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reallyhatethiswebsite · 18 days

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realised i never posted this here lol, my contribution to the "tav sneaks into house of hope and gets caught" trope

AO3

contains voyeurism, haarlep (lol), minor sexual degradation, a very special cum shot 😉 and other filth i probably forgot

This incubus was more deadly than any Absolute, any mad tadpole cult or god of death or unhinged murderous doppelganger. His hands on her were Hades and Valhalla entwined, tweaking and plucking nerves she didn’t know she had with the skill and passion of a musician dedicated to his craft. He’d let her touch him first, satiating her curiosity with amusement as she, fascinated, felt every ridge and divot, every swollen vein and bulging muscle of his – no, Raphael’s infernal body. But he was not Raphael. He wasn’t even a devil. He was a demon, a creature of the abyss birthed from chaos, sin, and sex, and he controlled her far better than Raphael and his contracts could ever dream.

“Haarlep,” she wept; he kissed her tears, licked them from her cheeks while he held her thighs aloft and slid his molten hot cock in and out of her slowly, languid, unhurried and uncaring about the climax she’d been teetering on the edge of for what felt like forever. She was so wet there was no resistance, their coupling noisy and obscene and so messy. Her throat shredded raw from her moans and screams. She clawed desperately at his broad, muscled back, dragged her calloused fingers over bumps and strange cartilage of devil anatomy, pawed at the joints where his wings began. All he did was purr, laugh, suckle a mark into her neck.

“Yes, pet,” he cooed, gold eyes glinting with delight, “that’s my name. It does sound so very alluring from your pretty lips…”

He let one hand trail up her belly and sternum, resting it in the sweat-slicked valley between her breasts. Feeling for the thunder of her heartbeat. All at once and yet as though she’d felt that way forever, Tav was overcome with the sensation of pure, true love – and this was where an incubus was at his most dangerous. Emotion, compulsion; here he could ask her to do anything, surrender her life and let him pry her ribcage open to feast on her heart and lungs while they were still at work, and she would gleefully help him carve her flesh to get it out of the way.

“Haarlep, please…”

“Say you’re mine,” he growled, the sharp points of his claws suddenly digging into the skin above her heart but not breaking it – not yet. His inky black pupils consumed his irises until they were naught but skinny rings of fire. He hiked up her legs, her knees at her shoulders, forcing her damp thighs further apart before he viciously sheathed his cock to the hilt, its blunt head nudging the spot inside her that turned her legs to jelly as he bent her forward. He was so deep inside her his cock was kissing the opening of her cervix. She should have been in agony. Instead: ecstasy. His full weight pushed her into the soft mattress. The places where their bodies joined burned like the sting of water running just a bit too hot. Haarlep oozed demonic hunger, wings spread wide, tail curling like a serpent waiting to strike. “Say it, little thief. Scream it. You’re mine.”

“I…I’m…” Tav gasped, squealed, when he pinched her nipple – punishment, perhaps, for her hesitation. Above her head, above the grinning gold devil face nailed to the headboard, loomed a massive portrait of Raphael, one of many in his House of Hope. The painting glared down at her, as if challenging her conviction, and Haarlep’s iron grip on her desire wavered. Sensing it, he followed her gaze, humming low in his throat with fake disappointment but very real cruelty. They both knew the only reason Tav got on her back and spread her legs in the first place was because of the form he wore.

“Poor thing, lusting after a devil. And what a devil you chose indeed!” He cupped a hand around her throat. He didn’t squeeze, but the threat – the promise – lingered, smoke after the flames. Otherwise he remained still, his weight making it difficult for Tav to writhe and use his cock the way she wanted. He shushed her gently when she whined, though she was far from comforted. “You deserve much better than a brat like Raphael as your Master, sweet mouse. If you stayed with me…if you were mine…we could be entwined in ecstasy like this forever.”

Haarlep dragged the pad of one sticky thumb across her kiss-bitten lips, sighing when she took it into her mouth and suckled. He tasted like her own sweat, the slick of her cunt, and something she instinctively knew as dark magic. She was wrecked, a mess; in comparison, Haarlep seemed completely unaffected despite the lurid, ravenous expression on his face. Barely a stray hair out of place between his magnificent horns. His breathing measured and even. It shouldn’t have been so arousing for Tav – that when she stepped into this boudoir, this secret little pocket of overwhelming sin, she’d strayed so far out of her depth there was no glimpse of land in sight – but she was doomed the moment she saw Not-Raphael lounging near-naked on his huge bed, leering at her like he starved and she was a three course meal. He was the Siren luring her into the depths. She was drowning in red velvet sheets, and the rest of Faerun would burn to ashes in the aftermath. Tav couldn’t quite drum up enough willpower to care.

Right before she gave herself away, her fate narrowed to a breath of whisper on her tongue, Haarlep tilted his head back, pointed ears listening intently. Tense silence hung between them. Tav didn’t know what he heard, couldn’t hear much beyond the roar of blood and her own shallow breathing. A truly malicious smile spread across the incubus’ borrowed features. Tav shuddered, aware that something was about to happen without truly understanding why. Haarlep freed his thumb from her mouth, scraping its claw along her tongue hard enough to hurt and smearing drool on her chin; then, to her dismay, he freed his cock, too. She cried out, the snag of its soft barbs and ridges teasing pleasure from her cunt even as she mourned the loss. Felt empty and alone without it.

“Hush,” he murmured. “Up, now. On your hands and knees for me.”

He laughed at how she scrambled to obey. Her legs were weak, of little use. Her arms shook beneath the task of holding her weight. Still, Tav presented herself to him, this time facing the boudoir’s entrance. Haarlep pressed behind her, a looming spectre of succulent suffering. He snatched her hip with one hand, wedged his large thigh between hers to push them further apart, and rubbed the fat head of his shaft up and down through her slippery hot folds. She groaned every time he bumped her swollen clit. He seemed content to drag and tease no matter how she urged him to fuck her. She had no authority here. All she could do was whine and beg.

“Poor little thief,” he crooned. His chest, his own pebbled nipples, brushed against her back. He let go of her hip to instead knead and squeeze her breasts. He was so much bigger than her in every way. She felt utterly consumed by him. “Don’t worry. You’ll get what you want very soon, I promise.” Tav gasped, her arms collapsing as Haarlep thrust his cock into her without warning. Face down, fingers clenched in the sheets, she arched her back, shameless in her chase for pleasure. Release.

Haarlep grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back up. “Ah, ah,” he tutted, “I want him to see your face when he walks through that door.”

Tav didn’t get the chance to ask who. Her question was already answered. The air grew thick, electric. The souls of the damned forever trapped in those halls quivered and wailed with fear and exaltation. The Master of the House had come home. Raphael was a sight when he stormed into the boudoir; still in his human guise, but with none of its usual composure. Eyes wild, face twisted into a frightening snarl. He’d unbuttoned his fancy coat, loosened his frilly collar. A lock of his soft brown hair strayed out of place, stuck to his forehead damp with sweat. His cheeks were flushed. He was gorgeous, and terrifying.

“Haarlep!” He roared.

Fear skittered like insects on Tav’s skin. She’d never been afraid of Raphael before. Foolish, perhaps, but he hadn’t given her much reason – and yet a devil was still a devil, no matter how charming or attractive they were. Haarlep didn’t seem to share the same sentiment.

“Welcome home,” he hummed seductively, “how was your day?”

Raphael wasn’t listening. He stared at them, at Tav, his face slackening with shock. The expression was alien on him. It made him look younger. Almost boyish. It didn’t last. His thin lips pulled into a sneer and he regarded her with utter contempt.

“Well, well,” he drawled, “who should I find breaking into my house and indulging in my pet without permission…why, none other than the little mouse, of course. She’s ever so good at scurrying into places where she does not belong. How dare you.”

“Raphael…I…” If she could have spoken, Tav didn’t know what she would’ve said. She had no defence, not really; no reason seemed good enough for such a prideful devil not to tear the skin from her bones and the soul from her bloodied husk in retaliation. She couldn’t try to escape, caught so tightly in Haarlep’s vice. She couldn’t even act contrite, because Haarlep languidly rolled his hips and tore a sinful gasp from her throat with his torturous stimulation. Raphael’s fury had not dampened Tav’s arousal any.

“I assume you wanted the hammer,” Raphael continued snidely, “but being the dogged creature that you are, you thought you would sniff around and see what else you could steal from me, didn’t you? And look at you now. Caught in a trap because you couldn’t keep your legs closed. Pitiful.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Haarlep purred, all dark delight and careless mischief, “I offered her other forms, but she only wanted yours.”

“Is that so…” Though he tried for indifference, despite the way he looked at her like she was less than dirt on the sole of his boot, Raphael’s body gave him away. An obvious bulge between his legs tented his trousers, and his pupils were completely blown. He was still angry, but that little piece of information had intrigued him, stroked his ego like phantom fingers on his cock, mollified him enough to reconsider skinning her on the spot.

“Don’t let him fool you, Mousie,” Haarlep stage-whispered into Tav’s ear, continuing to make things worse and loving it, “he can feel everything I’m doing to you, every squeeze of your tight wet cunt, every kiss from your naughty mouth…he’s just as desperate as you are.”

“Enough, Haarlep,” Raphael barked. The incubus ignored it. He dragged his tongue along the shell of Tav’s ear, blowing hot breath into it. Her entire being shook, skin erupting in goosebumps. Haarlep’s chuckle was so deep, so dark, it was almost a growl.

“You would do anything for me right now, wouldn’t you? Sweet little mouse. Obedient little mouse. More’s the pity that Raphael didn’t try to win your allegiance this way, hm? He would have had much more success…”

“Haarlep.” Magic crackled through the air like summer lightning, ozone. A warning; Raphael’s simmering temper would not be tested any further. With a put-upon sigh, Haarlep finally released Tav’s hair. She yelped as she fell forward, catching herself before she face-planted, yelp dissolving into a groan as she got some friction on the cock firmly inside her. Her breasts bounced and swayed, something Raphael’s clever eyes feasted on. She was the thing, the pretty little mortal, these two monsters were snarling at each other over, like dogs fighting for a scrap of juicy meat. She felt debased, humiliated, and thrilled in a primal way.

“Well then, Master,” Haarlep drew the word out with biting sarcasm, resting his hands on Tav’s hips, “what are you going to do now?”

Raphael didn’t answer with words. He clicked his fingers and a plush chair appeared. In silence he unbuttoned the rest of his coat and tossed it aside. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the tawny skin of his forearms lightly dusted with dark hair. His loose collar opened enough to glimpse broad pecs and the column of his neck. Tav’s heart leapt into her throat. Raphael positioned the chair at the foot of the bed, almost close enough to touch, and sat down. He maintained direct eye contact, infernos raging in his black hole pupils – she couldn’t look away – and spread his legs. Tav sucked in a sharp breath. Deliberately slow, Raphael unbuckled his belt with long, deft fingers, and Tav watched in breathless anticipation as he loosened his trousers enough to free his cock and balls. He sighed as he did so. A pearlescent glob of precum was already dribbling out between his glans. In his human suit, Raphael’s cock was a little larger than average, flushed dark pink and stiff with blood, a thick vein running along its length, crowned by a neat thatch of pubic hair. His balls beneath it were smooth and fat. A handsome and well-crafted package. He preened under Tav’s ogling. She knew intimately what his cambion form offered, and so he had decided to let her see this, too.

“As you were,” he ordered his incubus, voice rough, but he didn’t take his eyes off Tav. “Since you’ve caused me such inconvenience, it’s only fair you give me a show.”

“How fun,” Haarlep hummed, the mercurial beast. He stroked the tip of a claw down Tav’s spine, pinching her ass cheek when he reached it. “You see, pet? I told you you’d get what you want.”

The rhythm he started then was brutal. Had Tav mewling, fisting the sheets again, groaning every time the demon’s hips touched her backside. His own balls smacked against her thighs, hot and heavy with infernal seed she hoped he was more than prepared to stuff her with. Overwhelmed, overstimulated, she buried her face in the bed to muffle her sobbing squeals.

“Oh no, little mouse,” Raphael growled. With one hand he reached out and pulled her hair, hard, making her look at him. Both of them seemed to like doing that. “You do not get to hide. Not from me. You are in my house, and I see everything here. Keep your lovely eyes firmly on me, lest I find myself tempted to pluck them out and make jewellery with them.”

Tav obeyed. In consequence, she was witness to Raphael unravelling to the sight of her being savagely mated by his lookalike. Satisfied by her obedience, Raphael settled back into his chair, got comfortable, and tugged on his cock. Lazy at first; slow, firm squeezes from root to tip, enough to push his foreskin up over his weeping glans and back down again. His groan was decadent, rich like wine and melted chocolate, the sternness of his expression dissolving into burgeoning rapture. He was stunning. An erotic vision splashed onto the canvas of life – and he fucking knew it. Smirked at her as she stared, open-mouthed, panting like a bitch in heat. Somehow, Haarlep’s thick cock inside her wasn’t enough. She needed the one Raphael was rubbing, too. Needed it in her mouth, her ass, anywhere. She knew he wouldn’t give it to her, because she didn’t deserve it.

Haarlep leaned down, moulded himself to her, back-to-front. Curled his hands over her fists where they were clenched, white-knuckled. His blood-red skin was sweltering. The room reeked of sex, fire, and cherries. “Beautiful, isn’t he?” The demon husked. At last, his sexual stoicism was cracking. The tinge of affection in his voice couldn’t be ignored. “My little princeling.”

“Yes,” Tav slurred, barely able to speak. This new angle was making black spots pulse softly in the corners of her eyes. Her orgasm was approaching, tired of being teased away; it was a violent thing squirming in her womb, desperate to unfurl. She didn’t know if she would survive its impact. “Nngh… G-Gods… please …”

“There are no Gods in Hell, my mouse. Flesh and fire are our Nirvana. La petite mort.” Raphael murmured raspily, drinking in her delicious despair as he thumbed his cock head, smearing his precum about. His free hand clenched and unclenched the arm of his chair before he shifted to stroke his balls. “And who do you sing to? Who would answer your prayer and free you from a depravity of your own making? No Divinity is truly so magnanimous, I assure you.”

His breathing had quickened. Fast, greedy inhales and exhales. His head lolled back. His eyes glazed like warm honey by lust, desire. He licked his lips once, twice. He rubbed his cock furiously now, fondled his balls, rocked his hips in time with Haarlep’s. His noble features twisted beautifully with his feral pursuit of pleasure. While she was ruined, he was elegantly debauched. Completely in his element. He wore his passion well. It suited him. Like everything else. What a terrible creature he was.

Haarlep, without warning or fanfare, slid his fingers through the soaked curls of her pubes to rub her swollen clit, and Tav’s orgasm hit her like an avalanche. She screamed when she came, unprepared and out of her mind, her body convulsing uncontrollably. Haarlep groaned as she gushed around his cock, the fluttering walls of her cunt milking it over and over, trying to pull him deeper. His hips stuttered, flush with her backside. His claws dug into her pliant skin. His teeth bared. Raphael watched all of this, seared it into his memory.

Tav was near-boneless in the wake of a climax like that, limbs wracked with tremors, chest heaving. Tingles spread from the tips of her toes to her crown. Haarlep held her up. Her head fell against his chest, his demonic heart pounding. She could do nothing at all when Raphael stood, aiming his ruddy cock at her face. She had disrespected him by encroaching on his privacy; now he would return the favour. She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth pulling into a handsome snarl. He grunted when he finished, spurts of hot cum splattering across her chin, cheeks, and nose. Every splash of his Hellish seed on her skin painted his ownership, his brand. He purred when he was done, an apex predator satiated. Then he simply stood there for a moment and basked, relaxed, wringing the last drops of spend from his prick as it began to soften, before he admired his work.

“That’s a good look for you, little mouse,” he said softly, not a shred of gentleness in his tone. “I almost want to keep you this way. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you? Displayed in here like a sloppy whore for me to finish on whenever I desired.”

“The best little whore,” Haarlep breathed in agreement. The lurch in Tav’s belly would have bothered her, if she had the energy.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m not in the business of rewarding trespassers.” Raphael tucked his cock away but left his belt undone. He smoothed his hair back, then reached forward with two fingers to swipe a drop of his cum from her chin before it dripped down onto her chest. He put those fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean, grinning nastily at her when she moaned. “No, I have very different plans for you.”

“Depraved, naughty mouse,” cooed Haarlep, reigniting his rhythm again, to her dismay. The demon who had started it all wouldn't be denied his own end. “I told you so.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #haarlep x tav #raphael bg3 #fanfic #cringe

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gingernut1314 · 4 months

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Buggy the Clown Masterlist 🤡

Guide:

⏳ = Coming Soon 🖋️= Ongoing ✔️ = Competed 🧨 = NSFW 📚= Series 🎟️ = One-shot 👒 = Headcanon

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

The Agreement: 🧨📚✔️

The East Blue is a lonely place and Buggy the Clown, feared Captian of the Buggy Pirates, is just as lonely as you. Just as hurt and betrayed. So when you stumble upon him in a dirty bar, you two hit it off immediately. An immediate attraction that leads to the creation of the agreement. But can the agreement change? Can you forget the hurts from the past and change with it?

