back into the cannister and dropping it back into his bag, before he returned to Eddie and retook his hands, giving them a gentle squeeze “I swear I could hear just fine during your gig, and I really enjoyed it. I really like your music, Eddie… I think you’re amazing.”

Eddie felt like he was going to spontaneously combust right there on the spot.

Flattery always did have a certain effect on him, and with it being laid on so thick, honeyed words without an ounce of dishonesty in them… there was really only one response he could conjure in the moment, “…can I kiss you?” And the smile it earned, worth the brain dead moment.

“Well since you asked so nicely, but only one, dinner first, kisses later.” Kisses. Kisses. Plural. Many many kisses. Eddie felt like one of those cartoon characters that got all flushed and then just simply melted. Even though the kiss Steve gave him was chaste, a gentle, but lingering press of soft lips against his own, one of Steve’s hands cradled his cheek and god,

How had he lived until that moment not kissing Steve Harrington?

“Nono one more” was his sole complaint when Steve eased back, feeling the breath of Steve’s laugh dusting his damp lips, and the caress of his lips so very close whispering,

“Okay, just one” before doing just that.

Part 16

#PirateWrites #Crossing The Line #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Flattery /works/ on him #especially if its honest flattery

293 notes · View notes

method-to-the-madness · 4 months ago

Text

@littlewritingrabbit said something about War boys doing each other's war paint, and I thought that was really cute, so here's some fanart of Nux and Slit, and a teeny tiny little fic i wrote to go along with it (below the cut, around a thousand words). It takes place on their very first trip as a Lancer/Driver duo.

Enjoy :)

Nux sat down on the running board of his car, the door open. He had black clay cupped in his hand. He used his other hand to smudge it over his eyes, hoping it’ll look darker. Darker like the Imperators.

Something huge was in the works today. A big fight, something really major, and the War boys were buzzing with excitement, currently trapped within the confines of the garage and the barracks until they’re unleashed, feral. There was about ten odd minutes before they needed to leave, and Nux wanted his paint to be really chrome this time, since it was the first time he got to drive his own car. A car that belonged to him. The Nux Car.

“Oi! Nux!” Slit called, and rounded the door, sitting down next to him after roughly pushing him to the side to make room. Nux grinned, and turned to him still rubbing the powder over his second eye.

“Ready? Ready to do war?” Nux leaned forward and asked with childlike excitement. Slit leaned on the door frame and crossed his arms, kicking his feet up on Nux’s knees. Slit was starting to get taller than him, proudly taking up more space.

“Of course I am!” he said indignantly, like Nux had insulted him by suggesting that he wasn’t.

“Good. Wouldn’t want you fallin’ off the back while I’m driving,” Nux said, smudging some paint over his nose like usual.

“Wait!” Slit grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from his nose.

“What?”

“Your nose.”

“What about it?” Slit was still holding his wrist, looking very revved up. He opened his choppy mouth to say something, but paused like he thought twice for once. The slices up the sides of his face were still a bit red, and definitely not healed over yet. If it were up to Nux, he would’ve done them one side at a time, so you’d still be able to eat properly, and do the second side without your hands being all shaky. But that was just his thoughts on it.

“Thought you said you wanted it all shiny today, didn’t you?” Slit asked. Nux nodded, and Slit let go of his wrist. “So don’t just do the mediocre paint you do every day,” Slit said. Nux looked offended. Mediocre? Really? Nux thought the nose paint usually looked pretty chrome.

“What do you want me to do then?” he asked. Slit shrugged.

“I dunno. Could do something to match these-” he carefully tapped the still-healing scars on Nux’s lips. Slit had given those to him, detailed them really sharp so he’d look like a skeleton. Nux loved them. He thought they made him look a whole lot shinier. And scarier. Slit ran his thumb across his lips, probably just checking on the healing process, but something pinched in Nux's throat regardless.

“V8, quit smiling so wide all the time, it’ll rip the scars and you’ll get too lumpy,” Slit muttered, almost like he was saying it to himself. Nux batted his hand away.

“The paint, Slit. What about it?” He redirected. Slit nodded.

“C’mere, give me some,” he said, and took some from Nux’s hand. With his other hand, he roughly grabbed Nux’s jaw, and pulled him close, holding his canvas still. Nux nearly fell over at the sudden movement, and braced himself on the driver’s seat under Slit's arm. “If you do it… like so…” Slit paused, and Nux felt him dragging the paint over his nose, higher up than he usually did. “Then you’ll look soo…” he trailed off and squinted, finely focused on his work. Nux’s eyes crossed trying to see what he was doing.

“So what?” he asked. Slit finished up his paint, and pushed him back, letting go of his face. Nux sat back against the door frame

“So chrome,” Slit said, and frowned, then pulled him back again to fix up some of the paint.

“Glory me, you sap. Can we go make some war now, or will you keep fussing over my face?” Nux laughed, turning away. Slit’s hands chased after him, to throw the finishing touches on his paint. Nux stood up to check his reflection in the grubby side-view mirror on the other side of the door.

“I’m no sap!” Slit protested, standing up and following him. He shoved Nux’s shoulder, sending him stumbling towards the car.

“Cut it out! I can’t even stand long enough to see what you’ve done to me!” Nux protested half-heartedly. He bent down to look in the mirror.

Usually he would just smear some black over his nose vaguely in a circle shape, but Slit had taken some more clay and spread it pointy up the sides of his nose like a skeleton.

“Yeah?” Slit asked, like he was looking for Nux’s approval.

“Very shiny,” Nux smiled in the mirror before standing up.

“Very shiny,” Slit agreed.

From across the garage, the Ace yelled, “WAR BOYS! MOVE OUT!” Everyone echoed it, spreading the command like fire through the garage.

Nux punched Slit’s shoulder as a goodbye, and got into the driver’s seat while Slit climbed onto the lancer’s perch at the back. Nux opened the roof so he could hear better, and shut the door. His fingers drummed on the wheel, in time with the Doof's drums.

