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whore-ibly-hot · 8 months

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Yan!Husbands Boss x Married! Reader

"Just Another Day at The Office."

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con, misogyny, name calling, nude photos, coercion, dubcon touching, fem genitalia for reader, mentions of divorce, general perversion, praise, clit play, cheating, readers husband is a scumbag.

(AN: Requested by an Anon early today, and it made me feral.)

Tick... tick... tick... the sound of an office clock rings in your ears, the only sound louder is your heart, pounding in your ribcage. The clock was awfully loud, though you had never noticed it before, when you were coming to bring your husband a warm, home-cooked meal. Maybe then you didn't notice it because you weren't fearing for your future.

Morgan & Cole, the investment firm your husband had been working for for years had been doing better than ever, and in turn, so had your husband. Promotions, expensive raises, and more had been sent his way. The house was even being repainted. All that begs the question, how had you found yourself in this situation.

It was a few nights ago when your husband informed you of the deal he had made with his boss. Morgan, the co-owner of the company, had his sights set on you, apparently. At a holiday party, he approached your husband with an offer, an offer to get a night with you in exchange for another fat raise. You had always known your husband hadn't been the most loving, but you had never imagined his greed could get to this. The worst part was how casual the deal he described was. Approaching a man at an office party and asking to sleep with his life like you were discussing sports frightened you. You had only met Morgan once or twice, and while he seemed charming, him doing something like this made you very much doubt he was in actuality.

You are snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of a door opening. Morgan steps out of his office, fidgeting with his smart-watch when he looks up and sees your meek form in the office lobby. His brow furrows.

"Oh, Mrs. Peters, I hadn't expected you to met me here. I had intended to come pick you up. How long have you been here?" He asks. You gulp. "Not long, just ten or so minutes." You say, trying to hold eye contact. He sighs and shakes his head. "Well, I wish you would have knocked on my office door, I feel awful having left you out here alone. Come, we can head back into my office and chat." His voice is so soothing, and in any other situation it would have been nice. You enter his office, and he closes the door behind him, before sitting at his desk. You take the chair in front of it.

"So, I assume your husband-" His teeth grind as he says this. "Is assume he has gone over what this is about." You nod. "He did... and... and I don't know if I can do this. I don't know you at all, and I'm a married woman." You whimper. Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, and Morgan sighs heavily. He comes around to lean back against the front of the desk, one hand supporting him while the other touches your cheek.

"I know this must be scary, I understand that. But I'm gonna solve both of those problems right now." He kneels down so your eyes meet his. "First, you worry you don't know me. Let me fix that. My name is Morgan Brant, I am thirty-two, and I live in a loft down on 37th. I like charcuterie and making my own organic lattes. I work out everyday, and enjoy walking through the city. I have both of my parents, Ruth and John, and they live in the city as well. Anything else you'd like to know?" You're too stunned and still panicked to respond, so you just shake your head. "Okay, okay. Good." He murmurs. A hand strokes your hair softly, as if trying to soothe a wild animal. To your shock, for a man who basically paid for a co-workers wife to prostitute herself, he does seem genuinely upset at your fear. His eyes are filled with a sorrow, and he chews his bottom lip nervously. He looks down for a moment.

"Mrs. Peters, your second concern, about being a married woman, is very respectable. I appreciate that you respect the sanctity of marriage so much. I think your loyalty and love for your husband is beautiful." He pauses, and gently grips your chin so you look him in the eyes. "But... I worry that love and loyalty may not be returned. Mrs. Peters, I need you to promise me you will listen to what I am about to tell you." You gulp, his suddenly serious, yet still soft, tone worries you.

He stands, walking to the back of his desk and opening a drawer, grabbing a manila envelope before sitting down at his chair again. He pushes the envelope towards you, folding his hand together and sitting up. He looks as those this odd exchange is yet another business deal, as he sits like a man prepared to do whatever it takes to seal a deal. A real businessman. Your hand trembles as it opens the envelope. Your heart stops.

Inside, your husband can be seen in several photos, from many different angles. Some looked ripped from security footage, others appear to be taken at a distance. However, they all contain the same subject. Your husband, locking lips with various women, every photo a different one. Your hand covers your mouth as you let out a choked sob. "N-no... I mean, he was never warm to me, b-but..." Everything comes crashing down at once. All those nights you waited up for him when he was 'working late', all those warm meals you brought him at work, only to be brushed off so he could talk to his secretary. It all made sense.

"I can't believe this..." You squeak. Morgan shakes his head. "You can believe it, I know you can. He's never loved you, I've seen how he treats you. Rejecting your meals, ignoring you at office parties and work functions. My dear, he is actively sitting at home and preparing to count the bonus he received for pimping you out to me." Morgan exclaims, his shoulders tightening. You put your head in your hands. "I'm... what am I going to do?! I'll divorce him, but I'll have nothing. I, oh god." You cry. Morgan once again moves to try and comfort you. His broad arms wrap around your shoulders.

"I know, I know this is scary. You've been through a lot tonight, your entire marriage even. But it's going to be okay." He cups your face. "I've been watching the two of you, you mostly." He hands you something. An empty tupperware container. "This is from his lunch yesterday. Every meal he rejected from you, I gladly took. I hadn't had the chance to eat something made so lovingly in a long time. They don't serve home-cooked meals like this at business conferences." He chuckles. "I saw how you would cling to him at those same parties he was ignoring you at, and wishing, praying you would cling to me like that." You look up, his confession is shocking. "Your husband... he is a greedy man, but he has pride. I knew I wouldn't even get a moment along with you unless there was something in it for him." He shakes his head. "Darling, I was just as disgusted as you were that he'd agree to that. As excited as I was, as I am for this moment with you, I was thanking whoever is out there that no other person at this office had tried something similar. I'm not some deviant, or criminal. I've had my fair share of sexual encounters, with prostitutes and escorts, but... I never felt anything. I need to feel something. I do with you." He says.

You shake your head. "You don't know me." You say. He shrugs. "You don't need to someone to love them, not at first. I hate to say this, but you didn't really know your husband, did you?" You sob again, and his sticks his hands out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry darling, that was out of line. I just needed to prove a point. What I'm saying is, I don't just want one night of pleasure with you. I want you to be mine. If you left him, you wouldn't be lost or desolate, you would have me. I could give your everything he has and more. Money, a penthouse, and my love. Real love. You deserve someone who wants to care for you the way you cared for that man-child. I can do that." You sniffle. "It's all so soon, and I don't... I'm scared." You say again. "I know. I hadn't wanted to do this here. I had wanted to show you the pictures and confess early on, I had plans to pick you up and take you somewhere nice to eat. I know the last thing you want right now is a fresh new relationship, I understand. But just maybe, the idea of revenge tempts you?" He suggests. You look up, and bite your lip. "What are you suggesting?" You ask.

"He thinks he's better than you, and that you could never leave him, because you have no one else, nothing else. Why else do you think he assumes their will be no repercussions for a night like this? He's so confident that you would never leave him, never even think about another man, that he truly believes you will return to him after he's pimped you out." Morgan moves closer. "I won't lie, I'll enjoy this, but don't just do it for me. Do it for yourself. Give in, leave him for a man who will worship you, who can give you more. Get back at him, and be with me." You shake your head. "You... you paid him to pimp me out to you like this though?" You exclaim. He nods "I had to show you how little he cared for you, same with the investigators I hired to get those photos." He nods in the direction of the envelope, now dabbled with your tears. "Besides, I've already signed his termination papers, I don't hire men like that here. He isn't getting shit for doing this to you." He assures.

In a moment of weakness, you break. The betrayal of the evening, the hurt and the fear, the anger, it's all too much. You sink to your knees, and nod. "Alright, let's do it. Just... be gentle, go slow." He nods. "Oh, my sweet. I'll do whatever you ask." He captures your lips, pressing your back against the front of his desk as he kneels beside you. His lips are soft, and taste of bourbon and mint. He smells like cologne, but a good kind, something smokey. Not like the tacky expensive stink of your husband, now ex-husbands favorite cologne. His tongue prods at your lips, and shyly you part them, allowing his tongue to slip in and suck against yours. He groans, and you both pull away breathlessly. While you take a breath, he immediately latches onto your neck, placing quick, feverish kisses along your collarbone. You gasp at the feeling, shrinking in on yourself. He grins.

"Does it really feel that good, that's quite a reaction." He chuckles. You blush and look to the side. "It's- It's been a while." He frowns and tilts his head. "How long is awhile, darling?" He whispers. "A few months, maybe eight or so." He shakes his head. "My poor girl, doing all that for him and he still wouldn't please you." He grips your waist, his lips on the shell of your ear. "To be fair though, even if he did, he couldn't make you finish. He would please himself, not you. But I won't, baby. Tonight, is all about you." You can feel a thick hardon pressing against your knee.

"Tell you what, darling. Let me make you feel good, real quick. Something nice and easy for my sensitive girl. Then, I'l take you out. I'm not just going to have sex with you without wineing and dineing you. Then, I'll take you back to my place, I-I'll send for your stuff tomorrow, and if you want, we can go for round two." He coos, looking up at you with admiration and hope. "Won't my husband try to resist my stuff being taken?" You ask. He shakes his head. "He's not your husband. If he calls, I'll hang up. He sold you out, and if he gets pissy, I've go the best lawyers in the country at my disposal. I'm not letting you spend one more night under a roof with that man. You aren't Mrs. Peters anymore, you're Mrs. Brant. Now... let Mr. Brant make you feel good." Hands cradle your thighs, slipping the skirt of your sensible slip dress up over your knees. A hand paws at your panties, cupping your cunt as he sighs. "So warm, poor little thing hasn't been touched in months. I've only kissed your neck a little, and your soaked. Is it because I said I love you? Does your little cunt respond well to just being admired and appreciated? Oh, my darling." He slips your panties aside just a little, not wanting to ruin your outfit for dinner later. Fingers part your lips as a long digit strokes up, from your entrance to your clit. A finger prods the entrance, and you gulp at the throbbing heat you feel.

"Gentle, slow please." You murmur. He nods, placing a gentle kiss on your neck before slipping in his digit. His long, calloused fingers rub your neglected walls in all the right ways. "A-ah, Morgan..." You pant. "Good?" He asks. You nod, breathless already. He thrusts it in and out gently, before asking to add another digit. When you nod, he adds another, while his free hand circles your clit with his middle finger. Perhaps its from typing everyday, day in and day out, but he is skilled. Even when your husband has slept with you, you had never felt like this. A coil forms in your stomach as you pant and whimper.

"M-morgan." You moan. "Please, I need to-" You're cut off by him sharply curling his fingers, as they hit a spongy spot deep inside you. "Oh, god. Yes." You moan again. "Cum for me, darling, please. I want to hear you." Morgan's tone is suddenly more desperate ethan you had heard it all night. He's needy, begging to know that he is pleasing you in the way he so desires. "Say my name, would you? I just want to please you, I need to know it feels good." He begs. "Morgan, I'm gonna cum, shit-" Your walls begin to pulse, juices coating his fingers. As you moan, finishing your high, he kisses you feverishly, desperate for closeness.

When you pull away, panting as you come down from your orgasm, he licks your juices off his hands with a squelching noise, putting your panties back into place. He helps you to your feet, and hands your your purse. "Ready for dinner?" He asks. Tired and very hungry, you nod. "Just one more thing, and you don't have to do anything, I've dealt with this myself plenty but-" He looks down, the tent in his pants is still very prominent.

"May I handle that before we go out?"

#yandere #yandere oc #tw.yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere content #tw.dark content #x reader #yandere boy #tw.cheating #tw.dubcon #tw.angst #yandere boss #yandere ceo #oc Morgan #fem reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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Congratulations on hitting over 5k followers, you deserve them all and so much more! I got so excited when I realised you're taking requests for short drabbles so I was thinking along the lines of a meet the parents sort of situation with Captain MacTavish. Maybe they're both on the same team or whatever and are now engaged but Soap still hasn't had the time to officially introduce her to the family so he does so when they're both on leave and she's just the complete opposite to him but they just fit (like a puzzle piece) and the family notices and absolutely adores it. Bonus Points if Soap is just completely whipped (cause he totally would be)

—I Can See It In Your Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [It's finally time to meet the family.] ❞

Blue eyes watch silently as you speak to his father, an easy and honest smile on your lips. John blinks at the ring on your finger as you move your hand in a display of the story you were telling—the OP in Brazil, John thinks he overheard minutes earlier—a matching band to his that had been there only a single month now. You both only ever wore them on leave, otherwise, they were stuck to the chain of your dog tags; hidden away until they could be brought back to life once more.

Truthfully, this had been a long time coming.

“She’s lively,” his mother comments, and John hums, bringing the beer in his hand up to his lips for a tiny sip from where he rests against the far wall. “Your father likes her, no doubt. Never seen him smile that much at any of the ones from the younger years.”

“Those weren’t serious,” John scoffs, scar over his eye pulling as he spares his Mum a glance through a smirk. “If they were, it’d be different, eh?”

“No,” the woman grabs at his ear, pulling it as he flinches and hides a snap of his teeth at her. “A mother can tell. They weren’t good for you—didn’t make you watch ‘em like that, least.”

A reddish sheen comes to the Scot’s cheeks, avoiding the digging smugness of his matriarch as he shifts his legs.

“Stop doin’ that, Woman,” John grumbles.

“You’re doin’ it to yourself, ya little devil.” Growling, the mighty Captain out in the field is brought low easily by his mum’s own intelligence—but it wasn’t a secret. Everyone in the family could see how he looked at you, how when you spoke, his head snapped over to hear the sound of your voice like it was a call from sea and he a vessel lost to the curtain of mist.

Even now, amid a conversation, those blue eyes couldn’t help but move back as you and his aging father bent over in laughter—a small flicker on John’s lips that usually held a cold smirk or nothing at all.

His mum hums to him, watching you.

“I like ‘er.”

“Good, else this might have been awkward.” He pushes out casually, one arm going to cross his chest to rest on his shirt collar. “There’s always eloping, aye?”

Before his mother can grab at his ear again, you call out, and, like the dog he is, John’s head swivels and his expression settles down easily.

“John, come and tell your part from Brazil! I only have my half, and I always forget the piece from—”

“From the time I catch the HVT on to the time the spider bit my fuckin’ arse, yeah, Bonnie, I know.” He smirks, waltzing over to the chair you sit in, and firmly moves you over with a grab at your arm. You hum in confusion, but it’s not long before John takes your seat and drags you atop his lap. Blinking quickly, you humph and look down at him with a raised brow.

“We’re at your parents’, John,” your face is heated, voice hushed as you slap at his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Holdin’ my future wife, Dearie, isn’t it obvious?” The man’s lips twitch. “Ah, it’s fine. Settle back and let me speak now, eh?”

You fake glare, rolling your eyes, but your legs shift nonetheless to a more comfortable position as John’s mum and dad share a soft look with one another. They really couldn’t have asked for a better match—you evened out his hard slyness, the wrinkles on his forehead, and the age that lies under John’s beard. And in turn, you seemed to beam and be about as easy a person to get along with as any.

Even from the rare letters that the two would get, they had known you were something special because you’d been mentioned in the first place. John rarely told of his work, even less so about people.

As John gets on with his side of the humorous and mostly dumbed-down tale of one of your shared operations together, they see you watch him; take in every word. The smile that peels your lips as you shake your head and say, ‘I never tripped, MacTavish, get that out of your head. You made that up—he made that up.’

“I didn’t,” John huffs, glaring at you. “You went down and got covered head t’ foot in mud, then I told you to get your arse in gear and ya cursed at me like a sailor.”

“Bullshit,” you raise your brows, pointing into his face. “You’re losing it!”

“Oh, we’ve been past that bend a long time ago, Bonnie, c’mon now.”

The parents watch on, smiling.

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #call of duty x you #captain mactavish x reader #captain mactavish #captain john mactavish #john mactavish x you #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #x fem!reader #john mactavish

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fanaticsnail · 6 months

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The Apprentice - Part 1

Hello everyone! I would like to dedicate this one-shot to the TikTok account of Steven John Ward, the bottle of Tempranillo I consumed with my husband, brother and sister in law - and my love for wine 😁

(EDIT: this is no longer a one-shot, it's a series! Thank you Mihawk brain rot!)

Word Count: 3,957

Warnings: aggression, male aggressor (it's Mihawk), enemies (if you squint) to lovers.

Masterlist here!

Displeased was the expression worn upon the meticulously maintained facial hair belonging to the great-sword wielding the warlord of the sea. A half-drunk wine glass hang limply laced between his index and middle finger as he watched you heave in gulps of air as sweat glistened your brow. Lips hanging agape as you continued to focus your breathing, Dracule Mihawk began to tap his index finger against the crystal goblet, swishing the crimson liquid within the vessel.

His brows creased in the middle of his face as his lips began to curl in a snarl at the righthand corner of his mouth. Yellow eyes continuing to focus on your form as you panted; releasing a growl of utter discomfort as you caught your breath.

“Stop playing and finish already,” Mihawk barked at you, prompting you to snap your gaze to his immediately. He sat back in the chair, bringing the glass chalice to his lips and down the remainder of the bitter liquid.

“You sound like a bitch in heat,” he uttered, loud enough for you to hear and snarl at his comment, “so unladylike.”

“What would you have me do, my lord?” you spat breathily at him, halting your aggravated motions, “Would you care to take over? This is not as easy as you seem to make it look.”

Choosing to ignore your taunt, he growled; “just kill the stupid oaf already.”

This is how it was with you both. You doing all of the work to dispatch the easy contracts while Mihawk critiqued your every movement. At the bequest of your uncle, a prominent member within the World Government; you were thrust into the care and guidance of Dracule Mihawk to train as his apprentice. You originally began your training as his squire before advancing quickly to the title of ‘Apprentice’ as you demonstrated a vast improvement under the disciplinary practice thrust upon you.

“You no longer want him alive and unharmed?” you asked, narrowing your eyes and focussing on your opponent. He was of a larger build, towering over your smaller form.

After managing to cut through his underlings with ease, dispatching them with no more than a shriek being uttered between them; Mihawk relayed to you that they were under direct orders to take this particular Captain alive to the meeting of the World Government: for what reason, you were unsure of.

“Not if he’s giving you this much trouble, no,” Mihawk confirmed in a completely disinterested tone as he reached his arm forward to collect another wine bottle from beneath the chair he was resting upon.

You rolled your eyes at his comment before hardening your stance, your opponent baring his teeth at you in an upturned snarl. You halted your movements as Mihawk relayed another command.

“Watch your noises this time,” he glowered in warning, moving his eyes back to watch your body as it engaged in battle, “no apprentice of mine will mewl like a whore while engaging in swordplay.”

Halting a growl from erupting within your mouth, you chose to clench your teeth and gulp-back the sound in response as you sprang into action. You brandished your well-balanced sword to meet the blade of the Captain in front of you.

You ducked and wove your way around him, dancing while flurrying your blows against the calves of his tree-trunk legs, turning to slash his thighs as you circled him. Your opponent dropped to his knees with a groan. You sliced a gash atop the hand clasping his sword between his fist, prompting him to drop the blade to his side with a loud clang.

He looked down in shame, defeat brought to him at the hands of a woman; and only an apprentice at that.

“Now wasn’t that so much better than groaning like a cat presenting its rear to-,” Mihawk began, only halting as your sword slashed the throat of the fallen captain in front of you, toppling his head clean from his shoulders in one swell swoop.

“I care not for your lewd taunts, my lord,” you spat, using the shirt that clung to the headless torso of your former opponent to clean your blade before sheathing it within its scabbard. You turned to face him, your expression of one trying to conceal exhaustion to the best of your abilities.

“You may not care for them,” he said while wabbling the corked bottle of wine towards you, “but they be the comparison drawn by your unrestrained vocalisations.”

This prompted you to scowl as you made your way over to him. You retrieved your corkscrew from your hilt and brandished it in your hand to open it to reveal the toggles and screw. Snatching the bottle from his outstretched hand, you growled under your breath while twisting the screw against the wooden cork to pop it from the neck of the wine bottle.

He clicked his tongue in discipline; “what did I say about the noise?”

You drew in a deep breath through your nose and held it, your body quivering in rage slightly at the shoulders.

“I am no longer engaging in swordplay, my lord,” you offered in explanation through your clenched teeth.

You anchored the leaver of the corkscrew against the neck of the bottle and fisted the hilt, pulling the cork from the bottle in a well-practiced movement. Without a word spoken, you gracefully poured a large glass of wine into his awaiting chalice that he continued to balance between his index and middle fingers.

He hummed in response, bringing the rouge liquid in his crystal glass up and inhaled it to take in the robust bouquet. He scrunched his nose in partial disgust, staring at the liquid and swirling it to oxidise the liquid slightly.