Songbird (request) 🧨📚🖋️

Buggy has taken up calling you songbird after catching you singing to yourself to pass the time on the Going Merry. A nickname you want to hate but can't help but secretly like. A nickname that only adds to your secret growing liking of the psychotic clown. (multipart series, extra scenes, and in the works prequel/sequel with Buggy and Songbird)

The Hunter and the Hunted (commission) 🎟️ 🧨✔️

Buggy the clown annoys you. More than annoys you. It's been that way ever since you were both little and as a bounty hunter, it made all the sense in the world to dislike him. When you are captured by the Marines for crimes you had been trying to outrun for years, you find him locked up right alongside you and just as annoying as ever. But when the chance for escape presents itself, it comes with strings attached. Strings that test the very natural order between the hunter and the hunted--an order Buggy seems to have no regard for. {5.3K}

Silly Little Titles (request) 🎟️ ✔️

You have paid for passage on board the Going Merry into the Grand Line, only to find you cannot stand its crew members. Members whose recent high jinks have earned you an unlikely ally in their prisoner. A prisoner who keeps trying to convince you to join his own crew. {3.0K}

Fireworks (request) 🎟️ ✔️

Buggy has been acting suspiciously for a month. He sneaks around and whispers to his crew. You can't help but grow worried that something might be wrong, but Buggy has something he wants to show you that hopefully will put your worries at ease. {3.4K}

The Luck Child (collab with @fanaticsnail) 📚🖋️

Gold D. Rodger once spoke of a luck child. A child whose luck would one day grant him greatness. But when that child grows into a man and begins to threaten the World Government with his growing power, they begin to plot. Either this man, whose luck keeps propelling him forward in life, wins the golden feather from a great beast and is granted the title of Warlord of the Sea, or that great beast kills him, ending his threat forever. You are a Marine who, for the past five years, has gone undercover as a pirate. But when you are recalled back to Headquarters, you are assigned your next mission: join the Star Clown's crew and make sure he dies if he fails in his challenge. But will the Star Clown's luck work against you?

Confidence (request) ⏳

The Buggy Pirates have made dock on a small island for a quick restock when a street magician catches their captain's eye. A street magician whose flashy tricks and confidence has Buggy planted in his place until your smoke-filled grand finale. You disappear from sight, only for your captive audience to find out too late their pockets are that much lighter. Flashy tricks and sticky fingers is enough to have Buggy storming after you.

Other Things 🌸

Buggy the Squrriel Clown

#buggy the clown #buggy #captain buggy #buggy one piece #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #one piece #opla #one piece live action #buggy the star clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy the flashy fool #buggy art #buggy x f!reader #buggy x female reader #x reader #divider by saradika #divider by saradika graphics

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bcdrawsandwrites · 1 month

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(Please reblog if you want to, do not repost! Do not post to Pinterest!)

[ID: A Team Fortress 2 fanfic cover featuring a render of Pyro and Spy standing back-to-back in profile, with Pyro facing left and Spy facing right, standing against a dark purple background. Spy is smoking. Both characters have a yellow/orange rim lighting. Above them is the title of the fic, Flickering, glowing the same glowing yellow/orange. /end ID]

Fandom: Team Fortress 2

Rating: K+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Characters: Spy, Pyro, all the other mercs, and Miss Pauling (primarily Spy and Pyro, but everyone else has important moments too)

Warnings: TF2-typical violence, PTSD, panic attacks, trauma in general (none of these guys are okay)

Description: After the events of the comics, the mercs try to go back to how things were, but it's never that easy.

Spy can see his teammates going through their own struggles… but something seems to be very, very wrong with Pyro in particular.

And since no one else seems to be doing anything about this, Spy makes it his mission to get to the bottom of what is troubling Pyro. For no particular reason.

Beta Readers: @mechmolar, @gonturan0, @junuve (Teeth (mechmolar) also did the render for the cover!)

Notes: This fic is legit like around 80% complete already because it takes me forever to actually post anything these days. I'll be posting new chapters as I feel like it. It'll be around 10 chapters in total. Also, Pyro is nonhuman and uses it/its pronouns in this fic. Okay? Okay.

---

Prologue

They were pretty sure they knew what awaited them when they got to Gray Mann's base. Or, Spy was sure, anyway. Mann was after the same Australium they were, and they'd be interrogated for what little they knew. And he wasn’t going to get that information out of them easily.

Spy’s tongue nudged one of his fake teeth. The time would come for that eventually.

His suspicions were confirmed when Demo, still distraught from the loss of Sniper, was dragged out by a couple of the enemy mercs, who snickered over the ways they could "make him talk."

That left him, Miss Pauling, Soldier, Zhanna, and Pyro, all of them chained up in a tiny room, waiting out their fate.

Well, until that thing entered.

It was the other team's pyro. Their Pyro perked up with an interested hum when it saw the other, only to jump—as much as it could with its feet chained to the floor—when the enemy pyro removed its face.

Spy had, admittedly, been caught off-guard, but rolled his eyes immediately after. This was not like their Pyro. This one was a human—a woman, her face scarred with old burns and one eye missing, her hair pepper gray with half her scalp scarred over. The fact that she was human had startled him more than any disfigurement could have.

Of course, he had to remind himself that his team was the exception, as always. They'd become so accustomed to the incredibly strange nature of their comrade that it felt eerie to actually see a human behind a similar mask.

Pyro must have felt the same, with the way it tilted its head with a hum of consternation.

The woman stared at it in turn. "Hm. This one seems promising."

Miss Pauling's head shot up, but Spy nudged her and subtly shook his head.

Unfortunately, Soldier was not on their wavelength. "That one? HAH! If you need a building burned to the ground, maybe! But Pyro doesn't talk!"

One of the woman's eyebrows raised in interest. "Really."

Spy shut his eyes, imagining himself flipping open his butterfly knife and driving it through Soldier's throat.

"Nope! It's completely incomprehensible! It can’t tell you anything! The rest of us won’t, either—we will not yield under torture, especially not me. Though I'd love to see you try!"

"Soldier, no!" Zhanna cried. "I must be tortured first!"

But the enemy pyro did not respond to them—likely still staring at their Pyro. "It doesn't, eh?" she said, putting a heavy emphasis on the pronoun. "Good. I like a challenge."

Seconds later, several robots filed into the room, immediately heading for Pyro and unlocking its shackles from the floor. Pyro mumbled something at them.

"Wait, no!" Soldier cried. "Pick me, pick me! I'm a good challenge!"

But the robots paid them no mind as they escorted Pyro out, and Spy cracked an eye open to see it showed no signs of worrying about what was about to happen. The door slammed shut, and he let out a sigh, tipping his head back. "Soldier, you are going to get us all killed."

"We're gonna die anyway!" Soldier protested. "We can at least go down fighting!"

"We are not going to go down fighting, you imbecile. We are—" He stopped himself there, deciding he didn't particularly want to reflect on their fates with someone who wasn't going to care anyway.

"Poor Pyro," Miss Pauling murmured. "What are they going to do to it?"

Spy shrugged. "Better it than us." He lowered his voice. "With luck, they'll waste several hours trying to get information out of it before they realize Soldier, idiot that he is, was more-or-less telling the truth. That may buy us some time."

"You think we can still get out of this?" she whispered, hope edging into her voice.

"Not likely. We're probably delaying the inevitable." His tongue nudged one of his molars.

"We'll have to hope.” Miss Pauling sighed, staring at the door. "I guess Demo or Pyro could break out."

Spy barely resisted the urge to snort. "The drunkard? Not likely. Pyro? Who knows."

"I still can't imagine what they would do to it."

Spy tipped his head back to regard the ceiling for a moment. "Who can say? Waterboarding, perhaps?” A random guess, and he snorted at the absurdity of it. “Though I struggle to imagine what could break that creature."

"Neither could the Administrator. That's one of the reasons she recruited it." Miss Pauling shook her head. "If that's the case, maybe it'll find a way to break out. And break us out of here."

"Unless it decides to burn down the whole base with us inside. Regardless, resisting torture and breaking free are two different things. But we shall see."

Soldier groaned. "But when's it gonna be my turn to get tortured for information?"

"Will be our turn soon," Zhanna reassured him.

Spy heaved a sigh, and Miss Pauling shut her eyes.

They sat in uncomfortable silence (save for Soldier and Zhanna's chatter) for some time, Spy keeping an eye on the door while Miss Pauling stared at the floor, lost in her own thoughts.

The minutes ticked on. For how long, Spy was uncertain—he couldn't reach his watch to read it, and the feeling of dread in the air was not helping with their perception of time. Next to him, Miss Pauling occasionally muttered to herself, and every so often he could pick up phrases.

"...and we could go back to Australia, and..."

"...if Scout or Heavy are still out there..."

"...and Sniper could... wait, no..."

Sighing, he almost considered tuning her out, but it was a good distraction from his nicotine cravings, at least.

At some point, she raised her head. "Where is it?"

Spy raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Pyro. They've been keeping it for a long time."

"Yes. Demo has been gone for some time, too."

"Yeah, but... they can get information out of him." She turned to face him again, and an unspoken question hung in the air.

Spy returned her gaze. "Miss Pauling, if you are under the impression that we are in the hands of anyone other than violent sadists, I do not know what to tell you."

Before she could react, the door burst open.

“I VOLUNTEER!” Soldier cried, straining against his manacles.

But instead of their captors, Pyro stumbled into the room.

Spy would have hoped that it had indeed broken loose and come to rescue them had it not been for the fact that its hands were shackled behind its back.

The robots escorted Pyro to the end of the bench, where they shackled its feet to the floor. Meanwhile, the enemy pyro stepped into the room.

"Finally!" Soldier exclaimed. "You've had your turn, Pyro. Now it's mine!"

"Our turn," Zhanna corrected.

With an unfriendly smile, the woman turned to face them. "If you insist."

While the robots got to work escorting the two least intelligent people out of the room, Spy and Miss Pauling looked over their recently-returned companion. "Pyro?" Miss Pauling whispered. "You okay, buddy?"

Pyro said nothing, sitting still on the bench and facing forward.

"...Well, it looks okay, anyway." Miss Pauling shrugged. "Guess the Administrator was right."

"Hm." Spy's eyes narrowed as he continued to look Pyro over. While it was true that it looked more-or-less uninjured—the suit was a little roughed up, but that was it—he couldn't be too sure that it was unharmed. The enemy wouldn't have just done nothing with it, and the way Pyro did not answer them, nor even respond to its surroundings, was not encouraging.

Nor was the fact that it was trembling.

But before he could analyze Pyro's behavior any further, the doors burst open again, and this time a barely-coherent Demo was practically dragged into the room.

In the whirlwind of events that followed, the torture that their fellow mercs had endured was nearly all but forgotten.

But it would not stay that way.

#tf2 spy #tf2 pyro #miss pauling #tf2 soldier #team fortress 2 #my art #my writing #fanfic #art collab #FINALLY I AM STARTING TO POST THIS #also yes I am still planning on posting the 20-some-odd complete Psychonauts fics I have on my computer #maybe I'll post one of them tomorrow or something #flickering fanfic

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heyidkyay · 3 months

Text

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Fifteen

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: Honestly loved writing this one! Lots of tension, so many emotions! First scene has a few flashbacks in italics so watch out! Hope you enjoy x

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

A list of things I remember about last night:

George buying a fan a bottle of champagne.. then four more for the table. He’d been six shots in and feeling more than a little generous.

Matty and I out in the smoking area, whispering back and forth, then giggling as we tried to knick a lighter from the back pocket of this big burly bloke trying to chat up the blonde beside us.

Hann leaving early but with smiles for all of us and the promise of seeing Adi and I again soon!

Finn’s text saying that Teddy was fast asleep and all fine- an utter reassurance not just to me, but seemingly Matty too, who’d cooed over the picture I’d received alongside it.

Matty dragging me out onto the dance floor when a certain song had come on, his hands on my waist, mine tangled in his hair, the lights bright, the music loud..

The last round of shots, or one of?

Ross standing on a table??

Adi then slipping out with Ross- note to self, text Adi!!

And then…

Then the cab ride home!

But, I supposed it wasn’t headed home, or at least not mine, because now that I thought about it, dizzying images of awkward fumbles in the dark, searching for a light switch, hastily turned into a terrible attempt at trying to scrounge up some food, only a little less drunk than what we’d been when we’d left the club. But then even those soon spun and fluttered away, moving onto heavy hands and heated looks…

I froze, taking in the unfamiliar feel of the bed sheets beneath me and the weight of an arm thrown around my waist. How suddenly the skin beneath it felt hot at the realisation of its touch. I allowed my wide eyes to wander, holding my breath, the remnants of sleep quickly slipping from me as worry overwhelmed it. I saw the cemented walls, the soft hues, the sunlight which flickered in through the far window.

I didn’t know this place, but at the same time I felt as though I did.

I let my eyes fall close again, only briefly, when I finally allowed myself a moment to breathe, inhaling slowly so as to not stir the man settled behind me.

Fuck.

And that was all that would come to mind because I was panicking now. It felt like I had been dropped into a black hole head first, or some other kind of alternate reality- or maybe even five years in the past! Because this couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream.

But my thoughts kept on betraying me.

“Don’t run from me.” He whispered in the dim light of his kitchen as his fingers skittered over the length of my jaw, gently coercing me into meeting his gaze once again.

We’d been making toast, he’d only had a spoonful or so of butter left but had latched onto the idea the second we’d walked through the front door, the cab having not long left us. He’d pulled jams and spreads from high cupboards to goad me into it too, and I could do nothing but stand there and watch on, perfectly content and with a permanent smile etched into my face.

He’d patted the countertop beside him not long after finding a new loaf of white bread in the tin, gesturing me on round to sit on its top whilst he got to work.

“What do you fancy?” He’d asked me, plopping a slice into his sleek toaster, one which looked a decade newer than my own.

“You decide.” I had gambled, happy to just watch him laugh whilst he worked, licking his thumb free of chocolate and swearing under his breath when the butter finally ran dry.

On the plate I’d then been handed, sat four sections, each one a different spread to the other. He’d grinned up at me when he had passed it over and had watched on as I’d chuckled and picked a slice up.

“Blueberry, fine choice.” He’d hummed, his drawl deep and tinged with a faint hint of amusement. I’d shrugged, sheepish for some reason, and licked at the corner of my mouth to swipe the crumbs away from the bite I had just taken.

“Didn’t even know it existed.” I’d told him truthfully, taking another bite before reaching out to have him try.

His movements had been careful at that, as though he’d been surprised by the offer, but then he’d let me feed him and had grinned around the sweet taste.

“Good?” I’d asked him, already moving to withdraw my hand before his fingers caught around my wrist. I'd blinked, confused and slightly startled by the suddenness of the gesture, but his hold hadn’t been harsh or hurtful, merely just that, a hold.

He had nodded at me in answer to my question, but then he’d taken the bitten slice from my grasp to place down somewhere on the counter.

“Matty?” I'd heard myself say.

He’d merely stepped on closer, “You have something.” His voice gruff.

He had lifted his free hand up towards my face, the other still caught on mine, and let the pad of his thumb brush away the tiniest piece of jam my cheek had caught. I’d felt my breath catch at the motion, somewhere in the very back of my throat, and then swallowed thickly at the sight of him placing the same finger into his mouth, sucking it clean.

I’d looked away, feeling the fierce rush of alcohol and embarrassment heat my face.

“Don’t run from me.”

His fingers still touched me now, even as he slept on, completely oblivious to the chaos that was my mind, the world that had continued on around us.

What would they say? What would they think?

Slowly, I forced myself to start moving, unable to continue lying in a bed that wasn’t my own. I hated myself a little for the fact that it was his, something deep inside of me knowing that this would’ve been so much easier had it simply been a stranger.

I lifted his hand from around my waist first, ever so careful not to have him stir, then silently slipped from between the sheets, my legs sliding out first before I willed my torso to follow.

I picked up the first thing I saw from off of the floor, the white shirt he’d been wearing the night before, and pulled it on over my shoulders. My eyes skittered about the rest of the space, taking in everything that made up Matty’s room whilst simultaneously trying to find the dress I’d arrived in the night before.

“I don’t think anyone has ever made me feel like you do.” He murmured into the space between us, my legs pressed against the counter top and dangling either side of his hips, his fingers grasped my chin, mine cuffed somewhere around his wrist.

“It’s fucking maddening.” He continued on in the hushed tone he'd adopted, though no one was around to hear him had he spoken any louder, “I keep pulling away when I feel I get too close, scared you might push me away completely. ‘Cause what would I do then? Where would that leave me?”

I could feel the blood rushing in my ears and the way that my hands would surely shake if they weren’t already clinging to him. “I don’t understand, Matty.”

He smiled at me and I watched the way his eyes trailed their way across my face. I’d always liked his eyes. “I know. And that’s what kills me, ‘cause I don’t reckon you’ll ever think I’m enough.”

Enough.

It threw me.

“You’re enough, what on Earth are you on about? Of course you’re enough.”

He shook his head at me ever so softly, with a sad smile this time around, whilst I dipped my own head to be nearer to his, wanting him to believe me. Willing him to.

“Matty-”

I was ripped away from the memory by the shuffling of sheets and stood in horror, barefoot in the middle of his bedroom, as the bed creaked with a slight movement. I held my breath, hands clutching at the buttons of the gaping shirt.

He sniffed unhappily, hands searching as he turned, but then was lured back into sleep.

I gave a stuttered exhale, heart pounding so hard it should’ve surely hurt, before continuing on with my search. I didn’t get too far though, not with my shaking hands and laboured breaths, the anxiety of it all overwhelming me now.

I could feel the pricking of tears that welled in my eyes, the stinging tingle of my nose as I fought not to cry. Why? The only question worth repeating, over and over and over. Why the fuck had I gone and fucked this all up?

“Mouse?”

My head shot up, startled by the suddenness of his voice and the realisation that I’d cowered into the wooden chair sat on the wall nearest to the window. Matty shifted in the sheets, sleep clouding his mind before I choked on a questionable sob and he was all but tumbling his way on over to me, catching on bed linens and fumbling across the floor.