Once they were on the ground under the elevator, all the Drivers got in formation, every vehicle being taken filed out into the open air of the Citadel. They idled in the sunlight, buzzing with held in kamakrazee excitement. Everyone was shaking all feral-like, ready to get out on the open road.

“WE ARE WAR BOYS!” The Ace shouted from the front.

“WAR BOYS!” they all chorused. Nux stuck his head out the window to be heard better, and felt Slit bang on the roof in tempo with the chant.

“VIOLENT CRAZY WAR BOYS!” The Ace shouted.

“WAR BOYS!” The ensemble screamed back at him. Nux could hear Slit on the back of the truck, and his heartbeat thrummed in his ears. It’s his day.

“TODAY WE’RE FIGHTING BUZZARDS!” The Ace announced.

“BUZZARDS!” The War Boys shouted back.

“AND TODAY WE’RE RAIDING NOMADS!”

“NOMADS!”

Every driver revved his engine as the Ace climbed back onto the war rig. Nux banged on the ceiling twice, and Slit whooped from the back.

“MOVE OUT!” The Ace called. They couldn’t really hear him over the roar of engines, but they all knew he said it. Then they took off, leaving behind dirty clouds, and spraying sand in their wake.

#Nux #Slit #i just think they're neat #i made this like last december back when I didn't know how to draw muscles #and was also pretty new to the fandom #so please humour me #YES I'M AWARE THAT SLIT'S STAPLES ARE ON THE OTHER SIDE #BUT I'M ONLY HUMAN #war boy fanart #mad max #war boys #mmfr #mad max fanart #slit/nux

24 notes · View notes

xxavengingangelxx · 1 year ago

Text

Long Way from Home 1/?

Ok, so here is chapter one of I don't know how many. I have 25 pages of this. My goal is to immerse the reader in this world and put them into the OC's shoes as she questions her sanity and breaks down. I don't know how it's going to end yet.

Same intro: 141's translator isn't able to escape after Graves's betrayal. He takes her, thinking she has information. Things go horribly. Stockholm Syndrome eventually sets in and our OC feels her 141 identity being ripped to shreds while a new one, possibly loyal to Shadow Company takes hold.

Idk how this is going to do because it's a darker fic. War Criminal Graves for sure. Really insecure about this one :/

READ: Trigger warnings (for the whole fic): Kidnapping, eventual dub-con, threatened rape, torture, mind fucking games, implied/referenced suicide, self-harm.

TAGS: Dub-con, violence, torture, implied/referenced suicide, self-harm.

Graves.

You looked up at him as your vision became clearer. Your head was pounding. You realized you were lying in the street. Did someone hit you over the head? You couldn’t recall. Graves started shooting and everyone ran for cover or tried shooting back. You shot back maybe once or twice. Truth was you were terrified of Graves’s Shadows and wanted to get the hell away from them.

You were able to camouflage into the woods and managed to make it to the streets on your way to the agreed upon rendezvous point, which was planned in case just an event happened.

The coldness, hardness, and wetness of that same street took your attention away from the sharp pains seemingly crushing your skull. Raindrops made your vision blurry every now and then as they landed in your eyes.

But that didn’t stop you from glaring at Graves. If looks could kill the man would’ve dropped dead on the spot. After all the missions, all the teamwork, and especially all the nights spent with him…you felt disgusted.

But you still felt small, vulnerable, like prey, even with all your gear on. You were flat on your back surrounded by Shadows (demons)…and Graves. You were beginning to worry. Sure, you’d received the training required to tag along with the 141 but definitely not quite all of it. How the hell were you going to put up with being tortured for information or being held captive if it came to that?

“141’s translator.” Graves smirked. “Good to see ya again, Valdez. Been better though, yeah?”

You said nothing. The firefight had stopped although you didn’t know how much time had passed between the end of the fight and now. You only hoped Soap, Ghost, and Alejandro were okay. You didn’t know what all had happened. All you remembered is that gunshots rang out and everyone ran.

You apparently didn’t run fast enough.

“Where are your friends?” Graves commanded, looking down on you with his hands clutching his vest.

Arrogant bastard.

“141?”

“Duh.”

“I dunno,” you answered simply. “You kinda fucked everything up when you started shooting.”

He laughed. He sounded cruel.

“Where are they?”

“How the fuck would I know?”

“Don’t act. You had to have a rendezvous point.”

You remained silent.

Graves paused before saying, “Actually you know what? Let’s get outta this rain.”

Rough and careless hands grabbed your arms and pulled you into a sitting position, soaking the rest of your clothes.

“Watch it,” you snapped. “Cabron. No me vuelvas a tocar,” you added in your native tongue, demanding he not touch you again.

You heard Graves scoff from the inside of a dilapidated building. He then said, “Cuff ‘er and bring ‘er to me.”

You felt those same rough hands placed thick plastic zip ties around your wrists after pulling your arms behind your back and he pull them tight, almost painfully so. You were then pulled to stand in the same coarse manner before being led into a building that looked like it was barely standing. It had been gutted inside and out. The same Shadow shoved you and you fell onto your knees and shin hard in front of Graves. You felt your knees scrape and bleed.

“Forgot how good you look on your knees,” he smirked. He reached towards you and you almost bit him. He ripped your radio off, also taking your earpiece with it and cutting your ear. He gave it to one of his men, telling them to get rid of it.

You ignored what Graves had said because how could he fucking forget when you’d just seen him last night? You instead decided to temporarily focus your anger on the Shadow that had roughed you up earlier. “Fuckin’ asshole,” you snapped at the faceless man. “Tu mama no te enseño que los hombres no les pegan a las mujeres?” You then shot back, asking him if his mother never taught him that men don’t hit women.

“Now you need to knock that Spanish shit off,” Graves mentioned. “You’re in the presence of Americans so speak English.”

You said nothing, only scowled at him even though he was currently towering over you.

He laughed. “Still got that mouth on you I see. Good for telling others off, translating, and…other things, too, huh?”

You felt your cheeks blush but out of anger. Your ears felt hot despite the cool rainy night. Apparently Graves liked to kiss and tell. The fact that the last time you’d slept with him was right before this mission left you feeling absolutely disgusted. You felt like he’d raped you in a way as he didn’t tell you who he really was.