“Pinot Noir,” he growled in dislike. You had a smirk pull at the corner of your mouth as you quirked your left eyebrow up at him.

“You drink it, apprentice,” he ordered you, all but thrusting the goblet into your hands in disgust.

You rolled your eyes and collected the glass from his hands, accidentally grazing your hand against his as you did. You brought the liquid to your nose and inhaled slightly.

“Red clay soil, by the smell of it,” you quirked your head to the side while swirling the liquid in the glass and again raising the liquid to your nose, “and a malolactic ferment too.”

You took a sip from the liquid and chirped a whistling trill through your lips as you rolled it over your tongue. You swallowed the red liquid, tasting the subtle umami earthiness and the dark cherry notes on the pallet. You shook your head and offered the glass back to him, to which he slightly pouted like a child.

The only time you had ever seen any other emotion besides a resting taunt, sinister smirk or a frown in displeasure was at the notion of a good or, in this case bad, wine experience.

He would often have the two of you make detours from port to port, engaging in wine tastings throughout the many vineyards the corners of the world had to offer while completing contracts. He taught you many things about wine, and some things you learnt on your own while accompanying him in draining bottle after bottle, rare vintage after rare vintage.

You learnt his taste, and he learnt yours; the only affection ever shared between you was when you both engaged in educating your pallet through taking a journey exploring different sparkling’s, whites, rose, reds and fortified’s. You again prompted for him to wordlessly take the glass from you, which he crossed his arms and turned to face away from you.

“Oh, come now,” you shook your head and wiggled the glass again in front of him, “you’ll actually like this one.”

“I don’t do Pinot Noir,” he spat to you briefly before turning away more.

“I know you don’t really care for it,” you crouched down to bring yourself at his eye level, him again turning his body to face yours with a scowl resting on it while eyeing the glass in your hand, “but this one is actually quite nice. Fuller body, a little earthy. Tastes like they left it to mature on the vine a little longer than usual.”

He reluctantly snatched back the glass from your hand and grimaced again before bringing it to his lips and swirling the liquid around his mouth. At this, a slight quirk of his brows upwards indicated he was genuinely surprised at the flavour within the glass.

“I suppose this Pinot Noir is not as bad as most,” he uttered through a narrow and arrogant gaze. You rolled your eyes at his comment before retrieving a hessian bag from beneath his chair and making to collect the decapitated head from your fallen opponent.

“What is the World Government going to say when we tell them we failed to bring him back alive?” you asked him, stuffing the head of the captain within the bag and tying a tight knot with the drawstring fully strung back into the hemline of the opening.

“When you failed, you mean,” Mihawk corrected you, bringing his lips again to the crystal glass with a smirk.

“Under your command, my lord,” you narrowed your eyes at him as you flung the bag over your shoulder.

“That is not how it will look to the higher ups,” he again smirked with a wide, taunting smile.

At that final comment, you lost it. Every built up bit of tension between you as he corrected you with his horrible, condescending tone that you loathed hearing. Every comparison he made as lewd evaluation to animals or intimate inuendo finally swelled and burst within you. His stupid smirk, his ever-watching yellow eyes that seemed to relish in your discomfort, his masculine features beneath his tailored facial hair; you hated him. Fully and unrestrainedly hated him.

Reactionary, your eyes darkened and hardened in your resolve. After this job was completed: you were going to resign from your apprenticeship under Dracule Mihawk.

You made your way to the small, coffin-shaped vessel he utilised in his shorter journeys as you continued in your completion of the final job you told yourself you would complete for the warlord you served. You offered one-worded responses to his questions, made no effort to engage in conversations with him, nor sent a single gaze his way that was unwarranted.

“If you think your surliness will bring any favours your way with the World Government,” Mihawk drawled out with a smirk, “you would be surely mistaken, apprentice.”

“Soon to be ex-apprentice,” you added within your own mind with a sharp nod.

“Your silence is almost refreshing,” he continued to taunt you.

“And you will have more silence to enjoy once I leave you,” you replayed within your mind, but offered no verbal reaction to his jab.

The sea bore no resistance as you docked the small vessel at the World Government Headquarters, slinging the hessian bag over your left shoulder and walked ahead of your soon to be former trainer. You held a heavy stride and squared your shoulders back; keeping your eyes forward to not make any kind of contact with the yellow eyes you had come to loathe.

Mihawk offered no conversation to you as you entered the large building and ascended to the appropriate office to present your latest contract in less than desirable condition.

You turned to look out the bay windows, noting the sun was beginning to set on the horizon. You took in the last time you assured yourself you would witness the departure of the rays under the command of one of the warlords of the sea.

The interaction went exactly as expected: you presented the decapitated head of the Captain you were ordered to bring in unscathed, were formally reprimanded by the member of staff who commissioned the contract of you, Mihawk offered no disclosure of his direct orders to assassinate the Captain, and you were left feeling like a child chastised for accidentally spilling a cup of water over a fine rug.

You hung your head still as you exited the World Government office, not in shame but rather to focus the words you were drafting to notate your acquiescence under the traineeship Mihawk.

“Shall we make to the vineyard?” the man currently occupying your thoughts spoke up, “I hear they have a Carmenere that’s of particularly fine make.”

You made no movement to confirm your desires to join him for a beverage, instead turning to an empty external table adjacent to a bakery and pulled some parchment from your satchel and began your draft your words upon the page.

“What are you doing?” Mihawk quirked his head, his expression maintaining annoyance at the halt of your journey.

Again, you offered no verbal response. You etched your intentions into the page with a steady hand and slightly more excessive force than absolutely necessary and signed your full formal title at the lower righthand corner of the page; also capitalising your name as to offer no misrepresentation of your intentions.

You turned to face him and thrust the parchment into his bare chest, his hands coming to catch the paper as you brought your hands back to rest at your sides.

“What is this, apprentice?” he shook his head, waving the paper with his right hand; only slight annoyance placed within his yellow eyes.

“This,” you inhaled and exhaled slowly to steady yourself, “is a written notice of my intentions to break myself from your apprenticeship.”

You stepped backwards and narrowed your eyes at him, adding: “consider this my formal resignation, effective immediately.”

Shock appeared on the warlord’s face, his eyes widening being the only indication as such. He stepped forward, the paper still within the grasp of his right hand.

He looked down at the page, turning it to look at the words you eloquently wrote; including a written description of the many reasons you chose to leave his apprenticeship. He shook his head as he read the words before thrusting the paper back into your arms.

“Resignation request denied,” he offered with a small smirk before turning away from you, “now come. I’m sure they have a dark Syrah-Rose they left on leas-.”

“You cannot deny my resignation,” you growled, hastening your step to bring yourself to walk in toe with him, “it is not a request.”

“As it turns out, I can,” Mihawk smirked, “and I will continue to do so anytime you attempt to break from your training. Your apprenticeship with me is not something you can simply just walk away from.”

At that comment, you halted your pace and simply turned around.

You scoffed a small laugh at the thought that apparently you can do so: simply just walk away.

And you made it all the way back into town until your movements were halted at an alleyway entrance behind the service quarters of a tavern by a firm grip upon your upper right arm. You turned your head and immediately made eye contact with the bright yellow eyes of the man you absolutely detested being in the presence of.

You attempted to shrug off his grasp, only for him to hold you in place. His expression was something you had not seen grace his face in a long time. Anger. Pure, unadulterated and unrestrained anger.

Tugging roughly at your arm, you felt him grasp you firmer and pull him into you. Your left hand reacted by raising it in an attempt to slap the expression right off of his face; your lips tugging in a snarl-expression: baring your teeth at him. He effortlessly caught your wrist and restrained it before twirling you to press your body, face first, into the polished cobblestone of the tavern wall. He used a single hand to restrain your wrists as the other hand wove its way within your hair and pulled your head to slack back into him.

You cried out your protestation at being rendered immobile by the swordsman.

“You cannot simply walk away,” he pressed his lips into your jaw as he spoke, pulling your hair and dragging his lips upwards towards your ear, “not from me.”

You struggled against his grip, kicking your right leg back to make contact with his shin; only to find it met with air and nothing else, as he dodged.

“Accept my resignation,” you growled at him.

“Never,” Mihawk snarled into your ear before pressing his lips roughly against the bone of your jaw; an action you did not foresee him committing with you.

Mihawk did have flings from port to port, often leaving you in a tavern or with training exercises for you to complete in his absence, to occupy your attention as he sheathed his sword with many a person of colour and creed.

He trailed his rough assault down your neck, lips connecting a line to the back of your neck of where he held his firm grip on your hair.

“Then I will run,” you gasped, prompting him to firmly turn your head with the grip on your hair to gaze into your face.

“And I will pursue you,” he narrowed his eyes, “and you will be punished for your insubordination.”

Your brows creased in rage as your gaze flittered between the two of his yellow irises. He released you from his hold on you with a rough shove, anger upon his own face; not quite comprehending himself the prior intimate connection he brought to your neck and jaw. You shoved him in return, pressing the palms of your hands against his exposed pectorals below his small hanging blade around his neck.

“I loathe you,” you snarled at him. He caught your wrists and held your hands against his chest, leaning into your touch.

Both pairs of your eyes narrowed, baring your unbridled hatred for one another within your expression.

“I couldn’t care less,” he said, leaning in his face towards your own and continuing to tower his body over yours in an attempt of intimidation.

Instinctively, you brought your lips upon his in a fit of passion in the hopes he could feel tangibly how much hatred you had for him. He returned your ministrations with fervour, opening his jaw and rotating his head to intertwine his tongue against your own expertly. You wove your hands around his neck, enjoying the feeling of the silken and well-tended moustache against your lips as he continued to press fierce kiss after kiss against your lips.

He wove his arms around your back and you felt a complete shift in his prior expression. He held you softly within his hands and ghosted his fingertips above your soft skin. His prior almost violent kisses morphed into a deep passionate embrace; him retracting his tongue from behind your lips and slowly and intimately pressed drawn out kisses against your lips.

Shock overcame your face as your brain finally caught up with what your body was doing: your hatred for your boss morphed into pure adoration and affection as you held him against you. You rose your right hand to rest against his left jaw as you felt his manicured facial hair beneath your fingertips. You whimpered lightly into his lips as he held you more firmly against himself, soothing circles; moulding your body beneath his fingers.

You pulled your face away from his own with a snapping motion, as you leant away from his face remaining held within his arms. His deep frown still adorning his face but this time expressing a whisper of sorrow behind his yellow eyes.

“I hate you,” you whispered, caressing his cheek underneath your right hand. He unwrapped his own right hand and softly raked his fingertips within your hair apologetically.

“And I detest you,” he whispered in response, training his right hand down between your shoulder blades and interlocking his fingertips at the small of your back.

Moving your lips upward, you placed a small kiss at the corner of his mouth; feeling the tickle of his facial hair against your chin and upper lip.

“Let me resign,” you uttered lovingly against his skin before pulling your face away from his.

For the first time in the years you had been travelling beside the great Dracule Mihawk, his gaze softened and a small smile was brought over his lips. A smile, not a smirk, it being the first time you had ever seen the beauty before you.

“No,” he chuckled, pressing his forehead against your own and closing his eyes, prompting you to do the same. He inhaled deeply as you remained held within his arms.

You trailed your arms down to the bare flesh of his torso and gently caressed his skin beneath your hands and kept your gaze watching the ministrations you were committing.

“Then beg for me to remain at your side,” you smirked with a quirk of your brow, looking back into his eyes and noticing his prior warm smile was replaced with a taunting smirk of his own.

“I don’t beg, darling,” he narrowed his eyes, glaring at you.

You sighed and trailed your hands down his red shirt sleeves and caught his wrists at their place laced behind you, and gently broke them from their spot embracing you. His brows knit together in curiosity at your actions, but relented his grasp on you. You began to turn from him and make your way into town once again.

“I will, however,” he uttered, reaching his hand to gently catch your upper arm and soothe over it with his thumb, “negotiate.”

You smiled and allowed yourself to be brought back to be in front of him. You nodded for him to relay his terms to you.

“I will continue to master you in your craft as a sword-wielder, and expert your skills as sommelier,” he smirked, “and I will relent my lewd taunts, slightly.”

You allowed a chuckle to make its way into your throat as his smirk continued to grow.

“I will accept your turns,” you paused, witnessing an ever so slight sigh of relief to leave his lips, “under the condition you try at least one Pinot Noir at the next vineyard.”

“I accept,” he answered almost immediately, prompting you to wince at the speed of his acceptance.

You laughed a little and broke from his grip, extending your right hand in a gesture to meet his to solidify your words. In response, he took yours within his and brought it up to his face.

“Do you withdraw your resignation?” he asked you, breathing his warm breath into your knuckles.

“I do, my lord,” you gasped. His smirk drew upwards as he pressed his lips against your knuckles and closed his eyes. You felt this action be more intimate than the flurry of kisses and grasps he threw at you earlier, feeling for the first time a blush rise to your cheeks.

“Then we have an accord,” he whispered against your knuckle before pulling your right hand to rest within the crook of his left elbow.

“Now,” he said, leading you back into the direction of the village rather than the town centre you were headed towards, “onto the Carmenere.”

“Pinot first,” you scolded him, prompting him to hiss a light growl through his teeth.

“Fine,” he spat, “Pinot first.”

You brought your head to rest comfortably against his left shoulder blade as he escorted you down the main road toward the village, basking in the fine scenery that fell before you. You almost was sure you felt him press a chaste kiss atop the crown of your head, prompting another blush to rise from your cheeks in reaction.

Part 2

#mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #x reader #opla #one piece #one piece live action #opla fic #one piece live adaptation

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buckysegan · 2 months

Text

With all my gratitude, hope and adoration John.

Summary: Everyone deserves a letter from home. John x She. Word Count: 785. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. Part Two.

"mail boys!"

the familiar call sounded through the bunks and bucky didn't even bother to lift his head from where he had been watching crank deal out the cards. he didn't need to look, he never needed to look because there had never been any mail for him. it was a well known fact among the boys, something none of them seemed brave enough to comment on. and john? well he wasn't the type that was going to dwell on such a thing with anyone other than buck.

"buck another one for you, brady, one for me....bucky." the silence that took over was almost immediate as his name was called and for a moment he almost didn't want to look, terrified how he may react if he found a smirk on murph's face. instead he was greeted with absolute sincerity and just as every other face in the bunk did, his pulled into a picture of confusion as he moved to swipe the letter, blue eyes quick to inspect the penmanship.

there it was, as clear as day, his name. lifting it to his nose the way he had seen each man do it sniffed, the rounds of taunts flying from the boys over some secret broad he'd had hidden away from them all. not that the major was listening, already retreating to his bunk with the piece of paper as buck silenced the rest of them, sending them on their way to read their own letters as he watched with quiet concern for his best friend.

he had known john long enough to know he wasn't the pen pal type, but he'd also seen the change, the longing for something that the rest of them had. it wasn't anything he had ever expected of his john, ever the class clown so he was as confused as the rest of the crew.

none were more confused than john though, as he tore, with gentleness he had long since reserved for the touch of a woman, wondering who the hell had wrote him.

"dear major egan..."

Dear Major Egan,

It's odd I find, to be writing a letter to someone when your name and rank is all I know of you. It feels terribly impersonal and honestly I'm not sure how this letter will be received so I am sorry if this feels like an intrusion on your day but the thing is...

Well the truth Major, is that it seems to have been noted that during your time in England you have yet to receive a letter. When I learnt that fact my heart broke a little and not with pity I assure you, but any man fighting for home deserves something to hold onto. You may have that, I hope you do, but just in case I wanted to offer you some form of peace.

I am with you Major Egan, for as long as it takes you to get back home. There is someone out there praying for you every night, someone waiting on your soul to make it back. I know not what your favorite warm meal is, nor what you sound like, I know not what you look like or what makes you laugh, but I would like to learn all of those things should you wish to write back at all.

In return I shall share all those things about myself and anything else should you wish to know any of it. Oh they tell me your name is John, may I call you John next time? I'm going to do it anyway.

With all my gratitude, hope and adoration John

A friend from home x

he wasn't aware the tears had welled as he finished the letter. really bucky had almost forgotten what it was like to cry. but as he scanned the page, again and again and again, he couldn't bring himself to stop the tear that spilled over his cheek, even with the silence he could feel around him again as the boys grew curious once more.

"who was it john?" the gentle voice of his best friend broke through the fourth rerun of the words, the blonde stepping forward so that the answer could stay between them.

blue eyes lifted to meet hazel, with a smile he knew that he hadn't worn in weeks really. one not dissimilar to the smile he had given buck when he had seen him behind that fence. "i - i have a friend from home." someone, somewhere was waiting for him, someone somewhere, had given him what he had forgotten about in this war. hope. she was with him and unless god himself tried to stop him john egan was going to make it home.

#callum turner #masters of the air #mota drabble #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #mota fanfic

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blueberryarchive · 3 months

Text

𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.

୨ৎpairing: cowboy!jm x reader x preacher!jk

୨ৎword count: 5k

୨ৎgenre: smut, horror, angst

୨ৎtw: dead dove do not eat, mentions of death and gruesome details (human and animal), blood, mentions of arms and physical violence, cursing, smut (blood drinking and playing, period sex, rope play, degrading, dub-con, groping, penetration)

An Ewe and the Captive Bolt (a serie)

Today was his birthday, and for the first time in 28 years, the sky looked like a sheet full of spots. He felt ever since he saw Sirius and Canopus in the sky as two little white suns the night before, that this year was going to be different.

What Park didn't know was that what would be different was the pain he felt on the left side of his arm and his chest. The hot, thick blood soaked his shoulder and eye until it covered his eyelashes. The battered hat clutched in both dusty hands as he entered Carmen's diner, a child's shame on his tight lips.

The poor girl behind the counter dropped the key lime pie from her hands, creating even more noise in the place (which Jimin didn't appreciate being in such a state).

"Christ." She murmured, still static.

"Be a doll and bring me a glass of water, would ya'?" Jimin crawled to one of the seats, grunting as he felt his muscles burn.

The girl approached with a small towel and a terrified look.

"Never seen blood before?"

"No, sir." Her brown eyes were like two walnuts bouncing between Jimin's face and arms. She was adorable, her face round and her hair so curly that she reminded him of his sheep. If she hadn't been the sheriff's daughter, he said to himself every time he saw her.

"Are you hurt, sir? I can call my daddy and-"

"No need for that, sweetheart." He raised his hand. The last thing he needed was to have Montrell in his affairs. "It ain't my blood, it's my horse's"

Apparently, that seemed to affect the young woman more. Jimin was a little offended by her reaction.

"Why don't you bring me a piece of that delicious key lime pie you had in hand and two coffees."

There were more questions in her curved eyebrows, but she just nodded and walked away. Park took off his shirt, leaving a tank top underneath it, with the handkerchief that he kept in his jeans, he began to wet his hands and his face.

His fingers were still shaking from the adrenaline. The shrill sound of the car's tires driving away, the heated laughter cloistered behind the smoked windows, the last sharp sigh of his horse before Jimin ended his suffering. He had to find the bastards who ran over his horse. FH-6077, he read the plate in the distance before crossing the curve, and his brain couldn't stop humming the six digits like a prayer.

The sudden hand on his shoulder calmed the waters, the undoubtable smell of myrrh and tobacco from his companion.

"Happy birthday, buddy." His voice was gentle. If Jungkook ever went above a couple of those decibels, Jimin assumed he was going to die. Even seeing Park's bloody hat on the table and Park's bloodstained boots, he didn't flinch to ask.

Perhaps it was his ecclesiastical nature that gave him the confidence that at one time or another, others would fill the silence with their confessions. But Jimin could see in the father's noble eyes the desperation for an explanation.

"Sure." That was all he said. The girl approached the table with the pie and the coffee.

"Goodnight, Father John." She smiled widely.

"Night, Billie. How's your dad?"

"He really liked your mass today. I did too, I really liked the reading." Jimin noticed how the corners of Billie's lips twitched, contorting herself to try to look prettier for Father John. So obvious and adorable, but of course, Jeon would give nothing more than a shrug and the most predictable questions.

The difference is that Jungkook could fuck the sheriff's daughter. What father didn't want his daughter to be in the sacred hands of Father John?

Father Jeon (or John due to the Americanization of Jungkook's family) was tall, wide like a log, and robust like an unhorned bull. Attractive in every sense, but bland, shy until it hurts.

"'M glad, tell him I will visit Missus Davis next week."

"Do you have a smoke? I'm dying in here."

They both looked at Jimin who was just smiling with his mouth smeared with whipped cream.

"You can't smoke here, sir."

Jimin winked at her, grabbing the white stick that Jungkook handed him as he also sat down to end the unbearable flirting.

"I know, pumpkin. It'll be a quick one, I promise."

