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ghost-proofbaby · 2 years

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINE

when you and eddie can't sleep, he has a bright idea. but only after he's lit a fire in your mind through a bathroom door. also, steve finally finds out what he said that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, allusions to male masturbation, minors dni

→ wc: 6.9k+

→ a/n: oops my bad. this chapter is dedicated to @jo-harrington i know it's not exactly what you'd joked about but... i did it. solo eddie for the win.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

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9:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

DINGUS received a message from BIRDIE.

BIRDIE: i found out what you said.

HOUR NINE - 12:00 AM

When Eddie gets out of the bed, it wakes you up.

In all fairness, you were sleeping lightly to begin with. It had only been about twenty minutes since his quiet confession, an apology that hovered in the air between you two, lingering and plastering itself to the ceiling. He was sorry for everything. And the optimist in you couldn’t help but count what exactly everything entailed rather than sheeps. You were certain it included the events of the night so far, but did it include Steve’s party? Did it include the cruelty exchanged the night this bet was made? Did it encompass the passing in time in which he’d tucked himself away from you after first meetings, letting a sheet of ice separate you?

You’d fallen asleep halfway through the swirlings of ‘Did it…?’s, hardly realizing you’d left Eddie hanging after he’d whispered goodnight to you. You both knew you’d be waking up soon enough to send updates, or possibly receive a call from one of your friends. You both needed to utilize the time for rest – you were utilizing this time to rest.

Until Eddie got up. Until you realized Eddie wasn’t sleeping, and now suddenly, you couldn’t even keep your eyes closed for more than ten seconds at a time.

You listened to his footsteps as he left the room, as he crossed the hall and he shut the bathroom door behind him. When you did open your eyes, you focused intensely on the light pouring out beneath the small crack at the bottom of the door, waiting with bated breath for any sign of a shadow without luck.

Five minutes. You’re awake enough to count the five minutes without any further noise or sign of him returning to the bed.

You really shouldn’t be so nosey. He’s just using the bathroom in his own apartment. He’s probably just taking a piss, or more, and you hold no right to time him. But without him in the bed, there’s a cold you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t even been pressed up against him, the pillow wall still intact, and yet, his warmth had clearly reached you and kept you comfortable.

Maybe it wasn’t just his warmth. Maybe it was just his presence that made the room light up, swirling with something to wrap yourself up in rather than the chill of loneliness.

The decision is made by your body first, brain second. By the time your thoughts have caught up to the choice that yes, you need to check on Eddie, your bare feet are already meeting his carpet. It takes mere seconds for you to cross the room, cross the hall. You raise your fist to knock and then–

You stop.

A sound completely stops you, freezes you mid-action.

A whimper.

Your stomach clenches. It wasn’t a whimper of pain.

You’ve managed to cross countless lines with Eddie, both tonight and the entirety of knowing each other. You’d blatantly ignored boundaries he set in stone just as he did to you. The two of you had never functioned off of respect.

It’s what you remind yourself when you take a step closer to the door, when you lean to press your ear against the wood.

You nearly jump back when you catch onto the sounds coming from within the bathroom.

Oh, yeah. He’s fucking jacking off.

You’re familiar with that sound, hearing it both mocked in school and in pornos. The unmistakable sound of a fist gliding over flesh. Just as suspected, the whimper Eddie had let out on the other side of the door was by no means a sign of pain or distress – it was out of pleasure.

You tell yourself that you’re only keeping your ear pressed to the door to fully load yourself with artillery to tease him with once the time comes. You tell yourself it’s a necessary evil, that you don’t enjoy it. You completely ignore the way your own thighs are beginning to press together when the sound speeds up.

“Oh my- fuckin’ Jesus Chri- my God.”

Let it be known that you’ve never tried to picture what Eddie’s voice sounds like during sex. You’ve never fantasized about how many octaves his tone might drop, how breathy he might get from desperation, how his words might curl upwards with whines on the tailends. No, you’ve never thought about those things late at night. when you’re alone and have a hand between your thighs. You don’t have those thoughts about the guy you claim to hate. You don’t have the best goddamn orgasms of your life by picturing your hand replaced with his, the way the metal of his rings would nudge against your entrance.

You don’t. You don’t.

But something about the way he’s stuttering, sounding like a stereotypical porno in the way his voice is breaking, clearly close to finishing, has you pressing your thighs together tightly. It has your necks and cheeks flushing brilliant red as your chest heaves, recklessly trying to expand against the door you have pressed yourself against entirely now.

“Fuck.”

It’s muffled, led into by a heavy panting you can hear, even through the door, before being broken off by a long moan.

Maybe you would give yourself the best goddamn orgasm you’d ever had again once this was over. And maybe that would be the soundtrack.

You have to stumble back from the door, your entire body tight with frustration now as you back up away from the invasion of privacy you had taken part in. You don’t even have a chance to tell yourself it’s fine, because somewhere in your fumble to get away, your knuckles meet the door in an eerie resemblance of a knock, on accident.

You can’t play it off. If you heard it, he heard it.

“Uh, Eddie?” you nervously call out, cursing the way the words came out more like squeaks than tired syllables, “Everything okay in there?”

You can hear his panic, between sudden shuffling, the slamming of the faucet turning on, the curses beneath his breath before he suddenly calls out, “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Just stubbed my toe!”

“Okay…” you trail off, still breathing heavily, trying to return your heart rate to normal, “I, uh- okay. Just checking. Sorry.”

You scurry, quite literally scurry, back into his bedroom.

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, because now, this was all so, so much worse. Every fleeting detail of his living space passed by you, and all you could hear was a repeat of his harsh fuck he’d clearly let out on accident. When you’d found his playboys, it was all fun and games. He was a guy, and you knew what he did with those magazines, but you’d never been a door away from him doing that.

You’re not a very imaginative person, but you’re still trying to picture how his hand wrapped around his dick might look, what his dick in general looks like, when he exits the bathroom and finds you sitting there.

He looks even more embarrassed than you.

Your apology is on the tip of your tongue, an impulsive I’m sorry is stuck between your teeth. But saying those words is admitting to knowing he didn’t really stub his toe. It would be admitting to eavesdropping.

You’d be taking this night to the grave to you.

“How’s your toe?” you question instead, curling your hands into fists and forcing a weak smile.

You’re a shit pretender.

“Fine,” he breathes out, the edges of his bangs wet, probably with sweat, and his eyes wide in fear, “It’s, uh, fine. Sore.”

It’s okay, though, because he’s a shit pretender, too.

He makes no move to sit down, and you almost laugh at the palpable tension and awkwardness in the room. Both of your chests are still heaving, both of your cheeks are still burning, and both of you are flooded with distrust by your words.

“I can’t sleep,” you break the silence with the worst possible conversation starter. If the roles were reversed, if Eddie said this to you, you’d just shrug in response.

Eddie isn’t you, though, thankfully, “You just were.”

“And now I’m not.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.”

Some habits die hard. Even in the new waves of Eddie’s apology, even as you two entered uncharted territory of unspoken civility, there was still bickering to be had.

“This argument is just waking me up more,” you sigh, leaning back on your palms behind you, “I’m definitely not getting any more rest.”

Eddie’s eyes trail over you, head to toe, and your breathing stops completely, “Well, yeah, not wearing jeans. Did you bring anything comfortable to wear?”

Did he just check me out?

That starts a fire within your brain. The blush isn’t even a product of him making you flustered anymore, it’s the physical billboard to alert everyone of the flames that will surely consume you within the hour. A warning to Eddie, that if he doesn’t stop, you’ll be nothing more than a pile of ash caught between his carpet’s fibers.

You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts until he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, not too close but near enough to get your attention.

Which hand did he use?

You choke at the smokey thought, making him worry before you cough out a, “Sorry?”

“Clothes. Did you bring any?” he questions as he looks down at you in concern, “Maybe some pajamas, or just something comfortable?”

You don’t understand how it got to this point. How you’re the one so flustered, so embarrassed, when he was the one touching himself in the bathroom. Why are you the one with a fire blazing behind your skull, and why are you the one having to admit that no, you didn’t bring any clothes?

Your silence is all he needs before he turns to walk to his dresser.

“Eddie, wait, no-” you start to protest but he’s already holding out a black pair of sweats, a similar style to the ones he’s wearing.

“Here. I don’t know how well they’ll fit but…” he shrugs, almost shyly, before thrusting the clothing towards you with more intense purpose, “They’ve gotta be more comfortable than jeans.”

“I-I-” I can’t. I can’t wear your clothes because I’m already thinking about your dick, and which hand you masturbate with, and how you’d sound hovering over me as you grind your hips into mine, and- “Thank you.”

You take the damn pair of sweatpants, you swallow your pride, you continue to wade in his ocean. Maybe it’s all a game to him and he’s trying to break you (it’s working).

He continues to stand there awkwardly until you finally narrow your eyes, and take a single finger, waving it in circles to motion for him to turn around.

“What?” he asks, looking at your finger with wide eyes, still watching the circles it draws in the air.

“Turn around, idiot,” you try to laugh lightheartedly, but it comes out strained.

You’re still thinking about him inappropriately. You’re still intoxicated by the idea of the sounds you can pull from him with the right moves, the right kisses. But you can’t, you know you can’t.

You know he doesn’t think of you in that way. This feeling, unfortunately, is not mutual.

He’s clumsy in the way he turns, even covering his eyes with his wide palm despite it being unnecessary. You notice the way he almost raises his left hand before he hesitates and chooses the right one instead.

And now you’re convinced you have an answer to one of your burning questions. He uses his left hand, and instead of putting out some of the damaging flames within your mind, it fans them. You’ll definitely be nothing but a charred mess by the end of this night.

You try not to take long, quickly yanking off your jeans and tossing them beside you before you work the sweats on quickly. Eddie has them a few sizes too big for himself, and it works out in your favor.

You hate to admit it, but he was right – they’re comfier than your jeans by far.

“Okay, you can look again,” you mumble as you bend down to grab your discarded jeans, working on turning them back outside right and folding them neatly.

The turn to face you once more is even clumsier than his turn away from you, his hand dropping and slapping his thigh unceremoniously as he takes you in, “They… You… They, uh, fit. Good.”

What was once cute tension and easily dismissed uneasiness is becoming too much. He’s still nervous, you’re still burning, and the room is too stifling when filled with both awkward emotions and swirling wisps of smoke that are thickening.

So you do something about it. You choose to be the brave one and say something, “You’re being awkward.”

He immediately scoffs, still stiff in his actions, “Excuse me?”

“You’re. Being. Awkward,” you enunciate each word with heavy emphasis, keeping up a faux mask of indifference as you turn for the bed, setting your jeans down on the floor by the nightstand before you climb back into the side you’d previously occupied.

“I’m being awkward?” he’s following, taking the path from the end of the bed as he already has several times, leaving the wall of pillows intact, “You’re being awkward.”

“That is such a childish response,” you tease him as you see him begin to warm up once again. The bathroom incident is forgotten, stomachs unclenched and jaws slacking as the two of you rearrange beneath the comforter. Both of you are careful not to disturb the pillows that weigh down the center of it. You convince yourself for a second his returning warmth comes from being closer to you, from being close enough to feel the heat of your flames. Or perhaps he has a forest fire of his own transcending his own neurons, and maybe the feeling is more mutual than you’d believed.

If you never mention it out loud, he can never deny it, and you can continue to live in this newfound delusion and comforting fantasy.

You both still lie on your backs, mirroring each other with hands folded politely atop your stomachs and eyes glued to the popcorn pattern of his ceiling. It’s quiet. It’s nice. The only thing you can hear is his crashing waves and your crackling frames. You’re wading with your head above water still, not quite fully submerging yet, terrified that once you take the final plunge into him, the flames will be drowned out. Once he drags you under, he’ll settle the heat and the fever that has begun to haunt you, and you don’t know if what will be left in its place will be better or worse. You don’t know if you’re equipped to handle that unknown yet.

“You remember how you asked about my motorcycle earlier?”

His soft tone cuts through the white noise of it all. Every wave, every flame, every metaphor falls quiet for him. It’s suddenly just you, and just him.

“Yeah?” you roll your head to the side, daring to look at him. He’s already staring at you.

In the dark, you can make out a ghost of a smile as he says, “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I like to take it out for drives.”

“Oh?” You’re tempted to twist your body to fully face him, to prop yourself up on your elbow and give him your undivided attention. You don’t.

“Yeah. I guess it’s why I prefer it over a normal car, or even a van like I had in high school,” his eyes are clouding over with thoughtfulness, with nostalgia. You can picture it fairly clearly; he seems like the type that would drive around an ominous van just to scare a town shitless. “It’s a pain in the ass because now I can’t lug around my own equipment for gigs, but there’s this parking garage that the bike can fit through the closed gates of-”

“Hold on, I’m sorry – gigs?” you take an extra second to process it, but you’re sure he just insinuated he’s in a band.

He’s giddy, those eyes lighting up in the darkness. You can see the dimples, you can see constellations exposing themself amongst his pupils, “Oh, yeah. I’m… I’m in a band.”

“How did I never know this?”

You both know the answer. Because before tonight, there was a clear division between you and Eddie for your friends. Before tonight, you two had never really gotten to know each other, save for the first night. You don’t know if your supposed enemy is in a band.

He doesn’t say that, though. And neither do you. Instead, he just whispers, “I don’t know.”

You can’t let the obvious go unsaid. You’d defeated the awkwardness, and you could handle your own brain being on fire from his match strikes, but this?

You couldn’t handle the heaviness of the past year in the room with you two.

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you should look away, look to the ceiling as he had when he said those words to you, but you don’t. You finally do as you wanted; you turn onto your side, fully facing him, bringing your hands to be folding between the pillow and your cheek, “I’m sorry for… everything.”

Everything. You wonder if it punches a hole in his chest, too. You wonder if you move like an ocean in his eyes, if your waves are beckoning him within those four syllables.

Now that the constellations in his eyes have been exposed, they refuse to vanish from your sight. He mimics your position, his hand tucked beneath his pillow.

When he doesn’t say anything, you have to fill the silence, just as you always do, “It doesn’t mean we have to be, like, friends or anything. I just… We were both jerks in the past. And you said sorry first, but- I’m not just saying it because you said it! I swear. You just deserve to hear that I’m sorry too. I regret it all, too.”

He nods subtly, licking his lips, “I mean, I don’t regret it all.”

Oh God, is he about to fuck it all up again?

“What do you mean?” your voice is impossibly small, a phantom of a whisper, clutched in fear and anticipation.

Please don’t fuck it all up again. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice.

“I mean… I… It was fun sometimes, wasn’t it?” he looks nervous now, blinking rapidly as if he’s fighting looking away from you, “You’re the only person who’s ever really given me a taste of my own medicine. Everyone else teases me, yeah, maybe banters from time to time, but you? I like the ‘no-bullshit’ policy you apply to me. Keeps me in line.”

A sigh of relief. A weight off both your shoulders, a heaviness that vacates the room.

“Fun?” your tone is confident, teasing even, once more, “What about me throwing a glass at your head was fun?”

“I said sometimes, not all the time,” he laughs, as if the memory of one of the worst nights between the two of you was just a fond tale between friends. Maybe that’s what you two were becoming – friends.

A brain on fire. Two lungs twisted in vines rejuvenating. He’s beginning to consume all of you, effortlessly, and you question if that’s what friendship is.

His laughter dies down, and you sigh, breathing despite the greenery and the smoke, “I get what you mean. There was a month there that just sort of felt like it was our thing. Just banter, or whatever.”

“Is it not our thing, still?” he raises an eyebrow, “I mean, clearly, we still argue. I think the day you don’t argue with me will be the day pigs fuckin’ fly, or whatever they say.”

“Whatever you say,” you banter back with ease, putting on a face of complete agreement. “Do you need me to check the news for you? See if little Porky grew wings?”

“Oh, shut up.”

You’re both cackling as he reaches down to the wall of pillows, grabbing one at random, leaving a gap as he flings it softly in your direction. It hits your chest and you fall dramatically onto your back, wrapping your arms around the fluff of it while still giggling.

The giggles linger as you pinch the corner of the pillow between your fingertips, rubbing as you glance down at the gap now in the wall.

You can see his torso now. The sliver of skin that is his exposed hips, the waistband of his boxers.

“You know, I’ve never met a guy with this many pillows,” you murmur, trying to steer your mind of his hips, his boxers, what’s beneath his boxers-

“I used to only have two. Then one time I brought a girl home, and she left because I only had two pillows.”

You can’t help but let out a snort of your own this time, “What? A one night stand left you high and dry because you didn’t have enough pillows for her fancy?”

“Yep. That’s exactly what happened,” he’s chuckling along with you at the ridiculousness of it all, “The next day I went to the store and bought all of these out of spite. Never saw the girl again, though. I like to think she’d be impressed.”

