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drcranessweetestdoe · 4 months

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heyyyyy

could you do a Tommy shelby fic?

in which he fucks Ada's bestfriend when she is 18!

hii, love this idea xx I have been writing this all day, time to celebrate with a jam sandwich:) xx

Finally mine

warning: agegap!, Thomas lusts after her while she is underage, grooming, virginity loss, virginity kink, innocence kink, unprotected sex, Tommy being a softie, possessiveness

pairing: Thomas Shelby x Innocent!Reader

summary: ever since he came back from the war, Tommy found himself wanting his sister’s lovely and sweet best friend, too bad he has to wait until she is 18

(Y/N) was the sweetest girl in the whole of Birmingham, always polite and kind. Thomas was smitten with her from day one. She and Ada met in school, she felt sorry that Ada was always alone, because everyone told their kids to stay away from the filthy Shelby’s. So, one day she gathered the courage and sat beside the sad girl, who was very excited to finally have a friend.

It was the age of war, so everyone was always on the edge of a meltdown. And money wasn’t exactly falling from the sky. While (Y/N)’s family weren’t considered aristocrats by any chance, she never had to worry about not getting fed, or not having a warm bed to sleep in. That was something that the Shelby’s couldn’t exactly relate to, there was little money and quite a few mouths to feed. Aunt Polly tried her best to feed the hungry children at the table, but she was failing more and succeeding less. Her sister-in-law’s three big boys were away at war, but they were always talked about.

One day, the thirteen year old (Y/N) plopped down beside her best friend Ada with a full lunch box in hand. She always had lunch packed with her, but Ada never did. For a long time, she just assumed that the malnourished girl was not hungry in school. While she was munching on her apple, she heard the growl of a hungry belly and Ada turned her head down in shame. While a girl is naive at 13, (Y/N) immediately knew that her friend was hungry, and that she probably didn’t get as much food at home as she did. When Ada looked back at her, she reacted with a wide smile to the outstretched hand towards her, holding a big red apple.

For the rest of the break, they just sat under their tree, silently chewing on their apples, with a smile on both faces.

That is how Ada knew that (Y/N) was going to be her lifelong best friend. She opened up to her when they were sharing a cigarette on the edge of the forest.

“We had more money before the war, if Tommy was here he would make sure that we have food.” Ada explained.

(Y/N) just blinked at her friend. “Who’s Tommy?”

———-

Three years later, the girls were now sixteen and the war was finally over. Because (Y/N) herself didn’t have any brothers, or sisters, she didn’t know how many families waited for this day to come.

It was a pretty summer day, and she made her way to the Shelby household, where she was always welcomed by Aunt Polly. Except, when she walked into the house, there was only one man sitting at the table. Her breath got stuck in her throat and she blushed heavily, he was very handsome. For a moment she believed that she walked into the wrong house, but the photographs on the walls proved otherwise. He was smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall blankly, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even hear her come in.

Thomas just wanted a moment to himself in his childhood house before going back to the Garrison, he was not the same man anymore. Suddenly, he saw a figure in the corner of his eye. A second later, the two pairs of eyes met. His previously sad eyes lit up at the sight of her, but he tried to conceal it. She was so beautiful… Slender and weakish frame, something that made him eager to protect her. Her long and soft looking hair. And that face, oh god, that pretty face.

“H-Hi… I’m (Y/N).” She walked closer to him and stuck her hand out for him, she recognized him from the pictures, he was one of Ada’s brothers.

He heard about her, Aunt Pol always told him what was happening on Watery Lane in the letters she sent to Tommy. She had mentioned Ada’s lovely friend, multiple times. She told him that the girl was pretty, very kind, and that she went with her to church on Sundays when no one else wanted to, just so Polly didn’t have to go alone.

Tommy smiled at her, and she felt herself get lost in those bright blue gems of eyes. Instead of shaking her hand, he brought it to his lips and planted a little kiss on it. Her hand was soft and warm, it was a while since he felt the touch of a gentle female. He smiled when she blushed more at his kiss. “Thomas Shelby.”

—----

From that day on, Miss (Y/L/N) was under the protection of the Peaky Blinders. Thomas always had one of his men following her and Ada to school, and then back home. It killed him knowing that he couldn’t touch her, make her his, not yet anyway. That would have been immoral and awful, and he knew that aunt Pol would have broken his hand in two and cut off his cock. That didn’t mean he hadn’t spent too many night fucking his fist to the thought of her. Everyone in the Shelby clan could see how soft he was towards her, always making sure that she stays out of the bad things, and whenever she came over and he was working, his eyes basically formed into hearts and followed her everywhere. The family loved her, she enjoyed baking and she always made sure that at least once a week she turned up to the office with home-baked treats. Those kinds of sweet treats calmed everyone down, business was blooming after all.

Ever since Tommy came back from the war, he only let himself be pleasured by whores, the one girl he wanted was the one he had to wait for. He always hired prostitutes that resembled her even the slightest bit. He imagined that he was burying himself inside her wet and warm walls, he overheard her and Ada and he was very well aware that she was untouched, a sweet little virgin. In Small Heath, the girls started sleeping around in their teens, but she, at 17, didn’t care about the boys her age. She wanted a certain gangster, who was nearing his thirties.

He didn’t even claim her yet, but wherever she walked, everyone knew she was Tommy Shelby’s girl. He sent her gifts, and always a handwritten note. Her heart never failed to warm up when she saw the little T.S on the bottom of the cards. Flowers, chocolates, exotic spices that she could put in her sweet treats, jewellery, dresses, everything a 17 year old girl loves. She was spoiled by him. When she wore one of the dresses that he got for her, she always sent him a shy smile and a little nod.

—-----

Tomorrow was going to be the day when she would finally become 18 years old, a young lady. She felt so antsy getting to bed, knowing that she would wake up as an adult. She also deeply hoped that Tommy would do something, after 2 years of gifts, protection and lustful gazes from distance. It was safe to say that her standards were very much heightened.

When she woke up, she noticed a big box on the chair of her vanity, tied up in one of those big ribbons. Her mother must have brought it up for her, as she always did when her daughter’s name was on the box, written by the familiar handwriting.

She was smiling widely when she opened the box up, it had a beautiful silky dress and a gold locket necklace. She marvelled at the divine fabric, but quickly blushed when she looked into the box again. There was a set of white lingerie and a note.

Tonight, I’ll send a car to pick you up at 7pm, be ready.

~T.S

She melted at that, and she felt her lower tummy warm up. This evening, she will finally be claimed.

——-

By the time 7pm rolled around, she did everything she could to make herself look pretty for him. She took a long hot bath, made sure she smelled good everywhere. She washed her hair and tied up half of it with a bow. She put lotion all over herself, sprayed herself with perfume and put the lovely dress on. Sitting in her vanity, she put on some makeup. She felt beautiful.

She got her light coat on, along with kitten heels and she was waiting for his car to come. When it did, she sat in the backseat and greeted the driver.

She got driven to Arrow house, which she only heard about before. It was so huge, and overwhelming, but very nice.

A maid took her coat and escorted her to the dining roomom. Just like the rest of the house, it was quite big, both the room itself and the table. It was decorated elegantly, the candlelight flooded the room. Just as she stepped in, Thomas walked in the room on the other door. He looked so handsome as always, with his muscular frame and his tailored suit.

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest, she looked like an angel, and she was standing in his house, wearing his gift. The maid left, now there were only two of them in the room, he walked up to her. With a gentle hand on her waist, he pulled her closer so he could plant a kiss on her cheek and whisper in her ear. “You look absolutely gorgeous.” He got even closer, her head was spinning with him so close, his masculine scent sent her hormones into overdrive. “I hope the dress isn’t the only gift of mine on you.”

He felt his dick twitch when she looked up at him like that, a gentle glint in her eyes. She shaked her head, too lost in his eyes to answer with words. To shake her out of her trance, he guided her to her seat, with his hand still on her slender waist.

He sat next to her, the maids kept on serving the finest of foods. Thomas also brought out a bottle of red wine. Both of them were surprised how easy it was for them to talk. They talked and ate, and Tommy even found himself laughing. He also found out how innocent she was, she wasn’t stupid, just inexperienced, and he was more than happy to give her experience. She also had a big heart, and a gentle soul, she was everything he needed.

While everyone in Small Heath tried to warn her about Thomas Shelby, she never understood why. He was just trying to protect his family and give them a chance at a better life, he was also an absolute softie for her. She could see that he had a lot of love to give, he enjoyed being the leader and defeating other gang leaders, but he must have been craving someone who could take care of him for once, she knew that she wanted to be that person.

When they finished dessert, he pulled her chair closer to his and cradled one of her blushing cheek into his palm.

“Are you aware of my intentions towards you?” He asked in a serious tone, she knew that he wasn’t fooling around. Now or never. She nodded as much as she could with the gentle hold on her face, but he wasn’t having it. “Answer me with words, I want to see if you really want this.” She felt dizzy by hearing his dominating tone.

“Yes, I know your intentions with me.” She replied shyly.

“What are they?” His fingers started to move her hair out of her face, caressing her in the process.

“Y-You want to make me yours.” She spoke lowly, it was hard to speak when he was looking at her as if he was seconds away from ravaging her.

“Yes, and do you want that, (Y/N)? Do you want me to make you mine?” He was even closer now, he whispered seductively in her ear, his full lips were nearly touching the shell of her ear. “Just say the word, sweetheart, and I will give you everything you crave. Please, let me give you the world.” Thomas Shelby barely used the word ‘please’, but he was nearly begging for her. She almost giggled, as if she really needed much convincing.

“I want it, I want it so bad, Tommy…” She was getting impatient, and he saw it on her.

“Shh, sweetheart… Don’t let your pretty head worry, I’m going to take care of you so nicely.” He stood up and stuck his hand out for her to take. “Come.”

He walked with her to his bedroom, she was walking behind him so she couldn’t see the wicked grin on his lips. When they stepped in the door, he just kept on walking, which caused her to walk backwards, until her knees hit the bed and she had fallen down on it.

He didn’t waste a second and crawled on top of her, his lips slowly finding hers. Their kiss started out slow, he guided her lips with his own. After a few minutes, noticing that she was starting to become more and more confident, he slipped his tongue into her open mouth. His hand wandered to her back, where the zipper was, his head pulled away so he could ask for silent permission. Once he got it, he helped her sit up and he removed the dress. Sitting back on his heels, he admired the sight in front of him, her young body was just begging to be ruined. She was wearing the lace, she looked exactly like an angel. His lips glued themselves to her neck and they sucked and bit, her noises were proof that she was enjoying his touch. He made sure to really mark her up, she wasn’t going to leave his mansion for a while, he needed his time with his new prize. She bit down on her lips to hide her moans, something he growled at.

“Don’t you dare. I want to hear you, don’t hold back, sweetheart.”

He went down to her breasts, he also reached under her arched back and unclasped her bra. She tried to cover herself, but he was having none of it. He slowly unpeeled her arms from her chest and kissed all around her breasts. “How beautiful! Such a nice pair of tits you have, the best I’ve seen.” He sucked a nipple into his mouth and she mewled loudly, she didn’t expect to feel so aroused while getting her nipples sucked at. He made sure that he gave both of her tits the same treatment before going lower.

Before he could do more, he stood up to remove his shirt and pants, her presence was making him hotter by the minute. He hooked his fingers into her panties and his cock nearly tore his underwear when he saw how the crotch was stuck to her entrance. She was already so ready for him. He yanked harder and they finally parted, he brought her panties up to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Mhm, so sweet… But, I think I need to feel this from the source.” Tommy dropped to his knees in front of her spread legs, her mind was making her doubt herself. What if she looked ugly down there? What if it smelled or tasted b—

“OH— Tommy!” She moaned loudly when his tongue licked a long stripe up her slit. He just chuckled into her pussy darkly, then he moved on to her pleasure. His mouth was sucking her throbbing clit, his fingers slowly circled her entrance, teasing her.

“Fuck… Your cunt tastes divine, and it’s only for my mouth to taste.” It wasn’t even a question. She was unable to form a coherent sentence, she could only moan and thrash on his tongue. He took one finger and he slowly eased it into her, she was so wet that it slipped right into her, he didn’t hesitate to add another one. “You’re going so good, I cannot wait to feel this tight virgin pussy on my cock.” He curled his fingers and rubbed them right into her spongy spot, her fingers grabbed his hair and tried to push his face more into her heat. He felt her clenching more and more, so he sped up his movements and grinned proudly when she came undone with a whiny moan and a desperate call of his name.

He kissed his way back up to her heaving chest and looked up at her flushed face. He talked her through it, until her breathing evened out again. He slowly slipped his underwear off, his back straightened out for her to see his big cock. It was veiny and thick and it made her nervous. He kept her legs spread, while he kneeled between them, one of his hand smoothing her face and the other one gripped himself at his base. “Want to give a little touch? Don’t be scared, I’m going to make this very pleasurable for you, my sweet girl.” He hissed when her fingertips made contact with his dripping tip, he was so pent up and her soft touch nearly made him blow his load all over her juicy tits, but he had to stay patient. “Are you ready? Ready to become mine?”

“Yes, Tommy, please, I want to feel you. I-I waited for you.” This caused him to grin and give her a deep kiss.

“I know you did, little one.” He positioned himself at her entrance and he slowly began pushing in, he felt a bit of resistance, but with a sharp thrust, he managed to break through it. He wrapped her up in his arms and whispered sweet nothings into her ear soothingly. “I know, I know. It will feel better in a minute, your pussy just has to adjust to my cock. Relax.” It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would, but it still did, the girls in her class made it sound worse, or maybe their boyfriends didn’t take the time to prep them properly. That made her so proud, her Tommy made sure she was ready. She tried her best to relax her muscles and she felt the pain lessen. She planted a shy kiss on Tommy’s neck at which he chuckled at. “Good girl. You’re mine now, only mine.” He slowly began moving in and out of her.

Her walls gripped on him like a vice, he didn’t need any whores anymore, he had her now. His hands lifted her hips up a bit, so his cock was hitting her spot at every thrust. He went more and more faster, his fingers also began rubbing on her swollen clitoris.

“AH— Tommy, I’m going to—do that thing again.” His innocent little girl, so good for him.

“Good… I can feel you squeeze me, come on, sweet girl, come for me. Come on my cock. Let me fill you up. Let me make you mine.” With a shout of his name and a cry, she came around him. When he felt her walls pulsing around him, he let go too. His warm cum painted her walls, and it was such a delicious sensation. He stayed inside her for a few minutes, both of them trying to catch their breaths.

When he pulled out, he sat back so he could watch his cum leak out of her spent hole. He looked down proudly at his softening cock, which had some of her blood on it. Shit, he really filled her up with his load, there was so much of it. And the whiteness of him and the dark crimson of her virginity made such a lovely contrast together.

He took a rag from his bedside table and cleaned her up, making sure that he was gentle with her, the girl just got fucked and she was sensitive both physically and mentally, he had to be gentle.

After he made sure they were both clean, he once again brought her into his embrace. He smiled at her lovingly, which caused her to do the same. Her hair was all puffy from his touch, but he loved it.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He cradled her cheek, and caressed her under eye area with his fingertip.

“I’m good, I feel a bit sore, but it’s okay.” She nuzzled into his neck and left little kisses. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

He smiled in a way he didn’t for a long time, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. He wanted to give the world to the girl in his arms, and he felt the primal urge to protect her and keep her away from all the bad. “Me too. I’m happy to know that you’re finally mine.”

taglist: @your-nanas-house

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cybsoo2 · 2 days

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run, rabbit, run!

╰┈➤ synopsis — You're hunted down by a harrowing hybrid. He takes his time toying with his food. But in the end, he just wants to know how you taste.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!wolf-hybrid!jungkook x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 2.3k

╰┈➤ content warning — yandere behavior, violence, blood, injury, predator/prey dynamics.

The woods lied to you. They led you astray and now you stand under the shadows of the moon; alone and stalked by a hungry animal.

You can hear its howl off in the distance, a roar rooted in anger. Blinding fury scares off all the other animals; birds fly away over the treetops and rodents run away into their hiding holes. You wish you could do the same. But this tyrannical terror keeps your feet frozen to the spot. You feel like you’re stuck in a painted picture, everything else around you moves so fast but you can’t seem to keep up.

A shiver creeps up your spine, it feels like ten thousand tiny spiders are crawling around in your hair. You begin to break out in a cold sweat and tears trickle out the corner of your eyes. Your body is begging you to run, but your mind has been manipulated by fear.

Another round of its howling starts up, you can hear it coming closer. Every footstep from the predator is almost deafening in your ears. It’s all you can focus on, the steady sound of its paws running rampant. The pounding feet against the forest floor is in tune with the sound of your heartbeat. Blood rushing up to your ears until all you can hear is your own fear intertwining with the wolf that watches.

The fog begins to clear away, almost as if it’s making way for the monster that owns these woods. Your vision is beginning to look less blurry. You try to search the darkness for any way out of the forest, but the trees all look the same and it’s clear that no man has walked these woods for centuries. You wish you hadn’t been so stubborn and listened to the townspeople instead. Their stories of a man-eating monster that roams the woods. So stupid and naive, you ignored their warnings and called them superstitions. Just fairy tales made up to keep their children inside the town. Now your last moment will be ruined with regret. That is, if it manages to catch you.

You force yourself out of this frozen hold, battling your body that begs you to stay still and silent. You give into your instincts, the humanity in your heart that still has a sliver of hope that you could survive. You break out into a sprint and the woods run along with you, the scenery blurring as you speed up.

With heavy limbs and a barely beating heart, you put your all into your escape. It’s a struggle to breathe, every icy inhale you take burns your lungs and smoke billows out as breath. The night is falling fast and it’s clear that this will be the wolves’ advantage. His red eyes are made for the moonlight. No powerless prey has ever escaped him before and you’ll be no different.

You’re running down an incline when you realize you’ve already been caught. The dirt slides out underneath your feet and you’re falling over yourself before you can even understand what happened.

Sticks and twigs scrape along your skin. Tearing up your flesh and producing purple bruises that swell. The wind is knocked out of you and you’re stuck staring up at the sky. Two shining stars twinkle down at you. The twin flames burn bright with intensity as they stare into your eyes. The stars are soulless. They're the epitome of evil set ablaze and only then do you realize that they aren’t stars at all, but rather dark eyes glaring down at you.