The girl didn't say anything else, and she walked away. Disappointment in her walnut eyes.

"I'll marry her in two months." Said Jungkook.

Jimin frowned. Jungkook curled his fingers, pointing for his friend to come closer and light the tip of the tobacco.

"Marry her? You can barely tolerate the poor girl."

"I love her." The father stated as he nodded slowly while he drank his coffee. "She's a good girl, I think she likes me, too."

"Are ya sure?" Jimin joked.

"Where's that bad hoss you've been riding since last month?"

Jimin's blood warmed again, the drags on his cigarette even longer.

"Fuckin' punks ran over 'im and broke his ribs. Had to do it." He pointed to the gun under his hat. The bloody clothes reminded him how clumsy he sure looked trying to pamper a horse that was already three steps away.

FH-6077.

"I'll find them tomorrow."

"I'll help you."

"What are you gonna do?"

They both looked at each other, the watery, electric current between them. Ideas undulated and braided between their cruel smiles.

"Haven't changed a bit, church boy." Smoke weaved into Jimin's blonde hair, his devilish smile vaporizing memories of his teenage pranks.

Jungkook drank the last of his coffee, his face falling back into the same bitter sadness that every father held as if he carried the weight of all the souls and sins of Rivermouth on his back. The silence was long afterward, the black night extended to the mountains, to the sky, to Park's own reflection in the glass. The round face with pronounced lips and rude, detailed eyes, sweet when they feel like it. The spitting image of his mother.

"I have some hippies coming to the ranch tomorrow."

Jungkook nodded, the pressure in the handle increasing, the clack of the cup being clenched by his teeth in a sip. Jimin knew he shouldn't have mentioned the hippies, but it was that ecclesiastical power. He knew that Jungkook hated the smell of pot, the long hair, and the colorful t-shirts, which reminded him of his father, previous father John.

God knows what Jungkook had to witness, the carbonic stench that emanated from that charred skeleton. The tongue pressed between two pieces of blackish board that used to be teeth. The fetid fat that ripped and curdled in the organs. There was not a day in which the poor man did not think about that before going to sleep and found himself face to face with the featureless face of his father, with the incinerated bowls pointed at the eyes of his son. Sitting in the chair under the cross that has sat on that wall since Jungkook's birth.

And Jungkook cried. He would close his eyes and every night, he would grab the skull and make it crunch under his thick hands. The body did not defend itself, it let its boy vent as if he were a sacred entity and knew that at the same time, the next day and every other day, he would appear again in that chair, and Jungkook would never be able to exhaust his anger against him.

"I have to go." It was the only thing he said leaving a ten dollar bill in the table. Park understood. "Go fetch a new hat from my house tomorrow, it's about time you threw that shit in the river."

"Hey."

Jungkook turned around. Jimin stopped smiling.

"Take it home in the morning, I'll make you breakfast before the rodeo."

Jeon looked at the floor with uneasy eyes.

"We'll see."

As he left the diner, the fresh wind conquered the father's soul. Nostalgia washed away his stony face and for the first time in years, he wanted to be a child again. Disappear with Jimin and sleep in the old hayfields of the abandoned Hillside.

He put on his black hat and started walking down the dark street, both hands in his pockets.

Today the smell of boiling fat was stronger than ever, the ghost of his father floated in the swirls of Rivermouth dust and, with it, the remains of the children who were later taken from that same cabin.

The white lace curtains let in the yellowish light of the first rays. The unmade bed, the smell of pine in the sheets.

In one corner of the bed, Park was dressing for the day, the muscles in his shoulder had swollen with the hours and makeshift cloths covered the open, bloody sores. Every so often, he hissed and swore under his breath.

The coffee began to gurgle in the kitchen as he finished putting on his boots, it was barely 6:30, but he already had the eggs frying and the beans hot in the pot. It seemed strange to him that his companion was not already sitting next to the window, Bible open and the first cigarette of the morning in his hand.

He turned off the stove just in time and poured himself a cup. Today he felt more domestic than ever, he had spent the night fixing every detail in the ranch, from the dust on his late mother's china to the rifles displayed in the hallway. To be frank, he spent the entire night cleaning every corner, maybe detailing every object in every room so that at the end of the weekend nothing would be missing, or the crash made him remember how little he's done in 28 damn years.

A porcelain jewelry box his mother had placed in one of the rooms was covered in a thin layer of gray dust; it was his mother's favorite piece. He hadn't opened it since the last time he stole a couple of pearls to buy his first rifle, the red stained his face with shame, and the only thing he could do as an apology was turn the house over with his own handkerchief and clean even the windows. He was surprised that the smell of lye and soap hadn't killed him.

Hearing one of his sheep bleating, he opened the window and decided to lower his chivalry a bit and smoke his first cigarette before Jungkook arrived. In the distance, he could see one of his ewes, fat and terribly woolly, walking slowly towards the barn. She was pregnant and Jimin knew that there were maybe 24 hours left, her skin was bulging, and her bleating was painful and whiny, she couldn't take it anymore.

The curtain caressed Jimin's face with the wind that was beginning to warm up, he took a drag of the cigarette and turned his body towards the kitchen. He felt a strange itch in his chest, the kind that bothers him when he senses a spirit floating near him. The greenish branches and the smell of sausages were mixed up with the subtle gallop of a skinny horse and the unexpected smell of myrrh.

He walked to the front door and opened it to find Jeon's promised hat. He sighed as he saw that not only was it one of his black deathly-looking hats, but he had also planted him at breakfast, sure to go see the grandmother of his very unexpected but predictable fiancée.

Long story short, Jimin had to eat four cowboys' breakfast and the whole pot of coffee, and the hat he would wear to the rodeo today didn't match his outfit at all. Dozing was the only thing he could do after loosening the buckle on his belt and putting the hat on his face.

The leather furniture was sinking under his body, the soft song of the river in the distance, and the birds pecking at his roof took him back to his childhood. Sleeping wherever he wanted without any purpose. He dreamed of the gallops of his first horse: Champ, a Tennesee Walking that had belonged to his grandfather, black as coal, glistening in the sun of his student days and running like a devil in a hurry. He dreamed that he was in public showing the animal to auction it.

"How do you encourage a horse to move forward, Sage?" A woman in the audience shouted.

"I don't know, kick his ass or something." Heavenly laughter coaxed him out of his lethargy.

His body sat on the furniture before he knew it, sweat covering his back, veins marked on the left side of his face. He ran with the unconscious weight of his body to the window, pushing the curtain aside with his finger until he saw the circular corral where his star horse, Arrow, was located, with a stranger on his back.

His fingers reached for the rifle lying on the rocking chair.

The blonde girl staggered on top of the animal while her thin fingers held his hair tightly. The horse's sleepy eyes moved from side to side, snorting as he searched for direction.

"Come on, horsie!" The girl snapped her teeth and laughed as the horse curved to one side. "Are you seeing, Hunter? It's moving."

Hunter was smiling foolishly, lying on the grass, his thin, wavy hair fluttering around his ears like a delicate flower. The dark glasses covered his wounded deer's eyes.

"You're such a cowgirl, my love." His voice was sarcastic.

And with a shot into the air, silence muted nature. He silenced the current, the clucking of the chickens that fluttered in the distance. Hunter, Sage, and Blondie turned to the cowboy who walked slowly across the grass towards them. A whistle from the stranger caused Arrow to raise his front paws until Blondie fell with a screech to the hard ground.

"Kitty!"

"Woah, cowboy." Jimin's silky voice approached, placing the buttplate of his rifle on his shoulder, aiming directly between Hunter's eyebrows. "Move slowly, ya wouldn't want to scare an alarmed man any further, now would ya?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

Blondie or Kitty or whatever her name was, rolled her red eyes.

"What the hell are you doing on my ranch?"

"Let's go, Hunter. I'm not going to talk to cornman." Sage was the tallest of them all, her shorts squeezed her thighs until they were overflowing, and her hair was long like a beach princess.

"Watch your fucking language around me, missy." Gritted Jimin removing the safety on the rifle.

"Sage, for once do you want to shut the fuck up."

Hunter raised his hands, sweat beginning to gather on his wrinkled forehead. His eyes shone as he heard the heels slowly approaching behind Jimin.

"Love." He exhaled.

"Is this part of southern charm, Mr. Park?" Coquettish, the dying accent of someone who once lived in these parts, daring, too much for her own good. But still, he lowered the gun, spitting on the ground.

When he turned around it was as if a pink burst of glitter and vanilla had slapped him from the stupor of sleep. The glasses were square and large, they covered almost her entire face, that was the first thing Jimin saw.

"Ma'am, are these your friends?"

"We are your visitors, cornman." Jimin ignored the Californian's irritating nasal whine as the sweet girl in front of him approached little by little with a smile. He felt the itch again, the one that senses a spirit floating nearby, this spirit was the nebulous memory of your face.

"Could you speak again, ma'am?"

"Sorry?" You laughed, and it was like birds were chirping in your throat. "You're Ari's son, right? I really liked the jams your grandmother used to make."

And oh, it couldn't be more obvious. It couldn't be more evident, not even because God had exploded your name in the sky. It was the stunning makeup and hair wax, it was the sequined heels and Patsy Cline songs reverberating from the old speakers. It was your name in the newspaper almost every week.

It was your sailor costume, the jam falling from your humiliated face, it was Jimin's hand caressing the bulge in his jeans that same night on top of the hay, imagining how you ate the strawberry jam that his mother made.

Now you called yourself Love, the name was as obvious as you were. Of course, your hippie name is Love.

"Miss Peaches '57." His voice was soft and trembling. Your eyes opened in surprise.

"Gods, I didn't even remember that title." You put your hand on your mouth, dressed as a Hollywood girl but your loving manners were indelible.

"Excuse me, where are my manners? Jimin Park." He raised his hand for you to place in yours, light and trusting. A chaste kiss to the back of your hand without stopping to see your eyes behind the orange glasses.

"You can call me Love."

"A sight to sore eyes, Love."

"Always." You responded. Jimin swallowed hard, trying to hide that nostalgic smile, 'pure in every way. With that same smile, he invited the four to go through their rooms, the tension subsiding fluidly with each laugh that came from your blessed lips.

It was as if you said one thing and the sun came a little closer, deorbiting out to your echoes, warming the room and Jimin's cheeks.

"Can you help me look for my suitcases?" You touched the shoulder of the cowboy who agreed and guided you to the front door. Like the good boy his mother raised, he opened the door for you, and outside stood a Packard Caribbean: long, yellow, and sleek as a sunflower.

"Nice ride."

"Thank you, it's from Hunter's dad. He gave it to him for his birthday. Isn't it a beauty?"

"Beautiful." His nose scrunched watching your stomach bulge down your cute little top, hard nipples contouring the pink fabric. You still were just good enough to eat.

Examining the car little by little, a detail began to emerge in his memory. Among them, glowing in the heat of that morning were the six digits from the night before: FH-6077.

When it came to religion Jimin didn't have many opinions.

As a kid his mother went to church every Sunday and took him. He saw the statues of Jesus suffering with indifferent eyes, he made his first communion only because they promised to give him a sip of wine with the host, he listened to the stories of death and plagues as if they were cartoons.

God was a very complicated being, the more he thought about him, the heavier his body became.

To his surprise, God was nothing more than a sham, a wall between you and him. The host, that time Jungkook's father offered him, tasted like nothing and the wine went down his young throat tasteless.

"Body of Christ." You said, the music playing crisply on the record player Hunter had brought. The guitars repeated the same riff over and over, he hated it.

Jimin stuck his tongue out where you placed a small square of magazine paper no bigger than a fingernail. Jimin’s eyelashes fluttered, his knees throbbing as he knelt in front of you, your thumb brushing against his lips before sealing them.

"Amen," he sighed.

The host that you offered to his mortal body was as tasteless as the first, but only Jimin knew the euphoria that, like a hurricane's wind, announced the sweet path that awaited the cowboy.

Jimin was not a man who smoked more than five cigarettes a day, seven if it was a bad day. But your siren song in his ear convinced him to drown his morals in your dark waters, your hands took both sides of his tanned face and you threw him without warning to your sanctuary, towards the steepest rocks, to your glorious eyes. And damn, Park could drink the water from your pupils and die of poisoning.

"I missed you so much, I didn't know it until the moment I saw you." His lips said before thinking about it, narrow pupils lying on the grass next to you. You just laughed, it was the only thing you did and he just admired it.

At one point around noon, Jimin took the steering wheel of the Packard. Hunter, Sage, and Kitty were talking about a record, making strange sounds and asking the opinion of Jimin who was driving down the dusty road, making the engine roar so that you would scream next to him.

"Slow down!" You asked. He went faster, he didn't care.

The purring of the car made Jimin's body pulse, his mouth was dry, his arm no longer hurt, and his lips prayed the license plate of the car, over and over again.

I'm going to find it, he told himself. And when I find him I'm going to make them suffer, as the tips of the horse's bones pierced its dark fur, neighing over his own stupid words trying to calm the wounded animal.

Faster, find it.

Like oil, the green branches of summer became watery and greasy in his vision, and the dust was stalactites that bathed the car in yellow.

"Good luck, cowboy." Kitty approached Jimin, somehow he had made it to the rodeo. The horns announced his name on all four corners and people shouted his last name like the idol he was.

Sage and Kitty kissed his cheeks before he climbed on top of Arrow, the weight of his body creating echoes every time he moved.

There was no one in that audience who saw Jimin on his horse who was not surprised by the agility with which the rope rose above his head and created fluid circles to catch the rough calf that writhed with the knot in its thick neck.

Jungkook saw from a distance how the cowboy's smile was so bright, how he rejoiced at the applause and the roses that were thrown at him. His movements were vehement, fiery, and impulsive like a devil without fear of death.

The hat Jungkook had given him had a small, withered pink carnation on it. He stood up as quickly as he could at the end of the show, but before he could talk to him he only saw Arrow galloping thunderously in the distance, one girl was wearing the gifted hat, she grabbed Jimin's waist and with the other, she gave whiskey to the cowboy. The copper thread falls to his chest and settles on his strap.

"The sight of him today was incredible, I had never seen 'im like that." Billie smiled behind Jungkook, her cheeks red, eyes covered with a fine lust that she probably didn't even recognize.

The firmament rose high above his eyes, there was no star that Jimin didn't feel the overwhelming sound of fire burning in his ears. His body was sweating on the grass, and the smell of nicotine was strong after smoking two cigarettes to settle his reverberating body. The high had passed and his body was a used towel.

He doesn't remember much of what happened, but the remnants of the hallucinogen's burn made him understand that he had the damn time of his life. A laugh left his lips, embarrassed by how easy it was to convince him to do that stupid thing. What Jungkook told him was true: you haven't changed at all, cowboy.

"How's my favorite rodeo king?" The angel landed above his head, you were wearing his hat and a flowered dress.

"Roughened up, I guess." Just like after a good fuck.

"Don't get hooked or you'll end up like Hunter." You combed your hair as you walked around him. "He can't last a day without it or else he starts hitting Kitty."

"Why don't you report it?" Jimin stood following your steps. After looking around him for a few seconds, he realized that he was in the rodeo arena, darkness bathed the stadium. The blue moon showed your silhouette walking over the horseshoe tracks.

"Because Kitty doesn't want to, they are going to get married in a few months. He promised to stop doing drugs when they did. It wouldn't be good for a kid."

There was a lightness in the promises the Californians made to others, they nodded seriously, but you could see the consequences in their evasive gaze.

Jimin nodded.

"Are you always so quiet?"

He nodded again, and they both laughed.

"'M better when I'm not ten feet deep in an LSD hangover, I can assure that."

"Yes, but..." Your silhouette approached his body, and you carried the energy of ten bulls on you. Your immortal look, you haven't changed anything. "I asked if you're always this quiet."

Jimin inhaled as he understood your question.

"When I'm in the stadium I'm more vocal." He again evaded the answer you were looking for so much. His chest beat boldly like the time he saw you covered in strawberries and sugar.

"You were a star this afternoon, your eyes were shining."

"Always."

You raised your eyebrow and scoffed. "Sure thing, sir."

Blood surged to Park's neck, his eyelids drooping, his pride tainting his flirtation. Enough of the games.

"Run." He murmured, saliva pooling in his throat.

You frowned with your typical smile.

"What?"

"I asked you to run." His body suddenly lunged and you became alarmed, raising your hands. "As fast and as far from this stadium as you can."

His pupils didn't move, his soft smile was confident. Your skin grew cold with each step, at first slow and suspicious, the darkness of the large arena was intimidating because it felt like you were not moving forward.

You heard how an object created hollow, sharp sounds in the air. It was his lasso.

"No." You muttered, running even faster.

And swoosh, you fell to the ground. The rope squeezed your neck, leaving your body in mid-air, your tongue came out and your eyes bulged from the sudden lack of air; the hat fell away from you. Your body was no longer yours, your stupid fingers tried to loosen the knot, but it was too late.

The boots approached, collecting the rope that was left over around his arm. The silhouette became part of your blurred vision.

"Stand up."

"I. Can't." Your lips emulated as you writhed like a worm in the dust.

"Lemme' help ya'." Jimin snatched the rope for you to stand up, your knees moved up to him where his fingers loosened the knot a little. "Breathe, little girl. We don't want an accident."

Saliva came out of your mouth in streams and fell to the floor. Jimin grabbed your chin and wiped it.

"Don't make a mess now."

"I'm sorry, sir." And now you sounded as helpless and stupid as Hunter did this morning. It was adorable.

You were afraid to look up, your eyes trained on the hat a few meters away from both of you.

"Tell me, pumpkin. How can two ugly sons of bitches like your parents have such a beautiful girl?" He laughed, dragging the rope to where his hat was, you walked behind him with careless steps. With a couple of blows, he blew the dust off his hat and looked at you again, searching for an answer you didn't even know how to articulate or if you should.

His hand wrapped the rope around his fingers until he had you as close as possible, the smell of tobacco hammered your temples, and your eyelids wrinkled to try to wake up.

Great was the surprise when you felt a pair of dry lips resting on yours, his tongue daringly passed over your lips so that you would open, his moans softening your fear.

His saliva was bitter and lovely, his tongue running flat across the outside of your mouth until it reached your chin and the tip of your nose.

"Let's see, open your mouth, sugar. Don't be shy."

You obeyed as the knot tightened around your neck, moaning as his lips sucked on the tip of your tongue and bit your bottom lip.

"God have mercy." He sighed, squeezing your chin with his hand. "How can you taste so damn sweet."

You moaned as you felt his teeth nibble gently at your neck, his fingers piling the fabric of your dress around his fingers.

“Mm,” you squealed, walking away even when it didn’t suit you. "Can't."

"It's a good thing I didn't ask." Jimin brought you closer, caressing your neck again.

"I'm on my days." Shame sealing your thoughts, in your eyes the hope that just the thought of seeing the blood would disgust him.

Jimin raised his eyebrows and slowly kissed you again, this time with the softness of an apology.

"A cowboy doesn't mind a little dirt." He murmured, touching the soaked towel that covered your underwear, two fingers pushed aside and the burning of your pussy collided with his cold fingers drawing a moan from your hurt throat.

"A good cowboy loves to get dirty." He smiled, removing the two soaked fingers from the red viscosity to put it in his mouth with a frown on his eyebrows. "Mm." He grunted, swallowing slowly.

You were speechless, stupefied. Who was this demon?

"Have you ever ridden a bull before?" His blood-tainted lips said, the idea shocking your senses.

You denied it, and God knows that was the stupidest answer you could give.

The animal began to make a mechanical noise beneath both of them, the leather surface pressed your thighs against the mechanical bull that began to move slowly.

Jimin's bestial eyes did not take off from you, the last of the bottle of whiskey went down his throat in long gulps and pushed the glass into the distance causing a roar.

Your legs were above his defined thighs, the bleeding wound between your legs dirtying his jeans but the cowboy didn't seem to mind. The dress already forgotten outside the stadium playing area.

"We'll go slowly because it's your first time on top." His consideration was so minimal, considering the situation. But you were a woman whose details annihilated your logic.

To the front and sides and then a gentle turn, this is how the animal began. Jimin moved his center with the animal, the bulge in his pants rubbing against your pussy.

One of his hands approached the dripping hole and with four fingers collected the blood until it painted his hand.

“Ah,” he requested, sticking his tongue out and you followed suit. His fingers got smeared on his tongue and cheeks until they reached his neck. With his tongue he passed over his lips, like wine he drank you, like sweet he possessed you and rejoiced.

His tongue entered your space again, the strange and bitter taste of your own blood while with his fingers he removed the zipper of his jeans until he showed that he was not wearing underwear underneath him, his tall and throbbing cock moved under his fist.