“I need you to know, okay?” He whispered to me in the quiet of the kitchen, his wary face now cradled in the palms of my hands whilst his soft eyes stared back at me, mirroring an emotion I felt but couldn’t quite recall. “‘Cause, I don’t reckon I could say this whilst sober.”

“Know what, Matty?”

My fingers dug into the skin of my arms.

“Mouse, you hearin’ me?”

His voice sounded so different now, laced with a gruff edge I’d only ever heard during late night phone calls when he’d stayed too late at the studio and wanted company. There was an urgency to his tone now.

“Squeaks, just lemme know what I can do.” Matty rushed out, his face wrinkled with worry whilst his hands faltered, unsure whether or not to touch. “Please.”

Another sob ripped its way through me.

“I’m sorry.” I told him in earnest, crying hard enough now that I had to have been gasping to breathe, “I’m sorry, I, I just- I don’t know what to do now. I’m sorry, Matty. So sorry.”

He didn’t reply, didn’t say a word actually. Just moved to cradle me close, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as though that would hold me together, his body shielding my head from the rest of the world.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Matty murmured, so much like he had the night before but only sadder now. “Nothing at all.”

–

She was embarrassed. That much he knew.

Could feel the way she shied away from him now that she had calmed, still hidden away in his arms. He hated himself for it. He wanted to hate what had gone down last night too, but couldn’t bring himself to. What good would it do him now? Hate, always so stuck on it.

“Mouse.” He called out to her softly, after the quiet had been stretched and pulled far too thin. He swallowed thickly, “Let’s make some tea, yeah?”

He must've surprised her with his response because she glanced up at him almost unconsciously, but as soon as their eyes met hers were quick to dart away again.

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, stare trained on the farthest wall. Matty licked at his bottom lip, still crouching in his position by the chair he had in the corner, moving his hands to now gently rest them by the knobs of her knees.

He’d never been good at shit like this. Comfort.

He always got stuck in this place between panic and unease, forced to commit to empathising with another person and suspending his own agenda. It made him feel like he needed to make things better then and there, if only to save himself the strain of dealing with emotions.

That, and his mind was still so bleary due to the abrupt wake up, his heart still clenched to the point of exertion due to the spear of anxiety she’d propelled right through him.

“We can talk there, alright? Just, don’t leave just yet. Please?”

He felt bad for even asking her to stay but he knew her far too well, could see how desperate she was to run now, to escape her feelings and everything that had brought this moment to an abrupt head.

“Please?” Matty repeated even softer than he had before and was thankful when she finally nodded, a small thing he might not have seen had he blinked, but a nod nonetheless. “Okay.” He breathed out, something in him settling now that he knew she wouldn’t be making a run for the hills, “Okay, I’ll get a start on it then. You can have a look through them drawers over there, yeah? Find something, whatever, I don’t mind.”

He saw the bob of her throat as she swallowed and lingered on the motion until she nodded again.

By the time he’d made it out into the kitchen he was all but kicking himself, cursing as he tried to keep his temper in check. Of all the things he could have fucking done last night, why did he have to go and fuck the one good thing in his life up? She’d never fucking forgive him for this, even if she realised what had actually gone down and not what she’d just conjured up in that pretty little head of hers.

Matty channelled his regret and sorrowful mood into hammering a pair of teabags into two empty mugs, figuring it to be the only way he could vent without banging everything about. He flicked on the kettle and moved to the fridge to pull the milk out, listening to it begin to boil instead of the stuttering of his pulse.

He only realised he’d been glaring a hole into the tiled wall when the thing finally whistled and the soft pad of shuffling feet echoed across the kitchen floor. Matty couldn’t help the way his head turned to find her.

“Hungry?” He asked, rubbing at his eyes, and although his voice was barely above a murmur it still felt too loud. She simply shook her head. Which was just as well really, he didn’t think he could even stomach this brew the way he was strung so tight.

He dipped his chin in retort, ringing the two tea bags out before turning back to face her again. He paused when he found that her eyes were locked on the counter she’d been sat on the night before, Matty’s mind immediately flashed back to the skin of her thighs beneath his hands, the dip of her waist, the gentleness she’d held his face with, both the longing and sadness in her eyes when she told him he was enough.

He had wanted to scoff then, now even, but he’d never do that to her. If she thought he was worth even a fraction of the attention she gave him, then he’d take it. He was selfish in that regard, and couldn’t afford to waste anything she gifted him.

Christ, he sounded like a proper nut. How’d he let himself get so fucking gone on this girl?

Truthfully, he hadn’t even realised the depth of it until right then.

And now he had to be an actual grown-up and sort out the mess he’d made of things before he even got a chance to try to riffle through his messy array of feelings and their slow rising alarm bells. Another time- another day, even.

Matty cleared his throat as gently he took the seat beside her on the trio of barstools he had lined up on one side of his kitchen island, then faltered slightly, “Um, you good here or you wanna like, move to the settee or somethin’?”

She shook her head, hands careful as she moved to cradle the mug he’d just slid on over to her. He noticed how she moved her gaze from the counter down to the milky brew when he sat.

“Right,” He muttered, “alright.”

It was stupid, to feel so fucking incompetent then. In a moment he really should have been able to find the right words. Because Matty, somehow, had run out of things to say. And it was an accomplishment in itself, that he had to note, he wasn’t one to ever really be at a loss for words. But then again, Mouse was the biggest anomaly he’d faced so far.

He cleared his throat again and decided to just sip at his tea, noting that it was nicer than the usual scalding hot coffee he’d gulp down on his way out each morning.

Mouse went to open her mouth again, he saw the movement just out of the corner of his eye, and Matty already knew what she was going to say.

“Don’t,” He rushed out, though not unkindly. “No need for sorries, yeah?”

Her jaw snapped swiftly shut and she huddled in on herself slightly, staring back into the swirl of her brew. Matty immediately felt guilty.

He licked at his lower lip, feeling a cut there beneath his tongue just as a silence settled once more, one that was all the more suffocating.

He figured he’d best just get it over with, because at least then he’d be put out of the itching longing he had to end the quiet.

“I just,” He immediately paused, noting the way she had tilted her chin towards him at the sound of his voice, he coughed lightly then tried again. “Last night,” She tensed, and God, he had to steel himself further at that, “Nothing happened, alright? Well, yeah, I mean, fuck. Shit happened, but like we didn’t have sex or anything, I wouldn’t do that to you, Squeaks. You were drunk. It’d be a shitty move, yeah? So, just, if that’s what you’ve been worrying about, then..”

Matty glanced over at her wearily, internally wincing at the fucking stumble he’d made of things there, he found that her head was better turned towards him now, although her eyes still remained low. He watched her lips part, then quiver as though she was unsure of her response.

He let her have a minute.

“You were drunk, too.”

It didn’t sound like an accusation but felt a little like one. Still, he kept his head. “Not enough to not remember.”

The skin between her brows knitted, Matty could practically see the whirl of her many moving thoughts.

“I was naked.”

It took all his strength not to splutter at that, because he’d been trying his fucking hardest not to linger too much on that fact. Or how the sight of her in his clothes, even now, sent something stirring through his gut.

“Yeah,” Once again clearing his throat, Matty took another stilted breath, “Though to be fair, you’d had a shower then fell asleep like that after I said I’d be quick about mine.”

His eyes flickered outwards, unable to look at her then, thinking back to the sight she’d made all sprawled out on his bed, face softened by sleep and the duvet pulled over most of her waist.

“I didn’t see much,” He felt the need to add, because she was obviously a little torn up about it from the way she was wringing her hands, and knew for a fact that Mouse had a shit fucking perception of herself too. The way she breezily commented on her body and the scars that marred her face gave way to that fact, although most wouldn’t pick up on it, and he had realised quite early on that she didn’t either. Matty supposed he must have his rehab therapist to thank for that little enlightenment.

He chuckled lightly when the image of her rippled to the forefront of his mind, clinging to the duvet with a strength no unconscious person should probably have. “You practically cocooned yourself in the covers anyway, threw a proper fit when I tried to steal some of it back.”

She smiled then, a tiny thing, mind, but a smile nonetheless. And that alone at least eased his mind a little bit.

“Thinking back, I probably should’ve just slept in the guest room but I was almost dead to the world. Sorry.” He was sincere in his apology, it’d been a misstep on his part, he just hadn’t been thinking. Hadn’t expected her to react so badly either.

“No need.” She said then, her voice a little more confident now as she mimicked his earlier words, “I shouldn’t, well, I shouldn’t have just assumed.”

Matty rolled his eyes and finally chanced a glance back over at her, so very pleased to see her looking back. Even then in that moment, after a right scare, fucking sobbing her heart out, and only just having woken up, she looked blinding.

He didn’t know if he had ever described a girl quite like that, or anyone really. But it felt too true to not shine a light to.

He internally chastised himself again- did ageing make you soppy or some shit? The fuck was he on.

“Yes, you should have. I’d’ve done the same, anyone would’ve.” He chuckled instead, loving the way her sheepish smile only curved up on the one side. “Least now we know you’d be fuckin’ mortified if I ever tried anything on.” He tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Squeaks swivelled her seat round to knock her knees against his own, then wrapped her cold feet around his ankle, “I was- I just haven’t, you know..” Matty arched a single brow, still rather pleased with their newfound position, his eyes lingering on the way her borrowed shirt slipped down to expose the majority of her collarbone. “.. slept with anyone in a while, and yeah, I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to go and ruin anything we have with a drunken mistake.”

Matty’s heart faltered. Felt it fucking implode and then shrivel up inside his chest. Mistake.

He fought hard to keep his mask in place, smiling away. He sipped at his brew to keep the sudden sickness that jilted his stomach at bay then patched his bleeding heart back up. “How long’s a while?” He teased, smirking felt easier than a smile anyway.

It was her turn to roll her eyes at him then, laughing softly when she retracted her gaze, though their legs stayed intertwined.

“I don’t really know.”

“Yes, you do.” Matty laughed, having none of it, “Come on, a couple months?” She kept quiet, “A year?”

He frowned when she began to chew on her bottom lip, fighting the urge to reach out and stop her. “Two?”

“Six.” She answered him, probably tired of the guessing game.

“Six.” Matty murmured, reeling at the information. Six years. He’d fucking explode, “Is that even healthy?”

Squeaks was so quick in the way her hand shot out to swat him, “It’s fine, you dickhead! And besides, I just meant properly, you know? Like, there’s been a few quick passings but nothing, nothing like that.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t be a prick about it!” She immediately retorted to his breathy reply, obviously a little embarrassed and annoyed. “I have a toddler! And I’m always so fucking busy! I don’t even have the time to think about it!”

“Sounds like what you need is to get laid, babe.”

He snorted when she wacked him again, purposely ignoring the thoughts of her and him, drunken mistake.

“Leave off!”

“Fine then, I will for now.” Matty laughed, rubbing at his bicep, she continued to glare. “You want breakfast then? Or lunch now, I ‘spose. Can order in.”

Her knee knocked against his once more. Goosebumps trailed the length of his skin.

“Need to be back to pick up Teds from the nursery but yeah, lunch sounds nice.” She smiled, and for a second Matty was frozen in that very moment, content to just watch her smile at him like that forever.

Nice nice nice.

–

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.” I said, my tone almost scolding, but I’d been unable to flat out deny Matty of his request to come and help me pick Teddy up from school. I’d spent the rest of the day at his place, been given an actual tour, eaten some good food, and thankfully had been able to avoid any more awkward conversations pertaining to our wake up call that morning.

“What? You said I could!” He sounded almost petulant. “Besides, it’ll be lowkey, I have my hat, a hood. No one will know! Also, I’m not that important. Don’t reckon many four year olds are listening to Sex on the drive home.”

I snorted but my mind still flashed to memories of only hours earlier. My cheeks pinked. “First- lowkey, really? Aren’t we too old to be saying that? And second, that hat is the same fucking hat you haven’t taken off since Christmas!”

“Before Christmas, actually.” Matty said snidely, smirking all the while, even as he ducked to avoid the swat of my hand. “And anyway, I love this hat, so kindly fuck off.”

“Charmin’.”

Matty spent the rest of the walk to Teddy’s nursery singing This Charming Man whilst my mind lingered on his words. Claims of how he loved the small, insignificant gift Teddy and I had handed him.

By the time we made it past the school gates, we’d been nudging shoulders and grazing hands most of the walk, so wrapped up in one another that I didn’t even realise I’d forgotten my phone somewhere until I patted down my pockets in the playground.

“Shit.” I muttered.

Matty, still blissfully unaware of my sudden circumstance and humming softly, kept on surveying the small school. “Yeah, the mural could use a bit of work but I think it’s meant to look shit, you know. Reckon the kids probably did it.”

Furrowing my forehead at his words, I then peered up at him, “No, I forgot my phone.”

Realisation dawned but then he shrugged, as if it were no big deal, “It’s probably still at mine, you use it this morning?”

I shook my head, feeling panicked now, which was stupid because it was just a phone. But, it also housed most of the things I considered important in my life; my work contacts, documents, notes, and To Do’s; Teddy’s doctors and dentist and school’s numbers; all the memories I’d made in the last few months that I had yet to save onto my icloud or hard drive; and pictures of Matty and I, as well as the rest of the guys too, but also our texts and little messages on Twitter and Instagram.

Losing it? I hated the very thought.

“No, I haven't touched it since last night. Could’ve left it at the club, or in the cab, or the-”

Matty’s hands came to cradle my shoulders, making me pause, and I realised he’d moved to stand before me, looking down at my pinched expression with a small smile. “You’re stressing, just take a breath. Alright? We’ll find it, ‘cause I’m sure it's back at mine anyway, but if not, then we can get it blocked and whatnot, try to get a new one before tomorrow.”

I forced myself to suck in a breath, still reeling from the feeling of my heart dropping to my arse. “Yeah, yeah I know, it’s just-”

“One of them things.” He finished with a knowing smile, hands squeezing my shoulders briefly before he wrapped me up in a hug. “Stressin’ won’t help and will only have Teds all wound up when he sees, yeah? We’ll sort it.”

His words ebbed my every worry just for a moment, I took another breath and let my arms find his waist, returning the hug and enjoying the way he settled his chin atop my head.

“Okay.” I whispered into the edge of his coat, smiling when he squeezed me tight and then pulled away, “Sorry.”

Matty rolled his eyes at me, “Shut up.”

I chuckled to myself, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching out again and instead glanced about the rest of the playground. Most of the mums were here now and that panic that had subsided only a second ago almost came back in full force when I noticed how intensely they were watching me, or rather, Matty and I.

Carefully, I pivoted behind Matty, keeping my back to the gated fence which enclosed the school, but also forcing Matty to turn confusedly after me, his own back now facing the rest of the watchers.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He snorted with a bemused sort of frown, “Hiding?”

“Maybe.”

That had been the wrong thing to say because Matty nearly turned to glance back around, I reached out to stop him, hand encasing his elbow. “Don’t, alright? There’s a shit ton of mums just watching us. Got eyes like hawks or something.”

Matty merely blinked back at me before laughing, “You’re for real? Come on, they can’t be that bad.”

He went to turn again, only this time I couldn’t stop him. “Matty!” I called in a hissed whisper and he was quick to spin back around, face a little shocked.

“You reckon they’ll close in on us? I dunno if I can outrun them.”

I spluttered out an unexpected laugh, “I hope not. They usually hate me.”

Matty’s frown was quick to make a reappearance, “What, why?”

Shrugging, I glanced over his right shoulder, “You want a list? I’m a young mum, single, my kid doesn’t know his dad, I look like this, I don’t have a normal job or stay at home to take care of him, and sometimes Teds gets picked up by Finn or Adi, I don’t attend their stupid little-”

“Fuckin’ hell, alright I get it.” Matty said, his hand reaching out for my elbow just to slow me on my rant. “What a bunch of cunts.”

I forced a smile, “Yeah, well. Just another part of my life.”

Matty pulled a strange face at that, but before I could begin to decipher it, the classroom doors were opening and I was quick to step forward. Matty lingered behind me, keeping his hood up.

A few kids were called when Miss Sparks spotted certain parents and she did the same for Teddy when she saw me and smiled. “Teddy, your mum’s here!”

It only took a minute or so before Teddy came stumbling out with his backpack thrown over one shoulder and his hair a messy mass of curls. I grinned at the sight of him and picked him up when he hurried to grab at my legs, “Heya, little man. Good day?”

Teddy nodded in my arms, opening his mouth to tell me all about it when he peered over my shoulder and paused, his eyes lit up at the face he found there. “Matty!” Teddy all but squealed, immediately wriggling in my hold to make an escape towards the man.

Matty laughed, his eyes wide and dancing with warmth as he held out his arms for Teddy to jump on into. I rolled my eyes at the exchange but couldn’t help the way my whole being radiated with the beaming smile I wore.

“Alright, monster?” Matty greeted him, settling Teddy on his hip once he was done playfully swinging him about a bit. “How was nursery, hey?”

Teddy was still so awed by Matty’s appearance at his school, of all places, that he was eager to tell the man literally everything about his day. It was only once we’d managed to make a quick exit out of one of the side gates, that Teddy finally asked, “How’d you get here, Matty?”

Matty merely grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at the boy, “Magic.”

With a wrinkled nose, Teddy giggled, “Matty!”

“Alright, alright, jheeze.” Matty relented, all too easily, “I annoyed your mum into letting me come pick you up, didn’t I?”

Teddy looked at me with that, as though I’d gone and put all of the stars into the night sky. “Ta, mama!”