Your first instinct is to try and crawl away but the beast beats you to it. It presses its paws against your shoulder and you can feel your muscles pulling themselves apart under pressure. Your collarbone is cracking and you struggle to not cry out in pain. The animal lowers itself as it lays almost all its weight on your chest. It sticks its muzzle up against the side of your throat. It bares its bloodied teeth as it lets out a pleased growl. The wolf rubs its head along the expanse of your neck in a scenting motion. Its rough fur rubs you raw, your skin screaming out in agony. Pretty pink scratches line your skin. Blood pools at the surface and mixes with the scarlet still staining the wolf’s fur. It’s obvious the wolf is a rabid beast. Layers of blood coat his black fur along with dirt and tiny twigs.

The hybrid is rough in his scenting ritual. His claws threaten to tear open your skin, the tips of the nails drag up the side of your arm. He’s clumsy and chaotic, all this pent-up adrenaline begs to be banished. His animalistic instincts scream at him to complete the kill, but Jungkook doesn’t want you to die. His heart has hope that this time will be different. You aren’t fighting him, aren’t screaming or shouting in fear, you just stay still and wait for what he does next. You aren’t a threat to him and that’s why he shows you a silver of his humanity.

You can feel a change in the animal above you, The weight on your chest lessens and his scratchy fur no longer rubs up against your side. Instead, you feel soft skin against yours. A warmth emanates from the man that rests atop you. His head is still hidden in your shoulder so you can’t see his face. This sudden transformation is not a comforting one but instead scares you of what’s to come next. You try to swallow the terror stuck in your throat. But, the white hot hold of fear forces back your breath. Sobs and screams are silenced before they can tear their way out of you.

Your heart hammers up against his. Each breath you two take pushes and pulls your chests in tandem. You both hug a heat that separates you from the rest of the woods. This closeness strikes you with a sudden sickness and you begin to panic, pushing yourself deeper into the dirt and into an early grave. The mad man only follows your movements, bringing his body down to drop almost the entirety of his weight on you.

Jaw stretched open to show off all his scarlet incisors. He takes the time to drag the tips of his teeth up and down the tender part of your throat. Exposed skin that begs for his bite. Jungkook can feel you trembling from the inside out. He takes in every icy inhale of yours as if it’s his own. Matching your body’s breath until it winds down into a steady pattern.

He could snap your neck with a slide of his hands. Crush your trachea under the force of his jaw. But, he chooses to be gentle (Or as gentle as a rabid bite can be). He’s tempted to know what you taste like between his teeth. He sticks his tongue out the slightest bit, sliding it across your skin to taste the terror. He laps at your throat like a hungry animal, sucking the shivers out of your skin.

A whimper escapes your mouth before you can notice. You have no control over your own senses at this point. Emotions overwhelmed and body so sensitive, you can only cry and plead not to be torn apart by the abomination.

“Please– Please… don’t kill me.” You struggle through the simple words. Out of breath and barely squeaking out a syllable. It feels as if he’s torn your throat out already. You can feel the metallic taste building on your tongue. It hurts to talk and takes up all your courage to do so. You can’t even look him in the eyes while you beg for your life, a foolish mistake.

The monster of a man isn’t too happy with you ignoring his eyes. A little nip at your neck draws another cry out of you. Jungkook lets out a growl that could be mistaken with a whine. The authority in his voice grabs your attention.

Looking into his lonely eyes, you can’t help but see your own reflection in his irises. You look so broken and bare underneath his entirety. And when you run away from your reflection, what hidden eyes lie behind his hair are no different. His eyes have a burnt edge that’s buried in blood. His crimson skin is coated in a number of nameless lives. He’s the incarnation of Satan's son. Young and arrogant, he takes everything he wants and doesn’t care for the consequences.

“I just wanna have some fun,” His words are warped into a whisper. “Play with me~” A low guttural growl that’s possessive and anything but playful. Although, a deep desire tangles itself into the three words. A hidden meaning makes it sound like he meant to say stay. Stay with me~ Jungkook is just so very lonely. The days bleed into each other and the only real fun he has is from the bloody cries he mangles out of men. He’s missing his mate yet a golden chance has been given to him. But betrayal runs red in his veins. His trust is tainted and he isn’t too sure that you’re the one. So he’ll play a little game and give you the choice. You submit to his lovesick ways; promising to be his pretty toy for futures to come, or the other outcome will be much more violent with a vainful fate.

The harrowing hybrid then backs off your body. You’re finally giving some separate space that doesn’t feel so suffocating. The wolf only wanders so far, talking a few steps back to sit in front of you. You can see what shadows once hid, his bare body on full display. Blood runs down his back, tiny cuts cover his chest, he’s an animal through and through. The sight makes you sick and you avert your eyes to the forest floor. Your wandering gaze drags over the dirt, searching for a weapon of sorts. You’ll try to use this small chance to your advantage.

You don’t fully understand why the wolf-man watches you. If he planned to kill you, then what is waiting for? Did he expect a chase? Wanting to play with his food before he takes a bite. Trying to dangle a glimpse of hope in front of your eyes before your heart bleeds out. You feel so fucking frustrated. So hopeless in his hands, no way to win and no fair fate. He smiles down at your body sprawled out on the dirt. He can smell the sadness and anger rolling off you in waves. White-hot rage is running through your heart. Annoyed at yourself or being a fool and angry at the man that thinks of your life as a game. So much restless anger simmers underneath your skin that you could care less about what he wants. You sit up slowly, hands digging into the dirt and feet ready to run.

As if the animal knows what you’re thinking it speaks with a growl, “Try it. Run away like a little rabbit. I’ll be there to hunt you down a hundred times.” The words roll off his tongue in a teasing tone. “I bet your blood would taste so good.” He tries to rile you up, raising a burning blush to your cheeks. “I’d tear your skin apart between my teeth. You’d be nothing but bones and blood once I’m bored of you.” He wishes he wouldn’t do this, but he understands you’ve already made your choice.

You stand up and start into a sprint. Running without any real purpose and an understanding of what will be your fate. Your death was destined from the moment you walked into the woods. Adrenaline and anger flow through your body. Your breath is broken and it hurts to take in the lungfuls of oxygen. Everything hurts but nothing compares to the hot hellfire that burns in your now broken leg. Jungkook jumped at the chance and caged your leg in his jaws. He clamps down on your calf and yanks you off your feet. You get whiplash when your head hits the ground. A wail of agony leaves your lips but it wastes away in the lonely woods. No one will save you and it’ll be a desolate death.

Jungkook drags you through the woods. He lets his anger show in the way he hauls your heavy body over the rocks and broken branches that litter the earth. His bite marks bruise your skin and leave blood to trail in your path. The scarlet sea that spills out of you serves as a warning to any other animals that dare to face the hybrid. The lost blood leaves a trail towards the cave he calls home. Your vision begins to grow darker as the stone walls slowly enclose around your eyesight. The forest is falling further away and your darker demise has almost arrived. Bones bury the dirt floor. Carcases and rotting red flesh stain the ceiling and are piled up to the darkest corners. What little light is left illuminates the lonely bones. Hollow skulls hold memories of a man’s last moments, jaws reaching wide in a scream and bite marks broken into the cranium. Your last tears hit the ground before you’re turnt over and onto your back.

Jungkook stares down at you once more. No smile pulls at his pink lips, only a hungry grin is planted upon his face. And when you look into his emotionless eyes, you have no doubt that he’ll devour you.

#bts #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts fic #yandere bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #yandere jungkook #jungkook

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the-californicationist · 3 months

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Troubleshooting

For @glitterypirateduck's super fun Oh, Captain! challenge. This is for prompt #8 where our deceptive captain tries to hide a secret from his gunsmith.

She could smell him long before she saw his hulking form stop in front of her office door. The sweet scent of his signature Romeo y Julieta cigars gave him away; a jewel from Villa Clara, Cuba. The tight-rolled tobacco smoldered amber and gold in the dark, its rustic funk and black licorice smoke gently curling out of his parted lips, trapped under his dirty boonie hat.

When she had been assigned to his team, she’d been dreading the constant relocating and high profile secrecy. It was hard enough to find 5.56 ammo for that mouthy Scot’s Steyr bullpup, much less have it delivered to a black site without a postcode. But, as she let her eyes wander up his mountainous shoulders, tracing the outline of a sharp, scruffy Adam’s apple, watching as his jaw rippled and clenched to bite down on the soft end of his cigar, she admitted to herself that she could deal with a few shipping delays as long as she got to enjoy John Price. Now, just a few weeks into this roughshod operation, she ached to see what lurked under all that gear.

She cleaned up her station, carefully screwing on the cap to her powder and putting it under the workbench. When he spoke, it was always confident but soft, like a stage whisper, words only she was meant to hear.

“Smithy,” he took a long drag from his Cuban and pulled the creamy smoke in through his nose, a very casual French inhale, breathing it out and down sharply, purposefully avoiding her face.

He’d never called her by her name, only by his clipped version of her title of Chief Gunsmith. She knew he must be aware of it since he requested her transfer, but she had always been “Smithy” to him.

“Captain, how are we this evening?” She gazed into his eyes with intent, hoping he would see her desire in them and be pleased.

“We’re alright,” he took the cigar from his mouth and let it rest between his fingers, smiling down at her as he loomed, his height making her feel small. He removed his hat, placing it on her bench before leaning against the table, his huge hand spreading wide across the stainless surface. He continued,

“You know, this M4 has been giving me a bit of trouble. I cleaned it, but even after a full breakdown, the bolt isn’t sitting flush. Think you could help me get it all the way in?”

She let his quiet rumbling voice wash over her like a wave, lapping at her mind and making her breath catch in her chest. The double entendre was so obvious as to almost be in jest, but his suggestive tone - though subtle - was enough for her to believe in it.

“Did you use enough oil? A little lubricant goes a long way, Captain, but some parts need more than others. Especially if it was a vigorous cleaning,” she threw him a bone in hopes he would bite it.

He did, replying with a sly smile,

“Perhaps I went a little rough with her. Think you can take a look?”

He licked his lips, watching as the flush tinted her neck and cheeks, hungry for her attention. She watched him shift his weight, rocking forward towards the bench, flexing his hips. Obviously, she was getting to him. She turned up the heat, pushing her luck,

“Rough is just fine, John, but with the size of the bolt head you’ve got here, you just need to make sure she’s slick enough to take it.”

She smiled sweetly, taking the rifle from him and laying it across the bench. Now that she had turned her attention to the gun, she could only watch him from the corner of her eye. But, she knew she had landed a punch when he had to turn his head away from her and pull at the inside leg of his pants, adjusting.

Then, as she took apart the barrel from the bolt and its lever, she realized he had been lying to her. He had replaced the trigger assembly before the bolt, effectively causing the problem he was asking her to solve. Price knew this gun better than the back of his own hand, and he had come down to her office with this game, hoping to score.

Her heart raced when she discovered the error, and she tried her best to maintain a straight face, not wanting him to realize she’d caught him yet. She still wanted to play.

She rebuilt the weapon, glossing over the false mistake, and pulled the bolt back flush.

“There,” she sighed, “good as new.”

The ball was clearly in his court and she waited to see what he would do. His voice had dropped into a deep, threatening register, and he was leaning so far over the workbench that she could see his pupils dilate, pushing back the bright blue and revealing the blackness behind it,

“What was the problem, Smithy?”

He began to stalk her around the edge of the table, taking impossibly slow steps toward her side of the bench, eyes fixed on her mouth. She saw his chest rising and falling faster and stronger, lifting his protective vest and causing the lingering smoke between his lips to billow chaotically around his dark beard. She held her ground, turning her body toward his as he walked,

“You made a rookie mistake, Captain Price. One that you’re not capable of making...”

His eyes sparked to life, focusing on hers now, and he knew that he’d been discovered. She continued to dismantle his farce,

“…and I wonder how it can be possible…”

Price rounded the first corner of the table, hanging on her every word. He took his cigar and pulled a long drag.

“...that such an experienced…”

Another step. The leather of his boot creaked as he pressed it down.

“...intelligent…”

Another step. She could smell his cologne now. Vetiver. Musk.

“...diligent soldier…”

He crossed the second corner, letting the smoke fall out of his mouth, pouring like water down his chin and tangling in his beard, holding his breath to let her view the effect. His teeth were clenched together behind his full mouth, and he began to smile in a sinister, pained way. She went on, quieter, her voice betraying her nerves,

“...would somehow forget how to put his own gun back together.”

Price’s cigar had come to an end, and he crushed it out under his boot as he stood in front of her, too close for propriety, just close enough to smell her coconut shampoo. He hummed, playing along, falsifying a sense of wonder and mystery in his tone.

“That is quite the mystery, innit? Must’ve been distracted by…” Price brought his hand up to touch the tip of his gunsmith’s long braid as it lay draped over her shoulder, laying on her breast, “…something important.”

“John,” she whispered, leaning toward him instinctively.

In the half-second between her speaking his name and the silence that came after, he struck like a snake, wrapping the rest of her braid around his fist like a rope, yanking her head back and pulling her to his body, letting their gear and clothes rustle between them, not caring where the vests and belts and buckles twisted and pinched, letting the tension linger. His free hand grabbed her jaw and neck in his wide, open palm, fingers pressing into her skin, warm and callused.

His voice was so strained and full of his want that it seemed like a growl, rambling in a rushed, fervent monologue,

“You’ve been teasing me again, Smithy. Ever since we got back from that damn operation. You’ve been coming to the gym at night, when I lift, and you wear those fucking shorts and you show off that thick arse, bending over in front of the racks, pulling them up higher so I can how see your wet cunt is soaking right through them,” his hand yanked her head back, making her gasp. He loved that noise,

“Delicious. Your pretty little cunt, ready to eat. Right within my reach. A whole gym, empty, and you pick that spot every damn time. Moving past me in the lockers, letting me smell you, and now I want a taste.”

She felt the stinging tightness of her scalp as he tugged on her braid, locking her body in place against his, controlling her head, moving it toward his face. He grimaced like he was in agony even though she was the one under his fist. His touch was such a relief. She’d been torturing him for weeks, and she surrendered to him, pliant to his whims, hoping he understood that her lack of resistance was essentially her begging him to forgive her for leaving him starving.

“Alright,” she smiled, still at his mercy, “If you want a taste, you can have one.” She watched as his eyes grew wide with anticipation as she unbuttoned her pants and tugged down the zipper. She bit her lip and shrugged, “On your knees, soldier.”

AO3 Link

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #cod mwii #john price #cod #captain price #call of duty #oh captain my captain #ohcaptainchallenge #it's captain season

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minnaci · 2 months

Text

death cannot harm you in any way that matters, but when you wake up to astarion's fangs in your neck, a part of you regrets missing out on the most human of experiences— intimacy, connection, and love. perhaps you shouldn't have invited him to join your party.

contents: astarion x gn!reader, suggestive, neck kissing, astarion-typical toxicity (astarion nearly kills reader but it's romantic... trust), based on the early scene in bg3 when astarion first joins the party and kills tav, reader has never been in a relationship and is inexperienced in romance and sex, thoughts on death

you wake to two sharp points of pleasure-pain at your throat. consciousness swims around you, slow and hazy like a smoke from a dying candle. "astarion?"

"hush, little thing." sure enough, your newest traveling companion's voice caresses your ears. ah, vampires. always so hungry. perhaps if you had awoken earlier, you would still have the will to fight him off. but now, warmth floods your body. your perception narrows to delicious sharpness of his fangs against your skin, to the steady, demanding weight of his body over yours.

"feels good," you stumble over the syllables, tongue thick in your mouth. a moan escapes you— a graceless, wanton thing. black creeps into the edges of your vision, but a sudden sense of urgency creeps into your heart. it's imperative that he knows— "astarion, 's so good."

"of course. sweet little things like you deserve a bit of pleasure now and again, don't they?" something dark tints the edges of his voice. you get the sense that he's not really listening to you, and it makes you pout. he's too focused on draining you dry, it seems. for shame! you muster the energy to wiggle a bit in his grasp, and astarion detaches long enough to coo at you. "now, now, don't fuss. just keep feeling good for me, darling."

you wiggle a bit more, a hint of a frown crossing your face. death has never scared you. it's simply the next great adventure, you think, with an added bonus of reuniting with the loved ones you'd lost along the way. that being said...

"i don't want to die yet," you say, even as your eyes roll back in your head. the feeling of blood draining from your neck into astarion's warm, wanting mouth makes your head spin. "you shouldn't kill me yet."

"and why is that?" he humors you once more, pulling back long enough to look you in the eye. you reach up to caress his cheek— trembling and tender. surprise flits across his face. his hand comes up to steady yours, as if on instinct.

"i haven't done everything i want to do yet." you struggle to focus. his features distort in your vision, but his cheek remains firm under your touch.

"oh? and what would those things be?"

"wanna be kissed." something about the blood loss makes the truth feel less pathetic to you. "wanna be fucked. wanna feel wanted. you probably don't get it. you're too pretty to understand."

there's a lengthy pause as your eyes flutter shut. your eyelids are simply too heavy to open. for a second, you think that maybe you've died already, but the pressure of his hand over yours keeps you clinging to life.

"...i can't do this to you." astarion huffs, as if the vestigial remnants of his moral code have personally slighted him. "you poor, pathetic thing. the only things you crave are simple touches?"

"'s not simple. 's everything. everything i've ever wanted."

"kissing and fucking aren't all that they're made out to be, darling." for the first time since you met him, astarion's voice loses that charming, snake-oil quality. "and feeling wanted doesn't always feel good, you know."

"i don't know," you say.

"hmm?" distantly, you feel surprisingly strong arms rearranging your limbs. a skin full of cool water appears at your lips, and a blanket is drawn carefully over your prone form.

"i don't know how it feels to be wanted." you pry open your eyes with herculean strength. astarion's face swims before you, sharp angles and delicate features highlighted by the light of the moon. "will you show me, astarion?"

"no." he smiles, and something shutters closed in his expression— some hint of vulnerability that you hadn't even realized he'd revealed until it was gone. his smile is an ugly, tight-lipped thing, so removed from how enchanting he normally is— he's dark and bitter as the coffee grounds you've squirreled away in your pack. you're vaguely aware of a new tension in his shoulders, a new set to the corners of his mouth. he's scared, you realize, the epiphany coming through a fog of semi-consciousness. what does he have to be scared of? you're the one who initiated, you're the one who put your weakly-beating heart on the line. "i'm afraid the cost of my love isn't a price you'd be willing to pay."

"that's okay," you say, letting your eyes close once again. exhaustion reigns over your bones, flows through your veins. somehow, rejection manages to hurt worse than imminent death. "thank you, though."