"Climb on, doll. You're wet enough for me." He laughed taking your body to sit on top of him. You hugged him as tight as you could as the mechanical animal began to move faster.

"We're going to fall." You whimpered. "Hurts".

"Shh, shh. Let me medicate you, it'll stop hurtin' when I dick you properly." One spank and his fingers squeezed the skin of your ass tightly. "You just have to move with me."

To the front, to the sides, two turns. You just had to keep your legs elevated a little, Jimin's cock sliding smoothly in and out with each movement.

"Now you're getting it. Fuck." Jimin hissed, squeezing your waist with his forearm. "You're quite the cowgirl, Love."

You moaned, pressing your forehead to his. His eyes absorbed every curve, from your breasts to your red-painted thighs. You were an angel, a myth that devours men. Your songs of pleasure echoing on the aluzinc walls.

The animal began to attack, abrupt and deeper.

"Does it hurt?" You asked between moans, watching the fabrics covering Jimin's arm begin to dye again. Jimin denied, cuntdrunk.

You removed the knot of cloth from the wound on Jimin's arm, running your thin fingers over the bleeding muscle. Park hissed, and the walls of your pussy tightened.

More, you wanted more.

Your lips sucked on the sores until you felt the metallic taste in your throat, Jimin pressed your body against yours. One turn, two forwards, three up. Your poor body trembled with the desire for the game to end but your pussy still wanted your walls to expand until Jimin's cock was molded inside you forever.

"If I knew you were such a slut." Park grabbed your hair to pull you away from his arm.

"If I knew cowboys fucked so well." The bloody smile of both of you was devilishly erotic.

The bull stopped suddenly, you looked at the man standing on the other side of you, rifle in hand, hot tears burning his cheeks.

"Jungkook? Jeon!" It was the last thing you heard before you fell face first onto the inflated floor, blood flowing warm and your eyelids falling softly.

#—📃: an ewe and the captive bolt #bts imagines #bts #bts fanfic #jimin imagine #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader #jimin x oc #jimin bts #jimin fanfic #jimin dark fic #bts dark fanfic #jimin

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madelynraemunson · 5 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club)

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ only, minors i am ON PATROL

Chapter 011: Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Movie night is cut short when Billy and Eddie both show up to your door in search of compromise.

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

somewhat smut = *

smut =**

word count: 4.5k words

disclaimers — eddie’s bruised lil face, billy’s bruised face, no one is beating the living daylights out of the other this time. 😵‍💫 just a lot of ✨ fluff ✨ and you guessed it… ANGST , traumatic flashback, max being a mastermind with her plotting & scheming 👀

“My head is saying ‘Fool, forget him!’, my heart is saying ‘Don’t Let Go’…”

♡

Isabelle Munson is a menace and a half.

It’s obvious that Eddie’s ex wife married him for one thing and one thing only: his money. And, when caught in her web of lies, Isabelle quickly threw him under the bus to cover her trail.

“What, are you trying to take over Hellfire or something?”

It’s no wonder why Eddie freaked out on you like that. The clinginess and need for control over your ‘situationship’ probably set off all the necessary alarms in his head. Even though Eddie probably knew your intentions, he didn’t want to risk the possibility of another Isabelle. After all, she too started as an employee.

POP! Snap! Fizz…

Max pours a can of soda into her ice cold tumbler. She stirs it around before taking a few sips.

"Your boss’s ex wife sounds like a bitch," she comments.

"The biggest bitch," you shake your head. "I’m reading up on all the tea right now."

A paramour for control, Isabelle’s calling to make Hellfire all about her started affecting the work-life balance. So, Eddie sent her to NDA Gentlemen’s Club in order to keep their affairs separate. But then a romantic affair began to brew between Isabelle and Terry, the owner and actual culprit behind the scandal. And of course that opened up another can of worms.

“Why would Isabelle wanna put Eddie behind bars instead of the guy who actually tried to sex traffic her?” Max inquires.

“Terry Hobb was already gonna be arrested,” you discover. “If Eddie went under too, Isabelle would likely be entitled to his assets while he’s locked up. Probably what she wanted all along.”

Framing Eddie for a crime. Something that’s so easy to do in Hawkins.

Like Billy said, Eddie coming from a long line of criminals did NOT help his case. Drug dealer, murderer. Con-man and arsonist. Eddie being someone who trafficked the vulnerable would be easy to believe, especially in a town full of conservative women who were tired of their husbands coming home late — and drenched in glitter.

To bear the Munson name is not exactly a blessing. Even the woman Eddie made a Munson managed to do him dirty.

There’s another kind of wolf that Mom never warned you about: the one dressed in white — the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“This is all so awful,” you swallow hard, finally planting your phone face down onto the kitchen table.

And now Eddie’s business is in jeopardy again. All thanks to two volatile Hargroves who have no sense of self control.

"Why do I feel like there's something there?"

Max brings you back to earth. When you turn, she’s smirking at you.

“What do you mean?” you ask her.

“Oh come on,” Max rolls her eyes. “You seem really bothered by this. And Eddie beat THE LIVING SHIT out of Billy. Doesn’t seem like he does it for just any employee.”

You feel yourself blushing. Not only that but Eddie never fights anybody, period. He’s always called on Henry to do all the dirty work for him.

But Eddie knew about Billy and how powerless he made you feel. Seeing your abuser meandering so comfortably around his establishment was probably the last straw.

“There…might be something,” you confirm. “It’s hard though. Eddie doesn’t wanna commit.”

“Well after a marriage that traumatizing I wouldn’t either,” Max shrugs. “I’d be deathly afraid of women for the rest of my life.”

She walks over to grab the two bowls of popcorn that you guys heated up for everybody. You two, along with Vicky and Robin, are having a movie night to wind down from all the chaos. Tonight’s choice is Grease.

"Alright kiddos, camp is almost set up!" Robin dances her way into the kitchen. "We ready for some Grease Lightnin'?"

Max swoons as she adds some more key ingredients to her popcorn. "Hell yeah! Love me some Travolta and showtunes."

“What are you doing?” Robin asks, watching your sister douse your shared popcorn bowl with cayenne pepper and lime.

“A lil California spin on mine and Sissy's popcorn,” Max shrugs. “A squeeze of lime and some tajín. Well — cayenne pepper — since we don’t have any."

“That’s outrageous.”

“Wait till you see what we do with street corn,” you gush, dreaming about elote.

“Oh god…” Robin goes pale white.

“No really, Robin! It’s pretty good,” you insist.

“Not that!” Robin shakes her head. She points out the window. “That…”

You turn in the direction that Robin points in, which is outside towards the street.

Billy.

“Billy,” you gasp silently.

Your brother is parked along the curb, climbing out of his rental car with a little pep in his step. You watch as he checks his, relatively bruised, appearance, tugging at his hair and giving his clothes one last pat-down before making his way over.

Concerned footsteps dart their way into the kitchen. Vicky looks just as mortified as Robin.

"Do y'all see this?" Vicky questions.

Everyone nods to validate.

"How does Billy know where we live?!" you demand turning to the only other person here who has his phone number.

Guilt spreads across Max's face. As mortified as you are, you can't blame her. The fucked up parts of yourself would've done the same thing. You and Billy were in dire need of a heart to heart.

"You guys need to talk," Max explains what you're thinking. "I'm not letting him leave without at least a word or two. He agreed to be civil when I texted him."

"Thanks," you mumble. "I would've done the same."

Anyone who didn't fully understand the dynamic would've thought you and Max were crazy. But there is a part of you that will always love Billy.

Billy’s getting closer now. You can hear him clearing his throat from outside.

“So are we going to need the fire department too?” Robin asks, phone readily in hand.

“Most likely,” Vicky shrugs.

“No one’s calling anybody,” you instruct. “At least not yet. Let’s just see what he wants first.”

Billy's at the door now and you have no choice but to answer. You swing it open before he could even get a knock in, knuckle floating in mid-air but slowly drifting back down when he sees you in front of him.

Your big brother. At least by two minutes.

“Sup,” Billy greets you, almost jokingly. He flashes you a peace sign. Hi. I come in peace.

“You look awful.”

“Yeah, mosh pits aren’t really my scene,” he takes a sly jab at Eddie.

He requests entry into your new humble abode to which you deny. Billy backs down without question. So instead you walk out into the porch and close the door behind you.

“Before you press charges,” you preface. “I just want you to know how hardworking, kind, and empathetic Eddie i-”

Billy stops you with a raised hand. “I’m not…pressing charges.”

You’re almost stunned. “You…you’re not?”

“No,” Billy’s eyes are sullen. “I started it.”

“Eddie threw the first punch,” you point out. “If anything all you did was provoke him, which obviously won’t hold up well for him in court-”

“I…” Billy insists. “…started it.”

You don’t question it anymore because you can sense aggression brewing. And you preferred to talk to Billy when he’s calm like this.

Both of you take a seat right on the porch stairs. You can feel Vicky, Robin, and Max staring from inside.

“I deserved it,” Billy shakes his head. “And everything else coming to me for what I’ve done.”

“You don’t deserve it,” you try to convince him — and even yourself — of what you’re saying.

“YOU don’t even believe that,” Billy says, seeing through the bullshit. “Just fucking save it, okay?”

It's not like you can deny it any longer. Billy is the reason why you and Max are in this situation.

“I could’ve killed Max if I had been any more careless,” Billy grieves. “All because, what, she threw a box at me? And punched a hole in the wall because I said shit that made her do it. What I did made me lose everything I had left. Made me lose you guys."

Accountability, that's the first step. You turn away from him, refusing to believe this new change of heart.

"I didn’t honor your wishes to be left alone or at least given a little space..." he continues. "Showed up to your safe space and overstayed my welcome. And it blew up in front of me. Probably shattered my septum too."

"Do you see now?" you choke. "Do you see why we can't live with each other?"

"I'm sure we can, we just gotta change our ways."

"We've been trying to change our ways since Dad and Sue left!" you hiss. "Since Mom died, since the first crack in the glass. We change, but it just evolves into something worse."

Crickets on Billy's end. You can tell he's sitting with the words, no matter how uncomfortable they feel. But that alone is another big step.

You turn to stroke his face. He closes his eyes in dismay, soaking in all the affection radiating off your delicate, trembling hands.

“Look at what we do to each other, Billy," you plead. "It's not like this when we're apart."

Billy opens his eyes. They’re glistening with tears.

You fill him in on the friends you've made in Hawkins. How much your bank account grew. The payments you’ve caught up on since stripping at Hellfire. How you and Max sleep comfortably through the night. After what seems like forever.

Life is beautiful without Billy. As much as you didn’t want that to be true.

Billy finally speaks again. “What happened to us?”

“I don’t know,” you shake your head. “And until we can both get our shit together, we need to stay away from each other.”

And now it’s 1998. You and Billy are four years old, playing tug-o-war over the last chocolate chip cookie in the jar.

CRASH! went the jar when it fell to the floor.

You’re both in trouble now. Or so you thought.

Billy ended up winning this round, scurrying off with the cookie while you attempted to sweep the broken shards of glass away. But knowing Billy had gotten a beating several days prior — it was BAD this time — you decided to take all the blame.

“Say ‘Sorry Daddy’ right now,” your father ordered after three aggressive spanks to your backside.

Bent across his lap, you bite your tongue as he issues two more spanks with his large, calloused hands. It was sure to leave a mark.

“SAY IT,” Dad roared.

But you weren’t sorry. So it came out strained.

“‘m sorry Daddy,” you sniff. “And I’m sorry… Billy.”

The last word wasn’t worth it. It was never worth it.

Your buttcheeks were burning, eyes stinging with salty, resentful tears as Dad continued to use you as an outlet for his rage. When you thought it was over, Dad chucked you off his lap, pulling you by the hair to toss you against the wall like it was some dodgeball game at the Y.

Billy’s eyes watched in horror. Your eyes burned into his as he poked his curious head out from the wall he was hiding behind.

“Doing it for you,” you mouthed to him.

Later that night, your bruised behind hobbled side to side to your shared room after your bedtime routine. To your pleasant surprise, there was something waiting for you on a small plate at the foot of your bed.

The last chocolate chip cookie.

You and Billy never apologized to each other back then. So acts of service like saving each other the last sweet treat made for a good alternative.

Billy walked over to you as you fawned over the last cookie. You turned to him in disbelief.

“I thought you ate it,” you smiled.

“No, I was saving it,” Billy lied. “All for you, Sissy.”

“It used to be us against the world,” Billy recalls. “As cheesy as that shit sounds.”

“But now it’s just...not,” you point out. “We just can’t be in each other’s lives. We gotta love each other from afar, Billy. At least until we can figure out how to be civil with each other.”

Billy doesn’t speak for a while. Instead he takes a look around the neighborhood. The tall trees that decorate the telephone poles. The flat land that perfectly accentuates the edge of the horizon. The fresh air, slightly corrupted with the overpowering scent of Marlboro. It’s no quaint beach town, but there was something about it that screamed “home” in no way San Diego can.

“Are you sure this is something you wanna do?” Billy questions you, referring to your job. “It’s not a safe gig, sis.”

“I can handle it,” you insist. “It’s temporary anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this…” he sighs. “But I’m proud of you… ass and tits out and all.”

“Gee thanks,” you joke as you nudge him. “I’m glad I have your approval.”

After a while, you two finally stand up and make your way inside. Max is reluctant to walk towards Billy when he walks in, but that same invisible cord inclines her to do so anyway.

“You still don’t like me, huh?” Billy infers.

Max crosses her arms. “How can I?”

A timid smile forms across Billy’s face. “But you don’t hate me?”

Max repeats her sentiment. “How can I?”

She runs to him and snakes her arms tightly around his waist and he swings her around. Max giggles like a child when he playfully ruffles her hair.

“Seriously, how can I?” she questions. “I’d really like to take an expert class on how to hate you.”

Billy chuckles. “You need money for school books?”

“No, Sis got me on that.”

“Of course she does,” Billy says, peering over at you. “You’re in good hands.”

You formally introduce your brother to Robin and Vicky but it’s an awkward ordeal. Can't expect your good friends to get along with the person whose choked you out on multiple occasions throughout most of your life. Slapped you around as well. Pulled your hair and tainted your body black and blue. Calls you "bitch" and "slut" wherever he sees fit. But still loves you with everything he's got. And you, him.

Trauma is a weird thing.

Billy didn’t intend to stay for long, so he sees himself out shortly after that.

“Alright, I’ll text you when I leave,” Billy announces. “Call me. Please. If you two need anything.”

“Okay,” you smile. “We’ll be sure to answer this time too whenever you call.”

Billy gives you a half-assed salute as he swings the door open. He nearly shifts himself backwards when an unexpected surprise greets him at the door.

Eddie.

Standing 5-foot-10 with a face full of contusions and cat-like scratches is your boss. Eddie cringes when he sees Billy, eliciting a similar reaction from your brother the moment they register each other.

The silence is deafening.

There’s an urge to pick up where they left off, but both men refrain from doing so for your sake. Billy stomps off, shaking his head without meeting Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie turns to you. Waits until Billy is out of earshot to speak.

“You’re right about your brother being a douche."

You laugh. Eddie gives you that puppy dog pout with his chocolate brown eyes. You want to forget about him so bad. You want to let him go. But your heart is yearning for more.

“Do you still hate me?”

“Kinda,” you shrug. “But less so by the minute.”

“I deserved that.”

You can’t help it anymore. Eddie tries his best not to wince when you fall into him, wrapping your arm around his waist and burying your head in his chest.

He rubs your back gently before ruffling your hair. Then he plants a gentle kiss onto your forehead. It launches you into squeezing him tighter.

“You okay?” he mumbles.

You nod into his chest and he strokes your hair, allowing you all the time you need to let you guard down.

“How long is he staying in town?”

“Forgot to ask,” you answer him honestly. “Probably not for long.”

“You should board up your windows just in case,” Eddie says half-jokingly. “Install a few more locks. Probably a few cameras.”

You tsk. “Okay, I don’t think I need to get that carried away.”

“Fine,” Eddie shrugs. “Of course I can always stay the night too.”

His fingers dance up the small of your back, causing you to inhale sharply out of arousal.

“Protect you a lil more…” he continues.

“Yeah I don’t think so, Munson,” Robin clears her throat, knowingly interrupting the sappy moment you’re sharing. “Movie night is for the girls only.”

“You know I can always leave it to you to cock-block, Buckley,” Eddie laughs. It’s a reminiscent one. “Thought your silhouette looked familiar at Hellfire.”

Your eyes dart between them both.

“You guys know each other?!”

“We all went to school together,” Vicky explains, coming back into sight as well. “The three of us were all in the same band class at one point.”

“Until ‘Dungeons’ over here thought he was too cool for us,” Robin adds. “And started his own band.”

“I was always a lil eccentric, wasn’t I?” Eddie winks. “Thanks for remembering. Though Corroded Coffin is all a distant memory now.”

“So that means you guys went to school with Steve too?” you direct your question towards Robin and Vicky.

Vicky raises an eyebrow. “Steve? Like… Steve Steve? Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?”

“You know King Steve?” Robin scoffs, completely baffled. She crosses her arms in amusement.

“Oh she knows King Steve,” Eddie smirks. “Knows him real well.”

“Jealous much?” you quip.

“I plead the fifth,” Eddie mutters.

“And I plead that we all know less and less about each other,” Max sighs. You almost forget that she’s there. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The girlfriends follow Max back into their room to continue with movie night. Now you’re left alone again with Eddie.

You stare up at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Just a couple ruffled feathers, I’ll be fine,” he dismisses your concern.

"You've got a great deal of damage control to do when we go back.”

“Eh,” Eddie shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time my business was in trouble.”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

“And for as long as you’re along for the ride? This probably won’t be my last.”

“Swinging at my estranged family members, my hero my hero,” you joke, finding yourself leaning into him further.

And then you kiss him. It's your first advance in a while that Eddie doesn't shy away from. He kisses you back, with an ignited passion that surpasses even the electricity from Saturday in his van. It's an aching, and a longing.

His lips interlace ever so comfortably with yours. He's missed you so. And you missed him too. Even when you were being irrationally jealous over Nina.

“Gettin’ me in so much trouble, Hargrove,” Eddie grazes your back as he slowly pulls away.

And your eyes can’t help but trail down to his hands. Knuckles bloody, fingers absent of any rings for once, tan lines on all but one special finger.

“Did you love Isabelle?”

Eddie stares at you like you’re insane.

"Of course I did,” he insists. “She was my wife. There were some warning signs that she was after my money though, but I was too stubborn to believe it was true.”

You nod.

"But now you know," Eddie grins in exhaustion. “Now you know why I’m guarded. Because like you, even Isabelle looked like a dream”. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he mumbles, “Too good to be true.”

Your heart shatters for him.

“You need to start saying what’s really on your mind,” you say to him. “Speaking up, asking for help. I’m tired of watching you fight battles alone.”

“Then don’t look,” Eddie jokes. One second later and he’s back to being serious. “It’s pretty hard to trust people when they prove to you time and time again why you shouldn’t.”

He steals some popcorn from your bowl, tossing it up into the air. It successfully lands in his mouth.

“Besides. I’ve come this far without anyone, but Wayne’s, help. And I turned out fine.”

You glare at him.

“Couple scrapes and bruises,” he continues, alluding to his scuffle with Billy. “But I’m fine.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Eddie offers you a look.

“What, you think I’m bluffing?”

“No,” the pitch in your voice heightens. “I just think…a healed person would let a little love in.”

Then those sad doe eyes meet you again, the kind of gaze that would cause anyone to go weak in the knees. You swallow hard.

“Please be patient with me,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m really trying.”

“I know you are,” you rub his arm. “We don’t have to rush into anything.”

You both lean into each other again, the need to have and be with each other a palpable energy between your torsos. You beam up at him as you run your fingers down his hair.

“I am ready for something though,” Eddie proposes. “I’d like to keep whatever this is going.”

“I’d like that too,” you heart begins to flutter.

You picture yourself grocery shopping at Meijer with Eddie. He’d push for you to buy desserts, but you’d remind him that he needs veggies in his life. You see yourselves going to the pumpkin patch as autumn approaches and taking goofy Polaroids by the scarecrows. And it’s like he’s already in front of you on Christmas, his tongue poking out slightly — like it always does when he’s deeply focused on something — as he fixates on making his gingerbread house a gingerbread home. And when the ball drops on New Year’s Eve, he is going to be your kiss, dipping you like the one sailor did with the nurse in that one iconic picture of the world war being over. And then you two would recreate that same pose when you take him back home to experience a San Diego summer.

A romance for the books.

“Just…sex and quickies all the time!” Eddie speaks, instantly yanking you out of your daydream. “Smoking together…asking each other about our day…cuddling, in the nude…”

Suddenly, Eddie’s cock-blocked himself with his fantasy that he revealed to you. The familiar tinge in your chest returns again.