“Oh,” you’re still laughing, with your entire chest as you subconsciously crush the pillow tighter to your body, “So impressed. You know you’re going to have to tell me all about it now, right? You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

“I’ll tell you another time,”

Another time. It almost goes over your head – the first time either of you have even entertained the thought of hanging out after the twenty four hours have ended. You don’t show him that you notice, and just continue on laughing.

Somewhere amongst your delight, your head falls to the side and catches Eddie in the act.

An act of total, utter softness. His features are melted butter as he stares down at you, seemingly entranced by your laughter and joy in his tale of a failed one night stand. It’s not the kind of look produced from forest fires, or turbulent oceans, or a garden of vines. It’s the kind of look that is a natural disaster all on its own. It’s devastating – something in the two of you immediately breaks, quietly, desperately. There’s no repairing the damage being done; there’s no want for reparations.

The first bloom after a long winter finally sprouts on your vines. It’s bright and brilliant red – like scarlet blood, like hot and flickering flames. It’s watered by salt water, slow and warm and enticing.

You start to believe that even if you plunge beneath his waves, the fire Eddie has lit within you will always remain.

“We should go to sleep,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his. Trying to find the deep blue hidden within honey brown, to find seafoam green amidst wide, black pupils.

“We should,” he agrees.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Goodnight,” he pauses, and then he adds your name, as if he’s testing the taste on his tongue, as if he’s saying it for the first time.

It feels like he’s saying it for the first time.

You look back up at the ceiling but still feel his eyes on you. A couple minutes pass, and neither of your eyes close. Just because you should go to sleep doesn’t mean you will.

“You’re not even trying to sleep, are you?”

You only hum in response, still clutching that pillow, still counting cracks in the ceiling.

“Alright, fuck it.”

Your eyes break to him as he suddenly is leaping off the bed, void of grace as he finally settles on his feet and races to his dresser.

“Um, Eddie?”

He doesn’t look up as he digs into a drawer, pulling out a long sleeved shirt, “Yes, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. A nickname that once filled you with venom now makes your insides twist in the agony of want. You want him to say it again.

“What are you doing?”

The long sleeved shirt flies your way, and he’s walking to grab a set of keys off the top of his dresser, “Getting you something warmer to wear.”

“And… why…” you’re still lost, looking down at the shirt in confusion. It’s black and fairly thick, the neck hole stretched and a haunting white font sketching out the words Corroded Coffin, “Why do I need something warmer to wear? Your apartment isn’t that cold.”

“Because it’s barely March, and it’s cold outside still,” he pauses and grins childishly, practically beaming at you as you continue to wearily eye the article of clothing. Once he realizes you’re still not getting it, he sighs dramatically and makes his way to your side of the bed, holding a hand out to you, “Neither of us can sleep. Let’s go for a drive.”

His palm stares you in the face, an offer of something that should be considered a plain bad idea. There’s a million and one reasons to not go for a drive. And so you tell him exactly that, ready to list them off in rapid fire.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect. Means no one else is on the street.”

“We have to send a photo to the group soon.”

“The place is five minutes away. We can take a photo when we get there.”

“Place? Oh my God, are you actually going to murder me? You’re taking me to a secondary location and that is in stranger danger 101-”

Eddie stresses each syllable of your name as he says it, waving his hand that’s still stuck out for you to grab, “C’mon. There’s always a hundred reasons to not do something. Just… live a little. I promise it’s better than laying in my gross ass bed.”

You narrow his eyes and challenge him, remembering his words about the way you two still argue. He was right – there may never come a day you don’t feel compelled to go toe to toe with him, whether it’s of ill-intent or not, “Why is your bed gross? Jesus Christ, Eddie-”

He moves suddenly. One moment, he’s just standing there, charming as ever with a daring palm that calls to you like his ocean. The next, he’s impossibly close, placing a hand on either side of you as he leans in dangerously close.

“Change your shirt and meet me in the kitchen in the next five minutes, or I’ll come back in here and take your shirt off myself.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If he had said those words to you nine hours ago, you would have castrated him. But the low tone of his voice, the brush of his breath over your cheeks, against your ears – you’re putty in his hands now as you nod dumbly.

When he leans back, he even looks shocked in his actions and words. But then he catches that look on your face – the blank stare and wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest – and a shimmer of cockiness returns.

“Five minutes,” he reminds you, tilting his head as he takes slow steps back and exits the room.

It takes you less than one.

The moment the shirt is on you, you’re encased with a new Eddie smell. The scents of the bed, of the apartment, of him still cling to the fabric, but it now mixes with something of fresh linen, lemon and clean laundry.

As promised, he’s in the kitchen, leather jacket on as he grabs his phone off a charger plugged in at the end of the breakfast bar lined with stools.

“You charge your phone outside of your room?” you ask as you carefully pad in, immediately heading to grab your shoes and slip them on. He’s already got his boots on, laced tightly. They should look comical against the grey sweatpants, but he’s making the entire look work.

“Saw some science magazine say it would help me sleep better,” he mutters as he flips the phone open, probably checking for missed calls or texts.

“That really only applies to smartphones. When did you even plug it in?”

You’re bursting with questions, nervous and eager to avoid what’s to come.

Being on Eddie’s motorcycle. With Eddie. Probably pressed up against Eddie’s back. Probably wrapping your arms around Eddie’s waist.

“When I came to wake you up on the couch,” he nods towards where you’re sitting, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket, “You ready?”

You wonder for a moment how he’d respond to you snapping back something bratty. How far would you have to push him for him to threaten you like he did in the bedroom again?

You’re not quite recovered enough from the first time, so you don’t press your luck, nodding in response to him.

—

Apparently, by the time you two reach his motorcycle parked on the street, you have recovered enough to press your luck.

He’d grabbed a helmet on the way out the door, and you’d just assumed it was for him. It made sense, considering the one time you’d seen him ride, he’d worn it.

But then, he was suddenly thrusting it in your hand. And the argument ensued.

“I’m not wearing this,” you try to shove it back into his hands, “You’re driving, you wear it.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve taken a dozen hits to the head in my lifetime. I can handle being banged up if something happens, but I’m not risking it with you. Put it the fuck on.”

You almost spit for him to not call you sweetheart, but it soothes something in you. Something made of your flames, something drowning in his ocean. A conundrum, whatever it is, because he’s just irritating you now.

“You could not survive a motorcycle crash without a helmet,” you snap.

“And neither could you.”

“Why don’t you have two helmets then?” you nearly toss the damn thing to the ground and declare that neither of you will wear a helmet.

He finally breaks and takes the helmet back roughly, “Because I don’t normally have a passenger,” he’s rotating the bulky, black shell in his hand, the glass visor for the eyes shining under the street lamps, “Consider yourself lucky. Most aren’t tall enough for this ride.”

You’re about to make an immature sex joke when he takes you off guard, smoothly bringing the helmet up over your head, not even giving you a chance to protest or fight him.

“I hate you.”

The words come out muffled to him, crystal clear to you in the helmet. But he still grins, and you can see it through the tinted glass.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to miss another appearance of those fucking dimples for the rest of your days.

“Good. Glad to hear nothing’s changed,” he playfully jokes, rounding the motorcycle before he swings a leg over the seat and straddles it. You try not to watch and check your phone instead.

You’re getting kind of sick of imagining Eddie Munson naked. Something you’d never thought you’d have to think about.

12:35 AM. Your phone clearly displays the time, just as a text comes in from Argyle.

ARGYLE 😎: picture time, my dudes! say cheese (and send it our way) 📸

“Argyle just texted the chat, asking very politely for the photo,” you announce to Eddie, already holding your phone out so he could read the screen.

He’s kicked up the stand on the bike, balancing it with both feet on the ground, the entire thing leaning with him when he gets closer to read the text before simply saying, “Okay.”

“Okay? We have to take a photo-”

He snatches the phone from you, a terrible habit you needed to start scolding him for. “Well? Don’t just stand there, sweetheart. Get on the bike and smile pretty for the camera.”

It’s impressive how quickly the man who still has a flip phone has learned to navigate your smartphone. He’s already got the camera open, flipped to be front-facing as he waits for you to climb on behind him. But you haven’t moved.

He turns and looks at you over his shoulder, “Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” you squeak from beneath the helmet.

Just the thought of being pressed up against you after I’ve suddenly started fantasizing about you without shame is madly overwhelming. And if I have to wrap my arms around your waist, I might burst into flames outwardly.

“Okay,” he draws out, twisting further to watch you, “Need help, then?”

You don’t honor him with an answer, instead roughly grabbing his shoulders as you swing your own leg over the bike. You try to sit with distance between the two of you, but the curve of the seat won’t allow it, sliding you down until your hips are flush against Eddie.

It’s at this moment it dawns on you that if you are fantasizing about him, if you are indulging in the memory of the bathroom incident, he’ll feel it. You can hide or brush off a blush, you can avert gazes, you can pine just about every way physically without him knowing – you can’t stop him from feeling the heat between your legs as it’s digging into his lower back.

You swallow hard, and you pray that Eddie isn’t in a teasing mood.

“Good?” he asks when you don’t remove your hands from his shoulders.

Even through the fucking helmet you smell his cologne. If you had your phone, you’d be googling images of grandmas like a teenage boy, warding off your unsavory thoughts about the man in front of you.

“Good.”

You have to tilt to the side before you both come into view of the camera. Eddie realizes at the last moment that they can’t see it’s you, and he doesn’t even react as he casually reaches up to flip the window visor up, exposing your wide eyes and rosy cheeks. The photo is taken, your blush evident and his smirk not even close to being hidden.

He doesn’t even consult you before he sends it and passes your phone back, taking to tying back his hair as you fumble to secure the device in your pocket.

You still haven’t dared to wrap your arms around him as you know is proper protocol as a motorcycle passenger. Instead, one hand is still shoved in your pocket, and the other continues to rest on his shoulders.

“Alright,” he says, producing his eyes and putting them in the engine, not yet turning it, “Just put your feet up here,” he takes a hand to each of your calves and lifts, situating your feet on the small pedals designated for a passenger. Your skin burns through the layer of sweats – the flames aren’t just in your head. They’re everywhere now, licking and nipping and leaving your breathless. “And then hold onto me.”

You return your hand to his other shoulder, giving a squeeze on each for emphasis to say you’re ready. He makes no move to start the bike.

“What?” you complain, “I’m holding onto you!”

“If we hit a bump, you’ll go flying.”

When you don’t comply, he’s rolling his shoulders, shrugging off your touch before both hands fly back behind his back and capture your hands on their fall to your lap. His fingers are tight, warm, secure around your wrists as he pulls your arms to wrap around him in the exact way you’ve been avoiding.

It pulls you impossibly close to him. If it weren’t for the helmet, your cheek and nose would be painfully smashed into his shoulder. The heat of him radiates off his back, seeping through the sweatshirt he’d given you.

“There. Now is that really so bad?” His tone is cocky and confident, getting under your skin in a new tactic neither of you had ever broached.

Flirting. He’s flirting. He can feel the tremble in your palms, and he has the nerve to fucking flirt with you.

“Awful,” you quip, having to focus an insane amount to not allow your voice to shake, “I might vomit, it’s so bad.”

“Aw,” he tuts mockingly, hands finally letting go of your arms, clearly pleased when they stay in place as he turns his face to look you in your eyes, “Just aim for the street and not me, okay?”

Fire and flames dance in his eyes, easily reflected from the flush of your cheeks and the falsification of your glare. He’s going to be the death of you.

“I’ll try,” your voice does shake this time. You’re not as brave when he’s making eye contact.

The two of you are playing a dangerous game now. The venom of hatred has leaked out of your words, and what’s replacing it has the capability of breaking both of you far easier. This is no longer a game of who can make the other bleed – it’s no longer a game of you versus him. It’s a game of the two of you versus fate. The world’s worst game of chicken to date.

A natural disaster. A forest fire that eviscerates all common sense. A rowdy ocean that drowns every version of every possibility ever known. Nature taking back what was once hers, an abandoned haunt of a chest that is now back in full bloom against better judgment.

You, him, and fate. You always knew he would be your inevitable downfall. You’d always just assumed it would be a lot more screaming, a lot more fighting, and a lot less fantasizing what his lips would feel like against yours.

He reaches out, and you think for a second, his knuckle will brush your cheek and he’ll whisper that it’s okay for you to just give in, to let Fate have her way.

He doesn’t. He flips down the visor over your eyes, he twists the keys in the ignition, and he calls out loudly over the roar of the engine, “Hold tight, baby!”

Your arms tighten around his waist and you hope the flames that encase you char him all the same.

—

DINGUS: what did i say?

BIRDIE: it’s not bad.

BIRDIE: i promise.

BIRDIE: it’s just not great either.

DINGUS: robin. tell me what i said before i come across the hall to your room and break every the smiths record you own.

BIRDIE: jesus okay! hop off the violent train.

BIRDIE: i’m going to call you and explain because… context. just trust me and answer, okay?

DINGUS: jesus christ. okay.

—

The moment the girls have all left for the bathroom, each guy exchanges a look. Argyle nudges Jonthan, who then kicks Steve under the table, who takes his turn in facing his entire body in Eddie’s direction before tapping the boy on his shoulder.

He looks up immediately, only to be caught in the spotlight of his friends, “Uh… yeah? What’s up?”

“You like her,” Steve deadpans.

“You like her, my dude,” Argyle sing-songs from across the table, “I’m about to start planning a bitching wedding, I swear.”

Eddie freezes up, face scrunching up before he shakes his head violently, “What? No, I just met her-”

“Subtlety isn’t your specialty, Munson,” Jonathan adds in his two cents, “Lost puppy dog eyes are, though. Which you’ve been making at her all night.”

“I have not-”

“You guys think they’re more of a summer wedding couple, or fall? No, no, actually, scratch that – they’re clearly a winter wedding couple, man,” Argyle is teasing, but the warmth of his personality is genuine as he wiggles his brows at Eddie.

A smile finally cracks on the boy’s face.

Fine, maybe he did like her. Maybe he had been plotting subtle ways to get her number before the night ended. Maybe he had already been trying to silently catch Robin’s eyes to get her blessing without words.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve suddenly interrupts, “Tone down the teasing, alright, fellas?”

Eddie curiously turns his head to him, hiding a smirk behind the lip of his glass, “Why? You’ve already got eyes on her, Harrington?”

It was a joke. A stupid, stupid joke. A joke that never should have been made, because Steve was drunk and wasn’t in the business of using a filter once he was this many shots deep.

Eddie knows deep down he didn’t mean harm by the words. He knows that they were the words of a drunk man. But don’t all drunk thoughts have truth to them?

“What? Nah, man. Not anymore, at least. She was never interested. And I just don’t want us getting ahead of ourselves, because if she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you? I think we just-”

Eddie stops listening. Steve continues a drunken rant, and if Eddie had been listening closer, he’d hear about Steve’s grand plan to better feel out how she felt about him. He’d hear about how Steve would get Robin involved, maybe Nancy, how they could talk to her.

He’d hear that Steve meant more than those awful words that immediately take up residency in Eddie’s mind. But the damage is done. And just like that, a fate between Eddie and this new girl has been decided. There will be no asking for her number. There will be no giddy late night phone calls or terrible nerves when planning a first date. There won’t be anything – Fate clicks with reluctance as Eddie Munson begrudgingly closes the gates to his heart once more.

“If she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you?”

Steve was right. Eddie shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself.

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #finally able to use that one we've been very brave haven't we #i wrote solo eddie from his pov too lol

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cambion-companion · 2 years

Note

hiiiii I really love your stories and side note it’s my birthday, first one on my own so I plan on just having a chill day with my dog indoors, halfway through rereading your master list already, could I make a request or suggestion for something kinda angsty, like someone’s jealous or something? Thank youuuu

I am writing a continuation of reader wife going to that brothel we see in episode 9 and fucking that bitch up having words with the landlady. ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Prepare for some Robin Hood type shit from reader

These two fics go serve a good backstory for this fic.

Yes I had fun creating this banner muahaha

The night was young.

The wind chill on your face as you snuck outdoors, careful to not rouse your sleeping husband.

Aemond must not know what you intended; he would never allow it.

You had taken a moment to observe his sleeping form, his beautifully carved face relaxed in slumber, a stray strand of silver hair falling across his high cheekbone. You swept it away with a delicate touch and he smiled in his sleep.

The image of him fresh in your mind, the man your heart and body belonged to, in such an intimate and tender moment only stirred your anger to greater heights. You seethed; it was passed time you had words with a certain Madam of the Street of Silk.

You had your short bow with you, in case sharp words turned to something worse. You had wrapped your hands and wrists in fabric, as your father had once taught you, so in the event of a brawl you would be prepared to throw punches.

You knew just where to go, it was a well-known brothel, serving only higher-end clientele. Padding down the street with booted feet you made your silent way, not quite knowing what you were going to say or do upon arrival. So focused were you on your goal you took no notice of the shadowy figure following you down the steps of the Red Keep.