"for what, darling?"

for listening. for not laughing. for being kinder in his rejection than anyone has before.

"for not killing me," is what you finally settle on.

astarion does laugh, then, and that strange tension around him dissipates. "you really are too precious. here, my darling. take this as a consolation prize."

you're too tired to say you don't want a consolation prize— you've been the consolation prize your whole life. warm breath ghosts over your skin, and a soft pair of lips brushes over your forehead, your cheeks. there's a pause, then the barest hint of pressure over the corner of your mouth.

"there." astarion's voice filters into your brain from far, far away. "now you can't say you've never been kissed."

tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #bg3 smut #bg3 x reader #writemin!#+astarion

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callsign-novara · 4 months

Note

Hi!!

I love the stalker Valeria story so far and would def like to see a part 2!!!!

STALKER!VALERIA x READER PT.2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Content warnings: violence, Swearing, paranoia, stalking, dark romance, wlw, obsessive behavior, stalker territory, breif mention on Offing one self, terror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cigarette smoke wafts through the air, the smoke dancing away in the wind. Alcohol on the tounge of the hundreds around, music blaring in the back. Bodies move on the roof of the building, celebrating yet another victory, But she isn't happy, no.

Instead, her mind is filled with frustration, anger, and desperation. Her men are smiling, having fun, celebrating their rightful victory but still..her hearts heavy with hatred. She stands, brushing off her black shirt with her hands, she turns to a gaurd and tells him that she'll be back. She walks through the halls of the well kept building until she's outside roaming the streets of Las Almas, the closer she gets the less anger fuels the flame within her.

Dogs scurry past the woman, tails tremble between their legs. Her steps are confident, eyes calculating. She looks like sweet sweet death, a gorgeous thing but deadly and violent.

Her breaths become heavier when her eyes lock onto her target walking through the slight rain. Her hands are sweaty with excitement as her Prey was about to walk into see the little surprise she left. She's watched you for a long time. Months on end watching your every move, she knows when you leave for work, when you have classes, what classes, when you fall asleep, shower..she knows everything.

She loves how you've become frightened of the night, scared to turn corners waiting for her to pop out of the shadows. But she won't do that, no, she's not stupid. She'll carefully wait, leaving you small little gifts here and there letting you know she's always watching.

She'll make you fear going to sleep without checking your locks a thousand times a night, She'll make you have to check over your shoulder every minute, she'll have you go crazy and then she'll pounce.

She watches from a dark alley way as you make your way up to you apartment. A cozy little place, but it's small.

She could give you so much more. So much better.

She watches you with a wide grin, watching as you freeze when you see her little gift left on you pillow case. She watches the panic, the horror and terror rush through you and she ears it up like candy.

She watches as you check your locks, and close your blinds. She can still see you the gaps of the blinds prominent despite you closing them. The glint of a knife catches her gaze. Pretty and smart, huh? Clever little mouse.

She waits, lurks in the shows outside your apartment for hours on end, just waiting. Soon, she makes her move,stalking up the stairs of the apartment building until she gets yo your door. A couple Bobby pins and a little jiggle and she's in.

Not very safe, no. But nothing can keep her away from you. She glides through the shadows until she's in your room, her footsteps are silent, she's careful not to wake you.

She watches.

Counting the rise and fall of your breaths, you look like a sleeping goddess tangled up in the sheets, and the sight makes her hungry. Hungry for you. Hungry for more.

A smirk crosses her red stained lips, you're just a little mouse running through her maze of fear and Deception. She owns everything in Las Almas Anyway, why shouldn't she own you? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you all so so s much for the support on the first part of this, I wasn't expecting much but it seems alot of you like it. And thanks to the anon above, my first ask!! I appreciate it greatly and i hope this part lives up to your guy's standards, a little POV from Vals view.

This story is going to be dark, and I highly suggest you read all the cw before reading. This story will switch povs throughout it and it might get confusing, so I'll always put who's pov it is in the authors note!

Thank you so much again for the support, and the next part should be coming up soon. 💋

~Nova

#cod #cod x reader #lesbian #valeria garza x reader #call of duty x reader #sapphic #wlw #valeria cod #cod mw2 #valeria garza #dark romanticism #stalker #stalking fantasy #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #actually obsessive #obsession #obsessive thoughts

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velvetmud · 1 year

Text

Stanley Kubrick on film

joel finds a camera and expresses his desire to make a smut film.

warning(s): 18+ explicit, daddy kink, smoking weed, also lots of dirty talk, dirty things

silver fox two decades into outbreak!joel where cameras are a rare thing to come across but somehow weed isn’t. not a request just another fun little thing that kinda came out of nowhere. still working on some other stuff ! why he always comes out so dirty in everything i start to write is beyond me :)

the smell of smoke, sweat, and sex filled the air of the quaint room.

the stereo’s playing a mixtape from some romantic-alternative nineties albums on shuffle. joel bought a quarter ounce of weed from one of Tommy’s friends. went as far as lighting all kinds of candles and placing them throughout on various countertops. as soon as you walked in you couldn’t help yourself from grabbing him and laughing, “are you trying to fuck me or set me on fire?”

he grumbled about this being one of his trying efforts to woo you. while you relax and unwind together sharing the first spliff, he pointedly mentions how he found a camera while he was going out salvaging for stupid goodies with Ellie that afternoon. screen uncracked, quality like new. even the battery was at a lucky hundred percent. he wanted to take advantage of a lingering fantasy now that he’d been presented with an open opportunity.

it wasn’t until a few hours later, fucking and devouring you every way you’ve always liked, he managed to assure you only his and your eyes get to re-watch the hypothetical smutty tape.

reality also was that you got high and felt too fucked out to put up a fight anymore, and he needed to savor it all on film.

it wasn’t necessarily a hypothetical anymore.

joel’s hungry expression hides behind the camera lens as his thumb clicked to capture your each and every movement. he went on to start video recording after a little while of obtaining a lengthy photo gallery.

while he’s puffing on the roach end of another joint, he blows the smoke out from the side of his mouth. puts it down and starts to focus solely on you, ashing whatever’s left. he could see you were already smoked out over half an hour ago anyway. once he gets his fill of watching you tease yourself, rubbing your tits, thighs and legs up and down, he coaches you into opening up a little more.

“yeah, yeah. don’t be afraid to spread those lips apart—just like that, atta girl. gorgeous.”

he zooms in on your naked legs until the screen shows nothing but your drooling, freshly fucked pussy into frame. still pulsing around nothing, leaking the cum that’s yours and his combined inside.

sweat sticks to his forehead and his hair is comparable to a birds nest at this point. he’s hard again, even if he’s drained his dick in you several times in different places earlier. he easily slips into the role of film director, starts telling you how to move and what to say.

“gonna play this back and watch it whenever I miss you. wanna thank you for doing this, baby,” he sighs. runs his hands up your legs with admiration. “let’s see that pussy, yeah. spread ‘em nice and wide, wanna see.” two of his fingers scissor your puffy lips open. his thick spend slowly starts running down your leg.

“fuck, that’s gorgeous. looks so pretty when you’re all used up. full of my cum.” he already knows future him will easily finish less than two minutes into this. “tell the camera who fucked this sweet pussy.”

”you did daddy…” you answer, shy pink cheeks stuffed into the pillow, turned over to the side.

“mmm it’s okay, baby girl. don’t gotta be shy. you know I’ll always tell you exactly how bad I want you.” he breathes, leaning his head down to yours to hold your chin as he spoke. the camera’s still in joel’s grip. it picks up the soft sounds of his rough voice reassuring you. gentle and smiling. he just wants to watch you have fun for him, over and over, on repeat. this was the best solution.

he gets the camera and puts your body back in frame. he thinks he’s turned into Stanley Kubrick as he moves it around to get different lighting and angles of your pussy. once he’s found the most lewd, up-close shot possible, he keeps the lens focused.

“so go ‘head baby. since we’re playing show and tell, go on showing and telling the camera everything you begged daddy to do to you.” he instructed, keeping his eyes glued on you through the square little screen.

you’re grinning ear to ear, still flushed under the spotlight of attention he’s putting on you.

“I…I begged daddy to cum inside me.”

“that’s right, sweet girl. what else? did it feel good, feeling daddy fuck you hard like that?”

he’s stroking himself in a tight fist now, your leftover juices still lubricating his shaft. now the camera’s framed on the two of you, eagerly pleading and teasing with him. you’re harsh when you slip two of your fingers inside, watching him with an open mouth.

“yeah, mmhm. I see that look in your eyes. needin’ my cock again. this,” he holds the tip right up to your lips, making sure the camera sees. “is yours baby. could fuck and suck it all you want. whenever you need.”

he moves the camera higher to capture a nice bird’s eye view as you suckle down on a mouthful of his tip, running your fingers through the milky evidence still pooling between your legs.

a warning pops up on the screen, something about a low battery. joel curses under his breath then picks up speed with his hips, reaching down with the other hand to find your clit. he holds his breath while looking at the sight, delighted by the visual. he starts to feel the build up as he remembers that he gets to re-watch this over, and over, and over again.

“gonna have to go a little faster baby, yeah. just like that, that’s perfect.”

masterlist + buy me a ko-fi

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #the last of us smut #tw daddy kink #joel miller hbo #pedro pascal

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slowandsteddie · 10 months

Text

Part Two is here

Steve likes to clean headstones at cemeteries.

CW: drug mentions, weed being smoked, glossed over panic attack (I didn’t want to write on it too much), and Steve is so incredibly lonely.

3018 words. Not edited but I was EXCITED.

Steve had always enjoyed going to the cemetery. He had family buried there, sure, but that wasn’t what he went for.

He was the kind of guy who went to clean off the older headstones that no one else did. There was just something so honest and relaxing in giving people their names back.

A water bottle, a soft bristle toothbrush, and an old credit card were all he took out of the car with him whenever he parked. Steve cleaned in sections, giving each stone the time and care it needed to get all of the dirt and grime off of it and out of the names. As soon as the names were clean, he’d gently place his fingers over them and smile.

“Hello, Clarence.” He said softly. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

The only answer was a slight breeze and a crow cawing.

“Hello, my love,” he said to the bird before carefully pushing himself to his feet.

His knees were sore. That headstone required a lot more precision as it was a lot older and one wrong move would probably leave it crumbling. He had told the front office a few times about it, but they wouldn’t take care of it.

“We can’t make money upkeeping stones of people who have no family left to mourn them.”

He lost track of how many times he had been told that. It didn’t stop him from cleaning the stones and letting whoever was the receptionist that day know.

When he was done for the evening, he’d allow himself to bask in the peace that came over him and warmed him. He’d have a smile on his face that lasted until he got home.

The contentment would leave as soon as he saw that big house that he lived in. His parents were never home and he had no siblings to help him fill the empty halls with noise.

Steve used to throw a lot of parties, just so he would have other people under his roof with him. He hadn’t done that since the night that Nancy called their relationship bullshit and then immediately got into one with Johnathan. It hurt him more deeply than he could express, but it was a much needed wake up call.

The Upside Down was another wake up call, but he tried to ignore that one.

Now, if he wasn’t at work or hanging out with The Party as they liked to call themselves, he was cleaning headstones until he had to leave. He thought it was ridiculous that the cemetery closed at night. If he could, he’d probably stay the night in the mausoleum just so that the people resting there would know that they weren’t forgotten about. Not while he still had air in his lungs.

Most people would tell him that there were healthier things to do with his time. Less morbid things in any case. But he felt so alive when he was alone with the stones and birds. It was better than being alone with half a house he wasn’t even supposed to go into.

His room, the kitchen, the bathroom. That was what his parents wanted him to confine himself to. Not even the living room because he wasn’t supposed to have guests over when they weren’t home. And they were never fucking home.

Steve parked the car in the driveway and stared at that stupid fucking door that had nothing behind it and sighed. Deeply. The car was still running and his fingers tapped on the steering wheel.

No.

He couldn’t do it. Not tonight. He couldn’t stand the thought of being so utterly alone right now.

So, he backed out of the driveway and started driving again. He wasn’t even really sure of where he was headed, just that he wasn’t going to that house right now. If he went too far, he was going to have to stop for gas at some point and he didn’t get paid for a few more days. That meant he might go hungry for a day. That was fine. He’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Eventually, he found himself at the trailer park. Wayne’s truck wasn’t there, but the van was. A good sign that Eddie was home and that his uncle was at work.

This time, Steve did turn off the car when he parked. A moment of hyping himself up later, Steve got out of the car and went to knock on the front door. Thirty seconds after that, he heard someone tripping over something. Then the door opened.

The smell of cigarette smoke rolled out into the fresh air and he couldn’t help but to breathe a little deeper.

Eddie looked good, his long curly hair pulled into a messy bun and baggy sweats hanging a little low on his hips. Any other circumstance, and Steve was pretty sure he’d feel blessed that he got to see Munson without a shirt on. He might have been scrawny but those tattoos were a work of art. He was a work of art. Fuck.

Steve had to blink a few times to realize that the other male had been talking to him.

“Sorry. Rough night,” he explained. Though, it hadn’t been rough until he started thinking about being alone. Again.

“How can I help?” Eddie’s voice was smooth and Steve had to swallow before he could reply.

“Do you, uh, have anything left in that lunch pail?”

“Is Steve Harrington really at my door, asking to buy weed from me?”

“Is that a yes or a no answer, Eddie Munson?”

“It’s a get in here and give me a minute answer.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice. He went inside as soon as Eddie moved out of the way before closing the door behind him. He ran a hand through his hair as he took another step, just so he wasn’t right against the door.

Eddie wandered off, back to his room probably, and Steve stayed where he was. He looked around the small place and realized that this was a home. A place that was lived in, a place where love resided. His house could never compare. It was bigger and in better condition, but that meant nothing to him.

“You’re in luck, I have a baggie with your name on it.”

“I swear to god if you just used that sharpie to write The Hair on that bag…”

Eddie tossed the sharpie away from himself and whistled innocently. Steve wanted to be annoyed, but he actually laughed.

“So. How much?”

Eddie tilted his head.

“For the stuff?” Steve continued.

“You’re going to buy and smoke it, but you draw the line at saying weed?”

It should be illegal for someone to look that good while being that condescending.

“How much for the weed, Eddie?” Steve gave in.

“For you? I’ll take ten bucks.”

“Damn,” He replied as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “That’s highway robbery.” A sly smile tugged at his lips as he pulled out a Hamilton and held it out for the older male.

Eddie took it and put the baggy in Steve’s still outstretched hand. “Now get out of here. I have a reputation.”

“You? What reputation?” He teased.

Eddie grinned. “The one where I don’t hang out with jocks. See you tomorrow, Harrington.”

“Not if I see you first, Munson.”

Steve shook his head before heading toward the door. Their interaction kept him warm all the way home.

That time when he arrived in his driveway, he stayed there. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and locked the doors to the vehicle before walking around the side of the house to get to his backyard. He knew better than to get into the pool while home alone, even if he was on the swim team. But that wasn’t where he was headed. He kept walking until he was in the woods, at his usual haunt.

He had built himself a little structure that was barely big enough for two people. It was tight and comfortable. Very underwhelming compared to the house that constantly felt like Too Much. He sat down on the small pile of pillows and wrapped a blanket around himself in an attempt to get that warm feeling back from his interaction with Eddie.

He grabbed his bong, which was always in his little hut, and the nearby water bottle before setting it up. Next he grabbed the lighter and flicked it a few times to make sure that it still worked. He didn’t smoke weed a lot, a baggy could probably last him a few months, but sometimes he just needed to be under the influence in order to handle being in his room. With the hazy feeling, it was easier to pretend that there was someone in the other room. Or, at least easier to believe that it could be true.

One hit was all it took for him to realize that Eddie had given him the good stuff. A huge smile tugged at his lips. He’d make him some cookies or something to thank him. He’d have to come up with a good excuse to stop by that Hellfire table at school and drop off a plate, but he could figure it out later. When he got that far.

A second hit gave him the feeling that he was after. Steve felt so cool when he realized that he didn’t choke like he usually did. He took care of everything properly before hiding the weed under the pillows that he had been sitting on.

He wandered back to his house, feeling a little better about the whole Alone Situation, and went in through the backdoor so he wouldn’t have to walk around the house again. Steve got a few steps away before remembering to go back and make sure that the door was locked. That had him checking all of the rest of the doors and even the windows.

When he got to his room, he stripped down to his boxers before crawling between the sheets. He pulled the covers up to his chin and snuggled in before closing his eyes and letting his mind wander until he fell asleep.

—

It was five o’clock in the morning when Steve’s eyes flashed open. His heart was pounding as he worked on untangling himself from the sheets. Trapped. He felt trapped.

Somehow, he ended up on the floor with a solid thud that knocked the wind out of him. He was gasping, but at least he was free of the blanket that had him pinned in place before.

“F-fuck,” he groaned as the tears started to slide down his face.

He gave himself a few minutes before forcing himself to his feet and stumbling to the bathroom. Shower. He needed a shower. So that was exactly what he did.

One fifteen minute cold shower later, Steve was feeling more himself again. He dried off and got dressed before taking his time to make sure that his hair was perfect.

After all of that it was still too early to head to school, which meant that he found himself going to the kitchen and pulling out the ingredients to make some chocolate chip cookies. It was a safe choice. Everyone loved chocolate chips and there were no nuts in case someone had an allergy.

A double batch of cookies later, the phone was ringing.

“Hello?” Steve greeted, cradling the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he wiped his hands on the apron that he had put on before he started baking. He adjusted the phone onto his hand as he straightened up. “Hello?”

“Stevie!” His mother’s voice came across the line. “We’ll be home for a few weeks soon!”

“That’s great, mom. I can’t wait to hear about this adventure.” It was hard to sound excited.

All that complaining about an empty house and knowing his parents were coming back didn’t help. His mother would fuss for a day or two. His father would act like it hadn’t been months since they’ve seen each other. They’d probably even ignore him as usual, to be honest. His parents tended to think that making sure the bills were paid was more than enough. It wasn’t. Steve was done trying to convince them of that, though.

They talked for a few minutes, her words not really sinking in. Then he hung up and leaned against the wall, trying to convince himself to not cry. He took a deep breath and almost called Eddie before just hanging up the phone again and walking away from it.

Steve slid all of the cookies into a Tupperware container before grabbing his backpack and heading out to the car.

He was still going to be too early for school.

Which meant that he headed to the cemetery to clean a few headstones beforehand.

—

Steve was rolling through the motions, something that no one picked up on despite his reputation as King Steve. He was grateful for that.