I shook my head at him fondly, leaning in to press a kiss to my baby’s cheek. “You hungry?” I asked him, instead of focusing on the entire scenario at hand, how Teddy seemed to cling to Matty and how entirely charmed Matty was by the boy. They appeared so close in that moment, it made me notice just how different Teddy’s reactions to Matty were to that of Finn’s, a man who had always been a constant in Teddy’s life.

The thought sent me spiralling down a rabbit hole, but thankfully before I could fall any further Teddy was nodding happily and Matty was making a suggestion, “Dinner at mine then?”

Teddy seemed thrilled with the idea but I merely raised a brow at Matty, “What ever will we make with your one egg and half a dozen jams?”

“Toast?” Matty grinned, enjoying the eye roll he received in return as he leaned in to laugh with Teddy. He looked back to me after a moment, “Could head to the shops if you wanna cook, or just order in.”

I pursed my lips, “Would you be able to?”

“To what?” Matty frowned.

I looked ahead as I clarified, “Get some shopping.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes then, nudging his elbow against mine, “Yes, you muppet.” He shook his head when he glanced back at Teddy, feigning a huff that made the toddler giggle, “What do you want then, little man?”

“Ghetti.”

Matty could only blink.

–

By the time we’d made a quick whip around the local Waitrose (because Matty lives in an affluent area and not because he’s ‘pretentious’, he’d like to claim) and back to his, we’d been pictured more than a dozen times.

Although, we’d only found this out when I’d finally caught sight of my phone, wedged between Matty’s bed-frame and the mattress, and managed to charge it. In between then and now, I had roped Matty into helping me cook whilst Teddy worked at the counter doing today’s reading.

“B-ah.” Matty carefully sounded out, still wearing one of the mock aprons Ross had apparently gifted him one Christmas, it was frilly, pink and had ‘This girl loves meat’ written in a pretty font. My own was of a similar fashion, only the words ‘Always use protection’ were warped across its front. “B-ah-guh.” He said once more, leaning up against the counter by Teddy.

“Bag!” Teddy exclaimed excitedly and looked practically giddy when Matty loudly cheered for him.

“Go on, mate! Knew you could do it.” Matty complimented, grinning down at Teddy before ruffling his hair and pulling him into a one armed hug. “Let’s see if we can get the next one before your mum’s done with the spaghetti, yeah?”

Teddy was all too happy to agree, something I slightly resented seeing as he whinged and moaned whenever I asked. But it was nice to see him enjoying his homework for once, a concept that was still so mad to me considering the kid was four.

“‘Bout five minutes to boil now,” I told them as I wiped my hands on a nearby tea towel. My phone finally powered on then and so I moved about the counter to grab at it, not wanting to miss any important notifications. Adi and I had a guest on the show this week and had yet to be filled in on the requirements needed.

Only, before I could even pick the thing up, it started buzzing like mad with hundreds of notifications.

With wide eyes I turned to glance over at Matty, who had paused in his helping of Teddy and was already staring back at me. I blinked and then went to pick the thing up, even as it continued to buzz, but Matty was now moving too, “No, wait.”

I shook my head, wanting to know what the hell was happening, but Matty had been closer, quicker, and was already reaching out to grab it. “Let me look first.”

“Matty.” I huffed, annoyed, but the man didn’t relent. Actually his expression only worsened as he scrolled through the thousands of alerts on my phone. “Matty! What’s the fucks going on?”

“Bad word!”

I winced, then turned to look over my shoulder, “Sorry, Teds, won’t do it again. No chocolate for me tonight, yeah?” My toddler nodded sternly, it made me smile before I glanced back at Matty who’s mood had obviously soured. He tossed the phone back down onto the counter and went to leave the kitchen, I could only assume to look for his own, “Oi!” I admonished, but he just shook his head, seemingly muddled.

“Sorry. Just- gimme a sec.”

I watched as he left, Teddy eyes latched onto him too before he turned back to face me, “Sad Matty?” He asked and I gave him another small smile.

“Not sure, baby. But he’ll be okay in a second.” Or at least I hoped. Teddy took it though and nodded, already going back to his work, though he kept looking over at the door every few seconds.

I forced my shoulders to drop, knowing the tension would only wreak havoc on my back come bed tonight, and took a careful step towards my phone.

It had stopped pinging so incessantly now, but the odd notification still came through.

[HOMESCREEN] 17:18 Twitter now Trending.. Notifications.. Instagram now Open to view News 1m Matty Healy's new budding romance?

My heart stopped. It was all there, us dancing at the club, getting into the cab, Matty at his front gate this morning with the food delivery driver, us walking to pick up Teddy, the hug we'd shared in the playground, Matty holding a bundle that could have only been Teddy in an aisle at the shops- thankfully his face was hidden, the only saving grace of it all. But still, it all looked so convincing.

We were definitely in deep shit.

“Squeaks?”

My head snapped up to find Matty standing over by the counter, his body tense but a gentle hand holding Teddy’s own, the horror I felt must’ve shown on my face because he winced.

“We’ve gotta talk.”

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voidpetrova · 9 months

Text

paradise on earth — obx!jeremy gilbert x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, public sex, blowjobs, degradation, dirty talk — smut, drama

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: he was a pogue, you were a kook—it was only normal for the two of you to hate one another. unfortunately, opposites had a funny way of attracting.

✧.*

as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow across the outer banks, you found yourself perched on the balcony of your family's lavish beachfront mansion. the sea breeze tousled your hair gently as you lit a cigarette, the soft ember flickering to life, casting an ephemeral dance of shadows on your face. your older brother emerged from the dimly lit interior of the house, his chiseled features partially obscured by the fading light. he shot you a stern look, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he approached.

“knock it off, sis,” he said with a mix of concern and authority. rafe had always been protective of you, especially after your parents' passing. you were his baby sister, and he loved you more than anything in the world.

you took a long drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke swirl around you before reluctantly extinguishing it in the ashtray. “you worry too much, rafe,” you replied, a hint of defiance in your voice. the kook lifestyle had always felt stifling, and smoking had become a small act of rebellion.

he sighed, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. “i just don't want to see you go down the same path as dad,” he said, his voice softer now, filled with a painful reminder of the past. your father had been consumed by his vices, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

the two of you stood there in silence for a moment, the waves crashing in the background, a stark contrast to the world of privilege and pretense that your family embodied. despite the kook-pogue rivalry that had plagued the outer banks for generations, you couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for something more genuine, more real. little did you know that this summer would bring unexpected changes into your life, changes that would challenge the boundaries of loyalty and love in a world divided by class and circumstance.

the summer air was heavy with anticipation as figure eight island buzzed with rumors of an extravagant party to be hosted by topper thornton, one of the most prominent kooks in town. the picturesque beach, known for its serene beauty, was about to be transformed into a pulsating oasis of laughter, music, and hidden desires.

you had heard whispers of the upcoming event for days, fueled by gossip shared among the kooks, including your own family. the mention of topper's party had reached even the secluded pogue community, piquing your curiosity and stirring a longing for an adventure beyond the confines of your life.

as the evening sun cast a mesmerizing array of colors across the horizon, you decided to seize the opportunity to escape your meticulously curated world for a taste of something more genuine. dressed in a flowy, beachy dress that was more pogue than kook, you ventured towards the island's edge where the party was in full swing.

topper's mansion loomed like a beacon of extravagance, its facade adorned with strings of twinkling lights that danced in the breeze. the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses wafted through the air, beckoning you closer.

you approached the party with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. the energy was palpable as kooks and a few adventurous pogues mingled on the beach. it was a night when societal divides seemed to blur, at least temporarily.

amidst the lively crowd, your eyes met those of jeremy gilbert, a ruggedly handsome ppgue whose presence was magnetic. he had an air of mystery about him, and his pogue attire and confident demeanor set him apart from the other attendees.

as you navigated through the gathering, you found yourself drawn to jeremy's side. the two of you struck up a conversation, discussing the peculiar blend of worlds at the party. jeremy's captivating smile and genuine curiosity about your life as a kook began to erode the barriers between you.

the conversation with jeremy flowed easily, like a secret dance amidst the chaos of the party. you found yourselves talking about dreams and desires, aspirations and fears, all while the waves crashed in the background, as if the ocean itself were bearing witness to your connection.

in a hushed voice, jeremy leaned in and confessed, “i have to admit, i was reluctant to talk to you earlier. i've seen the way rafe gets around his little sister, and i didn't want any trouble.”

you understood his apprehension. rafe's protective nature was well-known, and his temper was legendary among both pogues and kooks. “don't worry,” you whispered back with a reassuring smile. “rafe may be overprotective, but i can handle him. besides, i wanted to talk to you.”

before jeremy could respond, the night took an unexpected turn. rafe stormed over, anger flashing in his eyes. “what do you think you're doing, talking to this pogue?” he barked, his voice carrying over the party. you exchanged a tense look with keremy, your heart racing. “rafe, i can choose my own friends,” you retorted, your upbringing flaring up in defiance.

jeremy, ever the calm presence, stepped in. “we were just having a conversation, man,” he said, trying to defuse the situation.

rafe's jaw clenched, but then, surprisingly, he softened slightly, his eyes narrowing in disgust, knowong he had to keep you protected as long as he could. "you better make the most of it," he could've sworn he saw red. “this is the last time you ever go near her.” he warned before stalking off into the party, leaving you and jeremy alone once more.

as the night wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling that your meeting with jeremy was fated, just like john b and sarah's encounter. the pogue-kook divide may have tried to keep you apart, but you both knew that destiny had other plans. you exchanged a promise in those lingering gazes - you would see each other again, no matter the obstacles in your path.

while the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the waters of the cut, the pogues had gathered for one of their regular hangouts. the sound of laughter and waves crashing on the shore filled the air as they lounged on the sand, sharing stories and dreams.

jeremy, still new to the group but eager to fit in, had captivated their attention with tales of the mysterious look girl he had met at topper's party. he leaned back, his eyes sparkling with excitement, as he regaled them with the story of your encounter.

“i'm telling you guys, she's different,” jeremy insisted, a boyish grin on his face. “she's not like the other kooks. she's got this fire in her, this spirit that's impossible to ignore.”

kie, the feisty and loyal member, was quick to support jeremy's sentiments. “i've met her once or twice,” she chimed in. “she's not half bad. kinda down-to-earth for a kook, if you ask me.”

some other friends, like pope, the brains of the group, were more contemplative. “but can we really trust someone from the other side of the tracks?” he mused aloud. “rafe and his family have caused us enough trouble.”

jj, who was more wild and unpredictable than the rest of the pogues, took a more direct approach. “who cares about trust? if jere likes her, that's enough for me,” he declared with a mischievous grin.

amidst the mix of opinions, one thing was unanimous: they all agreed that you were indeed a knockout, a stunning presence who had caught jeremy's eye. and when it came to rafe cameron, the general sentiment was even more emphatic—he was, without a doubt, a dick. the conversation continued late into the night, illuminated by a bonfire that cast flickering shadows on the faces of the pogues. in that moment, beneath the starlit sky and amidst the camaraderie of friends, the pogues couldn't help but wonder if the divisions between pogues and kooks could ever truly keep two people apart, especially when the spark of attraction and the promise of adventure beckoned irresistibly.

weeks had passed since the night at the cut, and while jeremy had thought about you often, the divide between the pogues and the kooks seemed insurmountable. but fate had a way of weaving intricate stories on the outer banks.

one sunny day, the pogues were on one of their secret treasure hunts, chasing the elusive royal merchant gold that had become an obsession for them. unbeknownst to jeremy, you had become increasingly curious about the adventures of the pogues, especially since your encounter with him.

as the pogues made their way through the marshes, john b, their charismatic leader, devised a plan to retrieve an important clue. it just so happened that the clue was located in a building near the cameron mansion. to your surprise, you stumbled upon this plan while eavesdropping on your brother rafe's conversation. the intrigue was too much for you to resist. with a sense of daring, you decided to tip off jeremy, the only pogue you knew, about your brother's plot. you left a discreet message at the chateau, their hangout, knowing that jeremy and the others would eventually find it.

when jeremy discovered the message, it sent shockwaves through the group. “it's from the kook girl, telling us about rafe's plan,” he explained to the pogues gathered around. “she's helping us.” the news was met with mixed reactions. kie and jj, remembering the positive impression you had left on them at the party, were more open to the idea. pope remained cautious, reminding everyone about the potential risks. john b, ever the optimist, saw it as an opportunity they couldn't pass up.

as the sun began its descent, jeremy, john b, kie, jj, and pope embarked on their mission to thwart eafe's plot. they moved stealthily through the island, shadows against the backdrop of the darkening skies, driven by the desire to outsmart the kooks and find the royal merchant gold.

amidst the tension and excitement of their adventure, they couldn't help but think of you, the kook girl who had reached out to them, and the unlikely alliance that had formed. they knew that this dangerous pursuit would bring them closer to the secrets of the outer banks and, just maybe, to you once more.

hours passed, and the pogues, guided by your information, eventually reached the hidden location of the clue. rafe and his kook cronies were closing in, but the pogues had the upper hand.

with a mix of adrenaline and determination, the pogues outwitted rafe and his crew, securing the crucial clue and narrowly escaping capture. as they regrouped in a safe spot, jeremy couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected turn of events. “we wouldn't have pulled this off without her,” he admitted, his eyes filled with gratitude and curiosity about the kook girl who had helped them.

little did jeremy know that your paths were destined to cross once more, and that the bond between pogue and kook, fueled by adventure and secrets, was about to become stronger than ever. the outer banks held more mysteries than they could have ever imagined, and your connection with jeremy would be at the heart of their unraveling.

the revelation of your involvement with the pogues didn't go unnoticed by rafe. qs soon as he discovered your betrayal, his rage knew no bounds. he confronted you in your room, his anger palpable.

“you're a disgrace, helping those assholes,” he yelled, his voice echoing off the plush walls of the cameron mansion. “you've crossed a line, sis.”

his words stung, but you knew you had done what you felt was right. “rafe, they needed help, and it was the right thing to do,” you replied, your voice steady even in the face of his fury. rafe's face twisted with anger, and he pointed toward the door. “get out,” he spat. “if you want to side with them and the little gilbert, then go live with them.”

swallowing your pride, you packed a small bag and left the opulent mansion behind. the night air was cool as you walked along the moonlit beach, the waves whispering secrets as they lapped at the shore. as you walked further, you saw a solitary figure in the distance. it was jeremy. he was standing there, his silhouette framed by the ethereal glow of the moon on the water. you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief as you approached him.

“outer banks, paradise on earth, isn't it?” jeremy said softly as he turned to look at you, a faint smile on his lips. you sighed, leaning against a piece of driftwood that had washed ashore. “if only it were,” you replied, the weight of your recent actions heavy on your shoulders.

jeremy closed the distance between you, his gaze intense and unwavering. “hey, you did what you thought was right,” he said, his voice gentle as he reached out to gently touch your cheek. “i admire that about you. thank you for everything.”

you met his gaze, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through you. "i just wish it didn't cost me my family," you confessed, your voice trembling. jeremy's thumb brushed away a stray tear that had escaped your eye. “you're not alone,” he said softly, drawing you into his arms. “you have us, the pogues. you have me.”

in that moment, as the moonlight danced on the waves and the sea breeze carried the scent of salt and adventure, you realized that the outer banks held more than just secrets. it held the promise of a love that transcended the boundaries of class and circumstance. you leaned in, your lips meeting jeremy's in a tender and passionate kiss, sealing a connection that had been forged through courage and sacrifice. the waves continued their rhythmic song, bearing witness to the beginning of a love story that defied the odds, just like the paradise itself.

when your lips met jeremy's, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in the moonlit embrace of the beach. the kiss deepened, a powerful surge of longing and desire passing between you both. jeremy's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, as if he couldn't get enough of the taste and feel of your lips against his. the soft, warm sand beneath your feet added to the sensation of being grounded, yet weightless, as if you were floating on a sea of emotions.

the kiss spoke of unspoken promises, of shared secrets and a future filled with uncertainty and adventure. it was a moment where the lines between two rival groups blurred, where all that mattered was the intense connection between you and jeremy.

as you finally broke the kiss, breathless and heart pounding, he rested his forehead against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. “i don't care about the labels or the rivalry,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “i just care about you.”

a surge of emotion welled up inside you as you looked into jeremy's eyes, mirroring the same sentiments. in this secluded corner of paradise, the barriers that separated your worlds seemed insignificant. the connection you shared was real, and it was powerful.

you pressed your lips to his again, a promise sealed in the night, a declaration that your love would conquer the challenges that lay ahead. as the waves continued their eternal dance, you and jeremy continued yours, lost in each other, wrapped in the magic of the paradise on earth. the air carried the sweet scent of saltwater and tropical flowers, mingling harmoniously with the warm glow of the setting sun as it dipped towards the horizon. the sun cast long shadows over the beach, accentuating the rugged contours of his toned physique. his well-defined muscles rippled beneath the fabric of his sun-bleached shirt as he strolled effortlessly across the sand, his pace mirroring the undulating tides.

the waves lapped against the shore as the two of you explored each other. every touch, every kiss, every moan was filled with passion and desire as you both lost yourselves in the pleasure of the moment. as the sun set, the two of you lay in each other's arms, content and sated. as the sky turned a deep shade of violet, jeremy leaned in, his lips pressed against yours in a passionate kiss. his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and crevice as the kiss deepened. you could feel the sand beneath you as his touch ignited a fire inside of you.