“Oh…hooking up is what you meant,” you nod.

“Duh, what else?”

You swallow hard again. So now you know what this is all about. You know now what he really saw when he looked at you.

“So… just purely sex. I gotcha.”

“Whoa, don’t put it like that,” Eddie grimaces. “It sounds bad. We’ll get to the titles eventually, I just gotta dip my toes in first.”

“I don’t want you dipping any of you in anything,” you glare at him with disgust. “Sorry but for a while I thought you liked me for me.”

“I do, Shy Girl,” Eddie insists. “I’m just not ready for titles yet. We literally just got done talking about that.”

“Oh, but you wanna keep me around as a fuck doll, that’s it?”

“Don’t act like you don’t have needs yourself…” he protests.

“Yeah and Steve is meeting those needs,” you hiss. “The reason I’m bouncing between you guys is because Steve is my fuck buddy, but I’m willing to let him go if you want to be exclusive with me. Which I don’t get why you won’t call it exclusive if that’s theoretically the case.”

But should’ve known Eddie only saw you as a booty call. You two hang out at nighttime, flirt, and touch each other too often for that to not be a case. And, of course, when something else catches his eyes, Eddie moves on and simply pays you no mind.

“I thought you saw this going somewhere,” you scoff as you cross your arms. “Beyond a mattress and the back of your van.”

“I thought I saw this going somewhere too,” Eddie shrugs bitterly. “But now that you mention it, someone who is always questioning my intentions without letting me explain myself doesn’t deserve the title anyways.”

Could Eddie stomp on your heart any more?

Did he just expect you to wait around for him? Did he expect you to run around with ‘Reserved For Eddie’ while he decided how much of himself to give you on whatever day? None of it is fair. But Eddie doesn’t play fair. He just calls the shots, as always.

And to think the two of you would come to any sort of compromise tonight.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Hargr-”

“Good…night… Eddie.”

“The power you’re supplying… it’s electrifying.”

Defeated, you end up excusing yourself from the rest of movie night and lugging yourself to your room. Max is in the room too, a huge surprise considering John Travolta was metaphorically a room over.

“Oh she is cuuute,” Max raves.

She’s talking about the red lingerie set from Nocturna, you realize when you drag your feet into your room.

“Thanks,” you shrug sheepishly, taking the set back from jet. “Eddie bought it for me to wear actually.”

You take the set in your hands and smooth it out just a little. It’s such a pretty set. Now it’s just collecting dust, a shame because you loved how amazing you looked and felt in it.

“Why don’t you wear it to Hellfire?” Max suggests. “I’m sure Henry would love it if you did for his dance in a couple days.”

“You want me to wear it for Henry?” you scoff. “That’s a no. Eddie doesn’t wanna see me wearing that specific set for anyone else but him.”

“Hmmm,” Max thinks. “We’re talking about the same Eddie. Right? Eddie ‘Non-Committal’ Munson?”

You smirk. She smirks. Your sister is a genius.

If Eddie truly doesn’t want to commit to you and make you his, then there is no need for you to commit to him either.

And the DEVIL WOMAN set is clearly no exception. There’s no need for a hot outfit like that to go to waste.

“I’m picking up what you’re putting down…” you grin, a rather wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing grin.

Max rubs her evil little fingers together. “Figured you might.”

“TELL ME ABOUT IT!” you two hear Robin and Vicky yell from their room. “STUD!”

And ‘You’re The One That I Want’ starts blaring through the speakers.

Its a shame that you and Max were missing your favorite part of the entire movie. But you two have your own revenge plot in the works.

And you, you’ve got your own dance number to practice. A dance for the One that you want. In this case, it’s Henry.

“You better shape up because I need a man. And my heart is set on you.”

Oh Eddie…

Let the mental gymnastics begin.

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author's note: when eddie goes low, shy girl goes lower…. do you guys think eddie will be mad seeing shy girl dancing for henry in the red set he bought her? 🤔😈

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🏷️ tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxps i , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron

#Spotify #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things 5 #stranger things #eddie x reader #reader x Eddie

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peakyltd · 2 months

Text

Shadows

John Shelby x female reader

A/N: It's been a loooong long while but I'm back and actually wrote a little something, inspired by the gif below. I hope you guys like it!

Warnings: Angst, grief

Word count: 1242

The sun softly crept trough the window, projecting the shadows of the textured curtains of Johns’s old Watery Lane bedroom on both his and (Y/N)'s faces as they peeked trough the side of them. The streets were eerily quiet and the tension of the ongoing vendetta was palpable.

"How long have you been in here?" John asked while he kept his eyes on the street. "Since last night, orders of your brother." (Y/N) answered. "I'm not allowed to leave under any circumstances. Probably until they say it's safe." She sighed as her eyes fell on John's relaxed frame. His trousers were smoothly ironed, a white undershirt covered his upper body and his hair was neatly combed, a sight that she hadn't seen in a while. "I wonder if it ever will be." She added softly.

"You know he wouldn't do this for fun, love." John replied as he moved his eyes from the streets to meet hers. "Probably for the better, eh?" She shrugged at his question that somehow sounded more like a statement. "I'm not too sure about that."

They held each others gaze for a while until she looked down at the floor, resting her body against the wall. He had noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the stress laced into the beautiful features of her face and the sparkle that was still missing from her eyes. He stepped closer, reaching for her hand and pulling her into his chest, safely wrapping his arms around her back. “I got you, you know that.” He mumbled against her hair before he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. He felt her arms find their way around his waist while she let her head rest against his chest, a soft sigh escaping from her lips.

“I missed you so much.” She whispered, her hands resting on his back. He kept quiet for a moment, feeling a pang of sadness in his chest from her words. "I missed you too." He replied, the tip of his fingers running up and down her back. "I'm tired, John." She confessed quietly. “I know, darlin’ but you’ll get trough this. I know you will.” He tried to encourage her, trying to stay positive in a situation that seemed endless.

“Can you please tell me about your day?” She quietly asked, longing for something quite normal in their turbulent lives. “Well…” He started. “I went home because I hoped I’d find you there but I didn’t. Then went to visit Polly to ask her but she seemed too busy. After that I came here.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating trough his chest, making her feel at ease.

“I haven’t been home in a while.” She disclosed, her hands grabbing onto his shirt. “Couldn’t settle anymore.” She felt his fingers gently run trough her hair while he pressed another kiss on her head. “I’m so sorry.” A wave of guilt washed over him.

“No, please, you shouldn’t be sorry.” She assured him as she closed her eyes for a moment. He held her close while his eyes wandered around the room. Memories of the past years slowly entering his mind one by one. “Do you remember the time we were caught stealing from the bakery a few streets away?” He asked, trying to lighten up her mood. She lifted her head to look at him, a small smile visible on her lips. “Excuse me? We? It was you who did it and I got caught while I was innocent.” She chuckled softly, getting a grin back from John in response. “It was even worse when my parents found out.”

He chuckled. “Hadn’t seen you in weeks after that.” He remarked, a smirk on his face. “I just accepted my fate and didn’t want to snitch on you.” She smiled at him. “Ah see, that’s when I knew you were the one. The most loyal woman I've ever known.” He winked at her before pressing a soft kiss against her lips. She gently cupped his face in her hands as her eyes scanned his face.

A few minutes in silence went by until she spoke up. “Do you think this will end well?” She asked, bringing up the vendetta again. “Of course it will.” He spoke up, not too sure if it would but not wanting to fuel her worries more. “We will win.”

His words caused a cold shiver to run down her spine, she held his gaze before slowly shaking her head. “We’ve already lost.” Her voice was quiet, almost too scared to speak the words out loud. Her hands dropped down to hold onto his waist. John took a deep breath while he put a strand of hair behind her ear. “You did not. You have to keep going.” His soft blue eyes tried to assure her.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair, John. It could be anyone but they took you… like it was nothing.” She looked away, feeling the tears burning in her eyes but trying to blink them away. John grabbed both of her hands when he spoke up. “Look at me.” She bit her lip, trying to avoid his stare. "(Y/N)... look at me."

She looked up at him, her teary eyes reflected the sadness that had took over her body. "Listen love, people like us don’t get to decide when we’re done.” John confided calmly, knowing his fate was laid in somebody else's hands the very moment he decided to follow his brothers' footsteps.

“People like you? You're a good man John, you deserved better. You never belonged in this life.” Her voice trembled as she put her hand on his chest. “Your heart was way too good for that.” His eyes were locked on hers, not knowing what to say. "We were supposed to be happy. Together." She added as she felt a tear run down her cheek. She remembered how he bravely protected her when they attacked him, at their own home. Brave, fearless and strong, putting up a tough fight but it wasn't enough.

She remembered how she saw him fall, hit by bullet after bullet. She remembered the agonizing screams that left her mouth and the light that left his blue eyes. She did what she could but there was nothing that could've saved him.

“You have to remember that I’m always with you, even when you don’t see me.” He interrupted her thoughts while he gently cupped her cheek, slowly stroking her skin with his thumb. She sighed, the familiar touch giving her the feeling of security she so desperately needed. “Promise me that you keep going, yeah? Do the things you always wanted to do.” He gave her a smile. “It makes no sense doing them without you.” She quietly spoke.

“You’re not doing them without me.”

She wrapped her arms around him again, hiding her face in his chest as she took a deep breath. The feeling of his strong arms around her made her forget about the harsh reality for a moment. “I have to go.” He whispered. “Will I see you soon?” She wondered, slightly hopeful. He was quiet for a moment, a bit unsure of what to say. “You will.”

She slowly let go of him, taking in the sight of him again. “Wait for, me, will you?” A small smile appeared on his face. “I will, love. I promise.”

Tagging some people who might like it, obviously no pressure to read it if it's not your cup of tea! @brummiereader @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings @zablife @emotionalcadaver @runnning-outof-time @raincoffeeandfandoms

#john shelby one shot #john shelby blurb #john shelby fic #john shelby x reader #john shelby #peaky blinders one shot #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fic

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dancingtotuyo · 1 month

Text

8. a cry of my heart to see

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Tragedy strikes Jackson

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: blood, medical care (probably bad I'm not a doctor tried to keep it brief and vague), Character Death, loss, grief, funeral, smut, P I V, cream pie, Oral sex (F receiving)

Notes: Shout out to my girl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for the beta read!

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3273

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT OR READ.

One Year Later

He’s been out on patrol for days. They’re widening the perimeter and he’s on the initial team to do so. It’s nerve-wracking. You’re losing sleep.

Maria tries to assure you they’re fine. No news is good news, but it falls on deaf ears. Her husband isn’t out there in unexplored areas. Joel is. Tommy tries to hide his worry. Despite both their assurances, you know they’re concerned. It’s risky.

For the most part, life goes on. Ellie has been staying in your guest room since Joel left. You thought she would look forward to having the house to herself, not that Joel doesn’t already spend the majority of nights at your house. You wonder if she fears the same thing you do.

They’re supposed to be back in a week, but day 8 passes without sign of them.

On the ninth day, one of the gate watchmen barrels into the clinic, causing you to knock over an entire bin of instruments you had just boiled. His eyes are wide, skin pale causing your stomach to drop.

“What is it?”

“We just spotted them about a mile out. They’re down a rider. Another looks pretty banged up, can barely sit up in the saddle.”

"Who?” You fight the urge to vomit.

“We don’t know.”

“Go get Pooley.” The panic is setting in. You can’t do this. You can’t go into concerned girlfriend mode. Is that what you are? It doesn’t sound quite right. No, you need to be the medical professional you were taught to be. Calm, cool, collected like the professional you were on the UT Trauma team.

The man nods, rushing out of the clinic. You look around, pulling out everything you might need for easy access. You don’t know if he was mulled or shot or something else. This is hardly the first time something like this happened, but it’s the first time you haven’t been able to focus.

It’s silly in hindsight, but you never worried quite like this over Gabe. He always promised to come back. He seemed so confident that he would that you’d bought into his confidence, and he always did until he didn’t.

Once you’re convinced you’re set up enough to take care of the incoming injured, your feet carry you out toward the gate. It’s beautiful out today. The sun shines. Birds chirp and bees buzz. The kids play tag in the apple orchard, but it all feels like a bad dream like the world is moving in slow motion. There’s a ringing in your ears.

The gate is just opening as the group draws closer. A small crowd has already formed, mostly the families of those sent out. You’re too far away to see out of the gate so you have to wait for them to file in.

The first rider comes in. It’s not Joel. You can feel your grip on reality fading. You’re trying to stay. You have a job to do. Maria appears next to you as the second rider crosses in. She tugs you closer to the chaos, through the families waiting with bated breath. Two more. Not Joel. She brings you next to Dr. Pooley who waits ready to spring into action. People make room around you so you can tend to the injured as soon as they come in.

Another pair cross into safety. John Lacy holds the reins of Adam Perkin’s horse as Adam hunches over in the saddle looking closer to death than life. John has them next to you within seconds, spewing the story of his injury to you and the doctor. You can’t pay attention, going on your tiptoes to catch sight of the last rider, but the horses block your view. The gate is closing now.

“Maria?” You look at her in desperation, pulled between the need to help and get status on Joel.

She gives you a nod and dashes off to investigate further.

Adam half rolls out of the saddle, in and out of consciousness before several strong sets of arms aid him to the ground.

“Someone get the gurney!” A voice calls out as you fall to your knees beside the man. It’s your voice. Your body is taking over, but your brain is still elsewhere. The ringing in your ears grows louder. “Someone tell me what we’re looking at!” Your shaking hands rip the stained flannel and undershirt. They're already rags anyway.

“Took a knife to the gut two days ago. Closed it up but it got infected and reopened on the way back,” John reports.

“And you didn’t stop to close it back up?” You yell.

“We had to drop the med bag.”

You groan in frustration. Dr. Pooley takes vital signs. Even in the haze you notice the signs that he’s over concentrating. His lips move to count Adams BPM and then he stops and starts over.

“What do you have for me, Doc?” You’re desperate for help. Desperate for the old man to be able to do his job, but you see it in his face. He’s about to admit what you’ve assumed for months.

“I don’t know,” he looks as lost as you feel right now, drowning in the panic of his own mortality. His own brain ceasing to work. You’ve seen the signs of dementia for months, and now the moment you need his help the most, he can’t think straight. You need his brain. You need to talk through this.

“Gurney!” Someone yells, pushing toward you with the homemade gurney. It’s more of a litter you’d find in a medieval era movie, but it does the trick.

They slam it to the ground, you don’t even have to let out the instructions before someone is counting and Adam is moved onto the stretcher. “Carefully!” You keep pressure on his wound, it’s definitely bleeding again. They must’ve missed something or it’s been bleeding internally all this time. Damnit!

You’re almost to the clinic when you hear it, a life preserver in the raging ocean, Ellie’s voice. “JOEL!”

You turn to see her arms wrapped around his midsection, holding her as tight as she does to him. His eyes flicker to yours, and it’s like you snap back into your body with a thud, your mind crisp and clear. He smiles weakly your way and you can breathe again.

You’re not sure how long it takes you. You’re pretty sure you’ve technically just performed a surgery you were in the room for once as a nurse 22 years ago. You probably missed most of the steps, but you know it was Adam’s only hope. Joyce Dobbins comes in with a poultice that’s supposed to help fight infection and “doctors him right up” as she likes to say. You don’t know enough to have an opinion. She’s the herbalist.

You shower at the clinic, bones weary and eyelids drooping. Joyce knows enough to monitor him over night as does Rachel, Adam’s wife.

You stumble home, the days events replaying on repeat in your head. The multiple times you thought you were going to lose Adam yet he somehow never faded. Lindsey’s never ending sobs from the backroom as she mourned Paul, you delivered their baby three years ago. Joel standing there giving you exactly what you needed so you could save a friend.

Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore the dangers of the outside world while tucked within the walls of Jackson, your slice of normal in the world. Tonight is not one of them.

You stumble up the porch stairs, anything but graceful as you cross the threshold. The house is quiet- no, peaceful. It’s an odd feeling compared to your raging mind. The house is clean, spotless. The orange glow of your living room lamp and the kitchen light warm you. Rumours spins in the corner, halfway through Songbird. You catch Joel in the kitchen wiping down the countertops. Your tea kettle whistles softly as he turns off the gas stove.

“Joel…” your voice is hoarse. He spins around. He doesn’t smile, only walks toward you, pulling your limp frame into his as soon as he can. “I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too, Sweetheart.” His face burrows into the crook of your neck.

“I thought…” you can’t finish the sentence without tears falling down your cheeks. He rocks you both softly.

“Shhh, I know. I know.”

He kisses your head softly and then your lips. As much as you want to fall into bed, he forces you to eat something, drink the tea he’s brewed for you. You can barely sit upright, but you eat and drink and finally, he guides you upstairs, tucks you into bed, and curls up behind you. You fall asleep before he starts whispering sweet reassurances in your ear.

You pull yourself out of bed earlier than you should. You have to go check in on Adam at the clinic. No news is good news. Anytime you’re not dragged out of bed after a day like yesterday, it’s a good thing.

He’s not conscious but his fever is lower than it was when you left and that eases your worries some. Rachel doesn’t leave his bedside.

Lindsey is in the backroom as they re- wrap Paul’s body. They’ll bury him today. He’s already been dead for three days. You take Lindsey’s hand without a word, standing solemn next to her.

A hot tear marks your cheek as you watch Maria and Joyce diligently work. You were never awarded this luxury, could never gaze upon Gabe’s face one last time. Didn’t get to say goodbye.

He has a tombstone in the cemetery. You don’t visit it often. He’s not there, his ashes spread to the wind now, rolling over the earth like invisible tumbleweeds. He probably likes that better anyway.

The funeral is short, but all of Jackson crowds around for the service, to bury their fallen friend. Joel holds you close, arm wrapped around your waist. You lean heavy against him, gaining all your support from his frame. Carter and Ellie sit on the ground in front of you.

When it’s time to lower Paul into the ground, Joel makes sure you’re steady on your feet before joining the rest of the patrol group. Adam is still unconscious in the clinic. They lower his body to the ground with precision that is too practiced. You wonder if he’s thinking of her, how he had to leave her body behind. He calls out her name at night sometimes. You know he’s reliving the night Sarah died.

Lindsey’s cries start to pick up again. You slide onto the bench beside her, squeezing her hand tightly. Grace sits opposite you and Elaine stands behind. You don’t know Lindsey that well, but she’s joined your ranks now. Other women who have lost spouses close in around the grieving woman, a moment of solidarity. It’s a group that’s too large for your liking, too many lives taken.

Joel holds your hand on the walk home. You keep walking, taking your path earlier than normal. You don’t speak, too many memories in your mind, too many emotions flooding your heart.

You stop in at the clinic. Adam is in and out of consciousness. Joyce is giving him something for the pain.

You cut your walk short, just one lap tonight. There’s a note on the door. Carter is at Maria and Tommy’s for a sleepover. You sigh in relief, thankful to not have to worry about another human being tonight.

Joel helps you out of your shoes. He helps you upstairs. His hands move slowly over you, half roaming, half massaging your weary muscles. He follows your collarbone and shucks the cardigan from your shoulders, frees you from your jeans leaving you in nothing but a tank top. It’s one of the few times his eyes don’t immediately land on your exposed crotch. He can’t help but chuckle at your commitment to not wearing underwear.

Fingers delve into your tight calves. You let out a soft moan as you fall back into the mattress, sheets cool against your skin.

Your eyes close, relishing in the feeling of him. This is the first real chance you’ve had to spend together since he got back. There’s nothing inherently sensual to his movements and the way he touches you, but your body heats in response, craving the connection, the assurance.

The air shifts as your breath hitches. His fingers crawl up your legs leaving tiny trails of fire as he presses a kiss to each of your calves. Desire begins to burn in your body, slow and hot. “Joel…” You moan, legs falling open.

“I know, Sweetheart,” He feels it too, voice low and thick as his eyes darken. “I know.”

Your hands tangle in his curls as he takes his time covering your thighs in kisses, swiping his tongue over your skin from time to time. “I’m here,” he says again. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

There’s no rush to the finish line, neither of you have the energy for that tonight. It’s slow, languid like a hike up a steep cliff as his mouth slowly greets your slick cunt, his tongue runs through your folds at a steady pace over and over and over and over. He’s pulling you closer to the edge, taking his time until finally, you cry out arching into his mouth, spilling more of yourself onto his tongue.

He pulls away, chin glistening in your soft bedroom light, proud smile on his lips. “That’s my girl.”

You whimper in response, hands traveling up his forearms. His calloused palms roam over your thighs and hip, fingers drawing soft patterns across your skin.