His morning classes blurred together and then it was lunch time. He didn’t even have an excuse in mind when he walked over to Eddie’s table. If anyone told him anything, he ignored it. Instead, he set his bag down and unzipped it before pulling out the cookies and handing them to the older male who looked at him strangely.

“I didn’t poison them, Munson, jeez.”

Then he was zipping his bag back up and walking over to sit next to Tommy and Carol. Steve tried to focus, but he found himself looking toward the DND group a lot. Eddie was grinning as he wiped some cookie crumbs from his mouth.

Good.

The afternoon classes also passed in a blur, and then he found himself at the cemetery again.

It was a nice place to be, especially on a day like this. It was warm and sunny with a light breeze and some clouds in the sky. A crow was talking to him and he was talking back, saying things like “hello, my love” and “how is my pretty baby today” and “who should get their name back today, hmm?”

Eventually, he did find the headstone he wanted to clean. It was in a corner he hadn’t gotten to yet because of the beehive and swarms of the little stingy friends. Steve was allergic to bee stings, but he was calm and collected as he walked past them. He knelt down and gently brushed away what he could get with his hands before opening the bottle and splashing some water down. Then, he gently used the toothbrush to clean away dirt and moss.

Steve wasn’t sure how much time had passed, though he did look up when he saw a shadow. He was surprised to see Eddie looking down at him.

“Whatcha doing, Harrington?”

He leaned back so he was sitting on his feet and used the back of his hand to push his hair away from his face. There was no use trying to say that this was anything other than what it was.

“I like to give people their names back.” He shrugged. “It’s stupid, I know. But I think that they know they’re being remembered, or at least thought about, when someone can read their name.”

“It’s not stupid, Steve,” Eddie said softly before squatting down on the other side of the headstone.

They looked at each other for what felt like ages. It was probably only seconds. The older male pulled out his handkerchief and gently rubbed away enough that Steve could read the last name on the stone he decided to clean.

Munson.

“Who was she?” He asked softly.

“My aunt. Wayne’s wife.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I barely knew her. But sometimes I come out here because he can’t. And she deserves to be remembered.”

Steve felt like he was seeing Eddie in an all new light. He didn’t want to make the other male think about it too much. Besides, it seemed like he wanted to change the subject.

“I, uh… I come out here almost everyday. Clean different headstones based on who I feel could use it the most that day. I talk to the crows, too. Sometimes I let them pick for me.” He was blushing again.

“Did you bake those cookies?”

Steve was the one grateful for the subject change this time.

“Yeah. This morning. I realized how good of a deal you gave me last night and I just… wanted to thank you.”

“They were amazing.”

“Thank you. That recipe is the only thing I got from my grandma before she passed. She did make me promise to not tell anyone the secret ingredient, though.”

“Was it crack? It tasted like crack. I couldn’t stop eating them.”

Steve laughed at that before pushing himself to his feet and offering Eddie his hand.

“You caught me. I have a huge supply of crack for baking purposes.”

Eddie snorted. “I knew it.”

They released hands and Steve had a feeling that it was reluctantly on both sides, not just his.

“I’m glad you found me.”

“Yeah?” Eddie seemed surprised.

“Yeah. I’m actually highly allergic to bee stings and I might have needed some help with the epi-pen if one got me.”

They both laughed at that, though Steve did notice that he was being guided away from the stingy friends after that. The hand on the small of his back felt like friendship, though he’d never say it.

Once they were far enough from the bees that the older male stopped feeling the need to keep them walking, Steve met his gaze.

“What about your reputation?” He joked.

“What about it? Just because I don’t hang out with jocks doesn’t mean that I’m going to let one die because they wanted to give my aunt her name back.”

“I think you might have a soft spot for me,” Steve joked.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmured while glancing at Steve’s lips. Their eyes met again. “Maybe I do.”

Let me know if I should do a part two.

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie stranger things #steve stranger things #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #Rory writes #these boys mean the world to me #your honor they are in love #slowandsteddie

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zedif-y · 11 months

Text

…Sometimes, Joel isn’t sure it’s worth it.

It being– well. Him. Which, bloody hell, that just sounds depressing, innit? He’s not– he’s fine, really, in all the ways that matter. Good looking, smart, humble. What’s not to love. He’s fine, great even, so there’s no need for any worrying. No need for that at all.

He just wonders, you know? Everyone does. (Probably.)

But also, he’s phrasing it weird. It’s not that he questions himself, it’s more like… Hm.

Let’s use a metaphor, all smart-like. Joel thinks of himself as a lot of things: The howling, blood-hungry chase of wolves, the business end of a knife. That razor-sharp feeling of teeth sinking into flesh. A forest fire out of control.

(Yeah, yeah. He’s got issues, whatever.)

That’s not the point. The point is this:

Joel’s more of a hunter than the hunted. At least, that’s what he likes to think– don’t even argue. He knows he’s unhinged, revels in it, thrives in it. Hard to put out a fire without getting burned.

And that. That’s the thing.

Because Joel thinks that sometimes he burns too bright. Like a flame– no, like the sun. A point of pride on a good day, something to hide on the worse ones. Fire doesn’t get to keep things. It burns what it touches, spits out the remains. Charred and blackened and what-have-you.

The thing is he can’t make a home without smelling the faint scent of smoke, ash lingering in the air that makes him cough and wrinkle his nose. He builds a foundation, lays down the plans, thinking maybe, this time–

He’s always wrong. Stupid, stupid. He’s always blummin’ wrong.

The thing about Joel is he’s never held something that didn’t crumble into ash. The thing about Joel is that he doesn’t know when that’s gonna end.

So is it worth it, then? To be his?

He knows the tight grip of loneliness, the heavy chains of solitude. He knows what it’s like to curl up on the floor with his dogs— don’t you dare laugh— his back screaming at him for the night spent on a cold floor. Loneliness is as familiar to him as bloodlust, but he’d rather rip out his teeth than admit it, swallow his own tongue.

(A thought comes, and it’s stupid– no, really. It’s stupid. Stop asking.)

(Why do people think the moon’s lonely? Joel wonders, a scowl on his lips. The moon’s got like, loads of friends. The stars are right there.)

(You get too close to the sun and your wings melt.)

(Joel tugs at a piece of loose string, and he thinks that maybe the sun just wants a friend.)

(…See, he told you it was stupid.)

Joel doesn’t want to be alone. Alone alone, not regular alone. Nobody does, okay? Sue him, it drove him mad.

Whatever. Whatever.

Joel doesn’t want to be alone, not again, not ever. But he gets close to people and it’s like he can just see them burn, wax pouring down their backs and plummeting to their deaths. He gets close, gets attached, and suddenly everything’s burning all over again, and all he can do is laugh and try to put it out as it sizzles at his fingertips.

Until everyone he loves is swallowed by the sea.

(Maybe a submarine, he thinks, eyes-wide and half-crazed. Maybe that’ll be safe, he should try that next game. He should.)

(Maybe’s better than nothing.)

So yeah, Joel wonders if it’s worth it, having anything at all. He wonders if it’s worth the effort, wonders if it’d hurt less to have nothing to lose– though he already knows the answer, and for goodness sake, he wishes it were different.

Joel sighs. This whole thinking thing is exhausting.

To be his is to burn. To reach out is to doom them. But Joel’s too selfish– too much, too bright, too hungry– not to do it anyway.

…Dammit, this got depressing anyway.

Joel swallows through the lump in his throat, and he reminds himself to breathe.

He’ll keep trying, is what he thinks in the end. He’ll keep trying. ‘Cuz what else can he do? Mope, cry about it? What other choice does he have?

Maybe one day he’ll make something, and he won’t have to see it be destroyed. Maybe one day he’ll go out peacefully.

Maybe one day people will stop making their wings out of stupid, meltable wax–

Yeah, okay. He’s getting sick of this metaphor too.

But like– he can’t help but think, you know, about that fall. About Icarus, and how he laughed as he fell into the sea. People say he was happy, even in the face of death, even as his wings burned and turned into soot.

A joy worth losing. A friend worth dying for. A home worth its destruction.

Tentatively, he lets himself think: That maybe, at the very least, that’s what it means to be his.

The thought makes him relax. (If only for now.)

…He hopes so. He really, really does.

#ryan's writing #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #trafficblr #traffic smp #mcyt fic #mcytblr #i dunno what else to tag this as lmfao #double life #double life smp

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anonymous-dentist · 29 days

Text

Part Five of the Catboy in the Village AU

Parts: One | Two | Three | Four

Before Cellbit can start any kind of investigation, he passes out from hunger. (Four days without eating will do that, he supposes...)

It's sort of just... quick. He's sitting up in bed so Roier can braid his hair, and then his head and eyes are all fuzzy, and then he's in a different bed with no Roier and with an absolutely killer migraine.

He groans and rolls onto his side and pulls his blanket over his head, because he knows that there's somebody watching him. He can feel their (her) eyes on him, and they're making him feel even more sick than he already feels.

"You're an idiot," the queen declares.

Cellbit just hisses at her. She doesn't deserve his words.

He can practically hear her eye roll. Wood creaks from next to his bed, footsteps clicking against the cold stone floor, and then a light 'creeeeak' as a cabinet is opened on the far side of the room. Grumbling from the queen- insults, mostly. Clinks and clatters as she searches for something.

Cellbit's stomach twists and groans from hunger. Gods, what he'd give to be in his kitchen right now with Roier making dinner less than an arm's length away from him. Smoke in Cellbit's lungs, flavor already burning his tongue, fresh bread from the bakery across the street in front of him as an appetizer.

"There's soup on the table next to you," the queen says.

But it isn't Roier's soup, is the thing. It's probably poisoned. Or, worse, it's gross. Not enough meat, probably. Possibly even vegan, eugh.

How would the queen react if Cellbit told her that he only eats dishes with human flesh cooked into them? Would that be enough for her to send him home?

...Probably not, considering she seemed more upset about him being bad at escaping prison than him actually being in prison in the first place. That opens a whole bag of worms in itself, because how in the world does the queen know about Alcatraz when Cellbit's own in-laws don't? How long has she been stalking him for?

"If you need something lighter, I can have the kitchens send up some bread or crackers," the queen continues.

"I'm not hungry," Cellbit grumbles.

He's gone for longer than four days without food. During the war, it wasn't until Bad picked him up and taught him what his claws and fangs were good for that Cellbit started having dinner more than once a week. When he was put in solitary confinement in prison, he wasn't given food at all, and he was in that cell for at least five days at a time.

He's gone for longer than four days, so it has to be something in the castle that has made Cellbit so weak. Maybe it's something in the air, some kind of magic the queen is employing to try and break him down. The bed sheets might be laced with sickness runes. The guards constantly following Cellbit and Roier around might be warlocks in league with whatever demon is haunting the castle.

"Right," the queen sarcastically says. "You're not hungry. You just passed out after not eating for four days for no reason."

Cellbit bristles so literally that his ears tent the blanket above his head. He grits his teeth together and, not for the first time, he wishes that he still had his claws.

"Exactly," he grits out. He flexes his fingers, pretending the air he's scratching is the queen's stupid (identical) face. "So. Leave."

"I'm good, actually," the queen lightly responds. She sounds beyond pissed off, but she also sounds as calm as can be expected of royalty. Ugh. "I'm going to order some bread for you in just a moment."

Cellbit's ear twitches. "No."

"You're an alchemist, yes? You know what happens when you take a potion on an empty stomach. This might be the healer's quarters, but I will not have you throwing up all over her floor."

Cellbit pulls a bit of his blanket over and away from one of his eyes so he can glare at the queen properly.

"I'm not going to throw up," he scoffs. Who does she think he is?

Now that he can see the queen, he's even more annoyed. More than that, though, he's confused because... why? Why is she here? What kind of warden pays this much attention to their prisoner?

She's rooting through a large wooden cupboard filled with things Cellbit recognizes from his own supplies back home: healing potions, powdered unicorn's horn, phoenix feather, faerie dust.

"When you passed out, you hit your head pretty hard on one of your bedposts," the queen explains, ignoring him entirely. "Your husband has requested that you be given something to help with your pain, and you know that you can't take that without something in your stomach. Stop being stubborn."

"I'm not being stubborn," Cellbit huffs. "And I'm not in pain. So."

He isn't lying; he feels just fine. The only thing hurting is his stomach, and that's normal with starvation. He's more than used to the feeling by now.

"So you're going to take one dose of this potion to make your husband happy."

Oh, and now she's blackmailing him with Roier's emotions. Great.

Unfortunately for the queen, Cellbit knows his husband well enough to know that, if Roier wanted him to take a potion, he would be in the room force-feeding it to him himself. He wouldn't have Cellbit's current number one worst enemy try and do it, he isn't that cruel.

...Now that Cellbit thinks of it, where is Roier?

A bolt of panic grips Cellbit around his heart and he sits up in a flash, blanket flying off of him as his entire body tenses. His ears stick up on end, straining for any sign of Roier. Nothing.

"Where is he?" Cellbit demands.

He looks around the room and sees absolutely nothing that he can use as a weapon. Great. It's fine. It's fine! He can just-

Cellbit's vision swims, and he feels himself tipping to the side and off of the bed. The queen shouts, but he can't hear whatever she says over the sound of nothingness as he loses consciousness for the second time that day.

It takes much less time for him to wake up this time. He's up and trying to get to his feet within seconds of hitting the floor, his ears flat against his head and his eyes wide with panic as he fully decides that the queen may have, in fact, killed Roier. She had Cellbit drugged and she had Roier killed and now she's going to keep Cellbit in a much worse cell and she's going to torture him until he agrees that he's her brother and-

He's shocked back to reality as a blanket is dropped over his head from above. What?

"Roier is fine," the queen gently says. She's above him now, too- on the bed, probably, why? Is she trying to smother him? "He's the one who brought you here. He and the healer went to get some ice from the kitchens. She was going to go by herself, but he wanted to make sure she wouldn't try and poison you."

What a hero. Of course Roier would worry about the ice being poisoned, he and Cellbit both know a hundred ways to poison someone. It's hard not to know how to poison people in the potion business.

...But she's lying. The queen is lying. She hasn't told Cellbit the truth once since she first barged into his store.

...But the blanket over Cellbit's head is really heavy. Was it this heavy before? No, right?

Cellbit kneads his fingers into the knees of his trousers. He twists his wedding ring around his finger. His nose twitches. His lungs hurt.

"Still works," the queen mutters. What does that mean?

A few short, yet excruciatingly-long, moments of blanket and panic later, the door to the room slams open, and a pair of beautifully-familiar boots thud towards Cellbit. A second later, the blanket is ripped off of his head, and there's Roier holding a bowl of ice and looking so handsomely concerned.

"Gatinho..." he breathes.

And then he scowls and plops onto the ground in front of Cellbit, cross-legged. He puts the bowl down on his lap, leans forward, and grabs Cellbit by the face with both hands and squishes his cheeks together.

"I fucking told you to eat!" he shouts, only halfway angry. He squishes Cellbit's cheeks harder. "And now you are on the floor. Why are you on the floor, eh?"

"He fell," the queen responds. She's still on the bed, cross-legged herself, with her chin resting against her fist. "He wanted to search for you."

Roier 'awww's once before gently shaking Cellbit's head back and forth.

"What have I told you?" he scolds. "I'll always come back for you. Even when I die, I'll just haunt you as a sexy ghost. I'm not letting any stupid queen get rid of me?"

"Hey!" the queen protests.

Cellbit smiles, though, and he reaches up to place his hands over Roier's.

"Desculpe, guapito," he says.

Roier smiles back, his anger slowly fading from his face.

"Your forehead is all purple," he tells Cellbit. "Come here..."

He takes the blanket off of the floor and wraps it around a handful of ice cubes. It's a lumpy cold mess, but it's sweet, so Cellbit doesn't complain too much as Roier softly presses the makeshift ice pack against Cellbit's forehead.

Cellbit leans into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. He bites back a happy little purr. (Not in front of the queen...!)

Someone else walks into the room, but Cellbit couldn't care less about them. They have to be the healer, but there's nothing wrong with him. Nothing he can't fix himself with the right ingredients, anyway.

He cracks an eye open and glares up at the queen, who looks... thoughtful. Uh-oh.

"I'm not taking the potion," he tells her. "I don't drink anything I don't make myself."

The queen shrugs. "That's fine, then. There's a cauldron on the other side of the room. Right, Niki?"

She looks over her shoulder, and Cellbit can just barely make out a head of pink hair. Must be 'Niki', then. The healer.

"That's right!" the healer agrees. "You can use what you want! It's all in here somewhere!"

Roier leans in close and whispers, "That's Niki. She talks a lot about empanadas."

Cellbit's stomach grumbles at the mention of food, and he groans.

"Please don't mention food right now," he sighs, voice low.

"Mmm, or I can, and you'll eat something and we can go back to our room," Roier hums. He tenderly strokes Cellbit's cheek. "I'm in the mood for empanadas right now, actually. Ah, or mixiotes... or gorditas..."

Cellbit slumps forward against Roier's shoulder, bringing the ice with him.

"Guapito, please..." he whines.

"If you're hungry, I can have any of that made for you," the queen offers.

A growl bubbles up from Cellbit's throat, but Roier covers it up with a loud, "Ah! But how do we know you won't put poison in it, hmm?"

"Because I wouldn't poison my brother or my brother-in-law? That would be ridiculous!"

"Mhmm. But how can we be sure?"

"Let Roier cook for the both of us," Cellbit says. "That way, we know for sure that it'll be safe."

A beat. And then:

"Are you being serious right now?" the queen demands. "That was why you wouldn't eat? Because your husband wasn't cooking it for you?"

Cellbit turns his head to glare up at her. "You would starve yourself, too, if you had to go from his cooking to someone else's. His food is perfect. He could be a professional, you know."

The queen looks absolutely shocked. Positively bewildered. Confused beyond all belief. Angry, too. Annoyed.

"You are. Ridiculous," she stammers out. "But... fine. Yes! You should have just asked from the beginning! Oh my gods! You should have asked!"

She continues ranting about how silly Cellbit is for not trusting her despite them literally being family, which is absolutely ridiculous because, A, they aren't family, and, B, she literally knocked him out and kidnapped him and his husband and is holding them both captive.

But Cellbit doesn't listen. Instead, he thinks. Once he's back on his feet, he can actually start investigating. And then? He and Roier can go.

His stomach grumbles again; Roier giggles and pokes at Cellbit's belly and starts listing out potential dinner options in order of Cellbit's favorites to his least favorites.