“i've been dreaming of this since the night of the party,” you admitted, tone hushed and soft. jeremy smile at you as he brushed away your loose strands of hair away from your cheeks. “i want you, jer.” he stared into your eyes with his own brown, piercing ones as a soft smile graced his lips, gaze as gentle as ever. “i want you too, (y/n).”

his tongue licked the sweet spot below your ear before his lips began leaving sloppy and slow kisses down your neck. his hands ran down your back to grab your ass, groping it as your body became sensitive under his touch. his look grew dark, lust dancing in his eyes while you helped remove his shorts. the sight of his noticeably hardening dick, covered only by his boxers, caused desire to pool at the pit of your stomach, a slick of heat already dampening your underwear. you didn't waste a second before beginning to rub his cock through his bpxers, causing a low groan to erupt from his throat while his hands spun in front of him to support himself.

“you’re gonna be the death of me.” he groaned, very obviously holding himself back. you only smiled up at him, a look of fake innocence on your features, which made his insatiable desire to ruin you right here and right now grow even more.

without breaking your locked gazes, you finally freed him of his boxers, a moan of relief slipping past his lips immediately, and it only made you more eager. your lips moved against his wet tip, kissing it once before you began to deliver kitten licks, slowly and teasingly, before dragging your tongue up along the thick vein of his cock. it was your first time seeing all of him, and you couldn't have been happier about it. he grabbed your hair in one hand to force you to look at him, “stop with the teasing,” he instructed, trying to regain control.

the grip his strong hand had behind your head made you tremble, the arousal being unbearable, and you let him guide your mouth closer to his cock until you took the tip of his cock in your mouth. while he groaned, you began lowering your head, taking him deeper, before lifting your neck and beginning to frantically bob your head up and down. you spat down his member, before letting your hand grip the base of it, still sucking as you fisted him with your palm. the moment he had taken complete control by moving your head for you, you knew you couldn't resist much longer, your own free hand reaching your clothed tits, fondling your breast while your pussy only grew wetter. when you pushed away to breathe and look up at him through glossy eyes, his self control completely faltered.

“shit—“ he grunted, “c’mere.” he helped you stand on your feet before desperately crashing his lips on yours, catching your lips in a lust-filled kiss while his hands roamed around your body. he lifted your sundress, grabbing your naked thigh as he pressed your back against the sand beneath you. you all but let out a moan of surprise in his mouth when he ripped your panties off, causing him to smirk. “jer,” you try to whine, but his lips were too eager to let yours go. “i’ll get you some new ones.” he assured, and you couldn't help but smile when he kissed you again.

“gonna be a good kook and scream for me?” he whispered, with his lips so close to yours that you could feel his breath fanning your mouth. you nodded at his words, but it wasn't enough for him—he wrapped his fingers around your neck, the pressure not enough to choke you, but just the way he knew made you crazy. “answer when i speak to you, baby.”

“and what if i don't?” you challenged him.

much to your dismay, he accepted the challenge and in one quick motion, he thrusted into your dripping hole, bottoming out all at once. you let out a cry at the feeling and he claimed your mouth swiftly, swallowing your sounds, which never stopped—for he had already set a rough pace. as jeremy places his forehead against yours, creating a distance between your mouths, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, while your newly-found lover only smirked at your reaction. he decided to answer your question by grazing his lips against your ear, “what i plan on doing,” he gives you a particular aggressive, deep thrust that makes you whimper, “is making you scream so hard, your asshole of a brother's gonna hear you from your mansion.”

your body trembled at his words, the thought of it being all too overwhelming, already too close to your climax, and you begin begging for him for his permission. his grunts of pleasure, followed by strings of curses and obscene praises about how much he loved this, were pushing you to the edge and you knew you weren't in any position to stop it.

“please, jer,” were the only words that came out of your mouth, and although he wanted stop you from making those erotic sounds due to drawing attention, he knew he wanted rafe or any kook to walk onto the public beach and soak the sight in.

as he let his head fall into the crook of your neck, his thrusts became increasingly sloppy before you finally felt him release inside you, moaning and groaning against your hot, flushing skin. the overwhelming feeling pushed you over the edge, your walls clasping around him as you let go, while your fingers held onto his dark hair for dear life. your moans and whimpers of his name were like music to his ears, and he could only keep rutting his hips back and forth, too caught up in his pleasure to stop. his lips began to softlt kiss your skin, from your neck up to your cheek, until he decides to catch your parted lips in a tender kiss as well. his hands caressed your thighs and your ass, before raising one arm to brush some hairs out of your sweaty forehead with his fingers.

“i love you,” the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. he froze, his blood running cold as he braced himself for impact. what he didn't expect, however, was the way you wrapped your arms around his neck, placing a kiss on the top of his damp hair.

“i love you too, jer.”

#obx #outer banks #tvd #tvdu #the originals #legacies #tvd x obx #kook!reader #jeremy gilbert #jeremy x reader #jeremy gilbert x reader #jeremy gilbert fluff #jeremy gilbert angst #jeremy gilbert smut #jeremy gilbert x reader smut

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angelkakewritings · 1 year

Text

His magnum opus.

Karl Heisenberg x Virgin!Reader

One shot!|| NSFW

Pronouns used: she/her/hers | no use of y/n

Disclaimer: I do not own the canon character of Karl Heisenberg’s or any of the canon characters or canon lore or the Resident Evil universe !

CW: Heavy religious themes! (No mentions of any specific religious figure ) fictional renditioning of worship, virginity loss, cult, cult like worship, cursing, mentions of smoking, power imbalance, female reader, choking, brief use of Karl’s power, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, breeding, semi-public, use of google translate for one dialogue!

Author’s Note: The following story does contain heavy religious themes but does not depict any actual faith or religious figure! Its all liberties taken from the story telling that resident evil:village provided! Please read with caution! reader is a shrine maiden to mother Miranda and is now the subject of interest and desire for Karl Heisenberg! Listened to a lot of rammstein and ghost while writing this! Enjoy!

Pleasure.

The word was too threatening, too unruly and too carnal to fit into her sanctimonious world that was filled with precious hymns, the burnt flesh of sacrifice and utter devotion to the divine Mother Miranda, the holy overseer of her village.

From a tender age, she had been one of the select few young women who had been chosen to undergo sound religious training to devote mind, body and spirit to serve their lords as shrine maidens.

“Dear Mother Miranda, forgive us our sins. Dear Mother Miranda, forgive us our sins. Dear Mother Miranda, forgive us our sins.” The sweet sonnets of forgiveness left her beestung lips in between the gentle yellow flickering of the match held between her fingertips, dutifully lighting the flora coated stick of incense in dedication to Lady Donna Beneviento.

The lit match revealed how her appearance starkly contrasted her dreary, corpse filled, cold village.

A vision of veiled whites accompanied by a pair of doe eyes, pouty lips and rose flushed cheeks.

She was lovely.

She was lively

She was pure.

Gracefully, she lowered herself to her knees in front of the portraits of the four lords of the village, exposing her bare ankles that were wrapped in rosary beads made from precious metals and ended with the sigil of Mother Miranda.

Every night would start and end the exact same way, an existence made to eat and breath worship left nothing else to chance. But tonight, faith would challenge the structured way of life for the shrine maiden as the large, wooden doors crept open.

The cruel winds of winter pierced her skin, abruptly silencing her tranquil worship to turn her head around. Like a deer at the end of the hunter’s arrow, her eyes widened in disarray and awe at seeing the broad form of the fourth and most dangerous Lord of the village who was standing before her.

“Don’t let me stop you, you made that filth sound pretty.” His baritone voice spoke while looking down at the young woman, wisp of smoke from his cigar left his mischief curled lips.

“Keep going.”

“Lord Heisenberg.” She gasped out, bringing herself up to her feet.

She wasted no time in bowing her head.

It was almost ridiculous how he towered her.

“None of that nonsense…” He trailed off, using the tips of his fingers to lift her chin up towards him, ”I want to see you.”

His demand caused her eyes to flutter open towards him, looking at him in pure reverence.

She trembled at the weight of his eyes gazing over her, unconscious to the fact of how enthralled he was in the way her beauty managed to shine through the lace of her veil that was meant to conceal and shy her away from the rest of the world.

It was heartbreaking to see how ethereal she was, too ethereal to be amongst the foolish, crazed and homely villagers.

When Heisenberg first laid eyes on her, he wanted to hate her, he wanted to be repulsed by the idea of her.

How could he not? The young woman was beloved by Mother Miranda, a prodigy of her strict training and mindless preaching.

The hellfire colored flames of hatred simmered into infatuation and obsession.

In between the long ceremonies and spitfire sacrifices, the maiden would bare an air of sweetness to her, even going as far as looking and treating the moronic freak of Moreau with a glimmer of kindness to her eyes.

Perhaps, the hatred he bore was towards Miranda for ensnaring the woman in a gilded cage.

Amongst the long and tedious rules of the shrine maiden, the young women were stringently instructed to not create any sort of conversation with the lords as it was an insult and unbecoming, they were simply tasked to be seen but not heard.

Karl found a loophole through Miranda’s rules, as per usual. With a simple request of having his cigar lit, he managed to have her close to him. Gradually, they were no longer strangers to each other and no fools in each other’s hushed advances, their eyes always intensely met each other while she lit his thick cigar, how his hand met the curve of her hip and how her fingers caressed his wrist while he inhaled the ashy and sultry notes of his vice.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She hushed out, her words betrayed by her own body as she grew feverish and melted in the cup of his large hand.

“Afraid mother goose is gonna walk right in?” He hummed out, enjoying the sensation of heat pooling at the pit of his loins at witnessing how she was falling under his touch.

Her eyes darted towards the goliath sized statue of her mentor, the sudden weight of her vows caused her chest to heave up and down.

“There’s nobody here but us.” He reassured her, lulling her back into him.

She was now a small bird in the palm of his hand.

The space was now closed between them, the colored stain glass reflected like a kaleidoscope against their skin. His leather cladded fingers traced the softness of her cheeks and flowed down to her jawline.

“I’ve never been kissed before.” She quietly confessed, her face dusted in pink at the intensity of the shared atmosphere.

The words could’ve brought him to his knees at that very moment.

“There’s nothing to it, liebling.” He grinned, “But, I won't do anything that you don’t want to, just say the word and I’ll leave.”

The proposition was strong yet delicate enough to give courage to the butterfly to break free from its chrysalis. She pressed forward, frightened yet marveled at her own sentience away from Mother Miranda’s all seeing eye.

Heisenberg relishes in how feather soft her lips was against his scarred ones.

Dissolving into the wave of the kiss, she pressed her silky body into his. Even through the thick material of her bodice, he could feel how her heart skipped beats like the foot of a rabbit bouncing against the winter snow.

Their limbs tangled, the overwhelming sensation of hand against flesh and their shared lust had caused Karl to pick her up with the utmost care, treating her like fine china with the deep rooted fear he might break her in a million different pieces if mishandled.

Upon draping her down, he took his sunglasses off to get a better look at her.

She looked exquisite on top of the stone altar dedicated to the sacrifices given to Miranda, her eyes were dreamily blown out ,her veil falling off of her head and her lips now wet and swollen from their kiss.

“I want you, all of you…” She spoke, looking up at her lord through dewdrop wet eyelashes.

The maiden’s command fell into a plea, one that drove Heisenberg into further madness and sent a jolt of electricity to his cock that was already raw and vulgarly straining against his pants.

He caressed her cheek, “I want you to be sure, sweet girl.” His accent thickly jumped off each syllable his tongue made.

“Please, I know there’s more to this provincial existence…” She trailed off, he watched on with his mouth agape as her legs parted and fell on each side of the table. “I just want someone like you to prove it to me.”

The supplication was shameless, agonizing and yearnful in nature, it was perfect enough to give permission to Karl to sweetly comply.

With the raise of his hand and in god-like manner, he lifted her rosary cladded ankle up to him and into the grasp of his hand, making haste to her frock and pooling it up towards her waist.

“Does Miranda know that her sweet girl walks around her altar without any underwear?” He tsked out, beginning to trace around the bridge of her pubic bone, in awe at how the glow of the candle light made the slick of her arousal glisten.

“Are you gonna punish me for it, my lord?” She cooly asked, looking towards her superior with half lidded eyes, his free hand beginning to coil and flex at the nape of her neck like a python.

“So ein dreckiges Mädchen…you’re gonna learn to love every second of it.” He hummed, beginning to knead the bundle of nerves between her legs.

The temperature of her body began to rise as Heisenberg began to work his fingers into her, prodding and probing into her wet cunt. The halls of worship echoed with the vulgar squelching and the sound of the maiden descending further and further into the forbidden concept of pleasure.

“You’re trembling, bunny…” He leaned forward to press a kiss on her open mouth, her hitched breath soft and delicate like the breath of a phantom against the stubble of his beard. The hand on her neck served as an anchor, keeping her in place as her body began to twitch and contort in stinging excitement at the knot undoing itself in her lower belly.

The girth of his fingers began to pound against the spongy, sweet flesh of her cervix like a square hammer against white milky bone, destroying her essence and leaving her a mess of sopranoesque notes ripping from her throat and a canvas of Monet like swatches of sweat and pinks.

A baritone laugh rumbled from his chest at the exquisite realization that Mother Miranda would never be allowed to lay eyes on how exquisite and divine her shrine maiden looked upon her own altar.

“I want you! Please, take me already!” She cried out on top of the stone hill.

Gripping the back of her neck, he silenced her plea with the sting of a kiss.

The decibels of boney, ivory teeth clashing against each other was accompanied by the buckle of his belt tinkling and chittering while being pulled apart, revealing the bulbous nature of his erect manhood.

His large body crashes into her, consuming and filling her to the brim of himself. The shrine maiden writhes and begins to whine and moan out into the night as he begins to thrust away.

Like the pluck of a harp, his movements were precise and intuitive enough to draw out the loveliest sounds.

“Look at me, liebling.” He groans out, grabbing her face to force her eyes wide open. “This is what you wanted, yes, hm?”

Frantic, in pure anguish and ecstasy, she nods.

“Use your fuckin’ words, I know you can my sweet girl.”

“I’ve wanted you to ruin me for so long now.” The woman pants, hyperfixated in the manner his dog tags were swinging in front of her face, “I want you to claim me with your seed and take me away from her.” She mewls out.

In the sweet realization Karl had successfully broken her, his head fell back.

The world felt minute in that very moment, he felt as if he could swallow the world and his ungodly creations whole with no consequence, no burden on his wicked conscience. He wanted nothing more than to keep the angelic like woman safe with him and carry her every step he made.

He pulled apart their tethered bodies, beads of his seed and her slick corded the two together.

Karl took one final look at her, a concoction of his cum dripping out of her and her body littered in bruises and tattered in what was once white fabric, she was perfect in his eyes.

She was his magnum opus.

#fanfic #just for fun #oneshot #my writing #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x y/n #karl heisenberg x reader #smut #re village #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil

182 notes · View notes

screamingoverfiction · 1 year

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Loving and Dying

I'm obsessed with masked men who could easily kill me. Ghost(MW2) x f!-reader, codename: Kracken. Angst with a little suggestiveness and brief smut. Canon typical violence.

Word Count: 2.87k.

There were bullets, smoke, and blood. So much blood. She couldn't remember nor tell whose it was, and she didn't care. The only thing on her mind was staying alive and finding Ghost.

She swallowed thickly, ignoring the burning in her throat as she inhaled diluted smoke. Her head burned with adrenaline, but her mind raced with fear. She was scared.

It was a mission gone awol, 141 needed intel. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and her were sent to retrieve it. It was supposed to be quick and easy. Get in and get out, but it didn't go smoothly.

She was shot in the stomach as soon as their vehicle entered the town. A sniper in a building has had eyes on them since the beginning.

After she got shot, everything went to shit. The car got its wheels blown out, sending the team spiraling away. She managed to crawl her way out, calling for Ghost, Soap, Gaz, anyone. But there was too much gunfire.

She heard Ghost's demanding voice shout at her to run, get away from there and find cover. So she tried, and now here she was, in an abandoned house, bleeding out, dried tears on her cheeks, her life flashing before her eyes.

The first time Ghost kissed her.

It was after she and he had sparred, he, of course, had come out victorious, but she always gave him a challenge.

She was drenched in sweat, hair plastered against her face, head knocked back, chest heaving for air. She glanced at Ghost, who had been watching her intently, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"You're staring, lieutenant," She spoke with a smirk, taking a drink from her water bottle and setting it down on a bench.

"You're a tough fighter, Kracken," Ghost commented, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head sideways.

Kracken smiled, shaking her head and inhaling sharply. She'd earned that nickname after a mission out on the water when she'd popped up and slaughtered them all in a blink.

"Not tough enough to beat you, though," She replied with a breathy laugh, wiping across her forehead with her arm.

She'd started to walk away, but Ghost caught her arm, drawing her back to him, pulling his mask up just barely, and crashing their lips together.

She was surprised, but only for a millisecond. It lit a fire deep inside her stomach to know he wanted her as bad as she wanted him.

They hadn't hesitated in deepening the kiss until they couldn't breathe, teeth clashing, tongues battling, hands grasping at whatever they could.

Ghost had fucked her against that wall, covering her mouth with his palm to suppress her moans, marking her neck with hickeys, and whispering dirty things into her ear.

Her legs were wrapped around his torso, her back arching into him, eyes rolling into her head as he fucked her through her high.

And that was only the beginning. Soon their little 'meetings' became something more. It seemed like each time they met alone, their feelings for each other would strengthen.

After the first time they fucked, they'd made a promise that fucking was all it was, no feelings attached, but a blind person could see that was a lie.

Kracken didn't know if she would make it out of this house, but she wanted her last thoughts to be of him, his lips on hers, his hands caressing her skin. The soft-spoken words he said only to her.

She leaned against the stone wall, more tears rolling down her cheeks as she quickly took off her tactical vest and pressed her fist against her stomach, trying to slow the bleeding.