Leading with his lips, he makes his way up your sternum. Not a drop of urgency in his body, he eases up your tank top. It’s like he has all the time in the world. You wish for all the time in the world as long as you get to spend it with him.

Finally, his lips meet yours. You taste yourself on his lips as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands wander his shoulder and neck, your fingers glide through his hair again. Nails rake down his back. At some point he shed his shirt and pants, leaving him bare against you.

“Lay on your back,” you say.

He pulls back slowly, eyebrows raised. “What are you thinking about?”

“Having you on your back.”

He chuckles, warm arms wrapping around your middle as he rolls over. You brace yourself on your knees. His hard cock presses against your thigh. You run it through your folds. Joel lets out a soft moan as his eyes glaze with lust. “Fuck, Sweetheart. Let me in there.”

“Patience,” you chide, but have no intention of keeping him waiting for long.

You nudge his dick against your clit, sending sparks through your veins until you center your opening over him. He holds your hips as you slowly sink onto him. You stretch around him, filling you so completely. Once you’ve taken him to the hilt, you sit there, eyes focused on each other exchanging soft pants.

Your cunt clenches around him, pulling moans from both of you, but you don’t move, hands finding purchase against his soft stomach, thumb running through his dark happy trail. The two of you bask in the feeling of your skin against the other’s, desperate for the certainty that you’re alive and breathing, that the blur you’re living in is reality and you still have each other.

He cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your teeth scrape against it. Then you lift up just a little bit, keeping him mostly inside you before you sink back down. You keep the slow pace as you ease up and down, increasing the distance a little more each time.

Joel’s eyes never move from you, sometimes meeting yours and other times appreciating your naked form above him. His hand trails down your torso, finding the wet heat of your core. He finds your clit with the precision only granted by his familiarity with your body. He has you memorized, every single inch of you.

You let out a sharp gasp when he touches you. He holds his thumb steady against you, letting your movements drag his thumb across your clit. You clench around him and he groans. Up and down, your hands perched on his hairy chest, nails biting into his pecs.

As you draw nearer to the peak, Joel starts to meet you, hitting a different angle inside of you. You let out a long moan, head tipping backward. Then you reach the crest, cunt milking his cock, coming undone on top of him.

Sweat beads along Joel's forehead as your dripping pussy flutters around him. He’s not far behind you, filling you with his spend. The feel of him inside you, coating you, causes another breathy moan to leave your lips.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” He pants, pulling you down beside him, sweaty skin flush against his.

You smile softly at him, brushing the curl in front of his forehead back. He kisses your palm. You should feel guilty for enjoying Joel’s comforts, his warm skin against yours when Lindsey lays in an empty bed across the way, but all you feel is relief. You’re grateful to be spared heartache for once.

Eventually, Joel rolls out of bed, returning with a warm washcloth to clean up the mess he left behind. You’ve pulled on his white tshirt. You don’t say a word, just stare at him in the lamp light. He’s beautiful, a gentle giant, and he’s yours.

When he crawls back beside you, he looks at you like he reads every thought in your mind, kisses your forehead, and turns out the lamp. You turn on your side. He spoons you, arm thrown over your waist.

His soft snores start to play in your ears. The crease in his forehead is nonexistent with sleep as you look over your shoulder. Then, it hits you. You’re happy here with him despite the last 48 hours. It feels wrong, like you cheated death. You just hope it doesn’t come back to collect double, but you’re so damn happy. Joel Miller has permeated every single fiber of your being.

You’ve known this, but now, you accept it. Your muscles tense with it. It’s not enough to send you spiraling by any means, but you fought it for so long, you’re not sure how to proceed. You could tell him now, wake him up and finally let the words slip off your tongue. More tension gathers between your shoulders.

Joel mumbles, tightening his grip around you as he pulls you flush against him. He kisses your shoulder.

“Don’t start with that.” Sleep coats his voice. You wonder how he’s so in tune with you even in sleep he can feel the tension.

“Don’t think it works like that.”

He hums, squeezing you again. His lips press between your shoulder blades, beard brushing against your skin sweeping the tension away, pulling the thoughts from your head.

He chuckles as you sink into him. “You sure about that.”

You reach behind you. Your nails rake over his thigh, just above his knee until you find your target. You pluck one of his leg hairs with a practiced precision.

“Ow! Not nice!”

You laugh, burrowing into your pillow. “Go to sleep, old man.”

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” He kisses your cheek, holding you so close your brain can’t think of anything but his solid frame at your back.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller hbo #tlou #pedro stories #pedrostories #woman (joel's version)#woman (joel miller)

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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hi love! for modern au could I please request modern!eddie dinner/movie date where r and eddie see a horror movie and r getting super scared and spending most of the movie hiding her face in eddies chest?

“This completely defeats the purpose, y’know,” Eddie whispered to you, his breath warm in your ear. You shivered despite the anxiety clawing at your chest, ‘cause the lights had lowered after the trailers had finished and an unsettling film score had started creeping through the speakers.

You’d immediately turned to the boy beside you, face in his chest as you took quick peeks at the screen, trying to work out if the opening credits were already too much for you to handle.

You frowned at him, pouting despite the mouthful of popcorn you’d shoved past your lips. “I told you,” you hissed back, wary of the surrounding audience already glaring at you. “I don’t mind a horror film, but this is like, big leagues.”

Eddie snorted, grinning at you when your grip on the front of his hoodie tightened as the title flashed across the screen, dripping and oozing red in a typical eighties horror tribute.

‘Evil Dead Rise.’

He managed to prise your fingers from the material, bringing your hand to his mouth to press a kiss over your knuckles. He kept it in his, his own fingers soothing over your own, pulling softly until he felt you wilt a little under his touch.

“What’s your level, babe? Gremlins? Scary Movie?”

Eddie was joking but you side eyed him, cheeks warming as you whispered, “look, the Exorcist scene in Scary Movie 2 was just as traumatising as the real thing, alright?”

Eddie smothered another laugh, rolling his eyes when someone in front of you both huffed in annoyance. He mined the threat of launching some popcorn at them, but he was distracted when a jarring screech from the movie made you jump. Your hand was a vice around his.

“Baby,” Eddie soothed. “You shouldn’t have said you’d come if you didn’t wanna see it.” He felt bad, taking in your stricken expression, eyes wide and now glued to the screen as if you couldn’t look away.

“I wanted to spend time with you,” you replied sweetly and well, didn’t that make Eddie feel even fucking worse? “You went to the cinema with the guys last week to see that Joe Quick thing-”

“John Wick,” Eddie corrected but he was smiling, amused.

“-so it’s my turn for date night,” you whispered and Eddie could hear the pout in your tone. “Not Steve’s. Or Dustin’s.”

“You get all my date nights, sweetheart,” the boy assured you and secretly, he was a little pleased at how you jumped when the theatre gasped, another shrill spike of music making you tug him closer. “You okay?”

Your face was against his neck, lips brushing the skin there when you hummed what he thought was a hesitant sound agreement.

In typical fashion, it didn’t take long for the movie to be kicked into high gear and by the end of the first hour, you’d never been more glad to be late to a showing, with the only seats left up the back. You were practically on your boyfriend's lap, back pressed to the cinema wall as you curled into him, feet pressed onto the seat between his thighs and your hands gripped his sweater, the collar of his denim jacket.

“Babe,” Eddie whispered, a fond smile on his lips. “Baby?”

You made a sound, questioning, but you didn’t move from where you’d tucked yourself into Eddie’s shoulder, eyes definitely not looking at the screen. There was a woman crawling along the ceiling and that shit just wasn’t for you.

“You wanna leave? We can leave, I don’t mind.”

And you knew Eddie was telling the truth. He truly wouldn’t have minded, seeing as it was you. But he’d been waiting an age for the film to release and he’d looked forward to it all week. So you shook your head and mumbled a small, “I’m fine.”

You weren’t fine, there was something going on with a cheese grater and a possessed woman and you weren’t down for that. Eddie waited a beat or two, bit down on his lip to hold back his laughter when someone on screen screeched and you wriggled your way even closer in response. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, double the speed of his own.

“We can go home after and watch whatever you want, alright?” He promised, sneaking a hand up the back of your T-shirt, warm, wide circles drawn over your skin in an attempt at comfort.

He felt you nod. “We’re watching New Moon.” He groaned. “And Eclipse. With the lights on. All night,” you added for good measure.

And who was he to say no to you?

…

#Eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson oneshot #Eddie munson blurb #eddie baby blurb

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lostloveletters · 7 days

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I Left My Heart in San Francisco (John Brady x OC)

Summary: John's heart feels a thousand miles and just as many memories away in Stalag Luft III.

Note: Title comes from the song, of course (you don’t have to listen to it while reading, but I listened to it while writing this). Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff and angst, mostly introspective. Somewhat non-linear narrative, I guess.

“I won’t get any good if I don’t practice,” John insisted.

Woody smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “Alright, but you watch that pipe of yours. If I smell burning hair—“

He grinned, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You won’t, sweetheart, I promise.”

Woody braided her hair first thing in the morning, after hastily raking her fingers through it, tugging out any knots that formed overnight. By the heat of the afternoon, enough hair would come loose and stick to her sweaty skin that she’d have to redo her handiwork, already knowing to anticipate the black streaks of grease she’d have to scrub out of it at the end of each day.

Sometimes Holly would be around to give her an intricate and sturdy French braid, able to withstand sweat and hard work. But John had never braided hair before he asked to do hers one evening, and then with increasing frequency as time went on, desperately needing something to lose himself in.

She sat between his legs, still and patient as he ran his fingers through her wavy hair. He parted it in two sections, letting the waterfall of blonde flow down one of her shoulders while he gathered the rest of her hair, silken to the touch compared to the standard blankets and bedsheets they were issued.

A shiver ran down her spine when his fingers gently brushed the nape of her neck.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’re fine, honey.” Her voice was soft, almost a low purr that echoed in his ears. He couldn’t remember another time when she called him honey. Usually just Johnny, which sounded wrong coming from other people, even jokingly, since it became hers, but he wasn’t sure how to tell her he liked honey too.

He carefully layered one thick strand of hair over the other until he finished a braid on one side. Looked good, but he knew at a glance he could do better. Woody braided her hair for utility, not just to look pretty, which was a bonus in his opinion, but not her priority.

He puffed on his pipe, shaking his head before setting it aside. “They’re not even. I’m gonna try again.”

“Go ahead, Johnny.”

John stroked her hair, thinking about how he wished they had met under different—better circumstances, where she wasn’t under constant threat of losing him. He used to figure that there was a proper way to get to a woman’s heart, the way god intended, or so he’d been told: meet a nice young lady, ask her father for permission to take her out on a date, get to know each other, bring her home on time. Rinse and repeat while trying not to get too handsy before getting a ring involved.

Then the war happened.

Then Woody happened, who probably wouldn’t have described herself as a nice young lady in the first place. No father to ask permission to take her out on a date. He wasn’t quite sure they actually saved anything for marriage (besides the having kids part, thankfully). He figured god would be flexible, all things considered.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“There’s a knot,” he mumbled, brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully pulled at strands of hair to free them from each other.

“When I was a kid, if I had a really bad knot I couldn’t get out myself, I’d just cut it with some kitchen scissors. My hair probably looked awful.”

He almost instinctively asked why she didn’t ask her mom to brush it out, but felt the slightest bit of rage burn in his chest when he caught himself and remembered. “I care enough about you to do this right.”

“You’re also pretty good with your hands.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I know so,” she said, “and thank you for always being attentive.”

“Are we still talking about your hair?”

“Oh, of course.”

He snickered, working on braiding her hair again. “Of course.”

Neither of them spoke of the future very much, but he knew he wanted one with her. Just wasn’t sure how to go about the discussion without scaring her off, if she’d even be open to settling down. Settling. The word weighed heavy in his mind. While Woody claimed no nostalgia for her native city, a sad fondness laced her voice when she spoke of it, of the excitement and freedom San Francisco had offered her when she needed those things most. Sometimes John wondered if Ithaca would be enough, if he would be enough when all was said and done.

He swallowed roughly. “Take a look and tell me what you think. Be as brutally honest as you need to be. I can take it.”

Woody half-turned to him, an amused smile spreading across her face. Made him feel like he was being let in on a secret the way her smile sometimes did. “You could make my hair look like a bird’s nest and I wouldn’t tell you.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before getting up. He followed, almost nervous as she inspected her appearance in the small mirror sitting nearby. She beamed at her reflection, turning excitedly to him. “Johnny, it’s perfect.”

She stood on her toes to kiss him, deep and real, the kind that made any lingering doubts dissolve. Her lips were soft, as if she put on lip balm before he got there. Everything about her was soft, except for her hands, always rough and calloused, but something would be wrong if he felt a smooth palm cradling his jaw, or gliding across the expanse of his shoulders, down his back to cling to him. But he was clothed. Or he thought he was. Lost himself for a moment before he found the sound of her voice again.

“Before I forget—” She slipped her hand into one of her pockets. “Here, I want you to have this. I don’t really have any other photos of me, but I wrote a little note on the back of it for you,” she said. Her cheeks flushed, eyes flicking away from him for a moment. “Just so, um, you know it’s yours.”

He smiled at being handed the photo, a little shadowy and out of focus, but her nevertheless. To Johnny, all my love and more, your sweetheart, Woody. She had drawn a little heart next to his name, Xs and Os after hers. “You look beautiful. Thank you, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of his nose brushing against her skin. “I’ll keep it with me.”

And he did. All the way to Stalag Luft III. Looked at the photo and tried to remember the feeling of her hair between his fingers.

He nearly tore Hambone a new one for taking the photo from his hands without asking, not that he would have let him touch it in the first place even if he had. While far from salacious, having other eyes besides his own on Woody’s photo felt almost sacrilegious. After all, he kept it in the same pocket as the St. Christopher card his mother had given him before he left for basic, its laminated corners curled from his incessant toying with it for reassurance. He hardly looked at it since they bailed. Patron saint of travelers. Some good St. Chris did him.

Buck stepped in and got John his photo back before the situation could escalate further. But the cat was out of the bag. As if it even mattered then, anyway. He did take some pride in everyone’s shock at him and Woody managing to keep their relationship under wraps for nearly four months.

He didn’t expect it to come up again, but he wasn’t exactly expecting Bucky to be alive either. In the midst of Bucky's bittersweet reunion with the other members of the 100th who’d been taken prisoner by the Germans, it was mentioned among the updates everyone was clamoring to give him after he relayed what he could muster of how he survived and ended up there.

Hardly relevant, but Bucky fixated on it after John let one small detail slip out.

“You and Woody? How the hell did I not know this?” Bucky asked.

“No one knew, except for Holly,” he said.

“Holly knew?”

“It wasn’t my idea, but Woody tells her everything. Told her about us the night you two made the bet on that baseball game.”

“That was back in June!" Bucky exclaimed, a strange combination of disbelief and slight betrayal that felt almost out of place compared to everything else going on. "She’s known for four months and didn't tell me?”

“Woody swore her to secrecy or something.”

Bucky shook his head. “You sly dog. Under everyone’s noses…” Clapped him proudly on the shoulder. “Good on you, buddy.”

John smiled. “Thanks, Bucky.”

“Don’t expect any details,” Murph mumbled.

“I’m not telling any of you about my sex life.”

“But there was one?” Bucky asked.

He sighed, resisting the urge to glare at his friend, who up until a few hours prior, he wasn’t even sure was still alive. “We didn’t sneak around for four months just to hold hands.”

Even if that was all they’d done, his relationship with Woody wouldn’t have been any less important to him. Still, it was nice to have actual experiences to pull from, build fantasies that could get him through some of the lonelier nights when he wished he were with her, just about anywhere in the world but Stalag Luft III. The four months that were all theirs became his lifeline.

Four months. Maybe that was long enough for him to ask her to marry him. After writing to his family, that’d be his first order of business. Woody already had his heart, so he’d promise her everything else on top of that he could think of. Let her point anywhere on a map and take her there on a month-long honeymoon. Move all the way out to San Francisco with her. If she said ‘no’ or sent the letter back unopened, at least he could say he tried.

He laid back on his bunk that night, doing his best to ignore the shouting outside. Like the night guards did it on purpose to keep them exhausted. Closed his eyes. Kept her photo pressed against his chest. Tried to remember what her hair felt like between his fingers. Silk compared to the threadbare blankets the Germans gave them for the rapidly approaching winter.

“I won’t get any good if I don’t practice,” he insisted.

She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “Alright, but you watch that pipe of yours. If I smell burning hair—“

He grinned, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You won’t, sweetheart, I promise.”

#john brady x oc #john brady #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air #mota x oc #mota #mota fanfic #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #hbo war x oc #ch: woody

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daisyblinder · 1 year

Text

Bread/Thomas Shelby x fem!reader

🦚 Summary: Misunderstandings cause issues with new lovers. Johnny’s misunderstandings.

🦚 Warnings: Cursing

”Ada, bring the cookies”, Polly orders. Polly, Ada and Y/n were setting up the food for little Finn’s 11th birthday. The boys were in charge of keeping Finn busy and decorating the house as much as possible.

With quick steps, Y/n comes into the kitchen holding a big steel pitcher. ”We need to save as much of this as we can for Finn, he is the birthday boy. Katie and James were already trying to get their share”, she says putting the pitcher on the table.

Soon enough, their small cake, some cookies and sandwiches were set on the table, tea was prepared and juice was poured into five small glasses.

”I need to get going, say my love to Finn”, Y/n says and goes to take her coat from the back of a chair.

Polly and Ada share knowing smiles. The older woman goes to stand behind Y/n, takes a hold of her coat and brings her arms out of it again.

”You cannot avoid Tommy forever darling, you’ll have to look him in the eye someday”, she teases. Y/n fights a blush and shakes her head.

”I would rather drink whatever poison Johnny and Arthur can come up with when left unsupervised with alcohol”, She groans her cheeks already heating up from thinking of the infamous Thomas Shelby.

”Why, sweetheart, I think that is quite rude don’t you think”, deep voice causes shivers to travel across her spine as she feels her face getting even more hot under her skin. ”Johnny and Arthur took Finn swimming, they’ll be here soon”

”Oh goodness, where is the rest of the bread?”, Ada gasps mock distressed. ”Oh Tommy, Y/n please go pick up some bread fast. Henry is still so small, he can’t have the sandwiches, he needs some bare bread so he won’t become a monster at the table”

”I can go alone, I’m sure Tommy would like to rest his legs after such a fast morning”, Y/n tries. Thomas on the other hand is seemingly very happy with torturing her.

”Actually sweetheart, I don’t. Let’s get a move on, eh”, he smirks winking at Polly as he takes Y/n’s jacket from her hands. ”My lady”, he offers as he holds the coat for her to put on.

”Thank you”, Y/n grumbles and swiftly makes her way out of the door. Polly gives a big wink at Ada who giggles and runs to look out of the window at the pair going out.

”You’ve been avoiding me”, Tommy starts with a cigarette between his lips, speeding his walk to match the speed of the woman in front of him.

Y/n does not answer him, she only continues to stare down at her shoes as she walks towards the bakery. How dare he

Tommy sighs at her silence. ”Alright, what the fuck have I done?”, he asks exasperated. He still gets no answer, but when he starts hearing sniffling, his heart speeds up.

”What happened in Garrison, in the snug-”

”Nothing happened, Tommy”

”Well something clearly did”, he snaps not in the mood for games. ”Come on”, he takes a hold of her arm and drags her to an alley pressing her back against the wall. ”Talk”

Y/n sniffles a little as she tries to come up with the right words. ”I though that the words and the touches in the snug meant something, the things you said walking me home but no. I woke up, hearing the words of how you had had Lizzie Stark that night. In the snug”, she groans realizing how desperate she sounded.

Tommy’s brows raise to his hairline as a wide smile spreads to his face. His eyes looking all too boyish for a moment.

”Stop smirking you smug bastard, I was just another notch in your belt”, Y/n snaps eyes stinging and slaps the grinning man’s chest. Tommy catches her hand with ease and let’s out a chuckle.

”So this is what this is about? John fucking Lizzie Stark?”, he confirms causing Y/n to snap her eyes to his. Her mouth falls agape as she waits for him to continue.

”You see, Johnny did in fact enjoy her services that night. I did not. Though she did sit on our table for a hot minute after I walked you home”, Tommy purses his face in faux concentration as he recalls the night.

”What I can attest to and what Arthur and Aunt Polly can prove; is that Arthur and I carried our John-boy home, after he had his fair share of fun. Then the two of us went to the betting shop, drank another bottle of whiskey, and passed out under Arthur’s desk”

Y/n narrows her eyes to look for the lie but Tommy looks back at her with a soft relaxed smile. ”So what happened between us was not just a game? I-I’m not just a game to you?”, she confirms softly, hating her own frailty.