The women loitering outside the establishment, trying lure passing men inside, watched you approach with interest.

"'Tis not often we get ladies in here." One spoke, you valiantly tried to keep your eyes on her face.

"I'm here to speak to your Madam." Your voice was terse even to your own ears.

The courtesan frowned, her red lips pouting. "Mistress Trolunda is inside, though she's not entertaining guests personally tonight."

"No weapons allowed." The girl closest to the door held up a hand as you made to enter, her eyes were on the bow and quiver on your back.

"Bullshit." They gasped at your rude language, but your patience had taken leave this evening. "I'm sure you don't enforce that rule on your male customers."

You pushed your way passed, not a difficult feat and the women didn't put up much of a fight to stop you. Their glowering glares burned into your back as you walked through the doorway into a wide room lit with rosy fireglow.

The men inside did indeed carry weapons, those who were dressed anyway. It wasn't terribly busy inside the main room; several intertwined couples took up spaces by the several lit torches. You didn't look too hard at them, their states of undress and groping hands making your cheeks flush despite yourself.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" An older woman approached you from behind a clerical looking counter. She had light auburn hair and light eyes that looked you up and down calculatingly.

"Mistress Trolunda I take it?" You tilted your head, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

She gave your garb an appraising glance, a flicker of recognition crossing her froglike features. "I am she. If you're hear for business and pleasure you've come to the right place."

"Just business." You stepped forward, pressing into her space, pleased to note you were taller than her squat form. "To make sure no other children are victim to your debauchery."

"I beg your pardon?" Trolunda's voice had taken on an icy undertone, her eyes narrowing at you. "Who are you to dictate what goes on in my establishment."

"Someone who will make your life a living hell." You closed the remaining distance with a menacing step. "Or end it altogether."

She opened her mouth, her gaze searching behind you for help.

"Call for assistance and this knife will find your heart." You threatened.

Trolunda looked down and saw the knife you had withdrawn, poised at her ribcage. Her expression was wary as she met your eyes again. "What do you want?" Despite her effort to keep her reactions hidden you could hear the tremor of fear in her words.

"Children are to be left alone, not to be touched. Any girls you have working for you under the age of seventeen you will either find new work for or different jobs."

She snorted derisively, gasping a little as you prodded her with the sharp end of your dagger. "Alright, calm down." She raised her hands in submission. "I will do as you ask."

"Should patrons come wishing to see any workers under seventeen, you are to refuse them and report them to the King's Guard."

Her eyes widened. "The King's Guard? You cannot be serious. I would lose significant income."

"Did I stutter."

"No, no you did not." The Madam looked keenly at your face, before making a curtsying gesture, right before she hefted a heavy porcelain plate from the counter and smashed it against the side of your head.

White pain filled your vision as you stumbled to the side, falling to the ground, momentarily stunned. You felt a booted foot connect with your jaw, sending you reeling against the wooden floor.

Shouts and screams sent bolts of pain through your throbbing head, you squinted through bleary eyes, seeing the Madam approaching you with a curved dagger drawn and ready to slice at your vulnerable form.

You swept your leg out, knocking against her shins enough to cause her to stagger. The working women and half-naked men fled the scene as you lurched to your feet, bracing your weight against one of the oaken walls. You held your own dagger out in front of you like Aemond had taught.

Trolunda swiped at you once, clearly inexperienced with wielding weapons of any sort. You lashed out with your foot, catching her in the sternum and sending her falling back onto her tailbone. She shrieked a curse at you, her cry cutting through your aching temples like hot iron.

"Cease this at once!"

You were about to lunge at the woman, but Aemond's commanding voice stilled the very breath in your chest.

There he stood, framed in the doorway, those who had fled could be seen cowering in corners behind him. The hood of his cloak was thrown back, his long hair shining silver in the torchlight, he had not donned his eyepatch, the sapphire gemstone glittered menacingly as his lilac eye surveyed the scene before him with displeasure. His sword was drawn, though it was currently pointed at the ground.

The Madam righted herself, brushing down her rumpled skirts as her eyes flicked from Aemond to you and back again. A knowing smile itched up her unpleasant face. "Ah. I see now." Both you and Aemond glared at her as she smoothed back her mussed hair. "You are his." Her predatory gaze fell upon you once more. "I do hope what he learned in my care all those years ago has served you well."

With a cry of incandescent fury you fell upon the woman, pummeling each inch of her your fists could find. She collapsed beneath you, shielding her face and screaming inane curses as you continued beating her about the head.

Strong hands closed around your waist and hauled you off the woman, yet you still kicked out at her with your feet, making satisfying contact several more times as Aemond dragged you away.

"You've married a little beast, my prince." Trolunda gasped, wiping the blood from her nose off her lips. Though she was injured she still looked satisfied.

"Better a 'little beast' than a fucking child predator." You snarled, still trying to free yourself. "Aemond, let me go."

"You have made your point, Y/N." He sounded strained as he kept firm hold of your writhing form.

"Throw her in the dungeons, call in Vhagar, do something!"

"She has done nothing illegal." Aemond said softly, finally releasing you but placing a warning hand on your arm. "We need to leave, now."

"Wait for me outside." You turned to him finally, aware that the Madam watched you with a derisive smirk. "Please, Aemond. If you truly care for me, give me one minute alone with her."

His eye roamed your features for a moment before he looked at the woman over your shoulder. Something in his face hardened and he sighed shortly. "Fine. One minute, and no killing. That's an order."

"Yes sir."

He turned to leave, ushering the people still within the brothel to exit as well before closing the door behind him.

You turned slowly on the spot, facing the woman who once again had the dagger in her hand.

"He is powerless to do anything, as are you." She sneered. "Just as he was when his brother brought him to me."

In a flash you had drawn your bow off your back, notched an arrow, aimed and loosed.

With a cry of fear and grunt of surprise the woman was pinned by the sleeve of her heavy dress to the wall. She raised the dagger in her free hand as if to throw but your second arrow had already flown, pinning her other arm as well.

"I do not rescind what I said." You lowered your weapon, not hiding your smirk at her helpless state. "If any other children fall victim to this establishment you will burn in dragon fire, this I promise you."

After one last withering look, you turned on your heel and departed through the main door.

Aemond saw the Madam pinned by your arrows from the doorway as you left. His brow arched and he looked down at you with an expression you'd never seen before. "Are you finished?"

"Only because you interrupted." You were still in a foul mood; striding passed him and back towards the Keep.

The streets were empty now, apparently the citizens previously present wanted nothing to do with the unfolding drama, especially after Aemond arrived.

Aemond grabbed hold of your elbow, yanking you around to face him non to gently. "What did I say to you yesterday when you were so intent upon coming here?"

"Not to?"

"Ah, so your memory still functions." Aemond was becoming angry, his gaze taking in the blood trickling down from your hairline and the bruises forming upon your jaw. "Tell me why you blatantly disobeyed me."

"Children are being preyed upon, Aemond." You matched him with your own fiery anger, prodding his chest with your finger. "You are not the only on to be taken advantage of. I shudder to think what goes on in King's Landing. Since I am your wife, I have a duty to the people."

"Throwing yourself mindlessly into danger doesn't qualify as one of those duties, Y/N!" Aemond was close to shouting now, something that you had not yet experienced from him before.

"Mindlessly?" You raised your voice as well, your nostrils flaring. "What I did was very calculated, thank you very much."

Aemond passed a hand over his face, suddenly weary. You turned your back to him and continued back to your chambers, fuming. He walked in silent contemplation behind you as you stomped down the halls.

Once safe inside the room you threw aside your weapons and cloak, kicking off your boots and slumping upon the bed, staring unseeing up at the ceiling.

A few minutes later the mattress dipped beside you and Aemond's face hovered into view. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind your ear, his expression had softened upon seeing the tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

"I do not wish you to come to any harm, my fierce wife." He spoke softly now, watching as you propped yourself on an elbow to face him.

"I want to avenge the harm already done to you, Aemond." You traced his jaw with your fingers.

"Not if it puts you at risk." He shook his head. "Nothing is worth that." He tilted your own face to the side, examining your injuries with a severe frown. "And you seem intent on suffering for my sake."

"It's not suffering. I made progress in there, believe it or not." You took his hand in yours, lowering it to the mattress. "I just need you to trust me, work with me, and together we can break the cycle."

Aemond studied you for several silent moments, his lips pursed in thought, his lilac gaze suddenly seemed far away as he stared over your shoulder.

"I will think on it." He at last spoke. "For now, I am going to help clean and bandage you. On the morrow we will speak with the council about taking further action on this matter."

"Thank you, Aemond." You gently pressed your lips to his, lingering there to breathe him in. "That's all I ask."

"And no more personal vendettas for my sake." He combed his fingers carefully through your tangled hair. "We will make use of the proper channels as duty dictates."

"No sending in Vhagar?"

"No sending in Vhagar." He chuckled, a low delicious sound. "And I will know if you go to her yourself, Y/N."

You glanced guiltily into his eye, Aemond seemed to have been reading your thoughts. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Mmhmm." Your husband sighed, shaking his silver head before getting out of bed to prepare the wash basin. "What am I going to do with you?" He spoke as if to himself as he gathered healing ointments.

"Hopefully something to take my mind off this horrible headache." You winced as you sat up.

"I'm sure I can come up with something." Aemond graced you with a small smile, a flicker of reverence and gratitude crossing his handsome face as he held your gaze. "For now, let me tend to the injuries you sustained while fighting for my honor."

You both laughed lightly, the crackling fire illuminating the room in a cozy glow as Aemond looked after you with gentle hands and soft kisses against your warm skin.

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 1 year

Text

Tagged by: @ishwaris (last week, thank you again) @chazz-anova @eclecticwildflowers and @clicheantagonist thank you all so much!

Tagging: @strangefable @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @roofgeese @confidentandgood @derelictheretic @strafethesesinners @shallow-gravy @blissfulalchemist @henbased @florbelles @trench-rot @inafieldofdaisies @jacobsneed @voidika @v0idbuggy @detectivelokis @madparadoxum @nightbloodbix @nightwingshero @josephslittledeputy @marivenah @josephseedismyfather @cassietrn @neverthesameneveranother @kyber-infinitygems @aceghosts @wrathfulrook @vampireninjabunnies-blog @g0dspeeed @poetikat (and I feel like I’m missing others so anyone else I missed as well - no pressure of course)

Technically it’s still Tuesday for me but what the hell...

A little wip art from an upcoming scene in American Beasts where Kit finally gets to take care of the old man instead of him patching her up

And a snippet from Staci’s confession (this chapter is killing me, why can’t it just write itself)

This wasn’t going to be easy no matter which route he took, but he had to say something. "Um, well from the moment I was taken from the helicopter I've had my mind on a few things."

John smiled, the orange light reflecting off his eyes like the eye shine of a nocturnal beast. "Go on."

Staci licked his lips nervously, though his mouth was so dry he barely coated them in saliva at all. “Some thoughts are stronger than others. There are certain people in my life who affect them in particular.”

“Mmhm,” John hummed, raising his brow. He didn’t probe, he simply let silence settle until Staci felt forced to continue.

“Kit – being one of them.” Brown eyes were narrowed to slivers as Staci winced, waiting for the blow back of this reveal. He was sure she wasn’t one of the Baptist’s favorite people especially after how much trouble she’d caused him.

“Ah, Kathleen…” John started to pace, a half smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he forced his hands behind his back to keep himself from fidgeting. “She is quite something, isn’t she?”

The way John’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of her name made his stomach drop. He had reason to believe Kit and Jacob had some sort of personal relationship, but seeing another Herald reacting this way over her – and being trapped in his basement – put Staci on edge.

“Being at the Vet Center – staying close to Jacob, hearing the radio transmissions, collecting the reports, seeing the footage. The things she did…continues to do. I just – I don’t know how she does it. If our roles were reversed...I don't think I'd have been able to do half the things she’s accomplished, and she’d still do better than I did while under the Herald’s care.” Staci said, his voice cracked and wavered.

His eyes fell to his lap, embarrassed by who he was, by his failure. If it had been her who was taken and he was left to fight, Hope County would have fallen in a week and he’d be somewhere bleeding out – alone.

“I spent time in the cages, I took part in the trials – somehow I survived. Something in me wouldn’t let me die, like it had something to prove. Seeing the desperation of the recruits kept there, seeing how fast we all broke, and how badly they all wanted to be saved – just a glimpse at the badge had them reaching out to me like I was some hero when I was no better than any of them. They treated me like I was a fuckin’ saint. That feeling buries itself inside you, you start to crave it. I guess I understand why she fights so hard, but still –”

“So what are you more envious of then, Staci? What she managed to do or who she is and why she fights?”

“I’m envious of what they both are,” Staci said, choking out his response.

“Both?” John's eyes widened, giving him a look of innocence.

“Kit and Jacob. They’re strong. Stronger than I’ll ever be, but goddamn am I willing to try.”

John turned to roll his eyes at the mention of his eldest brother and strength. He'd heard the same thing said by so many of Jacob's recruits it had become tiresome to him to say the very least. He gave a quiet sigh and turned back to the table where the tattoo needle sat, snatching it up into his hands. He began to pace once more, long strides back and forth in front of the former Deputy like a metronome. “What about your relationship with Kit?”

“What?” Staci’s brow furrowed at the insinuation. He was one of the last people anyone would or could ever think she’d have something to do with.

“Nancy – in the information she gave us – she mentioned you used to flirt with her. Do you two have a history together? Or was this more just a one sided desire on your part?"

“Fuckin’ Nancy,” Staci muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t have a relationship with Kit, I mean sure I’ve thought about it, hell sometimes it was a nice warm thought to keep me alive in the cage when I was covered in my own piss and other people’s blood, but no…her and I — never gonna be a thing.”

“But you’d like it to be?” John tilted his head and cocked his brow, squeezing every last bit of information he could get from his newest toy.

“Not if I don’t want my neck snapped by the Herald.”

“I’m sorry. What was that?” John’s tongue clicked against his teeth as he fought to keep the smile on his face, his brow furrowing deeply.

“I don’t know for sure, they try to keep it quiet, sometimes there's hints…

John’s eye twitched, the whites of his eyes expanding as he stared at Staci like a deer caught in the headlights, his smile becoming ever more manic.

“She’s been kept with him in privacy a few times now and for someone who doesn't talk a lot she gets…” Staci looked around the room, his gaze floating up to the antlers that hung above him, suddenly feeling like the axe hanging above his head on a chopping block. But he’d started and couldn’t leave John hanging now. “Vocal. Kinda starting to think there’s something going on there between them, you know?”

Chuckling quietly, John puffed himself up like the preening peacock he was. “Between Cross and my brother? My brother, Jacob?”

“Yeah?”

John’s jaw tightened, clenching as his molars crunched against each other, squeaking as the teeth scraped against the other. A forced smile crept across his lips, pulling against his tightly clenched teeth, making the corners of his eyes crinkle with how hard he was trying to hide the real emotions.

“I know Jacob isn’t big on the religion, so he doesn’t follow all the rules, but they seem to be –”

John held up his hand to stop the flow of words that seemed to spill from Staci’s mouth like a river now that he was given the chance to speak. “That’s quite enough, Pratt. Thank you for opening up to me.” Stomping around the room, the vein in his forehead throbbed violently and his face turned red as he bit back on his rage. Pushing his hand through his slicked back hair, John exhaled as if he was forcing out the scream that now lay buried inside his ribs as he took his position standing in front of Staci. “For the acts that you’ve confessed to. I’ll be marking you with Envy and Lust. Coveting is a very unhealthy mindset, Staci. Are you sure being at Saint Francis is the right place for how you feel?”

Staci lifted his chin and took a deep breath. He’d never been more sure of anything in his life. “It’s where I want to be. I want to be strong.”

The Baptist’s smile crept back along his lips, no longer the madman fretting over things out of his control, he slipped back into the form he liked to present to the world as the man who had it all together. “Very well”

Still gripping the tattoo needle tight in his hand, John placed it back down on the table and bent over Staci, ripping open the same Deputy uniform he’d been forced to wear for weeks covered in blood, sweat, dirt and the stains of his tears. Staci’s breath hitched in his throat when the cold, recycled air blowing through the vents hit his bandaged chest. The wounds below only freshly starting to heal began to prickle and burn, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Well, Jacob didn’t leave me much to work with.”

Stopping to stare at the bloodstained gauze on Staci’s chest and abdomen, John pulled open the rest of the buttons until Staci’s shirt was hanging off of him. A cruel sneer pulled at John’s lip and he grabbed the sponge and water from the table, slapping the soft, wet material against Staci’s trail of hair that led down to his belt. “Consider this a reminder when you’re starting to feel lonely again.”