She had been wearing a vest when the sniper shot her, but it could only do so much if she hadn't worn it. She would've died on the spot.

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a shaky breath. Accepting that this was it, the end of the line. No more. She was dying, and she would die alone.

A crackle came from the radio strapped to her chest. It broke her out of her death-ridden trance.

"Kraken, How copy?" Ghost's panicked voice rang out. His tone was laced with concern, fearing that she wouldn't respond.

She tiredly clicked the button on her com, barely whispering her reply.

"I'm fucked up, Ghost," She said quietly, inhaling sharply, a sting of pain shooting through her abdomen. She heard him curse lowly, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'll come to you. What do you see?" He asked, his tone still worrying.

"I don't really know, fire, smoke. I'm in an old house, red roof. I can't be more than 500 meters away from the hummer," She breathed, grunting in pain, sweat dripping from her brow.

"Fuck, we scattered from the hummer. I'll be there in ten minutes. Stay alive for me," He spoke, his voice stern and scared. He couldn't lose her too. It would kill him.

Kracken inhaled again, they were bound to send reinforcements soon, and they'd kill Ghost and the others in a blink.

"Don't come for me. I'm dead weight. I'll hold you back. They're gonna send reinforcements," She said, trying to convince him even though she knew it was pointless.

"You're bloody fucking daft if you think I'm leaving you to die," Ghost stated angrily through the coms.

Kracken closed her eyes, having no energy to keep them open. She knew she was dying, and it was terrifying, but she couldn't stop it.

"Hey, don't go quiet on me now," Ghost said, listening intently for her reply.

When she didn't, he started panicking even more, his blood turning to ice and his chest tightening.

Ghost's eyes locked onto a small house with a red roof. He sprinted towards it, shooting an enemy without looking, his mind hyper-focused on finding her.

He burst into the building, eyes locking on her figure, slumped in the corner, eyes closed, blood seeping from her abdomen.

Ghost's eyes went wide, and he rushed over, dropping to his knees, his gloved hand going to her neck, feeling for a pulse.

"Come on, Y/n, don't die on me," He whispered, his free hand going to stroke her cheek, thumb brushing over the grime-ridden skin.

He audibly breathed in relief when he felt her faint pulse. But he knew it would only be there for so long. She needed medical attention immediately.

Ghost pressed his hand against her wound, doing his best to keep her blood in. The action caused a spike of pain and adrenaline to shoot through her body, jolting her awake.

Her hand shot down and wrapped around his wrist, using her remaining strength to try and defend herself. When her eyes locked with the hazel ones behind his mask. She calmed down.

"Ghost," She said, relief evident in her tone, tiredly slumping back into the wall, eyes barely open.

"Don't close your eyes, alright. Just talk to me, love. I'm calling for help," He said, keeping pressure against her wound, his free hand leaving her cheek to press his radio.

"I don't wanna die," She whispered, chest rising and falling rapidly. She was going into shock from lack of blood.

"Fuck, Gaz, she's going into shock. Where's the closest medic?" Ghost demanded, his voice stern enough to make a firefighter shit themselves.

"You're not gonna like my answer, lieutenant. They're at least a half hour out," Gaz said, his voice sounding solemn and sympathetic.

"We just found a kit from the hummer, get her back here, and we can patch her up," Soap said through the coms.

"I'm getting you out of here, love. Keep pressure on that wound," Ghost said softly, wrapping his arm around her back and lifting her into his arms.

He carried her through the building despite her cries and groans of agony, each step sending another wave of pain through her system. She was bleeding all over him, but that didn't matter. She was the only thing that mattered.

"Ghost, please," She begged, the hand that wasn't pressing into her stomach clenched onto his clothed shoulder, nails digging into the flesh.

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts, just a little longer," He replied, swallowing thickly, adrenaline fueling his steps.

"I can't, please, Ghost," She begged again, sweat dripping down her face. She was paling, and her breathing was labored and rapid.

"Fuck, Just talk to me, alright? Tell me about anything, anything you want," Ghost practically pleaded, his eyes locking with hers.

"I-I've always dreamed of getting eloped on a beach, the sun setting in the background, nothing on my mind except how in love I am," She managed to whisper, hands starting to shake.

"Yeah? Well, stay alive, and that'll happen one day," Ghost said, kicking a door down and shooting a man in the head with his pistol before returning his arm beneath her.

She let out a dry laugh, making Ghost look at her, confusion in his hazel hues.

"I'm never going to get married, not in this field of work," She whispered, swallowing and exhaling shakily.

"And why's that?" His voice was softer than she expected.

"No one's going to want to marry me, Ghost. I've got a lot of baggage," She muttered, her eyes closing against her will.

"Well, I know at least one man who'd marry you in a heartbeat," Ghost said in a whisper, his chest swarming with anxiety.

If she wasn't dying in his arms, a giant grin would've spanned across her face. She would've wrapped her arms around him, kissing his lips until neither of them could breathe, but she couldn't.

They reached the outside, the ablaze vehicle only about 300 meters away, but it felt like 20 miles.

There was little pain now, but that scared her more. It meant there was little they could do now. If she wasn't airlifted to a hospital in the next five minutes. She'd be dead.

Tears rolled down her cheeks at the realization. But she didn't want to die like this. It was a horrible way to go. How would her family and friends cope with her gruesome death?

"Simon," She whimpered, blood-covered hand going to caress his masked face, smearing red across the hard skull.

Simon looked down at her, tears stinging his vision. His heart shattering into millions of pieces at her broken, pleading voice.

"I'm not gonna make it, Simon," She whispered shakily, hands trembling, eyes watering, her body so physically exhausted she could break in half.

"Don't you fucking say that, Y/n. You're gonna be fine. Johnny is coming with the kit. H-He'll help you," He declared thoroughly as if he was trying to not only convince her but himself as well.

Her eyes closed, and her arms fell limp. She couldn't hold pressure against her wound anymore. She was too tired.

"No, no, fuck," Simon gently set her down behind a small concrete wall for cover, applying pressure to her gunshot and pressing his coms.

"Johnny, we need you now! We're 250 meters away from the hummer, behind some concrete," Simon demanded, releasing the radio and placing both hands on her abdomen.

"Stay with me, Y/n," He breathed, a single tear tipping from his eye and rolling down his cheek.

Y/n opened her eyes just barely, gasping for air and gripping his wrists, crying out in pain.

It hurt him to see her like this. If only they'd checked the area before deployment. If only the windows in the hummer were tinted slightly more. Why didn't he sit on that side?

"I'm on my way Lt." Johnny called through the radio, his voice sounding panicked.

"Simon, I'm sorry," She whimpered, releasing her grip on his wrist and instead bringing her hand to his face brushing her thumb over the skull. Simon realized something at that moment. She hadn't seen his face. She'd never pressured him into showing it, never asked him to take off the mask, but now he regretted not showing her.

Careful to keep the same amount of pressure on her wound, he lifted one hand to his face, taking off his helmet, hesitating momentarily when he gripped the fabric of his mask.

Y/n's eyes went wide. She reached up and grabbed his wrist to stop him from removing the piece. She didn't want him to feel obligated to, but Simon simply shook his head.

"I want to," He said in a shaky breath, swallowing thickly. Y/n's hand fell from his wrist, and Simon slowly pulled the mask off.

He was beautiful, strong cheekbones and blond hair cut short but slightly longer on the top. He had various scars along his face, one on his lip and a burn scar on the upper part of his neck. His nose was defined, and his blond eyelashes stuck out from the black grease paint around his warm brown eyes. He was younger-looking than she expected, but his face still showed years of battle.

"You're bloody handsome, lieutenant," She whispered, brushing her thumb along his cheek again, eyes hazily open.

"It should be a crime you kept that face away from me," She said again, using her last few breaths to try and get him to smile.

Simon closed his eyes and dryly chuckled. Reaching forward, he cupped her face, leaning his forehead against hers.

Using what little strength she had left, she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his and holding his shoulder.

"I love you," He said quietly against her lips, swallowing his tears, keeping his hand on her wound.

She smiled sadly, her arm wrapping around the back of his neck to keep herself steady.

"I love you, Simon," She whispered. Her heart rate slowly started decreasing, and her mind slipped away.

She kissed him until she couldn't, her final breath fanning against his skin as her body went limp in his embrace. Her body slumped against the concrete, eyes closed.

Simon's eyes shot open, panicking at her lifeless body, he grasped her face trying to wake her, but there was nothing. Strings of fearing curses left his lips as he searched for her pulse.

Nothing.

"No! No! Y/n! Fuck, come on!" He cried desperately, quickly using his free hand to pathetically attempt one-handed CPR, knowing that if he tried with two, her blood would just spill out.

After a few seconds, he knew it was pointless. There was no more Y/n L/n, no more of the girl he fell in love with. All that was left was her body, her lifeless body.

A sickening sob left his lips before he could stop it, and tears ran freely down his cheeks. He leaned over her body, cradling her head in his hand and sobbing into her neck.

He'd failed.

Running footsteps could be heard from behind the wall, but Simon didn't care. He'd gladly take a bullet to his brain.

"Fuck," A Scottish voice cursed. Footsteps approached Simon from behind, and a hand fell on his shoulder.

"I couldn't save her, Johnny," Simon said with a shaky breath, hands trembling as they held her body.

"I'm sorry, Simon," Johnny said, swallowing his own sadness and looking at the ground. He knew of Simon's feelings for Y/n. You'd need to be worse than blind to not see.

"Simon, we need to get to extraction," Soap spoke, standing up with a grief-ridden expression.

Simon exhaled shakily, reaching over and pulling on his mask and helmet.

Ghost stood, bending down over and snaking his arms under her body, pulling her lifeless body into his arms.

Soap finally saw her clearly, blood-covered shirt, face smeared with blood, sweat, and tears. She didn't deserve to die.

Ghost walked out from behind the wall with Soap beside him. Ghost's eyes were red from tears, but he needed to get his mind straight. He was still in the field. But with every step he took, he'd see her in his arms and have to force the tears back in.

They approached the extraction point. Gaz was already there, hurriedly talking to a medic. His eyes snapped up at the sound of footsteps, relief washing over his face for a split second until his eyes locked onto the body in Ghost's arms.

Gaz felt sick to his stomach. That couldn't be her. She was alive. She had to be. She wouldn't go out like this. She was a fighter.

His fears were confirmed when the medics rushed over to her, but Ghost simply plowed past them. Gently placing her body in the truck bed.

Gaz could only stare. Her once full-of-life eyes were shut. A smile would never cross her lips again.

His eyes snapped to Ghost's noticing their blotchiness, but Ghost said nothing. He merely stared at her body as if his mind could bring her back.

"Kraken KIA," Soap's voice said through the coms to Price, his voice shaking.

"What?" Price responded, not believing his ears.

"Y/n's dead," Simon repeated, closing his eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Everyone Simon Riley has ever loved died because of him indirectly or not it didn't matter.

Simon Riley Ghost wouldn't make the mistake of loving anyone ever again.

I'm only half sorry.

#ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #simon riley #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish #john price #lieutenant simon riley #death #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley smut #ghost mw2 smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley needs a hug

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louisupdates · 1 year

Text

All Of Those Voices review | Louis Tomlinson documentary will surprise even the cynics among us

WHYNOW

Teddy Coward | 22 Mar 2023

2010 was The X Factor’s peak. Not only did it see the show’s highest average weekly viewing figures, raking in a peak of 19.1 million viewers for its final, but it also involved a list of names that have become embedded in British TV history. Cher Lloyd, Rebecca Ferguson and, of course, Wagner, the barmy Brazilian from outer-Brum; it was a year that seemed to match a genuine degree of talent with a light-heartedness.

And, of course, it brought together five baby-faced teens who would go on to produce not just the show’s most successful act but one of the most popular boy bands this country has ever seen: One Direction.

Yet because, with The X Factor, what was once pop cultural cache has nowadays become merely pub quiz fodder (the show last aired in December 2018), that snobbishness towards 1D still lingers to this day – despite the many awards its leading light, Harry Styles, picks up as a solo artist.

All Of Those Voices, the new documentary from Charlie Lightening (whose prior credits include the award-winning Liam Gallagher: As It Was and The Paul McCartney Project), reminds us that at the heart of the manufactured, Simon Cowell-orchestrated world One Direction once operated in, lie real lads. And one of those young men, Louis Tomlinson, is relatable, honest, and has overcome more than his fair share of struggle under a public spotlight.

The film’s best attribute – and the way it achieves it – is how it’s shot. It’s not so much fly-on-the-wall as it is captured with considerable trust between artist and filmmaker. At one stage toward the end, Louis and his crew joke about the seeming lack of a barrier between each other, and this feels like it was extended to Lightening, too.

As such, Tomlinson is forthright about his sense of having no control over his own (let alone One Direction’s) destiny for at least the first two-and-a-half years of the band. He casts himself as the band’s thinker in a rather shrewd creative light by telling us he’s most proud of being the member with the most songwriting credits.

But another strength of the film is that it doesn’t dwell on Louis’ 1D days. Granted, you can’t tell his story as an artist by ignoring it, but its inclusion merely paints a backdrop of what’s to come, most usefully starting the narrative arc of someone at a loss, personally and creatively, when the band announced their split in late 2015.

From here, Louis begins to build, pensively smoking and staring into empty space like any self-respecting existentialist as he contemplates life as a solo artist. Then, tragedy hits. His mother, Johannah Deakin, with whom he had an exceptionally strong relationship–mainly because of an absent father growing up (which struck a particular nerve with me) – passed away in December 2016 after her battle with leukaemia.

Replays of an X Factor performance Louis gave that very same week, spliced with personal testimony from the present day, remind us of the public gaze he was under during an exceptionally challenging period.

Meanwhile, the tragic death of his sister Félicité in 2018 is discussed in less detail but adds to the image of not just an artist but a man beset by loss, still keeping his head afloat. (A moving discussion with Louis’ grandmother provides insight into the keep-calm-and-carry-on spirit of the whole family).

These make the high points feel all the more gratifying – and there are plenty of those. From the release of his long-awaited debut album Walls in 2020 to his triumphant, Guinness World Record-setting livestream during the pandemic and his subsequent return to a global headline tour, it’s safe to say his artistic trajectory is a pretty sharp incline throughout the film.

But whereas some pop personalities might make that seem like an irksome inevitability, the setbacks Louis Tomlinson faces and, crucially, his authentically affable charm mean you end up rooting for him. Do you have to be a fan of his music? Not at all. Can you still admire the way his personhood is portrayed? Of course. And this film captures that in abundance.

Of course, Louis’ mass of fans will love it. That much is a given. But for a purely personal tale, even the most cynical among us would struggle not to find something from All Of Those Voices. Indeed, we’ve come a long way since the fakery of The X Factor.

#louis press #aotv review #why now #aotvfilm #24 march 2023

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sunkendreams · 2 years

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hellfire queen.

𑁍 ━ format. | one-shot.

𑁍 ━ pairings. | eddie munson x fem!reader.

𑁍 ━ warnings. | 18+ {SMUT.} risky setting, ring/hand kink if you squint, hair pulling, face sitting (f!receiving), cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, softdom!eddie, begging, eddie loves your thighs, pet names, cute ending.

𑁍 ━ word count. | 3.5K.

𑁍 ━ author’s notes. | this is how I make my return — with eddie munson mega smut. I had a ton of fun writing this (it was originally supposed to be a short warm-up) but it veered off into a creation of its own. definitely not opposed to writing more of this character, he’s my funky man.

𑁍 ━ taglist. | @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @darklylucid ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @mehidktbh ; @callmemeelah ; @the-anxious-youth ; @comicalrage ; @horrorstories123 ; @dootys

Unusually captivating — it was a perfect description for the boy splayed out beneath you, his fingers curled into your hips. Those metal rings dig into whatever exposed flesh he cradles, enough to leave behind his brand. He’s shirtless, pale and translucent; toned, wiry frame adorned with tattoos and taut muscle.

Your hands have trouble remaining static, drifting over his abdomen, silken digits gracing his body with care. The little hitch within his throat brought a coy smile to your visage, head cocked to one side.

Large, earthen eyes peered at you from below, drinking you in as if you were a goddess incarnate, something too irresistible to look away from. The longer he silently yearned for you, the more difficult it became to think coherently, as if you’d trapped him within some enchantment.

Eddie Munson had become entangled within you, within every facet about you. From the moment you’d awkwardly strolled into Hellfire Club without a clue, to now — perched atop him, soft palms spread against his tattooed collarbone.

Affectionate eyes fluttered across his flushed countenance, from his lopsided smirk to his dimples, to the rosy pallor of his full lips. The soft lull of Mötley Crüe provided a background ambiance for the both of you, limbs twined and hearts beating loud.

“You know how gorgeous you look?” Eddie crooned, unable to withhold the dopey grin that spread from ear to ear. “Hellfire Queen.” He mused, rocking you forward with a nudge of his knee.

His bedroom was a concoction of different smells — marijuana, a familiar cologne, the twang of smoke, and Eddie’s favorite, whatever perfume clung to your skin. He was a cheshire cat, grinning up at you with a stare that blossomed with an unrestrained adoration.

Waves of heat drifted between the two of you, a simmering tension that refused to die down. As soon as he pushed you with his knee, it made you settle fully, his jean-clad groin snug against your core. Eddie continued to feel you all over, wandering hands kneading wherever they pleased.

“Your uncle’s gonna hear.” You mumbled, pressing a finger against his lips, albeit playfully. It was somewhat embarrassing to fool around with your boyfriend when his guardian was present — though, you’d realized Wayne had likely been privy to many of your escapades before.