”I don’t play games with you, sweetheart. What almost happened in the snug was not a game. You dumb bastard are still just too gullible to the old hags”, he jokes though his face remains serious.

Y/n’s nose wrinkles as she looks at him ’offended’. ”You are a real stinker you know that right?”, she decides making Tommy’s mouth fall open.

”And what have I done? Didn’t I just prove my innocence to you?”, he asks pointing a finger right at her face. Y/n lets out a laugh and playfully kisses the finger. Tommy taps the finger gently to her nose before giving the spot a small kiss.

“So am I forgiven? Can we continue from the goodnight kiss and forget all this John mess?”

“I’d like that”, she whispers with starry eyes. Both of them look at each other with light amused smiles as the tension between them switches from anger to something else.

”Let’s go get the bread”, Y/n whispers breaking the silence between them. Tommy shakes her head.

”One more thing”, he whispers before bringing a hand into her hair, drowning her questions with his lips.

#peaky blinders #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #fluff #thomas shelby fluff #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby

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padfootdaredmetoo · 2 years

Note

Hey 👋 I’m not too sure if your doing requests( if not completely ignore this it’s fine:)) but I was requesting a peaky blinders one-shot where reader is like an orphan and lives in an orphanage and tommy the philanthropist he is goes down to the orphanage with Polly,John,Arthur,and Ada and whoever else you want and they see reader going at it with on of the sisters. You could choose the conflict or their argument but yeah, if you could draw the reader as someone who’s quick and sarcastic with their words like a speak before thinking type of person you know. Also can this be like a tommy Shelby x daughter!reader kinda like a found family kind of trope. Sweet kisses love your stories❤️

Dear Anon,

I hope this does it justice!! I changed a few things because I felt like it fit the story better (I hope that's alright) but there is lots of family stuff. And lots of Lizzie and Tommy - not something I have ever written before so hopefully that's also alright. Sweet kisses back to you love, thank you for this wonderful idea!!!

Warnings: peaky type stuff, religious language? Implied that a priest was going to assault the reader, bad words, not descriptive death of parents, mentioned death of a baby, grief, so much sweetness and hurt comfort and hopefully laughs. I promise it's not as dark or sad as it sounds. Also some Grace bashing / group hate.

Word count: 6606 - may have gotten carried away...

Part 2

Tommy watched Lizzie closely as they approached the large building. According to his sources it housed around a hundred and fifty children, the building was large but it didn't seem that large.

It was gray and rainy, much like every day. The dark dampness didn’t bother him as it had seeped into his bones and made a home long ago. At this point, he was convinced that the sunlight would simply cause him to turn to ashes if it ever reached his skin.

Lizzie looked nervous but that was expected, he felt beyond nervous. Suddenly hoping she would change her mind altogether. Children were overrated, he would know having raised Finn and half of John's kids. But after her she lost the baby, he would do anything to bring some happiness to her. He knew he wasn't the best husband, but he was trying to do better every day.

Walking up the steps a voice in his mind started to remind him that he would only be bringing this baby into a world of danger and horror. Only going to ruin them so no God would allow them refuge. He pushed them down as best he could, reaching out to hold Lizzie’s hand. She looked taken back at the gesture, another thing wrong with them. Wrong with the situation.

They were escorted in to look at the babies. They were just as expected, plump, cute, and small. Tommy tried not to look at them too close, no point in getting attached. Lizzie would pick a baby, and he would attempt to be a good father.

He hated that he knew what it felt like to reach out for parents that were not there to hold you. He was sulking when a commotion caught his attention.

“For Fucks sakes woman! ” A girl shouted.

“You listen here. Father Stryker is a noble member of this community and organization. You will do what he asks of you.” A woman responded in a cold tone.

“We both know that’s not what God would want you old bat.” The girl snapped back and he held back a smile.

“Now you listen here, we do not know what God wants, that’s not our place. He has a way -”

“No, he sure as hell doesn't. God would NEVER.” The girl demanded. “I thought God was in all of us, and GOD doesn't want me to be alone with him. In fact, I would say he’s overcome with passion about the issue. It would be a sin for me to ignore his protests.”

“I will not tolerate such language, you foul girl!” The sound of a slap was dealt out. Tommy felt an odd feeling of unease about the situation.

“You let this happen! You. And you will BURN FOR IT. Mark my words, you will suffer an eternity for his sins. There are no amount of crosses under the sun for Jesus to croak on that would make up for your grotesque choices you evil witch.” The girl's voice was pure venom, and Tommy was overcome with an urge to protect the girl. What type of place were they running here?

“I want her,” Lizzie said clearly standing next to him looking at the Sister that was showing them around.

“Sorry Mrs. Shelby ?” She asked looking for clarification.

“The girl in the hall.” He looked at Lizzie landing her eyes on a girl that must have been about 15 standing off with the nun in the hallway. Her face was beet red, making her blue eyes seem extraordinarily bright in contrast, her fists clenched ready for a fight of any size. That girl did not care what happened, she wasn't going to back down.

“Ah, are you sure? She’s quite temperamental.” She responded looking embarrassed.

“Excellent, I’ve never seen anyone look so much like my husband,” Lizzie said with a smirk on her face.

“We’ll take her. And I’d like a word with management.” He asserted firmly. This was not the sort of thing he could look the other way on, plus it would only further the family image. Win-win.

______________________________

Another sister came into the hallway.

“Sister Margret, she has been requested by a family.” She said quickly.

You were positive this must be some type of trap. But a tall angular woman moved into the hallway. She looked like someone from a painting, impossibly pretty, elegant, clothes worth a small fortune. This was impossible.

The sister grabbed your arm and pulled you away from that bitch. Far away from the classroom you were terrified of.

The lady looked you up and down and removed the sister's hand from your arm. She shot her a warning look and the sister apologized. Whoever this woman was, she meant business.

“I’m Lizzie, Lizzie Shelby.” She said in a voice that belonged on a stage. You introduced yourself feeling embarrassed.

“We’d like to take you home if you're alright with that.” She asked holding her arm out. Normally you didn’t like being touched for any reason, but being escorted out of the place was a good enough reason for you to make an exception.

You looped your arm in hers and she strode out of the place with her head held high.

“The Paperwork -” The sister called out

“Get my husband to deal with it.” She called back, her voice dripping with power. You accompanied her into a very expensive car. You sat in the back seat beside her and watched her take in your appearance as if it had changed being in the natural light.

“Do you read?” She asked you lighting a cigarette.

“I had a tutor before my parents died.”

“How did they pass?”

“Car accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“We’ll expect you to go to school.”

“You’d be a shit parent if you didn't.” You mentally kicked yourself. “Sorry I -didn't” You were stumbling over an apology as the door opened and a man got into the driver's seat.

“That’s my husband. Thomas.”

“Hello,” You said feeling completely deflated. “It’s nice to meet you, both of you, It’s nice.” You couldn't remember a time being so embarrassed. You wished that they would just run you over with their expensive tires. There were just too many emotions in such a short period.

An hour ago a priest was forcing himself on you, telling you God would never allow you to get adopted, and here you were making a fool out of yourself with your new parents.

That phrase stung so bad you visually imagined pushing it from your mind.

“Did you sort the paperwork?” Lizzie asked in a frosty tone that made you wonder what their relationship problems were like.

“That and a few other things.” He responded in a tone you assumed only ghosts were capable of.

“Like what?” She said looking out the window with resentment.

“Taking the place over.” He responded easily. As if it was no big deal, like spending money on petrol for the car.

“What do you mean?” This caught her off guard and you watched a bit of hopefulness come to life in her eyes.

“Saw things.” He hesitated, obviously aware of your presence in the car. “That I didn’t think God would approve of.” You caught a slight smirk on his face in the mirror. His eyes told you it was easier to poke fun at the situation.

Lizzie hummed in approval, and even though you’d only known them a few minutes it felt like progress.

_______

They wanted to give you a few days to settle in before introducing you to the whole family. Something you saw as a bit of a red flag. The house was massive, but it was clean and quiet. Both a blessing and a curse. You were too shy to ask for something to do or go explore. Your bedroom was unbelievably beautiful, and warm.

There was a knock on the door that caused you to jump.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?” Lizzie’s voice rang through the door.

“Of course” You responded stiffly. She came in and smiled at you, she pointed to your bed but you didn't understand what she was looking at. Should you not have been laying on it during the day?

“Is it alright if I sit?” She asked you and you realized that’s what she meant.

“Yes!” You sat up straight feeling like an idiot once again. You’d had to sit through two dinners each equally painful due to your rambling.

“How are you settling in?” She asked kindly.

“Um, fine. It’s nice. I love my room.”

“What do you get up to in here?” She looked around with a frown.

“Mostly sitting and thinking.” You responded blandly.

“Are you sure I can’t take you shopping for anything?” She’d asked at least three times, and you felt horrible imposing on them further.

“I don't want to bother you.” You finally broke. She let out a strange laugh.

“Bother me. All the time. Big stuff little stuff, doesn't matter.” She picked a piece of lint off of your bedspread. “Plus kids cost money you know. That’s no one's fault, so don’t carry it like a burden.”

Your eyes stung with tears. That was not the narrative you had grown up with parents or none. You’d always been acutely aware of the burden your existence placed on people. Her words made you feel like you were special, not something your parents could give you. This brought on a very large mix of feelings.

“Don’t cry, really all this is-” Her face appeared displeased with your reaction and it only made your hurt more.

“Normal. Not for me, it’s not. If you wanted a kid that was used to this you should have had one yourself.” the words flew out of your mouth and she was up and out of the room before you could try to apologize. You felt so much worse, you wanted to pull out all your hair trying to make it stop.

You stopped trying to hold the tears back and got up off your bed to apologize. An embarrassing apology was better than them shipping you back.

You followed the sound of her soft crying sounds. Through a door that was slightly ajar. It was a beautiful nursery. They had tried to have their little spoilt children, the guilt only became worse.

You locked eyes with her and decided the truth was always best.

“You treat me better than my parents. But they're dead and it hurts. I don't want to bother you both, it's already some kind of miracle that I got adopted at this age, I don't want to push my luck. Or live through you getting bored of me and then tossing me aside.”

For a moment you thought she was going to shout at you. But she just nodded in understanding. You both were crying, so why not try to risk a hug. You got down on the sheep skin rug next to her and hugged her.

Her grief wrapped around you with her slender arms. She pushed your face against her chest and kissed the top of your head. You didn't understand, but the hurt in her felt a lot like the hurt inside of you. So you leaned into the feeling crying just as hard.

“I lost her. She was born and - nothing anyone could do about it.” She said after a long while. The thought made your heart break all over again. “They told me I couldn't have kids. Spent years avoiding it like it was the plague and now, God it hurts.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry for you too. My dad left before I was born, mother passed when I was 13. Prostitute till I was twenty.” She let out a sad laugh. “This life.” She motioned to the house with her arm. “Is not the life I came from and my husband doesn't have much. But he has money, so don’t ever feel bad for spending it.” You looked up at her in shock. There was no way she was telling the truth. She looked like she belonged in a palace like you wanted to trust her with the whole world. So elegant, kind eyes.

“We’re the same then” you whispered.

“Absolutely not! If you become a prostitute I will have officially become the worst mother in history.�� She said causing you both to laugh.

“I’m not good with people.” You joked along. Tommy pushed the door open and you stiffened slightly. No matter how you tried to calm down, he made you uneasy. Like he would be impossible to please or get to know.

“It’s not a whore house?” He said with a confused look having caught the end of the conversation. You’d never seen a man look more confused as the both of you were tear-soaked holding each other on the floor.

“Not anymore it's not.” Lizzie quipped causing him to almost smile. You wondered what made him so stuck up.

“Good lord, how did you guys make all this money again?” You asked cheekily, causing Lizzie to laugh.

“Just you wait.” She said lightly, but you couldn't help but know already that it was not God’s work that placed them here.

“Come down for lunch?” he asked you both, still slightly put off by the situation.

“Yes” she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands, you watched her walls of composure surround her once again.

“Come on. Let’s see how much trouble we can get in before supper.” She said helping you up.

_____________________________

You stopped by to pick up people on the way to the shops.

“We’ll get Esme first. She’s John’s wife. Tommy’s younger brother - he made a deal with the Lee family - a bunch of gypsies - Tommy needed men, and she needed a husband. Technically I almost married John. It was a complicated time. But they both get along like a house on fire. She holds him down pretty good, probably the only reason he’s still alive.” You listened as she drove you through the countryside. “Then we’ll get Polly. She’s Tommy’s Aunt. She probably goes up against him the most. She’s some kind of Gypsy royalty, a very peculiar woman, but she means well. Hated Tommy’s first wife Grace. Well, we all hated Grace. Us women tend to stick together. We have to put up a good front against the boys or they raise hell like nothing else.”

“You’re all gangsters then?” You asked her catching her slightly off guard.

“Technically he’s a gangster turned politician. But trust me having been on the receiving end of both there really isn't a difference.”

You blushed at her words and tried to hold your tongue.

“I shouldn't have said that last part.” She flicked her cigarette case open and lit one up. “Forget I said that.” but you started laughing. You pulled up to a country-style house, chickens squawking loudly at the car engine.

“Oi! That is not a baby!” A woman with wild curly hair approached the car. She slid into the backseat and you felt awkward sitting in the front. You looked at her looking you over. “Total babe, but not a baby.” She said with wide eyes in disbelief.

“She’s fifteen,” Lizzie responded looking at you like you were a brand new car.

“Good lord. Going to have to beat the boys off of her. She’s pretty like you.”

You blushed heavily at her words unsure of what to do with the attention.

“Eh, as long as we keep her close I think we’ll manage just fine.” Lizzie smiled and turned the car around.

“I’m Esme, I’m sure Lizzie caught you up to speed.” She lit a cigarette and smiled at you as you introduced yourself. She asked you lots of questions, about how you liked the place.

“It’s cold. You can say it, love.” Esme blurted out. “It’s a monument to Grace. Should have been burnt down the second she left us.” You could tell this was a part of the stormy ocean of problems that rested between your adopted parents. You put that piece of knowledge into your back pocket. You pulled up to a stylish-looking complex and a woman in a black suit and sunglasses approached the car.

“I was going to offer to babysit for you when you need a rest - but by the looks of it I’ll be asking you for help, love.”

“How many kids do you have?” You asked while you waited.

“Too fuckin’ many,” Polly responded climbing into the back seat. “I thought you asked Tommy for a baby, not a miniature replica of yourself?”

“Come off it Pol,” Lizzie said starting the car.

“I’m serious, I thought I was seein’ a bloody ghost. I’ve known you since you were the size of a potato, when I say she looks just like ya, I fuckin’ mean it.”

You looked at Lizzie and wished you looked even a fraction of how beautiful she was.

“How's he managing with this then? He was always good with the kids when they were little but I can’t imagine he’d know what to do with her.” Polly said stealing Esme’s cigarette.

“Eh, like everything else, he’s adjusting.” Everyone seemed to find this funny.

“You look at me, that boy gives you any trouble you call me alright. I’ll set him straight.” She was strong like Thomas but soft like Lizzie, and something distinctly her own. You could tell she was in charge.

“Thank you.” You said sheepishly unsure of what else to say.

“You're welcome, love,” She said kindly.

Shopping was a lot. You cried on the way home and they had a unique way of comforting you while also making fun of you, making you laugh. Once you started laughing with them it seemed impossible to stop. You assumed that you would all pile into the sitting room, but instead, you piled into the kitchen, which quickly became your favorite space in the house. A large wooden table surrounded by something that felt so perfectly warm. Grace clearly didn’t touch this space much.

They poured you cranberry juice and set into a bottle of whiskey. The jokes got worse as the night progressed and for once your sharp tongue and misplaced comments brought a great deal of joy.

“Where did you find this girl!” Esme said between laughs

“Fighting off a Nun in a hallway,” Lizzie replied still laughing from the joke before. Tommy and you assumed his brothers appeared in the doorway.

“Wow, Looks like you Lizzie, but with Tom’s eyes” John said, or you thought it was him because he went to stand behind Esme and she looked up at him in a way you hadn't seen before.

“And his mouth.” Esme quipped and you hoped it was a compliment. He reached across the table to shake your hand.

“John”

“It’s nice to meet you” You introduced your self. Arthur came and gave you a crushing hug.

“They got you out numbered now brother.” He joked letting you go to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

Tommy gave you a tense look, like he was worried about something. He took the seat next to you puting space between you and the boys.

“Might be enough women to put some life back into this place.” Polly said with twinkling eyes.

“I’ll try my best.” You responded quickly seeing that Tommy didn’t seem happy.

He stuck close to your side, sliding glasses of Whiskey away from you as the boys started drinking. His youngest brother was only a few years older than you, and he showed up with a bunch more men that introduced themselves politely before joining into the savagery.

You scooted your self along the bench to sit closer to Tommy not knowing the others well enough to want to sit as close.

“Thank you, Lord, for blessing us with such a wonderful girl! May she shine bright for us in these dark times. To the newest Shelby!” Arthur’s voice boomed and your face turned bright red. Everyone finished a drink, but you caught Lizzie and Tommy sharing a look.

Tommy put his arm around and you were grateful to have something to lean into with all the commotion. They were the loudest and rudest, most funny group of people you’d ever seen.

“Think it’s time for bed, eh?” He asked you quietly and you nodded.

“Alright! Clear out you lot. She’s got to get to bed. We can have a proper dinner tomorrow night!” Tommy called out causing a few groans.

“But we just got here!” Finn mumbled.

Everyone said their goodbyes and goodnights to you moving out of the kitchen. Polly placed a kiss to your forehead. She said something in a different language, to which Tommy responded with a sharp nodd.

Once everyone had piled out the front door, they took you up to your room. You hit the bed feeling more tired than you could ever remember.

_________________________________________

You slowly became more at ease around Tommy. Sitting alone at the table didn’t frighten you nearly as much. You heard him shout at people occasionally and that made you determined to keep your distance.

It wasn't until Lizzie stayed away for a night getting stuck at Esme’s due to a storm. You assured her that you ate dinner and that everything was fine. In reality, you'd been sitting by the front window praying for her to come back. You hated storms and you’d just trusted that she’d be there and know what to do about it.

Eventually you decided to retreat to your room to avoid any conflict.

“Goodnight.” You poked your head into his study.

“Night, love.” He responded kindly looking up from his papers. You thought about bothering him for a moment, telling him that you were scared. You decided to slip up to your bedroom instead. Girls your age didn't get scared of these types of things.

Without Lizzie, there was an impending sense of doom about the place. Like there was pressure pushing down on you. Listening to things creak and shift, you had an idea that maybe without Lizzie here Grace’s ghost would try to snatch you up.

Laying there listening to the storm and the house, your mind cooked up a story of revenge. Grace would kill you to get back at Lizzie for stealing her mourning husband. Maybe that’s why Lizzie’s baby wasn't born right. Your heart started to race as your stomach twisted.

There must have been some deeper story, Lizzie always seemed like she was very hurt by Grace, despite having come into Tommy’s life after. But Polly’s known Lizzie since she was a baby….

Questions were swirling in your mind non stop trying to make sense of it all. Your door made a horrid sscreeching sound and you let out a scream in response, pulling the blankets up above your head.

“LEAVE ME ALONE GRACE.” You shouted hoping that it was enough that you could see it was her this whole time. She’d be deterred by your cleverness and the quilt Polly had made you.

The quilt was tugged away from your face and you balled your fists ready to fight her off. However you looked up at Tommy’s horrified face instead.

“I don’t do well with storms” You blurted out hoping that would make it better. You both looked at eachother for a moment.

“Let’s make some tea.” He said firmly. You knew that you’d fucked up and the last thing you wanted to do was have tea over the situation. You got up and he pulled your quilt around you, keeping his hand on your shoulder as you moved down the stair case.

You watched him light a fire in the kitchen and grab two glasses and fill them with whiskey.

He passed one to you and sat across from you, he took off his glasses and placed them on the table.

“Why do you think my first wife is out to get you?” He cut right to the chase.

“I got scared of the storm, and Lizzie is trapped, Grace- it’d be the perfect opportunity to get revenge on Lizzie for stealing her mourning husband.” You rushed the words out wishing you were dead. Tommy actually chuckled.

“That’s the story you’d been told then?”

“No, just the one that made sense.”

“How so?” He took a sip of whiskey.

“Everyone says this place is some kind of shrine for her, Lizzie hates it. Hates her, why exactly, I’m not sure but I know it’s because she’s hurt.”

“Lizzie is hurt by Grace?” He asked with a wrinkled brow, you didn't think he was capable of such emotions.

“That’s obvious.” You said sadly. He made a humming noise.

“I didn’t intend to marry Lizzie. She got pregnant and I married her.” He answered easily, suddenly you were very angry at him. Happy he did right by her and married her but -

“Doesn’t mean she hasn’t always loved you.” You argued.