Placing the sponge back into the bowl with a splash, John quickly swiped the tattoo needle back up into his hand, turning it on with a loud buzz that made Staci’s teeth ache like being at the dentist. Kneeling down between Staci’s legs, John smiled and his bright blue eyes seemed to flash with something dark. “Take a deep breath.”

Staci sucked in as much air as his lungs could hold when the needle touched his skin and ripped through it with a million little pricks. It lacked the fluidity of the knife Jacob had used against him. Biting down into his lip, his eyes rolled back into his head as John continued to scrawl into the sensitive skin of his pelvis.

Pursing his lips, John blew cold air onto Staci’s new tattoo when he was finished with his handiwork, and grabbed the sponge to dab at the blood that was bubbling to the surface through the broken skin.

Half expecting words of praise, telling him he’d done a good job, that he took it well – something warm coiled in Staci’s belly and he felt nauseous. This wasn’t Jacob, this wasn’t the trials – this was a whole other beast. John merely ignored him and carried on with his work, tugging the sleeve of his shirt down his arm to expose the flesh of his upper bicep. Smooth hands traveled over his skin, finding the best place to drop the needle and Staci’s lip quivered in response to the gentle touch.

Wiping the skin down, droplets of water following the curves of what little muscle Staci was getting back, and John grabbed the needle once more. Tearing through layers of skin to mark it with the word ENVY, he showed little remorse as Staci started to groan with pain.

“There. Marked with your sins for all the world to see.” John leaned in, his nose nearly pressed to the former deputy’s. “Are you ready to atone, brother?”

Hot breath fanned over his face and Staci struggled to swallow. There was no fight left in him, he’d do whatever was asked. “Yes.”

The way John smiled at him, it was like he’d made the man’s dreams come true.

“Then let’s begin.”

#wip wednesday #wip art #skelly writes #american beasts #far cry 5 #jacob seed #oc: kit cross #jacob x kit #ship: the wolf and the wildcat #staci pratt #john seed

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shrutikaushal · 8 months

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in a room full of people I have always seen myself in the corner of the room, realizing as if I do not belong to this place. I was taught to see good in everyone, because who doesn't have flaws? I still remember my father telling my younger self, "you are so good to the world, this is why you find everyone equally good as you are."

it wasn't late enough when I was certain about the fact that we see our own reflection in everyone. We think of them the way we are, good and evil, the happiness and the feeling of abandonment, we believe everyone around feel and see through the lens we see the world.

might sound trivial and gibberish, but this is again me hoping that anyone who reads it would feel exactly what I am feeling right now.

so what exactly I have this time to throttle deep inside my throat in the name of happiness? hope.

no matter how hard life pulls me down, hope begs to be noticed. the light inside me still flickers, I swear. and I hate it, trust me; but this is the only thing that keeps me living. watching shows and reading fiction to escape reality, not going out and writing such blogs during midnight is what keeps me distracted.

is there anyone who feel like escaping but actually wants to be heard? is there anyone else aching deep down the ocean bed and is enduring silently? even thinking about it bring tears to my eyes, how hard a life can be?

there are wounds, there are scars, there are bruises and there is unbearable pain. healing isn't possible but concealing them with a face lit up by a bright smile is a way out.

laughing till your stomach hurts? I don't know what it feels like, but crying till you feel a sharp needle like pain in your chest is an emotion which lives rent free inside me.

what do I actually seek is the question. and the answer is still unknown. maybe because nobody ever asked me what I want. and maybe nobody ever would. this is my life where I am obliged to be responsible, cautious, fragile, risk-averse, and philophobic.

in some parallel universe I wish I am different. I wish I am carefree, reckless, strong, unafraid to make mistakes, and would love to love people. maybe.

#poetry #reading #prose #poem #love #blog #life quote #existence #hope #motivation #literature #spilled ink

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thedizzydinosaur · 5 months

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Day 5, reward (gift/prize)

(Moden au with magic and elves)

To Runaan's highy tuned senses, the bright lights and clashing sounds of the funfair was anything but fun to deal with, but the look of childlike joy on Ethari's face when he'd agreed to go was more than worth putting up with sensory hell for a couple of hours.

It had been so, so long since he'd gotten to go on any big family outings (or anywhere for that matter).

Besides, unlike Rayla, he had no intention of dragging the love of his life onto one of those heart attack inducing rides. No, she and her human could keep those to themselves.

"You're brooding again, dear." Ethari hummed at him, bouncing on his heels.

"Am not." Runaan dropped his carefully constructed facade for just a second to stick his tongue out at Ethari, who almost immediately started to laugh " I was just contemplating the look on a certain prince's face when Rayla brought up going on that big wooden roller coaster over there."

"He looked a little apprehensive" Ethari agreed.

"You'd think that a sky mage would be more enthusiastic about rides like that." Runaan had no intention of finding out why said coster was called the bone shaker.

"He's probably never been to a xadian fair before." Ethari pointed out "and you know as much as I do that folks like to put interesting enchantments on the rides to make them more... uh "

"Interesting? Don't remind me."

Runaan may not of been ones for the rides, but there was one part of funfairs that he loved, mainly becase he got to show off to his big strong husband.

The games.

Whilst Ethari dominated games like the hammer swing/bell ring game and tug of war, anything aim or precision based was Runaan’s speciality, and he had two years' worth of Ethari birthdays to catch up on.

What a good thing it was that Ethari was a sucker for big plush toys.

First up was a dart throwing game, which getting 3 bullseyes would win you one of the football sized adoraburr plushes, some of which lit up.

And lit up brightly.

Which, of course, meant that the one he won was one of those.

And it was not a bad prize, since it was very soft, nicely squishy, and made Ethari beam as brightly as it lit up when he saw it.

Runaan swapped it for the beany moonstrider that Ethari had won off the hammer swing, and the duo set off again.

In rapid secession, they hit up 3 more games stands, winning between them another, non glowing adoraburr, a large moonmoth that could be converted into a backpack, and an even larger plush moonstrider, which almost came up to Runaan's hip. (And it was laying down)

".. and where are we putting that?" Runaan asked as Ethari presented it to him with a grin

"Foot of the bed? I would say lounge, but I think Jenni would disapprove."

Jenni, the moonstrider pup, the newest addition to the household, would admittedly probably hate the thing on sight. But that was an issue for when they got home. Not for now. The now issue was actually carrying the big, bulky plush around as they slowly circled back towards the food stands.

#tdpprism2024 #tdp runaan #tdp ethari #the dragon prince

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 11 months

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Hi M! Hope I manage to slide this request in on time, may I request Caranthir x reader [AFAB] (if you're writing for the elves) with the bondage prompt for kinktober? Looking forward to lots of spice for kinktober ;)

"The vow"

Pairing: Caranthir x Fem. Reader (human/second person POV) | Location: Forests of Thargelion

Themes: Smut (Lemon/graphic)

Summary: Caranthir makes a vow to his significant other, something which is quite rare for him.

Word count: 1.1K words

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume.

The strips were freshly woven wool. They were strong and yet soft at the same time.

They had been wound around your wrists and arms, keeping them in place. It was how Caranthir liked it—having you bound, your body completely open to his whim and pleasure.

Tonight, there was no exception. The tent rustled softly against the wind that swept through the camp, fallen leaves lifting and swirling around the dying embers of a great pit fire. Inside, it was still warm. A brazier was lit, its dim, flickering light throwing shadows all over Caranthir's ruddy skin.

"You must remain silent, my love," Caranthir commanded in a hushed tone. You had moaned, deep and long and throaty. He was certain the sound carried beyond the tent. "Or the others will hear."

He then reconsidered his command. Why did it matter if the sounds of shared pleasures drifted beyond the boundaries of the tent you had come to share with him? The two of you were bound to each other. Not just in flesh, but in spirit as well. The others knew. His brothers knew. They did not necessarily approve of this cleaving to one another before sacred vows had been exchanged, but they knew.

Another moan parted your lips. "You ask for the impossible, my love, and you know it."

Caranthir laughed. "Then I should find another way to silence you."

"I thought you already had a way to silence me."

"Oho! Is that the way of it? Very well. I will make use of that little trick of mine some other time. Am I hurting you?"

He was not. Caranthir had been exceedingly gentle as always. It amazed you how an elf as fiery-tempered as the one who sired him could be so gentle at the same time.

"You are not, my love." Skin slapped against skin when his thighs struck yours, unleashing sparks that turned to flame, setting you ablaze from within. "But I am not certain if I could... Oh, my stars!"

He pulled on the bindings around your wrists and thrust deep, finding the secret place that gave you nothing but the most indescribable bliss. Caranthir had a good grip on your hip and your hands. His legs rested over yours. It stopped you from squirming too much. You enjoyed it, submitting to his will. You turned your head to the side, a little away from your pillow. It was all the better then.

"Good." Caranthir stopped. He leaned down ever so briefly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "And when Rána is at its brightest, I will make good on my vow. I will take you to wife, with my kin and our followers as witnesses. I will not be like that fool, Aegnor. I will not give you up, as he did Andreth. I love you, and you are mine."

"And I cannot wait for that day," you reply without even a moment's reflection. Reflection was not needed. Not now. Not after everything the two of you had endured together. "I love you, Morifinwë."

His eyes slowly filled with tears. They were welcome tears, a sign of his joy. A hand callused by years of fighting and sword use skimmed over your belly. It made you shiver. He pulled out of you, turned you onto your back, and entered you again. Caranthir moved, slowly and gently this time, his hand resting on your cheek. He repeated a pledge he once made when the two of you lay beneath an inky black sky, with nothing but the stars as witnesses.

"Flesh of two, joined as one. Bound in spirit. Bound in body. Bound beneath the light of the stars. Bound for all days, till the end of all days. Perhaps, if the great ones are willing, even beyond that."

You repeated his words, your breath nothing more than quickening gasps. It was as if you had been running. Caranthir panted. He whispered sweet obscenities in your ear—the kind one should not expect to hear from an elf of such high birth.

“I enjoy nothing more than looking into your eyes while I fuck you.”

“I cannot get enough of how eager you are to submit to me like this, letting me use that glorious body of yours however I see fit.”

“I know I urged you to be quiet before, but now I yearn to hear you cry out my name when I take you over the cliff.”

He leaned down and kissed you. His skin smelled of the cold, clean air and the fields he loved to ride in. His name came so easily to you. Morifinwë. Morifinwë. Morifinwë. It was like a song for his ears alone. He was now ceaseless, his mouth parting in a strangled cry. It triggered something hot and sweet—a gathering that spread just beneath your skin. His name left your lips again, now ragged, desperate, and hungry. Caranthir sated it, making you soar, taking you higher and higher until you cried out, loudly and without shame. Then he let himself go with a low groan, his entire body quivering violently before it slowly went still. He shuddered, his spend spilling freely after one last, powerful thrust.

The world beyond the tent was still quiet, save for the sudden, sharp gasps of chilling wind. Caranthir took a deep, steadying breath and drew back, then laid you down on the pelts that served as a feather bed. He undid your bindings. The painful, abrupt rush of blood made you yelp. He rubbed your arms to soothe you.

"Do these still hurt?" He asked.

Your gaze skimmed over the ugly scars that served as a visible reminder of the nightmarish orc raid that nearly claimed your life.

"Not anymore." Your sigh of relief rose from the tips of your toes when Caranthir ran his hands down trembling limbs, taking great care not to be too rough or fast. It made you feel so pampered. "I just cannot bear to look at them."

It was one Caranthir loathed above all—how he could not take the scars away. "I do not love you any less for it," he returned, dipping his head to kiss a scar that cut across your shoulder. "But I will see what else I can do."

"It does not matter," you reply. Caranthir had done so much for you already. It was another aspect of him that surprised you—the lengths he was willing to go to make sure you were well and happy. "You having done all that you could already is enough for me."

Caramthir smiled—really smiled. He stayed awake, content to watch while you curled into him and slept.

#caranthir #Caranthir smut #Caranthir imagine #caranthir x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader insert request #sons of fëanor #morifinwe #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #the silm #the silm imagine #the silm smut

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bunnyinatree · 2 months

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Thoughts related to disability under the cut...

There are definitely situations where it's best to separate two people with naturally conflicting interests—like when one person is aggressively bouncing their leg to defuse their anxious tension while another person is actively growing anxious because of that rapid movement in their periphery. No one's in the wrong by saying, "I need you to stop doing that," or "I can't stop doing this," and it makes perfect sense for both parties in these cases to separate, because no one person has a larger claim or right to their needs/behaviors.

But then there are situations that are less equal, where it feels like the other person just doesn't get it and that they value their comfort over another person's well-being—like when one person has a strong sensitivity to smells that causes migraines, but the other person insists on using scented products anyway, just because they smell nice. Like, okay, I support that person's love of vibrant fragrances. But their aromatic preferences are not more important than someone else's physical well-being, and it's important to defer to the person with a higher stake in the issue, you know? One person can't help that strong scents trigger migraines; the other person can certainly stop using a certain product in that person's presence.

This is on my mind, because today, a family friend stopped by just before sunset, and my dad turned on the overhead lights in the living room, where we were sitting. I dealt with them for as long as I could, but as the Sun set and the sky grew darker, the lights became more and more painful until I couldn't stand it anymore. I asked if I could adjust the lighting, and while our guest looked confused, my mom explained that I often do this. Both of my parents know that I hate the overhead lights with a passion—so why my father immediately turned them on when our guest arrived and then acted so surprised when it hurt me, I have no idea.

Anyway, when I eventually caved and said that I needed to adjust the lights, my mom initially seemed supportive, if a little apologetic to our guest, which I thought was unnecessary—the apologetic bit. But then, even after I'd adjusted the lights (turning off the overheads and replacing them with the three lamps scattered about the room), my mom asked me if we couldn't keep the overhead lights on just a little.

This confused me, because I recognize when she needs those bright lights on in order to do work and read small text, and in those situations, I simply excuse myself from the room entirely until she's done using them. But we were just sitting on a couch and chatting. I still don't understand why the room needs to be fully lit in order for that to be possible.

When I didn't seem eager to comply with her request, my mom gave me pleading eyes, and I relented but said I would have to leave the room after. This prompted our guest to say something like, "Oh, come on, don't be like that!" Which is frustrating, because I wasn't throwing a fit because I didn't get my way; I just wanted to avoid physical pain. And what am I supposed to do in that situation? Drop my diagnosis and say, "Actually, I have ocular albinism, and the photophobia makes it physically painful for me to sit with these lights turned on"? I don't owe anyone that information, and the fact that I said, "These lights are hurting me" should have been enough.

It's also frustrating, because I live with both of my parents, and while my mom definitely understand my physical limitations more than my dad—she's around me much more than my dad—it seems that even she doesn't really get it.

Afterwards, she saw that I was upset (because I did end up having to leave the room; I went to fetch a hat to protect my eyes then got distracted by my cat), and I explained it to her. She was taken aback and said that she didn't think the lights would hurt me that much if they were only on a little bit. So I reminded her that exposed lighting hurts me because it's not muted or blocked by anything. This is why lamps are generally easier on my eyes: They typically have lampshades.

Still, I wish that people didn't require in-depth explanations to help a person manage their pain. "I need X" should be enough. You can always ask questions later to try and understand the person's needs better, but you shouldn't wait for a sufficient explanation before you give them what they need. If somebody says, "This needs to stop, because it's hurting me," in what world is it OK to say, "OK, but is it really hurting you that badly? Why is it such a big deal to you?" You're essentially grilling the person while continuing to inflict pain on them and expecting them to have an eloquent answer for you that will move you to take pity/have mercy on them.

Actually, now that I've typed all this out, I realize that it sounds a lot like my friends' experiences with misophonia.

[image ID: the meme with two people gripping hands. One side is labeled "misophonia," while the other is labeled "photophobia." Where they are grasping hands, the text reads: "conditions with a root word meaning "hatred" or "fear" in their name ("miso" as in "misogyny" and "phobia" as in "arachnophobia") yet people without it still underestimate the pain and physical duress that it causes and require convincing to stop their harmful behaviors." End image ID.]

#bunny babbles

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backtothefanfiction · 1 year

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The Brutal Hearts Club | Agent Whiskey Imagine

Based on the song Use Me by Diplo, Dove Cameron and Sturgill Simpson…

Word Count: 3.9K

Summary: Jack drinks his sorrows between missions at The Brutal Hearts Club. Birdie works at the Brutal Hearts Club. They become unlikely allies when it comes to letting off steam and scratching that itch. OVER 18s ONLY!

Warnings: drinking, pole dancing, smut, a little fighting, booty call, angst

A/N- I adore this song so much right now and with its slight country flair, whilst very much being a club song, I really wanted to use it to write a little imagine and the perfect character was our favourite cowboy himself. Also if you are under 18 and you decide to keep reading and it lands me in trouble I will take it very personally!

ps. I know I teased this a while back, I got busy.