“That’s never stopped you before,” His witty remark was accompanied by a wiggle of his eyebrows, though Eddie was silenced by a mere sway of your hips, grinding down against his groin. Eddie blushed, knowing that you were on the precipice of invoking a challenge. “Sorry.”

Letting out a jovial giggle, you felt his lips embrace the tip of your index finger. “It hasn’t, but it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.” You hesitated, letting your finger trace across his cheekbone for a second or two.

Eddie turned his head, careening into the embrace of your digits, playfully sinking his teeth into the one closest to his cheek. The delighted squeak that escaped you was certainly worth the bizarre action — he knew you were getting hot and bothered.

“I may need that,” You countered, letting out a burst of excitable laughter when his cold hands clamored up underneath your blouse. “Eddie! Cold!” A whine left you, hot flesh clashing with the cool chill of his palms — the rings did little to assist with the pricking of goosebumps.

“You’re just so hot,” After dragging out the words, Eddie let out an exaggerated groan, smacking his lips together, “And you taste so good.” A mischievous spark danced within his eyes, prompting you to grind down again, feeling his hand drift further underneath your floral-print top.

“I taste good?” The response you wanted to give was almost too lewd, even for your tastes. However, Eddie’s expression gave him away — he was already thinking about it, reading your mind. “That was just my finger.” You chimed, feeling his digits trace patterns into the small of your back.

Eddie’s grin transcended lightheartedness, transforming into a salacious smirk, instead. “That’s just an appetizer, m’lady.” He playful squeezed your hip with his other hand, letting it drift toward the pliant flesh of your thigh.

A bark of laughter tore past your parted lips, and that’s when you began to roll your hips against his again, creating a spark of pleasurable friction. “You’re ridiculous.” You mumbled, fiddling with his mousy-colored locks, allowing your thumb to caress across his jawline.

“You’re stuck with me,” Eddie mumbled, stifling a groan when you ignited the friction once more. Whenever you did that, his mind turned to mush — he couldn’t think straight. He knew exactly what he wanted, his half-lidded stare burning through you, an attempt at a smolder. “C’mere.”

With a wrinkle of your nose, you swooped downward, shamelessly pressing your mouth against his. He was propped up by a pillow, fingers fumbling around your stomach, embracing your chest. Lips clashed and wound together, a heated exchange marked by tongue and teeth.

Nimble digits closed around one of your breasts, wedged up underneath your silken brassiere. Eddie drew all sorts of lascivious noises from you, muffled by the messy, open-mouthed kisses. Your hand moved toward his mane of hair, tugging on his tresses, getting yourself just a little closer.

A strangled moan left you, lost in the mix of sloppy, heated kisses. Your knees were buried into the mattress on either side of his hips, straddling his waist as best as you could. Playfulness had ebbed away, being replaced by an unmistakable desire, lust hanging heavy within the air.

Your entanglement ended, albeit briefly. Eddie’s mouth raked fire across your flesh, drifting from your lips to your throat, suckling at the soft expanse of your neck. Teeth carefully nicked sensitive skin, causing you to lurch forward, right into his embrace.

Groping at your breast, Eddie’s other hand curled into your haunch, digits skirting toward the hem of your shorts, where denim material kissed flesh. He broke the kiss, chest fluttering with soft pants as he slumped back into the pillow.

“Will my lady kindly remove her shorts?” Eddie teased, splintering the feverish haze that had washed over the both of you just moments prior. Though, his hand was still enthusiastically grabbing at your ass, practically itching for you to disrobe.

Unable to stifle the grin that swiftly spread across your countenance, you swung one leg over, hastily squirming your way out of your tight shorts, kicking them toward the foot of Eddie’s bed. Clad in lace undergarments, you were climbing back on top of Eddie, sitting on his chest.

Thankful for your divine intuition, Eddie’s palms immediately flattened against your supple thighs. “You read my mind, you minx,” He cooed, craning his head until his mouth smacked against your skin, teeth grazing here and there. “You’re perfect. Incredibly, stupefyingly, and stupendously hot.”

“Those are big words for you, Eds.” As soon as the lighthearted retort flew from your mouth, you watched Eddie’s face contort into a mocking frown. You knew that you were in for it, now.

“That’s a little harsh,” Eddie mumbled, palm gliding forward until it connected with the cleft between your thighs. “And here I was, thinking I’d be nice and let you climb up here like the queen that you are.” He clicked his tongue, tone saturated with faux malice, his thumb rubbing rough circles into your clothed clit.

“I’m sorry,” You sputtered, smothering your whimper beneath your breath. The immediate switch from confident and mighty to submission drove Eddie up the walls — he was far from finished. “Sorry.” Blubbering incoherently, your hips jolted forward when he stroked along your slit.

Eddie had you trapped, right where he wanted you. Those big, dark eyes of his raked across your form without an ounce of shame, dissecting you in the best way possible. Despite the vulgar intent, he really did worship you — even now, he was holding himself together in order to tease you.

Instead, his ministrations became feather-light, just enough friction for it to be considered cruel. The little gasp that tore past your lips enticed him, drew him right in. “Eddie, please.” You whined, desperately chasing after his hand. He recoiled each time you bucked forward.

It was difficult to keep up with tormenting you, that much was for certain. “You’ve caught me in a most forgiving mood, this eve.” Eddie’s voice took on some poor imitation of an English accent, lips forming into a sultry grin.

“Have I?” Breathless and clinging to any shred of heat, you wriggled forward, letting out a soft groan when he kept his hand just out of reach. “Please don’t stop.” A strangled moan slipped past your lips, your body shuddering when Eddie’s lips pressed against your leg. You were on the verge of begging.

Instead, you stared him down, skin unbearably warm, like the lick of an open flame. Your blouse was disheveled, and you decided to rectify that by removing it entirely — and that gained Eddie’s attention. With a needy, half-lidded stare, you enacted the bedroom eyes, watching his throat tense the longer he ogled you.

“Hm,” Sluggishly, Eddie’s hands inched you forward, agonizingly slow in an attempt to tease you. “You always get your way with that look of yours.” He hummed, playfully rolling his eyes. “That’s not fair.” His voice became a pleasant lull, and he continued to pull you wherever he pleased.

“You get your way, too.” You huffed, lip puckered out in a pout. “You’re so pretty.” Such an innocuous statement enticed Eddie, even if it was merely flirtation to you. Your hands lowered to settle atop his, lacing your fingers together.

His heart began to race, an excitable flutter pooling within his stomach. Eddie’s visage turned scarlet, an attractive shade of red that went all the way to his ears. “Yeah?” He murmured, watching as you began to shift his hand toward your inner thigh. This time, he didn’t stop you — in fact, it got him all aroused.

Your head bobbed in a lackadaisical nod, breath hitching within your throat. Eddie’s free hand, the one adorned in ghoulish, silvery bands, curled into the silken waistband of your panties, tugging them down the length of your thighs. “Please, Eddie.” Your impatience began to reach new heights, a strangled plea filling the air.

Toying with you was just as arousing for him as it was for you — the undeniable heat would reach a fever pitch, simmering between the both of you. Eddie watched you, wanton stare glued to your doe-eyed countenance, and he was thoroughly hooked.

“You’re the pretty one,” He insisted, gingerly wrangling your panties down to your knees, and you made sure to kick them off without disturbing your current position. “Too pretty to taste.” Eddie’s lips twitched into a devious smirk, but such confidence was intercepted when you reached back to palm at his tight jeans.

The strangled noise that elicited from him was enough of a reminder — you were on top, after all. “Please.” You moaned again, no longer on the precipice of begging. He was really working up the slow burn, but you knew that your patience would be rewarded.

Eddie’s digits swiped over your cunt, a pang of exhilaration stabbing right into his stomach. You were so wet, especially from his drawn-out torture. “Shit,” He whispered, rocking two fingers against your slit, cool metal ring bumping into your clit. Eddie was enamored, watching you careen into his hand, your mouth falling open. “You’re a goddess.”

Goddess — such an utterance escaped him breathlessly, accompanied by the saturation of worship within his tone. Eddie handled you as if you were timeless; perfection incarnate. His fingers remained splayed out against your thigh, raking across the expanse of silky flesh. His ring nudged against your clit again, making your legs clamp together, knees squeezing his arms.

A molten heat pooled within the pit of your gut, spurred by the rhythmic motions of Eddie’s fingers. You’d done this before, but something was different — maybe it was the way he looked at you, or how much he’d teased you beforehand. “Eddie,” You whined, feeling his lips press butterfly kisses against your thighs, “More.”

“C’mere,” Eddie’s voice was strung-out, on the verge of a groan. Eager hands roamed toward your rump, pushing you forward until you were hovering over his face. “Don’t move.” With a husked tone, he had you right where he wanted you — sitting on his face, tasting every inch of you.

Bracing yourself against his rickety headboard, your palms spread out atop the wooden surface, steadying yourself as his tongue raked over your slit. The immediate wave of heat hit you mercilessly, sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. Your knees were poised on either side of his head, pushing into the pillow.

Bent and contorted to the eager ministrations of his tongue, you are reduced to putty, hips rutting forward, right into his mouth. A low groan reverberates from your enthusiastic paramour, making his way across your labia before his tongue lashes against your clit.

Mötley Crüe is there to mask your moans, but only slightly. The sounds that emerge from your parted lips are enough to drive Eddie up the walls, cock twitching inside of his snug jeans. His hands are dug into you, greedily groping at the pliant flesh of your haunches, rings leaving behind reddish imprints — the hot brand of his affection.

Moving proves to be difficult — his lips lash over your cunt with a lascivious desire, a crudeness, but fuck, it’s intoxicating. Eddie pauses momentarily, only to suck and bite at the supple skin of your inner thigh, leaving behind marks that only the two of you know of, kissing the brief sting away. “Goddess,” He cooed again, tone delirious with lust and devotion. “Hellfire queen.”

Eddie’s mouth hotly returns to your core, no hesitation between his adoring nicknames and the onslaught of want. You nearly smother him, grinding into his mouth, but he holds you steady, pinning you wherever he sees fit. Sly digits clamor their way toward your cunt, stroking wherever his mouth can’t go.

No part of you is left neglected, skin crawling with both heat and perspiration — it’s summer in Indiana, sweltering and unkind with a swampy humidity. “Eddie,” You sigh, breath hitching, a moan cutting off your words of praise, letting it turn to ash upon your tongue. Two fingers work their way inside of you, swallowed by your tight heat. “Ed — Eddie.” A hiccup escapes you, mouth agape.

Without any utterances this time, he’s got you hooked, grappled within his talons as he works you open, digits pumping in and out of your cunt. That silver tongue of his works in a blissful tandem, circling around your clit. Both sensations are enough to make you squirm and writhe, but he squeezes your derrière, seating you in-place on top of his smirking visage.

“Fuck,” Goosebumps go cascading down Eddie’s spine when he hears you curse — you’re typically giggly and subdued, prudish and pious to his mischievousness. You whimper, surrendering yourself to your boyfriend’s enthusiastic mouth. “I—I don’t want to smother you, Eddie.” You pant, afraid that you’ve left him without air for so long.

Again, he’s silent — but you aren’t. Eddie answers you by curling those nimble, spindly digits inside of your cunt, coated in a thin sheen of your arousal. His tongue laps at your clit, bringing a fire to your stomach that demands to be extinguished, though he’s adding more fuel by the minute.

He doesn’t care that he’s getting smothered, and in fact, he’s gone over the precipice of carelessness. He’d die happy with you like this, mewling his name, you on his tongue, burned into every corner of his mind. Eddie is relentless — a good sort of relentless, going after the pleasurable chase that ends in a collision, you seeing stars.

The thin screen door of the trailer slams hard enough to startle you, causing you to practically jump a foot into the air. Being caught makes you nervous, and only you. Eddie grabs you before you can scramble, doe eyes peering at you from below when you shift, away from his face.

“Uh-uh, pretty girl,” Eddie huffs, lips glistening and pupils dilated to pits of black, glazed with a sheen of raw desire, “Back down.” No longer the wide-eyed stare of a doe, his gaze contorts into the hungry leer of a predator, and you lower yourself back down without protest.

Not even Mötley Crüe can mask the noises you make now — they’re completely unrestrained, needy moans and breathy whimpers that bubble from the depths of your throat.

Commanding you even when he’s underneath, pinned by your weight, he’s got his claws in you. Your obedience brings a wolfish grin to his features, pearlescent teeth and smile lines, but it’s too boyish — he’s pretty, extremely so, prettiest when he’s going down on you like this.

His lips purse around your clit, neglecting to waste a moment of time, fingers lazily dragging across your cunt — he has a feeling that you won’t last for much longer. Eddie groans into your core when he feels a hand tense throughout his mousy tresses, grip firm and unrelenting.

Nails playfully dig into your ass, but the sudden sensation is enough to make you squeal, your gut pooling with a swirl of heat. “Oh my god,” You sputter, fumbling over your words as he really begins to suck on your clit, just as vigorous as he is enthusiastic. “Ed—Eddie, holy shit!” The room begins to spin, your body lagging forward, head lolled to one side, choking on a moan.

Rocking his thumb into your slit, he laps and sucks at that bundle of nerves nestled between your thighs, and it’s enough to make you collapse. Fortunately, the wall is your brace, a crutch to keep you afloat as he mouth-fucks you into the best orgasm of your life. You feel messy, sticky — Eddie doesn’t care, eating you out until you’re shaking, pleading for him to stop.

You cum on his tongue, but the sounds he made during the throes of your bliss drives you up the walls. Eddie actually moans, and you wonder if he came too — christ. The thought alone of him cumming in those snug jeans makes your stomach erupt with butterflies, and the release of heat is beyond satisfying.

“I—I can’t,” You whine, overstimulated now, but he wants another taste or two, tongue lashing across your poor cunt until you can stand it no longer. “S’too much.” The lackadaisical, slurred utterance that escapes you is his queue to stop, gently nudging you down toward his chest.

Eddie’s countenance is a wonderful shade of scarlet, chin glistening with the aftermath of your release, lips stretched ear-to-ear with a coy grin. He licks his lower lip, sluggishly sitting up as you make your way back to his lap, seizing your brassiere from the corner of the mattress.

The devilish visage of the Hellfire Club’s insignia is what you grab next, pressing Eddie’s shirt to your chest. Your legs are shaking, which he counts as a good thing, swooping in to press kisses against your cheek. His ring-adorned hand cups your chin, cool metal soothing away the heat.

It’s the aftermath that’s the sweetest — your jovial, post-sex giggles, the hot temperature of your flesh, the aromas that cling to his bedroom. Eddie likes seeing you cuddling up to his shirt, limbs tangled together, bare legs squeezing into his narrow waist.

“Kiss me, Eds.” You mumble, voice barely above a whisper. The instantaneous connection of lips makes you quake, but it’s the taste. You can taste yourself on his mouth, on his tongue when they collide, on his chin when you’re nestled together.

Eddie groans into your feverish kiss, his own arousal having been quelled from the moment you came on his face. It certainly left behind an unpleasant mess in his jeans, but that wasn’t bothersome. His concentration was hyper-focused on you — irresistible you.

“I wanna do that again,” He murmurs against your mouth, playfully trapping your lower lip between his teeth for just a second. “And again,” Eddie kisses the corner of your mouth, “And again.” He insists, lips nestling underneath the curve of your jaw.

“You’re too much,” You snicker, gaze drifting toward his groin — your thought happened to be correct, and it makes you simmer with a flustered heat. “You really liked it, huh?”

Eddie picks up on what you’re ogling — he almost seems a touch embarrassed, but he brushes it aside with that familiar debonair charm. Suave as ever, he clears his throat, hands settling on top of your waist, fingers massaging at your bare skin.

“I did,” He coughs, attempting to smother a noise of a different kind — a whine, more than likely. “Can you blame me? You taste divine.” Eddie’s faux accent picks up toward the end, and he gives your hips a squeeze.

There’s a softness in his stare afterwards — a tender affection that’s difficult to miss. Eddie gives you another kiss, but it lacks that lust-fueled frenzy from before, giving way to something subdued and unequivocally sweet. His lips disconnect from yours, only to brush against the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body.

His whisper is exhilarating— it’s everything to you, and you’re completely and utterly mesmerized. “Hellfire queen.” Eddie’s smirk is tangible, even when you can’t see.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things x reader #sunkendreams masterlist #slasher x reader #horror writing

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twiilys · 6 months

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love (i just couldn't let go)

Written for @lockwoodandcoff's Flash Fiction challenge #12. Link to the ao3 thing

Very little plot, mostly vibes about Lucy and Lockwood making-up after a fight while stranded.

~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~~o~

“You’re back early,” Lucy noted.

“Yeah, well, not much to do around these parts, is there?” Lockwood shot back, dropping his armful of dry wood next to her.

Lucy grunted. There wasn’t much else to say; they were stuck in the middle of nowhere after the motor of their car had given way, with no means of communication, and the night had already fallen.

There were also the remaining shouts of their row lingering in the air, the weight of all the hurtful words they didn’t quite mean yet flung at each other nonetheless. Lockwood had stomped off into the dark before they could get really ugly, and Lucy had focused all her remaining fury in the sorry excuse of a campfire.

She felt drained now, restlessness quelled into stillness. Her head had cleared as the fire rose to life, as if it had been fuelled by her resentment and frustration.

It was going to be a long wait until morning.

“At least we have the fire going,” she said after a while. She had tried for a softer tone, but it felt too little too late.

“True enough,” Lockwood replied coolly. He added a branch to the timid flames, then stoked the fire using whatever flat enough surface he had found. “Guess we won’t be cold on top of miserable.”