“Is that so?”

“Obviously. Have you ever looked at her? This place, the family, everything, me. Obviously.” You were dumbfounded. How on earth could someone so smart and sharp be so daft. “She puts up with a lot of shit around here. Not once has she ever mentioned leaving or hating you.”

“Perhaps I should talk to her about it.”

“You’d better. Everywhere we go men look at her.” You said trying to scare him into doing the right thing.

“I’m sure they do, she’s a pretty woman.” He answered tensly. Suddenly you started to worry that maybe he wont ever love her, and if that was the case he would certainly never learn to love you. Panic started to wash over you.

“Do you want to watch the storm then?”

“How?” You answered even more uneasy. He got up and you followed him through to the dark sitting room. He pulled the curtains open adding the slitghtest bit of light to the room. You helped him turn the couch around to face the big window.

You watched him pour more wiskey and sit down motioning for you to do the same. Wrapped in Polly’s quilt you sat next to him and he put his arm around your shoulders.

“The only way to stop being scared is to face the thing that scares you.” He explained easily. He held you close to his side as you watched the dark figures of trees swaying violently. The lightening causing you to jump. Eventually things calmed down but you found yourself wishing that it would continue on so you could spend more time sitting like this. He just sat with you tucked into his side sipping his whiskey.

“ I do care for you and Lizzie. More than anything.” He kissed the top of your head. “Things in the past weren't always easy or safe. Keeping her at arm's length seemed like the best way to keep her from ending up like Grace.”

You listened to his voice in the dark, feelingthe pain in his words.

“However, I would hate for her to leave me for a man at the shops.” He said lightly and you snorted.

“Sorry for overstepping - I didn’t mean that she looked back at them”

“S’alright.” He answered easily. Suddenly you saw headlights coming up the drive. You felt his body tense. “Hide behind the desk,” he said seriously. He grabbed a gun hidden in the paneling on the wall. You could hear the door open and to your relief, you heard Lizzie’s voice.

“Fuck sake, Thomas! A gun! Scared the bloody life out of me!” She started to scold him but suddenly she stopped. “Are you alright? Where is she?! I knew something was wrong! Where-” her voice was muffled and you assumed it was because he was holding her.

“She’s fine, in the sitting room” He answered calmly.

“The sitting room at this hour!”

You got up and moved back to the couch hoping that they might sit with you a while longer before going up to bed.

“Why is the couch the wrong way?” She asked sitting down pulling you against her. “Miss me enough to sit up at the window like a couple of dogs.”

“Something like that.” You said enjoying the way she held you tightly. Tommy came to sit down on the other side of you. His arm came across your shoulders pulling Lizzie towards you slightly.

“Did you give her whiskey? She smells like distillery.”

“One glass to calm her nerves, won’t hurt her any.” You felt him reach over you to kiss the top of her head.

“Alright. But don’t you go turning into your father.” She said sternly causing you to laugh.

You sat for a while with the them till eventually the gray sky started to brighten with the sun of the next day.

“Let’s get to bed. We can all get in a nap before the day starts.” Tommy said. Lizzie followed you through to your room to help you into bed and make sure you were okay. After you were settled you heard them talking down the hall and hoped that he was ready to face his fears.

The next day you all had breakfast around noon in the kitchen. Lizzie and Tommy seemed in better spirits, might have had something to do with the marks on her neck, but you hoped he’d talked to her about the situation.

After that night things were noticeably different. You went to school and tried to get along with the other kids, your marks were not great, leading to long nights in the kitchen studying extra with various family members. Esme was the best person to sit with, having learned maths and reading from her mother. She knew how to encourage you without stressing you out.

Tommy on the other hand would look over the material and already look stressed. He always tried to keep his temper in check, but it was unbearable feeling him be frustrated with you. Eventually he caught on that you did worse with him there because of the added pressure, he learned to just sit next to you and work on his problems and offer you help when you needed it.

It took a lot of struggling but eventually you were caught up and getting good marks.

Things were going well till some old business needed to be handled. Tommy was to go away for two weeks, something that seemed to crush Lizzie.

To her surprise he called her everynight. You’d watch her sitting on kitchen counter talking and occasionally laughing. Then he’d talk to you about school and the weather, telling you that he missed you. That was when you realised that something must be very wrong. He was clearly in a great deal of danger where ever he was. Polly came to stay at the house with Arthur, you enjoyed having them around but it only confirmed your suspicion. Everyone seemd it was best to keep you in the dark on the whole thing.

When he came back he was very different. Somebody, or some people, were most certainly dead. A great relief fell over the family and something was different about him. He had a smile on his face when she rushed to the door to greet him. You watched how they held eachother and thought back to when you’d first met them. Things were very different. You eventually butted into the hug feeling left out.

______________

Extra Blurb.

Eventually the unthinkable happened. The boy you had your eye on at school asked you out. Not knowing what to do or what the rules are you decided to get some more information on him make sure he was worth the risk of asking.

Finn laughed at you.

“Not from the best family. But not a rival either, Tommy’s sure to have a fit, and Lizzie, I’m not sure. All in all, I don't mind the guy, you might be better off not telling them.” He said looking out the stained glass window of the Garrison. “If he gives you a hard time, come see me yeah? Don’t let him take you out of Small Heath” He looked at you seriously.

“Sure thing.” You said getting up. You shouted a thank you over your shoulder rushing out of the pub.

You thought long and hard about the situation. He made you laugh, didnt seem to care to much about your last name or who your dad was. Didn’t care that you were adopted. He was very polite, but enjoyed your peculiar sense of humor and misplaced words.

You thought about turning him down. It was too complicated and anything that would upset your parents was too much of a burden. Thinking of what you would say to him, your heart gave a painful wrench.

You went downstairs towards Tommy’s study. God this boy better be worth it or you’d put him in the ground.

You poked your head in to see him writing and Lizzie sitting on the sofa reading a magazine.

“Erm - So.” You started and watched them both look up at you.

“What are you wearing?” Lizzie said smiling at your dress.

“Go upstairs and change” Tommy cut you off before you could respond.

“Theres a boy -” You watched his face fall into his hands. “And he’s picking me up in a half hour if that’s allowed.” You fumbled with your words, wanting them to say yes badly.

“What boy” They said at the same time, giving eachother a glare.

“Noah Solomons. I met him at school.” you responded expecting an explosion.

“No. absolutley not. No way on earth am I sending you anywhere with him.”

“Finn said he’s alright.” You started by stopped once he let out a sigh.

“Finn! Fucking bastard.” He pinnched the bridge of his nose.

“Where is he taking you then?” Lizzie asked

“Just around Small Heath for dinner. I told him that I can’t be out late.” Your face got red and you looked out the window.

“Put on a longer dress. The purple one, and put your hair up -”

“Tommy! Don’t make her wear the purple one” Lizzie started to argue but stopped once she saw the look on his face. Her eyes narrowed back at him.

“How bout I wear the red one -”

“The black one is fine” They both answered suddently.

“Just put on a cardigan,” Lizzie said getting up. “I have a nice one upstairs.” You followed her up to her bedroom. She pulled out a nice cardigan and some less opaque stockings. After you’d changed you looked yourself over, more modest, but that wasn't a bad thing. Especially if it got Tommy’s blood pressure back down. Lizzie got your hair up and you were grateful for her help.

“Do you think dad will let me go?” You asked as she fixed your make up.

“Dont think he can stop you. But, we’ve done business with his father. I think he’s worried this is apart of some elaborate plan.”

“I don’t think so, but I’ll keep an eye on him” You were even more nervous now. Lizzie gave you lots of advice and you felt bad making her this worried. When you walked down stairs you could see Tommy talking to Noah at the door.

You loved the way his face lit up when his eyes landed on you, he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. You watched the front door swing shut, keeping him on the other side.

“No.” He said firmly looking at Lizzie.

“Going to have to let her find her own way sometimes.”

“No I don’t. Not with boys, not dressed like that.” He responded angrily.

“Look, I told Finn where we are going, he said him and Isaiah would be around to keep an eye out. I’ve known him for the past two school years. I - please” You looked up at him in what you hoped were puppy dog eyes. You saw the conflict rage in his eyes.

“Fine.” He sighed in defeat. “But you don’t like something, anything, you call me from the restaurant and -” You cut him off with a big hug.

“I won’t be out too late. Love ya” You said flying out the door before he could change his mind.

He kissed you on the cheek on the door step, promising to take you out again next weekend. After saying goodnight you watched as he drove down the drive way before opening the front door.

You were surprised at how quiet it was. You slipped your shoes off and followed the lamp light into the sitting room. Much like the day with the storm, they sat on the sofa turned around to face the large window. You moved towards them to see your dad looking beyond relieved, and mum asleep on his lap.

“So how was it then?” He asked you handing you the last bit of whiskey in his glass. You sat down next to him, watching him look you over for anything out of place.

“Felt a bit like the Queen to be honest. More Blinders than people in that restaurant. Not to mention people watching from their windows.” You gave him a look as he started out the window. “But he was nice. I -He is nice, I enjoyed myself”

“Just for food then straight back?”

“You already know that’s what happened. Can you help me get the pins out of my hair?” You turned away from him and felt him struggle to find them, pulling slightly too hard.

“What? No, this is my job hands off.” Lizzie said groggily. “What did I miss? Tell me everything.” You felt the two of them shift and Lizzie's expert hands start bringing your hair down. By the time she’d gotten it brushed Polly and Esme had showed up for a full debrief in the kitchen.

You were giggling like mad for hours with them, hearing their stories about past lovers. Some sweet, other cautionary. Eventually it was time for bed and you stopped into Tommy’s office before going to wash up.

“Dad.” He gave you a shocked look then you realised what you had said. You didnt feel like apologizing though, too tired to make a big deal of it. You leaned over and gave him a hug. “Thanks for letting me go tonight.” You felt his arms wrap around you tightly.

“I don't like it, and there will be lots to talk about tomorrow. But I'm happy that you're happy.” You kissed his cheek then headed up to bed. You knew that he’d probably already called Noah’s father, a tense conversation awaited you, but you had no doubt it was because he loved you.

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Note

BUGS!!!! Idk when you’ll get this but it’s me Sav (munsonology) 👾

What if Eddie catches you in the adult section at family video and you’re caught with the kinkiest tape they have 🤤 Eddie’s shocked because this is beyond the beginners level y’all are at but intrigued that his perfect girl is actually freakier than him 🥵

Savvvvv I adore you and your smutty brain 💚 I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: smutttttt (18+ only, minors GO AWAY), adult films, bondage, piv, some crying, slight breeding kink (?) idk, language

WC: 2.1k

Eddie thought he knew you pretty well. You'd only been a couple for a few months, but you'd been friends for years prior to getting together. If someone asked him what your favorite pizza topping was, he could confidently say it was mushroom. You were definitely more of a night owl than an early bird. You wanted to travel the world; Eddie wanted more than anything to take you on an African safari like you'd always dreamed.

And up until the moment he caught you in Family Video, he would've sworn up and down that your guilty pleasure was cheesy romantic comedies.

You'd had to cancel your date with him to finish up a paper for the class you were taking at Hawkins Community College, so Eddie trekked over to visit Robin and Steve and find something to occupy his unexpectedly empty night.

"Hey, Munson!" Steve greets him cheerily. "How's it been?"

Eddie shrugs his shoulders. "Can't complain. Y/N has to get some work done tonight. Figured I'd see if you guys had any new releases I could check out."

Robin crinkles her nose. "Y/N?" she questions. "She's right over there." She points over to the curtained-off section of the store and glances at Eddie knowingly.

Eddie's jaw could've hit the floor. You watched porn? Sure, you were amazing in bed, always knowing how to touch him and turning him into putty. Was it because you had done extensive research in the adult section of Family Video?

He quietly shuffles over to where you're standing, browsing the various titles. You're not interested in the same-old generic "plumber fixes lonely housewife's pipes" or "pizza boy delivers extra-large sausage pizza to sorority girls." You want something different, something to relax you from your stressful midterms, something kinky.

A title jumps out at you: Bonded Babes. The cover shows a woman clad in barely-there lingerie, tied to the bed with a ball gag wedged between her crimson lips. Perfect.

"Holy shit." The sound of a man's voice startles you, and you let out a little yelp. You look up to see your boyfriend, his eyes glued to the VHS you'd just selected. You hide it behind your back, feeling your whole body blushing.

Eddie steps towards you. "Whatcha got there, sweetheart?" he prods, cocking his head to the side. "Because that doesn't look like a John Hughes flick to me."

"'S nothing," you mumble, embarrassment flooding through you. "Just wanted to decompress after writing this stupid paper."

"Mmm," Eddie says knowingly, "so let me see what helps you relax, baby girl."

You shake your head wordlessly.

Eddie laughs. "C'mon, you really think you're gonna scare me off?" he protests. "You don't even wanna know what I watch."

You raise an eyebrow and decide to explore that comment further at another time. "I-I should probably get home. Back to my essay." But he blocks your escape, placing a strong hand on your stomach.

"Hand it over," he orders, and you reluctantly oblige.

"Don't judge me," you plead. What if he sees what you chose and is freaked out? He wouldn't be the first guy who couldn't handle your kinks and desires.

"Hmm," Eddie says, looking carefully, "haven't seen this one yet." He gives you a mischievous grin. "Wanna watch it together?"

You clear your throat, caught off-guard by the suggestion. "It, uh, might not be your thing," you offer lamely.

"Well, I guess there's just one way to find out, sweetheart."

Your roommate is out for the night, drinking away her midterm week nerves, so you bring Eddie back to your place. He's all too eager to pop the video in the player, practically breaking down the door to the apartment.

"Okay," he says, plopping down next to you on the sofa and pressing play, "let's see what gets my girl going, hmm?"

As with most porn, there's no real plot. This one gives the smallest backstory about a woman who keeps talking back to her boyfriend. The boyfriend--a buff dude with a perfectly waxed chest--decides to punish her and shut her up while he has his way with her. He uses handcuffs on her wrists and ropes tied tight around her ankles. The pièce de résistance, of course, is the gag that allows for moans and whimpers and nothing else.

You bury your head in your hands. "I warned you," you whine, "it's, like, a lot."

For the first time in his life, Eddie Munson is speechless. He finally says, "Do you...want me to do this to you?"

"It's a lot, Eds," you repeat shyly. "We don't have to."

"What if I want to try it?" he asks, and you gawp incredulously, bringing a laugh to his lips. "I have all kinds of fantasies about you, baby. Don't be too surprised."

You maneuver yourself so you're straddling his lap, grinding your aching cunt across the crotch of his jeans. The friction from both of your clothes only makes you wetter. You kiss down his neck as he grabs your ass, squeezing and pulling you even closer to him.

"Let's try it," you whisper in his ear, biting his lobe. You hear the people on screen groaning and grunting exaggeratedly.

With that, Eddie lifts you, hands never leaving your ass. He brings you to your bedroom, dropping you on the bed and raking through your drawers for T-shirts, grabbing two of them.

"I got the cuffs," he says, patting the accessory on his belt, "but no ropes. Gotta improvise."

"So innovative," you tease, beckoning him back to you with a flutter of your eyelashes. His lips crash into yours, pushing you down onto the bed as he climbs on top of you. The weight of his body pressing into yours always gets you so hot; you try and cope by slipping your hand down into your jeans, beneath your panties.

Eddie breaks the kiss and hums disapprovingly. "Baby," he chastises, "you're not gonna get yourself off when I can do that for you." He removes your hand from your clit and pulls off your shirt, exposing a lacy white bra. He sucks on the exposed part of your breasts as he fiddles with the clasp, and you moan softly when he unhooks your bra and runs his fingers over your hardening nipples.

"You're not denying me this," he growls, tearing off your jeans. His thumb grazes your panties, and he throws his head back when he feels how wet you are. He gets on his knees and kisses your cunt through the thin fabric, loving each twitch of your legs.

Eddie hooks a finger into the waistband and yanks them down, shoving them in his back pocket. "Gonna need these later," he tells you, sending a shiver down your spine. "Lay back on the pillow for me, sweetheart."

You do as you're told, hearing the click of the handcuffs unlatching. Eddie snaps one on to your left wrist, loops the chain around one of the backboard spindles, and brings the other cuff around your right wrist. "Pull for me," he says, and when you demonstrate that you're stuck, he smiles wickedly.

He grabs the shirts--old concert tees, you realize gratefully, nothing expensive or fancy--and ties one around each ankle, then to the spindles on the footboard, legs spread widely. "Wriggle around for me, baby. Let me see how good I've got you." Sure enough, you kick your legs with incredibly restricted movement. "Perfect," he muses.

"Eddie," you whimper, "need you to touch me. Need your fingers or your tongue or your cock. Something, please."

He laughs at this, reaching back into his pocket. "Thanks for reminding me," he says roughly. You feel a piece of cloth between your lips as your soaked panties are shoved in your mouth. "Don't wanna hear a word from you; just those pretty little moans."

"Mhm," you manage.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters. “Safe words. Uh, just say peanut butter if you need me to stop.” You nod in response.

With that, he brings his lips to your torso, trailing kisses across your tits and down your stomach. The contrast between your completely naked body and his fully clothed one turns you on even more, if that’s possible.

You let out a whine as he licks a stripe along your folds, slick coating his chin. “Taste s’good,” he groans before finding your clit and sucking on it. A guttural sound escapes your throat at the sudden stimulation.

“Already overwhelmed, baby?” he teases, words vibrating into you. “Good.” He focuses his attention back to your sensitive bundle, caressing it with his tongue. You buck your hips as one finger enters your pussy, limited by the makeshift ties.

You’re waiting for him to place another digit inside you, like he normally does, but now is not the time to expect anything. Instead, he withdraws his finger and his mouth from your sex, undoing his pants button and pulling out his hard cock. He brings it to your lips, removing the gag, but stops you before you can suck it.

“Spit on it,” he demands, and you spit on his dick. He uses it as lube as he fucks his fist right in front of you, stuffing the panties back in your mouth.

“You see what you do to me? he snarls, “I want you to use your hands, but since you’re being punished, I have to do it myself.”

You want to tell him that he can fuck your face; or better yet, your pussy, but the gag prevents you from articulating this. You writhe against the handcuffs, craving touch.

Eddie uses his free hand to grip the wrist closest to him. “Nice try,” he smirks, “but you’re not gonna cum until I say you can. Got it?”

“Mhm,” you croak out. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes as your frustration mounts. He wipes one away with a smile.

“Poor thing,” he taunts, “wants my dick so badly that she’s fuckin’ crying for it, huh?” He pumps himself until he’s so hard it hurts, precum beading at the slit. “‘S your lucky day, sweetheart. If I don’t fuck you now, I’m gonna cum all over my hand. And why would I do that when your pretty pussy is right there?”

He places himself between your legs again, tapping on your outer thigh. “Lift these hips a little for me.” You lift them obediently. “That’s a good girl.” You whimper at the praise.

He uses the combination of your slick and his precum to push into you, stretching you and mixing pain with pleasure. “Can you say my name with your mouth full like that?”

“Eddie,” you groan. It comes out muffled but neither of you care. “Eddie, s’good.”

He thrusts into you harder, yelling out your name as he does. His voice is gravelly and intense. “Gonna cum inside of you. Gonna mark my fuckin’ territory.” You’ve been on the pill, and he knows this, but he’s never finished in you before without a condom, always pulling out and spilling onto your tits.

“Yes, Eddie,” you chant over and over as he rubs circles on your clit while fucking you.

“Be a good girl and cum for me. Show me how good I make you feel.” As soon as he says it, you release all over his cock, clenching around him as you hit your peak.

“You feel amazing,” he praises. “Can’t hold back anymore. Y’feel too good.” He empties inside you, long hot spurts coating your walls. When he’s done, a sweating and panting mess, you’re too sore to move. Still, you miss him in you as soon as he withdraws.

Eddie immediately removes the panties from your mouth, unlocks the cuffs, and unties the shirts. “Baby,” he purrs, “that was hot as shit.”

You nod in agreement. “Best sex I’ve ever had.”

He plants a long, gentle kiss on your mouth and runs to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. “Let me clean you up.” He wipes down your inner thighs, kissing them when he’s done. “I know this wasn’t in the movie,” he says with a small smile, “but I wasn’t about to leave my girl a mess.”

You return the smile gratefully. “Thank you, Eds.”

He crawls back into bed facing you, pecking kisses on your nose. “I love you, my freaky girl.” He sighs dramatically. “I mean, I already knew you were the one for me, but this just sealed the fuckin’ deal!”

You giggle at his theatrics. “I love you, too,” you say, kissing his forehead. “And next time, you can pick the movie. I can’t be the only freak in this relationship.”

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