Are you the brutal heart? Are you the brutal heart that I've been lookin' for? 'Cause if you're lookin' for love, you can look through that door

Everyone thinks it’s Friday and Saturday nights that are the big money nights. The nights of the weekend, where the old and young alike walk through the doors of clubs across the country, ordering drinks and dancing until 3 am. Staggering home with cooling sweat on their body that has no effect due to the copious amounts of alcohol flowing through their veins. But not The Brutal Hearts. Thursday nights, that evening just before the masses have time off for the weekend, when moral is low and the hope of days off are so close, yet still so far, that those most desperate say fuck it and walk beneath the big blue neon sign into the depths made for those with brutal hearts.

It’s the perfect place for a man like Jack who gave up on love a long time ago to shake off the jitters left from his last mission. A place he can block out the images of dead bodies he’s left in his wake over the years and be surrounded by those of the living. Those with hearts that beat strong and fearless, forever guarded and living for each moment like it could be their last (and the way he’s seen certain people do coke in the bathroom, it could be).

There’s four levels of the Brutal Hearts Club. There’s the main club room and bar. Neon signs, disco balls, an old light up dancefloor that looks like something from saturday night fever. This was, as the sign above the bar stated, simply for those who only had lonely hearts. Those who drank through their heartache and needed somewhere to just dance it off for the evening. Maybe try their luck and meet a partner to go home with. Where you can find all the popular tracks of the moment played by a DJ with his own lonely heart, still trying to chase Ibiza dreams at 40 something years old.

Jack bypassed this room headed straight for the big red leather coated doors in the back. For the rooms that weren’t just for the hearts temporarily chipped or lonely, but altogether broken and missing.

He reached a set of stairs, both adorned with light up arrows pointing up and down. The up arrow was placed next to another neon depicting a hand of cards, an ace of hearts clearly displayed. Jack didn’t like playing games. He was a simple man, always had been, always will be. He’s fast talking, fast shooting and prefers to just get a task done. It’s got him in plenty of hot water with his boss over the years, but he wouldn’t have become the head of the New York office if he hadn’t been willing to do the things no one else would. The things only one with a brutal heart would do.

Jack headed downstairs instead. Where the shadows grew longer and the hearts felt more hopeless. As he reached the final steps to yet another set of double doors, adorned with cracked red leather, he felt the bass grow stronger, like a defibrillator attempting to shock a heart back to life, the bass making the beating in his chest thump harder, trying to restart something that’s been long dead.

As his still chapped and scraped hands pushed open the door and his eyes instinctively gazed towards the lit stage in the middle of the room, he knew this was going to be no ordinary visit to the Brutal Hearts Club.

Hearts Hearts that break the night in two And arms that can hold you, that's true

“Break a leg out there tonight girl!” the tanned beauty behind her, smiled at her through the mirror as she fixed the fringe on her bubblegum pink wig.

“Thanks Angel, you too.” she called back over her shoulder as the woman adorned in red lingerie with legs for days, made her way over to the dressing room door and out towards the main floor.

Robyn stared at her stage name, scrawled on her mirror in hot pink lipstick so it sat just above her reflection in the mirror, reminding her of who she was here. Where her place was. They didn’t use real names at the brutal hearts. That’s how you got hurt. But she always wondered, ‘how can you break something when it’s already broken?’

“Hey, Birdie!” a voice called into the dressing room, “You’ve got 2 minutes.” Liam, the 30 year old stage hand said as he turned the clipboard in his hand to check his watch. He didn’t wait to escort her, or even make sure she was ready to go, she was always punctual and professional.

She kicked off her fluffy bunny slippers under her dressing table, reaching for the knee high pink boots that complimented her wig and slid her legs into them. Her satin robe hung loose over her silver bodysuit she wore over a pair of fishnet stockings and as she reached the dressing room door, she pulled a bejewelled cowboy hat off of a hat stand.

She stepped up behind the curtain towards the back of the stage as she handed her robe over to Liam who was in turn holding out a coiled length of rope to her. She nervously ran her fingers along the length of it as she readied herself. She looked to the floor as she let out a large breath as she heard the music shift, a short transition track mixed with the sounds of bird song. “AND NOW!” A voice called over the speakers and she clicked her heels together three times, a pre-show habit for luck she had gotten into. The music lowered, “WELCOME TO THE STAGE, YOU CAN’T KEEP THIS LITTLE CANARY IN A CAGE, IT’S BIRDIE!”

The curtain raised as her track began and she slowly stepped forward, her head low, hat covering her face to keep that tension for the Thursday night crowd, just that little bit longer, the coiled rope tapping on her hip. Thursdays at The Brutal Hearts was big show day. All the girls gave their best, most exclusive performance for the highest bidders. The biggest rollers. The broken bankers and card players who had gotten lucky upstairs and made their way down to their level to spend their winnings on some lucky lady. To throw it away again as quickly as they had earned it. Silly 20 something year old white boys who had more money than sense for their age and couldn’t get a girl to look at them unless they paid for it. Or older divorcees looking for a sugar baby now their Mrs has up and left them for being too much of a workaholic. And if that didn’t work and they felt drunk and invincible enough they’d head down yet another flight of stairs to either compete or just bet on the final fights of the night in the underground ring.

She slid down onto her knees, as she began to gyrate her body in time with the beat, across the stage floor. The younger guys whistled and hollered as they sat in the front row and threw ten and twenty dollar bills onto the stage. She twirled her legs around, before rolling onto her back, stretching her legs up in the air before splitting them wide. She focused on her reflection in the mirrored ceiling above her. If she caught a glimpse of herself enough to remind her how sexy and empowered moving like this really made her feel, she could ignore all the eyes on her who merely only saw her as an object to throw money at. A temporary high.

She stood and strutted her way to a pole at the front of the stage, she did a little dip of her knees before gripping the pole hard and twisting herself up onto it, her head tilting to keep her hat on. The aim with pole dancing is to make as many angled lines as possible. To flex and elongate your body, to create curves in places you didn’t realise could be curves. Occasionally you could hold things very straight for a show of power and strength but otherwise, you want to keep that essence of a moving wave as it rolls into the shore, graceful yet powerful. She twisted herself up towards the top of the pole, curling herself into a ball before dropping her whole body down the pole for dramatic effect, tightening her muscles and catching herself again at the last minute. She continued to spin low as she unfurled her limbs like petals of a flower, allowing her a small window in which to survey her crowd and pick her unsuspecting victim. That’s when she locked eyes with him. His sunglasses sat on the bridge of his aquiline nose, cowboy hat dipped low, his hand reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket as he made his way towards the stage.

She rolled herself off of the pole and onto her knees at the edge of the stage before him. She watched as he took off his own hat, placing a few hundreds into the band around it. He then reached out and took her hat off of her head and replaced it with his own, staking his claim, before walking away and taking a seat in a single, crackled leather armchair two rows back from the stage. He placed her bejewelled hat upon his knee before holding two fingers up to usher over a waitress to take his drink order as he waited.

So use me

Birdie finished up her set before making her way back to the dressing room to change. She carefully took her mystery stranger’s hat off of her head, placing the money that was tucked into the hat into a jar full of nicknacks and brightly coloured hair scrunchies on her dressing table. She then pulled off her wig, before releasing her long dark tresses from the wig cap that had been underneath. She shook out her hair before prying off her boots and changing into a dark purple, strapped bodice two piece. She then slipped her legs into a pair of black knee high boots and was ready to get back out on the floor. She grabbed her mystery cowboy’s hat, as she headed out the door, placing it back on her head so he would recognise her without the pink wig on.

As she scanned the crowd, she saw him standing at the bar ordering another drink, her bejewelled hat hanging off his fingers.

“I believe you have something of mine.” she said, announcing her presence.

His eyes looked her up and down as his glass of whiskey was placed on the bar top.

“You give me mine, I’ll give you yours.” he played along with her, confidence times a million.

She leaned into him, observing the deep brown of his eyes, before trailing her eyes down his nose, then taking in his moustache. She couldn’t help but lick her own lips as her eyes finally gazed on his plush lower lip.

Her hand reached up to take his hat off of her head and place it gently back on his. He took a sip of his whiskey before he lifted her hat up and balanced it on her head. “This colour suits you better.” he says quietly as his fingers catch a few strands of her hair.

“Hey Sweetheart.” a young 20 something practically shouts as he sidles up on the other side of her. She aims to ignore him, keeping her attention on her mystery stranger but the sudden feeling of the guy’s hands on her ass changes everything. “Any chance of getting a private dance, beautiful?” his voice lilts along with his body. His eyes are glassy, he’s clearly drunk.

Jack watches as her face changes, her body turning towards him. He senses her rage.

“Sorry bud, she’s taken.” Jack proudly says, strutting forward to stand between the drunken douchebag and his new acquaintance.

“Ahhh come on man. Surely we can come to an arrangement. How much do you want?” The drunk propositions.

Jack just stares at him as if to say ‘are you serious?’

“Or we can go halves? Make it a cheaper night for yo-” he doesn’t even finish his sentence before Jack is punching him square in the face.

“Oh shit.” Robyn murrmers.

“Come on Birdie.” Jack says, taking her hand with the same one he had just used to punch the guy in front of them in the face, pulling her towards the back.

She took a brief look over her shoulder to see the guy, bent over the bar top, his hand holding his nose wailing.

Use me.

It may have been Birdie’s first time seeing him here, but it was clear it was not his first time. He pulled her closer to the back rooms before encouraging her to pick one of the empty ones for them to slip into.

“That was pretty heroic.” she cooed as she began to pace around him when they got into the room.

He quickly made himself comfortable on the red velvet sofa placed in the middle of the room. He watched as she crossed over to a panel on the wall, picking her personal private playlist and hitting shuffle. “With a punch like that, are you a full time cowboy?” she asked as she slid down the wall onto all fours and began stalking like a cat across the floor before him.

Jack couldn’t help but feel his pants begin to grow tight as he watched her ass cheeks sway back and forth as she grew ever closer to him.

“Something like that.” he teased back as she came to a stop at his ankles. Her fingers ghosting up his legs before she split his knees, perching herself back on her heels as she sat between them looking up at him.

“You know they’re probably gonna come find you and kick you out for punching that guy.”

“Let’s just hope we both get what we want before that happens then.”

“What we want? I thought the whole point of this game is that you get what you want.”

“Come on Birdie,” he said, hooking his finger under her chin, his thumb turning to brush up her jaw, “you telling me there’s nothing you want from me?”

I don’t mind at all I don’t mind that you only call me when you want And I’m just glad you want me at all

She had let him book them into a hotel. She had broken her one rule ‘don’t sleep with the customer’ but Jack wasn’t a customer. Not anymore. Was he ever? He was enchanting and charming and there had been something familiar about him from the get go. “Use me.” he had said as he lay back amidst the pillows, his fingers only ghosting her skin as she rode him.

That was 5 days ago. He had made her put his number in her phone. For whenever she wanted to ‘use him again’ he had said. She swore to herself she wouldn’t, it was one night, but now she was sitting on her sofa, an uncontrollable need between her legs and the memory of a man she so wanted between them. The phone was in her hand, an eggplant and peach emoji sent over before she realised she had done it.

She was left waiting for a minute, watching the dots on the screen when an address came through.

And hearts Hearts that break the night in two And arms that can hold you, that’s true

To her surprise the building wasn’t a hotel, it was an apartment building. His apartment building.

The doorman let her in and she took the elevator up to the 15th floor. He had the door open the moment the elevator bell went ding. He was standing leaning against the door frame, arms folded, shirt sleeves rolled up. Neither of them said anything as she made her way into the apartment. She stood frozen in the entryway as he closed the door behind her.

She waited in anticipation as she felt his chest press into her back. His fingers grazed the sides of her coat, his head dipping to nuzzle into the scent of her neck. He felt her gasp and her body relax as his lips brushed the skin of her neck. “What do you want, Birdie?”

“Use me.”

So use me, So use me,

His hands suddenly became fierce and firm, ripping her coat off exposing, to his delight, she was only wearing lingerie underneath. It made him groan as he turned her, his arms wrapping around her, his face getting buried in her breasts, as he kissed and licked at them. He lifted her with one hand, the other continuing to paw at her chest as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms braced tightly around his neck, keeping his lips close to her skin. She felt like she was on fire.

He swiftly carried her to his bedroom, dropping her onto the bed. She lay back, propping herself up on her elbows as he began to strip down. The sound of his belt unbuckling and being ripped from his belt loops only made the ache between her legs worse and he couldn’t help but smirk as he noticed how she began to rub her thighs together with need, her lips pulling between her teeth as she sized up her meal.

“Fuck.” he groaned as he raced forward grabbing the sides of her face and smashing his lips into hers. She playfully nipped at his lower lip and it made him grow hungrier still. She was being cheeky, she wanted to be punished, she wanted to be used.

His hands reached down for her thighs, his lips breaking away from hers at the last second as he flipped her over. His hands reached for her ass, positioning it up high in the air as he let his hand come down on her right cheek with a loud crack.

“Mmm” she moaned as she rocked back and forth slightly before turning her head to fix her eyes on him. Those angel eyes, those butter wouldn’t melt eyes only 5 days ago, now her gaze was replaced with something else.

“God, you’re something else.” he professed as he leant a knee on the edge of the bed, grabbing her face and smashing his lips to hers once more.

“Fuck me, Jack.” she cooed as she began to pull her face away. For a moment he thought he saw something else in her eyes. It was quick like a flash, one second there and then gone again, just like that. But Jack was no fool, he would know that look anywhere.

Are we brutal hearts? Are we brutal hearts that break the night in two? 'Cause I just want this night with you I don't like the man (no, I don't like the man) I don't like the man that I am (you are) 'Cause I just want this night with you So let's take this night from black to blue So let's take this night from black to blue

He shook off the look. That reminder of the lonely heart within him. His own brutal heart, desperate to be used. Maybe that’s why they had both been drawn to the club in the first place.

He let his hand run down the length of her sides, fingers savouring the feeling of her soft skin beneath his fingertips until he reached her panties. He ran his fingers along the wet seam as she squirmed under his touch. He continued to tease her entrance as he freed himself from his pants, his hand giving his length a few pumps for good measure. He then reached out to pull her underwear down her legs, her head turning back to watch with her wanting, desperate look again.

He placed one finger into her heat, stretching her out and then another and her head hung in satisfaction as she let out a long slow gasp. He pumped his fingers inside her once, twice before pulling out. She let out a little whine at the loss, her head turning, eyes searching for him once more when he suddenly lined himself up and thrust himself deep inside her in one smooth motion. She gasped louder with the feeling. He slowly began to rock inside her as the flat of his hand palmed her ass before sliding up her back, his fingers hooking around the clasp of her bra as he pulled her up to meet him, his lips hungry for her moans. His hand clasped gently around her throat as he thrust up into her, she was so tight in this position.

“Fuck, baby.” he moaned into her mouth, her arm reaching behind her to wrap around the back of his neck in an attempt to keep him close, desperate for that human connection, desperate to feel something, desperate to be loved.

So use me So use me Hey

He nipped at her neck, his fingers teasing her sensitive clit as he thrust deep inside her. She met him with every thrust, grinding back on him as he pounded into her faster and hard. He could feel her growing tighter, her climax building, muscles squeezing around him. “Give it to me baby.” he commanded, his fingers applying even more pressure to her sensitive nub.

“Oh fuck!” she cried as her high took over, he released her body from its hold, her hands coming down on the bed to brace herself. His thrusts slowed as she continued to slowly grind back against him, riding out her high.

When he felt her stop, he pulled out, his hands reaching for her hips rolling her over, encouraging her onto her back. He leant over the bed as she began to quickly shuffle up towards the headboard to allow him room and he spread her legs before reaching down to run his tongue up the length of her sex, collecting as much of her slick into his mouth as he could.

At seeing him do this her hunger returned. He positioned himself back between her legs and her hands wrapped around his back, fingernails grazing his skin as he thrust back inside her again. She was still so sensitive and it wasn’t long before she began to feel her next climax beginning to build.

“Come on baby, one more.” Jack almost snarled as his own hunger took over, his body leaning over her tightly, his fingers wrapping around her neck once more as he continued to pound her into the mattress.

“Uh fuck. Jack, JACK!” she cried.

“That’s it baby, say my name.”

They both came within quick succession of each other, she felt him move to pull out but she held him tighter, forcing him to finish inside her, after all she was on the pill she didn’t have to worry about a baby after this, she just needed to feel him. His chest on hers, his heartbeat, beating with hers, the pulsing of his cock in her pussy. It was almost a tender moment, but as Jack leaned back to look at her face he saw it again, that flash of pain. He couldn’t help but meet it with his own this time. Any other time it could have been a sweet moment, but this wasn’t that moment. This wasn’t that kind of sex. It was just two brutal hearts, looking to be used.

Use me. Use me.