“Where’s 141?” He asked again, standing before you and again reaching up to grasp his vest. You saw that lines or scratches and scars lined his forearms.

“I told you I don’t know.” You paused before adding, “Si te lo digo en español lo entenderás mejor? No se.” You asked if you telling him in Spanish might help him understand better.

“You really need to start cooperating here,” He walked about you in a circle and you felt like he was a wolf circling injured prey.

“I don’t know, man!” You snapped. “We all had to run for cover when you and your goons started shooting.” You paused before adding, “Heard they knocked a few of your Shadows off.”

One of the Shadows from behind you kicked you and your vest roughly, almost making you fall sideways. You gave a scowl in that general direction before focusing back on Graves. “You’ve been planning this shit for awhile haven’t you?”

“Look at you, so perceptive,” Graves cooed. It was creepy. “All I did was told them I was in charge and they didn’t like it.”

“So you betrayed them?”

“No, no,” he stopped dead in front of you again and knelt so you were both at eye level. His eyes were cold, icy, like the arctic. You smelled blood and gunpowder and you wondered if it was his blood or some of your teammates’. You silently prayed they were okay. His eyes had never looked like that before. “They betrayed me.”

You laughed callously. “Bullshit,” You tried to stop yourself from saying the next thing but it was said before you even knew it. “You’re a traitor, Graves. And a fucking war criminal.”

With that he smacked you across the face. Hard. You cried out, tasting blood. You shook your hair from your face and turned back in his direction.

“So you hit women, too now?” You gasped, spitting blood in between his boots as he kneeled in front of you. “At the very least you have treason and usurpation.”

“It doesn’t need to be this way. I need to know where they are.”

“Why, to kill them?”

“Nah, I wanna keep ‘em,” he added threateningly. “Some brainwashing and they’d make a good team for me.”

“Go to hell, fuckin’ traitor.”

He reached out, grasping your hair so tightly you yelped. He tilted your head up to make sure you made eye contact with him.

“If you use that word again I will kill your friends when I find them. Not before I kill you in front of them first, though.” He didn’t break eye contact, almost expecting a reply from you. “Are we really gonna have to do this the hard way?”

You didn’t speak.

“Fine,” he responded. He stood up, his height allowing him to tower over you again. He drew his sidearm and pulled the hammer back, placing a bullet in the chamber.

So this is how you were going to die. On bloodied knees in front of what you now considered an enemy combatant. He placed the gun to your head and you felt the cold barrel through your thin, wet hair.

“Call them,” Graves demanded.

“No,”

You weren’t expecting it when he hit you with his sidearm across the side of your face. You screamed in pain, falling flat on the floor. You vision was blurry and the sounds around you were going in and out. You saw him step closer is you flinched, mumbling, “Don’t!” When you thought he was about to kick you. Graves grabbed your vest and hauled you back to your knees.

“Call them,” Graves commanded again, his voice louder in volume and deeper in tone.

“I can’t,” you gasped, your head throbbing. You shut your eyes, wanting to be anywhere else but here. You opened them and you were still there, effectively being tortured.

Graves stepped out in front of you. It was dead silent, the only sounds being the crickets and the rain. You met his eyes trying to muster any sympathy. You were likely concussed at least two times over and you were in pain. His eyes didn’t soften and his men didn’t even flinch. Were they seriously okay with this?!

He raised the gun at your chest.

And he fired.

The force of the bullet forced you onto your back and you felt ribs possibly break underneath your vest. You yelled in pain as you found yourself glancing up at the ceiling of the gutted building you were in. Your vest had stopped the bullet from penetrating but it still hurt like a motherfucker.

“Get ‘er back up and take her vest off,” you heard Graves tell one of his men.

Your body protested as you were again hauled up on your knees. The Velcro of your vest easily gave way to the strong arms ripping it open. It was tossed aside. You wanted to ask them to at least have some respect for the American flag on your vest but your energy was sapped. It was focused on staying quiet and surviving.

He was kneeling in front of you again and you wondered if he was going to shoot you point blank because he wanted to look in your eyes as you died. Pulling at your zip ties was useless.

Graves reached into his vest and pulled a large, black knife.

“You’re torturing a captive!”

“There’s the military and me,” Graves stated simply. “I’m not as bound by the rules.” He then leaned forward and sliced through your uniform shirt. Underneath all you had on was a pink tank top. He signaled to one of his men who then knelt directly behind you and pulled you up off your shins and onto solely your knees. He grasped your chin from behind and pulled up, forcing your line of sight up and away from Graves. Graves was completely out of view and you had no fucking idea what he was going to do.

“What’re you doing?!” you voice broke as you began panicking.

“I’m about to scar that pretty body if you don’t talk or call your friends.”

“I don’t know! I don’t!” you yelled out desperately. “You know I can’t do that to them,” you sniffled.

The first cut was deep but not deep enough to cause vital injuries. It went from your collarbone to just over your heart. At this point you just sputtered and cried.

“Either tell me where they are or call them.”

“I can’t!”

“No, you’re choosing not to.”

“I don’t know, I don’t fucking know!” Your breath came out in hurried, panicked gasps.

“Sounds like a rehearsed response to me,” The second cut Graves inflicted mirrored your first except it was on the opposite side of your chest. You couldn’t help it. You screamed.

“Graves what the fuck!” Your words echoed Soap’s from not too long ago. You believed you heard him sheathe his knife, presumably without cleaning it, almost as if he wanted your blood to adorn his vest.

“Let her go,”

The Shadow behind you released his grasp and you immediately fell onto your knees and shins, Doubling over in pain. Your once-pink tank top was covered in blood and the cuts on your chest would need stitches at the minimum.

“Hmm, they must not care about ya anymore,” Graves taunted. “Maybe you should come work for me.”

“Never, fuck you,”

“There’s that attitude again,” he laughed callously. “But you have to admit that would be a neat trick.” His voice was sickly sweet as he added, “Imagine that. You at my beck and call before I sicced you on 141.”