They fell silent. The fire grew stronger with every offered kindle, filling the air with its merry cracking and popping noises. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. It really could have been a peaceful night, spent in good company. Maybe it would have been a long-awaited, carefully planned trip. Or at least a wanted one, instead of the clusterfuck it actually was.

Lucy shifted her gaze to Lockwood. Her unfortunate companion stared at the fire, blinking every once in a while to protect himself from the dry heat and smoke. Every time he did, his eyelashes drew long shadows across his cheekbones, who seemed even sharper than usual as a trick of the low light. The fire cruelly highlighted the slight hollow in his cheek, the deep line etched between his eyebrows, the dark circles under his eyes. He seemed older than his years, and deeply unsettled.

It was her fault, and it was not. It was the pressure of the latter months that had made her lash out, the drop of water that had made her fury overflow and wash over everything. She wasn’t proud of it; but she was too proud to take sole responsibility for this when the fault was shared.

“Are you warm enough?” Lockwood asked.

Lucy quickly diverted her gaze. His eyes were still trained to the dancing flames, but she didn’t want to be caught staring.

“Been colder,” she said with a shrug. Then, to keep a hold of the offered olive branch, “You?”

“Warming up.”

Lucy rummaged through her kit until she found the survival blanket they packed in case of emergencies. This bloody counted as one, so she wasted no time in wrapping it around the both of them.

Lockwood muttered a thanks and moved to sit closer to her, keeping a hold of his side of the cover.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Lucy felt drawn to meet his eyes, which twinkled in the firelight. “Forgive me?”

“Sure, if you forgive me,” she whispered. Lucy held his gaze just for a few moments more, then leaned her head on his left shoulder. “I’m sorry too.”

Lockwood sighed, and some of the tension in his shoulders melted away. After a beat, his cheek came to rest on the top of her head. Lucy closed her eyes. She felt warmer now, the blanket surely doing its part, and she was so tired.

Tomorrow, they’d sort it all.

#twilys writes #lockwood and co #lockwood and co flash fiction challenge #partially inspired by similar vibes in the long and winding road's next chapter #firesides are great dramatic places

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fresno346 · 7 days

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616 in LA Retrospective Thoughts 2/2

Not that I'm trying to be overtly deep but...... Too many people have only made an analysis of the lyrics in what its saying, but not what the lyrics are truly doing for the listeners. If I were Drake hearing it, I would have been concerned. When I first heard the song, on the part where Kendrick was talking to God, I was only visualizing that one part in the movie Gladiator when Russell Crowe is walking through the wheat field. Kendrick was really walking us through a perspective of "I'm getting ready to obliterate this guy." but I'm giving God the heads up first. In only a few minutes with this song, Kendrick walked us through a war chant emanating with YEARS of premeditation of getting ready to lyrically murk Drake. I have to put emphasis on premeditation. We've heard all the shots Kendrick has taken at Drake over time. This song to me felt like Kendrick's calm before his storm hit and he lyrically professed it as such to Drake. He did it not only as a warning, but it felt like some scary level of exhilaration on Kendricks part. Exhilaration in that he's been waiting for this moment to really tell the world about that man and do it in a way that would end him and really allow the listener to create in our minds a separation of him from not just Drake himself, but from all rappers as a challenge. He professed to us that rap IS a sport open to the best man standing and he's not afraid for any man to step up. And I don't know if Kendrick was trying to be funny but keeping beat by saying "Uh" a few times over Chris Alvarez's ventilator? Bruh.... I felt Drake should have been shivering in his boots off those few introductory seconds, because only Drake, Chris and whoever was with them knows what really happened at 3am in that hotel. It also really made me feel like Kendrick was allowing a peek into his world to see the caliber of man he is first, then laying out (in the way that he does lyrically) that he's a man of culture, intellect and he's been to the far reaches of the world - anywhere his passport could get him, and he "got money" and does with it what he wants in ways Drake could never hold a candle to. It after that, it was like Kendrick was saying to God, "I know you not about war and violence, but Imma have to repent later. I'm just giving you advanced notice.". Then he went to war. Drake should have fell in line like everybody else and tapped out then. Why? Kendrick said he loves peace right, but to me, ain't nothing crazier than a man willing to publicly profess to God that he finna cut a man off by the throat and crip walk on the dead body. Drakes eye and ears were closed to that. And his team of writers. I haven't yet seen someone talk about how cerebral this song is, especially if you were Drake listening. It was the audio version of I just stepped over that line you drew on the sand and I'm standing in front of you. Now what. Drake listening to this from a man who shirks himself away from celebrity. A man who has an actual dark past. And a nigga who's pen is very very real. I was like no no no no no no no no no no no Drake. This song is the perpetual smoke before you start feeling the fire. And then we sat back with our popcorn and watched him burn that man down. That's what it did for me.

#kendrick lamar #drake diss #hip hop #analysis #music #interpretations

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red-riding-wood · 1 year

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OC: Charlotte Griffin

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Charlotte Griffin, on a quest to emerge from her family's dark shadow, becomes a spy in a gang war that puts her loyalties and desires into question as she grows closer to the man who is meant to be her enemy.

WARNINGS for whole story: eventual explicit sexual content and references, explicit violence and gore, mentions of physical abuse, language, ethnic slurs (mainly because of Alfie)

A.N. Been sitting on this chapter for a while because I honestly hated the second scene but I think I've finally come to peace with it!

Blood painted the shattered windows of the old greenhouse and soaked deep into the mosses and weeds that sprouted from the remnants of the floor. Though the bodies had been taken away by police the night of the vicious occurrence, their viscera must have fed the greenery that grew in something that once only gave life, that never took.

Investigators roamed about, though Polly had granted us both access to the crime scene from her name and association with the Blinders. I still had yet to understand what exactly she had taken me here to see and why, but I could’ve gotten lost in examining the carnage.

The Blinders, I realised now, were violent out of necessity. People like Arthur, people like Thomas. I’d seen it in the grave look Thomas had worn ever since. He looked as if he’d come home from the war yesterday rather than a near decade ago.

Men like Arthur and Thomas, they fought like animals because they had to survive. Because it was in their blood. Etched into their hearts.

Luca, on the other hand, he claimed to only wish to settle a vendetta, but something darker brewed beneath his flesh. I could practically sense it. But he did not fight like an animal. He thought himself above them. Everything that had happened here was meticulously orchestrated, planned to the most finite detail.

There were no men I’d met like Luca.

“Have you gotten a nice, long look, yet?” Polly asked, rousing me from my thoughts. I found them drifting to the serpent-gazed man far too often than what was comfortable to admit. Even when faced with the calamity of his devilish mind and my reckless actions.

“I don’t know what I’m meant to be looking at, Miss Gray,” I told her. My arms had been clutching the buttons of my coat, trying to hold the fabric in place so that the cold wouldn’t consume me.

“You’re looking at Tommy’s doing. And yours.” Her dark gaze turned to me sharply, an iciness in its depths that pierced my heart.

“Arthur and Thomas lived,” I told her, unsure as to why she concerned herself with such morality all of a sudden. She didn’t strike me as the sort to lose sleep over a few fallen soldiers.

“For now,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “But their time will come.”

I turned to her now, my arms falling as the wind buffeted the side of my face.

“Why did you bring me here? To guilt me?” I cocked my head slightly, and said, “Or stop me?”

Dark optics settled on me as she blew a gout of smoke. It was carried away by the wind. “I have a son,” she said. “His name is Michael.”

“So I’ve heard. He was with John when he was shot.”

Though I tried not to think of the body I had seen in the casket that day, his name could not be avoided. I hadn’t even known him, yet his likeness to my brother was forever etched into my memory. My mind used to have a much harder time picturing what Alexander’s corpse would have looked like, before I’d stepped foot in Small Heath.

“He’s still in the hospital,” Polly said. “Bedridden. Utterly defenseless. I know that Changretta will come for him. Perhaps you will even lead him straight there.” Her brows cocked in a silent challenge.

My flesh crawled, and my gut clenched, though I didn’t entirely know why. I hadn’t defied a single order of Thomas’ or gone behind his back. I had proven my loyalty.

“Are you insinuating that I might be working with the enemy, Miss Gray?”

Polly shrugged, but trapped me in an intense stare. “I wasn’t, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen a spy show her dark side.”

This was not the woman who had invited me into her home and had given me advice on how to deal with Luca. This was a woman who was lashing out, like an animal, because she was scared. I could see it gleam in the dark pearls of her eyes.

“Miss Gray…” I took a step forward, invading her space as Luca often did to mine. “With all due respect, you have not seen my dark side."

As it seemed, not even I had properly glimpsed my dark side.

She regarded me from an unwavering gaze, cigarette held elegantly by one cocked wrist.

“I did not decide to work for the Devil himself so that I could play games,” I continued. “I came here because I have ambitions. And I do not wish to squander those ambitions by betraying the very man that can grant me what I seek.” I straightened, and said, “So, I repeat: why did you bring me here today?”

Polly took a long drag of her cigarette, and blew its smoke into the wind. Her gaze darted only briefly to the greenhouse before settling on me with that familiar crease of stress in her brow.

“Michael is my only child,” she told me. “I will not see him slaughtered like these men here today.” She blew another quick puff, and added, as her gaze darted away again, “Or John.

“And I want you to get something straight, Charlotte. You do not work for Thomas. You work for me. He may be the face of the Blinders, but I’m the only one with a lick of sense around here.

“So what I’m about to tell you is an order. Not a request. And if you tell Thomas, I’ll cut your tongue out myself. I’ve never liked spies. They talk too much.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, but listened.

“I want you to make a deal with Luca. Offer Thomas, for Michael’s life to be spared. I can set up the date and the time. You only have to do what you spies do best. Talk.”

I eyed her with an increasing wariness now. A betrayal, from his very own aunt? I wasn’t sure if I could be surprised, after he had left her to hang in prison. And I couldn’t be surprised, I suppose, for her to value the life of her sole son over her nephew’s.

But she was mad if she thought I would turn against Thomas Shelby.

“If this is another test of character, Miss Gray, I can say that I have had quite enough of those,” I said, though I knew she was dead serious by the fear in that dark gaze of hers. And so I told her, “But this isn’t a test, is it? You wouldn’t have brought me here if it were.” I leaned in just a tad, just enough so that she knew she was not speaking to someone who would bow so easily. She did not frighten me in the way Luca did.

“You wanted to guilt me. Appeal to my humanity,” I said. “But when that doesn’t work for you, what then?”

Cigarette smoke blew in a puff, each tendril seeming to have a life of its own as it weaved through the air.

“The others don’t know that you set up the funeral ambush,” she said. “They wouldn’t be very happy if they found out.”

“And I can’t imagine they would be very happy finding out you chose to only spare Michael.”

“And just who do they think they’re going to believe?” Polly countered. “Like I said, I run this operation. I hold it together. I’m family.”

Something about her last words pierced my heart again, fractured it straight through to my soul.

Family.

Family, Luca had said, was the most important thing.

And it was the one thing I would not find here. Not with the Blinders. They thought me no more than a lowly spy.

But if this was all I would ever be to them, I was determined to do my job well. And I would not cave over petty blackmail.

“I will take my chances, Miss Gray,” I told her, before stepping away, the edges of my coat swishing against her legs as I made my departure.

Family, I thought the word again, nearly parting my lips to utter it. Ruminating on it. And I brought my fingers to brush the tail of my ribbon.

What was family, really, if you could not trust one another?

---

Polly Gray was not an easy woman to shadow.

She had left her house in the late evening and since then had been elusive, never taking a predictable route. On top of that, she was keen, and had her wits about her; her gaze swept across each corner of the street as if she owned the ground on which she walked, and those within her vicinity were only there by the grace of her good will. I had needed to keep a ways back, and I wore black, indistinguishable clothing and my hair tied into a bun beneath the hat I wore that tipped downwards just enough to veil my gaze.

I was much more at ease when she entered the pub, when I was swallowed by the throng of bustling drunkards. They made much more commotion than I did, and I was able to blend seamlessly with the well-dressed ladies whom they courted.

What caused my state of alarm was the overwhelming amount of Italians that I quickly found myself surrounded by. Déjà vu hit me like a train as my eyes roved across the bar stools, searching for a black hat and a toothpick.

Polly sat at one of the stools, a mink fur wrapped elegantly around her shoulders and her earrings glinting in the glow of the chandeliers.

“Signorina.”

Startled by the word, I spun on my heel, my heart lifting in my chest as I recalled when a green eyed man had woven the same syllables with his silver tongue.

And though I knew that it wasn’t him, I couldn’t help but deflate when I glimpsed his chocolate gaze. Dressed in black, he was one of the Italian mobsters, and perhaps it was this that sparked the familiarity as I studied his clothing and his features.

“May I have a dance?” he asked me, extending a hand.

I eyed his hand cautiously, but with another glance cast to Polly, I decided to take him up on the offer. He brought me in close, but not as close as Luca, and his touch did not send shivers through me, nor did the heat of his breath flutter my heart.

And it was then that I realised I had never once compared a man to another, never wished for a stranger’s touch to be someone else’s so intimately.

“What brings you to Birmingham?” he asked me, accent more lilted than the soothing New York tones of Luca’s. “This city, it does not suit you.”

“Is that so?” I said absently, only half-intrigued by the man’s statement. As we danced, I tried to sneak glances through the converging crowd, but he had led me into too many people.

“These streets are filthy,” he said. “Not like my hometown.”

“And your hometown would be better suited for me, would it?” I said, tipping my head back to look him in the eye.

He chuckled, and said, “A woman such as yourself, yes, I can picture you much better walking down the streets of…” His brow furrowed at me, eyes squinted, and his tonality changed on a dime. “You look familiar.”

My spine stiffened, and I downcast my gaze almost immediately. I had been too absorbed thinking of all the ways he wasn’t Luca that I hadn’t taken the time to uncover why I knew him.

He was one of Luca’s guards.

“Well, then I suppose I’m not all that special,” I purred out over his shoulder, so that he would not be able to glimpse my face.

As we turned, Polly’s earrings winked in the glow of the chandeliers. Next to the gold rings of slender fingers that placed a felt hat on the bar before her. Next to the inked black hand that poked from his sleeve.

“I must disagree, amore. Perhaps I know you from the silver screen. Let me take a look at your face.”

My heart could’ve stopped. From the man’s words, or from his boss’ arrival, I couldn’t tell.

“Maybe I prefer not to be recognised,” I told him. “There is an allure to mystery, is there not?”

We turned, and Luca and Polly disappeared from my gaze. I tried to speed up, tried to guide him into quicker, longer strides.

“Let me look at you,” he said, more pressingly, his finger prodding at my jaw.

Every instinct in me screamed to pull away, though I tugged him close, my lips grazing his neck as I brought him around to see Luca chuckling around a toothpick and Polly smiling as she wrapped her fur tighter around her shoulders.

My gut clenched with something wicked.

Suddenly, I hated her smile.

“Careful,” I whispered into the man’s ear as Luca and Polly disappeared from view. I dropped my voice into a purr again and said, “I have been known to bite.”

“All the more reason to have a look, then,” he murmured against my scalp, and my stomach knotted.

And yet, I cared more about coming around our next turn than I did convincing him otherwise.

Luca was close to Polly. Too close. His arm brushed hers as he reached for his drink. I couldn’t read either of their faces anymore, but I could only imagine her wearing that smile for him.

“Show me that pretty face,” the man said, his fingers cupping my chin once more.

“It’s not yours,” I snapped, jerking my head away in one quick motion. His thumb unhooked a blonde lock from my bun.

I could do nothing but stare into eyes that widened with recognition as he fully took in my face, and the world seemed to undulate in my peripheral and morph into lurid streaks of colour.

“I have to go,” I breathed, my stomach churning, and I shoved my way through the crowd as I left the Italian stunned.

Fresh air was both a welcomed luxury and a frigid curse as it filled my gasping lungs. I twisted and wove my way around the brick walls of the alleyways, the cars on the streets, never running but always casting a glance over my shoulder. I must’ve wound my way through an entire borough before I gauged that there was enough distance between me and the pub, and I slipped into the nearest telephone booth.

The transfer didn’t take long, but I still cast a wary gaze around as my heart began to calm and my breaths came more steady in my chest. The adrenaline was waning, leaving my shoulders and calves tense with ache.

“Matteo? Yes, hello, this is Charlotte. I would like to speak to Luca, please.”

“What is this regarding?” Matteo asked me over the line.

I rubbed my temples, nursing a burgeoning headache, and said, “I just need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”

“Luca is out on business.”

Business.

My stomach clenched again.

Was Polly making the same deal she tried to make with me?

Would Luca no longer have a use for me in this war?

Why had she been smiling?

“Charlotte?” Matteo spoke after what must’ve been a long silence, but for me, had been a frantic tide of cruel thoughts.

“Yes. Thank you. Tell him I need to speak with him as soon as possible.”

I hung up halfway through Matteo’s farewell, and I sank to the floor of the booth, the poorly constructed glass groaning against my weight and the metalwork biting into my spine. I dug a cigarette from my pocket and, with shaking fingers, held a lighter to the end.

I nudged open the door with my shoe for ventilation, and took a deep drag. I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining the notes of citrus and jasmine entwining with the smoke.

And when I opened them, I stared into my faint reflection in the glass, and the eyes that stared back at me were a pale, ice blue, and their frigidness warmed my aching heart, tugged at the bright of my soul.

And I watched, slowly, as they morphed to a green past the gout of smoke I blew, and a dark hat swept across the reflection’s forehead and the bright of citrus turned to the dark of ambrette.

And I stared into the reflection until the beating of my heart had finally lulled, and the smoke had swallowed the serpent gaze.

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