...But first, dinner.

Finally.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#catboy in the village au #was gonna write something else but then i decided i wanted them to Talk a little #fun fact: ba gi knows the blanket trick because it used to calm cell down when he was a kid #and it still works now #even though he himself doesn't know how or why it works #because he hasn't done it since he was a kid and he doesn't remember being a kid

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haespoir · 1 year

Text

cave me in: mkl.

⨯ pairing: plug!mark x reader

⨯ word count: 1.3k

⨯ summary: haechan introduces you to his dealer friend, and mark lee makes it so hard to keep the relationship strictly business. not that you minded anyways.

⨯ warnings: mentions of drugs (weed), some suggestive content, i think thats it enjoy :3

⨯ playlist: cave me in, gallant / half moon, dean / wfm, realestk

⨯ extra content: part two

⨯ a/n: im completely normal about mark lee i swear ty @markonthemoon for furthering my completely normal feelings about mark lee... there might be a part two.

. . .

It had been at least 3 hours since you had picked up edibles from Mark. Three whole ass hours, and yet he was still laying on his bed feeling less than whole. Who did you buy them for? Were you getting high with someone else? Was it a guy?

The first time Haechan had introduced you to him he didn’t pay it any mind. You were a close friend of the younger male’s situation-ship… Whatever the fuck that was. But it was no more than that in his eyes. You were someone who occasionally bought from him, and you were always so polite about it too. And for some unknown reason, or at least unknown to him, that bothered him. A few weeks later, a not-so-sober conversation with Haechan revealed that Mark had a crush on you. One he denied vehemently. Though he guessed out of everyone he sold to, you were the most ideal to date.

Who the fuck said anything about dating?

Mark shakes his head as if to rid himself of such wild thoughts. “I’m just hungry,” he says to himself, thinking of ways he could fill that empty void in his stomach. If only he knew, there was no amount of food that would help him feel whole. He grabs his phone, shooting a quick text to someone who knew would also be high at this time.

mark [11:48 pm]: ramen? jungwoo [11:50 pm]: and netflix? jungwoo [11:50 pm]: mark… are you asking me to hook up? jungwoo [11:51 pm]: say less baby i’m otw! mark [11:53 pm]: dude what mark [11:53 pm]: no, just ramen jungwoo [11:55 pm]: mark lee you want me so bad mark [11:57 pm]: hurry before i change my mind

Jungwoo’s texts cause Mark to roll his eyes, but he grabs his keys. “Yo, Haechan,” he calls out, peeking into the male’s LED-lit room. On his monitor, he sees a discord call and what he believes is your profile picture. Why were you on call with him? “I’m going get ramen with Zeus, want anything?”

“Nah, I’m going over to my girl’s in a bit,” Haechan replies, smoothly muting the call as he gives his roommate his attention. “I’ll just see you in the morning?” Mark hums, and he’s out the door quickly. He doesn’t want to even think about the relationship between you and Haechan, not when there’s a green little monster creeping through his veins.

Once Haechan is sure Mark is gone, he’s unmuting the call. “Personally, I think he’s into you.”

Though he can’t see it, you’re rolling your eyes. “Haechan, you’re just saying that. You’re tired of me third wheeling?”

“Listen... Your words, not mine, sweetheart,” he says simply.

“Whatever dude,” you sigh, rolling onto your side on your bed. “Have fun with your shawty. I’m going to sleep.”

“Just ask him to smoke you out or something,” Haechan says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. “I’m leaving.”

You hear the noise of him leaving the call before you can even reply, and you’re once again rolling your eyes. You didn’t understand how your friend was into Haechan. What a fucking brat.

I mean, you can’t just ask someone to smoke you out, right? Isn’t that something that’s offered? You groan loudly at the thought, locking your phone and tossing it on the floor. “Fuck you, Haechan,” you think bitterly. Why the hell did he have to put that godforsaken idea in your mind?

Because the idea doesn’t leave your mind for weeks after that night. Every time you buy from Mark, you find it harder and harder to deny your attraction to the male. His actions don’t help much either. In fact, you’re convinced you’re delusional. There was no other reason.

You had mentioned you liked rice krispie treats, and suddenly Mark has rice krispie treat edibles. With extra marshmallows no less.

One time you heard your friends complaining that Mark had increased his prices. Which was odd because you were spending less on weed than you ever had before. Maybe they were just buying more?

Or sometimes there’s a small baggie of only the clear gummy bears with the things you buy from him. It’s not like you had told him that the only valid flavor of gummy bears was the clear ones.

These things weren’t just coincidences, right? Or were they? Haechan also liked marshmallow treats, so maybe they were for him. You had taken a liking to edibles, so you weren’t smoking as much as you used to. Meaning you were spending less money anyways. And Mark said that he liked the red gummy bears the most, so surely, you were just getting the ones he didn’t like.

You let out a loud groan, ignoring the call from Haechan on Discord. Instead, you opt to shove your face into your pillow before letting out a small scream. Mark Lee was driving you absolutely crazy.

Perhaps if you picked that call up, the text messages that flashed on your screen 30 minutes later would not have sent you into the panic that they did.

mark [12:20 am]: yo mark [12:20 am]: i got a new strain mark [12:20 am]: let me smoke you out?

Maybe Haechan wasn’t a brat, and maybe you would thank him for this at your wedding years later. But none of that matters when Mark Lee is asking to smoke you out.

you [12:29 am]: uh yea you [12:29 am]: my place? mark [12:32 am]: say less mark [12:32 am]: i’ll bring your favorite gummies

He does bring them, and he does smoke you out. Which is why you find yourself in the position that you do. You’re sitting on the floor in your living room, your cheek pressed against Mark’s knee as he sits on your couch. You swear he looks perfect from this angle; his hair is pushed back by a headband he had stolen from you a few days ago, claiming he thought it was like a personal head massage device. You can see the way his eyes are slightly red, and you’re sure yours look exactly like his. Most importantly, his neck is on display, and you want to do nothing more than mark it up. It takes everything in you to not climb into his lap and do exactly that.

“You look like a puppy,” Mark says, running his fingers through your hair, stopping when he reaches your ear. He’s rubbing small circles on your earlobe with this thumb, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. “My puppy.”

God, Mark Lee was dangerous. Absolutely lethal. You groan at his words, pressing your face into his thigh to hide away from him. Unfortunately for you, this has the opposite effect, and there is no such thing as hiding from him. The sight of you nearly burying your face into his lap like this does wonders for Mark’s confidence.

“Come here.” It’s a demand from him, and it’s one that you quickly listen to as he guides you to straddle his lap. In this new position, Mark’s hands quickly go to your thighs; the grip he has is almost bruising. But you don’t mind it, not when Mark’s got his head resting on the back of your couch and he’s staring at you in a way that makes you nervous.

“Sorry for making you wait,” he says, and you’re feeling a bit confused. “Haechan might have given me a hint or two.”

The confusion is gone quickly; you were going to strangle that kid.

Mark laughs at the look on your face, easily reading the emotions as if you were an open book to him. “Don’t think about it, we’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

And when Mark Lee presses a kiss against your jaw, his hands traveling under your shirt, you know you’re done for.

#posting this at 7am is wild for me #anyways im going back to working on my gamer haechan fic WEHEHEHEHEH #mark #mark lee #mark scenarios #mark scenario #mark fic #mark fluff #nct writing #nct scenario #nct scenarios #i never know what to tag idk we ball

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theodorecanaryhood · 4 months

Text

The Bad Boy 2

Mafia Jason Todd x Male reader

Warning: Sexual acts, rough unprotected sex, violence, swearing, smoking and mentions of assault

The bedsheets were tangled around your naked body, as Jason’s sleepy form lay next to you. You were wide awake most of the night as thoughts went through your head.

You’d slept with your boss and you didn’t know how to take it from there, does this mean the two of you are together? Does this mean you should resign? Was it just a one time, drunken thing?

So many questions went through your head as Jason snored lightly next to you, his naked form pressed against you.

‘Hey you, sleep ok?’ Jason asked as he rolled over a little, pulling you into his chest.

‘Morning, I did’ you smiled a little, Jason looked deep into your eyes.

‘Gosh, you’re so beautiful’ Jason gasped, looking at your still naked form.

‘Thanks’ you blushed, Jason laughed heartily as he kissed you.

‘Last night was amazing, that was the best sex of my life’ Jason smiled, putting his head into your neck.

Giving a sweet kiss while he was there, you smiled bright as Jason pulled you in. Kissing you.

The day was filled with just you and Jason catching up on stuff, a new deal struck by a Mafia family in Metropolis. Jason took this as a big deal.

With the over work and less fun time Jason took you to the beach for the day, unusual heat for once in Gotham City, Jason spotted just a tank top, shorts and some shades.

Jason seemed so different when he wasn’t in his suit, Red Hood or otherwise. He seemed relaxed, loving and gentle.

Jason held your hand as the two of you strolled down the beach. Jason placing a kiss on you every now and then.

It felt so different as the two of you showed a different side of each other. Jason seemed calm and loving toward you.

Jason had a stern face most of the time so seeing his genuine, bright smile made your heart ache.

‘I think it’ll work’ Jason blurted out as you looked at him.

‘What will?’ You asked, Jason took his shades off his face.

‘Me and you, I don’t want you as my assistant anymore. I want you as my boyfriend’ Jason admitted.

You smiled as Jason pulled you in for a hug, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

It was a quick trip back home as Jason sped through the streets of Gotham, he got you into his bed within seconds.

‘Gonna make you scream my name’ Jason said as he stripped his clothes off.

Jason pressed his bare body against you as you held his face, pulling him in for a kiss. Jason tore your clothes off of you as he began to lick you all over.

Jason tossed you over as he gave your bare asscheeks a hard slap, sure to leave a hand print.

Jason spat right into the hole as he slid himself into you. You grabbed the pillow with white knuckles, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

‘Fuck’ Jason growled as he began to slam into you, hungry for your body.

Jason held onto your hips as he found a deep rhythm inside you, you felt like the size of Jason deep inside was going to split you in half.

‘Oh fuck, y/n’ Jason growled again as he threw his head back, thrusting his hips against yours.

Jason pulled out of you and turned you over, holding you down as he pounded into you again. Jason lifted your leg up as he deepened his thrusts, going with a faster rhythm.

‘Oh baby, it’s so big’ you panted as Jason blew you up with passion.

Jason smiled smugly as he liked hearing you compliment him, he liked even more the feeling of being inside you.

You jerked yourself to release as you shot a load all over your stomach, Jason smirked as he watched. You pleasure being released as Jason gripped onto your throat.

‘Fuck, fuck’ Jason roared as he pumped himself inside you, his thrusts becoming slow as he shot his seed out.

Jason rolled over flat onto his back as held you in his arms as he panted, you remained where you were as you waited for Jason to get hard again.

You planned to remain where you were and make sure Jason’s balls remained empty. You kissed Jason deeply as he felt himself standing up again.

You sat on Jason’s thighs as you jerked his length a little, getting it harder and then sliding it into you.

‘Oh my, Jason’ you gasped as you sat with Jason’s manhood deep inside you.

You rode slowly, yet deep, as Jason placed his arms under his pillow. Enjoying the view of you riding Jason’s hips.

‘You are so amazing’ Jason smiled as you placed your hands on Jason’s chest, running your hands down his chest and stomach.

You lifted and slammed back down quicker as Jason pumped inside you, you leant down and kissed Jason.

‘Fuck me’ you panted as Jason watched you bouncing on his dick, throwing your head back in pleasure.

Jason gripped onto your asscheeks as he gave it a slap, sitting up and sinking his teeth into your neck.

Jason held you by the throat again as he let you take over, rotating your hips as you slammed up and down with Jason deep inside you.

Jason kept spanking you every few seconds as he felt himself getting to the finish line, Jason pulled your head closer to his as his breath fanned your face.

‘I’m gonna come’ Jason almost whispered as he felt his seed spilling inside you again, you gasped from the second load, probably a bigger load than the first.

Jason lay you on your back as he took your length in his mouth, jerking you along with sucking. Licking the head and teasing you, giving your thigh a little bite while he was there.

‘Oh God, I’m close’ you panted as you shot a load all over Jason’s face and into his mouth.

You breathed hard as Jason hummed a little, kissing your stomach as he crawled up to your face, kissing you again.

The sex seemed non stop that day as Jason was making sure the both of you remained satisfied, Jason was being generous in making sure you had the same amount of orgasms as him.

Jason rested his hand on your thigh as he drove you both to his new deal, a deal he hoped would go smoothly, but he had his Red Hood helmet in case it went south.

Jason kissed you as you remained in the car, kissing you for good luck. Jason was only gone for three minutes as he rushed back to the car.

Jason lit his cigarette as he stood out on the balcony, taking in the view of the city, the night sky was something he never got bored of.

‘Jason? We have a problem’ Roy called out from another room, rushing into the bedroom and finding Jason on the balcony.

Jason was dressed head to toe in his Red Hood suit, his mask was covering the fact that Jason had blood and rage in his eyes.

A rival had seen the two of you together and knew if he wanted Jason’s attention, he’d have to grab you.

That’s exactly what he did, Black Mask had you and refused to let you go until Jason got what he wanted.

The Red Hood was built by Sanger tonight as he took all of Sionis’ men out, not giving up until you were in his arms.

You sat in the room with your eyes closed as you prayed, the gun being held to your head. You were deaf in this moment and only heard your heartbeat.

You were in pain as your body was trying to fight back from the inflicted wounds, amongst other things.

The room was black from your eyes being sealed shut as all of a sudden, there was a bang.

‘Baby, it’s me’ Jason softly smiled as he took hold your face in his hands.

You opened your eyes and came face to face with Red Hood, feeling calm straight away as you saw your man had come for you.

The only problem now was Black Mask was still alive and looking for Jason, hoping to get to you as well.

‘I’m in pain’ you revealed as Jason carried you, not caring about anyone else at the moment.

Jason got you to the car as you broke into tears, Jason didn’t want to know what had happened to you as he was already angry that Black mask and his men had laid their hands on you.

You say in the car with weeping eyes as there was gun shots in the distance, you could only imagine the carnage inside.

Jason, sitting on top of Black Mask, pummelling him bloody, hitting his head against the floor.

‘Don’t fucking touch him again’ Jason roared as he continued pinching black mask.

Jason slammed Black Mask’s head against the floor once again, deciding to leave him there so he could make a point. Jason Todd was not to be messed with.

You cried for the journey home as Jason held onto your hand, tight as you wept. Only being able to listen to what had happened.

You detailed that Black Mask had forced you on the floor, assaulted you in a way that made you want to vomit. Not sexually, but mentally and physically.

Jason wished he had known so he could’ve killed Black Mask, but still wanted to make a point of leaving Roman Sionis alive so he knew not to take a shot again.

Jason held you against his chest as you slept deeply, Jason’s heart melted with your scent and the feeling of you against him.

‘I think I’m falling in love, I will do anything for you. I love you’ Jason said out loud, holding you close to his heart as you stirred a little.

The safe was open as Jason and Roy loaded themselves with knives, guns and handcuffs. A huge deal being broken and Red Hood and Arsenal were forced to take the role.

You loaded Jason’s gun and handed it to him, Jason kissed you as he ran a hand down your arm.

‘I love you’ he whispered in your ear, you smiled as you pecked his cheek.

‘I love you too’ you said as you squeezed Jason’s bicep a little.

It was made official after you woke up that night after Jason confessed, Jason told you how he felt and made you aware he didn’t want you out of his life, or out of his sight.

Jason turned into a clingy puppy for his boyfriend, which made you laugh a little. Jason and you were a force, and it wasn’t likely the two of you would end anytime soon.

#red hood #gotham #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #red hood x male reader #jason todd x male reader #mafia jason todd

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justjams2003 · 7 months

Text

Fast Pace-2

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious

Word count: 2,8k

Masterlist

Part 1~Part 3

"What? Am I hearing this right? The Carlos Sainz, famous Ferrari Formula One driver approached you, in an alleyway, during your smoke break and paid you three hundred euros to hide in a cramped bathroom with you.” One of your best friends from high school screams into your ear. You can’t help but cringe, hearing exactly just how famous he is. You blow the smoke from your cigarette and gaze out across your balcony.

You wish you could say the view is beautiful, with the Eiffel Tower in the background with music of the people in the background. It’s none of that though. The view is another apartment block, and you so wished the man on the balcony would close the curtains. You avoid the balcony in the fear of getting treated to a view of his wrinkled body. How you wish you didn’t have to deal with the gross apartment building.

“Um...Yes...?” You reply, not really sure what to say. “Not only that, Jasmine, but he then gave her his number and said he would make sure he would see her again!” Your other best friend, Ilsa, on the group call squeals out. You facepalm, knowing they can’t see you, but still, your embarrassment is uncontainable. “What are you going to say?” Jas asks, you can already hear her plotting.

Your silence says a thousand words. “You are going to text him, right?” Ilsa clarifies and they go quiet only to hear your sigh. “What would I say? Hi, mister million-dollar man, I really liked being cramped in a bathroom with you, and would love to do it again!” You scoff at the ridiculousness of it all and take another puff from your cig. “I mean...” Jas says but you quickly shoot the idea down.

“Okay, okay, how about this? Address the elephant in the room. Tell him you googled him and then ask him what exactly he wants with you.” Ilsa suggests and it actually doesn’t sound that bad. Your stomach rumbles and as you open the fridge door you can’t help but sigh. Some old cabbage, one egg and a pack of cheap tomato sauce. Another hungry night.

“Yeah, so that you can be prepared if he just wants a quick fuck!” Jas calls out and again you can’t help but cringe. “Jasmine!” You yell out, glad they can’t see you blush. Even that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s been weeks since someone touched you with any sort of kind intent. Much less how close you two were today.

You’d already given the full three hundred euros to your landlord. He just scowled asking where the rest of it is. Not to mention, the electricity is threatening to shut off. Along with the student loans, water bills, phone bills, and insurance, everything is piling up and you feel like you can’t pick up enough shifts to survive.

I hear her groan, “Come on, Y/N, this could be a really great opportunity for you.” This time it’s Ilsa encouraging you. She’s right, maybe a little distraction from life is just what you need. Not to mention you’d do anything to look at that handsome face of his one more time. The photos and videos online don’t even come close. He’s so much more even just being near him makes you want to beg him to hold you.