“Never,” you repeated.

“We could really, really use you,” Graves stood back up. “You speak Spanish, have experience with surveillance, countersurveillance, know the culture…”

“You wish,” you sighed.

“Well if this isn’t working and asking nicely isn’t working, we can try something else.”

You were past trying to hold back tears. Luckily your dark hair hid your face. You started at the ground, not daring to meet his gaze. With what he had said earlier you were scared another look at him would brainwash you. We circled you again and you couldn’t help but flinch when he got close.

“You and I had a pretty good working relationship, didn’t we?”

You didn’t answer.

“Answer me, soldier,” he demanded.

“Yes,” you snapped. “Not anymore.”

“You’re right not anymore. Maybe soon though.” He paused, scoffing before adding, “Didn’t we also agree to have certain friends with benefits activities?”

“Fuck you,” you half sobbed.

“Yeah you actually did,” there was that cold laugh again. He continued walking around you in a circle as you watched blood drip onto your dark pants.

This was humiliating.

“Man you worked wonders with that little mouth of yours,”

“Argh!” the yell came from your lips loudly. You were frustrated, concussed, in pain, had been betrayed, and now you were finding out that man you were starting to have feelings for was betraying not only but everyone. “You’re so fucking disgusting!” You shouted, raising your gaze to glare at him.

“How ‘bout a repeat?”

Your glare lost its edge for one of surprise and fear. Was he talking about…

“I’ll go first and they,” he signaled around to his men, adding, “Then they’ll go next. And if you keep pretending not to know we can make things…invasive. How’s that sound?”

“Jesus Christ, Graves,” you whispered, “you’re talking about torturing and raping a captive.” Your voice sounded weak, fearful.

“It’s up to you,” Graves shrugged. “You can stop this anytime you want. Or if you really wanna get laid without admitting it you can keep not talking.”

You whimpered.

“I mean, think about it,” Graves knelt in front of you again, keeping that sadistic blue gaze locked onto your darker one. “It’d happen right here when anyone can see what a fuckin’ slut you are. No one would help, either. They’d just watch it happen.”

You cried because what the hell else could you do? You weren’t used to this. You translated for fuck’s sake. You wouldn’t have ever imagined you’d be captured. Not in your worst nightmares. That was something for the movies, for fiction books.

“Keep up the charade and you’re going to suffer. I promise.” He glared at you with those blue-grey emotionless eyes. “I mean hell when I get sick of ya they’ll pass you around however the fuck they want to. I’m sure they’d love to have a shot at a 141 bitch.”

“Fuck yeah,” a Shadow said from behind you. “She’s a cute little thing. Love to see her cry some more.”

You were floored. How was this happening?

“Graves—” you started.

“Commander Graves to you from now on.”

“Commander Graves. I don’t know. Even if I did, they’ve moved on. They’re mobile,” you tried to reason. “I’m of no use to you.”

You saw his jaw muscle clench. “No, you’re gonna be useful, trust me.”

Your hopes that he would just untie you and send you back to 141 bloodied, beaten, and tortured to send a message fell to zero.

“Pick her up and bring her with us,”

“Fuck no, man,” you shook your head. You knew that you under no circumstances could you allow them to take you to a second location. It dropped your chances of survival to almost zero.

You were pulled to your feet roughly and you suddenly felt a wave of nausea. You were definitely concussed.

“Take her vest. Leave her name tag.” Graves wanted to send a message: she’s alive…come get her before I rip her to shreds.

The Shadow who pulled you up whispered hot and heavy in your ear through his mask. He had to lower himself to your level he was so tall. “Cry some more for me.”

He was so close to you, so close to your face you tried to bite him. “Try me, asshole.”

Graves, further again, laughed. A few other Shadows chuckled. Not because it was funny but because they were probably thinking: awe, how cute…she thinks she can take us.

You pulled and struggled and screamed and cursed. They easily kept control of you. They were too tall and too strong. They tossed you in the backseat of a black Tahoe and your cursed inwardly when you failed to get the plate.

Graves got in on the other side of the backseat. He easily reached over you, grabbing your seatbelt.

“Don’t! Don’t you fucking touch me!” you yelled.

The doors slammed shut and two more of his team got up front.

The van took off and you heard your seatbelt click into place.

You glanced in his direction. Your glare was gone. You were about to resort to pleading when you thought of one more idea. The windows were so dark you couldn’t see anything but you had to try.

You quickly leaned sideways towards Graves. The quick movement threw him off and he didn’t react immediately. It put you in a position to where you could kick the window. One, two, three kicks before Graves grabbed your hair, pulling you upright.

“You need to stop,” he warned darkly. “You almost broke my window.”

The cracked glass might be of some use and so you screamed. Screamed for help. You didn’t mention names but you just screamed for anyone to help.

“If she doesn’t shut up we’re gonna get pulled over,” someone said from the front. “There’s a few non-corrupt cops out here ya know.”

You felt a gloved hand tangle itself further in your hair and the other gloved hand place itself over your mouth.

“Hand me that,” you heard Graves say.

You tried biting but the gloves were too thick.

Graves untangled his hand from your hair and produced a roll of duct tape. “You need to stop biting,” he said darkly. You decided you would keep biting and scratching and kicking.

Using no gentleness at all, he wrapped the thick, suffocating tape over your mouth and around your head, effectively silencing you completely.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

And with that you gave up. You were going to die. You only hoped the US would at least get your body. Things quieted down. Graves worked on a laptop while the other two Shadows up front chatted about nothing in particular. It seemed like hours passed and your head injury wasn’t letting you keep track of the twists and turns.

Exhaustion and your concussion got the best of you and you surrendered to the darkness.

#phillip graves #alejandro cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #mw2 141 #shadow company #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #konig mw2

85 notes · View notes

leejeongz · 1 year ago

Note

evnne’s reaction when you pull another photocard that isn’t them? or when you have a different member in your phone case?