————-/-//——-///———

Sorry it’s so late…

@musesofthenight @love-affair-with-fandoms @rav3n-pascal22

#agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #smut #song prompt #Pedro pascal #original female character #reader insert #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine

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tryingtimi · 2 years

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In The Grave, He Rests

Various Saints and Storms by Florance + The Machine is still the best Darnehlia song ever. Thank you for the number my love ❤️!

Context: Darmon realises Troghrun used his crystal eye to spy on the others, and with this, he also used Darmon as a puppet of his even after he left the man.

DARMON AND SYONEHLIA | CONTEMPLATING SUICIDE | MENTION OF DEATH | HEAVY ANGST | WC: 898

On nights like this, even the Humming Oaks has turned silent.

The moon shined brightly on His throne, up in the middle of the sky. Its rays merged and turned into a pathway, giving just enough light for Darmon to see the tombstones. Starbugs orbited in the air, nearing closer to him, but twirling away eventually. Never getting close enough, as if he was scaring them away.

A warm breeze rustled his hair when he bent over to place an ever-blooming magnolia at the grave before him.

“There you are.”

He raised his gaze at Syonehlia. Her voice danced quietly and softly enough to not disturb the night in the graveyard as she moved carefully, her movements keeping their refined state still. However late it could have been, she didn’t wear her nightgown yet.

She descended onto her heels the same way Darmon situated himself hours before. His legs long stopped numbing.

“Here I am,” he agreed, voice barely louder than a whisper. There was not a hint of gleefulness in his tone.

Syonehlia glanced at him for a moment, then she placed her palms on her knees and bent forward. She put her head so low, it almost touched the ground under them. She paid her respects to the dead in the most beautiful way Darmon has ever seen.

“You’ve vanished.” He did indeed. As soon as the meeting ended, he saw it best to find his way into the only place he felt he belongs. Among the eternally silent, among those long gone.

The tombstone they faced lit up a little as a starbug floated in front of it and let a tiny burst of stars out when it wiggled itself. There was no name carved into it.

“I apologize if I’ve made you worry. I only needed some time.”

Why Darmon felt as if he just uttered a lie to Syonehlia, he couldn’t tell.

She nodded as she looked around. The Dione estate had its own graveyard, a neatly trimmed, clean place directly beside the manor. Darmon, however, felt the need to build his own a little farther away at the edge of the woods. He gathered stones to stand as tombstones after some shaping, and he came here every other night to clean the ground out of weed, while he also collected the remnants of gemrains. He built only one smaller than the others; the one he placed here tonight.

The dirt dried on his hands from the digging. He quickly got used to the itching under his nails, however.

“We’ll be fine, you know.” Syonehlia carefully caressed a petal placed into a vase beside the nearest grave. “We could have expected it. We should have. But, it doesn’t make a difference what we should have done before. We will be fine, Strotagor.”

An oh so comforting statement. Her usual factual manner, sprinkled with a hint of reason. Syonehlia might have been right. Yet, they both knew, these were words only. Darmon was certain; no matter how much comfort has been uttered into the silent night, it did not change what has been done. Nothing could.

Therefore, he remained silent. The land of the dead called to him, named him. Coward. He never yearned for fleeing. Dying yes, but never fleeing. Yet with the burden of the recent events, brought the temptation of ending things finally.

“Who’s grave is this?” Syonehlia whispered suddenly. Her voice almost sounded worried. She might have noticed the grave in entirety just now. Or, perhaps, Darmon might have stared at the tombstone too intensely, with too strong of an intent.

“A coward’s,” he breathed, voice hoarse as he turned to her, revealing the part of his face where no crystal eye has been planted anymore.

#Project Metalsea #Metalsea snippets #Metalsea snippet #Darmon Strotagor #Syonehlia Dione #fantasy #writeblr #writing community #tw: death #tw: longing for death #Metalsea: Nohrinal's Legacy

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amostdelectablescribbler · 11 months

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day 3 of nanowrimo:

worker on: beast of burden

words written: ~1000

Time spent: 2-ish hours

What was written, with an extra line or so of context:

warning: this gets pretty nsfw pretty quickly. If you are not here for it, carry on. There’s more family-friendly stuff further down my blog. Go find that.

[you have been warned]

Spectre sank through the foot of Kez’s bed, falling from the ceiling next to the pot, and let drop the cut veggies into the pot, bubbling gently over a fire which turned Spectre from white to gold temporarily, as he fell back into his shadow and landed on Kez’s bed again, making a mess of it and launching her saxophone into the air and back down into his hands

“WATCH MY SAX,” Kez yelled, cursing Spectre under her breath.

“Sorry, Kez. But this gives me an idea to cheer up the kid. I’ll get the guitar and a something to smoke, you guys bring the sax and some camping kit, Maia…”

“Yeah?”

“…try not to get your back or your voice ruined in the next day and a bit.”

“Mmm, hard bargain… might need an incentive…”

“Oh you fucking day-hooker-”

“-I am not a day-hooker. Jesus, you think that low of me? Fine, I’ll stay clean for a bit, but you’d better bring some strong stuff, clear?”

“Is Causite-fertilised kush strong enough?”

“I didn’t mean it as a challenge, but hell yeah!”

Spectre sank through the bed again, emerging from the roof of Red’s apartment to find it dimly lit and desolate, Red sat idle in his hammock, watching the view from his balcony.

“The lion’s share flat, and you spend it in your hammock?”

“Yup. Got nothing else to do.” Red groaned, rolling over to face Spectre, looking thoroughly bored.

“Gods, you look awful. Anyways, you do now! We’re going camping for a night, out in the forest, up a hill, wherever. We’re gonna do a bunch of walking and a campfire and singing around the campfire eating marshmallows and smoke colossal doobs and fun stuff.” Spectre’s enthusiasm was palpable, in stark contrast to his more common sarcasm and reactive snark.

Red perked up a bit, Spectre’s infectious energy soaking into him, “Alright, you had me at camping, but I need my lungs healthy, so i’m staying off the drugs, thanks.”

“Fine by me.” Spectre shrugged, taking Red’s wrist, picking him up like a wet rag and tossing him through his shadow, following suit with flair. They were spat out in Kez’s flat in the wardrobe, thoroughly confusing Red and raising a groan from Spectre.

“Why’d you put us in the wardrobe?”

“It wasn’t up to me. There’s a certain amount of darkness there needs to be for me to pass through, the light keeps in solid, and if i try to go through a bright area, it autopilot’s me to the nearest dark enough place.” Spectre elbowed the door open with conviction.

“Can’t you make your own dark and shadow and stuff?”

Spectre chuckled to himself, “Ah, that’s a different trick entirely. They work well together, but it’s massive overkill in here, and I don’t want to get Kez by accident.”

Maia, now composed, snarked, “What about me?”

“Don’t mind if you get chomped too much, which reminds me,” Spectre’s hand closed as if he were holding a pen, shadows converging to fill the shape, “Come with, for a minute. I have a new trick for you.”

“What is that?” Maia sat up.

“You’ll see.” The shadow pen was spun around.

“What’s it do?” She paled.

“Wanna find out?”

“Yes, but from a distance.” Maia curled up, her knees to her chest.

“Tough, but you’ll thank me later.”

“I trust that like I trust a 4-inch to do the job.”

“When have I ever actually crossed you? I’ve insulted you a lot, but when have I ever done anything to hurt you?”

Maia conceded, following Spectre into the bathroom, her voice echoing through the walls,

“Woah, okay, where’d my clothes go? Hey, Spectre? What are you doing with that? Hey, woah, nonono that is definitely sharp.”

“It’s a tattoo pen. Of course it’s sharp.”

“Oh. Oh, you should’ve said so, if it’s just a tattoo- why do you want to give me a tattoo? Why am I naked? Where are you about to try give me a tattoo? Hey, woah, oh- oh thank the gods I thought you were about to-” Maia was cut off mid-sentence with a moan as Spectre finished his work.

“You can have your clothes back now.” Spectre flourished his hand and the pen disappeared, returning Maia’s onesie as it went.

Still somewhat confused about the just-transpired events, Maia sat up, criss-cross-applesauce, on her bed, “What does that li’l symbol you carved into me even do? Didn’t even hurt like a tattoo would.” Kez took her apron off, lean muscle rippling beneath a baggy t-shirt, sweating sarcasm, “Two things. 1: You’ve never had a tattoo, how would you know? 2: what is the symbol?”

“Nifty little rune I read about, wished I didn’t know, and then memorised for her birthday at some point and wisely decided against it.” Spectre gestured to the model upon which he enacted his handiwork, “See for yourself.”

Etched in a hot magenta, an inch or so above her pelvis was tattooed the following: (i drew that myself on procreate with the power of graffiti-style exponential extravagant-ification)

The sigil glowed faintly, pairing itself to a matching sigil on the first knuckle of Spectre’s thumb.

“So, you gonna show me-?” Maia was cut of by the sigil’s activation, which sent the nearby nerves into overdrive, reporting back indescribable pleasure. She’d doubled over, curled up and twitching slightly.

“Yup, works as intended.” Spectre removed his hand from his control sigil on his thumb, letting the pressure off slowly. Kez rolled her eyes,

“And what is that supposed to do, besides slow her down more?”

“I can also use it in reverse, to shut down nerves in the area, so instead of an orgasm button, it can be an orgasm blocker, too.”

Maia dragged herself back up, still recovering and digging her nails into her sheets,

You bastard. You wouldn’t-” Maia folded again, shaking and spasming, her nervous system overloading itself, unable to even make a noise.

“Gimme that.” Kez snatched Spectre’s hand from him, pressing hard on the sigil connected to Maia, sending her screaming, spasming—and probably meriting a change of pants—to heaven and back.

#nanowrimo #oc smut

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hectormcfilm · 11 months

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Eyes Wide Shut

Until Now every film I have reviewed on my blog have been films I have watched at the cinema but I feel I need to talk about and analyse this film. Eyes Wide Shut is Stanley Kubrick's final film from 1999, a film about sexual obsession, elitism and conspiracy and a film that itself is surrounded my lots of conspiracies about the cause of Kubrick's death.

I feel in general this film isn't looked back on as fondly as some of Kubrick's other work such as 2001 a space odyssey or A clockwork orange. However, I believe this film was Kubrick's final masterpiece and a perfect ending to his career.

To start with the key thing to discuss with this film is the use of lighting and colour theory. This film is beautifully shot and lit throughout, using its winter setting to take advantage of constant glowing Christmas lights and Christmas trees. However this gorgeous lighting has a deeper meaning, Christmas trees are used in this film to an almost relentlessly excessive degree turning these beautifully festive trees into something more anxiety filling, constantly blaring bright lights and a usually red aura, reflecting themes of lust and seduction. To add on, Christmas Trees can symbolise eternal life and celebrating fertility, both linking to the theme of occultism and sexual obsession. Blue lighting is also prevalent in this film, usually shinning through windows and covering the characters faces, at a base level this lighting creates a cold and sad atmosphere but more importantly it symbolises sexual disinterest as well as making scene seem more surreal and dreamlike.

This film carries two strong performances from both Cruise and Kidman who's characters have a tense and deeply troubled relationship of cheating and disinterest in one another, only together for their marriage and child. Kidman delivers a great performance for her monologue about the young soldier and keeps a level of insanity throughout. The idea of lies and deceit is highlighted constantly in the film, especially with the use of masks at the party, creating mystery as to who these strange occultists are.

Like many Kubrick films you have to question what is real and what isn't, with aspects like the strange lighting, the constant obsession most characters have with sex when around Tom Cruise, making you question whether this is all a strange surreal fantasy from the protagonist Bill. Certain scenes like the costume shop where two Asian men are caught having sex with an underage girl really make you question the realism of the film, is it all a dream or just an exemplification of society's obsession with sex. Overall, this is one of the most objectifying and sexualised films I've ever seen but it never feels purposeless, there's a sense of mockery towards the elite and this type of obsession.

Most of the time I am not a huge fan of films with open endings, I recently complained about Old Oaks lack of a conclusion however it felt perfect for this film, there are so many unanswered questions like Nick's fate, the identity of Red Cloak or how Mandy really died but that adds to the surreal aspects of the film and the idea that this mystery and cult goes so deep these answers will never be found out.

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softgrungeprophet · 2 years

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musing on movies in general, long post, do not read if you don't want my rambling opinions on cinnamontography or whatever

anyway

my kingdom for a spider-man noir movie (by which i mean Spider-Man Noir, the 1920s spider-man, but i also mean, a noir movie about spidey in general, even modern) in the vein of the Batman and other modern and neo-noir films instead of this ugly, poorly lit stuff the MCU keeps putting out

sony!! sony do you hear me?! (disney do not interact) i want black shadows and strong lighting used to lead the viewer's eye, purposefully obfuscate things, and only reveal what the movie wants the viewer to see when it wants the viewer to see it. i want to see two eye lenses and nothing else, looming in the darkness...

(tasm2 tie-in game actually did this really well, ironically; visually that game is not bad, but the menace system makes it almost unplayable for me 😔which is unfortunate cause it's clear how much more polished it is than the first game (which i enjoyed despite its tendency to crash)) (though i was disappointed they removed the auto-web button that lets you web-dodge up to a vantage point)

sony?????????

i am looking forward to the next ITSV movie, i just know that will look good as hell

this post as turned into a long ramble about cinnamontography and movies i've seen recently so if you care you can read it but otherwise XD probably not worth it

but imo birds of prey and the batman are probably the best looking live action superhero movies i've seen since 2014 (probably not a controversial statement XD) both have stellar cinematography and choreo.

batman is heavy on the blacks and stark contrasts and using the shadows to hide things until they want you to see them (thus my fave minor moment: batman materializing seemingly out of the darkness, as if he was born from it) and it really nails its aesthetic imo. i've seen some criticisms of its darkness but i feel like these are criticisms that stem from this idea that well, it's dark, therefore it's badly lit, instead of understanding the differences between bad lighting and purposeful darkness. like the difference between, you know, GoT or something and this is that in The Batman, the shadows aren't just bad lighting, they're used to frame the images, to hide certain elements until those elements need to be seen, and to establish mood and tone as what is essentially a noir movie with horror and and superhero action elements. i appreciate that, and it reminds me of the way Into the Spider-Verse uses the Kingpin's literal body to manipulate the frame and affect the cinematography, in some ways.

Birds of Prey is less heavy on the noir elements but has a lot of really good color grading for setting the mood. like the lighting in the final scenes? it's so moody and effective, and I love a good movie with good color stylization, using purples and blues and reds like yes, please do that, I'm sick of Realistic Lighting™️ (Mad Max: Fury Road also did this really well). it looks fantastic throughout and is just a very well directed action movie imo

birds of prey also has possibly the best fight scene choreography i've ever seen in a modern superhero movie, along with like... tasm2?? which also has some stellar action choreo and really fascinating set pieces and setups (basically everything involving electro was fucking sick) but like, i think BoP surpasses pretty much every live action superhero movie i've ever seen, including my fave live action spidey movies (Spider-Man 2 and TASM and TASM 2, minus the green goblin but including the clock tower) in being not just fast and frenetic and high-impact, but also being clear, concise, easy to follow, and creative. the glitter cannon stuff is so well done and was very fun to watch in the theater. The fight scenes in Birds of Prey are fun, fast, clear, and absolutely fucking brutal.

i feel like i always compare it to Black Panther, which i saw first obvs (though not in theaters), and which is a solid movie that i enjoyed for the most part, and which is indeed probably the best MCU movie in general, but I found the fight scenes in Black Panther to be muddy and somewhat difficult to follow, almost slow, despite being... technically fast? I only bring it up specifically because it was praised as being not just the best MCU film (a low bar) but also in being a Great Movie with Great Fight Scenes but... tbh i wasn't big on the fight scenes in Black Panther... though i do think it's got the best costume, hair and makeup of the entire MCU at the moment, personally. and I haven't seen 2, though I hear it's good, but the costumes also look fantastic in that, and I hope the fight choreo has improved cause those movies would be really stellar with the right action choreo imo.

like I said I just brought it up cause like, when I watched Black Panther after hearing it had these amazing fight scenes, and i finally saw them, i felt kind of... confused? like, damn maybe I just have no taste in fight scenes? i was really underwhelmed by it, like, am I missing something that other people are seeing here?? (but like i said, i enjoyed the movie, and it has great costume design) But then I saw Birds of Prey a little while later and was like, blown away by the choreography and cinematography, so I think it's just a matter of the whole designated action setpiece stuff that's going on in the MCU overall, and the way that Disney/Marvel kind of controls that aspect of their movies. i also watched Black Panther on my laptop though, so I wonder if that affected the viewing... like would Birds of Prey be less impressive on my laptop than it was on the big screen (I mean. yes, but in terms of choreo specifically would it be worse on a smaller screen? i'm inclined to say no??? but i haven't rewatched it on DVD yet... maybe i should)

the recent predator movie, Prey, also had some really good choreo and cinematography imo, though I found it suffered somewhat from the use of CGI instead of practical effects for things like the bear hunting, but, I get it, it's cheaper to use CGI than to build a fucking... animatronic bear XD but aesthetically, I think it was an attractive movie and I liked the design for the Predator in that movie a lot... the skull faceplate and general integration of bones into the design was really cool looking, and the like... juxtaposition of natural colors and warm lighting from fire etc. compared to the neon green of the predator blood and its modern technology and cloaking was so interesting, visually. also a movie with absolutely brutal violence lol

actually when i watched Prey, I watched Predators (with the s) the same day, because I was looking at lists and saw it was well-praised, and in some cases put as #2 only behind the original Predator, but... like... it's no contest. Prey is a better movie. I'm sorry if you cannot suspend your disbelief that a teenage native girl outwitted the predator w/ nothing but her environment and handmade weapons but I think the movie sold that really well and showed that she was learning and adapting the entire time, and showed how close she came to dying not just from the predator but from the bear and other animals as well, numerous times. I think it was as convincing as any other "human beats predator" movie can be. and like the other movies, a lot of the humans trying to fight it did die. like... i don't think adrien brody's character in Predators is any more or less convincing as a character using his wits to beat an adversary that is more physically powerful and more technologically advanced than him.