“Fine, but if he gave me a fake number, I’ll ignore you guys for a week.” It’s an empty threat as always. “Yes, of course, as expected.” Jas’ voice is dripping in sarcasm. “I’ve got to go, je vous aime les gars, au revoir.” Ilsa says goodbye, and with that, the call ends. Dinner, wouldn’t that be such a good idea? You open your banking up only to see but a meek two hundred left for the end of the month.

While you’re on your phone, you might as well text him...right?

Y/N: I assume you wanted me to google you when you gave me your real name?

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: And, do I live up to the pictures?

Y/N: No, you’re much shorter in real life

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: A dagger in my heart!

Y/N: 😝

Y/N: I’m glad you didn’t give me a fake number then. But I can’t help but ask what exactly it is you want with me?

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: How about this: I’ll explain it all to you on our first date

Y/N: You intrigue me...

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: When do you get off from work, tomorrow?

Y/N: I work the morning, until lunch tomorrow. So I’m free from 16:00

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: Send me your address, and I’ll pick you up at 18:00. Wear something nice.

What on earth am I thinking? He could kidnap me! And yet you find yourself in front of your closet picking the one nice dress you bought for your first interview. It’s a simple black, form-fitting on the top but flares at the bottom with frills on the sleeves. It looks so boring to wear on a date with someone like him, but it’s all you have.

Along with the only heels you have, once more plain black chunky pumps. Your hair lays right below your shoulders in your natural waves and curls.

You can’t help but groan at your situation and throw a pack of cigarettes into your handbag. It’s a bad habit, you know and everyone around you has told you so many times to stop. But it’s so hard to when living in France and not only that it’s the only thing that seems to help.

You finish it off with a red lip, hoping to add a slight bit of colour to the dull outfit. Not that you have much time to think of something else, at exactly six, there is a knock on the door. With your heart in your ears, you open the door to Carlos holding a bouquet of pink tulips.

Not only that but he looks ravishing in black dress pants and a dress shirt, but of course with the sleeves rolled up. You bite your lip, already wanting to jump his bones.

That tan skin of his has you imagining him, shirtless under the hot summer sun on a Mediterranean beach somewhere. Not only that but his hair seems to fall perfectly in place. So soft and silky and voluminous. Your hand twitches, wanting to rake through his inky black strands and then, of course, ask him about his hair-care routine.

“How did you know these are my favourites?” You ask, walking inside and placing them in the sink before returning to him. He shrugs, “I have my ways. But enough about that. Querida, you look enchanting.” He takes your hand and guides you to a spin, showing off all of you. Your dress flows and his touch is like fire lighting in your body.

“Really? I hope it’s fancy enough, it’s all I own, and I don’t really have the money to buy something right now.” You say with a blush coating your cheeks. Why would you tell him that? Now he’s going to think you want him to buy you a new dress. Or maybe you’re only going on the date because you know who he is.

“Of course, niña bonita, I’m honoured to have such a pretty lady on my arm.” He then takes your hand and helps you down the stairs. And his words cause a blush on the tips of your ears. He helps you all the way to his fire-red Ferrari. “Woah....” You can’t help but utter out, you’ve never been so close to such an expensive car and the fear of breaking it looms in the back of your mind.

“You like, niña bonita? Comes with the job, of course.” He winks and then opens the door for you, which of course opens upwards. You can’t help but let out a playful scoff, “Duh, of course!” He chuckles at your reaction. “You must tell me if I’m going too fast, no? I like speed of course.” His wink shoots electricity through your skin, not only that but that breath taking smile of his.

You don’t have a licence, you never needed one living in France all your life. Even in the smaller town where you grew up, you could walk everywhere. And yet the way he speeds down the freeway causes a thrill to tickle your toes.

Every time he switches the gears, his forearm muscles flex and you have to control yourself. Not to mention, he doesn’t even have road rage, every move, every turn, every gear shift is as smooth as can be.

If it wasn’t for your culinary degree you’re certain you wouldn’t have understood anything on the menu. Even so, you’d been eyeing this place for a while and some of them you’re still unsure how to pronounce. What shocks you the most is the prices, some things on the menu are half the price of your rent. “What do you think of getting?” He asks, leaning back in his seat. “Um...the breadsticks?” He looks over his menu and raises his brow.

“The breadsticks are free?” He clarifies, those luscious brows of his furrow in confusion and you nod with a smile. You try not to show him how nervous a fancy place like this makes you. And also how you yearn to be at home in a place like this. “Yes.” He sighs, “Niña terca, I am paying, pick what you want.” That actually makes you feel even worse.

“Oh, no, it’s alright you don’t have to. I brought my wallet.” You reply, clutching your purse as a reminder. “It is not up for discussion.” He replies, going back to the wine list he’s holding. The guilt shoots through you. You desperately need to accept the money but stil your mother’s manners creep up on you. “Then the...salad.” He rolls his eyes and takes your menu and closes it for you.

You go to protest, but he calls over the waiter before you can. “The lady will have the Salmon Meuniere and I shall have the steak. With the Chilled Pinot Noir.” Again, he chooses your favourite option. “How did you....” As if he knows exactly what you’re about to ask, he just shrugs, “We must have similar taste.”

The fact of these two choices being so similar doesn’t make you suspicion. Instead, it makes you feel warm and at home almost. How similar are you two already, and how much more can fall into place? You eye him, raising your brow as he too studies you. “What is it, estimada. You want to say something.” He guides with his hand to open up the conversation.

“How do you know?” You ask, in awe of how much detail he sees. He chuckles and then leans forward and smooths out the area around your eyes by your temples. “You get this crinkle, when you are holding something back. I noticed it yesterday.” You can’t help but blush and cover your face.

“It’s my job, estimada. To notice the small things, in the car, in the track, in the ladies I like.” His words are smooth like butter and those dark eyes of his stare you down.

The waiter comes and pours your wine and places down your food. You take a sip from the cool beverage. “You owe me an explanation.” You shrug, the only response you give. Not trusting your throat. His jaw locks tight and he leans in a bit closer to you. He bites down on the juicy steak and the way his jaw muscle flexes causes obscene thoughts to fly through you.

“What I tell you next is not to be known by anyone besides you and me. Let’s put it like so, my managers believe that I should, how you say, casarse ya.” He switches to Spanish so easily. You have no idea what he said but merely nod along. All while savouring the taste of the perfectly cooked salmon and expensive wine that pairs so well.

“I turn 34 next year, one of the oldest on the grid. They believe that I should stop wasting my time and just settle down already. My publicist also believes it would get more sponsors and boost my public image. So, I am coming to you with an offer.” I raise my brow; I knew this would be too good to be true.

I should have known that someone like him wouldn’t bother getting close to someone like me. Clearly only there to entertain the people as always. Does he want pity points from his fans? Embracing a poor Frenchwoman from the slums. Doing some sort of charity work? I cross my arms and lean back; I can tell that he sees me retracting from the conversation entirely.

But still, I allow him to continue. “I will pay you, any amount you wish, shopping, jewels, vacations, even something more practical like the rent or student bills. In return, you pretend to be my long-term girlfriend. You come with me to the races, show up in the paddock, and tag along in interviews. The whole deal.” He bites those plump lips of his and now you wish he’d be more hideous.

For once he actually looks a bit nervous. You can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at this. “So...like a sugar daddy situation...?” He senses your resentment towards the idea and is careful to reply. “I suppose so,” his eyes seem to panic and you can’t believe your ears.

You grab your purse, “I can’t believe you, Carlos! I thought I’d finally met a decent well-off guy, but no. Ces foutus garçons. Je ne peux jamais faire confiance aux hommes. Jamais!”

You can’t help but switch to your native language. The translator in your mind fails due to your anger and you can feel tears prick in the walls of your eyes. With your purse in hand, you push your seat back and in a rage go to leave. But suddenly you’re forced back down onto your chair by Carlos’ firm grasp on your wrist.

“¡Siéntate, niña testaruda, y escucha!” His translator too, is out the window. You pout and cross your arms, shocked at his audacity. “Listen here, and listen well, little girl, because I can clearly see you are in desperate need of some discipline. Mocoso.” He leans over you and the way he speaks with such a demanding voice makes your core ache. And yet you can’t help but want to defy him more.

He sits down again but is clearly ready to catch again if needed. He then grabs you by the chin and makes sure you look him into those swirling brown eyes. So dangerous and ready to attack if need be. “I can see it in your eyes, dollface. I can see it in the way you eye the Porche that passes, the Louis Vuitton handbag in the window and the most expensive item on the menu.”

Has your eye really been wandering so much? Or is his attention to detail so fine-tuned? If it weren’t for his hand clasping your chin, you’d long since would’ve looked away. “You have champagne taste and I’m giving you the whole vineyard. Don’t make another stupid choice and accept the offer. I won’t ask again.”

His voice is strong and commanding and the way he speaks makes you want to get down on your knees and open your mouth for him. He lets go of your jaw, allowing you to speak. “And if I want something more?” You ask and can’t help but dial up the charm fluttering your dark lashes. He smirks watching you go from bratty to begging.

“I can feel the chemistry too, estimada and I can see the need burning behind those eyes of yours. If this were to become something more, then so be it. And if you want this to be a quick fling and your intro into the limelight, then so be it. And if you want it to only be an exchange of money and appearance, so be it too.” He shrugs, watching your reaction to each option.

Then he turns serious again. “That all can be decided later. What must be decided now, is whether you’ll join me or not. I must apologize that I can’t give you much time to think about it, I have an early flight tomorrow. You’ll have to join me.” I furrow my brows, I thought he had the whole week? Anyways a choice must be made....

My taglist is open! If you wish to be tagged in this story alone, please comment or reblog with the words 'tag'. And if you wish to be tagged in all my posts please comment or reblog with the words 'tag all'.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #scuderia ferrari #sugar daddy!Carlos sainz #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x reader #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x sugar baby!reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #carlos sainz smut

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ghostbeam · 2 years

Text

can you feel my heart beating like a hammer? | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

You watch from your spot, shoulders tense as you anticipate the arrival of yet another creepy clown or zombie when you see him.

He’s not like the other actors. He’s not quick with his movements and doesn’t yell or jump at anyone. His terror lies in the fact that he does none of those things, that he stands across from you and stares.

And then he grins.

Your stomach turns but not in fear.

Notes: hiiiiii so this is my scare actor!dabi fic. It’s my halloween/October fic for the month!! I’ve been working on this for a while and I’ve finally finished only five days before halloween lmao. Wanna thank mari for calling me after class that day where we had the same exact thought of this at the same time and I had to pull over to put it in my notes (and also for thinking of this title cause I was struggling) anyways I hope you enjoy!!! thanks for reading!! (Title from help I'm alive by metric) listen to the playlist here!

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, f!reader, explicit content, scare actor!dabi, Dabi is touya (quite literally he is not called Dabi in this at all ajhssjsjjss), sex in public, fearplay (kind of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation (very brief), oral f!receiving, fingering, multiple instances where Dabi rests his hand on ur neck but never chokes u, biting (shoulder, neck), ‘baby’ and ‘angel’ as pet names, use of ‘good girl’, frightening (debatable im not that good) depictions of scare actors and haunts, one description of gory makeup, fake weapons

Words: 5k

You’re scared, terrified actually, and your friends are nowhere in sight.

You’re cold. You’re hungry. A clown with a chainsaw won’t stop following you around, and you just want to go home.

When you were invited to the local haunted house, your first instinct was to say no. You’d always been afraid of these things, anything with jumpscares, anything not contained in the screen of your television, you decided wasn’t for you. But your friends insisted and explained that the local haunt wouldn’t be anything like any of those expensive theme parks with big productions and highly trained actors.

But if you were being honest with yourself, it all felt the same to you. It was maybe a little creepier, out in a field in the middle of nowhere, the closest business a couple of miles away, and no background checks for the actors. Uneasiness washed over you the moment you stepped through the wooden gates.

And now you’re alone.

Scare actors are coming at you left and right, all dressed in dark makeup or clown outfits or fake blood, each with their very own faux weapon used for getting just close enough to you without touching. They’re targeting you because you’re scared, you realize because you scream and clutch your head and run in all different directions when they come at you.

It’s quite the production for a local haunt. It’s eerie, smoke machines pour fog throughout, and music that ranges from creepy carnival tunes to popular horror movie scores blare through worn-out speakers, which add to the effect. The actors are painted with precision or covered in liquid latex and black blood that oozes from fake wounds. You feel like you’re in a horror movie. You might be in one, for all you know, which is what scares you the most

You finally find a moment to calm yourself down, seeking a single moment of peace against a makeshift wall on the outside of a haunted house.

You take a moment to look around you, out over the sea of people and costumes. You observe the way the actors jump at the attendees, throwing themselves forward or making loud noises, dragging and tapping their fake weapons against the ground. It’s complete chaos, and you thought that seeing it from the sidelines would make it less terrifying for you, but it doesn’t. You don’t want to be here.

You watch from your spot, shoulders tense as you anticipate the arrival of yet another creepy clown or zombie when you see him.

And then he grins.

Your stomach turns but not in fear.

He’s not scary, just strange, and oddly handsome too, you think. You don’t smile back, but you keep your eyes on him. You aren’t sure if his smile is part of his act or if he means it. Somehow, both make you uneasy.

He’s slow as he moves towards you, calculated. His eyes rake up and down your body as he approaches. As he comes closer, you can finally get a good look at his face, smudged with paint over scars that fall underneath both eyes and line his jaw. What looks to be like staples sit in the seam between the marked and unmarked skin, and you can’t tell if they’re part of the costume or if he wears the piercings when he’s not working. You kind of hope he does.

He looms over you, close enough that you can smell a mixture of sweat and cologne on his skin, but not enough to touch you. You think you want him to, though. His eyes are a brilliant blue, almost glowing against the night.

He’s beautiful. You can tell even hidden under the face paint. His costume is stitched together with yarn at the seams of his shoulders, silver staples that imitate the piercings on his face scatter the stitches. His coat is long and reaches the middle of his calves, and a loose white shirt drapes over his chest. His dark jeans wear the same stitches as his coat, and his dark boots are big, the sound of the soles against the pavement is loud as he steps even closer to you.

Touya’s never had any particular interest in any of the attendees of the haunt before. Sure, he’s taken girls home who’d bravely slipped their numbers into his pocket or caught him when his shift was over, but no one had ever caught his eye quite like you.

He’d seen you cowering before his coworkers, running away and screaming, not unlike many of the people around you. But he had noticed you.

And now you’re standing not even an inch away from him, staring up at him with wide eyes and trembling so hard he can almost feel you. You’re adorable. He wants to see you like this underneath him with your back arched, pretty lips parted for him, just for him.

Your moment is interrupted by the revving of a chainsaw and the dragging of metal against pavement as yet another clown laughs loudly in your ear. You jump, unconsciously moving forward, finding yourself in the arms of the patchwork man you’d been so captivated by. You squeak out a small sorry, but he says nothing, smirking down at you.

Dabi’s heart leaps in his chest. He wants to steal you away, pull you into one of the haunts, and fuck you behind one of the walls. No one would suspect a thing if he covered you in enough fake blood to pass as one of them, making you scream in pleasure against the screams of fear.

His eyes flicker to your lips before he lowers his hands to your waist, squeezing tightly before backing away from you and leaving you alone without a word.

…

After another half an hour of running from scare actors and looking for your friends, you finally find them near a food stand, unassuming and completely unaware you’d disappeared.

You sprint towards them, getting good at dodging anyone jumping at you after all of that time alone. Your best friend spots you first, her eyes widening as she walks towards you.

“Where the fuck did you go?” She questions with a drink in one hand that flashes different colors from the plastic light-up ice in the liquid.

“You guys left me!” You exclaim, “I’ve been dodging those fuckers for an hour alone!”

“We thought you were with us. I promise! We went in that one haunt with the possession scene and when we came out you were gone!” She explains, but you can’t help but feel a little annoyed. You didn’t even want to come out tonight. You’d only said yes because she begged.

“Did you look for me?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Look,” She begins, “Everything is so chaotic here. Everyone was moving on to the next house! I figured you’d catch up!”

“You suck.” You pout.

“I know I do. I’m sorry!” She pleads. “I’ll buy you something to eat. C’mon.”

She buys your meal and leads you to some of the wooden picnic tables in the small area, the rest of your friends already occupying some of the space. You’re treated warmly as they all throw questions at you about where you went. You resist the urge to act upset or make a scene, explaining that you’d been running around and looking for them while trying to avoid fake chainsaws and machetes. You’re in the middle of telling a story about getting caught in a corner with one of the zombies when your friends start to erupt in a fit of giggles. You pause your story, confused at their sudden reaction when you feel someone blow at your neck.

It only surprises you, all the fear expelled from your body in your hour of terror. You turn to look at the source and there he is again, the patchwork man from earlier. You’re not scared of him, this time, only intrigued.

He hovers over you, moving and contorting his neck in a way that you assume is meant to be creepy, but it does nothing but amuse you.

You smile and let out a small laugh, looking up at him through your lashes. Dabi feels his jeans tighten at the way you look up at him, eyebrows pulled up in a pout, leaning closer as he grins.

“Are you ever gonna tell me your name?” You ask him, eyes flickering to his lips for a moment. He shakes his head slowly, maintaining eye contact while holding a finger to his mismatched lips. You give him yours, but he only stares. You’re once again pulled in by the blue in his eyes, finding yourself wondering if they’re a different shade than the last time you saw him. “Not even if I beg?”

He’ll punish you for that later, Dabi thinks.

You watch him reach behind his back, still bent over towards your face, readying yourself for what you think might be the fake machete he carried before.

He pulls a single yellow daisy from behind him, clutching it between two fingers as he holds it out to you. You know he must have picked it from one of the patches of green that scatter the field. Your friends giggle some more, whispering things you're unable to focus on at the moment. You look between his painted face and the flower, reaching out to take it from him.

Suddenly feeling bashful, you lean away from him, smelling the flower and twirling it between your fingers. The smile he gives you is genuine.

He leans closer to you, bringing a finger up to his cheek and tapping twice to signal something. He wants a kiss, you realize. It’s against the rules, and he knows this. Scare actors are not meant to touch the guests, and doing so could get them into a lot of trouble. But Touya wants to touch you. He remembers the feeling of you pressed against him when you’d jumped in fear of the clown from earlier. He’d broken the rule then, and he had no problem with breaking it again.

If not for your friends' excited squeals around you, you’re sure you would have frozen. You push yourself forward, placing a kiss to his cheek before you can talk yourself out of it. He smiles wide as you pull away, that creepy grin still on his face as he stares down at you.