🫧 evnne reaction to you pulling another member’s photocard 🫧

pairing: boyf!evnne x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: jealousy

scenario: your boyfriend insisted on giving you a copy of his groups’ album and so he picked one up for you from the pile allocated for the members' family and friends. he handed it to you and watched you open it, only then realising that there was no guarantee that it would be his photocard in there.

𓆉 keita

“who is it?” keita asked, scurrying onto his knees to peep at the card that you were tilting away from him. he shuffled closer the more you tried to hide it, getting more and more excitable. “me?”

you giggled and stood from your cross legged position on the floor, “hanbin,” you turned the photocard quickly and flashed hanbin’s smiley face towards your boyfriend, almost taunting him.

keita looked up towards you, clearly slightly deflated but still up right on his knees. “don’t look so pleased!” he exclaimed, offended by your unhidable joy. “let me see,” he held out his arm and opened hand.

hesitantly, you placed the card into his hand, “don’t rip it or anything.”

“i won’t,” he inspected the card, “you wouldn’t be able to sell it if i did,” he tilted the card under the fluorescent light of the apartment, “or are you gonna keep it?” his eyes came to meet yours, searching for a truthful answer before you even opened your mouth.

you shrugged. “i dunno,” you took the card from his hands and slipped it back into the envelope, along with the other inclusions. “are you jealous?” you asked, wondering why he was being so off with you about it.

“of course not,” he stood, his hand coming to your upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze, “it’s just a random piece of card,” he pointed at the envelope.

“yep,” you agreed, placing the envelope into the photo book before hovering your fingers over the CD and while attempting to take a long look at it just to avoid his eyes.

however, you very quickly failed when you felt his hand on your waist, hugging you from the side. “and i'm actually pretty relieved that you like all the members so much that you are happy with whoever you pulled,” he smiled to you, genuinely, hugging you closer, “just as long as you like me the most, of course.”

other members below the cut

𓆉 hanbin

“yunseo?!” he exclaimed, disgusted by your pull.

“he looks so cute, though,” bringing the card to your face, you took a closer look at the photocard. “isn’t he just adorable?” hanbin’s eyes widened, thinking you were going to kiss the card like a crazed fan.

“no!” hanbin retaliated, knowing you were just saying those things to get a rise out of him (and it was working). “mine were cuter,” he snatched the card from your hand.

“i doubt it,” you snatched it back.

“go and marry him then!” hanbin scoffed. as he tried to ignore you admiring the photocard, he pulled out his phone. “look,” he held it out to you, the screen displaying a trading instagram page, “they want that yunseo photocard, you can trade it, i’ll drop them a message right now.”

“no you won’t,” you snapped, a little too meanly for your own liking, even, “mr park hanbin, dance leader of evnne, who’s gonna believe you can’t get your hands on your own photocard?” you laughed.

in response, he slipped his phone back into his pocket, “true,” perhaps the first time you’ve won him in one of these petty fake arguments. “but what are you gonna do with it?” his eyes, dark and puppy like, were almost welling up at the thought of you keeping it.

“i’ll give it to my friend, she’s obsessed with him, and then i’ll buy one of yours, probably,” you shrugged, explaining what your plan was all along. “but they’re so expensive, hanbin, you really should consider not being so popular,” you scoffed at him again, making him smile proudly.

“i can’t help it, y/n, i’m pretty and talented and funny, the fans love me!”

𓆉 jeonghyeon

“oh,” jeonghyeon spies the unfamiliar looking card in the envelope that you’ve yet to look in.

“hey, i thought we were gonna look together?” you complain, the volume dropping as you saw his face. “what is it? is there any photocards in these ones? it’s okay, i mean, i only want one if it’s yours anyway.”

jeonghyeon pulled the card out with an exaggerated bottom lip quiver, revealing keita’s face.

“oh,” you repeat, “he looks so handsome though!” you admit, going to investigate the card in jeonghyeon’s hand further.

“he does,” jeonghyeon concedes, even though he’s so very jealous right now, he still can’t lie. “but you don’t want it, that’s what you said.”

“i did say that, didn’t i?” you bite the inside of your cheek, “maybe i could make an exception for this one very handsome man.” you tease, noting jeonghyeon’s widened eyes.

“no.”

“why not?” you pouted.

“what are you pouting for, i’m sure keita would love to be your boyfriend if you just asked him,” he rolled his eyes, quickly gathering that you were just teasing him. “but seriously, i’m going through that whole pile tomorrow and finding one with me in.” jeonghyeon placed the card back into the envelope and tossed it onto the table. “i know that you’re obsessed with me, just admit it,” he smiled innocently, “go on, admit it.” jeonghyeon’s arm tucked behind your neck, his hand suddenly on your shoulder making you burn up from shyness. “you only wanted MY photocard, so you must be.”

shuffling forward, away from the grasp of your boyfriend who was marking you blush incredibly hard, you grabbed the remote, “shall we watch some young royals, jeonghyeon?”

𓆉 seungeon

seungeon took one look at the photocard from over your shoulder and scoffed, “that’s not going in a top loader.”

you pulled the card close to your chest, “i thought you didn’t want to see who i got, and that you were going into the kitchen to grab a drink while i looked?”

“yeah, well, that was before i saw his face, okay?” seungeon made his way around the sofa to sit beside you and take the card from your hand. “i mean, it’s look at him, thinking he’s all cute.”

you leaned your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder to calm him, he clearly needed it. “that’s your team mate that you’re talking about, and he is cute, junghyun is the second cutest in the whole group, in fact.”

seungeon immediately looked to you, setting the card down on his lap as he did so, “who’s first? not jihoo, right?”

placing a kiss on his forehead, you answered, “no, silly.” seungeon radiated with happiness, you knew what you had to do, “it’s yunseo.”

offended, your head was shrugged off of seungeon’s shoulder before you could even laugh at your own joke, “no more freebies for you then,” with folded arms, he stood, the photocard dropping onto the sofa as he did so. “this time i am gonna get a drink and you can make your own.”

“seungeon, wait,” you chased after him as he stormed off “i was kidding, you’re the cutest! can i please get one of your pcs, ask around at work, i want one, pleaseee,” you begged as you followed your boyfriend to the kitchen.