Prey is a better movie imo

Predators was fine, and you know I love topher grace being a weird little guy, but it's simply not a contest lol. it was effective in making you hate most of the characters though, so it did that well XD except of course the most interesting character died, so, whatever. Predators gave me the vibe of a movie that was like, OKAY WE HAVE THE BUDGET FOR THESE BIG NAME ACTORS, we GOT morpheus from the matrix, we GOT machete himself—but we only got the budget for five minutes of screen time so they are going to die immediately unfortunately XD

i also thought the romance was dumb but what else is new lmao

and prey feels like a movie that's not trying to just be big explosions with a famous guy but like, telling a story with characters that know each other already and telling a story about not just overcoming seemingly impossible obstacles and enemies but also about proving oneself, and being true to oneself, and also about how french people suck

anyway boy this ended up being one long ramble about movies i've seen over the past couple years huh

just musing, thinking,

hey man you know what other movie ruled? pacific rim. that's a movie with character design, mood and setting. hell yeah.

i didn't hate the sequel as much as some people but i did think it was lacking a lot of the mood and character of the first (though the mechs looked nice) and while i found the actual plugsuits better designed i thought the helmets were less visually appealing without actual glass visors, and i think its plot would have been better if instead of icing mako they had instead made the plot about her and her brother's relationship instead of playing him off of some bland white dude (though the obvious bisexuality on display was funny)... having mako be the only person he can drift with would have been way more interesting to me tbh... the stuff with the little girl was solid though. but nothing can live up to that first movie, i mean, how COULD it. it's GDT doing mecha! (they should have named the mech in the first movie something else though yikes)

#nadia rambles #if you try to argue w me about something in this i will ignore you i just don't care i'm not trying to come at you #it's fine if you like predators or thought the fight choreo in black panther was the best ever i just personally was not wowed #i just need a way to put my thoughts into words and that's what tumblr is for

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askkaimei · 2 years

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#mod #fshdhdsh #ladyinfierno #i have jelly as arms now; i can't believe i still hold that much responsibility over one person's feeling #i guess we'll sink and resurface together then #getting nice messages now; part of it feels like getting a letter that was sent from 5 years ago and only receiving it now #and you just went blank because it feels like u no longer the person deserve to read this #as if it arrives to the wrong recipient #i am glad that i used to inspire and fuel the love of some #i am glad now just to have these seen by few who stays #having one still saying stuff like this tho??? what kind of blessing that just fell from to heaven just now #i no longer worry about the obligatory to keep up #but i am certain that i am not that strong to keep this light lit for any long time #fshdshd i am thankful even if it's just flickers #people are walking out i hardly believe several still have the conviction to stay #you guys are great #but when it's time let's walk out together in peace #or you may decide whenever the time is right for you #i will remember that there used to be good days #; v ;#good memories shall never die #OOF! LET'S SET THAT ASIDE. HAVE A GOOD DAY OUT THERE EVERYONE!!

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thora-jane · 3 years

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Take My Hand (Shang Chi x female!Reader)

THIS WAS AN ASK FROM @aliiiyyaaah so here you go lovely I hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @aliiiyyaaah @superblyspeedydragon @bamboozledflamplant

If I left you out of the taglist lmk!

Ask:i dk what i want exactly but obviously it’s shang chi x reader😹😹 ummm just super fluffy i guess like obviously they not friends since forever but what like maybe 2-4 years ? and it could be a movie plot or just a general fluff But CAN YOU INCLUDR A PART WHERE HE HUGS HER FROM BEHIND??😹if that’s okay?

Summary: Karaoke Night takes a turn when you and Shang Chi find each other connecting on a more physical level

Word count: 1,578

Warning: Ain't nothin but some fluffy ending, you lovely little simps.

There are some rituals society doesn’t question, like school bells or religious services or even simply society itself. Among your group, Friday Night Karaoke was at the top of this list. It wasn’t just a ritual, it was a sacred ritual. Sure, it was never said aloud, but no matter what was going on around 8 o’clock on any given Friday evening, you all seemed to have one thing on your mind.

“You think you got it! Oh! You think you got it!” Katy was singing at the top of her lungs, jumping up and down to ‘Hey Ya’ before downing another shot with Shang-Chi.

Shang-Chi you repeated in your head. After being informed of what happened the month before, you were making an effort to call him by his actual name. Honestly, it was getting impossible to not think about him constantly. Yeah, he was your friend. But friendship didn’t stop you from hopelessly falling for him for the past...three years? God, you were hopelessly in love with this man. Whether or not he could save the world made no difference to you, it made no difference that you had watched him summon a dragon or take on assassins or defeat a massive soul-sucking monster, he had always been the same man you had fallen in love with. You swear, you would do anything for this man.

Apparently, in this moment, it meant getting up on the tiny stage next to Katy.

“C’moooon! It’ll be great!” He said with a lopsided smile as he elbowed you.

“Already? Shang Chi I think it’s your turn-”

“I’ll go next just go!” he assured, ruffling your hair.

“And like, I’ll take the rap parts so you barely have to do anything,” Katy added, grabbing your hand and pulling you out from under his touch. Before the music started you thought you heard her whisper “besides, you probably have someone in mind for this song anyway.”

You weren’t sure whether to smile or groan when the song started, but you held the mic up to your mouth and started singing anyway.

“Whatta man whatta man whatta man whatta mighty good man.” It didn’t take you long to start half-dancing with Katy as she started rapping, adding your ‘ooh’s in a little off-beat. It was when you looked up and saw Shang Chi that your heart melted again. There he was, standing over to the side, swaying and waving his arms shamelessly to hype you two up. The music was loud, but you could tell he was singing along with you at maximum volume.

After a few minutes, the song came to a close, and you and Katy stepped off stage, but not before you handed your mic over to Shang Chi, “Knock’em dead, bus boy,” you said with a smile as he took the mic in his hand. You weren’t, however, expecting him to wrap his arms around your waist, gently pulling your back to his chest as he chuckled.

“With pleasure.”

You sat back down on the couch, heart pounding and head not fully understanding what went down. You felt his breath on your neck and could feel the warmth through his shirt.

That just happened.

He took his place on the stage, you and Katy sitting on the beaten old couch that probably had at least a dozen drinks spilled on it at some point, and waited for him to start singing.

You were expecting some corny 90’s song, as that was the apparent theme of the night. Something you and Katy could scream along with from the couch, something light and funny. But from the speakers came a soft piano instrumental and your breath hitched as he began to sing.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in.” You couldn’t recall if you’d ever heard him sing seriously before. Up until that moment, it had always been casual singing filled with giggles and funny faces. But his face seemed to soften and his voice felt rich and deep, “But I can’t help falling in love with you.”

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be,” Heat crept up on your face, leaning forward slightly on the couch and straightening your posture. You were positively captivated by his voice, ignoring Katy’s chuckle and jabbing from her elbow.

“Take my hand. Take my whole life too,” he began to step forward slowly, past the speaker, off the stage, over to the couch.

Right in front of you, he got down on his knee and took your hand in his, his voice shaking with vibrato, or maybe even nerves “For I can’t help falling in love with you.” As the song ended, your heart froze and you watched as he gently raised your hand to his lips.

A moment passed between you, Shang Chi turned red and chuckled as he got up again, bringing the mic back up to the stage. Katy stood up, all wild applause and wolf whistles, but you remained seated, hand frozen where he left it in your lap. While Katy clapped him on the back and he shrugged off her compliments on his singing, it occurred to you that it may have been nothing more than a performance. You felt something in your heart tense up, and your stomach churned as you realized Shang Chi wasn’t looking back at you at all. It probably was just a little gag at the moment, but that didn’t mean it didn’t mean the world to you.

You looked down at where he had kissed your hand, not finding it within yourself to get up from the couch. It was then that you felt the cushion dip beside you and the brush of an arm draping against the back of the couch.

“Hey uh...We were gonna head out. Katy said I might have gotten her too strong a drink- I mean she was drinking on an empty stomach or-”

“We all got pizza right before this though?” you interrupted, still looking down at your hands with purpose.

“Oh well my metabolism,” Katy began, plopping down at your other side, “Lightening fast. It’s unbelievable. Food just goes zooming and then alcohol just sits there. It’s crazy.” She reasoned with confidence that you thought felt a little over-preformed.

“Right, we were gonna head out, and like...I could walk you home?” Shang Chi asked, standing up and holding out his hand.

You took his hand, but only briefly, not wanting to get your hopes up again.

Katy had made it home, and you and Shang Chi walked the quieter late-night streets of San Fransisco. A gentle breeze began to blow, and you felt a shiver creep in your shoulders through your tshirt, “Oh here let me-” Shang Chi began, shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders, hesitantly keeping his arms wrapped around you.

You spoke softly, not shying from his touch but still unable to look him in the face, “Shang Chi, you’re the truest gentleman I’ve ever met,” You smiled, and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, briefly tucking his chin in the crook of your neck.

“I just don’t want you to catch a chill,” he reassured, rubbing your arms.

“What’s got you acting like this?” You asked voice laced with genuine curiosity as you finally looked at him, suddenly aware of the proximity your faces had.

“Well…” he began, eyes locked with yours purposefully, “I just figure that...well at karaoke…(y/n) I’ve been meaning to say for a while that…” He continued to interrupt himself and trail on for nearly a minute before saying a complete phrase, “You didn’t take your hand from me.”

“No,” you blinked, “No, I didn’t,”

“Why not?” he asked, his eyes soft and searching.

“Because I liked it where it was,” you whispered.

“You did?” his eyes lit up with something, but you couldn’t quite tell what. Gently, he took your face in his hands, “Do you...do you like your face where it is?”

Your gulped, fairly certain that he could hear your heart pounding, “Yes.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, and oh-so-gently, he leaned down and closed the gap between the two of you.

You felt the prickle of his stubble under your nose. His breath smelled lightly of alcohol and his hands were intoxicating as he gently ran his fingertip under your ear back and forth. Your hands carefully found the hairline of his neck, entwining your fingertips in his hair and melting at the gentle sigh he breathed to your lips.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes still closed, “Did you..like where your face was at?”

You brought his face to yours again, softly planting your lips on his. This time his hands carefully moved down to your waist and rested on the small of your back, pulling you closer and hugging you tight when your lips broke off again.

“(y/n)?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you...feel the way I feel? Like am I crazy or is this actually happening?” He asked, and you could practically hear the nervous smile on his face.

“I mean personally I was hoping this was real,” you smiled, letting out a chuckle for the first time in a while that evening.

“It is real,” he assured the two of you, “I know it is.”

“If you say so, handsome,” You smiled.

“Oh, I say so.”

#shang chi fluff #shang chi fanfiction #shang chi x you #shang chi and the ten rings #shang chi #shang chi x y/n #shang chi oneshot #shang chi imagines #shang chi x reader #shang chi imagine #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel fic

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spacexcowgirl · 4 years

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Hate To Think About You With Somebody Else - F.W.

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Fred and Y/N used to be friends with benefits, but that arrangement ended in heartbreak. Can Fred handle seeing her out with somebody else?

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+ NSFW. MINORS DNI. Mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood, small bit of violence/fight scene (the reader and Fred are not injured), possessive talk, fingering, degradation, bondage, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, a bit angsty with a happy ending. Please let me know if I’ve forgotten anything!

A/N: For @theweasleytwinsgirl who asked for the reader teasing Fred, leading to her being tied up! I added a bit of plot to it, because I cannot help it. Obviously, this fic is lightly inspired by “Somebody Else” by The 1975. I am not very confident in my smut writing abilities, so any feedback would be appreciated! I also feel I should thank @lumosandnoxwriting for giving me advice and reassurance throughout writing this. Pictures are from Pinterest.

I have not included all of my general taglist, because I do not know who is 18+ or who wants to be tagged in smut.

Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia sat leisurely around the twins’ shared living room, laughing and giggling over drinks. The past few weeks had been hell at the shop, so the boys felt they needed a much deserved night to just relax. Previously, Fred would have liked nothing more than to relieve his tension with Y/N, but unfortunately, that was no longer an option.

“Have you heard about Y/N and Pucey?” Angelina prodded with a giggle, her eyes alit with mischief.

Fred’s jaw immediately clenched at the sound of her name, his grip on his glass tightening. He most certainly hadn’t heard about her in a few weeks, and he hadn’t expected to have such a visceral reaction at the mere mention of her name. Regaining his composure, he forced himself to relax a bit and quirk a brow, feigning both confusion and interest.

“No? They shagging?” George questioned, sitting forward in his seat.

“Apparently, but I guess it’s becoming a bit more serious than just that.” Angelina shrugged, turning her gaze to Alicia beside her for confirmation. When the second girl nodded, Fred downed another gulp of his drink.

That can’t be right, he thought. It hadn’t even been a month since the last time they had been together, Y/N pinned beneath him as breathy moans escaped her lips. In the dim light of his bedroom, she had whispered to him that her pussy was his, that she was his, and now, apparently, she was with someone else. Some part of him knew that he had no right to be upset, because truthfully, it was his choice to end their little arrangement. But she had left him no choice after breaking their number one rule.

Y/N and Fred had ventured past friendly acquaintanceship about a year before, after a few too many firewhiskys at an infamous Weasley twins’ party. The morning after, they had tiptoed around each other, clearly uncomfortable by the change in dynamic. But it didn’t take long for it to happen again, and again, and again. Before either of them had really realized it, they had become much more than friends but much less than really together, and Fred wanted to keep it that way. He wanted them to remain in that middle ground.

As far as he knew, Y/N was more than fine with where they stood with each other. Until one day, she wasn’t. He remembered clearly how she had bit her lip and gazed at him, only moments after finishing him off with her mouth. He had looked at her curiously, wondering where her usual, joking, post-coital self had gone.

“Have you ever thought of me as more than, you know, just an easy fuck?”

Her words had shocked him, because they certainly weren’t the turn of phrase he would have used. He didn’t think of her as ‘an easy fuck,’ he thought of her as a friend. Someone he cared deeply for. But as he gazed into her desperate eyes, he was struck with the realization that he didn’t care for her the way she hoped. He had swallowed deeply, preparing his words in his mind, before shattering her heart.

Now, he wasn’t sure why he cared. Sure, he had thought about her a lot in the weeks they’d been apart, but he was always so sure that he had made the right choice. Relationships were messy, and he was young, so he had no intention to be tied down so soon. Still, the thought of her with Adrian Pucey made his blood boil, and he wished desperately that he could put an explanation to the feeling.

“Fred?”

The sound of his name tore him from his thoughts of Y/N, and he quickly plastered on his signature goofy grin before sitting forward and re-immersing himself in the conversation. Still, in the back of his mind, images of Y/N and Adrian played on repeat, fueling a fire that he hadn’t realized was a lit within him.

A week later, Fred found himself at a party at Oliver Wood’s flat, celebrating a win for Puddlemere United. There was an array of different people there, ranging from his old Hogwarts team, to groupies, to people who had just showed up at the mention of a party. Fred had planned on getting drunk that night, but after seeing George and Lee sloppily grinding on a few witches in an intoxicated bliss, he decided maybe—for once—he would be the responsible one.

Fred had gone nearly an hour, just barely nursing a glass of firewhisky and chatting with old friends jovially, before his eyes landed on a familiar face entering the party.

Fred was frozen at the eye contact they held, his first time seeing her in weeks. Y/N held the gaze for a moment, before turning to grip Adrian’s wrist behind her and drag him further into the party. If Fred thought he had a strong reaction to hearing about their relationship, it was nothing compared to actually seeing it. Fred slammed his drink down and walked away from the poor girl he had been chatting with without so much as an explanation.

“Let’s get out of here.” Fred clapped a hand down on George’s shoulder the moment he reached him, pulling his attention away from the girl dancing against him.