When he stands up, he begins to back away slowly without a word. You watch him walk, clutching a fist over his heart and giving you a giddy smile as he leaves.

You feel disheartened knowing you might not see him again tonight. You place the flower behind your ear and take your eyes off where he disappeared.

…

You and your friends stay until closing. As the night goes on, you find yourself getting used to the fear. You think you like it now, adrenaline running through your body as you're chased with chainsaws or reached for through windows inside of the haunts. It’s exhilarating. You understand why people like these so much.

Scare actors are practically chasing people out, running at them with their weapons until they make it through the gates. It’s complete mayhem, especially with the number of people now pushed to the front of the area.

Amidst the chaos, you find yourself alone again. You search the crowd, avoiding the actors jumping toward you as you make your way through the sea of people. You push through different groups of people until you make it to a small open spot amidst the crowd. It’s there that you see the man from before, jumping at different people who walk by him. He drags his fake machete against the floor and it scrapes with a metallic grinding sound. He’s terrifying, you think. Not to you, but to anyone around him, he must be terrifying.

He’s tall and imposing, completely silent as he pushes his weapon toward anyone he can reach. He’s fast, too, running up on different people, the sound of his big black boots is loud against the pavement.

You can’t move. You can only stare at him, completely in his element. He’s good at what he does, better and far more intimidating than any of the other actors you’ve encountered tonight. But somehow, you aren’t scared at all, not of him and not in any real way. Maybe you should be, though.

He turns around, looking around as he walks from his last set of victims before his eyes find you. A smile crosses his face and he lifts a hand, wagging his fingers to wave at you. You avert your eyes in embarrassment that he caught you, even in the crowd of people.

He stalks towards you, dragging his weapon behind him. He’s menacing, and you can’t help but feel a little afraid of him, wondering if he’ll jump towards you or do something to scare you all over again. When he approaches, you watch him smirk from under his makeup, close enough to see the texture of his skin and the blue of his eyes. He runs a finger down your arm until he reaches your hand, intertwining your fingers and pulling you along with him.

You know you shouldn’t follow him. This is how people go missing, how people are found in a ditch with their friends crying on the news about how they were just with them.

But you can’t bring yourself to care. You find him endlessly fascinating, from the way he moves to his dark demeanor. He’s strange and unsettling, but you like it. You want strange and unsettling, contrary to your feelings earlier in the night.

Dabi can feel your hand trembling in his. He rubs soothing circles with his thumb over the top of your hand. He doesn’t want you to be too afraid of him. He wants you to like him. He’s almost embarrassed by it, seeking the approval of a random girl who visited the haunt. When he looks back at you, your eyes are wide, mouth agape as you let him pull you through the crowd of people. You look at him with curiosity and intrigue more than fear. Dabi feels his heart beat faster in his chest.

He pulls you to one of the haunts, one you went through earlier with a zombie rock band, a ridiculous theme that you remember scaring you the least. Guitar blares through the speakers as you enter, moving the curtains back that cover each entrance. You realize that the place is empty, with no scare actors ready to jump out, no one on the sets or acting out any of the scenes you remember. It’s just the two of you now.

You feel his arm curl around your waist as he pulls you behind one of the openings in the walls. It’s one of the spaces that the scare actors use to hide in before jumping out at the guests. It’s surprisingly spacious, and there’s a door that must lead outside of the structure or into another room. You don’t have time to ponder it before you’re pushed up against one of the walls, his hands squeezing your hips as he looks down at you with hungry eyes.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this all night long. You were so fucking scared.” He speaks, lowering his head to the crook of your neck, and you almost gasp at the sound of his voice. It’s rough, gravelly. It vibrates against your body where he brushes his lips against you. “It was so cute.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling him grin against your skin before licking over your pulse point. You moan, the sound almost swallowed up by the loud eerie rock music reverberating in the makeshift building. Dabi wants to make you louder. He wants you to scream.

“Are you—hah—gonna tell me your name?” You ask him as he continues to kiss your neck. His hands are all over you, squeezing the flesh of your hips, running his hands over your thighs and your arms, hands underneath your sweater, up your skirt. You can’t focus on anything but his hands and his mouth and his hard body pressed up against yours. You almost want him closer, if that’s even possible, tangling your fingers into his hair and arching your body into his.

You’re sure your neck must be covered in smudgy face paint. His mouth is probably a muddy mess, or maybe all of the paint is gone, but you don’t care. His lips feel good on your skin. He feels good.

It barely registers that he ignores your question. “What? You’re back to not speaking?”

He’s silent, once again, pulling away from your neck to smile down at you. You were right, the paint is almost completely gone from the bottom half of his face, leaving behind the sight of scars in contrast to the unmarked skin on his cheeks. You’re panting, looking into his eyes as he reveals nothing. He leans forward to kiss you, catching you by surprise even though he was sucking on your neck just moments ago. The kiss is short, with barely enough time to feel his tongue against yours before he pulls away.

“So mysterious.” You quip, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment of being affected by one kiss. He pulls his long coat from his shoulders to reveal surprisingly muscular arms covered in the same scars and piercings that litter his face. He continues with his vow of silence as he starts to lower himself before you, placing kisses against your chest and your stomach as he falls to his knees. His hands sneak up your skirt. “Oh, fuck.”

He raises the front of your skirt, moving one of your hands to hold it against your stomach. He runs his hands up the front of your thighs, looking up at you through thick lashes, spreading your legs even further apart. He brings a hand forward, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clothed cunt. He gives you a look, and he doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he’s thinking, for you to be embarrassed by how wet you are from just a little groping.

He moves his hand and leans forward, pulling you by your hips and burying his face in between your legs. You feel his tongue through your underwear, gasping at the feeling, simultaneously too much and not enough. You bury your free hand in his hair as he licks you through the layer of fabric. Your panties are thoroughly ruined, your inner thighs sticky with your slick. He groans against you, tasting what little of you he can through the barrier. He pulls away and rips them from your thighs, wasting no time before he’s in between your legs once more.

“God!” It’s not his name, but it’ll do. “Fuck, right there!”

He laps at your entrance, completely lost in making you feel good. Every moan he pulls from you only spurs him on, tonguing your cunt like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He thinks that maybe it is.

You buck your hips against his face, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt and pulling at his hair as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to your orgasm. He runs one hand up your thigh, pulling away for a moment to slip a finger inside of you. He groans at how much of a mess you’ve become, how much of a mess he’s made you. He adds another finger, watching how easily they slide in and out of you. He looks up at you, silently asking if it’s something you like, and the moan you let out tells him that it is. You nod at him, moving your hips while he moves his fingers in and out of you.

“Please!” You whine, missing the feeling of his tongue on you. “Need more!”

He slows the movements of his fingers down, pulling another unsatisfied groan from your throat. It’s cute how impatient you are, how he’s reduced you to such a hungry little thing, all for him.

He moves one hand behind your knee, hiking your leg over one of his shoulders and earning a surprised gasp from your lips. His tongue finds your clit again, running tight circles around you as his fingers speed up.

You grind against his face, closer to the edge than before, moaning at the sensation of his mouth against your entrance. He curls his fingers inside of you and licks over your clit, his motions repetitive and focused as he feels you clench around his fingers. You’re close, and he can feel it, and it’s taking everything in him not to beg you to come for him.

“I’m gonna—” a strangled cry escapes your throat as he brings you to the edge. He slows his movements down as you ride out your orgasm, thrusting his fingers slowly and licking languid strokes over your clit. Hips spamming against him, you have to push his head away from your sex, breathing heavily and running your fingers through the hair falling in his eyes. He’s gorgeous when he looks up at you through a glistening grin. He rises from the ground, bringing the two fingers, now covered in your slick, towards his mouth. You whimper as you watch him wrap his own lips around the two digits, his eyes never leaving yours. He releases them with a sticky pop, surging forwards to capture your lips with his.

It’s better than the one before, longer, slower. You can taste yourself on his tongue. He slots his body against yours as he deepens the kiss, and you can feel him hard against your thigh. His hands run up your sides, over your breasts up to your sternum. He rests one hand against the front of your neck, gently and not squeezing, just to keep you there against him. He slips his tongue into your mouth while his other hand sneaks up the back of your sweater. He has your bra off before you have any time to think, and then he runs his fingers over your nipples.

He’s much gentler than you thought he’d be, especially under the circumstances. He has you pressed up against a wall in public. You’re someone he’s only just met, and you know you must not be the first person he’s done this with.

But he kisses you like he loves you.

And maybe it’s the adrenaline or the raucous music preventing you from thinking clearly, but you think that maybe he could. Maybe you want him too.

God, you’re crazy.

He sucks your tongue into his mouth again and you tug at the strands of hair at the back of his head. Your movements become more frantic as you push your bodies closer together. Twitching hands find the front of his jeans, thumbing the button open and stroking your hand over him. He groans into your mouth, a faint curse as he pushes his hips forward. He bites your lip hard before pulling away from you, pulling a shiny square package from his pocket and releasing himself from the constraint of his underwear. He tears it open with his teeth and rolls the condom on, reaching down to hike your leg back up like it had been before. With one strong hand holding you up from behind your knee, he drags the head of his cock through your folds, pulling another moan from you that you try to suppress in the crook of his neck.

His lips find yours once more, swallowing the sounds you make as he sinks into you. You arch your back, pushing yourself closer as he stretches you. The stretch is almost too much, even with the mess he’s made of you, but you feel good, full, complete.

He starts slow, long drawn-out thrusts of his hips that drive you crazy. He touches you everywhere, squeezing anywhere he can get his hands on, sucking on your neck, your chest. He kisses over your face, sweet pecks of his lips to your jaw and cheeks. It’s overwhelming, the attention he gives you, the need to put your pleasure before his, to make you feel wanted. You are wanted.

He’s getting desperate now, speeding up as he moves against you. He reaches so deep, keeping your leg hiked up with your back against the wall. You aren’t gonna last much longer, not with his tongue in your mouth, not with the sound of his own whines meeting your ears as he quickens his thrusts.

“Please—” You beg, digging your fingers into his hips. You’re so close, clenching around him so tightly he can barely think. His eyes find yours as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to your release, neon blue clouding your vision before you throw your head back against the wall behind you. Pleasure wracks through your body as he pulls you even closer. You fall limp in his arms, feeling him release your leg and pull out of you. You rest your forehead against his as you calm your breathing.

“Think you can give me one more?” The rare sound of his voice startles you. His hand finds the back of your head, pulling away to look into your eyes. Dazed, you nod at him, watching him smile down at you. “Good girl.”

He kisses your cheek, and you let him spin you around to face the wall. You brace yourself against it, two hands flat on the surface as you feel him behind you. He places sloppy kisses against your neck, slowly entering you once more. You gasp, still sensitive from before, but he shushes you, nibbling on your earlobe as he moves in and out of you.

“Your—hah—your name.” You whine, barely getting the words out as he quickens his pace. He groans behind you, leaning forward to bite your shoulder, thrusting in quick short motions against you. “Please! Fuck! Wanna—”

“You wanna what, baby?” He breathes against your ear. He places a kiss beneath it, peppering more down your neck as he slows down.

“Don’t! Please don’t slow down.” You beg, pushing yourself against him.

He leans his large frame against your back, bringing an arm around the front of your chest, resting his hand at the base of your neck. He pulls your back against him, lips brushing against your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna—ngh—scream it.” You pant, feeling his thrusts speed up at your admission. “Wanna scream your name.”

“‘Course you do, angel.” He coos, running a hand down the front of your body until it slips up your skirt. You feel his fingers against your clit and gasp, twitching from the sensitivity. It’s too much. You want more. “Call me Touya.”

“Touya!” You cry, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. Touya, Touya, Touya. It sounds perfect falling from your lips. You were meant to say it, meant to scream it just like this. “Wanna come. Make me come, Touya.”

He buries his face into your neck, biting down hard as he speeds up the movements of his hips and his fingers on your clit. You scream, just how he’s wanted you to all night, the feeling of pain and pleasure leaving you dizzy.

“Gonna—” You choke, moaning his name once again. He groans against your skin.

“I know, baby, me too.” His thrusts become sloppier, feeling himself approach the edge, but not before you. You scream his name one last time, reaching your high just moments before him. He cries out after, pulling your face towards his to kiss you deeply once more.

Realizing where you are, music still playing loudly through the speakers, your body up against a rough wooden wall, and Touya’s tongue in your mouth, you force yourself to pull away. He moves away from you, taking a moment to discard the condom and pick up your ruined underwear from the ground. You lay your head against the wall, throwing your arm over your eyes and laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

You think about the feeling of dread from the beginning of the night, how quickly you ran from the men in masks and makeup, the fake chainsaws and knives. And now you’d been fucked by one, one you’d learned the name of just seconds ago.

When Touya returns, you’ve fixed yourself, putting your bra back on and pulling your skirt down, though you’re still without underwear. He walks towards you, cupping your face with one large hand and looking down at you.

“You okay?” He questions, genuine concern in his cyan gaze. You give him a shy smile and nod. He narrows his eyes before giving you a sly smile. “I need verbal confirmation.”

“I’m okay, Touya.” You tell him, wrapping your hand around his wrist and resting it there.

“Fuck,” he speaks, “say it again.”

“You should’ve told me sooner.” You say, ignoring the command. He rolls his eyes, kissing your forehead before pulling away. He takes your hand in his and opens the door beside you.

“C’mon let’s get you cleaned up, then I’ll take you home.” He leads you through the door, down a labyrinth of alleys all connected by the various haunts. He looks back at you and shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry. Your friends are probably gone.”

“Probably.” You don’t care, but you should. And you shouldn’t let him take you home. You shouldn’t let him touch your face gently or take you to one of the twenty-four-hour diners nearby after you leave. You shouldn’t give him your number. You shouldn’t let him take you out once, twice, three times. You shouldn’t let him sneak you into a different haunt the next time you visit him at work.

You do anyway.

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #Touya Todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

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eddies-house · 9 months

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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Three - Two Old Fashioneds

W/C: 5.2K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Your first shift at The Bourbon goes less than smoothly and more chaotic. Does the town's hard-ass really have his shit together like he leads everyone to believe?

A/N: guys I'm so excited for this to pick up even more (i want to make them kiss like barbies but all in good time)

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The ins and outs of a bar were something you could have never anticipated and while similar in certain ways to a diner, there was a distinct line that separated the two. A diner had grumpy old men complaining about not getting their coffee soon enough. The bar had grumpy old men slurring their words, groaning about their lives and insisting that a ‘cute lil thing like you’ would fix everything. You had to stop yourself from gagging, plaster a smile on your face, and carry on. Because one complaint and you could be out of a job, only proving that you couldn’t handle the ‘rowdy’ customers as disclosed by the boss, who now that you thought about, hadn’t seen in the last forty minutes.

Not one other server was on staff to at least show you the ropes, it seemed like you were the first one. One of the bartenders, Jett, who had been the one you’d seen working the day before, was unfortunately selected to both train you and run the bar for the most part tonight, no time for a proper introduction before you were thrown into the deep end, only a quick exchange of names. It was a Thursday night but apparently to people in Knife’s Edge that meant the weekend started early. Poor Jett was nineteen years old and the whole bar depended on you two ever since 8:00 PM when you clocked in for your very first shift. It was nauseating having to ask him stupid questions in between attempting to serve tables while he made drink after drink, desperately trying to keep up with each order and delivering them to the right customer, even going as far to step out from behind the bar to tend to some of your tables. You assume he was probably used to it, what with how he did it without hesitation and seemed to have his own little system in place.

It wasn’t your fault, he assured you. It’s just that you happened to pick up your first shift the very night that the kitchen ran out of beef which also happened to be the main ingredient of one of The Bourbon’s only menu items, the famous Shreddar Burger topped with an ungodly amount of cheese and jalapenos. Turns out the customers went wild for it. It didn’t seem appetizing but you weren’t going to argue with the crowd favorite. And now it was being requested left and right, the explanation that the kitchen was currently out but should be back to whipping up another round soon, not enough for their hungry bellies. The best you could offer was a basket of fries until the beef magically showed up, Jett insisting that someone was taking care of it and that the cook would be back to whipping them up as planned sooner than later. You were beginning to lose faith in his promises but proceeded one step at a time regardless.

Just one more task and then the beef will be here and I won’t have to hear another damn grievance over a heartburn-inducing burger.

Yet it seemed to never come to an end, table after table requesting the very same order each time; only for you or Jett to break the news that their precious burger would have to wait and that again, the best you could offer were some fries or chicken wings, neither measuring up to the pedestal they held this burger on.

By around 9:15 PM, out came Eddie from the kitchen, door swinging behind him as sweat dripped from his brow. He was out of breath, chest heaving while he gestured for you and Jett to come over to which you obeyed, zigzagging around tables in a hurry with a tray tucked under your arm, brows pinched together stressfully. A new party of eight had just arrived which prompted you to push three tables together to accompany them, their drink order hadn’t even been taken yet and Eddie seemed to pick the worst time to call an impromptu meeting, in the middle of a never ending rush. Burgerless.

“Beef’s here. Jett, I need you to help with the rest of the boxes so we can get burgers going.” He instructs, the boy immediately following orders and frantically heading through the swinging door at full speed, very aware that he still had the front of house to attend to. “And you, Bambi, change of plans. I need you in the kitchen.”

So much to unpack in just one sentence. The kitchen? Bambi?

“Well–I-I thought I was just a server–”

“I said change of plans, I need you in the kitchen.” Before you could ask further questions, he disappears into the kitchen and for a split second you turn to glance at the full bar awaiting service only to wince and follow him. No one was managing the front and that made your nerves twitch but you suppose the boss knows what he’s doing. At least you hope. Your first hour or so had been a shit show.

Pans clanked against the metal worktop as he shoved them out of the way, clearing the space and igniting the flat top all while not batting an eye at you or caring to further explain. You could just make out the formation of numbers on his lips, no sound coming out, but he was distinctly lip syncing the numbers one through three over and over. It was strange though you didn’t have much time to process it, instead opting to internally lose it over the sheer idea of filling in for another position. You didn’t sign up to be a cook and this was way out of your scope of skills. He deemed you as incapable of being a server and now he was putting the foundation of this place on your shoulders.

“Randy, our cook left.” He begins, oiling up the surface, his focus never faltering. “Don’t know why, don’t know where. All I know is I went to pick up beef and when I came back he was gone.”

Jett scrambles near the back door, hauling boxes of beef into the walkin freezer as your eyes dart between him and Eddie, a certain queasiness forming in your stomach. Eddie continues pulling supplies out and though it's within your rights to demand to return to your original position in the front, you can’t, the words won’t come out.