“i’ll think about it.”

𓆉 yunseo

yunseo’s head fell naturally to your shoulder as you placed the rest of the album inserts onto the coffee table with the photocard, face down, in your hand.

“who’s it gonna be?” he wondered, his rhythmic way of speaking creating a drum roll as you flipped it. “ohhh, jeonghyeon,” yunseo pouted, looking up at you to see your response.

you didn’t give much reaction, you weren’t really too sure on how you should be feeling, but he didn’t really give you much time to process it anyway.

“you won’t be needing that, y/n,” yunseo took the card straight from your hand and chucked it back at the table with all the other inclusions, “so what do you think of the album?” he lifted his head but his eyes stayed on you expectedly.

“i love it!” you exclaimed, “your fans are gonna be super excited to see their pulls too.”

“huh?” yunseo pulled away from you even more, focus flicking between you and the jeonghyeon photocard, “you didn’t even see mine?”

“well, if jeonghyeon’s looks that good, i can only imagine how incredible yours are!” you reassured your boyfriend, who you never expected to get so jealous so easily.

he smiled in response, settling back into the crook onto your shoulder, tempted to kiss your neck, “i’ll find one for you, babe.”

𓆉 junghyun

frowning, you put the card face down on your lap. your fingers covered any writing on the back of the card, which junghyun tried to read, before he spoke up. “who is it?”

“seungeon,” you tried to smile at your boyfriend, who you expected to be extremely disappointed. normally, had junghyun not been there, you would have been over the moon to pull seungeon, but you didn’t want to upset junghyun. you showed him the photocard.

he smiled back, his hand coming to your hair and ruffling it, “it’s okay,” he laughed, “it’s just a card, i can get you another if you’re really that upset.” taking the card from your hand, he flicked it once and kissed his teeth, “it wouldn’t look that good in your phone case.” junghyun studied the pc, mimicking seungeon’s expression. “how did he even-” he puffed his cheeks more, making a kissy face before deflating them again, “did i do it?” he made the face again and held up a finger heart, opening his eyes briefly to see your reaction.

“don’t worry, obviously i love seungeon, but you’re way cuter ” you reassured your boyfriend with a nervous laugh, “and you’re right, only your photocard should be there.”

“wait,” junghyun placed the card down, picking up his hoodie instead, “let’s go out and take a picture to go there instead, baby.”

#evnne #evnne imagines #evnne reactions #keita #park hanbin #hanbin #lee jeonghyeon #yunseo #seungeon #mun junghyun

68 notes · View notes

zablife · 1 year ago

Text

My Martha

John Shelby x Martha & Finn Shelby

Summary: When seven year old Finn meets a kind seamstress during the war, he’s immediately taken with her beauty and kindness. However, it’s his older brother, John, who ultimately wins her favor, causing Finn to experience his first case of a broken heart.

Author’s Note: Requested by a lovely anon who wanted a Finn fic based on the film Malena. Not a true love triangle as Finn is ages seven thru ten in the story. However, he has a boyhood crush. A new take on John and Martha’s origin story where they meet later and she lives.

Warnings: language, fighting, mention of blood, unwanted advances

1915

The air had turned crisp suddenly that autumn, the breeze blowing down the narrow alleys of Small Heath where Finn and the other boys played. The threadbare coat Polly had managed to find in a pile of John’s old clothes was not nearly warm enough to block the chill, nor were the trousers that had once belonged to Tommy.

As a fight broke out over who had won the pile of marbles, Finn was knocked to the ground, ripping the knee of his threadbare hand me downs. Eventually the boys all scattered in different directions, but Finn remained, wincing at the sight of blood oozing from the cut he’d sustained on the cobblestones. As he leaned against the cold stone of a nearby building, Finn noticed the kind young woman who had stopped to check on him.

“Are you alright? Did someone hurt you?” she asked, looking around to see if a bully was still lurking nearby.

“No, I fell,” Finn said, dusting off his trousers. He felt his cheeks growing hot as he looked up at the beautiful girl with ginger hair. She was close enough to place a hand on his shoulder and he unconsciously leaned into her touch.

“I live right over there. Let me help clean you up and sew those trousers,” the woman said with a smile.

“I dunno,” Finn mumbled.

“I’m Martha,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m a seamstress so it won’t take long and then I’ll take you home to your parents.”

“Don’t have any money…or parents,” Finn explained, kicking the ground.

“Oh…” Martha replied in shock. “Well, you don’t have to pay me. And afterwards, I’ll take you somewhere to get you out of the cold.”

“But I have a home!” Finn protested.

“Of course you have. Where is that?” Martha asked gently.

“Watery Lane,” Finn said.

“Alright, Watery Lane it is,” Martha said with a smile. Finn nodded with complete trust.

When the repairs were finished and Finn had filled his belly with Martha’s homemade pie, she walked him home, making pleasant conversation. Finally she asked, “What does your Aunt Polly do, Finn?”

“She’s a bookmaker,” he said absently, watching a bird. A moment later he stopped with a jerk. “Shit!" The word flew from his mouth involuntarily, a desperate reaction to his carelessness.

Martha’s head snapped to the boy at her side. “Is something wrong?” she asked, surprised at his sudden outburst.

Eyes darting from side to side furtively, he murmured,“You weren’t meant to hear that."

“It’s alright, I assure you I heard far worse when my father was alive,” Martha replied with a conspiratorial giggle.

“Not the swear. I meant, my aunt’s work. She told me to say she’s an umbrella maker or something so the parish don’t take me away,” he confided with fear in his voice.

As a single woman working diligently to keep a roof over her own head, Martha’s heart clenched in her chest at his admission. She had heard of women making ends meet in ways that weren’t exactly legal while their husbands were away at war, but she wasn’t about to turn anyone into the authorities. She stopped walking, placing her hands on Finn’s shoulders so he would face her. “Finn, I won’t say a word. In fact, I’d like to learn some of your aunt’s umbrella mending techniques one day.”

“You would?” he asked cheerfully.