“Now?” George questioned incredulously, his brows raising. He gestured to the girl in his arms before returning a pleading look to his brother. “Come on, mate. This isn’t a great time.”

Fred knew he could convince his brother to leave if he explained, but his mouth felt entirely too dry. He couldn’t seem to formulate the words as to why he needed to get out of there. So, instead, he sighed and offered his brother a nod before retreating back to the outskirts of the people dancing.

Normally, Fred was the life of the party. By this point in the night, he’d usually be plastered and singing or dancing with no remorse. But seeing Y/N with a bloke like Pucey caused him to have an entire demeanor change, leaving him scowling leaned against the wall.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to find Y/N amongst those dancing, pressed closely to Pucey behind her. She was dancing provocatively, even turning in the man’s grasp every little bit to kiss him sloppily. At first, Fred had been almost certain that she was doing it on purpose. The way she was right in his line of vision, acting completely out of character in her open demeanor, it all felt like too much for him to handle.

Then, she made eye contact with him, and held it, and he just knew. She was doing it on purpose. All of her actions had been a way to get him worked up, to see if he would get jealous, and dammit it was working. Fred chewed on the inside of his cheek, holding her gaze as she grinded her bum against Pucey. She held his gaze as she slowly craned her neck and pulled Adrian into a searing kiss, her eyes back on Fred the moment the two pulled apart.

That was the final straw for Fred. He wasn’t going to stand idly by while she taunted him so openly, showing him everything he was missing. So, he pushed through the crowd of people and found his way to the two of them, ignoring the small smirk that had risen on her face.

“Y/N,” He breathed out, just loud enough for her to hear over the music. Suddenly, he was entirely unsure of his next move, but he desperately wanted to regain control over the situation. So, he said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Oi, what the hell, Weasley?” Adrian paused his dancing, although his hands remained gripped on Y/N’s waist. “Can’t you see we’re a little busy here?”

Fred completely ignored the man at first, his eyes never leaving Y/N. He could see by the look on her face that he had played exactly into what she wanted, but with the jealousy coursing through him, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. She smirked slightly at Fred before craning her neck to look back at Adrian, almost as if she were challenging him to fight for her further.

“I can see,” Fred seethed, finally looking up at Adrian. “I can see a poor girl not having a very good time. So, I’m offering her a better option. Why don’t you let her decide?”

Adrian scoffed, taking a small step back from Y/N but keeping one hand on her hip. He looked down at her, waiting expectantly for her to deny any desire to go off with Fred. When she simply glanced between the two of them, Adrian’s brows furrowed and a look of offense overtook his features.

“Come on, Y/N.” He pleaded. “Tell him.”

Y/N bit down on her lip, the action only infuriating Adrian further. He looked at her incredulously before scoffing and turning his head away.

“Should’ve known a desperate little slut like you couldn’t be loyal.”

In an instant, Fred pushed Y/N out of the way and landed a hard blow to Adrian’s jaw. Y/N was dazed, everything seeming to move in slow motion as all eyes turned on them. Adrian had faltered only for a moment, cupping his jaw in his hand before straightening up and lunging towards Fred.

Luckily, George and Lee were there after a moment, tearing Adrian away and threatening to pummel him as they marched him towards the door. Y/N knew Fred wouldn’t need their help in a fight, but she was still grateful that a full out brawl hadn’t occurred because of her. Y/N rushed to Fred, cradling his fist in her hand and glancing up at his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was soft, but the music had stopped, so he could hear her.

“‘m fine.” He answered curtly, glancing between the way she held his hand and her eyes. “So, can we get out of here?”

Y/N’s lips formed into a tight line, so as to conceal the smirk that desperately wanted to break through. She offered him a quick nod, and in an instant he was dragging her out the door and apparating her back to his flat.

The moment that they were in Fred’s room and the door shut, his lips were on hers. Her back was pressed up against his door, desperate little moans leaving her mouth as she reveled in the feeling of having him against her once more. Fred took the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth when her lips parted, taking full control of the situation.

Y/N was more than content to let him take over, having missed him in their time apart more than she would ever like to admit. Of course, the feelings she still held for him lingered strongly, but she tried not to think about that as Fred pressed himself further against her. Adrian had been nothing more than a distraction, a feeble hope that she had held onto as a way to get over the tall red head, but it clearly hadn’t worked. She felt a bit bad, because she knew Adrian cared about her far more deeply than she did him, but she also knew she had made it clear she didn’t want a relationship. The irony was sickening.

“That was quite a show you were putting on tonight.” Fred pulled away from her breathlessly, his eyes tracking up and down her body.

“Yeah?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, I was just having a bit of fun.”

A low growl crawled out of his throat as he pressed his lips to hers once more, using more force than previously. Y/N squeaked at the intensity, but quickly melted into him. His hands trailed up and down her sides as she rested her own around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

Fred’s hands finally made their way to the hem of her shirt, his fingers ghosting over the skin of her stomach and sending a shockwave throughout her. Slowly, he trailed his fingers up, raising her shirt up in his wake. Y/N was quick to oblige, breaking away from him to allow him to tear the garment off completely.

For a moment, Fred’s eyes trailed over her slightly revealed form, drinking in the way she looked half-naked. He hadn’t realized how much he missed seeing her like this, and he found that his breath hitched at even the littlest bit of exposure.

As his eyes met her pleading ones, he quickly recovered. Their passion resumed in an instant as he pressed his lips to hers once more, spinning her away from the door and walking her backwards towards his bed. Y/N allowed him to lightly push her back onto it, her heart fluttering at the sudden gentleness of his actions. She’d always loved the dominance he held over her, but something about what was happening between them now felt different. But, as he draped his body over her own, all of her hopes of actual romance melted away and her mind was entirely clouded with just the appeal of him.

Y/N arched herself against Fred, giving him the space to unclasp her bra. He slid the straps down her arms slowly, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and neck, until he finally met the tops of her breasts. He cast her bra aside, shooting her one last look before taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth. Y/N moaned at the contact, her fingers immediately threading themselves through his flaming hair. As his teeth gently grazed her nipple she gave his hair a tug, causing him to moan against her.

Fred continued his trail downward, planting kisses down her torso until he made it to the band of her leggings. Y/N lifted her hips and Fred held eye contact with her as he slowly pulled them down her legs. Y/N realized that he seemed to be drawing all of this out, pushing her to the point of pure desperation to make her pay for teasing him all night. Still, she bit her tongue and held back any thoughts of pleading with him, she couldn’t give in that easy.

When she was left in nothing but her panties, Fred sat back on his knees and leisurely unbuttoned his shirt. Y/N watched him intently, her frustration increasing significantly, until she could no longer contain it. She let out a desperate whine, pleading with the man with her eyes alone.

“Something wrong, love?” Fred cocked his head to the side and smirked.

“Freddie,” Y/N whined, the nickname feeling foreign yet fitting on her tongue.

Fred discarded his shirt before circling his hand around on of her ankles and hitching it up on his shoulder. He placed a soft kiss to the inside of her ankle before slowly trailing kisses back up her leg towards her thigh. Y/N shuttered as his lips ghosted over her clothed pussy, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Please.”

Fred looped one finger under the hem of her lace panties, but made no effort to pull them down. When a low chuckle escaped his lips, Y/N knew she was in trouble. Her eyes flew open once more, immediately meeting his darkened, lust-filled ones.

“Did you really think I’d give in that easy?” Fred mocked, punctuating his question by snapping the band of her underwear. “You tease me all night, putting on a show for me, acting like a desperate little slut.” He paused to wet his lips, drinking in the soft moan that escaped from her lips. “That is what you are, isn’t it?”

“Only for you, Freddie.”

“Really?” Fred scoffed, sitting back up to begin fiddling with his belt. Y/N raised herself up on her forearms, desperation and arousal pooling in her core. “Because it didn’t seem that way tonight.” Fred’s tongue darted out of his mouth, swiping over his bottom lip as he gazed at her hungrily. “Think maybe I might need to remind you whose slut you are. What do you think?”

She whimpered, but managed a feeble nod. In their previous times together, her and Fred were nothing if not adventurous in the bedroom. Still, as he waved his wand and bound her wrists to his headboard, she couldn’t help but gasp and lightly fight against the restraints. Fred held a devilish smirk at her plight as he stood from the bed and sat his wand back down.

Fred crawled back over her, his intense dominance faltering for just a moment as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Still remember the safe word, yeah?”

“Yes, Freddie.” She managed to speak, although it was difficult. Fred leaned back and searched her eyes for a moment before leaning in and placing a soft kiss to her lips. After that, any sense of gentleness faded.

Fred’s lips sucked and bit at her neck hungrily, one of his large hands trailing down to rub her through her panties while the other massaged her breast. Y/N’s thighs clamped around his hand, which quickly earned her a light swat to her hip.

“Stay still, or I’ll have no problem tying your legs up too.” Fred growled against her neck.

Y/N quickly obliged, spreading her legs further open. While previously she may have been more inclined to push Fred a bit, her mind was too clouded with lust to do anything but obey him. After weeks of mediocre sex with Adrian, she was ready to completely give herself over to Fred, and let him have her in anyway he wanted.

Fred’s hand pushed the fabric of her panties aside, allowing one finger to drag through her wet folds. She was already soaking wet for him, despite the fact he’d hardly touched her. Without a warning, he plunged one finger into her, lightly moaning at the way she constricted around him. Y/N’s back arched ever so slightly against him, tugging futilely against her bound wrists. He set a steady pace, thrusting his finger in and out of her before adding another and scissoring the two. He changed pace after a moment, beginning to curl his fingers up into her as his thumb rubbed circles against her waiting clit. The pressure in her core grew quickly from that, and she couldn’t help the way she loudly moaned out.

“Right there, yes, oh god…”

Fred was now smirking as he pulled away from her neck, significantly satisfied with the many markings he’d left as well as how quickly he could bring her to this point. He knew her body like the back of his hand, he knew her signs for when she was close, and it made it so much easier to enact his plan.

Just as Y/N was teetering on the edge, desperate whines and random babbles leaving her lips, Fred pulled his hand away. She let out a frustrated and confused groan, her eyes flying open as she felt the build up slowly slip away. Fred just grinned at her, before getting off the bed and ridding himself of his trousers and boxers. He lazily stroked himself as he took her in, chest heaving and covered in a light sheen of sweat, completely at his mercy. She had stopped her attempts at fighting her restraints, looking at him like she were almost defeated. In her mind, she’d begun to fear the very real possibility that Fred wouldn’t let her cum at all.

“You seem frustrated.” Fred cooed mockingly, coming to lean back over her and gently brush her cheek. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Fred.” Y/N spoke firmly, though her eyes portrayed her fears. “You’ve got to let me finish.”

“Hm.” Fred seemed to ponder that, leaning back to slowly pull her panties down her legs. “I don’t think I have to do anything. In fact, I could just leave you here all tied up and needy.”

“Please,” Y/N whined, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“It’s a start.” Fred tutted, finally discarding her panties aside. He leaned down near her ear once more, his warm breath sending a chill down her spine. “What I’d really like, though, is to hear how much you need me. Wanna hear you say it.”

“Please, Freddie, I need your cock so bad. Need you to ruin me.” Y/N cried out, losing all sense of dignity as her sex-addled brain took over. Fred had intended to tease her much longer, but her desperate pleas were going straight to his cock, and he couldn’t hold out any longer.

“That’s all you had to say, love.”

Fred hitched her leg around his hip, gripping his cock in his free hand. He teased the head through her wet folds, shivering at the moan she let out from just the smallest contact. Then, he pushed his hips forward, not stopping until he was completely buried in her. Their low moans mixed together in the quiet of the room, Fred being careful not to move until he was sure she had adjusted to his size.

“Fuck, I forgot how fucking good you feel.” He groaned, burying his face in her neck.

“Move… Please.”

He needed no further encouragement. Fred pulled out about halfway before snapping his hips back forward, setting a brutal but steady pace. Y/N’s loud moans and Fred’s grunts mixed together, accompanied only by the sound of their skin on skin contact. Y/N could feel her orgasm building again as his dick hit her g-spot with every thrust, and she was almost embarrassed by how quickly he could bring her to this point.

“‘m so close, Freddie.” Y/N breathed out, knowing it would only infuriate him further if she came without his permission.

“Already?” Fred scoffed, although he knew he wasn’t far behind.

Still, he wasn’t ready for things to end so soon, so he pulled out completely, ignoring the desperate whine that left her throat. He pulled both of her legs together and pushed her knees up against her chest, holding her ankles together with one hand before thrusting back into her desperate cunt. The new position allowed him to hit deeper within her as he thrust downward, causing Y/N to scream out. The pain was delicious, it was everything she had longed for in their time apart.

“You really think you deserve to cum?” Fred grunted, landing a particularly hard thrust into her. “After everything you pulled tonight?”

“Please.” Y/N whined. She was so close, she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it if he stole another orgasm from her.

“Answer the question, slut.” Fred demanded, his pace quickening ever so slightly. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? A desperate little cum slut.”

“Yes.” Y/N cried out. “But only for you, Freddie. Just a slut for you.”

“That’s right.” Fred’s rhythm had begun to falter, approaching his own orgasm quickly. Still, he was unsure if he’d let her finish or not. “You’re my little slut. Only I get to call you that, right?”

“Yes, Freddie.” Y/N whined, beginning to tug again on her restraints. She wanted nothing more than to scrape her nails down his back, but being completely at his mercy turned her on endlessly.

“Good.” Fred was close, so fucking close, but he had made his decision. So he had to hold off. “Cum for me, then. You’ve earned it.”

That was all the encouragement she needed, and as Fred hit one more thrust into her g-spot she was tumbling over the edge. Electricity seemed to shoot all throughout her body as she loudly moaned out his name. Her legs were shaking and she was certain she’d be sore tomorrow, but she had little time to care about that as he continued to pound into her.

Y/N knew Fred well, just as well as he knew her, so she knew he was close. Her mind felt almost entirely blank and she wasn’t sure she had much energy for anything, but she wanted to bring him to his release badly. So, she clenched around him, a moan leaving her lips when he stuttered and groaned. His thrusts were faltering significantly, and after a few moments he was crying out her name as he finished in her.

Fred pulled out and dropped her legs before crashing down next to her. He knew that he needed to untie her, but they also both just needed a moment to breathe. All that could be heard was the sounds of their mixed pants as they both came down from their highs. Once he was significantly more relaxed, he gripped his wand and swished it lazily, effectively removing the restraints she was held in.

Y/N hands dropped down and she quickly went to rub at her wrists, but Fred was quick to bat her hands away and do it himself. He examined both wrist closely, seeming to want to ensure that they were okay.

“They weren’t too tight, were they?” Fred implored after a moment. His genuine concern made her heart flutter, and she couldn’t help herself as she leaned in and placed a soft kiss to his lips.

“No, they were perfect—all of it was perfect.” She sighed as she pulled away from him. Her general cognition was beginning to return, and with it her fears of all of the pain she had gone through in the past etched their way through.

Sure, Fred had clearly gotten jealous at the party. Then, he had gotten possessive and claimed her in the bedroom. But that didn’t necessarily mean that he harbored the same feelings for her that she had for him. The fear nearly paralyzed her, and she wasn’t sure if she should quickly redress and flee the room or implore what this all meant. Luckily, he answered her internal questioning before she even had to ask.

“I don’t want to see you out with Pucey.” Fred sighed, his eyes not meeting hers. “Which is a total prat thing to say, but it’s true. I don’t want to see you out with any bloke, really.”

“Fred…” Y/N spoke tentatively, her eyes begging him to speak further.

“I want you, Y/N. Like, really.” Fred finally met her gaze. “Not just in my bed.”

“What, do you want me on the couch too?” Y/N tried to joke, hoping it would cover up her nervous tone. But it didn’t. So, her voice became soft. “Don’t get my hopes up, Freddie.”

“I’m being serious.” He shook his head. “I want to take you out on fancy dates, or watch movies with you on my couch. Bloody hell, I want to bring you to my parent’s house for Sunday dinners. I don’t know, I’m not good at this. Whatever it is that couples do.”

“Fred Weasley,” A small smile had begun to grow on Y/N’s face. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“Yes.” Fred answered earnestly. “That is, only if you’re going to say yes. Otherwise, this was all just a joke—”

Y/N shut him up by pressing her lips to his, her mouth still curled upwards in a smile. It was impossible to hide the genuine happiness that his words brought her.

“Yes.” She answered softly as she pulled away.

A similar smile began to grow on Fred’s face as he completely registered her words, and he couldn’t help but dive back in for another kiss. Y/N was his, completely. Something he’d probably wanted for so long, but had simply been too daft to realize it. Now, as he held her in his arms, he promised himself he’d never make such a mistake again.

Tagging a few 18+ mutuals from my usual taglist: @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @theweasleysredhair

#fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #Fred Weasley fanfic

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