“So you’re gonna flip burgers, Jett and I will be in and out to help while also holding it down out there.”

“I don’t even know how to ‘flip burgers’!”

It comes out less hostile and more alarmed, your eyes feigning apprehension at the current inconsistency of the place. In any other circumstance you should leave, quit with your dignity intact however that is not an option and you are in no position to be calling any shots; you begged for this job, afterall.

“You don’t know how to flip burgers.” He deadpans.

“I-”

“You ever flipped a pancake?”

It’s not a genuine question, more of a mockery of your simpleminded excuse. His head drops to catch your line of sight that had been previously shooting around the colorless kitchen, saturated in grays and whites that would drive anyone mad.

“That’s not what I meant–” You proclaim, setting your tray on an unoccupied work top.

“Just–cook the meat. Make sure it’s not raw.”

As if that wasn’t the whole point of ‘cooking’ it. This guy must have thought you had mush for brains yet he was the one with a crumbling structure of a business just based on what you’ve experienced in one night. One hour, even. You were starting to miss the senior citizens from the previous evening that appeared to have had a great deal of patience in comparison to the younger crowd that seemed to have more audacity and a shorter attention span.

“But what about–”

“Stop asking questions! Just follow my lead.” He demands, rushing out to the back, the door propped open so he could assist Jett in retrieving the remaining boxes from his truck.

What lead? There was no lead. Only chaos.

You idled next to the grill, shuffling your feet against the grimy tiles beneath you and taking notice of the astonishingly disgusting drain on the floor, coated in some kind of copper-colored grease. At least if Eddie came back in to yell at you for not doing anything, you had the excuse of manning the grill, ensuring his precious bar didn’t burn to the ground though metaphorically, it already was. What else were you supposed to do?

–

You were sure the smell of beef, onions and cheese were going to be crusted into your hair for eternity when all was said and done. Eddie and Jett had been taking turns walking you through the steps of creating this so-called famous burger and after a few mutilated testers, you eventually got the hang of it and it became a game of rinse and repeat. Sometimes an order for a rare cooked burger would come in and you could only hope that you cooked it just enough that it wouldn’t bring on a nasty case of food poisoning to whoever had requested it.

Eddie stood behind you at the fryer, back to you while putting together another batch of fries to store under the heat lamps while you pieced together yet another burger, setting it along the space designated for finished meals along with its corresponding ticket underneath. Eddie dumped some fries onto the plate before swiping it up and delivering it to its table. When he quickly came back in to repeat the same motions, a question lingered in the back of your mind and it only made sense to ask it.

“Why am I on burger duty?” You question, mentally facepalming at the phrasing you chose.

“Come again?” He gives you another chance.

“I-I mean, if I’m brand new, why put me in charge of one of the most important things on the menu? Why don’t you cook and I keep serving?”

It seemed like a valid concern, only your first day and suddenly you’ve moved up to head of the kitchen? Okay, maybe not head of the kitchen but that’s how it felt when thing one and thing two were constantly rotating out and mainly only managing fries and other small bar foods that were simple enough to make in big batches. The grease from it all felt prominent on your skin, and you feared your sweat was going to become one with the vegetable oil.

“Every person out there knows me. And I know them. I know how to butter them up.” He explains, a rogue curl escaping his messy bun in the mayhem of it all as he dumps another large portion of potatoes into the fryer. “You…well, you know.”

It’s uncertain whether that was meant to be an insult or simply him losing his train of thought. Either way, you didn’t read much into it, only nodding hesitantly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll throw you back to the wolves in no time.” Eddie half jokes, exiting the kitchen once again, this time with plates balanced on his forearms and palms, Jett zooming past him to start up another round of wings.

“So, how are you enjoying hell?” He laughs, giving his hands a good scrub down.

“Oh, it’s amazing.” You exaggerate, piling some cheddar cheese high on top of the charred meat, topping it off with jalapenos and a bun, then plating it up with some fries.

“Well, I promise it’s not like this every shift. And contrary to what you may have seen tonight, Eddie’s a good boss. Just kinda cranky but you learn to ignore it.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” The man in question rushes by, heading for the walk-in freezer, yet again counting in threes, this time using his fingers as well.

–

As promised, you were sent back up to the front once things had slowed down, the bar emptying out aside from a few regulars that had straggled behind. It was a manageable workload between three people, plus Jett was able to offer a little more in depth training behind the bar as well as giving you the official tour of The Bourbon.

There was the main room where all the action was, dimly lit to create a nice ambience littered in knick knacks that decorated the walls, torn band posters covering the ceiling along with some Christmas lights. Of course there was a pool table though you hadn’t witnessed any intense games in your short time here. Jett took the liberty of educating you on the kitchen a little further should anything of tonight’s nature happen again. You learned where everything was kept for their small but cherished menu, where the storage closet containing all the cleaning supplies was as well as the back office which was only reserved for Eddie according to Jett. Lastly, he showed you the dumpsters, in case you happened to be on trash duty and he even gave you strict instructions on how to close them back up so animals wouldn’t rummage.

Now you were back behind the bar, being taught to make the signature drink, an old fashioned containing cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger. You could appreciate it, a bit spicy and a touch smooth, accompanying that burnt wood taste that would get you there fast. It wasn’t a difficult drink to make however, perfecting the presentation was what set you back. You couldn’t simply toss a cherry and an orange twist into the liquor, it had to be done tastefully. Or that’s how Jett explained it, claiming that those were Eddie’s words. The drink was in a way, an art and you couldn’t be sloppy with it, not by The Bourbon’s standards.

A hectic night of becoming a makeshift cook, training as a server, and an intake of so much new information would do a number on anyone and the bags under your eyes clearly showed the physical exhaustion you were experiencing. You didn’t think you ever worked so hard even at the diner back at home during rush hour.

“Little lamb made it through the night.”

Tilting your head up from the cocktail before you momentarily, you’re met with that pair of intimidating but gorgeous eyes, nearly black in the low lighting of the bar. It was interesting, you’d seen many brown eyes in your lifetime but none of them resembled something quite like the universe he held in his, his outlook on things noticeably different from the average person. He had taken a seat at one of the stools on the opposite side of the bar from you, some paperwork laid out in front of him as he began scribbling something down. All you could offer him was the raise of your brow in acknowledgement of his presence, too engaged in perfecting the cherries on the toothpick just right, balancing them on the rim of the glass like a circus act.

“They’re too close together.” Eddie remarks, his gaze glued to the paper he had been marking up, an inventory list you notice at a second glance.

“Hmm?” You might as well have been in your own world, some kind of trance caused by fatigue pulling at your muscles and overworked mind.

“Cherries. They’re unbalanced.”

For a man of such few words, he still seemed to say a lot. The attitude ingrained in his tone never appeared to let up and it felt as if something was either always bugging him or losing his interest. Never content, always sour and sharp-tongued.

“Oh.” You sigh in defeat, as if it were impossible to simply pick up the toothpick resting against the glass and your finger and move the cherries, solving the case of the wobbling toothpick.

Jett emerged next to you after participating in some small talk with a regular at the end of the bar, a grin on his youthful face despite what a shit show the night had been. So far you observed that he was something of an optimist, smiling his way through tough situations. It was refreshing.

“There you go!” He praises, gesturing greatly to the drink you’d just created. Your third try at it.

“Jett, you’re bein’ a shitty example. Leaving your sheep unattended.” Eddie grumbles, sticking a toothpick in his mouth. You’d be lying if you said you wished he’d stop sticking toothpicks in his damn mouth. Well, half-lying. You’d admit he looked good chewing on a tiny piece of wood but he did it far too often.

Wait…sheep? Were you the sheep? Was this a jab at you? You’d just spent the night keeping this place afloat and he was insulting you once again?

“Munson, I’d say I’m doing just fine considering you left us without a fuckin’ cook the whole night.” Jett defends. You want to grimace, knowing this wasn’t the standard when talking to your boss but Eddie seemed unphased while the boy kept grinning at him as he leaned against the bar. “Plus, it seems like this sheep kicked ass on only her first day.” He nudges your shoulder with his, sliding the drink you’d just concocted in front of Eddie. You smiled in appreciation of his kind words.

“I didn’t leave you without a cook. Cook fuckin’ left without telling anyone.” He reasons, immediately throwing half the drink back in one swig.

Please don’t taste shitty, please don’t taste shitty, please don’t taste shitty.

“And I guess you proved not to be as dainty as I thought.” Eddie admits to you, throwing the rest of the drink back. No complaints yet. Only what you could make out to be a compliment.

“So can she stay?” Jett pleads, bottom lip jutted out for emphasis. He seemed to have taken a liking to you but then again, the place was short staffed so maybe he was just desperate to have anyone help out.

Eddie looks up from his list, pen tapping against the bar top with annoyance. There was still no indication whether the old fashioned had been any good or not, seemingly forgotten about amongst the conversation and it was quietly eating at you. The need for validation.

“That’s up to her, kid.”

Both pairs of eyes landed on you, anticipating your answer.

“Well, uh, I dunno.” You shrug. “Was I even any good at making a drink?” Like you had a choice in accepting the job, this is all you had.

“I dunno.” Eddie replies, sliding the glass back over to you. “Try again, let's see.”

“That’s a yes.” Jett chimes in. “Big boy wants a refill.”

“Jett, I will personally give you a swirly.” There’s a glimpse of humor in Eddie’s tone, the smallest you’ve seen within him so far though you refrained from giggling.

“Oh, a swirly? Real mature.” Jett mocks, Eddie quietly snorting a laugh in response.

His smile was cute.

And it may be the first time you’d seen a genuine one from him. He had dimples, deep, deep dimples. It was a wonder why he didn’t put them on display more.

In the midst of the banter, you began whipping up another old fashioned, The Bourbon way. You figured it wouldn’t be your place to insert yourself among the jokes, being the new girl. It was best to keep quiet until you blended in a bit more. Several customers throughout the night had already initiated conversation stating they’d never seen you before and you didn’t need to draw any more attention to yourself than you’d already received.

“Make it a double?” Eddie interrupts your process.

Again you look up to meet those large eyes, practically black holes absorbing any and all light aside from a tiny sparkle you found that survived within them. He was asking and not demanding. He owned the whole damn place and yet he was asking you to make it a double when he could very well just tell you.

“Yeah.” You whisper, unsure of yourself. A double just meant…well, double, right?

So you turn to Jett who was now scrubbing at an especially sticky spot on the bar. He didn’t take any notice in your silent plea much to your regret. You looked like an idiot, pondering over what exactly the measurements should be since today's training didn’t exactly cover what to do should someone ask for a double. At least you knew how to use the entirety of the kitchen though…

“Just another shot.” Eddie instructs, emotionless.

With a nod, you kick right into action, using what you learned and putting it to use while remembering to add an additional shot and not completely overlook it in your uneasiness. You didn’t care to peer up at him once more, uncertain if he was still watching your every move and unsure whether he would reprimand you for making one mistake in crafting his drink. He said nothing so it was safe to assume he had resumed filling out his boring paperwork.

“See, she’s a natural!” Jett applauds upon turning back toward you as you carefully pierce the cherries with a toothpick, balancing them just how Eddie had taught you.

It really wasn’t rocket science and you could feel the humiliation seep into your bones at the thought of him judging you for simply not being able to figure out why they kept falling in before. You were by no means a natural.

“You’re gonna be the new favorite, I can already tell. Everyone’s gonna love ya.” Though Jett’s words are appreciated and far too kind, you can’t help but doubt his confidence in you.

You were used to being a fly on the wall, observing and keeping to yourself among loud personalities. And you were okay with that. Being so removed grants you the ability to perceive everyone else without barely even being perceived yourself. It was flattering, the way Jett talked you up having only known you for a few hours but you knew you were nothing special. He was just being nice and most likely picked up on your anxious undertones.

Eddie remained mute, continuing to scribble away at the paper in front of him as if you and Jett weren’t there. Just as silent, you slid the drink over into his peripheral before occupying your hands with a rag to wipe up any remnants caused by your shaky hands. He only scanned the drink over once before tapping his pen against the counter, three times. Always in threes.

Awaiting his consensus on your bartending, you pretend to pay no mind, as though his opinion is the last thing on earth you would want. Really, it’s all you want. To know if you exceeded at crafting the bar’s signature drink or if you failed so miserably that he wouldn't let you behind the bar again. After all, your official job title would be ‘server’ and server’s didn’t generally make drinks, they served. But this wasn’t a normal bar and it seemed everyone was performing more than one job at a time so if you had to make drinks you might as well be somewhat good at it. And if not, it could render you useless in his perception, seeing as he’d already underestimated you before.

When he finally takes a sip, large hand wrapped around the glass, you refrain from sucking in a breath because although he had already had one, he gulped it down like water. This time it seemed he was performing a quality check.

“Good.” His monotone voice doesn’t convey much other than you’ve at least satisfied him to some extent. But that's it.

Next to you, Jett celebrates again before tending to another customer and then yelling out for the last call. Eddie’s focus doesn’t budge from his work while he sips away at his drink, this time nurturing it rather than greedily throwing it all back.

–

Some time around 12:30 AM Jett had dashed out after the bar received a phone call from his mom complaining that the racoons had stormed their barn and came too close to threatening their chicken coop again. With all patrons now gone and only cleaning and closing left to be done, Eddie dismissed him from work and told him to get a better handle on the raccoon situation seeing as it happened three times in the past month. Jett muttered something about how raccoons are relentless and how they will find a way if they really want to on his way out.

With one last wipe down of the tables and a thorough cleaning of the bar top, all that was left on your mental checklist given to you courtesy of Eddie was making sure behind the bar was organized and pristine for the following day, bottles accounted for, and glasses washed and dried. He was absent for a good thirty minutes but you concluded he was doing his share in the kitchen as you heard the clanging of metal on metal and a few curses every now and then when there was an extra loud crash.

The sudden crackle of a speaker and booming music startles you, a glass nearly slipping out of your grasp at the sound. A harsh metal song blares through the bar, guitar wailing and bass vibrating, causing a few bottles to gently clink against each other on the shelf. Seconds later, Eddie came sauntering out from the back office with a broom in hand and a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, unlit.

You try to ignore whatever he may be up to but find it impossible not to look up from the glass you were polishing off. His hair was unruly, now out of the confines of a bun and seeming to have only gotten bigger throughout the night and–he wasn’t using the broom for sweeping. Instead, he crawled on top of a freshly cleaned table with his dirty, clunky boots and poked at something in the rafters, tugging it forward. You wanted to be mad that he was stepping on your freshly scrubbed table but you couldn’t help but be curious, pausing your motions to stare and try to predict his next move.

The end of the broom was looped under the handle of a small wooden box and his arm stretched out to open it before pulling some cash out of his pocket and sticking it in the box. Then he closed it back up and shoved it back into place, out of sight. Once he jumped down off the table, he began walking toward the back again, stopping in his tracks when he realized you were standing there watching him the whole time.

A puff of air escapes his lips, his bangs briefly blowing upward before resting back against his forehead. You tear your gaze away, now more interested in cleaning water droplets off of another glass. Your heart pounding, his footsteps only inch closer and closer and yet again, he is on the opposite side of the bar from you, staring you down. It was obvious he had forgotten you were there. The unlit cigarette is plucked from his lips in between his fingers and tucked behind his ear.

“You didn’t see that. If it goes missing, I’ll know it was you.” He speaks so gruffly and low, as if someone might hear despite the place being empty.

Nodding in submission, you can’t bring yourself to catch his fierce gaze.

“Yeah?” Eddie pushes for a verbal response, more intensity to his tone.

“Yes.” You chirp. Like a pathetic little bird.

Satisfied with your answer, he hums, resting the broom against a stool before making his way around the bar, pulling a rag out of his back pocket and assisting you with wiping down the remaining glasses. There had to have been at least a dozen left and by the looks of it, he had finished his tasks and wanted to get out of here. So you worked in silence, side by side.

It felt like an eternity but it must have only been two minutes later when you began to feel antsy. Like you were supposed to initiate a friendly conversion. Some kind of bullshit small talk. And then your better judgment kicks in, telling you ‘better not’ since the man beside you didn’t seem like the small talk type. In all fairness you weren’t either but it felt like you had to constantly conform to certain standards. Then your mouth started running without a second thought because one thought provoked you and now you just had to know.

“So…the bingo night…is that a regular thing?”

A side eye from him may as well have shot daggers directly into you, his movements pausing as he scowled. So you backtracked.

“N-nevermind–”

“Yes.” He answers abruptly, much to your surprise.

“Oh.”

Your voice comes out soft, as if trying not to spook an animal. And for as annoyed as he looks, he’s the one who answered after you attempted to give him an out. He was a very conflicting man, hard to read and mysterious.

“Every Wednesday. The senior home wants its residents to get out every now and then.”

“And…they chose a bar?” A smile tugs at your lips, one that you can’t help.

“What’s wrong with that?”

His face shows offense but his tone holds some kind of amusement, the slightest bit of personality seeping through the cracks and exposing itself to you.

“I just–nothing, it’s just, out of every place they could choose…a bar?” You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea, shaking your head.

“I mean, we’re the only place that offered.”

There’s a genuine kind of hurt behind his words. You’re unable to determine if it was directed toward your question or something else wading through his mind. Or if it was even meant to slip out in any way based on how closed off he was. Your guess was that his sudden projection of an emotion was a slip up and that it was up to you to ignore it otherwise he’d give you an even harder time.

“Oh.” Again, your soft spoken voice carries itself gently to his ears. “That’s…nice. Really nice.” You say honestly, glancing at him.

For having such tough armor and such offputting behavior, Eddie was pretty. His curls were messy and appeared to be pieced apart by his fingers running through them constantly, leaving them fuzzy and unkempt. But still appealing. And his side profile illuminated by the warm lights was soft but still manly, handsome. He was good looking, there was no denying that. His personality was rather repelling though and good looks could only get you so far, not that he was flaunting how attractive he was and using it to his benefit.

Coming out of your trance, you find that you’re both down to the last few glasses, silence taking over once again. Out of the corner of your eye, you take notice of the way Eddie’s mouth forms numbers again, without sound.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

All mouthed as he seems to breathe unevenly. You don’t draw any attention to your observation much like earlier when you’d caught him doing the same thing. There were depths to him that you were beginning to feel were unexplored by anyone other than himself. A loneliness detected beneath the surface of his solid and impenetrable armor.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean@micheledawn1975

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