“Yes, of course. As a seamstress, I’m always looking to expand my trade,” you reasoned with him.

“That’s wise,” Finn agreed with a nod of his head, appearing much older than his age.

Martha giggled again at his adorable nature. “Thank you, Finn,” she said with a wide grin. This was a family she had to learn more about.

Over the course of the next year she would, receiving business advice from Polly and regular visits from Finn who kept her company as she sewed late into the evenings. She insisted Finn do his school work there when she realized how it had been neglected, but she only offered gentle corrections. She wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Pol. In fact, Finn often had to stifle a giggle as Martha attempted to answer his questions with pins held firmly between her teeth.

————————————

1916

Finn hadn’t seen Martha in almost two weeks, but he gasped excitedly when he spied her at the market one summer day. Her auburn hair made her easy to spot in a crowd and today Finn was especially grateful for the bright pink hair ribbon she wore, winking at him through the crowd as she walked. Standing on tip toes to catch another glimpse, he struck out in the direction he’d last seen her, hoping to catch up to her for a chat.

Martha was the only person who actually listened to him when he talked and he’d missed her kindness. At home he was always being shoved aside with exasperated pleas for quiet. He understood that with the passing of his own mum, he couldn’t expect the same love and affection. The war had only made matters worse with Aunt Pol and the ladies at the betting shop under terrible stress with little time for his distractions. Therefore it was nice to have someone to discuss his interests with at length. Besides that Martha laughed at his jokes and never called him names like Ada did.

In a desperate bid for Martha's attention, Finn nearly tripped in his haste to wave hello. He readied a cry of her name, but it died on his lips when he saw the woman at the vegetable stall lean forward to observe Martha with hawklike scrutiny, grabbing her forearm harshly. “Put that back,” she demanded spitefully.

“Mrs. Patterson, I don’t know what I’ve done, but I assure you I’ve money to pay our bill,” Martha said meekly, eyes nervously darting to see who might be listening. Her cheeks were turning a rosy color in embarrassment over the misunderstanding and her feet shuffled beneath her skirts uncertainly.

“We don’t serve whores,” the woman spat.

“Wh-what? But I’m not…” Martha began.

Mrs. Patterson clucked her tongue in rebuke as she tossed her hand aside in disgust. “Course you’d deny it, but all the girls have told me bout you. Get out of here before I call the police.”

Martha’s hands shook as she placed the carrots she held back into the crates before her, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Turning from the booth quickly, she wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks as she fled the market, avoiding eye contact with the women spreading such hateful rumors about her.

It wasn’t until Finn had called her name three times that she finally turned, shoulders hunched in defeat. The radiant smile he’d come to know so well could not be found amongst the pain hidden behind her eyes and Finn missed the warmth that would normally spread through his body at her usual greeting.

She inhaled sharply at being caught with watery eyes, aware that the situation was far too delicate for a child’s understanding, even one as worldly as Finn. “I can’t play with you today, Finn,” she explained quickly, looking past him toward home. She wanted nothing more than to hide from everyone after what had been said.

Sensing her hurt and wanting to protect her honor, a sudden rage overtook Finn’s small body. Without another thought, he rushed for the vegetable stand and took an armful of tomatoes, hurling them at the offending woman as she stood with her back to him.

As she felt the gush of liquid against her neck and back, Mrs. Patterson turned in fury. “Finn Shelby! I see you, boy!” she cried out, grabbing a broom and chasing him along the street, hair and apron strings covered in the watery juices and tiny seeds of the tomatoes. She pursued him for several blocks before he finally evaded her, pressing himself against the side of a building to catch his breath and smiling at the thought of justice being served.

However, it wouldn’t be the last of the trouble. A week later, Finn saw Martha leaving the shoemaker looking utterly dejected. She didn’t swing her basket or hum a tune the way she usually did. Instead, she gave a tight smile and nodded politely to Finn and his friends as she passed.

The silence bothered Finn and he wondered if his antics with the tomatoes had changed her opinion of him. Feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment and regret, he turned to go home when he heard a long, low whistle.

“Look good enough to eat, sweetheart. I’d love a taste of strawberry tart,” a man’s voice leered at Martha.

The hair on the back of Finn’s neck stood on end as he listened and he jumped when he heard Martha scream. Heart thundering wildly, he turned to find a drunkard pawing at her, basket tossed aside as he pushed her toward an alley.

“Don’t fight me, love. I know what you are. How much?” he slurred.

“Leave her alone!” Finn yelled and his friends joined in, screaming and cursing, fists and limbs flying. While the man was distracted by the band of wayward children, Martha bit down hard on his hand and he released her, staggering away until he fell backward onto the ground. “Run, Martha!” Finn shouted and she tearfully scrambled to the street as the boys continued kicking the bewildered man.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Finn hurried home as well, crashing into the betting shop and running head long into John.

“Woah, Finn! What are you up to?” John asked with a sly grin. He knew his brother had been causing mischief by the guilty look on his face, but wanted to hear what Finn would say.

“John, you’re home!” Finn cried. "There’s so much to tell you!” he panted, hardly able to believe his brother was standing before him. He flung his arms around his brother’s waist and squeezed, smelling the mixture of smoke from the train and whatever new brand of cigarette Polly was sending him nowadays.

“Alright, let me wash first and we’ll talk over dinner, yeah?” John said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“But it’s important! My friend Martha’s in trouble,” Finn continued urgently.

Playing along, John stooped down to Finn’s eye level and asked, “Is that right? What’s happened, a case of stolen marbles?” he chuckled.

As Polly passed by she interjected, “Not likely, Martha’s twenty-one.”

John’s head shot up at the mention of a woman his own age. Looking at Polly quizzically, then back down at Finn, he asked, “How do you know her?”

“It’s a long story, but suffice it to say, she’s a lovely girl,” Polly explained before turning to her youngest nephew. “What kind of trouble, Finn? That doesn’t sound like Martha.”

“No, she hasn’t done anything wrong, Aunt Pol! It started when Mrs. Patterson and the women at the market started calling her a whore!” Finn choked out the last words unwillingly, hating the way it sounded. “Then she was followed by a man today and he tried to hurt her,” he confessed, lip trembling at the thought of what might have happened if he and the other boys hadn’t caused a commotion.

Polly took Finn by the shoulders and looked him in the eye sternly, “Is she alright? Where’s Martha now, Finn?”

He nodded fiercely, “She ran home, but she was really scared. Will that happen again?” Finn asked, big eyes searching back and forth between his aunt and his brother.

“Not in our territory. I’ll sort this,” John said in an authoritative voice.

By dinnertime the man in question had mysteriously disappeared and no one dared touch Martha again. The next week at the market, Mrs. Patterson had a lovely selection of her finest produce available and insisted Martha take it for free, offering up the basket with a flowery apology.

When Martha realized John Shelby had been the cause of her restored reputation, she seemed happier than ever. She offered to cook him a lavish meal to say thank you and he readily accepted. However, there was one person who wasn’t sure he liked this new turn of events.

———————————-

1917

“Finn, will you see Martha today?” Polly asked as she placed his breakfast in front of him.

“I don’t think so,” Finn replied glumly, chin resting in his palm as he stared out the kitchen window. He wanted to see Martha, but now every time he went, she talked about John.

John was still away fighting, but he and Martha still kept in touch writing letters. When Finn began noticing the stack accumulating on the table, tied up in Martha’s favorite pink hair ribbon, he knew there was another Shelby vying for her affection and possibly winning. The thought made him ill, unable to eat for days afterward, even when Martha offered her delicious rhubarb pie.

He didn’t understand why the one good thing he had in his life, the person he could call his own, was being usurped by his older brother. It hardly seemed fair when John wasn’t even in the same country. For the first time since he met Martha, Finn felt small and insignificant. Probably worst of all, it confirmed his worst fears that he was truly unlovable.

————————————

1918

“I thought you’d be pleased!” John said, scratching his head. The news of his engagement to Martha was supposed to be a happy occasion.

“Well m’ not,” Finn said through clenched teeth, shoulders tightening uncomfortably as though he might throw a punch at any moment.

“You’re mad at me?” John asked incredulously.

“Mad as hell!” Finn spat, crossing his arms over his chest as his nostrils flared.

John chuckled at the sight of him, a tiny bull ready to charge. “What do you know about hell, eh? You’re fucking ten years old!”

“I’ll be eleven next month,” Finn grumbled, kicking the floorboards with an indignant scowl weighing down the corners of his mouth disagreeably. Why did everyone forget he was growing up and he had a say in this family too?

“You think you’re going to marry a girl because you shit your pants in front of her when you were six? Sure, mate, that’s romantic,” John teased.

“That’s not what happened!” Finn shouted, lunging for his brother. Despite being ten, he was tall for his age, reaching John’s shoulders. A few punches managed to land dangerously close to John’s jaw before he captured his brother under his arm, subduing his rage after one last fit of squirming and kicking.

“Are you finished?” he asked the boy.

“Yes,” Finn huffed, chest heaving from exertion. John turned him lose onto the rug and flung himself into a chair, running a hand over his hair to smooth it back into place.

“Why are you so angry all the time?” John asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Why are you such an arsehole?” Finn retorted with a toss of his head.

“See what I mean? You think Martha will want to be around you if you act like this?” John asked, pointing a finger at Finn accusingly.

“She won’t be around anyway. You’re moving, you stupid git!” Finn protested and suddenly John realized what this was about.

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he sighed. “Okay, right. I think I understand now. I’m taking her away from you,” John said softly.

Finn looked at the floor and nodded slowly. “She was the only one around after mum died. You lot when off to war and Aunt Pol ran the shop. I know I’m too young to marry her, but she’s still my Martha. She was mine first anyway,” he said, sniffling into his shirt sleeve.

John inhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought. He’d never considered what life had been like for Finn in the years he’d been away fighting. He knew Martha had cared for Finn. In fact, it was one of the things he loved most about her, but he had no idea Finn’s attachment had grown so deep.

“Look, Tommy’s made me an offer to work with him. I’ll have to discuss it with Martha, but I don’t see any reason why she wouldn’t want to stay on. Her shop is doing well and until we have a baby, she wants to work,” he explained, trying to offer a bit of hope to his brother.

“Ugh, I don’t want to hear about your babies!” Finn protested.

“Alright, no more talk of that,” John agreed, standing to clap a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Until it’s Uncle Finn!” he added with a wide grin.

“Get off!” Finn said, shoving him away with a laugh.

After a long pause John shuffled toward the door before asking, “Are we okay?” and Finn nodded in agreement.

As John opened the door he found Martha standing at the threshold ready to knock. “Have you told him?” she whispered, leaning in to place a peck on John’s lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured against her.

Placing a hand on his shoulder lightly, she asked, “Can I speak to him?”

“I’ll wait outside,” John answered, moving out into the street to light a cigar.

As she crossed the floor, Martha cast her eyes upon a still sulking Finn. “When John asked me to marry him the first person I wanted to tell was you,” she confided.

“Me? Why?” he asked, looking at her with utter confusion. She loved John, not him. Why would she be thinking of him during the proposal?

“I wanted to thank you, of course,” Martha said, a radiant smile painting her face.

“Why is that?” Finn asked, curiosity growing as her soothing cadence lulled him into a peaceful state once more. She had the unique ability to do that whenever he found himself overwhelmed.

“You loved and protected me like family when I needed it most,” she said, reaching a hand up to push the fringe from his eyes. “Now we’ll be family forever and John and I will always be here for you. We both love you very much. You know that, don’t you?” she asked, searching his eyes for understanding.

Finn nodded as she opened her arms for a hug. Finn awkwardly accepted, pushing a shoulder toward her and allowing his cheek to brush her jawline momentarily, feeling his heart skip a beat as it did. He tried not to think of it as a goodbye as he worked to push the lump down in his throat. It wasn’t the way he’d envisioned her joining the family when they met, but now he had to admit this was always meant to be.

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

Tag list:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl